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yuna542 · 11 months

Text

[2]<-

[3]

›Bad Idea<

Pairing: Hong Woojin × Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst, Enemies with benefits to Lovers

Warnings: 18+, explicit Smut, under 18 DNI!, Suggestive Themes, Swearing, pet names, oral (m & f receiving), hate sex, ANGST, overstimulation

Word Count: 8.3k

Note: There you go. Part 3. If you have requests about Bloodhounds tell me and I will write something <3

Summary: As GunWoo’s little sister he wanted you to finally meet his best friend. Unfortunately you don't get along. He gets on your nerves, you fight all the time and yet you can't stop messing with each other. One evening you get into a dangerous situation and end up bruised and bloody at his apartment. And you suddenly have to ask yourself: Why do you feel so attracted to that idiot?

Chapter 4:

The Café

It was a summer day, just a few clouds hid the blue sky, but nonetheless mornings were less busy during the week. Most people grabbed a coffee before work or on their break and disappeared again.

Just as you were collecting an espresso, the store doorbell rang and you said goodbye to the man in the suit who always got an iced Americano at this hour.

When you saw who came sauntering through the door with his hands in his pockets, your expression darkened like a thunderstorm.

Woojin had a gym bag slung over his shoulder, and when he spotted you, your nostrils twitched with less than enthusiasm. You pulled your ponytail tighter and brought the espresso and a piece of strawberry cake to the only guest who was reading a newspaper at a table, ignoring the seductive glare that followed you.

The old man thanked you and for the first time you cursed that so few guests came. Woojin leaned casually against the counter and waited until you were standing behind it again.

You felt his gaze wander up and down your body.

"What are you doing here? I'm working!" you snapped at him in a hushed voice so the old man with the newspaper wouldn't hear.

Woojin leaned over the counter until his nose almost touched yours and raised his eyebrows provocatively as he said just as muffled:

"I can see that. You look much more friendly in that apron, by the way. It suits you."

Uncomfortably, you tugged at the red apron you had pulled over your black miniskirt and top. Before he embarrassed you further with his seductive eyes that shone like bitter coffee, you cleared your throat and crossed your arms in front of your chest.

"Shut up. What are you doing here?" you asked with a meaner tone than you intended.

However, the whole thing was so awkward because you couldn't stop staring at his lips that had been kissing you all over just a few hours ago and his hands that you could still feel on your hips.

He propped his elbows on the counter and tilted his head. It was clear how much fun he was having annoying and embarrassing you.

In truth, he had only come here on the off chance, without knowing that you were working today. When he spotted you behind the counter, with that cute apron, Dr martens and knee socks peeking out from underneath, his heart skipped a beat.

"You just disappeared this morning... I wanted to see if you were okay. Since we yesterday..."

"What do you care? Nothing happened," you quickly replied, moving a few things from one place to another so you wouldn't have to look at him any longer.

"Right... Absolutely nothing. I‘m a bit broke right now. Do you think you could be merciful and give me something? For free? That strawberry pie really looks..."

"Stop it! You're not getting anything now. I‘m not my mother who falls easily for your charming smile. I'll bring the rest of the pastries to the hall later. So get the hell out of here!" you harshly interrupted him, and that's when a new customer came into the café. Immediately you put on a smile and shooed Woojin away with a wave of your hand.

You really couldn't stand the racing heart and strange tingling in your stomach. So you hoped it would go away with him.

Instead of leaving, he stepped aside and just came behind the counter while you were taking the order. You glared at him as you stood by the coffee machine and he casually leaned against the wall next to it as if he owned the place.

"Always so cheeky," he muttered so softly that only you could hear. By now your head was almost bursting with anger and you had to force yourself not to yell at him in front of the customer.

"I hate you," you hissed, before you turned to serve the finished coffee. The young man thanked you, paid, and by the time he disappeared in the doorway, the corners of your mouth hurt from the forced smile.

Instantly, you whirled around to Woojin and stepped close to him so he could hear you clearly as you growled dangerously:

"Get the hell out of here! Why are you getting on my nerves all the time?"

That's when he braced himself from the wall and was suddenly much taller than you again. An intimidating glint entered his eyes and he pushed you back until your back hit the counter.

"Because I like it when you glare at me so angrily. It’s kind of sexy," he replied in a muffled voice, and you swallowed hard as his breath brushed hotly against your lips. Concerned, you glanced briefly at the old man, but he was completely engrossed in his newspaper.

"Woojin stop it!" you gasped as soon as he propped one hand each to your right and left, trapping you between his chest and the counter.

His presence was so engaging that your knees went weak and you would have loved to lunge at him and rip that stupid shirt off. Instead, you jutted your chin defiantly and tried to look angry.

"I love it when you act all controlling like that knowing damn well I can leave you shaking under me," he muttered with amusement and your breath caught.

Your glares locked and you rolled your eyes.

"It wasn't even that good," you replied monotonously, hitting the mark. His jaw twitched and he laughed bitterly. Satisfied, you smiled sweetly, though you just clawed convulsively at the counter.

"Really? It sounded a little different yesterday..."

You shrugged indifferently.

"It was nothing special."

The lie came easier to your lips than you had expected.

"Then how do you blush so much? I'm not even touching you and you are falling apart", he continued to provoke, and his lips brushed yours for a teeny second. For a moment you closed your eyes, wanting to lean forward and check if he still tasted the same as yesterday.

Just in time you thought better of it, and you winced violently as the doorbell rang, announcing a new customer.

Woojin finally let go of you and took a few steps back. Only then did you realize you had been holding your breath. The customer was the owner of the bookstore across the street, who always went to get a few pieces of cake and sandwiches for her family.

"Good afternoon Mrs. Yang. Can I get you the usual?" you greeted her with glowing cheeks and you feared she could hear your heartbeat across the counter.

She adjusted the green glasses on her nose and smiled kindly.

"Oh Y/N. Is your mother not here today?"

Woojin walked back into the room in time to greet the man with a quick hand gesture, who looked up from his newspaper for the first time and only now seemed to notice him.

"No. I'm afraid she's indisposed."

Mrs. Yang nodded understandingly and looked at what you had already prepared in the counter.

"It's very nice to see you again, too. Give her my best regards!"

"Of course," you replied, daring a tense glance at Woojin, who was watching you. Why did he always have to look at you as if there was nothing else around him? You tried to deny the fact that he was looking directly at you by rolling your eyes, but when he did it more than occasionally with that infamous smirk on his face, it confirmed the theory that he just wanted to annoy you.

"I already put cake back for you," you remembered, and were about to turn around when she raised her hands defensively.

"Oh I think your friend was here before me," she said, pointing at Woojin, who bowed briefly. Before he could say anything, you fixed him warningly with piercing eyes that brooked no argument:

"No, not at all. He was just leaving anyway. And he's not my friend."

You emphasized the last sentence especially and that's when the lady looked back and forth between you in astonishment.

"Oh no? I always see him here and with you."

"He's Gunwoo's friend, and my brother is actually waiting for him," you replied, and Woojin's expression remained impenetrable.

"That's true. I should be on my way. Have a nice day," he wished and bowed to the old lady before strolling out of the store with his hands in his pockets as if nothing had ever happened.

"Strange boy," you heard the lady mutter as you prepared her order.

"You don't say," you replied, anger mixed with confusion. You had lost control and didn't know what to do.

"Well, but he looks good..." she added, and a hysterical laugh escaped you.

Chapter 5:

The Flirt

Shortly after you called it a day and took off your apron, your thoughts still turned to Woojin. As much as you wanted to banish him from your thoughts, you found it increasingly difficult.

With the basket full of leftover pastries, you made your way to the hall where Gunwoo and Woojin trained with their coaches and other boxers almost every day.

The pastries consisted of rice cakes, some stuffed pancakes that you would have thrown away and especially egg bread.

This was Woojin's favorite. The first time he had tried it in the store, his eyes had almost fallen out and he had eaten so much of it that he had been sick for days. When you caught yourself smiling at the thought, you pinched your arm in punishment.

As you walked into the hall, the boys' attention was immediately on you and the basket of goodies.

Normally your mother did this regularly, now when the boxers saw you they froze in front of their punching bags and the guy who was in the ring with Woojin almost got hit by a punch because he was just staring at you.

Gunwoo broke away from his spot where he had just been throwing punches with his trainer and put an arm around you as he led you to the center of the room.

"Nice to see you again Y/N," the trainer said and you returned his smile.

"I'm just bringing something to strengthen."

The tall guy with the short hair who was standing in the ring with Woojin climbed out and stripped off his boxing gloves. You deliberately avoided looking in Woojin's direction. He was shirtless, sweat glistening on his muscles, and you couldn't bear the sight of his damn perfect body right now.

You were, to tell the truth, too afraid to give in to the heaping testosterone and accidentally lick him. Woojin's looks were easy to overlook when everything that came out of his mouth was rubbish, you just became painfully aware of that again.

"Heaven sent you!" the other boxer said, daring to look into the basket.

The others gathered around you as well and you set the basket down at the edge of the ring, where the boxers pounced on it like wild dogs.

They were all muscularly built, sweaty from training, and you didn't know where to look among all the half-naked bodies. Your eyes widened for a brief moment as the shock of Woojin's body that you had seen many times, especially while boxing, it still amazed you how attractive this man was.

Gunwoo also got some of the egg bread and then joined his trainer. They were all preparing for important amateur fights to maybe make it to the professional league someday.

Just as Woojin was about to come your way, you turned the other way and joined the big guy with whom he had been standing in the Ring.

"How's it going?" you engaged him in conversation, and Woojin stayed with Gunwoo, though not without looking over at you again and again.

"It's going pretty well I think.... The competition is tough. But we can learn a lot from each other," he said, eyeing you unobtrusively.

You leaned against the wall next to the punching bag and looked at the boxer more closely. He was good looking, probably the same age as you, and had a nice smile.

"I'm Woonho, by the way," he introduced himself, running a hand through his wet sweaty hair.

"I'm Y/N. Gunwoo's sister."

Woonho nodded and looked over at your brother, and that's when he noticed Woojin's piercing gaze as well. It was like he wanted to stab him with it.

"That's cool. Gunwoo and Woojin are the best around. They talk a lot about you. How do you feel about boxing?"

The question reached you unexpectedly. Looking at him confused, you laughed lightly.

"I've never tried it before. I don't think it's for me."

"Oh. I thought because of the injury," he said, pointing to his own temple. Reflexively, you grabbed the spot and winced as you were painfully reminded of the bruise.

"Oh, that? I was looking at my phone and ran into a door frame," you lied, and there he was, smiling brightly. He had cute dimples and loyal eyes.

"I think you'd make a good boxer."

"Really?" you asked incredulously and he nodded vehemently.

"Sure. It's not that hard. All you have to do is make a fist, stand up right and punch."

He demonstrated and punched the punching bag. Smiling enthusiastically, he held out a hand invitingly.

"Try it!"

"Okay. But if I hurt myself it's your fault!" you chuckled wryly.

"I'll take that."

You stood as he showed and tried to strike.

Amused, he corrected your posture by touching your hip and wrists.

Woojin boiled inside when he saw you laughing and as soon as Woonho touched you too and you looked up at him with your warm eyes, he wanted to punch someone's face. Preferably Woonhos.

An animalistic growl rose from his throat and something stung painfully in his chest when he saw how much fun you were having with the younger boxer. He stopped following the conversation with Gunwoo a long time ago. His gaze was fixed on you and how you playfully brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

You were flirting that was more than obvious. He shouldn't care about that. He shouldn't care at all, and yet he pushed Gunwoo aside in mid-sentence and his legs carried him over to you as if by themselves.

Before anyone could comprehend what was happening, Woojin had already grabbed him, yanked him back by the shoulder, and was staring relentlessly into his eyes.

"Hey keep your hands off her, you hear me?" he snapped at him.

Woonho just raised his hands defensively and took a few steps back when he saw the anger in Woojin's eyes.

"Relax. We were just talking. I didn't know she was your girl."

Stunned, you stepped next to Woonho and glared angrily at Woojin.

"She definitely is not."

Woojin didn't respond. He was like in a tunnel and his anger was directed only at Woonho. Even though he was smaller, he seemed a lot more intimidating and you were starting to not be sure if he wasn't just going to punch him.

Completely perplexed, you could only stare at him.

What had gotten into him? The rest in the hall had also fallen silent and were watching the scene.

"Well did you get it? Piss off or do you want me to finish you off like in the ring?"

Now it was a clear threat.

Woonho didn't seem to think it would be worth it and gave in. Silently he grabbed his stuff and disappeared from the hall. Shaking your head, you watched as Woojin ran back to Gunwoo and continued the conversation as if nothing had ever happened.

His arrogance made you so angry that you gritted your teeth. The anger burned inside you, but you held back until Woojin was the last to disappear into the locker room. The rest were already ready to leave and were still chatting outside the hall.

You seized the moment and stormed into the locker room. The door flew shut loudly behind you and Woojin whirled around from his locker to face you.

"What the fuck was that about?" you yelled at him, but he just packed his boxing gloves into his bag, unimpressed. He was still wearing the red shorts and sweat glistened on his muscles in the orange light of the small room.

"I don't know what you mean."

You thought you were going to burst with anger. Quickly you ran up to him, slamming the locker shut with one hand so he'd stop occupy with it and look at you.

"Don't act even dumber than you are! Why did you do that?"

"Did you want something from the little shit?" he asked as if it was your fault, since you had approached him.

"That's not the point... You have no right to it! I don't belong to you. We were just fucking! Nothing more. And it was a mistake. A big fucking mistake."

He watched your eyes spark, and you could clearly tell from the twitch of his jaw that he was starting to get angry, too.

Or his anger was just now coming to the surface.

"Oh yeah, are you so in need of it that you want to get it from some random douche bag? Do you need attention that bad? I can call him, he'd fuck you right now."

His words causing you to growl and nearly punch him in the mouth. Maybe if you did it hard enough, he would never talk again. You heavily considered it.

„You fucking asshole. I don't know why I'm even talking to you."

Stunned, you massaged your temples and you turned around because otherwise you would surely punch him in his pretty face. He drove you crazy just by breathing. You wanted to leave. You wouldn't get a normal response besides insults anyway.

"What, are you just going to walk away? Are you that much of a coward?" he shouted after you and that made you spin around.

"Shut up already!" you yelled, and you would have loved to throw yourself on the floor and cry. But your pride wouldn't let him have the last word.

"You really are pathetic!"

"You went out of your way to flirt with him in front of me to piss me off, didn't you?" he hurled at you, storming at you until he was standing close to you, taking away any air you could breathe. You looked up at him, your lower lip twitching uncontrollably as you did so.

"Why are you getting mad at me for flirting with someone else? We slept together once, doesn't mean we're exclusive. You hate me! So what's your problem?"

Why was he staring at your lips when you were arguing? The lump in your throat was getting bigger and the tension in the air was starting to crush you.

"Yeah, well, I don't like seeing other people all over you even if we're nothing more than just two people who like to have sex with each other. So what about it? Even though I hate you, it bugs me."

No matter what you said, it just made everything more confusing.

"You have no right to do that! Act like a normal person for once and not an asshole!" you hissed emphatically.

"Then don't act like a desperate bitch!"

Anger shot through your veins like poison and before you even realized what you were doing, you lashed out and punched his face.

However, unluckily he was a boxer and caught your fist with ease before it even touched him. Saying you were flushed and flustered during the argument was an understatement. You felt like you were bathing in a sauna on a summer day. The anger that bubbled under your heated skin didn't help in cooling you down. It only made you more furious that his little provocations affected you so easily.

Surprised, he clasped your wrist and it hurt.

"Don't you dare do that again!", he growled and still you took out your other fist. Maybe just because of his threat.

However, he caught that one too and so he held both your wrists.

Before you knew what was happening, he was pushing you against the locker and pinning both of your hands above your head against the cool metal so you couldn't attack him further, which was probably wise since you wouldn't have stopped.

"I hate you," he growled, and you just took in his body pressed tightly against yours. The acid that spat from your mouth always ignited a fire inside of him that he's never felt from anyone else.

"I hate you too," you murmured, and already his nose was brushing your cheek. He shielded you from the room with his muscular shoulders, and the coolness of the locker door at your back completely exposed you to him.

Breathlessly you gazed at each other and the crackling energy was palpable.

His eyes gleamed lustfully and you unconsciously bit your lower lip as he pushed your legs apart with his knee and stepped even closer to you until your hips were firmly against each other.

He wasn't just hot, he was beautiful. From the symmetrical lines of his cupids bow to the dark lashes framing chocolate eyes, he was hypnotic. And he had you completely under his spell.

The anger and hatred between you turned the energy into arousal and the two of you crashed together with teeth and lips, a brawl of desperate hands and angry grudges. He pressed you against the locker at the waist, let go of your hands and grumbled as you pressed your body against his. Fingers tangled in hair immediately, tugging and scratching. His lips were pillowy and soft, addictive. He couldn’t stop watching you. Hair a mess, eyes blown wide, and lips swollen. It was a glorious sight.

He rushed under your shirt, pulled it over your head and you got rid of your shoes in parallel. While your hands were occupied on getting rid of your clothes, neither of you cared about anything else but finally feeling each other's bodies to blow off steam.

After he also undid your bra and threw it aside, he ran his fingers over your covered cunt.

"You're already so wet and I haven't even done anything yet," he murmured, cupping your breast with one hand while the other pulled off your panties.

He circled his index and middle fingers over your clit until you gasped into his mouth between kisses. The kiss was rough, full of hatred. Both of you fighting for dominance, not willing to lose it, not even for a second.

You impatiently pulled down his shorts and underwear, which he also kicked aside. Finally you felt his length again, which you had been thinking about constantly.

"We don't have much time. Gunwoo is waiting," you said, stroking his shoulder blades, while he was already hard again. Excitedly you looked up at him, but your heart skipped a beat when he looked at you with the mischievous grin. There was an insatiable hunger in his eyes, yet he pressed a kiss to your jawline and murmured:

"Say it! Say what you want!"

You couldn't bring yourself to say the words- couldn't stand the thought of asking your mortal enemy to fuck you in the locker room at his own boxing gym.

"Tell me you want me to ruin you," he whispered in your ear, putting more pressure on your clit so that your body melted in his hands.

"I want you to fuck me, Woojin. Ruin me, please!" you said, rolling your hips against him, making him gasp sharply.

"Good girl," he replied, and you got goosebumps. Without further ado, he grabbed your ass, lifted you up and you automatically wrapped your legs around his hips. His tip was already stretching your entrance, but it wasn't until your back was pressed firmly against the locker that he slid inch by inch inside you. As he did so, a sigh ripped off him as your walls snuggled around him. A whimper escaped you and he held you with ease.

When he was fully absorbed in you, he looked at you urgently.

"You have to be quiet or they'll hear us," he stressed, and you had completely forgotten that everyone including your brother was still in the hall cleaning up.

He didn't give you any time to adjust, one hand grabbing your hip, the other groping your breast, as he started to slam into you at an unforgiving pace. The temperature that began to rise on your cheeks was spreading to your limbs, muscles slowly coiling as the pleasure continued to build at your core.

The locker creaked dangerously with each thrust and you tried to stifle your noises, but it wasn't easy as he thrusted deeper and deeper, your eyes almost cloudy from how good he truly felt inside of you. Another sensual kiss ensured, the combination of his raspy moans and your desperate whines slipped into each other, trying to stay quiet and muffle both of your sinful noises with messy kisses. The locker hitting the wall with each thrust.

It was almost ridiculous how fast your orgasm rolled on while he slammed into you.

You didn't really want to admit how good he was at fucking you, but by now there was no question. The knot in your lower abdomen tightened and while you tried to be quiet, you clawed into his back so hard you would definitely leave scratch marks.

"Your so tight... Fuck," he growled, spreading wet kisses down your neck that made you whimper. Desperate, you struggled to stop your naughty noises.

"Woojin... Don't stop!" you moaned, and he felt your body tremble.

"Come around me! It's okay, dollface," he gasped and even stepped it up a notch.

Your body betrayed you, obeying his command instantly, your body sucking his cock in deeper, ready to fall off the edge. You dissolved into the pleasure, pressing your hand over your mouth so as not to let everyone else in the hall know how well Woojin was fucking you.

But as the climax washed over you, he didn't stop.

As if it spurred him on even more, he continued to penetrate you and the look on your overwhelmed face made his dick twitch excitedly inside you. Your pussy was pulsating and overstimulated. Each of his thrusts you felt all the way up your spine and you feared fainting if he was going on at that pace.

As your nails dug deeper into his back and you tried to push him away, as it was all too much, he put a hand around your neck and pressed you against the locker, making it hard for you to move.

"I'm not done with you yet!" he pressed out between clenched teeth, and gradually his thrusts became more irregular.

Like a wild animal, he fixed you and when he increased the pressure on your neck, your eyes rolled back.

"I won't stop until I've filled your tight sweet cunt up and you can't walk anymore."

