#and i want to take a class on this next year

[missarchive]

guys my age - spencer reid

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

who? professor spencer reid x student fem!reader

category: slow burn, forbidden love.

content warnings: NSFW MDNI! age gap! (spencer is in his 40s, reader is in her 20s). dubious content. freakish obsessed reader, freakish obsessed spencer. dom!spencer, but reader is pretty controlling. borderline stalking. unprotected p in v. forbidden love. power dynamics. smut. spencer cums inside :]

word count: around 8k

a/n: hi all!! this is my first post, i used to write wayyy back in the day but after a long three years and finally finishing my degree, i now have all the time in the world to write again. feedback is greatly appreciated <3

The lecture hall was alive with murmurs, but you couldn’t hear them. All you could focus on was the moment that door would open, the instant he would walk in. Dr. Spencer Reid. His name consumed you, whispered endlessly in the back of your mind, an invocation that made your pulse quicken. You had done your research long before the semester began—his credentials, his publications, the infamous cases he’d worked. He wasn’t just brilliant. He was untouchable. But not to you.

You sat deliberately in the middle row, far enough back to observe him fully, close enough to feel like he was speaking directly to you. The moment he entered, time seemed to slow. His presence was overwhelming, his voice a melody that wrapped around you, dragging you under. Every movement he made—the way his fingers toyed with the edge of his lecture notes, the slight adjustment of his glasses—was a spectacle.

“Good morning, everyone. Welcome to Advanced Criminology. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.” His voice was smooth and confident, with an underlying warmth that immediately put you at ease.

For the next hour, you sat transfixed as he delved into the complexities of criminal behavior, weaving together case studies and theories with an ease that only someone with his expertise could manage. He had a way of making even the most intricate concepts accessible, his passion for the subject evident in every word. By the end of the lecture, you were utterly captivated—not just by the material, but by the man who delivered it.

Perfectly ironed white shirt, sleeves rolled up his forearms. The same black suit pants you’d seen countless times when you closed your eyes. Unruly curls lay in a perfect mess, somehow each strand just fit. His eyes held knowledge, they commanded attention. They looked at you with such an intensity, you wondered if he could see right through you. Sure, he wasn’t blind. Dr. Spencer Reid was a genius, after all. But, as he walks around his classic oak desk, fingers grazing against the wood as he leans up against it, you wonder if he knows the effect he has on you… On everyone.

Your old professor had resigned, much to your dismay. However, that was quickly resolved once you learnt of the new, much younger professor who was assigned to take his place. Spencer Reid, a name that seemed like a curse every time it was spoken. You’d just have to settle for admiring from afar, for now. 

He was perfect. No, he was more than that. He was yours.

In those first weeks, it became routine to linger after class, pretending to ask questions about criminological theories when all you wanted was his attention. You started tracking his habits: the exact time he arrived on campus, where he grabbed his coffee, the path he took to his office. It wasn’t enough to listen to him during lectures. You needed to know him. Needed to understand every nuance of his life.

Your notebooks filled slowly. Not just with his words, but with sketches of his hands, his profile, even the way the light hit his hair during evening lectures. You memorized his mannerisms and read every book he recommended—not just to excel but to mirror his thoughts, to create a bond he couldn’t ignore.

Each interaction became a drug, a fleeting high that left you craving more. The way his eyes lingered on yours during class wasn’t a coincidence. You were sure of it. The moments his voice softened when addressing you were evidence of something deeper. He felt it too—he had to.

Dr. Reid, for his part, seemed to enjoy your curiosity. He would patiently answer your questions, occasionally sharing anecdotes from his time in the field. There was a depth to him that intrigued you, a sense of vulnerability hidden beneath his intellect. You couldn’t help but feel a growing admiration for him—one that you knew was dangerous to entertain.

It happened on a rainy Friday afternoon. You had stayed behind after class to discuss a particularly challenging case study, and the conversation had spilled into his office. The rain pattered against the window as you sat across from him, your notes spread out on the desk between you.

“I’m impressed with your analysis,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. “You have a natural aptitude for this field.”

The compliment sent a flush of warmth through you, but you quickly pushed it aside. “Thank you, Dr. Reid. That means a lot coming from you.”

For a moment, the air between you shifted, the professional boundary wavering ever so slightly. He seemed to sense it too, clearing his throat and looking away. “Well, uh, keep up the good work. I’m looking forward to seeing your perspective on the next assignment.”

As you gathered your things and prepared to leave, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something unspoken lingered between you. It was subtle, like the faintest trace of electricity in the air, but it was there. And it terrified you.

The weeks turned into months, and the connection between you and Dr. Reid continued to deepen. It wasn’t intentional—at least, that’s what you told yourself. You simply couldn’t help the way your conversations seemed to flow effortlessly or the way his insights resonated with you on a level that felt personal.

There were moments when you caught him watching you during lectures, his gaze lingering a fraction longer than necessary. And then there were the times when his praise felt almost... intimate, as if he saw something in you that went beyond your academic abilities.

You knew it was wrong. He was your professor, and the power dynamic alone made any kind of relationship inappropriate. But the more you tried to suppress your feelings, the stronger they seemed to grow. You found yourself yearning for his company, for the way his mind worked, for the rare glimpses of vulnerability he shared.

And you weren’t entirely sure he was immune to it, either.

It was during a late-night office visit that everything came to a head. You had been working on your final paper and were struggling with a particular section. Dr. Reid had offered to review it, and you had jumped at the chance, grateful for his guidance.

As you sat across from him, discussing your ideas, the tension that had been building between you finally reached its breaking point. There was a moment of silence as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes searching yours.

“You’re incredibly talented,” he said softly. “I hope you know that.”

The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard, and before you could stop yourself, you replied, “It’s easy to feel that way when someone like you believes in me.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. He looked at you, his expression a mixture of conflict and longing. “This...” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “This can’t happen. I won’t elaborate further, but you’re a smart girl… I know you know what I'm talking about.”

You nodded, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I know.”

But even as you said it, neither of you moved to leave. All you received was a curt nod. The pull between you was undeniable, and in that moment, it felt as though the world had narrowed to just the two of you.

The night of the gala was your chance. You spent hours perfecting your appearance, knowing he would notice you in a way he never had before. And when he did, when his eyes locked onto you with that unreadable expression, it was like the entire world fell away.

When he led you to the corner of the room, your heart pounded, not with fear, but with anticipation. His frustration, his struggle to maintain control, only proved how deeply you had affected him.

“What are you doing?” He demanded, his voice low and sharp.

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you mean, Dr. Reid.”

His jaw clenched, his composure slipping. “You know exactly what I mean. You’ve been crossing lines all semester.”

You stepped closer, the scent of his cologne intoxicating. “And what if I have?”

His gaze burned into yours, his control fraying with each passing second. “This has to stop.” He said, though his tone lacked conviction.

But you knew better. You had studied him, unraveled him piece by piece. He wasn’t as strong as he pretended to be. And neither were you.

“Maybe I don’t want it to.” You whispered, your voice trembling with both fear and desire.

For a moment, his eyes softened, as if seeing the truth of your obsession for the first time. “Obsession is a dangerous game.” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

You would burn the whole world down if it meant keeping him close.

The world outside of Dr. Reid’s orbit ceased to matter. Friends became an afterthought. Classes, even the ones you’d once excelled in, were nothing more than obligations. Every moment not spent in his presence felt wasted. His words were etched into your memory, his voice a constant echo in your mind.

You found excuses to linger near his office, pretending to read in the hallway or jotting down notes on topics that had long ceased to matter. Sometimes you’d see him through the small window of his door, head bowed over papers, fingers absently running through his tousled hair. Those moments were sacred.

And then there were the nights.

Your dreams became a battleground, the lines between fantasy and reality blurring. You would see him, hear him, feel the phantom weight of his gaze. Waking up was a cruel joke, pulling you from a world where he was already yours. More than once, you had the fleeting urge to knock on his door late at night, under the pretense of needing help.

But you stopped yourself. Barely.

For now.

When he praised you in class, it felt personal, intimate. You lived for those moments. The way he would say your name, how his eyes would flicker with something unreadable—those seconds were your lifeline. But it wasn’t enough. You wanted more. You needed more.

You started keeping track of the little details. The brand of pens he used. The scuff on his leather satchel. The faint hint of lavender in his cologne. You’d bought the same scent, spraying it on your pillow just to feel closer to him at night.

One evening, you followed him. It wasn’t intentional, not at first. He left the lecture hall as you lingered, and without thinking, you gathered your things and trailed behind him. He walked briskly, head down, weaving through the near-empty campus. You stayed far enough back to avoid suspicion but close enough to study him.

He stopped at the local bookstore, his long fingers running over the spines of books with a reverence that made your chest tighten. You hid behind a display, watching him as he browsed. When he left, you waited a few moments before approaching the same section. He had lingered near the true crime section, and you traced the path of his fingers, touching the same books he had touched.

It became a ritual after that. You discovered his favorite haunts: the coffee shop where he always ordered black coffee with two sugars, the quiet corner of the library where he would sometimes sit and read, the park where he walked on Sunday mornings. You were careful, meticulous, ensuring he never saw you. But you saw him.

Every time you caught a glimpse of him, it felt like a secret, a moment that belonged solely to you.

The gala had been your boldest move yet, and the way his gaze lingered on you that night had only fueled the fire. His warning echoed in your mind, but you dismissed it. He said you were crossing boundaries, but you knew better. He was simply scared. Scared of what this meant. Scared of what you meant.

You decided to leave him something. A token, something small enough to avoid suspicion but personal enough that he would know it was from you. A first edition of one of the books he had mentioned in class. You placed it on his desk after everyone had left, your heart racing as you imagined his reaction.

The next day, you waited, anticipation coiling in your stomach like a serpent. When he walked into class, the book was in his hand. His eyes scanned the room, lingering on you for a moment too long before he placed it in his bag without a word.

It was a victory.

But victories, you realized, were fleeting.

One evening, as you left the library, you spotted him walking toward his car. The parking lot was empty, save for the two of you, and for the first time, you didn’t bother to stay hidden. You followed him openly, your footsteps echoing against the pavement.

He stopped abruptly, turning to face you.

“Why are you following me?” He asked, his voice sharp but not unkind. His eyes held a mixture of curiosity and something darker, something you couldn’t quite place.

Your breath caught, but you forced a smile. “I wasn’t following you, Dr. Reid. I just happened to be walking this way.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “This isn’t the first time, is it?”

The accusation hung in the air, and for a moment, you thought about denying it. But then, something inside you snapped.

“No.” You admitted, your voice trembling. “It’s not.”

His expression shifted—confusion, disbelief, and something else flickered across his face. “Why?”

The word was a whisper, barely audible, but it was enough to unravel you.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you,” you said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I can’t eat, I can’t sleep—I can’t focus on anything but you. You’re brilliant, and kind, and perfect, and I—”

“Stop,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “This isn’t healthy.”

You took a step closer, desperation clawing at your chest. “But it’s real. You know it is. I see the way you look at me. Don’t pretend you don’t feel it too.”

He took a step back, shaking his head. “This has to end…now. Do you understand me?”

But you didn’t believe him. Not really. Because you had seen the way his hands trembled when you were near, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you. He was scared, yes, but not of you. He was scared of himself.

And that, you realized, was all the encouragement you needed.

Dr. Reid’s words echoed in your mind for days after the encounter in the parking lot. This has to end. But the way he said it, the way his voice wavered ever so slightly, betrayed him. It wasn’t conviction; it was fear. Fear of what you had awakened in him.

You were sure of it now. He wasn’t immune to you. Not entirely.

The proof came in small, fleeting moments—too subtle for anyone else to notice, but to you, they were glaring signs. The way his eyes lingered on you during lectures, his gaze softening before he quickly looked away. The way he adjusted his tie when you walked into the room, as if suddenly self-conscious. And then there were the compliments, so carefully worded that they might seem innocent to others, but to you, they felt personal. Intimate.

Still, he kept his distance. Even when you sought him out after class, he kept the conversations brief, his tone polite but clipped. It was maddening, the way he seemed to hold himself back.

But then, there were cracks.

One afternoon, you arrived at his office under the guise of needing help with a research topic. He hesitated before letting you in, his hand lingering on the doorknob as if debating whether this was a mistake.

Once inside, the air between you was charged. He sat across from you, his hands folded on the desk, but his gaze flickered to your lips more than once as you spoke.

When you handed him a stack of notes, your fingers brushed, and he pulled back quickly, too quickly.

“Sorry.” He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, leaning forward just enough to close the space between you. “It’s okay.”

For a moment, his composure faltered. His eyes locked onto yours, and the tension was unbearable. You could see it in his face—the war he was waging within himself.

Then, just as quickly, he stood, turning his back to you as he busied himself with a stack of papers on the shelf. “Your analysis is impressive,” he said, his tone suddenly distant. “You’re clearly passionate about the subject.”

The shift was jarring, but it only solidified your resolve. He wasn’t rejecting you. He was protecting himself.

That evening, you stayed late in the library, poring over the materials he had assigned. As you packed up to leave, you noticed a familiar figure in the far corner. He was seated at a table, his long fingers flipping through a thick volume, his expression distant.

You froze, your heart pounding. He hadn’t noticed you yet. For a moment, you considered leaving, but the pull was too strong.

You approached slowly, the sound of your footsteps drawing his attention. When he looked up, his eyes widened slightly, a flicker of something unguarded crossing his face before he composed himself.

“Staying late?” He asked, his voice calm, but his fingers tightened on the edge of the book.

You nodded, setting your bag down on the table. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He gave a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I find the library... peaceful.”

“Me too.” You said softly, taking a seat across from him.

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the unspoken tension that had been building for months. His eyes flicked to yours, then away, as if he couldn’t decide whether to meet your gaze or avoid it entirely.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “You should be careful, you know. Spending so much time in my office, lingering after class—it’s not... appropriate.”

Your heart twisted at the words, but his tone was anything but stern. It sounded like a warning, but it felt like a confession.

“Do you want me to stop?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked down at his hands, his fingers flexing as if resisting the urge to reach for something—or someone.

“It’s not about what I want.” He said finally, his voice strained.

But it was. You could see it in the way his shoulders tensed, in the way his gaze lingered on you when he thought you weren’t looking. He wanted you just as much as you wanted him. He was just better at pretending otherwise.

The next day, during his lecture, you felt his eyes on you more than usual. He paced the room as he spoke, his hands gesturing animatedly, but every so often, his gaze would drift to you, his words faltering for the briefest moment before he recovered.

It was intoxicating, knowing you could unravel him like this.

After class, as the other students filtered out, you stayed behind, your heart racing as you approached his desk.

“Dr. Reid,” you began, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you.

He looked up, his expression unreadable. “Yes?”

