#i really hope this gets reach i spent like an hour writing this

[adora-but-ginger]

Ardently Yours

ardent (adjective): to fall into strong feelings for or to develop a crush; to begin to love

pairing: spencer reid x psychic! gender neutral reader

synopsis: the four times where you almost call spencer by his first name, and the one time that you do

warnings: typical cm talk and discussions, a quick undercover case, spencer reid is NOT straight, honestly assume that any character i write for isn't straight, food mentions, swearing (probably), nervous spencer at the end, me having a bias towards glasses reid

masterlist

word count: ~5k

a/n: here is the next installment for my psychic reader collection! i spent a lot of time and effort on this one, and i have not written something this long in awhile, so i hope you all enjoy it as much as i do!

want to be tagged? let me know!

not proofread whoops again

credit to gif owner!

i.

"Why do you drink coffee when you don't even like it?" You were by the kitchenette as Spencer rolled up for his morning caffeine fix, caught off guard by the realization that he wasn't alone.

He turned to you, adding sugar into his beverage. "Caffeine is a stimulant that increases your brain and nervous system's alertness. We work really odd hours. I don't understand what you're asking." The flow of sugar didn't stop until he was almost done talking, your eyes widening every second he kept pouring.

"Yes but aren't there other drinks that get the same result? Why coffee when you obviously don't like the taste?" You watched as he stirred the sugar-with-a-dash-of-coffee drink together, combining the ingredients.

He shrugged as he pushed up his glasses to sit better on his nose. "It's what's easily available."

"Hmm." You scrunched your eyebrows together. "Do you like tea?"

"I much prefer tea, actually." A wisp of hair fell in front of his face, and you were tempted to push it away. You weren't going to, that was absurd. But you were tempted. You had just reached a truce not too long ago and put your differences aside, meaning you had to make every moment count if you wanted to keep the peace.

Reid surveyed the room before continuing, as to watch for any possible intruders. "Last time I walked in with tea though, Morgan commented on my cup and would only talk to me in a horrible British accent the rest of the day." A small smile crept onto his features. "Learned that lesson quite quickly."

Now that you didn't seethe at the sight of him, you were able to read Reid better. Six months into the BAU now and you were able to have civilized conversations with the genius, progress that you valued as you got to know him. He was skeptical of what you could do with your mind still, but at least he was less vocal about it.

Something was different this morning though, but that may just be on your side. Because at seven a.m. sharp Spencer walked into the bullpen with those frames of his adorning his face, something that he hadn't done since the first month you were here. Why was that a problem? Because you couldn't keep your eyes off of him.

Maybe it was the change, or maybe it was something else, but you were put into a daze the first few seconds you saw him.

You came back to reality just in time for him to make his leave, and you made the collective decision to make a pit stop on the way in tomorrow if there were no cases announced today. You needed a change of pace in your morning routine anyway. At least, that's what you told yourself as you walked back to your desk, getting Emily's attention before striking up a riveting conversation with her regarding her weekend plans.

--

The next day when you walked into the office, you were balancing two drinks, one pastry, and a load of anxiety in your hands. You were the first one there, showing up a half an hour early as Spencer appeared twenty minutes early on the dot without missing a day. You had stopped by the café next to your apartment on your way here, getting yourself a drink and ordering a tea for Spencer that felt right. You didn't know what he usually had, but your mind searched his the day before to get a good grasp of the basics.

You knew that he had a big thing with germs (which was completely justified) and so you delicately laid down a folded napkin as a coaster for his tea before writing a little note of what it was. You signed with your initials before rounding to your own desk, just in the nick of time. You glanced down at your watch as it struck twenty-to, and watched nonchalantly as Reid walked into the office, immediately noting your presence and giving an awkward wave. The rest of the team filed in not too long after, and before you knew it you had lost a few hours to paperwork. It wasn't until midday that you felt a presence near your desk, the energy telling you it was Reid before you even looked in his direction.

"You got me baked goods. And a drink. Why?"

"The tea is caffeinated, and it's green--I know some people have sensitivities to other bases but usually green is a safe bet. It was no big deal, I had a couple punch cards that I turned in for free goodies so please don't think you owe me anything."

He awkwardly leaned against the side of your desk, trying to find a place to stick his hands. "Why did you do it?"

"Why do you think I did it?"

"I'm not sure. I looked up the shop on the cup and it's ten minutes in the opposite direction from here, you didn't go out of your way did you?"

Yes, you totally did. "No not at all, it was on my way."

He squinted at you, knowing you were telling a fib but not confident enough to call it out.

"Plus, I get the feeling you like pastries of the sort."

A smile flashed across his face. "I do, actually, the one you got is my favorite type."

You shot him a wink. "I thought so. You like the drink too?"

His shoulders slumped into a more relaxed response as the conversation went on. "I did, I never had that type before, but it was quite nice. The flavors were all very balanced, and I appreciated the sugar packets you brought along with it." He stood up, beginning to head back to his desk. "Thank you."

"Anytime Reid."

Were you there long enough to use his first name? It was a tricky thing, names, because some didn't mind being on a first-name basis from the get-go, but Reid was different.

It almost fell from your lips just then too, as he was walking away.

Maybe today wasn't the day, but you hoped soon it would be.

ii.

You were called into a case before you could finish your Saturday morning routine, and by midday the jet was taking you to Kentucky. with the woods surrounding you on pretty much all sides. That plus the humidity ever present equaled a very irritable team.

It was two days in when the profile was given, but your focus was on one of the local cops at the department. You didn't want to make it a big deal, but your incessant glaring was clearly making him uncomfortable. He was hiding something. Prentiss was the one to cue you first, nudging your arm after realizing you weren't letting up on your stare down.

"What is it? Everything alright?" She crossed her arms as she followed your line of sight.

"Yeah, it's just something's off."

"What's off?" Spencer appeared seemingly from nowhere and perched himself on your other side.

"Oh, hey Reid." Emily nodded in your direction. "They're reading Mr. Cowboy Boots over there." Sure enough, the cop had a pair on that did not match the uniform at all.

"His aura is different." You squinted as he gathered up some paperwork. "Most of the people in this office have an uncomfortable energy, but his is just...different. Not a good different either." A moment of silence filled the air. "Plus, I hate that toupee of his. It looks like a joke." He turned towards the three of you and you all glanced in separate directions, trying but failing to look like you hadn't just been studying him.

"The way he flows just doesn't match the energy of the others, and I'm going to figure out why."

"How can you tell?" Spencer looked from the man in question to the other locals, trying to understand an inch of what you were saying.

You kicked off from the wall you were slouching against before starting on your way towards him. "I just can. Give me a minute." And off you went.

You just needed to strike up small talk with him, really look into his eyes to try and uncover your rising suspicions. You were in earshot of Emily and Reid still, and it didn't take you long to understand why you were feeling the way you were.

Nodding as an exit cue, you booked it toward your two coworkers. "Call Garcia." You closed your eyes for a second, focusing your thoughts. "He knows the unsub. I don't know how, but either through friendship or familial ties, Boots over there is familiar with these murders.

"All you did was discuss tomorrow's weather, how can you know?" Spencer looked at you, confusion written all over those chiseled cheekbones.

You hummed as you reached out to flick an invisible piece of dust from his sweater vest. "His heart, it tells a story. A story of betrayal, of protecting a secret. Not like a typical hidden truth, but something much, much darker. He's inserting himself into this case as much as he can because of it." He reached for his found to send Penelope your info, no matter how apprehensive he was about it. You could tell he was unsure, but if it meant getting one step closer to catching this killer, he wasn't going to question it. Not now at least.

He picked up his phone, adjusting his glasses as he did so. "Hey, Garcia? We need you to check something out."

Emily went to relay the information to Gideon, and you took a moment to admire the boy genius. You had to admit that ever since you two started getting along, you were seeing him in a new light. A light that you wished minded its own damn business. His awkwardness was adorable, and when he showed up to the case today wearing those glasses of his, well, you had to pencil in a cold shower for later.

Whether he knew it or not, he truly was gorgeous.

You weren't planning to acknowledge those feelings anytime soon though. There was a killer on the loose and this was the last thing you needed to be thinking about right now.

"He hasn't slept since the beginning of the case either. Those bags under his eyes are days old and he--" Spencer stared at you as he telephoned your information to Garcia's side. "He has a grass allergy. That last part isn't important, I just needed to let someone else know that I knew that too." You mumbled the last part of yourself, looking briefly out towards the cloudy evening.

He turned towards you, shooting you a confused look. He covered the phone with his hand. "You can tell if someone has an allergy?"

You shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I can." You squinted your eyes at him, and you two had worked together enough now that he knew you were reading him. "You're allergic to pollen." The lack of reaction from him was reaction enough. "And peaches? Cantaloupe, too."

The corner of his eye twitched, and you smirked at your victory. He resumed his attention to the phone. "Garcia, they're freaking me out again, reading my mind."

Maybe you two were friends. Friends call each other by their first names, right? You silently tested it out on your tongue.

Gideon's voice grabbed the two of you's attention before his name could fall from your lips.

iii.

You were not a fan of going undercover. It was a part of the job that you thankfully didn't have to exercise much of, but whenever the opportunity arose, you did your best to avoid it. It was uncomfortable, especially when you fit the victimology to a tee. You had a weapon tucked away as a fail-safe, but there you were, sitting alone in a bar with a glass untouched in front of you.

Act as though you had a fresh break-up, he's going after people who seem heartbroken.

Make sure not to draw too much attention.

Let us know the moment he leads you out. Click the pen and we'll be sent an alert.

You were a decent actor, but it felt weird knowing that you were practically bait for this case. It didn't help that you hated the bar setting, the sticky floors, questionable seats, and dim lighting. Not to mention they were always overcrowded whenever you went. No, you'd much rather be at home, or honestly anywhere rather than here.

"Any updates?" Reid's voice sounded through your earpiece, relaxing you a little. The team was strategically placed outside the establishment, with Spencer also somewhere within the pool of people inhabiting this bar. Back-up, he called it, though you were pretty sure that you'd be a better shot than he was. Plus, he hated this setting even more than you. So why was he here?

You tried to search for him, attempting to find the brunette in the mass of people. You caught someone's eyes in the process, quickly locking theirs with your own before moving on.

Here we go.

The man fit the profile to a tee, and noticing that you were alone started to make his way to you.

You swirled your drink in your hand as he sauntered up to you. Even if you weren't here undercover, you wouldn't go near this guy with a jousting pole. Time to put on the charm.

"Well hey there, you look lonely."

You put on an overly friendly smile. "Oh, you're too kind."

"Mind if I take a seat?"

One glance at him and you knew. This was your guy. You clicked the alarm disguised as a pen, and now you just had to get him out of the bar. "Go right ahead."

It took ten minutes before you could get anywhere, and by the time you convinced him to leave with you, you wanted to retch--his grubby hands were laying on your shoulder, rubbing it as he walked alongside you, other hand on the small of your back.

You were definitely making sure that as a reward for putting up with this, you had your paperwork covered for at least a week.

One moment you felt the fresh evening air, the next you heard shouts from all sides. But then you felt cold metal against your neck, and you realized this was going to take a little longer than expected. This is exactly why you hated going undercover.

"Put the guns down or they get it." You hadn't been on this side of the job yet, being held hostage with your teammates staring down the possibility of what one wrong move could mean.

"Statistically, killers like you try to take the path of police-assisted suicide in a situation like this, but you can make it out with a life sentence if you're smart about it. Either way, you'll never see what life looks like out of cement walls." Reid's voice sounded from behind you, as you welcomed the wave of relief that swept over you as his voice hit your ears. "Choose wisely."

You sensed it before it happened. You kicked his kneecap in as he went to swipe at you, and though you ended up with pain lightly searing against your clavicle, there Reid was, handcuffing him before handing him over to Morgan.

Spencer noticed your wound and moved towards you. "Is it deep?"

You shook your head. "No, just stings."

"I had eyes on you the entire time. I know it was really busy in there, but I was there. Just in case. I didn't lose you, you were safe." He waited a second before continuing. "Let's go get that cleaned up, it's pretty nasty looking."

You sent a smile at the man. "Thank you. Seriously, Spen--"

Gideon called both of your names before you could finish the sentence, leaving his first name still unknown on your lips.

iv.

The weather was just starting to clear again. It wasn't humid in D.C. and the temperature was at a steady rise, though it was still bearable. You had been talking with Hotch about weekend plans, which you had to admit was a little odd.

It wasn't that you and Aaron didn't get along, per se, but you two had just never sought the other out during non-work hours. He was telling you about his partner, Hailey, who sounded lovely. You'd never seen the man as lively as when he was talking about her.

"And then she offered to go to the art gallery to see the new exhibit, which I didn't even know about."

"You like art?" You were leaning against his desk with a cup of coffee in hand.

"I do. What about you, any events planned?"

You shook your head. "No, just me and my fish catching up on some reading hopefully."

"You know Reid reads too?" Hotch looked over to the man of the hour who was coincidentally staring back, quickly glancing away as if caught.

"Reid reads. There has to be a pun in there." You snorted at your words, shrugging afterward. "He reads books that I have no interest in though, and I distinctly remember hearing about his disdain for fiction, which is my forte."

"I'm sure if you asked him, he would." He paused for a moment before shuffling some papers. "You two could start your own book club."

This was the thing with Aaron, you could never tell if he was joking.

"In fact, he's coming this way now." Surprise scribbled onto your face as you turned to look behind you. Sure enough, like he'd been summoned, there was Spencer striding over. His contacts must have been picked up because he was bare-faced today, which made no difference to you--your heart still skipped a beat. You noticed he was giving off lots of nervous energy as he approached, though from the outside he looked relatively relaxed.

"Why are you nervous Reid?" Never one to beat around the bush, you were.

That relaxation quickly dissipated as he looked towards you and Hotch. His eyes met yours. "How do you--never mind. Do you have a second?"

You nodded. "Hotch, tell me how the exhibit goes, yeah?" With a nod from Aaron, you met Spencer halfway, motioning him to lead the onward. "What's up?"

He didn't speak until you got to his desk. "First, before I say anything, know that I do not mind at all if you say no."

"Okay...?" You watched him skeptically as he fiddled with his hands, looking at you every few seconds before surveying the room. "What, are you about to ask me on a date or somet--"

"I have two tickets to the star show they're hosting at the planetarium on Saturday, and I know that you love the constellations. I've been once before and it was really nice, they tell you all about the patterns and legends behind each one and I think you'd really like it. Penelope suggested I ask you since you usually are relatively free on the weekends, which isn't a bad thing of course. In fact, I don't usually do much on the weekends besides going to the park and playing chess with the regulars there." He was rambling, truly on edge about how'd you respond. A smile started to rise on you. "It's later in the evening so when you leave the planetarium you can see the stars in question, but it's not too far from my place and you do not have to go if you're busy or don't want to, I just thought I'd ask."

His eyes were wide as you ate up every one of his words. His voice was like the harmony of your favorite song--you loved to pick it out and listen to how each of the words he spoke flowed. His face had a tint of rose on it, and a piece of hair had fallen into his eyes. You had to once more withhold from pushing it back into place.

"I would love to go, where would you like to meet?"

Shock was written all over his features at your accepting of his invitation, and you were pretty sure he was already preparing a proper response to a rejection when you said your words.

"You want to go?"

A nod accompanied you. "Yeah, you can teach me all about the science and I can teach you all about your star sign."

He shot you a quizzical glance before relaxing his shoulders. Man, he was really tense. "Okay. Okay, great! I can send you my address. We can walk there from my place, it's only about ten minutes away. It's at 7 pm, does that work?"

"Works perfect for me." A thought popped into your head, one that could make this outing seem to be much more than it really was. "That's a little past when I eat, want to grab dinner beforehand?"

He scrunched his eyebrows at you. Uneasiness started to form in your belly, maybe you were being a little too bold. "What type of dinner? Restaurant dinner or takeout dinner?"

"We could do takeout? You said you know a 24-hour Thai place around here, right? It's one of your favorite places in the area."

He was almost caught in a trance then, looking nearly through you, staring at you with an expression you had never really seen on his face before. "You remembered that?"

"Of course I did, I remember things about the people I care about."

He couldn't speak for a second after your words. Yeah, you were definitely being too bold.

"You--" His voice cracked and you almost chuckled as he cleared his throat. "--I'll grab some food from there before we head out. Want to stop by around six?"

"Six it is. See you there, boy wonder." You shot a wink his way. "And thank you for the invite, I cannot wait to go." His first name was on the tip of your tongue, ready to spill out at the slightest egging on. He looked almost expectantly at you and you had to remind yourself of where you were and who you were with.

This wouldn't be considered a date, would it?

v.

Spencer totally thought this was a date. He could count the number of dates he'd been on on his hand, and most of them were with Ethan. It'd been a while since he'd gone out, and he was nervous.

What if he was overdressed? What if he was underdressed? What even was the dress code for the night? What if you didn't show up?

He tried to not let that last thought get to him because if it did then he would spiral and would all in all not have a good time tonight. This wasn't platonic, right? He didn't think it was. Did you? Did--

A knock at his door interrupted his ruminating. He scrambled to make sure he looked presentable, heart practically thrumming against his rib cage as he did so. There was just one problem.

He couldn't see.

It wasn't that he hated how he looked with his glasses on, but it made him feel self-conscious and he hated to wear the frames outside of his house. The only problem was that the last of his contacts had dried out, and he really wanted to look nice for your guys' outing. He could not see more than five feet in front of him for his life, which in retrospect kind of ruined the whole point of looking at the stars.

That didn't matter in his mind as long as it impressed you. He knew that he shouldn't dress to impress, but you and your alternative methods of profiling had snuck their way into his brain and refused to leave. He thought about whether you'd do the daily crossword with him almost every morning. He made sure to always bring an extra morning snack in the case that you got hungry. Hell, he was writing to his mother about you.

He was in much farther than he knew.

A second round of knocks sounded at the door.

He opened it after looking through the peephole and nearly lost his breath.

You were stunning, and he felt more out of his element than he had in years.

Wow, he was really in deep.

"Phew, I thought I had the wrong address at first. I am so ready for some Thai and stars!" You entered his place, but his mind was still a few steps behind. "This place is beautiful, and so...you!" Neat piles of books were stacked in rows alongside his couch, and as he went to readjust one's positioning his lack of visual clarity made him trip.

Great.

You rushed over to him, careful to keep your distance but still close enough to offer help if he asked. "Woah, are you alright there?"

"Yeah, I-I just must've not seen where I was heading." He could feel the dust adorning his cheeks. He was totally making a fool out of himself. "Please, take a seat at the table, the food is still hot."

You smiled and nodded, taking in the contents of his home whilst sitting down. He went over and grabbed the Thai food, bringing it over to the table. He set the food down and went to sit, not knowing that this was the moment before a disaster. One of the chairs must not have been fully pushed in, and with the combination of his nerves, and his blurriness, his foot got caught right over it as he went to sit across from you.

Now, you fully respected and understood Spencer's hatred of germs, so you'd apologize later for coming to the rescue. That being said, you sensed it a half a second before it was going to happen, stood up, and reached out to catch him.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" His arms were on yours, bracing them for stability. "What's wrong? Are you sick?" He could feel your eyes looking him up and down for any signs of maladies. "We can reschedule and go another night if something's wrong." He really did not want to admit the reasoning behind his clumsiness. "I can take you to the doctor's if you're feeling ill." Now he definitely had to expose himself. How would he even explain this to a medical professional?

Oh hey doc, I got told repeatedly that I look better with contacts and now the one time I need them I don't have them which ironically is the one night in years that I had to chance to go out with someone who I think I'm starting to really like so can you please give me a fake diagnosis so they didn't drive me here for nothing?

Yeah, that wasn't going to work. He had to bite the bullet. "I'm not sick." He slowly removed himself from your grasp. "I just can't see."

A concerned look graced your features. "What? Is everything okay?"

"Yes, I just--"

"You just what Reid? You can talk to me. Your energy is super wonky right now. I'm getting a little worried for you."

This was stupid. He was acting stupid. He shouldn't be embarrassed by this. You were just looking out for him, that was all, it was all probably surface level anyway. It was all--

"Spencer, what's wrong?"

His breath stifled to a halt.

"What did you just say?"

Your concerned look deepened.

"I asked what was wrong."

You had never called him by his first name before.

He shook his head. "No, before that." His eyes met yours. "You've never said my first name before."

A flash of...regret? nerves? shot through your eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to overstep any boundaries. I should've asked--"

"Say it again." He properly sat down. "My name I mean, say it again. Please."

"You're not mad?" You were tentative with your words now, adding his name after a beat. "...Spencer?"

His name formed like the first rain shower after a draught on your lips, falling with the grace of the autumn leaves from your tongue.

"You've never called me that before." His expression was shy, and man he wished he could see more than your blurry figure right now. "I, uh, thought I could go without my glasses tonight, but I also don't have my contacts."

"Would you like me to call you that more?" You were going to make him go into freaking cardiac arrest. He nodded fervently. Your shoulders slightly lost some of their tension. "Why would you do that to yourself? You wouldn't be able to see."

"Statistically those who wea--"

"Spencer."

Oh, he was turning to putty now. You were going to kill him, and he didn't mind.

"I thought I would look better without them."

A scoff emitted from you. "If you need them to see, you need them to see. Don't change your appearance for the approval or interest of someone else." He felt the red rush up his neck, around his ears. "Plus," You added with a quieter tone. "I think you look plenty good with them on." You locked eyes. "Gorgeous, even. There's a reason Morgan calls you pretty boy, you know."

Gorgeous? You just called him gorgeous. No one had called him that before.

"Really?"

"Really, Spencer."

Yeah, he was done for.

taglist:

@alllriseabove @kitty-kei @donttrustlove @jiuseoks

[saltylemonade13]

Edit: I am afraid that I may have spread some misinformation, and a lot of the information in this post is technically wrong now. So please PLEASE check the comments! someone left a link to a post on twitter explaining how Hobie’s age is up to opinion, and I think everyone should look at that first. I will still be keeping this post up to to provide a link to the interview if you want to watch it yourself, and I also want to see what other peoples opinions are on the subject! (Please keep it friendly) However, if you are curious to read the psa, go ahead, but keep in mind that it isn’t exactly accurate anymore.

———————————————————————

PSA FOR PUNKFLOWER FANS

WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR SPIDER-MAN: ACROSS THE SPIDER- VERSE

———————————————————————

Yall I think we messed up. Hobie could be an adult and we all were wrong about him being 16. My evidence comes from an interview with co-director Kemp Powers. In the interview we get a short mention on Hobie Brown, and that includes his age. [Timestamp: 1:02:21]

And the quote is as following: “… We need to make that character look like a dork. And the character that makes that character look like a dork is Spider Punk. Y’know he’s- he’s nineteen- twenty, six foot three inches tall real thin…”

As far as I am aware this is the best conformation of his age that I have found. HOWEVER this could possibly be referring to the comic version of Hobie, and how the directors found him and all of COMIC Hobie’s details, as we know that in the comics- he’s an adult. But its important to not this because, on every other site I check- they say he’s around 16, and maybe a little older than Gwen. But I’m hesitant because all of those sites have little to no confirmation, and aren’t a stable source of evidence.

ALSO if Hobie really is 19-20 that makes the whole “love triangle” thing with Gwen REALLY weird. I’ve seen a lot of people say that the love triangle was a joke and wasn’t a serious plot point, but again, the interview says other wise.

“ …but wonderfully as we were working on the film he became integral to the plot. And I think that’s-that’s really whats key. ‘Cause it starts with like- well this is kind of a cool character this idea of you know Mile’s starting to have feelings for Gwen and being uncertain about this other boy so punk like immediately filled in that slot. ” [Time stamp: 1:01:40]He then goes on to talk about how over time punk’s character develops more past that and blah blah blah.

The genuine idea of Mile’s being jealous about Hobie and Gwen seems weird to me if Hobie really is an adult, but that fact that he is mentioned to be 19-20 scares me. Powers never mentioned if he was talking about comic or movie Hobie or if they even are different, but it’s very possible Hobie is an adult in the movie.

I could definitely be looking into it WAY to much and if thats true I apologize, but for all my Punk-flower fans out there, maybe it’s best if we hold off on the ship until someone gives out an official age? Or we should at least be careful. I am aware that some of my information and opinions here aren’t clear and I am so sorry for that. And I am also aware that most sites say that Hobie is around 16 but unless we can confirm that, better safe than sorry y’know?

This does not mean any punk flower enjoyers are now like pr0shipers or something- especially because we don’t really know much, and I don’t intend to make anyone feel bad, I only intend to inform everyone on how punk-flower could very possibly be an accidental pr0ship- and if it is we should take it down as quickly as possible. BUT TAKE EVERYTHING I SAY WITH A GRAIN OF SALT.

Have a nice day, and I love you all 🫶

[egcdeath]

something old, something new

pairing: patrick zweig x f!reader

summary: when your childhood best friend asks you to get married, how are you supposed to say no?

word count: 7.2k

warnings: MATURE (mentions of sex but no explicit sex scenes), marriage of convenience, fluff, mentions of alcohol, patrick is a bad friend (but he improves), friends to spouses to lovers, fake dating, yearning and pining, everyone is bad at communicating, many feelings are being repressed, mentions of dieting in an athlete way, one singular creepy old man, no use of y/n

author’s note: i cannot get this tennis man out of my head!! i hope you all enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!

It wasn’t every day that you could count on hearing anything from your childhood best friend, but it seemed like whenever you did hear from Patrick Zweig, it was always an ask for something more shocking than the previous one. 

As kids, you spent many evenings doing the homework that Patrick didn’t want to do, despite the fact that you didn’t really want to do more homework either. At boarding school, you’d somehow become his personal designated driver, answering his calls no matter what time and groggily picking him up from whatever party he’d found himself at. In your adulthood, you found yourself becoming a go-to stand-in for him at events he didn’t feel like attending. The amount of times that you’d shaken hands at charity galas and introduced yourself as Patrick’s girlfriend, despite not having a single romantic encounter with him, was frankly astounding. 

It seemed like whenever Patrick needed something, you were the first person he reached out to. After his parents, of course. 

You dreaded knowing the reason behind the simple hey, text message you’d just received, but you were sure that you’d find the reason out sooner rather than later–and that whatever the reason was could not have been good. 

Like clockwork, only an hour after you’d received his message, Patrick appeared at the doorway of your apartment. He came to you equipped with his secret weapon, the kicked puppy look that he often used on you before he asked you for a ridiculous favor, like breaking up with his girlfriend for him or telling his mom that he still wasn’t joining the board of the family business. 

You sighed as you took his less-than-stellar appearance in. Downtrodden expression, wrinkled and sweat-stained shirt, as if he’d gone to the gym to sweat out his feelings before coming to you, and eyes so red-rimmed, you wondered if he’d been crying. 

If you had to guess, he’d either been arguing with his parents, who knew exactly how to get under his skin, or his tennis friends, who also knew exactly how to get under his skin, or his latest girlfriend, who probably confronted him about his own wrongdoings. Regardless of who had upset him, he had obviously come to you to lick his wounds. 

Like always, Patrick stalked inside without asking you for any further permission. The two of you had done this song and dance more times than either one of you would like to admit. 

“How are you?” he asked, stopping in your kitchen to steal an apple from your decorative bowl of fruit.

“I’m good,” you said with hesitation, eyeing him once more. He really looked like shit. If he hadn’t looked so sad, you would’ve told him exactly how much shit he looked like.  

“Aren’t you gonna ask me how I am?” he questioned, a little pathetically.

“No,” you walked off to your living room, fully expecting him to follow you. You were unsurprised when he did exactly that. “Let’s just get right to it. Why’d you come over here?” you asked as the two of you sat down on your couch. 

“My parents are cutting me off,” he explained, voice breaking as he spoke.

Surely, this couldn’t all be over an empty threat. They seemed to threaten Patrick with this every few days. In fact, you’d been in the room with him when his parents promised that he’d never see another dime from them–more than once. Every time, it ended with them coming to their senses and throwing more cash at him. 

“That’s what, the twentieth time?” you laughed. “They always threaten to cut you off. What’s different this time?”

“This time, they mean it.”

You laughed even harder in his face. If you had a quarter for every time you’d had this conversation, you’d be richer than the two of your families combined. 

“I’m serious,” he inched closer to you. “They’re tired of funding my ‘tennis habit’. They want me to get serious about life. To join the board and start a family. My dad showed me an edited draft of his will and everything”

“So?” you prompted, trying to figure out where you fell into the equation. Hopefully he wouldn’t try to put you up to something absurd, like seducing his father into convincing him to not threaten Patrick’s inheritance.

“So, tennis is the only thing I care about.”

“Okay…” you trailed off. “What would you like me to do about that?”

“I need you to help show my parents that I have a vision for the future.”

“Again, Patrick, what exactly are you asking me to do?”

“Marry me.”

You weren’t sure what you expected him to say, but it certainly was not that. Your mouth instantly dropped open and you were sure that you were gaping like a fish. Maybe if he had asked you ten years ago, you’d have instantly said yes, but you’d let that naive dream die after you’d come to realize the transactional subtext of your friendship.

“What?”

“I want you to marry me. I was thinking… you remember when we were younger and we made that pact, that if we weren’t married by the time we were adults, then we’d get hitched?”

You continued to stare at him, completely dumbfounded and not believing a single word coming from his mouth. “I… I…” you couldn’t even form the words. “We were kids!”

He gave you a halfhearted shrug, as if that didn’t matter at all, and as if he didn’t just ask you to be legally and romantically bound to him forever.

“You are fucking unbelievable! You haven't talked to me for anything other than asking me a favor in years, I barely know you’re alive apart from the random drunk texts you send me, and now you want me to marry you? Do you even hear yourself?”

You scoffed and stared at him in disbelief. “And that has to be the worst proposal in all of human history. First you tell me that tennis is the only thing you care about and then ask me to marry you? You’re a joke.”

He let you finish your rant, but after a beat he finally asked. “…Is that a no?”

———-

Stranger things had happened to you than marrying your childhood best friend just a month after he’d randomly popped back up in your life. At least, that’s what you told yourself as you walked down the aisle on a beautiful beach off of the Amalfi Coast.

The last few weeks had been an absolute whirlwind, with what felt like every second of your time consumed by making guest lists and invitations, booking hotel rooms, and finding a dress that you liked enough to get married in. Obviously, you knew this was more of an elaborate scheme than a celebration of love, but you wanted it to be nice anyway. For all you knew, you may never get married again.

You don’t know what possessed you to say yes to Patrick. Maybe the small, desperate part of you that had been begging him to truly see you since you were old enough to realize he didn’t, or maybe the desire to finally have that fairytale destination wedding you’d been dreaming about from the time you learned what a wedding was. Regardless of the reason, both of your families were overjoyed by the union. In one fell swoop, you’d been able to satisfy both of your parents’ desires for you to settle down, and you’d done it with someone both pairs approved of. 

You had to give props to Patrick, the ceremony was beautiful. Given the short timeline, the two of you decided to divide and conquer the planning of the event. You were sure that he’d outsourced the work, since he was still in the middle of his tennis season, but whoever he hired did an excellent job at giving you the wedding you’d always wanted. 

Despite the very short timeline everyone had been given, you were able to wrangle all of your close family and friends to Italy to watch you elope. Your parents had insisted on inviting second cousins and shareholders to your wedding, but you’d somehow convinced them that you and Patrick wanted a smaller, more intimate ceremony. It was probably better to have less people there, lest someone notices the artificial nature of your union. 

Part of you felt like you’d pulled off the greatest prank of all time as the two of you stood up in front of your small crowd, gazing as lovingly as you could manage into each others’ eyes while the officiant said his spiel, but the other, more logical part of you filled with dread as the reality of the situation began to set in. Patrick seemed to have a way of always dragging you into a shitty situation, and you hoped for both of your sakes, that that wouldn’t be the case for your marriage.

After what felt like a lifetime, Patrick began to recite his vows, claiming to have loved you since you were children, and promising to continue to love you ‘till death did you part. If you had been marrying literally anyone else, your knees would go weak with swooning. 

Unfortunately, you were cursed with the knowledge of the reality of your situation, one where your vows sounded more like: “We only have to stay married until I retire, which should be sooner rather than later. We don’t have to do anything together: no galas, no family dinners, no family vacations. Hell, you don’t even have to come to my games. And we don’t have to be exclusive either. This is basically just a title, so feel free to see anyone you want to. I can already see the worry in your face. Stop that. We can hire someone to make us prenups, so the divorce will be an easy, clean split of our assets. See? It’s not that bad.”

The dichotomy between the words he’d said to you a month ago and the bullshit he was spewing now almost made you laugh, but that was clearly not the reaction you were meant to be having when the love of your life was publicly declaring their feelings for you. 

Once he finished declaring his romantic, empty words, you began to read off your vows. They fell in a similar vein to his, a proclamation of a lifetime-spanning love that didn’t really exist in the first place. But when you glanced up at him from your slip of paper, he was really selling it. He stared at you like he adored you, like he wanted to study every inch of your face after running off with you into the sunset.

The ridiculousness of it all finally hit you like a freight train, and you managed to pivot the laugh that was creeping up into your throat into a weepy sounding crack of your voice. Surely people cried during their own weddings. 

You finished off your vows, doing your best to pretend like this whole ordeal wasn’t the most ridiculous scheme you’d ever been dragged into. You imagined a world where he was less selfish and you were less selfless, one where you were exchanging these vows with sincerity, and it helped you to get through the words that you knew were almost completely meaningless. 

The two of you then took turns placing the ring on each others’ fingers, with Patrick giving you a ring with the largest diamond you’d ever seen, and you giving him a band that had been passed throughout your family. He’d agreed to give you the heirloom back once you divorced, so you couldn’t complain too much about giving it away in the first place.

The announcement of being able to kiss the bride rang out in your ears, yet you still found yourself surprised when Patrick eagerly wrapped his arms around you and kissed you passionately. Cheers erupted around the two of you, and you pulled away as the officiant declared you Mr. and Mrs. Zweig.

You had successfully tricked your audience, and yet, you still had the strangest feeling. 

Your reception felt far more natural than your wedding ceremony. After a change of outfit, a huge bowl of pasta, and a few flutes of champagne, you were feeling substantially better about the arguably poor decision you’d just made. You chatted up your friends, who jumped at the opportunity to comment on how cute of a couple you two were, did some light matchmaking between single guests, and placated both of your parents with manufactured acts of affection. You even managed to get Patrick out on the dance floor, after he swore to you that he didn’t dance. 

By the time the two of you were stumbling back into your villa, the woes of the day had practically been forgotten. When you were having this much fun, who cared about a massive, potentially life altering decision? 

You immediately made a beeline to the bathroom, anxious to get into your comfortable pajamas and to wash your face after a long day of wearing tight, extravagant dresses and a heavy layer of makeup.  

“So what did you think of your big day, Mrs. Zweig?” Patrick called out from the other side of the bathroom door, where you were sure he was also preparing for bed. “Was it everything you wanted and more?”

“I think this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” you paused as you thought about something before confessing, “but it was everything I wanted and more.”

“Yes!” he celebrated from where you couldn’t see him, though you could perfectly envision the goofy look on his face. “I owe it to you after everything I’ve put you through. I just hope you weren’t too let down by the groom.”

“What?” you drew out before blowing a raspberry. “Of course not. You looked very handsome today,” you complimented in between splashes of your face. 

“You looked pretty beautiful, yourself,” he complimented you right back. 

“Aww, thank you, honey,” you emphasized the pet name. 

“Hmm, I don’t know if I like that,” you heard the squeak of the bed from behind the door as you assumed that he’d sat down.

“Hey, you’re the one who made me marry you,” you pointed out. “Am I more than you bargained for?”

“Of course not, babe,” he emphasized his own pet name, which sent you into a fit of laughter. “It’s just so weird to hear you refer to me as anything other than an asshole.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, you’re still an asshole,” you replied as you walked out of the bathroom, donning an old shirt with the logo of your boarding school and an equally old pair of shorts. “Just a married asshole.”

You took in the sight of your now-husband as you made your way to your side of the bed, surprised to find that you quite liked the sense of domestic bliss you were feeling. The bed dipped as you sat down and glanced back at Patrick with the slightest bit of hesitation. 

“Is this weird for you? I can go to the spare room, if you want me to,” he offered, surely in reference to the two of you sleeping in the same bed. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you assured him, setting a steady hand on his knee. “What kind of couple would we be if we didn’t spend our wedding night together?” you teased. 

“The kind of couple that marries for convenience?” he suggested.

“Hey, who’s to say that this isn’t love? I had the biggest crush on you when we were kids. Maybe some of it lingered, or some shit.”

“Oh yeah?” he looked at you with that sleazy smirk that you both loved and hated. “What happened?”

“Hmm… I think I realized that you’re a dick,” you matched his smirk with a challenging one of your own.

“Huh. Did you have this realization before or after you started seeing Dan Thompson?” he questioned.

You were surprised by the mention of your first boyfriend, particularly because you weren’t sure that Patrick remembered any detail about your personal life, let alone your love life. “I realized it after you started treating me like your workhorse.”

“Oh okay, so you had a crush on me while you were with your boyfriend. Good to know.”

“Shut up,” you groaned and turned away from him as you finally full laid down. 

“Would it make you feel better to know that I also had a crush on you?” you heard the bed sheets rustle as he scooted closer to you, and you turned back to face him. 

“You’re lying.” You couldn’t see any world where that would make sense to you. In your youth, it seemed like Patrick was always off somewhere with a new person, and none of those people were you. Not that you had an issue with it, but the thought that the two of you might’ve had crushes on each other at the same time without either of you pursuing each other felt kind of weird. 

“Nope. You’re the first person I ever jerked off to,” he said as casually as if he were telling you what he ate for breakfast, not breaking eye contact with you.

“Ew, you’re so gross,” you gently pushed him, but your hands lingered where they sat on his chest. “Was that supposed to be romantic or something?”

“That’s not romantic to you?” he asked with all the sincerity of someone who was fully committing to a bit. 

The two of you broke out into laughter. Once you finally caught your breath, you began once more. “This is gonna be a long marriage.”

“Hopefully,” he remarked in response. 

“If you keep talking to me like that, I will literally go get our marriage annulled, like right now.”

“Please don’t,” he whined, grabbing one of your hands from his chest and kissing your fingers. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Every time you promise to make something up to me, an inconsistent fairy gains its wings.”

“Hey,” his tone suddenly became very serious, completely catching you off guard. “I really am sorry that I’ve been a terrible friend. I don’t know that I’ve ever said it, but I am. You deserve so much better than me, and I don’t even know how I convinced you to do this for me.”

You almost started to laugh, unable to take the absurd situation seriously. You’d been waiting years to hear him genuinely apologize, and now hours after you’d married solely as a favor to him, he was finally telling you what you wanted to hear. 

“Please. I’m serious. I know you think I’m a piece of shit flaky ashhole, and I am, but I want to be a better husband to you than I ever was as a friend.”

You felt your heart stop beating for a second. The word husband sounded so foreign in his mouth. You couldn’t quite pin how you felt about it, but you knew you felt uncomfortable with the intimacy of his words. 

“Patrick, please shut up,” you squeezed your eyes shut, suddenly a little overwhelmed with the Patrick of it all. In fact, you couldn’t think of anything more encapsulating of your experience with him than the whiplash you got from that moment. He could be a complete asshat, but his occasional moments of earnestness kept you following him like a lost puppy, accepting his apologies and granting him ridiculous favors, despite your better judgment. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, moving closer to you to get a good look at you. You swore you felt your heart squeeze painfully in your chest. 

“I’m fine, I just-“ am overwhelmed by you being sweet? Can’t believe that I’m hearing you say this to me after so long? Also can’t believe that you and I are married?

None of the right words seemed to come to you, so you did the second best thing you could think of. 

