#yeah chain college it is

[the-chains-cafe]

Based on something that happened in physics class

[todayisafridaynight]

me and my sister went to the mall today and we ran into hot topic so fucking fast it was unbelievable. me and my sister are literal opposites when it comes to fashion. she picked pink, pastel shit like she was trying to be all uwu kawaii meanwhile im just standing here with my arms full of emo and goth shit, i legit felt like daigo and masato with all this emo drip i had walked out with. (p.s. they should put yakuza stuff in hot topic if they havent already because i have yet to have any yakuza related things in my room </3 also hot topic is like the only store i will shop at)

im so sorry to say these words to you but reading this reminded me of my immortal

[luveline]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐬

Aaron sets the record straight when an overheard conversation convinces you that you’re not good enough for him. 5k

c: fem, hurt/comfort, fluff, suggestive theme (non-graphic implied sex scene). hotch is a good husband. requested here  

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“Honey, this is Clint McMoore. We went to college together.”

You step into Aaron’s side. Clint McMoore is a handsome older man with silvering hair and a beard that looks out of control. His bowtie is loose around his neck, and his cheeks are blotchy with drink, but Clint smiles at you and offers his hand. “How do you do?” he asks. 

“Quite well, thank you.” You’ve been practising fancy dinner talk with Aaron’s friend Emily for weeks. She has all the political background you’d needed to see yourself into the culture. “It’s nice to meet one of Aaron’s school friends.” 

“While you still can,” Clint says with a chuckle. Something about being in your forties is obscene to these men, as though death waits for fifty candles to snuff them out. 

“Clint and I were in the Student Theatre club together, our first year.”

You grin, smile laced with teasing. Each time you’re reminded of Aaron’s young interest in drama, you have to focus very hard on not laughing; the Aaron who has his hand to your shoulder isn’t one you could envision on stage. “Did you perform together?” you ask. 

“Saturday Night Fever,” Clint says. 

They laugh and reminisce. You find these sorts of events hard to keep up with, but you come when Aaron asks because he so rarely asks you for anything. He hasn’t mentioned knowing that you don’t like coming, But perhaps he hasn’t noticed —it’s not like you to frown, not when you’re with Aaron. The way he treats you, he probably thinks you’re the happiest girl in the world. 

There’s a contentedness to be found when he touches you. He spreads a hand against your lower back and you let yourself sink into his side, curled into his embrace and amazed at the giggly laugh he lets out as Clint brings up the ‘King of the River’ tattoo Aaron has hidden beneath his shirt. You’re tempted to kiss his cheek.

Clint asks, “Isn’t that right?” and forces you back into the conversation. 

You’re wearing a dress you panicked over for days. It’s black, cut playfully just above your knees with small petal sleeves. Your necklace is of a delicate chain and a not so delicate pearl —a black Tahitian South Sea pearl that glows pink and green in the light. For you, Aaron wrote, his pretty scrawl inky across a square of scalloped card from atop the box. I’m in love with you. Forgive me for not having the courage to tell you in person. 

Your Aaron is quiet. Some days he comes home from work and doesn’t manage more than a sentence. Some days he can barely speak at all. But there are nights when he holds you to hold you and talks in murmurs against your ear, and he’s good at making calls when he’s away. Talking or not, smiling or otherwise, Aaron finds a way to let you know he loves you, and that’s all you care about. 

“Excuse us,” Aaron says, giving Clint a rare, warm smile, “I’m being flagged by my boss.” 

Sure enough, Erin Strauss is beckoning Aaron with a strange pained look.

“Nice to meet you,” you say quickly to Clint. He repeats your goodbye, and you and Aaron swerve around him. 

“He was nice,” you murmur. 

“Yeah, he’s okay.”

“How come you fell out of touch?” 

“Oh, you know how things go, honey, you forget all the people you meet and make room for new ones.” He kisses your cheek. “And besides, he used to gossip like my mother. Why don’t you go find JJ?” 

“You’ll be alright?” 

“No, maybe not.” He squeezes your elbow quickly. “Go, find some hors d’oeuvres, at least.”

You find neither JJ nor finger foods. The gala you’re attending is being held in a hotel in the richest part of D.C, and the events hall is huge. The ceiling is a fantasy, glass and miles upward, overhead chandeliers dangling lower, dousing the crowds below in a light that’s clean. The rich and powerful gather at the edges of the room, though the performance toward the back of the room is watched by a few tens of couples with flutes of champagne held in gloved hands. 

You hadn’t worn gloves. Hadn’t thought about it until you got here. Honestly, you felt grateful enough that JJ texted you to tell you to buy a shawl; if you weren’t wearing one you’re sure you’d feel bare. 

What you’re lacking in fancy is made up for by your earnestness, or so you’d like to believe. You aren’t rich nor powerful, but Aaron’s a good man and you his good wife. You work hard, which is more than some of the richest in the room can say. You hold your head high without a second thought. 

The hall is confusing. Tables are set but you aren’t sure Aaron said anything about a dinner service. Wait staff carry silver platters and hold bottles of champagne, but each time you approach one they seem to have already headed in another direction. JJ and Derek are both supposed to be here tonight, but you haven’t seen either of them since you arrived. You cast your gaze for Derek’s figure, searching for an easy gait and a strong set of shoulders. You cock your head waiting for a hint of JJ’s practised, polite laughter, but any familiar signs are gone. You can’t even find Aaron anymore, and your shoes are pinching your toes.

Disaster. You should’ve listened to Aaron when he told you to size up, just you doubted his knowledge of ladies shoes considering how rarely he wears them. Stupid man, you think to yourself, lovingly yet ruefully as you sit down at one of the uninhabited tables to the very side of the room. Knows everything. Tonight, you’ll limp back to the car and he won’t bother saying I told you so, he’s too good for it, which is worse. He’ll give you one of his amused smiles. He might offer you a massage. 

Ridiculous man, you further to yourself, biting back a cheesy smile as you peel your shoe from a sore foot. If you shove your hand deep enough into the toe you can stretch them out a little. 

“Darling.” 

You look up. Clint McMoore’s resurfaced just a table away with his back to you. A sweet-faced woman with brown hair sits adjacent to him, her shoulder under Clint’s hand. 

“You’ll never guess who I just bumped into,” he says. 

Me, you think. 

“Aaron Hotchner and his new wife.” 

“You didn’t,” the woman says. 

“I knew you’d be envious of that,” he laughs. “Charlotte, she’s unbelievable.” 

Your stomach does a strange flip. He’ll say something nice, you insist, but you know his tone is a precursor for gossipy nonsense. 

“I’ve never seen such a mismatched pair,” he says. 

Charlotte rolls her eyes at him. “Well, what were you expecting? They were married after six months of knowing one another. I couldn’t so much as tolerate you until our first anniversary.” 

“Hardy-har.” 

“What’s wrong with her, then?” Charlotte asks. 

“Nothing like that, Charlotte. She seemed perfectly pleasant–”

“But?” 

“But, she’s nothing like Aaron’s usual woman.” 

“Hm, I said as much when we saw their wedding photos.“ They both laugh. “It’s not like she had much of a chance. First Haley, and then that Beth, the designer, she’s in Milan now–”

“He seems rather besotted, in any case,” Clint says. “Very lady and the tramp.” 

“Gentleman and the tramp.” 

“Don’t be cruel, Charlotte.” 

You know in a way that Charlotte is kidding, but you boil up with anger the moment you recognise what it is they’re implying. Then they laugh, and your anger quickly finds itself taking a crueller shape. 

You slip your foot back into your shoe slowly. Your throat feels dry and then warm, like a crux of smouldering coal stuck in your windpipe as you stand, jerkily, hand stiff where it holds your weight on a silken tablecloth. 

You blink and stare at the floor. It’s marble. It’s shot through with dark veins like a drop of ichor in water. 

What the fuck? 

You aren’t sure why you’re leaving the hall until you’re walking down the steps of the hotel and turning along the skirts of a hedge. A low brick wall lies in front of it, just short enough to sit on with your heels. Your coccyx stings with the force of how hard you go down. 

Your head races with hurt feelings. 

You’re not unaware of your husband’s past loves. It comes as no surprise to you that people regard Haley and Beth highly —Haley was extremely beautiful and veritably brave, intelligent, kind-hearted. Beth was funny, Aaron said, and not too much else. Being a designer in Milan hasn’t been mentioned before, but it’s impressive. They’re both impressive, and– and his usual woman. 

You rub the starchy stockings stretched over your knees. 

What had they meant by usual woman?

Mismatched? 

It hadn’t felt mismatched when Aaron asked you to marry him. It wasn’t six months after knowing one another as Clint’s wife suggested, but it wasn’t much more than that. He proposed to you after eight months together, and you were married two months later, which is incredibly fast to some people but it just hadn't felt fast when he asked. It was exciting —it still is. 

“Would you marry me, if I asked you to?” he’d said, some seven months after you’d agreed to be his girlfriend. Your head in his lap, his fingers rubbing at the soft skin of your nape. A sleepy Sunday morning like any other, you suppose that was a proposal in itself, but you hadn’t realised that when you murmured, “Yeah, handsome. I would.” 

You thought it was just love. Making innocuous comments about the future is part of falling in love. It’s terrifying to tell someone that you’d like to live life in their lap, but you tell them, and they tell you to go ahead if you’re lucky. 

He asked you to get married a few weeks later. “I had to talk to Jack,” he explained, “or I would’ve asked you then and there.“

You’re a wife suddenly, a step-mother, a partner. Aaron would’ve sold the house and bought you a new one if you wanted him to, but you like his life. You’ve always felt like you fit right in. 

Angry again, you scrub at your knees with itchy palms and practise how you’re going to tell Aaron about his cruel friend. Gossipy was right, what a lark, and you’re not perfectly pleasant, you’re a delight, you hadn’t said one bad word to Clint and you didn’t deserve to be whipped and twisted into a bad joke between sips of Cristal. 

Your eyes burn with the injustice of the thing. 

Rawness overtakes. A thudding in your chest turns painful, neck wrought with tightness as you hang your head. Hiding from the cold air. November brings with it a promise of chapped lips the longer you stay there, biting into your thighs as your hands turn stiff with disuse. 

She was unbelievable. 

“Y/N!” The shout is sharp. You’ve never heard Aaron’s voice at that level or with that level of formidability, carrying from the bottom of the hotel stairs. You twist in shock on the wall and watch in real time as his face fills with relief. “Honey,” he says, calling but not half as scary as he jogs to you, “are you alright?” 

“What?” 

“You scared me,” he insists, bending down to hold your shoulders. “Nobody’s seen you for the last fifteen minutes, sweetheart, we talked about this. You can’t just disappear, you left your purse on the table, I thought something happened to you.” 

You startle at his scolding. “I–”

“You should feel my heart.” 

“I didn’t mean to come out here.” 

“I wish you would’ve let somebody know,” he says. His frown softens slowly, but the concern around his eyes remains. “What?” he asks. 

“Sorry.” 

His eyes finally soften. “No, I’m sorry. It’s alright, I just worry when you’re not with me.” 

“That’s romantic.” 

He holds your cheek, pulling you in, and gives you two gentle kisses. Your lips part instinctively to receive them. “We’ll get our things and go home. It looks as though dinner isn’t happening.” He smiles. “Why were you out here?” 

“Scavenging for food.” 

That gets a laugh out of him, and another nice kiss. “You tried your best.” 

—

Aaron takes you home, and when dinner’s been cleared away, when you’ve showered and he’s undressed, he pulls you toward the bed and kisses you warmly. His eyes track from your face to the tucked corner of your towel, a silent Can I?

You let him take it off. He lays you out, and for a while you’re only his. His wife, his half, his to tease and turn and delight. He says “Beautiful,” against your thigh, says, “Honey, is that okay?” says, “Please, I’ve got it, I have you, just let me have you…” 

After, he tells you he loves you, his voice still ever so slightly high in contrast to usual dulcet tones. 

“I love you, too,” you say. 

His breath comes fast. Your lap is a mess he’d wiped as clean as he could manage, the memory of him bearing down on you yet to fade. He lies on his stomach beside you with his arm over yours, his face turned into you, his nose on your cheek. 

“Are you alright?” he asks softly. “You feel tense.”

“Mm.” 

“No, did I hurt you? You’re rigid.” His hands fret a line down the side of your chest. “You didn’t…” 

You hadn’t said anything, because he really hadn’t hurt you. But the thoughts you’re having now are intrusive —am I okay? you think. Do I measure up? He’s never made any indication that you’ve let him down, not in sex or anything else, but you’re unbelievable. 

You swallow a lump. “Sorry,” you say, the lingering ebbs of pleasure twisting into tears faster than you can stop it. 

“Are you crying?” he asks under his breath. 

You suck in a breath as he pushes onto his hands. 

“These aren’t good tears,” he says. 

He’d know. They’re not. 

Aaron reaches over you to turn on the lamp on the nightstand before settling, his hand cupping your waist. It’s too much suddenly, too bare, he’s too much to look at as you squeeze your eyes closed. “Sorry,” you squeeze out. 

“What did I do?” he asks, holding you carefully. “Please, sweetheart, what’s hurting? I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s not you.” 

“But something does hurt?” 

“No, no, I’m okay.” You cover your face with your hands. When you start to sob, it shakes the entire mattress, Aaron’s hand wobbling where it cups your ribs. 

“Please.” His thumb works a soft spot into your skin. “Honey, please, you can’t cry now without telling me what’s wrong.” He tries a laugh, but it falls flat. “Honey. Honey.” 

It wasn’t the sex. He never does anything wrong, he’s so gentle even when he isn’t, and if he did you’d only have to tell him, but the rush of being touched by him so nicely, fuck, the way he’d been looking at you, the way he took your face into his hand as he moved —you’re not trying to be a crier, but he makes you feel like you’re everything and you’re just not. 

He looks sick. 

“It wasn’t you, it was at the gala,” you manage. 

For a long while after, you can’t get a word out. You shiver and sob as Aaron scoops you into his chest, his nose in your shoulder waiting for you to calm down. He rubs your waist, fingers parted and waving slowly as he shushes you. Not to make you stop, though. He’s reassuring. 

“What happened at the gala?” he asks quietly. 

“It’s so stupid.” 

“No, it’s alright. Can you tell me what happened? Did someone hurt you?” 

You wrap your arms around his head. It really is stupid, you feel smaller than an ant under the shadow of a giant heel. Aaron doesn’t waver when you struggle to answer, feeling around behind you for a pillow and helping you against it. He kisses your forehead. “Let me get you something to wear.” 

You catch his wrist. “It wasn’t you, wasn’t–” You lift your chin. 

He kisses you. “Okay,” he says simply. “Let’s get dressed.” 

He dresses quickly, bringing you underwear and one of your sleep shirts, a loose fit. You shuffle into them and watch him patiently as he cleans the small mess of the evening away. You’re sniffling softly when he returns to you, sitting with his back to your thighs. 

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry if I read things wrong. I never would’ve initiated anything if I knew you were feeling like this.” 

You laugh weakly, worriedly, looking at him through your lashes. “It made me feel better,” you admit.

“If this is better, you must’ve been feeling awful.” 

You relax as he puts his hand on your thigh. 

“In the time I left you to talk to Strauss, something upset you. JJ and Morgan didn’t see you. So someone in the gala said something or did something that made you leave. If you tell me who it was, I can make sure it doesn’t happen again.” 

“You’re trying to bargain with me,” you mumble. 

“I’m just telling you what can be done. I can take care of things.” 

“It’s nothing… nothing so severe. You’ll wonder why I–” You give an unexpected sob. “Made all this fuss.” 

“I don’t think I’ll wonder,” he says. 

You laugh through tears. These ones are slow, your eyes already itchy from crying. 

“Please tell me.” He tries teasing instead of sternness, lowering his face to yours. “Or I’ll cry too.” 

“Aaron.” 

“I will. You think I can’t, but seeing you crying like this, it’s more than enough ammunition.” 

You let out a breath, admitting defeat. “Your friend, Clint? I overheard him with his wife. He didn’t have very nice things to say about me.” 

“What could he possibly have to say?” Aaron asks with a frown. 

You pull the sheets up your legs. “He said I’m… unbelievable, and I don’t think he meant it kindly. Said that I’m not your type, and that I… I had no chance of measuring up, because of who you’ve been with before. They were laughing about our wedding photos.” Your throat feels pressed into by a hot poker. “They said we were the gentleman and the tramp.” 

His eyes squint. He looks disgusted, and for an uncomfortable moment you feel like it might be directed at you, but then he scoffs. “What a crock of shit.” 

“Aaron!” you laugh. 

“What could Clint McMoore possibly know about marriage? This is his fourth wife. And to imply that you’re any sort of calibre below the women I’ve dated before isn’t just misogynistic nonsense, it’s not true. You are the most beautiful women I’ve ever met, and what’s that supposed to mean, gentlemen and the tramp?” He gives you such an earnest glare of confusion that you can’t for a second doubt what it is he’s saying. “I’m sorry, honey, I think he’s allowed himself a few too many nightcaps over the years. Perhaps he’s suffered a stroke.” 

“Aaron, don’t say that,” you chide, secretly very pleased. 

“Our wedding photos,” he says, his hand drifting further down your leg to rest just shy of somewhere more intimate, “are beautiful. You look beautiful. Clint would’ve writhed in jealousy in the pews if he’d been invited, because he would’ve seen it for himself.” 

“I just sat there while they laughed at me,” you mumble.

“What were you supposed to do?” His hand travels out, to your hip, and then he holds you by the waist with both of his hands. They have a way of making you feel encapsulated, big and strong and careful on the bump of your hips. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Nothing,” he says, meeting your eyes with his usual tender-hearted compassion. “You weren’t supposed to do or say anything.” Aaron appears younger than he is for a second, his eyebrows raised, eyes big and brown as they track over your lips. “Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise he was like that. I’m sorry you had to hear that.” 

“I guess I’m just worried he’s right.” 

“He’s not right. You are everything to me.” Again, he puts weight on the word, roughly said, like it takes a lot from him to say it. “I’m lucky to have been with women who were beautiful, and intelligent, but if there’s a question of you measuring up, there’s no competition. I’ve never been this in love.” 

You take a shaky breath. “Never?” you ask. 

He holds your gaze. “I knew it when we met. That's why I couldn’t wait to ask you to marry me.” 

“You said you weren’t getting any younger.” 

“Well, I’m not, but not everything’s about my age, you know,” he says, giving your waist a playful squeeze. 

”You said it.” 

“I did. That felt easier to say than, if I don’t marry you soon I might implode,” —he shuffles forward, encroaching on your legs and pressing his lips to your cheek— “would’ve just,” —he kisses your cheek, before turning your head— “wasted all that time waiting for someone else’s idea of the right time,” —and he kisses the other cheek, his nose skirting up your face— “wishing I was your husband when I could just,” —he smiles into your eyebrow as his hand slips under your shirt, holding your bare back— “ask.” 

“I’m glad you asked me.” 

You’d cried then, too, but it was less to do with a rush of adrenaline that knocked you out of balance and more to do with how lovingly he’d taken your hand as he asked. You knew from that moment on that someone was going to take care of you for the rest of your life. He’s doing it right now. 

“I love you,” you say, forcing your arms over his shoulders. 

He pulls you in so much that you lift from the mattress. 

“I love you. Are you sure it wasn’t me that upset you? I have to check.” 

“No. What you did to me wasn’t particularly upsetting.” 

He laughs. “Are you sure? You can look a little teary–”

You shush him quickly.

He tips your head to the side to kiss your ear. “Maybe next time, you can tell me about whatever upset you beforehand.” 

“And you can make me feel even better.”

His laugh is nearly inaudible, but his lips are by the side of your head. You hear it, the warmth of his breath kissing the shell of your ear. 

—

Aaron likes to see you in your sweatpants. You look nice in everything, especially your dresses for the evening events he often drags you to, but he likes it when you wear sweatpants because it opens a window. You’ve purchased the wrong size, too big and too long, but you’ve tied them at the waist and you make do. You’re wearing the big shirt he helped you into the night before, sitting on the couch with your ferried breakfast. 

The night before has been washed away, no sign of tears or upset. You have a clean, bright face, one he’d quite like to kiss, or hold, or have pressed to his neck, but none of this is unusual. Your eyes look sore, if he really looks. He’ll make you a compress after breakfast. 

Dropped off by Jess an hour ago, Jack sits beside you picking at the breakfast tray. You’re sharing a plate. You don’t ever mind. 

“Are you eating that one?” you ask. 

Jack immediately nudges half of a chocolate chip pancake your way. “Was the gala fun?” 

“Uh, sure. Saw your dad’s friends. But they had a weird thing with the caterers and we had to get dinner on the way home.”

“You could’ve made dad cook.” 

“I guess, but we were tired. What did you have for dinner?” 

“Jess made spicy chicken. It was amazing.” Jack squints at you. “Your eyes are puffy, Y/N. Are you sick?” 

“I think I might be a little. Not enough to make you sick too, don’t worry.” 

Aaron piles the last of the pancakes onto a plate and carries them to you in the living room. “Here, you two.” 

“Did you eat?” you ask. 

He loves you, bending over to kiss your forehead right in the middle. “Yes.” 

“How come they didn’t have dinner at the gala, dad? I thought that was the whole point,” Jack says. 

He sits down next to Jack on the couch. You cut a big square of pancake and grin at him, seemingly pleased with your breakfast and Jack’s sense of humour. 

“It was a disaster, that’s all. No food, barely any wine, and terrible, awful company.” 

“I thought Miss Jareau went?” 

“She did. But besides her and a handful of others, it was a party for sad old people.” 

“And you didn’t have fun?” Jack asks. 

You laugh so hard tears gather in the corners of your eyes. Aaron cups Jack’s shoulder, surprised when his son doesn’t duck away from the touch. The older he gets the less affection he requires, so it’s nice for Aaron to hug him sideways and be allowed, better that you finish your choking laugh with a hug of your own. “Jack, thank you for that. I think you cured whatever illness I had,” you say.  

“Hey,” Aaron says. 

You run your hand up his neck. Your wedding ring catches against his jaw. 

“It was worth going, though, to see your step-mom in her nice dress,” Aaron says, peeling away from Jack so he has room to breathe. 

Jack turns to you, and his smile is audible, “Do you have any pictures?” 

“I didn’t take any, sorry.” 

“Just think of her now but in a dress, and that’s how beautiful she looked,” Aaron says. 

“Dad, don’t be gross,” Jack says, cutting into the pancakes with his fork.

“It’s not gross, it’s just a fact.” Jack drops pancake down his front. Warm chocolate chips stain his t-shirt. “Missed your mouth, bud. I’ll get a rag.” 

He’s up as quickly as he sat down, running his fingers along your arm and to the palm of your hand, touching you until he can’t. He heads back into the kitchen. His phone is beeping on the table, screen flashing with each new text. 

Penelope: boss, I think the thing you asked for is illegal 

Penelope: also, I assume you were kidding? 

Penelope: so while making it that every link on McMoore’s computer freezes the desktop would’ve been very very funny, I didn’t do that 

Aaron had been kidding, emphatically, because illegal activities aren’t his style. It was a sarcastic suggestion, and yet he’s disappointed nonetheless. 

Penelope: I just signed him up for a bunch of recovering narcissists forums and an email subscription for self help, and maybe also a free online class about manners and etiquette 

Penelope: And I ordered that big canvas for you. It was the one of you guys cutting the cake, right? 

Aaron texts her back quickly: Thank you, Penelope. I couldn’t work out the dimensions online. 

Penelope: You’re welcome! I live to serve :D 

The canvas will look good in the entryway, Aaron believes. Somewhere you can see it, and remember exactly what it is he thinks of you; his eyes glowing with love where he’d been staring at your face, his hand guided yours atop the knife as he traced your features, and you cut that first, fat slice of cake. 

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thanks so much for reading! please think about commenting, liking or reblogging if you enjoyed I love knowing what you think!❤️

also small note: this fic is in no way meant to diminish haley im a haley supporter usually (these days at least!) and I just didn’t mention her for brevity’s sake

[science-hoes]

Baby

Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+

A/N: Yeah so I am just in a Dr Robby mood and I probably will be for a while.

Every now and then, Robby texted you to meet him for coffee while the Pitt was suspiciously calm. Sometimes, he came to your office for a quick kiss and snatched one of the candies from the jar on your desk. But this was a little different.

Meet me in call room 3 in about 10 minutes.

So you finished up the note you were scribing in a patient’s chart and headed downstairs. You entered the on-call room slowly, peeking in to make sure nobody was occupying it. When you found it empty, you stepped in and shut the door behind you. The room had a twin-sized bed, a bedside table with a lamp, and a full-length mirror. You’ve spent many nights in one of these rooms, usually when a blizzard crosses Pennsylvania, rendering it dangerous to travel home. You sat on the edge of the bed, switching the lamp on to bring some warm light into the dark room.

The door creaked open, and Robby carefully slid through before closing it again. “Hey, stranger.” He whispered. He didn’t make his way over to you like you had expected him to.

You smiled and tilted your head. “Hey. Why are we in here?” You asked, not sure of what he had in mind.

Robby stood tall in front of the door, nearly rivaling its height. His gold chain glimmered in the low light of the room as he shifted his weight on his feet. It wasn’t like him to be so quiet or so…timid? His eyes moved from you to the ground.

You furrowed your brow and stood to meet him. “Baby, are you okay?” You asked, reaching your hands to the collar of his worn hoodie.

Robby just nodded, but you could see on his face that the gears in his brain were turning. Like he was actively planning what to say. You rubbed soothing circles on his broad chest, something you did whenever he had a panic attack or trouble speaking. After what seemed like hours, he broke the silence.

“Do you want to have my baby?”

Your hand froze in place on his chest. The wind was knocked out of you. All you could do was stare at your boyfriend in the low glow of the room and blink. You and Robby had been dating for a year and a half. In secret. Nobody within the hospital, especially the administration, knew about it. And he wanted to have a baby? The most public thing a couple could do aside from a big white wedding? Sure, you had come to terms with the fact that you were dating an older man who may be past that point in his life. But even though you wanted it deep down, you never expected him to bring it up. You always assumed it would be a happy accident and-

“I’m not going to ask you again.” Robby’s voice cut through the silence, and you couldn’t quite place the tone.

You took in a breath, realizing you had been holding it this entire time. “You want a baby?” Was all you could whisper.

Robby nodded and scratched the back of his neck, his nervous tick. “I’ve been…thinking about it. For a while now. But I just didn’t know how to say it.” He explained, looking away from your eyes. “We had a patient this morning who was…of my century.” He began, and the edges of your lips curled into a small grin at his storytelling. “He had his wife and two young daughters with him. He kept thanking me over and over because we saved his life. He kept talking about how happy he was to have his daughters, even that late in his life. And…”

You tilted your head so that your eyes met his line of vision. “And?”

He reached up and grasped your hand that still rested on his chest. “And I want that with you. I want to have a family with you, I want to watch our kids go off to college. If I wait any longer, I might not be able to see them go to high school.” He continued. 

You felt tears prick your eyes as he spoke. You squeezed his hand tightly and let out a breathy laugh. “I want that, too.” You whispered.

Robby smiled slowly, and you could see the tears welling up in his eyes. “You do?” He asked.

You grinned and placed your hands on either side of his face. “Yes, Robby. Michael. I really want it.” You assured him, and the tears fell down your cheeks.

Robby grabbed you by the waist and pulled you in close for a kiss. Your hands slid to his peppered hair, pulling him even closer. The kiss was firm and passionate but quickly progressed to one of need. Robby shoved your white coat off your shoulders and tossed it to the bed. You pulled away slightly to laugh at him. 

“Oh, are we doing this now?” You teased.

Robby grinned and unzipped his hoodie, giving it the same fate as your white coat. “Oh, absolutely.” He said before pulling you back in.

He left hot, wet kisses on your mouth that slowly trailed down your neck, dragging his teeth along your soft skin. You felt your skin prickle and shoved your hands under his scrub top, running your fingers across his decently toned abdomen. His hands moved to your ass, and he tapped the back of your thigh, signaling you to jump up. You grabbed his neck and hopped to wrap your legs around his waist. He securely carried you to the bed and laid your body down. He snatched at your scrub bottoms, pulling your panties down with them in one quick motion. While you threw your top off, he removed his.

You pulled him back, relishing the sensation of his burning hot skin on yours. He returned to kissing your lips, your neck, and anything he could get access to while his hand slid down to brush over your core. His fingers barely touched your sopping wet pussy, and he chuckled. “Oh, is all this for me? So I can fuck a baby into you?”

You shuddered at his words and swallowed hard. “Yes.” You managed to say, grasping his shoulders tightly as he teased your entrance.

“Then let’s stretch you out.” He said before shoving one finger into your pussy.

Even that alone made your toes curl and back arch. You shook your head. “No, I want you now.” You pleaded.

Robby shook his head and started playing with your clit with his thumb. “No, love. It takes three before you’re ready. Don’t rush it.” He reminded you.

You squirmed in frustration, wanting more but knowing he was right. He added a second finger, and your walls squeezed around the added diameter. “Robby, please. Please, please let me have you.” You begged.

Robby reached for the drawstrings on his scrub pants and pulled them. “You’re almost there. You’re being such a good girl for me.” He assured.

Your eyes watched his hands pull his pants down and revealed his boxers struggling to suppress his massive cock. You let out a shaky breath as Robby began to tease your slits with the third finger. When it sank in, you squeezed your eyes shut in blissful pain. “Oh, God, Robby. Please.” And you don’t really know what you were begging for this time. Because you knew what was next.

Robby pumped his fingers in and out of your pussy, the squelching sounds filling the otherwise silent room. “I know, I know. You’re almost ready.” He soothed, pressing a kiss against your temple.

The sweat was already beading at your neck. You reached for the outline of his cock in his boxers and wrapped your hand around what you could. Robby let out a hiss as you slowly rubbed the fabric, creating a friction that he was craving. He finally picked you up with his free arm and sat you down in his lap, back to his chest. He shoved his boxers down and spit on his hand, rubbing the saliva on his own cock for extra lubricant.

Your head fell back against his shoulder as he continued to finger you, letting out pitiful sounds of frustration. Robby kissed your shoulder and reached for your face. He adjusted your head to look straight at the wall. In front of you was the full length mirror that came with every on-call room. You were met with the reflection of Robby fingering you open, with his eyes meeting yours in the mirror.

“You’re gonna watch while I fuck this baby in you. You understand?” He growled low in your ear.

You shuddered and nodded. “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

You swallowed hard, trying to adjust to his three fingers pumping in and out of you. “Yes sir.” You breathed.

And with your answer, Robby replaced his fingers with his cock. He slowly pushed into you, one hand on your lower stomach as he did. You just knew he could feel himself pushing deeper and deeper until he maxed out. Tears fell from your eyes as he stretched you open. 

“Fuck, baby.” You hissed.

Robby didn’t move, and let you adjust to his length. He brushed the hair out of your eyes and peppered kisses along your cheek and neck. “Shhh…you’re doing so good, love. It’s almost over.” He whispered.

Your hands reached back behind you, grasping the back of his neck. The pain began to slowly neutralize, and your labored breaths were more steady. You gave him a small nod to keep going. Robby grabbed your hips and slowly pulled out, releasing the tension in your pussy, just to slam back in ruthlessly. If you had been at home, you would have screamed bloody murder, but all you could do was bite into your bottom lip. Robby repeated his motions, slowly out, pounding back in, creating a steadily faster rhythm. 

Your eyes fluttered open, and the sight in the mirror was too much. Robby fucking you relentlessly, your breasts bouncing with each thrust, the glint from his gold chain glaring off the reflection. You grabbed his biceps and squeezed tightly. “Robby, I-” You tried to say. “I’m gonna come.” 

Robby let out a breathy laugh, maintaining his bruising pace. “That’s right, love. Come for me.” He whispered.

You felt the white hot burning in your stomach explode across your body, walls pulsating around his cock and lubricating even more. Robby continued to whisper a string of praises as you went limp in his arms. He held you up, continuing to pound into you at the same unrelenting pace, but you could tell that he was beginning to falter. With a few more thrusts, he emptied himself into your pussy, grunting as he did. You could feel each rope of cum burst inside you as he finished, and you felt a new excitement in your chest that you never had before.

When Robby was able to catch his breath, he turned your face to kiss your lips gently. “I hope you have a few more minutes before your next appointment.” He said. “Because we’re gonna sit here until I know you’re pregnant.”

[cameronsbabydoll]

hiiii, for sugar coated chains could u write something about how their oldest son once he’s older, like high school or college age, gets in a fight with rafe because he’s tired of seeing how he treats his mom and says something along the lines of “you don’t deserve her, she deserves so much better than you”

it’s late.

later than it should be for voices to still be raised in this house — his house — and especially not those voices.

your heart sinks the second you step into the hallway and hear them — rafe’s voice low, sharp like a blade being honed, and your son’s, rough with anger in a way he never used to sound. not your sweet boy. not the same little boy who used to trail after rafe on chubby toddler legs, desperate for his attention.

but he’s not a boy anymore.

you think you can talk to me like that, huh? under my roof?” rafe’s growl cuts through the tense quiet like it always does — but for once, it doesn’t land the way it used to.

for once, your son doesn’t back down.

“yeah, i do.”

silence.

and then—he laughs. bitter, disbelieving. his laugh, rafe’s laugh, inherited like every sharp-featured thing about him — only this time, it doesn’t sound a thing like his father.

“you don’t deserve her.” he spits it like venom, like it’s been sitting on his tongue for years. “mom deserves so much better than you.”

it punches the air from your lungs.

not because it’s untrue.

but because it’s the first time someone’s said it out loud in this house.

“she’s—god, she’s been nothing but good to you. sweet to you. stupidly loyal.” his voice cracks, breaks in that way that only happens when anger curls into hurt. “and all you do is treat her like a possession. like something you can control. she deserves—”

“enough.” rafe’s voice is a warning, low and dark.

but your son doesn’t flinch.

“you’re just pissed ‘cause you know i’m right.”

and it’s quiet after that.

so quiet you almost forget how to breathe.

until rafe’s footsteps stalk away — leaving your son standing there, fists clenched, chest heaving — and for the first time in a long time, he looks over and sees you.

soft-eyed. heartbreaking.

“mom…”

he sounds younger all of a sudden. like your little boy again. like he didn’t just stand there, taller than you now, shoulders tense with fury and hurt, defending you like no one’s ever dared to do before.

you don’t even think about it. your arms are around him before either of you can say anything else — pulling him in, holding him so tight it nearly knocks the breath from him.

and maybe that’s what does it.

maybe it’s the way your hands shake against his back, or how your voice wobbles when you whisper, “oh, baby…” — that cracks whatever wall he was holding himself up with.

because suddenly his arms are winding around you too, strong like his father’s but gentler — so gentle — like he’s scared to break you.

“shouldn’t have to be like that,” he mumbles into your shoulder, raw and low. “you shouldn’t have to… put up with him like that.”

and god — if your heart doesn’t just break right there in the hallway.

because he means it. so fiercely. so protectively.

your sweet, angry, stubborn son — standing there like your greatest defender.

you pull back just enough to cup his face in both hands, tearful but smiling anyway — motherly to your core, the only way you know how to love.

“hey,” you whisper, brushing his hair back like you used to when he was small. “you let me worry about me, alright? all you have to do is be good. be kind. be better.”

his jaw tightens, the fight still lingering in his eyes.

“i learned that from you.”

and oh — if that doesn’t just undo you completely.

because for everything rafe ever tried to control, ever tried to mold and own and shape in this house — he couldn’t take that from you.

your heart. your softness.

passed down exactly how it was meant to be.

unbreakable.

[paarksunghoon]

Okay okay hear me out cuz I haven't stopped thinking about this. Sitting on boyfriend heeseung's lap and playing with his neck chain, giggling to yourself, telling him that you really like when he wears it. When he asks why, you shyly tell him that you imagine it dangling on your face while he's on top of you. And he loses his goddamn mind. ARGH

It’s kinda my dream for this to happen to me. bye

***

Neither you nor Heeseung are paying attention to the shitty movie playing on Netflix. You’re too preoccupied with chasing his lips and he’s too busy squeezing your hips to care that the film is halfway over.

