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cupid-styles · 3 months

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daisy 2 (english profrry x quiet TA!yn)

she's alive and I hope you like it 🩷 I think there will be a short epilogue wrapping everything up after this :)

part one

word count: 7.9k

content warnings: a bit of angst (nothing too crazy), smut (f receiving oral, penetration, size kink/belly bulge, dirty talk, a tiny bit of cum play), and — as stated in the first part — massive, big fat warning for an inappropriate power imbalance.

main masterlist | talk to me

. . .

Y/N had tried to talk herself out of it. Several times, actually. For hours.

But at a certain point, she realized all she was doing was driving herself insane with a nonstop, hamster wheel of thinking. She couldn’t stop replaying the conversation with Professor Styles — or Harry, rather, as he’d said earlier — over and over, nitpicking at every tiny detail. She wished she had someone to go to — an unbiased, neutral third party who wouldn’t tell her what she wanted to hear, but she doubted that even if she did have that, they’d think her analysis of their discussion would be appropriate.

Because she had a huge, obvious, stupid crush on her professor.

Well, he wasn’t technically her professor. She was just the professor she was… assisting, and that technicality is the only thing that gave her enough courage to bundle up beneath layers of thermal wear and her forest green puffer jacket, hiking through the chilly winter evening to see if, by some miracle, Harry was still in his office.

On the way there, she spoke to herself sternly. She needed to have a goal in mind — an intention, really, of what exactly she was going there for. It wasn’t a normal thing to go see a professor in his office on a Monday at 6:40 pm.

It wasn’t normal to think about his grumpy face and even crankier demeanor; the way his lips pursed thoughtfully around wordy responses about a student’s answer to an essay question, or his long, calloused fingers that wrapped around the same gel ink pens he always used for grading.

It wasn’t normal for her to fall asleep imagining herself pressing her own plush lips to the same ones that nearly begged for an apology just a few hours ago.

And it certainly wasn’t normal for her professor to admit that he’d spent the weekend thinking of her, either.

The English building stays unlocked until around 9 pm on weekdays, just in case professors end up hauling their grading into late nights or students have group projects. She hurries through the wooden doors as soon as she arrives, hurriedly yanking her mittens off and stuffing them in her coat pockets as she walks the familiar journey down to Harry’s office. She’s unsurprised that most of the offices and classrooms have already gone dim, but the closer she gets to Harry’s, the sooner she realizes that his is the exception. With the bleak, yellowed light from the lamp she’d picked out a few weeks back, she sees a faint luminance from his office’s frosted window. Swallowing, she decides against her better judgment before waltzing in like she owns the place, and instead opts for a hesitant knock, punctuating it with a call of his name.

“Profess— Harry? Are you in there?” she nibbles on her lip before tacking on a, "It's Y/N."

She hopes he recognizes her voice as she wrings her fingers together in front of her. She thinks she hears muffled movement on the other side of the door, but she’s not entirely sure. It never occurred to her that perhaps he wouldn’t want to see her — maybe he’d peek through the crack of the door, see her face, and widen his own eyes in shock and embarrassment, maintaining silence until she eventually gave up and walked away. Her throat bobs nervously at the imagery.

She’s ready to give up when the door swings open, revealing a rather flushed looking version of the typically neat, well-kept professor she’s used to seeing. His cheeks don a splotchy pink hue that speckles down to his neck, where his usual button down is currently undone. Underneath, he wears a plain white tee-shirt. She blinks at the small display of intimacy before snapping her eyes back up to his face. He’s running his finger through his messy curls, tugging lightly at the base of the locks.

“Is everything alright?” he asks through a slightly nervous voice. With furrowed eyebrows, she nods her head slowly.

“Yes— well, no, I guess. I feel bad about earlier.”

She chokes the words out in hopes that she can keep her humiliation at bay. She’s unsure if her eyes deceive her, but it seems as though his face relaxes some before he quickly nods, stepping aside to let her in.

“Um, you have nothing to feel bad about,” he says, shutting the door quietly behind her. She shrugs her shoulders as she stands in the middle of his small office, avoiding his gaze. “I was out of line, Y/N.”

“What did you mean by it?” she rushes out, facing him with a leery expression. “That you spent the weekend thinking of me. And feeling awful about how you’ve treated me.”

His mouth opens and closes, and she can’t help the way she glances down at his raspberry-hued lips. She swallows tightly, biting on her own bottom lip.

“This isn’t something we can do,” he mumbles out breathily with a shake of his head. “You know that, right?”

They’re dancing around the obvious. Her stomach lurches at the low, groveled volume of his voice, and her fingers twitch at her sides as she resists the urge to step closer to him. She’s never been forward with a romantic interest before — she’s never had a reason to be, to uphold a certain level of confidence.

But she can’t help herself.

“Tell me, then. Tell me what you thought of this weekend.”

Harry’s nostrils flare.

“If it’s not something we can do,” Y/N says softly, licking over her lips, “Then whatever you thought about should be nothing, right?”

He’s torn. He’s so utterly torn that it feels like his brain is being split in half. He knows what he should do — he should tell her she’s wrong and that she should leave. He should leave this entire situation behind him, chalk it up to him being a touch-deprived idiot, and move on with his life. Join a few dating apps and find someone decent to settle down with.

But why would he do what he’s supposed to do?

“I thought about how fucking shitty I felt for ignoring you for weeks after you told me you just wanted my praise,” Harry blurts, heart hammering in his chest as he slowly starts to close the gap between their bodies. “I thought about how much I like having you around — how smart and talented you are, how beautiful and creative your brain is.”

“I’m not—”

“I’m not finished,” he replies curtly, making Y/N’s eyebrows shoot up to her forehead. “I thought about how pretty you are. I thought about how I’m thankful to have you as my assistant, because no one has ever been able to meet me on the same level. I thought about… how I’d be taking advantage of you if I told you any of those things, so I promised that I’d keep them to myself.”

He’s standing directly before her now. He’s so close that she can smell the warm musk of his cologne and see the freckles dotted over his nose. It makes her stomach churn in the best way.

“Why didn’t you?” she finally breathes out.

A smirk forms at the edges of his lips. He looks down at her as if he wants to swallow her whole, and she’s not sure that she doesn’t want him to.

“You asked me to tell you, sweetheart,” he murmurs. He reaches out to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear and her skin zips with electricity. “‘S not much of my fault now, is it?”

Quickly, she shakes her head. She swallows nervously and hopes he doesn’t notice her picking at her nails as she waits for him to surge forward and press a messy kiss to her lips.

But instead, he stops.

A look of clarity ghosts over his face and his throat bobs. It doesn’t stop him from thumbing over her chin with sorrowed eyes.

“We’ll wait until the end of the semester,” he murmurs out. The look of disappointment on Y/N’s face must be obvious because his eyebrows furrow in dejection. “It’s the safest way, okay? After that… after that, I’m yours.”

I’m yours. It echoes through her brain, making her heart thump rapidly in her chest. She feels it everywhere, but the hesitancy remains.

“Promise me,” she whispers, pressing a wary hand to the expanse of his chest. “Promise me I’m not wasting my time. Promise me that you mean this.”

He can’t help it — before he can even contemplate the consequences, he ducks down to connect their lips. It takes her by surprise but she immediately kisses him back, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck to pull him closer.

Despite the reluctant context, the physical bond is anything but. Harry kisses her unhurriedly, like he has years to worship every bit of her lips. He dips his tongue into her mouth the second she grants him the opportunity, and her chest feels like it’s ready to explode when he squeezes her hip. His large palm easily finds its way to her ass and she whimpers breathily into the seal of his mouth. It’s the only thing that brings him back down to earth — a reminder that he’s no longer daydreaming but experiencing the real thing. He forces himself to break the kiss but leans his forehead against hers, keeping his eyes shuttered closed.

“I promise you,” he exhales, and he feels her nod. “I’m yours.”

. . .

Attempting to act normal around Harry is harder than Y/N had anticipated.

In hindsight, the evening consisted of a half-assed confession and a rather… intimate kiss that nearly knocked her off her feet. If it had been with anyone else — someone her age, a fellow student or peer, maybe — she, of course, would be anxious over it. But the fact that she had to see him a day later in class was… well, somehow embarrassing.

She contemplates her outfit for hours, wanting to seem cute and put-together without overly desperate. She was scared it would be written all over her face the second she walked in and sat at her seat beside his podium — "I made out with Professor Styles in his office a day and a half ago and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it for more than two seconds since it happened" may as well have been written across her forehead.

When she finally does show up to class, Harry looks… well, he looks like his usual self. He’s wearing those wide-legged trousers that she thinks he must have in at least a dozen colors, matched with a button down and a sweater vest overtop. He’s standing at the podium with his back to the entrance as he waits for students to filter in, squeezing his bottom lip between his fingers. He’s reading something, Y/N’s unsure what it is, but when he hears the less than graceful clatter of her setting her things down at the table, he glances over to her and flashes her a smile.

A smile.

“Hey,” he greets. His voice is low and gruff and if she hadn’t been looking for it, she surely would’ve missed it. But she doesn’t, and it instead sends a zap of lovesick energy thrumming through her body.

“Hi.” she mumbles back, waving as she leans over to pull her laptop from her bag.

That’s the extent of the interaction, but it’s far more than she’s ever received from him. Normally, when she arrives at class, he fully ignores her. She only began to take issue with it when she figured out she was growing feelings for him, but somehow the quiet utterance of hey feels like a public acknowledgement of what occurred just a day prior. In some crazy way, it seems like it’s just as open as grabbing her and smacking a hard kiss to her lips. She finds herself wishing he would as he begins today’s lecture on male writers in feminist discourse.

As written on the schedule, Harry’s taking the time to discuss authors like George Herbert, John Berryman, and Leo Tolstoy. Y/N doesn’t feel particularly drawn to any of those figures, though a few weeks back when she and Harry were discussing this unit, they did find a mutual appreciation for Jacques Lacan. He wasn’t originally in the lesson plan — Y/N remembers it vividly, because she can recall saying that he would be a great fit. Her heart had expanded in her chest with praise when Harry agreed.