You hesitated, searching for the right words, but before you could speak, he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“You’re relentless.” He said softly, almost to himself.

The words sent a shiver down your spine.

“I just want to understand you.” You said, stepping closer.

He shook his head, a faint, almost bitter smile playing on his lips. “You already understand too much.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The space between you felt impossibly small, the air thick with tension. You could see the struggle in his eyes, the way he fought to maintain control, but you also saw the flicker of something darker, something he couldn’t quite suppress.

And in that moment, you knew: this wasn’t over.

It was only just beginning.

It started innocently enough—at least, that’s what you told yourself.

The male student, a classmate you barely knew, had approached you after lecture to ask about the upcoming project. His name was Ethan, and while he was polite and charming, you couldn’t muster much interest in the conversation. Still, you smiled and nodded at his jokes, your polite laughter echoing in the near-empty hall.

Unbeknownst to you, Dr. Reid had lingered behind, tidying up his desk and organizing his papers. His sharp ears caught the sound of your laughter, a melody he had grown far too familiar with—and possessive of.

He looked up to see you standing near the doorway, your body language relaxed as Ethan leaned in slightly, his tone conspiratorial. Spencer’s grip on the edge of the desk tightened.

Ethan’s laugh was loud, too loud, as if he wanted to broadcast how much he enjoyed your company. Spencer’s jaw clenched. He knew this was ridiculous. He was your professor, and it wasn’t his place to interfere with your social life. But the sight of another man so close to you, taking liberties he couldn’t, made his blood boil.

When you glanced back into the classroom, likely to gather your things, your eyes met Spencer’s. For a fleeting moment, his mask slipped, and you saw something dark and raw flicker across his face. It was gone just as quickly, replaced by his usual calm demeanor, but the image stayed with you.

“Everything alright, Dr. Reid?” You asked, stepping inside and leaving Ethan to wait by the door.

Spencer straightened, clearing his throat. “Yes. Just... finishing up.”

Ethan peeked his head in. “Ready to go?” He asked, his tone casual but his presence invasive.

Spencer’s eyes darted to Ethan, then back to you. “You should be careful with your time,” he said, his voice quiet but pointed. “The project deadline isn’t as far off as it seems.”

You frowned, confused by the sudden shift in his tone. “I’ll make sure to stay on top of it.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, as if debating whether to say more. Instead, he turned his attention back to his desk, his movements stiff and deliberate.

The next few days were marked by a subtle shift in Spencer’s behavior. During lectures, his eyes seemed to find you more often, but they were no longer soft or conflicted. There was an intensity to his gaze now, a quiet possessiveness that sent shivers down your spine.

When Ethan approached you again after class, Spencer’s reaction was immediate.

“Miss L/N.” He called out, his voice carrying across the room.

You turned, surprised to see him still at his desk. “Yes, Dr. Reid?”

“Could you stay for a moment? I’d like to discuss your recent paper.”

Ethan hesitated, clearly waiting for you, but Spencer’s sharp gaze left no room for argument. “I won’t keep her long.” He said smoothly, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Ethan nodded reluctantly. “I’ll catch you later.”

As soon as the door closed behind him, Spencer’s demeanor shifted. He stood, his tall frame looming as he approached you.

“Is he bothering you?” He asked, his tone casual but his eyes anything but.

“Ethan? No, not at all. Why would you think that?”

Spencer’s lips pressed into a thin line. “He seems... persistent. I just want to make sure you’re not feeling pressured.”

You couldn’t help but smile, amused by his sudden protectiveness. “I’m fine, Dr. Reid. Really.”

He nodded, but his expression didn’t soften. “Good. I’d hate to see someone distract you from your potential.”

The words were innocent enough, but the way he said them—the way his eyes lingered on yours—made your breath catch.

It wasn’t long before his jealousy became harder to hide.

During a group discussion, Ethan made a point of sitting next to you, his arm brushing against yours as he leaned over to share his notes. Spencer’s gaze locked onto the interaction, his hand tightening around the marker in his grip until his knuckles turned white.

When Ethan made a joke and you laughed, Spencer interrupted sharply. “Let’s stay on topic, please. This isn’t a social hour.”

The class fell silent, startled by his uncharacteristic tone. You glanced at him, surprised by the edge in his voice. He avoided your gaze, turning back to the whiteboard with rigid movements.

After class, as students filtered out, he called your name again.

“I wanted to apologize,” he said, his voice softer now. “I was... out of line earlier.”

“It’s okay.” You replied, though you couldn’t hide your confusion.

He hesitated, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for something. “You have to understand,” he began, his voice dropping lower, “that I only want what’s best for you. Not everyone has your best interests at heart.”

“Are you talking about Ethan?”

Spencer’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer directly. “Just... be careful who you trust.”

The weight of his words hung heavy between you, and for the first time, you wondered if his concern was more than professional.

Later that evening, you found yourself thinking about him again, replaying the moments when his composure slipped, when his obsession peeked through the cracks. You didn’t know whether to be scared or thrilled.

But one thing was certain: Spencer Reid was unraveling, and you were the one pulling the thread.

The days that followed were an intricate dance of tension, each interaction with Dr. Reid pulling you closer to a dangerous edge. His jealousy, once simmering beneath the surface, began to bleed into every corner of your academic life, coloring the way he spoke to you, the way he looked at you, the way he made his presence impossible to ignore.

It started small.

Ethan asked you to partner up for a case study project, and though you agreed, the arrangement didn’t go unnoticed. During the next lecture, Spencer called on you repeatedly, his questions increasingly challenging, as if testing your limits. The rest of the class shifted uncomfortably, sensing the deliberate scrutiny, but you met his gaze head-on, refusing to falter.

Afterward, he lingered at the podium, watching as Ethan hovered near your seat, leaning down to talk to you. The sight made his stomach churn. He didn’t like how Ethan’s hand rested casually on the back of your chair, how his laughter seemed designed to draw your attention.

“Miss L/N, a word?” Spencer’s voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding.

“What’s this about?” You asked, crossing your arms.

He tilted his head, his gaze piercing. “I noticed you and Ethan are working together.”

“We are,” you said carefully. “Is there a problem?”

His jaw clenched. “No... as long as you’re confident he’ll contribute equally. He strikes me as the type to let others carry the weight of the work.”

You frowned. “That’s not fair. He’s been helpful so far.”

Spencer leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. “Helpful isn’t always the same as trustworthy. Just keep that in mind.”

You stared at him, the intensity in his tone sending a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t just warning you—he was staking a claim, subtle but unmistakable.

The breaking point came during a departmental mixer, an event meant to encourage networking among students and faculty.

You had hesitated to attend, but Ethan insisted, offering to walk you there. Spencer spotted you as soon as you entered, his sharp eyes narrowing when he saw Ethan’s hand at the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd.

He approached you moments later, his movements precise and deliberate. “Miss L/N, a pleasure to see you here.”

“Dr. Reid.” You greeted, your smile nervous under the weight of his gaze.

“And Ethan,” Spencer added, his tone clipped. “Enjoying the event?”

“Yeah, it’s great,” Ethan replied, oblivious to the tension. “I was just telling Y/N about a conference coming up in D.C. She’s thinking about attending.”

“Is she?” Spencer asked, his eyes locking on yours.

Ethan nodded. “I might go too. We could share accommodations to save on costs.”

The suggestion made Spencer’s blood run cold. His mind spiraled with images of you and Ethan alone, the boundaries he fought so hard to maintain crumbling under the weight of his jealousy.

“That won’t be necessary.” Spencer said abruptly.

Both you and Ethan blinked in surprise.

“I mean,” he added, forcing a smile, “it’s likely the university will have funding options available for individual accommodations. I’d be happy to look into it for you, Miss L/N.”

“Thank you, Dr. Reid.” You said slowly, sensing the undercurrent of his words.

Ethan opened his mouth to protest, but Spencer cut him off with a glance so sharp it left no room for argument.

Later that evening, Spencer’s restraint finally snapped.

You stayed behind after the mixer to gather your things, only to find him waiting for you outside the building. The night air was cool, but the tension between you burned hot.

“You didn’t have to wait.” You said, pulling your jacket tighter around you.

“I wanted to.” He replied, his voice low and steady.

You walked in silence for a moment, the quiet punctuated by the rhythmic click of your heels against the pavement.

“Why do you do it?” He asked suddenly.

“Do what?”

“Let him follow you around like that. Laugh at his jokes. Entertain his attention.”

You stopped in your tracks, turning to face him. “Ethan’s my classmate. I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”

“It is my concern.” He said, stepping closer. “You don’t see the way he looks at you. The way he talks to you.”

“And how do you look at me, Dr. Reid?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, your voice trembling.

His breath hitched, his carefully constructed walls beginning to crumble. “You know how I look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve known all along.”

The admission hung in the air, dangerous and electrifying. You stared at him, your heart pounding as he took another step closer, his presence overwhelming.

“This can’t happen.” He said, though his words lacked conviction.

“Then why are you here?”

He didn’t answer, but the intensity in his gaze spoke volumes. His hand twitched at his side, as if he was fighting the urge to reach for you. The distance between you felt razor-thin, and for the first time, you wondered who would break first.

The silence stretched between you, taut and electrifying. Spencer’s jaw tightened, and his hand briefly raked through his hair—a telltale sign of his internal struggle. He was balancing on the edge of control, teetering between his professionalism and the unrelenting pull you had on him.

“You should go home.” He finally said, his voice low but strained, as if forcing the words out against his own desires.

You didn’t move. Instead, you tilted your head, studying him with a boldness that matched his intensity. “Is that what you want?”

His sharp intake of breath gave him away. “What I want doesn’t matter.” He said, but his eyes betrayed him, dark with longing.

You stepped closer, drawn to the crack in his carefully curated armor. “It matters to me.”

“Don’t.” He warned, but the word lacked strength, a faint plea wrapped in desperation.

You hesitated, caught between the thrill of provoking him and the awareness of the risk you were taking. Still, the magnetic pull between you was undeniable. “If you really wanted me to stop, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

Spencer’s restraint snapped, just for a moment. He reached out, his hand hovering near your arm before he jerked it back as if burned. His expression twisted in frustration, his usual composure unraveling.

“You think this is a game?” He hissed, his voice harsh. “You don’t understand what you’re doing.”

“I’m not the only one doing it,” you shot back, emboldened by the fire in his eyes. “You can’t stand it when anyone else gets too close to me. Admit it.”

His silence was deafening, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the faint twitch in his cheek.

“I see the way you look at me,” you continued, your voice softer now, almost coaxing. “It’s not just admiration, Dr. Reid. It’s something more.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He muttered, turning away, but you caught the tremble in his voice.

“Then prove me wrong.” You challenged.

Spencer turned back to you, and this time, there was no mistaking the raw emotion in his gaze. “You want the truth?” He said, his voice dangerously soft.

You nodded, your pulse quickening.

“I think about you more than I should. I notice every detail—every time you laugh, every time you tuck your hair behind your ear. And when I see him talking to you...” He broke off, shaking his head. “It takes everything in me not to...”

“Not to what?” You pressed, your heart pounding.

His lips parted, but he seemed to catch himself, stepping back as if the space between you might restore his self-control. “Not to cross a line I can’t uncross…” He finally said, his tone heavy with regret.

But the heat in his gaze told a different story—a story of a man on the verge of losing himself to the very thing he’d been trying to resist.

The tension between you didn’t dissipate. If anything, it grew, seeping into every interaction like an unstoppable tide.

In class, his gaze lingered on you longer than was appropriate, his voice faltering slightly when he called on you. During office hours, his questions delved deeper, as if searching for something he couldn’t articulate.

But it was during a casual seminar that the cracks in his professionalism began to widen.

You had arrived early, taking a seat in the front row. As you flipped through your notes, Spencer entered the room, his eyes immediately seeking you out. He paused, visibly unsettled, before making his way to the podium.

As other students filtered in, Ethan arrived and, to your surprise, took the seat beside you. He leaned in, his tone light and teasing as he made some comment about the seminar topic.

Spencer’s expression darkened. He began the session, but his usual measured tone was tinged with an edge that made the room feel heavier. His eyes kept drifting to where you sat, his words sharper whenever he addressed you or Ethan.

When the seminar ended, Spencer was quick to dismiss the class. 

The classroom emptied, leaving the two of you alone. Spencer stood behind the podium, his hands gripping its edges.

“What was that?” He asked, his voice tight.

“What was what?” You replied, feigning innocence.

“You know exactly what I mean.” His gaze pinned you in place. “Him. Sitting next to you. Acting like he—” He broke off, shaking his head as if trying to compose himself.

“Acting like what?” You pressed, stepping closer.

“Like he has the right to your attention,” Spencer snapped, his professionalism unraveling further. “He doesn’t. Not the way I...”

He stopped himself, his chest rising and falling with restrained emotion.

“Not the way you what?” You asked softly, your voice carrying a mix of curiosity and challenge.

His eyes burned with an intensity that made your breath catch. For a moment, you thought he might close the distance between you, shattering the boundaries he’d been clinging to.

Instead, he exhaled shakily and stepped back, running a hand through his hair. “This needs to stop.” He muttered, though the words seemed directed more at himself than at you.

But even as he said it, the tension between you was palpable, an invisible thread pulling you closer despite the chaos it threatened to unleash.

The air between you felt suffocating, charged with a tension that had been building for weeks. Spencer stood before you, his normally composed demeanor unraveling with every passing second. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tight as he tried to steady his breathing.

“I’ve tried,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve tried to keep this professional. To keep my distance. But you...” He looked at you then, his gaze piercing and raw. “You make it impossible.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of exhilaration and fear coursing through your veins. “What are you saying?” You asked, your voice trembling.

“I’m saying that I can’t pretend anymore,” he admitted, his voice low and filled with something dark and desperate. “Every time I see you with him, every time I see you smile at someone else... I can’t stand it.”

You took a step closer, emboldened by the vulnerability in his confession. “Then don’t pretend.”

Spencer’s eyes darkened, his restraint crumbling as he closed the distance between you in an instant. His hands cupped your face, his touch firm but reverent, as though he’d been starving for this moment.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me…” He murmured, his voice shaky with need.

“Then show me.” you whispered, your breath ghosting against his lips.

That was all it took. Spencer’s mouth claimed yours in a kiss that was as fierce as it was desperate. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as though he needed you to breathe. The kiss was everything—pent-up frustration, unspoken desire, and a need that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged. “This is wrong.” He muttered, though his hands still gripped your waist, unwilling to let you go.

“We don’t have to tell anyone.” You countered, your voice soft but insistent.

Spencer’s eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. But then his resolve broke entirely. His lips found yours again, this time slower, more deliberate. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a claiming, a declaration that you were his, consequences be damned.

