#(girl who is so flustered and attracted to you she might as well die voice) hey man how is it going

[jiminrings]

can we get a fratboy Jimin and good girl oc with pinning from both sides 👀 ahhhh thank u in advance love ur writing!!

cherry king

drabble week: day four

drabble week masterlist

pairing: fratboy!jimin x goody two-shoes!reader

wordcount: 3k

glimpse: "y-you uhm, you-? y'know, you like... doing that? is that why it's your nickname?"

feedback + support mean the world to me!!

“next!”

great!! the line’s moving :D

that’s only like the 87th time jimin has heard the word next and it makes him wonder how much more would it take him to bring him to the front

(it’s actually only been 14 times and jimin might just be a self-admitted impatient bitch!!!)

he understands that yes, it’s ten in the evening!!! and reasonably-large stores/pharmacies like these can have less staff at the time compared to ten in the morning

sure, checkout machines and cashier lanes could be broken down!! or they could just not be open at all

jimin gets that alright, maybe the self-checkout machines are close at this time of the night because it is ten in the evening

what’s not clicking in his mind, however is that at the exact time that he comes here

as in the EXACT time that he’s here (!!!) — there happens to be dozens of people in a store at ten in the evening, and there happens to be a grand total of one (1) cashier lane

atleast random store music would be entertaining :((( all he hears are the beeps of a scanner and the chatter of groups of people who came here

jimin was eavesdropping on some guys in front of him and he wAS invested but lmao turns they were just discussing the plot of die hard or any testosterone-jacked movie like it

he’s also tried looking at the smaller middle-aged woman’s phone in front of him who’s scrolling through her facebook feed, but quickly decides against continuing it

because what if u could see his face and when she turns it off, she’d see a college guy deeply-invested in the baloney article she was reading about how subway sandwiches are the work of the devil

so uh yeah he’s just looking everywhere besides the front, back, and the sides of him and in all angles basically

he’s,,,,, aimlessly scrolling through his instagram feed he’s already scrolled through tHREE times and his explore’s page a little too dry

it’s a good thing that jimin’s entirely sure he’s the nosiest person out of this line and no one else is trying to figure him out

might be wrong though

“cherry king?”

hold the fuck on

jimin’s eyes widen, head snapping up and clueless to the fact that he doesn’t look discreet at all, and his head-cocking’s the most movement he’s done the whole time in this store

WHO’S SAYING HIS NICKNAME?????

it can’t be a coincidence either because as far as he’s concerned, there isn’t anything named cherry king that’s being sold here

there is literally NO other plausible scenario happening here besides the fact that someone who knows him is in the store!!!!

his gaze falls to the person behind him, brows knitted in confusion until it clicks

oh

that was you?

“jimin? huh, it really is you. i thought i was losing my mind for a second.”

“y/n?”

okay maybe hE’S the one who’s losing his mind here

he knows you!! you’re the smart girl in his year who’s known for being pristine and stuff!! you’re like the good-est girl he’s ever known and heard of

.... quick question lads is that weird to know someone by

“you could’ve just called me by my name, y’know,” jimin chuckles heartily, still a little dumbfounded to see you here but he’s grateful for the interaction nonetheless

you look casual today?? like you still look like yourself but everyone else would think it’s an out-of-body experience to see you out of your pretty dresses and monochromatic get-ups

it’s you..,.. in a hoodie three sizes larger than your size with your pristine shoes traded in for socked-feet wearing slides

jimin thinks that you look like grace under pressure

“i wasn’t sure,” you smile right back and it’s the first time he realizes that there’s glasses atop your nosebridge, softening your image more from the usual composed look you carried

“how were you sure enough to say my nickname out-loud though?”

jimin questions you, bringing light to how he’s wearing a plain white shirt and is looking as relaxed as ever with how he’s dressed — his hair long enough to be put into a messy sprout of a bun

you clear your throat, the amusement bubbling in your scratchy throat

“you have yourself as your lockscreen, jimin.”

oh my gOD

he winces when you say it, eyes screwing shut in embarrassment that he whines in pain with how direct you put it

“n-no way — fuck you respectfully, y/n. i-i’m not- i’m changing it right now!!”

does he look the vainest person alive rn

the way he has a mini freakout entertains you to your core, giggles unable to be suppressed as he finds the latest-taken picture he has of dogs that he comes across with

that’s 10/10 an experience he doesn’t want to repeat again

“it’s okay. i won’t tell anyone.”

he hears you reassure and he believes you, a flustered blush on his cheek still as he coughs to make up for a diversion topic he couldn’t think of

frankly, you’re getting bored too and jimin’s the only form of entertainment you have because using your phone atm would be too disorienting

“what are you doing here, by the way?”

your head tilts in query and he’s relieved that you address something else, not being relieved seconds later when he realizes his answer

“just a little supply run for our frat. we weren’t supposed to run out of things for three more days, so this is just a lil emergency haul for awhile.”

you nod in understanding, glancing down at his basket and uh

uhm 1/4 of the space is literally occupied by boxes of condoms

....

......

jimin’s confused to why you turn silent, thinking that he must’ve gotten boring to continue talking to until he follows your gaze to his basket

NO WAY?!]>|>]%%[%]%]

“i-it’s not l-like that!!!” he crouches and immediately gets the food and the bottles of shampoo and conditioner to bury the condoms in the bottom of the pile, attractively getting more attention from you who’s ready to let it go

“i-it’s not — it’s ours — n-no!! t-they just gave me a list and i just put it because it’s on the list b-but like it wasn’t my-...”

how many more times will the universe fuck jimin up in front of the person he has a lil happy crush on

you only smile meekly, tilting your head and he thinks this is the part where you tell him how much of a douche he is

"y-you uhm, you-? y'know, you like... doing that? is that why it's your nickname?"

:O

“t-that?” jimin clarified albeit confused, thinking back to his nickname as he tries to rapidly connect the dots to not look like a fool

cherry king? that?? what do you-

WAIT WHAT

“nO!! o-of course not!!”

he almost shrieks and his voice sounds ultimately defensive, shaking his head no

why does he look so frantic

“hey, hey, i believe you! — calm down, jimin. you don’t have to explain anything to me.”

whew

fuck

but he argues that it iS the truth though!!!

but why won’t you just ask him why he’s called cherry king though >:(

you’re already content with the silence after the conversation but he isn’t, still wanting more

is it so bad that he wants redemption D:

“how about you? what are you doing here?”

you don’t answer instantly and it’s because you’re nudging jimin to continually walk, the cashier looking much more visible now as he’s nearer in line

he takes a look at the handful of things that’s in your basket —

electrolytes, hot pockets, soup, cup noodles and fever patches...?

“oh. i think i’m running a fever.”

what???

what are you doing here aLONE if you think you’re running a fever???

he’s not gonna lie about the fact that you don’t look too good

what if you pass out and no one’s there for you and all the graveyard shift employees do is put a wet floor sign around your figure???

“y/n?? what are you doing here alone then?? are you oUT of your mind??”

the panic in jimin’s voice is clear as day and you’re a little startled, instead responding to tapping him on the shoulder to point that he’s already the one on the cashier

what he does is grab your basket before he is, putting it in front of the conveyor belt because he couldn’t even wait for it to roll out

“i said i think i’m running a fever.”

jimin stops from simultaneously rummaging for his rewards card and putting his items on the counter to unceremoniously drop the box of condoms down jUST to put his hand on your forehead

“you are.”

you surely don’t think low of jimin but you can’t help be surprised either at his concern for you when this is the only time you’ve had a conversation with him!!!

“you drove here?” he asks in seriousness, sending you a look while waiting for the total amount

“walked. the airconditioning makes me even more sick,” you answer with no fuss because even thinking about car fresheners while you’re sporting a fever makes you want to gag. “let me-...”

jimin already pays for both your items in cash, getting them bagged separately as he’s not gonna take no for an answer for what he’s gonna propose next

“then i’ll keep the windows down. i’ll drive you back to your dorm.”

he grabs both your bags in one hand and uses the other to beckon you over, holding you still because it’s dark out and a fever vision wouldn’t exactly help

it’s only when he straps you in and (true to his word) puts the windows down and starts his car that you start asking

“why are you doing this for me?”

why IS he doing this for you??

jimin thinks about his answer in a second

“would you do the same for me?”

well

if you were in front of him at a godforsaken line, had yourself as your lockscreen, realize that jimin’s behind you with a fever and is by himself in a store at 10 in the evening

“of course i would.”

jimin smiles, steering away from his parking spot

“then i would too.”

( ♡ )

maybe you’re thinking of jimin

no wait you’re dEFINITELY thinking of jimin

you’re much better now and your fever’s already subsided enough for you to go back to class!!!

the whole interaction with him was three days ago and maybe your head is just full of him at this point

“are you sure you’re okay to handle this by yourself??”

jimin worries when he drops your bag to your hands, briefly coming inside your dorm to set it down

“mhmm. i’ll just sleep it out.”

“i think if you’re missing a couple of steps.”

you snort as his paranoid features, waving him off. “i’ll eat. then go to the bathroom. and then sleep.”

okay good enough

“what if this just-“ jimin trails off, his expansive mind suddenly running as he points to your chest, “stops????”

cute

“i have a smart watch.”

“would you put me as one of the emergency contacts? please?”

he’s making you take down his number without malice because jeez he’s gENUINELY worried!!!!

it may not always be great sharing a house with his frat brothers, but he knows that if he has a fever, atleast half of them would dote over him and you have atleast one who would go into hysterics!!! it’e a full package!!

“i’ll be okay, jimin. i’ll call you when i need someone to hand me my puke bucket.”

“please do. i’m not even kidding. get better now because i miss your dresses.”

o_O

uhm

“n-no i meant your usual style!! wait, not that there’s anything wrong w-with your style right now. i-i was-...”

“yeah. i miss them too. now go home, jimin.”

“you sure?”

u never really had the impulse to invite a guy to go inside your place but maybe now you do

“mhmm. drive safe.”

okay

:-)

“good night, y/n. call me whenever.”

classes were a bit rough today because you’re still easing yourself on getting back to the groove of things, but it was tolerable!!!

you’re getting your key out of your backpack when a lock clicks open a couple doors away from you, the hinge noisily squeaking

it’s jimin who leaves it, with seri who’s the actual occupant of the dorm leaning on the doorframe

“y/n—!”

he squeaks the moment his eyes land on you

your hand automatically waves, the same meek smile for him to see

“jimin.”

( ♡ )

the last interaction you had with him is still on jimin’s mind, a whole week later

it’s been bothering him recently that you know what it looks like the last time around!!!! but he could swear up and down that it wasn’t

he just feels this great urge to explain even if you haven’t asked

“oh. so we have to move out for the time-being?”

jimin clarifies with namjoon, the head of the frat, and he’s met with a solemn nod

it makes sense!!!

the house got checked today and there were mULTIPLE fire hazards!!! and it needs to be fumigated anyway under new campus protocol so it indeed makes sense

practically everyone's going home because it’s a long weekend anyway because of a holiday

and he’s not sure if he wants to take the same route.

“hi.”

jimin squeaks the moment you open your door, surprise evident on your face but not shock to the point you’d close the door on him

“jimin?”

okay maybe he’s gonna go straight to explaining

“frat house needed to be closed because of some complications, and it wouldn’t be open to us for another three days. most of the guys are coming home,” jimin clears his throat, his head down while he shyly scratches the back of his ear, “i have one, but i’m not sure if i wanna.”

oh

it’s that problem

it takes one, two seconds before it all registers in your head, nodding surely

“you can take my bed. i’ll take the couch, it’s a pull-out anyways.”

you open the door for him widely and the only thing you ask if he’s had dinner and if he’d like some

god you’re really throwing him in a loop here

it’s after a batch of your cooking that jimin’s only ache is why you were the way that you were, half-dazed the whole time he’s met you properly

“why do you never ask me?”

“hmm?” you hum as you dry the dishes that you’ve used, wanting to get it done as soon as possible so your full attention would be on him

no, actually. jimin WANTS you to pry!!

he wants you to worm your way into his privacy and into the confines of his mind

but it seems like you’ve already did without even asking.

“ask me why i’m called the cherry king.”

you tilt your head in confusion, that time playing in your head of why jimin looked confused when you didn’t continue to ask further

maybe you’ll indulge him

“why are you called the cherry king?”

jimin smiles, leaning to your couch with his arms relaxed

“we did secret santa for christmas at our frat house. taehyung thought it would be nice if he pranked me by gifting me a jar full of cherries, but i thought that was his actual gift, and i liked it to the point that i finished it in one sitting.”

tHAT’S ACTUALLY PRETTY ENDEARING

cute, even

“ask me why i came out of seri’s apartment last week.”

oh that’s.,.,. that’s a bit higher in level compared to nicknames

“why did you come out of seri’s apartment last week?”

“because seri’s the ex-girlfriend of hoseok, my frat brother, and he wanted me to return all her stuff because he doesn’t want to be reminded of his cheating ex.”

well that was definitely weighted

jimin plays with the hem of his shirt, the words tumbling out of his mouth

“ask me why i love you.”

why do you wHAT

your mouth drops open, the new position you took on the other end of the couch taking an impact on him

“w-why do you love me?”

jimin’s a lot of things but he’s not drunk tonight

he doesn’t know why he’s letting his feelings slip either, but it’s the bottomless need that he feels when he’s around you

“i feel wanted. i feel needed.”

he smiles cheerfully even if he feels shy dropping this on you all of a sudden

“not sure if you want me nor need me, but i feel welcome with you if that makes sense.”

:)

“you just make me feel loved, i guess.”

jimin looks at you for the first time since he’s opened his mouth, an equally fond look on your face

you said no words but what jimin receives is a gentle tug, your hand on the side of his face until he’s leaning on your shoulder

“i wanna know what's up there.”

he points a finger to your temple, an amused lilt to his tone, “surprise me.”

it’s an unfolding of things that was weeks in the making but months in developing, the distant glances leading you to recognize jimin in the shop in the first place

“i feel the exact same with you,” you answer honestly and it makes his laugh from his chest, his cheeks warm and his heart content

and you just wanna suspend yourselves in this moment forever

“oh! and if i were to lose my virginity to anyone at the moment, it'd be you!!”

...

....

jimin swats at your shoulder to which you only giggle at, a toothy smile on display as this is the warmest he’s ever felt

“i wasn’t kidding!!!”

you yawn when you defend yourself, predicting that you’d fall asleep sooner or later on the couch, but for the time-being, you just stroke jimin’s hair to soothe the both of you

jimin is now the furthest thing from sleepy

"what? you told me to surprise you!!"

[azucanela]

HI CAN I REQUEST?!? How would Keigo, Bakugou and Shinsou react to their s/o wearing a really low cut shirt, one that shows a lot of cleavage and they don’t seem to have any idea what they’re doing- like they aren’t trying to get they’re attention they just happen to be wearing it. And they like bend down next to them to tell them something.(i feel like this can be partially serious nsfw and partially major crack. 😂) thank you.

REACTING TO S/O WEARING A LOW CUT SHIRT HEADCANNONS + SCENARIOS

[FT. BAKUGOU KATSUKI, KEIGO TAKAMI, SHINSOU HITOSHI]

SUMMARY: Y/N honestly didn’t think her shirt was anything special until...

WORD COUNT: 2.2k

WARNINGS: mildly suggestive content, innuendos, kissing, 

A/N: THIS REMINDS ME OF THE TIK TOK AUDIO THING SKLHDJKAH I CAN’T EXPLAIN IT 

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

HEADCANNONS

will not admit it but he is appreciating everything he can see

katuski doesn’t seem like the type to drink respect women juice but he does, he drinks too much, thats why he DESTROYED uraraka in the sports festival, katsuki thinks everyone should get destroyed equally

if anyone at any point decides to point out that he is staring, katsuki is gonna commit death and will not look at you for the rest of the day, like he is avoiding you and your gaze no matter what

katsuki is definitely going to be watching everyone else, and one wrong move means he’s gonna blast them to bits sjahjkahdjk, like oh hey mineta? you spent to long even glancing in my s/o’s direction so TIME TO DIE EXTRA

if you guys are out in public and other guys are looking at you then the PDA shoots through the ROOF, Katsuki has his hands all over you and you don’t mind this is abnormal behavior um??

definitely glaring at anyone who looks your way, especially since you aren’t noticing all the attention your lovely outfit is garnering

will compliment you but is shy about it

“you look... nice.”

“thanks katsuki.”

intense blushing from him but he WILL deny it

if you bend down in front of him and give him a CLOSE UP he is going to die on the inside, externally he is going to seem mostly composed, there’ll be a lil blush on his cheeks and he’s gonna try to avert his eyes very quick peak 

very quick

would never admit it happened but you’ll know because he’s gonna try and drag you away somewhere more private because it is unfair how flustered you are making him what the hell

then y’all,,,

ahsbdhjhksjdhakjs

you should wear that shirt more often tho like 👀

SCENARIO

Most of the time when Katsuki said he hated Y/N, he didn’t really mean it. In reality, she was one of few people he tolerated, and part of an even smaller group of people that he respected in their school. Also, he may or may not have been in love with her and dating her. 

Not that he would admit that, yet.

Watching Y/N enter the room, in a low cut top, revealing far too much, Katsuki realized he hated this woman. His eyes following her figure as she made her way into the common room kitchen, Katsuki could practically feel Kirishima smirk, “what’cha looking at Bakubro?”

“Shut up.” He grumbled in response, tearing his eyes away from Y/N, who had begun to speak with that dumb Deku. Katsuki couldn’t help the jealousy that flooded his veins at the sight, he shifted in his seat uncomfortably as he attempted to keep his attention focused on the show Kirishima had selected.

In the corner of his eye, Katsuki could see that stupid Grape heading in Y/N’s direction. “Hey! Grape.” He called out, voice low. Mineta froze at his words, eyes widening in fear as he slowly turned to meet Katsuki’s piercing glare. “What did I tell you?”

It was common knowledge at this point, messing with Y/N L/N meant messing with Bakugou Katsuki, and only an idiot would do that. Katsuki had made it especially clear to Mineta that you— along with all the other girls in their class, though he’d never admit it— were strictly off limits, unless Mineta wanted to die a long and painful death at his hands.

Y/N seemed blissfully unaware of the fact that Katuski despises the lovely top she dons as she makes her way over to his spot on the couch, and the eyes on you that don’t belong to him. It seemed you hadn’t just caught his attention today. “Hey, Katsuki.” He’s about to say something in reply when Y/N rests her hands on his knees, leaning down to continue. “I was thinking we could go out today,” Y/N keeps talking, about the possible areas to visit, but Katsuki isn’t listening at this point. 

Her upper body is dangerously visible and close to him, and Katsuki is doing his best to avoid staring but Y/N seems to be making that very difficult as she speaks. He’s forced to resort in looking away from her entirely, only to see Kirishima’s smug grin as he snickers alongside Mina.

This is why Katsuki grabs one of Y/N’s hands off his knee as he practically shoots up from his spot on the couch, “yeah. Let’s go now.”

Her brows furrow, but upon seeing the reddening face of Bakugou Katsuki, and Y/N agrees despite her own confusion, “sure, you have somewhere in mind?”

“Yeah, I have something in mind.”

Somewhere was his room, something was Y/N pressed up against the door. Her arms had wrapped around his neck, and she broke away from the kiss he’d initiated to speak, “what’s up with you?” There’s a grin on her face as his own begins to flush once more.

“Your stupid shirt.”

“What did my shirt do?”

“EVERYTHING.”

KEIGO TAKAMI | PRO HERO HAWKS

HEADCANNONS

blatantly checking you out, he has ZERO SHAME, keigo wants you to know that he finds you VERY ATTRACTIVE 

“you look so good today babe. i love the outfit.”

always been very big on PDA though his agency and publicist do not approve, during dates he’s less touchy than he wants to be but seeing you in that top he is now 100% with PDA

if anyone hits on you or anything i feel like he’s the type to be a lil possessive because bird instincts, and he will have no shame just making out with you and feeling you up right there in front of anybody who flirts with you, much to everyone’s dismay

if someone points out his blatant stares he gonna be proud of it and be like yeah im looking

there is no blushing, there is no being flustered, yes he is going to be a little caught off guard that you are wearing that type of shirt, but aside from that he is going to enjoy it while it lasts

very much appreciates this opportunity like the perv he is

will wanna find somewhere provide just to have a little bit of fun, because he’s,,, hawks. you can’t tell me he isn’t gonna wanna make out with you or 👀 👀 👀

def most likely to have this happen with, purely because he knows it could be embarrassing for you if he just started making out with you in public, because at this point, keigo does not care

keigo simps and he has ZERO shame, definitely the most perverted, you cannot change my mind

SCENARIO

For once in his career, Keigo had managed to earn a day off, and he didn’t know anyone better to spend it with than his lovely girlfriend, Y/N L/N. Of course, he never expected her to arrive to their little hangout in such a wonderful outfit.

Keigo could not deny that he was appreciating everything. His eyes were wandering over her upper body, brow raised as she approached him, waving. “Hey, Takami!” She greeted, beaming at him.

“Hey, babe.” Comes his response, bringing a hand to her hip to pull her closer, Keigo brought his other hand to her cheek and pressed a kiss to her lips. “You look nice today.” He mumbled when they pulled apart, his eyes trailing over her figure once more, Keigo’s hand remained at her side as he pulled her through the streets. 

“You’re very touchy today.” Y/N pointed out, though she brought her hand over his nonetheless, leaning into his touch as they made their way through the crowd. 

He could feel the stares on the both of them, and he wasn’t necessarily sure if that was because two Pro Heroes were casually walking through the street, or if Y/N’s outfit was bringing in more attention than she’d expected. Regardless, Keigo didn’t like it. “What can I say, I wanna touch my amazingly attractive girlfriend.”

Y/N swats at his chest playfully as he brings her to an empty table in the food court, eyes scanning the area for something that sold chicken nuggets, that he happened to love. Though Y/N made fun of him for it frequently, referring to him as a cannibal, much to his dismay.

“Well, your amazingly attractive girlfriend,” Y/N pushed him down into the seat at the table, hands remaining on his shoulders as she spoke to him, and effectively giving Keigo quite the... view. “Is going to go get some chicken nuggets, do you want a drink?” 

Wow, she’s perfect.

Keigo finds himself nodding absently, distracted by the sight before him as he forces his eyes to return to her face, which dawns a confused look, “yes please, babe.” He sits back in his seat, offering her a smirk. 

“You’re so weird.”

“And you are so perfect.”

“Shut up.”

SHINSOU HITOSHI

HEADCANNONS

a respectful boy

does not look if he can avoid it, and if he does look, he is looking respectfully because shinsou drinks respect women juice

definitely the MOST flustered and cannot hide it because wow you look so good and you are his s/o, and oh-

“how do i look toshi?”

“uh,,, good. yeah you look really pretty today- not that you don’t look pretty everyday its just-”

not very big on PDA, does basic stuff like hand holding and will on occasion, kiss you, that’s probably not gonna change

if he gets jealous of all the people checking you out, he’s not gonna say anything, he’s just gonna hope you don’t dump him to go hang out with one them akshdkjashdjksa

gets insecure because this is a reminder of how amazing his lovely s/o is and wow you are just really hot and why are you dating him again? he doesn’t know, he’s gonna need a reminder

if anyone points out the fact that he’s staring at you he might cry kajshdjkahsdkj he’s definitely gonna be embarrassed and start blushing IMMENSELY it’ll be hilarious ngl

not the type to be possessive or jealous or anything

if you two somehow end up somewhere private then he probably will wanna make out with you but he’ll ask politely if he can kiss you and then things will escalate from there

overall a very respectful boy and will not look unless its an accident or explicitly given permission because he is also a very awkward boy please help him

you literally break shinsou with this outfit like he is flabbergasted shocked and simping for YOU

SCENARIO

When Shinsou heard the knock on his door, he already knew who it was. He and his lovely girlfriend, Y/N L/N had agreed to go out together today, and she was meeting him at his dorm. 

“Come in.” He called out, leaning down to tie his shoes. 

Shinsou heard the door open, and a smile found its way onto his face as Y/N greeted him, “hi Hitoshi!” Moving up to look at her from his seat on his bed, Shinsou is greeted by a shirt he has never seen before.

Oh no.

His cheeks flush as he averts his eyes, “hey kitten.” Shinsou clears his throat, straightening in his seat on the bed, “you ready to go.” 

Y/N is grinning at him as she brings her hands to his shoulders and presses a kiss to his cheek, “definitely.” This position was not helping him focus on the task at hand.

Shinsou nods slowly, blinking a few times as he focuses his gaze on her face, earning him a raised brow, “right, let’s go.” He moves to sit up, just for Y/N to press him back down onto the bed by his shoulders.

“What’s up with you?”

He falters, mouth opening and closing for a moment as he struggles to find an excuse, “you look really nice today.” Is what he manages to come up with, though the look on Y/N’s face only brings more panic as he continues, “not that you don’t look nice everyday it’s just that uh-” Shinsou makes an odd hand gesture, contemplating ramming his head into the wall as he finally makes eye contact with his very amused girlfriend. 

“What makes you say that, baby?” She asks, tilting her head at him as her hands remain firmly planted on his shoulders.

Shinsou finds it hard not to cover his face with his hands as he replies, “your shirt.”

Y/N’s brows furrow, looking down at her shirt as though she’d forgotten what she’d worn that day, only for her face to morph into one of realization as her mouth forms an ‘o’ shape. This soon becomes laughter as she looks to Shinsou, “I never expected that from you Hitoshi.”

“I-I’m sorry?!”

Y/N is laughing even more at his words, a small smile on her face as she brings her hands to his face to bring him into a kiss. Shinsou melts into this kiss, hands coming to her waist. 

“I honestly can’t believe you actually-”

“I’m going to leave if you don’t shut up.”

“Sure you will.” 

A/N: why was writing this so hard AND I MADE A GRILLED CHEESE FOR THE FIRST TIME I FEEL SO SUCCESSFUL

TAGLISTS[lmk if you wanna be added or removed via ask or reply]

BNHA: @shawkneecaps

[weirdochick56]

Sin- Steve Rogers AU Chapter Three

Biker!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Explicit language, set in a universe where Pietro isn’t Wanda’s twin, but her older brother!!!

Disclaimers: I don’t own any MCU plots/characters mentioned. 

Word Count: 3, 379 Words

Summary: Y/n finally comes face to face with Biker King and it’s nothing like she imagined. And when she least expects it, the very person she came looking for will find her and all the emotions she has been holding in will come pouring out in unexpected ways.

Read Chapter Two Here!!

*

Under different circumstances, maybe you would’ve stayed there, in his hold a little while longer. It wasn’t like it was an unpleasant feeling...not in the least. 