"Fuck you," you gasped in a trembling voice and by now you were sure you couldn't walk anymore. It was a power play that would never end. His hand on your neck and his never ending abuse of your pussy had you floating in the clouds.

The second orgasm rolled in with a ferocity that made your legs tremble. The sight of your fucked out face, your breasts bouncing with each thrust and your sore pussy finally brought him over the edge and you came together.

Like drowning you clung to each other and savored your orgasms.

Then he lowered you slowly and you had to sit down on the bench first. He also let himself fall on it, breathing heavily, you tried to bring your pulse under control.

Silently you gathered your clothes, got dressed and tried not to let on how difficult every step was for you. Your legs trembled incessantly and calmed down only after you had finished dressing.

Woojin also slipped into his clothes, but the silence was not unpleasant. It was soothing and even though you had argued and you were still angry, you felt comfortable with him.

At the door you paused for a moment and looked over your shoulder.

"This changes nothing i still hate you," you assured him and he nodded.

"Sure you do," he replied and the brief moment you looked at each other you smiled stupidly.

Chapter 6:

The Headphones

The next few days were not as strange as you thought they would be. In fact, everything was the same as before, only the meaningful looks between you were new.

Just like the racing heart that would kill you when he accidentally touched your arm at dinner or pushed you to the side while you were walking.

Relatively quickly, you realized that it was really nothing more than a fuck for him, and it should be for you. When he visited Gunwoo, you got a disparaging look and when it came to food, he still pushed you aside roughly to be the first to get Mom's famous omelet. But it didn't let you rest easy that he was the only one who made you feel such intense things.

Surely it couldn't just be him?

You tossed and turned in your bed a week later, once again plagued by thoughts of the jerk. He wouldn't let you go and even haunted your dreams. It was a catastrophe and you would have liked to forget everything that had happened. But you couldn't.

Nothing had happened between you for a week. In fact, you argued more often and were even more hostile, but without the sex.

Your body longed for it. Sighing, you stared at the ceiling. Today you were alone.

Gunwoo was out with Mom and so you had the house to yourself.

Lost in thought, you stroked the fabric of Woojin's shirt that you still wore at night.

You just haven't had a chance to give it back to him yet. At least that's what you told yourself.

You slept in it and it smelled so nice. It was stupid and naive, but when you closed your eyes and smelled it, you imagined that he was with you, touching your body and kissing your neck.

With your eyes closed, you played with the hem of the shirt. Underneath you only wore panties. You didn't want to leave the house today anyway. It was raining and you were afraid of being tormented by those damn thoughts about that arrogant idiot all the time.

The racing heart, the heat in your cheeks and the fluttering in your stomach had become annoyingly loud by now.

Your fingers danced on your belly and caressed your thighs. Closing your eyes, you imagined again how Woojin's fingers firmly but lovingly touched your soft skin. It was like a drug, that saved you from loosing it and keeping you sane.

Slowly your fingers found their way between your legs and you let them slide into your panties.

You inhaled deeply as you concentrated on the movements, trying to give yourself the same pleasure that Woojin had gave you. You first ran your fingers down your slit, collecting that sweet arousal until it coated your fingers. You then moved up to your clit, rubbing it in quick circles.

Soft sighs escaped you as you tried to chase the feeling, kneading your breasts through his shirt until you contorted your face in annoyance.

Touching yourself had always given you satisfaction, but the liberating feeling was gone. That was all Woojin's fault. Ever since you slept together, nothing felt comparable.

"Do you need a little help?"

You almost screamed and jumped out of the bed. Completely startled, you straightened up and stared at the curly-haired man leaning casually in the doorway, his cheeks flushed despite his annoying grin.

Staring at him in disbelief, you wrapped the blanket around your body, like it would hide the embarrassing situation he bursted into.

"What the hell Woojin? Do you like stalking women and breaking into their houses?" you yelled, anger equal to shame turning your face red and made your voice stumbling.

He raised your front door key in the air and jingled it as he said:

"Actually I didn't break in. Gunwoo gave me the key."

"That doesn't answer why you're here!" you snapped at him, wishing you could have sunk into the ground.

"I forgot my headphones."

He pointed to the black headphones that were now around his neck, the ones he always carried around. He took them off and waved them in front of you, as if it would made it any less awkward for you.

It was such a simple answer that you could only stare in confusion.

"Can I come in?" he asked, as if he hadn't just caught you masturbating.

"What, no?" it ripped out of you, but he had already pulled the door shut behind him and was wandering around your room. With his hands in his pockets, he looked around at your dressing table, your plants, and the pictures on the walls that often featured Gunwoo, Mom, and your friends from highschool.

Stunned by his audacity, you watched him from your bed. Today he looked annoyingly handsome again. His curls fell tangled in his forehead and he wore a tank top that was cut wide at the sides so you could see his abs.

"Can you get out of here?" you asked, and that's when he turned to you and said:

"Is that my shirt you're wearing?"

You almost choked on your own words as you wanted to hurl some insult at him, but the sudden racing of your heart stopped you. By now your head was as red as a tomato. You had to be running a fever.

"How long were you standing at the door?" you asked a little more meekly, pinching the bridge of your nose. If he watched, while you were touching yourself in his shirt, you would definitely take the next flight and never come back.

Curiously he pulled open one of your drawers and pulled out a pair of black lace underwear.

"Long enough..." he muttered, grinning as you jumped off the bed, ripping your underwear out of his hand and slamming the drawer loudly shut.

"What are you even thinking? Stop touching my stuff!What are you doing here?" you asked harshly, poking him in the chest with your index finger.

He eyed you with amusement as your body lay softly under the fabric of his shirt and your bare legs extended out underneath.

"Just my headphones. That's when I heard you and came to see if you might need help."

The shame made your hands shake at the thought of him hearing your desperate sighs and moans.

"Great."

You turned your head toward him, trying to look confident and unbothered by his whole presence.

"Now get the fuck out of my bedroom! I don't want to look at your annoying face for a while."

"I can help you..." he murmured challengingly, suddenly pulling you closer by the waist. A startled gasp escaped you as his thumb traced circles on your hipbones and his eyes bored into yours.

"What do you mean?" you asked, completely distracted by his lips once again.

He gestured to your bed.

"I can make you come... You just have to ask nicely, dollface," he replied, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement as you exhaled in annoyance.

Hong Woojin was a flirt, and a good one. You were experiencing his best lines. And the worst part was they worked. You wanted to push him away, maybe even slap him for his audacity, but you were desperate.

There was this desire and your body was on fire just by looking at him.

You nodded, which caught him completely off guard. Because he had actually also expected a blow and not a commitment. He wanted to tease you, to see that seductive blush on your cheeks and the way you bit your lower lip when you were angry. He knew you were a lot of things. Sarcastic, blunt, mean towards him, or so he thought. But he didn't thought you would be a tease.

"Okay. Good... Please make me come."

Your words were already making his jeans feel uncomfortably tight, and everything inside him tingled as he brushed a strand of hair out of your forehead.

"Then lie down and spread your legs, baby girl," he murmured and you got goosebumps all over your body. He was smug, overconfident. Irritatingly attractive.

You did as he said, sat down on the bed and spread your legs a little.

He looked at your panties with a hungry glint in his eyes. He knelt in front of the bed, between your thighs, and your heart hammered excitedly with anticipation. With both hands he grabbed you by the waist and lifted you to the edge of the bed with ease.

Then he slowly rolled your panties off your legs and pushed your knees apart with his hands. With an animalistic smile, he looked at your shiny middle.

"So pretty..." he murmured, and you were already getting so wet from it that you fell gasping onto your back.

He kissed your inner thighs and sucked lightly on your sensitive skin until he worked the spot with his mouth right next to where you actually wanted to feel him.

He smiled contentedly and when his tongue met your clit directly, an embarrassed whimper escaped you. He began circling the bundle of nerves with his tongue and sucking on it. He was addicted to the way you sighed and the way your body arched at his every touch. He never understood it, but when he was at your door and saw how flustered you were, it finally clicked.

He wanted you. Desperately wanted to make you feel good.

He enjoyed the view of the lines of your curves peeking out from under his shirt and your narrowed eyes as you tried to block out the noise. He licked a long strip across your slit and sucked hard on your clit, making you curse:

"Fuck! Woojin... Stop that damn teasing!“

Hearing his name come across your lips in such a filthy way made the heat shoot through his veins. Briefly, he stopped and looked at you.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked just to annoy you. With fluttering eyelids you sparkled at him, but he looked so beautiful, that you couldn't resist him any longer.

The dark curls framed his face like an engaging portrait, his eyes shone like liquid chocolate and his pink lips glistened from your wetness.

"For gods sake Woojin! I'll smash your face if you stop!"

The vibration of his chuckling laughter transferred directly to your core and you shuddered. With a smug smirk, he continued to itch your clit, giving you a blissful friction that had your eyes rolling. Once his tongue licked into your entrance, your stomach tensed as you bit your lip forcefully, containing all of your noises.

He started to eat you out as if you were his last meal, putting your legs on his shoulders to thrust even deeper with his tongue and his nose bumped teasingly against your clit.

It wasn't fair that he was even incredibly good at this. You clawed your fingers into the sheets and his name flowed like a mantra across your lips.

You almost forgot about his hand on your thighs until he squeezed them, slid down and grabbed the soft flesh of your ass to press you further against his face. Stars began to gloss over your vision as heated lust fogged up your mind.

His tongue penetrated you with increasing intensity. His mouth and chin were now full of your juices and he had rarely tasted anything more delicious.

If you let him, he would live forever between your legs.

"You taste like heaven, babe.... so good," he murmured, muffled by your cunt.

Then, as he sank two fingers into you and sucked on your clit, you felt your body float into the sky until you were seeing the clouds of pure ecstasy surround you. He was taking his time with you, partly for himself, savouring the moment, enjoying in the way you fell apart before him and partly to tease you into insanity.

You were afraid to explode as your orgasm washed over you without announcement.

Out of your mouth came curses and his name with the most pornographic sounds he had ever heard. You melted in his hands and as soon as your high faded he licked it all clean. Your pussy was sensitive and your hand flew into his hair as he continued.

Like an addict he kept fingering you and his plush lips kept working on your aching cunt.

"Woojin it's too much," you gasped overwhelmed as he brought on the next orgasm. He paused for a moment, looking at you and wishing he could have taken a picture. You looked beautiful with those puffy lips, buzzed look and beautiful eyes.

"You can take it, sweetheart. One more, okay?" he purred and with his sweet little smile, between your legs, you couldn't refuse him anything.

As his mouth rested on your pussy again and he pumped his fingers in and out, you began to see black dots. The next orgasm made your legs tremble around his head and you knew nothing more except his name flowing continuously over your lips.

The way you moaned his name, like it was the only one you knew, the only one that mattered, made his jeans feel impossibly tight. He started palming himself to get some relief.

But even then he didn't stop.

"One more baby. You can do it!" he said cheering you on, and you feared fainting with your next orgasm. However, your body craved it and pushed your hip right at him.

There was nothing left in your head but incoherent mass and as he pumped his fingers into you faster and low growls hummed from his throat, you came a third time. Only this time the world spun around you and your entire body was flooded with energy.

With a rattling breath you opened your eyes. You hadn't even realized you had closed them and looked down at Woojin who was wiping his mouth with his shirt.

"Fuck you squirted all over my face," he said, climbing up to you and propping himself up on the right and left sides of your head to look at you. You didn't even know you could do this.

You were still hovering somewhere between consciousness and drunkenness, unable to say a word.

"Are you all right?" he asked, lovingly stroking your temple, along your jaw, and with his thumb over your lower lip. Gradually you managed to fight your way back to reality and when you saw his brown eyes above you, you breathed a sigh of relief.

"It's all good..." you sighed even though your legs shook that much that you would probably never be able to walk again.

"Was that good?" he asked, sounding genuinely interested. Instead of answering, you pulled him down to you by the back of his neck and kissed him. Immediately your bodies were pressed against each other and he moved his lips against yours as if he had been waiting for this for days.

"Was that a yes?" he murmured against your lips and you both grinned, your foreheads pressed together, your hands tangled up in his hair.

"That was a yes," you replied, and before his confidence could grow any more, you pushed him back by the shoulder, pushing him onto his back and climbing on top of him.

Amazed, he watched you do it and put his hands on your hips as you looked at him from above. You felt even through his jeans how hard he was and just a small movement of your hips was enough to make him hiss.

"What do you think? You want me to return the favor?" you asked mockingly, pushing his shirt up agonizingly slowly.

He helped you take it off and dug his fingers into your hips so you would stop wriggling on his lap like that. Otherwise, he'd come right in his pants.

"That would only be fair," he replied, and you traced the contours of his rock-hard abs with your fingers. The bruises were just dark shadows by now, that you brushed one by one with your lips.

„God my head is about to explode“, he managed to say between needy sigh’s.

His cheeks were flushed and you could see how much he needed it. Now it was your turn. With a mischievous grin you climbed down his body until you were kneeling between his legs.

Only then did he begin to realize what you were up to.

With nimble fingers you opened his pants and he wiggled his hips to pull them down as fast as possible. When you pulled down his boxers as well, he gasped pathetically. His hard cock popped out and its tip was already purple. You had tortured him quite a bit.

You put a hand around his shaft and he watched you with widened eyes as you licked a little precum off his tip, keeping eye contact with him.

He had never seen anything hotter and a sweet sound rose in his throat as you began to slowly move your hand up and down his shaft.

"Holy shit... Fuck..." it tore out of him and he snapped his hips at you.

Teasingly you left your hand still and licked your lips.

"Take it in your mouth!" he commanded with a cute whine and you realized your chance to pay him back some of his bullshit. His eyes widened as he realized the position he had put himself in.

"Beg!" you said with a mean grin and he stubbornly pressed his lips together. Desperation made him gasp softly and you could see him struggling with himself. But he gave in faster as you moved your hand slowly along his length.

"Please, suck me off! Please I need to feel your mouth so bad!"

That was enough to convince you. Satisfied you palmed him faster again and finally you let your tongue circle around his tip until you took him all the way into your mouth.

His head fell into his neck and a loud moan escaped him as you bobbed your head along his dick. He buried his hand in your hair and soon he was guiding your head at a steady pace.

"Your mouth is so warm. So good. Ahh," he murmured to himself, watching his throbbing dick disappear between your full lips.

His grip on your hair grew increasingly tighter and as he pushed himself down your throat, tears welled up in your eyes. You gagged because of his enormous length, but that turned him on even more .

Gasping, he chased his own high and fucked your mouth restlessly. You couldn't breathe through your mouth anymore and his entire dick was full of your spit. Whimpering, you clawed at his thighs as he pressed your head so hard against his dick that tears ran down your cheeks.

It was intoxicating and despite the pain in your throat, arousal pulsed inside you.

"That's it, baby girl. Can't believe you let me fuck your mouth like the needy little slut you are," he growled and held you pressed onto his length for a few seconds until he continued thrusting into your throat.

"You're my little fuck toy! Mine alone!" he pressed out and his dick twitched inside your mouth.

The wet sounds, your dirty gagging and the sight of your glassy eyes made his motions become sloppy and with a few final deep thrusts, he pushed his dick all the way down your throat until your nose touched the skin of his belly and held you there.

You couldn't breathe and he came with an animalistic moan down your throat before releasing you and letting you breathe again.

By now tears, spit and cum were mixing in your mouth and on your lips. As his high ebbed he let go of you. You ran the back of your hand over your mouth and he had never seen anything more beautiful than your fucked out face. Suddenly he grabbed you and kissed you with his entire soul. You were confused by the intensity and blinked at him, when he let you go. It were so many emotions at once, that you couldn’t assign them to reasonable thoughts.

He pulled his shorts and jeans back up. Just in time as you heard the front door slam shut.

"Shit!" it escaped you in panic and with a glance at the clock you realized that you had already been messing around in your bed for two hours.

"Gunwoo and Mom are already back," you whispered, jumping off the bed to toss him his tank top, which he quickly pulled over his head.

As he stumbled out of bed, you pulled a pair of underpants out of the closet and slipped into panties and jeans.

As he stood at the door, he paused and turned to face you. Briefly, you nodded and he opened the door as quietly as possible. Your brother and Mom were carrying the groceries into the kitchen and gossiping loudly.

Just as he was about to slip out quietly, your Mom turned and spotted him.

"Ohh Woojin. You're here?" she exclaimed delightedly and Gunwoo now turned to you as well. She never looked so happy, when you came through the door…

You turned white as a sheet as your brother just stared at his best friend, while he was slipping out of his sister's room.

"Yes. I got my headphones," he said quickly, joining the others in the kitchen. Before Gunwoo could ask, you followed Woojin and said as normally as you could:

"I had them in my room. I wanted to try them out."

Woojin raised his eyebrows and looked at you obviously amazed by your excellent lying abilities.

"You mean you were going to steal them", he spat at you with the perfect amount of hatred to hide the truth.

"As if I needed to. You leave your stuff everywhere", you shot back venomously, and Gunwoo nodded sighing. It seemed all was the same as usual.

"Stop arguing and help me instead!", he demanded and threw a whole net of potatoes at Woojin.

Silently, you breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief when Gunwoo didn't ask further, and started to help him clean up the groceries.

That's how it went on for the next few weeks.

->[4]

—

Taglist (open):

@marked-unknown @littlebaby-bunbun @officialshania @choisoorin @fanaticnae @hoe4wonwoo @lola2004sworld @penny44224 @artisticbirb @amnmich @spaggedy @tasteskz-sworld

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sweetismyaddiction · 22 days

Text

SUCROSE

Paring: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Where the nicknames came from, how they meet, starts. (They live in the same building, in the same corridor, just in front of one another… which helps the friendship but couldn't stop Dr. Reid from falling in love)

Word account: 2005

Warnings: Fluff, friends to lovers, anxiety, mentions of menstruation and coffee facts?

A/N: English is not my first language. Reblog, like and comment. I am accepting suggestions for next parts. Please be nice. Past in italic. Gif is not mine, credits to the owner.

Chapter 2: Sugary

Spencer’s point of view

It has been weeks since Morgan met my neighbor and he can’t just drop it aside. At least he has capited a secret so far.

“I am just curious. That 's all. The girl has the key of your place and you never mentioned her.”

“I did talk about her…”

It's a murmur, Morgan almost can't hear it, maybe things were better when no one knew she existed besides me.

“She called you Sugarpout… Does Pretty Boy have a Lady?”

There is mocking in his tone, and a little of happiness.

“What exactly are you asking Morgan?”

“Are you two dating?”

“She is my friend, we ain't dating”

“Oh, pitty, she is beautiful, maybe I should gave a shot, she is very talkative”

“Leave the girl alone Derek.”

“Why? Are you jealous? Worried that I stil her? We could be your couple's best friend. Me and her would make cute babies”

“I am not jealous. Just shut up”

He leaves me be, we take care of paperwork, but he can't stop, it's like I can hear the engineers of his brain thinking.

“Ok, I just really got to know, where Sugarpout came from? I can't stop thinking about that”

“Why? Is just a nickname”

“A special nickname”

“Why does it matter to you?”

“Why so much secret?”

The truth is, I don’t really know why, where, when it all started. Is if we have being knowing each other even before we existed.

—----------------------------------------------------------

It was a rainy day, and I was just getting to my building when a strange woman got under my umbrella tugging herself at me.

“My savior. Could you leave me there? To that building?”

Was my building… is she a stalker?

“Sorry for just throwing myself at you. Is just I am made from sugar, so I could have melted with the rain”

Ok, she gots a weird sense of humor. Doesn’t she know about the danger of talking with strangers? That is one of the reasons I get so much work to do. She smells nice though… What am I thinking? Why is she staring at me? Say something Spencer!

“Ahn… yes… I was just going that way too.”

We walk together to the building and she opens the door, almost closing it in my face.

“Sorry. Why are you coming in?”

“I live here”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know that. I am a new resident. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too”

She didn’t try to shake my hand… so she respects boundaries and personal space the same way she doesn’t do that? She is so confusing, she seems like a very complex human being.

We both get to the elevator and she presses the button… is my floor button… How I didn’t know about someone moving to my floor? Maybe because I spent the last three days away in a case. The elevator stops and she gets out with me behind her, observing her body language. Wait a minute, that’s… she lives just in front of me.

“Are you following me?”

“Ehn…” she catch me staring, I am probably very red and more awkward then the normal me. “No, no. It's just, we are neighbors, I live here, just across the hall.”

She keeps looking at me, like if she is not sure to believe me or not, just open your damn door Spencer, and prove you ain't lying.

“See?”

“Nice place, very organized…”

When she ends up beside me? Her eyes run across my place, making quick analysis scanning what she can see by the door.

“Ok, I will live you be, sorry for being so intrusive, and thanks for the umbrella ride.”

“You’re welcome. Also, welcome to the building”

She smiles, her smile is pretty.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There is a nock on my door. Weird, I basically don’t get visited. I open it slowly and there she is the rain day girl, and she has something in hands.

“Hi, I made some cookies, and decided to give you some, since you were so nice to me that day”

“Oh, thanks.” I was very surprised. “You didn’t have to.”

