#but you really wanna look me in the eyes and tell me that sidestep would care enough about their own health to stop at just one?

[trebuchet151]

POV: You're Ortega watching your situationship develop every bad habit imaginable

🎵 Bad Decisions - Redhook

[bi-writes]

Do you think MOB's ex would ever come looking for her one day?

mail-order bride

simon opens the door for you, taking your hand as you get out of his truck. you brush off the front of your jeans, smiling as you step around him and onto the sidewalk.

"said an hour or so?" simon mutters, shutting the door behind you. you nod, looking around at the shops.

"yeah, i just need some things, but i also wanna look around. maybe get some books or something...i don't know."

simon shrugs, flipping his hood up over his head. he bends to give you a kiss over the mask, and you thumb at his jaw gently.

"i'll pick ya up 'ere in an hour then," simon murmurs. "call me if ya need somethin', love. and if yer not back 'ere in an hour and ya haven't texted me, i'll come lookin' for ya."

you giggle, "i know, simon. i'll see you."

he smiles under the mask, you can tell by the way it moves and the way his eyes crinkle a little. you lean up and give him another kiss over the mask before making your way down the main road, stepping into a boutique to look for some new clothes. you wave at simon as he passes by, and he salutes you before driving off.

you love spending time in town. you love visiting the shops, getting pastries, having some tea by the bookstore and buying little trinkets from the antique shop. simon likes the cheese shop. they sell some of his favorite french cheese, and they have wonderful wines that they pair with it that you love drinking together for dinner. you pick up a bottle along with some cheeses and bread, and just as you leave the shop, you bump right into a solid back, dropping one of your bags and nearly tripping into the road.

"oh, fucking hell!"

you gasp, clutching the rest of your bags to yourself. the man turns around, glaring at you, and you feel sick.

what the fuck is he doing here?

"oh well...isn't this a wonderful surprise?" he snorts. you pick up your fallen bag and straighten up, stepping back to create distance between you.

"hi..." you clear your throat. "i...i'm meeting someone, i have to go--"

"oh, where are you going?"

he blocks you from stepping around him. you meet his eyes, taking a deep breath. he always liked being able to control every aspect of you, from where you stood to what you did that day. your skittishness...your apprehensiveness...it's ingrained in you from your time with him. it's hard to explain being afraid of someone who never even really touched you, but you left before you thought it could get that far.

"that's really none of your business," you say softly. "excuse me."

he sidesteps again when you do, and this time you frown.

"you..." you glare at him. "...need to get out of my way."

he grins, a humorless laugh coming out of him. you don't like the way he's standing there, and you don't like how calm he is.

"oh, i didn't realize little kitty had grown some claws."

maybe you have. you've started to shed your scared exterior, mostly because there is someone behind you now, someone bound to you, supportive enough to make you more confident, braver, stronger. you stand a little taller, clenching your jaw, and you close the distance, stepping closer, and you cant your chin up so you can look at him hard.

"i don't know what you're doing here," you say lowly, "but you need to get the fuck out of my way, or you're going to have some other problems that you certainly can't handle."

he raises a hand, about to touch the lapel of your jacket. you grip his wrist, holding him there, and you tilt your head to the side.

"and if you touch me, you'll be sorry for it. now step aside, asshole, or i will make it a very hard day for you."

"c'mon," he chuckles. "let's go get a drink. there's a pub just down that way--"

"what part of no, and get out of my way, makes you think i wanna have a drink with you?" you scoff. "are you serious? are you that stupid that you think--"

"you listen here," he snaps, pointing his finger, getting in your face. "it's not my fault that you're--"

you step backwards when a big hand comes around you, snatching his wrist and yanking his finger out of your face. you look to your side to see simon standing there, shuffling in front of you, putting himself between you.

"now, i don't much care for interrupting, but you've got y'r fuckin' finger in my wife's face, and i'd like to know why."

you take a glance at your watch, and you realize it's past the time simon said he would pick you up. you sigh, reaching up and sliding your hand up simon's arm, and he lets go.

"it's fine," you tell him. "he was just on his way out."

he's shaking. stumbling backwards, clutching his wrist, glancing between you two. simon holds his hand out finally, beckoning him.

"your wallet."

"w-what?"

"give me y'r bloody wallet," simon snaps.

"simon--" you try, but he clicks his tongue as he snatches the wallet from him, shuffling an ID card out before reading his name out loud, and his address. simon chuckles darkly, cracking his neck before tossing the wallet at his chest.

"i know y'r name," simon murmurs. "and i know where ya put y'r head at night. where ya piss. where ya change y'r clothes. if i ever see ya talk to my wife again...if i even see ya walk down the same fuckin' road as 'er, i'll come and visit you. and we'll 'ave a chat."

"r-right, i--" he stuffs his wallet into his pocket before leaving, hurrying down the road. he doesn't even look back, doesn't look behind him. when simon turns around, you can tell just by looking into his eyes that he's angry.

he reaches over and takes the shopping bags from you, holding them in his sweaty fists as he nods his head towards his truck down the road.

"let's go," he snaps, and you hurry to follow him, reaching for his bicep. you hold onto it gently, stopping him, tugging him towards you as you block him by stepping in front of him.

"simon," you look up at him. "hey--"

"who was tha'?" he asks.

"a terrible nobody," you say softly. "one that i would rather forget."

"i--"

"thank you," you interrupt him gently. "for standing up for me. thank you...thank you for always believing me. for supporting me. for always showing up when it matters, thank you..."

simon bends, leaning his forehead against yours, and he breathes in shakily.

"your pain is mine," simon mutters. "your...discomfort is my discomfort, your joy is my joy."

you both close your eyes, smiling, and he hums when he feels another kiss, soft, the lightest press against his mouth that he feels ten times stronger than normal.

"i love you, simon," you whisper. you hear the bags drop onto the floor, and then two big hands cup your face, leaning it back, and he stares down at you almost painfully. it feels like you aren't real. he feels like it must be a dream, like this can't be his reality.

"i love you more, baby."

but when simon opens his eyes, you're still there.

[yuujispinkhair]

I WANNA BE YOUR ENDGAME – Chapter 02

🏒❤️ A Hockey Romance feat. modern!Sukuna

Pairing: HockeyPlayer!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: College AU, Hockey AU, fluff + smut Playlist: I wanna be your Endgame Word Count: 4k Warnings: 18+, smut in later chapters, fuckbuddies to lovers. Mentions of cigarettes in this chapter. Reader is a creative writing student. Sukuna is an ice hockey player + history student. This story will have approximately 10 chapters. Minors don't interact. Header by me. Divider @/benkeibear

MASTERLIST

"Will you come to my game this Saturday?"

Sukuna smirks that charming smirk at you again, and his voice is so velvety that it sounds as if he is asking you to come to his bedroom instead of coming to one of his ice hockey games.

You have no idea why you seem to keep running into him lately. Maybe you never were aware of how many times your paths crossed. Or maybe fate decided to play some funny little game with you and the resident hockey star, and now you keep meeting over and over again.

You shrug helplessly and smile at him,

"I don't know. I've never been to a game. I don't even know the rules."

"That doesn't matter. You'll understand it once you watch a game. And if not, you can always ask me to teach you. So, will you come and watch me play?"

Sukuna looks expectantly at you with those pretty eyes. They are a shade of brown you have never seen on anyone else before, that rich maroon color that reminds you of red wine and autumn. Those eyes and that damn boyish grin make it hard for you to say no to Sukuna.

You laugh to cover up how nervous he makes you when he is standing so close to you. Attack is the best form of defence, so you cross your arms in front of your chest, look up at Sukuna, and ask with a raised eyebrow,

"You really want me to watch you play, huh?"

Any other guy would probably get flustered and backpedal or act indifferent. But not Sukuna. His smirk grows even wider, and he nods confidently,

"Yes. Can you even say you went to college if you never saw a hockey game?"

And then he adds with a wink,

"If you come, I will score a goal just for you."

He flashes you another cocky smirk and doesn't wait for your answer but just walks away toward the gym. You stare after him, shaking your head. He is impossible! That confidence is insane! Almost infuriating.

Maybe you should watch Sukuna's game just to see him not deliver what he promised. Sure, he is the resident starboy, but how good can he be? It's not like he is a professional hockey player. Low-key, you want to see Sukuna fuck up just so you can confirm to yourself that he is just another of those arrogant guys who are all talk and no action.

That Saturday, you watch the game. Your first hockey game since you started college. The first game of the Tigers you see. The first time you see Sukuna play.

And you must admit that the stupid title they gave him is accurate.

Sukuna really is The King of the Ice. He is the King of this whole arena!

His playstyle is fast and brutal, which doesn't come as a surprise. But even as a hockey noob, you can tell that Sukuna's mind plays just as much a part as his strength and is just as dangerous as his physical attacks. Strong, ambitious, and intelligent. It's a deadly combination that makes Sukuna unstoppable.

He skates across the ice at breakneck speed, elbowing his way through his opponents and making the rival goalie yell in fear at his teammates in a desperate attempt for them to stop the devil that is speeding towards him. But nothing the other team does seems to work against Sukuna. He is always a step ahead, sidestepping them before they can reach him as if he can predict their moves. You recall him telling you that he does all the analytics and works out the tactics, and you can see now that he didn't just brag but truly seems to know what he is doing.

No wonder the whole team is built around Sukuna. He is the most important player of the Red Tigers. The center of the first line, which to your amusement, is called The Curses because they make their opponents curse their names for being so damn strong. And Sukuna is the King of Curses, which seems a very fitting title. His brother Yuuji is on his right, and Todo is on his left, and both of them are ready to beat up everyone who dares touch their star player.

That's something that seems to happen pretty often. Sukuna keeps getting into fights, but many of them aren't initiated by the rival team. Even without knowing how ice hockey works, you can see that Sukuna provokes fights. You can see his lips move behind the face cage of his helmet while smirking devilishly at a player of the rival team, taunting him until the other guy snaps and drops his hockey stick and pushes Sukuna angrily.

At first, you flinch when you see the fight that erupts from that scene. Yuuji yells something and yanks that guy off a still-smirking Sukuna, dragging him away while Todo brutally bodychecks another rival player who comes over to join the rumble.

But both Yuuji and Todo stop immediately when Sukuna casually skates over and says something to them.

You watch incredulously as Sukuna pulls his gloves and helmet off, revealing his usually slicked-back pink hair, ruffled and out of place. He cocks his head and jerks his chin challengingly at the guy who pushed him, saying something to him, and you frown in confusion as the other guy takes off his helmet and gloves too.

What happens afterward is more of a boxing match than ice hockey. The whole arena is yelling and cheering Sukuna on, singing the team's song anytime their King lands a punch on the other player. Sukuna is a dirty fighter. You can see that. He uses any means he has to win. But he is also smart enough to only do as much as he can get away with without the referee intervening. Though it is a riddle to you, why a fight like that is even allowed in the first place.

You look at Nobara, who is sitting next to you.

"Why are they having a boxing match? Why does the referee not give them a penalty?"

Nobara shrugs,

"I don't know! That's just how hockey works, I guess!"

Right at that moment, Sukuna's fist connects with his opponent's cheek, and the other guy tumbles onto the ice. Sukuna joins him immediately, pressing him down for a moment as if to show his dominance before he lets go of him, pats his cheek tauntingly, and gets up again, smirking broadly.

You only realize now that you held your breath the whole time during the fight, letting it out now and laughing as adrenaline flows through your veins.

You didn't expect to enjoy this game so much, but it's definitely an experience you wouldn't want to miss!

The crowd is cheering loudly, celebrating their King's victory in this weird, inofficial fight that somehow is part of the actual game.

Sukuna skates back to his position, his helmet under one arm and one glove between his teeth, while he puts the other back on. He casually glides over the ice while smirking around the glove in his mouth like a beautiful devil. His eyes wander over the stands, soaking in the admiring gazes and the loud cheers coming from his fans.

And suddenly, Sukuna's gaze brushes over you.

You draw in a sharp breath at the same time as Sukuna digs the metal blades of his ice skates into the ice, coming to a sudden stop. He turns his head to scan the crowd again, and your heart jumps to your throat.

What is he doing? Is he looking for me?

Your heart is hammering in your chest when his gaze finds you again in the crowd, and his grin grows bigger, causing the glove to drop from the hold his teeth had on it, but he catches it casually with his left hand.

For a seemingly endless moment, you stare back at Sukuna, involuntarily feeling your lips lift in a matching broad grin. Your pulse flutters nervously. And then Sukuna winks at you.

Yuuji skates up to his brother and claps him on the back, and Sukuna averts his gaze from you and says something to his brother, pointing at another player, and they both skate over to him. You still look at the spot where Sukuna stood a moment ago, feeling a bit dizzy.

Nobara's voice pulls you out of your daze,

"Did he just wink at you?"

And you shrug helplessly and chuckle to hide how flustered Sukuna's wink made you,

"I don't know. Maybe he was looking at someone else."

But you know he wasn't.

The players on the ice get into position again, and the game continues. But Sukuna's line leaves the ice to sit on the bench while the other players get their turn. You hate to admit it, but you catch your gaze drifting away from the actual game and over to the bench, where Sukuna is sitting, discussing something with Yuuji and Todo.

You watch Sukuna run a hand through his ruffled pink hair, slicking it back again while he takes a sip from his water bottle, which makes his Adam's apple bop in a very enticing way.

Occasionally, Sukuna yells something at his teammates who skate past him. There's an angry fire burning in his eyes. You can see how invested he is in the game. How he watches every move meticulously, probably so he can use it later when he thinks of tactics for the next game. You can see how passionate Sukuna is about ice hockey, and if you are honest, it fills you with respect for him.

Sukuna is back on the ice a while later, just as graceful as before with smooth, fast moves and brutal bodychecks, clearing a path through the rival team's defense, skating so impossibly fast that no one can stop him.

Your fingernails dig painfully into your palms as you watch in complete fascination how Sukuna hits the puck so hard that it almost tears the net when he scores the next goal. The whole arena screams, and you are one of them. So caught up in the thrill of the highspeed game that you jump up from your seat.

On the ice, Sukuna gets buried under a pile of his teammates as they celebrate his insane goal, but once he emerges again with a fist lifted in victory into the air, his gaze instantly lands on you again. And to your shock, Sukuna is smiling. A dazzling, beautiful smile that lights up his whole face. He looks happy and proud and so damn beautiful.

You remember what he said when he asked you to come see his game. If you come to my game, I will score a goal just for you.

Well, he delivered what he promised. And what a goal it was!

Somehow, it makes you giggle like a schoolgirl, and you feel your face growing hot, even as you grin at Sukuna like an idiot. He seems to have only eyes for you, locked in this intense gaze with you while he still smiles that smile that makes your pulse flutter excitedly.

The eye contact becomes too intense for you, and you avert your gaze, too shy suddenly to keep looking at Sukuna.

The game continues, and you lean back in your seat, sipping on your water bottle to calm yourself down.

You wonder why no one ever cared to inform you how exciting ice hockey is! The Tigers are really good. Sukuna is good. No, not just good. He is fucking amazing!

It's fun to watch him play. Watching him skate across the ice like some super-human. Watching him bodycheck his opponents with ease. Watching him score goals with so much speed and precision that it leaves your mouth hanging open as you stare at him completely in awe.

The game is over much faster than you expected. Time flew by any time Sukuna was on the ice. You still have no clue about ice hockey, but you know that you had a damn good time!

On the ice, you see the Tigers high-fiving each other and giving each other back claps, congratulating each other on the win. You watch Sukuna pull off his helmet and laugh at something his coach says to him.

The team takes a victory lap around the rink, waving at the crowd in the stands. But your gaze only follows one specific player with pink hair and face tattoos.

Sukuna is chatting with his brother, reaching out to ruffle Yuuji's hair while they casually skate over the ice. His left hand stays on top of his brother's head even as Sukuna lifts the other hand and smirks up at the stands, letting the crowd celebrate him one last time.

Nobara taps your arm and points to the stairs, and you quickly grab your bag and follow her, still feeling light-headed from the euphoric atmosphere in the arena.

You walk past the plexiglass separating the stands from the ice when you see a flash of pink from the corners of your eyes.

You turn your head, and your gaze instantly lands on Sukuna. He is skating casually next to you, slow enough so he matches your walking pace. There's a smug grin on his tattooed face as he lifts his chin in greeting.

You smile back at him and yell, "Great game!" and his smirk grows even bigger before he yells back,

"Did you like the goal I scored for you?"

You trip over your own feet, making a funny little dance to catch yourself, feeling embarrassment wash over you while you think you hear Sukuna's amused laughter.

You look at him sheepishly, nodding and giving him a thumbs up,

"It was very impressive!"

Sukuna grins proudly at you, flashing his white teeth with the slightly pointy canines at you,

"Oh, everything I do is impressive, princess, I can guarantee."

And you roll your eyes and groan at his arrogance, but at the same time you can't help but snicker in amusement.

Sukuna chooses that moment to grab the front of his jersey and lift it to wipe the sweat off his tattooed face, revealing his stomach with firm abs and more tattoos.

Your eyelashes flutter, and you quickly turn your head away, feeling strangely flustered at the sight of Sukuna's naked skin with the sexy tattoos and all those hard muscles.

Luckily, Nobara grabs your arm at that moment and tells you to hurry up because she wants to meet up with Maki. You let yourself get pulled along, lifting your hand to wave at Sukuna and yell a "Bye!" in his direction, which he answers with a broad, knowing grin.

"So, could I convince you that ice hockey is the best sport?"

You're on your way to class when you see Sukuna almost at the same spot where you crashed into him two weeks ago. But this time, he doesn't wear his white team hoodie but a black sleeveless shirt, which accentuates his broad shoulders and shows off his muscular arms. His red backpack is casually slung over one shoulder, and his maroon eyes sparkle expectantly at you.

You shrug.

"I had a great time. I still know nothing about hockey, though, so I'm not sure about it being the best sport. It was a bit confusing because you practically beat each other up, but the referee didn't do anything about it."

Sukuna laughs. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his black jeans and leans closer to you.

"Yeah, we have official rules and other rules. I'll explain it to you over lunch. Meet me here in four hours."

He makes it sound as if it is set in stone that the two of you will have lunch together. As if the option of you turning him down, is so crazy, that he doesn't even consider it.

You are suddenly very aware of how Sukuna is towering over you with his tall, broad hockey player figure. Imposing as hell. And his dominant personality only adds to the effect.

Maybe two weeks ago, you would have run, too intimidated by Sukuna's overpowering presence. But right now, he doesn't make you feel anxious. Instead, you catch yourself leaning even closer, looking up at him, barely resisting the urge to reach out and touch his bulging biceps with those sexy black bands tattooed on them.

Your lips lift in a smile, and you give him a nod and a soft,

"Ok, see you for lunch, Sukuna."

