#What probably took him at least an hour or so probably took Wander all of like five minutes to rectify - it's a skill lol

[leviathanleva]

Daisy

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Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader

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Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Chapter 4 "The Plea"

You stretch and groan.

The sound comes out jumbled and is drowned out by the violent vibrating of the washing machine you’re perched upon. You strain your legs, flexing your thighs and working out the sleep from your numb muscles. Your toes squish against the inside of your boots before you relax and rub at your eyes, wiping away the tears your incessant yawns were causing.

You’d seen plenty of pictures of children hollering in front of a fan on a hot summer day, some sort of weird way to entertain themselves because the beat of the fins distorted their voices. It was a good commercial for any fan whenever summer rolled around. Sadly, now when you were free to wander and do as you pleased, much of the mundane experiences you wanted to dip your toes in were impossible to achieve. You were two hundred years too late. You took what you could get though, hence why you’d let curiosity guide you on top of the washing machine once it had started centrifuging.

The steaming coffee mug sat on the L-shaped kitchen counter just next to you and after a moment of being thoroughly jostled around, you picked it up with as much care as you could. Lips latched onto the edge of the mug with haste before you took a big sip, slurping audibly before the coffee could spill out from the violent thrashing causing your arm to quake.

Wet hair clung to your bare shoulders and the aromatic droplets of water dripped and soaked into your dress. It had taken you a good hour to get the ghoul inside the shower after you’d gotten out, all squeaky clean and smelling of lavender soap. How he managed to bear being a grimy crusty prune was beyond you, but as soon as the generator had kicked back to life and restored some power in the vault, you’d jumped at the idea of a nice hot shower.

His clothes were strewn on a dangling cable, as clean as they could get after being worn for who knows how long without a proper wash. Some stains persisted and the washing machine couldn’t do anything about the faded colors, but at least they didn’t smell of death anymore.

He’d dismissed your proposal to launder his rags at first, bumped the butt of his shotgun against your stomach hard enough to make you wheeze and still you hadn’t relented. It was the least you could do, you’d said, begged even. After everything he’d done for you, you wanted to repay him outside of the hefty tato sack stuffed to the brim with bloody Pip-boys and medical supplies and provisions. You’d chewed at his ear until he’d given up with a sigh and hidden behind the shower curtain before tossing his clothes at you layer by layer.

In truth, you just wanted to prolong his departure. Thinking of anything and everything because you didn’t want to be left alone in this haunted vault, you’d come up with ploy after ploy and the power coming back had only aided you in your private battle. So traumatized by the last day that you clung to him even if he was a demented, deadly wastelander probably no better than the raiders he’d slaughtered.

Your sleep had been plagued with nightmares that night; grotesque sceneries of violence and gore were painted in detail over your closed eyelids, making you stir and whimper in your bed. The ghoul was a light sleeper, trained to spring into action at the slightest noise and you tossing and turning and making the bedframe creak gave him all the rights to chuck a cushion at you. He’d scared you half to death with that, but the reminder that he was still there, grumbling on the couch and trying to catch a wink of rest, had given you enough comfort to sleep peacefully for a few hours.

When the washing machine stilled, your reminiscing ended.

You tipped the mug, suckling at the last few drops of sweetened coffee, before setting it aside and hopping on your feet. After pulling the foggy lid open, you drape your socks and your old dress over your forearm and a scowl pinches at the corner of your lips.

Apparently, Abraxo wasn’t strong enough to wash away radroach intestines. You mourned the ruined dress, bitter with wasting the cleaning product for nothing, but decided to hang it up regardless and let it dry.

Who cared for stains anyway? You had bigger problems on your plate.

The screech of the shower tap and a curt whistle have you automatically groping at the ghoul’s clothes.

“Be right there, mister!” you call out and bunch them up in your hands, placing his hat over your head to save space, his coat is still damp but you doubt he’d mind. You skitter to the edge of the shower and leave the pile next to his weaponry before your manners lead you away to give him some privacy.

The half-empty coffee pot caught your attention once you were back in the bright yellow kitchen area. Despite your low tolerance and the apparent twitches in your fingers, you refilled your mug, deciding that adding sugar wasn’t needed this time.

You were free now, you could drink all the coffee you wanted.

Once the rustling of clothes and buckling of belts and straps ceased, the ghoul appeared from behind the wall, finding you sitting on the counter with ankles crossed and kicking your feet rhythmically. You beam at his slightly less disheveled state, eyes darting from him to the full mug waiting for him. He scoffs and accepts your silent offer.

“Feeling better?”

“Like a new man.” he declares with a sense of peace to his tone and leans back against the fridge before taking a long sip from his lukewarm drink.

Cooper was a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. He’d caught on to your innocent scheme quickly. From the coffee to your constant close proximity, to washing his clothes. The biggest giveaway was you trying to hide your nervousness and biting back victorious smiles whenever he accepted any of your domestic offers. You were kneading him like sourdough, nice and good and gentle, hoping for something in his brain to click and his simple plan of taking his things and leaving to take a different course.

That’s why he fought against melting in the shower and suppressed a genuine smile when he saw the coffee. He kept his guard up, concrete walls so high one couldn’t see the top, locking away whatever humanity was left to rot, untouched and undisturbed. Joy was an illusion, peace was the quiet before the storm.

Nothing lasted, neither would you.

“Take me with you, I won’t be useless, I promise.”

He could almost hear those words twirling on the tip of your tongue, threatening to spill but never being voiced. Like hell, he’d ever entertain that idea.

“So what now, mister?” you ask casually, hiding pouty lips behind your mug and looking up at him in question. “Where you headed off to?”

“Well, – ” he rasps and clears his throat. “ – considering my bounty’s prob’ly dead. Gonna head off to Tillburry.” he nudges his chin at the sack resting by the exit of the suite. “Gonna sell some o’ that, make me some profit.”

Your vigorous slurping stops and you swallow the mouthful of bitterness before cocking your head.

“Tillberry?” you test the unfamiliar word with hesitation. “And that’s…what?”

“Tillburry.” he corrects and rests one foot against the fridge door, the spur on his boot clanking against the metal. “It’s a settlement, darlin’. Quite the big one too.” he mulled over a particular memory, looking down at his drink. “ ’Bout three hundred people last time I checked.”

“There are settlements?” you choke and cough out the spit tickling your throat with a fist to your mouth.

The thought that a good number of people had survived and were thriving enough to start rebuilding was unfathomable. Even if said settlements were based on the ruins and scraps of the cities from the old days it was still such a groundbreaking piece of knowledge.

Considering the raiders and the ghoul, you’d assumed everyone on the surface was deranged and out for blood. A man-eat-man nightmarish hell in which not even the strongest survived for long.

But no, there were people, honest hardworking people, that were coming together to build safe havens and restore some order to the chaos they had been born into. Sure, they had probably seen their fair share of hardships and were rugged and hard-skinned, but if they’d managed to keep the peace and grow towns and develop businesses, they couldn’t be that bad.

You had to see this. You needed to.

“Plen’y of em.” he pipes in, then tips his head and his voice acquires an almost mocking twinge. “Wasteland’s not as dead as you think, sweetheart.”

“Take me there.” you blurt out before even realizing it.

“Pardon?” he’s surprised for only a moment before his demeanor shifts to dangerously sharp and his eyes harden. He moves in an instant, large palms planted on either side of your thighs and you have to jerk back to avoid him smashing his forehead into yours. “Mind your fuckin’ tone with me, missy.”

When you squint and recoil, he eases, satisfied with your reaction.

“Just cuz I been toleratin’ you don’t mean I can’t stuff a bullet in your belly.”

“I’m sorry! Sorry, sir.” you rush to undo your mistake, having spent too much time with him while he was docile to remember that you weren’t dealing with a friendly neighbor. “I meant no disrespect.” with a lowered gaze and a lump in your throat you continue. “I’d just really like to see such a place…”

“And I’d like a fifty-acre ranch to breed horses.” he sneers at you, yellow teeth peeking under his chapped lips. He shifts his weight around, resting from one hip to the other as he pulls away just barely. His fingers still grip the counter, still around you and ready to subdue another fuss. “But we don’ always get what we want.”

“Maybe I could…live there?” you didn’t believe your own words, but you still persisted. Flickering lashes swatted over pity eyes as you stared at him like an expectant street cat waiting to be adopted.

A preposterous idea. You didn’t know the first thing about surviving on the surface, couldn’t tell a radroach burrow from an anthill, and yet however difficult it would be anything would be better than living by yourself in a hole in the ground. Maybe you would have managed if the raiders had just left and the ghoul never crossed your path. But now, after knowing the bliss of company, of a friend who didn’t talk about medicine and made-up cures, now you couldn’t.

You needed him and not just for his skills or his wisdom of living off a toxic land. You needed him for him, just the ghoul, just the man who’d shown you kindness.

“Sweetheart, you needed t’ read the manual before turnin’ on the washin’ machine.” he states in a very mocking matter-of-fact way and snorts with a half-smile. “Twice.”

“But I did it.” you say back, struggling against a lost battle but how could you not when there was a blueish limp hand peeking from beyond the complex exit.

He gives you a once over, considering for a second before shaking the thought away with a bitter glower.

What the hell was he even thinking?

“You don’t really fit in with the common folk.” he counters again and he’s confident that soon you’ll wane. “Don’ think they’ll take too kindly to you.”

“What’d you mean, mister?” you tilt to the side, leaning on one hand with a faint pout.

“Yer too clean.” he mumbles while skimming over you with a judgmental expression, his mouth pursing as he took you in. “Too pretty. Too kept.” he leans back to cross his arms, a half-frown of disapproval glooming over his face. It wasn’t a compliment; it was dry facts that he offered you to get through your thick skull that you’d be in more danger than you realize if you ever managed to reach a local town. “Surface dwellers don’ like your kind.”

“Then I’ll work on it until they like me.”

The back of your boots hit the counter each time you kicked your feet, egged on by the caffeine overdose. You kept your eyes glued to his because you didn’t know of a better way of pleading without sounding pathetic and getting on his nerves.

“You can’t even fire a gun, darlin’.” the ghoul sighs in defeat, not because you’re getting under his skin, but because you fight this ferociously for your demise.

Both of you are aware that you wouldn’t last long outside. You were defenseless and had no usefulness, you weren’t accustomed to radiation, and everything on the surface was soaked in it. Most available jobs either needed you to get your hands dirty or break your back with overtime and you’d nearly passed out after walking half a day in a desert and thrown up at the sight of a dead body.

He’d be damned if he let you abandon a life of comfort and security because you didn’t know what you were asking for. Letting go of constant food and fresh water and hot showers just because you were too scared to learn by trial and error on your own was too much for him. It was stupid and you rebelling against him tooth and nail made it worse.

You weren’t winning anything; you were just giving him a headache.

“Someone would be willing to teach me.” the naivety in your comeback makes him laugh and your brows rise and furrow at his reaction.

“Ain’t nobody gonna do shit for free.” that was his last pushback before he made up his mind on ending your charade. His hat dipped and his tone lowered to an even rasp. “You’ll be just fine here, darlin’.” he takes a few steps back and chugs the remainder of his discarded coffee before grunting in satisfaction. “Good cup o’ coffee…Now be a dear ‘n show me the way out.”

“I could make you more if you stayed a bit longer, mister.”

A drowning man’s attempt to keep from sinking.

You give him a tiny smile and roll your ankles to release some tension. You knew you were pushing it, from his stiff shoulders to his thinned upper lip, but you didn’t want to stay here anymore. Disregarding the steady supply of provisions and the regulated temperatures, the medical supplies and the safety. You wanted to go with him. Wherever he went, no matter the danger, you want to be in his shadow. The radroaches and raiders forgotten, ignorant of just how hostile his world was and selfish by continuing to thrust your life in his hands when he didn’t want it.

“Das enough, darlin’.” he mutters while picking up the supply sack and flinging his bandolier over his shoulder.

“What if – ”

“– Enough!” your mouth shuts at his command. His glare is piercing while he stands by the door with his back turned to you, giving you only a stern side-eye. “Move.”

You slide off the counter without another word and pat down your dress, not that anything could be seen underneath the thick tights but common decency forced you to. He waits for you, motioning with his hand once you're by his side and you walk forward, through the dingy corridor and past the raider he’d gutted the day before.

You try not to look, but it’s difficult when the deep red hues contrast with the metallic white of the wall and floor. It’s an abominable sight. There’s a cut spanning over the entirety of the man’s neck, horizontal and precise, so deep that amidst the flesh and blood, you see bone.

You could almost simulate the pain and you struggled to swallow.

He was a raider… he was a criminal. He was a bad man, he’d tried to murder you and failed by just an inch, the ghoul did what he had to do. There would be plenty more with much the same mindset if he agreed to take you with him. Scenes like this would probably be a daily occurrence, but you wouldn’t be the one doing the killing and still seeing the raider nearly decapitated scarred something deep within you.

Were you really willing to go through this again just to stay with the ghoul?

Maybe, for him, maybe.

“Fuckin’ piss stain…”

You look to him at that remark, then down at the center of his attention. He had one foot set in a puddle of blood and pieces of flesh, both attached to an unmoving vault dweller. He wiped his boot in the corpse’s suit and spat with malice.

 “You really don’t like this place, mister?” it’s more of a statement than a question, but your quizzical expression gives him enough room to reply.

You had noticed his visible disdain once he’d first entered the vault with you, but you’d blamed it on him being an experienced bounty hunter who knew better than to let his guard down. Then you’d seen his complete lack of empathy for the dead bodies littering the hallways and even a drop of anger edging his default scowl. He had a personal vendetta against the inhabitants, a distaste that went so deep he’d preferred to sever the wrists of the corpses over just unclasping their Pip-boys and claiming them for himself.

You’d never brought it up because it wasn’t your place, but now you had a reason to, and your curiosity was peaked.

“Vaults ain’t my thing, darlin’, nor vaulties.” he speaks with spite, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips when he raises his gaze to you. Then he kicks the mess out of his way without a hint of shame, splashing the gore over the floor, and continues after you.

“Why?” you peep and it’s so innocent and light because you don’t understand the gravitas of the answer you’re reaching for.

There’s a small pause as you glance at the ghoul with a blank visage. There’s a certain lethargy to your step and a bounce to your slack shoulders because you’re relaxed and clear-minded and you have no idea just what you’re asking him. He could be angry, you’re poking around topics that are beyond your capacity, ones of resentment and shrewd grudges that span over such a long time that you couldn’t even begin to imagine.

But he wasn’t upset, there was no point. You were just a stupid little thing trying to sow a light chat before your paths diverged.

The memories are knocking on the front door of his consciousness, but he refuses to indulge them. Not now, maybe later when he was alone and could recollect everything in peace.

“That ain't none o’ your business.” his words are snippy but his tone is placid, he doesn’t even reciprocate your prying eyes, just stares straight ahead with a tense jaw.

His reluctance to delve deeper and the shift in the air give you a good enough hint to not press the matter further. You would have reached to pat his arm, a benevolence he undoubtedly deserved along with so much more, but refrained from doing so. Despite you having placed him on a golden pedestal for all he’d done for you, which wasn’t much, but enough to leave you with an unforgettable impression, he didn’t see you in the same manner. His life had hardened him both physically and emotionally, he hadn’t even trusted you to sleep together in the same suite, having tucked one of his pistols under his pillow with a finger on the trigger.

You’d seen it, you just didn’t mention it.

He didn’t need your pity nor your good-heartedness, he didn’t care and that’s why you kept from overstepping even if you wanted to comfort the restless beasts pacing somewhere within his being.

“You’ve been nice to me though.” you put forth a honeyed smile and steered the conversation to a lighter note. A small sugary quip to oppose his hardened exterior and alleviate him of his hissy mood.

He chuckles, a raspy chortle that tickles your ear and curls your lips into a grin.

“Ain’t nice, missy, just tolerant.”

Your chirpy chat continues as you pass through the whey field and into another brightly lit tunnel. He doesn’t have to know that you could have led him to the elevator three times already through a shortcut. You like him, harbor such fondness for him in all his gruffness, you might have agreed to lead him out but you never said you wouldn’t take the scenic route. An extended detour while you continuously banter with each other and you always relent because you want him to be happy with having the upper hand in the conversation.

But no matter how long you tried to prolong the inevitable, eventually, you found the way to the elevator. Before it had been your savior, taking you away from those vile people before they could sink their grimy claws in your flesh. Now it was an unwelcome vestige, the last step before the ghoul left and you were abandoned to waste away in an underground prison.

He entered first and leaned against the steel wall, a thumb tucked in his belt and hat tipped over his eyes. You turn your back to him and press the button and it’s suddenly awkward and silent.

You wished the damn thing moved slower, but it propelled up, passing by vault levels within a blink. Such a cruel construct…

Misery didn’t thrive for long, you didn’t let it.

Maybe one day you’d meet him again. You’d learn to shoot a gun, there had to be at least one stashed somewhere for emergencies, then you’d learn to sustain yourself and grow crops, fiddle with the mechanisms of the vault and read every book and article and document regarding medicine. You’d prepare well and one day leave again to explore the world outside and maybe if fate was kind, you’d run into him on your journey.

Maybe he wouldn’t remember, maybe he would, but you’d be happy all the same.

And you’d be different then, stronger and more independent and not useless. Maybe he’d take you with him when you proved that you wouldn’t be a burden anymore. He’d take you on his adventures and teach you how to be a bounty hunter like him and you’d make the best duo the surface has ever seen.

Your self-assurance dwindled when the elevator reached the top level and the door slid open. He walked out unbothered and you struggled to keep the calm façade going.

It wasn’t healthy to form such attachments so quickly, but it happened and you were torn between begging him one last time and giving him the solace he craved. But could you really be blamed when you’d known only solitude?

He stood at the vault entrance and tossed you a slow, expectant look and you fiddled with the Pip-boy. Stiff fingers scrolled through the menus, determined to take as much time as possible while you prayed for a miracle. Your pleas remained unanswered, the time for stalling ended as the gate screeched and rolled to the side. A hot gust of wind crept through, drying your eyes and making your throat scratchy after a few silent breaths.

“Best of luck, vaulty.”

He raised his arm and flicked his wrist in a goodbye after readjusting his hat, boots clinking as he set forth with an even pace. You watched him leave, heart asunder, mouth cracked open but no words came out. Gripping onto the control panel, frustration flaring, desperation so intense it made the hairs on your arms lift up.

Was this really it? Was this the end of it? Was this the last time you saw him? The only friend you had, the only person you knew, the only warmth ever given to you.

He could let go without a second thought, but you couldn’t.

“Go…GO!”

A shaky step, then another.

With each step, the quake in your legs eased, determination overpowering hesitation, and before you knew it you were jogging and then running. The sand wasn’t kind to your shoes, you nearly tripped, wide strides bringing you closer to him because, unlike his tempo, yours held intention.

He knew you’d do this, he knew and he had the common sense to pull out his pistol and threaten you back inside.

You might have tumbled him over if you had the strength, but instead, you splat yourself against his back and drape your arms around his abdomen. His hand faltered, resting on the holster of his gun as you squeezed him and slid your fingers past his coat, grabbing at his vest.

“Please.” you force through a clenched throat, choosing to beg him instead of breathing. Saliva pools in your mouth and tears form in the back of your eyes as you press your cheek against his spine. Your eyes squeeze shut as if cutting off your vision would make you deaf to his answer. “Please…I’ll – ”

He’d taken what he needed, completing your transaction and wanting nothing more, but maybe you could find something else he had use for. He sighs and you’re so regretful, but you can’t let it go without a final push.  And he’s fed up enough to maybe just shoot you, but if he was you’d have a chance at bargaining again and keep him around for a few more minutes.

“ – I’ll pay you.” you sniffle back the runny mucus seeping through your nostrils and swallow a mouthful of thick spit, it distorts your voice just a bit. “Please take me to Tillberry. I’ll find a job – I’ll – You can have everything I earn, I just need enough to buy some food.”

“Tillb – ” he grunts and pinches the space between his eyes as they shut.

He wanted to rip you off of him and leave, with no mercy and no care, but you just had to play nice. You had to play house with him and make him coffee and wash his clothes and be soft with him. The sweet gestures and light words did things to him, he was no fool, they reminded him that humans still existed and they were still kind. A peek into the past.

“I won’t be useless. I’ll learn quick and stay out of your way and do anything you ask…Just until the settlement.”

Whines and sobs and sniveling sniffs and chokes, they crawl up his skin like maggots and try to burrow and find an ounce of empathy, but he has none.

“Right.” he whirls around with such force that if it hadn’t been for the iron grip he clasped over your jaw, you would have fallen. He’s an eyelash away from your face, with a fowl snarl carving into his gaunt features and he spats poison at you. He speaks the truth. “Do you fucking know what the hell you’re asking for?” he’s so pissed that his accent dissipates. “You’re gonna fuckin’ die out here. With or without help.”

“Plea – ”

“ – I ain’t no God damned babysitter!” he snaps and forces you back. You stumble and curl your hands over your chest instinctively as he points his pistol at you, forefinger on the trigger. “Now get the hell outta my sight.”

His lips pinch in annoyance when you don’t move.

He didn’t give a damn if you lived or not, but you’d shown him respect and generosity and he repaid you by not shooting you down on the spot. He gave you a chance at survival, exterminated the pests in your home and made sure to leave enough provisions to live off of while you worked out how to take care of yourself. You wouldn’t receive half of what he’d done for you in the wasteland, it was a cutthroat fever dream that no one could wake up from.

Precious things lived in castles, not in the wilds.

But then you finally move. You move and it’s the wrong fucking way.

The tip of the gun glosses over your cheek as you enclose trembling fingers around his wrist and his sleeve is pulled back enough for you to find his skin, marred and leathery and disgusting and safe and wonderful. Your eyes close and press into his glove as the barrel rests against your bare shoulder and all it would take was a click and you’d be dead.

“Please, mister.”

You sink to your knees, bringing his arm down with you.

A lost little dove, fluttering in his palm, trusting and willing and kneeling at the gates of hell because it already knew what heaven was. Or maybe it didn’t, maybe you knew a different hell he was unfamiliar with so you begged for his instead of going back to your own.

“I’ll do anything…”

He’d seen plenty of people beg for their lives, for food or water or help. He’d heard it all, from bargaining to taunting, reverse psychology, and manipulation tactics all in the name of living to see another sunrise. This was the first time anyone had ever pleaded for him.

He should have left yesterday, the moment you’d found the storage unit he should have taken his things and been on his way. He should have tried to find the exit while you were sleeping and never looked back. He should have done more, everything in his power to not be in this damnable situation. You fed something within him, a slumbering behemoth forgotten over time, you sated a need he’d developed so long ago, a need so constant he didn’t realize was there anymore until you.

“Get the hell up.” he grips your arm like the brutish man he is, pulls you to your feet, and spins you around like a puppet.

You don’t fight, drained by both the searing sun and your turbulent emotions, letting him latch his hand to the back of your neck and drag you forward, back to the vault.

Back to solitude. Back to hell.

“Three hundred caps.”

You muster an inquisitive hum and dare to steal a glimpse of his expression. It’s haggard, annoyed, defeated.

“For your safe transportation t’ Tillburry.” he offers you nothing, not even a peak, but his hold on your neck tightens and you wince. “Now use your fuckin’ legs. We’re loosin’ daylight.”

🌼 Masterlist 🌼

Tag list: @bountydroid @windierhades @ultimatereality @gruffle1 @v3lv3tf0x @fallout-girl219 @one-of-thewalkingdead

[vexcraft]

also on ao3 here!

special delivery

Pearl was fairly certain this was not in her job description. 

She supposed she had agreed to do special deliveries and while she would not necessarily count this as one because there was a permit for these kinds of jobs – though she figured that since there was no transaction involved she wasn’t breaking the law and then technically this was not necessarily a job for the man with the mob permit – this was still something she would have called Scar for. If he was available that was. Which brings her to the next problem.

Scar was currently very small, very grey, and a little feathery. And also in her mailbag.

Pearl did know a little about the vex thing. Not a whole lot, it didn’t really come up all that often, but at least she knew enough to realize that the little creature she had spotted inside one of the chests of the explosive firework shop was Scar. She had noticed the chest wasn’t properly closed when she had been restocking her flower truck and she would hate it if rainwater ruined the fireworks that from what she’d heard could cost Cub more to make than he was selling them for, so she had decided to help the man out and close the chest. Only to find a very small Scar in it.

She had no idea what to do with a vex though. Especially with a vex that seemed very much to be sleeping and showing zero signs of planning on waking up any time soon. So she had carefully picked Scar up where he had been curled up in the middle of the fireworks and gently placed him in her bag, glad that she had already delivered all the mail that had been there earlier.

She was also, for once, glad that her donkey was as slow as it was. It made the journey to the one person she figured could probably help her with this issue a little more steady. Steady was what she needed right now – she didn’t trust herself to fly or even run with a literal person in her bag.

The journey took a while, and every now and then she looked into her bag to make sure everything was alright. Each time Scar seemed just as asleep as the last time and she briefly wondered if he was maybe unconscious and not just sleeping – but he seemed to be tossing and turning a little so she wasn’t too worried. Surely Cub would know what was up.

Pearl couldn’t say she was surprised she saw sculk when Cub’s area came into view. The extent of it was mildly terrifying though, especially as he resided quite close to her, but she paid it no mind. She had more important things to worry about, like finding Cub (and maybe hoping that he was not covered in sculk). 

“Cub?” she called as she got off the donkey. She didn’t have a lead and there weren’t any fence posts nearby anyway – she would just have to hope the donkey wouldn’t wander off the pathway into the sculk. “You around here?”

She heard the sound of a firework going off and quickly a rather normal-looking (aside from all the dye stains) Cub landed before her. 

“Hey hey,” Cub greeted her. “What’s up? Good to see you, Pearl.”

“I have a special delivery for you,” Pearl explained, putting on her slightly more professional mail lady voice. 

“Hmm?” Cub hummed, obviously curious. “Intriguing. I don’t remember buying anything or signing up for anything.” 

“Yeah, about that…” Pearl opened her bag and held it out enough for Cub to be able to look inside. He took a few steps forward to peek into the bag and then let out a little amused sound.

“I see, I see,” Cub nodded, reaching into the bag. Pearl winced a little as Cub picked up the sleeping vex by the scruff of his neck like one might hold a small kitten – she was certain Cub knew how to handle a vex miles better than she did but after spending the better part of the last hour being as careful as she could it did catch her off guard a little. Scar didn't seem to mind, still deep asleep. “Where did you find him?”

