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titan-fodder · 3 years

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Prima Vista Part IV

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Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 9.6k

Warning: a big helping of abandonment/daddy issues, lots of feelings, explicit sexual content A/N: y’all are gonna be so soft and then so mad lmao.

The plan was to go to Mike's house then back to campus. You said you didn't have anything to do at your mom's, that a long phone call would suffice, which is why Mike is confused when you ask him if you can stop by before going back. It's an hour out of the way, but it's not like he has anything better to do, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious about your humble beginnings.

The house is in a decent-looking neighborhood, small, nearly identical one-story homes surrounded by cracked sidewalks. He has to be careful not to trip as you make your way to the front porch, pots of dead or dying plants along the edges of it. You shove your key into the lock, twist and open, then motion for Mike to follow.

The den is dimly lit, ceiling fan above with only one working bulb. A crime show is playing on the TV but there's no one watching. There is, however, another light pouring from a back room, and as soon as you drop your bag on the couch, a head pokes out from the doorway.

"Baby girl!" A shrill voice cries, and Mike sees you grimace. "I thought you weren't coming by!"

A woman walks into the den wearing long, cotton shorts and an old tie-dye shirt then pulls you into a hug so tight that it makes you cough.

"Mom," you take a deep breath as if to refill your lungs with all the air that was pushed from them. "This is Mike."

He holds out a hand and smiles, but all your mother does is stare with round eyes and blurt, "Oh, he's a big boy."

"My fucking god." You don't yell or whine, just pinch the bridge of your nose and mumble, "Just shake his hand please."

"Sorry, I'm sorry, just was not expecting… You didn't tell me how tall he was."

"'Cause it doesn't matter. Why would I—nevermind," you cut yourself off, face falling flat just like your voice.

Mike isn't sure if he should be flattered or offended or embarrassed, so he just ignores the comment entirely and says, "Nice to meet you."

You make your escape to the back, dragging Mike with you before shutting your bedroom door and leaning against it.

"Mom is a little weird, but you'll always know where you stand with her," you tell him. "Also, sorry about the house. She’s a teacher, so she’s usually pretty beat at the end of the day. Not enough energy to do a lotta cleaning."

"Didn't even notice," he reassures you.

Mike unpacks his bag next to you, and you gather the dirty clothes from both yours and his, balling them up and taking them with you out to the garage to throw into the washing machine. Mike should have done it at his parents', but as you were packing up that morning, his mother got all teary eyed and his dad just kept shaking your tiny hands and telling you to come back, so it just didn’t happen.

Back in the living room, your mom is sitting in an old rocking chair, and Mike thinks you'll take a seat on the adjacent couch, but instead you ask, "You need help with anything? Dishes or vacuuming or somethin'?"

She looks up at you, fly-away hairs sticking out around her temples and forehead and responds, "It'd be nice if you could do the dishes. I just haven't gotten around to it."

"Can do," you nod and walk into the kitchen, opening the dishwasher and making a displeased noise at the dirty plates and bowls inside. There's room for a few more, but once it's full and running, you just clean what's left in the sink by hand. Mike finds a towel, stands next to you, and holds his hand out for every scrubbed dish, drying it and placing it in the rack to hopefully be put up later.

"You hungry?" You ask when you're done and drying your hands. "It's almost one."

"Uh, yeah. I could eat."

Truthfully, he's starving having only had a small breakfast at his parents'. He doesn't want to say that, though, doesn't want you making a big meal for him or apologizing for anything.

"Sandwiches okay?"

Something in your tone has him on edge. Your voice is too quiet, deflecting downward as if you're forcing each word from your mouth.

"Yeah," he nods. "If you get the stuff, I can make 'em." Mostly so that you can relax but also because there's no way he's gonna let you make him a fucking sandwich.

You shrug your shoulders, grab bread, lunchmeat, cheese, and condiments, then say, "You can make ours. I'll make mom's."

He knows he's missing something, but he doesn't know what, and right now he's too afraid to ask.

He eats next to you on the couch, you and your mom watching TV as Mike tries to subtly glance around. Mounted shelves are decorated with dusty, mismatched figurines, cracks opening at the corners where the walls meet the roof. The brick fireplace is stacked high with plastic tubs and books, probably from your mother’s classroom, and the carpet has seen better days.

Mike isn't judging—not in the least—but he has a feeling he knows why being here puts you in a sour mood. The house feels lived in, cluttered and cozy and worn around the edges, but it's still empty somehow.

After the three of you are finished eating, you take the paper plates and dispose of them, then tell your mom that you'll be in your room. She gives you a soft smile that you struggle to return.

It's a little more you in the bedroom, blue walls covered in old posters and collages, a quilt similar to the one in your dorm folded at the bottom of your bed. Your pillow cases are faded and covered in an old flower design that matches your sheets, and there's a small nightstand next to the headboard that's bare on top with wrinkled papers poking out of the bottom drawer.

"It's not much, but if you wanna snoop around like I always do, feel free."

Mike doesn't really want to, especially since you already seem so uncomfortable in what should be a safe space for you. The only thing he feels okay investigating is the old bookshelf next to your closet—mostly YA novels, some poetry books, an old set of The Lord of the Rings series, a textbook over rocks and minerals and another over volcanoes. Tucked away in the bottom shelf is a tiny booklet that looks like a photo album, and Mike has to fight the urge to pull it from its place and flip through the plastic pages. Anything to get to know you better.

You lay in bed, eyes locked on the ceiling, and Mike doesn't know what to do. There's a very small TV sitting on your dresser, an old DVD player next to it, so he figures he'll save both you and himself from talking by picking out a movie.

He fingers through them, not that there's a lot, just skims the spines until he pulls out a copy of Space Jam. You only glance at the screen when the intro starts, and Mike immediately zeroes in on the way your jaw sets and your brows furrow.

"I can pick something else," he tells you quietly.

You take a deep breath and shake your head. Slowly but surely your features begin to soften.

"'S'fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. My, uh…" You swallow loud enough from Mike to hear, neck bobbing with the motion. "My dad and I used to watch it all the time."

He doesn't know what to make of it or how to respond. In the months he's known you, Mike has never heard you mention your father a single time, and he's never asked in fear of what your response might be.

He moves your quilt to sit on the very edge of the bed, a little too tense as he heavily contemplates ignoring what you'd said and still switching movies.

"You can lay down, you know," you mumble. "I'm not gonna bite you."

"You have before," he tries to act casual, but it comes out too stiffly.

You laugh through your nose— "Suit yourself—" then get more comfortable on the mattress.

Michael Jordan gets pulled into a golf hole and the Loony Toons journey to retrieve his shoes from the real world. Mike is barely paying attention, more focused on the way your breathing evens out until it becomes slow and deep.

That's good. You could use a nap.

He watches you for a while, the way your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks and your lips part. You're all curled up on yourself, hands tucked under your chin, knees to your stomach, and Mike wants to slip behind you so badly, to pull you to his chest and lay with you until his heartbeat syncs with yours.

But first.

As carefully as he can, Mike stands from the bed and glides to the bookcase. He lowers himself in front of it, quickly finding what he's looking for and pulls it from the shelf.

It's a small little album, full of polaroids and old pictures cut in half. The first page sets the tone for the rest of the booklet, a photo of a very small you outside eating a popsicle next to a man that is most definitely your dad. You've got a similar facial structure as well as his coloring. Not to mention the expression he's wearing is one Mike has seen you make many times before.

The next picture is the two of you dressed up for an event. He's in a striped Polo and slacks while you're in a little checkered dress, a rose corsage on your tiny wrist. Some kind of father-daughter dance, Mike guesses.

Sitting on his lap at a fair, a chubby little boy a few years older than you standing close with a stuffed snake around his neck. A party where you're posed with an honestly frightening costume character. You in a bright, mesh jersey standing back to back with your dad, arms crossed, looking at the camera with your chins tilted upward.

They all look like good memories. The little boy in the fair picture appears several more times, and as he loses his baby fat, Mike sees the resemblance he shares with you and your father. It's too close to be a cousin—your eyes and mouths shaped the same—so he must be your brother.

Mike doesn't know how to feel about that because again, you've never uttered a word. As far as he knew, you were an only child, so why…

He gets lost in the pages, watching you grow and pose mostly next to your dad. Smiles and laughs and silly faces with your tongues sticking out. Your mom is in some, brother in others, and then, you're in a cap and gown, grinning widely next to your dad who's beginning to gray at the temples. His own smile is barely there now, a ghost of what was seen in the previous photos. It's forced, it's sad, and it's the last picture in the book.

Mike's chest hurts. He wonders what happened, when exactly you'd lost him. Was it a quick goodbye, or had it been drawn out and painful? Had he been sick for a long time? He'd looked perfectly healthy in all the shots. Maybe a car accident that took both him and your brother…

He flips to check for one last photo on the back of the page, but it's empty. However, tucked in a tiny, paper pocket is a folded up note that Mike stares at for a few solid minutes, debating the pros and cons of reading it. He knows he's already violated your privacy by looking through the album, and fuck, he's only been in your house for a couple hours at most—how has he already managed to tumble down such a humongous rabbit hole?

Your tiny snores reach his ears, and Mike gently pulls the note out, biting his lip as he unfolds it as quietly as possible. It's soft, like it's been read too many times, and the letters scribbled in all caps are beginning to fade, but the words are still legible.

It starts with your name, and then it's all apologies—sorry I can't stay, I have to leave, you don't understand how much this hurts me and so on.

Mike's eyebrows pull together the further he reads, blood pounding against the walls of his arteries, pulse picking up because he understands now.

Your father wasn't in any sort of accident; he just left.

The letter ends with a gut-wrenching, You'll always be my little girl, and Mike nearly crumples the paper up to throw away. He resists somehow, simply folds it with shaky hands and slips it back into the pocket at the back of the album.

He's never been so mad at a stranger in his life. This must be it. This must be why you are—

"Should've known you'd go straight for the photo album."

Your voice makes Mike's body jolt, his face heating as he turns to look at you with wide eyes.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—"

You wave him off and prop yourself up on an elbow. "It's whatever."

But, it's not. It's this huge part of you that still affects you to this day. Mike is no psychologist, but he has a pretty good feeling this is the main reason you hold everyone at arm's length.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"What's there to tell?"

Sitting up fully, your gaze moves to the screen just in time to see Michael Jordan step off of the spaceship and onto the baseball field. I Believe I Can Fly is playing, and you're gritting your teeth.

"It's not anything that comes up in normal conversation anyway. I wasn't just gonna hit you with it outta nowhere. Also," you look back to Mike, eyes still sleepy, lips pulling downward in a frown. "I'm not the only one who hid stuff about my family."

Mike sighs and quietly tells you, "That's different," as he closes the album and slides it back into the row of books.

"Is it, though? Is it really?"

"I..."

Mike shuts his mouth and actually thinks on it. He wasn't trying to lie to you about his home life or his heritage. He's only half Greek on his mom's side, after all, and he's only been to the country to visit family a couple of times—once when he was a child and once right before college. The culture is a little different over there, but it all seems so natural to him, especially after being raised to speak the language.

Honestly, he didn't ever tell you because he didn't think to, but Mike can understand the shock of walking into his childhood home and getting thrown through that loop. It must have been jarring for you.

It's a positive aspect of his life, though. It's not something that's damaged him or made him cold toward others. And, he hates describing you in such a way, but it's true.

At least it makes sense now.

"I guess not," he shrugs. He's not about to fight you on it.

You stare at him for a while, waking up a bit more as you rub your eyes and stretch.

Then, you flop back down on your pillows.

"So. Any questions, Zacharias?"

He's surprised that you're asking, and though he doesn't want to twist the metaphorical knife in your gut, he still replies honestly: "Too many."

A long exhale through your nose, and then you're patting the mattress next to you and grumbling, "Fine, I'll do my best, but you gotta come up here."

"Why? You gonna need to cuddle afterward?" He can't help but tease.

"Fuckin' maybe, dude! We're about to get into my god damn trauma so—"

Mike is up on his feet and flying toward the bed. He isn't about to sabotage the one fucking moment you're opening yourself up.

"Alright, what first?" You ask, trying to look bored, but Mike can clearly see that you're nervous.

"He left."

"Yeah."

And then he gets the full story.

Your dad was pretty perfect during your younger years—a bit of a workaholic but still good. He took you to dances like the one you'd both dressed for in the photograph. You'd spend days at amusement parks where he'd carry you on his shoulders. He coached the basketball team you'd played on as a child.

