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subspencer · 4 years ago

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the to-do list

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Summary: Reader is worried that she’s not adventurous enough in bed. So, she makes a secret checklist of things to try with Spencer. Based on this request.

Category: Smut, 18+ ONLY, minors dni

Warnings/Includes: switch!Spencer, (sort of?) corruption kink, exhibitionism, mile high club, brief description of oral, unprotected sex, creampie, brief mentions of other stuff but no descriptions

Word Count: 3k

Spencer’s girlfriend has a secret checklist. It could be called a bucket list, of some sort, but really all of the items on it pertain to sexual acts to perform with Spencer, on Spencer, or in front of Spencer. So checklist is a more appropriate term.

The list came into existence after a girl’s night game of Never Have I Ever, in which she discovered there was an embarrassing number of things she’d never done. Some of them seemed nearly impossible to have gone twenty-something years without doing, especially when in a committed relationship. That was made abundantly clear to her when the girls pointed it out, teasing her — and by association, Spencer — for being more than vanilla.

There was no real reason she hadn’t tried those certain things — she wasn’t adverse to the idea of most of them at all. Really, it was just that she never bothered to dip her toes beyond what was familiar.

When Emily, Penelope, and Tara had nearly all ten of their fingers down after a couple rounds, she finally realized she might’ve been coming up short in the sex department. She figured it was about time to find out what she’s missing, so she made a list of everything she needed to try. And one by one, she and Spencer checked the items off.

One of the more simple things on the list, and perhaps her favorite, was giving her first blowjob. It wasn’t something she felt compelled to try with any of the guys she’s been with before, and Spencer, though he was very curious about it, was too much of a gentleman to ask for one.

So when she asked him to sit on the edge of his bed and dropped to her knees in front of him, he didn’t stop to ask questions. His mind went blank the second her fingers undid his zipper. It was Spencer’s first, too, and his fingers knotted in her hair as she took him in as deep as she could, hollowing her cheeks around his cock and swirling her tongue as her head bobbed up and down. Spencer always made pretty sounds in bed, but in this instance she envied his memory because she wished she could replay his moans and gasps from that first blowjob all over again in her mind.

Another favorite was allowing the favor to be reciprocated until completion. She figured she might just be someone who couldn’t get off from oral, because though she always welcomed Spencer to go down, she got impatient every time and pulled his head up by his hair, demanding him to fuck her already. Spencer was one to oblige every request, but he couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t overjoyed when one time she never stopped him short.

There were no interruptions, no hands shoving his face away from its rightful place against her, just increasing moans and shaking legs as Spencer was encouraged to give more. She can still remember the half-moon shapes his nails left on her thighs from where he had to grip them so tightly as she rode out her high. And she definitely remembers the almost feral look in his eyes after, because since that first time he insists on doing it again nearly every day.

There were more or less a dozen other items that slowly but surely got ticked off the list.

Handcuffs in the bedroom — fun, but perhaps better saved for special occasions. Or if Spencer was being extra good and deserved a treat.

Various new positions — a reminder to stretch more. And that sixty-nine is not as easy as it sounds on paper.

She let Spencer put a blindfold on her — it was decided they both prefer it more when the blindfold is on him. It keeps him guessing.

Spanking — both of them like this one, either giving or receiving. Surprisingly, she thinks she might like receiving it a little more, and Spencer is always excited to give.

Shower sex — a bit of a logistical nightmare, yet still a weekly staple. It’s slippery, yes, but it’s also relaxing and intimate. And Spencer just enjoys putting his hands on her wet, soapy body.

Sending dirty texts — great, but Spencer prefers taking nude polaroids of her instead. He keeps a few in his wallet for easy access. And because he knows Garcia can’t hack his wallet and find them.

And there were more items that went in the same tune until there was just one left. The one she was most nervous to attempt.

She wondered if joining the mile high club was better or worse if it was on the BAU jet. They’d have ample opportunities to do it, but they’d also be surrounded by their colleagues, and there is no coming back from getting caught.

But the main challenge was convincing Spencer to do it in the first place.

The initial plan of attack was to drop some “subtle” hints. She brought it up for the first time one night in their shared hotel room, right after Spencer fucked her against the bathroom counter, her legs wrapped around his waist.

“We could totally do that in the jet bathroom.”

“Yeah, I guess the basics are the same. Cramped space and a ledge to lean on.” Spencer was completely aloof as he picked up the scattered articles of clothing from the floor, rattling off about the size and dimensions of the airplane bathroom and missing the entire point of the comment.

She mentioned it again a little later, hoping the repetition may help him catch the drift.

“What’s the craziest place you’ve had sex?” she asked, completely catching him off guard as he ate a breakfast of frosted flakes in his kitchen.

“Um.. I don’t know? You tell me,” he shrugged, knowing that whatever the craziest place was, it was definitely with her.

“What about doing it on the jet?” It couldn’t get more obvious.

“We haven’t done that, silly. OH! I’m gonna say it was in my car,” he nodded with a wide grin, confident in his answer that unfortunately brushed past the proposition far too quickly.

It was time to change methods.

The new plan was to see if she could get him turned on enough on the jet to motivate him to do something about it right then and there. It seemed easy enough.

She sat next to him on the small couch, as she always did, and cuddled up to his side as he read his book.

Once everyone was distracted, she snaked a hand onto his thigh, allowing it to rest there long enough for Spencer to get over his initial shock and relax into her touch. As soon as he let his guard down, she moved her hand up another inch or two, watching him squirm again as he fought his mind from wandering. She repeated that cycle every five minutes until it drove him insane, his willpower diminishing in tandem with the proximity of her hand.

When everyone finally fell asleep, she craned her head to press small kisses on his neck, alternating between quick pecks and lingering ones, sucking warm and wet little flecks onto his skin that drew soft sighs without fail.

“What are you doing?” his breath was raspy and low as he muttered into her ear.

“Nothing.” She kept her tone innocent and sweet as she continued to sprinkle the teasing kisses across the column of his throat.

Her hand finally found its way directly on top of the bulge straining against his slacks and gave it a gentle squeeze. Spencer grinded himself into her palm, desperate to feel some friction, his jaw slacked and pupils wide. She dragged a thumb across his length, stopping to rub slow circles over the sensitive tip, drawing out a wet spot at the front of his trousers.

But even with his skin flushed red and his cock leaking and half-near orgasm, Spencer still found the restraint to stop her from jerking him off right on the jet and ripped her hand away, placing it in her lap as if the action could permanently force her to keep her hands to herself.

“I can’t go to the crime scene with cum in my pants,” he hissed, squeezing her wrist tighter.

She smirked at the opportunity, wrapping her warm lips around his ear lobe and tugging with her teeth before whispering with hot breath. “Then put it in me.”

For a second she saw him consider it. His eyes had a dark cast, gaze flickering between her eyes and lips as he swallowed the thick lump in his throat. But then Emily woke up and it was yet another failed attempt.

She resigned to the fact that it just wouldn’t happen, and that the item might remain unchecked on the secret list. So she cleared the idea from her mind, not wanting to keep pushing Spencer toward something he clearly didn’t have an interest in, or to keep embarrassing herself by trying.

And then a couple weeks later, as the team wrapped another case up, she came back to their hotel room to find Spencer sitting on the bed, facing away from the door.

“Hey, baby,” she greeted. When Spencer didn’t respond, she crawled onto the bed behind him, placing both hands on his shoulders and attacking the side of his face with kisses, giggling into his messy curls. “I said hey.”

Still nothing. Her eyes followed his line of sight down to his hands and went wide with realization.

“Spencer, where did you get that!?” She tried to snatch the crumpled piece of paper from him, but he was too quick to pull it away.

“I was looking for gum in your purse,” he explained, reading the sheet over again in complete amusement, “but I found something better.”

Spencer was much too excited about it, bordering on smug, and she rolled off the bed away from him in annoyance.

“Is this what I think it is?” She remained silent, suddenly feeling very insecure about the note. “Did you... did you make a list of things to do in bed?”

“You weren’t supposed to see that, it’s so stupid.”

“Hey, who said it’s stupid?” He tugged on her fingers, pulling her back onto the bed next to him. “I just wanna know where it came from.”

“Well... when I went out with the girls, we started talking about all the things we’ve done…” she paused to see if Spencer could guess where this was going, and of course he didn’t, “... in bed. And I hadn’t even done half of what they have, so I wrote some of them down. I — I wanted to try them with you.”

“So you… you’ve never done these with anyone else?” Spencer’s eyes widened as he pieced the puzzle together. He looked down again at the discarded sheet laying on pillows, his pride swelling at how long the list was. “I’m the first?”

She nodded in assent and no sooner was Spencer pushing her back flat against the mattress, settling his body on top of hers.

“God, that’s so hot,” he spoke into her neck as he sucked purple bruises into it, allowing his hands to roam freely under her shirt. His nimble fingers made quick work of her bra clasp, pulling the hem of the top up to attach his lips to her exposed nipple. He rolled the other in his fingers, tugging gently as she arched into his touch, rolling her hips up to grind against his. He groaned and pushed back, nestling himself perfectly between her legs.

Suddenly his motions halted and he popped his head up, looking at her with wide eyes and freshly ruffled hair. “We haven’t finished the list yet!”

“I — I didn’t think you were interested in the last one.”

“If my girlfriend makes a list of ways she wants to fuck me, I’m interested.”

A devilish grin took over her face. “Well, we fly home tomorrow.”

And true to the plan, they arrived on the jet the next day with at least a vague sense of strategy: wait until everyone is asleep then go at it in the bathroom. It wasn’t the most elaborate of plans, but there wasn’t much else to think of.

Except for the possibility that the others might not go to sleep.

The flight was already halfway through its journey and everyone was still wide awake, and Spencer was growing incredibly impatient. Perhaps even more than his girlfriend, now that he knew this would be part of a long list of things he got to be her first for.

That fact seemed to encourage him, the thrill of forever being her first at something. Never mind that she’d be his firsts, too.

Spencer’s not stupid, he knows that bending her over the bathroom counter while everyone is awake to hear it is a horrible idea. But his willpower doesn’t extend far enough to stop him from dropping his hand to her exposed knee, rubbing it softly just to be able to touch her. It seemed innocent enough in case anyone might see.

He kept his eyes on the open book he was pretending to read as his fingers traced the inside of her thigh, pushing up the hem of her skirt ever so slightly.

He inched his hand up and slowly spread his long fingers apart until they covered the length of her inner thigh. The tips stopping just below her cunt, delicately tracing lines back and forth parallel to the seam of her underwear.

And she quickly discovers there’s no taste worse than your own medicine. There was gentle brushes and concealed touches, all the things that she did to him. But where Spencer would’ve stopped her teasing before it got too far, she wouldn’t have done the same.

She covered up his hands by bringing her own down to her lap, silently encouraging him to continue unseen.

Spencer looked down at her through his thick lashes, bottom lip stuck between his teeth. Looking for more confirmation that she wanted this. The answer came in the form of her shifting subtly down the seat, pressing her clothed pussy firmly against his hand.

His cock twitched against the confines of his slacks when he felt the damp patch on the fabric. His knuckles brushed against her clit and her knees clamped shut, holding him in place as she brought her lips close to his ear to let him hear her soft whines.

He has to put his book over his lap to cover how hard he is, and it almost makes him regret starting this game. Almost.

Because just as she starts desperately grinding against his hand, squirming for more friction, he notices that everyone’s asleep. And then it’s a race to the bathroom, Spencer positioning her directly in front of him to cover his bulge as they stand up.

Their mouths are on each other before the door even closes, her hands wasting little time in going for his zipper. Both desperate to have each other after all the anticipation. She immediately perched herself on the countertop, spreading her legs wide so Spencer could fit in between them, just like in that hotel room. A confused whine fell from her mouth when he lifted her off from the ledge, interrupting her plan.

“No. Like this,” he growled, turning her around and pushing her hips against the edge of the counter, bending her over it. She muttered a “Fuck,” under her breath as he pressed his cock against her backside, knowing he preferred this angle because he could get deeper.

His lips trailed down her neck as he tugged the skirt up to her hips and pulled her panties to the side, running his cock along her folds to gather the wetness that had been pooling there.

“Shit, you’re so fucking wet.”

He quickly inserted his thumb into her mouth to stop any sounds from escaping before lining himself up. Her moans vibrated against the digit as he slowly pushed in, stretching her out and letting her adjust before starting to move. Slowly and deliberately, at first, then quickly gaining speed.

She pushed her hips back to meet his thrusts until he pinned them against the ledge with his own, holding them still so he could set his pace faster.

The hand that was resting on her waist came up to her chest, groping at the flesh over her blouse. Her spine arched into his palm, bending forward to give him more leverage to get deeper to that spot inside her repeatedly.

He alternated between a few quick thrusts followed by a deep one, holding himself there for a moment before repeating.

Her cunt tightened around him as he held still against her, applying firm pressure to her spot with the head of his cock.

“Fuck, do that again, please,” he grunted against her neck, pushing his hips into her ass with bruising force to get impossibly closer. A loud whine nearly escaped her lips as he did so, the motion sending her over the edge.

She sucked harder around his thumb, using it to keep her cries at bay as she reached her climax. Her walls fluttered around him as she did, giving him exactly what he needed.

“Remember what you said before, baby?” he hummed in her ear, “Do you still want me to cum inside you?”

“Please.”

Immediately his thrusts became erratic, hips snapping forward a handful of times before he spilled into her in hot spurts, biting down on her shoulder to stifle his moan as he came.

Still heaving from the comedown, he pulled her panties back on, using the fabric to keep his cum from spilling out.

She turned to feverishly attach her lips to his, panting into the open mouthed kiss. When they finally broke apart, both looked completely wrecked with swollen lips, flushed skin, bruised necks. Still, they tried their best to fix themselves, straightening out their rustled clothes and smoothing knotted hair.

Before Spencer turned the door handle, he pulled her side into him, pressing a kiss onto her forehead. “We should make another list.”

taglist: @suburban--gothic @ssa-sarahsunshine @mercy-burning @reidspurple @mediocre-writer @honeyboysteezy @ssa-m-187 @calm-and-doctor @drayshadow @s1utformgg @you-sunshine @altsvu @reidtheprettyboy @goose-eats-god @sonnydoesrandomshit @rigatonireid @muffin-cup @amoeebaa @reidingmelodies

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writer-in-theory · 3 years ago

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Treacherous (Spencer Reid x Reader)

summary: reader meets a man in a bar, both of them looking to forget how broken they are for the night. when she finds out he's dr. spencer reid, her new professor, reader discovers she's okay with the risk. series summary: a series of oneshots to celebrate the release of red (taylor's version). 19 songs, 19 fics. pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst with a bit of fluff and a happy ending content warnings: language, heavy sexual references (reader and Spencer spent a night together and reader references it A LOT, i almost want to say 18+ ngl), age gap (spencer is 38-ish, reader is in their early 20s), mentions of spencer’s trauma (including past drug use), post-prison spencer, a healthy dose of purple prose word count: 6.5k a/n: y’all, I had so much fun writing this. professor!spencer makes me feel things. anyway, i should have the next post up tonight and it will be directly tied to this one. also, thank you once again for all of the support i really love reading all of the comments and tags you've been putting on these fics. it's been making me so happy and motivated to write, so thank you 💜

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“I’d be smart to walk away, but you’re quicksand..."

Going to a bar alone was a completely different experience than going with friends. When you went with a group of friends, no matter how large or small, there was a protective barrier around you physically and emotionally. People tended not to bother you as much if you were already sitting with a group of people, meaning you could set your drink down on your table without keeping a hand over the top. It also wouldn’t matter if you couldn’t snag yourself a person to go home with, because at least you had friends to talk to.

Sitting in this college bar alone, drink on the table but hand resting over the top as casually as you could, you started wishing that you had invited a friend or two to come with you. It had genuinely seemed like a good idea at first. With the start of a new semester looming and all of the stress of last semester still waiting to be processed, all you wanted to do was get a little tipsy and go home with someone cute. Shedding your usual protective barrier seemed like the only way to do so, but in the meantime, you’d sat there for an hour with no one to talk to but the bartender.

Until he walked in.

You’d like to say you noticed him right away, but honestly, you didn’t notice he was there until his jacket brushed against your arm as he tried to get the bartender’s attention. It wasn’t a particularly busy night, but you knew the bartender as a guy in your class who had a habit of constantly trying to get on womens’ good side.

“Hey, Drew,” you called to the young man currently leaning over the bar and writing something on the napkin in front of a woman. He smiled when he saw you, rolling his eyes a little as you nodded your head toward the man standing beside you looking increasingly more out of place the longer he stood there. The movements normally would have been tough to notice, but this close you could see the way his thumb rubbed over his index finger in a soothing motion and he swayed a little on his feet like sitting still was impossible.

It was only once his drink was made—whiskey on the rocks, how adult—that the man sat in the barstool beside yours and looked at you. “Thank you,” he told you and his voice was soft enough to sound genuine. Finally allowing yourself to really look at him, however, showed a man who was anything but soft. His curly hair was pushed back off his face, revealing stubble around absolutely sinful lips and amber eyes that were hard as ice. His button-up was rolled up to his sleeves and finally noticing those hands, you couldn’t help but picture them touching you in a way that had you squirming a little in your seat.

“No worries. You would’ve been waiting all night otherwise,” you returned, trying to seem more confident than you were feeling at the moment. You took your hand off the rim of your drink only to take a sip, needing some of the liquid courage now. This was your perfect chance to fulfill your goal for the night, you refused to mess it up now. “I haven’t seen you around before, you new on campus?”

“You could say that,” he answered, only confirming your thought that this must be a professor. He looked young, but not young enough to be a traditional student.

“So, Professor,” you began, turning to face forward and smirking into your drink as his head whipped around to stare at you, “what are you here for tonight? Most faculty members stay away from the college bars, not wanting to see any underage students drinking.”

“Are you underage?” You thought about playing with him a little more, but the man looked so completely nervous of your answer that you figured you’d be nice.

“Definitely not. You can card me if you want though,” you answered. In truth, you were close enough to your 21st year that you still got a little excited handing over your driver’s license.

“I trust you.”

“That’s a risky move, Professor,” you teased, winking and—oh now that bashful look is just adorable on someone that attractive. “I think I’ll need to see some ID. You know, to make sure you’re of legal age and all.”

The man smiled and shook his head, amused by your teasing but nonetheless pulling his ID out anyway. You’d expected a driver’s license, honestly. All you’d wanted was to get this man’s name without fear of him making one up, but what you got was a clunky government ID sitting on your hand. “I thought you said you were a professor?”

“You said I was a professor,” the man teased back, eyes watching my hands as I unfolded the ID to reveal his name. Dr. Spencer Reid of the FBI. Well, that would explain the nervousness surrounding the age discussion. It also explained the sudden heat you felt in your stomach, fluttering at the thought that you were trying to get an FBI agent to come home with you. “You weren’t wrong, though. I have a temporary teaching position for the next month.”

“So I only have a month to woo you?” you asked, handing the badge back over to him and trying to ignore the way his fingers brushed over yours in the transfer.

“It seems so.”

“Hm, I’ll have to step up my game then,” you answered, taking another sip of your courage elixir before continuing, “So, Dr. Reid, you never answered why you came to a college bar tonight.”

“Why did you?”

“Maybe I wanted to have some fun before the semester starts on Monday,” you shot back.

“If that were true, you wouldn’t be sitting alone.” Ouch.

“I’m not sitting alone, I’m with you.”

“Were you going to sit and drink alone all night if I didn’t show up?” A smirk was pulling on his lips now, and surely he was already feeling the victory. You wouldn’t give in to defeat though, not yet.

“Are you interrogating me, Dr. Reid? Want to put the cuffs on me too?” You’d longed to see that bashful look again, but instead, his smirk only grew and a darker look settled in his eyes.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Want to find out?” There it was. He seemed a little surprised then, eyes widening and looking down at his drink suddenly.

“I’m not looking for a relationship,” he admitted and that was practically music to your ears. In your final year of undergrad, you weren’t sure you wanted to be worrying about a relationship either.

“What are you looking for then?”

“I’m looking to forget.” And how hadn’t you noticed it before? There were dark circles marking the skin under his eyes, he hardly looked at his drink as if it were something he was repulsed by. He’d entered the bar and immediately walked over to the easiest target: you, who was sitting by the bar drinking alone.

“Then use me to forget, Dr. Reid.” His eyes studied yours, likely trying to figure out if it was a genuine invitation. You let him know it was by flagging down Drew and closing your tab. “My apartment is a five-minute walk from here.”

You watched as he downed the rest of his drink and paid his own tab, eyes hardly leaving you. You’d be happy to help him forget for a night if it meant you’d get those hands on you. When he was finished, you reached out to grab his hand, leading him out of the bar and down the street.

“Let’s go then, Dr. Reid.”

It wasn’t a surprise when you woke up alone the next morning. What was a surprise was the blankets tucked over you purposefully and the still-hot coffee from the cafe next door sitting on your nightstand.

The time was also a surprise. Turns out having a hookup the night before the semester starts was a bad idea because you forgot to set your alarm and now there was a good chance you’d be late. You practically flew out of bed, throwing the first outfit you could find on. You brushed your teeth while putting your backpack together, throwing the brush in your sink and taking off, hot coffee in hand.

Walking into the lecture hall with a minute to spare was the greatest victory you’d have all week, you decided. Even better was the fact that one of your friends had saved you a seat in the front row. Putting a damper on your rush of pride, however, was the moment your professor walked in. He seemed a little hurried, adjusting his suit jacket as he walked and practically tossing his bag onto the desk in the front. His hair was messier than the first time you saw him, and you smirked at the idea that he didn’t have time to wash your touch off of him. The smirk quickly vanished, however, as the full weight of the situation hit you.

Dr. Spencer Reid was your professor and you’d just spent all night together.

It was easy to call you a good student. Pleasing people was sort of your specialty, and this helped you to exceed academically. You were the type of student who would always be conscientiously taking notes, scribbling down what the professor said like it would someday be a lifeline. Dr. Reid was lecturing on something actually interesting to you—you’d been delighted when you finally snagged a spot in criminal psychology—but all you could do was sip your coffee and stare.

You stared because his hands were waving around as he spoke, and you could practically still feel them against your skin. His eyes were scanning the room but you remembered the way he’d stared at you last night, looking upon you like you were Aphrodite incarnate. His suit covered as much of his body as possible, but you had seen it all before. You’d run your hands over his chest, found every scar littered over him, and kissed them to help him forget how he’d gotten each one. You didn’t know the story behind each, but you could guess the deep slice in the palm of his hand came from an attack against the agent, and you recognized the faded little dots in the crook of his elbow for what they were.