Without a word, he guided you backward until you felt the edge of his desk against your hips. His hands roamed your sides, skimming over your curves with a possessiveness that sent shivers down your spine.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he admitted between kisses, his voice hoarse. “How many nights I’ve stayed awake, thinking about you. How hard it’s been to stay professional when all I want is to make you mine.”

“Then stop holding back.” You urged, your fingers clutching at his shirt as though afraid he might pull away.

Spencer’s response was immediate. His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you onto the desk with ease. His touch was everywhere—your hips, your back, your neck—each movement filled with a hunger that bordered on obsession.

“Tell me you want this.” He said, his voice low and commanding as his lips brushed against your ear.

“I want this,” you breathed, your hands tangling in his hair. “I want you.”

His eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense. “You have me,” he promised, his voice rough with emotion. “You’ve always had me.”

In that moment, the world outside ceased to exist. There were no rules, no boundaries—only the two of you, finally giving in to the undeniable pull that had been drawing you together all along.

He is the first to break the silence, his voice low and husky.

"Tell me what you want."

You hesitate for a moment, the words stuck in your throat. Then, quietly, you say, "I want you, Spencer."

He moves closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "Tell me exactly what you want."

You swallow, feeling your heart rate quicken. "I want you to touch me, Spencer."

"Where do you want me to touch you?" He murmurs.

"Everywhere." You whisper, leaning into his touch.

He traces his fingers down your neck, his touch featherlight. "Here?"

You nod, your breath hitching as his fingers ghost over your collarbone.

He moves his hands down further, trailing his fingers across your chest. "I need words, sweet girl."

"Yes," You breathe, feeling your arousal growing.

He hums in approval, hands moving lower still, caressing the curve of your breasts. "And here?"

"Yes…" You repeat, arching into his touch.

He cups your breasts through your shirt, squeezing gently. "What about here?"

"Please…" You whimper, your voice barely audible.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. "What else do you want, Y/N? Tell me."

You can feel your face flushing, but you can't stop the words from tumbling out of your mouth. "I want you to take my clothes off, Spencer. I want you to touch me everywhere."

He lets out a soft groan, his hands moving to unbutton your shirt. "God, Y/N. I've wanted you for so long."

Your shirt falls to the floor, leaving you exposed. His eyes roam over your body, hungrily taking in every inch of bare skin.

"You're so fucking beautiful." He murmurs, his fingers tracing patterns across your stomach.

You gasp as he leans in and presses a kiss to your neck, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. His hands move lower, dipping below the waistband of your jeans.

"Spencer…" You moan, your hips bucking against his touch.

"Yeah, baby? What is it, sweet girl? Tell me what you need." He breathes, his fingers dancing along your inner thigh.

"I need you." You whimper, desperate for more contact.

He pulls away from you, his hands moving to undo his belt. He pulls his pants down, his hard cock springing free. Tip flushed pink, the same shade as his swollen kiss-bruised lips. He grabs your hips and lifts you onto the desk, his body pressed against yours.

"Is this what you want?" He asks, his voice rough with desire.

"Yes." You gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist.

He pushes his cock against your entrance, his eyes locked on yours. "Say it, Y/N. Say you want me."

"I want you, Spencer." You moan, feeling him slide into you.

"Fuck, Y/N," he groans, thrusting into you. "You're so tight."

You cling to him, your nails digging into his back as he drives into you, again and again.

"Feels s’good." You babble, feeling the tip of his cock deep in your cervix, his hand coming down to rub calculated circles on your clit.

Spencer was a man of logic, of knowledge. But nothing could have prepared you for how skillful his hands could be in such a sinful context, hands you’d spent hours marking into the pages of your notebooks.

He fucks you harder, his pace frantic. "Such a pretty pussy, Y/N." He groans, dipping his head into your neck to nip at your skin.”My pretty pussy.” He delivers a quick slap to your pussy, sending a shock of pleasure through you, clit throbbing painfully.

"Oh, god, Spencer…" You cry, your orgasm quickly approaching, unable to stop it no matter how much you want to prolong the feeling.

“You wanna cum for me, baby? Cum all over my cock?” He stares down at you with a look you know will be ingrained in your mind for as long as you breathe.

It doesn’t take long before your orgasm crashes over you, pulsing through you in waves, back arching off the bed as you reach out for anything to ground yourself. Hands finding the back of his head, pulling him into your chest. 

He follows soon after, his cock pulsing inside you as he empties himself into you, collapsing on top of you, his chest heaving.

You look up at him, your eyes bright with satisfaction. "Do you think it was worth it?"

He smiles, stroking your hair. "I’d do it all again if it meant I could have you this way just one more time."

The first rays of dawn filtered through the blinds of Spencer’s apartment, casting faint golden stripes across the room. You stirred slightly in his arms, your body cocooned in the warmth of his embrace. Spencer had always been a light sleeper, but he hadn’t moved all night. His arms remained securely around you, as if even in sleep, he was afraid to let go.

For a moment, the world was still, the only sound was the gentle hum of the city waking up outside. In the quiet, you allowed yourself to revel in the stolen tranquility. These moments were fleeting, precious—time you carved out in secret, hidden from the eyes of the world.

“You’re awake.” He murmured, his voice low and rough with sleep.

You tilted your head back to look at him, a smile tugging at your lips. “So are you.”

“I don’t think I slept much,” he admitted, his fingers brushing idly along your arm. “It’s hard to sleep when I know every moment with you has to be hidden.”

You frowned slightly, guilt tugging at you. “I hate it too,” you said softly. “I hate that we have to pretend in class, that I can’t just... be with you without worrying who might see.”

His hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. They were warm, but behind the softness lay a steel determination. “It’s not forever,” he promised. “The semester is almost over. Once you’re no longer my student, no one can question us. No one can tell me it’s wrong to feel this way about you.”

You leaned into his touch, comforted by his words but still anxious about the risks. “Do you ever think about what would happen if someone found out?”

“Every day,” he admitted without hesitation. “But I think about losing you more. And that’s a risk I can’t take.”

The weight of his confession settled over you, heavy and grounding. You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers with his. “I’d risk it all for you, Spencer. You know that, right?”

He nodded, his expression softening as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “I know. And I’d do the same for you. But until it’s safe, we have to be careful.”

The reminder of the outside world, of the boundaries you had to navigate, was sobering. Yet it didn’t dampen the connection between you. If anything, it strengthened your resolve.

Days in class were an intricate dance of restraint and subtlety. You sat in your usual spot, taking notes diligently as Spencer lectured at the front of the room. His demeanor was calm, professional, every word deliberate. To the untrained eye, he was simply your professor, and you, his attentive student.

But beneath the surface, every glance, every fleeting moment of eye contact held a world of unspoken words. When he paused to scan the room, his gaze lingered on you a fraction too long. When he walked past your desk, the faintest brush of his presence sent a shiver down your spine.

After class, you remained behind under the pretense of asking a question. The other students filed out, their chatter fading as the door closed behind them.

Spencer glanced at you, his professional mask slipping slightly as he leaned against the desk. “Is this about the assignment?” He asked, his tone neutral but his eyes betraying a flicker of warmth.

“No,” you admitted, lowering your voice. “I just... I wanted to see you.”

His lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, and he nodded toward the door. “Wait for me outside. I’ll finish here and meet you in the library.”

The library had become your haven, a place where the world’s watchful eyes couldn’t reach you. Tucked away in the farthest corner, surrounded by shelves of dusty books, you found refuge in each other’s company.

Spencer sat across from you, his hand resting lightly over yours on the table. “You know,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the hum of the library, “this hiding... it’s maddening. But there’s something exhilarating about it too.”

You raised a brow, your lips quirking into a teasing smile. “Oh? Dr. Reid enjoys breaking the rules?”

A low chuckle escaped him, his fingers brushing against yours. “When it comes to you? I’ll break every rule there is.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, you simply looked at him, your heart swelling with a mix of love and longing. “One more month,” you whispered. “Then no more hiding.”

“One more month,” he echoed, his voice filled with quiet determination. “And then I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re mine.”

Until then, you would continue this delicate balancing act, cherishing the stolen moments and weathering the secrecy together. Because in the end, he was worth it. And you knew that no matter how many rules you had to break, how many boundaries you had to navigate, you would never let him go.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[eddiemunson-reader-shame]

Be My Wife: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: A “friend” freaks out when you split a Coke with Eddie the Freak.

Warnings: references to A Clockwork Orange, bullying, STI/STD mention, backwash drinking

A/N: So… I know this isn’t a Christmas fic. But I wrote this because I had those times in my youth where someone spread horrid rumors about either me or my friends, and I had to make those split second decisions to determine my loyalty. I always try to be loyal as best I can.

Thank you to @writhingg for giving the green light on this fic. And big thanks to @rxqueenotd and @melodymunson as well. And big thanks to viewers like you. Thank you. ❤️

Resources: @strangergraphics-archive for the dividers.

Taglist: @ali-r3n @melodymunson @twihard28

“Hey droogie, can I have a sip of your Coke?”

You looked up from where you were perched on the pony wall by the Seven Eleven bike rack. You had been chatting with a classmate, Chessie Hagar, about purchasing a purse from her mother’s Avon Colorworks catalog. It was a new collection for the year 1977. Said eye catching magazine with its spread of rainbow themed products was currently held between the two of you, and the pages began to rattle as Chessie shook in fear upon hearing the deep voice.

A flutter-smack sounded from the girl dropping the catalog when Eddie The Freak approached. His stride was casual as one could be, whilst battling both midwestern humidity and pit sweat in a white hand-me-down Jimi Hendrix shirt and sleeveless denim vest. As one of the middle schoolers who had been blessed with a growth spurt, his lanky height, shredded second hand clothes, and shaved head often made those in your grade— and some of those above— piss their pants.

You alone did not fear him.

The Fates had elected to weave you both in a tangled web of coincidences: you had been his project partner in every shared class since you started at Hawkins Middle School together, and you just so happened to live in the same neighborhood on occasion. The distance from Al Munson’s janky two bedroom home to yours was but a hop skip and a jump. Eddie used to ding dong ditch your house when he was six, until one day your mother caught him by the ear and brought him in to mend his tattered jeans and offer up a hot meal.

To any other rando, he was an unstable pariah. But to you, he was just Eddie Munson— the cute boy next door who sometimes ate at your place. And you had become his droog after spending winter 1972 sneaking into the Hawk Theater, and making Stanley Kubrick films your new big boy personalities.

Without thinking, you handed the soft drink over. His fingers brushed against yours as he took the Coke out of your grip and went for a swig, with plush pink lips wrapping around the transparent jade glass of the lip and neck. His protruding Adam’s apple was bobbing with the rhythmic gulping, and you couldn’t stop staring.

“Thanks.” He belched out.

“You said a sip, not half the goddamn bottle!” You whined.

Eddie grinned sheepishly and backwashed a good mouthful. Giving a half assed apology and a promise to pay you back mumbled under his breath, he handed the bottle back.

“Still up for doing last minute project prep?” You asked, swirling the leftovers he’d saved for you.

“Nah, let’s take a break from the train wreck brothers. Catch you tomorrow, though?” He said, scratching a blackhead off his nose and snorting a bit, “I had an idea for the oral report that might earn us a little extra credit. Think you can mimic a British accent?”

“Eh. Can’t do an accent without sounding like fucking Alex DeLarge.” You groused.

“We can work on that. Leave your milk-plus at home, though. Don’t want me own droog reenacting some Roman ultra violence on me.”

“Just don’t go popping out from behind your curtains at me again, that’s a good way to get stabbed in the neck with my mom’s kitchen scissors.” You snorted.

“Ahhh, the droog’s no fun. I guess I can tone down the surprise pop ups, though. If you insist. Catch you later?” Eddie said, waving.

“Later. Peace out, man.”

Chessie let out a shaky, sobbing exhale when you made to drink the dregs of your soda, and you turned and raised an eyebrow.

“Whassamatter?” You asked.

“Are you nuts?! You just shared your drink with the freak!” She blurted out.

… since when the hell was sharing with Eddie a crime?

“Yeah, so? It’s hot out. He looked thirsty.” You said.

“Did you seriously forget everything we’ve heard about him?!” She whisper-screamed, “Don’t you care what everyone talks about?!”

You rolled your eyes. Everyone talked about Eddie. If you hadn’t heard at least one rumor from a faceless student whenever he walked by, you were either stupid or living under a rock. They said he was a bad boy— yes, even with a full vocabulary of slurs and insults available, they still called him a bad boy. Like if he was still in diapers drawing with crayon on the wall, and needed a spanking.

Depending on who you asked, Eddie either did or sold drugs, it was never clear which. Some of the other trailer park kids said he was a mean scrapper when he went to his uncle’s on alternate weeks. Women’s restroom lore stated that he carried a switchblade in the back pocket of his Wrangler jeans, and that he used it to torture animals for his Satanic rituals.

A million and one things were said about him on the daily, but you knew none of them were true in the slightest. None of the talk deterred you from spending time with him. Sometimes he came to your house, more often than not you went to his.

Every other day found the two of you parked in front of his mom’s turntable, jamming to Deep Purple and putting together an elaborate poster board with some spray painted fake leaves made into laurel crowns, along with a block of text about your chosen co-emperor of the early Roman Empire.

You had wanted to write about Caligula so you could use the word ‘orgy’ in the report without getting in trouble, but Eddie had insisted he had a better idea when he discovered a two years tumultuous ruling of brothers from 209 AD to 211 AD.

“As much as I love a good sex party on paper, you just know that’s what everyone else is gonna write about. Let’s write about this nut job Caracalla instead! Dude killed his brother in the arms of his mother, and struck his name from the record. That’s like, the most metal shit ever! Also, here’s a better word for you to learn: fratricide. Apparently there’s a whole list of technical terms for when you kill a family member.”

“… what’s the rumor mill gotta do with my Coke?” You deadpanned.

“If you drink after him, you’re gonna get mono like Cindy! You gotta throw it out!”

Cindy Bishop in your science class had told everyone that had functional ears— swearing up and down on her life— that Eddie Munson had kissed her and given her mononucleosis. A dreaded affliction whose nickname to you sounded like one of the variations of sound formats for any sort of audio.

“Mono…?”

“Yes! Or the syph!”

You knew Eddie had to have heard Chessie’s vitriol. Turning around, you could see him staring at the two of you from across the parking lot, one leg over his bike. There was a stinging look of betrayal on his face. Telltale signs of a wet cherry nose and shameful red cheeks gave away his mistrust; as if he was expecting you to do as your friend told, and throw the bottle he drank from in the trash.

His imaginary affliction was just that: imaginary. You knew that to be gospel.

The kiss with Cindy was real, unfortunately. It happened way before Cindy was kept home with mono, and you remembered the incident well. Eddie had come running to your house just to brag that he’d finally gotten his first kiss, and that pretty soon he’d be popping girl’s cherries left and right.

