#nails scraping down my face tweaking out EVERYTHING | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hrina · 4 years

Text

In The Ring, Pt. I - Jab

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 4k REQUESTED: not exactly lol

hey everyone! this is PART 1 of the boxer!harry AU i’ve been working on. i was so inspired by this concept that i wrote it all in one day lol. if u enjoy reading it, reblogs and feedback are very much appreciated! it really helps in terms of motivation and just knowing how my readers feel about this story in general. so yeah, that would really make my month!

warning: parts of this fic will contain mentions of blood, violence, mild stalking, and sexual content. if any of that makes you uncomfortable, please take care of yourself and keep scrolling <3

okay, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, go stupid go dumb! my masterlist and my inbox are both linked in my bio, for anyone who would like to check out my other fics or who feels like chatting. can’t wait to hear your thoughts 💘💘💘

~*~

January 7, 2021

All of Harry’s teeth are still intact.

For now, at least.

He knows that mouthguards exist—there’s one tucked between his lips every single time he enters the ring. But even then…sometimes punches go awry. Sometimes your opponent dodges at the last second. Sometimes people end up with a mouthful of leather and a few loose incisors. He always keeps one fist near his chin, shielding the lower half of his face from any blows that come his way.

Speaking of blows coming his way…

He ducks away from the straight jab that the man throws—The Wall, they call him. Harry had rolled his eyes when the nickname boomed across the room, soon lost in the roar of the crowd.

He’s never been one for flashy introductions. He prefers to let his technique speak for itself. His brand is his name. Harry Styles. Simple, concise, and so utterly deceiving. He loves watching the smile melt from his opponent’s face, basks in the moment when they realise that he’s tougher than his name suggests.

The Wall jabs again, and Harry successfully dodges the punch. He doesn’t register the other fist hooking around, however, until the blunt front of the man’s glove makes contact with the side of his head. Usually, a blow like that wouldn’t even faze him. But the sheer force behind the hit knocks him off-balance, stumbling to the side as he loses his footing and inhaling sharply when his shoulder collides with the ground.

The yells from the crowd are deafening. Harry coughs, trying to guide air back into his lungs. When he blinks, black spots dance across his vision. Subconsciously, his eyes trace a path upward, past the floor, past his opponent’s feet, past the ropes encompassing the ring. Higher and higher, still, past jeering faces and sloshing beer bottles and grungy eye makeup. All the way to the top of the bleachers, to the exit—to you.

That’s been your unofficial spot for the past two years. Once you turned twenty, your father finally gave in, allowing you to attend Harry’s matches in exchange for the cessation of your endless badgering. You always stand near the door, observing the commotion with thoughtful eyes and puckered lips. Despite himself, Harry has started to think of you as his lucky charm. It’s dangerous—he always swore that he wouldn’t be one of those overly-superstitious athletes—but he can’t help it. He just seems to perform better when you’re around.

Through the rocky field of his vision, he can see just how wide your eyes have grown. There’s an unmistakable look of concern on your face as you watch the fight unfold. Your hand finds its way to the base of your throat, playing nervously with the rose-gold pendant resting there. You crane your neck to get a better view of the ring, your pupils flitting back and forth between Harry and the frighteningly large man looming over him.

A warm rush of adrenaline floods Harry’s veins. The saliva that has gathered in his mouth tastes stale on his tongue. He spits it out as he staggers to his feet. The crowd grows louder, somehow.

The Wall’s smile shrinks as Harry assumes his previous position; his hands orient themselves in front of his face. His opponent gnashes his teeth, seemingly annoyed with the fact that the match has not ended. Harry shakes off the dizziness clouding his brain, and then he’s lunging forward with a newfound sense of determination. He throws punch after punch, sidestepping The Wall’s returning attempts. All he can think about is the fact that you’re up there, watching, waiting, worrying. He never wants to see you like that again.

You’re his goddamn lucky charm.

His victory comes in the form of an uppercut followed immediately by a nasty right hook. The Wall—this big, towering man with bulging biceps and rippling pectorals—crumples to the ground. Harry waits, his chest heaving with exertion as the countdown begins. He’s prepared to watch his opponent rise again, to shift back into a fighting stance and start over. But as the seconds trickle by and The Wall remains motionless on the ground, he soon finds the tension in his body seeping out into the hot, sticky air.

His shoulders sag in relief as a single promising word echoes through the grimy arena.

“Knockout!”

~*~

The crowd thins out considerably in the ten minutes following the termination of the match. Harry stumbles out of the ring, sliding through the ropes and pulling his mouthguard from between his lips. Your father is waiting for him with a smile on his face, holding out an arm and helping him jump down from the raised platform.

“Well done, H,” he says, patting his back proudly.

Harry pants and nods. Your father holds out a reusable water bottle for him to take—he accepts it graciously and gulps down the cold liquid with fat, greedy slurps. Once he pulls the nozzle away from his mouth, he runs the back of his hand over his face to catch any stray droplets that have collected on his chin.

“Thanks, Coach.”

“You took a pretty hard fall, there,” your father says, guiding him to sit down on a bench propped up against the wall. “Medic’s in the back. He’s checking out Aaron right now, but you’re next.” He taps his index finger against Harry’s temple. “We’ve got to make sure everything’s alright up there.”

Harry sucks in a deep breath, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Who the fuck is Aaron?”

“Oh.” Your father laughs. “Aaron. The Wall. Whatever you want to call him.”

Harry frowns. “Don’t like that. Makes him sound like a dick.”

A new voice enters the conversation.

“That’s because he is.”

Harry’s head snaps to the side, and there you are.

You look nice, as usual. There’s something about you that he can never seem to properly describe. You always look so…clean. If he tried to vocalize his thoughts, he’s sure that you would look at him like he was crazy.

But in his head, it makes sense. You take care of yourself. Your nails are spotless, your hair smells good, and he knows that you must dab spritzes of perfume onto your pulse points before you leave the house, because a fresh scent follows you wherever you go. Even now, as you stand a few feet away with your hands on your hips, he catches it on a deep inhale. Not flowery, not fruity, just…clean. Refreshing. Light. Breezy.

Your father snaps him out of his reverie, and he realises that he should probably stop listing every word in the thesaurus.

“How do you know?” Your father’s inquiry is curious. He shoots you a puzzled look, his mouth curling down into a soft scowl.

You roll your eyes. “Called me ‘sweet thing’ before the match started and asked me if I was the prize,” you say, sticking your tongue out in disdain. “I told him to go fuck himself.”

Harry’s lips twitch.

Your father chuckles. “That’s my girl.”

You laugh quietly, shaking your head. “What time are we leaving?” you ask. The question is directed at your father, who is fiddling with the drawstrings hanging from his sweater. “I was hoping to study a bit more before bed.”

“Soon, gioia,” your father says. “As soon as Harry gets checked out, we’ll be on our way.”

You nod, and—for what feels like the first time since you cut into the interaction—you glance down at Harry. “Hi,” you say softly, shooting him a small, friendly smile.

He meets your gaze for only a moment. Everything about you is so gentle. Your irises are like melted pots of honey, regarding him with such warmth he feels like he’ll never be cold again. “Hi.”

“Congratulations on your win,” you murmur. Harry wants to bottle your voice and save it as a keepsake. “You made a great comeback.”

Because of you, he wants to say, but he bites his tongue. “Thank you,” he offers up instead, the words scraping against the roof of his mouth and tumbling unceremoniously into the air between you.

A moment of silence ensues as you wait for him to say something—anything—else. But he’s done. You nod once before turning back to your father, who is tweaking the settings of the watch wrapped around his wrist.

“Do you know where the washrooms are?” you ask. You toy absentmindedly with the necklace hanging from your throat. “I need to pee.”

“You can use the one in the women’s locker room,” your father tells you, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. “Around the corner, first door on the left.”

“Thanks,” you say, slipping by and pressing a quick peck to his cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

He just nods in agreement, still too preoccupied with his watch.

Harry, on the other hand, can’t keep his eyes off of you as you walk away. He takes note of the way that you tuck your hair behind your ear, how you shoulder the strap of your purse to keep it from slipping down your arm, how you walk with a purpose despite being so moderate and kind. His gaze falls momentarily to the sway of your hips, the enticing nature of your waist. He stares for a long moment before tearing away, clearing his throat and blinking a few times in quick succession.

“Proud of you, H,” your father pipes up, tapping the face of his watch twice before dropping his arm with a sigh. “You did well out there.”

“Thanks,” Harry mutters. A spark of guilt flares up in his chest when he realises that he had been blatantly ogling you with your father standing only a few feet off to the side. He silently berates himself, shaking his head free of any alluring thoughts.

Your father’s phone chirps with the arrival of a new notification. He fishes the device out of his pocket and glances down at the screen.

“Let’s go,” he tells Harry, jerking his head to the right. “Medic’s ready for you, now.”

January 13, 2021

“C’mon, H, be smart with it! Watch how he angles himself!”

And Harry’s trying, really, but Arthur—or Artie, as your father likes to call him—is a hunkering titan of a man. He used to be your father’s star athlete before retiring, and now…now he’s working in finance, or something akin to that. Harry isn’t one hundred percent sure; he usually zones out when people begin to discuss the stock market.

Artie throws a right hook, but Harry sees it coming and blocks it with ease. They move in a circle, focussed only on each other while other individuals outside of the ring totter around.

Harry prefers to train on weekdays during the afternoon, because that’s when the gym isn’t as packed. Right now, only a handful of other people are working out, lifting weights or doing cardio exercises. Harry and Artie are here so often that nobody even blinks an eye anymore. And your father…well, he runs the place. Of course he would be here.

The sparring continues. When Harry refuses to make the first move, Artie sticks one glove out, beckoning him forward. “Come here, pretty boy.”

“Don’t make me pull your hair,” Harry grits, because Artie’s ponytail is swinging temptingly from beneath his headgear.

The other man laughs good-naturedly before lunging. Harry blocks his uppercut and delivers a strong, pointed jab right to the middle of his chest. Artie stumbles backward, inhaling sharply as the breath is knocked from his lungs. Harry bites back a smile.

“Nice, H!” your father calls.

“Thanks, Coach,” he mutters.

The front door of the gym opens, accompanied by the soft tinkling of a bell to announce the new arrival. Harry’s attention is reflexively drawn toward the direction of the sound, and his heartbeat stutters beneath his ribs.

You’re there, with your hair tied back in a low bun and silver hoops hanging from your ears. You’re holding a tray of coffee in your left hand, and there’s a warm smile on your face. You wave excitedly as you greet Portia, the middle-aged woman sitting behind the front desk. The two of you chat as you shrug off your jacket and tug the sleeves of your sweater over your hands.

Your mouth moves languidly. Though Harry is too far to hear your voice, he has a pretty good idea of what you’re saying. Your eyes widen and you shiver dramatically, shaking your head.

It’s cold!

A heavy fist makes contact with the side of his jaw, and he falls to the ground.

Your father’s loud exclamation pulls your attention away from Portia and toward the ring on the opposite end of the room. Harry groans lowly as he pushes himself to his knees, tilting his head from side to side and cracking his neck. When he turns to face your father, he finds him frowning through the gaps between the ropes.

“What the hell was that?” he asks, shooting Harry a disappointed look.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, climbing to his feet with a grunt. “Got distracted.”

He chances a glance back at you, and his shoulders grow tense when he realises that you’re making your way over to the ring, the tray of coffee held between your hands like a peace offering.

“Hello, boys,” you singsong. “I brought drinks.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” your father says as you hand him his designated cup. He leans forward, pressing a quick kiss to your hair. You hum happily in response.

“Jason!” you call out as Artie approaches the side of the ring. “I got your lemonade.”

“Thanks, little girl,” Artie hums, accepting his drink graciously and taking a long sip from the straw. “And for the hundredth time, stop calling me ‘Jason’.”

“Stop calling me ‘little girl’,” you shoot back, laughing deviously. “I can’t help it if you look like him, okay? You’re even the same age, too.” You cock one eyebrow. “Should I start calling you ‘Aquaman’ instead?”

“God, no.” Artie shakes his head vehemently. “Let’s stick to Jason. ’Least that’s a real name.”

You giggle as he ambles away. Your eyes shift over to Harry—who has kept silent the entire time—and your lips curl up into a kind smile. “Hi, Harry.”

“Hi.” His voice is guttural.

“Last, but not least,” you murmur, plucking his drink from the tray and holding it up for him to take. “One black coffee, right?”

“Right,” he confirms with a curt nod. He tugs his bulky gloves off, dropping them to the floor and reaching out to accept the cup. A strong spark pricks at his hand when his fingers brush against yours. Your responding gasp is soft, barely-noticeable—if he weren’t so painfully aware of everything you do, he would have missed it completely.

“Thank you,” he says, guiding the coffee to his mouth and taking a small sip.

“No problem.” You smile up at him again, and God, that fucking smile. He wants it tattooed onto the backs of his eyelids. A wave of heat blooms in his chest and creeps up his neck, but thankfully, the pink flush blends in with his sweat-slicked, already-rosy skin.

“How was class, sweetheart?” your father asks, tilting his head to the side.

“It was good.” You shrug, tossing a thumb over your shoulder. “I’m going to head home now, though—I have a proposal due in a few days and I really need to get started.”

“Go, go,” your father concedes. You bid him goodbye before standing on your tiptoes and craning your neck to catch sight of Artie, who is quite evidently enjoying his lemonade.

“Bye, Jason!”

“Bye, little girl!”

You laugh. Your gaze lands on Harry again, eyes sparkling and features resolutely tender. “Bye, Harry.”

He swallows down the hard lump in his throat. “Bye.”

January 16, 2021

Harry’s workout playlist features a lot of Ariana Grande.

He just thinks that she’s good, okay?

But he knows that Artie and your father would never let him hear the end of it, so he keeps that information private. During practice, he’ll endure whatever shitty tunes Artie picks from his own library, and he won’t say a word. He’s not in the ring to dance, anyway. He’s there to make money—albeit illegally—because quite frankly, he hasn’t discovered an aptitude for anything else.

It’s late—the gym is technically closed. But the great thing about having the owner for a coach is the fact that Harry was given another key to add to his collection. Your father doesn’t care, as long as he locks up after he’s done. Harry has spent more time here than at his own home, he imagines. It’s nice when it’s quiet—it gives him plenty of time to think.

The back of his t-shirt is soaked through with sweat. He’s gazing at the ceiling as he lifts the heavy weights up and down over his torso. A bubbly song is playing on his phone, keeping his energy high.

So what if he listens to Ariana Grande? She makes great music.

The distinctive sound of footsteps reaches his ears. He pauses, setting the weightlifting bar back onto its rack and sitting up quickly. The noise is coming from the stairs that lead down to the swimming pool in the basement. Harry stands, and though his muscles are already screaming from previous exertion, he readies himself for the worst.

You appear at the top of the flight, your slippers smacking against each step loudly. You’re ruffling a towel against your wet hair, your head angled to the side as you squeeze out any excess water. Upon catching sight of Harry, you freeze in your tracks.

“Oh. Harry. Hi.”

“Hi,” he says slowly. “I…didn’t know you were here.”

“I didn’t know you were here,” you reply wryly, a small smirk making its way onto your lips.

Harry scratches sheepishly at the back of his neck. “Yeah. Er…I was just working out.”

You nod, your expression coy. “I can see that.”

An awkward silence hangs in the air. Harry clears his throat, rubbing his jaw with his fingers because what else is he supposed to do? “Were you—did you go for a swim?”

“Yeah,” you say. Your shoulders deflate, like you’re almost grateful that he’s contributed more to the conversation. “Spent half the time doing laps, and the other half on my phone.” Your lips quirk up with the feeble joke.

Harry chuckles weakly. “That’s just how it is, sometimes.”

Your eyes flutter shut for only a moment. “Yeah.”

More silence. Harry chews nervously on his bottom lip. Why the fuck can’t he speak?

The song playing from his phone changes. Your eyes narrow ever-so-slightly when a few upbeat notes trickle into the air, followed immediately by the smooth crooning of a woman’s voice. “Is this…,” you hesitate, and he can see how you’re fighting a smile, “…Carly Rae Jepsen?”

“Uh,” he says dumbly, uncertain of how to proceed. Sure enough, I Really Like You by Carly Rae Jepsen is filtering through the taut atmosphere, painfully loud now that the two of you are truly paying attention to it.

A high-pitched laugh falls from your mouth, and your shoulders shake with the force of your amusement. Harry, unable to help himself, begins to chuckle along with you. Heat blooms across his cheeks, but he’s not as embarrassed as he thought he’d be. Your giggles aren’t derisive, he realises.

He’s nearly overcome with the urge to take you in his arms, then, but he resists.

“Late night, watching the television…,” you sing quietly, and then you’re dissolving into merriment all over again.

Once your joint laughter subsides, you shoot him a bright grin. Harry tries his best to return it, though he doesn’t think that he mirrors your smile to its full extent. You sigh in delight, shouldering the strap of your bag and tossing your towel over your forearm.

“That honestly made my night,” you tell him, utterly sincere.

His heart somersaults in his chest. “’M glad.”

“Well,” you say, shrugging gently, “I should probably go.”

“Yeah.” His response is hollow. He lifts his hand in a half-hearted wave. “Have a good night.”

“You too.”

He lies back down with a grunt as you make your way toward the exit. His fingers wrap around the weightlifting bar, about to pull it off of its resting place, when your voice suddenly rings out again.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?” He sits up too quickly, nearly catching his forehead against the metal of the bar. When he turns around to face you, he finds you doubling back, approaching him and nibbling apprehensively on your bottom lip.

“I actually—,” you pause, like you’re unsure of how to continue, “I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

“Sure,” he says, rubbing his hands over the black shorts covering his thighs. “Go ahead.”

“It might be kind of weird,” you warn. “Don’t laugh at me.”

He shakes his head, blinking solemnly. “I won’t.”

“Would you—,” you begin, and your fingers come up to play with the pendant resting at the base of your throat, “—teach me how to box?”

“I—,” Harry recoils slightly, taken aback by your question. “What?”

“Would you teach me how to box?” you repeat, though your voice is significantly smaller. “I want to learn how to defend myself.”

“Against what?” he asks, his brows knitting together in concern. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine.” You wave away his worries with an inattentive flick of your hand. Harry’s eyes narrow as he studies your face. You refuse to meet his gaze.

You’re lying, he realises, straight through your pretty teeth. But it would be impolite of him to pry, wouldn’t it? And this is the first time that the two of you have ever been really, truly alone; he doesn’t want to fuck it up.

“Okay,” he says slowly, even though he doesn’t believe your guarantee.

He pulls at the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it up and wiping his face with the fabric. When he fixes his gaze on you once more, he thinks he catches your eyes drifting across his torso. Cocking one eyebrow curiously, he climbs to his feet.

“What do you want to learn?” he asks, reaching for his phone and pausing the music streaming from the device.

“Anything,” you say breathlessly. “Everything.”

His lips twitch.

“I—,” he scratches at his nose with two fingers, “—I don’t really have a set schedule, you know, between practice and actual matches.”

“I know.” You nod understandingly.

“And I know you have school,” he continues, tilting his head to the side. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Positive,” you tell him. There’s something strong burning in your eyes; he can’t quite figure out what it is. “I want to train. Just…don’t tell my dad, okay?”

“Okay,” he repeats. He swallows heavily, offering his phone to you. “Put your number in, yeah? I’ll text you on the nights I’m free, and if you’re not too busy, we can meet up here.”

“Alright,” you concede softly. You take the device from him, and he pretends not to notice just how badly your hands are shaking. Your nails tap quietly against the screen, and before you know it, you’re passing the phone back to him with your information saved under a new contact.

“Alright,” Harry echoes.

The two of you stare at each other for a long, silent moment. The spell is broken, however, when you finally take a step back, clearing your throat and tucking a strand of damp hair behind your ear.

“I should go,” you say. “For real, this time.”

“For real.” Harry nods.

“You’ll lock up, right?” you ask, retreating toward the exit.

“Yup,” he says, popping the last letter instinctively. At that, you smile, your mouth curling up into a soft, inviting crescent.

“Okay,” you murmur, placing one hand on the door. “Goodnight, Harry.”

He watches you go with forlorn eyes and empty lungs. “Goodnight.”

~*~

PART II: Cross

PART III: Hook

PART IV: Uppercut

if you’re enjoying this series so far, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

#harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry writing #boxrry #alrighttttttt here she is! hope u guys enjoy <3

3K notes · View notes

songbirdstyles · 4 years

Text

good vibrations.

summary: it’s a bit more difficult than you’d expected to maintain a relationship with your professor, but you and harry try your best, anyway. (sequel to when i kissed the teacher)

pairing: professor!harry styles x reader

warnings: smut, angst & fluff! m + f receiving oral, facesitting, 69ing. gross frat boys :-(

word count: 14.3k

song inspo.: good vibrations - the beach boys

The first thing you feel when you wake up is a slight jolt of panic.

Your eyes open slowly, staring at the ceiling above you, and that - in itself - is normal. But there’s something heavy wrapped around your waist and a soft aroma of men’s cologne and that’s when confusion settles into your bones.

It lasts a few mere seconds but it’s enough to make you sit up, leaning back against the headboard and rubbing your fists into your eyes. Harry’s arm, firm around your torso just seconds before, drops to your lap, and your eyes follow the path down his arm and to the rest of him. Perhaps it’s strange, gazing at him as he sleeps, unaware of your gaze, but it’s hard to help yourself.

His hair is messy, curls sticking up everywhere, and his face is buried into the pillow your head had just been on. He’s also naked, the duvet falling to just above his bum, and as your eyes trail down the expanse of his bare back, taking particular note of the light pink scratches adorning the top, that’s when the night prior finally comes back to you. Being eaten out against the wall, a playlist made of pure love, his hands on your face as he promises this isn’t a one time thing.

Your professor, fucking you so hard that there’s still a slight ache between your thighs.

You exhale, dropping your head back against the headboard. The thought overwhelms you, momentarily, but you don’t have too much time to dwell on it before you feel Harry stirring besides you, his arm leaving your lap as he rolls over onto his back. His eyes open slowly, squinting as he adjusts to the sunlight streaming through the window, and then he looks at you and the smile that upturns his lips could make you tear up.

“G’morning, baby,” Harry murmurs, voice throaty and quiet. “Hope you had a nice sleep.”

You grin as you watch him slowly sit up, stretching his arms above his head. “It was alright,” you tell him, pausing to yawn. “Your bed is much more comfortable than the one in my dorm.”

“I’m sure.” You scoot forward, and just as Harry turns his head to look at you you lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. They’re dry and you’re sure yours are too - it’s not as though you’d been concerned with putting on lip balm the night before - but it’s perfect, made even better as he presses his hand to your back, pulling your body closer into his, running his tongue along your bottom lip.

A soft moan falls from your lips and he pulls back, nails running along the back of your neck and sending a shiver down your spine. “So needy. S’only 8 in the morning, too.”

You push yourself to your knees and sink into his lap, feeling his hard on against your thigh that proves he’s just as needy as you are, even at 8 in the morning. “Can’t help it,” you mutter, leaning in to press your lips to the underside of his jaw. His head drops back, giving you more room to work as his hand creeps up from where it had landed on your hip to your chest, kneading your right breast in his hand while you work at suckling a hickey into his soft skin. When his fingers tweak at your nipple you pull your mouth away to moan and examine the mark you’d made, brushing your thumb over it lightly. You hadn’t gotten the chance to mark him up last night, save for the scratches that decorated his back, but you’re more than happy to make up for any lost time now. “I miss you, professor. Everything about you. It’s been too long.”

He chuckles, trailing his other hand down to run a finger through your folds, collecting your wetness at the tip of his finger and focusing it on your clit. He presses down and then rubs a slow circle into the sensitive nub, smirking as you whimper at the sensation. “It has been too long. Nearly 10 hours, can’t imagine how you - fuck.”

Your hand had snaked down, wrapping around his member and swiping your thumb over the tip of him. Harry leans in, pressing his lips to your neck, teeth grazing against your skin as you slowly jerk him off, pumping your hand up and down his cock. You think - or you hope - that you can give of some sort of facade of being experienced at this, of knowing exactly what you’re doing, because you truthfully have no idea. You’d never given anyone a handjob but Harry’s finger, rubbing your clit slowly, stutters as he breathes out a groan, and you hope that means you’re doing a good job.

Two of his fingers slip inside your cunt entirely too easily, and you whine at the feeling. Harry curls his fingers upwards, brushing against the sweet spot that has your eyes rolling back into your head. You’re both too worked up for any type of foreplay, you can tell, and so you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his face into yours. Your lips connect, teeth clashing against each other, and when he pulls his fingers out of you, resting both hands on the globes of your ass, you reach down and replace your grasp on his cock, lining it up with your positively dripping entrance before sinking onto him fully.

The burn is a lot less prominent than it had been yesterday but you still hesitate - Harry groans lowly and you exhale, waiting for the ache to morph fully into pleasure before lifting your hips and sinking back down onto him. You swear you can feel traces of him in every crevice of your body, feeling so impossibly full and yet so desperate for more. His hands grip your bum, helping you lift yourself up and down, shaky grunts and moans escaping his mouth whenever you roll your hips just right against his.

It’s slower and less intimidating than it had been the night prior, his hips lazily bucking up into yours, now that you’re not so worried about being able to fit him inside of you. And the noises Harry makes spur you on - throaty cries nearly louder than yours - as you drag your hand down your stomach and rub circles into your clit, slow and gentle, because you know you’re not going to need much to send you over the edge.

“So fucking tight around me,” Harry breathes, teeth nibbling at your bottom lip as his palms smooth over your ass. “Fuck, baby, clench around m’cock, yeah, feels so fuckin’ good -”

Your fingers press harder on your clit and you can already feel your orgasm creeping up on you, and when you rock your hips into Harry’s, feeling his cock brush against your G spot, you toss your head back with a desperate cry, cunt fluttering around him as pleasure rips through your body in waves. Eyes roll back into your head and your nails dig into the back of his neck, pulling his head in to kiss you senseless. With one final grunt and a moan of your name, Harry bucks his hips up, pressing himself as deep inside of you as he can get. The feeling of his cum, shot inside your throbbing pussy, shouldn’t feel so spectacular but God it does and you whine at the feeling, bringing both of your hands up to the back of his head and wrapping your fingers in his curls as you roll your hips back and forth halfheartedly. Merely trying to ride him through his orgasm, and finally Harry presses both of his sweaty palms to your face and pulls you in to kiss him again.

You could kiss him all day. You’ve kissed significantly more people than you’ve fucked (which amounts to a grand total of 2) and you’ve never enjoyed it with anyone as much as you love it with him. Harry makes it interesting, you reckon, hands always going in different spots and making different noises and you could, truly, do it all day.

For a moment the two of you sit there after you’ve pulled your heads away, Harry’s arms wrapped around your back and holding your body to his in a rather intimate hug. Your nails scratch at his scalp, pressing your chin into his shoulder as his fingers trace patterns - tell stories - on the soft skin of your back. Yes, you could stay here forever and be quite happy about it but just as the thought resides in your mind your stomach growls in defiance and Harry laughs at the noise.

“Don’t laugh,” you tell him, voice faux angry as you pull back from him with a smile. “Didn’t have anything to eat last night.”

“Really?” He raises an eyebrow and you nod. “So what did you do before I picked you up?”

Your cheeks heat as you struggle to find your voice to respond, clearing your throat before saying, “Keeping m’self busy, I guess. Now can we please make breakfast?”

Twenty minutes later you’re seated at Harry’s kitchen table, collecting forkfuls of cheesy eggs on your fork and shoveling them into your mouth to appease your overtly ravenous appetite, listening intently to the music coming from Harry’s phone in the kitchen. It’s a song you recognize from the playlist he’d curated the day prior - Happy Together by the Turtles - and you can’t help the smile from bleeding across your face at the sound.

Besides that, though, and the sounds of your forks scraping your plates, the two of you sit in silence for a moment. Beneath the table your feet knock into his - you’d begun swinging your feet out of slight nervousness but it’s grown into the need to see the small smirk that decorates his lips everytime you kick him gently.

When the song changes from The Turtles to And I Love Her by the Beatles, you glance up at him again and then rest your fork on your plate. “Y’know, this is a really nice playlist.”

Harry looks up at you, brows furrowed, and then smiles, and the sight of his dimples makes your heart just about melt. “Well, thank you, baby. Put a lot of effort into it.”

Part of you wants to say it only took you ten minutes but you just nod and tell him, “But I think you might’ve added too many Beatles songs.”

“There’s no such thing,” he says, and you raise your eyebrows. “S’not my fault they’ve written some of the greatest love songs of all time.”

You snort, then, leaning back in his (oddly comfortable, considering the quality of that in his office) kitchen chair. “Sexy Sadie is not one of the greatest love songs of all time.”

He pauses at that, forkful of eggs hanging barely an inch from his mouth. “Well, maybe not that song, but -”

“10 Beatles songs out of 45 is rather excessive.” You giggle as he stands abruptly, marching into the kitchen and returning seconds later, phone in hand, still blaring the Beatles as if in defiance. “What’re you doing now?”

Harry sits back down, scrolling through his phone. You stand up, moving around the table until you’re beside him, and you bend down to look at what he’s doing.

“What song d’you think should replace Sexy Sadie, baby?” Harry asks you, turning his head to where yours is a mere few inches from his. “Since you don’t seem to think that one is very romantic.”

You roll your eyes. “You’d be hard pressed to find a single person who considers that song to be the height of love, professor.”

“Yeah, right.” Briefly Harry rests his phone flat on the table and pushes his chair back, patting his thighs, and you try not to look too pleased as you wiggle into his lap. With his arm firm around your waist and his chin on your shoulder you pick his phone back up, scrolling through Spotify.

“I don’t think you have Good Vibrations on that love playlist, Harry,” you decide. Just to confirm your suspicion you go back into the playlist, scrolling through all 45 songs and - as you’d thought - the lack of Good Vibrations is odd to you. “And that, professor, may just be the best love song of all time.”

He hums as you add the song to the playlist. “Better than Somebody to Love?”

You shrug, sticking out your bottom lip as you flick through Spotify. “That song just makes me sad, sometimes. And you don’t even have that, either.”

“I definitely do!”

“Nope,” you tell him, turning your head to the side to examine his all-too confused expression. “But you do have Get Down, Make Love, which says quite a bit about you.”

Harry groans, and you laugh, and for a moment that’s all that happens - and then the moment breaks, and he reaches out to take his phone from your grasp, and you shift in his lap to look at him with a soft smile.

Whatever banter you’d been having before slowly dissipates, and you clear your throat. “D’you think we should talk about this?”

His hand drops to your hip, squeezing it through the pink button up shirt he’d worn yesterday that you’d snatched from the bedroom floor. “Don’t really think there’s much to talk about,” he says, but you know that isn’t necessarily true.

Truthfully, the last 12 hours have perhaps been the greatest of your life and even if he told you it wasn’t a one time thing - well, he’d just cum inside you and you need to make sure it wasn’t his way of keeping you for the night. And you couldn’t bring yourself to think Harry’s like that at all - the opposite, truly, the greatest man you’ve ever met. But you need to make sure, to ease your mind.

“Um - I guess -” you struggle for the words, suddenly feeling embarrassed for bringing it up, and Harry’s hand flies up to your cheek, cradling it, and the gentle action has you relaxing almost immediately. “I know you said this wasn’t a - one time thing, or whatever -”

“And it isn’t,” he interrupts, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Not for me.”

“Okay,” you breathe, the turmoil your stomach had been going through calming slightly. “But there’s still other things - you’re still my professor. Seems like kind of a big thing.”

Harry pauses for a moment, and you adjust yourself in his lap again - you can feel the beginning of a boner against your ass but you figure you’ll deal with that later. Then Harry drops his hand from your cheek to the small of your back, massaging soft circles through his shirt, and says, “I want you to know that I’ve never slept with a student before. Never even thought about it.”