His hot hands and cool rings contrasted eachother deliciously on your skin and it had actually taken you a while to pull yourself out of your dazed trance, between getting the air knocked out of you and now....

“Oh.” 

You didn’t mean to yelp the way you did when your gaze met those of the blonde Adonis that stood before you, but you couldn’t help it. Those eyes...if you had thought they were pretty before, now you could say with absolute certainty that they were utterly showstopping. 

Salacious, intense, powerful...you’d never wanted to drown in a person’s gaze more. 

He had the kind of eyes you don’t just get lost in, but entirely lose yourself to. The kind that if you stare into too long, you might be swallowed like quicksand. And yet, even knowing this, you couldn’t pull yourself away and had found yourself for the second time in only a short span of time, unable to breathe correctly. 

His gaze was steady on yours as well, though unlike you he wasn’t shaken in the least. He was all cool and collected, his eyes searching yours out shamelessly. 

And so you stay like that for a few moments, his big hands pressed onto your mostly bare back and your hands gripping his forearms tightly, steadying- anchoring yourself. Though nothing about the piercing power of that gaze was anchoring or even real to you. 

Gradually, your heart begins picking up an erratic pace which only spikes when his fingers begin tracing softly over your skin. 

The shivers this sends down your spine feels like a slap to the face and you find yourself almost aggressively pushing yourself away from him. He hesitates a bit, but it’s only a split second before his hands are unclasped and off your skin. 

Breaking away seems to break the trance-like state you were in and instantly, the embarassment sets in, your cheeks heating up immediately. You bow your head refelctively. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble out of pure shame. Not because of him, but because of yourself.  

Why were you acting like this? 

I mean, you weren’t normally one to fall for a pretty face because you had grown up around rich pretty boys your whole life.

But he...

You take a cautious peek at him again and instantly regret doing so when you realize the fact that his eyes had seemingly never left you and were now practically glowing with amusement as he watched you closely.

Your breath hitches and you bite your lip, a nervous habit of yours. His eyes momentarily flick down to the action but they quickly return back up to your gaze. 

Your eyes are everywhere at once, your breathing labored. ‘He’s too close’, you think to yourself amidst the chaos in your brain. 

And he’s too goddam perfect. 

He’s all sharp jaw, high cheekbones, silky, messy blonde hair, pink plump lips and piercing blue eyes...every slope and curve and straight edge of his face was all too perfectly harmonious with one another. To say you were in complete awe at the Adonis before you would be an understatement. 

You couldn’t breathe. 

His plump lips are so pink and full and they’re only highlighted more by his dark neatly kept beard, you have to blink several times to make sure you’re not imagining them. How can a man have such pretty lips? 

You had never seen someone this alluring in your life, he wasn’t at all like the pretty rich boys of your town. 

He had a naturally intimidating aura to him, in that rough-around-the-edges badass biker way that you shouldn’t be finding this damn attractive. 

And then you take a moment to take in his full form. You were right; he was easily a whole foot taller than you, sporting more tattoos than you could count on his visible skin- that was, his collarbone and hands, some of the ones up his arm poking out when he moved. 

Unlike most people here who wore kuttes, he was wearing a thick leather jacket with the word, ��President’ patched in bold black and white on it, but you knew he had his arms fully tatted because you’d seen it that day at the store.

 He also wore black worn jeans that clung sexily on his slim hips, chains hanging over the jean hoops and clanging everytime he moved. He clearly loved his black combat boots because it was visibly obvious he used them a whole lot. 

His sexy mouth lifts at the corner into an even sexier smirk and you all but come undone when he speaks again. “It’s okay, angel.” 

‘Doll’, ‘angel’...

Your brow furrows and before you know what you’re doing...

“Are you in the habit of giving girls you’ve never met pet names, sir?”  You blurt without thinking. 

The unintentionally sassy words fly out of your mouth before your brain can even catch up, but when it does, your eyes instantly widen and your hand flies to your mouth, clasping over it in complete horror. 

You want to die when the excessive attitude in your words sinks in and suddenly you’re all too aware of just how much bigger and intimidating this man was compared to you. 

He could snap you, and most grown men, in half without a second thought. 

You open your mouth to apologize profusely thinking you’ve offended this (most likely) dangerous outlaw, but you freeze once you see his expression. 

He doesn’t seem angry at all, in fact, he’s...laughing? No, it’s not a full-on laugh like the one you’d seen in that parking lot. It’s more airy, more casual. 

He was chuckling. At you. 

He speaks again, this time amusedly. “Nah, only the pretty ones.” 

You’re caught off-guard by the suave of his words and you find yourself profusely blushing once more. You have no idea how to respond to him so instead, you just shake your head, desperate to escape this increasingly flustering situation.

“Okay. Now, if you’ll excuse me...” you offer him a forced polite smile and go to side-step him. 

You barely make it two steps before his hand is flying out, gripping your wrist firmly and tugging you backwards. A little gasp flies out of your mouth at the suddeness of the movement and before you understand what’s happening, you find yourself pressed tightly against a wall, shrouded in darkness. 

You turn your wide eyes onto Biker King, whose thick arms are now pressed beside each side of your head, caging you in entirely. His long torso is leaning down slightly, so his eyes are directly with in your line of sight. 

His scent comes onto you like an avalanche. He smells strongly of leather, cologne, shaving cream, something woodsy yet manly and strangely enough, clean laundry. 

It was unlike any scent you’d ever smelt on a man, but somehow it fit him perfectly and you found yourself inhaling deeper than usual, your heart racing at his sudden proximity. 

He’s so close, your chests are only an inch or two away and he’s staring straight into your soul, cornering you like a predator would a helpless prey. 

“Uh...” you can only mumble awakwardly, still kind of dazed and gaping up at him in utter shock, you can barely hear yourself over the loud pounding of your erratic heart. 

Up close, he’s more beautiful than you could’ve ever imagined a person to be and his piercing gaze was honestly dizzying you. 

“Why are you here, doll?” 

His sudden question jerks you painfully back into reality and you press your lips together, your brows pinching up instantly at his words. The question is so blunt, so sudden, you can only blink furiously up at him. 

“I- what?” You breathe shakily, suddenly unable to function at all. 

He tilts his head down at you, raising a brow and speaking awfully matter-of-factly. “Well you’re that pretty little thing from that shit-hole parking lot, aren’t you?”

At first you can only blink stupidly at him, not expecting him to recognize you but then it suddenly dawns on you...if he recognized you then-

You gasp loudly, cheeks more fiery than ever. 

A knowing smirk grows on his face. “Hey, for what it’s worth, angel, it was a pretty catchy ringtone.” 

You bite your lip in order to supress any small sound threating to spill over out of your lips. 

His eyes darken when they fall onto your meek movement and he tightens his hold in the wall, inhaling sharply. “Damn...” 

Your blush darkens and your stomach clenches at his small, heated mumble that leaves those pretty lips. 

Maybe it was the smug little smirk on his beautiful face that bothered you so much. Or maybe it was the way his eyes pierced through you like you were see-through, but either way, you felt trapped. 

Like he was a lion and you were some small, distressed powerless prey, unable to escape that watchful gaze.

“I have to go...” you breathe curtly, staring at his mouth from under your lashes as his pink tongue pokes out, sweeping lightly over his lips.

He chuckles sexily. “Oh, nu-uh, doll. You haven’t answered my damn question yet. What’s a girl like you doing here?” 

“A girl like me?” You frown. 

He laughs, looking away for a second before turning his magnetic eyes back onto you, somehow more intensely than before. 

“You and I both know you don’t belong on this side of town, angel,” he whispers meaningfully, staring at your mouth fixedly. 

“I-I don’t even know you,” is all you can manage in a shaky voice, feeling like an invisible force is pushing at your chest. 

His eyes lazily drag up to your own and he hums thoughtfully. “You don’t have to. You just have to tell me what you want with this place.” 

You find yourself reeling back indignantly at his demanding tone despite your nervousness. Just who did this stranger think he was?

“I don’t have to tell you jack shit,” you snap. “Now let me go, please.”

If he’s shocked by your little outburst, he doesn’t show it, instead he laughs lowly, the sound somehow like pebbles scraping against gravel and also like what silk felt on your skin or the way honey squeezes out of a bottle. 

The sound was so sexy- a perfect balance of masculine and airy- that it felt like a carress on your skin. 

“Oh, you’re definitely not from around here, little spit fire.”

You want to ask him what he means, but before you can, a voice cuts in from behind you both. 

“Prez.” 

The both of you freeze, but perhaps for entirely different reasons. Biker King looks mildly annoyed at the interruption, and you...

Well that voice sounded freakishly like-

Biker King releases a big breath, smoothly pushing off the wall and spinning around to look at the voice, leaving you to finally be able to release a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in. 

You’re still safely hidden behind the much larger frame of Biker King, but you can easily make out about three pairs of manly feet from between his lean, jean-clad legs.

“Sorry, Prez,” the same voice quickly pushes out, but he sounds more panicked than apologetic. “I know you’re busy but...” he pauses, and for some reason you know it’s because of you. 

‘Prez’? As in “president”? You found yourself wondering silently. 

Tentatively, you step out from behind Biker King, head bowed. “Uhm- I was actually just going so..” 

You don’t even plan on looking at them before high-tailing it out of there, but a shocked voice stops you. 

“Y/n?!” 

Your head snaps up instantly. 

And when your gazes make contact for the first time in a long time, you can’t help the tears that instantly pool around your eyes, eyes and nose burning furiously as all the overwhelming feelings and thoughts you’d been suppressing for so long come rushing to the surface.

It was an instantaneous reaction because deep down you had felt he was near and a wave of conflict crashes right against you as you stiffen up.

Your mouth feels dry as you blink the threatening hot tears back. You haven’t seen him in a while, but he hasn’t very much changed appereance wise. 

Those eyes were still the warmest blue you’ve ever seen, that hair was still kinky and he hadn’t chopped off his frosty tips. 

It dawns on you why you’d recgonized that voice and your heart squeezes tightly as you’re fact to face with him...

Your voice is croaky and breathy when you say his name, but you force yourself to. 

“Pietro.”

*

Steve’s POV

I watch with raised brows as Pietro, or ‘Pretty Boy’ as we called him and my angel -Y/n is what Pietro called her- naturally draw closer together, like being pulled together by some kind of fucking magnetic force, and a surge of anger rises within me instantly. 

‘So your name is Y/n, huh?’ I can find myself thinking that her name is beautiful, delicate and feminine like her and that it would probably feel good to say on my tongue. 

Bucky and Sam each shoot a weird look my way, as if asking ‘what’s up with these two?’ and I give them a short shrug, quickly turning my gaze back onto the stomach-churning scene developing before me. 

Fuck, I hated her being so close to another man, it was inexplicable. I had just met the girl but I already knew I wanted her in my bed- it was like an instinct to me. 

Pietro is now within reach of her and I can do nothing but clench my fists as he reaches his arms out, with tears in his eyes appareantly not giving a flying fuck that his brothers are watching this unfold and tugs her small body towards him. 

What fucks me up more than anything is that she doesn’t fight him in the least. 

I mean it’s clear that they know eachother from their dramatic soap opera moment, but it’s the fact that they look so natural doing it -like they’ve done it so much before it’s muscle memory at this point- that makes me want to kill someone...perferably Pietro. 

He buries his face in her hair, inhaling her scent deeply and I can’t say I blame him. In the small amount of time I’d spent close to her, I’d become addicted to her smell. She smelt nothing like the women I’d fucked over the years. They used cheap off-brand shit, that too potent sweet stuff...but her? 

She smelled like wild flowers and vanilla, an expensive, soft, but not entirely inconspicuous scent I would fucking drown in if I could for the rest of my miserable life. 

As I watched on, helplessly clenching my fists so as to not do something rash, she shakily lifts her petite arms and wraps them around Pietro, hugging him tightly to her.

Oh. I growl under my breath, unable to resist the pang of jealousy that hits me.  

Bucky, my vice president, sends a look my way and I’m pretty sure there’s murder on my face, but all he does is smirk amusedly, the fucker. 

But then it gets worse, because Pretty Boy’s hands start wandering, rubbing her back tenderly, up and down almost to her nice round ass. Up and down, up and d-

I see red, and before I know what I’m doing, I feel myself lunging forward, ready to rip them apart. 

Except...

“Oh shit!” I freeze when I hear Sam voice all our thoughts at what has just happened. 

In the time I had stepped forward, Y/n had suddenly broken away from the embrace, brought her small fist back and clocked Pietro right in the jaw. 

We all stare like damn idiots at the loud smack sound, and consequent mixture of grunts and yelps that rings out, but none more than me. 

Little spitfire packs a damn powerful right hook, even with her size. 

I can see even Bucky, whose the most stoic of us all, is unable to do anything but gape at the scene. 

Our shocks lasts very little because in the next second, still cradling her injured hand to her chest, she uses her other free hand to smack him in the head, over and over. 

“You asshole!” she hissses, whacking him anywhere she can get her small hand. Pietro is crouched over, arms thrown over his head in order to protect himself. 

“Y/n stop!” he demands. 

But this only seems to anger her more and she’s attacking him with more fury now. “How dare you just up and leave like that? I thought-” she huffs, pained. “I thought you loved me, you dipshit!” 

It would seem my little angel has a potty mouth on her and I can’t help but smirk bemusedly to myself despite the fact that anyone here can tell there’s history there. 

Sam and Bucky’s shock seems to have worn off as well and they’re now staring, on the verge of laughter. 

It was pretty comical I’ll admit, seeing as she was way smaller than him and still whooping his ass. It was actually pretty impressive considering he was one of my guys.

I snap into action once I remember that she’s injured her hand and that Pietro isn’t fighting back because if he did, he could kill her. 

“Sam, Bucky,” I snap, pointing at Pietro with my eyes. They don’t hesitate a single second and instantly capture Pretty Boy in their hold, tugging him back. 

I reach out and grab Y/n by her waist, easily lifting her up and away. 

“Let me go, dammit! Let me go!” 

She wiggled aggressively against my hold, still flailing her small limbs about and yelling like a nutjob, but she’s no match against my strength. 

I hug her tightly, pressing her back to me so she can relax. “Settle down, angel,” I whisper calmly in her ear, but she keeps resisting, so I hastily add “If you keep wiggling that pretty little ass of yours like that on my cock you’re going to make me do something I’ll regret later. So I highly suggest you stop. Fucking. Moving.”   

I suppress the urge to grin when I feel her instantly stiffen beneath my touch. She finally seems to give up and fall limp against my hold. 

I mean, I was only half lying to get her to calm down. Actually, I was already half hard. 

‘You are one sick fucking bastard, Steve’ I think to myself bemusedly. 

“Y/n?! What the hell is going on?!” Another feminie voice calls out from behind us. 

Our necks snap instantly towards the direction where it came from and I frown. A pretty redhead comes bounding towards us, or well, me, looking just about ready to kill me and it is then I realize that I’m still carrying Y/n. 

“What the fuck are you doing?! Let her go!” She starts to give me hell, but Y/n suddenly sighs. 

“It’s okay Wanda,” she mutters. “He was just trying to keep me from killing-”

“Wanda!” Pietro calls out suddenly and the redhead’s eyes widen, much like Y/n’s had when she had first seen him. She instantly turns to Pretty boy and runs over to him, tears in her eyes. She practically jumps on him and holds him tightly to her. 

What. The. Hell. 

Sam turns to Bucky incredulously as ‘Wanda’ and Pietro hold eachother like they were the other’s life line. 

“Dude,” Sam breathes over to Bucky. “Where the hell is Pretty Boy getting all these babes from?” 

Bucky shrugs. “No clue.” 

“Wanda what are you doing here?” Pietro breaks away from her, ignoring Buck’s and Sam’s whispers. 

“Oh Pietro! I thought you were dead!” she sniffles and I’ve had just about enough of this shit show. 

“Enough.” I call out, gently setting Y/n down. I try to ignore her pretty gaze burning holes into the side of my head and focus on the issue at hand, turning my harsh gaze to Pietro. 

He gulps audibly because he knows I’m no longer playing around. 

“Pietro, you’re going to explain now.” 

Read Chapter Four Here!!

***

Pretty short chapter but I hope you liked! If anything I can rewrite it-

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[curiousconch]

Chase You / Chase Me (Pt. 3)

Part 3: Remember when everything was different

Catch up here: Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Aislinn, Gigi and Alex find friendship in the midst of the competition. One discussion led to another, pushing Alex to take a trip down memory lane, revealing the moment in her past where she and Gabe's paths crossed for the first time.

Book/Pairing: Choices - Laws of Attraction / Gabe Ricci x MC (Alex Keating)

Words: 1.7k+

Rating/Warnings: Mature (16+) / alcohol consumption, language. Scenes/themes may trigger trauma for some, reader discretion advised.

Disclaimer: Most of the characters as well as some dialogue belong to Pixelberry. I am merely borrowing them.

Sunday, downtown New York

"Wait, can you back up for a moment," Aislinn said across Alex, who was scooping the remains of her melted banana split. Gigi was sipping her ice-cold mimosa, their brunch table full of plates with scrapes of leftovers. The sun was out and so were they, dining al fresco under the shade of a huge white parasol and the gentle breeze cooling them every now and then. It was a perfect day so far.

The trio has agreed to meet up that Sunday to discuss what went down with the Rothswell case as well as to prep for the conference Sadie had invited them to. They were on some kind of a peace pact, all of them sharing the view that pitting women against women in the corporate world is just shitty business.

Alex has enjoyed their company. They exchanged imaginary one-liners that would have made Martin frown his heart out or Beau McGraw chortle his head off. And speaking of McGraw, they all concluded that the best strategic course of action was to let Beau enjoy his moment in the sun. One day, Alex would make sure to remind him that he tried to rain on her parade.

It was a refreshing and enlightening discussion, though she will forever be traumatized with how many swears Gigi can cram in a single sentence. But the sight of a flustered Aislinn while Alex and Gigi engaged in a battle of pick-up lines with their waiter was a strong second contender.

As their drinks flowed, the conversation naturally led to rhetorical questions, now settling at why they became a lawyer. Aislinn shared first, surprisingly, stating that her knack for analysis was just a natural fit to the demands of a career in law. Gigi's answer was simple - she can leverage her eidetic memory to earn herself some serious dough, allowing her to live it up and take impromptu vacations to Bali.

Alex tried to dodge the question. She had never needed to discuss her reason of leaving pre-med behind to attend law school. It wasn't a pleasant memory, and she doubted it will ever be.

The two ladies were quick to see her attempts of evasion. But together, they finally wore her down, Alex left laughing with their shenanigans as they cornered her to tell her story. So she told them that she knew Gabe Ricci. And that it was because of him why she was a lawyer. Alex decided that revealing the truth was worth it, seeing how their jaws just dropped to the floor.

"Girl, you have to explain yourself right now," Gigi demanded, to which Aislinn seconded.

Alex snorted as she went back to skimming what was left of her dessert. "It's a boring sob story, and I don't want to turn this lovely morning into a snooze fest."

"We're not going anywhere, right Gi?" Aislinn turned to Gigi beside her, who nodded whilst sipping another glass of cocktail.

"Fine, but only if you swear this won't leave this table," she said. The two held up their hands invoking a half-smiling Alex, sensing nothing but sincerity. So she drank down her glass of bloody mary and took a deep breath, composing her tale.

"Buckle up, ladies, you're in for a ride."

**

10 years ago, in a town near Boston

Alessandra Keating had never felt more alone than she did that day.

They said she needed to just move forward. But how can she, when every day since the crash, she felt nothing but emptiness? How can she feel alright, when the only life that she knew was suddenly taken away from her?

It wasn't long before she found out that the car accident was caused by someone being reckless, by someone who thought they were above the law. Then, she imploded. No way could she let her parent's deaths be forgotten. No fucking way.

For the past three years, she invested all of herself into this endeavor. Researching, studying, choosing the right counsel, even raising funds. It was what kept her breathing, what gave her purpose. Ultimately, it was what kept her sane.

From filing the lawsuit to attending mediations, to numerous settlement meetings and colliding with every legal roadblock possible - Alex made sure to see them through. Only for everything to be decided that day - the bench trial.

One sweltering summer morning in her hometown's courthouse, Alex sat on the side of the plaintiff, with her long brunette hair tangled in waves. She let her senses wander, taking in the dark wooden panels and pews, her sense of smell invaded by the scent of old mahogany. She sealed her lips into silence, hiding her nerves by straightening the bargain khaki suit that she borrowed.

She barely held it in as her eyes travelled to the table beside them, catching a glimpse of the man that caused her immeasurable pain. With jet black hair and looking as young as her, he sat with an almost mocking expression. He was wearing a crisper set of suit, creating an illusion of trustworthiness that Alex can easily see through.

Maximilian K. Cornell. The green-eyed teenager who swerved his sports car onto the same slippery road Alex and her parents were passing through. The very same boy who got out unharmed, but left Alex's family to die in the snow. Her opponent was a slithery snake who managed to screw the justice system so many times over, just because his parents had the grease to do so.

But after the crash, the town decided they can no longer turn the other cheek. Alex's decision to sue was propelled by the support of the countless friends and families whom her parents have helped in their hour of need. But that still proved not enough.

Her mind whirled back to the proceedings, and to how every strategy, every plan of attack was being thrown out. With every whip from the defense, she started to grow impatient. As another traffic expert from her camp was dismissed, Alex just snapped inside. She leaned to Mr. Leroy, a withering man on the brink of retirement who was her lawyer, asking for them to convene outside.

"I'm sorry Mr. Leroy, but your strategies were just scrutinized and torn into pieces," Alex said in a low voice the moment they stepped out into the hallway.

"Alex, I am doing my best here. We clearly don't have the upper hand, lacking the incriminating evidence that we need," the man replied, exasperated.

"Have we dug up his previous records? I mean, why on earth would he have a sealed history? Doesn't that mean something?" she continued.

She continued to dictate her litany of better-positioned moves, but even Alex knew she wasn't getting through. So she excused herself from the conversation, hoping a cup of iced coffee will somehow mitigate her frustrations.

As soon as she came back, she found Mr. Leroy convening with a much younger man in a dark navy suit. His aura screamed "big city hotshot", albeit the exhausted look in his brown eyes. Not wanting to interrupt, she held off from approaching. However, her curiosity didn't stop her from eavesdropping.

What she heard the charismatic man say was a legal precedent that would have opened the sealed records in question. And with all the mind-boggling legal jargon, that's just about what she understood.

"Gabriel Ricci? I'm looking for an attorney named Gabriel Ricci?" a female voice from a nearby window called out, which made the young man raise his head. She saw him end the conversation abruptly, where a flustered Mr. Leroy hastily thanked him. Alex took that as her queue to approach her lawyer.

"Alex, we might be able to turn things around," she heard Leroy say.

And by some miracle, things did turn around. With her lawyer using the precedent offered by the young attorney earlier, their side gained the needed momentum to tip the scales in their favor. By the end of the trial, the verdict was out - Cornell will never be able to drive another vehicle, along with paying her a hefty amount of damages and fees.

They won.

Alex had to pinch herself before the victory sunk in. When it did, she felt an immense burden lifted from her shoulders.

After a long, long time, Alex can finally breathe.

Broken free from her nightmares, she asked herself what's next? The answer came to her almost immediately. Right there and then, she decided what she wanted to be. Like that man from the courthouse, she will become a lawyer.

Fueled by this new sense of mission, she saw a future for herself. No longer held by the past, she finally was able to move forward.

Indeed, Alex became what she set out to do - a lawyer who took on hopeless, even impossible cases and won them. A lawyer her parents would be proud of.

A damn good lawyer, just like Gabriel Ricci.

**

Present Day, at a New York Penthouse

Gabe sat in his home office clad in nothing but his white bath robe, holding a worn manila folder.

Five years ago, Gabe saw this case as his opportunity to make Robbie proud. The defendant had all the parallels with his brother - a teenager, incarcerated young, where the punishment had presumed to be too harsh. He now knew it was rightfully just.

But at that time, he was blinded by passion and ambition. He wanted to prove to himself and to Sadie what he can do. Taking on this case that was practically unwinnable would give him more power, more control over the pro bono cases he wanted to take. Actually winning this though, that proved to be his fatal mistake.

Your cockiness got the better of you again, Ricci.

His mind went to Alex. That was the direction his every waking moment drifted to nowadays. Whether he liked it or not, he'd answer some other day.

He had to let her know. If he didn't, Alex would eventually find out herself. Once she discovers that he was the one who had set this man free, she would hate him.

Gabe can't bring himself to think of that happening, of losing that chance with her, or of losing Alex's trust.

Hell, I'm going to lose her entirely if she finds out.

These realizations devastated him.

But how can they both escape the looming shadows of the past unscathed? Even he couldn't figure that out.

Sighing, he rubbed his hand on his face, reeling at his lack of options. He then stood up, slamming the open folder on his desk as he turned to face the window, simmering in his own regrets. Papers slipped out to the carpeted floor, including a full-page mugshot of the defendant.

It was Maximilian Cornell.

Author's Notes: With Sadie being shady AF, I feel like we all need some dose of female friendship right? Also, this is my HC why Gabe constantly pulls away from MC, not only because of their working relationship. Did the reveal live up to the cliffhanger? Let me know in the comments! 👇👇👇

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[stanzoeywade]

Tiptoe - Poppy x MC

Taglist: @somewillwin @uhh-the-green-thing @jmojellybae @simp-pony @made-me-deep-blue @uselesslesbianfr @it-lives-in-braidwood-manor @belvoiresqueenbee @alexlabhont @samanthadalton @crazzyplays @sparring-hyena @baexpoppy @cloakanddaggerthings

Summary: Poppy and MC meet in summer and they were dating but broke it off, not related to free falling dhaisja don't ask about ch3 idk either.

A/N: uhm hi I've been a ghost for like months lol but I heard from a little birdie that queen b is coming back in September and I'm so ready to clown for my wife Poppy again. Based on song below which is a bop. I also did not check my spelling or grammar I die like a dumbass. My one braincell would like to thank u all and Gabi for this fic 💗

There's hardly anything in this world that captivates you, until you see her. Her flawless skin, her blonde hair and those deep chocolate orbs that you just want to stare at and drown in forever. Who knew such a beauty existed? It boggles you to know that the Min-Sinclair heiress is perfect. One might say that you're jealous but deep down you know that's not the case. Jealousy? No, it's not jealousy, you're enthralled by her. It's not even because of how fucking gorgeous she looks, it runs deeper than that. There's just this weird sense of kinship that you feel when you look at her. She's more than the ranking, she's vulnerable and actually cares, something you saw when you went to the animal shelter.