There was no way to pay attention after you told your professor to use you however he needed to forget his trauma, and he’d taken you up on it. Your friend had noticed too, it seemed, because when class was dismissed and you were still sitting, she nudged you and asked, “Hey, you feeling alright?”

“Huh?” you answered, jerking a little as she pulled your focus back to the present. “Oh, yeah, just tired I guess.”

“Ooh, so you did have fun last night,” she laughed, waggling her eyebrows ridiculously and succeeding in pulling a laugh from you as well.

“Yeah, something like that,” you chuckled, shoving your still empty notebook into your bag.

“So? Tell me all about it? Were they cute? Totally fantastic? Did they take care of you?” Normally these were all questions you would answer with brutal detail, but Spencer was putting his things in his bag just feet away from you. The thought of giving anything away about last night sparked an ache in your chest.

“I’ll tell you later, okay? I want to introduce myself to the professor before my next class,” you told her, giving the woman a hug before she took off for her next lecture.

Of course, you didn’t need to introduce yourself. Dr. Reid knew you better than anyone else in the room, you’d guess. Still, you wanted to talk to him. You had to talk to him. Glancing around to make sure no one else was still in the lecture hall, you made your way up to stand beside him. “Dr. Reid?” He didn’t even turn to look at you, still busying his hands organizing his things in his bag. “I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Y/N L/N,” and as you spoke you realized that never once had you given him your name before now.

“Did you know?” he asked then, voice calm but with an edge, you knew to be careful of.

“That you were going to be my professor? No,” you admitted.

“It’s on the syllabus. You’ve had it for a week now.”

“Do you really think any student reads the syllabus before the semester starts?”

“I did.”

“Then you were a dork,” you teased, knowing full well that you were definitely the type to read the syllabus beforehand, and you would’ve had your week not been so terrible. Terrible enough for you to go to a bar alone and pick up a guy more than a decade your senior. “And that explains why you’re so successful now.”

“You know this can’t continue,” Spencer answered instead, finally turning to look at you.

“It could, you just don’t want it to. I respect that.”

“Do you?” It was a challenge. His eyes were on fire, staring at you with such intensity that you wondered if he actually didn’t want to see you again.

“I do. I’ll be a good girl, I promise,” you answered, drawing an ‘X’ over your heart with a finger and smirking as his eyes drifted down to watch. “It’s great to meet you, Dr. Reid. I’m really excited about this course,” you spoke, sticking out your hand to shake in hopes of seeming more professional. You’d tease him, sure, but you didn’t want to cross the line before he was ready.

“I don’t shake hands,” he told you, eyeing your hand like it might attack if he got near it, “I have a thing about germs.” You shrugged, dropping your hand back to your side; but you couldn’t really help what slipped from your mouth.

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it last night.” Spencer’s eyes widened and his head reeled back a little, but then you watched as his eyes narrowed, darkened dangerously.

“This is what you call being a good girl?” Oh, and if this is what it took to hear him call you that then you’d tease him every day you could. “You better watch yourself, Y/N.”

“I’m watching, Sir,” you answered, hand coming up to hold onto the strap of your backpack. You smiled as his look only darkened at those words, eyes still looking below your face. “I’ll see you Thursday.”

“Have a good day, Miss L/N,” Spencer answered, returning to the professionalism that would have been expected in this kind of situation.

Still, you couldn’t quite leave it at that. So, you winked and said, “Thanks for the coffee, by the way,” before leaving the lecture hall completely.

For the next week and a half, it felt much like a game of cat and mouse. The only problem was, you weren’t quite sure who was the mouse.

During lectures, Spencer couldn’t help but linger on you when his eyes scanned the room. You could tell he was trying to stay professional, but his eyes would drift to the lower-cut shirt you’d wear that day or the hand resting on your thigh.

You tried to stay professional too. After all, while this class was technically an elective you still wanted to do well in it. While you wanted to go into psychology, this class was quickly opening a new door of opportunities for you. The criminal mind could be fascinating, you found, and it was so impressive that people—Spencer included—could profile the mind well enough to catch them. It was something you could see yourself doing someday.

Still, that didn’t stop you from thinking about what Spencer might like as you picked an outfit every day. It also didn’t stop you from finding a question to ask him every day after lecture, even if you already knew the answer to it. You might want to be a professional, but you were also a human with primal desires. You wondered if Spencer had been able to profile that about you, too.

You shuddered at the thought that Spencer was able to reach into your mind so easily and pluck out the most vulnerable parts of you. He’d demonstrated the skill plenty of times in lecture, bringing in old cases he’d solved with the Behavioral Analysis Unit and walking through how they’d used that information against the criminal (the “unsub” as he called them). What could he see in you? Did he see the desire you had to learn everything about him? How as time went on, you stopped imagining how his hands felt on you but rather imagined laying beside him and discussing how life had hurt him? Could he see the way you wanted to sweep up the pieces and help him forget not just for one night, but for as long as he’d have you?

Did he see the fear that this would someday hurt you, crush you in a way that no one had done before? You’d experienced heartbreak before, but it had been the cause of silly girls and boys who you no longer thought about. It had hurt in the way a scraped knee had hurt as a kid; stinging and pulling tears from you until the moment was over and you ran off to play again. As your game with Spencer continued, you couldn’t help but think that this would hurt like nothing else had before.

That didn’t stop you from wanting to play, though.

Just like every day before, as everyone else rushed out of the room you slowly put your things away and made your way to the front of the room. And just like every other time, Spencer was waiting for you.

“What do you have for me today, Y/N?” he asked, eyes alight with the kind of amusement that rubbed off on you, bringing a smile to your own lips.

“Well, Professor, I was just a little confused on the difference between a trigger and a stressor,” you spoke, watching as the amusement sparked and amplified in his expression.

“I have to say I’m concerned about you, Miss L/N,” he answered, moving to lean against his desk. “The exam is in a week and that’s a fairly simple concept we’ve gone over in detail.”

“That is concerning, Sir,” you played along, taking a step forward and watching how his eyes took on a more dangerous look. “It’s so important to me that I pass this class. Do you think you could tutor me privately?”

“Y/N,” Spencer warned as I took another step closer. His feet were inches from mine and we were close enough that if I raised my hand, I could touch him. I didn’t though, intent on having him enter the game willingly.

“Yes, Dr. Reid?”

“I seem to recall you telling me you’d be a good girl.”

“Am I not? You might need to remind me how that looks like.”

He just looked at you for a long moment, long enough to wonder if you’d pushed it too far this time. Then, the oddest thing happened. Spencer surged forward, pressing his lips to yours and digging a hand in your hair harshly. It reminded you of the night you offered yourself up to him, how he’d taken out all of his troubles on you that night.

“Wait, what if someone comes in?” you gasped against his lips, hands helplessly digging into his shirt. The doors on the lecture hall didn’t lock on their own, meaning anyone could walk in at any time to see you two pressed together like this.

“They won’t,” Spencer promised simply.

“What if they do? They’ll see us.”

Spencer pulled his head back just enough so he could look at you in the eyes, a smirk on his face that made you think that maybe he’d actually been the cat all along. His hand never loosened in your hair, keeping you watching him closely. “That never bothered you before. You’ve been teasing me all week, what did you think would happen?”

You didn’t have an answer. You knew what you’d hoped would happen, but had you ever expected him to touch you like this again? Absolutely not. It was reckless and dangerous; if anyone found out then his position and your reputation could be in jeopardy. The risk of it all almost made it better.

“If you want this to continue, you’ll be a good little girl in public,” Spencer was telling you, tugging a little on your hair and smirking at the whimper it elicited.

“And in private?”

“I’ll give you anything you want, all you have to do is ask.” The words went straight to below your jeans, warming you against the chill of the lecture hall better than a jacket ever could.

“I don’t do friends with benefits, or flings,” you spoke. As much as you enjoyed teasing Spencer, you didn’t want this to become that sort of relationship.

“As I said, Y/N, I’ll give you anything you want,” Spencer repeated, releasing his hold on your hair to move his hand down to your cheek.

“I want you, all of you.”

“Then you’ll have me,” Spencer spoke, voice so soft you could’ve imagined he’d never said it aloud at all. His lips were soft against yours then too, allowing you to take the lead. You reached up, your own hand tangling in his curls and keeping him pressed to you for as long as your lungs would allow it.

As the two of you parted only in the physical sense, you couldn’t help but think that this was a dangerous game to be playing. It was one where the risk of being hurt was greater than the chance of it working out. Still, as the lingering sense of danger loomed over your shoulders, you decided Spencer was worth the risk.

Fall had always been your least favorite season. The weather turned cold enough to freeze even your bones and the leaves turned brilliant shades of orange and yellow only to wither away when they were at their most beautiful. Days grew shorter and the darkness of night crept up on your heels, constantly reminding you of the approaching winter.

As October began, you wondered if one person could make you change your opinion on an entire season. Spencer was unlike anyone you’d met before. There were times when he was so strong and commanding, and yet others he was so gentle even you were afraid he might break under your gaze. You thought learning more about him would help you understand him, but as time went on you realized there was no way you would ever fully understand all of the intricacies and hypocrisies of Spencer Reid.

You’d grown more careful on campus. Where there were once stares there were now only briefly lingering glances. Before you had no trouble stepping into his personal space but now you kept your distance. It was easier now that you knew you would have him to come home to nightly.

Or rather, you would go home to him. Your apartment was too near campus, too surrounded by other apartments occupied by students. He lived across the Virginia border, nearer to Quantico where his primary job was and most importantly, away from any prying eyes of students or faculty members. So (almost) every night you two would leave campus separately but end up at the same destination: his apartment. Where once you would keep a night bag in your car, now there was a drawer of your clothes in his dresser and a little bag of your bathroom products on the counter next to his.

It was so domestic and comfortable that it scared you. The idea that it could all end and no one would know how much you meant to Spencer terrified you to your core. Your friends knew you had a partner but didn’t know anything about them. You didn’t even tell them Spencer’s gender, not wanting to give away anything when the risk was so great. The fact of the matter was, as you drove a half hour to spend the night with him and traveled even further to have dates, you felt more like his secret than his partner. You told yourself it was okay. After all, Spencer hadn’t hidden from you that he wouldn’t tell anyone about you. You’d gone into this willingly, knowing all of the risk and all of the hurt that would fall on you should this come to an end.

Still, as you sat in a restaurant two and a half hours from campus, the idea couldn’t quite be shaken from your shoulders.

Spencer had once promised that he’d never profile you but even in that moment, you knew it was an unintentional lie. After doing it for fifteen-plus years, it would be impossible to fully turn it off. Of course, he would notice the weight pulling on you and dulling your gaze whenever you looked at him that night.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right Y/N?” Spencer finally asked as he’d finished his dinner and you’d moved yours around on the plate more than you actually ate it.

The question felt more like a loaded gun than an invitation. You could easily imagine the revolver he often carried when he wasn’t on campus raised and aimed at your heart, daring you to threaten all of the good between you two.

“I know,” you answered simply, but the invisible gun never lowered. It also never fired, either.

“Even if it’s about school or someone in class. I’ll still be an unbiased professor, I promise,” Spencer continued, not realizing that what he thought were comforting words only served to click off the safety.

“There’s nothing wrong, Spencer,” you told him, staring as you took a bite of food as if to prove it to yourself and him.

“Are you sure? I didn’t know it was possible for you to be this quiet.”

“I’m sure.”

The gun was lowered for the moment, but it wouldn’t last. When you two got into your car—you’d found out early on that Spencer would rather walk everywhere than drive his car—it went off with a bang that deafened your ears.

“I feel like a dirty mistress,” you blurted out now that you could focus on the road ahead of you and not on Spencer’s face. Still, you could see him spin to look at you from the corner of your eye, lips parted in shock.

“What do you mean?”

“I just, all this sneaking around. It feels like we’re having an affair. I know I said I was okay with it but the longer it goes on, the more I feel dirty and wrong.”

There was silence for such a long time you wondered if Spencer would ever answer you. Was this it, the moment you’d been watching over your shoulder for since that day in the lecture hall? His words only seemed to confirm it as he said, “We don’t have to continue this if you’re uncomfortable, Y/N.”

“That’s the thing, Spencer,” you answered, never daring to sneak a look at him, making you miss the hurt that washed over his face at the thought of losing you. “I don’t want to stop this. I just don’t want to be a secret anymore.”

“You know we don’t have another choice.”

“There’s always another choice,” you spoke rapidly, unable to stop the flow of words once they began, “You’re done teaching the class in another week. In one week, you won’t be my professor anymore.”

“What would people think about you if they knew, Y/N? People can be cruel. I don’t want to see you get hurt because of me.”

“I don’t care what people think of me! They can think whatever they want, I just want to be with you.”

“You are with me,” Spencer tried, and this time you had enough courage to look at him at the red light. His eyes were shining in the reflection of the traffic light, face illuminated in the red glow. He was tense, jaw tightened and eyes narrowed, hands fidgeting with each other in his lap.

“Am I? We drive over two hours away just so I can hold your hand in public. My friends keep asking me who I’ve been dating and I can’t tell them anything about you. They’re so upset because they just want to meet the person who’s made me happier than they’ve ever seen me and I want to tell them so badly. I want everyone to know how much I care about you, Spencer.”

“I don’t know that I can give you that, Y/N,” he admitted in soft-spoken words that made you think you knew what it felt like to get a bullet to the heart.

“Then I can’t do this anymore.” You didn’t even register the words as yours, just that one second they were said aloud and the next a breathless gasp was slipping from Spencer’s lips. “This isn’t good for me, you’re not good for me.”

You pretended not to see the hurt on Spencer’s face, knowing you’d been the one that put it there after promising to be the one to take it all away.

As difficult as life was with Spencer, it was even worse without him. Simple things such as going to class or even somedays getting out of bed were nearly impossible. You didn’t go to Spencer’s class again until the final exam for his section of the course. You’d come in, sat in the back instead of your usual seat, and tried to focus on the exam instead of the way he openly stared.

It was easier when a week passed and there was no longer the fear of running into him on campus. Spencer Reid went back to his life at the BAU, and you could try to return to yours.

So you forced yourself to go to class every day you had it, began sitting in the library so you’d be pressured to do your work. You even began going out with your friends again, evading their questions about who had hurt you so badly. That was the worst part of it all, that in the worst heartbreak you’d ever felt, you couldn’t find any comfort in your friends. They did their best, but how could they comfort you over a situation they knew nothing about?

You never thought the grieving process would apply to you, but as time went on you found it comforting to psychoanalyze yourself. It was objective, allowing you to process your hurt with plenty of distance.

The denial ended when Spencer’s time as a professor did. It had been impossible to know he was on campus and you had no right to his time anymore. You told yourself that you didn’t want him anyway, that it was you who had ended the relationship so that clearly meant you didn’t need him.

The anger lasted the longest. How dare he make you care about him only to throw you away like this? He was the experienced one, the one who promised to give you every part of him. He laid with you as you spoke about your past experiences, your fears and insecurities. He’d sat beside you in a car and used each one against you. It was Spencer’s fault that you were hurting, and he didn’t deserve you anymore.

You weren’t sure where you stood on religion, but when anger morphed back into grief you found yourself laying awake until the late hours of the night asking the universe why it did this to you. It could have given you happiness and love, it could have given you a happy ending. Instead, all it gave you was the taste of happiness before cruelly tearing it from your grasp. It was then, delirious from a lack of sleep and your grief, that you called him. He didn’t answer, you hadn’t expected him to at 4am, but still you said everything you’d been thinking in the time since your breakup.

When Spencer’s birthday came and went without the celebration you’d promised him, the bitter sadness set back in. Everything between you two was well and truly over; killed by the gun he’d held, the gun you’d wrapped your fingers around and fired. It was that night you finally cried for him, for everything you could’ve had if you’d taken that damn class a semester later, if you’d accepted being his little secret, if he hadn’t been ashamed of his feelings for you.

A day later, you were leaving your apartment to head to class when you saw him. It took you a second to recognize the car—you’d only ever seen him drive it once—but sure enough, you could see his tuft of curls through the driver-side window as it sat parked in the apartment complex lot.

Before you could take off running, Spencer noticed you. He scrambled to get out of the car, and if this were a few weeks ago you’d have giggled at his clumsiness. Instead, you rolled your eyes and tried to keep walking past him.

His hand stopped you, though, curled around your forearm and squeezing just tight enough to keep you where you were. “Let go of me,” you spat out, eyes staring forward so you didn’t have to see him. You were scared if you saw him, actually looked at him, you wouldn’t be able to do anything but forgive him.

“We need to talk.” You’d forgotten how much you loved his voice, strangely soft compared to his trauma-hardened exterior.

“We don’t need to do anything. I have class, remember? You used to teach it.”

“Skip class today. I want to do something with you, please,” Spencer told you, “Just look at me, Y/N, please.”

You couldn’t help it. Spencer was there begging for you like you’d imagined so many times after the breakup. This moment showed up in your dreams so often you’d stopped yourself from sleeping many nights just so you wouldn’t have to see a fake version of what you wanted. It was here, though, happening before your eyes. So, you sighed and turned, finally taking Spencer in.

There was so much pain in his eyes. You winced, missing his hand as he finally let go of you. “Why should I skip class, Spencer? What could you possibly say to change anything?”

“Trust me, Y/N. Let me have today, and if this doesn’t change anything then I won’t bother you ever again.” It sounded convincing, genuine.

“I can’t get hurt like that again, Spencer, it’ll break me.”

“You won’t,” he promised, and that was the moment you knew he could have today. If nothing else, maybe this is what you’d need to finally get over him. So you nodded, allowing him to guide you over to the car you’d never been in before.

You fidgeted for the entire half-hour drive. Nervousness bubbled up and out of you as neither of you spoke, wondering what Spencer had planned. What couldn’t he tell you about now? He was nervous too, fingers tapping on the steering wheel and eyes taking every free second to look at you as if he was checking to make sure you were still there.

The nerves only grew when the sign appeared. FBI Headquarters, Quantico VA. “Spencer, what are we doing here?”

“You’ll see.”

“No, I don’t want to see. What are we doing? Are you arresting me for something?”

A playful smirk you hadn’t seen in weeks lit up his face, finally showing Spencer could feel something except for pain and fear. “Why, do you want to be arrested? I still have the handcuffs.”

“Spencer,” you repeated pointedly as the building came into view.

The car was parked and finally, he turned to you. His hands raised as if to take yours but paused, apparently thinking better of it. “I want you to meet my team.”

“Why?” The bundle of nerves twisting your stomach only grew. You didn’t want this hope to be building in you, knowing with one second he could snuff it out. This wasn’t fair.

“They’re my family. I want them to meet the person who has made me the luckiest man on Earth. Some people believe there’s only a ten percent chance you’ll meet your soulmate. Before you, I didn’t know if I believed in the concept of soulmates.” Spencer sighed, licking his lips and allowing his gaze to drop down for only a moment before snapping back up to meet yours. “I love you, Y/N. I don’t want you to feel dirty or used when you make me happy in a way I never thought I deserved.”

“Does this mean...?” You didn’t dare say it aloud, not wanting to hope for something doomed to fail.

“Yes, Y/N. I don’t want you to be a secret. I want you to meet my family and I want to meet yours. I want you to live with me and I want you to be mine.”

You were sure you’d never breathe again. Spencer’s confession took away the ability permanently, leaving you breathless and trying to understand the weight of his words. “Don’t make me believe again, Spencer.”

“You don’t have to answer right now, Y/N. I know I’m asking for a lot. You don’t have to believe right now, just come meet my family.”

You nodded, able to agree to as much. The pair of you got out of the car and it was you who grabbed his hand, pulling a noise of surprise from him that made you squeeze tighter. You may not be able to forgive him right now, but it would come. There was hope because like always he knew exactly how to comfort you, how to make you feel like the most special person in the world. So you walked beside him to meet his family, already knowing that the risk was worth it. This hope was dangerous, treacherous, but you would take the risk of falling if it meant you could love Spencer for even a moment longer. Of this you were sure.

SERIES TAGLIST

@samuel-de-champagne-problems @alexlovescriminalminds @reidsbookclub @givemeth @fightingdragonswithreid @girloncorneliastreet @silverhetdanes @just-a-human-witha-pen @shemarmooresfedora @rexorangecouny

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #loving you was red #my fics

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secondhand-trash · 3 years ago

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Employee of the month

A/N: based on this thing I mentioned yesterday lmao

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi x reader

Description: You were a barista but you sucked at your job.

Word count: 2143

Sakusa would not exactly call himself a coffee snob, and he felt safe to say that he was nowhere to being an addict either. His journey with caffeine really didn’t start until college, when his motivation to get into class slowly diminished as balancing academics and his sport became more and more of a burden on him. He credited his sharp mind to the double (and sometimes triple)-shot he always picked up on his way to any morning classes he unfortunately had the rich flavour of the crema shaking the cells of his body awake, keeping him afloat until his mind had snapped back into its senses on its own terms.

He was not a university student anymore but old habits died hard and he still preferred starting his day with a nice cup. Now that he was not doing it to jerk his brain into functioning, he had more time to think about what he liked rather than what worked on him. He preferred hot coffee, although he had been wondering if it really was the case or the coffee shops he went to just suck at making iced coffee. It annoyed him when “coffee shops” sell too many things that weren’t coffee, even more so when the interior or decor was clearly the main focus of the shop rather than the quality of the services they provide. He preferred his beans natural, but he wouldn’t be mad about a semi-wash either. Italian style remained superior to him but he also saw the value in newer waves of innovation in coffee culture.

He was keen to try new menus and new places, but he valued the shops that never let him down even more. Luckily for him, one of such locations was conveniently a few blocks away from his apartment and just one left turn away from the MSBY Black Jackals clubhouse.

The familiar chime rang in his ear as he pushed the door open, the comforting scent of coffee grinds and the busy sound of steam from the espresso machines made his mind at ease. He discovered this cozy place a while after moving to Osaka and he had treated it as his hidden gem ever since. It gave him a slither of pride when he later discovered that, while not an internet famous spot, this place was rather well-loved among coffee lovers. Ever since then, he would come here whenever he wanted something good and he knew this place would never disappoint him.

It was always quiet when he came in, with most tables being empty and just one or two staff standing by at the counter. Today, it was only you, standing behind the cashier with your polished name tag and your crisped uniform. Sakusa immediately noticed that he had never seen you before and a quick glance at the pin in front of your apron that said “trainee” confirmed that you were a new hire.