Just learning about the simple kiss had pissed you off, because the closest you’d ever gotten to kissing Eddie was sharing the same fork whenever you both roasted Vienna sausages on the gas burner in his kitchen. Eddie hadn’t been sick when Cindy stayed home, he came faithfully to school to trap you on the playground and speculate about the thousand and one hidden meanings behind the kiss.

With all the excitement, he never noticed the smallest details like you did. One of the guys in your PE class had been sent home with a rash and a high fever, and it was only a month after Cindy was rumored to have also kissed the collapsed boy that she got sick. You had always shared cups, utensils, and other things requiring mouth use with Eddie and had been fine. Yet Cindy and Tommy Hagan swapped spit once, and both were out of commission.

But no one would ever say anything about Tommy Hagan getting mono. They’d always redirect every disease outbreak to the poor loser who split time between Cherry Street and Forest Hills Trailer Park. The same poor loser who had the misfortune of wasting his first kiss with Cindy; a girl who frenched behind the portable classrooms with anything that had a pulse. People could be so blind and stupid, they failed to notice the sickness timelines were not matching up.

No one deserved their first anything to be with Cindy. Not with the way she stabbed people in the back.

You took a long, hard pause as you stared into Eddie’s wet brown eyes. He was asking you a silent question you already knew the answer to: were you a stinking traitorous droog, or a loyal one? Were you, his one friend in the entire world, going to stand against him?

Without saying a word, you looked at Chessie, then looked back again at Eddie.

In a world of traitors— where brothers stabbed brothers in the arms of their mothers, or where violent men disowned each other with drug laced milk bottles to the face, you would always pick instead to be Eddie Munson’s loyal droog.

You lathed at the lip of the bottle and stuck your tongue down the neck, and shotgunned all of Eddie’s backwash.

Chessie’s mouth dropped open as she began to gag, and Eddie opened his mouth in an obnoxious and breathless laugh as you chugged the entirety of his germs. The carbonation caught up to you, so you let a belch rip before turning back around to face him.

“I GOT YOUR MONO NOW, MUNSON!” You screamed out to him, “NOW YOU GOTTA MARRY ME!”

“IS THAT HOW IT WORKS, DROOGIE?” He shouted back, a shit eating grin stretched across his face, “YOU SHOULD HAVE LET ME KNOW BEFORE I TOOK A SWIG, I WOULD HAVE MADE SURE I GOT YOU A RING POP FIRST!”

“IT'S GODDAMN ROMAN CONFARREATIO LAWS, EDDIE! YOU GAVE ME MONO INSTEAD OF SPELT BREAD, NOW YOU GOTTA MARRY ME!” You joked.

You noticed from the big, smart ass grin that he was about to do something outrageous, and your heart began to sing. He immediately got to his knee on the asphalt, everyone in the Seven Eleven parking lot watching as he began to scream like an orator in the colosseum. He used your full government name and everything when he called out to the small parking lot audience.

“HEAR ME, CITIZENS OF HAWKINS! I AM BUT A VESSEL FOR THE GODS, A BEARER, A MESSENGER OF THAT MOST HOLY WORD FROM MOUNT OLYMPUS! I HAVE SHARED OF THE COOTIE WITH A WOMAN, AND THUS OUR MARRIAGE BETWEEN EMPEROR AND DROOG IS SOLEMNIZED-…!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, FREAK!” Someone called out, immediately flinching back when Eddie rounded on him.

“THE GODS. HAVE. SPOKEN!” Eddie screeched, a glob of spit flying out of his mouth and onto the hot asphalt.

He was wide eyed. Deranged. Eddie lifted up the hem of his denim vest and held it out and to the side, to look like wings unfurling, screaming to the heavens as you began howling with him.

“YEAH!” You screamed out, raising your bottle and shouting every bit of nonsense you could think of, “GOD SANCTIONED DROOG MARRIAGE CO-RULER ULTRA-VIOLENCE! MAZEL TOV!”

“THE IMPERIAL HUSBAND NOW DEMANDS TO KISS THE DROOG BRIDE!” Eddie screamed, “PLANT ONE ON ME, GODDESS DIVINE OF THE REPUBLIC OF HAWKINS!!”

You looked at Chessie, who looked as if she was going to throw up or scream. It wasn’t immediately clear which. Instead of ending the joke, you grinned. Shrugged. The glossy magazine paper pages of the forgotten Avon Colorworks catalog ripped under the tread of your shoes when— without warning— you took off towards Eddie, and planted a fat wet kiss on his mouth. He froze for a moment, but returned the kiss with fervor, making an obnoxious hum and wet smack when you pulled away.

“Yum.” You gushed, licking your lips and changing your cadence to the unhinged Kubrick Cockney, “Them’s tasty cooties, they are, brother sir!”

“Yeah? Them false cytomegalovirus germs are what taste good to ya, droog?” He laughed, wrapping his arms around you and putting on his own terrible accent.

“That they are, sir, that’s what gives all me food and drink that plus flavor.” You grinned.

The two of you cackled, thoroughly enjoying throwing out random quotes and various insanities that to the normal person would put them off of your insanity and edge-lord humor. Chessie had long since taken off for the gated community of Loch Nora on her bike, but you didn’t care. You could live without a selection of eyeshadows, a rainbow tote purse, and all of your false friends if the choice came down to choosing them, or Eddie.

“Wanna go into the gas station and split another bottle of mono before we blow this joint?” You asked.

His grin could have rivaled that of Malcolm McDowell.

“Now, how can I say no to my new wife?” He grinned, holding out his arm for you to take, “But I am a man of my word, so you’re getting a new Coke, plus that Ring Pop so’s we can make this thing official.”

“Spare no expense, huh?” You grinned, and he pulled you in closer. Both of your hips knocking together.

“Hey… Only the best and finest gems and refreshments for Empress Droog the First of Hawkins, Indiana.” Eddie said with a confident smile.

You smiled at him, nudging one another with your bodies all the way into the gas station, until he pulled you in for another sloppy kiss in the middle of the snack aisle.

[mpregandproud]

Santa Claus has come early this year

“Did we have to wait until the last minute to leave for a trip to my parents' house?”, I asked Trevor from the back seat of his car. I was nervous about seeing my family again for the first time in four years. And if you add to that the fact that I'm going to introduce my boyfriend, it's even stronger. But it doesn't stop there, because, surprise surprise, I'm about to give birth to twins, and at home they don't know it.

“My love, I haven't been able to take a vacation from work before. Remember, we need this job now that we are going to be four at home”, Trevor answered me with a smile, the one that made me fall in love with him years ago.

“Sure, if you hadn't insisted on fucking me without a condom the night of our graduation I wouldn't be like this now…and you know it”, I replied as a new contraction twisted me in pain. They've been happening with increasing frequency for a couple of hours now, but they say it's normal to have contractions the last few weeks of pregnancy.

“I don't remember you putting up much resistance. In fact, you had been insisting for months to fuck without condom, that nothing would happen”, again he was right.

The pain was returning, and it had only been a few seconds since the previous contraction. This didn't look good at all, for whatever reason, it seemed that my body was preparing to give birth immediately. I lifted up my shirt so I could touch my belly directly and somehow ease the pain. “Not now, my loves, wait a few days we have to get to Grandma and Grandpa's house and enjoy Christmas,” I whispered so quietly so Trevor wouldn't hear me and not alarm him.

“Scott, I know that in addition to your nerves about coming home after all this time you've been having contractions for hours. I've seen you looking sore and holding your belly with your hands non-stop since we've left our home. Are you sure you don't want us to turn around and go to the hospital?” he said very sweetly. Trevor doesn't miss a thing, as usual for him. He has always been very observant, especially when it comes to me. I've tried to hide it as best I can, but it's clear that with him I'm not going to be able to fool him that easily.

“No, I'm ok", I lied. "Let's keep going, we are no far from my parents house. The braxton hicks contractions are getting stronger than I thought they were going to be, but I'm ok, dear”, I replied.

The night before Trevor and I fucked so intensely that I guess it has accelerated labor. It was our way of taking out our physical needs for a few days. At my parents' house it won't be easy to fuck having them in the next room, let alone when my mother sees that I'm about to give birth. As a doctor she is sure to recommend absolute rest, and no sex. I gently stroked the huge belly I've been sporting for months now. It will be impossible for her to let us do dirty things when she sees me this fat because of the pregnancy. I look like a beach ball.

I had always been a skinny boy, until I started playing rugby at the age of 16 and my physique changed. In a few months I grew 20 centimeters, put on weight and gained muscle. I went from being the ugly duckling in class to a swan. In my village, which was very small, hardly anyone knew I was gay, not even my own parents, but in high school a few did. Actually, it was hard to hide it when half my class met me in the locker room during my senior year for post-game. You know what I mean.

Still, I went to college without my parents knowing anything about my private life. It's hard to come out as gay when you have very traditional parents and fulfill the alpha male prototype who is good at sports and attracts a lot of girls. The comments about why I didn't have a girlfriend or when I was going to bring a girl home were constant. I couldn't stand it, so as soon as I had the chance I chose a college far away, on the other side of the country, to get out of that environment and live my life freely.

It was the first summer after college, when I went back for vacation, that I told my parents everything. At that time I had a boyfriend, who was not Trevor, who I would have liked to take with me on vacation to the village and have them meet my family and friends, but it was not possible. I wish to introduce them, perhaps, at Christmas, so I plucked up the courage and told them I was gay and had a boyfriend. The conversation was very tense, and while they didn't kick me out of their house, it was a horrible summer, full of tension. My relationship with my parents worsened, so much so that I haven't seen them in person for four years.

My little sister did understand, she has always loved me very much and she has been the reason why I have regained contact with mom and dad in the last year. She has made it possible for them to understand that I am different and that is not a bad thing, that I have not failed them as a son. So it was only a matter of time before we saw each other again, and what better than a Christmas meeting to reconnect with the family.

The pain is already becoming unbearable. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH, FUCK,” I screamed. I was sweating. My whole body was already covered in sweat, my face looked like a tomato in red in reflection of the rear view mirror. So the inevitable happened, my water broke right there, in the back seat of Trevor's car, in the middle of a monumental traffic jam, just 10 kilometers from getting home. Everything that could go wrong was going wrong. I was in labor, far from a hospital, with two children in an immense hurry to come into the world and with the only company of my boyfriend Trevor, the babies' father. And no, Trevor is not a doctor, he works in marketing, which I highly doubt is a career that prepares you to deliver a baby.

As expected, Trevor stopped the car dead in the middle of the road. Dense, slow-moving traffic honked at him. Drivers honked as Trevor put the warning signal on the car and got out of the driver's position to come around back to lend a hand. He didn't care about anything else, his only concern was me and our kids. In all the pain I am feeling and the anguish of having to give birth in a car and without an epidural, I know I can't be in better hands, in the hands of the man who loves and cares for me the most.

I have told my parents about Trevor. I have told them how much we love each other and that we have been together for three years. My sister has taken it upon herself to show them pictures of us traveling around the country, going for a morning run together or cooking at home. We are like those ideal couples in the movies. All our friends tell us that we're made for each other, and even my sister, who hasn't seen us in person all this time, says she's in love with our relationship.

I met Trevor after I broke up with Ian, my first boyfriend in college. I was heartbroken after my first major heartbreak. Ian was very important to me in building up my courage and opening up to my family, even if it didn't quite work out, but he played a key role in my life. That breakup left me devastated and I became more lonely. I stopped partying, I became very lonely. That's when Trevor came into my life to change everything.

Trevor is what we can call a nerd. A very studious and hardworking guy. A person who doesn't quite fit into the world, although when you see him you don't quite understand why, because there is no more handsome and kind man on earth. His glasses, his brown hair and his green eyes made me fall in love with him, not to mention his perfect smile, my weakness. He came as Superman to save me, in fact he looks a bit like a superhero.

We met studying in the library, and then we started to meet in all kinds of places: in the cafeteria, at the college, walking around the campus… We decided to leave the coincidences aside and start meeting seriously. And from there we went from 0 to everything in the blink of an eye. I felt sparks, an awesome chemistry from the first moment, and so did he. It's like dating my best friend. The person who best understands me and complements me, a man who cares about me and helps me, who wants the best of me and loves me deeply. He has managed to make me settle down. I didn't see myself having children, sharing a house or living as a couple yet. I felt that all those things were things that older people did much later in life, but at 25 years old I am living a dream that I don't want to wake up from.

What I didn't tell my parents about was the babies. Trevor, my sister and I thought it was best to surprise them at the time. Coming out to them again as an openly gay man and in a stable relationship was already complex, so to add the babies factor to them was to complicate matters even more. We agreed that coming home with a huge pregnant belly wasn't going to be much easier either, but we trusted that the Christmas spirit would do its job.

Perhaps that spirit has done its job too well, as Santa has gone ahead to bring the Christmas present, their first two grandchildren are about to arrive in the world.

“Scott, lie down better like this and put your legs over my shoulders”, between pains I obeyed Trevor. Thank goodness he has attended childbirth preparation classes. I do as he asks with difficulty, resting my left arm on my belly to accompany the movement. I'm panting from exhaustion, and I haven't pushed a baby out yet. Trevor examines me and utters the words I was most afraid to hear, “he's here, I see his head, he's coming out. It's coming, baby”.

He put one hand on my belly to help me, and with the other he held my free hand, to convey his strength to me. “Take advantage of the contractions, Scott, very good. Push, now!” he said softly, encouraging me. The pain, immense from the contractions, came to nothing with the sensation of seeing that my body could be split in two by a huge baby that was coming out from between my legs. If that wasn't enough, for some reason, my penis became erect and a feeling of excitement ran through my body as well. I had already been warned that when we men give birth these things happen, but I never thought that the most terrible and the most pleasurable sensation could be experienced at the same time.

It took me five minutes to give birth to Ron, our first son. He looked like his father. A beautiful baby boy that Trevor wrapped in one of the t-shirts he carried in his suitcase. After I breastfed him a little he put the baby in the front seat. “I'm sorry to cut this moment short, but his baby brother is coming. My love, it's time to do it all over again. You've done great so far. A few last pushes and it will all be over,” he encouraged me.

I was already exhausted, exhausted from all the effort I had made. I wanted to stop, to end it all, to stop pushing and go back to cuddling my son. But I knew I had no choice. I couldn't delay that moment any longer. Ever since that night Trevor got me pregnant I knew this moment would come, though I didn't know I would have to experience it twice.

Nine months ago we graduated. Trevor in Marketing and Advertising and me in Literature. After four years of college we were going out into the world. Our colleges were next door to each other, so our graduating classes already knew each other, so it was no surprise when the two classes got together and decided to celebrate at the same time. For Trevor and me it was the best plan in the world, to be able to experience such a special moment for both of us hand in hand.