You nod, and you know it’s true. You’ve heard girls in class talking about it - how he’s refused his students’ advances and reported them for it, and any rumour of him hooking up with a student was immediately squashed by everyone in the surrounding area. He’s a prude. He’s probably into, like, old ladies, or dudes, or something, because there’s no way he can be a regular guy and not have fucked one of us already.

It made you roll your eyes to listen to, but it did cement in the fact that Harry wasn’t one of the few teachers at university who would willingly hop into bed with any student who asked politely.

“But I like you - a lot.” His hand pauses on your back as he draws his bottom lip between his teeth, gnawing gently. “If you weren’t my student, things would be perfect.”

Part of you hates the word choice, that things are so imperfect now, but you know it’s true. Know that, even if you simply weren’t in his class, everything would be so much easier.

You nod. “I like you a lot, too.” And then you stop and think before adding, “I think as long as we don’t do anything on campus it’s fine.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, leaning in to press a kiss to your nose. It’s as though the two of you can’t live for more than a minute without showing some sort of affection towards each other, and perhaps that should make you concerned but you love it. “We’ll keep everything here. No funny business in m’office or anything like that.”

That resolution lasts roughly a week.

You go to his office after class even though you’ve run out of things to grade, and you work on homework and he helps you study and the most action either of you get is small kisses over his desk. It’s a struggle to pull away from him, but the worry that both of you feel about someone walking in is enough to keep you in your seats.

Though, for the most part, his office hours remain empty. A few stragglers come in, a mix of students who genuinely need help and girls who you can tell hate that you’re in there during their seduction attempts. And Harry plays music, of course, turning it down to the lowest volume on the rare occasions that students come in.

At the end of the day, you walk out to his car together and Harry either drives you home or to his apartment - depends what you’re feeling that day - and in the morning he either picks you up or takes you from his apartment to your first class and it’s a nearly perfect arrangement.

You’ve forgotten, though, about your decision to remain innocent on campus. It’s what you’d expected to happen at some point, with your absolute desperation for each other, but it still manages to slightly shock you as you glance up at him from your spot on your knees. Your hand works at his dick, watching the way he drops his head back against the wall, grasping the cushions of the couch in his fingers.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice cracking on the c, though you can’t quite hear it over Waterloo by ABBA playing just a bit too loudly in his small office. You’d made sure to crank the volume up a bit more than usual in case he let out any too-loud noises, and it looked like he was on his way to doing just that as a grunt escapes from between his gritted teeth. “Fuck, baby -”

(You’ve never given a blowjob before but it seems easy enough, though your stomach turns pathetically as you lean in and lick a thin stripe up the underside of his cock, tracing a purple vein. He seems to like that and you pray he can’t tell you’re an absolute amateur at this all.)

Your thumb swipes over the tip of his cock, which you know he likes, and the moan that’s still barely audible beneath the music proves it. You make sure to keep your eyes on Harry, monitoring his every reaction as you lean in, wrapping your lips around the tip of his length and sliding as much of him as you can down your throat.

That’s good. Harry’s hand goes to the back of your head, wrapping his fingers in the strands of your hair and tugging, groaning near violently, his breathing laboured. “Jesus Christ.”

Your hand drops to the base of his cock, pumping what you can’t fit in your mouth which - admittedly - is just barely less than half. You swirl your tongue around the tip of his cock before pulling your mouth off of him, a string of saliva still connecting your lips and his member.

“Feel good, professor?” you ask, sticking your bottom lip out, but you know very well it does - Harry’s hand goes down to your lips, wiping your spit off of your skin, before leaning back again. “Sure looks it.”

“Keep going, m’girl.”

The thought of being his girl brings a slight smile to your lips, and you could bask in the words for the rest of the day but instead you lean in, bracing both of your hands on his thighs through his nice dress bands, wrinkling beneath your fingers. And now - you really don’t know what to do, besides exactly what you’d done before - but you wrap your lips around him again, lowering your head to take more of him than before, and then you hollow your cheeks (which you’d seen in porn) and swallow around him (which you’d also seen in porn.)

It has the desired effect, seemingly, as Harry yelps, fingers tightening in your hair tight enough that you can begin to feel strands disconnecting from your scalp but oddly enough, you sort of like it. His grip loosens near immediately, scratching your head with the tips of his fingers in some sort of silent apology. Harry certainly seems to like that so you do it again, gathering saliva in the back of your throat and swallowing again, and he moans, the noise cutting through the music (which had turned to Oh, Pretty Woman), and if there happened to be anyone outside they would hear it louder than anything else.

It doesn’t make either of you stop. You pull off of him, sucking in a desperate breath as you pump him in your hand again before going back in, working your mouth up and down his length, relishing in the soft noises that escaped him with every one of your movements.

“God, baby, taking me so well,” Harry mutters, brushing a stray curl off your face. As your tongue flicks over his tip again his hips buck up into your mouth of their own accord - you gag around him and he breathes out a quiet apology but you can tell he’s almost there, and finally he groans, “Gonna cum - fuck - m’gonna cum -”

Perhaps it was a warning so you would pull your mouth off of him, revert to jerking him off, but you may as well finish your first blowjob off with a bang, so you take nearly all of his member into your mouth and suck. You barely get a few seconds before you can feel the ribbons of warm cum shooting into the back of your throat, and when Harry’s moans quiet down into heavy pants you pull off of him. His cum in your mouth doesn’t taste particularly fabulous but you swallow it anyway - it’s not horrible, truthfully. And the way his eyes darken as he watches you makes the slightly unpleasant taste ten times better, anyway.

“C’mere,” Harry tells you, and you rise from your knees to stand between his legs, looking down at him as he tucks himself back into his dress pants. When he buttons them he looks almost normal, not like his dick was down your throat a minute before - but you can tell, looking into his eyes, the effect you’d had on him. “Christ, you’re good at that.”

You hum, bending down to press a kiss to his lips. “Funny how fast you dropped the whole not doing anything on campus act, professor.”

Harry rolls his eyes, rising from his spot sunk into the couch. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

(But it does, of course.)

(Again and again.)

You throw your body across the couch in Harry’s office as soon as you shut the door, dropping your bag to the ground. You pretend not to notice the slightly amused glance your professor gives you - he’s marking up someone’s essay though he’d only assigned them a few days before and you had hardly even looked at the rubric for it. There’s only a few that have been handed in and when you offered, the day prior, to help him grading, he told you he didn’t need it. And you didn’t press it any further, naturally.

Well, you didn’t mind not grading. It was tedious and boring, and you’d only slightly enjoyed it before because you got to spend time with Harry. And you don’t exactly need an excuse, anymore. You can do what you want with him, now, like lying on his couch and kicking your Vans off onto his plush blue rug. There’s already music pulsing through his office, though not a song you recognize from being on the playlist he’d made for you - Strangers by The Kinks.

“Feel free to make yourself at home,” Harry tells you, voice positively dripping in sarcasm, and you roll your eyes with a small smile.

Your phone is buzzing in your pocket and you pick it up, glancing at the text that came in - from Kaitlyn, your best friend, and you scan the what’s up?? that she’d sent you before tossing your phone onto the couch besides you. You’ll answer her later, maybe call her. Thinking of it, you hadn’t talked to her in a bit, but - you’ll call her later, yeah. Catch up.

“Figure I’m going to be here a while, professor. I’ve got an essay for my creative writing class due on -” you pause to think - “Friday and I’ve barely done the draft.”

He furrows his eyebrows as he looks at you, and you don’t even have to glance up at him to feel the slight air of disappointing wafting towards you. “Baby.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s Wednesday. You’ve got an essay due Friday and you haven’t started?”

You shrug, feeling heat flock to your cheeks as you bend to reach into your bag, tugging out your laptop that you, really, only use for essays. “I have started, but I’ve been a bit distracted, I guess.” The only thing you’ve been distracted by is him, truthfully, and he knows it.

For a moment there’s silence filling the air between you, only disturbed by the sounds of your fingers moving over your keyboard. You’ve suddenly felt quite inspired to get a move on with your essay, oddly, and you think that Harry may be the perfect cure to your procrastination habits.

“D’you want my help?” Harry asks, his voice oddly gentle. He’s never necessarily helped you with any homework before though he always asks if you need it, and usually you’d tell him you’re fine but - well, his feedback would be appreciated since you, admittedly, don’t have too much time before this dumb paper is due, so you nod quickly.

Then Harry stands from his spinning chair, letting it roll into the wall behind him and dropping his red pen on top of the essay he’d been grading. You barely have time to look up at him, straining his neck to look at what you have so far for your essay, and you roll your eyes playfully before turning the screen so he can read it.

His eyes move fast as he reads what you have so far, which isn’t enough for how long it takes him to examine your work. You take the time to admire him, the way he pokes his tongue out every so often to wet his lips (which, you’ve noticed, he seems to prefer over wearing lip balm) and the way his eyebrows furrow when he reads certain lines. Harry’s fingers drum against your computer, following the rhythm of the music, and after a minute he leans back on his heels and pushes your laptop away from him, fingers brushing against the soft skin of your stomach from where your shirt has ever-so-slightly ridden up.

You wait a moment for him to speak, and then ask, “Was it horrible? You look like it was horrible.”

Harry shakes his head, curls flopping back and forth (you’re reminded of the beginning of the year, when he used to gel his hair back, though it had grown quite a bit since that point, and you’re not sure gel could have its desired effect on his locks.) “It’s not horrible at all. It’s quite good, actually. Sometimes your sentence structure is a bit wonky, like -” he leans in, tugging your laptop back into his view, fingers dancing across your skin again in a way that you know isn’t accidental, and then he highlights a line smack in the middle of your draft - “here, and a few other spots. But it’s good.” You must do a poor job at concealing the relief on your face, because Harry glances at you and chuckles. “Don’t look so surprised. You’re a great writer. Best that’s ever come into my class, and I’m sure your creative writing professor agrees.”

You shake your head, turning your computer back around so it’s facing you. “I don’t think Professor Capone likes my writing too much. I’m barely scraping an A in her class, but maybe she’s just a tough grader.”

“Reckon she’s just a tough grader. I’ve heard that before.” Harry nods thoughtfully and you can’t help but giggle at the suddenly serious expression that takes over his face, as though whether Capone is a tough grader is akin to the meaning of life. His brows furrow and he glances down at you with a bemused smile. “What’re you laughing at?”

“M’not sure, really,” you tell him, grin spreading across your face. He watches you for a second and then leans down, lips hovering barely a centimeter above yours, and you let your lips touch for just a moment before pushing him away. “Now, c’mon professor, what happened to we shouldn’t do anything in the classroom?” The fact that you two had done just about everything but having truly fucked in this office goes unmentioned, of course.

His response is interrupted by the door opening slowly behind him - your eyes widen and he stands immediately, clearing his throat and backing up so he’s leaning against his desk, cheeks flushed red.

In the doorway is a girl you recognize from your class - Hannah Joseph, you think, and you also believe you’d graded her essay. You give her a small smile and she looks down at you, lying on the professor’s couch with your shoes off, with an air of distinct confusion.

“Miss Joseph.” Harry clears his throat, drumming his fingers against his desk. “What can I do for you, today?”

She pauses, glancing between the two of you with furrowed brows, and you bury yourself back into your essay. Everything about this situation feels wrong and you hate it, hate the energy flowing beside Born to Run by Bruce Springsteen. “Um - sorry if I’ve interrupted something.”

You squeeze your eyes shut at Hannah’s words - she can’t possibly know what the two of you had been doing but you still feel like she does, like she’d been watching you two. If Harry is as nervous as you are about the entire situation he certainly doesn’t show it, just grins at her and says, “Not interrupting anything! Just helping Y/N with her essay, here.”

It isn’t convincing and you can tell Hannah agrees, but she merely shakes her head and makes her way to the desk - Harry walks to the other side and plops in his chair and she takes a seat in the entirely uncomfortable one that you’d opted out of.

She has a question about the essay he’d assigned, naturally. There’s not quite any other reason she should be here but it doesn’t stop your worries. What if she told people she’d seen something suspicious in Professor Styles’ office when she went during his office hours?

You two had been stupid. He was right, you shouldn’t do anything in his office. It’s stupid.

By the time you’ve completed the second to last paragraph of your rough draft Hannah is pushing her chair back, bidding farewell to Harry and giving you a small wave as she leaves - you call goodbye as cheerfully as you can manage as she shuts the door firmly behind her, the noise reverberating through the small room.

There’s silence, at first.

And then Harry sighs, dropping his head into his hands, and you push yourself to sit up, your laptop shutting of its own accord. “Fuck.”

You swallow, glancing down at the light grey fabric of your sweatpants and pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. “Yeah. Fuck.”

Born to Run changes into Livin’ Thing by ELO and you’re not sure of what to say, until finally Harry rests his chin on his palms and says, “We can’t take risks anymore, I think. That was really close.” Then he pauses and adds, “Even having you in my office for so long is suspicious. Maybe - maybe we shouldn’t, anymore.”

You nod. Not going to his office every day will certainly be a change, you suppose, even if it’s for the best. You love every moment you spend with him in the cramped office space. And though you know you’ll hate to not be able to kiss him in his office or anything of the sort you know it’s best - the absolute worst thing that could happen is someone walking in while you and Harry are truly in a compromising situation. “Yeah. We can just keep it at your apartment. Nothing wrong with that, now, is there?”

Harry gives a tight lipped grin and then hesitates. “Maybe it’s better too. I feel bad, sometimes. We spend so much time together - feel like I’m taking away your college experience.”

You furrow your eyebrows, leaning forward to rest your chin against the edge of his desk. “My college experience?”

“Y’know - partying and stuff. That’s most people’s favourite parts of college.”

You pause. You’d been to a few parties during the year but they’d never appealed to you much, and truthfully, you’d rather spend your time holed up in Harry’s office. “I’d rather be able to remember my college experience. I’m not quite a fan of parties. Much prefer this place.”

He sends you a small smile but you can tell something’s shifted in the room, and you give it a few more minutes of silence - besides the music - before sliding your laptop into your bag and standing up. You swing your bag over your shoulder and glance at him. “I’m gonna head back to my dorm, alright? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Harry looks up at you and nods, running a hand through his messy curls. “I’ll see you tomorrow, baby. Text me when you get to your dorm, okay?”

“Alright,” you tell him, and then you give him one final smile and you’re gone.

“How do Borachio and Don John decide to disrupt Hero and Claudio’s marriage?”

You pause, sipping thoughtfully on your spoonful of soup. Harry leans against the kitchen counter, watching as you think. “Borachio will convince Maragret to dress up in Hero’s clothes and then Borachio will fuck her on the balcony so Claudio will see.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, nodding subtly and scrolling through his phone for another brief moment. “And what becomes of Hero when Don John sets her up?”

“She dies.”

He nods again and then slides his phone into the pocket of his pajama pants, taking a step forward to where you’re seated on the counter. “You didn’t get a single question wrong, you know.”

You shrug, fighting off the smile that wants to appear on your lips. “Well, I’ve read it a lot, professor. Know that play inside and out, really.”

“Ah.” You open your legs so Harry can slot his body between them, resting his hands on your hips through the oversized sweater you’d bought from the thrift store years ago. “So why’d you want to come over, then? Clearly wasn’t to study, now was it.”

It’s not a question, but you still tilt your head thoughtfully to the side as if in deep thought. Truthfully, it had been a few days since the two of you abolished your time together in his office and it had drastically reduced the time you spent with him. He’s invited you over every night he got home early enough but to go from every day for hours to one or two on certain days is a change you don’t particularly enjoy, even if it’s necessary.

Hence, begging him to help you study. But you still shrug and say, “no, it was. No better person to help me study than my professor.”

“Mhm,” Harry twirls your hair around his finger, then pulls back, pressing his lips briefly to your forehead. “You know you don’t need an excuse to come over.”

You feign offense, sticking out your bottom lip. “Wasn’t an excuse to -”

“I’m not saying it was,” he grins and you cross your arms, smiling softly. “But I just want you to know. You can come here whenever. M’always happy to have you here.”

Internally, your heart melts - but before you can respond you can hear the telltale noise of your phone ringing from where you’d tossed it on the couch earlier when you’d arrived. You groan, dropping your head back against the cabinet before pushing yourself off the counter, padding into the living room. Marie sits, curled up on top of the couch, and you brush your fingers down her back as you glance at whoever’s calling you.

It’s Kaitlyn, and you wince - you’d told yourself you would call her nearly ten times this week but you’d gotten too distracted. By Harry, mainly, but also your essay and the rest of your schoolwork, and you’re tempted to ignore this one too in favor of your professor in the kitchen but instead you press accept and bring the phone to your ear.

“Hey, Kaity,” you say, and hearing her small hey on the other end brings a smile to your face. “What’s up?”

“Well, Dylan and I are going to dinner in like, an hour. D’you want to meet us there? I feel like we haven’t talked - all three of us - in forever.”

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth, thinking for a moment. You’d barely been at Harry’s for half an hour but you haven’t seen - or even talked to - your friends in weeks. So you clear your throat and brighten your voice and say, “Sure!”

You can see Harry poke his head out of the kitchen, raising his eyebrows at you, and you bite back a laugh at the site. On the other end, Kaitlyn says, “Cool. See you there, then, and don’t be late, please -” and you say, “Got it,” before hanging up and dropping your phone against the couch.

“Who was that?” Harry asks as you return to the kitchen, his arms wrapping around your smaller frame as he tugs his body to yours.

“My friend, Kaitlyn. I don’t think you know her - she’s a chemistry major.” You wrap your arm around his neck, letting him embrace you before saying, muffled against where your face is buried in his neck, “I’m gonna have to head out soon. Promised I’d meet them at dinner in an hour, and it’s not too short a walk to the cafeteria. But I’ll probably come over after dinner, if that’s okay.”

Harry nods, and when he speaks again you can hear the teasing lilt in his voice. “M’glad you’re going to see your friends,” he tells you, and you smile. “But if you’re gonna leave soon … I guess we better make the most of our time, right?” And you don’t respond before crashing your lips to his.

“I have a question.”

You glance up at your friends, chewing slowly on your bite of noodles. It’s the first time you’ve seen them in - admittedly - a while, nearly three weeks. And it’s a drastic difference when you and them had spent nearly every waking minute together before you’d started seeing Harry, but you didn’t think they’d even notice. After all, Kaitlyn and Dylan had started dating recently, too, and you figured you would give them time off from your third-wheeling.

Well - no, you didn’t figure that. They never gave you an indication that they were bothered by your being there with them, but it was a better excuse than I’ve been fucking my professor, and I haven’t really been thinking of much besides that.

“Yeah?” you tilt your head at Dylan, grabbing your lemonade from the table and taking a sip.

Kaitlyn drops her fork from where she’s been picking at her salad, and then asks, “Well - we’ve kind of been wondering where you’ve been. We haven’t seen you in so long and your roommate said you’re barely there anymore, anyway.”

You raise your eyebrows, squinting at the pair of them in front of you. “You asked my roommate?”

“Well, yeah.” Dylan glances at Kaitlyn and then back at you, and this is beginning to feel like a bit of an intervention. “We didn’t know if you were just mad at us or something.”

“S’not like she’s at our room much, anyway. Always at her boyfriend’s. Nick’s, I think.” You twist more noodles around your fork, making sure to lather them in the slightly-chunky but still edible pasta sauce that the cafeteria had made for today. “I’ve been at my room loads.”

It’s not necessarily the truth but you wouldn’t call it a lie, either. Since you’d stopped going to Harry’s office you’d been spending more time at your room and your roommate had been there more, too - it was curious, since she never used to spend any time there, and you’d started to get to know her a bit, too.

“Her and Nick broke up,” Kaitlyn says, leaning in and taking a bite of her salad. “But - I don’t know. It’s weird. I mean, all of a sudden we never heard from you.” You don’t respond, staring down at your noodles, and she leans closer towards you, “But then - um.”

You glance up. “What?”

“Well - Hannah Joseph said you’ve been spending a lot of time with Professor Styles,” Dylan reveals, drumming his fingers against the lunch table. Your heart drops at his words and you rest your fork against your plate, the utensil still wrapped in noodles. “And there’ve been a lot of rumours.”

With every single word this entire conversation keeps getting worse, and you take in a gulp of lemonade to try and distract yourself. When you’ve swallowed you look up and try to feign disinterest. “What kind of rumours?” you ask, and you’re not quite sure whether your nonchalant facade towards the entire situation is working.

Dylan leans back in his chair, making eye contact with Kaitlyn again - you hate when they do that, especially right now. You feel like they’re having some sort of conversation you’re not allowed to know, that they’re keeping secrets from you and you’re not supposed to do that. They’re your best friends.

(But you’re keeping the biggest secret of all, and you know you’ll never tell them.)

After a moment, Dylan finally says, “Well, when Hannah was telling us about you being in Professor Styles’ office all the time, Alana Williams told us that she walked in on you guys in his office, like, two weeks ago. And you were really flustered and left, like, the second she came in, and he was really awkward about it the entire time.”

Fuck. You’d forgotten about Alana, walking in on you two immediately after you’d kissed for the first time. You know the answer you’re going to get, but you furrow your brows and ask again, “But what was the rumour, then?”

“That you’re sleeping with him.”

Yeah, you expected that. And it’s not like it’s wrong but hearing the words from Kaitlyn’s lips make you feel embarrassed and all of a sudden you want to run out of the cafeteria screaming, run to your dorm and never talk to anyone again. Because if Hannah and Alana told Kaitlyn and Dylan about you being in his office all the time, who else did they tell?

You breathe out a laugh, hoping to God that you sound amused by the entire thing and not absolutely terrified. There’s no foreseeable way you can salvage this and you can’t think of any sort of excuse for your weeks-long absence from your friends because they already mentioned the truth and you can’t tell them that. They’re your best friends and you should tell them the truth, the way they’ve always told you the truth about everything, but there’s no way you can do that now.

You cross your arms over your chest, eyes peeking left and right as though you’ll catch someone watching you, wondering if you really are sleeping with your professor. As if you’ll yell it out. “That’s stupid,” you tell them, and the way their shoulders ever so slightly drop in relief makes you want to scream. “I’m not sleeping with Professor Styles. I’ve just been busy. Overloaded with schoolwork, right now.”

It’s impossible to tell if they believe it, but you roll your eyes and continue anyway. “But I have missed you guys a lot, and I’m sorry for - um - ignoring you. That was fucked up.”

(In the back of your mind, you’re reminded of the way you’d told Harry you’d return to his apartment after dinner. You hadn’t promised but you’d never failed to go to his apartment when you’d said you would. There is a first time for everything, you suppose, so you give them a bright grin that you aren’t feeling at all and lean in. “Speaking of which, what can we do tonight? I’m all yours, I swear. Won’t even think about my assignments.”

The smiles that spread across their faces like wildfire makes you feel ever so guilty - guilty at the fact that, although you do miss them, your heart aches at the fact that you’re leaving Harry high and dry. Well, he’ll live, you know. Probably spend the night watching television with Marie, and you’ll see him tomorrow.

“I’m going to guess you don’t want to go a party, right?” Kaitlyn asks, a grin playing at her lips. They’ve tried to drag you to parties for so long and you hate them, hate everything about them, but -

Right now a party sounds perfect. Perfect to forget about how, apparently, everyone on campus thinks you’re fucking your professor and perfect to extinguish every one of those rumours. So to Dylan and Kaitlyn’s surprise and, truthfully, your own, you lean back in your chair with a bright grin. “I’d love to go to a party! Where’s it at?”

Within ten minutes of being at said party, you regret it quite a bit.

The dress Kaitlyn had picked out of your closet is two years old and certainly doesn’t fit correctly - you can’t remember buying it, honestly, and every couple of minutes you have to tug the top up to cover your tits. You don’t like the way guys are looking at you and more specifically down your shirt, and they look at Kaitlyn too - but perhaps she’s more used to it from going to frat parties more often, because it doesn’t seem to bother her nearly as much as it pisses you off.

Dylan brought you a drink immediately and you took one sip and hated it. You hate everything about being here but you paste a grin on your face, jumping into pictures with people you barely know, and you’re sure if there was ever someone who looked less like the type to sleep with their professor, it’s you right now.

Which is what you were going for. And, if you wanted to take it all the way, you would let one of these frat guys pin you up against the wall and kiss you until you’re breathless, but you can’t do that to Harry. Even if you’re not official - not truly together - the thought of your lips pressed against any that don’t belong to Harry is disgusting. You sent him a text while you were getting dressed, telling him something came up and i can’t come over:(( sorry and he didn’t seem to mind much, merely replying, Sounds good. See you soon. And now, as you stand in a cloud of marijauna, leaning against the wall and periodically pretending to drink from your cup, you realize you’d much rather be holed up in his apartment than here.

Dylan and Kaitlyn are having fun, though, dancing entirely too close on the dance floor. They did this at parties before they started dating, too, bodies pressed close to each other, and you always wondered why they never just came out and got together. The difference between then and now is that, before, Kaitlyn would always drag you out with them at some point, making sure you’re included.

You don’t reckon that’s going to happen now.

So you push yourself off the wall, clutching your phone and your cup in one hand and using the other to brush Dylan on the back as you push past them - you can hardly hear Kaitlyn calling, “Where’re you going?” as you make your way through a crowd of people. When you’ve finally found your way to the edges of the party you can spot an open door leading out to the deck, and you decide that’s where you want to be, so you push yourself through the door and to the violently bitter cold.

It’s a decision you almost regret but there’s so few people outside - two frat boys, one of them who you recognize from your creative writing class, and a girl sitting, half asleep, on the ground. In some odd way you feel like you fit in with the people out here, so you lean against the house and look at your phone again.

Harry hasn’t texted you again and you’re not sure why you thought he would - there wasn’t much to say on his behalf. In the back of your mind you’re entirely too aware that standing outside by yourself like a loner makes you look even more the part of girl-who-fucked-her-teacher but you can’t force yourself to be in there.

“Hey.”

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by a voice from next to you, and you look up to see the boy from your creative writing class, leaning on the wall beside you. His friend has gone, probably back inside, and the girl sitting on the ground looks completely gone now. It’s just you and him, this guy you’ve hardly spoken to ever, but you turn to face him anyway.

“Hey,” you say, voice coming out in a soft puff of air, white in the nighttime air. “S’Jacob, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Jacob nods, blonde hair flopping in front of his eyes, and it reminds you, in some sort of way, of the uncontrollable nature of Harry’s hair. “Aren’t you in my writing class or something?”

You nod, brushing your hair out of your face and glancing down at the cup in your hand. It’s still as full as when you got it, even with all the pretend sips you’d been taking. “Yeah, I am.”

Jacob’s head falls back against the house and says, “Knew I recognized a pretty face like yours.” You exhale, rolling your eyes, and he furrows his eyebrows. “What? M’serious. I’ve always thought you were quite cute.”

“Thanks, I suppose.” You look up at him with an amused smile. “You’re - um. You’re cute too,” which isn’t exactly a lie. He’s not horrible but perhaps being with Harry has skewed your perception of all guys in your year - they’ll never be as lovely as him.

“Well, thank you,” Jacob replies, and you’re not sure what to say now - just lift your drink to your mouth and pretend to take a drink of it. It seems like in the blink of an eye he’s moved closer to you - standing half beside you and half in front, and you pull your cup closer to your body. He’s barely half a foot away from you and his face is even closer, and he smells like cheap beer and mint gum.

You drop your head back against the wall, raising your eyebrows. “What’re you doing?” you ask, confusion and yet complete understanding dripping from your words.

Jacob shrugs, leaning in until his lips are entirely too close to your ear and you can feel his breath, warm against your skin and you can smell him even stronger, now. “Just relax, alright? S’okay.”

You can’t relax though, and all you can think about is how different and terrible this is compared to how amazing Harry makes you feel, and you shake your head vehemently. “Jacob, I’m sorry, alright? You’re really nice and all, but -”

“D’you have a boyfriend?” Jacob asks, then, pulling himself away from you.

“Not really,” you tell him, which is the truth. You and Harry aren’t - technically dating but you still couldn’t hook up with this frat boy if you tried. You’re as good as dating him and the thought of doing it to him makes you sick to your stomach. “But I’m just not interested.”

There’s a pause, then. Jacob takes a step back, looking at you with his brows furrowed and his face looking oddly flushed. There are goosebumps covering your skin and you suddenly want to go back inside but then he’s talking again - “I think I know what this is about.”

You must wear the confusion you’re feeling, because he continues. “Can you be honest with me? Like, really honest.”

You hadn’t thought he was too drunk before but he certainly is starting to seem just a bit drunker than you’d anticipated. You furrow your eyebrows, lips upturning. “Sure.”

Then Jacob takes another step forward so you’re just as close as you’d been before and leans in again, dropping his voice so low you can hardly hear it. “Is it true you’re boning Professor Styles?”

The words take a moment to sink in. Is it true … Professor Styles? And when they’re finally there, embedded inside of your brain, you exhale a shaky laugh. It’s all you can bring yourself to do, resting your head back against the house. “Are you serious?”

You look at him again and he nods, shrugging slightly.

“I’m not - I’m not boning Professor Styles.” The lie tastes bitter on your tongue but you force it to sound normal anyway. “And I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Jacob rolls his eyes until you can merely see a white stripe in them. You can feel yourself getting - angrier? Sadder? More annoyed? - by the moment. And you hate that some dumb frat boy can make you feel so horrible but he’s doing it now, even if he probably doesn’t realize it. He steps back again, running a hand through his floppy hair. “Alright, alright. So you’re not fucking your professor and you don’t have a boyfriend. What, exactly, is holding you back, then?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling heat soar to your cheeks even in the bitter chill of the night. “Can you give it a fucking rest, Jacob?”

He whistles and you’re pushing yourself off the wall, already beginning to slide open the door to go back inside when Jacob begins, “Don’t be such a bitch about it -”

There’s only a brief second of hesitation on your part - turning around and using the hand that isn’t clutching your cup and your phone you press it to his chest and push as hard as you can. The force of it sends your phone flying out of your hand and hurtling down to the deck and you watch it fall down with a moment of brief regret - you can hear the glass shattering and you know it’ll be a bitch to repair. And you drink splashes up, spilling onto your chest and your dress and it smells repulsive. But Jacob (who you suspect is drunker than you originally thought) stumbles away from you and it makes both things worth it.

You can feel tears beginning to sting your eyes as Jacob straightens up, and before he can say anything else you bend down, picking your phone off of the deck and racing back into the house. You slide the door shut behind you and you can feel it open only a second later but you’ve already gone, pushing your way through the crowd, looking for both the way out and someone with a phone that doesn’t have a screen smashed to bits.

Kaitlyn and Dylan are pressed against the wall and you hate to interrupt the way they’re kissing desperately, hands all over each other, but you reach out and tap her shoulder anyway. Because, truthfully, you don’t actually care that much.

You shout above the music that you need to borrow her phone and she doesn’t hesitate to fish it out of her bra, handing it over to you with an incredibly wide grin - her telltale drunk grin - and you grab it in your hand, your broken phone in your other, and open up the phone app.

You have his number memorized from spending so long studying it once he’d given it to you that it’s easy to type it into the keypad - when the line is ringing you realize it’s entirely too loud in the thick of the party so you turn and walk out the front door and onto the front steps, leaning against the railing.

The line clicks and you’ve never been so grateful for such a small noise. “Hello?” the voice on the other end says, raspy like it always is when he’s just woken up (and you hate to think that you’ve woken him from a nap) and you could cry at the sound of it.

“Harry.” you swallow, eyes darting back and forth to see if there’s anyone near you - but everyone seems to be inside, enjoying the party, and you just can’t. “Harry, hi.”

“Hey, baby,” he says, and his voice seems to brighten at the sound of yours. “What’s going on? Whose phone is this?”