And yet… Harry’s standing up there in front of the lecture hall, waxing poetic in the dreamiest way possible, about Jacques Lacan.

“Lacan was incredibly controversial, so I don’t expect all of us to feel comfortable with translating his viewpoints to modern day psychology,” Harry explains as he hovers over the old, wooden podium, “But what I do want to dig into is his basic idea of the symbolic register. Does anyone know what that is?”

Yes, Y/N wants to say. It’s the concept that our existence as humans includes language, culture, and rituals.

“Lacan came up with this idea that he thought was waiting for us the second we were born. He felt that the symbolic register encompassed maybe more artsy, culture-based facets, and that was one of the most important parts of the human existence. We won’t get too far into it because this isn’t a psychology course, and frankly, I could give a shit if you truly understand this or not.” The class, including Y/N, laughs quietly. Harry rolls his lips into a thin line to avoid a smirk from appearing.

When the huffed merriment tapers off, he continues. “What I want you to take away as writers is this: Lacan’s symbolic register essentially implies that our lives, from the very start, are swamped with uncertainty. There’s no path for us. As you write your characters, consider that. Lacan thought that life experiences, specifically lack and desire, were what impacted the course we go on.”

As expected, the class is silent. Y/N’s found that students are typically too nervous or intimidated to contribute to conversations during Harry’s lectures, and she’s been on the receiving end of many, many emails asking things that could have been resolved in class.

“Think about what your characters lack. What are they missing? What are they unable to receive access to? Is it a resistance to pleasure, to giving in?”

Y/N swallows harshly at that. She pretends like she doesn’t hear it, instead focusing in on typing a response to an email in her inbox.

“And then, consider their desires. Their deepest, darkest wants. No one has to know them — in real life, no one truly knows our truest desires, anyway,” she swears her eyes squeeze closed at that, but she quickly snaps them open, “But use it as an exercise for this weekend. Don’t forget, second drafts are due on Monday. Class is dismissed.”

Y/N swear she feels a second heartbeat in her core as the lecture hall begins to trickle out with students.

. . .

“I thought we were waiting until the semester is over.” Y/N blurts it out when she can’t focus on grading Ren Wei's draft.

Slowly, Harry glances up from the stack of papers he’s currently grading. With confused eyebrows, he sets his pen down.

“We are,” he says softly.

“Then what were you talking about in class today?” She hisses lowly. She keeps her voice quiet even though the door to Harry’s office is shut closed.

“What do you mean?”

Y/N sighs frustratedly and sits back in her seat. She avoids Harry’s confused gaze as she crosses her arms over her chest. He ignores the way it pushes her breasts up through the soft fabric of her sweater.

“The whole lack and desire thing. You know you weren’t planning on talking about Lacan until I brought him up a few weeks ago.”

Harry’s throat bobs and she licks over her lips, quickly glancing back up to his face. She’s right — they both know she’s right, but Harry’s reluctant to admit it. He’s stubborn — he’s always been this way in relationships, and it tends to be one of his greater downfalls as a partner. Deep in the pit of his heart, he knows Y/N deserves better. She wouldn’t be worth putting his job or her status as a student in danger if she wasn’t.

“You’re right,” he finally admits as he nibbles on his bottom lip. “I’m sorry. It was out of line and I won’t do that anymore.”

She pauses for a beat. And then, “I thought maybe you changed your mind.”

His shoulders deflate and she suddenly feels embarrassed. It was a stupid thing to reveal, she decides, and she picks at the skin surrounding her fingernails as she mentally beats herself up for it.

And for a moment, Harry contemplates it. He knows it hasn’t been that long since he told her they have to wait, but he’d be a ridiculous liar if he didn’t admit that she’s all he’s been thinking about ever since they kissed in his office. Nervously, he reaches across the length of his wooden desk and takes her hand into his. He intertwines their fingers together and gives her hand a small, reassuring squeeze, and she looks up at him through her eyelashes. It makes his heart warm.

“You know this is incredibly difficult for me, right?” he asks. Y/N shakes her head and he scoffs in response. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Y/N.”

She blushes. “I can’t stop thinking about you either.”

“Yeah?” he chuckles, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. She nods. “When we kissed, it… it was so good, y’know? It just… it felt good.”

“I know,” she breathes. She squeezes his fingers lightly before retracting her own hand and placing it in her lap. She may look naive, but she's already decided that she won't let him have the upper hand – not when it comes to something she can actually have control over, like teasing.

The movement surprises him but he chooses not to acknowledge it. “But this is what we decided on, right? It’s better this way. It’s kind of like edging, hm?”

His eyes nearly bulge out of his skull as she glances down at her phone to look at the time.

“Anyway, I have to head out to class. Text me if you need anything, Professor Styles.”

She waltzes out of his office with a snarky, knowing grin on her lips, and Harry has to do a series of deep breathing to stop his cock from exploding in his trousers.

. . .

Y/N Y/L/N is a complete and utter minx.

Harry has no choice but to come to this conclusion because in the weeks that follow their agreement, he swears she does everything she can to try and make him break. The worst part is, he doesn’t even know if she’s doing it intentionally. But every time they’re in the same room, all he can think about is hauling her over his shoulder, locking her in his office, and stretching her body over the length of his desk so he can fuck her until she can’t even think straight.

And there’s still three months left of the semester.

Admittedly, nothing ever really happens between them. Despite the apparent and blatant flirting that occurs on both sides, they keep things surprisingly professional, even behind closed doors. For the first time in his teaching career, Harry is actually ahead of grading. For some reason, he feels as though it’s a testament to how well he and Y/N actually work together.

But then there’s the matter of her teasing, which drives him up a fucking wall — the cute little mini skirts she almost always wears, the batting of her eyelashes at students in his class, followed by the wide-eyed smile she flashes Harry as soon as she knows he’s seen it. She even out-smarted him on Ursula LeGuin the other day and, as dorky as it seems, Harry doesn’t think he’s ever been so turned on in his life.

It’s a series of back-and-forth. When Y/N has to leave his office for class, he’ll thumb at her chin or her cheeks so she gets all flustered before she heads out. Later that night, she’ll text him an innocent question with some sort of “typo”:

can’t stop thinking about your lips

oops! list* not lips! your list of grades — it’s due next friday, right??

It’s a stupid, risky game that neither of them can stop playing.

Even when they’re sitting in Harry’s office that Wednesday afternoon, buried beneath piles of final drafts for the midterm paper, he can’t help but gnaw on his bottom lip as she sits across from him. She’s focused — the cute furrow between her brows is the primary tell — but every now and then she’ll bring her pen up to her mouth to bite on it or poke her tongue out to lick over her lips.

Despite the chill of the day, she’s wearing a wool mini skirt atop sheer black tights, and he hasn’t been able to stop glancing down at the soft skin of her thighs since she showed up to campus hours ago. He wants nothing more than to rip a hole in the fabric, pull her into his lap, and kiss her until she’s a whimpering, breathless mess.

He’s so distracted that he doesn’t even notice the clock is steadily ticking towards 5 pm and, technically, Y/N should’ve left an hour ago. With wide eyes, he drops his pen on the pile of papers in front of him.

“Shit,” he curses, “You should go. Your hours ended at 4.”

She taps her phone screen beside her, “Oh. I didn’t realize it was so late. I guess I got in the groove with grading.”

“It happens.” He says understandingly as he leans back against his chair, stretching his achy back out some. “I’ll see you on Monday, then?”

She peers up at him through her lashes. “It’s 5 pm on a Friday, Harry. You should leave, too.”

He runs his tongue over his teeth. She’s right, especially since he’s been attempting to distract himself from his crush on Y/N by doing late grading sessions in his office.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he mumbles as he grabs his large tote bag. “I’ll walk you out, if that’s okay.”

They both know that it’s perhaps a cross of the boundary they’ve been trying to firmly maintain, but how harmful could a walk be?

Y/N flashes him a small smile. Silently, they each pack their things up, and she follows him out of this office as he locks his door. They walk side-by-side, Y/N nibbling on her bottom lip as Harry tries to resist the urge to grab the hand that he keeps accidentally brushing with his own knuckles.

“Do you have any weekend plans?” She suddenly asks softly, glancing up at the taller male.

He hums, “Nothing too exciting. Probably just gonna catch up on TV and reading. You?”

“The secret life of an English professor, hm?” Y/N teases and he chuckles. “I have to start prepping for midterms. Laundry, too. I guess nothing more fun than your plans.”

He laughs and her stomach erupts into flutters as he holds the front door for her. She smiles in gratitude, but her steps come to a stop when she witnesses the state of the weather.

It’s nearly a white out. A snowstorm must have barreled through while they were busy grading, because now it’s dark, flurries of snow instantly landing on Y/N’s eyelashes and jacket.

“Y/N,” Harry appears at her side, “You’re not planning on walking through this, are you?”

“I-I don’t have a car.” She mumbles, stuffing her already freezing cold hands into her pockets. “I’ll be fine, it’s not far.”

“No, but I wouldn’t feel okay with sending you home in this,” he replies. She blinks when she feels his hand reach out to her shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. “Would you let me drive you home, please? Just so I know you get home safely.”

Her stomach turns. This would officially cross the student/teacher boundary, but he’s right — it’s frigid out, and she always hates walking home in the dark anyway. Swallowing tightly, she nods.

“Yeah, please. I’ll take a ride.”

“Good,” he exhales with a nod, “My car’s just over in the faculty lot.”

With the both of them slowly shuffling through the snowy ground, they eventually make it to Harry’s car. As expected, it’s covered in snow, but he turns it on and blasts the heat so she can sit inside while he uses a brush to clear it off. She picks at her fingernails as she watches him through the foggy front window, her chest continuing to grow with nerves. She knows that this is all she’s wanted for weeks — to be alone with Harry, outside of the confines of his office — so why is she so scared?

Luckily, he gets in the car before she has more time to contemplate it. Blowing warm air into his cupped hands, he shivers dramatically.

“Fuck, it’s cold,” he whines, making her giggle. “Something funny about that, passenger princess?”

“No!” She exclaims with a laugh, “I’m sorry I didn’t help clear your car off. I’m sure that was awful.”