It’s been like this for the past few minutes or so with your boyfriend, who you had been crushing on since the beginning of the year and him just a few months shy of that. It’s new, maybe only a week or so into this new relationship, but the newfound romance sparks curiosity within you.

His silver necklace has a small pendant in the middle and the chain against his skin makes him look like walking sex. Heeseung is far more experienced than you are, having gone through a phase in college where all he wanted to do was get his dick wet and make as many girls cum on his mouth, fingers, and cock before finally realizing all he wanted to do was settle down with one person.

His kisses are always so deliberate and calculated like he’s trying to prove something to you. His hands don’t wander for the fear of making you uncomfortable because he knows you aren’t as forward with your romantic past. Sex positivity and all of that; neither of you really care about how many or how little people you’ve collectively hooked up with because none of that matters when you have each other.

Still, thinking about how you paint yourself as some kind of saint makes Heeseung want to test your limits and it makes his dick jump every time he thinks about it.

The farthest you’ve gone was dry humping in his dorm room when his roommate was gone for the weekend. Again, this whole relationship is new and neither of you care to rush yourselves into it because you were friends before you became a couple. But even so, he has needs and so do you. It’s just a matter of pursuing sex when it feels right.

Heeseung feels your fingertips playing with the chain against the back of his neck. He smiles into the kiss and soothes your skin with his thumb, pulling back only slightly until his lips rest against yours.

“You like my necklace, baby?” he asks in a soft whisper, enjoying your plump lips against his. A giggle bubbles out of you and you can’t stop it. The sound reverberates against his mouth and Heeseung smiles wider, pushing his lips against yours. “What’s so funny?”

You shake your head and peck him once. “Nothing. You look pretty with it on.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Your fingers caress the metal and his skin at the same time. “I really like it when you wear it.”

“Why’s that, baby?”

“I dunno.” You lean back and look at him, shrugging your shoulders like you want to say something more but don’t. “I just do.”

“C’mon. There must be a reason.” Heeseung squeezes your hips and smiles at you lazily. He watches you bite your lip and avert his eyes. So fucking cute.

“I’m too shy to say it.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Heeseung promises, leaning forward to kiss your cheek tenderly. He waits for you to look at him and encourages you to talk to him by nodding. That heat creeps up your neck.

“I-I imagine it dangling over me sometimes.”

Heeseung’s hands freeze and grip your hips. “What do you mean?” You look behind him before he beckons you to look at him again.

“I…think about you on top of me with your necklace in my face.”

He gulps. “What are we doing?”

“Having sex.”

You say it so quietly. It’s barely a whisper but the way you say it makes you sound like being fucked is something you think about often. The gears in his head turn and he’s thinking about all of the mental images he’s conjured up in his head when he touches himself to avoid putting you on the spot whenever he gets horny.

But now it’s as if the gates are open. His mind is flooded with different scenarios but he can’t stop picturing what you’d look like underneath him, specifically with his necklace dangling over your tits as he pushes his cock into you for the first time.

“Heeseung?” you ask tentatively, afraid that you might’ve taken things too far.

Your boyfriend catches you by surprise. He bucks his already semi-hard dick up into your clothed lap and a groan emits from the back of his throat.

“Fuck.”

He scoops you up in his arms and ignores your yelp in favor of carrying you to the bedroom with your legs wrapped securely around him. Neither of you care that the TV is still on. Heeseung can only think about what you’d look like with his pendant right next to your mouth.

“I need to fuck you right now,” Heeseung moans when he places you onto the mattress and pushes his clothed dick against your core. “Need to see that right now.”

You don’t complain.

***

comments and reblogs are appreciated! x

[satoruan]

YOUR BIGGEST FAN — GETO SUGURU

✧･. on vacation with your family, you discover that your biggest fan may not be a mystery after fall.

( TW ) f!reader. camgirl!reader. stepbrother!Geto (in a plot device way, no nii-chan and stuff.) unprotected sex. cream pie. phone sex. squirting. fingering. mutual masturbation. cunnilingus. deception. mentions of bullying. misunderstandings. hurt/comfort. explicit content.  

word count - > 6.6k

authors note. can you see I wasn’t creative with the username? I have a love-hate relationship with this fic because I feel like it goes from 0 to 100 real quick lmfao. This is heavily inspired by the book Eyes on Me! 

“I bet you look handsome.” You smile at the black screen with the default profile picture floating in the middle. 

‘Nah.’ User @Sssman72  types into the chat the takes up the left half of your computer. 

“Stop! Don’t say think bad things about yourself,” You laugh, making sure your tits jiggle in the flimsy red lingerie you're wearing. “I know your handsome baby.” You reassure your favorite client. The man who alone gives you 50% of your income. He’s the one who bought you this pretty lingerie set you're wearing.  

‘You look tired babydoll...how was today?’ He types. 

“I’m fine, I promise, just had a long day, was on a few other private chats with some other customers the entire day.” You confess. In all honesty after this call you were planning to pass out and try to get a few hours of sleep before you had to fly out to your family's vacation home. Today on your live stream, you told your followers you were going on vacation for the next two weeks and wouldn't be online. You didn't plan to get on a call with @Sssman72 but he had texted you as you were getting ready to go to bed that he had a bad day and wanted to see you. Before you had a chance to protest, he spent you 500 and said it would only be 30 minutes. You gave in because first he was your biggest supporter and you wanted to be there for him in some way with all the money and gifts, he sends you and second, you didn’t mind chatting with him, you thought he was the sweetest and you struck lucky the day he joined one of your lives.  

‘I’ll let you go then, I want you to get some rest before your flight, sorry for keeping you up beautiful just needed to vent about my ass job.’ 

“I’m always here for you handsome, I'll make sure to send you those pictures you requested through the week.” 

‘Make sure you enjoy your break babydoll, don’t gotta worry about me. Goodnight.’ 

You say your goodbyes and end up falling asleep in the lingerie bought you as soon as you shut your laptop. 

— 

“How’s college y/n?” Your stepfather asks when you slide into the back seat of the car. Your mother fitting the last of your luggage into the trunk.  

“it’s fine, some of my classes are difficult but nothing I can't manage.” You answer as you buckle in. 

“Oh yeah? Thats good. You mom tells me you started a job a few months ago, how's that working out for you?”  

You tense under the small blanket you’ve thrown over yourself. 

“u-uhm yeah its good—yeah it’s been fun.” 

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I don't remember what you mother told me you did again.” He chuckles. 

“Uhm—I'm a bartender, m-my friend works there and got me a position.” You tell him the lie you've rehearsed hundreds of times. You start to sweat under the blanket. Did he buy it? What if he and your mom found out what you did? Are they planning to ambush you when you get to the house? They're going to make you drop out and chain you up in the basement when they find out. You throw the blanket off, suddenly too hot and alert. Guess that nap you were planning on taking during the drive wasn’t happening. 

“Oh, that’s fun sweetheart, I remember I bartended awhile when I was in college, got fired for stealing the alcohol though,” He laughs at the memory before turning to look at you. “You wouldn’t do that though, you’re a good girl.” 

You nod, thankful that your mom decided now to take your stepdad's attention away and get in the car. 

“Alrighty were good to!” She cheers. Your stepdad turns back around in his seat before starting the car. 

“Finally, thought we were going to get a fine parked here another minute.” 

“Oh, shut up! Y/n are you excited to go back to the vacation house? You haven’t been in years!” You mom asks as you guys pull out of the airport.  

“Yeah, I can’t wait to, I missed the hiking trails and the waterfalls. None of that in the big city.” You answer truthfully. You did miss the silence of the secluded house you vacationed at every summer since your mom married your stepdad. It was the company that you hated. As if your mom heard your thought, she says something that makes your heart drop. 

“Suguru feels the same way, we didn't even have to blackmail him to come! That boy...” 

“Suguru is coming?” You scream.  

“Coming? Sweetie, he’s already arrived this morning. I’m so excited were all together as a family again.” 

“Are you fucking serious mom? Turn the car around and bring me back to the airport!” You screech. You were not going to spend the next week with your bully of a stepbrother.  

“Y/n!” You mom gasps. 

“Sweetheart, he’s changed.” Your stepdad tells you as if that's going to make it better. 

“That’s what he wants you to think! He’s the worst human being on planet earth, please don’t make me spend the next few weeks with him, please mom,” you lean over the consul. “Please dad.” You pout at your stepfather. You know he gets weak whenever you call him dad. 

“Sweetheart...” 

“No! You aren’t sweet talking your way out of this, he’s changed. He isn't the same teenager with a chip on his shoulder, he’s matured. He even told me the reason he’s coming is to apologize and bond with you y/n.” 

“He’s lying mom! He doesn't care about me; I wouldn't be surprised if he told you that just so he could drown me in the lake. You guys own the land so nobody would find my body!” You start to tear up. You were going to jump out of the car if your parents didn't turn back around. Your stepbrother was your biggest tormentor since the day you met him. From picking on you at home to getting the girls to bully you at school. He made your life hell for four years. The day you left for college you screamed how much you hated him and told your parents that the four of you would only be in the same room again when you lay in a casket. 

“Oh, don’t cry sweetheart. Your mother is right, he’s changed, I wouldn’t have allowed him around you if he hadn’t. Give us a week and if you want to leave, I promise I'll drive you back to the airport and you’ll never have to see him again, please?” 

“No.” You cross your arms and look out the window despite knowing that they’ve won. You can’t jump out of the car now that you are on the highway, and you didn’t bring your own car to drive yourself back to the airport. 

“We’ll give you the master suite, the whole attic floor to yourself.” They bargain. You act like you’re thinking of accepting the offer. With the master suite taking up the entire third floor you could lock yourself up there and ignore Suguru. You could also film videos and even go live because the room is soundproof. You perk up at that. You could just spend your vacation on stream and chatting with @Sssman72. He’s somehow always free for you and told you that if you get bored you could call him. He’ll make up for your stepbrother’s awful behavior. 

“Fine, I’ll take the master suite.” 

— 

“Okay that's the last of your luggage, we’ll be having dinner in a few hours on the dock.” 

“Kay, thanks.”  You watch your stepdad shut the door. Once he does you release the tension in your shoulders. You lock the door before running to throw yourself onto the huge king bed. You sink down. You didn’t see Suguru when you arrived, you mom told you he was probably in town. You hope he stayed in town for the next two weeks.  

After laying it bed thinking about how much you hate Suguru with a passion you pull out your phone and open the porn app. You click on messages and open your chat with @Sssman72. 

‘Hey...I know I told you I was on vacation but I already wanna go home. You don't have to answer lol.’ You send. He immediately starts typing.  

‘Of course, I'll answer you babydoll. What’s wrong?’  Your face heats at the pet names. You wish you knew what he looked like, all he told you about himself was that he was in his twenties and worked for his father's company. You want to know more, what he looks like, what he sounds like. If the messages he sends make you sweat, you wonder what’ll happen if he spoke to them to you. In your head he’s a handsome bachelor who just so happened to find you and deem you worthy of his time and money but hell, he could be lying. He could be some old rich man in his eighties who likes young girls like all the rest of your viewers. The romantic part of you ignores that and is convinced he is who he says he is and that one day you’re going to meet in person and fall in and have a bunch of his babies. 

‘You know that stepbrother I told you about?’ 

“Mm, that asshole who bullied you?’ 

‘Yep, that asshole. Anyways I bet you won't guess who's here on vacation with me?’ 

‘Are you serious?’ 

‘Dead serious...my parents didn’t tell me until I was already trapped and now, I have to spend my vacation away with a man who hates me for no reason.’ 

‘Wow that’s crazy lol. Did your parents tell you why he chose to vacation with you if he doesn’t like you?’ 

‘Apparently he’s here to make amends...he’s probably here to kill me so he gets all the inheritance.’ 

‘Well, what if he’s really there to make amends baby?’ 

‘You should've heard the groan I just let out. I can’t believe you’re on his side babe. When I tell you that he too evil for that I mean it.’ 

‘Hey, you know I'm always on your side babydoll, I'm just giving you a man’s perspective on it. Maybe he realized he’s fucked up and he feels back so he wants to apologize for all the wrong he caused you’ 

‘Yea well from a women's perspective he’s an asshole who doesn’t care about anyone else but himself!’ 

‘Don’t say the baby...hypothetically what would he have to do to get you to forgive him?’ 

‘Hypothetically he's going to have to get on his knees and beg for my forgiveness every time he sees me until I deem, he's forgiven. And he’s also gonna have to send every dollar in his bank account to me AND be my slave for the rest of his life...hypothetically.’ 

‘Lol you never know babydoll, he just might be willing to do anything for your forgiveness. I know I would.’ 

‘That’s because you’re perfect and care about my feelings...now I'm gonna go get some sleep before having to eat with the devil. Pray he doesn’t poison me and I survive the night.’ 

— 

You sit at the dinning room table waiting for Suguru. Of course, he’s late, he doesn’t care about anyone's time but his. You say so to your parents. 

“Y/n stop being so harsh and give him a chance please.” You roll your eyes and go back to scrolling on social media.  

“Sorry I'm late.” You jump at the deep voice before whipping your head to the left where your stepbrother stands looking so...so different. 

“Suguru! No need to apologize! Come sit.” Your mother points to the empty seat opposite you. Suguru glances at you and smiles before walking to the seat. You gasp. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile at you or anyone else. Actually, you know he hasn’t smiled at anyone, he was know for being so stoic. You watch intensely as he pulls out the chair and sits. He looks like a different man, his hair is long, down past his shoulders, the black shirt he's wearing stretches around a huge chest. He looks like he spends half his day in the gym. And those eyes—those eyes that always had heavy eyebags and glared at everyone that looked his way, look at you with gentle look you can’t place. They even crease with the smile that he’s wearing. Your eyes widen, he has a fucking dimple. He looks like a gentleman, he looks handsome. You can't stop staring at his smile. 

“Y/n? You alright?” You Stepdad breaks through the haze you were in. You look at your parents and back to Suguru who all have concerned expressions on their faces.  You feel your entire body heat in embarrassment.  

‘Uhm—yea I'm fine.” You look at your parents, refusing to look back at that smile.  Suguru has different plans. 

“Hey y/n, it’s been a long time yeah?” Suguru says in that deep voice that has your heart beating faster.  Out the corner of your eye you watch as Suguru reaches over the food, holding his hand out. Does he really think you’re about to give him a damn handshake?  

...Are you seriously thinking about shaking that huge hand? No, you won’t. 

You purse your lips and cross your arms over your chest. You swear you see him glance down at your cleavage but the next second, he's holding eye contact. You blink and look away with a ‘hmm’. He lowers his hand.  

“Alright guys let's eat, okay?” You mom breaks the tension. Everyone grabs their share, and you eat in silence for a while, nobody brave enough to speak and you simmering with anger at Suguru. You throw glare at him every time you look up from your plate which happens more times than you’d admit.  

“You got something there.” Suguru points the sharp end of the fork at you. 

“What?” You ask. 

“There,” He grabs his napkin and starts to reach for you. You tense suddenly locked in place. Suguru brings the napkin to the corner of your mouth and wipes it. “There you go.” 

You stare at him like he's grown three heads. Maybe he’s dying and wants to make amends? Why else would he be treating you like this. Maybe someone took over his body? That has to be it. 

“Uh thanks?” You mummer, unsure what to say. 

“You're welcome little sis.” You choke on your spit. What the hell did he just call you!? He must be messing with you; you’re suddenly filled with rage. You glare at him, hoping he disintegrates with the sheer force of your stare. 

“You’ve grown up.” Suguru says after another blinking contest, you lost. 

“Yea, have you?” You snarl. He stops smiling. 

“I have,” he says seriously, setting his fork down. “I want to talk about—” 

“I don’t care.” 

“Please—” 

“No!” You slam your hand on the table, and he goes silent. You’re overcome with guilt before you remember that he bullied you for a year, that he told the entire school to bully you after he graduated. Fuck him. 

— 

You slam the door the door of your room speed walking to the bathroom. You strip your clothes before turning on the tub. You finally breathe when you settle into the scolding hot water. You needed to wash his gaze, his touch, off your body. The entire dinner after your conversation was awkward, your parents didn't really speak, and you refused to glance back up at Suguru who wouldn't stop staring.  

You hated him. You hated him. You—you can’t bring yourself to hate him. For some unknown reason you can’t bring yourself to hate him despite everything he's put you through. Why? You shake your head. You don’t want to think of Suguru while you're trying to relax. You phone dings. You pick up and a smile replaces your frown. @Sssman72. 

‘How are you babydoll, you alive?’ 

‘Yes, wish I wasn’t though.’ 

‘Why what happened during dinner?’ You sigh and send him voice message detailing everything that happened. 

‘Oh wow.’ 

‘I know.’ 

‘You gonna give him a chance to explain?’ 

‘I don’t know I don’t want to but also, I want to hear his explanation...can we call I really don't want to type all of this out?’  

‘Course, give me a second. I'll call you.’ You wait a few minutes before you hear the familiar ring. 

“Hi handsome.” you smile at the blank profile. Right now, you’d do anything to see him, to hear him comfort you, to be in his arms. He could be the ugliest man in the world, you wouldn’t care. 

‘HI beautiful. Talk to me.’ He types into the chat box. 

“I don't know. like I said I want to hear him out but also, I don't want to hear it because what it it’s bad, what if it doesn’t excuse it? But also, what if it does and I feel like shit for being mean back—it's just so stressful.” 

‘I know babydoll. I wish I could be there right now and hold you. I would do anything to take that hurt away. I'm sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.’ 

“Stop, don’t apologize you didn’t do anything. If anything, I should apologize for using you as a therapist when you paid to see me naked.” You laugh. 

‘Beautiful girl—I would rather pay to hear all your problems and be able to comfort you than see you naked again.’ 

“Wow you don’t want to see me naked, I'm hurt. Just kidding, thank you for saying that handsome.” You feel your heart skip a beat at his message. Maybe you can convince him to turn his camera on tonight. 

“I kinda wanna take my mind off everything right now.” You murmur into the phone before turning on your camera. You hold it above you and smile so he can see everything.  

‘So, fucking beautiful, prettiest girl in the world. You gonna give me a show?’ 

“hm,” You use your free hand to tap your chin. “Only if you do something for me.” 

‘And what is that?’ 

‘Can you turn your camera on? And before you say no, you don’ have to show your face—maybe you can just show your dick or something else. We can masturbate on the phone, please handsome please.” You whine giving him your best puppy face. You watch as the chat bubbles disappear and reappear. You’re about to back out but all the sudden you’re looking at a dim lit room and a huge cock between a big hand. Your eyes widen and the sight. 

"Y-you probably won’t be able to type and jack off at the same time” You suck in a breath. Please turn your audio on please... 

‘I’m gonna turn my audio on but I won’t talk, okay? Think you can get off on my moans babydoll?’  

You nod. 

‘Good girl now show me that pretty pussy, make it squirt for me.’ 

You lift yourself up to sit on the corner of the tub, propping one leg on tub and spreading the other that rests in the water. You flip the camera so your mystery man can watch you finger yourself. You hear him groan and spit onto his hand. 

You moan softly at the sound, teasing your entrance. You wish he was talking to through it, but you’ll settle for this for now. One day... 

“Mmm, wish you were the one fingering me right now,” You circle your clit before gliding your fingers out your cunt. 

“Wish you were here, holding me n' fucking me.” You curl your fingers into your g-spot and moan. You look back at your phone, watching your stranger play with the tip of his long cock. It looks so big compared to his hand, you know you’ll struggle to take it. Your pussy clenches around your small fingers that do close to nothing compared to your dildos at home.  

“Wan’ your cock in me so bad, it looks so big you’ll have to force me to take it, you’ll have to hold me down and make me take it.” You cry out. You watch as he squeezes his hand up and down his cock. It looks painful. He grunts louder. 

“M’gonna cum for you handsome, m’gonna give you what you want and make a mess,” You speed up your fingers to match how fast he slides his fist up and his cock. You moan louder, thankful that you got the suite and aren’t in the room next to your stepbrothers, how embarrassing it would be if he could hear you pleasuring yourself.  

You clench harder around your fingers. Your stranger starts to grunt and groan louder. You shiver at his deep voice on the edge of cumming. 

“Please please let me cum please! Can I come for you please?” You cry, your pussy starts to squelch, spurts of liquid coming out. 

“Yes, cum for me.” Your mystery man groans in an all too familiar voice but before you have time to think about it, you’re squirting, the grip on your phone loosening and falling into the water. 

“N-no!” 

— 

“Yes, this phone is done for, your mother and I are heading into town we can try to find a company that sells phone, but you know how small towns like this are.” You stepdad stares at your phone that’s been sitting in a container full of rice since last night.  

“Fuck, I need it for work! What am I going to do?” You look up at him in distress. 

“What do you need your phone for bartending?” He looks down at you incredulously. 

“My boss is sending me some important email and I didn't bring my computer.” You lie. 

“Well, you can use Suguru’s laptop, I saw him using it this morning in the sitting room. Think he left it there before he went on his run.” Your stepdad points down the hall as your mother rounds the corner.  

“Ready to go honey?” She asks your stepdad. 

“Coming! Use Suguru laptop to check your email, if we come back and you haven’t got the email you can use my phone. Bye! Have fun and be nice!” Your stepdad waves before following your mother. You wave back. 

 Of course, you had to use Suguru’s laptop. Maybe you can just log in, tell your stranger that you’re okay and that you won’t be able to contact him until you get a new phone and then delete the history before Suguru comes back from his run. It’ll only take a few minutes...you hope he doesn’t a password.  

You run to the sitting room, but you don’t see a laptop anywhere. Dammit, he always has to make things hard for you. You walk up the round staircase and down the hall until you're standing in front of Suguru’s room. You look around, as if Suguru's gonna pop up out of nowhere and attack you from going into his room. You shake the thought off and open his door. You stop and stare at the bed, you feel like you've seen that duvet. You chalk it up to a bunch of man having the same bedding before turning to scan the room for a laptop. You quickly spot the laptop on his desk and run to it. You sigh in relief when it opens to the last tab he had opened. Thank you Suguru for not caring about who gets into your shit. You click new tab and start to type in the name of the website you use before you freeze.  

You only need to type in three letters before the website popped up in top hits. You stop breathing. No... He couldn’t know what you do. Is that why he came here? Was he going to expose you to your parents? Was he acting nice to butter you up before crushing you? Your vision starts to blur. All boys watch porn, maybe he just happens to watch porn on the same website you film on. You can block your account from him so that he never finds you. You swallow before clicking the tab. You shakily move they pointer over to the search bar before you spot something in the left corner that makes you dizzy.  

Right where the username of the viewer is supposed to be is the username @Sssman72. Your heart stops and you feel wetness hit your hands. This can’t be real. You move to chat and cry out when you see your username. The last text he sent was asking what happened. No—this is a dream; you’re going to wake up and this is going to be a bad nightmare. You refuse to believe the man you’ve been slowly falling in love with over the last six months is your stepbrother, your bully. The man you confessed all your darkest secrets is the man who never showed you an ounce of kindness. Is this a part of his master plan? Is he going to blackmail you and hold all the nudes you’ve sent him and all the secrets you’ve told him over your head. You’re going to become his slave, doing whatever he wants of you until you die. You curl into yourself and cry harder at the thought.  

“Y/n? What are you do—” Suguru stops when he sees what's on the screen. “Let me explain please baby.” He reaches out to touch your shoulder. You flinch away from his touch.  

“D-don’t call me that,” You sob staring at him with such heartbreak in your eyes he wants to drop and beg for your forgiveness. “You-you, it was you the whole time.” Your voice breaks. 

Suguru nods slowly trying to reach out for you again. You take a few steps away. “Was this some masterplan to hold me under your thumb for the rest of my life!?” You scream at him. 

He’s grateful your parents went out of town; this would be an absolute shitshow if they were here.  

“No babydoll—” 

“I said don’t call me that you asshole! Stop pretending. I hate you Suguru! You win okay, you win!” You tell him before you run out of his room. He curses before running after you, you run up that stairs and into the suite but before you can shut the door Suguru shoves it open. You drop to your knees to pull your suitcase from under your bed. 

“Please listen to me y/n. I wasn’t faking—stop packing and let me explain.” Suguru pleads as he watches you throw your clothes into your suitcase. 

“Y/n, baby, please listen to me please” He grabs your arm, and you try to fight him, but he pulls you down onto the bed with him. He hugs you around the waist and you push in this chest trying to break free. His heart aches. He hates seeing you hurt, he hates that he was the one who made you cry like this. He hates that you only associate him with the version of himself that he created to stop anyone from seeing what he was truly feeling. He hates that you won’t accept the real version of him now that you know it was him. He holds you tighter as you scream and cry. He whispers sweet nothings as you whisper how much you hate him. At some point you stop fighting and wrapping your arms around his neck. You sniffle into his neck, and he rubs your backs and rocks you.  

“Why?” You ask hoarsely after all the anger leaves your body. Now you feel numb, like you're watching your life from a third perspective.   

“I never hated you, I never lied, and I never planned to blackmail you—I know you don’t believe me baby but everything I've ever told you on that app was real. Everything I feel for you is real.”   You pull your face out of his neck and stare up at him. You don’t believe him. 

“I have never hated you y/n. I swear it. I hated the fact that my father replaced my mother with yours not even a year after she died. Baby, I never fucking hated you. I was just a teenager who didn’t know how to express my emotions so I took them out of the person I knew I could hurt the most. It was bad I know; I feel like shit to this day. When I graduated and got away from my father, I realized how bad I was to you, and I got into therapy. I wanted to be better for myself, for you, for everyone around me. I didn’t know that the bullying continued when I left. I didn’t know how bad people had taken it until that day I came back home. When you told me off about it, I was so confused. I’m so fucking sorry. I want to reach out and apologize for everything and the day I planned to do it Satoru—my best friend, you remember him—well he sent me the link to your account and so I made an account and it all just spiralized out of control after that. I was too embarrassed to tell you it was me and then we started to form a connection, a real connection, and I didn’t want our conversations to end so—fuck I'm sorry. Everything I told you; I meant it. I fucking meant every word.”  

You sit there stunned, trying to comprehend everything he said. You never knew about his mother. You thought she had passed away long before your mom and his dad had met. But you remember when your stranger told you that. God, you remember when your not so mystery man told you about his family the seemed so familiar to yours. And he didn’t tell all those people to bully you after he left? Did he mean every word? Every word of affirmation he gave you. Those times when he told you that you were capable of being loved and that you were going to find someone who would love every part of you, the good and bad. Was that the same Suguru? You try to wrap your mind around the fact that the man you love is your stepbrother. 

“I know it’s a lot of information.” 

“It is.” 

“Do you believe me?” He looks at you with furrowed brows. You do. Despite everything you find yourself nodding. He sighs and you feel the tension release from his shoulders that your arms are wrapped around. You suddenly realize the position you two are in and feel your face heat. Your arms are wrapped around his neck and your legs are on either side of his thick thighs his cock, the cock that you saw last night, is right underneath you, if you lower yourself an inch, you’d be sitting on it.  

Suguru grips your waist with one hand, the other cupping the right side of your face. You look up at him and sniffle. He leans down until your foreheads are touching.  

“If you give me achance, I'll treat you like the queen you are. I’ll love you the way you’re meant to be loved. One chance is all I ask for.” He mummers rubbing your noses together.  

You hesitate, one part of you wants to run away with him because he’s the man you’ve wanted for the last six months. The other part of you wants to run away from him, he’s your stepbrother, he lied, and you don't know if he would’ve ever told you the truth. But isn’t that what he came here to do? Can you blame a little boy for being mad at the people who replaced his mother?  

You give him his answer by grabbind his neck and push his lips towards you. If this does go to hell at least you’ll have a story to tell your feature children.  

Suguru kisses back before standing and pulling you off him. “What—” 

“You said you wanted me on my knees, didn't you? I’m ready to serve you in any way you want. I can have my savings transferred to your account by tomorrow night.” He says as he drops to his knees. You stare at him with wide eyes as he holds your legs and starts kissing from knee to right where your pussy starts.  

“Suguru—” 

“Shh babydoll let me take care of my girl, show her how sorry I am for hurting her.” He mummers before dropping your leg and picking up the next one. He repeats this a few more times before finally asking you to lift your hips so he can pull your leggings and panties off. Suguru throws your pants behind him before standing up to pull your tank top off. You reach behind to unbuckle your bra and toss it on the floor with your other clothes. Suguru chuckles, reaching up to kiss all over your face. 

“Take your clothes off too Sugu.” You giggle, reaching for his sweatpants. You get a firm grip and yank them down. His thick cock bounces out. Your mouth goes slack. The phone call didn’t do it justice. It somehow looks bigger than before and if you weren’t wet before, you are now. That thing is going to be inside you soon.  

“Like what you see beautiful?” You nod dumbly as you watch Suguru step out of his pants and take his shirt off with one hand. He’s so fucking sexy.  

He drops back down to his knees and pulls you until your ass is hanging off the bed. “Lay down and let me please you.”  You comply and watch as Suguru lifts your legs up and buries his face in your cunt. Your hands fly down to his long shiny hair. 

“Suguru!” You moan as he licks you from asshole to clit. He sucks on your clit before biting both lips. Your pussy clenches. “Feels s’good Sugu!” You grind down on his talented tongue. Suguru hums into your clit before setting one of you thighs in his shoulder and bringing his fingers to your entrance. He teases you, only pushing his fingers into the joint before taking them out. You cry out in frustration before pulling on his long hair when he finally slides two big fingers into you. 

Yours definitely don't compare to his long thick ones. Your back arches off the bed as Suguru fingers jackhammer into you all the while his mouth sucks on your clit.  

“S’good Sugu! Don’t stop!” You scream letting go of hair with one hand to cover your loud mouth.  

“Don’t hide those sweet moans from me babydoll. If you want my cock, you’ll let me hear you scream my name as you cum on my fingers and mouth.” 

You bring you hand back to hair and grind hard as you get closer and closer to orgasm.  

“Gonna cum! M’gonna come!” You cry, as you release all over Suguru's face. He moans and sucks even harder before adding another finger. You cry at the sudden intrusion. It doesn't take long before you’re coming all over again, this time liquid shooting out of you and onto Sugu’s chest.  

“Yes baby, that's it—what a good girl,” He praises as he slurps up all your juices. “Such a fucking good gril f’me.” 

“Gimme a kiss.” You say between heavy breaths.  

“Does the pretty girl want kiss?” You nod, pulling Suguru down with you by the shoulders. 

“Want you to kiss me while you fuck me for the first time. Want it to be special,” You confess shyly. Suguru leans down and pecks you on the forehead, then the nose, and then both of your cheeks. 

“Don’ tease meanie!” You laugh when he kisses the corner of your lips. 

“M’sorry baby, can you forgive me?” He pouts.  

“Hmm—I’ll forgive you only if you kiss me right no—” You don’t even finish your sentence before Suguru shoves his tongue down your throat. You kiss him back and your tongues fight for dominance. Suguru wins and smiles into the kiss. You can’t believe this is happening. Your bully, your stepbrother, your mystery man is kissing you right now. Your about to make love with said man. 

“You okay babydoll?”  

“Mhm, just can’t believe this is all happening.” 

“Me too beautiful, you sure you want to do this right now? We can always wait.” 

“No, I want to. I want you.” You raise your hand to tuck his hair behind his ear. He smiles, showing you that adorable dimple. You kiss it.  

Suguru kisses your lips once more before he grabs his cock, rubbing it up and down your cunt. 

“Fuck—I don’t have a condom.” 

“I’m on the pill—please Sugu.” You beg, frustrated from all this foreplay. You’ve been on edge since last tight in the tub.  

“Alight beautiful,” He pushes the head of his cock into you. “Fuck me—you feel so good. Always knew you would.” You feel his fist guide his long cock into you. You moan. He fits you perfectly.  

“Sugu—feel’s s’good, want more!” You cry, fisting the blanket’s underneath you.  

“Does my baby want more—does she want to orgasm on my cock?” You nod watching Suguru lift your legs to his shoulder. He leans down, bringing your feet to the side of your head. You whine at the stretch. 

Suguru groans as he pulls his cock in and out of you.  

“S’too much!” You moan into his shoulder. He just laughs and picks up his pace. The fancy headboard above the bed starts to slam against the wall. You watch with blurry eyes as the stock photos hung on the wall shake.  

“Said you wanted more baby, ‘m giving you more.”  he says before biting into your neck. Hard. You scream, back arching at the pain. Your hands fist the sheets even tighter, knuckles turning white. Suguru unlatches his jaw. Lifting his head to admire his mark. Now all your customers will know you belong to someone. To him. He kisses the mark. 

“Sugu, It’s too much. Hurts! m’gonna cum!” You cry, tears soaking the blanket breath you. 

“Oh, don't cry baby—shhh—you’re so beautiful y/n. So damn pretty.” He whispers, coaxing you to orgasm. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. You stop breathing for a second as your pussy contracts around Suguru's cock. Suguru follows in suit, spurting his cum deep inside your pussy. 

“Fuck,” he draws out, collapsing onto you.  

“T-that was—” 

“The best sex ‘ve ever had.” 

“Same.” You smile before wincing. 

“What’s wrong babydoll.”  

“You're about to break my damn hip if you keep my legs up any longer,” Suguru lefts himself enough to bring your legs to his sides. “And you probably ripped a chunk of my neck off with that little trick of yours.” You grumble. 

“It’s not bad, promise.” He kisses the bite mark softly. 

“And all the pictures fell of the wall.”  

“I’ll put ‘em back up baby,” He laughs into your ear. “Just let me hold you for a second.”  He kisses your cheek before snuggling deeper into you. You throw your arms around his shoulder while you both try to wrap your head around everything that happened.  

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Teach Me How To Play Coach Miller

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Pairing: Austin Joel Miller x Female Reader Word Count: 3,275 Summary: You're home alone, relishing a lazy day when your hot neighbor knocks on your door. Seems his TV is out and he really wants to watch the Rangers game. You know nothing about baseball... maybe he can teach you a thing or two? Warnings: smut, porn with very little plot, age gap (reader's college aged, Joel's in his 30's), oral (f & m receiving), unprotected p in v, riding, baseball terms, Joel's a filthy liar but it benefits all of us, mentions of voyeurism and masturbation, big balls Joel Miller in gray sweatpants, no use of y/n, not beta read.

Masterlist

---

It’s another famous hot September afternoon in Texas. Too damn hot to do anything besides walk outside, roll your eyes at the sweltering temperature, turn around and walk back inside. The thick humidity and overbearing heat makes your skin slick and clothing stick in all the wrong places– or maybe the right places– it depends on who’s looking. 

A ring of the doorbell interrupts your lazy day movie marathon. The house is yours for the weekend, your roommates are all gone for a festival and your coursework is all done, so naturally you’re laid on the couch taking a reprieve from the overbearing temperature.

Another ring.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” you grumble. 

You open the door, your knees buckling at your bad luck.

GOD DAMNIT. OF COURSE IT’S JOEL MILLER. *THE* JOEL MILLER. The hot DILF you and your roomies all lust after. The broad, golden skinned GOD of a man that you all argue over who’s going to get to bed one day. 

“Joel? H-hey,” you say, attempting to hide your embarrassment over how you look. It’s 4 PM and you’re still wearing what you woke up in… an oversized Rangers shirt of your ex-boyfriend’s over a pair of lace boyshorts… it’s too freakin’ hot for actual clothes. 

“Afternoon–uh–so my cable box just stopped working and it’s the clenching game for the playoffs,” he nervously huffs, putting a hand to the back of his neck. “I know it’s crazy to ask, but can I watch the game on your TV?” He lifts a six pack of beer enticingly, “I brought this as payment.”

“Oh,” your eyes widen in surprise. Joel Miller… on your couch? Yes! Joel Miller on your couch! You open the door wider and step aside to let him in. “Of course, make yourself at home.” 

He walks into your house… this is a dream come true, he’s in GRAY SWEATPANTS and they hug his thick body perfectly. 

You take a precursory look around your living room, silently thanking yourself for picking up the house yesterday. Now the hunk of a neighbor you’ve touched yourself to while watching him mow his lawn is closer to you than he’s ever been.