You quickly walk toward your classroom before you can do something embarrassing like really feeling him up or drooling on his stupid, too-tight shirt.

Sukuna is already waiting for you at the agreed spot, and he grins so smugly at you that, for a moment, you contemplate just walking past him to see that smirk wiped off his face. But you behave and stop in front of him, cocking your head and asking him if he is ready.

Walking next to Sukuna feels strange, but not exactly in a bad way. Your height difference is even more prominent when you walk side by side, and it does weird things to your stomach anytime you sneak a glance at him.

But the strangest thing about the whole situation is the way Sukuna walks through the hallways as if he owns the place, and everyone seems to play along. You notice that people step aside to let him pass. Some even lower their heads, like peasants bowing to their King. It's insane to see how much authority he holds and how much people respect or even fear him.

And now you got pulled into this whole thing, too, by walking next to the hockey star!

You can see curious glances getting thrown your way. Guys are checking you out as if you are suddenly interesting now that Sukuna has graced you with his company. And girls watch you through narrowed eyes as if they ask themselves why you are allowed to walk next to Sukuna, and they aren't.

The only thing that's missing is people snapping pictures like some paparazzi.

The thought makes your lips twitch, trying to hold back a laugh as you imagine pictures of you and Sukuna walking into the dining hall together getting posted on some shady Instagram account with a caption asking who the mysterious woman by Sukuna's side is. Spotted: The resident hockey heartthrob and an unknown girl. As if you are in an episode of Gossip Girl.

A soft grunt escapes your lips, and you sway slightly to the right, making Sukuna bump into you. He reaches around you reflexively, and you feel his large, warm hand land on your upper arm, steadying you.

"Careful, princess. Or do you have a thing for crashing into me?"

You huff at his cocky comment, muttering an apology as you shake his arm off, at the same time as he pulls it away again, before you fall into step beside Sukuna again.

The dining hall is bustling at this time, but you and Sukuna make it surprisingly quickly to the counter because several people make space in the waiting line after taking one glance at Sukuna. You aren't sure whether it's his status as the hockey star or the glare he sends their way.

You get your meal and follow Sukuna, who leads you to a part of the dining hall you have never been to. Technically, this is not a private section, but everyone knows this part of the dining hall is reserved for the athletes, so you never bothered trying to find a table here.

Sukuna gestures to a table at the far end, beside the window. It is surrounded by lush decorative plants and even has a comfy-looking bench.

"This is my table. Come on, princess."

You frown at him,

"You have your own table? Is this some hockey player thing?"

Sukuna huffs and a low laugh escapes his lips,

"No, it's a Sukuna thing."

He strides over to his table and sits down on one of the chairs, graciously leaving the comfy bench to you. You smile at him and sit down across from him, placing your tray on the table.

Your gaze lands on Sukuna's tray, and you raise an eyebrow at the huge plate in front of him, filled with cooked chicken breasts, rice, and a whole mountain of broccoli. Sukuna catches your gaze and smirks at you,

"What? I have to take care of my body. I'm an athlete."

"Yeah, sure, an athlete who only eats cooked chicken and rice but smokes cigarettes. Makes a lot of sense."

"It's all about the balance. Now stop being a brat, and let me explain things to you."

Sukuna grins teasingly at you, and you can't help but grin back while rolling your eyes playfully.

Sukuna opens his backpack to grab a pen and a surprisingly neat folder from which he pulls a blank sheet of paper. He slams it on the table next to his plate and writes Hockey rules – A guide for curious brats by Sukuna on the top, making you complain in mock annoyance.

You spend the next thirty minutes eating your lunch while watching Sukuna fill the sheet with his unexpectedly graceful handwriting as he explains the rules to you. He even draws a small rink and some funny little hockey players. You laugh softly when you see him add face tattoos to the figure in the center of the first line.

Occasionally, Sukuna looks at you, maroon eyes framed by beautiful, long black lashes, gazing at you with amusement and so much intensity that it makes you feel like you are the only person in this room.

You gulp, feeling flustered at having Sukuna's undivided attention. And it doesn't help that his cologne smells really sexy when he leans across the table to point at the small drawings on the paper, explaining in that sexy, low voice how hockey works.

He is a good teacher, even though his pretty eyes and the sexy tattoos on his arms and face are distracting as hell.

But the official hockey rules are pretty easy to understand. What's more complex are the unofficial rules that Sukuna refers to as The Code, which explains why the players can beat each other up without the referee interfering. It leads to an animated discussion during which you have a ton of incredulous questions, and Sukuna answers all of them with an amused grin on his tattooed face but with surprising patience.

As your lunch break is drawing to an end, you are pretty well informed about the official and unofficial rules of the beautiful sport called ice hockey.

"Thank you, Sukuna. Now I finally understand what you are doing on the ice."

He cocks his head, laughing softly before he smirks that sexy, teasing smirk at you,

"You mean apart from looking handsome as hell?"

You groan at his arrogant remark but laugh, too, before you shove the sheet of paper across the table again. But Sukuna shakes his head.

"No, keep it, princess. So you can look at it again in case you forget something. Who knows... there might be some surprise tests. Better be prepared!"

He winks at you, and you laugh, but you take the note from his large hand.

The two of you walk side by side towards the exit, where your ways part. You thank Sukuna once again for the hockey lesson, and he grins at you. One of his large hands lands on your head and ruffles your hair, making you exclaim loudly. You reach up and try to smooth your hair down again while Sukuna walks away with his hand lifted in a casual wave.

When you return to your dorm later that afternoon, Nobara is instantly at your side, as if she manifested out of thin air.

"Why didn't you tell me you were going on a date with Sukuna?"

"That wasn't a date! We just had lunch together because he wanted to explain the ice hockey rules to me..."

You trail off, shrugging helplessly, while a triumphant grin spreads over Nobara's face,

"What do you need the rules for? To go to all his games?"

"It wasn't a date, Nobara!"

You quickly leave for your room, but you can't help but grin from ear to ear, clutching the note with the hockey rules even tighter to your chest. You know it wasn't a date, but you must admit that spending your lunch break with Sukuna was surprisingly nice, and you think you can still feel the warmth of his large hand on your arm.

HE IS SO SEXY ON THE ICE AND OFF IT, TOO 😭😭 I had so much fun imagining Sukuna playing hockey! I hope you enjoyed watching him play, too, and that you enjoyed spending your lunch break with him ❤️

Thank you so much for reading Chapter 2! Comments and reblogs would be very sweet!

In Chapter 3 Reader gets to learn a bit more about our hockey star, and they have a little scene that is filled with sexual tension ;)

[inkedroplets]

⭐️🌟💫

I went back and forth on so many different sections to talk about in depth. I finally settled on this one.

I'd rather not dream at all, Lena thought, thinking of how often even her most pleasant dreams so often turned to nightmares, hoping that the sheer exhaustion she felt would be enough to keep them away. She watched Kara go as she waited for the light to change, too tired to work through everything that had happened, what still had to happen but unable to stop herself from trying. She watched the crosswalk light tick down and got ready to shuffle across when she felt a very light tap on her arm. Expecting Kara, Lena turned around and was more than a little surprised to not see anybody, until she felt another tap on her arm and saw that the culprit was just short enough to limbo underneath her eye line. A young girl with a bright yellow bow stuck in her hair that for some reason looked awfully familiar. "Hi!" the girl said, beaming up at Lena. Lena could only stare as she tried to figure out just why the girl looked so familiar, urging her incredibly sluggish brain to cough up the right memory when it came rushing back a few moments later. You were crying because you ran away from home... The confusion on Lena's face fell away and she smiled warmly at the girl. "Hello, Kara." Hello, Kara. Kara was already half a block away when the sound of Lena's voice stopped her in her tracks. She came to such a sudden stop that the man walking a few steps behind her had to very hastily sidestep around her, muttering darkly as he found his footing and began to walk faster in a bid to put some distance between the both of them, glowering at her, although Kara didn't notice. She was too busy trying to figure out if she had really heard what she thought she did or just imagined it. She stepped a bit off the sidewalk so as not to make other people have to walk around her and listened more intently and picked up the sound of Lena's voice, still standing out front near the coffee shop. How have you been? Kara's brow furrowed and she took a few steps back in the direction she had just come from. Are you talking to me? Kara mused, not sure what to think. She stopped when she heard a child's voice answer Lena's question. I'm good. So is my mommy. Thanks to you. She has a new job. She's inside now getting coffee and hot chocolate for me! I'm glad to hear that and I just had coffee too. With a friend. But it's Superman that helped. "Superman?" Kara said aloud, more confused than ever, eyes wide and her heart pounding. You walked me home. Well... Superman did too. Your mom will be worried if she sees you're outside talking to a stranger, you should go back inside. Promise again that you won't run away ever again? I won't. I promise. Thank you again. You're very welcome. I hope you had a good birthday too. I did! Oh, I wanted to tell you that I really like your helmet. I thought it was scary at first but now I think it's really pretty. I wanna dress up like you for Halloween. Kara swayed where she stood, like a boxer at the end of a very long round. She could feel her stomach twisting in on itself, while the same solitary thought pounded in time with her rapidly beating heart. It can't be true... It can't be true... It can't be true...

I had many, many ideas about how Kara would find out that Lena was the vigilante. And none of them involved Lena getting the chance to tell Kara the truth because where's the fun in that? I think initially I was leaning towards a big dramatic reveal. One during the penultimate chapter would have fit the bill but to drag that secret all the way to the finish line never seemed all that appealing. Kara managing to overhear Lena talking about her double life seemed plausible but the ethics of Kara always listening in never sat right with me. And as far as Kara figuring it out herself... I quite like the notion that for Kara and Lena that they are each other's blind spots. For as smart as they are or the clues that should seem obvious they just don't see them either by accident or design. When Lena ended up helping out the young girl who had run away from home, I had the epiphany to name her Kara. Something that seemed like a throwaway line at the time. Fun foreshadowing to stumble into as a writer. And it fit thematically since Lena unmasked to put her mind at ease and that's how Clark ends up finding out that it's Lena that's been prowling Metropolis and much (much) later how Kara found out as well. Kara hearing Lena call her name from far away seemed like something she would be actively listening for and while she did eavesdrop it was never malicious. I wanted there to be a lot less baggage. With how carefully Lena and Kara had begun to heal their relationship, I didn't want it to be something that could endanger that. They'd come to far for that. It might not seem all that important of a passage but I'm quite happy with how it came out and that Lena's first "fan" just happened to be a girl named Kara.

[t-toyeon]

Being the receptionist at the RPD and you’re always lonely in the big echoey main hall when its work time :(

As everyone filters into their respective offices, Chris sees you eyeing the groups longingly with a little frown on your face and those kicked puppy eyes before shaking it off, checking your watch and turn to your computer. He decides to initiate…

OPERATION: KEEP YOU COMPANY.

STATUS: HIGH PRIORITY

He sits at his desk, today was pretty much a paper work catch up day for everyone, so some S.T.A.R.S members have their heads down and some are idly chatting. Chris could normally be dubbed the chattiest to his desk mates, the one that people gravitate to for some social relief from their work…but not today.

Today any other member would say he was quiet, but all the others didnt see that his desk telephone wasnt on its mount, no, the phone was left speaker-side up on his desk, he had dialled reception and you, the receptionist, have been sat on call with him, primarily in silence. Honestly, both of you are working away and only speaking when you need a breather from writing every now and then but it makes your day so much brighter, even though every now and then you have to blow into the reciever or make a loud enough noise to let Chris know you wanna tell him something due to the phone balancing on his desk while he types/writes. He does the same with a not so quiet whisper of your name, his mouth practically smushed up to the receiver and causing chaotically loud feedback noises that never fail to make you admonish him while snickering along with him at his antics.

When hes not jump scaring you with static-y screams, you overhear the bumble of the S.T.A.R.S office, you eaves-drop and chime in with little comments/quips about whats being said, making Chris chuckle and throw one back, banter always coming natural to you two.

One day when he does this, he keeps prodding you about needing to tell you something but that he needs to do it in person, meaning you’ll have to wait till lunch break or the end of the day. Of course, you’ve been whining and trying to charm, bribe and THREATEN >:) him into telling you, but alas, Chris is stubborn asf. Plus he really wants this to go perfect.

Break time comes and you hear that Chris has hung up, before you have time to be glum about it, the sound was followed by heavy steps unevenly bounding down the stairs to the right of you, the thought of him skipping steps and leaping makes you giggle to yourself and shake your head.

“Something funny, (L/N)?” He rounds your big marble desk with his eyes remaining on you, a fluid move of just his hips and a sidestep as his hands are occupied with a little paper box.

“Oh, because i was laughing? nono, that just happens when i get a real good look at you, you know, you’re reaaal funny looking, Redfield” you hold back a laugh as he feigns shock horror and is holding the box away from you

“Oh..oh HA-HA! You know, its comments like that that are gonna make me keep all these top-notch S.T.A.R.S exclusive doughnuts to myself, even after i went through the trouble of smuggling them for you” He present 3 of some of the yummiest doughnuts you’ve ever seen to you, your eyes dart from him to the doughnuts a couple times before you put on an angelic, heart melting smile, batting your eyelashes.

“But Chris! we wouldn’t want your effort to go to waste now, would we?! Besides, you STARS are already living the good life up there in your super cool office together, throw a girl a bone sometime! it gets lonely down here ya know, All i have is the occasional Rita or Branaugh to talk to, if im lucky :(“

He smiles earnestly with a tilt of his head and squats down to your level, still holding the doughnuts in presentation to you.

“Well lucky you, I came all this way just to talk to you.” you flash a coy smile at him witha raise of your brow as his smile goes from teasing to adoration and he lowers his tone

“I actually have something to ask you”

“It’s not for more staples, is it? Someones gotta teach Irons how to use em cuz he wastes all mine like crazy-“

Chris lets out a boyish laugh and a bow of his head, not expecting you to take a shot at the chief, but he’s back to the task at hand quick.

“I…wanted to ask you out, like this weekend? I just cant get enough of being around you, I kinda miss you even just from clocking in to walking up to the office. Thought about lugging my work down here and just chilling with you just about every time Wesker opens his mouth-“ You both share a laugh “So whaddaya say?”

“I think you’re the sweetest and I cant wait for the weekend.”

He lets out a breath through his smile, staring at you with nothing but pure boyish love before he animatedly looks left to right and plants a whiplash inducing kiss on your cheek and leaves you with the box of sweet treats.

“These definitely sweetened the deal, Christopher! Good play!” you joke to his retreating form, he turns and winks at you all while maintaining his swaggering walk away. Its so obvious he feels like a million bucks right now, and you do too.

You finished the doughnuts and at the bottom of the box, Chris’ personal number is written with a little love heart <3

———————————

I wrote this spontaneously at 1am after seeing Jim and Pam with their little ear piece ass phones when Pam moved office

So wholesome :3 Is it just me though or does reading your own writing feel so JARRING?? like idk if this is shit or im just reading it differently to how you guys will

[panthera-tigris-venenata]

Fate wouldn’t be that much of a bitch, would it?

Gift for @tiredflowercrown

Flower, I hope you enjoy and that you don’t mind you got the gift now – Anyway, soulmates AU for our favourite mutually destructive threesome for you 💞💞💞

The Tremaine hair salon is full today. A customer in almost every chair, the Hearts by the waiting area as usual, and Anthony is quite glad to leave Dulcia to deal with that. The Hearts kids give him a headache. Besides, she seems to be having fun.

And dear grandmother is upstairs, too. Small mercies.

He leans at the wall and looks at his sisters and cousins currently working at the salon; he shots out his hand to stop little Delilah running by. She shouldn’t be there in the first place.

„Delilah!“ he scolds the little one, „What did we say about running with the scissors in the salon?“

„Not to unless I know exactly who I wanna stab and how to get away with it,“ she recites dutifully.

„That’s right. Now, do you know that?“

She looks around and shakes her head; then she puts the scissors into Anthony’s waiting hand with clear disappointment.

She looks at him and very clearly mouths off „Fuck off“ over Delilah’s head.

„Good. Now go play with Dulcia, yeah?“ She was supposed to be babysitting anyway, and Kazimíra loves getting her makeup done by the little ones. The wackier, the better, and Anthony doesn’t need to deal with any of them in the meantime.

„Dulcia!“ he calls out, „Delllie’s coming over! Don’t lose her!“

„Language,“ he says anyway, which earns him a middle finger immediately repeated by the triplets. The Hearts’ gloves look like they’ve been dipped in blood, as usual. Dulcia’s is lace, which is not good for anything, really.

Whatever.

„Hiii,“ Ginny Gothel greets the salon, „I need my hair done!“

He absentmindedly drags the sharp tips and blades of the scissors over his bare fingers, pretending to look over the salon.

He looks up when the wind chimes play.

„You don’t say,“ he drawls, looking her up and down and lingering on her hair, which forms a frizzy halo around her head, „And here I was, thinking that you go around looking like you just lost a literal cat fight on purpose.“

She walks over the salon, carelessly pushing away Mečislav Hearts and sidestepping his dagger without breaking her stride. Anthony slides the blade of the scissors over his thumb just a bit too hard.

„Fix it, then.“

„Oh, nothing would please me more.“ He pushes her into the chair. The one by the corner, his workstation when he’s actually forced to work. He looks into the mirror – Ginny’s dark eyes and unruly hair.

His own face, tainted by the mark scar on his nose. He refuses to look at that for too long.

He sets down the scissors, out of Ginny’s reach for now, when he notices another thing in the mirror:

„Angie!“ he calls out, „Where are your gloves?“

„I don’t want them!“ whines his younger sister, „I want a soulmark!“

„But–“

He glares at her through the mirror.

„No you don’t,“ he tells her, „Go get your gloves right now.“

„Right. Now.“

She sighs melodramatically but goes, abandoning her client in the process. Said client doesn’t dare to protest. Good for them.

„How about your gloves, Lord Tremaine,“ asks Ginny, turning the scissors in her hands. Of course she does.

„Put that back.“

She reluctantly puts them on the armrest, which should not be counted as “putting down”

„Well?“

He takes away the scissors and fixes his eyes at the reflection in the mirror – at the scar on his nose.

„I don’t need them, Gothel,“ he drawls, „As I’m sure you know.“

She smiles at him innocently and grabs the scissors again, nearly piercing her palm. Not that she cares.

„No–“

He barely takes away the scissors again when Angelica comes back, wearing the same laced gloves as Dulcia, which would do her no good whatsoever. He tells her so.

Ginny is leaning towards the mirror now and grabbing at the shiny accessories Dizzy left there – or possibly the comb, the one with the sharp end for parting hair, and, no. Anthony has had enough.

He sighs, quickly turns around to get the water bottle they keep in the salon for such occasions, and sprays dear Ginny into the face.

„What the fuck, Tremaine?!“ she sputters.