“He was sleeping amongst the fireworks in a chest at your shop,” Pearl said as she watched Cub cradle the vex in his arms – or rather his arm, he didn’t really need both of his arms to hold something so small. “I figured that might not have been the best place for him.”

“Makes sense, makes sense,” Cub nodded and Pearl had no idea what exactly about this was making sense to Cub, but she was glad something was. “Thank you for bringing him here, I’ll take care of him.”

Cub looked like he was about to turn around and leave to do whatever one did to care for a vex and Pearl couldn’t stop her curiosity. 

“Cub? Can I ask a question before you go?” 

The man paused. “Sure, of course,” he replied. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry which did ease Pearl’s nerves a little. “Shoot.”

"Why?” she asked and it came out a little less polite than she was hoping for. “I mean, is he like, alright? I’ve never seen that happen before. Had me a little worried there.”

Cub seemed to either not notice her tone or simply not care. “Just means he’s really tired. Like really really tired. Nothing too serious, I’ll talk to him about it.” Scar turned a little in Cub’s hold almost like he knew he was being talked about. “It happens sometimes, every now and then.”

“He’ll just be back to normal once he’s rested?” All of this was raising more questions than answering them, but she didn’t want to pry. 

“Yep,” Cub confirmed. “He seems to like sleeping in chests, not the first time he’s been found in one. I’ve never tried to put him in a shulker box, do you think I could mail him?”

Pearl just stared at him. “Please do not try to mail Scar.”

[delta-pavonis]

Fic Teaser: Parasomnia

(The morning after Special Exhibition, so spoilers there if you haven't read it. This little bit is rated T.)

Dear Dream,

Many would start such a note with “I just couldn't bear to wake you…” but, to be quite honest, I fear it would be too disingenuous given that I did everything short of cracking the smelling salts to wake you before I left. I was worried enough that I checked all your vitals. Upon finding you not dead, nor bradycardic, nor hypotensive, nor hypoxic, nor hypoglycemic, I decided you needed the rest.

Make yourself at home. And I mean that truly. Hell, you know where the toys are kept if you somehow feel the urge. (I, for one, am giving my bollocks and backside a break for at least a few days. No regrets, though.) There is barely any food in the pantry because of my holiday schedule, but there is plenty of coffee and tea. Enjoy anything and everything I have in stock. Or just order takeaway.

I left my car here and took the tube in. Keys are by the front door. You are welcome to drive my car to the hospital or get on a block south and ride in to pick up your car. I told the hospital parking attendant to log it under my name, so no rush getting here, your car is safe.

Rest. Go back to sleep if you want. (Actually, drink a glass of water first. We exerted ourselves rather, ah, thoroughly last night.) Take all the time you need. 

I’ll be back about 6 tomorrow morning. If you're around, we can have breakfast. If not, I hope I’ll see you soon. 

Text me when you are up and moving?

Yours,

Hob

P.S. Last night was fantastic. You are absolutely stunning. xoxo

Dream reads the letter fully three times before putting it down.

“Yours.”

Something in his chest soars.

Mine.

He wants Hob to be his very, very badly. 

Probably in ways Hob very much does not intend. 

Probably. 

Dream drops the note to run his hands over his face and flops back onto the bed. The sheets smell of Hob and he turns to press his cheek into them before he can think better of it.

Oh, yeah, he’s proper fucked. 

One hand wanders down to his abdomen, to above his groin, and for a moment he feels Hob within him again and groans. His other hand lands on the bruising on his shoulder, presses softly, just enough to remind him of Hob's mouth. 

Dream closes his eyes and remembers the taste of Hob, his skin and mouth and sweat and cum. He suddenly misses him, desperately. 

Which is insane. 

They’ve known each other–actually known each other, not the weird parasocial relationship he had with Hob via his TikTok ASMR videos–less than a week. How can Dream possibly miss him?!?

This is just the rush of a new relationship. It will pass. It will pass.

But Dream doesn't want it to pass. 

God, it has been ages since he felt this good. Since he had someone respond to him, to his intensity, in kind, to meet him punch for punch. It is what he thought Corin would be, or Calliope, or, fuck, Nada way back when. He thought they could become this. He and Killala had it for one bright, shining moment, before they burned themselves out.

And yet here Hob is, matching his steps, following his lead in this dance, seemingly without much effort, on the first try. Dream is going to have a whole lot of trouble letting that go, now that he knows it possible. 

Fuck.

Dream grabs his phone from where it was placed on the nightstand next to the letter and looks at the time. 

Which makes him sit up in bed like a shot.

It is almost five in the evening. He has slept for over twelve hours.

[sysig]

Old habits die hard all the way around (Patreon)

[jaylver]

PINKY RING — S.JY

synopsis: setting up a deal with a frat boy you've just met at a party turned out to be a stupidly cute idea. who knew his drake reference and the deal involving his pinky ring would soon score him a date with you.

pairings: frat boy!jake x afab!reader

genre: strangers to lovers, frat boy + football player jake, college au, romance, fluff

warning(s): profanities, party, alcohol

wc: 2.9k

a/n: a very late contribution to jakeday! this was much longer than planned so i hope you all enjoy it! apologies in advance if the writing sucks since i've been tired all week T-T please leave a feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated! muah xx

masterlist | © jaylver all rights reserved.

Wandering into a frat party alone was quite literally the least sane thing you've done in a while.

Your best friend, Yunjin, had called you up to meet her at a frat party at the most random hour of the night. The temptation got to you for the worst as you caved in and placed aside your studies in order to get some free booze, even if they're low budget ones.

That only explained why you were there then. Looking between your phone and the sight before you as you walked, trying to get a hold of your friend. She was probably somewhere wasted and you wouldn't be surprised if it was true. 

Once you sent her a text announcing your arrival and hoping for a text back, you slipped your phone away and wandered into the kitchen area, further from the crowded area filled with people dancing quite scandalously.

Whatever dodgy concoction they had prepared there, you took some and sniffed it before taking a sip, shrugging in half approval. You'd take what you have. Soon, you settled yourself in by leaning against the counter, pulling out your phone as it had started buzzing.

You were distracted by the chiming of your phone, realising Yunjin texted back and you immediately replied back. She was, in fact, somewhere in the house, except she was with a guy. Wait, a frat boy, Jay Park? Oh, you've heard of him. 

You didn't want to say much and just texted her back to call you when it's time to leave, or if she's even leaving at all. Meanwhile, you were unaware of the additional presence who had wandered into the kitchen as you typed out your last text.

“Oh—hey,” 

You glanced up from your phone the moment you pressed 'send', staring back at a guy that you swore you've seen somewhere before, he was too familiar. He wasn't just a guy though, he was a hot one. Backwards cap on, dressed in a casual black hoodie and ripped jeans, dyed blond hair peeking out from his cap. 

That was a sight to see. 

“Hey,” you could tell he wasn't expecting your presence in the kitchen just the same as you were.

The corner of his lips twitched, head tilted to one side. “New around here? I think this is the first time I've seen you at our party,”

Our? Was he a part of the frat?

“I don't usually wander into frat parties,” you shrugged, and he nodded, smiling. 

“I'm Jake, by the way. Jake Sim. I'm a part of the frat, we usually have these types of parties on the weekend,” he extended his hand out for a handshake, to which you accepted, staring a little too longingly at his pretty hands and fingers. Don’t be a creep. 

“Am I missing out? I'm Y/N L/N,”

“Well, Y/N, maybe you are,” an apparent accent flowed from his voice, and the way he said your name shouldn't have made you scream inside. “You should come by more often, I'd love to see more of you here,”

“We'll see. I wasn't even meant to be here, but my friend called and I thought ‘why not’ so here I am,”

“It's fated, then. We're meant to meet,” he clapped, lips stretched into a cheery smile that had you swooning.

“I suppose it is,” you let him join your side in leaning against the counter, feeling the fabric of his hoodie brushing against your bare skin. “You know, you look very familiar to me, I think I've seen you before,”

“Yeah?” His tongue swept across his bottom lip, eyebrow quirking with interest.

“Football team. It's you, isn't it? The striker,”

“How did you know?” He seemed genuinely surprised, and you were in disbelief as well. He was much different compared to what you remembered.

“My friend's on the team too, Kim Sunoo,”

“Him!"

“Yes, him! I went to one of the matches and you scored in it, it was a great match," you could still recall the faint memory of Jake scoring, his name blasting from the speakers, back when his hair was coloured black.

“Wow,” Jake stared in amazement, his smile never wavered, only widening. “We're much connected than I thought,”

“We are,” you couldn't help smiling as well, finding his energy contagious and severely intoxicating. You had to turn around and take a sip of your drink as a way to not become flustered around him, but only to notice the rings resting on his fingers.

“Nice rings,” you complimented, and it seemed to be his turn to become flustered. Immediately bringing his hands up for you to look closer and showcasing his rings.

“Thanks,” he said, sounding pleased.

“You have a pinky ring too?” You pointed at his pinky, noticing the silver ring gleaming under the light.

“Pinky ring till I get a wedding ring,”

It didn't hit you until a beat later. He was quoting Drake. 

“Drake? Seriously?” A teasing grin travelled to your lips, nudging him slightly ever so naturally. He didn't complain, just reciprocated your smile, seemingly glad that you caught onto his reference.

“Hey, I'm a big fan. Sue me,”

“No judgement, I like Drake too,” you spoke your half truth, shrugging lightly.

Jake turned to look at you, a light sparkling in his eyes, telling you he had something in mind. “Hey, why don't I give you my pinky ring, and the next time we meet, you give it back to me?”

“What?”

“Let fate decide our next meeting. If we bump into each other again, you hand me back my ring, and I'll get your number. Deal?”

“Sounds good,” why were you doing this?

Even as your consciousness was telling you what stupid idea this was, you couldn’t help but feel confident. There was definitely a next time. You were sure of it. Even after Jake slipped his ring onto your pinky, feeling his skin graze against yours, you were confident that fate would bring you to him, or even him to you.

You bid him a small goodbye, watching his bright energy disappear through the door and be left with yourself, wanting him to come back. Did Yunjin and you somehow suddenly share the same taste in men? Frat boys?

Soon, you abandoned your drink and walked out of the kitchen into the party scene. To your relief, you spotted Yunjin waving at you, a tall boy with silver hair standing right beside her. That was probably Jay.

“Oh my God, I thought I lost you,” she engulfed you into one of her warm hugs while you didn't miss the lovesick smile she always had whenever she was around a crush.

“I would say the same for you,” you nudged her slightly, eyeing her romeo of the night.

“Oh—Jay, this is my best friend, Y/N. Y/N, this is Jay,” Yunjin introduced, and Jay gave you a friendly hug as a greeting. Off the bat, you could tell he was a decent guy despite being in a frat.

“You're not joining your friends for beer pong?” Yunjin pointed out to Jay and you took notice of said beer pong going on across the room. 

There he was. Jake. Standing out amongst the bunch of guys that were most likely his friends, catching your attention in an instant. His baseball cap was no longer worn backwards, sleeves rolled up and showcasing the protruding veins decorating the expanse of his arm. He was holding onto a ping pong ball, aiming at one of the red shot cups and eventually shot it in successfully, letting out a loud laugh while throwing his arms up into a flexing pose and hitting his chest.

What a frat boy. But you think he's a cute frat boy. He was an exception.

“Should we leave soon?” Yunjin had to poke your shoulder to gain your attention back to her. At that realisation, you visibly flushed a tinge of pink, coughing and nodding rather stiffly. You could tell your best friend was suspicious of you, but didn’t press on and told you Jay was dropping you two off.

What you didn’t catch onto as you left the room was Jake’s lingering gaze on you. 

He was going to get his ring back. He was confident about it.

“You’re telling me you’re missing Jay’s friend?”

“I am doing exactly that,”

He wasn’t just Jay’s friend, he was also his frat brother. Yet, Jay was oblivious you two knew each other, or at least that’s what you think in your perspective. 

Telling Yunjin about your happenings from that party was both a good and bad decision. The good part was that she was happy for you. The bad part was realising how predictable you were. In her words, she knew you would fall for Jake especially since you had a weak spot for men with cute smiles. Dammit.

It has been a week since that night at the frat house. To be honest, you could be crazy and just go back to find Jake, but were you going to chase a man like that? No, wake up! But, you were also shamelessly missing him and mulling over the fact that the ring was still on your pinky. 

“This is so stupid, why is he waiting on fate to act?”

“I think it’s cute,”

“You’re hopeless,” Yunjin rolled her eyes, but you just laughed, because you, too, knew it was dumb. A stupid game that tortured you but you enjoyed the anticipation as well. “Anyway, Jay’s going to a football match later in the evening, apparently the team is playing. Before you say no, consider this, he’s paying for dinner after,”

“I like him,” you gave her your seal of approval, and from the looks of her giddy smile, she was satisfied. 

Yunjin was more than happy when she led you through the stands, locating where Jay was sitting. You threw a knowing glance at her, to which she noticed and only rolled her eyes. He greeted you with a friendly smile, saving an even brighter smile for your best friend. It was sickening, but in an affectionate way. 

Realising how you were third wheeling, you took the queue and left, wandering down the stands to get a closer look at the field. You figured that'd be a better idea now that you realised the team was warming up there.

“Y/N!” you were barely halfway down the stairs when you heard your name being called, a familiar face running towards you. 

“Jake!” You jogged a little, reaching the barrier that separated the stands and the field, essentially separating you and Jake as well.

“You're here! At a football game,” he breathed out in a daze, as if he couldn't believe you were standing in front of him.

“Jay brought me and Yunjin here,” you slyly pointed at the duo that sat further up the stands, meeting Jake's playful smirk. You two had the same thought in mind. “Oh right—pinky ring,”

You raised up your right hand, his ring still wrapped around your pinky. At that, Jake's eyes only lit up, flickering between your face and the ring, his smile growing wider.

“You wear it everywhere?”

A rush of heat spread across your cheeks, you found yourself shying away from his gaze. “I didn't know where I'd find you,”

“Guess you finally found me, and I found you too,”

“I'm glad,” you fidgeted the ring mindlessly, looking between it and Jake before you realised the deal. "Should I hand it back to you first?”

“No—wait—maybe after the game?” His indecisiveness was killing him, and having you standing in front of him, it made him extra jittery, he was grateful the barriers were there. “I have a feeling you wearing it will somehow pass on good luck to me,”

Your eyebrows furrowed, a smile pulling at your lips. “Don't know how that works, but I'll do whatever you say,”

“It's true! It's called intuition. I'll win the game and score a goal,” he said ever so confidently, a grin that was challenging your doubts. 

“I believe you,” you said in between giggles, unaware of Jake's smile growing wider as he watched you laugh. “Go and win this one like you always do,”

“I will! Meet me after the game! Get your number and the ring ready,” he casted a wink at you, waving a small momentary goodbye before joining his team back in warming up. 

You eventually joined the two lovebirds and waited for the game to start, a certain feeling of giddiness bubbling in your abdomen. When it was finally time, you watched intently as the referee blew the whistle and the home team began the game. The number five on his back was easy to detect, your eyes followed it the whole time as he ran past defenders and scored a goal.

You and your friends jumped out of your seats in excitement. Yelling and cheering the moment you heard his name being blasted from the speakers. He did prove you right, he scored a goal. The next thing you knew before you could even process it was him pointing up at you. It was clearly directly at you, no mistake at all. As cliche it could get, he sent you a flying kiss, and you only matched his energy, catching it and laughing like some school girl.

He was soon tackled by his teammates and whisked away to resume the game. You were left in the stands smiling like a fool, unable to hide your happiness and blushing cheeks even though people around you had witnessed it whole, including your own friends. But who cares, right?

The game ended with the home team winning and obviously, everyone was in great spirits after. You told Yunjin that you’re finding Jake first, and as she left with Jay, you swore you heard him asking ‘since when did they know each other?’ 

Heading down the stands, you spotted Jake immediately. The team was still lingering around the field, but the second Jake’s eyes landed on you, he excused himself and ran towards you. The widest smile was present on his face, he was shining brightly under the dark skies. 

“Hey!” he pulled you in a hug, reaching over the barrier for you. He was sweaty, but you didn’t mind it. It was his presence and tight hold that you focused on.

“Congrats on the win! You did great,” you said as you pulled away, reciprocating his smile. 

“Thank you. It’s nothing,”

“Okay, you scoring a goal is not ‘nothing’,”  

“But I was right, wasn’t I?”

You rolled your eyes at him, hating that he wasn’t entirely wrong. “Whatever,” you said dismissively, earning a light laugh from him. You took the chance to slip the ring off your pinky, taking his hand in yours, instantly surprising him since it was a totally unexpected move. “Your pinky ring, as promised,”

“Oh, almost forgot,” he let you slip the ring back to the original spot, feeling your touch on his skin and reeling from your close proximity. 

“As for my number … I’ll give it to you once you’re done, I don’t have anything to write on,” you waved your phone in hand, casting him an apologetic smile.

“It’s totally fine. Will you be willing to wait?”

“I’m alright with it. I thought you’re joining us for dinner?”

“Right, Jay told me,” he snapped his fingers, recalling his friend’s text message. How could he have forgotten? He almost asked you out for dinner later as a date. 

“He’s paying,”

“Sweet,” he basically hollered, punching the air stiffly and you laughed at his demeanour. He’s so weird, but in a cute way.

Jake was biting on his lips once a short silence settled between you two. You could tell he was pondering and thinking about his next words. That sweet smile returned back to his lips. “Can I take you out for dinner soon?”

How could you say no?

“I’m down. Definitely yes,”

Jake almost looked relieved, but there was also a sparkle that you saw in his eyes that shined brightly once you’ve given him your answer. You could feel your own heart swelling at the sight of him. His gaze held everything he needed to say. He stared at you with a kind of longing and pining that you couldn’t pinpoint. 

“Great, fantastic,” Jake whispered under his breath, seemingly in disbelief and his dazed look only made you giggle. “I’ll catch up with you after I shower, give me some time and wait for me!”

“I will! The three of us will wait for you so go wash up,”

“Alright, alright,” he threw his hands up in surrender, hesitant to walk away as he wished to talk to you more, but he stank and was covered with sweat, so he didn’t have much choice. 

“Wait for me!” he said, slowly inching away with the silliest grin, eyes crinkling at the edges. 

You responded by gesturing your thumbs up, watching as he turned his back on you, but not even a second later he turned his head back, a small smile still remained. He then started jogging towards the benches, and you definitely didn’t miss his excited jump. 

How were you supposed to survive that dinner date with an endearing, sweet and cute guy like him? 

The truth was, you weren’t.

( © jaylver all rights reserved. do NOT copy, plagiarise or edit my work and repost whatsoever. once discovered will be exposed and blacklisted. )

☆ permanent taglist (open):

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[mrrharper]

Mandatory PE Class

Markus walked through the university campus, his face clearly showing his annoyance at the situation he was going through. His school decided to "promote physical activity among the student body", and by "promote" they meant a mandatory Physical Education class every junior had to go through. And Marcus was not happy about it.

Marcus was an introvert - he didn't particularly enjoy parties, going to bars, or other typical college activities. He spent his time reading, researching and weightlifting. This might seem weird for a "nerd", but whenever Marcus put on his noise-canceling headphones and grabbed the bar with 100 or so pounds on it, he felt like he could finally relax.

But even though Marcus enjoyed going to the gym, he enjoyed it when he was there alone - no one with him, the amount of people in the gym at a minimum. These were the perfect conditions for him. This class would not be it. He would have to deal with God knows how many people, plus most likely some smart ass coach, who thinks he's the next Arnold Schwarzenegger.

The university gave him a choice of what he wanted to do during the class and Marcus chose weight training, hoping he would be left alone and allowed to just follow his usual routine without any interruptions.

Marcus arrived at the athletics department's building and after wandering through its corridors he found his way to Weight Room C09. He knocked and heard a booming voice invite him inside. He opened the door and walked into a smallish locker room, where a few guys were getting ready and another man, clearly older than the others, stood on the side and waited. That was probably the coach.

"Marcus, right?" the supposed coach walked up to Marcus. "I'm Assistant Coach Baker and I'll be leading your group this semester." He extended his hand and Marcus shook it reluctantly. He quickly turned around and began changing into his gym gear.

Once everyone was ready (and there weren't many people in Marcus' group - only 6 guys) the group led by Coach Baker moved to the weight room proper. Marcus wanted to walk up to Baker and ask him if he could just do his own routine, but before he had mustered up the courage to do this Baker began warming up and expected the rest to do the same. Marcus rolled his eyes and sighed, before joining the group.

The next hour passed slowly. Baker had the group do a fairly quick and lite set of exercises, lite for Marcus at least. After the class had ended everyone was getting out of their sweaty shirts in the locker room. Marcus put his gear in his backpack and as the rest of the students began leaving the room, he walked up to Coach Baker.

"Sir, could I make a certain request?" He asked, a bit shy.

"Oh, Marcus, yeah? I also wanna talk with you about something. But go on." He wanted to talk with Marcus about something? That didn't sound great. He stood silent for a moment.

"So..." Baker looked at Marcus, his eyebrow raised.

"Oh yeah. So... I was wondering... I, I go to the gym quite often, and have for a few years now... and so I thought... Would it be a problem if during these PE classes I... I just followed my usual routine and you, you just did what you have planned with the rest?"

Coach smiled as he listened. Marcus wasn't sure if this was a good or a bad thing.

"Well, Marcus, I'm glad you see the importance of exercise. But I don't want no divisions in my group, you understand. I want to work with all of you, show something to everyone. Although, because you asked, I'll be sure to adjust the exercises for your level." Marcus nodded, although he wasn't really happy with Baker's response. "And while we're talking, I wanted to ask you something - would you be interested in trying out for our football team?"

This took Marcus by surprise. The football team? Where did that idea come from? He was not about to join a group of brain dead jocks.

"What?" he simply asked, confused.

"Well, I have noticed your strength during our hour together. And I think you would do great on the gridiron." Baker put his hand on Marcus' shoulder. Marcus did not like that.

"Wel, uhm... thank you for the proposition, but... no, I'm, I don't think I would fit in."

"Are you sure? I could help you fit in just right." Baker grinned again.

"Yeah... I'm sure... Mr. Baker" Marcus stood there and avoided eye contact with the older man.

"Call me Coach" Baker laughed. "If you're sure... well, I ain't gonna force ya. Now go, I'll see you next week."

As Marcus left the building he sighed. This was going to be an exhausting semester.

Reality turned out weirder than he expected.

As the months progressed Marcus attended every PE class, his annoyance with Baker's refusal to just let him do what he wanted not strong enough to risk messing with his attendance. Baker meanwhile stuck to his word, and for the most part Marcus was doing what the rest of the group was doing.

Although... this wasn't the whole truth. Because even though Marcus wasn't allowed to do his own thing, while doing the exercises Baker would come up to him and ask him to change something about the movements, add more weight, do another variant of the exercise. So even though he was working with the group, he did get the chance to do way more challenging things.

Baker himself was weirdly invested, at least that's how it seemed to Marcus. He very much got into that role of the supportive coach, he stood next to Marcus, counted his reps, motivated him to "just push further". Marcus found that strange, but didn't want to get into any kind of argument with the coach, so he just went along with this.

As the semester came to an end Marcus also had to admit he got something out of these classes. The exercises Baker had him do were pushing his limits, and he did adjust his normal gym routine to include stuff he learnt from him As he looked in the mirror, standing in his room on the day of the last class before the end of the semester he had to admit he was bigger than 5 months prior.

The last class came and went pretty uneventfully. Marcus beat his PB on the bench by 10 pounds and after an hour he came back to the locker room sweaty and gross. Baker thanked all the guys for coming, asked them to continue going to the gym and said goodbye.

As Marcus got ready to leave the locker room Baker looked at him and said "See you at practice, 90" and went back to the weight room. Marcus had no idea what that meant, but the class was over so he just shrugged and left.

Marcus entered his dorm room and sat behind his desk. He had some work to do on a paper he wanted to submit next week. He opened his laptop and quickly got to work. After a while he needed something to drink so he stood up and walked up to his mini fridge. There he noticed a mug standing on top of it. It was a cup branded with the logo of the Lions, his university's football team.

This was weird, as Marcus did not recall ever getting any merchandise like that. Maybe someone left it here by mistake, Marcus didn't know. But it seemed it was the only clean mug he had, so he quickly poured soda into it and went back to his laptop.

He got into the flow of writing and research pretty quickly. Then, around half an hour later, he was surprised by a notification from some group chat. 10 unread messages from "jungle kingssss 💪". What the hell was that? Marcus was sure he never joined such a conversation. Maybe it was some new kind of scam.

The notifications just kept coming, and at one point instead of deleting it Marcus clicked on it and a chat window appeared.

nah bruh, ya slayed that bitch well dude - steroidss#96

dude concentrate ffs - big dog jake#7

stfu bros where the fuck is tron where ya need him - mike chief#53

hes jerkin of or meal preppin bro, ya know that - steroidss#96

Marcus looked at the chat, even though he had no idea what he was looking at. It seemed he somehow had access to a group chat of some random meatheads. Although the numbers from their nicknames were tickling something at the back of his head, somehow.

if hes jerkin his fat dick ill kick his fat ass, we have state to fuckin beat - big dog jake#7

State? What does it mean they have to beat-- oh yeah, the Lions' next game is against Ohio State.

Wait.

What does that we mean in "we have state to beat"?

How did he know the Lions' schedule?

Marcus felt his head spin a little. Was he sick? He looked at the screen again and suddenly a new message appeared.

am not fuckin jerkin off you piece of shit, got fuckin dumbass school to take care of you idiots - tron's big dick#90

Marcus looked down. His fingers were still touching the keys. HE WROTE THAT!

And that we... It meant the football team! Marcus was reading the football team's group conversation. How the fuck did this happen?!

dunno why i even bother wit any of your stupid fat asses you fuckin shits - tron's big dick#90

Marcus jumped out of the chair. He did it again! His fingers were betraying him. He shut the laptop down and opened the window. Maybe he had to breathe in some fresh air. Was he hallucinating? Was this some infection? What was happening to him?!

He sat on his bed and breathed in, then out. In and out, in and out. In and out. In and out-- was he drooling!? Marcus wiped the drool from his face. It was getting late and he decided it would be beneficial to go to bed early. He turned around to get to his bed only to notice a sweaty hoodie with badly cut-off sleeves. It had the Lions' logo on the front and the number 90 on the back.

This was not happening.

This was just a dream.

Marcus told himself that repeatedly as he got into his PJs. He checked if his laptop was turned off and laid on his bed. He could swear he could feel a faint smell of sweat and... cum? But this didn't stop him from quickly falling asleep.