You pecked his lips and pulled away as if you’d just touched a hot handle. You didn’t know what had come over you, and immediately began to apologize profusely. 

“Oh my god, I don’t know-“ you were cut off by his hands on your face, greedily and sloppily pulling you back in for another kiss, this one far more passionate and confident than the first. 

Your kiss was messy but fervent, years of pent up sexual frustration and non-sexual frustration behind your every movement. As you kissed, you moved to straddle him, feeling a little ridiculous in your ratty old clothes, but that didn’t stop him from groping you over your pajamas like you were the hottest thing on the planet. 

Maybe the strangest thing to happen to you that day wasn’t even your wedding.

——

That night was the first in a series of very strange events. You couldn’t even fully wrap your head around what was happening in your marriage. You just knew that the two of you had become closer friends than you’d ever been before, and that you slept together when either of you had the urge. It was basically a no strings attached situation, except, legally, all strings were attached. 

If you were confused by your arrangement, you were sure that your friends were even more lost, something they proved to you as they interrogated you over brunch. 

“So, just so we’re clear, you married him as a favor?!” your friend asked in complete disbelief. 

“Well… yeah, basically.”

“Shit. Can I ask you for a favor of a million dollars?” she joked, leading to the laughter of your other friends at the table.

“Well, that’s different. At least with our marriage, we both benefit. He gets his parents off his ass about being so focused on tennis that he doesn’t have any future prospects, and I get my parents to stop trying to marry me off to every single rich boy they find.”

“But you’re not like, actually married. Like you guys don’t have feelings for each other?” another friend questioned.

You sipped your mimosa before explaining your situation for what must’ve been the fifth time that day, “we’re basically friends with benefits.”

“But you’re legally married? Like, the wedding was official and stuff?”

“Legally? Yeah. But it’s literally just that,” you clarified. 

“Legal marriage and sex?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, hoping that they were finally catching on. 

“Then… are you guys seeing other people?”

“Oh yeah, what ever happened to that one model guy you were seeing?” another one of your friends pitched in. 

“It didn’t really work out,” you addressed that with an understatement. He rightfully flipped his shit when he found out you were going to be marrying someone else. “But neither of us are seeing other people. I don’t think either of us want to risk bringing anything back to one another.”

“That sounds pretty committed to me.”

“Not really,” you dismissed.

“Then why are you even together?”

“How many times do I have to explain how we both benefit from this?”

“No, not legally, or socially or whatever. Why are you hooking up with him? Aren’t you scared you’ll mess up your friendship or something?”

“Well, the sex is really, really good. But I’m really not worried. There's no romance between us. We’ve been friends for so long that it’s just… weird to look at him like anything other than my friend. It’s basically a loveless marriage of convenience.”

Your friend shot you a skeptical look. You just shrugged her off. 

———

The moment you found out your afternoon meeting had been canceled, you reached out to your assistant to make arrangements for you to go to Patrick’s tennis game. He’d been on a winning streak, and though he insisted that you didn’t need to come to his games, you knew that he secretly liked having you there. 

Over the past few months of your marriage, you’d grown to realize that he often didn’t say what he actually meant. Like the time he told you that he preferred to live alone, before breathily confessing in your ear that he slept better by your side. Or when he swore to you that he loved the pancakes you’d served him, despite the food being some of the worst you’d ever put in our mouth and him being on a diet. You almost found it sweet that he tried to prioritize your feelings over his own, which was surely a result of overcompensation from the way he had treated you for the majority of your lives. 

You arrived at his match just in time to watch him take a break, making your way into the stands and finding a seat where you’d have the best view of your friend as possible. You didn’t expect him to scan the audience and find you until much later on, but you were pleasantly surprised when the two of you made eye contact and he absolutely lit up. You waved, then gave him a thumbs up in hopes to communicate your support from far away. 

While you couldn’t always make it, you liked to play the role of supportive tennis wife. Getting dressed up and making an appearance not only publicly legitimized your sham of a marriage, but helped you to reconnect with some of your former boarding school classmates, who were often in the stands supporting a friend or a loved one. You also just liked to watch him play, as witnessing the passion and ferocity he had out on the court was extremely entertaining, and even at times, mildly arousing.  

With their break ending, Patrick went back out on the court and played just as well as you expected him to, crushing his competition, and looking up into the stands at you to celebrate once he’d scored the winning point. 

At first, it was surprising how proud his wins made you feel of him, a feeling that you explained to yourself by arguing that if he wasn’t giving his absolute all to tennis, then your marriage had basically been all for nothing. Although that did still ring slightly true, the truth was that you were simply proud of Patrick. Whether you liked it or not, the two of you were a unit now, which meant that his wins were your wins and vice versa. In some ways, it was kind of nice to be part of a team. Or at least his team.

You met Patrick down on the court, where he paused from packing his bag to immediately greet you with a kiss to the forehead, a small act of intimacy that was typically reserved for situations far different from the one you were currently in. 

“Hey! I didn’t know you were coming!” he exclaimed, pulling you in for a half-hug. 

“I didn’t know I was coming either,” you instinctually wrapped your arm around him in response to his half-hug. “Great job out there. You kinda demolished him!”

“I did, didn’t I,” he said just loud enough for you to hear, still wanting to appear like a good sport. “I have to go get ready for the press conference. Do you want to meet me at my hotel?”

“Of course. You don’t mind me staying for the night?” you probed, despite knowing the answer. He wouldn’t have asked you to go to his hotel in the first place if he’d minded.

“You know I never mind you staying for the night,” he gave you a cheeky wink.

“You’re so sleazy,” you commented with fake disgust.

“You started it,” he replied, reluctantly pulling away from you and reaching into his bag to grab his hotel keycard. “I’ll text you when I’m heading back.” 

The moment you received a message about him being on his way to the hotel, you made a very lengthy phone call and request to the restaurant in the building. Technically, he shouldn’t be eating any of what you ordered, on account of him being on a strict diet plan, but you figured that he deserved it after playing the way that he did. Besides, Patrick liked thoughtful acts of service, and you figured that this would count as one.

“You know me so well,” he practically gasped as he stepped into the room, taking in the platters of food you’d laid out for him.

“What kind of wife would I be if I didn’t?” you teased, though your sentiment was somewhat accurate, and it was clear that the two of you had grown to know each other far better over the past few months, you hoped that your friend wasn’t interpreting your words in too serious of a way. 

The two of you laid out on the pristine hotel bed, eating the feast that you’d ordered without much dialogue between you, other than a comment on how good something was, or a request to pass an item to one another. It felt oddly domestic, and oddly enough, you liked it. Maybe you liked it even more than you’d been willing to admit.

“I’m gonna go shower,” he announced after tossing his napkin onto a cleared off plate.

“Want some company?” you offered, raising your brows at him in a playfully suggestive manner.

“Is that what this is all about?” he feigned offense. 

“Maybe,” you trailed off. “Or maybe I just wanted to celebrate the greatest tennis player of all time,” you purred.

“Come on. You and I both know that is far from the truth.”

“Well you’re the greatest player in my heart,” you praised, much to his chagrin.

“Ugh. Shut up and come shower with me.” 

As you sleepily ran your fingers through his damp hair, you were surprised when he broke his silence with a comment seemingly out of the blue. It was more of a mumble than anything else, but you’d grown accustomed to his muffled words over the course of your marriage. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he randomly complimented you.

“You know you don’t have to compliment me to get into my pants, right?” you asked with a hint of laughter in your tone.

“I’m not trying to,” he pecked your arm–the limb he had the easiest access to at the moment–as if he was trying to emphasize his point, though all it did was bring heat to your cheeks at the reminder of the way he’d pressed slow and meaningful kisses along your calves and inner thighs while the two of you were in the shower. “You just looked so good today, I couldn’t not comment.”

“I don’t look good every day?” you asked facetiously, trying to deflect from the warm and fuzzy feeling his compliments and affection were making you feel. 

“Of course you always look good,” he reassured you rather than playing along with your game of joking instead of addressing your feelings. “I just don’t tell you that enough.”

You weren’t even sure how you could respond to that. Clearly, he wasn’t in the mood to mince words tonight, but you couldn’t bear to match his genuinity with cheap jokes. The only real, genuine thought to pop into your head were three ridiculous words that you immediately batted away. You couldn’t think of anything more embarrassing than randomly declaring your love to a husband who wasn’t really your husband in a marriage that wasn’t really a marriage. 

Out of ideas, you hit the lamp on your side of the bed. “I appreciate it. Goodnight.”

“Night,” he parroted back to you, remaining snug against your chest, despite the fact that your hands had stopped threading through his hair. 

Deep down, you knew that those three words had been on the tip of Patrick’s tongue, too.    

——

Being in the social circles of filthily rich people meant you often found yourself at random charity events, hosted by the nonprofits of families and business owners looking for a particularly large tax break for the year. Over the years, you’d felt that you’d seen and participated in it all: marathons raising awareness for a serious, but extremely rare disease, date auctions to raise money for a cause that certainly didn’t justify you having to go on a date with a man almost forty years your senior, or galas for nearly-extinct sea creatures that were essentially used as an excuse to stand around and network while drinking expensive alcohol and eating hor d'oeuvres.

You seemed to find yourself at a lot of events like the latter, including the one you were standing at now. The gala, which took place in the art exhibit it was raising money for, was a rather standard one, filled with the typical suspects who regularly attended those events. 

It was slightly ironic to be at the event with Patrick as your plus one, as this was the exact type of event he would’ve texted you about an hour before it began to ask if you would play his concerned partner for the night who told everyone a flimsy excuse about him being under the weather. 

It also served as somewhat of a reminder to you of the massive growth that your friend had undergone since the two of you became legally bound to one another. It finally felt like Patrick saw you as a true friend, instead of a reliable person who would do his dirty work. It finally felt like he cared. In some ways, your marriage was the best thing to happen to your friendship. 

Patrick returned to where you were standing, this time with two flutes of champagne and a delicious looking appetizer in his hand. 

“You’re too kind,” you said as he passed you your drink. 

“Anything for my wife,” he mockingly bowed in front of you and you chuckled and shook your head. Over the past year, the two of you slowly became slightly more comfortable with referencing each other as husband and wife, but only really as a joke. You guessed that in a lot of ways, that’s what your marriage was—a ridiculous inside joke.  

He was just about to feed you a hor d'oeuvre when you were approached by a wildly unwelcome figure: the man who had purchased a date with you a few years ago. Despite your one very awkward, stilted date, he never really seemed to get over you–which he made a point to prove at every event you both happened to be at. And unfortunately for you, his generous donations landed him on the guest list for the majority of these events. 

You were used to fighting him off on your own, as he seemed to come and flirt with you regardless of how inappropriate it was for the setting of the event, or even when he already had a beautiful young bombshell hanging on his arm. At this point, you’d learned to just tune his every word out and flee as soon as you possibly could. He was annoying, but he wasn’t dangerous.  

“Hey, honey,” he greeted you way too comfortably. You’d given up on asking him to call you by your name a very long time ago. 

“Hi, John,” you reached out to shake his hand and cringed internally when he kissed the back of your hand. 

“Oh honey, who is this?” Patrick immediately lept in, surprising you with his unsubtle passive aggressive tone and ridiculous use of a pet name. 

“You don’t remember me? I swear, we’ve met a few times.” John asked, trying to smile despite clearly being agitated by the presence of competition.

“Some people are more forgettable than others,” he said with a shrug. “How do you know my wife?” He emphasized the word and you pushed down the small inkling of pride you were feeling. Whether it was from watching Patrick try to scare this annoying man away from you, or being so proudly referred to as his wife, you couldn’t be sure.  

“Finally settling down, eh?” he directed at you, then directed his next statement to Patrick. “We went on a date back in the day.”

“It was for that one date auction thing,” you quickly added context, but paused when you took in John’s less than pleased look. He was a large donor at your own family’s nonprofit, and you were sure that your parents wouldn’t be too pleased with you if they found out he pulled out over you hurting his feelings. “We had a lot of fun, though.”

“We definitely did,” he chuckled and smirked. You wanted to punch him in the mouth. “We should definitely do it again sometime.”

It was clear that Patrick was not taking kindly to seeing you be flirted with so brazenly in front of him. Part of you wondered why he would be possessive, since part of your initial deal was that you could see whoever you wanted, even if that happened to be a creepy old man with a lot of money. The other part of you was enjoying seeing him so fired up. Particularly, seeing him fired up over you. 

“Our schedule is just so busy. Between work and us trying to start a family, I just don’t know when we’ll have time to see you again.”

Trying to start a family? That was definitely news to you. Although, the idea didn’t sound awful. Wasn’t it everyone’s dream to start a family with their closest, most dear friend? 

“Well, she knows where to find me, right, honey?”

“Mhm,” you mumbled, looking into your glass like it was the most interesting thing in the world. 

“Now if you don’t mind, my wife and I are going to go check out the exhibit,” Patrick announced, grabbing your hand and taking a step away from John. 

“You two have fun,” he said before clapping Patrick’s shoulder and leaning in to begin a stage whisper. “Make sure you treat her right and cherish her. If you don’t, I might have to swoop in and do so myself.”

He winked at you and you bit back a gag. 

“Don't you worry your wrinkly little head. Nobody lov- cherishes her more than I do,” he theatrically patted his back much like he’d initially done to him. “See you around.”

Did he almost say what you think he almost said? Surely you misheard him, or he was just playing up your relationship to scare away that creepy man. It really wasn’t anything to think twice about. 

Once the two of you had walked away far enough to be out of earshot, you finally addressed what had just happened. “Thank you, bodyguard. You don’t even know how much I despise that man.”

“He seems like he’s the worst,” he agreed with you, looking back over his shoulder. 

“That’s because he is,” you emphasized. “This is so random, but did you mean what you said earlier?”

Patrick suddenly paused, his face going pale like he’d just seen a ghost. You were a little confused by this reaction, as he’d said nothing to warrant that level of fear. 

“Do you actually want to start a family? Obviously not now, while you’re still playing tennis, but maybe eventually? I know we don’t have the most traditional marriage, but, I don’t know. Neither of us are getting any younger, and it might be fun to co-parent with my best friend,” you were clearly rambling now, but luckily, Patrick came in to rescue you for the second time that night. He looked far less aghast now. 

“I would love that,” he said to you with a genuine smile. You matched his with one of your own. 

———

“Do you have any big plans for retirement?” a reporter asked for the final question of the press conference. 

“Mostly just eating a lot of burgers. And maybe learning how to play pickleball,” Patrick responded, never one to give a serious answer to questions that weren’t explicitly about tennis. 

It was a ridiculous note to end on, but it felt right. You’d found that to be the case with most things in your life that pertained to him–most notably your marriage, which ended up being far more than you ever expected it to be.

After the press conference had come to a close, Patrick met you outside by the car, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, then leaning down to peck your baby bump. 

“How does it feel to be retired?” you asked, ruffling his hair while he was still bending down.

“It feels like you might divorce me,” he joked. Obviously your marriage deal was only meant to cover the time that he was still playing tennis, but after years of a complicated marriage that suddenly became significantly less complicated once you finally confronted the fact that the two of you very obviously loved each other, it seemed unlikely that your union would end any time soon. 

You glanced down at your baby bump, then back up to him skeptically.  “I hope you’re not being serious.”

“Come on, I never know with you. You’re the one who friendzoned me the entire first year of our marriage!” he exclaimed.

“That was a lifetime ago,” you countered before taking his hands in yours. “If you’re really worried, I have zero intentions of ending our marriage.”

“That’s all I wanted to hear,” he grinned, stepping away from you. “Let’s get going. I don’t want us to miss our reservation.”

You nodded and obliged, passing him the keys before heading to the passenger side of the car.

Once you sat down, you were overcome with the urge to say something. You had spent so much time bottling up and pressing down your own feelings, that it was now hard to resist letting things out when they came to you. 

“I’m so proud of you,” you blurted. “And I love you. So much.”

Patrick smiled at you genuinely, before his look turned into a slightly more devious one. “I love you so much, too. One might even say I love you more.” 

“Don’t even start with that,” you laughed, not in the mood to have the kind of back and forth with him that you had at least once a week. Considering that you were carrying his child, you were pretty sure that you were the winner of the love competition.  

“Fine. We love each other equally,” he conceded.

“That’s more like it.”

You tried to think back to one specific moment where your marriage had crossed over from being one of convenience, into a union with genuine feelings attached, and realized that you weren’t exactly sure. It could’ve been the first night you spent together, when you’d finally allowed yourself to consider what your relationship might look like beyond a simple friendship, or maybe it was even earlier than that, when you gazed into Patrick’s eyes as you read off your vows. The look of pure adoration he gave you was one that you had grown familiar with throughout the course of your marriage, but you hadn’t realized at the time just how genuine he had been. Or maybe even the moment Patrick asked you in the living room of your apartment, when you’d been the first person he thought of to carry out his ridiculous scheme, and you’d said yes despite every logical part of your brain that screamed at you to say no. 

Whenever it began didn’t particularly matter. What mattered now was that the two of you fully intended to spend the rest of your lives together. 

[daydreaming-nerd]

You Want a Baby? (Bat Boys x Female! Reader)

Based off of multiple resquests... and by all means request more of this shit. My Ruhn asks have been kind dry. Would hate for the frat pack to run a train on the reader...

AN: You guys I spent so much time on this I hope it lives up to expectation because this is my kind of thing.

Summary: It's the perfect storm, you're ovulating, all your mates happen to be home and they all want to see you pregnant with their child.

Warnings: Double penetration, breeding kink, size kink, possessive mates, Over stim, literally so many things I'm probably forgetting

Word count: 3738

It was that time of the month, well not THAT time. 

Fae periods were a bitch, that much was true. But fae ovulating? It was a whole different thing. The need to be touched, to be filled, was excruciating. Ever since I had found my mates, three of them to be exact, it was like all those sensations had been heightened. Every time I ovulated, all three of my mates couldn't be present. 

The first time Rhysand was meeting with Tarquin leaving only Cassian and Azriel to fuck me senseless. The next time around it was just Azriel to keep me sated. One of the most memorable times was last year when it was just Rhys and Cassian to help. However, I patiently waited for a day when all three mates would be here to take care of me, a day I secretly hoped would be today. 

I woke up this morning to an empty bed and a note that said they had all gone to Windhaven to check on the Illyrian camps. I didn’t mind their absence too much until later that afternoon when I felt my body start to sweat with need. I went to the bathroom to strip off my clothes, leaving me only in the black lingerie that Azriel had bought me for solstice last year. I couldn’t help but admire myself, running my hands down my body. It wasn’t until then that I realized what was going on, I was ovulating. 

The boys were in Windhaven which meant there was a possibility that they could all be here by tonight. But with the tensions in the Illyrian camps high, I knew it was most likely a long shot. So I spent the day dancing around the townhouse in nothing but my lingerie, loving the feeling of the fresh air on my skin. As the sky got darker I realized my mates weren’t likely to come home. 

I made my way upstairs to our oversized bed and tossed myself on top of the covers. I tried to sleep and push all thoughts of Rhysand’s hands, Azriel’s tongue and, Cassian’s cock from my mind. I was unsuccessful, and ended up finding myself writing all over our shared bed, begging for any kind of friction the sheets offer me. That’s how the boys found me, squirming around our bed in nothing but my lingerie. 

“Well, what do we have here?” Cassian drawled, leaning against the doorway.

I sat up straight, trying to act like I wasn’t about to reach a hand down my panties just seconds ago. 

“I told you both,” Azriel said smugly, walking into the room with Rhysand in tow. 

“Told them what?” I ask bringing my knees to my chest in a lame attempt to cover myself.

“I told them that you were ovulating today,” Azriel smirked. “I’ve been tracking your cycle since I got left out last time,” he looked to Cass and Rhys with a death glare. 

“We got back from Windhaven a few hours and decided to get a drink at Rita’s,” Rhysand explained, stalling towards where I sat on the bed. “We were talking about you.”

“You were?” I ask, sensing the seriousness in Rhysand’s voice. 

“Oh yes we were little one,” Cassian laughs. 

“We were talking about how amazing you would look pregnant,” Rhysand explained, his voice like liquid sex. 

“R-Really?” I say, not trusting my own voice. 

“Yeah,” Cassain answered, taking a step toward me.  “We think we're ready for a baby.” 

“Only if you’re ready though,” Rhys assured me. 

My heart skipped at their words. The idea of carrying any one of their children excited me. I couldn’t lie, I had been thinking about it since my last cycle. 

“What do you think, little one? Gonna let us put a baby in you tonight?” Azriel drawled, leaving a kiss on the shell of my ear. 

I couldn’t even speak, all the intelligent words leaving my brain. All I could think about was how feral the fae were when trying to conceive. My legs would’ve fallen apart if it wasn’t for my arms holding them together. I nodded my head, still unable to think. 

A collective growl filled the room as Azriel grabbed my arms and stood me up in the center of the room, leaving me on display for each of my mates. They closed in on me instantly and I had to crane my neck up to meet each of their gazes. Cassian’s hand slid under the strap of my bra inspecting me thoroughly. 

“Which one of you bought her this little set?” Cassian said, slipping the strap of my bra off my shoulder while Rhysand worked on the opposite strap. 

“I did,” Azriel said, rubbing circles into my hips as he left open mouth kisses on my shoulders. 

“Well thank you Az,” Rhys smirked, unclasping my bra. 

My body felt like it was on fire from three sets of hands roaming up and down it. Even if I closed my eyes I could easily tell who touched me where. The sensation of it all had me tossing my head back on Azriel’s chest, trusting him to support my body. He grasped my hips tightly to keep my knees from buckling as Cassian and Rhys stared at my breasts now free of the tight black lingerie.

“Look at those perfect tits Az,” Rhysand drawled. 

I felt Azriel’s large hand drift up my torso and to my neck pulling me against his body even more so I could feel his hard cock pressed up against my back. His hand on my throat gently pushed my head to look at him as he said back to Rhysand

“They are perfect,” he smirked, craning his neck down to capture my lips in his. 

“And soon they’ll be full of milk,” Cassian pointed out with a smirk, swiping a calloused thumb over my nipple.

Rhysand bends his head down to take one of my aching nipples into his mouth sucking it taut. The gesture catches Cassian’s attention and he leans down to give the same treatment to the other side. The sensation has me arching my back aching to be closer to them. I feel Azriel’s hands grip my hips and yank me against his body again. His hand comes to grip my throat once more as he sticks his tongue down my throat earning a moan from me. I feel Cassian’s lips pull off my tit with a pop as he watches me and Azriel. 

“Gods sometimes I forget how tiny she is,” Cassian drawls running his hands up and down my sides. “Look at her with Az she’s like half his size.” 

Rhys stops his menstrations on my other breast to see what Cassian is talking about, “She’s practically half all our sizes Cass,” Rhys chuckles. 

“Gods I just wanna toss her around like a little doll,” Cassian curses. 

“Do it,” Azriel smirks, pulling his lips from mine. “You know how much she loves it.” 

Cassian says nothing before picking me up by my hips effortlessly and tossing me onto the bed earning an excited squeal from me. 

“Told you,” Azriel beamed with male pride. 

Cassian stalked towards me with Rhys and Azriel hot on his heels and I started moving up the oversized bed towards the headboard. 

“Oh no you don’t,” he smirks, grabbing my ankles and yanking me down the bed. I wait patiently watching Cassian untie the leathers of his pants, my mouth nearly falling open as his large cock springs out. “Come here baby,” he smiles and I eagerly sit up and lick the tip of his cock. 

I looked up at him through my lashes donning my most innocent expression as I took as much of him as I could in my mouth. The rest I pumped with my hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Azriel and Rhys fisting their cocks at the sight of me sucking Cassian off. 

“Good fucking girl y/n,” Cassain moaned tossing his head back in ecstasy. 

I reveled in the salty taste of him, the feeling of every single vein in his cock massaging my tongue. I would never get tired of this, of pleasing my mates.  Cassian pulled me off him and pushed my upper half down on the mattress. My panties are ripped off and discarded somewhere in the room. There goes that set. 

“Stop Cass, make sure she’s ready, I don’t want to tear her,” Rhysand tells Cassian, the voice of a High Lord making its appearance. 

Cassian bends down to inspect my pussy, running a finger through my folds to find me absolutely drenched. “Oh she’s ready alright,” he smiles. “God baby your pussy is so fucking tiny. It’s a miracle you can take us so well.” 

“Cass please,” I whine, nearly coming undone at his words.

Cassian starts pushing his cock in me and the stretch has me backing away from him subconsciously. He grabs my hips and pulls me back towards him, pinning me to the mattress. I had been their mate for a while now but every time they entered me I still felt the stretch. Cassian was right, I was half their size, was a miracle I could take them. 

Cassian started trusting in me at a fast pace and the sound of our skin slapping filled the room. To my right and left Azriel and Rhys continued to stroke their cocks and as much as I longed to put them both in my mouth, Cassian had me in such a state of pleasure I couldn’t focus on anything else. 

“Fuck Cass look at her belly,” Azriel practically moaned. Cassian’s eyes snapped to my stomach where he could see the bulge from his cock thrusting into me. I moaned at the sight. 

“Yeah, you like that baby?” He smirks, leaning over to capture my lips in his. His pace speeds up and within seconds he’s cumming inside of me. 

Cassian pushes his cock in me a couple of times, his attempt at burying his seed deep inside me. He pulls out soon after and I whine at the sudden emptiness. 

“That’s the one that’s gonna get her pregnant,” Cassian beams with male pride, his cock already hardening. 

“Pfft, you wish General.” Azriel scoffs positioning himself between my legs. 

He pushes in slowly and I cry out at the stretch once more. Each glorious inch of him brings immense pain and pleasure. 

“Shhh be a good girl and take it all,” Azriel coos until his hips are flush with mine. “That’s a girl.” he moans as he begins fucking me hard. 

My mind goes to mush almost instantly and the moans coming out of my mouth are damn near feral. The need to be fucked and filled by each of my mates runs so deep in my veins. My hands claw and scrape and find Azriel’s forearms as he slams his hips into me, seeking out his own pleasure. 

“Az please let me cum, I-I’m so c-close,” I mewl, each word hard to get out. 

“Not yet baby, you don’t get to cum until we all have a load in that little pussy,” Rhysand drawls, pumping his cock. “Speaking of, step aside Az I’m not gonna last much longer.” 

“No, I’m not done with her yet,” Azriel growls, his possessive side coming out. 

“You think I can fit in there with you then?” Rhysand asks. 

“Now this I gotta see,” Cassian jests. 

The thought of two cocks fucking my pussy at once has my eyes glazing over and my mouth falling open like I’m in some sort of subspace. 

“I can take it,” I choke out between Azriel’s thrusts. 

“Pick her up Az,” Rhys says, his voice practically dripping with lust. 

Azriel doesn’t stop his minstations as he wraps one of his arms around me, lifting me off the bed. My arms wrap around his neck as my forehead bumps his and he stares me down as he fucks me mid-air.  

“Good girl,” he rasps, proud of how well I’m taking him.

The next thing I know he’s lying me down again, Rhysand’s warm chest replacing the mattress. His hands wander up and down my sides trying to soothe my nerves as Azriel stops moving. 

“Alright little one take a deep breath for me,” Rhys instructs and I can feel him lining his cock up at my entrance. 

I do as I’m told, taking the deepest gulp of air possible, excited for what comes next. The second I let my breath go I feel Rhys pushing his cock into me aside Azriel’s. The stretch is more than any I’ve ever felt before but the sounds escaping Rhys and Azriel’s mouths make it so worth it. Once Rhys is brushing my cervix along with Azriel tears prick my eyes and Cassian is kneeling before me in an instant. 

“Shhh breathe baby,” Cassian coos, glancing down to where both his brothers' cocks are seated inside my pussy. “Fuck, you’re being such a good girl. Just gotta take two more loads and then we’ll let you cum alright?” 

All I  can muster is a shallow nod as Rhys and Azriel begin thrusting in tandem. The constant feeling of fullness has me feeling numb while feeling everything all at once. I arch my back further and Rhys runs a hand down my hip to hold me in place so that he doesn’t slip out. My eyes glance to Azriel who has his eyes fixated on the bulge in my stomach being made by both his and his High Lord’s cock. All the while, Cassian brushes the sweat and hair away from my brow whispering praises to me. 

“Fuck I’m gonna cum,” Rhys groans, the vibrations of his chest skittering down my back. 

“Me too,” Azriel moans and within seconds I feel his sperm coating my walls just like Cassian’s. 

Azriel cumming triggers Rhys to cum as well and even though I can still feel Azriel, the load my High Lord put in me is equally as distinct. 

“Holy fuck,” Azriel groans pulling out of me inspecting his work. My breaths are so ragged and my vision so blurred that I can barely make out Rhysand’s voice. 

“Take her Cass,” he mutters, or so I think. My assumptions are proven right when I feel Cassian’s arms snake around me, pulling me off of Rhys’ cock.

 I whimper at the loss of the fullness as Cassian lays me on top of his chest stroking my hair and kissing my brow. My body vibrates and my heart pounds with the need to cum. 

“Poor baby, you wanna cum don’t you?” Cassian coos tilting my chin up to meet his gaze. My eyes are glassed over and my face looks fucked out but I’m still able to nod. 

“Make her cum Cass, I want us each to get one more load in her before we’re done,” Rhysand says, already fisting his cock. 

“Rhys I’m not sure, look at her. I don’t think she can take much more.” Cassian warns, placing me against the pillows and moving down my body. 

“Do you want her pregnant or not?” Rhys snaps.

“Of course I do,” Cassian says. “Can you take three more loads baby?” he asks me. 

“Of course she can,” Azriel says, his cock already at attention from seeing his fucked out mate. 

“I-okay,” I sputter, still vibrating at the need to be touched. At this point, I was practically bucking my hips into Cassian’s face. 

“You want me to lick your pretty clit?” Cassian smirks using one arm to pin my hips to the mattress and the other to spread my folds. 

“Y-yes,” I beg. 

Cassian chuckles, his eyes fixed on my cunt, “Looks like we made quite the mess of her little cunt,” he muses and both Rhysand and Azirel peer down to investigate. 

“Shit Cass it’s spilling out,” Azriel curses. 

“Don’t worry brother,” Cassian assures him, as he presses two fingers inside me, pushing the cum deep inside me. “She won’t waste it. Will you baby?” He smiles at me. 

“No, I w-won’t,” I say, meaning every word my body still shaking. 

“Cass lick her little clit or I will, the poor thing is shaking,” Rhys orders Cassian. 

Cassian doesn’t waste a moment before lowering his mouth to my pussy  and attacking my clit. It only took five kitten licks for me to orgasm harder than ever before. My back arches off the bed and the tension from my body pushes more of my mate’s cum out of my aching hole. 

“Ah ah ah,” Cassian says, pushing two fingers into me again. “What did we say about wasting?” 

“Cass it’s your turn,” Azriel bites close to spilling his load. 

“Spread em’ baby,” Cassian smirks, spreading my legs for me anyway before burying himself inside of me. 

“Oh gods Cass!” I cry out as he starts fucking me relentlessly chasing his own release.

“Fuck I love seeing that little bulge,” Cassian grins, placing a hand over where his cock hit my belly.

 Seconds later he’s spilling his load into me, a sound coming from his mouth that I’ve never heard before.  My vision nearly goes black, the only thing keeping me grounded is Cassian gripping my throat and pulling me up to kiss me as his second orgasm coats my walls. 

“Who’s next?” Cassian asks, pulling out of me. 

“Me,” Both Rhysand and Azriel say at the same time. 

“Back off Az, you got to have her first last time,” Rhys growls. 

Whenever I told people I had three mates they would usually joke about how territorial they would get over me. The irony was that my mates almost  never had a problem sharing me, but tonight? Well, tonight was just one of those nights. When mates were trying to conceive they were practically feral, I was honestly surprised things had gone so smoothly till now. 

“Yeah, and I literally had to share her pussy with you!” Azriel roars. 

Cassain drags me up to lay my upper half on his chest so he can run a hand through my hair and whisper praises to me.

“I’m pulling rank, as your High Lord I’m going first,” Rhysand orders, nudging my entrance. 

“Fuck off Rhys,” Azriel says continuing to fist his cock. 

Rhys pushes his cock inside me with a groan as he bottoms out. My body shudders and on instinct, I move away from him but he grips my hips and brings me down his cock again fucking into me hard. 

In my haze my head falls to the side, my cheek grazing Cassian’s abs, the very ones he let me rut on to get off a few weeks ago, and I meet Azriel. He looks glorious, pumping his cock while watching Rhysand fuck my hole. On instinct, I reach my tongue out and lap at the head of his cock catching his immediate attention. 

“You wanna suck it baby?” He muses brushing his cock against my lips. I open my mouth wide, sticking my tongue out in response.

 I know I’m so fucked out I can barely wrap my lips around him but Rhys pulling rank seemed like a dick move and I wanted to remedy it in any way I could. Azriel pushes his cock into my mouth letting out a guttural moan in the process. 

“Good fucking girl,” Azriel moans and it spurs me on to suck him even harder as he fucks my mouth. 

“Oh fuck,” Rhys roars cumming into me for the second time tonight. He knows better than to stay seated in me longer than necessary and pulls out as soon as possible. Azriel’s cock follows, his cock leaving my mouth with a bead of saliva dripping from it.  

“Are you fucked out my love?” Azriel croons, grabbing my jaw to face him. It’s evident from my hazy eyes that I am.

“One more load sweetheart,” Rhys whispers, pressing a kiss to my brow. “You want a baby in your belly don’t you?” 

“Uh huh,” I rasp still unable to form actual words. 

“Open,” Azriel orders his grip on my jaw tightening.  

Of all my mates Azriel was always the most dominant. I loved to test Rhys and Cassian, but when it came to Az? I knew it was in my best interest to be a good girl. 

So just like I had a million times before I opened my mouth nice and wide for him. His hand gripped my jaw, keeping it open before he spit in my mouth. 

“Now swallow,” he growled and I followed his orders once again. I opened my mouth to show him I had been a good girl and he rewarded me by pushing his cock inside me. 

“What was that about Az?” Cassian laughed stroking my hair. 

“Grounding her, if I’m gonna pump a load in her I want her to feel it,” Azriel groans. “We’ve done it before, haven't we baby?” he asks me and I nod enthusiastically. 

Rhys wipes the sweat from my brow as Cassian presses a hand down where Azriel’s cock makes a bulge in my belly. 

“She’s gonna cum Az,” Cassian informs his brother. 

“Fuck I can feel it. Her tiny cunt is squeezing me so tight I can barely fuck her.” Azriel groans. “Ready baby?” Azriel asks me and I nod once more. “1…2…3…Fuckkk,” Azriel moans, spilling his seed into me.

Despite the haze that fills my head I can’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment knowing I did it.  I gave each of my mates two orgasms the evidence dripping from my sore cunt, wait fuck. 

“Waste!” is the only word I can get out as I feel all six loads of cum spilling out of me. 

“Shh, it’s okay mate,” Azriel coos, pressing a kiss to my brow laying down on the side that wasn’t occupied by Rhys. “Cass plug her up,” Azriel continues. 

 Without warning, two of Cassian’s fingers slide into my pussy keeping their combined cum from leaking out. 

“Get comfortable mate,” Cassian chuckles. “We’re gonna have to sleep like this.” 

And sleep I do. With Cassian behind me, my head on Rhys’ chest, and Azriel using my stomach as a pillow I’m out within minutes. I don’t know what the future holds as far as children go, but I’d say this was a good first attempt at conceiving.

pregnant! Reader x bat boys Drabble

Masterlist

[lazyjellyfish300]

Mom and Dad are fighting on Christmas 🎄⛄🖤

Miguel O'Hara x wife reader

TW: MINORS DNI, angst, relationship and marriage troubles, fighting, insecurity, jealousy, postpartum, talk of divorce, mild smut at the end (p in v, idk to me it's mild, I've seen worse) word count 3.3k

Credit to the gif owner keezinemugstudent! 🙏🏽

Synopsis: your marriage to Miguel is on the brink of collapse. He wakes up and tries to fix it on Christmas. Jerry Maguire inspired. 😁

Valentine's Day spinoff sequel

Mother's Day ending blurb

I tried to write something angsty. Hope everyone had/is having a good holiday season! ⛄

----------

Miguel's in the doghouse and he knows it. You requested a separation after you reached your limit. The kids were sick in the weeks following Thanksgiving and before Christmas and he spent the whole time working late and coming home at suspicious hours in the morning, leaving you drowning. You and the kids were piled in yours and Miguel's bed when you'd hear him come home, the front door closing and his familiar footfalls dredging down the hall, pausing only at the fridge before passing out on the couch. Oh you hated him right now. The resentment had creeped in and poisoned the marriage inside and out when he became exceedingly obsessed with work.

Protecting the stability of the multiverse was a huge undertaking, but, like all things in his life, Miguel took it to the next level. But when it came to his personal life, he was grievously lacking. The passion where you two would do it twice a day and couldn't keep your hands out of each other's pants? Ancient history. The small pecks you'd trade in the mornings were a thing of the past. Gone were the days you two would text all day and go out for dates. You didn't so much as get an "on my way home" text, instead letting the sound of his car pulling in the driveway be your confirmation of his return. You two were more roomates at this point than husband and wife.

Traditionally, on Christmas Eve after the kids went to bed, you two would take that time for each other, eating the cookies for Santa that were conveniently your favorite kind, placing the presents you two carefully shopped for and wrapped (well, mostly you wrapped), under the tree. A hysterical giggle would escape your lips at the milk mustache on Miguel's face. Then you'd two get busy on the floor in front of the fireplace, fighting back laughter as you tried to keep your moans down, every year struggling a little bit more than before because your knees weren't what they used to be before taking it to your bedroom for one more round before the chaos of Christmas morning began.

He was perfect in the beginning. The romance between you two used to be at an all time high. He was a nerd in the same friend circle when you knew him in high school, wickedly smart, the guy who won the Robotics and Math Olympiad comps and got visits from Ivy League college STEM departments, eager to scoop up his talent. Sure, he was cute, but when he went to college is when you heard he had a major glow up and became kind of cocky. You heard about how he became Spider-Man and was pretty much the greatest thing since sliced bread in the eyes of the people, saving lives and fighting villains and all. You knew how the opposite gender seemed to malfunction and forget how to act around him, so you stifled away your tiny crush you had on him for years in the smallest crevice in your brain in a forgotten folder, never thinking it'd see the light of day.

When you saw him at your high school reunion, you decided to be brave and remark on how they're playing Nickelback, which he shrugged and said he actually enjoyed them, to which you sheepishly admitted that you really enjoyed them deep down too, you just couldn't resist making yourself the person to talk shit, since there's always gotta be one hater when Nickelback comes on. A canon event, if you will. This earned a tiny side smile from him, a chink in his stoic armor. After 8 beers, some flirty jests, and a little backseat rendezvous in his car, that became the last night that you two spent apart.

You were a single mom and he was a single dad. He had Gabi who was now 10 and you had Marcus who was now 6. Then you two had little Anthony together who was now 2. At first he was at all the doctors appointments, all the parent teacher conferences, he knew what the kids were doing in school. He did bed times every night, reading in a silly voice with Gabi and Marcus both balancing on his lap while you rocked baby Anthony, smiling when you heard the kids giggling from the other room. You'd walk in after baby Anthony fell asleep in his crib, your heart melting as you saw this handsome giant of a man usually known to be cold and serious to everyone else, turn into the doting husband and loving father you knew him to be. Now, years of the monotony of every day life, pressures of raising a family, and the dying egalitarian attitude you two had as partners snowballed into your own version of Gottman's four horses, leading your marriage to Miguel into apocalypse.

At first, he welcomed the separation as you two battled in the kitchen.

"You wanna separation, fine, I'll do you one better. I'll fucking leave! Felicia's better company anyway," he smirked.

