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unequivocallyreid · 3 months ago

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Why Didn’t You Tell Me?

it has been SO long... i was suffering from serious writers block but it think i'm finally out of it :)

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: Spencer Reid used to be your best friend, but things changed. How long can you pretend that you don't love him before it ruins you?

warnings: angst! (with a happy ending), smut (unprotected piv), character loss, mention of Maeve, very sad Spencer, mental health struggles, drinking/bar scene, light choking, fighting, slight praise kink

wc: 8.8k 🤗

i’m very proud of this one! i hope you love it!

Every morning when you wake up, you feel a familiar and creeping sort of dread in the pit of your stomach.

Don’t get the wrong idea; you love your job. You love helping people and stopping horrible people from ruining any more lives, but the creeping feeling and desire to get out is always in the corner of your mind. Anyone working in this field would tell you that. There’s no absolute separation between you and the victims and their families. You take all of them home with you, and you just have to learn how to deal with that and not let it eat at you.

It doesn’t help that it’s an isolating job as well. The last time you were in a serious relationship was in college. Now, every date you have ends in disappointment. Not only do you lack interest in most of the men and women, but it couldn’t go anywhere even if you did. 75% of your time is spent in the office, on a jet, or hundreds of miles away from your home.

All of this contributes to the feeling, but the worst part of your job is Dr. Spencer Reid.

He’s secretive and dismissive and just about the most attractive person you’d ever seen. You honestly don’t know what is worse: his constant physical presence in your life or the fact that you can’t stop thinking about him no matter what you do. You’ve tried to get over it; you’ve buried yourself in work, lamented to your friends, and gone out on dates (all with guys that looked vaguely similar), but nothing has worked. All his worst traits grate your nerves and light you up at the same time.

The worst part of it all is that it wasn’t always like this. When you first joined the BAU nearly two years ago, you and Spencer got along well. You were friends, he talked to you about his life, he understood you, and you really severely fell for him. He became your best friend.

Everything changed around six months ago. Spencer started to develop migraines, and as those developed, he started distancing himself from you. He became snippy and closed off, he started hiding things from you, and he stopped talking to you about life outside of Quantico. It was like overnight, you became nothing to him, and you really didn’t understand. Everyone else on the team got the same old Spencer, but you went from his right-hand man to someone he only spoke to when it was necessary.

Maybe he didn’t deserve to be vilified. You know, realistically, he can and should be able to decide who he wants to be close to, but working with a man who unknowingly broke your heart was close to the hardest thing you’d ever done. So, you decided hating him was easier. The real emotions you feel toward him sit somewhere inside you, but they have been covered by manufactured distaste. Addressing the actual feeling would hurt too bad, so you pretend to hate the things you used to love.

Nothing, however, could have prepared you for the last case you worked on: helping Spencer save a girl he met about six months ago, a girl he loved. You tried to stay collected, you said nothing when Spencer assisted when he shouldn’t have, and goddamn, did you do everything in your power to find that girl. Maeve. She was perfect for Spencer, and you saw that immediately. Everyone did. The sight of him sobbing in front of her body is one that will never leave your mind.

Now, two weeks later, no one has heard from Reid. The only indication that he hasn’t abandoned his life altogether is the absence of the gift baskets on his doorstep that Pen leaves daily.

Nearly everyone has been to his apartment, but they are met with a closed door and have yet to receive a response. Everyone but you.

Penelope is the first to bring up your lack of appearance at the end of a long day of paperwork.

“Y/n, please, you just have to try. No one is getting anything from him.”

“I really don’t think my presence would do any good,” you pause for a moment, trying to collect the thoughts running through your head like a freight train. “Me and him haven’t been close in a long time, Pen.”

Before you can continue, she cuts in, “Everyone has tried, Y/n. Hell, I’ve even considered tracking down Gideon, and I really, really do not want to do that.”

She pauses for a moment before looking up at you with a pout on her face, “Please, Y/n, for me. I can’t bear the thought of him in there all alone, just wasting away in grief.”

For someone who claims not to be a profiler, Penelope knew exactly what to say to get you to agree. She’s the only person in your life who you told about how you felt, though you’re sure everyone else (aside from Spencer) knew: you’re shit at keeping secrets.

“Okay, okay, I’ll try.”

She nearly bursts with excitement, “Thank God-“

You cut her off before she can finish, “But I’m telling you, I’m not the person he wants to hear from right now. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Yes, yes. I just want him to know we all want him to be okay.”

Before you can hurry out of the office to follow Pen’s instructions, she stops you and hands you a basket full of assorted snacks and fruits.

“Make sure he eats!”

The walk up to Spencer’s apartment is a hard one to take. The smell of his building hits you as soon as you step into the lobby. From there, everything rushes back at once. Memories of nights you spent watching reruns of Doctor Who or listening to him prattle off about whatever he last read assault you with every step. As you slowly make your way up, you start to question why you agreed to do this in the first place.

You feel a lot toward Reid. More than you should and less than you could. But all that care and feelings that are so close to love aren’t enough to make you forget why you’ve been trying to hate him for so long. He deserted you without an explanation and cut you off without a warning. You spent weeks (three months) crying over him like a love-struck teen. So, as much as you want to hold him and comfort him, you know it’ll hurt you to do so. Penelope sent you, with the whole team’s approval, you’re sure, to try to patch up a broken heart he got loving someone else. There’s a sickness in your gut, but it’s not enough to stop you from rapping your knuckles against his door.

“Spencer? It’s Y/n.”

There’s no response.

“I know you probably don’t want to hear from me right now, but I want to make sure you’re alright. Can you tell me you’re alright?”

Again, nothing.

You know he’s there. Despite your lack of communication, you know Spencer well enough to know that he would never leave his life behind entirely. That being said, your next few attempts at garnering a response are unsuccessful.

You decide to try one final time before just leaving the basket alone on his doorstep and texting Pen it was a bust.

“There’s a lot I don’t know about you now, and I won’t pretend to know what you’re feeling.”

You don’t exactly know where this is headed, but you continue on regardless.

“I know you’re in there, and I know you can hear me, and I know you’re hurting. You shouldn’t- I don’t want you to be alone right now, Spence. You can either unlock your door, or I can pick it, but I’m coming in one way or the other. You know I will.”

You wouldn’t, actually. It’s a last-ditch effort, and it’s met with the same silence you’ve heard on the other side for the past ten minutes. You’re about to turn to head back down the stairs when you hear the very faint sound of a deadbolt turning.

There’s no other sound or movement, and for a moment, you think you might’ve imagined the sound, but you try the handle anyway. It turns, and the door slides open. You take a step in.

“Spencer,” you call out to him.

You don’t see him at first in the mess of his apartment, but when you do, you feel a crack form in your heart.

Beyond the clutter of his entryway, you see his back on the couch. His frame looks smaller than you’ve ever seen it, and you can see his legs curled into his chest. You set down the gift basket by a collection of others on the entry table and walk over to him. Slowly, like you’re trying not to spook a lost dog, you creep in front of him.

His head is down, and his gaze stays trained on his knees.

You reach out your hand and lay it over his. He flinches but doesn’t pull away.

“Spence, I’m so glad you opened the door.”

You didn’t plan out what you would say, but ‘sorry’ feels redundant and useless.

You go on, “I’m here. I- I don’t know what to do or say, and I’m sorry that I don’t. I can get someone else for you. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.”

You wait for him to say he wants Penelope or JJ, but it doesn’t come. Nothing comes. You start to move to get up, figuring you could clean up a bit and try to make him something to eat, then go, but he grasps your arm before you can.

He looks up at you, and his eyes hit you right in the gut. They’re bloodshot and sunken but still beautiful.

“Stay. Please. I just- I need to know I’m not dreaming. I keep thinking I’m dreaming.”

His voice is croaky from disuse and breaks at the end, but it’s so heartbreakingly earnest that you feel your breath catch. You move from your crouch and sit beside him on the couch; your hand is still in his.

You stay like that for a long time. His breathing is shakey and uneven, and every so often, his body shakes with what you can only assume are sobs. You stay pressed to his side the whole time, thumb rubbing back and forth over his hand.

Eventually, you speak again, “I’m gonna get you some food, Spence. You should eat.”

He says nothing back, but he does loosen his grip. You push yourself up from the coach with a promise you’ll be as fast as possible.

His kitchen is nearly empty, and you hope he’s been eating from the baskets. Still, you find enough to make noodles and butter, and you figure the carbs should help his energy some.

You return with the bowl. Spencer hasn’t moved, but his head follows you as you walk back over to him.

“It’s not fine dining.”

He studied you for a second, and you catch a glimpse of the old him in his eye.

“You did the same thing when I was sick on a case a year ago.”

You smile at his recollection.

“It helped you then.”

The rest of the night is spent mostly in silence. Occasionally, you tell him something to try to remind him that you’re there and that you won’t leave as long as he wants you there. Eventually, you get up from the couch again.

“Spencer, it’s too late to still be awake.”

He nods and still says nothing, but he is far more receptive than before. You reach your hand out to him to help him up from the couch, and he takes it.

He leads you to his room at a slow pace. His head stays down as you both take a seat on his bed, hands still interlocked. Being in his bedroom is odd for you. You’ve been to his apartment quite a few times before he disappeared from your life, but you never breached this space. It’s all very him. Almost surprisingly cozy, with books scattered around nearly everywhere there’s space.

You take in the moment for a beat before saying, “I’m gonna head home, Spencer, but please call me if you need anything at all. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

This makes his head snap up, and his eyes lock with yours.

“Please stay.”

That’s all he says, but every part of him is pleading with you. It’s not a good idea, and you know it. You’re the only person he’s seen in days, you aren’t close anymore, and you don’t particularly want to sleep on a couch tonight.

“Spencer, I don’t want to sleep in your living room tonight. I’ll come back.”

He pauses for a moment, “You can stay here with me. I don’t want to be alone.”

Your heart cracks again. There was a time when this was all you wanted. It’s still, deep down, all you want, just not like this. You know he doesn’t really want you there and he’s not himself. But you aren’t strong enough to say no, so you don’t.

He gets you clothes to wear, and you change in his bathroom. You come out and find him in his bed, laying with his back to you. You have no fucking idea what you’re doing, but you get into bed next to him anyways. There are a thousand thoughts racing through your head, but the prevailing one is how badly you want to touch him, to hold him, to make him forget, just for the night. You stay still, though, confined to the edge of the bed and start to count to drown out the noise.

Though, you can’t drown out his voice, saying, “Can- Could you hold me? I think that everything feels better when you touch me.”

Another crack. By the end of this, you know Spencer Reid is going to break your heart all over again.

When you wake up the next morning, Spencer is still asleep. You sneak out of his room and call Hotch. When he answers, you tell him Spencer has let you in, and you ask for time off to try to help. You can tell from his voice that he doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but he grants you it anyway.

Much of your day is spent like the night before. You stay next to Spencer, and you cook for him after leaving to pick up clothes and groceries. Then, you get him to shower and wash his hair. He sleeps with his head in your lap, and you feel like a fucking idiot at first, but as long as it’s helping him in some way, you let it happen.

That’s the thing: you don’t really know how to help him. You know he isn’t the type to talk about something until he is entirely ready, so all you can do is add something domestic and bright to his life while he grieves. It’s all you can think about in the moments of silence. Hell, you even read to him to try and get your mind off of it, but it barely helps.

The night is the same. You change in different rooms and slip into his bed at different times. You feel dirty for imagining what it would be like if the circumstances were different: if he wanted you like you have wanted him for the past two years. You hold him against you, and you pray for sign that you should be there.

The sign comes the following morning when Derek calls you.

“Y/n…”

You can hear his teasing tone over the phone.

“Hi, Derek.”

“What are you doing, mamas?”

You sigh, “What do you mean?”

You’re playing coy. You know he’s wondering why you’re at Spencer’s house, picking up the pieces, but you won’t be the one to bring it up.

“Why’d you ask Hotch for the week off, Y/n?”

Another sigh, “You know why, Derek. I just, I want to help him.”

“I know you do, Y/n, I know.”

He pauses for a moment, and you let the moment fill with silence.

“I know you care about him. We all care about him. But who is taking care of you?”

“I am. I can take care of him, and I can take care of me.”

“I know you can, but I don’t want you to get hurt, Y/n. Don’t let this be something that hurts you.”

“It won’t. I- You have to- Fuck, I’ll be fine. He’s not fine. I don’t care about me or any feelings that may get hurt right now. I’ll be fine.”

There’s another bear of silence, “Okay, Y/n. Just know you’re allowed to tap out.”

You try to think of anything else to say, but nothing comes, so you say your goodbyes.

You won’t need to tap out. You can take care of him and be good to him and ignore the other feelings you have. You can be good.

The call does make you think it’s time to push, to try harder, to help him get better. So, you approach him that day before bed, before he tucks himself into your arms and falls into a fretful sleep.

“Spencer?”

He takes a moment and then responds, “Yes?”

“You have to talk about it. I think that you need to talk about it. It doesn’t have to be to me but to someone.”

He’s quiet for a long time, and your breath is caught in your throat, waiting for him to say anything.

“I- I don’t want to,” his voice cracks while he says it.

“Spence, you can’t come back if you don’t. You can’t move forward if you don’t.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.”

A ringing echos in your ears.

“You don’t mean that. She- she would want you to keep going.”

Wrong thing to say.

“You don’t know anything about what she would want.”

He’s seething now, below the surface, but smoke has started to plume from his ears. Still, you don’t stop.

“Spencer, everyone knows that. No one would want you to put your life on hold.”

He speaks his next line through his teeth, “You don’t know anything, Y/n.”

You’ve never heard him sound so angry.

“Spencer-“

“No, just stop. You don’t know her. You don’t know me half as well as you think you do. You don’t know anything. I don’t even know why you’re here. I don’t want you here. You can't be what I need.”

The ringing in your ears is louder.

“Spencer, please. Just-“

“No!” His voice is raised now, bordering on a yell, “I don’t want you here. I want you out, Y/n.”

This has to be what shell shock feels like. The ringing, the tingle in your limbs, and the heat in your face. You don’t know how you are moving, but you are.

His voice is echoing in your head, or maybe he’s still talking, but you can’t tell either way. The only thing you can focus on is how Spencer sounded like he hates you and that Morgan was right about the hurt.

You spend the next day trying desperately to shut down the noise in your head. It doesn’t work. The day after is the same. And the days following that. You ignore calls when they come, you ignore the texts, but you can’t stop looking at your phone for a message from the man who fills your thoughts.

Spencer doesn’t call, obviously, and you have to sit with a pit in your stomach while you beg yourself to just get the fuck over it. Two years of reckoning with the severity of your love, months of watching him live happily without you, and it’s the three days you spent trying to help him feel incrementally better that floor you.

You feel like a dumb teenage girl with so much love and nothing to do with it. On top of everything, you feel selfish. Spencer lost the love of his life forever, and you’re nursing the worst heartbreak of your life because a boy will never want you and never has. Still, you send out prayers for him over and over. You hope you’ll see him in the BAU again, even if his eyes glaze over you. Hell, even if they look at you with hate the way they did two days ago. You just want him to function. You want him to be good and eventually be happy. You try to go to bed with soothing thoughts, but you end up with a mantra of his name.

You wake to your alarm and dress for work before you realize you aren’t actually supposed to go back yet. You never set a date to return. You wanted to be open as long as Spencer needed you. You’re supposed to be with him. You’re supposed to be helping and not tapping out. But you aren’t.

You have no reason not to return to the bullpen, so you do. You walk in and feel eyes on you. You wait for Morgan to call out to you, but he doesn’t, so you follow the feeling.

Your breath catches in your throat; it’s Spencer. He’s sitting at his desk, paperwork spread out, and he doesn’t look away from your gaze; he just holds it. His face is unreadable, and yours is definitely not, so you look away first. You don’t look up again until you reach Hotch’s office. You knock and hear him call out to come in.

“I’m back if that’s okay.”

He looks up at you, and you want to cry. You know he can read you. He has always been the best at it.

“Are you okay with that, Y/l/n?”

You lock eyes with him, “Yes, sir.”

It’s no use; he knows your tells and you aren’t being honest.

“Alright, conference room in five.”

Whatever he sees in your face, he ignores and takes you at your word, but there’s a warning in his tone. He knows when to let things go and when to push. More than that, though, he knows you’d never let something like this affect your work.

The first case back is in Maryland, and the one after is in Austin, and the next is in Philadelphia with The Replicator. The job takes you all over the country, and the cases blend together. You don’t speak to Spencer through all of it. You’re never partnered, never work together, you sit on opposite ends of the jet. You don’t even speak at Strauss’ funeral. It’s radio silent, and everyone notices it, but no one brings it up.

In that time, you allow yourself to slip away slightly. You don’t go out with the team, you see Pen at nearly half frequency, and basically, the only time you speak is on cases. It’s stupid and melodramatic, but you call it healing. Derek tries to reason with you, JJ sticks to you a bit more than usual, and Penelope calls you virtually whenever she can, but their efforts are mostly in vain. This is your way of protecting yourself. You feel like you have to isolate in order to improve, and you know, given time, you will come back to yourself.

Penelope’s insistence that you go to her Day of the Dead celebration breaks your distance.

“Y/n, please come. I know you aren’t going out, but you have to. I know you have people to honor, and I need you there.”

You sigh, “Whose going, Pen?”

“The team, which you are a part of, so you must be there.”

“I don’t think I can do that. I promise you I will celebrate with you. I’ll help you set up, just please don’t make me go.”

Penelope pauses, but the glint in her eye keys you into the fact that she is not interested in giving up.

“We miss you, Y/n. Everyone loves you and misses you. You’ve been living this stupid, isolated life, and it’s time for you to come back. You are not this person. I refuse to believe it. You’re coming, and that’s final.”

Maybe you don’t have the energy to argue, or maybe you know she’s right, but you agree to go.

The thought of seeing him makes your heart race, and the clock you keep glancing at makes it worse. Just a few more hours before you're trapped in a confined space (Pen’s beautiful home) with a man you haven’t spoken to in weeks.

You busy yourself with preparing. Lights are hung, food is made, and you make a trip to the store while Pen sets up her remembrance table. When everything is said and done, you can’t help but feel this is the most beautiful thing you’ve been a part of in a long time.

The first knock comes at 7:30 exactly, and it’s Hotch and Rossi. They are followed closely by Blake, then Derek and JJ. By 7:00, the atmosphere is light and loving, and you feel a bit of your anxiety let up as the minutes go by without Reid. But, eventually, the knock comes, of course it does, and you move into a corner as Spencer walks in. You feel a shift in energy, though you doubt it’s palpable for anyone else. Rossi is the first to make his way over to you, and his presence comforts you nearly immediately.

“How you doing, kid?” His voice is soft like he’s speaking to a scared rabbit.

“I’m better,” you say, and it’s about as honest as you can get. As much as you’d like to think he knows nothing about what’s gone on, you’re smarter than that. He’s the best profiler on the team, and he’s always known when someone was off with you. Even so, you are better than you were, even if you aren’t quite good, and you know he believes you.

There’s some idle conversation between you before he asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not tonight. I don’t know when, but I will. Eventually, I will.”

It’s good enough for him, and you move on easily, which surprises you.

Right before Pen gathers you all to present your photos, he says, “Sometimes we think we’ve seen the whole picture, but we miss a big part. People do things because they don’t want to be hurt, but those things hurt them more. Just, be open.”

You don’t quite understand what he means, but you hope you will.

Penelope presents the first picture, which shows her parents. JJ honors her sister, Derek, his dad, Hotch Haley, and Rossi, Hernandez; then it’s your turn. You place down a photo of your best friend. You hadn’t talked much about her, but you think of her daily. She passed a few years before you joined the BAU.

“I was lucky to have someone that hurt that much to lose.”

That’s all you say, but it’s enough for you, and it would be enough for her.

Spencer is last. He places down a picture of Tesla and a picture of Maeve. Your heart is heavy for everyone.

The night dwindles from there. Hotch and Rossi say their goodbyes, and Rossi gives you a knowing look as he leaves. You just smile. You stay for a few minutes after, but eventually, you move to leave as well.

You make it down Garcia’s porch before you feel a hand grab your arm. You turn, and it’s Spencer’s face you see.

“Would you- Do you think you could come over? Do you think we could talk?”

The feeling you have walking up to Spencer's apartment is similar to what you felt the last time. You’re incredibly anxious, but at least you know you’ll be let in this time.

The drive over was silent. Spencer had taken the metro to Penelope’s, so he rode with you. It wasn’t necessarily awkward. There was just an understanding that the car wasn’t the place to begin your conversation.

Now, as Spencer unlocked his door, it’s one of those rare moments you felt starved for words, and you know it’s because you’re scared you’ll say the wrong thing and face the same reaction that you did the last time you were in his home.

He leads you to his living room and motions for you to sit, and you do. The two of you are on opposite ends of his couch while you wait for him to say something.

His first words are airy and light, “Thank you for letting me talk to you.”

You look at him but remain silent, waiting for him to go on. All you can think about is why he wants to speak to you at all. The last time you spoke, he made it incredibly clear he did not want you in his life or around him at all.

Before you can think about it more and let your anger and sadness build, he speaks again, “I feel really stupid right now. I kind of feel stupid whenever I’m around you recently.”

He pauses momentarily before going on, “I’m so, so sorry, Y/n. About the last time we spoke. I’ve been thinking about it pretty constantly for the past few weeks.”

You open your mouth, unsure of what exactly to say, but you can’t get there before he’s off again.

“I’m not sure how to talk to you anymore. I don’t think I’ve known how to for a long time. I just, I need you to know how sorry I am for speaking to you like that.”

He takes a shakey breath but keeps going, “That wasn’t me, and that isn’t how I feel. I’m just unbelievably sorry, Y/n.”

He stops there, and you work to collect your thoughts.

“I know. A part of me knows, at least, that you didn’t mean it. I just wanted to be there for you, and hearing that made me- I just- I think it made me hate myself for wanting to be there.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m unbelievably sorry.”

“You didn’t talk to me for months, Spencer. I just don’t understand. I don’t understand why you let me in in the first place. I thought you hated me.”

He’s silent for a long minute.

“I never hated you, Y/n. I just stopped knowing how to act around you, and then I met Maeve. I fell so deep into it that I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. I- And I just started to feel like you didn’t want me to speak to you, so I didn’t. But, when you came here, after everything, I guess I just felt like you were the only person who would get it. You never, no one on the team ever treated me or talked to me how you did. I just wanted that.”

Tears had begun to well in your eyes now. A part of you gets what he means, at least about letting you in, but the other part is so confused as to why he stopped being comfortable around you.

“I don’t understand, Spencer. Why did you stop knowing how to be around me?”

There’s desperation in your voice that makes you sound like a stranger to yourself. Maybe you’re a stranger to everyone right now.

“I uh, I don’t really know.”

“That's not fair, Spence.”

You’re crying now. Just a little bit, but you can feel the wetness on your cheeks. You can see that you are by the look on his face. He looks broken, and you know it's a reflection of your own image.

You wipe your face, “Thank you for apologizing, Spencer. I just, there are parts of this all that I don’t understand, and if you can't explain them to me, I don’t think I ever will.”

“Y/n-,” he calls out your name like a prayer.

“It’s okay, Spence. You don’t have to say anything more. We talked, and things will go back to how they were eventually.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

You smile sadly as you get up to leave.

“I am, too, for what it's worth. For whatever I did to make things change in the first place.”

You leave it at that, and it takes everything in you not to look back as you leave his apartment.

Things do get easier after that. Not completely. You still love him, and it hurts, but it helps to know he doesn’t hate you. He talks to you some, cordial things, and you do the same. You're sure your teammates still sense something is off, but this works for you. Right now, it works. Getting over him, not loving him anymore, is going to take work, but eventually, you know that you won’t hurt anymore.

Shortly after you and him talked, you started going back out with your friends. Spencer joined periodically, but that was normal. Bars were never really his scene.

Tonight, everyone gathers at your local pub. Your last case was particularly grueling, and you all need a way to blow off some steam. It's fun, and you feel good, even with Spencer sitting across from you. You feel proud of yourself for getting to this point.

JJ and Penelope feed you drinks to try and get you to dance, and you let them. Tonight feels as good of a night as any to ‘get back out there’ as Pen says. So, you do. You dance with them, and you ward off the other cops and agents around you who try to pull you away from your group. You aren’t interested in that. Right now, you're just having an appropriate amount of fun for a woman 15 feet from her boss.

Time goes by quickly, and by the time you get back to the table, you, Derek, Penelope, and JJ remain. He tells you that Hotch, Rossi, Reid, and Alex left a few minutes before. The conversation between you flows for a while, up until the drinks loosen Penelope up enough to bring up what you were pretty sure the team designated a no-no topic.

“Y/n, you have to talk about it.”

You’re still laughing as something Derek said when you reply, “What?”

“You know what. You and Boy-Genius. What on Earth happened? You went from ice-cold to semi-friendly. None of us saw it coming.”

“Babygirl-,” Derek tries to stop her, but you cut him off.

“No, it’s okay. I have to talk about it at some point, and I think right now is the only time I’ll be tipsy enough to let you get it out of me.”

You're still laughing slightly, but the pit that's lived in your stomach for the past few months starts to rear its head.

“After your Day of the Dead party, he asked to talk to me. I went to his place, and he apologized. I don’t really understand what he said or what he meant, but I can’t be sad about him forever.”

Pen perks up a bit at that, “I knew that party would bring good things!”

You giggle a bit at her outburst, but then JJ asks, “What did he say?”

The faces around you all tune in at that. You know they don’t see this as gossip. They care about you both too much to trivialize it like that.

“He just said that he stopped knowing how to act around me, and he didn’t know why, but then he met Maeve, and I guess it didn’t matter so much after that. He was my best friend, and then he was nothing.”

JJ shares a glance with Derek and then speaks, “Oh, Y/n.”

“What?”

After a beat, Derek says, “He didn’t just not know how to act around you.”

Now you're confused, “What do you mean? I talked to him, that's what he said. He didn’t know why. I mean, he knows everything and didn’t know why he didn’t want to be around me anymore. How fucking stupid is that.”

You laugh again, but it does come off as genuine in the slightest.

“Y/n, he probably doesn’t really know why. At least not fully. For someone as smart as he is, the kid can be really stupid.”

“Stop being cryptic.”

Derek sighs but goes on, “Pretty girl, pretty boy was in love with you. Probably still is. He just didn’t think you’d ever feel the same.”