“Um -” you bring your thumb up to your mouth, nibbling on your nail before dropping your hand back down to your thigh. “It’s a long story. Can you pick me up? I’m sorry, I just - um. I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be a pain. You don’t have to if you’re too tired because you sound like you just woke up but I really want to be with you right now.”

You look - standing outside of a party, fighting back tears that are burning in your eyes calling your professor, of all people - the exact type of girl who would fuck her professor, but oddly enough, you don’t really think you care anymore. All you want to do is to feel Harry’s arms wrapped around you, making you feel better, and you never should have come to this stupid party in the first place. It was a mistake.

“Are you alright?” Harry asks, and you can picture him getting out of bed already, tugging on a pair of joggers - the pink ones he wears all the time - and sliding on his sneakers. “Uh - where are you?”

That you’re not quite sure of. You glance around but you can’t make much out in the dark - there’s a sign at the end of the street and you squint to try and make it out. “Barry, I think. Avenue? I’m not sure. I think it says Barry, though.”

“Okay,” Harry says. “I know where you are, and I’m gonna be there in five minutes, alright? Just stay where you are.”

You breathe out a small okay, and then the line clicks and he’s gone, and you pull the phone away to stare at it for just a moment. Then you go and delete the call from Kaitlyn’s history - wouldn’t want her calling it on accident - and dart back inside. She’s still wrapped around Dylan but you give it to her anyway, watching her stuff the device back into her bra. And you take a moment to bid your friends goodbye - wrapping them in a hug even if you know they’d rather be making out with each other than hugging you - and you head back out the door, sitting down on the front steps and letting the door slam behind you.

Your phone sits beside you in all its broken glory. Your mind is reeling and you can’t think straight - all you want is to be with Harry, forget about the assholes who think (or know) that you’re sleeping with him. Because - well, you are, you suppose. But there’s so much more, stuff they’ll never know, stuff they can’t know.

Just as your teeth start chattering in the cold you can see a familiar car pull up in front of the house. You can see his figure in the drivers seat, a hood pulled up tight over his hair, and you jump up, grabbing your phone and bounding towards the car. You’ve never been so happy to see him in your life - opening the door and ducking into the passenger’s seat, dropping your shattered phone on the center console between you. The warmth of his car is nearly suffocating but you love it, prefer it so much over the cold that’s been so prevalent for so long.

“Hey,” Harry says, voice soft, as if he can tell you’ve had a shitty day. (Which he probably can, truthfully.) “What happened to your phone?”

“I dropped it,” you tell him, taking another glance down at the phone you’ve had for four years that could survive falls from your pockets, bed and accidentally getting stepped on by Dylan but couldn’t make it through a simple fall onto the deck of a frat house. Serves you right for going to the dumb party anyway. “Can I go to your apartment? Just really don’t want to be alone. I had - a really shitty day.”

He nods and then you’re gone, taking off down the street. “D’you want to tell me about it, then?”

You sigh, leaning back against the headrest. You take a moment to listen to the music, playing so silently you can hardly hear - but it’s Just The Way You Are, by Billy Joel, and it’s from your playlist. “Just - um. A lot of people, apparently, think we’re sleeping together and then I was talking to this - this guy named Jacob and he was being a dick about it because I wouldn’t fuck him and then - then I pushed him and I dropped my phone and it broke.” Your voice cracks and you can feel the tears that had been residing behind your eyes finally beginning to spill over, and you bring your wrist up to wipe the tear that had begun to streak down your cheek. “M’sorry. Seems silly, now.”

“It’s not silly.” Harry’s voice is firm and you look over at him, sniffling slightly. When you’ve stopped at a red light he turns towards you, bringing his thumb up to wipe away another tear that had trickled down to your nose. “I’m sorry. People can be dicks sometimes.”

You inhale shakily. “Yeah.” For a split second there’s silence and then you say, “I don’t even know why I went to a stupid party. I hate them and I hated this one too but -” you stop to think. “I wanted people to think I wasn’t the type of person to fuck my professor. Which is silly, I guess, because I am the type of person to fuck my professor.”

“Can you look at me?” he asks, and you do, making eye contact with him briefly before he looks back at the road. “S’all gonna be alright, you know that? Nobody is gonna know. No one’s gonna find out - they’re all just guessing now.”

“I feel like they know.” you sniffle again, blinking away more tears that had come to the surface of your eyes. “And I know they can’t but I feel like they do.”

Harry pulls into the parking lot behind his building, then, and you unbuckle your seatbelt with shaking hands and grab your phone from the center console, pushing yourself out of the car and into the air again. The two of you walk in silence to the doors and then he presses the button of the elevator to go up and looks at you again.

“Baby,” Harry says, and you nod slowly. “What do you want to do?”

You pause. “What do I want to do?”

Then he grabs your hand as the elevator opens and you step in together, pressing the button for the third floor. “I don’t want you to stress about getting caught,” he responds, voice dropping to hardly above a whisper. “We’re going to be okay, I promise. As long as we keep things off campus we’re fine.”

You nod, glancing down at your scuffed heels with a sniff. “I know.”

The elevator dings again and you step out of it, your hand still in his as he walks down the hall to his apartment. While he digs in his pocket for his key, you tell him, “If you’re asking me whether I want to stop this, the answer is no.”

Harry glances up at you, key in the door, with a raised eyebrow.

You continue, shaking your head. “I like you a lot, Harry. A lot. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before in my life and I don’t want stupid fucking frat boys to take you away from me.” The two of you step into his apartment and he flicks on the lights, leaning against the door as you continue. “Don’t think I’d ever forgive myself if the most amazing man in the entire world slipped between my fingers because I was afraid.”

You take a step towards him, and then he wraps his arms around you and it’s what you’d needed all bloody day, just to feel his hug. You burrow your head into his chest and he presses his lips to the top of your hair, his voice coming out muffled by your hair when he speaks again. “I’m afraid too, baby. But I like you a lot too. More than anyone I’ve ever known.” Then he grabs your cheeks, pulling your head away from his so he can stare you right in the eyes - you swear his are mesmerizing. “I think I love you, actually.”

Love.

He loves you.

The thought bounces around your brain and it’s all you can think of - Professor Styles, telling you he loves you in his apartment, his warm hands pressed to your cheeks. And you hadn’t been sure, until now, whether you did love him. You’d never exactly felt that sort of love for anyone before because none of your relationships had ever lasted too long. But hearing him and seeing him now is making your brain churn out a thousand thoughts per minute and the most apparent one is that you love him too.

So much.

So you exhale, a smile quirking your lips upwards, as you reach up to press your hands to his face, too. You can see him fighting back the urge to grin and you could cry again but you swallow the urge and breathe out, “I love you, too.”

And you lean up on your toes, pressing a kiss to his lips and barely hearing the way he mutters back, “I love you so much,” because you couldn’t pull your lips from his if you tried. His hands drop to your back, pressing against the small of it as he leads you farther into his apartment. Your lips never detach and it’s difficult not to trip over your own feet but eventually you’re being pushed onto a distinctly soft surface, and one glance to your right shows you that it’s not his bed but the couch in his living room.

“Sorry, Marie,” Harry says, and you push yourself onto your elbows as you watch Harry pick up Marie from her spot on top of the couch and deposit her to the floor. “Don’t want you to see this. Just shoo for a little while.”

You roll your eyes as Harry looks down at you, one leg propped on the couch and the other firm on the ground. “You’re ridiculous, professor,” you tell him, and he throws an arm over the back of the couch, lowering his body onto yours until you can push your head up and mesh your lips with his. His hand goes beneath your head as he lowers you back down onto the couch. “But I still love you.”

When Harry pulls away his cheeks are a light shade of pink and you feel quite honored to be the person to make him blush - your professor, so professional in front of the classroom and blushing like a schoolgirl above you. You bring your hand up to his hair, twisting your fingers in his curls to bring his head back down but he doesn’t go for your lips, instead lowering his mouth to your throat, pressing hickeys to the column of your neck.

“You smell like beer, y’know that?” Harry tells you, and you can feel the smile on his lips as he trails kisses down to your collarbone. His hand works at tugging the top of your dress down, reaching in to pull your tits out where they’re already practically spilling out of it.

“Spilled a bit on myself at the party,” you breathe as he lowers his mouth onto your nipple, his hand massaging your other breast. “Wasn’t good beer, though. Could tell it was cheap. I couldn’t drink more than a sip - fuck.”

Harry pulls back from your nipple and blows on it gently, the sensation sending shivers up your spine and you moan softly. Your hips buck up into his and he groans against your chest. “God, baby. I love your tits, did you know that? Could play with them all day.” As if to prove a point he leans down again, dragging his teeth against your nipple and reveling in the way you whine.

“I’d be fine with that,” you inform him, voice cracking in the middle of the sentence as his hand trails down your body to the bottom of your dress, pulling it up over the tops of your thighs. Then his fingers brush over the damp spot in your panties, pressing against your clit through the thin fabric. “Oh, god -”

“Does that feel good, baby?” he asks, voice soft and he already knows the answer, of course, but you drop your head back against the couch with a nod anyway. “Wanna hear your words.”

“Feels so good, p - professor,” you moan, feeling his digits finally dip beneath the hem of your panties, running over your folds without the lace barrier. “Please, Harry, need more …”

You’ve learned, by now, his affinity for hearing you tell him exactly what you want. So before you can hear his smug response of what do you need you swallow and tell him, “Want you to eat me out. Please, professor.”

He drops his head against your chest, moaning lowly, and you can feel his dick growing harder against your thigh. “Fuck. Okay.” He licks a line from your chest up to your collarbone and you wonder if he can taste the gross beer still tainting your skin but - if he does - he doesn’t show it. Acts like he’d just enjoyed the best feast of his life as he glances back up at you, eyes dark. His fingers hook in your panties, dragging them down your legs and dropping them, soaked in your arousal, onto the floor. “Gonna take you to my room, yeah?”

You nod eagerly as he stands above you, and you swing your legs over the edge of the couch, pushing yourself up, and you let Harry intertwine your fingers, leading you across his apartment to the door of his bedroom. When he’s shut the door (shooing Marie away again, who’d followed you in an attempt to enter his room) he tugs his hoodie over his head - his phone flies out of the pocket and lands on the carpet, his hoodie heading towards another corner. Then Harry collapses into the middle of his bed, lying on his back, glancing at you expectantly. His joggers slide ever so slightly down his hips and you watch their descent before flickering your eyes back to him.

You furrow your eyebrows. “Not gonna eat me out then, professor?”

Harry shakes his head. “Never sat on anyone’s face before, I reckon?”

No. Of course you haven’t. Your mouth drops open in a silent ‘o’ and you raise your eyebrows, shaking your head vehemently. He motions you to come over to him and you take a moment to kick off your heels, leaving them in a pile by the door before making your way over to the bed, standing beside him.

“I think you’ll like it,” Harry tells you, and wraps his fingers around your wrist in a loose hold, and you take the cue to mount the bed, kneeling beside him, and his fingers drum against your thigh. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. If you don’t, I’ll just do it the old fashioned way. No harm done.”

You nod, swallowing. Any question you have dies on your tongue because you trust him, you know, and you know he wouldn’t do anything to make you uncomfortable.

What’s the harm in trying?

“Alright, then.” He reaches behind him, stuffing a pillow beneath his head. His hand on your wrist drops to your hand, pressing your palms together, and you give him a small smile before adjusting yourself so your thighs are on either side of his head - it’s about as awkward as you’d anticipated, your dress still half covering your arse, and Harry reaches up to pull it up, letting it rest around your hips. His fingertips trail down your thighs - a silent don’t worry and appreciate it. Slowly you lower yourself down onto his mouth, and when you’ve completely settled - your hands resting on his bare abdomen as you lean forward slightly.

You expect to feel his tongue on you immediately but then he pauses, and when he talks you can feel his mouth moving against your cunt. “Siri! Shuffle y/n songs on Spotify!”

You almost roll your eyes when his phone, still on the floor from where it had landed earlier, begins playing Good Vibrations - of course, he can’t do anything without music - but before you can give some sort of snarky remark his tongue is darting up to your clit, flicking the bud gently, and you cry out almost louder than the music.

“Oh, shit, Harry!” you groan, fingertips digging into his stomach as his hands go to your bum, kneading the globes of your ass as his mouth practically attacks your pussy. It’s so much more intense than how it is usually - the Beach Boys in the background, your hips rocking slowly against his face, his soft groans against your core sending vibrations through your body.

Good vibrations, of course.

“Feels so fucking good,” you breathe, dragging your hands further down his stomach. His joggers - the pink ones - are tied loosely and your fingers wrap around the ties, tugging slightly as Harry pushes his tongue inside of you. You can see his dick - thick and looking painfully hard, even through the fabric. Your instinct is to grab his hair but it’s harder in this position so you tug, again, at the tie of his sweatpants until it comes completely undone.

He pauses, momentarily, perhaps wondering what you’re doing - and you don’t even quite know - but soon he resumes his relentless assault on your clit, lips wrapping around the nub and sucking. You cry out, your palm pressed to his stomach and trailing down to the hem of his sweatpants, and when your hand wraps firmly around Harry’s cock he practically yelps into your cunt.

“Jesus, fuck,” you can hear him, muttering against your heat as you pull his sweatpants down further until you can see his cock. Sure enough, he’s hard and heavy in your hand as you shimmy your body ever so slightly forward, causing him to hook his arms around your thighs to keep you close to his face. You crane your neck forward, pumping your hand up and down his cock as you lean forward, wrapping your lips around the tip of his dick, and he moans. It mixes oddly well with the tail end of Good Vibrations as it switches to Sugar Sugar.

The sound rolls through your body and you whimper, lowering your head onto his cock until his length is nearly completely down your throat - you’ve gotten better at fitting him in completely, and you breathe through your nose, counting 1 … 2 … 3 until you hit 10, and then you pull your mouth off of him.

Harry’s nose nudges your clit and your walls tighten around his tongue as he thrusts it in and out of your cunt - you’re so close and you can tell, and you lick up the vein on his cock. He grunts softly, fingernails digging into your ass, and when his tongue flicks over your clit again you cry out, throwing your head back and pumping his cock with your hand.

Your orgasm hits you like a wave and Harry laps up every drop that he can, smoothing his hands over your bum and thighs as you roll your hips against his mouth, riding yourself through his orgasm as you release your grasp on his cock, digging your nails into his stomach as you moan out.

When every reverberation of your orgasm still pulsing through you, you collapse onto his body - then you roll off of him, still feeling the throbbing in your clit as Harry pushes himself onto his elbows, glancing down at you.

“How was that?” he asks, sitting up fully, trailing his fingers up your arm. “First time facesitting. And 69ing, too - it’s a season of firsts.”

You grin lazily at him. “S’that a line from December, 1963?”

He nods, a smile painting his face.

“It was amazing. Of course. It’s always amazing - God, I love you so much,” you tell him, reaching your hand up to rest against his face, and he presses a soft kiss against your wrist. “But…”

“What?”

“I really want you to fuck me.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, and you feel your cheeks burn. His hand tugs at the end of your dress, bunched around your hips. “I really want to fuck you, too.” You sit up, raising your arms so he can pull your dress over your head - you’re left in merely your bra and you reach behind yourself, undoing the clasp and tossing it off the bed. When you’ve lied back down on the bed he takes a minute to stare down at you, and you feel a sudden instinct to cover yourself up - but then he merely says, “You’re so beautiful. I love you -” and he leans down to kiss you, his hands working at pulling his joggers down his legs - “so damn much.”

He takes a moment, dropping his pants to his ankles, to lower his head to your cunt again - tongue lapping briefly at your clit, smirking at the way you jump. Then he pulls his head back and you watch him, propped on your elbows, as he spits, and it lands on your clit and makes you squeal, your stomach flipping. God, you didn’t think you’d love that so much but you want him to do it again and again - something about it is so fucking hot. But he just brings his fingers to your folds, spreading his spit through your already slick pussy, flashing you another smug smirk before leaning back over you.

You loop your arms around his neck, feeling the tip of his cock prodding at your entrance. You’re so wet you’re practically dripping and there’s positively no barrier as he sheathes himself inside of you - you toss your head back with a moan. The first push inside of you is always the best and you take a moment to savor it as Harry grips your thigh, hooking your leg around his waist. And when he pulls out and thrusts back in he brushes that perfect spot inside of you, and you cry out.

Your heel presses into his arse, pushing his body further into yours. Your chests press together, his arm braced over your head as he groans lowly, eyes squeezed shut, and you bring your hand up to his face like he’s done so many times - “Look at me, profess - fuck!”

He does look at you, pupils wide and making his normally green eyes appear just about completely black. Harry’s hand presses to your clit, rubbing fast hard circles as his cock brushes against your g-spot with every thrust inside of you and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his head into your shoulder, hips rocking into his. You’re already embarrassingly close and with just the right brush against your clit you know you could be cumming already to the sound of I’m a Believer by the Monkees, and it would be heaven.

Like it always is.

Harry’s still muttering into your neck, teeth brushing against your skin as he sends wet, open mouthed kisses across your throat - “So tight, squeezing me so good. God, Iloveyousomuch -”

Your nails drag against his back, your hips pushing up to meet his thrusts, his fingers still working at your clit. You wrap your leg tighter around his waist, burying your head back into the covers with a loud cry and then you’re cumming, walls fluttering around him as his thrusts grew even more unrelentless. You’re not sure you’ve ever cum so fast in your life but you were already so close before you even started and he pulls his head up, slamming your lips together as you ride out your second orgasm with him.

“Think you - fuck - got one more in there for me?” His voice is a hiss through gritted teeth as he straightens up, fucking you harder than ever before on his knees, fingers still plucking at your clit. Your leg drops from around his waist and he grabs your calf, stretching your leg onto his shoulder, and the burn makes everything feel that much better. “Gonna cum again for your professor? I think you can.”

Your hand goes down to his wrist, fingers wrapping around him - it’s too much too fast you’ve just cum you can’t - but you know you can and he does too. And you can tell he’s close - the way he’s losing rhythm, his hips losing the steady pace he’d developed. You drop your hand to your chest, tweaking your nipple between your fingers.

“Fuck, Harry - m’gonna cum - God -” you can’t manage to get out any full sentences, mere fragments, your eyes never leaving Harry’s as you clench around you again. Your third orgasm is the most intense of all, feeling his fingers pinch your clit, his thrusts slowing so they hit every sweet spot inside of you, and you couldn’t have held back if you tried.

His neighbors must think you’re being murdered with the way you scream - the duvet firm in your grasp, your eyes rolling back into your head as you practically spasm beneath him. Harry’s movements slow to a jerky, staccato pace - you can feel him, cumming inside of you, and when you look at him his face is bright red, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open in a soft o.

“Fuck, fuck -” he breathes, hand on your clit dropping to the mattress, and your leg slides off of his shoulder and back onto the bed. You’re fucking exhausted as he pulls out, dropping onto the bed beside you, but not too tired to curl yourself into his arms, your face burning hot and your breathing laboured.

There’s a moment where nothing needs to be said. There’s nothing that you could say that could make this moment any better than it is so you hold your tongue, intent on merely falling asleep with him until he mumbles, “Baby?”

“Hmm?”

He pauses, and you open your eyes, turning your head to glance at him. His eyes are shut as well and you could almost fool yourself into thinking he’d never spoken at all until he finally says, “I love you so much.” You don’t have time to say it back before he’s continuing - “And I think you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met in my life.”

You can feel the beginnings of tears in your eyes - whether it’s the post-orgasm haze and exhaustion overtaking you or just pure love for the man beside you, you’re not sure. “Harry -”

“And, um.” His eyes are still shut and his brows are slightly furrowed as he speaks. “I know we’re kind of already dating but I want to make it official. So … would you like to be my girlfriend?” And then his eyes open, his head turning to look at you, to watch the smile that turns your lips upward.

You tug your bottom lip between your bottom teeth to try and suppress your grin but it doesn’t work - you could never stop yourself from feeling so fucking happy. And you bring your hand to his cheek, brushing a sweaty curl off his face, before breathing, “Of course.”

He leans in, then, kissing you sweetly and - for just a moment - you can forget about everything other than him. Forget about class on Monday, about the people who think you’re sleeping with him. And they’re right, for some of it - but not all. They’ll never really know what you have.

For a moment, all that exists is you and him, wrapped up in each other, bodies curled together and lips pressed gently. And even when the moment passes, and you bury your head into his shoulder, you can’t help but wait for the next to come.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #professor harry styles #definitely dont like this as much as the first part !!! sorry fellas #but i hope you all enjoy #also tried to include some pussy spitting..... for u anon #plot was a lot harder to come up with but i hope it flows and that u like it ok ok goodbye #enjoy #prof!harry

4K notes · View notes

lemonlushff-iy · 3 years

Photo

History Lesson in how OLR came to be...

A year ago, @clearwillow, @dawnrider, and @keichanz had just finished what would be known as the spontaneous Vday “hot off” of 2020, and it was decided that white day was going to just be a repeat of what we had just done...only we wanted everyone to participate and it was going to be open to all, and you could do whatever you wanted. Tease us. Post completed pieces. What have you.

Shortly after, I fell into a VERY bad depression. I’m not shy about it. I’m not shy about my feelings or saying I’m hurt. I think people should be able to say that, and have it not be taboo. So I’m open about it. I wasn’t well. I felt inadequate. Like what I wrote was terrible. Like people within the fandom ONLY liked me because I was there for them 24/7 hyping up their work and singing their praises. I was the fandom hype girl. It felt like none of my friendships were REAL.

And I’d been ok with that.

Until I wasn’t.

And a year ago today...I decided that I wanted to work past those feelings. I’d been struggling with them for about two days at this point, and I’d been looking at Carra’s pixiv and was completely CAPTIVATED by her work. Specifically, New Moon Ride, which has since been colorized. I was nervous and so low...I’d removed myself almost entirely from discord and tumblr, but I really wanted to participate in White Day, and I had this...idea in my head about this girl returning home and having a fling with a cattle rancher. I wanted it to be like Sweet Home Alabama (which is an Easter Egg for those of you on Patreon, and something to look for for those who aren’t).

Needless to say...

My depression made me miss the mark on that...

But I very nervously went to Carra who was this FANDOM GOD and asked “Hey...Would it be ok if I did this?” Needless to say...She said yes, and in doing so...She gave me this AMAZING gift.

It was supposed to be a one shot just for White Day. I’d INTENDED for it to be a PWOP. The depression got the best of me though, and that...Clearly didn’t happen. Instead I started pouring all of these feelings I had inside of me into this story instead...And it’s become one of the greatest gifts of my life. It’s my emotional support fic. It takes all the bad and painful away from me. And I WISH that what I’d been feeling a year ago was the end of it, but it was only the beginning of it...And One Last Ride has been there for me for all of it.

Providing me with an outlet for all of the feelings I’ve had. It’s allowed me to deal with a LOT. Drama. Friendships that died and times when I was shut out. Feelings regarding my own late father. General depression.

One Last Ride has become deeply meaningful and a piece of my SOUL.

So...Thank you Carra for this AMAZING gift you’ve given me. You never knew when you drew that photo what you were about to unleash...But...I’m OH so very glad you did...

And in the spirit of how I started One Last Ride a year ago...

I offer you ALL a piece of post canon smut. It’s just a ficlet because...I just FINALLY finished the FIRST ACTUAL smut in One Last Ride (nearly a year later) and wanted to save my bandwidth for MORE smut...Can ya blame me?

And now, a short fic...

“Inuyasha...she could hear…” Kagome weakly protested, trying to push her husband away from her.

“She won’t notice,” he soothed, continuing to suckle at her pulse point. “She’s watching that thing with the talking animals.”

“That narrows it down,” she gasped, feeling his tongue burn a path up the column of her neck.

“I turned on the tv and she pointed. I weren’t about to ask questions,” he growled, pushing his hips into the swell of her ass, allowing her to feel the hardness between his legs. “‘Sides. I’m still cold from building that damn igloo with her. I need my sexy wife to warm me up.”

Yes...but they had been so cute. She loved watching the two of them play together. And watching him bite the inside of his cheek to keep from swearing when it kept collapsing. She knew that even though it hadn’t worked, he was going to go back out there tonight and figure out how to build Moroha her igloo. Even if it took him until 3 am, he was going to surprise his princess with one in the morning, no matter what.

And she loved that about him.

“Giving her a shower didn’t do the trick?”

“Please,” he snorted. “All it did was leave me soaked. And all I wanna do is make you wet,” he murmured, slipping a hand under her shirt and laying his palm against the soft, relatively flat skin of her stomach.

“Yash…”

“She won’t hear,” he promised, his hands coming to cup her breasts over the lace of her bra. “Washer and dryer will be too loud and she will be too distracted…”

“But what about the cookies...”

“We still have ten minutes.”

“And when she tries to take them out of the oven on her own? She has a little too much of you in her, you know,” Kagome replied dryly as his fingers found the tip of her nipple. The pad of his thumb gently brushed against her sensitive skin, making her bite the inside of her cheek.

“Better make it eight then...”

“That sure of yourself,” she challenged, his gentle ministrations to her body was making it hard for her to continue to resist him.

“I know you, woman…” he growled as he reached out to find the doorknob of the laundry room, and swiveled the lock into place.

Good.

No interrupting daughters.

“I know what makes you wet,” he continued, pulling the lace cups of her bra down before lifting the wire frames up and away from her breasts to rest above them on her chest. He felt their weight in his palms, tweaking her nipples and making her head fall back onto his shoulder.

“D-do you now,” she breathed as he found the lobe of her ear, pulling it between his fangs and suckling on it.

“I think I do, Kags,” he smirked, one of his palms sliding down her rib cage and over the soft, silvery lines of her stomach to the band of her pants. He felt her freeze in his arms as his palms connected with those lines, and he kissed her that much harder.

She hated those lines. She’d done everything she could when she was pregnant to avoid them, but they came anyways, despite her efforts. She thought they made her ugly.

He thought they made her sexier.

“Stop it,” he reprimanded, kissing her jaw lovingly. He knew what that look meant. She was thinking about them again. How her body had changed since giving him the most precious gift in his life. He hated when she did that. “You’re beautiful. Fucking sexy as hell. I’ll tell you that every damn day ‘till I die. I wouldn't change a thing about you.”

“Yash,” she breathed, turning her head and allowing him to capture her lips in a sweet, loving kiss. He was so good with words...but his lips were even better at this. He had a way of reaffirming everything he said with his hands. His touch. His body.

The only sounds that could be heard in the small space of their laundry room, were the sounds of the dryer turning and spinning the wet clothes inside, and their heavy breathing. The sounds of their lips moving wetly against one another as he showered her with affection. Showed her how much he loved her. Expressed his need for her and her body.

Her hands slowly wound their way into his hair, finding his ears. She rubbed them between her finger tips, starting at the base and slowly working her way towards the fuzzy tips. He moaned against her lips and lifted her shirt, lowering his head to her soft breasts. His tongue found her nipples and she felt him swirl it around her sensitive flesh as his hands worked the band of her panties and leggings down her legs.

“Yash,” she moaned, his name clawing its way out of her throat against her will.

“Shhh...You need to keep it down, Darling,” he reprimanded, pulling away from her trembling form as he worked one of her feet out the bottom of the mess of clothing. “You don’t want her to hear.”

“I thought you said she wouldn’t be able to hear,” She replied, panic beginning to bloom in the pit of her stomach. Oh god...They hadn’t had any situations with Moroha yet, but she didn’t want to explain this to her daughter yet either.

“She can’t,” he soothed, the velvety tone of his voice slowly calming her as he lifted her leg over his shoulder, kissing her thigh. “But you can’t start getting loud neither. No screaming, remember? Anyone would be able to hear that. Demon blood or not.”

Her cheeks turned bright red at the reminder of just how loud she could be, and then red from the feeling of his tongue slipping between her lips. He zeroed in on her clit, and her nails scraped against his scalp. Soft little moans of pleasure crawled out of the back of her throat.

He used them as a guide as he slipped his fingers inside. Watched the trembling of her abdomen. The heaving of her breasts as she tried to steady her breathing.

And then she was gnashing her bottom lip, her face twisting and eyes screwing shut as her orgasm swept through her body. He held her, let her ride his face as she came - let her pull his hair and whimper his name against the palm of her hand.

When she’d finished, he pulled away from her and lowered his sweatpants and boxer briefs, allowing them to pool at his ankles as his hardness sprang free.

Fuck, he was so hard.

And she was so ready for him.

“Should have a few more minutes still,” he commented, turning her around against the washing machine. She lifted her leg, his hands coming to softly grip her delicate flesh in his palms and support her.

“Should?”

“I’ll hear when the timer goes off, don’t worry,” he soothed, lining the head of his cock up with her entrance. He slowly sank inside, his head falling to her shoulder, and kissed her neck. “God Kags…”

“Mmm…” she agreed, her head rolling back onto his shoulder as his fangs scraped against her pulse point.

He slowly thrust into her, his hips gaining in speed and setting a vigorous pace as he took her from behind. He sought out all the places he knew she loved, and his fingers brushed through the patch of curls at the apex of her thighs to locate her clit. The tips of his fingers swirled around it as he continued to work her from behind until the coil that had been tightening in her snapped.

The hand that had been holding her hip, guiding hers into his, released it to slap over her lips as he nervously glanced at the door.

“Shhh...Kags…” he grunted, his eyes screwing shut. He couldn’t take much more…

He was almost there…

“Cum for me, Yash,” she begged, lowering his hand so her words wouldn't be muffled.

“Kags…”

What was all he needed. He tumbled, over the edge of the abyss, allowing his orgasm to sweep through him as he spilled himself inside her.

“Yash,” she soothed, feeling his body go limp against hers. “What got into you today,” she throatily chuckled, and he rubbed his forehead against her shoulder blade.

“Nothing,” he sighed, burying his face into her neck and inhaling deeply as his cock slipped out from between her folds.

“Liar,” she teased, watching as he dropped to his knees to use his tongue and mouth to clean up the mess he’d made in her. “You normally keep it in your pants until she’s sleeping.”

Catching him red handed, was she?

He couldn’t lie. It wouldn’t get him anywhere.

“I want another one, Kags.”

“Another one?” she pressed, her brow furrowing in confusion, and he nervously nodded his head.

“Another baby. She’s getting older...And this house is too big for just the three of us...and I miss it. Having a baby around. And she wants a sibling too. All her friends have one. And I...I...I dunno...I just...Do.”

His words were so sweet. So soft and tender.

“Yash…”

“Don’t say no just yet,” he pleaded, pulling his sweatpants up as he stood. “Promise me you’ll think about it...And...And please don’t be mad...It’s been on ma mind a while, but you ain’t even ovulating now. But thinking about another one and how much fun we had trying ta get Mo...Well…”

So that was why. It all made sense now.

“I promise I’ll think about it Yash,” she grinned, pulling her leggings back up her legs and adjusting herself within the cups of her bra as the timer went off in the kitchen.

“Mommy? Daddy?”

“That’s our cue,” he sighed, relief washing over him as he pulled away from her and slipped out of the laundry room.

She’d think about it. It weren’t a yes...but he didn’t need one right now. That could come later.

Right now, he just wanted her to think about the possibility of adding another one to their happily ever after.

And it was a pretty damn sweet happily ever after, if he did say so himself.

#inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha fanfic #inuyashafanfic #inuyasha #inukag #DAMNIT CARRA #Ode to Carra #Clearwillow #rancher #cattle rancher #western #romance #angst #one last ride #lemonlushff

83 notes · View notes

aureumjeon · 4 years

Text

gone cold (m) ksj

pairing; seokjin x reader ft. jungkook

genre; exes au, college au basically angst, smut, inspired by the 1975 - somebody else.

warnings; mentions of alcohol, y/n falling out of love and seokjin's heart getting broken, hints of infidelity, daddy kink, oral (female receiving), pussy/panty sniffing, rimming, squirting, fingering, boring missionary, yn being an asshole.

word count; 6100

summary;

➜ at this point, seokjin was the only one carrying this weight with his own two hands. it took everything he had and then some to salvage your slowly deteriorating relationship. he hoped that you'd find yourself in his arms again but the truth was inevitable. Your love had gone cold and you're intertwining your soul with somebody else.

a/n; i absolutely DO NOT condone any from of cheating 🤢 stay loyal friends. yn is the one in the wrong (don't wanna say cheater oof) here since jin could never 🤧

"Are you sure you'll tag along?" Taehyung asked cautiously, placing the last bottle of vodka he was assigned to bring to the party in a brown disposable bag.