The way her eyes sparkled when she saw the rescue animals, the way her mouth curved into that gentle smile. Who knew the queen bee of Belvoire had a heart? Her vulnerability is further shown when you realise that the golden girl of Belvoire has her own scars, her pride a by-product of the hurt caused by family and so called friends.

Having seen the forefront of it all, Belvoire is cutthroat. Everything matters, the clothes you wear, your family name. It's a free for all, no one cares who gets burned, low blows exchanged, it's all a big mind game and those who fall under pressure lose not just their reputation but everything they have worked for. But apart from all of that, she's still the first thing that makes you smile.

It's damning, the way your mind and heart races at the thought of Poppy. The way her eyes light up when she flashes that gentle smile, where one look is all it takes to make your knees weak and the blood rushing up your cheeks. You've never seen such a beauty, her smile is like a soft ray of sunshine, warming you up. However, she's also as mysterious as the moon, especially since she acts so sweet and the next minute she's as cold as ever. It's enough to give you whiplash.

Such gentle and delicate features, yet her personality is as fiery as the sun, I guess it's true what they say, the sun is beautiful yet staring at it can become painful.

It's confusing as to why Rosie's fallen so hard for Poppy, they've been rivals from the start, with each other's goal to come out on top. Things have definitely changed after the night they slept together, Poppy's words have no actual bite to them. If she were brave enough Rosie would've called Poppy out on it, but she's so confused on where they stand that she doesn't want to risk this newfound "friendship" if one can even call it that.

It suddenly hits Rosie like a brick. 'Wait, has Poppy been courting me in her own weird way or am I imagining shit?' She becomes more confused as Poppy seems to stare at her longer than she ever did, sometimes Rosie would meet eyes with Poppy who seems to have a longing stare as if she has so much to convey yet has no courage to do so. Sometimes it gets to the point where Poppy blushes after she realises that both of them have been staring at each other for too long. Both of them being a flustered and blushing mess, looking away as if they've been burned from getting too close to a fire.

Most people in Belvoire would argue that its not longing and wistful glances that the two are exchanging, they'd say that those were intense glares formed from the ongoing rivalry that the two have established in public, but anyone who personally knows Poppy and Rosie would say differently. There's also an ongoing bet between the students of the school. Some argue that Poppy and Rosie are secretly dating whilst the rest argue that they absolutely loathe each other and the ongoing stares are to intimidate each other to give in and leave Belvoire.

Zoey and Veronica are secretly in cahoots in which they bet that the two are definitely dating or in Veronica's words "those two are definitely fucking" which earns her a fond smile as well as a roll of the eyes from Zoey. Chloe suspects something between Poppy and Rosie, considering they genuinely don't seem to put energy behind the insults they throw at each other. She doesn't think that the two are lovers but she definitely thinks that they're secretly friends.

It's not until Veronica sees Rosie wink at Poppy when she thought nobody was looking, and she was certain that the blonde would glare at Rosie but imagine her surprise when Poppy flirts back by winking back. In which she's all too excited to text Zoey about. "Omfg bitch, you won't believe what I saw today, like holy fuck the two gays were flirting when they thought no one was looking." All she gets in response from Zoey was "show receipts pls."

Rosie can feel herself falling for Poppy, both of them know that things have changed. Neither seem too interested in fighting and when they do argue, it's all for show, after all no one knows that they're secretly pining after each other. She suddenly remembers how they met.

-Flashback-

Being relatively new to New York, Rosie was eager to meet new people and what better way to start off than hooking up with strangers from a random bar? After all, the city was big and it's been a while. As soon as she arrived someone immediately caught her attention. One Poppy Min-Sinclair, dressed to the nines, she was definitely Rosie's type. Not really expecting anything Rosie struts towards her, in hopes of beginning a conversation.

At first Poppy seemed uninterested, scoffing and she felt a presence near her. She didn't really want to deal with anyone considering they're usually just random guys who wanted to hook up in the bathrooms or worse they're drunk as fuck trying to flirt with her. However, imagine her surprise when she looks at the person that dared to sit by her. Poppy would be lying if she said that the girl in front of her wasn't her type. She seemed sweet, and had a gentle smile. It was also a bonus that the girl seemed to know how to dress herself.

When their eyes met, there was this lightning spark that just fit into place, the two had chemistry. It was undeniable, the two just knew how to push and pull. The banter was there, so was the attraction.

Poppy wasn't shy about showing her attraction, obviously checking Rosie out, which earns her a low chuckle from the other girl. "At least buy me dinner first before you undress me with you eyes?" said Rosie with mirth dancing around her eyes, whilst Poppy just laughs, soft and languidly slow. At which point Rosie knew she was screwed, the blonde in front of her looked like she just walked out of the runway, and her laugh was definitely something Rosie wanted to hear more of.

She's pulled out of her epiphany once Poppy speaks, voice sultry and pulling Rosie in like a siren. "My name is Poppy Min-Sinclair, and I do what I want sweetheart." The confidence she exudes is shown in her voices. It's addicting the way the blonde presents herself, every move calculated and poised. Every word that leaves her lips is deliberate and elegant in her own unique way. If she was in her right mind, Rosie would've been terrified by how enraptured she was by this girl in front of her.

Rosie wasn't one to back down from a challenge therefore she decides to tease the girl in front of her. "Is your name supposed to be important? I've never heard of it. Anyways, since you've introduced yourself so nicely, my name's Rosie." Poppy just raises an eyebrow at her semi-surprised that the other girl hasn't heard of her. "Sorry babe, the whole world doesn't revolve around you." said Rosie with a cheeky smile and wink and before Poppy can retort Rosie finishes off by saying "but it definitely should revolve around you, I mean look at you, you're mesmerising."

If it were any other person, Poppy would have definitely rolled her eyes and walked away, but Rosie seemed to mean it. The other girl definitely looked like she wore her heart on her sleeve, and it was just so damn endearing that Poppy, against her usual M.O., she decides to stay and talk to the other girl. 'She looks cute enough, but if she's gonna be annoying then I'll just ditch her later.' thought Poppy.

Both women were intrigued by each other, and one thing led to another. Before they knew it they were together in a hotel room. Neither of them cared about who made the move first, all they knew was that they had to have each other one way or the other.

Despite her pent up desire and lust, Poppy still cared about her reputation, after all even if she was on break it didn't mean she can be careless, plus she didn't exactly want to expose Rosie to Belvoire's dirty laundry, the girl seemed nice enough and Poppy wasn't about to mess with this girl. Sure she's a fucking bitch but that doesn't mean she wants people to suffer because of her unless they've wronged her or any of her friends in some way. She's petty but she's not that petty.

God knows Belvoire is a shithole.

They're definitely closer than what should be conceived as acceptable, considering Rosie is literally one step away from kissing Poppy. Not like either of then cared considering they were too focused on each other to pay attention to their surroundings. It's only when the bartender coughs that the two pull away from each other as if taken out of their seemingly lulled state.

Rosie's about to say goodbye, considering the blonde seems like she's torn between leaving or staying, but she's caught by surprise when Poppy yanks her arm back. "Where do you think you're going, little lamb? I didn't say I was done with you yet." The way it was said was enough to make Rosie shiver. The way the Min-Sinclair heiress said it so confidently, it didn't help that she looked to be the epitome of lust and desire at that moment, but from then on Rosie knew she was fucked, both literally and figuratively.

Before she knew it she was pulled into a car headed to the nearest luxury hotel, which just so happens to be a presidential suite at The Ritz. Rosie didn't show but she was shocked. She knew the girl was rich, I mean come on her clothes are fresh off the runway and the blonde exuded power and wealth. But this was like a bucket of ice water being dropped on Rosie's head, this was definitely something she wasn't expecting.

NSFW AHEAD

She's taken aback by the inside of the hotel suite, she expected it to be fancy, but nothing could prepare her for the plush king sized bed, as well as the overall layout of the room. It looks like something straight out of an IKEA magazine, Rosie can't help but think.

"Well, are you just going to stand there or are we actually going to fuck?" says Poppy. Rosie is taken aback from how bluntly Poppy put it. Speaking of which, the blonde girl is already half way through removing her clothes. She couldn't help the gasp that escapes her as she gawks at Poppy and the way her body looks so perfect, unblemished milky white skin that looks so soft, all Rosie could think of is leaving marks in her wake. She licks her lips in anticipation as Poppy gives her the come hither gesture, and Rosie is immediately lured in, like a moth drawn to a flame.

Her hands immediately raise up, helping Poppy out of her clothes, until all that remains is Poppy's underwear. Her eyes scan Poppy's body and out of the corner of her eye she can see Poppy's satisfied smile. Rosie is pulled in, her body pulled in flush against Poppy. Her eyes dart over to Poppy's lips as she leans in to kiss Poppy. A hand covers her mouth as she hears "Not yet Hughes, it's unfair if I'm the only one in my underwear."

Rosie's ears are definitely bright red at this point and she's pretty sure that her whole body is flushed, but she gives Poppy a show as she takes each article of clothing slowly, piece by piece as if testing Poppy's already short patience. As she takes her blouse off, Poppy's staring at her so intensely she can feel her legs wobble. The look conveying an unspoken promise. It's enough to make her a little self conscious, but her confidence is regained as soon as she sees how flushed Poppy is. It also helped that she saw Poppy gulp, looking at her like she's the only thing in the world. "See something you like, Min-Sinclair?" she can't help but tease and the blonde rolls her eyes.

"You were doing so well until you started speaking. Just get your ass over here. I'm not used to waiting for things I want." said Poppy. Rosie struts over to Poppy.

She's immediately back at Poppy's side, the Min-Sinclair heiress looking her up and down which makes Rosie nervous as the way Poppy stares is intense. Her doubts are quickly quelled as she's soon tugged harshly the collar. Poppy pulls her in roughly for a kiss, as their tongues dance and weave against each other, battling for dominance. They both step forwards towards the bed, and the noises that come out of Poppy is irresistible and music to her ears. She sounds incredible and Rosie can't get enough and with a flick of her tongue Poppy is putty in her hands.

They both fall towards the bed, Poppy ending up under Rosie. They pull away quickly to catch their breath, and Poppy's eyes are blown so much so, her pupils are dilated like a cat ready to catch its prey. Her lips parted and bruised, taking in oxygen as if all of her breath has been taken away. If Rosie thought she was in charge, she's got another thing coming. Their position is switched, as Poppy expertly flips them over, landing her on top of the other girl. Rosie ending up with her back against the bed as Poppy straddles her. "You're a good kisser, Hughes." she says and Rosie smiles mischievously "I try." she replies.

Poppy's quick to kiss Rosie again, as if she's her only lifeline teetering her to the world. Every kiss shared feels like sparks flying, the intensity and passion leaving them both breathless. It's not like Rosie's gonna give in and let Poppy top her, she quickly pull Poppy by the waist, bodies completely flushed against each other before rolling over so that their position is once again switched. This time Rosie comes out on top.

Before the other girl can complain, Rosie's quick to shut her up but trailing kisses from lips to her neck. Poppy smells like fresh cherries and vanilla, which for some reason is very fitting. After all cherries are sweet but the fruit itself can be dangerous, however there's a hint of danger. After all cherries do have cyanide in the seed. The whimpers and moans that come from Poppy's mouth are sensual and spurs Rosie on even more. She can't get enough of the blonde.

She can feel Poppy's nails taking across her back, and she's sure that those are definitely going to leave marks, not like she minds considering she's too far gone from the sound of Poppy's moans and whimpers.

Rosie looks at Poppy and she can't help but admire how beautiful Poppy looks under her, eyes half lidded and chest heaving. "You look better when you're quiet, Princess." said Rosie, but instead of reporting Poppy just pulls her back in and their lips are clashing against except this time its rough. Poppy pulling and tugging at her hair, while leaving small nibbles on her lips. Rosie knows that her lips are going to be all sorts of red and bruised the next morning.

Rosie's hand finds their way to the waistband of Poppy underwear, and she can feel the wet patch. She slides her hand inside and moves her fingers to find Poppy's clit, where she rubs small circles, and she feels the blonde jolt from the sudden contact and Rosie is about to apologise until she hears Poppy's breathy moans. "I swear to god, if you stop I'm going to fucking kill you." whimpered Poppy.

Rosie just smiles against Poppy's skin as she continues teasing Poppy until the other girl is a panting and whimpering mess. "I need your fingers inside me Hughes, stop fucking around and actually start fucking me." It's said so desperately Rosie finally grants the blonde her wish and starts pumping her fingers in and out until the blonde cums, back arched away from bed and a loud and filthy moan is all the can be heard. Rosie helps the other ride out her orgasm by cooing gentle words and leaving kisses that are definitely going to leave marks on the Poppy's unblemished skin.

-NSFW END-

-FLASHBACK END-

The casuak hook up turns into dates and outings, and both of them start to catch feelings for each other. As much as it surprises Poppy she genuinely enjoys the time that she spends with Rosie. The other girl always making sure to make Poppy smile. It doesn't help that Rosie had this weird way of knowing when Poppy was upset or stressed in which she'd always do something to help the blonde feel better. Rosie's become a constant, a home away from home in a sort. Always there even on Poppy's worse days, not giving in even when Poppy's relentlessly cruel and bitchy. If she weren't so fucking smitten Poppy would have thought that Rosie was a Saint considering how patient she is. However, she refuses to confess her feelings to the other girl first, after all she's a Min-Sinclair and they don't confess ever. People confess to her.

They're both stubborn, therefore they both refuse to even acknowledge their budding feelings for the other. Though there have been too many times where Poppy has gotten jealous when people stare too much at Rosie, though it's reserved and usually subtle. Poppy quietly stakes her claim by always having some sort of physical contact with Rosie. It could be something as simple as a hand on Rosie's forearm or wrist. But the real warning comes from her passive aggressiveness when others get too close to Rosie or the glares that are given if anyone is dumb enough to try and flirt with the other girl.

It's not like Rosie is any better. Whilst Poppy is subtle with her jealousy, Rosie is not. She's always quick hold Poppy's hand as if to signify that the blonde is hers and it's even worse if anyone ignores that. She becomes more physically affectionate. She hugs Poppy as if her life depends on it. There's also been a few times where if Rosie's patience was tested she'd get really jealous and the next time they're intimate she always leaves marks where no one but her or Poppy knows. It's also when she becomes quite dominant in the bedroom and it genuinely entertains Poppy so much so it's become her second favourite past time. The first definitely being their intimate moments.

It gets to the point where both of then get so frustrated they confess how they feel that the same time, which becomes one of their inside jokes considering they both felt like idiots for not confessing their feelings sooner.

However, it's not like summer lasts forever and both of them end up breaking it off, since Poppy actually likes Rosie and she refuses to put her through the shit that goes on in Belvoire. "It was fun while it lasted, Hughes, but I'm sorry. I have to go back and I'm not sure I'll ever see you again." said Poppy, voice cold as ice as if the whole thing didn't matter. Poppy would be lying if she said that it meant nothing, considering she's never been happier. The other girl definitely had a special place in her heart but as they say if you really live someone you have to let them go. She might be cruel but she's not about to fuck Rosie's life up by involving her in the stupidity of Belvoire, she deserves better. Maybe after unibersity she can find Rosie and they can try again.

Rosie's quite sure that she's never going to find anyone that makes her feel the way Poppy does, but she's not one to make things more complicated. "I'm glad I met you Poppy Min-Sinclair, it's been fun while it lasted. Maybe someday we can meet each other again."

Imagine her surprise when it turns out that Poppy attends Belvoire, both of them shocked to see each other again. The only difference being that Poppy seems much colder than the one she met before. Her eyes didn't have that shine or hint of mischief. It looked too detached. "What are you staring at?" said one of the girls following Poppy. Her eyes widened in surprise as the person her roommate Zoey warned her about was Poppy. She's barely acknowledged by Poppy as she just walks away without a word.

Things start to get more complicated as both of them are put against each other, as they compete for the top spot. It's not like Rosie really cared about the fucking thing, in all honesty she didn't even want to compete with Poppy but it's not like she had a choice considering no one cared that she didn't want to compete with Poppy. It gets to the point Rosie avoids Poppy altogether, not really wanting the unsolicited drama with the other girl.

It becomes even worse when rumours start that th reason why the two girls avoided each other like the plague was because Carter was cheating on Poppy with Rosie, and this gets blown out of proportion during the football game in which the screen shows a poorly photoshopped photo of Rosie and Carter kissing.

The way Poppy looked at Rosie broke her heart. Poppy looked tired and upset. She looked like she was betrayed and worse of all the look was directed at her. It's made even worse when Poppy wordlessly looks away, tears on her eyes as she runs to get away from the stadium.

Things change when Rosie chases after Poppy. It's the first time she sees Poppy cry, and it breaks her heart because how can she be so foolish. This was the person she fell for, and it sucked because she was the reason why Poppy was upset.

She approaches Poppy carefully, and as soon as she's noticed. Poppy's eyes narrow into a glare. "What do you want Hughes? Haven't you done enough already?" she yells, her voice full of venom. The words sting, but Rosie marches on, as she apologises. "I know I'm the last person you want to see, but I wanted to say I'm sorry. You didn't deserve all of that." She reaches out to try and comfort Poppy but she stops as remembers that she's the reason Poppy was crying in the first place. They both stand there in a tense silence, both not wanting to speak until they both say something at the same time. "Why didn't you tell me that you go to Belvoire?" they both say in sync.

Rosie lets Poppy speak first. "If you said that you were going to be attending Belvoire, maybe things would have been different." she says and this catches Rosie's attention. "Different how?" she asks and Poppy looks at her eyes softening as she says "I would have admitted that I was falling for you."

That's how they got back together.

[etherrealoblivion]

A Broken System

MASTERLIST

Summary: At her birthday celebration, Y/N is out on the town enjoying herself when she runs into a cute FBI agent who she’d love to take home and do terrible things to. Normally, someone meeting an FBI agent at a bar wouldn’t be that big of a deal. There’s just one, miniscule, microscopic, meager, problem... Y/N is only twenty.

tags: Large Age Difference, power imbalance, choking, Dom/sub, safe sex, vaginal penetration, dirty talk, cliffhanger.

A/N: this just made so much more sense in third person. i tried replacing it with second person, but trust me it did not work. hope you enjoy! gif by @toyboxboy​

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Words: 5,930

~

Spencer Reid never really thought he was attractive.

Probably had something to do with his perpetually messy hair, gangly stature, and his tendency to ramble on and on and on and. . .

Yeah. Like that.

Another factor definitely was the fact that he was in his 30’s and had never really had a stable relationship. Sure, he’d had relationships with a few women. Well, two women. The first being a girl he’d met in college with whom he had a brief fling. Spencer didn’t really count it as a stable relationship due to the fact they barely even kissed. And the other woman, the only woman he’d ever really loved, died tragically several years ago. 

Maeve.

Maeve was the real reason Spencer didn’t like going to bars with Morgan or being set up on dates by Penelope. She was the reason that Spencer wasn’t interested in anyone anymore. Who could possibly compare to Maeve?

Damn it. That was the other reason he wasn’t looking to date. He knew how the mind worked and there was no doubt that if any new person came into his life, she’d be unconsciously compared to Maeve. He couldn’t put anyone through that. 

So, Spencer Reid stayed single. Which, for him, was relatively easy. Whenever someone started to get a little too close with him, he’d blabber and spout facts until they ran off. Morgan would ask what happened and Reid would just put on a slight frown, mumbling how she had to go. 

The charade got more effortless the more they went out. Morgan, almost always going home on the arm of some woman and Spencer content to get a cab back to his own place, have a quick efficient orgasm, and fall asleep.

He had a system. And no one was going to break it.

~

Y/N hated the summertime. 

Well, she didn’t usually. Anywhere else on the planet it would be mildly enjoyable. The beach, ice cream, staying up all night. All that fun crap. In Washington D.C, however, summer was hell.

But! When one was accepted into Georgetown and their parents offered to pay FULL tuition plus housing, how can one say no?

Seriously, she wanted to know.

After two whole years in this armpit of a town, Y/N had finally gotten used to the sweltering heat that plagued the city during the summer. Whatever. She just stayed in the comfortable A.C. all day anyway.

But, the summer before her third year was almost over, and the only thing she could think about now was graduating with a major in Journalism. She didn’t really like most of the courses, but it’s what she needed to do to become a full-time editor.

Living in a rent-free apartment was heaven. No roommates meant no worrying about, well, anything. The only problem was, her parents could hold it over her head every time they called. Which is why she never answered their calls.

Today, however, answering was unavoidable.

Because not only was it the day before her first class, today was her twentieth birthday.

Y/N was in the middle of getting dressed to go out with her friends when her phone vibrated from the kitchen table.

“Hello?”

She tried so hard to suppress the cringe at her mom’s voice.

“Sweetie! How are you? Are you eating?”

“Yes, mom.”

Oh boy. Strong start, mom. 

“You look skinny in the pictures on Facebook!”

Yeah, she was definitely going to be late.

Surprisingly, it only took five minutes to push her mom off the phone, insisting that her friends were on their way and she had to keep getting ready. 

A sharp rap on the door saved her.

“Come on!! It’s almost ten!” Y/N’s friend, Mina, said, annoyed. “All the old people leave the bars at ten and if we don’t get there soon, the bouncers won’t let us in!”

Y/N didn’t really understand the logic there. Hot girls always got into bars. Especially late at night. How were there not more crimes committed in clubs? Maybe she’d find out in her first class tomorrow.

“Hey!” Mina snapped her out of it, “Come on! Let’s go.”

They arrived outside a dinky little club a few minutes later. It had taken Y/N a while to get accustomed to how close everything was together in this town. Before college, she had been a small-town girl. Promise ring and everything. That, uh. That didn’t last long.

Before they got in line, Mina took a long satin sash out of her purse and secured it across Y/N’s torso.

“What the hell’s this?”

The sash was white with large pink flowy letters that poignantly spelled out: Birthday Bitch.

“It’s a sash.”

Three of Mina’s friends strode up, quickly exchanging hugs and wishing Y/N a happy birthday.

“I see that it’s a sash, but why am I wearing it?”

Mina confidently strode up to the bouncer, Y/N at her side, fake ID at the ready. Technically, it was the right birthdate, the year was just a little off.

“Go through. Happy Birthday,” the guy said, barely sparing the ID a glance, more focused on the huge sash. It made sense. She didn’t look her age. No one would think she was only in college by taking a glance at her.

“Oh, thank you.”

“Look,” Mina pulled her aside just before they entered, “this makes every single guy in there want to buy you a drink. So, go enjoy a free Shirley Temple, on me.”

Y/N scoffed and entered the club, immediately overwhelmed by the booming of the music.

Jesus Christ. How did people not die from this? It felt like her heart was beating out of her chest.

Sure, she’d been in a bar before. But not a real, proper club. She was pretty sure she saw some people wearing neon. Oh my god, there was a DJ.

Suppressing a laugh, she headed to the bar. At least there was a bar. There were so many people gathered around though that she couldn’t get much access to the one bartender on staff.

Luckily, he spotted her sash that seemed to shine under the blacklights.

“Hey, make some room for the birthday girl!” 

And the crowd parted like the red sea, every man’s head turned towards her, and she cautiously approached the bartender who gave her a quick wink.

“Scotch. Neat.”

A dark man with a silver nose ring slid onto the stool next to her.

“It’s on me,” he addressed the bartender, staring at her the whole time. “So. Birthday girl. How old are you turning?”

She smiled softly. The sash was working great, but now she had to come up with a way to answer his question without explicitly lying. 

“Who wants to know?”

Maybe flirting would be distracting enough.

He smiled, glancing down for a moment, then holding out his hand. Ha. Men.

“I’m Jon.”

Ugh. She hated handshakes. But for this man, she might be able to make an exception.

“Y/N.”

Five minutes later, she wished with all her heart she could take the handshake back. Y/N should have known better than to talk to a guy at a club. They were all sleazebags. But! She did manage to get a couple of drinks out of it.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said after his fifth time mentioning Outback Steakhouse.

But before she could leave the bar discreetly, a hand wrapped around her arm, yanking her back.

“Hey, what’s the matter? I thought we were talking?”

Y/N may have been a small-town girl, but that didn’t stop her from grabbing his shoulders and driving her knee up into his crotch, stomping off toward the exit.

Only when she got outside did she realize how fast her heart was beating. She leaned over, hands on her knees to catch her breath.

A soft hand on her shoulder made her snap around, grab the hand and twist it around the stranger’s back, shoving him up against the alley wall.

“I’m sorry!” the man squawked shrilly. “I’m sorry!” It wasn’t Jon.

“What were you doing?” she demanded, not releasing him yet.

“I saw you lean over. I just wanted to see if you were ok!”

She finally drank in the man’s appearance. He was wearing a soft purple sweater vest over a grey button-down, slacks, and worn black converse on his feet.

Confident that he wasn’t a threat, she released him and took a step back.

The man rubbed his elbow softly, glancing at her chest. Before she could tell him off for staring at her rack, he pointed to the sash.

“Is it your birthday?”

She looked down. Oh, he’d been looking at the sash of course. Then why did she feel … disappointed?

“Oh, yeah. Some guy bought me a drink and got a little, er, touchy.”

Suddenly, the man’s face went dark.

“Who is he? Where is he?”

He started to walk back into the club but she stopped him, reaching out and gently grabbing his arm.

“Hey! It’s fine. I kicked him in the crotch.”

The man’s eyes switched from anger to surprise in a flash. He flustered for a moment, before shoving his hands in his pockets and walking back into the alley.

Y/N now took a closer look at his face. He had deep, wise brown eyes, a small five-o-clock shadow gracing his jaw, and very full lips, the latter of which he was biting profusely. Aw. He was nervous. But why?

Maybe because he was in an alley with a random girl who had just been groped at a club and he didn’t know what to do.

She chuckled, attempting to diffuse the tension.

“Um. I didn’t get your name?”

He smiled brightly, thankful for the change in topic.

“Oh! Of course, sorry. I’m Spencer!”

And Y/N braced herself for the telltale outstretching of the hand.

But none came. He simply stood there, one hand in his pocket and the other waving at her, a dopey smile on his face.

Her face lit up. 

“You didn’t try to shake my hand,” she muttered, awed.

The man, Spencer, got an embarrassed look on his face, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry, I, uh. I’m a bit of a germaphobe. But, really, everyone should be! The amount of germs passed in a handshake is staggering. They really should be abolished altogether.”

“Right! People should just bow their heads or, or, wave!” she said excitedly, gesturing to his hand. “I mean a handshake is like a hug with a part of you that comes in contact with everything! Might as well go up to someone and start making out with them.”

As she spoke, his face lit up in wonder.