“No. That's not true.”

You look at the others around you, but their faces are serious.

“He loved Maeve. He loves Maeve. That, that doesn’t make any sense.”

It's JJ’s turn to talk now.

“He definitely did love Maeve, no one is denying that, but we all saw how he was around you. His whole relationship with her was safe. He couldn’t be hurt by her rejection every day because he had no way of seeing her. With you, he could.”

Your mind is moving a mile a minute, “Did he tell you guys this?”

Penelope puts her hand over yours and says, “He didn’t have to, love. We all say the way he looked at you and acted around you. The way he talked about you. That boy was head over heels.”

“Guys, I appreciate whatever you’re trying to do, but this isn’t real. Spencer doesn’t- this is not real.”

“Y/n, pause. Think about the way he acted around you, the things he said. Think about how Reid is.”

You hear what Derek said, but it all sounds faint like someone stuffed your ears with cotton while you weren't paying attention. All you can focus on are the different scenes running through your head, the scenes of your life with Spencer in it. How he memorized your coffee order and brought it for you every day, how he never shied away from your touch despite his aversion to contact, how he consistently went out of his way to protect you on the field. At his house after everything, the way he clung to you and wanted to be held. How he said in his own words, “You can't be what I need”; not “you aren’t,” but “you can’t.”

Your whole world is crashing down in this bar, and you can’t do anything to stop it.

“Y/n?”

JJ’s voice snaps you out of your spiral.

“Just go talk to him.”

You nod mutely, and you get up.

Everything in the last ten months of your life has led you to the exact spot you were when everything blew up in the first place: Spencer’s door.

This time, you aren't too worried about him not letting you in. If anything, it's the opposite. Him opening this door could open a hundred others, and you don’t quite know if you are ready for any of them. You sit there and sit there and sit there, trying to work up the courage to knock, though you aren’t sure it's there to begin with. Right as you're about to walk away and decide you’ll come back another day, his door swings open.

“Y/n?”

His face is lit up with shock, and you notice his hand that is not on the door is holding his pistol.

“What are you doing here?”

You don’t answer, “Why did you open the door?”

He sets his piece down on the entry table before responding, “I heard footsteps in the hall and saw they stopped here. I was anxious. 50.3% of home invasions happen between 8:00 pm and 7:00 am.” He cuts himself off there, “Y/n, why are you here?”

You didn’t pay attention to anything he said. All you could think about was the way his lips were moving and the way his eyes locked onto yours as he talked.

“Do you love me?”

That is not what you wanted to say.

His lips fall open as he takes in a sharp breath, “What?”

“Or I guess did you love me? Before everything? Because Derek and JJ and Pen, they all said that you loved me, and now I can’t think about anything else, Spencer.”

He doesn’t speak, but you don't really give him a chance to.

“I just, I know I sound crazy right now, but I feel fucking crazy. I keep going over everything in my head, and I have been, for the past year I have been, but now it’s all different. It's all different because they said that you loved me, but you didn’t think I’d feel the same way.”

Here, you do pause, but he still doesn’t say anything, so you go on before you can stop yourself.

“Because if that's true, Spencer, it's just- I did. I do. And if it's not, then please just tell me so I can stop feeling this way.”

He sounds resigned when he says, “Y/n,” and you feel like you know what that means.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I'm doing this. You don’t have to say anything. Actually, please don’t say anything. I don't think I can hear it. Just pretend I never-”

He cuts off your ramble, “Y/n, stop.”

You draw your eyes from the floor, look up at him, and find something in his gaze you have never seen before. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you, and it takes everything you have not to look away. His hand raises to cup your jaw, and your skin lights on fire. Before you can process what he’s doing, you feel his lips press against yours, and something clicks. At first, his touch is light, like he’s giving you the chance to pull away. But, when he grasps that you won’t, he presses himself to you harder, and all you can think about is how nothing has ever felt so right.

His lips move against yours, and you don’t know how you're managing to reciprocate because it feels like everything in your body has gone fuzzy. The kiss is by no means long, but it feels like it lasts forever, and by the time he pulls away, you’re breathless.

His forehead stays connected to yours, and he whispers, “I do, Y/n, love you. I have.”

You don’t feel the tears on your cheeks until he’s wiping them away.

“Oh, Y/n.”

“Did you know? That you did? Is that why…”

You trail off, hoping he’ll pick up on what you're asking, and he does.

“I didn’t at first, or I didn’t realize I was falling in love with you until it happened. I got scared, so I ran. I just never thought that you could feel the same or that I was hurting you. I didn’t realize that. I just thought I was doing what was best for us. I felt guilty for being in love with my best friend.”

“And Maeve?”

“I loved Maeve. I’ll always have love for her. I was trying to move on, and I thought I could eventually be with her and be around you without it hurting. I wish I would have told you this before.”

“You’re telling me now. That's enough.”

This time, it's you who pushes your lips to meet his. Your arms snake around his neck, and his fall to your waist. You follow when he pulls you into his apartment and closes the door. There is still pain on both sides, but you can feel it dissipating as you cling to each other. You’re just two broken people who have finally found a way to each other.

This kiss is different, hungrier. Neither of you pulls away for longer than a few seconds as you navigate your way from his entryway to his couch. Every touch is desperate like you're searching for something you never knew existed until now. His hands pull you closer and closer until he's pulling you on top of him, and each of your legs rests on opposite sides of his hips.

Your lips break from his for a moment, “What do you want, Spence?”

His reply is instant, “You.”

From there, things move faster. Your hands unbutton his shirt and push it from his shoulders while he undoes your pants. There are moments of awkwardness that come with exploring another for the first time, but it feels good. His hands trace over your hips and push further until you're left on top of him in only your underwear and bra. He takes you in like you are something to be marveled at, and you know your eyes reflect the same adoration.

You raise yourself off of him and work to get him in the same state of undress as you, and when you position yourself on top of him, you feel his length press against your center. The two thin layers of fabric do little to hinder the intensity as you rock into him. He lets out quiet moans at the action as his lips trace down your neck and over your collarbone.

His breath ghosts over you and makes you shiver when he asks, “Can I touch you?”

“Please.”

His hand moves between the two of you, and his fingers find your clit easily, rubbing circles over the fabric of your panties. You pant his name against his lips at the action. You feel like your whole body is lit up, and under any other circumstance, you'd feel embarrassed at how worked up you are, but you can’t seem to care.

After a few moments, he lifts you up and carries you to his bedroom. From there, he positions you below him on the bed, removing your remaining clothes in the same motion. The new setup lets you grip him, and he feels big in your hand. His fingers resume their previous assault before dipping down into you. You cry out at the feeling of him inside you, slowly pushing in and out, finding a spot that makes your legs start to shake. He’s relentless in his pursuit and all you can muster up the energy to say is his name.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/n.”

It's somewhere between a whimper and a whisper, but the sound of his voice causes you to clench around his fingers.

He picks up on this, of course he does, and quickens his pace as he coos at you.

“So pretty like this. I’m so lucky.”

You’re embarrassingly close already, so when he moves his thumb over your clit to rub circles as he fucks into you with his fingers, you come undone almost instantly with a warning and cry of his name. He works you through your orgasm, all while whispering praise in your ear. Once you come down from your high, you start to push his boxers down his legs, but he stops you before you can fully.

“We don’t have to do anything more, Y/n. I liked just making you feel good.”

“I want more. I want to feel you if you want that too.”

“Of course I do. I just don’t want you to regret anything.”

“I couldn’t regret this, Spencer. I love you. I want all of you.”

It's the first time you’ve actually said those three words to him, and it feels so fucking good to say.

“I love you, too. God, so much.”

With that, he positions himself back on top of you, running his fingers over your slit gently before gripping himself.

“Do you have a condom?”

“I might somewhere, but I have an IUD, and I’m clean. I can try to find one if you’re more comfortable with that?”

“IUDs have a failure rate of around .05% and are largely considered the most effective form of birth control, so uh, as long as you're okay with it, I am.”

You smile to yourself at his statistic but nod, “I want to feel you, Spencer.”

He returns your smile before rubbing his length over your entrance a few times and slowly pushing himself into you just slightly. He teases you, or maybe himself, for a moment before fully entering you. You push your hips up to meet his, and feeling him in his entirety makes your jaw fall open. He’s big, and you feel unbelievably full.

He waits a moment for you to adjust before he starts to develop a rhythm. His hands are everywhere, but his eyes are focused solely on your face like he doesn’t want to miss a moment of your reaction to him inside of you. To be fair, you are probably putting on a good show. Every movement he makes hits you in exactly the right spot, and you don’t think you could be louder if you tried. You can feel the leg he’s not holding up against his shoulder shake against the bed. Your first orgasm has made way for your second to be incredibly close.

“Spencer, please.”

You’re crying out, desperate for a little more to push you over the edge.

“What do you need, baby?” His voice is tight like he’s not far himself, and it sounds better than anything you’ve ever heard.

“Harder. Please, harder.”

He takes your direction immediately, rubbing circles on your clit with one hand while he thrusts into you with a bruising force. He’s fucking you like he wants you to remember the feeling long after he stops, and you know that you will. Everything about it is overwhelming: his smell, his pace, his eyes. You are covered in him, and he is covered in you.

After a moment, the hand he had on your stomach trails up to grasp lightly at your throat, and you fall into feeling. You can’t warn him that you're about to come before you do. The feeling is white hot. Bigger than your first, and the fact that you're coming on him sends you into overdrive. You can feel his hips falter for a moment, but you're lost in a daze, crying out his name.

He pumps into you a few more times before he follows suit. He pulls out, and you feel stripes of his come paint your cunt and lower stomach as he finishes with a moan of your name.

He falls next to you on the bed, and it takes you both a few moments to collect yourselves and catch your breath.

Once you do, the only thing you can think to say is, “I love you.”

It feels like those are the only words circling around in your head at the moment. Some mixture of his name and that declaration. While you know you each said it before, that your profession was the exigence of the sex you just had, it feels uniquely vulnerable to say now. It’s like the moment you just had together could have changed things or made him realize that he doesn’t actually love you after all.

That shoe doesn’t drop, though. Instead, you hear the three words echoed back to you by a man who, 6 hours ago, you thought would never, ever say them.

You turn to face him, and the love on his face feels like it could knock you out. He’s looking at you and smiling in a way you haven't seen in a long time.

“Will you let me clean you up?”

You know that part of the reason he’s asking has something to do with the likelihood of bacteria growth or something like that, but you think it's mainly that he wants to take care of you. Him wetting a rag and running it over you feels intimate in a different way, in an excruciatingly gentle way. Personal in a way that makes you feel like nothing between you could ever be wrong again, and maybe that's naive to think, but you feel hopeful regardless.

Once he finishes, he takes his space back next to you in the bed. This time, he pulls you into his arms, and it's different than it was all those months ago. This time, you know that he won’t push you away and that you won't hurt yourself by being next to him. This time, you just tuck yourself into him, and you let him whisper sweet nothings into your ear as you begin to drift off. This time, it feels like peace.

The following day, you wake up to Spencer still next to you, looking incredibly soft in the early morning light. You search for a moment to find your phone in the piles of clothes and are greeted with a text from Pen.

How did it go????

You smile before turning your phone off and climbing back into bed next to the man you love. It couldn’t have gone better.

all done! yay!!!

i hope you guys love it!! i’m not 100% happy with the ending but i’ve been writing this for so long and just needed to be done.

this is my first time writing angst on here and my longest fic, so PLEASE tell me what you think! all (nice) feedback is welcome and i love to hear from you guys!! :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #fic rec #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfiction #friends to lovers #friends to enemies to lovers #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic rec

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ode2rin · 8 months ago

Text

1 | ANYONE BUT YOU .ೃ

summary. as lines get blurred, hearts get flustered, and a scheme ensues, your brother's best friend suddenly seems way more interesting than he used to be.

💭 masterlist | next part

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can go with you anymore.”

Your ears were ringing.

After the words hung over the line, a heavy silence descended, punctuated only by the dull thud of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. The phone line seemed to distort, and the world beyond reduced to a distant murmur as a disorienting ringing filled your ears. Yet, despite the shock rippling through, you managed to maintain a facade.

“Ah, I see. It’s no problem. See you around!” Your chirped voice made you cringe internally, but it was a better front than sounding like a defeated kid whose mom said no over a piece of candy at a grocery store.

Before he could say anything else, you clicked the end button faster than he could spew some tacky excuse. Throwing your phone to the side, you settled onto your bed, lying on your back, staring at the uninteresting ceiling of your room.

Sure, it was no problem at all— the music festival was just six hours away, and your date had just canceled on you over the phone. It’s no big deal facing your college blockmates without a companion as initially planned, and it’s totally not a problem that you will most likely be a third– hell, a seventh wheel, actually, and have them talk behind your back – speculating about why you're going alone or if you were just making it up that you had someone to bring.

Yes, it’s not a fucking problem at all.

You don’t even like the artist lineup, anyway (maybe you’re mildly interested with one band that’s attending). You wouldn’t bother if you weren’t just a sophomore still trying to find a group of friends you can call your own. It's embarrassing enough that freshmen even had it better than you. It’s not a race, for sure, but in college– the truth lies blatant that support systems help. A lesson you learned the hardest way.

“Y/N? Are you in there?” Three soft knocks on your door and a muffled voice, surely coming from your older brother, interrupted your pity party.

“Yes. Come in,” you confirmed. The door creaked open, revealing a mop of magenta hair leaning over your door frame.

“There’s food downstairs. We ordered your favorite.”

“We?”

“Kaiser is downstairs.”

Of course, he is.

Your brother’s best friend must have really taken it to heart when your mom told him he can treat your family as his own. Too deep into his heart, if you could comment. You see him around the house more than you see your parents, and if that wasn’t tiresome enough, he’s literally a damn superstar in your university. Every corner, every room, in halls and library, everyone can’t seem to be over his name like a broken record.

You wouldn’t be this annoyed, hostile even, if said man was just as nice as your brother. But instead, he was far by the most obnoxious, foul-mouthed, arrogant prick you’ve ever known. Alexis should have never kicked some ball with that conceited oaf a decade ago. Life would have been so much better. But no— reality is, the bane of your existence in the form of blonde hair and sharp blue eyes, is in your house’s kitchen, probably gulping down your favorite drinks in the fridge.

If you can’t seem to have friends, your older brother seems to be goddamn bad at picking his.

“Hey, dollface. Missed me?” Speak of the damn devil and he shall appear.

The first thing you’re met with after coming down is a sight of Michael Kaiser, sitting high and comfortably on one of the counter’s bar stools. Your gaze trails down to his hand where you see a peek of his crown tattoo— and would you look at that? He’s holding a can of your Coke Zero.

“Oh, so that’s why my life was going sideways again,” you feigned a sigh in disappointment, making sure it was loud enough for him to hear, “because you’re back.”

In your unwanted years of knowing this guy, you’ve soon realized that none of your words, no matter how sharp or snarky they get, would ever faze him. Evidence would be how he just openly chuckled at your remark. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I missed you and your smart mouth, too. Don’t worry.”

“Trust me, worry is not in the list of emotions I would ever feel for you.”

“Well, does attraction make it to the list?”

Years ago, perhaps it would have. Not that he needs to know—no chance. Your silly childhood crush on him was your deepest, darkest mistake. You might be overdramatic, but this was Michael Kaiser, and god, you would rather get caught having feelings for anyone but him.

Rolling your eyes at him, you sneer, “You wish.”

“Oh, trust me, I do wish,” he mocks your tone.

“Fuck off.”

“That won’t get rid of me, I’m afraid,” he shrugs before winking at you. You shook your head in annoyance.

You took the seat across from him and settled. You were about to lean to reach the box of pizza at the other end of the countertop, when Kaiser reached for it first and placed it in front of you.

You turned to look at him, half expecting a smirk or yet another wink from the blonde, but instead, he was preoccupied browsing on his phone as if his body moved on its own to attend to you.

You shrugged off the weird occurrence and turned all attention to the pizza and its heavenly scent sipping through the gaps of its box, just in time for Alexis to take the seat next to his best friend. You drowned the noise of their conversation as they started talking about last away games.

Your brother and Kaiser had been the most valuable players of your university’s soccer team for as long as you’ve remembered. They were two years older, so by the time you entered university, they were already making big names in the field. Rumors had it that there were already offers lining up at their feet.

If you come to think of it, it wouldn’t be this hard making friends if you would just be vocal about being Alexis Ness’ younger sibling, but the limelight and pretentious popularity it came with was something you wouldn’t wish upon yourself. You wanted real and genuine friends, not people who wanted to be around you because it was a step closer to your brother and his best friend.

Like earlier, Alexis’ voice came reaching your eardrums, snapping you out of your thoughts. After hearing what he had to ask, though, you wished you had a way to physically block out his words.

“Are you not going to get ready for the festival?” your brother asked, meanwhile, his dear friend seemed to take great interest in what you’re about to say as both of them peered over you.

“Not going anymore,” you said, as nonchalant as you could to play pretend.

“Why? You’ve been looking forward to it the whole week.”

Heat crept into your ears and cheeks as embarrassment filled you. Sure, you might not be prancing around being all excited about it, but if your brother was able to notice it, your enthusiasm must have been evident then. God, you felt like an utter fool now.

“It got canceled,” you looked away from them.

Alexis looked at you with furrowed brows, “What do you mean? It’s not–”

“My date canceled on me. I’m not going anymore to save face and not make a fool out of myself. There, happy?” you snapped.

Before you could even feel the guilt from bursting out unprovoked to your brother, you swiftly got up from the stool heading back to your room, leaving the two of them in the kitchen looking concerned contrarily. One with worried eyes glancing at your room hesitantly, and the other one with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes.

It seemed everyone was testing your patience today, as for the second time, your ears rang—not from a last-minute cancellation this time, but from the persistent sound of your ringing phone.

Your heavy eyes fluttered open, weighed down by the sleep from your ignoring-the-world nap after the exchange with your supposed date and your brother. Disoriented and groggy, you reached out, fingers fumbling to check the caller deserving of your unrelenting fury.

Kaiser, the screen read, and suddenly, the urge to throw your phone at the nearest wall almost overwhelmed your senses.

But you answered the call anyway, because logic says that he was still your brother’s closest, and sometimes, that warranted a call that might be about him.

“I swear to god this better be important–”

“Get ready,” he interrupted.

“What?”

“Look out your window.”

Groaning, you rose to your feet, moving your drapes aside to see what awaited outside.

Outside your house’s gates, a midnight blue sports car, all too familiar, was parked across the driveway. Its owner leaned lazily over its door, one hand in his pocket while the other held his phone pressed to his ear, looking right back at you with that shit-eating grin.

“What the hell are you on?” you muttered into the phone.

You instantly closed the drapes after meeting eyes with him.

It’s infuriating—He’s infuriating. But damn, does he look good when he smiles like that. And it’s not helping your case that he was clad in loose-fitting denim pants and a black shirt, sufficiently showcasing both his tattoo and his lean yet toned build.

It’s sorcery how he makes simple and ordinary clothing look like it was screaming high-end and luxury. Only he can do that, you admit.

“As I said, get ready,” he repeated over the phone, “We only have less than two hours before your music festival or something starts.”

He’s taking me to it? “Why?”

Only one word in response, yet the two of you understood what you’re pertaining to. Silence filled the line for a moment before you heard a subtle click of his tongue.

“Because you look ugly when you sulk,” and he hung up.

You should be irritated at him hanging up abruptly and calling you ugly, but for some reason you don’t know, it puts a smile on your face.

The first one today.

Kaiser wishes he had a bigger car— which one would deem ridiculous, given that his car could easily match the price of two or even three minivans.

But if it meant having you sit not so close that your scent infiltrates his senses beyond his sound judgment, he’d gladly trade his lambo for a minivan any day.

You were intoxicating— not akin to the grip of liquor, because it would be inadequate in comparison. But rather intoxicating in the same way as the irresistible magnetism that beckons a madman to its vices.

And he must be really mad because you weren’t even sitting shoulder-to-shoulder close to him. You’re sitting comfortably at the passenger seat, a good distance in between, and yet he acts like a raging teenager who got locked up with his crush in the utility room. It is absolutely embarrassing, even for someone like him.

“Did Alexis ask you to do this?” you suddenly inquired, your gaze fixed on your side of the car.

Thank heavens you broke the silence first, because who knows what ungodly phrases he would come up with in an attempt of small talk with you?

“No. Though I bet he would have taken you himself,” he snorted, of course your brother would, “If our coach weren’t so pissed at him these days.”

Ah, so that explained why you hadn't seen Alexis around the house before hopping into Kaiser's car.

Momentarily, you turned to him. It was so swift that he might have missed it if he wasn’t so hyper aware of your every move in this damn confined space. “Is he in trouble?” you inquired to the blonde, your voice concerned and hesitant.

“Nothing you have to worry about, doll.”

“Stop with the nicknames,” you hissed, attempting to intimidate.

Unfazed, he countered with a cheeky “Make me,” under his breath. His smirk practically audible, even without you glancing his way.

Silence overtook between the two of you once more. You fixated on the road ahead, noting the nearing destination as the glow of the festival stage lights peeked into view.

It’s your chance— your chance to release the words that have lingered at the edge of your tongue since he urged you to get ready almost an hour ago. You stole a glance at the man driving beside you. His eyes focused on the road, his left hand steady on the steering wheel while his timepiece-adorned hand rested comfortably on the gearshift. In another frame of mind, you might have found yourself lost in the rhythm of his long, slender fingers tapping against it. You snapped out of it before he could point it out.

You stole one last glance before turning away to whisper, “Thank you… Kaiser.”

Instead of saying welcome like a polite person would, your companion would of course, choose to say something as, “You owe me something now.”

Of course, you thought. Mentally rolling your eyes, you ask, resigning to his antics, “What do you want?”

“Call me by my name.”

“Did you not hear? I said, thank you Kai–”

“The one you used to call me.”

Mikka.

It was a silly nickname you gave him– back when Alexis first brought him home for snacks nearly ten years ago. He and Alexis were eleven, and you were barely nine.

You remembered the blonde kid, all sweaty in his mud-stained clothes, clutching a worn-out ball by his hip, his gaze fixed on you with curiosity. “This is Kaiser,” your brother introduced, but the blonde stranger approached you, extending his hand.

“I’m Michael.”

“That’s… long.”

“What?”

“Your name– it’s long,” you echoed, looking up at him, “can I call you ‘Mikka’?”

“What?” Kaiser’s deep voice sliced through your reminiscence. “You had no problem calling me that before,” he pointed out.

“That’s before you beat up the boy you knew I like,” you scoffed at him, a familiar pettiness clouding your mind.

He chuckled at your retort, seemingly lost in his own memories. “Beat him up on the soccer field, you mean,” he corrected, though he wouldn’t particularly mind if it were an actual fight.

“Same thing.”

“Oh, come on! It was highschool!”

“Your point?” you countered.

“He was a snotface, anyway.” he rationalized.

“He was nice to me!”

“I suggest you rather get a dog instead— if nice is all you need. I heard dogs are fun to be around,” he sneered, “What do you think of pomeranians?”

You brushed off his question, preferring the depths of silence over the hypothetical responsibility of tending to a pup that bore more than a passing resemblance to him, both in appearance and, perhaps, in demeanor.

“I knew agreeing to come here with you was a mistake,” you sighed, exasperation lacing your words.

Surprisingly, Kaiser offered no retort. Taking his silence as a cue for your own, you settled into quietness, hoping for a peaceful remainder of the drive. Minutes drifted by until Kaiser broke the stillness with a whisper loud enough for you to catch.

“He was a slimy jerk,” he began, pausing as if hinting his careful choice of words, “and he was nice to you because he was trying to get into your pants.”

“How did you know?” you asked, meek and shy, fumbling with your fingers in your lap. Seeking love advice and opinions from none other than the mighty Kaiser seemed absurd, but maybe, wisdom might sometimes fare well with age.

“Trust me when I say I know how boys can be,” he scoffed, a displeased furrow settling in his brows. “He wasn't the gentleman you thought he was.”

“And you? Are you a gentleman?”

Before you could stop your thoughts from escaping your rebellious mouth, the words spilled out like water through a breached dam. The lack of response from him compelled you to chew on your lip and fix your gaze on the road, refusing to spare even a glance his way, despite feeling his stare burning into the side of your face.

Meanwhile, Kaiser was aware he might be staring too long at your side for someone controlling a vehicle, but he couldn't help it. Not when you caught him off guard with a simple question, and especially not when you were trying so hard to avoid looking at him, your discomfort palpable in the air. You looked so cute—it made his mouth twitch.

Staring ahead at the road, he contemplated your question, needing no more than a minute to reach his conclusion.

When a man looks at his best friend's younger sibling in a way he shouldn’t, he’s not deserving of the title “gentleman.”

He was far from it, he concluded. With one last glance thrown your way before bringing the car to a full stop, he muttered in an uncharacteristically soft tone.

“Especially not one, doll.”

“Y/N! Over here!” a familiar voice cut through the cacophony, prompting you to scan the crowd until you finally spotted them.

Relief flooded over you at the sight of a familiar face amidst the crowd. Checking your phone had proven to be a wise decision; otherwise, you might have spent the night searching aimlessly through the vast expanse of the venue.

The venue stretched out before you was a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds that danced upon the senses. Laughter and chatter mingled with applause and the occasional roar of approval as performers graced the stage.

Everywhere you looked there was movement and so much life. Yet amidst the bustling crowd and pulsating music, one figure occupied your thoughts more than anything else.

Kaiser's towering 6-foot frame loomed behind you, his broad shoulders carving a path of confidence through the crowd. He stood behind you like an immovable rock amidst a rushing river. And if your senses weren't deceiving you, you swore you felt the occasional brush of his hand against the small of your back, gently guiding you forward.

He was so close behind you that his breath on your nape soaked into your skin like ointment— warm to the touch, yet icy on your spine.

“Where's your date?” one of your blockmates inquired after the initial pleasantries were exchanged.

The question lingered, and suddenly, all eyes were on you. Mentally counting heads, you realized you were really on track to be the seventh wheel if you attended without a companion. Speaking of companions— you turned behind you with the intention of introducing Kaiser (not that they didn’t know him already), but your intention faltered when you noticed the scowl on his face.

“I’m the date, if you couldn’t tell,” he interjected.