You put on a bright smile when he approached you, your voice loud and clear as you greeted him, which did do something to brush away his momentary concern from being thrown off by the unfamiliarity of a new face in the place that he went to for consistency.

“Good morning! What can I get for you today?”

Sakusa’s order had stayed consistent since he walked into this place for the first time and as he made a beeline to his usual spot, he stole a few more looks at you from the corner of his eyes. You paused in front of the machinery for a brief second, mumbling a few words to yourself before grabbing the steamer jug from the side. You seemed... nervous, as you gulped before pulling the steamer’s metal tube outwards and into the mouth of the jug.

It concerned him moderately, but Sakusa decided that he would just have to trust the process.

He had never gotten bad coffee at this place before, it should be fine.

“Your coffee, sir.”

Sakusa was not a coffee snob, really. Beyond his insistence that he was not the slightest bit pretentious, the least he ever wanted was to become a difficult customer, but that didn’t do much to stop his eyes from physically widening when he saw the concoction you had put in front of him.

He had ordered a standard latte, but the amount of foam piled onto the chubby glass looked like it was about to run down the rim like an avalanche if he did so little as move the plate closer to him. The white easily took up at least one-third of the glass, the bubbles not even spread out smoothly on the top. Sakusa looked at the peaks on top of his coffee that made it looked like the drink had grown tumors, not even looking displeased as he registered what he was seeing in his head.

That... was not what he remembered a latte to look like.

And you seemed to be self-aware too, not moving at all as you stood awkwardly next to him while he remained silent. He blinked, his eyes darting between your fidgeting hands and the, for a lack of better words, ugly cup of coffee.

Your fingers curled around the tray you held onto, your tensely folded arms lifting it higher and higher against your chest like you wanted to disappear behind it if you could. He finally took a good look at you for the first time since he walked in as you stood there waiting, like you were expecting him to send the drink back with you.

Which, he honestly would have loved to but now that you seemed prepared to be scolded, he didn’t have the heart to anymore. In an attempt to put you at ease, Sakusa picked up the glass and brought it to his lips, taking a sip to let you know that it was alright. The sip, which was almost like a gulp as he tried to reach past the foam, almost made him choke when the gruesome bitterness was the first thing that hit him on the taste buds. He forced it down, the corners of his lips twisting uncontrollably at how bad it tasted. It was much hotter than he had expected, together with the bitterness and the excessive amount of foam, he was safe to say that you must have scalded the milk when you were trying to get it to foam.

No wonder why you looked like the steamer was about to execute you just earlier.

The brief niceness he felt was completely overwhelmed by the bitterness that now lingered between his teeth and he looked up at you just so he could say something about it but the look on your face made words died in his throat together with the acids that were burning in his stomach. You looked shocked initially, and then it was taken over by the sheer look of glee on your face. Your hands relaxed at your side, the soft curve of your forearm disappearing into the cuff of your rolled up sleeves. The corners of your lips lifted up and as your throat bobbed with the smile, he noticed the delicate charm sitting just above your neckline.

No, he did not have the heart to do it, so all he did was let out a discrete sigh as you hurried back to the cashier as the next customer came in, staring woefully at the stirred up layer of foam and the coffee underneath that he refused to take another sip of.

It’s alright, he repeated in his head all while gulping down on the cup of water he took before sitting down to wash the terrible taste in his mouth away. Everyone needs some room for improvement, even though that room was getting built from the ground up.

The next day, Sakusa came back at the same hour as the day before and it was you being alone on shift again. You seemed like you already recognised him, perking up when you saw him behind the counter. He ordered a cappuccino this time and he went quiet when there was only a floating cloud of foam on top. Still, he didn’t say a word about it.

He came back for a third time at the time when it was your shift, much to his and your surprise. He learnt his lesson from the last two trials, opting to get a fool-proof long black instead of anything that needed a single droplet of milk. It looked promising enough when you put it in front of him and with his expectations already lower than low, Sakusa took a large sip without a second thought. It turned out to be a huge mistake, since he failed to hold back on the reflective gagging when the gut-hitting taste of burnt coffee hit him in full force. You panicked as he patted his chest, rushing to get him a tissue as he tried not to choke on his spit.

“I think your grinds might be burned,” he said, trying to be as calm as he possibly could, all while hiding his flushed face behind the napkin.

He never said a single word about how questionable your skills as a barista was, or ask the genuine question of how you were working there despite clearly not knowing a single thing about what you were doing. He wanted to, but never had the heart to when you just looked like you were happy to hand him his drink, mourning yet another waste of his money on bad coffee as you walked away without knowing his agony.

Instead, all his complaints and grumblings went to the next group of people he would see right after he left the cafe.

“I just had,” Sakusa said, “the worst cup of coffee I’ve ever had in my life,” finishing with a huff as he slammed his practice bag down onto the bench, successfully catching the attention of his teammates that were scattered around the changing room.

Bokuto twisted towards him from his locker, “But Omi-omi, wasn’t the worst cup of coffee you’ve had in your life the one you had yesterday?”

“No,” Sakusa gritted, his face scrunching up, “the one today is worse.”

The rest of the Black Jackals never really know what to say when Sakusa went on his coffee rants. None of them was exactly coffee experts, most of them were casual drinkers at best. Miya had tried to chime in with the half-assed theories he heard his brother mentioned briefly, only to get absolutely demolished when his seeming understanding made Sakusa explode even more. Since then, they had learnt the lesson to just nod and listen instead of trying to be smart.

“I don’t even know how they managed to make coffee that tastes like that,” Sakusa said exasperatedly as he unzipped his jacket, “it’s been, what? A month? Let’s not even talk about improvements, I think they might have just gotten worse!”

The other men in the room looked at each other. “Sakusa san,” Hinata was the one who decided to raise the question after the others shared a knowing look, “why don’t you just go to another coffee shop, then?”

Sakusa’s arms that were roughly shimmying his jacket off of his shoulders halted to a pause, the garment hanging around his frame halfway comedically as silence filled the room as he failed to give an immediate answer. The team watched his face went from a blank expression to one of genuine confusion as if he didn’t know why he had not considered that himself. But the brief whirlwind on his face faded just as quick, his look of certainty returning as if he had not wavered at all.

“It’s the only coffee shop that is between my house and the clubhouse.”

Miya frowned as he looked up. “That’s not true,” he said, raising his hand up as he counted the few shops he could think of at the top of his head, “there’s a couple more just around the block—”

“Well, I didn’t know about them,” Sakusa cut him off, sending daggers his way and the blonde pretended to zip his mouth with his hand.

“I’m just saying,” he threw his hands up in defeat, “there must be something you really like about that place for you to keep buying from them.”

He had a faint idea what that thing could be, the common denominator in every trip he made. It used to be its good coffee, but the coffee hadn’t been good in a while, not after you started working there yet it was after that when he started going daily.

Sakusa shivered at the thought, and slammed his locker shut.

The next day, he still went back to buy bad coffee from you anyways.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu imagine #sakusa x reader #sakusa imagines #sakusa imagine

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helloalycia · 4 years ago

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teenage dirtbag [three] // wanda maximoff

summary: Wanda's boyfriend continues to be an aggravation in your life, causing some distance between you and Wanda

warning/s: none

author's note: i really appreciate the feedback you guys gave in the last part – it’s always motivating to read your reactions/comments 🥰

Sorting things out with Wanda made everything return to normal in no time. So much in fact that she decided I was worth inviting to her and her brother's birthday party.

Never in a million years did I expect the most popular girl in our grade to know who I was, let alone invite me to her birthday party, so to say I was surprised was an understatement.

"It's not a big deal if you can't make it," she said when she handed me the invitation in class. "I mean, I'd love it if you could, but yeah, no pressure."

I was in awe, accepting the invite and reading it quickly. It must have been a pretty expensive party if she was giving out special invites, that's for sure.

"You want me to come?" I asked, still unsure whether this was a joke or not.

"Only if you want to," she said quickly, eyes darting around the room and anywhere but at me. "Like I said, you don't have to. It's not a big deal and– I– yeah." She pressed her lips together and stopped rambling, offering me a small smile.

"Thanks," I said quietly, slotting the invite in my notebook. "I'll, er, I'll think about it."

She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and faced forward, nodding. "Yeah, sure, no rush."

After that awkward conversation, I discovered she'd also invited Y/BF/N, the two of them developing a little friendship the more she'd hung out with me. He didn't mind going, but only wanted to do so if I went.

"I feel like I kinda don't wanna go," I admitted to him after school as we were studying in the library.

"Oh?" He rose an eyebrow. "And why's that?"

I played with the pencil in my hand. "I don't know, it's just– it's gonna be full of all of her other friends. And they don't really like me. Plus, her dick of a boyfriend is gonna be there. I just think she might have invited me to be nice. Like she might have felt like she had to because we sit together, y'know?"

"I think you know that isn't true," he said knowingly. "Maybe, just maybe, she actually wants us there, wants you there, to celebrate her birthday."

I chewed the inside of my mouth, giving it some thought. But the idea of going to Wanda's house party and seeing a bunch of people I didn't care about getting pissed wasn't comforting. Besides, even if I went, I'd probably see Wanda once before she'd get scooped away by Nate. What was the point?

"Nah, I don't think I'm going," I decided. "She won't notice. I'll just get her a present instead."

Y/BF/N sighed, clearly not impressed with my answer. Nonetheless, he said, "Okay, suit yourself."

"You can go if you want," I added, knowing his presence wasn't linked with mine.

"No Y/N, no party," he said with a dismissive shrug, and I couldn't help but smile.

"Such a good friend," I said teasingly, but there was truth to my words. And I knew he knew that.

When I saw photos and videos of Wanda and Pietro's party all over my social media the day after, I knew I'd made the right choice in not going. It was the same visuals of everyone getting drunk, doing stupid shit and making a mess. Call me a loser, but that wasn't really my scene. Pietro and Wanda both seemed to enjoy it though, judging from the pictures.

Instead, I bought her a birthday present, knowing I didn't have to but I kind of wanted to, and planned to give it to her when she turned up to class. It was her birthday today, despite throwing the party over the weekend, so I hoped it would make up for my absence (thought I doubted she noticed).

She showed up and settled beside me as I was writing the date in my notebook, making me look up to see she'd made an extra effort to dress up for her birthday, looking fancier than usual. I couldn't help but smile at the giant '18' birthday badge pinned to her jacket.

"Happy birthday, Wanda," was the first thing I said when I saw her. "You look amazing."

A bashful smile appeared on her lips. "Thank you, Y/N."

"I hope your party went well," I said, giving her my full attention whilst trying not to drool over how beautiful she looked.

Surprisingly, her smile faded and her eyebrows knitted together. "Yeah, it did... could you not make it? I tried looking for you and– yeah..."

I opened my mouth to speak, admittedly a little embarrassed that she'd caught me out. I was sure she wouldn't notice – the pictures made it seem like there were loads of guests, I'd definitely have blended in if I were there – but clearly I was mistaken.

"I just thought–" she began, before shaking her head. "Never mind."

"Sorry, I thought–" I started, but like her, didn't know what to say. "Parties aren't my thing," I admitted truthfully. "But it looked fun. You enjoyed it, right?"

She nodded, a small forced smile on her lips. "Yeah, right. It's cool. No biggie."

I swallowed awkwardly. It seemed like a biggie and now I felt bad.

"I, er, got you a gift," I blurted, hoping to change the subject. Reaching into my backpack, I pulled out the terribly wrapped present and held it out nervously. "I hope you, er, like it."

Her eyebrows raised as her eyes flickered between the present and I. "Oh? You didn't have to. I wasn't expecting anything."

Was it hot in here or was it just me?

I pulled my collar away from my neck, hoping to circulate some air. "I wanted to. It's not a big deal."

She accepted the gift, fingers brushing mine and making me even more nervous, before opening it up. Her eyes sparkled with delight as she revealed a brand new leather paintbrush carry case.

"The one you always carry around is tattered and falling apart, so I thought I'd get you a new one," I explained, feeling like I had to. "I mean, unless the other one has some sort of sentimental value, then in that case, I can just return this."

"Are you kidding? I love it!" she exclaimed, looking to me with a grin. "It's beautiful, Y/N. I don't even know what else to say."

My shoulders relaxed, a relieved smile tugging at my lips. "Good. Th-that's good. I'm glad you like it."

Without warning, she moved forward off her stool and wrapped her arms around my shoulders, pulling me in for a hug. I was startled, unable to think straight with her body pressed so close to mine and her floral perfume wafting into my nose. Why did she have to smell so good?

"Thank you," she muttered, pulling away but not quite letting go. Her eyes were glowing as they watched me carefully, accompanying her weak-in-the-knees smile. I was sure I'd melt. "It means a lot."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak for fear I'd say something stupid. I resisted the urge to look down at her lips, which were pulled into a small, appreciative smile. She let go of me, looking to the case again and unravelling it. I caught my breath meanwhile, my senses still on override as her perfume lingered.

She was just so damn beautiful.

—

"Okay, how about this – robotic or organic aliens. Which would you rather invade our planet?" Y/BF/N asked.

I chuckled at his question. "Definitely haven't thought about that one, but let's see..."

We were hanging in the bleachers out near the football field as we waited for football practice to end. Y/BF/N had a Film project to do and needed to film the field, so I offered to help like the good friend I was.

"Probably organic," I answered as I balanced on the bleachers, standing up and tiptoeing down them like steps. "At least we could reason with them if they tried to kill us because they'd have a conscience. Robotic aliens would just be programmed to take over and that's it."

Y/BF/N seemed against the idea as he played with his camera. "Yeah, but if they were robotic, all we'd have to do is launch a missile at them and they'd explode. You can break metal. It's harder to break organic matter."

I stifled a laugh. "You've given this much thought, I see."

He gave me a knowing look. "You telling me you don't think aliens exist?"

I stopped tiptoeing and stood still as I looked down at him with humoured eyes. "You know I know aliens exist."

He waved his hand like that was enough reasoning. "There you go then!"

I laughed, wondering how he thought of this stuff, then continued to balance as I walked down the bleachers. Probably the wrong choice as when I heard a voice call me, I looked up, saw it was Wanda, then proceeded to miss a step and fall onto my arse.

"Oh God, Y/N, are you okay?" she asked, moving forward to help me.

My face heated up as Y/BF/N laughed his arse off beside me. I accepted Wanda's hand and let her pull me up, before letting go immediately when I could handle it myself. Her presence always made me nervous, but this was just terrible.

"Yeah, I'm good," I said, glancing at her and freezing at her piercing gaze and suppressed smile.

"You sure?" she asked, glancing at Y/BF/N, before trying to hide her own laughter.

Fuck me, why was I such a mess whenever she was around?

"Very sure," I said, though my back began to ache from where I hit it. "What's up, anyway?"

Y/BF/N finally shut up, to my relief, and Wanda minimised her laughter before scratching her head.

"I'm waiting for practice to end so I can take Pietro home," she said, nodding to the field. "I saw you both sat here and thought I'd say hi. Are you guys watching practice?"

"Not really," I answered, before tilting my head to Y/BF/N. "We're just waiting for it to end so Y/BF/N can film for his project."

"Ooh, that sounds interesting," she said, intrigued and looking to him now. "What's that about?"

As he caught her up on it, I found myself checking Wanda out without realising. She was animated as she listened to Y/BF/N talk about his assignment, eyes giving him all of her attention, and a permanent smile was fixed on her lips as she listened to him. Though it wasn't directed at me, I felt butterflies swirling a storm in my stomach and clutched it, hoping they'd go away. I loved and hated the feeling all at once.

Breaking me from my reverie, a football flew past all three of us and hit the bleachers, startling us all. We looked in the direction it came from and saw the football team looking back at us, some laughing and some disgruntled. Two players ran towards us and when they got close enough, I made them out as Pietro and Nate.

Nate was laughing as he looked between us all, before his gaze fell on me. "It's Y/N, right? I feel like I'm always throwing that thing at you. Sorry about that."

But his constant laughing and lack of guilt refuted his words. I merely clenched my jaw and narrowed my eyes his way, not that he seemed to care nor notice. I was a mere fly in a world that revolved around him. He'd never notice.

"Babe, I'm sorry, I didn't even know you were over here," he added, looking to Wanda. "You okay?"

Wanda crossed her arms and seemed frustrated. "I'm fine, Nate. Just get your ball."

He shrugged and grabbed his ball. Before leaving, he pressed a kiss to Wanda's cheek which made me wince, but she made no attempt in enjoying it. He didn't seem to care as he took off running back to his team. Pietro smiled apologetically at the three of us.

"I'm sorry," he said genuinely. "He can be such a dick sometimes."

That was the understatement of the century.

With that, he turned and ran back to his team to finish up. Wanda sighed, running a hand through her hair, as Y/BF/N and I exchanged glances.

"I should get the car running," she said awkwardly, pointing a thumb over her shoulder and towards the car park. "Good luck with your assignment, Y/BF/N. And I'll see you tomorrow, Y/N."

Waving goodbye with an awkward smile, I watched her leave and wondered the same thing I always did whenever Nate decided to make an appearance in my life.

How could she be dating such a dick?

—

Apart from the birthday party I didn't go to, I'd never been invited (or had a reason to go) to Wanda's house. I'd seen it, rode my bike past it, but never actually been in it. So, when she invited me to her place to work on a project we'd been assigned in class, I was unsure how to feel. She was adamant though and I had no reason to say no, so the only thing left to do was say yes. Even when she offered to drive me there after school.

"This is your car?" I asked with disbelief.

I knew absolutely nothing about cars, but I wasn't blind. Hers was a gorgeous deep red colour with a convertible roof that was currently lowered so anyone in it would feel the sun on their back and wind in their hair.

"Yeah, you like it?" she asked as she got into the driver's seat.

I gulped and sat in the passenger's seat, throwing my backpack at my feet. "It's so nice. You sure you don't mind me drinking in this?"

I had a Pepsi bottle in my hand and was deathly afraid of opening it now in case I spilt it and the cleaning bill would be more than I made in a year at the pizza parlour.

She laughed, already pulling out of the car park. "Of course. Don't be silly."

I glanced in her direction, trying not to get distracted by how good she looked in the driver's seat. She was wearing a red leather jacket, funnily enough, matching the exterior of her car, and she had dark eyeliner around her eyes, accentuating the shape and colour of them and leaving me speechless whenever she looked my way.

"There's CDs in the glove compartment," she was saying as she focused on the road. "Or you can mess around with the radio. It's up to you."

"CDs?" I asked, it piquing my interest. I reached into the glove compartment, adding, "What is this, the 2000s?"

She rolled her eyes playfully, accepting my teasing, as I flicked through the small stack of albums.

"I don't know, I guess I just like having the physical version," she said with a shrug. "It's kind of like a collection."

I chuckled at her need to explain herself, watching the way she rubbed her neck nervously, smiling with embarrassment. Looking back to the albums, a particular one grabbed my attention and I plucked it out with raised brows.

"Oh my God, you like Paramore?" I asked, looking to her with surprise. "Now it's definitely the 2000s."

Her cheeks flushed as she grew flustered. I nudged her in the side gently, getting her attention briefly.

"I'm kidding," I reassured, tilting my head her way playfully. "I actually love Paramore. They're my favourite band."

"Really?" she asked with surprise as I put the CD in her car. I hummed in response, to which she continued, "Have you ever seen them live?"

As For a Pessimist, I'm Pretty Optimistic played quietly in the background, I nodded my head. "Yeah, once. It was a few years ago, but the tickets were shitty and I could just about make them out on stage in the distance."

Wanda laughed, the sound making my heart skip a beat. "No, that's so sad!"

I chuckled in agreement. "Yeah. It was, but oh well. They have a tour coming up this summer, right? Maybe I can get better tickets this time 'round... what about you? Have you ever seen them live?"

She hummed, making a turn at some traffic lights and chewing her lower lip as she focused on doing so. It was definitely the wrong time, but I found myself admiring how attractive it was, especially when her jaw tensed and her defined jawline was on display.

"Yeah, I saw them a few times," she finally responded, pulling me from my stupor. "Some really good seats, some really shitty ones." She giggled at the end, making me smile. "Maybe we could go to that concert in the summer. If you're up for it?"

This seemed like one of those times where you made plans with a friend that you knew would never happen, so to not cause an awkwardness in the conversation, I nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, maybe."

She glanced at me and I mirrored her smile, the flash of excitement in her eyes knocking me breathless.

When we reached her house, I was awestruck at how big it was from the inside. I mean, it looked huge from the outside, but the inside was even better. Her family were rich, I knew that, but this was some other level of rich.

"Here, c'mon, I'll get you a drink, then we can go into the dining room to start," Wanda said, failing to recognise my amazement and instead leading me to the kitchen. "We have tropical juice, apple juice, water, Sprite, Cola... which d'you want?"

I settled at the island, taking a seat and subtly admiring her kitchen. "Er, apple juice is fine with me."

She smiled brightly before pouring me a glass, whilst pouring herself some Sprite. Standing opposite me, we both took a moment to have a drink, but didn't get chance to exchange words as her mum entered the room and noticed me instantly.

"Y/N, it's so lovely to see you again!" she said kindly, patting me on the shoulder before heading to the fridge. "You girls hanging out? Studying?"

"We have a project," Wanda filled in as I nodded in agreement. "We alright to claim the dining room?"

After grabbing some water from the fridge, Wanda's mum pressed a kiss to her daughter's cheek. "Sure thing, sweetie. If you need anything, just let me know." Smiling once more at me, she said, "It's good to see you, Y/N."

"You too," I said with a friendly smile before she left.

"Come on," Wanda said, motioning for me to follow. "We have tons to do."

The next hour and a half was spent with Wanda and I planning out our project, our work sprawled along the dining table messily. We were making progress, until she got a call suddenly. It seemed serious as she gave me an apologetic glance and excused herself. I let her go and leaned back in my seat, wondering what I could do as I waited for her to return. That thought was resolved quite quickly when Pietro popped his head in the doorway and spotted me.

"Y/N! What an honour to welcome you to our humble abode," he exclaimed, entering the room fully. "What brings you here?"

Pietro's presence always brought an amused smile to my lips. "Wanda and I are working on a Chemistry project. She's just nipped out for a phone call."

He tutted dramatically, crossing his arms. "Well, well, well. We can't have that! Wanda needs to learn to entertain her guests. C'mon. I was about to head to the gaming room and could use the company."

I was visibly surprised. "You have a gaming room? Dude, that's awesome!"

He laughed. "C'mon."