After the party we went back to our apartment together and we celebrated together, as we were supposed to. Trevor is right, I had been wanting to make love to him without protection for a long time, despite the risk of getting pregnant. I'll never admit it to him, but there was something about the risk of getting pregnant that really turned me on. Something inside me was screaming for it to happen. I was turned on by the thought that my boyfriend could plant his seed inside me and it would grow in the form of a baby. Without much thought we did it. It was one of the best nights of my life. Trevor was especially tender and affectionate with me, and he had never fucked me like he did that night. An electric current ran through my body, I felt more alive than ever and it was all thanks to this man I want to share the rest of my life with.

We found out I was pregnant just two weeks later. We had both just started working, he at a prestigious marketing agency and I at an independent book publisher that is in the process of expanding across the country. The news caught us by surprise. Despite everything, it was clear to both of us that we wanted to move forward with the process and have our little ones. We moved to a bigger apartment with the help of Trevor's parents and in the past few months we have been preparing everything for the arrival of these two children.

It hasn't been easy going from being a twink to a strapping guy and now looking like a beached whale. The two boys have grown a huge amount, not surprising considering both Trevor and I are both big men. The anxiety of planning to reunite with my family hasn't helped either. Food has been a way to overcome this life anxiety. The last two months I put on a lot more weight than is normal for this type of twin pregnancy. My doctor has conveyed his concern about the weight gain, although Trevor, on the other hand, has assured me that my pregnant self is the sexiest he has ever seen me in his life.

Maybe it's true that I make Trevor really horny when I'm this huge. During these nine months we haven't stopped fucking. Fortunately, my boyfriend is not one of those men who are afraid of hurting babies while their partner is pregnant, which never happens. Last night, knowing that we will spend the next few days at my parents' house, so it will be more difficult to make love there, Trevor proposed to me to repeat step by step that encounter in the early morning that led me to be pregnant nine months ago. I couldn't tell if I enjoyed more the night I got pregnant or the night that ultimately hastened my delivery. I think I'll go with the latter. Pregnancy hormones multiplied by 100 all the feelings. It was like being transported to another reality, living something totally new.

If he had asked me to have more babies at that moment, I would have said yes without hesitation. Now that I'm in the middle of labor and the pain is excruciating, I'm not so sure I was going to say yes to another pregnancy. But I don't want to fool anyone, it will be very hard for me to say no to this man. He will decide if he wants us to be a large family.

Although it looked like the second child was coming quickly, he is dragging his feet. He doesn't seem to want to move forward, so the pain is being terrible. “Trevor, I can't take it anymore, I'm not going to be able to,” I tell him sobbing from the pain and anguish. He caresses my face and encourages me to keep going, but my strength is getting weaker and weaker. I see his face and I know he is thinking of some way to speed up the delivery.

Trevor kissed me on the mouth, and then took advantage of the fact that I still had an erect penis to give me a blowjob. I rolled my eyes as my hands roamed my belly. I cum like I never had before, and everything started up again. “I read that this could help speed it up even more,” he told me washing his mouth with another of his T-shirts. “Ready to give birth a second time?” he asked, grabbing my hand again and placing the other on my belly, already smaller than before.

It took me five minutes to deliver Henry, our second child. Henry looked more like me. Trevor wrapped him in one more t-shirt, good thing this man packs a lot of clothes, and handed me both little ones to breastfeed. Already lying down and with both babies resting on my still swollen belly I breastfed them.

Trevor and I burst into tears looking at each other. We kissed. It was the happiest moment of my life. We had created life together, my boyfriend and me. Ron and Henry were the fruit of our love, two beautiful babies drinking from my breasts.

“Thank you Trevor for giving me the greatest gift of my life,” I said before kissing the father of my children again. “Anytime you want to repeat... I want a big family together with you, my love,” he said before kissing me again. “Let's wait a little while for me to recover and the little ones to grow up a bit to give them more little brothers, but we are in this together, we are going to build a huge and precious family together”, I told him. We stood hugging the four of us together, our first family moment together. The happiest moment of my life, even if it was in the back of a car, freezing cold outside and in the middle of a traffic jam. All the excitement of giving birth had made me forget about the nerves of being reunited with my family.

A new car horn brought us out of the dream we were living. Trevor sat up, sat in the driver's seat and started up again. “Do you want us to go ahead with the plan and go to your parents' house or would you rather go to the hospital to get looked at?” he asked me. “Let's go on, I'm feeling fine, and it's already Christmas Eve. I want to introduce my three boys to my parents. Besides, my mother is a doctor, if I need attention no one better than her”, I added without even looking at him, I only had eyes for little Ron and Henry.

It took about twenty more minutes to get to my parents' house. By then the two little ones were asleep and I had spruced up my appearance a bit. Trevor helped me out of the car and we both picked up one of the little ones in our arms. “Ready?”, Trevor asked me. I nodded, and grabbed his hand as the four of us headed home together. I was still walking sore and slowly, having just finished giving birth to two huge twins half an hour ago.

We rang the doorbell and my parents and my sister opened the door at the same time. My mother excitedly ran to hug us both and shower us with kisses. My father froze, but he looked thrilled to see us and greeted Trevor warmly, welcoming him to the family.

It was my sister who noticed the detail that Trevor and I were carrying with us in our arms. “When did this happen?”, she asked, breaking the dream my parents were living. When they noticed they both put their hands to their mouths in surprise and tears of emotion welled up in their eyes. “Half an hour ago, I gave birth in the car. This is Ron and Henry. Dad, Mom, congratulations, you're grandparents.” They ran to grab the little ones.

My mother was so excited, she was a whirlwind of words. She immediately started making plans to buy baby clothes, she was going to give her a crib, lots of toys and clothes. She immediately embraced her role as grandmother. My father, who has always been more serious, left little Henry to my little sister, and hugged Trevor and me at the same time. “Thank you for making me a grandfather. When you came out I thought I would never live this down. I had already made up my mind that I wouldn't have grandchildren from you”, he was crying with emotion like I had never seen him before.

“This is the best gift we could have this Christmas, my son. Santa Claus has come early to our home”, said mom and dad at the same time. My sister, who has always had great timing, capped off the moment with a joke. “With that belly of yours, little brother, you definitely look like Santa Claus”, she winked at me, and we all burst out laughing.

I took my hands to my rounded swollen belly that was still showing and that I had forgotten about a bit since I gave birth to Henry. This curve left no doubt that I had been pregnant, it even looked like I was about five months pregnant. When Trevor saw me bring my hands to my belly he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me on the cheek. He loves seeing me like this, and I'm starting to think I don't look so bad with this pregnant look. After all this is the price to pay for being as happy as I am right now. A price I'm happy to pay, and hopefully I'll have to pay it again soon.

I didn't believe in the Christmas spirit, but this year it has come into my family stronger than ever.

[bloodstainedveil]

CAL GABRIEL (ZERO DAY 2003) HEADCANONS

cal gabriel as a boyfriend // a lil angst? // tw sh mention // gn!reader // headcanons

cal gabriel, who knows how to make himself likable. he’d be sweet, funny, maybe even a bit awkward and shy at times, but only to the extent that it benefits him. he’s not emotionally invested in the same way most people are—he’s more interested in the idea of having someone who adores him… and that “someone” happens to be you.

cal gabriel, who would share enough personal details to seem open, but he’d avoid anything too deep. if you tried to dig into his thoughts or true feelings, he’d quickly brush them off with a self-deprecating joke or change the subject.

cal gabriel, who, no matter how much he likes you, andre will always come first. he’d cancel dates or disappear without much of an explanation if andre needs him. he won’t apologise either—it’s just how it is.

cal gabriel, who would swing between affectionate and distant. one day, he’d be laying his head in your lap, even allowing you to ruffle his hair; the next, he’d barely respond to your texts or act distracted.

cal gabriel, who wouldn’t view your relationship as something permanent. he’s too focused on zero day and doesn’t plan to be around long enough to see where the relationship could possibly go.

cal gabriel, whose younger siblings simply adore you. maddie and eric see you as an honorary family member and get super hyped every time you come over.

cal gabriel, who uses play-wrestling as an excuse to get close to you, pinning you down and laughing at your attempts to fight back.

cal gabriel, who tries to show off by playing sitar for you, fingers moving effortlessly over the strings as he plays a riff that’s surprisingly good.

cal gabriel, who teaches you a few basic chords, leaning in close to adjust your fingers on the strings.

cal gabriel, who rolls his eyes when you straighten his coat collar or tuck his hair behind his ear, pretending to be annoyed while secretly enjoying the attention.

cal gabriel, who mutters “quit babying me,” when you nag him about missing meals, but still eats whatever you give him without complaint.

cal gabriel, who has something small of yours that he keeps stuffed on his pocket—a bracelet, a hair tie, or even a note you scribbled for him in class. all of these ended up in the fire.

cal gabriel, who likes to carve your initials on random surfaces around school���lockers, desks, and even the bathroom wall. but his favourite canvas was his own skin—hidden from everyone but him.

cal gabriel, who has perpetually cold hands and always slides them under your sweater or onto your neck just to hear you yelp, laughing while you smack him away.

cal gabriel, who loves it when you grab his freezing hands and hold them between yours, rubbing warmth back into his icy-ass fingers while he mumbles, “they’re not that cold” (even though they are).

cal gabriel, who sometimes doesn’t let go of your hands even after they’ve warmed up, his fingers staying intertwined with yours.

cal gabriel, who freezes for a moment when you ask him about graduation and college, his usual smirk faltering before he quickly deflects: “college? i dunno, maybe i’ll take a year off.”

cal gabriel, who avoids your gaze when you press him about the future, running a hand through his hair and mumbling, “i don’t think that far ahead,”

cal gabriel, who is sweeter than usual in the days leading up to zero day. he’s always been sweet to you, but now there’s a weird sense of urgency to it—like he’s trying to cram a lifetime of memories into just a few days. he takes you out to see a random movie “bridget jones’s diary,” you don’t even remember half of it because you guys spent most of the time making out in the back row.

cal gabriel, who presses his forehead to yours after breaking the kiss, his breathing uneven when you ask him if he’s okay, whispering a soft “yeah” before pulling you back in, like he doesn’t want to talk about it.

cal gabriel, who filmed a tape just for you, apologising to you and explaining everything he couldn’t in person. it ended with a quiet, “i love you.” but the tape doesn’t not end up in the deposit box, and as cal and andre burned their belongings, he throws it into the fire, thinking it wasn’t fair to put you through that pain.

that’s all i can come up with for now :p

[emoisthenewemu]

Favorite present! ~ Megumi Fushiguro x GN! Reader

A/N i live for soft boy megumi like SORRY but he is sensitive I don’t make the rules. i love him sm and plan to write more for him in the future.

If you were to ask Megumi Fushiguro what his favorite present was this year, he would probably say you.

Wc:1086

"Meguuumiiii" You whine from the hall, holding a cardboard box full of your friends' presents. Ones you handmade with blood, sweat, and literal tears. In fact, you had begun the project as early as October (before Halloween even).

What at first seemed to be a cute idea of making stuffed animals soon turned into a pain in the ass, taking up most of your free time.  Of course when you and Megumi would see each other you would refrain from letting it distract you but the very second he left or even fell asleep there you went-crocheting away. When he would walk in your dorm after a long day of class?

There you sat, legs crossed and an ever-so determined look on your face. Hunched over in a way that looked painful-which it definitely was because you had been complaining about your horrible back pain for the past two months.

Every time the two of you would FaceTime you would be groaning and sighing, complaining about how it was crooked or you put too much stuffing. That your fingers were cramping or now you need to start all over because it looks just awful.

Oh how annoying it was for Megumi to sit and watch you suffer over something absolutely no one is forcing you to do. He told you countless times to just give up and ‘buy everyone gift cards like a normal person’.

But he soon learned his lesson because every single time he said anything like that it just ended in a speech about how important it is to ‘finish things you started’ and you ‘promised yourself it wouldn’t be another abandoned project sitting in the closet’. Yes, Megumi understands. He still thinks you are insane. And he will tell you so.

“Isn’t that why you love me?” You say and he can only nod.

Megumi loves your tenacious spirit. How passionate you are about the things you care for. How lucky he is to be one of the things you are very passionate about. It is the only reason he continues to support you in your endeavor. As long as you promise you will not be doing this shit again next year. He even puts a cute little Santa hat on and wears matching slippers with you. It only took like five minutes of begging!

The only thing that continues to bother him is that you did not make him one. Surely you would have mentioned it by now. He would have seen it one of the countless times he walked in to find your room scattered with yarn and your many ‘rough drafts’. He would also be lying if he did not admit he went snooping around a few times when you were showering in the hopes of finding his.

Kugisaki is getting a white bunny. A pink bear for Itadori. There’s an animal for Maki, Yuuta, Inumaki, Gojo, a panda for Panda (duh), and nothing for him.

Maybe you forgot. You’ve been so busy making all of them and it must have slipped your mind. You probably did not even think he would want one. He has no stuffed animals in his room or anything even remotely similar. It’s not like he would cuddle it at night and think about you or anything.

So he delivers the gifts with you-with a smile on his face. Whatever Megumi considers to be a smile at least. Even ignoring the comments of how ‘whooped’ he is to be standing there matching with you. A thing he once swore he would never do.

Until he met you. You softened him up like butter. Gone is the aggression that was always his go-to in any situation. The way you loved him made him feel complete. He used to find it absurd that falling in love could change a person.

But you change him for the better. You challenge him emotionally without trying to change who he is deep down. You bring out the best and suppress the worst of him. Oh how Megumi loves you, more than words can describe.

It is your first Christmas together. As a couple at least so he may have went a bit overboard with the presents. He was trying very hard to impress you. He would be deeply embarrassed if he got you a bunch of presents and you got him nothing.

Surely that would not happen. You gave him a present last year. Why would this one be any different?

He is just anxious, a feeling he knows a bit too well. Megumi is an overthinker, sometimes he will let even the smallest things eat him up inside. He is nervously chewing at the inside of his cheek, holding the now empty box as you finish giving away your last present.

You grab his hand, squeezing it tight before pressing a kiss onto his cheek. “Thanks for coming with me handsome. Im so glad this is over” You groan and he chuckles at the exasperated look on your face. “You were so right. Never again” You peck his cheek again and he smiles contently.

Your touch is so comforting he does not even realize the two of you are heading back to your dorm instead of his. Too lost in the warmth of your smooth hands and intoxicating giggle.

It is not until you open the door and walk him inside that he understands that all of his worries were for nothing. Sometimes he forgets that you might love him just the same way he loves you. Maybe even more like you swear you do. He feels almost silly for doubting you. As he should.