His eyes crinkle teasingly as he chuckles along with her. As he backs up out of the parking spot with ease, he presses the palm of his hand to the back of Y/N’s headrest, checking to make sure he’s clear. She wonders if he’s used to driving in the snow, but lets the question die in her throat instead of pushing the conversation.

“Sorry, I didn’t ask where you live,” he says when he turns onto the main road. “I think you mentioned once that you’re not too far from campus?”

She nods. “Yeah, I’m on Maple. It’s a single-person house, I’ll tell you where to turn.”

“You live alone?”

She doesn’t think the question is meant to be inherently suggestive, but there’s something about his immediate response that has her teetering on feeling that way. Swallowing, she nods again.

“Mhm. Most of my friends graduated or moved away when we finished undergrad, so it’s just me.”

“No pets or anything? You seem like the type to own one of those bald cats.”

Y/N balks at his reply, a peel of laughter bubbling from her chest. “What?”

Harry’s cheeks warm as he slowly drives down the snow-covered street. He doesn’t know how to tell her that he thinks about what kind of person she is when she’s not around — he knows it probably sounds creepy, but it’s how he’s been entertaining himself in the meantime.

“I just… feel like you’d like those things,” he treads lightly, shrugging his shoulders, “Is my assumption wrong?”

“Very much so. I’ve only had dogs,” she giggles, “Are there any other assumptions I should know about?”

His throat bobs. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” she quirks a brow. “Turn at the light.”

He flicks his right signal on, “I may have tried to figure you out a bit in my… spare time.”

He cringes, but the sound of her laughter quickly pulls him from his embarrassment.

“Well now I have to know.”

“Fine,” he decides, finding himself drawn to her little game, “I think you prefer matcha or hot chocolate over coffee.”

“True, but that’s only because you watch me cringe every time you drink your stupid black coffee.”

Harry snorts, “Okay, fair. I think you’re a homebody.”

“Mhmm,” Y/N nods. “True. Go on.”

“You prefer chocolate to vanilla.”

“Strawberry, actually.”

He hums. “You read period piece smut for fun.”

Y/N lets out a loud cackle. “What about my personality makes you think that?”

“You just seem like the type to go to the romance section at the bookstore, but only buy dirty books that are set in the 1800s,” he replies easily, a smirk edging at his lips, “Am I wrong?”

She ignores the way her cheeks flair with warmth. “I’m not opposed to it, but it’s not the only thing I read.”

“Sure,” he laughs. She rolls her eyes before pointing to a house down at the end of the road.

“I’m right over there.”

Harry nods and pulls up in front of it. The snow is only worse on the residential streets, likely because there haven’t been many cars going through to clear the roads. She nibbles on her lip as she unbuckles her seatbelt and turns to look at him.

“Thank you for the ride.” she says softly.

“Of course.”

They stare at each other for a beat before Y/N tears her gaze away from him. She glances out through the front window, watching momentarily as snowflakes continue to beat down on the exterior of his car.

“It’s not safe,” she mumbles breathily, facing him again. “You shouldn’t drive in this.”

He swallows. He knows what he should say: No, it’s okay. I should go home. We said we’d wait, remember?

But he doesn’t want to. Not when she’s dangling alone time, off campus, right in front of his face. He can’t resist her — he doesn’t want to resist her.

“Can I come inside, then?”

. . .

Y/N’s house is everything Harry would have expected it to be.

She has two huge bookshelves that are overflowing with worn novels, Post-It’s and folded-down pages sticking out of nearly every page. She has plants and candles, cuddly blankets thrown askew over her couch, and a sink filled with half-consumed cups of tea. There are framed pictures and Polaroids tacked up on her fridge of people Harry assumes are her friends and family. He smiles gently as he passes by an image of her wedged between two older people who have some of her same features. It’s all very her, which means it’s all entirely too comforting.

“Do you want something to drink?” Y/N asks, nibbling on her bottom lip as she glances up at the man before her. It’s an unusual sight; one that makes her feel like she has to blink a few times to ensure she isn’t dreaming.

“Not unless you’re willing me to make my ‘stupid black coffee’, as you affectionately referred to it in the car.”

Y/N blushes, “I don’t have any coffee here, but I can make you tea. Or hot chocolate.”

“Tea is good, sweetheart.”

The flush only deepens at the pet name. He’s not sure where it comes from — maybe easing into a relationship-type dynamic is easier than he thought, especially considering he’s been pushing it down since their kiss. He watches as she turns to face the kitchen counter, occupying herself with turning the kettle on and retrieving two tea bags and mugs. He wants nothing more than to hug her from behind, pressing his fingertips into her hips to squeeze them teasingly. To dip his head to the crook of her neck and press kisses along her delicate skin. He swallows and adjusts his trousers, willing the thickening erection tucked underneath to go away.

“How do you want it?” she asks, glancing behind her to look at him.

He coughs. “Sorry? How do I want what?”

“Your tea,” Y/N replies slowly, a small smile on her lips, “How do you want your tea, Harry?”

“Oh— um, however you take it is fine.”

She nods and busies herself with filling the mugs up with the boiling water. Once she’s finished, she slowly hands him the steaming cup. He smiles in gratitude, allowing their fingers to brush against one another in the pass-off.

“By the way,” she says lowly, blinking at him, “You’re doing a shit job of hiding your boner.”

Her eyes crinkle in a smirk as she lifts the mug to take a sip of the warm liquid. Harry’s cheeks instantly warm and he stutters over his words, attempting to force out an apology. She lets him scramble for a moment before reaching out to curl her fingers over his wrist with a smile.

“I’m just teasing you. I hope you know I don’t care.”

He huffs, setting his cup down on the dining room table, “Yeah, but I’m the one who told you we have to wait. And now I’m standing in your kitchen, getting hard over you making me tea.”

She giggles. “I consider that a compliment, to be honest.”

“I’m sure you do,” he grumbles, “You make me feel like a doped up, lovesick teenager.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” he scoffs, “Everything you do does something to me. Even if you don’t mean it. It’s ridiculous.”

“What do you mean?”

He sends her a knowing look and she grins.

“You know what I mean, Y/N.”

“You know I’m not good at reading between the lines, Harry.”

He sighs. “You turn me on. Even by doing the stupidest shit— knowing more about me in certain subjects, wearing those cute little skirts… it all drives me insane. I’ve been trying to keep it together, but I can’t.”

“Then don’t,” she replies almost instantly, placing her mug on the table next to his, “I don’t want to wait, Harry. I feel… I feel so stupidly desperate for you. And I want this— I want you.”

“I know, but—”

“But in any other context, if we didn’t meet this way, there wouldn’t be an issue,” she points out stubbornly, “If we had come back to mine after a date, we’d already be upstairs with our clothes off.”

He can’t help the way his cock jumps at her words and he mentally groans. He wants to yell into one of those cute throw pillows on her couch, or maybe lay face down on the fluffy carpet in her hallway.

“Listen, I’m sorry if I’m crossing boundaries, we can just watch TV or something—”

“Stop,” he cuts her off with a shake of his head. “Can we just… Can I just kiss you again? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

Y/N blinks owlishly. Surprise is clear on her face, but it doesn’t stop her from nodding her head. As corny as it sounds — and Y/N knows it’s corny — it feels like magnets being pulled together. It’s not a moment longer before Harry’s palm is pressed gently against her cheek, his lips brushing up against hers. She’s nearly salivating at the thought of closing the gap between them and yet, at the same time, her brain is melting with lust.

This kiss, unlike their first, is riddled with want. It’s hurried and sloppy, teeth clashing and tongues dipping into each other’s mouth. Harry’s hand slips from her cheek and down to the back of her neck, giving it a small, testing squeeze. She presses her chest impossibly closer to his, eyelashes flittering at the warmth radiating from the button-down he wears. She’s desperate to feel him, to eliminate any boundaries or distances between them — for the first time, she’s sick of playing games.

“Upstairs,” she pants out through swollen lips. He takes her bottom lip between his teeth and pulls playfully, allowing it to snap back in place, “Take me upstairs, please.”

He swallows and her eyes find his Adam’s apple, nervousness settling in her chest. He gives her neck another squeeze.

“Are you sure?” he breathes. She leans up to wrap her arms around his neck and presses a gentle kiss to his lips.

“If you’ll have me, I’m yours, Harry.”

“You’ve always been mine,” he mutters with his forehead against hers, “Show me the way, sweetheart.”

She grabs his hand in hers and lightly tugs him out of the kitchen. If she’s being honest, she’s fantasized of this moment for months now. She was never sure of how it would happen (the logistics never mattered in her daydreams), but having him here, standing in her bedroom, feels like some kind of joke her mind conjured up.

But when he lays her back against the mattress, elbows digging into the soft tufts of her bedding, it feels a little like a hazy fantasy.

When he parts her thighs and kneels down between them, pressing a smattering of kisses along her neck as his hands push the fabric of her thick sweater up, her labored breathing is the only anchor she has in reality.

And when he finds himself between her thighs, tugging her black tights down to reveal a sodden pair of underwear, a hiss sounding out from her mouth when he bares her center to the cool air of her bedroom, things begin to feel very, very serious.

“Is this okay?” he asks huskily. He’s since moved down to kneeling on the carpet of her room, his large palms parting the insides of her thighs. Every single move he makes drives her insane.

“Yes,” she breathes, fingers gripping the blanket beneath her.

He’s less calculated now that he’s received her consent. She instantly mewls the second he puts his mouth over her, licking through the wet fabric of her underwear. Her eyes roll back just from the muffled sensation, especially when he allows a low moan to vibrate from his chest.

“Need more,” he mutters against the soft skin of his thigh as he pulls the material to the side. He inhales sharply at the sight of how wet she is, his fingertip gently tracing over the tip of her swollen clit. “You were hiding all this from me for months.”

He states it as if it’s a fact — like she’d been doing it intentionally, when all she’s been doing is dreaming of the day he’d finally be the one to break. Through a shaky swallow, she parts her lips.