Marcus was dragged out of sleep by his alarm clock. He slowly got his body into an upright position, then began going through his usual morning routine.

He made himself a protein shake with added creatine.

He ate the oatmeal and eggs he always had for breakfast.

He put on the sweaty shirt from two days ago. It was fine, no one would notice. And he looked hot in it anyways.

He sent a message on the group chat.

you bitches ready to get dominated n pushed into the grass by my fat dick - tron's big dick#90

He got his gear ready and put his duffel bag on his shoulder.

the faggot of the team has spoken everybody - hall/of/glory#38

Marcus walked through the campus. He let out a dumb chuckle as he read the message. Jalen was the best.

not everyone can slay pussy like tron, bitch - tron's big dick#90

He entered the building and walked towards the locker room-- Marcus suddenly stopped and looked around.

Where was he?

He didn't remember waking up.

He didn't remember dressing up.

He didn't remember coming here.

Where was he?

As he tried to understand what the fuck was going on Assistant Coach Baker appeared, walking through the corridor, coming towards him.

"You know why you're here, Marcus?"

"No!" Marcus shouted, surprising himself, but not Baker.

"As I thought. Follow me" the older man waved at him and Marcus instinctively followed his lead. They walked through the football wing of the athletics department until they reached a door. Locker Room L01.

They both entered - Baker first, Marcus second - and Coach pointed to an open locker. Marcus walked up to it and looked inside.

Jersey. Number 90. Schoeder. His name.

Shoulder pads.

Cleats.

Condoms.

Gym gear.

It all reeked of sweat.

So fuckin' musky.

Huhuhuhuh, a proper jock's smell, bro

bro

bruh

WHAT!?

Coach came up to Marcus and looked him in the eyes.

"Do you know why you're here, 90?"

Marcus opened his mouth and tried to answer. But no words came out.

Coach grinned and took a sweaty Under Armour shirt from his locker. He then put the shirt up to his nostrils.

Marcus automatically inhaled and a fog descended over his mind. He took a few more sniffs. So sweaty, so musky. A fuckin' football jock's smell. A stupid grin appeared on his face, drool began flowing from his mouth. Bruh, that was so fuckin' good bro.

"Sick bro..." Tron drawled and put his arms into a double bicep pose. Coach Baker just smiled and took back the shirt before throwing it into the locker.

"Now, 90, put on the gear. I've trained a new defensive end for 5 months. Let's see it it was worth the hassle." He patted Tron on the back before barking at him. "Main field in 2 minutes or you won't be able to walk for a week, 90!"

"Huhuhuhuh" Tron responded with a dumb chuckle. "Yeah, Coach. No worries, dude."

He then quickly got ready and ran out onto the field.

whos ready for a fuckin beatin - tron's big dick#90

[bloompompom]

Always the Quiet Ones

One Shot

Pairing: eren jaeger x fem!reader

Summary: eren mistakenly took his new lab partner for being quiet, only to discover she was so much more than that.

Word Count: ~13.2k i am so sorry i just really like emotional investment ok

Content: explicit sexual content, explicit language, alcohol, rough(-ish?) sex, praise, spanking. reader discretion advised.

It was the honest-to-God truth when Eren said he wasn’t looking to catch feelings for anyone. But then you came along.

You were harmless enough—nothing more than his quiet lab partner in anatomy. Truthfully, he didn’t know what to think of you, other than you had a tendency to keep to yourself. When you did speak up, you kept your words brief, always pertinent to whatever assignment was at hand. But more days than not, you would only address Eren with a cursory nod, just when he’d take his seat beside you. Sometimes you couldn’t even bother to let your eyes flicker up from your textbook to acknowledge him properly.

So, Eren treated you the same, only bringing the bare minimum to your conversations. One-word answers. A specific grunt for yes, a different one for no—each you had to learn. The class dragged on long enough as it was, and there were many times when Eren found himself wishing he had a friendlier lab partner to spend his hours with. Or, at the very least, he wished he had one that could talk to him.

When Eren was exceptionally bored, his mind would wander to thoughts of you, why you were—for lack of better words—like that. Quiet. Standoff-ish. Withdrawn. He had a few ideas in mind, the most probable theory was that you were merely shy. That would make the most sense, wouldn’t it?

Or maybe you were the type of student that took her classes way too seriously. You were in your third year, after all. Maybe you were trying to get into a good graduate program. Or you just really liked anatomy. That’d make sense, too, because Eren would catch you reading with your face far too close to your book, sort of like a nerd. But other times, it seemed like you were just avoiding looking him in the eye.

Then there were the days—usually when Eren was particularly disgruntled—that your quietness irked him to no end. He knew it was irrational, but damn it, why were you like that? And all the time, too. Those were the times when he’d assume you were stuck up. What other reason could there be for you to ignore him so purposefully? He’d feel a little bad for it later, but sometimes he’d think you were just a bitch—simple as that.

Eren’s theories could go on and on, but none of them were true. At least, you didn’t think of yourself as a bitch. No, the reason behind your reserved attitude was much more straightforward than that.

You had a stupid crush on Eren.

A girlish, middle school, twirling-your-hair-around-your-finger crush. The kind of crush that made your stomach feel hollow and full, somehow at the same time, and had you gushing to your roommate even though you knew you’d never do anything about it.

You felt this way since last semester. But of course, Eren didn’t know that. You weren’t even sure he knew of your existence until Professor Hange partnered up the two of you.

Oh, God. Just thinking about that day made you sick with anxiety. When it happened, you swore you were going to die. Like, actually keel over from a heart attack in the middle of class and die.

Maybe there was another universe out there in which you would’ve been thrilled to have this forced time with your crush. Perhaps he’d even give you his number to text him about homework, and in that other universe, you’d be giddy over it.

But that was not the case because, in this universe, anatomy was far from your strongest subject. Very, very far.

When you were paired with Eren, all you could think about was the ways you would inevitably embarrass yourself in front of him, lab after lab. It terrified you, even to the point where you wouldn’t dare to ask him a question out of fear of sounding dumb. You’d go without having him repeat himself when you couldn’t make out what he had said, only managing to scribble down what little you could.

It was despicable. It was despicable, and you knew it, and you still couldn’t help it because it was much easier to pretend like Eren wasn’t there to begin with. Even if it meant you were starting to see your grade slip. You hoped to keep that—and your crush—a secret from him, but one day, he got too nosy for your liking.

Your lab report was handed back to you, face down, just like always. You knew professors did that for everyone, no matter the grade, but you couldn’t help but think it was specifically for you.

You didn’t want to, but you picked up the assignment—albeit, not as carefully as you should have for someone wanting to hide their score—and peeked in the corner. You, unsurprisingly, were met with a lousy grade. Again.

Eren leaned back in his seat, just far enough to steal a glimpse from over your shoulder. He shouldn’t have done it, but he was curious as to why you always hid your papers. He figured you must have been good at the subject. That would fit well with your stuck-up attitude, wouldn't it?

But what he saw surprised him, especially when he thought of his own grade. He wasn’t thinking when he chuckled, “Wow. Are you even writing anything down?”

You startled, clutching the papers against your chest. “Huh?”

You couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. He was, but it didn’t come off as tactfully as he had hoped. Eren often let his thoughts haphazardly turn to words. But you didn’t know about that nasty habit of his. All you were thinking was, shit, because he had finally figured out you had no idea what you were doing.

Eren saw the panic as it ran across your face. Feeling a bit bad about it, he cracked a small smile at you, maybe for the first time. Still, his eyebrows wore a look of pity that he couldn’t hold back.

“The lab,” Eren said, pointing to the paper crumpling in your grasp. Embarrassment washed over you when you realized how dramatic you were being, and you quickly folded the assignment in half to store away in your bag. “We do them together every week. How are you screwing them up that badly?”

You gave him a hard frown and regretted thinking he’d be anything more than curt with you. Even with the pity brows, you weren’t feeling much sympathy from him.

You didn’t say anything back because what kind of question was that? You could only stare past him blankly, imagining how this horrible moment would torment you as you tried to fall asleep that night.

You only looked at him again when you heard his chair drag against the tile. He sighed—a little too loudly to be considered natural—and started to put his things into his book bag.

“Look,” Eren started to say. He glanced up at you once he had zipped his bag shut. It made you flighty. “You don’t have to get stuck with a shitty grade. I bet I can help.”

His voice was flat and you didn’t like his delivery much, but underneath it, there was a glint of kindness. You didn’t know where it was coming from, and frankly, neither did Eren. Maybe he was feeling guilty for being so thoughtless. It was hard not to, what with the way your face—always so stoic he’d think you were made of marble—turned sullen. He didn’t like how it made him feel. Or perhaps it was more like he disliked knowing you could pull such a reaction out of him.

“You still have my number, yeah?” Eren asked you.

You nodded. You did, in fact, still have his phone number. It was in the top corner of the front of your notebook—the very first thing you wrote down. Well, he wrote it down after your first class together, just like you hoped he would. You decided not to save it in your phone; you were too worried about the possibility of drunk texting him.

“Good,” he said. “We can meet up sometime to study together.”

“Okay, yeah. Thanks,” you said, quietly at first, but your confidence grew with each word when you realized that this might not have to go down as one of your top ten most embarrassing memories.

“Sure.” Eren stood up and swung his bag over his shoulder. He smiled at you again. It was real this time—big enough to make your stomach flop. “I can’t let my lab partner flunk out on me.”

So that was where it began. ‘It’ being that you and Eren would study together—occasionally. Nothing more.

By studying, you did not mean the fun stuff. You know, like having him study your anatomy rather than the pictures in his textbook. Oh, well. You could still dream.

It took about two study dates (you preferred to call them that but only to yourself) before didn’t sit on the edge of your seat around him. As lame as it sounded, he made you incredibly nervous—maybe even more nervous than you felt around him in class.

And just like in class, you tried your hardest to keep your eyes on your text. You knew if you looked at him, you’d turn into a pile of goo before you could even look away.

It was shameful to admit, but you’d find yourself stealing a glimpse of him, but only when you were certain he wouldn’t notice. You’d catch him when he was jotting something down because you liked when he was pensive. His dark brows would sit low over his eyes and his bottom lip would jut out ever so slightly. And sometimes, only when he was stumped, he’d run his fingers through his hair while he thought. You liked that, too.

By the time midterms had come and gone, you were seeing Eren more and more often—at least twice a week. Once during lab, then another when you’d meet up to study. Maybe a third time if you had a lab report due. By then, it was impossible to allow your heart to flutter every time you looked at him, otherwise it was bound to give out.

What you wanted to be study dates started to feel more like you were getting tutoring lessons from him. Once you were convinced Eren’s willingness to help was genuine, you didn’t worry as much about sounding dumb. He never seemed bothered when explaining a topic to you, even if you went overboard with the questions. Once you started talking to him, it was hard to get you to stop.

It was nice when you didn’t have to think as much when you were around him. He’d poke fun at you because you always mixed up dorsal and ventral, and you never let him live down spelling ‘brain’ as ‘brian.’ ‘It was one time,’ he’d always complain back to you.

After being snarked at one too many times in the library for goofing off, you tried to get one of those private study rooms. They were only available by reservation and since those were hard to come by, other spots around campus had to do. Sometimes you’d go over to Eren’s place, no further than a five-minute walk from campus.

Eren lived in a house with three other boys. Jean, Connie, and Armin. You found Jean and Connie to be nice enough based on the handful of conversations you had with them. But Eren blamed them for the reason you didn’t study at the house often, accusing them of being too distracting to think straight.

Eren wouldn’t ever tell you this—hell, he couldn’t think of anyone he’d admit this to—but the real reason he didn’t like to study at his place was Armin.

Armin. Eren’s blonde best friend for the last ten years. His roommate that you found to be as cute as a button. Armin knew much more about anatomy than you and Eren, maybe even combined. When he was bored, Armin would join you on the couch and answer your questions that Eren didn’t know.

Eren couldn’t pinpoint why it bothered him so much. He always knew Armin was smarter than him; it was never a problem before. It irked him endlessly, but instead of trying to figure it out, he decided he’d start going to your apartment to study instead. Your roommate, Hitch, was more tolerable to be around, anyway.

It was around finals when you were smacked in the face with the not-so-subtle reminder that you still had a crush on Eren. It happened when your study dates became less of a one-on-one thing and more like a group hangout.

You were friendly with a few of the classmates that sat near you. The girl, Mina, told you that she, Thomas, and Samuel were getting together to prepare for the upcoming final exam. She said you and Eren should join.

You didn’t respond right away, but you felt that sick churning in your stomach when Eren did. ‘She needs all the help she can get,’ Eren replied, giving you a playful pat on the shoulder. He was only joking, of course, but you wished he didn’t sound so eager. You especially wished his hand, innocently placed on your back, didn’t make your face burn.

You got over it quickly. It was hard to stay bitter at people you got along well with, so much so that you’d accomplish more chatting than studying. Luckily for the rest of you, Eren and Thomas knew enough to help you skate by.

But when Eren started to text in the new group chat more than he’d text you, you couldn’t help but feel a sting. It felt like you had let your chances with him slip by because, next semester, you wouldn’t be his lab partner anymore.

You left the final feeling okay at best. You walked out with your head down, not paying attention as Mina caught up behind you. She invited you to come by her place that Friday—said some of your classmates were coming to celebrate the end of Professor Hange’s pop quizzes. You didn’t think much about it when you said yes.

You were at the get-together for maybe an hour, maybe longer, when someone was drunk enough to start a game of Never Have I Ever. You had just thrown away your second beer and felt just adventurous enough to play.

Mina’s living room was a bit small for hosting, but it was nice enough. She had it decorated in string lights for the holiday season, casting a colorful but warm glow over the room.

She had everyone crowd around, sitting where they could whether it was on the couch or on the floor. In the center of that ragged circle was an old beer. According to Samuel, it had been left out for a few hours and chugging it would serve as punishment for putting the last of your fingers down. And while you were tipsy, you certainly hadn’t drunk enough to be down for that.

You didn’t know it then, but you were about to be the loser of this game.

You sat on the floor, legs folded to your chest, with your hand growing tired in the air. Only your index finger was left standing when Mina shouted that it was her turn.

“Never have I ever had a body count higher than five,” she said.

A few people put a finger down, but it didn’t matter. You dropped your forehead to your knees in defeat and let your hand slump to your side.

Everyone was laughing, hounding you to drink the beer, when you asked, “Do I have to?”

You were too busy cracking open that lukewarm can, frowning as you went, to look past the heckling. If you did, you would have seen that Eren went quiet. No one seemed to notice the shift in him, even as a firm crease formed just between his unsettled brows.

He didn’t know what he was feeling, but it reminded him of how he felt seeing you laugh with Armin. It made him not want to look at you because the sight made something burn uncomfortably deep in his stomach.

It wasn’t that your body count offended him. After all, he had to put a finger down for the same reason. Though he would say he was surprised—it was always the quiet ones, wasn’t it? He didn’t know what was wrong with him or why he couldn’t kick the feeling—whatever it was.

Eren studied you from across the room. Your nose crinkled, giggles spilling from you as you tried, for the second time, to finish the rest of the beer. He’d seen you laugh—many times, actually—but its chime never ceased to captivate him, absorbing every last bit of his attention.

His thoughts wandered further, wondering if you’d crinkle your nose for him just the same if he made you come.

Right then, Eren saw you, underneath him. Your brows would pinch together cutely as your teeth dipped into your swollen bottom lip. He could feel your thighs under his hands, soft and giving under his palms as he pulled down your—

It was so wrong of him. Wrong to be in a room full of people and pretend as if you were the only two people there—the only two people to exist.

The swarming in his gut burned hotter, and he tried to dull it with another sip of his drink.

He started doubting himself, casting a downward spiral—what was so wrong with him that you weren’t interested?

Perhaps the sick feeling was more than just insecurity; he was also caught off guard by how wildly possessive he felt over you. So quickly, too, like a turn of the tides.

No, Eren knew what the feeling was; he just wasn’t ready to name it. He was sick with jealousy. Jealous of people that he didn’t even know, and for no other reason than they had the chance to be with you in all the ways he craved.

Eren didn’t stay at the party long after that. You left Mina’s just before midnight and didn’t think of much of that night, or Eren, for the rest of the weekend. And on Monday, you checked your final grade for anatomy. By some miracle, you passed the class.

* * *

It was well into winter break when you saw Eren again. You bumped into him at a party. There was about a week left until classes started again, and everyone was trickling back to campus to celebrate the new year.

You didn’t expect to see him again this soon, but then again, you weren’t so sure you’d ever see him again. Anatomy was the only glue that held you together. You wished you could say you had more confidence in the friendship—in him—but he hadn’t talked to you since Mina’s party. You thought he would at least have been curious to see how you did in the class.

It was probably better off this way, considering you nearly failed your lab because of him. Well, you technically passed because of him too, but you wouldn’t have worried about it in the first place if he wasn’t your lab partner.

All of that for a silly crush.

You stumbled into Eren toward the end of the night—you know, when parties start to feel more like the Twilight Zone. The limbo that lived between night and day. A few lights were on now, and whoever was in charge of the music had clearly given up long ago. It was all a not-so-subtle hint to get out.

Believe it, you wanted nothing more than to go home. You would have been out of there thirty minutes ago if it weren’t for Hitch. Your loveable, yet self-admittedly ditzy, roommate had disappeared from thin air.

By the time you thought to search for her, you had already drunk well past your limit. You were left dizzy, starving, and having poked your head in every room and around every corner. All you managed to find was a lot of dry humping.

The last time you saw her, she was one of those dry humpers. She was all over some guy—you guessed him to be the reason she even wanted to come to this party. Anyway, you were sure you’d catch his name tomorrow morning.

You were too distracted and still bubbly from all the leftover New Year’s champagne to see what was in front of you—even if he was rather tall, broad, and hard to miss. You didn’t even look twice as you walked past him, ready to declare Hitch as MIA. Your attention was only grabbed once you heard your name called out, and you were disappointed the voice was too deep to belong to Hitch.

You didn’t realize how drunk you were until you spun around and the floor tilted beneath you. It took you a step or two to straighten back out. When you did, your vision settled onto Eren.

He gave you a lop-sided smile, serving as nothing more than a hesitant greeting. He only made it more awkward by throwing in a cheeky, “Long time, no see.”

You returned the favor by offering a chuckle that was only half-forced; the other half was genuine simply because it was easy to impress anyone after a night spent drinking.

And since you had spent the night drinking, you felt all weird when you looked at Eren. It wasn’t that you were upset at him—maybe disappointed, but it wasn’t exactly with him. Eren never owed you his kindness, and going out of his way to help you study was more than you could have asked.

But now that he was here, getting shoved even closer to you with every passerby, you didn’t know what to think other than you should have skipped out on that last drink. You hoped you’d have yourself more put together the next time you saw Eren so you wouldn’t get tangled up in him again. You weren’t confident you’d be able to unravel yourself for a second time.

Eren took a willing pace forward and recognized the distant haze of booze over your irises. He realized you weren’t going to say anything, so he asked, “Were you looking for someone?”

“Hitch.” There was a pause, and you weren’t sure if he remembered that he knew her. “My roommate.”

“I know.”

“We were supposed to go get food, but I think she took a guy home,” you told him, for no reason in particular. “Last time this happened, I walked in on them doing it on the counter.”

Eren laughed, a bit harder once your face winced at the memory. “You should really consider finding a new roommate.”

“And in the meantime?”

“You come back to my place,” he said, so casually that you weren’t sure you heard him right. The look on your face must have given it away because he shrugged. “What’s the big deal? You’ve slept on my couch before.”

He was right. You had fallen asleep on his couch while studying once. He teased you about it—said you got drool everywhere.

“That’s different. That was an accident,” you sheepishly said.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have fallen asleep in the first place,” he pestered.

“Maybe you shouldn’t make your flashcards so boring!”

Eren liked his simple flashcards; he actually preferred them. Not everyone needed to spend more time highlighting flashcards than actually studying them.

He tilted his head and gave you a look, one that said, stop being so stubborn for once. “Fine, then how about you tell me how to make them look nicer on the way to my place? I was just about to leave anyway.”

He took a daring step backward, and then another, until he turned on one of his feet and headed toward the front door. He knew you’d follow him, and thoughtlessly, you did. You were just behind him as you meandered through the house and out the door.

You told him, “You don’t really need them now, do you? The class is over.”

“I just thought you might need ‘em.” Eren was bounding down the porch steps when he tossed a glance over his shoulder, just to catch the look on your face when he said, “Figured you’d have to retake the class.”

You wished you had shoved him down the steps, but he was already across the lawn, you trailing him. He walked with longer strides than you and didn’t worry about slowing down.

“Thanks for that,” you replied begrudgingly.

“Anytime.”

It didn’t take long before the two of you were close to campus. You walked along the main drag, lined with all sorts of businesses that thrived in the college town nightlife. It made it difficult to tell the time, with every bar still playing music loud enough to thrum in your chest, the beat perfectly in tempo with each of your steps—those of which were still fighting to keep up with Eren.

He didn’t even bother to look back at you when he asked, “Did you still want to get food?”

“Hm?” You couldn’t hear him over your shuffling against the sidewalk. Your feet had already started hurting hours ago, and this certainly wasn’t making it better. You really shouldn’t have worn the new shoes you were gifted over the holidays without breaking them in.

“You never listen, do you?” Eren didn’t say it with annoyance but with an unsurprised laugh. “I’m surprised you’ve made it this far.”

“No, you just mumble a lot,” you defended. “And for your information, I am not retaking anatomy. I passed with a C.”

“C+ or C-?”

“Plus,” you said with inflated and drunken confidence.

“I’ll alert the media,” he replied. You stuck your tongue out at him even though he wouldn’t see it. “Now tell me, did you still want to get food or not?”

“I didn’t think it was still an option.”

“‘Course it is.” He finally glanced over his shoulder to look at you, nearly skipping to keep up with him now, just in time to catch you stumbling over a crack in the sidewalk. “I think you could use something to eat anyway.”

When you were about to round the corner onto his street, Eren stopped short just a few doors down. A 24-hour breakfast spot. You weren’t expecting to sit down, more so thinking you’d flag down a street vendor. But you had to admit, breakfast sounded wonderful.

Eren took the booth in the back of the diner after you were instructed to seat yourselves, not that there were many options. The place was small and smelt of pancake batter and stale coffee—just as any diner should at this hour. And stale or not, you knew you had to drink it to start sobering up.

The waiter flipped your ceramic mug over and filled it to the brim. If it were nine in the morning, maybe steam would pour out, like it did in the movies. But you didn’t want to know how long this coffee had sat out.

You took it with cream, then dumped some sugar in, too. You reached for a second packet. You caught Eren staring as you tore it open, his hands folded around his mug.

“What is it?” you questioned.

“Want any coffee with your sugar?”

“Ha-ha.” You added the sugar, now out of spite, and mixed it in. When you took your first sip, it tasted as bitter as you had imagined.

Now that you were off your feet, they were nagging for you to kick off your shoes. You wiggled them around at first, just enough for your heels to slip from the backs. When you felt a sting, you couldn’t bear to keep them on another second—the diner was empty anyway. Once they were off, your feet throbbed as if they had their own pulse.

The waiter took your order and then disappeared again, only making rounds to offer a warm-up here or there, one of which you accepted. Eren didn’t say anything when you added another packet of sugar this time. You kept your head down and fiddled with the loose scraps of paper. You didn’t even remember what thought you were having when his voice eventually snapped you from it.

“You know—” he started to say. You peered up from the wad of paper you had been rolling between your thumb and index finger. He sat back into the booth and looked out the window with a quiet chuckle. “I thought you hated me when we first met.”

You matched his laugh, yours more disbelieving. “Hated you? I don’t think I knew you enough to hate you.”

“You were always so quiet.”

“Being quiet doesn’t mean you hate someone.”

His eyes flickered from the window to you. “Then what does it mean?”

It was easier to talk to him when he wasn’t looking at you. You felt smothered by his gaze and started to twirl your spoon around your mug. It banging against the ceramic was the only sound between you and Eren because you still didn’t know how to answer him.

“I don’t know,” you said, thinking you would have come up with a more profound answer by now. “It just means you’re quiet, I guess.”

Eren was interrupted by your short stack of pancakes, sliding right between you and decorated with a gooey scoop of butter. He didn’t order anything other than coffee, even after you said you’d pay. And once the waiter dropped off the syrup and scurried off again, Eren was quick to jump back into the conversation, much to your dismay.

“But you’re not quiet, and you’re not shy either,” he said, like he had caught you in a lie. You urged him to continue with a raised brow. “Don’t give me that. I know that’s not you. I saw you dancing tonight.”

Your hand stalled in mid-reach for the syrup. “You watched me dance?”

He played it off when he said, “Well, yeah. My so-called quiet lab partner actually knows how to dance? It just surprised me, that’s all.”

“If you saw me earlier, why didn’t you say ‘hi?’”

Strike that—Eren almost played it off. He couldn’t mask his eyes flitting around, or how long it took him to excuse it away with, “Oh, I think someone grabbed me for a game of beer pong or something. I don’t remember.”

That never happened. Eren knew it, and it looked like you knew it, too. The truth was that Eren didn’t go up and talk to you because he had spent the last two weeks convincing himself he wasn’t into you.

He even went as far as reinstalling his dating apps, all of which he had long sworn off. He assumed if he just went on a date—maybe even brought a girl home—then he wouldn’t think about you anymore. But by the time dinner was over, Eren could hardly remember a single thing she said. He was too busy comparing her to you, finding himself disappointed every time she laughed because it didn’t sound like yours.

Then he saw you tonight. Of course, he had to see you tonight. And of all the things you could have been doing, you were dancing. He favored you like that—when you were carefree. You were nothing like the girl he first met in lab.

And when Eren heard your laugh—more remarkable than all the others, like he had gone deaf to anything but you—he couldn’t even remember why he tried to stay away from you.

But here you were, seated just across the booth from him, cheeks stuffed with pancakes, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do next. He had spent the entire walk wrangling with himself, scared that if he had you, even in the most innocent of ways, he wouldn’t be able to get enough. He knew he shouldn’t be thinking like this because—fuck, what if you didn’t want him back?

Eren only lied about beer pong because he couldn’t outrightly admit he needed another drink before approaching you. He was so close to getting away with it, too. If you had just glanced down at your plate a second earlier, or if he was faster about sipping his coffee to hide his face, you wouldn’t have caught the flushed bridge of his nose; so subtle but just telling enough that you had to bite your inner lip to prevent a smile.

