#and you see the waiting list for the class you need to sign up to is full because the goofs don't know what their course code is

[hunsa-jars]

Howdy peepers, I've been feeling pretty down lately but I think I'm on the right path to snap out of it!

See yall on monday hopefully

[andhumanslovedstories]

I am not closely following the election results tonight, but I am occasionally seeing flashes of them out of the corner of my eye. The most obvious sign that things aren’t going well right now is the complete lack of celebrating on my dash. I know what tumblr looks like when it’s happy. Maybe I’ll go to bed tonight and see something different in the morning. I hope to god that is the case. But I’m thinking about the way I’m thinking right now, and I want to get some stuff down before the future kicks in.

In 2016 I was in a period of my life I affectionately refer to as as my fuckup era. I wasn’t even fucking up really. More just chilling out and falling short of the vague expectations I’d had about what I was supposed to be doing after I graduated college. While my friends from college rented apartments in the city and got jobs that didn’t supply you with a uniform shirt, I lived at home and worked as a barista at a fancy movie theater. That’s a real job you can do for almost five years. I didn’t have a clue what the back half of my twenties should look like. The only long term plan I had in my life was moving out west with my best friend, and my plan for finding a job once I was out there was basically to cross my fingers and hope.

Those days weren’t bad on the whole, but it felt like I was not actually living a life so much as I was goofing off in the waiting room. Sometimes that felt embarrassing, sometimes it felt fun, and sometimes it felt like I was completely pointless to the world.

On 2016’s Election Day, I went to bed early. After watching the votes come in, I needed the night to be over. I woke in a world that felt different than it had been the night before—not just in the actuality of who would be president but down to its foundations. I realized for the first time how much hope I’d had in human nature because now I didn’t feel it anymore. It’s almost silly when I think about it—so many horrible things had already happened that year, people had done horrible things as long as there have been people, and I didn’t think I was naive to that—but something clicked into place that morning.

It felt the same way my world had changed a year earlier, in 2015 during my last semester of college. My college victory lap felt like a prolonged downward spiral. Very early in the morning on a Monday, after pulling an all-nighter and overwhelmed by self-loathing that I could not just motivate myself to work on a paper that had been my only thought all weekend, I self-harmed for the first time in a way that was impossible to pretend it was anything else. Earlier that weekend, I’d tried staving off the urges drawing or writing on my arm, something that did (and does) usually work. I’d written this quote in silver sharpie on my forearm: “Good is not a thing you are. It's a thing you do.”

I picked that quote from the Ms. Marvel comics and liked the words so much, I thought that I wouldn’t be willing to purposefully mess it up by hurting myself there. Didn’t work. They just made me feel more ashamed of myself as I did it.

That was the worst I had ever felt. Then, on the Friday of that week, a friend of mine was senselessly, brutally murdered.

It doesn’t feel now like there was ever a time before her death. My memoir class is now where I wrote about her. My favorite professor is now the one who held me as I cried. My final thesis, the culmination of my history degree, never got finished and certainly never got polished. I turned it what I had and got an A minus. Sometimes I think of rereading that paper to see if that’s the grade it actually deserved. We hadn’t been the closest friends, but my name was still on the email admin sent to professors, listing students who might be emotionally affected by this tragic event. Grace’s murder hangs over every memory I have with her and everything she ever touched. It feels like its own type of obliteration to leave her reduced to her death.

Grace wanted to be a lawyer because she believed in justice and also liked arguing. She could be rude when she wasn’t interested in what you were saying. When you caught her attention, you felt like the most fascinating person in the room. She was so proud of being Jewish. I watched her become proud of being gay. She was so universally friendly that it took me a year to realize that she actually liked specifically me. She had a somewhat silly laugh and an astonishingly luminous smile.

I thought less of the world and the people in it because of how she died. Trump’s election in 2016 felt like that.

After he won, I left stasis. From November through December, I thought harder about my future than I ever had before. Who did I want to be? What did I most value? What did I think was worth protecting? What work wouldn’t kill me to do? At one point, in presumably a fit of madness, I thought, “what if I got into politics.” Epiphany eventually hit me. By the time of Trump’s inauguration, I was already enrolled at community college, getting my pre-reqs for nursing school.

Now it’s election night again, eight years later. I live on the west coast with my best friend, in a house that we bought together. I work as a nurse in a hospital in a city where there are homeless encampments off every highway and someone begging for change on every corner. Meanwhile, there’s Palestine. Meanwhile there’s Sudan. Meanwhile refugees drown in the sea and border patrol shoots jugs of water. Even hurricanes have human cruelty now.

I don’t think people are inherently good or the universe inherently kind. But I am very good at tricking myself into thinking it for a little while, and when I do, I can remember the a specific feeling from Friday of my senior year, from that morning in November— how fucking hard the disappointment hit me because I had expected people to be better than this. It makes me want to be better than that.

I believe, and hope that I always will, that we can make a better world. I don’t know what it looks like, but I think I will see it in my lifetime. Those of us who can believe such things owe a bit of that naïveté to the world—not to excuse atrocities or think them impossible but to believe that we can stop them at all. You have to have a couple people sprinkled around who are genuinely shocked when people do bad things. It’s not that the pessimists are wrong, but you need the occasional counterbalance. I want to be a reasonable cynic’s pleasant surprise.

Every shift, I interact with people at their lowest and worst. I see the direct pipeline from pain to anger to violence, and how fragile that pipeline can be. So many situations can be changed by things as small as a warm blanket or a kind word. Violence can be quite easy to avert. Crises can be quite simply to resolve. Even when I know that whatever I do that shift will not change the circumstances of a person’s life, I think that what I do that shift still matters.

I’m lying in bed, writing this post instead of looking at the news. I wonder how tonight will change me. Been thinking about what I’ll do if Trump wins. Been thinking about how whatever I think I need to do under Trump will still need to be done if Harris clutches out a victory. I guess this is a pessimist’s optimism: to a degree the election doesn’t matter. Good is not a thing you are. It is a thing you do. Our better world will always take a lot of work.

But please god please, why can’t it be just a little easier to do it?

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 5 Part Two

Series Summary: After recently graduating you take what is supposed to be a job to save money before you go back to university to get your law degree. Your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. Easy. Simple. Mundane. Until one of your clients is home and everything you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Chapter Summary: You and Joel go to a Shibari class together; an innocent date, or is it?

TW: age gap (Joel 45/reader 22), reader does have some descriptors so more of an OC. Reader has longer hair and Joel can lift her. Mutual pining, kissing. Spoiler triggers below the cut in red.

WC: 8.2k

AN: Ok fiiiiiinnnneeeeee I couldn't wait any longer and I left you all on kind of a cliffhanger. As always, thank you to my lovely @lotusbxtch for reading and encouraging and helping me grow. Thanks @mermaidgirl30 , @littlevenicebitch69 and @joelmillerisapunk for being my lil cheerleaders. @for-a-longlongtime thanks for stoping me from working on that bull rider series LOL. Ok, enjoy this slowly because I haven't even STARTED chapter 6 yet, so I doubt it will be out until late October. Dividers and banners by the oh so talented @saradika-graphics

Masterlist || Series Masterlist

TW: complete sensory deprivation (tied down, blind folded and has hearing blocked), multiple orgasms, denial

Joel

Joel has tried to keep his distance since referring to tonight as a date. He left another large tip for your clean this week and then made sure he was as busy as possible to stop himself from going home to see you. As he coaxed you into drinking the orange juice and the water he kept hearing “it’s a date” over and over again in his mind, and he’d cringe internally. He wouldn’t have blamed you if you had leaped out of that bed and ran home. The thought of you wanting him in that way is ridiculous. Not only because he’s over twice your age, but you came to him for help with building self confidence and for an escape, and then he went and said something so fucking stupid. 

He shakes his head and pulls up his emails, trying to distract himself for what feels like the one hundredth time. Of course he wants to date you, he’d be crazy not to, but he can’t blur those lines. Furthermore, even if there was the slightest chance that you felt the same way he can’t risk breaking your heart the way he’s broken so many others.

She’s going to break yours, old man. Not the other way around.

Wednesday has been absolutely crawling. Time almost mocking him with how slow it’s ticking by. As he goes over the list of tonight's guests, Tess knocks on his small office door at the club.

“Hey,” she says, plopping down in the arm chair across from the desk. “You coming tonight?”

“Of course. Looks like a good turn out. Did the instructor make it in ok?”

“Cap picked her up from the airport yesterday and got her all settled at the hotel. Do you think you’re going to need me tonight?”

Joel cocks an eyebrow at her. He’s known Tess since she was ten. Her and Tommy are the same age, Joel being two years their senior. Aside from a few months when Tess and Tommy were sixteen, the three of them have been inseparable ever since. Tess was usually the undeclared leader of the group due to her bossy nature, but she kept the Miller brothers out of trouble most of the time. 

“What’s wrong, Tess?”

“Nothin’,” she crosses her arms across her chest. “I am the planner, you and Tommy are the personality. I’m fine to stay behind the scenes for this one.”

“You’ve been acting strange since the poker night.”

She rolls her eyes at him. She’s probably the only person ballsy enough to do that to Joel besides Tommy, but Joel’s almost convinced his little brother is more dumb than ballsy. “I’m fine, Joel. The staff is all in good morale, and that’s my department. Remember?”

Joel just stares as she continues, lowering her voice to mock his. “I need you to be the people person. Hire them, train them. I’m not patient enough because I’m a big scary dom who will just want to spank them for not listening. I also can’t plan anything because I have a man brain.”

“Hilarious,” Joel deadpans as Tess laughs at her own jokes. “I’m being serious though, are you sure you're ok?”

“Yes, you don’t need to be concerned about me. I’m actually a little gutted I’m gonna miss it. Tommy told me there’s been a very pretty young lady hanging around you lately.”

Joel puts his reading glasses on with one hand and pointing to his door with the other. “Out.”

You

Joel referring to tonight as a date has been on loop for the last few days. He has this amazing way of shutting off your brain and then leaving you with so many new questions. Either way, when a few more college letters came over the last few days you convinced yourself that right before leaving for the shibari-demonstration-slash-date was the best time to open them. 

Odette and Jamie sit on the couch across from you as you slide open the first letter. The thick eggshell parchment stamped with the Yale logo pops open easily. You close your eyes as you open the paper, the only sound in the room is the thundering of your heart behind your ribs. 

You peel your eyes open and read out loud. “We regret to inform you that you have not…” your voice falls off, fingers shaking as you put it back in the envelope.

“Hey, we expected a few no’s,” Jamie says gently, always the optimist.

Odette takes the other approach, “Their fucking loss, bunch of stuffy old cunts! Next!”

You laugh at the juxtaposition of your friends' responses and reach for the Harvard letter. “We regret to inform you…”

“Keep going babe,” Jamie says softly.

You pick up the bright white Columbia letter. “We regret to inform you…fuck.” You feel the defeat start to creep in, like thick morning fog. It’s suffocating, choking all the happiness and excitement you had for tonight. 

“What the fuck is wrong with these schools!” Odette says, snatching the letters up so she can check for herself. “Do the Toronto one, Canadians are supposed to be nice.”

“I can’t open anymore,” you say as your head falls back into the sofa. The fog starts to spread through your body, shutting you down inch by inch. You know you have to open the rest. You’ll spend the rest of the night wondering what they say if you don’t finish them. “You do it, Jamie.”

She shuffles in her seat uncomfortably. She’s not the kind of girl who likes to disappoint others; she's bright and happy but at this moment she’s the only person that you can take bad news from. As if she can read your thoughts, she grabs the University of Toronto letter. The sound of the envelope popping open slices through you. She clears her throat as she opens the paper and then reads aloud the same sentence you did. The letters from Duke and Notre Dame follow the same painful routine. With each rejection your stomach swirls, nausea building on top of self doubt and anxiety. 

Six out of the eight universities you applied to have turned you down; Berkeley and the University of Austin are your only chances left at reaching your dreams. The silence in the small rental unit has you on edge, so much so that when your phone vibrates beside you you jump. A sunset beach photo from your last trip to California is the background from a text from Cap telling you he’ll be at your doorstep in about twenty minutes. 

“I gotta finish getting ready,” you say, dragging yourself to the bathroom to touch up any makeup and brush your teeth.

“Babe?” Jamie says, following you down the hall. “You wanna stay here instead of going to that mixer?”

The reminder of the lie sends a new wave of nausea through you. Tonight you became a law school reject and an even bigger liar. Don’t forget that you’re also falling in love with an unattainable man, says the glittery pink box. You mentally lift a single finger in its direction, it usually doesn’t turn on you like that. 

“I need the distraction.” You say, deciding that that’s not really a lie.

Your friends look at you with sadness in their eyes and even though you’re sad too, you wish you could tell them about Mister Miller and the club. You know they’d be excited about whatever this thing is and it would really help to have someone to decipher all the moments that live in your mind.

“It’s a date”.

When you walk through the large door from the lobby and into the club, you’re welcomed by a completely different atmosphere. It’s not all dim lights and sexy music like it normally is; instead the overhead lights are on and all the people are dressed in regular clothing or athletic wear and not the sexy outfits they’d normally pick to come here. Joel is no exception, dressed in dark wash jeans and a fitted black t-shirt. You catch the glint of his gold ring while he’s engrossed in deep conversation with a blue and purple haired woman along the edge of the dance floor. As if you’re his due north or the other side of his magnet, after just seconds of being in the same room as him, his eyes collide with yours. He mouths an ‘excuse me’ at the woman without looking away from and his long legs eat up the distance between the two of you. He meets you just before the bar and immediately wraps his arms around you, one hand coming to the nape of your neck, silently guiding your forehead to his strong chest.

“What’s wrong, sweet girl?” You love how easily he can read you, but you hate that this is the second time this week that he’s seeing you like this. You know you have moments of weakness, but you don’t let anyone see that and you DEFINITELY don’t inconvenience others with your weakness. 

“Hasn’t been my best day, but I really don’t want to talk about it.” You don’t want to dump all of this on him now, not when he looked so excited when you said you’d attend tonight. 

“Ok, I’m here for you if you want to talk about it though. You don’t have to deal with this on your own.” His lips come to the crown of your head and you breathe him in letting his ash and leather scent break down your walls. 

“I didn’t get in,” you mumble and he holds you tighter for a brief second before his hand moves to your chin and tilts up to meet your gaze.

“All of them?” he asks gently but something akin to anger flares in eyes for just a second. 

“Six of them. I haven’t heard from two.” His thumb feels like heaven as it runs along your jaw.

From across the club the blue and purple haired woman, who is now on the stage, claps her hands. “Good evening, everyone! I’m Starr. If you and your brave partners could start making your way to the floor, we can get started right away!”

“Do you want to leave?” Joel says, his warm coffee and chocolate eyes dancing around yours. No one looks at you like that; no one ever asks what you want. This is one of those looks that you wish you could talk to your friends about.

“No,” you say truthfully. “I want to be here with you.”

“I wasn’t going to let you leave without me. Do you want to go somewhere else together?”

You step back and grab his hand, his fingers thread through yours as if you do this everyday, as if this is normal, and you pull him towards the floor. He stands behind you, an arm wrapped protectively around your middle, similar to how he did the first time you went through the voyeur room. Starr introduces herself and her wife and then begins explaining rope safety and terminology like rigger and rope bunny, before launching into a step by step on tying a beautiful star harness across her wifes clothed chest. The two women hand ropes to the person who will be doing the rigging and as the rope lands in Joel’s hand your pussy flutters at the realization that you’re about to become Mister Miller’s rope bunny. You knew that coming here tonight, even if it did include lying to your friends, would help you feel better. The disappointment of being rejected is slowly replaced with an excited anticipation of learning something new with a man who has done nothing but choose you since laid your eyes on each other.

Starr projects step by step instructions up on the back wall of the stage and Joel clears his throat behind you as he begins. The sound of the rope running through his hands as he folds it in half sends a shiver up your spine. You try to distract yourself by clipping your hair up and out of the way. 

“Arms up,” he rasps, and places a light kiss on the soft curve of your neck as he wraps the rope around your ribcage, just below your breasts. You purposely wore a tight t-shirt and leggings tonight. If anyone asks, you’ll say you just assumed it would be easier to be in something form fitting rather than loose, but the truth is that you did some research on Shibari classes and it was recommended to wear clothing that was tight to the body. As he walks around you to make the first diagonal cross of your chest he says, “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

You lock your eyes with his as he loops back up, crossing the rope over your other shoulder and walks behind you. “Yes, at least not yet.” 

“Alright,” he says softly, pulling the rope back through the first band he made. “What do you want to talk about then?”

Your daughter. Your wife. The guitars and books of lyrics. Where do you see yourself in 5 years? Do you like me or do you like like me? How do you feel about an age gap romance? Your brain races with a million things you could ask, and maybe would ask on a date. However, this is anything but a date, right? A dom and sub don’t date, there are strict rules. He tells you what to do, you do it. You don’t date.

The silence between you two feels like it’s lasted forever, you flinch as you ask the first thing you can think of. “How old are you?”

“Almost forty five. It says that on my profile, sweet girl. For someone who likes research…” His voice trails off. Is he flirting?

“I refuse to look at it in case you try to pawn me off to Tommy again,” you tease. You bite your cheek to hold in all the questions you want to ask as he chuckles behind you. You lift your arms as per the next slide and he brings the rope up towards your armpit as you settle on a neutral topic. “Baseball,” you say flatly.

Joel laughs silently as he walks around your body, the rope coming across to your other armpit and he’s behind you again. “Baseball?”

“Ya, it’s America’s favourite pastime.” Joel's fingers feel warm through the fabric of your shirt as he continues to work the ropes. 

“Ok, so what do you want to discuss about baseball?” He wanders in front of you again, following the instructions perfectly.

You shrug a little, lifting your arms again as you follow along with the slides. “Did you ever play?”

Starr circles around the two of you, “Great job, Joel. You ok, honey? Not too tight anywhere?”

You shake your head no and then you and Joel get lost in each other again. “Yes, I played for most of my childhood. I was pretty good too.”

You chuckle, “Why am I not surprised.”

“What?” he says, half laughing.

“Seems like Joel Miller is good at everything,” you say lightly, almost in admiration. He’s behind you again, feeding the ropes through themselves. The back looks beautifully intricate, and you can see other couples getting frustrated before either Starr or her wife comes and helps them. You continue, “Let me guess, you were like a big all-star pitcher or something?”

“No,” he answers.

“What position did you play then?” You glance down at your chest at the star shape across your chest, the rope scrapes gently on the exposed skin of your neck with the movement. It’s stunning, exactly as the demonstration and the picture. Yep, Joel Miller is good at everything. 

A new voice joins your conversation, “Best first baseman the school has ever seen.”

You crane your neck over your right shoulder towards the source; Tommy. You clench your molars when you see him with Jade; the beautiful icy blonde woman that Joel had tied to his desk the first time you met him. Joel shifts uncomfortably as she flutters her lashes at him. “As I was saying,” Joel huffs in his brother's direction before turning his attention back to you. “I played first base and Tommy was the back catcher. Our mom pretty much put us in any sport she could afford to keep us out of trouble.” 

“That’s kind of fascinating,” you say, looking back towards the stage and trying to get back into the safe little bubble you and Joel have created. 

“I dunno about that, sweet girl.”

The combination of him using that nickname and the feeling of his fingers on your body cause another shiver to roll up your spine, and suddenly it’s just the two of you again. It’s so easy to get lost with Joel, every ounce of that fog from earlier has dissipated. He’s like the warm morning sun, chasing away all the thick haze that coated you in the darkness. “I think this is a safe nickname space only, Sweet Cheeks.”

He swats your bum gently eliciting a giggle to pass your lips before getting back to weaving the rope in and out along your spine. “Careful. Now why is it kind of fascinating?”

“I mean, Tommy played at home plate, you played at first base.”

“I don’t know where you’re going here, Freckles.”

You smile over your shoulder at Joel. “Well, don’t you see the connection? You don’t have sex with your subs, Tommy does. He goes to home plate, you stay at first base.”

Joel arches an eyebrow at you as you flash him a cheeky smile and then he lets out a laugh. A real laugh that sounds like it’s coming straight from his stomach. His big beautiful smile draws up his cheeks causing the skin around his eyes to crinkle. The sound is almost enough to make you weak at the knees. “I swear to god, Freckles, I love the way your brain works.”

The rest of the group finishes off their harnesses and Starr begins the next part, explaining now how to tie the arms around the biceps and secure them to the harness. They hand out the ropes again and you reach behind yourself to criss cross your arms and grasp your opposite elbows. Just as Joel begins folding the rope over in his hands, Jade speaks.

“She sort of hit the nail on the head with that one, Mister Miller.” Envy flares in your eyes as she steps towards Joel, leaning into him. “I can’t wait for tomorrow. I’ve missed you.”

You glance towards Joel, expecting to see him looking angry but his soft eyes meet you with guilt written all over his face. You watch his throat as he swallows hard and the happy, sparkly bubble you built bursts and the fog returns. Your heart drops to your feet, it was too good to be true, you knew it was too good to be true and he almost had you fooled. You don’t think, you just act, you need to get away from this space and all these people as bile rises in your throat.

Your feet feel heavy as you walk quickly toward the voyeur room, slipping past the closed sign that's propped up outside the curtain that conceals it. Darkness surrounds you, the rope harness feels like it’s smothering you as you try to take deep calming breaths. A flash of light from the otherside of the curtain fills the room as someone follows.

“Go away, Joel.” You say quietly, trying to force air past the lump growing in your throat. 

“It’s Tommy.” He says, flicking on a dim light and noting the way you’re pulling at the rope closest to your throat. “Let me untie you so you don’t hurt yourself.”

You step back, a wall slamming down around you. Tommy raises his hands, “Please, just let me untie you so you can breathe.”

You spin slowly, giving your back to him and he approaches. His fingers pulling and working the ropes and the irony of him removing knots as you start to mentally tie yourself up in them is enough to make you nauseous. You retreat into your mind, looking for that stupid box. I fucking told you! You practically scream at the shadow you know it’s hiding in.

“Try to slow your breathing for me,” Tommy says softly as the rope begins to loosen and fall away from your body. Tonight felt too normal, too comfortable. You started to feel like maybe Joel was feeling the same way you do, but now you feel like you’ve been slapped across the face with yet another reminder that you are not enough. Six out eight universities and the man you completely misread. 

“I’m so fucking stupid.” It doesn’t come out self deprecating or angrily. Just as if you’re stating a fact, similar to how you’d say you like the colour green. 

“No, this is on me.” The rope falls away from your body and you step away, spinning to face Tommy. “I shouldn’t have said yes when she asked me to bring her here tonight. I assumed Joel had ended it before they were in Europe.”

“What?” You breathe out in disbelief. Even though you can see the rope in Tommy’s hands, it still feels like it’s around your throat.

You wander towards the nearest couch. All those pictures, all those flirty texts and she was there the entire time? You hear your mothers voice again, ‘You might be the smartest one in this town but the real world is going to eat you up and spit you out.’ Nothing has felt more true, especially today. Six schools rejected you, selecting smarter shinier applicants and now the same thing is happening with Joel. You knew you didn’t hold a candle to her, he wanted you to go with Tommy so he could keep her, didn’t he?

‘It’s only you.’ His desperate voice from the day in his office comes out of the shadows of your mind. But it’s not only you. If he didn’t end it with her then it’s her too. You’re constantly in competitions that you have no business being in. 

“No, not ‘they’. Not like that. They were there for different things, not together,” Tommy’s voice has a hint of panic. “...I’m really fucking this night up, aren’t I?”

Just then, Joel and Jade come through the curtain. “Sweet girl….”

“No,” you say, cutting him off with a wave of your hand. You want to yell and scream and ask him what was with all that “it’s only you” bullshit.

“Baby, please, just listen to me.” Joel kneels in front of you and you stand up. His hands come to either side of the couch, keeping you there. “Please?”

You can feel his eyes on you but you keep staring straight ahead, the curtains of all the rental rooms are drawn shut. “Please just go, Joel.”

Jade steps into your line of vision and you can feel the jealousy twisting at your stomach. She’s fucking beautiful. Long icy blonde hair that looks silky to touch, slender limbs and a perfectly symmetrical face. Her make up is done to perfection, and to top it all off she was kissed by an angel in the breast department. 

“I’m sorry. I left the country a few days after I saw you for your birthday celebration. I went to Germany to get married and I wasn’t coming back.” Her eyes go soft for a second as she looks down at her bare left ring finger and then back to you. “Clearly I didn’t do either of those things. I haven’t spoken to Joel and I just assumed our regular time slots still stood.”

Even without looking down, you know Joel hasn’t looked away. From the moment you met him, you’ve been able to feel his gaze on you. It’s one of the things you like so much about him, the way he looks at you. You feel warm and seen, and most importantly, safe in his gaze.

Tommy clears his throat gently and you glance his way. “Ending things with a sub is tricky. It has to be done in person. I know Joel better than anyone else, he ended things with everyone else. He’s gonna beat the shit out of me for this, but he’s crazy about you and he’s only ever looked at one other person the way he looks at you.”

“Tommy,” Jade's voice cracks as she says his name. “I think you should untie me so I can leave. I really am sorry, to all of you.”

You watch the two of them disappear back into the main area of the club before you finally allow yourself to look down at Joel. His eyes are big and soft, he looks so vulnerable. Is this real though? When you think about how easily he can slide on his dominant mask you aren’t sure what you can and can’t trust, and that’s really fucking horrible considering trust is the most important thing between a sub and dom. He could be lying, he gains blow jobs and doing whatever else he wants to your body by keeping this up. 

But what does Tommy gain from telling you what he just did? Tommy has no skin in the game here.

Joel  

His heart is flying wildly behind his chest, blood coursing through his ears. He never thought he was going to see Jade again. Neither of them talked about it really, but after that session that you walked in on she canceled the next one and told him she was moving to be with her fiance in Germany and was getting married. He continues to look up at you; the ever growing pinch in his neck be damned, he’s not looking away. Even at this angle you manage to take his breath away. It feels like hours have gone by when you finally speak.