“Didn’t mean it,” she murmurs, sitting up slightly to look down at him. It’s a heavenly vision — the image of the professor she’s been crushing on, on his knees for her in her bedroom. He sends a smirk her way as if he can read her thoughts (and maybe he can, she’s truly not sure anymore), and surges forward to dip his tongue through her folds, licking up the heady arousal dripping from her hole. It makes her gasp and reach down to grab his hair, a tight fistful of locks in her hand.

“Doubt it,” he says into her core. His fingertip continues tracing tight circles into her clit as he begins to flex his tongue inside of her, and Y/N’s back is arching against the expanse of her mattress from the wet, intoxicating sensations of it all. It’s nearly too overwhelming for her, especially given the sensitivity of her clit — but Harry can feel her tensing beneath his grasp, a delicious telltale sign that her peak is quickly rising.

“Harry— oh my god—”

“I know,” he coos, replacing his tongue with two of his fingers. He presses against her g-spot and she gasps, grinding her hips down against his hands, “There you go, angel girl, cum on my fingers. That’s it, good girl.”

If his hands weren’t currently occupied, one would undoubtedly be wrapped around his length right now, twisting and pumping until he emptied himself to the sight of Y/N’s coming, pulsating pussy. It's better than any daydream he ever could have thought of — her moans are beautiful and whimpery, her body warm and pliant beneath his touch as she comes down. Sensitivity immediately takes over and she gently bats his hands away, panting out loudly from above.

“Alright?” He asks softly, placing a light kiss to her thigh. He hears her swallow loudly.

“Jelly,” she mumbles, “Limbs are jelly.”

That makes him chuckle as he sits back up on his knees. He hovers over the length of her body and smiles at her fucked out expression.

“You’re pretty when you come.” He says before leaning down to peck her lips.

“Yeah?” She asks teasingly, “Show me what you look like?”

Harry stills but she nips at his bottom lip playfully, “You didn’t cum in your pants just from eating me out, did you?”

“Got pretty close to it.” He confesses, eyes falling shut as she continues pressing kisses to his jawline and down to his neck.

She hums at the admittance as her hands rake down his chest, “Do you wanna fuck me?”

“Whatever you want,” he swallows, the answer sounding far more submissive out loud than he’d intentioned, “Fine with… I’m fine with whatever.”

“I want you to fuck me.” She says, looking up at him. “Is that okay?”

“That’s perfectly okay.”

Y/N grins and begins to make quick work of shedding his layers of clothes. His button-down is the first to go, followed by his trousers and belt. Once he’s down to his briefs, she gently hints at wanting to climb on top. He has no reservations with that so he helps her straddle his thighs, watching as her eyes peer down at his covered length.

“You look big.” She admits.

He’s not sure if it’s meant to be a compliment or a nervous comment, so he silently issues a small squeeze to her hip.

“Seriously,” she continues with a frown. “Other girls have taken you no problem?”

This makes him laugh. “Generally, yeah.”

“I don’t think it’s gonna fit.”

Harry smirks. “This isn’t your way of telling me you’re a virgin, right?”

“No!” She exclaims theatrically, and that only amplifies his laughter. “I’m just… I’m nervous! You look really big Harry, seriously.”

“Take me out then,” he instructs lowly and the tone of his voice zips straight to Y/N’s center, “I promise, you’re freaking yourself out over nothing.”

She grumbles as he pulls his underwear down his legs. Harry kicks them off his ankles and she sighs as she takes him into her hand. He has to make an effort not to hiss at the feeling of it.

“Still huge,” she mutters, “My hand barely fits around you, Harry.”

“You’re making my ego insane, angel.”

She peers up at him, where his arm is tucked behind his head like he’s lounging the day away. She gives the head of his cock a small squeeze.

“Do you really think it’ll fit?”

“Yes,” he chuckles, “If not, I’ll just go down on you for an hour and by then you’ll be open and wet enough.”

“Shut up,” she mumbles, the thought of him spending an hour of his time between her thighs almost being too much to fathom. “‘M gonna try to put you in.”

“It’ll be fine, sweetheart. Just breathe and take your time. We can do a different position—“

“No,” she quickly shakes her head. “Wanna ride you. This is how I envisioned it.”

Harry’s eyebrow quirks at that but his curiosity is quickly replaced by pleasure when she hovers her hips over his length. The warmth from her previous orgasm is radiating off of her and he breathes out sharply when she pushes the tip in, her fingertips covering the sight. Harry reaches out to move them. “Need to see,” he grunts.

Her jaw drops open as she slowly lowers onto him. Neither of them speak — it’s all entirely too consuming; her getting filled to the brim and him being surrounded by the tightest heat he’s ever felt. When she finally sinks down to his pelvic bone, her eyelashes flutter.

“Can you move?” He asks through a slightly clenched jaw, “Or— do you need me to—“

“I can do it.” She replies as she steadily attempts to move her hips up. “Oh, that’s a lot.”

“Too much?”

She shakes her head, “It’s good. Is it good?”

“It’s amazing.” He breaths out, gritting his teeth as she moves up and down.

With his reassurance under her belt, it’s easier for her to find a bit of rhythm, even if she has to place her hands down on his chest for stability. He happily places his own palms on top of them, curling his fingers around her wrists to help her.

“There you go,” he encourages, leaning his head back against the pillow as he watches her. “You look so beautiful, holy shit.”

She moans when she finally figures out a pace that hits that soft spot inside of her, eyelashes fluttering from the constant pressure. Harry moves his hands down to her hips to assist in the maneuvers, but mainly because he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get sick of seeing his touch on her skin. She swallows harshly when she lifts a hand to coax at her swollen clit, a wet gasp sounding from her lips. Harry’s gaze lifts from where they’re connected to see widened eyes.

“What’s the matter? Are you okay?” He asks in immediate panic.

She nods quickly and reaches out to grab his hand and place it over his stomach.

He thinks he may pass out.

Beneath the soft, dimpled skin of her stomach, he can feel his length bulging in her tummy. If he looks close enough, he can see the faint outline. It takes everything in him not to snap.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters as she resumes her pace of bouncing on his cock.

“Told you you were— oh— big,” she says stubbornly, and if he wasn’t so overwhelmed with the current state of her body, he probably would have had a comeback. But right now, all he can focus on is not blowing his load inside her.

“Need you to come,” he grunts. She nods eagerly like a puppy and he smirks when her fingers return to her clit, rubbing tight circles. “Need you to come so I can paint that pretty pussy, yeah?”

“Yes,” she mewls desperately. Her movements get jerkier and sloppier, but Harry has no problem meeting her hips. He thrusts up inside of her to hopefully reach the same spot, though his worry is quickly wiped away when he feels her muscles contract, her face twisting beautifully.

He can barely help her through her orgasm before he’s pushing her into her side. He’s no longer inside and his hand has switched to keeping her thigh up as he pumps himself, groaning at the sticky mess between them.

“Wanna feel it,” she whimpers almost pathetically, “Please Professor Styles, cum all over my pussy.”

That’s all he needs before he’s bursting at the seams, ropes of thick, white cum covering her. He’s a groaning mess and he doesn’t even notice that she’s running her hand through his hair, playing with it gently, until he has nothing left to give. With a final whimper, he lays back against her bed, completely spent.

When they’ve both caught their breath, Harry turns back onto his side to face her.

“You alright?” he asks softly. He’s nervous to reach out and thumb at her cheek or press a kiss to her hand. For some reason, he feels like the situation is too delicate right now and he’s at risk of fucking it all up.

Y/N hums, “Mhm. Are you?”

“I am.” he answers with a thick swallow. “Is it okay if I hold you?”

“Please.”

His heart jumps and he wraps an arm around her shoulders, tugging her into his chest. He leans down and kisses her hair.

They sit in the silence for a bit, Y/N finding comfort in Harry’s constant breathing, the sound of his heartbeat.

And then: “So you envisioned this?”

She bites at the smile on her lips before she bats at his pecs, “Shut up. I know you did too.”

Harry has no problem admitting that she’s right.

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loonylupinblack3 · 2 months

Text

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x driver!reader

Warnings: angst, swearing

Summary: breaking up with Charles to protect your career was the hardest thing you'd ever done, but what if it was all for nothing?

Word count: 1.5k

part 2

Charles stared at you from afar, brown eyes tracing your every movement as you talked to Lando Norris, the first driver for Mclaren. He watched as you laughed, your eyes crinkling and smile widening, looking for all the world like you were genuinely happy.

His body ached for you. He wanted to touch you again, to wrap his arms around your waist, press a kiss to your cheek, feel you lean into him and sigh, that content, dreamy sigh you did whenever he was around.

He wanted to go back to the days where it was hasty kisses in empty rooms, sneaking away at every opportunity, lazy mornings spent together within the confines of hotel rooms. He wanted you back in his arms even if it was behind doors; he didn’t care. He just wanted you.

He looked at you and then he looked at himself, his hands that ached to hold you again but never would. He clenched them into fists, nails digging into his skin as his knuckles turned white, the prickle of pain starting. Charles didn’t mind; he liked it even. It distracted him, made him think about something else for once, instead of you.

Because it was always you

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You were trying to ignore Charles to the best of your ability. It was difficult, however, when your body had become so attuned to him, you could feel when he entered a room. It was unfair. You were the one who broke things off, so why were you acting like some wounded animal whenever you saw Charles?

You sat in the driver’s room, a few other drivers occupying the space alongside you, Charles included. He was on the other side of the room though, so you settled for talking to Lando, hoping the Mclaren driver would provide a distraction.

“Did you hear two of the drivers are hooking up?”

If you were drinking water you probably would have choked on it, and even so you still sort of gaped at him, jaw hanging open like an idiot.

“What?”

Lando grinned at your reaction. “Yeah, some rumour spreading across the engineering crew at Mclaren.”

“Wait, what is this about?”

You internally groaned as George Russell sat opposite you. You didn’t mind the guy usually, was actually reasonably good friends with him, but everyone knew he had a thing for gossip, and if you wanted something kept secret, well, it was better not to tell George.

And you desperately wanted to keep this a secret.

“Two of the drivers are screwing,” Lando mused. “I wonder who.”