“No problem, it is a pleasure. I hope you like them. It is the classic one, with chocolate drips.”

“It was very thoughtful of you. I really appreciate it.”

I take it from her hands, every time I see her there is that warm feeling, she is always so nice to me.

“How is the moving going?”

“Slow, I'm still putting things in place. The kitchen is almost ready. I am not in a rush to finish it to be honest. Just, baby steps, one day at a time…”

“Well, it is your space, your stuff, it is alright going slow, its you, it should go in your pace”

“Thanks. Well, when you finish the cookies you can return the ball.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------

The cookies were the most delicious ones I have eaten in my life. I made sure to compliment her, and the way she smiles and giggles, makes my heart beat faster in my chest.

Today I discovered that I am out of sugar, so why don't I go to the new girl? She made cookies and other delicious stuff she is always happy to share with me, for sure she has sugar.

“Just a cup? Sure Sweetie, I will go grab it for you, make yourself comfortable.”

I shyly enter her house, the first thing that hits me is the smell, I think haven smell exactly like it, I can see she still has a few boxes, but all the essentials are displayed, a kindle, books, a lot of types of books, fantasy, biography, history, classics… she also has a few plants, no much decoration… Why is that hard profile her?

“Here you go, a cup of sugar to my sweet boy”

I asked her sugar a lot of other times after that, just to see her, to feel my blood run in my veins, the fast piece of my heart, the smell invading my nose, that warm feeling.

—----------------------------------------------------------------

“Hi, so, do you have plans for today?”

She was standing outside my door, smiling at me, eyes glowing. How can she always be so beautiful?

“No. I did not plan anything for today.”

“Great. What do you say about taking me to a coffee shop? Any coffee you do like to go. Wanna know more about my neighbor.”

“Hm… Yeah, sure. I will just grab my things”

We go to a nearby coffeehouse and order our drinks while we have small talk.

“I love those cloudy and rainy days, so calm…”

Our orders get to the table and she points out when I drink my full of sugar cup of coffee

“Someone really likes sugar.” She smiles and is like electricity running me. “I can't drink black coffee, it gives me an awful headache.”

“Actually. Caffeine withdrawal could be an important but often overlooked cause of headache.”

She nods in agreement.

“People say that I am just being silly or have an infant paladar. I have tried a lot of types of black coffee, but nothing worked. So i decided just to drink my milk coffee, tha latte”

“Caffeine or 1,3,7-trimethylxanthine is totally, actually 99% and rapidly absorbed; it reaches the highest plasma concentrations after 30-60 minutes of ingestion, but this duration can be shorter or longer due to the variation in gastric emptying time. The half-life of caffeine fluctuates between 2.5 and 4.5 hours in young individuals but can be longer in elderly. Caffeine can cross all biological membranes including blood-brain barrier because of its lipophilic character. Only a very small amount of caffeine is excreted in the urine. It is metabolized in the liver, mainly by the cytochrome P450 1A2, to paraxanthine, theobromine, theophylline, and further to urates. Caffeine acts on the brain and the heart by blocking adenosine receptors and inhibiting phosphodiesterase. It is considered the most common psychostimulant, it enhances concentration, improves mood and energy, induces wakefulness, and enhances exercise performance. It can also trigger anxiety, tachycardia, and hypertension. Caffeine is known to cause dependence and withdrawal symptoms such as fatigue and headache.”

Oh, no, no. She is going to think I am such a weirdo now. Couldn't I just keep my mouth shut? Things were good, where nice, and now I ruin it all.

“I have heard that coffee was addictive, but I didn’t know it was absorbed that fast, or that it didn't get expelled out of our body by urine like most of the other drinks. Maybe one of those things causes my headache every time I try to drink black coffee”

“Caffeine also narrows blood vessels that surround the brain. That is its link to headache. In some types of headaches, the blood vessels in the brain dilate, or swell. They expand into the surrounding tissues, which triggers pain.”

Why can’t I shut my mouth, she is lookin at me. She will avoid me like the plague. Why am I like that? Can’t have anything nice, ever! It is like I can’t stop, and she does not stop me, so I just keep rumbling.

“Headaches in general are a common problem for reproductive age women. Migraine headaches are 3 times more common in women than men in this age group with the difference believed to be the result of hormonal fluctuations. In women with spontaneous ovulatory cycles, headaches have been documented to occur more frequently immediately before and during the first few days of menses. Approximately half of women with migraine headaches report their occurrence associated with menstruation, with decreasing estradiol levels hypothesized as the etiologic factor. Today's low-dose oral contraceptives all contain the same estrogen component (ethinyl estradiol [EE]) but vary in the progestin component. Until recently, all progestins in OCs, the oral contraceptives (norethindrone, levonorgestrel, desogestrel, and norgestimate) were derivatives of 19-nortestosterone. A novel OC with the progestin drosperinone (DRSP) is not derived from 19-nortestosterone, but instead derived from spironolactone. This DRSP-containing OC has been shown in a large placebo-controlled trial to significantly improve the physical and behavioral symptoms of premenstrual syndrome (PMS) and premenstrual dysphoric disorder (PMDD) attributed to its unique antimineralocorticoid activity. This improvement in symptoms has been attributed to the antimineralocorticoid activity of the spironolactone-derived DRSP. Spironolactone is the only diuretic shown in randomized placebo-controlled trials to improve the behavioral and physical symptoms of PMS. While studies using validated instruments have shown improvement in PMS/PMDD with DRSP-containing OCs, headaches have not been specifically addressed.”

I managed to hold myself for a few seconds and she finally speaks something.

“Are you trying to mansplain my menstruation cycle to me?”

“No, no… that's not it, I was just…”

“It is ok, I believe you”

She smiles, how her chicks don’t hurt with how much she smiles? Why, how is her smile always so captive.

“Spironolactone. I didn’t know about the diuretic in the OCs. It is interesting to know that, I have noticed that when I drink more water my period of blood in the menstrual cycle feels less worse than normally does.”

She… she paid attention, and… interacted? My heart hammers as a symphony in my chest. It seems the whole word is more worm, as if I had been in the cold dark without releasing it until she showed up illuminating everything and involved me with a cozy blanket proofing there is more, what truly could my life be, how good could it be.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------

From that day, I knew I was different, happier, she became a constant thought, always making everything better, the world more supportable. I felt the butterflies, the tingling, that stupid and uncontrollable happiness, the craving of being in contact with her, the maximum and anyway I could. It just happened, little by little. With no rush, never.

“Hey, Kid.”

Morgan snaps his fingers in front of my eyes.

“Where did this pretty brain of yours was?”

The teasing again, but we hadn’t had time, JJ passed rushing calling for a case, urgent.

A/N: Did you guys like the dades I insert? I had to read a few articles, I have the links, they will be right below. Thanks for the support. If you like the little facts let me know so then maybe I will bring more (cause in my opinion is a very Spencer Reid thing to do, talk about the facts.)

Links:

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1663116/

https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S1051227621000339

https://www.uclahealth.org/news/caffeine-connection-between-coffee-and-headaches#:~:text=Caffeine%20also%20narrows%20blood%20vessels,surrounding%20tissues%2C%20which%20triggers%20pain.

https://headachejournal.onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/full/10.1111/j.1526-4610.2007.00650.x

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#criminal minds #criminalminds #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic

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jeanbie · 12 days

Text

PRESCOTT ★ masterlist.

pairing: connie x reader

warnings: explicit sexual content, awkwardness/second-hand-embarrassment, porn with plot, alcohol, sex under the influence, semi-public sex, quickies, blowjobs, doggy | wc: 13k

note: the yapper allegations are true - example a: this fic. 10k of connie and mama, all because you guys overwhelmed me with love for ghostface!! it's a gift for you guys ✩࿐ connie is sooooo gekko coded in this fic btw!!

★ sequel to ghostface

⏤ After Halloween, you've been trying your hardest to avoid being near Connie Springer, but a little bit of alcohol on Porco's birthday is all it takes for you to find yourself back in his arms.

You can think of a thousand different reasons to avoid going to Porco’s birthday party, but all of them turn to ash in your mouth the second Ymir levels you with her dirtiest glare imaginable.

“Just how many birthdays are there going to be in November?” you ask, punching in the number of the last bottle of Dr Pepper into the vending machine. It threatens to hold the bottle hostage for a moment until you shake the machine by its sides, all whilst desperately trying to avoid looking at Ymir.

You’ve never been a very good liar, nor a great actress, which is exactly why you’re not at all surprised that she’s managed to notice your strangeness since Armin’s birthday. At one point, you thought you were doing a marvellous job at containing the humiliation inside of you, but Ymir’s analytical breakdown of every irregularity in your behaviour made you aware of just how obvious you’ve been making it. It’s a wonder she hasn’t already figured out the exact reason for your distance, created suspiciously after leaving Armin’s flat.

But, it’s not like you can just outrightly say that you got fucked by one of her friends in Eren’s cupboard on Halloween. The timing wasn’t right. And, on top of that, there was nothing remotely wrong with that fact to justify your withdrawal from society because of it — that had happened purely because of how hot Connie actually was underneath that Ghostface mask.

And now, every memory of that moment has been altered so that his face appears bowed over your spread legs instead of that sloping plastic mouth of wide horror. And it’s dreadfully humiliating.

“Porco’s is the last one,” Ymir says, leaning her weight on the other vending machine full with snacks. The library has an entire wing that permits food and drink, but with midterms looming around the corner, you’re not about to waste any more time drinking down here when you could be working, and no more time spent on conjuring up the image of a man you’ve met — and fucked — once.

“I barely know Porco,” you try. It’s true. While you’ve been running with Ymir and Reiner for a long time, it’s only been a few months since you met their extended group consisting of Porco, Pieck, Yelena and a few other faces you only see at house parties or in between classes. “Did I even get invited, or is this one out of pity, too?”

Ymir rolls her eyes. “More out of association, really. Plus, he thinks you’re hot, so that helped.”

“I’m charmed,” you mutter, taking a swig of the Dr Pepper before she, too, decides to rattle her jacket pocket for some loose change. “I’m just your hot friend.”

“Damn straight,” Ymir laughs, sliding her coins into the machine, eyes torn between two drinks. A line is forming quickly behind the pair of you, which makes Ymir slow down on purpose as she makes her choice. With her tongue between her teeth, she thinks long and hard before saying, “Seems like you made quite the impression at Armin’s birthday.”

You try very hard to ignore the regretful twist in your belly. “What? With who?”

Ymir looks at you from the side, crouching after a beady glare to get her drink. “Who are you expecting?”

“Nobody. I’m just curious.”

“Yeah, right. You’ve been acting weird lately,” she accuses, finally giving way to the growing line of students. Ymir looks up in acknowledgement as Reiner rounds one of the glass doorways, immediately heading straight to the instant coffee machine with a grumble. “Don’t think we haven’t noticed. We have.”

“Who’s we?” you ask, slinking in her shadow as she sets off towards Reiner. There must be some sort of gravitational pull between the pair of them — it’s probably what makes them so enjoyable to be around, the reason you choose to call them your closest friends.

Ymir claps Reiner on the back. “We is us. We’ve noticed.”

“Noticed what, sorry?” Reiner asks distractedly, looking up once his little cup is under the tap, the machine screaming to life.

“How weird she’s been since Halloween.”

“Oh. Yeah, you have been acting sus,” Reiner comments, in a way that makes you feel like he’s simply going along with whatever Ymir is saying to spite you. It wouldn’t be the first time, either. He had played his part in convincing you to go to Eren’s Halloween party, and you conveniently remember that party being the main factor behind your week-long self-imposed exile.

“How?” you snort, rather defensively.

“Just weird,” Ymir explains. “Like how you totally blanked us when we called you over the other day outside of Tom’s.”

You vaguely recall seeing Ymir and Reiner standing with a bunch of people outside the corner shop a few days ago. Behind Reiner’s wide body had stood Connie Springer, dazzling in his baggy blue jeans, and it had been enough for you to simply wave and be on your way.

“Being busy doesn’t qualify as being weird, guys.”

Reiner stirs his coffee and shrugs. In hindsight, you know that there are probably better ways to get over the embarrassment you feel from Halloween. It wasn’t even as if you regretted what happened — you didn’t. Being bent over a suitcase in Eren’s utility cupboard had been a thrill, a real pleasure. Connie had been concealed beneath a Scream movie mask and you were blissfully unaware of him, and you like to think that is the only reason why you acted so out of character.

Cumming with your legs in the air, desperately fiddling with your clit and greedily trying to catch every last drop of Ghostface’s cum? That was so unlike you! You’ve never been that horny, that turned on, that animalistic and needy. And seeing Connie a few days later, looking the way that he did, becoming a familiar face — you can’t explain the feeling very well, but mortified comes close.

How are you supposed to look him in the eye without replaying what you did together over and over again? How are you supposed to face him and try and be normal, when you were anything but when he had his cock up your cunt?

“Still being weird, by the way.”

Ymir’s voice doesn’t register until she grabs the back of your neck gently and squeezes, and it’s as if you’ve been rebooted to life. The library canteen manifests into view once more, and you look over at Ymir and Reiner sheepishly, trying to think of something to say that can justify your behaviour.

But nothing can. Yes — you’re being weird.

Unfortunately, you think your strange behaviour will only continue once Ymir looks over your head and smiles, and a wave of dread washes over you.

Please be someone I like. Please be anyone but the one person I do not want to see—

“No fucking way,” Ymir laughs joyfully. “Congrats on finding the library, Pock.”

A deep laugh sounds from behind you, and you brave a glance over your shoulder in hopes that it might just be Porco standing there. But as soon as you turn and spot three people standing there, one being the very last person you wanted to see, you feel your body grow hot and your mind whirl.

Great. Fucking great.

Porco glances between you and Ymir for a second, a smirk still on his face, and you’re almost overcome with relief when Reiner pulls you back to stand near his hip slightly, an arm draped over your shoulders.

“First time for everything,” Porco finally replies. By a small mercy, he has devoted his attention to Ymir, the little blonde girl behind his elbow falling into place near Ymir’s armpit. Not that you’re looking at any of them — your eyes are stupidly glued to the guy standing just in front of Reiner.

The guy who had you undone in a fucking utility cupboard.

Unlike at the party, your options are limited on what to look at instead of Connie, which is precisely why you enslave yourself to taking him all in, every last detail of his face, his body, while his eyes are drawn to Ymir as she talks.

Just like how he was on Armin’s birthday, every feature on Connie’s face is practically glowing with charm. It is a miracle that he ended up being more attractive now than he was with the mask on — you hadn’t put too much thought into conjuring up a false image under the mask that night, but even if you had, you wouldn’t have even considered pulling together someone who looked like that.

As you’re ogling his face and body, your heart lurches unexpectedly when Connie glances back over to where you and Reiner are standing, a smile pulling up on his lips. A small set of dimples appear in his cheeks as he does so, the sharp shape of his eyebrows rising as he studies you in particular.

Of course he recognises you. After all, Connie was the only one wearing a mask that night, physically speaking. You pray that Reiner isn’t paying close enough attention to the wandering eyes of his friend as Connie takes a good, long look and you half-heartedly fidget into his side.

“Just you guys?”

Even though your eyes have zeroed in on Connie’s mouth, you blink and process the question with a delay. Thankfully, it seems like Reiner’s talking to Connie instead of you, which you’re grateful for. You have nothing to say to Connie, anyway.

Connie’s green eyes flicker up from his tight assessment of you to Reiner’s face — another act of mercy.

He nods his head backwards, gesturing towards the circular stairs that spin up to the third floor, “Some of us are on the third floor. Marco, Jean…you know. I’m going in about an hour, I’ve gotta go to work.”

Whatever else he says you completely zone out from, though not on purpose. Connie looks both the same and completely different to how he did on Armin’s birthday; his buzzed hair is now a blonde wash, his skin looking more tanned from it.

Now that you’re up close, you count at least three moles on his face in a cluster of spaces, under his eye and across his cheeks. He says something, the tick of his jaw making you glance down ever so slightly to his neck before lifting back to his face — where in a shock, you discover his eyes are back on you.

For how long have you been gawking at him? And how long has he been looking back?

“Did you get that from here?”

You blink. Then, you realise he’s talking to you.

Surprised, you jut your head forwards slightly and look at him with wide eyes. “Sorry?”

Remarkably, Connie laughs, as though he finds your bemusement amusing. He points at the bottle of Dr Pepper in your hand, smile widening into a grin. “That,” he says.

“What?” For a second, you’re mostly confused. Out of everything you could have expected Connie to say to you after Halloween, you had never guessed it would be about the drink in your hand.

Reiner’s arm loosens around your shoulders as he turns to look at you, probably because your silence is stretching on a little too long to be normal. Unbeknownst to Reiner, you know that judging by Connie’s own lapsed silence, he’s perfectly content with waiting until you answer — just to hear you answer, if you even do.

You carefully look back at Connie, as if trying to gauge his sincerity, and for a moment, you catch a glimpse of something in his eyes, a taunting lift of his eyebrows.

He likes your silence. He’s relishing in it.

“Yeah,” you decide to say finally, pointing over your shoulder to the vending machines. “There.”

Connie nods. He could have quite easily figured it out himself, and once he looks away, towards Ymir rather than the vending machines, you realise belatedly that he isn’t actually interested. He was just trying to start a conversation. And you blew it.

“I think I had the last one, though,” you add, which makes Connie break away from Ymir’s story she’s sharing with Porco and the blonde girl with a little bit too much enthusiasm to be faked. Reiner’s entire arm falls from your shoulders and he assesses the gap between you and Connie. When did it get smaller?

Connie steps closer, only once, craning his head around your shoulder to the machines.

“For real?” he laughs, inspecting the selection of drinks from afar. Then, Connie hums, “what else is there?”

Is he seriously asking you about the drinks in the vending machine right now?

Your mouth falls open in surprise — this is not at all how you expected this to go down. You’d been toying between Connie being a total douche and making lewd references to the cupboard, or perhaps being so disinterested in your existence that all he said was hello and nothing more. The casual topic is almost disturbing, so out of the character profile of his that you drew up in the days spent avoiding him.

“Um…I’m not sure,” you reply honestly. The only thing on your mind is him, and his black cloak in the dark cupboard. His voice, his laugh, his hands on your body.

Beside you, Reiner clears his throat and he shoots both you and Connie an insincere smile, before making a speedy exit towards Porco while Ymir is busy entertaining the other girl. You watch with dismay as he moves away.

How could he just leave you here like this? Of course, he doesn’t know that you’re in an internal battle against your feelings for Connie, but still, solidarity! You can’t believe his lack of loyalty.

“I’ll have a look,” is what Connie replies with, and you blink furiously at him as he shortens the distance between you and steps past you. His hand slips very slightly past your leg, a finger delicately brushing past your thigh, and if it weren’t for your hyper-fixation on his every gesture and movement, you might have missed it entirely.

All you can do is watch over your shoulder as he walks towards the vending machines, rather slowly at that, and stands in front of it to browse the selection.

You’re left standing there, away from the throng of friends discussing Porco’s party, even further from the guy who rearranged your guts on Halloween and has been a plague in your thoughts. And for a few seconds, you’re torn on where to go next.

Stand with your friends and avoid talking to Connie? Stay in your place? Leave and go back to your things?

You do none of those things. There is no reasonable explanation for why your body decides to turn and head in Connie’s direction, no explanation you think is good enough. But, you move regardless, until your feet stagger in Connie’s shadow and he glances to the side, surprising himself when he sees that you’ve followed him.

You look between him and the machine, careful not to spend too long caught in the surprised yet pleased look in his eyes.

“Told you,” you say weakly, looking back at the machine.

“Yup, I can see that,” Connie replies, with a slight laugh that feels oddly reminiscent of the way he chuckled over your bent body in the cupboard. His eyes drop to your mouth for a brief second before clamping on your eyes once more, “You want something?”

It takes a beat for you to realise he’s asking in relation to the vending machine. “Oh, no. I’m fine.”

“Oh, okay,” he replies, and maybe you’re overthinking it, but he sounds almost confused. Maybe he is. Maybe he’s confused as to why you’ve followed him over here to do nothing once you’re by his side. He wouldn’t be the only one confused by that; you’re still trying to make sense of it yourself.

Once his eyes are back on the vending machine, you let out an internal groan and focus on the outline of his jaw, desperately thinking of something to say before he punches in the numbers for a bottle of Fanta and says, “you good?”

There’s a pause. What can you say, now that the chance to say anything is here?

You glance back towards the group near the coffee machine and bite the inside of your lip. They’re just a few steps away, engrossed in a conversation you might want to be a part of. Instead, you look back at Connie and nod dumbly, “Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Okay,” he nods, crouching to get his bottle.

Why the hell is this so awkward? Last week, this man had been up your snatch, trying to shove his dick up your ass. Why is seeing him after the fact so fucking uncomfortable?

“Did I do something?” You don’t know what you expected Connie to say after he got his drink, but it definitely wasn’t that.

“What? No?”

His brows pinch together slightly. “Just thought maybe you got uncomfortable or something.”