„Don’t touch that,“ he tells her with some satisfaction, „And sit back down.“

She slowly reaches out her hand while holding a strong eye contact.

Anthony sprays her in the face again.

Behave like a cat, get treated like a cat.

In the background, Dulcia and Rosa burst out into giggles, which Anthony ignores. Ginny slowly sits back down, glaring to daggers at him. He smiles at her sweetly.

„There’s something very wrong with you, Anthony,“ she complains.

„Look at yourself first, sweetheart.“

Anthony, notably, doesn‘t spray her in the face again, nor does he argue – she does look good, after all. Instead, he sprays her hair with the water. Multipurpose, you see, and very convenient. 

She looks into the mirror, studying her reflection in great detail.

„I look fantastic, Tremaine, and I’ll look better yet once you do my hair. So get on with it.“

„Oh, could you infuse that with rosemary next time? Mother says it’s great for hair growth.“

Anthony scoffs. By the state of Ginny’s hair, he wouldn’t think she cares at all. Ergo, no answer for her. Just not worth it, nevermind her pout.

Finally, her hair is wet enough to be combed; he sets down the water bottle and gets the comb.

It falls down barely a heartbeat later.

Anthony stares at her hair and his hand in pure shock – no, this cannot be happening. It just can’t.

Fate can’t be that cruel to him, can it?

Oh, who is he kidding.

Of course it can.

„What–“

He swallows heavily as he looks at the newly-coloured strand of hair and the matching stain on his fingers.

„Well, fuck,“ he breathes out softly, looking up to meet her eyes in the mirror.

„Fuck.“

He wordlessly lifts up the strand of hair.

„Oh. Oh.“

Yeah, that about sums it up.

„You’re– you’re kidding me, right?“

„I think we need to go see Harriet,“ he says.

„I haven’t said a word,“ he tells her, „And I aren’t that suicidal.“

He touches his nose – no matter what he tells himself, no matter how much he tries to deny it, he knows it’s not a scar.

Ginny stays seated, looking at herself. She has taken the hair and is now winding it up between her fingers, her eyes wide open in a mixture of fascination and horror.

Anthony touches his nose again, ignoring that the colour is now on his fingers too. 

(It could pass for dye stains, couldn’t it? It could pass for dye stains.)

He grabs Ginny’s shoulder and pulls her up: „We need to go see Harriet,“ he repeats.

And so they go.

Before they exit the salon, he vaguely registers Dulcia blackmailing the customers into silence with the threat of life-long ban from the salon; he tightens his grip on Ginny, just to be sure. But she doesn’t even try to run.

Soon enough, they’re in the port and by the Hope; he asks for permission to board but doesn’t wait for it to come, already walking over and pushing Ginny in front of himself.

„Harriet!“ he calls out, „We need to talk.“

„What,“ she says, coming from the back of the ship, „Can’t you see I’m busy?“

„We were inspecting the rigging, if you must know,“ she informs him, turning her nose up, „Now, why are you here?“

Busy, certainly.

„If that’s what you call daydrinking with Murph, then sure, you were busy, dear.“

He just gestures to Ginny – to the colourful strand in her hair.

„What,“ says Harriet, uninterested, „Did you fuck up another dye job again?“

„Excuse yourself!? I’ve never fucked up a dye job in my life, thank you for asking.“

„Then why’s my brother going around like this?“

„Hey!“ Ginny stomps her feet, clearly annoyed at the argument that doesn’t even involve her anymore, „We are forgetting what’s important here! Me!“

Anthony cringes as he remembers the hairdo Harry Hook requested.

„You might find this hard to believe, dear,“ he says, „But that abomination was his idea. Trust me, I’m suffering too.“

Harriet snaps her teeth at her and Anthony rolls his eyes back. He’s so fucked.

„Fine, whatever,“ she allows before shouting some commands at Murphy and getting a rowdy „Have fun, Captain,“ in return.

„Yes. Her,“ he says, „It’s… her.“

It’s also a conversation better suited for a private cabin than an open deck full of nosey port rats.

„Take us to your cabin, Harriet?“ he requests.

Have fun, yes. Definitely.

Fun.

Harriet marches towards her cabin and Anthony pushes Ginny to follow; the door click behind them soon enough.

„Well?“ Harriet asks again, her back to them. He’s reasonably sure she’s currently getting them drinks and he’s not going to protest.

„It’s–“ he starts, „It’s a–“

„It’s a fucking soulmark!“ snaps Ginny, having finished gawking at the Captain’s private room, „A soulmark!“ She tugs at her coloured hair violently and before Anthony can think, his hand shoots out to stop her.

In turn, Harriet raises her eyebrow and shots back half of her glass, which seems like a reasonable reaction, for once.

Anthony slowly pulls away his hand, ignoring unhappily pouting Ginny.

She tightens her hold to the point of pain and Anthony hisses through his teeth, yanking his hand back and shooting a dirty glare at Ginny who is watching with unconcealed interest, weaving the coloured strand of hair around her finger again. What a bitch.

„Show me,“ demands Harriet, though she has already grabbed his hand and turned it over, holding his wrist in near-bruising grip. He doesn’t even try to pull away.

„Fuck,“ she breaths out, „It’s dye. It’s dye, right? It has to be.“

What a fucking bitch.

„Are you two going to kiss now?“ she asks with feigned innocence and they quickly let go of eachother.

„Shame.“

She smiles under Harriet’s glare that has sent multiple people running and Anthony defends himself before Harriet can start glaring at him too:

„It’s not dye,“ he says, „No matter how much I wish it is. Why does everyone think I’d lie to you? I’m not that suicidal,“ he complains.

„As you wish.“

Harriet’s lips on his shut him up.

„I still don’t trust you,“ she says into his lips, „Go wash your hands, so I can be sure.“

Over the sounds of splashing water, he can hear the girls hissing and snapping at each other: Harriet must be taking care to make sure the whole port doesn’t hear her for once.

He leaves the room to wash his hands even though he knows it will do exactly nothing

Some staggering steps – a thud that Anthony distinctly recognises as a body being violently pushed against the wall. More hissing and something that better not have been sighs.

He looks around for soap and scrubs his hands.

A yelp of pain. Fuck. Does he even want to know what happened?

He quickly shakes away the water and enters the room: There’s a bite mark at Harriet’s throat and Ginny’s lips are stained. She seems undisturbed otherwise, grinning at Harriet as she holds her by the throat and presses her against the wall.

„Anthony!“ Harriet yells and great, the whole port knows what is happening again.

„This bitch bit me!“

Come to think of it, by her standards, Harriet could be more upset, too.

„Oh, for evil’s sake,“ Anthony sighs, „I leave for thirty seconds and this is what happens?“

No reaction.

„Oh, come on. Look at yourself. We are fucked.“

They let go of eachother and go turn to Harriet’s mirror, which has been shattered in a fit of rage a long time ago. Which just means nothing much can hurt it anymore.

„Oh yes, we are fucked!“ exclaims Ginny, „This is not my shade at all!

„That’s what you’re worried about?! Look at me!“ Harriet furiously gestures around and just barely doesn’t hit Ginny in the face.

„Try to yell just a little bit louder, will you?“ he advises her with as much bite ashe can muster at the moment, „I don’t think they quite heard you by the Bargain Castle yet. Or in the Jungle, for that matter.“

„Oh, fuck off, Tremaine.“ If there is any hint of panic in her voice, it will be ignored by both of them.

Ginny is still busy inspecting the damage to her lips in the mirror, thus, she can be ignored too. She isn’t paying attention anyway.

„Calm down, sweetheart,“ he tells Harriet, well aware that he is risking his life with that sentence, „I’ll get you some concealer for that.“

It’s not like anything else can be done now, is it? 

Just conceal the marks and lie and hope it won’t happen again – pretend that fate isn’t that much of a bitch.

[andthekitchensinkao3]

WIP Wednesday!

Here's a snippet from the veeery early stages of chapter 2 of Loose Ends, the sequel fic to Tapestry of Time I'm yammering on about. Relationship drama, tension, differing views on things!

On the topic of their imminent trip to Asgard, things go from happy domestic-y fluff to a pissed off Mobius, and Loki not knowing how to handle their first tangential-fight-as-lovers.

Thanks for the tag @kcscribbler 🙂

---

[Morning of their trip. Mobius shaving in the bathroom. Quiet. Clearly nervous. Loki watches him from the door, wanting to imprint this moment on his mind. This slice of domestic quiet before a potential storm. Towel over his shoulder, covering the scar. That wound would have killed him, if not for the Norns and their clever manipulation. Tricking a demi-god…]

“You know you’re not invisible, right?”

Loki allowed himself a smile. “Just enjoying the view.”

“Uhuh. I could drop trou and give you something to really feast your eyes on, but we got places to go, people to meet.”

“True. Sad, but true.”

Mobius grins: Wanna grab breakfast at McDonald’s on the way? Pester Sylvie a bit?

Loki: I think I’d rather just get going.

Mobius: Get it over with?

L: Yeah.

M: Nerves?

L: Bundles of them.

M: *steps away from the mirror, wipes his face. Gives Loki a smooch* We’ll be fine. Alright? We’ll go there, set the record straight, and be out of there in time for dinner.

L: Moby…

M: *another smooch, lingering this time* Alright. A dab of cologne, and my suit, and we’re good to go. No TemPad, no nothing that leads back to the TVA, just my fine self to keep tabs on your six.

L: … *watches Mobius get dressed. He doesn’t notice, too busy being intentionally cheerful. Loki knows the tone all too well.*

Mobius is working on his tie, trying to get his Windsor right. Loki moves in, to give him a hand. “Moby. I know-- Or I think I know you’re looking forward to meeting my family. Even with everything going on.

Mobius: Once we tell them about your time with the TVA, everything we’ve been through, I know they’re going to see what I see in you.

L: *pauses neatening Mobius’ tie* Yes. About that.

M: About what?

L: We can’t tell them… everything. We’ve been through.

M: *leans back* … *frowns* What are we leaving out, exactly?

L: *lips pressed together* Us. *gestures between them. Constricted. Restrained.* Who we are to each other.

M: Us?

L: Yes.

M: The part where we work together, or the part where you’ve had me bent over every flat surface in this apartment? Or the part where I love you? That bit?

L: …*deep breath* All of it.

M: All of the above?

L: Mhm.

M: *rights his tie, stepping back* Fair enough. This a professional visit, then. A quick in-and-out, questions asked and answered and we’re done?

L: That’s the plan.

M: I wouldn’t call it that. Are you done?

L: Moby--

M: Ready to go? ‘Cause I can’t wait to see you sidestepping every question about me, and you know there’s gonna be loads of those. *hands on hips* What are we going for? Am I your co-worker? Your handler? What? No, on second thought, don’t tell me. I love a good surprise.

L: *Sylvie was right. This was a bad idea, but the damage is done already.* I’ll think of something.

M: Lead the way, Your Highness. My liege. Ol’ buddy.

[bjfinn]

TRUTH OR DARE

"BJ, honey -- what's wrong?" Delia asked. "You haven't been your usual -- energetic self lately."

Beej shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "Something's going on with Lydia -- she's been acting weird around me. Like she's ... scared of me. But why would she be scared of me? She's my BFFFF."

"Are you sure it's about you?" Delia suggested. "Maybe it's something else."

The demon shook his head. "No, it's about me -- every time she sees me she gets nervous -- she tries to cover it up, but I can tell."

"Have you asked her?"

"Every time I try, she manages to sidestep the question -- either she says that she just has something on her mind, or she doesn't have time to talk right now but maybe later. I'm starting to wonder if she doesn't wanna be my friend any more.

"If I lose her friendship, I'll hafta leave," he said, wiping a tear from his eye. "I'll lose everybody, and I'll be alone again. But if she doesn't tell me what's wrong, how can I make it better?"

Delia gathered him in her arms. "You're not going to lose anybody," she told him. "You're family -- I promise.

"Look," she said, holding him by the shoulders, "sometimes even the best relationships go through a ... a rough patch. But you have to believe that the two of you will get through it. Tell you what -- I'll see if I can get Lydia to talk about what's going on. Until then, just believe in your friendship. Okay?"

"Okay, I'll try," Beej said with a sniff. "Thanks, Mom."

"That's my boy," Delia said, trying her best to smooth the purple out of his hair with her hands. "Now, how about some art therapy?"

*****

"What's going on with our daughter and, uh ... son?" Charles asked, still not quite used to referring to the demon with that term.

"I'm sure it's nothing," Delia replied. "Lydia's been acting strange around BJ, and he thinks she's suddenly become afraid of him."

"Well, he is a demon."

"But he's making such wonderful progress! I know he's 'evil' and all that --" she rolled her eyes dramatically "-- but inside he's just a very lonely, traumatised person who hasn't been properly socialised. He's like a ... a puppy that's been abused and neglected all his life."

"Unlife," Charles corrected.

"And Lydia has been through a lot this past year -- losing her mother, adjusting to a new home, a new school -- not to mention me, two ghosts and a demon joining the family! And then Emily coming back ... It's no wonder she's been different lately."

Charles looked at his wife and sighed. "I know you have a plan to fix this."

"Not just yet," she said. "But I'm working on it."

*****

Lydia knew she was hurting Beej -- it was the last thing she wanted to do, but she couldn't help it. Ever since she'd had that dream, she couldn't stop wondering what he was actually capable of. Could he really be powerful enough to destroy the entire universe? He was a demon, after all.

But he was also her friend -- her big brother. And he loved her. But could that mean that he'd rather destroy everything than let her be disappointed?

She flopped down on her bed with a sigh.

"I wish I knew what to do," she said aloud. "I can't ask him -- how would I know if he was telling the truth, or just trying to make me feel better?" I wonder if there's a spell or something that could let me know when he's lying ...

She went over to her bookcase and pulled out a couple of volumes on the occult that she'd bought in the second-hand shop in town. Gotta love New England's fascination with demons and witchcraft, she thought, chuckling to herself, as she opened the first one.

There was a knock on her door. "Lydia?"

Delia opened the door and stepped inside. "Lydia? I think we should talk."

"Look, I know I've been acting kinda weird lately," the girl said defensively. "I just have some ... stuff I gotta figure out."

"BJ thinks you don't want to be his friend any more."

Lydia bit her lip, her eyes glistening with sudden tears. "Of course I do! He's my best friend -- my big brother! I love him! I just -- I ..." Her lower lip began to tremble.

Delia went over to her and put her arms around her step-daughter. "What is it? What's wrong, honey?"

Lydia shook her head. "I-it's ... it's stupid."

"What is it?" Delia asked. "Tell me -- maybe I can help."

"I ... I had a dream," Lydia began. "I ... I dreamt that Beej went to the Netherworld to bring my mom back for good, but when he couldn't, he got so angry that he destroyed the universe."

"Oh, dear!" Delia said. "Well, I can see why that upset you. How did he do it?"

"You know how he can't say his own name? Because of the geis Juno put on him? In the dream he broke the curse and said it."

"And that destroyed the universe? I thought if he said it it would only exorcise him."

"I thought so, too -- but what if that's not true? What if he's not just a low-level demon like he says? What if ... what if he's powerful enough to end everything?" She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. "What if one day ... I'm the reason he does?"

*****

After Delia left, Lydia returned to her books -- she had to find some way to ensure that Beej would tell her the truth.

"There's gotta be something ..." she muttered.

She went through book after book, but found nothing -- the closest she got was a spell that would reveal whether or not the object of one's affections felt the same way.

Stifling a scream of frustration, she flopped back down on her bed. She knew that, without some kind of truth-binding spell, Beej would be inclined to lie just to ease her mind.

"I know he would," she said to herself. "That's how much he loves me."

She began to cry. She hated the idea of using a spell to force him to be honest -- it felt like a betrayal -- but she couldn't think of any other way.

*****

"Are you sure he'd lie?" Adam asked when Lydia went to the Maitlands for advice.

"This is Beej we're talking about, remember?"

"I just meant that it seems like something he'd wanna brag about."

"Not if it makes Lydia -- or the rest of us -- scared of him," Barbara pointed out. "He likes having everyone think of him as this evil creature from Hell, but we all know it's just an act. What he really wants is to be loved."

"Exactly," Lydia agreed. "Even if he is powerful enough to destroy the entire universe, he'd never admit it -- it'd ruin everything for him."

"Good point," Adam conceded.

"I checked every book I have about witchcraft and demonology looking for a spell that would make him tell the truth, but there's nothing. I was hoping maybe you guys could come up with some idea?"

"Well, we know threats and intimidation won't work," Barbara said wryly.

"Sex might, but ..." Adam shuddered at the thought. "I mean, I love the guy, but he's really, uh ... grody."

"Grody?" Lydia said, giving Adam a pointed look. "Okay, boomer."

"Ouch."

"What about ... a game?" Barbara suggested. "We all know how competitive he is -- what about a game of Truth or Dare?"

"That's a great idea, Bunny!" Adam exclaimed. "If he doesn't tell the truth, he forfeits the game!"

Lydia sighed and shrugged. "I guess it's worth a shot."

*****

"Okay," Beej said. "Now it's your turn -- truth or dare?"

"Dare -- no, truth! Okay, no, make it a dare."

"You sure?" Beej said.

Lydia nodded. "I'm sure. Just -- nothing too bad, okay?"

Beej bit his lip, thinking. Then his eyes widened and he grinned. "Got it!" he said. "You're always sayin' I'm gross for eating bugs, so ..." He held out his hand -- in his palm were two large black ants with swollen abdomens the colour of gold.

Lydia gulped nervously. "You want me to ... eat them?"

"Nah," Beej said. "I need one for demonstration purposes!" And with his other hand he picked up one of the ants by the thorax, brought it to his mouth and bit down on the swollen back part.

"Now you."

Lydia gingerly picked up the remaining ant and bit off the abdomen like the demon had shown her. She winced at the taste of formic acid, but then her eyes flew open as her mouth filled with --

"Honey! " she gasped.

Beej nodded, grinning. "They're called honeypot ants," he told her. "They're from Australia. The aborigines love 'em!"

"Okay, your turn -- truth or dare?"

"Dare," Beej said.

Lydia was a bit disappointed -- she'd hoped he'd pick truth. What could she dare a demon to do? "Hmmm -- let's see ... oh, I know! You have to sing the song."

"What song?"

"The song -- the one you hate."

"Ah, come on!" he protested. "You're kidding me, right?"

"Nope," she said. "That's the dare -- do it, or forfeit the game."

"Okay, okay," he grumbled. He cleared his throat, rolled his eyes and began to sing:

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are grey

You'll never know, dear, how much I love you

Please don't take my sunshine away

He grimaced and retched comically. He glared at Lydia as she applauded.

"So -- truth or dare?" he asked.

"Truth," Lydia replied.