There wasn't real truth behind his statement, but he knew it would hurt you when you heard it. He'd be lying if he said Felicia wasn't an attractive woman, but, she simply wasn't you. He had learned his lesson on cheating years ago when he fumbled his relationship with Gabi's mother.

Ouch. But his words could be daggers when he wanted them to be, and he knew just how to twist them into you. Of course it was Felicia. Felicia, the gorgeous Black Cat recruit from work. Her silvery hair that halted midway down her back and startling blue eyes that could drown any man in them. She didn't have kids either, a life with her promised excitement, passion, and freedom. She was witty and funny and had a way of making anyone in her vicinity listen when she spoke. And to add insult to injury, she had a killer body.

After giving birth, you became so busy, and with reassurance from Miguel that you were still beautiful to him, you let your desire to get your body to "snap back" sit on the back burner. Signs of motherhood and postpartum marked you with purple stripes running vertical on your soft belly and a new plushness to your thighs. Basically, Felicia was a complete 180 from the woman you were, which made the sting of his words that much more unbearable. He took your vulnerabilities and threw them in your face.

"Oh so you admit it, finally! I know there was something going on between you two. Makes sense. She's a gorgeous woman, right? She can fucking have you then. What, are you in love with her?"

Miguel rolled his eyes, annoyed with the superficialness of your statement and your obsession with looks, despite him reassuring you many times that he wouldn't look at other women.

"I'm not in love with her, but she doesn't nag me all the fucking time like you do. I bust my ass every day for this family so you don't have to work. I don't know who this new woman is that I'm looking at right now and what she's done with my wife, but it's not the woman I fell in love with. It would be nice if you could show me a little appreciation once in a while."

You felt your blood pressure rise.

"Appreciation.... APPRECIATION, are you fucking kidding me?! I was up all goddamn night with Gabi and Marcus. I run this fucking household all by myself. I quit my fucking career to stay home and raise your kids. Do you not understand how lonely that is?"

"I'M LONELY!!! " he yells, triggered, the feelings bottled up, fizzed over and hurtled at you like a cork on a champagne bottle. "How do you think I feel? I got women at work practically throwing themselves at me but I don't do anything about it because I'm a good husband. Meanwhile, my own wife doesn't wanna fuck me. I'm a prisoner in my own fucking house."

Your eyes almost slipped from their sockets from rolling them so hard. He seemed to want a cookie and a gold star for just being loyal, the bare minimum.

"Oh, so you wanna fuck them? Go ahead! Maybe I'd fuck you if you actually gave a shit about me and not like I'm some damn fleshlight you use to get off!" You hurl back.

He left and checked into a hotel down the street.

A few weeks had passed and it was now Christmas. You were getting used to being separated but your heart still ached in your chest. You couldn't go on doing life, when the one person you did life with was nowhere to be found. You couldn't listen to your favorite songs, eat your favorite foods, or even look at your own children without being reminded of him. Gabi was his spitting image. Same with Anthony. Even Marcus, who was his stepson, started adopting Miguel's mannerisms. The way he'd scratch his head while he did his math homework, deep in concentration.

It was Christmas evening at your mom's. You joined the other women in your family, your non-politically correct Aunt, your soft spoken sister-in-law, your mother with a don't-try-me attitude, and your younger sister with a sass to rival your mother's. You were all complaining about the men in your lives, your aunt rattling off about her 3 ex husbands but, 'hey she collects alimony from two of them so she can't complain!', your younger sister complaining about the frat guys at college who just wanna get in your pants, your sister in law who's silent the whole time (your brother treats her like a queen), and your mom about your asshole dad with an erratic mother who was incapable of cutting the apron strings and made her life a living hell. The kids are laughing and playing in the basement, eagerly trying out their new Nintendo Switch Santa left under the tree.

"I'm here for my wife."

Your feminine council meeting is interrupted by an unwelcome masculine figure. It's your estranged husband, Miguel, the coffee-colored strands of hair that hung over his forehead starting to wet from the snowflakes that melted under the warmth of the room as he stepped inside, a look of regret and longing embedded in his eyes that you hadn't seen since your earliest days of knowing him.

His strong hands dangled at his sides in fists, his chest heaving up and down. His navy blazer bearing dark water stains from the melted snow. He had a revelation at work. He and Peter B. stopped an anomaly that was terrorizing the streets of Queens in Peter's universe. The battle was close, almost a little too close to where he lived, putting MJ and Mayday in direct danger. After the job was done, the moving and emotional reunion between Peter B., MJ, and Mayday was his epiphany.

As the little family reveled in their joy and relief of evading the ultimate disaster, the only thing there for Miguel at the point of his return was the inanimate, empty, thin walls of his apartment and the thoughts of you, his severed family, that inevitably haunted him. He needed you back. He needed to apologize and fix it now.

He ran from your house to your mom's in the snow and all. It was the first Christmas Eve he spent not in between your thighs and buried deep inside you. It was the first Christmas morning he didn't wake up to Gabi's blueberry pancakes and Marcus tackling him while Anthony screamed in delight. It was going to be the first Christmas night without his family by his side, an uncomfortably obvious empty seat at the table he rightfully belonged. Next to you.

Sometimes you don't know the value of something until it's gone. Sometimes life gets in the way and you forget to appreciate the person in front of you. Why did I treat my wife like garbage when all she ever wanted was for me to ask how her day was? Why were we on our way to winding up like both sets of our parents? Doomed to repeat the cycle of divorce and hurt. Doomed to lose your faith in love and marriage like all the maternal figures in your family before you did.

Now here he was, in the living room while your mom, sister, and aunt moved towards each other, eyes squinting, three pitbulls willing to jump in on your behalf while your sister in law just stayed frozen in place. He was in enemy territory and he needed to choose his words carefully.

"Not here Miguel..."

"YES here. Right now." He says in a firm voice. "You're not getting rid of me, woman."

You scoff, almost amused by his sudden urgency and painting you like you're the one who wanted this family to be broken apart.

"The kids are downstairs..." you start to say, hoping that the mention that innocent ears could be prying into the adult conversation would help him simmer down.

"I'll see them in a minute." He says flatly.

"I miss my wife...."-he chokes on the last word, wife.

"And I want her to come home." He knew at any time his words would give way to the reservoir of tears built up behind it.

You stood there, incredulous.

"I don't want to come home to an empty apartment. I don't want my own bed. I'm ashamed it took me losing you and the kids for me to wake up. And, I'm so so sorry. I'll do whatever I can to be better. To be a better man for you and the husband that you needed. We both got caught up in real life and focused on the kids so much that we lost each other. Well, this is me trying to find my way back."

Your lips parted slightly as your breathing became heavier. This was all you ever wanted to hear him say. Stop neglecting the love between you two that laid dormant, a plant starved of sunshine. For him to finally shake off the stubborn shackles that was his ego and express himself to you. Let him allow you back into his heart, no longer as a guest, but a permanent resident.

"You're... you're everything to me. And I'm not leaving here tonight until you let me know if you'd allow me the opportunity to get hurt by you again," a tear rolled down his cheek, his scarlet eyes yearning, his hands pining for the feel of you. As though the madness of not having you alone could stop his heart from beating, stop his world from turning, rearrange life as he knew it into a hollow existence not worth seeing.

Your own reservoir could not be held back any longer and started to roll down your cheeks. He managed to peel back the walls you built with his apology, revealing the woman underneath who just missed her husband.

He steps closer to you now, eager to bridge the rest of the space between your bodies.

"You still love me?" he asked softly.

Your chest heaves, shoulders raising then falling sharply, feeling yourself crack with exasperation under his burning gaze as you softly answer,

"Never stopped."

He grabs you and pulls you into him, his embrace is tight as though you'd disappear if he dared to break it. He tangles a hand in your hair and presses his cheek into your head, his eyes closed, drinking in the scent he'd been away from for weeks. You bury your face in his chest, trying to make yourself small and allowing his frame to swallow you whole, not minding his wet shirt and blazer that still have a slight chill on them from the storm outside, allowing your body heat to seep into his. You both began to rock back and forth a little bit, still locked inside your hug. It was as though the passing of time had evaporated and it was only you two in the room, nevermind your family witnessed the whole thing.

After several long moments, you pull apart and he offers you one of his dazzling smiles, one you hadn't seen in months. The kids have made their way upstairs and shriek with excitement when they see their dad and Miguel bends down to scoop them up. You smile and stand beside your mom who scoops you into a side hug. With her blessing, Miguel stays and celebrates the rest of Christmas with you and your family.

Gabi, Marcus, and Anthony are now all tucked in. The sugar from the chocolate they consumed all day had worn off, making them crash hard in their beds. You and Miguel are cuddled up on the couch watching the fireplace, taking some needed time as a couple. You stroke his strong arms that are wrapped around you with your fingertips, watching the way the flames leap and spark in the air when they crackle against the charred wood. You look up at him and feel a wave of desire wash over you that you had pent up for months as you study his chiseled features and the way the fire's glow highlights his skin.

"Should we end this Christmas with a bang?" You ask, pun fully intended.

Miguel looks at you tiredly, trying to act like that wasn't a witty remark but he lets out a chuckle. "I'd love to," he whispers.

He takes both your cheeks in his large hands and brings his lips to you immediately. They're soft and full. You feel yourself melting into him every time he sandwiches yours in between them. He reclines you backwards, slowly, until he's on top of you. He lets the weight of his body and hips come down on you little by little, making you arch your back, so your body can better receive him.

Once he lets you taste his tongue, you open your mouth wider, permitting him to deepen the kiss, tossing kindle onto the growing flame between you two, and it's not the one in your fireplace. You take your turn to dial up the heat, seizing his bottom lip in a gentle nip from your teeth, earning a low groan from Miguel and a tightened grip on your hair.

As you continue your steamy makeout session, he begins to hump gently against your clothed body, a nonverbal plea for the wet friction only the inside of you can provide.

After your frantic hands strip each other of your clothes, you've transitioned so you're straddling him in the lotus position, goosebumps popping up all over your skin as your bare body meets his, a high pitched gasp escaping you as you sink down onto him, his mouth falling open and his eyes shutting closed as he breathes in your ear,

"God, I missed you, baby."

You whine into his neck as you coil your fists in his hair. His hands fly to the soft flesh of your sides, using them to move you up and down, his haggard breaths making you weaker and weaker by the minute. You hum,

"I missed you even more."

The next move of his hips is harder than you anticipated, causing your brain to go fuzzy with pleasure.

"How much?" he exhales in a sultry tone.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you all week,"your tone turning into pleading as you feel yourself approaching your limit.

Miguel can't help but feel himself lose his mind a little bit at your words and at your reaction, sensing you won't be able to hold on much longer.

He lays you down, while still keeping himself inside. He slows down to a more sensual pace, breathing in the sight of your wild hair clinging to the couch cushions, evidence of him hitting you in all the right spots every time the inner corners of your eyebrows squinch upwards and your lips fall open.

His loving eyes burn with worship of your body and how well you're doing as he runs a thumb along your chin then pulls down your bottom lip, leans in and mumbles quietly into your mouth,

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. O'Hara."

-------

🖤

[satoruhour]

HIHII hope you are doing well!!!

I have a request but if you're not comfortable writing it's completely fine too!!

Anyways~ can you write something with University professor geto x top student reader??? They have a lot of sexual tension and geto continuously targets the reader in his lectures only for her to storm into his office after a test in which he didn't give her the marks she deserved just so he could piss her off and eventually leading them to blow off some steam together hehe-

HEJSJSH ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU HAVE A GREAT REST OF THE DAY💗💗

-🍒

I GOT THAT DUMB D*CK !

a/n: hi cherry 2! saying 2 because i already have another cherry anon, thank u for waiting for this btw sorry this took so long omggg!!! i wanna make it similar to the short blurb i did here, but ill leave out reader being a camgirl! a lot of lore talk, just a warning

wc: 8k (sigh ....)

warnings: so much lore lol sorry, no beta we die like men, age gap (32 / 24), professor!geto, fem!reader, geto is also a cam worker, masturbation (both f and m), toy use during f! masturbation (vibrator), fantasising, pet names, praise, degradation, use of ‘slut’ and ‘whore’, oral (m receiving, f receives briefly at the end), dumbification (ig?) face-fucking, deep-throating, spitting in mouth, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink, cum eating, implied multiple rounds, n*sfw under the cut

no one could really pinpoint the reason why professor geto had picked on you, called you out so much, and why you entertained the incessant questions. it was unbecoming of a prof., he knew, it was never smart to favour one person (negatively, in this case) in a room of bright students who could read between the lines. but he just feels himself so drawn to your furrowed eyebrows and words laced with venom, because at the end of the day, he can see that you aren’t all talk.

you challenge his views and you do it in a way that catches him off-guard. you propose insane arguments that you willingly would die at the grave just to find evidence for; or it could just be because he was staring too much at the way your mouth moved and your eyes expressed everything to pay attention to your words, finding that you were just too beautiful to be chasing a linguistics degree.

this was another thing: geto suguru could possibly have anyone he wanted. he was fine. shoulders pulled back in proper posture, hair either tied up fully or just halfway, and always, always wearing shirts with sleeves that reach his wrist. to that, everyone could see just how bulked the man was, top looking too tight all the time.

geto knew he was fine, too, because on top of (and before) being a professor, he found that he could get a good amount of money by just streaming — camera propped below his neck and obviously tight button-up shirt discarded to reveal his tattooed body, while he has his legs spread and the thirsty, horny comments flooding in on the platform. it’s been a norm by now, started from his uni days where he needed some extra money to support his fees and living necessities.

one year turned into two, two years turned into stagnancy during his third and fourth years (save for a few occasional streams), and up came a little funny graduation stream suggested by his best friend. geto had spent a good half ’n hour talking about his time in university and thanking his viewers, changing up the setting almost immediately by showing hard he was.

[uzum4kisl0ver]: YEAAAH we’re getting to the good stuff, thank u for feeding us so well these few years uzumaki-san!!

[minstash96]: Congrats on graduating Uzumaki-san!! I rmb joining during your third year and found out from everyone u were getting busier </3 but Im glad youre back again!!!

[g_bigdick_s]: fellas is it gay to support your best friend’s graduation jerking off stream

the flood of “yes”’s replying to gojo made the streamer laugh, thankful that his best friend had listened a little and at least changed gojobigdicksatoru to just his “G.S.” initials to avoid people finding his LinkedIn. from there, geto had gotten into the true nature of his stream easily, fishing out his cock to stroke and loving the sounds of tips coming in, the name of his alias Uzumaki continually commented. since then, it’s become a side hustle — finishing his masters, training to become a professor, it’s all natural to him, taking even further steps to make sure he isn’t found out.

exactly, he could have anyone he wanted — a fan from his streaming account, or one of satoru’s regular fwb’s but instead he finds himself drawn to someone else, you, the second year student in his bilingualism and multilingualism module that he has no trouble teaching despite his freshly employed status.

at the start of the week, the gods decided thought it would be funny to delay the campus bus that would take you to the english department for a consultation session with your professor. you couldn’t focus in lectures due to bad cramps, you were behind on your non-major related courses, the bad luck just seemed to seep into one day after another. you had woken up late, putting on a terrible outfit that no one really cared about, except your professor who just had a smirk on his face.

“if you notice, runes were created as they were spoken — spelt as they are said which almost look like ‘pictographs’,” prof. geto switches to the next slide with the runes and their meanings alongside a jumble of symbols that send the whole class into hysterics, “can anyone sound out the phonetics of these runes to me? hint: even though i said they look like pictographs, the first rune is definitely not an E.”

he was known for asking questions during lectures, pleased with anyone that would even try because he knew how quiet lecture theatres could get. he was exactly like that in university, too, letting satoru take all the attention due to the many unknown people in the same room. now, he found that asking the questions was a little entertaining, seeing the way students look back down at their laptops and avoid eye contact. but he doesn’t need to do anything and his body is already turnt towards you. he’s not even pointing physically, which he thinks he’s done a good job of restraining himself.

ᛊᛃᚨᚾᛖᛚ

“the words and names should be as they sound — so ‘s’ or ᛊ should translate into a ‘c’ since they didn’t have a C back then and it’s the closest sound to C. ᛃ can’t be ‘h’ because of the usage of H in hagl . . its pronunciation is different and plus, we’ll spell it how we say it, so maybe it’s ‘j’?” you mutter to yourself, an urge to answer the quickest, always. you aren’t sure where this streak came from, but you’ve been smart always, “sja . . it either can be chanel or channel since there’s a rule you can’t use the same rune twice in succession . .”

professor geto already knows you’d be the first to answer, raising your hand even without looking since you were still calculating the other four letters which you put together fairly quickly.

you take the safest route, “chanel, with one N.”

geto clicks his tongue and sucks in a breathe, “so close, miss (y/n), but it’s because i cheated a little on my part.” you can feel your blood boil and the grimaces of other students when he switches to the next slide and there’s a little grin on his face. it says — ‘there is no distinction between capital and small runes, nor can you use the same rune twice continually.’

“you are right, partially, but i did want to drive home the point,” which he’s sure you already know. “that words with two N’s or L’s or whatever, would only show up in the runic language as only one character.” your face morphs into something of annoyance and the grin on professor geto’s face only widens — that defiant, headstrong nature is something he loved, but the grin drops a little when he imagines something . . out of the classroom. his pants tighten.

you mirror him, clicking your tongue and reluctantly taking down the note in your documents before sinking into your chair — not even chō, you friend, could find the proper words to comfort you. you spend the rest of the lecture, sulking, unwillingly answering his incessant questions with a scowl on your face and a headache forming.

this never stops—

“miss (y/n)?” one-on-one meetings were the bane of your existence, but it was the only way to connect with your professors properly — here, geto calls you to talk about your latest essay where you were the last on the roster. by then, everyone has filed out with nobara waiting for you just outside the classroom.

“don’t have to call my name, i’m the only one here.” you mutter under your breath, and geto feels a little annoying today.

“what was that?”

“nothing—”

he hums, scooting his chair closer once you sit, and while you find the gesture a little weird, you’re overcome with just how good he smells and it only fuels your hatred more. it’s no fair that he’s so . .

“miss (y/n).” you sigh with an apology, frankly not ready to hear how he’d be attacking your essay. it was written on a rushed timeline, you didn’t cite your sources properly, you knew some criticism was warranted as much as you didn’t like to hear it from your professor’s mouth.

“. . you do know you can’t just rely on your brain, right?” geto speaks softly and you feel your heart flutter at his tone. he points to the places where you forget your in-text citations.

“but professor, information about syntax and phonetics just comes like second nature . .” you mumble, ignoring how he closes his eyes and hisses, “and all the sources on the internet say different things.”

“then just find a reliable one.”

you tsk, taking the paper from him and flipping to the next page, “well, i did one here.” the paper makes a sound when you press your finger into it, aware of how close you are. from here you can feel the heat radiating off his body, unconsciously rubbing your thighs together.

“too long ago, needs to be within five years.” geto’s lying through his teeth.

“no, it does not!” you pull back and look at him incredulously. ah, the feeling’s gone, “not in language related papers, at least!”

“but that claim was from the 2000’s, miss (y/n), for all we know it could’ve been resolved by then.”

“then why didn’t you say anything about chō’s scholar article from the 1990’s?” you’re standing up, now, furrowed eyebrows depicting the very thing you feel: confusion, agitation at being treated like this. given you weren’t in the best condition when you wrote this essay, but you still gave it your all.

“her argument was about the interconnectedness between the romance languages — yours,” he punctuates while leaning back in his chair. you don’t like how your eyes flit down to his lap, but you’re forced to look up when he stands up too, “is about the use of ciphers in comparison to an immature language developed on the internet that created in the 2019s. any scholar claim before that would be void.”

your blood boils just like that day. alas, he had a good point, but like always, the gentle slit of his eyes and the all-knowing smile didn’t match the bullying he was laying on you and you despise it.

even! even, as you notice how there’s probably less than a inch between your faces as you puff out your chest to look more intimidating and yet geto suguru towers over you. and even when your heart beats loudly in your ears, feeling his hot breath fan over your own face while you don’t miss how he licks his lips and glances down to yours not-so-secretly.

you swallow at the silence, until there’s the annoying notification of his Outlook cutting the tension and soon you’re snatching the essay from him, walking to where your bag is. although you want to let your anger overflow, all you say is a tame, “noted. thanks, prof” with a glare, eye twitching.

you made sure to slam the classroom door with shaky hands . .

. . but you’re not very good at capping your rage. “i swear to god! he better fucking check his mirror and admire himself because soon i’m going to beat him up so bad that everyone can’t recognise him.” geto’s lips turn up in a small smirk at your flared expression he just witnessed — he just loves your dirty mouth and he finds himself thinking of it more and more often.

chō only can tut, “so you find him attractive?”

“what? how the hell did you infer that from my rant?” you scoff, shoving her to the side, not aware that your whispered outburst is heard as he’s packing up. he simply enjoys looking at you walk away through the glass slit of the door, hips swaying unknowingly.

“bad news, guys,” geto, or rather Uzumaki, sighs on screen, adjusting so the lens of the camera rested just below his collarbones. easily, his chat fills up with a mixture of horny comments and genuine questions, chuckling to himself as he unbuttons his shirt. he feels more like a sinner at this point, suddenly flustered with the confession he’s about to make.

“i think i’ve taken quite a liking to someone,” geto hums, hands going to his trousers to palm his bulge. he had to get home immediately after that, cancelling his meetings for the day. with a single text to gojo, the white-haired man was excited to hear everything about this new person, thankful that his best friend will finally not be alone.

[g_bigdick_s]: TELL US! TELL US!!!! TELL US!

but professor geto is lost instantly, imagining you as he massages his erection. thinking about your anger transforming into pleasure, into obedience for him as he forces your mouth down on his cock. oh . . how’d your mouth and hands feel, how’d your pussy feel.

geto groans, already removing his dick from the constraints, and pumping it to full length. he doesn’t even talk much, only the endless comments and tips reminding him he was still on live. spitting on his hand, he wraps his hand around himself again, thumbing the tip and hoping it’d be your tongue swirling around it.

what would you look like on your knees, taking each inch of his cock down your throat? would he be able to wipe the defiance off your face? would he be able to fuck his smart student, dumb?

“you need a good destress, woman,” chō suggests over the phone, voice a bit uneven due to it being stuck in between her shoulder and ear, “go on camstar or something, i’m sure you’ll find something hot there.”

“chō, i am not going on a porn streaming website! i’ll very much settle for my smut fics, thank you.”

“boo, don’t you get bored? i get that normal adult industry videos are super inaccurate but . . when was the last time you’ve watched an unfiltered, unedited jerk off vid? that’s the hottest.”

you scoff, “yeah, like you would know, miss complain-whenever-you-get-dick-pics.”

“that’s because it’s unsolicited! plus all the men who send me pics have ugly dicks. if anything i’m more open to get unsolicited pussy pics rather than consensual dick pics at this point.” your friend nonchalantly says, spreading her fingers to look at her manicured nails, “but anyway, prof geto is on your ass too much lately. maybe he wants to get in your pants?”

you don’t recoil at the suggestion as much as you expect to and you’re puzzled at that — “please never say that again.” just as you’re saying this, you’re typing in camstar.org even though you told yourself not to but deep down, you know that you’ve been craving more than just twitter links and porn with plot stories. on the front page, you’re seeing a video thumbnail of a guy with a fairly big . . feature, countless tattoos lining his body while you can catch a faint glimpse of his long hair in the dark room — it’s the only one that draws you in, other streams merging into a blur.

chō’s voice fades off when you notice just how popular the stream is, cursor hovering over the title (“just a ramblefap, need to release some tension”) almost tempting you to click.

“okay, will get back to you,” succumbing to your needs, you shamelessly grab your vibrator just as she cheers into the phone. you can hear that’s my girl! on the other side as you stifle a smile, bidding a goodbye before you settle into bed. from there, you do what you always do: relax for a few, slow your breathing, get yourself wet a little—

click.

The stream you have attempted to view has ended a minute ago. We apologise for the inconvenience caused. View more livestreams below:

you shove the vibrator under your pillow and bury your head into it, screaming.

“i mentioned in yesterday’s lecture that Latin evolved from the dialects of the Italic peoples of ancient Italy, or Latium, a region in central western Italy. over time, Latin absorbed elements from other languages, such as Etruscan and Greek, and it became the main language of the western Mediterranean.” professor geto rambled on in classic geto fashion — it was his passion that made him so easy to listen to, as with the many enamoured girls with googly eyes and the guys who wish they could carry themselves the way geto did.

you’d say the same thing: his love for his subject of study made him attractive — charming even — as much as you didn’t want to admit to your friend, but you’d be more open with your attraction like everyone is if he wasn’t—

[9:52am, (y/n) -> chō 💟] so fucking annoying and cocky and picking on me all the time!!!!!! im soooo sick of him im so serious omfg ....

but today, he’s looking less at you and more at other students, or even marvelling at the terrible paint job of the classroom as he goes from slide to slide. he talks about the derivation in which French separates from Latin, borrowing similar spellings and meanings from the old language while separating the way they are spoken.

“French is the most divergent of the romance languages because of strong Gallic and Frankish influences. The Celtic Gauls spoke a language similar to Old Dutch but adopted Latin as the Romans invaded Gaul.” you don’t even have to look at him to get him thinking of lewd things, spiralling into his fantasies ever since last night. geto is a little fatigued, too, having lost sleep over his fucking student which he just can’t help bothering. excitement at having you in class before is now turning into dread with every week that passes, and this week is just one instance.

“uh— i-i know you guys aren’t well-versed in either, but with your knowledge of both languages,” geto pulls at his tie. he feels hot, “discuss with your tutorial groups, the differences between the two and list down examples. just come up with one difference, but preferably name a few instances.”

[10:01am, (y/n) -> chō 💟] wish u were here im so bored 😭😭 profs acting so weird today tho

[10:01am, chō 💟 -> (y/n)] is he looking hot and bothered, nervous ??? like he wants to cry? im tellin you he wants you fr

of course she’d come out of her sickness-induced sleep just to bother you about him having the hots for you.

[10:02am, (y/n) -> chō 💟] you’re so ... i swear pls shut up he may want me but i do NOT want him

[10:03am, chō 💟 -> (y/n)] not even while you were just ranting about how his side profile looked a little too good in lecture yesterday?? anyway i hope you’ll be able to get that nut tn 🙏🏼 that guy on camstar sounded hot asf

[10:04am, (y/n) -> chō 💟] ikr i cant believe i got cockblocked by a fuckin livestream ending 💀 thank you fr i need it atp

“any progress here?” he comes out behind you and you slam the phone so hard you give the both of you a scare while your other friends exchange giggles with each other. what you don’t know, is how his arm is positioned upon the back of your chair and his whole body hovers just beside yours. you’re threatened to look, but you know if you do, you’d be falling deeper into the pit that you promised yourself not to fall into.

“yup, we’re just discussing things about how in terms of grammar, French has conjugation but almost no declension. but— uh, it rather uses word order to express some of the intricacies that Latin expresses through word endings.”

you can see geto nod from your peripheral, “good. good answer, any examples to show me?”

your friends nod towards you since you’re usually the one with all the information about different languages. they aren’t foreign to the way geto keeps calling on you to answer him, too, so you shouldn’t have any problem with this, right?

wrong. you’re stuttering through your answer, turning your head finally and being met with the sight of prof geto looking down on you like a deer caught in headlights. you think that being in lecture theatres, sitting near to the back and your hatred in general has desensitised you to the beauty of your professor, because being under him like this makes your core pulse uncomfortably and your voice shaky.

“. . hm? what was that?”

“i was uhm— saying how— uh,” the way geto nods at you makes you more nervous, painting you as someone who someone who had all bark and no bite, but the other knows very well that you had a nasty bite. you’re smart and witty, pretty, hot as fuck, and if anything, it’s taking everything in geto not to bend you over and show you your place in this very classroom in front of everyone, too.

“little lady got nothin’ for me today?” geto purses his lips and lets his teasing side take over, an easy-going smile taking over his features that you just want to kiss and slap off at the same time. wait.

“i didn’t get enough sleep because i was too busy trying to rewrite the damn essay you said i had outdated and missing sources for,” you speak through gritted teeth, feeling a mixture of arousal and pure rage for the man hovering over you.

geto juts his lip out in a pout, face getting dangerously close to yours and challenging you. he just hopes your two friends won’t say anything, “well, darling, if you picked an easier topic to argue about, you wouldn’t be doing that, would you?”

“well, sorry i’m always trying to outdo myself. are you, professor geto? what with your boring suits and black and white slide designs?”

you click your tongue and turn back to your phone to pull up your chat with chō while geto takes a deep breath, desperately hoping the hard-on wouldn’t show through his slacks. your other two friends only giggle even more at the exchange, because for the rest of the class, professor geto is on edge, unable to teach coherently.

[11:17pm, chō 💟 -> (y/n)] YOU DID WHAAAAATTTTT...???? GIRL YOU SAID THAT???!!!!!!

[11:18pm, (y/n) -> chō 💟] bro what if i get expelled.. i shouldnt have but he was pissing me off so much... i did put an apology in the end tho

by then, you’ve already submitted your rewritten essay, putting in a short note at the end for your behaviour in class. although you don’t take it back, you’re still trying to play it safe especially with how much you paid to get into university. you scroll along camstar, bored out of your mind and hoping to find something as compelling as the inked guy from last week, but nothing really draws you in. until you’re refreshing the page, and just like the previous time, the popularity of that same bulking guy seems to push his video to the top.

and finally, before you’re clicking into the video, you check out his profile: in his early thirties, started this account when he was 24 and in university. you smack your lips at that — he’s been doing this for almost ten years? that’s dedication. in curiosity, you scroll down his account, seeing the progression of which this guy built up his figure and tattoos that litter his body. he’s kept the same format, camera showing his body chest down until you’re lazy to scroll more, a little disappointed in not being able to find any indication of his face.

you think that maybe you saw a glimpse of that wrist tattoo that matched the tattoo on your professor’s wrist, but you could just be imagining things.

“alright guys . .” the man on the screen huffs, clothes already discarded to get straight to the point, and you’re recording a small snippet of the same guy you told chō about. “had a rough day today.”

the onslaught of comments going i can make u feel better!!! Take ur anger out on me Uzumaki-san makes you sputter and laugh, sending that video first before you’re taking another. your attention is stolen for a moment, seeing chō react with emojis to your video message (“let’s see what emails i got today, huh?”), but the structure of sentences that the man speaks soon brings you out of jollity and into shock.

“how cute, an essay sent straight to my email.” geto wants to do anything but look at emails right now, but ever since he’s gotten your rewritten assignment, it’s all he’s wanted to check out if it wasn’t for the many meetings and errands he had to run today. “yadda yadda . . oh?”

“i’m sorry for today’s lesson,” purposely pausing to leave out his name, geto continues on, “i shouldn’t have reacted in that way no matter the situation.” a smirk forms on his face while your body fills with dread. in your panic, you pull up your own document whilst catching all of this on camera, tracking each word as the man on camstar.org continues to say out your apology word by word.

and then bit by bit, you’re making out how the man behind the camera might, just might be your linguistics professor. the broad shoulders, the jawline, the long hair, the manspread . .

but even with your heightened combination of excitement and revelation, you don’t click away, blindly sending the video to your friend and then shamefully digging under your pillow to grab your vibrator.

“teaching people is so difficult sometimes, guys,” he grunts, pulling down his underwear and revealing his already hard cock. he lets out a shaky sigh as he wraps a hand around his shaft, “you usually get the people who won’t do any work, the ones who are absent half the time — usually they go hand in hand.”

professor geto laughs and you twitch at the lovely sound. “but . . there’s this one girl . . in my classes— f-fuck.”

you’re entranced, watching your professor masturbate in front of thousands of people who possibly didn’t know a thing about this man while you try to get your jaw off the floor, “who is entirely different from these categories.”

“she’s smart,” geto groans out and you watch transfixed as he starts to pump himself, hips grinding up into his palm, “she’s so smart that i’d want to get to know her one day and just talk about anything.”

“s-she’s so fucking attractive, too, you guys won’t even— oh goddd . .” you feel like you’re being watched, so you’re careful with how you’re putting your vibrator to your core and once you start it, the moan that leaves you lines up with geto’s deeper groans. it turns you on so damn much.

with his head tilted back, he’s long gone as he moves his hands faster and faster, the slick noises of his pre-cum and spit mixing in together — geto only wishes he could act on his desires once the course was over, but knows you’ll probably be mortified at the prospect. at least here, he can imagine that it’s your mouth or cunt doing all the work.

“s-shitttt . .” the professor sounds out, hissing when he thumbs his tip and even more pre comes spilling out and while you watch, you’re hypnotised by the beautiful moans in its perfect cadence and the thickness of his cock. by now his chest is heaving and he’s holding onto his bedsheets so tight you wish it was your thighs.

“i want to fuck her silly, fuck all of those stupid facts out of her head and get her dumb on my cock,” geto whines, hips fully bucking up now while you press your vibrator deeper into your clit. you’re left wondering how his mouth would feel, to shut him up by pressing him into your cunt until he can’t breathe, soak his stupid fucking suits, “want to hear her moan my name.”

you whimper at all the things professor geto swears he wants to do to you, grinding into your hand while he speeds up as well. he doesn’t speak, simply stroking himself as he thighs tense up and he squeezes his shaft with head full of visions of you in terribly lewd positions, making disgusting sounds, and all for him. it isn’t long before geto cums with a loud drawn out moan, shooting his cum onto his torso with a sigh before taking a sticky hand to his lips, licking it off — “i’d want to see my cum dripping out of her one day.”

that sends a chill down to your core, biting your pillow before you release softly all over your hand and vibrator; you spend the rest of the night watching professor geto’s other videos.

[12:32am, chō 💟 -> (y/n)] oh. OH..........

“i should’ve just taken an off-day today, i do not want to get back our results.” chō rubs at her eyes and temples, wanting anything to do with the return of test marks, but unfortunately it was the week after midterms and it was inevitable, “don’t need to ask you though, you’re probably not worried at all.”

“trust me, i am,” you bite the inside of your cheek. it’s been at least . . two weeks after that whole debacle, and despite your intense vents with your friend and the continuous picking on by prof. geto, nothing out of the blue was happening. except, maybe, your growing physical need for your professor and your simultaneous, increasing hatred for him.

“it’s only midterms — you don’t need to worry too much since it doesn’t contain a high percentage. what you should be focusing on are your finals. we’ll work on your shortcomings and mistakes here so you guys will do the best when the time comes.”

and when professor geto comes around to hand you your test, all you do is glare up through your lids, taking it from him before feeling your whole world crumble.

“a B+?!” your mouth gapes open at the blatant 65/100 mark that glares back at you. you know that you would’ve gotten anything but a 65, willing yourself to study harder and harder just to rub it in his pretty little face that you weren’t falling behind in his class. at this point it’s got to be personal, so soon, you’re packing up your things angrily with the intent to storm his office after your other classes.

it’s late in the afternoon when you finally finish your other tutorials on a short fuse, him clearly getting ready to head home by the darkness of his office when you shove your way through the door.

professor geto is sat in a laid-back position, tie hung on the hooks installed in the office and a few buttons are unbuttoned, revealing the very familiar tattoos you’ve become acquainted with.

“to who do i owe the pleasure?”

“cut the crap, prof.,” you scowl, using your foot to slam the office door close. despite the late nights being buried in your sheets, you won’t let yourself be treated like this, “i deserved anything but a 65 on midterms.”

geto tilts his head, sitting up and gesturing out to you; you realise he wants to see your test paper.

“ah!” with a finger, he makes a show of finding for your obvious mistakes which was minimal — but the way he marks obnoxiously tells you everything you need to know, “here. your comprehension of the similarities between Latin and Ancient Greek was too surface level, you didn’t explain why—”

“i. did!” you press down into the paper like the first time, leaning over his table and reading out the exact answer you wrote just a few days ago, “here, since your blind ass wants to act like i wasn’t answering the question.” you push yourself into his desk more, eyes levelled with his. you dare him to say something smart.

“well, your explanation of the six cases in Latin left out the locative, the last one, and there were some problems in the conjugation that the test asked of you.”

“bullshit. show me, if you’re so confident.”

professor geto knows he’s hit a dead-end. he was telling lies, full of it, but he’s enjoying every second of the anger that translates into your features, of the growl in your voice. he leans back further the more you close in on him.

“nothing, right? so tell me, do you hate me that much?”

geto simply laughs, crossing his arms and reminiscing on the many nights he’s spent doing anything but.

“quite the opposite, sweetheart.” the name catches you off-guard for a moment, but your sour face returns soon enough.

“then what the fuck do you think you’re doing, picking endlessly on a student?”

your professor sits forward, prompting you to cower back. you think it’d be good to bring up whatever he’s got going on on camstar.org but you’ll wait to a good moment before you say anything about your trump card, until geto snaps you out of your stupor by towering over you. the sheer difference makes you swallow.

“because i like seeing you flared up and angry and mad.” professor geto surprises you with each second, the nonchalance in which he said it, the stupid, attractive smirk on his face. now’s the time.

you compose yourself, thinking of the best way to phrase this, “you know you’re not entirely safe, either, you know. i could report you with the frequency in which you’re picking on me.”

you point a finger to his chest, thinking you could get him to lay off immediately with this as much as you were hoping he wouldn’t. the attention was unwarranted but not entirely . . terrible, “that wouldn’t look so good on your record, right, Uzumaki-san?”

you relish in the surprise that seeps into geto’s pretty features but it’s a short-lived victory when he goes back into a relaxed state, expression neutral — “so you know.”

“know . . what?” your professor pulls away and walks around his desk, finally in close proximity to you like he’s always wished.

“how badly i want you.” he whispers, but doesn’t go past that, rather letting you figure everything out for yourself.

“‘. . fuck her silly, fuck all of those stupid facts out of her head’, right?” you mumble softly, not admitting to even chō that you had watched that livestream over and over enough to memorise the few sentences. geto wraps an arm around your waist to tug you closer, faces so close that you could just shut him up.

“go on.”

“you want me to go dumb on your cock,” professor geto mutters a correct which undeniably sends a thrill to your core.

“you want to hear me to moan your name.” “—want to hear her moan my name.”

a small smile spreads across his face (even if you left out the most important thing) as he finishes his own sentence with you, eyes clouded over with lust and your scent and he’s positive he can smell your soaked panties from here if he tries hard enough.

“that’s right.”

“sooo . .” by god, you fucking hated the man, but seeing someone stroke their cock to just the thought of you — how could you pass off such a good opportunity? “do you prefer professor geto, or suguru?”

geto groans at his first name usage, setting you on his desk and presses himself into you at the sound of papers flying to the floor, stationary falling to the ground. he can only hope no one walks in. he’s fully hard, loving how your legs naturally spread for him.

“whatever you want, baby.” and after, it’s all history with the way geto crashes his lips into yours, letting you pull at his jacket and shirt, practically ripping open the buttons to see his tattoos that you’re begging to see. slowly, he lets you trace them while he kisses down your neck, roughly pulling your sweater off of you. you have the cutest tits, packaged nicely in your bra which he has no trouble taking off. there’s a small sound that escapes his mouth when he unclasps your bra and your breasts come falling out.

“didn’t tell me you had such a nice pair . .” you giggle.

“yeah, like i would straight up tell my professor that.” with a hand, your hand follows the ink of his dragon that wraps around his body and torso, right down to his happy trail, “but i mean, you get the honour of seeing it now.”

with a squeeze to his bulge, you whisper, “maybe i’ll let you fuck them next time.”

geto lets out a little moan, “fucking minx,” before he latches his mouth onto your nipple, kneading the other greedily. a soft moan leaves your mouth as you knead his erection, a culmination of your combined groans in the quiet office. soon he’s giving attention to the other, a hand trailing down into your panties where he rubs your clit to test the waters, and he smiles into your skin at the way your hand falters and your head hangs forward.