“I thought it was only me,” it comes out as a whisper and immediately shatters the little bits that were left of his composure. 

“It is, sweet girl. I promise you it is.”

“I want to believe you,” your voice is so calm. He doesn’t deserve you being calm right now. Or does he? You came into this very methodical. Maybe these are just sub-dom transactions to you.

“What can I do?” He says hopefully. “I’ll do anything you need, sweet girl.”

You let out a shaky breath and he can see the wall building behind your eyes, that fun goofy girl who isn’t afraid to crack a joke is slowly locking herself away. He prepares himself for you to tell him this is over, or that you need time. He reminds himself that this was always going to end in heartbreak for him, so may as well get it over with now instead of when he’s fully in love with you, before he’s learned how those warm walls of your pussy feel against his cock. Because there really will be no coming back from that if that happens.

As he tightens the muscles in his core, physically preparing for the metaphorical blow to the gut he watches your long lashes flutter shut and when you open your eyes again the wall is gone. The shimmering pools of the eyes he’s enamored by are back and relief washes over him. 

“Nothing, Mister Miller,” your voice is saccharine sweet. “Trust is the most important thing between a sub and their dom. I can’t let my own anxiety ruin this, but I might just be a bit guarded until I’ve calmed all those thoughts.”

He whispers your name, biting back a groan as your hands meet his hair. “I’m so sorry that happened, baby girl.”

“I know. So am I. I shouldn’t have gotten jealous. It’s just…”

“No, you can be jealous. I told you one thing and -.”

You tug at the strands of his hair and shush him. “I’m not done,” your voice is stern. Joel isn’t used to hearing your tone like that and he suddenly feels his chest swelling with pride. This sweet bubbly person in front of him is morphing into a confident badass. That’s probably the exact tone you’ll use in boardrooms or courtrooms when other lawyers try to talk over you and he can only hope that one day he’ll get to witness that. “I shouldn’t have gotten jealous, but I really like the way I feel around you. It’s selfish of me, but I’d like to keep feeling like this for the few months I have left here before I leave for law school.”

Selfish. He lets that word wash over him. The most selfless person he’s ever known is worried about being selfish? No, he thinks, she deserves this. Hearing you say that you’re leaving makes him feel like his chest is caving in on itself. He’ll deal with the inevitable heartbreak when you leave him. He knows those rejection letters were hard on you, but he helped you to feel better and he’s going to hold on to that and give you that for as long as he possibly can. 

Your fingers release his hair and he watches you walk the few steps to where the rope Tommy untied for you lays on the floor. He licks his lips as you bend to pick it up, eyes trailing over the delicious curves of your ass. “It would be my pleasure, sweetheart.”

You turn, walking back towards where he’s kneeling and holding the ropes out to him you say, “Is the workshop over?”

He stands up, his fingers grazing yours as he takes the rope. Electricity tingles up his forearms at the feel of your soft skin. Your body is so close to his that he can feel your soft warmth radiating against him. You being at this proximity immediately put him at ease.

“No, there’s a bodysuit tutorial right now,” he says. You nod, stepping around him. Suddenly, Joel grabs your elbow to stop you, lowering his lips to your ear, and lowering his voice to that gravelly tone he knows you love, he rasps, “I should punish you for letting another dom untie what’s mine.”

You smirk up at him, “I’d like to see you try, Sweet Cheeks.”

You

Joel works silently around you and you lose yourself for a bit in the events that unfolded tonight. Joel has knelt in front of you before, but never like that. The sad, helpless look in his eyes, the slight slump of the shoulders. He was submitting to you, and when your fingers met his scalp, he leaned into your touch. The way his body melted at your touch was intoxicating. He wasn’t Mister Miller in that room tonight, he was Joel, and the dichotomy of this man is astounding. 

After about thirty minutes of Joel twisting, turning and pulling he has your upper half tied into a zigzagged bodysuit of rope. Joel steps in front of you and bends slightly to reach between your legs. When he brings the rope between your thighs and as he feeds it through the bottom of the chest piece, the seam of your leggings brushes against your clit. You jolt at the contact, your cheeks flushing crimson as Joel's eyes meet yours in a flash of onyx and honey. He begins shaping the bottom part of the bodysuit, bent in front of you the entire time and locking eyes with yours every time he tugs the ropes into place. 

You glance nervously around the room to see if anyone else is having the same reaction. You expected this night to be fun and silly, the way a date should be. And it was for a while, but now it’s taken a very erotic turn. The blush of your cheeks warms down your chest and neck as you hold off on what could be a very vocal orgasm in front of a room of people who you don’t necessarily want to witness it.

Joel finally finishes the body suit and moves to stand behind you, his patchy facial hair brushes the shell of your ear as he whispers, his voice full of gravel, “Hands behind your back, my sweet girl. We aren’t done.”

A shiver races up your spine and your arms fly back. “So eager,” Joel says softly, grazing his teeth along the lobe of your ear, adding gasoline to the small fire that’s been building between your thighs.  

You’re sure the arm restraints only take about three minutes to complete, but it feels like hours. The three knots that lay around your wrists, forearms, and biceps keep your posture nice and tall, and your breasts pushed up through the body suit. Once he’s finished, Joel spins you to face him, and that rope works its way in between the lips of your now absolutely soaked pussy. You squeeze your thighs together, the soft expression on his face only intensifying the growing ache. He’s such a fucking tease, you think, and now he’s looking at you as if you put the stars in the sky. Finally, his dark brown eyes settle on yours and he gives you a closed lip smile.

“What?” You ask breathlessly.

“I jus’ thought that I’d go all caveman seein’ you like this,” he steps into you, one hand cupping your cheek, the other tugging on the rope near your waist, which jiggles the rope that has you on edge. Joel’s voice lowers, this next part just for you to hear. “But you just look so beautiful.”

He tugs up on the rope and pleasure courses through you as you gasp quietly. He gives you that sexy smirk that makes that dimple carve into his cheek. 

Yep, he’s a fucking tease. The little box says, confirming your thoughts. 

“You like that, sweet girl?”

He tugs again and your forehead falls to his chest. “Please, Mister Miller,” you whisper into his expensive cotton t-shirt. 

Starr interrupts the two of you, but you can’t peel yourself away from Joel right now. The slightest move of that rope might make you explode. “Well, based on that reaction I’d say you tied it just right, Joel.”

“Thank you for coming, Starr. I’m sure we’ll host one of these again soon. Tommy is by the bar, he can help you kick everyone out.”

“Joel,” she says, a slight hint of amusement in her now hushed voice. “Your rope bunny is on the verge of having an orgasm, go.”

With that he hoists you over his shoulder and walks towards the door that leads to the private rooms. “Fuckfuck, I’m gonna -” you whisper into his broad back and squeeze your thighs tighter as Joel walks. 

The second the door shuts, separating you from the others Joel puts you on your feet and jiggles the rope around your waist. “Come, baby.”

You fall into him for support, his other arm wrapping around you to hold you up as stars blur your vision. “That feel good, my little rope bunny?” 

“Yes - oh god, yes.” Your arms pull at the ropes restraining them behind your back and you can’t hold it anymore. Your orgasm practically slams through you as you gasp and moan into Joel's broad chest. “Fuck, Mister Miller.”

 “You’re so beautiful when you let go for me. I’ll never get sick of watching you like this.” He continues to work the rope as your high crests and your legs start to go weak and boneless below you.

“I can’t…p-please Mis - Fuck.” Joel lifts your lax and quivering body over his shoulder again and makes his way to his room, placing you at the foot of the bed, spinning you and pushing between your shoulder blades until your chest meets the mattress.

“Spread your legs,” he commands and you listen, moving your feet to be shoulder width apart. He wraps two cuffs around your ankles, and attaches them to the bottom of the bed posts before doing the same to the ropes around your arms. You’re trapped, stuck bent over the end of the bed and even though you’re fully clothed under all of these ropes, this is easily the hottest thing you’ve ever done. “Fuck me. How are you so goddamn sexy even when you’re fully clothed.”

You hear Joel’s footsteps around the room, gathering whatever he has decided to use on you tonight before you can feel him behind you. “Sweet girl, I do believe I read that you would be interested in sensory deprivation. Is that correct?” 

“Yes, Mister Miller,” you hum.

“Do I have your consent to blindfold you and then have you listen to music in noise canceling headphones?”

Fire erupts in your stomach, your core pulsing at the thought of him doing whatever he wants to you. “Yes, Mister Miller.”

A silky black blind fold slips over your head, Joel's large body covering your back. “What’s your safeword?” he growls, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. 

“Stegosaurus.” Just once you’d like that to not leave your lips in the whiny, desperate tone it does when he asks you that question. 

“Good girl,” he praises before the plush headphones cover your ears. All you see is black, all you hear is soft decorative piano music, and all you feel is the warmth of Joel over your buzzing skin. There’s not a single thought in your mind, everything is silent. This is what you need and you start to worry that you’ll become addicted to the way Joel makes you feel everything while thinking nothing. 

The warmth of his body disappears from you and you whimper at the loss. Your eyes clench closed as if that will help you be able to find him. A thin, pulsing vibrator hits the back of your thigh and you jump. Joel's large hands rubs your opposite hip and every muscle relaxes under his touch. The vibrator pulses softly as he moves it up your thigh, tickling along your hip, and then down the other leg. You can’t hear the sounds that you’re making but you’re sure they’re desperate, needy gasps.

After teasing your arms Joel slips something small and hard between your body and the rope that’s been torturously teasing at your clit before you feel him pull away. You adjust so your forehead is resting on the mattress before it dips with the weight of him sitting beside your head. His warm fingers wrap around your neck and he kneads the muscles.

“Mmmm, thank you Mister Miller,” you hum. 

Whatever Joel slipped against your clit comes to life, a dull vibration that is sure to be your undoing has you attempting to arch your back, but you can’t move. Your breathing quickens, short little puffs of air passing your lips. 

“I’m gonna come,” you murmur quietly, or at least you think it’s quiet since you can’t hear yourself or anything else. Joel’s strong fingers continue the delicious swirling patterns up and down the sides of your neck as you begin to shake. “Oh god - I’m so close!”

Just as you’re about to slam head first into another orgasm the vibrating stops and Joel’s fingers disappear from your skin. “No,” and this time you know it wasn’t a whisper or a whimper.

The mattress jostles and then you feel Joel behind you again. A hand comes to one of yours, coaxing it out of the fist you’ve apparently clenched before doing the same to the other. The vibrating starts stronger this time and both his hands come to yours, his thumbs massaging at your palms. It doesn’t take long this time before you’re right on that edge again.

“Fuck, Mister Miller. Puh-please don’t stop!” Your legs start the familiar shake that happens right when you’re about to tip over the edge and he doesn’t follow your wishes. The hand massage stops, quickly followed by the vibrator being switched off. You groan in frustration and he lays a quick, sharp spank over your legging clad right ass cheek. “Hnnng - sorry.”

You can’t be certain, but based on the warm puffs hitting your core you’re pretty sure he’s knelt down behind you. The vibrator comes to life again, stronger than the last two times and his hands work at massaging the muscles along the back of your thighs. This is torture; wonderful euphoric torture and as much as you want it end, you also don’t ever want him to stop making you feel this way. 

You let your eyes flutter open behind the blindfold, it’s still just as dark but you see that little pink sparkly box. The one that’s overflowing with emotion for Joel. You should push it back into the shadows or light it on fire, but instead you let it come out of the shadows completely. You see your hands reaching for the lid just as the white hot pleasure in your core gets close to the breaking point.

“Please please…Mister Miller - fuck!” You whimper and whine as it begins to burn hotter and then it’s gone and it feels like the air is being sucked forcefully out of your lungs. 

“Nonono, I can’t. Please, I need you..” Joel's large body is across your back in a second. The hard bulge in pants pressing against your ass and the memory of how good he felt and tasted in your mouth the last time has saliva pooling under your tongue. You swallow hard as one of the padded ear pieces is lifted from your ear.

Joel’s voice is deep and gruff as he says, “What do you need, my sweet girl?”

The little box of feelings vibrates at him calling you his and you kick it back into the shadows. “I need to come, Mister Miller.”

“That right? How bad?” He says teasingly before placing a feather light kiss on that sensitive spot right below your ear.

“So bad. Please, it hurts, Mister Miller.” You are pouting into the fluffy sheets, a completely whiny mess, and you realize that you’re always a mess for him. Be it a horny or depraved one, a whiny or a pouty one, he doesn’t care and if anything you think he likes it that way, likes you that way. “I want to hear you. I miss your dirty talk, please, baby!”

“Fuck,” he breathes. “I should spank you until you can’t sit tomorrow for calling me anything but Mister Miller. You know that, right?” 

“I can’t think straight. I’m sorry, just please. Please!”

He whips the headphones off of you and the vibrator hits at an intensity you have never felt before. Your pornographic scream fills the room. His large body above yours intensifies everything that was already killing you.

“That what you need, huh?”

You cry out and try to say yes but you’re sure it’s all just an incoherent mix of sounds at this point. 

“God damn, baby girl. You should see yourself right now. All tied up in knots that I made. The way your leggings hug the curves of your hips and soft, creamy thighs. You’re going to be the death of me one day.”

Tears start to flow behind your blindfold as the pleasure almost becomes too much, you haven’t come yet, and at this point you aren’t sure if you’ll survive it if you do. You have half a mind to ask Joel if an orgasm can physically split you in two because that is how you feel right now. 

“I’m - oh god - I’m…” You try to form the words but you can’t. 

One of Joel’s hands slips between his front and your tied up arms, his hand wrapping tightly around yours. His lips come to your ear as whispers. “I got you, sweet girl, just let go for me.”

“Need to see you,” you say between gasps of air and the pleasure begins to burn in your. 

Joel peels the blind fold off. You blink him into focus, his warm eyes searching your face. “Let go, you’re ok.”

As per usual, it’s his words that seem to be that final push and you let your orgasm consume you. It starts as a cold spark, a shiver up your spine and then heat flushes through every since cell in your body. You moan and writhe beneath Joel who whispers your praises like a prayer. Talking you through the intensity of the feeling. Your pussy clenches around nothing and you’re sure your panties, leggings and the rope are ruined.

“I can’t!” You gasp and Joel slows the vibration to help you ride out the decresendo of your orgasm. As the jolts of your body slow, he follows suit; the vibrator going to a dull blip and eventually nothing. Joel's thumb traces soothing patterns on the hand he’s still holding between your bodies. You take a deep and shaky breath, trying to calm your racing heart. 

“Are you ok, angel?” he asks quietly and goosebumps somehow spread along your too hot body.

“Better than ok,” you say with a small smile.

Joel’s lips meet yours, soft and pliant and so full of passion. Your eyes shut as you part your lips for him and when your tongue strokes gently against his he lets out a small whimper that causes your pulse to leap. Mentally, you grab a bigger box, stuffing it with the realization that you’re falling for this man. But you will deal with that later, right now you just need to let yourself have something that is for, well… yourself.

Joel 

He breaks the kiss, even though he doesn’t want to. Even though he knows that by breaking this kiss it’s only going to mean you going home sooner.  “I need to get you out of these ropes and get some sugar into you.”

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence as his nimble fingers work to undo your restraints, then the intricate knots that bind your arms, and lastly the bodysuit. He really did think you looked stunning all tied up. He didn’t plan for this night to go the way it did, but when he saw the slight flush of your cheeks and the way your eyes glazed over he couldn’t resist giving you what he knew you needed. He stays close, one hand protectively on your hip as you crawl onto the bed. Once he has you seated, he pulls a fuzzy grey blanket out from a basket beside the night stand and then opens the small fridge to grab you an orange juice and water.

He cracks the top of the orange juice. “Drink this for me, please.”

He watches your eyes do a quick half roll but you don’t fight him, fingers just barely grazing his as you take the juice from him. “I had fun tonight,” you say between sips as he walks to grab the coconut oil. 

Joel stands beside you. “So did I, sweetheart. Arm, please.”

You take the orange juice in your left hand and give him your right. Both of you watch as he puts oil on the few pink marks the ropes left behind. “Do you think I should change my safeword?”

He lifts one eyebrow at you and as he tends to your other arm says, “Why do you ask that.”

“I don’t know. It’s just…well, originally that little dinosaur on your coffee maker seemed so out of place. It intrigued me. Your home is beautiful, but the parts you let people see don’t give away any hints about you, except for that little dinosaur. But now that I know the whole story, it just seems too special of an item to be tied to what we do.”

“I don’t think we need to change it. You’re right, that little stegosaurus is special to me.” He sits sideways on the bed, grabbing the empty orange juice container and handing you the water. His jaw flexes once before he continues, “But so are you. I love that you felt a connection to that part of me. Ultimately, it’s your safe word, sweet girl, so you can make it anything you want, but I think it’s perfect for us.”

The soft look in your eyes as he speaks is almost enough to kill him, and when your lips twitch up ever so slightly at his words he knows he’s done for. He shouldn’t fall for you, especially since he’s sure there’s no way you’d ever feel the same way, but he can’t not fall for you.

Your name passes his lips with a nervous tremble, because he knows that what he’s about to say next is going to be his undoing. If you say yes to this next thing, if he continues spending actual time with you, he’s done.

“Ya?” you say before sucking your bottom lip through your teeth.

“Friday night is the five year anniversary party for the club. It’s a black tie event for all the VIP guests. Would you like to accompany me?”

He watches as your eyes land on your lap, your lips pressing together as if to suppress a smile. When your gaze floats back up to his, your eyes give you away. Try as you might to hide your expressions with him; he'll always know when you’re happy based on the glitter of your eyes.

“I’d really like that, Mister Miller.”

His forehead meets yours. “This might be a Sweet Cheeks moment.”

Thank you soooo much for reading! Remember to follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates for future chapters xo.

Next Chapter

[reiderwriter]

In Case I'm Mistaken

Chapter Five of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Your first run-in with Spencer Reid since he left you so spectacularly is fraught with tension. Sexual and otherwise.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI pregnancy symptoms, morning sickness/ throwing up, fingering, rough sex, semi-public sex, penetrative sex, choking, slapping, creampie but she's pregnant already, mild case details, etc.

A/N: We're halfway through! I sincerely hope everyone enjoys how stupid and oblivious Spencer is being because I can't promise he'll wise up anytime soon lmao. If you're enjoying the series, let me know in the comments ♡

Masterlist || Add yourself to the tag list

When you left Spencer's apartment, you expected a call or a text or an email in the next three days. Penelope told you that's most likely when they'd wrap the case and when he'd be back at his apartment to see the stunt you had pulled. 

You tried to force yourself back to work in the meantime, and it almost worked. Until you had to spend three hours a day crouched over a toilet bowl, emptying your stomach lining again and again. You had spent almost a full month like that before you realised you hadn't heard from him. 

First, it was cases, then it was casework, and then it was cases again, but if probed, Spencer truly would have no idea you'd tried to get in contact with him at all. And it seemed he didn't care in the slightest.

He'd been home, but he hadn't been looking for anything out of place, so he hadn't seen anything out of place. Certainly not a bookshelf spelling out “CALL ME WHEN YOU GET THIS.” It was your choice to leave the cryptic message though, and you hadn't exactly left him any notes to say that you'd dropped by. 

But finding out you were pregnant on a night you'd half-expected to throttle the man who'd impregnated you (verbally) and then having cried on his couch with one of his very close female friends? Yeah, you were confused and lost, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. 

With emotions and hormones running high, you couldn't even tell if Spencer was purposefully ignoring you or not. 

The only saving grace in that month was your promotion. 

It literally could not have come at a better time, and you'd enjoyed signing the papers greatly knowing you'd be blindsiding your boss with a pregnancy announcement in the next three months, should you be able to carry the baby successfully to that point. 

You'd had your first check-up without a call from Spencer. You'd picked out your first baby outfit without a call from Spencer. You were pretty confident that you'd give birth to the goddamn baby without a call from Spencer. 

Which is why when you found him in your office a month later, you wanted to wrap your hands around his neck and slowly choke the life out of him. 

Between classes, you'd taken to running to the bathroom to hang your head in shame, not over morning sickness at all yet. You'd taken to keeping cereal bars and pregnancy safe snacks in your office in case you needed something else to help you power through the morning. 

That morning was worse than others, with less than half your students in attendance and still two hours to waste standing up in front of a podium - department rules. 

You'd thought you were going to expire in front of that toilet bowl, sending up your prayers as you checked your watch and realised you'd have a class again in an hour or two that you weren't fully prepped for. 

So you slinked back to your office and tried to throw yourself onto the sofa, but unfortunately for you, a large man was blocking your way. 

“Can I help you?” You eked out, voice weak but still able to convey all the annoyance you felt at the door. 

“Sorry, sorry, this is your…?" The man said, smiling down at you. You had to give it to him, the man was good looking but you just waited for him to stand aside again. 

“Do you mind?” You said, gesturing to the door you now knew the man was blocking. He wasn't letting you in for some reason, and you couldn't for the life of you figure out why. It was your goddamn office for christ's sake. Your snacks were inside. 

“Sorry, following orders.”

“Right, and whose orders would those be Mr…”

“SSA Luke Alvez,” he said, holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

You'd have introduced yourself politely under any other circumstances but in reaching out his hand and giving his title, you'd seen the flash of his FBI badge on his hip and knew exactly who was behind this. 

“Son of a bitch,” you muttered, ducking under the man's arms and slamming the door to your office open to find Doctor Spencer Reid huddled over some files, two women flanking him on either side. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” 

The two women looked taken aback, straightening immediately as they looked between you and Spencer. He was slow to take his eyes off whatever it was they were working on, as if playing with you once again. 

You really regretted keeping his desk around, seeing how comfortable he looked there, how normal it was for you to see him there.

“Doctor Y/N. Nice to see you again.” 

“Nice to-?” You scoffed and slammed the door once more. “Yeah. Okay.” 

One of the women quickly excused herself from the situation, almost as soon as she realised that once you'd finally locked eyes with Spencer, neither of you looked away. 

“I'm sorry to intrude, my name is Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss, I'm the Unit Chief of the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit. We really wouldn't be here if it weren't an emergency.” 

You had to give it to the woman, but she caught on quickly and stepped between the two of you, breaking eye contact and forcing your attention onto her. You introduced yourself quickly. 

“Doctor Y/N Y/L/N. I trudt that if you're here, something bad has happened.” 

You noticed a flash of something as Emily shook your hand, hearing your name. It was subtle, and it was quick, but you saw her eyes flick to your stomach and then back up, and you froze. 

She knew. Penelope hadn't exactly broken your trust - you never told her to keep a secret from anyone but Spencer - but you felt your guard go back up twofold. 

“Emily, can I talk privately with Y/N for a moment?” Spencer asked, and you resisted the urge to cradle yourself, to cover whatever it was she may have seen in your appearance or the way you held yourself that became your tell. 

You wanted to tell Spencer you were pregnant, sure, but you'd wanted to tell him a month ago. Now? Now you were pissed off. 

The older woman quietly bowed out, reminding Spencer to reconvene with her in another hour. She shut the door quietly after she went, and you listened carefully to the retreating murmurs of her and the other agent down the hall until you were confident you were more or less alone. 

And then you picked up the nearest book and threw it. 

“Y/N! Listen, I can explain-” 

You threw another book, and this one hit his arm. He winced and rubbed it quickly as he flinched away from you, picking up your third weapon. 

“Explain what? Explain why you've commandeered my office for secret FBI business? Explain why you left me behind like a discarded cum rag after we had sex? Maybe you-” 

“Y/N, I had a case, I didn't want to-” You threw another book, but he batted it away this time. 

“Can we just talk like adults, please?” He stepped forward and grabbed your wrist just as you reloaded with another book, forcing the tome from your grip in a few seconds. 

“The Norton Anthology? Really? You'd bludgeon me to death with that thing.”

“It has some interesting essays on psychoanalysis and literary theory. You should be honoured that I'd even think of throwing it at you.” 

He just scowled and sat you down on the couch, following you there to sit next to you. 

“Why are you still so frustrated? I thought we moved past this- this resentment?” 

For the last few weeks, you'd hoped that Spencer was just clueless about what you were going through. That he'd been swamped with work and hadn't seen your message. But getting the confirmation in real time was winding. 

The air was knocked from your lungs, and you had to fight to fill them again, refusing to let yourself be so downright pathetic.

“What resentment did we move past exactly, Spencer? Because I remember the sex, but I do not remember your apology.”

“Why should I apologise?” The sincerity in his voice had your fingers itching to knock his lights off for him.

“Well, gee, for a starter, maybe for finding my address online and showing up to my house uninvited and unannounced.” 

“I did announce it. You just blocked my number and email.” 

You scoffed and threw yourself back in your chair. 

“Number, yes. Email? No. You sent it from an unauthorised network email. All your emails sat in my spam folder until last month.” 

He furrowed his brows at the news, but you just crossed your arms and waited for whatever he'd say next to get out of taking responsibility. 

“I'm sorry.” 

To say you weren't expecting that was an understatement. You felt so uncomfortable with the words you fidgeted in your seat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. 

“Yes, well…” 

Standing, you moved to your desk and grabbed the snacks you'd come here to find, slamming your desk draw shut and keeping the desk between you, sitting in your chair. 

“We're working a case.” 

“I can tell.” 

He leant over the desk and grabbed one of your snacks, opening a cereal bar quickly and taking a bite. 

“Three of the students in our faculty have gone missing in the last 30 days.” 

You nodded as you listened, but your eyes were on your snack, in his hand, in his mouth. The bastard. 

“I need to use the office for a few days. I won't disturb you, but we need some space as a base on campus, and this is our best option.”

“Not afraid I'll walk away with critical documents this time?” 

“This time, I have everything memorised. I've read all the documents. You can't ruin the case this time.”

You stood and grabbed your snack from his hand as he lifted it to take another bite, throwing it straight into the trash can. 

“What was that for?”

“For being a jerk.”

You stomped over to your bag and pulled out your headphones, putting them on as he attempted to keep talking to you. 

“Y/N, you're being immature-” 

“You just stole my snack like it's playtime at recess, Spencer. I'm not the immature one.” 