"Not saying he played favorites, but I was definitely closer to him than my brother was."

The brother who developed a drug problem at fourteen, who was always either out with his little addict friends or at home where he would just scream at you and your mom.

"He went to rehab a couple times, but it didn't stick."

He left home at seventeen and hasn't gotten in touch with you or your parents since.

"I keep thinking one day we'll get a call from the police saying they found his wallet on a fucking corpse, but who knows. Maybe he got clean. Maybe he started a family somewhere else. He'd be twenty-five now."

"Were you ever close with him?"

You shrug. "We spent a lot of time together when we were really little, but even back then he was kinda a mean kid."

It very quickly circles back to your father. Mike still doesn't feel like he has all the answers, so he asks through the skin of his lip, "Why'd he leave?"

At this point, you've got your head in his lap as he sits against the wall. He smooths your hair back from your face every once in a while, something his mom used to do to him when he was very young that always soothed him.

He hopes it's having the same effect on you, thinks it might be considering you've had your eyes closed for a while now, humming now and then as you talk.

"Honestly, I don't really know. I don't think he and my mom were ever in love. Like, they just kinda settled for each other," you sigh. "They didn't have a lot in common. They had different upbringings. But, they didn't fight or anything—not in front of us. They were good at hiding the hard times from me and my brother. They just didn't… click."

Mike bites his tongue, wonders if that was hard to watch or if you'd been too naive to notice.

Then, there's his second train of thought that's really just the voice in his head screaming, we click, though! You and I work! But he keeps it to himself. This isn't about you and him.

"I think maybe dad had, like, a 'stay together for the kids' mentality 'cause as soon as I graduated, he was fuckin' gone. And, I mean gone. We went to a graduation party the next weekend that lasted a few hours—just me and mom—and when we got back his truck wasn't in the driveway and his drawers were empty. He left that note you read on my desk."

Mike breathes. Just breathes. He tries to make sense of it, how someone could just do that without a real reason. There hadn't been any explanation in the letter, only apologies.

"Have you seen him since?"

You open your eyes and reply, "Nope," popping the 'p'. "I don't know where he is, and he hasn't reached out. Mom made the drive to my grandma's—his mom—but she said she didn't know where he was either. Pretty sure she was covering for him, though. She was always kind of a bitch. You know, save for the whole paying for my college and all."

Mike snorts at this, not that there's anything funny about the situation. It's just his first reaction.

You ignore it, moving on with an, "Anyway."

"Anyway," he mimics.

"I don't know if you've noticed in the short time you've been here, but my mom is a little… off. Not super good at taking care of herself."

"Is this why?"

"Clever boy," you show a bitter smile. "I didn't really understand since they weren't, like, in love or whatever, but… I think it was the betrayal more than anything. Like, it came outta nowhere, a big ol' slap in the face."

"Plus, he left you behind," Mike adds, as if you don't already know.

Looking up at him, you raise your eyebrows and smirk. "And, now you know about my abandonment issues." The last part comes out in high-pitched, melodic syllables, a little song that would be funny if Mike didn't know it was a coping mechanism. It most definitely is, though. He can tell that you're the type to mask every issue with humor and sarcasm. It's how you've been dealing with him for the last several months.

"So, that's my story," you conclude on an exhale. "Now you know all my dirty secrets."

"For some reason I don't think that's all of them," Mike pets your hair again. "But, probably the important ones."

"Mm. I guess."

The rest of the day is really just spent killing time. You cook an easy dinner that you refuse to let Mike help with, then sit in the den with your mom just like you did at lunch. A medical show is playing. Then a reality show. Then a game show. None of you say much of anything, and it's painfully awkward for Mike now that he knows what happened, but he can power through a few days of this if it makes you feel better.

Hours pass until you can retreat, and moonlight shines through your bedroom window, not that Mike needs it. He's memorized your body at this point, knows where to touch without even seeing. He makes sure to be gentle, to suckle and blow on your pebbled nipples as you card fingers through his hair and breathe faster and faster.

Leaving love bites down your chest and stomach, he sucks on your skin, gently grazing his teeth over every bruise. Mike wants you to see them all the next day—not a staked claim, just something you can't ignore when you look in the mirror, evidence of his feelings in every mark.

When you're finally nice and relaxed, he spreads your legs and licks into you, trying not to be too rough with his beard, but a few swipes of it over your clit leave you shaking in his grasp. You whisper his name, the common one that everyone knows him by, but then, rolling off your tongue like a prayer, you call him, "Miche," and he can't help the rumble that rises in his chest.

It should be strange. That's the name only his family uses, the one he was born with. He only simplified it so that kids in school wouldn't ask questions or make fun of him, and after that, it just sort of stuck. But, here and now, falling from your lips, it's so soft. So intimate.

You whimper when he sucks on your folds, making them swell, making them sensitive. And then, he's pushing his tongue inside of you and humming happily at the taste. His nose is bumping against your clit, and Christ, you even smell good to him—that ripe, tangy aroma that has Mike going a little crazy. He has to make sure he doesn't get too carried away. You can't make very much noise even with the rattling of the air conditioner, but as he slowly slides a finger into your pussy, he hears you moan around the fist you're holding to your mouth.

He stretches you just enough to get you ready, then he holds himself over you and pushes into your wet cunt. Your eyes are open, locked with Mike's as your brow raises and your jaw drops. It's erotic, something you've never done with him before. You typically either gaze somewhere other than his face or keep your eyes squeezed shut.

Tonight, though, you've been vulnerable and apparently want to stay that way for a little while longer.

He bends to catch you in a kiss, lips and tongues moving just as slowly as his hips, and when you reach to tug at Mike's hair, he pants into your mouth.

Those words are there again, stuck in his throat but slowly crawling upward until they're just there, pouring from his tongue, "I lo—"

Until you cut him off with a sharp, "Don't."

He makes a noise of frustration, wants to protest because he's so deep inside of you, and you're holding onto him like you want him—truly want him, but you mutter once more against his lips, "Don't say it, Miche."

So, he doesn't. He bottles the confession up and keeps it locked away, hoping like hell that one day you'll let him tell you.

After you climax and coat his cock in slick and cream, he gives a few more thrusts and comes inside of you, filling you with himself and wondering why you're so willing to accept him in that way but not in any other.

He's hurting again, like he did at his parents' as you walked around like you belonged there. Except it's worse now.

If you don't want him to say it, that means you don't want to say it back.

He stays with you for a few more minutes before pulling out. You leave to clean up, and while you're gone, Mike sits on the edge of the bed, head in his hands as he tries to get it all out of his system, whispering it out loud to himself:

I love you. I love you, I love you.

You still let him hold you as you fall asleep, gripping his hand until you can't anymore, and as Mike drifts off behind you, he has one last thought—Just let me.

* There’s only three weeks left of the semester when you head back to campus, and you intend to make the most of every passing day.

You pay better attention in class. You study harder in the library to prepare for final exams. You go to a few more Pi Alpha Kappa parties, making sure not to burn yourself out. And, you let Mike fuck your brains out every few days. Sometimes it’s late at night after those parties. Sometimes you're too tired after the nights of drinking and end up just going to bed only to wake up in the morning and have slow, sleepy sex. Sometimes it’s in the middle of the afternoon when you both have breaks between classes.

Neither of you bring up anything that happened over the break—meeting families, details about your childhoods, how much you learned about one another in general.

Most importantly, neither of you address that first night at your mom’s, the way Mike had basically worshiped your body, how he’d come so close to uttering the three words you least want to hear.

Thinking about it still makes your chest tighten, your heart beat faster. Sometimes when you’re sharing his bed with him, back pressed to his chest, large arm slung over your waist, you think about why it is you’re so vehemently against it. The two of you already act like a couple most of the time. You walk with each other to class when you can. You stick to each other’s sides at parties. You fuck like rabbits and don’t care who knows about it.

And, though you’re hesitant to admit it even to yourself, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have feelings for him. Mike is your best friend at this point. He’s insanely hot. He’s goofy. He’s kind. Yeah, the frat boy persona he puts on around his friends is annoying, but you understand it a little better now. Plus, he always takes off the mask when he’s alone with you, giving both you and himself a break from it.

You know your time with him is quickly coming to an end—for about two months, at least—and whenever you think too hard about it, it makes you pout and huff. You’re not looking forward to your summer classes without him, but he promises on several occasions that you can call him while he’s at his parents’ if you ever need help with the material.

It’s impressive, the way he’s able to act like nothing happened. You know it must be troubling him, but it’s not like you can do anything to soothe him. If he was really upset with you, he would have stopped spending time with you, but he hasn’t. He just bottles it up, keeps smiling at you all crookedly, and keeps satisfying you in the bedroom (more than satisfying honestly. There’s really not a word to describe what he does).

He’s back to getting along with everyone in the Pike house, everyone being Erwin. It’s a relief just because you don’t have to put up with the tension between them, but it’s also awkward. And, a little frightening.

The brothers have Smash Brothers tournaments and movie nights, a few date parties here and there, and it never fails that at some point during the evenings, you find your neck prickling as it always does when you feel someone staring at you. You always hope it’s Mike. Fuck, you wish it was him. But, when you glance up and around, it’s Erwin. Every time. His deep blue eyes are trained on you, the corner of his mouth twitching upward on one side. It doesn’t matter if he’s alone or if he’s got Maddie or some other girl sitting in his lap. He's fucking shameless, and it makes your stomach hurt.

You keep your mouth shut for the sake of the friendship but also for the sake of Erwin’s pretty face. If he and Mike ever got into an actual fight, Erwin would probably be able to get a good few punches in, but you’re nearly positive Mike would end up destroying him in the long run. That could get him kicked out of school. That could get him thrown in jail.

Finals roll around, and you manage to pass all of them without issue, even getting grades above the class average. You feel fantastic, like your long term goals might actually be attainable. You have a long road ahead of you, but your GPA at the end of the year is more than enough to raise your confidence.

Mike asks you to come back to his house for the couple weeks between the end of the semester and the start of your summer courses, but you turn him down, too scared of what might happen while you’re there. Acting like a couple in front of his parents will only exacerbate his feelings as well as yours, and you’d like to avoid that as best you can.

Even now as you’re standing outside by the Jeep, he tries to persuade you one last time, almost pleading, “Are you sure you don’t wanna come?”

“Miche, I’m sure,” you tell him, trying to stay stern, but it’s hard when his sea glass eyes light up at the sound of his real name. It’s a habit you’ve gotten into, a bad one considering how much he likes it. How much you like it. “I already told you I wanna spend the free time I have at mom’s. I need to check up on her and… Probably clean, honestly.”

He lets out a little grunt of disappointment, then nods. “Yeah, I get it.”

“You saw what she’s like,” you remind him. “Someone needs to drop in every once in a while to make sure she isn’t, like, wasting away or something.”

“Makes sense. I’ll be bummed, though.”

“Be bummed all you want,” you smile. “I’ll probably still bother you over break. A lot.”

He sounds terribly sincere when he mumbles, “You never bother me.” It makes your stomach flip in the way you do not enjoy.

Mike sighs, taking in one of those deep breaths that makes his broad chest rise then fall, calling attention to it and making you bite your bottom lip.

“Alright, I should get going,” he concedes, bending down to kiss you too deeply for simple friends with benefits. It doesn’t stop you from humming into his mouth and smiling against him. You hold him by the back of his neck as he pulls your body close to his, his voice muffled when he tells you mischievously, “Don’t forget to send pictures.”

It makes you laugh, and you lean back to swipe your tongue over his lips so that he groans and chases after you.

“I promise I will. Perv.” The beating sun is nothing in comparison to the way your body heats at the thought. You’ve sent him nudes before, but the idea of him looking at them from hours away, fisting his cock as he admires your body through his phone… It makes seeing him off even harder.

After a couple more softer kisses, Mike swings into the Wrangler and pulls out of the lot. You stand in his parking space and watch him until he’s out of sight, then walk back to your dorm, dragging your feet the whole way.

You only stay at your mom’s house for a week, and just like you predicted, you spend most of it cleaning. She thanks you the whole time but makes excuses in between. You just reassure her that you don’t mind even though you do. She really should see a therapist and sort out the depression she’s been stuck in for a few years now, but telling someone they need professional help is easier said than done.

Sleeping in your old bed is much harder this time around. You're all too aware of the weight that isn't behind you, and most nights you lay awake for at least a couple of hours trying to imagine it.