“Right? It’s crazy! But the thing is, some people actually do that! I was in that club for fifteen minutes and I swear I saw three couples leave together that definitely didn’t go in together.”

“I know!” she said, starting to pace in the cramped alley. “I mean, who goes home with someone that you just met! They could be a serial killer for all you know!”

She looked at Spencer and was delighted to see a joyful expression on his face. It suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t introduced herself.

“I’m Y/N. Sorry for blabbering,” she waved, chuckling slightly.

Spencer smiled even wider.

“Don’t be sorry! Usually, I’m the one who has to apologize.”

“Apologize for what?”

“Blabbering,” he said sheepishly, hands back in his pockets. When he was talking, they had been moving about wildly. It was kind of endearing.

“I don’t know,” Y/N said, considering. “Blabbering is underrated. One could argue it’s the best way to learn useless information.”

“Well, I’d agree but no information is really useless.”

Y/N held up a finger.

“‘Information is useless if it is not applied to something important or if you will forget it before you have a chance to apply it.’”

Spencer’s mouth fell open.

“Timothy Harris?”

She nodded. “The 4-Hour Workweek. Outdated, but still applies.”

When she noticed his expression, it nearly knocked her breath away. He was looking at her like no one ever had before. Like he’d just realized the most important thing in the universe.

Before her cowardice could catch up, she took a step forward, closing the distance between them. His face went blank, shocked by the sudden approach. He nearly gasped when she spoke.

“It’s totally ridiculous to go home with someone you just met, right?”

Spencer’s eyes widened.

“Totally.”

“Why were you out tonight in the first place? You don’t exactly seem like the club-going type.”

He smiled softly.

“I, uh, just got a promotion last week. My friend Morgan wanted to take me out to celebrate. It was either this or karaoke.”

She chuckled softly, their faces so close he must have felt her breath.

“I don’t know, I’d have liked to see your rendition of Bad Romance. Has anyone ever told you you’ve got a whole Lady Gaga vibe?”

“You should see my Beyonce.” And he did a little mime of the Single Ladies dance, sending Y/N into a fit of giggles. Without thinking — probably due to the trace amounts of alcohol in her system, not enough to be drunk, but enough to be tipsy — she reached up her arms around his shoulders, clasping them together behind his neck like a teen slow-dancing at prom.

Spencer seemed startled by the sudden physical contact. He froze, hands unmoving at his sides.

Y/N pulled her arms back, stepping away from him, discouraged and embarrassed.

“Sorry,” she said, collecting herself and walking back towards the club door. “It was nice meeting you.”

“Wait!” he called before she could reenter the club. A tiny part of her let out a breath in relief. She turned around to see him with a hand outstretched toward her, frozen with the uncertainty of what to do next.

He recovered quickly, a blush visible on his cheeks in the lamplight of the alley.

“If you’re leaving, would you, um. Could I walk you home?”

She had no idea what possessed her in that moment but just as he spoke, she walked up to Spencer, threaded her fingers through his hair, and pulled him down into a passionate kiss.

To her surprise, he responded immediately, running his arms around her waist and pulling her flush against him, eagerly returning the kiss.

His lips were so warm. He tasted very faintly of alcohol and maybe a breath mint? Y/N let herself fall into the sensation.

Suddenly, her back was pressed up against the wall of the alley, Spencer’s hands lighting a trail of fire down her body. He hesitated, pulling back briefly to make sure she was ok.

A glint in her eye, she yanked him back down, tongues clashing together in a blaze of glory. He hiked her leg up around his hips, pressing them closer together. Y/N could feel the hardness in his pants pressing into her stomach, sending a wave of heat down to her core.

She pulled back. If they went any further, she didn’t know if she’d be able to leave the alley.

Y/N tried to hide the smile on her face but it was no use. She beamed at Spencer, linking her arm through his elbow.

“Lead the way. Wait, that doesn’t make sense, you’re taking me home. I’ll lead the way!”

And so they walked, arm in arm down the busy D.C. streets, silently enjoying each other’s company.

They arrived outside her apartment fifteen minutes later, Y/N clumsily unlocking the door, nervous from the thought of what was about to happen. They hadn’t explicitly said anything in particular. Was he going to come in? Would she invite him?

Spencer, it seemed, was also daunted, standing awkwardly on the threshold of her place, hands buried in his pockets.

An idea sprung into Y/N’s brain.

She approached him, wrapping her hands around his neck again only this time, his hands rested lightly on her waist.

“Still think going home with a stranger is a bad idea?”

Spencer chuckled softly, stroking the exposed skin of her waist from where her top had ridden up.

“I’m still debating it.”

“Oh?”

He slid his hand around the sash, fingers hovering above her chest.

“I never asked, how old did you turn?”

She smiled. For some reason, she felt she could trust this man. The worst that could happen was he calls the cops on her for having a fake ID. She could deal with that. Destroy the evidence, bat her eyes. Easy. Besides, he looked barely of age himself. She quickly wondered what he did for a living? He did say he got a promotion.

It would be easiest to just tell him the truth.

“I don’t know if I should tell you this…”

He chuckled lowly in her ear, moving his lips gently across her neck.

“I can handle it.”

She gasped at the sensation, legs clamping together.

“Officially, it’s my twenty-third. At least, that’s what it says on my ID. One of them.”

Spencer froze, waiting for her to go on.

Y/N quickly backtracked.

“It’s okay! I’m twenty! Not a minor, no worries.”

But Spencer pulled away, an extremely worried look on his face despite her assurance.

“What?” she asked.

“You’re underage.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Yeah? Come on, by one year. What, you never had a fake ID?”

“No!” he said shrilly, running a hand through his hair.

“Spencer, it’s ok! It’s not like I’m gonna get caught. I look much older and when are there cops at a place like that?”

He reached into his pocket and fished out a folded wallet. Snapping it open, Y/N’s jaw dropped at the FBI badge with his picture in the corner.

She floundered for a moment, unable to truly comprehend what was happening.

“You’re . . .”

“Yep,” he said shortly, pocketing the badge.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much my reaction too,” he said, sighing. “I should arrest you.”

Y/N took a step back, incredulous.

“Arrest me?”

“You have a fake ID. You’re clearly drunk.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms.

“Great idea, Spencer. Book me. Take me down to the FBI and tell them exactly what happened to lead to you finding out I’m only twenty. I’m sure they’ll need very specific details.”

A look of realization flitted across Spencer’s face and he buried his head in his hands, groaning.

“How old are you anyway?!” she demanded, upset at him for being upset.

“Thirty-four!” he shouted, throwing his arms up in the air.

Oh shit.

This was bad.

He was fourteen years older than her, in the FBI, and probably was seconds away from arresting her.

“There’s no way you’re thirty-four. I mean, look at you!”

He rolled his eyes, snorting, and beginning to pace the small hallway.

“This is exactly what I get. I meet a girl I really like for the first time in years and she’s decades younger than me. And a criminal!”

“Hey!” she said, shoving his shoulder. “Not decades. I’m not a criminal. And how the hell do you think I feel?  I’m out trying to have fun on my birthday, some guy gropes me leading me to run into the perfect man, take him back to my apartment thinking I’m gonna get lucky only to find out he’s a cop who’s gonna arrest me. Best birthday ever.”

Spencer eyed her carefully.

“Get lucky?”

Y/N’s eyes went wide. Shit. She hadn’t meant to reveal that part. Even though it was pretty obvious, something about it not being said added to the excitement.

“Did you really . . . I mean were you…. Um.” Spencer seemed to lose all authoritative tone suddenly, stammering nervously. It was such a 180, it shocked Y/N. 

“Was I going to let you fuck me?”

He cringed at the bluntness but nodded sheepishly.

“Yeah, Spencer. I was.” She scoffed. “Honestly, I still would. But I understand if I’m more than you can handle,” she said coyly, trying to keep a straight face. “Just please don’t arrest me, Sir.”

His expression darkened at her words. Something deep and lustful behind it. Feeling bold, she went with it.

“Or is it Agent?” she cocked her head, holding a finger to her lips in thought. “How do I address you properly, sir?”

A small groan left Spencer’s mouth and he stepped forward, brushing a hand over her hair.

“We shouldn’t do this, Y/N…”

Slowly, she backed up into her apartment, pulling him with her.

“We shouldn’t.” She gently led him to her bedroom, sitting down on the edge of the bed, him towering over her. “To be fair, you’re the one with handcuffs.”

He groaned again, wiping a hand down his face.

“This is a bad idea.”

But he crouched down in front of her, pressing his forehead to her exposed knee, breathing deeply.

“Spencer,” it was barely a whisper but he met her eyes instantly. She smiled gently, reaching out to him and coaxing him up from the floor so he was hovering above her, mouths inches apart. “Listen, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” she assured him. “But I want this.”

She leaned back, pulling him with her so he was lying atop her, an obvious bulge pressing against her through their clothing.

“I want this, Spencer.”

Y/N hoped that he knew he could leave if he wanted. She didn’t want to pressure him into anything. Despite the age difference, she seemed to be the one more in control.

Spencer lowered his head, sighing.

“Fuck,” he moaned, lightly thrusting against her, a moan escaping her mouth at the contact.

That seemed to be the last straw.

He sat up, ripping his sweater vest off along with his button-down, quickly moving back over her, lips latching to her neck and chest.

Oh thank god. She wasn’t sure if she’d have been able to stand it if he’d left. But from the way he was touching her, hands moving up and down her sides, gently pulling her skirt down, looking up at her every now and then to make sure it was alright, he wasn’t going anywhere.

She just spurred him on, stripping off her top and bra, now only wearing her panties.

Spencer groaned at the sight, a hand reaching up, hovering over her breast. She arched her back up into his hand, letting out a gasp as he started to fondle her. 

God, his hands were huge. And nimble. Oh, so nimble.

She reached for his belt, quickly unbuckling it and tossing it across the room, pushing his pants down faster than possible.

He groaned again, a magical sound, reaching a hand down to stroke her through her panties, coaxing a gasp from her beautiful lips.

In a flash, Spencer had pulled down her panties and buried his head between her legs.

Y/N gasped, hand flying to the back of his head, edging him on.

He slipped two fingers into her, his tongue flicking against her clit wildly, making her writhe and moan on the bed, gasping his name.

“Spencer, Spencer.” It took all the resolve she had to pull his head away from her. “I need you to fuck me.”

Spencer looked at her, trying to read her expression.

“Y/N . . . are you sure?”

Rather than answer, she yanked him up, crashing their mouths together, one hand quickly pushing down his boxers, his erection springing free.

Good god.

Wow.

How the hell was she supposed to fit that inside her?

She looked up at him, impressed, only to see a slight blush on his cheeks.

“Well,” she said, kicking off the panties pooled around her ankles, laid bare underneath the stranger on top of her. “This night gets better by the second.”

His size was a little daunting, but the thought of him slowly filling her up, probably not being able to fit all the way in, only added to her desire.

He dipped his head down, stealing a quick yet passionate kiss.

“Do you have . . ?”

“Yeah, in the drawer.”

He reached over, grabbed a condom, and rolled it on. It looked extremely tight on him. Y/N unconsciously licked her lips. Spencer chuckled.

“Maybe next time. I need to be inside you.”

And with that, he flung her legs around his hips, positioning his cock at her entrance, slowly running it up and down, moistening the condom with her juices.

God. The feeling of him being so close and yet so far was almost enough to push her over the edge right there. He had been a god with his tongue and she was desperate for more friction.

Reaching down, she lightly circled her clit, moaning at the instant pleasure.

Before she could enjoy it much, hands gripped her wrists, pinning them above her on the bed, Spencer staring at her with a dark look.

“If you wanna touch yourself, you have to ask permission. Understood?”

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

Words escaped her so she settled for a small nod.

“Use your words.”

His tone was so commanding the word left her mouth the moment he finished speaking.

“Yes.”

He lightly placed his hand around her neck, not applying any pressure, just hovering.

“Yes, what?”

Fuck. She wondered if it was possible to come just from being talked to.

“Yes, sir.”

And with that, he slid inside her, slowly filling her up with his length, moaning roughly at the sensation.

Y/N’s eyes snapped open, watching as Spencer’s face tightened, jawline even sharper, and a dark look in his eye. He carefully applied a bit more pressure to her throat, quickly releasing his hand afterward.

They were both still as she adjusted to the size of him inside her.

“Is this ok?” his voice sounded so different than it had a moment ago. He had shifted back to the geeky guy she’d met in the alley.

She nodded gently at him, running a hand over his cheek in a way that was surely far too personal for a one night stand. 

“My safeword is apple.”

He froze for a moment, shocked. Apparently she was kinkier than he’d expected. 

Tired of not being fucked by this man, she dug her heels into his back, directing him to move.

He did without hesitation, groaning at the sensation of slowly pulling out and thrusting back in. 

The feeling overwhelmed both of them, a litany of curses and moans falling from their mouths. Spencer’s hand moved back to her throat, squeezing much harder now that he knew what to listen for if she wanted to stop.

The sound of her moaning was enough to make him come right there and then. That, with the feeling of her around him and the fact that his hand was around her throat, totally in control.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.”

Oh my god, where was this coming from? Her nails scraped down his back, leaving a trail of marks.

“You like feeling me fuck you?” he wrapped a hand around her leg, pulling it higher to try to hit the magical spot inside of her. “You like when I wrap my hand around your pretty little neck? Showing you how in control I am of you.”

She nodded ecstatically, legs tightening around him. She was definitely close to coming.

“What were you thinking? Going to a bar when you’re underage. Then leading a stranger to your home, intending to let him fuck you silly. Finding out I’m ages older than you and still practically begging me to bend you over and pound you till you can’t see straight. Is the age difference what gets you off, Y/N?”

At the sound of her name, she let out a raucous moan, no doubt waking up the other tenants of the building.

Spencer smiled, drilling harder and tightening his grip on her throat.

“Oh, you like it when I say your name? You like when I shove my big cock in you and moan your name in your ear?”

She practically screamed as his hand started to circle her clit, the stimulation practically knocking the air out of her.

He was hitting her g-spot with every thrust, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. She was so close. She just needed….

“You gonna come for me, Y/N?” he punctuated it with a particularly hard thrust, feeling her begin to clench around him, orgasm washing over her.

Her walls tightening around his cock was enough to send him barreling over the edge, grunting as he thrust in her four more times before feeling his balls tighten up and spill his seed deep inside her.

“Fuck,” he grunted, using his forearms to stay above her, both of them completely out of breath.

Slowly, he pulled out with a sigh, discarding the condom in the trash by her bed.

Y/N was seeing stars. This man had just given her her first penetrative orgasm. And, possibly the best sex she’d ever had.

‘Fuck’, was right.

Spencer flopped down next to her, still naked, trying to catch his breath.

Y/N turned to him, placing a hand on his chest.

It was strange. Even though they’d just had some of the best sex Y/N had ever had, she didn’t even know this man. And yet, somehow, she felt like she did. Did that happen a lot once you had sex with someone?

Her eyes refocused from where they’d been staring off into space to see a concerned Spencer looking at her.

“What?” she asked.

He studied her for another moment before speaking.

“You were biting your lip.”

A blush crept up her cheek.

“Yeah sorry. Helps me think.”

He let out a sharp breath, a sort of soft laugh.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said as he retrieved his underwear, slipping them back on and starting to button up his shirt.

Oh. Was he going to leave? Of course he was! That’s all this was, anyway. A one night stand. You had sex. That was the point.

Then why did it feel like hell?

“You okay?”

Her thoughts had drifted into space again. Spencer had laid back down, now on his side facing her, holding her hand, looking at her intensely. His gaze was practically burning.

“Yeah.”

“I, uh, I don’t normally do . . . that.”

She chuckled. It was rather obvious he wasn’t the hookup type. Despite the dirty things that had come from his mouth.

“Me either.”

He softly stroked her cheek. 

“Are you going to stay?” she blurted.

His face fell.

“Oh, no I wasn’t going to impose if you-”

“NO! I mean,” she took a breath. “I want you to . . . I mean, if you want . . . I'd . . . I’d like you to stay. If you want?”

God. She sounded like a teenager asking their crush to prom. This was no stuttering sophomore she could kick in the crotch if he said no. He was a man. Although, he did tend to stutter. Maybe it wasn’t all that different.

He lit up, a wide smile brightening his features and he began to stroke her hand.

“I’d like that too.”

Wondering if it was possible for cheeks to sprain from smiling, she pulled up the covers, cuddling up against him, falling asleep almost immediately.

~

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Ugh. The stupid alarm. She had been right in the middle of a wonderful dream involving Spencer’s hands and her bruised throat.

What time was it anyway?

The red clock radio proudly displayed: 7:00.

Right, it was the first day of classes. Maybe she’d just ditch and stay in with Spencer. He had been so warm she was sure he had a sun where a heart should be. College didn’t matter anyway, right? Ugh.

A shiver ran through her. She reached out for Spencer, only to find the cold other half of the bed.

Sitting up in bed, she stared at the empty spot.

Had he really walked out on her in the middle of the night? No…. No? Fuck. How could she be so stupid. Of course he didn’t want to-

Oh, he’d left a note.

In a fast yet tidy scrawl, Spencer had left the following message on a little notecard.

Good morning! I am truly sorry to walk out like this, but I have a class at 7:30 and I have to stop by my place and get ready. I’ll be back at the bar tonight, 10:30. I’d love to see you there.

-Spencer. X

Her heart melted into an ocean at the sentiment behind each individual letter. The man she’d just had a dirty one night stand with wanted to see her again.

Wait, he’d said a class? He hadn’t told her he was a student! To be fair, neither had she. That’s another thing they had in common apparently. It made sense why he didn’t tell her. A lot of people were ashamed of going back to college later in life. She thought that was ridiculous. Good for him.

Maybe she could look him up in the student registry. Actually, he may not even go to Georgetown. There were plenty of colleges nearby. She couldn’t have looked him up anyway. She didn’t even know his last name.

It was probably a good thing he left, because she, too, had a class at 7:30.

It only took her twenty minutes to shower, get dressed, and walk the very short distance to campus.

She arrived in the lecture hall with exactly one minute to spare, finding a seat next to a brightly dressed redhead holding a fuzzy pen.

“Hi! I’m Allie.”

“Y/N,” she said, suppressing the cringe as Allie reached out to shake her hand.

“Nice to meet you! What’s your major?”

Oh god. The inevitable college question.

“Journalism. You?”

“English,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Super boring I know, but it lets me take fun classes like this one. Why are you taking this class?”

“Oh, um. It looked fun, I guess. My dad was a lawyer and he kind of piqued my interest in the criminal justice system.”

Allie sighed.

“Thank god. You know half the girls are here just because the Professor is a hottie,” she said with air quotes, rolling her eyes again.

“Really?” Y/N asked, glancing around at the seats noticing the vast majority of the population were women. “Wait, I thought Ms. Merklins was the teacher? Did something change?”

“You didn’t get the email? It just went out the other day, Ms. Merklins had to retire. Something about a club foot. Anyway, the new teacher is supposedly super overqualified. Plus, he’s cute.”

“Huh.”

“Yep. I talked to this one girl in the hall, she actually said she’d sleep with him! Can you imagine?”

Y/N laughed.

“Nooooo. I cannot and I don’t want to. I’m just here to learn, I promise.”

“Same here. Although, if I start getting C’s, all bets are off.”

Y/N laughed and politely chatted with Allie while they waited.

The Professor’s office door swung open and Y/N reached into her bag to get her laptop.

“Hello, class.”

“Hello,” the class echoed.

“Welcome to Criminology. I am Professor Reid and I-.”

Y/N looked up over her screen as he stopped talking, making sudden eye-contact with the Professor.

She froze in her seat, blood running cold.

No way. No fucking way.

Spencer?

~

TAGLIST

~

@whollytaciturn​ @101donuts​ @thegingerfairchild @safertokiss @happyiidiot @cielo1984 @thupidalethea @darkacademiacherry @matthewreid @aloha-ashley-taylor @justchiara-02 @spnobsessedmemes @sweet-darlin @matthewreid

[natewrightt]

If you’re still taking Bill requests would you consider writing one where reader plays bass in a band w Bev, Richie, and Kay (or any other variation of the Losers/their friends. Those just came to mind first, and I thought it would be a funky band. Bev as the singer, Richie playing guitar, Kay on drums. The power they hold). And Bill always comes to see their shows, and him and the reader always flirt and/or Bill always get flustered. Plz🥺🤲

Band Practice | Bill Denbrough

Summary: After flirting with each other for what seemed to be for months, Bill gets the confidence to ask you out.

Ship: Bill Denbrough x musician!reader

Warnings: swearing

Notes: not me wanting to make a part 2 😔

“Are you okay, Y/N? You’ve been staring at the audience for 10 minutes now.” Beverly asks, walking up to you.

“She’s just waiting for Bill.” Richie teases, following closely behind her. You scowl at him but don’t even try to deny it because they all know it’s true. You do like the Denbrough boy a LOT. Maybe you even love him.

You had officially met the losers in first grade when they stood up for you from a beating from Bowers. Ever since Eddie handed you more medical materials than needed, you, Bill, Richie, Stan and Eddie became the losers club.

As ironic as it is, your crush on him had officially skyrocketed the day he lost his brother Georgie due to Pennywise. You had went over to his house to comfort him and for some reason it felt...differnet. You noticed the slight muscle in his arms when he hugged you, and the way his jaw clenched showing his sadness and anger at the same time.

You didn’t see him as one of the guys anymore. Whenever the other losers were in their underwear in front of you at the quarry, you didn’t even bat an eyelid in their direction. With Bill, however? Holy shit, 90% of the time you have to pretend you’re looking at something behind him instead of his lightly toned abs on his torso.

Unfortunately, in the ninth grade now, other girls are starting to realize that he’s attractive.

High school is an...interesting term of events for the losers and yourself. You had made a new friend named Kay who joined a band along with you, Richie and Bev. Since the other losers didn’t have any interest musically, they were your biggest supporters.

Especially Bill.

The compliments he gave you on your bass skills slowly turned into a form of flirting in which you and him would partake in. The others noticed this, though, and proceeded to fake barf if you ever did it in front of them, which is also why you no longer do it in front of them.

All of this lead to today. Your first official show for the school.

“Hey guys. Bill’s here, you can stop looking for him now Y/N.” Stan walks backstage carrying water bottles for the each of you. You take one, glaring at him before managing to find a comeback.

“Oh really? Then who, perhaps, were you looking for Staniel?” You say, gesturing in Kay’s direction. Stan scoffs, turning red and muttering something under his breath before leaving.

You open the curtains a bit to wave to Bill before closing it and the 4 of you were getting into your positions.

This is it.

Showtime.

——————————————————————————

“We were that horrible, huh?” You ask sarcastically, walking up to Bill as you wipe off the remaining food stains on your face. The show went absolutely horrible, and some kids even started to throw their lunches at all of you. He chuckled softly.

“No. T-T-Trust me, you were all g-good. But personally, I think you c-c-carried.”

“Oh, stop it.” You smile brightly, pushing him away from you jokingly. He laughs again, suddenly stopping when he notices some remains of pea soup on your left cheek. You realize this and roll your eyes playfully. “You know kids. They can be mean.”

His hand reached to wipe it, cutting off yours from doing it in the process. It took all your might not to die right then and there. He’s standing close to me, he’s standing—

“Aw, are y-y-you blushing?” He comments, winking at you before letting his arm drift back to his side. You both wish he hadn’t.

“Shut UP, Denbrough.” You wrinkle your nose at his direction. Just as he’s about to respond, another voice beats him to it.

“Jesus, just ask her out already.” Mike calls, grabbing some chairs before leaving the room.

The both of you now stand there, red in embarrassment and sheepish smiles on your faces. If it weren’t the two of you, you both would be rolling your eyes at the idioticness of the situation. However, that wasn’t the case. Not today.

“Sorry about—”

“No no, he’s right.” Bill starts to stand up a little straighter and you could have sworn your heart skipped a couple beats as he carries on. “I r-r-really like you Y/N, and I was w-w-w-w-wondering if you’d wanna go on a d-date with me s-s-sometime?”

He was cringing inwardly at himself, but what else was there to do? Mike had just basically called him out. Speaking of which, Bill was going to have to let him have it after. But that’s not what he’s focused on right now.

It takes awhile for you to manage a response without screaming and he worries. He didn’t want to ruin whatever you two had by making it official. Just as he was about to take it back, you beat him to it.

“Yeah.”

He’s shocked. “Yeah?”

You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck before placing a delicate kiss on his cheek. “Yeah.”

——————————————————————————

Y’all it was going so well until I made it cliché— 😭 part 2?

taglist: @kindofokayimagines @im-a-rocketman @anotheritwriter

[mythicamagic]

Snake Charmer: Sesskag fic

Summary: Sesshoumaru is extremely amused by the prey currently trapped in his den. Kagome just wanted a vacation. Naga Sesshoumaru fic. Sesskag AU.

Rated M

Read on Ao3, fanfiction.net or Dokuga

AN: Sooo I might make a series of stories featuring Monster! Sess or Monster! Kagome. I've already written a vampire one and a werewolf one. Shall see! I hope you enjoy this. 

Snake Charmer pt. 1

Impossibly blue skies free from clouds stretched out above her head that bright and cheerful morning. It was hot. Uncomfortably so, but Kagome welcomed it despite the sweat beading at the back of her neck. Clad in a two-piece bikini hidden by her cute blue summer dress, the cotton thankfully thin and breezy, she drank in the sunny scenery greedily.

Hawaii sprawled out, with its rolling hills, high cliffs and exotic greenery. True, it was a little tourist-centric where they were staying, but the Japanese college students could hardly complain.

"I'm so excited for cliff diving~" Eri grinned, practically buzzing as they walked down a road beside the ocean. "Kyle said he'd meet us there, right? Do you think he'd be more attracted to a confident girl, or should I pretend to be scared?"

Yuka rolled her eyes, adjusting the strap of her bag over one shoulder. "From the way you were flirting last night at the hotel, I don't think he'll care either way."

"Maybe just fake a dizzy spell so he can catch you in his big strong arms~" Ayumi giggled.

"And what about you? I'm sure his friend will be there."

"Oh, don't get my hopes up!"

The three laughed, noticing their friend's silence once the girlish giggles died down.

"What's wrong, Kagome?" brows knitted with concern, Ayumi gently tapped her shoulder.

Shaken from her reverie, Kagome dragged her distracted gaze away from the ocean. "Hm? Oh… nothing," she smiled. "I was just thinking about what that man tried to say to us."

"You mean the Native we saw earlier?" Yuka arched a brow. "Forget it, none of us know Hawaiian and when he switched to English it was a lost cause. None of us can string a sentence together."