Unable to resist it, you shot a quick glance at Charles, to see if he was listening. He was, and he was staring right at you, eyes sombre but worried. He knew you didn’t want it to get out; that's why you’d broken up in the first place. And even with his obvious displeasure over it he still seemed to care for you.

What a jerk.

You pointedly looked away, feeling guilt and nausea build up inside you. You hadn’t wanted to end things with Charles, but you could tell he was unhappy. He wanted you two to be public, wanted everyone to know you were together. You… couldn’t do that. The standards weren’t the same for a woman in F1, and you weren’t willing to risk your career, even over Charles.

So here you were, both somewhat miserable, with the secret you sacrificed to protect trying to escape anyway.

“Two drivers are hooking up?” Pierre’s curious voice floated through the air.

For fuck’s sake.

You smiled tightly, looking up at the newcomer. “Allegedly. But we don’t know anything for sure.”

Pierre shook his head. “No, no, I think I heard something about this. Someone spotted two drivers using a spare room to.. Well, you know.”

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” Lando whined.

Pierre shrugged, sitting down next to you. “I don’t know. It was maybe two months ago? I didn’t think it was true.”

And the conversation continued, nitpicking each driver’s dating life, trying to figure out which drivers were hooking up. You felt sick, your stomach doing nauseating flips every time they suggested another driver. You could already tell they thought it was you; there weren’t any openly gay drivers on the paddock, so logically that would mean one of them had to be with you, since you were the only female on the grid.

You kept your mouth shut though, offering up no explanation or defence. You just wanted this to be over, the sickening panic clawing at your throat, its nails scratching your back, digging into your stomach, making your head spin.

They couldn’t find out. No one could. You had sacrificed everything to make sure this secret was kept in the dark. You left Charles, left the man who made you feel alive, loved, happy, so that your career could persevere unharmed. It couldn’t have all been for nothing.

You couldn’t have done it all for nothing.

Again, your eyes found Charles, because they always seemed to find him, even when you didn’t mean for them to. He was staring at you, eyes softening. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away for the life of you. Not when he was staring at you with something other than pain or anger or disgust. When he was staring at you like before, glances shared across the room, playful smirks filled with secrets only you two knew. It was like déjà vu, smacking you in the face, your breath leaving your body with a deep whoosh, feeling empty yet full at the same time.

“Y/n?” Lando prodded.

You blinked, finally tearing your gaze away from the Ferrari driver, feeling sick, yet also tingly in your chest, a feeling you thought had long diminished since you and Charles ended.

“What?” you asked distractedly.

Pierre and George shared a look, raised eyebrows, and you narrowed your eyes.

“Are you dating anyone?” Lando repeated.

Your throat closed up, eyes darting to Charles again. He seemed almost eager to hear your answer, leaning forward slightly, eyes trained on your figure. You looked at him and you saw his pleading gaze, his hopeful posture, like he was waiting for you to say yes, a promise to him that you were still something, that you would be something in the future.

You felt your heart break a little as you looked away, back at Lando.

“No, no I’m not.”

The sound of a chair clattering backwards took your attention, everyone turning to Charles storming out of the room, hands curled into fists. He sent a glance to you, eyes angry, yet just a cover for the hurt underneath that only you seemed to be able to see, before he left, slamming the door shut behind him.

It was silent for a moment after Charles’ sudden departure, no one really sure what to say. You just prayed they didn’t make the connection between why he was angry, and tried to ignore the heavy guilt weighing you down.

“What was that about?” George asked, eyes fixed on you.

Fuck he knew. Or at least knew something.

You swallowed thickly, shrinking under his scrutinising gaze. “I don’t know.”

“He’s been having a hard time lately,” Pierre said quietly. “I think it may have something to do with his dad…. Or Jules. He hasn’t been like this since then.”

The conversation turned towards Charles instead of you, fortunately, but what wasn’t fortunate was the crushing guilt you now felt, feeling as if it was ripping you apart. Were you the reason Charles was hurting this much? For Pierre to compare it to the loss of his father, of Jules… it made you feel shit. So fucking shit. Especially because you’d always slightly regretted the decision of choosing your career over him, because no matter how much you loved driving, it could never give you the same thrill that Charles did.

And to now know he was grieving you? Well, it was safe to say you’d never hated yourself more than right now. Would you go back and change things if you could? You weren’t sure. All you could do to comfort yourself was remembering it was for a reason. To protect your career. It wasn’t all for nothing.

At that moment, your phone gave a little ping as a notification went through. As did Lando’s, and George’s, and Pierre’s.

A strange feeling of dread filled you at the sound, and as you took out your phone, you realised you had a right be dreadful, because one look at the screen was enough to make you want to bolt out the room, the little news bar lighting up your phone like a neon sign screaming, ‘you fucked up’.

Y/n L/n and Charles Leclerc previously involved in romantic relationship confirmed

You felt like you couldn’t breathe, like there was something heavy sitting on your chest, suffocating you. Everything around you became blurred, irrelevant compared to the big fuck up on your screen. You were distantly aware of Lando’s worried voice, Pierre’s hand on your back.

None of it mattered. All you could think about was Charles. You’d left him, left the life you had with him, ruined your relationship and any shred of happiness between you two to protect your career. Your precious career, like a baby to you, your whole life, the reason you walked away from the possible love of your life. And for what? For fucking nothing.

It was all for nothing.

#fanfiction #fanfic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfiction #f1 grid x reader #peirre gasly #lando norris #george russell #lando x reader #formula one #formula 1

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milaisreading · 1 month

Text

Wedding day

Pairing: Itoshi Sae x Isagi's sister!Reader

Warnings: Reader uses she/her. Requests are open

⚽️Blue lock belongs to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura⚽️

"Can you please calm down, sis? Everything will be fine." Yoichi said as he walked around the room after his sister. The older Isagi was panicking a little as she thought more and more about the whole wedding that was supposed to happen in an hour.

"You think?! Yoichi, what if I am not good enough? Sae is a literal football star and I am just-"

"The best sister and future wife. Exactly!" Yoichi quickly chimed in, annoyed that she had let the recent gossip on the internet get to her. While he did have sympathy for her, marrying a high profiled person lime Sae Itoshi wasn't nothing, he was also mad that she was doubting her own worth.

"Yoichi... You of all people know how the news are. They will nitpick on the most smallest things about me." (Y/n) sighed as she went over to sit on a chair in the room, Yoichi following close behind.

"What if they are right about me not being the one for Sae?"

"That's ridiculous! He loves you!" Yoichi argued again, but he knew it was useless. He wasn't Sae. The one whose opinion mattered the most right now.

"I don't know... What if I am just hindering him? There are so many better options than I am. Did you see all those models from Madrid who talk about him? What if I am not the one?"

(Y/n) held back a few sobs as Yoichi went to comfort her. He would be lying if he said he didn't expect the news to make such a huge deal out of the wedding. He did. But, seeing the state his sister was in just broke Yoichi. She didn't deserve all this stress now. Nor did Sae deserve to be doubted.

And, while Yoichi was comforting (Y/n), he didn't notice Rin peek into the room and catching some of the conversation the were having, and catching the distressed state (Y/n) was in.

'Shit!' The younger Itoshi thought as he slowly closed the door. He didn't expect to walk into all of that. While Sae was on cloud nine in his room, (Y/n) was over here distressed over some gossip.

'Wait? What gossip? Big brother never mentioned anything about that.' Rin wondered as he took his phone out to search for anything that remotely could mention either Sae or the wedding.

Meanwhile...

Sae was happily drinking the water Rin brought him earlier. The older Itoshi never expected to be excited over anything like a wedding. Well, he never saw himself marry anyone until he met (Y/n). The love of his life.

'Ahhh~ I am all excited for our future. I can't wait for us to finally tie the knot. Maybe even a few kids down the line, but that can wait for another few years. For now, I just want to enjoy my time alone with her.' Sae smiled softly and blushed, not hearing the footsteps approaching his room.

'My sweet (Y/n). She is so clumsy and cute. So adorable and always kind to me and others. I am so lucky to have found-'

"Big brother!"

Sae snapped out of his thoughts and looked over at the door as Rin walked in, looking oddly nervous.

"What's up with you? You are more nervous than I am." Sae joked but Rin ignored him as he kept on glancing between his phone and the older.

"Well..."

"Anyway, how is (Y/n) doing? How does she look? Bet as stunning as ever. She is so adorable."

Sae went on a ramble and Rin knew he had to cut it out now before he went into an endless loop with it.

"I... There is something you need to see, and I think you won't like it."

Sae stopped and raised an eyebrow at Rin.

"What do you mean?"

"It's about (Y/n). You didn't read any of the news some of the Spanish and Japanese media reported?"

"No. Why would I? They mostly say dumb stuff, anyway."

"It might be dumb, but the stuff nearly has (Y/n) crying right now."

Sae froze up for a moment and quickly took the phone away from Rin.

The younger Itoshi was used to seeing a lot of emotions on Sae, but anger, genuine anger was not one of them. The more Sae read through the articles Rin had found, the redder his face became and the more his eyebrows furrowed.

'I would pray for the reporters, but they deserve whatever happens next.' Rin thought as an eerie silence took over.

----

Once Yoichi had left the room to let his sister cool down, (Y/n) had finally realized how ridiculous it was that she was crying about these things. After all, if Sae really didn't want her, he wouldn't have asked to marry her. Right?

'I need to have more faith in him, and also be less sensitive.' She thought as she put down her phone, not noticing Sae walk inside.

"Why didn't you tell me about those articles?"

(Y/n) yelped , and turned around to see Sae walk into the room and towards her.

"Sae! You shouldn't see me before-"

"I don't care. Rin said you were distressed over what those journalists were saying. Why didn't you tell me about it?"

For the first time since they started their relationship, (Y/n) was left speechless by the anger Sae was radiating. Sure, she was used to him being angry over what Shidou would say at times, or even when he would lose a game. But, this was a different type of anger. It was more genuine than the previous ones.

"Why?" Sae's voice got softer as he grapped her hands into his, causing (Y/n) to turn red a little.

"I thought it was stupid to bother you with that. It's just me being sensitive-"

"It's not. The stuff those idiots said about you is disgusting, and I will put an end to it on my next interview." (Y/n) raised an eyebrow as Sae pulled her in closer.