Like you’d promised, you send him a few pictures, some of them just lewd selfies with your tits pouring out of the cups of your bra, but others are of your naked body in the bathtub, sometimes a shot of you with your hand between your legs. It feels wrong to touch yourself in your childhood home, but it’s necessary, especially when Mike sends you a few pictures of his own—one with his torso on display, defined abs absolutely mouthwatering and the V of his hips suggestively leading into mesh shorts. Another is of him in the gray joggers he wears all the time, the ones that always show off his cock.

He’s so fucking hot it atually hurts, makes your pussy throb as you crave his touch. It’s an awful feeling honestly, but even worse than that is the way you miss him. You aren’t supposed to miss him. You’re just supposed to be friends who have sex. Nothing more than that.

It's why you’re glad to go back to school. Your classes will distract you, keep you from thinking about him too much. The semester is shorter during the summer, so you have to work even harder than you do during fall and spring. You don’t really think it’ll be a problem since you’re trying to cram your brain full of anything other than Mike which is great motivation for studying.

Nothing is gonna get you off track, you tell yourself. Nothing will interfere with your studies. That’s the plan.

Then, you meet Zeke Jaeger.

* You're studying in the library. It seems like you spend most of your time here, nice and quiet and empty. The campus isn't nearly as busy in the summer as it is during the rest of the school year. No parties, no sporting events, just you alone with your books.

It's nice. Most of the time. A little boring but mostly nice.

Your eyes are getting tired, and when you check your phone, you realize why. It's almost eleven PM, meaning you've been studying for about six hours. You've had longer nights, usually spent on the phone getting quizzed on the information you're learning with a few breaks in between, but that wasn't the case tonight as Mike had to spend the day with family from out of town.

It's okay. You're supposed to be distancing yourself anyway.

Taking a deep breath, you pack up your books and slide your laptop into your bag, then stand and swing it over your shoulder.

The strap is too long. The bag swings too hard, and your heart sinks when you hear a little grunt followed by a, "Agh, hot!"

Turning with wide eyes, you immediately start apologizing, "I'm so sorry, oh my god, fuck, I'm so sorry!"

A head of light blond hair looks up from the brown stain on his white t-shirt, icy blue eyes narrowed behind wire-rimmed glasses, but when he sees the mortification on your face, his own expression softens, and he chuckles.

"It's fine. You can calm down."

You're still breathing heavily, guilt making your hands shake, but he really doesn't look angry. In fact, he's grinning now, eyebrows raised like he's amused.

The longer you stare at him, the more familiar he looks. You're pretty sure you've seen him before. Many times before, actually, and then it clicks that this guy is on the front page of the school website. You see him every fucking time you log in, looking much more stern than he does now. Baseball hat and jersey, mitt on one hand as he hides his other in it, and yeah, you know him.

"You're Zeke Jaeger."

He makes a face, scrunching his nose up and squinting. "Yeeeeah, I guess I am."

Best pitcher in the college league despite being a sophomore like you. He's beaten the records of some major league players.

You don't give a fuck about baseball, have never even been to any of the school's games, but you've been hearing about Zeke since the last season. You've learned to tune it out because, again, no shits given (and also you're much more partial to lacrosse now), but he's hard to ignore when he's staring you right in the face.

"Well, uh," you try to act casual. It's something you're pretty good at these days. "Cool."

He snorts, picking his shirt off his chest to air it out like it'll help, then says, "I don't know your name, though."

You run your tongue over your teeth, wondering why he cares, then introduce yourself.

"Oh, you're Zacharias' little girlfriend, aren't you?"

Your stomach flips at the mention of him.

"We're not dating."

Zeke cocks his head to the side. "No?"

"No. Just friends."

He hums but doesn't say anything, and your eyes are once again drawn to his chest as he fans over the stain.

"Okay, let me get you a new shirt or something," you try.

He laughs again. "I highly doubt you've got a men's shirt tucked in that bag of yours, sweetheart."

"I—" you pout for a second, mumble, "Okay, yeah, fair point."

"Another coffee, though," he muses out loud. "Wouldn't be the worst thing."

You shoot him a finger gun and smack your lips. "On it. Where do you get coffee at eleven o'clock?"

"I'll walk with you," he states more than offers.

Then, you're both leaving the library, leaving campus, and going to a little 24 hour cafe where you blow on lattes and cover the basics about each other—philosophy major, valedictorian of his high school class, playing baseball since age seven, etc. You should sleep. You should get ready for another long day of studying.

But it's hard to make good decisions when Zeke Jaeger is smirking at you from across the table like you're the most interesting thing he's ever seen.

* Zeke gets your number that night. You're not exactly sure how, but he does.

Then he doesn’t text you for three days. It doesn’t bother you that much. You figure he has other things to focus on. He’s on campus to take a couple courses and practice for the upcoming season, so he’s probably just busy. If that night had just been a one-off, it’s fine with you. It was cool to talk to him, but your heart isn’t broken.

These are all the thoughts and justifications running through your head when you’re in class on Tuesday and your phone lights up during the PowerPoint lecture. You glance down, expecting Mike or Hitch, but it’s an unknown number instead. Eyes flicking from the projection screen to your much tinier one, you slide to open the message and chew on your lip.

Hey, it’s Zeke. You have classes this afternoon?

You do not. And, you are too quick to tell him that.

He takes you to a little Mom and Pop restaurant, too far to walk so you end up riding in the black Bronco he drives, trying to convince yourself that it definitely does not make him any more attractive to you. Because you aren’t attracted to him in the first place. Right?

You sit at a table for two eating paninis and fruit. Zeke asks how classes are going, you ask about practice, and as you talk, he gets that look in his eyes again, like you amuse him or interest him or something.

It confuses you, and for a moment, you’re taken back to last fall at that first Pi Kappa Alpha party, the one you met Mike at when he tried to get you to shotgun a beer. God, he had been so obnoxious back then, always following you around and flirting and—

“You listening, sweetheart?”

Your eyes refocus on the man in front of you, his raised eyebrows and little smirk. “Looks like you’re a million miles away. Sorry if I’m boring you.”

“No, no,” you try to defend. “I just zoned out for a second. Realized I, uh, got an answer wrong on the quiz I took today.”

“That sucks,” he hums. “Anyway, I can stop talking about baseball.”

“It’s okay. Just go over the last, like, ten seconds,” you say with a laugh, hoping your cheeks will stop burning sooner rather than later.

Zeke chuckles and does just that, doesn’t seem irritated or put out. He tells you about how he has a new trainer this year to warm him up and make sure his throwing arm is in top shape. “I hope he’s as good as my last. Colt was always on it, knew exactly how hot to make the warm compresses and how cold to make the ice packs. Stuff like that. He learned my needs.”

You both laugh, and if it was anyone else, you’d have an innuendo sliding off your tongue, but for some reason, you don’t think Zeke would want to hear it, like he’d be unimpressed with your vulgar humor.

Back at the college, he drives you to your dorm, explaining that he lives in the apartments on the other side of campus and wouldn’t want to make you walk that far. Then, as you slide out of the Bronco, he stops you with a smooth, “Hey,” that makes you look over your shoulder at him. “Make sure you save my number in your phone, okay? I’ll text you soon.”

The way your stomach flips is worrisome, a feeling you’re only used to when you’re with…

“Yeah, okay.”

He grins widely and nods, then waits for you to get a good distance away from the car before driving off.

No distractions, you’d said. It’ll be good for your focus, you’d said.

What a fucking joke.

Mike has to help you with some homework that weekend. You can hear his smile through the phone, snort when he makes his little nerd jokes, then sigh when he gets to the actual subject and explains it to you without a problem. His brain is incredible, and when you think about it too hard, it makes you warm inside.

“You’re so fucking smart. Why don’t you let people know?”

“Maybe I just want you to know,” he chuckles. “You think I wanna spend my days tutoring every idiot who needs help?”

“Miche, did you just call me an idiot?”

You hear another breathy laugh followed by a sigh. “I have many, many names for you, but ‘idiot’ isn’t one of them.”

“Oh yeah?” You play. “And, what might those other names be?”

He lists a few, all of them making your face flush and your body tingle, and before you know it, you’ve got your pants off and your fingers between your legs. You can hear Mike’s heavy breathing on the other end, the wet sound of his hand stroking his lubricated cock, and when you reach your climax, you moan out your usual, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, Miche.”

He tumbles down right behind you, panting and telling you in a voice of disbelief, “Jesus, it just keeps coming.” It makes the pulses of your orgasm even stronger, remembrance of all the times he’s painted you in white, and God, you are so ready for him to get back to the school.

Then, there’s the voice in the back of your head that makes you think maybe it’s better that he’s gone for now, that he might not be too pleased that you’re spending time with another guy. But, it’s not like things with Zeke are going anywhere. You wouldn’t even call him a friend. You text on and off, have brunch or lunch or coffee depending on the time of day.

And, yeah, he calls you pet names, tells you that you look nice even when you’re just in leggings and a t-shirt, talks about his family and…

Okay, it could potentially lead to something more, but it’s only been a week, and considering his golden boy status, he could have anyone he wants, so why would he even be interested in you in any way, shape, or form?

Naturally, your thoughts circle back to Mike and the way he could have any girl on his arm, but he still chooses to spend time with you. To fuck you. To nearly confess his feelings to you. You have to wonder if you’re emitting some kind of scent or beacon, if there’s a sign hanging above your head with an arrow pointing down. Sports gods, come get a piece.

If only you’d never gone to that party. If you had just kept your head down like you had freshman year. Your life would be so much easier now.

But now you’re in Zeke’s apartment listening to him rant about some philosopher you’ve never even heard of. He’s gesturing with his hands, flipping curling, blond bangs from his face, and whenever he pauses to think, he scratches his beard. He’s very fond of the white t-shirts and jeans get-up, sometimes switches it up and wears a button down under a sweater vest. Both looks are becoming of him no matter how much you try to deny it, but when he drops down onto the couch next to you and peers into your god damn soul with those piercing, blue eyes, you have to choke back a dreamy sigh.

What is happening to you?

“So, what do you think about it?” He asks, looking hopeful that you might have some insight on this matter.

But, you simply laugh and shake your head. “Zeke,” you start. “I’m gonna be real honest with you here. I didn’t understand a fucking thing you just said.”

You assume he’ll be disappointed, maybe tire of you since you can’t be as intellectually stimulating as he’d like you to, but Zeke exhales in a lighthearted sort of way, shows one of those amused smiles, and tells you, “You’re cute.”

Anyone else and you would have snapped back, something along the lines of, don’t fucking patronize me, but with Zeke, all you can do is stare at him and let your lips part, silently asking for something you won’t speak out loud.

His gaze moves to your mouth for a split second. That soft smile turns into one of his famous smirks. Then, he’s back on his feet and asking, “You wanna go to dinner?”

You are more than relieved at the shift in atmosphere, but your heart is still beating too hard as you follow him downstairs and to his car.

* Summer is passing quickly. Too quickly. The eleven week classes are kicking your ass, or are close to kicking your ass. Lucky for you, you have your own private tutor just a call or text away. Mike helps you, and you laugh and goof around, shoot off innuendo after innuendo, but the phone sex slows to a halt eventually. You tell him that you’re tired, and you are. It isn’t a lie. But, it also isn’t the full truth.

Between classes when you could be resting, you’re eating out with Zeke. Or, watching him and the rest of the baseball team practice for the upcoming season. Or, sitting in his apartment, watching movies and chatting about all manner of things. Nothing important, of course—there’s no diving deep into your life story like you had done with Mike over Spring Break, but Zeke still learns the little things about you. Why you’re majoring in geosciences and how you became good friends with some of the Pike guys. You don’t give him the full details on that one—that you got blackout drunk and fucked Mike and just couldn’t stop. You don’t think Zeke would be interested in hearing about it anyway.

You learn a bit about his dad and stepmom, the latter of whom he isn’t very fond of. He also has a little brother who’ll be attending the college starting this fall, and he’s interested in the Greek life. Naturally, you build PKA up. Even if there are some… Problematic people in the house, there are also a lot of really good guys.

“I’ll make sure to pass it along to him,” Zeke tells you one evening as you’re both sprawled on the couch, backs against the armrests as you face each other. It’s how he seems to prefer to sit when the TV isn’t on. When you asked him why, he had told you, “Just like looking at you,” and you didn’t know how to respond. You still don’t know how to respond.