You turned the music on as he attempted to talk to you, but you didn't budge or take them off, returning to the couch to lay comfortably once more. 

Something about the infuriating, beautiful man had you wanting to act out, reaching new levels of immaturity. 

You felt the dip in the couch as he joined you there, felt him waving in front of your face. You smiled at his growing frustration as you heard him raise his voice just slightly. 

Then, your legs were pulled out from under you, and you squeaked in shock as Spencer Reid pulled you into his lap, making you straddle him. Your eyes blew open, and you grabbed at his shirt for balance, leaving you open to his attacks as he knocked the headphones off your head. 

“You're such a…a..” 

“Jackass? Okay, sure, but I'm a jackass you're going to listen to.”

“Make me.” 

The words were a dare, a challenge you didn't think he'd rise to. But his hands snaked around your neck, and he pulled your lips down to him, silencing you completely with another angry kiss.

Your lips parted immediately, all too happy to take in his wondering tongue as you battled for dominance. His hands trailed up and down your body, cupping your ass cheeks, squeezing your already sensitive breasts, pushing your skirt up so his hands could roam underneath. 

You squirmed in his lap, memories of the last night you'd seen him rushing back. His tongue, his hands, fuck, his cock. Pregnancy hormones or just plain old lust, you wanted it all over again, and you didn't stop to think about it for a second. Any second he was kissing you was a second he wasn't talking. 

You ground your hips into his as he worked a finger into your underwear, scraping against your clit as he pulled his head away, burying it in your neck as he began nipping and licking your skin, on a mission to taste every inch of you. 

“Spencer,��� You gasped as he began rubbing your clit faster, your body providing all the juices he needed to make you feel good. 

“Spencer, we should- fuck!” It'd been only minutes, but he'd already pushed you over the edge, and you died your first little death cumming on his fingers. 

“We should fuck? Yes, yeah I can get behind that,” he said, laying you down again and slowly pulling down your damp underwear. 

“That's not what I was going to say, you bastard,” you said, grabbing his tie and pulling him in for another kiss. 

“I know, but this is much better, don't you think?” He pulled away and fumbled with his pants, pulling them down only far enough to free his cock before sliding into you. He sheathed Himself inside you, pushing inch by inch until he was at your limit, and then he stopped. 

He kissed your lips, your cheeks, your neck and collarbones, he took his time with each spot, making a line down your body, a record of every place he had possessed you without moving an inch. 

“Spencer, you can't- need to-” you whined, not minding sounding like a petulant child about to throw a tantrum when he was giving you a pretty great reason to do so. 

He had eaten your snacks and now he was just keeping his cock warm inside of you, not even bothering to rub your clit anymore, his hands more focused on keeping his weight up. 

“I need to do what, Y/N? Tell me, but be quiet about it. This office isn't soundproof, remember.” 

 “Shit, shit, shit, shit-” 

You tried to roll your hips under him, to take the pleasure you needed, but he stopped you, letting his hips press deeper into yours, making himself heavy. You tried another tactic. 

“Oh, come on Spencer, you can't even fuck me properly now? Pathetic.’

“Watch it-” he said, but you cut him off again.

“Watch what? You're not doing anything. Maybe I'll ask that little friend of yours outside for some help instead, I'm sure Agent Alvez would be more than happy to-” 

A short, soft slap to your face cut your words off as he spoke, the hand that hit you immediately pushing down to your neck and squeezing lightly. 

“You're. Mine,” he spat, and started immediately rolling his hips into you quickly. 

You wrapped your legs up and around him, your hands lifting to grab his wrist, keeping his hand in place around your throat.

He fucked you harder and your breaths became shallow, eyes locked with his as he panted and writhed above you. He didn't look away. You couldn't. You were drunk on his cock, completely unable to sober up and just waiting for your orgasm to strike you once again. 

You weren't two civilised people in that room, but animals, forcing one another to submit, to give in to temptation. 

His hand on your throat came loose as he came, chest falling down to yours as he flooded your insides with cum once again. To give him credit where credit was due, he kept his cock inside of you and rubbed your clit again to completion, swallowing your every moan and whimper with a kiss, enjoying the feeling of you convulsing on his cock. 

When you were both finally done, he let himself rest on top of you, burying his head in your neck and inhaling your scent as you both dropped back down into reality. 

“Get up,” you said first, pushing him up and watching him peel out of you as you reached back to the coffee table for the box of tissues there. 

“We need to clean up,” You said attempting to tidy the cum leaking out of you away, as if it were merely a spilt drink. 

He sat up, giving his cock a wipe down before putting his clothes back together. You both sat side by side, minding your own business, making yourselves look as inconspicuous as possible and ignoring the elephant in the room. 

He broke the silence first. 

“The girls, they're all our students. The only thing they share is that they all took both of our courses.” 

Your heart dropped as you remembered he wasn't here for you, that he had other jobs and responsibilities. You were merely a pleasurable afterthought. 

“Shit,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair. You stretched out and stood, sore but still able to make your body work for you. 

“You're sure there's nothing else? No clubs, no extra curricular?” His jaw tightened as he ground his teeth together, unsure about how much to tell you. 

“They fit a basic profile which tells us the unsub is killing people as a scapegoat and…hasn't got to his intended target yet.” 

You nodded as you took in the information, standing and leading yourself back to your desk and grabbing your bag again. 

“Look, just… just use the room until you get your guy. I'll work from the library or a study room or something, just…” You ran another hand through your hair, exasperated. 

“Y/N, no, we don't need to out you out, we shared the office space before, we can-” 

“We can't. Five minutes alone in this room together today proved… that we can't. Don't get distracted.” 

You grabbed more books, turning away from him to avoid the guilty looks he was shooting you. 

You'd almost collected everything, hesitating as you grabbed your pregnancy vitamins from your draw, stuffing them quickly into your bag before moving closer to the door. 

It opened before you could open it, and Emily Prentiss made herself known again. 

“Good, you're already packed,” she said, grabbing your bag from your shoulder and slinging it over her own. 

“I didn't know you all wanted rid of me so badly,” you said, trying to keep your voice as even and pleasant as possible and greatly failing. 

“We don't want to get rid of you. Y/N, I'm afraid it's quite the opposite.” 

Your heart slowed to a stop, and your blood ran cold as she offered you a sympathetic glance. You must've stumbled a bit backwards because Spencer's hand was immediately on your lower back, his body curved protectively around you as you too wrapped your arms around yourself, around your baby. 

“We've had contact with the killer, and we think you're his intended target,” Emily explained in as even a tone as you'd ever heard someone give a death sentence. 

“We've contacted WitSec, but until then, we'll be taking you into protective custody ourselves. I have a spare room, and we'll grab some of your things before you move in, everything you need to feel comfortable. Do you understand?” 

“No,” you said, but it wasn't your voice. You felt grateful, though, because you didn't understand. There was someone trying to kill you, and you absolutely didn't understand. You'd just had sex with Spencer Reid again, and you hadn't told him you were pregnant with his child, and nothing made 6 there was someone trying to kill you. 

But it wasn't your voice saying no, so you stopped thinking and kistened. 

“No, she'll… she'll stay with me,” Spencer said, gripping you tighter and pulling you closer, nearly crushing you in his arms. 

“Spencer, it's not up to you,” Emily said, her voice a clear warning even to your buzzing ears. 

“Y/N? Y/N, listen to me, please,” he said, gripping your shoulders again and twisting you around so he was all you could see, ducking his head lower so you were directly in his eyeline. 

“Y/N, I'll keep you safe. Come and stay with me.” 

You thought about his apartment and the message you'd left. You thought about the month you spent waiting for him to call, and the month that you'd spent wanting to rip his throat out. You thought about his hands on your skin, his fingers wrapped around your throat, his cock buried inside of you. You thought, too, about the doctors appointments you'd have to reschedule. You thought about the baby clothes you'd have to leave behind. You thought about how you'd have to hide your morning sickness, and your growing baby bump, and your hormones, and all the supplements recommended by your Doctor because you already loved your baby and you wanted them to be healthy. 

You thought that if you went with him, you'd have to tell him and confront whatever decision he made regarding you and the baby.

You thought logically that you shouldn't do it. But his hand grabbed yours, fingers intertwined, and he rubbed his thumb along the back of your hand, and you were nodding. 

“Yes,” you said when you should've gone with Emily. 

He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead and immediately bundled you out of the office and out of your comfort zone. 

🔖@stillhere197 @understandingsunrise @mindfullycriminal @aliteralsemicolon @r-3dlips @alexafromamazon15 @jasf444 @subunitless @thebloomingeagle @lackingoriginalthoughts @empressgraytea @alondralolll @i_heart_mgg @2hiigh2cry @jiuseoks @readinglatenights @placidus @dreamsarebig @pisceslovrr @kbaby-024 @luvdella @feyresqueen @pleasantwitchgarden @lovehadlovelost @kissesforspence @moonchildooh @bubbleebubz @theoraekenslover @flipsideoflife @spicyspirit @chicaconfundidaycuriosa @ivet4 @nox-xie @sarakay-gvf @miss-ev @nvrlandqueen @delicatelittleworld @nokjhg @measure-in-pain @fabulouslynerdy @batrensworld @cattosmush @im-this-girl @sarcasm-and-stiles @lovemelaunic @lllucere @lariclifford @daphnesutton

[obsessedwithceleste]

You’re Not Everyone Else

Lorenzo Berkshire x reader

Based on this request🫶🏽

Summary: Enz thought he knew everything there was to know when it came to wooing pretty witches, but it will take a lot more than the botanical gardens to win you over.

word count: 4.4k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

You glare menacingly at the offending bundle of flowers propped up perfectly against your pillow, practically glowing as the sunlight streams onto them through the window. As if it were a sign that the flowers were bloody heaven sent.

Daphne’s mouth is practically on the floor as she watches you dump the fresh bouquet of expensive looking tulips directly into the trash can.

The flowers had been waiting for you on your bed when you came back from class, and you didn’t need to read the note attached to guess who they were from.

You can tell that she wants to protest, but you cut her off before she’s able to even get a word in.

“Don’t. You know how I feel about Berkshire. It’s not going to happen.” You sigh, rolling your eyes at the mere thought of Lorenzo Berkshire actually managing to weasel his way into your heart.

That boy was no good. He had a pretty face and the charisma to go along with it. He was nothing but a womanizer and you had heard all the stories to prove it. In fact, there was probably an alphabetized list of all the girls that had fallen victim to Lorenzo Berkshire floating around somewhere. He practically had his pick of the litter when it came to the Hogwarts dating pool, and yet for some reason he had landed his sights on you.

You could remember the first time Daphne had brought you to the Parkinson estate, introducing you to all of her friends. He had been their. Young, but charming as ever. He had been kind then. And sweet. But that was just to lure you in. By Christmas that same year you had heard all about his escapades and wanted nothing to do with it.

Daphne, to her credit, had tried to dissuade you, vouching for her friend, but you could never quite see past the swirling whispers that seemed to damper the boy's shine. He was her friend. Fine. He had been her friend first after all, but that was all he'd ever be. A friend of a friend.

But it had been years at this point, of flowers being left in your dorm room, chocolates, even soppy love poems declaring his affection for you, but you were having none of it. And it seemed the more you pushed the boy away, the more determined he was to make you his.

“It’s so romantic though,” Daphne protests, looking like she’s debating fishing the flowers out of the trash can. It was the third bouquet this week. And it was only Tuesday.

“Pft. Manipulative is more like it. He only wants one thing Daph, and you know it,” you reply, collapsing onto your bed with an annoyed huff.

Your friend is silent for a moment, mulling over her words.

"You liked him at one point. You told me so," she says finally.

"Sure, when I was thirteen. He's only after me now cause he likes the chase. He'll get bored," you reply, rolling your eyes slightly and brushing off the girl's comment.

Your roommate lets out a sigh, wringing her hands as she takes a seat on her own bed across the room.

“Oh I don’t think Enz would do that to you. I’ve known him since we were kids. He seems so serious about this.” Daphne replies.

You’d heard Daph say that same thing what felt like a million times over since this whole thing started.

“Yeah, well. It’s going to take a lot more than the botanical gardens to win me over.”

Lorenzo Berkshire was infamously known around the halls of Hogwarts for his flirtatious tendencies. It didn’t bother him much, even though half the things being said about him weren’t true in the slightest. But really what was denying any of it going to do?

Let people think what they want was what he always thought. Only one person’s opinion really mattered anyway. Yours.

Lorenzo had always been the romantic of the group, not that there was really any competition for the title, but still. From the day he met you, he knew that you were the one. You were perfect. Funny, and smart, and kind, always playfully bantering with your friends.

He remembered the summer after third year when Daphne had introduced you to the group. All of you gathered at the Parkinson estate. You had swept Theo in chess and Lorenzo had just sat there staring at you. Completely mesmerized. After that everyone seemed to love you, and you seemed to get along with everyone too. Even him. At first.

The first few months were bliss. Lorenzo loved making you laugh, seeing you smile. He knew then that he was down bad. But then, halfway through your fourth year, it was like a switch had flipped. He didn’t have the faintest clue as to why you suddenly seemed to have a certain level of hostility towards him. But he knew that he missed you.

“What in Salazar’s name could I have possibly done wrong?” Lorenzo groans, head falling back, face in hands as he leans back on the common room sofa. “I thought I was doing everything girls want. I send flowers. I send sweets. I even wrote her heart felt poems about how I feel about her!”

“That is disgusting. Have some dignity,” Draco snorts from his spot across from Lorenzo who just sticks his tongue out at the blonde boy in response.

“Oh hush Draco. I think it all sounds perfectly reasonable,” Pansy remarks, giving Enzo a nod of approval.

“Well it would be perfectly reasonable if it worked! She won’t even give me a second glance. She’s so nice to everyone. Bubbly and sweet and talkative. But as soon as I’m around she clams up! Did you know she’s helping Mattheo with charms right as we speak? Bloody traitor he is.” Lorenzo laments.

To be fair, you had had an upstanding tutoring session with Mattheo for weeks now, instituted my Professor Flitwick, but minor details.

“Well she is pretty talented when it comes to charms,” Daphne says awkwardly, lips pursed as she shifts uncomfortably in her seat, trying not to be noticed.

Pansy squints at her friend, squirming and fidgeting. It was entirely unlike her. She was usually the one with her head screwed on correctly.

“Hold on Daph. You know something. What is it?” She demands.

Daphne looks at the raven haired girl in alarm, shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders not daring to utter a word.

“Daph, come on, look at this man. He’s utterly pathetic,” Draco adds, gesturing towards the distressed brunette. Enzo glares at his friend.

“Just spit it out,” Pansy orders.

“She thinks you’re just trying to use her for sex!” Daphne blurts out, crumbling under the pressure.

Lorenzo blinks once. Then again.

“What?”

Daphne just shrugs once more rather helplessly as the group just stares at her as if she would solve all of Enzo’s problems.

“To be perfectly fair, there are a lot of rumors about you that have been circulating for years. I think, you just might be coming off a bit- ah, disingenuous perhaps?” Daphne says finally.

She could practically see the gears working in Lorenzo’s head as he takes in her words. She’s a bit worried she’d broken him when he remains silent for what seems like forever.

“I have so much work to do,” he announces finally, standing up and marching off to his dormitory, a look of fierce determination sketched onto his face.

“Oh now look what you’ve done Daph,” Draco groans, looking at the retreating back of his friend.

“She’s the one who made me say something,” Daphne protests, pointing an accusatory finger at Pansy.

“Shush Draco. None of us wanted to hear him monologue about his undying love again anyway,” Pansy retorts.

To be quite honest, you were feeling a bit ambushed as none other than Lorenzo Berkshire plopped down beside you on the sofa that you had claimed in one of the rather abandoned corners of the library.

“Afternoon love,” he chirps happily, shooting you one of his famous smiles. The kind that normally made girls melt at the mere sight.

“Hello Lorenzo.”

“You never responded to my note,” the boy chatters on, ignoring your clear disinterest in his presence. You really weren’t sure if the boy didn’t notice, or didn’t care.

“What note?”

The boy blinks at you. “The note I sent with the tulips the other day?” He replies, as if it should have been obvious.

“Oh. I threw those away.”

“Oh, you threw them aw- what?” He asks, apparently caught off guard by your nonchalant answer.

“I threw them away, placed them in the trash can, sentenced them to eternal damnation. Do try to keep up Enz.”

“Wha- why?” He splutters, genuinely looking a bit hurt.

You look at the boy raising an eyebrow. "I throw away all of your flowers."

"All of them?"

"Are you daft?"

Lorenzo's jaw is practically on the floor, his ego clearly being knocked down a peg or ten.

"Yes- I mean no- I mean- why are you throwing away my flowers?" He splutters.

Growing increasingly more frustrated, you glare at the boy.

"Can you quite down? And if I can be quite honest Lorenzo, I'm not exactly your biggest fan. It's nothing personal of course, you understand," you sigh, trying to get back to your reading.

Enzo is having none of it however as he tries to replay every interaction he could think of between the two of you. He simply doesn't understand. He thought he'd never been anything but a gentleman to you.

"You don't like me? Me specifically? But- you like everyone!"

It was true. Lorenzo had never heard a bad thing about you from anyone. Not even Draco had a bad word to say since you seemed to go out of your way to show kindness to everyone around you.

"Yes well, you're not everyone else Lorenzo."

Lorenzo's mind races as he stares at you in shock. You looked awfully lovely today. Damn it, stay focused. He just wanted you to see him. Was that too much to ask?

"I'm not just trying to use you for sex!" he blurts out, immediately slapping a hand over his mouth, staring at you wide eyed. Real smooth Berkshire.

With a groan, you snap your book shut, closing your eyes in frustration as you realize that you're not going to be getting any reading done with Lorenzo sitting next to you.

Taking a slow inhale, you turn to get a good look at the boy beside you. Fluffy brown hair, warm, earnest eyes, only marred by the subtle pout adorning his lips.

“Let’s just say I were to give you a chance-“ you start.

“You won’t regret it. Pick you up at 8 tomorrow!” He replies, jumping in, the widest smile gracing his face.

Looking at the boy was like looking at a golden retriever puppy. You knew he was anything but, but how could you say no to that face?

“Alright Berkshire. One chance. Then, I never want to hear about this again.”

He was not going to blow this. He simply wouldn’t allow himself to. Everything that he had been working for these past months was leading up to this, he just couldn’t let it slip through his fingers. Enzo was giddy with anticipation as he lead you carefully down the cobblestone path.

“You better not be leading me out to the forest to murder me,” you call out to the boy behind you, his hands firmly in place over your eyes.

You were only half joking.

Before he even needs to respond, Enzo drops his hands and you’re immediately hit with bright sunlight.

“Where are we?” You ask in shocked amazement, staring around at the garden before you. It was straight out of a fairytale really. Bright, glowing green leaves, flowers of every color. There were even little, glittering sprites dancing about the flora.

“Hogwarts gardens. You never been?” Enzo asks, walking over to a spread on the lawn that you hadn’t even registered yet.

It was clear that he had put in some effort. The soft blanket laid out on the grass was littered with fruits and pastries, even a variety of little sandwiches.

“Didn’t even know this place existed,” you mutter, allowing the boy to guide you to a nice, sunny spot on the lawn.

“I’ve been working out here with Sprout for years. My favorite place,” Enzo tells you offhandedly, popping a strawberry into his mouth.

Under the warm sunlight, he looked unreal. Like an ethereal creature who took a wrong turn and somehow ended up sitting in front of you. You really could see what all the fuss was about when he was staring intently at you, a soft smile gracing his lips.

Wait.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you realize you’d been staring as well, but Enzo doesn’t seem to mind.

“I think Daph mentioned that you were some herbology buff,” you say in an attempt to recover a bit of your dignity.

Enzo smirks. “I suppose that’s one way to put it. I am top of the class.”

“I thought that honor went to Longbottom,” you reply, picking at the food in front of you.

Lorenzo's face turns to a grimace.

"He could be real competition if he weren't a such pyromaniac. Sprout is still giving him the cold shoulder after he almost burned her prized Cobra Lily. Thing deserved it though. Always hissing at me."

You don't know why, but you can't help but let out a laugh at the thought of the Lorenzo Berkshire having an ongoing feud with a plant.

"Haha, yeah. You laugh now, but that bloody plant has been antagonizing me for weeks. I'm one hiss away from dropping the damn thing off of the astronomy tower." He responds sarcastically to your laughter, only causing you to fall into a further fit of giggles. The brunette boy just sticks his tongue out at you in defeat.

"Oh come on now, that's no way charm a witch," you tease, pulling yourself together as you grin at the boy in front of you.

"Yeah, well I've tried every other way I can think of, so it was worth a shot," Enz replies, his joking smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Your grin falters as Enzo's eyes drop to the grass surrounding the both of you and you take in the sudden silence of the gardens.

"It's hard to believe someone actually likes you when you're just another face in the crowd," you say finally, not willing to meet the boy's eyes.

"You don't have to believe me now. I'll wait."

It was a moment of sincerity that you weren't expecting out of the boy. Usually he was all jokiness and smiles. Not a bad quality by any means, but you were never sure when you could trust the boy's words. You felt like you could trust him now though, in that moment.

After that, you find yourself quite enjoying your afternoon. You had forgotten how easily the two of you actually got on when you weren't avoiding the boy like the plague. He had so many stories about the gardens, and it quickly became apparent that the particular spot he had brought you to was his sanctuary. It was nice getting to hear him talk, without all the extra noise and whispers, and off-putting looks from your classmates. You had missed him.

In the days following your garden excursion, Enzo keeps his word- backing off a bit from his pursuit for your affection. He was still around of course as you shared a friend group, but the excessive love poems had stopped and the next bouquet of tulips that appeared in your dorm was addressed to both you and Daph which she was thrilled about.

Over the next few weeks, it did not go unnoticed by you that your eyes had seemingly become magnetized to a certain brunette boy, quietly observing. He'd caught you watching a few times, tossing you one of his famous, dazzling smiles.

Slowly, you find yourself seeking the boy out on purpose as you found that you rather liked the way he had been able to make you laugh so easily that day in the garden. You had forgotten how much fun he was to be around. How warm and happy you felt when he looked at you. And he was rather sweet when he wanted to be. You had known the boy for years at this point. You thought you could read him like a book, but he still managed to surprise you.

In fact, you were as surprised as anyone to find yourself seated next to the boy in your astronomy class. It was a relatively new seating arrangement, but you found that he made the late night class significantly more tolerable. You didn't know what time it was now, but it was late, and you were tired.

"If you fall asleep, I'm not going to catch you if you fall out of the tower," Enz whispers in your ear as you fight to keep your eyes open and trained on the night sky.

"Yes you would, you’re too obsessed with me to let me fall," you respond, still able to feel his breath on the back of your neck.

You couldn't remember when the two of you got so comfortable with one another, but it had happened so quickly you almost didn't realize. Almost.

He hums in response, backing away and scribbling down the name of some constellation before gazing out at the sky once more.

“Whose idea even was it to let sleep deprived teenagers take a class at midnight in a tower without railings. They’re practically asking for a student to fall,” you grumble, slumping against Enz dramatically.

He lets out a soft snort of laughter this time as he continues to chart different constellations onto his parchment. You had finished the night's assignment ages ago and now had nothing to do but watch him quietly, resting your chin on his shoulder as he draws perfect little stars.

“What’s that?” You ask, reaching over the boys shoulder to pull something out of the notebook.

The soft pink color had caught your eye, peeking out of the pages, and a gentle tug reveals the petals of a tulip, followed by a green step. The flower isn’t as vibrant as it should be, and is flattened like a book page.

Enzo pauses, looking at the flower carefully.

“That’s from the first time we met.” He says, trying hard to sound casual. He continues to stare down at his notebook, but the stiffness in his arm makes it clear that he isn’t focused on stars anymore.

You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion.

“Pansy doesn’t have tulips at the estate,” you reply, suddenly feeling more awake.

“No. But the greenhouse here does.”

Feeling even more confused, you tilt your head, waiting for Enzo to go on.

He carefully plucks the flower out of your hand, tucking it safely back into his notebook.

“The first time we met was in second year. We were learning the Herbivicus charm and I just couldn’t get it. But you got it so quick. You helped me, and that’s the flower we grew.”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t even remember that day. It seemed so insignificant to you at the time.

“And you kept it?” You ask, your confusion amplified by your sleepy haze.

“I liked you,” is all you get in response.

You’re quiet after that, watching silently as Enzo scratches away at his parchment. His eyes flickering over to you nervously every so often. It was strange seeing him without his usual confident smirk.

As class eventually wraps up, the two of you slowly make your way down the winding staircase, quickly falling behind the other students who were racing off to get some much needed rest.

Your feet reach the final step with a muffled thud as you come to a hesitant stop. Normally this is where you and Enzo would split off for the night, but looking up at the boy, rays of moonlight glowing across his face, you can’t find it in yourself to move away.

With a sudden wave a confidence, impulsiveness, and probably a fair bit of deliriousness, you find yourself grabbing onto the collar of Enzo’s shirt, pulling down, and crashing his lips onto yours.

It takes a moment for realization to fully hit Enz, but you quickly find yourself back against the cold stone wall, Enzo’s lips still firmly on yours, deepening the kiss as he boxes you in. He moves against you with sheer lust, years of pining pouring out.

You vaguely feel his hand moving up your thigh, gripping tightly at your waist before moving up to cup your face, thumb brushing against your cheek softly tilting your head up further as his lips move against yours.

It’s hot, and dizzying, and just, right. You’re not quite sure how to describe it.

When Enz finally pulls away, you can feel his breath against your lips from his soft pants as he looms over you.

“I think a like you too,” you murmur, lips just barely brushing his with every word.

That’s apparently all Enzo needed to hear before he’s practically carrying you back to his dorm.

It’s a blurry haze as you find yourself pulling him onto the bed, lips connecting once more as your bodies move methodically against each other. It’s as if you’d simply turned off your brain, any worries or doubts scattering to the winds as Enzo’s warmth overtakes you.