Your small twin bed is covered in presents. His presents. They range all different sizes. But right in the middle, atop one of the gifts sits two little crochet figures.

Two wolves, a white and a black one.

His chest is warm and tingly. Megumi pulls you into a hug. Arms wrapped tightly around your waist, his head digging into the nape of your neck-he swallows the lump forming in his throat.

“Thank you” Megumi sighs into your chest, moving up to kiss your neck lovingly.

“Ohh Megs” You chuckle, trying to jump excitedly up and down but his arms prevent you from doing so. They grip you tighter. “You need to open them first!”

And he says something so cheesy he would have thrown up if the moment wasn’t so sweet. “You’re the only present I need”

[whatwooshkai]

Lucky number 15!

"Look alive, Blades." Heatwave shakes the helicopter's shoulder roughly as he drops a cube in front of him.

Blades smacks him with a rotor, not even bothering to lift his head off the table.

Heatwave smacks his shoulder in retaliation, then slips into the seat next to him. Thankfully the slap fight stops there.

Chase fidgets with his hands, trying to suppress the happy trill of his doorwings. Cohort! Cohort is here! his coding sings.

Which is precisely why he needs to bring this up this morning. It's fairly rare that all four of them get breakfast together- most of Heatwave and Chase's classes are morning classes, and it's rare to see Blades out of bed before midday. But it seems the stars have aligned today, and everyone's in a good mood, so why is he so nervous?

"Have you started thinking about your classes for next semester?" Boulder asks, taking a sip of their cube.

"Oh, Primus, don't remind me," Heatwave bemoans, pressing the palm of his hand to his face. "I have too much to do already to think about that."

Blades gives a noncommittal groan.

"Actually, I wanted to discuss that with you all," Chase blurts, his cohort coding overriding any anxiety he had. "We should take the team classes."

Heatwave raises an eyebrow. "'Team classes'?"

Boulder claps their hands. "I love that idea," they say, optics shining. "The four of us? A team?"

"Yes, this is the year we would have to sign up for it," he continues, scratching at the peeling paint on his wrist. "And we would continue to learn as a team, we would graduate as such, and eventually work as one."

"Yeah, I can get on board with that," Heatwave says, shockingly agreeing without any arguing. "Can't stand my classmates. You guys are alright." He chuckles to himself. "I can at least stand to look at your ugly mugs for more than an hour."

Chase can't suppress the flapping of his doorwings at that. Cohort, cohort, cohort! his coding sings even louder, to the point where his finials start to flick in time to his wings. Cohort together! Cohort stay!

Blades doesn't raise his helm, but his pede gives Chase's a love tap. .:Chase, I love you:. crackles over their internal comms, and Chase has to suppress an embarrassingly happy noise. .:I'm in, I'm so in:.

"I will do all of our registering," Chase tells them, voice tight. He's smiling, it feels a little weird. He feels like he's floating. Cohort stay!! Cohort good, cohort safe, cohort stay!!! "For both the team itself and our classes. You won't have to worry about it."

"Well, you're not gonna hear any arguing from me," Heatwave tells him with a grin, knocking back the rest of his cube. "Alright, I gotta go to class. Thanks, Chase."

He flicks a finial as he walks by, but Chase is too excited to care.

He and the rest of his cohort (his cohort!!!) say their goodbyes and go their separate ways- except for Blades, who is still plastered to the table, cube untouched.

It's going to work this time, Chase tells himself as he heads to the registration office, pre-signed datapad held like precious metal in his hands. They're going to stay. They're cohort. My cohort.

His doorwings don't stop flapping for the rest of the day.

[kawoala]

IM SO SHY SENDING THIS RN OMG

Just saw you want requests, and I was thinking (not something good for me, btw) 😇😇 about 😇😇 kita w a really shy!reader and he asks the miya brothers for help, and they say that he should flirt w reader 😭😭😭

IK YOU DONT REALLY WRITE FOR KITA AND THIS MAY BE HARD FOR YOU BUT I LOOOOOOOOVVVEEEEEEEDDDDDD WHEN YOU WROTE MY LAST REQUEST W HIM IT WAS SO GOOD I WAS SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP RAINBOWS IT WAS SOOOOO GOOODDDD UUUGHHHH

𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐀 year and a half word count ; (719) content warning ; (request, more fluff haha, social anxiety! reader, asking someone out, advice from the miyans)

You’re nervous. But, for you, that’s normal. Your fingers are in your lap as you tug at your fingers— a response to your constant anxiety. Your classmate is almost finished with their presentation, meaning that you’re up next. Your heartbeat quickens. You hate speaking in front of the class.

Beside you, Kita bounces his leg. You know it’s not out of nervousness, like it would be for you. He’s always relaxed like that. You’re not sure if he’s ever been nervous in his entire life. His fingers drum against his desk. He looks bored.

Your classmate finishes their presentation and a round of applause startles you out of your nervous haze. Kita clears his throat and stands. You do the same.

After you finish the presentation, you realize you were making a much bigger deal than you should have been— like always. Your face is hot when you sit down and you know your cheeks are a different color than the rest of your face.

You lay your forehead down on the table and let out a weak sigh.

Kita knows you get nervous. He knows you get nervous, because he likes to stare. He knows you get nervous because of the way you change color so fast, the way you pull on your fingers. He knows because he likes to pay attention.

You started at Inarizaki in the middle of his second year. Almost immediately, he recognized just how smart you were. You didn’t advertise it like others, but your grades were always the highest in the class. He also recognized that you were beautiful. Kita had never been one for crushes, but he knew that what he felt for you was a crush.

Throughout the next year and a half, he had tried to get your attention. He had gone out of his way to try and get your attention. But nothing seemed to work. 

He would make you food under the guise of simply “making too much” and you would refuse to take it, saying that he might need it after practice.

At least you knew he was on the volleyball team.

When he would ask for help on his homework— even though he didn’t need it— you would tell him of another classmate that was far better at teaching things.

All of his attempts were unsuccessful and it was driving him crazy. So, the day of your presentation, Kita goes to the twins for help. He knows it’s a bad idea, but what has he got to lose?

“Ya gotta impress her, Kita-san,” Atsumu says, popping a potato chip in his mouth. “Girls like it when you do impressive shit.”

“No, you gotta be straightforward,” Osamu says with a sigh, shaking his head. “Girls like her— shy girls, I mean— gotta be told straight up, or they’re going to think you’re just being nice.”

Kita takes Osamu’s advice, because even though Atsumu seems like a ladies man, Osamu has had two girlfriends and Atsumu has had none.

So, the next day, after class, Kita asks you to wait a moment. When everyone has left the class, he turns to you and takes a deep breath. “Do you want to go on a date with me, Y/n?”

He watches you blink a couple times, watches your face change colors, and briefly wonders if he should have taken Atsumu’s advice instead.

“Um, me?” You ask, pointing at yourself. You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and look away from him. “I don’t… Is this a prank? It’s not very funny, Kita-san. You’re supposed to be the nice one.”

Kita doesn't know what that’s supposed to mean, and he doesn’t want to. “It’s not,” he says simply. “I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to ask you out for the last year and a half.” You look up now and he smiles softly. “It’s not a prank.”

Again, you blink dumbly. He can hear when you swallow. “Okay,” you whisper, nodding. “I mean, yes. That sounds, um, fantastic.”

Kita’s smile grows and he nods triumphantly. “Okay. I’ll text you the details tonight, alright?”

You nod again and, that night, when Kita goes to practice, he gives Osamu a firm handshake and makes Atsumu run three laps for the objectively dumb advice he had given.

[ak-fantasies]

Not Worth It

Yunho Imagine

Pairing: Yunho x Reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: you should have known better than to give all of you 

You stood afar seeing Yunho sitting across from his best “girl” friend. They had been friends since childhood and it wasn’t until you realized that she was his first love. Yunho's smile for her was the same he used to have for you. You first saw Yunho a few years ago at one of your father’s company’s gala and it wasn’t until you got to your college when you started to meet him in each of your classes. You would’ve never really given him a chance if it weren’t for the way he would chase after you. You never really believed in love because of your family. Your father always had mistresses while your mother passed away. Your mother always talked about how much love hurts and to never trust anyone. You held onto that, never really giving anyone a chance. Yunho chased you relentlessly, slowly wearing down your walls. Eventually, you agreed to date him, giving him the ultimatum that if he ever betrayed your love, you would disappear from his life completely. He promised and that's where your relationship begins. Your relationship was good, the happy memories filled your heart. Until Yuri came back. You found out through his friends that Yunho had been in love with Yuri since they were kids. Even though you knew, you pretended to ignore his friends’ comments about being a placeholder, because Yunho constantly showed you that he would always come to you whenever you need. That is until recently. 

Nowadays Yunho doesn’t come running to you anymore. When you called, it was always “I’m busy”, “I have classes”, “the boys wanted to hang out”, and excuse after excuses. But you would find him every time he made those excuses with Yuri. You gave everything you had and yet the promises he made doesn’t mean anything anymore. 

“If you wanted to be with her, why did you even chase me?” You asked yourself staring at Yunho who was laughing at something Yuri had said. He reaching over to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ears. The way he caressed her face made it so intimate, you could feel your chest tighten. Funny how he used to beg for you to stay and be with him. Now you were leaving him. He was hurting you when he promised to. Can you forgive him if he begged again? It wasn’t worth it. He had already hurt you. You walked away, ready to transfer to another college in another country. You had stopped your father from moving you abroad because of Yunho, but now you didn’t have anything stopping you. 

“Father… I’m prepared to move abroad.” You called and the surprised in his voice when he asked if you were really sure. Before your relationship was something that you didn’t want to abandon, but now that you were already left behind nothing was worth staying for. Your father also having the guilt from his past actions wanted to respect your choices.

“Darling… are you sure? Once you leave, it’ll be a long few years before you come back…” 

“Yes… I’ve been thinking about how I should start taking my position as your daughter and learn how to take over the family business.” You said.

“Okay then…” Your father replied, a little hesitation in his voice. “I’l prepare everything.” 

Now that your plans were settled, you just have to leave Yunho. Arriving back at your apartment, you laid on your bed finally being able to let the tears you held in, flow down your face. You wished everything you gave to Yunho could be taken back. You thought that all the love you gave him was all he needed. Now he doesn’t even consider how you feel. You were hurting a lot inside. Never again would you let your guard down again. 

The next few weeks, you were settling any affairs you had before leaving, getting your passport and your credit transfer. Every time Yunho called, you stopped answering, never giving him a chance to talk to you. 

When you had finished your talk with the admins of your school you decided to grab a coffee before heading to your father’s company for a brief overview of the next few years. At the coffee shop, you took a seat by the window, looking at your phone. 

“(Y/n)?” A voice spoke, making you look up from your phone to see who the owner was.

“Oh, Seonghwa!” You said, giving him a smile, gesturing at the empty seat in front of you. He shook his head, politely declining.

“I’m only here for a quick coffee.” He explained and you smiled.

“Me too… About to head to the company afterwards.” You said and he looked a little surprised. He then decide to sit down to talk more about what you just said.

“So, does that mean you’re planning to go….” Seonghwa’s voice trails off as someone grabbed your wrist. You already knew who it belongs to. 

“You’ve been ignoring my calls….” Yunho said, ignoring Seonghwa’s presence. You sighed and looked at Yunho.

“Sorry… I’ve been busy with class work.” You said, making an excuse. Yunho’s eyes soften just a little. 

“I’m sorry that I’ve been neglectful these days.. I promise I’ll make it up to you.. It’s just Yuri is preparing to leave abroad again.” Yunho said and it really made you aware, you were nothing but a placeholder for her. 

“It’s okay.. I understand. You two are friends from childhood..” You said, before your name was called. You excused yourself to go grab the drink. When you returned, Seonghwa had long left and Yunho remained in the seat that was previously occupied. 

“Are you planning on staying here?” You asked, putting your phone into your bag. 

“Yeah.. Yuri wanted some coffee, so I came to grab her some.” He said, nonchalantly looking at his phone. A smiled slowly making it ways on his face, making you assume he is texting her. You should’ve known, the Yunho who doesn’t really drink coffee being in your favorite coffee shop. You took a sip of your latte before putting your keys into your bag and preparing to leave.

“You’re not… staying?” Yunho asked, finally looking up from his phone.

“Yeah, my father needs me to grab some stuff for him.” You said before picking up your bag and putting the strap on your shoulder.

“Do you need me to drop you off?” Yunho asked and you shocked your head.

“It’s okay Yunho.. Coffee is best cranked hot, so you should hurry to Yuri..” You said. He stood up and pulled you into a hug. You hugged back to make sure he isn’t suspicious of anything.

“I’ll pick you up later..” Yunho said and you nodded, knowing he wouldn’t come. 

You left the coffee shop, heart still feeling heavy. You took a deep breath before heading to the company to finalize the move. 

“(Y/n).. Your flight is tomorrow. Did you do everything you needed?” Your father asked and you nodded. 

“Yes father.” You responded. Tomorrow you were going to disappear from Yunho’s life. 

When tomorrow came, you sent an email out to your professors, thanking them for allowing you to participate in their research. You then gave your phone to your new personal assistant, Hongjoong. 

“Reset the phone and remove the SIM card. When we get to our destination, find a new SIM card immediately.” You said. You put on your sunglasses and a mask before walking to your gate. 

‘Goodbye, Yunho. Thank you for all the happy moments and for giving me a taste of love. Live life happily, ' you thought before getting on the plane. Goodbye to the you who loved Yunho. 

[luneemeritus]

Fans created this realm of purity around Octavia where no one can criticize a single one of her actions or just be frustrated with her without being insulted and accused of "babying Stolas". But I'm not afraid of being honest or making hot takes that will upset a lot of I'm Literally OctaviaTM fan accounts.

Octavia is not flawless. Octavia can be criticized and can be in the wrong, and you are allowed to be frustrated with her. Damn, even Brandon dislikes her (which caused several fans to harrass him for it, yall so fucking insane). She is a 17yo girl, she is a young woman, not child. She can (and does) make mistakes, she can be cruel, she can be unfair.

Fans call Stolas selfish, a "bad father" and a lot of worse shit for ONCE IN HIS LIFE standing up to himself and choosing the smallest bit of happiness he was capable of (escaping his abuser and getting involved with someone he actually likes, and truly embracing his sexuality for the first time which seems to be a real trigger point to some fans, me thinks some of yall just dont like the gays), but are mad if anyone make the simplest complain about "hey maybe Via should've hear him out and try to think about his side of the story, use some critical thinking to realize Stella was never a good person to her father and etc etc". Like if not treating Via as a flawless angel and Stolas as the mean father is the same as wishing Via to be beheaded. Like grow the fuck up. All of you judging Stolas would do THE SAME if you were in his situation. Imagine living your whole life to others, for others, forced to live in a masquerade while being brutally abused every day and still be judged the worst personTM because your teenage child (again, traumatized AND affected by the same abuse you've been through) misundertood your intentions.