“Eren thinkin’ about joining any sports?” You ask now. “Does baseball run in the family or anything?”

Zeke snorts. “Kid couldn’t hit a baseball even if it was on one of the t-ball stands.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.”

“I would say he’s more academically inclined, but,” Zeke sighs. “That would be a lie.”

You can never tell if he actually likes his brother. Most of the time he complains about him, but every once in a while he’ll bring up something cute Eren did as a little boy, and you see a fond glimmer in his light eyes.

“Anyway,” Zeke waves off the subject and transitions to a new one—one that makes your stomach drop. “Are you gonna tell Zacharias about us?”

You choke on your own spit, leaning forward to cough a couple times, then challenge him with a nervous laugh, “I wasn’t aware there was anything to tell him.”

Zeke tilts his head, mouth pulling up as he raises his eyebrows. “Come on,” he chuckles.

“Come on, what?” You frown. If you were with Mike, you both would have died at that. Come on my face, you can hear him say, and you have to fight a smile because there’s absolutely no way you could explain that to the man in front of you.

“You don’t have to play coy, sweetheart. We both know there’s something going on between us.” He says it with such confidence that even if he wasn’t right you wouldn’t be able to argue with him. The assumption should annoy you, should make you scoff and leave, but instead you sit there staring, caught up in his gaze and cocky grin.

“I—”

“It’s okay, you know. Not like you’re alone in this.”

Those questions swim through your mind again, all the insecurities that you’ve been sorting through with Mike, but now that voice is louder because that sense of trust hasn’t formed yet. You’ve only connected with Zeke over meals and movies. It sounds domestic, but despite your apparently obvious attraction to him, you still don’t feel like you really know him.

But, he draws you in, like a moth to a flame. You can’t help it. There’s just something about him that makes you want him to like you, like you want to impress him, like you want to be good for him. You’ve been trying to ignore those thoughts, but they’re much harder to fight now that you’re sitting in front of him, taking in his wavy hair and pale blue eyes, that ever present smirk on his face, the curve of his neck that disappears into his shirt.

He could just want sex. He could just want a fling. Wait for everyone to get back on campus and drop you for another girl. You tell yourself you wouldn’t care; you’re good at keeping things casual.

Wouldn’t it be fun to be his arm candy for a while, though? Let people look at you and whisper louder than they did when they’d see you and Mike together? You don’t care about status, about being in the spotlight. It’s more for the experience, dating someone who could teach you things.

Mike teaches you things, that voice pops up again. He’s been helping you with your work for almost a year now. You can’t just overlook that.

“What, are you weighing the pros and cons over there or something?”

You snort. “Maybe. We still don’t really know each other all that well, Zeke.”

“Might I remind you that we’ve been hanging out all summer? Did you honestly think it wouldn’t lead to anything more?”

“Honestly,” you mimic, “I never thought you’d be interested.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” His brow furrows like he’s genuinely confused. “You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re cute.”

God, you can’t even count how many times he’s called you ‘cute’, how many times it’s made you blush over the last several weeks, just like it does now.

Then, he pushes, “Do you not find me at—”

“Of course I do,” you cut him off. “I don’t know who doesn’t, which is exactly why I don’t know where this is coming from.”

Zeke sighs like he’s annoyed, then turns the hand on his thigh palm up and beckons you with two fingers. “Come here.”

“What?”

“Come here.”

Your blood pressure spikes, breaths coming in little puffs that have no way of getting to your brain. It’s probably why you obey, rolling to your knees and clumsily crawling over to him. You stop short, right between his bent knees, but Zeke sits up, straightens his legs, and pulls you into his lap.

More of that precious air leaves your lungs as you exhale too sharply, staring at him with huge eyes. You don’t know what’s happening, can’t believe it’s happening. It doesn’t feel real even as you rest your hands on his shoulders, even when he holds your hips and pulls you so that your full weight is on him, but fuck, you can’t say anything. You can’t make a sound. All you can do is wait for him to make his next move.

“Why do you look scared?” His voice is just above a whisper, but at this proximity you can hear him without a problem.

“I don’t have a lot of experience sitting in men’s laps,” you manage, trying to keep your usual careless tone, but you doubt it works.

“For some reason I don’t believe that.”

You rear back, actually offended. “Excuse m—”

That ire, however, melts away as quickly as it arose. Zeke slides fingers up your waist, all the way to the back of your neck to bring your face to his—your lips to his.

He feels different, not at all what you’re used to. His kiss is more demanding, hungry, and God, you still can’t breathe, can’t think straight because his tongue is moving past your lips, and you’re letting it, letting him taste you as your fingertips dig into the flesh of his shoulders. You lift yourself from him just a little only for Zeke to pull you back down with the hand still gripping your hip. He makes sure you feel him when he grinds up into you, the zipper of his jeans rubbing you through your little shorts so that you gasp into his mouth.

You both stay like that for what feels like a fucking eternity, biting and sucking on lips, stroking over each others’ tongues until you absolutely have to break apart. You’re panting now, body still tense on top of his, and Zeke stares at you with half-lidded eyes and shows the ghost of a smile.

“Oh, I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

The statement sets you on fire, so much so that all you can do is whimper quietly and lean in for more.

And, as you get lost in Zeke Jaeger, you decide for yourself.

I need to tell Mike

[ next ]

#mike zacharias x reader #miche zacharias x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfic #aot fanfiction #mels prima vista

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keigosphatcock · 4 years

Text

Kitten

Pairing: Erwin x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.3k lmao

Genre: SMUT (pls do not read if ur a baby)

Warnings: Uhh degradation, kinda exhibitionism, Erwin being a mf dom, dirty talk, daddy kink, masochism/sadism, spanking (but not on the ass), biting

Author: Izzy (*¯︶¯*)

Plot: Basically Erwin is just jealous lmao

A/N: PLEASE I WROTE THIS IN AN HOUR IN A HORNY FIT ITS RUSHED AND ITS A MESS BUT HAVE FUN

You were nervous, your heart pumping as the cadet led you to Erwin’s office.Why did he have to send for you in front of your squad? When there were already countless rumors circulating about your relationship with the commander that he was aware of.

“Good luck, captain,” The cadet bowed before leaving you standing in front of the door, heart racing and head pounding - who the hell did he think he was? Feeding into all these rumors like this, God, for his sake you wished it was important.

The metal of the door knob was cool in your hand and you didn’t bother to knock as you walked straight into his office, “Commander.” Your voice was stern, face stoic as you watched him continue with his paperwork on the desk.

You couldn’t help but watch his concentrated face, the curve of his eyebrows and the subtle movements of his muscles under his button up shirt that came with the slight movements of his writing.

A sigh left his perfect lips, “You didn’t knock, captain.” Erwin didn’t look up at you, only spoke as a way to acknowledge your presence in his office.

“I’ll remember it for next time, commander.” You were calm, well you tried to be, but you were still pissed at him for his abrupt command for you to meet him.

He looked up at you, his eyes flashing as he noticed your stoney expression, “Don’t disrespect me, even if you’re pissy, captain.” He said the words calmly, yet rose from his desk and his serious facade dropped for a second as anger briefly flashed across his features.

You swallowed thickly, realising perhaps he was more angry than you, and he was going to take it out on you. “Yes sir.” Your posture stiffened slightly, watching him make eye contact with you fully.

Erwin looked at you momentarily, not speaking as he studied your expression, his own decaying into one of slight anger as each second passed.

“Why did you-”

“You know why.” He said the phrase sternly as he cut you off, yet with restraint as if he was trying not to spit the words.

You cocked an eyebrow, “I’m sorry sir, but I believe I don’t.” You tapped your foot lightly against the wood, your arms crossed against your chest as you watched him lean on his desk, his hands splaying across the polished surface as he stared at your expression harder.

“Come here, kitten.” Erwin’s voice was stern, the glint in his eyes changing slightly and you swallowed at it, your own attitude melting away as he spoke the nickname.

“Yes sir,” You responded less confidently than before.

Erwin sat back in his chair, gesturing for you to come closer, your heartbeat thumping harder in your chest as you took another daunting step towards where he was sitting. “Sit.” He commanded you, waving slightly to his lap, his eyes boring into your flushed expression.

A rush of excitement burst through you, pushing any ounce of attitude you had before to the corners of your mind as you obediently sat gently in his lap. His hard body was always a comfort against your own, the feeling of his broad chest against your back and his warm breath in your ear had you forgetting your own name - not to mention the way his hands sat dangerously close to your thighs.

“Kitten,” His voice was hot on your neck, his hands gripping your thighs tightly as he whispered the name into your skin, “I thought we agreed you were off limits to anyone else.”

“I-I- havent been-”

Erwin’s hand cut you off, his grip leaving your thigh to cup your already wet pussy. His hand held your heat tightly, despite your pants being in the way, he would know that you were soaking just from that.

“Are you sure?” His hand tightened against your sopping heat, his lips brushing your ear as he held you tightly against him, “Because according to Captain Levi, you’ve been more of a whore than you usually are.”

“I-I don’t understand sir,” Your words barely came out, you were too focused on not trying to moan or grind against his hand.

“Quit it with the sir charade, we both know what you’d rather call me, “Erwin growled in your ear, his grip hardening against your pussy.

“Sorry, daddy,” You whimpered, your lip tugging between your teeth as you tried to control your raging arousal.

“I suppose I’ll let you off the hook this time,” Erwin spoke, yet his hand let go of your pussy, only to come straight back, slapping your sensitive heat through the thick fabric of your pants. A whimper escaped your lips, your body tensing as you desperately tried not to moan as the pain mixed with the pleasure of what he’d just done. “But a dirty fucking whore like you needs to be punished, especially for flirting with other captains without my permission.”

“I wasn’t-”

“I don’t want to fucking hear it, kitten,” His voice was angry, a growl in your ear as he pushed his boner into the small of your back, “You’re such a slut you’re making daddy punish you at work, but I suppose that’s what you wanted, isn’t it? For me to fuck you senseless in my office and claim your pussy as mine in such a risky place.” Erwin chuckled slightly, his other hand coming up to rest at your neck, “I bet you’re hoping for Levi to walk in, so he can see how much of a fucking cum slut you are? Watch your face as I fuck you so hard against my desk, huh? Is that what you want?”

You bit your lip, your body tensing as you felt Erwin’s hand squeeze your neck gently, “Daddy, you know I’m yours.”

“But does Levi? I’ll have to prove it, I’ll have to claim you right here and now, kitten. I can’t let other people think they have free reign on my cum dumpster.” His hand squeezed your neck again, harder and longer, enough that you could feel slightly light headed and it only fuelled your arousal, his words and grip already leaving you a senseless mess.

“Bend over my desk, kitten.” Erwin let go of you, leaving you with a slight disappointment at the lack of pressure on your burning heat. Yet you did as he said, unbuttoning your pants, yet Erwin pulled them down, his hands rough as he shoved you onto the polished wood of his desk.

“Too slow, kitten.” His voice was a growl and you felt his bulge brush your thighs, his eyes gleaming as they took in your defenceless form. “Stay still, or I might have to punish you harder, baby girl.” You could hear the metallic clink of his belt unbuckling, yet you didnt have time to process before he had your hands pinned behind your back and the leather tightening around them in restraint.

Erwin smirked at your restrained arms, one of his hands grabbing your ass roughly as he watched you helplessly splayed out in front of him. “What a fucking good little whore you are…”

You whimpered slightly, your cheek pressed against his desk, completely at his mercy as you waited for any sort of pleasure, “Daddy-” “Hush kitten, I only want to hear you screaming my name.” Erwin didn’t give you time to process what was happening as he pulled down your panties with one hand and landed a harsh spank to your ass with the other.

Your body tensed and you bit your lip to stop yourself from moaning loudly, your eyes screwed shut and you hoped that no one was walking outside of the office.

“Did you lock the door, kitten?” Erwin smirked as he saw your eyes widen, “Then I suppose we better gag that beautiful mouth of yours to stop people from hearing.” His fingers hooked in the delicate cotton of your panties before ripping them off your legs, smirking at the red marks the fabric left on your legs.

“Erwin-”

“It’s daddy or commander to you sweetheart.” He growled in your ear before shoving the panties in your mouth. Arousal and shock was all you could feel as the taste of your own wetness hit your tongue, you blushed, slightly embarrassed at the gesture yet the degradation of it only fuelled you as you felt your own heat drip down your inner thigh.