"You gotta talk to me," he said. "You gotta tell me what's wrong. Why don't you wanna hang out with me any more? Did I do something? What did I do? Please tell me so I can fix it." His lower lip was trembling, and hot tears spilled down his cheeks as he looked at her.

Lydia scooted over and sat beside him, putting an arm around his shoulders. "Hey," she said. "Hey! You're still my friend, okay?"

"Then why are you avoiding me?"

She lowered her gaze. "Yeah, I-I'm sorry about that. I've just had a lot of stuff on my mind."

"Stuff about me."

"No! Well, okay -- yeah. But you didn't do anything wrong, I promise." She sighed. "It's just ... when my mom came back, and then she died again, you said that nothing was gonna stop you from bringing her back for good."

"And I meant it," he told her. "I still do -- I just haven't figured out how yet. Is that why you're acting different? Because I haven't brought your mom back yet? 'Cause I will -- I swear."

"No, that's not why," Lydia said. "Truth is, I ... I don't really want you to. I mean, yeah, I want you to, but that's not the way things are supposed to be. I've already had two chances to see her again, right? That's two more than anybody else gets."

She sighed again. "The thing is ... a couple of weeks ago I had a dream."

"A dream?"

"Yeah," she said with a nod. "I dreamt that you went to the Netherworld to find her -- you were so angry, threatening everybody in Processing, and then you went outside and you were wandering the streets, trying to think of something. And then you met a demon -- his name was Arjit -- and he said he could take you to someone who could help."

"Arjit?" Beej shook his head. "Don't know anyone by that name. What kind of demon was he?"

"A ... rashasha, I think? Is that a thing?"

Beej nodded. "Rakshasa? Yeah," he said. "They're Hindu demons. Most of 'em are bad news, but some are decent."

Lydia continued recounting the details of her dream, and when she finished, neither of them said anything for a long moment.

"I know it was just a dream, but -- I don't know ... maybe my visit to the Netherworld made me able to tune in to ... something." She laughed nervously. "But that's crazy, right? I can't really have prophetic dreams -- can I?"

Beej scoffed. "Pfft! What? You? A prophet??? No way, José!"

"Okay, but ... just how powerful are you?"

"Powerful enough to do this!" he replied, and began tickling her.

Lydia shrieked with laughter, trying her best to get away, but it was no use -- the demon was merciless in his attack, having sprouted two extra arms for the job. "Stop! STOP!!! I ... I ... can't ... breathe ..."

Beej stopped then, his extra limbs receding, and grinned at his best friend. "Feel better?" he asked.

"You're a monster!" she replied, but the bright smile on her face told him that she was okay. That they were okay.

"Look," he said, "most dreams are bullshit -- your mind telling itself fucked-up stories while you sleep. You had a dream about the Netherworld and you got a couple of things right about it because you've been there. And me destroying the universe? Hey, I'm a big, scary demon, right? Naturally there's some part of you that wonders if I could. Or would. But I can't break the geis. And I promise that I wouldn't destroy everything even if I could," he added solemnly.

"Yeah," she conceded. "I guess you're right -- it was just a dream." She looked at him and smiled. "But you're wrong about one thing," she said.

"What's that?"

"You're not big and scary," she told him.

"Whaddya mean I'm not big and scary???" Beej scowled comically in mock indignation. "I'll show you big and scary!" And he lunged at her for another tickle attack.

Lydia, however, was prepared for it this time -- she leapt to her feet and fled, laughing, out the door. Beej chased her down the stairs and stopped on the bottom step, where he leaned forward, hands on his knees, panting heavily. He held up a finger as he tried to catch his breath. "Just ... just give me ... give me a moment ..."

Lydia giggled. "Yeah, you're right," she said. "You couldn't destroy the universe -- you're too out of shape!"

"I'm in shape!" he countered. "Round is a shape!"

"Round is a nice shape for a big brother," she agreed, and hugged him.

"So we're okay?" the demon asked.

"We're okay," Lydia told him, squeezing him tightly before letting him go. "Hey, how 'bout we spend the day together, just the two of us?"

"Really?"

"Yeah," Lydia said. "It's been a while -- I think it's time we reconnect. Grab your camera -- let's go down to the river."

"I'd like that," he replied, grinning.

[diogenes-blorbos]

ok i forgot to send an ask until now but! tell me abt manoja! what's the meaning behind his name/how did he (or you) pick it? what's his career route and what's his villainsona? infamy? what stats does he favour ? specialisations (fighter/tactician, streetwise/techsavvy)? anything else you wanna share that isn't covered by one of the other questions? XD

Hi! Thanks for the ask.

Manoja Joshi is a desi trans guy and stands at 5’ 5”, has green eyes, and black hair that becomes slightly wavy if allowed to grow out. His body could be described as… stout? Think ‘precursor to a dadbod’ and you’ll have a pretty accurate idea of what he looks like. In his Sidestep years, he was thinner and didn’t look nearly as tired as he appears post-Heartbreak. Since Anathema’s death, Manoja has become a drinker, for his sins. He has always been a smoker. Manoja dresses in mostly black, grey and very dark blue athletic wear, like a teenage boy who shops exclusively from JD Williams.

His puppet is a mixed race, brown-eyed, freckle-faced man called Joey. He wears his hair in long locs, usually tied back off of his face, and, his body is tall and lithe bc Manoja keeps him in shape via boxing. Joey is everything Manoja wishes he was, and so, when slipping into his puppet’s skin, Manoja is simultaneously at his most authentic, and totally different in personality. Joey is friendlier, smoother and flirtier.

Manoja’s first name is a little nod to his psychic abilities! Manoja means "born of the mind" in Sanskrit. He chose the name after realising he was trans. At first, cross-dressing as a guy was purely a disguising tactic, but he figured out pretty quickly that he felt more complete living as a man. I’ve never considered what his deadname might’ve been, but that doesn’t matter, I guess; Manoja’s a pro at reinventing himself, whether that is via changing his name and pronouns, slipping his consciousness into a puppet body or by creating/destroying personas.

Speaking of personas, Mannie’s villainsona is called Innominate, so it’s probably not going to surprise you when I tell you that his stats very much leans towards anonymity rather than pursuing infamy. Manoja is also very cautious (paranoid) and likes to eliminate risk wherever possible. He is very logic driven, and is a tech-savvy tactician, above all else. For that reason, Manoja wouldn’t rule out killing if he needed to, though he does his best to keep deaths to a minimum, as he still sways towards being an empathetic person. He considers that to be his biggest weakness (it really isn’t- that would actually be his own insecurities), and is why he, unsuccessfully, tries to keep some semblance of distance between himself and Ortega. Needless to say, that isn’t going so well for him as of Retribution, as Manoja spent the night with her, and Julia then chose to break things off with Joey. Manoja has also become “friends” with Steel (they sit and brood in silence together while they watch Spoon run around the dog park) and he has a bit of a soft-spot for Los Diablos’ Biggest SideStep superfan, Herald.

Picrew:

[thychesters]

Good morning. Quick writing prompt: One second of eye contact

The throng of people spilling out into the market is akin to fighting against the current, and Zoro is careful not to let his sheaths knock against too many passerby, lest one take their own clumsiness as an affront. Most grant him a fairly wide berth at the sight of three swords anyway, a few shooting furtive glances his way, though he can’t be bothered to pay them much mind. The pouch Nami gave him feels much lighter than usual, considering thus far all he’s purchased has been a bottle of wine Robin asked for with a name he’s never heard of. She’ll probably tell him he owes her quadruple what she gave him, though at this point he’s desensitized to it.

The man he came with zipped off the moment they crossed into the market, like he didn’t trust Zoro to get himself this far on his own. He sidesteps around the fifth person who’s stopped in their tracks to look at something, and biding his time until he catches wind of his name or a cackle demanding his attention.

He’s idling by a fruit stand, debating the merits of snagging himself a peach while a salesman tries to goad him into bartering for the gaudiest looking necklace he absolutely does not want when he can feel eyes burning into the back of his skull.

It’s impressive, really, he thinks, how he seems to automatically turn to Luffy in a crowd, how when he does he finds him already looking in his direction, features breaking into a grin with an exaggerated wave as if he can’t see him. Just as quickly as he appeared he’s gone again, straw hat disappearing behind another stall, and Zoro tosses the fruit back into the basket without looking.

On pure instinct he picks his way around bystanders, footsteps muffled against the uneven stone, and he twists and turns around stalls and other vendors trying to catch his attention, offering perfume to entice or books full of wonder or someone promising coffee that’s one of a kind that he’s certain smells exactly like the one being sold by the entrance. He follows blindly, just as he always has and a baser part of him is sure he always will.

Luffy isn’t hard to spot again, his gut leading him to standing beside him a few minutes later, and Luffy wastes little time closing the remainder of the distance between them.

“Did you find anything good?” he asks before Zoro can so much as greet him. There’s a smear of what looks like sauce on his cheek, and he pushes him away when Luffy makes to wipe his mouth off on his arm. “Why did you get wine? You don’t even drink wine. Is that the one Robin wanted?”

“Yes, and no, I didn’t find anything good.” He nudges Luffy away again. “Would you knock it off?”

“Do you still have some money?” he barrels over him instead, fingers itching for his pocket to dig out what’s left of the pouch Nami gave him. “I wanna buy some food.”

Zoro huffs, a hand on his shoulder. A rubbery arm wraps around his own twice. It earns more than a few curious looks. His other hand reaching up to wipe off his cheek with his thumb. “You telling me you didn’t get food already?”

Luffy blinks at him, hand stilling at his hip. He hooks his fingers into his pocket, tugging him closer. “I’ll share it with you.”

“No, you won’t.”

His brow puckers in thought, and Luffy drums his fingers on his bicep. Zoro takes a step closer, shaking his shoulder some and he frowns, mouth twisting.

“I’ll ... think about it? That definitely counts.”

Zoro sighs and Luffy cackles, slipping a hand into his own and tugging him back into the crowd. Later, Nami will give them both an earful at spending all of their money, but Luffy will counter with what was the point, then, but, for now, Zoro turns and blindly follows the sun.

[sachiko1309]

The good old Doc - Part 13

Missed the start? No problem, here is the first part, the following ones are always linked at the end, so you dont have to search endlessly. 😉

Summary: Lieutenant Lilith Adams enlisted back in the military, only to be met with a certain cocky pilot. Overcoming certain past traumas, she tries to fit in with the team of pilots as their personal medic. Soon finding her stuck between a certain good looking aviator and her work morals.

This is a series which is currently in the making, so I don’t exactly know how long it is going to be. 😊

Word count: 2567

Warnings: generally none (maybe some for the girls talk)

I was struggling to get out of my wet dress, fighting the wet fabric sticking to my body. When I was finally able to get it over my head I wrung out as much water as I could, throwing it over the sunshade. Whistling behind me had me turn around. Rooster was eying me up and down, but the whistling stopped as soon as he saw my upper body being littered with hickeys. “Holy…” I wasn’t really sure what to say, so I stayed silent, looking down on the ground. Luckily Phoenix had my back: “Stop it Bradshaw. That’s none of your business.”

Bradley raised his hands slowly stepping back. “Didn’t mean to pry. But I am in for some details.” He grinned wiggling his eyebrows. Nat just shook her head. “Nah uh. That’s for girls talk only. And as far as I am aware you’re not a girl.” Her comment made me smile and I settled down on my towel between her and Bob. We watched in silence how Rooster backed off, towards the makeshift volleyball field. Him and Jake teamed up against Payback and Coyote.

“Soooo…” Phoenix turned towards me, smiling a knowing grin. “Is there something you wanna tell me?” Before I could even speak, Bob leaned in from the side: “You know I can just go and leave you to your girls talk.”

“Stay, Bobby. You are literally married and therefore an approved ally of the girls club.” Nat said, pulling him down on his towel. I laid back, staring up at the parasol. “It was good.” Was all I muttered, and from the huff coming from Phoenix I could hear she was not pleased with my answer. “Good. That’s as detailed as one can be. I wanna know everything. Like start to finish.”

I groaned at her words. “I really don’t know if that’s a good idea. I mean you guys work together and I don’t wanna spike any rumors or teasing or whatever.”

“Honey, that train is long gone with you showing up like that.” Phoenix intervened. “And don’t fear Bob. He is our team’s secret keeper and trust me, when I say he isn’t as innocent as he looks.”

“Tasha!” Bob let out a high pitched yelp, pushing up his glasses. She just shrugged. “What? I aint lying.” “Yeah, but there is no reason to be that blunt.” Bob argued. I let out a silent laugh. “Well, I can imagine, what our good boy is into.”

“You know?” Phoenix sat up eyeing me curiously. I shook my head. “Not much. Just the first night in the hard deck, I was kinda pretending to flirt with Bob to see how Jake would react and I got him all flustered, when I called him a good boy.”

That statement hat Phoenix cackling uncontrollably. “What I would have paid to see that happen… Little Bobby boy being all red and flustered.” She laid down next to me propping herself up on her elbows watching me intently. “Anyway. Back to you. You guys got home and then?”

“You know what happened next.” I sidestepped her question, pretending to focus on the ongoing volleyball game in front of me.

“No shit sherlock. But how was it? More important how was HE?” Phoenix inquired, clearly not letting me off the hook that easily. “I bet that man knows what he is doing, but still. Did he pull a scripted one or did he really engage with your needs and all?”

“I wont get rid off you until you are satisfied right?” I sighted, closing my eyes. This time it was Bob who chuckled at my embarrassment. “Nope. She will question and torture you until she gets what she wants.”

I took a deep breath. Internally contemplating my life choices that got me into this situation. “Fine. I will talk, but I swear to god, if only one bit of information leaves this private conversation, I will have both of your asses shot down from the sky.” I threatened.

“Yeah, yeah. We will not tell a soul.” Phoenix pressured, jittery from the anticipation of news.

“Jake was really nice. He didn’t pressure me or made me feel anxious. Rather the opposite. I had a stress melt down and he immediately backed off, trying to help me and not push me any further.”

“You had another panic attack?” Bob asked, now sitting up as well. I shook my head. “No… Not a real panic attack. I was reminded of something that happened to me in Afghanistan. Jake didn’t do anything. It just happened and I freaked, thinking he would push me away.” I answered, looking away. “You have to know that I was badly injured when I was rescued. The day the seals freed us, was a very bad day for me. Kardaar, that was the man that mostly tortured me, had planned out a very destructive torture plan for me that day. He was always very… I like to say turned on by it. So, this day he nearly beat me to death and whenever I was slipping out of consciousness, he would electrocute me. The alternation between getting the shit beaten out off you and your intestines nearly being fried, my body broke down. I had such bad internal bleeding, that I passed out halfway out of the cave system where we were being held. In camp, the doctors had to do an emergency hysterectomy, therefore leaving me infertile…” I stopped my story, swallowing down the lump that build up in the back of my throat.

“Oh my god…” Phoenix slapped her hand over her mouth and Bob looked like he was torn between throwing up and punching something.

“Yeah… So, when Jake asked what kind of protection I wanted to use, I kinda freaked out…” A thin smile plastered itself over my lips, remembering how supportive and caring he got in that moment. Phoenix was the first to speak again: “And how did he react?” “He got all caring and kind, comforting me and telling me that he doesn’t care about it. I swear, that man had me crying like I haven’t cried in a very long time with how sweet he was.” I answered.

Phoenix turned her gaze towards the rest of the team, watching Jake intently. “Hangman being sweet. Something I never thought I would hear someone say.” She mumbled. I laughed, poking her in the side. “You should change your way of looking at him. I mean yes, he has this hard, cocky, arrogant shell structured around him, but underneath he is as sweet as one can be. I feel safe and seen with him. Something I haven’t had at that depth with any man I have ever been with.”

“I am happy for you.” Was all that Bob said in that moment, but I could see and hear, how much he was telling me with that simple sentence. Then he tilted his head, wearing a rarely seen crocked smile on his face. “But back to the initial topic. Is this man the sex god he makes everyone think he is?” The fact that this innocent looking man, could say such lewd things caught me by surprise. I started laughing to the point I had tears springing from my eyes. And when I looked back at Bob, who seemed to have a rather hopeful expression, that I would deny it, gave me the last push to lose it. “I am sorry to disappoint you…” I pressed out between gasping for air and laughing so hard my stomach hurt. “But this man, does know his way around a woman’s body.”

“We are finally getting to the interesting part.” Phoenix stepped in, wiggling her eyebrows. “Is he as commanding and cocky in the bedroom as he is out here?” I just nodded, looking down, hoping the blush creeping up my cheeks would go unnoticed. To my big embarrassment, Phoenix caught it rather quickly. “Oh my god… You whore!” Bob looked at us a little bit confused. “I don’t quite understand…”

“Wifey over here, is a sucker for a dominant and experienced older man.” Phoenix filled him in, a wicked smile spreading across her face. “Tell me, did you guys do something spicy?” I quickly shook my head. “No. I mean he choked me but nothing to far of the grid. I am not as deep into the whole thing as he is, so we are taking it slow.”

���Not as deep?” Bob asked, scrunching his eyebrows. “Wait a minute. Hangman is into this whole kinky, BDSM, fifty shades of grey stuff?” Again, I was turning bright red, desperately searching for a way to get out this conversation. “Yeah, kind off. I am still figuring out how far I want to take it, so I don’t know yet how much he is into it.” I whispered, not daring to look them into the eyes.

“But you wanna try it?” Phoenix asked curiously. I shrugged. “I mean yes. Its intriguing.”

“You have to tell me everything, when you try something new. I am now considering this threeway an exclusive sextalk group and I swear, I will get offended, if I am not filled with any news.” Phoenix determent, looking at Bob and me. “And that also means you, Bobby. You are now a part of our womans circle, and for you to stay you have to pay your tribute to the group.”

“But…” Bob tried to reason with Phoenix, but she didn’t have any of his arguments. “No buts. You are caught in the web with us, so you will go down the way we do.” She seemed to be very proud of her newly founded secrecy. I just chuckled at her happiness. “Trust me, Bob. Being part of a girl group isn’t as bad as it may sound now. Once you get over the point of embarrassment you will get plenty of advise and new ideas to try out. Regarding almost every topic you can think off.” “Says the woman, who was about to flee the scene only minutes ago.” He groaned, hiding his face in his hands. I shrugged at his comment. “Yeah and I still am thinking about an escape plan for really close calls, but how about we do this together? You learn how to open up, and I try to learn my way into the kinky world of sex.”

“Deal.”

The day went on and soon the sun was shining at a lower angel in the afternoon. Once again painting Jakes blond hair golden. Penny was in a very good mood, as soon as Maverick showed up to the beach and now, she was walking towards the group with a stack of pizza cartons in her arms. Payback was the first to spot and walk over to her. Taking the food out of her hand. “Penny my dear, you are an angel send from god.” She just laughed at his flirtatious comment, patting him on the shoulder. “If I have learned anything in my years of being around military men, and women…” She gave us an apologetic look. “Is the fact, that they get very hungry, very easily. And I have another hour before I open up the bar, so I might as well join you for dinner.”