"I thought you don't have one yet."

"I asked my manager the schedule me one after our honeymoon. As much as I hate going on these, this is a different circumstance."

"Oh? Thank you." (Y/n) said as she grew flustered, causing Sae to finally smile again and chuckle a little.

"Don't thank me for stuff like this. And, have a little more faith in me. I have my eyes only set on you."

"You are right, I an sorry. I know you do."

She smiled as the door opened again, revealing Sae and (Y/n)'s moms.

"Sar Itoshi! What did I say about seeing (Y/n) before the wedding?! And why did you make Rin guard the entrance?" Sae flinched at his mom's yelling as Rin could be heard apologizing to him from behind her. (Y/n) laughed a little as her mom tried to calm the other woman down, finding the whole situation equally amusing.

"Well, today is an eventful day." (Y/n) laughed, and Sae smiled at her.

'At least you calmed down.'

#bllk #blue lock anime #blue lock manga #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock scenarios #blue lock #isagi's sister #itoshi sae #blue lock sae #bllk sae #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae x y/n

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ohmygraves · 4 months

Note

Hello! I've got a little writing idea if you want to do it. Reader and the rest of 141 are at a bar and reader keeps getting hit on throughout the night. Ghost/Soap getting jealous and feeling protective/possessive over reader and intervene. Just a little bit of a guard dog trope really. Scary man privileges. Hope this sounds a little interesting to do, have a good day :)

hello!!! thank you sm for the idea 💖🫶🏻 please enjoy this humble writing, i love the idea 💛 i wasn't sure if i want to do it with ghost or soap so i did both lol have a good day yourself!

scary dog privilege — ghost/reader/soap

warnings: creepy guy being pushy, alcohol mention, swearing

your little outing at the bar tonight seems to be quite unsuccessful.

actually, no, someone else would argue that you had a very successful day at the bar, since you're currently being hit on left and right by the other patrons. that's the purpose of a bar, right? to maybe find someone to kiss or hook up with one night, and hopefully not catch anything along the way.

but no, you're actually getting quite annoyed right now, as you want nothing more than to sit back, relax, and just get a few drinks with your friends from work. that's all. you want nothing to do with these people who want to get into your pants, or even ask you what's under it.

after a job well done, your captain had wanted to treat the team a few drinks to celebrate. this gets everyone excited, especially because he's not giving any price limits, and he's quite generous. besides, who would miss out on getting free drinks?

maybe you, because you're actually thinking if it was better if you'd just stayed behind, maybe read a book or watch some movies. hell, you could've even spent time at the shooting range, which you actually hated! (because ghost would nitpick at every single thing you did wrong when shooting, and he won't leave you alone until you get it right)

poor you, being such a people pleaser, not wanting to offend the person trying to hit on you, giving them a chance to speak and you'd listen attentively before turning them down because you're not here to hook up, you're here for some drinks and maybe to catch up with your friends. work has been so awful lately that the five of you haven't had the chance to even speak about anything other than mission, work, training... it's slowly getting annoying.

unfortunately, it seems like the others are not so interested in catching up, seemingly leaving to do their own thing. gaz went to the bathroom after downing a few pints, captain went out for a smoke as it is a non-smoking bar, and ghost and soap were somewhere near the billiard table, competing for something stupid again likely. and you? you're left alone in the booth the team always sat in, alone, taking sips of your drink waiting for kyle to come back from his pee break.

you've turned down two men so far, who fortunately was smart enough to sense that you're uninterested in their idea of a good time. you have to admit, you felt quite bad turning them down, especially since they seem to be quite courteous.

this fucking bloke, however...

he was very drunk, very pushy when talking to you. you could literally smell the alcohol off of his breath, it was a surprise that no one has tried to kick him out yet. he kept pestering you, trying to sit beside you and touching you, and your politeness is growing thin everytime he tried to get you to drink with him. you tried to tell him you're not interested, but he was too drunk to even register a "no", apparently.

seriously, where the hell is kyle? why does he need to piss out his two pints of beer immediately after drinking them?

you cursed at kyle, wondering which bathroom he went to for his pee break. did he go to the bathroom in the fucking philippines or something, what's taking him so long?

quickly, someone else scooted over beside you, leaning against your shoulder. soap.

"aye, this lad bothering yer, hen?" he asked you, arms slung behind your shoulder. you thanked whatever gods sent him your way.

the man who tried to hit on you seemed offended, was about to give soap a piece of his mind, before he was yanked out of the way by ghost, thrown aside down on the floor. it made a huge commotion, people were now looking at you.

ghost sat down quietly in front of you — where the man just sat after he tried to touch you, "reckon we should give him 'piece o' our mind, johnny?" he asked the scot.

"mmmaybe. what yer think, lt?"

now the man was fuming, being humiliated in front of the bar when he was trying to flirt with someone?

to make matters worse, now soap decided to kiss you!

he gently held your face, pressing his lips against yours, and to make it believable, even slipped his tongue in-between your lips, his eyes glaring at the drunk bloke. the man who tried to flirt with you was dumbfounded, too surprised to even say anything.

soap pulled away from you for a moment, letting you catch your breath. but before you could say anything, ghost pulled you over the table, his hands gripping your collar as he kissed you too, following what soap did, but much more intense. you didn't even see him pulling his mask up.

"see? lass's taken. shoo." soap held you close after you kissed ghost, basically telling the guy to fuck off. somehow, he left, still fuming though at the two guys who claimed you just like that.

you? you were a little dazed. confused. whatever. your two work mates kissed you after saving you from a random bloke who did not know what no means because he was too drunk off his arse. and strangely enough you didn't mind, they were the best kisses you've ever gotten in your life.

"why'd you two kiss me?" you asked, somehow. you felt stupid right after asking, clearly the answer was to help you get away from that creep!

ghost let out a sigh, taking a sip of his own glass of bourbon. "think we did ya a favor there, love."

you thanked both of them, but you still feel soap's hand squeezing your size, pulling you close to him.

"ye see, lass, can't have 'nother blether hittin' on ye."

you didn't seem to mind, you were getting tired and too drunk to even care. at least you're safe with them.

soap lets you lay your head on his shoulder, talking to ghost about something as you three waited for price and gaz to return.

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flowershines · 5 months

Text

Break up sex

Hyung Line x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut, Fluff, Angst, Breaking up, Breakup sex, toxic friends, drinking, miss communication, jealousy,

Heeseung:

For the past week things between the two of you became more complicated as both of you had work that took up all of your time along with loss of communication.

The topic came up before but not as a full break up, you both were saying how you needed to take a break. Which it was good when you got back together but your relationship had been spiraling and not getting any better.

Not wanting to break his heart you told him you didn’t think your relationship was going to work out as you told him that you always will love him and never wanted this to happen but it was for the best.

• “Please don’t do this to me Y/n.”

• “Need you, please.”

• “Can I have you for one last time?”

• “I’m hoping this isn’t the last time we do this.”

• “Fuck Y/n.” as tears rolled down his face

• “Can’t live without you.”

Jay:

“Why are you always hanging out with him?!” he questioned as both walked into the house, rolling your eyes, you looked at him “because he’s my friend and you act like I don’t hangout with you, I do. You just love to nitpick everything I do with him!” he glared at you as your tone had risen to what it was before.

This wasn’t the first time Jay had gotten jealous of your guy friend, you asked why he bothered Jay so much which he never responded with.

As the relationship continued you started to notice how he would never let you hang out with other guys except him and occasionally his friends, even then it was hard to hangout with them without getting glanced at every minute to make sure you weren’t looking at them.

“Why can’t I be friends with guys?” “Why do you want to be friends with guys?” “What do you mean? Men are like half of the population, you just expect me to not talk to them for the rest of my life?!” He stayed silent, “If that’s how it is then I don’t think our relationship is going to work out, it’s not that i don’t wanna be in a relationship with you. I do but I can't have you constantly controlling me.” his silence continued with tears rolling down his cheeks.

• “I will always love you Y/n never forget that.”

• “You can always come back to me, I’ll be here.”

• “I wish I could stay inside you forever.”

• “Kiss me one more time before you go.”

Jake:

Talking about your problems in your relationship with him easily turns into a screaming match, most of them had to deal with lying, work, jealousy, drunkenness and a lot of other stupid things that happened revolving around you both.

The most recent one broke your heart to even think about, that night Jake had come home drunk as he kept repeating your insecurities saying how stupid they were and then agreeing with all of them.

Not wanting to hear him anymore you went into your room and started balling your eyes out as you just couldn’t put up with arguments like these when he wasn’t even in the right state of mind ruining your time with the one person who you truly loved.

Leaving the house you had put him to bed and left a note saying ‘call me when you wake up, we need to talk.’

The next morning he did exactly what you asked, “Is everything alright baby?” “I’m coming over.” you hung up the phone and made your way over.

You explained to him how you couldn’t watch your relationship just ease away from every single fight you guys got into, not to mention him not being sober to even understand half of them.

• “I’ll do whatever you need me to do, even if I have to leave you. I just want you to be happy.”

• “I don’t want you to go.”

• “I can change, I swear, please let me fix this.”

• “If you ever need my cock in you don’t hesitate, please.”

• “You won’t even have to look at me when we fuck, I just wanna be there for you. Not some other man.”

• “You feel so fucking good, can kiss you forever.”

Sunghoon:

Going over with your boyfriend to his friend's house was never your idea of fun, they would always find ways to pick on you and tell you that Sunghoon was way out of your league along with saying that you don’t deserve him.

Bringing it up to Sunghoon was the worst part bro wanting to hurt his feelings or break their friendship but you were just confused and upset at the way they had treated you.

When you brought it up he told you that it was their way of joking, believing him you returned to their house days later and they kept saying hurtful things to you along with hitting you and more.

You were too nervous to bring it up to Sunghoon but when you finally did he was confused at your sudden change in emotion towards his friend, he didn’t understand where you were coming from.

Proceeding to tell him that you didn’t want him to pick sides and give him some space but that ‘space’ turned into weeks, one more week later he texted you that he was ready but as he told you that he wanted to stay friends with his friend.