You poked around your pancakes. You held your fork to your face, inspecting the bite as syrup dripped onto the plate. You were rather flippant about it when you finally told Eren, “It’s because I had a crush on you.”

“Huh?”

You plopped the pancake into your mouth, chewing so thoughtfully that it nearly killed Eren. When you swallowed, you said, “I had a crush on you. That’s why I was so quiet.”

He didn’t say anything back, even with you staring him square in the face. He was obviously flustered. You chuckled lightly, just through your nose, and said, “That, and you always got better grades than me. I didn’t want you to think I was dumb.”

Eren didn’t even hear the second half of what you said; he was too fixed on the first. “Do you still?”

You knew what he was asking, but you played dumb to it. “Still what?”

“Have a crush on me.”

You thought on it while you went for another bite, your eyes on him like he had the answer already. He did. You both did. But you let the question hang heavy between you, just for another second. You weren’t quite ready to lay your cards on the table yet.

You tossed him a flick of a smile when you answered, “To be determined.”

He nodded his head once, lips folded together in a similar sort of smile. “Got it.”

You were satisfied by that, but he wasn’t. He watched you while you took another sip of coffee, then immediately reached for another pack of sugar. Before you could pour it in, he shielded the mug with his hand. “But you better figure out an answer before all that sugar kills you.”

You swatted him away. “Yeah, it’ll definitely be the sugar that kills me tonight and not the keg stand I did.”

“You did a keg stand?”

You laughed at how his jaw nearly hit the table. “Only because Hitch talked me into it.”

Eren laughed with you despite the shake of his head. “See, what did I say? You surprise me.”

You had only taken a few hobbles out of the diner and onto the sidewalk before your heels started acting up again. You sucked your teeth at the pain, only made worse by another step. You had noted your fresh blisters when you first slid your shoes back on, but you hoped they wouldn’t be a hassle since the walk to Eren’s was short. Now, all you wanted was to be drunk enough to not feel them.

“Everything okay back there?” Eren asked.

You were behind him again. Not because he was speeding but because your toes were more tightly packed together than a can of sardines.

“Yeah,” you said. Eren thought it sounded unconvincing, and his hunch was only confirmed when he caught you stumble from the corner of his eye. “It’s my shoes. I’m sorry.”

Eren stopped walking and turned to you. “Why are you apologizing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Just take ‘em off.”

“I’m not just going to walk barefoot.”

“Didn’t say you had to.” You didn’t seem to understand what he was implying, even less when he gave you his back again, bending lightly at the knee.

He couldn’t be serious right now.

“My house is just a few more blocks away. I’ll carry you.”

Okay. He was actually serious. He was about to give you a piggyback ride.

Your laugh wasn’t intentional but when Eren heard it, he looked playfully offended.

“What? You think I can’t carry you?” He straightened out, shoved his hands into his pockets, and started to walk again. “Fine then. Suit yourself.”

He was about to start walking again when you called, “Wait!”

You wanted to blame it on your feet or that you didn’t want to slow him down, but you had to be honest with yourself—were you really going to pass up this opportunity?

He flashed you a smile over his shoulder. “That’s what I thought.”

You ignored his boasting and began slipping off your shoes. He took them from you in one hand, then let you hop onto his back. His body didn’t give like you’d expect, and his arms were sturdy as they looped around your thighs.

You hadn’t had a piggyback ride since you were probably eleven years old, but you didn’t remember it feeling like this. Eren’s neck felt warm against your arms even in the crisp night air, and his hands were even hotter, like they could sear into the backs of your thighs.

He jostled you forward, higher onto his back. “Hold on tighter or else you’re gonna fall off.”

You hugged him, your chest pressing into his back. You had never been this close to him before. His hair, only loosely tied back now, brushed against your face. His cologne was faint—warm like amber, but there was something refreshing about it that tickled your nose. You drew closer to him, inhaling the scent.

Eren worried that you felt the roll of his throat when your breath hit the nape of his neck. It was embarrassing that something as pure as a piggyback ride could have his heart racing. Suddenly, he was back in junior high and it was his first time holding a girl’s hand all over again.

If this was all he’d have of you tonight, he'd be happy with just that, even if it ended with waking up with a sore back. He wanted to earn your crush because he wasn’t so sure it had ever gone away.

Eren set you down on his porch and fished for his keys in his back pocket. Once inside, the house is too dark to make out anything. You stilled in the entryway, entirely unaware of your surroundings, but listened as Eren walked ahead.

Not even a second later, Eren flipped on a light from the other room. It was bright; enough to hurt your eyes at first, but you could at least see the floor now.

Eren stood in the doorway to the kitchen. He wore a look of trepidation, staring at you like you were a scared little puppy.

He asked, “Can I get you some water?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

He waved his hand toward the sofa before he disappeared around the corner. “Make yourself at home.”

You took a seat to ease the throbbing in your feet and sat with your arms folded across your chest. Now that you had a moment to yourself, you could suck in a deep breath. You forced it out on a lengthy and trembling exhale.

It wasn’t anxiety that you were feeling—it was more like anticipation. You weren’t naive; you knew how this would play out, and it had you clenching your thighs together impatiently.

You didn’t notice how rigid your arms were until you uncrossed them when Eren handed you a bottle of water.

He collapsed beside you on the other side of the couch, and it squeaked under his weight. He took a few swigs from his water bottle and then glanced at you.

“I imagine you wouldn’t want to sleep on the couch in a house full of guys,” he said. He laid his head back onto the cushion, like he planned to be there for a while. “If you want, take my room. I can sleep out here.”

You didn’t miss a beat when you shook your head. The thought alone had you unwittingly flustered. You hadn’t ever seen his bedroom before. “I’m not going to take your bed. You didn’t even need to go through the trouble of letting me stay the night.”

“Out of all the favors I’ve done,” Eren started to say. “You staying the night is the least of my troubles.”

You smiled at him. You smiled at him, and you had no clue how it pulled at Eren’s heart. A smile so shy, no greater than just a curl of the corner of your mouth, yet he wanted nothing more than to feel its shape underneath his lips and memorize the taste.

“Okay,” you finally said. “But I’m sleeping on the couch.” You could have stopped talking there, and you probably should have, but his unreadable gaze had you rambling, “But, really, if it’s too much—if you want me to go, I can call a—”

“I don’t want you to go.”

You stammered even though you didn’t know what you’d say next. The room felt suffocating, the air thick enough to make your throat go as dry as chalk. Something had changed. You didn’t know if it was the glint in his eye, just barely caught in the light, or that look on his face that made you shudder at the base of your spine.

Maybe it was more accurate to say everything had changed.

You didn’t have much of your voice back when you confessed, “I don’t want to go either.”

It was barely a whisper. So delicate and saccharine that Eren wasn’t sure you even intended to speak. Your eyes were big and genuine, like you had revealed your secret to him without saying much at all. He couldn’t look away despite barely clinging to what little composure you hadn’t stolen from him yet.

You liked seeing him like that—seeing such an unguarded look on a face that was normally hardened. Soft and electric, all at once. You never thought he’d look at you in such a way, and you didn’t want it to end.

Now or never.

“Eren?”

His voice was just as taken as yours. “Yeah?”

Eren knew you as anything but bold, but right then, you were. You stretched your leg across the couch. Slowly. Your foot, then your calf next—until you had your thigh dragged over his lap. You kept your eyes on him the whole time. The light from the kitchen cast shadows along the angles of his jaw, showing you how it tensed.

You purred the words when you asked, “Why are you so nice to me?”

You were feeling courageous now, but you knew you’d come to regret it the next time you saw Eren on campus. You could see him now—the smug smile he’d give you from across the hall, or on the far side of the green, or wherever you’d inevitably see him again. You would turn into a puddle right on the spot.

But that didn’t matter; you heard him stifle the groan at the back of his throat, and you wanted to hear it again. So for now, you’d let yourself play the role for the night, and you’d play it well.

“Am I?” Eren asked, his voice acquiring a new rasp. You nodded. “How so?”

“You know,” you said. You retracted your leg from him to sit on your knees, bumping them against his thigh. “You walk me home when I’m drunk. Carry me when my feet hurt. You let me spend the night and offer me your bed.” You leaned forward and rested your hand on his thigh, like you might kiss him, but you giggled instead. “Not to mention, you tutored me in anatomy for an entire semester and didn’t complain once.”

“I think I might’ve complained once,” he said with a smile in his voice. His hand cupped your cheek and you tried not to melt into him. “But I can’t help myself.” His thumb traced over your skin. “You’re very cute when you’re drunk and when you pass a quiz… and when you hold your book too close to your face when you read.”

“I don’t do that.”

“Yes, you do.”

You didn’t argue with him further because you were so close that your noses were almost brushing. He was still holding your face when his thumb swiped along your bottom lip. You wetted them, wanting a taste. His eyes flickered down to your tongue, then to your eyes again. Neither of you wanted to be the first to crumble the wall, the one you had spent a semester building together. One so tall that there were times you couldn’t see over it.

He gently caressed your face as you pressed your forehead to his. You felt his breath on your lips when you told him, “I still have a crush on you.”

“Yeah, I know.” Eren wasn’t cocky about it but soft. He sounded relieved.

Your hand left his thigh and splayed over his stomach. His muscles twitched under your touch. He couldn’t help but wonder if you knew what you were doing to him. You had to.

“So,” you said, long and drawn-out. Your fingers trickled lower until you palmed over the front of his jeans. He was hard. Much harder than you’d expect from harmless flirting. “Are you going to do something about it?”

He nearly gulped. “Fuck—C’mere.”

With the hand he had kept on your face, he pulled you to him. What you thought would be a crash of lips was much more affectionate. Instead of kissing as if you could make up for lost time, he kissed you slowly, his lips plush as they moved with yours. He was better at this than you had expected, taking his time with no destination in mind.

You parted your lips slightly, his tongue sliding in, hot and licking your own. He felt victorious when you gifted him with a moan, one he could swallow up before it met the air.

“Eren,” you whispered against his mouth. It came out more like a gasp. His hand curled around the back of your neck and tilted your head to the side, giving him room to explore your neck. He kissed the hollow below your ear, and when you gasped again, he grazed his teeth lower.

“Eren,” you reapeated, more breathily than the last but louder.

“Hm?”

“That’s why you didn’t want me to leave, right?” you asked, eyes fluttering shut as you felt him start to leave a bruise. You massaged over his length a few times before working on the button of his jeans. “Because you can’t help yourself?”

He didn’t answer before you had undone his zipper and snuck your hand inside his boxers. You wrapped your fingers around his cock, your grasp light and teasing as you slipped around him, base to tip.

“Yes,” Eren groaned—so wonderful to your ears. He would have tried to hold it back, but he was already too busy fighting the urge to rut into your hand.

He pinned you to the couch when he couldn’t take it any longer. Your back hit the cushion with another squeak from the springs, louder and more obnoxious than the one before it.

When Eren kissed you again, he didn’t want to take his time anymore. Because you were right, he couldn’t help himself. Not around you, at least. Not after you just told him you wanted him in all the ways he wanted you.

The couch was suddenly too cramped for your liking, limbs slipping and spilling until you were about to fall to the floor.

Your kiss broke when your head dangled off the couch. You each took a moment to breathe—or at least try your best to.

“We should probably go to my room,” Eren said.

“Yeah. We should.”

Eren took the back of your head into his hand and placed you back on the couch. You awkwardly fumbled around one another until you were climbing up the stairs in a hurry, clumsily tripping over your feet because you couldn’t imagine keeping your hands off each other. You trailed just behind him, your hand in his, as he led you to his bedroom.

But once you were in his room, Eren’s touch wasn’t as innocent as only a handhold. His hands were reckless—pawing over your body and gripping at your ass—yet so firm and sure that it had you moaning. Each tiny sound encouraged him further until he shoved you against the door, slamming it shut until it shuddered in its frame.

His forearms rested on either side of your head. He caged you in place, but you would have stayed right there and made out with him forever. His mouth was commanding but gentle enough that he could take you wherever he pleased.

Eren made you so damn needy. You took his loose, unzipped jeans between your fingers and tugged him close until you felt his cock pressed against you, your leg hooking around his waist. You ground against him helplessly because if you didn’t, you thought you might actually explode.

And, God, Eren wanted to give you what you wanted—everything that he had. There was a part of him that wanted to make you wait for it, maybe even beg for it, but he was only human.

His arms dropped to his side and he took a step back from you. Then, all he said was, “Bed.”

He sounded shallow when he said it, all breathless like his lungs were running on empty. You figured he intended it to be more demanding, but you liked this version better—when he was needy for you.

Your first step faltered, like you were high off him or something. You were about to lay in his bed when you heard him say, “Take your clothes off for me, too.”

Now that was demanding, his voice so gruff that it was still ringing between your ears.

Eren turned on the lamp on his bedside table. It was dim, casting an almost orange glow that was nothing more than a splash of watercolor paint over the room. Eren wanted to watch you undress, and he needed just enough light to show you off.

You were very aware of his gaze as you took your shirt between your fingers. It slipped and bunched over your skin as you peeled it up the length of your body. You were considerate of every move. How your fingers danced over your navel. How slowly and tightly you tugged the slinky fabric over your chest, revealing your bra with a bounce of your tits. It was so shamefully sexy. Eren couldn’t get enough.

He knew he told you to undress for him, but he couldn’t hold out any longer. You held your breath when you felt him behind you as you began to take off your jeans. His hands closed over yours, telling you, let me do it.

Eren’s hands curved over your hip bones, then met at the button of your jeans. He undid it, along with the zipper, expertly. All the while, he was kissing down the crook of your neck, the spot he had just learned you liked, especially when he sucked on it.

He did it without your asking, yanking a sharp exhale from you. He helped you shimmy out of the fitted denim, still leaving hot and open-mouthed kisses on your throat. When you felt your jeans pool around your ankles, you kicked them aside.

You turned to face him before sinking back into the bed. You laid down with the stretch of your back. It felt so good to sprawl along the billowy comforter, to finally be off your feet. If it weren’t for Eren and that ravening way he was eyeing you, you could have lulled off right then. You nestled around, relaxing your muscles that ached from the day.

It pulled a sound from you. A sweet, little moan that you didn’t even realize you had let slip. One so delicious that Eren felt his cock twitch before he could even take off your underwear. He couldn’t keep his gaze steady because he didn’t know where to look—he didn’t even know where to start. The sight of you, ready and beneath him, had him overwhelmed.

His fingertips, though lightly calloused, felt exceedingly gentle as he trailed them over your bare skin. So softly that if you shut your eyes, you wouldn’t have known he was there. He started just below the underwire of your bra, then down the length of your stomach. He tickled at your hip, and you squirmed cutely. He chuckled inaudibly through his nose, his head feeling a bit spacey as you stirred below him.

Eren’s hand stopped short of dipping beneath your underwear. He blinked a few times, hard, like it would clear some of the fogginess. He looked at you quizzically, as if he had reason to be suspicious.

He only asked, “How are you?”

You felt your brows knit together, mirroring his suspicion. “I’m good. Um, how are you?”

His face scrunched up, like he was about to say, ‘not good,’ and it made you nervous. You sat up on your elbows, interested, waiting for him. He ran his fingers through his hair, like he always did when he was trying to concentrate.

“We’re a little past exchanging pleasantries now, don’t you think?” you joked, mainly because you didn’t know what else to say right then.

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Eren brought his hand to his forehead as if he could capture his thoughts before they slipped away. “Like, I mean—” Coherency was far out of his reach, what with how you had sweetly angled your head in thought, staring up at him through heavy lashes. Had they always been that long?

Eren shook his head like it was an Etch A Sketch before he finally got out, “Are you still drunk?”

You were relieved that something hadn’t gone wrong. You thought about your answer, taking inventory of every feeling in your body, all of which only wanted him.

“Not really,” you said with a slight shrug. “Those pancakes were a real lifesaver.”

You weren’t sure why, but he still looked hesitant. You took his hand and gave it a squeeze, smiling up at him. “I want this. Like really, really want this.”

Eren let out a short laugh that softened you up even more. When his fingers started to move again, dancing along your hot skin, he pulled lightly at the band of your underwear. He was toying with it, his once-boyish expression turning more brazen when he asked, “Then is it okay if I touch you here?”

“Yes,” you whispered, your eyes fixed on him—on his fingers—until they slipped beneath the band, though you were hoping he’d take them off.

That single, breathy word was all Eren needed before he crawled over you, his free hand planted against the mattress beside your head. You were still propped up on your elbows, close enough to Eren that with just the tilt of your head, you were kissing him again.

When Eren’s fingers ventured even lower, gliding between you teasingly, he groaned—almost whimpered—into your mouth.

“You’re so wet,” he said, still playing with you. He’d circle your clit, just long enough to have your jaw go slack, then remove the pressure and tease your entrance. “All for me?”

“Mhm,” you murmured, feeling his fingers return to your clit. He rubbed languidly, having you twitch beneath him. When you lifted your hips, searching for more, his circles became tighter and quicker. Your elbows wobbled until you finally let them fall, tossing your head back against the mattress.

Your mind was consumed with him—Eren, Eren, Eren. Consumed with how good he was making you feel and every place you wanted him.

And when you cried out, “Ah—all for you,” you certainly weren’t thinking about how desperate you sounded for a guy who was nothing more than your lab partner.

That did it for him. Whether it was how pathetic you sounded or the neediness that was written all over your face, something in Eren snapped. In one impulsive motion, Eren stood up straight, hooked his fingers around your underwear, and pulled them down your legs with ease. Once they were tossed to the side, lost with your other garments, his hand was back between your legs.

He pushed his middle finger inside you at first, your back arching at that alone. He curled it just the right way that had your breath already hitching in your throat.

You’d think he’d be arrogant about it—how he already has you bending to his will—but he was entirely lost in you, every bit of you. Your tiny gasps slipped past your swollen lips. Your bra and the way its straps had started to fall down your shoulder, exposing the delicate skin. How pretty you looked taking his finger.

Eren quickened his pace and had you shuddering, but as that familiar feeling started to burn low in your stomach, it was stolen from you just as fast.

You let out a frustrated sob and darted your head to see why he had rudely edged you like that.

He yanked his shirt over his head and threw it aside. Yet another article of clothing to search through later. “I wanna go down on you.”

Your face suddenly felt hot. You weren’t sure if it was from the sight of his deceivingly-toned stomach or how his voice didn’t waver as he spoke so freely to you. But before you could decide what it was, Eren was stripping from his jeans. And if you were still unsure as to why you had clammed up, the tent in his boxers—large and threatening to undo you—was most certainly it.

You were trying your best to look at his face when you asked, “Don’t you think we should be fast? All of your roommates are here.”

Eren didn’t want to be fast, not in the slightest. He wanted to have you, all to himself, for as long as you’d allow him. But it was easy for him to say that now; his willpower was beginning to wane the longer he looked at you.

“They’re sleeping. Don’t worry about them.” Eren’s thumb was making small circles against your inner thigh. It was making it difficult to say no to him, at least until he cracked a small smile. “I thought you said you were quiet.”

The look on your face told Eren you were about to quip something back at him. Just before you could, he leaned over you again. He held himself up with his forearms this time, much closer than before, encasing you in his warmth.

His mouth was even warmer when it met your neck. You felt his lips—his tongue—as he ran along the silky skin he wanted to suck.

Eren nibbled at your ear, and you let out an airy giggle that traveled straight to his cock. When he was at your collarbone, your hips wantonly rutted against him. Then, once he tugged down the cups of your bra, his hot breath fanning over your perked nipples, you rewarded him with a moan—even louder once he took one into his mouth.

You were so, so sensitive. All for him. Eren wanted to discover every nook on your body that he could kiss and every sound that you’d make along with it. He wanted to learn every last part of you, especially the parts that would have you wrecked.

His kisses continued down your stomach, with him lowering to his knees on the ground. He took your legs, one in each hand, and tugged you until his shoulders were snug between your thighs, your bottom half hanging off the side of the bed.

Eren palmed over the tops of your thighs, the flesh molding to his hands. He left kisses there, too. His lips were open and warm and so close to where you wanted them the most. Just the thought had goosebumps scattering across your skin.

“Let me taste you.” His voice was a quiet plead. He placed another kiss on your thigh, then another, with his eyes fluttering shut like he was savoring you. “Please.”

Your voice was lost somewhere in your throat, so you bobbed your head, perhaps a bit too eagerly. Eren gleamed up at you like he wanted to smirk, but he was smart enough to not risk his opportunity to have you.

At first, you only felt his breath on you, and it quelled the chill bedroom air. Next, it was the tip of his tongue. It ran through you, painfully slow but still enough for your voice to return in nothing more than airless gasps.

“Spread your legs wider for me.” You did as you were told. He must have been pleased by it because you swore you felt him grin as he praised, “Good girl.”

You made an embarrassing sound at that—one that you didn’t expect and Eren surely didn’t either. But it excited him, knowing that you were weak to his words, to his voice, to him.

With you, now open and on display for him, Eren couldn’t resist burying into you, even if he had fully intended on teasing you for longer. His tongue flicked at your clit, sending pulses of electricity shooting up your spine.

You shifted your hips, raising them to meet him. His tongue was steady, never slowing once he learned the rhythm you liked—the one that had you lacing your fingers through his hair and undoing his bun.

And when you angled your hips just a little more, guiding his tongue to just the right spot, it was like you saw sparks behind your eyelids.

“Eren—ah—right there,” you said on a frantic exhale.

He had the flat of his tongue against your clit, letting his tongue lap at you in tandem with the rocking of your hips. But when your thighs began to quiver and shake, he hooked his arms around them, locking you in place for him.

He continued having you feverishly, filling the bedroom with a mix of your wispy cries and his own groans. It was like he was just as desperate for you to come as you were, worshipping every squeak and squirm he could get from you.

“I—I’m—”

Eren looked up to read your face. You looked breathless, your mouth only slightly opened in a vain attempt to pull in tattered breaths. He released his hold on your legs and they weakly fell on his shoulders.

He replaced his tongue with his thumb, not breaking his pace, and asked, “Do you want more?”

“Y—yes.”

“You want my fingers?” His thumb left your clit and you mourned the loss, only for him to trace a finger down your entrance, barely dipping inside of you.

“Oh, fuck,” you writhed. “Yes.”

Eren let his middle finger slip through you again before pushing it inside. He curled it, sliding in and out as he rushed to return his mouth to your clit. He gave you a few kitten licks before picking up right where he left off.

You were getting close—so close—and if time could allow for it, you would have stayed like that forever, just shy of becoming entirely undone.

Admittedly, there were many times when you imagined Eren having his way with you—imagined what it’d feel like for him to finger and fuck you. But never did you think he’d beg to have you this way. You decided to risk a glance at him to know what he looked like between your thighs. When you propped yourself back onto your elbows, that was when you knew you were done for.

Eren’s face was flushed, a blossomy pink spanning his nose and cheeks. You were so wet, he was so wet—soaked, actually, in a lewd mix of both his saliva and your slick. His finger pumped in and out of you, working with his licks at your clit to have you ruined for him.

His green eyes, now shameless and darkened like you hadn’t seen them before, found yours and a gravelly moan escaped him. He felt a bit pathetic for it, but what had him feeling even more pathetic was how he couldn’t stop his free hand from working his boxers down his thighs. He took hold of himself in desperate need of something—anything—because you were possibly the hottest thing he had ever seen. He only knew you would look even better once he had you coming on his tongue.

You whimpered when you saw him fisting his cock, nice and fast. He was so hard for you, and you weren’t shy about staring. You couldn’t even pretend to be. You wanted to see how he liked it, watching him jerk himself with only quick breaks to give extra attention to his tip. You thought about how he’d fuck you, wondering how he’d like it then, and it sent you over the edge.

Your moans came out choppy and strained until your voice cut out entirely, your breath getting caught up in your throat. You sobbed silently, carelessly rolling your hips over Eren's tongue, helping his finger dip against that spot again. You wanted to drag the feeling out as long as you could. By the end of it, you were trembling, panting, and couldn’t hold your eyes open.

Eren had to stop pumping himself or he would have come from that alone. He sat back on his knees, one of his hands palming over your thigh while the other rubbed at your clit, his touch nothing more than a feather and just to ease you back down. You looked like you needed it—you were absolutely wrecked, with your legs limply pulled apart for him, just like he hoped for.

God, he annoyed himself for pretending that he never wanted you because you—you were a dream.

The only thing that could wake him from that dream was your voice.

“Eren?”

He loved when you said his name.

You sat up to look at him. It was harder this time because it felt as if a ton of bricks sat on your chest as you struggled to find your breath. Eren was quite the opposite, looking entirely unbothered. He had his cheek resting against your thigh, his eyes fixed on his finger as he lazily pushed it back inside you. You jolted lightly at the intrusion. You were still coming down, and he could tell by the way your muscles spasmed around his finger.

He was mesmerized by the feeling—you sucking him in for more—and didn’t even look up at you when he replied, “Hm?”

You would have normally found it embarrassing, how he started at you so unabashedly, but you were already so sensitive from your orgasm that the winding feeling in your stomach had already returned. It begged to snap again.

“I want you to fuck me.”

He loved hearing that even more.

Eren finally looked at you then, and if he were a dog, his ears would have perked up like you said the magic words.

“What was that?” he said, more playfully than you expected. You didn’t like it, especially not with his smug grin to match. “I couldn’t hear you. You were mumbling.”

“You heard me the first time.”

He slipped his finger from you, running it teasingly up the crease of your thigh. “Say it again.”

It tickled. You fussed, “Eren, come on—”

“No, I don’t think that was it. I think you said something else.”

“Just—” You sighed grudgingly before finally giving in. “I want you to fuck me. Fuck me, please.”

He beamed at you, proud of both you and himself, and started to take off his boxers that still hung at his mid-thigh. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Eren stood up and didn’t let you respond before taking hold of your waist and flipping you onto your stomach. You bounced against the mattress when you landed, it squeaking conspicuously beneath you.

You felt his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. He then trailed his fingers lower, down to your bra, and quickly undid the clasp. You pushed yourself onto your elbows and felt your bra fall, its straps loosely hanging around your arms. He took you by the hips, just where they met your thighs, and helped raise you to your knees.

“You look so pretty like this,” he told you, giving himself a few more pumps with one hand and smacking your ass with the other.

You yelped, “Eren! Roommates!”

“I thought I told you not to worry about them,” he said, with another smack.

The print of his hand still stung when you heard rustling behind you. You peeked over your shoulder to find Eren tearing open a condom. He rolled it onto himself, all the while, his eyes stayed pinned on you—naked and with your ass in the air for him.

He flattened a hand against your lower back, having you arch it for him. With his other, he gripped his cock by the base and lined it up perfectly with you.