And now we were sitting around in a circle, on the patchwork blanket of several towels eating the pizza, Penny brought. I was sitting between Jakes legs, leaning my back against his chest, letting his warmth engulf me in the cooling afternoon wind. I could feel Mavericks eyes wandering over my body several times, giving me a stern look, once I caught him looking. I shrugged and smiled at him. That only made his gaze grow harder. I tilted my head, raising an eyebrow, silently asking him what his attitude was all about. He waved his hand in front of him, shaking his head and then spinning his hand in the air. I sighted: “Cyclone does know about me and Jake. He was the one pushing me to go for it. So, he wont worry. Or at least I will tell him to keep his nose out of my private life, when he does.”

Everyone looked at me a little confused, clearly nobody had noticed the silent talk between me and Maverick. Like me he ignored the stares, simply asking: “And you think it’s a good idea?” I squinted my eyes, sitting up straight. “We are not breaking any rules, Captain.” My tone was sharp while I didn’t let him out of my eyes. He folded his hands in his lap, also straightening his back. “I am aware of that. I am just considering the possibility, that your relationship might affect the work of this team.”

I took a deep breath, collecting my thoughts, so I wouldn’t lash out at him. “As far as I am aware, I am not flying with them, therefore I am not directly engaged in combat at the same time. And if you are implying, that I wont be able to do my work professionally, I have to disappoint you, since I am quite capable of differentiating between work and private life.” I didn’t hide the underlying threat in my words, and when he squinted his eyes starting to comment on what I just said, I interrupted him: “And as far as I am aware, you are not the one to make moral calls regarding navy rules.”

As soon as I said, what I said, there was a dreadful silence covering the group. Maverick clearly shocked by my boldness, took a deep breath. “Lieutenant, this is not the way to speak to a superior officer.”

“Don’t make this about ranks, now Pete! We are not breaking any rules, it is not interfering with the safety of your pilots, since my work ends before a mission and starts afterwards. I simply will not let a third party trying to intervene at something they should keep their nose out. If you ever feel, like this is high jacking anything work related, I ask of you to have a professional conversation with the Admiral being present. Otherwise, I request you separate work and your opinion on us.” I said with the coldest voice I could muster, staring Maverick down. After a while he sighted, raising his hands. “I am sorry Lilith. I am just worried, that’s all. Please don’t take it as a personal attack on you two. Because honestly? Hangman could use a reason to not be as reckless as he is now. I just hope that when it comes down, you guys will be able to stay professional.”

As soon as I saw, that he gave up the fight, I relaxed as well. “I know and I understand. Its just… Sorry for reacting the way I did, but I might have taken your concern as an attack on my ability to do my job. It wouldn’t be the first time for some navy bloke to question me and my professionality.”

Maverick gave me a smile. “Yeah… I can only imagine what it must be like for a young woman, trying to gain respect in this testosterone filled environment… Friends again?” I chuckled at his sweet face he made to convince me to let it slide. “We never stopped.” “Good to hear.” He seemed relieved, pulling Penny into his arms.

[detective-luca-montoya]

Lawrence and Luca- Part 2

Part 2 complete! No warnings except light violence. Lawrence belongs to @montammil and Luca belongs to me!

---

Being accosted in the street by a man with a knife isn't as uncommon for Luca Montoya as it probably should be.

She senses his intent before she sees him- a niggling feeling of wrongness mixed with a general vibe of "I want to kill someone". The next sign comes fast- in the form of a guy coming up from behind her and literally trying to stab her in the back.

She feints to the side and throws a punch. The man sidesteps, draws a switchblade from his sleeve, and slashes. Luca grabs his wrist just before the blade can sink into her shoulder. He drops it, only to grab it out of the air with his free hand and slash at her again. She leaps backwards, out of range- and two other men box her in from the sides.

She grins sheepishly. "Okay, look, fellas... you don't wanna do this. Right? I'm sure you're all upstanding citizens of-" She ducks as a crowbar narrowly swooshes over her head courtesy of one of the two new guys. "Or not. Okay-"

She crouches, focusing, and stretches her fingers, cupping her hands like she's trying to hold water. Any passing onlookers would see nothing unusual- the men in front of her, however, can clearly see her irisis changing from brown to a bright blue. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

She raises her arms, curls them into tight fists, and then slams them into the closest goon's stomach. The man buckles, almost folded in half, before flying back nearly twenty feet and landing in a nearby dumpster. The other goons turn to look and then back again to stare at her.

Luca raises her fists again- and someone else's fist slams into the next goon's face.

"Lawrence?!" Luca gasps, equally surprised by the sudden appearance of the well-dressed man as the hard right hook he had just delivered. Luca quickly follows up, kicking the man in the gut and knocking him flat. "What are you doing here? I thought you were only in the city on business!"

"My trip was unexpectedly extended," Lawrence says, looking slightly chagrined. "I'm actually applying for a teaching job at the university a couple blocks from here. I'm staying in a hotel..." He looks around, seemingly once again confused by the city's streets and various alleyways. "Well, I thought it was around here somewhere."

Luca swiftly knees the other goon in the crotch and shoves him face-first into the wall. "Oh- I know that place! It's right near my agency actually."

"Really? What a coincidence!" Lawrence smiles.

Luca glances down at the two now unconscious men. "I'd give you directions, but I'm kinda in the middle of something right now."

"Why were those men attacking you?" Lawrence looks concerned.

Luca crouches and checks the man's pulse, then pockets his knife. "I dunno. I've made a lot of enemies over the years. Probably some gang or something." She straightens back up and starts typing on her phone. "The cops should be around to pick them up eventually."

Lawrence's expression is carefully balancing between horror and concern. "Does this happen- often?"

Luca looks up at him, noticing his expression. "Uh- I mean, not that often. Besides-" She jerks her chin towards the two, still slumped on the ground in dreamland. "I can handle myself."

Lawrence nods slowly. "I'm sure you can... but what was that fancy trick you had? With the- uh-" He moves his hands in an approximate copy of what Luca had done to send the first goon flying... inhumanly far. Luca visibly pales. "Uh-"

Her facial expression has rapidly shifted from confident to nervous, and Lawrence lowers his voice. "Anything you tell me is safe with me, kiddo." He crosses his heart. "Trust me."

Luca gazes up at him, her eyes wide, and she's shocked to find that... she does. She does trust this guy she's only met twice for a total of about an hour, and who had just seen her beat the shit out of three grown men. She blinks, surprised with herself. His aura is just as clear as always, devoid of anything except for concern, worry- and compassion.

She looks around. "We... shouldn't talk here." She pulls out a piece of paper and scribbles down an address. She hands it to him. "Meet me here in two hours, okay?"

Lawrence takes it from her, nodding. "Are you-"

Luca's already running off, leaving Lawrence standing there bemused. She calls out behind her. "Don't be late!"

Lawrence stares after her until she's out of sight before he takes another look at the paper. It's the address for a bar- near where they had first met. He chuckles to himself before folding and pocketing it. "I won't."

---

Exactly two hours later, Lawrence steps into the bar Luca had indicated. The bartender- a slight blond man- indicates towards the back, where Luca sits in a booth, twiddling her thumbs. She looks up as she hears the door open and waves him over. "Over here!"

Luca glances around as Lawrence takes a seat across from her, checking to make sure the place is empty. "Oh- order whatever you want." She beckons to the bartender. "Sam- I'll have a rum and coke."

Lawrence gives her a strange look. She shrugs. "What?"

"Aren't you a little young for alcohol?"

"I'm 22- and it's soda." Luca sips the drink. "I just leave out the rum part."

Lawrence looks a bit confused, but just orders a water. He waits until she's finished half her soda before he folds his hands and brings up the elephant in the room. "So- what did you want to talk to me about, kiddo?"

Luca nods and looks him dead in the eye. "Why didn't you tell me about your record?"

Lawrence looks at her blankly. Luca pulls out her phone. "I mean, drug possession is pretty typical at that age, but assault and battery? And recent?" She whistles. "Does your new teaching job know about all this?"

Lawrence blinks slowly. "Are you... trying to blackmail me?"

Luca shrugs. "I mean... I'm just saying..."

Lawrence looks at her, his expression unreadable. "Look, kiddo, I won't try and make excuses for my actions. After Nadia passed, I... went through a hard time. But I'm past that now." He gives her a serious look. "You can tell the university, if you want to."

Luca looks down at her drink, tapping her fingers anxiously. "I mean- I don't... it's just..." She looks up at him, lowering her voice. "You have to swear not to tell anyone about what you saw. What I... did."

Lawrence nods, understanding, but Luca looks up at him, her eyebrows knit in worry and her eyes serious. "I mean it! Promise me you won't!"

Lawrence nods. "I promise, Luca." He mimes crossing his heart. "Cross my heart. No blackmail needed."

Luca raises an eyebrow. "Okay. It's a binding pact. So if you break it I'm definitely blackmailing you."

Lawrence looks confused, then concerned. Luca snickers. "Just joking. But you'd better not!" She sips her soda before setting the glass aside and looking at him seriously. "Uh... so, have you ever seen Spider-Man 2?"

Before Lawrence can answer, she shakes her head. "No, wait, uh- so, you know about the concept of auras, right?

Lawrence nods slowly. "You mean chakras, mystical energy... that kind of thing?"

Luca shakes her head a bit. "It's uh, etheric manipulation, uh, bioenergy, sort of. Like uh- metaphysical..." She gives a long sigh. "I get stronger when I'm angry or... have other strong feelings. It's how I was able to... punch that guy really far."

Lawrence says nothing for a moment- probably digesting this new information- before he takes a long sip of his water. He puts the glass down, folds his hands together, and looks back at her. "I don't mean to sound rude, kiddo, but..."

Luca gives him a flat look. "You don't believe me."

Lawrence puts his hands up defensively. "I didn't say that-"

Luca crosses her arms. "How else would I have done all that earlier, huh?"

"It's just a little... out there."

Wrong choice of words- Luca folds her arms and looks away, annoyed. "Well if you don't even believe me, then-"

Lawrence backpeadels, quickly shaking his head. "I didn't say that, Luca. I do believe you, of course I do. Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me."

Luca sniffs, but seems placated enough. "I can tell how people are feeling, too. What's going on inside." She gestures towards her chest. "Like you... are wishing you would have ordered a drink, but you wanted to set a good example." She wrinkles her nose. "You could have, you know. I don't even like alcohol."

Lawrence stares at her in shock for a moment before he bursts out laughing. "That's- that's right, kiddo! That's incredible!"

Luca flushes. "I mean, it's not a big deal..."

"Of course it is! It's amazing! What else can you do?" Lawrence leans forward, forgetting his water in his excitement. "I'd love to hear more about it."

Luca laughs sheepishly. "Well- if you really wanna know-"

"Of course I do," Lawrence insists. "Tell me everything!"

He leans back against the booth as Luca animatedly starts discussing her abilities, even pulling out a pen to doodle a diagram on a napkin. "...but if I use it too much I get really tired, and it's sorta useless if I get knocked out, but other than that I'd say..."

Lawrence nods along as she talks, keeping mental notes on what she's saying, smiling all the while. Luca talks and talks until she exhausts herself, draining her soda in a few large gulps. She puts the glasses down and glares at him half-seriously. "And remember, you can't tell anyone. Okay?"

Lawrence nods, reaching across the table to shake her outstretched hand. "Of course, kiddo. I promise..."

"...your secret's safe with me."

[artdecosupernova-writing]

Fictober '20 Prompt No. 2 — "That's the easy part."

Category: Original WIP: St. Guess Rating: T Timeline: sometime between St. Guess and its first sequel, The Ward. Possibly 1952. CW: Organized crime, weapons, mention of murder? Word Count: 722 Additional Notes: N/A

***

"Joey."

Joe Donahue bounced off the desk to his feet with the agility of a child, letting a colorful swear fly loose from his mouth before shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers, embarrassed. "Oh, uh, hey Mick."

Mickey arched a brow from the doorway of his office, smoothing a hand down the lapel of his custom white Italian suit. "You're early."

"Yeah, well, uh…I gotta talk to you 'bout somethin'."

"Mm." Mickey pressed the door closed with a soft click and sidestepped Joey to occupy his desk, sliding the top drawer open to deposit his colt. The gold of the barrel reflected the light prior to being hidden with the drawer. "This wouldn't happen to be about the lovely Sarah Fletcher and her former fiancé, would it?"

Joey passed his hands over his face and pressured a loud, exasperated groan from his diaphragm. "I didn't even tell Rocky about her; how the fuck did you know?!"

Smiling, Mickey unbuttoned his jacket and settled himself in his chair. The endless amazement of his consorts following a deduction out of practically nowhere had yet to cease amusing him, even after over a decade of knowing them, and he would never tire of Joey's reactions in particular.

As if in response to those musings, Joey rolled his eyes.

"What can I do for you, dear?" Mickey asked.

"Yeah…I really, uh, care about Sarah, and her former fiancé keeps..." Joey rubbed the back of his neck and swiveled on his heel to pace the length of the room. "His name is Hal. He's a sailor. And he's…hornin' in on my time!"

Mickey nodded while thumbing through a stack of cash left behind by Bruce's last job. "My hit rates are double for friends and family, I hope you know."

"Look, I'm real close to doin' somethin' about it myself."

"Oh, I wouldn't recommend that," Mickey sighed with the casual air of a conversation not involving the potential death of an innocent man. "I can only cover up so much."

Joey slapped his hands down on the surface of the desk and leaned into it, not meeting Mickey's eyes. "I don't wanna hurt him. He's…a nice guy. Hal's nice! I don't even wanna…I don't wanna make Sarah hate me. I just—I don't know what to do. I don't know how to handle this. He's always askin' her to do stuff with him, go to movies and shit, and I don't know where I fit in anymore."

The middle of Mickey's forehead pinched the longer he observed Joey's facial tics. He still hadn't met his eyes and his forehead glistened with perspiration, and a strained silence pulled between them like a dry rope of taffy.

"Either she's pregnant," Mickey murmured, "or you're in love with her."

Joey's gaze finally snapped to him and a muscle in his jaw twitched.

"Ah." Mickey slid the tip of his finger over the silver letter opener on his desk. "You're in love with her."

"I don't talk about…feelings." Joey ran a hand through his hair. "You know it's hard for me to open up."

"Yes, I do."

"I didn't know what else to do."

"I see." Mickey glanced at his watch, knowing Joey wouldn't want to be talking about this when Rocky and Bruce arrived. He mentally weighed all of his options and the likelihood of Joey meaning what he said in that he didn't want this Hal character hurt, but the office door swung open before he could ask any more questions.

"Good morning, fellas." Rocky ushered Bruce into the room, shoving him inside by the back of the head, earning a shout and a grumbled protest. "What's the story today?"

Mickey exchanged a quiet, understanding look with Joey and cleared his throat. "I'll take care of it."

"Don't hurt him, Mick," Joey whispered. "Sarah wouldn't ever speak to me again."

"That's the easy part." Mickey locked eyes with Rocky across the room. "Some messages are better absorbed when the recipient is alive, anyway."

Though he didn't inquire into the source of this statement, Rocky's expression grew suspicious. Bruce completely missed the entire conversation and Joey sighed, relieved, not knowing that the "message" Mickey would send would result in Hal dropping out of the picture on a permanent basis once he was abruptly sent overseas and ultimately killed.

[apocalypticgargoyle]

could i pls get a part 2 of elevator with dream🥺 the way that they show their vulnerable sides to each other is adorable <3

yes! of course! i still kept this pretty fluffy but in another request, someone asked for smut so it's a little spicy.

𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑. ♘ 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

pairing: dream x reader (dre™ my beloved)

warnings: light smut (i didn't completely write it out I'm sorry), a virgin reader, language, fwb kinda, mentions of sexual content

previous part: elevator

After nearly two hours, the elevator began to buzz with life, hoisting up to the floor where Clay and Sapnap lived. The two of you had bonded in the dim, red elevator, coming out of the cramped room as friends when you had previously just been an odd mix of acquaintance and mutual. Sapnap stood in the threshold, an apologetic look on his face as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

You and Clay became nearly inseparable. You found yourself showing up at his apartment for him just as much as for Sapnap. There were even times when you’d text Sapnap to see if he was busy when your roommate would be trying to shove you out the door and he’d send Clay over instead. His presence always made it awkward for your roommate’s boyfriend and while you hated to admit it, it was hilarious.

“So, you do what kind of farming?” Clay asked from his spot beside you, leaning on the counter with his eyes zoning out to watch your hands as you cooked.

Her boyfriend---who the two of you often referred to as Ricky Fitts behind his back---sighed. He had explained his profession to Clay numerous times, but the manner in which he did it was so pretentious that Clay was addicted to picking at him for it. “It’s botanical gardening. Not farming,” he groaned. “In simple man’s terms, I curate a garden for plant research and help to diversify the plant species in the area.”

Clay nodded. “And how many strains of marijuana do you have in the span of, say, a year.”

“I’m not going over this with you again,” he nipped, making Clay look down in mock defeat.

He sighed longingly before straightening up. “Okay, fine. So, hypothetically speaking, how many strains.”

Ricky stared at him blankly and you knew if you looked up, you’d break character. “Don’t the two of you have somewhere to be? Like a cave or something?”

Clay let out a short laugh. “I’m free all night actually,” he spoke, smirking slightly. “Did you wanna check out a cave with me, baby?” Clay asked him, fluttering his eyelashes.

The two of you often rode the bus together; Clay's height mimicking a skyscraper over you to grab at the bar or handle above you and kneeing you in the butt just because you were short enough that he could. That would usually end in you elbowing him in the gut. When you were coming back from class was when you were a bit quieter usually, nearly falling asleep as you stood by him and then fighting off a blush when he would wrap an arm around you just to keep you balanced upright. When he had first ridden the bus, you had completely forgotten what had told him in the elevator.

Your fingers tightened around the pole attaching the overhead bus shelf to the ground, attempting to steady yourself as you stared out the window adjacent to you. The bus screeched to a halt, jolting you forward slightly. The sea of new people obstructed your view, namely a tall figure as he sidestepped through the crowd of people. You furrowed your brows, brushing your hand against Clay’s arm to capture his attention.

He removed his headphones after pretending not to recognize you. He greeted you and grabbed onto the bar you had commandeered, leaning on the bus wall beside you. “Don’t you have a car?” You asked, reaching out to lightly pull on the lanyard sticking out of his pocket.

He smirked, brushing your hand off. “It’s dangerous down there, careful,” he jeered, making you roll your eyes at his lude joke. “Is there something wrong with supporting local businesses?”