“p-professor . .” it’s clear geto can’t wait, because he pushes a finger into you easily with how dripping wet you are, panties showing a dark patch of your juices. “s— so thick—”

“i know, baby, gotta stretch you out,” a soft pop! is heard as he comes off your nipple before he meets your lips in a sloppy kiss. he shoves his tongue into your mouth the moment he pushes a second finger in and he swallows your moans, letting you feel around his body to dig your nails in — it was just too damn much.

“so— suguru, your f-fingers, they’re so—” even with your protests, your hips grind up against his thick fingers that are pumping in and out of you, taking every last piece of fire in you as you succumb completely.

“what, miss (y/n)?” geto memorises the exact way all your previous blazing words are reduced to mere mewls and whimpers, alongside your pleas for more, more, more.

“i need something—” you whine when he pushes all the way inside, stretching your cunt so well as you clench around him like a vice and sucking him in, “i wanna make you feel good—”

you get at least a little resolve in the time it took you to say that, drunkenly unbuckling his belt before pulling his cock out. his tip is positively leaking, fingers curling instinctively in your pussy and your moans mingle together again.

“c’mon, prof, please?” geto tuts, reluctantly removing his fingers from your cunt which he wish he could spend more of his time in, but gives in to you as you switch positions, pushing him against his own desk. from there you’re going to your knees, marvelling at the cock you’ve watched on your very own screen.

“better than you imagined?”

you roll your eyes, “shut up or i’m blue-balling you.”

geto exhales forcefully, cut off when you put your mouth gently over his tip. you suckle on it like a pacifier, swirling your tongue around the mushroom head and looking up at him through your lashes; the sight is heavenly. the hair from his bun had fallen out, framing his pleasure-filled face, and the veins on his arms pop out so much from how harshly he’s grabbing the wood.

“f-fuck, baby . .” his words are lost once you start bobbing your head, encasing his shaft deep in your mouth as you suck and lick and slobber over his thick cock, using your hands to stroke the places you can’t reach. a choked moan weasels itself out of geto when one of your hands deviate to play with his balls, squeezing lightly at the sack while you continue to lick the underside of his length.

“take me like a slut, don’t you?” geto says breathlessly, fingers going through your hair to gather the strands into a makeshift ponytail, cradling your head to guide your mouth, but he soon starts to thrust into your waiting mouth.

“want me to fuck your dirty whore mouth?” your professor asks and you hate how much it turns you on as he brings you off to let you breathe for a moment. you stick out your tongue, big doe eyes just pleading to be used as your hands anchor themselves down to his belt loops.

“y—yes, prof., give me everything you got,” geto hums, seemingly satisfied with your answer as he taps your tongue with his tip, cock so heavy and thick it makes you whine a little before he shoves it in without warning. the moan that rumbles deep in your throat sends vibrations up his body and he starts a pace immediately.

“that’s it, that’s it—” you breathe through your nose as geto face fucks you, two hands covering the back of your head as he thrusts into your throat. your mouth’s just so damn warm and tight it has geto groaning non-stop while your eyes start to well up with tears. he uses you like a cocksleeve, abusing your throat each time his tip meets with it.

“fuuuckk— yes, yes, your throat’s so—” geto tilts his head back when he buries his cock in you, the deepest he’s ever been and your nose meets with his pubes, the smell of his musk and sweat making your eyes roll back in pleasure. suguru is all grunts before moving again, the gagging, gawking noises filling the small space.

“mmhm— mmf!” you moan around his length, trying your best to move your tongue along the underside of his cock. a hand goes down to quell the growing need of your cunt, slipping a finger or two in.

“dirty girl just can’t think straight when she has a— s-shit— cock in her, huh?”

you hum in agreement, eyes fluttering when you feel his tip twitch in your mouth and geto spills right into your throat with a long moan. your lids flutter close, taking as much cum as you can before coming off with a deep breath. strings of his cum and your saliva connect you to his cock, the lewdness of it all showing clearly in how sloppily you sucked your professor off.

“open.” and you show your tongue still full of his cum, taking the opportunity to lean down to let a ball of spit fall from his mouth. it drops painfully slow to your tongue, closing it only when you hear the rasp of swallow, “good girl.”

“think i’ve kept you waiting for too long, need to be in you,” geto brings you up by your upper arms, propping you up nicely onto his desk where you already start to leak into the wood, “do you want me to be in you?”

“only if you promise to stop picking on me, prof.,” you pout. really, a changed girl once you get some cock, huh?

“but you’re too cute not to bother, baby.” your pout deepens and geto feels a tug on his heart. oh, you were too adorable, knowing you’d kill him the next time he mentions this. he hopes they’ll be a next time.

“i mean it, suguru,” you murmur as he uses his tip to play with your juices, smearing it around your cunt. “treat me like a proper person.”

“can i at least treat you like a slut behind closed doors?”

you bit your lip, he’s asking for a next time, and who are you to reject him?

“whatever you want, professor,” you wiggle your hips along his cock, hoping for some friction which he grants to you with no problem, “use me. treat me like your cum dump.”

geto hisses at your tightness and your words as he bottoms out in you. he’s had your pussy once and already cannot get enough of you, moaning each time he moves in and out of your cunt. your walls hug him so snugly, sucking his cock in endlessly.

“baby, baby, baaaby . . your pussy’s so fuckin’— good—” he grunts into your ears, hips starting to thrust slowly into you. he swears he can see you in your tummy, asking you to look down, “look at how deep i am in you, sweetheart.”

you moan at just how big he was as you glance down, but you’re more focused on the way your pussy spreads for him, the cute veins on his length as he moves in you. you’re leaking so much that it’s effortlessly, the way he rams into you.

“sugu— suguru . . mmfuck—” geto groans upon feeling you rub your clit, your own hips bucking needily into his own as your juices start to drip down his balls. this was everything that he hoped would happen; your features morphed into pleasure, you descending into stupidity just from some dick, feeling your pussy, finally.

“hear yourself?” your professor proposes the question and you’re confused for a moment until he slows down and you whine at the sudden change, brought to attention just how soaking you were. the soft shlick, shlick, shlick sounds take your breath away, as with the translucent sheen of your juices coating his cock.

there, your professor resumes his pace, “hear how fuckin’ sloppy this pussy is for me. listen to her,” your senses are all overwhelmed: by how he hits all your sweet spots, the sweat on your back, your fast-beating heart and you let out a mangled whimper, “yesss . . that’s what i like to hear.”

geto smirks at how you can’t even answer, picking up his pace into a regular one. with his cock buried deep in you, you have no choice but to let your body move with his thrusts, jerking each time his balls meet your ass noisily.

“is this what the little lady needed? just some professor cock to get her to not be so damn uptight!”

“y—yessss . .” you’re delirious, “yesyesyes, suguru!” you squeal when he holds your legs up and pushes your legs into your chest, tongue lolling out at the deepness that he was in you.

“fucking slut,” geto mumbled, hips turning sloppy with fatigue taking over, but your cunt was just too good to stop, “where d’you want me to cum, baby?” he knows you’ll answer how he wants you to, especially after watching his livestream—

“i-inside— inside, pleaseplease,” the circles on your clit are messy, now, chasing your high more than ever, but your pussy is grasping onto him like a vice, prompting groans deep from his throat. “want your cum dripping out of me, prof—”

those words alone has geto shooting his load with a strangled grunt, switching to shallow, quick thrusts to pump you full of his cum. it comes out in hot, thick spurts, filling your insides more and more until it spills out the sides and you follow soon after, whole body convulsing from the intense orgasm you can’t stop shaking violently.

“take it— that’s it, attagirl,” he whines out, stroking his length to make sure you’re getting every last drop out of him, “take all my cum . .”

geto is sure he’s getting old by the way he feels lightheaded, having had to hold onto the edge of the table for a minute — but in that 60 seconds you’ve stumbled off the table and laid your chest over it, perking your ass up where your pussy continues to leak hot, white cum.

your professor takes one good look at your ass, hands going up to knead at them and spreads your cheeks. with his tongue, he eats his cum out of you, making your jerk at the sensitivity.

“oops, i’ve cleaned you up of my cum — guess i gotta give you a couple more loads,” geto props a leg up, eating you out, “it’s only right since my brightest student has suffered so much at my hands . .”

tagging @arminsumi @shidouryusm @suguruplsr @crysugu @slttygeto @suget @sonarspace @marimogf @hannzai &lt;3 ok gn

[atomicami]

cami would you write a sub abby? like maybe where she needs your help to get off?🤭🩷

my sweet dani, that mind of yours truly is incredible…i wrote this one just for you querida 🤍

close call

contractor!abby anderson x joel’s daughter!reader

- summary: it’s the night before the annual bake sale, and abby needs your touch now more than ever.

- content: smut MDNI, no outbreak/modern au, contractor/engineer!abby, texas living, no sarah, joel & jerry are still alive (jerry is not a doctor in this), reader has a business degree, abby gets needy, sneaking out, oral & fingering (a!receiving), masturbation (r), abby whimpering and begging?? and i think that’s it but lmk if i missed anything

- author’s note: well if i’m being honest i really did not expect to be writing another contractor!abby fic so soon, but this request gives so much desperate contractor!abby energy that i just had to do it. however i do have to clarify that this is not a part 3. i’ve stated this before in one of my asks, but part 3 is going to be more about the bake sale…this is just more of a little bonus chapter i guess.

anyways, this one’s for you dani, and for all of my contractor!abby fans out there that need a little pick me up rn. i hope y’all enjoy it 🫶🏻

You didn’t expect to be doing it again so soon.

After you had snuck your way out of work to go see Abby at her father’s contracting site, you have to admit that the rest of this week flew by surprisingly fast for you.

You had been keeping yourself occupied in the meantime, between doing customer calls at work and preparing for the bake sale, you’ve been quite patient with yourself and didn’t feel the need to have to sneak out again until the next time you’d plan to see Abby. It was almost as if you simply had just been sick that day, and Abby’s touch was the remedy that cured you.

Although…there might be a feeling that you’ve jinxed yourself in saying so when you receive a phone call the night before.

You spent the morning on your work shift as usual, and your dad was generous enough to let you go before lunchtime so you could start baking for the sale tomorrow. After spending the rest of your day prepping, mixing, baking, and decorating, you were left with a variety of fresh pastries by sundown, ready to sell the next morning.

By the time you finished cleaning up the kitchen and getting ready for bed, the clock struck 10 p.m. Normally you’d stay up a little longer, but after the exhausting day you’ve had today, you genuinely needed to rest for tomorrow. You had to be downtown by 7 a.m. to set up at the farmer’s market for the bake sale. Given how weary you were, it didn’t take long for you to fall asleep.

However, you were only able to get a few hours of sleep in before your phone began to ring.

The sound of your ringtone startles you awake. Letting out a tired groan, you muster up the energy to reach over to your nightstand to turn on your light and pick up your phone to see who was calling you.

“Abby?” you whisper to yourself, rubbing your eyes to get a better look at the screen. Once you do, the phone call disappears and your lock screen shows with the missed notification, giving you a chance to look at the time.

It was barely past 1 a.m. Why the hell was she calling you this late?

Her contact name shows up once again in a second call, and this time you swipe to answer.

“Abby…what is it?” you answer groggily to her.

“Hey…are you awake?” she asks shyly.

You roll your eyes before responding. “I am now.”

“Look, I’m sorry if I did wake you up, but I really need you right now…”

Her words start to replay in your head. The tone she had in her voice…she didn’t sound like her usual, cocky self. She sounded desperate…kind of like how you were the last time you saw her.

“Abby, it’s one in the morning…what is it that can’t wait until later?”

You knew what she was asking for, you just needed to make her say it. Kind of like how she made you tell her last time.

“I um…I can’t get myself off,” she muttered back. It was quiet, but not quiet enough to where you couldn’t hear her.

You simply nod, soon remembering that she couldn’t see you right now. “Alright, um…do you have your boxers on, then?”

“No—I mean, yes I do, but I don’t mean this…I need you to come over.”

You scoff at her through the phone. She truly can’t be serious. Having to do this over the phone would already be difficult enough for you. But to sneak yourself out in the middle of the night to do so? It was going to be too much.

“Abby, you can’t be serious right now—“

“Come on, baby, don’t be like that…My dad isn’t even home right now, please?”

“Okay, but my dad is.” You reply to her instantly. “There’s no way I’m gonna be able to get out of my house without waking him up.”

You keep trying to tell her that it’s not going to work out, but Abby continues to beg about it. As much as you wanted to, it clearly wasn't the right time to do so. But eventually, you just had to give in.

“Okay, fine! I’ll come over…” you said, quickly lowering your voice down. “Just…just give me five minutes.”

After hanging up the phone, you get up from your bed, taking the time to stretch in the process. Grabbing the first pair of shoes you find, you quickly slip them on before grabbing your phone and keys and exiting your room.

Once you’ve shut the door, you begin to tiptoe down the hall as to not wake up your father. The door of Joel’s bedroom was slightly cracked open, and you could see that he was fast asleep. You quietly pass by his bedroom and make your way down the stairs, praying that the wood doesn't start creaking from the weight of your footsteps.

Before you know it, you’ve successfully made it out the door, and you begin to cross the street to Abby’s place. Once you’ve made it to her front door, your phone buzzes again.

“Abby: there’s a spare key under the mat.”

Jesus. The least she could’ve done was to have let you in her own house, especially since you had to do most of the work sneaking yourself out.

You reach down and slide your hand under the doormat, quickly finding the key that was hidden underneath before unlocking the door and letting yourself in. It’s the first time you’ve been inside Abby’s house, and you’re not bothered to even get a good look at it, you just needed to find her right now.

After wandering throughout her house for what feels like forever, you finally find her bedroom. Not even bothering to knock, you simply walk in to see Abby lying in the center of her bed, her long blonde locks draped over her shoulders, and her muscle tank covering her top half while the rest of her body was covered with her duvet from the waist down.

“Hey,” she pants out, propping herself up on her bed to get a better look at you. “I’m so sorry I had to—“

“Sit up,” you tell her, cutting off her sentence.

“What?”

“You heard me. Sit up.”

You then walk your way over to the left side of her bed and kneel on the ground, causing Abby to scramble around and sit up from her bed. Once you’re settled on the ground, she’s got her legs hanging off the bed, and you can see that she doesn’t have anything on underneath.

“Thought you said you had your boxers on,” you told her.

“I-I did…I just couldn’t wait for you to get here…” she replies, looking away from you as she does so.

“And you say I’m the needy one…” you mutter to yourself. You then spread Abby’s legs open, revealing her pussy to you. Despite how truly annoyed you were that she made you have to sneak out in the middle of the night, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to be touching her like this right now…because your mouth was practically watering at the sight of her wet pussy.

Without hesitation, you insert two of your fingers inside her. Her body jerks back for a moment at the sudden touch, before soon settling down, letting her pussy relax around your fingers.

It seemed like Abby was trying to compose herself right now because you could hear how hard she was trying to hold back her whimpers and whines as you kept slowly pumping your fingers in and out of her.

“M-More…” she whispers out to you, trying her best to not sound needy.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” You asked, eyes still fixated on her pussy.

“I-I need more, please…” she responds, her voice just a little louder this time.

You look up at her as your fingers continue to move inside her pussy, your movements not stopping as you maintained eye contact with her. “I’m gonna need you to be more specific than that, Abigail, or else I’m not giving you what you want,” you tell her sternly.

You can easily see her trying to hold back her frustration right now, and you were honestly enjoying it. The fact that you’ve put her in this state of submission outside of her usual cocky persona truly has you beaming with pride.

“I—fuck—I need your mouth, p-please…” she whines out to you, hands gripping onto the sheets as your fingers curl into her g spot.

“See, there you go…That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” you tease back at her before leaning in and attaching your mouth to her clit as you continued to finger her.

It didn’t take long for the speed of your fingers to increase inside her pussy and for your mouth to suck harder on her throbbing clit. Between the pleasure you were giving her and the whimpers and moans that were escaping from her mouth, you can’t help but feel the need to take care of yourself down there.

As you continue to eat Abby out, your non-dominant hand begins to trail its way down into your shorts and slide below your underwear. You instantly feel a sense of relief once your fingertips reach your clit, rubbing it gently as you continued to give Abby the pleasure she needed.

You began to whimper and moan into her pussy, the vibrations from your mouth causing chills to rush through Abby’s body as she tried to chase her orgasm.

Her pussy soon began to clench around your fingers more than usual, indicating that she was close. You briefly removed your mouth from her pussy to speak to her, quickly replacing it with your thumb in the meantime. “You’re getting close, aren’t you?” you asked, looking up at her.

Abby nodded quickly in response. “Y-yes, fuck, p-please don’t stop…” she whined out, quickly grabbing your head with one hand and pushing it back into her pussy while her other hand grips onto the edge of her bed.

You were practically being suffocated in between her strong thighs right now, but you could honestly care less. You weren’t stopping until she finished. You continued to desperately moan and whine into her pussy as you kept rubbing your needy clit with your other hand, trying to chase your orgasm as well.

“Oh fuck, baby, right there, I’m gonna—Fuck!”

Abby tried her best to warn you, she really did, but before you both knew it, her release was already spilling out of her pussy and onto your fingers and mouth, causing you to greedily drink up every last drop of her before slowly removing your mouth and fingers out of her.

Once Abby had recovered from her orgasm, she looked down at you just in time to see you take your other hand out of your shorts. She kept her eyes on your fingers, admiring how they were covered in your release as a result of the pleasure you just gave to her.

She brings her hand down to your chin and lifts it to meet her eyes with yours. The deja vu feeling was hitting her now the second she saw your pupils blown out once again, just like how you were not even a week ago when you went down on her under her desk while she was sitting across from her father.

You hesitate for a moment before soon making the effort to stand up to her height, bringing your two fingers that were coated in your slick up to her lips.

“Clean them up,” you commanded.

Abby nodded as she held the hand that was put to her mouth before parting her lips and sucking your fingers clean. Her eyes were trained on yours, maintaining eye contact as she did so.

“There you go, just like that…” you mutter out to her quietly.

Once they were clean, Abby removed your fingers from her mouth, making a slight pop sound as she did so. You lean in to plant a kiss on her lips, tasting a bit of yourself from her lips and vice versa. You then reach down to grab your phone and keys before walking towards her bedroom door to leave.

However, you pause in your tracks for one moment and turn your head around to look at her fucked out self one more time.

“I’ll see you at the bake sale.” you reminded her, that same smirk appearing now on both of your faces before you turned back around and exited her bedroom, now leaving her by herself.

Well, it’s safe to say that Abby was going to have to return the favor for you real soon.

- a/n: i have to admit this one’s not my best work, it was my first time writing sub abby y’all believe me i tried my best 🙏🏻

also, i don’t usually self promote my fics but i did post my first dina fic the other day, it’s called overnight sensation and it’s a smau series. i’ve spent a lot of time and effort in making that fic so far so it’ll truly mean a lot to me if you guys could check it out 🤍

but other than that, i’ll see you guys in part 3!

tags 🏷️: @abbyscherry @whore4abby @zombholic @aouiaa @uraesthete @lia-winther @gaptoothedlesbo @deadbolted @abbysfavewh0rx @echostinn @mochiivqi @floptron @totallyghostdgirl @swtsuna @bellaramslover @naomis-daydream @ur-fav-pixi @sirenbxby @paprikahoernchen @thesevi0lentdelights @mostlyhornyandsad @tohoko

(^ i think that’s everyone?? let me know if i missed anyone/if you’d like to be tagged in the real part 3 LOL)

2023 © atomicami | all rights reserved. do not copy, modify, or translate any of my works.

[allocnddits]

Hello I just stumbled across your page a few days ago and fell in love with your writing and when I saw that you take f1 requests I screamed

You don’t have to but if you are free to can you do something cute and smutty

About

Lando Norris and fem s/o overstimming each other and neither one wants to back down till lando is like having dry orgasms 🤭 thank you if you can

Remember to take your time and drink water

This is really short but truly all i could get out for this, hope you enjoy ;)

You had been ridding your boyfriend for the past hour, he had already filled you with cum before you flipped your bodies over and started the abuse to his spent cock. Since then, you had lost count of your orgasms and Lando was about to reach his third of the night. You were completely insatiable but had agreed to stop if he couldn’t do anymore, instead, you were met with

“No, baby, please don’t stop, love you on me, please.” those were the last full words that came out of his mouth, everything after that were just mumbles.

Given the green light you kept your hips going, moving back and forth against him. At this point you had your back turned to him for a while, after he said he wanted to watch your ass, so you were holding on tightly to his thighs, nails digging into his skin as you rode him through one more orgasm. The clenching of your pussy bringing him to cum inside you again, filling you up to the brim before you made a mess by turning to face him.

Your legs were all sticky from both your wetness and his releases, translucent white ropes of it connecting your middle to his as you pushed him back inside you.

“Need more, baby. Shit. Gonna use you, is that okay?”

Lando just nodded at your question, too used up to actually care what you did to him. You started bouncing on him again, collecting all of the strength left in your body to lift your hips and bring them back down on him. He was fighting to keep his eyes open just to see how beautifully your tits bounced in front of them.

But after a couple of minutes of your bouncing and just seconds away from your high you caught his own. You saw the way his face changed, eyebrows knitted together, eyes shut tight and a silent moan caught in his throat instead of going past his open lips. His hands squeezed tightly on your hips and his back arched off the bed. You felt his cock twitch inside you but not fill you up with cum before he pushed you off himself.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking shit, oh my god” the string of curses left his lips sinfully as you watched his cock, still twitching in his own hand. “Shit! What the fuck was that?” he groaned as you reached for his softening dick, he hissed at the contact but let you touch him regardless.

“Are you okay, love?” he nodded “Think you just came dry” he looked at you like you had said the most absurd thing in the world.

“oh, fuck. The things you do to me” he sighed, pulling you to kiss him.

[dinogoofymutated]

Hi can you write something for Logan? I don’t have anything in particular in mind, but I never see this man get any love. Thanks!

NSFW!Wolverine/AFAB! Reader

Hope this is okay! I tried so hard to post it last night but tumblr kept failing on me. It wouldn't even save as a draft! If you see this before I've added the meat to the fic, it's because I'm testing because tumblr is being a dick and I'll edit in the good stuff soon.

Edit: Yay! It worked! I was just uploading too much at once I guess. Had to brake it all down for it to work!

Tw: MNDI!! pnv, fem reader, creampie, size difference, petnames. Praise kink.

If you asked him personally, Logan would say he's extremely unlucky, cursed even. and With everything he's gone through, he might be correct. But still, he is certainly blessed in at least one aspect.

Logan had a really, really nice cock. It wasn't pretty like the perfect ones in porn, but damn, was it nice. It has prominent veins that you couldn't help but spoil every time you your hands (or mouth) on him. He was flushed a deep red color at the stip, and proportional, a good 5 or six comfortable inches.

The only thing is, Logan's cock was thick. impressively, deliciously thick. When the two of you started to take your relationship to the next level, Logan didn't hesitate to warn you. That didn't stop him from Taking care of you though. He'd pump his thick fingers in an out of you, curling and stretching you, finding the most pleasure spots inside of you to get you to cum and cum hard.

But every time the two of you would get close to going further, he'd back out. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable, or that he didn't want to, he just wanted to make sure he didn't hurt you.He'd always end up saying “ ‘next time, sunshine.” Or “Just wanna make sure I take care of you properly.” and although it was sweet, you knew what you could handle, and you were determined to climb this man like a tree.

And if there was anything Logan knew more than anything, it was to never get in the way of a determined woman.

You had spent what felt like hours in Logan's sheets, his fingers curling deep in your cunt, stretching and touching the most sensitive parts of you. He kissed every tender part of you, letting you writhe and moan underneath him. He wanted to make sure that you were ready for him beyond a shadow of a doubt, knowing how stubborn you are when you really want something. This was no different. And after Cumming twice on his fingers, you were sure you could make it work. Logan sighed as you straddled him, grinding his cock against your slick cunt to try and lube him up. He sets his hands on your thighs, comfortingly caressing the plush skin. The two of you gasp when his head brushes against your Clit, an electric shock of pleasure bolting through your bodies. Logan is laid back against the pillows on his bed, looking up at you with a heated gaze.

“ ‘you okay there, doll?” He asks, the words rumbling through his chest with a groan. He smirks just barely as you scoff, adjusting yourself on your knees as you line his cock up with your slit.

“I'm- fine, I can do this.” You huff, grinding down against his thick head. Logan sucks in a breath as you do so, teeth latching onto his lip as we watches you desperately try to take him. He's not going in as easy as you thought he would, and it almost makes you feel discouraged. You were so sure you could take him, and you didn't want to quit now. Your eyebrows furrow as you struggle, and at some point his cock slips out and away from your hole. Logan lets out a grunt as you flinch, mortified.

“Ah- Sorry.” You're doing your best to not let it get to you, but there was such a sinking feeling in your chest. Almost as if he can sense it, Logan reaches up, taking your chin in-between his thumb and index finder and tilting your head down to look at him.

“It's okay.” Logan assures you. “Just relax. You'll get it.” His thumb drags across your lip, calloused hand brushing against your tits as he brings it down to your clit. He circles the nub gently first, then with a tad bit more pressure. You hear him chuckle as you eyes flutter closed, moaning at the pleasurable sensation.

“okay.” You sigh, trying to align himself with you once again. You try it a little slower this time, grinding down with just enough pressure. The both of you gasp when the head of his cock notches against your slit, an improvement from before. Then, almost suddenly, it slides in.

“Fuck.” Logan grunts. His cock was hardly halfway inside, but that didn't stop the moans you let out at the pleasure- and slight discomfort- of having him inside you. The stretch was slightly painful, but you can't seem to stop yourself from grinding against him, trying to take him further.

“Logan…” The whine of his name comes out involuntarily, and the strong man inbetween your thighs shushes you sweetly, adjusting himself so he's sitting against the headboard. He brings you closer to him, snaking his hand around the nape of your neck to bring you into a kiss. He hardly gives himself time to breathe in between kisses. Logan bites your lip, licking into your mouth when you gasp at the painful pinch. He groans when you clench around his length. Still not quite adjusted to what you could fit, and his hand grabs hold onto your thighs and squeezes.

“I know, sweetheart.” He says, finally pulling back. “I know. Take your time. I'm not going anywhere.” You bite your lip, leaning your head on his shoulder as you begin to move your hips again. The process is slow, sinking onto him inch by inch as your body adjusts to the girth, but when you finally feel the base of his cock finally sink into you, you've never felt so accomplished.

“Good girl.” Logan grunts into your ear. “ ‘did such a good job.” You yelp a little as his hips jerk, thrusting up into you. You cry out Logan's name, holding onto his shoulders as he starts to slowly pull out of you, gently thrusting back inside as he cups your face, kissing you gently. It feels good. Like he's rubbing against every spot inside of you perfectly. His slow, loving pace felt good, so, so good. But it could only keep the two of you satisfied for so long. The next time Logan pulls out of you, you slam down with a little more force. He lets out a choked moan, before you hear him chuckle. He pulls away from you just slightly, arms wrapped around your waist as he smirks at the needy look on your face. You're impatient however, and grind against him sharply when he stops moving. A flicker of pleasure flashes across his face before he's growling. He pulls you against him, pressed flush against your body as he begins to thrust more aggressively.

“Couldn't be patient, could you?” He growls. Your noises are embarrassingly loud as he picks up speed, fucking into you just like you had spent so much time imagining he would- and he was right too. You couldn't be patient. He moves his hips just slightly, hitting that one spongy spot inside of you that makes you see stars. You can't help but cry out, and without having to even tell him, he's hitting thay spot over and over again without fail. His grunts and groans are starting to get louder, and you can feel the knot in your stomach coming so close to snapping.

“Fuck- Logan!” He groans at the way you say his name, the knot snapping as you reach your peak and cum hard on his cock. He curses, burying his face into your neck as he starts to crumble at the feeling of your warm walls fluttering around him, desperately trying to milk him for what he's worth. He almost lets out a whine as he cums, and the noise surprises you. You can feel him twitch as spurts of his cum warm up your insides. By the time he's done, you're sure he must be leaking out of you. You lay against him, boneless as the two of you pant for air. Logan begins to press gentle kisses against your neck, praising you for how well you did. You sigh, content. Logan lays the two of you down on the bed, holding you close as his cock starts to soften inside of you.

Logan Howlett was definitely blessed.

[fyorina]

ᡣ𐭩 DRIVE

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: against all odds, you come across dazai osamu again, and you somehow find yourself roped into being his date for an event celebrating the armed detective agency. you're not falling. you swear. (you're lying). {wordcount: 9.2k; fem!reader, sfw, romance}

AUTHOR'S NOTES part 2 is hereeeeee! i hope you guys enjoy, this scene had one of my favs to write so i hope you like it too!! reblogs definitely appreciated!! i’ll reblog with the taglist as soon as it decides to show on the dash & in the tags!

SEE: BADLANDS SERIES MASTERLIST READ: UNREAL UNEARTH SIDE B

“We really need to stop meeting like this.”

You aren’t sure how you feel as you stare at the man hanging upside down, tangled in a tapestry—amused, concerned, partly puzzled, a combination of all three really. Dazai Osamu looks half out of it as his gaze focuses on you; you wonder how long he’s been hanging like this, and how he managed to get in this position in the first place. 

For the second time in two weeks, the man manages to catch you off guard, this time on your way home from a date that had gone horribly, horribly wrong with a classmate; you’d already spent the past two hours wandering the streets upset over all of this and you were ready to get home, but now you find yourself hesitating.

“Ah, my sweet, sweet belladonna, my lovely savior,” Dazai sighs, directing a quick, flirty smile toward you. “Won’t you help a poor, suffering man?” 

“How did you manage this, Dazai?” you ask, letting the entertainment slip into your tone to distract yourself from the stress of the failed date as you look around and try to figure out the best way to get him down from where he’s entangled. You’d have to climb up onto the nearby dumpster to get enough reach to cut him down but you don’t even have anything to cut him down with. 

“I tried to jump off that building,” he sighs, and you follow his gaze up to the tall building right to the left of the two of you. Your lips part in shock, you suppose you should have figured something like that because how else would he end up tangled upside down in a tapestry, but it’s still jarring to hear. “But I hit this on the way down and got stuck. I’ve been here for way too long, so many people have passed me by without helping—what a cruel, cruel world.”

“You are either the luckiest or unluckiest man alive,” you murmur, catching sight of a jagged piece of metal underneath the dumpster, picking it up and doing your best to climb onto it, but it’s difficult in heels and a dress. “Why are you so intent on dying?”

“Why are you so intent on living?” Dazai hits you with a question back instead of responding, peering up at you as he slowly spins in the air while you do your best to cut through the thick tapestry. 

You frown at the question, brows furrowing. “Because I have things I still need to accomplish. Goals to achieve. Don’t you?” 

“The only goal I need to achieve is finding a beautiful lady to do a double suicide with,” Dazai says, lips curling up into another charming smile but the effects of it are diminished because of the way he was still hanging upside down, spinning in slow circles. “Would you like to join me, bella?”

“Maybe in fifty years,” you say dryly. 

“I’ll-”

Dazai doesn’t get to finish his sentence as you finally cut through the tapestry and he tumbles down head first to the ground. You bite back a smile as he lets out a loud yelp, crumpling on the ground in an unceremonious heap. You lower yourself back down to the ground, eyes settling on him as you watch him push himself into a sitting position, rubbing the back of his head. 

He looks up at you through his lashes, the charming smile on his lips a bit more lazy and casual as he looks over you. “My, aren’t you dressed pretty? What’s the occasion?” As you prepare to give a bullshit excuse, he holds up his hand and says: “Wait! Let me guess. A long day of work and no one to go out with after, so you decided to get all dressed up and walk around the city to see if fate would lead you to someone, and since our fingers are tied by that thin red thread, naturally, you were led right to me. Oh, my fated, no wonder I’ve evaded death so easily despite so many attempts, destiny refused to let me die as we’re predestined to be together.”

You stare at him, watching as he presses the back of his hand to his forehead, tilting his head back because what the fuck?

“I was on a date,” you say, ignoring the entire rest of what he said to answer his question, truthfully at that because his whole tirade about destiny and fate had thrown you off. 

Dazai wilts, but then straightens up again and says, “Well, it couldn’t have been a good one if he didn’t at least walk you home.”

You grimace. “I think I should be insulted by how pleased you look at my night being ruined,” you mutter, holding your hand out to him to help him up. 

Dazai places his hand in yours; long, thin fingers wrapped around your hand as you help him to his feet. He doesn’t let go immediately, nor does he back away, brown eyes lidded as he looks down at you, so close that your clothes were brushing his. The corner of his lips tilt up, his fingertips grazing your inner wrist. “How about we make the most of a ruined night then?”

You raise your eyebrows—you think you should get back to your apartment, get some work done to make up for how much of a mess the night had turned out, but you find yourself hesitating because do you really want to go wallow alone now? 

“How do you plan we do that?” you ask instead of giving him an answer, although he evidently takes it as an answer considering his face lights up at your words.

“Come on,” he says, tugging your arm as he turns to make his way down the sidewalk, dragging you along with him. “I’ll show you someplace.”

“O-okay,” you fumble over your words in surprise, but it isn’t like Dazai is giving you much of a choice considering the way he’s pulling you along with him. 

Your face feels hot when you notice the people still prowling the streets shooting the two of you odd looks—Dazai doesn’t seem to care, focusing on getting you to whatever destination he has planned, but you can feel their eyes burning into you with every step you take. 

“Ignore them,” Dazai says, as if he can read your thoughts. He tosses his head over his shoulder as he looks at you, the corner of his lips curling up into another lazy smile that makes your breath catch. “They don’t know how to have fun.”

“Yeah,” is all you reply with, a bit doubtfully as you turn your gaze up to the dark skies, where the dark clouds you had noticed earlier in the day are now gathered over the city. “It’s going to rain.”

Dazai only raises his eyebrows, face riddled with disbelief as he turns fully to look at you, walking backwards without a care in the world as he forces people to walk around him. “Now, you care about rain?” he asks, referring to your first meeting.

You let out a puff of laughter. “I guess you have a point.”

“Naturally,” he says, teeth gleaming beneath the streetlamps as his grin widens. “I’m one of the Agency’s sharpest detectives, after all.”

“How humble,” you note, but your voice is light, teasing, and you’re almost embarrassed. 

Dazai is unbothered by your playful dig, spinning back around to turn down the sidewalk onto a busier street, carelessly pulling you along with him and causing people to swerve around the two of you. You try to fumble out apologies as people shoot the two of you dirty looks but Dazai barely gives you enough time to speak the words as he continues down the street. 

“Have you heard?” Dazai asks, returning to walking backward so he can look at you, garnering even more angry looks. “We’re heroes now.”

You have heard, of course, it’s all over the news. You hadn’t been in Yokohama when everything happened, you were visiting a friend outside of the city, but you’d seen it all going down on the TV as it was happening. And naturally, it’s impossible to avoid all of the news articles honoring the Armed Detective Agency and their part in taking down the threat to the city afterward.

“I have,” you drawl, and then add after a moment’s hesitation: “Shouldn’t you be out celebrating instead of…”

Instead of trying to kill yourself.

“This is me celebrating,” Dazai says mournfully, so casually that it takes you aback as he tilts his head back in grief. “It was supposed to be successful this time.”

“Well…” You aren’t sure what to say to that, the words dying on your lips as the first raindrops begin to fall from the sky. “I’m glad it wasn’t successful,” you finally decide upon, averting your gaze as Dazai’s face shifts into one of surprise as he looks down at you.

His lips part as if to say something, but seems to decide against it, instead letting a smile slip onto his face as he says: “Speaking of celebrations, my sweet belladonna, this hero needs a date to the celebratory event that the government is hosting for us in two weeks. Join me?”

You raise your eyebrows, unimpressed, as the rain begins to come down harder—a flash flood, you realize. You watch as people start scattering around you, running for cover, but you and Dazai remain standing in the middle of the sidewalk, him awaiting your answer and you trying to figure out how to politely say you’d rather die than go to a celebratory event with people you don’t know.

You wonder if Dazai suspects your answer because he does not, in fact, give you the chance to speak.

Your eyes widen as he tugs you closer to him. “What’re you doing?” you stutter over your words as his free hand finds your hip and he spins the two of you around recklessly, forcing several people to dodge again as they run past the two of you and into a store to wait for the sudden rain to pass. Only his firm grip on you keeps you from slipping on the puddles forming on the sidewalk beneath the two of you. “Dazai!” 

“Dancing,” is all he replies with, eyes shining as he lifts his arm to twirl you beneath it, your heels splashing in a puddle as he drags you along with his dance like a puppet. “It’s supposed to be romantic—dancing in the rain—I’ve seen it in movies, are you romanced, yet?” 

You aren’t sure what makes you want to laugh, maybe it’s the absurdity of the situation or the way Dazai keeps having to blink away the raindrops that fall into his eyes, but before you know it, you're biting your lower lip to withhold the giggles rising through your chest. 

“Are you laughing at me?” Dazai gasps in mock offense as he spins you outward once. You nearly trip over your heels but before you can, he’s spinning you back toward him, arm wrapping around your waist as he dips you down. “And here I was thinking I was doing a good job romancing you.”

His voice drops an octave as he lowers his voice, dark eyes searching yours, and you think that there’s absolutely nothing romantic about this. Rain is pouring down over the two of you, his hair is wet and matted against his forehead, dripping in your face as he hangs over you, you can feel his breath fanning against your lips and his body heat radiating against yours. Lightning webs across the sky above him, illuminating his face in a way that has your breath catching. You’re in heels and a dress and you can so easily trip and break your ankle, it’s only his hold on you preventing that from happening. It’s dangerous, and stupid—and maybe it’s a little romantic.

“I-”

You aren’t even able to get the admission from your lips because as soon as you begin to speak, someone slams into Dazai from behind. You yelp and his eyes widen as he stumbles forward, twisting the two of you around so he takes the brunt of the fall. He hits the ground hard with an ‘oof,’ half in the muddy grass and half on the sidewalk, and you fall on top of him, lips parted in shock.

“Well,” Dazai finally says after a few moments of stunned silence. “This is distinctly less romantic.”

And you laugh. Unable to hold it back now, you burst into laughter—hands braced on his chest, body flush against his, there’s mud splattered across his face and you’re pretty sure your makeup must be running down your cheeks from the rain. You think that your heels are probably ruined and you’d have to spend hours getting the stains out of your dress, but you laugh because you can’t remember the last time you actually had fun and weren’t stressed about school and the future, and your night had been going so horribly that you’d lost any hope of it taking a turn for the better. You might’ve been crying a bit too, you aren’t sure why, but it’s raining so you hope that he doesn’t notice.

You notice Dazai’s eyebrows lift a bit in surprise before his face seems to soften, a small smile tugging at his lips as he lets his head fall back against the mud.

“So,” he says, “about that date?”

“Nobody believes I have a date for the event,” Dazai complains two weeks later as he enters your apartment and throws himself onto your couch, watching as you dab on some dark red lipstick—an occurrence you’d become quite used to the past two weeks, because evidently Dazai Osamu does not need a key nor invitation into your home, he just picks the lock and comes right in. At least you’re expecting him this time. “Atsushi-kun laughed in my face. He laughed in my face! Can you believe it? After everything I’ve done for him, the nerve.”

You grin, glancing up into your mirror to catch his eyes. “To be honest, I still don’t believe you have a date for the dinner and I am your date.”

Dazai blanches, throwing his arm over his face as he slumps into the couch. “Et tu, bella?” he sighs sorrowfully and you laugh, spinning around in your chair to face him. 