“…Why?” you ask slowly.

“You’ve avoided coming near me every time I’ve seen you since Armin’s birthday,” he starts. Has Connie suddenly appearing everywhere after Halloween been less of a coincidence than you originally thought, and instead more of a deliberate choice?

You blink, following along with his words, “and you blocked me on Instagram, so I just—” And how the fuck does he know about that?

So, he’s right; you did block him after Armin’s party, but only because you viewed his story on accident after a stalking session once you got home. Honestly, you never thought he’d notice, never need to notice. The hot flush that swarms your body is uncontrollable.

“I…” you start, but the words die like ash in your mouth.

Connie faces you, looking thoughtful. “It’s cool if you got cold feet after Halloween. Sorry if you had a bad time.”

“Wha—wait, I never said I had a bad time,” you rush to say, probably sounding a bit too eager, but it’s too late to reign it back in. You mutter to the floor, “the opposite, actually.”

“So, you did like it.”

“Wasn’t that kind of obvious?” you reply, laughing slightly. “I just…I don’t know. I didn’t expect to see you after Halloween. I just freaked out, it’s not personal.”

“Blocking me felt personal.”

“I panicked! I didn’t want you to think I was weird for finding your Instagram and then looking at your stories and posts and—” You stop. In order for Connie to find out that you blocked him, it would require him doing some online stalking of his own, and once the penny drops, your head jerks back in alarm. “I…I’m sorry?”

At that, Connie sniggers, shaking his head and taking a step back when someone manifests out of thin air behind you in demand of the vending machine. He reaches out for your arm and gently guides you away with him.

Frantically, you look back at the group; Ymir is neck deep in her story, the blonde in her arms enraptured by whatever it is she’s saying. Reiner and Porco are the only ones taking interest in you and Connie, but you look away before their curious glances can garner any attention.

“You don’t have to say sorry,” Connie says, his hand dropping after a beat of holding your arm. “We’re good, mama.”

Mama — just the word makes you feel weightless.

“Mm,” is all you can say in reply.

But Connie seems unperturbed by your lack of response. “You going to Pock’s party this weekend?”

Right — the very thing you had been discussing before your entire afternoon tilted on its axis. Porco’s upcoming birthday was becoming a hot topic in conversation, but you aren’t even sure if you’re going or not. An invite through somebody else doesn’t feel like much of an invite to you, despite that being the case for the last two parties you’ve been in attendance of.

“Uh… Maybe,” you tell him. “I actually don’t know Porco that well.”

“Huh.” Connie’s brows raise, his mouth in a falling slope, “Really?” He looks to the side in Porco’s direction, but you don’t join him. You’re too busy analysing the crestfallen look on his face, wondering what on earth put it there. “I thought he liked you.”

“That’s what Ymir told me.”

He looks back at you immediately, “Do you like him?”

“I don’t even know him.” But, then again, you didn’t know Connie at one point, and it hadn’t been enough to deter you from taking his hand and letting him lead you into Eren’s cupboard with your skirt up over your arse. Based on the flat look on Connie’s face, you assume he’s probably thinking the same thing.

“He’s not really my type,” you add, simply for no reason at all. But Connie’s face tugs up because of it.

He laughs shortly, “That’s good, then.”

Is it? You want to ask why, but Connie’s already looking back at the group and raising his brows in acknowledgement. All of them are looking over at the pair of you almost expectantly, and he addresses you with a simple smile and says, “Maybe I’ll see you at the party, then.”

Your heart is speeding up in your chest. Even though this entire conversation has been drier than bones, something inside of you wants him to stay.

“You’re going?” you ask him, walking slowly by his side as you head back towards your mixed friends.

“Of course,” Connie replies. “I’ll buy you a drink if I see you?”

“Yes,” you say, for it’s all you can say without feeling like you’re going to explode from overheating. And now that the group is mere steps away, you don’t want to compromise the secret hanging between you like a forbidden fruit, waiting for someone to pluck it off the branch and make it known to the world.

Connie says nothing else in confidence to you. All you catch once he turns to leave is a quick goodbye before he follows Porco back up the stairs to his books, meanwhile Ymir is officially taken with the blonde who is pulling her arm in their wake. Only Reiner remains, one eyebrow raised suspiciously.

“Don’t,” you caution him.

“Don’t what?”

“Just…don’t.”

Reiner grins; something tells you he knows more than he’s letting on that he does. But he saves you the drawn out humiliation of raising the point in the library, but you’re not in the clear, yet.

Not by a long shot.

21:43 Reiner: soooo 21:43 Reiner: what happened with you and connie 21:45 You: nothing? 21:45 You: i dont even know him lol 21:46 Reiner: why r u lying 21:46 You: ?? 21:47 Reiner: ik you guys fucked lol

A horrified cry leaves your mouth when the message pops up. All you’ve done since Armin’s birthday is avoid the window of possibility of anybody finding out what happened on Halloween. Are you really that bad of an actress?

21:50 You: ????? 21:51 Ymir: wtf 21:51 Ymir: when?? 21:51 Ymir: how do u even know eachother???? im so confused

For a while, you entertain not replying at all — the horror of both of your best friends now knowing your embarrassing secret for some unkind reason is still sinking in.

But, Reiner seems all too enthusiastic to fill in with what he’s learned.

21:53 Ymir: hellooo???? 21:54 Reiner: on halloween hahah 21:54 Reiner: i only know because connie told me

(At the same time…)

21:55 Ymir: he’s obvs lying 21:55 You: why would he even tell you that? wtf 21:55 Ymir: ITS TRUE??

Lying would have been the smartest option. As Ymir begins to freak out, you berate yourself for not thinking of it sooner.

Still, the pressing irritation you feel in your head builds as you try and make sense of why Connie would even tell people. What on earth would he gain from doing that? A kick? An ego?

Suddenly, Porco’s rumoured “crush” on you starts tasting sour in your mouth.

22:08 Reiner: he kept asking for your insta and i thought it was weird 22:08 Reiner: so i made him tell me why tf he was so desperate 22:08 Reiner: and he said he hooked up w u on halloween and was looking for u so he could like link up or something 22:08 Reiner: idk 22:09 Reiner: i think he was blocked anyway looool why would you do that

Hey, it had been a knee-jerk reaction! But you wouldn’t expect either of them to understand, not when you barely understood yourself.

If only you could be like your drunken self all the time — maybe the simple mission of acting normal around Ghostface would be made ten times easier if you were.

Your mind slides over the memory of the utility cupboard again, and you urgently shake your head and sigh, throwing your phone to the end of the bed with a groan.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so complicated if only you had left it alone. If you’d never gone online stalking, found Connie and then blocked him after viewing a story posted two minutes ago, then maybe you could have acted normal when the next meeting arose.

And, while you’re thinking about it, at least it was in public. You can’t imagine how stupid you might have acted if Connie had found you alone, perhaps in a bar or at another party, where the dark lights and the loud music could have entranced you into his arms and bent over some other questionable surface.

Considering how often Connie and Halloween have resurfaced in your mind, you can’t honestly say that none of the above wouldn’t have happened if you saw him again. You were lucky to have escaped in the library, albeit after a very awkward exchange.

With almost confident certainty, you believed there would be no chance Connie would want to broach a conversation with you again, not after the tremendous letdown of finding out the way you acted on Halloween was a one-time exclusive.

Having reflected on the whole thing, and suffered the painful consequence of Ghostface being a sexy friend of a friend, you’ll never do it again.

Your phone has been vibrating relentlessly since you threw it, and you reach for it once more and gloss over the messages. A few jump out:

22:18 Ymir: sorry its just too random 22:18 Ymir: im still in shock 22:18 Reiner: ikr 22:18 Reiner: someone needs to tell pock that his dreams of seducing her are over 22:19 Ymir: jfc 22:19 Ymir: im gay but even I’D pick connie over porco 22:19 Ymir: hey was he at least good?? 22:20 You: it was fine 22:20 Ymir: so thats a yes LMAO 22:20 Ymir: i just cant believe you let him fuck u on halloween 22:20 Ymir: YOU!!! 22:20 Ymir: its too amazing 22:21 Reiner: gotta hold her back at pocks bday lololol 22:21 Reiner: something abt a party just gets her going 22:21 You: why dont u stfu

Unbeknownst to them both, you’ve been having the same concerns. Porco’s birthday is a bump in the road you’re currently driving along to get to complete peace and happiness; the final birthday of November, the opportunity for a final drink before rushing to finish assignments before the Christmas rush begins, the scary certainty of seeing Ghostface again — only this time without his mask, which is honestly ten times worse in the sense that you can no longer pretend he is a thing, a someone, an entity drilling into you.

He will instead be Connie Springer; handsome, charming, popular, and as you’ve been made aware, a man who has been trying to look you up online for whatever reason you’re unwilling to think of.

And a little bit of alcohol never stopped you from making a complete and utter fool of yourself.

So far, so good: you’ve been at Invoke for an hour and a half now, and there have been no signs of Ghostface.

Ghostface is what you have elected to calling Connie in an effort to keep him at an arms length, and so far, it has not been working in your favour. Every mention of Ghostface takes you back to the 31st, and now that you’ve been in the club for almost two hours and have made the stupid mistake of drinking two (single) vodka lemonades, you can already feel your conflicted feelings about the subject simply fading away. Which is terrible! The total opposite of what you want!

Every so often, around Porco’s attempts to seduce you, you’ve found your eyes wandering around the lower level of the club, anxiously searching for a buzzed head to appear in a crowd. It doesn’t seem as though Porco minds or has even noticed, for his conversation simply folds over into a discussion with Reiner over something you don’t understand.

Unfortunately, however, your aimless people watching has caught someone else’s attention.

“Who’re you looking for?”

Instantly, you tense and rip your eyes off the crowd and back towards the voice, which belongs to Lynne, one of your friends from your Wednesday lectures and a good friend of Ymir’s. She smiles at you sweetly, eyebrows high.

“Oh, nobody, really.”

Lynne’s brows furrow until Ymir jumps in with, “She’s looking for Connie.”

You toss her the dirtiest glare you can conjure up, which she ignores pointedly, while Lynne’s features lift once again with recognition.

“Oh! The Spanish one?”

“I don’t know,” you tell her honestly, pinned under her eager gaze.

“With the really short hair?”

Your heart squeezes. “Oh, um—”

“—Yeah, Springer,” Ymir continues, immune to the look of pure disgrace on your face aimed in her direction. Knowing that there’s little you can do or say to keep her quiet on the matter, your shoulders sag and you lean back in your chair. By now, both Reiner and Porco have lent their ears to the cause, with both of them shuffling closer on their chairs.

Lynne sets her martini on the table. “I know him! My friend Lea has a crush on him, I think. Actually, I think a lot of the girls in the Quantum Mechanics class like him…”

Quantum Mechanics? Your eyebrows raise, not to mention with the effortless fact of Ghostface being more popular than you realised. Hardly surprising, though. If he was in one of your classes, you’d join the percentage.

“Girls take the Quantum Mechanics class?” Porco asks with a bemused laugh. “Wish I’d have known that before I picked Particle Physics. Nothing but nerds in there.”

“Don’t worry, your time picking up girls will come once you’re flying planes like Maverick,” Reiner assures him with a firm slap on the back.

“Wasn’t he in the Navy?” asks Lynne.

“There’s still time for all that,” Porco replies with a wave of his hand. While they focus on naval aviators and physics, you’re thankful the subject of Connie Springer has been put to rest, though you don’t forget to level Ymir with another dirty look before squirming in your chair and rising to your feet.

“Where’re you going?” Porco calls.

“Getting another drink,” you tell him. Your last glass of vodka lemonade had been drained a while ago. “Want one?”

“Sure, I’ll come with you,” he says, and while you’d rather like to avoid getting Porco’s hopes up now that his supposed “crush” on you has been made semi-public, it’s his birthday, and refusing would make you look like an asshole.

So, you nod and hang around while he chugs the last bit of his drink before rising to his feet, coming to your side with a hand on your lower back before you both set off down the miniature flight of stairs off the platform where the tables are, and down towards the sunken, dimly lit bar.

Since you arrived here, Invoke has doubled in guests; the dance floor is thick with dancing bodies, the music so loud that you can feel it vibrating through your feet and up your legs. Around the bar, a large crowd has formed, but you’re actually thankful of Porco when he shuffles you both into place at the far end, in an effort to slowly wedge the stragglers out of place once they’ve been served their drink.

“So, how’s your birthday been?” Might as well make some conversation to pass the time.

Porco looks back at you, perhaps surprised you spoke first considering you’ve made a brilliant effort in saying, at most, four words all night.

“Yeah, pretty good,” he replies with a smile. His arm tightens a smidge around your waist — you’re trying to ignore it valiantly. “My dad’s coming up tomorrow. Reckon I’ll be hungover for that.”

“That sounds nice,” you say politely. “…What’re you gonna order to drink?”

He scans the menu across the bar and hums; you see his lips tighten in on themselves as he thinks, before deciding on the worst drink imaginable, being a Fireball Cinnamon whiskey. You hope the cringe isn’t visible — who the hell orders whiskey in a club? Porco, apparently.

Three minutes pass and you’ve barely made a dent in the packed crowd by the bar, and as you’re still mulling over what vodka infused drink to indulge in, somebody slides into place on the free side of you. You feel their chest brushing past your arm, spot their elbow leaning on the surface next to your forearm, and the look on your face is no doubt comical when you lift your head and face the arrival to your left.

Porco turns his head, too, and his mouth widens into a joyful grin.

“Hey! You made it!”

With an expression of frozen surprise, you all but gape up at Ghostface as he leans beside you, his eyes flickering from you to Porco in amusement before he launches into some birthday greeting, his eyes above your head as though you aren’t even there. Perhaps a mercy on his part — you lower your eyes to the golden view of his neck and collarbones, the shirt he’s wearing uncannily similar to both Porco and Reiner. Looks like they’re matching, though there’s no contest on who is wearing it the best.

Before your mouth can water, you look away, straight forwards behind the bar. Your game of reducing him to Ghostface is forgotten. You pleadingly stare at the bartender in hopes that they might take pity on your situation and come to take your order, but to no avail.

The friends talk over your head for a while before they remember you’re still there. Although Porco’s arm is still tied around your waist, you feel Connie’s fingers brush over your arm gently, your eyes darting back towards him. Traitors.

“How’re we doing, mama? You good?”

Your jaw loosens.

“We should do shots,” Porco declares over the top of your head.

Connie nods, smile still wide, “Sounds good to me. What do you think?” He looks back down at you curiously.

Though your mouth is unbearably dry, and nothing sounds less appealing than the chemical-burn of a shot scratching down your throat, you muster a nod and helplessly turn back to the bartender, who has finally made his way around the sliding length of the bar and towards the three of you.

It’s busy tonight, and you can’t blame him for being busy, but with the birthday boy who apparently has a crush on you attached to your waist like gorilla glue, and Ghostface who is potentially interested in you after fucking you over a random suitcase sewn into your side, every minor inconvenience is beginning to feel personal.

“Let’s do tequila,” Connie suggests.

Your reaction is instinctive, “I hate tequila. Anything else, please.”

Tequila is the demon drink — it is the cause of every terrible decision you’ve ever made. It’s the small shot you took that made you unhinged on Halloween. It’s the first domino to fall before crashing into all the other dominoes put in place.

Connie’s grin widens. “Aw, come on.”

“Three tequila shots!” Porco’s already yelling the order over the bar. You almost want to scream.

The bartender slides over three little shot glasses almost overflowing with tequila, along with a little mini plate of limes that Porco brings closer with his fingers. A pool of dread is forming in real time as Connie leans around you, chest flat on your bicep, to grab his glass and yours, while Porco excitedly lifts both his glass and gaze in your direction.

Connie takes the little shot glass in his hands and lifts it up in a toast. “To the birthday boy!”

Porco says something in a jubilant cry, and for reasons unknown to you in that moment, you inch for your shot and turn to face Connie — bad move.

You forget to even shot yours as Connie lifts the salt-lined glass to his lips, licking the rim with his eyes glued onto yours. The flat spread of his tongue around the rim is what you zero in on for a moment, shimmering with the salt in a coy manner before he swallows the shot with perfect strategy. He barely even grimaces once its down, a glittering trail of it sliding down from his lip to his chin, and it is only when he wedges the lime between his lips in a grin that you remember your shot.

Porco shudders dramatically behind you. “Ugh, nasty!” And before he can get a word in sideways about your lack of ceremony in taking your shot, you reluctantly rip your eyes off Connie and down your shot, cringing immediately at the vile flavour, even when sucking the ever-living daylights out of the lime once its burning down your throat.

“Not so bad, right?” Connie laughs, his lips so close to your ear that you can almost feel them against you. Guiltily, although you hold no obligation to entertain Porco’s rumoured interest in you, you glance over in Porco’s direction and find, with a twist in your gut, that he’s already shuffled along, loudly laughing with another group of guys further down the bar, each in matching shirts. Must be a boy thing.

“How about that drink I promised you?” he asks, though it sounds more like a statement than a request, but you nod regardless. The bartender drifts back to collect the empty shot glasses and plate and glances up at you and Connie expectantly.

You feel him shift around you, crossing behind your back to stand on your right side, where Porco had once been situated. His left hand stays on the bar as he does this, until his arm is crossed around your back caging you inwards.

“Vodka lemonade, please,” you request to the bartender, who has served you this drink three times now and honestly had half the mind to run the order by you anyway. Connie pulls a face, intrigued, before making the same order. “A double,” you add. You’re going to need it.

Connie’s arm tightens around you when the bartender reaches for two new glasses.

“Wasn’t it vodka orange on Halloween?” he murmurs, this time with his lips definitely brushing your ear.

You shudder slightly. “Nobody brought lemonade to the party, I made do.”

“Uh-huh,” he replies. “How much you had tonight?”

“Two singles,” you reply, “and the tequila.”

“Uh-oh, I gotta catch up,” Connie says. His weight is angled on the bar in a way that makes you feel very exposed, despite being so wrapped up in his arm that to an outsider, they wouldn’t be able to guess that you weren’t there together.

The smile on Connie’s lips softens slightly, not as entertained as it was before, and he lets his eyes wander across your face for a moment until he says, “You look so good.”

Hesitating, you look at him and study the expression on his face. Within it, there are no signs to suggest he is lying — why would he, anyway? You’ve been trying to come up with excuses to justify Connie being here with an arm around you, as if he’s here for any other reason than because he’s interested in you. No surprise that you’ve been unsuccessful in that department. But acknowledging that he is willingly seeking you out after Halloween and more specifically, after that embarrassing shit show in the library, is a dangerous game to play.

Besides. So good — he could have just said “good” and moved on. But he didn’t. And you feel your face burning, your body sweating. Just from a little adverb.

“So do you,” you reply after a prolonged silence. He doesn’t seem too fussed by it, only more endeared. You go to say something more, and so does he, but then the bartender shuffles back with two glasses and thrusts the card machine in front of Connie. He whips out his card with no hesitation and pays for the drinks, arm loosening around you slightly as you reach for your drink and take a deep breath, spinning to survey the dance floor.

Ymir and Reiner have since moved from the table; you see Reiner with your handbag over his shoulder, leaning against a counter that frames the dance floor with a cocky smile, Ymir by his arm. Both are staring at you with smug expressions. Reiner even throws a thumbs up, and you scowl at him, feeling lost when Connie’s arm unravels from your waist and falls down between you both, his fingers pinching at your thigh gently as he turns his head to the right and says something to Porco.

“I’ll come find you later,” Connie says loudly over the music when he looks back at you. Something hopeful flashes in his eyes — it sounds more like a promise.

Despite his hand still being wrapped around your thigh like a goddamn claw, your thighs tighten and he lets go, eyes widening just slightly enough for you to notice.

There’s only one thing you can blame when you look up at Connie, in a daze, and say, “Okay,” like it’s nothing at all…

It’s the tequila, you think adamantly. Yes. Blame the tequila.

Connie’s smile transforms into a smirk, so wide that his teeth bare and the dimples you noticed in the library blossom on his face. He dips his head with a slight laugh, and then he lifts his fingers under your chin and affectionately flicks, his thumb running softly under your chin until his nail grazes your skin on his release.

“Be good, mama,�� he says, and then he turns away, sliding into Porco’s new formation of friends so effortlessly that you have to blink a few times before it registers that he’s moved along.

Your stomach folds in on itself and clenches, and you take a large gulp of vodka lemonade and bravely turn to Reiner and Ymir, who both look entirely too pleased with the progress you’re making. Maybe you’ll be lucky and Connie will stay occupied until you manage to leave without doing anything horrendously out of character like on Halloween…

But you were wrong. So unbelievably wrong.

The hallway to the club toilets is wide and cold, the music reduced in a way that makes walking down its length feel like entering an alternate dimension of sorts. Your head is spinning once you cross the threshold, every drink you’ve had since the shot with Connie and Porco at the bar taking effect. And there have been at least three more since then, not including the criminally delicious Sourz shots you took with Ymir and Reiner, and then another shot you took off Lynne’s stomach — don’t ask, because you’re not willing to talk about how you ended up doing that in front of everybody.