From his vantage point, he observed the widening of your eyes at his declaration. Yet, when he didn’t hear any immediate retaliation from you, he flashed you— and everyone else watching— a lopsided smirk. He sensed your blockmates’ curiosity lingering, some perhaps wondering if he was truly dating you. But none of them dared to probe further—maybe because he wasn't exactly the approachable type.

After a few murmurs of ‘oh’ and ‘really’ from your blockmates, they returned their attention to the stage, where the next performer was beginning their pre-performance monologue.

You, on the other hand, look like you were out for his blood from how you’re glaring at him. “Are you out of your mind?” you hissed under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

Yes. Perhaps he was. Irrationality had seized him upon hearing the question. After all, he was there with you, visible for all to see. Did they not see him? Did he look like a fucking chair to those people? Common sense must be a luxury these days, given its absence in this situation.

Yet, a small voice of reason within him attempted to intervene, suggesting that the question might have stemmed from genuine curiosity.

As his best friend's younger sibling, seeing the two of you together wasn't an unusual occurrence for those who attend the same university. They likely concluded that your presence with him at the music festival was simply a matter of normal friendship (which it was, but they don’t have to know that, nor does he desire for these extras to reduce it to just that).

“I’m helping you save face like you said earlier,” he tells you, still wearing that annoying smirk.

“How does telling them you’re my date help me save face?” If anything, you'd be hiding on campus after his stunt. You could only hope words won’t travel fast.

“Would you rather I tell them I'm chaperoning you because some jerk canceled on you?”

Your words stalled at the base of your throat, unable to counter his remark. That shut you up, much to your chagrin. He was right.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” he quipped, grinning at your silence. “Come closer, there’s a lot of people.”

You huffed in irritation and decided to ignore him behind you, determined to make the most of your experience here. You’d let this slide for now. After all, he was here because of you.

But it wasn’t too long before you realized that ignoring him would be as futile as trying to pluck roses without being pricked by the thorns. You knew very well that this man thrives in getting under people’s skin.

“You should be flattered.”

Genuinely appalled, you ask, “I’m sorry?”

“Accepted.”

If it wasn’t night time and the blaring lights were replaced by the sun, he could have seen the twitch that your eye did at his retort.

At this point, murder is a tempting option. Sure, he’s taller and much bigger in physique terms, but you have the rage for it. Just one more insufferable antic—one more word— from this man and the whole university will be mourning their star player’s demise first thing tomorrow morning.

You took a deep breath to calm your murderous nerves, “Is that so? What part of telling people— oh wait, our schoolmates who are probably whispering behind our backs— that you’re my date, is flattering to you?”

The asshole had the audacity to shrug, “Calling me yours was.”

“Well then, you should be flattered. Not me.”

“You don’t know how flattered I am to be yours,” he mused.

If you didn’t know any better, his attempt at flirting might have sent warmth to your cheeks. But this was Kaiser— no one can tell when he’s being serious or just being his usual menace self talking shit like he’s employed to do so. Good thing you had better plans than spend it on his guessing games.

Just when you’re about to berate him once more, words halted on your throat because of a sight you least expected to see.

Han— the guy you’ve been talking to for almost a month now. The same guy who was your supposed date, to be more specific.

“What? Cat got your tongue, doll?”

If cats come in the form of a familiar man who’s a few good meters away, clearly having the time of his life dancing with someone, and clearly showing no signs of unavailability to go to a music festival he asked you to, then yes, it got your tongue.

You stayed silent far too long for Kaiser’s patience. Your lack of snarky clapbacks were starting to unsettle him more than he would allow. Shifting closer to you, he followed your line of sight to see what got you stunned in silence.

Recognizing what, or rather who, got your attention, he turns to you, his voice coming out too indignant, “Do you know that guy?”

“Do you?” you counter, picking up on his tone being all too casual as if they’re acquainted.

“He’s last week’s opposing team’s goalkeeper,” or was it ‘striker’? He couldn’t recall, so he’s more or less incompetent to him. One thing he remembers, however, “and he hates me.”

You threw him a glance, “Not surprised.”

“And do I give a fuck,” he shook his head, “Why do you keep looking at him?” Don’t fucking tell me.

Your answer wasn’t any better to what he was starting to imagine, “He was… supposed to be my date to this music festival,” you mumbled, looking down at your feet.

You didn’t want to see the look on Kaiser’s face, fearing you might see pity, and so you nailed your gaze to the ground. Totally oblivious of the man peering over you rather softly.

“Why can’t he then?” he asks, voice an octave lower.

“He said they had late notice training, so he can’t come.”

“Well, that better be his fucking ghost yapping with a brunette then,” he scoffs, looking straight to the lying man who canceled on you.

Sick of his face and sloppy dance moves, Kaiser turned his gaze back at you, only to be filled with rage because of it.

You look sad— and it made his blood boil. Not towards you, but for you.

“Y’know what? Let’s go there,” he urged, head pointing at where Han was.

Is he fucking crazy? You immediately shook your head at his scandalous suggestion. You might be feeling a little betrayed and angry, but rationality still had its hold on you— and it’s saying to not let Kaiser go with his idea.

Instead, you tug on his forearm, eyes still on the floor before looking up at him, “Can we leave, please?”

Kaiser was taken aback by your sudden meekness. He wasn’t used to this— to you, being all deflated and zoned out. He was used to your deadpan expressions and your eyes that seem to roll every time he utters a single word. He was used to you being, dare he say, feisty.

And he would rather have you stay like that all day long, even when he’s the receiving end of it.

But this? You, saying please to him, of all people? He doesn’t like it.

If this is how he gets to make you say please, then he doesn’t want it. Fuck that, and fuck that guy. How dare he.

Kaiser didn’t say anything back at your request, but you felt big calloused hands grasp on your hand still resting on his forearm. The next thing you knew, you were walking with him, shoulder-to-shoulder while his other hand was on yours guiding you to walk out of the scene.

“If I see one—just one drop of tear, I swear I am turning this damn car around.”

Your thoughts abruptly halted at the sound of Kaiser’s threat—his ultimatum, rather. It sounded more like a promise than a threat, and you knew this man well enough to understand that he never ate his words.

You shot him a glance and snickered. There was no way in high hell you’d ever cry in the same space where he was. It was the last thing you’d ever do, even if it meant convincing yourself that what you saw earlier was just a mere look-alike of Han.

“It's nothing. We aren’t even a thing,” you dismissed, your voice flat.

“But you thought you could be,” he countered, and damn if he wasn't right. “How do you even know him?”

“We're kind of talking, well, sort of—”

“Kind of? Sort of?” he scoffed.

“God—it's like a talking stage or something casual, Kaiser! There, got it?”

“That's not exclusive,” he remarked, adding insult to injury.

Irritation bubbled in your throat as his interrogation continued. But even before you could unleash your venom, you caught yourself. He was right. And while this man had never brought you good, it wasn't fair to make him the target of your bad.

“Yeah, it's not,” you admitted, a dry, humorless laugh escaping you. You recalled the brunette he danced with earlier. “I wasn't exclusive material for his reputation, I guess.”

What reputation? “That’s bullshit.” He gritted his teeth, his hand itching towards the steering wheel, clearly tempted to turn back to the festival.

“You said it yourself, he’s an athlete,” you pointed out, “You people never like to go exclusive with someone.”

“You people? Oh, please. Do not insult me by comparing me to the likes of him.”

The sass in his voice drew a chuckle from you. It was amusing how he said it with genuine horror, as if the mere idea of being associated with Han was an insult. “Why? Are you telling me you can commit to someone exclusively?”

“Someone like who? You?” He met your gaze briefly, “Absolutely.”

What the hell. “Stop messing around,” you snorted, effectively ending the conversation.

He was playing a dangerous game, saying that to you. Did he even realize what it did? Did he hear your stupid heart hammering in your chest? It was too loud, too obvious, a frantic drum solo against your ribs.

And the realization settled— he made your heart flutter.

His words, so simple, so casually tossed out, had landed like a bomb, sending shrapnel through your carefully constructed walls.

Michael Kaiser, of all people, made your heart flutter.

Suddenly, the air felt thin, the car an echo chamber amplifying the frantic rhythm of your traitorous heart. You knew you should scoff, dismiss it as another one of his infuriating jabs, but the truth was like a hot coal lodged in your throat.

“I’m not though,” he countered, eyes steady on the familiar road ahead. He sounded serious– too serious.

As you were about to retort back, the car lurched to a stop, announcing your arrival. You glanced out the window, the familiar sight of your house doing little to ease the tension that had coiled tight in your stomach.

“We’re here,” Kaiser announced, his voice a low rumble.

Hurried and flustered by the unexpected shift in the conversation, your clammy hands fumbled with the buckle, the metal cold and unyielding against your sweaty palms. You tugged, then tugged again, frustration building with each failed attempt.

“Easy, doll.”

Before you could protest, a large hand swooped in, effortlessly unlatching the buckle with a practiced flick. The sudden proximity sent a jolt through you, making your breath hitch. You met his gaze, his eyes a blazing blue as he held your stare for a beat too long before turning away.

Taking a deep breath, you composed yourself. You reached for the door handle, pushing it open and stepping out onto the familiar pavement. Before slamming the door shut, you paused, turning back to Kaiser with a newfound resolve.

Crouching down to meet his gaze, you surprised yourself with the words that tumbled out. “Be careful on your way home and,” you paused, “Thank you... Mikka.”

The nickname slipped out before you could stop it, leaving a blush blooming across your cheeks.

Before Kaiser could react, you slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the quiet street.

Mikka. He repeats your words in his mind.

He watched you disappear into your house, a slow grin spreading across his face. Only when you were safely inside did he start the car, the image of your flustered face lingering in his mind.

Damn it, doll.

Meanwhile, you hurried to your room, clutching your chest where your heart still hammered a frantic rhythm.

Why did I call him that? you asked yourself.

The use of his nickname, a name you rarely uttered now, was a stark reminder that the two of you weren’t as close as you were younger.

It’s not a big deal, you tried to reason with yourself. He literally said you owed it to him, and calling it quits would be in the form of a stupid nickname. It doesn’t mean anything. Right— you were just returning a favor.

Your obvious self-deception was interrupted by the incessant buzzing of your phone, tossed carelessly on the bed. Picking up your phone, you opened one of the notifications, your breath catching in your throat.

It was a post on your university's gossip page, and there, plastered on the screen, was a picture of you and Kaiser.

The image froze a moment in time, capturing him standing protectively behind you, his arms caging you against a barricade. Panic clawed at your throat. This picture, out in the open, could be misconstrued in so many ways.

What were people going to think? Who took this photo, anyway?

Your eyes darted down the comment section, scrolling through a sea of unimaginable speculations, desperately searching for clues about the culprit.

Just then, a knock on the door startled you.

“Y/N? Can I talk to you?”

It was your brother— and his voice suggested he needed answers too.

Shit.

note. first mini series lmao xD will add cw as i go!

#☁️ my ode to you #michael kaiser x reader #blue lock x reader #kaiser x reader #blue lock imagines #michael kaiser imagines #kaiser imagines #michael kaiser x y/n #michael kaiser x you #bllk x y/n #bllk x you #bllk x reader #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x you #michael kaiser #blue lock fluff #first milestone event!#writing: 004

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theereina · 3 months ago

Text

Big Mama Pt. 2

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC

Wordcount: +3.6K (Sorry🙇🏽‍♀️)

Warnings: MDNI (18+) mature content, such as cursing, teasing, heavily dialogue-centered, use of Daddy/Mama/other pet names (lil' mama, pretty girl, etc.), P in V, nipple play, oral (male receiving), overstimulation, penis worshipping, unprotected sex (be safe and responsible), cum kink, femdom *if you squint*

A/N: I don't know how many parts there will be. However, I'm open to critiques. I am a little 🤏🏽 sensitive about my writing. Please, don't be too harsh.🥺 Feel free to bring my attention to any typos. Divider by @firefly-graphics. Also, this work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than here on Tumblr). I do NOT give consent for any form of republishing or rewriting.

PART 1 => 🦋

Here I was folded in half getting dicked down by a man whose name I had learned only a few hours ago. I was on my back with my ankles on his shoulders being fucked through a goddamn mattress. He was using his knees to push my thighs back further pounding away at my pussy, and it was obvious that he enjoyed watching himself slide in and out. "Shit... Ughh... Come on, Mama. You're doing so well for me!" he said thrusting into me like a jackhammer. I could feel myself tightening around his dick.

My pussy was obnoxiously creamy now. The lewd sound his dick had coming from my pussy would put even your grandmother's mac and cheese to shame. This man was stirring my insides like instant mashed potatoes, and I couldn't do a goddamn thing about it.

I had been severely overstimulated and beyond fucked out. Over and over and over again. He had the stamina of a Brahman Bull and the strength of a gorilla. This was the first time a man had ever treated me this way. Like the slutty princess I was. He was tossing around my 230-pound body like I weighed nothing to him. Where had this man been all my life?

"Lil' Mama, you listenin' to me?" he asked me through gritted teeth. "Terry, I...," I said trying to form at least one coherent thought. "What did you just call me?" he asked his expression quickly changing from focused to angry. Oops. I looked down at him trying my hardest to form an apologetic smile.

Terry wrapped his arms around both of my thighs and yanked me closer to the bottom edge of the bed. His swift movements allowed his hips to stay connected to mine so that his dick never slipped out. He leaned in closer and let his body rest on top of mine. He pushed my thighs upward against his chest so that my clit was still accessible. I felt his hands rub soft trails along the outside of my body. One hand continued its adventure up my stopping to rest on my breast while the other found a home on my swollen clit.

He had found out that I was easily overstimulated when it came to my nipples. He began to twirl each nipple between his thumb and index finger. When I wasn't giving him the immediate response he was seeking, he began to smack each of my breasts. He started alternating back and forth between slapping and pinching both nipples. I could tell by the throbbing coming from my pussy that I wasn't going to last much longer. The pleasure was so intense that my mouth refused to let any sound escape from my lips. I couldn't moan. I couldn't groan. I couldn't cry. All I could do was take it.

Terry was well aware of the amount of ecstasy I was feeling. As if his goal was to torture me, he used the thumb on his other hand to start rubbing circles around my clit. I closed my eyes trying to think my way through this suffering. He wasn't playing fair. My back was arching off the bed pushing my chest towards his. He forcefully pushed my body down so that my body was flush against the bed. "Unh... Unh... Nope. You gone open those eyes and look at Daddy," he said reaching for my throat with the hand that was no longer playing with my breasts. "Mmm... I can't," I moaned out. "What did I say?" he said moving his hand to the back of my head and forcing me to look between us.

It was a beautiful sight. All I could see was my glistening pussy swallowing each inch of his heavy dick. He was putting on a show now. He would slowly pull all the way out to the tip and slam back in until our hips collided. "Tell me how much you like this dick, pretty girl. Come on, mama. Talk to me," he said pulling out and giving me slow shallow strokes. I couldn't come up with an accurate answer because telling him it was good wouldn't do.

"Fuck. I... mmm... love it, Daddy. It's... it's perfect," I said reaching up to stroke his forearm. "Yeah, I know. I can tell by how you grippin' me. Now, move your fuckin' hand. Uh oh, you finna cum? Huh? Tell me," he said letting go of my head and removing his hand from between my legs. He was once again standing before me and his hips still never stopped moving. His thrust began to get deeper again, and he was bottoming out with every stroke. He was using his grip on my thighs as leverage to thrust upward. He was pulling my body against him each time to match his movements. It was as if he was using my body against me. "Look at you. You look so pretty. You don't know whether you goin' or comin'. This dick got you dumb, huh?" he asked peering down at me. GREEN-EYED BASTARD.

I couldn't answer. "Mhmm..." I moaned out reaching up towards the headboard. "Unh.. Unh... Words," he growled smacking the side of my thigh. I screamed in pain. That was all it took for my pussy to begin clenching him again. My body couldn't take anymore, and I was about to explode. "Is there somethin' you wanna ask me? Huh? 'Cause if you do what I think you finna do without permission, you gone wish you wouldn't have, princess," he grunted. The raspiness of his voice was evidence of his growing fatigue and approaching climax.

"Please, Daddy. I...I need it. Please, can I come?" I begged with tears rolling down the sides of my face. "You think you deserve it? Huh?" he asked torturing me. "Yes, Daddy. I....," I said bawling. Tears were streaming down the sides of my face now. "Go ahead. Make a fuckin' mess. Let Daddy have it," he replied as I watched a sinister smirk takeover his face. His hips moved faster, and I was already a leaking mess. The noises my pussy made and our hips colliding were the only sounds in the room. Both of us went silent from being too caught up in the pursuit of pleasure.

The rising pressure in my belly was causing a fever to wash over my body. Every part of me was becoming more sensitive by the second. Each stroke only added to the tsunami that was about to crash. It felt like everything around me went black. My ears stopped working, my body stopped responding, and my mind went blank. I came hard and intense. Every fluid built up from his persistent edging flowed out of me like a river. His hips, my thighs, the bed, and the floor were now soaked. The arch in my back felt painful and agonizing. My breathing was labored, and I was struggling to recover. However, Terry had other plans, and the relief I felt was quickly overpowered by the feeling that his strokes never stilled or slowed down. He was fucking me through my orgasm. Why? Why the fuck was he doing this to me?

I held my hand up, but he grabbed my wrist and pinned it down. "Hands off. You know better. Come on. Daddy's almost there, baby. Just a little more," he said looking at me. His bottom lip was swollen from him biting it so hard. "Go ahead, Daddy. It's yours. This pussy is yours. Take... Ahhh... Take...it...from...me," I moaned through each stroke. I was absolutely in a fucked out frenzy. If he wasn't going to stop, I would just have to talk my way through it.

I could feel his body tightening up and his hips beginning to stiffen. He slowed his strokes and glared down at me, and his face was a distorted expression of increasing pleasure. "You want this nut, then come get it!" he growled through gritted teeth. He pulled out of me and began stroking himself. I knew what he wanted, and I wanted it, too.

The dick dumb bitch I was in this moment wanted to taste him, suck him, lick him, swallow him, and do it again. The way this man just thoroughly fucked me... HE DESERVED IT!

I went on my knees at the foot of the bed. The carpeted floor was providing no relief for my aching body. I reached for his dick, but he instantly smacked my hand away. "No, ma'am. All mouth. Hands on your lap," he said gripping my chin. He lifted my face so that his dick rested on my lips. It was heavy, and I loved the weight of it. I opened my mouth and took as much of it in as I could without instantly choking or gagging.

He looked down at me with low eyes. Even from this angle, he was one of the most beautiful men I had ever seen. The moonlight glistened off the sweat on his smooth brown skin. I could feel his hands gripping the hair at the nape of my neck. "More!" he rumbled as pushed my head down further to take in more of him.

I relaxed my throat, and let him use me. He began thrusting into my mouth with no remorse. Tears were starting to fall again, and spit bubbles were pouring from the sides of my mouth. I slurped my way off his dick and let it fall out of my mouth. I leaned back a little so his dick now rested on my cheek. I used my tongue to lick along the underside of him and slowly traced a single solid vein from his tip until I reached his base. He shuddered at the feeling. I flattened my tongue and began to lap at his balls. I opened my mouth to allow one of them in. I sucked slightly and opened my mouth while inhaling. I used the feeling of the cold air and my saliva for his stimulation. "Aww... Ugh... Fuck you. You nasty bitch. Mmm...," he said grunting. His head fell back, and the grip he had on my hair tightened. I switched sides and showed the other one the same attention.

His head fell back down, and his scowl had returned. I smiled at him. "I love what the fuck you doing Mama. I'm gone need this all the time. You gone be a good girl for me? Huh?" he asked pulling my head up so that I was looking directly at him. "Of course, Daddy," I said leaning forward and putting the tip in my mouth. I let my tongue flatten on his head and licked off any existing precum. "Daddy doesn't like when his nut goes to waste, baby girl. It's time to prove you're a big girl for... uh shit... Prove you're a big girl for Daddy," he said thrusting himself completely into my mouth. I opened as wide as I could, so my teeth wouldn't touch him. I didn't wanna disappoint Daddy. I held myself there. My nose burrowed into the small patch of hair above his dick. Saliva was now pooling from the sides of my mouth. I slurped up as much as I could while fighting that nagging feeling in the back of my throat.

"You want it, huh?" he asked glaring down at me. I looked up at him bashfully. "Yes, Daddy!" I moaned around his dick. He laughed back at my dick-filled response. He let both of his hands find their place in my tangled hair and wrapped them around the base of my skull interlocking his fingers. He pushed my head down and held it there.

Terry's orgasm came with a vengeance. Warm spurts of his cum filled and coated my throat. I immediately began swallowing. The last thing I wanted to do was choke after I had done so well. I opened my throat and sucked at his base. I swallowed every last drop even cleaning up leftovers from before. He hovered over me a panting mess while his dick remained in my mouth. His disgruntled moans turned into groans. I searched for his eyes out of concern, but they were closed. He was leaning over me with one hand bracing himself up.

I decided to let him ride out his high and come down slowly. I was in no rush to release this man. I slowly removed myself from his dick but not completely. I kept his head in my mouth and began to lick around it.

Yes, this should have been the end. But I needed my win, and I needed it now! Yes, I had come three times already, but I needed more. One more. Not from me but from HIM. Nah, I wasn't done. Big Mama had one more trick up her sleeve. I began to lick all over him again. I could feel him lean up. "Lil' mama, what chu doin', girl?" he moaned out. I could feel him start to struggle because he was still groggy from his orgasm and succumbing to his fatigue. Hell, that's exactly what I wanted. I wanted this big-ass man to crumble. I was the wrecking ball that was about to knock this nigga down.

BRICK. BY. MOTHERFUCKIN'. BRICK.

This was more than overstimulation. I wanted him to try to stop me. I wanted to hear him beg. Just like he did me. Check-fuckin'-mate! When I was crying and begging, he laughed and told me to take it. Now, it was his turn. I wanted him to see how it felt. He needed to know how it felt to not be in control.

He grabbed my hair again to try and pull me off. I threw my arms around him. As I pulled him closer, I swallowed him whole again. I wrapped my arms around this man like a toddler refusing to let their father leave for work. No, sir. He wasn't about to go any-fuckin'-where. I made sure to only leave enough space for me to move my head but not enough for him to move his hips. I looked up at him with a menacing grin of victory and a mouth full of dick. His face was distorted in anguish, and that smug grin he held before was overtaken by a pout of desperation.

Oh well, this was his fault. Why did he have to taste so good? Why did he fuck me like that? Why did he have to show out like that? Now, I was going to have to show him who I was. BIG MAMA, AND HE BETTER NOT FUCKING FORGET IT!

I was sucking this man like I was trying to drain him of everything he had. As I looked up at him, our eyes met. This time I didn't break away from his gaze. Baby, I held it. I wanted him to watch me take his soul. He smiled down at me weakly. I knew what that meant. He had finally realized he had no choice but to take it. Let me have MY way. Terry was losing it.

His knees started to buckle, so I let one hand slide up to the lower half of his back to support him. I didn't want Daddy falling, now did I? "What the fuck you doing to me, girl?" he asked pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth.

If I remember correctly, I said I would taste him, suck him, lick him, swallow him, and do it again. Didn't I?

I moved my head up and down his shaft while still sucking until I got to his tip. I pulled off and used my lips to kiss the tip. "Ughh... Ahhh... You can't keep doin' me like this? Baby girl,... Fuck, I can't... I can't even think," he said throwing his head back again and placing his hands on my shoulders. "Not so fun when it's you, huh?" I said while licking the same vein as before. "You... *kiss* should've... *lick* left... *kiss* me... *lick* alone," I said kissing and licking back towards the tip. I hovered there for a second and began rubbing and swirling the tip of my tongue against his opening collecting all of my earnings. He was dripping all over again.

I opened my mouth and only allowed the head in because I wasn't done talking my shit, and I needed him to hear me. "I tried to be nice." *suck* "I tried to behave." *suck* "You just wouldn't let me," I said sucking him up again. "Alright... Fuck... Ah, shit... I get it, baby" he said looking down at me. His eyebrows were knitted together like he was in pain. "Too late. My turn," I said letting my throat do all the work. I gave him everything I had. I could feel how close he was. "Fuck... I can't..." he said his head rolling on his shoulders. He removed his hand from my shoulders and rubbed his face.

This was the moment I had worked so hard for. The moment when he knew that HE WAS DEFEATED.

He had been beaten at his own game. All that shit-talking. All that teasing. All that edging. All that dominant energy. All of it went out the window when I was on my knees. Think about it. I was in one of the most submissive and vulnerable positions for this man, and he couldn't beat me. How ironic was that?

I felt the muscles in his legs stiffen and his ass tighten. I sucked on his head until I felt him coming. The load of this orgasm was different than the first one. It was stronger and heavier, and I swallowed all of it. I released my arms from around his waist and let his dick fall out of my mouth. "Is Daddy done?" I asked looking up at him while grabbing his dick at the base. I held it in my hand waiting for an answer. "Huh?" Terry mumbled as he was now the one struggling to find an answer. I gripped his dick tighter in my hands. "I asked you if you were done, Daddy. Are you?" He groaned at the feeling. "Shit... Ahh... Yes, Daddy's done. I...," he said through ragged breaths.

I released his dick and scooted over from between his legs. I was covered in saliva and cum. It stained the entire lower half of my face. My chest and breasts were still wet and sticky. My knees were aching, and my thighs burned from sitting on them for so long. My jaw and throat had suffered the brunt of the "punishment", and it felt like they were on fire. The soreness I felt was not something that was going to wear off by tomorrow, so a day of rest was imminent and inevitable.

I rose to my feet slowly. I had to admit that even though I was a fucking trooper for this, my entire body felt like jello.

As I stood, I caught Terry side-eyeing me. He turned to look at me before collapsing on his back onto the bed as if his body gave out. He sported an exhausted smile. He rubbed his hands up and down his torso. "What? Big Bad Terry had so much to say earlier. You seem kinda quiet now," I said as I sat on the bed beside him. I laid back so that we were side-by-side.

He chuckled deeply. "The fuck am I supposed to say to that, huh?" he asked pulling me closer to him. I wrapped my leg over his waist and looked into his eyes. He stared back at me while stroking small circles along the center of my back. "You're right losers aren't supposed to give speeches after defeat," I said laughing while throwing my arm across his torso. "Losers?" he questioned. "Yeah, that's what I said. Unless... Daddy isn't done," I said moving as if I was going to grab his dick again. "Hell no!" he yelled smacking my hand away. "Scary ass," I whispered before turning away from him to laugh. "So... Since losers don't give speeches, where's yours?" he said scooting to the top of the bed. He sat up so that his back rested against the headboard. He motioned for me to join him.