Your brows knitted together in disbelief. “We’re on a city bus, Dream.” He shrugged. You bit your lip slightly, your mind breaking off into another explanation. “You wouldn’t be stalking me, would you?” You baited, a ghost of a blush settling over his cheeks.

He reached forward to cover your mouth. “You ask too many questions.”

He moved closer to let someone have the seat beside him, his hand settling to the space just above yours as your sides threatened to touch. You bit back the idea that Clay was following you around, finding a silent pleasure in that fact. He would probably never admit it fully.

He towered over you as the bus swayed, you having to lean back slightly in order to talk to him. “So, are you gonna walk me to class too then, simp?” You mocked, making him shake his head.

He narrowed his eyes at you. “I’m not a simp, thanks,” he answered with a tinge of sarcasm in his voice. “And maybe I will.”

You crossed your legs, knees popping as you bent out of your previous position on the kitchen floor with your back pressed against one of the sink’s cabinet doors. Clay was on his back, shoulders emerged in that same cupboard as he messed with the sink. You handed him a tool that he vaguely asked for, your eyes lingering on his old high school shirt celebrating some kind of sports achievement.

You chewed the inside of your cheek. “Dream?” You got his attention, delaying your question. He hummed in acknowledgment. “How many people have you slept with?”

He was quiet for a moment. “Let me think,” he murmured, making you snicker. “Three.”

“You had to think about that?” You joshed.

He chuckled at your words. “Well, I mean. No one’s asked me what my body count is since like… I don’t know honestly.” He peeked out at you momentarily. “Why? You looking to be number four?” He jeered, a smirk brushing across his lips as you rolled your eyes.

You huffed sarcastically. “Yeah, you wish,” you mumbled, fighting not to blush.

“Maybe I do,” he stated plainly.

You opened your mouth to retort, but Sapnap walked in, peering down at his phone with an unbending concentration. Clay sat up beside you, flashing you a look before Sapnap began to speak. “I have a date. I just wanted you guys to know,” he stated before grabbing his coat off of one of the hooks. He finally looked up from his phone, lazily point a finger at the pair of you. “Don’t hook up. It’ll make it awkward for me and I’m not ready to deal with you guys being together yet.”

Clay laughed and your ears warmed, rolling your eyes as he left the two of you with his words.

After an hour, Sapnap’s words were blown to the wind as Clay’s fingers carded through your hair, his lips pressed against yours in some kind of heated passion to prove himself to you; that he was worthy of being with you in such an intimate way.

You weren’t hesitant, to say the least, and had even initiated the manner as the sun had begun to set. You had been sitting beside each other, lazily discussing your sex lives and lack-there-of.

“So, these three… Do you still keep in touch?” You asked him, watching as his green eyes searched yours for the reason behind your questions. The deep orange rays of the sunset peeked through the blinds to reflect against his blond hair.

He shook his head. “They were all me being stupid, basically. I didn’t really like any of them,” he admitted, making your stomach turn. “What about you? What’s your number?”

You shrugged. “Zero,” you snorted.

He raised his eyebrows slightly. “Oh, that’s right. I knew that,” he recounted as if he were remembering what you’d told him when the two of you were trapped in the elevator. “Um… Why?”

You shrugged again. “I’ve never trusted anyone enough.” He barely bit his lip, nodding in understanding. You cleared your throat. “It’s not that it’s a big deal to me or anything, I just… I’d like to feel safe during it, at least,” you clarified.

“It’s okay if it’s a big deal,” he stated. “It was important to me too at one point. I just…” he sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I got caught up in the pressure of losing it.”

You nodded, letting a breath of silence pass between the two of you. “Would you want to…” You looked away from him, biting back a grin at how stupid you were about to sound. “Would you want to take my virginity?”

He nearly giggled. “You feel safe with me?”

You snorted. “Yeah. I mean, I like you,” you answered, biting back a laugh. The air between you was mellow and easy. You had thrown your awkwardness out the window after Sapnap had left. “I mean, you’re one of my best friends, you know. But it’s just an offer.”

He grinned, a dusting of red settling in his cheeks from the pride he was beaming at you. “No, I want to. I just… I want you to be sure.”

You chewed on your bottom lip. “Yeah, I’m sure. But if it’s too much pressure and everything, like I get it.”

He chuckled. “Quit. I’m honored honestly.”

You laughed. “Okay, then do it,” you stated.

And there the two of you were, Clay’s breath warm against your skin as he knotted his fingers with yours, moaning as you ground your hips against his. You could tell he was holding back for your sake, being as gentle as he could and trying not to crush you under his massive frame.

When you had pictured losing your virginity in the past, you’d always thought your body would be urging you to be thinking of something else, racing with pure terror as your partner got themselves off to get it over with. But Clay’s hands were careful, slowly introducing you to different sensations and testing the waters for you. Your mind was only focused on the fact that Clay smelled like lavender; the scent lingering on his clothes and in his hair.

You slipped your hands under the hem of his shirt, before pulling it over his head. You hadn’t seen him naked before, but heat flushed to your cheeks at the view of him, even if he had pressed you into another kiss as soon as he had discarded his shirt. As he pressed a leg between yours, you moaned, fingers traveling along the length of his spine. His taste of bitter coffee and mint was becoming your new obsession as his tongue pressed into your mouth, grinding his hips against yours.

He leaned off of you to remove your shirt, every instinct telling you to cover back up, but he brushed it off, pressing his lips to yours again as his thumb gently brushed against your side. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone you’re hot,” he joked, making you giggle as he lightened the mood.

“You’re so charming,” you mocked, running your fingers into his hair as his lips pressed against your neck lovingly.

He chuckled. “Only when you’re around,” he answered, making you laugh again.

The next morning, you sat beside Clay at the breakfast table, the two of you chatting about a movie you were planning on seeing later in the day. Sapnap strolled in, eyeing you carefully with his lips pursed. You both looked up at him as if to motion for him to spit out whatever was bothering him.

Sapnap took to the chair on the other side of Clay after pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Okay, so am I supposed to pretend I didn’t see you sneaking out of Dream’s room this morning?” He gestured between the two of you. “And now you’re wearing each other’s hoodies.” Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Clay look down with a small “what?” whispering from his lips quietly. “I mean come on, that one was mine at one point,” he continued, his comments mainly directed at you.

You scoffed. “Am I supposed to pretend you didn’t come back until an hour ago and I know you don’t carry condoms?” You countered.

Clay let out a soft gasp. “Sapnap… safe sex.” At this point he was just the Sophoclean chorus; the peanut gallery.

Sapnap sent you a sarcastic grin, disregarding your statement. “Am I supposed to pretend like I didn’t tell you guys not to hook up and you did?” Clay sipped his drink at this. “I mean, look at you two!” He swatted his finger to point at where the two of your hands were joined together.

In reality, you weren’t even sure when Clay had grabbed your hand or even that you here holding onto him as well. “Am I supposed to pretend like you didn’t do that on purpose so we didn’t bother you for a few hours?” You shot back.

Sapnap’s mouth dramatically tilted, brows raised in shock. “A Few. Hours?”

You covered your mouth as Clay laughed beside you.

Tag List: (follow this link to be added :))

@karlkitten @pluto-dizzz @more-like-reyna

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part I

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 9.7k Warnings: dubious consent (because of alcohol), just copious amounts of sex, oral, squirting, 69ing, college shenanigans, obnoxious frat boys, terrible fashion choices A/N: At long last, here we have the beginning. Massive thanks to @pleasantanathema and @whats-her-quirk​ who have been cheering for me since I told them I wanted to right a “little college AU” for a “little collab” June and I have been planning for a while. Also, I don’t know where I’d be without Lauren’s fraternity knowledge, so extra thanks for that, babe. I hope everyone has as much fun with this fic as I did.

God, you hate frat boys. 

Their sense of entitlement, all their fucking house pride. Brother this, brother that. It's annoying. Add in the factors of being an athlete on top of it, and they're downright insufferable. 

So it makes absolutely no sense that you're at a fucking Pi Kappa Alpha party. 

Your friend, Hitch, dragged you here (naturally), and it wasn't like you could really object considering she's the only real friend you have on campus. You study together and switch off between dorms to watch movies and bitch about classes. She's the complete opposite of you in many different ways, but you soul-bonded over biology and that was that. 

Unfortunately, Hitch decided she would leave you to your own devices almost immediately, opting to skip over to a game of beer pong and flirt with a boy in her statistics class. You have no idea why considering he has a fucking bowl cut, but she's been talking about him for weeks now. 

The party is filled with loud music and too many people with red solo cups. There's no way they're all of age, so you're already paranoid that the cops are gonna raid the place, but there's nothing you can do besides leave. It's a tempting thought. 

Before you can, though, there's an uproar in the kitchen, and curiosity gets the best of you. Moving from your place against the wall, you make your way over to peek in and see what's going on. A large group of frat boys, what you think are sorority girls, and whoever else wants to join are raising their cups to cheer. An especially loud voice rings out above the rest, "One win down, eleven more to go!" 

Claps and supportive shouts are nearly deafening. 

"I think we can do it! Do you think we can do it?" 

More cheers, more hollers. 

"Let's hear it for UC lacrosse!" 

You have to cover your ears this time. Should have known this party was to celebrate the win earlier that day. 

When the crowd parts, you see the ringleader, Erwin Smith who is very well-known on campus for three reasons: he will talk your ear off about history if given the chance, he's irritatingly gorgeous, and he will fuck any pretty girl with a pulse. 

Again—you fucking hate frat boys. 

To ease your bad mood and possibly encourage you to have some semblance of a good time, you shuffle further into the kitchen to grab a drink. You feel a little exposed, not dressed like many of the other girls who are either in rompers or the classic sorority chick outfit (giant college shirts that cover their shorts). You are in a crop top, torn shorts, and a floral cardigan. Not your best outfit, not your worst. 

There's no way you're touching any of the pre-poured cups or the jungle juice, opting for an unopened can of mediocre beer. 

You feel someone approach you from behind, glance over your shoulder to see nothing but a broad chest covered by a fucking hawaiian shirt. 

Craning your neck, you're met with another familiar face, one Mike Zacharias known as 1) Erwin's best friend, 2) one of the tallest guys on campus, and 3) the best lacrosse player on the team. 

You haven't spoken a single word to him but that doesn't stop him from grinning at you, flipping shaggy hair from his face, and chanting a low, "Shotgun, shotgun, shotgun!" 

"Are you god damn joking me?" You ask with a raised eyebrow. 

"Hell no!" 

"I have shotgunned a beer literally once in my life, and at least half of it ended up on my shirt."

"That's alright," Mike's smile shrinks to a smirk. "We're all about getting chicks wet in Pike." 

Face falling, you scoff, "Yeah, okay, I'm leaving." 

You sidestep him, cracking open the beer, but he follows close behind you. It makes a little bit of fear spike in your gut—everyone knows the horror stories that accompany many fraternities—but you're mostly just annoyed. 

"Hey, what's your name again?"

Again. As if you've actually formally met before.

"Why do you care?" 

Mike does not hesitate when he answers, "'Cause you look like you're having a shit time here, and I'd like to change that."

You roll your eyes, let your head loll over your shoulder to look at him again. If you're being honest with yourself, he's kind of extremely hot with his undercut and flippy hair, not to mention the stubble that's grown out just enough to make you think thoughts for a split second.  

"A noble cause," you quip. "Truly." 

He chuckles, watching too closely as you take a sip of your beer. 

"So? Name?"

After too big of a swallow, you answer him, and light green eyes brighten a little. 

"Oh, you're Hitch's friend, right?" 

Of course that would be your only identifier on campus. Hitch is insanely pretty and very outgoing. It makes sense that people just know you as her tag-along. 

It doesn't stop you from feeling slightly offended, though. 

"Yeah, and you're Erwin's friend, right?" 

"Among other things," he snorts. "Mike Zacharias." He holds out a massive hand that you eye before taking, figure you shouldn't be too much of a bitch and make a bad impression on the most highly regarded frat at the college.  

"I know who you are, dude. Not many people don't."

"Aw, flatterer." 

That grin is back on his face, lopsided and far too charming, and you definitely need to get away from him before you down a couple more beers. 

"Freshman?" He pries, and somehow you wind up at the staircase, leaning against the wall and praying he'll just stand beside you instead of caging you in. 

He does, and you let out a breath of relief. 

"Sophomore."

His eyebrows shoot up for a second. "Fuck, you've made it through a whole year flying under my radar?" 

You give him a wholly unimpressed look. "Wow, you really know what to say to a girl, don't you?" 

"That came off as shitty, sorry. I just mean, like, you're super cute. Feel like I would have committed you to memory if I'd seen you."

Your face heats up probably more than it ever has in your life, but you still snap, "We haven't had a single class together, I never go to your games, and this is the first Pike party I've been to."

Mike nods. "Ah, that explains it. Just haven't given anyone a chance to notice you." 

"Sure, let's go with that."

Another several sips. You hiss at the taste, and Mike laughs. 

"Can't handle beer?"

"Can't handle shitty beer."

"Ouch. Want me to grab you something else?"

He really doesn't seem to understand the warnings all girls have heard over the years. That, or he just doesn't care. You don't know him well enough to pass that kind of judgement.

"Uh, no. I always make my own drinks at parties."

"That's understandable." Except it isn't. He doesn't have a clue. 

"Well, you can go grab one, and I'll just finish this one for you. Don't want it to go to waste."

It's your turn to smirk now. "That desperate to swap spit, Zacharias?" 

"Like this?" He laughs through his nose. "Nah. But I can think of other ways."

"We've been talking for literally two minutes."

"I'm perfectly capable of making decisions in two minutes."

"Not any good ones obviously."

Tilting his head, Mike thinks out loud, "Can't tell if that's an insult aimed at me or yourself." 

"Take it however you want. I don't really care."

His eyes glint with amusement. There's no way you're escaping this any time soon. 

Long, thick fingers close around the top of your can, and he gently tugs it out of your hand then keeps those eyes locked with yours as he takes a sip. 

"Gross." You try to keep the teasing tone from your voice. 

"Just go get another drink."

You actually listen, mostly to get away from him but also because you could go for something easier to stomach. 

A game of King's Cup is going on in the kitchen, a five obviously being drawn because everyone suddenly pantomimes holding a steering wheel. It's surprisingly fun to watch, so you post up next to the counter after mixing orange and pineapple juice with rum. 

"Four's whores!"

"Categories! Different beers!"

"Seven heaven!" 

"Ayyy, waterfall!" 

You shake your head as everyone drinks for way too long. Some people are already swaying in circles where they're sitting. Others are simply red-faced. 

"Wanna play?"

"Jesus! You came outta nowhere."

Mike looks too smug for your liking, but doesn't say anything, just crushes the empty can in his hand and throws it into the trashcan next to the back door, all gooseneck and perfect arch. 

"Let me guess—you're reigning champ at beer pong."

"Nah," he waves you off. "That's Erwin and Nile. King's Cup however…"

"King's Cup isn't even a competition. It's just flipping cards and getting fucked up." 

"Well, yeah, but it's still fun."

You let out a heavy sigh, eyes still trained on the game going on, then concede, "Once this one is over, I'll play. Just to get you off my back." And because he won't have the chance to talk to you for the duration of the game. 

"Excellent."

You manage to finish your drink by the time the round ends, have to rush to make another as Mike strides over to the table and steals the two seats that have been vacated. They're right across from each other. You don't know if you'd prefer that or just sitting next to him so he can't stare at you.

Sauntering over, you plop down and place your drink in front of you. The guy to your right is quick to introduce himself with hooded eyes and a self-assured smile. You give him basically the same treatment that you've been giving Mike, making him pout and turn away as a freckled girl deals out the cards. 

It's fast paced, and you find yourself drinking more than you'd planned. Mike picks you as his buddy (of course), and the guy next to you makes everyone drink for nearly thirty seconds straight when he pulls an ace. 

Still, you find yourself laughing as people scream and curse. You catch eyes with Mike often, and as you finish your second drink, he begins looking very attractive. More attractive than before. So attractive that you allow him to pour your third cup. 

"If you roofied this, I'm gonna be real upset with you," you tell him just before taking a sip. He added more rum than you did, but that doesn't surprise you. 

"Hey, one of Pike's virtues is being a gentleman."

As soon as he says it, about seven people around the table shout, "Pi Kappa Alpha!" like some kind of sports team, and you roll your eyes so hard it hurts. 

You're drunk after this game. And, then you make another drink and get plastered. Meandering around the rest of the party, bodies begin to blur together, the music fades in and out, and you barely know what you're saying to Mike anymore as he follows you close behind in the same state. For every drink you've had, he's had two, and now he's walking around with a cup full of jungle juice nodding at his brothers, smiling at all the girls who look at him.

His room is downstairs unlike most of the others, right at the end of the hallway. It makes it far too easy to end up inside, but as soon as the door closes and his huge hands find your hips, your world disappears entirely. 

*

The first thing you feel when you wake up is a nauseating pounding in your head. The second is a very large body behind you. 

God dammit, you think, trying to recall the events of the night before. 

Pi Kappa Alpha. Hitch left you, so you hung out with… Mike Zacharias? From the lacrosse team? 

Frowning, you try to look over your shoulder, but all you can really see is a head of hair. However, you can feel the coarseness of his beard against your bare shoulder, and that's enough to solidify that it is indeed Mike behind you. 

Shifting some brings more of your physical state to your attention—your naked chest under the blanket, the way your legs are pressed together, your pussy between your thighs… swollen? Jesus, what did he do to you last night? You can also feel something dry and crusty on your stomach which is both disgusting and relieving. At least he had enough sense to pull out. 

Luckily, his arm isn't wrapped around you which makes it much easier to sit up on your elbow. It takes you a while to locate your clothes around the room from where you are, and even then, all you can find are your shorts, shoes, and bra. You peer around, trying not to groan at the headache threatening to make you black the fuck out all over again, but that pounding as well as the nauseating churning of your stomach is making it difficult. 

You slide out of the bed, basically crawling to the little pile of discarded clothes. As you fumble with fastening your bra, you glance around one more time in search of your shirt and cardigan, but it’s no use. What you do see, however, is the obnoxious Hawaiian shirt  Mike had been wearing the night before, and well… You’d rather not leave the Pike house topless, so…

Snatching it off the floor, you slip your arms through the giant sleeves and somehow manage to button up about half of it. Then, you’re flying out the door, desperate to be in your own dorm, curled over your own toilet, in your own clothes. 

Oh, thank god his room wasn’t upstairs, you praise, trying to remember the way to the front door. There are numerous bodies and tipped over cups to navigate through, and you cringe at the various odors that assault your senses. 

You see the door from across the room, so close and getting closer as you try not to trip over anything, but as you pass the kitchen, you hear a smooth, familiar voice greet, “Good morning,” in a smug way. 

Erwin is leaning against a counter, smirking over a steaming cup of coffee. He’s wearing only sweatpants, his hair is a little mussed, and for a split second, you understand why he pulls so many girls. 