"It's true, I forget most of mine when we left school," Ayumi sighed mournfully.

"I flunked English," Eri smirked.

Shaking her head, Kagome folded her arms and frowned, "maybe so, but I could pick out a few of his words. 'Water' and 'no' with some kind of motion with his hands. He approached us while Kyle was talking to us about the cliff diving location with that map. Maybe it's a dangerous area, and the man was trying to warn us?"

"If it was a warning, Kyle would have told us. He said it was fine, just that we should be wary of any rocks, but he knows the area. It's standard stuff," waving this off, Eri quickened her pace, heels clanking on the hot road.

"He knows the area better than a guy who lives here?" Kagome drawled, sharing a glance with Ayumi. Her more sensitive friend bit her lip, giving a weak shrug.

"Let's at least check it out," she said, adding more under her breath; "Eri is really excited. We can humour her a little by meeting with Kyle again today. None of us has to jump."

Releasing a breath, Kagome set her concerns aside for now. It wasn't like she wanted to be a wet blanket about it. Still, the man's wide, imploring brown eyes continued to nag at her mind. Such an expression could bridge the gap in communication. She'd practically felt his concern.

---

Kyle was a tanned, brown-haired boy travelling around the world. He struck Kagome as the adrenalin junkie type. Eri fawned over him, positively smitten. It was rare for a foreigner from London to be so well versed in Japanese, and they'd met through an online dating site, organising a get together while he was in Hawaii. Thus Kagome and the others had been dragged along. Kyle was practically their tour guide and means of verbal communication with English speakers.

His friends were less fluent in Japanese. The three shirtless blonde-haired young men flustered both Yuka and Ayumi, talking in broken sentences.

Kagome couldn't say she minded the male attention as they walked together to the cliffs. Obviously, they weren't up for anything permanent, just fooling around. Kagome had indulged in that sort of thing before. Unfortunately, it was quickly becoming boring. Men just couldn't get a clue. Whether it was a long-term boyfriend or a one-night stand, a playboy or attentive virgin, she found her experiences frustrating on a level she couldn't quite understand. It was lacklustre.

Perhaps today would be different. It would've been nice to hang out with Kyle's friends and get to know them if she could just rid herself of the man's warning.

"This is the spot," Kyle grinned, showing his dimples.

The group had stopped atop a cliff with a few trees littered near the edge. Yuka peered over the lip of the side, holding onto a branch.

"Wow, that's uh… quite a drop."

Kyle rolled his shoulder, muscles coiling. "It looks worse than it is. So! Who's going first?" he grinned wider, clapping his hands and rubbing them together.

Eri laughed nervously, hugging his arm, "shouldn't you go, oh fearless leader?"

"I believe in ladies first," sea-foam blue eyes strayed to Kagome, who remained a little uncomfortable.

"What about your friend?"

"Ah- she's a little afraid. I don't think she'll be jumping," Eri dismissed.

"Aww c'mon," Kyle broke away from her to gesture to Kagome, inviting her closer. "At least take a look. No point in walkin' all the way here and not seeing the view at least."

"I can see it fine from here," Kagome gave a smile that showed her teeth. "Thanks anyway."

"Kagome."

Judging from her friend's expressions, they clearly wanted her to act more respectful.

Biting back a sigh, Kagome forced a more amiable smile upon her lips and stepped closer to the edge, peering down.

To Kyle's credit, it was a stunning view. She'd never seen water so crystal clear and blue. She couldn't tell how deep it plunged, but the waves rolled pure white, not a blemish in sight. No deadly rocks either.

What had the man been warning us about?

"What do ya think?" a playful voice rasped close to her ear. Kagome felt the heat of his body draw near.

Her lips pursed, "it's beautiful," she allowed. Maybe she was being too much of a stick in the mud, it wasn't like her.

"Then- why not take a closer look?"

Hands shoved.

Blue eyes flew wide as Kagome felt her body careen forward, hair swooping back. Letting out a fearful scream, Kagome felt her feet drag and fly free from solid earth. Gravity pulled her down.

Falling was surreal, disorientating. She'd pretty much left her stomach back with her friends it lept so violently. She couldn't tell up from down, but the ocean swooped in closer and closer.

Instinctively, Kagome sucked in a huge breath.

Making impact with warm waters, she plunged deep beneath the surface, bubbles obscuring her vision.

Almost immediately, still, serene waters swirled into motion.

Kagome's heart thundered with alarm, bracing herself. She mindlessly kicked her legs out of instinct the second something started pulling her downwards. Trying hard to break away from the current, her efforts proved to be in vain as it swept her up like a whirlpool.

Kagome closed her eyes. It became impossible to know where she was, how far the surface lay beyond her reach. Her lungs strained.

Getting desperate, Kagome abandoned all logic and started to swim with the current rather than fight it. If she was going to die, she'd rather it be while doing something. Staying motionless didn't suit her.

Aching lungs grappled for air, and Kagome felt herself weaken. Desperate motions slowed. Her mind hazed with fog, becoming dizzy.

Gradually, she began to resemble a motionless rag-doll.

Something strong and sturdy wrapped around her waist, pulling her body.

Kagome weakly felt the sensation of being yanked. Shadows entered her murky gaze like she'd passed through a tunnel, lights soon reaching her again. And then she was suddenly flicked up and released.

Gasping the second her head broke free from salty waters, she sucked in sharp breaths and coughing violently. Kagome then promptly collapsed.

She blearily noticed the dim lighting and smooth rock she found herself splayed upon, shuddering. I almost died.

It took a few moments to adjust and control her breathing, but eventually, after laying there and recovering from the experience, Kagome shakily roused herself enough to sit up. Looking around, she found a cavern of sorts awaiting her. The layout was spacious. Rock walls sprawled around her, a single circular opening high above in the ceiling allowing a circle of concentrated sunlight to pour down into the ocean pool she'd surfaced in.

Kagome pulled herself onto a rocky platform, following a walkway around the water and leaving wet footprints on cool stone in her wake. Thick shadows lay beyond the opposite side of the pool, with a multitude of paths in the rock-face branching off in different directions. They looked as though they'd been hollowed out by a huge earthworm. Kagome wagered they were a maze of sorts.

No way am I going in there.

Glancing up at the natural skylight, Kagome bit her lip. Such smooth rock would be too steep and slippy to climb, and she doubted a helicopter passing overhead could spot her inside. She wasn't even sure how far she was from the mainland. Silence reigned within the lonely cavern, save for lapping water within the glittering pool. She couldn't hear any tourists or speedboats outside.

Kagome swallowed.

The pool.

She didn't exactly like the idea of chancing another swim. However, diving in again to reach the open ocean could be her only chance of finding help.

Putting it off for now, Kagome wandered around the edge of the pool, rubbing her arms absentmindedly. She felt shaken from the high fall alone, never mind nearly dying from a random whirlpool.

"That's what that man was trying to warn us about," she mused to herself, glancing at the water. "I hope Kyle doesn't push anyone else in. That bastard!" she seethed. She'd always been a strong swimmer, but if he had pushed in Ayumi, even with regular waters, the situation could've been dangerous. The idea of it only pissed her off even more. "When I get outta here, I'm giving him a piece of my mind. I bet he'll say - 'ohh it was just a joke.' Ha! You can tell that to my fist, buddy!"

A shadow moved to her left.

Kagome jumped, snapping her gaze to it. Sweat pricked at the back of her neck.

"H-hello?"

Nothing.

Well, it had been out of her peripheral vision. What a convenient time for her mind to start playing tricks on her.

Taking a deep breath, Kagome let the air whoosh out of her lungs. "And now I'm seeing things," she rambled, grasping her hair and wringing out excess salty water. "That's not unusual though, heck I think I see things passing by in the kitchen all the time. Totally nor- AH!" Kagome started badly, looking directly at the shadows. A sleek, long thing swept out into bright sunlight across the floor before retreating smoothly. It had been pale, covered in a sheen that resembled scales.

Was that a… tail?

Kagome took one step back. Then another. Whatever it was, it had been quite large.

She didn't want any of that. None.

Pivoting sharply, Kagome hurried directly towards the pool. Climbing down a rocky incline, she bent her legs, muscles coiling and springing free as she leapt, body arching into a dive.

She made it into warm waters, kicking her legs madly. Gliding down from rippling surface to murky bottom of the pool, Kagome swam towards an opening in the rock wall. Something large and solid slid beneath her stomach then- closing around her waist and yanking.

Kagome's mouth opened in a gasp- pulled from the water with a hard tug. She coughed the second she surfaced, spitting out saltwater and holding onto the thing wrapped around her waist.

The tail.

Kagome's eyes widened, squirming and trying to get free as water dripped from her body, watching the pool drift further away as she ascended. The white scales felt smooth, warm beneath her touch.

Gritting her teeth, Kagome tried to dig her nails in, only to find them repelled by deceptively firm coils.

"You do not possess claws nor fangs sharp enough to cut through my hide, little human."

Kagome jolted, whipping her head up.

Half-lidded, piercing golden-yellow eyes stared back.

She gaped.

Slit pupils dilated.

The man observing her with a wry smile possessed beautifully ethereal features. Pointed ears, exotic magenta marks slashing across his pale cheeks. A silver fall of long hair spilt down over broad shoulders, hanging off the high rock he lounged upon that overlooked the pool. He'd propped both elbows on his bent tail, resting a strong chin upon one hand. The tips of his fingers resembled long, frighteningly sharp claws. Kagome blinked, trying to make sense of his form. His head and torso resembled a human male- physique impressive. From the waist down, however, an impossibly long snake tail sprawled out. She wasn't sure how vast it spread, a little preoccupied.

"Listen pal, I don't know what stage play I've stumbled across, but great effects. Top-notch. The puppet feels really lifelike," she minded some slick hair from her face. "The contacts are hot too, but I'd really like to be set down now."

"Would you?" he purred silkily, tail twisting to flip her upside down. Kagome gasped as black hair cascaded in front of her face, hanging towards the distant pool. "Unfortunately, this one has no interest in releasing you. It has been some time since prey has willingly stumbled into my den like a lost filly."

Kagome's mind raced. Prey. Shit.

"I-I didn't stumble in. The whirlpool-"

"Ah, yes," he hummed, rising from his perch languidly. His form moved smoothly, top half easing closer without fear of toppling from the rock his larger half wrapped around.

"Hn… few mortals are foolish enough to jump from that cliff at noon."

"I was pushed," Kagome seethed, bristling as he prodded and turned her like prized meat hanging off a hook. "Hey! Watch it!" She swiped an arm out, cheeks flushing. "Put me down this instant!"

The Snake-man tilted his head, "curious that of all people, my prey this time happens to be a woman from my homeland."

Kagome had been too startled to really think about it, but they were indeed conversing in Japanese.

"So you're a Japanese demon, huh?" she squeaked. "Awesome. We can talk more about that when the blood isn't rushing to my head. Put. Me. Down," a growl hissed free from her teeth.

His lips spread into a half-smirk, half sneer, exposing sharp, glistening fangs. He turned her upright once more, only to coil more segments of his strong, pale tail around her. A part of it twisted and slid around her knees, parting them.

Something twinged between her legs- a bead of sweat, hot and salty where it rolled down her thigh in a lazy trickle.

Kagome's eyes widened as the moving tail constricted beneath her chest, restricting the use of her arms and squeezing the air from her lungs like he'd trapped her within a huge fist.

His body loomed close, face hovering near. His touch felt oddly human upon her chin: grip as firm as any other arrogant male's.

"The harder you struggle, the tighter my grip," he uttered, gaze and voice almost gentle in their rich cadence.

Kagome fought to keep her breathing even, becoming still. He seemed intelligent and well spoken. If that was the case, talking her way out of the situation might be her best bet.

"For the record, I'm Kagome," she said, trying not to tremble. "W-what's your name, Mr Snake man?"

Ivory lashes fell shut and swept open in a slow blink. His lips parted, hesitating, as though out of practice with speaking it aloud.

"Sesshoumaru."

The Killing Perfection.

It sounded like a bad omen.

Kagome swallowed and kept blabbing. "Oh, that's cool. Your parents must've been anticipating a nice blood thirsty baby. I'm sure they're very proud."

His expression darkened, and Kagome quickly shut up. Clearly, that had been the wrong thing to say.

Sesshoumaru tipped his head to the side, breath fanning over her ear. "For the record," he uttered, archaic speech clearly unfamiliar with the term but imitating her, "my kind are not referred to as 'Snake Men.' I am a species of Naga."

"I-I see, sorry for using the wrong term," Kagome jolted as something flicked out close to her ear, nearly brushing the shell.

His tongue. Was he tasting the air?

Sesshoumaru made a low, pleasurable noise in his chest.

"You know… unless you're into playing with your food, maybe there's a reason you haven't eaten me yet," Kagome was ever the optimist.

"Pray tell: what would that reason be?" he asked, nose brushing and gliding into her hair. She felt his body roll as he inhaled deeply, having a ripple effect down his entire tail.

Kagome shivered. Oddly, the heat of him wrapped around her sent thrills racing up her spine due to every movement being intimately felt. The anticipation, fear and adrenaline mixed into a cocktail of absurdity. She felt its effects pour liquid heat into her lower abdomen.

"You want someone to talk to. Even people called 'The Killing Perfection' can get lonely. A-am I right in thinking you're the one who pulled me from the water?"

"Indeed."

Though she knew it wasn't out of any concern for her, Kagome nonetheless felt a stab of gratitude. "Thank you for that, I mean it. You're terrifying but much preferable to drowning."

Golden eyes danced. "Your compliments leave much to be desired."

Kagome's lips twitched. "Do you see what I mean, though? Maybe you just want a delightful conversationalist."

"Hn, perhaps," Sesshoumaru adjusted her, so that she loomed above him, his head dangerously close to her chest, "or perhaps I do just enjoy playing with my food."

Kagome jolted and gasped as a regal nose glided up the valley between her breasts, lips skimming, a teasing drag. She tried to squeeze her thighs together- prevented by a segment of his tail that rose and undulated slowly against her core, rubbing. Shamefully, Kagome moaned. Her wet dress, plastered to her form- pitifully could not hide the hard peaks of her nipples as her body heated.

"You respond quite enthusiastically to me, woman," Sesshoumaru purred, tongue flicking out to lick a long, wet arch up her chest, collarbone and neck. "Have you considered...you might enjoy my 'playing' with you?"

Panting, she quickly stopped her squirming hips. "L-let's talk about this," she swallowed, catching her breath. "We could make a game out of it. A real one."

Thankfully, his tail stopped.

"I am listening."

Okay, keep talking Kagome. She shifted, looking at the glittering slashes of magenta cutting over his tail like stripes. It was safer than getting distracted by his enchanting eyes.

"Is there a way out of here other than the pool?"

His silky voice caressed her hearing. "Yes."

"T-then let me run for 15 minutes. If I find the exit- you let me go. If you catch me, then fair enough, I'm yours to eat or... or whatever," Kagome muttered, cheeks heating. "But I can and will defend myself during the run."

Sesshoumaru's claw-tipped fingers grasped her chin, turning her face back to look at him.

His eyes were hypnotic in their richness of colour. Slit, inhuman pupils only drew her in instead of repelling. They smiled even as his lips remained still.

"Nothing would please me more," he purred, free hand gliding down her stomach, making it twitch. "You possess a silver tongue, girl. I have not met a prey that could hold a conversation before."

"Thanks, you're not so bad yourself- when you're not talking about eating me."

Chuckling with rich tones, the Naga loosened his tail, unwinding it so that she slid over his coils down to the walkway next to the pool.

Standing on her own two feet again, Kagome righted herself, glancing up at the looming Naga.

"Run along, little filly," he uttered languidly. His soft, masculine voice oddly put her at ease even as she prepared to run for her life. Perhaps this was how he lulled prey. Kagome chose not to examine why she'd responded so... favourably to him. It was the humidity. The adrenaline.

Kagome headed for a tunnel, realising half-way her mistake. It was pitch black inside, and she had no light.

Almost as immediately as she'd stepped inside- green flames flickered to life upon the walls. Torches lit her way, scattered further ahead.

Steeling herself, Kagome took a breath, bursting into a run.

[lavenderbexlatte]

office hours

nct 1.8k words gender-neutral reader insert Reader x Qian Kun SUGGESTIVE/NSFW

🖤 warnings: vaguely inappropriate work relationships, kissing n’ touching, a boner 🖤

connect with me! / masterlist

“Any final questions before I let you go?”

You glance out over your small class of undergraduate seniors, anticipating the usual last-minute queries about due dates for next week or term definitions from your lecture today. These students are pretty bright, all things considered, and extremely attentive even though your senior seminar class meets in the morning.

That’s why the question that one of your back-row girls asks bowls you over as much as it does.

“Doc, do you think Professor Qian is cute?”

“Professor Qian? In the music department?” you ask, trying to hide how flustered you are.

“Yeah. D’you think he’s hot?” the girl repeats, grinning as she shoves her notebook into her bag without breaking eye contact with you.

“I guess…I’ve never really thought about it,” you say honestly.

The girl hums. “Well, I think he’s pretty hot.”

You get the feeling that she’s got an agenda, a feeling that’s only solidified when you see a few of your other students struggling to hold back laughter and smiling into their books. This is not gonna fly. They can’t make things weird for you, these little punks.

“Any other final questions?” you ask, “About the material?”

Heads shake around the room.

“Okay. Go home, and you better have your summaries to me by Sunday night!”

The students pick up their bags and their books and their Hydroflasks, and they leave the room in their ones and twos. As the last one bids you goodbye, and you’re left alone with your notes again, you sincerely hope to yourself that this isn’t going to become…a thing. These kids (young adults, actual grown adults, though you always think of them as kids) are far too old to be pulling shit like this on you.

Truly, deeply, sincerely, you hope that your 22-year-old student is not planning on trying to bag the music professor. That would be way too much trouble to have on your radar.

You sling the last of your class materials into your bag, and head for your usual stop after your ten o’clock class: the nearest dining hall. The school gives you free lunches on the days that you teach, so you might as well take advantage.

One trip through the buffet-style lines later, you’re balancing your full plate as you scan the room for an open table. The only one you can spot, however, is right next to a group of students, and holding court is none other than your senior girl with the apparent penchant for older men.

“-like a fucking idiot!” you hear one of the other students laughing, “He’s faculty. He’ll get fired.”

“Only if I snitch,” your student is saying.

“Or if literally anyone finds out,” says another one.

“No one would find out. No one would care,” your student dismisses. “Unless they’re in the music department, no one even knows who Qian is.”

So she’s really trying to fuck Qian Kun, huh?

It’s none of your business, really. But if this actually happens, and it even gets out that you knew and said nothing, it’ll be your ass on the line, too. And you’re really not one to fight important shit like Title IX. But the girls at the next table aren’t letting up, the conversation turning more and more raunchy and giving you a growing desire to plug yours ears with the shitty cafeteria napkins for some sense of deniability.

You stab at your meal, annoyed at the position that you’re in now, the liability you hold. Fuck.

You’re gonna have to go see this other professor, and head off this mess before it begins.

---------------

It’s rare that you’re on campus in any place but your own department, but you find yourself in the music building later that evening. You’d done a quick snoop on the faculty page and found Professor Qian’s office hours, and decided that sooner is better. If you can get to him before your (admittedly pretty and fit and 22) student does, then maybe you can spare everyone the headache.

His office is tucked at the end of the hall, farthest from the doors into the building. Lucky him, you think. Your own tiny office is smack in the middle, with essentially no privacy as other faculty and students come and go all day long. The door is shut when you reach it, but the light inside is on, so you knock.

“Just a sec!”

You oblige, waiting and praying to anyone who’ll listen that you’re not about to see a very familiar coed behind this door.

But no. When finally, the door opens, all you see is Professor Qian.

He’s not someone you know well, or someone you see often, and maybe that’s why you spend such an awkward amount of time just looking at him. Your first extremely stupid thought is that your student is kind of right: he’s cute. Thick brown hair, neat eyebrows, a jawline that makes him look like a goddamn marble sculpture…

“Can I help you?” he asks.

You nod, mentally kicking yourself for being weird. “Yeah, hi. Can I come in?”

Qian Kun gives you a brilliant gentle smile that reveals deep dimples, and gestures you into his (blessedly empty) office. You introduce yourself, give him your name and your department, and after a cordial handshake and pleasantries, stood in the middle of the tiny space, you decide to just come right out and say it.

“I have a student who I think you know,” you say, “She’s a senior and a double-major.”

He asks for her name, and you give it.

“Yeah, she’s in my senior seminar,” Professor Qian tells you.

“Mine, too,” you say, “And she’s gotten a little…TOO comfortable in class, lately.”

His grin turns lopsided. “Are we talking eating without permission, or something less tasteful?”

“She has made it clear that she’s interested in some things involving you. And her. And sex,” you tell him, fighting to keep your voice level and not actually die of embarrassment.  

Now the grin disappears entirely. “Seriously?”

You nod, “The exact words I heard were ‘he’s super stacked and I want to-‘”

“Whoa, okay!” Professor Qian cuts you off, “Okay, yeah. No.”

“Professor, I’m sure you know this, but I can’t let anything like that happen. We’ll both get canned,” you say.

“Kun.”

“Pardon me?”

“Call me Kun,” he says, “We’re colleagues, don’t need to dance around titles.”

“Kun,” you repeat, “Alright. But you – you’re not going to-”

“Christ, no,” Kun says emphatically, looking scandalized.

“Good. This has been the most thoroughly uncomfortable conversation of my whole career, but good,” you say.

“I would rather you bring it up to me than let things get worse,” he assures you.

“I’m sure it’s flattering to know that students are interested,” you joke. “Sort of wish I was that kind of attractive.”

Kun laughs. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’ve always thought you were attractive.”

Your brain comes screeching to a halt so quickly, you’re sure Kun can hear as it slams on the breaks and leaves you confounded and blinking at him. He has the presence to look a bit sheepish, having just turned this around on you.

“I’m sorry, was that too much?” he says, running a hand through his hair nervously.

“Unexpected but appreciated,” you reply. “And what do you mean, ‘always?’”

Kun shrugs, leaning back against his desk. “We share a lot of students. They talk about you, that makes you stand out, I see you around. Frequency bias.”

You crack a smile. “So, I come here to save you from one of my horny students, only to find you’re my secret admirer, is that it?”

“You could say that.”

He looks amused but not smug, satisfied but not cocky. The way he’s leaning his weight back on the sturdy wooden desk makes it really difficult not to notice his strong thighs in their fitted slacks, or his chest against the thin fabric of his shirt.

Maybe you were a little harsh, before, judging your student’s attraction to him. You can see the appeal. Completely.

You take a step closer to him, which isn’t difficult given the extremely limited space in the office. “You spend a lot of time thinking about me?”

“A completely normal amount of time,” he replies.

“What kinds of things do you think about?”

Kun reaches toward you suddenly, and then hesitates, leaving his hand hovering in the general direction of your hip. Fascinated, you cover his hand with yours and bring it down to meet your side, as he intended.

“How you always look so put-together but act so cavalier,” he says, finally. “How the kids say you curse in lecture and sit cross-legged on your desk and watch TikToks on your phone, but also grade harder than anyone in your department.”

You hadn’t known that anyone noticed those things. Not your students, and least of all some random colleague.

“So what do you wanna do about it?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Well,” says Kun, taking hold of your hip more firmly, “Since you’re right here, and the door is shut, and you’re not one of my students…”

You laugh, and his smile makes those dimples pop out again.

“Then,” he says, “Then I think I wanna do this.”

You can say with absolute certainty that you didn’t come here to kiss Qian Kun, but that’s exactly what’s happening. He kisses calm and steady, and you’re ready to about melt into his arms. It’s just a few gentle presses of your lips against his, until he suddenly grabs you around the waist and spins the both of you, so that you’re the one up against the desk.

He lifts you the little bit so that you can sit on the cold surface of it. You move your legs to either side of his hips, and he groans a bit as he draws even closer. As he settles his body against yours, you can feel the barest beginning of an erection pressing against your inner thigh.

“Excited already?” you ask, amused, as Kun traces a path of kisses across your jaw.

“Maybe,” he replies, “Are you complaining?”

“Not at all.”

He laughs at that, which makes you laugh, and you hook your arm around his neck to bring his mouth back to yours. You could get used to this, you think, as one of Kun’s hands sneaks down to jerk your button-up out from where it’s tucked into your nice jeans. As soon as he has access, that hand goes right up your shirt to find purchase-

KNOCK KNOCK.

You jump, and Kun glances over his shoulder at the door, panic evident on his face. Before he can call out to tell whomever it is to wait a second, the door swings open.

“Hey, Qian, I had a question about the performance review for-”

Of course, it’s her. Your student, the very same one with the hots for Kun, walking headlong into the office. When she finally looks up and sees you there, on the desk, legs spread and Kun between them, she freezes.

“I…” she sputters, “I – I guess I’ll come back later.”

“Close the door behind you,” Kun agrees.

She nods, looking mortified. “Yeah, yeah, of course. S-see you on Monday, Doc!”

[violetwolfraven]

Pass Out

38 for sprace—requested by @just-a-gay-meme

I’m injured and I came to you because I didn’t want to tell my mom/Jack/whoever.

((So I guess this would be canon era, pre-strike when Race was selling at Sheepshead, so he and Spot did know each other, but they aren’t really even friends yet. It’s not the same universe as the one fic I’ve written with her in it, but it includes one of my ocs. Don’t worry, you didn’t forget about her. Bluebird just isn’t canon.))

...

Race would normally not be confused by the fact that he was waking up in a Lodging House, but today, he had an excuse, because he was waking up in the Brooklyn Lodging House.

“Well, well, well,” a voice said, and Race jumped, “He lives.”

There was a little girl sitting by his bed, holding a bowl and a wet washcloth that was suspiciously red, and Race didn’t think it was because that was Brooklyn’s territory color.

And Race was only 15, but this girl couldn’t be any older than maybe 10, so he got to call her a little girl, even though, as was visible because she was wearing one of Brooklyn’s signature red tanktops, she was probably stronger than he was. She had features kind of similar to Romeo, with black hair and brown eyes, so Race guessed she was Asian, or at least one of her parents was.

“What the fuck?” Race mumbled under his breath.

“Oh, no,” the little girl said, sounding genuinely concerned, “How hard did you get hit? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three,” Race said, because she clearly was.

“Hmm...” the little girl tilted her head as she put her hand down, “Do ya remember how you got here?”

“Brooklyn Lodging House? No. Got no clue. What the fuck am I doin’ here?”

“You got your ass kicked,” the little girl said flatly, “At least, I think ya did. You kinda just showed up, asked for help, and passed out. That was two hours ago.”