The next morning a wave of icey cold fear washes over you as you realize what you’d done. What had you been thinking? All these years of avoiding him and for what? Rolling over in the tangle of sheets, Enz is still fast asleep, bathed in streams of sunlight peaking through the curtains. He really was gorgeous.

“Mornin love,” his voice shaking you from your thoughts.

“Hi,” you reply cautiously, turning to meet the boy’s eyes.

His eyes shine as he grins contentedly at you, pulling you closer so your noses are practically touching.

“I can tell what you’re thinking. Stop it. You’re stuck with me now,” he says, pressing a quick peck onto your lips.

Your face grows warm as he continues to pepper your face with kisses.

“I don’t ever want to leave this moment,” you sigh.

You can feel Enzo’s smile.

“I’m that good am I?” He asks cockily.

You snort. “Don’t want to have to admit to Daph that I can actually tolerate you for extended periods of time.”

“Aw, c’mon now love, don’t be like that,” Enz chuckles, tapping your nose lightly with his finger.

You can’t help but let out a small laugh as you feign annoyance, batting his hand away.

“I’m going back to sleep. I don’t want to deal with you anymore,” you tease, rolling over.

Enz just laughs, snaking his arm around you and pulling you close, pressing a kiss on the back of your head.

“Now that I have you, I’m not letting you go,” he murmurs as you allow your eyes to flutter shut once more.

“Wouldn’t want to be with anyone else.”

Did I start writing this way back in April? Yes. Do I remember what the original plot was going to be? No. Is this edited? Also no.

Anyway, Live Laugh Love Lorenzo Berkshire🤪

[cherryredstars]

omg hi cherry!!! yay yay yay I'm so excited requests are open! I love your writings ❤❤❤

Mkay so I was wondering if you would be into writing something more fluffy (I mean you can put smut if you want, lord knows I'm not gonna complain 🤭). I was thinking maybe reader is a teacher, and Gabriella is in her class at school, so she meets Miguel that way. And like over time he just keeps making excuses to see her, even though Gabriella's grades are actually totally fine— he's just so down bad lmao

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!reder

Warnings: Fluff, Last Line is Suggestive

A/N: Hi, lovie! Thank you!!!

Unedited

You're fucking stunning.

Standing there in a pretty little dress, skin glowy from summer vacation. Got one hell of a smile on you, too. It has Miguel antsy as he waits in line to drop Gabi off for her first day, his hands tightening around his daughter's book bag as his eyes study every little move you make. Eyes zeroing in on how the wind plasters the back of your dress to your legs, your hands catching the front of it to prevent the fabric from flying too high up. He's nothing but a lovesick puppy by the time he reaches you, nodding dumbly to your introduction as he marvels over the softness of your hand in his, and eyes dropping to the glossy tint of your lips. He has to stop myself from making a noise when you bend down to talk to Gabi, complementing her outfit and gushing about how excited you are to be her teacher this year. The sight is so fucking domestic and he has to stop the fantasies popping up in his head. He takes it as a god-given sign that you're meant to be his when you start to get up, only to grab onto Miguel's shoulder as two little kids come running and bumping into you from behind. He'd be one hell of a lousy man if he didn't jump at the opportunity to grab at your waist and pull you closer to him to 'help steady you'.

Any day that Gabi comes homes with a little paper asking for parent help at a school event for her class is one hell of a lucky day for Miguel. Instantly jumping at the opportunity, signing up the seconds he reads it. Can't miss out on a single opportunity to see how you treat Gabi like she's your own kid or be close to you. Fucking loves how flustered you are every time he takes something off your hands, encouraging you to leave all the heavy duty labor to him so you can focus on the kids. He's always offering to do something for you. Something in the classroom is broken and the school's maintenance is taking too long to fix it? Oh cariño, why didn't you say something sooner to him or Gabi? He'll come in during your lunch break to fix it up while the kids are at recess. Sweet little thing needs help putting up decorations around the classroom? Oh baby, what do you think big, large men are meant for? He'll stay after school Friday and put everything up, just sit and be pretty as you help Gabi with her math homework. Sad that you need to buy new supplies for the classroom but they don't fit into your budget and you feel bad having to ask the parents to donate supplies again? Oh doll, send him a list of anything and everything you want and it's yours, pretty ladies like you don't deserve to worry about things like that. He'll even give you his number so he can buy you lunch.

And when you blink up at him with your sparkly doe eyes and ask, "What can I do to repay you, Mr. O'Hara?"

Fuck.

If you aren't careful, he might just have to buy you a pretty little ring. And, by next school year, you'll be introducing yourself as Mrs. O'Hara.

Maybe he'll even give you a kid of your own while he's at it; Gabi's been bothering him about a baby brother, anyways.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Right This Way

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, age gap, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You get lost on a campus on your first day of college and a helpful stranger shows you around.

Characters: Steve Rogers

Note: this is the third of my autumn fics as decided by all of you!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You’ve leapt over one hurdle for the day but it won’t be the last. Your first lecture is done, but now you have to find your way to the second. Typically, you’d be on your way home. For years, you languished in part-time or sabbatical coverage but now, you have achieved regular faculty status. It might not be the school you hoped for, but these days, a job is a job. 

You gather up your things as the class disburses. A few keeners come down to ask you about the midterm and you assure them it’s only day one. Full details will come soon. In the meantime, they can review the readings schedule. 

You set your phone on the corner of the table as you search for your wireless mouse. You bring your own. You’ve had enough experience with neglected classroom equipment. 

“Hey, Miss,” a deep voice rolls behind you and swings you around. A young man with golden hair, a square jaw, and a letterman jacket stands across the table. He is a factory-issue frat. You had your share of those in your own time as an underclassman; as a professor, they don’t often bother you unless they get an F. “Just wanted to chat about a few things I got this term.” 

“Oh, sure,” you say as you reach for your phone. His eyes follow your hand. His cheek dimples. 

“You on your way to Ford too? We can walk and talk if that’s easier?” He offers. 

You’re not sure if you should take his eagerness as a good sign. At least he is mindful. At first glance, you don’t expect that. 

“Um, if you don’t mind, I have my next class there,” you agree. 

You hike up your bag and black the screen of your phone. You’re a bit embarrassed that he noticed the maps wide open on your phone. You’re still gearing your way around. 

He waits patiently, bouncing in his brown leather Vans as you round the table. “Steve, by the way.” He offers his hand in an overly formal gesture. You know that brand of frat. They put on that gentleman act for the elders. It’s a charm you would’ve fallen for twenty years ago. 

“Nice to meet you, Steve,” you shake his hand then continue to the door. 

He hurries past you and pulls open the door ahead of you. Again, that overly helpful gesture twinges your suspicion. He must be asking for something big. 

“So, I play baseball,” he begins as you set off down the hall. He quickly catches up, walking parallel with you. “And I just got my schedule. I can get coach t give you a call if you need but I’ll be out of town for a few classes...” 

“Right, baseball,” you repeat. You’re not fighting the senate on this one. They prize their start athletes much higher than due dates. “I’m sure we can figure it out. Did you have your schedule with you?” 

“Um, you know what, I don’t have it printed but I can email it,” he says. 

Once more, he opens the door ahead of you. You step out into the early fall sun and descend the steps. It’s a quick conversation, it might be awkward to stick around. 

“That works,” you agree. “I don’t want to keep you so if you want--” 

“Nah, really, I’m headed in your direction,” he insists. “You do know where that is, right?” 

You look at him. His blue eyes gleam. You peer around and shake your head, “that way?” You point. 

He laughs, “no worries, professor, I got you.” 

He puts his hand on your lower back and points in the opposite direction. You turn to move away from his touch. You blame the little club he’s joined in his youthful arrogance. They never do abide by the rules. After all, he is asking for exception, so why wouldn’t he overstep other barriers. 

“So, you must be new,” he intones. 

“Here, yeah,” you confirm. 

“What else do you teach besides Renaissance history?” 

“My specialty is medieval but I’ve taken on various subjects; ancient warfare, Victorian culture,” you rattle off. You know he doesn’t really care. For the jocks, classes are simply an afterthought. “What got you into this subject?” 

“I like art,” he says. “Figured it wouldn’t be a bad elective.” 

“I hope,” you reply. He points you around the curling path. You hesitate. You peeked at the map. This seems wrong but you did find the only dead end on campus earlier. 

“You seem young for a prof,” he says. 

You snort, “I don’t give extra credit for compliments.” 

“I mean it,” he argues. 

“Right,” you huff dryly. “Steve.” 

He smirks as you glance at him, “wow, you got that professor voice down. ‘Steve’.” He mimics your tone and chuckles. You shuffle closer as you pass a group of young girls but he doesn’t seem to notice them. 

“Like I said, it isn’t my first gig. Just new around here.” 

“I think you’ll like it,” he intones. “Nice campus, nice people,” he preens. “A few profs pop by the parties even. Open invitation.” 

It’s your turn to laugh, “oh, I’ve outgrown that.” 

“Classy lady, I’m sure,” he agrees. You’re not sure if he’s complimenting you. “Well, what about back in the day?” He wordlessly gestures you along as he guides you. “You are party girl? Sow your wild oats?” 

“That was a long time ago. It’s probably better left back then,” you deflect. 

“Come on. I won’t judge. I’m a bit of a square myself. I’m the designated tidier. I pick up after all the drunks,” he snorts. 

You hum. You don’t miss those days. Everything was so much more stressful. Not just classes but everything outside of it. Who to hang out with, what to where, where to go. 

You slow as you look around again. You’re behind one of the large gray buildings but not too sure where. It’s a path lined with trees and abstract statues. They’re benches and an engraved stone wall memorial. You don’t see any buildings close by. Maybe it’s one of those at the other end. 

“Told you, it’s a nice campus. Doesn’t seem like you’ve gotten to see much of it,” he says. 

“Not yet,” you agree. 

“It’s a short cut. Trust,” he says. 

You nod and continue on. He turns towards the twisted metal owl and you go with him. You really don’t think he’s going the right way. You sneak your phone out of your pocket and press your thumb to the screen. 

Suddenly, you’re nearly knocked off your feet at he bowls into you. 

“Woah,” he collides with you so hard your phone falls onto the ground. “Shit-- I mean, holy cow. Sorry, miss. I tripped on--” He steadies you with a hand on your shoulder. “Did I--” He looks down at your phone on the stone path. “My bad.” 

He scoops it up before you can and you recoil. Your eyes wander away from him and you examine your surroundings. The trees, the statue, it all blocks you off from the main path in an eerie way. You can hear the bird’s tweeting and the coeds chatting but you can’t see them. 

“Damn,” Steve’s voice draws you back as dread simmers in your stomach. “I think it’s cracked.” 

He walks ahead of you as he examines it. You trail him, “it’s fine. I can take it to the store and have them look--” 

“I’m real sorry, professor,” he cradles the phone between his large hands. “I’m such an oaf. Bet I’m not gonna get that extension now, huh?” 

“Everything’s okay, Steve. You can give me my phone,” you reach for him as he leads you into the shade of a large oak. “What are you doing?” 

He pulls his arm back, aims, and throws your phone. It flies through the air as you gasp and lunge forward. What the hell? 

His arm wraps around you from behind and he swings you back. You cry out but only for a split second before his palm smothers your mouth. He leans his body weight back and brings you down with him into the grass. What is he doing? 

You struggle to get away. You grab at his arm hooked around you and claw at the grass with your other hand. You writhe and try to twist away from him. He follows you, crushing you to the grass beneath him. You wheeze as his weight forces the air from your lungs. 

You flail both arms and sink your fingers into the dirt as you fight to drag yourself from under him. You can’t. He growls as he pulls his arm from under you and grips the back of your skull. He keeps your head twisted on your neck, clamping it between his large hands. 

“Shut up,” he snarls. “Be good for me, professor, and this will all go quickly.” 

You gurgle into his hand as your heart hitches. Why is he doing this? You said yes. You didn’t argue. 

“I’m going to move my hand and you’re going to stay nice and quiet, aren’t you?” 

You try to scream into his palm and he wrenches your head down into the ground. The grass is soft but the impact is enough to make your nose fuzzy. He hushes you. 

“I mean it, alright? Shut your mouth or I’ll fill it with dirt,” he snarls. 

You whimper and nod, puffing against his palm. Your body tenses before you slowly make yourself go limp. You lay your head against his hand and let your arms still. You raise your hands slightly to say, ‘see, I’m good’. 

He huffs and slowly drags his hand away, smearing your spit across your cheek. You sniffle as your eyes prick and you inhale the scent of dirt. You can hardly breathe as your chest throbs and burns. 

“Ah, don’t act so hard up,” he chuckles. “Bet you don’t get a lot of guys these days,” he pushes his knee between both of yours. “Sad, cause you don’t look half bad in this.” 

He tugs your skirt up your legs as he shifts his weight around. The satin tickles your thighs and sends a shiver through you. You close your eyes, your forehead flush to the ground. You liked that skirt so much. You bought it just for your first day. 

The thought stabs into your heart. You push your hands flat to the ground and brace yourself. Denial cords around you as terror clogs your throat. This can’t be happening but it is and all you can do is let it. 

“Mm, not bad,” he rasps as he pushes between your thighs. “Come on, loosen up for me.” 

He moves your slack legs apart and runs his fingers along the cotton of your panties. He purrs as he traces the edges along your ass and back again. He snakes his hand under you and presses against the fabric and feels your folds through the thin layer. 

“I’m so goddamn hard right now, you have no idea,” he says.  

You chuff out air. You try not to hear him, not to feel him. He slips his fingers beneath your panties and rubs your lips. He pets your head as he cooes in your ear. 

“See, I’m being nice. Isn’t that nice? I know you wouldn’t be shaking like that if you didn’t like it.” 

He rubs between your folds roughly as he presses his crotch against your ass. He rocks against you as he teases you. You scrunch your toes tightly as a tingle crawls along your thighs. No, please. You don’t want to feel anything. 

He purrs as he continues to move his pelvis, breathing heavily behind your ear as he growls. He stretches his fingers along your cunt and delves into you. He pushes his hand further and curls his finger through your entrance. 

The heel of his hand brushes against your clit as he moves. You whine as the coil winds around and around and around, tying up your guts in knots. You shudder and bring your hands to your hand, digging your nails into your scalp as you spasm. You cum, slickening his touch as a mortifying moan escapes between your lips. 

He slides his fingers out of you. You groan. Your tears leak out and trickle onto the grass. He trails his hand around, leaving wetness along your shirt. He angles above you, pushing your knees apart with both of his. He splays you and tugs your panties to the crease of your thigh. 

His zipper slices the moment. Your breath cramps in your chest as you hold it in. He guides his tip along your thighs. He feels you quiver, teasing and toying, as he rubs up and down your folds. He slides up by your cheeks and you clench. He laughs and traces back to your entrance. 

He uses his thumb to push his tip through your resistance. You tighten around his intrusion and squeak out your breath. He shushes you and you swallow down a sob. He inches into you, his own exhale flowing over you like a cold storm. 

He sinks in to his limit and you bury your toes into the dirt. You heave as he pulls back and thrusts in again. Your shoulders curl with tension and your spine locks. He pumps again and moans, petting your hair as he falls into a rhythm. 

“God, you’re tight,” he grits. “I heard... well, I guess everyone lies.” 

He runs his hand down the side of your head and beneath your forehead. He forces your head up and nuzzles your hair as he tilts into you. He puffs across your scalp. 

“I didn’t see a ring,” he reaches up to clasp your hand, twining his fingers through yours as he continues to rut. 

He keeps you like that, fucking you harder into the dirt. He lifts his hips, slamming them down so his zipper bites at you. He pounds at you relentlessly, shallow breaths mingling damply in the cool autumn breeze.  

You open your eyes and stare across the grass. Your vision blurs around the tree trunks and wooden benches. Your grief and glazes over and drowns you in horror. 

“Welcome to campus, prof,” he growls between nipping your ear. “Oh... and don’t worry about those missed classes. I didn’t make the team.” 

[separatist-apologist]

Guilty As Sin

Summary: Rhys has been watching Feyre Archeron for a long time. Thinking about what he'd do if he ever had her. How he'd keep her.

And now he has her.

TW: Dubious consent, blood kink, knife play

Read On AO3

-

It would be, perhaps, Rhysand’s greatest triumph to kill Tamlin Rosewood. After all, Tamlin had set him down this path so many years before—when they’d been teenagers, two boys from questionable, if not wealthy homes, looking for something to make them feel alive. Tamlin had asked Rhys if he wanted to see something cool, and then let him watch as Tamlin sliced apart a local vagrant. It should have been horrifying. Disgusting.

And yet Rhysand had found the whole thing fascinating. More fascinating still was how easy it was to claim his first kill. Rhysand needed a moral code to keep himself in line, to keep from just jamming a blade into every person who passed him on the street. Tamlin had suggested it, too, perhaps recognizing Rhys’ propensity for violence. Or maybe he knew all too well how enjoyable snuffing out life was. How close to God it made Rhys feel.

Pick those that can fight back.

People who’ve wasted their life.

Do the world a  favor.

Of course they’d eventually turn on each other. How long before two serial killers realized the world might be better off without at least one of them? It had been a cat and mouse game ever since, trying to catch the other unaware and going to ground when they failed. Tamlin had come close a couple times while Rhys had mostly just watched.

Waited.

Bided his time until Tamlin genuinely believed himself to be a god. That Rhys was so afraid of him he wouldn’t dare. Tamlin had let his guard down just enough to find himself a girlfriend he apparently liked. And she, Rhys decided, was going to be how he finally killed Tamlin. Collateral in their feud, he told himself. After all, any woman dumb enough to fall for Tamlin wasn’t worth much. 

He’d looked her up—Feyre Archeron. Her profile picture on facebook was an artbrush, but she’d helpfully listed every job she’d ever had since high school—and there had been many. Rhys ran them all down until he got to the art studio she taught at and, because he liked a little drama in his life, signed him up for one of her intro classes. 

He had been unaware he would be the only adult in said class until a wave of bouncy, giggly children had stormed through the doors, taking seats at easels while their parents vanished. He could have slipped out—he’d meant to, he swore it. But Feyre Archeron had come waltzing in wearing a baby blue sweater, sleeves rolled to her elbows, the hem hanging just beneath her ass, and oh. Rhys stayed in his chair, if only to admire the curve of her hips in those cotton soft leggings.

She didn’t seem like Tamlin’s usual type. There was a softness to her features, a constellation of freckles dotted across her nose alongside a splatter of violet ink in those cerulean eyes, that made Rhys certain she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her full mouth curved into an easy smile, gaze settling on him.

“Did you mean to sign up for this?” she asked him, eliciting another round of giggles from the children. There was no malice to her words, playful and sweet. He wanted to put his hands on her. Was she corruptible? Oh, how Rhys wanted to find out. His plans reshaped themselves as they looked at the other, though Feyre didn’t know it. Killing her wasn’t an option, not anymore. No. He’d take her for himself, stripping Tamlin of everything he cared about before finally spilling his blood. And he’d start with perfect, pretty Feyre Archeron.

Rhys offered her a lazy smile, running a hand through his ebony hair. “My skill level is comparable, I’m certain.”

“I guess we’ll see,” she replied, her delight evident. Rhys felt her amusement reflected in his own body. When was the last time anyone had charmed him by sight alone? Nevermind how funny he found her, watching as she interacted with each student with the kind of unending patience he could only dream of. It begged the question—what did Tamlin want with her? He knew Tamlin, and of all the virtues Tamlin might claim to have, patience certainly wasn’t one of them.

He had a famously vicious temper. 

Did Feyre know her boyfriend was a serial killer? Did Tamlin know his girlfriend taught school children in her spare time? What would be more abhorrent to who? Rhys never managed to untangle that, just like he never managed to make his brush strokes half as nice as the eight year old beside him. Rhys lingered, waiting until the kids were gone and Feyre was cleaning up to say something to her.

“I’m not some kind of weirdo, I hope you know,” he began, drawing a pretty laugh from prettier lips. 

“No? I might have thought so if I hadn’t seen how abysmal you are with a brush. I teach preschoolers on Tuesdays. You might be better suited in that class.”

“You wound me, Ms. Archeron,” he replied, one hand pressed to his chest. “You didn’t like my house?”

“Oh, was that what it is?” she asked, squinting at his muddied colors on the paper. “I thought you were painting me a stormy sky.”

“I’ll paint whatever you tell me to,” Rhys quipped, noting how her cheeks flushed. No ring on her finger—god, but how incredible to seduce her out from under Tamlin’s nose. For Tamlin not to realize he was losing everything to his old nemesis. How long before Tamlin learned of Rhysand’s treachery? Rhysand was a patient man. It was one of his better qualities, few as they were.

He’d send Tamlin a wedding invitation inked in blood, fuck his new wife, and then, as a gift to her, bring her Tamlin’s still beating heart.

Wife? That was a weird thought.

Rhys cleared his head. He was merely excited at the prospect of punishing Tamlin—that was all. Feyre was beautiful, but hardly wife material. Besides, the kind of woman who spent her time teaching children to color within the lines didn’t want to get shackled to the likes of him. Not long-term, at any rate. Rhys had dated plenty of women, all of whom woke up one morning deeply unsettled and certain they were making a mistake. He couldn’t blame them—he would make an awful husband. 

A good lay, though? He could give her that. 

“Watch yourself Rhysand.”

“Come, now,” he said, rising from the little metal stool he’d been sitting on. She was so much smaller than him—lithe and lovely, so breakable in a way that made him want to be careful rather than rough. “Only my enemies call me Rhysand.”

“Fine. Watch yourself Rhys. I’ll think you’re flirting if you’re not careful,” Feyre said, twisting that thick, golden brown hair off her face with a paintbrush. Something within him stirred at the sight of wispy tendrils framing her face, fingers twitching with the urge to brush them from her cheekbones. 

“Careful isn’t how anyone who knows me would describe me. Besides…maybe I am flirting.”

This was the part where she told him she had a boyfriend. Rhys waited, catching the flicker of indecision streak over her features. He could practically hear her rationalizing it in her mind—there was no harm in a little flirting.

Oh, Tamlin. Rhys cocked his head. How far could he take this before she broke? If he could just get his hands into those tight leggings of hers, she’d forget all about that blonde haired bastard. C’mon, Rhys urged.

His silent plea fell on deaf ears. Too good for the likes of him, Feyre said, “Well, if you were flirting, I’d have to tell you that I have a boyfriend.”

“Lucky him,” Rhys replied, gut twisting despite his easy expression. “I know when I’ve been beat. See you around Feyre.”

And then he left, still smiling to himself as he went. She had no idea, of course. 

But Rhys would be seeing her very soon.

– 

Feyre stared down at the meal, ruined again. Behind her, Tamlin practically seethed with unseen anger. She could feel him working to leash his temper, to resist the urge to tell her I told you so.

I told you you’re a terrible cook.

“I’ll order dinner,” Tamlin said, ignoring the way Feyre blinked back tears. Bracing the ledge of the sink, she stared out the open window into the dark. She was trying—didn’t that matter? It wasn’t that badly burned, besides. They could have eaten around it. Feyre wished Tamlin would sit down, tell her it looked good, and eat it. Was that so much to ask? 

Apparently, given the heavy, long-suffering sigh from the man behind her. “You don’t need to try so hard, Feyre. You have me.”

“It’s—” She choked back the urge to scream that it wasn’t about impressing him. It was about care, about showing him that she loved him in some tangible way. Doing something for him so that he, in turn, might do something for her. Might do or say something that made her feel seen and safe. 

It had been a year of the stretching silence and the long sighs. Of not technically doing anything that would cause her to break up with her, all while giving off an air of not liking her very much. Well—that wasn’t fair. When the lights were out and they were in bed, Tamlin was very attentive. Detached, somehow—he never wanted her to look him in the eye—but he knew every place to touch and tease to make her writhe. And that was too often enough to convince her it was better to stay and hope whatever was bothering him faded and he went back to the love sick fool she’d first fallen in love with.

It didn’t help that Rhysand—Rhys—was still lodged firmly in her brain three days post meeting him. He’d been…well…he’d been beautiful. And charming. And funny, too. Endearing, even, as the kids teased him for his poor paint work. And when he’d said he was flirting, well…Feyre had imagined sending Tamlin a quick text message.

This is over. Don’t call me again. 

Throwing away a year on a man with a roguish smile seemed like a call for help. Still, he’d been on her mind, unshakable as her relationship with Tamlin stagnated like pond water. He ordered food without consulting her, ate it silently, all the while staring at his phone. He worked for a security firm and spent so much time watching the cameras, tracking people with a single-minded devotion she wished he’d focus on her.

“I’m going out,” he told her abruptly, only after Feyre had changed into a tiny slip of a nightdress, thinking she’d feel better if they at least had sex. His pine green gaze slid down her body without a hint of interest or appreciation. Just an acknowledgement that she had nearly every inch of her skin out for him before looking back to her face. “You can wait up, if you want.” How romantic, she wanted to scream. She felt utterly pathetic, a neglected housewife married for twenty years while her husband had an affair. Only Tamlin’s affair was with his job and Feyre would never come first. 

Say nothing, she ordered herself. And yet her traitorous lips said, “Couldn’t it wait another night?”

He regarded her without emotion. “It can’t. Get some sleep, Feyre. I’ll be in later.” Tamlin turned without a look back, swiping his car keys thrown haphazardly on the dresser, and strode from the room. Feyre didn’t, listening to the sound of the soft snick of the closing door and the sound of tires pulling away from the curb.

What was more pathetic, she wondered as she padded into the kitchen for a drink for water? Staying up late to seduce him, thus allowing him to have everything he wanted without doing any work at all, or staying with him when she was so miserable in the first place? Was this love?

Feyre didn’t get a chance to answer any of those questions. 

There, in the hall, stood a tall, muscular…man? They certainly seemed masculine, with broad shoulders that tapered into a rather nice waist beneath that high necked sweater. Matching black pants and a belt would have made him look rather nice, had he not been holding a massive, jagged knife in one gloved hand.

The ghost face mask obscuring his features didn’t help, either. Feyre didn’t move, heart hammering against her ribs. Scream. Run. Do something.