Joining Pietro, the two of us headed to this so-called gaming room and I was not disappointed. There was a huge TV with a PlayStation and Nintendo Switch connected to it, a snooker table, a foosball table, a dart board, some old arcade games – it was amazing, any gamer's biggest dream.

"What you feeling, princess?" he said with that flirtatious smile of his.

I rolled my eyes playfully. He was being overtly flirty, more so than his sister was – was it a Maximoff personality trait or something? – and I wasn't sure whether he meant it or was just being his usual self.

"Are you flirting?" I deadpanned, tilting my head curiously. "I can't tell."

He pocketed his hands, swinging back on the heels of his feet. "That depends. Is it working?"

Despite my lack of interest in him like that, I felt my face heat up at the attention. "Pietro, I must tell you that any moves you attempt to make kind of won't work."

"And why's that?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the snooker table with a cheeky smile on his lips. "Am I not your type?"

"Unless you change into a girl, then no," I played along, making him flush with embarrassment. "Hate to break it to you, but I'm gay."

"Okay, I guess that makes sense," he mumbled to himself, before sighing and meeting my eyes. "We can still be friends, right? Or is that forbidden since you're already friends with my sister?"

I laughed and approached him. "Friends works. I don't think Wanda will care. I certainly don't."

He grinned. "Awesome! Well, d'you wanna play a round of foosball?"

"Sure," I said with an amused expression. "Bet I can kick your arse."

He pushed himself off the table and feigned surprise. "Oh? Game on, Y/L/N."

I didn't realise how long Wanda had been on the phone until I managed to get through three rounds of foosball and was in the middle of a snooker game with Pietro.

"You may have beat me at foosball, but you're terrible at this," he pointed out with stifled laughter.

I'd missed my third shot and it was more funny than it was embarrassing.

"Your talking distracts me," I said dismissively, before lining up the next shot with my cue.

He watched as I tried to take my shot before sighing loudly. I glanced at him with a quirked brow.

"You have a thought you'd like to share?" I asked playfully.

He hesitated, moving forward to correct my posture. "Look, if you just aim it like this–"

"Don't even think about it, Romeo," I said jokingly, standing up straight and pushing him away gently. "I know what you're thinking."

He laughed. "What? I was just going to help you aim!"

I gave him a knowing look. "So holding me close is just a bonus?"

"Fine, take your shot without my help and see what happens," he said dismissively, waving his hand.

"I'll do just that," I said with confidence, before bending down and taking my shot. The ball hit the other and neither were pocketed, which was an achievement as I'd got the cue ball in several times before, but still pretty shit as I didn't score any points.

Pietro smiled with satisfaction, leaning on his cue. "You happy with that?"

I held in a laugh as I looked to him. "Shut up."

He chuckled before bumping me out the way. "Now for the professional."

Bending down to take his shot, he pulled back his cue before hitting the balls. They rolled around on the table and one ball was about to go in, but I quickly grabbed it before he could get the point.

"Y/N!" he shouted between laughter. "That's cheating!"

"Technically we didn't establish rules," I pointed out, before moving backwards as he tried to grab it from my hand. "What do you say to calling it a draw and playing something else?"

"I say that's a childish way to admit you've lost," he responded, before moving forward quickly. I dodged his attempt and he pursed his lips. "Y/N."

"Pietro."

He smirked. "Seriously?"

I grinned.

He tried to grab it again and ended up chasing me around the room as I avoided giving in. Taking the piss out of Y/BF/N enough times had prepared me for moments like this, so I was able to avoid Pietro long enough to run into whoever walked through the door.

"Shit, Wanda, I'm sorry," I said between laughter, steadying both me and her.

She smiled with confusion, about to speak, but Pietro caught up to me and lifted me up, throwing me onto the couch before I could protest.

"No more cheating," he said sternly, as I lifted my head from the pile of cushions on the couch to look up at him.

"You're an arse," I said, pushing myself up off the couch.

"And you're a sore loser!"

We had a mini staring competition before the two of erupted into laughter.

"You're not half bad, Pietro," I complimented as he helped me up.

"Thank you, princess," he said, the flirtatious smile on his lips again.

I shoved him in the shoulder playfully before looking to Wanda, who was chewing on her lip as she looked between Pietro and I with an unreadable expression.

"So, what prompted you to leave Y/N alone for an hour?" Pietro asked, wrapping an arm around my shoulder, making me shove him away. He grinned at me before looking to Wanda.

"Nate called," Wanda responded carefully, arms crossed as she continued to look between us. God, I hoped she didn't think Pietro and I liked each other. That would be embarrassing.

Pietro scoffed from beside me, making Wanda sigh with annoyance.

"Don't start, Piet," she said and gave him a look which he seemed to understand.

By the sounds of it, Pietro didn't seem to like Wanda's dick of a boyfriend either. That was strange since wasn't impressing the brother the first part of being in a relationship with someone? And they were on the same football team, so I figured he'd at least tolerate him.

"Are we alright to get back to studying?" Wanda asked, directing her stare to me. The annoyance she held for Pietro was still present in her eyes and I suddenly felt nervous when she looked my way.

"Yeah, of course," I said, before giving Pietro a half-smile. "Rematch at snooker next time. Sound good?"

"Try to keep the balls on the table and we'll see," he teased, before nodding to Wanda. "You should get back to your project before Wanda kills us both with her deadly glare."

I smiled awkwardly, looking back to Wanda as she was indeed glaring at her brother. Clearly there was some sibling rivalry going on here, and I definitely didn't want to get in the middle of it, so I headed to Wanda, signalling I was ready to leave.

The two of us headed back to the dining room in an uncomfortable silence. I felt like I'd done something wrong and she was giving me the silent treatment which was strange. Then I figured it was probably something with Nate that made her annoyed, so didn't question it too much.

We sat back down and I looked at what we'd done so far to try and pick up where we left off, but then she spoke out of the blue, taking me by surprise.

"Do you like my brother?"

It was so abrupt that I took a moment to acknowledge it, blinking. "What?"

"Pietro," she clarified, saying it with such dismissiveness like it wasn't a big deal. Her attention was on the books before us as she continued, "Do you like him?"

I tried not to laugh as I shook my head. "No, Wanda. I mean, don't get me wrong, he's a great guy. But yeah, no, I don't like him like that."

She chewed her lip, nodding, but I swear I saw a hint of a smile on her lips. I hoped it wasn't the thought of Pietro and I that made her annoyed. I wasn't that bad, was I? I know she cared about her brother and was probably overprotective, but me being his girlfriend couldn't have been that bad, right?

We got back to work in no time, getting a lot done. I didn't realise how late it was getting until Wanda's mum poked her head in, asking if I wanted to stay for dinner.

"Dinner?" I asked, eyebrows raising with surprise. I checked my watch and realised how long I'd been here. "Damn, maybe I should head back."

"Nonsense, you must stay," her mum insisted. "Y/M/N won't mind. A daughter of hers is a daughter of mine."

"You can even sleepover if you want," Wanda offered, and I almost choked on my own spit. "It's getting pretty late."

I shook my head, forcing a small smile so they wouldn't get offended. "Honestly, it's fine. I can head back."

"Please?" Wanda asked with a hopeful expression. "It's the least I can do. I kinda wasted your time for an hour earlier..."

"I should ask my mum," I said, chewing on the inside of my mouth.

"Oh, I'll ring and let her know," Wanda's mum said breezily, before looking to Wanda. "D'you think you can clear your things up? Your brother is gonna set the table."

"Sure, mum." Wanda smiled her way as she left, before looking to me. "I've got clothes and a spare toothbrush you can use tonight."

I smiled awkwardly, nodding. Sleeping over at my crush's house wasn't how I thought I'd be spending my Wednesday evening, yet here we were.

#wanda maximoff au #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff #elizabeth olsen #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #marvel #mcu

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rainydaydream-gal18 · 4 years ago

Text

Bad Batch x Jedi!Reader: Ghosts

(Author’s Note: I’m baaaacccck! I’ve had a rough few weeks and found almost no inspiration or motivation to write here, but I woke up this morning and felt like a new person. Thank you for waiting and for continuing to read, like, comment, and reblog!

Anyway, this was a request I received moons ago, and I just wanted to say to the Anon who requested that I did not forget about it and I’m so sorry for the wait. For real, thank you for the request, and I hope you like it.

OG Request: Can I request a bad batch and reader who was their sister, they were also a Jedi. But then order 66 happens and the bad batch tries to kill her but she escaped after being shot by crosshair. She ends up working with the ghost crew and meets up with them during rebels, she's almost scared of them. She also tears up seeing how much older the are

Warnings: blaster wound, some angst, fluff ending)

Got your back,” you growled, using your lightsaber to block some incoming shots. Hunter fired his blasters at the group of oncoming droids that headed toward you.

Wrecker was plowing through the enemy squads like it was nothing, giving an enthusiastic yell here and there. He paused to give you a thumbs-up with a gloved hand, and you grinned back. Crosshair was picking them off from his position off the immediate battlefield. He blasted one right in front of you.

“Nice shot!”

Tech was handling things just fine on his side. You moved past him to cut through a few droids nonetheless and exchanged nods of appreciation.

Just another day with the Bad Batch, the rogue squad that had come to be your family over the course of the war. You had adjusted to living life on the wild side- dangerous missions and poor odds. The group managed to get through each one, and you grew stronger.

This mission, to invade and destroy the Separatist base from the inside out, was a particularly risky one. But like the others, this one was going rather well.

Or it had been. Until Tech alerted Hunter of an incoming comm that was rather urgent.

You didn’t see who the transmission was from. You caught a glimpse of the blue form displaying on Tech’s comm before having to deal with an oncoming droid. You planted a thermal detonator and somersaulted away so it could blast the last of the droids, and you’d be ready to check in with your squad about the comm.

As the battlefield went dead silent after the fall of the final droid, there was a shift. That was the best way to describe the feeling. Something just wasn’t right. You glanced over to see Hunter and Tech standing perfectly still as they received the message. That’s when it hit you. Whatever it was, it was deadly, and you knew you needed to get your squad out of there.

You turned fully toward them, lips parting in the beginnings of a warning about the shift in your feelings. You could only hope they’d listen to you and get out in time without an argument. Your voice was cut off at the sight of three visors facing you with blasters aimed your way.

“Guys?” you called, eyes flickering to each of them. “Hunter? What’s going on?”

Two more visors, Crosshair’s and Echo’s, joined them. Cross kept his rifle ready at his shoulder, aimed at you as well. That’s when you realized they weren’t in danger. They were the danger.

“The jedi are traitors to the Republic,” Hunter’s voice echoed in the space between you. “By order of Sidious, they are to be executed for their crimes, and that includes you.”

“W-what?” You grasped your lightsaber tightly, not wanting to raise it and alarm them further. “I haven’t done anything. We’ve been fighting for the Republic. See those droids?” You nodded in that direction. “I cut them up myself with my lightsaber to protect the galaxy. We did it together.”

“Stop trying to reason with us,” Crosshair hissed. “You’re...a...traitor.” He hesitated, body quivering for a moment as his visor looked to the ground. Whatever cloud of confusion had settled on him, it was like he tried to fight it.

“It’s me,” you said. “It’s __________.”

Hunter’s body shook again before he aimed the blaster at you with resolve. “You heard Sidious, boys. Order 66 must be carried out.”

Searing pain traveled through your shoulder as you made a run for it, causing you to stumble. You spared a glance behind you to see the Bad Batch giving chase. Crosshair had actually shot you. A different kind of pain exploded in your chest at the betrayal. Even though you knew this Sidious was behind it all. Even though you knew it wasn’t the real Crosshair. It still hurt.

Despite the physical and emotional agony, you kept running. You deflected more blaster shots with your lightsaber, using your abilities to leap into the nearest ship. The presence of your closest allies began to fade as you took off, leaving to shoot at the vehicle to no avail.

Fortunately, you and the squad handled dangerous missions on your own without too much Republic assistance, so you were able to get into space without encountering any other soldiers. When things quieted down and you were faced with the blur of stars and planets outside the viewport, you shrank back in your seat from the weight of grief. For the first time, you allowed yourself to grieve. The life of a jedi was by no means easy, but you were trained for years to not give into such strong attachments to avoid the dark side’s pull.

This time, you let the tears fall for your squad. You let the sob rip through the lonely ship. It was a relief to cry, but not enough to dull the pain. It was like a fresh wound, raw and stinging.

“Crosshair, Hunter, Wrecker, Echo, Tech…” you cried their names, demanding an answer from no one in particular. Just then, a beep sounded amongst the ship controls that alerted you of an incoming message. You sniffled and answered, eyes widening at the sight of Jedi Obi Wan Kenobi.

“...I regret to inform you…”

- - - - - - - - -

“__________? What are you doing?” Ezra called. “We’ve got to go!”

You glanced his way from several feet away, holding up a hand as a signal for him to wait. Something felt off about this place. It was a feeling you hadn’t felt in a long time. A long time.

“Is this a jedi thing?” he asked, walking over. Despite being quite skilled and talented for one so young, he was still very early in his training with Kanan. Nothing could quell his curiosity, though.

You nodded. “There’s something...someone...here. I think I know them.”

“It’s just an old ship,” he shrugged. “It is a scrapyard, after all.”

It was a good point. The place looked rather abandoned to the naked eye, but you could see beyond appearances. There was more to this ship than just a heap of metal. Something felt oddly alive about it.

“I’m going to check it out,” you said.

“But Hera said-”

“Ezra,” you interrupted with as patient of a tone as you could muster. “I need to do this. I’ll be right back.” You took a few cautious steps forward only to hear him walking behind you. You peeked at him over your shoulder to see a determined expression on his face.

“If something really is going on, I’m not letting you go in there alone.”

“Ugh, fine,” You pretended to be annoyed, though deep down you were glad he was coming along. Something stirred inside you. You sensed a presence that you hadn’t in years. Could it be…? No, it couldn’t.

“__________?” The all-too-familiar voice called. A face popped out from the old ship. Even among the wrinkles and white hair, you recognized a piercing set of brown eyes. Your own eyes widened as your instincts took over, and you turned to bolt. “No, wait!”

“Stay back!” Ezra warned, hands raised to the figure that emerged from the ship quickly. A much taller figure stepped out, and this fellow threw his head back and laughed.

You froze in place, taking in the aged faces before you. None of them held the same conflict in their gaze as they had the last time you were with them. They held their hands up as a gesture that they carried no weapons.

“_________, it’s alright,” Echo called. “We mean you no harm.”

“Please, don’t go.” Hunter’s tone sounded so pleading; it made you want to cry. You did not sense any evil intent on their part. It was a good sign that they were no longer under Emperor Palpatine’s control. Over the years, you discovered what exactly had happened to your squad. Old Republic files you’d hacked revealed that something known as Order 66 had occurred, and you had pieced together the horrible plot to overthrow the jedi. Like the others, you had to stay hidden- even from the Bad Batch.

“How do I know this isn’t a trick?” you asked hesitantly.

Tech took a step forward, and you gripped the handle of your lightsaber as a warning not to approach. His eyes flickered to the weapon before he took a step back. “After Order 66, the new Empire retired us. I had quite a bit of free time, and while doing some research, I stumbled upon a report: it told me all about these biological chips.”

“And we removed them!” Wrecker said. He turned his head to the side, his pointer finger tapping on a scar on the bald skin. By then, you started walking towards them. You couldn’t believe how they had aged so much. You were in front of Crosshair first, reaching a hand up to touch his weathered face. He didn’t tense like he used to every time you accidentally brushed against him. As a matter of fact, he even smiled a little. Age had worn down his tough-guy act.

“It’s...good to see you,” he said.

Then, all at once, the tears started flowing. It was like you picked up right where you left off all those years ago. You threw your arms around him, and after a few moments of crying into his shoulder, you felt his arms come up to hold you comfortingly. “Cross...I missed you so much!”

“I missed you too.”

“Hey,” Wrecker grunted. “I missed you! Don’t I get a hug?”

You laughed through the tears and turned to give him a hug only to be lifted off the ground in a familiar, enveloping embrace- the kind only Wrecker could give. He set you down laughing with you, and you pulled Echo and Tech into a little group hug. They both smiled widely, Echo chuckling, as you pulled them tighter. Then, you were faced with an aged Hunter who looked conflicted. You could feel his warmth and happiness to see you, but he also carried guilt. You quickly wrapped your arms around him, and he hugged back.

“__________,” he murmured. “I’m...sorry-”

“Not another word,” you interrupted. “It wasn’t your fault. None of you are to blame.”

“But-”

“Not another word,” you insisted, flashing him a smile. He returned with a handsome grin that showed the old Hunter even through his aged appearance. It brought more tears to your eyes. “I’m so glad we all found our way back together.”

“Um, __________?” Ezra spoke up. He gave a shrug, confused about the interaction.

“I’ll explain,” you told him. “Bad Batch, this is my friend, Ezra. Him and I are members of a crew that does what it can to mess with the Empire.”

“Oh yeah?” Wrecker asked. “As soon as our chips were removed, that’s what we started doing.”

“Really?”

“Indeed, we’ve made significant progress,” Tech said.

“Well,” you sighed, resting a hand on his shoulder plate. “What do you say we regroup and mess with the Empire together?”

“I think…” Hunter stroked his chin in thought. “I think that sounds like a great idea.”

#clone wars #star wars: the clone wars #bad batch #star wars the bad batch #clone wars the bad batch #bad batch x reader #bad batch reader insert #star wars rebels #star wars reader insert #star wars #the clone wars reader insert #clone wars x reader #jedi!reader #bad batch x jedi!reader #tech #crosshair #hunter #echo #wrecker

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thnxforknowingme · 3 years ago

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Superfluous information about In Orbit

My inspiration, writing experience, and initial outline.

My idea for this fic started when I read Normal People while rewatching Glee, and I was interested in playing around with the already sort of on-and-off nature of Klaine’s relationship in S4-6, but on a longer timeline (also I wanted them to actually complete their college degrees instead of all retreating to Ohio). I wanted to show a longer arc of them dealing with the long-term consequences of the first breakup, and how they grew as individuals before they could heal from that, while also being very messy along the way. Their relationship was definitely the focus of my initial idea - but I'm really pleased with the career plots that developed kind of naturally along the way.

At the time that I started actually writing, I was temporarily living by myself in a weird, run-down studio on the lower level of a house. The summer was hot and smoky and there was of course the ongoing pandemic, so I was kind of holed up and isolated, constantly watching Glee (and other TV) and singing to myself and destroying my circadian rhythm. The way I’d motivate myself to get off the couch and get ready for bed was by deciding that I could plot out upcoming scenes while I was brushing my teeth. I can’t overstate how many early plot moments were conceived while I was pacing the bathroom, staring at my dim-lit expression, toothbrush sticking out of my mouth. I guess I’m just trying to say that the start of this story felt more or less like a fever dream, but I’m so happy with what it ended up being.

I wrote out this vague outline to start. George ended up being less of a creep than I first intended, and there were some minor adjustments, but otherwise I actually stayed quite faithful to it throughout the writing process:

Kurt @ NYADA can hustle and finish in 3.5 years, completing degree in spring 2016. Blaine, taking four years to study music at NYU, will finish in spring 2017.

Fall 2013: Blaine moves to New York. Kurt and Adam have just broken up. Kurt and Blaine are both single for the semester. At the very end, before going back for the holidays, they finally hook up.

Spring 2014: Kurt and Blaine are friends with benefits. Maybe they try and date/hook up with other people too, but mostly it’s the two of them. In May, Blaine gets asked out by a guy in one of his classes, and decides he and Kurt can’t be hooking up while he’s dating this guy. Things go well, and they become boyfriends. Kurt is shocked to discover that he really misses having Blaine around, that he unreasonably dislikes the new boyfriend.

Summer 2014: Both boys are in New York over the summer. In late June, Kurt meets a kind of sketchy guy who he starts seeing - it’s never exclusive, never ‘boyfriends,’ but their casual sex is consistent. Blaine hates this guy, thinks he’s a bad influence. This drives a wedge between the boys, and they don’t talk much over the summer.

Fall 2014: Sometime in September, Kurt stops hanging out with the sleaze. He and Blaine mend things, and are on decently friendly ground. Over Thanksgiving, Blaine’s boyfriend goes home, and ends up having sex with a friend from high school who he had unresolved tension with. He tells Blaine, and Blaine freaks out, but tries to work through it. The relationship sours, though, and before Christmas they break up.

Spring 2015: Blaine studies abroad (in Florence?). He and Kurt keep in contact over text and email. Blaine seems to be having a really good time but is actually feeling quite lonely (maybe in a quasi-friend group where he always sort of feels the odd one out). What is Kurt up to? I think this semester he has like, three different guys crushing on him at various times, and some of them are even pretty hot, but he’s just not feeling it.

Summer 2015: Rachel moves out and Kurt needs a new roommate, so he asks Blaine to move in. They start living together, comfortable but also tip-toeing around each other.

Fall 2015: They start sleeping together again. They’re friends/roommates with benefits, but they’re not ‘dating.’ Then one day Blaine just says, “I can’t do this halfway with you. I don’t think it’s good for me. We have to either be everything, or nothing.” Kurt doesn’t think they should date again, so they stop having sex, or even spending time with each other. Blaine spends a lot of time over at other friends’ apartments and dorms, avoiding going home except to sleep. The loft is quiet and cold. Over Christmas break, maybe they reconcile a little bit. Kurt gives Blaine a gift, and says, “I miss you. I want you to feel like you have a home.” Blaine thinks that ultimately, despite everything, Kurt is still his home. “I’ll try,” Blaine agrees. “I miss you, too.”

Spring 2016: It’s Kurt’s final semester, and he’s busy all the time. He and Blaine have found a good balance, he thinks. All those things he felt in high school about them being soulmates, about them being together forever - he feels like that was all true, just not in the way he expected it. He and Blaine were meant to be in each other’s lives, to be best friends. They know each other better than anyone else does. It doesn’t mean they have to be dating, just that they’re always going to be important to each other. He graduates, and it’s such an overwhelming thing - he’s proud and happy, but also scared and sad. The future feels unknown and terrifying. In the midst of these confusing swirls of emotion - maybe he’s having a quiet breakdown somewhere during the celebration, and Blaine finds him and comforts him, and Kurt realizes oh fuck, I do love him. He knows suddenly that he does want to be with Blaine, that he wants them to be everything to each other again. But he’s screwed it up so bad, and he doesn’t know how to fix it. So he bites his lip and keeps quiet for now.

Summer 2016: Kurt takes Blaine out to a nice dinner and to drinks, they go to some jazz club and slow dance together, and finally Kurt tells Blaine he loves him, and asks him if he’ll be his boyfriend. And Blaine agrees.