He guided himself in more slowly than he wanted to, letting you adjust as he listened to you suck in a sharp breath. It was a bit of a stretch, but it was easy enough for him to push inside having already prepped you with his fingers, only to leave you aching to be filled with more.

When his pelvis was flush against your ass, he felt you flutter around him, squeezing his cock so perfectly he’d think you were made for him. A groan bubbled up in his throat, low enough that it was nearly a growl. The sound made your heart skip—right between your lungs—so you clenched again to encourage another.

“You’re gonna make me come if you keep doing that,” Eren hissed hedonistically.

“Doing what?” you asked innocently. Then you did it again.

Despite his warning, he didn’t protest it. Instead, he started thrusting into you leisurely. He was self-indulgent about it, too, spreading you with his hands so he could admire how well you took his cock.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he muttered, quiet enough that it was like he was talking to himself. “So fucking good.”

“Eren.” The whine in your voice drove him crazy.

His hands, large and demanding, curved over the fat of your hips. His fingers gripped down as he pulled you against him, dragging you back to meet every snap of his hips. The indecent sound of smacking bounced off the bedroom walls. You didn’t complain this time. Your head dropped between your shoulders, eyes screwed shut, as you became lost in the throws of pleasure all over again.

“Eren,” you cried again.

He didn’t stop fucking you to ask, “What is it?”

He leaned over you, his hand snaking up your neck and cupping your chin. He angled your face to look at him—so he could see what you wanted. But you couldn’t form anything other than wimpy chants of ah, ah, ah, coming out mangled as he squished your cheeks between his fingers.

“Tell me how you want it.”

His words alone caused you to bite back a moan.

You finally managed to tell him, “Harder.”

Eren smiled, all slack-jawed and toothy, and you would have found it irresistible and totally ill-fitting for the situation if you saw it. But how else was he supposed to react after hearing what he thought only existed in his dreams?

He placed a kiss at the base of your neck, then on your shoulder. It was unexpectedly doting, but then you felt his fingers curve up and around your throat. Though you anticipated what was coming next, you still squealed as he hoisted you upright until your back was flush with his chest.

Eren held you there, fucking up into you—harder—like you asked of him. Your flimsy bra barely hung from you, just around your elbows, and flopped with each of his thrusts. He groped at your breast, taking your nipple between his fingers, rolling and squeezing at it until you were mewling.

He continued to take you as if you were his, and you let him have you. You let him use you like you were nothing more than a plaything for his pleasure, with your head feeling heavy as it lolled back against him.

But you were so much more than just that, and Eren was determined to have you coming again. This time, on his cock. He wanted to feel it.

“Touch yourself,” Eren demanded, right into your ear. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “I wanna hear you when you come this time.”

Your hand slithered down between your legs. The very tips of your fingers bumped into Eren’s cock as you got yourself off. Your legs wavered at the added pressure, and you were practically vibrating when you came, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

It was hard to stay upright. You fell from Eren’s hold and landed on the bed forcefully, him toppling right over you. You struggled to rub your clit as he fucked you into the mattress. You were still riding out the aftershocks, and it had you squeezing your thighs together so nicely for him.

“I’m—ah, fuck—I’m close,” Eren grunted.

It surprised you when he pulled out since he was wearing a condom. But when you felt his hands fly to your sides, you realized he was rolling you onto your back. Your arms, like jelly, were tossed carelessly above your head. He pinned them in place with a single hand around your wrists as he pushed inside back inside you.

“I need to see you.”

Your stomach flipped at his words like they were poetry. Fuck. He had you so irrevocably wrapped around his finger. He had all of you. And maybe you were just lovelorn and looking for something that wasn’t there, but you swore he looked like he was just as ensnared as you.

You wanted to touch him, squirming your wrists around until he released his hold. You took his face, sticky under your fingertips, between your hands. You wanted to see him, even more unguarded than before. His eyes were moony and heavy-lidded and had you swooning.

“Fuck, Eren—I want you to come,” you gasped.

Easy enough.

He came hard. As perverted as it sounded, you wished you had a camera. You wanted to remember how his eyes snapped shut and record every sound. He buried his face into your neck with a few stutters of his hips, grinding against you like he could go deeper.

His breath was hot and panting against your already sweltering skin. It was a bit hard to breathe, especially under his weight, but you wanted to hold onto him longer.

You didn’t realize you were gracing your fingers up and down the back of his neck until he lifted himself up. He let his face linger above yours, like he wanted one last look, nudging his nose against yours.

You laid still, watching while Eren straightened out and disposed of the condom. Your legs felt too soft and lazy to move, so you only rolled your head to the side to follow him as he stepped into a pair of sweatpants.

“The invitation to stay the night still stands, right?” you asked, admittedly, with some sass.

“No, I was actually going to call you an Uber home.” Eren rolled his eyes. “Of course it does. What kind of guy do you think I am?”

You giggled as you pushed yourself upright. “Where’s your bathroom?”

“Down the hall, last door on the right.” Eren took one look at you, then started digging around in his dresser. He tossed something at you, aiming it at your head by the looks of it. You caught it just in time. It was a t-shirt. “You can wear that.”

You held it up by the arms to inspect it, then peered over it to ask, “Is that weird?”

“It wasn’t until you asked that.”

You pulled the tee over your head and stood up to adjust it. You put your underwear on next but felt a bit more hesitant about the jeans.

“They’re sleeping, I promise,” Eren told you as he put on a shirt of his own. “Just be quick.”

“Okay,” you said hesitantly. You started to leave the room but poked your head back in. “I’m leaving the door cracked so I know which room is yours.”

He laughed, “Alright.”

You followed his instructions. The last door on the right. You even tried to be quick about it, too. You peed, washed your hands, splashed some water on your face, and only stared at your bruising collarbone for ten seconds before rushing back down the hall.

Eren was in bed when he saw the door swing open. “Look at you, Ms. C+, not getting lost.”

You made a face at him. “Whatever, Brian.”

Right on cue, he said, “It was one time!”

For whatever reason, you didn’t crawl into bed with him right away. You felt a bit like a deer in headlights, blinking at Eren, sleepy and with his hair still unkempt from your fingers. Seeing him like this, dressed in his shirt, and about to curl up under his sheets—were you supposed to just go along with it like it was normal?

You tried to think of something to say, but when you did, Eren cut in. “You can’t seriously try to take the couch after that.”

That was exactly what you were about to do. The purse of your lips had him chuckling because he knew he was right. He lifted the blanket up for you—once again, like this was entirely normal for you—and said, “Get over here already. I’m cold.”

Eren was extremely difficult to say no to, but you already knew that. You got into his bed and let him lay the comforter over you. Either his pillows were really soft or you were just exhausted, but your eyes went heavy almost immediately. Eren reached over you to turn out the light, and you felt his arm fall on top of you. He hugged around your waist and didn’t hesitate to pull you into him.

He nuzzled into the back of your neck and in your hair, pulling a giggle from you. “Are you always this clingy after sex?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, tickling you again.

Eren most definitely was never clingy after sex. But there was no way he could keep his hands to himself, not with how good you looked in his shirt, just barely long enough to cover anything. Maybe his intentions in lending you his shirt weren't as pure as merely helping you get comfortable—so sue him. You wearing his clothes like you were his was definitely a sight Eren could get used to, and one he had a feeling he’d see much more often.

[zvdvdlvr]

— Lunch Break

— 🫧. Synopsis. Spencer hasn’t been feeling well lately. When he accidentally gives you his lunch as well as yours, you have to leave work to make sure he gets his lunch and eats to make sure he gets better. But the thing is, no one knew Spencer had married someone.

— 🫧. Warnings. Blue!collar reader. Female reader. Collective group shock lmao. Foul language. Welder!reader. Pet names. Possible out of character Spencer but i dont really care. I’m so sleep deprived yall.

— 🫧. Other welder!reader pieces. Alive and Breathing.

“Bye, angel,” you murmured after pressing a kiss to your sleepin husband’s cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Spencer replied tiredly, eyes opening the slightest bit. “I already put your lunch in your cooler. Be safe.”

You smiled. Of course, even though you have to leave at 2 in the morning, Spencer’s already five steps ahead. You turned to leave the bedroom but stopped after hearing him cough. “Before you leave- I got you a few more boxes of that DayQuill/NyQuill stuff and Mucinex. Should be on the counter. Make sure you take them, Spence. I know you haven’t been feeling well. Bye, I love you,” you spoke quickly, throwing your coat on.

Spencer felt a smile forming on his face. His wife: always attentive and gentle (to him at least). “I love you, baby.”

“Hey,” Spencer greeted, picking up his phone and heading out of the bullpen. “What’s up?” Spencer was confused: you didn’t usually call him or contact him when you were at work unless it was absolutely necessary. Were you in trouble? “Are you okay?”

“I’m alright, angel. I’m coming over to drop off your lunch. You, uh,” your voice paused, probably observing other drivers’ movements at a red light. “You gave me my lunch and yours. So I’m on my way. Do you want me to come up or… drop it off? I’m all dirty ‘n everything,” you rambled.

“I think you look hot when you get off of work,” Spencer replied with a smile. He felt himself sigh. He was glad nothing had happened to you.

Your laugh crackled through the line. “That’s because it’s a very physical job, Spence.”

Spencer chuckled, “No, babe, I think you’re just… naturally very attractive.”

“You’re too good for me, Spence. Did you take your medicine? You sound pretty nasally,” you questioned.

“Yeah, I took it,” Spencer replied quietly with a smile on his face. You noticed everything- and Spencer was the profiler! “Anyway, I gotta go, babe. Drive safe, my beautiful wife. I love you.”

“I love you too, husband.”

Spencer tucked his ohone back into his pocket and wandered back out to the bullpen. “Hey, so… I have something to tell you,” Spencer blurted out to Emily and Derek who were watching him like a hawk.

“What is it?” Emily asked immediately, eyebrows furrowing.

“So, I want to apologize for keeping this for so long but I just- I didn’t know how to tell you. I mean, not to mention the fact that you wouldn’t have believed me anyway but that’s not the point. The point is I want you to stay calm and don’t be mad at me.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, kid, slow your roll. What’s goin’ on?” Derek asked.

Spencer looked at both Emily and Derek before sighing. “My wife is gonna be swinging by soon and… she’s… all I’m asking is don’t scare her away. Actually,” Spencer paused, smiling slightly, “she might scare you a little bit.”

Emily’s brows raised higher then Spencer previously thought possible. “You… What?” She asked, standing up.

“You’re actually joking.” Derek stated, face solemn. “You’re joking, man, come on.”

Spencer shrugged, hand coming up to pull the necklace his ring was on from under his shirt to show his coworkers. “We went to the courthouse one year, eleven months. two weeks, four days, and twelve hours ago.”

Derek blinked. “Are- You’re seriously not joking?”

“I have the documents at home to prove it,” Spencer replied, tucking it back under his shirt. “If, you know, you want to see them.”

“I’d rather see her in person,” Emily stated, already starting her pacing. “But like, you didn’t kidnap her or anything did you?”

Spencer shook his head. “No, believe me. She loves me, Emily. I love her.”

Derek sat, hands on his head. “So we missed the wedding and everything? You didn’t say a word, man.”

Spencer nodded. “We were gonna tell you, invite you over for our anniversary.”

“Spencer, what’s her name?” Emily asked suddenly.

“Who’s name?” A low, gravely voice asked. Aaron Hotchner stood, hands on his hips, staring each of his agents down.

“Spencer’s wife’s,” Derek responded slowly.

“Oh,” Hotch replied casually.

“You knew?!” Emily asked loudly, mouth dropped open in shock.

“I saw he added someone else to the insurance, and there was another emergency contact. I haven’t seen her though,” Hotch answered honestly.

“When’s she gonna be here?”

“Soon. She called me probably five minutes ago, so estimating the amount of traffic about this time, I’d guess probably ten minutes.”

“I assume you can find something to do for ten minutes?” The corner of Hotch’s lip turned up just the slightest bit, and he had a hint of amusement in his voice. When Derek finally tore his eyes off of Spencer and Emily bee-lined for her desk, Hotch turned around and stalked over to Rossi’s office to tell him the good news.

Spencer stood up when he heard the unmistakable sound of your steel-toed boots making comtact with the floor. A sweet smile painted his face as he gravitated to you, shoulders relaxing at your presence. “Hey, baby,” he whispered when he was close enough to you.

“Hi you,” you replied, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. You brandished a brown paper bag, Spencer’s name written in your handwriting.

Emily watched you walk in. You were wearing two shirts, dark in color with small holes decorating the sleeves and the hem of both shirts. Your pants were dark and thick, dark liquids and stains all over them. The boots on your feet were definitely thick: steel toed if Emily had to guess. A physical worker, she put the pieces together. Electician? That wouldn’t explain all the stains. Mechanic? Couldn’t be: why would your shirts be all torn if you were fixing cars? Welder? The pieces fit, though Emily wasn’t too educated in that department. She had respect for you. Not many women Emily knew could handle the responsibilities of such a physical job, or handle all the creeps, jerks, and perverts that passed in your workplace.

“Derek,” Emily whisper-yelled. He looked up and she gestured to where Spencer had strode over to you.

“Come on.”

Emily stood up, brushing her hands on her pants and followed Derek to where you were conversing.

“-come back? He’s been slacking off too much, baby, you shouldn’t let him keep relying on you to get his stuff done,” Spencer rambled angrily.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle, Spence. How are you feeling? I brough- oh. Hi,” you greeted.

“Hi! Mrs. Reid, right?” Emily asked, sticking her hand out.

You smiled brightly and nodded. When you saw her hand and showed her your own: “I don’t, uh, think you’d want to do that,” you murmured.

“Doesn’t bother me,” Emily assured honestly.

You returned her genuine smile and clasped her hand. “Thank you. You’re… Emily? Right? And then you’re Derek?” You asked, turning to face Morgan.

“That’s us,” Morgan answered.

“I don’t think Spencer’s brought me up. I’m y/n Reid,” you introduced. “Sorry for all the grime. I came to drop off Spencer’s lunch,” you explained, shooting Spencer a smile, who kept his eyes trained on you the whole time.

“Good to meet you, y/n.” Emily said. “If… if you’re alright with it, I’d like to get the team together. To meet you. If,” she glanced between you and Spencer who was watching you unblinkingly, “that is okay with both of you? I don’t want to push you.”

Derek side eyed Emily. Penelope would probably scare y/n away, even though she didn’t mean to.

“Up to you, baby,” Spencer murmured when you turned to face him.

“Doesn’t bother me,” you answered. Glancing at your Casio, you nodded, “I’ve got an hour.”

“It’ll be fast,” Emily reassured with a smile.

Emily and Derek split up, Emily going up to get Rossi and Hotch, Derek rounding up JJ and Garcia.

“Are you sure, baby?” Spencer asked. He led you to his desk, setting down the bag you gave him. “I don’t- they-“

“Do you want us to do this another day? When I’m not in my work clothes?” You asked, refusing to sit down on anything.

Spencer shook his head. “No, no. I just want you to be prepared. They can be overwhelming.”

“‘Overwhelming’ I hear?”

You turned your head and saw two men and Emily walking towards you both. The younger looking one was Hotchner because you knew David Rossi’s face; him being a famous author and everything.

“Hello! You must be the missus,” Rossi greeted, sticking his hand out. Good lord, you thought, feds and their handshakes.

You showed Rossi your dirt stained hands and opened her mouth.

“We’ve touched dead bodies, y/n. I promise we won’t get upset at a little grease,” Emily explained gently. Good god, you thought.

Regardless, you shook Rossi and Hotch’s hand, grateful for Emily’s reassurance. Spencer wrapped an arm around your shoulders. He leaned in, whispering “You’re doing great, baby.”

“So,” Hotch began, “I want to personally thank you for keeping Reid sane and healthy.”

Emily and Rossi both laughed. “Yeah, he’s got enough trouble on the field,” Emily joked.

You elbowed Spencer, a grin painting your face. “Is that right?”

“Doesn’t matter if it’s right or not: I’ll always come back to you,” Spencer replies softly, eyed swiftly darting to your lips.

“Spencer!” You reprimanded, smacking him (lightly) on the stomach. “Your bosses are right there, you-“

A loud shriek cut you off, making everyone’s gaze dart to a person behind you. “She’s real! Ohmygod! Ohmygod! Reid! You didn’t even drop a singular hint that you were hitched!”

Spencer chuckled, pulling your form a little closer to his. “If I remember correctly, JJ saw my ring when I was asleep on the plane: I assumed she had told everyone and you didn’t want to bring it up.”

“For a genius, you’re pretty dumb,” a new voice cut in. “Hi, I’m Jennifer Jareau, but you can call me JJ.” The blonde smiled warmly and brought you in for a swift hug.

“Ah! Hello, you gorgeous soul! I’m Penelope!” A shorter blonde, more colorful and energetic, embraced you. “I’m so glad to meet you, even though, you know, I didn’t even knew you existed until about two minutes ago.” She shot your husband a look. “But, I would cery much like to get to know you, as would JJ and Emily if you can’t tell.”

You smiled. “I’d love to now, but seeing as I’m technically on my lunch break, I don’t think I’ll have time to do everything you probably have in mind. Could we,” you turned to Spencer, eyes glinting, “bring them over for dinner?”

“Anything you want, babe,” Spencer replied. Truly, if you had asked him to give you his heart, he would find a way to rip the organ out of his chest and give it to you in his bood stained hands. Dinner? No problem.

“I’ll give you my number. Penelope could make a groupchat or something,” you suggested.

Everyone nodded. Hotch was looking forward to this dinner. And Rossi, no matter what he said.

After you gave Penelope your phone number and everyone dispersed, Emily and Derek were wise enough to go busy themselves with a vending machine.

“You alright, baby?” Spencer asked.

You nodded. “I’m alright. Glad I finally met them. I, uh, hope you’re not mad about the dinner thing.”

Spencer scoffed. “I wouldn’t get mad over that.”

You shrugged. “Well. I should probably head back to work. Sorry for getting you all dirty,” you apologized again, pulling away from Spencer quickly, remembering you were in your work attire.

“It’s alright, baby. ‘M just glad I got to see you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, a sly smile forming on your face. “You’ve been awfully sappy lately, Spence. Are you sure you’re alright? I’m seriously considering taking you to a doctor.”

Spencer laughed. “I’m your sap,” he responded casually.

“Okay. Seriously. Stop making me get lost in your eyes because I got to go to work. Bye. I love you,” you babbled, pulling Spencer down to kiss you.

“Bye, wife,” Spencer whispered into your lips.

“Bye, husband.”

[lanadelnegan]

Ghost - Part 1

Negan x Glenn’sSister!Reader

Summary: You escaped Alexandria to mourn the death of your twin brother, Glenn, only to have an unforgettable night with the man who killed him.

Warnings: 18+, smut, dry humping, heavy making out, mentions of family death

Idea requested by anon. Thank you 🫶 song inspo here

It's been one month since the lineup - the day Negan took my twin brother's life. I left Alexandria the moment Maggie returned and told me what happened to Glenn. I wasn't there there for the line up, and I hate myself for it. I could've convinced Negan to kill me instead. My brother had a family, a wife, a baby on the way. Much more to offer this world than me.

I've never seen Negan or his men. I know nothing about him, except that he's going to regret taking Glenn from me. Because I've made it my life's mission to destroy him. Even if I have to go down with him.

But for now, I needed an escape and time to mourn, so I found an abandoned cabin nearby to stay in for a while. A few things were left there by the previous residents - enough to get me by for at least a couple months. The cabin is hidden in the middle of the woods, which is probably why no one has found me all this time. Until now.

It was just getting dark and starting to storm after I settled on the couch to read a book. I fell asleep moments later, listening to the rain pour when the sound of the front door creaking open startled me. Before I could get up to grab my gun, a tall man in a soaked leather jacket entered and closed the door behind him. I was frozen to the couch when I locked eyes with him.

“You here alone?” He asked.

I nodded before realizing that was a stupid thing to admit to a stranger that could easily kill me on the spot. “Um, for now. My husband should be back soon.” I lied.

He chuckled, nodding his head like he didn’t believe me. “Well darlin, I didn’t mean to scare you. Just need a place to stay for the night before I head home. I promise I’m not a threat.” He flashed his pretty, white teeth at me.

“I’m supposed to believe that? You’re a complete stranger.”

He sighed like I annoyed him before reluctantly taking his gun out of his pants and kicking it towards me on the floor. His hair was black, slicked back and dripping with water. Oh, and he was stupidly handsome.

“Fine. You can take the couch.”

He nodded appreciatively, setting his bag down by the front door. “Got a shower?”

“Bathrooms down the hall to your right.”

He nodded again before making his way to the bathroom and I exhaled a long breath. This was the first human interaction I've had since leaving Alexandria two weeks ago. It felt strange being in the presence of someone alive.

Realizing he would need something to change into after his shower, I gathered some men's clothes out of the dresser from my bedroom and went to lay them on the floor outside of the bathroom. Just as I was placing them down, the bathroom door opened, clouding my vision with steam. He stood before me shirtless with a towel wrapped around his waist.

I blushed. “Oh, my bad. Was just going to drop these here for you.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” He took them out of my hand, grinning down at me.

My eyes wandered down his wet torso, following the drops of water that lead from the black pirate tattoo on his pecs to the perfectly carved v in his abdomen. This was going to be a long night.

Two hours and a bottle of wine later:

My feet were propped on his lap as I lied on the couch, laughing at every lame joke he made. This man was patient, considering he’s been listening to me overshare every detail of my life for the past hour. Every detail but Glenn. I'm not ready to talk about what happened out loud and especially not to a stranger.

He was hesitant to talk about his personal life at first, but I quickly broke down his walls and in a short time, I felt like I knew more about him than any other human on the planet. We focused on the past, taking turns telling each other about our lives before the dead started walking.

“Wait, wait. A high school gym coach? I bet all the girls had a crush on you.”

His thumb teased my ankle while his other arm rested lazily on the back of the couch. “Why would you assume that?” He chuckled.

I blushed, realizing just how tipsy I was. “Look at you. You’re like, insanely hot.” The liquid courage had definitely taken over.

He smirked, rubbing the bare skin on my lower leg. “Shouldn’t your husband have been back by now?”

“Oh, yeah.” I sat up, setting my feet on the ground and scooching closer to him as I got comfortable again. “I lied earlier. I just didn’t want you to be some psycho murderer.” I said, rolling my eyes as if the thought were crazy.

“What makes you think I’m not?”

“Are you?” Leaning in closer, I rested my cheek on the the back of the couch and grinned at him.

“These days, aren’t we all?”

I stayed silent for a moment, looking for any sign of seriousness in his eyes. “Even if you are, I trust you.”

His eyebrows raised. “That’s pretty bold of you, doll. You know nothing about me.”

“I know you were a high school gym coach.” I reached for his hand and he gladly accepted, rubbing the back of mine with his thumb. “And that your wife’s name was Lucille. And that this isn’t the first time you’ve been here. This is your hideaway too - when you just need to get away.” I rambled on and he never took his eyes off mine. “Oh and your favorite color? Definitely black.”

“Another assumption?”

“Am I wrong?”

He chuckled. “No.” His eyes darted back and forth between mine. “Why do I feel like we’ve met before?”

“Maybe we were soulmates in another life.” I giggled.

“I’m not doubting it, doll. Feels like I've known you forever.”

My gaze dropped to his lips and he followed, leaning in closer. Closing the gap between us, I pressed my lips to his. They were soft but the stubble around them tickled me and I imagined the same sensation between my legs.

His hand slid through the silky strands of my hair, gripping it gently while pulling my closer to deepen the kiss. He tasted like wine and smelled like aftershave, and I never wanted the moment to end.

My fingers explored his damp hair while his tongue explored my mouth. With subtle moans escaping our throats, we got high off each other. Eventually his hand roamed to the end of my tank top, making chills spread over my skin. His fingers brushed slightly underneath it, trailing smoothly over my waistline and barely dipping into my shorts.

I pulled him closer, urging him to climb over me while I layed back on the couch. He held himself up with one arm as he hovered over me, settling between my legs as he kissed me.

Slipping my hand underneath his white t-shirt, I rubbed his toned stomach before following the happy trail down to his shorts and finding his hard cock pressing against the material . He was long and thick and in my hand while I stroked him. His head fell beside mine as he groaned in my ear, thrusting into my touch.

“Fuck, baby.” His voice was low and raspy.

My hips aligned with his waist until I felt the tip of him through his shorts pressing directly into my center. Luckily both of our shorts were thin enough to feel just enough friction as he slowly pushed into me over and over and over.

He fucked me slowly through our clothes, making me moan and scratch at his back. I've never done this before - with clothes on. But it somehow feels better than the actual thing. At least anything I've ever experienced. I became wetter with each of his thrusts and my heart raced in my lower core.

“We should stop, baby. As much as I would love to make you scream for me all night..” He paused, kissing below my ear. We’ve both been drinking.” He sounded like he was talking himself out of it, and I respected him for it.

I sighed. “You’re right.”

He grinned down at me before kissing my forehead. “You are so fucking beautiful. Why are you out here alone? What are you running from?”

There it is. The only thing we hadn’t talked about yet. And never will.

“It’s getting late. We should go to bed soon.”

His head dropped defeatedly but he nodded. “Right, fine.”

He climbed off of me, sitting back on couch, but I wasn’t ready to leave him yet. I looked down, noticing my book on the ground and picked it up before handing it to him. He raised an eyebrow at me but took it.

“Read to me?” I asked, grinning before lying back down and cuddling my head in his lap. He adjusted slightly, still hard from moments ago.

“You want me to read to you?” He chuckled, opening the pages and finding the spot where I left off.

“Mhm.” I mumbled, snuggling in closer and closing my eyes. His smooth voice put me to sleep in no time.

The next morning:

The sun peaking through the bedroom window and a pounding headache woke me up. I sat up quickly, remembering the events of last night.

Jumping out of bed, I looked all around the house, but there was no trace of him. His bag was gone, and every trace of our night together was erased except the empty wine bottle on the coffee table.

Was I going crazy? Was he even real? Was it all a dream?

These are the questions that kept me up at night while the days ran together and became longer. My hopes of my mystery man coming back were out the window, and I was starting to think being alone out here was making me mental.

A couple weeks later, I decided it was time to return to Alexandra and leave behind the memories of him. I left home to mourn Glenn, and now I’m leaving another safe haven to mourn the loss of someone else.

On my journey back, I did a lot of self reflecting, promising myself I’d never get close to someone again. I’m tired of losing people. Even ones who may not exist. I’ll go home and forget about him and focus on what matters. Getting justice for my brother.