You quickly stroll over to the coffee table, picking up the remote and handing it to him. 

“Thanks for this, appreciate it sweetheart,” Joel says, sitting on the couch, taking up a whole cushion with his broad body. 

Ohhhh, sweetheart. His eyes darken at the sight of your breath hitching, before his eyes gaze lowers to your bare legs. 

“Yeah, o-of course,” you nod, feeling very underdressed with your handsome neighbor taking a seat on the couch you were just laid out on a few minutes ago. “I’ll go get an opener.”

Joel turns the game on and settles his back against the couch cushions, “Thanks sweetheart.” 

__

The ceiling fan chains clang against one another, it only does this on high, it drives you crazy but the soft breeze it sends down is worth the annoyance. Your skin’s too overheated sitting only a couch cushion’s length away from Joel. Your foot nervously taps against the carpet while you try to focus on the book you’re reading. You’re overwhelmed by his presence, hearing his lips form around the beer bottle and taking a swig, the movement of his body against the couch cushions, the smell of wood and coffee he’s brought into the house. You sigh, turning your attention to the game, maybe today’s the day you’ll learn about America’s pastime. 

“Why is it called a shortstop? Do they have to be short?” You ask putting your book down. 

“No,” Joel chuckles, “s’just what the position is called.” 

“Ah, and every team has one?”

“Yes,” he shakes his head, “what exactly do you know about this game, sweetheart?”

“Um, I know I like their tight pants.” 

“Oh really?” Joel looks over at you, crooking his eyebrow up. 

“Yep, and the guy throwing the ball is really tall and cute.”

“That’s called a pitcher sweetheart,” he shakes his head at your ignorance.

“And he throws to the…” your finger taps your cheek while you mock contemplation, “catcher?” 

“That’s right,” he nods, his voice dropping an octave. “What else do you know?”

“I know there’s bases and home runs, adorable mascots and Cracker Jacks.”  

“What bases?”

“Hmm. First base, second base, third base, and home.”

“Good girl,” he grins, “you’re a smart girl.”

“I know I am,” you smugly smile at him. “First base is kissing. Second base is above the waist, third base is bel—“

Joel’s laugh cuts you off. “Is that right? Seems you know all about baseball, you’ve… ‘played baseball’ before?” 

“Mm,” you lean towards him, “I like playing baseball… I just haven’t in a few months… you know besides practicing with myself.”

He shakes his head, a devilish smirk lights his face as he angles his body towards you. “You practice a lot?”

“Yeah, especially when my hot neighbor is outside mowing his lawn and he gets all sweaty. My bedroom window looks right out on his lawn.” Joel’s eyes widen at the realization that you’re talking about him. “Sometimes he lifts the hem of his shirt and wipes his brow, I get to see a peek of his stomach, it’s super hot.”

“Funny,” he puts his beer bottle down and licks his lips. “I have a hot neighbor too. I’ve, uh, ‘practiced’ before while thinking about how good she looks running in her tight shorts and tiny tank top.” 

Your core begins to pulse at his words, desire lights inside your body. Joel Miller has noticed you *and* gets off to the thought of you?! And now, he’s on your couch, sending you a lascivious look. Let’s ball. 

“Can I play?” you ask, head tilted with a smirk before scooting closer to him.

“Yeah?” his eyebrows crook up. “You want to play with an old man like me?” 

You nod. “Put me in coach.”

“Batter up baby,” he growls, grabbing and lifting you to straddle his lap. You’re thankful for your measly lace panties, less layers between you and Joel’s dick. “You wanna show me first base?”

You gulp, pouty lips agape begging to be kissed by Joel Miller. “First base,” you nuzzle your nose against his, “is kissing.”

“Mm,” he nips at your bottom lip, “then kiss me, pretty girl.”

You pull away, angling your head to look at the TV. “But what about the game?”

“They’re losing by four,” he grabs your chin, turning your head back towards him. “Plus, I don’t think it’s possible to care about the game when a pretty girl like you is on my lap.”

Leaning forward, you plant a soft kiss and suck his plush bottom lip into your mouth. Your heart flutters inside your chest when his mouth opens inviting you to lick into it as he lifts the hem of your shirt. 

You swipe his hand away, “Not at second base yet.”

“Fuck,” he pants. “Been wanting to see you since you moved in last year.”

His confession rolls through your body, sending waves of want through your limbs. You want to rock your hips against him, you want to feel your bare skin against his, you want to feel him inside you, but you also love the game you’re playing and it’s not just every day your hot neighbor comes over to watch a ballgame and winds up with his tongue in your mouth.  

You deepen the kiss, moaning against his lips as your tongues collide and explore each other’s mouths. Raucous shouting of the announcers on the TV interrupts your makeout session.

“Mmph, will you look at that? Rangers just hit a grand slam ’n tied the game. You wanna celebrate now?” Joel grabs the hem of your shirt and angles his eyebrow up.

“Show me second base Joel.”

Your shirt is lifted and tossed aside, your nipples pebble under the cool fan air and Joel’s attention. He stares, eyes wide in astonishment as he takes your bare chest in. 

“Second base is above the waist stuff,” you direct. His large, calloused hands mold around the weight of your flesh. 

“Mm, knew you’d be soft,” he rasps in awe. His touch drives you crazy, just an hour ago, you were dozing off on the couch to Romy & Michelle’s High School Reunion, now Joel Miller is holding your tits in his hands. He rubs the tips of his thumbs back and forth across your nipples. “Can I use my mouth on you baby?” he asks, his gaze moving from your chest to your eyes pleadingly. 

“God yes,” you pant, rising up to bring your chest to his mouth. He clasps his lips around your nipple, sucking and pulling, swirling his tongue around the peak before letting it go with a pop. Your back arches, your weight settling firmer against him when he nips his way across your chest, taking your other breast into his mouth and suckling. Your hands snake underneath his shirt and run across the plush of his stomach petting your hands across the smattering of hair across his belly. 

Joel buries his face between your breasts, breathing you in and groaning against your skin, his hands grab your hips and push your body firmer against his half hard cock still clad in his sweatpants.

He’s fully dressed, your teensy pair of lace panties do very little to stop your cunt from dripping onto the light gray fabric of his sweatpants. Your hips begin to grind against the shape of him, begging for contact. He ruts his hips up to tap against your core pulling a moan from you. 

He snickers teasingly, “We goin’ to third base already baby?”

You whimper a measly yes, rocking yourself harder against him. Fuck the pace of game, it’s going to be a quick one. You’re so needy for him, you can’t believe this is happening with Joel “hot dad” Miller. Your roommates are never going to believe you. 

You reach for the hem of his shirt, bunching it up before he chucks it off and throws it across the couch. You lean back, eyes widening at the sight of him. Good LORD, he’s perfect. His skin glows in the late afternoon light beaming in from the front window. His shoulders and arms are toned from all of the manual labor you always watch him accomplish. Your hands roam his soft muscles, exploring the plains of his body. He’s the whole fucking package. He looks at you with a smug smirk while you take him in. 

You want to taste him and see if he tastes like the sweat and sunlight. Your lips find his collarbone, licking and sucking, tasting the slight salt of the sweat the heat leaves on everybody’s skin on days like today. Delectable.

His throat groans against your tongue, he shivers underneath you, you’ve never wanted someone so badly before. 

“Fuck me,” you plead against his skin, “please.”

“Not yet, not yet baby, we’re still at third, you’re still learning all about baseball. I need to enjoy a game as sweet as you,” he implores, sliding a hand between your legs and petting your soaked panties. “This all for me?” 

“Yesss,” you hiss, licking your way up through his scratchy beard to his mouth. 

You gasp against his lips when he slides a thick finger inside. He chuckles a deep breath against your mouth, “So fucking wet aren’t you pretty girl?” 

Your only answer is a garbled moan and a clench around his second finger that stretches you. 

His fingers languidly fuck you while his thumb teases soft circles against your clit, you’re writhing from his touch, breathing mews into the air. He licks into your mouth swallowing every shattered breath that escapes from your throat. So many nights you’ve fallen asleep to the thought of this moment laying alone in your bed, gazing out the window at the Miller household. What would Joel Miller’s overworked hands and plush mouth feel like against your body? Well, now you know, and it feels even better than you could have ever imagined.  

He licks his way down to your neck, asking “Can I taste you?” against your skin. 

“Yes,” you cry out. 

Joel lifts you with a grunt and lays you down against the couch cushions. He stands over you, running a hand across your body, mapping his way from your breasts down your stomach to the trim of your panties.

“You’re gorgeous,” he muses, his eyes turning black as he pulls your panties down, exposing your pussy to him. You spread your legs open encouraged by the possessiveness of his stare. He tosses your underwear behind him before settling on the couch between your legs with a deep growl. Your legs are lifted over his shoulders. “Fuck,” he sighs, planting a kiss against your thigh, “you’re so fucking hot. Let’s get to third base sweetheart.”

His eyes flutter shut at the first taste of you when he parts your folds with his tongue. Everything about Joel Miller is wide- his fingers, his shoulders, his chest. Right now, his wide tongue is driving you crazy as it swirls against your clit. He devours you, licking and laving all over your drooling pussy, drinking you down and savoring you like you’re his last meal. His eyes stay on your face the whole time, watching you fall apart against his mouth. Your fingers wrap around the dark waves of his hair pulling him in closer, hips undulating against his mouth getting yourself off on the feel of the bristle of his beard against your sensitive flesh. His tongue flattens and runs up and down the shape of you before he dips two fingers into your entrance and buries them knuckles deep. Your back curves at the overwhelming sensation of his tongue on your clit as your soaked walls clench around his thick fingers. 

“Mm, close,” you whimper while your feet thud repeatedly against his strong back. He nods against your core, dark brown eyes still focused on your face. Your heart races at the way he watches you under his thick eyebrows creased in concentration. Of course Joel Miller is good at eating pussy, he’s a hard worker. You wail his name out when you orgasm against his mouth, your body tightens as you flood his fingers and throb for him. He kisses your swollen clit gently, letting a deep moan and chuckle out while you spasm underneath him. 

Joel’s face glistens with you when he lifts his head up, “Welcome to third base.” 

“You haven’t gotten here yet,” you arch an eyebrow and lick your parted lips, still panting for air.

He kisses each thigh with a loud smack before getting up. 

He looms over your blissed out body on the couch and yanks down his pants and boxers, a gulp rolls down your throat at the sight of him. So fucking thick and engorged with a sweet drop of precum rolling down his shaft.

“Wow,” you gasp, rolling to your side to bring yourself eye level to his twitching cock. Your eyebrows rise in awe when he wraps his hand around himself and strokes.

“Yeah?” his voice smolders through you. 

“I’ve thought about what you looked like naked, and now that I see it… wow.” You can’t believe the confession just left your mouth.

“Funny,” he collects a drop of precum on his fingertip and rubs it against your bottom lip,” I thought the same thing.”

Your tongue darts out to taste him, salty, bitter, so fucking manly. You want to taste more of him. 

You bring your lips to the crown of his cock, kissing the tip and running your tongue along the length of his shaft. He gasps, leaning forward to rest his hands on the sofa back. 

“Fuck sweetheart, that’s good,” he drawls when you suck him into your mouth engulfing the thick length of him in the wet heat of your mouth. 

You cup the heft of his balls in your hand… thick cock, big balls, of course Joel Miller has big balls. 

“You’re good at this sweetheart, really fucking good,” he huffs, rubbing his thumb against your cheek as you hollow them and suck him to the back of your throat. 

Your eyes flutter up to watch Joel snarl down at you while his hips buck into your drooling mouth.

“Can’t keep lookin’ at me like that sweetheart, or else we’re not going to get to homebase.”

Your pussy clenches at his words, begging to be filled like your mouth. It’s as if Joel can read your mind, his hand lands in between your thighs and begins petting your aching cunt. 

“Feels like she needs to have my cock in her, doesn’t she?” he says, tapping his fingers against your entrance. “Think maybe we should get to homebase?”

He pulls his cock out of your mouth and lifts you off the couch into his arms, he’s so fucking strong. 

He leaves a searing kiss on your lips before settling on the couch, still holding you close to him. 

“You ready for homebase?” he asks, gazing into your eyes. 

“Put me in coach, I’m ready to play,” you smile, giddy at the anticipation of getting fucked by Joel Miller.

“Go ahead sweetheart, fuck me,” his drawl drips in arousal as you slowly sink yourself down on him, gasping at the feel of his thick cock stretching you. 

Your hips rock back and forth to adjust to the size of him spreading you open. 

“Knew you’d feel so good sweetheart, knew it as soon as I saw you,” he says, peppering kisses across your face and neck. “So pretty, so soft, feels so fucking good.”

Joel Miller always seemed too intimidating, too closed off, too attractive to ever be interested in a neighbor much too young for him, and yet here he is ignoring the baseball game he wanted to watch, instead burying his cock into your pussy.

You ride him, your pace turning more frenzied and desperate the more he chants your name.

The ticks of the fan chains clanging against one another accompanies the sound of your pussy bouncing up and down on his dick. Hips meeting hips, skin hitting skin, breath gasping breath, chain knocking chain. Your fingers wrap around his curls pulling his head up to kiss you. Your breaths puff against his, you can’t hide the blissed out smile that lights up your whole face as he pounds into you.

Your body begins to tingle and quiver when his cock hits the gushy spot that makes you see stars. 

“That’s it baby, that’s it,” Joel grits against your neck biting and sucking, marking you with his mouth and owning you with his cock. 

You scream a choked sob when your orgasm lights through you, your walls clutch Joel’s cock as you come undone. He grips you harder, pushing you into his chest and holding you as close as he can with his tense muscles as he lifts you and pulls out painting your pussy lips with his cum. You collapse against him, gasping for air against his sweaty skin, darting your tongue out to lick some of the sweet salt so you can always remember the taste of playing ball with Joel Miller. 

“Can I tell you something?” Joel asks, his voice radiates through your ear resting against his chest. 

“Hmm? Yeah,” you sigh.

“My TV still works,” he sheepishly says. You sit up at the shock of his words. “I just really wanted to watch the game with a pretty girl.” He sends you a sultry, guilty smirk that you cover with your lips. 

___ Tagging people who showed interest in my WIP a couple weeks ago for this. Along with my camp coven friends who helped.

@luxurychristmaspudding, @sizzlingcloudmentality, @sawymredfox, @magpiepills, @yxtkiwiyxt

@beefrobeefcal, @ace-turned-confused, @yopossum, @mothandpidgeon, @bitchesuntitled

@maggiemayhemnj, @jennaispunk, @timelordfreya

[flickering-chandelier]

Was Any Of It True?

Pairing: badboy!Azriel x goodgirl!Reader

Summary: Modern/College AU! Az’s on-again-off-again girlfriend gives Azriel a proposition: make the new bookworm fall in love with him, then break her heart, in exchange for anything he wants. He agrees, but things get complicated when he falls for Reader for real.

Based on this request! 🩷

✨ Part 2 ✨ Part 3 ✨

Warnings: angst, sexual language?, swearing, Azriel & friends being assholes

Word Count: 10.2k   oh lord sorry besties I couldn’t shut my little brain off

“I'm telling you, Az, she's pissing me off. The professor loves her, and I saw that she got a 100 on the exam,” Claire was seething while she and Azriel lounged in his apartment, eating the pizza he'd ordered.

“Mhmm,” he mumbled around his pizza, only half listening. Claire was always complaining about something. “And what did you get?”

“98! He took two points off because I didn't answer thoroughly enough,” she scoffed. “God, I hate her. She's going to push me right off the top of the Dean's list.”

Azriel blinked. “I mean, you'll still be very near the top of the list.”

Claire groaned, throwing her napkin onto her paper plate angrily, “That's not good enough!”

He rolled his eyes and she glared at him. “Don't be an ass! This is a big deal to me.”

“Oh, I know it is. This girl is all you talk about.”

“Because I hate her. Maybe if she got laid, she’d be distracted enough to slip up once in a while,” she grumbled.

“Yeah, maybe,” Azriel said, pulling his laptop out of his backpack and setting it on the table, a sufficient signal that he didn’t want to talk about his girlfriend’s arch nemesis anymore. 

No more than a week later, Azriel’s on-again-off-again girlfriend was off-again, and honestly, he was relieved. Claire’s obsession with being at the top of the academic food chain was bordering on insanity, and he was glad he didn’t have to hear about it anymore.

He was currently at a house party that Cassian had dragged him to, with a blonde girl that he couldn’t remember the name of sitting in his lap, one of her arms draped behind his neck, the other resting on his chest. She had been whispering in his ear all the things that she wanted to do to him, before Cassian interrupted, handing Azriel a shot with a grin. 

Blondie scowled at Cassian, who just smirked back as the girl that Cass had been talking to earlier sidled up next to him, wrapping her arms around his middle. 

Azriel knocked the shot back and handed the cup it had come in to the blonde girl. “Can you get me another one?”

She seemed annoyed, but took the cup from him anyway, striding into the kitchen. 

“Sorry for interrupting,” Cassian said, settling on the couch next to him, before pulling the girl onto his lap.

Azriel rolled his eyes. “Like I give a shit.”

Cassian snickered as the blonde girl came back, draping herself in his lap again, handing him another shot. He drank it, just as Claire appeared before him, her arms crossed over her chest, and her brow furrowed.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice husky.

“I have a proposition for you.”

He smirked, making a show of tightening his grip on the blonde girl’s waist. “No, thanks. Been there, done that.”

“Not that kind of proposition, you idiot. Can we talk privately? I think it’ll be worth your while,” she said, her lips turning up into a sultry smile.

“I don’t know, Claire, I’m pretty busy right now,” he said, turning his gaze to the blonde girl, squeezing her thigh. She sighed dreamily, leaning further into him.

Claire groaned. “Look, Az, I really need your help. Please?” 

Azriel studied Claire, and he could see that it was true. She was wearing her most annoyed, don’t-fuck-with-me face, but her eyes were pleading. Sad.

He sighed, glancing apologetically at the girl in his lap before turning back to Claire. “Fine, we can talk.”

She led him into someone’s empty bedroom and shut the door behind her. 

“If this is about that girl you’re obsessed with, so help me,” he said. She winced, and he threw his head back. “Unbelievable. Claire, I don’t want to hear about this anymore! I don’t care about your problems.”

“Just hear me out!”

He crossed his arms over his chest, and raised an eyebrow at her, waiting.

“She actually is threatening my spot on the Dean’s list now,” she said, looking close to tears.

He looked pointedly at her. “And?”

“And I was thinking about what I said earlier… about how if a really hot guy was interested in her, maybe she would stop caring about her grades so much,” she said, smiling at him now.

“And?” Azriel just wished she would get to the point.

Claire sighed, exasperated. “I need you to seduce her.”

Azriel barked out a laugh, leaning his shoulder against the nearest wall. “You’re kidding, right? Why would I do that?”

She stepped closer to him, trailing a finger along his chest, her touch feather-light through his black t-shirt. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, “Because I asked? Because I’ll give you anything you want,” she said, her voice dropping seductively.

He held her gaze, leaning down until their mouths were a breath away. Azriel heard her breath hitch.

Then he pulled away rapidly, and she blinked. “Sweetheart, you know I can fuck you anytime I want, right? That is not going to persuade me to help you.”

Her brow furrowed, her nose scrunching up. Oh, she was furious. Azriel's mouth turned up into his calculated half smile.

“What do you want, Az?” she huffed.

“Hmm,” he said, taking his time to think. Claire scowled. “I haven’t decided yet. But when I need to call in a favor of my own, you have to promise to do it. No matter what,” he drawled.

To her credit, she really looked like she was thinking it through, trying to think of another way to push this girl off the list. But finally, she sighed. “Deal.”

He pushed off the wall, walking towards the door. “Alright, so I just have to seduce the bookworm? Easy.”

Claire shook her head, her eyes still alight with her anger. “No, if I’m going to agree to any favor you could possibly want, you’re going to have to go further. You need to make her fall in love with you.”

Azriel bristled a bit, leaning against the door now. “I know I’m an asshole, but that seems too far, don’t you think?”

“No. If she’s going to be distracted enough that her grades will slip, you need to make it seem real,” she said, and then smiled as if she had a wicked thought.

“What?” Azriel asked.

“And then you break her heart, right before exams,” she said excitedly, her eyes burning with enthusiasm now. “You tell her, in front of everyone, that it was all fake.”

He rubbed at his bicep, a nervous tic that Claire picked up on immediately. “Jesus, Claire. I don’t want to ruin this girl’s life.”

She arched her brow. “Why not? She’s ruining mine.”

Azriel rolled his eyes and Claire pounced, “Any favor, Az. Any time, you can tell me to do whatever you want,” she smirked. 

He groaned, pinching his nose. “Fine,” he ground out. “Where do I find her?”

Claire beamed. “Where else would a nerd be? The library, of course.”

---

You shifted in your seat, starting to feel sore after poring over your notes for hours. Maybe you should go for a walk. Maybe. But, you still had so much to do…

Groaning, you crossed your arms on the table, laying your head down on top of them. Just a minute, you just needed a tiny break --

“Studying always makes me feel like that, too,” said a low, male voice. 

You lifted your head, bewildered, and nearly choked on your own spit. The guy who was for some reason deigning to talk to you was… well, what other way was there to say it? He was drop-dead gorgeous. 

His face was stoic as he sauntered up to your table, his jet black hair was just a tad unruly, his hazel eyes burning into yours. But it was his body that made the breath completely escape your lungs. He was dressed in all black, his t-shirt hugging his chest and his biceps, showing off his every muscle, and there were swirling black tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves. 

All you could do was stare as he took the seat across from you, leaning back with his arms crossed like the two of you did this every day.

“What class is that for?” he asked, nodding to the textbook open in front of you, the dozens of papers scattered around you.

“Organic Chemistry,” you said, trying to sound like you were normal and not completely surprised by this handsome stranger finding you in your favorite quiet corner of the library.

He let out a low whistle, “Damn, you are smart.”

“What, did someone tell you I was?” you asked. 

“No, I just figured when I saw all the --” he gestured to your cluttered workspace, “homework stuff.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Homework stuff?”

His mouth turned up the slightest bit, holding up his hands like he was surrendering. “You caught me. I’m not much of an academic.”

“Then what are you doing here?” you asked curiously.

“Now, that is an excellent question,” he said, and really did seem like he was questioning it. “Girls? Parties? Though I could get girls anywhere and I don't particularly enjoy parties.”

You nodded. “Ah,” you said. “Got it.”

He braced his arms on the table, leaning forward. “I take it you’re not into that kinda thing?”

A dry laugh escaped from your throat, “Definitely not. I’m really only here for the--” you mimicked his gesture from earlier, “homework stuff.”

He barked out a laugh, his stoic face completely transforming for the briefest of moments. You couldn’t help but stare. “You’re telling me all you do is study? A beautiful girl like you? Please tell me you’ve been to at least one party,” he said, looking at you incredulously. 

You blushed. “No, I haven’t been to any.”

You braced yourself for impact, for the teasing or insults to come, but he just smiled softly. “You wanna go to one with me tonight?”

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. “You don’t even know my name.”

The side of his mouth quirked up into a smile, his eyes dancing with amusement. “What's your name?”

Rolling your eyes, you told him.

“Nice to meet you. I'm Azriel.” He raised his eyebrows, “So? Party?”

“I thought you just said you don't like parties!”

“True, but I do love the thought of corrupting a sweet, innocent bookworm,” he smirked.

“No, thanks.” You couldn't imagine yourself going to a house party, especially not with a stranger.

Azriel's cool-guy demeanor seemed to drop the slightest bit. “Why not?”

You looked at him pointedly. “I don't know you. And I have no interest in being corrupted. Why do you want me to come to this party so badly anyway?”

He shrugged casually. “I like you.”

“You don't know me!”

“See, that, right there,” he snapped his fingers and pointed at you. “You're funny. Smart, beautiful. What's not to like?”

You forced yourself to hold his gaze, even as a blush rose to your cheeks. “I'm not going to a party with someone I don't know. They make true crime documentaries about that sort of thing.”

He seemed to contemplate that for a moment. “Okay, you make a fair point. What do you want to do then?”

“What do you mean?”

“You can pick our first date, since you didn't like my idea.”

“What date?” You blanched.

He arched an eyebrow. “Our first date? Weren't you listening?”

You studied him for a moment. For the life of you, you could not figure out what this guy's angle was. 

As if reading your mind, he said softly, “Look, I just saw you and thought you were really pretty, and that it looked like you could use a break from studying. That's it,” he held his hands up again. “I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. If you want me to go, I'll go.”

For a beat longer, you watched him, his body language, his ridiculously pretty face. What was the harm, really? You sighed, tore off a scrap of paper from your notebook, scribbled out your number, then handed it to him. “I need to study. If you text me later, I'll let you know where we're going on the first date.” 

His face broke out into what might have been the first genuine smile you'd seen from him. He took the paper from you, his fingers brushing against yours.

“Can't wait.”

You were half expecting to never hear from Azriel again. But just a few hours later, as you were eating dinner in your apartment, your phone chimed with a text. 

Az: Done studying yet?

It was an effort to bite down your smile. 

You: Taking a break for dinner. 

It was less than a minute before he responded. 

Az: Dinner? Is that what our first date is going to be?

You didn’t try to hide your smile this time.

You: A little cliche, don’t you think?

Az: Oh, absolutely. So… what are we doing?

You: Meet at the tennis courts at 7 tomorrow?

Az: We’re playing tennis?

You: No, but I’m not giving you my address. And I’m not giving away the surprise.

Az: So smart. So mysterious. I’m swooning.

You: Shut up.

Az: See you tomorrow ;)

You tossed your phone to the side, forcing yourself to focus back on your schoolwork.

The following day you parked your car by the empty tennis courts on campus just before 7. It was early spring; the weather finally started to warm up enough to not be too chilly in the evening. Still, you rubbed your arms nervously. You were starting to regret this. You didn’t know this guy at all. What if it went horribly wrong?

Before you could contemplate bailing, a familiar figure rode up on a jet black motorcycle. Of course this guy had a motorcycle. You couldn't see his face underneath the helmet, but you would already recognize those tattooed arms anywhere. 

He parked his bike, smoothly sliding off it and taking his helmet off before sauntering over to you. “Hey, beautiful.” 

You rolled your eyes, sure that he had said that to a million girls on a million dates before.

“What? Don’t do that,” he said softly, his smile softening and his gaze raking down your body. “You are beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly, giving in. 

“So,” he said, towering over you. “What’s the plan?”

You smiled. “How’s your mini golf game?”

He raised an eyebrow, looking a little skeptical. “Mini golf? That’s what you’re choosing?”

“Yes, it is. Do you have something to say about that?” you teased. 

His eyes sparked at the tone in your voice. “Nope. Nothing at all.” He nodded to his motorcycle. “You wanna hop on the bike?”

You looked pointedly at him and he laughed. “Didn’t think so,” he gestured to your car. “Lead the way.”

Your nerves started to dim as the two of you fell into a rhythm going through the course. The two of you were just talking and laughing like it was normal. It was… fun, actually.

“Shit,” Azriel muttered as he overshot the hole. Again.

You laughed and his eyes flicked over to you, lingering a bit. “You’re good at this, bookworm,” he said as he took another shot, sinking it into the hole this time. You watched, leaning against your putter, having finished that hole two shots ago. 

Shrugging, you said, “I used to go with my family a lot.”

He placed his hand on the small of your back as you walked to the next hole. You cleared your throat, focusing on your steps, on your breathing, on anything but how it felt to have him touch you so casually. “What about you?”

“What about me?” he asked as you dropped your ball onto the green. 

You took your shot before you answered. The ball landed just shy of the hole. “What’s your family like?”

“My family…” he trailed off, clearing his throat, setting up his shot. He paused to look at you for a moment before he swung. “It’s complicated.”

He hit the ball and it stopped right next to yours. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” you said, as the two of you walked further down the hole.

“No, you didn’t. It’s just… I don’t really talk about them with anybody.”

You nodded, not sure where to go from here.

Azriel smiled reassuringly, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. “Stop worrying.”

“I’m not worrying,” you claimed, your voice an octave too high. 

“You are. I can tell.”

You bit your lip to hide your smile as you sunk your ball into the hole.

“I think I’m going to need some pointers from you on the next hole,” he grumbled. 

“I guess I could help you out,” you laughed. 

So, when you got to the next hole, the last hole, he stepped so close that your bodies were nearly touching. You tried to control your breathing. 

“You’re gonna help me out?” he murmured, his eyes flashing down to your lips for a moment. 

“Okay,” you breathed. 

He stepped behind you, his body pressed against your back, wrapping his arms around you, his hands covering yours on the club. 

“How is this going to help you, exactly?” you asked, your voice slightly unsteady. 

His lips brushed your ear as he said, “Oh, trust me, it’s helping.”

You couldn’t say anything. Could hardly breathe.

“What do you think I’m doing wrong?” He murmured. 

You swallowed. “You’re hitting it too hard. Not exactly rocket science.”

“Mmm. That makes sense. I do tend to go… hard.”

That finally had you coming to your senses. You stepped out of his grasp, turning back to glare at him when you were a safe distance away. 

The side of his mouth turned up into a smile. “Sorry. I couldn't help myself.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at him again. “Just take your shot.”

He smirked at you for a moment, before he swung, and the ball went right into the hole. 

He turned to you, his eyes wide. You laughed and he hugged you, picking you up and spinning you around. 

You let out an involuntary squeal of surprise, and he laughed, gazing into your eyes as he set you back on the ground. “Thanks for the help.”

“I think you’ve been playing me this whole time,” you joked. 

His smile fell a little, his eyes sobering. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked. When he just stared at you, his expression unreadable, you added, “Azriel, I was joking.”

He blinked and then his natural, stoic expression was back as he took a step closer to you. “Right. I think you’re just a good teacher.”

You just looked at him, trying to decipher the changes in his mood, who he really was underneath the gruff exterior.

He smiled faintly, stepping even closer. “What are you thinking about?”

You had to crane your neck to look him in the eye now. “I'm trying to figure out what you're thinking about.”

Azriel's smile turned into a smirk. “I'm thinking… that I really want to kiss you. But I don't want to scare you away.”

Heat flooded your face and his smile turned softer as he cupped your cheek gently with a rough hand. “Would it scare you away?” He murmured.

“I -- don't know,” you said honestly.

His hazel eyes dipped to your lips and stayed there. “I think I'm gonna have to take the risk,” he said, his voice low, husky.

“I think so, too,” you breathed.

His free hand slinked around your waist, gently pulling your body into his. Your heart thundered in your chest as he leaned down, slowly bringing his lips to yours. He seemed to give you a moment to process, and you felt him smile against your mouth when you started to kiss him back, your fingers curling around his bicep, his shoulder.

You were breathless by the time he pulled away, and as the two of you drove back to the tennis courts, you couldn't help but hope that it would happen again by the end of the night.

When you parked your car near his motorcycle in the abandoned lot, he lingered, his gaze holding yours, dropping to your mouth again.

He shot you a crooked smile. “Aren't you gonna walk me to my bike?”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you got out of the car, walking over to the motorcycle and settling against the fence near it, crossing your arms over your chest. “Happy now?” You asked.

Slowly, he sauntered over to you, his eyes twinkling under the stars. He raised his arm, twining his fingers in the chain link fence above your head, leaning his body towards you, but not quite touching. He gazed down at you, still sporting that half smile. “Very happy,” he murmured.

Your breath hitched and when his smile widened, you knew he heard it. 

He held your gaze as he leaned down, bringing his mouth to yours again. You let yourself fall deeper into the kiss this time, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into you. 

When he finally pulled away, he was grinning. “Want to go for a ride before you head home?” He said, nodding to his motorcycle.

You had stepped far enough out of your comfort zone for today. “Maybe next time.”

He raised his eyebrows in amusement. “So you're giving me a next time?”

Damn. You blushed. “I said maybe.”

“Uh huh, sure,” he said, leaning in again so his lips were barely an inch from yours. “You can't wait to see me again,” he whispered.

You shoved him away lightly and he chuckled, backing up towards his bike, but keeping his eyes on you. “Until next time, then. Have a good night, bookworm.” He winked before putting his helmet on and speeding away.

A few weeks, a few dates, and several kisses later, you couldn't deny that Azriel was on your mind quite a bit.

You had never thought that someone like him would be interested in someone like you, but he seemed to prove time and time again that he did indeed like you. He texted you flirty little things every day, making you blush in class. He asked about your day, and seemed to genuinely be listening, and he would do pretty much anything you wanted on your dates. Last week, the two of you had gone to a local bookstore and he had watched you browse, a small smile on his face. He ended up picking out a book he wanted you to read and you did the same for him. He had been sending you daily updates on his progress through the book. Slowly, you were starting to let your walls down, despite yourself.

So, when he asked you to finally go to a party with him, to meet his friends, you accepted. You still felt cautious: partying had never been something that you were remotely interested in, but you trusted him.

---

Azriel knew he had to tread this next part carefully. Things had been going well with you. He let you take control of your time together so you would be comfortable, and honestly, he was actually having a really good time getting to know you and seeing where you would take him next.

And when you kissed him… God. It was always a struggle to keep his hands on your waist, to stay PG. He wished he could explore things further with you in that regard, but he wouldn't let himself go there. Not when your broken heart was the finish line.

He rarely let himself think about it -- the deal that he had made with Claire. Being with you felt so natural that he usually forgot he was supposed to be acting. That he was supposed to be leading you to Claire’s revenge.

He had convinced you to come to a party, upon Claire's request so she could see the progress he had made with you. You had said yes, he assumed because you trusted him enough now. The thought made his stomach roll. He was really starting to hate himself for getting mixed up in this.

Azriel acted differently around you than he did around the rest of the general population. At a young age he had learned to keep quiet, to not show a single emotion on his pretty face, to be tough, or be punished. 

With you… he couldn't help but smile. Couldn't stop the laughs that he usually stomped down for the rest of the world.

So, having his two worlds collide at this party…he didn't know exactly how to navigate it. Deep down, it made his heart swell that you trusted him enough to help you navigate something so far out of your comfort zone. But if his friends saw the way he acted around you, he would never hear the end of it.

This would be a mess.

If Azriel wasn't leaning against his motorcycle when you exited your apartment building, he may have fallen over. You were wearing skintight jeans and a black tank top that showed more cleavage than he ever imagined he'd see from you. His fingers flexed on his biceps. He wanted to pull you back into your apartment and spend an hour peeling those clothes away inch by inch.

He blinked the lust away, trying to maintain his stoic expression, but failed, as he always did with you. He smiled at you and you smiled back. 

He could tell by the way you carried yourself as you neared him that you were nervous. “Hey, beautiful,” he drawled his usual greeting as you wrapped your arms around his waist in your usual greeting.

“Hi,” you said, a little sheepishly. His eyes must have lingered on your curves a little too long because your eyes widened a bit, and you bit your lip nervously as you pulled away from him. He nearly groaned. “Is it too much? Do I look stupid?”

Azriel placed his hands on your shoulders gently, dipping his head to look you in the eyes. “You look amazing. Seriously.”

You blushed and murmured, “Thank you.”

He had to turn away, to grab your helmet, so you wouldn't see how much you affected him. He fucking loved it when he made you blush like that. 

Azriel turned back to you, holding up the helmet, his eyebrows raising with amusement. “You ready to join the dark side, bookworm?”

You sighed, shifting on your feet. 

“It'll be okay,” he said softly. “I got you.”

You nodded, seeming to resolve yourself, and reached for the helmet with slightly shaking hands.

He helped you make sure it was on correctly, his fingers brushing your chin, your neck. He bit back a smile as you shivered.

Azriel held your hand as you got settled on the back of the bike, showing you where to put your feet, and how to shift your weight with him.

When you seemed at least somewhat comfortable, he slid his helmet on, smoothly setting onto the motorcycle. You wrapped your arms around his middle, pressing your chest into his back. You were already holding him like your life depended on it, and he beamed freely underneath the helmet.

“Hold on tight,” he shot back at you, before he revved the engine, taking off much more gently than he normally would.

He tried not to think about the feel of you pressed into him, how tightly you were holding on. It didn't work. He wanted to drive you everywhere.