This story has been my baby and my passion for the better part of a year. If you've taken the time to read and care about it, I cannot express how grateful I am. I'm always open to questions/comments/discussions about the fic if you have any!

#fic: in orbit #in orbit extras

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atruththatyoudeny · 3 years ago

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Happy 28th! Here are all the fics I read this month. Check them out and leave a little love for the authors ♥

Party Lines | nonsensedarling | phone sex - dirty talk - 25k Louis works for a phone-sex operating company, collecting credit card information and transferring calls to different operators. On a particularly busy night, everyone is booked up, and one caller has been patiently waiting for more than a few minutes. In a split second decision –one he’s probably going to regret– Louis picks up the call himself. * Or Louis accidentally becomes a phone sex operator.

Milk Kinship | jaerie | a/b/o - breastfeeding - male lactation - lactation kink - strangers to lovers - 21k Harry had aspired to become a wet nurse since first learning about the honored and respected tradition when he was a teenager. The first documentary he’d seen had been detailed and brutally honest and Harry had still fallen in love with the idea. It’s origins were rooted in highly regarded positions of the royal staff and were credited in playing a role in the lives of some of the most famous children in history. There were medically trained wet nurses and other milk services for mothers unable to feed their babies, but true wet nurse nannies could only be afforded by the rich and famous. The glamorous life appealed to Harry even if his understanding of his role changed to a more realistic view over time. As a starry eyed kid, that was where he wanted to be. Or Harry is a wet nurse and isn't allowed to have an alpha. He may or may not break his vows.

In the Heat Where You Lay | Marchessa | a/b/o - established relationship - nesting - minor injuries - domestic fluff - 5k Louis has a hard time figuring out why his mate, Harry, acts strangely. What shady things the omega does behind his back? Why does he lie in his face when he is asking him about it? Or the one where Louis tries to balance work life and his marriage while he also has to protect Harry from himself since the omega is danger walking on two marvellously long legs at the best of times.

Everything I Didn't Say | denisemuriel | famous/not famous - mpreg - angst - miscommunication - One Night Stands - 25k "I'm going on tour soon and won't be here for most of the year and I think that's just not fair to you." Harry swallowed and brushed a loose curl out of his face. "That's why this won't happen again." Louis had to suppress a sob because he didn't want to cry in front of Harry. "Okay, I understand. It's probably better this way." Harry got up from his seat and walked over to Louis, who also got up. Slowly Harry raised his hand, giving Louis a chance to move away from him, but he allowed Harry to cup his face in his hand and press his forehead against his own. "I know you feel the same connection I do." Harry murmured softly against Louis' lips. "And I wish things were different. I know that if I stayed, I would fall in love with you." He admitted. ✩ Or the one where they meet at the wrong time and when Louis finds out he's pregnant the story gets sold out.

Searching For Lost Time | DuchessKitty16 | ballet - Hip Hop - pining - 16k Harry is a ballet dancer with special talents and a determination to make his dreams come true. Louis is a hip hop b-boy from Manchester who’s been given a chance to attend the prestigious Royal Academy of Dance in London. Louis feels like he has something to prove and show the rest of the dance world that hip hop is just as important an art form as anything other dance discipline. Harry and Louis clash at first and then learn that collaborating makes them stronger. Based on this prompt that I was given: Louis and Harry study at a dance academy. Harry studies ballet and Louis studies hip-hop. They both stay behind after classes to practice and they leave the doors of the rooms open. With their classes across each other, their music is loud and it annoys the other. After a few weeks, Harry and Louis discover that maybe ballet and hip-hop don't sound too bad together. AKA; the one where two types of dancing fit unexpectedly well together, much like Harry and Louis themselves.

Only You (Blue Always Stays True) | BeautifulWisdom | a/b/o - regency - Girl Direction - mutual pining - friends to lovers - 11k Regency AU. Lady Harriet falls for her sister's best friend the elusive Alpha Lady Louise who couldn't possibly return her tender feelings. Or could she?

you and all of heaven's other wonders | devilinmybrain (venomedveins) | Guardian Angel - supernatural elements - 25k "Louis Tomlinson." He starts, the deep voice dipping just a little in the seriousness of his tone. "As a child of the Most Holy, Heaven has seen your struggle on this earth and heard your cry. My name is - " At this point, he does something complicated with his throat, a sound much like a screeching bird and bells combined together before he continues. "and I have been sent here to be your guiding light. Fear not for the Lord is with you." "What?" Louis' accent comes out thicker in his disbelief, dropping consonants as he blinks up at the man. "I'm your-" The man shifts his weight, hesitantly bringing his hands together in front of him. It's an endearingly nervous habit. "I'm your guardian angel."

Lightning Strikes The Heart | Bekita and fournipplesau | a/b/o - Bridgerton AU - enemies to friends to lovers - fake/pretend relationship . regency - angst - fluff - smut - mpreg - 130k Shrewsbury, 1814 Dearest reader, I present to you your new bulletin of news regarding Shrewsbury citizen's activities. My name is Lady Merriweather and I will be in charge of the updates. I will make sure you are to know all the important details of what is to happen this season. You must know that you do not know who I am and you never shall. But be forewarned; I certainly do know you. I advise you to be on your best behaviour, lest you want the whole town to be privy of your business. As expected every year, the Lockhart House hosts the season’s opening ball, and its invitation is the motive of the hustle in town, and every family hopes for the invitation. This year is no different, but this year everyone's attention is focused on the new Duke of Montgomery, His Grace Harry Edward Styles, and whether he will attend it. All the omegas will be in their best manner, behaviour and clothes as it is expected. And here, dear reader is where we will find out which young omega might succeed at securing a match, hoping to not become a spinster. Place your bets.

Glitter in the sky, glitter in our eyes | softfonds | a/b/o - historical - strangers to lovers - fake/pretend relationship - hurt/comfort - mpreg - 59k What happens when a Duke who will only marry for love and a courtesan who only sells it create a public ruse? Well, nothing boring for sure. An Edwardian AU.

Maybe You'll Like the Way I Am | lululawrence | a/b/o - fake/pretend relationship - panic attacks - anxiety - PTSD - heart disease - hurt/comfort - friends to lovers - no smut - angst - 56k Harry stood on his doorstep, waving a little as he shuffled his feet. “Hi, I brought you some cookies.” Louis finally realized Harry was holding a plate with at least a dozen chocolate chip cookies. “How’d you know chocolate chip was my favorite?” Harry scrunched his nose. “I, uh, they’re actually peanut butter chocolate chunk, so I really hope you don’t have a peanut allergy. There’s a lot of peanut butter and chocolate in these. But also, I just hoped that was something you liked because I actually have a favor to ask?” When Louis' alpha neighbor asks him to pretend to be his omega for a week, Louis immediately says no. He has too much he's dealing with on his own, and he swore to himself he'd never get that close to an alpha again. Unable to hold to that resolve once guilt sets in, Louis finds that maybe fumbling his way through a fake relationship for a week was exactly what he needed to finally be able to move on.

Hint: I want to be yours | bluegreenish | a/b/o - friends with benefits to lovers - pining - 11k Thinking back to Harry’s rut, Louis shivers, needing to put effort into keeping other bodily reactions at bay. “Are you cold?” While Niall’s been commenting through the entire film, Harry had stayed mostly quiet, so it’s a surprise when he speaks up, eyes zeroed in on the omega. “Uh, yeah. It’s a bit chilly, innit?” Niall shrugs, dressed in a sleeveless t-shirt and seemingly unbothered by the room temperature. Harry doesn’t ask for an explanation though. “You can have my hoodie, wait, here.” Before Louis can counter, Harry’s pulling the light grey piece of clothing over his head and handing it to the omega. or, the one where Harry unconsciously starts acting like Louis' alpha after they spend his rut together and Louis finds ways to make sure Harry's affection doesn't en

Always a Bridesmaid | kingsofeverything | age difference - weddings - sneaking around - secret relationship - fluff - 30k While Harry’s friends are all getting engaged or married, he’s nowhere near walking down the aisle to his own happily ever after. The night before his best friend’s wedding, Harry falls into bed with a silver haired stranger who makes him wonder what his own forever might look like.

#28th appreciation #fic rec #my fic rec #monthly reads #monthly fic rec #larry fics #completed fics #i put this together in a hurry so let me know if a fic isn't linked correctly

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pure-kirarin · 3 years ago

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Slow & Steady [P3] [Sabo x f!reader] (+18)

A/N : Hi !! sorry for publishing this later than I expected, but I got a beta reader and we worked on this chapter for longer. Please do tell me if you like this more <3 We put a lot of effort into it. Now, enjoy !~ Genre : Romance - Smut - Bestfriends to lovers General warnings : Alcohol consumption - Dark themes - Swearing - S m u t - possessiveness - Mention of ex-relationships - jealousy

Synopsis : Isn’t love a matter of timing after all ?That’s what Sabo has always thought. It was about finding the right tempo, making the right moves and hitting the right spot. Patience is a virtue after all, and he had a lot of it. It all started when your ex cheated on you. You were heartbroken, you needed someone and he was there. Was he always that hot ? You didn’t know. But after that night you have never seen him in the same way. Also, please guys comment because this is the first work I put so much efforts in. If I feel like people don't like it, it just feels not worth it to me and discourages me :( I have 2 other multichapters planned but I am thinking of abandoning them because people don't seem to like it...Anyways, please do interact if you like it :)

Part I - Part II -

In the last chapter :

You looked at Sabo go away and you followed him shortly after. Meanwhile Ace was sitting on the couch and watching some movies. You went back home and was quite tormented. It wasn’t the right time to worry as you had your assignments and studies to deal with. On one hand, you didn’t even have the time to think of your ex boyfriend and his cheating but on the other, you felt like you were let down by Sabo.

But why ? He didn’t do anything.

He just found himself a new friend and a potential new girlfriend.He didn’t even talk about her, but why where you so upset by him meeting her ? After all, he had the right to date just like you always did.A few days have passed and you didn’t get the chance to talk to Sabo. Your exams were getting closer and closer and you didn’t feel ready.Usually, Sabo would help you with your assignments but you were too scared to ask. You realized how much you relied on him and how he has been always there for you.

Who were you exactly to him ?

Maybe you took him for granted.

As you were on your bed looking at the ceiling and trying to collect every drop of motivation in your system to study, you heard your phone ring. It was Sabo’s ringtone !

P III

“Hi (Y/N),how are you doing?”

“Oh, Sabo! I'm fine. Kinda busy studying. And you? Haven't heard from you since last time.”

“Sorry about that. My schedule has been extremely tight lately. But I am free now!”

“I was just thinking of you. I have to turn in my history assignment tonight and I might need your help...Pleaaaaaase~ I know you're so good at history, please come save me!”

You could hear him laugh on the other side of the line. His laugh sounded so bright, making your heart flutter. You really did miss him. In the end, you were best friends, right?

“Alright! I'll come rescue you. After all, I have to make up for disappearing.”

“Sabo, you're the best! Would you mind coming to my place?”

“I'll be there in twenty minutes. See you then.”

“See you!”

Hanging up, you thought to yourself: you’ve never been this happy to see Sabo. You rolled on your bed in excitement. Twenty minutes seemed enough to make your room and yourself look somewhat presentable, he has never seen your messy room before. Fifteen minutes later, Sabo was in your room, both of you sat on the bed and started studying. Sabo had always been a top student, he was passionate about history in particular. Helping with your assignments was never a big deal to him.

Now that you gave it some thought, maybe most of your good grades were thanks to his help. He had tutored you many times when you were both in high school and that stayed a constant in your life even now.. Once you finished and sent the file to your professor, it was already late afternoon and Sabo was putting on his coat to go back home.

You had almost forgotten about what happened last week because of all the studying. Things weren't awkward anymore. But you wanted to bring it up because you couldn't help but think about the words he said.

“Sabo ?”

He turned back and looked at you with a smile.

“Yes? Do you need something else?”

“Don't go, I want to... I want to ask you a question.” You patted the place next to you on the bed.

“Are you alright? You look very pale.” He sat next to you and the proximity made you extremely nervous. Although he had been close to you so many times before, you wondered why this time his proximity was affecting you so. The built up tension was getting unbearable. You could feel the knot in your stomach tighten, but you had to do it, you had to relieve yourself from this situation, otherwise it will still preoccupy you. With a nervous toss of your hair, you asked him, your eyes fixated somewhere on his chest :

“Well...Did I say something weird to you last time?”

“Last time?” he repeats in apparent confusion..

“Well, you know, when I got drunk, did I say something weird?...when you took me back home…”

You didn't even dare look at his face.

“Oh...nothing worth mentioning. Don't worry.” A sweet smile.

Oh, really now? I asked you to fuck me and you're saying “nothing fucking worth mentioning”? Bullshit.

...Or did I make all of that up?

“Didn't I…” you stop, clearing your throat, “didn't I ask you..to...well, you know…” You looked away in exasperation, annoyed that you had to say this and that you could feel your face quickly heating up. You felt your helplessness more fully now as you were discreetly looking at him to guess his reaction. Your eyes were shy and avoiding, looking his way then looking away continuously, almost instinctively.

“Hm? What?” He was amused, the bastard.

“Well...Didn't I ask you to fuck me or something?”

He burst out laughing, looking at your flushed face and the way you said that so fast that he was tempted to tap his ear and tell you that he didn't hear you quite well, but he simply refrained. That would be too much teasing.

For now.

And it wasn't the right time

yet.

“Ha, that.” He marked a pause, “it's only worth mentioning if you want to.”

You bit your lower lip, so he did remember…”Well, about that…”

“Just ask me to and I'll forget.”

But what if I don't want you to forget? You fucking idiot. When did you turn out to be this hot? Did seeing his morning wood put me in such a mood? Do I have this little self-respect? Risking our friendship like this?

He leaned closer to you so that his face was only centimeters away.

His minty breath was ghosting over your cheek;

“But just so you know, there's no going back.”

Was this the same Sabo from a few minutes ago? Was he really tempted to have sex with you? You felt flattered. You thought about Nami's words. Was he really into you? You felt insecure.

You've never felt insecure before.

You contemplated the idea for a second. You had just broken up with your boyfriend and you were now yearning to get fucked by your best friend - a guy that you've never even seen in that way before.

But how many things did you truly know about Sabo? How many things were you not seeing and being unaware of when it came to this man? You were slowly coming to the realization that he had been keeping a lot of things private - his personal life and thoughts mostly held close to himself at all times.

It was always about you in this friendship. And he was patient, oh so patient. You wanted to see all these sides to him that you've never seen before. It was like discovering the hidden door of a secret Eden.

You closed your eyes. You knew that he wouldn't hurt your feelings. You trusted him. You wanted this. You wanted to break the spell that got you dreaming of what you were denied.

You nodded and his smile widened ; Here you were falling, finally.

“I didn't expect anything less from you. What a brave girl you are. I was waiting for you to bring this up. Took you quite a long time.”

He twirled a strand of your hair between his fingers, pressing his hot lips on your forehead. Your breath stopped for a second, eyes closed tightly. You weren't used to this tension, your heart was beating uncomfortably fast.

Where did the prude Sabo that you always imagined go? He was acting normal a few moments ago, and now this? This was definitely more, or at least different than whatever you would have expected.

Your cheeks warmed up at his praise, you were just like a little girl that was given a piece of candy. But you wanted way more.

“Now that I think of it… you haven’t been really good, have you? You said things that you shouldn't have. You’ve tested my patience quite a bit the other day, baby.”

It sounded so natural, the way he called you baby, as if he had always done it. It surprisingly took you not even two seconds to adjust to this new Sabo that you saw. In hindsight, you think you might’ve longed for this Sabo, one who is so open and expressive with you.

“Huh ? What are you on 'bout ? I still stand by my position…”

Saying this was a bad idea.

He raised an eyebrow.

"I mean, it's true, I've never seen you with a girl before. Wouldn't be surprised if you were a virgin. But it's okay, I don't mind… well… teaching you…”

You looked away. It felt a bit off, as if you were playing a role but you were very much into it. There had always been that bratty side to you that he loved so much. He smirked, rolling his eyes. Always with the tough talk huh? He thought.

Smiling knowingly, he reached out for your face. He gently gripped your chin between two fingers, brushing his thumb over your lower lip as he said,

“Looks like you need a good lesson.” He shoved two gloved fingers into your mouth, taking you by surprise and making you instantly back off a bit.

“Hmm. Let's put this dirty mouth of yours to better use.”

He took his fingers out of your mouth, leaving a leathery aftertaste on your tongue. His arm encircled your waist and he held you up effortlessly, securing you against his lap. As you were just wearing a dress, you could feel him getting hard through your panties and you couldn't help but tighten your thighs at this feeling, getting instantly turned on. When did you start wanting him this much?

The corner of his lips curled up as he saw you already getting eager from a simple touch. His arm held your hips in place so you didn’t move around.

He replaced his fingers with his lips, kissing you hungrily. It was nothing like that drunken kiss that you both shared the other night. His tongue got you feeling butterflies in your stomach, heart pounding so hard as you pressed your chest against his, seeking his warmth.

You were going have sex with your best friend and he had a huge dick and he was nothing close to the vanilla prude guy that you expected him to be. You were thrilled. Everything happened so fast. You never realized that you were so desperate for his touch.

You tangled your fingers into his blond locks, moaning into the kiss. You pulled away, cheeks ablaze, impressed by his skills.

“You're a good kisser…”

“Look at you getting all worked up by a kiss...Tell me, who's the virgin here, huh?”

You blushed at his remark and looked away. Cute, he thought to himself.

But it wasn't enough. Not yet. With a sense of urgency, you kissed him again as if it was your last chance to taste his lips. His pace was slower, he wanted to take his time to enjoy this moment while you wanted to rush it up and go to the next step. Breathless, you pull away, hesitant and curious.

“Sabo, do you… Do you like me?”

“I do.” He put his forehead against yours, making you look deeply into his eyes. The look he was giving you seemed unfamiliar, making you feel intimidated. How did he hide his feelings so well and why did he say them now?If he said he liked me before, would it have been differentWhat changed within him, to make him act like this and most importantly, what changed within you to make you need him so badly? You dipped in for a kiss, trying to get a grasp on your feelings. It didn't feel weird, it felt good, as if you had wanted it for so long.

“Sabo,” you stuttered. He loved the way your voice cracked, how hesitant you were, how your cheekiness disappeared, leaving behind only your conflicted emotions. “I thought about what you said last time and...I...I think I want to. Now.” You emphasised on the last word, goading him into agreeing.

A victorious smile danced on his lips.

“You think?”

He smirked and lifted your chin up so you could look right into his eyes. You couldn't help but close the gap between the two of you, shamelessly rocking on his thighs to get some friction. You kept thinking about the words he had said when you were drunk, you really wanted him. Yes, maybe it was just lust. Maybe it was just a strong desire to sabotage the most precious thing that you had. But for now, you needed his warmth. He pulled back, making you groan in displeasure like a cat in heat. He smiled, his lips barely grazing yours and added,

“You're not ready yet, kitten.”

The look of disappointment on your face said it all. You couldn't believe he turned you down. Once again. You were so adorable, for a moment he thought that he would just snap and take you right there.

“What do you mean ‘I'm not ready yet’ ?! I just said I was. I want you too. That's what I said. I'm sober now, I'll recall how good you are.”

“Patience is a virtue.”

He smiles, and you would’ve given years off your life just to punch him. You could swear you still felt him hard against you and he was acting so composed. You didn't want to let him go.

You were scared that if you did, he would disappear into dust. You felt so desperate, so humiliated.Dying for his attention and heartbroken from past experiences.

“I have to go now.” He lifts you up with ease, placing you on the bed again. He then put his coat on. You looked at him leave with puppy eyes and for a second he hesitated. He was tempted to change his mind. But he had waited for so long and he couldn't afford to ruin everything now. Not when you were so close, so ready and eager to take him.

“Don't go.” You pleaded.

“And who will feed Ace?” He says with a smile.

“I don't care. Don't go…” You got up and hugged him from behind, tightly, letting your mask fall. His departure and abrupt ending of the tense situation he had placed you in, his act so nonchalant, had awakened some insecurity within you.It was driving you insane.

You were confused.

His heart melted at your sweetness. He remembered the reason behind his love for you. You were so fragile, so honest.

“I really have to go, princess.” How could he say such things so easily? “But I promise that I will make up for it next time.”

---

Tag list : @vemuabhi @chloe-abbacchio @mwls-garden @soanywaysistartedsimping @portgaslari @lofi-coffee If you wanna get tagged just ask for it :)

#sabo x reader #one piece x reader #slow and steady #sabo #sabo the revolutionary #revolutionary sabo #one piece imagines #artists on tumblr #one piece x you #one piece scenarios

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tenderlyrenjun · 4 years ago

Text

the one with the morning classes

summary: you don’t really want to go to class, and Yangyang half-agrees.

↛ ↛ ↛ psych major!Yangyang x art history major!reader

↛ ↛ older female reader, college au, mentions of alcohol, yearning, best friends to lovers/ish, smut (18+) - there is literally sex in every scene, best friend!ten on both sides, study dates, love confessions in bed

↛ word count: 11,9k (I am so sorry lmao)

part one > part two > part three

if you are under 18 and interact with this at all, i will block you

An obnoxious ringing interrupts your day, way too early, and you whine at it, suddenly reminded about the terrible decision that you made last year with the on-call academic advisor: selling your soul to Satan, or, as they phrased it, taking an 8 A.M. class. The default iPhone ringtone seems especially heartless right now, even though you have a class at this time every semester.

Still, it takes Herculean effort to pull your hot, sweaty face out of the pillows and actually get a breath of fresh air. You inhale once, twice, then support yourself on your elbows, tossing all your messy hair over your bare back, like a curtain, to draw it away from your cheeks. The sunlight makes you squint, not having given you enough time to adjust to it yet, because laying in bed, naked, is so much more enticing than actually waking up. Unfortunately, the ringing persists, getting louder, you think. You find yourself clawing through the sheets again, in search of that damn alarm. And when you do find it, screen faced down, you hit snooze via power button, giving yourself extra time before class.