“Think of it this way,” you say, twisting your lipstick back into its container and placing it into your purse. Dazai peek up from the couch, eyes focusing on you as you speak. You almost feel a bit flustered under his gaze, it’s more intense than you expected. “You’ll get to see the looks on their face when they realize that you do actually have a date.”

Dazai brightens a bit at your words and then, as if a sudden thought passed through his head, he begins cackling like a madman—although you’re beginning to think the description is far more apt than you believed, Dazai Osamu is simply not sane. “Kunikada-kun is going to be so mad that I have a date and he doesn’t.”

“You’re wrinkling your suit, sit up straight,” you say and turn your attention back to the mirror, discreetly watching as Dazai lets out an exaggerated sigh before doing as you ask. Your eyes linger on him for a moment—he looks different dressed up nicely in a sleek, dark suit than his typical tan trench coat. He still wears those odd bandages all over his body, but you suppose that’s just a him thing, and no fancy event would get him to take them off. You can’t quite place what the exact difference is but you find that your gaze keeps dragging back to him. 

He catches you staring and winks, you roll your eyes and look away, grateful that your embarrassment doesn’t show on your face as you glance one last time at yourself in the mirror to ensure that nothing is out of place

Dazai, you have learned over the past two weeks, can’t stand silence, so you aren’t surprised when you hear him start complaining about something else as soon as the conversation dies down. 

“Did you know I pushed two of my little protégés to work with each other?” he asks, reaching out to grab the papers on your coffee table when he thinks you aren’t looking. You throw one of your makeup brushes at him. He yelps and draws back his hand.

“That’s nice,” you say absently. “Do they work together well?” 

“Oh, they work together great,” Dazai says, and you glance back at him when you notice the sheer bitterness in his tone. “I think they love each other now.”

Your brows furrow, unsure of why Dazai seems so irritated by this. “That’s… great, isn’t it?” you asked slowly.

“No!” Dazai says so vehemently that you think he might leap to his feet in outrage. “That is not great. They are not allowed to be in a relationship before me. I forbid it.”

Your lips part a bit, a noise caught between a laugh and shock escaping them as you look over at Dazai again. “Okay,” you say, dragging out the word in amusement. Dazai shoots an affronted expression toward you in response, but you don’t give him the chance to speak again. You rise to your feet and swing your purse over your shoulder, glancing at the time, realizing you had about fifteen minutes to be at the City Hall, which is a forty minute drive without traffic and it’s a Saturday evening, so there’s always traffic. 

“Oh god, we have to-”

You turn to leave only to bump right into Dazai. Blinking in confusion, you look up at him to ask what he’s doing but the words die on your tongue.

He’s too close as he looks down at you, you can smell the faint scent of his cologne and you can feel his body brushing yours, the corner of his lips twitching up. “Have I earned a kiss yet?” he hums, leaning his face down a bit so that his lips are almost barely grazing yours. 

“Maybe,” you say, eyes flickering down to his lips for the sparest second before you watch his eyes light up only for you to take a step back, “but even if you did, you’re not messing up my makeup.”

Dazai looks as if he’d been shot in the heart, head dropping back as he groans and pouts at your words. “You’re so mean, bella,” he sighs, voice a long whine. “Won’t you indulge me with just a taste?”

“No,” you say, slipping past him to make your way over to the door where the keys to your car are hanging on a small hook. “Are you ready? We’re going to be late.”

The exaggerated grief that paints Dazai’s expression instantly disappears as he eyes your keys with a look that’s nothing short of devious. Distantly, you frown and close your fist around your keys, putting them out of his sight, but Dazai is undeterred, walking over to you.

“I can drive us,” he says, that same expression on his face as he holds his hand out. You don’t trust the look on his face, nor do you trust the way he’s all but bouncing on the balls of his feet. “It’s the least I can do, right?” 

You’re doubtful, looking down at his extended hand as he waits for you to drop the keys in them. “I can drive,” you say, but Dazai immediately pouts at your words, looking genuinely bummed out, and you feel a little bad because you don’t even like driving, you just don’t trust Dazai to be a good driver. You hesitate. “Do you even know how to drive?”

“Of course,” Dazai says hurriedly, dark eyes lighting back up.

You exhale, reaching out to place your keys in his hand—the smile on his face is wicked, dread builds in your gut. You think you might have made a mistake.

You’re surprised that your car is still in one piece as Dazai parks crookedly across three spots in the parking lot of the city hall. You’re surprised that you are in one piece. You don’t move for a second, fingers still biting into the leather seat you’re buckled in, eyes wide and barely breathing. As Dazai turns the car off, you finally turn your head to the side to look at him before getting out of the car, grateful to be standing on solid ground.

“Never again.”

Dazai’s unbothered, as always—his smile is wide and restless, eyes exhilarated as they dart around the car, fingers clutching the keys as he finally steps outside. He looks as if he’d just won the lottery, that gleeful over having been given the chance to drive. You knew you should have gone with your gut when the man first asked if he could drive, and as miserable and anxiety-inducing it was racing through the streets, in between cars and half on the sidewalk, you think it might’ve been worth it, a bit, considering Dazai’s reaction.

“Maybe once more,” Dazai bargains, holding out his arm to you.

“Never again,” you repeat, but your voice is light as you take his arm and let him lead you up the steps to the city hall. “I cannot believe you didn’t get us pulled over.”

“Must not have been that bad then,” Dazai says, proudly. 

“Ha! More like they didn’t want to risk their own lives trying to stop you.”

Dazai pouts terribly and then adds petulantly, “But it was fun.”

“It was something alright,” you agree idly. You aren’t sure if you were having fun in the moment, you were more scared for your life and your car, but you suppose looking back on it was a bit entertaining. 

“You’re so mean, bella,” he sighs exaggeratedly. “You refuse my well-earned kiss, you mock me, now you insult my driving skills.”

“The only thing insulted tonight was my car,” you mutter to yourself, glancing back once more at it before Dazai steps forward to push open the wide doors to the city hall. 

Instantly, you’re met with the sound of loud chatter and laughter and a young, unfamiliar voice calling, “Dazai-san!” excitedly. 

Your gaze drifts up from Dazai to where a teen with silver hair and pretty eyes rushes up to the two of you. He’s so tunnel visioned on Dazai that he doesn’t even notice you until he’s standing right in front of you, and when he does, his eyes go so wide that you think they might pop right out of his skull. He looks between you and Dazai questioningly, lips parting and closing like a fish out of water.

Dazai looks like the cat that got the canary, eyes gleaming at the expression on Atsushi’s face and lips twitching up into a wicked smile. 

“Atsushi-kuuuuun,” he drags out the boy's name in a long sing-song. “Meet my sweet belladonna, the one you so rudely claim didn’t exist.”

Atsushi looks flustered as he turns his attention toward you, eyes wide with panic and redness rising to his cheeks. “I didn’t-I mean-I just-” he stutters so badly that you’re forced to take mercy on the poor boy.

“Don’t worry,” you say with an easy grin. “I wouldn’t believe I existed either coming from Dazai.”

Dazai gapes. Atsushi snickers, hand coming up to cover his mouth to hide his smile. Atsushi glances once at Dazai and then looks back at you and whispers, “Is he paying you?”

Dazai looks thoroughly offended.

“Unfortunately, he doesn't need to,” you say with a snort, "but I'm sure he would if he had to."

Dazai gasps. 

Atsushi snorts loudly and then looks a bit embarrassed. A woman with pretty eyes and short dark hair comes up behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders. She throws a sharp grin at you. “You must be the infamous woman that Dazai has been talking about nonstop for two weeks,” she says, ignoring how Dazai looks like he wants to wither as you raise your eyebrows at him. “Blink twice if you need help.”

Dazai looks appalled now. “Yosano-sensei,” he complains, “That’s so-”

You pointedly blink twice. Yosano barks out a laugh and nearly chokes over it, Dazai gasps again, louder and far more dismayed. He slumps over your shoulder, burying his face into the top of your head. 

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” he grumbles, voice muffled against your hair. 

You pat his waist as another man approaches the group of you, blonde hair tied back neatly in a ponytail and glasses hanging on the edge of his nose. His eyes are sharp and narrowed as he looks at where Dazai is draping himself all over you. “Oi, you shitty waste of bandages, have some decorum, would you? We're at a government event, stop throwing yourself at people.”

Dazai perks up, that unscrupulous smile instantly returning as his gaze focuses on the blonde. “Kunikida-kuuun,” he now sings the other man’s name, arm slipping around your waist to tug you into his side as he says. “Come meet my date. She’s a grad student at Waseda University.”

You have a distinct feeling that he’s rubbing it in Kunikida’s face, and from the way the man’s expression twists in genuine surprise at Dazai’s words, you figure that said feeling is correct. Kunikida turns his attention toward you. “And you’re with him?” he asks so distastefully that you almost laugh. “How did you even meet him?”

You give Dazai a side-eye, considering whether or not you should tell the truth. You notice the pleading expression on his face and squint, but before you can make your decision, he speaks up, voice loud and exaggerated: “A fateful encounter under the moonlit shore of the Zushi Beach, we stumbled into each other as if guided by the hand of god himself. I-”

Suspicious now of the sideways explanation he’s giving about your own meeting with him, and recalling the tale he regaled you of his meeting with the very boy standing a few feet away from you, you cut off Dazai and turn to Atsushi. “Atsushi-kun, how did you and Dazai meet?”

Dazai flounders, hands flying in front of as if to wave Atsushi off from answering, but Atsushi only scowls and says, “I had to jump into the Tsurumi River to free him from where he was floating upside down in a barrel trying to drown himself. Then he had the nerve to yell at me for it.”

Pointedly, you look at Dazai, who at least has the decency to look sheepish as he glances at you. “I did take him out to dinner after though,” he offers.

“With my money,” Kunikida rages loudly and Dazai throws his head back with a loud sigh of complaint. 

“None of you have my back. Not a single one of you,” Dazai accuses. “I would be a good wingman for you guys.”

Kunikida looks downright insulted. “You are the opposite of a wingman,” he spits. “In fact, you go out of your way to embarrass me in front of women, you lousy liar-”

“I will not have you make me look bad because you’re jealous any longer,” Dazai proclaims, holding his hand up as if to silence Kunikida. 

“Jealous?” Kunikida booms after Dazai, but Dazai is already dragging you away, stealing two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and handing one over to you with a misleadingly innocent smile. 

“It’s true, he’s jealous,” Dazai says, lacing his fingers into yours as he idly walks around the event hall with you, sipping at his champagne. “He has fifty-eight criteria for his ideal woman, you fit at least forty of them. He’s probably soooo mad you’re here with me.”

You blink and look at Dazai, wondering if you heard him correctly. “I’m sorry, what?” you ask with a laugh. “Fifty-eight-”

“Criteria, yeah,” Dazai confirms, “and he wonders why he can’t get a girlfriend—blames it on me.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I’m sure you don’t help.”

Dazai pouts but then his amusement fades a bit as his eyes scan the crowd of people, dark eyes taking upon an uncharacteristically serious visage. His lips tighten and the corner of his eyes wrinkle as he squints, as if something about the whole event is bothering him.

“You okay?” you ask and Dazai looks at you, a bit startled.

“Yeah,” he says, and you watch as he smooths his face out—as if you’d seen something you weren’t supposed to see and now he was trying to play it off and pretend you didn’t. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

You’ve noticed over the past two weeks, as you’ve gotten to know Dazai Osamu a bit better, that he’s far more complex than he likes to portray himself to be. He puts on a theatrical show with bright smiles, loud words and over-exaggerated clownlike behavior, and he’s very good at making sure that the mask he puts on rarely wavers. You’ve only caught it faltering a few times, including that first time you met when you’d woken up in the middle of the night and caught his empty expression as he stared out into the storm. 

He doesn’t take well to people pointing it out though, you’ve realized. You tried to once a week ago when you caught him looking a bit lost and alone at a picture you had of you and two of your friends at a bar downtown. He’d broken into your apartment, as you’ve grown unfortunately used to over the past two weeks, and he was waiting for you to get back from class, snooping around while he waited. You weren’t supposed to be back until much later but your five o’clock class had been canceled, and he was so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn’t even heard you enter your apartment until you were a few feet away and asking if he was okay. 

He promptly fled with a half-assed excuse about an urgent mission and he didn’t come back to your apartment for two days. When he finally did, he acted like nothing happened. You think that it’s not really your right to push and you don’t want to step over any boundary of his, but a part of you is starting to long to figure out what exactly is behind the mask he wears and that scares you. You find yourself smiling a bit too much whenever Dazai is around, your face always feels a bit hotter and your brain always feels a bit fuzzy—the tell-tale signs of falling are starting to appear and you want to know the man behind the carefully constructed mask before you start to fall only to realize that there’s no one there to catch you. 

“You looked a bit lost in thought,” you finally say, testing the words on your tongue and scanning his face to see if even that would be too much of a push for him. 

It is.

“You see right through me, don’t you?” He laughs it off as a joke, but you can all but taste the bitterness in his tone and you can see the mirth thinly veiled behind his eyes. “I’ll be right back, the boss is calling me over.”

Dazai doesn’t wait for you to respond, he tosses you a wink and another casual smile before he sets off across the room but you aren’t fooled by the faux-charm this time, knowing that he’s fleeing because you got a bit too close to asking something that he doesn’t want to answer. Lifting your champagne glass back to your lips, you idly watch him make his way over to a handsome, silver-haired man who’s in deep discussion with a young man with messy black hair. 

You sigh and wave over a server to grab another flute of champagne before you even finish the one in hand, disappointment sweeping through you as you realize that the night is likely going to be a very, very long one.

You’re finishing your fourth glass when you hear someone call your last name and pause a bit in confusion, turning around to face a tall middle-aged man with graying hair. Your eyes widen a bit as you recognize Tonan Tanzo, the Vice Minister of Justice, making his way toward you with a glass of wine in hand. 

“Tonan-san,” you greet, nodding your head a bit in respect for the older man, who you spoke to briefly at the Ministry’s panel at your university a week and a half ago. “It’s good to see you again.”

“And you,” the man replies distantly, more a nicety than anything else. “I must say, I didn’t expect to see you here tonight. You’re acquainted with the Armed Detective Agency?” 

There’s an edge to his voice, one that you’re not sure if you like. You wonder if he has an issue with the Agency, but you don’t see why he would, they’ve been nothing but helpful in fostering peace in the city.

You only smile idly. “Vaguely,” you respond, not giving away all too much. You wonder if Dazai knows anything about whatever the man’s issue is—you’d have to ask him later. 

Tonan hums, as if your answer wasn’t satisfactory, and then he says, “I was meaning to email you about the internship you were hoping for under Minister Hasegawa—all of the chaos of the past week has prevented me from doing so. I’ll be sure to do so by the end of this week so we can work to finalize something for winter break and the summer. Perhaps we can figure something out with your schedule to get you some training at the office before the semester ends.”

Your lips part a bit in shock at the suddenness of the offer but you school your expression quickly, mind racing as you force out, “I would appreciate that very much, Tonan-san. I’m sure we can work something out.”

Tonan Tanzo only hums again, nodding at you once before his eyes flicker up above you, a bit distastefully, just as you feel fingers brush your lower back. Tonan doesn’t even bother to greet Dazai as he turns to leave with a faint parting to you. You look up at Dazai, whose expression is cold as he stares after Tonan until the man disappears down a nearby hall. 

“What was that about?” Dazai asks, the cold expression melting as soon as he looks down at you, dark eyes warm and curious as if he hadn’t just abandoned you for almost an hour. You almost feel a bit flustered beneath the gentle stare. Almost. 

“I think he just offered me the job I was trying to get at the Ministry?” you say, still a bit dazed. “Although, I don’t think it’s necessarily because he wants me there, but it doesn’t really matter, I just need it for my resume.”

“Hm,” Dazai says to himself before his lips flicker up into a smile. “Well, congratulations are in order, I suppose. Good thing I grabbed us some more champagne.”

He lifts his other hand pointedly, showing off the two flutes he’d grabbed on the way back and you grin a bit, taking one from him, feeling a bit giddy now even though you’re pretty sure Tonan only hit you with the offer because of your affiliation with the Armed Detective Agency. 

“You should probably slow down,” you note as you sip your own glass. “You’re on like seven now.”

“I’m fine, and you have no room to talk,” Dazai shoots you a playful smile. “Dance with me.”

“What?” you ask, eyes widening as Dazai takes the glass from you before you even take a second sip, placing it down on a nearby table with his as he grabs your arm and drags you to the center of the room, onto a dancefloor that nobody is using. “Dazai, no.”

“Dazai, yes,” he corrects with a wild grin and your face is aflame as eyes begin to turn in the direction of the two of you, curious as to what’s going on. 

You want to die when Dazai forcibly spins you under his arm, much like that night out on the streets of Yokohama when the two of you ended up drenched and muddy except now there were dozens of eyes on you whereas then, people were more focused on trying to get to cover from the torrential downpour.

“I’m going to kill you,” you hiss, embarrassment flooding through you because for as thin as Dazai is, he’s deceptively strong and you cannot break free of the grip he has on your hand and waist. 

“Please,” he breathes out longingly. “A death at your hands would-”

“Stop.”

Dazai pouts, and then as if punishment for interrupting him, Dazai launches you into a dramatic dip, leaning down with a grin that would put the Cheshire Cat’s to shame as he nudges his nose against yours before pulling you back up and spinning you beneath his arm again. 

“This is embarrassing,” you say, but Dazai is paying no mind to the attention that the two of you are gaining—in fact, he looks utterly pleased with himself. “I-”

“Look! Yosano-sensei and Atsushi-kun are joining us!” Dazai cheers, turning the two of you just enough so that you can catch sight of Yosano physically dragging a protesting Atsushi out onto the near-empty dance floor.

“Yosano-sensei, please, I’ve never danced before,” Atsushi pleads, tugging his wrist away from the older woman but her grip is iron clad as she tugs the boy toward her, taking the lead in a wide ballroom dance.

“Atsushi-kun,” Dazai sings. “Don’t look so nervous.” 

Atsushi shoots Dazai a withering look, clearly blaming him for the unfortunate turn of events, and you relax a bit as you realize that Yosano pulling Atsushi onto the dance floor triggered a wave of several others: a dark-haired girl dragging an orange-haired boy onto the floor, the president of the Agency holding a hand out to a young girl who keeps shooting longing looks in the direction of the people dancing, a few older couples.

“See, everyone was just too nervous to be the first,” Dazai preens, tugging you close as he shifts from a wide and theatrical ballroom dance to a slower and more intimate one.

Your breath catches as he wraps an arm around your waist, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your lower back as his hand flattens. His other hand slips from where it’s intertwined with your to join his right on your waist. You’re so close to him that you can smell the faint scent of champagne on his breath as you loop your arms around his neck with a small smile. 

Dazai’s dark eyes are glittering as he looks down at you, warm as melted honey and soft as velvet, you’re almost entranced. His lips are curved up into a gentle smile—you think you want to kiss him, and you swallow nervously as soon as the thought crosses your mind. You also think he might be able to read your mind, because his smile becomes a bit more mischievous as he leans down. 

He doesn’t kiss you, but you think he might as well from how close he is to you—you swear that his lips are all but brushing yours. You feel a bit dizzy, and although there are enough people swaying and spinning around the two of you that you don’t really have to worry about any attention being on the two of you, you still feel a bit flustered by the thought of so many possibly seeing this. 

“Now, do I get my kiss?” he whispers, and your lips part to respond but no words leave them. You think that’s dangerous because you definitely should not kiss him right now but your brain will not cooperate in formulating the words. Dazai lets out a small puff of laughter, his breath is warm against your lips and you want to kiss him even more—dangerous, you think again. “Fine, fine, I’ll wait just a bit longer.”

He doesn’t back away though and your heart feels like it’s lodged in your throat as he hums along quietly to the music playing, swaying back and forth with you tucked neatly in your arms. You think this is far too intimate for two people who aren’t even technically dating (you won’t admit that you’d been questioning it earlier with how often he frequents your apartment and his casual intimacy with you and felt a bit embarrassed when he made his comment about his proteges being in a relationship before him), and you think you should probably back away, but instead you find your fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.

There’s something indecipherable in his eyes—conflicted and confused, but with a far heavier emotion thinly veiled behind it, something caught between longing and adoration but with a hint of melancholy. You want to ask him what’s wrong, but you figure that now’s not the time and he’ll probably just blow you off in the same way he did before.

So instead, you just give him a small smile and watch as his dark eyes widen a fraction at the action—you wonder if he realized that you noticed that something’s up with him and more importantly, you wonder if you weren’t supposed to notice. With bated breath, you wait to see whether or not he’s going to close off. 

Around the two of you, the President lifts his arm to let the young girl spin beneath it, Atsushi is still letting out panicked protests as he and Yosano sweep across the dancefloor, an older couple laughs loudly as the man dips her and the teenage girl with dark hair is giggling as she takes the lead in the dance with the orange-haired boy. 

Dazai doesn’t react for what feels like an eternity. 

But then he smiles—it’s light and soft around the edges, matching your own, and though that indecipherable look is still in his eyes, maybe even more wistful now, you can’t help but notice that his shoulders feel much less tense beneath your arms.

You consider it a win.

Dazai thinks that he might be in trouble. 

His gaze lingers on you as you make your way across the room in the direction of where Atsushi and Kyouka are talking. Atsushi had waved you over after everyone finally made their way off of the dance floor, Dazai’s a bit insulted because Atsushi and Kyouka both made it abundantly clear that they only wanted you to join them, which Dazai thinks is quite rude but what does he know?

And Dazai’s heart is racing, his cheeks feel warm, his lips are tingling, and he wants to blame it on the alcohol but he knows deep down that the alcohol is not the issue, you are.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

The thought rings through his head as he watches you walk away, eyes tracing your figure while an emotion that borders on longing wreaks havoc on his heart. His throat feels clogged with it, his lungs feel as if they’re filled with ash. You make it to Atsushi and Kyouka and Atsushi is immediately talking, animated and excited.

He thinks you look beautiful—you’re wearing a red dress and it clings as if it was made perfectly for you even though he’s pretty sure it’s a dress you’d found on Uniqlo’s clearance racks, he remembers you raving about your luck with it last week, and as you look over your shoulder in his direction, your eyes glitter as brightly as the rhinestones sitting on your collarbone, teeth gleaming as you smile at whatever Atsushi is saying to you. Dazai doesn’t dare to ponder what his protege could possibly be telling you to make you look at him like that, he doubts it’s anything good, but he finds that he doesn’t even really care because he thinks that he’d sacrifice all of his pride and dignity if it means you’d continue to smile like that in his direction.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

It was meant to be a little fun once he realized that you were just a civilian with no connection to the underground—a distraction, a way to gloat a bit to Kunikida because of course Dazai can pull a girl that fits almost every single one of the man’s ideals while Kunikida himself can hardly dream of it. He convinced himself that he was playing a long game by spending every waking second outside of work at your apartment, wooing you so that he could get a kick out of Kunikida’s inevitable explosion. He convinced himself that the fluttering in his chest whenever you laughed at him was just some strange heart palpitations that have arisen as a chronic consequence of one of his attempts, paying no mind to the fact that it only happens when he’s with you. He convinced himself that his face is warm whenever he’s around you because of the weather even when the temperature chills and the wind is bitter. 

But it’s hard to convince himself now—his lips tingle from where they’d just barely been brushing yours, there are goosebumps on his skin where your fingers had once been, and the image of your smile is branded behind his eyelids, the gentleness of it and the understanding. And he thinks it’s ridiculous honestly, because he doesn’t think that there’s anyone left in the world that could possibly understand him, but since that first day he met you, you’ve seemed to be able to see through him in a way that few people have ever been able to, going out of your way to try to make him feel more comfortable in a way that no one ever has.

When did he start to…

He can’t even finish the thought because acknowledging it means that it’s real and if it’s real, then Dazai is in trouble because Dazai is not a man who is capable of love anymore—or maybe he still is capable of love, or something close to it at least, what he feels for the members of the Agency proves that at least, but he’s not a man who’s capable of being loved. 

Not for who he is.

Even if you do fall for the facade he puts up—the smiling jester who laughs and jokes and never lets anyone close enough to realize that the only thing within him is a black hole that consumes anything and everything he touches—you’ll realize one day that the man you fell for is a fraud and you’d leave. Dazai has been left behind once, in a way that was so excruciating that it’d almost entirely killed off Dazai’s withered heart, and he’s decided that he’ll never be the one left behind again. He’ll run before people can leave him, and he’ll keep everyone else at arm’s length. He’s probably wrong anyway; he doesn’t care for you, not like that, the line between obsession and love has always been dangerously blurry for him. He-

“Atsushi’s taken to her pretty fast, don’t you think?” 

Dazai starts at the sudden sound of Yosano coming to stand next to him, a half-empty glass of wine in hand. There’s a lazy smile on her face as she watches where you, Atsushi and Kyouka are all chatting—well, you and Atsushi, mostly, but Kyouka seems enraptured in whatever conversation the two of you are having. 

“Yeah,” Dazai agrees, and his voice is a bit more rough than he meant for it to be. He pointedly takes another long swig of his drink. “That’s a first.”

“Isn’t it?” Yosano laughs loudly, drawing some attention to the pair. “A good sign, he’s got pretty good instincts.”

Yosano nudges his shoulder playfully but Dazai can hardly gather the energy to mask the sudden and unwelcome sorrow weighing on him. He manages, if only scarcely, but it’s unconvincing if the way Yosano’s brows furrowed has anything to say about it. 

He speaks before she can question it in an attempt to distract her from her concerns. “She’s quite the catch, I know. My sweet bella, if only she would join me in a double suicide, I don’t think I could even dream up a better way to go.”

Yosano only waves off his comment, and Dazai knows that she’s right—maybe it’s his tiger senses or maybe it’s just his intuition, but Atsushi usually has a good eye for good people. His lack of reservation around you, when he was even reserved around the Agency at first, is certainly a nice sign, even if it is partly because he’s had a few glasses of champagne. But Dazai also just can’t find it in him to be pleased over it because yeah, it confirms that you’re a good person but Dazai, no matter how hard he tries to be, is not one and he’s not sure if anything will ever change that.

The thickness in his throat returns, his eyes flutter shut momentarily as he tries to regain some semblance of control over himself.

When he opens his eyes again, his gaze instinctively is drawn back toward you and-

Oh, Dazai thinks, his breath catching and lips instinctively turning up as he watches you start to giggle and lean into Kyouka, who must have finally joined the conversation, while looking over at him. There’s a hazy look in your eyes, courtesy of the constant stream of champagne Dazai has been supplying you with all night, but you can’t seem to draw your eyes off of Dazai and Dazai can’t seem to draw his from you. 

Yosano nudges his shoulder again to try to get his attention but Dazai can’t look away from you so he hums as if to tell her that she has his attention—if only partly. 

“Enjoy it, Dazai,” Yosano says quietly and Dazai finally glances over to her, catching the oddly coherent look in what should’ve been drunken, glazed over eyes. “Don’t sabotage this for yourself. Enjoy it.” 

Dazai thinks maybe he was wrong about you being one of few to be able to see right through him. Maybe he’s not as subtle as he thinks he is—or maybe it’s just his shared connection to Yosano through Mori that has her able to read him so easily. He avoids Yosano’s gaze as he looks back out into the crowds. Naturally, he finds himself seeking you out again, and you’re already looking at him. There’s a soft expression on your face as you admire him, not having realized he’d caught you staring yet, and you look as if you’re barely listening to what Atsushi is saying, and Dazai’s heart seizes because no one has ever looked at him that way before.

Well, he decides, maybe Yosano is right. He might as well enjoy it while it lasts. Once you realize that the front he shows you is just a mask to hide the rotting carcass that lies beneath, you’ll turn tail and run, and then everything can go back to normal again. He just can’t let himself get more attached than he already is—that way it won’t hurt when you leave.

Dazai catches his lips turning up as he watches you start giggling at something Atsushi and Kyouka say, Dazai’s heart does that damning flutter again, and immediately, he averts his gaze.

Still, he thinks, he’s far too sober for this. 

Later in the night, when people have begun to say their goodbyes and you start to make your way to the restrooms to freshen up before heading out, Dazai corners you against the wall of the hall leading out of the event venue. You don’t even hear him following you or notice his presence until you feel his fingers snatch your wrist as he yanks you back toward him. 

Your eyes widen but you’re able to bite back the yelp that nearly escapes your lips when you recognize his dark eyes looking down at you, mischievous and glittering beneath the soft lights. 

“Do I get my kiss now?” Dazai breathes out. The wall behind you is cool against your back, and you can hear the chatter from the event down the hall as the event begins to come to an end. You part your lips to respond to him, with what? You aren’t entirely sure, but it doesn’t seem to matter because no words leave your lips regardless. “The party’s over, no need to worry about messing up that pretty makeup now, bella.”

“Only one,” you finally say, voice a bit more throaty than you would have liked but it’s hard to concentrate with Dazai’s fingers grazing your hips and his body brushing yours. You wonder if the man has ever learned about the concept of personal space—you severely doubt it. “Make it good, and maybe you can have a second.”

The smile on Dazai’s lips is nothing short of sinful as he brings one hand up to cup the side of your neck, thumb running along your jawline and fingers entangling with your hair. He doesn’t waste a second as he dips his head down to press his lips against yours, they’re warm and soft, and taste distinctly like the champagne that had been served earlier in the night. You let out a quiet noise of surprise against his lips, eyes fluttering shut. 

The kiss is tamer than you expected it to be—he makes no move to deepen it, lips moving slowly and gently against yours as if he’s hesitant to take it any further, but Dazai Osamu has never been hesitant about anything in all of the times you've encountered him. Your hands rest on his forearms as he keeps you pressed up against the wall, unconcerned with the fact that all of his coworkers and many government officials are naught but half a hallway away. 

You think to yourself, a bit embarrassed, that you might be able to spend an eternity kissing Dazai Osamu and never grow tired of it, and you wonder why it's taken you so long just to give in to his request from nearly a month ago.

You aren’t sure if ten seconds, ten minutes or ten hours have passed by the time he finally separates his lips from yours. He doesn’t move far away at all—his nose still nudging yours, his soft lips still brushing your own, he leaves no space at all between the two of you as he asks: “Good enough for a second?”

Your lips curve up into a smile, eyes meeting his dark ones as you look up at him through your lashes. Though, you have half a mind to agree, your previous thoughts still ringing through your head, you can't help the teasing words that spilled from your lips: “I’m not sure. I guess I’ll sleep on it and let you know my answer the next time we see each other.”

The laugh that Dazai lets out is breathless. 

“Deal.”

[fairyhaos]

how seventeen act with their clingy s/o

requested by @cinnamoroxie: aaaa your writing is so cute <33 what ab svt w a pretty clingy / touchy reader? take care of yourself lovie and ty for writing this if u do!! 💓💓

notes: i hope you enjoy!

masterlist

seungcheol:

this man is the father of 12 children and a dog. do you think he'd hate clingy people???? loves it when you randomly reach over to take his hand, or play with his hair, or poke his cheeks. is totally okay with you needing to be squished up against him whenever you're in the same space, bc tbh he really wants that too

jeonghan:

pretends to hate it whenever you practically fall on top of him whenever you see him, but wraps his arms around you so tightly so you can't move away. has a hairband permanently on his wrist, partly so he can tie his hair and partly so you can fiddle with something while his hand is in the space between you. his favourite act of clinginess is when you put his head into your lap and pet his hair

joshua:

have you seen this man? he adores affection, but also becomes so awkward in the face of it. basically shuts down if you kiss his cheek more than 5 times in ten minutes. lets out those beautiful laughs whenever you basically tackle hug him every time your eyes meet. would let you put the world on pause to hug him even if the world was trying to end all around you

junhui:

clingy back with you. you have competitions w him about who is more clingy in your relationship. junhui once spent the entire day hanging like a baby bear draped over your back, and you in turn spent the next day Refusing to let go of your arm linked in his. he starts fake-crying if you're in the same room as him for more than five seconds and yet Have Not come over to immediately crush him in a hug

hoshi:

either cannot get enough of it or is a blushing mess the entire time. you pecked him on the lips one time while he was with the rest of the 96z and he went such a bright pink that it was all they talked about for a year. he pouts The Most if you suddenly let go of his hand while you're walking, but is rendered flusteredly silent if you bend down to kiss his knuckles on a whim

wonwoo:

doesn't mind it, as long as it's not too public. however, he still absolutely loves how your touchiness means that your hand is intertwined with his basically 24/7. will politely tell you if it gets too much, but you being so open with your affection helps him relax too and has definitely been the one to lie in your lap a few times when he's had a tiring day

woozi:

he's resigned himself to essentially forever being your hug toy. used to dislike it if you were attached to him for a little too long, but now he visibly pouts if you're not huddled up next to him on the couch while you're together. goes rlly red if your clinginess manifests itself in kisses, and can barely talk for a minute straight afterwards

minghao:

if you flop into his lap the minute you see him, he'll look down at you in mild panic bc he thinks that something terrible has happened to you to make you clingy. soon gets used to it tho and realises it's just your love language, and is way more relaxed when you unexpectedly put your head in his lap. lets you play with his fingers. and his rings. and his nail polish, which keeps getting chipped bc of you

mingyu:

have you seen this man's arms? i'm betting he gives the best hugs. probably works out for that exact reason. if you suddenly hug him then he's not letting go for at least half an hour. looks like a kicked puppy if you try to leave his arms even if "mingyu seriously i need to pee so badly let me go—" "no, you initiated this, you're not escaping so soon"

dokyeom:

it never even occurs to him that your behaviour could be classified as 'clingy' because he. he is the exact same as you. loves to boop your nose and will giggle so hard if you do it back to him. the idea of you two Not being touching in some way is a concept that just doesn't exist. jeonghan jokes you must have a string connecting you two or something bc you're always together

seungkwan:

he's a hyper person, can barely sit still due to his urge to kick hoshi or argue with dino. however, if you're next to him and link an arm with his or lay your head on his shoulder, he's instantly ceasing his frantic bouncing so you can comfortably touch him. if he gets too worked up tho, then he'll grab your hand instead n drag you around while telling everyone off bc even when mad he'll let you touch him for however long you need

vernon:

totally cool with it. you wanna tug on the hair on the back of his neck while you're bored? he'll tilt his head downwards slightly to give you better access. if you're wearing face paint or makeup tho, pls don't lean your head on him bc he'll get yelled at by seungkwan yet again if he goes to the guy for help in removing makeup stains from his clothes

chan:

loves when your clinginess turns into you just babying him. pinch his cheeks, play with his hair, coo all over him and he's grinning so hard and his serotonin levels are through the roof. vv chill when it comes to your affection, goes about his day super normally even if you're basically hanging off his back like a koala

request guidelines

[matchavellichor]

If you’re still taking requests then I have one 😊

Could you please write a scenario where Sebastian goes home for the Christmas holiday to make amends with Anne and Solomon (before shit happens) and he leaves Ominis and Female MC alone. They finally get to spend time alone together for once and find they have a lot more in common than rheu previously thought (they go on walks, study in the library, hang out in the undercroft) and Ominis who already had a secret little crush on her but always thought that Sebastian kinda had a claim on her, starts falling very hard and he finally decides to do something about it. Maybe they’re hanging out in the undercroft one night and he spontaneously kisses her. I would adore if you could take this into NSFW territory, I’d love the awkward yet sensual first-time sex between them if you could (and as much as I love him, please no Dominis, I want the sweet boy we meet in the game) ♥️

A.N: Thank you for this request! I absolutely adored writing this, so precious 🥹 I hope you enjoy! Also thank you to everyone else who sent a request, I'm trying to get through all of them now that I'm on break and have more time 🫶

You Drew Stars

f!MC x Ominis Gaunt - NSFW/Fluff - 5.6k words

Summary: After Sebastian leaves the castle to spend winter break in Feldcroft, Ominis' sentiments for his friend slowly begin to stretch past the bounds of what's platonically appropriate...

Tags: "Un"requited Love, Pining, Miscommunication, Loss of Virginity, First-Times, Friends to Lovers, Supportive Friend Sebastian Sallow

The library was empty as Ominis meandered his way through towards the back shelves, most of the other students having gone home for winter break. To his satisfaction, the few who had stayed didn’t share any habits of curling up with a book an hour before curfew. 

He made his way to the old, royal purple chaise that he usually sat in towards the back corner of the establishment, tucked just behind a shelf on holistic gardening that no one ever frequented. He stilled when he noticed someone already there, the quiet sound of pages turning alerting him of their presence.

“Hey, Ominis,” She glanced up when she heard him approach and eyed the book in his hand curiously. “Some light reading before bed?” 

“Oh, it’s you,” He scratched the back of his neck. “I was, but I think I’ll just head back to—”

“Don’t be silly,” She tucked herself towards one side of the lounge and patted the seat directly beside her. “Come on, there’s plenty of room.”

“It’s fine, really, you were here first—”

She sighed. “Will you just sit down?”

He shifted nervously in his place for a moment before finally coming to some decision and making his way towards her to take a seat. The chaise sat two people comfortably, albeit a bit cramped, their arms brushing every time either of them turned a page. 

She didn’t seem to mind. Unfortunately, he didn’t possess the same level of indifference, a faint flush of pink creeping up his neck from beneath his white Oxford when she crossed her legs and her thighs brushed against his.

After finishing up her chapter, she reached over to tilt the front cover of his book towards her, her curiosity getting the best of her. She was awfully forward, if not borderline rude. He tried to disguise the fact he liked it.

“Brontë?” Her eyebrows shot to her hairline. “Developed a rebellious streak, have you, Ominis?”

“Something like that,” He mused. “Though, I suppose there are better ways to defy my parents.”

“Oh, certainly. If you spent more time with me you’d have a plethora of creative ideas by now,” She grinned. “Not that sneaking around reading Muggle literature isn’t an admirable offense, of course.”

He breathed out a laugh. “You make an enticing offer, I have to admit.”

“What can I say, I’m enticing.”

Overwhelmingly, he thought.

He accompanied her to her dorm room afterwards and tried to wipe the stupid, dreadful smile on his face the entire walk back to his own.

They fell into a simple sort of routine. 

Even though they had already fit into some category of the word friends, it had never been in the same way that she was with Sebastian. The more he got to know her, the more he wondered why he hadn’t done so sooner. She was absolutely brilliant.

He quickly learned she was just as much of a night owl as he was, often walking into the common room to find her already curled up on one of the wingback chairs in front of the fireplace, waiting for him.

She’d lay out a rotating selection of Muggle literature and make him pick one for her to read to him, even if he insisted he could just cast a simple dictation spell or transfigure a copy in braille.

He quickly found his particular favorite was Jane Austen, to which she teased him relentlessly for being a bleeding heart romantic. Gods, she had no idea. 

She introduced him to Mary Shelley, which he enjoyed just as much, although he posited he’d grow to appreciate just about anything as long as it was her reading it to him.

It was over steaming cups of earl gray in the common room and midday walks through the snow-crested forest that his inkling of a crush morphed into something else. Something more.

Feelings, he recognized rather ruefully, one late evening after she’d fallen asleep with her head pillowed on his lap in the common room. 

Twisty, hot, almost nausea-inducing feelings. Overwhelming and nerve-wracking, but at the same time so unbelievably good, and warm, and sweet, because how could he feel anything else with her except pleasantries? 

They were the kind where he found he wanted to do nothing more but stay in the private, simple routine they’d created for themselves, just the two of them. Wanted to keep living in the daydream he’d invented about their relationship, where sometimes she’d hug him goodnight a little too tightly, or sit a little too close, and it’d almost feel like she cared for him the same way he cared for her. Almost.

He ignored the guilty, nagging sensation in his gut about her relationship with Sebastian, and decided he’d let his delusions take him through the remainder of their holiday together. 