Part 2 here

[remlionheart]

Sex, Money, Feelings, Die (part two)

* ˚ ✦ MDNI ✦˚ *

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ask and you shall receive ~ you guys wanted more, so here it is! 𓆩♡𓆪 thank u so much for all the love on this ♡ i didn't expect my first shot at Chuuya to gain so much traction but i'm really glad it did (he's just soooo ♡‿♡ u know?) hope you like a good slowburn bc buckle up, heavy "we shouldn't be doing this" vibes, Chuuya would honestly be the most arrogant yet easy to break dom because of how badly he wants to please you and you can't convince me otherwise, porn with a plot, 5.6k words. this fic once again had me swooning and gnawing at the bars of my enclosure writing it so pls lemme know whatcha think, also big shoutout to @bratbby333 for helping me edit this ღ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ♡ here's part one if you're new here ♡

You stared at yourself in the bathroom mirror with a sigh, tugging at the neck of your shirt. It was late August, 90 degrees outside, and you were on day three of wearing a turtleneck.

You felt like you were attending a funeral in your black top, black heels, and black tennis skirt - but it was all you had left. You'd already worn your other patterned and pleated options earlier in the week. Already paired each stifling hot sweater with the nicest necklaces you had to make them look more business casual than walk-of-shame.

But no matter how nonchalant you'd tried to seem about your sudden change in wardrobe, it was impossible to ignore the curious stares you'd been getting. The suspicious glances from Akutagawa who just a few days ago could barely even look in your direction without tripping over his own feet. There was a palpable sense of skepticism that followed you and it only seemed to get worse with each high-collared shirt you wore.

You let out another sharp exhale, surveying yourself one last time before heading back to your office. You were busy trying to decide on which expletive you were going to spend the next 7 hours cross-stitching when you rounded the corner, a sudden rush of warmth spreading across your face as a pair of cerulean eyes locked with yours.

Out of all the looks you'd gotten recently, his were by far the hardest to avoid.

Time seemed to slow as you passed him. A subtle but taunting smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth while he continued his conversation with Mori. Something about his upcoming assignment in Osaka and how it'd require him to be gone for at least two weeks.

You disappeared into your office, closing the door behind you as you took a seat and diligently began working on a new project.

Your thread kit had become invaluable over the last few days. It wasn't just a way to pass time anymore - it was an escape. A tool you used to steer your thoughts away from the one place that they kept relentlessly trying to wander back to.

Since the announcement of his solo mission, there'd hardly been a chance for you to see Chuuya outside of the lingering glances you'd exchange in passing. Mori had been keeping close tabs on him, constantly barging in and out of his office to go over the details of his assignment. You tried to remind yourself that it was probably for the best. That the safest thing you could do was keep what had happened between the two of you a onetime fling and nothing more.

It hadn't mattered in the moment how careless you'd both been when you assumed that you'd never see him again, but now that your time here had been extended, you were quickly realizing how critical it was to keep your wits about you. Up until arriving at Port Mafia, you'd barely been skating by. Living off of a dwindling savings account and more often than not having to choose between dinner or rent.

The first check you received from Mori alone was more than you made all of last year working as a barista. You knew that this sort of opportunity would never come again. That it was absolutely fleeting and subject to change at any given moment, but that's what made keeping it for as long as you could so important. The money you were making now would put you through college. It would grant you a future that didn't involve debt. A sense of stability that you never would've had otherwise.

You had no choice but to lay low, for real this time.

You moved your tapestry needle with ease, adding small, strategically placed hearts around the words, "choke me" as you stretched out your legs with a yawn.

The coffee they had here wasn't nearly as good as the coffee you'd usually get from the cafe down the street, but you decided it was better than nothing as you set your cross-stitch pad on your desk and ventured down the hallway.

For as dangerous as this place was, there was still an odd allure of normalcy about it. There were mundane things like work meetings and fax machines and a breakroom that stayed stocked with beverages and snacks. If it weren't for the people that worked here, this truly would be just another business building in downtown Yokohama.

Your suede pumps tapped against the tile as you entered the breakroom, grabbing a k-cup out of the drawer and popping it into the machine before walking over to the cabinet. Despite the three-inch heels you were wearing, you still had to resort to using your tiptoes to reach the mug you wanted.

Your waist leaned into the counter, your arm reaching as high as it could go when your entire body suddenly froze.

You felt him before you heard him, a pair of gloved hands stealthily gripping around your hips. He rested his head on your shoulder, his breath sending chills along your skin as it broke through the barrier of your shirt and danced across the nape of your neck. He pulled you in closer, your ass meeting the firmness of his growing bulge while his palm slowly drifted up past your skirt and brushed against your inner thigh.

"You know you can't ignore me forever, right?" It was posed as a question but held the weight of a threat with the tantalizing way he touched you.

Your pulse raced, heat gathering at your center as he began to toy with the lacy outline of your underwear. His fingers were dangerously close to where you wanted them and where you knew they shouldn't be. Where they couldn't be if you wanted to stay here.

It was cruel irony that just last week it had been him who was trying so hard to keep himself together and now you were somehow the one struggling to maintain your composure. Failing to stop yourself from arching your back against him. Nearly whining when he abruptly pulled away from you and disappeared without another word.

You swallowed hard, looking down at yourself while you straightened out the hem of your skirt, your body still aching from the disappearance of his touch. It was only then that you realized just how fitting your outfit for today actually was.

You were attending a funeral, mourning the loss of your dignity that had died so easily at the hands of Chuuya Nakahara.

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Two days had passed since your run-in with the redhead and you'd barely seen him since. You knew he was set to leave for Osaka tomorrow morning from the conversations you'd overheard while wandering the hall and you knew he wasn’t looking forward to it.

Maybe it would've been easier to not care about what he was doing if you weren't forced to be here every day, but there was no such thing as a break when working for Port Mafia. No weekends. No time off. Even as arguably their most useless member, you were still expected to show up day in and day out without complaint.

You didn't like to admit it, but his assignment had been weighing on you since you'd first found out about it. You didn't understand why he was being asked to go alone. Why he'd have to be there for two weeks. Why you even cared to begin with.

It'd been bleeding into everything you touched, your embroidery going from mindless patterns to things you couldn't possibly bring yourself to say out loud.

Your fingers moved with precision, adding dainty purple flowers around the words "please be safe" when the landline on your desk let out a shrill, unexpected ring.

You paused, staring at the phone with hesitant curiosity. You'd assumed up until now that it was a decorative prop. A piece of outdated technology to help add to the illusion that you had a real office rather than just an empty room to keep hidden away in for 9 hours. You were floored that it actually worked.

On the fourth ring, you finally caved, answering it with a reluctant, "Hello...?"

"You'd make a terrible receptionist, y'know that?"

You hated the smile that crept across your face as you twirled the phone cord around your index finger. "Don't you have anything better to do besides bother the help?"

"Nah, not really." You could hear the smirk in his voice. "Mori's finally out of my hair for a bit. Somethin' about needing to go check the status of one of our bases out in Tokyo so he should be gone the rest of the day."

"Hmm," You hummed, still fidgeting with the tangled wire. "Guess you'll have plenty of time to clean your office before you leave then."

He let out a semblance of a laugh, his tone still riddled with salacious arrogance as he said, "Get your ass in here." and hung up.

You drew in a shallow breath, mentally kicking yourself yet again for how little self-control you had as you stood up and made your way down the hall. Your skin had just healed from the marks he'd left on you and here you were, flirting with the possibility of getting more.

The door opened seconds after you'd knocked, a set of narrowed blue eyes and tousled red hair greeting you as you stepped into his dimly lit workplace.

You took a seat on the leather couch he had in the corner of the room, pretending not to notice as he locked the door behind you.

"Does Mori not pay you enough to have more than one lamp in here?"

He stood in front of you with his arms folded over his chest, a cocky grin breaking through his nonchalant demeanor. “Sorry, where does he have you working again? That tiny ass room that used to be the broom closet? Yeah, I bet the fluorescent lighting is way better in there.”

You bit back your own dumb smile, rolling your eyes as you crossed one leg over the other. "Did you drag me in here to just insult me or do you actually need something?"

"Depends, do you like being insulted?"

You could feel your body betray you, a telling shade of pink decorating your cheeks as you averted your gaze from his.

"Really?"

You didn't have to look at him to know how much it’d piqued his interest.

"Why are you going to Osaka?" You asked, eager to change the subject.

There was a subtle wave of seriousness that washed over him. His voice losing its playful edge as he rolled his shoulders with a sigh. "I can't really go into too much detail without making you a liability. The less you know about the shit that goes on around here, the better."

Your mouth open and then closed, the objection you had lined up dying on the tip of your tongue as you quietly nodded back at him. Even if you didn't want to accept his answer, you knew he was right.

"Aw, don't tell me you're actually worried about me?" He tilted his head at you, his stare softening when he caught the sincerity in your eyes as you looked back at him. "I'll be fine. Trust me, compared to the other missions I've had to go on, this is nothin'."

You had no choice but to trust him, you knew he was blunt enough to tell you the truth and if he wasn't stressed about leaving, then you couldn't be either. As easy as it was to forget, he wasn't just another member of Port Mafia, he was an executive. There was no way Mori would send him alone if he didn't think it was something he could handle.

"Honestly, I'm more worried about you." He said, breaking your train of thought by nudging your leg with his foot. "What're you gonna do for two whole weeks while I'm gone?"

You buried the rest of your concern with a shrug, uncrossing your legs as you shot him a small smile. "I don't know. Guess I'll have to start fooling around with Akutagawa to pass the time."

He nearly snorted he laughed so hard.

"What? You don't think I could have him if I wanted to?” It was infuriating how easy it was to banter back and forth with him like this. How effortless it was for you to both volley off one another without missing a beat.

He shook his head, trying not to burst into laughter again from the thought of you and his perpetually flustered coworker. "Nah, you could. Just think you'd be disappointed is all. Akutagawa wouldn't know what the fuck to do with a girl like you."

There was something about the way he said it that made the blood dance in your veins.

"Fine." You pressed, still wearing the same slight smile. "Tachihara then."

It was becoming a real problem, the way you loved toying with him as much as he loved toying with you.

"He wouldn't."

"I bet he would."

He bent down to become eye-level with you, butterflies flooding your stomach as he reached out to rest his hand under your chin, a gentle but firm grasp holding you in place. "You can try," he said, his thumb lightly dragging across your bottom lip. "But I don't think you'll have much luck."

"Why?" It was barely a whisper let alone an actual question.

You knew him well enough to know where this was more than likely going, but there was a depraved part of you that wanted to hear him say it. Needed to hear him say it.

"'Cause," His eyes glazed over as he leaned in, closing the already small gap between you so that you were forced to share the same breath. "Tachihara isn't dumb enough to touch things that belong to me."

Your heart was threatening to beat straight out of your chest. A week's worth of pent-up arousal nearly dripping onto his couch as you looked back at him without the faintest bit of restraint left in you.

All of the reasons why you'd been trying so hard to stay away from him suddenly held no real merit. They were lost to his touch. Completely eviscerated the moment his lips finally caught yours and his tongue swirled against you with the same tender urgency you'd been daydreaming about for the last five days. The future didn’t seem so pressing when the present was this heavenly.

Your legs parted without him having to ask, inviting his body to come between them while your hands travelled to the back of his neck. Desperate fingertips sinking into his skin in a feverish attempt to somehow pull him even closer.

"'Take it you're finally done ignorin' me?"

You nodded as you watched him push your skirt up, briefly pausing to take his gloves off with the same toothy method he’d used the last time you were in his office. You could tell it was a seldom act for him. Something he had to consciously remind himself to do, but only when he was with you.

"Good."

His mouth attentively returned back to yours, calloused but gentle fingers digging into the softness of your thigh while his thumb swiped your underwear to the side, granting him access to your weakest point.

"Fuck," he groaned, drawing light circles against you, reveling in the way your hips thrusted up for more.

As eager for a challenge as he was, he secretly loved how easy you were to please. How little it took to rob you of your composure and have your legs shaking around him. How pitiful you looked from only two of his digits slipping in and out of you. How your pupils would dilate in this delirious way each time he went deeper, but how you were still submissive enough to never break eye contact no matter how much you writhed and squirmed beneath him.

"Chuuya -"

"What is it baby?"

He could feel how close you were. Knew it wouldn't take much more to have you soaking him, but he couldn't leave for two weeks without making you cum on more than just his fingers. He needed to know what your walls felt like wrapped around him. What absolutely fucking dazed out noises you would make once he was inside of you.

He undid his belt with his freehand, not letting up on you as you grabbed onto the collar of his shirt.

"Fuck, yes. P - please." You whimpered, watching him stroke himself as he carefully lined up with your center. "Please, Chuuya, ohmygod, please."

"Jesus Christ." He choked out, reeling in how pretty you sounded begging for him. Almost not being able to stop himself as he watched you come completely undone, still pleading for his dick.

He moaned against you, forehead pressed to yours as he finally found the willpower to pull his fingers out of you. His tip had just barely made it past your entrance when a loud knock brought both of you to an insanely cruel and abrupt pause.

His hand flew over your mouth, fire flickering across his blue eyes as he drew in a sharp breath.

"What?" he called out through gritted teeth.

"Plan's changed." It was Tachihara. "Mori's back. He wants you to leave now instead of tomorrow."

"Now?" The anger in his voice was palpable. "Like, right now?"

"Yeah, he's waiting in the jet."

"You can't be fuckin' serious." He grumbled, a pained expression taking hold of him as he looked back down at you, removing his hand from your mouth.

"Gimme a minute." He yelled, silently trying to ration what he was supposed to do with your body still splayed so beautifully under his.

He wanted to fuck you. God damn, he wanted to ignore everything else in the entire world and fuck you into oblivion at this point, but he knew it wouldn't be fair to either of you to have to rush through it or be stressed about the fact that someone might barge in at any second.

It needed to be the right time because you both deserved it. Especially with how many mutual pent-up emotions there now were between you.

Pulling out of you was torture, but he didn't have a choice.

You could've cried, your heart and pussy both grieving the loss of something they'd never even had.

"I swear," He said, forehead back against yours, "As soon as I get back, it's me and you, okay?"

You nodded, doing your best to swallow down your emotions.

"Okay." You finally agreed, eyes still locked with his, a faint smile poking through your frustration. "But if you're not back in two weeks, don't be surprised when you see me and Akutagawa holding hands in the hallway."

He let out a half-hearted laugh as his lips met yours, kissing you in a way that he hadn't before. Soft, lingering... affectionate.

"Hey," you whispered seriously this time, "Please be safe."

"Promise."

And with that, you began redoing the buttons on your blouse and smoothing down your skirt while you watched him grab a jacket out of his armoire, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket.

"You smoke?"

"Only when I really need one."

He shot you a wink, wrapping his arm around your waist as he walked you out of his office, not caring at all who saw.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

You knew it would be awkward without him around, but you hadn't anticipated just how slow the next week would go by. You were tired. Out of ideas for cross-stitch patterns and nearly positive that your curled fingers weren't capable of creating anything else even if you wanted to.

You read manga to keep yourself busy. Looked up recipes on your phone. Took naps at your desk that left kinks in your neck. Called your friends from back home, trying to keep the conversation going long after there was nothing left to say. You were bored. Grateful to still be here, but ready for a day off that you knew wouldn't come.

The check you received on Friday was enough of a reason to stay though. It made the long days of staring at a wall worth it. You reminded yourself again and again that there would never be another job like this. That you might actually miss it one day.

You had no idea, however, just how quickly that day would actually come until you were rounding the corner back to your office and ran into Kyoto. She was the same peach-haired woman who had recruited you from the bar, only she was standing with a fresh face. A girl who looked to be about your age with big brown eyes, flowy blonde hair, and a skirt that was somehow even shorter than yours.

When you had first started, they'd told you that there would be other 'administrative assistants' coming eventually, but you'd almost forgotten about it until now.

Your eyes drifted from her to Kyoto, thinking there was surely no way you'd both be expected to share the same office with how small it was.

You started to extend a hand out to the blonde, ready to introduce yourself when you were promptly cut off by Kyoto.

"Your time here is up." She said curtly. "If there's anything you need to get out of your workstation, I suggest you do it now."

A vicious mix of anger and embarrassment churned in your stomach. "My time here is up?" You repeated blankly. "Why?"

"Mori's decided you're a distraction." She shot you a pointed look. "Especially to that of Nakahara. Now, get your things before I have you escorted out."

Your ears were ringing, your vision blurred by tears at how cold and sterile this all felt.

You went into your office for the last time, grabbing the thread kit and books out of your drawer as you made your way down the hall, looking back to see your replacement excitedly taking over the spot that was once yours.

Goodbye college, goodbye easy money, goodbye Chuuya.

You were able to hold yourself together on the train ride home and on the walk back, but the minute you made it into your apartment and closed the door behind you, everything all spilled out at once. Your crafts and manga falling from your hands as you sank down to the floor and sobbed.

You thought nothing could've been as mortifying as your first day with Port Mafia, but your last day had proved to be far worse. You were right back at square one and it felt terrible.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The next few days were a blur of filling out online job applications and revamping your resume. You'd hardly eaten. Hardly showered. Hardly done anything that involved getting out of bed.

It was Sunday and rent was due tomorrow. You'd done the math in your head - you had enough money in your savings account to live here comfortably for the next three months without any additional income. If you really pushed yourself and lived uncomfortably, you could probably even skate by for four.

But no matter how much you tried to remind yourself that there was time, you still couldn't shake the feeling of failure that you'd been left with. If you'd been fired for other reasons, it might not have hurt as bad, but the fact that it really was your fault haunted you.

You took a breath, looking over yourself in the bathroom mirror. A combination of three-day old clothes and a knotted side-bun staring back at you. You decided if you were going to continue to sulk, you could at least do it in some fresh pajamas and washed hair.

The hot water felt good beading across your skin as you scrubbed off the grime and regret that had been stuck on you since the day you’d been let go. The air filling with the smell of vanilla as you exfoliated your legs and ran a conditioning treatment through your tangled locks.

You still didn't feel great, but you felt better and that was a start.

You threw on a white tank-top with a pair of oversized grey sweatpants, running a brush through your hair when you heard the buzz of your doorbell. You froze, looking down at your phone to see the time 11:11 flash across your screen.

You hadn't had a visitor since you'd moved here, let alone had someone stop by at almost midnight.

Your footsteps were light as you crept down your hallway, cautiously peeking through the slit in your door watching him impatiently ring the buzzer again, running a hand along the back of his neck while he waited.

"Chuuya?"

"You'd make a terrible doorman, y'know that?"

It was the first time you'd laughed in the last six days, your arms wrapping around him before you even had the chance to think about what you were doing.

He didn't seem to mind though, his hands locking around your waist as you both pulled each other closer. "How did you -" Your thoughts were everywhere. "How did you find my address?"

He let out a slight laugh, his breath fanning across your neck. “I told you it'd be me and you when I got back.”

There was something so sincere about the way he said it. Something so overwhelming about the way he was looking at you. Out of all the things you'd lost recently, you were incredibly thankful he wasn't one of them.

You let him in, locking the door as he followed you down the hall.

“Sorry," you said sheepishly, realizing that you were about to bring him into the messiest part of your apartment. "It's not always like this."

He took a moment to look over your bedroom. The thumb-tacked pictures of you and your friends that decorated the space above your bed. The string lights and cloud-patterned tapestry adorning the walls. The matching baby-pink sheets and comforter set.

It looked like you. It smelled like you. And no matter how many clothes there might've been scattered across the floor or mugs piled up on your nightstand, it was still way cozier than the hotels he'd been staying at over the last two weeks.

"Looks fine to me." He shrugged, taking off his jacket and tossing it onto a velvet chair next to your dresser. "How've things been since I've been gone?" he asked, taking a seat next to you on the bed with a small smirk. "You and Akutagawa official yet?"

Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared back at him, "Mori didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"I, um..." Your gaze was suddenly on the hem of your shirt as you began to fidget with it instead of looking at him. "I got fired."

"Mori fired you?" There was a sobering sharpness to his voice as he repeated it. "For what?"

You knew he'd find out one way or another, but it was still embarrassing having to relive your conversation with Kyoto. "For 'being a distraction.'" you sighed, your eyes hesitantly dragging up to his. "To you."

There was a brief moment of silence and then, a laugh.

“Huh,” he mused. “Well they're gonna be in for a real fuckin' surprise when you come in tomorrow then.”

You shook your head at him in quiet confusion. "Chuuya, I can't just show back up. Kyoto threatened to have me escorted out when I took more than five minutes to get my stuff out of my office."

His brow arched in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

"Did she?" The question was somehow calm despite the scornful undertone it carried. "Well," he breathed, gently tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "She's gonna really hate it when the entire building has to hear me fucking you. Every. Single. Day."

A sudden warmth washed over you, beginning at your cheeks and ending at your core as you blinked back at him cluelessly. "What are you talking about?"

"You're gonna be my personal assistant." The smirk he was wearing was lethal. "And I'll pay you more than that asshole ever did. Weekends off. Full benefits. Alla that."

"Are you -" He'd never lied to you before and you weren't sure why he'd start now, but you were struggling to wrap your mind around the fact that you'd just gone from being unemployed to promoted in a matter of minutes. "Are you serious?"

"Well yeah," He said simply, his grin softening a bit. "I mean, who else is gonna clean my office before I go on trips?"

You both smiled this time before your lips were immediately back on his. Eager, unreserved, bliss.

He fell back into the bed with you on top of him, his hands gliding along your curves while you straddled him. The flimsy straps of your tank-top slipping down your arms as you hovered over him, kissing and nipping at his neck.

He didn't care if you left marks on him. Didn't care if he showed up tomorrow smelling like your perfume with blatantly obvious bites covering his collarbone. He wanted everyone to know if they didn't already. Wanted them to stare and whisper and drop fucking dead at the sight of the two of you walking in together. It made him feral just thinking about it.

Your hips were rocking against him, your center aligned perfectly with his as you moaned at the friction your movements were creating. You could feel him growing hard beneath you, his fingers tugging at the waistband of your sweats.

"Here." he said in-between breaths, helping you out of them and tossing them onto the floor.

You started to pick up where you left off, but he stopped you, swiftly undoing his belt and adding his pants and boxers into the sea of discarded clothing too. You hadn't even been able to see it until now. Hadn't been able to fully appreciate the length and fucking girth of his cock up until this very moment.

You left another kiss on his neck and then on his chest and then on his torso, meticulously leaving them all over while making your descent down to the one place you so desperately wanted to be.

He watched you with wide eyes, your hand wrapping perfectly around him as you looked up and slowly ran your tongue along the side of his base.

"Fuuuck." His voice was heady, his hands tangling into your hair as you made your way up to his tip.

You opened your mouth wider, almost wondering how it was going to fit, but you managed. Taking him inch by inch, going down further each time until you developed a steady rhythm.

You understood why he liked going down on you so much. The noises he was making were gorgeous. Groaning out sweet little nothings the faster you went. "Doin' so fucking good for me, baby." "God, you're so pretty, y'know that?"

You kept one hand on him, gliding him in out of your mouth as the other trailed down to your clit. Feeling your own slick between your fingers only made you all the more blitzed out. You were sucking and moaning and watching him stare down at you like you had put the stars in the sky as you fingered yourself while somehow still staying focused on him.

"C'mere." It was the first coherent thing he'd said since your tongue had so lavishly graced him.

He gave your hair a gentle tug, pulling you back up so that you were almost sitting on top of him.

"I need to feel you so fuckin' bad, you have no idea." he breathed, lining himself up with you, feeling how wet you were before you'd even lowered yourself onto him.

His hands rested on your hips, your grip back around his base as you centered yourself over him.

It’d been so much just to take in your mouth, you were almost afraid of how bad this would hurt, but he was aware of his size. Letting you go at your own pace as he helped keep you steady.

The stretch he provided you with from the first couple of inches alone was noticeable, but heavenly. Your eyebrows knitting together as you looked back at him. A dazed, poutiness taking over you the further down you went.

You took him in deeper and deeper until finally, you were fully riding him.

"There you go, fuck - just like that."

He watched your head lull back, your hand reaching for his as you continued to grind against him. Both of you losing control as he began to thrust into you.

Your eyes went wide, his name echoing across the room while your walls spasmed around him.

"Sucha good girl."

His praises only made you go faster, one of your hands still locked around his and the other now palming at your chest. Squeezing your nipple between your index and ring finger as you looked back down at him. "Chuuya - 'm -"

It was hard to tell where his moans stopped and yours began, the carnal sounds synchronizing the deeper he plunged into you.

He felt another clench, and then, he was suddenly drowning in you. Completely unable to hold himself together anymore as you soaked him.

"Cum inside me." you whimpered, "Please, Chuuya. I wanna feel it. Please, please - fuck, baby, please.”

It didn't take you begging to convince him, but it certainly made it happen faster.

His ocean eyes rolled back as he thrusted into you, absolutely enamored by the sounds you were making. The way you were pleading and pouting as he filled you.

It somehow made every daydream he’d had about you seem lackluster in comparison. You were beautiful you were his.

You both stilled for a moment, trying to catch your breath before looking back at each other with the same exhausted smile.

He pulled out of you slowly, letting you collapse onto his chest as he ran light fingers through your hair. "You should probably set an alarm for tomorrow." He exhaled. "I heard your new boss is a real asshole."

"Oh yeah," You mused, leaning up so that your lips were ghosting his. "He's the worst."

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[heart-of-the-morningstar]

Brand New One Shot - First Preview

It’s time for a new one shot! I promise I will finish “Dress Up” in the very near future but I wanted to get a jumpstart on this! No active warnings for this preview, but there is a very very subtle hint to something naughty if you squint lol

You remember first meeting the King of Hell on the day you checked yourself into the Hazbin Hotel. And you remember thinking that Lucifer looked nothing like you had pictured. Of course he was beautiful, that wasn’t shocking, but he was so…unimposing. Not only that, he was kind, albeit a bit dorky as well. Not that it was off putting to you, it was endearing if anything!

Although, you hadn’t spoken to him all that much since the time you’d moved in. Lucifer seemed so nonchalant and relaxed with everyone else in the hotel, save for Alastor, who you noticed always managed to get under the fallen angel’s skin one way or another. Even you knew the radio demon was playing with fire; probably wasn’t the smartest idea to piss off the most powerful being in Hell. Regardless, how he acted around you was a little odd to say the least. It seemed like Lucifer was always trying to avoid you for some unknown reason. Did he not like you?