“There you are,” a deep, rich voice spoke from beneath the mask, “I’ve been looking for you.” 

“Don’t hurt me,” Feyre whispered, rooted in place as he made his way towards her. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, drinking in the heady smell of his cologne and that horrible knife glinting beneath the artificial lights beaming overhead. 

With his free hand, he reached toward her and to her credit, Feyre didn’t flinch. She merely stood utterly still as he brushed his knuckles over her cheekbone before sliding his gloved thumb over her lip.

“Hurt you? Darling, I’m here to rescue you.”

Her brain couldn’t make sense of those dark words dripping with the promise of…the promise of what? Feyre tried a step backward, tripping over her own nervous feet to fall to the ground. The man lunged and she braced herself for the pain of his blade, for blood and misery before finally death. But all she found was fingers around her body, hoisting her into the air.

She flailed, heel connecting with his jaw. He swore and the two fell to the ground gracelessly a second time, him tearing her nightdress to keep her pinned beneath him.

“I do so like you like this,” he all but growled as she tried to yank that mask off his face. If she was going to kill her, she deserved to look him in the eyes. His fingers curled around her wrists, subduing her quickly—easily, before gathering both in one big, broad hand. The other came over her mouth and nose, cutting off her ability to breathe.

“Don’t fight me,” he whispered as she kicked out her legs from beneath him. Why was this happening? She was going to die. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

A tear slid down her cheek. How could he say that as he was suffocating her with his hand? She  continued to writhe, for all the good it did her, her screaming mind drowning out the words her attacker was saying. Lungs burning, desperately trying to gasp for air, Feyre couldn’t control her limbs. She felt herself getting dizzy, choking on her own pooling spit.

“I’m not going to kill you,” her attacker said, his voice far away. “Stop fighting me and I’ll remove my hand.” Her body went limp as she complied immediately, willing to do anything if it meant she could breathe again. And true to his word, her attacker removed his hand, letting her take a gasping, sobbing breath of air. 

“Good girl,” he praised softly, caressing her cheek a second time. “If you do everything I say, no one has to get hurt. Can you stand?”

“No,” Feyre said, eyes closed as she focused only on the sensation of air in her body. She wasn’t going to help him abduct her, besides. Not that it mattered. He had her wrists bound before he picked her back up like she was weightless to him, walking her toward her front door with ease.

“My boyfriend has cameras on the door,” she said, unsure if she was warning this man or helping him. “He’s going to see you.”

A chuckle rumbled from his broad chest. “Oh, I am well aware. Your boyfriend is too busy hunting tonight to check…and by the time he does, you and I will be long gone.”

The cool night air was like a caress against her clammy skin. Feyre saw the car—sleek and dark—parked so brazenly in the drive. 

“The police will find you,” she warned, deciding for a little boldness despite her swimming head and desperate desire to fall asleep.

“That would require Tamlin to call them…and he won’t. No, my darling—this is personal and you’re simply caught up in the middle of it. Now—can I trust you to behave in my back seat, or do you need to go in the trunk? I don’t want to put you back there…but I will.”

“What do you mean?” Feyre demanded, mind swimming.

“I mean, I don’t want to die on the road—”

“About hunting,” she interrupted, looking up at that ghostface mask. “About Tamlin not calling the police.”

Her attacker seemed to hesitate, muscles going taut beneath her. “I had a whole presentation planned. Why spoil it?”

“Tell me.”

“Your boyfriend is a killer—just like me. He taught me, in fact—or rather, we taught each other. He can’t involve the police without risking himself so he won’t.”

“Am I bait?”

“Oh, Feyre darling, you are so much more than that. For now, you’re merely my guest. Now—can I trust you in the car?”

Ferye closed her eyes. If she wanted to survive, she’d have to be careful. She had the thought just as her attacker laid her in the back of his car. She panicked, seeing him hovering over her, and immediately kicked him in the throat. He stumbled back as Feyre filled her lungs with air and screamed. She didn’t yell help—but screamed at the top of her lungs hoping a neighbor would come out.

“Fucking shit,” the kidnapper groaned, lunging forward. With her wrists bound, Feyre couldn’t do much, especially when he picked her back up. “Go ahead. Scream as loud as you want—-” She screamed directly against his ear, causing him to jerk back a step. He didn’t speak, merely popped his trunk and dumped her unceremoniously inside.

“Remember I tried,” he said before slamming it shut. Feyre immediately started looking for the little hatch that would open it, pulling it with her teeth.

The masked man was waiting, arms crossed over his chest. “Why must you make this difficult?”

“I hate you,” she bit back, heart racing in her throat. He only sighed before producing masking tape. After a moment, she found it pressed over her eyes and mouth before he bound her ankles, too.

“Open my trunk and roll out,” he dared her, the sound of his voice somehow more terrifying than the sight of him. “See how far that gets you.”

He slammed the trunk again, leaving Feyre alone in the dark. She screamed against the tape, trying to break it until her wrists were raw. He’d begun driving, the music faint through the fabric of the backseats. Would it have been smarter to pretend to be his friend? To lull him into a false sense of security? Feyre had never been particularly patient. In fact, she was spontaneous to a fault, acting without thinking and hoping it all worked out. Of course, that was for school assignments and ghosting friends—never because she’d been kidnapped.

Think, Feyre. 

She couldn’t, though. Not beyond her immediate problem, which was the tape over her mouth and eyes. If she could just get it off, Feyre thought she’d be able to think more clearly. Figure out a plan and execute it. She rubbed until her wrists ached and her head pounded, but at no point did she manage to do anything but chafe her skin, exhaling for air roughly through her nose. 

Eventually, the car came to a stop, the music cutting off abruptly. Lost to the dark, Feyre went limp as the sound of shoes on gravel flooded her senses. A moment later, cold air rushed into the trunk as hands lifted her in the air.

“You’re a terrible actress,” her captor murmured, his amusement plain. “I’m going to unbind you when we get inside. Are you listening to me? Nod your head.” Feyre did.

She heard the sound of numbers being keyed into a pad followed by the smell of warm cedar, drowning out the unmistakable scent of snow. Feyre was set on something soft—a sofa, before the tape was peeled off her eyes, and then her mouth. She was in a cabin, she realized. Well decorated and comfortable—and likely remote. Had he taken her up into the Illyrian Mountains?

“People will be looking for me—”

“No they won’t,” he replied smoothly, reaching for the edge of his mask. He was showing her his face? Feyre panicked—the only reason he’d do that was if he didn’t intend for her to tell anyone. She almost begged him not to, but a second later he’d peeled it back, revealing…well. Not what she’d imagined.

He was handsome, the asshole. Dark hair paired with eyes so blue they seemed violet were the first things she noticed. He was staring down at her, his sensual lips curled into a smile. The sharpness of his jaw and his high cheekbones gave him an almost aristocratic air, and his warm, brown skin was utterly unblemished and smooth. 

She’d been imagining him as some ugly man. This was worse, somehow. If he was caught, he’d have prison groupies. People would wonder if he’d really done anything horrible at all given how lovely he was to look at. That charming smile certainly didn’t help. 

"I remember you," she said. "From the art studio."

Rhys grinned. 

“Let me explain to you how things are going to work between us,” he began, running a hand through his thick hair. “There is nowhere for you to run, and if you try, you’re likely to plummet to your death or freeze before I find you. No one is looking for you. Repeat that as often as you need to. Tamlin will make all your excuses. He’s not going to rescue you. Until I’m done, you are at my mercy.”

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked, wishing she could curl herself into a small ball. 

He chuckled. “No, Feyre. I’m not going to kill you. I think we might get along perfectly well so long as you don’t do anything foolish.”

Like running away. The look on his face told her he expected her to. She didn’t have shoes, was dressed in a pair of leggings and an oversized t-shirt. She wouldn’t get far, but maybe he was lying. Maybe he banked on her fear to keep her compliant. 

He made a show of pulling a pocket knife from his pants and freeing her, frowning at her raw, bruised wrists. Feyre drew them against her chest, looking up at him warily. “What now?” He shrugged. “I don’t care what you do, so long as you remain within these walls.”

Fat chance of that. But Feyre nodded, hoping she looked properly scared. The cabin itself was small, and filled with cameras. He’d see her. Fine. He had to sleep at some point—he couldn’t be monitoring her all day, every day.

It was a bit of a stretch to call it a cabin given the home had two floors. It was remote, though, and seemed to function mostly off the grid, and had a rather nice kitchen she doubted he knew how to use. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a den he seemed to work out of—she wasn’t sure, given he didn’t open that door and merely gestured to it with a casual, don’t go in there.

Maybe it was where he tortured his victims. 

Feyre was given a room down the hall from him, devoid of a lock. “Look up,” he murmured, chin gutting toward the camera. “Wave to Tamlin.”

Feyre glanced up, unsure which of them she hated more. “He can see me?”

“He’ll see this,” Rhys murmured, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s easy enough to send it to him.”

“You could get back at him without involving me,” she heard herself say, wondering if that made her a traitor. This had nothing to do with her, and Feyre felt as if she was being punished unfairly for whatever was going on between Rhys and Tamlin. 

He shrugged. “Consider this a rescue.”

A rescue? Feyre was going to kill him. Maybe he saw it, because he nodded toward the twin bed shoved in the corner. “There’s some clothes in the closet you can use—”

“Who did they belong to?” she demanded, heart leaping in her throat.

“My cousin,” he replied, eyes narrowed. As if he were offended she might suggest there’d been another captive in the room. Feyre didn’t want to think about that—it made her panic all over again. 

Rhys left after a few more self satisfied words around how he’d find her if she tried to escape so not to bother. Feyre wasn’t listening, already thinking about escaping through the window. Was it locked? Her bedroom door wasn’t, which felt like a test. Was he hoping she’d try and escape? 

Feyre sat on the edge of that bed and talked herself into her plan. Ignoring that it was cold and isolated and that she was woefully unprepared, Feyre instead thought about Rhys.

He wasn’t a god. He was only a man. He might have cameras on her, might have her watched, but he couldn’t search miles and miles of forest. The only advantage he had, supposedly, was that he knew she was missing before anyone else did. Feyre had grown up running through the backwoods and something about the slick way Rhys had his hair shoved off his stupid, too-perfect, face, told her he could not boast the same.

Feyre found booties in the back of the closet, and a million pairs of leggings hanging in the closet besides sweaters that were far too big for her frame. They’d double as a blanket, she decided as she pulled it all on. 

He was probably watching her. Feyre turned toward the camera and the blinking red light and offered her middle finger before throwing open that window. 

“For fucks sake!” Rhys’s voice called from somewhere inside the cabin. Feyre scrambled out the window, toppling feet over head into the frigid snow. Rhys’s fingers skimmed her ankle, attempting to drag her back inside. 

Scrambling to her feet as he came right out behind her in that stupid mask, Feyre realized it was a lot harder to run in snow than she’d expected. She had a head start on him for a solid ten seconds before he slammed into her, taking them both back to the ground. Rhys was made of solid muscle and was heavy. 

His bare hand wrapped around her throat, arching her neck upward until his lips touched her ear. “I told you not to,” he said as she writhed beneath him, desperately trying to get out from under him. 

“I don’t care what you say!” Feyre screamed. Rhys grabbed her arms, holding them in one broad hand as he restrained her thoroughly.

“You will—” he began, but Feyre head butted him, earning a furious curse in her ear. He half fell to his side, losing his grip on her wrists, which gave her time to scramble back to her feet. Rhys was just behind, grabbing her around her middle before hauling her up on his shoulder.

Feyre screamed, and though Rhys stumbled, he didn’t drop her like she’d hoped he would. 

“Scream all you want,” Rhys roared in response, as if he needed to make his point. “No one can hear you!”

“Tamlin is going—”

“He’s not coming!” Rhys interrupted, his fury finally scaring her. She hadn’t been frightened before—not truly. But right then, draped over Rhys’s shoulder while he wore that mask in the dark, his voice dripping with condemnation, Feyre was frightened. He sounded irate, dragging her back into that cabin with sure steps.

He didn’t take her back to that same room. Instead, Rhys dropped her into a different one—one that looked distinctly lived in. One that belonged to him, she realized. Feyre attempted to scramble up but Rhys was consistently faster. He had one leg, and then the other bound to the posts at the end of the footboard.

He sat on the bed beside her, laptop resting on his thigh. He pulled that mask up over his face, tossing it to the bed beside her. 

“Look for yourself,” Rhys snarled, shoving the open messages on the screen in front of her face. “Look and see how much he loves you.”

There were a slew of messages between them, and yet Feyre’s eyes snagged only on one.

Kill her then. 

She waited to see if she’d cry, but nothing came. “You’re lying.”

“He’s not coming for you,” Rhys informed her, eyes bouncing over her face as if he were searching for something. “This is between us, and you’ve become collateral.”

“Then why don’t you kill me?” Feyre snapped, yanking at her ankles trapped in the leather cuffs. They were bondage cuffs, she realized, rather than handcuffs. 

“Why would I kill you?” he replied, cocking his head to the side. “Tamlin might not be mounting some heroic rescue, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t view you as his. His little toy to play with until he gets tired of her…” Rhys murmured, sliding the side of his finger along her neck. “I’m not supposed to touch.”

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t do this.”

“I asked you not to leave,” he continued, ignoring her plea as his fingers made their way down her shoulder. “Left the door open so you knew you could move freely through the house. You’re so desperate to get back to him, but I know what he does to pretty little things like you. Where they end up. How their families mourn.”

“Stop,” she whispered, unsure which terrified her more—his touch, or the threat of what Tamlin might eventually do.

Rhys caught her wrist, binding it over her head before Feyre’s mind could catch up with his actions. She was wholly restrained and he was holding a knife as he walked around the bed. 

“You’re still bait,” he murmured, one hand sliding over a wooden bedpost. “He can see us right now, you know. He’s watching, hoping I’ll kill you before you tell me something you shouldn’t.”

“He doesn’t tell me anything,” she whispered, trying in vain to wriggle away. 

“If you didn’t know anything, he wouldn’t have responded at all. He’s slipped up—you know something,” Rhys declared, running the sharp edge of his blade across her leggings. The fabric snagged, ripping neatly from ankle to waistband.

“I swear I don’t,” she protested as cool air caressed over her now exposed thighs. He wasn’t done as he ruined that oversized blue sweater, too, leaving her in nothing but the shredded remains of fabric. Violet eyes swept over her now naked form and rather than sadistic amusement, Feyre swore she saw unguarded desire staring back at her.

“You do,” Rhys murmured, pausing between her legs. She tried to hide herself from view, but she was restricted by the restraints. “You just don’t remember.”

“How is this supposed to help?”

“Who said anything about helping?” Rhys questioned, tossing his knife beside his mask. The weapon left a small impression atop the black duvet, sharp end pointing toward her ribcage as if to warn her not to try anything.

Feyre pulled against her restraints, for all the good it did her. “Then what are you doing?”

“I’ve been watching you for a long time,” Rhys told her without moving. He did, however, gesture behind him to a wall half hidden in shadow. There, hanging in a gold frame, hung a familiar work of art. Her first ever painting sold—it was a moody seascape Tamlin had accused of being cliche. She’d been brand new, and yet talented enough to be accepted into a showing where an anonymous buyer had overpaid for it.

Feyre still had that first check tucked away in a desk drawer, and when she felt overwhelmed or dejected, she’d pull it out to look at. That same buyer had purchased something from every collection she’d done, always paying far more than she was asking. 

“That was you?”

“I have an eye for beautiful things you know,” he informed her, his gaze a brand against her skin. 

“You’re jealous?”

“Desperately,” he replied without irony. “It’s always been like that between us. He has everything I want.”

“Rhys,” she whispered, unable to look at him anymore. She wanted to tell him not to do this, and didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was afraid. 

“He’s watching,” Rhys told her, glancing over his shoulder. “Keeps hacking into my system to see what you’re doing. Will you smile for him, Feyre? Let him think you’re happy?”

“Just let me go,” she pleaded as her captor slid to his knees between her legs. “I won’t say anything.”

“I can’t,” he murmured, lips ghosting over sensitive skin. “I want to keep you.”

Alive, was the unspoken word between them. Did he realize that was a low bar? A bar already set in hell, so far beneath his feet there ought to be no trouble clearing it. And yet…Feyre turned her head as he kissed up his leg, stomach tight from anxiety. 

“Like this?”

He shrugged. “I’d untie you, but I think you’d kill me with your bare hands if I did.”

“I think you’d like it,” she shot back, squirming when she felt his warm breath tease between her legs. 

“I’m hard just thinking about it,” he agreed with a grin. 

His tongue slid up the center of her pussy before Feyre could think of a good comeback. She yelped, trying—and failing—to escape the feeling. It had been too long since someone had done this for her, which was how Feyre explained the bolt of lust racing through her. He didn’t stop, eyes pinned to her face to see if she liked what he was doing.

Feyre was resolved not to react. Men always tired of this act after a minute or two, doubly so when they weren’t being catered to on their back, but instead forced to kneel. It was easy, at least in the beginning, to ignore his tongue teasing her clit. She thought about how cold the snow had been when she’d fallen out the window and reminded herself he’d shoved her in a trunk. That he was a killer, too, and toying with her boyfriend.

Or ex-boyfriend. Feyre wasn’t really sure what they were anymore. She supposed they were over, given he’d told Rhys to kill her. Feyre’s eyes slid to the camera in the corner of the room and somehow, she could feel him watching. Could feel his anger, too—as if this were all her fault. As if she’d kidnapped herself, tied herself up, and was now being forced into pleasure, too.

Are you happy now? Feyre wanted to scream it. 

“Eyes on me,” Rhys growled, forcing her to look back down at him. How long had it been, anyway? Her body hummed at the loss of contact, proving that though she was trying not to feel anything, she couldn’t block him out entirely.

“You’re wasting your time,” she whispered.

“All my time belongs to you now,” was his frustrating reply. He returned his tongue back to her pussy and this time, though she tried, Feyre couldn’t refocus on anything but his touch. It was all wrong—his mask lay on the bed, the knife still pointed toward her, inches away from her exposed skin.

For all she knew, he was lying to her and would kill her when he finished.

“Please stop,” she whispered, pulling on her restraints.

“Come, then,” he said in response, his voice muffled. 

Feyre didn’t want to come. For a while, she writhed against her restraints until he physically pinned her to the bed, holding her still so he could continue his slow torture. Feyre thought he liked when she fought him—that he wanted to bring her under submission. She held herself back, whimpering from the effort as she counted in her head. 

“Do you need a distraction?” Rhys murmured when he heard her reciting the ingredients to a recipe. “Something to turn off that meddling brain of yours?”

“No,” she gasped, but he was on his feet, hands undoing his dark trousers. “I don’t need—I’m fine, I’ll finish—”

“I know you will,” he replied, pulling his long, thick cock from his pants. Feyre couldn’t not look at it as Rhys moved around the bed, extending his restraints so he could reposition her. Feyre fought him, slapping Rhys hard in the face when he undid her arms. He grunted but didn’t react other than to sigh, his frustration plain. With the longer rope, he could tie her hands to the bedposts without overextending her arms while her head now hung off the edge of the bed.

“I won’t,” she informed him.

“You will,” Rhys replied, pinching her nose when she pressed her lips together. As he waited for her to take a breath, he rubbed his cock over her cheek while his other hand slid across her breasts to play with her nipples.

Feyre tried—oh, how she tried—but in the end, she had to take a gasping breath of air. He pushed the head of his cock between her teeth, not caring when sensitive flesh scraped roughly against the jagged edges. The hand that had once pinched her nose now held her throat, squeezing just enough to warn her not to try and bite. 

She did anyway.

“Don’t do that again,” he warned, taking his knife and resting it on her stomach. Feyre didn’t believe he’d use it until he took the hilt and began using the smooth silver to tease against her clit.

She couldn’t argue with him, mouth filled with his cock. She widened her jaw to take a breath as he angled his hips, pushing himself further until he was backed up against her throat. Feyre gagged lightly, praying he wouldn’t keep going. 

She didn’t want to throw up.

Clearly neither did Rhys. Groaning softly, he whispered, “You suck so well.”

She wasn’t doing anything, really—Rhys moved his hips, setting the pace so he could fuck her mouth. Feyre screamed around him when she felt him push the hilt of the knife into her body so he, too, could fuck her with it. He’d been right about one thing—sucking his cock kept her focused on what was happening between her legs. She could think of nothing else, her mind torn between the air coming into her lungs and what Rhys was currently doing with his mouth. 

With his legs spread, he’d returned to licking her clit, focused wholly on that and nothing else. How did he not cut himself on the blade, she wondered as she tried to wriggle the knife out of her pussy.

It didn’t work. Whatever he was doing, he was skilled. Feyre was reacting, her body tightening around the hilt of the blade thanks to the skill of his tongue. Rhys groaned when she sucked in more air than she’d meant to, lips forming a seal around his shaft.

“Just like that baby,” he moaned before picking up his pace. She was going to come and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Feyre tried, eyes leaking from the cock bruising her throat as saliva dripped down her neck. He was going to come, too.

Quick, she realized with some relief. He was timing himself with her, well aware she was close to completion. At least he wouldn’t draw it out? Or he had something else planned. Feyre didn’t know.

Didn’t want to know.

Didn’t want to admit that this was the best she’d felt in a long, long time. How fucked up was it that she hadn’t been able to get off for months, and now, tied up and forced, she was careening toward the sort of pleasure that threatened to unmake her. Was this how stockholm syndrome worked? Her body, flooded with pleasure, began to think that maybe it wasn’t so bad to be stuck here with him.

“Keep sucking,” Rhys moaned again, his hips losing some of their controlled rhythm. Maybe it was better to just get it over with. Feyre sucked around him, though she refused to move her head and help him.

Rhys licked faster, moving in precise circles until her hips began to roll into him, chasing the inevitable. Feyre clenched, finding purchase on the hilt of the blade. Rhys rubbed it just against the perfect spot, his tongue unwavering and Feyre was undone. She screamed around his cock, body bowing off the bed and directly into his mouth. She heard him curse though she didn’t care, half ruined from the pleasure now ribboning through her. Feyre was a star, white hot as it erupted over a silent sky.

She’d forgotten, just for a second, he still had his cock buried in her throat. With a twitching jerk, Rhys came into her throat, his come spilling out the sides of her mouth to join the mess of spit pooling along her collarbone. 

Panting, he pulled himself out of her to show her the knife coated in her own release and dripping with blood. His blood, she realized with alarm, noting the gash sliced over his palm.

“I got too excited,” he breathed, wiping it over her naked breasts. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

“Untie me,” she whispered, tugging against the restraints. “Please, untie me—”

Despite his injured hand, Rhys was quick about it, undoing her hands first, and then her feet. She’d told herself she was going to hit him for what had just happened, but instead Feyre merely sat up while he stepped out, half naked from the waist down, only to return with a warm rag he used to wipe up the mess of come and blood. 

“I’m not going to kill you,” he whispered into her hair, pulling her against his chest. 

Feyre looked up at him, unsure if she believed him. “Tamlin told you to.”

“I wouldn’t kill my worst enemy to satisfy him.”

She swallowed. “And…if I wanted to kill him?”

Rhys grinned. “Say less, pretty baby. Say less.”

[writing-in-the-impala]

Secret Smokes (Part 15)

Pairing: Teacher! Remus Lupin x Reader

Series Summary: When the reader bumps into the new DADA professor on the bridge in Hogwarts she begins to build a friendship with him all thanks to their shared feeling of not belonging and love for muggle cigarettes. Their friendship blooms while they both fight internal battles deciding what is wrong and what is right leading to a lot of fluff, angst, flirting and a rollercoaster of emotions.

Warnings: Swearing, smoking, drinking, teacher-student relationship, angst, jealousy, fluff, smut.

Word Count: 2311

A/N: wow it's been a while I have no excuses I just have a soul-draining full-time job and no free time. Enjoy! I missed you all <3

 | SERIES MASTER LIST (All chapters) |

Previous Chapter, Part 15, Next Chapter

You spent the whole Sunday sulking as you walked around Hogsmeade trying to lift your own spirits. You couldn't take it anymore. On one hand you thought about how maybe you just need to go one a date with someone else to break this fixation you had on Remus on the other hand you felt like you may have a lot more than just a crush on him and that no one will be able to replace him. You simultaneously wanted to bump into him and to not see him for a few days. But something pushed you to try and force him into bumping into you. So you pulled out the marauders map and saw he was in his classroom. You went to the corridor adjacent and sat with a book waiting for him to walk out, yet the next time you checked the map he was in the library so you headed straight there. Once you arrived to the library he was nowhere to be found, you checked the map and saw he was walking towards the courtyard you followed him but couldn't catch up with him until you saw him disappear from the map. You knew he left Hogwarts, and you knew he was avoiding you as he probably saw where you were using his own map. It was hopeless. He was impossible.

Your next interaction with him was Monday morning in class, one of the only places he couldn't avoid you, especially that you knew he couldn't skip classes as he had to do so at the end of each month anyway. When you walked in Remus's eyes flicked to yours and then straight to the floor to avoid yours. He kept his composure well during class but spent the whole hour tapping his finger on his wand and falling over his words. He barely answered questions and took deep breaths. After the lesson finished he let out a sign simply saying "that's all, thank you very much. Remember keep studying I know you'll all do great." In this moment he gave you a short glance breathing in, closing his eyes slowly and turning to walk up to his office. As everyone funnelled out you followed him. "Professor, I have a question about one of the exams." You said nearly running up to catch him as he was already half way up the stairs.

"Miss L/N, I can't go into too much details about exams you know this. I'm sorry, I'm afraid I won't be of much use to you."

"But professor I just want to understand more." You pushed hugging your books for comfort and looking around as some students were still in the class, he shifted his body weights to his other leg.

"I'll be honest I've never ran a class through exams, you know I'm new to all this. It would be better for you to speak to a different professor on this subject." He pained and you knew you were both speaking in double meanings at this point.

"But you're the one I want to speak to as you are the one who teaches defence against the dark arts."