//

Stretched out on the plush rug in front of the common room fireplace, he wrapped a hand around her ankle when she went to nudge him with a stockinged foot for the thirtieth time in the last five minutes.

“Quit it,” He didn’t glance up from where his fingers were combing over the braille in his open textbook. “You’re distracting me.”

“You’re not even studying anymore,” She wriggled her foot out of his hold and poked his thigh again in defiance. “You’re a terrible fake-reader, you know. You don’t even make your eyes move across the lines.”

“Hilarious,” He rolled his eyes, finally closing the book on his lap. “And maybe I’ve stopped studying because someone has been prodding me incessantly for the past half-hour.”

“My mental capacity has reached its limit for the night. And I’m starved,” She picked herself up from the floor, rolling her shoulders back in a stretch, before holding a hand out for him to take. “Come on, up. Let’s get something to eat.”

He waved his wand over his wristwatch. “It’s nearly one in the morning, where on earth are we going to get something to eat?” 

Her lips curled into a smirk as she helped him to his feet. “I have my ways.”

He sighed a defeated breath as he let her tug him along. “Yes, I’m aware. I’m afraid that’s precisely my concern.”

//

“Gods, we’re going to be given twin concussions by a kitchen elf any second now. I hear Tilly’s got a particularly strong arm.” The glowing tip of Ominis’ wand cast the dark surroundings of the Hogwarts kitchens in a red hue. “Keep an eye out for any hurtling rolling pins, will you?”

“Will you stop worrying? It’s fine.” She huffed, sticking her head into one of the pantries of the kitchens before popping out a few moments later. “Apple or blueberry?”

“Both?”

She grinned, slipping back inside. “This is why we’re friends.”

“We’re friends? This is news to me.” 

She narrowed her eyes at where he was poised at the doorway. “Keep talking like that and we’ll be enemies soon enough.”

“My biggest nightmare,” He teased. “I certainly would not want to get on your bad side.”

He followed her as she slipped past him out of the pantry with two magically-steaming pies in hand, making her way towards the exit of the kitchens. 

“You’re certainly a lot smarter than Sebastian, then,” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “You know what’s good for you.” 

You’re good for me, he thought.

“Call it self-preservation.”

//

“How about dinner with a view?” She stopped at the bottom stairwell of the Astronomy tower, only pale moonlight and the dim, orange glow of the scattered wall sconces to illuminate the barren hallways they’d been treading through.

He shrugged. “Doesn’t really make a difference to me, all of my dinners are without a view.”

“Oh, look who’s all clever all of a sudden.” She rolled her eyes.

He grinned. “I’ve always been clever. Do keep up.”

She balanced the pie in her hands in one arm and took his hand with the other, beginning the long, meandering ascent to the upper tower platform.

Her fingers laced so nicely with his, as if they’d been carved to mold perfectly with his own. Smaller than his, but warm, and familiar. He reveled in the privilege of getting to touch her so freely, conscious of the fact this comfortableness would most likely end as soon as Sebastian was back from Feldcroft.

They sat cross-legged with their arms draped over the metal railing, tucking into their pies and trading spoonfuls of rich, syrupy goodness. It wasn’t as cold as a normal December night, but he cast periodic warming charms over them anyways and transfigured his jumper into a blanket that turned out only marginally big enough for the both of them.

They ate in comfortable, companionable silence and all that he could think about is how he wished he could do this always. In the summer, in the spring, in the fall. That this wasn’t something temporary, something that would be robbed from him in a few short weeks.

“Didn’t realize you were such a messy eater, Ominis.” She glanced up at him, an amused smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “Where’s all that pureblood dining etiquette gone to?” 

He rolled his eyes and went to feel around for a napkin, but she leaned forward instead. He sucked in a sharp breath as she braced a hand on his thigh and swiped her thumb over the side of his mouth, collecting remnants of blueberry jam, brushing over his bottom lip in a moment that seemed to stretch for an eternity, though in reality was brief and fleeting. 

She sat back down in her seat, unphased, and popped the digit in her mouth, bottom teeth scraping over the pad of her thumb, sugar melting on her tongue. 

His mouth felt terribly dry.

He swallowed down the sensation of longing with a spoonful of apple filling and flaky, golden crust.

Bellies full with ungodly amounts of pie, they laid beside each other on the too-small blanket, and Ominis tried to ignore the too-loud sound of his blood rushing in his ears, paired with the too-fast beating of his heart in his chest, and attempted to simply relax. 

He closed his eyes and focused on something other than the consuming feeling of want prickling over his skin, setting his nerve-endings alight with the desire to touch and hold and caress. She wasn’t his to do any of those things with. 

He focused on her soft, steady breathing. The rise and fall of her chest beside his. 

“Merlin, it’s beautiful.” She murmured, a dazed quality to her voice.

“I’m sure it is.” He replied just as listless, though undoubtedly for other reasons.

She turned her head to face him. “Want me to describe it to you?” 

He turned to face her as well and he was suddenly acutely aware of the feeling of her breath ghosting his cheek. She was so close. His voice was quiet. “Would you?”

She nodded. “Alright, close your eyes.” 

He bit back a smile. “You’re such an idiot.” 

She grinned. “Shut up and do it.” 

He obliged with a disgruntled huff. Pleased, she turned back towards the scenery. 

“It’s a full moon tonight, so everything has this almost…silver glow. Like the whole world’s been dipped in platinum.” She began. 

He tried to picture it in his head, sheens of pale white cast over rolling hills and thick forest.

“You can see the entire lake from up here, never-ending and inky black, and juuust there, past the border of the forest—” She outstretched a hand. “—is Hogsmeade, with its little orange lights.”

She glanced sideways at him to see his eyes still closed, the softest smile brushing his lips. 

She continued, “What’s really pretty though, is the stars. Too many to ever count. Enough to make your head dizzy, really.” She let out a laugh and he decided it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. 

“Some are brighter than others, and you can make out little pictures in the night sky. Tonight, there’s Orion looking down on us,” She tilted her head, brows knitting together as she took a moment to study him. “Actually…”

He let out a startled breath when he felt her fingertips make contact with his cheek, dragging over his skin in feather-light touches, tracing the small smattering of beauty marks there.

“You bear a remarking similarity,” She ran her index softly between the points, connecting little invisible lines. “Right here.” 

He swallowed hard. “Do I?”

“Mhm,” She hummed. “It’s awfully pretty.”

She hadn’t pulled her hand back. His skin buzzed with the sensation, because her fingertips were still there, on his cheek, touching him with a softness that he had never known before in his life, with a kindness that he was so unaccustomed to.

Gentle, repetitive drags, skin-on-skin, that same prickling sensation of want having grown into something almost painful inside of him. Bubbling and overwhelming, just underneath his flesh, his fingers twitching with the desire to reach out and feel.

He was conscious of how stupid it was, mind-numbingly so, but he couldn’t bear the aching tension in his chest any longer, and he knew of only one way to acquiesce his restless heart.

He cupped her own cheek in his hand, dipped his chin forward, and captured her lips in his.

Her fingers froze against his cheek, and he could feel the slight surprise in her body language, before it quickly morphed into something else, something accepting, something satisfied. As if she’d been longing just as desperately, had been waiting for this the same way he’d been.

Her hand dragged down to thread through the fine, blonde hairs at the nape of his neck, tugging him closer to her, eliciting a sharp intake of air through his nose, settling all kinds of feelings deep behind his navel.

She parted her lips for him and he chased the syrupy taste of sugar on her tongue like he needed it to live, swallowed her quiet, breathy pants like mouthfuls of honey, sticky and saccharine and so overwhelmingly her he could drown in it. 

She was so sweet, so soft, and far, far too perfect for his fantasies to have ever possibly done her justice.

When she finally broke away, he could feel her drowsy, sapless smile against his lips. He smiled back, just as giddy, an absolute fool, surely, but in the moment he couldn’t care less. He resisted the urge to dive back in. To run his tongue over her teeth and plead for more, because he knew he would most likely never get enough. 

He was content then, just holding her. She tucked herself into his side, pillowed her head on his chest, and let him run his hands up and down her back. Let him bury his nose in the crown of her hair and revel in the feeling of having her there, feeling too much like his.

//

After that, their routine shifted into something else. Something unspoken, that didn’t really need any labels or clarifications, because it all fell into place like pieces of a puzzle. Normal and simple and easy and natural.

Because, of course he got to kiss her goodnight when he left her at her dorm room every evening. And it was only obvious that they’d lace their fingers together on their Sunday trips to Hogsmeade for a butterbeer, and sit on the same side of the booth instead of opposite each other like before. And why would she not drape her legs over his lap on that purple chaise in the library, or tuck herself into his side on that dusty, old loveseat in the Undercroft?

He wasn’t sure what he’d done to ever get so lucky, but he thanked Fortune herself every night he got to collect her in his arms and press lingering kisses to her forehead. It was an intoxicating feeling to have everything he wanted right there in his hands, soft and pliable and willing, so perfectly receptive to his touch, so eager to reciprocate with the same amount of fevered passion and affection.

Of course, there were levels of uncertainties to their relationship still. Questions he couldn’t bring himself to ask, out of fear of ruining everything. What are we and and for the love of Circe, tell me this means something to you, too poised on the tip of his tongue everytime she wrapped herself around him and buried her face in the crook of his neck.

There were boundaries, admittedly maybe only fictitious ones his own anxious brain fabricated, but ones nonetheless. He’d always ask her first before he kissed her, and she’d always respond with eager nods, blissful smiles, and her fingers curling into the front of his shirt to tug his mouth down to hers.

He adored kissing her.  Maybe a bit too much. Alright, maybe alarmingly too much.

He’d spend eternity with his mouth on hers if he could, and it still wouldn’t be enough. He constantly craved the numb, bruised feeling of his lips after a particularly long makeout session. He couldn’t get enough of touching her, of being so intimate with her, of the soft and sweet and spit-sticky brushes of her tongue against his, of that aching, heated swirl he got just behind his navel. 

She was bliss personified. 

Crossing a leg over the other on that worn, tawny loveseat in the Undercroft, he skimmed through the pages of the paperback in his hand with his wand. A few feet away from him, she was reducing a couple training dummies into splinters of charred wood, spell after spell rolling off her tongue with ease. 

His headstrong little witch. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips at how powerful she was, admiration swelling in his chest.

After getting her fix of dueling for the day and craving attention, she made her way over to him, sitting beside him, although more accurately, practically sitting on top of him. Not that he minded.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she looked up at him expectantly, and because he’d give her absolutely anything her little heart desired, he tucked his book away immediately and turned his focus towards her, pecking a kiss to her cheek. She smiled in satisfaction. 

He had the tiniest inkling of a feeling that maybe he was spoiling her rotten. Not that he minded that, either. 

“Tired?” 

She shook her head. “Just missed you.”

He brushed the back of his knuckles against her cheek and couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his mouth. “Did you now?”

She nodded, staring down at his lips as she leaned in to press her mouth against his. Simple and natural and easy. It was a wonder how normal it seemed, as if it was something they’d always done. 

Her tongue brushed against his bottom lip, pleading for entrance, and of course he obliged, because who was he to deny her anything?

He could feel the little exhale of breath against his cheek as his tongue met hers, feel the way she instinctively pressed more against him as if she wanted to mold herself to his very bones.

He loved having her like this. 

Eager and passion-filled, her magic thrumming in her veins with a little added intensity, reflected in the way she kissed him, in the way she touched him. 

She broke away for air, but he couldn’t help the desire to have more. He trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses over her jaw, down the length of her neck. He’d never kissed her there and he found himself particularly interested in exploring. She positively melted under his ministrations.

“Ominis,” She sighed his name on a breathy pant and the sound coursed straight to his groin, tugging at that aching desire in his gut, that heated, twisty, starved feeling that was always there when he touched her, lingering someone hidden, nursing it into something insatiable. 

She reconnected her mouth to his and stoked that flickering flame inside him until it was red-hot and all-consuming. 

He tangled his fingers through her hair and explored her mouth with a deliberate slowness. Languid, syrupy drags of his tongue against hers. Hot, needy breaths shared in a space between them that was far too little and far too much at the same time. 

A gasp died on his tongue when she shifted in her seat to press herself even more against him, effectively straddling his lap, impatience dripping down her spine. He went rigid.

“Hold on, don’t—” His fingers dug into her waist to still her, but she had already dragged her hips flush against his, right against that aching stiffness in his trousers. His face blanched, mortified. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

She held her bottom lip between her teeth, processing the feeling of him, a very specific part of him, pressed right to the gusset of her knickers, right under her skirt. It was like someone had stricken a match, lit her nerves on fire.

She shook her head, her cheeks hot. “Don’t apologize,” She smoothed her thumb over his cheek, reassuring. “I want you, too. I want this.” She shifted minutely, tentative, right against that throbbing part of him.

His brows knit together, looking almost pained. “Gods, you can’t say things like that.” 

“It’s true,” She whispered, shifting against him again, deliciously slow. The slightest roll of her hips. It was enough to ruin him completely. “Please, Ominis.”

He nodded then, forehead pressed against hers, fists white-knuckled in the starched linen of her shirt. He let his hands fall to his sides, onto the tattered pillows of the loveseat and sighed. 

“Not here.” He planted a kiss on the corner of her mouth. “You deserve something nicer.”

//

Ominis’ dorm was certainly nicer.

Clean and tidy to the point of almost being manic, just as she imagined it would be. She glanced over at the surrounding beds and noticed his side strikingly bare in comparison, devoid of the clutter of Quidditch posters, junk and other memorabilia that you would normally expect to find in a teenage boy’s room. 

His sheets were crisp and neatly-pressed, and laid back against his pillows, she could pick up the faint smell of vanilla and bergamot and, most strikingly, him.

He hovered over her there, his hands on either side of her head on the pillowcase, a pink flush dusting his cheekbones, uncertain. She found it awfully endearing. 

“Have you ever…?”

He shook his head, sheepish. “No.” 

She nodded. 

A gnawing feeling clawed itself inside his chest, something marred and ugly and possessive, a jealousy he knew he probably had no right to feel. “Have…you?”

She shook her head. “Never.”

His brows furrowed, confusion and surprise and a faint sense of relief etched into his features. “Really? You and Sebastian never…?”

She sputtered. “Me and Sebastian?”

“Er…yes? I assumed you two had already been—”

“Dear gods, no,” She laughed, as if the mere notion were hysterical. She looked at him bewildered. “Where on earth did you ever get that impression?” 

“I don’t know, you’re both always spending so much time together.” 

“As friends.” She choked. “If I’m being completely honest, I’ve always harbored a bit of a crush on you.” 

It was his turn to sputter. “On me?”

She smiled. “Yes, it’s a bit embarrassing, actually. I’m surprised Sebastian’s never told you. He’s tormented me about it since the moment he found out.” 

Ominis winced and let his head fall forward, voice muffled in the collar of her shirt. “Gods, I’ve been such an idiot.” 

“Well, that’s only natural,” She teased, raking her nails softly through the hair on his nape. “Don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you.” 

He picked his head up. “So, I…we could’ve been doing this, so much sooner?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Been wanting to get into my pants for very long, have you, Ominis?”

He groaned. “That’s not what I meant,” She watched as he worried his bottom lip between his teeth, embarrassment tinging his cheeks. “I’ve liked you for quite a while.”

“Have you?” She grinned. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” He murmured. “A bit of pining was good for me. Humbling.” 

She tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “Yes, I’m sure you’re not very used to not getting what you want, hm?”

“Mmh,” He hummed, non-committal, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Terribly spoiled, I’m afraid.”

“I won’t hold that against you, either.”

She laced her fingers behind his neck, tugging him forward to bring his lips down to hers again. Ominis could barely contain the euphoric feeling of relief in his chest, of completion, of blissful satisfaction in knowing the witch underneath him was his and only his. 

He let his hands wander, explore, caress, tugging her blouse out of the waistband of her skirt and running his hands over the creamy smooth expanse of her stomach. He let his lips roam with just as much fervor, trailing down the length of her neck, scraping biting kisses over her collarbone, over the soft curves of her jaw.

“Take this off me,” She pleaded in between kisses, breathless, and he would be a fool if he didn’t immediately oblige. Slender, deft fingers turned clumsy and unpracticed in the heat of the moment, fumbling over buttons and the zipper of her skirt with a lot more lack of finesse than he was used to doing most things in life. His heart was pounding too loud in his ears for him to care. 

If she was anything she was impatient, and he quickly learned this impatience would be the very bane of his existence, as she proceeded to grind her hips up to meet his every time he tried to pause and regain some level of composure. 

She seemed to take a form of sick gratification in the way he’d curse under his breath at the feeling of the soaked fabric of her knickers, rubbing back and forth against that stiff, aching part of him, nearly bringing him to completion.

He crawled down her body before she could torture him any longer, hooking his fingers into the hem of her knickers and tugging it down to pool at her ankles. He left a trail of wet, open-mouth kisses in his descent, dragging his tongue down the line of her sternum, slow and deliberate. 

She tensed. “You don’t have to—”

“Please,” He nosed at the soft curve of her stomach, his breath warm against her skin, eyes half-lidded behind blonde eyelashes. “I want to. Please let me.”

Her voice was quiet, anticipated. “Okay.”

It was all he needed to kiss her there, lips pressed to her dripping core, sucking just slightly, tentatively, just enough to make her gasp. His tongue was velvety smooth, purposefully slow, as if savoring it, savoring her.

“Tastes good,” He murmured against her cunt in a hum, lips sticky and glistening, voice hoarse and gravely with want. “Tastes s’good. Mmh.”

She couldn’t stifle her moans as he lapped at her firmer then, more focused, dragged the tip of his tongue and swirled it around that sensitive little bundle of nerves he had already deduced made her hips writhe and her hands tangle in his hair, pulling, pleading.

He didn’t know exactly what he was doing, but Ominis prided himself on being a very intuitive learner — and there was no better lesson than her nails raking over his scalp and her mewls muffled against the back of her hand every time he evidently did something  right with his tongue. In this more than anything, he was determined to get all O’s. 

“Oh, gods, Ominis,” She breathed out, and that was all it took for him to break, for him to push two fingers inside her cunt, wrap his lips around her clit, and suck. Hard, until her toes curled at either side of his hips on the bedding, and her head was thrown back onto the pillows, and she was repeating please, please, please like a prayer — as if she’d ever have to beg him for anything.

He pulled her over the edge with a groan against her cunt, fingers pressing into that little spot on her walls that made her vision white over with stars, melting her muscles into a puddle of ecstasy. Coaxed her through it, lapping at the wetness until she was reduced to shudders and breathy, shaky pants.

“You’re so beautiful,” He climbed over her, chest heaving, pressing kisses to her cheeks. He rambled praises, utterly sapless, euphoric, and if she didn’t know any better she’d think he was coming down from the high of his own orgasm with how giddy he sounded. “Oh my gods, you’re so unbelievably perfect. Sounded so good — tasted so good, fuck. You’re just—”

She kissed him then, not minding that she could taste herself on his tongue. Slow and sweet, her head dizzy with endorphins. He liked her like this.

Reaching down between them, she ran her hand down the placket of his briefs, palmed the evidence of his arousal, reveled in the way his lips faltered against hers. She dipped her fingers past the elastic of his waistband, and the whimper he let out when she finally wrapped her hand around him was nothing short of depraved.

“Want to be inside of you,” He pleaded, his hips rutting of their own accord against her palm, warm and slick with desire, a sticky bead of pre-cum pooling at the tip. He felt so thick in her hand. “Please, want— want it so bad.”

He couldn’t bear the restriction any longer, tugging his shorts down his thighs, exposing alabaster skin and flushed pink and so much of him she couldn’t pull her eyes away.

He notched himself at her entrance, lips hovering over hers, asking for permission without words, and all she could do was fervently nod to keep herself from begging.

He laced his fingers with hers as he slowly pushed in, gasps shared between their lips, foreheads pressed together. She wrapped her legs around his waist, holding him closer, urging him for more.

His voice was wrecked when he spoke. “Is this — am I hurting you? Is this alright?”

She shook her head. “You’re perfect —you feel so perfect.”

He groaned, surging forward to capture her lips in his, pouring every ounce of devotion and adoration into the way his tongue brushed against hers, as he slowly rocked his hips, in and out, cautious, shallow thrusts. 

“Please, more,” She whispered, quiet, needy, and he couldn’t help but oblige. He bottomed out inside of her, his head falling to her shoulder, and eased his hips back to meet hers with a sharp thrust. 

She was overwhelmed by the novel and absolutely foreign feeling of being so full. That dull sting where he was stretching her out around him, that pleasurable ache where he was pressing up into her walls — it was all revoltingly delicious. She never wanted it to stop. 

“Christ, you’re — fuck,”  Her fingers wrapped around his bicep for support, nails digging little crescent-shaped marks into his skin. “You’re so deep—oh my gods, please move, please, please move,”

He was half-convinced he’d cut out his own beating heart in that moment and present it to her if she asked. He braced himself with his fingers splayed warm and broad on her hip, holding maybe a bit too tightly, and fucked into her with steady, deep thrusts, her legs wrapped around his waist.

“Yes, yes, yes,” She gasped, his cock pressing deep into that sensitive spot inside of her. She could feel that winding knot behind her navel being pulled taut,  being stretched tighter and tighter until she felt like she might break. “Like that, just like that — fuck, please don’t stop, please don’t stop,” 

Ominis had by no means a dirty mouth, was never, ever crass by an definition of the word, but hearing her pleading in his ear, feeling her squeeze so tightly around him, slick and warm and utterly divine — he couldn’t stop the endless litany spilling from his mouth, delirious from how good she felt as he thrust into her thoroughly, his self-restraint slipping out of him like grains of sand through open fingers.

“You’re so perfect. My angel, oh my gods, all mine. Mine, mine, mine. Gorgeous, so gorgeous, you’re so tight, so tight around me. Fuck, I can’t stop, I can’t — I need —I need you, I love this, I love this so much, fuck, fuck, fuck, I love this, I love—”

His words died on a strangled moan as he finished inside of her, pumping into her until he pulled her over the edge along with him, electrifying her nerve-endings into bliss. He pressed his lips to hers like he needed her to breathe, like the only oxygen he desired was the ones she would give him from her very own lungs.

She spoke first, dazed. “That was—”

He let out a laugh, soft and pleasure-rough, the slightest bit drowsy. “Amazing. Brilliant. You’re absolutely brilliant.” 

She returned his gleaming smile with her own, teasing.

“You’ve only just noticed?”

//

It took one look. The raucous bustle of other students still disembarking around him, yet his attention was trained on his two friends smiling and waiting up for him. 

His eyes darted between the two, briefly combing over the faint bites of purple on her neck that was peeking out just slightly from beneath the green and silver of her scarf, then finally dipped to where their hands were surreptitiously clasped behind layers of cloaks, and he immediately knew.

Sebastian dropped his suitcase on the weathered boards of the dock with a thunk and ran up to clap his hands on his friends’ shoulders with a sly smile and a satisfied glint in his eyes.

“Fucking took you two long enough.”

[bloompompom]

Safekeeping - Aftermath

the second part to safekeeping | read the first part here

After a proposition to lose your virginity to your brother’s best friend, it becomes difficult to move on once you’re away at college. Difficult for who? That's up for debate.

✧ content: ~9.4k word count. eren jaeger x female reader. modern/college au. upgraded from porn without plot to porn with feelings, older brother's friend trope, reader’s brother has a name, sappy af, mutual pining/getting together, oral sex (m!receiving), PIV sex, spit, praise, pussy job, alcohol use, explicit sexual content, explicit language, reader discretion advised. 18+ only. ✧ a/n: because they deserved a happy ending, didn't they?

You did it. Your first semester of college was officially over.

Actually, it ended roughly two weeks ago when your final grades were uploaded. Now, you were smack in the middle of winter break, left with no responsibilities other than lounging before your family’s fireplace. 

You were grateful, and it wasn’t just from the holiday spirit. You were overjoyed—and not to mention, relieved beyond belief—because college was everything you hoped it to be. It wasn’t exactly like the movies, of course, but it was damn near close. You got along well with your roommate, and for once in your life, your professors didn’t hold their grudges toward your brother against you because they didn’t have any.

And it just so happened that you were seeing someone. Something casual, no big deal.

You meant that earnestly. The guy wasn’t much to write home about, and he definitely wasn’t the one. He was just… there. 

It was fun, though! It had to be, or else you wouldn’t keep going back to him. You felt a connection right away—it was why you slept with him in the first place—but after your semi-regular hookups, it just sort of fizzled. It was fine. He was fine. 

Anyway, he hadn’t tried to reach out since you left, even once. You wanted it to hurt only because it felt like it should, but you couldn’t find it in you. Talking to him sounded less than appealing, if you were being honest. You much preferred to spend the better half of your days catnapping around a house much warmer than your dorm. The only person you bestowed your precious attention on was Hitch, your grade school bestie who was also visiting home. But that was about to change. 

After breakfast, your brother Collin came knocking at your bedroom door, creaking it open with just his knuckles. 

You peered up from your phone when he asked, “Got any plans later?”

“No,” you replied. He was giving you this weird look. Then he closed the door. “What’s the about?”

“I’m going to a party tonight. Wanna come?”

You looked from side to side because he had to be talking to someone else.

“Don’t be dumb.” He leaned against the wall like he planned to be there for a minute. “You’re old enough now. I’m sure you’ve gone to plenty at school, anyway.” 

You weren’t buying into the whole brotherly love schtick. You deadpanned, “Mom and Dad said you have to bring me wherever you’re going, right?” 

Collin’s shoulders slumped in that ‘you caught me’ sort of way. “I told them it was an ugly sweater party as a cover-up, and they bought it a little too well—said I have to take you if I want to go. They’re worried about you, all cooped up inside and—”

“Okay, I get it!” You didn’t need to hear that your parents thought you were a loser. There was nothing wrong with wanting some peace and quiet during your vacation. 

To really sell the lie, you needed ugly sweaters. Neither of you had thought that far ahead, and you had to go thrifting after your parents began pestering you about it. On the drive to the store, you told Collin he had to pay for yours since he forced you out, and he spent the ride home complaining that he should have simply snuck out and saved the money. 

“But then you’d have to cover for me, and I’d have to see your sad, lost-puppy eyes as you stayed in for another night,” he jested. You thumped his forehead. 

Hours later, the two of you were back in the same seats. Collin parked the car, and the overhead light cut through the pitch-black neighborhood. He unbuckled, then immediately yanked his knit sweater over his forehead.

“I’m not planning on coming home tonight obviously. I’m staying at Jean’s. What about you?”

“Hitch’s,” you answered, peeling off your own sweater and throwing it into the backseat. “She didn’t want to come, but she offered to give me a ride to her place to stay the night. I doubt I’ll stay long.” 

You stepped out of the car together. The doors slammed shut, and the sound echoed off the houses. 

“Sounds good. Just be sure to let me know when you leave,” he said. 

Collin parked a block or so away. On the walk, you started to overthink things. If Jean would be there, would Eren be there, too? You wanted to say it had been a while since you last thought of him, but that would be another lie you’d have to tally for the night. 

“So,” you drawled.  “Is Jean going to be here?”

Collin snorted. “Duh. It’s his house.”

He didn’t mention that earlier. 

Your heart dropped into your stomach. Past your stomach, like it had splat on the pavement. 

As fate would have it, you did see him at the party. Eren. Not immediately, but it might as well have been.

You had only drunk roughly three-quarters of a beer when you saw Eren, and it wasn’t nearly enough to dull the weird twirly feeling pitting in your stomach. It wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling, but it was a confusing one, that was for sure.

It wasn’t that you regretted what you had done, not in the slightest, but that didn’t mean you weren’t nervous to see him. How couldn’t you be? This was the first time you’d been in the same room since you had naively bared it all for him, looking about as pathetic in bed as a newborn faun taking its first steps.  

At the very least, you expected to see Eren the morning after—you actually dreaded it. You stayed in your bed, laid on pins and needles, staring at your ceiling until you could no longer. And even then, the basement remained silent.

They eventually emerged from their hibernations once the afternoon rolled around. Eren was nowhere to be found, as if he was suddenly the earlier riser of the group. You supposed it was less awkward this way. 

In that emotional cauldron you were brewing, the one that was close to boiling over, you felt a dash of jealousy. It was strange and unexpected, but now that you saw Eren cozied up with some girl, her legs draped over his lap… the feeling was certainly there. 

You hated it. Especially after your eyes lingered for too long, resulting in very brief, very fleeting eye contact between you. It was over and done with so fast that you didn’t even get a good look at his face. Was he surprised? Indifferent? It was only a guess at this point. But you—well, you made it entirely clear that you were avoiding him, what with the speedy way you spun on your heels to flee. It was a dead giveaway as to how you were feeling, whatever it was. 

You tossed back the rest of your beer, then went scouring for what was next. Your best bet was what appeared to be a thrown-together hot chocolate bar. Not the best option but certainly not the worst. The slow cooker, still halfway full, sat warming on the counter. Surrounding it were loose bottles of cream liquors and peppermint schnapps, torn-open bags of marshmallows, and whipped cream if you were feeling fancy. Very on-theme for tonight’s holiday party. 

In an attempt to look busy—keep your gaze low, hands moving—you headed that direction. 

You fiddled with a stack of styrofoam cups and pretended you weren’t overwhelmingly flustered by this unbeknownst feeling. You didn’t do a great job at it. Or at least, Eren didn’t think so. And unlike you, he had already come to terms with his feelings, but only because it had hit him more or less like a freight train. 

So let’s go ahead and recap what the last semester was like for Eren, shall we?

Becoming a third-year freed Eren from the required dormitories and roommates. He spent the tail end of his summer moving into an off-campus apartment. It wasn’t much—exactly what one would imagine when asked to envision an apartment with a down payment suited for a student’s budget. One-bedroom, one-bathroom, but it was all to himself. 

No different than any other twenty-something, Eren was excited to be on his own. He could see it already: no one to answer to, no one to schedule his life around. And definitely no weird-ass habits he’d have to deal with from a roommate—one he, to this day, couldn’t believe he matched with based on the school’s dumb quiz. He just had to wait out the summer until his lease began, and then his life would officially start.

The vision derailed, of course, just two weeks before he was handed the keys to his (self-proclaimed) bachelor pad. The reason? It was easy enough to guess.

Eren could deny it as much as he wanted, but it wouldn’t change that after fantasizing about his friend’s little sister for days, he selfishly prioritized his needs over his friendship and took her virginity. And in a cruel turn of events, he wound up with feelings for her. It seemed a bit like karma, didn’t it? 

From the very second his eyes snapped open the next morning, he convinced himself it was nothing more than a hot dream—albeit one that left him rattled. But when he ambled upstairs, he found his half-drunk glass of water, untouched, exactly where he recalled leaving it. 

Days passed, and Eren waited for that dreadful pang of remorse to smack him upside the head for what he had done—what the two of you chose to do together. It never came. Somehow, that felt so much worse.

Now, he had a secret large enough that if it came to light, he’d end up with a black eye from his best friend. Not that it wouldn’t be well-deserved. Even he could acknowledge that. But he was far from guilt-ridden over it. The only thing he regretted was that he hadn’t spoken to you since. He never talked to you much to begin with—he didn’t even have your phone number—so it’d be weird of him to start now, right?

Eren didn’t know what was the right thing to do, so he defaulted to doing nothing. It didn’t feel like there was any right option, like he had already made too many wrongs to turn back now. 

His worst offense? To him, it was that he still thought of you when he was, for lack of better words, alone. But that was the only time!

That was how he justified it: he’d only allow his memories of you, though painfully limited, to seep to the forefront then and only then. It was a half-assed boundary at most, Eren knew as much, and it was so wrong of him. You trusted him, you told him that yourself, and here he was, shamefully fucking his fist to nothing more than a mirage because that was all you had left him.

He’d think of your sweet sounds. Those little, fluttering breaths would escape you as a shiver no matter where he touched you. Sensitive and soft and warm beneath his palms, he’d replay the moment you first tried to take him on your own. Lowering yourself onto him, Eren could see you shifting your hips as you learned how to take him, all of him, best. Past lulled and heavy eyelids, you were intent on getting yourself off, no matter what it took. And when you got there—fuck, he wished he could see it again. He wanted to feel it again, something his hand could never replicate. 

After, you never went away. That was when Eren knew he was in trouble. When you were no longer a perverted fantasy but still at his side when he’d close his eyes. No longer fucking but basking in the afterglow of it together. Your arm slung around his waist, your balmy cheek resting against his chest. Tangled sheets, kisses pressed to your forehead, bodies sheened and sticky with sweat—all of it. 

This went much deeper than merely offering a helping hand to someone in need before she left for college. Eren did the favor of scratching your back, but what you didn’t realize was that you had scratched his, too. The one itch he couldn’t reach. He still bore the scars of it. 

You had him in a chokehold, and you didn’t even know it. A very, very complicated chokehold at that. Eren couldn’t believe he had caught feelings for you, his best friend’s little sister! But now he was peeking at—no, who was he kidding? He was religiously checking your Instagram stories.

By the look of it, there was finally some action in that love life of yours. You were never explicit about it, sharing no more than a picture of his hand on your thigh or a strategically-snapped photo of your cocktail with the mystery man’s face reduced to a background blur. The subtle art of a soft launch. It told Eren enough. 

So when he noticed how your eyes sprung to the size of saucers when you saw him across the party, he was intrigued. Eren didn’t know when he’d bump into you next, but he often wondered how you’d react. And when you scurried off like a mouse, excitement sparked within him, even if it was at your expense. He needed to know then if you still thought about him—what he did to you, and you to him—despite being with someone else. 

He quickly decided there wasn’t any harm in approaching you to say—

“Hey.”

Eren interrupted you just as you attempted to serve yourself hot cocoa. You nearly dropped the ladle when you heard his voice over your shoulder.

You faltered as you piped back a ‘hi’ but smiled through it only because you realized he came looking for you. 

“Need some help?” He offered you a smile laced with pity. You followed his eyes to find yourself pouring hot chocolate onto your wrist. You didn’t feel the string of it until then.

You cursed but thanked him when he took your cup. Since it was apparent you needed his help, Eren started making your drink as you searched for some paper towels.

“What alcohol didya want?”

“I didn’t think that far ahead,” you admitted, nodding toward cocoa-coated hands. “Clearly.”

His mouth curled up at that but nothing more. He didn’t leave any time for your embarrassment to simmer before he replied, “Then I’ll fix you what I made myself.

By the time you were dry and the remnants of your mess were forgotten in the trash can, Eren had mixed your drink and extended it to you. You thanked him for it and took a sip. It was sweet on the tip of your tongue, enough to comfort the burn of liquor that tickled from your throat and down your stomach. 

You smiled at him, the kind that made your eyes crinkle. “Cream and peppermint liquor. Good choice.”

“I thought so,” Eren beamed briefly before adding, “Oh—almost forgot.”

He reached for the can of whipped cream, locking his eyes to yours as he angled the nozzle toward your face.

“Open up.”

His smirk was like a wordless language that only you understood. He told you he remembered it—in fact, he even still thought about it—and he wanted to know if you did, too.

You opened your mouth. 

A laugh bubbled through you before the cream even met your tongue. Eren’s laugh joined yours when half made it into your mouth. The rest landed on the corner of your lips, daring to spill down your chin. After you thumbed it into your mouth, Eren surprised you by dotting your nose with it, too. 

You weren’t stupid; you knew how this looked because it was exactly as it appeared. The action toed the border between playfulness and something more—something that wasn’t entirely uncharted, given your history, but just as forbidden. You would have cared more if anyone was paying you any mind. And if someone important—Collin, Jean… hopefully the list ended there—were to see, you were convinced you could wisely play it off as a joke. 

You never expected your next run-in with Eren to go like this. You hoped for it, the shameless flirting, but it was more likely that he’d avoid you like the plague. You convinced yourself of it. You moved on from that ephemeral night, began to see other people, and let your dead-end crush fade away. 

No, you didn’t expect this at all. And even if you had, you wouldn’t have imagined it quite like this, with every fiber of your being tightened and set ablaze. And when you laid a hand on Eren’s arm, catching yourself in a fit of giggles, it tightened in reflex, like he felt the burning, too. 

You hurdled through the pleasantries even though they weren’t necessary, considering Eren had sex with you off little more than a single conversation last time. In an act of modesty, you were sure, he didn’t directly ask if you were single but instead teased you about Fabio again—asked if you had met anyone that compared. 

You hadn’t. The guy you were ‘dating’ was far from your dream man, even to the extent that you had already considered how you’d end it when—if you ever heard from him again. 

But Eren didn’t need to know that. You rolled your eyes at the lame joke, offhandedly saying, “I’m sort of seeing someone.”

It piqued his interest, discernible by his raised brow. Either that, or he saw right through you. He leaned into you, close. You wanted to check if Collin was near, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away. 

“Oh, yeah?” He tilted his head and repeated, “‘Sort of.’ What does that mean?”

You sensed he wanted you to spell it out for him, the dirty details of it, but you hummed, “You know, hookups, the occasional dinner—not exclusive.” 

Whether or not he detected the hint at the end, your answer didn’t seem to suffice. “Is that what you want?”

You swirled your drink, took another sip, and suppressed your shiver. “I’m still figuring out what I want.”

The next thing you knew, Eren had snuck you upstairs. For obvious reasons, you had never been to Jean’s house; you had not a clue whose bedroom Eren had chosen for the two of you. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t distinguish much under the tawny lights strung around the room, but that was far from your first priority. What mattered more was that no one saw you slip away with Eren. It was no big deal that you were about to have sex with your brother’s best friend on their other best friend’s bed, right? 

Fuck it. Quite literally.

You shoved the thought to the back of your head much like the way Eren shoved you against the door as he kissed you. He kept one hand cupped around your face and used his other to lock the door behind you. The moment the click of it hit your ears, he pushed a hand between your legs. 

You weren’t going to talk about it, the rather large elephant lurking in the room. That Eren offered to take your virginity much like a business proposition, and you agreed to sex that was supposed to feel just as transactional. But the reality of it was that you hadn’t stopped thinking about that night ever since. Neither of you had, so you’d go on and pretend like it never ended. 

He palmed over the crotch of your jeans, teasing you before reaching for their button. You indirectly made him work for him, keeping him close with your arms looped around his neck—close enough that your noses were smushed together.

Eren struggled with the zipper next, less focused on it and more distracted by your teeth, gently tugging on his bottom lip. He groaned, and it spilled into your mouth like honey.

You broke the kiss, hands flinging to your sides to slip from your jeans. You bent at the waist, eyes fixed up at Eren, as you wiggled them down your legs. Noting the deep rise and fall of his shoulders, you felt a similar stutter in your own. 

He confessed he didn’t have a condom. You told him you were on birth control now, and that was enough for you both to continue—so long as he pulled out, you reminded. He agreed by hooking your leg around his waist. You swung the other to match, locking your ankles against his lower back, and let him carry you to the bed. 

Eren navigated to the bed with suspicious ease. He walked backward, lips still on yours, like he knew the room’s layout and where the bed was. You wanted to wince at the realization—that the likelihood this bedroom belonged to Jean had skyrocketed—but you forgot it just as fast when Eren sat on the edge of the mattress, pulling you down with him.

You straddled his lap with hands on either side of his face, your tongue in his mouth and against his own. He still tasted like peppermint schnapps. Burned like it, too.

He rucked up your shirt as his hands smoothed along your back. You’d think his fingers were made of matches, scorching trails whenever they roamed. You gasped when he dared low enough to grab your ass, pinching at the fat of it. Your thin underwear bunched in his grasp, dragging along your skin with him. 

Eren pinned you to him, working you over the front of his jeans. Back and forth, your hips on a swivel, he used you to get himself hard, only stopping to smear his palms on his jeans when you’d start to slip from his grasp. It didn’t take long before you felt him, stiff and nicely pressed between your legs. 