I got on my hands and knees and crawled to the head of the bed. "Sit," he said grabbing my waist and pulling me down so that I was straddling him. "First off, I don't have a speech. It's more of a statement or a declaration of sorts," I said clasping my hands together in front of me. "And what's that, pretty girl?" he said kissing my lips.

I placed my hands on both sides of his face and gave him gentle kisses everywhere I could. I cupped his chin and raised his face so that he looked me directly in the eyes. "My name is Big Mama, and you will address me as such. Got it?" I said leaning over to plant one final kiss on his forehead.

Just like I said. I might have lost the battle, but I told you Big Mama always wins the war.😉

Taglist: @avoidthings @brattyfics @5headsupremacist @creartivefairy @lovey-3 @curvyambitions @jimmybutlrr @amyhennessyhouse @deja-r @blyffe @hoouno06 @theinsidefeelingofateen @helloncrocs @nicolexnight @gwenda-fav @thiccc-c @blowmymbackout @gg-trini @armandosbabymama @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @ariiijestertheklown @slutsareteacherstoo

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fraugwinska · 9 months ago

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Going with the times was amazing! Thank you so much. If I may can I get another Alastor x Reader who is a very affectionate person like always going in for hugs if she's close to them and she gets drunk and starts trying her hardest to give Husk a hug because he looks so grumpy, so he summons Alastor to come get his girlfriend. Who then gets incredibly happy to see him and just clings to him after he picks her up. Id also like to see Angels reaction to all of this.

You are awesome!

No, YOU are awsome! :> I do love Husk and Angel together, throw drunken Reader into the mix and we have ourselfes some chaos :D I sincerely hope you like it! <3

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Take the edge off

It had started so innocently.

For the first time since you met him, Husk had actually, actively invited you for an after-dinner-sendoff-drink at the bar, along with Angel.

Coming from him, the one that had been the most on the fence with you, you didn't dare to pass this opportunity. It was understandable though. Husk had a deep distrust in Alastor, and, by proxy, in you when he had introduced you to the surprised residents as his ‘courtship’.

You had visited the hotel often after that, staying for activities or dinners, bringing over some baked goods or homemade treats if your work schedule allowed time for it, lending listening ears and comforting hugs in spades to anyone who needed it and earned the admiration - or at least acceptance of your presence - from almost everyone over time. Almost.

Husk, ever the skeptic, had made it clear to you he wouldn't want to have any relations to demons who chose to stay at Alastor's side, let alone his ‘partner’.

But you stubbornly persisted, even though it had hurt, even though Alastor would pat your head and tell you it was wasted labor - you still tried, bringing an extra bottle of the herb sirup you knew Husk liked to spice his drinks with, or you tried to engage him in conversations about things you learned he was interested in. Now, your earnest efforts had seemed to finally been fruitful - instead of invading, you were finally invited to sit at his bar.

In all the nervousness of not fucking this up, you drank too much, way too fast. You were a lightweight on good days, but now, after five not-so-kid-friendly drinks in the span of less than an hour, you were… unhinged.

“I told ‘ya the last Gin Tonic was too much for her!”

Angel snorted with laughter, two hands holding you back from climbing over the bar to an aggravated Husk, arms outstretched and whining loudly.

“Huuuuuuusk, come on, just oooone!”, you struggled against Angels grip on your waist, eager to reach the furry demon and put your arms around him, “I give the bestest, bestestest hugs ever, you cannot not smile, I promise!”

Husk ducked with a mumbled curse, dodging your gripping hands when Angel temporarily lost grip on you because he laughed too hard at the chaotic mess that you were - normally his job, with Charlie as the babysitter - oh, how tables turned.

“Fuckin-... how the hell was I supposed to know that she'd turn into a goddamn demonic care bear?!” Husk grunted, pulling the feathery end of his tail out of your hands - you had caught it with delighted giggles and glee, and pouted when it slipped out of your fingers.

“Niffty! YO, NIFFTY!”, he bellowed, looking down to find her already at his side behind the bar.

“Shit, you're fast. Oy, go and get Alastor, pronto, tell him his friggin’ girlfriend is…” Husk was pulled back by his neck, a sudden weight on his back making him swallow the end of his sentence. You had managed to escape Angels restrictive hands, and slung your arms around the cat demons neck, nuzzling your cheeks into the fur on his back.

“Theeeere ya go! Feel the frown turn upside down!”, you sang, words muffled by his pelt, grip as strong as iron. Husk groaned, prying at your hands, but - to no avail and Angels absolute amusement - you tightened your hold on him the more he struggled.

Niffty tilted her head, clearly not fazed by what was happening. Angel heaved, clutching his chest as he tried to calm down enough to speak.

“Niff, just… pfff, stop that, leave his whiskers alone babe, holy shit, huh-huh, okay, okay… just run an’ tell Smiles to get his doll before she strangles Husky, okay?”

The little bug nodded eagerly and scurried away.

Angel turned to Husk, still a highly bemused grin on his face. “‘Ya know, having the radio demons lover hanging around ‘ya neck might earn ‘ya some major street cred.”

“Oh, you fuck off if yo’ can’t help.”Husk growled, trying to ignore your figure, still clutched onto him like a living backpack. “Get off me kid, come on, dammit.”

“But you're not happy yet.”, you said innocently, refusing to let go.

Angel gave Husk a meaningful look. “‘Ya know, she really does give great hugs, when she's sober and not batshit crazy drunk like this.”

“I don't need hugs, I need a fucking drink is what I need.”

“Huuuuusk…”, you whined again, quieter now, sadder. “Why do you hate me?”

Husk stood still, exchanging a look with Angel, who seemed pitiful now. He nudged his head to the two of you as a silent command: Say something nice. Husk sighed, patting your arm around his neck awkwardly.

“I don't hate yo’, kid.”

“Yeah you do… I just want to be friends, see your happy face, smiling… but you hate me…”

Angel narrowed his eyes at him, mouthing ‘Do better’, and he huffed.

“Jesus fuckin…, listen, I don’t like yo’ choices of men, but ...you're alright. Way better than yo’ bitch ass of a boyfriend at least.”

Angel opened his mouth to say something, but the sound of Alastor's signature jazz background music approached and he quickly decided to just sit back, out of the immediate danger zone but near enough to have a first class seat to whatever would happen now.

Alastor walked up with an amused smile and curious expression.

“Evening, my fellow friends. Niffty came to me with a cryptic message, about my darling doe strangling our beloved bartender?”

Husk scoffed, turning around so the radio demon could see you hanging on him like a koala on a tree trunk, pointing at you. “This yours?”

Alastor laughed, his face lighting up in a softness Husk had seldom seen before.

“Indeed, it seems to be.” He chuckled, stepping up to you. “Darling?”

You rose your head at the sound of his voice, smiling happily when you recognized him.

“Al!” He caught you with ease when you jumped from Husk’s back straight into his arms, patting your back as you locked your arms around his waist. “My, those two did their diligent work, you are quite inebriated.”

You giggled into his coat. “Yup, I am hammered like a rusty nail!” You lifted your head, beaming up with tired eyes at his bemused grin. “And Al, guess what! Husk said I'm not an ass like you, so he doesn't hate me anymore! I’m alright!”

Husk, who rubbed his sore neck, froze at your words, quickly shooting the radio demon a glance. Static crackled and for a second, he shivered from the licks of electricity running over his spine, making his fur stand up. But nothing further happened. Alastor just smiled at you, ignoring the cat demon completely, and ruffled your hair. “How good for you love, you did it afterall! But it’s late now, why don’t you stay here tonight?” “That’d be nice…”, you sighed, sleepy and exhausted.

You let his waist go, only to wrap your arms around his neck as he scooped you up to carry you. Angel and Husk gawked at the scene before them, questioning reality as Alastor, of all people, pressed his lips to the crown of your head, which made you humm and turned to leave, leaving the bar without so much as a cheerful "Good night, chums.".

Angel leaned forward, elbows on his knees and hands in his hands, watching the pair disappear in the dark with an amazed expression. "Man, she really takes his villain-y edge off, doesn't she? Kinda scary how she gets Smiles to almost behave human." Husk poured himself another drink. "Scary doesn't even cut it." He took a huge swig, but he still had to grin.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #angel dust #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel niffty #fraugwinskawrites #quick fic

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shellem15 · 6 months ago

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Okay, I know the Dawnfather and the other primes are running interference, but we NEED to get a full, one-on-one conversation between Asmodeus and Raei (I need it. So bad.) It would hurt so much but so GOOD. I know the hardest bars would be dropped, fucking "My greatest heartbreak...is that I will only have eternity to punish them" levels of bitterness and resentment.

Especially considering what we learn about them in the intro! Imri was straight up ready to die for Luz! Fucker threw himself into the goddamn flames for her!

You know there's so much angst over that. Over how she apologized before healing him. Is Asmodeus hung up on that? About how he sacrificed himself out of love and all she gave in return (in his mind obvs) was guilt? Does he think that's why she tried to save him during Calamity? Not out of love but out of guilt for trapping him?

Asmodeus, who was changed (change, a thing he hates above all else) for her. Who refuses to be changed ever again. Who would hurt the ones he loves in his pursuit of revenge. Who loves his hatred more than he loves his siblings.

The Everlight, who was just trying to help her brother. Who was just trying to help the world. Who got stabbed in the back for her efforts. Does she regret it? Trying to help him? Does she regret saving him on that ship in the first place?

Perhaps Torog is right. Perhaps death would have been the greatest mercy for him. Anything that isn't pain, that isn't all-consuming hatred.

Imagine if she told him that. How much that would fucking hurt him (them both). If it was a lie, would he know? Would he call her out on it?

Probably, I imagine. He'd probably say something like: "Mortals think we are different. That you are honest while I am not. But between us, you've always been the better liar. The greatest, cruelest lie that's ever been told, is that there is any mercy to be found in this wretched world."

TLDR, this miniseries is driving me insane.

#i should just write fanfiction #honestly #if a confrontation between the two doesn't happen i'm going to die #brennan. ashley. please hear my pleads and give me mercy!#cr spoilers #critical role spoilers #cr downfall #critical role #cr meta #cr asmodeus #sarenrae #raei #the everlight #the lord of the hells #shelley's overdramatic character analysis

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lovexjoe · 6 months ago

Text

Unspoken

Part 1

Synopsis: Jack and Y/N have been best friend for years. She recently ended her 2 year relationship, due to moving to Atlanta for a better job opportunity. What’s going to happen when she stays with Jack for a week ?

Warning: fluffy, angst?, language and smut🧎🏽‍♀️

Y/N POV

Great!!! I finally found an apartment for myself, but I have to stay at a hotel for a week due to maintenance. I sighed as I begin to search the internet for a hotel suitable to my needs. Currently I’m at Jack’s house, cause he offered to let me stay the weekend as I sorted myself out. Moving to a new state is draining. I left a lot of my things back home as my mom said it’s good to just start fresh. So I packed what I needed and hopped on the plane. I left so much behind, even my 2 year relationship. Surprisingly, I’m okay and even happier that it ended. There wasn’t a spark between us. He treated me well, but the relationship over all was boring. I guess I kept it going for so long, because it was better than being alone.

“Alright what’s got you so stress? You been glue to the computer since you woke up” Jack says as he sits down next to me on the couch.

“The apartment won't be ready for another week and I need to find a hotel beca-”

“Hell no! Come on, you know you can stay here till it’s ready. I’m not taking no for an answer either. Now can you stop stressing before you explode. That vein on your forehead is serious” He starts his usual teasing. I laughed and playfully shoved him.

Arguing with him was useless. It was his way or no way. I finally close my laptop and enjoyed whatever tv show he was currently hooked on. He stretched out his left arm and placed it on the back on the couch. I crawl into my usual spot: snuggled up with a blanket.

“I missed you. I know you’re stressed but I’m happy to finally spend some time with you this week.” Jack says honestly. You were taken aback but also happy as well to be here with him.

“Me too”

Jack’s POV

She takes her usual spot on the opposite end of the couch, I so badly want to pull her close to me. As selfish as it sounds I hope her apartment takes an extra week so she could stay longer. And those god damn PJs she wears is gonna end me. She could wear a turtleneck and I’d probably still have the same reaction.

I had met her through Druski as she was working with him for a while on video concepts and managing his social media. As soon as they linked up, she got his account to gain a million followers within a month. Thats why Jack put his full trust in her when it came to his social media. He’ll give her a heart attack here or there when he posts some random video of him trying to dance. Keyword is try because he looks like he’s glitching half the time.

~~~~~

They indulge in a few episodes together before both of their stomachs start grumbling. Jack grabs his phone to open up UberEats. She gives him an insane look.

“Jack you already ordered UberEats for breakfast, do you ever actually cook?” She arched her brows at him and he just looks at her cause lowkey she ate him up with that one.

Oh yea forgot to mention, she got attitude that could last a lifetime and he fucking loved it.

“You know I can’t cook!” He tried to justify but she’s already up and headed to the kitchen scanning the pantry and fridge for a simple meal.

“Alright since you insist on me staying here for a week, you have to learn how to cook to at least survive.” She points the wooden spoon at him which causes him to laugh and throw his hands up in the air.

“Goddamn Gordon Ramsey when did you even grab that!?”

“Mmm don’t worry about that, give me a cutting board and knife stat! We making the world’s simplest meal. Pasta!”

Pasta? Yeah no, he has spent his entire life over and under cooking pasta noodles. He watches her work the kitchen like a natural, pulling out ingredients he didn’t know what was what but he tried his hardest to pay attention. She started with washing, then cutting then cooking. When it started to heat up in the kitchen, she tossed her hair up in a messy bun and in that moment Jack swore his heart could burst outta his chest. He was trying his best not to stare inappropriately, but she was down right beautiful.

Her ex was an idiot for letting her out of his sight, but he had to thank him because he’s not letting this chance pass up. There’s been multiple times throughout their friendship that her previous relationship and his hookups were not too fond of what they had. Which caused a few months of silence here and there. It use to kill him that he couldn’t reach out to her or hear her voice. She’s the reason why most of his hookups never lasted. Even during sex he wasn’t fully present, always distracted.

As she finished up the tomato basil pasta, she turns around bumping into Jack not realizing he was so close to her. She felt so small around him, he looks down at her and smiles.

“Hi” he says as he looks into her green hazel eyes that complimented her tan skin.

“Hi…” she wish he would just kiss her, but she probably wasn’t what he even wanted. This man has the whole world at his feet. Why would he want her? They both stood there for a few extra seconds, just admiring their favorite features of the other.

He swore she bite her lip

She swore he was staring at her lips

Kiss me already they both thought.

The sizzle of the pot reminded her she needed salt, so she purposely pushes up against him to grab the salt

“Excuuuuseee me” she says innocently causing him to blush.

“Smell yummy, thank you seriously” He says as she hands him his plate. As she makes her plate last, but Jack grabs it and heads over to the dinner table. Pulling out her seat for her, she happily sits as he grabs them some wine.

“Oh my god, this is amazing!” He hums enjoying all the flavors that melt in his mouth. She’s really getting brownie points right now cause once his tummy is full he is a happy camper.

This could be them, she thought. If only he wanted her.

This could be them, he thought. If only she wanted him.

After a few glasses of wine and enjoying the food together. Jack knew she was gonna crave something sweet because anytime he took her out dessert was always a must. He took her plate and nods his head for her to follow him.

He grabs a bowl, vanilla ice cream, sprinkles, chocolate drizzle and whipped cream. Instantly her smile appears on her face, he still remembers her favorite toppings. How could he not though? He remembers everything about her. They both assisted each other is building the sundae.

“Time for the finale!! Whipped cream!” She shakes it up and hands it to him to do the honors. Jack holds down the nozzle but it was stuck. He shook it one more time confused cause he literally just bought it when he told Y/N to stay at his crib. Yes he fully stocked the house and made sure it was squeaky clean before she got there. He even went to target and Ulta and stocked up on products she’d like or needed for the guest room.

“This thing is stupid!” He holds the nozzle facing Y/N and it shoots out straight onto her neck and face. They both looked shock but Jack was trying so hard to hold his laughter in.

“Oh you little shit!” They both busted into laughter.

The wine definitely taking effect as laughter filled the air. Their stomach hurting so much from being full and the happiness that overcame them. Grabbing a towel, Jack pulls her close and the two still having the giggles. She wasn’t in control anymore because she couldn’t believe the words that was escaping her mouth.

“Lick it off of me….” Jack freezes. Is he dreaming? Is she fucking with him? Wouldn’t be a nice joke but the way she was looking at him she’s lucky she doesn’t get bent over this island right now.

“Are you sure?” He looks into her eyes wanting to confirm because if he starts god only knows if he’ll have the strength to stop.

“Yea….make me your dessert.” She wipes some whipped cream off her neck slipping her finger in his mouth to suck it off. The need growing between them as she felt his tongue lick her finger dry. His lips meeting her neck, licking up all whipped cream on her as her moans escape her mouth.

Fuck. He thought this was it, she’s gonna get eaten up tonight, he had to taste her. He was hungry for it. His hands caressing her face, as their lips finally meet. They both dreamt of this moment endless amount of times, but nothing….nothing could compare how this really felt. The little sounds she makes got him bricked up and aching. It’s almost as if she knew what effect she had on him cause her hand begins to palm him through his joggers. He groans into her mouth, causing a certain wetness to form in her panties. She never knew Jack had an aggressive side to him, she always teased him of being vanilla.

He picks her up and sets her onto the island. Slipping her shorts off and spreading her legs. No panties? Fuck, her pussy glistened from her wetness under the lights. She closed her legs, starting to feel shy.

“Nuh uh, open those legs for me. Lemme see that pretty pussy.” Oh god she loves this. He gets on his knees, kissing her lips, taking in her scent causing her hips to buck.

“Jaack please don’t tease,” she feels his breath on her as he laughs, knowing exactly what he was doing. He takes her clit into his mouth, slowly sucking and swirling his tongue. He was so fucking handsome and with your pussy in his mouth made him even hotter. Working his tongue up and down your folds, you lift you hips slightly to ride his face.

Fuck fuck fuck

Jack couldn’t believe how fucking beautiful you looked under the island lights. Everything about you just amazed him. He works his movement with yours as he sees your body tensing up.

“Fuck Jack, I’m- fuck I’m gonna cum!” In that moment he slips two of his fingers in, curving them upwards pumping them in and out. The only thing that could be heard was your cries and the wetness of your pussy. His fingers were big and long you could only imagine what he’ll stretch you out to. He pulls you close to him, placing little kisses along your cheek and neck. He lets you ride out your orgasm from his fingers. He only just begun with you, but he notices the slight sheen of sweat that covered your body.

“You have no fucking idea how long I’ve wanted you.” He places a soft kiss on her lips.

“Jack I need you, please.” She reaches into his jogger to pull him out. His tip already leaking with precum. Teasing him, she rubs his length between her wet folds causing him to groan. The lust that filled both of their eyes as they watch his tip play with her clit. Jack slipped in not being able to handle it anymore.

Y/N lets out a soft cry not realizing how big he really was. Her back was cold against the marbled island, but the way Jack started pounding into her she couldn’t possibly give a fuck about anything

“Jaackkk” she cries out throwing her head back

“I know it’s big baby, you can take it. Be good for me and take it.” His thumb starts to rub circles on her clit as he continues his ruthless thrusting. She was drunk off of his fucking. Not a single thought was running through her head besides the fact that he felt so fucking good and was deep.

“Look at you. Such a good fucking girl taking me. So beautiful baby.” He whispers his praises into her ear, till he feels her clenching him tightly. His free hand grabs the back of her hair firmly to make sure he was looking at him as she cums.

“Mmm fuck, where do you want it?” She better answer quick cause those hazel eyes looked fucked out and he could barely hold on.

“Inside me! P-please please”

Jesus Christ

He nods as he increases his speed, hitting a new spot for her causing her to come undone. She couldn’t even stop the babbling.

“I love you I-I love you Jack.” He kisses her passionately, emptying himself deep inside her.

“I love you too.” He says out of breath.

He picks her up carrying them to his bedroom. She was completely out of it, her eyes closed and sleep slowly taking over her. He couldn’t imagine this moment any better. It happened so naturally. He tucks both of them in pulling her closely. She was his. He was hers. Thank god for that fucking apartment delay.

~~~~~~~~

Y/N woke up feeling satisfied and definitely sore. Some of their friends were suppose to be flying in today to vibe for the next two days. She looks at the sleepy man next to her and smiles. They really had some nasty sex last night when just prior to that they were just best friends. She places a soft kiss on his forehead and decided to make them breakfast. She picked out some boxers and one of his t-shirts and got to work. As she was making them pancakes and eggs, the door bell rang and it was probably Druski since he had the earliest flight. She opens the door to see a girl, who looked like a super model holding a duffel bag.

“Y/N, right?”

“Uhh yeah…I’m sorry who are you?”

“I’m Jack’s girlfriend….”

Part 2? 😌

TAGLIST

@dyttomori @harlowcomehome @itsyagirljaz

#jack harlow #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow smut #jack harlow fluff #jack harlow fanfic #jackman thomas harlow

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blues824 · 2 years ago

Note

Snake and Love hashira and Poly!Bi!reader unrequited love!

The cannon lovers don't take notice of reader's love for both of them! As reader been obliviously showing their love for the two... sooner or later reader stops their efforts unnoticeable and get kind of sad about it...

reader can have a sad ending of dying by (demon, self inflicted, Died of unknown like illness ect..) their crow delivered the message of their death while also giving all the hashira a long letter! Mini reactions of all letters! The letters are their feelings towards all the hashira even if they didn't talk much!

Angst is what I am feeling sorry y'all fluff lovers out there!

Your cause of death is up to your interpretation.

Gyomei Himejima

He had someone read it to him for obvious reasons

Cried more than usual

You didn’t talk much, but it still hurt

From that point on, he made sure your memory was honored

Mitsuri Kanroji

Upon finding out that you loved both her and Obanai, she wept

For days on end, she cried

She was unconsolable

Keeps your haori if it was recoverable

Giyu Tomioka

Even though he tried not to get attached to people

He thought you were an exception

You were his friend, and now you are gone

Learned his lesson the hard way, I guess

Tengen Uzui

Well, this wasn’t a very flamboyant situation

His wives wept at the death of their friend

However, no tears left the Sound Hashira’s eyes

He was simply in shock

Sanemi Shinazugawa

You were the person who got him closer to his younger brother

Now you were gone

He tried his hardest not to cry

But goddamn it was hard

Shinobu Kocho

Once she saw your crow, she knew what happened

She just felt tired

Tired of losing the people that she loves

Tired of mourning those she has lost

Kyojuro Rengoku

Another fallen comrade in arms

It’s not an uncommon thing, but he didn’t expect it to be you

He lets a few tears fall as he reads the letter

You knew you weren’t coming back

Obanai Iguro

When he read your written confession, he went into shock

Kaburamaru started hissing sadly

At night, he weeps because he hadn’t known about your feelings

It’s too late now. You’re gone

Muichiro Tokito

The first time anyone saw him snap back to reality

No, this will not be an Eminem reference

He didn’t know you well, but you have fought many battles together

He places some flowers upon your burial site

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arceus-insanity · 3 months ago

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This is a long rant so you can totally delete if you’re not interested, though I don’t know who else to talk to about this so I hope you don’t mind me getting something off my chest: I feel really bad for todoroki.

He tried the hardest to save his villain (making a plan to stop Dabi by creating a new move, continually tried to get Endeavor to cooperate with him to meet Dabi, letting Dabi take his anger out at him, and racing meet him not once but twice, saving him from killing himself even when he was the most suicidal out of the villain trio), hell, he was the most empathetic to his villain without ever needing to see the child self because he thought they would have been the same if Todoroki didn’t get the support from his friends. Too bad Touya was so hell bent on his suicide mission with Endeavor that Todoroki couldn’t get through him the first time.

Which leads to the ending of Touya dying in a machine and the brothers still having glass stuck between them. Endeavor may have took over the ending, but Todoroki was the only one who connected to Touya by asking him about his favorite food instead of talking over him. Even then, Endeavor gets to seem cool with “I’ll handle the consequences” and Natsuo complimenting him despite him running away until he couldn’t and almost did a murder-suicide with Touya. Hell, Endeavor literally never faced any consequences in the end as the next time we see him with his psuedo-family (on another note, it feels like salt in the wound Hawks got to live out his happy family dreams while Also not getting any consequences for killing Twice as a hero). Rei sticks by him for some goddamn reason and the last thing Fuyumi talks about is losing her job because of Endeavor’s actions. Before then, the only consequences Endeavor faced was for him failing as a hero and civilians getting mad at that. Everytime someone brings up the abuse, it always brushing it aside besides Iida/Kirishima commenting on it. Sero’s “no one needs that tragic crap” doesn’t really help either since it was more about his own motivations than helping Todoroki dialogue wise. We don’t even get to see All Might’s reaction who was told in the beginning Todoroki was only born to defeat him (Endeavor actually used pronouns calling Todoroki an object in the original Japanese in this convo). We don’t get to see anyone who knows Eri (outside of Midoriya) give the same sympathy to Todoroki because now they know he went through a similar experience a decade of his life (but even then Midoriya praises Endeavor once when fighting Dabi so :/).

Barely anyone in the family comforted him on screen and it truly feels like his family fell apart despite doing his best learning about them in under a year. Todoroki doesn’t get to have that bowl of udon OR soba with Touya now.

The narrative kinda also barred him from the origin trio thing in the end, and he didn’t even get to talk to/cry about Touya to Uraraka and Midoriya (even though I personally feel like both their stories kind of fell apart because of that talk) (also he has the most complicated/interesting relationship with both All Might and his villain/brother but whateve). Todoroki is still haunted by Endeavor’s name a decade later (even if it’s a smaller shadow) and EVEN THEN Endeavor is still looked at as one of the greatest heroes. Endeavor almost killed Touya and the family for not acting sooner and he gets labeled as great. Endeavor gets to have replacement children while everyone else don’t get the justice they deserved.

He doesn’t even get his rising title in the anime!! They took it away from him!! The anime wants you to think all of the Todoroki family saved Touya, but Todoroki did 90% of the work!!