"Was I not clear that I'm not the right match for you on this topic when we last spoke about exams, I suggest Professor McGonagall could help." He said looking past you at the last few girls in the room both you aching for them to leave you you could speak normally as he knew you wouldn't leave and there wasn't much you could say like this.

"Yes I do understand that Professor however what she explained wasn't that clear either, it left me with a lot of questions specific to defence against the dark arts." At this moment the last two girls left saying "bye Professor Lupin." He said goodbye to them before turning back to you and saying "Follow me, let me see if I can help." You followed behind him, he held the door open for you and let you in his office first before shutting the door behind you, you didn't make yourself comfortable in the room but rather stood by the door. "You shouldn't speak to me like that while there's other students around." He said in a low tone.

"I needed to get your attention somehow."

"You know you've always got my attention." He words were almost a low growl.

"But you avoided me all Sunday."

"It's what's best for you." He took a step closer closing the space between you forcing you to look up if you want to look into his eyes.

"How do you know what's best for me?"

"Trust me I do." He leaned down his lips were an inch away from yours.

"Really?" You asked and his lips met yours as he moaned a "mhm" in confirmation. He pulled away to say "you know you really shouldn't act like that in my classroom while there's other students still leaving, begging me to talk to you, to give you attention." His words were making hot flashes go through your body as you said nothing just looked up at him. "Do you understand?" He asked and you nodded.

"Good girl." He said the words catching you off guard. He walked away from you to go and lean against his desk as you stood in the same place confused.

"I thought you were avoiding me?" You asked not understanding his sudden change in behaviour.

"I am." He said signalling for you to come closer with his hand and you followed his command. He stood up straight in front of the desk as you looked up at him he picked you up and put you down on the desk so you were now sitting on it.

"How is this avoiding me professor?" You ask him as he looked down at you, he got on his knees in front of you, his head at desk level as his hands moved up and down your thigh.

"Well right now we don't have to discuss all the stuff I'm avoiding." He said moving his head between your thighs and teasing you through your clothing.

"How are you so sure?" You asked as you resisted all the feelings he was sending through you.

"Because dear you can't even think straight and I haven't bent you over my desk yet." He said standing back up leaving you aching for him.

"Please don't stop." You said looking into his eyes that seemed a lot darker in this moment. He began to kiss you as he undressed you and you unbuttoned his shirt. He grabbed you by your hair to turn you around and bent you over his desk. You felt his body against you before he leaned down to whisper in your ear he took a deep breath and then he let you go and walked away sitting on the sofa opposite the desk while saying "I can't do this."

You turned around in confusion to see him buttoning back up his shirt, you quickly fixed yourself before questioning him. "What do you mean you can't do this? You started it!" You attempt to protest.

"and I'm ending it."

"So what happened to wanting to bend me over your desk?"

"I can't, I care about you too much. I don't want to throw you around this room like an object of desire. Don't get me wrong I do desire you, and you do something to me when you out me on the spot in public like that but I can't treat you like this."

"What if I want you to treat me like that?" You asked afraid of moving anywhere closer to him in the room.

"Then you don't understand your own worth." He simply stated.

"So now you won't speak to me or even sleep with me anymore?"

"You know I think it was William Blake who said sooner murder an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires."

"Well if you studied Blake like I did you would know Blake is telling you to act on your unacted desires, unless you're telling me you would rather kill a infant in its cradle than kiss me again."

"You've got it wrong dear. I may have been homeschooled by my parents but don't underestimate how many hours I spent reading. The enacted desires are the things you should murder. If you nurse them, they must be in a cradle. They are the baby in a cradle so strangle your unacted desire, don't act on them."

You felt almost embarrassed at you pointing out school, you didn't know he was homeschooled but it made sense with his condition and the fact they moved constantly, it added up and now not only were you angry at Remus for his recent actions but you felt guilty for your own words. You didn't reply, the silence was thick before Remus breathed heavily and continued to speak.

"Therefore it's time for me to strangle mine, if you remember the day we went to the British Museum I asked you to promise that if you developed any strong feelings for me to tell me so we could cut it off before either of us gets hurt." He said and you nodded slowly to show you're following along. "Well I may have not been too truthful and I feel neither have you, and it has resulted in us both becoming victims of our own misfortune."

"Are you saying you have strong feelings for me Remus Lupin?" You asked feeling both nervous and excited.

"Not exactly, what I'm saying is there was a line that I tried to set and I believe somewhere that line became blurry. So after you left on my birthday I decided to establish that hard line again. I decided we will stop sleeping in my bed, we will stop all the cuddling nonsense and all the softness. However I simply can't do that Y/N, I can't be as stern and strict as I want to be with you."

"That's okay, I want to cuddle with you."

"I'm aware however I told you that day, I would like to take you on dates, I would like to walk around and hold your hand, I would like to bring you to see my friends especially during my birthday but we can't do that, I told you it will hurt to not be able to live in public, I didn't want to risk the pain for you. You deserve so much more than this." He looked weak.

"Can you not tell you're what I want no matter how many times you deny me?" You were almost in tears.

"I simply don't believe you understand what you're signing up for with me, and it's emphasised by you asking me to take you on dates, to go see Sirius, to go to my cottage. I always told you those weren't options with me especially while you study here but you didn't listen." He was angry but also frustrated like he was mainly fighting with himself.

"What if I didn't study here?"

"What? Y/N don't try and ruin your education?"

"No, as in when I finish. What happens then?"

"Then we're free, but then you have the burden of being associated with me.  I fear that the stigma attached to me will affect you before you even have a chance to become the amazing witch you can be."

"I don't care." You simply shrugged. "But would you take me on dates?" You asked and he thought for a second.

"Of course if you're not my student there no reason not to." He replied thoughtfully.

"Would I be able to visit Sirius with you?"

"It would be encouraged." He replied instantly.

"Okay, then we'll continue this whole conversation when I finish."

"So what happens now?"

"You tell me, you're the one who knows what's best for me." You said and he laughed for the first time since you entered this room. "Touché."

"I think we hold off for a little bit, you're right you know, I'm not being truthful about how attached I am to you. And I haven't been really seeing my friends this year because all I can think about is you." He gave you a sad but understanding nod. "So I think I should come here less, but I don't want to stop coming. Maybe we become a bit more casual, see each other every so often, I'd still like to be able to come for tea, listen to music and sometimes kiss you if that's okay."

"It's always okay." He said with a soft pained smile.

"Okay, so we do that, and when I finish school you can ask me out and show me what dating Remus Lupin is like, deal?"you put your hand out for him to shake.

"Deal." He said reaching out to shake your hand. "Would you like to stay exclusive still?"

"You don't?" You were caught off guard.

"No I do, but I'm not in my last year of school, I'm asking you?"

"I don't think I would be comfortable finding out you're kissing someone else, so could we please stay exclusive even if we don't see each other as often?" You asked nervously.

"Of course dear, now what would you like to do stay here with me today or go back to your friends I won't be offended if you leave right now."

"I'd like to stay." You said and he reached out his hand to pull you to sit beside him.

"I'm very proud of you for putting your foot down like this, don't get me wrong it hurts to know I'll see you less but I think you've acted more mature than me in all this."

"If we had it your way we would still be smoking and flirting on the bridge." You pointed out as Remus put and arm alright you and got comfortable making him laugh. You felt safe, and like you made the right decision. You hoped.

NEXT CHAPTER | More stuff I wrote

A/N: sorry for the angst I had to do it.

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[railingsofsorrow]

an apple doesn't fall far from the tree (until it does)

[spencer reid x reader]

summary: reader takes care of her daughter while she's sick and some memories of her childhood resurface.

pairing: s.reid x f!bau!reader

w.c: 2.2K

warnings/content: being neglected by a parent; reader has mommy issues & spencer has daddy issues; crying; discussions about a difficult childhood; insecurities; mentions of v*mit and fever (the flu symptoms); Eden Reid being everyone's source of joy; Spencer in glasses always; hurt/comfort; very brief (implied) suggestive content; spiders; I proofread this at 2am.

A/N: here's my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins kid fic challenge i was so sad that I didn't see this until after May 1 :( but here it is! absolutely love writing about dad!spencer. it's legit a source of inspiration.

navi

masterpost

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want to read more works about this au?

→ [recharging] - [day off]

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“No, it's the other way around.” You laugh when Eden places the egg shells inside the cake batter instead of the egg yolk.

“Oh,” she mumbles with parted lips. Then squirms away and giggles when you tickle her sides. You do manage to get most of the egg shells out of the batter. “Sorry, mamma.”

“It's okay, baby. Now what's next?”

She studies every material in the counter thoroughly, her fingers moving as she thinks it over. That's the moment you stop and stare fondly because of how much she resembles her father. Her hair had grown longer in the past few months, it's nearly past her shoulders and the honey brown curls are exactly like Spencer's.

“Sugar!” She raises her pointer finger, giving you an eager look, anxious to know if she's correct or wrong. You take a few seconds to build suspense and reveals the veredic. Eden jumps in the chair in excitement and you gasp, holding her in place so she wouldn't fall.

One of your favourite sounds in the whole word is Eden's laughter. It's contagious and childish and unforgettable. And a bit healing, if you're being honest. In case you're feeling a little down, making Eden giggle is the cure.

When you were called at the school by her teacher today because your daughter had threw up during class, you were finishing up the pile of paperwork in your desk. It took some convincing for Spencer not to immediately run to the school, but when he heard she had asked for you in the phonecall, he caved in. Giving you one condition: to send updates of Eden's wellbeing every hour so he could know how she was.

Your husband listed at least a thousand medications and natural medicine to help with the symptoms before you were able to leave the office.

Eden had the flu, that's what the doctor said. She needed rest, the strawberry flavoured syrup, the medication to avoid nausea and cuddles to heal faster.

Thankfully, she was laughing again by the afternoon, which meant she was feeling slightly better. You noticed her paleness diminished after taking the medication and having a good four-hour nap, her fever had also went down.

“Good girl,” you praise after she takes a spoon of her medication not hiding her grimace. “Now we wait for the cake to be ready so we can have a big bite.”

She nods dutifully, rubbing her eyes with her small hands. You recognise the sign of a sleepy child, so you scoop her up and take her to her bedroom.

Although, before you place her in bed with her stuffed friends, you decide to keep her in your arms for a while longer, mumbling a lullaby softly while rocking her to sleep. Almost like when she was a baby, the difference now is that she's bigger and not bald.

It doesn't take ten minutes for her soft snores to be heard. You put her to bed and leave the door ajar in case she needs you during the night. You would come check in on her every hour anyway, to make sure her fever wouldn't rise again.

There's this weird thing about being a parent: you never quit worrying. It's not exactly weird, it is, in your case, the maternal instinct that you can't avoid. It was there ever since Eden was born.

The reason why you find that odd is because you never had that. Not when you were a child, not when you were a rebel teenager, not as an adult. In fact, you were pretty convinced your mother's maternal instinct was nonexistent.

The only time you remember being held by your mom was when you cut your head when you fell down the stairs and you had to spend an entire night for observation. She held your hand as you slept the entire time, kissed your temple and then told you she loved you. She never did it again. Eden's grandmother wasn't maternal, she wasn't a fan of bedtime stories or mother and daughter times.

But she takes Eden to school and insists on staying with her on some weekends so they can bake Eden's favourite biscuits and decorate it.

She wasn't your mother when you needed, but she is a good grandmother to your daughter.

You don't understand it. You are thankful, of course. It's not like you expected that she would treat Eden bad or anything, but you can't help but wonder if that coldness and distance was just reserved for you as a child? And what did you do to deserve that. You must have done something. Still, she never told you what.

“Why are you sitting in the middle of the hallway in the dark?”

You let out a gasp, quickly covering your mouth. You take a glimpse inside Eden's room through the small space left and notice her sleeping frame tucked in with Mr. Greenie.

You had been sitting on the floor, staring at nothing in the dark in the middle of the hall, which is why Spencer is questioning you, rightfully so. But he startled you.

“I'm monitoring,” you say rather dumbly but out of excuses. “... her fever.”

He lifts his glasses up his nose — he recently went back to wearing because his eyes got too sensitive for contacts — while squinting doubtfully at you, then he turns on the light to sit down crisscrossed by your side after also taking a look inside Eden's bedroom. He would give her a goodnight kiss in a minute.

You don't even realize you're crying until his thumb travels across your cheeks to gently wipe your tearstained cheeks. His mouth tugging downwards at your puffy eyes.

“You told me her fever went down an hour ago.”

“It did.”

“Then what's wrong, angel?”

She's fine, you're not. He thinks.

You sniffle, shaking your head. You feel like a child all over again. This is so stupid. You are an adult, why are you still feeling like this? You have your family now, there is no need to dig into the past and suffer. You cannot change anything about it.

He scoots into your personal space, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to bring you closer to him. You rest your head on his chest, hearing the thump thump of his heartbeat against your ear. For a moment, that's all you thought about. Spencer's hands drawing invisible patterns on your arms and back, muttering softly about his day as to not disturb the peaceful silence and kissing the crown of your head occasionally.

“She's perfect.”

His hands halt on their way up and down your arm. “Yes, she is.” He knows who you were talking about, he always does, like he read your mind.

“I'm scared I might ruin her.”

This sentence alone terrifies you to no end. It's so much deeper than feeling unloved as a child because it isn't about you anymore, it's about the life you created, the life you are raising and watching grow up. The life who carries your DNA, the same one you share with you mother, who is the person that made you question every single encounter with a human being and if you really deserves to be loved.

Every day, you wonder if you were cold or short with Eden at any moment. If, maybe, a comment slipped last your lips and it would define how her day would be. Or if you gave her a look of disapproval that would make her question her way of speaking or her way of being.

You are scared of ending up like her and to have your daughter regret being raised by you.

“That's just not possible.” Spencer says firmly, squeezing you as reassurance. “You're a wonderful person and a wonderful mother, there is just absolutely no way you would ruin her or do anything remotely close.”

“If I'm so wonderful, then why didn't she love me?”

Parents can impact your life in a good way or catastrophically bad. There's the line in between, the gray line. From what Spencer heard you talk about your mother, she leans a little towards the catastrophically bad. It isn't that she doesn't love you. It is about the way she didn't show it.

“It wasn't your fault.”

Spencer finds your mother a sweet woman who took care of Eden when both of you are away on cases, or just because she wants to be with her granddaughter that day. And that's fine, he likes her. She's okay. What isn't okay is how she left you to drown in doubt in your childhood as you questioned every action you did in your entire life afterwards.

That was cruel and cold and unfair. You might forgive her for how she treated you one day, but he wouldn't.

You scoff, harshly drying your tears as they kept coming. “I must have done something.”

“You were a child.” Spencer insists, caressing your cheek. He understands where the blame comes from, he used to carry that burden, sometimes he still does. Did he make his dad leave? Could he have done something to stop it? The answer is no. A child cannot blame themselves for their parents mistakes.

And that's easier said than done.

“So?”

He sighs, lifting your chin so he can look into your eyes and stick what he is about to say into your brain for good.

“Is there anything Eden could do that would make you treat her with indifference?”

Your brows raise in disbelief, “God, no. She's my everything.”

He gives you a pointed look at your quick answer. You didn't even think twice, you didn't have to. She is your everything. The best part of you. And you would do anything to put a smile on her face. Because that's what parents are supposed to do.

“You know that you're her first source of comfort?”

You tilt your head to show you're listening, focusing on playing with his calloused knuckles. “What do you mean.”

“You're the first person she wants after a nightmare, when she has a bad day at school or even when there's a bug in the room that you're also terrified of.”

You can't hold back the snort that comes out of your mouth.

“You're not talking about spiders, certainly. Remember that night you saw one in our bedroom and screamed so loud our neighbours made fun of us on the weekend?” Spencer rolls his eyes and you carry on, too amused to stop. “They thought we were going at it. like rabbits.”

“Okay,” Spencer huffs, pretending to be annoyed. He can't actually be annoyed at you. “It was huge and what if it had walked all over our bed before we found it? Where was it before? When did it get there? Did you know that the bite of the false widow spider Steatoda nobilis can develop infections that are unresponsive to antibiotics?”

“Baby.” You peck his lips until he stops rambling. You do love when he goes off on a rant but he will just spiral out of control if he thinks anymore about spiders and decide to clean-up the entire house to be convinced there is no spider lurking in the corner. “I killed it, okay? You're safe.”

He hums, leaning forward for another kiss. “My hero,” he mumbles into your lips.

Both of you check Eden's temperature and kiss the mini version of you goodnight before going back to the living room.

“So you do understand, right?” He wraps both arms around you when you sit on the couch, kissing the back of your head. “You're wonderful and kind and lovely and you. Our girl and I couldn't have been more lucky.”

“If you want to make me cry again just say the word, Spencer.” He chuckles, spreading little kisses down your neck, lips wavering closer to your ear.

“Never, but I do want to make you smile, so I got ice cream.”

That makes you turn around fast, an excitement glint on your eyes. “Which flavor?”

His lips twitches into that smug grin when he knows he is right about something. He shrugs pretending to be nonchalant. “Cotton candy, I guess.”

You shoot up from the couch before he can utter another word and run towards the fridge, whispering-yelling I love you so as to not wake up your daughter. Spencer nods with a fond smile, leaning against the kitchen counter to watch you moan over your favorite ice cream and remember the part of your childhood that you enjoyed. Cotton candy, afternoon walks in the park and friends sleepovers.

“I love you,” you confess as your mouth splits into a wide smile while you're kissing him. His tongues travelled through his lips after you split apart and he tastes the sweet flavor of cotton-candy provided by you.

Spencer presses his lips to both of your cheeks and the tip of your nose, gazing down at you lovingly. “I know, and I love you too.”

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taglist: @lilyviolets ; @whore-for-spencer-reid ; @yeonalie ; @ninkieminjaj ; @hoeshissworld ; @r-3dlips ; @pleasantwitchgarden

[rosesbxrry]

Rendezvous

Pairing: Rugby Boyfriend! Jay X Cheerleader Fem! Reader

Genre: Smut🔞 (Minors DNI), secret relationship✌️

Warnings: unprotected sex (wrap it up before you tap it), Dom Jay, creampie, voyeurism (watching each other masturbate), so much mention of alcohol drinking, fingering, dirty talking, making out, riding, praising, mention of other sexual act done by them. Hopefully I didn’t miss out anything else.

Summary: Your secret relationship with Jay is torturous to say the least, no thanks to the strained relationship between the cheerleading and rugby teams. Now with tournament season coming up and Jay being busy with training, you and he meet up for a secret rendezvous at a frat party after not seeing each other for two weeks, taking advantage of the situation where you both don’t have to worry about the peering eyes of your teammates. 

Main masterlist

Word count: 4,188 words

a/n: I don’t know how I ended up finishing this Jay fic first out of all the wips I have, and I still need to complete the nsfw links for him as well 🙃🙃 I guess rejoice to Jay stans, this one is for you 🫶🫶

You weren’t going to lie; the whole cheerleading thing was getting on your nerves, mainly because you could list all the drawbacks at the top of your head. 

Firstly, you bet you could find longer skirts that covered your ass better than whatever you wore they called uniforms. Secondly, no matter how bad the weather was, you had to stay on the field as long as the players were still playing, even if your pom poms were soaking wet from the rain. Thirdly, the amount of spare time you had to sacrifice to train between classes and assignments made you contemplate whether everything was worth the time and energy. 

How did you get into this position you may ask? Well, your friend Gaeul thought it was really funny to sign your name in the recruitment paper, dragging you along into her crusade of becoming the queen bee of the campus, even though she could very much have achieved that without you.

But the last drawback was the final nail to the coffin; it was embedded into the heads of all the new first-year students by the cheerleading captain that relationships with the rugby players were forbidden. Be sure to cooperate with that one rule and avoid getting kicked out of the team immediately.

Honestly, you weren’t sure how the feud between the rugby and cheerleading teams even happened in the first place. Your captain said that it goes way back, passing through alums, but you weren’t interested in history to remember the rest.

This drawback wouldn’t have affected you if only it weren't for Park Jongseong coming into the picture.

The secretive romance between you and him has been carefully built up behind the scenes, mostly because the amount of mutual friends you’ve shared with him ensues the moment you wake up naked in bed beside you after a very drunk party. 

Dealing with overly chatty teammates every day did have its perks, and based on what you can recall, it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for the rugby players and cheerleaders to hook up with one another in silent compliance; whatever happens in bed, remains in bed. The players were informed of the same rule by their own captain about the rule which only further confirms the weird rivalry between the two teams. 

Having that little reassurance, you were sure the one-night stand was a one-off thing, but it seemed Jay wasn’t ready to let go of you yet. 

Months of his flirtatious advances led to the classified yet cliche friends-with-benefits relationship you had established with him. And sex with Park Jongseong was inhumanely insane, like out of this world fucking good that it hurts to even think of how his hips move in and out of you.

You could list all the places you’ve had sex with him; in a frat party, in an empty lecture hall— hell, you’ve even gone as far as fucking in the shower stall with him in the male’s locker room, only because you had waited for him when the players had an extended practice from the coach.

The cocky, rough sex in his car after his team won a match? That was just the cherry on top. 

All because you two couldn’t find a meeting place without everyone else's peering eyes, making it harder to hook up. 

At first, you were sure you had only entertained him because of the banging part but my god, the number of butterflies in your stomach every time he winked in your direction in the field, or when you were sick, he had discreetly visited your dorm through your window in the middle of the night to see if you were okay. 

Falling in love wasn't on your agenda, and as much as you hate the cheerleading club, you weren’t looking for trouble, yet he was exactly one. 

When the feelings were growing more than just sexual intimacy, the emotions took over. He kissed you passionately on the lips that it wasn't humanly possible for someone to show love through action alone, but this was Jay we’re talking about; he was able to make the impossible possible. 

With that remark, you found yourself making love with him that night, and the boyfriend-girlfriend relationship between you two was kept under public scrutiny, even with your teammates and friends. 

Or so you thought. 

“I think I kinda know who Jay's mysterious girlfriend is.” 

A chorus of hard coughing emitted from your throat when you choked on your drink, causing Gauel to look at you worryingly. The loud bass of the frat party almost swallowed her voice down. 

“You okay, Y/N?” 

You wave her off, closing your mouth to control the fits. “I’m— I’m fine. Who is it? I mean, who’s Jay’s girlfriend?” You nonchalantly ask, but the panic clawing in your chest starts to hurt. 

She gave you a once-over before replying. “Yeonjin from the drama club. Apparently, she used to pin him for months now. The other cheerleaders kinda conspiracies that it might be her.” 

Okay, you always hear gossip between your teammates, but why is this the first time you’ve heard it? 

Yes, you both agreed it was a good charade to tell people— talking about your significant other like separate entities as if you weren’t dating each other. A reasonable excuse for many advances and open invitations that includes your friend’s antics. 

However, you were starting to regret doing it because you have a feeling that your teammates aren’t the only people with a blabbermouth. If not, there wouldn’t be a hunt for Jay Park’s alleged girlfriend among the student body. 

You sighed, moving deeper into the foyer to give way to the drunk students walking down the stairs. “We should stop snooping around like this. There’s a reason why he wants to keep his girlfriend a secret in the first place.” 

You gave her a pointed look before continuing. “Such as from people like you.” 

“Come on, Y/N!” Gaeul exasperated, leaning in to give you a lethal combo of puppy eyes and pouty lips that you know so well. “Aren’t you at least a teensy weensy curious about who she is?” 

“No.” You deadpanned, using your index finger to poke at her forehead, successfully pushing her away from your personal space. “What I’m interested in is getting more alcohol so I won’t hear whatever nonsense you’re spouting next.” 

Gauel frowned. “You suck.” 

You snort, raising your red cup at her mockingly as you head towards the kitchen. It was a much less crowded area. You could spot slightly more sober students chatting away while mixing a concoction of mocktails to dare each other to chug. After pouring yourself a cup of soda to clear your head, you lean against the cabinet, deep in thought. 

The sound of music and revelry blast through the kitchen when the door opens, followed by its absence when the person steps into the room. 

You kept glancing at the new presence through your lashes. A sharp tanned jawline, slick back raven hair and clothes fitting him deliciously well that got you biting on your lower lip. When he looks around and catches your figure, his eyes glint in pleasure with a small smirk. 

“Hey.” He greeted flirtatiously once he was close. 

“I have a boyfriend.” You impassively respond against the cup's rim without sparing him a glance. 

His chuckle was deep, almost tugging at your heartstrings. “Must be a stupid boyfriend for leaving his beautiful girlfriend alone.” He leaned against the cabinet adjacent to you, placing his red cup on the marbled surface. 

“You have no idea,” You roll your eyes, crossing your arms around your chest. “He hasn’t taken me out on dates for weeks. Too preoccupied with the other love of his life.”

You baited back, accentuating the last few words to insinuate one particular sport he played. The grip on your cup tightens when he pushes himself off, moving close to tower over your height. 

“Then what does he have to do to make it up to you?” He whispered curiously, peering down and boring his dark eyes with yours until you couldn’t break the trance he had on you. 

When he places both hands on the surface behind you, caging you in only his addicting scent and his face so close that it becomes hard to breathe, you become overly conscious that the students in the room would notice the both of you.  

The proximity of the sight would paint the whole picture perfectly.

“D-Don’t…..” You warned meekly, but your mouth went numb when he leaned so close that if he moved even an inch more, your lips would collide and erupt into flames from the dormant amber. The alcohol in your veins told you to kiss him, but your head was actively fighting to prevent that. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Does he have to be on his knees?” Your eyes followed how he sensually wet his lower lip with his tongue. Your heart was beating against your ribcage at the sight, biting the inside of your cheeks.

He tilted his head to the side, his breath fanning the high points of your cheeks. “Looking up at you while his mouth works between those trembling legs?” 

Shit, shit, shit— 

“Jay, not here." You place a palm against his chest to retaliate, finding the strength to lower your face to the ground. "Please.” You added with a shaky voice, swallowing down the lump of saliva with your eyes closed. 

There was a slight stillness and tension in the air before you heard the creaking noise of the cabinet above you.