Erwin seemed to notice it as well, his hands cupping your ass as he bent down, bringing his face close to your sopping pussy. “Well it’d be a waste if I didn’t taste my meal before completely ruining it.” His breath fanned over your pussy, yet his lips never quite reached it, instead he placed small kisses along your inner thigh, getting tantalisingly close but never quite there.

You twitched slightly, frustrated at his teasing yet the way he suddenly sunk his teeth into your skin had you glad he shoved your panties in your mouth. Erwin smirked as he heard your muffled moan, his lips coming in to suck hickeys across your thighs. “I would usually agree that a pretty pussy like yours needs to be savored, but when you realise how much of a cum slut you really are, I guess its best not to play with my food when you barely deserve it in the first place.” Erwin smirked as he backed away from your weeping pussy, his hands leaving your ass and thighs to sit on his pants, which he was quick to undo.

“I do have a meeting in about 15 minutes, so I suppose I better be quick with you, kitten.” You felt his hardened cock rub between your thighs as he lent over and you moaned into the cotton stuffed inside your mouth, “You know I’ll just have to finish you off later tonight, really give you a drawn out punishment for what you’ve done.”

Erwin didn’t give you warning or time to adjust as he sunk himself balls deep into you. He growled, the sound primal and from the back of his throat as he pulled back and slammed himself into you again. You felt full, stretched and pushed to the brink as his cock filled you up. Erwin was bigger than anything you’d taken before - the first time he fucked you made you feel like a virgin again, yet you could take it. You were made for it the way he filled you up so perfectly, his cock rubbing the spot that had you biting hard down on your panties.

“Fuck kitten, you seem to just get tighter and tighter,” He groaned slightly, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he plowed into you, his hips slamming into yours roughly and quickly.

Erwin didn’t hold back, his hands pulling you back onto his cock while his hips smashed into yours relentlessly. You felt your clit throb and you knew with how worked up he had you he didn’t even need to touch it to have you finish on his cock.

“Fuck kitten-” He moaned slightly, his thrusts speeding up as you felt him harden inside of you, one hand letting go of your hip to slap the front of your pussy.

The action made you cry out, the sound muffled by the panties in your mouth but still loud enough for Erwin to hear, for him to be encouraged to do it again because he knew just how much pain mixed with pleasure for you.

You felt the belt dig into your back as your arms pushed against your back for some sort of stability, Erwin grabbed your pussy with one hand your wrists with the other as he pushed you into the desk harder and pounded you further towards your release.

Your back arched involuntarily and you felt that bubble build up inside of you and Erwin getting close to popping it and sending you into the blissful abyss of your orgasm. The wood of the desk dug into your hips but the pain only made everything feel better, his fingers digging into your sensitive heat, the leather of the belt chaffing against your wrists, it all pushed you closer to that inevitable feeling of release.

And you could tell Erwin was close as well, his breathing was getting heavier, but his thrusts never got sloppier, he only went harder and more precise, he was focused on pushing you to your breaking point.

Which he did, you barely realised it before he landed a particularly hard thrust that had you tumbling towards your release. Your body was flooded with the pleasure pounding from your heat and Erwin groaned as he felt you clench around him from your orgasm, yet he didn’t let up his thrusts. He continued to pound you through it, his fingers digging tighter into your pussy as he held you firmer for him to fuck.

Until he had his own release spill into you, his thrusts stopping as he buried himself deep into your weeping pussy, a moan of your name falling off his lips as he spilt himself into you.

He stayed there like that for a second, his cock buried deep inside of you and letting himself recover from his own orgasm, letting a ring of white cum form at the base of cock as he filled you up with his own pleasure.

Erwin pulled out eventually, groaning slightly as he saw the white, hot seed that threatened to drip out of your wrecked pussy. He sighed gently, untying your wrists of his belt and pulling your panties out of your mouth.

“Fuck Erwin…” You moaned gently, pulling yourself up and letting your legs shake gently from the pleasure he had just given you.

His eyes flicked to you momentarily, his fingers tucking the ripped cotton of your panties into the drawer of his desk, “Remember kitten, no one can fuck you as good as that.”

___________________

thank u for reading have a nice day uwu and if u can leave a like and reblog (〃＾▽＾〃)

#aot #attack on titan #erwin smith #erwin x reader #erwin smut #aot smut #attack on titan smut #anime #anime smut #erwin smith smut #erwin smith x reader #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #anime x reader #anime fanfic #erwin fanfic #aot fanfic #attack on titan fanfic

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apatheticallyromantic · 4 years

Text

i did it all for her, so i felt nothing at all

Summary: Jesse and MT very nearly had their exit.

Or,

Jesse goes apeshit.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: swearing; heavy, explicit violence; very mild gore; major character death

Notes: based off this and this post. If you’re looking for something fluffy or a happy ending this ain’t it. Also it’s techincally not jesslake but I’m a a jesslake stan so I say it’s jesslake but can be platonic lmao. One last thing— this takes place in the very last episode. It’s an alternate ending, if you will.

The exit had appeared-- their second, and hopefully last, chance to leave this train behind forever. Jesse gripped MT’s hand tighter than ever before; he was never going to leave her behind again.

“We’re leaving together,” he said, “for real this time!”

MT smiled briefly, nodding, and they took off running.

Jesse moved as fast as he could, even as MT stumbled behind him, struggling to keep up his pace. Yet, he hardly noticed her slightly lagging; he was too immersed in his thoughts, coming up with all the things he wanted to show her, thinking of all the places he wanted to take her to, imagining the happy ending they deserved.

They were hardly a foot away from their happy ending when MT yelped, and Jesse was abruptly jerked backwards.

“What the-”

“You’re done, sliver!” growled the poisonous voice of the Flec behind him.

Suddenly, MT’s hand slipped out of Jesse’s as Sieve harshly yanked a squirming and shrieking MT by the shirt, and, with an inhumane strength, hurled her to the other side of the room. She collided against the wall with a metallic clang and dropped to the floor with another, motionless.

“MT!”

Without thinking Jesse ran after her, but Sieve managed to aggressively land a heavy kick to his side, his head slammed against the cold floor of the car. He moaned in pain, clutching at his sides.

“How many goddamn times do I need to tell you to stay out of this, kid!” Sieve picked up the Sander, flipped it on, and charged toward MT’s inanimate body.

Through blurry eyes, Jesse watched in horror as he neared his friend.

No… No!

They’d been so close.

The exit closed behind him.

Jesse’s sides ached to the point where he could hardly move, but he still forced himself to sit with a stifled, his eyes watering in pain. He caught a glimpse of a dark stain on his jacket, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

With trembling hands he frantically felt around for something, anything, to help him to his feet. He felt a metal pipe under his fingers and quickly stood, whining as he did.

But he was too late.

“No! Don’t touch her! Don’t touch her!”

Sieve had already reached her, and as he lifted his death machine-- its awful whirring sound echoing across the room--

Jesse fully pushed himself to his feet, steadying himself with the pipe, gasping, squeezing his eyes shut. He was out of breath, and he felt something move around in the side Sieve had kicked him on-- a broken rib, most likely-- but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

By sheer force of will, he limped forward, quickly and pathetically, tears streaming down his cheeks--

“Stop,” he croaked out, “Please--”

With the last bit of strength he could muster, he chucked the pipe at Sieve. It weakly bounced off his back, but it was just enough to distract him long enough to briefly stop… him… from...

Thick, gray liquid pooled around Sieve’s boots.

(“What the fuck do you want, kid? Why are you still here?”)

He could see MT-- her disfigured body--

(“You had your fucking exit, you imbecile!”)

102

He felt like his ears were stuffed with cotton. Sieve lips were moving, saying something, and he was still inching forward, and that awful pool was still growing.

A sharp ringing resonated in his ear, in his whole body. His heart thumped loudly in his chest, beating faster by the second. His breathing was heavy.

140

The aching was gone. He felt no pain. Only white, blinding rage.

191

(“Stay back, kid, I mean it.”)

Jesse felt a jolt of adrenaline rush through his arteries. Now only a few meters away, he straightened up to his full height, squaring his jaw and fixing his glare on Sieve.

234

“You killed her,” he hissed, “You killed her!”

“I fucking told you to stay back!”

Sieve turned to throw a punch at Jesse, but he ducked just then, grabbing the pipe he’d tossed and smashed it against the flec’s shins, his knees buckling at the hit.

“You fucking--”

Jesse turned and swiftly used the momentum to land another hit on the side of his face, forcefully pushing him to the ground.

“You fucking killed her!”

He kicked his face as hard as he could, then stomped on his nose. He brought down the pipe on every part of Sieve’s body he could reach, so viciously he could hear the whoosh of the weapon cutting through the air in between each hit.

Before he could strike back, Jesse battered the hand holding the Sander several times, with increasing force until it dropped to the floor.

A goopy, disgusting mess of gray remained where Sieve’s hand used to be.

300

“Kid,” Sieve groaned out, “look at your number-- It’s going up, you idiot!”

Another hit.

378

“I don’t care about that stupid number!” Jesse said, stepping over him. He was trembling with indescribable hatred and rage.

Two more.

“Well you should, ‘cause you’re never getting your exit back,” Sieve weakly replied with a sneer.

“I don’t care!”

“You left your exit behind for that sliver girlfriend of yours--”

“Don’t call her that!”

“I mean, I knew you were stupid the first time you tried to take that broken sliver through your exit, but coming back and losing it forever? Really, it’s--”

He was cut short by a blow in the jaw.

Jesse snarled, raising the pipe high over his head, his eyes ablaze and murderous.

“I-”

Clang!

“-don’t-”

Clang!

“-care-”

Clang!

“-about-“

Clang!

“-the fucking-”

Clang!

“-exit!”

Sieve’s face had begun to cave in, the gray seeping out of his nose, eyes, and mouth.

He groaned, but before he could get another word out--

“Shut the fuck up!”

With that, Jesse struck him several times again, left, right, left, right, repeating a haunting mantra of “You killed her! You killed my best friend!” over and over until he lost all his strength. And when he did, he shifted his hold on the pipe to one end, and stabbed it through the flec’s gaping mouth until something gave way and it recoiled against the floor behind his neck.

Sieve’s chokes and gurgles were, just then, the only sounds filling the car.

618

Jesse breathed heavily, feeling cold, chunks of gray slide down his face. His hands were stained with it, his clothes speckled. He swallowed hard, his eyes watering once more.

“Oh my God,” he breathed out.

1002

He caught sight of the Sander, and upon a single twitch of a finger on Sieve’s good hand, he finished the job.

6490

When nothing remained but a mushy pile of gray, Jesse crawled over to MT’s disfigured body.

Her legs were entirely gone, and her upper half was partially sanded down. Jesse gently held her head, which was, for the most part, intact. Her face was permanently contorted into an expression of harrowing pain.

Jesse pressed his forehead on hers, crying.

The adrenaline of the moment had dissipated, and it all came crashing down on him. His entire body throbbed.

He cried harder.

“Jesse…” MT whimpered out after what seemed like forever.

His eyes snapped open, and he pulled away. “MT-- MT you’re-- I thought you were-- I- I’m so sorry-- I’m--” his voice cracked, his sobs drowning out everything else.

He took off his jacket and balled it up as a makeshift pillow for MT’s head.

MT’s hand fluttered for a second, and Jesse held it with both of his with a feeble squeeze.

“We were so close,” he said, “There were so many things I wanted to show you…”

“Your number… your exit…”

“I don’t want an exit without you,” he sobbed, ignoring the pain, the remains of Sieve, the growing, green glow of his arm.

And for an eternity, Jesse cried, lying beside MT, as the pool of gray covered every square inch of the floor, and numbers on his hand covered every square inch of his arm.

3704559348920

69753485039522378

36592085028489923515397...

#infinity train #jesslake #lake infinity train #jesse infinity train #jemt #rambles #my fic #if u caught that good omens reference 👀#tw: violence #tw: death #gonna post on ao3 later lmao

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reveriequill-rai · 4 years

Text

Blood Candy: Chapter 2

(finally lmao. still debating on how frequently to post these chapters)

I walked down the ancient-looking stairwell to the basement. What appeared to be dark, dried red paint smeared the walls, as if someone had made some semblance of an attempt to renovate the old stairwell but somehow fainted or otherwise was forced to cut their work short. Then again, with the odd scent that filled the air, I would faint, too.