This might seem odd change in topic, but Tenko/Shigaraki has a lot of parallels to Todoroki, and I guess their abusive guardians taking over their plots and leaving behind tragedy can be added to that list.

I’m so mad Endeavor got to live… Though it seems like anyone didn’t get any justice about their abusers besides Eri.

I’m not the biggest Shoto fan, but I’ll do my best to focus on him for this

You know, I’d say there are three levels to why I hate Endeavor so much.

He is a shit guy. He’s an abuser, who’s entire reason is oh he didn’t get first place in a popularity contest, and couldn’t be bothered to try and be decent to the public.

The narrative refuses to acknowledge it. His actions once All Might is forced to retire are all massively downplayed mixed with excuses, and he gets an undeserved angst fest every time he faces even the possibility of consequences.

Every other character and the plot has to be sacrificed to prop him up.

And even after Endeavor’s ‘redemption’ and cryfest at the hospital, the whole fucking family puts Shoto at the center of everything. As if that hasn’t been one of the main reasons everyone in the family (except Endeavor who gets nothing but benefits from this) is struggling. If either Endeavor was dead, or Shoto was allowed to hate Endeavor, things wouldn't have turned out so badly.

I saw a fic a while ago and the premise was that the rest of the Todoroki family was with Touya and Shoto was left all alone. And even just reading the fic’s description I’m thinking what are they talking about they weren’t there for Touya, they were there for Endeavor!

Shoto is the only one who talks to Dabi, everyone else is at mass talking at him, in both the battle and epilogue. The battle the rest of the family is just victim-blaming/ scapegoating Dabi blindly, not questioning anything. Natsuo, Fuyumi and Rei don’t say a single word to Dabi after, no they’re talking to Endeavor, they only get a few minutes to see Dabi, possibly forever considering the prison system, and they spend it on the Manbaby. Shoto only manages to ask one question at the end, while they're being forced out, which Dabi demonstrates that he aware and was willing to talk to the best of his abilities, the family just couldn’t be bothered.

I’m disgusted by 1A, UA, the other pros, etc, ’s response(s) to the reveal, no one ever asks if Shoto is okay, or his feelings are. They all just assume, and earlier in the series we see Midori-enabler-ya tell him that he’s forgiving Endeavor, and that shows he’s moving on. Forgiveness isn’t needed to move on, and I believe can very much get in the way of it. And that’s the closest we get to anyone actually caring about Shoto’s or any of the other victims feelings that weren’t the villains.

I wish I could say I was surprised by Rei (or Fuyumi) but I’m not. Rei basically tells Natsuo and Fuyumi they have to forgive him because he sent her a flower. Besides the disturbing parallels from "Harlequinade" Batman: The Animated Series except this one sees it as a good thing. This moment and the continuing progression/ reveal of her character, never made me think highly of her. She reads as someone who is massively codependent and an enabler, regardless of the reason for that, that is the result

Natsuo I was disappointed by, he was the only one who didn’t see the bare minimum of effort from Endeavor as reason to forgive/ forget everything he’s done. Yet in the final showdown he directly blames Dabi for being difficult.

And about Eri, I firmly believe that she was only helped at all because Overhaul was a villain outside of abusing/torturing her. If he was an ‘innocent’ civilian, hero, or part of the commission, they would have given(read forced) her back without hesitation or a second thought, they basically did that anyway when she was first introduced. Here’s a link on what I mean https://www.tumblr.com/thr0wnawayy/764328039502987264/whats-your-opinion-about-eri-i-mean-shes-cute?source=share And a whole lot of @thr0wnawayy ‘s first reblog could be taken and applied to Shoto

#bnha #bnha critical #mha #bnha meta #mha critical #anti endeavor #mha meta #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #anti enji todoroki

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codfanficedits · 1 year ago

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Being with you too.

CW: A little bit of angst? Portraying of an unhealthy relationship/a break-up

Fem!reader x Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Little note: I've posted part one on another platform too and people requested a part two. I hope this doesn't suck ass!!

Part One here

Being with Simon meant you had to go to quite some gatherings with him, but you didn’t mind at all, you enjoyed socializing with people, especially new people. It meant you could tell people all about him, about how handsome he was, how the two of you met, how he was different from all the men you had met before. Not a bad word you leave you lips when you would talk about Simon. After all, how could you badmouth the man that had been nothing but good for you?

Being with Simon caused you to come into contact with the Los Vaqueros, one of the forces he had to partner up with in order to keep the world a better place. Alejandro was a nice man to talk to, a bit of a dominant type, talking over you all the time, but you didn’t mind it, after all, he was praising Simon for his good work, and that brought a smile to your face. You did like his counterpart, Rudy, a lot more. The man was quiet, but his eyes were bright, attentive even and you liked how you could tell how well he listened to you, it was way more active than Simon would listen to you, Rudy’s eyes would never leave your face, not even when you somehow got to your favourite TV show. It was so different from Simon and it brought a weird knot to your stomach. You felt bad for even thinking such things, especially when Simon loved you so much. Of course Simon listened to you, he just showed it different.

Being with Simon was reason enough to break off the conversation with Rudy, leaving him with a puzzled look on his face when you came with a lame excuse to go to the open bar. The internal war of feelings still going on, and to ease yourself you decided to bring Simon a drink, to make the feelings of guilt go away.

A smile on your face as you approach him, his back turned to you while he talked to Gaz. You could feel your heart drop when you heard snippets of his conversation.

“….talks too much…”

“…even after….missions…”

Your mouth runs dry, your hands tremble but you take another step towards him, needing to hear what Simon is saying. It couldn’t be about you? Right? He would never say such things.

“I’m telling you Gaz, she just never, ever shuts up. After our last mission I came home and the moment I stepped foot in that house, she was next to me. Like a goddamn leech sucking away the life out of me.”

Being with Simon was the reason why your heart just got shattered into your chest, the fragments piercing through your lungs as you struggle to breathe properly, hot tears forming in your eyes as his words engrave in your brain. He was supposed to be your safe haven, he was supposed to be different. You want to do all sort of things, scream at him, throw the beer in your hands to the back of his head, cuss him out, call him his father. But you can’t. Instead you turn around, silent steps away from him.

Being with Simon became a lesson on how you couldn’t even trust the person you loved so dearly, it taught you that you do indeed talk to much, making you a flawed human that should learn to shut up. You can’t even remember how you came home, the drive was a blur. Getting into the apartment was a blur, but there you were, sitting on the couch, all alone.

Leaving Simon was the hardest thing you’d ever done. Part of you wanted to change for him, chat less, talk less, shut up more. But you knew you’d advice friends to leave a man who would dare to talk shit about them like this. And you knew you would never trust another word that would leave his lips again. Those same lips that had kissed you so much, and again you could feel that war in your chest going on, your heart chattering, your lungs struggling to breath, your stomach flipping. But you couldn’t let a man break you like this. Because excusing the way he had mistreated you would be a mistake.

You made yourself the promise that no one would ever knock the wind out of you again, not like that, not like him. When you pack your stuff you wonder how you should let him know you’re leaving. Would you wait for him? Call him? Text him? Give him the chance to explain himself? Maybe it would just be one big mistake. But your heart knew better, your mind knew better, you knew better. The sadness in your chest makes way for anger. Calm anger, no more tears running down your cheeks anger, but a I’ll fold my clothes neatly in the suitcase while I leave you anger. You won’t call him, text him, wait for him, no you’re disappearing out of his life. Erasing yourself out of his narrative, and part of you wants to be there when he comes home and find everything stripped from your existence, you’re taking as much as you can load into your car. The spoons you bought? They’re coming with you, the toilet paper you bought two days ago? It’s yours and loaded into your boot. That PlayStation you got him for Christmas? Into the passenger seat it goes. Even the duvet covers are coming with you. You’re content when your car is full with all of the stuff you had bought in the years the two of you had been together and you start the drive to one of your friends. Leaving Simon would be the hardest and easiest thing you had done.

Being with you meant that Simon had to drag you along to the gatherings from work, each one more annoying than the others. You would always be so happy to talk to people, and for him it was a nice break, every word you said to others, was a word you didn’t have to say to him. He would know what you’d tell people, always boosting about how much he loved you, it made him sick to his stomach, the happiness on your face while all he could feel was disgust.

Being with you caused Simon to dread it whenever you had to meet new people he worked with. He could see you talk to Alejandro, seeing you narrow your eyes whenever Alejandro would interrupt you and talk over you, a smirk on Simons face. Because now you knew how annoying it is whenever someone talks so much. Simon could see you talking to Rudy, the poor sucker was being caught in your whirlwind of words and Simon was just really happy he wasn’t in Rudy’s position right now.

Simon turned around when he saw Gaz approaching. “She just never shuts up huh?” Gaz was the first to make a snarky remark.

“Never, she just talks too much.” Simon said with a sigh. “I’m never at peace, not even after I come home after a my missions.”

Simon shook his head. “I’m telling you Gaz, she just never, ever shuts up. After our last mission I came home and the moment I stepped foot in that house, she was next to me. Like a goddamn leech sucking away the life out of me.”

A soft chuckle leaves Gaz. “Man I don’t even know how you hold up.”

Being with you was the reason why Simon could drink this night, after all, you would be his ride home, so he had nothing to worry about. He hadn’t even noticed you had left, no instead Simon was too busy having fun with the people that he actually cared about. While you were struggling at the apartment, he was dancing and drinking. While you had made up your mind and had found the strength to leave, Simon was too busy cracking stupid jokes with Price. While you were content and driving towards one of your friends, Simon was finally ready to leave, and it wasn’t until that moment that he noticed you had left. All he could feel was annoyance, because this meant he had to take an expensive cab home.

Being with you was the reason why he dreaded going home, stepping foot into that house again. But this time it felt different. The apartment felt colder than usual, not as warm, not as cozy. And you weren’t there to greet him at the door. Maybe you were asleep? He stumbled to the bedroom, but it was empty, too empty. Simon noticed the duvet covers missing, he opened up the closet and noticed your clothes missing, his heart starting to race when he realized something was wrong. Did someone break in? No, it would be weird for a burglar to just take the duvet covers and your clothing. Did you leave? No, you wouldn’t have the balls to do so. Maybe you just went to a friend?

He stumbled to the kitchen, opening up the fridge. His eyes widening when half of the groceries were missing. The orange juice you had bought was gone, the meat, the cheese, even the beers you had bought just for him were gone. The realisation that you might’ve left finally dawned up on him, and it brought him a lot of peace. He could just spent time without have you yap an blabber all the time, he didn’t have to listen to your constant talking about those dumb shows you watched. It nearly felt as if the Gods had blessed him. Being left by you turned out to be harder than Simon had thought. He had enjoyed the silence for a while, but when he woke up in that large, empty bed, he couldn’t help but miss you next to him. He thought he would enjoy eating his breakfast in silence, but the silence that lingered in the apartment was an eerie one, and loneliness crept up to him. He tried to reach out to you, but you had blocked him on every single platform he could reach you on and for the first time since he had met you, he found himself longing for your words, the way you spoke, the way you were so passionate about all the topics you talked about.

Being left by you made him realise how much he loved you.

Leaving Simon broke you down, but you managed to pick yourself up again. It took you a while, but you slowly found yourself trusting other again, and although you were still weary of talking too much, you still had that some passion in your voice whenever you talked about something, even your silly TV shows. You went to the store, getting yourself a tub of ice cream before your favourite show would start. Your cart bumping into someone since your mind was busy with the cliffhanger of last episode. “I’m so sorry.” You mutter quickly as you look up.

Rudy.

His eyes light up a little too quickly as a smile forms on his lips. “You never told me if Big Edd and Rose ended up staying together.”

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godlygreta · 1 year ago

Text

god is fair | j. t. kiszka

title | god is fair

word count | 7.7k

warnings | swearing, mentions of alcohol - nothing too terrible... yet ;)

author's note | i've had this in the chamber for some time now, i just lost the inspo to write, which is why i haven't in a long time. this isn't a promise that i'll post more fics as they come to me, seeing as i'm a senior in college who has a fuck ton of other things to do. there will be a part 2 to this fic, but i couldn't tell you when it's coming :)

also, very much so listening to god is fair, sexy nasty by mac miller while writing this & starting the next part, so take that as you will ;)

unedited as hell so pls excuse any mistakes !

You always had this rivalry since the beginning of freshman year. This guy, Jake, would never show up to any of the classes the two of you had together, but always got the highest grades on every single goddamn exam that your Intro to Bio professor gave out. It infuriated you.

You figured that in the spring semester, you would be freed from the disappearing boy, but you weren’t. While the teacher called roll, everyone shouted out here. She landed upon his name, calling out to the class and looking through the rows of students. He had been there for orientation, sitting in one of the middle rows, slouched in his seat.

You planned to confront him the next day you had class together, on Wednesday, but Jake was nowhere to be found. Your roommate and your friends had heard your exhaustive theories as to why he was never in class. “Babe, you sound insane. Just let it go.”

But you couldn’t.

Competition lived deep within your roots, having an entire competition with the second top student in your graduating class in high school. Though the rage held between each other was never taken far outside of the academic realm, the two of you never thought to be friends and encourage one another. Thankfully, the two of you resolved the competition when the two of you realized you would be going into two very separate fields of study in college.

Camren, who knew she was going to be a chemist from the time she first learned about chemistry, had told you she loved the competition – made it fun and kept things interesting. And there you were, going to school for Pre-Med with the same feeling. The two of you kept in contact, updating each other on the strive for greatness in college as well.

You kept a close relationship with a lot of your teachers, making sure to get on their good side before classes had really begun. You emailed most of them, especially your Anatomy and Physiology professor, Dr. Sahnya Heinz.

She was incredibly skilled in her field, leaving the active medical field to teach the new and future minds of medicine. It was a cliche line she delivered on the first day, but it encouraged that familiar competitive fire that dwelled within you.

You don’t quite remember how you came to figure out that Jake was ahead of you, but you had found out somehow from your professor, although it was an accident.

It made everything in you burn with anger and frustration. Anytime someone mentioned him, or mentioned the fact that you were second, you clenched your jaw and your teeth gritted together. Your friends had an inside joke that you were only mad because you had a huge crush on him.

“I barely even know what he looks like, Mel! I fucking hate the guy. Don’t start shit.” You’d plead, beer can in your hand in the lounge of some fraternity floor.

Over the next few semesters, you kept trying your hardest, spending most of your free time in the library, reading everything that you could to prepare for every exam. You wrote papers early, having them done at least three weeks in advance. As soon as you would be told about a new one, you’d immediately start finding sources.

You sauntered around campus, thinking that you would be way ahead of him. He still never showed up to any classes, aside from orientation and exam periods. You’d stare at him for a few moments while the teacher passed out the exam, looking over his face as much as you could.

His long hair would obscure your vision on occasion, making it hard to catch any of his features at all. From what you could see though, he had nice, full lips. His nose was something you could have stared at the entire exam period.

You watched him as he licked his lips, whispering a thank you to Heinz before grabbing his pencil from his desk and getting to work. You looked away from him as soon as Heinz put your exam on your desk, offering her a small smile and a quick thank you before getting to work.

It was almost spring break, meaning some of your assignments had been slowing, some of them had been increasing. A group of your friends from different majors told you about one of the lounge parties a fraternity on campus was throwing. “Sigma Tau has the worst lounge parties, Tamia. You know this.”

“They’re joining forces with the Delta’s though, so it’ll be better than normal! You have to come, you’ve always got your nose in a book. You haven’t drank with us in so long, I forget what you’re like when you’re drunk.”

“I don’t know… I need to work on this Midterm paper I have in Kainz’s class, it’s due next week.”

“Babe, it’s been done for weeks! You just keep editing it trying to find mistakes and there are none! I’ve literally read it five times. Please, go out with us, just tonight?”

You looked between Tamia and Mel, knowing in the end you would give into them anyways. “Ugh, fine! Tonight, and tonight only, just this once. If I don’t like it, though, I’m leaving and going to bed early.”

“You’ll have so much fun, I swear!” Mel and Tamia looked between each other, sharing expressions of excitement and happiness on their faces. You rolled your eyes, standing up from your chair.

You let them raid your closet, trying to throw something together quickly. Most of the time, Tamia and Mel never obeyed the dress code for the lounge parties, hating the idea of giving into the male gaze of the fraternity brothers. Tonight, however, was a bit different. The theme was Western, meaning it was cowboy hats and very tiny shorts.

You looked over the outfit that laid out in front of you, straw cowboy hat that Tamia had bought from Amazon (one for each of you), a pair of short shorts that may or may not show your ass a bit, and a red bandana top that Mel let you borrow last semester that you forgot to return. “I don’t know about this. I don’t even have the right shoes.”

“You forget we wear the same size, bitch, you’re going. No backing out.” They joked, tossing you a pair of white boots. “Just put that shit on while we heat up the curling iron, okay?”

“Fine, fine, okay.” You peel off your shirt, throwing on the one they picked out. Next to go were your pajama pants, which were replaced by the shorts. You kept the same socks on, knowing that nobody would see them anyways with the boots going up to the middle of your calf muscle. “I look fucking ridiculous.”

“You look fucking hot, now sit down while we do your hair and makeup,” Mel spoke, pulling out your desk chair while Tamia smiled wickedly with the curling wand in hand. You were nervous, looking at the both of them, but the good kind that settled under your skin and was left hidden behind the smallest smile.

You talked about upcoming exams with them while they did your hair and makeup, much to their dismay. They attempted to fill you in on the various drama situations going on around campus while you had been heavily plugged into your textbooks. You gasped often, finding shock and awe in some of the things they had been telling you about classmates.

They spoke about Jake, letting it slip that he had been planning on attending the party, joined at the hip with one of the girls he had been rumored to have been dating. One of the many. “Ugh, he just sounds like a douche. Gives me even more reason to hate him.”

“We’re not feeding into your delusion that he’s some douchebag. Dropping it.” Tamia spoke, putting her hands up in a surrender. Mel laughed, pulling away from you with an eyeliner pen in hand. “Maybe we’ll get you drunk enough to admit you like him.”

“I don’t like him, and I thought we were dropping the topic.” You looked at Tamia in the mirror, watching her face deadpan as she looked back at you.

“I have something hot in my hands, don’t be rude to me.” The three of you laughed, getting back into the rhythm of getting ready. You let them do their thing to you, curling the last bit of your hair and putting the finishing touches of highlighter on your brow bone.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, marveling at the job they did. You thanked them for getting you all dolled up, watching them change into their outfits. It was mostly just them taking off the sweats they were wearing, throwing them over the back of your desk chair. You took a few pictures with them in your mirror before finally deciding to head out.

The party had started a half an hour ago, walking into the party late like most people did. The three of you got in easily with matching the dress code, immediately looking for the drinks table. The boys in charge handed the three of you a free shot of anything you wanted. Mel chose for you, starting the night out roughly with a shot of Svedka.

You grabbed a Sprite from one of the boys in one hand, the shot of Svedka in the other. The three of you tapped your glasses together before downing the shot. The alcohol burned as it slipped down your throat, trying to soothe it with the taste and coolness of the Sprite. You shook a bit, throwing the cup away in a nearby trash can.

“That was fucking gross, I hate you so much for choosing Svedka.”

“I could’ve chosen something even more nasty, like Jack.” Mel laughed, leading the three of you over to a section in the lounge where you could stand a decent enough distance away from one another, instead of being piled on top of one another.

“I would have rather taken a shot of Jack, Mel.” You spoke, sipping more of your Sprite. Tamia pointed out a few of the people they had talked about earlier, letting you put names to faces.

In the midst, two of the Sigma brothers decided to start a dance battle, capturing the attention of those around them. Everyone joined in, gathering around the two guys. Mel and Tamia joined too, but you had slipped out of their grasp by telling them you had to use the bathroom.

You were happy to escape the party, sneaking out with a bottle of Smirnoff the boys had left unattended. You walked outside, taking a deep breath in. You were thankful to be met with the smell of fresh air, not smelling sweat and booze everywhere. Your peace and tranquility was ruined by someone’s voice, “Well, don’t you look adorable.”

Your head snapped towards the voice, seeing Jake sitting up against the bike rack with a cigarette between his fingers. “Shut up.”

“What? I can’t compliment you?”

“No,” you started, crossing your arms with the bottle still in your hand. “No, you can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I hate you.” Jake looked at you, up and down, taking a drag of his cigarette. You screwed off the cap of the bottle, taking a pull. You tried your hardest to not make a face, looking away slightly when the familiar sting settled in your throat.

“Why do you hate me? I’ve never spoken to you before.”

“Do I have to have a reason?” You asked, walking closer to him.

“Suppose not. But if I knew why you hated me,” he tossed his cigarette butt on the ground, stomping on it with his boot. “Then maybe I could find a way to make you not hate me.”

“Unless you flunk your next exam, I guarantee that won’t happen.”

“Oh, I get it.” He chuckled, standing up from the bike rack he was leaning against. He grabbed his cigarette butt up from the ground, tossing it into the nearest garbage can. He turned towards you, staring at you with his brown eyes. “You’re just mad because I’m smarter than you.”

“You’re never in class. You shouldn’t be ahead of me.” You glared at him, lips moving into a frown.

“Just because I’m never there doesn’t mean I’m not getting the information. I work five, sometimes six days a week. We only have class three days a week. Typically, I gotta work those days. Heinz sends me the powerpoints and the assignment notes so I never miss anything.”

“Oh yeah? Where do you even work then?” You asked.

He chuckled, fingers brushing yours that were wrapped around the bottle. “Now if I told you that, it would ruin all the fun,” he looked you up and down once more, licking his lips slightly. “Well, maybe I’ll see you and your bottle inside.”

You waited til the doors closed behind him to roll your eyes, and huff outwardly. You took the bottle of Smirnoff, turned on your heels and walked towards your dorm hall. You hated Jake. You really hated Jake.

—

Your midterms came and went. The stress decreased slightly, but only to be raised again as the end of the semester loomed around. Assignments started piling up, various papers and presentations due all around the same week. Since the end of Spring Break, you had been holed up in your room, left to your mountains of homework.

Your Microbio class had a presentation due that coincided with the research project you had been working on all semester long. Human Anatomy and Physiology (or affectionately known as BIO 312) had a major cumulative exam on the entire semester, which stressed you out more than any other homework assignment or exam you had.

Thankfully, your school held an all day event that attempted to boost the morale of the students on campus. Filled with a bunch of free things, you took advantage of everything offered.

Lined up on tables were various student organizations set up, with their own little games and prizes. A few of them had speakers that played the music they wanted to listen to, all speakers attempting to outman the other. However, the one that ended up winning was a tie dye station located in the lawn, handing out free t-shirts to dye.

One of the guys at the tie dye station had a wide smile on his face while his hands were dripping with dye. Setting your prizes down at a table where Tamia and Mel had put their things, you walked over to him. He welcomed you over with a smile, “Hey! Lookin’ to tie dye?”

“Yeah, I’m a medium.” You smiled at him, blocking the sun with your hand. He called over to Benny, asking him to pull a medium out for you. Benny handed you the shirt with a smile. “I’ve never dyed anything before.”

“Never?! That’s a crime against mankind, darlin’, let’s get this shirt dyed.” He spoke, talking you over the colors in each of the buckets. He explained to you some basic color theory, although you had remembered that from your high school painting class, you didn’t stop him; he was pretty when he spoke.

The curls on his head stuck out from the shaved sides, the gold of his earrings stood out underneath the blistering April sun. He licked his lips often, using the back of his hand to wipe sweat from his forehead. He helped you pick out the style you wanted, making sure the rubber bands were placed exactly where you wanted them. “I’ll dip them in the bucket for you so you don’t get your hands dirty.”

“Thank you. I could’ve managed on my own, but I definitely appreciate it.”

“Of course. What’s your name?” You offer up to him, before he lets out a chuckle. You question him with a pull of your eyebrows. “Jake talks about you.”

“You know Jake?”

“Yeah, he’s my twin.” As soon as the word left his mouth, you could see the resemblance; you almost scolded yourself for not realizing it sooner. They were similar, especially in their features and their eyes, although the two of them had very distinct color differences. Josh, as he told you after dropping the bomb on you, had warmer eyes, filled with caramel colored hues of brown in relation to Jake’s colder tones; his eyes were a darker shade of brown, with the occasional gleam of flirtation laced within the reflection.

He spoke quite differently from Jake, mostly just with the sound of his voice. It matched their eyes, their personalities. Josh’s bright, bubbly stature followed in his voice, almost theatrical as he spoke. “I guess that makes sense, you two do kind of look alike. Minus the hair, of course.”

“Well, of course. Mine’s better,” you liked that about him - how kind his tone was. You attempted to grill him about what Jake was saying about you, curiosity flowing violently through your bloodstream as if it lit your body on fire. “He just says that you’re second in the Bio class you have with him, and that it makes you mad.”

“It does, Jake’s never there. I’ve seen him three times, and two of those times were for exams.” Josh wrung out the part that had been soaking in the dye for a bit, watching the water fall back into the bucket.

“Yeah, it’s cause he’s working all the time, if I’m honest. Jake stays home during the week to work at the nursing home in our hometown. We don’t really have a large CNA population, most of the people who work there are highschool kids, so Jake’s really been their guy. Especially since high school, as soon as he graduated he moved to full time. All the old ladies love him.” He snorts, dipping your shirt into the blue dye.

“I didn’t know that.” You thought he was lying about where he was, which is why guilt started to eat away at you. You felt terrible for making assumptions, but you couldn’t take any of that back now.

“Jake doesn’t talk to a lot of people, but we love him anyway.” You chewed at your bottom lip, rethinking your opinion of Jake. “You goin’ to the concert later tonight?”

“Hadn’t decided. Mel and Tamia want to, so I’ll probably end up going. Are you?”

“Yeah, I think I’ll probably go.”

“Do you know who’s playing?”

“Some local band I think? I’ve heard a lot of the girls think the frontman’s pretty handsome.” He spoke with a smirk. You promised him you’d go, just to see if the girls had been right. He handed you your t-shirt to hold while he grabbed you a plastic bag. He also handed you a piece of paper with instructions on how to take care of your new tie dye.

“Make sure when you wash it, you wash it by itself. Otherwise, you’ll dye all of your other clothes and believe me, you don’t want that,” he chuckled, as if he was speaking from experience.

You thanked him with a warm smile, waving to him before returning to your room. As soon as you got back, you opened your window, allowing the air flow to travel inside. It kept you cool, allowing you to walk around comfortably with a t-shirt and shorts on. You put your plastic bag in the closet of your room, writing on your white board to remember to take it out and wash it tomorrow.