He couldn't resist reaching back to briefly squeeze your thigh at a red light. “How are you doing?”

“Good,” you said. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard a smile in your voice.

Too soon in Azriel's opinion, they had made it to the party. He parked, offering you his hand to help you get down.

When he pulled the helmet off your head, he was pleased to see that you were indeed smiling.

“Have fun?” He smirked.

“I did, actually,” you said, sounding a little breathless. 

“Whenever you need a ride, you just let me know,” he winked.

You laughed, glancing behind him at the house. 

He took your hand in his, squeezing reassuringly. You seemed to relax a bit. “We can leave whenever you want, okay?”

Taking a deep breath, you nodded and smiled nervously up at him.

You were doing this for him, he realized. Because he had asked you to. His heart constricted, guilt churning in his gut again as he led you inside, your hand squeezing his tightly. 

His shoulders tightened as he led you through the crowd, making sure you were tucked in close to him. 

“You want a drink?” he asked, as you made your way to the kitchen.

“Sure,” you said.

He rifled through what was on the sticky counter, trying to find something not disgusting for you to drink, making sure you stayed close to him. 

Finally handing you a cup, he put your hand on the small of your back, guiding you to a corner of the living room that wasn’t yet very crowded. He took a seat on the couch and you settled in next to him, tucked closely into his side. 

You smiled, leaning your shoulder into his. “Is this really it?” You asked skeptically. “You just sit here and drink around a bunch of drunk idiots?”

He laughed before he could stop himself. “I mean, yeah, that’s pretty much it,” he said, dipping his head to say in your ear. “Or we could dance. Or make out,” he smiled against your ear. 

You blushed and he laughed again, kissing your temple. 

Azriel wrapped an arm around your shoulders as Cassian and Rhys showed up, grinning at you, their eyebrows raised. Azriel fought the urge to roll his eyes. They had seen him laughing with you, kissing you, he knew. He had nearly forgotten where he was, why he was here with you. He loved them, but he wasn’t sure what they would say to you about him. They didn’t know about his arrangement with Claire, and he had been keeping details about his relationship with you as vague as possible.

“So you’re the one Az has been spending all his time with,” Cassian grinned. 

You smiled sheepishly, leaning further into Azriel. “I guess.”

Azriel nodded to his friends. “This is Cassian and Rhysand. They’ve been my best friends since we were kids.”

He could tell you were intrigued by that. He still hadn’t told you anything about his childhood. 

Before you could ask any questions, Claire showed up next to Azriel’s friends, her expression the very picture of friendship. It unsettled him so much that he held you closer to him, so you were practically on his lap. 

“Hi Claire,” you smiled, and his heart sank. You really had no idea how Claire felt about you. 

Claire smiled back. “Hey. I never expected to see you here.”

“I’m trying new things,” you said, smiling lightly at Azriel.

He couldn’t take it, having you so close to Claire, seeing that trust you had in him when you looked at him. He cleared his throat, standing up and offering you his hand. You took it, smiling politely at Claire and his friends as he led you through the house, out to the backyard. 

“Is everything okay?” You asked, looking up at him curiously as he leaned his back against the side of the house.

“Yeah,” he said, unable to stop the smile that rose to his face as you gazed at him with your big doe eyes. He tugged you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I just wanted you to myself for a minute.”

“Oh yeah?” you flushed, and before he could stop himself, he kissed your cheeks, feeling the heat against his lips before his lips met yours in a slow, sensual kiss.

He was still kissing you when he heard Cassian snickering close by. “Oh shit, he’s whipped.”

Azriel rolled his eyes as he pulled away from you, but kept his hold on your waist. “How am I whipped?”

Cassian’s eyes gleamed with mischief and Azriel’s heart started to pound. “Sneaking out here on your own. You’re usually content to stay on the couch to make out with your girl of the week.”

Your body tensed in his arms and Azriel groaned internally, glaring at Cassian, who smirked. “Oh, she didn’t know? My bad, Az.”

Azriel’s expression was enough to send Cassian back inside. 

Your brow furrowed as you stepped back, out of his reach. “Girl of the week?”

He winced. “He’s being dramatic.”

You raised your eyebrows, glaring at him, crossing your arms over your chest. 

It was kind of adorable, but Azriel reigned in that comment. He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, look. I told you when we met that I go to parties and meet girls there. But things are different now,” he said, taking a step closer to you. And it was true. Things were different. You had been the one haunting his thoughts since that first date. He had barely looked at anyone else since.

After a moment, you sighed, and he knew you wouldn’t resist when he wrapped his arms back around you. 

“Cassian’s an idiot,” he murmured, his focus back on your lips that he was dying to kiss again.

“So I’m not the girl of the week?” you said quietly, your eyes on his lips now. 

He smiled. “We’ve been seeing each other for several weeks, haven’t we?”

You nodded, biting your lip, before you stood up on your tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his lips. Azriel was surprised by his own relief. “Are we going back inside?” you asked. 

“Not if you don’t want to,” he said, wrapping his arms around your waist again. 

Pursing your lips in thought, you said, “Mmm. Let’s go back in.”

“Yeah?” he said, surprised.

You smiled up at him, resting your chin on his chest. His heart melted. “I’m trying to be brave.”

He kissed your forehead, smiling faintly. “I’m proud of you, bookworm.”

You beamed, your whole face lighting up. 

Azriel led you inside, his hand on the small of your back, trying to manage the swell of emotions in his chest. He didn’t have the time to process them right now. 

The two of you mingled throughout the party for a few hours, and you even went so far as to dance with him for a bit, your body pressed against his, your hips swaying to the beat of the pounding music. He could hardly believe it, the way you let loose with him.

He stopped in the bathroom before the two of you left. He wasn’t gone for more than a few minutes, but when he returned, he spotted you near the kitchen, backing away from a guy who was clearly very drunk and very horny. Azriel saw red. 

Before he could take a second to think, Azriel was upon the bastard, punching him in the jaw. 

He heard you yelp. The asshole staggered back, swearing, his hand cradling his jaw. Azriel barely spared him a glance, his hands gently holding either side of your face, his gaze raking your body, searching for any sign that he had touched you. 

Your eyes were wide, your breathing labored, but you seemed physically fine. “Are you okay?” he asked. 

You nodded, your eyes still frantic. 

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders as he led you outside. Claire caught his eye on the way out, hers shining with delight. He scowled at her. 

When you made it outside, he hugged you to his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” 

“I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

You snorted. “You were gone for a few minutes. It’s not your fault that men are gross.”

“Are you okay, really?” He asked, pulling back to look you in the eye.

“I’m okay,” you said quietly. 

He held you close to him, gazing at you for another moment before you smiled faintly. “You really didn’t need to punch him, you know.”

He winced slightly, remembering the yelp you let out when he threw that punch. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you said, rising on your tiptoes to kiss him. 

Azriel held you until his heart rate slowed down, until his body was convinced that you were okay.

Later, after he had dropped you off at your apartment, Azriel stayed awake, tossing and turning, so many images from that night racing through his mind.

The way his heart constricted every time you smiled at him, the horror he felt at seeing Claire play nice, the terror and rage that flowed through his entire body when he saw that creep bothering you…

Azriel knew then, that he had real feelings for you. Shit.

---

“C’mon, baby, you’ve been studying for ages already,” Azriel murmured, standing behind you as you sat at your desk in your apartment, his arms draped around your chest, his lips trailing down your neck.

Your toes curled, heat running right through you. You wanted to give in. You really did. But…

You sighed. “I’m sorry, Az. I have this big exam on Tuesday. And finals are only a few weeks away.”

For some reason, that comment made his entire body stiffen. “Oh, yeah. Finals.”

You snorted. “Don’t tell me you forgot about finals.”

“No, I just… they’re soon.” His voice wavered a bit as he stood up fully. You twisted in your seat to look up at him. His brow was furrowed, his eyes swimming with anxiety. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked, reaching up and cupping his cheek with your hand. “Do you need me to help you study?” He had never seemed to care about his grades before.

He leaned into your touch for a moment, shooting you a forced smile. “No, it’s okay. I’ll be fine. I should go, and let you study.” He stooped down to press a quick kiss to your lips. “I won’t distract you anymore today.” 

Before you could even respond, he was out the door. 

You turned back to your notes, but couldn’t digest any of the information. That was… weird.

Azriel and you had been dating for months now. Though neither of you had ever put a label on it, you both knew you were exclusive. 

In the privacy of your own mind, you secretly loved that he acted so differently around you than he did out and about on campus. You felt like you got a different version of him that was saved especially for you. It made your heart swell, all the little things he did for you each day. 

You were also willing to admit, to yourself only, that you were absolutely in love with him. You had known for weeks now, and had been debating whether or not you should tell him. 

He had been the one that made you step out of your comfort zone, to try new things, to be brave. 

So, soon. You would tell him soon.

--- 

Azriel had to get out of the deal. Now.

He remembered the exact moment that he realized he was in love with you. It was a random afternoon, the two of you were watching TV at his apartment. He was laying on the couch, you were laying on top of him, your legs intertwined with his, your head on his chest. He was absentmindedly running his fingers through your hair while you giggled about something that happened on the show. 

And he had the thought. I want my whole life to look like this. 

And he knew. He loved you.

This had scared him, obviously, on multiple levels. He had never loved anyone before, never knew what that looked like. Yet somehow, he knew without a doubt that it was true. 

And then, of course, there was the deal he had made with the devil. 

He had known early on that he would have to get out of the deal. He had just been putting it off, hoping that Claire’s insanity would die down throughout the semester. 

But now his time was up. 

He prayed to whoever might be listening that Claire would listen to reason. That she would call it off. He couldn’t bear the thought of hurting you. He wouldn’t do it. 

Claire smirked as she opened the door. “I’ve been wondering when you would show up. It’s been a long time, Az,” she purred. 

Azriel stalked into her apartment, barely sparing her a glance. “The deal’s off, Claire.”

She cocked her head to the side, amused. “Oh? Why is that?”

“Because it’s insane,” he growled. “You were insane for coming up with it, and I was insane for agreeing to it. I’m done.”

Slowly, her lips curled up into a lethal smile. “You fell for her.”

Azriel blinked. 

Claire cackled. “Oh, this is rich. You actually fell for the bookworm? I never thought I’d see the day. No wonder you haven’t been crawling into my bed.”

He scowled. “The deal’s off,” he repeated in the tone he used to scare people away.

She really looked at him then, her eyes bearing into his. After a moment, she finally said, “Okay.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Okay? Just like that?”

Claire shrugged. “You were right. It was an insane plan. And it didn’t even work,” she said bitterly. “You suck at your job. She’ll still be on the top of the Dean’s list, even after all your lovey-dovey shit.”

A swell of pride ran through him at the thought of your name at the top of that list.

“Alright,” he said, his brow furrowed, trying to figure out if there was some kind of angle here. But, there didn’t seem to be one. 

He left quickly, his heart and mind feeling lighter. The guilt of how the two of you started would always be there, he knew. But now when he looked into the future, it wasn’t a hazy blur of nothingness that he saw. It was you.

---

The week before finals, there were parties everywhere. So you heard. 

You had gone to a few more with Az over the past few months. It still wasn’t exactly your thing, but you didn’t mind going, especially with Azriel being so attentive to you every time you did. 

Azriel didn’t seem particularly interested in going to this one, but his friends had been complaining that they never saw him anymore, so he agreed to go. And you had agreed to go with him, if only to take a break from your near constant studying these days.

You followed him through the crowd, his hand clasping yours, as always. Drinks in hand, you made your way to the outskirts of a group of people who were dancing and you joined them, Azriel pulling you in close to him, moving against you.

A laugh burst from you, and Azriel grinned, leaning down to kiss you. 

You were so happy, you thought. So happy in that moment with him. You knew people watched you, as they usually did when Azriel was like this with you. You didn’t care.

When he pulled back from the kiss, he gazed down at you, his eyes swimming with affection. 

“I love you,” you said before you could stop it.

His eyes sobered, and he pulled you in even closer, so your bodies were flush together. He leaned his forehead against yours, and in a crowd of people, Azriel said, a soft smile on his face, “I love you, too.”

Your heart leaped and you grinned, threading your fingers in his hair and bringing his lips to yours. 

Suddenly, the music stopped, and from the TV came a voice. Azriel’s voice. 

Everyone turned to the sound, curiously, watching. The video was jumpy, filming the floor, like it was filmed from someone’s pocket. 

Azriel tensed, his arms still around you. “Fuck,” he said. “We need to go.”

Utterly confused, you didn’t argue as he pulled you through the crowd. But you stopped dead in your tracks when you heard video Azriel say, “Sweetheart, you know I can fuck you anytime I want, right? That is not going to persuade me to help you.”

Your blood ran cold, shock jolting from your heart down to your toes. Azriel was tugging on your arm, but you didn’t budge as you heard Claire’s voice next. 

Claire. He had been talking to Claire. What did he mean, that he could fuck her whenever he wanted? You hadn’t even known that they knew each other. When was this filmed?

“Baby, please, I’ll explain everything, but we need to go,” Azriel was saying, sounding frantic. 

You wrenched your arm from his grasp, weaving through the still crowd, moving toward the TV. You heard him swear, calling your name behind you, but you kept moving.

They were saying something about a deal, about him owing her a favor. You couldn’t make sense of it, not until you heard video Azriel say, “Alright, so I just have to seduce the bookworm? Easy.”

Video Claire responded, “No, if I’m going to agree to any favor you could possibly want, you’re going to have to go further. You need to make her fall in love with you.”

It was then that you noticed Claire, next to the TV, her eyes locked on you, smirking. 

You couldn’t breathe, your legs were going to give out -- 

It was all fake. All of it. 

Azriel caught up to you then, picking you up, slinging you over his shoulder. You didn’t protest, the shock setting in. You had to get out of there, even if it was him that carried you out. 

When he made it outside, you pounded on his back with your fists. “Put me down, you asshole!”

“Sorry,” Azriel said, wincing as he gently set you on your feet. “You looked like you were going to pass out.”

“Like you even care,” you spat, storming away from him. 

“Of course I care. Please, just give me a minute to explain,” he pleaded, following you. 

“Explain what?” You stopped abruptly, spinning around to face him. “That you played me for a fool? Made me fall in love with you as a sick joke? Well, congratulations, it worked,” you said, pouring every ounce of venom that you could muster into your voice. You turned back around and continued walking as tears started pricking your eyes. You refused to let him see you cry.

“It may have started out that way, but it’s not like that anymore. From the first date, I had feelings for you. I love you. You have to believe that,” he said, right on your heels. 

You knew he could catch up with you easily if he wanted to. He was hanging back, trying to give you your space. That pissed you off even more. “How could I possibly believe that?” 

“Because you feel it, I know you do,” he said, finally wrapping his fingers around your wrist.

You tugged your hand free, but stopped walking, needing to catch your breath. You faced him. “What was the point?” You asked quietly. “Why make the deal?”

It didn’t matter. But you had to know.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Claire and I used to date. When you transferred, you pushed her off the top spot of the Dean’s list. She hated you for it. She said she would give me any favor I wanted if I made you fall for me… to distract you from school.”

You were so surprised that the tears you had been holding in started to fall. You angrily swatted them away. 

Azriel continued, “I said no at first, but she was persistent, and…” he took a deep breath, darting his eyes away from you for a moment. They were shining with unshed tears. “I have no excuse. I agreed to it. I’m an asshole. But you made me want to be different.”

“Was any of it true?” You heard yourself saying, your voice breaking. 

He lifted his hand, like he was about to reach for yours, then let it drop, thinking better of it. “It was all true. From our first date, you were breaking down my walls, making me smile, making me laugh.” He smiled sadly. “I fell for you. I love you,” he said, and now a lone tear did slide down his cheek. “I called it off with Claire ages ago. I told her I was out, and she agreed. I… I didn’t know she filmed it.”

You wanted to believe him, that he really did love you. But… “Even if you do love me, that doesn’t change what you did,” you said in a small voice. 

Azriel sniffed, wiping the tears off his face. “I know. I am so, so sorry.”

Shaking your head, backing away from him, you choked out, “I don’t -- I can’t. I can’t do this right now.”

He took a step toward you, his eyes pleading. “Please. Please don’t go.”

Turning your back to him, you walked away, barely registering the pavement beneath your feet, the direction you were going. 

Azriel called your name, but you kept walking.

You knew he had followed you home, not letting you walk alone at night. You watched his form retreat after you locked yourself inside your apartment with trembling hands. 

You went to bed, not even bothering to change. Laying on your back, watching your ceiling fan spin around and around, you tried to identify all that you were feeling: shame, humiliation, sorrow. Fury. 

Replaying all that had happened between you, all the times he was probably laughing at you with his friends behind your back. You felt nauseous. 

How could he do this? How could he have played you for so long?

What the hell were you supposed to do now?

You woke up to several missed calls and texts from Azriel, all sent hours apart. It seemed that he didn’t get any sleep at all.

I am so sorry. I’m the worst person in the world. I know that. 

I know what you’re thinking right now. I know that you’re going over it all in your head. But, it was real, baby. It was all real. I swear it was. I love you so much.

I’m hoping you’re getting some sleep. Can I see you today?

Groaning, you tossed your phone to the side, and took a long shower. By the time you got out, someone was knocking on your door. 

You quickly dressed in some old pajamas and called through the door, “Go away, Az.”

“Well, at least you’re alive,” you heard him say. “Can I please come in? Two minutes?”

You threw the door open, furious. “No, you cannot come in. You humiliated me. You used me. You had your fun. What else could you possibly want?”

Azriel was standing on the threshold, his hands in his pockets nervously, his facial expression looked like you had just slapped him. “I want to apologize! I want to make things better, that’s what I want.”

Biting your lip to keep from crying, you said quietly, “Go away.” 

His face fell. “I love you.”

Shaking your head, you said, “You don’t.”

He took a step forward, wedging his foot on the door jam so you couldn’t close it on him. “I do,” he said, his eyes pleading, baring into yours. “You know that I do. You know I’ve never let anybody else see the real me. Nobody but you.”

Tears spilled onto your cheeks then, and he wiped them away gently. Despite everything, you couldn’t back away. “It doesn’t matter,” you croaked. “You only went out with me so you could help her ruin my life.”

Azriel opened his mouth, as if to reply, but then shut it. 

You laughed humorlessly. “See? Even you don’t have a comeback.”

His eyes softened, his rough fingers still absentmindedly stroking your cheeks. “Please,” he said again. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not enough,” you whispered, your heart breaking all over again as you looked up at him, at the pain in his eyes.

“How do I fix it?” He whispered back, tears sliding freely down his cheeks now.

“I don’t know,” you said, stepping back out of his grasp. “Please, Az. I just -- I need to be alone right now.”

He nodded, drawing his arm across his face to wipe the tears away. “Okay. Okay, I’ll umm -- I’ll see you later?”

You didn’t know how to answer that, didn’t know if you would see him again at all. He took a step back, into the hallway. 

Without another word, you shut the door.

Especially knowing where that awful bet had originated, you refused to let Azriel and Claire get in your head for finals. You buckled down, spending entire days at the library studying, writing papers, finishing projects. 

It was helpful, actually. You didn’t allow yourself to think about him, about all the memories you had that had become so tainted and confusing. 

By the end of the semester, you had maintained all your A’s, passing every final with flying colors. And thus, secured the very top spot of the Dean’s list.

Azriel had been texting and calling every day. You left them all unanswered. 

You hadn’t yet had time to think, to process through the hurt. 

A new text chimed as you were packing up your car to head home for the summer. 

Saw the list. Nicely done, bookworm. I know it doesn’t matter, but I really am proud of you. Looks like all that hard work paid off ❤️

Despite everything, there was a swell of emotion in your chest at his words. God, why did everything have to be so awful?

Later, you were hefting your last box into your trunk when you heard the distinct sound of a motorcycle slowing down behind you. Your heart raced. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to see him again or not.

Slowly, you turned around to see Azriel sliding off the bike, his helmet tucked under his arm. “Hey, beautiful,” he said, somewhat tentatively.

“Hi,” you said softly. 

He nodded to your car, his expression grave. “You’re leaving?”

“Back home for the summer,” you said, unable to take your eyes off him. He looked tired. And sad. 

A moment passed silently, the two of you just looking at each other, pain hanging in the air between you.

“I miss you,” he said quietly. 

You sighed. Willed yourself to be brave. “I miss you, too,” you admitted. 

Something like hope gleamed in his eyes. “I love you,” he murmured. 

“I --” you started, and couldn’t bear it. “I need time.”

He looked crestfallen, like you had just punched him in the gut, but he nodded. “The summer?”

You swallowed. “Okay,” you said. “Okay. I get the summer, and I’ll find you in the fall. We’ll talk then.”

“Thank you,” he said, quietly. “Thank you for… for that. For talking to me now,” he winced. “I know I don’t deserve it.”

“No, you don’t,” you said, but there was no malice in it. You were too tired. “I get the summer, Az. Don’t contact me until school starts.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but agreed. “Okay. I’ll see you in September,” he said, backing up towards his bike. “Have a good summer, bookworm,” he added with the slightest of smiles, before he slid on his helmet and drove away.

---

You spent most of the summer moping around, reading books, and trying to sort through everything that happened, all the feelings you had. 

For three months, you sifted through every moment that Azriel and you had shared together, picking them apart, deciphering every movement. 

It may have been slightly unhealthy.

You believed that what you and Azriel had was real. You believed that he did love you. And you couldn’t deny that you loved him. That maybe you always would. 

Was it worth it to deny yourself the person who had made you so happy? Who had taught you new things, who had helped you out of your comfort zone?

As September grew closer, you still weren’t sure. 

 ---

Azriel got more and more anxious as the summer came to a close. It had been torture to not contact you at all, but he knew he was in no position to be asking you for anything, so he did as you asked. 

The hurt on your face those months ago was still a clear image in his mind that haunted his nightmares. He would never forgive himself for hurting you. 

Yet, he couldn’t stop imagining what would happen when he saw you again. Would you give him another chance? You would have to be a saint to even contemplate that. But then again, you were the best person he had ever known. If anyone would be able to forgive, it would be you.

Scowling, he stomped that shred of hope down. He couldn’t go into this having any expectations. 

Soon, he would know.

---

It was bittersweet coming back to school. Academia was where you thrived. You felt right at home in the library, stacks of papers all around you. 

And you used to feel at home with Azriel. 

You sighed at the thought. The first day of classes was tomorrow. You had told Azriel not to contact you until school started back up again, and knowing him, he would take that seriously. 

Deep down, you knew what you wanted to do. It terrified you, though. 

Sure enough, the next morning, you had a text from him:

Hey, bookworm. Hope your first day of classes goes well. 

The slightest smile spread across your lips. You knew he was probably dying to ask when he could see you, but was trying to keep it light. Leave the ball in your court.

For the first time since everything, you texted him back.

Thanks, Az. Yours, too. 

He opened it immediately. After a moment, you willed yourself to send another:

Wanna meet up at the tennis courts tonight? 

His reply came at lightning speed:

7?

Reigning in your smile, you replied:

7.

You couldn’t remember ever being this nervous as you walked to the tennis courts. There were a few people playing, so you sat underneath a tree nearby, willing your legs to stop shaking. 

Right on time, a familiar motorcycle turned into the parking lot. He spotted you immediately, striding over to you with unsure steps. 

“Hey, beautiful,” he said quietly. 

You looked up at him, your heart racing at the familiarity you felt. “Hi,” you said, and after the briefest hesitation, you patted the grass next to you. You weren’t sure you would be able to stand. 

Immediately, he plopped down across from you, his knees only inches from yours as he faced you. 

His eyes were locked on yours. “How was your summer?” he said, his voice cracking slightly. 

“Okay,” you said. “How was yours?”

“Okay,” he said quietly. 

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. “Okay, here’s the thing. I did a lot of thinking. A lot of thinking. And I do love you, Az.”

You paused, not sure how to word what you were feeling. 

“But?” Azriel said, his voice dripping with trepidation, his eyes guarded.

“But it’s going to take some time before I can trust you again.”

Azriel swallowed, his eyes never wavering from yours. 

He seemed like he was waiting for you to continue before he said anything, so you added, quietly, “I am willing to try, though. To give us another chance.”

The tautness in his body released, relief flooding his features. “Really?” he croaked, tears swimming in his eyes. 

You could only nod before he launched towards you, knocking you on your back, before he threaded his fingers through your hair, kissing you deeply. 

You laughed, as his other hand came up to cup your face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I swear I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you,” he said against your lips.

Wrapping your arms around him, you sighed into his kiss. “I know, Az. I know.”

“I love you,” he murmured, moving to kiss down your neck.

“I love you, too.”

“I missed you so much,” he groaned before kissing your lips again.

You giggled. “I missed you, too.”

He finally stopped kissing you, settling his elbows on either side of your head, leaning his forehead against yours. “Thank you. For giving me another chance.”

Smiling, you kissed him swiftly on the lips. “Don’t mess it up.”

“I won’t. I swear I won’t.”

The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon in each other’s arms, going over your respective summers. 

Eventually, Azriel propped himself on an elbow, gazing at you with all the love in the world.

“What?” you asked. 

He grinned. “You wanna go mini golfing, bookworm?”

You couldn’t help but return his smile. “Only if I can help you again.”

Azriel leaned down to gently kiss your forehead. “It’s a deal.”

A/N: wanna see more of these two?? Check out part 2!

@thalia-as-blog @saltedcoffeescotch

[sistertotheknowitall]

Some guy finds Red Hood annoying.

Masterpost

All Danny wanted was one peaceful day. That was all. What does he get instead? A 6’ foot, jacked, vigilante crime lord. (Anti-hero, is that what he is? Danny wasn’t sure.) Now Danny’s not gonna say that a tall, built, hot as hell morally gray bad guy isn’t always unwelcome. It was just this one. (Unless, apparently, you’re Jazz. “Seriously?” “Look I don’t need saving but if he wants to come to my rescue, who am I to complain.”) They have gotten into many fights since Danny first moved to Gotham. ( He had chosen to live in a crime alley despite being able to afford slightly better. The money from his college fund was dumped entirely into said school and the money he earned went to bills and groceries.) Said screaming matches weren't even really fights; they were closer to the squabbles he’d get into with Jazz as an annoying way to express concern for each other. (A habit they, unfortunately, learned from their parents.) So having these types of arguments with said morally gray crime lord had Danny wondering if it was too late to cancel Jazz’s flight. (She boarded an hour ago.) He didn’t want them meeting, actually he’d like to keep her as far away as possible.

That’s why it was really inconvenient for these guys to kidnap him today. He had to get his sister from the airport and now he had to deal with Red Hood? Really? Other than Dickwing, Red Hood was the last person Danny wanted to see in a kidnapping situation. At least the others didn't make him feel like he was disappointing them. Only Jazz was allowed to make him feel the sting of disappointment at being reckless (and occasionally Sam and Tucker). Now, Danny thought he had decent common sense (“Shut up, Jazz.”), but he would gladly admit that he didn’t have Gotham common sense. He wasn’t afraid to go out at night just because the Riddler got out of Arkham. Honestly, he didn't see why he had to be afraid given any time of day. Danny was pretty sure he was basically immortal. (“Immortality is not dying and coming back as a full ghost.” “Then what would you call it, Jazz!?”) This seemed to frustrate Red Hood to no end as Danny lived in his part of the city and Danny was prone to finding trouble. (It actually seems to find him, Danny’s not actively going out and looking for it. He’s just trying to get on with his life.)

Anyway, yeah, Jazz was flying in for the weekend and somebody had kidnapped him. A perfectly normal Thursday. So, in perfectly normal Thursday fashion, Spoiler and Red Hood had swooped in while Danny was in the midst of a really intense staring contest with the kidnapper across from him. (“You know the staring is flattering when Tim does it but you make me feel icky.” The man didn't move and his hard stare barely wavered. “Alright, but I warn you I’m really good at this game.”) A flash of purple and the goon was no longer standing. Red Hood had come in guns blazing and made quick work of the other two kidnappers as Danny waited patiently to be untied. He could have phased through the chains he was hanging by but he didn't see a reason to. Just because they knew he could turn invisible didn’t mean they needed to know about everything else. (“That’s gaslighting, Danny.” “Technically, Sam, I think it’s lying by omission.” “Tucker.” “Right, not helping.”)

“Sooo,” Spoiler sang once Danny was free. “Who’s Tim?” You know what? Maybe it was Spoiler he should have been dreading. Red Hood made his way over, “yeah, kid, you got a boyfriend you didn’t tell us about?” Mm no, he regrets being in both their presence. Danny waved their questions away as he turned in a slow circle looking for the door. He wasn't quite sure of the time, but he was positive he was late to pick up Jazz. He answered as he made his way to the unconscious body of the guy who lost the staring contest, “a friend, well, a customer - a regular really. Nice guy, cute, has a staring problem.” Danny stooped down and started digging through the guys pockets, “do either of you know where the exit is?” Thankfully the guy was the one with his phone, he didn't want to search all the kidnappers. Turning it on, Danny saw that he was late and Jazz had already caught a taxi back to his place. The text had got increasingly more panicked the longer he hadn’t responded along with an alarming number of missed calls. 

Danny shot her a quick text as he followed Spoiler out of the building. Sorry, got kidnapped, am fine now. Please don't call. Will explain later. Love ya <3 He quickly added a selfie that Spoiler photo bombed over his shoulder holding up a peace sign. 

The screen immediately lit up with a facetime call. Danny turned it off and stuffed it in his pocket. He really didn't want Jazz meeting Red Hood.

He turned to face his “saviors.” “Okay, this has been fun. Thanks for the rescue, sorry I can’t stay and talk but I am needed elsewhere.” Throwing a quick salute he started down the street. After a block and a half he stopped at the opening of an ally. “You know I hate it when you all just stalk me from the shadows, it's very Babadook of you.” Hood appeared first behind Danny, “what's Babadook?” “A gay icon,” Spoiler drops in front of Danny. “Very true,” Danny high fives her as he hears Red Hood sigh, seeming to mutter to himself, “this is going in the folder.” “Okay,” Danny says, addressing both of them, “you don't need to walk me home.” Red Hood crossed his arms, “you’d rather your ‘Tom’ walk you?” Danny really really didn't want Jazz to meet Red Hood. Danny sighed, “His name is Tim and he’s just a friend and I’d rather nobody walked me home, I’m a fully capable adult.” “Capable huh? That’s what you call last week’s fiasco?” Last week’s fiasco being an incident that may or may not have involved a cult trying to sacrifice him. (He was insulted that they were trying to sacrifice him to a low level demon. He was the king of the infinite realms and they were using him to summon Craig? Really? Not that they knew any of this but still. Rude.) Spoiler placed her forearm on Danny’s shoulder to lean, as if he wasn't a few inches taller then her. “Not to mention tonight's kidnapping.” Danny shrugged her off. “And you two saved me,” he started slowly backing away into the alley behind him, “so, danger avoided.” Red Hood's hand shot out and grabbed Danny by the back of his shirt collar, “uh-uh, you're not pulling the disappearing act tonight.” Danny had indeed been intending to disappear and fly home, now he was being scuffed like a kitten. In hindsight he had pulled that move fairly often with Hood. Crossing his legs Danny refused to be set down on his feet so Red Hood dropped him. “Ow!”One peaceful day, was that too much? (Luckly, they didnt follow him into his building and just watched him enter. Unluckily, he had a worried and very annoyed older sister to face.) (“A selfie, Danny?! Really!?” “I wanted to assure you it was really me!”)

Part 7

[st4rbwrry]

𝒲𝐻𝒴 𝒟𝒪𝒩’𝒯 𝒴𝒪𝒰 𝐿𝒪𝒱𝐸 𝑀𝐸?

ꔫ eren fails to realize you’re in love with him and has a hard time committing. until he doesn’t have a choice but to face his fears.

꒰ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 ꒱ ꔫ . . .14.4k. fem reader, lowercase intended, best friends to enemies to lovers + locked in a closet, angst, lots of kissing omgie, lotss of fingering, kreamer!, conflicted feelings, oral [ f + m ], praiseeee, spanking to a t, onyankopon cameo + small fight, toxicity, multiple orgasms, rennie gets jealous, miscommunication + arguments, car sex, use of the 'n' word, small daddy kink usage, self pleasure, biting kink, eren's kinda mean, dom / sub dynamic from both, college au, both are needy, relationship establishment, pet name usage [ baby, mamas ] , minors aren't welcomed! reblogs + comments are appreciated! <3

ꔫ ꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 ꒱ . . . got my heart broke so cheers to this one!

pretty boys with eyes like his never made you want to vomit. you adored every aspect of him, always something nice to look at. it's such a shame men who look like him, ungodly creatures, had the worst fucking personalities. or so make horrible decisions in life. fumble good women. why ruin your aura? standing mere centimeters away from him to protect it currently. though you feared he'd already tainted a portion of it. collateral damage was done. he ruins the psyche of your brain when it comes to men, or being in a relationship period. you don't want to be heartless. that lover girl in you wanted to bloom like a daisy, spread her wings like an angel, and showcase herself proudly like a peacock with the one person she's loved since she was a preteen. instead, you're dealt with being mean, standing your ground, and pretending he didn't have a lock on your heart beating with need. so, yes, looking at his face, the boy you were so dangerously in love with, made you want to vomit. 

him, stubborn as usual, stood broodingly in the corner of the closet with his strong arms folded over his chest adorned in a black crewneck tee, stainless steel chain around his neck as you study the adam's apple in his throat shift at the same time he swallows in the awkward silence. solid black jeans clad to his muscular thighs, heavy leather boots covering his feet. his scent is so masculine it fills the small space; moroccan mint with woody cedar musk. that heavenly umber hair of his long in his face, growing inch by inch as the months fly by, close to grazing his shoulders. 

you cannot believe your friends barricaded the door just so the two of you could talk out your 'issues'. which, in your view, only means an apology from eren for what he did. the night had gone fine. you, eren, and a couple of your friends all going out to catch a drift meet-up. connie had gotten his taxes back and blew it all on installing skull rims and wrapping his scion frs a pearl lavender. being there mostly to cheer him on as he showed off his precious baby. afterward, grabbing ramen from a spot in chinatown. everyone decided to kick it at your house since you had a spacious living room and all the games.

since you and eren haven't spoken in two months, you kept it cordial. well, that's a lie. briefly spoken. the interactions between you two are nothing short of hi's and hello's. ' how've you been? fine, you? yeah, i'm cool. oh, you got a new tattoo? yeah, the other day. that's nice. hey, congrats on the new home. thanks.' quite frankly, your friends have gotten sick of it. it was ruining the vibe of the group by the two of you being so distant. surrounded by each other in your dimly lit living room, high ceilings, and abstract art while soft rnb played soundly in the background. eren sunk comfortably into your velvet emerald green sofa alongside connie, ymir, and armin. sitting opposite of you while you rested on your loveseat with a glass of sangria in your hand. swirling it while smiling and laughing at any question picked from the stack of cards from a game titled 'we're not really strangers.'

you hated the internal connection you and eren held. no matter what was going on, listening to each of your friends spew nonsense and hysterical laughter, you couldn't keep your eyes off one another. you'd glance, admire his features while deep in thought about all the good things, then the bad. and when he'd catch you, more like feel your burning glare, you'd immediately revert your attention to something else. vice versa. both of you were saying a lot without saying anything. 

"꒰♡꒱, it's your turn!" the sound of your name being called kicks you out of your conscience, blinking to clear your view when you realize you'd lost it glaring into your wine glass. you clear your throat, your right leg that's thrown over your left jumping up and down. 

"oh, sorry!" you smile faintly, straightening your posture to lean forward and snatch one of the red cards from the deck. 

"you're getting tired, aren't you? you're always the first one to fall asleep," ymir pressed, chewing on her newly popped in gum as she manspreads, long arms sprawled behind connie and armin onto the headrest.

“it’s just the wine getting to me,” you suck your teeth, your statement being true. the alcohol in your system making you feel more things than one. flipping the card, you read what it says. 

"what are you attracted to that you know isn't good for you?" the inhale and exhale you create as you stare blankly at the card in your hand makes it all too known of the answer you wanted to say, but won't. unexpectedly, your sight scrolls to him, and it makes goosebumps arise on your skin from the look he doesn't give you.