"Yeah," Jin replied calmly, "It's been so long since I last went. Namjoon's probably worried. I should at least show up to let them know I'm okay."

Taehyung gave the elder a sympathetic smile. He took the bag in his right arm and placed the other on Jin's shoulder. "Let's go, yeah?"

Six months ago

It was your second year anniversary and Jin was busying himself in the kitchen preparing your dinner like the culinary student he was. "How do you want your steak?" he called, passively watching you on the couch being a little too preoccupied with your mobile phone to be honest. "Yn." He demanded your attention again.

You looked up in surprise, a cheeky smile in tow. "Yes, baby?"

God, you really weren't paying attention. He's starting to wonder what, or who, was making you put all your focus on your phone.

He'll let it slide since it's your anniversary. "Medium or medium rare?" He questioned, holding the slab of marbled meat next to his face.

"Hmmm," you hummed playfully, lips forming into a pout while thinking of an answer. "Medium rare, please!" You grinned, toothy smile and chubby cheeks. Gosh, you were too cute and it made his heart hurt that he almost doubted you for a second.

You stood up from your seat and waddled your way next to your boyfriend. "That looks super yummy!" You pointed eagerly to the pot of buttery mashed potato he had prepared beforehand.

"Wait till you taste the gravy, you're going to beg me for more." Jin smirked, fingers reaching to poke at your side. "Jin!" You yelped suddenly, binding your arms around your torso by instinct and shielding it from what's about to come.

He stepped towards you and was now using his figure that was twice the size of yours, to restrict you from escaping any route possible. Eventually trapping you between the counter and his firm chest.

His fingers carefully traced the hem of your — his — shirt that falls just above your flawless thighs, playing with the loose threads hanging. "Hmmm?" His eyebrow quirked, finding out that you weren't wearing any shorts under the oversized shirt.

"You're such a tease, princess."

As if on cue, his little pet name for you flipped a switch and you felt the heat growing bigger between your nimble legs. "D-daddy…" You groaned bashfully, burying your face in his chest while wrapping your arms around his slim waist.

"Yes, princess?" His slender hand carefully moved from the hem of your shirt to your ass. Kneading at the supple flesh exposed by your skimpy thong.

"Did this for you," you mumbled into him, hands crawling upwards to clutch onto his broad and firm shoulders. You sighed wistfully.

"Did you now?" His tone was quite questionable. He thought about interrogating you with what's got you so invested and giggling at the screen of your phone and straight up disregarding him, but he'd rather not ruin the mood already set up for the two of you.

Jin secured his arms where your butt meets your thighs and elevated you to sit on the edge of the counter where your sex was perfectly aligned with his crotch. The coldness from the glass counter top causes goose bumps to creep up your skin and you feel all your senses heighten. Especially your sense of touch.

His hands slowly pried your legs open, exposing your pretty lace panties glistening with your wetness. The heat from his palms were burning invisible marks on your skin, further igniting the flame in your stomach. "So lovely." He cooed, rubbing his clothed dick against your aching core. "Tell daddy what princess wants." He maintained his actions, grinding his hips against you. The friction caused all your blood to rush to your head, face now red as a tomato.

"Tongue," you squirmed in place, biting your lips to suppress the moans eagerly wanting to tumble out. "I want your tongue, please?"

"Since my princess asked so nicely," He knelt down so that he's face to face with your core. He leaned forward, nose gently brushing against your covered slit. You shivered at the minimal contact, leaning back and resting your head on the cabinet behind you while exhaling a blissful sigh.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, soaking up the intoxicating scent of your arousal. His fingers sank into the rosy flesh of your thighs, nails engraving crescent moon shaped indents as he fights the urge to devour you right then and there.

"My princess smells so sweet." He purred contentedly, following the line of your underwear.

After what felt like an eternity, you finally felt his hands climb to the curve of your hips. Gripping at the waist band, he pulled your underwear all the way down your legs. He held onto the piece of cloth for a while, crumpling it into his hand and shoving it up his nostrils. He looked so fucking erotic while sniffing up your delicious aroma. "Daddy…" You whined impatiently, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. You looked desperate, hands coming to rest on your boyfriend's shapely shoulder. "Need you, please? "Don't worry, princess. Daddy will take care of you." Jin strictly believed in the saying "The slower the pace, the stronger the orgasm." That's why he consistently took his time with you whether eating you out or fucking you senseless.

He licked his plump lips like this was his last meal on earth, admiring how pink and glossy your sex was, and all for him. Jin's forefinger reached for your sensitive nub, carefully drawing out small circles while keenly watching it grow erect.

You sighed in relief, like a massive weight has been lifted in your chest. Such small ministrations from his end yet it caused such an immense effect on you. You watched him pucker his lips, collecting saliva in his mouth then erotically letting it drip down from his lips to your cunt aching cunt.

"O-oh," you gasped, relishing in the wetness and warmth of his spit that dribbled down your slit.

"You like that, huh?" He hummed sweetly, taking in with pride the reactions he's eliciting from you. One massaging finger became two. He began tweaking and pinching and rolling your soaked clit between his two digits, sending tiny shocks of electricity throughout your entire body.

By the way your heart was erratically beating in your chest and the way your eyes uncontrollably fluttered shut, you could sense your release reaching its peak. Yet your body has still been craving for more.

At this point, you were drenched with the blend of your juices and his saliva obscenely dripping down to the floor. "My princess is so fucking wet," He lowered himself, face now lined-up with your asshole. "D-daddy!" You mewled out loudly, entangling your hand in his raven locks when you felt his wet tongue rimming your puckered hole. Lewd sucking and slurping sound coming from him as his viciously lapped and sucked and nipped at the open flesh like a man starved.

"F-fuck, Jin…" As if your brain malfunctioned, you accidentally called him by his name. He stopped in his track just as he was about to prod your entrance with his tongue. "Did I hear that right? Jin?" He scoffed, jerking his head slightly. Suddenly, Jin licked a big-fat stripe from your ass up to your clit making you jolt in surprise "I'm gonna pretend that didn't happen," he stated, practised fingers going over the shape of your lower lips. Without a warning or giving you a second to think, he plunged his entire middle finger in you.

"D-d-daddy!" You wailed as your legs began shaking, head lolling back in delight. He began ramming his digit inside you at a ruthless pace, the sound of his palm meeting your pelvic echoed in the otherwise silent kitchen. The sting, it was definitely there. You can tell by the friction from his calloused finger scraping against your cavity. It stung, but you'd accept this generous punishment over not having an orgasm at all.

"Here?" He smirked, pupils blown out in unbridled lust. Tickling the rough spot deep with your sex. "Does my princess want to be touched here?"

Jin watched your face contorted in pleasure. Breathing ragged, brows furrowed and lips red and swollen from you biting into it too much before adding another finger into the mix.

You shrieked at the stretch, wallowing in the burning sensation all happening between your legs. And when he commenced the attack on your almost forgotten clit with his tongue, the small flame in the pit of your stomach began spreading like wildfire. You felt your temperature rising. Your entire body was stricken with sweat.

"Is my princess close?" Jin teased through his teeth, mouth still attached to your sensitive nub. The only reply you could come up with was a small nod, trembling hands clenched into a fist.

"Then come for your Daddy, princess." He coaxed. "Let me see that pussy cry." His voice and command were enough for your velvet walls to start convulsing around his long fingers.

Jin began scissoring his fingers inside you while simultaneously thrusting deeper. With your mouth partly open, you began choking out a breathless cry.

You were so fucking close and just as his torturous fingers brushed against your cervix, you instantly feel the fierce wave of your much awaited climax wash over you. Your toes curled inwards as your heels began digging into his back, urging him and signalling that you were coming. A rip-roaring moan came from your mouth in sheer unadulterated bliss. Now. Swiftly, he covered your entire sex with his mouth, seizing every last bit of your squirting orgasm.

He stared at your fucked out image through hooded lids, gulping down all your juices. He detached himself from your pussy and wiped the excess liquid at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

"We should have dessert first more often." He smiled triumphantly.

---

"Jin!" Namjoon bellowed over the thumping bass when he caught sight of Jin's figure entering through the front door.

"Joonie!" He answered back, teasing his junior with the nickname he gave him years ago. He waved his hands in the air so that Namjoon wouldn't lose sight of him in the sea of sweaty and drunken people occupying the living room area.

When they finally crossed paths, Namjoon enveloped Jin in a big bear hug. "Ugh! When was the last time I saw you, man?" He smacked Jin by the shoulder, "I missed you, Hyung." Although soft, Namjoon's voice was heard by Jin.

"Yea, missed you too." "Hi Hyung!" Taehyung beamed, peeking from Jin's back. "I've got the goods!" He shakes the bag of alcohol in their faces.

"Good!" Namjoon high-fives his Junior. Ushering them both to what they dubbed his special room. "We ain't sharing that with anyone besides ourselves." He smirked.

He was the host, technically he could do whatever the frick he wanted. Even if it was to set aside the cheap booze for the entire party to share and save the finer haul for him and his boys. "C'mon, man. We've got some catching up to do." Namjoon leads both of the boys to his study. The sooner they leave this crowded area, the sooner his anxiety will fade. When Jin entered the said room, he was hit in the face with a sense of nostalgia. The room was completely the same as the last time he was here. The furniture was the same, interior decoration the same, even the automated air-freshener spray was the same damn artificial lemon scent that made his head hurt. The only thing different from before was you weren't by his side. "Jin Hyung!" Hobi cheered, eagerly standing up from his seat on the couch to meet his hyung. "So good to see you!" Knuckles and fingers smacking against each other as they did their famous handshake that honestly had too many steps to remember. After everyone was settled in, they all gathered on Namjoon's leather couch at the far-right corner of the room next to the mini bar. "I'm so glad you came, hyung. I kinda thought you were dead." Namjoon joked, gathering ice and glasses and an assortment of chips and dips for everyone. "Hmmm, I've seen better days but I'm fine." Jin replied with a shrug of his shoulders. A deep forced chuckle escaped his lips followed by a sigh. Everyone was silent. "Ahhhh!" Hoseok tried to ease the tensioned atmosphere in the room, "By the way hyung, I have a friend," he effectively emphasized with a wiggle of his sharp brows "that has been dying to meet you!" "Who?" Taehyung inquired casually, popping a chip in his mouth. "You know Irene?" The corner of Hoseok's lip quirked, eyes hit with a glint of boastfulness. Anyone who was anyone knew who Irene was. Only a hermit living under a rock wouldn't. "The new transfer student and President of the Drama club 'Irene'?!" Namjoon’s eyes grew wide like saucers. "Yeah, that Irene." Hoseok proudly announced as if he was the one the girl was interested in. "We're in the same major and She's been asking," he paused, thinking of a more efficient way to put it into words, "more like pestering me, to introduce you to her." "Well since it's Jin-hyung we're talking about," Namjoon cuts, "it's only fair that one of the hottest girls on campus would be interested in our dear friend, also considered one of the best-looking guys on campus." "What do you say, Jin-hyung?" Hoseok asked. Namjoon and Taehyung were now anticipating an answer from their elder. Only a big moron would refuse an invitation from Irene. Jin took a few moments to think about his answer, brows furrowing into several positions before ultimately agreeing to his junior's offer. It's been 2 months and there's nothing wrong with putting himself out there. He was single anyways. "Yeah!" Hoseok exclaimed, fist pumping into the air. The thoughts of a week's worth of supply of those overpriced dumplings Irene promised him if he was able to get her and Jin to go on a date swims in his head. "I'll text her right now! And ask her if she can come," Hoseok lined his vision with Namjoon, eyes round and begging "if it's alright with Namjoon." "Yeah, tell her to bring friends." He winked, with dimples to match. "Ahhhh," Taehyung sighed, cracking his shoulders before leaning back in his seat, "That's great, since y/n's moved on and started dating that jung--" before he could even finish that sentence, both his hyungs were staring daggers at him. "S-sorry, Jin-hyung… I didn't…" Jin waved him off, "It's fine. I already know."

Three months ago. "Hey, I saw yn at x station yesterday." Baekhyun suddenly opened up. He and Jin were on shopping duty for next week's final practical exam. "Really? You must have been mistaken. She's with her sister in Busan," he reasonably argued while choosing which bundle of iceberg cabbage was the freshest. "She is? I could have sworn it was her!" Baekhyun was sure that his 20-20 vision wouldn't betray him at a time like that. But since Jin confirmed that you were at your sister's house for the weekend, maybe he was wrong and the person he saw was some kind of doppelganger look-alike. "Ahhhhh, Maybe you're right. The girl I saw was with a dude from the university’s football club anyways, couldn't have been y/n." He concludes, sniffing a knob of garlic. You? The y/n l/n that he knew would never lie to him about anything, let alone cheat on him with another guy, he thinks. In the two years of you being together, lying and cheating on your boyfriend would be the last on your mind. You weren't that type of person, right? The sweet, caring, thoughtful, and undeniably soft y/n he knew would never do such a thing, especially to someone she loved. Before he started losing interest in grocery shopping for forty percent of his final grade. Which was also a key factor of him graduating, he shook all the unnecessary thoughts plaguing his mind and focused all his attention at the task at hand. "Which is better, Jin?" Baekhyun somehow helped him escape the trance he was in, distracting him with two red plump tomatoes in each hand. "That one." Jin pointed to the one in the boy's left hand. Baekhyun examined the two tomatoes, taking a sniff of each. Jin was right, the fruit on the left did in fact smell sweeter than one on the right. Its crimson color was far more vibrant, too. "How do you know by just looking?" Again, Baekhyun was amazed at Jin's instinct when it came to food and cooking. "I just do." Jin smiled. He just does, like he always has. -- Monday arrived and there was still no sign of you. Jin called and texted you several times today to ensure that you were alright but you hadn't replied since Sunday morning. That was enough to make him worry about your well being. But Jin knew you well enough to know that if there was something wrong, anything wrong, you'd let him know right away. You trusted him and he trusted you. That's just how you two were. At around 4 in the afternoon, he contemplated contacting your sister to ask if you were en route back to university. As he hovered his thumb over the call button next to 'Sulli Noona��", the front door opened and you came in with an exhausted look on your face. "Y/n!" He jogged over to your direction and aided you with your bag, placing it on the empty chair in the foyer. "How was Busan?" He asked, walking to the kitchen to fetch you a glass of water. "Same same. Sis made me do lots of work around the house, though." You complained, untying your shoelaces before kicking off your shoes. "Here's some wa--" "Later," you interrupted, not giving him the chance to hand you the cold beverage. "Wanna take a shower first. I'm all sweaty and dirty." Without barely turning to look back, you hopped into the shower. As he stared at the cold drink dripping condensation in his hand, he heard the shower turn on. Oh, you must be terribly tired, he thought. He shrugged his shoulders and decided not to be on your ass too much. He figured you'd want to take a rest first, that he'll bug you later instead. Later that evening, Jin couldn't hold himself any longer. Two days of you gone felt like two months to him. He needed to kiss you, touch you, feel you. "Princess…" Jin whispered softly over the night time silence, massaging your waist. "Please, Jin. I'm too tired and really want to sleep." You groaned hoarsely, removing his hand from your body. "Please, y/n." He peppered the curve of your shoulder with light airy kisses. "I really missed you." He whined like child as he wrapped his arms around your torso to pull you flush against him "Can't it wait?" You drowsily murmured, pulling the blanket over your exposed shoulder, not wanting to be any part of it. "Please…" he mused, carefully slipping his hand into your underwear. "Being at your sister's house must have drained all your energy. Let me help you relax." He hummed playfully, circling your flit with the pad of his middle finger. "Uh, fine." You grunted in annoyance. "Just get it over with." You rolled flat on your back, eyes still closed. That's odd, Jin speculated. This was the first time you had acted this hostile whenever he initiated sex. Be it after finals or rehearsal at drama club, you never refused his advances. Maybe it was the fatigue talking, maybe your sister did tire you out too much. Well, he just needed to double the effort of making you feel good. "Want to eat you out so bad, miss how you taste." He confessed openly, his body ghosting over your resting figure while hands tugging on your panty. "No." You abruptly declared, "I don't want you to eat me out. Just want your dick." Your words caught him off guard. You were a pillow princess, and that's an absolute fact. Usually, you'd enjoyed the feeling of being eaten and spoiled rotten until you came. He never thought you'd want to go straight to penetration without proper foreplay. "Are you sure, princess?" Jin was reluctant, of course. "You're not wet enough, and I haven't stretched you out properly." The thought of you being in pain rather than feeling bliss bothered him to an extent. "It's fine." Your hands flew to your mouth, scooping up the saliva you accumulated between your lips and rubbed it on your raw pussy. "See? It's fine." "O-okay…" If you say so. Jin lowered the band of his boxers, making his hard cock spring free. Bulbous tip already leaking pre-cum. Just to be sure, he let his spit dribble from his mouth to his dick, coating his entire length with more lubrication. He lined himself up, rubbing against your tight slit. "Are you ready, princess?" "Y-yeah." Gradually, Jin pushed the tip of his cock into you. You were so tight and still not wet enough. He heard you hiss in pain when half of his length was buried in you. He brushed the strands of hair out of your face and asked, "Are you okay, princess?" You nodded, "Keep going." Half heartedly, he sinks his entire length into your sex. You suddenly moaned as he bottomed out, but he couldn't distinguish if it was out of pleasure or out of pain. Your walls clenched around him uncomfortably, and he wonders if he should continue or not. He stilled his movements for quite a while, gauging your reactions. "Why'd you stop?" You inquired, face grimacing. "Keep going." He silently nodded and started moving his hips. Once he's set a comfortable rhythm for the both of you, he watched your face illuminated by the moonlight carefully. Your expression changed from the initial scowl you were wearing to a less tense frown. Of course you weren't aware that Jin was observing you. You had your eyes closed the whole time, looking less amused as the seconds went by. He's having second thoughts now; he shouldn't have forced you to do something you didn't want to. Instead of thinking about you and how you felt, he put his own horniness first. He cursed himself and his damn selfishness as he was halfway through his orgasm and you haven't borne any sign of climax yet. He clenched his teeth and shut his eyes. He was gonna make you come whatever it took, even if it meant him coming first. Jin hooked the back of your knees at the bend of his arms, and he was now pounding you harshly into the mattress. His strokes were sharp and forceful, making you whimper. A few pumps later, he found himself spilling his warm fluid into your cavern, coating your walls with his seed. He took a minute to steady his breathing before he was crawling down to your dripping pussy. Right before Jin's fingers came in contact with your cunt, you slapped his hand away. "What are you doing?" You scolded. "I was about to-- you hadn't come yet so--" He explained nervously, like he was caught doing something he shouldn't have. "I thought I should--" "Stop." You cut him off again, harshly this time. Propping yourself up to go to the bathroom. "You don't need to." "But yn--" "I told you, you don't have to!" you spat venomously at him before slamming the door behind you. He heard the shower turn on again. The sound of the water droplet hitting the tiles turning into white noise in his head. You're tired and angry because of the fatigue. That must be it, he thought. Surely it was, he hoped. -- After that incident, things never went back to normal. Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into a month. That's how long you've been acting so cold and indifferent towards him. This wasn't like you; it wasn't like you at all. You never learned to harbour grudges or act so cruel. Every day he wondered what he did or said wrong which caused you to suddenly behave this way. If he could turn back time and erase everything he did that night, he'd do in a heartbeat. He bought you your favourite flowers and sweets, he took you out on spontaneous dates even if you were the least bit interested and cooked you your favourite foods for dinner four times a week that took a sizable chunk out of his bank account. He did everything he could, and thought was right to make you forgive him. He wanted you back. The one who loved being cuddled and tickled, the one who whined like a big baby whenever he didn't give you the attention that you wanted, the one who gave a thousand kisses a day and still wouldn't stop at that. He wanted you; he wanted you back so much that it was starting to hurt him physically. He missed you so much. He wanted you, the old you. He never lost hope, though. Even if it meant him failing a hundred times only to get it right once, he still wouldn't give up. Until one day he caught you stuffing your suitcase to the brim with all of your belongings. "Y/n?" Jin couldn't believe what his eyes were showing him. "What are you doing?" You sighed, zipping up your suitcase. "I don't think it's working, Jin." "What's not working, y/n? I don't un--" "Us." You cut him off. "Huh? What do you mean, y/n?" Now he couldn't believe what he was hearing, especially coming from you. "I'm breaking up with you." He suddenly felt his heart drop to his stomach. "Y/n, I don't know what you're thinking but we can talk this one out. Like we always do." You sighed a more audible sigh. "No, Jin. This…" You hesitated for a second before continuing what needs to be said. "This really isn't working out." A wave of cold panic washed over Jin's entire body, soaking him with sweat from head to toe making him feel like a defenseless wet chick about to be eaten by a fox. "Is it because I'm graduating?" Jin thought of the best reason he could conjure up on the spot. "Are you afraid that we'll grow apart after I graduate and get a job? Is that why you're being so distant?" You shook your head. "No. It's not that…" Hurriedly, he sprinted towards you and craddled you in his arms. "You don't have to worry about anything, baby." Jin assured, "After I graduate, I'll work my socks off and save enough money while waiting for you to graduate. I can wait for you, y/n. You know that, even if you stay in school for another four years, I'll wait for you. You know you're the only one for me" The sobs forcing their way were harder to contain now. "I know, Jin. I know. But it really isn't that..." You pushed him away. There was no easy way to put it. "Then what is it?" He helplessly croaked, staring at your blank eyes, searching for something he couldn't find. "Please y/n…" "I don't feel the way I used to feel… towards you." You bluntly stated, no need to beat around the bush at this point. You were in the endgame now. "Huh? Why? How--" The ground beneath his feet began shaking, preparing to crack open and swallow him whole any moment now. "It's not you, it has nothing to do with you." You explained. "Then what is it that made you feel this way?" His hands began trembling, his throat tight and dry. He wanted, no, he needed a reason, any reason. His stomach started churning and he felt bile rising up his esophagus, he wanted to throw up. "It's too complicated." That's all you say. "Then let's uncomplicate it, y/n!" He ran his fingers through his raven hair, tugging at the strands too hard. "Fuck…" he hissed before releasing his grip. The burn and sting from his scalp caused his face go numb. "Y/n please, please, please…" He dropped to his knees in front of you. He was practically pleading for you to stay. Tears kept falling from his eyes as his nails clawed into the carpet. "W-we we can work this out." He looked up, eyes red and cheeks wet. He held onto your hand tightly with no intention of letting you walk out on him. "I-I'm sorry, Jin. I just really can't…" You snatched your hand from his grip and left him there. Alone. Something he never expected he'd feel since being with you.

After 20 minutes of casual conversation, playfully banter and catching up between best friends who missed each other, a soft knock on the door threw everything into a halt. "That must be Irene and her friends!" Hoseok chimed. He stood up immediately and headed his way to the door. "Hobi!" Irene squealed at the sight of her friend. "Girls, come here!" She gestures outside to where her friends were huddled together. She led her little groupie of pretty girls into the room. "Hi I'm Irene," She bowed and introduced herself to the group of boys before her. Once she made eye contact with Seokjin, she blushed. "T-this is Wendy, Joy, and--" when she discovered that her last friend was nowhere to be seen, she excused herself and exited the room. "H-hold on." "Hey y/n! Come in here!" Irene's voice can be overheard from across the hall. A switch in Jin's head flipped. He froze in his seat when he heard that name as if a bucket of ice water was dumped over him. "Irene, I told you I can't!" A familiar voice hushed from outside of the room. It was you. It seemed like our dear friend hoseok overlooked a critically important detail. Irene was the new President of the Drama Club; you have been a member of the drama club since freshman year. In fact, it was Jin that urged you to join. The chances of you being friends with her were a solid home run. Irene came back with a distraught you in tow. "And this is y/n." Namjoon, Taehyung and Hoseok were completely and utterly flabbergasted. Irene and her friends were confused as to why the boys suddenly became silent and the cheerful ambiance of the room disappeared. "H-hi… I know I'm not supposed to be here. I tried to talk to Irene but she insisted but I really didn't mean intruding and…" You were a stuttering mess while everyone watched. "I'm sorry, I'll just go…" You pointed towards the door, loosening the small hand bound around your wrist. "It's fine." Jin announced, "You're welcome to stay, y/n." Taehyung and Namjoon eyed one another credulously. What in the world was happening?! Irene leaned over to Hoseok to inquire exactly that. When Hoseok was done filling in the clueless girl, she gasped in surprise. Feeling embarrassed and ashamed of herself. "Please excuse us for a while." She hauled you out of the room into the hallway and exclaimed "Y/n! Why didn't you tell me?! If I had know I wouldn't have---" "That's why. If I told you that Jin was my ex then you wouldn't shoot your shot." You reasoned. "But we're friends, y/n. I won't disrespect you like that..." "Nobody's disrespecting anybody, Irene. Jin and I, we're a thing of the past. I won't despise you for dating my ex. Hell, I'd be elated if you'd be his new girlfriend! You're one of the nicest people I know, and I'm rooting for you." "I freaking love you, y/n." Irene beamed, slightly teary eyed. - You both returned to the room hand in hand. "I'll stay for a while if you'll have me." You shyly announced, giving them all a ninety degree bow. "Great! Have a seat! You know you're still our friend, y/n." Namjoon offers you the seat next to his, and you gladly accept. You felt guilty hearing Namjoon's words. After breaking their best friend's heart, they still consider you a friend. Wait, that made it sound much worse. You didn't deserve the hospitality they're providing you. You tried settling down in your seat, ignoring the thick veil of awkwardness cloaking the entire room. You couldn't look Jin in the eye even though he was right across your seat, sitting comfortably next to Irene. Just when the tension and nerves were beginning to get to you, and you were contemplating about leaving, Jin comes to the rescue like he always does. "How have you been, yn?" He smiled sincerely, no hint of malice or resentment. "I-Im good." You scratched the back of your neck. A mannerism that comes out whenever you're nervous, Jin knows all too well. "Heard you aced your practical and you'll be graduating this year. Congrats." You concealed your anxiety with a chuckle. "Yeah, I did. Thanks." The small talk about school and such events between Namjoon and Jin went pretty smoothly for about ten minutes. When Namjoon's attention was directed towards Wendy and Jin was busy answering Irene's twenty questions, that's when you totally felt out of place. "I'll just head to the bathroom." Irene announced as she left the room. You finally had the chance to say what you have meant to say for the past 10 minutes. Even if the last thing he wanted was a lame apology from the likes of you, he still deserved it. The little voice in your head won't allow you sleep if you don't do it now. "Jin, I--" Before you could properly apologize for everything you did, someone knocked on the door while no one was expecting anyone anymore. Hoseok totally embodied the role of the bell boy today, as he was the one who kept answering the door for everyone. "Ah, Hey." A tall man stood before him, sporting an all black attire. Black shirt, black sweatpants, black boots, and the black jersey jacket ensemble of the University's football club. "Name's Jungkook, I'm here for yn." Hoseok surveyed the lad from head to toe before calling for you, "Y/nie! A boy named Jungkook is looking for you!" "Y-yeah! Coming." You looked at Jin apologetically, "Sorry. Talk to you next time." You bowed to everyone and said your regards before vacating the room with Jungkook. The sting, he felt it. It wasn't the same as the first time he heard you found somebody new, but it was still there. Jin found out that just after a week of breaking it off with him, you were already dating this Jungkook guy. At first he didn't believe it. He knew you were just as hurt as him for making such a monumental decision. He thought he knew you didn't have it in you to do such a thing. But he's been proven wrong before, why question everything now? He didn't have anyone to blame but himself. So for days and months, he'd been moping around his apartment. Not leaving his room unless he needed to eat or take a piss. His new roommate at that time, Taehyung, was heaven sent. Slowly but surely, he helped Jin recover and come back to his senses. He'd repeat, "It's not the end of the world." And "You'll find other girls." Like it was a mantra. At first he thought the boy was annoying 'cause he didn't want anyone but you. But later on he understood that Taehyung was only looking after him and wanted nothing but the best. As the days went by, he learned to live his life without you in the picture. Somewhere in his heart, he accepted that things were clearly not meant to be; that you weren't the same person you were when you first met; that you didn't love him anymore and maybe you breaking up with him was for the best. He's moved on, he can attest to that. And he doesn't want you anymore. But… Why was there a sudden ache in his heart the moment he saw Jungkook take you by the hand and lead you out of the room with a big smile on your face? That, even himself, can't answer.

161 notes · View notes

katymacsupernatural · 5 years

Text

Taunting

Dean x Reader with Abadon

900 Words

Written For: @spnkinkbingo, @spndarkbingo, @heavenandhellbingo

Squares Filled: ball slapping (Kink) Abadon (Dark), Knights of Hell(Heaven and Hell)

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, non con, ball slapping, whip play, kidnap and torture. Nothing extremely graphic

Summary: Abadon takes an interest in you and Dean and kidnaps you. Bringing you back to her hotel room, she has her fun.

It wasn’t the type of room you would have imagined Abadon would be residing in. It was luxurious and beautiful. Five windows, floor to ceiling, took up the majority of the wall, thick brocade curtains framing the beautiful view.

A sitting room was expertly placed in the corner, with velvet couches and golden trim. Soft oriental rugs covered the marble floor. A silky smooth comforter adorned the king-sized bed.

It was no longer smoothly tucked into the feather downed mattress. It was bunched and pushed down towards the end of the bed by Dean’s bare feet.

One of the gilded chairs had been pushed across the marbled floor, scraping the expensive flooring, but no one cared. You had been shoved down into the plush chair, the soft curtain ties wrapped around your ankles and wrists, holding you in place.

All of this was because Abadon had taken in an interest in you and Dean. She had captured you during one of your nights out at the local bar, quickly transporting you to her special haven.

You were naked as was Dean. Abadon was dressed in her usual black attire, but it was skimpier than her usual black jeans and a black t-shirt. She had blood-red high heels on, heels that tapped loudly as walked around the bed, taunting Dean. Her legs were bare, her middle barely covered in a satin thong. Her stomach was covered in a black satin corset, her breasts pushed high above the cloth.

Her red curls tumbled down her back, a beacon in a sea of darkness. She was pretty, even if her soul was pure evil. She was a Knight of Hell, one of the first evil creatures to ever walk the Earth. And she had you and Dean to do with as she seemed fit.

Dean laid bare on the bed, his legs and arms spread and tied to the edges of the bed. His eyes watched Abadon as she stalked him, wincing as she ran a red nail roughly down his thigh. “The fearful Dean Winchester laid bare in my bed. Oh, the fun I can have.”

Struggling against the ropes holding you hostage, you could only watch as she cupped his member tight in her hand, squeezing until his hips jerked. “Damn it Abadon, let us go!” Dean exclaimed, sighing in relief as she released him.

“Oh no,” she purred. “Not until I’ve had my fun.”

You hoped that Sam and Cas were on their way, figuring out where you had gone. But it was a longshot, one that you had no idea if they would ever figure out. Abadon came to stand behind you, her hands sliding down your shoulders, her gaze on Dean. “Who should I start with?” She taunted. “You, or this beautiful woman of yours?”

Her hands were rough as they cupped your breasts, squeezing until red marks marred your tender skin. “I bet you would like to see that Dean. See your woman taken by another woman. Is that right?”

“Leave Y/N out of this!” Dean argued, his shoulders the only thing coming off the bed as he struggled to free himself.