You texted Mel and Tamia, knowing that Mel would probably have some smart comeback about why you want to go to the concert. It wasn’t that you didn’t join them on nights out, you just had a lot riding on your academic success. Not only because you were the first one in your family to go to college, but also because of your mass of scholarships that only continued to flow if your GPA was at a suitable level. Anything below a 3.2, and you would lose almost all of them.

To: The 3 Dumb Sluts

Are we going to the concert tonight?

From: The 3 Dumb Sluts - Mel

Are you offering to come with us without us needing to beg and plead for you to join?

To: The 3 Dumb Sluts

Don’t make me take it back, Mel

From: The 3 Dumb Sluts - Tamia

We’re absolutely going. Come to mine whenever you want to get ready :)

To: The 3 Dumb Sluts

The doors open at 8 right? I’ll be over about 5:30-6ish. Gotta finish up this paper for Heinz real quick

You locked your phone before they could scold you for doing homework on a day that was designated for relaxation and recuperation. You pulled out your Anat and Physio binder, pulling out the sources you printed off in the library. You ran through the last one with a blue highlighter between your teeth.

You set an alarm on your phone for five o’clock, saving enough time for you to shower. You were about halfway through the last page when your timer went off. You silenced it, attempting to hurriedly finish highlighting the page. The article was placed onto your desk, highlighter returned to the cup on your desk filled with various writing utensils.

You pulled out your shower caddy, putting it on top of your dresser before pulling out your robe. You laid it over the edge of your bed, removing all of your clothes. You threw them into your hamper and put on your robe. You slipped on your slides, grabbed your caddy and traveled to the bathroom.

Underneath the uneven streams from the showerhead, you thought about Jake.

Maybe your first impressions of him were wrong. When Josh told you about the nursing home back in their hometown, you felt instantaneously bad for assuming that he just never showed up. You knew from what Jake had told you, that he had work, but you figured that was just an excuse.

You bit at the skin of your lips, hands on your shoulders as you soaked the warmth of the water in. You were pulled out of your thoughts very quickly as someone flushed the toilet, making the water fade in from super hot to super fucking cold. You hated the school’s water system.

You finished your shower quickly, drying off with the towel slightly before putting your robe on and throwing your hair up into your towel. You walked back into your room, locking it behind you. You set your caddy back where it originally was.

You threw on a pair of jean shorts that hadn’t seen the light of day since early October, pairing it with a long sleeve shirt that you had gotten back in high school for Christmas. It was plain, brown, but hugged your body well. The sweatshirt debate lasted a few seconds before you remembered how hot it was going to be outside. A record temperature for mid-April, almost 80 degrees outside.

When you checked your phone getting back from the shower, it was just barely five thirty. You texted the groupchat again, asking if it would be cool to come over a half an hour earlier than you had originally said. You knew it was a dumb question, you would always be welcome in their room. You chuckled at Mel’s response of, “Are you fucking dumb? Of course you can come over. Bring wine if you have any left! No carry-in’s allowed at the concert.”

You put your phone down for a second and slipped on a pair of shoes that were comfortable enough for you to stand in for a long time. They used to be white, but had gotten progressively dirty from the years of use. You shoved your phone in your back pocket and slid a few different bottles of wine into your backpack, separated by extra clothing so the bottles didn’t clink together.

You walked down the stairs, out the door and over to the other dorm building across the walkway. You scanned your keycard to get into the building, walking through the hallways waving to the RA on duty, McKenna. She had been in a few of your classes and was always incredibly nice.

Her room this year was actually a few down from where you were living. McKenna was a great RA, knowing exactly how to handle the rowdiness of the floor while still keeping the resident’s respect. She didn’t bother them unless she needed to, and they didn’t bother her unless needed. She kept it underwraps about the underage drinking that would inevitably happen, mostly by telling the floor they could do what they want, as long as they were quiet by quiet hours (which was around ten thirty on the weekdays, and one in the morning on the weekends).

You took the elevator to the second floor of East Sunderland, getting off as soon as the doors opened. The booths that had previously been up had begun to dissipate, bringing the plastic tables back into the buildings they belonged in. You took a last glance at the people cleaning before heading into Mel and Tamia’s dorm building.

You knocked on the door, coming as soon as you announced yourself to Mel and Tamia. The girls laughed as you walked in, looking at a picture of Mel from when they were a kid. The two of them showed it to you as you settled your bag onto Mel’s chair in the corner of their room. “Your buck teeth! Oh my God, you were adorable, Mel.”

“Oh shut up, I bet you didn’t look any better.” Mel spoke to Tamia, making the three of you laugh. “Anyways, what wine did you bring?”

“The Barefoot we didn’t finish the other weekend, and then I still had some Rose, so I brought those over too. I wasn’t sure what we were feeling.” Tamia pulled some glasses from her shelves, passing them out to the two of you. You filled their glasses with the Rose you brought.

The three of you talked specifics on the plans for tonight, hitting up another fraternity party as soon as the concert ended. There were two separate ones going on at the same time, so the two of you weighed your options over which one to go to. “The Sigs are throwing one, but I’d rather die. Delta’s throwing one, too, we’ll go to theirs instead. And maybe see if anyone’s at the Sig party that we like and stop there before heading back to the dorms.”

You walked down with them to the Athletic Department, hoping to have gotten there early enough to get a good spot. As soon as the doors opened, you were filtered through the doors, making sure that you were students with the college. The three of you half ran to the barricade, settling yourselves against it on the right side, although still somewhat in the middle.

The show wouldn’t start for quite some time yet, the three of you talked amongst yourselves about upcoming finals, what you had to do for various classes. You also found a few people around you to chat to while you waited, hearing laughter roaring through various parts of the crowd.

A few students from the Admissions Office had taken the stage, playing a random playlist of music that matched what the band was going to be playing. Rock thundered through the speakers, filling audience members with anticipation. Rochel addressed the student body, “Hello everyone!” welcomed by the sounds of cheers and screaming.

“We’ve got about fifteen minutes before the band comes on stage, so help us warm them up to the stage!” Everyone clapped, although some of the girls around you looked unenthused as they stared down at their phones. You checked yours for any text messages from any family members. You had nothing, so you put it back in your pocket.

Around four songs played before Rochel turned the microphone on again. Everyone shouted before she talked. “Well, it’s that time! Please, give a warm welcome to Greta Van Fleet!”

Rochel and the two other students walked off the stage, passing by what you had assumed to be one of the band members. He sat behind the drums, smiling and waving off into the crowd. You cheered for him along with Tamia and Mel, cheering just as loud when their bassist walked onto the stage. Both of their hair was longer, goofy smiles on their faces as they got situated with their instruments.

Your mouth hung open as you watched the last two boys walk on stage, seeing the twins. Jake’s eyes scanned the crowd as he slung his guitar over his shoulder. He found you after a moment, sending a smirk your way. You closed your mouth, glaring at him. Mel laughed at you, noticing your demeanor shift. “How we doin’ tonight everyone?”

Everyone cheered. “A lot of you might know me and Jake, seen us on campus and stuff. It’s wonderful to see all of you here, coming to support us as we celebrate the onslaught of spring! It’s been a particularly warm one today, so make sure to drink water! There’s plenty to go around.”

Jake started them off, pick between his fingers as he strummed the beginning chords to one of their songs. Some of the girls had begun to scream, shouting at Jake’s response to Josh’s little speech before he began playing. His signature smirk formed, watching the girls go crazy, eyes scanning the crowd before he found you again.

As Jake continued to play, he looked over to you any time he could. It was hard to tear your eyes away from him, enthralled by the way he looked on stage. You tried your hardest, truly, to look at any of the other boys on the stage aside from Jake but you just couldn’t. He fit the stage just right, bringing the attention away from Josh and demanding to be seen by the entirety of the crowd. He belonged up there.

Jake went to the center of the stage during his solo. Josh lingered around the drummer, keeping to himself, drinking whatever was in his cup. They kept on playing as Jake took the spotlight, everyone cheering and screaming for him. You kept silent, wanting to hear him play. His fingers worked against the frets of the guitar, not before sliding down and up it quickly.

You tried to hide the awe you were in, but your friends knew. They saw it written all over your face. The frustration and annoyance you felt when you first spotted Jake on stage dissipated the second his guitar solo began. You swallowed thickly, watching as his attention turned from his guitar to you, pointing it in your direction. Your cheeks flushed, and your thighs pressed together.

This was going to be a long night.

The second the concert was over, Josh thanked everyone for coming. His smile was wide as he waved goodbye to everyone, walking off next to Jake who had his guitar by the neck before he passed it off to one of the stage hands. Josh put his hands on his shoulders as they walked off stage.

You stuck around mostly waiting for the crowd to die down before trying to leave the building. Mel and Tamia talked about the show, saying that it was fucking dope, commenting on how excellent Jake’s playing was. You didn’t speak about Jake’s playing, mostly praising Josh for his spectacular performance. “I never expected that voice to come out of him, how heavenly.”

“Talking about me?” Jake cuts through your conversation, walking over to you with Josh not far behind. You roll your eyes. Tamia and Mel congratulate him on such an amazing performance, gushing about how sweet his guitar looks. “Why thank you, ladies.”

“Mel! I didn’t think you were going to be able to come.” He gushed, wiping his hands on the sides of his khaki shorts he had changed into.

“Yeah, well, Miss Quiet over here wanted to see her archnemesis, didn’t you?”

“I-I–” You turned your head slightly towards Jake, who had an amused smirk written all over his face. “I did not, Mellie, stop lying.”

“By the redness of your cheeks, sweetheart, I’d say she was telling the truth.” You had barely noticed that Mel, Tamia and Josh had slipped away from the two of you, leaving you alone.

“I didn’t even know you were playing.” You admitted shyly, hiding underneath a guise of innocence.

“Even if you did, you looked pretty hot and bothered by my playing.” You held the back of your arms, trying hard to maintain eye contact with him. You looked into his eyes, they were staring straight at you.

“Yeah, sure. I actually came because Josh said he was going. He neglected to mention that he was going to be singing,” you looked at Josh who wore a smile that read ‘guilty as charged’ before patting you on the shoulder.

“Hey, you didn’t ask. You just asked if I was going.” You rolled your eyes and chuckled slightly. “Anyways, Sam and Danny are gonna spend the night in my room, so I’ll have to find somewhere else to be tonight. Are you guys going to either of the frat parties tonight?”

“We’re going to the Delta party. The Sigs’ reputation is not the best, and I don’t feel like seeing whether or not it’s right.”

“That is completely understandable. I shall see you ladies there then. You coming, Jake? We still have a lot to put away.”

“Yeah, in a second,” he turned towards Josh who had begun to walk away, waving him off before turning back to the three of you. “I hope you guys enjoyed the show, maybe I’ll catch up with you at the party.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah, actually, I would.” He smiled at you before joining the other boys cleaning up their amps and cords.

“Jesus Christ, the two of you just need to fuck or something. I don’t think I can handle another interaction like that,” Mel joked, making a gagging face when she finishes her sentence. You pushed at her arm, turning around and walking out of the gym.

Tamia and Mel giggled profusely about your and Jake’s rivalry. The two even started making bets on when the two of you would finally ‘get it on’, as Tamia put it. You just rolled your eyes at the conversation, changing the subject to something different.

—

The party, though filled with lots of fun and drinking, was a bust. While Josh had shown up with his younger brother and his brother’s friend, as you learned, in tow, Jake was nowhere to be found. You thought to ask Josh why he wasn’t there, but he was too busy dancing with Micah. Through the grapevine, you learned that Micah and Josh had been together since high school.

You stayed around the party for almost two hours before you wanted to go back. A small part of you had wished Jake had actually come. You wondered if maybe the two of you would get along if you put your competitive nature aside. You tried not to dwell on thoughts of Jake’s absence for too long, wanting to enjoy the rest of the night with your girls. But when you had enough of the party, you shouted in Mel’s ear to let her know you wanted to leave.

Mel and Tamia had made sure you got back alright about two hours into the party. Your legs were tired and your feet had begun to hurt. The two of them stumbled with you back to the door of your building, making sure you were inside before leaving to go back. They almost came in with you, until you insisted otherwise.

Laying on your bed with your head pointed towards the ceiling you started thinking about Jake again. What was his reason for not being at the party? Did he just make those comments beforehand just to rile you up? It seemed like the only valid reason your impaired mind could come up with.

You grabbed your phone, almost dropping it on the floor. You sluggishly opened Instagram, and searched for Jake’s profile. You scrolled through, looking at the few photos he did have on his page. Most of the pictures he had were of his guitar, or places he’s traveled. You were sent into a panic when you realized you had accidentally liked an older picture of Jake’s, one from freshman year of college. Hurriedly, you unliked it and immediately locked your phone.

That had been a few days ago.

Now it was Wednesday and your first final exam was here. It was for the class you shared with Jake, BIO 312. It wasn’t exactly final exam time, but Professor Heinz was going to be away at a conference for a week starting Friday. You didn’t mind, though, since it spaced out your other finals enough to have a decent amount of time to study for them.

You sat at your desk, looking over your notecards one last time before the exam began. A frequent look around the room and you noticed Jake walking in, going to a random seat a couple rows in front of you. He set his bag down next to him, before bending down to grab his laptop. He noticed you watching him and sent a wink your way.

You looked away as you tried to hide the rush of rosy skin that fanned over your cheeks and heated up your ears. You tried to ignore him again until at least when the test started, embarrassed that you got caught looking at him. Your phone pinged and you pulled it out of your bag to look at it, as well as turn it on silent.

jacobtkiszka wants to send you a message.

You swallowed and hit the notification taking you straight to the message.

“Person who turns their test in last pays for coffee?”

Your lips curved into a small smile, feeling your fingers type the first thing that comes to your head.

“Hope you brought your wallet with you, Kiszka.”

You put your phone on Do Not Disturb and shoved it back into your bag. The professor walked through the door, setting her things down on the desk in the front of the room. Her coffee mug still had steam coming from it, freshly poured. A quick look of her watch after getting settled and it was time to start the exam. “Okay, everyone. It’s time for class. Take out your laptops and begin your exam. You may leave when you have finished. Thank you for a great semester, and good luck.”

The questions on the exam were all ones that you knew and had studied for for weeks. It was strenuous, trying to remember everything on the cumulative exam. You had hoped it would go quickly and you would answer them faster than Jake could. Occasionally, you turned to look at Jake, seeing if maybe he was trying to look at you too.

With one question left of your exam, you click the answer and press submit after a minute of debate. You had a bad habit of second guessing yourself occasionally; it was actually the bane of your testing experiences. You hated when you felt confident about an answer, until you really sat with the other possible answers it could be.

You put your laptop back into your bag, zipped it up and noticed that Jake had already left. You cursed to yourself, knowing that now you had to buy Jake a coffee. You waved goodbye to your professor with a smile and walked out the doors. Jake sat outside of the classroom at one of the tables they had throughout the building. “Whatcha reading?”

“Josh recommended it to me, but I’m going to be honest, I fucking hate this book.” He laughed, shoving it into his bag. “You know any good coffee shops around here? I’m kind of tired of Starbucks.”

“I just so happen to know the best coffee shop in town, but it is a bit of a walk, if you don’t mind that?” You asked, walking through the door that Jake was holding before muttering a thank you to him.

“I could also drive, if you’re okay with that.”

“I’m more than okay with that,” you chuckle, letting him know that your dorm building had enough stairs; any chance you could get to use an elevator, or get driven somewhere, you would take that opportunity in a heartbeat.

The drive was short in comparison to the twenty minute walk it would have taken to get to the shop. Jake tried to offer the radio to you, but you let him play what he wanted to listen to. You didn’t know exactly who was playing, but the blues music that played through the speakers was a breath of fresh air.

Your typical shuffle had a plethora of music from differing genres, whether that be rap or old country. You hadn’t known much when it came to blues music, especially the difference between good blues music and bad. Eventually, you got the courage to ask who was playing and Jake answered, letting you know that the song was by Buddy Guy. “It’s called She Suits Me To A T. I tried for weeks to learn this song when I first started playing music more seriously.”

“This is the coffee shop, at the next corner.” You watched his hand as he made a right turn, noticing him steering with just the palm of his hand. Letting the leather steering wheel glide back to its original position in his hand, elbow propped on the door with the window rolled down.

It’s all you thought about on your way into the coffee shop, completely relying on autopilot. Your responses to Jake were almost textbook, one word sentences that could continue the conversation without much effort. “What’re you thinking of getting?”

“Oh, um, I’m not sure. I usually have them surprise me,” you admit, shoving your hands into your jacket. “Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s not. That’s the gamble you take.”

“I like that a lot, actually. I think I’ll have them surprise me too, if you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all.” You smiled at Jake before he went to order for the two of you. You found a place to sit in the meantime, offering a spot towards the windows so you could watch people come and go, each on their own paths of life.

By the time Jake sat down, both of the coffees were in his hand. After a few questions, Jake set the iced drink down in front of you, and the hot drink in front of himself. “Yours is an iced chai, with brown sugar syrup and vanilla. Mine is some sort of tea, I wasn’t really paying attention to what she was saying. I just wanted to remember what she put in yours in case you liked it.”

“Oh,” you spoke, bringing the cup towards you. “Thank you, that’s really sweet. Do you like your drink?”

“You know, it’s really not bad. I wouldn’t have gotten it otherwise, but it’s really not bad.”

“You hate it.”

“I hate it. It’s not good.” The two of you chuckled before you offered him a sip of your drink. “Mhmm,” he moaned. “That’s good, oh my God.”

The two of you continued small talk, whether it was over the classes you had previously taken, memories of parties from past years – anything. You shared previous high school experiences, mostly about the ridiculous things that were considered parties in your teenage years.

Conversation with Jake was surprisingly a lot easier than you thought it would be. Especially since you’ve hated him pretty much your entire college career. You figured he’d be stuck up, aware of his academic achievements and ready to flaunt them in front of anyone who’d listen.

He was the opposite. His sentences were wrapped with kindness, and the reflection in his voice seemed nothing but positive. His voice was like silk, he could’ve talked you into damn near anything as long as his voice sounded like that. It hurt when the conversation slowed, spending a few moments to take in the scene around you two, as well as finally being able to drink more of your drink (which was very delicious, it was almost like crack).

“How long have you been playing guitar?” You asked after the silence became almost uncomfortable to sit with.

“Oh jeez. I’ve been playing since I was… like three? Yeah, three.” You stared at him with eyes slightly wide, mouth agape. “What?”

“N-Nothing, that’s just a really long time. You’re what, 21 now?” He clarified that he was only twenty, his birthday roughly a week away. You poked fun at him, mentioning how you were older, even if it was by less than a year.

“Josh is throwing us a birthday party, if you want to come. Since it’ll be our 21st, we’re having it at our parents cabin on Lake Michigan. You’re welcome to bring Mel and Tamia if you’d like. Sam and Danny are going to be there, even though they’re underage, but we’re gonna pretend like they’re older.” Jake spoke with one last sip of his drink, letting the empty cup echo on the table as he set it down.

“I will let Mel and Mia know. I can’t make any sure decisions without talking to them first, but I’m pretty damn sure that they’ll say they would love to go.”

“Yeah, I don’t think they’ll say no either. They seem pretty adamant that you have a little crush on me or something,” he said, putting your cups inside of a bus tub to be picked up and washed.

“I don’t have a crush on you,” you laughed, walking out of the coffee shop with Jake. “I actually hate you, remember?”

“You may say that you hate me, but you’re not really good at showing it.”

#jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka fanfiction #godlygretawrites #godlygreta #pretty boy #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka x y/n

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silverzoomies · 2 years ago

Text

Antithesis

james patrick march x reader smut

warnings: smut, slow burn-ish, oral sex, one-sided pining, devotion, body worship, hand jobs, slight choking, pet names, oneshot

word count: 7640

a/n: my apologies if james seems at all ooc here. i try my goddamn hardest to keep characters as close to their source material as possible. but, when it comes to self indulgent smut, sometimes you gotta pull a few strings!!! oh, and i'd also like to apologize for the long length of this fic. and for how abruptly it ends hdsghkjdshkgsg it's a mess, sorry !!

bonus note ig: in 1920's slang, a "goof" is an idiot. james basically thinks of you as naive and dumb here. sorry!

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March doesn’t dislike you. “Dislike” is much too strong a word.

No, he tolerates you. Dare he think it, he might even be somewhat…fond of you. The two of you were born nearly a hundred years apart. And so, as expected, you were the absolute antithesis of one another. March built himself from the ground up. He started with little to nothing. Carrying with him a background he so dreaded to recall. Childhood memories best left buried deep. Never to see the shining light of day again. March walked with a prestigious elegance. Something all but lost to the world in modern times, he thought. He was high-class. New money incarnate. Fancy, social affairs and aesthetic, art-deco decor were his most treasured hobbies. Amongst his other, more…contentious interests. And you. What were you?

Some little goof. You poor thing. Your story was quite the tragedy, really. Born almost one hundred years later to middle class stock. An entirely different world from the one in which March knew. Your arrival to the hotel Cortez was…unfortunate. You were the embodiment of innocence. Overly polite to a fault. Kind to the staff and the hotel’s mysterious residents. Never going out of your way to disturb a single soul. And you always made sure to apologize for the times you did.

And like all lives brought to the Cortez, yours ended there. A shame. A pity. Truly. What a waste. After you died, you drifted aimlessly for a while. Exploring every inch of the hotel you could. Bearing witness to the unspeakable horror that burned like scorching fire from inside. The hotel Cortez was nothing short of the infernal regions made earthly.

Even so, you weren’t the least bit fazed by this fact. Death changed you. It changed your moral perspective.

But you were missing something. A purpose. Every soul, lost adrift, needed purpose.

Liz knew all.

She knew everything about everyone. Including you. You’d sit at the bar, talking to her for hours on end. About your life. Liz’s life. The lives of the Cortez’s other, ghostly residents. She’d tell you of the hotel and its history. And you learned all there was to know. But in sharing your deepest thoughts, desires, and fears, you’d been a little too open. And Liz learned enough that, had a curious party asked about you? She could easily act as an informant.

You were a poor sap. Harboring a deep rooted, psychological need to please.

In death, you told Liz, you wanted nothing more than, simply…a person. Someone to dedicate yourself to entirely. Someone to love, to adore, to spend all of eternity caring for. Such an innocent desire, from such an unsullied soul.

You heard of him only in passing. James Patrick March.

You knew of his murderous atrocities. And you’d heard whispers of his bloodied history in hushed tones. Liz told you of everything March built, and what he’d become in the process.

March assumed you thought nothing of it. Nothing of him. Because at the Cortez, he was often that. Nothing more than a rumor. Only making himself present whenever necessary. Any other day? He remained a chilling, ghost story. And that’s all he’d been to you.

Until the two of you crossed paths, that is.

March was polite and courteous, as he always is. And the soulless, empty void of his dark eyes met yours. Pure, beautiful, and innocent. The two of you couldn’t have been more different from one another. You, his polar opposite. If he were the infernal reaches of hell itself, you were the luminous kingdom of heaven.

Whatever you felt for him, it must have been instantaneous.

Because suddenly, your sorrow dissipated. A lifetime of suffering and anguish faded away into thin air. And finally, you were free. Joyous. You, the little goof. Your demeanor somehow became all the more polite and inviting. Ironic, really. Considering…the source of your happiness was the very personification of evil itself.

You’d skip around the hotel with a spring in your step. Greeting everyone who passed you in the halls with a chipper, sunny disposition. Parading around in those loose-fitting clothes. Your skin decorated in ink reminiscent of your rather quirky interests. Appalling, if you were to ask him.

You were vexatious. And yet…

March found he appreciated your company.

You really were too sweet. Sickeningly so. Like cavity-inducing candy. Truly good at heart. There wasn’t a hateful, nefarious bone in your body. But you were deeply loyal to a fault. It was a weakness that kept you chained. It held you down. Never allowing you to reach your true potential. March could see it. He saw right through you, straight into your delicate soul. He saw your aura. Unsullied purity.

March learned all he could about you from Liz.

And once he had, he felt the need to test your unbroken clarity.

He showed you everything. Every secret. Every piece of gory history which revealed his past, his life’s purpose, his true intentions. The never-ending, torturous suffering he brought upon the innocent lives of the world. He confessed to you his killings. Even going into the dark, gritty details. March stared you down with an empty, far off look in his shady eyes. An uncanny gaze. And he expressed to you all his crazed, degenerate passions.

He expected you to react accordingly. Like any soul so pure and unblemished as yours should.

But death…

Death truly did change you. The hotel Cortez? It corrupted your moral code.

Perhaps he was mistaken. Maybe you weren’t as innocent as you often seemed.

You treated his passions like any other hobby. And you engaged in conversation about them casually. Beaming the brightest, most curious, smile. Your eyes glimmered with genuine interest and fascination. And March found he was more than happy to share that part of himself with you. Delighted to discuss his exploits with a newfound friend. A trusted friend.

He did long for someone to talk to…

And it was then, he realized. He knew. He was woefully fucked.

Because you. Naive, little goof that you were…

You’d found your purpose.

The one person whom you’d give your undying devotion, for forever and into eternity.

No one, not a single soul in the hotel had expected it. When you sat at the bar, sipping on your sweet sodas instead of anything alcoholic (ever the carefree babe, you were). You spoke of having ‘found’ your purpose. And there were smiles all around. “ Ooh’s ” and “ Aah’s ” exchanged through hushed gossip. Who could this person be, they asked themselves.

Imagine the residents’ surprise once they put two and two together.

Of all people. Him? Really? Were you mad as a hatter?

From then on, you followed March everywhere. Attached at his side like a leech. And though he considered you a dear friend, you weren’t much more to him than a loyal dog. You offered your help whenever you saw fit. And, somewhat reluctantly, he allowed it.

To his surprise, March found you respected his personal space. You’d disappear when he found your company too overwhelming. Sometimes, you were gone for days. Or even weeks. Off to explore the hotel again. Or to drift aimlessly as you did in the days before you’d found him. Uncertain as to what you should do in your lonesome. Sometimes, you’d listen to music. Clamorous racket of the modern era.

And eventually, always, you returned.

Sometimes, March found he missed your presence when you were gone.