When you started to grind against him, demandingly and all on your own, the kiss went sloppy. Though the plush of your lips brushed together, it was less like making out and more like swapping breaths. Like a warm fog swirling around you, you grew dizzy off it. Eventually, one of you would have to come up for air.

You pulled away right as he sat back. You’d call it harmonious, but that would make it sound graceful. Each of you fumbled to get your shirt over your head, and it cascaded into a tangle of limbs and clumsy laughs. You reached for the hem of his T-shirt next. You’d hate to be the only one in your underwear.

You didn’t see them but felt the tight muscles of his chest. They didn’t give under your touch, even as you flattened a hand against him. He picked up on the hint, that you wanted him to lay back, and you moved together. He pushed himself further back on the bed, you following in a feline-like prowl above him, until he rested against the pillows. 

It was a new side to you—at least, one that Eren hadn’t seen yet—and he already craved more. You were no longer shy, not in the way he remembered, but entirely disinhibited with this, dare Eren say, beyond turned-on look on your face. Glassy eyes, kiss-swollen lips, and the cherry on top: that devilish smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. 

He could only gawk as you pressed your smile to his sternum, then a bit lower. Then even lower than that. Your lips skimmed over the smooth skin of his hip bone, tickling him, smacking him with the realization of how dangerously low you were. Every muscle in his body tightened, his cock throbbing to be touched. 

Only a tad bit desperate—he’d call it enthusiasm—Eren snaked his hand down to undo his belt. Once it was off, you helped him out of his jeans, working them and his boxers down his legs. You settled between. 

Eren was so kind to you the first time, so exceedingly gentle; the least you could do was give him the chance to see what you’d learned since. 

You placed a hand on the top of his thigh. Already, it flexed. You slid it higher, merely palming over his cock at your leisure—not his. He chewed on his inner lip in anticipation, fighting the impulse to rut against your hand. He wasn’t prepared to look that pathetic, even if he felt that way watching you wet your lips. He knew what was coming next, and if he had any air in his lungs, he would have whined at the sight. 

When you finally brought your mouth to the tip of his cock, he sucked in a breath. That was all it took, just a swipe of your tongue; you didn’t even have to take him past your lips. Wanting to pull another noise from him, you did it a second time, licking him from base to tip, agonizingly slow.

You knew what he wanted. You could see it plainly on his face: Just put it in your mouth already! Anything, please! But instead of flinging a hand to the back of your head, he gripped the sheets. He let you tease him despite that it wasn’t the time or place for it. Outside the door, there was far-off music. It was indistinct, buzzing behind heavy footsteps and creaking floorboards and laughter—the usual party rumblings. It was as ambient to Eren as white noise, no greater than a low drone. He could only concentrate on suppressing his desire to ruin you—as if he hadn’t done so already. But before he could do that, you needed to show him how much you could take.

So you did just that. Inch by inch. 

Eren’s abdominals clenched as more of him disappeared past your lips. Your mouth, wet and oh-so warm, was tight. Intentionally so as you wrapped your lips around him with hollowed cheeks. You found a comfortable, steady pace, bobbing your head over his length. You only paused to gather your saliva, allowing it to pool behind your front teeth. Unabashedly, Eren watched. 

It was a sight so incredibly pornographic yet one he found undeniably adorable. Your little expressions had him smitten—how you pursed and puckered your lips before finally spitting. It dribbled from your bottom lip in a lewd string connecting you to him. You let out an uncomfortable giggle, then snapped it with a swipe of your thumb.

He’d say you officially had him wrapped around your pinky finger now—as if he hadn’t been pretending that wasn’t already the case for months.

Up and down, your hand spread the saliva over his length with little resistance. After a moment, you returned your mouth to him, and the little rasp of a moan he let slip caught your attention. Through tear-damp lashes, you found his eyes keen on you, his jaw slightly slack in what you’d only describe as awe. 

The buttery lights warmed the side of his face, glinting like fire behind his eyes. You studied every part of his face, from the twitch of his brow when you’d lap your tongue along the underside of his shaft to how his nose would scrunch when you’d swirl around the tip. You wanted to learn exactly what made him feel good so you could do it over and over again, as he had with you.

Eren wrestled himself on whether he should let you continue or not. He didn’t want to stop you, dutifully attempting to take all of him without choking, it was just that he had a better idea in mind.

He sat up enough to guide you to his side with both hands. You could tell he was trying to be smug, but his voice sounded taken as he told you, “Looks like whoever you were with must have been a real amateur.” 

Eren had you perpendicular to him now but still bent over so you could keep on as you were. 

“Or just selfish,” he added. His hand stroked down your spine and over the curve of your ass. He reached between your legs and pushed your panties aside to make room for him. “Because this way, I can touch you, too.”

You moaned when his fingers traced over your slit. He used the pads of them to circle your clit and didn’t falter even as you wiggled back against his hand. With his free hand, he cupped your face, gently encouraging you to pick up from where you had left off. You were more than willing. 

He dipped a finger inside you. On impulse, he jerked deeper into your throat when he felt you flutter around the intrusion, as if he could feel it in his cock. Every whimper he’d coax from you sounded even sweeter when muffled.

“Not to mention, he must be a fucking idiot to miss out on this.” Eren’s voice was a murmur up until the end. Then it was a hiss. “Because I bet you look real pretty coming with your mouth full.” 

He spoke to you softly, the timbre of his voice a warm hum, yet his confidence was palpable. The back of your neck burned.

Though you clung to it like a shield, your strength began to waver. It was evident by the quiver in your thighs every time he’d slip from you, fingers dripping, to play with your clit. Every time, you followed it with another strangled whimper. Each was like a gift to Eren.

He had brought you to the brink of becoming undone. All the while, he watched contently, head drooped to his shoulder and everything. He felt the tiny huffs from your nose fan over his pelvis as you sputtered around his cock. Your arm would wobble, elbow threatening to give out, as you struggled to focus on him and your orgasm, impending and fogging your senses. You had forgotten how wonderful another person could make you feel, and this was just his fingers. 

Eren was a bit of an anomaly; it only took you a few encounters to conclude such. Not everyone was talented with their fingers or their tongues or their—the list could go on, really. But it was more than deftness alone. Eren actually wanted to make you come, and by the look of it, he was just as needy for it as you were. And you were right there, the heat of it winding in your stomach until your entire being gained a pulse of its own. 

You came with Eren’s cock in your mouth. It overtook you in a glow, burning you from the inside out in a series of little explosions. You dug your nails into his thigh. Your other hand, though shaky, was still around the base of him. You were hardly conscious of how you squeezed him, but he didn’t even feel it. He was more enraptured by the way your throat tightened around him as you choked through your orgasm.

Past the thick thrumming in your ears, you heard how much Eren enjoyed that lovely little mouth of yours—how much he enjoyed using it.

Thunder emitted low from his chest as he rolled his hips, meeting you halfway to ensure every bow of your head was punctuated by another squeak of the mattress and his tip bumped against the back of your throat. He was as delicate as could be while fucking your mouth, yet tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. They welled up and threatened to drip down your cheek, teasing him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” It tumbled from Eren’s mouth in a ragged chant. His head was thrown back into the stack of pillows, but he fought to steal a glimpse of you before your knees buckled beneath you. “Look at you. You’re fucking perfect.”

Your heart skipped. 

You liked that you were the reason for his pleasure—the reason his cheeks bore a flush, and why he could no longer hold himself back. Seconds ago, you had set a scene just as vulgar, helplessly grinding against his hand in a chase for your own high. And now that he was just as swept up in it, he could no longer pretend he had dreamt only of fucking you gently.

There was no way Eren could finish before he had the chance to get started. He regrettably pulled out from your mouth with a spitty pop.

You were still panting when you traded positions. Eren laid you back on the bed, gazing down to trace over the features of your face. He petted the side of it when he said, “You did so good.”

He kissed every spot he touched. Your cheekbone, the lobe of your ear, then the dip below it. You felt each one at the base of your spine.

“Talk to me.” Eren nuzzled the words in the nook of your jaw, breathed them over your skin, sensitive and already tacky from your swelter. His tongue and teeth grazed down the column of your neck. “Tell me what you want.”

There wasn’t any air behind your voice, nothing to carry it when you tried to reply, “Take off my underwear. Please.”

You went to raise your hips for him, but your legs had long turned to mush. There was an unmistakable tremble to them as Eren shimmied off your underwear. You placed a leg on either side of him, spreading yourself and welcoming him between. His eyes, alert as a hawk’s, widened before falling exactly where one would predict. Then he swallowed hard. 

He was faced with the task of taking all of you in, as if it were even possible. You followed the tips of his fingers as he trailed them up your curves with a butterfly’s touch. He toyed with the strap of your bra, now wilted off your shoulder and dangling at your arms. With a quick tug, he had your breasts popped over the cups.

Eren licked his lips. “God, you’re—”

He eagerly crashed to your chest, right between your tits. He didn’t intend to cut himself off, but he decided it was probably for the best; he wasn’t sure what he was about to spout out, anyway. 

You were just as sensitive as he remembered, unable to keep still as his large hands squeezed at your breasts, kissing and nipping and licking every inch of the delicate skin. When his mouth was latched to one, flicking his tongue at your perked nipple, he’d continue playing with the other, rolling his thumb over it. 

As though you could possibly drift away, you anchored yourself to Eren. You raked a hand through his hair, fingering through the lank strands that escaped his tie and hung loose. Before you could screw it up any further, you flinched when you heard voices booming on the other side of the wall. Your entire body froze as you glanced over to the door. 

Either Eren didn’t hear it or if he was only pretending he didn’t. His hold on you was steadfast as he covered your body in kisses—that is, until the handle jiggled. He tore away then to follow your line of sight. 

You waited for something to happen. Anything. Like the knob to rattle again, or a pound that would shake the door. Maybe someone would kick it down—you didn’t know! But the only sound between you was the thumping of your heartbeat against Eren’s.

Whoever it was, they must have wanted the room for the very same reason you and Eren did because, after a minute passed, you believed they had left. The groan of the floorboards grew distant as another hot and bothered pair continued their search for a vacancy. 

You brought Eren back to you by lightly taking him by the forearm. You were unable to wrap your fingers around the entirety of it but managed to pull him in, anyway. At the same time, you dug your heels into the mattress and scooted closer to him.

“I want you,” you quietly confessed. You lifted your hips, angling them in an attempt to meet his cock. 

Eren needed to convince himself this was real—that you were real. You hardly gave him the time to before you hitched a leg around his waist. He collapsed over you, caging you between his forearms. His eyes had darkened, brows sitting lowly above them in that drunken, determined look of lust. 

He kissed you. The corner of your mouth first, then fully on your lips. Between your legs, you felt him brush against you, throbbing. His tongue parted your lips, slipping past them the moment he pushed inside you. 

It stole your breath. Though your mouth was agape, a tiny ‘o’ against his, not a sound left you. He slipped out of you, then filled you again. Your breath returned in the form of a moan. He did this a few more times, deeper with each tilt of his hips, fucking you languidly, just to see if you could take it before he bottomed out.

Eren straightened out. “You okay?”

You gazed up at him and watched his lips curve into a soft smile when you whispered, “More than.” 

Then you watched it melt away once you wiggled against him, encouraging him, asking for—no, taking more of him. As though he had been waiting on you, he finally pushed deeper until he was flush against you.

You realized Eren’s composure was an act because it much snapped like a rubber band. You caught his inhale, through his nose and sharp in your ear. His head dropped on his exhale, and you felt it vibrate through you. He thrust into you a few more times, adjusting to you, while tiny grunts played at your ears. 

Keeping in mind your whereabouts, you expected this to be a quickie. But before you knew it, you were having the type of sex that wasn’t meant for a friend’s bed. It became pounding hips, so intense—so fucking good—that you heard Eren’s hand hit the headboard with a smack, gripping the top of it for support. It was erratic kisses. Ones that were messy and missed but would catch another part of the face, like the bow of your lip or dip in his chin; gasping and stealing damp breaths from one another in a bedroom growing headier by the second.

Lest he wished to come now and completely ruin everything, Eren had to pump the breaks. He sat back onto his calves and shoved a hand through his hair, sweeping it away from his face. His chest looked heavy, yet his arms remained sturdy as he cradled your hips. He fucked you slowly, mesmerized by the sight of him burying inside you—how well you took him—again and again. 

Flustered, you tried to remember how to breathe, but Eren made it difficult with his lazy eyes and an even lazier smile. 

You felt your whole body react when he placed a hand at the base of your neck. You were silk beneath his touch, from the dip between your chest, down to your navel. He traced along the side of your body and the swells of your breasts, then repeated it.

Eren had known you for years, but he didn’t know you—not like that. But he knew enough to say he liked you. And he was sure he’d only grow to like you more—a lot more.

He couldn’t wait to get there, to know everything there was to learn about you. Your birthday, your favorite food, what you liked to do on a rainy day—hell, he wanted to know what superpower you’d choose if presented with the option. He wanted every detail of it, and that had to mean something. 

Eren grabbed your hand. He held it against his face and kissed the inside of your wrist. 

“You’re so soft,” he told you, voice pitched low and spoken into your skin. 

The only coherent thought you had was how desperately you needed him again. You yanked him forward until his mouth was back on yours, where it belonged. Taking your open mouth as an invitation, he sucked your tongue lightly. You felt a frisson of heat beneath your skin, but it prickled like a chill.

“Eren. More,” you pleaded, your voice lost somewhere in his mouth. 

You twisted beneath him. Eren pulled out and watched as you rolled to your stomach, pushing yourself onto your hands and knees. You could only glimpse over your shoulder, but it was enough to see that his eyes were trained on you.

Suddenly hot under his gaze, you rushed to add, “Only if you want to.”

Whether it was intentional or Eren was just seeing things, he swore you arched your back as you said it, ass in the air like it was an offering. 

Of course he wanted to. He wanted to so badly that he nearly couldn’t get the words out. From his mumbling, you could only make out, “You have no fucking idea.”

Eren had to kiss you then, everywhere that he could reach. Your lower back and then the valley of it next. He kissed a path between your legs. With his hands on your ass, he spread you, luring a squeal from you when he licked a stripe through your pussy. 

He stood tall on his knees, kicked your legs apart, and plunged inside you with a swift swing of his hips. You let out an indulgent moan, your hands clawing fists into the pillows. With the fingers digging into the dough of your sides, he worked you over his cock. 

“You feel so fucking good,” Eren panted, almost like a laugh, as if he was in disbelief. He wanted to say he had forgotten how wonderful you felt, almost like you were made for him, but how could he forget? He had only been longing for it. 

“Fuck,” you whined under your breath.

You didn’t see it, your head had dropped between your shoulders, but Eren smirked. 

“You like when I talk to you, don’t you?”

He watched how your back arched deeper before you answered, babbling, “Yes, yes—oh fuck, yes.”

There was little else on your mind other than how close you were to coming for the second time. Absolutely desperate for it, you bounced back against Eren’s thrusts. He cursed through gritted teeth, watching you sink back onto his cock. His hand snaked between your legs in search of your clit. He began rubbing tight circles that you felt in your toes. 

You squeaked out a small, breathless sound as your body tightened.

With a voice like gravel, Eren hummed, “There you go.”

He fucked you through it. His hips never lost their pacing, and the rhythm of his fingers was resolute even as you twitched below him. It wasn’t until you heard him grunt, “I can feel it—shit, I can feel you coming—you’re so tight,” that he began to strain.

With a cheek smushed into the sheets, your moans were choppy until they sputtered into one last sigh. You went slack in Eren’s grasp.

He slipped an arm beneath you before you could crumble to the bed, holding you close enough that he could feel your rabid pulse against his arm. Eren folded over you, lazily rutting into you. You felt his weight atop you, the words he etched into the nape of your neck when murmured, “I wanna be with you.”

Blame it on the orgasm, but for whatever reason, it didn’t register with you. Be with you—wasn’t that what was happening right now?

His hand scooped your chin, angling your face to kiss your temple.

“Come back to my place.” Eren ghosted his lips over your ear. “I wanna be with you tonight, like I should have the first time.” 

You could only assume the blood had left your head by now. Your eyes fluttered shut. You were as malleable as putty; you’d agree to just about anything at that moment—if you could. Hazy off all those feel-good hormones, you couldn’t manage a nod as your body rocked with his. After a few more jerks of his hips, he pulled out.

He didn’t come but flipped you onto your back. You slumped into the pillows willingly, your legs falling at your sides so Eren could nestle between. He didn’t enter you again but laid his cock against you, nice and slick for him, and spread you with it. He held himself there with a flattened palm and fucked between you. Wrecked and tortuously sensitive, the head of his cock bumping your clit had you spinning to the point of seeing stars.

Eren’s eyes snapped shut as he focused on your blissful purrs below him. He was already close; it only took another stutter of his hips before he threw his head back and came across your stomach, some of it spurting as high as your tits and neck. The muscles of his arms flexed, the veins of them chiseled and defined, as he held you there, soft and pliant for him.

He was still breathing hard when he stilled. He flexed his fingers, stretching out an ironclad grasp, as he sat back on his heels.

“Fuck, what a mess.” Eren croaked a chuckle. “Sorry.” 

He stood and poked around the room a bit before locating a tissue box on the dresser. It skipped through your mind to ask if this was Jean’s room, but you decided it was best you didn’t know. 

Eren gave you some tissues before taking his handful to wipe you clean. Despite your attempts at controlling it, you were visibly trembling. He must have noticed because he didn’t rush to dress but flopped beside you, even if he claimed it was because he was too hot to put his shirt back on. 

You lolled your head to the side to look at him. Dew painted the edges of his face, catching what little light was there and defining the structure. 

You shared a look, let it linger between you. It was unreadable. A face of shock—one you surely mirrored, and yet comfort lapped at you like tropical waves. The two emotions, together in stark contrast, could be summarized with a simple, ‘It’s you.’ 

Said once through a heavy sigh, like the realization that you were only startled by a friend around the corner.

Said twice with your jaw cartoonishly dropped to the floor when you realized who you had sex with again—the prickle of surprise when you rouse from your dream only to find them naked at your side.

Eren patted the top of your thigh before heaving himself upright. Time to go.

You quickly dressed and straightened out as much as possible, double-checking that no one’s clothes were on backward. Eren was fixing his hair in the mirror when he asked, “You ready to get out of here?”

“You were serious?” you questioned—nicely, of course. You figured it was only a heat-of-the-moment sort of deal.

He caught your eye in the reflection. “I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t serious.” 

It slipped from his tongue easily. It sounded natural, no different than fact, as he told you what he wanted—you. The words were weighty, dragging your woozy head back down to Earth. They sobered you up like a splash of ice water to the face. 

You didn’t have any desire to return to the party. There was no way either of you could continue on as though nothing happened. Someone would catch on. Besides that, you didn’t want to pretend any longer; you were much more interested in seeing where the rest of the night would take you—where Eren would take you. 

You plotted your exit well enough that Eren was waiting on your ride outside by the time you were sneaking out. You had texted Collin that you were leaving and took his lack of reply as a good sign. You gave Hitch a half-truth—told her you were going home with someone but didn’t specify who. 

Eren’s apartment was nice, neat. Still exceptionally new and hardly lived in. Then again, he didn’t fit the type to go full throttle into interior decorating. 

He immediately pointed out the bathroom because you had complained you felt gross during the drive. There, you rummaged around a bit before you found his face wash in the shower. You freshened up as much as you could, stealing a swig of mouthwash to rid the syrupy taste of liquor from your teeth. 

Eren knocked at the door. You spat into the sink, wiped your mouth, and peeked out.

“Thought you might want these,” Eren said, offering what appeared to be clothes much comfier than your own, folded and stacked in his hands. 

You thanked him, inspecting them once he left you to change. You decided on just the T-shirt; it covered enough. There was no use in hiding now, and it certainly wasn’t worth risking tripping over the legs of his sweatpants.

Though you were practically tip-toeing, Eren heard you the second you walked into the kitchen. He stepped out from behind the refrigerator door dressed in just a pair of shorts, no shirt. You held your breath when he smiled at you, ever so lopsidedly that you found it cute. 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” he said like an admission, with a sheepish laugh and all. 

Your giggle was just as lighthearted, smiling when you replied, “I am, too.”

He neared you in a step with ardor sparkling through his eyes. With hands closed around your waist, he scooped you up and plopped you onto the counter. 

You yelped when its chill hit the backs of your thighs. You made yourself comfortable, sitting happily and with dangling feet, as you watched Eren cycle through what little preparation was necessary for a frozen pizza.

You’d seen him like this, exactly like this, just as you’d seen all of your brother’s friends lumber out from his bedroom at three in the afternoon on a Saturday. You never looked for too long; that was off-limits. But now, things were different. He was different—to you, at least. Now you could touch. 

You studied the sinewy muscles of his back, how they pulled taut when he reached into the freezer. Even under the fluorescent light of the kitchen, the crests of his shoulders shone like gold even though it was the middle of a sunless winter. 

Eren squinted to read the instructions on the back of the box. Your snickering was met with his side eye, and he followed it with a ‘don’t laugh’ as he tossed the box aside.

He snatched a bag of chips from the counter, and the two of you split them as an appetizer while the oven preheated. While the pizza baked, you played a game of twenty questions, just to pass the time. And when the timer blared, you ate your slices straight from the oven and asked each other questions with burnt tongues. 

You learned that Eren’s birthday was on March 30th and that his favorite food was a cheeseburger, hold the pickles—that part was important. When it rained, he preferred to either nap or go outside to watch the storm, no in between. And if he woke up one day to discover he had superhero-like powers, Eren would want to be able to teleport and travel the world, even if his clothes couldn’t come with him—yes, you asked. 

The questions continued into the bedroom because some answers, like the one to the superpower question, inspired lengthy conversations. You met Eren in his bed and curled against him, letting him spread the blanket over you. You were glad to have stuck with just the tee because you liked the feeling of his skin returning to yours, your legs intertwined with his.

It was Eren’s turn. It was the final question to end the game. You thought he’d contemplate it longer, as he had with his previous questions, but it only took a beat for him to ask, “Can I see the guy you’re dating?”

“Absolutely not!” You scoffed a laugh at his audacity, even sitting higher in your seat to balk at him. “Besides, that’s not how the game works.”

Still, his grin widened. “C’mon, please. It’s the least I deserve.”

He poked you playfully, causing you to giggle as you asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I need to size up my competition.”

You wanted to be just as bold and tell him there was no competition, none at all. But your reluctant, “Fine, here,” said enough as you settled back into the crook of his arm. 

You outstretched your phone before your face, far enough that Eren could see the screen, and scrolled to your dating app. You flitted through his profile because you didn’t want Eren to get a proper look, but he plucked the phone from your hand anyway. He glanced from you to the photo, then back to you once more.

“Seriously? This guy?” He tilted his head knowingly. “You know you can do better than that.”

Thinking you were clever, you sassed, “Oh, then are you suggesting you’re better?”

He flashed a cheeky smile. “Of course I am.”

You grabbed your phone from him with a roll of your eyes. “Whatever. He’s nice.” Eren pulled a face. “What?”

“It’s just the way you said it—‘he’s nice,’” he explained. “You don’t actually like him, do you?”

Eren was right. You didn’t want to admit it, though, not with the way he was eyeing you. But the truth sat heavy in your chest, and it consoled some of the weight to outrightly say, “No, not really. Not like I thought I did.”

You didn’t have the chance to set your phone aside before Eren snagged it again. Now aware of the guy’s name, he easily sorted through your contacts and found your messages with him. The unanswered text you last sent, well before winter break, stared back at you mockingly.

You felt a twinge of embarrassment waiting for Eren to comment on it, but whatever he was thinking, he kept the comment to himself.

It was undeniable that the guy must be a real prick for ignoring you. In turn, Eren determined he probably deserved what was coming: a message as short and sweet as ‘I think it’s best we don’t see each other again.’

Though you could have stopped him at any time, you still gasped, “Eren!” when he sent the text. It was meant as a scold but spilled from you as a laugh—as laughter, shaking your shoulders and making it a challenge to get your phone back.

A middle-of-the-night text like that could only mean one thing. You were sure he’d put the pieces together—that you had gotten with someone else—but you didn’t care. Now that he was out of the way, Eren ditched your phone next and captured the last bit of your attention.

His eyes were loyal to you, looking you straight in the face as he told you, “I like you. A lot.” He said it calmly, with a voice like a breeze. He brought a hand to your face and grazed it with the backs of his fingers. “Way more than I should, considering…”

Eren’s voice trailed off in a too-knowing way. He left it up to you to fill in the blank. No, blanks. Considering the only history between you was a two-night stand? Considering you lived three hours away? Or—how could you forget?—was it that you were the younger sister of his best friend? 

The correct answer? All of the above. 

Eren had more to say; you were sure of it. There was much—too much—left to be said. Tonight wasn’t the night for it.

You buried into the curve of his arm. Nose pressed against his neck, you breathed in the smell of his day, the salt on his skin from fucking. You lazed a hand on his chest. He was warm, live beneath your palm, his heartbeat like the patter of a tiny drum. 

You took the bait then, carelessly pitching him, “So, how’s this going to work?”

Eren heard the smile in your voice. His fingers found your chin, angling your face toward him. On it was that coy smile of yours, the one he remembered from that night. He kissed it, soft-lipped, as chaste as a mere taste.

“We’ll figure it out.”

[heartsforhavik]

this isn’t paw-some… (bi-han, tomas x gn reader)

warnings: slight angst to comfort in both, established relationship in bi-han's, slight spoilers for mk1 story mode, gender neutral reader

summary: bi-han and tomas vrbada somehow turned into animals! but you have no idea it's them, so you end up telling them a secret... (both separate)

a/n: heyyy so um i had no idea what to write yesterday bc i hated every draft i had but i FINALLY got this one done. idk why but i'm in a phase where i hate everything i write. thanks for your patience guys!

bi-han

bi-han woke up to his bedsheets completely engulfing him. in confusion, he tried pulling them aside, but it barely moved an inch.

“what is this…?” he tried mumbling, but instead it came out sounding like the meows of a cat.

in a panic, he immediately rolled out of his bedsheets and tried to stand up, but his legs weren't strong enough to hold him up.

in fact, he didn't even have his legs anymore. he had little legs and paws.

this had to be a nightmare. there's no way he just woke up as a cat. fortunately, he happened to have a day off. but he still had many questions. why did he wake up as a cat? is this a permanent change?

but he knew there was no need to stress. bi-han needed to chill out. panicking doesn't solve anything. he must find you, surely you can recognize him immediately.

first, he must learn to walk as a cat. walking on all fours felt so strange to him, especially because his new paws were so sensitive to the hard, wooden floors. but he can get used to it for now.

you heard a quiet scratching noise at your door. thinking someone probably just accidentally brushed up against your door, you ignored it. until you heard it again. and again. louder each time.

you groaned, getting up and opening the door to a cute black cat.

"oh hello there! what are you doing in a place like this?" you giggled, immediately picking it up and petting it gently.

the cat purred in contentment, and rubbed its head against your hand.

while bi-han enjoyed the close proximity to you, he still needed to find out how to let you know *he* is the cat you are holding.

"i wonder if bi-han would approve of you wandering around." you sighed.

bi-han meowed as loud as he could, tapped on your chest with his little paw, then pointed towards himself. he hoped you understood what he was trying to say.

"it looks like you're trying to stretch. maybe we can go for a walk?" you offered, setting him down.

'this is gonna take a while.' bi-han thought. for now, all he could do was grumpily walk beside you.

-

"...and then, bi-han told me he was too busy for a night out. i understand that he's the grandmaster and stuff, but i just wish i could spend more time with him. you know?" you ranted to the cat walking beside you, *still* unaware it was bi-han himself.

he listened intently to what you had to say. it was true, he was very busy most of the time and couldn't spend much time with you. but he had no idea it was affecting you this much. once he turns human again, he'll make sure to fix the problem.

after an hour or so of walking around, you finally got tired and walked back to your home. once you reached your bedroom, you picked up the cat you spent your day with and placed it on your bed.

"i hope you don't have any diseases, that wouldn't be very good for me." you laughed nervously, as you climbed into bed next to the cat.

bi-han looked at you in annoyance and scrunched his little nose as if you just called him something offensive.

"anyways, goodnight little one. i hope we can find your owner tomorrow. if not, i can take care of you! as long as bi-han allows it..." you trailed off. "in fact, i'm really scared of displeasing him.."

bi-han's ears perked up at what you said. why would you be so scared of pleasing him? is he so intimidating that he even makes his significant other frightened?

"i mean, it's not like he's aggressive or anything, i just don't want to disappoint him. i feel like i'm walking on eggshells around him. if i say the wrong thing, he would think i'm unworthy of being with him. sometimes... i'm not sure if he really loves me. if he really loved me, he would put more effort into spending time with me... right?" you whispered, as a small tear escaped from your eye.

bi-han's heart broke a bit when he heard that. he knows that he is a bit.. judgemental. but he never meant to make you feel unloved.

he crawled up to you and licked your tear away. he hoped that it would make you feel a bit better about your situation. he made a mental note to talk to you as soon as he was human again. the last thing bi-han wanted to do was hurt you. even after all the people he has betrayed, hurt, and even killed... you were the only person he never wished to harm.

he cuddled up beside you and made himself comfortable. surely a bit of physical touch would make you feel better? it's not like he has been doing that in his human form anyway.. which he notes to fix soon.

soon you both drifted off to sleep peacefully, with bi-han curled up comfortably in your arms.

the next morning, you woke up to bi-han sleeping right next to you. when did he get there?

“bi-han?” you whispered.

when he woke up, he immediately checked his arms and legs. thankfully, he was human again.

“good morning, beloved. how did you sleep?” bi-han asked, strangely casual even though he magically appeared in your bed.

“i slept.. fine. but i had a cat with me. it was a cute little black cat, it showed up at my door out of nowhere yesterday. it was kind of grumpy, but it listened to me when i ranted to it. it kind of reminded me of you.” you giggled.

“about that…” bi-han sighed. “…i have some explaining to do.”

tomas vrbada

tomas had invited you to madam bo’s for dinner, and he was planning on confessing his feelings to you there. but unfortunately, he couldn't exactly make it.

he accidentally fell asleep, and when he woke up he realized he was late. he immediately got up from his bed and tried standing up, but he couldn't stand on his two legs anymore. because his legs were now full of fur, and he had paws.

this could not be happening. the first time he gained the courage to make a move and ask you out, he ends up turning into a dog.

he had to find a way to get to you and do something. what if you think he stood you up on purpose?

-

you were sitting at a table at madam bo's, waiting for tomas to arrive. you get that he's probably busy, so you were being very patient and decided to wait a bit. but you were sitting there for so long, the place was going to close soon.

you were about to get up and leave, until a golden retriever dog ran up to you with its tail wagging intensely.

it didn't have a collar, so it seemed to be a random stray dog that took a liking to you. but it also seemed so well-behaved, how could it be a stray?

tomas was relieved to see that you were still at the restaurant. he felt bad that he made you wait for nothing, but at least that was a sign that you cared about him.

"oh, hello there. what could you be doing in a place like this?" you greeted, petting the dog in front of you.

tomas felt a bit strange getting petted by you, but it somehow felt really good.

"i was waiting for someone, but he never came..." you sighed. "this place is about to close. maybe you can accompany me while i walk home?"

tomas didn't hesitate to walk beside you, but he couldn't help but feel extremely guilty for wasting your time. he'll find a way to make up for it.

-

"i know he's a busy guy, but wouldn't he know if he couldn't make it today? i kind of got myself all dressed up for nothing.." you admitted, opening up to the loyal dog that never strayed from your side throughout your walk.

tomas's heart broke when he heard how you felt. if only he was human at that moment, he would've been apologizing profusely and trying to make you feel better.

"i really, really like him. i think he's so kind, fun, and he has always cared about me. i was so excited to go on this date with him, because i thought that maybe it was a sign that he liked me back. i'm trying to stay positive and hope that he was probably just busy, but what if he just doesn't actually care about me?" you sighed.

tomas whimpered in response, feeling extremely guilty about hurting you. he never meant to make you feel that way.

"i don't know if you are sad for me or if you're just hungry.. but you're a good listener. you remind me a lot of tomas..." you mumbled, feeling appreciated by your little companion.

-

once you arrived to your house, tomas felt very creepy. he was walking around your bedroom, looking at the little trinkets you have and sniffing around. he couldn't help it, it's like he had an instinct to snoop around your living space now that he was a dog.

"i'm really tired... stay here, and i'll find you some kind of blanket to sleep on. i have to put on my pyjamas first, though." you said, silently regretting that you wasted such a good outfit to be stood up.

when you returned to tomas, he was still sitting in your bedroom and patiently waiting. you laid out a blanket for him, and then you crawled into your own bed.

"goodnight. hopefully i can find your owner tomorrow, if you have one. even though you probably can't understand me and i'm just talking to myself.." you mumbled, rolling over and going to sleep.

tomas tried to think of a way to make it up to you when he was human again. he felt so guilty for hurting you. he hoped you didn't lose feelings for him, it would make him feel even worse if you did.

-

the next morning, you woke up and you were expecting to see the same golden retriever from last night sleeping on the floor.

instead, you looked down and saw tomas himself peacefully asleep on your floor, wearing nothing but a blanket over his privates.

you immediately pinched yourself. this had to be a dream. you had so many questions. what happened with the dog? did tomas break in while you were sleeping?

"tomas?" you whispered.

he slowly opened his eyes, and he let out a sigh of relief as soon as he saw he had his regular body back.

but that sense of accomplishment faded as soon as he noticed that he was pretty much naked on your bedroom floor.

"good morning..." tomas greeted awkwardly.

"good morning." you replied, trying to look respectfully.

you both stood in awkward silence for a solid minute before you finally spoke up.

"so.. what brings you here... naked...?" you asked.

tomas blushed. "well..."

-

"so.. you were the dog from last night?" you questioned.

"yeah. i'm sorry for uh.. you know, turning into a dog and accidentally leaving you alone on that date." tomas apologized.

"did you hear everything i said last night?" you said quietly, embarrassed that you practically poured your heart out to him without knowing it.

"i did. i am still so sorry that i hurt you. i'll make it up to you, i promise. i'll take you out for dinner again, but i'll show up this time. and i'll pay the bill!" he offered.

hell yeah, free food. who could resist that? you instantly agreed to his offer and you had hope that the date would go well this time, and then maybe you two can become something more.

"great! i'll go get ready right now!"

"tomas, you have hours to get ready, there is no need to rush. and you're still naked, by the way." you sighed.

[reiding-writing]

hiii, i hope you're well! i saw that you are taking requests for spencer and i really like your angst fics so i was wondering if you could write one with unrequited love?

preferably bau!reader who has feelings for him but he doesn't and she watches him get with someone else and everybody knows how she feels about him but he is oblivious, ending is up to you but i love me a sad ending heheh 😸

transgression [ s.r ]

You’re in love with Spencer Reid. He’s in love with somebody else.

WARNINGS: SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRE MAEVE ARC, LOTS of misunderstanding, Spencer is kind of a bad friend, lots of arguing, major character death

spencer reid x gn!reader || ANGST || 8.2k || masterlist!!

a/n: sorry for the delay, but i did warn you it was gonna be long so- also i listened to ceilings on repeat whilst writing this so take that as you will 🫶

did i bend the maeve arc to my will for this fic? yes. yes i did.

taglist (slashed blogs couldn’t be tagged): @babyspiderling @marsxoxo2 @vytvyvy @hpstuff244444 @frostooo @ohmysw33 @radioactiveinvisible @devilsadvcte @the-local-pendeja @kakashis-formal-simp @robinswrld

You suppose you did it to yourself.

Spencer’s migraines had gotten increasingly worse over the last few months, and after a few consecutive days of hounding him, he’d finally decided to go and see a medical professional about it.

You’d expected him to come back with news about how his brain stem was too active from how hard he was working himself, or that he’d managed to raise his blood pressure to an unhealthy high from all the stress he was under.

Instead he’d told you that they couldn’t find anything physically wrong with him and that he’d been referred to a geneticist to check if the cause of his sudden mind-numbing aching was due to an underlying condition that might have been passed down from his mother.

He’d come back and forth to you for weeks about his phone calls with the doctor.

How she was helping him with his sleep deprivation.

How she was helping to manage his diet.

How she loved classic literature.

How she and him had spent four consecutive hours on the phone debating over the logistics of a novel they both enjoyed.

You could see the change happening before your eyes, and you weren’t the only one either.

“Pretty boy’s chipper this morning,” Morgan joins you at the kitchenette, his eyes following Spencer as he takes a seat at his desk with all of the enthusiasm of a golden retriever puppy who’d been let off his leash for the first time.

You hum with a nod, focusing your attention on the two cups of coffee you were making, heaping tablespoons of sugar into Spencer’s Doctor Who mug to satisfy his insatiable need for sweetness. “They’re reading a book together,”

“Really?” You respond to Morgan’s raised eyebrow with a short nod and another hum.

“Thoughts in Solitude by Thomas Merton, apparently she finds the religious analysis ‘fascinating’,” You can’t help the small contemptment that seeps into your tone as you reiterate what Spencer had told you to Morgan, and you can practically feel his pitiful gaze as he watches you make your coffee.

“I’ve heard of that book before from somewhere,”

“I tried to get him to read it a few months ago,” You take a sip of your coffee at the end of your sentence, barely able to taste it over the scolding water but not finding the mind to care.

You leave your conversation with Morgan at that, taking the two mugs in your hands and walking back into the bullpen, placing Spencer’s mug in front of him and walking around the cluster of desks to reach your own.

He’s sure he doesn’t need to verbalise it, but Morgan feels increasingly sorry for your situation, noting how you skirt past Spencer’s “thank you” without a response as you bury your head in your files.

he can’t imagine how much the fact that Spencer had seemingly formed a crush on his geneticist ripped you apart.

And the worst part? He’d never met her in person.

All scientific laws of attraction be damned, Spencer Reid had fallen in love with someone he’d never met in the span of three months, and you we’re resigning yourself to sit on the sidelines and watch as the man you had been in love with for six years find the happiness that you longed for with somebody else.

How you managed to keep up your facade you didn’t know.

You’d offered him change for the pay phone he’d call her from when he was running short. You’d let him rant to you about her opinions on a novel that you had failed to get him to read. You made excuses for him to leave the office early so that he could spend his time on the phone with her.

You were the one that sent him to the hospital and caused him to meet her in the first place.

He never hesitated to remind you of that fact, thanking you vicariously every time he relayed his conversations with the doctor back to you.

As the weeks progressed he stopped calling her that. She wasn’t ‘the doctor’ anymore. She was Maeve.

He didn’t call you by your first name and you’d known him for ten times longer that he’d known her. He didn’t even call Morgan by his first name and those two were practically brothers.

And that part was probably what hurt the most.

Maeve.

A name of Irish origin meaning ‘intoxicating’. How fitting.

Apparently the Irish goddess of love and desire was named Maeve. You could see the glimmer in Spencer’s eye that told you his Maeve was just as important as the mythological goddess he was describing.

His Maeve.

“So why haven’t you two actually gone on a date or anything?” You take a sip from the mug in your hands, swivelling your chair back and forth with your foot as a pivot. “You’ve been talking for what, four months now? Surely it’s about time you actually met her in person,”

“It’s complicated,” Spencer sighs as he collects the loose papers he was working on in a pile. He didn’t want to divulge Maeve’s issues without her permission.

“You’ve been saying that for the last six weeks Spencer,” You roll your eyes as you discard your half-empty mug on the table. “If I didn’t know any better i’d say you’re putting it off,”

Spencer shook his head adamantly at your suggestion. You couldn’t have been more wrong. He did want to meet her. Desperately. He’d wanted to meet her since the end of their first phone call. But he also wanted to keep her safe.

How do you meet up with somebody who’s hiding from a stalker without endangering them?