The men and women’s toilets are right next to one another, with the one disabled toilet suspiciously locked and guarded by a fleet of friends who are nursing a sick girl back to health with a glass of water. If you’re not careful, that’ll be you later on.

You push past them heading for the women’s bathroom, when all of a sudden, a strangely familiar feeling of slender muscle wraps around your waist from behind and within a few seconds, you feel your feet lifting off the floor.

Shock rises up in you like a fountain, a surprised squeal leaving your lips as you watch the women’s bathroom disappear past your arm. Whoever has you bundled up has no intention of helping you on your way to open the floodgates — oh, no. Instead, the arm carries you into the men’s bathroom and around a corner, and you feel your heart rising to your throat, along with another string of surprised noises.

You’re carried past a wall of mirrors lining the sinks, and with a fleeting glance, you spy the shape of someone behind you wearing all black, and you might’ve wrangled around in panic if it weren’t for his buzzed head of hair, the sniggering in your ear. Actually, you might still wrangle around, but for a different reason.

Connie carries you to a stall at the far end that is thankfully clean, and he swiftly shuffles inside and presses you up against the door, sliding the lock in place while he laughs in your face, lips so close to yours they might as well be touching. His hand smothers into your hair affectionately while you stare up at him in bewilderment.

“What are you doing?” you gasp, still trying to process that you are, in fact, in the mens bathroom. While you’re here, you might as well admit to yourself that you expected it to be weirder in here than it is — where was the little trinket lady selling perfumes and key rings by the sinks? Where’s the puking people, the chatter, the laughter? There’s no sense of community in here whatsoever!

“Tour of the mens bathroom, you’re welcome.”

“I’m not allowed in here!”

“So what?” Connie laughs, sounding more infatuated than amused — but you blame any misreading of Connie’s behaviour on the however many gallons of alcohol running wild in your body. Yes, oh it is so easy to blame the alcohol! Connie’s nose gently pushes against yours, and you fight the dreadful urge to kiss him.

“I needed to pee,” you say weakly.

He nods over his shoulder, “There’s a toilet right there if you can’t hold it in, nenita.”

“I’m not going to pee in front of you!”

“Why?” he laughs. Oh, he’s finding this terribly funny, and you hate that every laugh makes your stomach dip. “You’ve done it before.”

You gape at him. “That’s totally different!”

“Not really,” he croons, and before you can protest any further, Connie leans forward and presses his mouth against yours.

You might have swooned, if not for the door pressed against your back and his body trapping you against it. His mouth is firmly pressed to yours, the taste of his last drink strong on your lips — vodka orange, how peculiar. It feels warm, a little clumsy at the worst of times, though you’re not so much looking to fault him on his performance, your mind too busy focusing on his hands cradling your head like a prized possession, the irregular throb between your legs back to torment you.

Connie shifts a thigh between your legs, and with a lurch, your head falls back and crashes against the door rather unsexily. He sniggers again, still peppering kisses to your puckered lips, his mouth wet and shiny as he pulls away and presses a trail from your lips to your cheek, down to the slope under your earlobe down your neck.

Your heart is drumming erratically in your chest, your head spinning for a multitude of reasons. If you weren’t currently sandwiched in a toilet cubicle, you’d be incredibly turned on — actually, where you are is inconsequential. You know for a fact that you’re wet and it’s Connie Springer’s fault.

Your body sags slightly, each kiss pressed to your neck burning you like a naked flame. Connie’s hands find themselves all the way down by your thighs, pulling up the useless little skirt you’ve decided to wear for the special occasion of Porco’s birthday. Not for any reason in particular, of course, other than because you looked exceptional in it.

Connie’s teeth push against your skin as he grins, fiddling his fingers near your panties. With a skirt that short, he wonders why you bothered in the first place. He wiggles a finger up to your crotch and laughs to himself when it’s wet.

“I love these short skirts, mama,” he says quietly.

Of course, Halloween’s short skirt had been solely part of the costume, but today, there’s no real excuse for just how short is actually is.

“This Pock’s birthday present?”

You whimper, but only because Connie moves his fingers away and presses his hips up against you. His nose prods your earlobe, and you feel just how hard he actually is beneath his trousers now that he’s aligning his chest with yours.

“No,” you say rather defensively. “It’s for me.”

“Oh, really?” he asks.

“And for you, I guess,” you hurry to add. The tequila’s talking again!

Connie hums along to what you’re saying with keen interest, pressing a wet kiss to your jaw before he moves his lips against yours, ghosting them across your mouth while his eyes find yours in the dark.

“One of these days, I swear I’ll fuck you on something comfortable,” he tells you, and you pause for a second until it registers. His mouth curves, “just not today.”

With that, Connie lifts up your skirt and tugs down your panties, all while you stand there with your jaw hanging low, eyes wide in the thrilled rush. For a second, your hands drop to his waistline, shyly toying with his buttons.

“I think it’s real cute that you’re shy today,” Connie starts, already spreading your pussy apart with his fingers. His body loosens up when you ping the button free from the front of his trousers, as though letting you undress him.

“I’m not shy,” you protest. You were shy before, but now you have the foolish guidance of alcohol in your system, the only reason you’re not slutting it out for him the way you were in the utility cupboard is because you can now see him, and because you’re in a club bathroom.

On Halloween, the darkness made you more confident than it should’ve; now, you can see Connie in the very dim bathroom light, very much real, very much grinning hopefully while he stabs a finger into you, watching with joy as you gasp in pleasure.

“Shy girl,” he murmurs against your mouth.

Although he’s unbearably close, you manage to pull down his trousers and fist at the hem of his underwear, eager to prove otherwise. Turns out you didn’t need the Halloween darkness to feel confident; all it took was a little comment from the man you’ve been thinking about fucking you for over a week, and his finger up your cunt.

Your mouth hangs open when he lazily pushes his finger in and out of you, adding a second after a few minutes and pressing a kiss or two to the corner of your mouth. Connie hears you let out a breathless whimper, his fingers curling.

“Feels just how I remembered,” Connie mutters.

“God.”

It takes real effort not to moan out loud in the cubicle. Your hands fly around his wrist, hidden between your thighs comfortably, and you keep your eyes closed as you ever so slightly grind your hips backwards and forwards. Without even opening them, you know that Connie is looking at you darkly, his gaze so heavy you can feel it in the same realm his fingers are — his looks are sexual all on their own, you’re amazed to discover.

You bite your lip, braving a look at the man in front of you. Connie’s cool and collected, his expression as impassive as his Ghostface mask was, and by some twist of fate, you feel no embarrassment or urge to hide away when you look into his eyes, those little shadowed beads staring almost boredly into you. Though, you know he’s far from bored — his dick is so hard between his legs it looks painful, and you glance down at it, reaching for it with your hands.

Connie flinches when your hand comes into contact with his cock, the warmth of your fingers unexpected as you run one finger over the tip, your other hand wrapping around the base of his dick. This you never had to do on Halloween; back then, he’d just ushered you in the cupboard and bent you over. Must have been rock solid under his cloak, brushing the tip against your panties until you all but begged him to fuck you.

“Not so shy now,” you sneer at him.

Connie kisses you with a grin. “You’re so brave for touching my cock, honey. Nice job.”

“Thanks.”

His mouth wanders again, but your confidence is coming back in a giant wave; not long after Connie’s got his fingers pruned with your wetness, a cocky and drunken smile on his face, you reluctantly force his hand away and watch the smile slide off his face when he looks up at you in alert.

Whatever he is about to say is cut short when you sink to your haunches and find Connie’s dick level with your eyes. Immediately, Connie’s hands rise from below to above, smoothing around your head and cheeks as you assess the mission stood tall before you.

There’s no time wasted on stalling; Connie can’t help but let out a quiet moan when you take more than half of his dick into your mouth at once.

In your head, you keep telling yourself to watch him, gauge every reaction until they’re things to get more drunk off, but even after a minute or so of watching him, your lips tight around his cock, you feel an embarrassed flush work its way from your cheeks to your neck.

The little flat circle of light is behind his head, his face coloured with shadows, and you can only see his eyes due to the glint of them flashing in the dark. You find, unsurprisingly, that it excites you — looking for the face you know is there somewhere, uncertain of what he looks like as you suck his cock.

Connie’s hands tighten slightly around your head, his legs widening apart as he stables his swaying body. His thumb brushes across your neck before curling up to your lower lip, curled against his dick, and he hisses, so quiet that you almost miss it. Then, he says something in Spanish and pulls your face closer to him.

You feel his dick brush the back of your throat right as you gag with the length of him, your thumb tightly wrapped in your palm. Not that it works — each time he pulls out and thrusts his dick back in, you retch, the reflex hitting, which only makes him moan harder.

“Shit, mama,” he groans, voice a little strained but far from tuckered out. You glance up around tears; his head is leaning to the side, his cheek practically glued to his shoulder, and a glint of saliva on his lip tells you he’s wide-mouthed, overcome with pleasure.

You didn’t suck his cock on Halloween, there’d been no time for it. His eyes flicker down and find yours, the light hitting him just right, and you whimper around him, a hand cautiously coming to the base of his dick to save you from another round of gagging.

“Gotta say,” he rasps, grunting when he jerks his hips back against your mouth. This time, you adjust; your tongue is flat against his shaft, running along the vein bolting across it while he staggers and falls still. His head straightens as he looks down at you appreciatively, “I love looking at you like this.”

You hum. He can interpret it however he likes, which you suppose he does because he grins, chuckles to himself in satisfaction, and gently slaps his hand across your cheek. It barely hurts, but you put on a show to whine around him and wrinkle your nose, which he seems to like. He moans loudly, running his thumb across every feature he can reach without accidentally removing himself from the wet hole he’s buried inside.

“I liked my shy girl, but you just look so fucking pretty when you’re actin’ like a slut.”

Your brows raise, though you can’t say you didn’t expect that. After all, you’d dug out your sluttiest skirt from first year just for Porco’s birthday, all whilst trying to convince yourself that it wasn’t for him because you knew he’d be there. The affectionate way he’d called you “slut” on Halloween echoes in your mind. You knew nothing about Connie, and yet you’d read him like a book.

You feel your body inching slowly back against the door, and you wouldn’t be shocked if your shoes were visible underneath the stall door from the outside. It had been the most trivial thing about getting on your haunches to suck Connie’s cock, but all of a sudden, you’re reminded of where the fuck you are and your heart stammers, your hand loosening around his dick.

Fortunately, Connie doesn’t misread this. Instead, he pulls himself out from your throat with a quiet curse and pulls at your hands so you’re up on your feet. Slightly off balance, you wobble in his arms as he presses a wet kiss to your mouth, his hands wrenching around your thighs and lifting you up off the floor once more.

You snake your arms around his neck, hands brushing against the bleached fuzz atop his head, while Connie reaches between his legs for his dick and slides it until he finds the wet folds of your pussy. You moan into his mouth happily, the tip of his dick sliding between you, lapping up all your juice like a tongue.

With one arm wrapped underneath you, holding you up around his waist, he quickly reaches into the breast pocket of his shirt and pulls out a glossy packet, a condom he took out of his wallet in a hurry whilst watching you set off in the direction of the bathrooms.

At least one of you is responsible — you’d forgotten about it completely, and you get comfortable and stable on his hip while he tears open the packet with his teeth and folds it over his cock.

“You came prepared,” you say to fill the silence.

He laughs through his nose. “We both knew it was gonna happen.”

Did you? Hoped for, maybe — knew, not so much.

“We didn’t use it last time,” you point out.

“Rookie mistake. Won’t happen again, angel.”

Rookie — you almost laugh.

You run a finger across the nape of his neck where his buzzed hair ends, watching him shudder as he makes sure the condoms on properly, “Just this once, then.”

Connie’s eyes flicker up to yours. “Oh, you’re precious.”

Then, now that his tip is back pressed against your entrance, he lines himself up with a grin and pushes you down. Your legs are tight around his waist, no doubt strangling him, but now that you’ve taken a seat on his dick, your jaw slackens even wider and you forget where you are again, moaning so loud that Connie has to come forward and kiss you just to keep you quiet.

He laughs into your mouth, wildly entertained by the fit of your bodies, his body relaxing now that his dick is back somewhere wet and warm. Like Halloween, you’re tight, which feels miraculous considering how many times your fingers and toys have been shoved up there since that night, trying to find an alternative to having to seek him out, hoping to forget he existed and simply replace his legacy with something inanimate. Failure was met. Here you are.

You’ve never been fucked against a toilet stall door before, and you find with slight shyness that you don’t quite know what to do. Keeping your eyes on his and arms wrapped around his neck, you struggle to drag yourself up and down off his dick, though he seems very content with doing all the work himself, and you quickly let him.

Connie pistons his hips back up into you, going so deep that a tight wheeze leaves your mouth straight into his. He remains as cocky as he has been all night, the corners of his mouth curved upwards as he watches you with a narrowed gaze.

The stall door rattles dangerously behind your back, the plastic rattle filling your ears as Connie picks you back up higher, his mouth flushed against your own to quell your pleasured noises. What he wouldn’t give to actually hear them one day.

Your cunt clenches around him and he groans, tongue flicking up past yours as he rearranges you on his cock. Your chest brushes up against his; how he desperately wants to rip off your top and shove your tits in his face, to leave little bites across your skin like a brand. Forgetful, you reach an arm up and grab the top of the stall door, taking more of him inside of you as a result. Not like there’s anyone to see you, anyway; unlike the joyful hubbub of the women’s bathroom, the men seem careless of coming in here tonight.

Your legs tighten around Connie as he daggers himself into you, winding the knot in your stomach tighter until it feels as hard as his dick is up your snatch. He hisses, his arms buckling as your back slides precariously down the door — but he doesn’t want to let up. No, you’ve both been daydreaming about each other enough times to know that this simply isn’t enough.

Connie’s just about to hike your leg higher up his body when a cacophony of laughter sounds across the bathroom, and in an instant, your hand snatches off the top of the door and he scurries to catch you so you don’t fall to the floor with a fright. Your eyes are blown wide with the horrifying realisation that people are coming in — you spoke too soon.

Connie pulls himself out of you, clamping a hand over your mouth as you cry out, the tight fit of his dick felt now he’s gone. Then, he spins you around and is left with no other choice than to bend you over the toilet. The lid is closed and you cock a leg up on it instinctively, your hands clawing at the shelf above the tank.

There’s simply no time to spend being a snob about the setting. It’s a downgrade from the utility cupboard, but considering that was where you first let Connie fuck you, you can’t be too disgraced by your second encounter being in a toilet cubicle.

Third times a charm, right?

Connie bends you over, his hand sliding from your mouth and sliding to your ass. Both of his hands hold you in place while he fumbles back for your hole, and once he finds it, quivering in anticipation, he plunges back inside, glancing at you as you very quietly let out a breath once his dick sinks inside.

Like old times, he fits in there like a man made for it, the stretched burn of his dick gone now that you’re once again familiar with the shape and size of him.

Suddenly aware of the people using the bathroom, you bite your inner cheek desperately, hoping to remain as quiet as you possibly can when a man like Connie is fucking himself into you. A flame of arousal burns inside of you as the voices grow louder, more rambunctious. Connie clenches his teeth and smiles, trying not to laugh when the voices begin to talk, oblivious to you both.

You can’t stop. Not now.

You feel him settling in your lower stomach, your ass slamming down on his skin with a slap so sudden it makes you toss your head back to look at Connie with wide eyes. His smile splits apart, silent laughter falling from his mouth as he stills in place.

Nobody seems to have heard — if they have, they are minding their own business.

Connie shakes his head at you slightly as if in assurance, and you clamp your teeth down so hard on your bottom lip that Connie has to nod his head up to force you to look away. Your eyes return to the peeling paint of the walls, trying so eagerly to keep the knot tightening in your tummy from unravelling in ropes of white.

Connie shifts a hand up to his abdomen, and you feel his knuckles against your ass to keep the sound of slapping skin from rippling out across the bathroom. Whoever’s here is loyally hanging around the urinals on the parallel side, a few others talking over the sound of running sinks.

Connie bristles when you clench harder around him, desperate to keep your mind and body in tact. Your leg shifts, letting Connie sink deeper ever so slightly, the tip of him pushing past an untouched boundary.

God, you want to scream; yell, cry, moan out and let everyone know. But you don’t. Your mouth hangs open and a silent scream comes out, your face twisted up in pleasure as Connie quickens. His dick spears into you like a machine, so perfect in rhythm that you’re amazed you’re able to stay so quiet. You do whimper, however, so quietly that the people outside would have to be pushed up against the door to hear it.

You knock your head back, braving a look over your shoulder at Connie, keeping your cool when you find his eyes are already looking at you, glazed over in a kind of hunger made visible now you’ve turned around to face the fall of the light. A little bead of sweat lines his neck, and you crane even further to look at your ass bouncing off his hand. His other hand creeps around from your waist between your legs, where his thumb and finger flick and twist at your clit.

You twitch violently, the build up of tension so strong that you can feel a heat rising up from the balls of your heel up your legs. You look at Connie pleadingly, an unspoken message sent from your eyes into his. Connie’s brows raise as he pounds into you silently, playing dumb. But when you accidentally whimper a little louder than expected, he can’t hide his amusement.

Of course, he knows you’re close. If your shaking legs weren’t enough indication, then the way your cunt is clutching him like a vice has given you away. Luckily for you, he’s not absurdly far behind — you feel better than any cunt he’s been in before, and he doesn’t think it would take much for him to coax one out of him whenever you were involved.

Connie squeezes your ass with his hand, abandoning his safety assurance of remaining quiet, and now that the taps are back on and the music has picked up a bit outside, Connie speeds up relentlessly.

Your hands slide from the edge of the shelf up to the wall, and with nothing to grab, you slump ungracefully and do your best to keep upright. His cock burrows in deeper, tip prodding against a spot that makes you carelessly moan out loud, but that doesn’t matter anymore.

You can hear the sound of your ass slapping against him as your bodies connect, his grunts more pronounced now he can afford a bit of noise with the taps.

He doesn’t even care if they can hear, as long as it’s not a bouncer determined to kick you both out of the club. Connie doesn’t even spare more than a second entertaining the idea before he falls back into the wickedly cosmic feeling of your pussy around his dick. He would happily put himself up here every day of the week if he had the chance.

Meanwhile, you feel a bubbling sort of pain in your lower stomach, the knot unwinding slightly until your legs shake uncontrollably, a white rush of heat blinding you as you give way. Thankfully, Connie catches you and holds you up, feeling your pussy heat up with pleasure as you cry out and cum around his cock. You immediately silence yourself and clamp your mouth closed, but the taps silence outside and you fear the damage may have already been done.

Connie hasn’t caught the silence of the taps yet. He pulls your hips back so that he continues to push his tip against your spongey walls, feeling the ribbons of your cum dribbling down both of your legs, down the length of his fingers as he toys with your clit like a button. His chest rises and falls heavily as he mumbles to himself, like trying to contain a whispery moan, until he can’t any longer.

Connie spears in and out, and in, and out, your pussy clenching up sensitively as he finishes his tempo and slams back into you with a final drag. He bows his head, groaning as he cums, the condom filling with his seed warmly. He remains inside of you for a moment, shuddering through the tremors of your orgasms, eyes closed tightly as he twitches. You flinch as his dick jolts inside of you, and tossing your head over your shoulder tiredly, you wait patiently until he pulls his eyes open and finds your gaze eagerly looking at him.

He laughs breathily, ears trained outside the door. For a second, it’s clear, until both of you hear a very downtrodden, “What the fuck” from someone at the sinks, and he has to reign in his laughter in an effort to gaslight the stranger into thinking they imagined the sound of you both cumming.

Ordinarily, you would have been ablaze with disgraced horror at the thought of someone hearing you being fucked. But now, with Connie’s endeared gaze on your face, his smile the kind of smile you’d want to do sinful things for, you find yourself shaking with bemused laughter.

Of course, it’s the tequila. Totally the tequila, and not because you secretly enjoy being a slut for Connie Springer.

“Still a slut?” you ask. God, you almost sound desperate for him to say yes!

Connie sniggers, running his hands up your arched back. “Biggest slut I ever saw.” Your smile widens happily. “Look at you grinning about it.”

“Sorry,” you say earnestly, tightening around him as you try to heave yourself up. Connie hisses unexpectedly and pulls himself out of you. He reaches to the side and unravels a few squares of tissue, using it to kindly wipe between your legs. You stop him midway, “I’ll take that pee now. Turn, please.”

Connie laughs and throws his hands up in surrender, spinning on his feet after grabbing more tissue to dry the slick juices off his dick. You take pleasure in staring at the shaped curve of his ass as he does this, half-disappointed when he reaches for his underwear and trousers and pulls them up over whatever goods you were marvelling over.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” Connie says offhandedly.

“Don’t care,” you tell him, wiping up and flushing. You did a valiant job in keeping all that in as he was fucking you — well, you wouldn’t want a repeat of squirting down his Halloween costume, would you? “We’re not there yet.”