Tweaking your nipples hard, Abadon left you alone, heading the dresser in the corner. Opening the top drawer, she pulled out a leather whip, running if fondly through her fist. “I love toys, don’t you?”

Dean’s eyes met yours across the room, silently pleading with you to remain quiet. Abadon meandered across the room, rubbing the leather tip of the whip along his foot, bringing it up his leg.

“Dean, I bet you’re an adventurous guy in the sack,” Abadon teased. “Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

You stayed quiet, but it only made Abadon chuckle. “I love a little pain with pleasure. It heightens the senses. Makes everything that much more intense.”

She tapped the inside of Dean’s thigh with the whip, his entire body tensing at the touch. She winked your way before running the end along his length, down before smacking him harshly in the balls.

You winced, knowing how much that had to sting. Dean cried out, his body flailing on the bed as he tried to get away. She had a huge smile on her face as she leaned forward, taking his nipple in her mouth, tugging harshly before leaning back. His skin was marred with her red lipstick before she brought the whip down once again, hitting Dean in the most sensitive spot.

He cried out again, and you fought against your binds, trying to free yourself, to save Dean from the humiliation.

“Ooh, looks like he might be enjoying this,” She purred, her finger running along his length, watching as it jerked under her touch. “Y/N, you should really try this.”

She took the whip, smacking him again, her laughter echoing in the hotel room, and you prayed to Cas, pleading with him to come and save you and Dean before Abadon took things too far.

Dean/Jensen Tags: @acortez82 @acreativelydifferentlove @adoptdontshoppets @a-girl-who-loves-disney @akshi8278 @bebravekeeponfighting @bi-danvers0 @brindz30 @burningcoffeetimetravel @cap-just-said-language @colette2537 @deansgirl215 @flamencodiva @hamiltrash1411 @its-not-a-tulpa @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @just-another-winchester @karouwinchester @keikoraventeller @krys198478 @librarygeekery @magssteenkamp @misspygmypie @mlovesstories @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @mrspeacem1nusone @nothinbuttrouble2 @ria132love @ruprecht0420 @sortaathief @superseejay721517 @squirrelnotsam @team-free-will-you-idjiot @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @torn-and-frayed @tricksterdean @wonderfulworldofwinchester @woodworthti666

Forever Tags: @aditimukul @alexwinchester23 @algud @amanda-teaches @andreaaalove @artisticpoet @atc74 @be-amaziing @camelotandastronauts @caswinchester2000 @chelsea072498 @closetspngirl @docharleythegeekqueen @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008 @esoltis280 @gh0stgurl @goldenolaf25 @growningupgeek @heyitscam99 @hobby27 @horsegirly99 @internationalmusicteacher @iwriteaboutdean @jayankles @jensen-gal @just-another-busyfangirl @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @lifelovelaughangell123 @li-ssu @linki-locks11 @littleblue5mcdork @lowlyapprentice @maui137 @mogaruke @monkeymcpoopoo @musiclovinchic93 @nanie5 @percussiongirl2017 @plaid-lover-bay25 @roonyxx @ronja-uebrick @roxyspearing @samanthaharper2018 @samanddeanmyheroes @sandlee44 @shamelesslydean @simonsbluee @sillesworldofwriting @sgarrett49 @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnwoman @superbadassnatural @thatcrazybookwormgeek @thewinchesterchronicles @vvinch3st3r @wecantgiggleitsafandom @whimsicalrobots @winchester-writes @zombiewerewolfqueen

#spnkinkbingo #spndarkbingo #heavenandhellbingo #dean winchester x reader #abadon #abadon x dean #spn fanfic #katy writes #supernatural x reader #dean x y/n

54 notes · View notes

serahsanguine · 5 years

Note

19MSR AU: Young and very sexy Mulder and Scully meet in a club. After a few drinks and some dancing, they have a quickie in the club bathroom.

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

Candy is dandy. But liquor is quicker.

Rating; Nc-17! Ao3

Notes; Dear Bethany Thank you for this prompt I hope I did it justice.

Other Notes; this story is set in England were the Legal drinking age is 18.

Mulder had just walked into club Spiral. The room smelled of alcohol and hormones, it was dark apart from the green illumination of the strobe lights flicking from corner to corner. He walked over the bar which sat in the far back of the room, it glowed red as the countertop and walls all spotted by that red neon bulb.

He sat down at the one and only empty barstool and ordered a Famous Grouse Whiskey on the rocks. It took a small sip feeling the burn of liquor flow down his throat. He had just finished his dissertation on the human mind of a serial killer and accepted a placement to go back to America to train as an FBI agent.

He sat there for a few hours as the music flowed and vibrated through every surface, people came and went around him. He was at least three drinks down and turned his head when he heard a fellow American voice against all the British accents. There was a beautiful woman next to him, she had fiery red hair and beautiful crystal blue eyes.

He sat there and studied her, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was wearing a black lace dress. It was elegant yet revealing at the same time. As if she knew his eyes were upon her, she turned her head and looked at him and smiled.

“Whiskey, is like a beautiful woman, it demands appreciation. You gaze first, then it’s time to drink.” her voice like liquid silk to his ears.

She took a moment to look down at the man sitting on a stool beside her, she noticed that he was wearing blue Levi jeans, black v neck t-shirt and what looked like Doc Martens boots.

“Who said that?” he asked, curious to her answer.

“A wise man,” she took the last sip of her drink before placing the empty glass back down at the bar.

“Care to dance?” she asked

He gulped down the last of his glass before taking her hand in his and leading her to the dance floor. For the first time, he noticed she was younger than he but more mature than she looks portrayed. She was also smaller than he was, even in her heels but that did not stop her from pressing her body against his. She snaked and slithered down his body grinding and bumping into him. The atmosphere electric and his hormones raging.

“I never asked for your name?”

“Dana,” she replied sultrily. “And yours?”

“Fox.”

She looked up at him as smiled, never questioning the name he gave her, She slipped her hand under his t-shirt feeling the tense muscles beneath her nimble touch. He inhaled sharply and leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“If you carry on, I will not be responsible for my actions”

He felt her shiver but her hand did not move from under his t-shirt. She instead decided to ignore his warning and stretched out her fingers and found his nipples and pinching them before scraping her nails down his torso.

That sent him wild with desire. His eyes turned feral, dark and lustful.

“I warned you, I would not be held responsible for my actions.”

She giggled, he soon placed his hand around the back of her neck and crushed his mouth against hers. With their lips locked his tongue sought entrance to her mouth which she opened gladly. She tasted of the margarita she had earlier, he tasted of whiskey and rye.

Her hand entwining in his hair roughly pulling and tugging in a battle for who had the most desire and passion as a flood of desire pooled in between her legs. His hazel eyes opened to find her blue sapphire eyes staring back at him. She smiled seductively and took his hand in hers and lead them away from the dance floor and towards the exit.

They stopped short when she felt him kissing the crook of her neck, she turned back to face him in the dim light.

“I can’t wait,” she said simply.

She took him towards the club bathroom, entering first to check to see if it was clear. It seems luck was on their side as she tugged his hand to follow her inside. His mouth instantly found her again. They stayed like that for a few minutes then he lifted her placing her on the countertop between the two porcelain sinks. He proceeded to lift her skirt, bunching it around her hips. His fingers finding her moist and eager.

He moved his kisses from her lips to her neck his hand undoing her dress letting it fall around her stomach. He kissed and nibbled, the small growth of his beard scratching against her skin. He soon moved his mouth toward her breasts giving each one the love and attention they so rightfully deserved.

“Oh God it feels so good” she panted.

“I’m going to go down on you Dana,” he said in between kisses and stroking her over the thin material of her panties

She growled again at hearing him say those words and pictured his brown hair in between her legs.

“No” he looked confused, she moved her hand towards his belt “Enough foreplay, I want you in me now”

He took no more encouragement as he helped her undo the belt, his trousers and boxers dropping to the floor in a pile at his ankles.

She placed her hand around his girth stroking him up and down his length before spreading some of his precum on the tip and letting go. He grunted like an animal in heat.

One of his hands slid under her hip, bringing her to him and the other hand moved her panties out of the way. In one quick motion, he entered her deep depths.

“Oh, Christ you’re huge!”

He chuckled and pulled himself all the way out and plummeted back into her and held her there. He could not believe how tight she was, he could feel her muscles trying to adjust to the sudden onslaught of his girth and length.

“You’re so tight.”

She hummed, her heart beating faster than it ever had before, so much so she thought she might have a heart attack.

“Am I you’re first?” he asked sheepishly.

She laughed before simply answering “No” breathlessly.

He pulled back out of her and ploughed back in with such force. Her back arched, her nipples painfully erect scraping against his cotton t-shirt. She moaned in pleasure and pain.

With one hand on the countertop for balance, his other hand worked in between their bodies. He squeezed one of her swollen breasts and tweaked her nipple immediately feeling a response when she thrust her hips into his. He was holding back every ounce of control he had, trying to go as slow as possible, afraid he wouldn’t last long enough to make her climax. He wanted to feel her cum while he was still inside her.

He bit his lip hard enough to make it bleed as he thrust his cock deep inside her feeling his sensitive tip collide with her cervix. He was groaning, blinded by lust and the fact he had never felt such passion for another person.

“Oh, Dana you feel so good, so tight, so full”

His worries were unwarranted as he felt her walls clamp around him spasming out of control, her body rocking with its climax.

“Fox” she screamed, her voice mixing with the drum and bass of the clubs sound system.

He marvelled at his control. His body was sweating profusely but she felt great, energized and wild. He didn’t think he’d ever fucked anyone as hard as he was fucking Dana, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t take her gently. She was as little and tight, he’d almost lost control several times when he felt her hand smack and grab his backside.

As her spasming continued he cautiously started plunging back into her, but this time he was pausing between strokes and he could tell it was driving her crazy, but the flip side was it was holding his orgasm at bay.

She was grunting softly with his every stroke. “Uhg, uhg, uhg.” She panted harshly, whimpering with the need for another release. Her soft, strong hands were touching him everywhere she could reach which wasn’t much.

She forced herself to take a deep breath and shouted, “Pleeeeaassseee, FOX. Oh God, I HAVE TO COME! Please let me come. I can’t stand it anymore! Fuck me. HARD PLEASE!”

His head spun. Even in his wildest dreams, he had never experienced anyone begging him to fuck her like this. He felt euphoric and powerful and completely in control as he picked up the pace slightly. Their pelvises were crashing together. Skin again skin, bone against bone. He slid his hand down from her breast and down her stomach to in between their joined legs to find her over her swollen flesh, soon finding her clit, flicking and pinching it.

She shrieked, “Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhh, ffffuuuuuccccckkkk!” Her orgasm tore through her with such force that she felt her consciousness might slip away. Her fingers clamped onto the back of his neck leaving small half-moon shapes in her wake.

He was rubbing her clitoris in hard jerking motions as he kept her impaled on his cock. Her walls milked him with everything she had. he utterly lost control when she felt him bite down on his bicep. He removed his hand from the joining bodies placing both his hands on the corner of the countertop thrusting his hips wildly into her, feeling her climax around him. His body locked up and released and she fell into him utterly exhausted quivering softly against him.

When they both came back to reality, he helped her do her dress back up making sure there was no evidence of their quick get together. They both left the bathroom each saying goodbye. She went off to find another woman who looked oddly a lot like her, and he wandered off to finally break up with the women that broke his heart.

The End.

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

Tagging. @skullsmuldon @xfpornbattle @today-in-fic @foxystarbucks @baronessblixen @storybycorey @peacenik0

#the xfiles #xfiles #txf fanfic #TXF #mulder and scully #Fox Mulder #Dana Scully #pornbattle #AU fanfiction

76 notes · View notes

coughmadicine · 5 years

Text

Good Enough

Frank Castle x reader

words: 1.8k warnings: slight praise kink, SMUT, fluff, sub-ish Frank, Frank bein a softy summary: Frank doesn't understand how you could like him compared to Matt Murdock etc. when he thinks he's a monster so you show him just how good he is.

a/n: 1st Frank Castle fic but ugh i love this man so much. His character is perfect and he's a good man through and through and i just want him to see it. Please request:)

Masterlist

It was quite a long night, not to say that it wasn’t fun, but sometimes being normal was exhausting. You longed to just go back to your apartment and watch a movie with your boyfriend, in peace and quiet.

Matt and Foggy had helped you out with a legal predicament and you felt it necessary to repay them in drinks. They, along with Karen, were the closest thing you and Frank got to friends. They aided your domestic facade greatly and admittedly they were fun to be around, but you couldn’t deny the pull back to your regular situation.

You looked to Frank who had gone off to fetch another round. He hadn’t spoken much tonight, granted he never really does. The two of you didn’t need words, but it was a bit awkward around Matt for obvious reasons. When he returned passing the beers around you made eye contact. He looked tired, Matt had also been helping Frank at night and that always seemed to make him exhausted.

You yawned as you began to sip on your fresh beer.

“I think this is my last drink guys, I’ve had a great night and I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Really I do.”

“No problem Y/N seriously you're our friend, we only wish you’d come around more often,” Foggy said.

“Oh come on we see each other enough,” you grinned. “Yeah when either you or Frank’s asses need saving,” Karen giggled.

Frank wrapped his arm around you pulling you closer in the booth.

“Yeah right! I recall helping you pretty recently,” you argued recalling the time Karen needed advice from you about asking Matt out.

“Touché,” she rolled her eyes.

After a while longer of chit chatting you finished your beer and decided to call it a night. Frank offered a few words and the two of you left into the New York air.

“You were having fun we could’ve stayed longer,” Frank said absentmindedly pulling you closer to him.

“Nah I didn’t want to ‘sides I know you’re tired.” “Oh yeah?” “Yeah,” you smirked, “I know Matt always makes you incredibly exhausted what with his do-good ways and hope.”

“I don’t get why you stick around you know that?”

His words caused you to stop and turn to him. He felt like he wasn’t good enough for you like he was tainting you in some way.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” “People like Red, they’re good. I’m clearly not-“

“Frank, you think I give a fuck about any of that? That law abiding citizen shit? There is nothing wrong about what you do, I admire everything about you. I’m not looking for a picket fence life with a husband who works 9 to 5, I knew what I signed up for and I’m still here for that Frank. I fucking love you, you got that?”

“Jeez Y/L/N when you put it like that,” he mumbled.

The both of you began to walk again, but what he said weighed on you. You knew his response was just good enough to finish the conversation, yet you felt he was still doubtful. He would always say shit about how “he didn’t deserve you” and he’d “understand if you left”, but in some ways, you were just as dirty as him. You were no saint and he knew it too.

When you were inside of your apartment you both kicked your boots off. You headed to the fridge and grabbed a water. He walked into your guys’ bedroom and you heard the shower begin to run.

While you waited for him you changed into an old t-shirt of his and crawled into bed. You couldn’t help thinking about what he felt. You didn’t need him to speak to get across what he needed but he rarely let himself get emotional. He’d express his love for you and say it too, but you knew he kept the other feelings hidden, the ones where he’s scared etc.

The shower finally shut off and he came out with a towel wrapped around his waist. His back was faced to you as he reached into the dresser for a pair of sweatpants. You stood from the bed and moved behind him. Your hands flitting to his shoulder blades and crisscrossing across his scars. He tensed but relaxed immediately as you slowly moved along his back.

“You know I love you Frank.” “I know.” “And you know you’re good enough,” you continued. “Yeah, I just-“ “No Frank, you’re good. I don’t care about any of the bad shit you do, every bit of you is good.”

He inhaled, his shoulders rising. You pulled on him to face you. When he did your hand went up to grasp his bicep and your face slid into the crook in his neck.

“You’re so good, you’re good to me and that old lady in 23 who is always breaking things in her apartment, but it’s really just an excuse to have you in there because she thinks you’re handsome. You do good every night, and killing people doesn’t make you any less.”

As you continued to speak you kissed his collarbone softly.

“I don’t deserve you,” He whispered. “I think the same thing Frank.”

You looked into his eyes and he leaned into you more. He leaned into your hands and the way you caressed him. He didn't have to say it that he needed this, you just knew. You tugged gently at the towel on his waist until it fell. You inhaled deeply, his breath mingling with yours as he pulled you in for a kiss. The kiss was deep and solid. His lips moving languidly but firmly on yours. Your hands continued to work on his shoulders. His own grabbed at your waist and then dipped to the small of your back pulling you more into him.

He was rarely vulnerable, but here with him standing naked in front of you, you felt it. You felt him surrendering himself to you and you couldn’t be more enthralled. You grinned on his lips, biting his lower lip softly, earning a deep groan from him.

Sex with Frank was usually raw and controlling. You couldn’t lie that being fucked roughly from behind and spanked right now sounded amazing, but that’s not what Frank needed at the moment.

Cautiously you moved your hand down his chest as the kiss deepened. Your nails scraped on the indents of his abs until you reached just above his thigh. He grunted deeply and you could feel his cock twitch upwards. You pulled away for breath and quickly removed yourself of his shirt leaving you in just your panties.

His gaze fixed to your breasts, your nipples peaking at his gaze and the cool air. His calloused hands moved to grab them. He kneaded them and tweaked them causing you to keen towards him, soft moans leaving your lips.

You wrapped your hands around his neck and pulled him to kiss you again, deeper this time. You slowly shifted until the back of his knees were at the bed and you were in front of him. He sat and looked at you waiting to see what you would do.

“Fuck Frank you’re beautiful,” you murmured kissing him again with the same fervor. He grunted again his hips slightly snapping up from the bed. You grabbed his hand that caressed your cheek and moved it to your clothed pussy.

“See how wet I am, fuck, a-all for you.”

He teased your folds through the cloth and you could feel him smirk on your lips. You quickly discarded you panties and moved to straddle him on the bed. He scooted back farther to accommodate you. You were a moaning mess now as his fingers began to stroke your cunt. His thumb working your clit and two fingers shallowly pushing into you.

“Shit, oh god,” you moaned as you felt him working you closer.

But this was about him. You were going slow for him, to prove to him that he was good and worth everything. You grabbed his wrist to stop him and then moved your hand to his cock. A bead of precum slowly leaked out and your hand worked slowly on him. You pulled deep grunts from him before you moved to position him at your entrance.

“You’re so good to me,” you moaned, your mouth moving towards his ear where you tugged at.

He grunted as you slowly pushed down on him until he was fully sheathed in your tight cunt. Your breathing was labored focusing on how full you were.

“Fuck I love your cock, you fill me so well. I-“

His lips crashed into yours again. You pushed up on your knees slightly and began to swivel up and down on him. Both of your grunted as cursed as you began fucking yourself onto him at a slow but forceful pace.

His lips moved to suck marks onto your neck and then your chest, then finally your tits.

“Oh god, Frank- I’m so close shit,” you moaned.

His name was repeatedly leaving your lips and he began to buck his hips to meet your thrusts as your walls fluttered around his cock.

“Fuck Y/N I love you.” He grunted louder.

His cock was spasming just as you felt the bundle of nerves tighten in your abdomen to the point of breaking. You felt his every thrust and relished in the thickness of it. Your hands reached at his shoulders digging in as you sped up yet again. You were bounding on him now chanting his name. He grunted and bit your shoulder just as you walls clenched around him. You came at that moment and sobbed his cock twitching and then filling you as he followed you into bliss.

“You’re so good,” you said once more and kissed his shoulder.

You slowly got up off your knees and pulled away from him. Your legs shook as his cock left you. You wiped the both of you clean and then crawled into bed. He followed you and grabbed you, pulling you into his chest. He kissed your forehead then tucked you under his chin.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” “For what?” “Reminding me I’m not always a monster,” he said casually. “In my eyes you never were.” “I love you.” “I love you too Frank.”

He kissed you again and then flipped on the tv. Neither of you liked total silence at night and the soft flicker of the tv was calming. You got lightly absorbed into the show as you watched from his chest.

“Y/N?” “Hmmm,” you mumbled with your face pressed against him. “I’m fucking you into the sheets tomorrow morning and then making you breakfast.” “I was counting on that,” you kissed his pec.

You both chuckled softly and then resumed your silence. Sleep overtook you both.

#frank castle #pete castiglione #matt murdock #karen page #foggy nelson #matt murdock imagine #frank castle imagine #daredevil #the punisher #punisher #the punisher smut #punisher x reader #frank castle smut #frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle fluff #marvel's defenders #matt murdock and frank castle

137 notes · View notes

uas-art · 6 years

Text

Title: The Trials Summary: Everyone had to go through the trials to be part of Craig's gang, Tweek is no exception--no matter how much Craig wants him to be. Ships: Creek Rating: T for language

Craig should have known today was going to end poorly when Clyde spit his milk half way across the lunch table with no provocation. He barely had time to shield his sandwich and brownie with his arms from the projectile dairy. Craig glowered across the table.

"The fuck, dude?" He snapped.

Clyde hacked, earning a few firm pats on the back from Token beside him. After a moment, he lunged halfway across the table and grabbed hold of Craig's shoulders. "Craig! Craig, dude, I just--Tweek, he's part of our gang, right? Or is he still part of Stan's and just dating you?"

Craig opened his mouth then shut it. He wasn't sure. Since they started dating, Tweek had been spending more time with his gang over Stan's or any other clique, but Craig had never actually asked if he wanted to be part of his or not.

"I dunno." Craig brushed Clyde's hands off then leaned back, looking over towards the lunch line. Tweek was chatting with Scott while waiting in the line for milk. Without speaking, Craig stood. He took a few steps away from the table before he paused and turned back again. He grabbed his brownie from his tray. He didn't trust that someone--Clyde--wouldn't try to take it while he was away.

Biting into the brownie, he walked over to the end of the lunch line just as Tweek finished.

"Tweek," he said, waving his hand, cutting off whatever Scott was saying. Crumbs of brownie fell onto his jacket. Scott eyed Craig for a moment then started off towards his normal table.

"Hey, Craig. What's up?" Tweek replied.

Craig put his arm on Tweek's shoulder and gently lead him towards the his table. "Tweek, are you part of my gang?"

"W-what? I-I dunno!" Tweek gripped his tray tighter. Craig squeezed his arm reassuringly.

"I was just wondering. Clyde brought it up. If you want to be part of my gang, you can be."

"Is that--garh--ok? Do the others care? What if one of them secretly hates me?"

"No one could ever hate you, Tweek."

They returned to Craig's lunch table then. Jimmy scooted aside, making room for Tweek. Tweek nodded his thanks and sat down on the edge of the bench. Craig, now awkwardly sandwiched between Jimmy and Tweek, struggled a moment to get his legs back under the table. Once he settled, he slapped the tabletop--as if he didn't already have everyone attention.

"Does any one object to Tweek joining the gang officially?" Craig asked.

"I figured Tweek was al-al-already part of our clique, actually." Jimmy commented. "I don't care either way. I'm always looking for another audience member to practice on!"

From across the table, Token nodded. "I don't. Tweek's cool."

Tweek started to thank Token for the compliment, but Clyde was nearly jumping in his seat and cut Tweek off. "No objections from me! So is Tweek in?"

"How do you know I don't object?" Craig said coolly around a bite of his sandwich.

Tweek jolted beside him, nearly spilling his milk. He turned to Craig with wide eyes. "Gah! Do you? Is it weird to have your boyfriend in your gang? Would I make you uncomfortable? Oh jeez!"

Craig put his hand on Tweek's shoulder. "I'm joking. I'd rather have you in my gang than in Stan's. Those fuckers are dangerous."

Tweek relaxed. "They're not so bad."

"They nearly blew up the Whole Foods last week and flooded the gym the day before. They're dangerous and stupid." Craig cleared his throat and continued. "So, I guess, welcome officially to my gang, Tweek." He swung an arm around Tweek's shoulders and gave him a half hug.

Clyde clapped his hands together excitedly. Craig didn't liked the smile spreading across Clyde's face. Actually, an amused smile seemed to be on both Token and Jimmy's faces, too. Craig furrowed his brow, pulling Tweek closer out of a protective reflex.

"What are you smiling about?" He demanded.

Clyde made a high pitched squealing noise and bounced in his seat. "Tweek has to do The Trials. I can't believe you're making your boyfriend do The Trials!"

"The Trials?" Tweek echoed.

Craig's eyes widen. "No. No. No, no, no, no! Tweek does not have to do that! He can be part of the gang without it."

"All the rest of us had to do it!" Clyde protested. "Just because you're bumping nasties doesn't mean he can get out of it! It's only fair!"

"We are not 'bumping nasties'. We're eleven." Craig snapped. "And I said 'no'. This is my gang. I made it. It's my rules."

"Gathering your friends together to spitefully make a clique after Stan made his doesn't really count as making it, if you ask me. Besides, Clyde has a point." Token tilted his milk towards Clyde. "You made us all do it, and Clyde and I had been your friends since preschool."

"You made me go through it too." Jimmy pointed out. "Besides, I'm s-su-su--I'm positive Tweek can handle it!"

"Handle what?!" Tweek's voice pitched up an octave in panic.

Craig glared around the table. "Nothing."

"The Trials of Friendship." Token replied.

"Oh. Like that screening from when Stan, Kyle, and Cartman needed to replace Kenny for a while." Tweek relaxed a bit. "I can do that. No problem."

"See, Craig? He wants to do it!" Clyde's shit-eating smile seemed to grow even bigger. It took everything Craig had not to reach over the table and try to slap it off his friend's lips. Before he could act on his lessening resolve, Craig felt Tweek press a finger in his side.

"Yeah, Craig, let me do it." Tweek grinned at him. Craig could still see the anxiety behind the smile, but he also saw determination there, too. If there was one thing he had learned from dating Tweek, once Tweek set his mind to something, he wouldn't let it go easily.