After the annoying sound stops, Yangyang leans toward your naked shoulder, his d!ck thrusting in you at a further angle. He kisses the tip your spine with slightly parted lips, peppering more along your deltoid muscles, directed by his trailing tongue. You cannot tell was tingles more – the goosebumps left in his wake, or the blood rushing to your vulva, caused by the nipping at your skin. Yangyang finds a more permanent spot (that would be hidden by a shirt) above your collarbone and sucks deeper for a few seconds. Instinctively, you drop your cheek into the sheets again and swirl your ass up, before propping your lower body on your knees. His groans fall with you, and he nearly did too, but he stands on his hands. You are very aware of his strength, especially now as you close your eyes and he reverses your moves, grinding his hips forward. One of his hands reaches forward to grab your face and finally kiss you. He is slow and head spinning, and he continuously inclines his head at varying degrees to keep the embrace going.

Then, your phone goes off again and you break the kiss.

“We need to get – Oh, God.” Your forehead redirects onto the mattress, and your breath becomes shallow, cracked by sharp whines blurring out the alarm. As far as you are concerned, Yangyang is all consuming, from the way he kisses you to the way he makes you feel. “Ah, right there, please.” He squeezes your ass, fingers drilling deeply into your skin. His touch feels better than a massage, you think, almost loosening up all your muscle tension.

“So naughty,” Yangyang whispers, strongly. He sounds masculine without being so aggressive. It is very sexy of him. You try to show him, too, that he is hot, by reacting more enthusiastically. Unlike him, you say it silently and hope he knows. He replies, slapping your butt again, and smirks when you moan. “Wanna play hooky? You still, fuck –“ His breath drops, voice getting lower, huskier. He propels his d!ck shallowly, at the same pace your mouth widens in an ‘O�� shape. “- remember your manners.”

“Mmm hmm,” you agree. You roll your hips side to side, slowly stretching as if coming out of child’s position in yoga. It similarly feels satisfactory, like an injection of morphine. “We really need to get up. I have class; you – shit –“ His thrust pushes you forward, muting your counterarguments. “- you have class soon.”

Yangyang combs your baby hairs onto your opposite shoulder, gently nibbling around your thyroid, and you whine, knowing that you have an easily swayed mindset right now. “It doesn’t sound like you want to get up yet.” He guides your hips like a figure eight motion. His hand comes around front, between your thighs, holding on in a way that allows him to stimulate your clit with his index and thumb. Every movement gets more intense: the speed, the pressure, even the direction of his fingers, as he elongates all the sensations. It feels like he gets bigger too, lunging more alert with his thrusts. “You need a good wake up call, huh?”

You nod, eagerly, biting your lip. “Mmhmm, my morning ritual is, is really long, fuck.”

Yangyang smirks, motivated even more by the double entendre. And the way his tip rasps against your walls, oh god. You ball the sheets into your fists, putting a protective layer between your nails and palm because he gradually becomes erratic. He comes down to your ear, using his lips to bite at it while whispering, “Wanna turn off the alarm?”

“Hmm?” You open your eyes. “Oh, right.” It doesn’t feel like it has been nine minutes. So, after you pick your phone up again, you turn it over to look at the alarm settings, but it is replaced by the call acceptance slider. You blink a couple times and try getting a clearer look – which is difficult, considering that your head keeps bouncing as he grinds harder and harder, and harder. Then, the call restarts. “Shit.”

Yangyang stops moving to glimpse at what’s wrong. His chest brushes against your back and you can feel his erect n!pples graze your spine. You turn the screen at him, contemplating whether to answer it. Thank God, though, that Ten isn’t asking to FaceTime. You honestly don’t know how you would recover from him seeing Yangyang lay naked on you, especially after that comment at the Halloween party about feeling ‘too comfortable’ with him like this.

“I’m gonna answer it.”

“What?”

“I have to answer it,” you argue. “It’s Ten. He’s going to suspect something if I don’t.” The call ends again, and the notification center shows six missed calls. You turn over your phone again. “Shit, he’s been phoning all morning. I have to answer it.”

You partially expect Yangyang to get up. Instead, he comes down, brushing your hair over your shoulder and pushes you into the blanket. You stretch your arms away from him to redial Ten’s number, although your hands (and thighs) start shakily with his moves. The line rings four times before Ten answers, and you sigh, half-disappointed, half-orgasmically.

“Um, hello?” Ten answers sarcastically, on speaker. “Are you ready? ETA 20.” You hear rustling on the other end that sounds similar to Yangyang ruffling your bedsheets. He is trying to get at your t!ts and you let him, propping up into a true doggystyle. Ten doesn’t appear to discern anything, so you keep the phone on mute – which is necessary because you buck your hips at Yangyang, getting his tip angled on your g-spot. He outlines your n!pples, fingers squeezing over your areola. You almost moan again, but Ten reminds you about his presence: “I’m getting in my car right now.”

“Hmm?” Why?

The silence is deafening, all excess noise stopping, until it is just your heavy breaths and small wet noises. You widen your eyes, thinking that Ten discovered your current … entanglement, so you grab Yangyang’s hand, to suppress anymore sounds. It makes you lose balance temporarily, but expectedly he catches you, by the waist. He waist a few seconds, then drops his wrist to your clit, lightly sliding up and down without thrusting his d!ck. You let him continue, panting with your lower abdomen quivering. He has to stop though, because his exhibitionist tendencies might expose you two. You take his hand off your clitoral hood and kiss his inner wrist before sucking his fingers clean. He shudders his hips. You bite your lip. He smiles. Then, he takes his hand back, planting it into the mattress for extra support so that you can actually answer this call, that the two of you keep forgetting about.

“It’s my treat, remember?” Ten tries to jog your memory, nearly shouting. You can hear him breaking through your bubble. It is just that you are a bit distracted at the moment to really recall any memories. You cannot be entirely held accountable for Yangyang’s big d!ck.

Yangyang starts sucking on your neck again, pushing his pelvis slowly into your ass harder, to give you a better reminder: that you are currently being a good girl for him, to make up for being so naughty this morning (even though he also seemed pretty close to ditching class earlier).

“For breakfast yesterday, after the party,” Ten outwardly tells you. Right, it’s Monday, and you often grab coffee with Ten on the way to campus because 8AMs are hell – you have to absorb new information when you can barely see through all the crap in your eyes, and he can barely comprehend his notes from the night before without the morning bean juice. There is some shuffling on his end again, similar to shaking his wrist free of a sweater to get a better look at his watch. It isn’t enough to hide the moan trapped in your throat. So, you try biting your fist as Yangyang swirls his hips, grazing the ends of your nerves. You roll your eyes to the back of your head and hit mute, in order to moan. “Unless you want to walk? I don’t think you’ll make it though. It’s, like, almost 7:20.”

“What?” your voice cracks. You are still muted though, so you un-mute and repeat the exclamation, whining a little when Yangyang tries to get you to orgasm faster, also having heard the time. Hopefully Ten does not notice anything. You think that you were quiet enough to push it off as a complaint.

“I’ll be outside your apartment in 20.”

Yangyang pulls your chin to make you look at him, staring at you to ask what is going on. You mouth a quick explanation: Ten. Ride. Coffee. 20 minutes. He is so close, warm breath enveloping your skin. You take the distance, initiating yet another kiss, essentially in front of your best friend, although the latter cannot hear or see either of you. Yangyang holds onto your chin, possibly afraid of being swept away or falling again. But you have enough support for both of you, and you know that if you fell, he would catch you. So, you kiss him again, and again.

“Hello?” Ten calls into the void. “Did you lose signal again? See, I told you not to choose the shitty complex on Main because the connection is so bad there.”

You put a hand above Yangyang’s heart and clear your voice, turning to the speaker. “I’m still here. Just, hold on a second.” You hit mute again, then turn to Yangyang. “Do you want a ride too?” Yangyang contemplates for a second, and you drop your forehead into your elbow, biting your lip because, after all, he is still inside you, inside your clenching and very aroused p.ussy, where you want him to finish. He nudges your shoulder with his nose and confirms that yeah, he needs a ride. You kiss him a few more times, unsure why, just wanting to be close – something about want to say in his presence, enjoying his presence. He swirls his hips. It feels really good to be with him. “Yeah, so Yangyang is in the neighborhood.”

“Wha-“

“A huh,” you whine, more at Yangyang than Ten. “He just texted me. He’ll meet you – us! He’ll meet us at my apartment. I’m going to get ready now, bye!” you say everything in one breath, hanging up as equally abruptly before Ten could insert his two cents. You drop the phone and turn around, kissing Yangyang deeply. As he returns your affection, you enunciate slowly, “Five minutes, then we have to get ready. Ten is getting too suspicious.”

Yangyang finishes a little bit after five minutes, not that you mind. Non-residents have to get buzzed into your building, and Ten doesn’t have a key to your front door. You indulge the moment, laying on your arm bent under a pillow. He looks at you with all the care in the world, no longer that suave fuck buddy from a few moments ago but a young romantic who caresses your inner thigh and talks big game about all the connections you two have in common, or don’t. Your hand dips to the top of his head, combing a small section with your nails to his ends. Yangyang asks you for the time, and you almost don’t give it to him, preferring to spend time with him here than overanalyzing some stupid thesis statement that you wrote at 4AM. You pout, and pull his phone between the two of you, showing him that Ten will arrive in ten minutes – ironic, you think.

Yangyang approaches your face, millimeters from your lips. He waits for you to flutter your eyes closed, anticipating a kiss, then runs into the shower. It takes you a minute to join him, and when he sees you, smirking, like you have some dastardly revenge plan in the works, Yangyang shuts the glass door, isolating himself in the cold shower. He holds on extra tightly so that you cannot get in. You look hot when you are annoyed though – he needs to annoy you more. It is even more fun to mollify you. He pulls you into the shower next to him by grabbing your ass and makes out with you against the wall for a few seconds, until you start stretching at the lavender body wash on the shelf behind him.

This time, Yangyang finishes first, hopping out to sprinkle the roots of his hair with dry shampoo so Ten does not get too suspicious. If he has wet hair, then it would be obvious that he stayed over. He puts the powder back on the shelf and wanders into your room, towel wrapped loosely around his waist – even though it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. There are a few of his clothes in your closet from all the time you stole them, or a couple mini getaways that you two have taken. After he changes into an outfit that he can actually wear in public, he picks out an extra one of his over-sized shirts and drapes it on the towel rack for when you get out. He knows that you really like his clothes, especially the organic band tees. It is another plus that you share the same music taste. Hopefully, none of his friends catch onto the coincidental similarities.

Yangyang likes that you spend a lot of time in his clothes. They always end up smelling like your lotions. It is comforting and reminds him of all the nights ‘studying’ until 3AM. You know, not that he would actually say it out loud (mostly because he also likes to wear his favorite shirts), but you look cuter than him, in his Kendrick Lamar concert tee. And besides, there is a secondary reason as to why he rummaged through your underwear drawer: he wanted to choose your panties for today. It might be a black lingerie set, but how is he supposed to know the difference between a t-shirt bra and a balconette? :^)

Yangyang makes his way into the kitchen, snagging a mini muffin off the island. With the work out he just had, he needs protein but there isn’t enough time to cook anything, not that he actually could; eh, he’ll end up buying something on campus. He tosses two more muffins into his backpack for later – one chocolate for him, one strawberry for you. On Mondays, between classes, he usually catches you in the student experience center, finishing some last-minute assignments. You always end up pushing lunch until after four, ergo he tries to bring you some snacks, whenever he can. Once, his research methods class got cancelled and you didn’t have any pre-lecture materials to work on, so he brought two cups of ramen. You two had a semi-date then. He wonders if it can happen again, today. Ten interrupts the thought though, before it can develop into a real plan, and he sighs. He doesn’t know why, but he keeps thinking about defining this relationship at the worst possible times.

“Yellow?” Yangyang answers, mid-bite. He shifts the phone to his shoulder so that he can check your notification center for any missed calls. You have three. Ten has been going to voicemail all morning, Yangyang deduces, and if he was Ten, he would be damn suspicious at this point.

“Hi, baby,” Ten coos. “I’m outside. Buzz me in, yeah?”

Yangyang reflexively pouts. “I’m not your baby. I’m 20 now.” Still though, he complies, letting Ten into the building, and his friend is upstairs within a minute – not that it is too far. You live on the second floor.

“So,” Ten sings while glancing around the apartment. Yangyang wonders what for – hopefully, not searching for his secret relationship. Ten closes the door, his eyes landing on Yangyang and eying him down suspiciously, in a curious way. “What are you doing in the neighborhood, anyways?”

“I, uh, bought breakfast at Allen’s coffee, down the street,” he lies, “And I didn’t feel like walking back to the frat.” He shrugs too, trying hard to be as nonchalant as possible.

“A huh.” Ten does not seem to accept it, but he lets it slide when you walk into the room, wearing Yangyang’s t-shirt tucked into a pair of black jeans. Yangyang cannot see why Ten would recognize the top because you also happen to like Kendrick Lamar – one of your favorite songs is King Kunta, even though you cannot sing along to save your life. Yangyang finds it endearing that you enjoy rap music, even though you cannot match the flow or pitch.

His gaze is still endearing when you walk into the kitchen, beelining for the last mini muffin. Yangyang catches how intensely he was staring at you, after you blink at him (and Ten).

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” they mutter, looking away.

“Okay,” you drawl suspiciously, swallowing half your breakfast. You fold the rest of it into the front pocket of your backpack and pick up your textbook. Yangyang meets your gaze but you immediately flicker to Ten. “Can we grab something at Starbucks really quick?”

Ten stares at Yangyang. You just got coffee for yourself, even though you were coming here? Yangyang waves a hand, unsure how to respond. This whole secret relationship has gone on longer than he thought it would. It was supposed to be a one-night stand kind of thing when he first kissed you, the night that Ten introduced you two back in March after Renjun’s birthday party, and not even a one-night stand! He just expected you to make out with him, not give him a blowjob in Kun’s bathroom then let him take you back to his room at the frat.

“What?” You look between them. Yangyang shakes his head, nothing. You stare him down and give in, then turn back to Ten. “I haven’t eaten anything. Please?”

“Alright, fine,” Ten cedes. He holds his hands up in surrender, his keys waving like a white flag. As you all file out the door, Yangyang jokingly asks if he can drive. Ten deadpans at him, protective over the car, and smacks him on the back of his head. “Let’s go.”

Yangyang barely notices when they pull into the drive-thru on 1st, too busy scrolling through Instagram while you and Ten talk about an EDM festival coming this weekend. He only picks up his head when you lean over the gear shift, blocking the GPS from his view (in the middle seat) – he was monitoring the distance to make sure that you get to class on time.

“Can we get two breakfast sandwiches, an iced coffee with 2% milk, and an iced London fog latte, extra pump of vanilla, with coconut milk?” You turn to ten. “Want anything?”

Ten furrows his eyebrows. Neither of them looks at Yangyang, and he lowers his phone, knowing that he is about to be caught in a lie. He didn’t think that Ten would ask anything because of the time crunch. Evidently, he was wrong, and now he doesn’t know how to unspin the lie.

“Who are you ordering all that food for?” Ten asks.

You look at him skeptically, a what the fuck hanging palpably in the air before you point to the backseat. “For the baby.”

“Not a baby,” Yangyang pipes up, voice cracking. He tugs on the collar of his shirt, smiling embarrassed.

Ten turns on his side, back facing the window as he stares between the two of you, ultimately settling on Yangyang. “I thought that you said you already got breakfast at Allen’s.” Ten rotates to you. “That’s why he’s in the neighborhood, right?”

A huh, yeah. Yangyang almost tells another lie but the monitor clerk asks if they want anything else, and they are holding up the line with an empty lane in front. Saved by the bell intercom. Ten orders an extra americano, then you all persist through the awkward silence until reaching the front window. You pay with the app as Ten passes out the round of drinks like a bartender. Yangyang pokes his paper straw through the lid. You can’t baby him if he does everything himself first.

“Uh, are you good?”

Yangyang looks up. You have your iced latte between your legs, holding it at the top of your thighs on your crotch like an ice pack.

“Yeah, what do you mean?”

“I mean,” Ten enunciates, putting this drink in the cup holder, “people only put ice on their private parts when they’re sore.” He widens his eyes, posture stiffening and he points at you. “Did you have that guy over? The best y-“

“You don’t –“ You hold up a hand, physically interrupting him. Yangyang should have known that Ten would never seriously suspect him as your fuck buddy; he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or offended. “- have to repeat it. I just feel sore.”

Yangyang smirks at that, but he has to hide it when Ten looks at him, pinching his cheeks down like a Tim Burton character. The look in Ten’s eyes is confused again, and he knows that one of two questions is going to come out: if he met that guy that you’re sleeping with, of if he is the guy that you are sleeping with. Fortunately, Yangyang sees the navigation touch screen, and the time is two minutes until eight and you are five minutes off campus. Ten has to drop the conversation and speed to the art building so that at least you get there on time. The extra few minutes he has to spend alone with Ten gives him the idea to cool things off with you for a few days.

That sounds bad, like he is blowing you off, but honestly, you agreed.

Yangyang caught you in front of the communal office space for linguistics GTAs, a few minutes before office hours ended. He snatched you into a supply closet, dragging you by the waist, and covered your mouth to prevent you from screaming bloody murder. You two acknowledged the thin ice that has been melting for a couple weeks now. And he brought up taking a break from seeing each other for a while. At first, you thought that he was breaking up with you – or as close to breaking up as possible, because still, you are not dating. But then, he saw your face and reassured you that he does want to keep seeing you, even in secret; maybe next time, you two should talk about your relationship.

Friends do not need to see each other every day, you know. Or, like, at least, casual friends don’t. Sure, you FaceTime Ten all the time and Yangyang lives with Xiaojun so he sees his best friend daily by default, but you two are not similarly close friends, especially not when other people can perceive how you two interact. No one has to know just that you see Yangyang just as often, in person. And you do it because, well, because you like him – which explains how he ends up back in your bed by Wednesday.

“I’m gonna be late again.”

“No, you won’t.”

Yangyang reaches around your collarbone, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip until he can comfortably hold your jaw. He draws you in for another kiss, his eyes mirroring yours - distracted, enamored, aroused. You cautiously spin around, throwing your arms around his neck to avoid getting swept away, which seems impossible because he holds you securely, at your mandible and the beltloop on your waist. He inhales upon the next embrace, closing his pretty mouth over your philtrum like a slow bite – like several slow bites. You meet him, every time, at the end of each kiss when he shifts onto his toes, getting too tall for your lips, and pull him back on the ground to get more. He moans, after you start roaming your hands under his shirt, running your nails over the crevices in his body like a memorization technique for an early class you don’t have.

You feel hungry, for love, wanting to feel warm. The sun will not rise for another half hour, but he is the warmest thing in the room, even though you are fully dressed, not expecting to be late like two days ago. He copies your moves, unbuckling his hand like a belt, sliding it under your shirt and palming your b.oobs. Then, you squeal, giggling breathily, when he spins you around again and smacks your ass, pushing your thighs into the mattress that you two are standing over.

“Do you trust me?” he whispers in your ear, sucking upward on your external jugular vein.

“No.”

Yangyang stops, deadpanned. He hits your butt again, like a punishment – his favorite kind of punishment, it seems because he repeats it every morning like a bad kind of player, the rich one who goes to bars and unexpectedly falls in love with an attendee, as if it is a coming of age Netflix movie. He repeats it again until you fall on your hands over the bed. You look behind your shoulder at him, jaw dropped. And he takes no time to interpret it, stumbling next to you.

You roll over, led by your hips, so that you can match him, latching onto his face with your hands on his cheeks. “Of course, I trust you, dummy.”

He looks down still, picking at the seams of your jeans. And you detect his teasing tone, easily, because he goes directly to your inner thighs, tracing up along the thread until he reaches your zipper. “Really?”

You roll your eyes, then make him look at you. He has that kicked-puppy expression in the way the outline of his eyes falls below his eyebrows, but the glint and the gummy smile have you knowing otherwise. “Yes.”

Yangyang pops your pants button undone, mischievously pulling his lips into a dramatic pout. “And you’re not lying to me?”

“No,” you emphasize. You brush his hair back, scratching your nails along his scalp, behind his ears. His smile cannot help itself, breaking out in a way that has you completely immersed. It reminds you of that time when you went go karting with Ten and a few others. You were undoubtedly a bad driver, bumping into the track walls, even during the straight lanes. One time, you made a particularly excellent sharp turn, surpassing Johnny to the finish line. Unfortunately, you were completing lap 3 of 5 and him 5 of 5, but Yangyang still congratulated you afterward – in bed. He also lit up, when you two were just laying under the covers, staring at the ceiling because the stars were too far away. You held onto the arm around your waist, laying on his naked shoulder as he told you about wanting to be a race car driver as a kid, then an automotive or aerospace engineer as a teenager, before he settled on psychology. He kept talking, as if crafting this beautiful galaxy. That is when you knew.

“Prove it.”

“What?” You sit up and straddle him. “How do you want me to prove it?”

Yangyang starts begging for affection, slithering his hand down your stomach, into your underwear. He pulls you into his chest, giggling when you topple him into the pillows, clearly not having estimated the force. You like that you never have to beg for his attention. He always, for some reason, notices you, and it is so hard not to pick up on it. You wonder just how no one has learned about you two yet. It’s not like you are being subtle. Although, the smallest acts he gives you can be found under subtle in the dictionary. Like now, he tucks your hair behind your ear, gaze flickering from his hand across your cheek to your eyes. You kiss him again – only a brief peck, because he inserts two fingers inside you, making you gasp sharply enough to break.

“Can I confess something?” you ask, suddenly braved by an idea to prove that you do trust him.

Yangyang stops fucking you, his fingers flexed still. He scans your face for an actual lie but knows that he will never find one, mostly because he already knows the next few words out of your mouth; he has felt the same way for months. And maybe, at this point, he owes you some explanation, for keeping his own confession unspoken. He wants to give it to you first, before your own declaration. It is something that he thinks he should do, like a societal norm for the guy to confess – that is what all the romantic movies say, right? Well, there is Princess Leia and Han with their whole I love you and I know dynamic, and while that was really cool in the scene, Yangyang has a fixed scenario in his head.

“I love you,” he blurts, quickly, sitting up.

“You love me?”

His heart drops. You are not supposed to surprised. He was nearly 100% confident that you had fallen in love with him, too, but this might confirm that so much was in his head. You keep staring at him, jaw slacked and hands on his shoulders. Only when he starts pulling away do you react, catching his hand.

“I really like you,” Yangyang reiterates, self-pouring salt into his bleeding heart. He hesitates for a second, unsure if he should even be vulnerable again, but what does he have to lose? “I –“ He swallows, still looking into your eyes – “I love you.”

Then you kiss him.

And he lets you kiss him.