He looks over his shoulder as the toilet flushes. “How ‘bout you let me take you out sometime so we can get there?”

You smile at him, “You want to see me pee that badly?”

Connie rolls his eyes, turning his body so he’s facing you as he pulls you into his arms. “Not what I meant.”

“I know,” you laugh, unable to help yourself when you lean forwards to peck his lips. His eyes widen happily, the dimples deepening on his cheeks. “Ask me in the morning.”

“How? You blocked me, remember,” Connie says, sighing with an emphasised sadness. He locks his hands behind your back, caging you against his chest.

“I did no such thing.”

“If I look right now, I’ll be unblocked, then?”

You nod, nose brushing his. “You will.” You unblocked him out of morbid curiosity before heading to the club with Ymir and Reiner.

Connie hums loudly, brushing a kiss over your lips, then your cheek, then your jaw. His arms squeeze slightly around you before he gives in and releases you, reaching round to slide the lock free. He then pulls it open, wedging next to you before creating a gap for you to leave first, like a true gentleman.

“I can’t go out first,” you tell him. “What if someone sees me?”

“We’ll walk together,” Connie offers, already ushering you out of the cubicle. As you step out, he hurriedly fiddles with the back of your skirt, plucking it out from where its caught in your underwear and he follows your quick steps to the sinks.

Despite your anxious desperation to flee the scene without being caught, you stop by the sinks and press the tap on, coating your hands in a generous amount of soap before glancing at him.

“You, too.”

He sniggers. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I know we just fucked in a toilet cubicle, but there are still germs in here,” you fuss, scrubbing your hands. “I touched the wall.”

“I only touched you.”

“Scrub.”

He slathers his hands in soap and rinses them under the water, only looking up in the mirror when someone steps into the bathroom behind you and starts with a noise of surprise once he sees you bent over the sinks.

“Um,” the guy starts. When you look up, you freeze.

“She’s drunk,” Connie says smoothly, then gestures to the cubicle you were just in, “don’t go in that one. Vomit everywhere. Poor thing.”

“Oh, okay,” the guy replies, shrugging before stalking off to the urinals. Men are really such simple creatures.

You watch him go in the mirror and look at Connie questioningly. He shrugs. He leans over to the paper towels and pulls two out, handing you one. Then, once your hands are dry, his arm returns around your waist for the mutual walk of shame out of the bathroom and back into the club.

Connie says, his mouth pressed to your head, “So where’d you wanna go?”

Your heart thumps nervously. “No preference…”

He tuts. “Think on it.” You will, thanks for the pointer.

Connie’s arm tightens around you in a way you can’t explain once you round the corner and step back out into the wide hallway, which fortunately seems less busy than it was when you last saw it — with the not so fortunate exception of Porco stopping in his tracks a few feet away from your both, his eyes jumping between Connie’s arm and your face wildly before his mouth hangs open dumbly.

Connie smiles normally. “Hey, big boy. You alright?”

Your body is tense with nerves — not even a day ago, you were being told of Porco’s rumoured crush on you; not even a few hours ago, he’d had his arm around you at the bar. Your feet shuffle uncomfortably, guilt rising, until you watch Porco’s shock expression morph into one of morbid curiosity, his brows arched in and upwards while a shocked smile takes shape on his lips.

Thankfully, he looks amused, nowhere close to annoyed or hurt like you had expected. He laughs, at first slightly and then uncontrollably, before he holds his stomach and steps closer with the bathroom in mind.

“What the fuck,” he wheezes out. You’re just happy he looks in good spirits, all things considering. It’s one thing for the girl you might like to be fucking someone else, and another thing for that someone else to be one of your best friends. “I’m good. Are you guys good?”

Connie flashes Porco a winning smile, one that makes it look like he has won a great victory whilst simultaneously making you feel like you’re missing something.

“I think so,” Connie replies, sparing you a glance out the corner of his eye.

You gulp, trying to find the words to say.

“You don’t need to explain,” Porco urges quickly, seeming far too entertained than normal. He walks up to you both and steps around you, “Literally.”

He tosses you a warm and genuine smile before vanishing around the corner, and only after he’s gone do you look back at Connie, torn between being relieved and ashamed.

“We have his blessing,” Connie says with a firm nod, and you hold back a scoff and roll your eyes, pinching the skin of his wrist.

“You’re so mean. It’s his birthday!”

“I know. That’s why his blessing is so important.”

You shake your head, ignoring his laughter in your ear as you try to march off back into the club, his arm still glued around your waist like a permanent attachment. You even find that with every step back into the buzz of the club, the expected drilled shame of being fucked by Connie never comes. Instead, you only feel a content glow widening in your chest, painting your skin, the promise of a date hanging over your head like floating stars and clouds.

Thank you tequila, you think. And, in a way, thank you Eren, for the Halloween party that led Ghostface between your legs and Connie Springer into your life.

━━━━━★. *· @gorehsk @arminarlertssword & @madstronaut for simply being the reason why i wrote this sequel

#aot #attack on titan #aot x reader #connie springer #connie springer x reader #connie x reader #connie springer imagine #connie springer smut #connie smut #aot connie #ghostface #snk #aot smut #aot imagine #connie aot #jeanbie

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endless-summer-soldier · 1 year

Text

dr. feelgood - chapter one

pairing: Surgeon!Bucky x SurgicalIntern!Reader

summary: Y/N has a one night stand with a handsome stranger the night before starting her new job as a surgical intern. Little does she know, the handsome stranger also happens to be her new boss

warnings: must be 18+, drinking, some surgery descriptions, smut, self-pleasure, praise kink, very minor character death

word count: 1.2k

series playlist: here (I'm still finalizing this so it might change)

taglist: @sebsgirl71479 @ozwriterchick @notmeddy (message me to be added!)

series masterlist

There was a stranger in my bed. A very handsome, naked stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. I rolled onto my back and tried to piece together the events from last night, but all I could remember was tequila. Too much tequila.

I crawled out of bed and headed for the shower, hoping the stranger would sneak out while I was in the bathroom. Today was a big day and being hungover was not part of my plan. I chugged some water and took a few Advil before I rinsed all of last night off my body.

When I walked back into my bedroom, Handsome Stranger was still in bed, but he was awake, which was progress.

“You forgot to invite me into the shower with you,” he said, sitting up in my bed. I gave him a small smile and said, “Let’s not do this. Last night was really fun, but I need you to leave.”

“Kicking me out already? No breakfast? No morning sex?”

“I’m starting a new job this morning and I really need to get ready,” I said. I grabbed the stranger’s clothes from the floor and tossed them at him.

“Wow, you really are kicking me out. This is going to impact your rating in my little black book.”

“Do you even remember my name?” I asked.

“Is it Lindsey? You look like a Lindsey.”

I chuckled, “It’s not Lindsey.”

“Okay, well I may not remember your name but I do remember the mind-blowing sex we had last night.”

“Can’t argue with you there.” I walked over towards him wrapped only in my towel and held my hand out, “Y/N”

“Bucky,” he took my hand and gave it a solid squeeze before letting go.

“Look Bucky, I’m sure you’re really great but I can’t do this right now. I have to focus on my career. Yes, I had a great time last night, but this can’t happen again. So I really do need you to go.”

He held both hands up in surrender, “Fair enough, I appreciate the honesty. I will get out of your hair.” He took his clothes from the heap on the bed and started putting them back on. I retreated back to the bathroom to dry my hair and brush my teeth. I let Bucky collect his things and leave without another word, avoiding any further awkward conversation.

I finished getting ready and could swear I smelled coffee, likely just my brain tricking me. When I departed down the stairs I heard the coffee maker brewing and froze, knowing I didn’t start the machine. There was a note scribbled on the white board attached to my fridge that read:

Good luck on your first day. Coffee’s on me :) - B

“Son of a bitch,” I muttered to myself. At least he didn’t leave his phone number because I might’ve been tempted to text him. A new guy was the last thing I needed right now. So I poured myself a travel mug full of coffee and departed for the hospital.

It was strange to be dressed in periwinkle scrubs and a lab coat. All through medical school, I dreamed of this moment, when I would finally be a surgeon. And yet, putting on the scrubs felt wildly underwhelming.

I stood in a group with my fellow interns as our resident, Dr. Palmer gave us a tour of the hospital and a run down of our basic expectations. I exchanged glances with a few of the interns in my group, but we didn’t have an opportunity to talk much.

The first day was fairly routine. We each had a chance to present on a patient and answer questions that Palmer asked us. The cases were all fairly routine which was a relief. Then we were sent off to the ER to complete basic examinations, take blood, and sew sutures. They were easing us in, which was a relief since I was still a little hungover, but I knew in the coming weeks we would be exposed to more and more.

Dr. Palmer introduced us to Dr. Stephen Strange, who was a world renowned neurosurgeon and apparently Palmer’s fiance. It wasn’t uncommon for doctors to be involved with fellow doctors because our work schedules were so demanding. Strange was curt and arrogant, but clearly highly intelligent and it would be a great experience to work underneath him. But I was most eager to meet the Head of Trauma, Dr. James Barnes. I’d read a lot of his articles and respected his resourcefulness as a former doctor for the Army. He had the kind of experience that couldn’t be taught in a hospital and I wanted to soak up as much of his knowledge as he was willing to give.

About halfway through the 12-hour shift, I found my way to the break room for a cup of coffee. The coffee pot was steaming which was fortunate because it meant a fresh pot had just been brewed. I poured myself a generous cup and added just a splash of cream.

As I took my first sip, a voice called from behind me, “Not as good as tequila, but it works wonders.”

I spun around and found handsome stranger smirking at me, clad in navy scrubs and a white lab coat.

I’m sure my jaw was on the floor, but I did my best to cover up my shock, “What are you doing here?”

He walked over toward me and poured himself a cup of coffee, “I could ask you the same thing. Was my coffee this morning so good that you had to come here for more?”

I was too stunned to respond to his sarcasm, “I’m sorry, do you work here?”

He looked at me patronizingly. “What does it look like?” He held his arms out, drawing my attention to his scrubs.

This couldn’t be real. I was about to pinch myself to test out my pain receptors when I caught a whiff of him. Ginger, bergamot, and citrus. The same heavenly scent that I had inhaled when I made my bed this morning.

“So this is the new job, huh?” he asked me. I couldn’t even formulate a response but he didn’t miss a beat, “Very impressive, truly. This is one of the best programs in the country.” I simply nodded, trying to calculate the quickest way out of this conversation.

Luckily I was saved by my resident. Dr. Palmer entered the break room and interrupted the conversation.

“Dr. Barnes, I see you’ve met one of my interns.”

My heart dropped into my stomach. Handsome stranger was Dr. Barnes. The Dr. James Barnes who I’ve admired for years and was incredibly excited to work with. And I drunkenly slept with him last night without even knowing who he was. I could feel my career slipping through my fingers.

“Yes, I was just about to introduce myself,” he stated. He extended a hand to me, “Dr. James Barnes, Head of Trauma.”

“Dr. Barnes, pleasure to meet you,” I faked enthusiasm. “I’m Dr. Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

“Dr. Y/L/N actually has a special interest in trauma, if I remember correctly,” Palmer added.

“Is that so?” Barnes said, looking at me with amusement. I merely nodded with a smile and he said, “Well, it sounds like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. If you’ll excuse me, I have to scrub into the OR in about 30 minutes.”

He walked out of the break room but then popped his head back in, “Looking forward to working with you Dr. Y/L/N.” I could see Dr. Palmer trying to piece together the interaction so I scurried out of the room before she could question me.

next chapter

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky barnes doctor au #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes

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teriri-sayes · 2 months

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Reactions to Chaos Creator's Chapter 267

TL;DR - Cale and Alberu tease each other. Cale meets Pope Kesilia. Raon is curious about DHB's name. Raon's friendliness warms Kesilia's heart.

The Teasing First half of the chapter was Cale and Alberu teasing each other.

Alberu: In that virtual world, levels have a huge impact. Even if Rank 1 Ahn Roh Man is on our side, it's only proper for me to become as strong as possible. That way, I can carry you, CH, and Raon. Raon: Human, what is carry? What are levels? Alberu: I'll tell you more when you return to Roan. But let me say this. This place, this place is really… It's a new and huge world. As if several worlds came together. Cale: You're having fun now, right? Alberu: … Cale: It's fun, right? Alberu: … Cale: You're having fun so you pull all-nighters, right? Alberu: … *smiles* Cale: You look awkward, so don't smile. Alberu: You truly are irreverent. Cale: For The Irreverent Emperor to say that, I truly appreciate it. Alberu: …

Cale calling out Alberu for saying he was irreverent/disrespectful when Alberu's in-game name was The Irreverent Emperor was so funny. 😂 The sarcasm in Cale's words as he says that line while using polite language was just 🤣🤣🤣

Cale: You tend to work hard at everything, don’t you? So, as you played, you probably learned about the fun of the game. Anyway, since you are the one handling it, take care of yourself. Alberu: Cale Henituse. Aren’t you speaking too casually? feels annoyed Cale: Not really. I say this out of utmost respect and consideration for the crown prince. Could it be that His Highness the Crown Prince also- Alberu: ??? frowns Cale: grins Would you like to faint and collapse like me? Oh, will you have a nosebleed? I don't know if this will make you healthier. Hahaha! Raon: Human, human! The crown prince's pride looks very hurt right now! Cale: Hahaha! gets more excited upon hearing Raon's words Alberu: … I've come to my senses. Pfft. Cale: (Hmm? Why is he suddenly smiling suspiciously? Why does it make me feel upset?) Alberu: Cale Henituse. Do you think that is possible? Cale: … Raon: I don’t think the crown prince will end up like my human! Hong: That’s right! That’s what our youngest said! On: The difference between exercising and not exercising is quite big. You can't compare to the crown prince. If His Highness needs to be compared to someone, a knight is the best. Cale: sees On pitying him … Alberu: Hahaha! On: patting Cale's leg to comfort him

Cale's attempt to tease Alberu's health completely backfired on him. 🤣🤣🤣

Raon and Kesilia Raon was so cute today. Pope Kesilia was depicted as a character obsessed with dragging down everyone with her, but now that she met Raon, it might be possible that she would have a change of heart.

Raon asked for her name, but Kesilia refused to say it, being fine with just being called the pope. Raon was being friendly with her, not minding that she was a mixed blood dragon, so she felt confused. He even offered to introduce Cale's DHB to Kesilia if she wanted friends.

There was also Raon noticing that she was in pain, and offering again to introduce her to his mom and Eruhaben who helped with treating DHB's pain. Kesilia felt strangely warm at Raon treating her nicely.

DHB's Name Oh my goodness, the author finally remembered this! We still did not get a name reveal, but Cale confirmed that he had already thought of one after putting much thought in it.

But our cutie Raon did not believe Cale, and was asking the pope for her name in hopes that Cale would get inspiration from hearing the name of another mixed blood dragon. And then, Raon made a cute assumption.

Raon was talking about DHB, and blurted that DHB was called someone Miru. Hmm... why is this hard to word? It's something like ____ Miru. Blank Miru? That doesn't sound right. Whatshisname Miru? Sounds better, but still strange.

Everyone was surprised to hear that, even Raon himself. From the fact that Raon assumed that Cale would give DHB the last name of Miru like him, to the fact that Raon knew that DHB once tried to kill him, yet he was fine in sharing the same last name with DHB.

I guess Raon was feeling conflicted like his mom regarding DHB. Meanwhile, Kesilia was puzzled about this young dragon willing to share the same last name to a mixed blood dragon who once tried to kill him. It must be unimaginable for her who was treated badly by the Aipotu dragons on the Dragon Lord's side. 😢

Crazy Clopeh Clopeh claimed that it was Rasheel who destroyed one of the temple's buildings, but Cale was having doubts about that, given the expression of the pope towards Clopeh. 😂

We never got to know what exactly the destructive trio did at the temple, but it was pretty much confirmed that Clopeh talked about Cale so much like a legendary hero. And Hannah said that Cale was a kind guy. So it was no wonder that 3rd Bishop Horns and the unnamed 1st Bishop treated Cale in awe. Or Pope Kesilia being friendly and cooperative with him.

Of course, Cale wondered how Clopeh introduced him to them because of their reactions. 😂 And also felt dizzy just thinking about it. 🤣🤣🤣

Ending Remarks Today's chapter was so good with its funny and heartwarming moments. 🥰 Next chapter would be Cale beginning his dragon lair looting plans, or probably more planning stuff. But the name tease of DHB has got me excited. I guess his last name will be Miru too because Cale did not object to Raon's words. So the only mystery now is his first name. Raon Miru. Dodam Miru. It seems like the Miru family is gaining a new member~!

#tcf spoilers #trash of the count's family

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lokidokieokie · 6 months

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Change is Never Easy

Summary: The two of you called it quits a month or so ago...and then Y/n faints during a shift. Change is never easy.

Pairing: Surgeon!Strange x Fem!Nurse!Reader

Warning(s): ex-lovers, exes to lovers(?), fainting, unexpected pregnancy

The atmosphere at General-Metro had quickly become thick with tensions ever since the breakup. Dr Stephen Strange and Nurse Y/n L/n had officially called it quits a few weeks ago, and the lingering awkwardness between them was impossible to ignore.

Navigating the hallways was like tiptoeing through an emotional minefield.

Y/n, nursing her wounded heart, did her best to keep up appearances during her shifts. She tried to focus on her tasks and avoid any unnecessary encounters with Stephen.

The air of the hospital was constantly charged with unspoken words and unresolved emotions; and the slightest interaction left both of the medical professionals on edge.

On one fateful day, while Y/n was basking in her lunch-break, the build up of the emotional strain proved too much. In the break-room, surrounded by the hum of vending machines and the distant chatter of her coworkers, Y/n collapsed.

Panicked voices echoed through the room as her coworkers rushed to her aid.

---

The current events of Stephen Strange's ex did not reach him until later on in the day, courtesy of one Christine Palmer, who had intercepted him in the bustling hallway.

"Stephen, have you gone to check on Ella? Something happened to her during her shift, and I haven't had to opportunity to see her yet," Christine whispered urgently, concern etched into her voice.

Stephen's brow furrowed in confusion. "What? No, I haven't. Is she alright?"

Christine briefly briefed him on the situation before she got paged to another emergency, prompting Stephen to abandon his current path and seek out Y/n.

When he found her, lying down in a quiet corner of the hospital, seemingly alright, the relief on his face was undeniable.

Slowly walking over to her, he brushed a stray hair out of her face. "What happened to you?" Concern prominent in his voice as he dragged a chair over.

With a flutter of her eyes and a shaky smile, Y/n greeted him. "Hey, Stephen. I don't really know what happened. I just felt incredibly dizzy, and then everything went black for a moment. I'm probably just dehydrated, I'm sure everything is fine."

Stephen raised his eyebrows, and his professional instincts kicked in. "People don't just faint for no reason, Y/n. I'm going to order a few tests to make sure."

Before calling in others, Stephen quickly did an examination, asking her about her symptoms and taking note of her vitals.

As Stephen focused on the exam, Y/n couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia. Their interactions were once filled with warmth and familiarity. Now, they were tainted by the awkwardness that hung in the air like a heavy cloud.

She was broken from her thoughts by Stephen's sigh of relief. "Physically, you seem find. I'm still getting other tests done to be thorough."

Y/n nodded, appreciating the concern emanating from her ex-lover. "Thanks, Stephen. I appreciate it."

---

It was probably about fourty-five minutes later when Stephen was given Y/n's test results. His eyes scanned the report, his expression changing from professional concern to surprise. Y/n, being curious and anxious about what he had seen, couldn't help up speak up.

"Stephen, what is it? What's on the report? Am I okay?" she pressed, her eyes searching his chiseled face for answers.

Taking a moment to compose himself, Stephen finally spoke, his voice a mix of disbelief and realisation. "Y/n, you're...pregnant."

Time seemed to still as the revelation hung in the air. Y/n's eyes widened, mirroring Stephen's astonishment. The awkwardness of their recent breakup was momentarily forgotten as they processed this unexpected twist of fate.

"Pregnant?" Y/n repeated, the word feeling foreign on her lips. "But we were careful?"