With a defeated sigh, Craig dropped his arm from Tweek's shoulders. "Fine, alright, whatever. We'll do it tonight at Token's, since he has the biggest yard."

~~~~~~~

Tweek had been excited at the prospect of being officially part of his boyfriend's gang. He hung out with them before, gone to sleepovers and parties, but he had always felt a little bit like an outsiders there. He was their friend, sure, but he wasn't there because he was their friend. He was there because he was Craig's boyfriend.

This was his chance to change all that! Prove to Token, Clyde, and Jimmy he was just as much a member of their friend group as Craig was!

But that excitement had turned to dread the longer the day went on. What if he failed? Would they make fun of him? Would he be allowed to sit with them at lunch? Would Craig be upset with him? Would Craig have to break up with him? Would he be shunned by all his classmates once word got out what a failure he was!? Would the town kick him out for it?!

At those last string of thoughts, Tweek accidently let out a strangled cry in the middle of their math test. He was sent outside to finish. He tried not to meet Craig's gaze as he passed.

By the time the last bell finally rang, Tweek had ripped off several hangnails, chewed his nails down, and absentmindedly pick off a at a scab on his elbow. The teacher had made him go to the nurse when she noticed, so most of his fingers had bandaid wrapped around the tips.

It was those bandaids that he was trying hard not to nervously fiddle with as he hurried towards Token's house. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, Token's home was only a block or so away from Tweak Bro's. It made for a quick walk after Tweek had hastily finished his chores at the shop. The guard at the gate barely gave him a glance before allowing Tweek in.

Tweek accidently peeled back some of the adhesive on a bright blue bandaid on his pinky finger as he hurried up to the steps. He took a deep breath then pressed the door bell. He shifted his weight from foot to foot.

"Keep it together, Tweek. Keep it together. You told Craig you can do it, so you have to try."

"Yeah, don't sweat it. You'll be fine."

Tweek jumped. He hadn't even noticed Token opening the door. He wondered how much the other had heard. Token flashed him a reassuring smile. He took a step back and ushered Tweek inside. He lead Tweek through the house to the kitchen where everyone was already sitting. Tweek swallowed the lump that formed in his throat, or tried to, anyway. He had to cough into his hand then try again before he finally forced it down.

Craig hopped off the table he was on and hurried over. He put a hand on Tweek's forearm. Tweek leaned into his touch, his nerves calming, for the moment.

"You don't have to do this. We won't make you if you freaks you out that much." Craig offered slowly. He eyed the bandaid on Tweek's hands with a frown.

"No, I-I--gah--I can do it. If everyone else can do it, so can I." Tweek felt his stomach twist. He wanted to take Craig's offer, but he couldn't let the other boys think he was a wimp like that! Tweek Tweak was many things, but he was not a wimp! He took a breath then stepped away from Craig.

"Alright, what do I do? Br-Bring it on!" He prayed his voice sounded more confident than he felt.

Clyde pushed back his chair, filling the kitchen with a loud scraping. Without putting the chair back in, he ran forward, fishing for something in his pockets. He nearly skidded into them before stopping. He then produced a long strip of cloth triumphantly from his back pocket.

"Craig, if you would do the honor," Clyde held out the strip with unnecessary flourish. Craig rolled his eyes before snatching it from his hand.

"We have to blind fold you, for the effect." He explained. "Is that ok?"

Tweek chewed his lips. It was one thing to go through these trials metaphorically blind, but actually blind? That might be too much. His gaze darted towards Token, then Clyde, and finally Jimmy who was waiting back at the table. If he didn't wear the blind fold, what would they think? Would they think he was a pansy for it?

A small, nervous, growl escaped his throat. No, he could handle this! He had to prove himself!

Tweek nodded, shutting his eyes, and leaned forward. Craig was taller than him, though, Craig was taller than just about everyone in their class, so Tweek stood on his tiptoes. He didn't think it would actually help much, but the feeling of mild numbness on his toes gave him something to focus on as his boyfriend tied the blindfold across his eyes.

He felt Craig's fingers brush against his cheeks as Craig lowered his hands. Tweek dropped back down to the flats of his feet.

"Ok, I'm leaving him with you Token. You know what to do." Craig said.

Tweek felt a hand on his shoulder, Token's, he assumed, as he was lead away. Behind him, he heard Clyde and Jimmy chuckling to themselves and felt the breeze as they hurried by him. He tried to pick Craig's footsteps out, but couldn't. He wasn't sure if that was because Craig wasn't moving or if he was purposely walking differently.

The sliding glass door opened, and Token took Tweek outside. They traveled across Token's backyard before Token made them stop.

"Alright," Token said, "Just stay there, dude. I gotta set up stream chat...connecting, connecting...and there! Smile, Tweek, you're on camera."

"Gah! What? Is this live? Who can see me?! I can't preform like this, man!" Tweek rung his hands together. A bandaid, from his left ring finger this time, fell to the ground.

"It's just us, Tweek!" Jimmy's voice came from somewhere near by. "It's a cl-closed chat."

"It's better than those shitty walkie talkies we had to use last time." Craig commented. "Ok, Tweek, you have to pass four trails to enter our gang. Token will explain the first, then Clyde has the second once you finish, Jimmy the fourth and I'll explain the last. Can you handle that?"

"Y-yes!" Tweek forced out.

"You've got this, Tweek!" Jimmy cheered from the group chat.

"Yeah! You'll be the fifth member in no time!" Clyde chimed in.

Tweek nodded, but then realized he wasn't sure if the chat could see him. "I can do it. I can do it. I can!" He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince them or himself. Maybe both.

"Tweek, you don't need to worry about failing, honey. If you mess up, you can try as many times as you want--or at least until we have to go home in a couple of hours." Craig reassured. "I'm watching you from the window--"

"Because he might help you cheat otherwise!" Clyde laughed.

"Clyde, you can't see it, but I'm flipping you off with both hands up here." Craig deadpanned. He took a breath. "You can do it, babe. I believe in you. Alright, Token? Start!"

Token reached up and untied the blindfold, letting it fall from Tweek's face. Tweek blinked a few times, eyes readjusting to the light. Token slipped his phone into his pocket. So that's what he was using for the call.

"Tweek, your first trial is the Obstacle Course of Death!" Token swung his arm out.

Somehow part of Token's back yard had been transformed into a makeshift obstacle course. Nearest to Tweek was a roped tied over a low hanging tree branch. Tweek squinted. Someone had left a chimpokomon doll on the branch. Then a couple of card board posts with arrows scribbled on them lead to a kiddie pool. The word "JUMP!" was on the near by sign. Finally, they had thrown some mesh netting over the top of some plastic lawn chairs. He could barely read it, but he was almost sure the sign said "CRAWL!"

Tweek turned his gaze towards Token's house. Though he couldn't see clearly through the windows, he could see movement on one of the second story windows. That must have been Craig, Tweek reasoned.

"Did you really make Craig stay inside so he wouldn't help me cheat?" Tweek asked.

Token shook his head. "He wouldn't help you cheat, but he would stay on the sidelines calling you all sorts of mushy names as you went along, and frankly, none of us wanted to deal with that."

Tweek felt his face heat up. "Oh..." He whispered. "Um, sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault Craig fell out of the hopeless romantic closet and the gay one at the same time." Token shrugged. "Enough chit-chat. Let me explain. The course starts when you knock the chimpokomon doll out of the tree. After that, jump the pool, then army crawl under the netting. Got it?"

"Yeah!"

Token raised his hand then threw it down. "Now go!"

"Gah!" Tweek exclaimed, bolting forward. He grabbed tightly onto the rope and attempting to haul himself up. Tweek wasn't a skinny kid. Considering more often than he would like to admit his daily diet was coffee and pastries from the shop, he had gotten himself a bit of a belly. While he wasn't as hefty as Clyde, his pudginess still pulled him down.

Tweek gritted his teeth. His arms were already yelling at him in protest, but he carried on. Or, he tried to. In fact, Tweek only made it about a third of the way up the rope before he fell back. He blinked the stars from his eyes and pushed himself up.

He could hear Token asking if he was alright from the side lines, but he didn't reply back. Tweek rolled his shoulders, about to try again when he stopped. He grabbed the rope, but this time started to shake it, pulling down and to the side as hard as he could.

He knew he must have looked really stupid, but he didn't care once he heard the soft plop of the chimpokomon doll hitting the ground beside him. Before going on, he glanced at Token.

"Does that work?" He called. Token had his hand to his mouth, covering a smile, but he nodded anyway for Tweek to continue.

Suddenly feeling very determined, Tweek bolted forward towards the pool. If he jumped just right, he could probably make it. Hopefully. He wished he had Craig's stupidly long legs right then as he bend down and sprung forward.

Tweek didn't make it. Instead his shoe caught on the rim of the pool, and he stumbled forward, face first. Tweek gasped for breath, splashing about, before finally righting himself. As he flopped out of the pool, he heard Token yelling at him that it was alright, just go! Shaking some of the water from his hair, he ran wildly forward to the last obstacle.

The second he neared, Tweek dropped to his belly and began to crawl under the netting. His mom would have a fit once she saw the grass and mud stains, but at that moment, Tweek didn't care. He was so, so close! Almost one trial down, and he had only made a fool of himself in front of his friends twice.

It was still going better than the screening for Stan's group if he had to be honest.

Tweek rolled to his feet as he final exited the netting. He doubled over with his hands on his knees. He probably could have done the course slower, and wouldn't have ended up so out of breath. That didn't matter, though. He was done, and as far as he knew, he did alright.

A hand landed firmly on his shoulder. "You did it, dude!" Token grinned. "Ok, Clyde's over there, near the grill. You're doing awesome!"

Tweek nodded wordless before he dashed towards the built in grill. Clyde sat on a stool he must have dragged from inside the house, though Tweek's brain was so frazzled he couldn't recall which room. Clyde tossed a towel into Tweek's face as he neared.

"Nice jump, man." Clyde remarked cheekily. "Take a seat." He gestured to a stool beside him. Tweek slipped onto the stool, drying his hair and face. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his frantically heart from the obstacle course.

Clyde rocked the stool backwards and forward as he waited for Tweek to finish drying himself off. Once Tweek set the towel down in his lap, Clyde jumped from the stool and then puffed out his chest.

"This next trail is my favorite. The Chill of Doom!" Clyde grabbed the handle of the closed grill besides him. A smile that reminded Tweek a little too much of a cartoon super villain spilt across Clyde's features. With an air of drama, Clyde threw open the grill lid. Sitting on the grates was a large glass with some sort of brown colored substance inside covered with way too much whip cream. A straw stuck out the side.

"Take the milkshake, Padawan."

With trembling fingers, Tweek took the milkshake from inside the grill and pulled it into his lap. Why did it have to be a glass? Why not plastic or something he knew he wouldn't break if he dropped it?

Clyde planted his feet on the ground and stuck his fists at his hips. "Tweek, for this trial you must drink that whole thing--as fast as you can!" Clyde had an infectious energy about him, and it made Tweek feel a surge of confidence.

"Garh, right!" He grabbed the straw and threw it aside then placed the glass rim to his lips and chugged. His face was smeared with whip cream. Some even got up his nose, but he didn't waver. He tried his best not to taste the shake. There was something off about the taste of the milkshake, but he would rather not know what kind of grossness his friends had mixed in until after he had already finished.

Half way through the shake, a sharp pain flared across Tweek's head. He gasped. Chocolate and spit mixed with the grass stains on his shirt.

"Brain freeze! Gah! Brain freeze!" Tweek gasped out, shoving his thumb against the roof of his mouth--an old trick his dad had taught him when he was little.

"Fight the pain! Keep going!" Clyde cheered. "You're doing better than Token--he had barfed by now!" Tweek trying to ignore the implications of that last comment as he powered on. He chugged the rest before setting the glass aside, holding his head.

"Oh, Jesus! It hurts! It hurts! I'm never eating ice cream again!" He cried as he rubbed the heels of his palms against his head. He then took a corner of the towel and wiped off his face.

Clyde laughed, taking the towel from Tweek's lap once he finished and throwing it over his shoulder. "I think I can see why Craig likes you, dude. That was awesome! Did you taste the ketchup we mixed in?"

"Ketchup?"

Of all the possible disgusting options for what a bunch of eleven year-old boys could have chose to hide in a chocolate milkshake, Tweek had to admit ketchup hadn't been one he considered.

"Yup! It was my idea. Jimmy wanted to put onions in, but I knew you'd see them--and they wouldn't fit through the straw. So I said let's put some ketchup in there." Clyde spoke with an air of pride about him.

"Speaking of Jimmy," Clyde grabbed Tweek's arm and pulled him off the stool. "He's in the kitchen. You're almost done!"

Tweek had to steady himself against the grill too keep from falling over before he headed towards the door. Half stumbling, half jogging, Tweek made his way back into the kitchen, thankful for the warmth of the house. Jimmy sat at the table. He gestured to the seat across from him for Tweek. Tweek slipped into the seat.

"I'd say take a ch-ch-chill pill, but you've already got the chill covered." Jimmy quipped.

"Um, y-yeah, what do you--what's next." Tweek rubbed his hands over his arms. His fingers brushed against the bandaid at his elbow and he noticed that he was missing another from his fingers.

"Well, my terrific soon-to-be official audience, do we have a treat for you this find afternoon!" Jimmy flashed a smile. The light glinted off his braces. He continued, "This t-tr-tr-trail is called...The Blind Kiss."

"Of Doom or Death?" Tweek cut in, recalling the names of the other trails.

"No, just The Blind Kiss." Jimmy replied. "Now, shut those pretty peepers and pucker up!"

Tweek swallowed. What if he had to kiss something gross? Like a wet turd or stinky dead fish or a girl? This was too much pressure!

No, no, he was more than half done, he could do this! Remember, Tweek thought, everyone else had to do this too, so it can't be something too terrible, right?

Craig's rational way of thinking didn't always work with someone as emotional as Tweek, but Tweek was so thankful when it actually did. Maybe some of his boyfriend's mentality was rubbing off on him.

Tweek slipped his eyes shut and leaned across the table. His lips puckered out. He heard Jimmy chuckled to himself and some shuffling and something that sounded like squeaking.

"No peeking, or else you'll fail." Jimmy warned. In response, Tweek clenched his eyes shut tighter. Another chuckle then Jimmy said, "Here we g-g-g-go! Enjoy!"

Tweek then felt something wet and soft press against his lips. The musky smell of wood chips and hay hit his nose. He nearly recoiled but stopped himself. He knew this feeling. He knew those smells. Tweek pulled back and peeked open his eyes.

Stripe looked up at him with big black eyes. The guinea pig twitched his nose and made a move to try and escape Jimmy's grasp. At this, Jimmy shrugged. He held the rodent across the table towards Tweek, who took the pig into his arms, trying his best not to hold Stripe against any of the milkshake stains.

Jimmy then produced a phone from his pocket. He pressed against it a few times before setting it back down. He moved his hand towards Tweek to scratch stripe behind the ears.

"Ya know, when I did this trial," Jimmy started, "I peeked."

"You did?" Tweek gasped. "Did you have to kiss Stripe again?"

"No," A new voice said. The boys looked up to Craig wandering in from the hall. "We made him do it again, but this time he had to kiss a fish we caught earlier that day at Stark's Pond."

Jimmy wrinkled his nose at the memory. "I would have preferred a sexy mermaid." The sliding glass door opened then and Clyde and Token wandered in.

"Sexy mermaid? Are we talking about the time we got Jimmy to french a fish?" Token asked.

"I did not f-fr-french a fish." Jimmy rolled his eyes as everyone took a seat around the table. Craig slide in next to Tweek and gingerly took Stripe into his own arms.

"I'm 99% sure I saw some tongue." Clyde teased.

"At least, I didn't need help knocking the chimpokomon doll down." Jimmy snorted.

"I didn't know you didn't have to climb the rope!" Clyde protested.

"We had to push your ass up the tree, Clyde, because you didn't even try to listen to our suggestions." Craig recalled.

Before the banter could continue, Tweek cut in. "What about the last trial?" Jimmy, Token, and Clyde exchanged sly glances with each other. Tweek raised a concerned eyebrow.

"Yeah, Craig, what about the last trail?" Clyde smirked.

Craig winced. "I say he's passed enough. He was pretty much a member of the gang before anyway."

Token shook his head. "You can't squirm your way out of this, dude."

"Is big, bad Craig scared?" Jimmy chuckled.

"No, I am not." Craig muttered. He heaved a sigh. Handing Stripe over to Jimmy, Craig stood. He nodded at Tweek, who quickly followed suit.

"This is your last trial, The Big Fist Puncheru." Craig stated flatly.

"Oh Jesus! That's Super Craig's attack--gah! You're gonna punch me?" Tweek chewed his lip. When Craig wanted to, he could pack a wallop. In fact, Tweek had seen his boyfriend take down adults with his punches to the gut. It was Super Craig's Big Fist Puncheru that had knocked Wonder Tweek out during one of their fights when they last played super heroes.

"Um, no." Craig shook his head. "You get to punch me. It's suppose to be the only free punch you'll ever get."

"What?" Tweek's eyes widen. "I've already done that! Last year, in shop class? We had to go the hospital--and we fought there too!"

"I know! That's why I didn't want you to do this. You punch hard, dude. Really, I think you would have been a better brutalist than Super Craig."

Tweek put his hand to his face. A smile spread across it. "Thanks, Craig. I--" Before Tweek could say any more, Clyde made a gagging sound. Craig turned and glowered at him before raising his middle finger.

"Yeah, you too can gush about how gay and in love you are later." Clyde slapped his palm on the table. "But he has to finish the last trial. Punch him! Punch him! Punch him!" Clyde began to chant. Soon Jimmy and Token joined in as well.

Craig shrugged and turned his left shoulder towards Tweek. He tapped a spot on his forearm then nodded. Tweek sent Craig an apologetic smile before he raised his fist. He pulled back then paused. After making sure Craig was watching, Tweek tapped a kiss against his fingers. He was almost sure he saw the smallest bit of a blush flash across Craig's cheeks.

Then, slowly and deliberately, Tweek gently tapped his fist against Craig's cheek. Craig blinked before slowly reaching up and touching the spot Tweek 'punched'. Tweek hoped the spit from his indirect kiss didn't gross his boyfriend out too much.

"The fuck was that?" Clyde's mouth hung open in disbelief. "That was the most pathetic punch I've ever seen!"

Tweek shrugged before he slipped his fingers into Craig's. "You never said it had to be a good punch."

Craig leaned against Tweek. "He has a point. You guys just took your one free punch as an all out."

Clyde looked like he wanted to protest, but instead crossed his arms and gave a defeated shrug. Even Jimmy and Token looked a little disappointed at the anticlimactic final trial.

"What a let down." Jimmy muttered. Token nodded in agreement.

Craig rolled his eyes. "Fuck you guys, too." He then turned towards Tweek. With a squeeze of his hand, Craig greeted, "Welcome to the gang, Tweek."

~~~~~~

AN: I spend half of my time writing this with that cut away gag from family guy where the supreme court judge had to carry a cherry with his butt cheeks playing on a loop in my head.

#south park #fanfiction #sp creek #criag tucker #tweek tweak #clyde donovan #token black #jimmy volmer #sp #oneshot

90 notes · View notes

pennywaltzy · 6 years

Text

The Paradigm Shift (6 - 8/14)

So I’m doing three chapters today as 7 & 8 are both NSFW(ish) and would need to be under a cut anyway. So I hope you all don’t mind (I know @strangelock221b won’t).

The Paradigm Shift - After Moriarty almost kills Molly during a sexual encounter, he sends Moran to take care of things. But Moran has other ideas and Molly finds her life upended and changed forever.

Chapter 6

It didn’t take long, but soon enough there was a routine set in Seb’s home. It was nice to have a routine, even if it was a different routine than she was used to. There was something to be said for getting to lounge about all day. And the sheer amount of books Seb had definitely had given her things to occupy her time. And it wasn’t as though she was housebound all the time. They did occasionally go out to eat or catch a film, though Seb made very sure to be aware of their surroundings at all times. She almost felt bad for having these excursions with the stress it must cause him. If he wasn’t able to enjoy himself as well, what was the point?

And then something had come up at the farm, just paperwork his signature needed to be on, and his sister had supposedly wanted to show him something that they were supplying fruit for or would be if it all worked out, and he’d done everything short of assigning her an armed guard before he left to travel south.

Which, she felt, would work out well for her plans.

While he was gone she set herself about working in the now mostly familiar kitchen, making a full array of finger foods. She’d asked for some of it in advance, saying she was having cravings, but in reality, it was a surprise. She had noticed his telly had a USB port and so she used the shadier side of the internet to download a few films and tested them out to be sure they played on the television set. When they did she went and got things similar to what he had in his meager collection.

Then she really went to work.

When the door opened up she was waiting for him and half-pulled, half dragged him to the elaborate blanket fort she had made over the sofa. “We’re having a night in so you can bloody relax,” she said. “I’ve made the food, I’ve popped the popcorn and I even called in a delivery for Irish lager for us to have with dinner.”

The look on his face of sheer surprise followed by the biggest grin she’d ever seen on his face told her she’d made the right decision. He leaned over and kissed her cheek softly. “Thank you, Molly. It’s been a long while since someone has done something like this for me.”

“I figured it had been in the past. I know I loved making them with my dad.” She went to the sofa and patted the seat next to her. “We have all of the Chow Yun Fat repertoire and some old school Jackie Chan. You do like old Hong Kong martial arts movies, right?”

“Have you been researching me?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Maybe I snooped a bit,” she admitted. “Alright. Settle in and I’ll get us our supper. Then I think these have subtitles so I should be good and we’ll start with whatever you want to start with. Your choices are on the thumb drive on the side of the telly.”

“Molly...” he said, and she stopped moving towards the kitchen. “Really. Thank you.”

“I just...you’ve taken me out of the house and I know it’s been no fun for you but you don’t want me cooped up here. But I could do something, even if it’s just something little.”

“You could do something else,” he said.

“Oh?” she asked.

He bit his bottom lip and then patted the spot she’d vacated. “Stay here and let me stay close.”

“No food?” she asked.

“Not yet.” She moved back over and sat next to him, curling up into him, and he put an arm around her shoulders, letting her shift position so she was resting her head on his shoulder, almost into the crook of his neck. She realized just how comfortable this was as he lifted up the remote and turned the telly on, looking at their choices of what to watch. It wasn’t just that Seb was comfortable, though he was, but it was...all of it. This almost felt like an honest to God date.

And in the back of her mind, as she snuggled just a bit closer, she hoped he was feeling the same way.

Chapters 7 & 8

She paced around in front of the door to the bathroom suite a few days after the not date date, nervous. She fancied Seb. She did. And Lord, she wanted to tell him. But shouldn’t she do that first instead of making her way into the bathroom and trying her hand at seducing him? That’s what normally happened in relationships.

But then again, nothing between them had ever been normal, and she highly doubted now was the time it would start.

Before she could make a decision, however, Seb opened the door and adjusted the towel around his waist. His hair was wet and there were droplets of water on his shoulders and chest. “Loo’s free,” he said.

“Shower?” she asked, surprised her voice worked at all.

“All yours,” he said with a nod.

“Um...” She stared at his rather defined muscles for a moment. “Join me?”

He looked at her with mild surprise for just a moment before the heat in his eyes took over. “Hot tub or bath might be better. We can keep the water low, not have to worry about splashing.” He let the towel drop from his waist and she could see he was already hard. No seeing her stark naked, no kissing, nothing more than the simple request to join her had made his length rigid and dear Lord, he had been blessed with a magnificent cock.

She stepped closer, running her finger down his length and he groaned in a way that made her think he was doing everything in his power not to take her against the wall and fuck her into insensibility. She wasn’t sure what she wanted more at the moment, slow and sensual or hard and fast.

After a moment he gave into some of his urges, pulling her against him and kissing her urgently, his tongue slipping past her teeth into her mouth and soon she was clinging to him, his cock pressed against her abdomen. Oh, he was a phenomenal kisser, taking her breath away as she felt a familiar wetness pool between her legs. These knickers were going to be useless, but she didn’t care.

Soon he lifted her up to carry her to the bed, his hands cupping her arse and his thumbs sliding into her knickers. She deepened the kiss and ground against his cock, eliciting groans into her mouth from him. Soon he set her on the bed and she quickly pulled her sundress off, leaving her in just the lace knickers that were now soaked through and through.

He moved in front of her, and she was thankful the bed wasn’t raised too high because his mouth was on her breast, licking and sucking and lightly biting, leaving his mark on her. She knew his marks would never be deep or painful enough to hurt her. Seb would never ever harm her, even in the heat of the moment. She ran her fingers through his hair, running her long nails along his scalp and occasionally tugging to move his mouth back to a particularly sensitive spot.

He moved to her other breast and gave it equal attention as one of his hands slipped into her knickers. “Christ,” he said as he let his finger slide along her folds, teasing the nub of flesh that was begging for attention. Soon his lips moved away and traveled lower, tasting her skin before ending up on the sopping wet lace. She had never wanted an article of clothing to be off of her more than she had in that instant, but he used the rougher lace to tease her, pressing his tongue to it to tease her clit.

“Seb,” she cried out, massaging her own breasts and tweaking her nipples to keep the sensation. “Please...”

“Please what?” he asked, swiping his tongue up.

“Please,” she gasped out, unable to articulate what she wanted from him any better than lifting her hips slightly. He took the hint and his fingers went to the sides of her knickers. He tried to get them down in one piece but one of the sides ripped and in the end, he just ripped the other side and pulled away. She whimpered when she realized he was going away from the bed, but soon she realized he went to get a condom when she heard the telltale sound of the wrapper being opened. She watched him roll the condom along his rigid cock, getting wetter if that was even possible, and soon he was over her, nudging her legs apart and letting them hang off the edge of the bed.

And then he was entering her, slowly, letting her get used to his size. He certainly was one of the bigger men she had been with and he filled her completely in a way not even Jim had done, and he had been fairly well endowed himself. He remained mostly upright and gently lifted her left leg off the bed with one arm and hooked it over his shoulder before pulling out and then entering her again, taking his time. He used his other hand to tease her clit and she was enjoying every second of this intimate torment.

But she wanted him to fuck her, sooner rather than later.

“Sebastian,” she got out as she felt the twinges that meant she was going to come soon. “Please Sebastian...faster. Pleeeease!”

The sound of her begging didn’t seem to egg him on and he kept his slow, deliberate pace until she came around his shaft, moaning as each wave of pleasure crashed over her. She started to come down and only then did his thrusts become more deliberate and faster. He’d held himself back until she’d felt pleasure first, something most men never did. She gripped his shoulder and the side of his neck, pulling him closer to her and digging her nails into his skin in the process.

That was what set him off because soon she was being thoroughly fucked, just as she wanted. She let her hands slide down slightly, nails scraping his skin without meaning to hurt him but still make him feel pain, and his lips crashed on hers as he thrust one last time, stiffening up as he came before dropping onto her slightly.

He pulled away from the kiss, breathing heavily, and she cradled his head, pressing light kisses on his skin where she could as he caught his breath. “That wasn’t how I imagined...” he started.

“Worse?” she asked.

He shook his head. “More romantic.”

She laughed softly and he lifted his head up, resting his chin on her. “Sebastian Moran, honestly, it was perfect.”

“I can do better,” he said.

“Can you?” she asked with a smirk. She got a passionate kiss in return and felt his cock harden while still inside her. She just rather hoped he had a stash of condoms if this was going to be how it went because dear Lord, she wanted nothing more than to have him inside her as often as possible.

They laid in a mess of blankets and sheets, the bed linens lazily wrapped around them to give them some modicum of decency. She had her head on his chest over his heart, listening to the steady beat as he dozed. He’d spent their second time pleasing her over and over with fingers and lips and tongue, drawing her to orgasm after orgasm until she decided enough was enough and she begged and pleaded with him to please please have her again, and this time he’d taken her from behind, never quickening his pace, until they came together. It was a bath after that and they laid in the water and soaked, teasing a bit but mostly relaxing until the temptation was too much, and the third time she took the reins, riding him and knowing soon enough there were going to be marks all over their bodies. She could still see her teeth marks near his clavicle, and she moved her head to press her lips against his skin, causing him to stir. “Once more?” he asked, pressing a kiss into her hair.

“Lord knows you’re willing,” she said as she moved her hand to the now tented bedsheet covering his hips. “But maybe we’ll do something different a little later.” She let her hand tease the curly hair above his shaft for a moment before idly tracing his hips. “How long?”

“How long what?” he asked.

“How long have you wanted to shag me?” she asked.

“About when you started your online diary,” he said quietly, running his fingers through her hair. “That was when Jim decided to use you to get to Holmes and he set me to watch you. One night you were in the kitchen with a bottle of wine and you were cooking and dancing around singing at the top of your lungs. That was when I knew if Jim dragged you into this I’d make sure nothing happened to you.”

She sat up and hovered over him, looking him in the eye. “That was a long while ago.”

“I’ve been in love with you for a long time then,” He ran a finger around the faded bruise marks around her neck from Jim. They were barely noticeable, easily covered with concealer, but they could be seen even in the light of the setting sun. “And I think he knew. That’s why he didn’t stop your relationship after Holmes found out the truth. He had me, he had you, we couldn’t do anything about any attraction there might be between us...he liked to torture people. That was his way of torturing me, I suppose.”

She leaned in, kissing him softly in a way that she hoped made clear that she didn’t want a sexual interlude to spring from the kiss. And there was tenderness in the way he returned the kiss, tenderness in the way he cupped her cheek and then carded his fingers through her hair. Jim had never been tender; none of her lovers had. But this…

She had made the wrong choice before, but if she hadn’t made that choice she wouldn’t have this, would she?

When the kiss ended she set her head back down on his chest, moving her fingers up to trail them in the faint hairs on his abdomen. “I always thought...or rather, I hoped...he would not treat me harshly. I mean, I knew that you two were an item and what we had wasn’t exclusive, but I thought he cared a bit. I suppose I was wrong.”

“He may have, in his own twisted way,” Seb replied. “He may even have cared for me. But I knew just how dangerous he was, more than you. I think that’s why so much of my life I kept separate. I was his ghost lover, you were his bait. In the end, it didn’t matter to him what happened to us.”

She was quiet for a long moment. “He wanted you to see if I was dead, didn’t he?” she asked, her voice uncertain and soft.

“And to ensure you were,” Seb said, the slight nodding of his head moving his shoulders. “I told him I would instead of telling him to go to Hell, and I think he knew I wouldn’t do it.”

“So why did he let you get me?”

“I was already in the flat across that day, just...keeping watch. Things are escalating between him and Holmes. He assumed I was on the other side of London. I didn’t give him time to set anyone else on you. The minute I agreed I hung up and came over to see just what he’d done.”

“We’re such a pair,” she said, a trace of bitterness in her voice. “Flies caught in his web who cared for the spider and expected not to be eaten.”

“I’ll make sure the web is gone if it’s the last thing I do,” he said. “And he’ll never hurt you again. I swear.”

She lifted her head up to nod and then moved closer to kiss him again. If Seb made a promise, she knew he would keep it, especially one like that. He’d give his life to make sure she was safe and though she feared it might get to that point, she’d do her own best to make sure it didn’t come to that.

#sebolly #molly hooper #sebastian moran #moran x molly #fanfic #fanfiction #commissioned fic #sherlock #multipart: the paradigm shift #strangelock221b

2 notes · View notes

eccacia · 6 years

Text

wonderful you came by [part 16]

Summary: Caitlin’s a no-nonsense science major. Barry’s the quintessential charming star athlete. When they’re paired off and forced to interact in class, Caitlin’s determined to resist his charms, but Barry’s also pretty determined to get under her skin… It all boils down to a battle between head and heart, and Caitlin’s not one to give in to her heart so easily. [College AU]

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, or read on ff.net

Rating: T

Notes: I know it’s been five months, but… Look! An update! Sorry I’ve been gone awhile. This chapter was tough, life’s been tough, being newly unemployed is tough, etc. etc. Anyway, I miss you all. This is more of a friendship chapter, since I want to wrap up all the loose ends and lay the groundwork for the last plot point. After this, I’m estimating we have 1-2 more chapters to go and then an epilogue (AAAAH! Can you believe it?!) so I hope you’ll stick around. :)

Some shout-outs: To Gaby, as always, for the encouragement, and in celebration of our three-year long friendship on this site. To @panalegs27, for the unwavering enthusiastic support and the messages that make me smile. To @purpleyin, who, to my great surprise and delight, left a review on all my stories and on every chapter in this fic (!!!). To Random Lurker, for leaving such a sweet review; it made my terrible day better. And, last but not the least, to Of Pencils and Penguins (formerly The Pickle System), who beta-read this chapter in a flash (pun fully intended)—he fixed all the pesky grammatical errors, cleaned up my dialogue, and pointed out the scenes that needed tweaking or rewriting. I can’t thank you enough. This chapter won’t be what it is without your help. :)

Disclaimer: Nope, I don’t own The Flash.

Barry parted ways with her outside of her dorm, and as she moved from the open, starry night to the closed, fluorescent-lit hallways of the building to her dark, unoccupied room, unease replaced the earlier sense of lightness she’d felt. She’d been harboring this sense of unease since her fight with Felicity yesterday, but her anxiety about the orals and about Barry had dominated such a large portion of her emotional landscape that this unease had receded into the background.

But now, faced with a Felicity-less room, which had been voided of the sounds of their easy companionship—the scrape of the wheels of her chair against the floor, the quick, light tapping of her fingers on her laptop, the rip of Swiss Miss packets at the end of a long day—Caitlin felt the unease return with a vengeance.

She slumped into her chair. How was it that she managed to push two people who were important to her away in the space of a week? For someone who’d always thought of herself as self-sufficient and fiercely independent, she was realizing how emotionally affected she could be when the relationships in her life went awry.

Well, at least she knew Felicity better than she did Barry. She knew, for instance, that her friend dealt with her hurt by avoiding its cause, and that while she was in this avoidance phase, it was best to give her space. But she also knew that approaching her first was already winning half the battle. So it boiled down to timing—intuiting when enough time had passed since the avoidance started, and intuiting when the best time was to approach her.

It was, she supposed, the same way Felicity would tiptoe around her when she was deep in work mode, hazarding guesses at the best time to disturb her. She had guessed wrong yesterday—had prodded her at the wrong time, in the wrong way—and much to her shame, she had exploded.

She grimaced. She could call Oliver right now to ask if he’d seen her, but she was already so tired. There’d been more emotions packed into this day than she’d had in her entire twenty-something years of existence, and even if some of those emotions were pleasant, she still felt incredibly drained.

Tomorrow, then, she thought, crawling into her bed. She’d apologize tomorrow.

The next day, Caitlin set about to look for her friend in all her usual haunts, but as expected, she couldn’t find her in any of them. She texted Cisco on the off-chance that he’d seen her, but he merely replied with, “? u can call her? and aren’t u roommates” and, a few seconds later, “OH wait r u fighting :( idk where she is bt i hope u make up soon”.

So she had no choice but to give Oliver a call, which, in the first place, had been the most logical thing to do.

…But also the most awkward, because she and Oliver weren’t exactly on calling terms. There was also the fact that she had been staunchly against them when Felicity had really started liking him. Sure, she’d been the one to dare her to talk to him, but she’d done it because she’d believed that her friend had more common sense than to fall for the shallowest rich boy on campus, and because she didn’t think that Felicity was Oliver’s type.

Needless to say, Felicity did not have as much common sense as she’d expected, and Oliver turned out to be decent under his party-boy exterior. While she was right in guessing that Felicity wasn’t his type, she hadn’t guessed that he’d fall for her anyway. He’d liked Felicity so much that, upon sensing Caitlin’s unspoken antagonism, sought to prove all her previous notions of him wrong—he cleaned up his act, stopped flirting with every leggy girl he came across, and stopped hanging out with the shadier cliques in the popular crowd—until she finally came to accept them together.

Still, that didn’t mean they would be besties, or that they’d take to each other the same way Felicity had taken to Digg and Barry and Tommy and the rest of Oliver’s friends. They were content to regard each other with civility.

Which brought her back to her current dilemma: She and Oliver were civil, but not on calling terms.

She sighed. Well, it wasn’t like she had much of a choice. They would have to be on calling terms now if they both cared about Felicity.

Having decided on her course of action, she sent him a short text to ask when he was free to take a call. His answer was immediate: “Now is good.” He picked up on the first ring.

“Hey. You’re looking for Felicity?” he said.

Well, if there was one thing Caitlin respected him for, it was his propensity for cutting right to the chase.

“Yes,” she said. “Did she stay over at your place?”

“Yeah,” he said. “But she left for class this morning, and she hasn’t been back yet. I thought she’d headed to the dorm.”

Caitlin frowned. “Well… she’s definitely not here.”

“Oh.” There was a pause. “She’s… been really down the past few days,” he ventured tentatively. “Said something about this being a replay of sophomore year, but didn’t go into the specifics.”

“Oh,” she said.

“Care to elaborate?” His tone was careful. “I mean, when my girlfriend and one of my best friends share a bottle of Smirnoff from my bar because of the same person, I feel like I deserve an explanation from the said person.”

Caitlin winced. “Can said person just buy you another bottle of Smirnoff instead?”

“Nice try,” he said wryly. “Spare me the details with Barry, I know way too much already. I just want to hear about the whole… sophomore year thing. If… that’s okay. She—she usually tells me everything, and I can’t—I don’t know how to talk to her if she doesn’t—talk. To me.”

When he said those last two sentences, Oliver sounded as if he was having a nail extracted for every word he spoke. She could almost see his grimace deepening the more he talked. Strangely enough, it comforted her, because this was something she could identify with. He was nearly as emotionally stunted as she was, stripped of that glamorous façade, and she imagined that she had the same expression that he had now whenever she talked about her feelings. Granted, this was the same reason they couldn’t be friends, and were instead friends with people like Felicity and Barry who were so open about their feelings that they were practically begging to be taken advantage of, but still. This kind of kinship was also comforting. Painfully awkward, but comforting.