Still, you roll your eyes and continue moving—a classic DNE situation, but the frat boy doesn’t seem to get the message, instead calling out, “Nice shirt!”

“Fuck off, Smith,” is the only thing you utter before leaving, slamming the door behind you. 

*

Mike easily catches the frisbee that spins directly at his face then quickly throws it back to try and catch Nile off guard. It works, and the brunet curses and has to go running after the flying disc. 

A few girls watching from the nearby fountain clap and yell his name, wriggling fingers in a wave as if he can actually see that far away. Mike gives one wave of his own hand then turns back to the grass where Nile is jogging back to his place.

“You did that on purpose, you asshole!” He spits.

Mike shrugs his shoulders, yells back, “Get better at frisbee, and you won’t have this problem!”

Nile throws the plastic so hard that it flies off toward the fountain, making all those girls scream and dive for cover. 

“Yeah, I’m not getting that,” Mike shakes his head. Nile drags his fingers down his angular face before setting off on yet another trek, apologizing profusely then standing around to flirt like usual.

Blowing hair out of his face, Mike considers joining his brother, but before he can, he sees a familiar figure turning on the sidewalk, about to pass the fountain and head toward Hartley Hall. 

His feet are moving before he really registers it, glad his long legs can carry him quickly even at a walk. Mike calls out when he’s a couple yards away, and you turn to him, eyes growing wide before you start to move faster. 

He can just barely make out the words, “Nope. Not doing this,” and chuckles, catching up the rest of the way.

“Hey, chill, I just wanna talk.”

You turn to look at him, head tilted up, squinting against the sun, and Mike has never been more thankful for his height because you look so god damn cute all small and irritated with him. 

“What is there to talk about? I don’t even remember anything.”

“Yeah, neither do I,” he says, lacing fingers together behind his head. “Shame.”

“Whatever.”

Mike tries and fails to hide a snort, nods at Nile as you both pass him and the gaggle of girls surrounding him. Mike has no doubt his friend will get at least one phone number out of it, if not all of them. 

“Did you at least have a good time before you blacked out?” He ventures.

You shrug your shoulders, hitch your backpack up a little higher. “Maybe. But, if I was just around you the whole time, probably not.”

“Aw, come on! What did I ever do to you?”

“You need a list?”

Mike nods. “Would probably help.”

“For brevity's sake, I’ll just say that you started the night trying to get a literal stranger to shotgun a beer and ended the night fucking said stranger and… Not holding back, apparently.” Mike frowns, about to ask what you mean by that, but you elaborate before he can. Voice dropping, you question, “Do you have any idea how fucking sore I’ve been for the last few days? What the fuck do you even have hidden in those stupid shorts?”

“I’d be happy to show you again.” He grins sideways, and when you shoot him a venomous look, he figures it’s time to change the subject. “Anyway, I may have done that and more, but you’re the thief.”

“Excuse me?”

Mike tries to sound nonchalant as he accuses, “Stole my shirt and everything." Honestly, he's a little upset that he didn’t actually get to see you wearing it. 

“I—”

“That’s my favorite shirt, you know?”

You laugh. Finally. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“That shirt is fucking heinous, okay? You’re lucky I didn’t burn it.”

“Does that mean I can have it back?”

You make a little noise in your throat, something between a grumble and a growl, but you check your phone and tell him, “Fine. My next class isn’t for another couple of hours, so just…Follow me.”

It takes immense effort to not skip to your dorm like a little kid, but Mike is excited. He’s not gonna try anything weird, but just seeing your space? He’ll be able to get a better feel for you. So far, all he knows is that you live and breathe sarcasm and can’t handle your liquor well. It’s enough to get him a little more than interested, but it’s not enough to go off of.

The two of you gain a few looks as you make your way through the shared study space of the dormitory, heads turning, eyebrows raising in recognition. No one should be all that surprised; it’s not like Mike and Erwin haven’t frequented a lot of these rooms. 

You lead him down a hallway, and Mike looks at all the little dry-erase intro boards hanging outside of every door. He’s a little surprised to see that the one by yours isn’t blank. Your name is written in bubble letters, surrounded by little hearts, and when you catch him looking at it, you’re quick to tell him, “Hitch.”

“Ah. Of course.”

He follows you inside, staying by the door to not invade too much of your space, but he doesn’t even try to be subtle as he looks around the small room. Pennant for the college hung up over a cork bulletin board that’s a mess of photos and sticky notes. Cluttered desk with just enough of it cleared to fit a laptop. Tiny succulents on the window sill. Double bed covered in a quilt. And there, in the open closet, Mike catches sight of his shirt—pastel pink and littered with palm trees. 

After dropping your backpack on your bed, you step over to the hanging clothes and grab it, muttering, “Ridiculous,” as you hand it over.

Mike laughs as he slings it over his shoulder. “You know what’ll make you hate it even more?” You quirk an eyebrow, probably doubting that anything could, but your entire face falls when he informs you, “I have matching shorts to go with it.”

“No you do not.”

“Definitely do.”

“That should be a crime. You should be arrested.”

He chuckles, has a retort on the tip of his tongue, but something catches his eye—a bookshelf tucked away in the corner by your bed overflowing with novels and knick-knacks. Mike sees a particularly thick paperback, recognizing the black background and small desert picture on the spine.

“Bro!” He walks over, plants a hand in the middle of your mattress, and reaches for it. “Is this fucking Dune?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“This is, like, my favorite book, dude.”

“Seriously?” You sound just as disbelieving as you do disinterested. 

Mike begins flipping through it, scanning over highlighted passages as he nods. “I have the whole series back home, but I only brought this one and Messiah with me to college.”

He straightens up but keeps a knee on the edge of the bed, and you plop down to sit on it, watching him closely as he continues to look over the notes scribbled in the margins. 

“I had to read it in high school," you tell him. "Then my cousin gave me a lot of the books after I talked with him about it one time. I haven’t gotten around to reading them, though.”

“You really should,” Mike urges. “I mean, I know you probably have a shit ton of reading for classes, but if you ever get the chance, you should at least read the next two.”

“You some kind of closet nerd, Zacharias?”

“Kinda,” he admits, putting the book back on the shelf only to grab a worn copy of Fellowship of the Ring. “I mean, Erwin and a few others are well aware, but I don’t really broadcast it.”

“Not good for the cool guy image?” 

“Nah, people are just more interested in other things,” he mumbles, eyes fixed on the tiny print.

“Mike Zacharias,” his gaze flicks to you as you laugh quietly. “Lacrosse god and big fucking geek.”

He closes the book and uses it to lightly hit you on the top of the head with it. You half-heartedly smack him right in his abs only to push against the muscle harder and ask, “Jesus Christ, what do you have under there?”

“You know, that’s the second time you’ve asked what I have under my clothes,” he points out, a little too satisfied. “Better watch out, or I’m gonna start getting ideas.”

You huff, but your hand is definitely still on his stomach, unmoving but warm through his shirt. Mike told himself he wouldn’t do anything weird once he got here, but you’re already on the bed and touching him, and he’d kind of really like to have this particular experience while sober, so he very slowly takes your wrist and moves it away. 

It makes you look up at him, a question dancing in your eyes as your lips part. Mike makes sure his own stare conveys everything he’s thinking, wishes he could just transplant his thoughts into your brain so that he can put you a little more at ease around him. 

You’re onto him, though, tugging your hand from his grip and blinking a few times. He figures you’re about to point to the door and tell him to take his fucking Hawaiian shirt and leave. 

Instead, you pull on the fabric covering his ribs so that he loses his balance and has to catch himself before crashing into you. It puts his face level with yours, and you take the opportunity to kiss him—hard, desperate, and a little confused judging by the way you’re frowning. 

Mike grunts, holding himself up with the arm on the side of your hips then uses the other to slide under the thigh closest to him and pull you further onto the bed. He’s straddling you in no time, up on his knees so that he doesn’t crush you. 

Hearing the sound of shoes hitting the ground, he tugs his shirt off over his head, and then he’s curling over you again. Your mouths grow slick with spit. He slides his tongue past your lips, and you arch into him, fingers tangling in his hair. Mike pushes you back down so that he can strip you down to your bra and panties then takes the time to rid himself of his shoes and shorts.

“Oh, fuck,” he hears you breathe, and when he glances up at you, he finds you staring at what he knows is an intimidatingly large bulge under his boxer briefs. “It makes sense now—the soreness.”

Mike chuckles, slots his forearms on either side of your head and mutters, “Yeah, sorry about that.”

You lick his lips and he bites yours, bodies clashing together as he grinds himself against your covered pussy. Eventually Mike is able to snake a hand down your body, making sure to brush over your ribs so that you squirm beneath him. Fuck, he already loves the way you squirm. And, when he moves your panties to the side and teases your little hole, already wet just from making out, Mike discovers that he loves the way you moan too. 

He’s slow as he pushes a finger in, groaning when you clench around it. Pumping it in and out, he gently works you open and wonders if he was courteous enough to do this the other night. He hopes he was. 

You spread your legs for him, start bucking into his hand, especially when he hits that special spot inside you. 

“Fuck, fuck, fu—” You grab his face, bringing it close to yours again so that you can muffle curses against his lips. 

When Mike adds a second finger, your jaw drops, and you start to tremble. 

“Too much?” He asks.

You shake your head, stutter a breathy, “N-no. Just—ah—slow. Go slow.”

He moves to suck on your neck, promising, “I will.”

Mike waits until you’re dripping into his palm and spread about as widely as you can be underneath him. Then, and only then does he shimmy out of his underwear and question, “Condom?”

“Bookshelf,” you huff. “In the jewelry box.”

When he opens it, a little ballerina spins, and Mike has to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. “That’s twisted.”

“Shut up.”

He grabs one of the gold packages and tears it open, then rolls the latex over his cock and discards the wrapper somewhere. 

Mike only gives you his tip first, sits right inside your entrance so that you can squeeze him and get used to the feeling before he pushes in any more. You barely shift your hips back and forth, like an experiment. It’s just enough for Mike to see slick coating the end of the condom, and he nearly starts drooling.

He presses in a little more, appreciates the way your eyes roll into the back of your head, then adds one more inch.

“Jesus Christ.” Your breaths are coming in short gasps, words slurring together. He’s not even halfway in, and you’re already fucked out. 

Your cunt is spasming around him, and Mike tries to get you to relax more by lightly rubbing your clit with the pad of his thumb. 

You leak around him, pussy slowly but surely opening up a little more so that he can slide in further. He gives a few shallow thrusts that make you whine, then reaches up to grab one of your pillows which only sends him deeper. 

“God dam—”

Mike lifts you and shoves the pillow under your hips, smiles in a way he’s pretty sure you hate, then jokes, “Better to fuck you with, my dear.”

“In...sufferable…” The annoyed tone is lost when you cry out. Mike buries himself as far as he can without hurting you. He isn’t quite balls deep, but you feel so fucking good that he doesn’t even mind. 

Starting a steady rhythm that has every upthrust dragging over your g-spot, Mike watches through foggy eyes as your mouth opens and closes, chest rising with stuttering breaths before you exhale and moan. He dips his thumb between your folds to gather a little bit of slick and return it to your clit. The circular motion makes you arch again, and Mike abandons the little bud for just a moment so that he can unclasp your bra and pull it off. The sight of your tits bouncing in time with his thrusts almost does him in, but he holds back, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to gather himself.

You’re just clamping around him so perfectly, pussy drooling and creaming on his cock, and Mike is not a quickshot, but for you—

He pulls out all at once, flips you so that you’re on hands and knees, then spreads you open to lick into you from behind. 

“Holy—” 

Mike’s cock is throbbing where it bobs against his stomach, but he can ignore it for the most part, focused on eating you out, sucking at your messy lips then dragging the flat of his tongue over your hole. He moves his face back and forth, wants to leave his mark on you in the form of stubble burn between your legs. 

“Mike, Mike, fuck, please.”

He’s positive you can’t actually hear him when he teases, “Please what?” right into the crevice of your ass. 

You growl, push against him, and swallow enough pride to beg, “Please fuck me.”

Biting his lip, Mike straightens up enough to watch his fingers disappear into your pussy. One, two, then a third that makes your messy entrance stretch for him. He lowers his face again, feather light licks around your sensitive hole, and when he twists his wrist so that he can tap on your spot, you come immediately. 

A mixture of slick and squirt drips from your cunt and soaks into your quilt. Mike pushes more out as he continues to finger fuck you, humming at the way your arms give out and you fall against the mattress. 

This is the perfect position for him. He replaces his wet fingers with his cock and ruts into you quickly, chasing after his own impending orgasm. Pretty little whimpers fall from your lips, fuck drunk as you babble, “Oh, god, Mike, Mike, fuck…”

He’s gripping your hips too tightly, pulling you back against him, shoving his cock deeper and deeper until he finally comes with a shudder and a low groan. 

Mike pants for a few seconds, then leans down to press a few kisses to your spine, but instead of the usual happy sighs he gets from most girls, you just roll your shoulders and mutter, “Stop that.”

He does, then pulls out, takes a second to stare at your pussy—worked open from his size and still dripping. It would make a very pretty picture, but Mike wouldn’t dare try that with you. 

You roll onto your back, a huff of air leaving your lungs as you scrub a hand over your face then tilt your head to him. It looks like you have something to say, but you just chew on your bottom lip, eyes moving from Mike to the door.

And, he can take a hint. You don’t have to say it. 

With a self-deprecating snort, he pulls the condom off, tying it then tossing it into the trashcan by your bed. 

“Yeah, okay,” he nods. “Let me just…” Mike tugs his clothes back on, kindly tosses you your top so that you can cover yourself like you obviously want to. 

He makes sure to grab the Hawaiian shirt that brought him here in the first place, tossing it over his shoulder then striding to the door. 

Chancing one more glance at you, you force a smile and try to pad his bruised ego. “Don’t worry, it was good. You were good. It’s just not gonna happen again.”

Mike fights a smirk, raises a hand in a wave, then steps out.

Not gonna happen again, he chuckles to himself. Yeah, right.

*

You don't understand how this keeps happening, how you keep ending up in bed with Mike fucking Zacharias. 

This time you had gone to the disgusting bar right off campus, got one whole drink in your system before the familiar trio walked in. They were all in khakis and pastels—Erwin in blue, Nile in yellow, Mike in pink. Again. 

You actually slammed your head down on the bartop because despite how basic he looked in his light polo, Mike was still hot. 

Is still hot. 

Back at the Pi Kappa Alpha house, you're a mess of limbs on his bed. You take immense pleasure in tugging his shirt off, and once his arms are free again, he's lifting the hem of your little skirt and mouthing over your thong. 

You're more than tipsy after a couple more drinks but nowhere near as drunk as you were the first night. It hadn't taken much convincing from Erwin for you and Hitch to play pool with them, and when Mike had come up behind you to help you line up your shot, you knew you were a goner. 

While he's busy between your legs, you take off your shirt and bra. Green eyes flick up as soon as you toss both articles on to the floor, and without any hesitation, Mike reaches up to grope your tits. 

He's clumsy and distracted as he tongues over the warmth pooling in your underwear, squeezing plump flesh and pinching your nipple so that you whine and push your hips further into his face. 

Mike groans, just as drunk if not more so. He's messy as he kisses your thighs, nearly rips your thong when he pulls it off of you. 

His tongue feels good, too fucking good as he laves over your entrance, soothing an ache that isn't quite there anymore but definitely was a few days ago. 

"Taste so fucking good," he grumbles, slurping and sucking and making you squeeze your thighs around his head. 

"Okay," you pant. "Okay, okay." You grab him by the hair and lift his head from you, stomach flipping at the sight of the bottom half of his face absolutely covered in slick. 

God dammit, why is he so sexy? 

Your mouth waters, and the thought of possibly giving him head this time crosses your mind. You're just inebriated enough to stay relaxed, didn't drink to the point of throwing up, and he has gone down on you the last two times so... 

Lizard brain taking over, you sit up, tell him to flip over, then start making your way down his body. 

Mike grabs you before you can turn to face him, fingers digging into your thighs and pulling you down to sit on his face. 

"Fucking—I'm trying to blow you, for Christ's sake."

He moves his head just enough to tell you, "So? You can do that while I do this."

And, he's not wrong. It just means that you're gonna get distracted. 

For a while, all you can really do is control your breathing and undulate on top of him, but eventually you fall to your elbows and lick up his shaft from base to tip. 

Mike really does have a nice cock—a beautiful cock—bigger than you've ever taken in terms of both length and girth, and veiny in the perfect way. Even his balls make your pussy throb, large and round, the right just slightly bigger than the left and now dripping with saliva as you lower your mouth further and further onto his cock. 

The feeling of his tongue buried in your cunt is making you delirious, eyes rolling, muscles going slack as you gurgle around the tip hitting the back of your throat. 

Mike groans into you, his legs starting to shake, and you assume in your half aware state that he's trying to not just skull fuck you into oblivion. 

You know you're making a mess, both on his face and on his cock. The fingertips that have been holding you open shift, one of them slipping into your clenching hole, and your hips begin to move on their own volition, riding what he'll give you while moving your tongue back and forth. 

You've only taken about half of him, doubt you can take any more. He's hot and heavy in your mouth, and when you pull off to breathe, you can taste pre cum on the back of your tongue. 

It triggers something in you, makes you raise up and clumsily turn around so that you can work him inside of you. 

Mike groans a long, "Fuuuck," and immediately starts thrusting upward. 

You're lucky you're as wet as you are, but the burn that comes with getting so stretched out still makes you hiss. You brace yourself on his broad chest, feeling the dampness of sweat forming a sheen on him, and your own body starts to feel too hot. 

You had wanted to ride him to feel in control of the situation for once, but you quickly realize it's not gonna happen, Mike gripping your hips and moving you how he sees fit. 

He's raw this time, a thought that should scare you, but he feels so good even through the discomfort. Every vein and ridge hits all the sweet spots inside of you, the flared head of his cock smooth as it presses just where you need it to. 

You're squirting again—he just seems to be able to fuck it out of you. It's not the high you're looking for, but the release in pressure still feels divine. 

Mike seems to enjoy it too because he looks down at where you're connected, swears at the way you gush on his cock, then starts swiping fingers over your clit so quickly it almost hurts. 

More fluid leaks from you, and Mike breathes a low, "Come on, baby, come on, 'm gonna fuck you dry tonight." 

Hearing him talk like that—his hand rubbing over your overstimulated clit, his thick cock threatening to split you in two—causes heat to travel up your legs and down your arms until it settles in your stomach and floods you. 

You cry out, stars and tears behind your eyes as Mike keeps going, taking everything he can from you until he's laying in a huge wet spot in his bed. 

He lifts you just in time to shoot cum upward on your chest, white splattering then dripping down in strands to pool on his stomach. 