Stephen's mind raced, still processing the news. "Well, it seems we have to blame the twisted mind of the universe for this."

~~~

A/N So...I'm back from the dead 🙃 Sorry for another hiatus, Uni sucks, but I'm on break now :) Hopefully I can write more...but I'm me sooooo, please don't get your hopes up. BUT, there will be a part two of this that I have already pre-written so...

taglist (lemme know if you want to be added or removed) @thewaithfuckingannoyme @evelyn-kingsley @moonlight-ee @fall-myriad @ironstrange1991 @asgards-princess-of-mischief

sorry if you weren't added and had asked to be, I lost my taglists :(

#stephen strange #doctor strange #dr strange #stephen strange fanfic #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange imagine #stephen strange fanfiction #dr stephen strange #dr strange x you #dr strange fanfiction #dr strange x reader #doctor strange x fem!reader #doctor strange fanfiction #benedict cumberbatch x reader #benedict cumberbatch #exes to lovers #pregnancy #unexpected pregnancy trope

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super-paper · 9 months

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"Thank you for such wonderful comedy."

I've been wanting to talk about how MHA plays with the concepts of "fiction vs reality, the characters vs the actor, the world vs the stage" for awhile now, bc I believe understanding how MHA utilizes these concepts is pretty crucial to understanding our Big Bad (and Tomura!) (...and Izuku!) (.. etc!) (y-yeah...!!!) (wooo.....!!!!!)

If this post is more incoherent than usual, I apologize-- I'm just really enthusiastic about stories that play with the fact that they're stories and characters who throw themselves into a fictionalized role as a means of coping. I love the way MHA handles these concepts in particular, so I lost all sense of restraint as usual.

Hori: "I'm Like Dropping Hints That Hero/Villain Personas Are Actually Coping Mechanisms Lol"

"As Tomura Shigaraki and Tenko Shimura, I've got just one wish: the total destruction of everything that created that house." "If my origin as Touya and Dabi was such a simple thing, then... No, there are still things I want to say. Arguments I want to have."

I've seen a few ppl saying that it sounds awkward/strange to have the characters repeatedly asserting themselves in the third person, but imo, the emphasis on real names versus hero/villain names during these particular scenes plays into the idea of the villain/hero identities being "alter egos" that might not actually have the same core desires as the """"actors"""" that are behind these personas.

Tomura and Touya invoke both their real and villain names while asserting their respective wishes. Himiko also invokes her villain name, though it's less obvious to english speakers because she uses her real name as her villain name (in the raws, "HIMIKO TOGA" as a villain name is written using katakana-- and this is what she uses when asserting her wish). MHA plays with the idea of "fiction"/"Alter Egos" as a form of escapism and as a coping method, and at this point in time, the Dabi/Tomura/"Himiko" identities are still being utilized as a crutch/mask by these three very hurt individuals.

*loud, terrifying chanting* PEAK FICTION PEAK FICTION PE--

Ochako's fight being like the second most thematically important fight in the whole series still makes me unreasonably giddy btw.

To contrast, Ochako uses her civilian name alone when asserting her wish-- and imo we're meant to read this as Ochako wanting to save Himiko as herself, not as Uravity. Saving Himiko is not something she can accomplish as her alter-ego-- Ochako is able to save Himiko by stepping off the stage and becoming a "real" person, while also acknowledging the person behind "Toga Himiko (villain name)".

Izuku hasn't had his "I'm Izuku Midoriya"/"I'm-saving-you-as-Izuku-not-as-Deku" moment yet-- instead, we see Tomura intentionally making that distinction between the-hero-and-the-true-self by constantly referring to Izuku by his real, full name. And I'm pr sure Izuku is also the only one he does this to-- we see him referring to all the other heroes he encounters by their hero names alone, or by insulting nicknames (l-lol). Correct me if I'm wrong, tho!

(side note: Tomura switching to calling Izuku just "Hero" in the aftermath of Bakugate is actually a big step backwards imo-- it reads as Tomura trying to push Izuku away by shoving them both back in the hero/villain box and doubling down on enforcing their respective "roles." Not that I ever expected mister doomdere to make things easy, but, woof. Good Fuckin' Luck, Izuku ( ´･ω･) )

TL;DR The final arc has mostly been about tearing off the hero/villain masks to reveal who is hiding underneath— MHA's careful use of names and monikers plays heavily into that and its distinction between "alter-ego"/"true self" a lot. Which is... probably one of the many reasons why All For One still doesn't have a given name, as someone who has all but completely lost himself in his character.

Anyway! That brings us to the meat of this post: how does MHA take the concepts of "reality vs fiction" and "the character vs. the actor" and apply it to All For One (...and Tomura) (and Izuku--)?

"Pay No Attention to That Man Behind the Curtain!"

"If you refuse to submit, then I'll just rewrite the story." - it's amazing how all of this coulda been avoided if someone had just introduced AFO to Demon Lord x Reader fanfiction. (/j)

AFO fancies himself as the author of MHA's greatest tragedy (the desecration of Shimura Nana's legacy via the sacrifice of Shimura Tenko), while simultaneously inserting himself into its overarching narrative and treating himself as the leading villain of the story-- it's self-indulgent and intentionally invasive in the way that most self-insert fanfiction tends to be invasive, with him going to extremes to make it seem as though the whole story revolves around him. AFO wants to be both the author and the leading character and the leading antagonist. This greed is typical of him, but it also establishes him as a character who's more caught up in (read: trapped by) his relationship to "fiction" than anyone else. Again, MHA explores the use of fiction and alter-egos as an escape from a painful reality-- so, it's entirely reasonable to assume that this applies to AFO as well.

To me, so much about AFO reads as an escapist fantasy of someone who is utterly terrified of being put in a position where he is truly seen. The idea of being vulnerable, of being naked, of being "human," is intolerable to him. But by not allowing himself to feel and "be a human," he has effectively cut himself off from what he wants most. The character of “Shigaraki Tomura” is as much an escapist fantasy for AFO as it is Tenko-- It's just another (younger, prettier) layer of skin he can hide his true self in.

"so basically you're saying that AFO is a never nude" yes, actually :)

AFO dehumanizes Tomura through his attempts to turn the boy into his personal comic book character, but he also dehumanizes himself by desperately trying to insert himself into that “character." It's only fitting that Tomura’s innate humanity and capacity for feeling ends up rendering AFO himself painfully, painfully human-- and ultimately causes AFO's carefully constructed character to start crumbling.

If All the World’s a Stage, Then Let’s Destroy the Stage

"That stage is gone now. The theater's knocked down. How much longer can we afford to be spectators on the sideline?" "Once upon a time, a man named All Might showed all of us how to be a hero. But somewhere along the way, people forgot about the heart and soul that made the man." -MHA, Chapter 325

Tomura is attempting to destroy the stage, because without the stage there can be no "Shigaraki Tomura" (Or "All Might," or "All For One," or "Endeavor," etc etc etc). Without the stage, there are no more "characters" and no more tragedies. But-- without the stage, there are no more stories period. There are no more tragedies, but there are no more happy endings either. The world never recognizes the actor behind "Shigaraki Tomura" without the stage. The stage is not inherently a bad thing, so long as people can remember that the actors on the stage still exist outside of it.

But Tomura himself cannot imagine what happens after the curtains fall, and all that's left is Shimura Tenko. He is stuck in a role that was written entirely for someone else, but remains convinced that the role was always his and that the role defines him.

Tomura rebels against the story the only way he knows how--against an "author" who *LITERALLY* views him as a spicier self insert, and against a "setting" that treats his death as a happy ending-- but even so, Tomura still can't picture an ending that doesn't end in tragedy. His rebellion is not about him trying to wring a happy ending out of a miserable, mean-spirited book-- it's about burning the whole damn library down so he never feels let down or hurt by a story again.

Basically: Tomura cannot act outside the confines of his "character" in a way that will truly save him. Even as he rebels, he's rebelling in a way that is painfully consistent with the way his "character" is written-- and that's why AFO (the author) still poses such an enormous threat to him. Destruction cannot save him from this story when he was explicitly penned to destroy.

The only way to break this narrative is to act in a way "the author" doesn't expect, and to tap into all the traits that AFO desperately attempted to "write out" of him-- Shimura Tenko is someone who has always rebelled against his writing, his author, and the unfairness of this story with his kindness and his willingness to accept those that no one else will.

AFO cuts off Tenko's own power at the root by reinforcing Tomura's belief that the world will always inherently reject him, without fail, always and forever-- so he should just reject the world, too (and I've talked at length about this before, but this is why a story that ends with Tomura dying or locked away from society is an ending that fails in its goal to save Tomura). The more Shigaraki Tomura rejects everything and the more Shigaraki Tomura is rejected by everything, the more he distances himself from his root and the source of his power-- and the more Shimura Tenko gets lost in this character.

While AFO is terrified of someone seeing behind his mask, Tomura longs for it. Tenko has been there since the beginning and has been begging for someone to finally see and acknowledge him (both in-universe and out of universe).

"I’ll Be There, Changing Fate by Your Side."

AFO: "Blah Blah Blah Do you still believe myths can save you? Foolish creature. Let me be clear: every version of the story ends with you being slaughtered yadda yadda yadda :) :) :)" ENTER, MIDORIYA IZUKU WITH A STEEL CHAIR.

Izuku's role is that of a completely average boy who gets pulled into a narrative ''that wasn't for him"-- he has no heroic lineage, no hidden powers, and no connection to the centuries old conflict that drives the plot. He's just a boy who did the right thing at the right time and was rewarded for it. Izuku is someone who was "never supposed to be a hero" the same way Tenko was "never supposed to be a villain" per the "rules" of their world-- and Izuku, like Tomura, is someone who exists to destroy those rules and the expectations of their narrative, completely changing the ending.

But rather than burning the book and ending the story forever (like Tomura wants to do), Izuku believes that the story and characters can still be salvaged. There's always something worth saving. It doesn't have to be a tragedy, they can still change the ending. They can talk specifics after Tomura's crazy ass puts the lighter down.

Izuku, like Tomura and so many other characters, throws himself into an alter-ego in an attempt to redefine himself and escape from pain ("Nobody's been saved yet. Don't be the worthless old Deku who can't save anyone" 😬). He almost loses himself in the role of "OFA's torch bearer" the way All Might did-- but just as Izuku managed to find Toshinori Yagi and helped in convincing him that his life as Toshinori has meaning, Izuku ends up getting saved by his friends who couldn't care less about OFA's ~protagonist power~ and know that Izuku is just a goofy, awkward, human boy who needs help.

Like.... If we explore quirklessness as like... a narrative stand-in for characters that the story typically views or dismisses as irrelevant extras/npcs, then AFO's barely restrained anger at Izuku and Toshi (and possibly Yoichi if we're being honest) for daring to ''act beyond their roles'' becomes even funnier. AFO can't stand the idea of his power/the protagonist role being passed on to someone who seems so utterly unworthy, unremarkable, and plain. He can't stand the idea of someone without a quirk/"role" standing up to him, the leading character. Dude really is a toxic comic book fan to the core.

afo really said "I didn't like how things were going so I stopped reading and just wrote a better ending to the story :^)" like...... @mhareddit that's u buddy...........................;

Anyway...........!!!!! AFO is someone who cherry picks what he likes about a story while ignoring the actual intent/message of the work (#theabsolutestateofthemhafandom), but he has no intention of breaking down the dichotomy between heroes/villains and instead actively enforces it (.............#theabsolutestateofthemhafan--). He just wants to flip what side wins in the end.

Tomura wants to break the narrative because he sees that as the only way to escape from his pain (but in doing so, he permanently cuts himself off from being a part of a story with a happy ending). He wants to destroy the dichotomy between heroes and villains because heroes and villains "will never understand each other and never stop creating each other" (lol. lmao, even).

Izuku wants to break the narrative because he's realized that there's something more to this story than your standard "Hero versus Villain," "good vs evil" affair and that he cannot explore what lies behind those masks and labels without tearing them down, first.

These three work together well as a narrative set of Fucking Nerds, and AFO works well as both Tomura and Izuku's villain for all of the above reasons (& also bc he's the only one who is actually benefitting from their current society) ((which basically offers him an endless buffet of hurt and angry children he can exploit on a silver platter)).

Anyway! Kick his ass, Izuku.

#shigaraki tomura #shimura tenko #all for one #sophie.txt #midoriya izuku #mha spoilers #mha.txt

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crushedbyhyperbole · 2 months

Text

Before I Met Angels - Pt 1 - Then...

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus!Fem!Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester arrived on your doorstep with his cheap suit and the promise of a ghost-free future. Playing pretend love interest left you both with something a little more lingering than the ghost.

Words: 2.5k

A/N: This was born of a Nonny request for some oral smut and some insecurity/comfort (which is Part 2) but I couldn't not write the back story so here it is. I hope you enjoy.

Warnings: Canon-typical action/adventure, talk of ghosts and dead people, canon typical violence, profanity, some sexual tension, kissing, and a bit of softness.

***MINORS DO NOT ENTER OR INTERACT***

Dean Winchester had been in your house for over two weeks now, having arrived on your doorstep with his brother Sam after a handful of men in your town had mysteriously died. It had started a little over two years ago with your boyfriend, Danny, who had died of a heart attack moments before you were going to sleep together for the first time. Six months ago, other men who you had started dating or who had asked you out started dying as well, their hearts exploded in their chests.

When Dean showed up, it was in a cheap suit and an FBI badge, and the promise of a future without whatever was plaguing you. It quickly became apparent that he and Sam weren’t really FBI when they started laying lines of salt around your house and carrying your old fire poker or your cast iron skillet around with them. With talk of ghosts and other supernatural things, you learned that the Winchester brothers were hunters of those things that went bump in the night, guardian angels, if you will, for all who were afflicted by such things.

“I’m no guardian angel, sweetheart. I’ve met some of ‘em though.” He replied when you said this to him. “They’re assholes, lemme tell ya.”

You had laughed but the concept of angels existing wasn’t something you had been prepared for. But really, how could you be prepared for any of this?

Over the course of the first few days, Dean and Sam staked out your house, taking readings with a strange whining piece of equipment that Sam explained read ghost energy. The prognosis: your house was haunted, but the ghost remained elusive.

“Maybe it only goes after people I want to be romantic with?” You fielded, after a discussion about the house’s history. “You said yourselves that all of the people who died of that exploding heart thing had been people I’d been dating or about to date.”

“You could have a point,” Sam said thoughtfully. “So we just need to replicate that scenario.”

“You saying I got to get frisky up in here?” Dean quizzed and you blushed, feeling awkward about suggesting he do something he clearly wouldn’t enjoy.

“I mean, I could…” Sam began to offer but Dean carried on talking.

“Alright, I got this.” He nodded at you with a smirk that you couldn’t read at all. “Let’s get this done.”

He decided that snuggling on the couch would be a good start and see if that prompted the ghost to appear. The first day, nothing happened, but Dean came back every evening and tried again. Each night he and Sam came back around sunset and you made them dinner. Each night Dean would sit back on the sofa with his arm around you and you would snuggle into him as you watched TV; Dr Sexy was his favourite show. Sam waited either in the car or in a room upstairs as if he was a guest.

Gradually you two settled into a routine where small gestures of affection began to creep into your behaviours: Dean would stroke his hand down your back to settle on your hip as he passed you in the kitchen, and you would absently touch his forearm when you spoke to him. It only took a couple of days, but you completely fell under his spell – fake though your interactions were supposed to be.

You couldn’t deny the attraction you felt for him, he was way beyond anything in your league but every time he touched you he lit a fire in you. Every soft smile, every glance, every time he held you against him on the couch at night was fuel for that fire. He seemed to enjoy your company but he was just doing his job, simply acting out a role to bring an end to the whole haunting thing. The haunting thing that didn’t seem to be happening, or so you thought until last night.

Curled up on the couch with Dean for what was the twelfth night in a row, you had started to fall asleep with his arm draped around you, his fingers drawing abstract patterns on the skin of your arm.

“This doesn’t seem to be working,” he said after the re-run of Dr Sexy had finished. “I think maybe we need to kick things up a gear. Whadd’ya say?”

You didn’t know what he had in mind but you were a little drowsy and so far in over your head that you simply nodded, receiving a bright grin as a reply.

“You tell me to stop and I’ll stop, okay?” He whispered into your ear, his lips brushing against you as he nuzzled your neck, inhaling your scent just below your ear. “Mmmm, you smell fantastic.” He spoke at normal volume, clearly this was a show to get the ghost to present itself.

You sighed as he kissed your neck, and when his hand snuck under the hem of your top you stiffened, pushing a hand against his chest as if to stop him.

“Relax, sweetheart. I’ll be good to you, I promise.”

You stroked his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath and wondered how his skin felt. When your fingers slipped under his shirt and danced across his bare abs he inhaled sharply, pulling back from his attention on your neck to look at you.

There was a hunger there in his eyes, and he leaned forward to kiss you. You sighed as his lips met yours, so deeply absorbed in how he made you feel that you didn’t realise the temperature in the room was falling. His tongue slipped into your mouth and he cupped your face to kiss you properly. You moaned deeply, succumbing to the heat pooling down in your core. It was so easy to believe this was real.

“Atta girl,” he whispered when he pulled back. “You’re doing so well.”

“I’ve never been kissed like that before.” You practically mewled.

“Well I’m going to do it one more time and then I’m going to ask you to follow me, okay?”

Anywhere. You nodded as he pulled you to your feet and cradled your face in his hands. His second kiss was consuming but still slow and measured. He stroked his hands down your sides and up under your shirt, stroking the skin of your waist and back, and pulling you tight against him.

“I wanna have you so bad,” he said, breathless, resting his forehead on yours but very aware of the changes in the room. “To be continued….” He whispered, leading you up the stairs to the guest room where Sam was hiding.

“Dean!” Sam yelled. “Hurry it up.”

“I know, Sammy!” He yelled back. “We’re on our way.”

The air was charged with static. You could feel it bristling the hairs on your skin like a bad thunder storm about to happen. Ahead of you on the stairs, you saw Dean’s rear as he led you quickly by the hand. Glancing behind, you saw a glitchy shape of a man which bore the face of your dead boyfriend, Danny.

“Danny?” You couldn’t believe what you were seeing.

“It’s the dead boyfriend!” Dean said to Sam as you both crossed the salted threshold of the guest bedroom.

“I thought he was killed by the ghost first.”

“So did we.” Sam said with a frown, looking at Dean in confusion. “And he was cremated already so what the hell are we gonna do now?”

Dean turned you to face him, tearing your eyes away from the ghost that waited on the far side of the salt boundary.

“Do you have anything of his that could be tying him to this plane? Lock of hair? Blood stain somewhere maybe?”

“I don’t know, Maybe.” You wracked your brain for anything you had kept of his. “He gave me a locket early on in our relationship that I never really wore, but after he died I couldn’t just throw it away. He said it was a keepsake but it’s just got a photo of us in it.”

“That’s got to be it.” Sam said. “Where is it?”

“In my bedroom. Jewellery box.”

“I’ll get it,” Sam rushed to the door, “he’s after Dean, not me.”

Once Sam crossed the salt with his iron fire poker, Danny’s ghost attacked. It knocked Sam against the wall, hard, and sent him skidding back into the room. The line of salt was broken and Danny’s ghost came for Dean.

“Goddamnit! You need to get outa here” Dean said, brows raised, almost begging.

“But he’s going to kill you.”

Maybe if you could reason with Danny, he would just leave. Maybe if you asked him to move on to wherever ghosts went, that he would see you were ok without him.

“He’s gonna try.” Dean scooped up his shotgun, pumped it and stepped up beside you.

“Danny, please listen to me.” You tried to reason with the spirit of your dead boyfriend. “You don’t need to do this. Please don’t do this.”

The ghost advanced, paying little heed to anyone except Dean. His eyes, so filled with malice and hatred, never left the hunter. For a second, you thought maybe you could stand between them and be safe but the closer the spectre got, the more you realised that he was too far gone. Unreachable.

“Run!” Dean pushed you aside and lifted the shotgun, aiming it right at Danny’s chest.

You backed up against the wall and skirted along it as Danny advanced on Dean. You had to find the locket, but what were you supposed to do with it when you had it?

In your room, you fumbled with the clasp on your jewellry box, dropping the box on the floor. Chains and earrings spilled out, jumbling up together, snagging into a knot as you tried to pull Danny’s locket free.

The booming sound of the shotgun was deafening. It was so loud you felt it in your chest cavity and the shock of it made you feel dizzy. Dean could be heard goading the ghost, taunting it to come and get him before the gun went off again.

In the doorway, Sam appeared looking a little worse for wear. You held the jumble of gold and silver up to him, panicked that you couldn’t separate them.

“What do I do?”

“We have to burn it.”

“I can’t separate them.”

“Then we burn it all.”

Sam snatched up the metal trashcan and you dumped the twisted clump on top of the paper. A generous squirt of fuel and a book of matches later and the whole can was ablaze.

Danny’s ghost appeared, in flame, moving towards you as if to claim you but Sam pulled you out of the way as the last of the flames consumed the spirit, leaving behind whisps of smoke.

Dean was sat on the floor of the guest room, bruised and bashed but very much alive. He gave you a grateful smile and a nod as he got his breath back. When he stood he hugged you, rubbing both of your arms to soothe you, and kissed the top of your head.

“I think we got him,” Dean said as he stood on your porch ready to head back to the motel for the night. “But if it’s alright with you, I wanna do one more night to make sure we haven’t missed anything. Tomorrow?”

You had thought you would never see him again once your haunting was taken care of, but when presented with an opportunity to spend one more evening cuddling Dean Winchester, how could you refuse. The thought of being alone that night was overwhelming but you felt pathetic asking him and Sam to stay with you.