“Relax, Y/N.” He reassures you softly. The weight of his proximity dissipates, and you finally breathe a breath of relief. He moves away to stand in front of you with a bottle of alcohol. 

“Just getting something above you.” He winks and breaks into a grin when you give him an annoyed frown.

Of course, he’ll use every opportunity to tease the shit out of you, but the beating of your heart never ceases, even after his little farce riles you up. You were glad that the dimmed lights hid the flush on your cheeks. 

“Asshole.” You muttered spitefully behind a hand.

He poured the liquid into his cup before filling up yours as well. He chose to ignore you cursing at him with a little smile. 

“If you ever find yourself getting bored while waiting for your boyfriend tonight,” He says, slowly backing away while still facing you. “You’ll know where to find me.” He gave you a quick once over before trudging away into the party. 

With him no longer here, you feel the emptiness you felt for the last two weeks without him sinking in. 

You turned to the left and saw the group of students still preoccupied with their recreational stuff, the amount of alcohol making them more delirious and loud. Good, you thought before grabbing the drink to go and search for your friend— waiting for the time to pass until the whole party was intoxicated. 

When the humidity of the place starts to smell like liquor and the students begin to lose themselves in the music in the dead of night, you carefully make your way up to the second floor. You’ve sneaked here many times before, knowing where each door leads. 

You’ve made sure to control how much you drank but can’t help feeling tipsy with Gaeul constantly dragging you for shots of vodka. Opening the door to a familiar bedroom makes you feel more agitated and nervous. 

Jay’s taste in decoration was the definition of suave; the room was polished and slick, much like its owner. You remember the first time he tangled you in his bed sheets or when you spent hours making out on his black leather sofa— the one he was sitting on right now.

“I take it that your boyfriend ditched you?” Jay calls out. 

He sat casually spread on the seat with his jacket thrown over the channel back. The loose t-shirt he wore hung over his board body, and the same red cup in the kitchen was placed on the coffee table. Classic Jay— he was waiting for you to come to him. 

“You should really stop with the act.” You replied, climbing to sit on his lap and straddling your legs on either side. 

Jay’s face twists into content, welcoming you to him by circling his hands around your waist. “Makes me feel like I’m really cheating on you right now.” You pouted, letting your fingers trace his exposed neck to his visible collarbone.

His hands cup your face, bringing you down until your forehead touches. He smelled compulsively musky with a hint of pungent booze at the end. 

“Sorry, love.” He whispered sweetly, but his eyes were filled with dark flickers. “I can’t help it when you look so damn cute when you’re flustered.” You wrap your hands around his neck. 

“Fucking tease.” You whispered back. He smiled effortlessly. 

“A tease only for you.” 

You could feel the serotonin kicking the moment he captured your lips. He felt slightly warm, tilting your head to the side to deepen the kiss. Your mouth dances with him in unison; the initial passion turns into obsession when the both of you realize how much you missed the taste of each other’s lips. 

His hand creeps up past your shirt, groping the sensitive skin of your sides. It made you moan softly in his mouth, allowing him to slip his tongue into you. You dug deeper into his lap, fingers gripping the raven locks of his hair, feeling absolutely drunk in his arms. 

The wet sound of saliva echoed throughout the room— two mouths continued to bite, suck, nibble and pant against one another. Your hips moved on their own, slowly rocking your clothed core on his bulge. The tight confinement of your bra came loose, falling to the floor before feeling his fingers pinching your hardened nipples.  

It was getting hot, and you were breathless when he broke the wet kiss. He was staring at you with hooded eyes as he continued to grope your breast underneath your shirt. 

“I fucking miss you so much.” He confessed, moving to attack your neck with wonton kisses. You hold him tighter by the hair, pulling your head back to give him more space. “You’re always on my mind. Your smile, your voice, your body. You’re driving me crazy every second, my love.” 

You whimpered, feeling him growing harder as he professed his undying agony for the past two weeks. He moves down to place his hands on your ass, encouraging you to keep humping on his hard-on while he licks your lower jawline. 

“Miss you too, baby.” You press your lips close to his ears, purposely moaning lewdly for only him to hear. “I’m always thinking about you, while I’m eating, while I’m in class, while I’m in my—“ 

You paused. “—while I’m in my bed at night.” 

The sentence came out more sensually than you meant, causing Jay to pull away to look at you. He saw the bashfulness in your expression before he morphed into realization at the innuendo of your words. 

“Did you touch yourself?”

When you didn’t answer him, he took that as confirmation. He inhales a sharp breath, and you can feel his fingers digging into your bare ass underneath your skirt, causing you to gasp and look at him. His jaw was slack, and his eyes were swimming with desire yet curious at the new revelation. 

“Show me.”

It wasn’t a request but a demand— a demand you couldn't refuse when he looked at you like a starved man. So you move out of his lap, sitting on the coffee table while facing him, removing your shirt to let your boobs bounce out. 

Fondling your breasts, you let out a whiny moan when you roll your puffy nipples with your thumb, the way you always do while you masturbate to the thought of him. It didn’t help that your mounds were already sore to the touch at his ministrations a second ago. 

Jay was really enjoying the sight, removing his shirt while keeping his eyes on you. 

His body was carved like a Greek god— beautiful taunt muscles at every region with a sun-kissed glow; watching his biceps flex as he loosened his belt and pulled his pants down. 

“I know you touch yourself more than that.” He urged from his seat, palming himself through his briefs. “Show me how you play with that pretty pussy for me.” 

His voice was like a spell— coaxing you to remove your skirt and peel your soaked panties off. Placing your feet on the table’s surface, you spread your legs to expose every inch of your pussy for only his eyes to feast. You can’t help but whimper at how he was eye fucking your entirety. 

Pushing two fingers into your mouth, you coat your fingers with saliva before slipping them between your thighs. You were drenched— every slip of your fingers between your folds spilled more juices that puddled on the crack of your ass. 

“That’s it, fuckin’ beautiful.” His muttered praises only made you moan louder, peeking through heavy eyelids as you watched him jerk his big cock to the rhythm of your fingers while the other rested at the back of his head. 

You open your legs wider, pushing two fingers into your entrance, absolutely enamoured by the feeling of him watching you finger yourself that’s making your body burn into a pile of ashes. It was not easy on him either— watching you pleasure yourself got him lightheaded and head oozing with precum. 

“Is that how you fuck that pretty pussy with your fingers, hmm? Stretching that perfect hole wide like how I would with my cock?”

“Jongseong.” You crooned desperately, falling to rest your back on the table. Your thumb found its place on your clit, rubbing circles against the bundle of nerves until your hips were bucking the air, inwardly screaming at the blinding pleasure. 

“Fuck.” He cooed, wincing as he thumbed his sensitive head. “Look at you playing with your clit. So fucking sexy. That’s how you always feel, baby, so soft and sensitive on my fingers.” 

Jay’s filthy words spurred you on, plunging your fingers until they reached the spongy spot deep within, your back arching at the pleasure of the simple movement. But it wasn’t enough; the knot in your stomach would not come undone— the only thing that could quell your thirst was him. 

You craved his cock, needing it to split you open until you forgot your name.

“Jay, it's not enough.” You begged, sitting up with every strength you had. “I need you inside of me, please.” 

He sensed your hunger, your anguish— your desperation, and didn’t spare a second to open his arms to you. 

“Come here.”  

You immediately jump to straddle his lap, trembling hands holding onto his shoulders for leverage as you grip the base of his cock to align it with your entrance. Jay hissed at your touch, hands found purchase on your sides to support your weight. 

“Hey, hey, hey.” Jay gently whispered, noticing how you impatiently tried to nudge the tip of his cock into your hole with frustration. “Slow down, love. I’m not going anywhere.” He cradles your cheek with both hands to pull you closer to his face, smiling softly once you look back at him. 

“Relax and don’t hurt yourself, okay? I can wait for you forever like this.” He pushed back your hair to mouth kisses just under your ear, causing your muscle to ease up at his touch, dissipating some of the eagerness that clouded your sanity. 

Taking a deep breath, you probe his tip to your hole and slowly sink his length with your eyes closed. 

“That’s it, that’s my good girl.”

The way he purred, those words caused you to claw at his shoulders, his girth burning your walls so deliciously that you can’t help but clench around it. He massage your ass, letting you bottom down until you sit on his lap. 

“Ah god, Jongseong, you feel so amazing.” You gritted out, moaning rapturously at how full you felt with his cock, feeling the size and length of it moulding your womb. 

“My good girl, taking my cock so perfectly.” He thrusts up, burying his face in the crook of your neck. Your fingers curled into his messy locks to steady yourself, bouncing back to the movement of his hips.

Fuck, the way his cock dragged against your velvet walls, pressing on the deepest spot that brought you solace repeatedly— you were practically melting in his arms. 

Jay’s groans vibrate against your neck, feeling you clench and unclench around his length erratically. You were throbbing endlessly until all he could fathom was your scent and your sweet moans that consumed him with the desire to fuck you senseless.  

“You’re mine.” He breathed out, lunging a hard thrust that got you screaming. He slaps your ass, digging his teeth at the base of your neck, loving how you clung to him like he was your deity. He rutted into you, cock never slipping out, not even an inch.

The sound of skin slapping overthrew the music coming from the party downstairs. 

He growled. “All fucking mine.”

“A-ah, I’m all yours.” You swallowed, pressing your lips against his ear, lapping at the outer shell with want. “My mind, my body, my pussy— I belong only to you.” 

You have awakened the carnal urge he had suppressed for so long, making him stir into a frenzy, bringing you up and slamming you down on his cock so that all you could do was succumb to your orgasm. 

You could feel the knot in your tummy come undone, bathing you in the familiar warmth you longed for. Jay kissed your lips deeply, grinding a few more times before he too came with a heavy grunt, filling you up raw with ropes of hot cum.

You were blinded with pleasure, your vision slowly giving out, and all you could feel was the force of each other’s release. 

At that moment, you prayed to whoever above to promise you that heaven would feel as good as this.  

Once the air starts to clear up and Jay finished riding you out of your orgasm, he pulls his cock out of your spent pussy, his release dripping down your inner thigh while you lay limp in his arm. You could hear the heavy panting from both sides; exhaustion finally computed in your mind. 

He started to make motions to move you into a more comfortable position to clean you up. Your heart swelled with butterflies, reminding yourself why you had fallen for him in the first place. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, resting your forehead against his. “Later,” You persuade softly, inevitably stopping him from moving. “I want you to hold me closely.” 

“Okay.” He sighed, staring deep into your eyes.

It was lethal to your heart— how you could see the entire galaxy shining in the specks of his gaze. He smooths your back with the palms of his hands, lovingly pecking at the corner of your mouth. 

Your bodies fit into the compact confinements of the sofa, legs stretched out to tangle with each other. The side of your face rested on his arms, hugging him close until your bare skin touched. His other arm was draped around your waist, softly tracing the skin at the bottom of your spine. 

You're not sure how long you were staring at each other before he opened his mouth to mutter something in the embrace.

“You’re beautiful.” 

You giggled, shaking your head. “You’re more beautiful.” 

He burst into a laugh, eyes forming breathtaking crescent shapes, the afterglow of sex making him glimmer like the sun. The laughter soon quiets down, the soft sound of the bass downstairs filling the room. 

He looks at you once more, but the frown on his face catches you off guard. 

“I’m sorry I can’t spend more time with you.” He said. You recognize the guilt in his voice, pulling him closer to your body. “Just that the pressure from the coach and with all the other members being on edge with the final tournament…..”

You kiss his chest, feeling him sigh with relish at your lips on his skin. “It’s fine Jay, the last thing I want you to worry about is me. Focus on playing your best, and I’ll be there cheering once you win.”

He pushes back a strand of hair behind your ear, chuckling at your words of confidence.

“I promised to make it up to you.” His ardent oath caused you to snuggle into his chest, feeling him reciprocate your hug by placing his chin on the crown of your head. 

You mumbled close to his beating heart.

“Don't worry, I can wait for you forever like this.”

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[dotster001]

Dark End

A/N: Another, For Tuna, custom content end is here! I've tagged everyone from the of tag list, and everyone who voted for this particular end. If you wanna add your vote for the next one, you can do so in the comments here.

CW: Kidnapping, Yandere, manipulation

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Choose Another Ending

You groaned, and lifted your head, your neck aching from resting in that position for so long.

Wait.

How long was it?

The last thing you remembered, you were sipping tea with Jade, and he had said something about 'going home'. You made to stretch, and realized your hands were restrained behind your back. You shook yourself in your chair, hoping the chains were loose, but alas, nothing.

But the rattling was also how you realized you were not on the surface. 

The bubbles around you cleared, and you were met with two pairs of glowing, mismatched eyes. You couldn't help but roll your own as you released a released breath.

"Ha ha, very funny. You guys got me." You were used to the twins…. unconventional….pranks, at this point. You were pretty sure this one was to illustrate how easily you could be gently kidnapped. They'd been telling you to up your security system for months now.

"Heh heh," two voices echoed from the darkness.

"I get the point, I'll buff up security, and let you walk me to classes. Now are you going to untie me, or have I not learned my lesson yet?"

The glowing eyes turned to each other, before turning back to you. You shivered, your gut telling you you wouldn't like the expressions they were giving one another.

"Fu fu, while we appreciate you finally listening to us, that's not what we are here to discuss today," Jade said, his ever present smirk able to be heard in his tone.

The pair of eyes you knew to be Floyd's swum closer to you, bringing his eel form into view. No matter how many times you saw it, it took your breath away. So handsome, and yet so intimidating. But when you got over your initial awe, you noticed him holding a struggling, and gagged, Grim in his arms.

"What's happening here?" You laughed nervously.

"Hmm? Oh! Sealio," Floyd giggled, as though it wasn't obvious."See, he graciously volunteered to work for our family business!"

Jade swam up next to his brother, and gently scratched the top of Grim's head.

"So generous. But we need collateral, just in case something were to go wrong. Namely, you."

The twins looked at you expectantly, and you released another nervous laugh.

"Ha ha, very funny."

Floyd scowled, and Grim winced as his grip on him tightened.

"I don't know how we can be any clearer with you, Shrimpy. We. Want. You."

"Uh…"

You were starting to get the impression that you weren't the one being held for collateral here.

But with the look in their eyes, you should definitely play their game.

"Um, how long would I be collateral?" 

"I dunno, Grimmy what do you think?" Floyd jiggled Grim a little, and you heard some jumbled words from behind Grim's gag.

"Interesting point, Grim," Jade said thoughtfully. "It sounds like he wants to work with us…forever?"

The twins both looked at each other in, clearly mock, surprise.

"That's so cool of you, baby seal!" Floyd hugged him tightly in excitement. "But obviously, Y/N's gotta make some agreements first."

The twins looked at you, sinister grins mimicking one another in perfect synch.

"What kind of agreements?" 

"I'm so glad you asked!" Jade said, pulling out a golden contract that you assumed they had gotten off of Azul. He pulled out a pen, running the top lightly along your jaw.

"We're going to unlock one of your hands, and you'll sign this for us."

"What does it say?"

"Fu fu fu, we'll worry about that part. All you need to do is look into Grim's sad, pathetic eyes, and sign the contract. Think you can do that for me?" It felt like he was saying it to a toddler. But you guessed since you were the one who was so easily gently kidnapped, it was probably necessary for you to be talked down on.

"Okay," you said shakily.

"Wonderful!" Jade swam behind you, and you felt his fingers gently brush your dominant hand, before fumbling with the lock of that particular chain. He placed the pen in it, then firmly placed his hands on your shoulders. Just in case you were stupid enough to get any ideas.

You brought your hand forward, signed the contract, and then…

Huh.

How bout that?

What were you doing here?

Oh, there was Floyd!

And, you could tell from the distinctive cologne, Jade was behind you, massaging your shoulders, and softly kissing along your neck.

How sweet of him.

Sevens, you love them so much.

You just want to be with them forever, and ever, and ever, and ever, and ever, and ever.

And ever.

And ever.

And ever.

And ever.

The End

....

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[tenjikufag]

omg such good haikyuu teams i totally agree!! coould i request a bokuto x m!reader with a little angst to comfort bcuz i love hurt/comfort a little too much 🤭

Homecoming.

Bokuto x Male Reader

-hurt/comfort, temporary split, long distance, pro!Bokuto

-this was requested quite some time ago! So sorry for the wait.

Dating an athlete is not an easy thing to begin with, when it’s a professional, worldwide known athlete.. it only further complicates things.

Being with an athlete you never really know where you are on the priority list with them, this sport is quite literally their life and their job but when does a life partner come into play?

Highschool was a far easier time to date Bokuto, you’d see him in class, during lunch, after school, the weekends- basically anytime you wanted he was there! You even travelled to the different schools and districts with parents, siblings, and other players’ partners for the games.

But, once you graduated it got quite a bit harder.

You were settling into your own education and career, as was he. He was set to become a professional volleyball player like he had always dreamed about and what you had always hoped for him..

That meant long periods away from each other while you both did your own things.

It was steady and you both came out the other side successful and happy,

It wasn’t until he started with MSBY black jackals that there were true signs of trouble. It was getting harder to see eachother, even harder to just get a call or text back from one another because of timezones and offset schedules.

It broke your heart, his too.

There was a promise between you two to stick it out and that you’d always be there for eachother but you just.. weren’t sure of it these days.

It’s been two weeks since you last were able to call Bokuto, 6 months since you last saw him. And texts were far and few.

“What am I supposed to do? We can’t even talk about it because we can’t get in touch, it’s not like I can just catch a plane to see him either..”

You sat across from your childhood friend, Akaashi. He was an editor and basically worked from home so you could call him up whenever.. he was there to listen to all your relationship worries and other worries outside of it.

“You’re both my friend, there’s really nothing I can do or say to help you choose what to do, you know that. He hasn’t been in contact with me for even longer, I’m really no help..”

He mumbled, taking a sip of his drink with a frown. You knew he was right, there really was nothing you could do.. not until you could call him atleast.

—

Bokuto picked up his phone, frowning to see no notifications from you.. quickly he texted you and asked if you could call him later because he would have a gap between training sets.

He was beaming with excitement to finally be able to call you, and he had a surprise too! Quickly he showered and changed into casual clothes before heading out of the gym and off to his apartment..

As soon as he got into his apartment his phone went off, a text from you. With a smile he opened it

‘We need to talk, please make sure you actually have the time to talk this time.”

Tilting his head, he knew he had atleast 3 hours to talk to you and do whatever he needed to get done.. he dialed you, listening to the ringing with a smile

—

You paced the room, flinching when your phone started to vibrate and Bokutos contact came up. Sighing, you answered

“Hey babe! How are you? I miss you!”

“Yeah.. I said we need to talk and I’m gonna cut to the point..”

The visual of his face dropping flashed in your head, the disappointment of no loving greeting in the face of his you imagined.

“Oh! What did you wanna talk about?”

“I think we should split up. Take a break.. or end things entirely..”

The audio seemed like it dropped, complete silence on your boyfriends end..

“Huh?”

“I said we should break up.”

“..why? Did I do something? What’s wrong, what are you talking about?!”

Bokuto panicked on the other side, you bit your lip and tried to find the words

“Please don’t do this, you still love me.. right?”

A sob throbbed in your throat, squeezing your eyes shut the tears started to fall with every single one of his questions

“I do.. I love you so much. I just can’t do this anymore, it’s too hard Bo… I’m sorry, I miss you too much and I can’t keep up with the schedules! I feel like I’m not doing enough for you, and I feel like you’re slipping away from me!”

You whimpered into the phone, Bokutos breathe was heavy in the speaker- evident he was ready to cry too.

“We can make it through this! I promise, once everything settles down-“

“And when would that be?! What if it never settles down? It’s not fair to either of us to keep doing this!”

He cried, your heart shattered hearing him cry.

“I can’t do this without you, I don’t wanna do this without you.. I promise-“

“Just stop.. it’s already hard not doing this in person.. I’m sorry Bokuto. I love you, I miss you.. but I can’t do this anymore.”

“..I love you too! Please, just wait-“

You hung up, not wanting to hear what else he needed to say- you knew it would only make this worse, worse than what it was.

There was never a life you’d envisioned without him in it, you both had the whole future planned out.

It was just too hard, and you accepted the defeat.

But Bokuto wouldn’t.

—

“Woah, what happened to you?”

Atsumu raised a brow at his teammate, Bokuto was known for being a lively and energetic person but right now he looked like a wet bird.. drooping and moping around the gym; his body barely moving through the stretches.

His teammates were even more shocked to see the male ignore them and move to the other side of the gym to continue his stretches.

“Maybe he’s just sad about going home..”

Atsumu shrugged his shoulders. Not giving it much more thought but kept an eye on his teammate..

When practice was over, Bokuto continued to sulk and it got even worse through the scolding he got for appearing lazy in his practice.

“Don’t take it too hard, last practice and you gotta keep yourself from getting hurt before you get back to Y/n, hm~”

Bokuto felt an elbow nudge him in the side, he only glanced over to the yellow blonde.. lip quivering at the mention of you.

“He.. he broke up with me.”

Barely above a whisper, Atsumu went pale- he felt like an ass! Cringing to himself he pulled away and apologized.

“Are.. are uh, you still goin’ home then? You can uh.. come visit my brother with me if you want?”

He didn’t know what to say, it was an extended break for the players so he really wasn’t going to have anyone here to keep him company.. Atsumu also didn’t wanna leave his friend alone so visiting his own family was the only thing that came to mind.

“I’m still going home.. I wanna see him at least one more time, maybe he will change his mind!”

Bokuto perked up, no longer looking as soggy and limp. Atsumu forced a smile and mumbled a ‘yeah, sure!’ And watched the owl-ish man stride out of the gym once again..

He wasn’t going to let you go that easily, with a new determined mind he packed his things and caught the plane home, to you.

—

You sat in your living room, a depressed mess of packaged foods and drinks scattered around where you sat yourself down.. it’d only been maybe a day or two but the radio silence from Bokuto was deafening- not hearing his ringtone or a text notification made you sick- you were always on edge trying to hear if any notifications came. You’d gone longer without a notification but the fact that you probably weren’t going to get one again was hard.

“Why did I do this..”

Wrapping your blanket around yourself, you let yourself fall over onto your side. Tears pricking your eyes once again.

The heartbreak made you ill, your stomach ached and knotted up whenever you tried to move, eat, or even think of doing something. Your head pounded and the anxiety washed the colour out of your skin.. the full body fatigue on top of it all made you feel miserable.

This was harder than anything you had ever had to do.. it took everything in you not to call him or text him.

Sighing, you tried to fall asleep.. as tired as you were the sleep didn’t come easy.

You would try to be a normal person tomorrow, maybe this heartbreak would be easier then.

—

The familiar scents brushed in his nostrils and filled his lungs, with a bright smile he exited the plane and made his way through the airport. Unknowingly, Bokuto has started to look for you; only to upset himself when he remembered you wouldn’t be here. He sighed sadly, hailing a cab that waited on the outskirts of the exit.

You were so close, he needed to prove to you why this would all be worth it and wanted to show you how much he loved you and needs you.

The cab ride was long, almost falling asleep only to be jerked out of it from bumps in the road.

Looking out the window, he saw your town, where you’d be! Excitedly he pointed to your complex to the driver, ready to fish out money from his bag to run into the house as fast as he could.

“You’re from the Jackals right?”

“Mhm!”

“Rides on me, I’ve been rooting for the jackals since I was a teen.”

Bokuto beamed, thanking him profusely and hopping out of the car and dragging his bags behind him.

His heart was beating faster than it ever had, even when doing the miles and miles of running this is the most his chest had hurt.

The man calmed himself down, taking deep breathes to soothe his aching heart. Putting down his bags, he fished around in his pants for the key and unlocked the door quietly; sneaking in and putting his bags behind the door. He looked around, and saw the mess and a lump of blankets and pillows.

Quietly, he stepped towards the lump of blankets and saw tufts of your hair peaking out… his heart swelled and he went to kneel in-front of you, watching your sleeping face.

Lightly tapping your forehead with his finger, he checked to see how deeply you were sleeping.. you didn’t react so he figured he’d be able to pick you up and bring you to the bedroom. He slid his arms under your body and softly lifted you, being mindful of the mess in the room to not make any noise.. he would clean it before he woke you up.

He laid you down on the mattress and tucked you in, making sure you had enough blankets and pillows.. he took off his jacket and placed it on the bed before scurrying out and cleaning the living room- he wasn’t a great cook but he could atleast make sure your snacks were out and organized!

-

You woke with a start, the sunlight from opened curtains dared to blind you for a second.. you were in your room. With a groan you tossed over, hearing something fall off the bed. Sitting up, you looked to the ground to see what had fallen and it was a jacket.

Bokutos jacket.

Furrowing your brows, you tossed your blankets off your body and picked it up.. he hadn’t left this jacket here and you were sure of it, atleast you thought so.. frowning you couldn’t help yourself from hugging it- it smelt strongly of his cologne, did you fish this out last night? Come to think of it you don’t remember making it to your room..

Holding onto the jacket, you walked into the living room and saw your mess was gone.. you also don’t remember cleaning it. That was when you heard someone else walking around in the apartment.

You froze, not wanting to move.. did someone break in?! It’s an apartment complex how the hell-

Arms wrapped around you tightly, a familiar scent and body melted into you.

“You’re awake.”

Tears choked you, are you this delirious and heartbroken to imagine Bokuto?!

Whipping around, you met his face. He was worried, looking almost as if a child that had gotten in trouble..

“How.. how did you get here?!”

He nervously fumbled with the hem of his shirt, avoiding your gaze and mumbling.

“I told you to wait.. but you hung up the phone..”

Huh?

“..was going to surprise you to tell you I was gonna come home.. we got a break and.. then..”

He started to cry, you took him into your arms and let him cry. Bokuto still tried to babble out an explanation, clutching onto the front of your shirt and leaving tear stains on your shoulder.

You began to cry too, hearing him on the phone was heart breaking enough but to hold him and hear it in person shattered you.

Bokuto pulled away, wiping his tears with his arm.