Finally, I got downstairs to the much cleaner looking, obviously renovated bottom floors. I walked down the hallway, observing the white painted walls lined with all kinds of fliers encouraging habits for better health. Some blotches of red paint stained some parts of the walls and floor, I noticed. Finally, I arrived at room 0134, where I was supposed to meet Dr. Kermit. I sat down, waiting, wondering why a doctor didn’t guide me there themselves.

The room was small and rather messy. Files were stuffed in overflowing drawers and shelves, pretty easy for the taking. The floor was lined with long scuff marks leading to the door, and there were very little pieces of doctors’ equipment in sight, save for a blood pressure monitor, a vital signs monitor (what?), and a syringe kit.

Must’ve forgot to move that vital signs monitor someplace, I thought.

“Sorry I’m late,” a male voice suddenly spoke. I jumped slightly as I looked up, startled from the abrupt entrance.

A young man who appeared to be only a few years older than me was suddenly in the doorway. He had black hair that covered one of his maroon-colored eyes. Aside from the distinctly maroon eyes, not many other features stood out to me. He wore the standard white coat and a black shirt and jeans.

“Oh! Hey,” I said. “You must be Jasper Kermit.”

“The one and only.” The young doctor smiled. “And no, before you ask, I cannot do a Kermit impression.”

“I’m guessing a lot of people ask you that?”

An exasperated look crossed Jasper’s face as he sighed.

“It’s a family curse,” he said. “Literally can’t go a day without someone making a Kermit joke. That’s why I say my last name is Kody. Was gonna do that here, too, but my little troll of a brother ratted me out.”

I chuckled.

“That’s rough, buddy,” I said.

“Yep,” Jasper sighed. “So, what grade you in…Dakota, was it? You don’t look that much younger than me.”

“Yep,” I said. “Nearly wrapping up junior year,” I said.

“Sweet. That was my toughest year…how’s it going?”

“Got an essay due in 2 days, but my parents practically begged me to get my blood drawn first. They want to know if I’m still allergic to eggs so my aunt Natalie won’t have to waste her time preparing her famous end-of-junior-year cake.”

“You’re telling me junior year is so rough that you guys need a full blown party to commemorate the end to this hellish year?” Jasper laughed. “Dang. If only I were that lucky.”

“Sorta. Normally it’s at the end of every year, but they stopped that tradition when they realized I was mildly allergic to eggs.”

“Wish my parents threw me a party with cake when I graduated from medical school,” he said. “But nope! They were so eager to kick me out of the house. What school do you go to?”

“North Clueham High.”

Jasper paused and nodded.

“I see.” He seemed shocked by my answer, but I figured it was nothing.

I smiled.

“Glad I got a doctor that actually treats me like a human being instead of a child or a freakin’ lab rat,” I said.

“‘Bout time, huh?” Jasper said, grabbing an empty syringe from the cabinet. “I try not to patronize too much. Believe me, I know that feeling all too well. Besides,” he continued, looking back at me with a slightly unnerving look, “I gotta make sure my patients are all nice and cozy before I suck the blood right out of ‘em.”

I gave a nervous laugh. Maybe Seb was onto something, I thought amusingly to myself.

“Funny you mention that,” I said. “My friend Sebastian runs a conspiracy blog with my friend Akira. It’s called AkiSeb, and right now he’s all over this theory that people who do bloodwork and blood drives are secretly vampires who use humans to gain enough blood to fuel their evil agenda.”

“Your friends seem smart.” Jasper grinned.

“More like crazy,” I retorted. “Too many horror movies.”

“Probably.”

“Well, when you and your little legion of vampire doctors and nurses finally get enough blood to awaken Dracula or whatever and you guys finally enslave the human race,” I joked, “at least spare my life and everyone else who’s given you blood. You oughta thank us for helping you out, even if unwillingly.”

Jasper laughed.

“Will do,” he said, sitting down in a chair across from me. “But humans suck, no pun intended. You oughta thank us for getting you hooligans under control. Alright, let’s get started.”

We went through the usual procedure, with me clenching my fists so he gets a good idea of where my veins are and where best to extract blood from. Finally, he chose my arm.

“Normally I would’ve gone for the neck,” he joked, “but you know how it goes.”

“Can’t give it away?” I laughed. “Smart.”

Jasper grinned as the needle pierced through my skin and into my vein, leaving a sharp, stinging feeling that lingered for what felt like ages. Normally blood drawings only took a few seconds, but it felt like I had been in that chair for almost a minute.

“Jasper,” a female voice called while I was still getting blood drawn. A nurse who looked about his age with brown, curly hair appeared in the doorway. “You better shut up with all this vampire nonsense. You’re gonna scare your little brother.”

“Serves him right for revealing my real surname to the whole freakin’ office,” he retorted. “Shouldn’t you be babysitting the little twerp, anyhow?”

The nurse glared daggers at him and disappeared back into the doorway.

“It’s not babysitting, by the way, he’s 15!” she called.

“Still a baby!” Jasper yelled back before turning back to me. “That’s Harriet, my co-worker. Major buzzkill. She babysits my little brother since our parents are at work, like, all the time, and I can’t expose the little twerp to stuff like syringes. Dude might stab my eyes out for teasin’ him so much.”

“My older sister was annoying,” I said, “so I can’t blame you. Good thing she’s married now so she can go bother her husband instead of me.”

Finally, the blood drawing was finished.

“There we go,” Jasper said, applying the wad of cotton and the bandages over it. “You good?”

“Yeah…” I said, still slightly nervous. “That felt pretty long, though. How much did you take?”

“Enough. It may have felt long, but I assure you it was only a few seconds.”

“Really? I’m positive I was there for almost a minute.” I checked my watch. “Yep. Definitely a minute, give or take.”

“Strange.” Jasper secured the syringe with my blood in it. “Maybe I’m just so used to this that it feels much shorter to me.”

I stood up, but Jasper gestured for me to sit back down.

“I’m gonna go put this in the lab so I can get the results,” he said. “Can I trust you to wait here ‘till I get back?”

I nodded.

Jasper gave me a smile as he left the room with the blood-filled syringe in hand. I went on my phone while I waited, calling Seb and telling him to get ready to pick me up.

“Oh hey! You’re alive!” Seb teased over the phone. He then said in a monotone voice, like an automated phone call, “Thank you for donating to the Clueham Charity for Vampires in Need. Your contribution to the future enslavement of the human race is very much appreciated, ya filthy mortal.”

“Oh, shut it,” I laughed. “Turns out the doctor has a sense of humor after all. He was on that whole vampire junk, too. Told him about you while he was at it.”

“Really? What’d he say?”

“He said you were smart,” I answered, “and I said you were a buffoon who watches too many horror movies.”

“I like him,” Seb said. “What’s his name?”

“Uhh…” I contemplated which of Jasper’s last names to use. “Jasper Kody.”

“Sweet. I’ll be sure to get an appointment with him next time I need one,” he said. “Hopefully he doesn’t have a stake through his heart by that point.”

I rolled my eyes. We proceeded to talk about whatever was on our minds for about the next ten minutes while I waited for Jasper to get back.

“This dude’s taking forever,” I groaned, interrupting our mini-debate/scenario on whether or not we would survive a slasher movie. “He better have my results back--and I swear if you mention anything about how he’s secretly a vampire, I will personally bash that big head of yours in and drive home myself.”

“You can’t even drive, ya killjoy,” Seb taunted. “But you know me so well. I’m almost flattered. Emphasis on ‘almost.’”

I checked the battery on my phone. Only 5%?! I swear I remember charging this thing, I thought.

“Shoot, I gotta hang up,” I said. “Remember to actually pick me up this time?”

“Fine, if I must,” Seb laughed. “We don’t want a repeat of the mall incident; Akira might actually murder me if I leave you again. See ya.”

As if on cue, Jasper finally came back. The blood-filled syringe was swapped out for a red ball in plastic wrapping that he held in his hand.

“Now, I know this seems childish,” he admitted bashfully, “but believe me, I do this to all my patients. Besides, it’s good to keep your energy up after a blood drawing.”

It was a piece of candy. A small, translucent red, probably strawberry or cherry flavored ball of hard candy. It almost looked like a cat’s eye marble.

“O-oh, thanks…!” I said. “…but I really don’t do sweets.”

Jasper raised an eyebrow, a bit of a disapproving look on his face. Maybe I shouldn’t have done that...I thought, silently cursing myself for being so rude. He didn’t have to give me the candy...so I might as well take it, right?

“B-but I can give it to my friend Seb!” I said suddenly. “Y’know, conspiracy blog guy? Yeah, he’s got a crazy sweet tooth. One time I gave him most of my Halloween candy when we went trick-or-treating...and he downed the entire thing in, like, half a day.”

The smile returned to Jasper’s face as I took the candy.

“Nice,” he said. “Have a good day!”

“You too!” I said, still slightly embarrassed that I hurt the young doctor’s feelings.

After quickly walking back upstairs, I looked around for a nearby seat while I waited for Seb. The only one nearby was taken by a kid in a dark green jacket with messy brown hair. I decided to stand. The kid, who looked rather nervous, looked at me almost pleadingly.

“You alright?” I asked the kid. He nodded. He only looked a few years younger than me.

“You got Jasper, right?” he asked me. I nodded.

“Why’d you ask?” I said.

“That’s my brother. I’m Oliver, but you can call me Oli.”

“Ah. Nice to meet you. I’m—“

“Dakota? Yeah. I overheard that whole conversation while he was stealing your blood.”

I sighed. If I hear anything related to vampires one more time—

“Your brother got you on this whole vampire mess, too?” I said. “Geez, what is it with everyone and vampires, today? First my friend, now my doctor, now his kid brother…”

“He likes to chase me around the house with syringes he brings home,” Oli admitted bitterly.

“Oof…that’s gotta be scarring.” I leaned against the wall next to the seat Oli was in. “Did he ever…?”

“Stick me with one? No,” Oli answered, then quickly added. “Only because I knocked it away from him in time.”

I froze. Now, I used to lie to my mom all the time whenever my sister and I were play-fighting, insisting that she always hurt me more than she was supposed to. So, Oli could easily be getting revenge on Jasper “stereotypical annoying older brother” Kermit by making me believe he was much more cruel than he seemed.

Or he wasn’t.

“Oh…” was all I managed to say before I got a text from Seb.

“I’m outside.”

“Shoot, I gotta go,” I told Oliver. “See ya around!” I walked off, quickening my pace so as not to deal with more of this vampire nonsense from anyone else.

“No you won’t,” the boy said bluntly. I stopped in my tracks and turned around.

“If you know what’s good for you,” Oliver said, looking me dead in the eyes, “you won’t come back here again.”

#blood candy #fiction #urban fantasy #original story #vampire

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elsaclack · 6 years

Note

This is really random but I saw a fic of yours about Amy being sick (I think the prompt was "Amy yells at the Vulture") but I can't find the full piece anywhere. Is it on AO3 anywhere? I love your writing and I completely understand if you just didn't want it out anymore. Just thought I'd ask! :)

i thought it was but i just went and searched my entire work history (including all 70+ chapters of those god-forsaken oneshot collections) and i couldn’t find it anywhere!! i guess i forgot to cross-post it back when i first wrote it, and it got lost when i deleted the original elsaclack. but i just scoured my docs list and found it buried in a random folder so i’ll repost it here and add it to the newest one-shot collection on ao3 :)

fun fact: this was written almost exactly 2 years ago!!! meaning that my writing skills have developed considerably since i actually wrote this. aka please don’t judge me if this seems like a sudden regression haha

also i wanna tag @phil-the-stone-art bc we actually developed the concept of The List together so she’s at least 35% responsible for this fic lmao

under the cut!

Amy Santiago does not get sick, thank you very much. She prides herself on her meticulous nightly hygienic rituals, on the cabinet full of multivitamins and minerals she takes on a daily basis in her bathroom, on the rigorous workout routine and diet she keeps herself on each week to maintain perfect health. She lives her life by a very tight plan (laid out in checklists and carefully organized in color-coded binders) that simply does not afford her any extra time to be sick.

Which is why, when she wakes up one Tuesday morning with a head stuffed full of cotton and violent shivers rolling down her spine, she gets up to start her usual routine in spite of the fact that she feels like she hasn’t actually slept in three weeks. Jake’s still snoring on the other side of the bed, another hour away from getting up to haphazardly dress in whatever flannel he can find lying on her bedroom floor that doesn’t smell too dirty, and he doesn’t even stir at the sound of her shuffling footsteps or running nose.