As amazingly pointed in this post, Via is 17 years old. She knows what is right or wrong, oh boy she knows, if she didnt know she wouldnt even be angry at her father. She said to his face that she is upset that he saved Blitz's life. Okay, you don't want to understand Stolas because boohoo daddy issues evil owl, but at least think of Blitz's side. Imagine seeing your lover's daughter angry that your life was saved. Your life, that is systematically treated as worthless by the same class Via is part of. Just think for a moment. And Blitz still sees Via as his future daughter! If you sympathize with Blitz for being unfairly hated by his sister, why can't you do the same with Stolas and Via's situation?

Literally I've seen so many people saying in one post: "i hope millie aborts her baby because no woman should be forced to have an unwanted child", and then in the next post "how dare stolas save blitz's life, he chose him over Via (a child that he was forced to have! btw!), he's a bad father" like how fucking dare you. Why are you so shamelessly hypocritical. I AM pro-choice btw, and yes Stolas did wrong things towards Via, but like, be fucking serious. No one's life should be limitated to their relationships. Stolas never chose Blitz over Via. Suddenly Blitz's life doesn't matter anymore, when it comes to shit about Stolas, now Blitz is not the flawless victim anymore and should have died. Fuck off.

Ugh. So fucking exhausting.

As much as i can understand where Via is coming from, and her feelings are valid, she doesn’t see her dad as a living person outside of just being her father. And that isn’t right. It’s especially not right seeing just how many people feel absolutely no empathy for him.

“She was just a child having to endure all that!!” Okay, and how old was Stolas when he had to marry an abusive girl and have a kid of his own, exactly? At least he gave Via a chance to have a good childhood, he didn’t have one. He didn’t have anything except for his duties to carry out.

And while it’s heartbreaking that Via sees herself as an obligation, that’s literally what she was supposed to be. Though that doesn’t mean that was how he saw her. She was what saved him, what made him endure all the abuse, what kept him going.

But sometimes that’s not enough, he had NO ONE to confide in and couldn’t put his frustrations on his own kid (because he’s a good father, despite what some of you would like to believe, clearly you didn’t grow up with a parent trying to guilt you by traumadumping when you can barely understand it), so he also NEEDED the pills.

The thing is, i also had that mentality towards my mom for dealing with depression UNTIL i started experiencing it myself. Because it’s so hard to realize that your parents are also human beings, since they’re supposed to protect you, they’re supposed to have everything figured out, to be the shoulder you cry on.

But if i see another dumbass claim that he CHOSE to leave and made the wrong decision in Mastermind, i need you out of this fandom. The whole point of that was that he had no choice, was he supposed to throw away the man he fell in love with, his first friend, his first time that wasn’t for procreation, and the one who liberated him? Stolas is allowed to care for more than one person, and he deserves to be loved romantically by someone.

You’re being too harsh on Stolas because for whatever reason you hate an abuse victim finally having a say in how to live for once in their lives, adding on top of that the weird, underlying homophobia in some of your criticisms for him.

Also i have a bad taste in my mouth from Via only seemingly hating Stolas, despite having SEEN how shitty Stella is. Sure, she doesn’t know the full extent of the abuse, but she’s heard the yelling, she’s seen the throwing, the ridiculing, the insensitivity. And most likely that woman neglected Via as much as possible, because she also didn’t choose to have her, but unlike Stolas she didn’t give a fuck to take responsibility regardless. (Reminding you of the “You get up” comment from Loo Loo Land). This was all happening before the cheating, so that’s not an excuse for her behavior (not that the cheating was, but at least Via would have been able to reason with her reaction to it).

It’s a complicated situation and it’s so shitty to put all the blame on Stolas, he tried so much for his family, but it was never going to be enough, because he’s gay. I’m glad he got out of that marriage.

Honestly, had i been given all those responsibilities at his age in a loveless marriage, i would’ve gone insane. I wouldn’t have been kind to my child, the cause of my shit life. But he never saw her as a weight on his shoulders, he has so much love for Via.

[pinkyplushiemaker]

New 2025 Commission Information

Commission Information and Terms of Service

Information on Artist.

I started my plush work in 2013. I have worked hard on developing my style and process over the years. I create my embroidery and patterns from scratch, so everything I make is one of a kind. I do not sell my patterns because they are not normal and only I can understand how they come together. I live in West Virginia, USA. I can ship all over the country and internationally. I live in a dog, bird, and reptile friendly home. I love anime/manga, superhero movies/tv/comics, horror movies, animals, art, and making plushies.

My Plush Work

I work with minky fabric since it’s the highest quality I can use to make my work the best quality possible. I can also use faux furs, long pile minky, mochi fabric, fleece, and cotton if needed (or requested). I use upholstery thread when sewing my plush together. The thread is incredibly strong and the chances of pieces coming apart are very low. If they do come apart (very uncommon), just message me and I will fix and reinforce the piece.

My work is considered “art”, not factory produced for the general public. This means that they are unique and special, but it also means they are not really meant to be handled roughly, crushed, and/or given to very small children. They are pretty durable since they are plush, but any material can wear over time when they are over “loved” (lol). Taking them on adventures, and carrying them around is totally welcomed, just please go easy on the tug and pull <3

Ordering a Plush

Please feel free to reach out to me through Twitter (X), Tumblr, Instagram, or Facebook. I do my best to answer as soon as possible, but you are welcome to message again in case I have not replied after a few days. (I can get busy with the Plush Business, my full-time job, and taking care of my pets.)

Let me know what you are looking to have made. (I can make humans, animals, creatures, cars, robots etc.) Let me know what size and style you are thinking of and if there is a certain time you would like to have it made by. (It normally takes about 2-4 weeks, it depends on if I need to order anything specific.) Please provide images if possible (if you want something unique and only have a description, I can do a rough concept of the character for you, or if you would like to commission me to do art of the character, please feel free to request it). Once I have this information, I will give you a price quote. The quote will only be for the plush, this will not include the shipping or taxes. If you agree to the price, I will request an email from you and will send an invoice. It will list all the details for the transaction, including shipping and tax. The invoice is through PayPal Goods and Services, so we are both protected.

Once the payment is made, you are added to the queue. Before I start on the plush, I will create a concept for it. In this stage (and only in this stage) you are welcome to make any updates to the design. (For example: preferring a different color, wanting the eyes to be bigger, not wanting a certain part included etc.) I will do my best to get as close to the concept as possible. It will never be exact, but I do normally get really close. After the concept is finished, I will share fabric colors to ensure they are right.

Once everything is approved, I will create the pattern and embroidery files. Next, I will embroider the fabric and cut out the pattern. Finally, I will sew the plush together and share the final plush in our communication. I will need you to share the preferred name and address for the shipment. Once this information is provided, I will pack up the plush and send it out. I will provide the tracking when it is on its way.

Shipping the Plush

My standard shipping is first-class and using a waterproof bubble mailer envelope. This keeps the shipping as low as possible. ($7 within the US, $25 International)

For 2025, I am offering priority and over-night shipping (overnight only available in US). I am also offering the option to ship within a box instead of a bubble mailer. These options will be much higher prices and can be discussed while setting up the commission.

Please note, once I ship a plush and provide a tracking number. It is out of my hands.

Canceling a Commission

You have 1 week after ordering to cancel a commission. If I ordered materials for the project, it will be deducted from the total.

If a plush is not correct (and it is due to my mistake), I can grant a full refund. Unless I am able to fix the issue. The mistake would be due to me not using the correct color fabric, missing an important detail from the concept etc. Just not liking a plush or deciding you don’t want to pay for a plush once it is made are not valid reasons. I have various examples of my work and before commissioning me, please review my pages to make sure you like my style and quality.

Final Note

I am more than happy to work with someone to make a plush they can afford and love. Since all of my plush are custom and I make all the patterns and embroidery, I can make adjustments easily. For example, I can make the plush smaller and contain less details. I will be happy to explain what parts are causing the higher price and we can work out other options. I believe PayPal has options to make multiple payments too, so I can still get full payment and you wont need to pay in full right away.

Thank you for reading!! I hope I can bring your favorite characters to life 😊

[annjiru]

MERRY CHRISTMAS ! just wanted to take a second and thank everyone who has stayed by my side through my hiatus.

FIRST CLASS — sending special holiday greetings & cheer to my mains i interact with the most

@gcldfanged | @myristicisms |

KEEPERS OF HONOR — other dear mutuals that i am looking forward to writing with and getting to know more into the new year

@generalzelgius | @chaieos | @phantasiiae | @sephaeroth | @highwindo | @sleeplesswork | @cryptidsncurios | @poeticphoenix | @saishuu-heiki | @geraniumplant | @erodedlight

apologies if I missed you (: i'm still getting warmed up and would love to write with more of you in 2025. i hope this holiday has been full of peace, joy, and love for each and every one of you.

i cannot wait to keep writing with you all next year and to see what we'll be able to create together. cheers. ⸻ love, eros.

[kentocalls]

miya osamu | simple, honest 3.5k of second chance romance, chef!osamu, written for the hq x reader secret santa event hosted by the lovely @lale-txt. and written for lale ♡ divider by the lovely @nectardaddy

The second time you fall in love with Miya Osamu. And third.

Osamu can remember the moment he fell in love and his feelings shifted. Not love at first sight, like in the movies, but there were plenty of firsts to make up for that after.

Even after all these years he can remember the exact second you had turned around in class,  something you had done many times, nothing out of the ordinary.   A last minute study group, a collection of stressed minds, Osamu’s body tired after practice, Atsumu complaining next to him, the endless drawl of equations and numbers. Useless, pointless things.

And it was your voice, eyes meeting his,  “Osamu, can I borrow a pencil?”

Not pausing to assess which twin he was, not darting your eyes up to look at his hair, none of that.

The confidence in which you knew it was him.

That moment.

Lit a flame and launched fireworks in his heart. What followed is a collection of moments he remembered with you by his side. And suddenly, that collection stopped.  Why’d it stop?

When he sees you across the street, he wonders, did he ever stop feeling that way?  Because if feelings can be turned off like that, Osamu is sure he’s broken.  Not that he’d fix it, not that he’d change the way his heart eases a bit seeing you.

And when your eyes meet his, that same confidence all those years ago, causes your hand to wave at him.

Before you even realize it, before you even register what you’re doing. Osamu had lifted his hand back, praying you take his smile is as soft, disarming. That you haven’t done anything wrong, it’s been months since you’ve last crossed paths. It’s genuine, that excitement you have to see him, and he’s pleased to see you too.

A man that blocks you from his path, Osamu’s eyes filter to the group around you.

Ages mixed, state of dress a bit formal, a work dinner, he assesses.  He feels his chest fill with pride, you’re being social. These things stress you out, but there you are. You even arrived early it seems; as more and more people join and suddenly you’re tucked into the restaurant.  That smile doesn’t fade from Osamu, delighted to know, you keep trying, challenging yourself.

✦

It can’t be him.

As much as you plead with your mind, your colleagues start up about the menu, about holiday plans. Easy banter, you’ve practice a few non-answers to reply with.  This isn’t a comfortable setting, perhaps it’s okay that you saw Osamu outside.  Your mind is more occupied with him than overthinking social interactions with people who seem to like you.

You’re seated next to a …group date?  It seems like it, the girl seated next to you gives a soft smile seems when she slides in. Maybe a bit nervous, the way she’s adjusting her bangs, checking her reflection in a handheld mirror.   Your eyes looks at her dainty nails, her pretty dress shirt, back at your own attire. And your colleagues. It seems they dressed up too and your apparel is a bit plain in comparison. 

Well, that started early. The comparison gremlin.

Drown it.

You sip a glass of water, the empty seat in front of being taken by handsome, tall—Osamu!?  You choke and the water you’re drinking exits your nose, it gets everywhere. 

It burns. 

✦

He didn’t mean to, he assumed the table reserved for his staff would take up the whole row.  So lost in thoughts of you, he hadn’t bothered to look where he was sitting. Missed his own table by one seat; had you coughing and spitting and spiraling towards something he knows you don’t want anyone to see.  “Excuse us.”

Hands on your shoulders, lifting you up, steering you steady and strong.

Ushers you into the single bathroom, harsh paper towels in his hands that dab gently at your face, “Hey, you’re okay. No one saw that.”

“Every…” a cough, “saw that.”  What a terrible liar he’s always been.

He bites his tongue, “I know, but it wasn’t that…hey, eyes on me please, keep breathing, in an out, good.”  You mimic his breathing pattern. If you close your eyes and focus on his voice, it’d feel like old times, the multiple occasions Osamu has walked you through a frenzy.  “Easy, there you are…”

He wipes at your nose, it’s embarrassing, it should be, but he doesn’t bat an eye.  “I’m okay you can…go back.”

“My staff seen my mug ‘nough.”

So not a group date. Small talk. Come on. You have it in you, say something to him, anything, get him to stop looking at you with those eyes,  “Oh.”

He grins anyways, “We hit 200k ticket this year.”

“Osamu that’s amazing.”

He shrugs, you weren’t there for 75,000 of them.

“Stop, it’s amazing and you know that.”  There he goes again, acting mature and responsible, warding off the praise for long nights and early mornings. You still remember his furrowed gaze, no one has looked at rice with such scrutiny at four in the morning. But, no.

Abort that thought.

You go to wash your hands because you’re in a bathroom.

Osamu watches, he has so many questions.

Are you sleeping better?   He still has that pillow you had ordered, you never came to grab it. Are you eating enough these days?  He has so many reels to send to you, so many recipes he wants to feed you. Are you happy?

He catches you scrunch your nose in the mirror, knows the unconscious gesture, that water must’ve gotten deep, you’re gonna get sick. Or at least, irritated nasal passages leading to congestion and given that winter has come, chances of an illness are high. But he doesn’t say anything, lets you leave the bathroom first, follows after five minutes.

His staff doesn’t ask him about you, and your colleagues look at him but don’t ask you a thing. He feels himself exhale in relief. When colleagues go outside to wait for your ride home with you. That when they return, your incident never crosses their lips. Good, this is a better work place for you. Even if they made you socialize on a Friday night.

✦

There’s a box with soup outside your door the following morning. A text message from a number your new phone hasn’t ported over but it’s hard to erase those digits from memory.

🍙: Your food has been delivered. For the best experience, we recommend eating immediately.

We? You think to yourself, curious if this is a new service Osamu has started.  You should say thanks, text him back like a normal person.  But a sneeze has you dropping your phone. After, you bargain, you’ll text him back after.

The next Saturday, it’s a box of your favorite noodles and experimental onigiri, his hand writing is as messy as ever, you give up trying to figure out what ingredient it is. The text also comes in.