“Thanks,” Race said, “Um... what was your name again?”

“Bluebird. Ya didn’t know it in the first place. You’re Racetrack Higgins, right? The ‘Hattan boy Spot lets sell at Sheepshead?”

Race shrugged sitting up halfway and leaning back on his elbows, “The one and only.”

Bluebird wrinkled her nose, “No wonder ya got your ass kicked. All you Manhattan boys can’t fight to save your lives.”

“Hey!”

“It’s true! Manhattan’s probably the—“

“Blue.”

Bluebird looked at the floor as Spot called to her from the doorway.

Race sat up all the way as Brooklyn’s King walked over, putting his hand on the little girl’s shoulder.

“What did we say ‘bout antagonizin’ people for no reason?” Spot asked.

“To not to,” Bluebird mumbled.

“You’s a big girl, now, right, Blue? Your cute factor ain’t gonna get you out of fights much longer. Ya gotta learn not to pick fights you can’t win.”

“Bet I could win against him.”

Race laughed, “She’s probably right.”

“Maybe,” Spot reasoned, “But, Blue, appearances can be deceivin’. Race, here, happens to be really good at makin’ friends. Which means he has friends in every borough, this one included. Half the Newsies of New York’d go to war to defend him, so in short, Racetrack Higgins is either a good friend to have or a bad enemy. Take your pick.”

Bluebird snuck a glance at Race, “I’d rather be friends.”

Race smiled, “I’d rather be friends with you, too, kid.”

She smiled at him, and Race didn’t at all see what Spot meant. She wasn’t losing her cute factor. She probably wouldn’t for a couple more years.

“Run along, Bluebird,” Spot said, “I think Hotshot’s waitin’ for ya.”

“I’m sellin’ with Rafaela today!”

“Raf’s... busy. Go find Hotshot.”

“Okay!”

Bluebird hiked up her skirt to run faster, and Race laughed.

“So, I’m guessin’ I know what you meant by busy?”

Spot shrugged, “Yeah, she’s got a sweetheart, but I don’t know who it is. I’m pretty sure it’s either York or Joey, but Raf ain’t the talkative type, so I don’t know which. She asked me to watch Blue this afternoon, but I don’t need a little frontin’ for me.”

“And Hotshot does?”

“He’s an intimidatin’ lookin’ kid. He probably don’t need her, but with winter comin’ up, I’d rather be safe.”

Race nodded, then winced as that hurt, “That makes sense.”

Spot stood there silently for a couple seconds, then asked.

“So, what happened?”

Race shrugged, “Wish I knew. Thinkin’ back, it’s all kind of fuzzy.”

“There’s been some thugs ‘round Brooklyn lately, thinkin’ it’s funny to beat up on workin’ kids,” Spot muttered, “They targeted my kids at first, but learned to avoid us when we soaked them instead. I probably should have sent someone over to warn ya. Bluebird’s right. Only one of you Manhattan boys who can fight good is Cowboy.”

Race decided to ignore that last comment, “I don’t think I got soaked.”

“Hmm. You’re probably right. It’s just the one head wound, right? Nothin’ else hurts?”

Race shrugged, “It hurts to breathe a little, but...”

He looked down his own shirt to check.

“Not that many bruises.”

“I should check for broken ribs, anyway.”

Race honestly didn’t know what to think as Spot Conlon, the King of Brooklyn, sat down on the edge of the bed Race was still sitting on, putting up one hand.

“Can I? I know what I’m doin’.”

“I’m sure ya do,” Race admitted, knowing Brooklyn’s reputation for getting in fights with local gangs, other boroughs, even each other.

Of course, his mind was hyper-focused on the fact that Spot wasn’t known for being friendly, and he also happened to be less than a year older than Race.

He was kind of attractive. If Race was the type to go for badasses, he would be very flustered right now, which... he wasn’t. He totally wasn’t even a little flustered by this.

In the end, Race nodded, “You can check, but I’m pretty sure nothin’s broken.”

“Okay. Tell me what hurts.”

Spot gently put his hand against Race’s lower ribs, slowly increasing pressure before moving up, then checking the other side. And sure, it twinged in some places, but nothing hurt enough to actually be broken.

“Why’re you helpin’ me?” Race asked as Spot finished up.

The other boy shrugged, “Ya ain’t one of mine, Higgins, but you sell in Brooklyn. That makes ya at least partly my responsibility.”

Race wanted to protest that—he was one of Jack’s seconds, for fuck’s sake—but Spot was still talking.

“Also, that head wound wasn’t so bad that ya forgot what borough you’re from. If you really wanted to go back to ‘Hattan, you at least would’ve tried. Probably gotten run over on the way, but you’d have tried. Ya came here. Judgin’ by what little I know... you’s close with Kelly, right?”

Race nodded, “He’s like a big brother to me.”

Spot shrugged, “There ya go. Winter’s rough on every leader who actually cares about their kids, and it’s comin’ up fast. Jackie Boy’s probably stressed enough as it is, makin’ sure everyone sells as much as they can before it gets really hard, and ya didn’t want to worry him. So, you came here instead of goin’ home.”

Honestly, that sounded about right. Race still didn’t remember everything, but not going home when hurt so as not to worry Jack sounded like something he’d do.

“Well, that explains what I’m doin’ here,” he admitted, “But it doesn’t explain why ya actually helped.”

“Like I said, you’s partially my responsibility.”

“Bullshit. I’m Manhattan and you know it. Hell, I’m second in command along with Crutchie. Ya didn’t have to help me beyond makin’ sure I don’t die on your doorstep, so why? Do ya just want me to owe you a favor?”

Spot shrugged, not looking Race in the eye, “I might collect a favor later, but that ain’t why I did it.”

“Then why?���

They locked eyes, and Race could see that he was being completely serious.

“Genuinely nice people are few and far between. Bluebird ain’t the only one who’d like to be friends with you.”

Race smiled, “Well, if ya wanted to be friends, you could’ve just said so. I’m always open to new friends.”

Spot snorted, “One of these days, that’s gonna get ya killed.”

“Possibly... but I should probably be gettin’ back to Manhattan. Before I do, I have one question to ask you.”

“What?”

Race pointed vaguely at a throbbing area just above his temple, not wanting to actually touch it.

“How bad is it?”

“Your hair covers it, mostly, and Blue cleaned off the blood. It ain’t super noticeable, so if you avoid Cowboy for a bit to give it time to heal, he probably won’t have to find out.”

“Okay, great. Thanks, I guess. Thank Bluebird for me.”

“I will.”

Spot stayed close as Race stood up, probably expecting to have to catch him.

Race didn’t actually feel that bad. His head hurt, sure, but he didn’t feel like he was going to pass out anymore.

“I usually hang out under the stands when I take a break from sellin’,” he said, “If ya ever wanna... hang out, or whatever, come find me.”

Spot nodded, “Yeah. Sure. Maybe I will.”

Honestly, given that Spot Conlon was known for being hostile to pretty much everyone outside of Brooklyn, Race hadn’t expected to ever be able to befriend him. He was friendly on the rare occasion they saw each other, but he’d always seen Spot as kind of cold and distant.

Maybe it was just being in his own Lodging House—home turf—that made him drop his guard a little.

Whatever the case, Race couldn’t deny that a part of him was thinking about how if he could be friends with Spot Conlon, maybe he could slowly get closer and maybe even be more someday, but—

But this was a thought train for another day.

Well, this should be interesting.

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names

A John Seed x Original Female Character Fic

Ancient Names, pt. i: of wolf and man

Masterlink Post

Word Count: 4.9k

Rating: M for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop.

Warnings: Language, some “light” religious blasphemy (it’s Far Cry5), the Seeds being themselves. This is an enemies to lovers (enemies to enemies and lovers?) fic that I started writing because the ending of the game made me too sad and I just wanted to try my hand at writing for a fandom I’ve never done before. This will be largely canon deviant after chapter one, with this first chapter mimicking (hard) a particular scene in the game (if you know, you know).

Notes: Hi! First time posting a full chapter on tumblr and not linking it to my AO3! I hope ya’ll enjoy; I had originally posted the link to this in parts, and then decided with some support to post the full thing on here instead of linking to another source. I’ve never written for Far Cry 5 before this so thank you in advance if you read! 

Summary: Once, before Eden’s Gate, before her hands moved with such surety to shove a fresh clip into an automatic, before she got familiar with the taste of blood in her mouth, before she'd gone off to the Academy, before coming back home to this shit show—she had thought John Duncan was attractive.

Elliot spit water out of her mouth, gripping his wrist around her throat, and said with no absence of venom, “Go fuck yourself, John.”

The first thing that she recognized was the desperate need to breathe.

The second was that she was wet, exceptionally wet, her lungs filling with water over and over again, like dying a thousand times without the actual reprieve of death. Two strong hands gripped the front of her shirt, pinning her under the dark surface even as she struggled. Elliot thought, I would rather just die.

She was yanked out as abruptly as she’d come to. Elliot gasped wildly for air, coughing up lungfuls of water, clinging to the arms of the cultist that had been kind enough to pull her out. She realized, too late, that he was probably also the one that had been holding her under.

“... must atone! For only then may we stand—”

The man--a tall, bald, ugly looking son of a gun--pushed her back down onto her feet, facing her back toward the bank. The residual Bliss in her system was dragging her vision, making it pulse wildly on and off, irregularly timed with her own heartbeat, and through the blur she saw two others, pushed towards John Seed.

(John, in his fucking dumbass blue shirt and vest.)

“—in the light of God, and walk through His gate—”

He touched the forehead of the captive to her left.

(John, with his pretentious Eden’s Gate white leather book.)

“—unto Eden.”

Her own special Peggy pushed her forward as John touched the forehead of the captive to her right. She coughed up more water, spitting it out and feeling her stomach lurch as she stumbled forward.

(John, with that stupid fucking lilt to his voice, the lazy cadence of a man who didn’t even need to read the words in front of him because they were already ingrained in his mind.)

He stared at her oddly when she was there in front of him, like a fox in a hen-house; she shivered from the cold water even though the heat of the day had not fully dissipated. He said, slowly, “Not this one,” and suddenly the hands of the cultist were off of her, and he was taking the leather-bound book (she would not call it a Bible; she refused) from John, and he took a step toward her.

Elliot thought, exhaustedly, I could run, I could run right now, but the idea of moving her legs in this water, of stumbling her way through the woods again, still coming off of a Bliss high, made her so, so tired.

And then, with that slick, venomous timbre in his voice, John said, “This one’s not clean.”

He grabbed two fistfuls of the front of her shirt and folded her body down hard into the water. There was no time for her to try and take a breath, or even hold her breath, and Elliot didn’t know what was worse; the very real idea that John Seed was going to drown her in this river in some kind of twisted, evil mockery of a baptism, or the shameful knowledge that her body had crumpled under the weight of his pressure, like a wadded-up newspaper.

Weak weak weak, the voice in her head chanted, while John’s hand moved to her throat and kept her under. Weak weak weak, it said, as she grabbed onto his wrist and dug her nails in as hard as she could. Weak weak weak, it sang when John forced his fingers into her mouth to open it up under the water. She wanted to close her mouth, bite down as hard as she could, but her body’s voluntary reflex was to stay open, gasping for air underwater, like a dying fish.

John yanked her back into the real world just when her vision began to blur black around the edges. Elliot held onto him, tightly, not for lack of animosity but because she did not think her legs would hold her to stand. Blood streaked down his arm where her nails had made purchase. He grabbed her chin and said, “Ah, enough of that sad little whimpering, deputy. You’re pulling right on my heartstrings.”

Elliot swallowed back river water. Wet strands of her hair stuck to her face and tried to creep into her mouth. He was watching her hungrily with those eyes--blue, cerulean blue, too blue to be in the skull of a man like John Seed--like he was waiting for her to say something. Those eyes were wasted on you, John Seed, Elliot thought venomously.

Once, before Eden’s Gate, before her hands moved with such surety to shove a fresh clip into an automatic, before she got familiar with the taste of blood in her mouth, before she'd gone off to the Academy, before coming back home to this shit show--she had thought John Duncan was attractive. Handsome. Charming. A little rich for Hope County, maybe. But they'd locked eyes once before in the bar, and her face had gone so red she was sure he could see it from where he stood.

A man like John Duncan would never have looked twice at a girl like Elliot Honeysett, who had only kissed two boys her whole life and carried herself with almost no amount of sexy confidence. But then he had, waltzing across the bar like he owned the place (maybe he did), planting himself next to her and saying, “Well, aren’t you just the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen coming through this bar?”

She had been so flustered then. Nobody had ever looked at her like they wanted anything from her, let alone that they wanted her at all.

“I’m--I’m sorry, I’m leaving in just… Two weeks...” she’d said that night, tripping over her words and trying to say, in the most efficient way possible that she was flattered, and interested, but also that she wasn’t because she was going to be going off to the Academy and she wasn’t a one-night-stand kind of girl.

He’d laughed and leaned close, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. It had felt very suddenly like the noise around them dimmed so that all she could think about was the smell of his cologne and those eyes, and he said as soft as a kiss, “A lot can be accomplished in just two weeks, beautiful.”

And then her friend Joey had come and grabbed her arm, dragging her off of the stool and saying, “Sorry, but we’re meeting our friends later!” over her shoulder like it wasn’t a blatant lie. Oh, and she’d given Elliot quite the lashing, too, about how good girls in Hope County didn’t consort with rich out-of-towners, and how they were going to be leaving so soon anyway.

Another before. Maybe she still thought John Duncan was handsome; was that a different man than John Seed?

Elliot spit water out of her mouth, gripping his wrist around her throat, and said with no absence of venom, “Go fuck yourself, John.”

She bit the words out with as much animosity as she could muster. The act of it was almost as sweet as slapping him in his stupid face, the enraged expression overtaking his face as quickly and violently as a burning death of a star. His hand on her throat tightened, as though he was prepared to shove her under the water again.

He would kill her, she thought: but he would have a damn hard time doing it.

“Do you mock the Cleansing, John?”

It was a different voice, from behind him now. The rage left his face, replaced by something different. Shame, Elliot thought absently, when he stepped aside and she saw Joseph standing on the bank. He’s the kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

John began, “No, Joseph—”, but before he could get very far the man was shushing him. Joseph Seed was more dressed now than Elliot thought she had ever seen him in his whole life: not only pants this time, but shoes and a button-up, tied with a vest. His dark hair was slicked back into that loosely-tied bun that he often sported, and those dumb fucking yellow aviators sat on his face.

It’s nighttime, you stupid snake.

“You have to love them, John,” Joseph said, in the way that he did; like he was counseling. Maybe in a way, he was. “You cannot let your personal feelings get in the way of that.”

Something in John’s expression tightened. Elliot thought that Joseph must have meant the vitriol that John felt for her, his hands wadded into her shirt, ready to drown her again.

Before she could think to say anything—maybe get one last lick in, and if the world wasn’t still wobbling around in her eyeballs she might have had the good sense to smash her face into John’s—Joseph ordered, “Bring her to me.”

When the bald cultist who had been dousing her before grabbed her arm, she felt John’s grip on her tighten. Just a little. It said, I don’t want to, and just that tiny gesture before he dropped both of his hands from her made her stomach flip in uncomfortable anticipation.

Fireflies whizzed around her head. The short distance from the water to Joseph felt like a tunnel, the water and the woods and the mud bending around her with him at the center. He opened his arms for her, like a father waiting to embrace his daughter. When she found herself standing in front of him, he took her face in his hands.

He was gazing at her the same way he had when she had first slapped cuffs around his wrists: like she was the only person in the whole world, right there, in front of him, and there was nothing that he wanted more than to just look at her.

And that was how he did it, Elliot knew. That was how he got people to believe him, to follow him, to do these crazy nut-job murders and stealing and--and whatever else they had in store, now that they thought the end of the world was happening and they needed to be prepared for it. He looked at them like they were the only thing that mattered, and they felt special, and loved.

“Regardless of the things you have done,” Joseph murmured to her, his hands large and feverishly warm on her chilly, wet face, “you are not beyond salvation. You are not here by accident, or by chance, deputy. You have been given a gift.”

He paused, the weight between them heavy. Elliot thought, I wish I could kick your stupid glasses in.

As though he had come to fully process what he wanted to say, Joseph finished, “But whether you decide to use it or cast it aside remains to be seen.”

His hands dropped from her face. She almost wanted to cry; she was so cold, down into the marrow of her bones, that even that sickening heat—surely warped by the remaining Bliss in her system, which caused Joseph’s face to shiver in front of her eyes—had been a comfort to her.

John walked up beside her, and Joseph put a hand on the back of his head. “This one shall reach atonement,” he said, “or the gates of Eden will be closed to you, John.”

It was an order. The implication in them remained long after he had spoken them; in John’s face, in the way he leaned into Joseph’s embrace. It was soft. Softer than she would have liked. It was hard to hate them, when they were soft.

“Yes, Joseph,” John replied obediently.

Elliot’s vision swam. She wondered how many Bliss bullets they’d hit her with; it only took one, she knew, but her whole body ached, and there was more than one dressed wound on her body.

Her stomach lurched. Joseph was walking away, back towards his car, and John was watching him. Elliot said, “John,” and the words fell out of her mouth like marbles. She remembered, vaguely, Jerome telling her that they poured Bliss oil into the water during their fake, mind-controlly Cleansings, too.

“What is it, deputy?” John asked, turning to her, his voice light and innocent. “Have a confession to make?”

“How much Bliss?” She spit onto the ground, towards his feet, again and again. The urge to throw up was almost overwhelming her. “How much did you give me, Seed?”

John made a disgusted noise. He put a firm, hard hand on her shoulder, forcing her face back up with the other, making her look at him. His eyes were too blue: more than they should have been, and as Elliot tried to pull her gaze away from his she almost toppled herself.

“Enough,” he replied, “to muzzle you, hellcat. We’ll see if you’re really worthy of atonement, won’t we?”

Her body felt weak. All of the adrenaline was fleeing from her body, and in its place remained only her blood, and the Bliss left in it, seeped in from the water through her open wounds. Elliot took a step forward, and her legs crumpled; she plummeted toward the ground, certain that she wasn’t going to be able to stop herself, but John caught her under the arms at just the right minute. He hauled her to her feet again, and she thought, Just let me lay down, please, I’m so tired.

“You should see how you look right now,” he hissed at her, their faces close. “Falling over yourself, soaking wet, barely put together. You’re—you’re so—”

He seemed to be trying to find the word he wanted to use; maybe the one that would hurt her the most. But for a heartbeat, his eyes just traced her face. Maybe he was angry that Joseph had decided for him to keep her around, when he’d been so clearly set on drowning her.

“Pathetic,” he managed out after a moment, his voice tight.

The words rolled out of her mouth in a tired drawl when she said, “Oh, fuck off, John.”

It would have felt better, if Elliot weren’t drugged out of her mind, to see the expression of absolute indignant fury pass over John’s face. He clearly wanted his words to sting. He clearly wanted to hurt her, but John Seed had never met the likes of her kind, not anywhere outside of Hope County.

“Put her in the car and take her back to the ranch,” he said, letting go of her and letting her stagger to keep her footing. “I’m tired of looking at her.”

One of the cultists grabbed her arm and dragged her to the back of one of the vans she had spent the last four days destroying. She struggled, futile as it was. There was no world where Elliot Honeysett wasn’t going to go down kicking, anyway.

“Where’s Joey?” she demanded hazily, pulling at the man’s grip on her arm. “Where is she, John?”

“Deputy Hudson?” John’s head had swiveled, his eyes narrowing in on her, like the click of a rifle scope. Her fingers itched at the thought. I see you, she thought viciously. I’ll put a bullet right in the middle of your head, just like I did to all of your little friends. “You won’t be seeing her for a long time. Well—”

And he paused, as though deliberating, and then said: “Maybe sooner, depending on how much you act up.”

Dead.

The word rattled around in her head in warning, wiping her expression of all of her anger, and she saw it on John’s face--the smug satisfaction of a man who had gotten just what he wanted in the last minute: her hurt.

The Peggy pushed her into the back of the truck, slamming the doors in her face. Through the window, John peered at her, grinning as he waved.

“Bye now, Rookie.”

Elliot did everything she could to keep her eyes open in the back of the van. She was the only one there, so there wasn’t anyone she could talk to; each time she pinched herself to stay awake, the gesture felt more dull, her body more numb to it as the Bliss from the Cleansing kicked into high gear in her body.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

She had barely ever drank in her whole life, let alone participated in something remotely like Bliss; so when it hit, she knew her best option was to lay down and sleep, feeling the handmade drug wreak havoc on her senses. Her hands had been zip-tied together, and she was still soaking wet and shivering, so when she got down in the back of the van she curled her body up as much as she could to try and preserve what little body heat she had left.

Though she had desperately wanted the deep, dreamless sleep that she was used to getting after drinking even one or two alcoholic drinks, she was plagued with blurry, troubling dreams. John Seed, in a bar, leaning into her like a flower to her sunlight; John Seed, calling her beautiful; John Seed, his hands wrapped around her throat. Leaning in to say, against the shell of her ear, you’re pulling right on my heartstrings.

When she woke, she found herself swaddled in a bed. Her hands were freed, the bandages that she’d left wrapped over her palms and wrists from the helicopter crash wounds taken off. Her wet clothes had been stripped off; an old t-shirt, four sizes too big, and a pair of long grey sweats were on her instead, the top of the sweats rolled over and over to make them not swallow up her legs. The idea that someone in Eden’s Gate had undressed her made her stomach twist uncomfortably.

Despite the heavy blanket, warmer clothes, and the fireplace, Elliot felt a deep chill settle in her skeleton, and she shuddered. Her head pounded. She felt like her mouth was full of cotton. For a long a moment, she stared at the wall, her back to the room, and tried to figure out what she was going to do when she could get to her feet.

Kick John Seed’s stupid face in, for one. His smug, stupid face. It really is a waste, she thought absently, to give him any good genetics at all.

If he really did kill Joey, she would make him pay.

“Have a pleasant sleep?” John asked, his voice crawling out from somewhere deeper in the room. Elliot forced herself to roll over; she hadn’t slept it all off, it seemed, because doing so reminded her that her whole body felt like lead.

He leaned against the doorway, pleased as punch, and watched her with that infuriating little smile on his face.

“Hello, John,” she managed out, her tongue feeling one size too big for her mouth. He pushed himself off from the doorway and made his way over, pulling a chair up to the side of the bed. Elliot managed to get herself to sit up, shuddering again with another chill.

“Did you dream, Rook?” Her skin prickled when he used the nickname that only Hudson and the others used with her. It felt traitorous, to let him use it and go unscathed. “I’d be interested to know what you dreamed of.”

She pushed the hair out of her face. There was no way; John Seed could crawl his way into a frozen hell before they talked about the nuances of her drug-induced dreams. She said sweetly, instead, “Bold of you to come so close when my hands are untied.”

“You won’t hurt me,” he replied confidently. “For one, it’ll take at least another full day for you to get the Bliss out of that system. For someone as tiny as you, deputy, it sure did take a lot of dunking to get you placated.”

“I’d say the adrenaline was maybe outweighing the Bliss,” Elliot replied dryly, glancing around the room briefly. No windows. Typical cultist. “What’s the second thing?”

John leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “You just wouldn’t stop saying my name when you were sleeping,” he murmured, like they shared some great and terrible secret, “so I’d wager your feelings for me are a little more complicated than you’d like to say.”

Elliot could feel the heat crawling up her neck and into her face. She felt betrayed by her own mind, her own body. Every time she was around John it felt like this: weak, grasping wildly for control, taking and giving hits wherever she could get them and never getting a full foothold.

“You do haunt the corners of my nightmares, yes,” she replied sharply. “Funny, how drugging and kidnapping a person will do that.”

He laughed. He seemed almost pleased by it. His gaze drifted away from her for a moment, and it did that for a few long minutes between them, drifting and inevitably dragging back to her again, like he couldn’t resist looking at her. John pressed his thumb to his lower lip, tapping absently, before he took in a little breath, and he said, “I remember you, Rook.”

She felt her stomach twist, doing back flips, her heart pummeling the bones of her rib cage. That couldn’t be true; there was no way John would remember her, from all of those years ago, from a single interaction in a bar that lasted no longer than five or six minutes.

“You blushed just like this when I looked at you then, too,” John rumbled, his grin splitting wickedly across his face. “You were so sweet then.”

“I hate you,” Elliot said, gritting the words through her teeth, the way she knew how, baring them like a wild animal. The way her mama had taught her. "I hate you.”

“See, you keep saying that.” John’s gaze was dark, like the water he’d held her under. “But I don’t think you really mean it, Elliot Honeysett. If I remember correctly, you were very eager to spend time with me the first we met.”

Her lids felt heavy. She considered the logistics of lifting her hands and punching him. “I was different back then.”

“Weren’t we all?” John sighed. “Anyway, I’ll let you rest; I just heard you talking in your sleep and wanted to see what all the fuss was about. The doc thinks you’ve got a mild case of pneumonia. Wouldn’t want you to strain yourself, so—”

He came to a stand, smiling at her with that maddening half-smile that curved his lips, boyish and charming and all together not cohesive with his Mega Doom-Sayer persona. John leaned down, and much like he had the first they met, he tucked a loose wisp of hair behind her ear, enjoying that she was too weighed down to fuss. He said, “Sweet dreams.”

“Where’s Boomer?” she asked. Please, she thought desperately, please don’t say you killed him.

“The mutt?” he asked, sighing, and then continued off-handedly, “I don’t know, probably—out, somewhere, scavenging and waiting to get eaten by something bigger.”

She felt a little bit of relief, not that she thought John said that only for her benefit. If he had killed her dog, he might have used it to rub it in her face. He’d have no reason to lie about Boomer surviving.

He turned and headed back to the door, swinging the key around his finger. Tiredly, Elliot said again, “I’ll kill you.”

John’s head tilted as he paused at the doorway. He finally, finally, turned his gaze to her, eyes narrowed. “Oh?”

“If you’ve hurt Joey.” She rubbed her eyes, her body aching dully where she’d been hit by the Bliss bullets yesterday afternoon. “I saw the broadcast. I know you had her, at least at one point.”

John knew exactly what she was talking about: he’d put out that broadcast of how all they needed to do was say yes, and they could all be atoned, too, playing across all of the TVs in Hope County, even in the homes where the families had been killed. It had featured Joey, duct-tape over her mouth and her mascara streaming down her face, a prop on display.

“I know,” John replied, watching her steadily. “It was for you.”

And he left, closing the door behind him, leaving her alone in the dark once again.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When he went to rouse her the next morning, she was already awake.