“I do want to meet her. It’s just- she’s dealing with something personal and it’s put a rift our plans, that’s all,”

“So it’s her not wanting to meet up with you then?” You raise an eyebrow at him over your desks.

“Look it’s- You don’t get it okay? It was a mutual understanding from both of us.” You can hear Spencer’s tone become more defensive as you spoke, and you raised both of your hands in surrender.

“Okay, i’m sorry for prying-” You ended your apology with a laugh, trying to keep the conversation lighthearted despite feeling your heart deflate in your chest at the way the friendliness his his eyes fizzled out the longer you looked at him.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Spencer’s late to work this morning.

It’s 8:06 when he finally walks through the glass doors, the coffee you made him stone cold after sitting lamely on his desk for the better part of twenty minutes. He doesn’t so much as offer an apology as he picks up the mug and makes his way over to the kitchenette to pour the coffee down the sink.

You follow behind him in a mix of intrigue and a want to refill your own mug, swilling it out with some water as you watch Spencer load a coffee pod into the machine. “Phone call last longer than you expected?”

“Hm? Oh- yeah, we were discussing the literary analysis of Annabelle Lee,” Spencer’s demeanour seems to brighten immediately once he’s given an opportunity to discuss the details of his phone call with Maeve, although the beginning of his ramble is quickly cut off by the beeping of the coffee machine.

You wait patiently for his coffee to finish before you begin making yours, raising an eyebrow as Spencer pulls out a regular teaspoon instead of the usual tablespoon he’d incorrectly use to load his coffee with sugar.

Your intrigue only heightened when he pulled a carton of milk from the mini-fridge. Not even normal milk. Soy milk.

“Since when do you drink coffee like a normal person?”

His eyes flickered from his mug to your face as he tipped a single teaspoon of sugar into his drink before replacing the bag back where it came from. “It’s a part of my managed diet, Maeve thinks that my increased sugar intake might be one of the risk factors for my headaches,”

“Did she tell you to put soy milk in it too?” You don’t know why you have the urge to be petty, Spencer had long since needed to change his coffee drinking habits for the sake of decreasing his sugar intake and Maeve’s suggestions were beneficial for his health.

It was just the fact that it was her that ticked you off.

“She did actually, it provides the same amount of riboflavin as cow’s milk, which acts as a soothing agent whilst also helping constrict inflamed blood vessels, but without all of the excess fats in regular milk that might make my migraines more frequent, it’s genius really,”

He thought that her ideas were genius. Him. Mr ‘I have three PhDs and an IQ of 187’, thought someone else’s ideas were genius.

You’re sure that he already knew the benefits of milk alternatives, and yet he attributed the ‘revelation’ of what they could do to Maeve. Of course he did.

“When was the last time you made a decision for yourself?” The question comes out much harsher than you intend it to, and you can tell by the way Spencer furrows his eyebrows that he’s taken offence to it.

“Sorry, that came out wrong,” No it didn’t. “I’m just a little surprised that someone as independent as you is so… willing to follow blind instructions,” Your attempt at saving yourself half-works, that wrinkle between his eyebrows disappears and you can see that the glimmer in his eyes is returning slowly.

“She’s a doctor, of course i’m going to follow her suggestions,”

You give him a soft nod as you pick up your mug from under the coffee machine. “Yeah, no, that makes sense, it’s just a little surprising is all,”

You don’t give him a chance to respond to you before you’re walking away from the kitchenette to retake a seat at your desk, fearing you might say something out of pocket if you continue the conversation any longer.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You were really pissed off now.

You’d arrived back in Quantico three days ago, and you were still piled up to your neck in paperwork.

Maybe you would’ve had it finished by now if Spencer would stop talking about the fact that he was “-finally going to meet Maeve in person,”.

You had half the mind to snap and tell him to just shut up, although by the saving grace of Morgan you thankfully didn’t have to.

“Reid, give their poor ears a break man,” Your thankful for Morgan in times like this. He knew you were knee-deep in your feelings for Spencer, and he knew that every time Spencer so much as spoke Maeve’s name it carved another hairline fracture in your heart.

You were close to shattering, and Morgan could tell.

“Oh- right, sorry,” Spencer offered you an awkward smile which you mirrored back at him.

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it,” You shake your head in a polite dismissal of his apology before turning your head back down towards your files.

“I take it you’re nervous then?” Alex’s voice cut through the beginning of an awkward tension between the two of you as she entered to bullpen with a cup of coffee in hand.

“Well- I mean- you know…” Upon being unable to find a sufficient response, Spencer resorts to shrugging into his chair. “I just don’t want to ruin anything,”

“But aren’t you curious what she looks like?” Alex raises an eyebrow with concern like Spencer was he son going on his first ever date.

“it doesn’t matter what she looks like I mean- she’s already the most beautiful girl in the world to me it’s just-”

You don’t stick around to hear the rest of the conversation.

You sudden upheaval from your desk stops Spencer’s sentence as his eyes follow you across the bullpen and out of the glass doors, followed shortly by Morgan as he jogs after you.

“Hey- Wait up a minute-” Morgan catches your arm before you have a chance to get in the elevator, and as you turn your eyes towards him he can see the beginnings of tears forming in your eyes.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this..”

Morgan can do nothing more than pull your head into his shoulder and wrap his arms tightly around your back with a soft mutter of your name. “I know kid, I know…”

“He thinks she’s the most beautiful girl in the world,” You turn your head up from Morgan’s shoulder to meet his eyes, a single stray tear cascading down your cheek, illuminated under the florescent lights. “How am I supposed to compete with that..?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Incidentally, Spencer’s date with Maeve didn’t end up happening. Conflicting work schedules or something, you weren’t really listening.

Maybe all of your subconscious thoughts had leaked into reality and finally gave you momentary release from the crushing defeat of having Spencer go on a date with someone else.

Maybe it was them punishing you further by forcing you to sit through him rant about the book she’d left him at the front of the restaurant.

It didn’t help that you already had a headache that made it feel like your eye sockets were being kicked by an annoying kid sat behind you on an aeroplane, leaving a dull ache in it’s wake and making you just want to bury yourself in a hole and hibernate.

“And right at the back she wrote ’Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone; we find it with another’ it’s a quote from-”

“Thomas Merton. Yeah, I know.” You dig the knuckle of your left thumb into cavity of your eye socket over your closed eyelid, hoping to relieve some of the tension that’s lingering there and disrupting your thoughts.

“Thomas Merton’s ‘Love and Living’ specifically,” If Spencer noticed your discomfort he didn’t acknowledge it. “It’s a collection of his essays on the importance of love to live, so for her to have written it specifically knowing that I would read it means-”

“Reid.”

Your tone stops him from continuing any further, and he blinks at you with that sweet puppy-dog expression that would usually have you weak at the knees.

“No offence, but I don’t care about your over-the-phone girlfriend or the quote that she wrote in your book.” Your tone carried a harshness to it that Spencer wasn’t used to hearing from you. It was cold and detached and not like you at all.

“Are- you okay?”

“No, Reid, I’m not, and if you’d bothered to ask about my life every once in a while instead of using me like a human diary maybe you would’ve realised that already.”

You practically slam your file closed as you speak, pushing your chair out from your desk and leaving him sat in shock at your sudden change in attitude.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

After a bit of introspection, Spencer did realise that he hadn’t been treating you very fairly. He hadn’t asked you how your life had been in 3 months and 26 days. Four of those days he’d spent in damn near radio silence. He wasn’t sure he could take it much longer.

He missed you.

It was a bit ironic considering you sat directly opposite him for almost eight hours a day five days a week, but after you’d snapped at him last week, he truly realised just how much of his day he spent socialising with you, and just how much he missed talking to you.

So he decided that he was going to apologise.

And what better form of an apology for being dismissive of your feelings than putting a personal effort into something for you.

He walked into the office that morning with a leather bound copy of The Parasite by Arthur Conan Doyle stored cautiously in his messenger bag, pages scrawled with annotations from Spencer’s own reading of the novel that he hoped would be insightful to you as you read it yourself.

He’d remembered you saying how much you wanted to read the novel a few months ago, so he figured giving it to you as a personalised apology would show that he really did care about you and had listened to what you’d told him.

“Are you busy?” Spencer asks, though he already knows the answer to the question.

He’d been watching you from the other side of the room all morning, hoping for a moment or two of eye contact to see if there was a possibility of a conversation. A look from one to the other; even a smile would’ve been enough to make him feel validated and content. And he would have been willing to settle for that.

But you never looked up. Not even once.

"Mhm," You continue to not spare Spencer so much as glance as he speaks, turning over the page of the file you were working through.

“Can I take a minute of your time?” He tried to catch your gaze again, only to be met by your continued focus on your work. The last thing he wanted to do was disrupt your work routine, but he also knew that he needed to talk to you sooner rather than later.

“Please,” he said softly. “It’s important.”

You exhale heavily through your nose, exasperation written clearly in your expression as you leave your pen as a page marker to close the manilla folder on your desk. You turn your head upwards, raising an eyebrow and opening your hands to agitatedly indicate for him to continue.

You wouldn’t lie and say that it didn’t hurt being so openly cold towards Spencer, but you’d reached a breaking point, and you couldn’t bare sitting idly on the sidelines and letting him tear your heart to pieces anymore.

Spencer was relieved that you’d granted him your attention, but the look you directed towards him was enough to make him wince. You weren’t looking at him through a lens of indifference but rather cold, hard disappointment.

He took a deep breath, trying to gather the right words for what he had to say.

“I’m sorry,”

He seemed almost breathless as he spoke, like he’d just finished a tangent about something without taking the time to breathe. “I know that I’ve been spending too much time talking about Maeve and not enough paying attention to you.”

"You don’t say," You mutter the words under your breath to yourself, but your sure that Spencer heard you based on the way his eyebrows knit and the small gleam of hope in his eyes dwindles to barely a flicker.

He was trying not to react to your snide comment. Spencer knew that your tone didn’t leave any room to deny your meaning. He’d been selfish in talking exclusively about his relationship and hadn’t realised how it was affecting you.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer repeated. “You mean so much to me and I haven’t been showing that.”

"Thank you," Your thanks are polite but dismissive, like you were acknowledging his apology but choosing to not actually consider it as one, and it left Spencer with an expression of clear frustration.

He was used to being able to read your facial expressions and emotions in the past, but now you were just an unreadable wall of disappointment. He had hoped the apology would've been enough, but it was clear that you weren’t going to let him off that easily.

Time to pull out the last resort.

He bent over and fumbled with his bag for a few moments before pulling out the novel he’d brought with him face up.

“I uh… got you this,” He holds out the book towards you. “You said you wanted to read it right? So I uh.. annotated it for you to make it more enjoyable,”

You take the novel from him with a raised eyebrow as your eyes scan the cover, a clear flicker of confusion in your expression.

Spencer noticed your expression and furrowed his own brow in confusion. You didn't seem to recognise the book. In fact, the look on your face made him wonder whether you even knew this book existed at all before this moment.

“I hope you… like it,” he said nervously. “I was going off what you'd talked about before. You mentioned the book was a classic?”

"I… have never seen this book in my life,”

“B-But…” Spencer knew this was going to be awkward at some point, but he'd hoped not this early into the conversation. He could feel his cheeks burning from embarrassment, and it was only getting worse as he searched your face for an answer to this awkward situation.

“I… swear I heard you mention it once.”

You give him a short shake of your head and a pursed smile of awkward thanks as you put the book down on your desk.

Spencer looked away, embarrassed beyond belief. He hadn't even been able to deliver an apology properly, let alone make you feel special like he'd originally intended to.

How had he gotten it wrong? He had an eidetic memory for god’s sake.

When you put the book down on your desk, his eyes flicked back to the book. He'd spent almost 4 hours annotating and researching it and now it felt like all that effort had been wasted.

If you hadn’t mentioned it then who had? Someone must’ve. Someone he obviously equated with you to the point where he’d somehow managed to override his eidetic memory to mix the two of you up.

It takes him a few moments before you hear him whisper out a name under his breath, the palm of his hand dragging down the front of his face at the realisation.

"Maeve…"

The mention of her name had your eyes flickering away from the leather cover and right back to Spencer’s face, awkwardness completely rid of your features and replaced with a mix of negativity that Spencer wasn’t sure he wanted to dig into.

"Are you serious?" Your words come out less questioningly and more accusatory, and you hold the book up so that he can see it once more, the gold embossing on the cover glinting under the overhead light as if to only taunt Spencer further for his mistake.

“You apologise for continuously disregarding me for your girlfriend by giving me a book that she showed interest in?”

You could see Spencer's face fall as your words sink in.

He hadn't even taken the time to think over what he was apologising with. It was almost as if his brain automatically just reverted back to his girlfriend's interests as an escape from dealing with his own guilt and sadness.

"Damn it," he whispered to himself. And in that moment he realised he'd just committed the biggest crime someone could make when trying to apologise.

“Like you constantly flaunting your relationship in my face verbally wasn’t bad enough.”

"I'm sorry I-" he says again, voice teeming with sincerity and guilt.

"You are truly and utterly unbelievable Spencer Reid." Your words didn’t carry anger as much as they did disappointment, and he could see the astoundment in your eyes as you pushed your chair backwards to stand, dropping the book straight in the trash bin by your desk before walking off.

It’s where it belongs; Right alongside the small sliver of respect you still had for him.

Spencer could've said so much more: he could've admitted how ashamed he felt for his careless actions and he could've apologised again and again a million times if it meant you'd stick around and give him a chance to make it up to you.

But you had already made it clear that you weren't in the right state of mind to discuss this matter further.

The best thing he could do now was give you space as he watched you walk away, a deep pain in his heart that slowly ate him alive from the inside.

He’d well and truly fucked up.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Oh sweetheart, what’s wrong?” You were bordering tears by the time you reached Garcia’s office, unintentionally interrupting her lunch break with Alex in the process, though the two seemed to care less about the interruption and more about the fact that you liked like you were about to cry your eyes out.

You take in a sharp breath through your nose as you try to tape together the cracks in your composure, although with every one you seal three more seem to appear in it’s place.

“I-” You can barely get the first word out before the tears start rolling down your face, and Alex immediately stands from her seat to guide you to sit in her place.

“Hey, you’re alright, slowly,” Alex’s hands find your shoulders and rub reassuring circles against your shirt. The slow breath you take in doesn’t stop the flood of tears that’s blurring your vision, and you only manage to get out a single word, but it’s all the two need to understand what’s got you so overwhelmed.

“Spencer-”

“I swear I am two seconds away from smacking that boy over the back of the head,” You can hear the clear frustration in Garcia’s tone. “Surely he’s got to realise how much he’s hurting you by now,”

“He does… I lashed out at him and then left to come here…” You rub your eyes with the back of your hand alongside a small sniffle, trying to rid your vision of it’s blurriness from your tears.

“Good, the boy deserves to have some sense knocked into him,” You appreciate Garcia taking your side, but you can’t help that small lingering feeling of guilt that invades the back of your mind.

“He’s just in love, it’s not his fault…” The words almost physically pain you to say. The verbal acceptance that Spencer Reid was indeed in love with somebody. Somebody who wasn’t you.

“That doesn’t mean that he should be disregarding you though sweetheart,” Alex’s tone is soft and almost maternal, and your sure that it doesn’t help how emotional you are.

Garcia’s right hand reaches forward to straighten out the collar of your shirt, unintentionally crumpled as you try to wipe your face of your emotions. “You’re his friend, and you have been his friend for longer than he’s known this girl he’s talking to, it’s not fair for him to completely push you to the side,”

Garcia was right. It’s not fair. Nothing about how Spencer had been treating you since he’d started speaking to Maeve had been fair. And you were done making excuses for the boy just because you knees deep in your feelings for him.

You didn’t deserve to feel guilty. You didn’t deserve to feel bad for lashing out at Spencer for apologising for not showing interest in your life by further proving just how little he’d actually payed attention to you. You didn’t deserve to cry because he was the most stupid genius to ever live and couldn’t see that you were hopelessly in love with him. You didn’t deserve to suffer by his hand.

It wasn’t fair.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Maeve’s been kidnapped.”

You have to consciously suppress the small voice in the back of your head that celebrates the possibility that she might not be a part of Spencer’s life for much longer. It’s a horrible thought. You should never wish ill upon anyone, no matter how much you internally despised them.

Still, that part of you that was still petty, that was still infuriated with Spencer and Maeve, wanted you to tell Spencer straight to his face that you weren’t going to help him find her and that it was karma for how he’d treated you.

But you weren’t a bad person.

As much as you might hate her, she was still important to Spencer.

“I have a wealth of knowledge i should be applying to this case, but- i can’t focus on anything for more than four seconds at a time… which makes me the dumbest person in the room-” Spencer’s eyes are full of desperation as they scan across your teammates.

“So please help me… Please help me find her…” The desperation in his voice is heartbreaking, the remnants of tears staining his face as he explains the context of the situation through broken sentences.

“We don’t have an official case, so we’ll be working on personal time,” Hotch’s voice is much quieter than you’re used to. Softer, more considerate. “Does anybody want to leave?”

You can feel his eyes linger on you as he asks the question, and you subconsciously purse your mouth into a tight line to stop yourself from impulsively pulling out of the investigation.

You might be detrimentally frustrated with him, but you did want to help. Even if it ultimately resulted in your downfall.

Hotch gave you a short nod before turning to the rest of the team. “Good, let’s get to work,”

It didn’t take Garcia very long to track Maeve down, mostly attributed to her unique name and specialised job.

Dr. Maeve Donovan, a professor at Mendel University who took a sabbatical leave 10 months ago.

The group split into different groups once they’d found her, JJ and Morgan heading off to a loft her parents owned, Alex and Rossi heading to the lab she used to work at, and you and Hotch, accompanied by Spencer, going to speak to Maeve’s parents.

“Reid,” Garcia’s tone is soft as she looks over her laptop screen towards him as he begins to stand from the conference table. “I have a picture of her, do you want to know what she looks like?”

“No,”

Spencer’s answer is immediate, joined by a shake of his head.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You and Spencer watched from behind the one way mirror as the interview progressed.

They’d last spoken to Maeve five days ago. Her mother had cancer. She was also a geneticist. They were suspicious of her ex fiancé Bobby.

Her fiancé?

You can see Spencer’s face drop at the words despite the low lighting in the room, and you can’t help but furrow your eyebrows yourself.

She had a fiancé?

Spencer practically storms out of the office after the questioning is over, and Hotch has to remind him to calm down as they reach the apartment of Robert Putnam with Morgan and Rossi in tow.

When the door opens the five of you aren’t greeted by Robert, but rather a girl, a girl who looked very confused.

You invite yourselves inside at the girl’s recognition that Robert was inside the apartment.

“And who are you?”

“I’m Diane, his girlfriend,” She raised an eyebrow as the five of you looked around, confusion cut short as Robert rounds the corner questioning the sudden voices coming from his living room.

“Hey babe what’s-“

“Robert Putnam, FBI we’d like to-” Spencer’s voice cuts him off harshly as he rushes to speak, although he stops his sentence halfway as a flicker of recognition falls across his features and his anger turns to dread.

“Hey, I know you,” Robert doesn’t have the time to say anything else to Spencer before Hotch forces him out of the room, shutting the door behind him to speak to Spencer privately whilst you Morgan and Rossi remained inside.

Hotch returned a few minutes later. Spencer didn’t.

You end up taking Hotch’s place as you push yourself out of the apartment with a small “excuse me,” to follow after Spencer as he walks out of the apartment building.

“Spencer- wait up a minute-”

He doesn’t stop at your call, and you’re practically running down the stairs by the time you get to him, already out of the front doors of the apartment building.

“Hey-” You take a second to catch your breath before turning your eyes back towards him again. “Are you alright?”

You could see the flicker of confusion in his eyes as he met your gaze.

The last time you spoke to him you threw away any remnant of your friendship with him in the bin alongside the book he’d given you, and now here you were, chasing after him to make sure that he was okay.

“Why did you agree to help?”

Your face falls from concern to surprise at his question, and he takes it as a sign to continue.

“I know that you don’t like her, so why are you here?” You could see the beginnings of tears forming in his eyes, clearly overwhelmed with how the investigation was going.

“She’s important to you Spencer. Like her or not I care about you. So therefore I care about her,” You don’t think as you speak, words spilling out of your mouth with no conscious filter.

“I’m sorry.” Spencer’s apology elicits a sigh from your mouth, and you shake your head softly at him.

“Forget it, let’s focus on getting Maeve home safe alright?” He obliges to your request with a purse of his lips and a small nod, turning his eyes towards the ground.

“What’re you thinking about?” His eyes fall on yours once more at your question, round with confusion and glistening with the starts of tears. “I can see it in your face, you’re calculating something in your head,”

He exhales through his mouth in a small laugh. You’d always been able to figure him out, and not just because you were a profiler.

“2,412 hours,” His tone is uncertain, mixed between gratefulness for you observance and something far more upsetting. “That’s how long Maeve and I have contacted each other counting letters and phone calls…”

“That’s what-” You take a second to do the calculation in your head. “100 days?”

“100.5…” He runs his hand backwards through his hair, pressing his eyes closed like he’s afraid tears will spill from them if he doesn’t. “What if that’s all I get?”

“It won’t be Spencer…”

“You don’t know that-“

“Yes Spencer, I do,” You have to consciously suppress the sigh that threatens to leave your mouth, pushing your lingering distaste for Maeve down with it. “She is going to be fine, I promise,”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Turns out Maeve’s ex fiancé wasn’t the stalker. In fact, he was being stalked himself, and whilst JJ and Garcia were looking over the images posted to Robert whilst him and Maeve were still together they discovered something that changed the entire direction of the investigation.

Maeve’s face had scribbled out in eyeliner.

You and the team spent the next thirty minutes rebuilding the profile from the bottom up.

“Celebrity stalkers are usually non violent,”

“You want to tell that to John Lennon Rossi?” Spencer looked up from his lap towards the group at the table, having separated himself from the group to sit on a sofa lining one of the walls so he couldn’t bias the profile.

It wasn’t going too well.

“What was it that Mark David Chapman said after he shot him?” Spencer stood from his seat, anger flaring in his nostrils. “‘It was like all of my nobody-ness and all of his somebody-ness collided’,”

You could hear the rise in his tone as he worked himself up the more he spoke.

“Spencer-“

“Maeve is somebody. And this- bitch is a nobody.”

“Spencer.”

Spencer caught your gaze, and immediately fizzling out of his eyes and replaced with guilt. “I’m sorry- I can’t be very helpful right now I should leave-“

“Yes you can Reid, you have 100.5 days of communication with this girl and a recall everything verbatim,” Morgan’s gaze is entirely concerned with Spencer’s outburst.

“There’s too much of it, and I can’t sort through any of it clearly-“ Spencer is clearly on the edge of breaking, and you can tell he’s not going to be able to keep his composure for much longer.

“Then pick one of us and we’ll go through it with you,” Hotch leaned his elbows against the table, his voice again portraying that soft, parental tone that said he knew how overwhelmed Spencer was getting.

Spencer didn’t even say anything, his eyes just silently flickered over to you and you knew you couldn’t refuse him.

You return his silence as you get up from your seat and pat your hand on his shoulder for the two of you to exit the room together.

Time to torture yourself for the sake of Spencer’s wellbeing.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Diane Turner, a research assistant working for her PhD in the same lab as Maeve. A student who had her thesis rejected because it contained a heavy sample bias that included both of her parents.

It took a while, but Garcia eventually managed to track down a loft that was owned under Diane’s parents’ names, less than 10 minutes away from Maeve’s apartment.

“Take your gun and vest off,” Diane’s voice is harsh through the receiver attached to the front of the building, and Spencer’s eyes flickered up from the silk blindfold in his hands to the metal box.

He doesn’t question the orders as he immediately begins stripping the vest from his torso, dropping it and his gun on the floor.

“Now come in alone.”

“Spencer.” You call out to him as he reaches for the door handle, and he gives you that look that makes your stomach do flips in your torso. Except this time it’s not that pleasant fluttery feeling, but instead an existential dread at the fact that he might not walk out of the building alive.

“I’ll be okay,” He gives you a nod of reassurance as he pushes the door open, and you find yourself clenching your hands around your gun to stop yourself from following after him.

The six of you wait outside for what feels like hours, and you lean back and forth on the balls of your feet as you become increasingly restless with the situation.

Then, a gunshot.

And a second.

And your heart drops in your chest.

You’re not entirely present as you rush into the building with the team following behind you, gun raised at your eyes.

Spencer had to be okay. He had to. He was going to be fine. You were going to walk into that room and he was going to be perfectly fine.

You hoped Maeve was alright too. As much as she was unintentionally causing you literal hell, you knew that she meant everything to Spencer.

You knew that he’d choose her over anything. He’d choose her over you.

And right now you don’t care. You just want him to be okay.

You force the door open to the loft with your foot, gun pointed straight ahead at the first person you see.

“Stay back-“ Spencer practically shouts from where he’s half lying on the floor, right hand clutching tightly at his left bicep, trails of blood cascading down his fingers and onto the floor.

“Stay back stay back don’t shoot-“

You let out an audible sigh at the fact that Spencer wasn’t critically harmed, although upon a whimper of his name from further across the room you turn your eyes up to the noise.

And you finally meet the girl that’s caused you ten months of hell. Held at gunpoint.

That small voice in the back of your head tells you that this might be your chance to finally rid her from your life, to let her succumb to whatever Diane had planned and leave Spencer to you.

But you take one look at the desperation in her eyes and any loathing that remained in your mind immediately fizzled out.

It wasn’t her fault. Of course it wasn’t. She was just a girl that happened to be in love.

“Diane,” Spencer pushes himself to stand, and you can see the pain in his face as he does. “There’s still a way out of this,”

“You never wanted me. Never!” Diane pushes the gun she’s holding hard against Maeve’s neck, and you can see her eyes squeeze closed as she attempts to keep herself from crying. “You lied!”

“I didn’t.”

Spencer shakes his head adamantly, and you glance over at Hotch as you spread across the back of the room, guns raised in Diane’s direction. “Diane, I offered you a deal, and you can still take it,”

“Me for her. Let me take her place,”

You only have a view of the back of Spencer’s head now, but you can tell by the tone of his voice that his expression is a pure display of desperation, one that you’re happy you can’t see because you’d lose your composure in an instant.

“You would do that?” Diane’s question is angry and accusatory, tears rolling down her face as she presses the gun against Maeve’s neck once more.

Spencer nods with no threat in his tone. “Yes,”

“You would kill yourself for her?”

“Yes.”

You practically feel your heart stop.

“Thomas Merton,” Maeve’s voice is almost exactly as you imagined it to be. Soft, smooth and, as Spencer had called it all those months ago, ‘dipped in honey’.

“Who’s Thomas Merton?” Diane’s tone contrasts Maeve’s tenfold, pitchy, uneven and overrun with manic anger.

“He knows,” You can see Maeve’s eyes flicker, and you assume that they meet Spencer’s as his shoulders drop. “He knows.”

“Who’s Thomas Merton?” Diane shakes Maeve in her grasp as if to intensify the urgence of her question, and you tighten your grip on your gun in instinctual response. “Who is he?”

“He’s the one thing you can never take from us,” Maeve’s voice is confident and defiant despite the clear tears in her eyes.

Thomas Merton could’ve been something between Spencer and you.

“No.”

You can see a clear change in Diane’s expression at Maeve’s words, and she lowers the gun from Maeve’s head only to hold it up against her own, staring directly into Spencer’s eyes.

“Wait-”

Spencer barely has time to shout the word before the gun fires, and you flinch at the sound as you watch Maeve and Diane both drop to the floor, dark red blood pooling around the two.

You can feel the tension in the room as everyone computes what just happened, guns lowering slowly as their eyes lock onto the two women on the floor.

You’re not focused on that. You’re focused on the tightness of Spencer’s shoulders as he takes sharp breaths in and out of his nose.

The way he seems to forget about the bullet wound in his arm as his legs give out underneath him.

The way a sob that leaves his mouth despite the fact that he tries to muffle it with his hand.

The way that Spencer broke.

He's crying. Big, heaving, heart-wrenching sobs.

His shoulders are trembling.

His hands are shaking.

His head is hanging downwards so that his hair is covering his face.

You approach him slowly, kneeling down at his side and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

His eyes slowly shift from Maeve, his sobs only seeming to amplify as he meets your gaze. His eyes are red and closely with tears, his cheeks running hot and his lips trembling.

You don’t speak, knowing that you’ll break if you do. Instead, you guide his head into your shoulder and let him crumble in your arms, grieving the loss of the love of his life.

You’re sure you’re going to cry yourself to sleep when you get home, but right now, you needed to be strong. For him.

“I’m so sorry-“ Spencer speaks through broken sobs as you hold him, the rest of the team moving to secure the scene.

“Shh,” You shake your head against his softly, rubbing the palm of your hand up and down his back as you let him cry until he physically couldn’t anymore.

“I treated you so horribly-“ He pulls away from your shoulder to look into your eyes once more. “I’m so sorry- Please don’t leave me…”

You purse your lips into a line, your expression full of so many emotions Spencer can’t distinguish any of them.

“I’m not going anywhere,” You pull his head back into your shoulder, leaning your head against his. “I promise…”

[bedsyandco]

𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄

🫧 — {fem!bsf!reader x dad!brock boeser}

🫧 — my first time writing for brock!! I hope you like it, as always feedback is appreciated !!

🫧 — in which your Brock’s best friend and the lines are blurry because you act like more both to him and his son.

🫧 — content: sfw, a little person, fluff

🫧 — wc: 2.35K

You were staring out the window, watching the raindrops slide down the glass of your coffee shop. The place was buzzing with people only minutes earlier, everyone wanting a hot drink to shield them from the stretch of bad weather that impacted the city these last few days, although that’s quite normal this time of the year. The buzz had died down and you were grateful since you just cleaned the floor, and didn’t look forward to having to do it again if someone else entered through the door with their wet shoes, the welcome mat at the entrance seeming to not do its job very effectively.

Your attention quickly shifted when you heard your phone ring and grabbed it out of your back pocket, heart beating a little faster when you saw who was calling.

“Vancouver Academy Preschool”

You had spent hours teasing Brock about how uptight this school sounded. It was preschool for crying out loud, and both you and Brock went to public school and turned out just fine, but he wasn’t budging. Only the very best for his boy. You didn’t feel a single trace of amusement seeing the name now though, only anxious as to why they could be calling.

“Good Afternoon, is this Brooks’ mom, YN speaking?” a woman's voice echoes over the speaker.

“Uh- that’s me but I’m not-”

“Oh thank goodness, we weren’t able to get in contact with his father, I’m glad I could at least reach one of his parents.” she continues, interrupting you before you could correct her that you weren’t Brooks’ mom. Brock was still at the rink, that’s probably why he wasn’t answering. “I’m Brooks’ teacher and I’m calling because there was an accident at school today and we were wondering if you would be able to come pick Brooks up from school?”

Your throat constricts a little at what she's saying, not being able to comprehend the words Brooks and accident in one sentence. “An accident? What accident? Is he hurt?” you ask frantically, questions flying one after the other.

“He’s perfectly fine ma’am. He had a little fall and bumped his head. There was a little scratch but we had our school nurse clean it up and check him out, but we thought since there were only a few hours left of school anyway and he seemed a bit upset, it may be better if he just went home for the day.”

Your eyes flickered to the clock on the wall, seeing that it was only noon. You had another four hours to work at most, but you also knew that Brock probably wasn’t going to see the school’s messages before then and you couldn’t leave Brooks at school until then. The thought of him hurt and upset was enough to make you remove the apron from your waist and say, “I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

“Sounds serious,” you hear from your left seeing Lydia, one of your waitresses standing there.

“It was Brooks’ school. I need to go pick him up. I know it was your day to leave early but do you think you can stay until closing time? If you really can’t we’ll just close up early today,” you ramble, moving to grab your coat and searching for your keys.

“Of course, don’t even worry about it, I’ll close up.” she says

“I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t even try to apologise. You do what you need to for your kids, I get that.” and she did. Having two kids of her own.

“I know but he’s not even really mine. Not biologically at least. It’s not the same and I know this was your Friday to leave early,” you say remorsefully.

“Stop that. He’s yours in every way that matters. If I’ve ever seen anyone be a mom to that little boy, it’s you.” she says and your eyes sting a little and you have to blink up at the ceiling for a minute to stop them from falling.

“Thank you. I owe you one, I’ll see you Monday?” you ask and make your way out the door when she nods.

How you ended up in this situation, you honestly had no idea. It hadn’t been your intention to end up having your name registered as a parental contact. But you did feel an immense sense of warmth that Brock trusted you enough to do it.

Brock had been your friend for many years, and when Brooks came into the world, he only brought you closer. You would have never wished for Brooks’ mom to abandon him and Brock, and you would forever hold resentment in your heart for her because of that, but it did create a hole in their lives that you had somehow filled.

When you pull into the parking lot at Brooks’ school, you clench the steering wheel tightly and let out a big breath, releasing all the confusing thoughts about your role in Brooks’ life and the confusing relationship you had with his father. One day maybe you’d address those thoughts, but today isn’t that day.

You step out of the car, pulling your coat tighter around you to shield from the cold and take a little jog up to the front entrance. The receptionist immediately glanced up when you entered and sent you a quick smile.

“Hi I’m here to pick up Brooks Boeser,” you say and her eyes widened significantly, looking a lot more interested when she heard that last name and called through to the classroom. That almost would have been amusing had you not been preoccupied by your nerves about Brooks. You knew Brock paid a lot of big donations and checks that ensured him and Brooks were treated well here, and it looked like that treatment extended to you.

A door buzzes open and through comes Brooks, his hands tightly clasped on the straps of his backpack, his feet shuffling against the ground.

His eyes were red, cheeks flushed, a little bandaid on his forehead where you assumed the little scratch was. As he neared you his eyes teared up and the bottom lip started to wobble.

“Yn!” he yells, picking up his pace when he sees you and tripping into your legs, wrapping his arms around them.

“Oh my little love, did you get hurt?” You ask bending down and pushing his hair away from his forehead and gently running your fingers over the bandaid, as he nods.

“What exactly happened?” you ask his teacher who was only standing a few feet away observing the interaction.

“Brooks was playing outside with a friend and when he came back inside his shoes were wet and he ran, slipped and fell. He hit his head against a table and there’s a little scrape but as I said on the phone our nurse checked him out and he seems to be just fine. I can contact the nurse to talk with you if you’d like” the teacher says 

“That won’t be necessary, I trust that everything was handled as it should be,” you say in a tone suggesting that anything else would be ridiculous since Brock spends so much money on this school.

“Brooks was so excited when he found out his mom was coming to get him,” his teacher redirects the conversation and you smile tightly at her, that word causing your throat to squeeze tightly.

You squeeze Brooks tightly, the little boy still clinging to you as if his life depended on it. You pick him up, throwing his bag over your shoulder and making your way to the door when the teacher holds it open for you.

“Thank you,” you say politely and she smiles back at you.

“Have a good weekend. I’ll see you on Monday Brooks,” she says as you make your way to your car.

When Brooks is tightly secured in his car seat and you’ve let the car warm up a bit, you make your way to the arena.

“Wanna go visit daddy at work?” you ask Brooks, reaching back and squeezing his foot when you reach a red light.

“Yes!” he yells and you smile at his excitement.

“He’ll be happy to see you,” you say, focusing your attention back on the road.

“Happy to see you too,” Brooks replies and you glance at him in the mirror seeing a teasing little smile on that face.

“You think so?” you ask and he nods

“Uncle Petey told dad he’s happiest when he sees you,” Brooks says matter of factly

“Have you been listening to your dad’s conversations again?” you ask and he smiles guiltily

“No. They thought I was sleeping,” he admits softly and you smile, shaking your head at him. He’s sneaky. 

“Do you love my daddy?” Brooks asks and you swallow thickly thinking about it for a second. You knew Brooks was going to be asking about your friendship with his dad sooner or later, you’d just hoped it was later and that Brock was the one being asked.

You didn’t know how to say it without giving Brooks the wrong idea, and you definitely didn’t need him running back to his dad and telling him about your feelings for him. You weren’t entirely sure Brock was over what happened with Brooks’ mom. You didn’t think he was in love with her, but the way she just left and abandoned both of them still had an effect on Brock. He still hadn’t gone back to dating even after all these years. 

“Of course I love your dad. He’s my best friend in the whole world.” you tell him and he smiles happily.

“Do you think my dad is pretty?” Brooks asks curiously 

“He’s very pretty, just like you,” you say to Brock’s mini-me.

“My dad thinks you’re pretty too. He told uncle Quinny while you were making noodles,” Brooks says, referring to a few days ago when you cooked pasta for Brock and a few guys at his place.

“Are you two going to get married?” Brooks asks and you nearly swerve off the road.

“What made you have that idea?” you ask more calmly than you feel

“A girl in my class said that if two people love each other and think they’re pretty, they get married,” Brooks explains

“It’s a bit more complicated than that bud,” you say gently, relieved as you finally pull up to the arena.

You walk into the arena, Brooks’ hand clasped tightly in yours and wait in a little room you were directed to while someone called for Brock. You were sitting on a couch, Brooks cuddled up in your lap when Brock finally entered the room, closing the door behind him. Brock observed the two of you for a second, a strange emotion clouding his face. 

“Dad! Look, I have a scratch on my head!” he says as you stand up and walk towards Brock, Brooks still on your hip. 

Brock’s panicked eyes find yours before brushing Brooks’ hair away so he could inspect the little scratch more carefully, his other hand falls to your waist, pulling both of you close.

“He had a little fall, scraped his head, he’s okay. I took care of it,” you reassure him, and Brock’s shoulders relax a little bit.

Brock nods, pressing a kiss to Brooks’ forehead before moving to kiss your cheek, and your breath hitches at the intimate gesture. Brock had always been affectionate but lately he’s been doing a lot more often and openly. 

“I’m gonna go grab my stuff, I’ll be back in a sec. Do you need anything?” Brock asks, his hand caressing the skin at your waist lightly.

“No, we’re fine. Go finish up,” you say and he smiles, giving you both a peck again before leaving the room again. 

Later that day when you’ve got Brooks passed out in his bed, Brock joins you in the living room taking a seat on the couch, sitting as close to you as he can without actually touching you.

Brock leans his head back, letting out a trembling breath. 

“He’s okay Brock. It’s just a little scratch. You know that if I suspected he wasn’t okay I would’ve taken him to-”

“I know. It’s just that you shouldn’t have to. It’s my job to take care of him and I wasn’t there.” Brock says and you sigh, moving even close to him.

“Look at me,” you insist softly, and he does, his gaze so incredibly soft and fond it makes your heart feel like it’s going to burst.

“You’re a great dad Brock. You love that little boy so much, and he knows it. You’re doing the best that you can and it’s okay to ask for help sometimes.” you say and his hand falls to your upper thigh, caressing it softly.

“It’s not fair to you,” he argues

“I love that little guy and there’s nothing I love more than taking care of him. Of both of you.” you say and Brock looks at you for a moment.

“I love you,” he confesses and you can feel a ball forming in your throat.

“I love you too,” you reply and Brock shakes his head.

“No, I love you. I’m in love with you. I always have been” 

“Brock-”

“I can never bring myself to regret being with Brooks’ mom. You weren’t available back then and I was convinced you never would be, but somehow your ex managed to mess it up and you were single and I was so happy because I was finally gonna get my shot. And then Brooks happened and I love that kid to death, so I could never ever regret it, but it’s always been you.” he says softly, framing your face with both hands and kissing you softly. 

“This family isn’t complete without you. I hope you know that.” Brock says, gently caressing your face when he pulls away. 

“Will you stay the night?” he asks and you smile.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” you answer, and a few weeks later all your things were in that house, knowing you were never leaving again.