When you had first spoken to him all those month ago, you could tell he was tense. He rambled, a lot. And he somehow managed to fumble every other word that left his mouth. He quickly left after your initial meet, and ever since then it was nearly impossible to get in more than five words at a time. He had an impossibly perfect disappearing act, what with his portaging abilities. One time you greeted him from across the lobby and his only response was “O-Oh! H-Hey you! Uhh, I just, umm…welp, gotta run!” and took off before you could even say goodbye. Truly bizarre.

You eventually went to Charlie, telling her that her dad was seemingly very distant towards you. “Oh, don’t worry about that!” Charlie explained. “He’s a pretty busy guy, so he’s usually popping in and out of here pretty frequently. And he’s told me on multiple occasions that he’s glad you joined the hotel! He can come off as a bit scatterbrained, but rest assured he’s more than happy to have you here! And so am I!”

You smiled and thanked her. From the few months that you’ve known her, Charlie was never one to lie, so you decided to take her words at face value. For now, at least. For some reason, you still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was up with Lucifer. You needed to find out.

A few nights had passed and you found yourself wandering through the lobby. It was late, way later than you should be awake. Even Husk was asleep, the bar sat devoid of any life. It was difficult to sleep most night, you were still grappling with the fact that you were, in fact, in Hell. You thought you were a decent person in life. Never religious but you tried your best to while you were alive. But that didn’t seem to matter. Perhaps you should have attended church with your family more often, or donated to more charities, or not cut that one person off at that traffic light. Laying awake in your bed wasn’t helping these thoughts, but getting up and walking around usually helped just a tad.

You glanced over to the fire place, noticing the flames dancing against the walls. That was strange, considering no one ever used the fire place, or at least not that you’ve seen. But then you noticed one of the large chairs in front of it wasn’t empty. A white sleeve laid across the arm rest. You walked over out of pure curiosity, just to see who was awake at this ungodly hour like you. You craned your neck to see Lucifer sitting there frozen, his head down and eyes closed with his free hand pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked troubled. Before you could speak up, you heard him mumble under his breath.

“What the hell am I going to do…”

Worried, you outstretched your hand, but stopped short of touching his arm. “Sir?”

Lucifer’s eyes shot open instantly, turning his head to see you towering over him. He leapt from his chair completely startled and began stumbling backwards towards the fire pit.

“Watch out!” you warned, gripping his hand and pulling him towards you. Lucifer held his breath, trying to process what just happened. His head ended up flush against your chest, your face now feeling as hot as the flames in the pit. You let go of his hand and stepped away from him as fast as you could. Lucifer remained motionless. “I-I’m so sorry, your majesty! I didn’t mean for you to…I’m sorry!”

You finally heard Lucifer exhale. He stood up straight and fixed his wrinkled jacket, making every effort to not look you in the eyes.

“It’s alright, m-my dear,” he spoke softly, “no harm done. A-And please, call me Lucifer.”

“Okay. Lucifer,” you started, “I didn’t mean to startle you. I saw you over here and I heard what you said and…is everything alright?”

Lucifer was tense again. You noticed him clench his fists. “How much did you hear?”

“Not much,” you admitted. “you just sounded worried about something.”

The king let out a sigh, letting his hands relax. “Thank you for your concern, I-I appreciate it. It’s nothing…nothing that you need to trouble yourself with. It’ll be fine.” Lucifer waved his hand, a portal now swirling open behind him, leading to his bedroom. “I think we should both get some sleep now. And t-thank you for catching me. Although, fire can’t harm me…b-but I appreciate the rescue nonetheless!” He was about to step through the portal when you caught his hand once more.

“Wait,” you said quietly. Lucifer looked down at the ground, still refusing to meet your gaze. You frowned. “Sir-I mean Lucifer…I wanted to ask you something. I need to know.” You felt his hand squeeze yours; he was tense again. “I-I’ve been feeling like I’m not welcome here by you.” Lucifer finally lifted his head, his eyes almost piercing your soul. He looked distraught at your words. You never noticed how beautiful his eyes truly were, the soft yellow complimented his pure white skin nicely. You blushed slightly, but shook your head and tried to remember what you were saying. “I-I just mean, you seem to avoid me every time I’m near. If I’ve done something to upset you, I’m very sorry. And if you’d rather I’d not stay here, then…”

“NO!” he shouted, now gripping your hand with both of his. “I-I mean, no. You haven’t done anything wrong! Please…Please don’t leave. I should be the one apologizing if that’s truly how you’ve been feeling. I never want you to feel unwelcome here, especially not from me. It…It’s just that…I…” Before he could finish his explanation, his eyes dropped for just a split second before returning to yours. His gaze had somehow shifted into a more panicked expression. He let go of your hands immediately and stepped through his portal in a hurry. “I-I have to go, I’m sorry!” You couldn’t get another word out before his portal disappeared from view.

You stood alone in the parlor, alone and confused. The fire had died out, and you felt a shiver down your spine at the realization of how cold it had gotten without it. But you couldn’t let the conversation end there. You needed to know what was going on with him. You wouldn’t sleep until you did. Luckily, Lucifer’s room at the hotel was very easy to find.

[taintedtort]

prompt ✧ them doing your hair

characters ✧ aether, shenhe, ayaka, xiao, kazuha, wanderer

warnings ✧ gn!reader, reader has hair that’s able to be braided and pulled into a ponytail, so if you’re bald im sorry

a/n ✧ pt2 for you 🦊 anon

AETHER

✧ after you did his hair do many times, he’d gladly return the favor. he knows how nice it feels so of course he wants you to experience it. since he braids his hair every day, he knows what he’s doing. will give you your own braid and you two can match! might also put some little clips in there to make it colorful. was super proud of himself afterwards.

"you look so cute! do you like it?"

SHENHE

✧ she wouldn’t mind playing with your hair at all. if you wanted it in a style, she’d also give you a braid because she’s accustomed to it. but if you just wanted her to massage your scalp she’d do it without question. she wouldn’t put any accessories unless you asked her to.

"play with your hair? of course, sit."

AYAKA

✧ she probably offered first. she’d do a bunch of things to your hair if you let her. you’d be stuck for hours while she put it in different styles and added accessories as she pleased. her nails felt really good against your scalp though so you weren’t complaining. she honestly had the best time and would want to do it again.

"can i do your hair, please?"

XIAO

✧ he‘s got no idea what he’s doing, but since you asked he thought he would at least try. his first couple attempts at doing a ponytail were unsuccessful and you ended up having to demonstrate after he started getting frustrated. after he did it, it looked bad so he just took it down and resorted to running his fingers through your hair instead.

"this is impossible, how do you do it?"

KAZUHA

✧ you don’t have to ask him twice. he‘ll gladly sit for however long you want and comb through your hair. he knows how to braid but he’s pretty slow at it (honestly a win for you, just means he’s playing with it longer). he‘s very gentle and knows exactly how to work his fingers across your scalp, one of the best experiences you’ve ever had.

"does it feel nice? i can tell, you’re dozing off."

WANDERER

✧ he‘d reluctantly agree (he agreed after you asked one time). he wears a hat all day so he isn’t sure how to do a ponytail or a braid, so you’d have to show him. he actually listened and was able to do it after a demonstration and explanation. the whole thing felt sort of domestic, and you could tell he enjoyed it. you two actually sat there a lot longer than you had anticipated. he didn’t fuss the entire time like you thought, just sat quietly and worked on braiding some strands of your hair.

"wait— show me one more time."

[hellfireloserclub]

It was almost 10 pm, and Steve was at the point where if one more, sappy, loved-up couple came wandering through the door of family video looking for a tape for their valentines date night, (that would promptly get forgotten about as they fucked on the sofa in the sea of rose petals or whatever…), he was going to pull out the nail bat and start swinging.

Old him? He had loved all that flashy paper heart and sugar-sweet fakeness, but the new improved Steve? He was looking forward to the six-pack in the fridge and his hot date with Harrison Ford. Alone, locked away from the whole whatever of the situation. 

Steve tried not to feel betrayed because Robin had abandoned him for Nancy. He couldn't ever hate her for that, not after how long it took them to get together. 

But his late shift would have been a lot better if he had his co-workers by his side, yet Eddie and Robbin had abandoned him.

It was just depressing that even Eddie, the one person who said yes to almost everything, had left him to wallow in his own self-pity.

But adventure awaited, and no matter how much Steve had begged him to help cover Robin's dropped shift, Eddie had been firm about it. ' Wednesday night is Campaign night. Do you want to disappoint the gremlins?' 

No amount of Steve pointing out that the gaggle of seventeen-year-olds probably had other plans on Valentine's night that he really didn't want to think about could convince him to change his mind. (Steve had thought about it, and he had made sure they were always safe. He was, after all, always the babysitter, but they were his kids… they DIDN'T do that sort of stuff! He was half a step from Hopper’s general reaction these days, sticking his fingers in his ears when they made inappropriate jokes; they were just toddlers for Christ's sake) 

Not that he wanted to spend valentine's day with Eddie (he did) or that he was secretly wondering if Eddie had a date, (he was) because he had seen Max and Lucas drive past not an hour ago and they were very much not in the basement of Munson’s house playing with dice right now. (Had Eddie lied to him? Had he forgotten the number one rule of the party? Friends don’t lie? What if Eddie had a date? Why did that thought make Steve’s stomach feel as if he had just eaten some of Robin’s more questionable cooking?) 

The end of the shift couldn’t come soon enough and when he finally flipped the sign to closed at 10.30 pm, it tempted him to just leave the tidying for Robin or Eddie to do in the morning. 

It would serve them right for making him witness the absolute horror of other people's public displays of affection.

However, as he brushed the floors and chewed on the leftover promotional chocolates, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander again. Where was Eddie? Did he have some secret other-half that he was hiding from them all? If so, it wasn’t like Eddie to not be open about things like that, at least around the party he was unapologetically himself. Was it another man? Was that why he was being so secretive about it? Steve doubted it was that either, Eddie didn’t hide that part of himself either.

 ‘Were both Bisexual disasters? That’s why we couldn’t be friends in high school, Harrington. We would have seduced the entirety of Hawkins high, it wouldn’t have helped the devil worship allegations, but man, it would have been fun.’

And sure, maybe Steve had been funny with the last few people that Eddie had backed into corners after gigs, but it was just because they weren’t good enough for his Eddie. He was just being a good wingman. Eddie would, and had, done the same for him frequently. It was nothing. They were just protective of each other, that was all… (keep telling yourself that, king Steve). It just made no sense that Eddie would hide things like this from him. 

Steve was just putting the broom back in the closet when he heard the bell over the door go. 

“We’re closed.” Of course, someone would come in now. The people of Hawkins really needed to learn to read, but if you could ignore a multidimensional rift for several years, a closed sign might be a little advanced.

Nobody answered, but he thought he heard the bell go again. He really should start locking the door, especially when his hearing was as bad as it was.

Walking back into the front shop Steve almost jumped a mile.

“Jesus, Eddie! You know better than to sneak up!” Eddie stood in the open hatchway of the service counter, shifting uneasily from foot to foot, but at least looking apologetic. 

“I shouted, but you know” he gestured vaguely toward his ears with one hand, his other holding something behind his back “I'm guessing you were facing away…”

“I was in the closet,” Eddie's eyebrows raised. “Do not make the low-hanging joke, Munson. You're better than that.” 

“Oh come on Steve, it’s just there. Give me the win.” he chuckled nervously.

“Why? Did you strike out on your date?” Steve aimed for joking and missed, hoping that Eddie hadn’t picked up on the bitterness in his voice, he went about pulling the last of the novelty candy off the counter into a box behind it for Robin to graze on in the morning.

Eddie looked at him curiously. “I’m hoping I don’t.”

“Oh? So you did have a date then? I knew it was suspicious Lucas and Max drove past before. You know you didn’t have to lie, right? I would have given you the night off.” that feeling in his chest grabbed and tugged, it was almost painful.

“I need to kick both of their asses, but no Steve, I said I’m hoping I don’t…” Eddie stepped closer to him. “You know, like, future tense, you see I haven’t had the date yet? So I guess what I’m saying is no, I didn’t strike out, not yet at least.” his voice lacked its usual confidence, so unlike Eddie that it made Steve pause.

“So, why are you here, if you have a hot date?” Steve knew that this time he hadn’t kept his voice steady. He was jealous, and he knew it. And by the expression on Eddie’s face, he really hadn’t hidden it at all. 

“Well, I missed an important bit of my master plan. I forgot to do something.”

“Oh, yeah?” suddenly the scuff marks on the floor left by Robin’s Converse were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen.

“Steve, look at me.” Eddie prompted. He had moved closer again, thrusting something into Steve’s line of vision. Gesturing for him to take it.

“Is this broccoli?” Steve was holding what, clearly, was a bushel of broccoli. Eddie was rocking from one foot to the other again at his side, hiding behind his hair in that adorable way that made Steve’s heart speed up of its own accord. His entire face was bright red and, for once, it looked like Eddie was lost for words.

“Eddie, why have you just handed me broccoli?” His confusion outweighed Steve’s jealous embarrassment. What the hell was happening?

“Be my Valentine? Or whatever? I’m not good at this, I am so not good at this…” 

“Are you serious?”  

“See, I told Rob’s I said you wouldn’t think I was serious if I asked you out on a date on valentines, but she was all ‘who’s his platonic soulmate Ed’s? It’s me, and he loves all this grand romantic bullshit.’ and then I listened to her like an idiot.” Steve watched him pace, hands flying everywhere. “this was a stupid idea. Can we just pretend it never happened?”

Eddie had come to a halt in front of Steve and was making grabbing hands at the Broccoli as if to take it back. 

It just made Steve hold it tighter to his chest. God, he loved this mess of a man. Without thinking, he used his free hand to pull Eddie towards him. 

It just made him hold it tighter to his chest. God, he loved this mess of a man. Without thinking, he used his free hand to pull Eddie towards him. 

“Eddie… shut up.”

Eddie didn’t kiss back at first. Steve had caught him off guard, but soon enough, he was pressing in with gusto, and yeah, that sensation in Steve’s stomach was nothing to do with Robin's cooking. Eddie hadn’t shaved, and his stubble was rough, just as Steve always thought it would be, and he kissed in the same way he did everything else in life, full of energy and over the top. Eddie twisted his hands up into Steve’s hair, and Steve traced his hands up Eddie's neck, making for the mop of hair he had wanted to tangle his hands in since the upside down, even if he hadn’t been sure of the reason back then. 

However, the vegetable in his hand hindered his progress.

“Drop the broccoli Stevie,” Eddie muttered against his lips.

“No, It's my broccoli,” He pulled it back from the kiss, cradling the greenery to his chest. “The broccoli is important, I mean, I don’t understand it, but …”

“It was all they had left in shop, I had planned on this big romantic bunch of flowers, a teddy… the full works, but then Buckley had an emergency… you know what her cooking is like… and then well by the time I escaped it was almost ten on Valentine night and I had to get you something, cause my plan obviously needed it to work, so it was the broccoli or a two-by-four with a smiley face on it courtesy of Joyce, so out of the two I think-”

“Eddie, shut up.” 

“Shutting up.” he mimed zipping his mouth shut as Steve carefully placed the vegetable on the counter. 

“I think a bunch of Broccoli is the most YOU thing ever, you weirdo.” he grabbed Eddie again wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close, placing a small kiss on the end of his nose, Eddie went cross-eyed trying to look at him but grinned none the less. 

“So do I get a win?”

“You get a win.”

And if every year the kids ask Steve why he’s got a bushel of broccoli in a vase on the fireplace on his and Eddie’s anniversary, well, it’s just another win for the man he loves.

(inspired by the old man behind me at the bus stop holding a bushel of broccoli like a bunch of roses because he was too cheap to buy a carrier bag but his wife had demanded he buys broccoli so god damn it he bought the broccoli You go you, stubborn old man. Also, I've written the word broccoli now so many times it no longer looks like a real word.)

( also give me prompts!)

[angelnthsnow]

The Party & The After Party

pairing: toto wolff x f!driver!reader

summary: after winning your first formula one race in your first year in the category, you don't think the day can get any better. fortunately, your boss has other plans for the night.

word count: 3.9k

warnings: age gap? it's never mentioned but it's there obvi, boss x employee, use of y/n, cursing.

author's note: i must say my friends have gotten me into formula one, but it's kinda hard paying attention to the cars when this man exists. i wrote this nonstop in the middle of the night, it's shorter than usual but i couldn't get the idea out of my head, so enjoy! i promise i'll post smth nfl related soon lol k bye!!

In your first year as the first female F1 driver, you had done the impossible. Standing on the 1st place of the Monaco Grand Prix podium, adrenaline pumping through your veins, you looked down at everyone who had ever doubted you. Years of resisting attacks, sexist remarks and the constant need to prove yourself, you felt like you could finally breathe. By your side, stood two of the greatest drivers the sport had ever seen, Lewis Hamilton, your teammate, in P2, and Max Verstappen, in P3.

Your eyes wandered through the vast crowd that chanted your name from below, searching for the man who had made it all possible, your boss, Torger Wolff, the first person who took you seriously. Being a woman with hopes of getting into Formula One was exhaustingly hard, but everything started to change when you won the F3 Championship, a few years ago.

Paul, your teammate at the time, had told you that a certain team principal would come to the race that day, and although you kept telling yourself to not get your hopes up, every single attempt to do so went downhill when you saw the Mercedes team principal walking through the paddock like he owned the place.

To you, Mercedes was everything. Besides being one of the most modern teams, you also realized soon enough that Toto was probably the most open-minded out of all the other TPs on the grid. It was sad, of course, having such a little percentage of people who would be happy to see a woman in a position that was so dominated by men, but still, it lit up a flame in your chest, a string of hope you clung onto whenever you felt like giving up your dream.

That day, with him on the bleachers as you drove fearlessly around Spa-Francorchamps, you won the F3 championship, putting you on a watchlist of drivers that could get into F2.

Ever since that day, the austrian had kept an eye on you.

He saw how fiercely you fought to have a place, to have a voice and to be heard in a space ever so dominated by the opposite sex, and it didn't scare him, not one bit, he admired it. When you stood on that podium earlier, he didn't even bother hiding a smile, taking pictures and videos and chanting your name with the rest of the team as Lewis and Max sprayed the ridiculously expensive champagne on your back as you laughed.

That's why today, hours after winning your first ever F1 race on your first year in the category, he still couldn't get off the high he was on. He had finally gotten the confirmation he so desperately needed, not because he didn't believe you could do it, but because he was eager to prove everyone else wrong, to rip the smugness out of every single man who told you you didn't belong there.

At least that's what he had told you earlier through the radio before the lights went out, prove them wrong. He just didn't know you fought to reprimand a sob as you tried to concentrate in the lights that stood just above the Albert 1st Boulevard.

Now, Toto's eyes scanned every single corner of Jimmy'z searching for you, only to find you on the dance floor, pornstar martini in hand as you swayed to the beats of Empire of The Sun's We Are The People.

You had a smile on your face that could lit up a whole room, and he couldn't be prouder. Soon enough, your eyes met his and you chuckled, making a peace sign to point at your eyes and then at his as the line got lost in your eyes blasted through the club's speakers.

Even at distance, you could see him rolling his eyes and chuckling at your playful gesture, but still, he came closer, until the only thing in his field of vision was the visibly drunk version of you.

"You look happy." he leans down and forward to yell in your ear, making himself heard even if though the loud music made it hard to.

You squirm at the proximity, but brush it off by taking another sip of your drink. "I'm on top of the world, Toto. I don't think I've ever been happier." You yell back and he resists the urge to fight back a smile, presenting you with his pearly whites.

As one of the neon lights hit your face, he's forced to take in all of you. The version of you you'd put up whenever he'd tell you he had an important meeting he needed you to attend, or whenever you were needed to put up a show, like today.

You wore a black strapless dress, the one you'd seen a few weeks prior to the Grand Prix at Elie Saab's display window while you were on your daily night walk through Monaco. It was mesmerizing, with a shimmery type of fabric that would definitely make sparks fly if a bright light shined over it. You had thought of buying it, for days, really, but decided against it because party dresses were never a much needed piece of clothing in your wardrobe. Well, that until you told Lewis about the dress, and when you arrived at your apartment a few hours after the race, there it was, on a hanger hanging on the curtain rods.

As much as your looks prevented Toto from thinking about anything else, he couldn't help but notice how huge your pupils were, so big that it felt like your iris' were long gone. That and the fact that your sclera had shifted from white to a more reddish color.

He shifted on his feet, unaware of how to proceed. Were you.. high? Was that even a thing between sportspersons? Deciding on it being a matter that shouldn't be handled in front of the city's most congested place as of today, he mutters a "come with me" in your ear, putting a hand on your lower back as he guided you away from the crowd.

When he finally stops, you find yourself in a more private, smaller room with a few sofas and armchairs. He then proceeds to ask you "You've taken something. What is it?"

You laugh at his sudden concern. The answer was clearly a big red yes written in all caps, but part of you couldn't help but feel slightly ashamed at yourself. You had done it, yes, but now you felt sort of guilty, because the last thing you wanted was to damage his or the team's image. You shake your head, trying to to keep those thoughts away. It was just a party, a party for you, with only selected people being allowed in, it wasn't like you'd wake up to your name on the news.

"Come ooon.. don't be such a party pooper!" You slurred.

Toto was shocked by your reaction, part of him wanted you to celebrate as you wished, after all, you had just fulfilled a dream, but the other part, the responsible boss part craved an explanation, he didn't want you to cause any harm to your already fragile media image.

"Are you serious? You're the star of the entire team today! We have thrown a party just for you and you're getting off on drugs?" He says, lowering his voice on the last word as he crosses his arm.

"It's just a blunt, Toto. I swear I'm fine." Your laugh echoes throughout the small room as you grab his big arms, uncrossing them. "Don't get so serious on me." You look up at him through your lashes.

Toto gives you a stern look before a smirk creeps up on his face. The anger and seriousness fades away in an instant as he realizes the situation wasn't that serious. He sighs and looks at you with a sly, yet curious look. "How many? One, right?"

"Just one, sir." You say mischievously, holding your pinky finger up before kissing it to symbolize a promise.

Toto is taken aback as you kiss your pinky finger in a sarcastic manner, although he doesn't say anything. He looks at you with the same sly look as before. "I see... and have you done this before?"

"Who hasn't, duh?" You furrow your brows, flashing him a backward smile.

'He hasn't, of course. That's Torger Wolff we're talking about' you think to yourself as you look up at him. The soreness of your muscles and the pain of being on your feet for so long getting to you.

Sometimes it was kind of annoying having a conversation with your boss due to the fact that you had to look up the entire time, and countless were the times you found yourself with neck pain after hours of chatting. This conversation would surely be added to that imaginary countless list of yours, because even today, with high heels that could make you look six feet tall, he still looked way too big.

Toto chuckles before getting a playful look on his face. "Oh, really? I highly doubt the star of my F1 team has ever smoked a blunt before, although you do seem very knowledgeable about this." He moves closer to you, looking down at you as he speaks, his voice low and husky. You wondered if his neck ever went through the same problem yours did when you two talked, causing you to chuckle.

"I do?" You lift one eyebrow, narrowing your eyes. "Well, I must say.. the star of your precious F1 Team has done a lot, Mr. Wolff." It comes off more flirtatious than you intended, but you pay no mind to it. You try to take a step back, but end up slipping on the hem of your gown, the high getting to you later than ever.

Toto immediately rushes to you and catches you mid-air, wrapping his arms around your torso.

"Is that so?" Toto says, his voice now raspy and face close to yours.

You exhale deeply, relief from not having made an absolute mess out of yourself filling your body. If you had fallen, your dress would probably be completely torn apart and headlines would have a field trip with it.

He is still holding you, his hands burning on your back.

"Yeah.." You close your eyes, getting away from Toto's embrace as you regain balance and straighten yourself.

Toto steps back as you do so, although he does want to reach out to hold you again. Instead, he settles for engaging on more double entendre conversations with you.

His eyes are full of admiration, your body is more visible in this dress than it has ever been, and he makes a mental note to thank Lewis for the gift. He recalls the moment you two shared a few minutes ago, the way you swayed and jumped with the music like you were the only person in that dance floor would never fail to amaze him.

"You truly do look like a notorious celebrity in this dress, don't you?" He finally says, a hint of shyness in his tone, although the look in his face is stern.

"You could thank your other driver for that." You joke, trying to hide the butterflies that swarmed in your stomach.

"I certainly will." he smiles, his gaze softening as his eyes meet yours. They're still red, but it starts to grow on him.

Looking at you like this, completely wasted, happy and carefree, he couldn't help but remember the afternoon you two had met, when he started to be so sure you'd be by his and Lewis' side on a race weekend one day.

Now, there you were, in front of him, with a trophy standing somewhere back in your apartment. "I'm so proud of you." he finally says, not because he thinks you should hear it, but because it's all he wants to say to you after today's events.

You look away from him shyly. You had heard it before, specially from him, but every single time felt like fireworks in your belly. Him being proud of you was capable of putting you on a whole another level, it was just another signal that you had made it, that you had proved you were capable, even to those who were always so sure you definitely were.

You try to hide a smile as you mutter a simple thank you, because in this state, visibly high and drunk, staring at the man who had made it all possible, it's all you manage to say.

He smiles back at you, and your mind almost short circuits when he steps closer, not stopping even when you can feel his breath close to your face. That's when you realize he's about to hug you, and you just let him.

It's genuine, simple yet abnormally meaningful. His big hands rest crossed on your lower back as he pulls you closer, making your cheeks rest on his suit covered chest. You almost feel like crying, because how could you not? You had it all now, a place in the sport you so desperately craved to have since you were a kid, a win, an amazing teammate and an even more amazing boss, who believed in you through your entire career.

"You've done it." He says quietly as if you're a wild animal that would run away at any abrupt movement or sound. "I can't even imagine how you feel."

On cloud nine, that was the most appropriate answer.

"It's like nothing I've ever felt." you say, arms hugging his chest. "Thank you for always believing in me, you have no idea how much you've done for me." you sniff, clearly on the verge of tears.

"It's nothing compared to what you deserve. You're one of the greats, Y/N. The whole world's gonna know you name." he says, causing the tears you so eagerly fought to keep off to fall rapidly on your cheeks. You sniff, opening your eyes to see that a small wet circle had formed on Toto's shirt.

"Shit, sorry." You laugh awkwardly as you take a step back, desperately trying to dry your tears with your fingers before they ruined your makeup too.