“I think that’s a good idea,” you smiled weakly, hoping you didn’t seem too needy or too eager to have his hands on you again. When he had kissed you, it had made you burn with desire for him, and now you couldn’t let go of that heat. The memory of ‘to be continued’ played whirligig in your stomach.

“Alright, sweetheart. We’ll see you again tomorrow.”

Dean stepped off the porch and down into your yard before you crumbled under the weight of your emotions.

“Wait!”

He and Sam stopped and turned, Dean looking at you with worry, Sam with sympathy.

“Would you stay with me tonight?” You felt embarrassed to ask, but the words were out now. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Dean shuffled his feet, looking at Sam somewhat awkwardly before returning his gaze to you. His smile was strained, as if he didn’t know how to let you down gently.

“Tell you what,” Sam cut the silence, “I’ve got some research to do anyway, and we missed a call from Jodie, so I’ll head back to the motel and I’ll swing back around tomorrow and pick you up.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Dean patted Sam’s shoulder and followed you back into the house where you both settled on the couch as was your routine.

The sound of the TV blended into the background, secondary to the steady but quick thu-thump of your own heartbeat and the whoosh of your pulse in your ears. The couch was soft beneath you, perfectly contrasting the firmness of the man you were partially wrapped around.

Dean looked down at you, catching you looking up at him from under your eyelashes.

“If you keep lookin’ at me that way, that ‘to be continued’ is gonna happen a lot sooner that you think.” He said with a cocksure smirk.

You grinned, reaching up to slide your fingers over the stubble of his cheek, guiding him so you could lay your lips on his.

Dean sighed through his nose as he delved into your kiss, his arms slipping around you to hold you tight against him.

Whatever chemistry you two had generated over the past couple of weeks was sure to fizzle out once you’d both gotten it out of your systems. Him acting like he was interested in you, all the affectionate touches he had coached himself to give during that time, the closeness you both had engineered over that time. It was all bound to drain away, but in the meantime you closed your eyes and succumbed to the desire burning in your chest that told you to have him while you could.

And as Dean sunk himself into you on the soft couch with the TV playing Dr Sexy in the background, you didn’t care if it was just one time, you didn’t care if he would be gone tomorrow, or the next day. As he sighed your name and made you feel amazing, you knew you would keep this memory forever. The night you loved your guardian angel.

Read Part Two...?

#dean winchester smut #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x plus!reader #dean winchester x plus reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x you #spn #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester on the hunt #cloudy's writing #dean x reader

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defectivevillain · 11 months

Text

this broken design, ch8

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

summary: “Dr. Lecter?” You blink a few times, convinced that you’re dreaming. The man’s gleaming eyes and concerned expression seem a bit too realistic to be conjured by your sleeping mind, though. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen him look worried. You quickly decide that you don’t like it.

“Hannibal, please,” the doctor responds nonchalantly. You stare at him in utter confusion. Just what is happening right now? You thought you were dreaming, but this feels a bit too vivid. “What are you doing out here?”

read the story from the beginning here. [this won’t make sense otherwise.]

[ao3 version]

apologies, the ao3 folks saw this first and i forgot to post it here 😔

Franklyn’s death is really weighing on you, even as the days continue to pass. Jack all but forces you out of the building, demanding that you take a few days off before returning. Normally, you’d jump at the chance for some free time. However, the last thing you need right now is more time to think. After an unnecessarily heated argument with Jack, he agrees to let you hold guest lectures. Unfortunately, that’s the extent of your current responsibilities. Instead of studying up on murder cases and investigating in the field, you’re confined to the classroom. It’s hard to hide your frustration and you find yourself struggling not to snap at inquiring students.

The newest class of FBI recruits is talented—that’s a given. However, they’re also far too confident in their abilities, which ends up being a hindrance. Confidence and self-assuredness can only take a person so far. When you go over the Garret Jacob Hobbs case with your class, you’re unsurprised to find that no one can produce an answer for how you narrowed in on him as a suspect. You end up having to dismiss the class early—both because of your increasing irritation and the pounding headache you’re beginning to develop. Unfortunately, your annoyed mood doesn’t deter everyone. Somehow, even after you’ve dismissed class and returned to your desk, a few students remain behind and ask you questions. You manage to get through those painfully awkward conversations and, after several minutes, you’re finally alone.

You put a hand on your temple and take a deep breath. The fluorescent lighting in the classroom is always bright, but now, it feels as if it’s burning into your eyes. You close your eyes for a blissful moment, allowing yourself to be submerged in the peaceful darkness. The clock in the far corner of the room is ticking rhythmically, the only sound to accompany the comfortable silence.

There’s a hand on your shoulder. You flinch awake and squint up at your newfound company, only to see Hannibal staring down at you with an indiscernible expression. Pain shoots through your ribs and you realize that the desk is jabbing into your skin. You slowly separate yourself from the desk, despite the compelling urge to close your eyes again.

“Good morning,” Hannibal remarks. You’ve grown to recognize that slight quirk of his lips as his attempt at concealing amusement. “It appears you didn’t get enough sleep last night.”

“What gave it away?” You answer wryly, your voice a bit raspy from your brief, unplanned nap. The lights above are burning into your vision again and it takes several moments for your eyes to adjust to the atmosphere. You take a deep breath and push your slightly-crumpled papers to the side. You can feel Hannibal scrutinizing the materials on your desk. It takes you a few moments to look up at him and realize that he isn’t paying any attention to the rather cluttered nature of your desk—it seems you were just imagining his judgment. You’re still grappling with the strange juxtaposition of growing closer to Hannibal, yet feeling as if you don’t understand him any better than before.

“Nightmares?” He asks.

You nod. “Only the usual blood and gore… murder and mayhem.” You don’t have the courage to expand on your nightmares or admit that you wake up every hour drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. You don’t mention how you have to mechanically walk to the sink and wash your hands, convinced that there’s blood spattered across your skin and staining your hands. You wipe a hand over your face and try to regain some semblance of composure. “Anyways, what are you doing here?” Hannibal rarely visits you at work—and right in your classroom, no less.

“Jack wants to speak with you,” Hannibal answers. “I was told to accompany you.” You idly wonder how well Hannibal took to being told what to do. Pushing the thought aside, you get to your feet and fall in step next to Hannibal as the two of you walk out of the classroom and towards Jack’s office.

“I spotted your name in a TattleCrime article.” Out of all the statements he could’ve used to break the silence between you, that one was an… interesting choice. You turn your head to the side and blink at him. Unsurprisingly, you can’t quite picture Hannibal Lecter sitting down and fervently reading an amateurish gossip tabloid. Perhaps you misjudged him.

“You read TattleCrime?” You ask, trying your best to keep the surprise from your voice. You shove your hands in your pockets and stare straight ahead, knowing you don’t have the energy to perform the socially-mandated eye contact. “You don’t seem the type.”

“It was an… intriguing read,” Hannibal admits. His shoes make slight pattering sounds as they click against the grey resin flooring. A few of your colleagues and coworkers stare as the two of you walk by. It seems that Hannibal is bound to draw attention wherever he goes. You almost feel like a shadow at his side, perpetually cursed to slip under the radar. Well, to others, that would be a curse; to you, it feels like a strange sort of blessing. No one pays you any attention as you walk down the halls of the bureau.

“The piece was rather timid for Freddie Lounds,” you acquiesce casually. The man at your side seems mystified by your comment and, for a few moments, the air falls to silence. You suppose the differences between Hannibal and you are rather pronounced in that regard. You can’t imagine Hannibal standing idly by amidst defamation.

“She’s written about you before?” Hannibal eventually inquires.

“Many times,” you say with a grin. Hannibal doesn’t smile back. You suddenly feel the need to elaborate. “I don’t care. It’s not like I have the best reputation to begin with.” The rest of your walk to Jack’s office is filled with a tense silence. You’re not quite sure why Hannibal is taking issue with what you said, so you instead give in and let your thoughts wander to other matters.

A minute later, the two of you are standing across from Jack in his office. Jack starts going on a tangent about the Chesapeake Ripper—which you only partially listen to—before turning to ask Hannibal a few questions. You’re a bit embarrassed to admit that you zone out through the majority of their conversation, and it isn’t until the two of them are staring at you that you realize your misstep.

“Yes?” You ask, turning to look at Jack expectantly. The man’s eyebrows are furrowed and he looks mildly irritated at the thought of your distraction. He must realize that you had no intention of genuinely zoning out, because the exasperation quickly fades from his expression.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.” You frown at him with furrowed brows. That is a rather unusual question for Jack to ask. In your working history with the man, you’ve never once heard him inquire about someone else’s well being in such a straightforward and brusque manner.

“You’ve been quiet,” Jack frowns, looking at you expectantly. “Any thoughts on the investigation? I’d like to hear what you have to say before sending you to Baltimore.” Jack and Hannibal are both looking at you now. You pinch the bridge of your nose and stare down at the floor. Your conflicting feelings must show in your expression, because Jack continues. “Your honest thoughts.” There is significant emphasis placed on the modifier in that sentence. The clock on the wall behind Jack ticks mockingly. Time seems to drag on in this frozen moment. You take a minute to review what you’ve heard so far.

“I don’t think Abel Gideon is the Ripper,” You finally answer, knowing damn well that the Chesapeake Ripper you’re looking for is standing right across from you. “But it certainly doesn’t hurt to investigate all potential options.”

“Agreed,” Hannibal voices. You’re briefly struck with an intense, inexplicable irritation. Jack glances between the two of you and somehow seems to notice your growing anger. He raises his eyebrows at you. You take a deep breath and try to remain calm. When you’re overstimulated, it’s easy to get angry at other people for simply, well, existing. It’s hard not to get frustrated when you don't have as much control over the situation as you’d like. The reminder of another person’s mere presence—in this case, Hannibal’s—is enough to send you over the edge.

“I’d like to go alone,” you blurt out, quickly glancing at Hannibal before looking at Jack once more. Your boss seems to understand what you’re trying to say and he takes a deep breath.

“Hannibal,” Jack says diplomatically. “Do you mind if we have a private conversation?” Jack asks, his gaze still locked on you even as he speaks to Hannibal. The psychiatrist nods politely and leaves the room. The moment he leaves, you feel all the tension slowly seep from your shoulders. The occurrence doesn’t go unnoticed by Jack, whose brows furrow for a second.

“Are you sure you’re up for this, Agent?” Jack then asks scrupulously. You appreciate that he’s asking, but the hesitant manner in which he does so makes you feel as if you’re a fragile tea cup. Contrary to other people’s beliefs, you’re more than capable of handling yourself. You had done so for years without Hannibal’s assistance and you can continue to do so in his absence.

“I’ll be fine,” you answer quickly and determinedly. You clench your fists at your sides.

“Is there any reason why you requested to go alone?”

“I’m just burned out,” you respond honestly. As much as you enjoy Hannibal’s presence, you feel that you need time alone. You constantly have to monitor everything you do or say in front of the psychiatrist. That necessitated self-awareness, coupled with any preexisting environmental stimuli, can make you feel overwhelmed rather quickly. You don’t utter any of these thoughts aloud, but Jack seems to comprehend the underlying sentiment.

“Ah,” your boss says with an understanding nod. He folds his hands on his desk and levels you with an inquisitive gaze. Admittedly, it took you years to get used to Jack’s demanding stares. The power dynamics in your professional relationship made you feel as if you had to make eye contact with him in order to show proper respect. Thankfully, you eventually learned that the very notion was false. “Very well. You can go on the mission alone.”

“Thanks, Jack,” you smile slightly, feeling appreciative of your boss and his understanding. Jack Crawford can be rather stringent and assertive at times, but it’s during moments like these when you remember that he cares about your comfort in the workplace.

“And, Agent?” Jack asks. You raise a brow. “Be careful out there.” He continues. You appreciate the warning, but it sounds a bit ominous. Does Jack expect something to happen? You shake off the thought.

“Yes, sir,” You say before turning around, hitherto missing the way Jack’s eyebrows furrow at the honorific. You settle for leaving his office. Hannibal is waiting outside, but you walk past him and make your way back to your office alone.

In the blink of an eye, you find yourself standing before the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. As you look up at the building, the only thing you can feel is a profound sensation of dread. The hospital looms over you ominously, its dreary beige exterior making you feel rather uncomfortable. With each step you take, your resolve weakens. Maybe you should’ve had someone accompany you after all. You shake your head and grip the unnecessarily tall door, before stepping inside. The entrance hall is rather luxurious, despite your knowledge that the building is a government-funded prison. It takes you a moment to locate a sign and find Frederick Chilton’s office. Minutes later, you’re standing in front of an ornate wooden door that rests ajar, allowing you to see into the office. The man sitting at the desk looks up and gestures for you to come in.

“Hello, Dr. Chilton,” You decide to say, before moving to take a seat at the armchair across from his desk. The man’s attention is evidently pulled away from his papers, as he levels you with a scrutinizing gaze. You’re about to introduce yourself before understanding passes over his face and he seems to recognize you.

“The killer in the flesh,” Chilton remarks in amusement, leaning back in his chair and crossing his leg over his knee. You’re briefly struck with a resemblance to Hannibal, before you quickly do away with the thought. Chilton possesses none of the effortless grace that Hannibal does. In fact, Frederick Chilton’s movements and posture just make him seem like he’s peacocking.

“You’ve been reading too much TattleCrime, Dr. Chilton,” you remember to say, making sure to plaster a smile on your face to lighten the blow. Thankfully, the doctor doesn’t immediately recoil or usher you out of the office.

Instead, Chilton laughs. You curse internally. It seems that your prickly responses have only increased his interest. “Maybe so,” he acquiesces, leveling you with a hungry gaze. You instinctively lean back in your chair. “Care for an hour-long consultation? Entirely free of charge, of course.”

“No thanks.” You respond quickly.

“Most people would jump at the chance to speak with me for an hour,” Chilton remarks casually. At least, you suspect that he wants to sound casual. Instead, you fear he just sounds pompous and arrogant. You have to grip at the fabric of your jacket to keep yourself from saying something you may regret.

“I’m not most people, as I’m sure you’ve realized,” you snap with a little too much venom, before taking a deep breath. Lashing out at him won’t get you any closer to a conversation with Gideon. “Anyway. I’m here to speak to Abel Gideon.” You look at Chilton expectantly. There’s an awkward silence that descends across the space, before the man sighs. He looks you up and down—in a manner that makes you profoundly uncomfortable—before shaking his head.

“Unfortunately, you lack the proper paperwork,” Dr. Chilton smiles sadly. You aren’t fooled—it’s clear that he doesn’t truly care about the inconvenience this will cause you. “I’ll cut you a deal, though. You can speak with him after our consultation appointment.” Is the idea of a consultation with you really so fascinating to him? Despite his desperation, you don’t intend to entertain the thought for even a moment. You’ve met many of Chilton’s type—mental health “professionals” that treat their clients as test subjects. You have no interest in becoming a case study.

“Thank you for the generous offer, Dr. Chilton,” you say stiffly. “But I’ll have to decline; I’ll be back with that paperwork.” You don’t give him the chance to respond, instead rising from your seat and walking out of the office. You can feel the man’s gaze burning into your skin as you leave. It’s a different feeling than the one you get when Hannibal’s looking; that heated gaze of Chilton’s holds nothing but malice for you and hunger for your destruction. You can’t get out of the building fast enough.

After that catastrophe, you return to the institute and report your findings to Jack, who immediately grows irritated at the thought of you being turned away at the door. You can’t help but agree with him—you had really hoped to get everything finished with one visit. Honestly, the last thing you want to do is go to the hospital again. Unfortunately, it seems you don’t have a choice in the matter. Jack mentions that the paperwork should be ready within a few days and you’re effectively dismissed.

“Dr. Chilton has taken a rather unprofessional interest in me,” you recount, crossing one leg over the other in your designated chair. You’re back at Hannibal’s office for your weekly appointment. You’re still waiting on that paperwork from Jack, but you know it’ll be ready soon. In the meantime, you’re content to puzzle out just why Frederick Chilton seemed so interested in you. With that thought in mind, you look up at Hannibal.

The psychiatrist is completely frozen. It would be humorous, if not for the aghast expression on his face. Well, Hannibal’s expression is far from aghast—in fact, it’s almost entirely blank— but you like to think that you’ve learned to discern his true emotions.

“Are you alright?” You can’t help but ask.

“Of course,” Hannibal says with a slight smile. You avert your eyes and instead focus on the fire crackling in the fireplace. When you look at Hannibal's desk, you're surprised to find that the sketchbook from before is nowhere in sight. Perhaps he meant to hide it last time. Hannibal’s voice draws you away from your pseudo-inspection of his office. “I was simply taken aback by your choice of words.”

“What?” You frown. “Oh, unprofessional interest? I was referring to Chilton’s insistence on having an hour-long consultation appointment with me. I think he even offered to do it for free.” You shake your head in disbelief.

“You seem to be rather popular amongst psychiatrists and mental health professionals,” Hannibal remarks moments later, after he’s evidently recovered from his prior inexplicable shock.

“Can’t possibly imagine why,” you remark sardonically, finally understanding why Chilton was so interested in you. “I’m living, breathing proof of the failure of social conventions. Who wouldn’t be interested in all this insanity?” You laugh wryly.

“You’re not insane,” Hannibal maintains with furrowed brows.

“I appreciate that, Dr. Lecter,” you answer with a sincere nod. “But if that were the case, then I fear I’d put you out of business.”

Hannibal’s eyes widen, before a slightly amused smile falls onto his face. He clasps his hands and leans forward. You sense the conversation is about to take a turn. “May I accompany you on your next visit to Baltimore?” Hannibal asks politely.

“Sure,” you acquiesce. Secretly, you feel a little guilty for going alone the first time. However, you weren’t hired to be Hannibal’s partner for investigations. For a while there, you felt as if Jack was sending Hannibal with you to supervise you. It seems that isn’t the case, though—at least, that’s what you concluded after your conversation with Jack earlier in the week. “I can’t imagine it will be much fun for you, though.” You admit. The Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane isn’t the most entertaining place on the planet. You can’t quite imagine Hannibal—well-dressed, scholarly Hannibal—standing in those run-down halls. “I disagree.” Hannibal responds, wielding a wicked smirk. You feel a grin growing on your own face in response to his amenability. Hannibal will almost be acting as your security guard, in a twisted way. The thought amuses you far more than it should—so much so that Hannibal levels you with an inquiring gaze. You simply shake your head in response.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, effectively distracting you from the conversation at hand. You frown and ignore the notification, but your phone buzzes again a few moments later and you’re forced to pull it out. Your phone is currently both your work phone and personal phone, although you scarcely use it for personal matters. You get the feeling these sudden notifications are from Jack. Sure enough, when you open the encrypted messaging platform that the BAU uses, you have a few messages from Jack.

Jack Crawford: Just spoke with Alana concerning Gideon.

Jack Crawford: She was his psychiatrist for a while, and maintains that she has information you may need for your meeting with him.

Jack Crawford: I arranged a meeting for the two of you tomorrow morning.

You inhale sharply, before typing out a mediocre response and sending it. You place your phone back in your pocket and take a deep breath, feeling the need to keep yourself calm. You’ve been avoiding Alana ever since the incident… You’d rather not see her again. Unfortunately, however, it doesn’t appear like you have much of a choice. Your growing despair must show on your face, because Hannibal asks you about the nature of the messages.

“I have a meeting with Alana tomorrow morning,” you say, rubbing your hands over your face for a moment. You resist the compelling urge to altogether bury your head in your hands. What should you do? You have to attend the meeting, obviously—Jack asked you to attend and you could use more information on Gideon. However, you’re pretty uncomfortable with the idea of going alone. Suddenly, you think of a solution. “I’m normally not the one to ask, but…” You break off, feeling a bit embarrassed as you stare at Hannibal. However, the thought of Alana making any more romantic advances significantly trumps any of your current apprehension. “Will you go with me?”

“Of course,” Hannibal answers without hesitation. You feel the tension slowly leave your body. Suddenly, the world around you doesn’t look nearly as grim and gloomy. You focus on taking a few deep breaths.

“Thank you so much,” you murmur in relief. “...I’m hoping nothing will happen.” Hannibal frowns for a moment, before understanding passes over his face and his expression turns grave. He looks at you expectantly. His gaze is rather demanding—something you haven’t seen him display just yet—and you decide to meet his eyes. There is nothing but honesty in the lines of his face, the pull to his shoulders.

“Rest assured, I will not let anything of that nature occur,” Hannibal states with absolute certainty. Something about the determination in his voice and the knowing look on his face makes you feel safe. Moments like these make it even harder for you to connect him to the Chesapeake Ripper. There is no grotesque brutality in the gentlemanly way in which he escorts you out of his office after the appointment; there is no hint of ferocious violence in the softly spoken farewell he leaves you with. When you walk out to the car, the night is blanketed with twinkling stars and a full moon. There is beauty in the veiled darkness. You can’t help but think of Hannibal in the same way.

next chapter

#defectivevillain #apologies if the formatting is a lil screwy #Hannibal Lecter x reader #Hannibal Lecter x male reader #Hannibal Lecter x gn reader #hannibal x reader #hannibal x male reader #hannibal x gn reader #hannibal nbc

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