“you're right, i am tired. think i’m going to head to bed.”

the crew watches as you remove the kuromi throw blanket off your lap and take a stand, eren’s eyes strong on your figure as you down the rest of your wine. ymir’s eyes shift between you and him, the urge to say something stronger than ever. though, connie beats her to it. 

“nah, sit back down. we need to talk.” 

you glare at him, eren doing the same, and everyone’s silent. connie leans forward, bringing his thumb and pointer finger to rub frustratingly at his temple. “let’s be adults and just address the elephant in the room.” 

“what are you talking about?” 

“you know exactly what i’m talking about. this silent, petty feud between you two has been going on for damn near two months and i'm sick of it.” 

“agreed,” armin nods, pushing his blonde hair away from his face, clenching his jaw in the process. “we’re too fucking grown for childish behavior. the two of you need to talk and situate your issues privately.” 

“they’re right. it’s fucking up the vibe of the group,” ymir pitches in. 

deep down, you hate to say they were right. but you still felt like you had nothing to say to him, let alone nothing to apologize for. if anything he owed you one. and you’ll stand on that because he’s fucking immature. 

“i pray y'all aren’t thinking i’m the reason for this. if we don’t remember, i’m not the person who fucked on another girl around the same time he supposedly wanted to date me.” 

that’s when eren picks his head up, throwing silent daggers your way. you’re trying to make him out to be a villain when that wasn't the case. “we had already established that we were just friends. i don’t know why you still have this insight that i, what . . cheated on you or sum?” 

the blood in your veins began to boil, scoffing angrily and prodding your inner check with the point of your tongue. “right, because i’m that delusional.” 

“stop,” connie squeezes his eyes shut, getting fed up even further. “this bickering shit is the definition of childish. please just go talk, i’m getting a migraine.” 

“as long as he’s willing to be honest, sure. but if he’s just going to waste my time, then i have nothing to say,” you shrug, uncaring.  

“in some way you still want him around, because if that wasn’t the case, he wouldn’t be here,” ymir counters, not fond of your sudden attitude. 

“i can speak for myself,” eren interrupts, tired of being the pass around subject. “i don’t have a problem talking. . . if she’s not g’na punch me.” 

“nigg—” 

“alright!” armin raises to his feet, tall body towering yours before he’s lifting you off your feet and tossing you over his shoulder quicker than everyone could blink. a gasp falls from you, wriggling your feet as you yell at him to put you down, groaning like a child. 

armin finds the nearest closet and sets you down in it, giving a look not to try it. it’s rare to see armin irritated, so he must’ve really been fed up when you see his eyes go dead as he glares at you while raising his palm telling you to stop. you pout, crossing your arms and huffing as you take a seat on a pile of shoe boxes. turning his head, he sees eren sighing and standing to his feet before willingly entering the closet. 

armin steps out, giving a fatherly obedient look between the two of you before closing the door. “be nice. handle your shit. we’re going to grab food.” 

“food?” you gasp. “wha—i want some!” 

“greedy,” eren remarks under his breath. you shoot him a deadly glare. 

“fuck you say?” 

“i’m not arguing with you over food.”

“wait, are we really getting food?” ymir whispers to connie who confusingly raises his hands. 

“no, we’re going to sit here until they figure their shit out,” armin whispers back, taking long strides back towards the couch where he plops down and sinks into. stuffing his hands into his gray hoodie pockets after lowering the hood over his head, closing his eyes. 

“they’re gonna fuck, watch,” ymir chuckles, getting up to search your pantry for more liquor, maybe even digging in your fridge for food, now that they mentioned it. “y'all want pasta?” 

“what kind?” connie looks up over his phone. 

“mhm,” ymir continues to scout, grimacing at your close to empty fridge. “she only has ingredients for pesto pasta. healthy bitch.” 

“pass,” connie and armin reject simultaneously.

“more for me!” 

now here the two of you stood, in utter silence. you’re avoiding his sharp gaze as much as you can, twiddling anxiously with your fingers. this is the last situation you want to be in right now. the warmth in your cheeks when you catch him staring is the bitch of all trades. that love you held deeply in your chest for years magnetically pulling you to submission. to care. your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing loudly in your ears. taking a deep breath, you try to calm yourself down. this was important. the two of you needed to get past this if there’s going to be any change to your relationship. this had to be fixed. 

“it seems like you want me to start,” reeling you in, his heavy feet hit the ground the closer he gets to you, nearly standing over you in all of his handsome glory. the air shifts and it feels hotter. you can practically hear the swallow in your throat. why did he feel the need to be so close? who knows. maybe it’s some sort of intimidation tactic. “where should i start?” 

“hm, i’d say — apologize for being misleading,” your response is nothing but blunt, your emotions getting the best of your original intent. 

eren’s mouth goes agape, chuckling with genuine confusion, brows furrowed in concern. “again, how was i misleading? we've never been anything but friends. i never led you on or made you feel like there was something more between us."

“eren, you literally told me that you wanted to try something new and be apart of me on a deeper level than you were. this was after we had sex, twice need i remind you. then, i find you fucking another girl the day you initiated us to hang out. then you had the nerve to argue with me, and call me fucking crazy.” 

“i didn’t call you crazy. i said you needed to go home and sleep off whatever shit you were on that night because you cussed that girl out and almost beat her face in for what? we are not together, ꒰♡꒱.” 

“i know that,” the muscles in your jaw spasm from the pressure you put into gritting your teeth. the pain of his denial cutting deep. “you say it as if it’d be such a nuisance. that ‘you’re my best friend’ shit went out the window years ago, and you and me both know it. it’s not my fault you have a hard time with commitment.” 

“i don’t have a hard time with commitment,” he scoffs, patience fraying. “i told you that i care for you, and you mean a lot to me. that i have love for you, not that i was in love with you. i value our friendship above anything.” 

the more he speaks, the more you come to the realization that this is becoming a waste of time, as you expected. there’s a burn in your throat that’s coaxing the tears to well in your eyes. you’re not going to cry, he doesn’t deserve to see you that way. and it felt pathetic to even do so. he’s throwing the truth directly in your face, but somehow . . you find it hard to believe him. there’s just that small hope that deep down inside he felt the same. 

“i don’t understand what you’re afraid of. are you not attracted to me? am i not enough for you? is there another girl on your mind?” and that’s when the desperation pours. that level of dissecting yourself to grasp the context of why he doesn’t want you. your leg bounces out of anxiety, scratching at your thigh with the point of your acrylic. trying your hardest to keep yourself from having a mental breakdown. 

eren’s eyes soften at your reaction, his mouth going dry at the clear effect this had on you. months, years worth of emotions built up for him. it makes a heavy pang in his heart, wondering how he could be so blind and stupid. his intentions were never meant to hurt you. 

“why would you think that?" eren asks, tilting his head slightly. "i never gave you any indication that you weren't good enough for me. why can’t i just not be ready?”

the words roll off his tongue easily, like they were rehearsed. “if you weren’t ready, eren, you could’ve just been upfront with me to avoid this shit from the jump. i would’ve went about my life if you laid it down on the table in bold fucking letters. but every time we were together, you made me feel like — we had a chance. the hugs, the kisses, the ‘i love you’s, the sex. you treated me like i was your girl. and i could say i’m running with the subject. but, i wouldn’t do that if i didn’t have something being fed to me. i’m not an idiot.” 

“i just —” he goes to knock his head back, blowing out a huff of air as he shoves his hands into his jean pockets. “i don’t want to hurt you, ꒰♡꒱. i don’t know if i can be the person you need right now. i can’t give you what you want. it’s complicated, and it’s not fair to you. i like you, a lot. i can’t explain my exact feelings, but i’ve always been attracted to you. i thought once that maybe it could work out between us, but the more time goes on, the more i realize how fucked up i am. you deserve better. and it kills me to say even that.” 

this was triggering for some reason, feeling claustrophobic from the close proximity of his body between the small space of your closet. it’s all making you sick. you felt like you were going to have a panic attack if you stayed in here with him any longer. standing up, you brush past him to rush towards the door, twisting the knob frantically only to find it locked. fuck. groaning, you bang on the door, anticipated to kick it down if no one let you out in the next five seconds. 

“꒰♡꒱, stop and take a breath,” eren’s well aware of how you get when you’re stressed out, actions turning frantic as you rest your forehead against the cold door. “baby, look at me.” 

"oh, nah. we a little late for that,” you respond after you turn to face him, shaking your head. “see, you say shit like that because you know how i feel about you. you’re real good at manipulating me. real good. you make me feel like i'm drowning by the weight of my emotions. i hate this, hate this. you make me too vulnerable. and you call me baby? h-how else am i supposed to think?” 

“i’m sorry,” his hands go to grab your arms. your body stiffens under his touch, a shiver running down your spine at the contact. you can't help but notice the sincerity in his eyes, the conviction in his tone. part of you wants to believe him, to accept that this is truly all there ever was between you. but the other part, the part that's been carrying a torch for him for years, refuses to let go so easily.

“please believe me when i say that. i never, ever meant to hurt you. and i truly do apologize for not being honest from the beginning. and i will continue to apologize because i genuinely feel bad.” 

his voice is softer now, less defensive, more genuine. it's clear that despite his initial reluctance, he does cherish your friendship, and he values your presence in his life. but, you’re still conflicted. 

"i — i don't know, eren. i don’t think i can accept that,” you whisper, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. the weight of his rejection settles heavily in your chest, making it hard to breathe.

eren hesitates briefly before wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close against his chest. the warmth of his body seeps into yours, providing a comforting counterpoint to the cold reality of the current situation. it stuns you, your body slowly relaxing into his hold, letting the familiar comfort wash over you. he’s laying your head endearingly on his chest, brushing his hand along the back of your head. suddenly, eren slowly pulls from you, his intense stare into your eyes blurring your thoughts, glitching when he tucks a curl behind your ear before inching his face toward yours and shockingly kissing you.

your eyes widen in surprise as his lips press against yours, the suddenness of the gesture leaving you momentarily stunned. but as the sensation registers, your body responds instinctively, melting into the kiss. your hands come up to rest on his chest, fingers digging lightly into his shirt as you return the kiss with equal fervor. the world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the intensity of the moment. it's as if the last two months of hurt and confusion have never happened, and you're transported back to a time when the possibility of something more between you seemed within reach.

eren breaks the kiss abruptly, pulling back with a flush on his cheeks. you look at him, searching his eyes for any sign of discomfort or regret. but instead, you see something else entirely — desire, longing, and a hint of uncertainty. he swallows hard, opening his mouth to say something, but no words come out. instead, he closes his eyes tightly, shaking his head slightly. "fuck, i’m sorry. i don’t know why i did that,” he mutters, turning away from you.

the air grows even heavier, and you can’t help but to pull him back into your grasp, his heavy hands sitting on your hips he grips roughly to pull you closer. his mouth is back on yours within seconds, widening his jaw to deepen the kiss, your lips smacking and your back suddenly pressing against the wall. as the kiss intensifies, you moan softly, feeling a wave of heat wash over you. your hands slide from his face to his shoulders, holding him tightly. 

your hips grind against his, seeking friction, craving the closeness that only he can provide. every inch of your being screams for more, for a deeper connection, for a fulfillment that only he can offer. eren groans into your mouth, his own hands roaming over your curves, tracing the contours of your body with a hunger that belies his previous reticence. he presses himself harder against you, his erection throbbing with need. his movements become more deliberate, more urgent, as if he's trying to bridge the gap between you two with every fiber of his being.

“your legs are shaking,” he whispers, now resting a hand on your inner thigh. 

you nod shyly, his big hand making you pulsate. you spread your legs wider. “touch me. please."

his tongue swirls around the side of your neck as his breath tickles your skin, making you shiver slightly as he continues the kisses down to your collarbone. then, his hand moves up your thigh more, now moving it’s way under your short black skirt to pull your thong to the side, eyes rolling back into your skull when his fingers make contact with your soaked clit. a simple touch from him easily arousing you. 

"talk to me. i need to hear your voice."

eren removes your shirt, needing so badly to feel your skin beneath his burning fingertips. whispering into your ear as he talks you through it, placing his fingers back onto your clit. “you're enjoying this, aren't you?" 

“you make me so wet,” you whimper, raising your right thigh to give him further access. 

“i bet i do,” your body prickles with fire the moment he takes your neck into his hold to choke you, his brows furrowed as the two of you listen to your sluice clit he rubs circles onto. licking his lips, he spreads your lips apart before sinking his fingers in knuckle deep, the illicit squelch making his dick shift. both of you make the same expression of pleasure, eren moaning from the strong grip your pussy has on his fingers, missing that. 

despite the overwhelming pleasure, you manage to stifle your cries, biting your lip to keep silent as eren’s fingers curl inside you, stroking that sweet spot that makes your vision blur and your legs tremble. he removes them momentarily, collecting your juices to rub your hardened clit again. you pull him in to moan into his neck, tugging onto his long hair, eren responding to your silent plea by plunging his long fingers into your dripping cunt.

“mmm, fuck,” your face curls up from the heat swimming in your lower tummy. feeling the way you moan into his neck sends shock waves through his body. the grasp on his hair only makes him apply more pressure to your spot, pushing you further and further.

“look at you taking that shit. you love my fingers?”

you nod drunkenly. "yea, love your fingers." 

"you love my fingers, baby?" he hums in your ear condescendingly. 

"i love them so much, baby," you whine, unable to control your breath. 

“fuck,” eren couldn’t take it anymore, crouching before you to hungrily latch his lips onto your clit. a high-pitched moan flows past your mouth unexpectedly, eren lifting your leg to set it on his shoulder, sucking you into his mouth, and swallowing every drip that leaks from you. 

“cover your mouth, pretty. you sound too good. ima bust.” eren’s mouth never leaves your pussy as he speaks, his words muffled by your wetness. 

each thrust of his fingers sends waves of pleasure crashing through you, while his tongue works on your clit, coaxing moans and whimpers from your lips. eren’s mouth works tirelessly on your pussy, his tongue lapping rapidly over your clit while his fingers pump in and out of your dripping hole. he alternates between long, slow strokes and quick, frantic thrusts, determined to wring every last moan from your lips. his free hand grabs your ass, squeezing the plump flesh as he pulls you even closer, ensuring that not an inch of your body is left untouched by his desire.

your back arches off the wall as the first shockwave of your climax rip through you, your thighs quivering and your pussy spasming around eren’s fingers. he doesn't let up, continuing to lick and suckle your clit through the aftershocks, drawing out every last drop of pleasure. as the sensations begin to subside only a little, you slump against the wall, panting heavily. eren reluctantly pulls away, his lips glistening with your juices. he looks up at you with a smirk, his own arousal still evident. 

"fuck, you real sweet," he murmurs, his voice husky with lust, standing back on his feet while keeping his fingers inside of you. craving more. "you're making this really difficult for me, ꒰♡꒱.” his breath grows sharper. "you're so loud when you moan for me. tryna make everybody hear you?" 

"your voice," you hiccup weakly, speaking the thought aloud, loving how he talks to you. 

"you like my voice?" he hums, planting a sloppy, haste kiss amongst your pouty lips you’d bitten red. he raises his brow, repeating himself since you’re so fucked out. “you like my voice, right?" 

"yes, daddy," you scream out. 

"daddy? that's new," the grin is all too evident. you're too deep in your pleasure to acknowledge the embarrassment. nodding along. not seeming to care that you're barely conscious. 

"erennn! m'gonna cum!" you warn, gripping onto his shifting wrist, arching your chest into his. 

“gimme that shit then, baby. cum on my fingers like you always do. so goddamn needy.” 

uncaring of the people outside of the closet, you whine his name loudly, gyrating your hips into his palm your pussy gushed on. as you struggle to maintain control, your orgasm builds rapidly, coiling tight in your belly before bursting forth in a torrent of ecstasy. gushing on his fingers. eren's eyes go wide, slapping his big hand over your mouth to somewhat muffle your sounds.  

"shhh, fuck mamas," he stares at you with desire, keeping his fingers moving. "pussy drippin’ all on me." 

you stare at him blissfully, that pretty little head of yours thinking of nothing but how good he just made you feel. how hard he made you cum. even with just his fingers, it felt like nothing you've felt before. dazed, and unable to speak, you reach to unravel the belt on his hips connected to his heaving stomach. you've got him so fucking horny he's not sure if he can stop you right now. no longer giving a fuck who hears. that's their problem. it’s their fault anyways. 

"i want it," you give him widened eyes, noticing he left his head for a moment. 

"i can't stop once i start, m'telling you that right now,” his breath hitches, following your guide of undoing his jeans. 

"i. want. it," you repeat slowly, making it clear. 

“mm, that was sexy,” he grins, pecking your lips once more. you giggle when he lifts you up, turning and pulling one of your jackets off a hanger to lay down so you won’t hurt your back, the gesture making you smile stupidly. 

"this closet is too fuckin' small, my back hurts," eren complains. 

his jeans are clad to his waist, small beauty marks littered around his stomach up to his chest area. v-line sharp and abdomen toned with fairly tanned skin. he exudes masculinity. his pubic hairs are dark, trimmed as usual, and his dick sits heavy on your mound, a pearl of precum forming at the tip just daring to be licked up. your mouth watered every time you observed him. his attractiveness something you’ll never forget. you gasped when he taps your clit with his dick, hearing the two of you connect makes the big man above you groan desperately. 

"put it in you," he spanks your inner thigh, holding them up and open for you, his entire body arched dominantly over your small frame. “don't hurt yourself." 

“ ‘kay,” you nod shyly, wrapping your palm around his dick, the skin hot and rushing with blood, sucking your pudgy stomach in and lifting your head up some more to see at a better angle. relaxing your hips, you breathe slowly, rubbing his tip up and down your entrance before carefully pulling him into yourself. 

“nng,” you whimper, face scrunched up from the pain of the stretch. he’s aware by now of how much time you need to take him fully considering his size. 

“breathe, babe. you think too much, that’s why it hurts,” he whispered, kissing your forehead to keep his composure. he’s only halfway in and he feels like he’s close to nutting. “let go, lemme work it in.” 

you listen, laying back down fully while eren takes the lead. he’s gently swaying his hips to maneuver his way in, both of you watching it go in and out with fascination. his dick is thick, and it feels like he’s splitting you open every single time. but once he’s inside, you love that feeling of being stuffed, being completely apart of him. his body is now in full contact with your legs, eren hissing, a rumble in his throat borderline feral as he fucks you hard once he’s sure you’re okay.  

because you’ve came twice, you already felt sensitive and easy to another orgasm. it didn’t mean to happen so fast, but the moment his pace picks up, his thighs clash heavily against your own as he pressed your tummy down and fucked you deep, and you cum again. squeaking and trembling beneath him, the wet patpat of his dick pounding into you making you both dizzy. eren spews expletives in repetitions silently, watching your eyes go white, pretty individuals wispy on your lash line. 

he sees how much effort you're putting in to keep your noises in. “fuck them, lemme hear you.”

now his face is in yours, his moans burning your stomach even worse. it feels like a sickness how much you get off from hearing him, or any sound of weakness he makes. 

"god . . eren!" you hiss in pleasure. 

the heat was overbearing. the small proximity of the closet mixed with your skin connecting salaciously made you equally sweaty. beads of it sticking to eren's forehead, dampening his brown hair, turning them into curly ringlets. in no time, eren pulls himself out to fist his dick, twisting his wrist as he tugs his orgasm out of himself, cumming on your warm stomach. 

“shit, baby. you feel good every fuckin’ time,” he’s leaning in to give you another kiss. he sits up on his knees, dragging your thong completely off to wipe up his mess. “i can give you better. i wasn't done." 

you laugh and place your hand on his face, pushing it away with laughter. "move, boy. i need to get out of this damn closet.” 

"fine," he rolls his eyes playfully, fixing his pants and standing to his feet. "ima head to the bathroom.”

"hey," you protest with a pout. "come get me, i'm sore. you fucked me into the floor.” 

“i put the jacket down,” eren goes to grab for your hand and you make a disgruntled cry. 

“pick me up, dummy." 

to your luck the door ends up being unlocked now, and that gives you a clear explanation that they were in fact ear hustling. when eren opens the door and you’re huddled behind him shyly, the only person asleep was armin. connie ended up powering on your playstation to play the last of us two while ymir watched in agony over the storyline. the game gets immediately paused when the two of you show your faces. eren’s is stoic as usual, while yours is filled with embarrassment as you hide behind his tall figure. 

“i knew y’all were fucking listening, perverts,” eren calls them out, a cocky smirk displayed on his features. 

“got a little loud so we needed a distraction,” ymir replied, laughing as she stared at you. “i see you had a good time.” 

“not too much,” you warn, rolling your eyes playfully. 

“we talked just like y’all wanted. so, thanks for that.” 

you pout. “aren't you glad we made up?" 

"oh, definitely, for sure," arrogance is laced in his voice, turning back to them. "y’all got to hear us become really good friends, huh?" 

there’s that word again. friends. it bothered you again. that uncomfortable feeling in your tummy daring to ruin your mood. so, you brush it off. 

"y'all not g’na fight no more? cause i'm sick of it.” 

"we found a new way to fight," you break in a joke. 

"so remember that shower we need to take?" eren reminds you. 

"shower?! aw hell, they locked in." 

"bring your ass," eren swats your behind, possessively placing his hand on your hips to tug you along. you stumble next to him with a giggle, tripping over your feet up the stairs as he laughs at you, the two of you rushing towards the bathroom. 

this is the first time the two of you ever shared a shower together, talking as normal as you watch each other bathe. eren admires your beauty, having a hard time keeping his hands to himself. a few moments of you swatting them away happening. you knew it was your house, so you could do whatever you wanted. but already having sex with him knowing your friends were mere inches away felt improper. as you lathered your body in soap, he traces your skin tenderly. you look up at him with starry eyes, emotions coming to full conclusion. you might actually love this man. he feels that spark, studying your face like a lovesick boy. 

"what?" you ask cluelessly. 

"nothing," he swallows, internally punching himself in the face. he's holding back again. unable to understand why. what's he protecting exactly? himself or you? he's unsure. 

eren slips his same attire back on while you toss on an oversized nightmare on elm street t-shirt after lathering your body in baby oil. you mentioned to eren that you were hungry, and he offered to drive you anywhere you wanted to feed you. rushing down the steps in a pair, you catch only connie up this time, ymir passed out sleep on your rug flat on her back. 

"finished showering?" connie asks, being slick as usual. 

"it was sooo fun," you exaggerate, raising your middle finger. "we're getting food. bye!" 

"bye!" eren copies with a chirp, mocking your excited wave. 

since your apartment resides near the campus, the area you lived had plenty of food joints, some that would stay open later than usual. you decided on denny’s since it was seven in the morning by this point and you didn’t want to eat too heavy knowing you were going straight to sleep once you get back. the line is long and the two of you stand fairly close together. you cling to his side, making the initiative to hold his hand. eren's unsure, again, why he's withholding how he wants to feel. he drops your hand, leaving you to feel awkward and out of place almost. you felt a pang in your chest from the action, taking a deep breath, ignoring it, and waiting to be seated. 

the service was pretty quick, ordering what you both wanted which was a stack of pancakes with bacon and home fries and receiving it within ten minutes. he does his best to try and enjoy his food, though his gaze keeps shifting over to you. your mood changed, he obviously noticed since you’ve barely spoken, hiding your face in your phone to avoid conversation. it's bothering him. he doesn't want to make a big deal out of this for the time being. so he decided to eat his food. 

"why'd you drop my hand like that?" 

he stops eating, looking at you as he sets his fork down. it takes a minute for him to figure out what you’re pressing about before he recalls. “sorry, i just didn't want people thinking the wrong thing." 

that takes you aback. what the fuck? “and what would be the wrong thing?" you raise your brow with irritation. 

"look, i just don't need people in my business." 

"why do you care what people think?" the anger is kicking in. maybe you were overreacting. granted, you two didn't establish your relationship fully. you also didn't think it was a big deal to hold his hand. it's like your confession earlier never happened. 

"i don't think it's a big deal. i would rather not have to deal with people asking uncomfortable questions. it'll lead to a lot of unnecessary drama." 

"you mean with them bitches you fucked," you retaliate. "because god forbid you have a girlfriend, right?" 

"who said you were my girlfriend?" eren asks rather coldly. and that makes you silent. he realizes then how rude that came out. that's not what he meant. "wait, i'm . .” 

"basically, to conclude, you don't want to date me. noted." 

"i never said that . . .” 

"so, what then, eren? am i not good enough for you to show off? you wanna keep me a secret? like some girl you just fuck, who, by the way, you admitted your feelings for. normal people date after shit like that gets said. i don't care what people think about me, that's your problem." 

“of course you don’t, there’s nothing to think about when you only spread your legs once a year. you aren’t fucking on people like i am,” he replies, a bit too quickly, a response that is barely thoroughly planned out. he tried to apologize, but the words ended up getting caught in his neck. “i —”

"end of conversation," you snarl. that was so low of him to say. 

“i just meant you don’t express yourself sexually like i do. not that it’s a problem, i just have a reputation. i told you i’m not in a place to be what you want right now.” 

"i’m doing my best not to punch you in your fuckin’ face right now, so i advise you to be careful what you say next. in fact, don’t say anything at all.” 

words aren’t spoken for the majority of your meal after that, unable to finish all of your food since all you wanted to do was go home and cry in your pillow. he keeps toying with your heart again and again. it’s wildly frustrating. he pays the tab and you’re on your way back home, the car ride is silent as well. before you go to exit, he stops you. 

"can i say one last thing before you leave?" 

you turn to him, dead silent. 

"i am sorry for everything i said. you're right, i shouldn't care so much about what other people think. i should've said that from the beginning, and i didn’t mean to call you out like that. that was disrespectful, i admit. i just want us to be like we used to be simply because i hate hurting you. you mean a lot to me. you’re my best friend.”

left stuck, you only say what he wants to hear. "i understand. i just need time to think." 

"i understand." he says back, shifting his eyes back towards the steering wheel. 

you don't seem as angry as before, mostly because you’ve mentally checked out, so he's not entirely sure what else to say. he just wanted to let you know he meant everything. but, it's far too late for that. he'd said enough a few moments ago. and it's exactly what you needed to hear to realize that he'd never be ready for you. he'd never be mature enough for a relationship. he'd never see you as his first choice. still keeping that childish mentality of fucking girls to get his nut and ruin their hearts. it's enough. 

eren goes inside to grab armin and ymir to take them back to the dorm since they drove here together. connie lets himself out, everyone says goodbye, and you close your door without giving eren so much as another look. 

𓇼 

three months fly by and you two never contacted one another. eren noticed you avoid him on campus whenever you spot him. weeks of eyeing his phone for your text or call. he got the message clear, but it hurt his feelings, possibly on the same level he hurt yours. he stalked your account any chance he got, never missing a story. it was the only access to keeping a piece of you with him. that only lasted a month before you soft-blocked him. making your story unavailable to his eyesight but never having the balls to unfollow . . . just in case. having that small feel of hope that he'd come around and show you that he's everything you want in a man. albeit fairly likely.

all eren can do is go about his life and hope that you’d make the decision to keep him in yours. connie noticed how down eren was today, dragging him to come watch the homecoming football game. he’s dressed depressingly in black sweats with a dark green hoodie, resting his back against the bleachers with his eyes shut, trying to block out the exaggerated screams people made for the team. it’s a big game considering it’s the last before winter break, and it’s home based. eren peaked his eye open to watch connie chow down a hotdog, obnoxiously chewing and catching his irritated glare. 

“is it good?” eren bluntly acknowledges. 

connie raises his middle finger unspoken, ignoring his moody friend and focusing on the cheerleaders twisting and flipping. “oh, there’s ꒰♡꒱.” 

eren shoots up in a flash, the hood over his head hiding most of his gorgeous face. “where?” 

eren follows connie’s guide pointing in the direction you stand. and there you were, looking pretty as ever. he swore his heart skipped a beat. gorgeous face with a light beat of makeup, illuminating a soft, dollete glam with pink blush, brown lip liner, gloss, and heavy highlight on your nose and inner corner of your eyes that glowed under the beaming lights from the football field. your hair is straightened, styled in a half up half down with the bun spiked, enhancing your facial features. incredibly cut dark-washed denim shorts hugging your thighs while a baby pink oversized jersey covers your top halve. 

eren studies you like a lover does poetry, heart awestruck by your beauty, your aura radiating halfway across the field. god, he misses you so damn much. that daydream lala land in his head comes to an immediate halt when he spots a guy laughing in your face as the two of you bump noses in a disgustingly cute eskimo kiss. the muscles in eren’s jaw shifts, his eyes lowering and darkening as his posture changes. straightening his back and spreading his legs wide before he’s moving his neck and chest forward like a venomous snake, observing your interaction intently. 

it’s honestly scary how quickly his anger consumes him, his entire body going up in flames as he stares at the two of you like a giant crow hiding in the trees. his body is solid, barely even breathing as he finds torture in you pouring gatorade into this man’s mouth, his helmet in one hand while the other brushes your hair away from your face, bright white teeth shining as he smiles at you. you use a towel to dab off any excess sweat from his brown skin. then, eren realizes something. he knows this guy. 

onyankopon. a quarterback, a valedictorian in high school, and a student in his physics class. eren grows jealous. it was clear to him that you had a thing for him, eren trying to avoid showing any hints of jealousy so connie wouldn't bring it up even if deep down inside, he felt it. eren watches you giggle in onyankopon's face. he's way too close to you. it bothers him beyond comprehension. you and onyankopon have been messing around for the exact time you broke contact with eren. fucking around every now and thence, attending classes, and enjoying your life since it didn’t end when the man you were madly in love with rejected you. you were attracted to him for sure. he made you laugh, cooked for you, taught you how to ride his motorcycle. . a bunch of lovey shit you never felt before. but, your feelings for eren ruined any chance for you to be fully devoted.

it’s hard for eren to even sit through the remainder of this game, barely paying attention to the players and eyeing you almost the entire time. cheering, jumping up and down whenever onyankopon made a move let alone breathed. you’re like a goddamn fan girl. your friends seem to encourage you, purposely pushing you into him at times when he ran back over for your opinion. it’s like he finally exhales when the games over, connie knocking him from his trance of scrutiny. 

“yo, let’s go. we gotta party to get to.” 

the sigh is loud from eren, exasperated so. “who the fuck said i was up for a party? we have finals in two days. you dragged me from studying for this shitty ass game.” 

connie raises his hands in defense. “woah, fucker. you gotta stick up your ass, pull it out.” 

“i’m going home.” 

as eren begins to rise, connie refuses to move out of his path. “this is about ꒰♡꒱, isn’t it?” 

his shoulders raise defensively. “tread lightly, con.” 

“save me the bullshit, eren. for once just act like you give a fuck about the girl and go talk to her. this has been a repetition. how are you ever going to solve issues if you’re constantly running from them?” 

“she doesn’t want to speak to me. she made that extremely clear.” 

“did she say that, or did you just make her feel it?” 

eren didn’t have time for confrontation, stretching his leg over the bench to cross over him, walking away. “whatever, man. i’ll see you.” 

connie clenched his jaw, scoffing. “see, that’s your damn problem now! you can’t admit when you fuck up. that girl loves you to death and you keep playing in her fucking face! now you’re mad ‘cause you see her with somebody else. that’s bullshit and you know it.” 

eren stops in his tracks, and pulls the hood off his head before slowly turning back in his direction. “okay, maybe you’re right. i’m a fuck up. she already made up her mind by ignoring me for three months. i’m not forcing anything.”

“how do you know she’s not waiting for you to step up and finally do the chasing?” connie arches his brow. eren rolls his lips. “you had that girl hoping and waiting for you to finally reciprocate your feelings, and you lead her on back to back. she chased after you while you thought with your dick for other women. i’m sure she’ll be at the party. go find her and talk to her. and if she’s not fuckin’ with it, then you’ll know to really leave it alone. simple as that.” 

and that’s how eren ended up at the party. it was packed, obviously. they’d won the big game and chose this celebration as an excuse to get fucked up. connie smoked with eren for a bit before he disappeared to talk to some girl he’d been trying to date. eren's drinking heavy liquor, conversing somewhat with some people he knew to clear his head a little. there’s a few women who try to shoot their shot towards him, but he politely declines. the ‘my girl is here’ line seems to work. speaking of, he can't help but be distracted by you. seeing you dance with your friends, act a fool, and flirt with onyankopon whilst sitting on his lap. it enrages him in a way he can't explain. 

not to mention you're wearing his varsity jacket, snuggled into it. this is the last thing eren wanted to find. he wasn't planning on his blood boiling as he stood at the doorway, knocking back the remainder of his hennessy and approaching you the minute he watched onyankopon stick his tongue in your mouth, the two of you lost in each other as you kissed. he doesn’t comprehend his own body movements when he brushes through a sea of people to come your way. 

"what the fuck are you doing, ꒰♡꒱?" eren interrupts, glaring at you furiously. he had a right to be mad, right? weren't you the one who ignored him? blocked him? avoided him? 

you're stunned to see him, let alone hear what came out of his mouth. "excuse me?" you retort, shellshocked by his behavior.

"some nerve you have to act like i don't fuckin’ exist for three months, then i catch you sitting on somebody's lap like it's nothing," he's being outright rude and blunt, unsure if he's aware of it. could've been the alcohol, or what he's been feeling for months piling up into one bubble. and he finally let it burst.

onyankopon grows irritated by this. not only did he interrupt the two of you, but he was talking out his mouth crazy. "i know you ain't talking to her like that." 

"i don't remember stuttering. i'm looking dead at her, aren't i?" eren's stern with his remark.

his statement is senile, your head immediately pounding with a migraine from his stupid ass attack. that's when you get mad. "what? last time we spoke, you told me you didn't want to be with me and only saw me as someone you wanted to fuck on the low. so what the fuck makes you think it's okay to yell in my face about some shit you ended?!" 

"oh, he's lost his fuckin mind," onyankopon chuckles sinisterly, not even giving him a chance to reply. shaking his head in a 'this nigga got me fucked up' kinda way. your heart speeds up in panic as onyankopon's hands hold onto either side of your waist before he gently lifts you to stand along with you. "eren, right?" 

eren can feel his cheeks burn, the anger intensifying now that he's face to face with onyankopon. your heart is ready to drop out of your chest at the thought of them fighting right now. please, no. "i'm sure you knew that, don't ask stupid questions." 

anyone can see the heat building up in onyankopon's eyes, the people in the area whispering to one another while watching. your anxiety is skyrocketing. two big men fighting over you would be hot inside of a novel, yes. but you hated the idea of violence. especially from men. it triggered your flight mode and you wanted nothing more than to crawl into a ball and cover your ears like a scared child. "guys, wait —"

"nah, baby. let him finish," his hand goes up insinuating a pause. "nigga got so much shit to say to you on some pussy shit. be a man and talk to me.”

before you get the chance to say anything, eren’s fist goes flying into onyankopon’s nose, his head aggressively knocking to the side, looking as if it spun off his neck for a moment. "how's that for some pussy shit?" 

gasps fill along the room, your hand going to your mouth as you watch onyankopon swing back, connecting his hit back. two of his teammates go to hold him back, knowing this isn’t some shit he needed to get into right now. you take the initiative to grab eren’s attention, knowing it’s dumb to jump between men in rage, but you felt like only you could stop him right now. his face is as red as a tomato, grabbing and tugging at his shirt with all of your strength he’s surprised you can even move him. almost stumbling over from your aggression. onyankopon’s friends drag him away from the situation before it got worse. in the process, he noticed you didn’t look his way not once, not even to check if he was alright. 

"eren, chill!" you finally snap. "let's go out back and talk. you're fucking embarrassing me." 

everyone watches as you drag him by his shirt like a bad ass child, shoving open the door that lead to the back area of the fraternity house, a few people there but you find a spot under a tree further down the hill. finally letting go, you take a few steps away from him, ready to blow from the anger streaming in your veins. thankfully, the smell from the lake and the wind blowing soothed you in some way. your arms are crossed over your chest, listening to the muffled noise of music booming inside the house and shutting your eyes. 

“eren, what are you doing here?” 