And despite the admiration you carried for him, you valued March’s love for his dearest wife. The Countess. Often, you’d go so far as to listen to him drone on and on about her. And he could. If March were allowed the opportunity, he’d speak of her for centuries. He’d reminisce about his most cherished memories of her. His Elizabeth. Mrs. March. When March had his monthly dinners with his dearest, you felt it necessary to assist. You were insistent upon it, actually. Helping alongside Ms. Evers, you did what you could to make those nights as grand and romantic as possible. And when he banished Ms. Evers, you didn’t hesitate to take over entirely. Every one of those special nights, you were there to help him prepare.

Once the dinners themselves started, you’d run off. Leaving the pair undisturbed. And he wouldn’t see you again until the next morning.

One night, March sat across from the countess at the table. She glared at him with a half-lidded, miserable expression. But March missed this glare. Because he’d been busy watching you leave. He smiled, raising his glass to you. And you waved him off, wishing him luck, before closing the door.

At that very moment, he made a decision.

The next night came, and there he sat. Present at the dinner table again. Only, you were his cherished guest of the evening. Dinner lay before you both. Though, in death, you never ate. March watched with a grin as you sipped some champagne. You fluttered delicate lashes his way. Devotion leaking like tears from your eyes. A delighted smile played across your lips. One always present in his company, he found.

“Darling! I assume you’re wondering why it is I’ve called you here tonight, hm?” He posed the question rather excitedly.

Your pretty, doe eyes widened at that. You poor thing. Your cheeks burned in a flurry of rose red. Even in the dim, candle-lit light of the room. Even at a distance, across the table, March could see your blush clear as day. He smirked into his glass.

Never, in all the years since the two of you met, had he ever addressed you as darling.

The effect this seemed to have on you was very much apparent. He could see the shift in your expression. The way you’d fallen breathless under his cold-blooded gaze. March couldn’t help but find your obvious desire for him…amusing.

“Uhm…y-...yes. Well…sorta? I figured this was just another…casual, hang-out night for us!” Your quiet, timid voice spoke aloud.

March lowered his glass, and he hummed.

“Casual? I suppose one could consider this casual, if they’d prefer.” March said, “All the same, I’ve called you here because…I have a proposition for you!”

“Wh-uh…what kinda proposition, sir?”

“Let’s not dance around the matter any longer, dear. Simply put, I’m well aware.” He said.

Confusion overtook your delicate features, and your brows knitted together. March sat still in his seat with a knowing smirk. You tilted your head, bringing your own glass down to the table.

“I’m…confused. You’re aware of what, exactly?”

“Why, that you’re in love with me, of course.” March stated.

Your eyes widened further. March caught the awkward movement of one of your hands. It trembled where it lay on the table. And when you spoke again, you did so shyly. Your voice was as soft as the pink in your cheeks.

“A-Am I?” You dared to ask. As though he hadn't known all these years.

March’s knowing grin spread wider. A dark, domineering color washed over his eyes. And he fixed you with an intimidating look. One that could so easily kill, had you been anyone else. Even in death, you felt your stomach twist in fluttery knots at the sight. You dropped your bashful gaze to the table, too nervous to look him in the eye. You were being avoidant, March knew. And your denial only heightened his desire to bait you.

“I’m not stupid, old friend. For how long?” He asked.

“Since…” You swallowed nervously, shrinking in on yourself, “...the moment I saw you.”

March’s expression remained unchanged. His cold gaze unblinking.

“All this time?”

Taking a brave chance at looking him in the eye, you glanced upward. And you were met with that empty, black gaze. Pools of ink, much like an abyss, stared intensely at you. You didn’t need to say anything further. His suspicions were confirmed then. March’s brows pressed together in thought.

“I…see.” He said, and he brought his hand to his chin, “Well, in all those years? You’ve proven yourself undoubtedly loyal to me. You see, so often, when Ms. Evers was around. Though, I did care for her. She had these…maddening tendencies. She’d express her apparent distaste for my darling wife. And she was incredibly passive. Selfishly so.”

As March spoke, his tone shifted. Infected with a venomous sting, and unbridled hatred. His other hand, resting on the table, clenched into a fist.

“As you’re aware…Ms. Evers…she deceived me. In the name of love, was her excuse. Such a…disappointing betrayal.” March lingered on the statement for a moment longer.

He snapped himself out of his spiteful rage. Blinking, March perked up. And his handsome grin returned.

“But, you! You’re quite the opposite of her, aren’t you? Wouldn’t you say? Never once have you said an unkind word. You’ve always been so polite to my dearest Mrs. March. And so generous to me! I can't recall you ever acting selfishly. And for that, I must tell you, I am profoundly grateful. It's so dreadfully difficult to find someone you can trust these days.”

“O-Of course!” You nodded, speaking in a gentle tone, “I guess…I just don’t really care if you-uh…if you never feel the same way I do. Being by your side, sir…getting to see you every day…”

Dreamily, you sighed. Like a dame in a daze of infatuation. The sweetest smile graced your blushing face.

“To see that smile of yours. And those eyes…” You sighed once more, “To hear your heavenly voice…that’s enough for me.”

You allowed a little…indulgence to slip through your confessions. Admiration and adoration for March permeated within your every word. Looking at you, he could practically see with his own eyes the unconditional love scorching with a passionate fury in your eyes. He might’ve even felt for himself your amorous desire. It exuded like pheromones from your admittedly fetching body.

He almost found it…endearing.

March blinked, clearing his throat. He tugged at his collar.

“Yes…I trust your devotion knows no earthly bounds, my dear.” He said, bringing his hands together before him, “Which is why, I’d like to present to you…that proposition! I’m nothing, if not a man of mercy. And if anyone is more than deserving of my mercy, it’s you, old friend.” March pointed to you with a ring-clad finger. And curiously, you tilted your head. “If you recall…before my dearest passed? She and I often had those dinners together. One night a month! They were…so very special to me. Truly a gift. The only thing that kept me balanced in this endless, monotonous purgatory of my own design. …Such a treat it was…to share at least…one night with my beloved.”

“It must’ve been nice, sir. Especially after she passed? To have her around more often? I know that meant everything to you.”

“It did.” March smiled fondly. And yet, as quick as it came, his adoring smile fell.

A broken-hearted melancholy plagued his ghostly features.

“Though…our time together has…diminished these days. She avoids me anymore. Hasn’t spoken a word to me in…weeks. Do you know that, at last night’s dinner? She didn’t say a goddamn thing! And again, she’s run off in search of…the pleasures of other men…”

March stared off, his dead-eyed gaze dropping to the table.

“It’s a….barren feeling. The most desolate ache I’ve ever endured…” He confessed.

Sympathetic, little goof. You looked at him then with an expression of sympathy, and opened your mouth to speak. March interrupted you before you could even begin. The very, last thing he wanted was your pity. At the flip of a dime, March perked up once more. He clapped his hands together loudly, suddenly appearing chipper. Beaming a wide, uncannily sweet grin.

“But nevermind all that, darling! What I’m proposing…is of a similar nature. For you, if you’d like! If it’d satisfy your deepest, perverted desires? Then, for one night a month…I, James Patrick March, owner of the hotel Cortez and America’s most infamous executioner…am all yours!”

Your eyes flew open wide. Like a precious, vulnerable creature under the gaze of a vicious predator. And your darling face…it burned an even brighter shade of red. March’s smile crooked up into a smirk. Addicting it was…this influence he seemed to have over you. Precious thing.

“Wait…wh-...what??” You waved your hands, “Oh, no, no, no! I couldn’t ever ask that of you, sir! Please, really! Don’t even worry about it! I’m not-...I don’t have to have you in that way to survive our purgatory together!”

The silence that overtook the room was deafening. In the background, the ticking of an old clock rang on. Along with the distant, alluring melody of a gramophone. John McCormack. Roses of Picardy. March stood up after some time. And slowly, steadily, he made his way to you at the other end of the dining table. He approached you wordlessly, eyes like obsidian focused entirely on your own. Analyzing and observing. Once close enough, he reached a large hand out. His palm fell to your shoulder, squeezing you in a firm grip. Leaning in, March spoke in a low, gravelly tone.

“Are you suggesting that you’re…ungrateful? You do realize this is…a gracious gesture…coming from a man of my status…” He didn’t break eye contact with you for even a second. March’s grip on your shoulder tightened, “...don’t you, little one?"

Despite the menacing nature of his actions, you let your eyes so shamelessly trail up and down his fancily-dressed form. And March saw all of it. Every movement of your eyes. The motion of your throat as you swallowed. The not-so-subtle way you leaned into his touch. How your thighs pressed together as if to relieve some…personal tension.

He raised a brow. Curious.

Your eyes sparkled innocently up at him. And again, you fluttered those delicate lashes.

“I’m not ungrateful, sir! I’m so honored. I mean, obviously, I’m honored! But…” You scoffed, as if in disbelief, “But, me? I mean…come on… you ? With me??” With a soft huff of a laugh, you looked down at your lap, “But…I’m not…Mrs. March. I’m…nothin’ like her.”

March hummed a sound which suggested his pity for you.

“You’re right. You’re not…” He muttered in monotone, “You lack everything my dearest Elizabeth has. Her grace. Her ethereal elegance. She…is a creature of divinity.” March paused for a beat, “But you’ve no confidence nor class, I’m afraid. You’re more…a being of the mundane.”

Again, a sinister loathing invaded his gaze.

“But…unlike Ms. Evers…wretched, old bat…” He growled.

A wild grin spread across March’s lips, his teeth sinking into them. He brought his other hand to your chin, gently tilting it upward. Upon your face, he caught a broken-hearted frown.

“You, darling…” He hummed, “You have been blessed with certain…more pleasant qualities…”

His hand on your shoulder grazed a thumb across it. March let his eyes drop to your figure, as if to suggest something. And in that instant, you felt your lifeless heart skip a beat. As though your soul were springing to life again. Born anew.

“I…have?” You furrowed your brows, “So…what you’re sayin’ is…this is you settling? For someone lesser?”

March hummed again, considering your words. He pulled both hands from you.

“I prefer to think of it this way. In return for your undeniable devotion and loyalty throughout the tenure of our friendship. I’m giving you the opportunity to be with me. Consider it a reward, if you will. However you wish, my dear. One night a month, you can have me. Romantically. Physically. Intimately.”

“Uh…okay…wow! That’s-...that’s…very kind of you, sir.” You stared up at March with those doting eyes. Biting your lip, you hesitated to ask, “So…wh-...when would we-uhm…when would we start?” A pause, and you nervously stammered over your words, “I-if I were to-uh…accept your…generous proposition?”

Immediate eagerness. Exactly the response he’d suspected from someone as smitten as yourself. March leered down at you smugly, his eyes falling half-lidded

Desperate, little thing, weren’t you?

“Tonight, if you’d prefer! Or…any night of your choosing. Whatever you want, darling. I insist. This courtesy is entirely yours.” He suggested.

A moment of contemplative quiet passed as you thought it over. And March watched you like a hawk, patiently waiting. Though, he already knew exactly what you were going to say. Even before you’d made a decision. The rosy color blooming darker in your cheeks ultimately gave you away.

“T-Tonight then? If you’ll…have me.” You stammered, “I’m honored, sir.”

March wanted to laugh. To boast that he could read you all too well. But calmly, he nodded.

“Very well!”

He walked off then. March pulled at the fabric of his bowtie, tugging until it came completely undone. Following that motion, he shrugged his jacket off. Folding it neatly and setting it aside, he moved to unbutton the first, few buttons of his dress shirt. March disappeared into another room, out of sight. But you heard his familiar, smoky voice call out.

“Come!”

Hesitating, you stood from your seat at the table. And with tiny, careful steps, you followed the sound of March’s voice. In a vintage loveseat, you found him waiting. He sat with his chin in his hand, a cigarette burning between two fingers. His legs were spread open wide. And he patted his lap.

“Best not to waste anymore time, dear.”

“Wh-...What are we doin’?” You asked, looking down at your hands as you fiddled with them.

Poor dear. You were standing in the room so timidly. Looking innocent, and so very delicate. Like a frightened, fluffy, little deer. Easy game, for a hunter like March.

“Isn’t this what you want?” He took a drag of his cigarette, his tone low and vibrating. March spread his legs open further, “Don’t be bashful, now, little one. I’ll only bite if you ask it of me.”

You seemed hesitant. Fearful of making any sudden moves. But, with a facade of confidence March knew all too well you didn’t possess, you approached him. And you lowered yourself into his lap slowly, struggling to maintain eye contact. Eye contact was one of March’s many, gifted talents. And being such a shy dame, you could barely keep up. Once snug on his lap, you took time to admire March. Carefully, you trailed your hands down his chest. And you let your trembling fingers brush the fabrics of his perfectly tailored clothes. Clothes once deep-cleaned of blood-stains by the very maid he considered an abomination.

Your hands moved upwards, first tracing over the bloody slit in his neck. Before cupping his cheeks for only a moment. You brushed a small thumb over one of his dimples. March smiled at you, hardly invested in what you were doing. Allowing you to have your fun. You touched March with careful, delicate movements. Handling him as if he were your most precious, priceless treasure. You looked at him as though you couldn’t fathom the reality before you. As though being with him like this was a foggy, distant dream. One you’d never ask to wake from.

Daringly, you leaned in. And you let your cool breath ghost over his lips.

“A-Are you sure about this, sir?” You asked, timid as ever.

March appeared unbothered and uncaring. Yet, admittedly, he felt somewhat curious of your next move. How far could a shy, innocent thing like you take this…intimate interaction? March assumed you’d clock out after a bit of heavy petting. With an equanimous smirk, he nodded.

“Positively certain.” He muttered, “And please, while we’re together like this, darling? Do call me James. You can forgo the formalities.”

You blinked, amazed. Looking into his eyes with all the love and adulation in the ever-expanding cosmos. Marveling in his presence. Your nose brushed his, and you leaned even further in.

And you kissed him.

It was a clumsy, graceless kiss at first. But as you continued, you found your confidence. A heated flow enveloped your every movement. And for the first, few kisses, March didn’t reciprocate. He kept a hand at the armrest of the loveseat. His other occupied with that cigarette. He didn’t care to touch you yet. But as your kisses drew him in deeper, as you mewled little noises into his lips…March found himself giving in. One of his large hands found your hips, squeezing there first. Before moving to wrap his arm around your back. He pulled you in close. And you ran your hands up through his hair. Freeing those irresistible curls of his.

Finally, at long last, he kissed you back. And in that instant, you drank in the motions of a man far more cultivated and refined than you could ever hope to be. In a thousand lifetimes, you could never live up to his status. And yet, he kissed you anyway. If you could taste, his lips would’ve tasted of champagne and nicotine.

“Wow-” You breathlessly gasped into his lips.

A flash of fire burned in his lidded eyes, and he peered up at you. March let out a soft, vibrating chuckle.

“Eager are we, darling?”

“Uh…” Poor, little goof. Still so lost in your lovestruck daze, “I just-”

The urge to kiss March again proved far too much for you to resist. You leaned in again, capturing his skilled lips in another flurry of deep kisses. And when you pulled back, you shook your head. For a moment, you simply stared at March. Taking in his ghostly features. Admiring his handsome face, his black eyes, the curls of his hair.

“Thank you, si-uhm…James. Thank you. I…never imagined…you’d ever let me touch you. Let alone k-uhm…kiss you like this…”

He chuckled again, humming a deep noise in his chest. The sound sent a spark of something gratifying straight to your core.

“I told you, didn’t I? I am, after all, a man of mercy…”

You brought a hand up to his cheek, stroking it gently with soft fingers. March noticed that, whenever you touched him, you did so as if he were a timeless lover.

“You most certainly are…” Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his forehead, “...so gracious.”

March hadn’t expected you to wiggle backwards. And where did you think you were going? Were you giving up already? Giving into your paranoid worries? You let yourself sink off his lap and onto your knees. Scooting your way across the carpet and in between his legs, you gazed up at March with those lovely, doe eyes.

“You know…I’d do anything for you, don’t you James?” You trailed your hands up to his trousers, your fingers fiddling with the buttons, “...is this alright?”

To say he was caught off guard by your boldness, would be one hell of an understatement. His innocent, pure-of-heart, little goof? Submitting to him on their knees so easily like this? How had he never suspected this of you? March’s empty eyes widened, watching you from above with a dark, predatory gaze.

“If it’s what you so desire, then…do continue. I’m not going to stop you. This is your night, little one. Don’t you remember?”

You stared at him for a moment longer, uncertain of yourself. Before finally working the buttons of his trousers open. Bringing a small hand through the slit in the fabric, you felt around. And your fingers brushed across-

An adorable gasp escaped your lips.

You…hadn’t expected him to be hard. If the surprised, embarrassed look on your face was anything to go by. Because surely, the James Patrick March himself couldn’t possibly be aroused over someone as mundane as you. Could he?

Sucking in a slow breath, you continued. Your fingers snuck their way through the softness of his undergarments. A bit of movement, and you pulled his thick cock free. At the sight of the twitching length, those sparkling eyes of yours lit up brightly. Beaming, as if mesmerized. You were practically drooling over his cock. And you’d barely touched it at all.

March’s breath hitched from above. He watched you attentively, focused on the movement of your small hand. It stroked and squeezed around the thickness of him. Somewhat skillfully, he’d have to admit. Almost as though you knew exactly what you were doing. How is it that here, touching him intimately, you weren’t the least bit clumsy?

You bravely tilted your head upward, meeting his darkening gaze.

“You said…I could do whatever I wanted?” You asked. Your tone had fallen considerably lower. It sounded seductive, even, “May I sing your praises, James?”

March had never heard you speak in that tone before. He hadn't realized you were even capable.

Wordlessly, he nodded. You gave a few more firm strokes of his cock, leaning in to kiss the tip gently. And as the soft wetness of your lips brushed it, you hummed. Reveling in every second you had March like this. Even in such a filthy, perverted position. With the head of his leaking cock at your lips. Your eyes glimmered, acting as windows. And your complete devotion for him shined through like the light of the sun. Holding eye contact (when did you get so good at that?), you generously peppered his cock in mouthy, wet kisses.

“Just let me worship you, James…” You sighed, dragging your free hand down one of his thighs. Your nails drew lines into the fabric, “Let me appreciate you. That’s…really the only thing I could ever ask for.”

He kept watching you, occasionally taking long drags from his cigarette. March found himself in awe of your boldness and honesty. Though, if there was one thing he knew about you for certain. You were always honest with him. Turning your attention to his aching cock, you pushed the head past your lips. You lapped up the bead of precum leaking from the tip, mewling in pure delight. Suckling for a few beats too short, you pulled away by an inch.

“You…are the most gorgeous thing I have ever seen. Did you know that, James? Have I ever told you? I could stare at you all day. Every day. Forever, if you let me. You’ve got the most stunning, beautiful, brown eyes…”

You paused in the midst of your praises to push the tip of his cock past your lips again. Letting your tongue dance around it, you stroked the remaining length with your hand. And just when he thought you might give him more, you pulled away.

“You can’t imagine how thrilling it is to have those ferocious eyes looking down on me right now. Oh, and I absolutely adore your smile. How full your lips are. Kissing them was like a gift of temptation, straight from the depths of hell. And I am in no way deserving of such a thing…”

March was steadily beginning to lose his composure. That calm, unbothered demeanor of his teetered on the edge. Threatening to fall with every cutesy noise you made, and every flick of your tongue. With each confession of your deepest admirations, he felt himself breaking. March knew you loved him. He knew you found purpose in serving him. And yet, somehow, he hadn’t been aware of the extent at which your worship of him ran. He took another drag of his cigarette. March’s free hand found your hair, and his oversized palm settled there. He didn’t yet tug, but merely braced himself.

“No modern man dresses nearly as elegantly as you do. Those men at those high-class fashion shows? The ones they have here? They can’t even begin to compare. It’s almost intimidating…how refined and elegant you truly are.”

You halted your confessions, only to take the entire length of his twitching cock into your mouth. Moaning around it, you sucked hard. Letting your tongue drag along the underside, across pulsing veins. You pulled off all over again. And March’s grip in your hair tightened only slightly. You continued to stroke his cock, spreading the wetness your tongue left behind.

“You’re so intimidating. So good at striking fear into those around you. But, god…it only makes me more attracted to you. You’re intoxicating. I can’t get enough of you…”

Breaking eye contact, you focused on his cock. You stopped to admire the heavy weight of him on your tongue. And you had the nerve to giggle with the innocence of a dame in church. March remained speechless. He stared you down as you took his full length into your mouth again. Your praises fell short for a bit. Instead, you were fixated on pleasuring him with more enthusiasm. Your movements slowly grew rapid. But as you edged him further, you popped off. You nuzzled his soaked, aching cock with your cheek. And once more, you giggled. It was infuriating.

“I wish you could hear your voice. Fuck…your voice. Your accent. It’s to die for!” The smile you gave him radiated purity, and you bit your swollen lip between your teeth, “You’re to die for. Y’know? I’d die for you. Over and over again.”

Dragging your tongue up and down his cock, you peppered it in more, loving kisses. And you fluttered those pretty lashes.

“As many times as you wanted me to. If I could die by your hands, James, I would. If it’d make you happy? If cutting my throat and watching the life drain from my eyes would satisfy you…”

March’s grip in your hair tightened even further, clenching around your soft locks.

Who knew his little goof could be such a shameless sycophant? Groveling over his deviant passions.

He was growing immensly impatient. You’d carried on this little charade of praises for far too long. When you lowered your mouth over his cock, March guided you. With the rough hold he had on your head, he forced you down. The action caught you by surprise. As the tip of his cock pressed into the back of your throat, you gagged, squeezing around the head. And a pleased grunt erupted off March’s tongue, cigarette smoke rising from his lips. Reaching over the arm of the loveseat, he put the cigarette out in an ashtray. And while doing so, March kept his half-lidded eyes, dark as burning coals, on you. His throbbing length filled your throat, and you took all of it. Every inch. You squeezed his thigh hard with a hand, letting your fingernails dig into the fabric of his trousers. As you clawed at his thigh for purchase, a wicked grin spread across his face. Salty tears stung your pretty eyes. They poured down your flushed cheeks completely out of your control. An embarrassing display. March’s breathing picked up in pace. He jerked you backwards, pulling you off his cock by your hair. Generously, he allowed you a moment to catch your breath. Not that you needed it, really. Being dead and all. Smirking down at you, he sank his teeth into his lip. And upon his pale cheeks, you caught the slightest hint of a pink hue.

You’d never once seen March blush on account of something you did.

“Y-You were…you were saying, darling?” March, usually so well spoken, stumbled over his words.

With a smile, you returned to your previous motions. Dragging your tongue lazily up and down his cock, you stroked him with a hand.

“U-Uhm…” That timid nature of yours returned. Perhaps on account of his manhandling? But you fought to shake it off, “Y’know somethin’ else I love about you, James? That look in your eye. I can’t even describe it. When you’re feelin’ bloodthirsty? When you’re thinkin’ about unleashin’ hell? You look divine like that.”

His gaze turned colder then. March’s fingers dug fingernails further into your skull. And the gesture was near painful. He didn’t seem to care, even when you hissed in response to the sting. Your puffy lips and mouth were drenched in drool. And your hair! His rough handling left it frazzled and wild. You looked an absolute mess of yourself. And in any other circumstance, March would’ve found it repulsive. At this moment, however…

“That…storm in your eyes. The passion that rages on once you’ve taken the life of another. There’s somethin’ so…irresistible about it. Makes me wish I could’ve dropped on my knees and worshiped you like this sooner.” You covered his cock in those mouthy, sloppy kisses, “I just want to submit myself to you, James. Let you have all of me.”

“Really now? Is that how you feel, little one? Truly? ” He spoke suddenly, catching you by surprise.

His fingers curled harshly into your hair, and he pulled you back in a rough, swift motion.

“Enough of this.” March said, “I realize, I said before, this was your night. And you should be the one calling the shots, with me at your leniency. However, since you seem to want my attention so desperately, darling. You’re going to listen to me now.”

You stared up at him with a wide-eyed, sinless gaze. And you didn't dare to say a single word. Good then.

“On the floor. And strip yourself bare for me, would you?” He commanded.

You let yourself fall backwards. And with the motion, March’s grip in your hair loosened. He let go, keeping his eyes on you, as you scooted back along the carpeted floor. The rough surface burned the skin of your elbows. But in death, it didn’t matter. Come tomorrow, you'd be left with not a single mark. Zero evidence of the night's events. Hastily, you shed your clothes. Your fingers trembled with every movement. March followed, standing slowly from his seat. He watched as you laid yourself naked and bare before him. And he pulled down his suspenders. His pants followed, leaving him in those soft undergarments. March hadn’t yet removed his dress shirt, and he didn’t bother to now.

He dropped to his knees on the floor, crawling over you with an animalistic gaze in his eyes. Immediately upon reaching you, he kissed you deeply. Drinking down every surprised noise you made in response. Your noises. Those mewls and squeals. He wanted to hear more. He had to hear more.

March wasn’t the fondest of missionary. But that devotion, that love, that worship bleeding profusely from your eyes. He didn’t want to miss a single moment of it. March found he needed to look at you. To watch you. His hands trailed down your body, touching you with precise grace. Each touch started with a delicate brush of his fingertips, steadily growing rougher. And there you were, pleasured by the hands of a murderer with almost a hundred years of practice behind him.

As he looked you over with those dark eyes, he could see you slipping so easily into madness. Submitting to him, an eternal ghost of pure malevolence.

And you were pushed even further over the brink once March buried two, long fingers in your cunt. All without a single warning. No preparation. He shoved his digits deep, watching you with a devious smirk. You breathlessly moaned, and your slick walls squeezed around his fingers. March knew every angle at which to twist and press his digits. Only to spur more of those lovely noises out of you.

His long, dexterous fingers pulled themselves from your cunt, and you longed for more. You ached for him, whining pitiful, little protests. And your desperate desire was soon satiated.

In one, rough motion, March forced his cock through your folds. He buried himself deep in a single thrust, growling a rough noise in response to your screams. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around him. And you pulled March closer, inching him impossibly deeper.

He hadn’t been this…intimate with another person in…what felt like a millenia. Having his cock buried to the hilt in the tight plush of your cunt…it was enough to make him lose it. March had to take a moment to gather himself. Before he began harshly drilling you into the floor. And the rug underneath you burned painfully against your skin. Though, in this position, you couldn’t help but find the sensation extremely gratifying.