🍙: Your food has been delivered. For the best experience, we recommend eating immediately. Rate our new Onigiri flavor on a scale of Delicious to Scrumptious.

That boy…

🌼: Where does delectable fall on this scale?

✦

It feels easy, texting Osamu again.  You were friends before your gaze had lingered a bit too long on his lips and turned your relationship sweeter.  You were friends before he became the person you’d turn to first person, you were friends. You were friends.

You were friends and then you were more.

You were more and then you weren’t.

And now, where does this fall?

✦

🍙: Your food has been delivered, if you like please thumbs up, comment, and subscribe. 🌼: 👍🏼

✦

🍙: Your food has been delivered, we recommend placing in the freezer asap.  Like yesterday. 🌼: There are ants everywhere Osamu.

✦

🍙: We’re running a contest for the best meal. Vote here. 🍙: If you vote for option B, I’ll name it after you. 🌼: None of these are desserts.

✦

🌼: I will need to pause my food delivery, I will be out of town this weekend. 🍙: Your food go unfulfilled, left to waste on forgotten countertops. 🌼: I’ll stop by when I get back, still open til 7? 🍙: Yup, see you then.

He wanted to say, “For you, always.” But Osamu’s happy to be allowed into your world again, even if it’s just about the meals he’s been sending or what the restaurant is up to.  He’ll take anything you feel safe giving him. Even it’s more than acquaintances and less then friends. Even if it means dancing around everything he’s been feeling.

Why did it stop?

When he scrolls up the message history he doesn’t see a clear reason. His messages became less and less frequent, then yours, and then things faded.   A plethora of good memories and Osamu can’t find where things got to the point where you not being in his life felt like a sane and rational decision.

What kind of idiot was the him months ago?  Well, he isn’t going to be that same kind of idiot now.   Despite knowing better, he risks sending another message.

🍙: Good luck on your trip, and I still remember snickerdoodle, so any time, okay? 🌼: Thanks, Osamu.

Snickerdoodle was your shared code word with Osamu for ‘everything is overwhelming please come find me.’  You’re not surprised he remembered. You were friends with Osamu before the relationship started, whether you wanted to or not, you’ve shared your ugly sides with each other, that included knowing when the other was overwhelmed. 

Osamu was always a little better at reading you than you could read him though.   Ah, whatever right? He’s always been a stand up kind of guy. This is…part of the course for being friends with him.

✦

🍙: [1 Image Sent] 🍙: Thanks again, I will protect this charm with my life. 🌼: It’s supposed to protect you, ward off the negative vibes

✦

🍙: Don’t forget an umbrella, its supposed to rain. 🌼: Thanks, Osamu.

✦

🍙: Hypothetically, if we added a dessert to our menu, what would complement our offerings. There is 1 wrong answer here. 🌼: Hypothetically 🌼: Cinnamon rolls

✦

🍙: [1 Image Sent] 🍙: Dine-in Special, if you snag this seat, the Chef will dance for you. 🌼: How’s Friday? 🍙: The Chef will use all week to practice.

✦

🍙: [Link Sent] 🍙: Is this the cinnamon roll recipe of your dreams? 🌼: It uses Stevia? Osamu, this cannot…be anybodies dream 🌼: Don’t you dare put this in my box

✦

🍙: On a scale from scrumptious to sensational, ‘never bake again’ is not a valid response. 🌼: Send me something with Stevia again and see what happens 🌼: Don’t you dare say ‘bet’

✦

🌼: Hypothetically, if I promised you a crepe, and if you were on the corner of 3rd and 8th, your arms free, would you carry a really heavy box for me? 🍙: Hypothetically 🌼: Hypothetically 🍙: Do I get to pick the flavor? 🌼: Maybe

He smiles at everyone he texts, you tell yourself as you watch him read your message.

Osamu looks up from where he was had stopped at the corner, eyes darting around, that relaxed look on his face when his eyes finally land on you? That look isn’t for everyone, that’s just for you.

Your hand going up automatically, a soft wave, the smile accompanying it makes sense.   

He doesn’t look winded at all, lifting the extra large, extra heavy, flour bags on his shoulders. “Where to?” He doesn’t look winded taking them up four flights of stairs either. 

✦

🍙: [1 Image Sent] 🍙: hey, where’s my batch? 🍙: unfair ‘samu get’s all the goods 🍙: i was ur friend first 🍙: he ate all of them

✦

🍙: ‘samu said he wants chocolate chip cookies 🌼: [1 Image Sent] 🍙: 😱 🌼: [1 Image Sent] 🍙: [1 Image Sent] 🍙: think ya broke my brother 🍙: his face is stuck like that

✦

🌼: [1 Image Sent] 🍙: Oh my god. 🌼: You have a minute to tell me which one you want. 🍙: Pistachio, no, almond. Wait, Cherry? 🍙: Any. 🍙: You pick.

And he’s only slightly baffled that you show up at Onigiri Miya, uninvited, unannounced but equally greeted with roaring cheer. Two lovely boxes in your hands, “I got all of them.”  His staff secretly rejoicing at the less intense version of their boss and additional treat, when said boss shares.

✦

This soup…does not taste right.  Scratch that, it tastes outright bad.  There’s tangy and there’s whatever this salty mishap is. There’s no text asking you to rate the delivery, you debate sending him a message first but opt to ignore it.

It’s Sunday and there’s another box of food.   This …is odd. You pull out the container, cautiously taking a bite of the interestingly shaped onigiri  and…okay, something is wrong.

🌼: The scrumpt factor is missing. 🌼: I’d like to speak to the manager.

But you get nothing, not after the usual lunch rush, not after the last dinner ticket should be filled.

🌼: Checking in, busy? 🌼: Are you okay? 🌼: Osamu?

You figure you’d go into the restaurant, remind Osamu to charge his damn phone, and walk back to the office. It should all be possible in the hour-ish window you have.  However, it’s like they were expecting you, his staff is busy with the lunch rush and instantly you’re ushered upstairs, “We finally got him to leave the kitchen but…”

“I’m fine.” The door opens, Osamu appears with a mask and unfocused eyes.  “You look terrible.”  His staff watches as you get no glare, no retort, just a mild shrug. “This is my face.” His voice sounds so congested.

Stubborn as ever. You turn to his staff, “I got this.”

He’s only wobbly because he hasn’t had water. He hasn’t had water because he forgot to fill the cup. He didn’t fill the cup because his arms felt heavy. “And you’re arms feel heavy because you’ve got a fever. Osamu you’re sick.”

“Shh, I’m not.” An ill timed sniffle, “just a cold.”

They’re the same thing but you bite your tongue,  continue chopping carrots, it’s a stew you’ve made with Osamu many times before, somehow his fridge is always stocked with exactly the right ingredients for this recipe.  “The pots in—“

Third cabinet next to the sink, the one without shelves because neither one of you got around to adding them. “Sit down.”  You threaten him with a laddle, his laughter turns into a coughing fit and your glare deepens.   That tiny voice that tells you, this is overstepping, this isn’t normal for friends, gets louder and louder as the meal progresses. 

You’ll leave once he’s fed and back in bed.

If you stay to make him supper, it’s only because Osamu had the good onions and you can’t have those going bad.

If you go back the next day, it’s only because Osamu finished everything you made, you couldn’t let your fever-ish friend cook for themselves.

If you go back the day after that, well, it’s simply to make sure Osamu doesn’t over do it.

That’s all.

✦

“Is this seat taken?”  Osamu has just put down an order when he turns to find a teenager and their friend trying to sit in your seat. He looks at his watch, you’re coming in for lunch today, stepping through the restaurant doors any minute, “Yes, it is.”  Osamu puts down an Onigiri Miya hat to keep your seat safe.

It gets harder and harder as the lunch rush picks up but he successfully glares everyone away.

“Osamu!” Your voice breaks through all the chaos, his eyes find yours. You’re walking into the restaurant, rushing past all the noise and people and finding your usual seat. He walks over holding two bowls of food that you haven’t ordered and need to be delivered to table 9.  You’re giving him an update about a colleague when you pause to take in the scene. It’s packed, and Osamu’s missing a staff member.

“Just a sec’ okay?”  He goes to drop off food, a mere thirty seconds and that darn teenager and their friend sit down at your seat. Osamu clicks his tongue, ready to remind these patrons the seat they so comfortable have sat down on, is in fact, taken.

Except it’s you, in an Onigiri Miya hat and apron, taking down their order and writing up a ticket to hand off.

You’ve done this before, in the early days, when it wasn’t as busy. You’re not the best with the hectic rush hour pace, but you’re effective. You’re helping move food along, taking down orders, refilling cups, getting utensils. Mostly, mostly that look is gone from Osamu’s face. His shoulders are relaxed, his voice is back to it’s usual tone, not rushed.

Towards the end of the rush, you’re pulled into his office, a plate of your usual on the desk as he stuffs a spoon into your mouth. Any chance you try to protest, that you need to get back to your own job, he silences with food. You hate how delicious things taste, you’d be here all the time if you could.   He goes out to make some extra boxes for you, “As thanks for today, you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

Simple, honest.

✦

“Hmm….is it a little…”

“Too sweet?”

Osamu and you nod. This is your third batch of triple berry cinnamon rolls.  There’s flour and batter and frosting everywhere. Your tiny kitchen has seen worse. (Specifically, that time MSYB decided to build gingerbread houses. They all but popped into your place the second you told them they needed royal icing to make the walls stick together.)

It feels nice.  Having Osamu in your space.

His movements compliment yours, he’s already brewed a lovely, warm, complimentary drink to ease away the sugar you’ve consumed.  “Oh, you didn’t go?”

Two entry tickets to the museum you wanted to take Osamu to, a get away to celebrate the start of your new job. You two hadn’t finalized the date and…stopped talking before you could.

He watches your eyes fall to the fridge handle, to the kitchen counter top and around the room. Lips taking a downward turn, hands fidgeting.  “I can remember the day you told me about this museum.”

Osamu takes an experimental step toward you, cautious but secure. Places his mug on the counter beside him, “You were wearing….that hoodie, the soft one with that character you like.  You were in that lottery queue for hours and scared the crap outta me—“

“I couldn’t believe I got in.” He nods, a soft smile remembering your disbelief, “You got in, told me about all the things you wanted to eat and…I remember all of that. But I don’t remember why we didn’t go.”

Your eyes meet his, you take a deep in hale, are you really going to…do this? Now?

“Osamu it…”

He shakes his head, “That’s the thing, I keep replaying the past few months over and over, and it doesn’t make sense to me. Why aren’t I in your life? Why are you not next to me?”

You open and close your mouth.  Wanting to choose your words carefully.

if you self depreciate, he’ll switch into caretaker Osamu and not really hear you. If you give into emotions, you’ll switch into a nasty version of yourself and push Osamu away.  You don’t want that.  Of all the options, you don’t want a life where he is a stranger to you.

“I don’t think…there's a big dramatic bad thing here. You were there one day and then you weren’t. I don’t know really how it happened either.”  The loneliness had come after.  When suddenly texting Osamu turned into mental gymnastics because the two swipes it takes to open the messaging app and find his name.

He’s close now, steps soft and slow, his fingers trace down your arm before settling into your hand. You intertwine the fingers, give his hand a squeeze, dare to look at his face because even now you think of him as extra special. The ease his lazy but always soft smile provides you.

“I’m really sorry…I don’t know how I let go of us…” Closer still, leaning to have his forehead touch yours, a pause from all the noise in both of your heads.  You missed him, miss him.  Having him this close just proves part of you will never get over him. Part of him will never fill that ache for you either.

“Would it be okay, if we, could try again?”

“Osamu…”

The oven timer beeps, startling you out of his orbit, his hand clings to yours before urging an oven mit onto it. This is the forth and final batch, now or never.  You let the rolls cool before plucking and plopping one onto the new bowl Osamu has waiting, two forks in hand. The frosting already remixed and he adds a fat dollop on top.

You take a bite and your eyes meet his and it’s the simplest moment.

And maybe, years later, you’ll tell him.  The second time you fell in love with him was when his face crinkled into disbelief and blossomed into the biggest grin. “We…did it? We did it!”

You watched him take another forkful, “Aww, let’s gooooo! We did it.”  He’s whipping out his phone to take photos, ready to make this everyone’s business.

All you can do, is watch this tall guy brag about your baking skills.  It doesn’t even take a few months, the third moment happens right there, Osamu leaning on the countertop, perched on his elbows as he steals more and more of the triple berry cinnamon roll, “You might not get rid of me now.”

And you let the words fill the air,  “I wouldn’t want to.”

Simple, honest.

[fairygeek777]

HEAVILY PIGGY BACKING OFF THIS CUZ I FORGOT STUFF.

Natsu's biggest thing that holds him back in early arcs (mind you he was physically 17 at the start) was that fire was not always in his immediate reach. His main powerscorce was not something he always had an endless supply of.

You know what Wendy's energy source is? AIR. You know what Wendy can do at age 12? Take a big gulp in any damn Earthland space she's in, have her fill and then Tenryu no hoko it right back at her opponent. She's like a damn vacuum. AND SHE CAN ALWAYS DO THAT.

You know what else is super damn impressive about Wendy? She's also an enchanter that casts support spells. She can enchant DRAGON SLAYING attributes on anyone she wants. Irene was super impressed by Wendy and decided to mentor her for very good reason.

You know what else is super fricken cool about Wendy Marvell? She can turn on dragon force as easily as Goku turns super Sayian and whoop a 10foot tall demon's ass into the next century. AND her hair. ITS PINK. And she's got feather attachments!.

Reminder, again SHE IS 14. At age 14 she's traveling with older, more experienced wizards on a gosh dang S Class Quest. Not to mention it so happens to be the most Elite and Impossible quest ever offered in the last 100 years. Not to mention she contributed to half of its completion already.

Girl is gonna be a fracken LEGEND in adulthood. The only thing she can't yet do is Fly for herself. But like- let's be real, she's 100% going to change that in time.

firm believer that when wendy grows up she’ll be one of the most powerful mages in fairy tail, and not just the guild, in fiore

girl is just fourteen years old and is still more powerful than most of the grownups in her guild, has taken on multiple adult enemies and won, some who weren’t even human, and is still growing her magic power.

she’s not only the sky dragon slayer, which is a considerably rare magic type, but can also heal and enchant.

and as i mentioned before, she is still growing her magic power.

[booksandwillowtrees]

I don’t need brand name food so I’ll just get the cheapest one vs. all the cheap brands are probably sourced with like the most unsustainable and exploitative practices. FIGHT

[mercurymacaroons]

arrives 15 min late with a latte

......sup

[fearandhatred]

aziraphale: i bought a bookshop

crowley: that's so bookshop buying core