Elliot Honeysett was the kind of run-of-the-mill, girl-next-door-in-a-small-town pretty that often went over-looked: but not by John. He had picked her out of the bar, all glowing warm and innocent, blonde hair, cornflower blue-eyes, and a pretty little cupid’s bow mouth that were, surely, a dime-a-dozen in a small towns all across the mid-west. Hope County was not special, by any means, for its count.

But it was special for having her as she was now. The button nose, her soft eyelashes—they belied the little monster beneath. Everyone had a choice, John knew, when faced with immense pressure; they crumbled, or they changed. And Elliot Honeysett had changed, so much so that John hadn’t recognized her on the security cameras he’d had planted around Fall’s End, blood-soaked and dirty and jamming fresh shells into the shotgun she’d peeled off of the body of one of his men after she’d headbutted him so hard he cracked his head in the pavement.

Wild, John thought absently, watching her now, drowning in Jacob’s old clothes. Feral. Not a good girl anymore, are you, Rook?

“You look refreshed,” he commented. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, and when he walked in, her eyes immediately went to him. “Hungry?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Elliot began. As he made his way over, he studied her.

“A dangerous pastime.”

“Maybe I was a bit hasty before,” she continued, as if he hadn’t said anything at all. John sat down in the same chair he’d sat in the night before, keeping an eye on her hands. “You know, saying I’d kill you if Joey was hurt.”

He acquiesced, very graciously, “It did seem extreme, but I wasn’t going to say.”

“I’ll kill your brother first.” Elliot leveled him with her gaze, her voice smooth still, “so that you can bury him yourself.”

The smile fled from John’s face. Willful and spiteful, the voice in his mind intoned. His eyes narrowed. “And you won’t kill me?” he prompted, tartly.

“No,” Elliot replied, lightly, giving a little sigh. “I don’t think it’d be worth my time.”

The heat flared up inside of him, striking his irritation hot as an iron. He was suddenly reminded of her impudence; it hadn’t arrived, all of a sudden, last night. She’d had it from the moment she came back to Hope County. When he’d given her the chance to bring herself to him the first time to atone, she’d spat into the radio, Come and drag my body there yourself, you lazy hack.

His jaw set. He could make her thankful; if she really wanted him to, if she really wanted to push him there. John stood, abruptly, grabbing the front of the over-sized shirt and yanking her up; there was a little satisfaction when her hands weakly grabbed at his wrists; she looked rested, but she was still frail. “You infuriating—”

“I wouldn’t if I were you, John.” Elliot’s eyes narrowed now. She tilted her chin defiantly, even when, as they were now, he could just throw her back against the wall. And then, as cloying as anything, she drawled, “Joseph would be so disappointed in you.”

The sound of his brother’s name in the sweet, venomous timbre of her voice was like a shock to his system. _Stupid, willful, spiteful— _

She was right. Joseph would be disappointed, if he hurt her. Joseph had never fully agreed to his means, and while he firmly believed that the ends did justify them, his brother did not.

“If your sweet Deputy Hudson wasn’t dead before,” John hissed, “you can bet she’s as good as now.”

Elliot’s gaze flickered over him. Even with the animosity in her voice, in her eyes, he felt her gaze linger on his mouth. It was a tiny, tiny little victory; under all of that wolf, she was still a girl, after all.

The blonde said, a little breathless, “You’re going to run out of things to threaten me with if you keep killing them off, John.”

“I can be creative.”

He released her, brushing his hands off as though to rid himself of any remains of her. He paced to one end of the room, and then pulled the key from his pocket and paced to the door instead. His skull was still buzzing with irritation; the pure audacity, to talk to him like that.

“You might want to rethink your stance a little, Rook,” John said at the door. “You’re going to put people in danger.”

He slammed the door behind him, angrily locking it from the outside and clenching his teeth. Stupid, willful, spiteful, ungrateful. She shouldn’t be so hard to break, not like this, not with the Bliss weighing her down. It didn’t matter how much had time had passed between before and now; at one point or another, the girl in Elliot had wanted him. He knew that she at least felt that for him, before. It should have been easy to get under her skin.

Because it was so, so easy for her to get under his. Those sharp little eyes, taking in every detail they could, trying to find any weakness. She’d already put a little pin in Joseph, saving him for later.

You have to love them, John, Joseph had said.

“John?” Elliot called through the door, as though she knew he was lingering out there. “In case it wasn’t clear, I hate you.”

Yes, he thought absently, making his way down the hall. We’ll see how long that lasts.

[chelsfic]

Part Two - Wish You Weren’t Here - Diego Jiménez x Reader - Starz Power fanfic

Part One

A/N: I think this spun out of my control when the angst train left the station. Oh well???

Warnings: Same as before with the smut, exhibitionism, forced audience to exhibitionism. Only this time we’ve got some angst!! and also the reader has a panic attack due to her phobia of heights. Oh yeah and there’s a mention of murder?

***

When you step off the elevator the first thing you’re aware of is the noise coming from the living room. Whining, mewling female cries underlaid with Diego’s strained, masculine grunts and the obscene, wet sound of his dick slamming into his latest conquest. You take a little breath and square your shoulders. This is your new normal and you’re determined to face it. And the little stab of jealousy that cuts you from inside is barely even there anyway.

The penthouse’s open floor plan means you have an immediate line of sight on the activities as soon as you step out of the elevator alcove. Diego’s back is toward you, his muscles taught with effort as he buries himself inside the woman from behind. She’s pressed up against the window wall, her skin making loud squeaks against the glass each time he thrusts roughly into her. Damnit, Diego. Are you going to have to clean those windows every single day?

Diego hears the elevator chime as you arrive and he’s craning his neck to watch you over his shoulder, his teeth bared in a lustful grimace. You avoid his eyes and move into the kitchen, determined to start your work day as if your boss isn’t putting on an exhibitionist show in the next room. But Diego won’t let you get away that easy.

He calls your name in a voice that’s broken with lust and you close your eyes for a second, trying to master your body’s reaction to this man. Diego isn’t having it, “Come here, little girl! Now!”

The last word is an order barked out in the forceful tone he reserves for subordinates and you have no other option but to obey. Still, you drag your feet, making your way slowly toward the writhing couple and keeping your gaze fixed on the floor. 

Diego groans and whines at you, “Get your ass over here.”

“Diego,” you sigh, finally stopping a couple feet away and still determinedly averting your gaze. Your voice shakes, “You know I don’t like being so close to the windows…”

Yeah. Sure. That’s the problem here. But you’re not lying. In addition to the jealousy, arousal, embarrassment, and confusion, you also feel that telltale shaky panic you always get when you’re too close to a high ledge. 

Diego doesn’t stop frantically thrusting his hips as he responds, “I’ll keep you safe. Come here.”

He removes a hand from the woman’s ass and reaches out to you. God, you can not be swooning over this man telling you he’ll keep you safe while he’s fucking another woman. Right? RIGHT?

You slide cautiously forward and Diego hooks his arm around you, hugging you to his side even as he continues burying himself in this woman who still moans and writhes with abandon. He doesn’t try to cop a feel, he’s just holding you against his naked body. Your cheek presses against his muscled chest and you feel the instinctual urge to wrap your arms around him but you hold back. You need to stay detached. Your nascent attraction to your boss is already a problem without being drawn into his sex life as some...pitiful observer. With nothing to look at except the woman’s back and the perilous view from the windows you simply turn and bury your face into the crook of Diego’s arm. He threads his fingers through your hair gently even as his other hand digs bruisingly into the woman’s hip as he slams into her, grunting with his release. 

Once it’s over he pulls away from both of you with a disorienting alacrity. You’re standing there stupidly, not sure what to do with yourself (and aching with discomfort at the moisture between your legs). The girl tries to pull Diego into a kiss but he presses a stack of bills into her hands and pushes her towards the elevator. She’s still nude, holding the money and her dress in her hands as she walks out. 

Diego pulls on a pair of tight jeans and collapses onto the couch, grabbing the remote control and flicking on the giant television inlaid into the wall opposite the couch, looking casual as ever. 

You take a deep breath, hand to your chest, trying to get a hold of yourself. You glance around and notice the obscene streaks on the window where the woman’s body had pressed against the glass. You let out a sigh and go to fetch the glass cleaner. 

Diego snakes out a hand and grabs the bottom of your t-shirt as you pass by the couch. 

He keeps his eyes fixed on the TV as he speaks, “Sit with me for a little while.”

For a second you’re at a loss for words as your brain tries to keep up with Diego’s rapid mood changes. Lust...dismissal...neediness. You’re also working through your own tumult of emotions. You’re still--ahem--worked up about what just happened. And confused about feeling jealous. And humiliated at being the third wheel to this man to whom you’re growing increasingly more attached despite your best efforts. 

“I was going to clean the window? It’s all...smudged. Again. Maybe--maybe you could do that someplace else next time?” You can’t look at him. In fact you’d really like to hide in a little nook for a while or possibly the rest of eternity.

He just pats the seat next to him and dismisses your concern, “It can wait.”

You let out a shaky sigh and settle stiffly beside him on the couch. Diego is lying stretched out on the cushions and as soon as you sit he scoots up to rest his head in your lap, giving a little contented sigh as he flips through the channels. Your face is stricken with indecision, your hands hovering in the air over him. What is he doing? And why? And...oh god the wetness between your legs is a damning sign of your lingering arousal--can he? You might die.

You finally rest your hand on his bare shoulder, fingers tentatively rubbing gentle circles into his skin. Diego purrs in satisfaction and nuzzles his face against your thigh. Yeah, you’re dead now. But he just lays there, head in your lap, one hand wrapped around your knee, and watches a soccer match on TV. Questions swirl through your mind and you start talking before your brain has a chance to do anything about it.

“Diego, why do you--I mean...,” you flounder and grasp for words to voice questions you’re afraid to ask. Why did you do that? Why did you pick me? Why do you...like me? What do you want? But--even after being forced to watch him in his most unguarded, intimate moments--you can’t bring yourself to voice these questions that are too personal to be asking your boss.

It doesn’t matter because--yet again--Diego reads your mind. His voice holds a tone of amused condescension as he speaks, “You seem so...innocent. And good. It’s funny! I like to watch you get all embarrassed and flustered.”

You narrow your eyes at the back of his head, annoyed to have your fears confirmed: that he’s just been toying with you for his own amusement. But when you remove your hand from his shoulder to card your fingers through his hair and he gives another contented purr you start to question if he’s being straight forward with you. He clings to you like someone starved for affection--which--that can’t be true considering what you’ve just witnessed, right? But this is different, isn’t it? Diego is soft and comfortable. He’s not putting on a show. He’s seeking comfort from someone...what? Different? Someone who doesn’t know shit about his business. Someone who’s afraid of getting high off cocaine by accidentally breathing it in? Someone he calls...innocent? And good?

The elevator doors ping and all at once Diego stiffens in your lap, sitting up and roughly pushing your hand away. It’s beyond stupid that you feel hurt at his sudden withdrawal. But you do. His whole demeanor changes before your eyes, face closing off, guards coming up. One of his guys strides forward and you see him eyeing you sitting on the couch with little invisible question marks in the air around his head. Diego does too.

“Get back to work,” he orders, voice cold and hard once more. You nod and get up, scurrying away to get started on your chores and determinedly suppressing the hurt feelings that he’d only see as another sign of your weakness.

***

Diego’s been enjoying toying with you for a few weeks before he starts to question if he’s let you get too close. It’s the night of the roof top party when Ángel starts asking insolent questions that he should no better to keep to himself.

“Yo, Diego! That new maid you have is cute as hell, huh?”

Diego is lounging on the rooftop patio, an amazonian beauty currently worshiping him on her knees. His face darkens and he regards the other man with narrowed eyes.

He addresses him between gasps of pleasure, his words rushed, “I told you before she’s not for you, Ángel.”

Ángel laughs and claps Diego on the shoulder, “It’s like that? Never thought Diego Jiménez would catch feelings...”

Diego’s orgasm interrupts the conversation. He grabs the girl by the hair and holds her head still as he fucks into her mouth, grunting with aggressive passion as he finishes. Ángel looks away, backs off. He misses the murderous gleam in Diego’s eye.

***

It’s hard to call it a routine since Diego’s life is so chaotic and unpredictable--but you get used to the flow of events that surround your employer. Most days you arrive at the penthouse to find a massive mess from the party the night before. You grumble and sigh and shoot annoyed glances at him when he deigns to wake up, but you remind yourself that the money is enough to pay off your car loan sooner and maybe (finally) move into a better apartment--so you deal with it. 

The other stuff is more... difficult. Sometimes all you have to endure is watching a gorgeous woman’s walk of shame as she leaves the apartment. But other times it’s...more. Diego definitely loves an audience. And you seem to be his favorite. He always wants you touching him in some way while he takes his pleasure from the nameless women who line up to sleep with him. You’re disgusted with yourself that you keep letting him play with you like this. But a part of you wants to be near to him anyway you can, delighting that he lets you this close, even if it’s downright insulting. What if this is all he ever offers you?

You shake those morose thoughts from your head as you enter the penthouse and do a double take at the pristine rooms. Nothing out of place, no half-dressed bodies passed out on the furniture? You practically skip into the living room thinking how much easier your day will be because Diego--apparently--spent a single night not partying. 

You should have known better.

Diego’s bent over the coffee table as you walk in, snorting a line of coke off the glass. You freeze in place, feeling like you’ve disturbed a private moment. Which is beyond dumb, girl--how many of Diego’s “private moments” have you witnessed? But you’ve never seen him getting high before…

He wipes his nose and looks up at you with bright eyes, cracking his neck with pent up energy. He has a look on his face that’s positively feral and you take a step back, feeling fear you haven’t felt in weeks. 

“Diego. Are you...okay?” you ask. Are you okay? He’s probably feeling just fine--what is the matter with you?

He smirks cruelly up at you, “Sweet, innocent, Y/N. You’re scandalized? Really? You know what I am.”

You try to sound casual and non-judgmental as you reply. Of course you know what he does for business. It’s just...

“It’s just...I’ve never seen you--”

“You want me to fuck you so bad but you can’t handle all of me, can you? Little girl,” derision drips from his words. Okay, what the fuck?

You feel tears stinging your eyes at his words. So this is what he’s like when he’s high. Charming. You turn from him and walk over to the closet to grab your cleaning supplies.

“Hey,” he calls after you, “You need to go up to the patio and clean up. We were up on the roof last night.”

You freeze with your back to him, feeling the creeping sensation of panic on the back of your neck. Is he kidding?

“Diego...I--I can’t do that…”

He stands and looms over you, his eyes are mean.

“What the fuck am I paying you for? There’s a mess up there that needs cleaning.” 

“But--”

He puts his hand on the back of your neck and squeezes. Just as he did that first day. You don’t understand why he’s being like this. He’s been so soft with you lately. You try a different tactic, bringing your hand up to cup his stubbled jaw as you look into his eyes. His eyes melt a little at your touch.

“You know how I’m afraid of heights. Isn’t there someone else…”

But his eyes harden again almost immediately and he rips away from you. You barely catch a panicked look on his face as he turns away. He’s let himself be too vulnerable with you. He can’t afford that. Not if people are starting to notice.

“I pay you to clean,” he says in a monotone, with his back on you. “Go do that.”

***

The biblical mess that awaits you on the rooftop patio is actually a blessing in disguise. It’s so bad that you’re too busy to acknowledge your crippling fear for a little while. It’s only after the first hour of bagging, scrubbing and disinfecting--when things are starting to look more civilized--that you feel the fear return. It’s about time to head down and toss the trash anyways, so you make your way to the door, lugging three full garbage bags. 

A painful knot in your throat forms when you see the door sealed shut. You’d left a chair propping it open so you wouldn’t get locked out, but the chair is on its side and the door stands shut, like a stone locking you inside a tomb. 

Okay, wow--that was really melodramatic. Maybe it’s not locked. You try the knob. Definitely not moving. Calm, deep breaths. You set the bags down and try the door knob again, turning it in all directions, pulling, pressing and tugging with increased energy as the panic takes hold. You’re stuck. You’re stuck up here. The wind blew the chair over. What if. What if...oh my god.

No. You’re not getting blown away with the wind. There is a--very inadequate--fence around the roof to protect you. You’ll be fine. You’ll just...send a text Diego and he’ll come let you inside and it will all be…

Fine.

To: Beefy Boss Boi

Hey I’m stuck up on the roof. Can you come let me back inside? Thanks.

You force yourself to sound cool and collected in the text, even as you’re getting down on your hands and knees and starting to shake. Diego will get the message and be here before you know it.

***

Nothing like an unexpected visit from his sister to completely destroy Diego’s fucking high. Not like he was really enjoying himself, he admits. Sitting around thinking about how hurt you looked when he was mean to you earlier. Fuck. It’s worth it, though. He can’t keep letting you get under his skin. If Alicia even suspected there was someone he-- nope. Fuck that train of thought. Diego does not catch feelings. He fucks. And parties. And occasionally hurts people for fun. That’s it.

He thinks about fucking Ángel asking questions about you last night. Insinuating. Had he really been so transparent? That motherfucker won’t be talking again...ever. But he needs to end this anyway.

And now he’s got the queen of all buzzkills to help him get yo off his mind. Fucking hooray.

She swans through his penthouse, looking around critically as if she’s inspecting the housekeeping. Diego feels a flare of anger on your behalf. But when she finally gets around to the purpose of her visit it’s a familiar criticism.

“You’re having too many parties, Diego. You need to fucking calm down for a while. Too many people in and out of this place. Who screens these people? Who knows who they go and talk to afterwards? Do you understand me?”

Diego’s phone vibrates from inside his pocket but he ignores it. 

“I screen them, Alicia,” he responds stonily. She has no faith in him. 

“Diego, I’m not asking. I’m telling. Cool it for a while.”

She leaves and Diego stalks into his bedroom like a sullen teen. Fucking bitch.

***

You’ve sent Diego about twenty text messages and he’s still not here. It’s been about an hour since you realized you were trapped and you’re just curled up on the ground clutching your phone to your chest and squeezing your eyes shut. Imagine you’re someplace safe. Ugh! Your mind decides to supply you with an image of Diego’s stupid face. Diego who is ignoring your texts because he’s mad at you for no reason?

Finally, the door slams open and you hear his voice call your name. You’re too far gone to even look up. He rushes over and wraps his arms around you, holding you to his chest and pressing soft kisses into your hair. A faint voice inside pipes up and says you should try to enjoy this feeling while it lasts. A louder voice is still wailing, Danger! Danger! Danger!

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whispers, tucking his arms underneath you and picking you up in one swift motion. Ugh, first time in your life getting carried bridal-style by a guy strong enough to lift your dead weight ass and you’re basically incoherent. You cling to his shoulders with bruising force until you’re back in the safety of the stairwell. 

When he finally gets you back into the penthouse you nearly sob with relief. You never thought you’d feel so safe in this place. He tucks you into the leather couch and leaves to dash up to his bedroom, returning with the massive coverlet stripped from his bed. He wraps you in it, cocooning you in the rich fabric until you feel like a safe little burrito. He’s so attentive and considerate. So...not Diego. He tucks the blanket around you and then just kneels there next to you, watching your tear streaked face as you take everything in.

How are you supposed to deal with this? Earlier he was so cruel and now he’s acting all...sweet and caring. You have whiplash from his mood swings. You decide you don’t need to deal with anything right now except calming down and feeling better. You lay your head back against the armrest and close your eyes, steadying your breathing.

Diego stares down at you. He’s still feeling the aftereffects of the fear that had gripped him when he finally glanced at his phone and saw all of your increasingly panicked text messages. How could he ask you to go up there when he knows how scared you are of heights? He’d been selfish and juvenile. Everything Alicia thinks of him is true. He scowls in self disgust and clenches his fists in his hair. So stupid!

You open your eyes to see Diego’s anguished expression and you feel every ounce of anger and betrayal bleed out of your system. You lift a hand to cup his cheek and whisper, “Thanks for coming to get me.”

Diego frowns and answers, “The next time I ask you to do something like that. Tell me no. Okay? You...you don’t have to do whatever I tell you. You’re…”

Different...special...beautiful...innocent...good…

But he can’t say the words. Of course he can’t. Instead he leans down and presses his lips to yours, kissing you with all of the grace and gentleness you’ve never seen him give to any of his lovers. 

When he pulls away you can already see the seed of regret and denial in his eyes but you choose to ignore it for now.

Tags (message or ask to be added/removed):

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[sainadazai]

When your crush is angry all the time

Ch.4

I wanna be an intern too, you ragedy ann looking ass hoe 😠



Y/n pov

°•○●○•°•○●○•°

All goes well when you are ignorant is what my dear best friend would say to me now, as I sit in the very back of the class unfocused on how our teacher is introducing an activity I have no chance of participating in. All I knew was that when Mr. Aizawa walked up to the board and wrote names of people getting offers, I wasn't one of them. Not that I expected to be, considering I wasn't in the sports festival, let alone the school at all back then. 

However, I did notice a small inconsistency in the order of the most offers. I was pretty sure that boom boom had gotten first place in the festival, him being there is what convinced me to transfer, but his name was actually second on the board. 

Todoroki had taken the place of first as far as offers were concerned. Todoroki the nice boy who I used to meet when I snuck away from my fucking prison cell. Call me privileged for complaining about living in a mansion All my life, but I much prefer being here. With common folk. They ground me. 

I peeked up from my phone at the red and white head of hair in front of me, he didn't seem all that fazed. Although maybe it was just the lack of seeing his face that made me believe he couldn't care less about all but one of those offers. Still, his business is his, and my business is the new Ao3 update on my favorite chrollo lucilfer fanfiction. What a babe. 

I decided that the class as of right now would be of no importance to me, considering I will have no offers, and bakugou-the reason I came here- hates me like I'm a piece of gum stuck under his shoe.  Through that conclusion I allowed myself to dissolve into the world of hxh and forget about how boring this world is. 

Could my power beat Killua or go in a fight? I mean, it doesn't enhance my strength like they did trying to get into Killua's house so physically they must be stronger. 

"Y/n! Is there something you would like to share with the class?"

Mr.Aizawas voice seemed almost shot at me as my gaze rose from my phone in my lap to meet him at the front of the room. He looked displeased to say the least. Well good for him, im displeased too, I might not be able to beat a fucking twelve year old in combat. 

"Huh?"

"You were grumbling, what's so important you had to tell us, hm?"

I thought it through for a second- just kidding, I never think anything through. 

"Oh, well I wasn't sure if I could beat Gon in a fight, but I'm not coming to the realization that if Chrollo is my boyfriend, I shouldn't have to fight anyone at all. I can just be a pretty face in the backgrounds and then after he wins for me i'll suck his-"

"Enough, y/n." Mr.Aizawa no longer held a tired looking face, his eyes were wide and an uncomfortable cringed was set on his face. As I peered at the rest of the class many also had shocked eyes, but unlike our teacher, held faint blushes. 

Minus midoriya, his face was completely red and his eyes void of life. I must've killed him, huh. 

"Wait!"

In an attempt to regain some dignity, I tried to correct myself.

"I would....not suck his-?"

"Don't even say it, shitty princess !"

"Woah bakugou, you spoke to me on purpose!?"

"Shut up!"

"Hey, how come you call me princess, you like me or something?"

He growled at that, neither of us paying mind to the fact that everyone in the class was either dead from nosebleeds or extremely uncomfortable and staring at us.  

"Its cuz you act fucking entitled like a princess"

"I'll be your pillow princes-"

"Enough!" A robotic-like hand sliced the air in front of me. The voice sounded firm, almost more teacher-like than our teacher's voice. I followed my gaze up the hand, not failing to notice how as I drew up the guy's arm his muscles only seemed to get bigger and bigger and- iida? 

"Oh class rep-"

"Y/n this vulgar language and border-line harassment needs to cease immediately. I will not tolerante overtly sexual language and acts in this class-"

As he was speaking I noticed something ironic about the situation. If everyone here didn't like sexual jokes or banter, how were they so flustered at comments that objectively should be unknown to them. 

"How did you know what I meant, iida?" I rasped in a low sultry voice, allowing my fingers to dance up his arm starting at the wrist in front of my face. 

I heard a few chuckles from, who I would say are the only two people enjoying this situation: kaminari and...stinky mineta. Iida's face grew more red than previously and the arms in front of me began shaking. 

"Mr.Aizawa it seems I've disarmed the robot. Is there a restart button or something?" I question with a serious face using the search as an excuse to wonder my eyes all over his body. Perverted? Yes. Rightfully attracted to this giant hunk of a nerd. Yes ×10. 

"No, there is not." Todoroki, who was in front of me, finally turned around to address me. I guess he was unfazed by my words. Looks like someone here can be cool. Whether he is okay because he is more comfortable with sexual jokes, or because he has yet to pick up on them, its nice that somebody in here can still function. Otherwise, I'd feel like a nuisance. 

"Y/n I'm not really sure how to- let's just say to have detention with your m- midnight. Detention. Yeah." Aizawa publicly convinced himself of my punishment? 

"Okay"

"Now, back to this, even if you didn't get any offers ALL of you will have an internship" 

And so went on the class, kids chose their hero names, not me though. I wasn't even sure I wanted to be a hero at all, this was just a little less boring and sad than the way I lived before. This school had people who laughed in joy, not just to mask the pain. That was the real benefit, not being a hero, or being strong. Likely no one here realized that there were many places where none of this joy was possible. 

Some of the kids in class gave me suggestions for a hero name, but I didn't like them anyway. They lacked personality, and while I have many adjectives to describe my personality, my life, none of them are all that heroic. 

"Dark element"

"Girl who will die if her quirk doesnt like its environment" 

See, I'm not the best at this. Even bakugan names had some sense to it...well no. I'd say we're about the same, but still. Ugh. 

~timeskip~ 

Bakugou pov 😠

She came up with no hero names. Fucking entitled brat. Everyone at this lunch table seems to have no problem with the fact that she is here, just happy to have another pair of tits to stare at like perverts. Their gross. I bet she doesn't even want to be a hero, she sure as hell doesn't act like it. We don't even know what her whole quirk is. Ive seen her do that plant shit a couple times, fucking with flowers or whatever. Still, there's more to it. Something we don't know, at least. Cuz in the middle of class she gets up and whispers to Aizawa and he just lets her go. Where the fuck does she go? 

Interrupts class, got into the school because her moms a teacher, won't use her quirk. What a nuisance, I can't believe she is not expelled yet. Plus those bullshit sex jokes are so shitty. She is obviously faking something when she does them. Not like midnight, who always at least seems like she means that gross shit. 

"Hey, who did you guys choose for your internship? I haven't chosen yet."