You stare down at him, mouth hanging open and find him looking up at you with the same expression. 

It's hands down the best sex you've ever had, but you're not about to tell him that. Instead, you dismount him like the fucking horse he is and stand on weak legs, actually have to lean on the bed for support. 

"Just stay the night." His voice is deep and full of gravel. It's entirely too hot. 

"Absolutely not." You shake your head, grab your shirt and his boxers then ask, "Where's the nearest bathroom?" 

"Down the hall on the right, but you don't have to sneak out the window or anything. Just use the front door if you're tryin’ to run away."

You can't help but snort. Stupid. "I'm not trying to escape, dummy. I just need to pee." 

"Oh. Right."

You slip out of the room, hoping it's late enough for everyone to be asleep, but you have no such luck as the door to the bathroom opens and fucking Erwin steps out. 

He hums, looking you over for a moment as his lips lift on one side. 

"Don't say anything," you grit through your teeth. 

He holds his hands up in surrender, chuckles, acting all innocent. "Wasn't going to."

You squint, not believing him for a second, then move around him to get to the bathroom. Before you can shut the door, you hear him mutter, "Another one bites the dust," and consider running out and strangling him.

*

"Please please please come with me to this game," Hitch begs, her hands clasped together, imploring eyes wide and doe-like. 

"No. You have plenty of other friends to go with. You don't need me there."

"But, I want you to be there. It's gonna be such a good match. Rival schools and all that."

You roll your eyes. "Hitch, in all the time you've known me, have you ever seen me give a single fuck about sports?" 

"No, but you'll finally get to see Mike and Erwin and Nile play."

"All the more reason not to go."

"Do you not like them or something? Why wouldn't you like them? Everybody likes them!" 

She doesn't know, and you don't want her to. She had been too caught up with that Marlowe kid at the party, then was kept busy playing pool with Nile to see you and Mike slip out of the bar together. 

It's the only secret you've ever wanted to keep from her. You will take it to the grave. 

"I just… I just don't, okay? I get a… Sleazy vibe from all of them."

You really don't. Not exactly. You're not a big fan of the 'fuck-every-chick-on-capus' mentality, but most college boys think like that. Only difference is these three can actually achieve it. 

Hitch crosses her arms over her chest and gives you a look you've seen on your mother's face many times, usually when she has a point to prove. 

"You know I'm just gonna keep bothering you until you come to one, so why not just get it outta the way?" 

And, there's that point. 

"Ugh." You know she's right, and you really can't put up with this all semester. "Fine, but I'm gonna bitch the entire time."

Hitch squeals and claps, bouncing where she stands. "Yes! Wouldn't have it any other way."

You dress in school colors, put your hair up so that it won't be on your neck as the sun beats down, then take Hitch's little hatchback to the field. You try to talk her into sitting toward the back of the crowd that's gathered on the bleachers, but she just pulls you to the front without acknowledging your request. 

Even with the helmets, you can easily make out who's who, mostly because of their size. Mike and Erwin are doing some kind of pregame ritual where they hit their sticks together, shout something, and chest bump. It's the most alpha thing you've ever fucking seen and makes you question why you ever thought screwing one of them was a good idea. 

To be fair, you never really did think it was a good idea. It just kind of happened. Three times. 

But, it needs to stop. 

You repeat that thought to yourself as you watch Mike sprint across the field and launch the ball into the goal several times. You repeat it as he dances around his opponents with ease, quick footwork until he can throw them off. You repeat it as he stands on the sidelines and takes his helmet off to shake out sweaty hair and squirt water into his mouth. 

And, none of it really helps. Mike is pretty incredible on the field, especially with Erwin and Nile backing him up. Everyone in the stands is screaming, yelling their names and chanting. It's a little contagious, you have to admit. You get as far as clapping but refuse to actually cheer. 

At some point, Erwin jogs over to the bleachers and waves his arms for everyone to get louder, and they sure do. Even through his helmet, you can see his sparkling white smile, and your own lips curl up as you shake your head at him. Unbelievable. He has all these people at his beck and call. 

Erwin has to get back on the field, though, fueled by the crowd like the other nine players. They end up pulling ahead of the other team and finishing the game eleven to seven. 

Naturally, Erwin announces a party at the Pike house, and naturally, Hitch drags you to it. 

This one is even bigger than the last. It offends every one of your senses—too loud, alcohol permeating the air, bad drinks, worse dancing, and strangers rubbing against you as you pass them. 

You give up on your beer before you’re even halfway through with it, just set the can on one of the counters and start milling around. You’d rather be anywhere else but here. Your head hurts from the game earlier, baking in the sun and not drinking enough water. Should’ve taken an Advil… And some Benadryl. Hitch wouldn’t have been able to bring you here if you’d been unconscious. 

All of the lacrosse team is there, flanked with guys who won’t stop slapping them on their backs and girls who won’t stop batting their eyes and squeezing their biceps. It’s comical, really, the fairweather trend. There’s no way this would be happening if they’d lost their last three games. Instead, the team would be getting harassed and pestered, not so subtle comments about practicing more and replacing members. You’ve seen it all before. 

Leaning against a wall, you watch it all unfold. It’s probably the most entertaining thing at the party other than the group of sorority girls dancing on a table. Things are getting out of hand already, and you would prefer not be here for the aftermath, but just as you're about to leave, Mike breaks away from the group and strides over to you.

“Hey, didn’t expect to see you.” He takes a sip from his cup, smiling around the rim.

You use your usual excuse: “Hitch,” and he nods. 

“Right. Did you watch the game today?”

Crossing your arms, you mumble a, “Yes,” that Mike can’t hear but can definitely see.

He beams then asks, “You gonna tell me I played well? ‘Cause I did.” He’s all cocksure and giddy, and it makes your body run hot in a few different ways.

“I don’t think you need anyone else fawning over you,” you say with a condescending laugh.

“You mean you don’t want me to flex for you?”

“I’m leaving. Right now." When you push past him a little too roughly, it causes him to drop his cup, and your shirt is suddenly plastered to your chest and stomach. The white isn’t discolored, which leads you to believe, “Fuck, is this just straight vodka?”

“No, Christ,” he cringes at your wet state, looking genuinely apologetic. “It’s just water. Sorry.”

You scrunch your top up to wring it out, wondering what he’s doing drinking water instead of liquor, but you’re not about to pick on him for staying hydrated. 

“It’s fine. I was about to leave anyway.”

He’s quick to stop you with a, “No, don’t. Just… change into one of my shirts or something."

Narrowing your eyes, you contemplate how many ways this can go wrong, how much you should not allow this, and even go as far as accusing, "You're just trying to get me in your room again."

"You wanna stay in a wet shirt?" Not really. "Come on."

He jerks his head toward the hallway, and you end up following him, grumbling the whole time because you swear to God if you end up on your back for him again, you're going to be very upset with yourself. 

Mike beelines it for his dresser as soon as you're in the room, much quieter than the rager outside. He digs around in it, flipping all the way to the bottom then pulls out a heather gray tee. 

"It'll probably still be a little big, but it's from high school, so you shouldn't drown in it."

He tosses it to you then, to your surprise, turns back to the wall to give you the privacy to change. You eye him the whole time, peeling off your top as well as your bra since it soaked through. His shirt still covers your little shorts, and you assume you look a lot like one of those sorority girls, but it's good enough, has that super soft feeling from being worn too much. 

"Thanks. You can, uh… You can turn around now."

Mike looks over his shoulder, like he's making sure you're decent, then turns around fully. 

"I was trying to get outta there anyway. Spilling a drink on you was a good excuse."

You open your mouth, choking on a scoff, then ask, "Did you do that on purpose?" 

"No! It really was an accident. I'm glad it was just water, but I still feel bad."

You're squinting at him, but now you're curious about something else.

"Why'd you wanna get away from the party?" 

Sighing, Mike shows a tired smile. "Honestly, I'm still worn out from the game. I'm already sore and covered in these god damn bruises. I just wanna relax."

"If you're covered in bruises, I can't imagine how the other team feels. You smacked the shit outta some of 'em."

"So, you were watching."

"I may have glanced up once or twice," you lie. "Anyway, why don't you just hide out in here?" 

He shrugs his shoulders. "Erwin insisted I show my face, and I didn't want him to give me shit about being a recluse."

You can relate. It's why Hitch drags you everywhere. You wouldn't even leave your dorm for classes if you didn't have to. 

Still. "Dude. You're definitely not a recluse. You're fucking everywhere. All the time."

"So? I can get tired too."

He's got a point. 

"Can we just chill in here for a while?" He asks you. 

"Why do you need me to chill? You basically just said you needed a break from social interaction."

"Yeah, but not all social interaction," he corrects with a small grin. "Please? I've got movies and video games, Zelda and shit."

Again, the contemplation kicks in, all the pros and cons. You know very well what this can (will) lead to, but you also want to escape the party. And, if Hitch whines about you leaving, you can tell her you were there the whole time. Not like it's a lie. 

"Fine, but I have some stipulations."

"Oh, do you?" 

"I do."

Mike waves a hand for you to go on. "Let's hear 'em then."

Holding up one finger, you tell him, "You have to let me snoop around your room—" he laughs. You lift another finger, "—and we are not, under any circumstances, having sex."

"Deal." 

You tilt your head, taken aback at how quick he is to agree. "Wait, seriously?" 

"Seriously. Go ahead. I'll pull up Hulu."

You hum, still suspicious, but start making your rounds, taking in photos from what you assume to be the high school soccer team he played on, then a fishing trip with Erwin, a middle-aged couple with a dog, and some pinned up tickets to sporting events he's attended. 

He has a bookshelf against a wall, textbooks at eye level, but the top and bottom shelves are filled with sci-fi and fantasy novels that make you smile. His TV is fairly large, big enough to see the picture from his bed which is also sizable and draped with a plush comforter. The last thing that catches your eye is his closet, halfway open and full of jerseys and Polos. A few different pairs of shoes sit at the bottom, but pushed all the way in the corner are a few boxes of fucking Magic the Gathering cards. 

"Oh, man. You really are a closet nerd. Like, literally."

"Huh?" Mike looks over at where you're kneeling, realizes what you're looking at and actually sounds self-conscious when he admits, "Yeah, uh, I wasn't joking the other day." 

"I've never played—too technical for me—but my friends in high school did."

"There are baseball cards back there too if that makes me any cooler."

"It doesn't," you say bluntly before straightening up and reaching to shut the door to his room. Plopping down on the floor next to him (where he was smart enough to sit), you add, "But even I can admit it's kind of endearing."

"Oh yeah?" He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, that stupid lopsided grin on his too-handsome face. 

"Don't get cocky, Zacharias." 

"You wouldn't let me if I wanted to."

Both of you agree to a Batman movie, and you make yourself comfortable, kicking your sandals off and leaning against the bed behind you. You're a little too aware of Mike's body beside yours, but you're able to ignore it for the most part, keeping a few inches between your arms and legs. Of course, he still brushes against you when the movie ends and he takes the time to stretch. His shoulders roll, making his shirt strain over his back, and when he holds his arms out, linked at his fingers, you can't help but take a quick look at his bulging biceps. 

"Fuck, I'm gonna feel like garbage tomorrow," he complains. You can see the bruises littering his arms, some of them thick lines while others are almost perfectly circular from where he was hit with the end of a lacrosse stick. 

"You have any classes?" You ask. 

"Just my ten o'clock and three o'clock."

You make a noise of acknowledgement then fall silent. You're not sure how to hold a conversation with him that isn't sarcastic or snippy since you haven't actually done a lot of talking in the first place. 

"Sucks," is all you can come up with. 

"It's alright. I've probably dealt with worse."

"Probably?" 

"Well, nothing really comes to mind, but I'm sure I have."

You should get going. It's late, and you have a nine AM tomorrow. Plus, the longer you sit next to Mike, the more ideas pop up in your head. Dirty ideas. Ideas that will leave you disappointed in yourself. 

"Well, I'm gonna head back. This has been…" You're unsure of what word to use, don't want to get his hopes up by saying 'fun'. 

Mike figures you out and offers, "Tolerable?" 

"Yeah, we can go with that. I'll get your shirt back to you sometime soon."

Mike chuckles and gets to his feet. "Just whenever you can." He grabs your wet top from the ground and holds it out to you, then reaches for the door as you slip on your sandals. 

You feel him close behind you, close enough for his chest to push against your back when you straighten up. His arm is pressing into your side, hand curled around the knob and twisting it, but he's unable to open the door as you let your head fall against it. 

"God dammit." 

"Hm?" You can tell he's leaning down because his breath falls just over your ear. 

"I said we weren't—"

He cuts you off, "But, you want to."

He's too hot and too smooth, and you can’t stop yourself from turning around and breathing, "Yeah, I want to." 

It's different tonight. Mike takes his time undressing you, kissing and sucking your neck, your collarbone, your nipples that pebble against his tongue. It's unnerving even as you squirm and moan. 

He eats you out lazily, flattening his tongue against your folds then dipping into your slit so that he can slip into your twitching hole. 

When he adds a finger, you immediately grind down on it, silently begging him to work you open enough to take his cock, but he doesn't move any faster, apparently content to just drive you insane. 

You're nearly begging by the time he turns you on your side and moves to lay behind you, hiking your leg up and pushing most of his length inside of you in one faultless motion that makes you choke and sob his name. 

That stretch is back, delicious as it is painful as he splits you open. His thrusts are the same slow pace, cock dragging against gummy walls as he drapes an arm over you to toy with your swollen clit. 

It takes you both longer than usual to come, but when you do, your whole body trembles against him, and you have to suck in several deep breaths until you feel like your lungs start actually filling with air. 

Mike paints your back with warm cum, groaning right in your ear as he rubs against you, his cock sliding easily up and down your skin and making more of a mess. 

That unnerving feeling blooms in your chest again, crawls up into your throat. 

Tonight had been too casual, too natural. The way you hung out and watched a movie was already a little strange. Him fucking you from behind, holding you tight against his body, was too tender. And, now, after he leaves to grab a wet towel and uses it to clean your back, you find yourself searching for words again only to come up with passionate—intimate. 

And, words like that scare you.

[ n e x t ]

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

BESTIE BESTIE BESTIE CNA I PLEASE HAVE A PROPOSAL/MARRIAGE/DOMESTIC WILL IMAGINE YOU HAVE COMPLETE FREE REIN OVER IT BUT JUST MAKE IT FLUFFY PLS ILY

Of course, bestie! I hope just proposal is okay 👉🏻👈🏻 But I made it extra fluffy just for you uwu

~~~~~~~~~~

One night, Will wanted you to rush home from work, not even telling you what for.

Of course, your paranoid mind went haywire and thought up impossible scenarios like it usually does. But all those fears washed away in a tidal wave when you opened the front door to your house with Will.

You were hit with the sweet smelling aroma of flowers and candles, that were lighting up the home. Rose peddles were scattered across the floor to form a pathway to another room in the house, beckoning you to follow.

The path stopped at the dining room, where the table was decorated elegantly with your favorite flowers in a vase, the fine china that you rarely used set on either side with its matching shiny utensils, the plates holding a delicious looking gourmet meal that had your mouth watering in mere seconds.

Being the softie that you were, tears welled up in your eyes immediately, so touched that someone would go through such trouble to do something this nice for you.

"Happy anniversary, love."

You quickly turned around to see Will, the love of your life, dressed up all fancy in a suit, wearing the biggest smile on his face that mirrored yours. "I'm not even dressed up!" You laughed tearfully.

"There's something for you in our bedroom." Will motioned, sidestepping away from the doorframe to allow you to pass by.

You gleefully speed walked to your bedroom, gasping lightly when you saw the outfit that was laid out for you on the bed. It was so gorgeous that it felt like something you'd only see in your dreams. "Oh my god, Will..." You whispered.

"Do you like it?"

"I absolutely love it. It's so beautiful...do you wanna help me put it on?"

Will smirked. "As much as I'd love to, there's a hot meal waiting to be eaten and I definitely don't want it to be cold by the time I'd be through with you."

You quickly put the outfit after you had a blushing fit, and you thought you looked great in the clothing. It made you feel amazing.

You thought you were done blushing, but as soon as you walked back into the dining room, Will's face of pure adoration and awe caused all your blood to rush back into your cheeks. "It looks even more beautiful with you in it."

Even after all the years you spent with Will, he could still very easily make you blush with just a look. "Oh, hush..." You giggled, taking a seat across from him. "This looks amazing, Will, really. You really went above and beyond."

"How could I not when it's our five year anniversary?" Will grinned.

The whole dinner went perfectly, as you expected, but it was hard for you not keep eyeing Will in that suit he was wearing; he was started to look more delicious than the meal. But you did notice he was fidgeting a little in his seat, perhaps he was feeling the same way? You soon figured out that your theory was completely wrong.

Will took a deep breath. "Okay..." He took another deep breath.

"Are you okay, babe?" You asked with a nervous giggle.

Will chuckled breathlessly. "I don't know."

"What's wrong?" You asked with a more concerned tone.

Will grinned, looking down to, what you could only assume from across the table, pull something out of his pockets. His face was flushed red, and you could faintly see his forehead shine with a really thin sheet of sweat.

"Oh god, darling, are you sick?"

"No! No, no, no...I'm...here goes."

Will suddenly stands up from the table, accidently bumping his knee, making the whole table shake. You were getting more nervous by the second, but couldn't help but laugh as flowers fell over onto the leftover food. "Oh, lord, sorry!" Will rambled, trying to get his bearings by taking a deep breath, quickly composing himself.

Will walked to your side of the table, taking a hold of your hand before getting down on one knee.

Your eyes widened. "Will..." You whispered, your voice already shaking.

"Y/n L/n, we've been together for five amazing years. You are the love of my life and I don't know how I'd survive without you. When I think of the future, you are always there right beside me and I wouldn't want it any other way. I want you, forever and always. So..." Will finally pulled out a little velvet box, opening it to reveal the most gorgeous ring you've ever seen in your life. "Will you marry me?"

You never thought you'd be one of those people who cry when they get proposed to. You always thought it was so cliché and soppy, but here you were trying to hold back your thick tears of joy.

It took zero hesitation. You quickly threw yourself into Will's embrace, hugging him tightly. "Yes! Yes, yes, yes. Yes times infinity, yes!" You laughed, surely staining his nice suit with your happy tears.

When you pulled away to plant a passionate kiss on Will's lips, you stopped to see he had tears streaming down his face as well, displaying an expression of pure happiness and relief that made your heart swell larger than it already had. "I was so nervous." He giggled.

You grinned. "There was no reason to be. I would be an absolute fool if I said no."

"God, I love you so much." Will said softly, placing his forehead against yours, planted a feather soft like kiss on the tip of your nose.

"And I love you, Will Poulter. So, so, much."

~~~~~~~~~~

Hope you enjoyed @poulterfilms !!!