You told him that was okay and will always be here if he changes his mind but you would not be putting up with that abuse anymore, leading to you breaking up with him.

• “Please come back if you need to.”

• “Can I fuck you one last time before you leave?”

He would fuck you as tears streamed down his face

• “I don’t know what I'm going to do without you.”

• “Can I kiss you?”

• “I love you, always and forever.”

#smut #fluff #enha x reader #enhypen smut #heeseung smut #jungwon smut #sunghoon smut #jay smut #sunoo smut #jake smut #enhypen #enha

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marvelfilth · 11 months

Text

Off the deep end 2 (18+)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Pairing: ghostface!Sam Carpenter x f!reader

Warnings: mention of murder, smut

Summary: you don't know what to make of the fact that Ghostface saved you, but you know you'll never let her touch you again. Sam is the only one you want.

Masterlist

The silence that hangs in the room feels almost suffocating. Tara sits still, but the look on her face turns from concern to contemplation, as her eyes jump from you to the TV and then back again. Chad doesn't say anything and only moves when Tara turns to whisper in his ear.

Anika sends you a questioning look to which you easily smile. She relaxes instantly, and reaches for the remote to switch the channel.

You bite your lip, looking down at Sam's hand still circled around your wrist, her grip so tight it might cut off your circulation.

You don't say anything in fear of her exploding on you.

Ever since Tara first dragged you along to their apartment Sam's kept a close eye on you. It was disconcerting at first, when she always glared at you, nitpicking your every move and asking probing questions. You never hesitated to answer in fear of her throwing you out and never letting you anywhere near close to them again.

But then, as weeks went by, her hovering turned from suspicious to protective, almost overbearing at times. You took it in stride, welcomed it, even. You've never had anyone care about you the way she does.

"Can we finally talk about it now?" Mindy asks, warily eyeing Sam. "I know you said before that the murders have no connection to us, but now it's a little too close to home, don't you think?" She looks at you for backup.

You bite your lip. "I don't know, Mindy…"

"What about the guy that wouldn't leave you alone? Cole?" Chad butts in.

You blink, confused. "What about him?"

Tara looks at you, narrowing her eyes. "He was stabbed about a month ago."

You gulp, pushing back against the cushions. "I didn't know that."

Now that you think of it, you realize he stopped bothering you a long time ago, practically disappearing from campus.

Sam stays uncharacteristically silent, her eyes boring holes into the TV and her hand slithering lower to settle on your thigh, absentmindedly circling her thumb on your skin.

Quinn finally looks up from her phone, chewing on the stick of her lollipop. "Why are you so worked up about this? It's New York, people get stabbed every hour."

Silence falls over the room, everyone turns to look at the unbothered girl.

Anika is the first to break silence. "Quinn, use your brain."

"No, she's right." Sam speaks up for the first time. "It's a big city and we don't even know if it's Ghostface."

The older girl gets up, patting your thigh one last time and goes back to the kitchen.

You exchange worried looks with Mindy, who looks equally dumbfounded as you feel.

"What just happened?" Tara whispers, looking like her world flipped upside down.

You sink deeper into the cushions, frowning in thought.

"Can we finally get drunk now?" Quinn gets up to pour herself a shot of vodka, ruffling your hair as she passes by you. "Join me, cute girl?"

You think you hear something fall in the kitchen, but you are not too sure.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. You stick with Quinn, feeding on her laid back attitude and easy smiles, all worries thrown into the deepest part of your mind. Ethan gets embarrassingly drunk and tries to cuddle Mindy, throwing them both over the back of the couch. Chad and Tara disappeared in her room a long time ago and Sam's been brooding all night, sending you long looks over the rim of her glass and eyeing Quinn's hand on your shoulder.

You get up when the clock strikes midnight, ready to head home.

"What are you doing?" Sam asks.

You stagger. "It's late. Time to go home."

"You're staying here tonight." She says, and you don't have the time to object, before she's clapping her hands, startling everyone in the room. "Ethan." She looks at him, cocking her head towards the door. He hurriedly scurries away, blurting out goodbyes as he disappears out the door.

She turns to look at the cuddled pair. "Anika? Mindy?"

One of them grumbles, you think it's Mindy. "We'll go. Sleeping on this old thing leaves me sore for days. You'll have to go and get Chad though." She smirks, biting her lip in anticipation.

Sam just sighs and goes to Tara's room, making sure to be as loud as possible when she approaches the door.

"Looks like you'll get some after all," Quinn whispers with a suggestive smile.

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. "Yeah, I'll get my ass whopped."

"I mean, if you're into that…" she chuckles, and nudges you with her shoulder, before disappearing in her own room.

Mindy and Anika linger by the door, waiting for Chad. You bite your lip and look at the door, considering.

And then someone slaps the back of your head. "Don't even think about it," Mindy hisses, her eyes darting in the direction of Tara's room.

You roll your eyes and step away from her reach, leaning against the wall. Chad emerges a second later, looking reprimanded. Mindy snickers at the look on his face. You quickly say your goodbyes, promising to meet up tomorrow after classes. Sam drags you to her room as soon as the door closes behind them. You eye her warily and take a seat on her soft bed, waiting as she gathers herself.

You hoped she'd forget about the night before by now, but, evidently, the news and the time she spent glaring at the back of your head only egged her more.

"Sam?" You whisper, your fingers clenching around her soft blanket.

She looks at you, her eyes flash as she starts walking to you. "You'll stay here from now on. No more parties. No more walking alone at night. You won't leave this apartment without me," she bites out, taking a step closer with each word.

She's directly in front of you now and you have to strain your neck to look her in the eyes. "Sam this is rid-"

You swallow your words when her hand comes up to your neck, fiddling with the hem of your shirt, a tip of her finger dipping under the fabric to stroke your bruised skin. She leans dangerously close to your face, her breath fanning over your burning cheeks.

"You'll stay here, with me," she whispers, her lips brushing against yours. "Say it."

You lose yourself in her eyes. She's looking down at you, unblinking, her brows furrowing more and more with each passing second.

You decide not to test your luck.

"I'll stay here, with you." Your eyes fall shut.

"And?" She tucks your hair behind your ear, her fingers lingering below your jaw, cradling your face.

"I'll-" you take a deep breath, "I won't go anywhere. Not without you."

She relaxes instantly, tension seeping away from her body, and pulls away, leaving you to tremble on her bed. You open your eyes to see her rummaging through her closet, pulling out various t-shirts and looking them over before settling for an oversized dark green one.

You pull the blanket over your lap, hunching in on yourself as you try to slow your heartbeat, rubbing your chest. You sit in silence as she changes into her sleeping clothes, your eyes trained on the few pictures pinned to the wall over her dresser. There's two with her and Tara, one with Chad and Mindy, presumably at her birthday party, and one with you, sneakily taken by Anika during one of your picnics. You smile at the picture, noting the content look on Sam's face and the curl of her lips as she gazes down at you sleeping soundly on her lap.

"Here," she says, giving you only a shirt, and elaborates at your questioning look, "my pants will be too big on you."

You nod, and ask her to turn around. She does so with a shake of her head, settling on the right side of the bed while you shuffle out of your clothes, folding them neatly over the back of a chair. You freeze when you catch a glimpse of the bite marks littering your neck and shoulders in the mirror, quickly pulling her shirt over your head.

When you turn around Sam is already looking at you, her eyes sliding up and down your body, lingering on the bruise on your throat.

Your face burns and you quickly jump under the covers, facing the wall. She doesn't say anything, just reaches over you to turn off the light, her hand settling over your waist before she pulls you into her chest and nuzzles her nose on the back of your neck, wishing you a good night.

×××

"So… you and Sam?" Tara asks two weeks later, walking by your side in the cafeteria, fidgeting with a bottle of water.

You sigh at Tara's not so subtle prying. "It's just Sam being Sam."

When you woke up that morning, nestled in the crook of Sam's neck while she gently nudged you awake, you could've sworn you were in heaven.

But as it turned out, when she said she wouldn't let you leave anywhere without her, she meant just that. You don't think there was a moment you've spent without her by your side, she is always lingering somewhere around you even if it was just the two of you in the room, and whenever you're in a crowded area she never lets you out of sight, making sure to have at least one point of contact between you two.

And then there's her touches. It's almost like she needs her hand around you to properly function. It doesn't matter who's around, she'll pull you against her without a care, holding you possessively when a stranger stares at you for too long, or going as far as to leave soft pecks down your neck when she helps you reach for something on the top shelf.

It's been bearable before, when you could find reprieve in your apartment after a day spent in Sam's presence, but now she's around you 24/7 and you're not sure you'll be able to endure this sweet torture much longer.

The fact that she shuts you down every time you try to talk about it doesn't help either.

Tara stops and pulls you to the side, pinning you down with an unimpressed look.

"She doesn't spend that much time hovering over me and I'm her sister. And besides, I've seen the way you look at each other. Kinda makes me want to throw up," she says, rolling her eyes.

You take a moment to respond, carefully choosing your words.

"Well… Get a bucket, I guess," you smirk at her offended look, shielding your head when she throws her water bottle square in your face. "Ow! Bitch. I was joking."

"Jokes are meant to be funny," she grumbles, pulling you to the farthest table.

Anika and Ethan are already there, engaged in a heated discussion about the newest installment of his favorite game, the curly boy getting so passionate he accidentally sends his coke flying over your shirt just as you approach them.

"What is it with me getting targeted all day today?" You groan, prying the wet shirt away from your body, and grimace at the stickiness on your stomach and between your fingers.

Tara snorts, sending Ethan a look of approval. "Good job, new guy."

Ethan, for his part, looks like he's ready to die from embarrassment. His chair squeaks against the floor as he stands up, grabbing some wet wipes from his backpack, and starts hurriedly wiping at your shirt. "I'm so sorry! I don't know how that happened…"

You awkwardly inch away. "It's okay," you mumble, taking his wipes and trying to clean the shirt yourself.

It's not okay. You feel gross and the smell is already starting to make you feel nauseous, so you double your efforts, sitting down with a huff.

"Here, take this," Ethan mumbles, taking off his hoodie, "it's a bit big, but it's better than nothing, right?"