He lets you kiss him because of the way you cradle his face, like he is made of glass, like he is the most precious crystal that you have to protect. Your lips get softer when he wets them with his tongue, after feeling confidence in your embrace. You kiss him in a way that takes away the word the love, wrapping him in a security blanket to return the warmth.

“I love you,” you whisper slowly, barely audibly enough for him to hear it over the smack of your tongue as you lower to him. You pause, mouth slightly ajar on his. “Too.”

Yangyang peers at your closed eyes, almost willing you to open them so he can tell you, again, that he loves you, so he can see your reaction when he really tells you. He grabs your face and sits up again. You roll your head to the side, like you anticipate his kiss. He gives it you, simultaneously returning his hand into your pants.

“What time is it?”

“What?”

“What time is it right now?” Yangyang asks you with a sense of urgency.

You turn around, fumbling around for your phone, which is now somewhere mixed in your sheets. The two of you had spent a good ten minutes remaking the bed after the night you had, and currently, blankets are strewn across, folded into messy piles. With the thought distracting you, Yangyang slips two fingers past your underwear again, twisting the crotch area with his thumb for easier access. You pause, sighing heavily, hand bunching up the linen as he scissors you.

“I asked you a question,” he reminds you, slightly stuttering at the end, hesitant to add a term of endearment. Even with the confessions you both just gave, it does not define your relationship and he doesn’t know how to broach it just yet, only wanting to kiss you closely and hear all the love sounds that he feels deprived of.

“It’s 6:21.”

“Good,” Yangyang whispers in your ear as he prepares you to take him. “We have time.”

Yangyang redirects your face to his, tilting your chin up as he leans to the side, almost inhaling your lips. Upon another kiss, he adds his tongue, tired of the light pecks. They don’t express his affection as much as he wants, because small embraces end quicker, causing you to withdraw – which is the furthest desire from his mind, especially considering that he just confessed, multiple times. He curls his tongue, placing only the tip beyond your lips. You check him, trying to catch his tongue but merely snagging his spit. He smirks because you whine again. Was that not enough? Obviously not, he notes after you pull back, breathing on his lips, making him chase you. Your breath sounds rapid and rough, and he wants to alleviate your nerves. Yangyang extends his neck again, craning to meet your lips. He gives you a second to recover, to prepare, panting the faintest ghost kisses across your lower face. Your hand comes above his shaking heart, stopping there as you bite your lip coyly. He wonders if you want to stop. Both of you just acknowledged a lingering more-than-friends adoration.

But then you slide your hand under his chin, making him really look at you.

“I love you,” you repeat.

The repet!tion exceeds his own confession, and he isn’t sure whether to confess again, but you take the initiative for him, rocking side to side like ridin’ d!ck bicycle. Yangyang parts his lips just enough to blow small, uneven breaths. He feels you open his jeans while shifting over one of his thighs, his fingers still trembling inside you. Sex with you always feels so reciprocated. Your nails graze his c.ock erect, your hand tightening at the tip, where you push your thumb on his pre-cum. It gives almost the same sensation as your tongue and the sensation gets more intense. He starts thrusting in tandem, making you clench, around his bicep, for support. When you start flicking the flesh on the underside of his penis (the part that connects the shaft to head), he stops your hand.

Yangyang comes forward, caressing your mouth and massaging your clit. “I’m gonna cum.”

“So cum,” you taunt him, smirking into the kiss.

Your resolve temporarily falters, dripping into a moan that he swallows up wholly. He keeps sinking his fingers at different depths, at a fast and shallow pace, waiting for you to reach the same point. You certainly feel wet enough. He touches that spongey tissue area in your p.ussy that has you seeing stars. You moan his name over and over again, until the two syllables become a tongue twister. He disentangles your tongue, using his own. All those years tying cherry stems in his mouth as a teenager really paid off. He starts making a come-hither gesture, simultaneously flirting with your lips. After your hand ceases, exclusively squeezing his base, right above his balls, Yangyang slows down, slipping his fingers away from your G-spot, up and over your clit, your orgasm weakening.

“Ugh,” you grumble.

“We have time,” Yangyang tells you, “to have sex.” He looks at you through his eyelashes, gradually lowering his head under your shirt, his shirt. After Monday, he wondered if you ever owned any shirts yourself, or if you donated all of them once you ‘discovered’ his closet. “Tell me you want it too.”

“I want you.”

He doesn’t know whether to clown you or flirt with you. The first option would make you laugh, but the second would get him laid. Luckily, you decide for him, shimming out of your jeans and panties, then you slide his pants down to his ankles. He wraps his hand around your throat, drawing you to his lips, and he unintentionally squeezes when you settle on the tip of his c.ock. As you ride him, your walls hug his d!ck nicely, giving it a nice tight feeling that he can’t help but moan at. You straighten your back to gain some height over him and slip your tongue in his mouth. His hands reach out to your ass, guiding your hips forward in waves. He starts breathing heavier and his grip gets stronger.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum.”

Yangyang kisses you, pulling your words into his mouth, “So cum.”

“Fuck.”

He chases after your high, under the guise of helping you ride out this orgasm, getting his d!ck to twitch deeply inside you. When his hold gets too firm, you whine, suddenly over stimulated. Your nails dig into his bicep roughly, barely soothed by the t-shirt he still wears. He thrusts asynchronously with you before coming undone and dragging you into his chest. You feel warm and sweaty in this post-sex glow, your hand and head resting on his chest. He traces little hearts on your inner wrist, not wanting to let you go completely.

“You need to stop picking my underwear if you’re just going to destroy them,” you joke, kissing him on the cheek. “I have to double wash these thongs you know.”

“Can we –“ Yangyang swallows a lump in his throat. He feels like he is pulling you impossibly close, even though you are not moving away. “Can we go back to that thing you were saying earlier?”

“Hmm?”

“The,” he pauses, indecisive whether he actually wants to bring everything up right now. He ultimately decides for it. “Part with the ‘I love you’?” He knows that his voice sounds smaller than normal and that his eyes are shifting nervously at yours, but he wants to hear it again, wants the validation.

“Right,” you understand, nodding your head equally slowly. You straddle his lap again, and he immediately balances you by the waist, wanting to keep that impossibly close distance. “I’m – I’ve fallen –“ You swallow, looking away, but he needs you to look at him. Because if you can’t say it to his face, how does he know that you’re not just saying it out of obligation? Thankfully though, you see to be on the same wavelength, returning to his eyes, and his breath hitches, abs shaking in anticipation. You confidently give him the sentiment, “I love you.”

Yangyang tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, watching the way his fingers finish, stroking along our cheekbone. “I know,” he whispers coolly, leaning into your ear. “It’s hard not to love me,” he changes the subject, “I’m the best.” You scoff and push his chest, but he fastens an arm around you as equally fast, smiling too wide. He is a little sorry, for ruining the moment, but his laugh isn’t convincing at all. “I love you too.”

Sex, you think, feels infinitely better once the weight was lifted off your chest, once the spoonful of love was added. And the way Yangyang keeps kissing you, absolutely obsessed with holding your waist, tells you that spoonful is a misnomer, too small. The measurement for an entire ocean might be a better description. Still though, you would never call describe sex as love making, especially not to his face. At that point, you would be faced with an ‘oh, my god; that’s disgusting, man’ – not that you mind entirely, because the teasing smile he uses is so, so important to you, and sex feels just like that – the love part, not the disgusting thing. Although, sometimes he can be quite disgusting, yanno. Ah, he just makes you want to skip class and stay in bed beside him all day.

Except, both of you know how bad of an idea that is, with midterms are right around the corner.

Despite that, he spends the night at your apartment again, staying up until 3AM even though he has abnormal psych at 8 on Thursdays.

“I need a study break.”

You roll the cover of your design textbook towards your spiral notebook and toss the pile onto the floor, kicking the blankets off your feet. Yangyang barely spares you a glance, too absorbed in his case study. It is the last of five, and he only has the results, psychometrics, and summary statement left to write for this one before he is completely done for the week. Similarly, you have an exam on Joseon architecture later today and you are a third of a chapter away from catching up on reading, but honestly, fortresses get annoying to look at, especially when you have to compare militia structures against lower-class housing. So, you infiltrate Yangyang’s personal bubble, sliding an arm over his hips and your head into his lap.

“Does this mean I have you join you?” he teases, already putting away his pens. He pushes all his study materials by his feet, never leaning too far up, to keep your head in place. It gets even more comfortable when he relaxes again, resting across the pillows. You close your eyes, melting, when he massages your scalp, like he immediately knows where every knot or corner of tension are.

“I would really appreciate it, if you joined me.” You sigh. His touch is heavenly, and it makes you tighten your arm over his pelvis.

Eventually, Yangyang goes back to his homework, this time reclining in a way that lets you curl into his side. And you aren’t actually asleep, just mildly daydreaming with your eyes shut, thinking about literally anything (Yangyang) other than structures. When he raises a book midair, in front of his face, you move positions, sprawling across his chest, leg coming between his thighs. You (purposefully) annoyingly stick your head under his cheek, to ensure that you, at least, moderately block some of the passage.

Yangyang giggles. “Am I officially joining you now?” He puts his papers on your nightstand and wraps an arm around your shoulders, luring you to his lips. Your leg slithers above the waistband of his joggers, and he helps you straddle him again, sinking into the mattress to get a good view of the way you look in his oversize hood, in only his oversized hoodie. “You’re clingier.”

“Than what?” you ask innocently, rubbing his shirt fabric along his chest. You start pouting, as a response to his silence. Does he not want to cuddle? You shake your head. No, he does, given the way he pushes up the hoodie and yanks you further up his lap. “We cuddle the same amount.” You lower toward his ear, holding his neck in place, and whisper, “Do you not want to? Because I can leave.”

Before you can even think about getting off, he kisses you, sitting up. “Don’t go.” His hands come under your ass, squeezing as your arms circle around his neck. “It’s just –“ He bites his lip, suppressing a whine, which you can feel clog his throat. “You can’t sit on my lap like this. I’m getting hard.”

“Again?” you taunt. He slaps your butt, rather harshly, leaving a warm tingling sensation that he kneads away. You grind into his touch and kiss up his neck. “We can try the Pomodoro method.” You blow into his ear, shakily, as his hand presses particularly rougher. “I’ll set a timer for 25-minutes.” You look at him with chaste, despite the way you are purposefully making his blood rush. His fingers move to the edge of the hood, lifting it slightly. “Think we can have fun in just 25 minutes?”

“Mmmhmm,” he agrees early, nodding his head forward to kiss you. You don’t let him meet you though, not that you think he really noticed, what with being distracted by your very naked legs. He slowly sits up, all the way, and you feel his d!ck twitch against your thighs.

“Or do you think we won’t be able to finish?”

Yangyang throws you onto the bed and removes his shirt in one fell swoop. “Bet?”

“Missionary?” you ask, almost sticking your tongue out at him. “You’re getting more vanilla.”

Yanygyang gasps, then whacks your butt. “Take that back!”

You prop yourself on your elbows, eying all the naked parts of him up and down, from his low waisted briefs to his well-defined pecs to the rather cross sulk on his lip. “Make me.”

“Don’t have to.” He takes away your smirk, displaying it across his face. You tilt your head to the left, expression slacking blankly, but you catch on, feeling his fingers outline your sides. He slips his thumb between your lips, pushing it slowly until you basically give him a finger job, like a preview to the actual head he wants. “You’re already prepped.”

Your eyes flicker up, purely, as if he is about to ruin you for the first time. It’s his favorite part whenever you blow him – you looking into his eyes, taking every inch of him. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, dragging your lip down until he lets go, your lips smacking together. You bite your lip, suddenly feeling empty, even though neither of you have really done anything yet. “Are you going to fuck me then?” Your voice sounds so harmless, now lacking the bite as you mentally anticipate his d!ck to stretch you open right now. He shakes his head, no. “So what –“

Yangyang spreads your legs a little wider, strictly, darting in the direction of your main bullseye point. His touches remain light and teasing, not getting there yet, responding to all the little mannerisms that make your lower body so rhythmic. He rubs a finger, swirling the ends of his movements to get your hips riding his digits. You whimper breathily, voice cracking at such a high pitch. He sweeps your bottom lip, pressing his tongue softly, making you wish that he would fuck you already. It is insanely evil, for him to give you a preview of the intense foreplay without actually doing it, barely giving you the imagery of it all. You clutch his shoulder, to steady him for a constant kiss and to actually get on his slender fingers. But he never lets you. Instead, he pulls you by your ass, one-handed, forcing you to roll your hips on the silhouette of his d!ck. Fuck, how can you even feel his c.ock? His joggers are so thick. He maintains the stupid, inhumane taunts, kissing the air between you two, caressing everywhere along your hole. A few minutes pass without him changing the routine, so you reverse the positions, throwing him on your mattress and straddling his lap like a stripper. And with almost the same level of experience, or confidence (you hope it’s confidence), you seesaw over his d!ck. He swiftly locks your arms around his neck and his behind your lower back, palming your ass. You look into his eyes for a second, then kiss him roughly, smashing your lips on his.

“You’re. So. Eager. Today,” he says, muddied by elongated spit noises. His eyes are flittered closed as he smiles smugly, accepting your style of manhandling. Your embraces are light and rapid, doing everything in your power to prevent him from straying too far. But his abs get too shaky, too firm, the familiar build up washing over him, so he has to pull away. When he does, you try chasing him and he brushes your hair behind your ear, slowly stroking your jugular vein like ticking baby hairs. “I love you.”

You smile. “I love you too.” You peck his lips, now sitting sticky on his lap. He looks so pretty, eyes glazed and lips slightly parted. You just have to kiss him again.

Yangyang bends your back to the comforter, guiding you by the throat, simultaneously pushing his pants mid-thigh, c.ock bouncing more freely. It slaps your p.ussy, naturally twitching aroused. He is so close that when he pumps himself a few strokes, his knuckles rasp along your clit and you buck your hips for more touches. You feel his wet tip run along your slit, and you just know that his hand locks above his balls, right around his base, ready to push in. But you stop him.

“Let me ride you,” you pant, slowly opening your eyes.

He nods his head enthusiastically, and you pop off his head. You turn around, back facing him as you take off the hoodie, leaning down to graze your n!pples on the blanket.

Yangyang wails. “That’s not fair. I want to see.” He takes off his pants, to be as equally naked.

You redirect his attention back to your p.ussy, using your first two fingers to pinch your clitoral hood and gently tug it up and down, over his d!ck as you back into him. He lets out a loud moan at the sight; it takes everything in him to not thrust, listening to your command ordering him to wait. You brush your hair over your shoulder again and look at him behind your shoulder, sultry. Your mood changes are so sexy. His body moves automatically, hunching over your spine to litter you with kisses, his hand trailing behind his saliva. You take that palm and put it on your t!t as you grind his c.ock between your ass cheeks, sliding it to the most sensitive nerves of your p.ussy. He aids your building orgasm with two fingers, leaning his metacarpal inside of your thigh to rub circles specifically under your nub.

“Oh my god,” you exhale, walls throbbing in a vacuum of emptiness, needy.

You sit up and push him onto the pillows by his chest, then reach behind to grab his c.ock erect. His breath thunders, encouragingly. He waits for you to do something, scanning your bare back for every little love bite and mark. You slowly descend and use your knees to bounce, ass swirling between his thighs. Your hips oscillate from outward jumping to figure eights, to rocking sideways. And his favorite position seems to be when you take all of him, gyrating shallowly, letting only about an inch leave your p.ussy before you slam back down on him. You mimic his slaps, taking your hand off his inner thigh to grip your ass, dragging your nails up, leaving a tingling sensation. He rolls his eyes to the back of his head, recording the moment in his brain forever, then slaps your jiggling flesh several times. This position gets his big c.ock deep within your p.ussy, causing his balls to bump against your labia. Then he starts thrusting with you, pounding his hips up.

“Fuck, Fuck, Yanygang. Mmhm.”

He copies your expletives, adding some bad girl’s and other lewd nicknames, before slamming with some finality. You think that he is about to cum, but he withdraws, making you whine sharply. Yangyang flips you onto your back, immediately attacking your chest. His hands support you like a wired bra and shakes them, pushing the pads of his thumbs into your sternum so that your hardened n!pples remain level with his mouth. He licks one lightly, circling around the areola, then latches on, sucking with his tongue flattened under your skin. You arch your back to him, drawing him close. He repeats the action on the other, but longer, as he pinches and kneads your b.oob.

“Come on my d!ck again, you dirty little girl,” he orders, voice low and hoarse.

“Then stop pulling out,” you whisper, similarly breathless.

“Okay.”

You lean away from him, supported with your hands on his thighs, spinning your hips in circles and side to side. His hands squeeze your waist, jostling you to his chest brutally.

“Don’t do that,” he growls, teeth barring before he kisses you again, croaking the moan in your throat. He drags you close, fingers digging into esophagus so that his tongue and reach inside.

Your grip scratches on his triceps, pink lines haunting his skin. You keep bouncing up and down, until his chokehold drops. His mouth falls open, releasing strings of curses after gasps. He spanks you hard, twice, then grips your ass, jerking it savagely. You change the motion, grinding in tiny, little, miniscule circles. Your thighs shiver, your entire body following. He rotates his d!ck, thrusting asynchronously. And you claw through his hair, tugging the strands rougher and rougher as your abdomen keeps tightening.

“Almost, almost,” you whimper. “I’m so close.”

Yangyang pulls your bottom lip with his teeth. “Me too.”

You begin slowing down, no longer able to bounce up and down, choosing to rock back and forth. Then, everything stops for just a second, your walls compressing his springy c.ock until you break. All of his muscles grate against you, making you feel each ridge and movement. He follows your orgasm, feeling the way you milk every drop out of him, sucking his entire length balls deep. Your whine sounds like a treble, harmonizing with his lower moan. And you two spend another moment in cowgirl position, collecting your breaths, basically fused together.

“I love you,” Yangyang repeats. Ever since yesterday morning, he has been throwing out the sentiment spontaneously whenever he can: during sex, after sex, while cuddling, in the middle of study dates, behind his cup of coffee at the physics café in the afternoon when no one else is nearby. He follows up with another confession, “I want more than 25-minutes.” And it catches you off guard, considering his previous statement and the other, in the midst of sex, or love making, as some people would call it.

“The 25-minutes is just for right now,” you reassure him, gently patting his cheeks. “We have to study. I still have part of a chapter left to read.”

“Then say it back.”

You pull his face to yours, brushing your noses together. “I love you,” you tell him slowly, enunciating every syllable.

“So, spend the night at my place tomorrow,” he requests. His arms come behind your lower back, his eyes pouting like a lamb.

“Of course,” you answer impulsively, immediately going to kiss him after. Then you pull away, stopping him on the shoulders. “Wait. You have roommates. You have six roommates.”

“Four,” he corrects you – Sicheng graduated last year and moved in with Yuta. “We’ll be fine. Dejun is going with Kun to some conference; I don’t remember what. Hendery is staying at an AirBnB before the EDM festival this weekend. Lucas is …” Yangyang bites his cheek, trying to recall his roomates’ schedules. “I think he’s going on a date. I don’t know, but he bought roses and they’re sitting in the fridge. And Renjun … Renjun …” Yangyang swallows. He almost forgot about the tidbit that he learned at the Halloween party last weekend.

“Renjun what?” you ask, pecking him lightly and chastely.

“Won’t be there either.” Yangyang stops you. “Can I ask you a serious question?”

You sense the serious tone and straighten up, clasping your hands around his neck. “What’s up?” you prod slowly.

“Did you really like him?” he questions so softly that you almost do not hear him. “Renjun?” he clarifies after you stay quiet (even though it was just a few seconds).

“Yeah,” you answer quietly, not entirely sure if you even want him to hear you, the ambience settling into something melancholier. “But I love you.”

It seems like he ignores you.

“Why didn’t you get with him?”

“You don’t mean that.”

You shake your head, pulling back, your eyes painfully dry. All the fuzzy spots from your orgasm earlier connect the dots in your head, and you wonder what this is, if he doubts you, doesn’t trust you.

But he agrees, “You’re right. I just … I mean, why are you with me instead?”

“Instead?” you ask. You come back to him – it’s always him, and you hold his face, making him look at you. “I’m not with you instead of Renjun. There’s no compet!tion. I love you,” you enunciate the confession again to really emphasize it.

“But –“

It doesn’t seem to stick. And you sigh with your entire body, slumping away from him. “Does it really bother you that much?” You shift around, biting your lip while his soft c.ock scrambles inside you. He meets your eyes this time, scanning your pupils for more reassurance. “You are kind and smart and hard-working and insanely talented, and … and I love you.” He stays quiet, and you almost throttle him, needing a bit of affection too. “Say it back,” you beg, differently from minutes ago. You drop your forehead on his shoulder. “Please.”

Yangyang seems to understand and reciprocates, “I love you too.”

You pull yourself to face him and beam, mirroring his tender gummy smile. Then, you kiss him again, toppling him into the pillows. He rolls you over, causing you to giggle loudly as he peppers small bites along your cheeks, across your nose, and whispers the same confession on loop.

“I love you,” he ends, kissing you deeply. He comes up for air, inhaling sharply. “So, stay the night with me tomorrow – tonight. At my place.” He brushes your hair away from your face, to get a better look at the sweet glaze in your eyes. You think that you fall in love a little more, especially with all his domestic acts.

“Okay,” you agree.

“Okay,” he repeats. “Okay.” He nods his head, smiling wider, if possible, and kisses you over and over and over again.

Funny thing about Fridays: Yangyang doesn’t have a morning class, doesn’t have class at all actually; meanwhile, you have another art history class, at eight. The damn class is 90-minutes, so it is held three times a week. His lectures, you recall bitterly, go on for 2-3 hours each, granting him the three day weekend that every college student desires, pushing his classes to the first four business days of the week. That means he can stay up all night Thursday to Saturday, gaming for long hours into the night – not that you get to see it often, because when you do stop by the frat house, you spend time with anyone else. And usually, someone is visiting at the same time. You know, you write yourself into Xiaojun and Sicheng’s pool compet!tion, or watch moves with Lucas, but tonight (really morning, considering that it is 1 A.M.), you sit with Yangyang in his wide gaming chair, thumbing at The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild (BotW) while he plays Overwatch with Haechan and Jeno. Thankfully, you don’t have any major assignments due later or any in-class presentations, so you can just curl up next to your boyfriend and pull an all-nighter, stealing snacks and drinks from his new mini-fridge so that you can avoid accidentally bumping into one of his roommates. Although, you Uber’ed to his place with a box of friend chicken and side dishes.