She drags herself into the bathroom, shuts the door, and flicks the lights on. Her reflection honestly makes her jump back an inch or two; she’s never seen her skin quite so pale, or bruises beneath her eyes quite so dark, or her lips quite so visibly dry and cracked. She reaches out to grip the edges of her sink and realizes that her arms and hands are trembling, and when she leans a bit more weight onto them she notes that her knees are quaking beneath her.

All in all, not a great start to the day.

She presses on, though, ignoring her running nose and congested head and general exhaustion. The shower helps a little, but not much.

When she shuts the water off, she hears Jake moving around in her bedroom, and her heart skips a beat. She hadn’t even realized she’d been in the shower that long. “Jake?” She calls as she wraps a towel around herself. Her voice is coarse and rough.

“Hey,” he knocks lightly at the door. “You okay?”

“Yeah - yeah, could you, um…there’s a binder out on the dining room table, should say something on the cover about that case I was working on last night -” she clears her throat and winces at the sharp pain that responds “- could you grab it and put it in my bag?”

“Sure,” he’s quiet for a moment and Amy’s left to gently rub at her temples with the heels of her hands. “Are you sure you’re okay? You sound awful.”

“I’m…I’m fine.”

But she’s not. Her knees are still quaking and vertigo has suddenly set in and she’s swaying, reaching out to grab the tiled edge of her shower. Her hand slips against the wet surface and she falls forward, shoulder banging painfully into the tiles.

The door swings open and Jake bursts inside in a panic. “Ames? Oh my God!” She suddenly realizes that she’d sunk down to a crouching position upon falling. He kneels next to her, gently pulling her away from the shower and letting her lean heavily into him. Her head falls against his shoulder, forehead pressed to the crook of his neck, and she hears him tut. “You’re burning up, babe,” he says quietly.

“I’m fine,” her voice fails half-way through and she ends up finishing in an unconvincing whisper.

“You’re not going to work today,” he tells her.

“But -”

“You almost fainted just now, Amy. You’re staying home sick today.”

She tries to argue but he pulls her up off the ground, keeping his touch firm and steady should gravity leave her again, and her voice completely dies on the way out of the bathroom. He lets her whisper weak arguments as he steers her gently toward the bed, humming and nodding along as he pulls fresh sweatpants up her legs and eases one of his academy shirts over her head. He pushes back on her good shoulder with just enough force that she lays down and pulls the comforter up to her chin. Her eyelids flutter closed when he presses a kiss against her forehead.

“I’ll tell Captain Holt where you are,” he says quietly. His hand finds hers against the mattress, fingers twisting through hers. “Get some sleep, okay?”

She’s asleep before he even gets out the front door.

A few hours later she’s roused by the sound of her phone vibrating on her bedside table. Sunlight streams in through her window and she squints, disoriented, fumbling around with semi-numb fingers for her phone.

From: Jake PeraltaHow u feelin? Miss u at work. Charles says he’ll bring u goat soup later lol

It hurts to even swallow, and Amy has to work really hard to keep from whining at the splitting headache igniting behind her right eye.

To: Jake PeraltaFeel like garbage. I haev a headache. Im afraid to get out of bed for meds. Miss u too

She waits five minutes for him to respond, and when her phone remains motionless, she closes her eyes and lets it fall against her chest.

Precisely twenty minutes after that, she hears her front door open. It closes again and she hears footsteps crossing her living room and it only just hits her that someone is in her apartment when those footsteps cross the threshold of her bedroom.

“Hey, hey, don’t get out of bed,” Jake says soothingly. Amy falls back against her pillow from her struggling half-sitting up position as Jake drops a plastic grocery bag at the foot of her bed and perches on the edge of the mattress beside her. He replaces her phone back on her bedside table with one hand and smooths his other palm over her forehead (and she only just then realizes that she’s sweating) and grimaces. “You’re still burning up,” he says, running his fingers through her hair just above her forehead.

“I’m fine,” she whispers, and the words slip out between two wet coughs.

He frowns and gently scratches his short nails against her scalp. “I brought Advil,” he says, casting an absent glance over his shoulder at the bag he brought in, “and stuff to make soup. It’s the recipe for Nana’s matzoh ball soup.” She raises her eyebrows beneath his palm and he grins down at her. “Don’t tell Charles, but it’s literally the best soup you’ll ever have and it’ll cure your dumb cold in twenty minutes or less.”

“Promise?”

He leans down and pecks a kiss against her forehead. “Promise,” he says when he leans away. “I’m gonna go make some and bring it in here and you’ll be back on your feet before the end of the day. Peralta Guarantee.” He winks.

She sinks down into the mattress as much as she can when he stands up, opening her eyes only when he comes back in with two Advil tablets and a glass half-full of water. Within minutes she begins hearing pots and pans knock around in her kitchen, and through her cloudy mind she registers that her stomach is rumbling in irritation.

“Alright,” he announces from her doorway. Her eyes split open and he’s carefully balancing the soup bowl on top of her dresser. “I’ll help you sit up, don’t move.”

He pulls her up with one hand and waits until she’s sitting up steadily before hurriedly stacking her pillows up behind her. She breathes a sigh of relief when she leans back, not realizing just how much of a strain sitting up is until that moment. He hurries back to where the soup is still steaming and carefully brings it over to her, the tip of his tongue appearing at the corner of his mouth for how hard he has to concentrate on not spilling any.

He nestles it in her lap, and she smiles, because he looks so proud of himself and he’s really so adorable.

Jake stays with her until she finishes the whole bowl and then he takes her dishes from her and quickly rinses them out in her sink.

“I’ll be back after work to check on you and to finish cleaning that, okay?” He calls from her doorway.

She hums hoarsely and fades out of consciousness.

An hour later, Amy wakes up feeling half-human. Her head and throat still hurt and she still can’t breathe out of her nose, but her brain doesn’t feel quite so fried and her limbs don’t feel quite so weak anymore.

Jake was right - the soup really did help.

Not as much as Nyquil would, but…still.

She kicks the comforter off and moves to sit up, and her phone suddenly falls into her lap from her chest. She pauses, staring at it, trying to remember when it ended up back there. She has no new calls or texts, but when she unlocks the screen, there’s a new note pulled up.

Things i want t odo to jake in bed

Amy feels flames engulf her face that have absolutely nothing to do with her fever. The list has twelve items on it, each one raunchier and riddled with more spelling errors than the last, and by the time she gets to the end of the note she’s covering her face in embarrassment. She’s got just the vaguest memory of typing it (and it’s really more of a dream of a memory than anything else), but none of it will solidify into more than just faint snapshots in her head.

But the more she rereads it, the more heat begins building in her body - heat from the mental images, heat from the germs ravaging her body, heat from the thick comforter still draped over her legs.

She has got to go get some Nyquil.

Santiago Determination blazes through her as she drags herself out of bed, shoulders set and jaw clenched as she pulls one of Jake’s hoodies over her frame and slides her feet into her rarely-worn flip-flops. Part of her feels guilty, knowing that if Jake was the one home sick she’d insist on him texting her anything he needs so that he would stay in bed and recover faster, but she brushes it off as she grabs her purse.

What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?

She blames her scattered brain on the matzoh ball soup later. She blames her compromised detective skills and her lack of attention to detail and her general disorientation on the soup. Because under normal circumstances, no matter how sick she truly is, she would definitely have noticed the Vulture browsing the low aisles of the bodega around the corner from her house immediately upon walking through the front doors.

But as it is, she doesn’t, which means that he gets a visual on her before she’s even aware of being spotted.

She’s so busy perusing the medicine section toward the back that she doesn’t notice him stalking around the shelves, doesn’t feel him peeking around the Doctor Scholl’s cardboard display, doesn’t hear him mutter at a mother and daughter to get out of his way as he follows her ambling walk down the aisle. She isn’t aware of the danger until he’s basically on top of her.

“Yo, Santiago,” he says, his voice low and curdling. She winces and turns slowly, and he’s leaned against the shelves to her left, leering down at her. A handcart hangs between them; it’s full of at least thirty boxes of condoms, she realizes when she glances down. Her stomach shifts unpleasantly. “You look homeless.”

“Get out of the way,” she whispers hoarsely.

“Aw, what’s the matter? Peralta got you screaming so hard every night you lost your voice?”

Heat bursts through her cheeks and she glances back, meeting the scandalized look on that same mother’s face with an apologetic grimace. “Shut up.” She snaps as fiercely as she can.

He smirks, because her voice only comes in bursts. “Damn, you really let yourself go, didn’t you?” His eyes rove her body and she’s suddenly very keenly aware of the fact that she’s not wearing any underwear beneath her sweatpants. She can feel her face blossoming.

“Whatever.” She turns away quickly and digs her phone out of her purse, cursing when she hears the Vulture following her down the aisle. She dials Jake’s number quickly, and he answers after just two rings.

“Hey, is everything oka-”

“I need you go come to the bodega by my apartment,” she whispers. She can feel her hand trembling again and she curses whatever part of her thought it would be a good idea to do this on her own.

“Wait, what? Why are you -”

“I thought I could walk over here and get what I needed without you, but -” she winces at the sound of the Vulture’s laugh, loud and obnoxious behind her. “But I ran into someone and I need you to come save me.”

“Santiago, look - they do make extra-small condoms! Should I put a whole box in for you and Peralta or is that too many?”

She hears a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “Is that the Vulture?” He asks quietly.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Do not faint.”

“I’m doing my best, but please hurry.”

Amy starts pacing up and down the aisles, doing her best to block the Vulture out. He trails along behind her, alternating between making lewd sexual innuendos about random items on the shelves they pass (“Everything’s a sex toy if you try hard enough,” while pointing out a plastic broom) and insulting her general appearance (“Y’know, you were much sexier before Peralta dragged you down to his level of ugliness. Just make sure your ass doesn’t get as fat as his”). It’s around the time they make it back to the medicine aisle that he turns to making fun of Jake himself.

“I still can’t believe you’re with that loser,” he laughs as Amy finally swipes a bottle of Nyquil off a lower shelf. She stands up slowly, gripping the shelves above her firmly, as a wave of vertigo hits her once again. “You’re hot as shit usually - not right now, obviously - I bet you could sleep with any guy you want.”

She clenches her jaw and tries to calculate how long it’s been since she hung up with Jake.

“I bet the sex is really boring, too,” the Vulture continues. “I bet it’s all missionary and full of, like, eye-contact and shit. I bet he tells you he loves you because you don’t make fun of his tiny weiner.”

“Okay, y’know what?” She snaps, and suddenly her voice is half back. “First of all, there’s nothing wrong with missionary if you do it right. Secondly, you’re full of crap if you really think eye-contact is boring. Third, you’re right, he does tell me he loves me, because he actually loves me, you sexist pig. And fourth, he’s not tiny.”

“Whatever. He’s a joke, just like you, and I bet the sex sucks and you’re both so bad at it that you can’t even tell that it sucks.”

She knows people are staring, but her brain just isn’t functioning right. She yanks her phone out of her purse and quickly scrolls over to her list. “Jake’s the best sex I’ve ever had, okay? In fact, he’s so good that I made a list!” She shoves her phone in his face and scrolls quickly, grinning in manic triumph at the dumbfounded look on his face. “I made a list of all the things I want to do with him because he’s so unbelievably good. You wish you were as good as him.”

He is, for once, speechless. Amy locks her phone and steps back, smug grin on her face. The Vulture’s eyes flicker to something over her shoulder and she sees the spark of recognition in his face; when she turns, she feels her stomach drop down to her toes.

Jake’s standing at the end of the aisle, looking just as dumbstruck as the Vulture. She gasps, and the sound comes out like a ragged squeak. His mouth is hanging open but his brows draw together at the sound.

“Ja- Jake,” she says hoarsely.

This seems to snap him out of his stupor. His mouth snaps closed and he immediately begins striding down the aisle toward her and there’s something new in his eyes - smug and barely-contained glee, maybe - when he throws his arm around her shoulders. “Hi, honey,” he says, laying a kiss against her temple and pulling the bottle of Nyquil from her grasp. “Let’s get you back in bed.”

“Yeah, well, you’re both a couple of losers!” The Vulture shouts after them. Jake twists around and flashes his middle finger at him and grins into Amy’s hair at the sound of his splutters. “I’m buying thirty-five boxes of condoms!”

“You’re amazing.” Jake murmurs once they’re outside of the store. “But next time, just call me instead of trying to go get stuff on your own. I really don’t mind doing it for you. That’s what boyfriends are for.”