“connie dragged me here. believe me, i would’ve never come. especially after seeing you two boo’d up at the game. he your man now?” 

a sarcastic snort comes from you, twisting your body and looking his way. it’s been months since you’ve made contact with this man, and his aura still pulls you in. you truly despised it. “you need to apologize to him for starting an unnecessary fight. you don’t even know him to be acting like that.” 

adding salt to the already open wound, eren responds with a petty shrug and a scoff. “he had that shit coming.” 

“wow,” the smile lines around your mouth deepen and your lower lip pokes out as you frown, making an expression of disbelief. "you have a lot of nerve acting like you're my boyfriend when you settled for friendship only. do you not recall? or do i need to refresh your dry ass memory?” 

he's bitter about the situation still, that’s clear as day. he also assumed you were okay after the conversation you had in the car that night. but, he was wrong. he remains silent, fearing that his jumbled thoughts would fuck up what he really wanted to say. 

"if you couldn't see that i was hurt about what you told me that night, then you truly don't care. i kept my distance because you knew how i felt about you and you chose to be oblivious. i met ony and he made me forget about you. then you break back into my life whenever it's convenient for you. i'm not going to be available for you on your terms." 

"so you're using him to get over me?" 

"as i'm allowed to because you're not my man!" you narrow your brows. "aren’t you the same one that said i only spread my legs once a year? you’re mad ‘cause it’s not for you anymore, right?”

“you know i didn’t mean it like that.” 

“me and ony are just friends. whatever we got going on is none of your concern." 

"it's my concern if we gonna be together. therefore, he gotta go." 

"oh, now you wanna be with me," you scoff. "you're three months — no . . six months late. if you don't recall, you tried this shit before our friends forced us to make up. again, due to your ignorance of my emotions. i shouldn't have to wait for you to decide whether or not i'm worth being in your future. i am not a fantasy! i'm not here for you to fuck when you need to feel something! i deserve someone who's going to love me and give me the romance i crave! you don’t care enough about me no matter what you say.” 

tears are welling in your eyes now, and that breaks eren's heart beyond measure. "꒰♡꒱ . . ." 

"fuck, i didn't want you to see me cry," you sniffle, wiping your eyes aggressively. 

he let the alcohol completely steer him away from his initial goal, and that was to speak to you like connie had got on his ass about. not make you upset. he doesn’t understand why he keeps breaking his promise to stop hurting you. 

“i'm horrible when it comes to making any commitments. that, you were right about before,” he states, your eyes drawing back to his. "it wasn't fair of me to invalidate your feelings all those times. i knew you wanted to be with me, i just couldn't bring myself to be honest about what i wanted. more so, i didn't know what i wanted at the time. but being disconnected from you, my best friend . . it hurt my fucking soul."

the oversized varsity jacket clinging to your body brings you comfort, wrapping it tighter around yourself out of anxiousness. the scent of onyankopon’s cologne on the fabric brings you even more sadness. you feel bad for what happened, needing to find him to apologize when you get the chance. 

"i have so, so many regrets when it comes to you. so much time wasted, things that could've been avoided had i been mature and upfront. expecting you to be available to me because of our relationship was wrong of me. using you was wrong of me. leading you on, pushing you away, fucking with other girls when you were right here . . it was selfish of me, and i'm a dick for it all, i admit that. and i want nothing more than to apologize and make up for all i've done. you didn't fucking deserve that." 

suddenly, he's holding your face in his hands as you weep, both of you unsure of when you broke the distance between you two. "please, please don't cry baby. i'm so sorry." 

words could only mean so much. you weren't sold yet. if he wants you for real, he's going to have to make a better offer than just words. false promises were a learned matter with him. he needed to prove how much you mean to him. 

"i'll do everything in my power to make sure that i am the man you deserve," he whispers, his hold on your face beginning to tighten as you pull him closer by his shirt out of habit. "promise i'll treat you right. i'll never make you feel like you're someone to fix me when i'm going through shit or i'm horny. i'll never make you feel like you have to compete with other women again. i'll never take you for granted again." 

his face is now inches away from yours. his voice, his scent, the warmth he brings, it makes you feel so vulnerable. . . so safe. like that invisible string never broke. eren screaming with hope within, praying you reply. it feels so good to feel your body pressed against his, the scent of your conditioner wafting into his nostrils. he hugs you tightly, afraid that he'll lose you. he's been craving this for so long. 

"i missed this. i missed you," he murmurs between your neck, his grasp becoming a little tighter. you feel his chest slowly rising and falling as a soft sigh escapes his lungs. as the silence continues to grow between the two of you, it's becoming harder for you to find the words you want to say to him. 

"say what you want to say," it's like he read your mind, swallowing deeply before pulling your face back to eye level. he looks down at you. 

"i can’t accept your apology." 

eren slowly pulls away from you, a frown on his face and heartache yanking at his chest. it’s his karma, he knew that well. there was no reason to push you into something you no longer wished for. you’d made up your mind, and he just had to live with that. in the future, possibly learning from his mistake. he swallows, nodding as he backs away, accepting your answer indefinitely. 

“if that’s how you truly feel, then i will respect your boundaries. i’m truly sorry, again. i hate to leave things behind on a bad note, so i wanna tell you that i pray you find the love you deserve, and that i wish you nothing but the best.” 

a final touch of his lips lands on your cheek. eren’s giving you one last smile before turning to walk away. a broken weep cracks from you, lower lip trembling as you hug yourself tightly like he had only seconds ago. he’s halfway gone before you watch him pause, eyes unable to bring them from his figure. you felt like you’d lose the memory of him if you didn’t look. this felt like a horrible breakup neither one of you wanted to end. 

eren’s caught reaching into his jean pocket, pulling out his wallet before he approached you once more, the sadness on your face making this worse for him. “i almost forgot.” 

out of nowhere, eren grabs your hand, opening your palm and placing a cold object into it. you stare confusingly, leveling your palm towards your face to see a sterling silver necklace. it’s a simple piece of jewelry with a single initial. the letter ‘e’. 

"i’ve been meaning to give this to you for a while. i carried it with me every day,” he smiles warmly. 

a mix of surprise and shock washes over you, your brown eyes blown wide like a deer in headlights, or a girlfriend being proposed to. you stare at the necklace in your palm, feeling the featherweight of it, the cool metal against your skin. memories flood your mind — all those times you shared laughing together, graduating high school, sneaking out to see each other, sharing secrets, dreams, and hopes. this symbol represents all of that, and yet, it also reminds you of the pain, the betrayal, the shattered trust. your gaze flickers up to meet eren's, seeing the desperation in his eyes, the vulnerability, the raw emotion. part of you still loves him, still wants to believe in him, in your relationship. but the other part is screaming at you to protect yourself, to move on, to forget. 

"e as in eren," you gasp, lip still trembling. 

"well, yea," he laughs softly. it’s a tangible connection to you, even if things have changed. eren watches your reaction closely, hoping against hope that seeing the necklace might change your mind about him. he swallows hard, his throat tight with emotion. "i was planning on giving it to you when the time was right, even though i wasn’t exactly sure when that would be. i know it's not much, but . . i thought maybe you could keep it as a reminder of our friendship. of everything we shared."

he reaches out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing against your skin. "please, ꒰♡꒱,” he whispers, his voice cracking. "don’t throw it away. keep it close to your heart, and remember that i’ll always be here for you, no matter what happens between us."

you notice how close he is to you, and you feel a small amount of nervousness start to set in again. but, you don’t let it show in your expressions, focusing instead on trying to hold yourself together. this was a lot. you’ll always cherish the memories you have together, but, was this really goodbye? did you want him to completely disappear from your life? he’s someone who’s been apart of it for so long. you couldn’t imagine life without him. three months was hard enough, even the two before that. you didn’t want him to be a stranger. you didn’t want him to never speak to you again. you didn’t want to sever your relationship entirely — your connection. 

“i love you, ꒰♡꒱. i really mean that.” 

before he gets the chance to touch you one last time, you're leaning in first, lifting yourself by your tiptoes to press your lips into his. his nose smushed against yours, inhaling sharply as he grabbed your throat, kissing you deeper. as always, you melt into his touch like putty, your entire body bursting with fire when his fingertips brush against your hips under your jersey, pulling you into him harder than he intended. scared to let you go. eren grunts into your mouth when you moan into him, gliding his tongue across yours salaciously, his back arched to bend to your level. another hand huge on the side of your face while he kisses you passionately, turning his head slightly to the side while maintaining his clutch around your throat. 

eren gasps into the kiss, the sudden surge of warmth flooding his senses. his mind goes blank as he loses himself in the sensation of your lips against his, your taste filling his mouth. the hand on your hip tightens instinctively, drawing you closer until there's no space left between you. the unexpected kiss throws him off balance, but he doesn't care. all he knows is that he's lost in the moment, the tension between you both finally breaking. his free hand moves to cup your cheek, thumb stroking over your skin as he deepens the kiss, his tongue dancing with yours.

“fuck, i love you,” he repeats again, now applying pressure to your ass he squeezes and lifts, his bulge hitting your stomach. it makes your gut flip when he bites your lip, your hands unknowingly trailing up his abdomen, the bumpy path of his abs giving you flashbacks. 

now, he’s kissing along your jawline, down your neck, his tongue tracing the curve of your collarbone. his hands are everywhere, roving over your body, caressing and gripping like he can’t get enough of the way you feel against him. his lips move up to your ear where his breath tickles you, your inner thighs locking tight. he murmurs softly into your ear, “i want you . . need you so badly. can i?” 

he sounds slightly breathless, his need for you obvious in his low tone. “can i touch you . . please?” 

“where’s your car?” 

there’s a pause as he registers your question, his mind slightly clouded from the feeling of you against him. “down the street, why?” 

“take me.” 

“you sure?” he asks. even though the desire for you is written all over his face, there’s a hint of hesitation and question in his tone. he needs to be sure this is something you truly want, even if your body speaks before you do. 

“yeah, i’m sure.” 

he takes your hand in his, intertwining his fingers with yours, and leads you down the hill to where his car is parked. you’re not sure what time it is, but the streets are nearly empty, only a few people roaming around drinking and smoking, the party is still very much still happening. tucking your hand into your pocket, you drop the necklace safely there, feeling protected and giddy as you trail behind him. his frame is so much bigger than yours, staring at the back of his head where he had his hair half tied up, wanting to bury your face into his back to smell him. you spot his black r34 gtr and within seconds you’re standing in front of it, almost as if you teleported. he must’ve been walking really fast. 

he releases your hand to dig for his keys, unlocking his car and opening the passenger side to adjust the seat fully up and make enough room for you both. you’re more at ease knowing his windows were tinted, illegally the blackest of black. with each inhale, he can feel the intensity of the situation starting to build up once again, raising his body only to have you push into him, his body leaning against his car as you squish your lips back into his, growing impatient. 

"wait. ." he paused in between kisses, the heat between your thighs becoming unbearable as he hissed into your mouth. "backseat, now." 

his eyes are trained on your ass as he watches you duck low and climb in the back, practically shoving you inside as he looks over his shoulder before following behind not a moment later. the space is snug, his broad body compared to your own not making the best room, but he’ll make it work. eren pushes you down onto the backseat, covering your body with his own as he resumes kissing you, hands sliding under your shirt to fondle your tits. the way the two of you kiss is feverish, open-mouthed with heavy pants of desperation. the way you equally missed each other spoke loudly through it. 

“take this shit off, it smells like him,” eren possessively begins to tug at the varsity jacket clinging to you. forgetting you still had it on. 

“sorry.” 

he tosses it to the front once it’s off, clutching your throat and tugging at your denim shorts with his unoccupied hand. you understand silently, unzipping them and lifting yourself in an awkward way to remove them along with your pale pink new balances. eren has one knee digging into the seat while he balances himself above you by holding the driver's seat headrest, the other foot flat on the floor as he watches you like you’re prey. 

“you’re so damn pretty, baby. miss you,” his hands go to smooth over your inner thighs up to your knees, your shirt rising to your midsection. 

"mhm, show me how much you missed me," you spread your thighs, pink lace thong swallowing your curves, giving him the obvious hint while balancing yourself on your elbows. 

eren’s mouth waters at the sight, your pussy already leaking for him, the material swallowing you up real good. he mutters ‘fuck’ under his breath, wetting his lips and pushing your knees to your chest, cuffing a finger into the band to pull to the side, groaning at the sight of your bare skin, glistening in your slick with your clit hiding between your lips. he knows he just needs to spread them to see her fully, his favorite part. the soft texture of his tongue carefully begins to graze against your skin, sucking and taking in the smell of your body. a surprised squeak escapes your throat as you feel his finger press against your tight entrance.

"no fingers," his dick jumps from the command, moaning as he spanks the outside of your thigh gently while running his tongue over his bottom lip. "just your tongue." 

“y’not gonna let me feel her?” eren coed teasingly, whimpering when he smacks you again while leaving a sloppy kiss onto the mound of your pussy. “stretch her out f’this dick?”

you crack a grin, back resting on the door while you scoot your ass further down to grind onto his face. “not yet.” 

the sudden sensation of your hands in his hair only fuels eren’s arousal further once you draw him closer, growing needy. his thick tongue slithers out his mouth, pooling with salvia as it laps at your clit with renewed vigor, the taste you leave on his tongue sweet and tangy — intoxicating, driving him wild with lust. it’s so damn good he can’t help but spank the outside of your thigh near your ass, the vibration going straight to your clit and it’s almost like he can feel it when it hits you. moaning into your pussy he gives sloppy kisses while your thighs shake. 

“mmm, yesss," you moan in approval, needing him to do it again. until you're bruised. 

his face heats up from the noises you make, a reddish tint on his cheekbones as he shifts his jaw to suck your clit into his mouth, slick dousing his chin as he pulls your puffy clit between his lips to tug and release. 

"keep going," you arch into him. eren smacks you again, a little harder, and a broken, high pitched hiccup erupts from you, followed by a dragged out moan of his name. 

with a final swipe of his tongue, he feels your body shudder and convulse around him. your cries fill the air as you cum hard, coating his face with your essence. he laps it up greedily, humming and savoring every drop. you didn’t expect to cum that quickly, face heating up from shyness as you cover your face and whine. eren chuckles into your pussy, spluttering as he detaches his lips and buries his face within the curve of your hip bone, unable to stop himself from laughing. it’s silly because this is the second time this has happened. the first being when he ate you out on the hood of his car after getting tipsy during game night. feeling like the alcohol influenced it, but he knows you didn’t drink tonight since he kept an eye on you. 

“shut uppp!”

“that literally took a minute!” he’s clutching his stomach now. 

“you know i’m sensitive,” you pout, popping him on the arm. “make me cum again. unless you can’t.” 

“mhm,” eren nods his head cockily, shocking you when he spanks your clit, scarily switching from playful to dominant. “don’t say that shit when you know it’s wrong.”

eren takes a seat on the opposite side, pulling you to sit on your knees, leaning over him as his eyes lock onto yours filled with a primal hunger. your palming at his thighs still covered in dark jeans, using it to balance your weight as eren stretches his left arm behind you to rub your clit with his fingers, collecting your arousal before sinking his pointer and middle into you. he quickened his pace, pumping his hand faster as he fingers your soppy cunt.

the combination of his hand movements and the sensation of your warm breath on his face sends him spiraling. "fuck, you feel so good," he groans, his voice strained with effort. “can’t wait to have this pussy on me.” 

“eren, touch yourself,” you whine, petting at the shape in his jeans, undoing his button and dragging down his zipper. 

eren keens almost submissively, lifting his hips so you can push his jeans down to his knees, eren releasing his hard dick that throbs excessively in his hold. it’s big and pretty, just like you remembered. a dick you’ll never forget for sure. the curve of it makes it touch his stomach, eren rushing his thumb over the tip, wincing from sensitivity and stroking it vertically away from him. 

"let me spit on it," you chew at your lips, rocking your ass back into his hand, every touch making you feral, inner thighs soaked. 

eren nods with lidded eyes, his breath hitching as he waits for your saliva to coat his slickened fingers. the thought of your spit adding another layer of lubrication to his dick makes him even hotter. gathering your salvia on your tongue, you purse your lips together before spitting onto his dick, a cute ‘puh’ emitting as the two of you watch it trail onto his ring covered fingers, eren groaning and twisting his wrist to spread it along his length. 

“just like that," he encourages, his voice barely above a whisper. "stroke your hand over it, baby. c’mon.” 

you moan, wrapping your hand over it, piled on top of his own. you suck your lips inwardly, face curled up same as his as the two of you beat his dick, the squelching from both your hands and his fingers in your pussy making you equally dizzy. he hisses while keeping his eyes on your face, just looking at you enough to bring him over the edge.

"more?” you ask, the trail of spit already falling from your mouth before he can respond, eren momentarily removing his hand, dick jumping from the reaction as you fist his dick before he does. his overlapping yours this time. 

eren’s response is a strangled cry as he feels the pressure building to a crescendo. your skilled hand working in tandem with his own is too much for him to resist. "yes, fuck yeah," he grits out, his body tensing as he prepares to explode. 

"tell me you love me,” you kiss him softly, your tongue exploring his mouth, tasting him. 

"f-fuckin' love you, mamas," obediently, eren guides your stroking hand over his near-spent cock, growing sensitive from the erotic intensity. each gentle, wet stroke sends aftershocks rippling through his core, leaving him shuddering and panting.

"one more time, baby.”

"love you, nngh, love you.”

"i love you too." 

laying your head on his thigh, he continues to fuck you with his fingers, the squelch of your pussy bouncing off the car windows, continuing their relentless assault. the lewd sounds of your arousal draw him closer to his climax. he can feel your body responding to his touch, your juices coating his digits as he plunges them deeper inside you. with a final, needy thrust of his hips, he unleashes a torrent of cum, coating your joined hands in his hot release.

"that’s it," he whispers huskily, his voice raw with satisfaction. you bring his dick to your face, sticking your tongue out and enclosing your lips around him as you jerk him into your mouth. sucking him off. "ooh, fuck, like that. keep touching me." 

“eren . .  baby, your fingers are s’long,” a shudder forms, squealing and rocking your ass back harder to meet the quickened pace of him fucking you open. he’s pushing you to the brink.

"think you can cream on ‘em?” he teases, his voice husky with desire. he’s using both hands now, the other hitting your ass hard in repetitions, refusing to stop, the action echoing in the small space. "can you? i wanna see you do it. gimme sum to lick up.” 

"f-fuck, y-yess. i can give it to you,” you arch your back. “oh my god.” 

encouraged by your eager response, eren doubles his efforts, his fingers curling inside you to hit that sweet spot that makes your muscles clench and a pornographic shout break loose, eren drawing out a ‘yeaaa, baby’, fucking you faster, unoccupied fingers sprawled along your plump ass. his voice fucking with you all over again. 

“mmm. just cum on ‘em. wanna feel it again,” eren’s grip on your hip tightens as he feels your body tense, grinding his palm against your puffy clit.

your sobs are rewarding, your ass burning from his impacts and you give him what he wants like he asked. creaming over his fingers as you cum for the second time, your tummy caving in as you drool on his leg and prolong a whine. body shaking violently with your legs.  

"goddamn. good girl. good girl. you’re so fucking tight," he groans, tasting you off his fingers before going under your stomach to thumb circles on your swollen clit in rhythm with more thrusts. the friction against your clit causes you to scream again, lifting your upper body to distract him by kissing his neck, his ultimate weakness.  

“ooh, you bad girl,” he snarls, his breath coming in ragged gasps. your tongue slicks across his throat before leaving hot kisses, climbing onto his lap by balancing your body on your toes, clutching his shoulders for support as you squat above him. 

eren knows your intention and follows suit, sliding his back down the seat and spreading his legs further apart. reaching behind himself, he leans slightly forward to pull off his hoodie from his backside, his hair getting fuzzy in the process until you smooth it back in place. eren’s hands slide underneath your hot thighs, hooks his arms under your knees, and spread your legs wider apart to accommodate the thickness of his dick as he finally pushes into you.  

“oooh, fuck,” the two of you moan in unison, jaws agape with heavy pants. 

the lewd sounds of flesh meeting flesh echoed through the car, a symphony of raw, animalistic passion. and just like that, he surrenders to the overwhelming sensations coursing through him. he loses himself in the moment, pace frenzied, focusing solely on how good it feels to be buried deep inside you after so long, trying to milk him for everything he's got. you arch into him, that warm feeling coursing through your heart that you haven’t felt since that night in the closet. that feel of worship. eren spanks you again, a little harder and a broken, high-pitched hiccup erupts from you, followed by a dragged out moan of his name. 

he steadily lifts you up and down onto his dick as you switch your hips to ride him. the view from below is turning him on — tits bouncing with each movement, your face contorted in pleasure. he raises his hips to meet your downward motion with equal force, driving himself to the depth with each bounce. skin slapping mingling with your moans, pushing you down with the fingers sprawled across your backside, pussy swallowing all of him. 

“you’re doing so well, baby," he praises, his voice a soothing murmur. "just breathe through it." as he inches farther, he captures your lips in a tender kiss, pouring all his love and devotion into the embrace.

"bite me, please,” you whimper desperately, knocking your head back to expose your neck. "need it."

eren’s eyes gleam with wicked intent, not hesitating to bite into you, knowing how much you have a kink for it. you shriek when his teeth sink into your soft flesh, the steady pressure of them is a mind fuck. the bite is firm yet gentle enough not to hurt you. the sharp pain quickly being replaced by an intoxicating rush of pleasure, sending jolts of arousal coursing through your veins. his tongue laves at the spot after letting go, soothing it with languid strokes while his other hand roams over your body, tracing patterns across your curves. 

"you are mine," he swats your ass, pounding faster. "you will always be mine. and you will never run from that." 

you shake your head drunkenly, pupils rolling white, lashes fluttering. "won't run, promise rennie!” 

"you belong to me,” he says once more, wanting you to repeat. eren’s words are punctuated by another slap of his hand, and by this point you’re sure you’re bruised, each strike a claim of ownership. your knees buckle beneath you, but he holds you up, his strong arms locked around you like a demon in heat. 

"i belong to you, baby.”

he increases the speed and intensity of his movements, driving you towards the precipice of ecstasy. you're dripping wet and moaning, your slick coating his cock as he pounds into you. wrapping your arms tightly around his neck while he slams you down. eren’s hands roam over your curves, spreading your cheeks apart as he pulls you down onto his dick with fervor. each thrust is deeper, harder, driven by a primal urge to claim you utterly.

“fuck, mng. g’na . . cum,” you blubber, biting your bottom lip as he pounds into you. 

“look at me, i wanna see your face when i make you cum,” he orders, his voice raw with desire. 

giving him your attention, you struggle to fully keep them open, every vigorous yank and thrust coaxing that bubbly feeling in your gut. he can feel your walls tightening around him, signaling your impending orgasm. "that’s it, baby," he coos, nibbling on your earlobe. "give it to me. gimme that shit. lemme feel it.”

he shifts his position slightly, angling his hips to hit that sweet spot within you that makes your toes curl and your walls clench even tighter around him. the new angle allows him to hit even harder, stroking along your inner walls with each upward thrust.

"take. it. all. baby," he growls between pauses, his breath hot against your ear. when you finally topple over the edge, he swallows your cries with a searing kiss, his own body trembling with unspent need. 

"꒰♡꒱ . . fuck," eren pants, his forehead pressed against yours as he loses himself in the rhythm of your joining, stilling his trembling hips and cumming inside of you, having no strength to pull out. he knows you’re on birth control so he didn’t have to worry.

"oh my fuckin' god," the delicious shiver coursing through your body felt like the ultimate high. brushing your fingers through the strands of his brown hair that had long fallen from it's hair tie. he leans into your soothing ministrations, savoring the intimate connection between you as he slowly comes back down to earth.

you sit like this for a while, eren going soft and lifting you off of him to properly sit you on his lap after dressing himself and you. your legs rest over his while he presses his forehead to yours, still trying to regain his energy.

“oh, i forgot,” you opened your eyes after intimate slow breathing, reaching to the front to search for onyankopon's jacket. you dig into the pocket to retrieve the necklace he’d given you. “put it on me?” 

“of course,” taking the necklace from your hand, he brushed your hair from your shoulders and carefully fastened it around your neck. "you look beautiful," he whispered, his voice tinged with genuine affection.

“thank you,” you smile sweetly, playing with the jewelry. “i love it.” 

“i always knew you would.” 

silence overtakes you for a moment, sitting on your thoughts unwarranted. too much happened today, and your brain was swarming with panic trying to figure out what right move to make. you were tired of overthinking. you just wanted to live in the moment. consequences will come later. what's meant to be will be.

“promise you’ll keep your word this time. no more fights, no more misunderstandings, or playing with my heart. i don’t think i can take another heartbreak. i’ll die.”

sincere contrition casts eren’s expression from your words, gnawing at him all over. eren pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace. despite the weight of what's happened between you, despite the pain and hurt, there's an unspoken understanding that you're both willing to move past it.

"i swear on my life i’ll never hurt you like that again. i know i’ve got a lot to make up for, but you mean everything to me,” he murmurs, nuzzling your neck gently. "i love you too much. i’m never taking that for granted.” 

tears well up in your eyes as you stare at eren, searching for any sign of deception. but all you see is sincerity, a depth of emotion that takes your breath away. you nod slowly, trying to hold back the flood of tears.

“okay,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “i forgive you.” 

© 𝒮𝒯𝟦𝑅𝐵𝒲𝑅𝑅𝒴! all rights reserved. please do not repost, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life ♡

[muxshwriting]

family after all

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x wife!reader

Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell x daughter!reader

summary: Pete sees his daughter for the first time in close to a decade at Top Gun only she’s not here for him || warnings: reunions, parental neglect, cutting parents off, slight angst, || word count: 1242 || masterlist

You were anxiously waiting at the gates to see Bradley the moment the carrier docks. As soon as you had the call that he was alive and alright, the stress coursing through your body finally had the chance to fade as your breathing eased. Your husband was alive and alright. He had survived the suicide mission the Navy had sent him into.

Bradley wouldn’t tell you more than that and you’d been so caught up in work that you hadn’t had the chance to fly over to San Diego to join him until two days before his mission flew. You had met none of his teammates and you highly doubted any of them knew about you, considering how Bradley liked to keep you private.

But as the carrier drew closer and you saw the landed planes on the deck, the San Diego sun sent a warmth through you instead of a jab through your skull. The other families waiting all cheered as they spotted servicemen waving from the side of the ship and you let yourself wave back, unable to spot Bradley but knowing he was there. Knowing was enough.

You watched as the naval officers all walked past you and families were reunited with their loved ones. Then the aviators came out, dressed in their uniforms and obviously cleaned up from the mission. Bradley was at the start, sunglasses glistening in the sun and his eyes scanning the crowd, looking for you.

As soon as he spotted you, he broke from his group and started running, a huge smile breaking onto his face. You step out of the crowd as he reaches you, sweeping you into his arms and holding you to his chest, breathing in your scent.

“Roo!”

“Baby!” He shouted back at you and refused to let you go, squeezing you again.

You finally pull away, fussing as you run your hands through his hair, visually checking him for any injuries he didn’t tell you about. “You’re okay?”

“We’re all okay. Everyone got out.” He hesitated, like he was something he was afraid to say. “Look, there’s something I didn’t tell you.”

“What? What is it?”

“I- I may have had a little detour running after Mav but-“

“A detour going after Mav? Maverick? Bradley.” You hardly used his full name but the situation demanded it. “That Maverick? Maverick Maverick?”

Bradley was suddenly very interested in his shoes as he nervously glanced around, trying to spot the man you were asking about. “Yeah…” He finally spotted Mav staring back at him, mouth wide open as he recognised the woman he was stood with.

In Mav’s mind, thoughts were travelling a mile a minute as he watched Bradley run towards his daughter and greet you with a kiss. It was only then that he spotted the ring on your finger and remembered the chain Bradley wore always tucked beneath his shirt.

You see where Bradley’s looking and see your father’s eyes staring into yours, the same eyes you haven’t seen in person since you graduated college. “Dad…”

He made his way over, eyes wide as he was still processing your presence. “Y/N? You’re with Rooster?”

“Are you okay? Roo said he had to run after you-“ You stop yourself, realising you don’t actually know what happened. “What actually happened?”

“Uh…” Mav rubbed a hand on his neck nervously. “My plane went down and Rooster came after me. He really saved my ass.”

“Right after he saved mine. It’s what my dad would’ve done.”

Silence hangs between you all as you try to process what’s actually happening. You’re married to Rooster. Rooster has been flying with your father. Your father is standing in front of you for the first time since college. Your father is finding out you and Rooster are married.

“You-“ Mav sounds choked up as he speaks. “You’re married.” He’s speaking to you, begging to reach out but afraid you’ll push him away.

He wouldn’t blame you for pushing him away, he deserved it. Throughout you’re whole childhood, you had reluctantly been pushed second to flying and Mav could never forgive himself for that. There was no way to replace the time of had missed and it took you until college to realise what love and affection you’d been missing out on.

You and Bradley had grown up side by side, your Dad having to leave you with Carol more than he’d like. From a young age, you barely spent a day without seeing that boy and he was the only face you wanted to see in the morning.

Through your teenage years, you’d grown past the awkwardness and finally confessed the lifelong love you felt for him and your relationship was bliss. Then, your father ruined the one good thing you had. He pulled Bradley’s papers for the Naval Academy and overnight, everything crumbled. In an instant, your only constant in life was missing and your father could offer no reason behind his actions.

There was a rage bubbling in your chest every time you looked at the man that was supposed to raise you. Instead, he had been too busy with his work, chasing a ghost of a man who’s family still cared about him. He parcelled you off to the Bradshaw’s and then ripped that family from you when you were in the final formative years of your life. You loved your father, yes, he was a good man. But he was the worst father you had ever met because he wasn’t really one in the first place.

After cutting you off, unintentionally, from Bradley, you moved away from college and slowly cut contact with your father and made your own way in the world. But your mind would constantly remind you of the world you used to have.

Then you run into Bradley in a packed bar and started talking. You had begged for his forgiveness, cried about your father in a drunken state and confessed that you never wanted to lose him again. Brad had held you close to him, whispering into your hair the whole night as you realised what you now had in the world.

There was no need for you to cling on to the spectre of your father that you had because you had Bradley and the chance to make more friends and make your own family for the future. You cut your father off, showing him the same care and attention he had showed you and although the guilt wrecked you, you had to pick yourself up and move on, for your own sake. If you had stayed clinging on to childish hopes, you would never be able to grow up.

“Yeah… I got married. It was nice, small. We had a courthouse wedding a week after Roo graduated Top Gun.” You tell him, hoping he won’t take it too personally.

Bradley loops his arm around you, not taking his eyes from you. “I should’ve told you Mav. But then Y/N couldn’t make it out until right before we left and I thought we should’ve told you together. But then I didn’t;t end up telling either of you.”

“It’s alright. I get it, completely.” Mav quickly replied. “I’m glad you’re happy kid.”

Neither of you could figure out who the last sentence was aimed at. But that’s because it was meant for both of you. Only now Bradley was as much his son as you were his daughter.

[bokettochild]

You ever think about how Sky's entire world got turned upside down like...days before what was essentially his highschool graduation ceremony? And, like, my dude got the Skyloft approximation of a full ride to college by winning that one race, but by the time he's saved the world, it doesn't matter at all- this thing that mattered so much just days ago- because not only has he learned more than most of the professors know, but also the school is basically going to be abandoned now

They're going to the surface, they're going to live there. Sky- finished his adventure and saved his best friend, and his reward was losing everything he'd ever known in life EXCEPT Zelda.

No one treats him the same; he's the hero now. He knows things they don't. He just got out of highschool and now his teachers are suddenly the ones coming to him to ask how the world works. He was going to be a knight and he is now, butt his experience is so drastically different from all the other knights around him.

He's this huge world now, this place he only is beginning to understand, and because he's the hero, because he's been here longer, he's the one everyone else comes to with questions. He's their leader now,w hen before he was a lazy teenager they always chastised with warmth, trying to teach him to grow up.

He's still a kid, still younger than the knights, the professors, but he's also the only person whos got much of an idea what's happening other than Zelda. That's got to be weird for everyone. People will come to him with things but they'll doubt him because he's still young, or they'll want to teach him something only to decide not to because he's the hero, he doesn't need their instruction.

Like, the game ends all bitter sweet, but let's be real: by leaving Skyloft, he loses his home, his plans for the future, any conception e previously had of the world, the other half of his soul (his best friend and companion!), his childhood, and probably any sense of freedom he had now that he's got the fate and security of his people on his shoulders now.

And then he somehow ends up meeting the chain. All capable people, who (like his professors, his teachers, his neighbors) know what's going on even if he doesn't, who can handle themselves, who can protect themselves, who knows more than him and are better (seemingly) at this hero gig than him, and Sky? He can finally relax. He's silly again. He's taking naps. He's able to zone out without consequences. he doesn't need to be in control and he's fine with that. He's happy with that. As long as all is well, he's content to just exist here, just for now.

But the moment that peace and security of being with other heroes is threatened? Yeah, that's when the god-killer comes out.

......

Anyways, yeah, I think Sky's more than just a big softie and sleepy-head. Man has issues he is avoiding with the power of ignoring them and sleeping, but on some moments (like Miss Her, or the Sunset arc) we see that he slips sometimes.

Long of the short: I have Sky brainrot these days :)

[creamflix]

GIRLS JUST WANNA HAVE FUN ZAZA ! ꒰ঌ ໒꒱

mission brief your college banned weed, your grades are hanging by a thread, and you definitely did not plan on making your plug your most consistent situationship. w.c 9.8k

risk assessment lots of weed usage and references (this is not based off of #experience for the most part, please be safe & check your sources xx), crack & fluff, female reader, university au, meet-ugly, somewhat ooc characters, misogyny, poor queer assumptions, breaking the 4th wall, city-girl reader, opposites attract, depictions of social anxiety, legally blonde and 2010's anime references, uraume cameo ft! naoya, geto, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna, gojo

a/n the whole concept of a plug romance was ib by my baby @lacyblades's plug gojo series, make sure to check it outt ヾ( ˃ᴗ˂ )◞ • *✰

☆ NAOYA ZENIN

You weren’t expecting much when you decided to message a guy called Naoya Zenin for a dime bag — just some weed, maybe a weird vibe, and a quick escape. But you should’ve known something was off when everyone who smoked weed gave you that same look.

That solemn, pitying, godspeed-soldier look.

One girl even muttered “I'll pray for you” under her breath, which was a bit dramatic. You were getting dope, not going to war. But then again, they all said the same thing: Naoya’s shit is gas, but he’s the worst fucking person you’ll ever meet. You figured they were exaggerating. You’ve dealt with weirdos before. How bad could he be?

Well.

You found out the moment he opened the door with his stupid bleached-blonde hair, gold chain, and a shirt that had “NO SIMPING ZONE” printed on it like a threat. The hallway already reeked of superiority complex and a mango vape pod. “Who's it for?” he asked, not even a hello. 

You blinked. “What?”

“The weed,” he said, waving the baggie like it was a cursed object. “Your boyfriend? Roomie?”

“Uh. Me?” you said slowly. “It’s… for me?”

And it was like you had kicked his ego right in the crotch.

“You smoke?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you smoke weed?”

“…yes.”

“Like, by yourself?”

“What the fuck is this, a survey?”

He squinted at you like you just told him women had human rights. His face pinched, his lip curled, and you could practically hear the internal misogyny revving like a chainsaw. “Look,” he said, setting the baggie down like it was contaminated, “I'm just saying, it’s kinda unattractive. Like, girls who do drugs? Yikes.” 

You stared. “You sell drugs.”

“Yeah, to guys,” he said, like that was the natural order of things. “Or like, chill chicks. Not…” he gestured vaguely at you.

“Not what?”

“Not, you know. Girls.”

It took everything in you to not put him through a wall. You had come into this with the utmost neutrality. A plug is a person, you told yourself. We don’t judge. But here he was, looking like if insecurity were personified by an anime villain with frat boy vibes, actually trying to cancel the deal because you dared to have a uterus and smoke up. “I don't think I'm comfortable selling to you,” he said, arms crossed like he was laying down some moral high ground. “It's just not feminine.”