So Caitlin took a deep breath and proceeded to tell him about sophomore year—the year they had their first real fight as friends.

It happened towards the end of their first term as sophomores. She’d been swamped with so many requirements and had been putting so much pressure on herself that she’d turned down all of Felicity’s invitations to parties, dinners, and even their hallowed Sunday lunches. Sometimes she didn’t even bother to acknowledge her in the room, because she didn’t want a break in her concentration. This went on for a month, until Felicity gave up trying to talk to her altogether. She avoided all their usual haunts and materialized in their room only to sleep. It was a miserable few months for both of them (and for Cisco, who’d shuttled back and forth between them), and it went on for as long as it did because, ironically, it had been easier to keep snubbing each other than to break their deadlock.

“Eventually, I just swallowed my pride and just went up to her during lunch. And even before I said anything, she burst out crying and hugged me,” Caitlin said.

He chuckled. “That sounds like her.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” she said. She decided to leave out the embarrassingly sappy things they told each other that time, like when Felicity told her, in between hiccups, You know, real talk—I’d get over a breakup with a guy faster than a breakup with you. Like, a friend break-up. Because guys are so… replaceable, you know? And there’s only one of you, and… where’ll I ever find another Caitlin Snow?

She didn’t think Oliver would respond favorably to that.

After their tearful reunion, though, they’d implicitly agreed never to talk about that time again. It seemed they both knew that the smooth continuation of their friendship hinged on completely burying that hatchet. So Felicity continued to tiptoe around her when she was busy, and continued to clam up when she was hurt. Maybe that was why she thought that her recent blow-up was an echo of sophomore year.

“She’s in Jitters, by the way,” Oliver said. “She told me not to tell you, but I don’t like seeing her miserable, and I don’t think I’m the person to cheer her up.”

“Oh,” she said. “Um, thanks.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Just… go talk to her. And make sure that she doesn’t steal too many drinks from my bar.”

Her lips lifted into a small smile. “The former, I can promise. The latter, not so much.”

. . .

In a way, it made sense that Felicity was at Jitters. Since she knew that Caitlin was avoiding Barry, and that Barry frequented Jitters, then she must have thought that there was a good chance that Caitlin would also avoid Jitters.

It didn’t take long to spot Felicity’s messy high ponytail in the crowd, and she was so deeply absorbed in her work that she didn’t even feel her approach.

“Hey,” Caitlin said, touching her shoulder, and Felicity immediately startled in her seat.

“Oh my God! Don’t scare me like th—”

When she saw it was her, though, she schooled her expression into a neutral one. The change was so dramatic that it unnerved her.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” God, she was terrible at this. “Can I… Is this seat taken?”

“No.”

This was agonizing. Any dim hope she’d harbored of this being like their first make-up was quashed.

“Felicity,” she said. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

Silence. And then, “Okay.”

“Okay as in…?”

She shrugged. “It’s fine.”

It was decidedly not fine. Felicity was not as adept at hiding her emotions as she thought, because Caitlin could see her trying to hide them. “Felicity…”

Silence. And then, softly, “I’ve been tiptoeing around you for years, did you know that?” she said. “No, wait—you probably never noticed, but I’ve been doing it since we started rooming together. Since our first year. When things would get busy—for both of us, not just for you—you would transform into this ticking time bomb. One wrong move on my part, and you’d explode.”

Caitlin sat very still. “I… never knew,” she said. “It’s just…”

She trailed off. She was about to say that it was a bad habit she’d picked up from her father, who’d regarded disturbances—a category which even his young, too-inquisitive daughter and his flaky wife fell into—with murderous intent, so everyone had always adjusted to him without question or complaint. But this sounded like an excuse, and in a rare flash of human insight, Caitlin saw that an excuse wouldn’t save their friendship.

So she held her tongue.

Felicity continued, “Every time you get like that, I have to worry about how to get you to eat and function like a normal human being without risking our friendship. Do you know how tiring that gets?”

Caitlin exhaled. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I never meant you to feel like…” She paused to gather the right words. “Like I’d only be friends with you if you never made me mad.”

“Yeah, but that’s how you come off sometimes,” Felicity said. “Would it hurt to say, ‘Hey, Felicity, I’m really stressed and I don’t want to talk about it now’? It’s not hard. I mean, I let you know when I’m about to binge-code so you’d know better than to expect me to clean my part of the room for the rest of the week.”

“Or shower, for that matter,” Caitlin couldn’t help saying. When she realized her misstep she quickly amended it with, “Sorry—”

“God, not relevant, Cait,” Felicity said.

“Sorry,” Caitlin said. She’d unknowingly slipped back into their usual easy banter at the worst possible time. “Sorry.”

Her friend’s expression was now shuttered, and Caitlin had the sinking feeling that she’d blown her attempt at reconciliation.

The silence stretched between them.

“Felicity,” she finally said, unable to bear it, “I’m sorry, I really am. Please don’t shut me out.”

“Oh, you mean like what you do to me?”

Caitlin winced. The accusation rang so true that it hurt. The silence grew more and more tense the longer those words hung in the air, and she frantically reached for something appropriate to say.

“I… It… was wrong of me… to do that to you,” she said quietly. “You didn’t deserve any of it.” A pause. “I’ve been an asshole friend. I’m sorry.”

Felicity fiddled with the keys of her laptop. She gave no indication of having heard her.

A crazy sense of desperation seized her. She felt like she would do anything—anything—to get Felicity to talk to her, anything to draw her out of that damning silence… It made her more painfully aware that this was the same emotional distress she put Felicity (and Barry, for that matter) through whenever she gave her the cold shoulder. She would never do this again, she thought vehemently. She would never make her friends—her best friend—feel this shitty ever again, if said best friend would still care to talk to her. No wonder Felicity had burst out crying last time the moment she approached… Any move to break this kind of silence would have brought on waves of delirious relief.

Felicity continued fiddling with her keys. She uncrossed her legs. She leaned back against her chair. She let out a breath, and since it was so quiet between them, Caitlin could tell that this breath was a beat longer than was normal.

Felicity seemed to be on the verge of speaking. Caitlin braced herself.

“You’re not an asshole friend,” she finally said. She still wasn’t looking at her, but at least she was talking to her. She was talking to her. “You just… revert to assholic behavior when stressed.”

Caitlin held her breath. That was it. That was Felicity’s olive branch. She would have sagged in her seat from sheer relief, but she had to play this right.

“Assholic behavior,” she said carefully.

“What, you’re not used to Feliciticisms yet?” her friend said, finally looking at her. A small smile stretched across her face.

Caitlin blinked. She smiled. Definitely a good sign. Definitely a sign to play along, to ease back into the usual banter of their friendship. “I still can’t figure out how you say that,” she said. “Felicisms would have been a lot easier on the tongue.”

“Yes, but I’m a Felicity, not a Felici,” she said. “Although, come to think of it, Felici sounds a lot chicer.”

“True.” Caitlin paused and took a risk. “Probably why it doesn’t suit you.”

“Hey. You were the one who proposed Felicism.”

She tried to contain her smile. “Because it would be easier to pronounce, not because you look like a Felici.”

“Same banana.”

“No, they’re not. And for the record, there are more than 1,000 discovered varieties of bananas in the world.”

“Okay, just, no,” Felicity said. “How do you even know stuff like that?”

“The same way you know who invented ramen.”

“Technically, Momofuku Ando invented instant noodles, not…” She trailed off. “…Right. Point taken.”

Caitlin nodded. “The internet is a dark place.”

“Ah, yes. Two young, impressionable women frequenting websites with lurid pictures of bananas and noodles—positively scandalous.”

They shared a smile.

“Just… give me that heads-up, okay?” Felicity said, sobering. “So I know how to help you. Like how you fix my bed and buy me takeout when I’m binge-coding, or how you let me interrupt you to whine about how hard troubleshooting a faulty segment is. Even if you have zero idea of what I’m talking about.”

“Okay,” Caitlin said. She would’ve agreed to anything at this point. “I can’t promise I’ll always be able to do it, but I’ll try. I’ll really try.”

“You better,” Felicity said, grinning. “We’ve been friends for almost seven years. I’d say it merits some amount of trying.”

“Well, seven years is only slightly longer than some marriages, after all. I can manage more than some amount of trying.”

Felicity’s smile softened. “So. Friends?”

“Friends,” she affirmed. “Seven years and counting.” She paused. “I think we’re supposed to hug at this point, but can I just give you a mental hug? I’ve reached my sappiness limit for the day.”

Felicity laughed. “Mental hug accepted. I knew there was something weird about you today.”

“Well, I was apologizing to you. I had to summon the appropriate amount of sappiness.”

“Have you been manipulating me with sappiness?”

“I wouldn’t call it manipulation,” Caitlin said primly. “It’s more like scheduling sappiness usage for a rainy day.”

“By scheduling sappiness,” Felicity said, her smile turning wicked, “do you also mean the Saturday night you spent with a certain Bartholomew Henry Allen under the stars?”

“That was an unscheduled and unintentional leakage of sappiness,” Caitlin said. “And how much do you already know, anyway?”

“Only that you kissed,” Felicity said with feigned nonchalance. “No big deal. It was only your first kiss, after all, which you kept a secret for almost a week from your best friend, your companion since girlhood, the sister of your heart—”

“Are you done with the melodramatics?” she said dryly.

“—oh, wait, I’ll have to call Cisco and Jax,” Felicity said, pulling her phone out. “They need to hear this. It’s more time-efficient, too, since you’ll only have to tell the story once.”

“Time-efficient,” Caitlin repeated. “You’re talking to me about time efficiency.”

“Yeah. What, think I haven’t learned a thing or two about your reasoning after seven years of being the foremost Caitlin Snow scholar? Although,” she mused, “it looks like I’ll soon have to relinquish that title soon, since a certain Barry Allen is proving to be a quick study—”

“Felicity, you’re rambling,” Caitlin said.

“That was hardly—oh, fine, calling them…”

“Can you tell them that we’ll meet in front of the library instead?” Caitlin said, casting a furtive glance around them. “Jitters is kind of—”

“His turf, right,” Felicity said. “Got it.” She tucked her phone between her ear and shoulder, and slipped her laptop into her bag. “Hey Cisco, any chance you’re free now…?”

. . .

“Ola, ladies,” Cisco said, making his way to their table with his usual grin. Even from afar, they heard him coming by the tinkle of the many keychains he’d hung all over his backpack. “Glad to see you two have reconciled. I thought I’d have to be your messenger again or something.”

“Yeah, well,” Felicity said. “Signs of maturity, I guess.”

“Boring,” Cisco said. “In a good way, I mean. No one needs drama all the time, am I right?”

“You sure? Because Caitlin has a lot of drama to tell.”

“Oooh, saucy. You sure are getting a lot of drama lately, come to think of it,” Cisco said. “Where was all this in high school? And in the last, I don’t know, two years in college—”

“I don’t know, Cisco, I don’t think one can space out the dramatic events in one’s life—”

“Rhetorical question, chica,” he said breezily, waving a hand. “I’m sure you know what that is—”

“What’s up, guys?” Jax said, sliding into the seat beside Cisco. He pocketed his phone and dropped his duffel bag to the ground. “Is this an update on Barry or what?”

“Well,” Caitlin said, “somewhat.”

“I am so excited,” Felicity said. “I can’t wait to hear your version of the kiss.”

“THE KISS?!” Cisco gaped. “Whoa, okay, slow down, this is too much—”

“I… haven’t even started yet…”

“Her version?” Jax interjected, looking at Felicity. “What other version is there?”

“Dude,” Cisco said. “I can’t believe that’s what you fixated on.”

“I heard it first from Barry,” Felicity said, waving a hand. “Anyway, long story, and not exactly relevant—”

“Not exactly rele—Felicity, what was his version?” Caitlin said suddenly. “What did he tell you?”

“Oh, pretty vague stuff,” she said. “Mostly it was about you breaking his heart.”

Cisco blinked. “Is it just me, or are things moving way too fast?”

“Last I heard you weren’t even sure if he liked you,” Jax said, also confused, “and now you already broke up? And if you”—he gestured to Felicity—“and Barry’re tight, why didn’t you just ask him for advice, instead of asking us?”

“Well,” Felicity mused, “a little Smirnoff goes a long way in solidifying friendships…”

“She and Barry shared a bottle of vodka between them the other night,” Caitlin clarified. “Well, technically, it was Oliver’s vodka, but anyway.”

“Dang,” Jax said. “Any chance I can get an invite to one of those in the future?”

“Yeah, it’d be nice to hang out at Oliver’s pad again,” Cisco said wistfully. “That sound system is to die for…”

“Wait,” Felicity said suddenly, turning to her, “that’s how you knew where to find me—you called Oliver and Oliver told you, that traitor—”

“Yes?” Caitlin said. “You thought I just guessed?”

“Well, I didn’t really—okay, never mind, we’re getting way off topic. So, Cait, tell us what happened last Saturday.”

“We all saw the sing-off,” Cisco said smugly. “And boy, you owe me big time for that—”

“It would’ve been better if you’d given me more drinks,” she muttered. “No chance kissing him if I’d passed out.”

Cisco ignored her. “—and we saw you slow-dancing to that weird Despacito remix,” he said. “Well, Felicity and I did. Jax probably didn’t.”

“I didn’t.”

“Yeah, to fill you in, they slow-danced to a Despacito remix.”

He gave Cisco a withering look. “Yeah, I grasped the concept, thanks.”

“You’re caught up, then,” Caitlin said, pleased. “So after the slow-dancing, we went up to the balcony—”

“The one for VIPs?” Jax said.

“Yes, the one for VIPs,” she said. “Anyway, I was slightly tipsy. As a result of faulty judgment, I leaned in to kiss him. I quickly realized it was a mistake, so I left and ignored him for a week. But we made up again just yesterday, so everything’s fine now.”

Silence.

“You know, you gotta brush up on your storytelling skills,” Cisco said.

“For a moment there I thought I was listening to a weather report,” Jax said.

“Well,” Caitlin bristled, “it’s not exactly something I want to recount in detail, so—”

“How did it happen? How did you let it happen? What did you feel?” Cisco insisted, accompanying his words with hand gestures. “What did he do? What did he say? What did you say? What were you thinking?”

“As I’ve already mentioned, I wasn’t thinking—”

“Okay, I think we’re overwhelming her,” Felicity said. “Cisco, ask her something again, only one question at a time.”

“Oh! Oh! I’ll start with this one,” Cisco said. “I have a feeling I’m going to regret asking this, but I am way curious, so here goes.” He took a deep breath. “Was there tongue?”

Caitlin squirmed. “Oh my God—”

“OH MY GOD,” Cisco said. “OH MY GOD, THERE WAS, WASN’T THERE?”

“OH MY GOD,” Felicity said. “THERE WAS, CISCO, THERE WAS—”

“…The hell is going on?” Jax said. “She hasn’t answered the question yet—”

“If you’re fluent in Caitlin,” Felicity explained, “you’d know that if it isn’t a direct no, then it’s a definite yes.”

“Huh,” Jax said.

“Damn,” Cisco said to Caitlin admiringly. “So you’ve finally lost your tongue-ginity. Welcome to the club.”

Jax scrunched his brow. “I never signed up for that.”

“Did we ever make that a thing?” Felicity said. “I don’t think we ever made that a thing…”

“We totally did. We made it a thing in high school, when I was with Kendra, remember? After we made out in the—”

“Okay, stop,” Felicity said. “I vaguely remember you breaking down that make-out scene, and I don’t want to remember more.”

“I second the motion,” Caitlin said.

“Third,” Jax piped up.

“Fine, this is Caitlin’s show anyway,” Cisco said good-naturedly. “It’s your turn to give us details.”

“No.”

They were all unfazed. “Did he lean in first?” Felicity said. “Or did you?”

Caitlin paused to consider it. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I think we—it was done at the same time.”

“And it lasted for some time,” Cisco prompted, “since there was tongue.”

“Well, it wasn’t unpleasant,” she hedged, “so we were there for some time, but I was the one who put an end to it.”

“Okay, let me get this straight,” Jax said. “You guys made out and you were really into it, but for some reason, you walked away and ignored him after that.”

“…It doesn’t sound very nice if you put it that way, but yes, basically…”

“What made you ignore him?” Felicity said. Caitlin recognized this voice—it was the one her friend used when she wanted to steer the discussion into a more serious direction. “I’d always assumed that he said something stupid, but…”

“Well,” Caitlin said, “he mentioned that we’ve only known each other two weeks.”

“Which is true,” Cisco said.

“Yes, I know,” she said. “Still, I lost it. I just didn’t think that it was possible—for me, at least—to like someone in such a short time. I was scared of it, of myself, so… I ran away. Ignored him. Pretended like ignoring him could reset me to before I met him.”

There was a pause as the statement hung in the air. It was perhaps the most honest she’d been since last week’s debacle, and they seemed to feel it, too.

“Okay, since things are getting serious,” Cisco said, standing up, “anyone want some food? Nachos, maybe?”

“Dude,” Jax said. “Way to ruin a moment—”

“No, I’m pretty sure Cait doesn’t want to talk about her feelings on an empty stomach,” he said, grinning at her. “Just like how you won’t study chemistry on an empty stomach.”

Caitlin smiled. “It’s fine, Jax. Nachos with beef and bacon bits please.”

“And extra cheese,” Felicity piped in.

“And Diet Coke with no ice,” Caitlin said.

“Same, but with ice and no straw for me,” Felicity said. “Save the environment and all.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill,” Cisco said. “Hey, man, how about you?”

Jax looked at them. “You guys are hella weird.”

“But?” Cisco prompted cheekily.

He shrugged. “You’re not bad.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Barry does this thing where I’m not sure if he’s complimenting or insulting me,” Caitlin said. “Is that an athlete thing?”

“Way to stereotype us,” Jax said. “And I’m pretty sure that’s called a backhanded compliment.”

Caitlin snapped her fingers. “I knew there was a word for it…”

Cisco went to buy their snacks, and when he came back, the conversation—even with nachos and the best of intentions (particularly Felicity’s)—didn’t quite stay on track. It was, as usual, one-part insight and three-parts insanity, but Caitlin didn’t mind. It was good to be in their company again.

When Monday came around, Caitlin had the uncanny feeling, as she walked out of her dorm, that she was being stared at.

It wasn’t something she realized right away. After all, she’d spent most of her formative years in a state of near-invisibility. The only exception to that was when teachers announced the highest score in class (which, in science subjects, would almost invariably be her) and she would, for a few minutes, be the spotlight of the everyone’s awe and envy. But after class, she drew no more stares, elicited no more whispers. Smart wasn’t as valuable a currency as pretty or sporty was in high school, and she was perfectly content with that, as she never had to expend energy with the sort of self-conscious thinking that came with assuming that her peers were interested in her.

But today, something strange happened. As she walked down the near-deserted hallway of her dorm—it was still early, and the lone souls who were already awake walked around like zombies in their bubbles of half-sleep—she registered the sound of voices in the early morning hush. Out of idle curiosity, she looked around until she found the source of the whisperings—a group of five freshmen, two of whom quickly turned away when her gaze settled on them.

She blinked, wondering if she’d imagined it, and then concluded that she must have. Freshmen, she thought, were especially prone to sticking in groups like that and over-sharing noisily, in hopes that it might translate into friendship.

But then it happened again. When she passed by two more groups of girls outside the dorm and sensed the tickle of whispers in her wake, she wondered if maybe her intuition was right. It was disturbing to suspect that one was the topic of someone else’s conversation without knowing what, exactly, was being said, and without having the means to confront them about it.

So it was when, upon reaching the foyer and seeing Eliza and Bette deep in conversation before abruptly falling quiet when she approached, she narrowed her eyes and said, “Not you, too.”

Bette raised a brow. “Hi, Caitlin.”

Eliza said, “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

Caitlin sighed and took her seat across them. With a cursory look, she ascertained that three of the boys from her block were there—no sign of Hartley yet—along with two other people from Applied Chemistry (or was it Chemical Engineering? She could never really keep track). Most of them were half-asleep, using their backpacks to pillow their faces from the cool granite surface of the tables.

“Sorry,” she sighed. “I’ve been having this strange sensation this morning that people have been talking about me. Paranoid, I know—”

Eliza and Bette exchanged glances. Like she and Felicity, the two had been friends for so long that they seemed to be able to communicate just by looking at each other.

Caitlin was immediately suspicious. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Eliza said innocently.

“That look you just shared. It’s suspicious.”

Bette, who was usually quiet and stoic—even more than she was, probably because she was always with the animated Eliza—said, amused, “Aren’t we allowed to look at each other?”

“I think we’re allowed to a few secrets,” Eliza added with a sly smile, “since you’ve obviously been keeping yours.”

Caitlin paused. She knew that these girls meant well—they had a pleasant relationship formed on the basis of their being stranded together in a testosterone-dominated course—but she wasn’t comfortable divulging her feelings to them in the way she had with Felicity, Cisco, and Jax. They were the kind of friends she’d complain on coursework with, not the ones she’d have a heart-to-heart with.

She said cautiously, “If this was about the sing-off…”

“Oh, the sing-off was last week’s news,” Eliza said.

“It’s already been dissected to death while you weren’t around,” Bette said, with an apologetic smile. “It’s common knowledge now that you’re Barry Allen’s new girl.”

Caitlin blinked, feeling strangely violated—or rather erased—by the term. “Okay, no,” she said. “First of all, I am not ‘Barry Allen’s new girl.’ I’m me. I’m still the same Caitlin Snow majoring in Molecular Biology with you.”

“Right, of course,” Eliza said, smiling at her while propping her face up in cupped hands. “But it’s already pretty obvious to everyone that you two are a thing.”

“We’re not…” Caitlin trailed off when she realized she didn’t have anything to say to that, because what were they? They hadn’t gone out on a date yet, so they weren’t dating, but they weren’t a thing, either. Or… were they? In the first place, why in the world did people invent a term as vague as ‘a thing’ anyway? What spectrum of togetherness did ‘a thing’ encompass? And why was it that even before she and Barry had defined what they were to themselves, other people were already clamoring to define their relationship with nosy collective authority? Couldn’t they just mind their own business and leave a budding romantic relationship unlabeled?

Caitlin resisted the urge to press a hand to her temple. She couldn’t deal with this. It was too early in the morning to puzzle out the confusing semantics of human romantic entanglements.

Instead, she said, “Never mind. Second of all, last week’s news? Was there news this week involving him and me that I, of all people, wouldn’t know of?”

“Oh, I’m sure you know this,” Eliza said, giving her an enigmatic look. Caitlin felt like that look was her cue to spill what she apparently knew, but since she didn’t know anything, she remained quiet.

“If you’ll remember,” Eliza went on, when her pause became awkward, “there was a commotion last night at the dorm. Specifically, outside our wing.”

“What commotion?” Caitlin said, furrowing her brow.

Now, Eliza and Bette exchanged looks that were as bewildered as hers.

“You mean you really didn’t hear the commotion?” Bette said.

“No,” Caitlin said. “Should I have?”

“Oh my God, she has no idea,” Eliza said. “One of the hottest guys on campus is courting her—”

“Courting—of all the sheer nonsense—”

“—and she doesn’t have a clue,” Eliza finished.

“That is ridiculous,” she said. “I don’t know what commotion you’re talking about, but he’s not courting me. All I know is that he left a note on my window with ‘Good morning’ written on it.”

That was the abbreviated version. The full version was as follows:

Good morning :) I know, I know, when I walked you back, you said one week of no texts or calls or voicemails, but I’m pretty sure you didn’t say anything about sticky notes on windows. I’m kind of a pain in the ass, as you can see, aside from being a mildly annoying campus cutie and an insatiable hug monster (only for your hugs, though). Just so you know what you might be getting into. Anyway, I lost my main point for this note sometime after the smiley. I think I was supposed to write a poem, but I got sidetracked, and now I don’t have enough space. Well, I’ll find my main point tomorrow. In the meantime, ‘I miss you’ is probably enough. Can’t wait for Saturday. – Barry

“Mmm,” Bette said. “So you’re telling me that clambering up two floors of the girls’ dorms in the middle of the night, with a bouquet of flowers, a gift, and a note in hand, doesn’t qualify as courting?”

“A bouquet of flowers? How is that even—”

“At first I thought it was Cisco,” Eliza said, “because he visits your room sometimes, right, and he always makes so much noise. But when I opened my window to tell him to tone it down, guess who I saw instead?”

“Oh, by the way, here you go,” Bette said, pulling a single, long-stemmed rose from her backpack and handing it to a dazed Caitlin. “Half of the flowers were crushed during his climb,” she added, by way of explanation. “The others that weren’t crushed lost too many petals. This was the only proper rose left.” She pushed a box towards her. “Also, a gift from him. Said it was fragile.”

“He was supposed to sneak the stuff into your room,” Eliza said, “but he didn’t know that your window would be locked. Obviously he didn’t think things through.”

“Yeah, he also wrote his note on the wrong side of the post-it. We had to give him tape so he could stick the written portion against the glass facing your bed,” Bette said.

“Oh, and to clarify, we”—Eliza said, gesturing to the two of them—“weren’t the ones who gave him tape. Someone from the room below did.”

“It became a sort of group effort,” Bette said.

“Although his best friend—can’t remember her name, the one who wrote that article about sexism on campus—”

“Iris West,” Bette said.

“Right, her. She clearly didn’t support it,” Eliza said. “Stormed out of the dorm when she caught wind of what was happening just to tell him that he was an idiot.”

“She wasn’t yelling, but it was so quiet out there that people could hear what she was saying, anyway.”

“Good thing our dorm mom sleeps like a log.”

“Yeah, and good thing everyone loves Barry, so no one’ll tell on him…”

“It’s really strange that you didn’t hear anything,” Bette said, looking puzzled. “He made so much noise.”

It wasn’t all that strange. She and Felicity slept through the commotion courtesy of the remaining contents of the Smirnoff that she’d brought back from her drinking session with Barry.

“Hello, ladies,” came a voice that Caitlin knew all too well. “Finally got to interrogate her, huh? Do I finally get my—is that a rose? Why the hell do you have a rose?”

“Language, Hartley,” Bette said. “As you can see, the subject is still in shock.”

“The rose is from Allen, isn’t it?” Hartley said, scoffing. “Jesus, how predictable. Even I can tell you aren’t the roses kind.”

“Thank you for your valuable input, Hartley,” Eliza said. “Why don’t you run along now and compare notes with Barry, since you’re such an expert on Caitlin’s botanical preferences?”

“Dial down the bitchiness, sweetheart,” Hartley said. “It’s not even nine yet.”

“The rose isn’t the worst of it, really,” Bette said.

“Oh?” Hartley said gleefully, smirking and pulling up a chair from the other table, seeing as Caitlin’s backpack was still occupying the space beside her. “Do tell. Does the worst of it have something to do with this box?”

Caitlin finally snapped out of the daze she was in. She was having difficulty processing all… this. She needed another coffee. Maybe three. “I’m having difficulty imagining how he moved from the staircase to the window holding all this…”

“He had the bouquet in his mouth,” Eliza said.

Hartley’s brows shot up. “What,” he said, “the fuck?”

“What he said,” Caitlin muttered.

“She was kidding,” Bette said, giving Eliza a stern look. “He had a canvas bag.”

Eliza laughed. “Fine, but you have to admit you can totally imagine it.”

Hartley rolled his eyes. “I actually find it more unlikely that he had the foresight to bring a bag.”

“Well, are you going to open it?” Eliza said, gesturing to the box. “Bette and I have been dying to see what’s inside.”

Caitlin gave them a look, and Eliza said, “Hey, you can’t blame us. We’ve been safekeeping it for the last seven hours.”

“This really is beneath me,” Hartley said casually, “but I am curious to see what sort of disgustingly sentimental gift he got you. Gifts are a reflection of the giver, as someone once said. Can’t remember who it was, though…”

“You know, you can admit you’re curious without having to insult anyone,” Caitlin said.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he smirked. “Well? Are you opening it or not? We don’t have all day, Frosty.”

Caitlin sighed and relented, if only out of weariness. She opened the box without ceremony—there was no wrapper so she simply had to lift the flap—and peered inside. Three other heads neared to peer in, too.

It was a cactus.

On the flap, it said, I already got the roses when I saw this, but this is way better. You’re more of a cactus person, I think. ;) – Barry

Hartley barked a laugh. “I take it back. Allen is a fucking genius.”

“I don’t know,” Bette said dubiously. “It sounds like an insult.”

“It’s definitely an insult,” Eliza said. “You’re more of a cactus person—does that mean you have the qualities of a cactus?”

“He’s not wrong,” Hartley said. “Caitlin’s botanical identity aside, though,” he added, “everyone still owes me money, because she obviously accepted his advances…”

Caitlin, on her part, had already tuned them out. Barry Allen was a hopeless romantic and a complete idiot, and he also possibly had a screw or two loose, but he meant well, and he really and truly seemed to like her, and he was…

He was hers to like back.

Still, he had to stop climbing walls in the middle of the night to give her… whatever else he was planning on giving her. She had no clue about what courtship entailed, but she was sure that it didn’t have to be as life-threatening as he made it seem.

Caitlin didn’t think to approach him right away about this, though, because she didn’t think he’d be sending any more gifts her way. She thought he would have desisted with the flowers and the cacti, opting to leave only sticky notes instead.

She was wrong.

Well, not exactly. The next day, she did receive another note on her window, but she also received a heart-shaped box of chocolates and another cactus (both delivered by Cisco). This was puzzling, because she had no use whatsoever for a heart-shaped box, and she had no strong feelings about chocolates. Not that she didn’t like chocolates, per se; she’d just never particularly craved for them or sought them out. She didn’t want them to go to waste, though, so she ate two or three pieces before welcoming Cisco and Jax to finish up the rest.

This, surely, she thought, would be the end of it. Surely he knew that giving her gifts every single day until Saturday, for no particular reason and with no particular occasion, was an absurd and costly enterprise.

But she was wrong again. On Wednesday, she received the requisite note on her window and a teddy bear named Beary—See what I did there? ;) he’d said in his note—sporting a cactus pin. (She must’ve forgotten to lock her window last night after Cisco and Jax had left, so he was able to slip them onto her bedside table.) Now, if the chocolates were mildly puzzling, the teddy bear was downright bewildering, because she had given up stuffed animals altogether at the age of five, when her father had introduced her to illustrated encyclopedias. If she had no use for a teddy bear back at five years old, she had even less use of it now at twenty-one. She was aware that it was common for other couples to give each other stuffed animals, but that was other couples. For some reason, other couples found it cute to give their significant others a reminder of a more infantile period in their lives. Or perhaps the intention was for the recipient to endow the inanimate object with some of the partner’s qualities, so that it could serve as a reminder of the partner when he or she was away…

This was all just conjecture, of course. She’d never quite understood it. Even now that she herself was the recipient of a stuffed animal, she still didn’t understand what she was supposed to do with it.

To be fair, Barry didn’t know that she didn’t particularly care for chocolates or for stuffed animals. But perhaps that was the point—he didn’t know what she liked, and had simply assumed she would enjoy this standard romantic fanfare.

This brought to mind something Hartley had said the other day, about gifts being a reflection of the giver. Irritating as he was, she had to agree with his assessment: These gifts were less a reflection of her than they were a reflection of Barry. They conveyed the sincerity of his intentions well enough, but they also conveyed a startling lack of knowledge of who she was.

Well, not exactly. She did enjoy the sticky notes, and the cactus symbolized an inside joke that only the two of them shared and understood. Everything else, though, puzzled her.

She didn’t want to discard them, because that would mean discarding Barry’s feelings, too. (And, on an aside, Beary seemed to grow cuter the longer she looked at it [him?], which made her more reluctant to discard it [him?]. She made a mental note to Google the evolutionary value of cuteness even in lifeless objects.) But at the same time, the sole function of the rose, the chocolates, and the bear was to convey Barry’s intentions, which had been fulfilled the moment she’d received the gifts. Ergo, she no longer had any use for them. Was she obliged to keep these things around as relics of his affection for her? Then again, she knew that he liked her anyway, so why did she need all these things to remind her of it?