"The number three hero guy," I spoke, knowing I'm the only person here who already chose. 

"Really? Best jeanist! That's so cool, but are you sure that for you bakugou?" Shitty hair raised a shitty brow at me. 

"What the hell is that supposed to mean!?"

"Just that he seems pretty...uptight..for you?" Dunceface added, but he spoke like it was a question. Of course he is the hero for me, he is the highest ranting hero on my list. If I wanna be number one, I gotta train with the best. 

If I go to his agency I'm sure there will be a lot more action, since he is so high ranking. Then i'll get some real experience kicking villain ass, well, other than the USJ. 

"Of course he is the right option!"

"Woahhh~"

Shit. It's her voice. I honestly should applaud her for using it less often around me but, how can one small girl be so goddamn annoying. I don't even know what she has to say and I already wish she would just put a sock in it. How can someone so entitled like her, probably never had to lift a finger, walk  over here and talk like she has something to say. 

"You're working with the best jeanist! So cool, one time he saved me from a group of rapist guys, it was awesome with all these strings everywhere and I could only see half of his face. Oh and he had goofy hair too!"

Oh. I didn't really know how to respond to the girl who looked so excited about almost being violated. Another thing wrong with her? I looked back at the other people at the table to see if they knew how to respond to something like that. 

Dunceface was frozen, tape arms were frozen, shitty hair was frozen, and alíen eyes were looking like a lost puppy and trying not to cry. 

It didnt seem like the shutty princess was exactly understanding how what she just yelled was making things weird. She just stood there expectantly. She kinda looked like she thought being raped was something that must happen to everyone. Did she think that? Wouldn't put it past her weird ass. 

"Uhm...anyways, i'm sure you'll do awesome, he likes to put boys in tight jeans. Wish I could intern too, I'd love to see that boom boom~" she winked. 

A perverted joke...and then she had the audacity to wink at me. 

"You wish you could see me in tight jeans, shitty extra!"

"I know...thats what a I just said." She dead panned, blinking a couple times at me. 

"Tch, screw you!"

"I would-" 

"Can it, i don't wanna hear your shitty voice anymore"

The girl stopped herself after my words, pushing all her hair behind her head, except for the two blond stands in the front. 

(You don't have to acknowledge these if you don't want, but I made it so that they change color depending on what element your using and I thought it was hot*if you have short hair, then you just got a lil nishinoya type thing 🥰)

Lifted her obnoxious hands that moved around while she talked and made a zipper-like motion over her lips. Then she just stood there looking at me. I really wanted to just let her stand there and go back to eating. Ignore her completely and let her hope fizzle out and die or something like that. 

Yet here I am, still looking at her. Silently. Wishing she made a stupid joke so that I could stop flickering between those images I'd seen of her dancing. How even though ballet is a princess fucking dance, the pictures felt nice. Like if I was watching it live I would probably be unable to criticize it. That pissed me off, because I want to hate everything about her, but I can't hate those photos. Where she looks like she is flying, without any need for a quirk.

I see her in that weird gown, and now, in the UA uniform. I see her looking respectable, formal, and serious. Then I see her stupid little smirk as she takes pride in being able to shut up for more than a minute. 

"Why are you still standing there?"

Instead of answering, she took her hand up again, made a pinch with her fingers and unzipped her mouth. 

"I was enjoying the look in your eyes."she smiled. 

The look in my eyes? Could she tell I was seeing two different people? What the hell does that even mean? Even said it without that shitty flirt voice. Like she meant it. 

"You tryna make fun of me?"I stood up from the table to get in her face.

"Not right now, maybe later, I gotta do something." She smiled sincerely at me, for a second as she walked away, I forgot about how this conversation started. What a wierd fucking girl. I'll never respect her as a hero. Tch. (Yes, its canon he tchs even in his thoughts) 

3rd person POV 

Y/n briskly walked out of the cafeteria with a new goal in mind. She would come to remember how maybe being oblivious was a benefit in some ways, but for now, she had a clear plan .

"Mr.Aizawa, let me do an internship."

"You weren't in the festival, I can't just hand you to a hero who has no idea what you can do, y/n."

"Well, you know what I can do, right?"

"No. I'm not doing internships. Stop asking."

"That's not what I meant! You can just tell them, or I could, it's not that hard to explain. Just say i'm all- powerful or some play on words like 'she's got all the right elements' hehe, see how i mimicked your voice there?" Y/n grinned like a child. She was proud of herself. 

"No. Still not happening."

"I wanna be an intern too, you raggedy ann looking ass hoe" 

"Y/n, it doesn't make sense, insulting me to get what you want?"

"Maybe it doesn't, but I bet you feel real insecure about your hair right now."

"You already have detention, what more do you want!"

"An internship, I wanna do one with kamui Woods, I have a good reason, too. As far as my quirk control, i'm the weakest with earth, the aspect that allows me to grow and manipulate plants and stuff. That's why I've only been using that part of it all month. Im trying to get her up to speed so I can start using all four at once. He is like a tres guy, right? He manipulates earth all day long. He could teach me a lot, and that aspect of my quirk would suit his well. Please!?!?!?"

If the girl had just asked again in a normal way, his answer would have been the same. However Aizawa was taken aback to hear how much thought she put into this. From the stories of the teachers lounge, he came to understand her big life goal, was to rely fully on a rich man or woman, and do nothing at all forever. Just to try and forget about the terrible life she was destined to have because of that quirk.

This side of her was something he could not even her mother had seen, and it prompted him to speak those words she wanted to hear so badly.

"Fine." 

[rubyofhouserocks]

figayda - the kids are all right (right)

(reposting for formatting reasons)

hi, this is an adorable prompt and was really fun to write. thank you!

ao3 link here

“You want me to teach you how to flirt?”

“Yes. Did you not hear me? Should I speak louder?” Ayda asks, raising her voice slightly.

“No, love, I’m just surprised is all,” Garthy says from where they’re lounging in the Gold Gardens. “After all, it’s not every day your parent-slash-child asks you for love advice. Ah,” Garthy sighs, “they raise you, die, then reincarnate and grow up so fast.”

“Please,” Ayda says, and though her level tone does not betray her, Garthy can tell that she is practically begging, “it is imperative that I learn this skill as quickly as possible.”

“Why’s that?”

“Fig will be arriving in Leviathan shortly,” she responds, hands fidgeting with the scroll that she is holding.

“Fig? The little tiefling girl who runs around with the Bad Kids?” This might be more challenging than Garthy originally assumed; if they remember correctly, Fig was pretty charismatic. She was probably rather experienced at flirting.

“Yes, she is extremely attractive, and I would like to be in a relationship with her.”

“Okay, well, you don’t wanna come on too strong, yeah?” Garthy says, gesturing vaguely with the bottle of mead in between their fingers. “Compliments are nice and all, but you don’t want to overdo it.”

“Is it weird or strange to compliment someone a lot?” Ayda looks nervous, and Garthy suddenly wishes that they could find every person who had ever made her feel bad about herself and personally kick them in the groin.

“No, no, compliments are very kind and wonderful, but flirting is about the chase, all right? It’s supposed to be a back-and-forth, like a dance. If you spend the whole time complimenting the person it’s hard to sustain any…” Garthy gestures with the bottle again, trying to convey the delicate communicative interplay of romantic repartee. It doesn’t quite come across. “Tension.”

“Duly noted. How, specifically, does one build that ‘tension’?” Ayda does not physically do air quotes around the word, but it’s evident enough in her tone.

Garthy thinks about it for a moment. The art of flirting is such a context-dependent one, but they also want to give Ayda actionable instructions. Eventually, they say, “if you can find a way to challenge her somehow, engage her in a little banter or maybe a friendly competition or some such, that can help build that tension you’re looking for.”

“And what do you do once the tension has been established?”

“Well, then you can start getting a little more physical, maybe put a hand on her arm, y’know?” Garthy says, waving the bottle rather dramatically now.

“Got it. I should keep the compliments to a minimum, challenge her to a friendly competition, and then touch her on the arm,” Ayda nods, committing the steps to memory like she’s reading an instruction manual.

“That’s about it, yeah,” Garthy replies, taking a sip of the mead to punctuate the thought.

Just then, the tiefling in question walks into the room.

“Hey Ayda, you look really nice today,” Fig says, voice bright and sincere. Garthy clears their throat. “Oh, and um, hi Garthy.”

“Hello, Fig,” Ayda says, and then opens her mouth as though to say something else. She quickly shuts it again, and Garthy imagines that she had intended to say something effusively kind back to Fig. Garthy maybe should have specified that it’s fine to return compliments, now that they think of it, but they figure that it won’t hurt her to play it cool.

“I’m really excited to visit the library,” Fig continues, not deterred in the slightest by Ayda’s terse greeting. “I can’t believe you’ve worked on it for so long. It’s really amazing.”

“You know, if we were to race to the library, I would probably get there first,” Ayda says matter-of-factly, despite it being a complete non-sequitur. Garthy’s heart clenches at how uniquely Ayda her attempt at following their advice is, all sweet and awkward and heartfelt, and they are filled with renewed affection for the girl. Sure, it might not be the smoothest flirting they’ve ever seen, but Garthy thinks teaching Ayda coy smiles and playful tones would have been above their paygrade.

The only question, then, is whether the advice that Garthy did give her is working; they watch Fig to gauge her reaction to Ayda’s challenge, and they see her frown momentarily, confused. It only lasts an instant, however, before a beaming smile graces Fig’s lips.

“I bet you would, since you’ve got those dope-ass wings and everything—you’re probably, like, built for speed. It’d be cool as hell to see you in action, too.” Then, Fig coughs and looks away nervously, “I mean, everything you do is cool, so…”

Fig’s outpouring of compliments flusters Ayda so much that she accidentally singes the edges of the scroll in her hand.

“Oh,” Ayda says, jaw clenched against some emotion, “that is really nice to hear. Especially coming from you, because…” She stops mid-sentence as she seems to remember Garthy’s advice. “I mean, yes. I am very cool and would definitely beat you in a race.”

It is clearly causing her physical pain not to return the praise.

As Fig and Ayda trail awkwardly into silence, Garthy realizes that it is possible that they have miscalculated the situation entirely. When Ayda reaches out a hand to touch Fig’s arm despite the very-much-not-romantic tension in the room, Garthy realizes that it is possible that they do not know anything about romance at all, because their advice was kind of terrible.

“Fig, darling, would you excuse us for a moment?” Garthy asks, a hand placed lightly on Ayda’s shoulder to steer her into the next room.

“What’s wrong? I was about to touch Fig on the arm.”

“Yeah, I know, that’s why I pulled you out,” Garthy says, scrubbing their palm against their forehead. “Look, forget everything I told you, all right?”

“I do not understand. I followed your advice to the letter,” Ayda frowns, brow furrowed.

“No, lovey, you did great, okay?” Garthy reassures her. “I just don’t think my advice will help you all that much. Listen,” they nod at Fig, who seems to have difficulty sitting still as she waits for Garthy and Ayda’s return. Her eyes keep not-so-surreptitiously sliding over to Ayda every couple of seconds before quickly glancing elsewhere. “I think your best bet is to tell Fig how you feel, honest and straightforward-like.”

Ayda frowns. “Garthy, I would never question the validity of your wisdom, but I do not see how that is different to my behavior in any of my interactions with Fig, save for just now.”

“Yeah, love, that’s sort of the point,” Garthy says. “Fig has said about fifty words to you, and nearly all of them have been about how wonderful you are. I think the rest might have just been prepositions.” They squeeze Ayda’s shoulder. “Frankly, I don’t think there’s anything that will make that girl like you more than you just being yourself.”

“Oh,” Ayda says. “That is…very relieving to hear.” She nods once, determined, and strides back into the room with Fig.

“Fig,” Garthy hears her say, “I think you are incredible in every conceivable way. I would like it very much if you would hold my hand as we walk to the library.”

Garthy sees a face-splitting grin form on Fig’s face as she reaches her hand toward Ayda. Fingers intertwined, the pair leave the Gold Gardens and head toward the library.

“Well then,” Garthy says to themselves, “let’s see if Ayda’s strategy works on the celestial down at the bar.”

[hoodedsuns]

Autumn Leaves | Lee Felix

Genre: Artist!AU, Fluff 

Summary: You couldn’t help but talk to the blushing boy that sat next to you. 

Word Count: 1K

A/N: Was this entire story just an excuse for me to write about a shy and blushy Felix? Absolutely 

Autumn was without a doubt your favourite season of the year. It was somewhat therapeutic to watch the once green and lively leaves slowly turn a comforting brown, colouring the ground a variety of shades with their body as they gently fluttered down from the sky like petals. But even as you sat amongst the towering trees and the gentle chirping of the birds, your eyes couldn’t help but wander over to the boy who sat next to you on the wooden bench.

He looked very boyish and had a youthful aura about him, you presumed him to be younger than yourself. You had to admit that he was quite attractive looking. He wore a cosy looking pink turtleneck sweater (that you wished was part of your wardrobe) and paired it with some black jeans. But overall, the thing about him that had first caught your attention was his bright orange hair that was styled to reveal his forehead, you couldn’t help but find it amusing that his hair blended in so well with the background. 

As you continued to discreetly peer at him from the side of your eyes and hastily looking away whenever he brought his gaze towards your direction, you realised that he was sketching something in a small notebook. Despite your logical side arguing with you to not be nosy and scare him away, curiosity won you over in the end, leading to you leaning your body closer to him in an attempt to catch a glimpse of what he was drawing. 

The sketch took your breathe away. It was a recreation of the beautiful scenery that surrounded the two of you, dead leaves and all. You didn’t think it was possible but he had somehow managed to capture the feeling of autumn on a piece of paper. The thing your eyes locked on to however, was the girl that sat in the very middle of the page, the girl that was sitting in the exact same spot as you were in real life. She looked beautiful.

“Is that me?” You couldn’t help but blurt out. His eyes shot up in surprise at your voice, shocked at how he didn’t realise when it was that you had moved so much closer to him. 

And as he stared at you with his pretty, black eyes that seemed to twinkle despite the fact that you both were shaded from the sun by the surrounding trees, you felt your heart melt at the sight of the freckles that were scattered across his cheeks like stars.

“Uh would you be weirded out if I say yes?” He shyly fiddled with the sleeves of his sweater as he looked down at his lap, determined to avoid eye contact with you. You were a little taken aback by how deep his voice was, a direct contrast to his young looks. You also took mental note of his rather prominent Australian accent.

“Why did you choose to add me into your drawing?” You inquired, now thoroughly intrigued. 

“Well I’m not sure what you’re referring to since it’s quite normal for artists to randomly draw the people they see around them for practice,” the words leaving his mouth a little too hastily, as though he had been practicing his answer. From the awkward smile he gave you right after his word vomit, you could tell that he knew how unconvincing his own words were too.

“Well it’s also because…” His voice slowly faded towards the end as his cheeks grew pink, matching perfectly with the colour of his sweater. You motioned for him to continue, lips quirked up in a knowing smirk.

He took a small breathe before looking you straight in the eye. “It’s also because I can’t help but draw a pretty scenery when I see one.” You could feel the gradual process of your cheeks heating up at how confidently he said that but you still managed to let out a small laugh nonetheless. “Well aren’t you a smooth one, what’s your name pretty boy?” you bantered, trying your best to hide how affected by that one line you actually were. 

It was strange, this was very unlike you. As vain as this might sound, you knew that you were considered attractive. You had boys flirting with you rather often and although it was something that you felt rather flattered by as long as they didn’t cross any boundaries, none of them had ever made your heart flutter like this before.

“My name’s Felix,” You nodded your head at his answer before giving him yours, heart speeding up at how beautiful your name sounded coming out of his mouth as he repeated it to himself with a smile.

“There’s an amazing cafe just around that corner, their pastries are to die for,” you winked at him with a smile before standing up and walking away. For a moment, Felix continued to sit there motionless, unsure if it was actually an invitation or if it was just him being too hopeful and misreading the situation. But he didn’t need to wonder about the meaning behind your words any longer as you turned back to shout, “Are you coming?” 

Felix immediately scurried up beside you, falling in step with your pace. “Did you just ask me out?” his eyes shone with happiness and a hint of mischief. 

“Hmm from what I remember, it seemed that I was just being a nice person and recommending a cafe,” you scratched your head in pretend confusion, laughter immediately escaping from your mouth at the huff of defeat and exaggerated pout he gave. Felix watched as your features scrunched up in happiness, mesmerised by your face of delight and completely smitten by the melodic laughter that came tumbling out of your pretty pink lips. 

As you quietened down, you felt yourself getting embarrassed from the way Felix looked at you, as though you were a precious gemstone, causing your cheeks to redden as you felt warm but wriggly on the inside. As revenge for making you feel all flustered, you intertwined your fingers with his, watching in satisfaction as his pretty pink cheeks made an appearance once again. 

You had a feeling that this wasn’t going to be the last time that you would see him.

[continuation]

[clericbyers]

[ based off this prompt on the topic of Mike realizing the crush he has on Will when Will returns to Hawkins with a new style and confident air about him ]

Will is more confident, more outspoken, more stylish, more himself than everyone ever knew before. Well, besides Mike. This is the Will he’s always known existed, the confident heartfelt smiling boy they had rarely seen since his disappearance all those years ago. 14 months away from Hawkins let Will be that person for the world instead of just Mike in the privacy of just the two of them. Mike isn’t sure how to feel; he’s happy that Will is happy—how could he not be?—but there’s a sizzling pond of jealousy blocking him from making the leap into complete satisfaction about this “new” Will.

He also hates how Will’s smile has got his heart doing laps in his chest. Oh, and how warm Will’s hand is against Mike’s bicep when he grips him while laughing. Also, how deep his voice has gotten, and how he glows a little when they make eye contact and Will states again how much he’s missed Mike.

Mike though has always been surprisingly transparent with his friends when it comes to his emotions, so when Will leaves to get changed into more comfortable winter clothing for their Party stroll, the rest of them turn on Mike with the speed of vipers.

“What got lodged up your ass and died, Wheeler?” Lucas scoffs with shock in his tone. “I thought you’d be more, well, excited to see our best friend back.

“I’m fine,” Mike spits back but his hands are fidgeting at his side and his cheeks are going pink. “And I am excited, Lucas.”

“You could have fooled me,” Max snorts from his side. The two are linking arms and Mike’s eyes linger for a moment before darting back to the door Will currently resides behind. “Are you and Will okay?”

“We’re fine. Peachy. Dandy. Why are you acting like this?”

“Because you’re acting like this,” exclaims Dustin. “You’ve been brooding since Will walked through your front doors, Mike, and you can’t say you’re not because it’s very obvious.”

Mike sputters. “Brooding? I’m not—I mean, seriously it’s just—no, I’m perfectly happy and satisfied right now.”

Dustin and Lucas exchange a look and Mike cries out in anguish. Max laughs heartily and then suddenly cuts herself off with a whistle. Mike whips around so fast his neck hurts a little but he can barely notice the pain when he spots Will standing in his bedroom doorway. Mike’s lips unconsciously part and his brain melts in his skull before any complete, coherent thought can be drafted.

Will’s wearing a soft beige sweater that’s a little big on him and pools over his shoulders and arms into sweater paws hiding the rings on his fingers. A golden necklace sparkles on his neck and Mike is struck with the sudden thought that perhaps it’s a necklace his girlfriend gave him and that swamps Mike with emotions he doesn’t want to parse ever. What he does remind himself though is that Will never mentioned having a girlfriend over the phone so it’s probably just Mike’s lizard brain jumping to conclusions.

Mike’s eyes trail down the dark wash jeans that seem really long—Will’s grown a lot, still shorter than Mike, but a lot taller than before—and look nice on him paired with the sweater. His sneakers look pretty new as well, not hand-me-downs like he’d been wearing for years. Mike pulls his eyes back up and takes in another deep breath when he locks eyes with Will. The bowl cut is gone, his forehead and ears are visible and he looks so—well, Mike can’t find a word for it because handsome is too formal and cute is for girls, but the quiff and trim haircut that’s so perfect for Will’s face has Mike’s hands sweaty and his mouth dry and he really can’t think straight.

“How do I look?” Will asks and he’s got that voice, his Mike voice as El put it once after a call a few months back. Even if Mike didn’t already assume Will was asking him and not the group at large, that voice would have confirmed it.

“Uh, you look,” and Mike’s brain cycles through hundreds of words from vocabulary tests over the years and yet, he still settles on, “pretty.”

Silence consumes the hallway outside Mike’s room and Will turns bright pink with a squeaky, “W-what?”

Mike is quick to shut his mouth and cough into his fist in an attempt to regain control of the conversation. He crosses his arms and leans against the wall with a huff. “I said you look shitty.”

“Shitty,” questions Will with a knowing smirk and Mike might actually die if Will does that again. “I’ll take it.”

The confidence raidiating from Will makes him far more touchy than ever before. Mike doesn’t even realize until Will’s return how much he himself always initiated contact between the two of them. Now that Will is the one reaching out to grab Mike’s arm, or patting his shoulder, or standing close enough that their pinkies might brush, Mike doesn’t know if he still has any brain left to compute the fact that Will is quite possibly flirting with him.

The more frightening part is that Mike really doesn’t mind it at all.

“I, uh,” stutters Mike when Will steps to his side and faces the rest of the group. “We should go? Before more snow falls. You know, uh, the weather said there would be more snow. Which makes sense because it’s winter. December. Snow season.”

“I can’t tell if brooding Mike or flustered Mike is better,” Lucas stage whispers to his girlfriend who giggles in response.

Mike sends him a dirty look before letting his gaze dart to Will beside him. The other boy is looking up at him and when they make eye contact, Will smiles, Mike’s heart flips, and Dustin makes kissy noises from the other side of Max. Mike flushes terribly and storms down the hall yelling at his friends to make their way outside. He gets stopped by his mom at the door where she forces his hands into gloves, wraps a scarf around his neck, and slaps a beanie atop his curled locks.

“Cute,” laughs Will when he passes Mike on the way out the door. He pats him on the arm on the way and Mike kinda stands in the doorway watching everyone else and wondering why in the hell he can’t stop thinking about Will.

El makes her way behind him and slips her hand into his own. Mike turns to share a smile with her before they both close the door and head over to the others. He definitely doesn’t let go of El’s hand once he notices Will watching them, it’s just that his glove is a little loose and he needs to adjust it. He definitely doesn’t find a way to stand next to Will while the Party crunches through fresh snow just to be near him and possible let their shoulders brush every few steps, he’s just falling into old habits from their younger years. He absolutely does not laugh a little harder at Will’s dumb jokes and stories about his new friends, and he certainly does not keep mentioning that he and El are friends now as if everyone doesn’t know that already. He just wants to make it clear to everyone that he’s very much single.

At some point during their stroll, Will and Mike end up behind the others chatting about simultaneously nothing and everything. It’s so familiar hanging out with Will like this that Mike can almost forget that he was gone for over a year. Will suddenly sneezes and Mike pulls them to a stop with concern. “Are you good?”

“It’s just a sneeze, Mike,” he huffs with a roll of the eyes. “I’m fine.”

Mike scowls and unwraps his own scarf. He loops it around Will’s neck, ignoring the thumping in his chest from being so close and, well, intimate with this act. Will won’t stop looking up at him, big colorful eyes swimming with something Mike can’t decipher but it keeps his gaze when he pats the scarf down. It keeps his gaze when his fingers trail up the scarf to caress Will’s pink-cold cheeks.

“Your nose is red,” whispers Will and the comment should have broken whatever this moment is but he’s using the Mike voice so Mike only smiles and hopes he doesn’t look like some lovesick fool.

“Yeah? Your’s too.”

Will grabs at Mike’s biceps and steps a little closer. Mike feels his heart leap into his throat. Will’s eyes are so green and there’s snowflakes on his lashes—oh, they should head back before the snow starts falling too hard. Mike opens his mouth to tell Will that maybe they should get to the others but Will closes the gap, leaning up on his toes, and Mike is shocked into silence.

Mike wonders if the snowflakes falling on his face are melting from the pure heat in his cheeks brought by Will’s kiss. His eyes flutter shut before he can think about the fact that he’s kissing Will, he’s kissing a boy, he’s never been attracted to boys before but it’s Will Byers, so it’s okay. This is okay. Mike does love Will, always has, and this kissing stuff is new, but it also feels so inevitable as the next step in their friendship. So Mike leans in, tightening his grip on Will’s face as he melts into the kiss and takes what Will is giving him.

They only break apart when Mike gets smacked in the back of the head by a snowball. He cries out and spins on his heel to glare at Dustin, who is cackling and doubled over in laughter. Lucas and Max are smiling and El is grinning at Dustin’s side with a happiness Mike hasn’t seen in a long time. Will laughs and Mike turns back to him, a question in his eyes that Will answers with a soft smile. He takes Mike’s gloved hand in his and pulls him forward with a call for the others to follow his lead.

Mike is a little dazed for the first minute or so, but once his brain comes back into his body, he tries not to have a complete breakdown before they make it back to the Wheeler house. Will gives him a glance and then squeezes his hand in comfort.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for years,” he comments casually. “Never had the courage to do so and then, well, El came into our lives and I never had the chance.”

“Will,” Mike croaks into the cold air. He watches his puff of breath and then sighs. “I—I didn’t know.”

“About?”

“How you felt. How I feel.”

Will hums. “Sometimes it takes being away from the situation to realize what’s there.”

They walk hand-in-hand through the streets for a few minutes before Mike speaks up again. “I, uh, I didn’t say you looked shitty back at the house.”

“I know.” Will grins up at him. “You called me pretty. I’m honestly flattered, Mike.”

“Hey! I just—you look so cool and awesome and you. Just, you.” Mike’s voice faulters. “I missed you in more ways than I thought I guess.”

“Yeah? I guess that explains your brooding.”

“I wasn’t brooding!” scoffs Mike. “I was just surprised seeing you so open with everyone else. It’s weird.”

“Jealous much?”

Mike shoves Will and grins when the boy laughs happily and turns to shove Mike back. Mike grabs him by the arm and pulls him in, taking an arm to his waist before spinning him around. Will yelps once his feet are off the ground but then giggles once he’s brought back to the ground. Mike is so overwhelmed with emotions—he’s never been good at keeping a good reign in on them—that he kisses Will so desperately as if the moment might slip from his fingers if they aren’t kissing.

Mike laughs as he pulls away, Will a little discombobulated but still smiling despite the sudden kiss. He knows that they have to talk things through at some point, what with Will living far enough away and Mike himself coming to full terms with, well, liking Will and wanting him this way, but for now, under the slowly falling snowflakes with twin smiles on their lips, Mike can only think about keeping Will at his side for as long as possible. Preferably forever and then some.