"Hey, it's fine." He steps closer again, bringing his thumb to your face as he continues your job of drying the tears you had shed. Once he's done, his hands linger there for a bit longer than they needed to, stroking your cheeks. You thank the Gods for whatever the hell he was on today. "You do look pretty when you cry, though I must say I prefer the way you look on top of a podium, with champagne drenched hair and a first place trophy in hand."

You roll your eyes, as if it was possible to fall even more in love with him. It had become stupid at this point, really. Clearly the two of you had something special, to say the least, going on, but none of you were courageous enough to come clean about this.

"You aren't a bad view from up there as well." You shoot back, earning a smile in return.

The shameless and obvious flirtation to whoever watched from outside continued for a few minutes, until Toto insisted that you should go back to your party, and although at this point you had decided to give up the celebrations to look at him for the rest of night, there he was, once again with his hand on your lower back, guiding you through the crowd back to where he initially had seen you. Doesn't take long for you to get lost in the music, dancing like there was no tomorrow. Toto had excused himself to greet other team members and sponsors, fulfilling the ultimate boss role even at parties, and stealing glances from you every now and then while talking to someone.

A few drinks later, the club was getting more empty by the minute, the clock almost hitting 4:30 a.m. Your makeup was already lightly smudged, your black Louboutins long gone in the corner you once laughed with your friends. As you thanked the remaining people for coming, Toto showed up again, startling you as he came from behind, putting his right hand in your shoulder.

"Seems like the party has reached an end." he says, making you look up at him. His face was fairly red, and by the way he slurred his words, you could tell he was somewhat drunk. His hair was messier than earlier and the tie that was once a fancy bow was now untied, resting around his neck, a nice combination to his slightly unbuttoned shirt.

"Unfortunately. I hope you had fun, though." you reply, turning your attention to shake some of your guests' hands.

"It's always fun with you around." He says as he smiles to the same people shaking your hands.

You crookedly smile, turning around to walk to your table. As you do so, he follows.

"Do you need a ride? I saw you coming in with Bradley, but he already left," He watches you as you walk through the empty club, employees cleaning the floor of what was once the party of a lifetime. "guess parties aren't really his thing." He chuckles.

"I don't wanna make you take me home now, it's late and you're probably very tired."

"Oh, please, it's Monaco. Not like I'm going to be driving for hours." He replies, earning you a laugh. You and Toto lived pretty close to each other, but you'd drive past his building before getting to yours, so you truly didn't want him to make a huge detour just because of you.

"Fine," you smile, grabbing your sparkly clutch. "just please tell me you came with your 300sl roadster." You say and he chortles, rolling his eyes.

The Mercedes 300SL Roadster owned by Toto was probably one of your favorite cars in his collection. Hell, in anyone's collection. It's such an incredibly classy vehicle you couldn't resist its charm.

"I did." He says, and you let out a slightly loud yes! as he grabs your scarpins, laughing at your reaction. The way the smallest things were capable of making you happy always made him smile. Even after closing a multi-millionaire deal with your team, some things would never fail to make you excited, such as being driven home in a car you've always wanted.

The both of you start to walk towards Jimmy'z's exit in a different sort of haze, like the two of you were in your own little world together, laughing and exchanging inside jokes. The dry warm Monaco summer air hits you as soon as you step out, and soon the vallet comes driving Toto's car, opening the door for you to get in.

As the both of you get in, he starts driving, the sound of the car's engine echoing throughout Princesse Grace Avenue. Duke Dumont's Ocean Drive in the radio as your hair flies due to the speed in which Toto's driving. Now and then, he casually glances at you, smiling at the way you still manage to dance even when sitting on the passenger's seat.

Despite being a race weekend, the city seemed awfully quiet and empty at this time. Soon enough, he takes a turn and you're finally in Larvotto, which meant in a few seconds he'd be pulling up at your home. However, before he had the chance to, you saw the sun rising in distance, its warm light gleaming in the sea water.

"Toto, look!" you point to the horizon, and he slows the car down to follow your gaze. "It's so beautiful.."

"Indeed it is.." he says, and you can tell by his tone he's got a change of plans coming. When you realize, he's parking the car in the shore, exiting the vehicle to open the door for you. "Come on, let me give you a real after party."

You smile, because there was no way the day could get any better. You were sure you'd wake up later convincing yourself this had been a dream. Taking your hand, he pulls you out of the car, and after you close the door, he runs towards the sea, fingers intertwined with yours.

In this moment, you force yourself to forget about all of the implications and concerns that could come at you. In this moment, it was just you and Toto, not a Mercedes driver and the Mercedes' Team Principal. To anyone else who'd catch a glimpse of the scene, the both of you looked like stupid, reckless teenagers in love.

Sitting on the sand, you try to catch your breath, stomach hurting due to you not being able to stop laughing. You lay your head on his broad shoulders, hands holding his arm.

Suddenly, he feels the need to confess, "I'm always so happy when I'm around you" with the german accent getting heavier as it always did when he was drunk.

You smile, "Me too."

A beat, and then, "You're the most amazing woman I've ever known."

It comes lower than he intends to, but he's also never felt so nervous around someone as he does now. You thank the heavens for the fact that he's not looking at you, you look like a kid stupidly in love.

"You don't need to say that," you sigh. "you've already told me you're proud of me for today."

"I know. I'm not saying it because I feel the need for it to be said, but because I truly think that." he replies. "Ever since that day in Spa, you've proven to be an extremely fierce, fearless, wonderful driver and an even more amazing woman." You roll your eyes at his compliments. "I mean it, Y/N." He grabs your attention just by saying your name, making it all even more real. "Mercedes is extremely lucky to have you, and so am I." he looks at you, his face closer than ever as yours rest on his shoulder.

"You have me?" You say, looking at him through your lashes.

"I like to think I do. Do I?"

"Utterly." You giggle, your eyes glowing just by looking at him.

His hands go to cup your face, and the last thing you'd expect from him happens. At first, his lips brush over yours lightly, as if he's asking for permission, testing the waters to see if he's allowed to go further. When you don't protest, he deepens the kiss, sweeping you off your feet.

The both of you laugh, and you hide your now completely red face in his chest. "You have no idea how long I've waited for this." you say, feeling his body hairs stand on end.

"You have no idea how long I've waited to do this." he says, and you shed a tear on his partially shirt covered chest. "Are you crying?" He asks, and when he hears you sniff, he takes it as a yes. "Hey, don't cry. Look." he lifts your chin up, making you stare at the scene unfolding in front of your eyes.

The sunrise looked like a piece of art, with pinkish and yellow tones coloring the sky. Toto puts an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. You could now add having him at your list as well.

[tearsofastraeax]

May I request a petite reader who sees Ghost drinking and wants to have some too, but gets rejected by something like “Kids shouldn’t drink”, so they compete with him that whoever becomes intoxicated first needs to listen to the other’s request. Ghost is confident at first but reader drinks him under the table. TYVM!

This was so fun to write, thank you for your request 💖

pairing: ghost x reader tw: alcohol use word count: 1.3k

You were out at the pub with a couple of your friends when you saw him. Sitting all by himself at the bar, tucked into the corner and hidden away by shadows. You could hardly make out his face as you watched him, but what you did see were broad shoulders and thick arms. He looked so mysterious and so ... intoxicating it was hard to take your eyes off him.

All throughout the night you felt your gaze wandering to him, nursing on his beer in silence. Your body was buzzing with the need to go up to him, to see him up close, to hear his voice and to do so many more things. You saw his head turn your way then, your eyes immediately turning back to your friends. His gaze felt heavy on you, your cheeks warming at the thought of what could be.

It took you a couple of minutes after to gather your courage. You downed your beer in one gulp and stood up, before this pent up energy left you again and all this would be was a staring contest with some mysterious man you'd think about later when you were alone in bed, your fingers slipping underneath the waistband of your underwear.

Your feet seemed to carry you toward him more by themselves than your active participation, your thoughts were racing a mile a minute, and you still had to figure out what to actually say to him.

"Can I get a drink too?" You blurted out once you stood before him.

Classic, could you have said that any less aggressive? Or maybe at least said hello first, how about that? But you tried to swallow down the insecurity and attempted to plaster a soft smile across your face.

He turned to you then, his eyes roaming over you, from your face, over your body, all the way to your feet. When he looked up again, your breath caught in your throat. This man was going to be the death of you without even saying a word.

"Don't think kids are allowed to drink yet." His gruff voice cut through the anxiety bubbling up in your stomach.

You could hardly breathe, the sound of his voice would surely bounce through your mind for the next weeks.

And ... wait, what? Did he just call you a child? Your arms crossed over your chest, your chin tilted up in defiance, your face forming a sour expression.

"I'm not a fucking child you know."

"Sure look like one."

"Excuse me, what? Bet I could drink you under the table, the way you're sipping on that drink for the last two hours. Probably can't handle shit, can you?" Your voice sounded more hostile than you intended as it reverberated in your ears.

His eyebrows shoot up into his hairline as he looked at you, unimpressed and so fucking agitating. You didn't know if you wanted to punch the man right in the face or kiss him instead.

"You've been watching me?"

"I ... - what?! No. You up for the challenge or not?"

"Try me then, don't think you can handle half of what I can."

He sounded so sure of himself, so smug. The hints of a self-assured smile crossing over his features, which made you even surer of your plan to fuck this man up and show him how you definitely were not a goddamn child.

You ordered the first round and sat down next to him. Up close he looked even more handsome, scars adorning the skin you could see peaking out from his clothes, his face and his hands. You faintly wondered how he had gotten them. The bartender saved you from getting lost even further in your adoration of the guy. He placed 4 shots of whiskey and two beers in front of you.

"I'm y/n by the way."

"Ghost."

"Ghost? What kinda name is Ghost?"

Instead of answering you he looked at you again, his eyes burning into yours. Any words left on the tip of your tongue died out then, the intensity of his stare making little butterflies tango dance in your stomach.

"What's your stake?" He asked, and you watched as he grabbed the first shot, wrapping his fingers gently around the glass.

"How about bragging rights ... and your number." You added the last part quickly, afraid that if you thought about it too much you would shy back.

He searched your face for something, before a slight smile spread across his features.

"Alright, bragging rights and my number. Fine." You thought you saw the slightest bit of heat in his eyes as he answered, but maybe you were just imagining it.

"And what's your stake?"

He laughed now, a low and rasping sound that made your body tingle. "You'll find out when I beat you."

But you never found out. About an hour later, Ghost was slurring his words, the accent heavier, the smiles coming more easily.

You on the other hand were handling your liquor pretty well, sure it didn't leave you unaffected, but you were holding yourself up far better than he was.

"So, I think we know who the winner is." You exclaimed, a shit eating grin spreading over your lips.

"I ... - uhh, nah."

"What? Clearly you're way drunker than I am."

He hiccuped. "'s not true."

One of your eyebrows shot up, and you looked at him in disbelief. What a thick headed man he was. He made your blood boil, in the good and the bad way. The frustration felt like it was seeping out of your pores, your eyes staring him down.

"Don't get all ... ye know - fussy, little lady."

"Little ... little lady?" You felt heat rising into your cheeks at his words, and a traitorous feeling settling between your legs.

"Fucking unbelievable..." You muttered to yourself before you looked at him again, nearly getting lost in his dreamy - albeit, slightly drunk looking eyes, an idea forming in your mind.

"I dare you to get up right now and walk in a straight line." You grinned at him.

"Dou ... double dare you."

"To do what exactly?"

"Walk..."

"OH MY GOD, just admit you're drunker than I am."

His face pulled into a stoic facade, well at least he could still do that quite well, no matter how drunk he was. To prove his point to you he stood up, or at least he tried, nearly crashing face first into the floor had he not balanced himself with a hand on the bar.

"Fine." He plopped back down on the chair, and looked at you rather displeased. "You win."

A shit eating grin spread across your face. "Hell yea, I told you. Not a child anymore, am I?!"

Without another word he slid over a folded up piece of paper. His defeat evident in his slumped shoulders. You grabbed the paper and peaked inside, true to his words, his number was scribbled on there and a grin crossed your lips.

"Oh come one now, don't be a sore loser. You can get a revanche next time if you want." While you spoke you carefully bumped your shoulder into his, feeling the broad muscles underneath his shirt. Oh how you wished for a re-do of this, maybe next time a bit more private, maybe a bit more intimate ... You were so caught up in your drifting thoughts you nearly missed the slightest hint of a smile that spread across his features.

"Alright, hun'. A revanche then, you have my number." With that Ghost made to stand up again, this time more sure of his footing.

You watched as he threw some bills on the bar counter, turned and disappeared out of the door. His broad shoulders and delicious backside hopefully ingrained into your mind for the next time you felt a little lonely.

I think this calls for a part 2, maybe where reader gets a lil bit more close and personal with Ghost 🤭

✧ check out my masterlist for more ✧

[wordbreaker]

The Taming of the Dragon, 1 ✷ Aemond Targaryen

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen / F!OC

SUMMARY: One evening, Aemong, in dire need of clearing his head, catches a Dragonkeeper on the beach tending to Vhagar. The Queen of Dragons doesn't seem bothered by the stranger's presence. Quite the opposite. Aemond is immediately intrigued. Even more so when he discovers that the stranger is a girl who comes from the North and bears the name Snow.

-ˋˏ following chapter ✶ ao3 ✶ my inbox ˎˊ-

         Aemond Targaryen was on the verge of going mad. Everyone around him, from his mother to his grandfather and even his failing father, had only one word on their lips: Rhaenyra. His half-sister, who lived in Dragonstone, haunted the Red Keep. Her ghost wandered the corridors and manifested itself on their lips. He no longer wanted to hear that cursed name, which brought with it bad omens and curses.

“She'll do anything to usurp the throne! Even if she knows Aegon is the rightful heir!’ Alicent Hightower shouted.

Her brown curls bounced with every step she took. Her incessant to-ing and fro-ing along the Small Council’s table was making his head spin.

His mother had summoned him—as if Aegon wasn't the first son—to this secret meeting where her, his grandfather Otto, Criston Cole and Larys Strong would discuss stratagems, politics, and manipulations: three things he had started to loath. His love for his mother and his sense of duty had kept him from leaving the minute she made that request.

His expression revealed his true opinion of this ridiculous spectacle which he was watching with a distracted eye. He had stopped listening a long time ago and was waiting patiently—as was expected of him—to be dismissed. These discussions had a way of boring him. They went round in circles, nothing more than paraphrases of a previous meeting. A constant déjà-vu fuelled by obsession and a thirst for power.

“Viserys will come round,” her father reassured her.

The Queen laughed, a mundane, almost inelegant, gesture that was incongruous with her status. Rhaenyra had the gift of unearthing his mother’s inner ugliness. She could turn the most important woman in Westeros into the common little girl full of rage she had once been.

“She has his favour. She is the favourite child! He won't change his mind, not even about his first son!”

And what a son! Unsurprisingly, Aegon was nowhere to be seen today. His brother had never taken to politics. He was probably busy fucking some whore in the Silk Alley or some maid in his rooms, happy to let Aemond take over the responsibilities he left vacant.

Although it pained him to admit it, Aegon was the first son and he belonged on the Iron Throne. Aemond would much rather see his brother sit there than his whore of a half-sister. Aegon wasn't evil, just a misguided soul that his mother and grandfather would set straight. He was sure of that. Leaving the kingdom in Rhaenyra's palms, on the other hand, was tantamount to condemning the inhabitants of the Seven Kingdoms. Her reign would only bring calamity.

He tilted his head back and looked up at the ornate ceiling. His fingernails beat against the wooden table as the minutes ticked by. Slowly. Much too slowly. He held back a yawn.

The tone had been raised, words had been shouted, orders, given, and in the midst of all this racket, Aemond felt like screaming. He couldn't care less about Rhaenyra, his uncle, and her brown-haired bastards.

Aemond didn't want to suffer what his birth had spared him—responsibility. The second son was merely the replacement, the forgotten one. He would only appear on stage if Death came too early.

He wanted to be left in peace until then.

A futile desire for someone bearing the Targaryen name. No ancestor of the blood of the Dragon had known peace and he certainly wouldn't be the first.

The sun had been down for at least three hours when Aemond finally escaped from the clutches of his mother and grandfather. He mourned a wasted day and headed for his rooms.

On the way, he came across Aegon, his eyes reddened, and his eyelashes still stuck with sleep. His fist itched. He felt a visceral need to bring it down on his brother’s face. Why wouldn’t he grow up? What would become of Westeros if his grandfather and mother succeeded in making him king? Aegon was an immature fool and Aemond was expected to pick up the pieces. What did he gain by doing so? No recognition, no respect, and certainly not power. He was asked to do it because it was expected of him. An unspoken rule he learned to obey from an early age.

Aemond Targaryen would forever remain the second son, obscured by the shadow of Aegon’s unworthy glory.

“Brother.”

Aegon nodded, but the sly smile on his lips threw off any semblance of politeness. Aemond remained unmoved. He would not play his game, not tonight, although a few insults came to the tip of his tongue. He clenched his jaw.

“I assume the council was as interesting as usual. I'm sorry I couldn't be there but, you understand... A pretty servant was waiting for me. Couldn’t disappoint her, you know?”

Aemond didn't reply. He had not even deigned to leave the castle, not even his rooms. His hands began to shake, and a stabbing pain seized his sapphire eye, as it did every time he was upset. Lazy bastard.

When Aemond was mastering the art of sword fighting, Aegon was swilling whole jugs of wine. When Aegon was thrusting his cock between the thighs of a whore, Aemond was immersing himself in the histories of Old Valyria.

They couldn't have been more different.

Aemond continued towards his chambers, his face tense. Behind him, his brother burst out laughing and tried to talk to him, but he quickened his pace. Tonight, he had no patience for conversation.

Soon, the large wooden doors of his rooms appeared at the end of the corridor. The relief he felt was dulled by a weight in his chest.

At the last moment, Aemond turned around and hurried back. He felt as if he were suffocating within the gigantic walls of the Red Keep. The vast corridors were no longer so. They closed in on him and whispered hissing words. They slipped into his ear and snaked into his mind to unearth his worries. Stories of legitimacy, inheritance, the throne and responsibility—everywhere he went, his duty followed and plagued him.

Aemond needed to see Vhagar. He usually avoided disturbing her in the evening. His dragon was no longer in her prime and slept more than the others. Tonight, he would allow himself to be selfish. The need was too great. He had to clear his head, or he would go mad like many Targaryens before him.

He continued walking until he came to a darkened alcove. Aemond slid his hand over the cold stones. Eyes closed, he savoured the sensation. Click. He pushed open the wall, revealing a long and abandoned corridor.

The secrets of the Red Keep were no longer unknown for him. Aemond had spent his youth wandering up and down the corridors of the building in search of them. The stories said that Maegor the Cruel had beheaded the architects, the masons, the carpenters... all the brains and hands that built this fortress. They took these secrets to their graves, secrets that only the blood of the Dragon could recognise.

After the loss of his eye—thinking of Lucerys Strong made him cringe—Aemond had redoubled his efforts to find them all. These passages had offered him the ideal refuge to escape from the gaze of others during the most difficult period of his life. This tradition had survived.

Aemond didn't even stop in front of Balerion's skull—not when his own dragon, alive on top of it, was waiting for him—and he rushed through the corridors, down some stairs, up others, turned left and then right, down some stairs again until he finally reached a door which he pushed open.

The fresh air whipped across his face. Immediately, all his worries evaporated, although his hands continued to tremble—a vestige of his wrath. He inhaled the smell of the shore, a delicious mixture of salt and air.

Aemond made his way down the stairs and onto the beach. He relished the sensation of walking on the white sand. It crumbled under his leather boots. Aemond found this instability reassuring. Nature could be unstable too. The wind had picked up and was blowing thousands of grains around. These whirlwinds, small storms of matter, calmed him and the proximity of Vhagar finished off the hurricane rising in his heart.

With a slight smile on his lips, he walked over to the dunes where his dragon had taken refuge since he brought her back from Driftmark, eight years ago. A mountain of green scales stood among the other mounds of sand. It moved with every breath. Aemond could almost feel the warmth of her breath, the hardness of her scales, and could already imagine himself riding her, hair blowing in the wind, free in his mind.

His joy was short-lived. The gods did not like to see him happy.

Aemond stopped dead in his tracks. Next to the gigantic figure of Vhagar, a small silhouette stood out. It was fidgeting and tormenting the dragon’s sleep. The short distance between the two made him clench his fists. They were close, far too close. Aemond had forbidden anyone to approach his mount. He had never had to repeat his request before. Who would be foolish enough to approach a sleeping dragon? Those who had risked it were no longer around to tell the tale. They had been burnt to a crisp and their loved ones had had to mourn an unrecognisable pile of ashes.

The stranger must have been unconscious or just mad.

Aemond stomped over to them.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” he growled rather than asked.

He knew he was protective of Vhagar. Everyone around him had noticed. He had exchanged her for an eye, and this suffering had only redoubled his murderous impulses: Vhagar was his. Anyone who dared touch her would face his rage.

The latter rose in his chest and accelerated his heartbeat. It coursed through his entire being, leaving no part of his body untouched. His nails dug into the palms of his hands. His muscles quivered, waiting for just one thing—for him to attack.

He stepped forward, ready to confront the stranger, who jumped and turned but did not reply. This silence made him even more furious. Who dared ignore their prince?

Moving a little closer, Aemond recognised the gleaming black armour and scaled helmet of the Dragonkeepers.

A breeze of relief blew over his heart, but it didn't completely calm the agitation that had been building up inside. At least this person knew what they were doing.

Worry and anger gave way to curiosity: what were they doing here? Aemond had never come across a Dragonkeeper outside the pit. They lived there to ensure the well-being of the creatures. Like monks, the pit was their sanctuary, and nothing could keep them from their duties.    

Normally, at least.

He couldn't see their face. Vhagar's massive form cast an equally colossal shadow over their body, which was further darkened by the night. It was only when he was close enough to smell the smoke coming from their uniform that he realised it was a girl and, worse still, that he didn't know her.

The last time he had ventured into the dragonpit, he had been only ten years old and had two eyes. Back when he was still Dragonless-Aemond, the place had seemed unreachable yet idyllic—the embodiment of impossible dreams. Eight years ago, he would have easily been able to name the seventy-seven keepers with the time he spent there. He came every day, waiting for the moment when a dragon would accept him as a rider.

The Dragonkeepers’ faces had clouded over with time, reduced to vague memories that the satisfaction of having claimed Vhagar had swept away. Far too large to fit in the pit, his dragon had made her home on the dunes of King's Landing and, in doing so, had made the dragonpit a bygone era of his childhood.

“State your name. Now.”

She dipped into a clumsy curtsy, perhaps the worst he had ever seen. She almost tripped on air and fell face-first into the sand. He winced. This girl was cruelly lacking in grace. No doubt the keeper’s profession had damaged her manners, which already left a lot to be desired.

"Lucella Snow, yer ‘ighness.”

His eye twitched.

A bastard from the North.

The shamelessness made perfect sense now.

These people were nothing but barbarians, made savages by the cold and their proximity with the Wildlings. They prayed to their strange, faceless gods, remnants of a primitive past, and still clung to superstitions dating back thousands of years which bore witness to their backwardness. Too limited for the political intrigues of the South, they retreated into their icy fortresses and only left them to defend themselves.

Northerners were strange and even the Starks, although not the worst of their species, were no exception to the rule.

Add to that the absence of a father to beat her and train her like a lady, which she could have become with a little effort, and you had the bastard in front of him. She was not unpleasant to look at, Aemond decided. Her pale skin, hidden under the ashes smeared on her cheeks, and the few strands of black hair sticking out of her helmet leaped out at him. If she had been born in wedlock, many suitors would have fought for her hand in marriage.

“And what on earth is a Winterfell bastard doing here?”

“I’m sorry, yer ‘ighness, but I’m afraid ‘am just a bastard frum White ‘arbah.”

Her accent struck Aemond's ears and made him wince. Syllables here and there disappeared as the vowels struggled to make themselves heard properly in this gibberish. Her voice was deep, deeper than his mother's or his sister's—the only women of his life—, and dragonfire smoke had taken the evenness out of her tone, leaving it hoarse.

He didn't like the way she avoided his question or her undeniable lack of politeness. She looked at him with jaded eyes as if he were the one who shouldn't be there. He thought he saw a flame dancing in her amber irises. A strange colour for someone from a Northerner. In these lands, eyes were only blue, grey, or black: bland colours for a land saddened by the blizzard.

“Winterfell... White Harbor... Northern towns all look alike.”

“I suppose yeh won't mind if I call you Velaryon, then? Yeh understand... Valyrians… They’re all th’same.”

His indecency irritated her. A mouth like hers belonged in a dilapidated tavern, not in a place like the Red Keep.

Northerners didn't belong here. They weren't like them.

“What is your concern here?” he asked her again.

Why isn’t Vhagar killing you? he thought.

Next to Snow, the Queen of Dragons looked peaceful. His companion was used to the presence of the keeper of the North, Aemond realised. The thought worried him. How long had this stranger been roaming around his dragon without him knowing?

The bastard pointed her gloved fingertips at a sheep carcass, no doubt ready to be charred by Vhagar, judging by the hungry look on her face. Aemond had not seen it until now.

The presence of this woman was upsetting his plans and troubling his senses.

“I’m bringing her food.”

Her 'r's rolled off her tongue.

“I already feed her.”

“Not enough. Obviously,” Snow retorted without hesitation, pointing to Vhagar's visible ribs. “Age tends t’work up their appetite. Ain’t tha’ right, sweetheart?”

She tenderly stroked the dragon’s muzzle, who let herself be petted under Aemond's hallucinated gaze.

His mount, reduced to a common pet.

His nostrils flared. He abruptly grabbed her hand and pulled her away from Vhagar, ignoring the grimace of pain on the Dragonkeeper’s face. Good. Perhaps she would understand that lurking around his dragon was not without consequences.

Vhagar, the Queen of all dragons, ridden by Visenya, had fought and survived Aegon's Conquest. She embodied the glory of House Targaryen and would not be touched by a commoner. A Northern bastard even less so.

Without a glance at her, he climbed the rope ladder and settled into the saddle.

"Sōvēs," he commanded.

Vhagar, lethargic, took her time shaking her wings before flapping them and taking flight. She sent grains of sand and stones flying. Soon, the beach was nothing more than a pale speck drowned in the thick clouds bathing in the twilight’s silver light. The icy air invigorated him, but he couldn't find the comfort he had come for. His thoughts remained stuck on the Dragonkeeper.

When Vhagar lost altitude for a moment, when the two of them broke through the cloud barrier and the beach was visible once again, Aemond saw that she had not moved and that her eyes were riveted on him.

Aemond didn't understand her expression but decided he didn't give a fuck.