You chew on your bottom lip, considering your options.

Sticky shirt or Ethan's hoodie.

You decide on the lesser evil.

He hands it to you with a small smile, and apologizes again, muttering something about clumsiness and genes.

Anika grabs it from him before you could reach out, and stands up. "I'll help you clean up, come on."

You follow her down the hall to a secluded restroom. She checks the stalls before locking the door behind you and tugs you to a sink. You put away your bag and start tugging at the hem of your shirt, trying to keep it away from your hair. You feel another pair of hands help you when you almost get stuck. Breathing out in relief when you're finally free from the confines of your coke scented shirt, you turn to look at Anika.

"Thanks," you smile at her and reach for the paper towels.

You quietly work on wiping away the stickiness, wetting the towels in the sink and rubbing your stomach clean, shifting uncomfortably under Anika's scrutinizing gaze.

You throw your ruined shirt in the garbage bin in the corner, reaching for Ethan's sweatshirt when you come back to stand in front of the mirrors.

"Are you really not worried?" Anika whispers, fixing your hair when you pull the garment over your head. You can't help but notice the scent of Ethan's cologne, it prickles your nose, and you keep in a grimace, already too used to the smell of Sam's detergent surrounding you at all times.

"About what?" You ask absentmindedly, picking up your beg.

She crosses her arms in front of her chest. "The killings."

Your heart skips a beat at the quiet question. You look up to meet her worried eyes, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she fiddles with a loose thread of her blouse. You can't help but pull her into a hug.

"Nothing will happen to any of us, I'm sure," you say with as much conviction you can muster.

In reality, you've spent the last few weeks in a constant state of uncertainty, looking over your shoulder at every corner and holding onto Sam whenever someone suspicious approaches you. You haven't told anyone about what happened that night, and you don't think you ever will. You can't even begin to imagine what they'd think of you if they ever found out. You're sure you'd lose your friends. You're sure you'd lose Sam.

So you stayed quiet, only allowing yourself to look back on the memory when you were alone, locked in the bathroom. Constant reminders about previous victims from Mindy made you realize that the woman behind the mask saved you and your friends more times than you can count. That night she saved you.

You don't know what to make of it, other than you'll never allow it to happen again.

Sam is the only one you want.

Anika grips your shoulders, nodding. "You're right. I don't know why I'm freaked out. It's just… it's never been like that before, you know..?" She trails off and you nod.

You do know. New York is not the safest place in the world, but it was never that dangerous before a certain group of people moved to the city. You know it's not a coincidence, no matter how much you wish to be proven wrong. You've been keeping up an unbothered facade, borrowing some of Tara's nonchalant attitude, but in the darkest corner of your mind you know that everyone around you is doing the same thing. Pretending.

Expect, maybe, Sam.

She's solid and self assured, her words never waver the way Tara's sometimes do, she never jumps at loud noises like Mindy does, and she never spends a moment too long staring into the dark corners of the street like Chad does. It gives you strength.

"Everything will be fine." You pull away to look her in the eye. "And if anything happens we stick together, okay?" You take her hand in yours and interlock your pinkies in a silent promise.

×××

"Is that… Ethan's hoodie?" Chad asks, squinting at you from the couch.

You sigh and trudge to Sam's room, leaving Tara and Anika to explain the situation for you. The day dragged on for way too long leaving you positively exhausted, you can't be bothered to retell the highlight of Tara's day to her not-boyfriend. Ethan's great and all, but his choice of cologne could've been much better, the smell so strong it gave you a headache.

"What the fuck are you wearing?"

You jump up at the confused voice, your hand flying up to rest on your chest, right over your hammering heart.

"Jesus, Sam. I thought you were still at work," you mumble, avoiding her eyes.

You continue your way to the closet, tensing when the bed squeaks as she gets up, and then you feel her tug at the hem of the hoodie, turning you around.

"It's not yours. And it's not mine either." She's starting intently, her eyes darken. "You definitely didn't put this on in the morning. Where were you?"

Your lips purse at the scowl that took place on her face, her eyebrows furrowed and her head tilted to the side. You hate the way it makes you even more attracted to her.

"I don't have to explain myself to you," you say.

For a second she looks like she wants to argue. Her jaw clenches, but she takes a step back.

"No, you don't." She says it like she regrets the fact.

Sometimes you feel like she can't control herself at times, letting her darker side take hold, acting like she owns you, and she tries very hard to make up for it in the moments of clarity, paying extra attention to your expressions, making sure you are comfortable with her constant hovering.

In truth, all you really want is for her to actually make you hers.

You sigh, reaching into the closet for a change of clothing. "It's Ethan's." You decide to explain. You don't see the way her fists clench. "He spilled his coke all over my shirt, so we had to improvise."

The answer seems to settle her. She sits on the bed, leaning back on her hands, watching you rummage through your clothes.

"It doesn't suit you," she mutters at last.

You chuckle and stop yourself from reaching for your shirt and take Sam's one instead. She doesn't comment on the choice, but her smile tells you everything you need to know.

"Come here," she says, patting her thighs.

You stop in your tracks, your mouth falling open at the sight of her waiting for you on the bed. "I really need to shower, Sam."

"Please."

You hesitate only for a second before sitting down sideways over her lap, your arms circling her shoulders, her hands settle on your hips, toying with the hem of the shirt.

You want to burrow into her and never let go.

"Can I take it off?" she asks, her eyes flickering down to your lips.

The question makes your breath hitch. You'll never get used to the way she makes you feel. You hide your face in the crook of her neck, breathing in her perfume, your fingers threading through her soft hair.

Her fingers sneak past the fabric, resting on the soft skin of your lower back. "Please," she whispers against your temple. "Let me take it off." She presses a gentle kiss to your hairline.

Your body goes limp in her hold and you nod, untangling yourself from her.

She exhales through her mouth and swiftly pulls it off, leaving you in your bra, and carelessly throws it to the floor. She takes you in, her hands hovering over your sides.

You don't think you're able to endure her tiptoeing around you any longer, so you take them and lead them to your breasts. She cups you eagerly, squeezing you over the lace of your bra.

You barely manage to keep in a moan when her finger brushes against your nipple. She inhales sharply, and places her thumbs over your hardened buds, swiping. Your thighs squeeze involuntarily, and you adjust on her lap, desperate to find relief.

"Sam," you whimper.

One of her hands reaches up to wrap around your neck, the feeling so familiar it makes you freeze. Your eyes fall shut when she squeezes your neck, her breath falling hot against your ear as she whispers, "Look at me."

Suddenly, the weight of her hand feels suffocating. Suddenly, you're no longer in her room, but on the floor of your living room, pinned down by a stranger.

Your eyes blink open just in time to see Sam tilt her head, the glint in her eyes almost predatory.

You shake your head and jump away from her touch. She tries to stop you, but you're already in the bathroom, closing the door in her face. You fall to the floor right then, your knees hitting the hard tiles. The door rattles once, then twice. You can't move, shaking on the cold floor, rubbing your chest to calm your rapid heart.

It all felt too familiar. The feeling of strong muscle under your thighs, nimble fingers teasing your heated skin, her hand on your throat, squeezing.

Her fucking voice, asking you to open your eyes and look.

Could it be..?

Your vision blurs.

"Open the door, Y/n." Sam's voice is awfully quiet and unsure, like she's afraid of what she's about to face.

"Was it you?" You ask, afraid to hear the answer, your voice so quiet you're not even sure she heard you.

"Just open the door, please," she begs. You can hear the strain in her voice.

You shake your head again.

You don't know what to think. Maybe it's some fucked up coping mechanism your brain came up with to make it easier for you to accept the fact that you willingly let a murderer fuck you.

For a fleeting moment you think that if she was the one wearing the mask that night you'd be okay with it. You'd welcome it.

You take a deep breath and get up to open the door, hesitating only for a second before turning the knob.

Sam stays on the other side, watching as tears trail down your face. The shakiness of your hands when you wipe them away wakes her up from her stupor, and she throws herself at you, holding you tight.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, "I don't know what's gotten into me."

She inhales sharply, tightening her grip on you. "It's okay. You're okay."

She holds you like you might break or run away, clinging to you desperately. You stay like this for a long time, basking in her warmth. Eventually, she takes a step back and opens the faucet, letting the tub fill with the hot water, before she takes off her clothes, throwing them in a pile on the floor. You watch her undress, falling back and gripping the sink behind you when she's left in her underwear, leaving her defined muscles on full display. You audibly gulp at the sight, your thighs clenching, reminded of wetness pooled between your legs. Next thing you know, she's unbuttoning your jeans, tugging them down after your nod of consent.

You let her take off your underwear, watching her take labored breaths, her chest heaving. There's no color in her eyes, only black of her pupils. She wastes no time in throwing away her underwear, and stepping in the tub, pulling you along.

You sit between her legs, your back pressed against her chest as she litters the back of your neck with kisses, her hands gliding up and down your sides, not daring to dip lower. Your head falls on her shoulder and she finally places a kiss on the corner of your mouth, eliciting a quiet whimper from you.

She reaches to the side, and lathers her hand, pushing you away to grant more space. She gently rubs your skin, washing away the exhaustion of the day, her hands slide up and down your back, then to your stomach, before they finally find home over your breasts.

"Feels good?" She breathes against your ear, and bites down gently. You moan audibly, your nails digging into the skin of her thighs.

You fall back against her when she tugs your nipple, making your hips jerk. She places a kiss under your ear and continues her ministrations on the rest of your body, leaving one area unattended.

You catch her hand when she tries to settle it on the rim of the tub, leading it to the dip between your thighs, where you desperately need her. Her other hand grips your hip hard enough to leave a bruise.

You settle your fingers over hers and lead her down. She cups you gently, spreading your lips before teasing your entrance, her thumb ghosting over your clit. You tug her head down, whining into her mouth. She crashes into your lips, not wasting any time to dart her tongue inside.

She circles your slit with two of her fingers, but before she can dip inside, the door shakes with forceful knocks.

"Sam, you need to get out here right now! There was another attack." Mindy's voice rings on the other side of the door. "It's Ghostface, they found the mask."

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