She frowned. She was trapped in a symbolic deadlock. Clearly when she confessed to him she didn’t foresee that things would become this complicated—and this when they weren’t even ‘a thing’ yet…

She sat back to view the gifts on her now-crowded bedside table and considered her situation. The most obvious course of action was to tell him to stop giving her gifts, but she could already tell that it would hurt him. But she also couldn’t think of a nice way to say it. The truth—“Please stop giving me gifts, I appreciate the sentiment but I find them useless” was too harsh, while a white lie like “I don’t have space to put them anymore” was too unconvincing. She could give him a list of what she liked, but she didn’t want to make it seem like she was asking for more gifts. Then again, she could inform him that she simply didn’t make a fuss about gifts, but clearly he made a fuss about gifts, so…

Great, she was back to her earlier deadlock.

Maybe it was time to call a friend. Felicity might know what to do. And, even if she didn’t, she might know how to soften a sentence like “Please stop giving me gifts, I appreciate the sentiment but I find them useless.”

Right, talk to Felicity it was, then.

. . .

On her way out of her room, though, something unusual happened: She bumped into Iris West.

The fact that Iris was here on her floor was already unusual in itself. Iris lived two or three floors above her, and she didn’t seem to have close friends residing on the second floor, so Caitlin had never actually seen her in this hallway.

The second unusual thing was that Iris was alone. Caitlin may have only glimpsed her on campus a few times, but she had no recollection of Iris being alone—she was always either surrounded by her friends from the school paper, or she was with a tall, clean-looking guy—her boyfriend, presumably.

The third unusual thing was that Iris was walking towards her now. Caitlin resisted the urge to look behind her to see if Iris was walking towards someone else, and instead she pasted on a tentative smile, the sort she reserved for people with whom she knew only vaguely, and so wasn’t sure if she should greet or not. If the person noticed the smile and greeted her, she’d return the greeting with relief. But if the person didn’t notice the smile, then she’d look like an idiot, but not as big an idiot as she would have had she uttered an ignored ‘Hi’.

Iris, as it turned out, returned her smile. “Hi, Caitlin,” she said, slowing when she reached her.

A greeting and a slowing down. Clearly she was about to engage her in conversation, but what did Iris have to talk with her about? Did Barry send her to deliver a package, or to do some reconnaissance? But if she was going to do reconnaissance, wouldn’t it be wiser to approach someone closer to her, like Felicity?

“Hi?” Caitlin said.

“I’m glad I caught you on your way out,” she said. “I would’ve messaged you first, but Facebook says you haven’t been online in three days, so…”

“Sorry,” Caitlin said. “I don’t go online often.”

“No, no, don’t apologize,” she said. “I mean, I’m the one asking for your time. Not because I’m spying on you for Barry or anything,” she added hastily. “I just wanted to talk, that’s all. If you’re busy, though, I could—”

“I’m not,” Caitlin said. Her curiosity was sufficiently peaked. “My next class is in two hours. What did you want to talk about?”

“Great,” Iris said. “Could we… talk somewhere more private, like your room? Or my room’s fine, too. Gossip spreads pretty fast around here.”

“My room’s nearer,” Caitlin said. “It’s a bit of a mess, though. Well, Felicity’s side is a bit of a mess, so we could stay on my side…”

They both headed back to her room, and while Caitlin felt like the silence was awkward, Iris seemed completely at ease. She did look out of place in the shabby dorm room—with her red chiffon top, black leather skirt, and knee-high black boots, she looked like she’d stepped out of the pages of Vogue rather than a classroom—but she carried herself with the relaxed confidence of a person who made and followed her own rules.

“I know this is weird,” Iris said, “but Barry has also been acting weird lately, so I felt like I had to do something.”

“Weird, how?” Caitlin said, silently asking Felicity’s permission to borrow her chair. She pulled it up beside hers in front of her desk. She gestured for Iris to sit. “I haven’t known him long, but this”—she pointed to the items on her bedside table—“doesn’t seem too uncharacteristic of him.”

“Yeah, well, that’s true,” Iris said, sitting. From the direction of her gaze, Caitlin noticed the way Iris catalogued details carefully with her gaze: She scanned the usual school supplies on Caitlin’s desk (a plain white mug for writing materials, another one for highlighters, and a tray for bond paper), glanced at the stack of printed journal articles with notes and post-its, and lingered on the books on her shelf—The Double Helix by James Watson, Rosalind Franklin: The Dark Lady of DNA by Brenda Maddox, What Is Life? by Erwin Schrödinger, Einstein’s Dreams by Alan Lightman, and The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat and Other Clinical Tales by Oliver Sacks—all with yellowed pages. Those books were the only memorabilia she kept on her desk.

“Why do I feel,” Caitlin ventured when Iris reached the end of her quick survey, “that you’re already mentally writing profile of me?”

She was aiming to sound amused, and she supposed it succeeded, because Iris gave her a sheepish smile. “Sorry,” she said. “Guilty as charged. Had to convince myself that I’m doing the right thing, and after seeing this”—she gestured to her Spartan desk and the books on display—“and that”—she gestured to her cluttered bedside table—“I’m pretty convinced. I’m guessing—no, I’m one hundred percent sure that you’re not the romantic type.”

“Not at all,” Caitlin said. And then, upon realizing that Iris might report all this to Barry, she added, “I do appreciate the sentiment, though.”

“Right,” Iris said, “but not the gifts.”

“Well…”

“Here’s the thing,” Iris said, sensing her hesitation. “I thought about talking to you back when he pulled that crazy stunt in the middle of the night, but for once, I stopped myself from meddling. Which is difficult for me, since I meddle in other people’s business for a living,” she added with a self-deprecating smile. “But I managed. ‘How bad can it be?’ I thought. ‘Who knows, maybe she likes flowers.’ When he gave you the chocolates, I thought, ‘Okay, fine, maybe she likes chocolates, too. Flowers are tricky, but chocolates are pretty safe. A lot of people are nuts for chocolates.’”

Caitlin was about to say that was nuts for neither flowers nor chocolates, but Iris seemed to be on a roll, so she let her continue.

“But when he gave you that teddy bear”—she gave the poor innocent Beary a dirty look—“and named it after him, that was the last straw. I said to him”—she made the phone gesture with her hand and brought it to her ear—“‘You gave her a teddy bear? Are you crazy? Do you even know if she likes teddy bears?’ and he was like, ‘But teddy bears are cute! Who doesn’t like teddy bears?’ and I was like, ‘Barry, if Eddie’—Eddie’s my boyfriend—‘gave me a teddy bear, I’d either donate it to charity or tell him to return it to the fricking store. Honestly, how old do you think she is? Five?’”

At this, Caitlin couldn’t help smiling. She was starting to like Iris. Iris made sense. “My sentiments, exactly.”

“Shit, I knew it,” Iris sighed. “I should’ve stopped him earlier, but it’s too late now. There’s no stopping him once he gets into planning. Although if it’s any consolation, he hasn’t gone this all-out since… Well, since. And there isn’t even any occasion. Can you imagine what sort of production number he’ll come up with if there is an occasion?”

“I’d really rather not,” Caitlin said, wincing. “If it’s going to involve a grand public display of affection, it’s going to be a nightmare.”

“Not a fan of PDA, huh?” Iris said. “This must be really uncomfortable for you. I mean, people have been talking nonstop about what he’s doing. I’ve lost count of how many times someone came up to me to ask about”—here she made quotation marks in the air—“‘Barry’s new girl.’”

Caitlin must have made a face, because Iris nodded sympathetically and said, “Yeah, I know. I was ‘Eddie’s new girl’ for some time, too, although for some reason he was never ‘Iris’s new guy.’ Ingrained sexism, that’s what it is. Really subtle, too, and harder to root out, but since women empowerment is having a moment—right, I’m ranting. Sorry. Bad habit.”

“It’s fine,” she said. “I’m used to ramblers.”

“Ranters,” Iris corrected with a smile. “Wouldn’t want to be lumped in the same category as Barry. At least I don’t lose my main point while talking.”

Caitlin smiled. “He is prone to that.”

“Don’t I know it. Sometimes I just tune out until like, three hundred words later, when he finds it again. Come to think of it, I shouldn’t have tuned him out when he was spouting all those nonsense ideas… I might’ve been able to stop him from doing all this…”

“Is there really no way to ask him to stop with the gifts?” Caitlin said tentatively. “The sticky notes are okay, just not… this production number, as you called it.”

Iris paused. “I could try to talk to him again,” she said. “And anyway, isn’t he supposed to be giving you space?”

“Yes, well. Obviously he failed. I even have less literal space in my room now.”

Iris laughed. “That’s true.”

They fell into a brief, comfortable silence.

“Hey, Caitlin,” Iris eventually said, “thanks for being honest. I know it sounds like I’m selling my best friend out, but it’s just, he really likes you, and I don’t want him to screw himself over. He can be really eager, you know? When he’s excited he just jumps into things without thinking. Loses all sense of timing and subtlety, too.”

Iris paused as if debating whether or not to continue, but before Caitlin could come up with a response to fill in the silence, she went on. “His mom and dad were also really big on romance,” she said. “We grew up watching them trying to out-surprise each other on their anniversary and on Valentine’s Day. It was crazy, the things his dad did. Once, he decorated their whole house with flowers, because his mom absolutely adored flowers. This other time, he ordered chocolates from France, Sweden, Belgium—you know, places where those fancy chocolates come from—and made it look like a chocolate buffet from around the world. His mom was like that, too. She used to throw him these themed surprise parties. There was one party where she invited everyone—his former patients, his students, his colleagues from the hospital, his colleagues from whatever medical association he was part of—and she had someone from each group give him a toast. He was so teary-eyed at the end that he couldn’t give a proper thank-you speech.” Iris sighed. “His parents had something really special, you know? Even my dad thought so. Everyone who knew them thought so. The happiest couple in the world, people would call them.”

Caitlin absorbed all this in silence. “He does look like someone who grew up surrounded by that kind of love,” she murmured.

“Yeah,” Iris said, smiling. “He was such a happy kid. Still is, actually. And I think—and this is pure speculation,” she added, “but I think that more than having a great career, more than being rich or famous or successful, more than anything, really, Barry wants what his parents had. I’m not telling you should fulfil that,” she added quickly. “I just want you to understand where he’s coming from.”

“I understand,” she said slowly. “This is a lot to take in, though. I’m the antithesis of that picture of his parents you just described, as you can see.”

Iris laughed. “Yeah, that’s pretty clear to me. And honestly, I don’t think he’ll want you any other way. Just give him time to adjust.”

“Alright,” she said. “Thank you for… talking to me. To be honest, I wasn’t sure how to proceed with all this.”

“Oh, no problem,” Iris said, waving a hand. “If you need help with Barry—or anything, really—you can message me any time.” She stood up. “Anyway, I should go. You have class, right?”

“In an hour, yes,” Caitlin said, accompanying her to the door.

“Hey, maybe in the future, we could do a double date or something,” Iris said. “You and Barry and me and Eddie. I’ll take you to all the best hole-in-the-wall places. A lot of the owners know me already, so I get discounts, too. It’ll be fun. What do you think?”

Caitlin blinked. “Okay,” she said.

“Great,” Iris smiled and squeezed her arm. Caitlin tried not to shy away from it. “I’ll go talk to Barry before he brews tomorrow’s disaster. See you around, Caitlin.”

When she left, Caitlin returned to her desk. Well. That was strange, but not entirely unwelcome, especially since Iris herself had offered to talk to Barry. She also found herself relieved that she could get along with Iris. She wasn’t exactly the friendliest of people, but Iris had enough friendly in her for the two of them.

“Now,” Caitlin muttered, staring at Beary’s placid smiling face, “what to do with you? You’re going to want to stick around, huh? A real nuisance you are, just like your namesake…”

She stopped abruptly when she realized that she was talking to an inanimate object, and then squinted warily at Beary. She was beginning to be gripped by this whole stuffed-animal craze, and she wasn’t sure what she felt about that…

. . .

“Cait? Hey Cait, bananas!”

Caitlin looked up from her laptop. “What? What’s happening?”

“Ha, got you to look!” Felicity grinned triumphantly. “You ready to sleep? I’m going to kill the lights now.”

Caitlin gave her friend an odd look, but, being used to such antics (or Felicitisms), she merely saved her file and slipped her laptop onto her table. “Yeah, sure.”

The lights went out. Felicity shuffled to her bed, and Caitlin heard her fold her glasses and place them on her bedside table with a soft thunk.

A few moments later, Caitlin ventured, “Hey. Are you sleepy?”

“No, not really.” Felicity turned to face her. Her face was blurry in the moonlight. “Are you?”

“No.” She paused. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, okay. Shoot.”

“Remember that story I told you, the one Iris told about Barry’s parents?”

“Mmm. What about it?”

“It bothers me.”

“Why?”

Caitlin curled further into her side. Had she been talking to Felicity during the day, with Cisco and Jax with them, she might not have said this out loud. But now, wrapped up in her blanket and enveloped by the warm, inviting darkness of their room, filled with the well-worn and well-loved things they had shared for over two years, Caitlin felt brave enough to be vulnerable.

“He wants a happy ending,” she said. “I’m clearly not his happy ending. He needs someone who can match his… exuberance, I guess. His generosity. Someone who’ll give him what his parents had. I don’t think I can. I don’t think I’m capable of it.”

“You don’t know that,” Felicity said. “You haven’t even started dating yet.”

“I think that’s the point. We haven’t started dating yet and we’re already incompatible,” she said. “At first, I thought admitting my feelings was a bad idea because I didn’t want to get hurt, but now I think it’s a bad idea because I don’t want him to get hurt. I don’t want to disappoint him.”

“Ah,” Felicity said. “So you don’t think you’re good enough for him?”

“Well,” Caitlin exhaled, “more like I’m not right enough for him.”

“Yeah, I get that. I still feel that way with Oliver sometimes, you know.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. Well, we haven’t been together for long, but still. I was terrified, remember? And you were terrified for me, too. Told me that if I had any common sense, I’d walk away from him right this instant, before things got too serious.”

Caitlin smiled. “Fortunately for Oliver, you had zero common sense.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Sometimes, when I’m with him and I’m feeling really happy, I get hit by sheer panic. Like, I start thinking, It’s impossible for anyone to be this happy. He’s going to cheat on me one day, or else he’ll get bored with me and break up with me… Oh my God, if he does, I’ll never find someone like him again, I’ll never be this happy again… and so on.”

“You still think about that?” Caitlin said, incredulous. “Have you seen the way Oliver looks at you? When you’re in the room he literally cannot focus on anything else.”

“Yeah,” Felicity said, with a modest shrug, “but I guess sometimes we sabotage our own happiness.”

Caitlin moved to lie on her back. “I think I’ve felt what you’ve felt with Oliver,” she said quietly. “I just feel… so light with Barry. Or happy, I suppose. I’m not sure. But I know that when I’m with him, I don’t want the moment to end. And when I saw him with Patty—I told you about that, right?”

“Yeah.”

“When I saw him with Patty, I was devastated. But there was this small part of me that was almost… gleeful about it. It’s hard to explain, but that part of me seemed to be saying, You knew this would happen. You were right, he’ll never like you. Good thing you didn’t get too attached.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Felicity said. “Sometimes I hear that voice in my head, too.”

“Why does it do that?” Caitlin said, confusion and frustration seeping into her tone. “Why does our mind do that? Why is it that when we’re happy, our first instinct is to be skeptical of happiness?”

Felicity was quiet for a moment. “Maybe our mind is trying to protect us from getting hurt,” she said. “Maybe we only open a little part of ourselves up to happiness so that when it leaves, it doesn’t take all of us with it.”

Her words sank into the darkness of the room.

“Or, wait, no,” Felicity said. “If Oliver… breaks up with me, yeah, I’ll be devastated, and I’ll probably cry for days, and the part of me that was only me around him will be gone. But I don’t think that means I’m less of a person if he leaves. I won’t be left with like, only a few pieces of my heart or something. Pretty sure I’m stronger than that.”

“You definitely are.”

“Thanks,” her friend said, smiling. “So I guess what I’m trying to say is... we try to protect ourselves from that one painful moment we think we won’t be strong enough to withstand. For me it’s Oliver breaking up with me for whatever reason. For you it’s disappointing Barry. And we sort of obsess over it, that painful moment, because we want to do anything to prevent it. And when we do that we forget to enjoy whatever’s happening now. Or that even if that moment does happen, we can and will survive it.”

“Like having tunnel vision,” Caitlin murmured. “Being scared of the pain is like having tunnel vision. You stop seeing possibilities around you.”

“Yeah,” Felicity said. “Yeah, something like that.”

“You’re saying that I should give this thing with Barry a real chance, aren’t you?”

Felicity grinned. “I’m saying that, or you are?”

“Touché.”

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” she said. “You guys have a lot to talk about. I mean, flowers and chocolates and teddy bears are sweet, but they’re just not your thing.”

“So I heard. Apparently it’s common knowledge for everyone besides him.”

“You’ll think of something,” Felicity said. “I think he’s just excited now so he can’t think straight, but he means well. He really wants to make you happy.”

“I suppose so.”

“And if he can’t see you behind all those romantic notions of his, believe me, I’ll be the first one to tell you to stop trying.”

Caitlin gave her friend a smile. “Thanks.”

There was a lull in the conversation.

“Think we should go to sleep now?”

“Yeah, we probably should,” Felicity said, pulling her blankets to her chin. “Oh, before I forget, Oliver says thanks for the Smirnoff.”

“Tell him he’s welcome.”

“You traitors,” Felicity yawned. “Scheming behind my back.”

“Good night to you too, Felicity.”

Her friend smiled and buried her face in her pillow. “Good night, Cait.”

#snowbarry #snowbarry fic #snowbarry fanfiction #barry x caitlin #wonderful you came by #my fic #barry allen #caitlin snow #felicity smoak #iris west #cisco ramon #hartley rathaway #jefferson jackson #oliver queen

22 notes · View notes

barcaavengers · 7 years

Text

Maybe a little || Roman Burki Imagine

Note: So this imagine is for my annoying friend who doesn't ask how am I but when will her sinful Roman imagine will be posted. So she better like it cause this is probably the only imagine I'll write for Roman since I don't follow him that closely to have a good idea of his behavior and whatnot. Anyway, here it is!

Warning: SMUT SMUT SMUT. VERY sinful smut…

There wasn't a single match day of BVB you’d miss. If you weren't there physically you'd always make sure to watch it on TV or on the go on your phone. Before it used to be a kind of mood thing, but you still got your notifications on your phone throughout the games. Now you have gotten more invested in the games because it meant a lot to Roman, who was your husband for over a year now. He'd complain about his performance and when they'd lose he'd blame himself and you wouldn't know why since you didn't see the game. It wouldn't be fair to say anything if you didn't see it.

You were watching an away game for your husband's team earlier that ended up in a tie. You couldn't travel with him because you felt a little under the weather and didn't want to spread whatever you had on Roman or the others, so you decided to stay home. You were waiting for that after match call you'd always get right after it, but so far it has been half an hour and nothing.

It was only after an hour or so that you got the call you were waiting for.

”I was waiting for you…�� you say as you pick up the video call. You guessed he was at the hotel room.

”Sorry I forgot my phone at the hotel room. Thankfully we had to come back to get our stuff before heading to the airport. How are you feeling?”

”Better. Definitely better” you nod your head and he smiles, but you notice the hint of disappointment because of the match. “You had a good game today” you comment.

”Thanks...I wish I could've done more..”

”You could have not done more, love. You stopped them from scoring, that's the best you can do and you did it.”

”Yeah but…” he shrugs.

”The more you could do is score, and you know you can't do that without leaving the goalie” you smirk and he chuckles.

”That's true…” he adds. “I'll be home soon, okay?”

”I'll be waiting” you say and blow him a kiss which he returns before you both hang up.

You wanted to be awake for when he arrived, so you estimated the arrival time to your house. It would be some hours for flight to get in, while they settle and go to the BVB headquarters to pick up the cars before driving home you'll have some hours to sleep, you set the alarm for around 6 hours or so and get comfortable in your bed to wait for your husband.

Later at night, you feel the bed shifting and body warmth besides you. You shift your position slightly, you try to open your eyes and fail so you just shift to face him and blink slowly to get your eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room.

”Morning beautiful” you hear Roman’s voice and you smile as you look at him before he leans in and kisses your forehead.

”Hey” you voice, your voice sleepy and tired. “What time is it?”

”Six in the morning” he replies and you frown.

”I thought I set the alarm to four…”

”You set an alarm to be awake when I came home?” He asks rather amused.

”Yeah” you say and smirk sleepily. “Been doing it ever since we live together. How do you think I am always awake when you arrive?”

”Insomnia?” He suggests playfully and you roll your eyes and shift to get comfortable on the bed, his hand is stretched out and resting on your waist, fingers running along the small exposed skin of it causing shivers to run through your body.

”Yeah. Sure. Insomnia” you scoff.

”Or just the feeling of missing me?” He pulls you closer and hovers over you. Your hand is resting on his bicep, fingers moving softly along the sleeve of his shirt as you look up to him.

”Maybe a little bit of both” you say and shrug.

”Just a little?” He questions, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your cheek before reaching for your lips and pressing a kiss. A kiss that started with him brushing his own against yours, then moving them slowly before it intensified.

You sigh into the kiss and he let's out an air through his nostrils, the hold on your waist tightening before he moves you closer to him. His nose nudges yours, his tongue runs along your lip causing butterflies on your stomach. You could spend hours kissing him and not get tired of it, only pulling away to gain more air to continue. His hand moves down your waist, now a single finger moving above the shorts you wear to bed and down your thigh. Your fingers curl on his arm before you move them along the side to reach the back of his neck, holding him closer to you as you two kiss. Your nails scraped the nape of his neck and he huffed into the kiss, moving his lips down to your neck so you could both catch some air.

His fingers move between your legs above your clothing to tease you. Just trailing them at first before he added pressure to your bundle of nerves making you gasp, legs press together and you hear him hum in disapproval. His hand pushes one leg apart and continues his previous moves against your center. His teeth sink into your skin before he sucks on it, marking you most probably and making you emit yet a soft moan. Roman knew exactly how to push your buttons and what gestures and actions to do to have you under his control.

”Roman” you say in a raspy voice and he pulls away from your neck. Yet his hand slips quickly under your shorts and underwear and moved his thumb in circles on your clit making your back arch in pleasure. He was looking at you as he worked his fingers on you, and that made you blush every time making you vulnerable under him. The pace increases before it stops, then sliding his index finger lower and testing how wet you were.

”Ready for me so fast?” He questions and leans down to your ear. “Maybe you miss me more than just a little, huh?” His husky voice said into your ear and your head nods in response, not being able to say a word in response. Your hand reaches for his visible hard on through his sweatpants, fingers grasping it softly and letting go, his eyes closing and lips parting as he enjoyed your actions before he slipped his finger inside of you. He knew exactly what to do to drive you crazy, the way his fingers stroked your walls and how he either started moving with a fast space and slowed down or vice versa. Roman definitely knew what he was doing and the effect he had on you.

He inserted a second finger and started moving faster inside of you, making you arch your back and stroke his member faster through his sweatpants in an attempt to release some tension. Your eyes fluttered closed as your lips parted and little whimpers made their way past them. The tension down your stomach was starting to build and you were clenching around his fingers, he noticed fast enough and pulled them out, your throat emitting a groan of complain.

”Easy, baby girl” he coos and moves to straddle your hips. His rough hands rested on your hips, right under the hem of your shirt, before he moved them up slowly to roll it up so it rested on top of your breasts. He was taking his time with you and you enjoyed that because he made you feel special for that. He loved praising every part of your body and going at his pace, most of the times anyway, but today you weren't in the mood for being so slow. His hands fondle with your breasts, grasping them and taking the nub between his fingers and tweaking them, your chest heaving as you moaned at the actions. You wrap your arms around his neck and he pulls you up, shifting his position so he was sitting on top of his legs and you sat on his thighs. His arm was holding you close as you took off your top and tossed it somewhere besides the bed and returned to hold yourself close to him by placing your arms around his neck again.

His lips attach to your collarbone and you feel his tongue tracing the outline of it. Your own lips press against his forehead and one hand runs along his hair. There is an involuntary shift of both of your hips and you both let out a quiet sigh at the friction it created. Which is the reason that makes him hold you tighter and move his hips against yours in a circular motion looking for friction, and your own join the movement, both of you moaning in pleasure as you find the relief. Hips start moving against each other, he pulls back to look at you and you close your eyes and let your head fall backwards while you feel him duck and attach his lips to one of your nipples. Teeth graze the skin every so often and combined with his hips you were in full bliss, and he was yet to be inside of you making you feel in cloud nine where you forgot everything that surrounded you and it was just you and him.

He moves to your other breast and licks the nub before taking it into his mouth and sucking on it while he pinched the other one. Your hips were now furiously moving against his own and he was having trouble trying to hold himself from gripping your waist tighter. Finally he seemed to have had enough of friction and stopped, pulling away from your chest and pushing you back on the bed. His thumbs hooked on the waistband of your shorts and underwear and pulled them down in a blurr. He was next, standing up from the bed and pushing his own down, revealing his erection right in front of your eyes. You'd never get tired of the sight, and even less when he reaches for the back neck of his shirt and pulls it over his head to reveal those abs and those muscles that drove you insane. He gets on all fours quickly on the bed, crawling to you with prey eyes that were dark with lust. You toss your hair back and get comfortable as he gets on top of you and attack your lips with passion. His hands are on your torso, moving down your side and gripping your hips and reaching for the back of your knee and pulling it up to his waist.

His cock is brushing against your lips as he grinds against you, a groan coming from him as he notices the closeness as well. His tongue is licking your lips and you part them to grant access and he slips it inside, brushing against your own making you moan into the kiss. You pull away and he moves to rest on his back, taking you with him so you are now on top. “Fuck, you are gorgeous” he smooths your hair and pushes it back behind your ear, resting it on your cheek and you lean into it having missed his touch for the three days he has been away because of trainings and matches.

You move yourself low and look up at him meeting his eyes. He looks at you intently, watching your next move and you duck to lick his V line, tracing it with your tongue making him press his head harder onto the pillow. You stroke him a few times as you do so, and you are about to take him into your mouth before he speaks, “If you do that I won't last. Just a warning…” he says and you notice his breath has come short and you smirk to yourself and nod before moving back up to straddle his waist.

”Do I drive you that crazy?” You tease as you pepper his lips with kisses being playful.

”You know the answer to that” he says and snakes a hand from your chest to the back of your neck and under your hair and holding you there. “You drive me crazy every time we are together” he reaches and bites your lip, teeth sinking and tugging at it as he pulls away. “And also when we are not” he gives you a gentle kiss as if to prove his points. “I can't imagine being with someone else that isn't you, Y/N” he says while looking into your eyes before pulling you in and pressing a kiss to your forehead and then to your cheeks as you blush a bright red probably. You are thankful that the dim light of the room helped conceal some of it.

”I love you too” you say with a soft smile as you reach for his erection, giving a few hard strokes before moving above him and sinking down on him. You took him all in slowly, enjoying how every inch of him made you feel full inside and how he stretched you every time. You sigh together and stay still for a few seconds, your hands are resting on his chest, fingers tracing the outline of his soft skin so moments later you start to move. Hips move in a circular motion, starting slow since he said he could reach his release rather quickly after so much grinding and foreplay. His hands are on your waist, holding you up right as you move before you start to lift yourself and come down, a soft pace of bouncing that even if you were doing it yourself using his toned chest as leverage, he was helping you. From slow you started to increase the movements, bouncing faster filling the room with the sound of skin hitting skin. His own hips were lifting to meet you halfway and you have to throw your head back to let out a moan.

Swear words move past your lips, head moving to get some hair away from your face as you continue to move on top of him. His hands move up your figure, tracing your curves as he grunts and speeds the pace of his hips. You moan loudly and he brings you close to him so you are now almost laying on top of him. His hands move from your waist down to your rear and groped the skin as you two moved. Your hands move up to his shoulders, nails sinking into the skin as he gives your butt a spank, but enough to hurt. He guides you by resting his hands on your behind, his knees folded to get some leverage to continue his fast pace inside of you.

”Y/N…” he moans and you can feel butterflies inside your body every time he moaned your name in that accent of his, which you were yet to catch since you were still in the process of learning German. He gave you classes alright, but it would usually lead to the situation you two were involved in at the moment. When both of you were away from each other for more than two days or so, this was the result. Before you can even notice, Roman is rolling you so you rest on your back and he is on top. He gives your lips a sloppy kiss as he pushes himself inside of you again and continuing his pace. His hips moved back and forth against your own that raised when you gained some strength to meet his powerful thrusts. Your breath is coming out in pants and you moaned every time he reached your spot.

Your nails are raking at his back, moving from his shoulder blades and up to his shoulders and down his arms as your head fell back. One of his hands reaches for your leg and lifts it up to his middle waist before reaching for the other one and doing the same. Your lips part and you swear through your uneven breath and moan right after as he hits a whole new angle inside of you. Your fingers are gripping at the sheets, knuckles almost white as you try to release some building tension because you were getting close, and he knew it. The way he was holding onto your legs, the way he had his eyes half way closed as you clench around him, the way he was cursing in German…It was a unique and exclusive experience just for you.

”Are you close, baby girl?” He asks as his hips slow down and now are pulling out softly and pushing back in hard thrusts. You open your eyes to look at him, sweat covering his chest and his forehead, his hair all ruffled up and his eyes are staring at your body hungrily.

”Yes” you breath out. “Roman please” you tilt your head to the side and moan as he places a finger on your nub when you spoke. His finger rubs your clit in slow circles as he continues to move inside of you hitting your sweet spot. His jaw is clenched and he is looking down to where he disappears inside of you before letting out a moan of his own before swearing. Both, his finger and hips, increase as he moves inside of you helping you reach your climax. Your back arches and you clench the sheets tighter, a whimper leaving your lips.

”Don't hold back. Let go…” he says between his teeth as he seems to be struggling to hold back his own release. His finger moves quickly on your nub, pinching it once before moving on it again. His thrusts are slowing down and that's when you clench around him, a couple of more thrusts and you are gone. Your vision became blurry as you orgasmed with a loud cry of pleasure, toes curling tightly and back arched as you did. “Fuck, that's so hot…” he moans as he thrusts a couple of more times before he grunts and you feel him come inside of you. He rests his head on your shoulder as he releases inside of you, hips moving slowly now to ride both of your highs. His pants were right besides your ear and that alone was riling you up for another round but you were exhausted at the moment. His hand was still between your bodies and he is moving it on your nub still before stopping and rolling off you with heavy breaths.

After a few minutes of both of you just staring at the ceiling as you regained your strength and breath, he moves to his side and pulls you to him, kissing your temple.

”Happy anniversary” you say and giggle as you feel his body tense.

”Hold up, its today?”

”Mhm” you hum as you snuggle close to him.

”Damn it, I forgot because of the match and just rushing to be home with you…” he pinches the bridge of his nose as he groans.

”It's okay. You know I don't expect anything big. Besides, we already celebrated” you tease with a playful wink and you both chuckle.

”Right. Right. This was only the beginning though” he says and moves to bite your ear shell making you squirm.

”Can't wait” you say and kiss his lips with a soft peck. “In the meantime, let's get some rest. We shower later” you say and turn around, your back to him so he is spooning you. He can only chuckle and bring you close as he rests his hand across your stomach as you two fall asleep for a couple of hours.

#roman burki #roman burki imagine #bvb #bvb imagine #roman burki imagines #bvb imagines #football imagines #(mine)#(maybe a little)#football imagine

55 notes · View notes