“Do you still want to break up with me? I.. I can get my things and leave…. If that’s what you want..”

He hiccuped, distancing himself from you and getting ready to pack his things up again.

“Don’t go.. let’s talk.”

You hugged him tightly, he returned it with even more force and led you to the couch.

The two of you talked for hours, not even just about the split but about everything.

It was like he never left

It was like nothing had ever happened.

As the day grew into night, you found him cuddling you and sitting on your lap.

You kissed him, the two of you kissed for what felt like minutes but what hours.

When he pulled away with slightly bruised lips, his hair and face dropped- a frown glossing his lips

“Is this a goodbye? Is this it?”

Rubbing circles on his hips, you pecked his lips again.

“No, of course not. I would’ve been gone and taken my own things if I didn’t want to see you again..”

He perked up, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth

“We.. we are back together?”

“Yeah..”

He began to shake, catching your lips with his and pressing into you.

“I’m taking you with me, everywhere now. I can provide fully, take your education and job on the road with me! I can’t leave you again!”

“We’ll talk about it.. let’s just enjoy your time here..”

Bokuto smiled brightly, leaving kisses all over your face and thanking you.

“We’ll make it, I promise!”

“I know.”

[ladykailitha]

Of Butterflies and Backstrokes Part 6

Hello! It seems that people haven't quite adjusted to the new schedule yet, is there anything I can do to help get this in front of people? Just let me know and if I can do it, I will. Everything but changing the days of the week it's posted on, of course.

In this chapter we have Steve training Will's class and a couple of bullies emerge, and Steve makes some progress on the trauma front.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

~

Steve waited as all the kids and their parents came shuffling in. Joyce wasn’t there for Will but Jonathan was, with his arm over his shoulder whispering comforting things. Other than Will’s friends there were two other kids in the class. Troy and Angela. Angela was pretty blonde girl and Troy had curly brown hair and square face.

He could see the two of them whispering in a corner and Steve immediately knew they would be trouble. Their parents didn’t seem to be much better, so he braced himself for a long six weeks.

“Everyone listen up!” Steve called out after blowing on his whistle. “I’m Mr. Harrington and this is Miss Buckley. We will be your teachers. You will listen to both of us equally as one mistake could prove disastrous. Here are the rules.” He went on to list all of the rules and pointed to the signs that had them written out in big, bold letters.

“All right,” he finished, “girls go with Robin, boys come with me.”

Steve could see Troy eyeing up Will and knew trouble was brewing. But he knew how to nip it in the bud before it got started.

“Will could you keep an eye on them while they change?” Steve asked casually. “I need to ask her about the schedule for Saturday.”

Will blushed a dark red but nodded.

As Steve walked away he could hear Troy ask why their teacher would need to talk to Will’s mom. He smiled broadly. He of course did ask her about the schedule because he was thinking about taking Eddie up on his offer, but didn’t want to do it if Tommy was going to be there.

When he came back, there was an awkward tension in the air that was there before. Troy was off to the side, glaring at the four other boys, while Lucas and Dustin were trying to hide grins behind their hands.

Whatever had been said after Steve left, it certainly left an impression on Troy. Now to see what Troy would do with the information he was given to him.

Steve led them back to the kiddie pool where the girls were waiting with Robin. Angela was fake shivering and chattering her teeth.

“I don’t know why we have to shower before we get in the pool,” she whined. “It’s not like I’m dirty or anything.” She looked up at Steve through her eyelashes and batted them with a pout on her lips.

Oh no. Steve thought bitterly. She was one of those. Look, he knew he was a good looking guy, he wasn’t blind or stupid. But he faced many a crush from one of his students and he was going to have to have Robin deal with her exclusively. Because he didn’t want to lose his fucking job.

“No matter how clean the person is,” he said dryly, “the fact that you rode here in a car, walked out in the open air, and stood around other people means you have dirt on you. And because we don’t want you messing with the chemicals in the water that work to keep the pool clean with those dirt particles you bathe or shower before getting in the pool. Plus if you don’t want your pretty blonde hair turning green, taking a shower before hand will help limit that from happening.”

He turned and looked at all the other students, ignoring her shocked expression. “Does anyone have any other questions before we get started?”

The rest of the class looked at each other, shaking their heads. He nodded curtly. “Good, the only thing we’re going to do today is get used to being in the water.” He held up his hand to stop the protests. “I don’t care if you gone to the pool before. This is about building up stamina first.”

The kids grumbled but did as they were told. Robin and Steve had them wading back and forth doing laps and by the end of the two hours (with breaks in between) all the kids were exhausted.

“Why am I so tired?” Mike groaned as he flopped gracelessly on the bench to wait for his mom to come pick him up.

Some of the parents had stuck around to watch, but Mike’s mom had errands to run and left him in Steve’s care. She had stayed for the safety speech though, he had to give her that, Troy and Angela’s parents didn’t even do that. Hopper had been one of the ones that stayed through the whole thing, cheering Ellie on.

As the last kid was bundled off to their parents Steve sat down on the bench Mike had recently vacated and pressed his head against the wall. Not every class had troublemakers but having two in a such a small class was a nightmare.

“You okay there, Stevie?” Eddie asked, gently. He moved to sit next to Steve on the bench.

Steve rolled his head to the side to look at him. “First day of class is always the hardest. Learning the dynamics and singling out the bullies before they take hold and completely ruin the class.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asked with a lopsided grin. “You get many of those?”

“Depends,” Steve said, “there are always going to those entitled assholes who think they’re above the rules but that doesn’t always translate to bullying others. But if there is going to be a bully, it will absolutely come from that kind of person.”

Eddie snorted. “Don’t I know it?” He leaned his head back against the wall too. “When I was on the swim team, I was surrounded by kids who had their own swimming pools, personal trainers and parents who came out to meets. That wasn’t me.”

Steve breathed out through his nose. “More money than sense doesn’t make you the best swimmer. Just ask my dad. The fucker thought that if he kept pushing me that I would have had gold medals in every event I participated in. You wouldn’t believe the lecture I got when I only came in fifth my first Olympics. Even though everyone was telling him not to expect me to medal against twenty year olds.” He shook his head.

“Do you miss it?” Eddie asked softly. “The rush of diving into the water, the only sounds are the roar of the crowd and the rushing water, the way your body slices through the water, the thrill of hitting the touch pad and looking up to see your time?”

“More than you’ll ever know,” Steve said, his voice cracking. “But the best thing to happen from that horrible accident was my dad walking away and never speaking to me ever again. I can live without him, even if the trade off is that I can never get into the pool again.”

“My dad didn’t care what I did,” Eddie huffed, banging his head on the wall. “As long as I wasn’t a snitch. It was my mom that took to swimming every day, worked ten hour days seven days a week to keep up with the fees and shit. Probably wouldn’t have had to work so hard if my dad didn’t spend the money on booze and the slots.”

“So what happened?” Steve asked sitting forward and looking at him directly.

Eddie let out a derisive snort. “My mom got sick, like cancer sick and my dad in all his dumbassery thought the best way to pay for medical bills was to borrow money from a loan shark who had him knocking off rich people’s cars to pay him back.” Eddie gripped his fists together tight. “He got caught by police while she was literally on her death bed. She was calling out for him. And by the time the cops released him on bail she was gone.”

“God,” Steve huffed. “And I thought my dad had the monopoly on shitty behavior. Yours really takes the shit pile, man.”

Eddie snorted. Then the snort became a giggle and soon he was laughing so hard. Steve just watched with his head tilted. He wasn’t sure what he said to make him laugh like that, but he would do it again in a heart beat.

“Yeah, Stevie,” Eddie said once he could speak, “king of the shit pile, my dad.” He looked at his watch and then stood up. “My break is almost over, so I’ve got to go. You take better care of yourself, yeah?”

Steve smiled up at him. “You, too, Eds. You tell Murray not to work you so hard. You’re doing community service not slave labor.”

Eddie gave him that closed mouth dimpled smile that never failed to make Steve’s insides melt and then walked away, waving over his shoulder.

If someone were to walk by just then, Steve would adamantly deny staring at Eddie’s ass. He was watching respectfully, thank you very much.

Eddie not wanting to get back into get back into swimming made more sense after their little talk. Steve wasn’t sure he would want to get back into a sport that he only had one cheerleader for and she was gone, either.

At least Steve had Robin, but who did Eddie have now that his mom was gone?

He decided he was still going to go the staff swim, though. He wanted to see how good the boy was. Because even if Eddie never wanted to compete, Steve wanted to see him in action.

~

Saturday rolled around and Steve drove Robin to the rec center. They pulled into the near vacant parking lot. There was Nancy’s station wagon and a beat up old van.

Robin touched his shoulder. “If you don’t want to do this, you can drive off, right now and I’ll tell people you had a migraine. Okay?”

Steve shook his head. “If it gets too much, I’ll just go spend time in the endless pool.”

She gave him a squeeze and got out of the car, Steve following close behind. They entered the pool area, Steve hanging out a little behind Robin. Eddie spotted them first and he hopped out of the pool with a big grin. Jonathan and Nancy who had been chatting with him, turned the direction he was looking with their expressions going to from confusion, to surprise, to glee.

Eddie ran to go get a chair and set next to the pool about three feet from the edge. “For his majesty!”

Steve huffed out a laugh as he sat down. “I’m just here as spectator, don’t get your hopes up.”

Nancy and Jonathan shared a glance and then grinned.

“Whatever you say, man,” Jonathan huffed. “It’s still good to see you.” He moved away from the edge of the pool a little then created a wave that splashed Steve.

Steve just flinched away from the water so it wouldn’t get in his eyes. “Robin, get him!”

Robin who had been wearing a blouse and shorts over her swimsuit, looked at him briefly, before stripping right there and diving at Jonathan, taking him with her. Eddie and Nancy looked at each other and then nodded.

Nancy went for Robin and Eddie went for Jonathan and they wrestled in the water making bigger splashes then the one Jonathan made to get Steve.

Steve yelped and got to his feet, running away. Finally the four of them stopped and Eddie pushed his long hair out of his face, grinning up at Steve. Steve smiled back. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

~

Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

Tag List: CLOSED

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[kozumesphone]

03 ✦ I think i’m addicted to the title ‘you and me’ ! ༄.°

𝒽wang hyunjin x f!reader

masterlist . . . ✰

𓆩♡𓆪 𝒶n : my favourite chapter by far 🤭 kind of a fluffy chapter! def the longest in the series till rn too (I hate writing long chapters, please save me 🙏); anyway. the time has finally come fr! here’s your the ultimate climax chapter <333

𓆩♡𓆪 𝓌arnings + tags : mention of kissing , hand holding , talking about being a bottom/top , hands around neck , light neck biting (twice) , y/n trying to internally best-friend-zone hyunjin but it doesn’t work , oblivious idiots in love ;

𓆩♡𓆪 𝓌c : 1.05k

DAY #03 . . .

days merged into one another because all I did was go to school and prep school, nothing more and nothing less.

I internally even sobbed, realising that I hadn’t read any of my books for the past six months.

we got our test scores back an hour ago, leaving the results of a bet looming over my head. a bet I made with hyunjin. a bet, whose loser had to kiss someone.

I bet that hyunjin would score higher than I would, and he bet the opposite. loser has to kiss anyone the winner picks.

except, we weren’t serious about the consequences because he had gotten out of a pretty serious relationship just a couple of months ago, and I was… well, I hadn’t had my first kiss yet.

instead of reminding each other of the bet, hyunjin and I were holding hands under the table—which we did quite often because he said my hands were cold and he was ‘warming them up’—when, one of the days preceding halloween, the topic of being a ‘bottom’ or a ‘top’ came up in the class.

“I think you’d be a… bottom,” hyunjin whispered to me.

“duh,” I rolled my eyes.

“why? you like when the other person does all the work for you, don’tcha?”

“well, yeah,” I said, shrugging.

the conversation quickly moved on to what our type was.

“she needs to be as mentally unwell as I am,” hyunjin said. “and have the same sense of humour, too. a little shorter than me, and smart. like, book-smart as hell. oh, hopefully someone who goes to the same prep school so we could see each other a lot, you know?”

I nodded, thinking of any of the girls in our class who fit the criteria, but failed. I even tried to go out of the way and mentally scrolled through a list of girls from other prep school classes, and still turnd up with nothing.

“y/n, what about you?” he nudged my arm.

“mmm, obviously mentally unhinged, because if not, it’d be boring if they didn’t match my freak, right? also, they better be ready to hear out all the freaky fantasies i’ve collected after being a book girl for so many years. the list is unbelievably long,” I said, half-laughing. “I don’t really mind if they’re younger or older than I am, but I would never date anyone shorter than me.”

he laughed and nodded his head at me, his eyes crinkling. I was honoured to be one of the few people who saw this version of his smile—the kind that reaches his eyes.

classes ended earlier than usual—at 7:50, instead of 8:00 p.m., which is still relaxing—so we spent more time in the park near my house together, before hyunjin could leave.

“come on, i’ll walk you home. it’s getting a bit late,” he said, jumping up from his swing, and extending his hand.

I took it without a second thought, and we talked about everything that happened in our classes at school as we kept walking.

“oh my god,” I groaned, looking at the ‘out of service! sorry for the inconvenience!’ sign taped to the elevator. ugh.

“let’s go,” he said, happy to convert me to his staircase-is-better-than-elevators agenda, pulling me up the stairs immediately.

trailing behind him, I asked, suddenly curious, “what led you to conclude the fact that i’d be a bottom?”

when we reached the third floor, he waited a beat before pulling me towards the wall. he pushed me against it gently, and slowly wrapped his fingers around my throat, towering over me and staring down into my eyes. I looked away to the side in embarrassment, as my cheeks flushed.

a second later, he let go. “the fact that you liked that, i’m pretty sure, is proof enough, don’tcha think?”

I mumbled a ‘whatever’, and we kept walking up the stairs. from the corner of my eyes, I could see his mouth still moving, continuing conversation, but my mind kept straying to his lips. and his nose. and his eyes. oh my god, he was beautiful.

“remember our deal about letting me bite you?” he asked suddenly. I nodded. I always bit his finger to annoy him (as I did to my other friends, as well) and he bit back a remark of ‘you’re just begging for me to bite you too, huh?’ to which I cockily remember replying, ‘try it’.

I pulled up the sleeve of my jacket and pushed my hand towards him, assuming he’d bite my hand like I did to him, and get it over with.

instead, he pulled me by my outstretched hand towards the wall again. his hands rested around my neck and tilted my face to my side. he gently nipped at my neck, and I laughed softly.

“tickles,” I mumbled.

best friends, I reminded myself.

he let go, and we walked up another floor to reach mine.

before I could wave to him, he asked, “want another on the other side?”

I quietly took small steps towards him, and his warm fingers found their home on my cheek, tilting my face away slowly. he bit down on my other side for a lot longer than the first time.

I held in a whimper, this time.

best friends.

I was pressed in between the wall and his body. I plopped my head down onto his chest, trying to calm down my racing heart.

best friends, right?

we were both smiling a little and his hand rested against my heart.

“got that heart beating so fast, all for me?” he smirked. I stopped myself from rolling my eyes.

best friends, I had to keep reminding myself.

I mumbled a ‘good night, hyune,’ to him and walked out of the stairwell. he let me go, knowing my parents would get mad at me if I got home even a minute later than I was supposed to.

he smiled, wishing me a good night and walking down the stairs again.

the cheeky little bastard.

I continued cursing him out in my mind, as I unlaced my shoes and stepped into my house. still scolding him internally for nothing, I tried to calm down my racing heart and shaking legs.

best friends aren’t supposed to have this kind of effect on each other… right?

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kozumesphone © 2024 | don’t repost my works onto other platforms, or edit and post them even on tumblr, without asking me first • don’t steal my works, steal my heart instead • reblogs and comments are more than appreciated !

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Great Expectations 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Professor Holmes’ class is your most difficult, but he’s about to make it even more challenging.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (modern AU)

Note: monday

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Friday arrives too quickly for your likely. Amid the usual cluster of readings, lectures, and assignments, you have Professor’s Holmes’ additional task to add to the pile. It feels unfair that he would point out your own efforts only to force more upon you. His praise hardly seems like that in retrospect. 

That you did the readings likely made your experience simpler, though the vague instructions leave you uncertain. No rubric, no objectives, no outline. Your format in the usual style and triple-check the word count before you resign yourself to fate or fortune, whichever favours you. 

As usual, Professor Holmes prefers a physical copy, neglecting the digital workspace designed by the campus for ease of access. He doesn’t seem to be the type for the easy way out, does he? You try not to malinger on your gripes and head off, promising to reward yourself with a double whip frap for your work. It’s certainly more than you’ll receive from your professor, even if you do manage to gleam your first A+ from the man. 

The softness of autumn mingles with the crispness of early winter. You mourn the orange and yellow leaves as they start to curl at the edges and brown, blowing across the pavement and catching on pantlegs and tree roots. Midterm season is almost over but it won’t be long before finals rise to haunt you. 

You come up the Herringbone building and look up at the romanticist arches and columns. The esteemed architecture has you feeling even smaller. Surely, the professor will only add to that. 

Inside, the air is dry from the heat blowing from the high vents and curved staircases crest the foyer. You follow the left one up and continue along to the small set of steps that lead up to a hallway with only three office doors. Holmes is at the very end. You went there once before when you needed to be signed into the course; he was certain to make you wait then threatened not to sign the form at all. 

You stop and stare at the frosted glass with his pedigree emblazoned on it. You contemplate just shoving the paper through his slot but the light is on. You raise your fist and gently tap on the wood. You bounce on your feet as you wait, tugging at the itchy collar of the blue sweater dotted with little clouds. In the warmth of the stuffy building and under your wool jacket, it’s stifling. 

You hear movement from within and ready yourself for the encounter. You don’t think you’ve ever talked to Professor Holmes without some degree of awkwardness. On your end, of course. He can’t be bothered to care what others think of him. 

The door opens and you try to smile but it feels like chewing rocks. He looks back at you without an ounce of emotion. You gulp. 

“Um, Professor, I have my paper--” 

He’s already walking away as you stand dumbly in the doorway. You blanch as he circles back to his desk and sits heavily in his seat. He leans forward and dips his head, bending over an open leather folio with a lined pad within. A curl falls onto his forehead and he reaches without looking for the pipe propped up on a mahogany tray. 

“Come in,” he says before he puts the pipe to his lips and bites down. He teethes on it as he snatches up a pen with his other hand. You warily obey and cross the threshold. 

“So, um, here you go,” you near the desk and lay down the stapled paper. He doesn’t look up. “Erm, thanks, professor. I hate to disturb, so I’ll just leave it here--” 

He sighs and sits up, flicking back the curl as he replaces the pipe on the tray, “they won’t let me light that, even with the window open.” 

You glance over at the drawn curtains and nod, “oh.” 

“You’re the first,” he interjects before you can summon any sort of response. 

“Ah, oh--” 

“You are rather quick, aren’t you?” He challenges as he rolls the pen between his fingers, his shoulders spreading wide against the puckered leather chair, “fleet of foot, as some Victorian ponce might say. Quiet.” 

You blink and purse your lips, giving a shrug. 

“You didn’t say hello,” he intones, “it is courteous when you see an acquaintance to greet them, though I suppose etiquette does continue to change.” 

“Um, I didn’t want to... impose?” You murmur. 

His expression remains cryptic. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused or something else. 

“So you didn’t,” he shrugs, his vest bracing on his chest. 

“Sorry, er, sir. But um, there’s my paper, I’ll... let you be. I’m sure you’re busy enough--” 

“Terribly busy,” he confirms dryly. “Since I’ll have a new batch of papers to mark, I’ll be kept well in hand.” 

You clasp your hands together and sway, “right, uh--” 

“And you’ll be off like the rest of those dull girls, paying no mind to the real purpose of study, but rather the wordly pleasures of the modern campus. All that pumpkin spice and such.” He reprimands. 

“Oh, uh, professor...” you know better than to argue. He is set in his ideas of his students and what should make you any different than the rest. 

“Right then,” he reaches for your paper and barely glances at the title page. He flips to the short essay and his eyes skim. He reaches for the antique pen and marks up the page as he goes. He hums as he scratches with the nib. “Good point but clunky prose. No, redudant.” He scribbles his comments in the margins. He turns to the second page and sighs. He closes it and holds it out. “You show comprehension but you need refinement.” 

“Um, thanks, er...” you take it hesitantly and back up again. He watches you with his bold blue eyes, not showing a single crack in his veneer. 

“Go off and enjoy your weekend, don’t fret over the fault of others. Certainly, you show more promise than most who haunt my lectures,” he says. His tone is flat but his words are praising. The contradiction has you off-foot. 

“Thank you, Professor, have a good weekend too.” 

He doesn’t respond as he puts his attention back to another stack of papers. You turn on your heel slowly and scurry to the door. He clears his throat and you stop. 

“Perhaps I mightn’t have such a tedious weekend.” 

You glance back but he still has his head down. You nod and leave him be with a sharp inhale. You hold your breath in until you close the door from the other side. 

Only a few more weeks and you’ll be through this class. Hopefully, you won’t ever have to face the heart palpitations that come with each encounter after that. For now, you will focus on the last paper and the eventual exam. Those are hurdles that look higher the closer you get. 

📕

There’s a cafe off campus you prefer. The library kiosk and the franchised booth in the Student Rec Centre are always overcrowded. This place isn’t so bad. A local mom and pop with a single barista. Maude, the retiree turned businesswoman, works slowly but efficiently. Traffic matches her pace but is enough to keep her thriving. 

“I’ll bring it to you, dearie,” she smiles as she hands you a plate with a crumbly scone on it. You thank her and go to find a seat. 

The place is homey. The seating is mismatched. There are armchairs around a low coffee table, some long tables with thrift store dining chairs, and square table in the corner with two benches and some stools. The rug that stands center to the sitting space is faded but its patterns still visible. 

You claim one of the armchairs near the bookcases and sit. Despite the tense submission, you’re glad not be stressing over another mark. Another A- to add to the rota in Holmes’ class. You could do a lot worse given what you’ve overheard from your classmates. 

The door opens and closes, letting in a chilly. You keep your coat on as you balance the scone on the coffee table. You’ll wait until you have your mocha and savour them together. It’s a rare treat but the dropping temperature coaxed you into it. 

A familiar baritone pricks your ears. You glance over before you can bury your nose in your phone and flinch. What luck. You almost doubt it’s a coincidence. Twice in a row you’ve managed to stumble upon the Professor outside of class. 

Your shoulders sink as you turn back and plant your elbow on the armrest, shielding your face behind your hand. What do you do? Your mind races. Despite what he said in his office he does not radiate welcoming energy. You can’t just flee and leave your order behind; it isn’t fair to Maude and you wouldn’t want to waste the money. 

Professor Holmes’ voice carries. He orders a black coffee and two shortbread biscuits; the Saturday special. The elder barista takes his order and as usual, bids him to sit down so she can bring it to him. You chew your lip as time ticks on. Make up your mind. 

Too late.  

“Pardon, oh,” Holmes approaches and gives pause as you look up at him. “You aren’t reserving these for your friends?” 

He gestures to the other arm chairs. You shake your head and clasp your phone tight in your hands. He dips his chin and sidles around the coffee chair. He removes his jacket and hangs it on the rack between the bookshelves. He lingers there as he browses the titles on the spines. 

Maude appears with your mocha in a large mug on a matching saucer. You thank her as she sets it by your scone. She calls over to Holmes, “I’ll have your coffee and biscuits in just a moment, dearie.” 

He turns his head and nods but says nothing else. She shuffles off and you lean forward to take your mug. Somehow your chocolatey treat doesn’t seem so sweet any more. He backs up and lowers himself across from you. You shyly return his gaze over the brim of your cup. 

“You come here often?” He asks. 

The question has you off-guard as much as his presence. You slurp noisily before you pull the cup away and put it down. You take the napkin by your scone and wipe your lips. 

“Sometimes. Once in a while. Er, I... I make my coffee at home. Tea, more often.” You clamp your lip shut before you can ramble on. 

“Mm, yes, I prefer tea as well. I was suggested the dark roast here by a colleague however.” 

You don’t know what to say. You’re entirely unprepared for the conversation. You’ve never thought much of what he might speak of outside his lectures. His interests, you assume, would align with his expertise. 

“You are enjoying your time? You haven’t any schoolwork?” He asks. 

You slant your lips one way then the other. You look down at the bag by your feet and back at him. He wears a wool sweater with elbow patches; not quite casual but casual for him. 

“I was going to do my readings...” you say. 

“Ah,” he sits back in the chair as Maude brings his coffee and biscuits. He thanks her tersely. 

You bend over and reach for your bag. You slide out your notebook and open it to the printed articles stashed between the pages. You hope it’s enough of an excuse not to talk as much. 

“My class?” He asks. 

“Yes, sir, er, Professor,” you answer. 

“Those are available digitally, as I understand.” 

“I know, but I, er, prefer print.” 

“Mm, yes, it does permeate more effectively, doesn’t it?” He intones. 

You agree with a silent nod and try to focus. You’re too shy to check if he’s watching you but it feels like he is. He sighs and sips from his cup. 

“What were you on the hunt for then?” He asks abruptly before you can read the introduction for the fifth time. You look up, perplexed. “At the craft store?” 

You open your mouth then pause. Finally, you summon the answer, “thread.” 

“Thread?” 

“Yes, I... make little things. Sometimes. It wasn’t urgent. I don’t have my sewing machine in my dorm and... no time.” You shrug and let the papers lay flat on your notebook. 

He considers you as his cheek dimples and he leans his chin on his knuckles. He looks down at the cup he holds over one leg. He sucks his teeth. 

“Rather flat,” he dislodges his elbow and leans forward. “And what did you get? It smells intriguing.” 

“Mocha with peppermint,” you answer. 

“Mm, with whip?” He peeks at your cup and the melting glut of cream. 

“Yes, Professor,” you reply. 

“I think I might trade mine for the same,” he stands with his cup in hand. 

You watch him, confused and uneasy. So much for getting some studying done. You doubt you’ll be able to concentrate with him looming on the other side of the table.