She sinks into the passenger’s seat of his car and sighs in relief; her body is already aching from the exertion of just a lap around the bodega. She feels Jake slide in on the driver’s side, feels the engine roar to life beneath her and the air conditioner tickle across her face. The car lurches a little when he puts it in drive and then his free hand finds hers and interlaces their fingers.

“I’m sorry about…that.” She whispers once he’s pulled away from the curb.

“It’s fine, but I really mean it about calling me next time, okay? ‘Specially since you almost fainted this morning and everything, like, what would’ve happened if you’d fallen and hit your head and they took you to the hospital? They would’ve called Manny and it would’ve taken him three hours to get here and -”

“Wait, no, they’d call you,” she interrupts. “Manny’s not my emergency contact anymore. You are.”

He turns his head toward her and stares.

“I changed it two years ago, Peralta. Way before we started dating. I just figured, y’know, since you’re my partner and everything, you’d be able to get there the fastest. And, besides, that’s not even what I was talking about. I meant…the stuff I said to the Vulture. The list.”

“Oh,” he shrugs. “I don’t really care. The guy’s an ass. I could hear him yelling all the way from the front doors. Besides, you weren’t lying.”

He squeezes her hand a few times in quick succession and she snorts. “So you’re…not mad? About any of it?”

“I’m more curious than anything else. Do I get to look at the list, too? Or is that just between you and the Vulture?”

“I can’t stand you.”

She does let him see it once they’re back to her place. He reads each item carefully three times over without ever saying a word, and then stands and grabs his laptop and a notepad off of her dining room table. When she asks what he’s doing, he responds with a muttered “research” and then promptly tells her to finish her soup.

The night passes in a haze that has nothing to do with the cold or the soup or the medicine, and the next morning she wakes to the sounds of Jake’s congested voice explaining through chest-rumbling coughs that neither he nor Amy would be making it into work that day.

#em answers #brooklyn nine nine #amy santiago #jake peralta #jake x amy #my b99 fics #god i've been writing for b99 for a Really Long Time #sos #Anonymous

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thoseofgreatambition · 7 years

Text

lost

@partyiinthedungeons: during the battle of hogwarts, oc (harry's girlfriend) gets injured and loses her memory. So Harry have to make her fall in love with him again, and he have to tell their story but maybe he hides some bad parts of the story and it may cause some drama, something like that

nonnie: If you aren't too overwhelmed would you please do “don’t worry, i’ve got you.” and “no one will hurt you as long as i’m breathing.” with Harry Potter himself? Thank you and sorry

wordcount: 2K

genre: hurt, comfort, romance

pairing: harry x roxanne (oc)

description: hurt in the blast that almost killed fred, roxanne suffers from some rather severe memory loss. some bits are there-- she knows harry. she knows hogwarts. she knows her name. the rest though, like her relationships after halfway through fourth year, are a mystery. she believes that they were dating-- or are, depending on how you view it. her best friends tell her that she was dating harry, and she believes them and him though she doesn’t remember. the question now is how do they fall back in love? the better question is does harry tell the whole truth?

a/n: this took a while! i’m sorry about that. this is a reward for @partyiinthedungeons for winning my 500 follower giveaway! she won a 2k-2.5K of a canon character x her/oc story, with the plot of her choice. i’ve decided to roll another request in here because it fit so well. i hope y’all like it! also 2nd person bc it was easiest lmao.

Harry wondered if this was what it was like-- to truly have his life come crashing down upon him.

He walked into the Great Hall, and saw you lying there unconcious, on a cot next to Fred, your head covered in blood as Madam Pomfrey hovered above you, kneeling and waving her wand over your wounds as she muttered spells underneath her breath. It felt like the air had been sucked out of his lungs, and it wasn’t until he heard you let out a long groan of pain that relief flooded his body.

He was fighting for you. Fighting to know that you’d be safe. It was why he’d refused to take you with him. It was why he hadn’t told you about the horcruxes.

All of that, all of it would have been for naught had you died. Harry stumbled over and knelt beside you, quick to smooth down your hair as gently as he could without harming you. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

“Harry?” your voice was slurred, and he could see your pupils were two very different sizes. “Wha’s happ’n?”

“You were hurt, Roxanne.”

“Wha?” you let out a whine, as Madame Pomfrey began to reset some of your bones-- your hand instinctively reaching out and clutching Harry’s. Your fingernails dug into his skin so hard that they left bloody crescent shaped cuts into his palm. “’m scared.”

You didn’t know what was happening. It all seemed like you’d been wrapped up into a wool blanket. Darkness dotted your vision and everyone’s words seemed like they were far away and heard through cotton balls stuffed in your ears. You knew Harry was speaking, and you knew he was Harry-- but your knowledge stopped about there.

Still, you felt him stroke your hair some more and press his lips against your bloody forehead. “No one will hurt you ever again, as long as i’m breathing.”

He watched as your eyes fluttered shut, and looked towards Madame Pomfrey in fear before she shook his head. “Don’t worry Harry dear. She needs her rest. I’ll make sure she’ll be alright.”

“You’re sure she’ll be alright?”

There was a small smile on the witches’ face as she looked toward the much younger man before her. “I’ve healed plenty of children after getting whacked in the head. You can only imagine what I’ve seen. She’ll be alright, Harry. We’ll get her to St. Mungos after the battle is over, and you’ll see.”

After the battle was over.

Instead of if.

Harry was about to speak, until he heard an all too familiar voice fill the hall.

“You have fought valiantly, but in vain. I do not wish this. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a terrible waste. I therefore command my forces to retreat. In their absence, dispose of your dead with dignity. Harry Potter, I now speak directly to you. On this night, you have allowed your friends to die for you, rather than face me yourself. There is no greater dishonor. Join me in the Forbidden Forest, and confront your fate. If you do not do this, I shall kill every last man, woman and child who tries to conceal you from me.”

The looks around the hall were those of fear, and he saw out of the corner of her eye, Molly clutching Ginny to her all the more tightly.

As much as Harry loved you, and as much as he wanted to stay by your side, he knew he was unable to do so.

He was the Chosen One, and with that came responsibility.

As he stood up he accepted the fact that he wouldn’t be able to see you through your healing after this-- if all of this worked the way he hoped.

But you would be safe.

His friends would take care of you.

And Harry forced himself to be content with that.

When the battle was over, the first thing Harry saw to was to make sure you were taken safely to St. Mungos. He was hopeful, after what Madame Pomfrey said. When you woke up a few days later, he couldn’t help but grin ear to ear. “Roxanne.”

Your entire body felt heavy, and your eyes hurt from the light around you. “Harry?” that was Harry right? Something didn’t feel right.

Why the hell was he holding your hand?

“What’s happening?” you weren’t sure if you were focused on the show of affection or the fact you were in a hospital-- St. Mungos, you assumed-- but you hoped your question would offer you some sort of explanation.

“You got hurt in the battle.”

Your blank stare was a bit confusing for him, especially seeing as you looked at him like he’d said that he’d just got done playing Quidditch on the moon. “What battle?”

There were a few moments where Harry realized that he should have expected this-- you not remembering the battle at first, or possibly ever. The healer warned him that something like that was possible. He chuckled a bit. “There was a War. Voldemort came back, and we fought him off.”

You flinched at the name that passed his lips, and Harry found himself a bit worried. You, along with him had started calling Voldemort ‘Voldemort’ instead of ‘He who must not be named’ right before you’d started to date. “Harry you shouldn’t use that name.” your voice was hushed, as you tried to process all of this, “When did he come back?”

“In our fourth year.”

There was a look of horror that spread upon your face-- as you quickly looked down at yourself. You were no longer the teenager that you remembered yourself being. “What year are we now?”

Harry hesitated, realizing that this meant you didn’t remember starting to date him in your fifth year. It also meant, that he was most certainly about to cause you a sincere amount of distress. He reached out to take your hand but you quickly snatched it away.

“Tell me!” Your voice was shrill, and he flinched back just a bit from it.

“You’ve just finished your seventh year.”

There was a long moment of silence, as you let the words sink in. As you realized that you’d lost three years. Three years that you weren’t sure you’d ever get back. You’d grown up overnight and there was no going back to innocent days. Long gone was the time where you simply wondered if Harry would go with you to the Yule Ball, and the innocent boy you knew wore the expression of a world wearied man.

He looked older than his years.

For a second he thought you might be taking the news well, until the vein in your neck began to jut out, your eyes began to water, and you let out a long wail that brought to healer running towards your room. When Harry tried to wrap his arms around you, you screeched and pushed him away. “Roxanne--”

“No--! No! No!” your breaths came out in gasps, and you sucked in air too quickly. It was too much. It was a bad dream. You’d wake up tomorrow and go to potions and Lavender would laugh at you for having such a silly dream before trying to discern what it meant about your future.

The healer rushed in and quickly shoved Harry out the door while he tried to soothe you. The door slammed in his face, and as he turned around he saw Molly looking at him sympathetically.

“What do I do?”

Her heart strings were tugged on just a bit, the poor boy. She didn’t care what the proper ‘coming of age’ age was-- seventeen was still a child. He didn’t need this. Like she always had, she reached out for him like she would one of her children and smile as he walked in to allow her to embrace him.

Molly smoothed his hair, and let out a hum, trying to muffle the shouting coming from your room as you tried to make sense of the news delivered to you. “Give her time. She’ll remember and things will get better. She just needs time, Harry.”

It was three long days before you let Harry come and visit you. When he walked in, he immediately noticed that you looked much older than you did before. Your eyes seemed sunken in and you looked quite pale. “Are you alright?”

“Parvati and Padma told me everything.” Well-- what you thought was everything. What happened in the Triwizard tournament. Dumbledore’s army. The war. How Harry went away for your seventh year along with Ron and Hermione to find a way to defeat Voldemort.

That Lavender was dead.

That Colin was dead.

You had-- apparently-- been fighting side by side with Fred Weasley when a wall had exploded. You’d gone to visit him down the hall and had a surprisingly pleasant chat. It was quite nice, to have some things be like you remembered them.

The Twins being funny was one of those things.

You watched Harry as he slowly approached you, like he would a wounded animal who was at risk of darting off instead of allowing themselves to be assisted. “Everything?”

“Yeah.” there was a pause, “Well, I think it’s everything. I know they said we were dating.” another pause, as you grit your teeth, wondering if past tense was the correct one to use. Did amnesia constitute breaking up? Did it mean that you weren’t dating anymore? Certainly you still had a crush on Harry, but that was the boy you’d known a long time ago-- and you weren’t sure if that would hold true now. “Are dating?”

“We were, right before the battle.” he found himself wondering the same thing you were. “Are, if you’d like. But that’s not important right now. You getting better is a lot more important. So don’t-- don’t worry about that. I’ll be here to talk if you’d like, but we don’t need to pick back up.”

That hurt to say, damn near broke his heart, but Harry wouldn’t have felt right immediately trying to press things back to the way they were before. He loved you, and he’d thought that once all of this was over you two could live a normal life, but pressuring you into it?

That was wrong.

You seemed to consider his words for a moment, before you finally spoke. “When did we start dating?”

Padma and Parvati had told you quite a bit, but it sounded a lot more like you were getting an abridgment of your life read back to you. You wanted to hear it from a first source.

He smiled a bit as he took a seat at the edge of your bed, watching as you scooted yourself up into a sitting position. “We started dating in November of our fifth year. A little before Halloween.” He didn’t bring up how terrible your first date had been. Between Umbridge and DA meetings you’d both been too frazzled to properly enjoy Hogsmeade, and it had all been pretty damn awkward.

It had gotten a lot better though, at least. You’d been nice enough to give him a second chance.

“And we’ve dated ever since?”

That was a loaded question-- before he’d left to hunt the Horcruxes you two had one hell of a row. A big enough one that he’d wondered if you two were still dating while he was away. But when he’d come back you’d immediately jumped into his arms and kissed him so hard it was like he’d never been away.

“Yeah, we’ve been dating ever since.”

Was this bad? Should he be telling everything that happened? It seemed like that would be impossible to do at once.

He was pondering just that when you spoke up, and Harry found himself faced with the decision right at that very moment.

“Tell me everything about us, Harry.”

He stared at you for a long while, not sure where to start or what was worth not telling.

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

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#harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter oneshot #harry potter fanfiction #my writing #my imagines #requested #magiqueue

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