Your screams were all the encouragement he needed. And you begged him to fuck you harder. To vent all his pent up anger and fury using your fragile body as his aid. March gazed down at you, his eyes carrying a near sinister edge. The pace at which he fucked you grew vigorous and unrelenting. A jolt of pleasure shot through your core suddenly, as March pressed his deft fingers to your clit. Rubbing slick, generous circles against the sensitive bud, he soaked in the sight of you falling apart underneath him. Your precious moans were like music to his ears. March cooed quiet praises in a rugged voice, encouraging you to give in. To succumb to the sweet allure of release. He knew you needed it desperately. All the pent up desire you'd carried for him for so long must have felt torturous. A man of mercy, he was. He couldn't allow you to suffer like that any longer. Not after all you'd done for him. After having been so loyal.

He felt your release, as it hit you like a rushing wave. Your walls constricted around his cock in a tight pull, and your entire body trembled. Those delightful screams of yours were more than likely heard across every floor of the hotel. But March's mind was much too hazy with pleasure to care. He wanted the world to hear you. For you to let them all know just who it was you'd submitted yourself to entirely. And as you came down from your high, sobbing soft cries. You met his eyes. Tears rained down your cheeks, and you shivered under his cold gaze. How vulnerable you looked...

One of March’s large, veiny hands found your neck. He squeezed with so much strength that, had you been alive; he easily would’ve cut off your circulation. However, in death, the ache that came with asphyxiation felt like euphoria. Under the pressure of his fingers and hands, you were ascending to the stars. Or, rather…considering you were getting mercilessly fucked by a devilish being such as March? Perhaps a more accurate comparison would be: March was dragging you violently down to an all too pleasurable circle of hell itself.

His cock hit your cervix with a few more, harsh thrusts of his hips. And you were left to suffer the ache of overstimulation. As he squeezed your neck hard enough to leave bruises, and tight enough to kill any living person. March reached his peak. A thick warmth burst from his cock, overflowing you from deep inside. His release filled you up until it leaked from your folds. Purity and innocence sullied. You were his little goof now.

You probably expected March to pull out, now that you received exactly what you wanted. Surely, March would move away from you. Only to clean up, redress himself, and go about his business. Keeping his distance until the next month came. And…he thought he’d have done the same. March didn’t care for you on a deep level of any kind. A loyal dog. That’s all you were. A follower. Indeed. A naive, not-so-innocent, little goof. Who also, just so happened to be completely and utterly in love with him.

And March was not at all enchanted by your obsessive devotion. Why would he be? There was only one woman for him. His dearest wife. His Elizabeth. Mrs. March. If anything, you were simply a means of distraction. Easy company in light of his most lonesome days. His old friend. You weren’t graceful. You weren’t classy. You were, at your core, his polar opposite. Of course. Yes. In the euphoric haze of post-orgasmic bliss, he'd almost forgotten.

But even so…

March found he couldn’t pull himself from you. For a few moments longer, he kept his softening cock buried inside your slick walls. There he rested, on his knees, staring down at you from above. His gaze was much less blackened. Instead, replaced with a warm brown. Leaning forward, March buried his flushed face in your shoulder. He nibbled the gentle skin of your collarbone, breathing out his exhaustion.

He chuckled a hushed, but maniacal noise. The vibrations of which tickled your bruised skin. Not to worry, those bruises wouldn’t be there tomorrow. Some possessive part of him wished they would be, though. March raised his head up, looking down into your eyes with a soft, more than satisfied smirk. The curls of his hair fell even more loose upon his head. And once more, he leaned in, only to brush his nose against yours.

“You know…” He mumbled in a croaky whisper. You felt him slowly, gently thrust his hips forward, “...the night is still young, little one. And there’s so much more the two of us could do together…should you be interested...”

His lips met yours in a kiss far too intimate for a casual session of coitus. And you kissed him nervously back, as though you weren’t allowed to indulge yourself. That familiar sense of naivety and purity claimed you all over again. And for whatever reason, it made March want to kiss you more. To envelop you entirely, all his own. His old friend. His little goof. Poor, not-so-innocent sap.

Maybe he was...a little fond of you.

Only a little.

#james patrick march x reader #james patrick march x y/n #james patrick march x you #jpm x reader #jpm x y/n #jpm x you #smut #american horror story #ahs

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azsazz · 7 months ago

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SJM Ask Game

Thank you for the tag @daydreaming-nerd !! 💙💙 (I do want to hear those redacted answers for where you put tharion lol) I feel like it's been so long since I've been on tumblr or even done one of these but I'm excited💙

1) What’s your favourite SJM book?

Hmmmm I'm gonna say ACOMAF because that's when I was first introduced to Azzy and the obsession began 💙😈

2) Which is your favourite series (tog, acotar or cc)

If you don't know me, CC is one of the worst books I've ever read. It's hard to choose between ACOTAR and TOG tho because they were both really good....

3) Who is your favourite character? (And why?)

Hehehehehehehehe. Az obviously 🥰

4) Do you have a favourite quote from one of the books?

Hmmmm...tbh not really...the ones that stay stuck in my head are the cringey ones...BUT, let's go with "Cassian shot him a glare. 'I don't see you spouting poetry, brother.' Azriel crossed his arms, still smiling faintly, 'I don't need to resort to it.'" THAT'S GODDAMN RIGHT BBY YOU DONT 💙💙 legs spread for mah boi

5) Favourite ship?

Azris frfr

6) Elriel or Gwynriel? Or neither?

Azris frfr

7) Who’s the most underrated SJM character?

Oooof there's so many. Fenrys. I've never gotten enough of him.

8) Which character do you wish to learn more about?

Azris frfr. I want both of their backstories rn

9) Are there any characters you don’t like?

Bryce Quinlan and Danika Fendyr

10) Favourite bat boy?

My king azriel 💙💙

11) Favourite court?/ Which one would you most like to live in?

Honestly I'd probably either live in Autumn or Night tbh.

12) Favourite SJM villain?

Does Tamlin count? lol.

13) If you could change one thing in any of the books what would it be?

That CC never happened

14) Favourite SJM theory?

Azris frfr

15) Favourite Archeron sister?

Prob Ness

16) A character you feel is over-hated/ underrated:

over-rated: bryce quinlan

under-rated: chaol 💙

17) Aelin, Bryce, or Feyre?

Aelin!!

18) What’s your favourite character from each series?

Fenrys, Azriel, Ruhn

19) If you wrote an acotar book what would you call it?

A Court of Smoke and Cinders? (azris frfr)

20) Who is your favourite acotar blogger?

nah there's literally too many to choose from

21)What fics would you recommend to people who love the series?

The Serpent and the Wings of Night

Questions for writers

22) Easiest character to write for?

Azzy because i built him brick by brick

23) Hardest character to write for?

LUCIEN. IDK WHY

24) What’s a character you’d like to write for but haven’t yet?

lol who haven't i written for? hmmmm...maybe fenrys, aedion, or hunt?

25) What’s a court you’d like to write about more?

Dawn!

26) What’s a character you won’t write for and why?

hmmm...idk I'd like to say that I'd try anything once...

27) If you could only write for one character ever again, who would you pick?

azzy. nobody compares to him

28) Whats your favourite trope to write about when it comes to Azriel?

right now i think modern aus...in any sort. or anything that involves angst i love putting everyone thru some shit

29) What do you think is the best/favourite acotar fic you’ve written?

hmmmm...i feel like this is impossible to choose

30) Who are your favourite friendships to write about?

eris x anyone because this man needs a friend

31) For first time readers to your blog, which three fics would you recommend they read?

LMAO ummm...I'll list at least one for. every character

Az: Cupid's Chokehold or Midnight Muse

Cass: In Storm or Dial Drunk or Better Men Have Hit Their Knees and Bigger Men Have Died

Eris: You Know I Always Liked Playing with Fire or Hide

Rhys: Clandestine Love or Dioxazine

Lucien: The Other Woman or My Happy Ending

or literally any poly can't go wrong with those tbh

No pressure tags: @writingsbychlo @acourtofwhatthefuck @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @azrielhours @a-frog-with-a-laptop or anyone else who wants to participate!

#ask azsazz

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stealthnoodle · 5 months ago

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How to Scrape Your Way Through Honour Mode and Look Reasonably Good Doing It

I won't say I beat Honour Mode on my first try, because my Dishonour Mode playthrough served as a critically useful dry run, but I will say that the first character I made with the intention of completing Honour Mode properly did in fact complete Honour Mode.

Below are the 13 most important lessons I learned along the way that made this possible.

1) Do not be Mothman.

You really want to minimize fights and maximize available vendors. Ask yourself "What would Mothman do?" and then do not do that thing.

2) Do be a half-orc.

Fights can go real wrong real fast, and in the early game, you are perpetually one bad round of combat away from oblivion. In my case, the harpies critted Shadowheart to death, and then every chucklefuck in my party failed their wisdom save at the same time. The other two members ate more multiattacks than they could handle, and then so did Pizzazz, but she held on with one single precious hit point after the last blow. She dug herself out of the hole with heal potions and her fists of righteous anger.

Pizzazz being a half-orc saved the entire run here. Having Death Ward once a day comes in fucking clutch when you're below level 5, and tbh the hardest part of Honour Mode is getting to level 5.

The harpy fight was also when I realized the need for a critical strategy:

3) Make one party member your panic button.

I only really needed this trick in the early game (I cannot emphasize enough how most of my close calls were before level 5), but it saved my ass several times. Panic early, panic often.

Pick the party member who has the least to contribute to a fight and park them where they can't get drawn into initiative. You can leave them all the way back at camp, or if you're me, just put them far back in hiding so it's easy to pull them in to help with late-fight cleanup if things are going well (or to finish a fight in the goofiest way possible, see above). Either way, their job is to run crying to Withers if everyone else dies.

Speaking of which…

4) Exploit Bone Daddy's indifference to being pickpocketed.

You can get back whatever "the price of balance" is by yoinking it right out of Withers's pockets. If you fail the sleight of hand check, no worries; you get pulled out of hiding, but he doesn't react at all, and you can just squat back down and get right back in there.

5) Tell Jesse you need to cook.

Potions of Speed are the goddamn Philosopher's Stones of this game. So I made Gale a Transmutation Wizard, made him proficient in Medicine, and put him in charge of alchemy. Just clearing the gnoll zone got me pretty well set for the first two acts.

Getting double heal pots sure doesn't hurt, either.

6) Start a local chapter of the Warding Bond Cleric Club.

This is something I discovered was possible while I was fretting over prepping for the end of Act 2, because last time was such a clusterfuck. You can hire three hirelings, give them fun names like Ouchie Magnet, Sexy Pincushion, and Yoohoo Loviatar, get them to cast Warding Bond on the party members you actually intend to use, and enjoy the full benefits of it out in the world while your hirelings stand around bleeding at camp.

Any buff that lasts until the next long rest and doesn't require concentration works like this, fyi. Death Ward and Longstrider are also especially handy (and once you get to level 11, Heroes' Feast). Setting this up is tedious enough that I only did it a few times during the game, when I was going into situations I couldn't easily extricate myself from in case of emergency. (So the Mindflayer Colony, the Iron Throne, the Steel Watch Foundry, and one last time for the Temple of Baal.)

7) Break big battles up into bite-sized skirmishes.

Why would I fight all the cultists at Moonrise Tower in a grand climactic battle when I could sneak around before finishing the Gauntlet of Shar and pick off my future foes in packs? Since they're not hostile yet, it's pretty simple to wipe them out one room at a time, using Minor Illusion to lure guards away from their posts. Then I got the joy of showing up with Jaheira and all her Harpers to curbstomp the two (2) guys I missed.

Also good for removing all the intellect devourers before you pick a fight with Mindflayers in the Mindflayer Colony and for surviving gnoll swarms. Sometimes you even get lucky and a hyena falls into a hole, somehow.

8) Fill your camp with literal tons of explosives.

See a smokepowder barrel? Pick it up and send it to camp. Do this consistently and you will have deeply nervous party members every time you light a campfire, probably, but you'll also have a way to cheese boss fights that you're worried about. I chugged elixirs that raised strength before the end of Act 2 so that I could bring a dozen smokepowder barrels with me to the Myrkul fight and absolutely trivialized it.

9) Become a partial illithid.

Mourn your aesthetic and commune with that frosty little worm. (Take Volo's amateur eye surgery, too, btw. Just fuck yourself up.) The powers are worth it. A truly hardcore player would also get their companions to dip a toe into ceremorphosis, but I started by asking Astarion, who fucking loves regular tadpoles, to try it, and his response made me feel so bad that I abandoned the cause entirely.

10) Start your day with a delicious and nutritious Heroes' Feast.

So I never really read the description closely because sometimes I'm just like that, but thanks to the Warding Bond Cleric Club, I started paying closer attention to buffs and holy shit??? Thoroughly Stuffed is a baller condition, and it also makes food. I didn't have to go grocery shopping even once! Having three bonus clerics with spell slots to burn also meant the 6th-level cost wasn't coming out of Shadowheart.

11) Accept that late-game enemy saving throws will mercilessly fuck you.

It feels real bad when you cast a 6th-level spell that operates on saving throws and your target shrugs it off with 0 damage. Spells with attack rolls are usually better bets, and Artistry of War is a wizard's once-per-short-rest MVP. Open Hand Monk Pizzazz was consistently my best damage dealer, especially once I looted the Bonespike Gloves from Strangler Luke.

12) Skip the high-risk low-reward quests in Act 3.

Consider your party composition and tactics and whether any optional quest line is worth completing for its rewards. Cazador, the Sharrans, and Ansur are non-trivially difficult fights that I didn't need to subject myself to, so I didn't. But there's real good shit under Sorcerous Sundries, so of course I cleared out that vault.

Hell isn't actually that bad on Honour Mode (no, really! The restoration faucets have unlimited uses!), but it's not a sure thing and I could live without the rewards. Had a tense moment passing the DC 30 Persuasion check with Kith'rak Voss later, but he chilled out and even let me borrow his dragon's breath.

The only unnecessary hard fight I did was the Steel Watcher Titan, which was a bad call on my part; I kinda wanted the crossbow and I really wanted to keep the runepowder bomb in case I needed it, but Mothman didn't do this fight, so I was not prepared for the Hellfire Steel Watcher Titan's bullshit. I won, but it was a closer shave than it should have been.

Then I ended up not using the crossbow at all.

13) Thank Gale for his sacrifice.

The Netherbrain is fucking nasty on Honour Mode. Fuck Karsite Grip. Fuck Aegis of the Absolute. Does it feel bad to make Gale sacrifice himself? Yes. Would it feel worse to lose the run right before the finish line? Also yes.

I brought every explosive I had with me (which required two rounds of strength-boosting elixirs, because the game hits you with a long rest before the Astral Plane) just in case Gale got cold feet and I burned all my inspiration fucking up the persuasion roll, then went through the sewers to avoid the larger fight. Someone (Gale, so I couldn't be too mad) failed a stealth check and aggroed them all anyway, but Pizzazz covered the ground to the brainstem in like three rounds and everyone warped up after her for the cutscene, so no harm no foul.

Then Gale volunteered—nay, insisted on blowing himself up and I felt bad! Real bad! Not bad enough to change course, but Pizzazz's face was also my face during epilogue:

P.S. At least for me, the achievement procced after the epilogue, credits, and post-credits scene, and I was tense af the entire time. But not so tense I couldn't be sad about Gale (oh no he wrote me a letter) and Astarion (oh no he's still in hiding because of Cazador). Luckily my big hot wife was there to support me.

Anyway, let's load an old autosave on another campaign and check out those golden dice, shall we?

Ahhh, my horrible son

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #stealthnoodle plays bg3 #video #gif #is this a helpful guide or a shitpost? yes.#btw i got all but four hostages off the iron throne while also rescuing duke ravenguard (despite mizora) and omeluum #not a strat just wanted to brag #i would have saved them all if not for their stubby little legs #wyll didn't get his wyrmway but he did get his soul and his dad #so this time there's no “sorry wyll” tag #instead this time it's #sorry gale #and sorry tara

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ant1quar1an · 3 months ago

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I am filled with the imagery of Killer getting increasingly more concerned for Colour the more he pushes Anti to "do the right thing" and attempts to help him "heal" (Anti is not broken. Morally fucked? Oh yes absolutely. But he's murdering people because it's necessary for his survival and he literally cannot experience the remorse or guilt of doing it.)

One day, Colour comes back to the hideout with a pretty hefty cut across his face. It's kind of looking like it's tinged with gold- a telltale sign of Anti's magic.

Obviously a scuffle occurred and Anti whipped around to stalk off and his blade-edged tail caught Colour's cheek. Ouch.

He rants to Killer about how stupid and irritating Anti is (despite knowing that the other would do anything to keep Killer safe) and continues to call Anti stubborn and foolish

Eventually he finishes and Killer's...

Really not sure what to say.

He doesn't understand or even know a lot about Anti. He's never really learned about Anti's AU, his life before it- all he knows is the fundamental "Anti's HP goes up when he kills"

He doesn't...

No one really knows what Anti's not talking about.

And Anti's trying his goddamn hardest to not let anyone figure it out

(Anti's not manipulative in any capacity. He's blunt, sometimes passive aggressive, extremely spiteful and unafraid of saying his opinion- no matter how much it goes against the crowd [Like "murder is okay" pfft])

#Anti hides.#So very much.#From literally everyone #Killer Sans #Antikiller #Killerant #Colourkiller #Colorkiller #Killercolour #colour spectrum #colour spectrum duo

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teecupangel · 2 years ago

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Time travel au where as son of the leader of the farm Desmond also gets lessons in management of money and resources (maybe also acting as the unofficial accountant of Bad Weather) so when he ends up in the 3rd crusade he slowly but completely takes over Masyaf's finances and makes it the best running assassin settlement the brotherhood has ever seen whether he's early enough to save kadar is up to you (also I can see Altaïr having a bit of a competence kink going on for Desmond (who secretly approved all of Altaïr's requests for anything because des trusts him))

Money and resource management was an important ‘subject’ on the Farm because they were more or less living off the grid so they truly did need to know when to spend their funds and what to prioritize.

When he ran away, money management became vital in keeping him alive and healthy. The lessons he found boring suddenly becoming so useful there were days his mind would think ‘Thank god I learned this’ but that would soon be followed by guilt so he tried his hardest to not think about it.

Once he started working in Bad Weather, it became easier to ignore how easy it was to fall into the habits of managing his funds and whatever stuff he had he could use.

Until he heard his boss complain about keeping records and how expensive it was to hire an actual accountant and Desmond volunteered to look at the records if he’d like.

He was met with suspicion which was fair and everything he did for the past three months were watched and reviewed closely.

After that, his boss just patted his back and Desmond suddenly had a part-time job as Bad Weather’s accountant.

It was… nice.

Well…

The pay was shit because his boss wasn’t really the best human being in the world but…

It was familiar and the numbers were relaxing.

… when they made sense.

When the numbers don’t match then Desmond would feel confused or anxious or just plain annoyed.

Only to be rewarded with satisfaction when those little mysteries were finally cleared and all the numbers lined up.

It was…

Nice.

Then Abstergo happened…

The Animus happened…

Honestly?

Desmond was jealous of Claudia Auditore.

Well, he felt sorry for her for what happened to the Auditores and for not even be given any real choice in what happened to her life after they have left Firenze but, at the same time, he was jealous of her job.

Taking care of Monteriggioni’s finances…

It sounded like a nightmare at the start but honestly?

Desmond would have preferred going cross-eyed reading numbers than learning to be an Assassin.

But he wasn’t given a choice.

He stopped having a choice the moment Abstergo took him on September 2012.

But then…

He was given a choice once more.

Being reborn in the 12th century as some orphan with unknown parents.

He knew that he had a shot in this.

He didn’t need to be an Assassin this time around.

Desmond…

Desmond was going to use all his 21st century knowledge and experience...

… to be the best goddamn accountant in Masyaf.

Unorganized Notes for Desmond in General:

Desmond goes to Masyaf as an orphan who wants to be a scholar. He refuses to be an Assassin recruit.

Al Mualim tried to shoo him off the first time because, well, he didn’t want to be a recruit but Desmond just kept trying to sneak back in (purposely badly so he won’t seem like a good recruit ‘candidate’) and check the books.

Al Mualim had to spend three months hearing Desmond whisper to the scholars what they’re reading and asking so many questions and the scholars would play along and whisper back to him even though everyone (even Desmond) knew Al Mualim could hear them.

Thankfully, the fact that Desmond has been reborn as a baby meant that he’s not used to his growing child body and that makes him pretty much a klutz. This is a good thing because many people think his clumsiness would make him a bad recruit.

Al Mualim finally relented after three months because, at that point, the scholars have pretty much adopted Desmond as their unofficial ‘scholar son’ and ‘scholar mascot’.

Desmond makes an effort to learn the basics of all languages taught to him because there are different variations of the languages in his brain (English having atleast 3 main variations, French having atleast 2, Latin was the least complicated one because Altaïr’s Latin and Ezio’s Latin were pretty much the same with only slight ignorable differences).

The scholars think Desmond is more of the hard-working type than the natural genuis type… then they started teaching Desmond arithmetic and holy shit, he’s a genius.

Desmond would grow up in Masyaf as a scholar known as the ‘numbers’ genius and would start to slowly take over Masyaf’s finances once he gets older.

Unorganized Notes for AltDes as kids:

When Desmond started ‘living’ in Masyaf, he would see Altaïr peek his head behind bookcases and would wave at him but Altaïr would just quickly duck.

Any attempts by Desmond to talk to Altaïr is thwarted by the other boy running away.

Desmond thinks Altaïr doesn’t like him because he’s encroaching Altaïr’s territory since Altaïr spent most of his childhood in the main library of Masyaf.

Altaïr is the opposite. He has been curious of Desmond when he started ‘badly’ sneaking into the library and following scholars around to ask what they’re studying but he’s always been a lonely child so he didn’t know how to approach Desmond. Whenever Desmond turns to look at him and smile, Altaïr’s face just heats up and his tummy feels weird so he runs away. Now that Desmond is staying in the keep and he sees him everyday, the heat on his face has traveled down to his neck and the weird feeling in his tummy has become so much more.

When Altaïr tells his father all of this, his father laughed. Seeing the confusion and fear in his son’s face, he kneels and pats Altaïr’s face as he says that he’s ‘attracted’ to Desmond. That led to a conversation no nine year old child should hear.

After that, embarrassment became the primary problem that made Altaïr ignore Desmond while Desmond sulks, thinking Altaïr hates him. The scholars are not helpful at all as most of them don’t wanna get into any children drama, they’re busy with their studies, damn it! The rest are enjoying the awkward little dance the two children are sorta doing.

Then Umar died and Altaïr becomes a recruit and he barely visits the library anymore.

Unorganized Notes for AltDes as Adults:

By the time Altaïr starts to make a name for himself as one of the best Assassins, Desmond has pretty much taken control of Masyaf’s finances.

Al Mualim is rumored to be thinking of appointing Desmond as the official ‘Keeper of Coffers’ but he’s delaying it because there are those who are against it for the sheer reason that Desmond is still young.

When Masyaf is attacked in 1189, Altaïr actually tries to save Desmond first before Al Mualim but Desmond was doing quite okay, having led the scholars to one of the many rooms of the castle that could easily be defended and leading them to make traps that would kill or immobilize the Templars long enough for Desmond to easily pick them off with his pointy stick (a piece of wood sharpened as a spear-ish stake).

Altaïr has been harboring a long-time ‘crush’ on Desmond. Desmond has stopped seeing Altaïr as his ancestor long ago but still feels sad because Altaïr ignores him. The two of them pining over each other is one of the few entertainments Masyaf has.

Desmond tutored Kadar when he was a recruit because he has problems with his numbers. That leads to Desmond being introduced to Malik and becoming friends with the Al-Sayf brothers. Altaïr’s rivalry with Malik stems from the fact that Malik and Desmond are ‘close’. Malik knows this and thinks Altaïr is an idiot and also annoying. Kadar is torn between supporting Altaïr’s long epic love story (“There’s no story, Kadar.” “Hush, Malik.”) or supporting the budding friends to lovers romance between his brother and Desmond (“Nothing is budding! Kadar, do not even attempt to tell anyone of any buds! Do you hear me?! If I hear that I’ve become part of a love triangle, I will shave your entire face while you sleep!”)

Malik does not wish to be put into any love triangle scenario because the scholars absolutely love the idea of Desmond and Altaïr together. They both think the two ‘kids’ as their fellow scholars and support their ‘union’. The last person who tried to get in between this slow burn was Abbas and the scholars were giving him death glares and doing petty pranks to get him to back off. Malik will not become a part of all of that!

Altaïr finally starts to try to talk to Desmond once he becomes a Master Assassin and Desmond is delighted. Altaïr has no idea why Desmond kept saying, “Salve, Altaïr. Would you like to look at the books?” using a different tone, but he just goes along with it because Desmond always looks happy whenever he says the line.

Everyone knows that Desmond is a stickler for proper procedure and will easily reject any requests if they don’t ‘cross their t’s and dot their i’s’… except with Altaïr who always get approved.

No matter how many times Desmond tells people it’s because Altaïr always have all the requirements filled correctly, no one believes him.

Altaïr double and triple checks all his request forms because he is absolutely worried he’d fuck up and Desmond would be disappointed at him.

Kadar is the only person who knows about Altaïr’s ‘worries’ and he’s turned AltDes shipper because of that.

AC1 happens with Desmond keeping his head down so Al Mualim won’t be sus of him but he always talks to Altaïr whenever he’s in Masyaf and becomes more or less the one person Altaïr tells all his thoughts to. It is during this time that he and Desmond actually start to get closer and their relationship finally develops.

Possible setups:

Kadar survives because Desmond tells him to be careful and to not do any big plays, just focus on staying alive and supporting his brother while he hands him more throwing knives that he stole from the armory.

Desmond has been undermining Al Mualim’s rule for years now since he started becoming the unofficial Keeper of Coffers or whatever his title was supposed to be but he hasn’t done anything big because he knows Altaïr has to be the one to take down Al Mualim. He did tell Malik though and Malik is just “WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS???”

When Altaïr becomes the mentor, Desmond is elevated to the title of ‘Financial Advisor’ (Desmond’s request because he thinks that title sounds cool) but everyone just goes and think of them as both mentors anyway.

#desmond takes care of the books #if our boy doesn’t want to be an assassin then he doesn’t have to be an assassin #as long as he’s happy #that’s the important part #ask and answer #no usual tags because #altdes

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