“Oh no,” you deadpanned. “What if I stop being feminine and grow chest hair. Will my boobs fall off too?” 

Naoya did not laugh. He looked offended on behalf of the concept of gender. 

You stood there for a moment, blinking slowly at this man who would probably cry if a woman outsmoked him, wondering if it was too late to just start growing your own goddamn weed. Or if the hallway cameras would catch you if you kicked him in the shin and ran. 

“I'm not selling to you,” he said again, arms folded. 

“Cool,” you said, turning around. “Then I'm telling every girl on campus to never buy from you again.” 

His eyes bugged. “Wait, what—”

You didn’t wait. Naoya Zenin could keep his opinions and his za. You’d rather go sober than fund his self-inflicted sexism. Besides, rumor had it a guy took gacha bribes, and he didn’t mind if your pronouns were she/her/hitting-that-shit.

—

The house party was loud in that way only bad parties are — bass thumping through your knees, a fog machine making the entire room smell like burnt plastic, and some poor girl crying in the bathroom over a man who probably owned Yeezys. You weren’t even sure why you came. Boredom, maybe. You hadn’t seen anyone you liked in the first ten minutes, and you were seconds from leaving when the crowd split like the red sea and in walked… him.

Naoya Zenin. But not the "no simping zone" shirt Naoya. This was party Naoya. His hair was slicked back, jaw sharp under dim strobe lights, silver chain glinting under a jacket that suspiciously looked like real leather. He smelled like something expensive and infuriating — like pepper and pine and generational wealth. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve said he looked good. If you really didn’t know better, you might’ve said he looked hot. 

But you did know better, so you stood very still and hoped he didn’t see you. Spoiler: he did. He made a beeline straight to you, sauntering like he owned the party, the house, and every sad soul on the aux. “Hey,” he said, voice practically smirking. 

You raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me I'm suddenly woman enough to sell weed to.” He chuckled like you were being so dramatic. “Nah, not for sale.” He pulled a sleek, perfectly rolled doobie from behind his ear.

“This batch is just for testing.”

Testing.

You glanced down at it. It was beautiful. Thick, crisp, neat. Probably rolled with tweezers in a windless room while a choir sang in the background. The DJ switched tracks to something that sounded like a washing machine being sacrificed. You felt your brain scream a little. “Testing?” you echoed.

“Yeah,” he said, stepping closer. You could smell his cologne now — rich boy cinnamon and something spicy enough to hurt your feelings. “Gotta know if it’s worth selling to, you know, guys. Not girls.” He smirked like he was being cute. You wanted to set him on fire.

And yet.

The blunt in his fingers was practically glistening. You were two shots of pineapple vodka in, and the DJ just played the third remix of “Mr. Brightside.” 

Fuck it. You took it from him, muttering a bored “light it.” 

Two hits in and you knew you were screwed. It was good. Like, ruin your night and make you vulnerable to a Zenin good.

And he was watching you far too closely. Like a cat watching a mouse. Or a man who knew he had something you wanted, and was way too smug about it. “So?” he asked, leaning in. His voice was smug, sweetened with that particular brand of you should be lucky i’m even offering you this. “Good enough for the boys?”

You exhaled slowly. You could lie and say it sucked, but your lungs were singing and your brain was on vacation. You knew it. He knew it.

You didn’t answer.

He leaned back, arms crossed, pleased like a cat who caught a bird with one paw. “I knew it,” he said, low. “I saved this batch for you, y’know.” 

You blinked. “You what?”

“Yeah. Thought you’d show up.” he shrugged, too casual, too cocky. “Guess it’s your lucky night.”

You blinked again. Once. Twice. The music in the background dropped and the beat switched again. Someone screamed “this is my song!” when it absolutely wasn’t. You were high, annoyed, and mildly impressed. 

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, passing the blunt back. He grinned. “But I'm hot.”

…Unfortunately, he was. Even more unfortunate — he knew it. And worst of all? You were definitely getting high off his stash again.

What happened over the next few months could only be described as a slow descent into the most bizarre relationship dynamic you’ve ever had with a dealer. And not relationship like that — God no. Naoya Zenin was still the same infuriating, misogyny-scented man you had ever met. He still made comments like “Women shouldn’t be smoking blunts this fat” and “You’ll ruin your lungs, babe, you should stick to edibles like the other girls.” But you? You were different. Or at least that’s what he decided in whatever part of his ego that functioned as a moral compass.

You were his little test subject. His “control group.” 

“I just need someone dumb enough to be honest,” he’d say, handing you a fresh joint before anyone else got their hands on the batch. 

And somehow, that translated to: you always got the first roll. You always got the stronger shit. You always got the nice papers, the flavored ones, the ones with little sparkles or kittens on them.

Hello Kitty rolling papers. You held up the pack once, squinting at it. “You bought this ironically?” He didn’t even look at you, just shrugged from his desk, hoodie pulled over his hair like he wasn’t in his own damn dorm room. “Females like you go feral over that stuff,” he muttered. Then, quieter: 

“I saw it in your story once. The pink ones. Said they were cute.”

You blinked. “You saw my story?”

“No.”

You nodded, lips twitching. “Right.” 

He kept pretending to scroll on his phone, even though you saw the screen was just his locked home page. Meanwhile, you were curled up in the middle of his very expensive mattress — firm, clean, annoyingly good quality — exhaling smoke toward the ceiling while some painfully curated “chill” playlist stumbled through a loop of Kendrick, Yeat, and occasional anime lofi covers that you knew weren’t there when you first met him. “Did you just shuffle a Youtube lo-fi mix into this?” you asked once, high and curious.

“No. It's just…Japanese trap.”

“It's literally the Yarichin Bitch Club—”

“Shut up.”

He never sat on the bed. Always lurked in the corner, leaned on his stupid ergonomic chair like he didn’t wanna be caught enjoying your company. And every time you asked him why he was standing like an NPC, he grumbled some shit about “Not getting comfortable around girls.” But you never caught the subtext.

Naoya Zenin, feminist icon? Absolutely not. Naoya Zenin, a man whose internalized sexism was now actively fighting his deeply repressed crush on you? Every single day.

“I'm not doing this because I like you,” he reminded you once, voice clipped, as he passed you a custom pre-roll sealed in a Hello Kitty ziplock. 

You didn’t even look up from your phone. “Who said you did?”

He opened his mouth. Shut it. 

"You females are so confusing,” he muttered.

You snorted. “Good thing I’m just your lab rat then.”

His jaw clicked. You didn’t notice — because, as always, you had no idea. But Naoya? Naoya was drowning in the best strain of delusion you’d ever smoked.

☆ GETO SUGURU

The first thing you noticed when you met Geto was his hair.

Thick, dark, and pulled into a glossy, mid-back bun that would put half your Pinterest saves to shame. It shimmered under the light, almost too good to be real — like someone had digitally rendered it for an ad campaign about hair-care. 

You’d walked into his place half-prepared to meet a woman. 

Blame the name. Suguru sounded soft to your tired brain, and when your friend said “bro’s got that gas, you’ll know by the hair,” you assumed a goddess of a plug — tall, mysterious, beautiful — would be waiting to bless you with carefully grown hydro and no small amount of mommy energy.

So when you entered, saw the figure from behind — tall, yes. Beautiful, obviously. Long hair, swinging as he reached for something on the table — you went, “Oh my god, your hair is gorgeous, girl.”

And then he turned around.

Oh.

Purple eyes. A sharp jawline that made your heart do unspeakable things. Black tunnel plugs in his ears — big ones, glossy, catching the light just right. He blinked, paused, and then smiled slowly. Warmly. 

“Thank you,” he said, voice low and silken and not at all belonging to the she/her you’d crafted in your head. “But I'm not a girl.”

You wanted to die, like right there. Crawl under the nearest coffee table and remain a fossil. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you blurted, heat rushing to your ears. “I didn’t — I mean — your hair — I wasn’t trying to be weird, I just thought —” He laughed, full and rich, head tipping back as he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “Nah, you’re good,” he said. “That's a new one, though.”

You were not good. You were actively malfunctioning, trying to recalibrate from cool girl buying weed to accidental misgenderer who couldn’t shut up.

“I mean, like, plugs — you’ve got plugs and you’re the plug? Kinda poetic,” you tried, grasping for levity, for a joke, anything to move past your humiliation. 

That got another laugh. You could’ve sworn the floor dipped under you. 

“Yeah?” he mused. “Maybe I'm just really committed to the brand.” You nodded too fast, clearing your throat as you pulled out your phone like it would protect you. 

He handed you the bag — neatly sealed, vacuum-tight, labeled with a tiny sticker that said “pink runtz” in his neat handwriting. Everything about it was extremely polite. Even the way he held it out to you, like you were at a boutique counter and he was passing over perfume samples. “Here you go,” he said. “Enjoy.” 

You took it with both hands. (Why both hands? What were you, receiving a family heirloom??) “Thank you,” you mumbled. “And again, uh… sorry for the whole…” you gestured vaguely to his entire existence.

“No problem,” he said easily. “See you later, girl.”

You blinked. Did a little double-take.

…Girl? 

Wait. Was he gay?

He had to be, right? The energy was just too smooth, too non-threatening, too effortless. Plus, the hair, the plugs, the smile, the way he said girl — it all fit. Yeah. Definitely gay. Sweet, gorgeous, gay plug.

…Right?

Meanwhile, Geto watched you leave, eyes still soft at the corners, thumb brushing idly across his palm where your fingers had almost grazed his. “Cute,” he murmured to himself. Then added, under his breath, “Wish she’d called me babe instead.”

But there’s always next time.

But the next time you dropped by Geto’s, you didn’t come alone. You brought Uraume.

They were tall, pale in that “Victorian ghost but hot” way, and wore a structured, monochrome fit that made you feel underdressed even though you were just here for a refill. Uraume moved like they were born inside an art gallery — all grace and precision and a deep-rooted meh to the chaos of the world. You’d known them since undergrad and always thought they and Geto would hit it off. Same aura, same cool, collected, possibly-haunt-their-own-loft-in-Berlin energy. 

“You’ll love him,” you said on the walk over. “Gorgeous, chill, and he called me girl unironically.” 

Uraume gave you a side-eye that could shear bone. “You’re trying to set me up with your plug?”

“Not set up — just, like, meet. He's gay. I think. You’ll see.”

Uraume didn’t respond, but their silence was pointed.

Geto was expecting you. Well — you and “someone else,” though the someone was vague enough that he’d let himself entertain the delusion that it might be a cousin. a roommate. A dog. 

But then the door opened, and there you were. Smiling wide, eyes bright, excitement making your voice bubble up like soda. “Hey!” you chirped. “Brought a friend!” Behind you, Uraume stepped in, immediately scanning the apartment with an expression that could only be described as polite suspicion. 

Geto stood, blinking once. He recognized beauty when he saw it — Uraume was undeniably attractive, angular in a sharp, clean way that made his chest instinctively straighten. But that was about it. No spark, no interest, no gravity. His attention flicked back to you, as it always did. You were laughing at something stupid. You always laughed at something stupid. God, it was going to kill him. 

Small talk ensued. You made introductions, Uraume kept their hands folded like they were here for a health inspection. Finally, they turned to you with a very pointed question.

“…Where’s the gay?”

Geto froze mid-baggie. You looked confused.

“What?”

“The plug,” Uraume clarified, gesturing vaguely to Geto. “You said he was gay.”

You blinked. Turned to Geto. He blinked. Then said, very calmly, very apologetically:

“I'm not.”

Silence. 

Like full, sitcom-record-scratch silence. 

Uraume’s brow twitched. Geto cleared his throat. 

You… looked like someone had just pulled the rug out from under your brain.

“But — the ‘see you later, girl’ — the hair — the —”

Geto held up a hand, trying not to laugh. “Okay, first of all, I say that to people. Second of all…”

He paused, looking at you. And for one millisecond, the air changed.

“…I don’t really talk like that to anyone else.”

You stared. Uraume stared. Geto stared right at you.

Oh.

You wanted to rewind the whole interaction. Crawl backward out the door. Instead, you made a high-pitched noise that sounded like a mouse being stepped on. Uraume, bless their elegant heart, sighed deeply. “So you weren’t trying to set me up?”

“I mean… i was,” you said weakly. “But—”

“With a man who’s been undressing you with his eyes since we walked in.”

You almost choked. Geto made a sound that could’ve been a cough, a laugh, or help.

“I — I haven’t —”

“You have,” Uraume replied, adjusting their collar with zero chill. “It's fine. I get it. I'm attractive, but unfortunately I have no tits. Tragic, really.” Geto finally let out a small, helpless laugh. “You’re very attractive,” he said. “Just not really my type.”

“Yeah,” Uraume said, smirking a little now. “Your type’s clearly flustered and wearing mismatched socks.” 

You looked down. Kill me. 

Uraume turned toward the door. “I'll wait outside before I see something traumatic. Thanks for the entertainment.” And just like that, they ghosted out, as elegantly as they’d entered. Leaving you and Geto alone. You opened your mouth to apologize. Or clarify. Or die. But Geto just smiled. Soft. A little amused, a little not.

“…For the record,” he said, walking over to hand you the refill — perfectly packed, like always — “I liked the idea of a refill. Not the setup.” 

Your fingers brushed. 

“But,” he added, leaning just a little closer, “If you ever wanna set yourself up instead…”

You blinked. He winked. You may never recover.

☆ NANAMI KENTO

You’d been waiting under the ugly stone archway behind the Humanities building for nearly twenty minutes, pacing and checking your phone like a teenager abandoned after a school dance. Your guy — well, your friend’s guy who swore the plug was “chill, reliable, and hot if you’re into geeks” — was supposed to meet you here. Codeword: blue eyes hypnotize.

Very subtle. Very anonymous. Very fucking annoying.

So when a man in a tailored suit walked up the steps with a suitcase, you automatically moved out of his way. He didn’t look like someone who was here to facilitate illicit extracurriculars. He looked like a tax auditor. A hitman. The guy who gently but firmly fires you with a severance packet. “Excuse me,” he said, voice precise and polite. “Are you here for the… meetup?” 

You blinked. “The what?” 

He glanced at your shoes, then at your phone, then back at you like he was mentally cross-referencing a checklist. 

“…Blue eyes hypnotize?” he said, like it physically pained him. 

“Oh my god.” you took an instinctive step back. “You’re the plug?”

He sighed, like he’d been asked to commit a crime against his will. “No. I’m not the —” he paused, clearly wrestling with something deep and moral. “I'm… covering for someone.” You stared. He didn’t elaborate. He was wearing an ID card around his neck that read Nanami Kento, Head Delegate – UN Model Council. 

So he’d just come back from MUN. You felt like you’d stumbled into a BBC drama where the intern accidentally does espionage. 

“Are you sure you’re in the right place?” you asked. “Because I was told blue eyes —”

“Couldn’t make it today,” Nanami cut in. “He said — and allow me to quote — ‘Lol can u pass it to the hot girl, she’ll know, just say the code thing xoxo.’”

You winced. “That tracks.” 

He nodded, grim. “I debated ignoring both of you.”

Then, without further preamble, he knelt down, set his suitcase on the grimy pavement, popped it open like he was about to give a TED talk — and began removing documents. Notebooks. Binders. Printed policy drafts. A laminated flowchart titled Conflict Resolution and Drug Decriminalization in East Asia. You stared in silence as he pulled out a sealed envelope marked “last will & testament” and tucked it under his arm like it was a receipt.

Finally, from somewhere beneath the bureaucratic detritus, he extracted a moderately crumpled ziplock bag. It looked wildly out of place in the otherwise pristine, corporate-ass briefcase. He carefully dusted it off with a cloth (a cloth) before handing it to you like he was passing off a court summons. A homemade QR code was slapped on the back, printed on sticker paper. “You can scan here,” he said. “Please include the transaction ID in the note.” 

You took it slowly. Reverently. 

“…Thanks?”

“Don’t thank me,” he said flatly. “I had a debate round scheduled for now. Instead I'm standing here, holding someone else’s will, handing you illicit substances in front of a garbage bin.”

“You… seem very responsible for someone who knows a guy like blue eyes.”

He scoffed. “I wouldn't say I know him. We’re roommates, unfortunately. He once tried to convince our landlord that the leak in our ceiling was a portal to the astral plane. She gave us a three-day notice.”

“And you’re covering for him?”

He looked like he wanted to die. 

“He told me you looked ‘docile and non-threatening.’ I assumed that meant you wouldn’t stab me.”

“Docile?” you echoed. “What, did he send a photo?” 

He didn’t answer, which was, in itself, an answer. 

A long pause. Both of you just kind of standing there. Neither one of you exactly thrilled about the situation. Finally, you shifted. 

“Well. I guess this is… it.”

“Mm.”

“You gonna do this again?”

“Absolutely not.”

You nodded. Respectable. As you turned to leave, Nanami called out:

“He'll be back next time. I sincerely hope.” 

You raised a hand. “Thanks again… delegate Nanami.”

He exhaled like it physically hurt to hear that out loud. Behind you, his voice trailed faintly into the air:

“…I really need new roommates.”

—

But really, you weren’t expecting him again. Not the man in the wrinkled button-down and loosened tie, sleeves shoved up like he’d been mid-negotiation or a breakdown — same difference — and somehow still smelling like freshly baked cookies and weed. It took you a second to register. The flour-dusted briefcase. The weary expression. The gold name badge peeking out of his chest pocket like it had been forgotten there weeks ago. “Delegate Nanami?” you said, bewildered.

He flinched like you’d thrown a dart into his spine. “Not… officially,” he muttered, voice hoarse, eyes scanning the small courtyard like he was checking for witnesses. “This is strictly a freelance appearance.”

You blinked, then looked down. In his hands: a small, clear plastic box tied with a ridiculous pink ribbon. Inside it, two types of cookies — one set perfectly shaped and golden, the other darker, denser, with a suspiciously herbal aroma even through the box. Your brows lifted. “You baked these?”

“Unfortunately,” he said. “A last-minute request.”

You took them gently, inspecting the sticker on the side — a wonky heart with love n’ nip, xoxo scrawled in a handwriting you’d never seen before. You turned the box over and saw the same homemade QR sticker from last time, this one stuck crookedly, like it had been applied mid-crisis. 

“These from… ‘blue eyes hypnotize’?” you asked, voice skeptical. 

Nanami closed his eyes like you’d recited a slur. “Yes. He thought it would be a good ‘seasonal campaign.’ He said it was ‘low effort, high whimsy.’ Then he went to get his hair frosted and asked me to ‘deliver the goods with love and mystery.’” 

You blinked again. “I thought you were just filling in last time?” 

Nanami opened his eyes. They were bloodshot in the way that suggested not smoking but being around too much smoke.

“…I got roped into baking. He said people were more likely to buy it if it was homemade and ethically sourced.”

You stifled a laugh, then paused. Then looked at the box again. “…Wait, these are two different batches?” He tensed. Subtly, barely perceptible. But you caught it. 

“Yes,” he said slowly. “One is… catnip. The other’s regular.”

You tilted your head. “Why?”

“In case…” he cleared his throat. “You didn’t want the first kind. Or wanted both. Variety is important.” 

You stared. “Did you bake two types for everyone?”

He didn’t answer, which was an answer. 

Your lips parted just slightly, breath caught between amusement and something warmer. You noticed the way he wouldn’t quite meet your eyes, how he kept smoothing his hand over the lid of the briefcase, the tension in his shoulders rigid like he was balancing a full tray on his back. He hadn’t shaved. There was flour in his hair, and one of his shirt buttons was mismatched. 

“You look like you’ve been through hell,” you said softly. He gave a one-shouldered shrug, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I've had worse Thursdays.”

You held the box up between you. “These are really cute. And they smell amazing.” 

Nanami looked like he was torn between relief and abject embarrassment. “Thank you,” he said stiffly. “It was mostly Gojo’s idea.”

“Who?”

He blinked. “Blue eyes.”

Oh. You stared a second longer. 

“So… he has a name?”

Nanami didn’t even flinch this time. “Unfortunately.”

You smiled, crooked and fond. “Well,” you said, “You’re a much better cupid.”

He looked at you like you’d cursed him. Then immediately broke eye contact to pretend to re-check the payment QR code, even though nothing had changed. You watched the way his fingers fiddled with the sticker again, then stopped, pressing the corner down like it mattered. “…If you ever want non-catnip cookies,” he said, carefully, like testing the edge of a knife, “I have a standing recipe. No obligation. No… ribbons.” 

Your eyes widened slightly. Was that an invitation? Or a bakery recommendation? But he wouldn’t look up. Instead, he gave you a brisk nod, already turning away like he hadn’t just panic-confessed a crush via cookie code. You stood there, cookies in hand, heart full of sugar and smoke, watching him retreat like a man fleeing the scene of a very gentle crime.

It took you a full minute before you laughed to yourself. 

Then you texted your friend.

you [2:39pm]: blue eyes is not the hot one. it’s his roommate. holy shit.

☆ CHOSO KAMO

You were all for supporting local businesses — especially if they bloomed out of someone’s dorm bathroom and gave you a ten-minute high from a single puff.

You’d heard of him before. The plant guy. New transfer. Lowkey, didn’t talk much, wore hoodies with the sleeves chewed through, never made eye contact during attendance. Kamo, someone said. Or maybe that was just the name listed on the label of the ziplock bags he apparently sold. A friend of a friend vouched for him — said he grew it himself, only used filtered water, and played classical music near the pots “because it helps the terpenes flourish.” You didn’t know what that meant, you just knew that when this mutual passed you a single gram with the warning “this shit might make you see your own birth,” you paid attention.

So when the same friend texted you a barely readable address, you expected to meet some scrawny countryside kid with glasses and dirt under his nails. You even rehearsed your polite city-slicker voice. “Thank you, this is so fresh,” and all that. What you didn’t expect was for the door to swing open and reveal a man who looked like he’d just stepped off the cover of some indie underground zine titled ‘men who could ruin your life and forget your name.’

Tall, built like he’d been carved by someone clinically horny, shirt hanging off one shoulder like it had given up, collarbone pierced — pierced, — with a silver barbell that glinted when he moved. He had a black tattoo running sideways down his nose, and those lips. Full, slightly chapped, plush enough to be distracting. Soft brown eyes that barely blinked, droopy and disinterested under a smudge of lavender eyeshadow, like he’d done his makeup in the dark and didn’t care to fix it. He blinked once. 

“Hey.” His voice was low, like a gravel path after rain. 

You opened your mouth and forgot the words. 

He stepped aside to let you in, and you caught a whiff of something — clean laundry, basil, and just the faintest trace of lemon body wash. No way, you thought. No fucking way this is Kamo. 

“You want water or somethin’?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck, head tilting a little. “I made banana bread this morning. There’s still a slice left, I think.”  You stared. Banana bread? He blinked again, slightly slower this time. “You okay?”

You walked in like you were sleepwalking.

His dorm was not what you imagined a weed grower’s to be, not even close. No Bob Marley posters, no messy ashtrays, no vape clouds. Instead, the place was warm, cozy, with sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains that made everything look soft. His desk was cluttered with seed packets, plant cuttings in glasses of water, a very worn-out book called “Cannabis for dummies” and another called “The botany of desire.” And from the bathroom, you could faintly see green. Actual green, like a jungle was growing in his bathtub. 

“The temp in there’s perfect,” he said casually, catching your line of sight. “Humidity’s the trickiest part. But once I got the cycle right, everything started thriving.” 

And then — as if he hadn’t just committed several crimes with that body and this voice — he leaned over the mini fridge and pulled out a ziplock, weighed it with one hand, and passed it to you. 

“This one’s blueberry kush, real sweet. Might make your ears ring a little.” 

You didn’t know whether to thank him or to cry. He looked at you again, head slightly cocked. “You good?”

You nodded slowly. Because here he was — this beautiful, pierced, sleepy-eyed plant nerd who baked banana bread, listened to ABBA (You swear ‘Gimme Gimme Gimme’ was playing faintly from his bluetooth speaker), and handed you weed like it was homemade granola. None of the rumors did him justice.

He didn’t flirt, didn’t brag, didn’t even seem to know what he looked like. And that made it all ten times worse. Because what were you supposed to do with a plug who looked like temptation and acted like a librarian? You clutched the baggie like it was fragile glass and said the only thing your brain could conjure.

“…This smells amazing.”

He smiled — smiled, like the sun peeking through a lazy sky. “Thanks. I can text you when I got more.” You nodded, then tripped over the doorway on your way out. ABBA played on —

And Choso squeaked.

An actual, involuntary, horrifically real squeak the second you closed his door and your footsteps padded down the hall, fading like the last four minutes of an ABBA song that’d just ruined his life. And he stood there, in his socks — the ones with holes in them — baggie still dangling from one hand, half-eaten banana bread slice in the other, mind replaying everything he’d just said like it was being beamed through his skull with a megaphone labeled you fucking blew it.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He wasn’t supposed to just freeze and panic and act like the most boring man to ever walk the earth. He was supposed to be cool. Show you his homemade record shelf and his boots — his boots, god, the fifteen different pairs of heavy, clunky, beautiful black boots all the way from his hometown. He even dusted them this morning. He wanted to explain how each one had its own story: market day boots, rainy day boots, festival boots. One pair still had a faint smudge of dried mud from a music fair he went to at fifteen. He wanted to offer you tea, tell you about the dried hibiscus he had steeping in a jar in the corner, and how his mum used to say it’d make your cheeks glow. But what had he said instead?

“Do you want banana bread?”

Fucking banana bread, like the most basic thing in the world. In his hometown, every lad could make banana bread blindfolded and drunk. It was the first thing boys learned to make when they had their first real crush. 

And now you probably thought he was just like every other wide-eyed, weed-growing loser in the city, trying to butter up his buyers with carbs and eye contact. 

Choso sank onto his bed, face in his hands. His sheets still smelled like lemongrass detergent, and the faintest whiff of you clung to the air — perfume, shampoo, city.

Because you. You, with your soft voice and effortless smile. You who had saved him from a capitalism-induced crisis four months ago when he was standing in a café, overwhelmed by a chalkboard menu that listed a drink called "dirty chai" that cost more than his weekly groceries. Back home, tea was just tea. Simple, warm, honest. But he had been cold. He had been lost. 

And then — then you’d appeared behind him like some ethereal campus fairy, leaned in and said, “If you like green tea, maybe try the matcha? It’s less confusing than it sounds.”

And then you were gone.

You didn’t even stay to see how red he turned, or how he repeated that order in a near-whisper and clutched the paper cup like a relic. He'd gone home and told his brother that someone helped him, a girl, a kind one. He never caught your name, but your smile — your voice — that stuck. 

Matcha. That was what you gave him. That was what he ordered every time he came to that café, even though he could steep better tea with his eyes closed at home. Just in case he ran into you again. But you never showed up.

Until today.

You — you, the girl who made him believe the city might have good people after all — had walked into his room asking for zaza. His zaza. And you smiled at him like you remembered none of that and everything all at once. So casually. Like you hadn’t tilted his entire axis four months ago and then reappeared, smelling like laundry and looking like a dream. And now you were gone again, and he didn’t even tell you about the purple rice he was growing in his windowsill or the wild strawberries in a shoebox under the sink. 

He flopped backwards on the bed, groaning into the sheets.

“Stupid. Stupid.”

Well. Maybe next time, he’d get it right. He’d make you real tea, show you the boots, maybe play you something on his clunky little record player. He didn’t know much about city girls. But he knew he liked this one. And he’d do better. Just wait.

☆ TOJI FUSHIGURO

You were sent as bait.

Not in so many words, but you knew. You knew from the way they all nudged each other and giggled like hyenas when you agreed to “do the pickup this time.” You knew from the way someone said, “Toji only deals with girls, haha,” and you really knew when another added, “Just act pretty and you’ll be fine.”

Gross, objectively. And also a very bold assumption about your gender identity, frankly, but you were too bored and too curious to turn it down. 

Which is why you were now sitting on a faded public park bench with peeling red paint and disturbing Mickey Mouse graffiti — eyes darting toward every approaching silhouette like prey — waiting for what your friend described as “the guy who looks like he could eat a helicopter.” You later realize that he does not look like he could eat a helicopter. He looks like he already did, and is now looking for dessert.

Toji Fushiguro approaches like a goddamn myth in motion. Tall, built like someone who’s been bench pressing prison inmates, dressed in head-to-toe black like he’d gotten lost on the way to a mob funeral, with scars you didn’t want to imagine the origin of. He had the sort of face that could terrify a priest and seduce a nun. And you? You just sat there, fully convinced you were about to die. But then—

“Are those… purple?” he asked, pointing at your nails. 

His voice was quiet. Too quiet. Not gravelly, not sultry — awkward. Almost bashful. 

You blinked. He blinked back. He sat down, and the bench groaned like it was filing a complaint with god. You watched him fumble with something in his massive hands, and you noticed the way he didn’t look at you — not really. More like next to you. His eyes darted everywhere else. The grass, the paint peeling on the bench, the weird drawing of Mickey Mouse’s warped little face near your thigh. He cleared his throat. 

“Uh, suits you,” he said, nodding vaguely in your direction. “The purple. It's nice.”

Okay. What.

This was the guy who was supposedly a womanizer? This was the plug people were too scared to deal with unless they were certified bombshells? This man who looked like a live-action anime villain and moved like he could break your ribs with a hug was out here complimenting your nails like he was mustering every ounce of courage he had not to combust? He finally handed you the goods — in iridescent, pearlescent, holographic wrapping. Something that looked like it was bought from a dollar store for birthday party favors. 

You blinked again. 

“Uh, sorry about the, uh—” he gestured at the bag vaguely. “Didn’t have tape. So I just, you know. Wrapped it.” 

You held it like it was a gift, because it was. Because Toji had just handed you a space cake wrapped like a birthday present and was now standing up, brushing nonexistent dust from his pants like he’d just had a tea party and wasn’t quite sure what came next. 

“Okay, uh. Thanks for coming. Sorry if that was — um. I mean, enjoy,” he stammered, and then—

He bowed. 

Full, chest-folded, bowed. And then walked away like he’d just embarrassed himself in front of royalty. 

You just sat there, high on confusion. Maybe he really had never seen a woman before. Or maybe — more likely — the stares and the glares and the resting murder face was just a cover. Because the truth was… Toji couldn’t smile without looking like he was trying to stop one from happening. And if he did, it’d probably scare someone anyway. So he’d rather not. But he tried. He tried. He asked about your nails, and you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe you’d volunteer to do the pickups more often. You had a nail appointment next week, after all.

But before all of this, Toji was in a jungle gym. Let’s just get that part out of the way.

He was crouched awkwardly between two plastic slides, head ducked under a bar that was clearly not meant for full-grown adult men, let alone him, all six-foot-something of pure ex-hitman-turned-therapy-fundraiser bulk. His knees were digging into damp, sand-caked rubber flooring, and he was trying — trying — not to hyperventilate while giving himself a pep talk. 

Okay. Okay, okay, okay. Just… be normal. Be casual. Ask how she is. Don’t stare. Don’t say anything about her eyes. Or her hands. Or her voice. Or anything.

Toji squeezed his eyes shut. Fuck. it was happening again. His mind flung itself back into the past — high school, senior year, school corridors lit with the aggressive hum of fluorescent lighting and the nervous tap-tap-tap of his big-ass converse against linoleum floors. He'd had a plan, dammit. A plan. Talk to girls, practice conversations, get better at the social thing, and finally approach Sydney, the sunny blonde in his homeroom with that annoying little sparkle in her eyes that made him feel like a dumbass every time she said hi.

Except.

Except, hormones are a bitch.

What started as “just practice” spiraled very quickly into a bizarre PR nightmare where Toji found himself talking to literally every girl but Sydney. Out of anxiety. Out of panic. Out of a weird, rabid need to rehearse and re-rehearse and never get to the main act.

By graduation, Sydney was dating someone named Nate, and Toji was The Guy Who Hits On Everyone But Doesn’t Know How To Finish A Sentence. 

A womanizer, a creep, someone no guy would leave their sister alone with — not because he did anything wrong, but because he was too awkward to do anything right. 

The social anxiety diagnosis came a year later and the therapy bills came after. Then came the dealing, and then came the reputation. The funny thing? 

He never liked dealing. 

He hated being seen, hated having to look people in the eye, hated the goddamn small talk. He tried to automate it, for god’s sake — had a spreadsheet, QR codes, fucking inventory notes on his phone — anything to avoid actual human connection. And now here he was, hiding in a goddamn jungle gym because you’re too fucking pretty. His pulse thudded in his ears. He was clutching the baggie like it was a ring box, knees shaking. 

You hadn’t even done anything. Hadn’t flirted, hadn’t asked, hadn’t even looked at him too long. Just sat on that bench like you were built from sun and honey and a little bit of whatever God put into women he wanted men to lose their entire minds over.

He tried to regulate his breathing.

Breathe in for four. Hold. Out for eight. Do not throw up. Do not ask her about her zodiac sign. Do not speak unless spoken to.

Toji crouch-shuffled out of the jungle gym like a grown man doing the walk of shame, palms sweaty, jaw clenched. You were still there, reading something on your phone, bag slung lazily over your shoulder, legs crossed just enough to be intimidating without meaning to. Your nails were painted. Purple.

He short-circuited a little. 

“Uh, nice nails,” he blurted, voice gravelled and quiet and too fast. You looked up, startled. He froze. 

Smooth.

His fingers twitched. Maybe he should just hand you the ziploc and run like usual. Say nothing, keep it clean, keep it simple. That's what everyone else got. The runners. The girlfriends. The random brave strangers who’d come up all smiles and try to flirt — not because they liked him, but because they thought it’d get them an extra gram. But you… you asked him how he was. Just once. 

How are you, Toji? 

Like it mattered. Like he mattered.

He cleared his throat and sat beside you like the world might split open and swallow him whole. The bench creaked like it was offended by his weight. 

He hated this. Hated being in his own skin, hated how his resting face looked like he was glaring, when really, he was just trying to think of something polite to say that didn’t involve complimenting your entire genetic lineage.

“Uh, I wrapped it,” he muttered, handing you the baggie with the iridescent paper. “Didn’t have… tape. So. Yeah.” 

You took it like it was a birthday present. Smiled at him. And for a second, the social noise inside his head dimmed.

Toji stood up. His palms were sweaty again.

He bowed. Bowed, like you were royalty. Like that was the only socially acceptable thing he could think of to do. And when he turned and walked away — stiffly, hurriedly, like he was being chased by a ghost — he swore he’d never let anyone send someone else in his place again.

Not when you were the one showing up.

☆ RYOMEN SUKUNA

The sun was a bitch today. You knew that because your thighs were sticking to the plastic bus stop bench, your pits were questioning their loyalty to your deodorant, and your brother had sent you to do his dirty work like this was the goddamn hunger games. 

“Just go, it’s been paid for. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t say thank you.”

Oh sure. Easy. Send your sister out into the world of mysterious substance exchange like you’re not the one who watched her cry over the scrapped ending of Legally Blonde less than two hours ago. 

So here you were. Sweaty, confused, a little delirious from secondhand heatstroke. And then you saw him. Which is to say, him.

Tattoos snaking up both arms and his face — his fucking face — like he had crawled out of a graphic novel and got bored halfway through. Piercings glinting in the sunlight, bleached hair pulled back in a way that was supposed to look effortless but very much screamed intentional. Shirt unbuttoned halfway like it was doing him a favor. That’s not a dealer, you thought. That's a Greek god in cargo pants. But no, that’s exactly who he was. “Yo,” he said, already digging into the backpack slung across one shoulder. 

“Your brother told me indica, but like — he said nighttime indica, not couchlock, which’s basically the same thing, but it depends if he meant something like the pink runtz or more like a platinum OG — wait, do you know if he likes purple terps? ‘Cause I have this one that tastes like fucking grape medicine but in a good way. Or, like, there’s one that hits you with dry mouth fast but it’s good for sleep—”

He kept going. And going, listing things like you were supposed to understand the periodic table of weed strains. You nodded, lips parted slightly in what you thought was a neutral expression but was probably closer to early-onset panic. You could feel your heart pulsing in your neck. Your mouth was dry. Or wet? Both? You couldn’t tell. Everything was damp and hot and stressful. Finally, after what felt like three hours but was probably three minutes, you swallowed and said—

“I don't know.” 