After the same gold lynel kills of Link for the third time in a row (the one in the Hebra region, outside the shrine, that has a sword you want), you lazily toss the controller onto his desk. Dying again and again gets frustrating, and you need to relieve the buzz. So, you turn to Yangyang, who looks to be in the middle of a campaign (is that what his levels are called?), and start asking him questions about his video game. Like, you know how sometimes people get so desperately horny that they ask their partner to explain Overwatch to them? Yeah, that is exactly how this feels, as Yangyang’s distracted voice describes his location and next move. And it is no wonder that he is a psych major – he is good at communication.

“What does that character do?” you whisper-ask, while the screen refreshes after he wins a battle.

“That’s an attacker.”

“A huh,” you nod along. You vaguely know what that means, based on the t!tle and all your years of the Club Penguin Card Jitsu game. “And that one?”

Yangyang removes his headset to around his neck and faces you, grinning sideways. “Are we sharing interests right now?” He pushes your legs apart, then straddles you over his thigh. His desk separates you and the game, pressing a fine line between the bones in your spinal cord. He turns the microphone down, muting himself from his friends. It is one thing for the two of you to be alone in the frat house and another for his close friends to physically hear you in his arms. “Or are you just needy for my attention?” Yangyang pulls one hand on your skin, rubbing small soothing circles. “That’s a sign of a relationship, you know.” He leans into your ear, whispering, “Like a date.”

You push him against the chair cushions, scrunching your nose at his laughter. “As if we haven’t done that already,” you say sarcastically, rolling your eyes for emphasis.

“What?” he asks. “Go on a date?”

You nod your head. Neither of you really call these types of things dates, but they are. Sometimes you also hang out in public, alone, maybe holding hand or kissing, even though lately it seems like you stay inside and study and have sex all the time. Actually, there is a rave going on this weekend with one of your favorite DJs – one shared equally by the two of you. You have yet to invite Yangyang, but now seems like a good time.

“You don’t really care about my games,” he pouts, “Do you?”

“I’m sorry,” you agree, pouting with him. “I don’t speak nerd.”

Yangyang gasps, sitting up straighter. “It’s not a nerd thing! It’s a game of strategy!”

You shake your head, still not understanding. “I don’t speak virgin either.”

He slaps your ass. “We both know that isn’t true.”

“Am I supposed to be the virgin, in this scenario?”

“Are you becoming a born-again virgin?”

You shrug. “What would you do if I did?” You completely straddle his lap, scooting up his thighs until his d!ck sits at attention between your abdomens, and you whisper in his ear, “Would you leave me?” You bite his ear, softly licking the external side then blowing on it. “Would you ruin me? Take it away?”

“Virginity is a social construct,” he reminds you, growling. He slips his hands into your underwear. “I’ll ruin you right now.”

Except, another round on his game loads, and you find yourself leaning onto his shoulder opposite the microphone so that he can play, despite the insane wetness soaking your underwear right now. Then, two more games go by and you want his attention. He asked you to stay the night with him, and this doesn’t necessarily feel like that. So, you get off his lap, slithering down his legs onto the ground, onto your knees.

First, you untie his pants and spring his d!ck out. It’s not difficult, because (1) he has pyjama bottoms on, and (2) he manspreads like a motherfucker, giving you easy access. Then, the blow job starts. You lick your palm a couple times and angle his tip in your mouth, starting soft. His legs tense momentarily, making you consider stopping, but a hand appears, pushing you halfway down his length.

“You look so pretty down there, angel.”

He obviously did not actually look at you; you know because he usually makes eye contact when he is close to cumming, enjoying the way your eyes glass over. And because his keyboard continues clicking.

You continue on that way – keeping one hand squeezed halfway down his d!ck; hollowing your cheeks, adding extra suction all over his tip; flattening your tongue on the underside and rolling it like sushi at the very top. Despite his d!ck being fully erect in your mouth, his attention is less than enthusiastic, fingers working diligently on those numbers. It gives you an idea. You start bobbing your head faster, in tune with his typing, egged on by his compet!tiveness. And when his voice goes up an octave, your grip gets tighter, only slacking when you drop back down halfway. His groan echoes in your ear, sounding like he lost (whatever that means), so you pull off. He breathes a little bit harder after the smacking sound falls from your lips, preceding all the fluttering little kisses down his shaft. You hold his d!ck up and lick one stripe up between his balls, and he shouts at his friends:

“Alright! I’m done for the night. Play tomorrow. Bye!”

Yangyang pulls you to your feet, standing with you. He scans your eyes, pulling you closer and closer, debating whether to kiss you or not; he never really kisses you after you suck his d!ck, unless he eats you out too.

“Bed now,” he orders you in whispers, patting your butt a little too hard. You fall onto his queen-sized mattress stomach down, bouncing with his fluffy duvet. He kneels next to you, lifting his sweater off your thighs and spanking you again, three times. Each smack precedes a loud, high-pitched gasp. “You’re so needy.”

“Fuck,” you mutter at a particularly hard hit, his hand slipping to the wet p.ussy lips that need some friction. “Is that a bad thing?”

A door shuts loudly down the hall, making you two straighten up in attention. You prop yourself forward on your elbows, staring at the door. Yangyang watches your reaction, his ears alert and back facing the door. You hear Hendery walking up the stairs, something jangling with him, like keys or plates. A second pair of feet march with him, making you look at Yangyang. He shrugs his shoulders, shaking his head; he thought everyone was going to be gone this weekend, which does not apparently start on Fridays for his roommates.

“You’re going to need to be quiet,” he whispers. This is nothing new. The two of you constantly fuck, like rabbits, regardless if anyone can hear you, but Hendery is two rooms down and Yangyang is sliding two fingers knuckle deep until hitting the urethral sponge. His curling has your thighs tensing to the point of shaking. As he settles between your legs (not letting up on the pressure), he taps your sternum twice, telling you to keep still and quiet.

But you moan. It just comes out, not something that you can control. Especially when he nips all around your clit, lip biting at your skin and sucking small bruises. He keeps going like this, nodding his head for more vibrations everywhere except the most sensitive spot. Your breath gets more labored, breaking loudly.

“You need to be quieter,” he reminds you.

“Mmm, I can’t. You’ll have to move slower.”

Yangyang speeds up his fingers. “Not a chance.” He swipes his thumb across your clit once, then twice, then harder, giving it a little pinch. “Even if you cum, I’m still going.”

You whine, disagreeing. “Mmm mmm, you can’t say things like that. Fuck –“ He starts crawling over your body, peppering light touches along your stomach, around your b.oobs, above your collarbone. “- I want to cum.” You mewl, again frustrated, because he pulls his fingers out. He gestures you to shush, putting them in your mouth. With his hands occupied around your face and throat, his d!ck jostles, sliding between your p.ussy lips without actually entering. “Please,” you beg, “I want to cum so bad.”

“Ugh,” Yangyang moans in your ear, this time guiding himself inside your warm and aching hole. “I know,” he tells you. “I can feel it.” He rotates onto his side, propping up one of his legs to get into an easier position where he can pound you better. You grab one of the pillows, briefly arresting it with your nails acting like handcuffs before settling it under your oblique. The new angle puts Yangyang right back at your G-spot, his tip abusing the sponge harshly. “You’re milking my c.ock, huh? You’re – You want me so bad, huh?”

“Mm hmm, yeah,” you agree. His gaze fixates on the way your ass claps against his pelvis. He doesn’t even have to lead you anymore; you start backing up on him, motivated the rougher he tugs your hair. “Please, please,” you chant in whispers. He spreads your cheeks, obsessed with the disappearing act you pull, needing to see it more.

“Fuck,” he groans. He cups your b.oob off the mattress, supporting the other one with his arm, and pinches at your n!pple, swirling it around between his thumb and index finger. “Come on, pretty girl. You need to cum?” You nod your head fervently, face warming intensely. “So, cum on my c.ock. You can do it; come on.” He drops your chest for your neck, pushing your head into the blankets so he can kiss you again, incoherently vibrating broken praises on your lips.

“Yangyang, Yangyang, I’m – I’m – Harder, please. I’m so – Oh, fuck.”

He moans your name seconds after, spilling into your pulsating core, and relaxes, chest falling into an equilibria rhythm with yours. His c.ock softens, finishing its workout, so you swing your leg away from him and spin around, placing a hand on his chest. You stare at him for a little bit, like watching the sun set. He peaks an eye open, then closes it quickly, teasing you because he knows that you saw it.

“You’re going to get cross-eyed staring at me,” Yangyang jokes.

“Then let me get cross-eyed,” you counter, slithering an arm under his head like a neck cushion.

“That’s disgusting.”

You scoff, pulling on the ends of his hair. “You’re disgusting.”

He smacks your butt lightly. It is definitely his favorite punishment. “And you can call it a kink, fyi.” He opens his eyes in time to see you pout, and in return, he pecks your lips, pulling away just as fast.

You look over his shoulder at the time: 2 A.M. and bury your face in his chest. “We need to stop sleeping so late. My body can’t handle this.”

“My body can handle yours.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, even though he would not be ready to go again, at least for twenty minutes.

You chew on your lip a little bit, then repeat a post-sex tradition (well, it has essentially become a tradition this week). “Can I ask you a question?”

Yangyang kisses your shoulder, wrapping a leg around yours to keep you locked nearby. “Of course, anything.”

“Do you want to go to the rave with me, this weekend?”

“Like,” he processes, still hidden the crevice of your neck, “as in a date?” He lays across your arm, and you notice the glint in his eye. “Are you asking me out? I was supposed to do that!”

“Oh?” you return the tease. “We can just not go then, and I’ll wait for you to ask me out.” You start getting up, but he drags you back down, tugging specifically on your hand. He kisses you as a confirmation that yes, he wants to go; he wants nothing more than to go on a real date with you.

#wayv #nct yangyang #wayv yangyang #yangyang #yangyang smut #wayv smut #nct smut #yangyang fluff #wayv fluff #nct fluff #yangyang imagines #yangyang x reader #liu yangyang #wayv imagines #nct imagines #wayv scenarios #nct scenarios #/mine

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omgrachwrites · 4 years ago

Text

Our Souls Crave This Magic- Chapter Two

Pairing: Prince Caspian x Reader

Summary: All you want is a quiet year of university as you and your best friend, Edmund move to New York City. Though, that all changes when you meet the spoiled trust fund brat, Caspian. College au.

Warnings: fluff, slow burn romance, swearing, mentions of sex, enemies to lovers

Words: 2590

Disclaimer: This gif doesn’t belong to me and all characters are 18+

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this part! I forgot how bad I was at writing party scenes 🙃 I didn’t mean for this to be actual enemies to lovers but this is the way this is turning out! Please let me know what you think and let me know if you would like to be tagged! I love you all! xxx

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Chapter Two - If Only For Tonight

Caspian grimaced as he walked through the cool streets of New York with Edmund; he always tried to never judge a book by its cover because he didn’t want to be like his parents. But, it was hard not to judge, this was a seedy part of town where muggings and drugs were rife. Caspian wouldn’t usually be caught dead in this part of town. Edmund had invited him to a college party, Caspian had thought about saying no but he didn’t want to alienate himself and he actually really liked Edmund.

Ed had even convinced Caspian to join him at Aslan’s – somewhere where Caspian had never set foot – for a couple of drinks beforehand. Caspian didn’t want to leave his friend alone, especially when Ed had ulterior motives for going to Aslan’s, the girl he fancied was going.

Ed looked back at Caspian and grinned, choking on a laugh, “oh, come on, don’t look so glum, mate, tonight is gonna be great!”

Caspian rolled his eyes at Ed as he raked his fingers through his hair, “I hope that you appreciate what I’m willing to go through for you,” Caspian grumbled as they walked into the bar.

Caspian wrinkled his nose and tried not to sneer at his surroundings, the air reeked of stale alcohol and cigarettes as the music pounded in his ears, “Ed, you’re here!” there was a loud giggle as a beautiful girl with golden blonde hair ran up to him and wrapped her arms around him.

Edmund chuckled and blushed, it was so obvious that this was the girl that he fancied, when the girl pulled back with a grin, Ed gestured over at Caspian, “Caspian, this is Lilly, Lilly, this is Caspian.”

Caspian lifted his hand in a small wave and Lilly smiled, “it’s nice to meet you,” her gaze hardly lingered on him before she gazed back up at Ed with a wistful look in her eyes. Caspian hid a smile; it was obvious that Lilly held a torch for Edmund.

Shaking his head in amusement, he looked towards the bar and what he saw there almost made him choke on nothing. There was a girl with her back towards him, leaning up over the bar, wearing a pair of black killer heels. Caspian really tried not to stare but her lace crimson dress had ridden up enough to show the garters of the suspenders she wore.

“You’re staring, Caspian,” Ed said and Caspian could hear the smirk in his friend’s voice.

“No, I’m not,” he jolted guiltily and turned back to look at Ed, feeling like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Lilly raised an eyebrow as she looked at the bar, “hey, Y/N!”

Caspian did a double take, his stomach performing somersaults when the girl in the crimson dress – with the amazing legs – turned around and Caspian realised who he’d just been checking out. Y/N grinned, she looked just as beautiful in the front as she did from behind, Caspian just wished that she wasn’t so irritating.

Y/N gave Ed a hug while she nodded at Caspian, with the hint of a smirk on her face as she took a sip of her cocktail, “Ed and Cas, sounds like a shitty superhero show.”

Edmund rolled his eyes as they walked towards the bar, narrowly missing getting splashed with beer, “I’ll pretend that you didn’t just say that, I thought that you were working tonight,” Ed raised an eyebrow.

Y/N had had to reject so many invitations to parties in the past month because she was working, Y/N shrugged, “I was, Aslan heard about the party so let me clock of early,” she grinned before turning back to Caspian with her eyebrows raised and he tried not to let his eyes linger away from her face, “I’m surprised to see you in a place like this, thought it was too good for you. Never thought you’d climb down from your ivory tower long enough to join us mere mortals in the real world,” her tone was teasing and it surprisingly seemed to lack the venom her voice usually held.

Nevertheless, Caspian still scoffed as a bottle of beer was placed in front of him, “trust me, this is the last time you’ll ever see me in here.”

Y/N laughed, biting her lip as Caspian watched her lips touch the sugared rim of her glass and she took a small sip, “I’m going to put a better song on,” she smirked, letting her hand linger on Caspian’s chest as she brushed up against him before eventually walking past him to get to the juke box in one corner of the room.

After a little while – and a few beers – Caspian relaxed enough to let his guard down and try to enjoy the new experience. Caspian cringed slightly as he watched Edmund trying to chat Lilly up, blissfully unaware that she was trying to do the same thing. Caspian smirked over at Y/N as Ed wrapped his arms around Lilly as he helped her line up her shot on the pool table.

“Do you think that they’re really that oblivious or is just because we’re here, cramping their style?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow at him, “can’t say yet, but I’ll tell you one thing, Lilly is amazing at pool,” she giggled and for the first time, Caspian noticed the way her face lit up and her cheeks dimpled.

Caspian laughed out loud as he looked at the couple at the pool table before glancing back at Y/N who had a wistful sort of look on her face as she watched Ed and Lilly, “you look really pretty tonight, Y/N.”

Y/N stopped stirring her blue cocktail as she looked up at him with a surprised look on her face, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks, “wow, Caspian you’re sweet. Who would have thought it?” there was still that sharp tone in her voice.

Caspian knew that she didn’t like him, he just didn’t understand why, he sighed as he slouched back in his chair and frowned at her, “look, Y/N. I know that you don’t like me, I’m not expecting us to be best friends but please, for tonight can we just put our differences aside?”

Y/N smirked down at the contents of her drink before glancing back up at him from beneath her long lashes, “sure, if only for tonight, I can pretend that you’re someone else, someone likeable. As long as you let loose and take as many jello shots as humanly possible,” she laughed.

Caspian playfully sighed as he rolled his eyes, “alright, Miss Y/L/N, it’s a deal,” he laughed, clinking his glass against hers.

Half an hour later, Caspian was regretting the deal that he’d made with Y/N. He was standing in front of a huge frat house where drunken people were falling out of, left, right and centre. Was this really going to be his college experience? Caspian wanted to break away from his parents’ traditional views but did he really want to go this far?

Caspian jumped as he felt an elbow in his ribs and discovered that Y/N was grinning at him with her eyebrow raised and her teeth digging into her lip, “we have a deal, remember? Let loose, that means no judging,” she laughed a she walked in front of the group, “see you suckers later, use protection and all that jazz,” he laughed as she shot them finger guns before running into the frat house.

The party was just like Caspian thought it would be, undignified and rowdy with people practically having sex in public. Caspian tried to enjoy himself but it was hard when all he wanted to do was run out of here and never look back, he also had to reject the same sorority girl multiple times. Plus, he didn’t want to be a third wheel on Ed and Lilly for much longer.

Though, Caspian had to hand it to Y/N, the jello shots were amazing, at first they were disgustingly sweet, the flavour sticking to his tongue but they quickly grew on him. Caspian soon began to feel light headed, he wasn’t drunk, just light headed and the party was far too crowded. He pushed past an idiot who was doing a keg stand and he breathed out in relief when he got outside into the cold night air.

He sighed and leaned against the hard brick of the wall, momentarily closing his eyes. His dark eyes snapped open when he heard a whimper, he knew what happened at these types of parties, and it wasn’t good. What if someone was in trouble? He swallowed and took it upon himself to investigate.

Though, when he turned the corner, he had never wanted to turn back time so much in his life. Y/N was leaning against the wall, caught in a passionate make out session with some curly haired frat boy. She giggled and sighed when the frat boy dipped his hand beneath her skirt and she wrapped one leg around his waist, it didn’t look like she was in trouble.

The jello shots curdled in Caspian’s stomach and he felt like he was about to throw up, though he managed to hold off long enough to run back inside to look for Ed and Lilly.

-----------------------------

You were roused from your sleep in the sweetest way, with soft kisses that trailed from the base of your neck, ending on your shoulder. You snapped your eyes open with a racing heart before you pieced everything together and you relaxed, you had never felt so hungover in your life. Turning over in bed, you smiled at the cute curly haired frat boy who placed a kiss on your nose. He defied all expectations of what you expected a frat boy to be, he was surprisingly sweet, now if you could only remember his name.

The frat boy smiled, his eyes the colour of honey in the weak light of day, “good morning. How you feelin?”

You let out a weak little laugh as you stretched your arms above your head, “like shit,” you hummed and trailed your fingers against his stubbled cheek, “I’m getting in the shower, are you coming?”

Sam – you remembered his name was Sam – grinned as he all but leapt out of bed, pulling on some pants, “fuck, yeah.”

You slipped on Sam’s shirt and giggled as you walked to the bathroom with Sam’s arms wrapped around you from behind. You had barely touched the doorknob before the bathroom door was wrenched open. It was hard to conceal the gasp that threatened to spill from your mouth but you managed it somehow. Caspian was standing on the other side of the door, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. His hair was damp, water droplets were sliding down his smooth chest, disappearing beneath his towel.

You swallowed as you quickly turned away from the handsome man, “jesus, Caspian! What the hell are you doing here?!” you yelled, covering your eyes.

“Ed let me crash here last night,” he mumbled, his voice was thick with sleep and when you chanced a glance at him from beneath your fingers you saw that his deep brown eyes were blood shot.

He nodded at you as he slipped past you and Sam with red cheeks, the look on his face made you wince, you knew exactly what that look meant. You bit your lip nervously and looked at Sam who was grinning at you sheepishly, “I think you should go.”

“That’s actually a really good idea,” he gulped, his adam’s apple bobbing as he did so, “I’ll call you or somethin’, doll.”

You let out a relieved breath, shaking your head as you walked into the bathroom and started the shower, your face burning with embarrassment. In the shower you scrubbed your skin beneath the scalding hot water until your skin was red raw and you slipped into some comfy loungewear before taking a deep breath and walking down the stairs.

Ed, Lucy and Caspian (who was thankfully dressed) were all sitting around the table, Caspian and Ed refused to look you in the eye, while Lucy was bright red, a little smile on her face as she pushed a plate of pancakes towards you. The silence was unbearable as you drizzled syrup over your breakfast, adding sprinkles to the top.

“Did your friend not want to stay for breakfast?” Lucy asked, her voice shaking with laughter while Edmund scowled at her.

You let out a sigh as you looked up at the boys, “look I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry that I quite clearly kept you up for most of the night,” Ed looked up at you before flushing and looking back down at his breakfast while Caspian kept his eyes on you, narrowing them ever so slightly.

“I’m just sad that you guys didn’t invite me to the party,” Lucy pouted as she stabbed at her pancakes with her fork.

Edmund choked on his coffee as he looked at his sister, his eyes blown wide, “for one, you’re not old enough if you wanted to go to parties at 19, then you should have stayed in England. Two, if going to frat parties has that outcome, then you’re never going to one, ever.”

Caspian chuckled as he ran a hand through his still damp hair and you couldn’t help but watch his movements, you hated to admit it but he looked good in the morning, “you’re just mad that you didn’t get lucky with Lilly.”

The four of you laughed together before Lucy initiated a whole new conversation that broke the tension and for that, you were internally grateful. Everything was going well as everyone tucked into their pancakes, or at least you thought they were going well.

Caspian frowned as he looked up at you, “is that usual for you? Bringing back some guy you hardly know?”

The silence was deafening as you looked up from your breakfast and glared at the handsome man who was sitting opposite you and he didn’t look especially guilty, “what the hell is that supposed to mean? What are you implying?” you asked, getting defensive because you knew exactly what he was implying. You hardly knew Caspian; he was in no position to start judging you.

“Y/N,” Ed trailed off in a warning voice as he looked between you and Caspian with a worried expression on his face.

“No, Ed,” you glared at him before looking back at Caspian who was leaning back in his chair, his eyebrows raised at you, “he’s got something to say, so say it, Cas!” he was silent as he swallowed and he averted his eyes and you scoffed at him, “just as I thought,” you stood up, taking your plate of pancakes, “I’m not ashamed for enjoying sex, even if it is with a stranger. Just because you’re probably a sad virgin doesn’t mean we all have to be. You stay away from me.”

You knew that he was only trying to get underneath your skin, as payback for all the times you got under his skin. Also, you knew that there was no way in hell that someone as good looking as him was a virgin but it made you feel better to insinuate it.

“It would be my pleasure,” he mumbled.

You scowled back at him as you stormed into your room with your blood boiling, you hated him so much.

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@smiithys @elayneblack @amelie-black @generalblizzarddreamer @blackbirddaredevil23 @whiskeywinter89

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