Barely a whisper. Shaky, a little croaky, possibly traumatized. “I don't… I don't know what kind. I wasn't told.”

Sukuna — you didn’t know that was his name yet, but it was giving Sukuna — stopped. His eyes twitched. As a matter of fact, his whole body twitched. He stared at you like he’d just been hit by a midsummer tax audit. 

And then he let out the loudest, most visceral groan of human exhaustion ever recorded. Head tilted back, hands shoved through his hair, a full-body sigh that made birds scatter and God turn the sun up just to be petty.

“Bro, what the fuck.” he muttered, pacing. “I’ve got six more stops, two of them in the fucking dorms — do you know how long it takes to get past security there? Do you even know what a hybrid is? Do you know why we don’t say thank you?”

You blinked. Sukuna blinked. 

Silence.

And Sukuna knew today was going to be bullshit the second he saw your face instead of your brother’s. Your brother, who was usually all business. No stalling, no “wait I forgot the cash” antics. Just a head nod and a quick exit. Dependable, dry, vaguely annoying. 

You, however, were neither dry nor dependable. 

You were currently hyperventilating under a Jacaranda tree and babbling something about Harvard law school. He watched you for a moment, expression somewhere between a squint and a grimace, hands on his hips like he was preparing to build a shed or bury a body.

“…Are you quoting Legally Blonde right now?”

You paused mid-rant, sniffling. “I was watching it, like, two hours ago, and now I'm here. And I don’t even smoke, my brother just said go get the thing, and then you started talking about…couch-something? And I’m not even wearing proper shoes for this—”

Sukuna rolled his eyes, not because he didn’t care, but because that was his only way to delay a full-blown fuck me moment. He had heard of you before — vague mentions during other deals. Always framed around inconvenience:

“Can’t leave her alone too long,”

“Nah, she’s at home today, can’t risk the smell,”

“My sister's around, so not now.”

He expected a brat. A teen. Someone with a 100k Snapscore, a rhinestone phone case and a visible need for supervision. He did not expect someone basically his age, sitting in a puddle of heat and anxiety, with the kind of eyes that made you look twice and a mouth that couldn’t stop moving even if it wanted to. 

And for reasons he did not care to investigate, Sukuna found himself…listening. Not fake listening, actually listening.

Like when you started monologuing about how Elle Woods was judged just for wearing pink, and how your brother was now pulling the same kind of injustice by sending you into the unknown like a sacrifice to the zaza gods. “He said don’t say thank you, like that’s normal,” you sniffed, pacing now. “Am I supposed to just grab the bag and go? What if it’s the wrong one? Is this a test?”

“It's not a test,” Sukuna muttered, arms crossed, watching you with a half-lidded stare.

“I can't fail.”

“I'm not grading you.”

“But you could.”

He sighed, dragging a hand over his face, eyes twitching when you hiccuped in the middle of your next word. This was a nightmare. He checked his phone. Four missed deliveries. Fuck. “Call him again,” he barked, jutting his chin toward your phone.

“He’s not picking uppp,” you wailed, already dialing anyway. “And when he does, I'm gonna commit fratricide. That’s legal, right?” 

Then — like divine intervention — your brother answered. And immediately, your hand flew to your chest, your lip trembled, and your voice cracked like a war orphan on the verge of a ballad. “I don't know what to ask for, I didn't ask to be born into this family—!”

Sukuna winced as your voice pitched three octaves higher.

The call was short. Some loud cursing, some laughter, a few insults, and a loud “Stop fucking crying, Jesus, just get the platinum—” and that was that. You hung up and slumped like your skeleton gave out. “Here.” Sukuna shoved the baggie toward you. “Platinum OG. Sleep strain, nice body high. Pairs well with girl tears and whatever the hell you got going on in there.”

You didn’t even look up, just took it. And used the corner of his shirt — his shirt — to dab your damp lashes. He stared at you, down at your hand, then back at you.

“…Are you crying into my clothes right now?”

You nodded. “They’re cotton.” 

His jaw clicked. He wanted to groan. He wanted to throw his phone in a lake. Instead, he let out a long, nasal exhale. You looked up at him finally, cheeks flushed, eyelashes stuck together, still holding the damn bag in one hand like it might bite you. “Thank you,” you whispered, despite your brother’s explicit instructions. 

“You’re not supposed to say that,” he grunted. You smiled, faint and ruined and puffy. “I'll say sorry, too, if you stick around.”

And something in him — something warped and inconvenient — twitched. Because he could see it now. That part of him that usually wanted to sprint the fuck out of social interactions? Quiet. His eyes lingered on your face, your lashes, the smudge of stress-sweat and heat that made you glow. 

He sighed again. He could speedrun those other deliveries. Maybe swing by later. 

For fraternal check-ins, obviously. Not for you. Not because he liked you or anything.

☆ GOJO SATORU

You didn’t know what was more devastating — the fact that you spent nearly two hundred grand clawing away at an arcade machine for a limited edition Albedo figurine, or that the guy who actually wanted her didn’t even leave his house. No, he just bribed you into doing it for him. “Blue eyes hypnotise,” he called himself. Like a joke. Like a threat. Like a man who didn’t have any shame.

You only got his real name — Gojo Satoru — when he turned around and you caught a flash of his university ID tag, half-tucked behind a plushie keychain shaped like a pudding. He was apparently from the Engineering department, which was either a lie or an actual war crime, because nothing about the way he looked or acted said science. But there he was, in a dorm room that smelled like strawberry soda and fabric softener, crouched on the floor like a grown man summoning a demon from a display box. 

“Look at her,” he cooed, setting the Albedo figurine gently — tenderly — into her glass shrine. “She’s so misunderstood. Nobody gets her like I do.” You blinked at him from the edge of his futon, arms still sore from wrangling that claw machine like it owed you rent. 

“So…can I get the stuff now?”

He barely looked up, just pointed vaguely at the corner of his room — where Hatsune Miku was standing on a glass shelf in all her twin-tailed glory. But instead of a mic, she held a tiny bag of very clearly illegal herb in one plastic hand. You stared back at him, then back at Miku.

“Is this — is this some kind of themed display?” you asked. Gojo just beamed, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Yeah! I’ve got Rin holding a grinder, Nezuko’s the designated lighter girl, and Saber — oh wait, lemme show you—”

He moved across the room, the wooden floors creaking under the weight of his sins and merch, to open another glass cabinet filled with boxed Nendoroids, switch cartridges, and an entire row of perfume bottles that you knew were only bought because they were collaboration exclusives. And the worst part? He was hot.

Glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, oversized shirt that said “science is sexy” in pixel font, hair pulled back in a loose bun with a Hello Kitty clip. And those stupid, stupid blue eyes twinkling at you like a paywall.

“So. Ya like claw machines?”

“No,” you deadpan. “I like weed.”

He laughed — giggled, actually — like that was the most charming thing he’d heard all week. 

“We should hang out more,” he said, reaching for a heart-shaped tin box that he cracked open to reveal little wrapped edibles shaped like stars. “I trade limiteds for labor. Win me figures, get high for free. It’s a perfect ecosystem.”

You took the bag from Miku, still watching him with a healthy mix of horror and fascination. His room looked less like a place someone lived in and more like a walking otaku’s dreamscape. Frames on the wall — real glass, not Ikea — with signed prints. A projector setup. A heated kotatsu. Not even a fake one, actual imported goods. You spotted a collectors-only Hatsune Miku ita-bag on his chair and realized with chilling clarity—

This man was loaded. And somehow, dealing was just a hobby. “So you're rich,” you muttered, half to yourself. 

“No, I'm emotionally compensating,” he chirped, handing you a cola-flavored edible. “And high-key, Miku funds half my lifestyle. God bless licensing.” 

You didn’t even know what to say anymore. The za was yours, technically. but your soul? Your soul had been mortgaged. As you left, he waved from the door with his fingers wiggling, still barefoot, still smiling. 

“Bring me that Rem-Ram plush next time and I'll give you a freebie!”

You didn’t answer, just turned away clutching the Miku za, feeling thoroughly hypnotized.

Fucking nerd.

And as you left, Gojo Satoru is starting to spiral. 

Not in the tragic, tortured anime boy way (although he could do that too, he has the bone structure for it), but in the what if I am God’s strongest soldier but also emotionally constipated kind of way. Which, to be fair, is on brand. He's from the Engineering department, not Psychology — he doesn’t need therapy, he needs more shelf space for his waifus. Except now he’s wondering if he should detour to the Psych wing after all, because he’s not normal about you. Like, at all.

You showed up at his dorm with the Albedo figurine — the grail, the myth, the she who watches over the za with her plastic rack — and Gojo knew. He knew this was destiny. He didn’t talk to you directly, oh no, that would be too sane. 

He talked to Albedo instead. 

“Thank you for returning to me, my queen,” he whispered to her lovingly while unboxing, carefully peeling the protective plastic like he was unwrapping life itself. You were just… sitting on his futon, watching this happen. Watching this man ignore you in favor of a busty demon lady. And the worst part? You looked annoyed, which meant he was winning. 

“She's perfect,” he sighed dramatically, lifting the figure to the light like she was about to be baptized in his otaku holiness. “Better than any real girl.” 

You scoffed, and he heard it. Oh, he heard it all right. Success, he thought, the cogs in his brain wheezing like a dial-up modem. She's jealous. She’s spiraling. She wants to be my real girl now.

He had charisma. Not rizz — that word made his gums itch — but presence. Aura. The kind of deeply concerning magnetism that made people lose brain cells around him. He had a theme. Nezuko with the lighter, Rin with the grinder… even his plushies had roles. He wasn't like other dealers — he was aesthetic. 

You didn’t stand a chance.

Maybe you were his Zero Two. No, wait. Too pink. His Hori? No, that pairing was mid. Maybe you were his Faye Valentine, all mystery and menace and weird snack orders. Or maybe — maybe MAPPA would make an anime about the two of you. A rom-com, but the kind where the guy’s so stupid it becomes a tragedy. 

He could see the promo now: “The strongest dealer meets the one girl who got him to shut up.”  Bonus points if they animated his sparkly glasses glint just right. 

Maybe he could pull a few strings, call in a favor. Not that he was from an anime or anything, haha. Definitely not from that one. No, no. He's real. He's totally real.

You asked him if he had more edibles and he accidentally said, “Only if you say you love me,” before immediately covering it with a fake cough that sounded like a dying sim.  

“What?” you frowned. 

“Nothing,” he said, nearly choking. “I said… they’re gummy. Fruity. Ha-ha.”

Smooth. Like butter.

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t leave. You stayed, kicked your shoes off, asked if he had wi-fi. And Gojo, who had a literal shrine of waifus across from his bed, thought to himself: Damn. Maybe I need to start making room on that shelf for a new figure called: the girl who brought me Albedo and accidentally stole my heart. Definitely not for dramatic reasons. Definitely not because he was projecting. 

Definitely not because, if he was from an anime, he’d want you in every single ending theme.

a/n sukuna's part is based off of a true story except my experience did not end in romance. i hope you enjoyed reading tho :P if you have any silly weed experiences please drop a confession in da ask-box 🫣 and yes, blue eyes hypnotize is a yo yo honey singh reference...

[webshooterrr9]

dbf!miguel staying over

i mean....... i had to eventually...

w.c: 2.6k

content warning: alcohol usage, age gap (reader is 21, Miguel is 35), smut, unprotected PiV sex (wrap it before you tap it!), slight dom/sub dynamic but not really because mig is such a sweetie and reader is sassy af, teasing because mig is secretly a meanie :(, not really tho he wants it just as much as her, big scary men whimpering!!!

sorry for y'all who don't speak spanish cuz i didn't feel like adding translations because it messed up the look but dw most of it is in english

Miguel and your father have been friends since college.

When your dad needed help with homework, Miguel was there. When your dad needed someone to pass to during the game, Miguel was there. When your dad mourned the loss of your mom, taken from the world too soon, Miguel was there. There were countless nights where Miguel would tutor your dad on subjects he struggled with after missing classes to take care of you: the angel he was gifted with in high school. Although he admits you came into his life a bit too early for comfort, he has always loved and prioritized you. And Miguel quickly became your dad’s best friend because, although he never met you, he could tell just how much your father cared about you.

And so he was always there for your dad. All through college and beyond.

It wasn’t until you started college that Miguel had the pleasure of meeting you. Your dad had planned a hangout with the three of you, telling you about how important it is to have a good friend on your side, how it helped him when times got tough.

And now you’re 21 - sitting on your childhood bed after coming home from college for the summer. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been thinking about Miguel since you’ve been home. When you met him three years ago, you were somewhat intimidated by him. How could you not? Look at the sheer size of that man. But you came to know through your school breaks that he was a lot more laid-back than you previously thought. You hate to admit it, but you’ve developed a slight crush on him. It’s stupid, you know, but how could you possibly resist those deep brown eyes and that smooth baritone voice that pulls you in every time?

Knock knock “Chiquita?”

You recognized that silky tone. It was Miguel.

“Yeah?” you say, putting your phone to the side. “Come in.” The doorknob twists and your door slowly creeps open. Behind it was that beautiful man: soft brown curls, slightly hidden by a backwards cap, a strong nose, dusty jeans that hug his legs just right, and a plain white tee with a gold cross dangling from a chain around his neck. Your dad’s best friend. Miguel.

He steps into your room and lingers by the door, a lazy smile across his face.  Dios… he was something else.

“¿Qué estás haciendo, mami? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

You sit up straighter, trying not to look as lousy as you feel. He came in here looking like a goddamn Roman god and you’re just sitting in your pjs. “Just scrolling,” you reply. “Trying to enjoy my time without homework.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Your papi invited me over,” he says, stepping further into the room. “Just to catch up and share a few Modelos.”

You watch his arms cross over his chest, the sleeves of his tee tightening around his huge arms. “Doesn’t explain why you’re in here,” you say. “Shouldn’t you be out back with him, then?”

“What, ¿no puedo saludar a la hija de mi amigo?" he laughs. “That’s not fair.” he adds with a fake pout that makes you giggle.

“I didn’t say that,” you smile. He walks over and sits on the edge of your bed. You notice his watch gleam in the sunlight filtering through your windows. “Did you come here from work? Your shirt is dirty as hell.”

“You know how it is, beba. Being a blue collar worker is a tough job.”

You snort. “Please, being a mechanic is hardly blue collar work. You stay inside a garage all day.”

“My customers would beg to differ,” Miguel says. “You should see how many señoras come into my garage looking for a replacement for their shitty husbands.”

“Makes me feel like they’re tryna put a ring on it.” he wiggles his calloused fingers in front of you for added effect.

“Well, it makes sense,” you say. “You’re about their age anyway.”

“Oye!” he laughs. “I’m thirty-five, thank you very much. Not even close to their age.”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever you say, viejo.”

The sun had set an hour ago and he hadn’t gone home yet.

Despite the amount of times Miguel offered to leave, not wanting to overstay his welcome, your father insisted he stay for “ten more minutes” and handed him another beer each time. The sound of the two men laughing from the living room kept you awake. It normally wouldn’t bother you, since you’re a night owl anyway, but you have plans with your friend tomorrow that you have to wake up early for.

You exit the comfort of your bedroom and head into the living room where you find Miguel and your dad chatting loudly on the couch. Miguel’s arm is draped over the back of the sofa, which accentuates his already defined chest - not to mention the dim lamp light casting beautiful shadows on his face.

“Ah, mija, there you are!” your father exclaims, very drunkenly. “I was wondering where you were. No te he visto en todo el día!”

“Lo siento, papi.” You reply, leaning against the wall. Miguel’s stare feels hot on your skin. You can see him through your peripheral vision, looking as handsome as ever.

“Es tarde en la noche, chiquita.” Miguel says, his words coming out slower due to all the Modelo in his system. “Why are you still up?”

“That’s exactly why I came in here; to tell you two to shut up.”

“¡Oye! Watch your mouth, mija.” your dad says sternly, while Miguel just chuckles.

“Sorry, pequeña,” Miguel says, setting his beer down on the coffee table. “We’ll keep it down. But don’t swear at your padre, yeah? Respect your elders.”

“Uh huh.” you shrug, waving the two men goodbye as you retire to your bedroom. You were sure that Miguel would still be there when you woke up in the morning, but hopefully he’ll be passed out by then and not still chatting with your dad.

----

You fall asleep almost immediately. The newly-installed fan in your room helped rid the summer heat and cool your bedroom to a comfortable temperature, while still allowing you to snuggle up under the blankets. A band tee and plain panties is all you wore, which was normal for you unless you were staying at a friend's house - at which point you’d obviously throw on some shorts. The moon shining through your windows acts as a sort of night-light, and you’re soothed to sleep by the crickets outside and the less-deafening sound of chatter from your living room.

Your alarm wakes you up around 8am, which is earlier than you normally start your day. As you go to turn off the noise, you hear a tired groan come from behind you. “Mmph… turn that off.”

You flinch and turn around, covering yourself with your blankets at the stranger in your bed. But it wasn’t a stranger. It was Miguel.

“Miguel!” you whisper-shout, nudging his shoulder. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

He huffs and pushes his face into your pillow, and this is your first chance to get a good look at him. He’s shirtless, of course, but his muscular frame isn’t what draws you to him. His hair is tousled from sleep in a way you haven’t seen before, a grumpy pout peeking out from the pillow he’s buried his face in. He still has his gold chain around his neck, but he seems to have discarded his hat and jeans - which you see laying on your floor. You knew this man was gorgeous… but this was the most stunning you’ve ever seen him. The morning light only makes it better.

“Tu papá durmió en el sofá,” he mumbled, the sleepiness of his voice making him sound more attractive than ever. “And his room was too hot to sleep in.”

“That doesn’t explain why you decided to crawl into my bed unannounced.” you say.

He turns his head to look at you, and one of his arms slides under his pillow to prop himself up. “Cálmate, princesa. You had tons of room and it was cool in here.”

“God, you’re annoying.”

You sit up and brush the hair out of your face, trying to wake yourself up so that you can get ready. Miguel sleepily snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you back down. Your head flops on the pillow and messes up your hair once again.

“Quédate, mami. Sleep with me.” he mumbles, closing his eyes once more.

“E-Excuse me!?” Oh you were definitely blushing now. No way he just said that! You knew that he didn’t actually mean it like that… but you also knew that he wasn’t dumb. Whether his intentions were pure or not, you knew that he worded it that way on purpose. Was your silly little crush reciprocated?

He hugs you closer to him, pulling you flush against his bare chest. The cold metal of his necklace makes you shiver, especially in contrast with how hot his body is. Temperature, you mean.

“You heard me.” he doubles down.

“Do you even-”

“I know what I said, chiquita.” Miguel opens his eyes now - the lazy drawl of his voice becoming more awake and purposeful. His gaze on you is unbearable. You could feel the intensity of his stare. “And I know what I meant.”

You stare at him in silence. How could you speak? The man who you’ve had a crush on since you started college was in your bed, half naked, making a move on you. Part of you thinks that he’s waited long enough to finally do this, but another part of you feels some sort of guilt. He’s over a decade older than you, and a family friend no less. You can see through his eyes that he feels similarly, but his passion is overpowering any sense of guilt. Besides, you’re both adults. How bad could it be?

He leans over you, pinning you down onto your own mattress. A position that’s typically domineering, and yet, you can see his gaze soften uncharacteristically for him. He brushes a strand of loose hair away from your face.

“Que linda…” he mumbles, eyes trailing all over your face. “Eres tan hermosa.”

Miguel leans his face closer to yours, his gold cross dangling from his neck and touching yours. You can feel his warm breath ghosting over your lips. You’re stunned but also… excited?

“Miguel.”

“Yes?”

“Quiero sentirte.” you whisper, your eyes meeting his. You hear his breath catch in his throat. “Tócame. Hazme el amor.”

He chuckles, a flirty pout crossing his face. “Oh, pobrecita…” he grins, tracing your jawline with his dexterous fingers. Your face tilts up closer to his, your lips brushing as he speaks. “You know I can’t do that.”

...

What?

“Why not?” he can visibly hear the disappointment in your voice. It almost makes him feel bad, especially with how beautiful you look in the morning light.

“Don’t wanna wake your papi, nena.” he caresses your face once more, leaning back a little so he can look at your face properly. “I can’t make you scream while everyone else is asleep. We have to keep this a secret. But where’s the fun in sex if I can’t hear your pretty whines, hm?”

You smack his chest. “Oh fuck off, Mig. Come here.”

Before he can respond, you grab him by his necklace and drag him down to your lips. The moment your mouths connect, it’s like fireworks going off in his head. He swears you taste better than any bizcocho he’s ever had. Miguel holds your waist as you tangle your hands through his hair, and he lets out a soft groan. His hips involuntarily rut against your thigh, and he decides he can’t take it anymore.

His hand dips between the two of you to tug your panties down, freeing your skin to his touch. His thumb lazily circles your clit, while the other calloused hand is still resting on your hips. He feels like he’s in heaven, feeling you squirm underneath him, but he knows this is only the start of the fun you’ll have together. He swallows every sound you make with his lips on yours, his tongue fighting with yours for control. He pulls his hands back once he’s sure that you’re wet and ready. You two are gasping for air by the time your lips part, and his deep eyes look into yours with a silent plea. You nod your head desperately.

Miguel makes quick work of removing what little clothes he had left on his lower body before sinking into your warmth, slowly but surely. You gasp.

He leans his forehead against yours, savoring the moment of stillness. It’s like you two are in your own little bubble - no one else can interfere. He kisses you lovingly as he starts to move, silencing any moans or sighs you might have that others could hear. You’re just for him, no one else can experience you. His thrusts are slow, but agonizingly deep. You feel it deep in your core, kissing your cervix with every push of his hips forward.

“God…” he whines. “You feel so fucking good. So good for me, baby.” You arch against him, your hands dragging along his back for support. He glances down at where your two bodies connect, and the sight almost makes him pass out. “Que cosita más linda, mami.” he whispers.

“Damelo… please..” you whine, scrunching your eyes shut with all the pleasure you feel.

“I am, nena, I am. It’s all for you, princesa. I promise.”

His pace speeds up a little more, but he’s still pushing into you just as deep, “Show me you love it, baby. Mírame.”

You meet his gaze with glassy eyes, breathing heavily and nails digging into his back. You wrap your legs around his slim waist and he throws his head back at the tighter feel. “That’s it, baby. Así así…”

He’s rutting into you wildly, chasing his high. You look down to watch as his dick disappears into your cunt. The wet sounds of his hips smacking yours clouds your mind. Each roll of his hips brings you closer to the edge. “You’re so pretty, muñeca. So so pretty f’me.”

His large hands sneak under your t-shirt and grope your tits, squeezing and caressing in a way that makes you hazy. “Want you to look at me while I fill you up. Can you do that for me, baby?”

You nod your head frantically, scratching the skin of his shoulders. You’ve never wanted anything more. The two of you are getting dangerously close to climax, and you swear you can hear him whimper.

“God, baby, feels so fucking good. No puedo más, no puedo más…!”

A squeal escapes you as he spills into your heat, with your own crescendo arriving shortly after. There’s a creamy white ring around his base as he starts to slow the roll of his hips. Miguel eventually stills and collapses, hugging you close in the same sort of cuddle as before, but still resting inside you.

After the exhaustion wears off, you pull back to stare into his eyes. A hand comes up to cup his face, rubbing his flushed cheek gently. “That was fucking amazing, Mig. I haven’t felt that good in so long.”

He laughs softly, returning your affectionate gaze. “Do you think your papi heard us?”

“Definitely not.” you giggle. “He’s a heavy sleeper.”

“That’s good.” Miguel holds you for a few more minutes, just silently staring at you. You can’t even imagine how blissed out you must look right now, but it’s all so gorgeous to him. “Eres increíble, mi vida.”

You hum in delight, stroking his cheeks once more. “You too, mi cielo.”

... you're gonna have to cancel your plans for today.

sort of switched to Miguel's pov in the last section cuz i wanted to experiment :))))

i hope you guys liked it!! dbf!miguel inspiration from @mybvalentine

and yes... he's a mechanic. it just suits him ok??

----

webshooterrr9

[gingerteafairy]

abductor hacker machine (dave lizewski x reader)

You’re Dave’s gym crush. He’s never skipping leg day again.

tags n warnings: college!dave, language, highly suggestive, mentions of handjob, flirting, gym terms. word count: 2.3k masterlist

Dave had arrived at the gym early, excitement buzzing through him because it was back and arms day. The gym wasn’t too crowded, and Todd was just coming in—it felt like the perfect day for an upper-body workout.

“Hey, man. Feeling good today,” Todd greeted him with a quick high five before heading over to stretch.

“Yeah…” Dave nodded, walking to the pull-up bar. He grabbed it, letting his body hang as he stretched his spine, easing into a light isometric hold.

“Dude, I don’t know how you even manage pull-ups. That’s the hardest thing I’ve ever tried,” Todd said, his voice tinged with genuine admiration as Dave began the exercise with surprising finesse. His muscles flexed and tightened with each smooth motion, displaying a control that came from dedication.

That’s the sight you walked into when you entered the gym. The hot nerd was effortlessly pulling himself up on the bar, his form flawless, his focus unshakable. You couldn’t look away, watching until he finally finished, wiping sweat off his brow with the hem of his shirt. When your eyes met, Dave froze for a moment, then followed you with his gaze as you walked toward the squat rack. It was leg day for you.

He didn’t have a choice—he had to say something to his gym crush.

“Dude, where are you going?” Todd asked, puzzled.

“Uhm…leg press,” Dave replied quickly, his tone distracted as his focus stayed locked on you.

“Someone's not skipping leg day for once,” he shook his head, handing a dumbbell.

He watched you doing your exercise, trying to figure out the best thing to do or say. The best option was to go over to you, so he walked toward you with determined steps—but by the time he got there, you had already finished. Awkwardly, he turned around and headed for the calf machine instead. That was the next best option. Pretending nothing happened, however, was a mistake.

“You're such a loser, Dave Lizewski,” he muttered under his breath, grabbing any random weight to load onto the machine.

“Hi, excuse me.”

Dave could barely believe it when he turned around and saw you standing there. He almost dropped the weight and had to lean on the machine to strike a casual pose. Oh my God, she came over. She’s talking to me. She’s actually here.

“I didn’t catch that. What did you say?” he lied, removing one earbud. Of course, he had heard you. He just wanted to make sure this was real.

“I said hi,” you repeated, pulling out one of your own earbuds.

“Uh… hi. I’m great, and you?” he stammered awkwardly, noticing the slight confusion flicker across your face at his strange response.

“I’m glad you’re good…” you laughed softly, resting your hands on your hips. “Um… how much longer are you going to be on this machine?”

Idiot, idiot, idiot. Of course, it’s about the machine.

“I just started, but… d’you wanna share?” he asked hopefully. However, when you glanced at the amount of weight loaded onto the machine, you immediately decided against it. How on earth is this guy pushing all that weight with his calves?

“No, it’s fine… I’ll wait,” you replied, heading to a corner to check your phone while you waited.

Dave closed his eyes, cursing himself for how poorly the entire interaction had gone. He wiped the sweat from his face, which had only increased after talking to you, and rushed through the exercise with poor form, desperate to finish quickly. Without looking back, he walked away, leaving the machine free for you.

“Fucking idiot, i wanna die” Dave muttered as he walked over to Todd, who was finishing his shoulder workout.

“Hey, dude. Did you talk to her?” Todd asked, grunting as he set his weights down.

“I did, but now I’m gonna have to do every single posterior chain exercise known to man so she doesn’t think i’m a total loser,” Dave blurted, running his hand through his hair. His eyes wandered to you across the gym, finishing your set. “Fuck. I’m never coming back to this gym ever again.”

“Relax, man. She’s probably not even thinking about it,” Todd tried to calm him down, noticing Dave rubbing his forehead and checking his pulse.

“She is. She is, Todd. She's so fucking perfect and I just said do you wanna share like a total moron.” He whimpered, scratching his head.

“So, what’s the plan now? Glutes?” Todd chuckled, but Dave’s eyes lit up.“No… don’t tell me—are you serious?”

“I’m doing everything. It’s important for testosterone production,” Dave mumbled, walking over to the hip abduction machine and staring at it like it was some alien contraption. “Shit… I have no idea how this thing works.”

He sat down, looking around desperately for help—any help—praying for someone to rescue him. “Hey, God. I know i haven't been the best dude on earth, but please. I really need help, i need to do it. Send someone. Anyone. Just don't send a scary dude, please.”

Unfortunately for him, it was you who got there first.

“Just starting?” you inquired, placing your water bottle on the holder.

“Uh… yeah, I… uh, wanna try?” he murmured, blinking in slight panic as he stood up from the machine to let you take over. You smiled, taking the opportunity and settling in to begin your exercise.

And God, Dave had to muster every ounce of self-control not to stare at your legs or the muscles working with precision, he didn't even want to mention the word glutes because it seemed so fucking wrong in this moment. He turned to face the wall instead.

“These atoms are… amazing. Science is really evolving these days!” he blurted to the man next to him, pointing at the wall. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Is it some kind of new cement?”

“It’s plaster,” the guy replied, frowning in confusion before returning to his workout. “Weirdo.”

Dave turned back toward you, forcing himself to focus on your face. But then he saw you finishing and standing to the side. He had no choice now but to actually use the machine. Swallowing hard, he sat down.

“This can’t be that hard,” he whispered to himself, loading the machine with the maximum weight. He tried to open his legs, but the machine didn’t budge an inch.

“Wow, this machine is different, I know it. Heavier than I expected,” he chuckled nervously. You bit your lip to suppress a laugh of your own—it was pretty clear to you that this guy had never touched this machine before.

“Here, lemme help,” you offered, moving closer to him. He froze but nodded, letting you adjust his position.

“Sit back a little and tilt your torso forward,” you instructed, placing your hand lightly on the machine. “Set it to 30. Then, open your legs as wide as you can. You’ll feel better if you keep your glutes really really up, okay?”

“Okay,” he muttered, adjusting the settings. He tried again but barely moved the machine, the faintest clinking sound coming from the weights. She’s going to think I’m so weak. I'm dead. Dead, buried and dusted.

“Want me to show you?” you asked, and before he could think, he nodded. He jumped up, letting you take his place, but instantly regretted it the moment you sat down.

“No… uh, no need to worry about it…” he stuttered, flushing red as you adjusted the weight and got into position.

“I don’t mind helping,” you replied with a small smile, demonstrating the movement with flawless form. “Like this—glutes up and open as wide as possible.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dave squeaked, covering his face to hide his embarrassment and to resist the urge to glance back at you.

“So, you’ll want to do this fifteen times. Watch carefully, so you don’t mess it up,” you explained, your voice teasing, aware of the effect you were having on him. It was clear he was trying his best not to lose his composure, and you couldn’t deny he was adorable.

“Got it. I understand. Amazing. Perfect,” he blurted quickly, stuffing his hand in his pocket as if to shield himself from… whatever was happening internally. And this whatever was his cock awakening every single time you opened your legs and he could see your thighs and especially, the thing between them.

“Great. Want to give it a try?” you asked, standing up and stepping closer to him—closer than strangers typically stood.

“Uh… I, uh…” He took a deep breath, catching the faint scent of your perfume and noticing the sheen of sweat on your forehead. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom. Thank you for everything, the instructions and everything, all. Good… good workout!” And with that, he bolted.

You watched him rush to the locker room, nearly bumping into everyone in his path. He was so adorable. If only you knew his name. As you tried to figure out a way to ask him without it seeming weird, Dave locked himself in a bathroom stall, sitting on the toilet and contemplating his situation. And, to be honest, it wasn’t looking great.

“Shit,” he muttered, glancing around, straining his ears to confirm no one else was in the bathroom, downing his shorts and boxers.

He took a deep breath, touching his erection, whimpering in the exact moment he thought about you and your hands with adorable little calluses from the workout routine, rubbing on his length. His cum spread on your gym top and sweaty face from bouncing on him like a fucking squat session.

“No, I can’t do this.” he murmured, dressing himself once again, sparing the thoughts away.

He left the stall, splashing water on his face and waiting for his body to calm down. Then, he looked at the paper glued to the bathroom mirror with a comic sans writing.

Hey, champ.

Please don't masturbate in the bathroom. It might clog the toilet. Thanks and good exercise!

- beast mode gym support

“you must be kidding me…” He cursed, splashing water to his face once again and looking at the mirror. One guy gave him a once-over, chuckling at his bulge. Embarrassed, Dave frowned and hurried out of the bathroom, only to come face-to-face with you.

“Oh, hi,” you greeted, breaking the silence first and meeting his eyes.

“Hey…” he replied, swallowing hard. “It’s super crowded in there—the men’s room.”

“Yeah…” you agreed, keeping your gaze on him. You wanted an opportunity, and here it was. “Hey… what’s your name? I mean, I taught you earlier, but I never asked.”

“Dave. Dave Lizewski,” he replied, grinning like an idiot, relieved to finally have a normal conversation. When you said your name, it was like a little piece of heaven to him. Beautiful, just like you. It fits you perfectly.

“It’s easier for me because of college. I think we always come around the same time,” you added, stepping away from the bathroom entrance and into the hallway.

“I’m in college too,” he blurted out quickly. “Uh… engineering. I used to draw a lot, and ended up liking it. Also because my friend Todd decided on it, and I’m terrible at making decisions.”

“That’s really cool. And tough,” you laughed, and for the first time all day, he didn’t feel like a total idiot. “If you ever need help, I’m here.”

“Of course… I mean, thanks for the help earlier with the… glutes,” he chuckled nervously, joining in when you laughed too. Please, smile more. Smile at me again.

“Sure,” you replied, taking note of how much more handsome he was up close. “So… see you tomorrow?”

“Yes, tomorrow. Definitely,” he said quickly, his eyes lighting up. “But tomorrow I’m not doing glutes… it’s back day.”

“Great. That way you can help me,” you said without thinking, surprised at your own boldness.

Dave nodded, his heart pounding harder than any cardio session could ever manage. “Yeah, of course. I won’t embarrass myself with that one.”

“You didn’t embarrass yourself,” you replied with a laugh, tilting your head slightly. God, this guy is so handsome.

“Oh, come on, now you’re just lying,” he joked, and you opened your mouth in mock disbelief.

“Careful, Lizewski. I might do heavy glute exercises on you,” you teased, though the playful threat only made Dave’s face turn as red as his gym shorts. “I mean… glute exercises with you. Uh, you know… something intense.”

“You can throw whatever you want at me,” he blurted out, biting his lip. “I mean weights. I can handle a lot of weight… like, a lot of weight…” he breathed, glancing at your thighs, imagining his hands lifting them up to his waist.

“That’s… good to know,” you replied, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. You blinked, realizing how bold you were being, flirting with a guy in the middle of the gym hallway, probably with half the room overhearing. “Uh, so… Dave…”

“Do you have a number?” he asked suddenly, his hand forming a fist as he mentally kicked himself for such a clumsy question. “I mean, of course, you have a number. Everyone does. I just… wanted to know if you’d share it, you know… so we could talk about, um, workouts?”

“Workouts, right,” you said, trying not to laugh as you swallowed the lump in your throat. You recited your number, and Dave immediately pulled out his phone to save it, as if it were the most valuable treasure in the world.

“Thank you,” he murmured, grinning as he slid his phone into his pocket, treating it like a priceless artifact.

“No problem. See you tomorrow,” you mentioned, finally retreating, your face flushed with both nerves and excitement.

“Yeah, tomorrow…” he murmured, lifting a hand in a small wave.

“Close your mouth, man. You look like an idiot,” Todd teased as he approached. Dave nudged him lightly, but Todd only laughed harder. “You got the girl. Congrats.”

“Not yet,” Dave replied, watching as you finally walked out the door. “But I will. Even if I have to do the hip abductor every fucking day.”

“Alright, Nicki Minaj. Let's eat some protein,” Todd quipped, earning an eye-roll from Dave, who grabbed his backpack and followed Todd out. As they left, Dave’s mind was entirely consumed with thoughts of you—and he mentally reviewed every back exercise to make sure he’d never mess up in front of you again.