#i mean it’ll be interesting but JESUS i was not expecting that

[sapphire-writes]

an ego thing ~ modern!Aemond x Reader

previous part 3 // next part 5 // series masterlist

summary: Our academic rivals are back at it again, and one needs help with a certain subject they've fallen behind on, and they attend a party. warnings: 18+ spicy stuff below the cut (explicit sex, degrading language), mentions of drinking word count: 2.8k note: You all love our lil academic rivals my goodness! happy to provide another part hope you enjoy 💚

“A tutor?” you ask, eyes wide as saucers, “Professor, with all due respect, I think I can just figure it out by myself.”

Your professor looks at you, a sympathetic look on his face. 

“High Valyrian is a very tricky language to learn,” he tells you, “there’s nothing wrong with needing some extra help.”

It is for you. You’d never been the one who needed help, not since grade school. 

“Please, I think if I really just buckle down, I can get it,” you tell him, “I’ve just been a little distracted.”

Fucking Aemond. A fucking distraction with a magic dick and now you’ve fallen behind on your rigorous study schedule for the ancient language. An ancient language that annoyingly Aemond has seemed to master. Fucker. 

Ever since that day in the library it seemed your rendezvous were becoming more frequent. 

“Y/N,” he says, sternly. 

You bite your lip. You need to get a handle on this. 

“Okay,” you tell him, giving into defeat. 

After all, it is a hard language, and you’ve been distracted. And you need the A. 

“Perfect, our peer tutor has already agreed,” your professor says, as the door to his office opens. 

You turn around, eyes widening as Aemond enters, a knowing smirk on his face, backpack slung over his shoulder. You turn back to your professor.

“I’ve changed my mind,” you tell him.

He frowns at you, almost expecting that reaction. 

“C’mon, Y/N,” Aemond purrs behind you, “I’d be happy to help out a friend.”

You’re going to kill him. 

“Aemond is the top student, I think he’ll be a big help,” your professor says smiling.

You raise your eyebrows.

“Isn’t this nepotism?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

You’re sure they’re related somehow.

“I’m actually really good,” Aemond tells you, “it’ll be fun.”

You leave the office together. Grabbing Aemond’s arm you tug him toward a corner of the hall, crossing your arms. 

“Listen, I really need the help,” you tell him.

“I know it’s just killing you to tell me that,” he says, grinning wolfishly.

“I mean it,” you snap, “so no funny business.”

He raises a brow, violet and blue eye sparkling. 

“Funny business?”

You nod.

“We are meeting in public to study, no closed rooms, no dorms,” you tell him.

Aemond chuckles, running his tongue over his bottom lip. Your eye follows the action and you lose your train of thought momentarily. You shake your head. 

“No distractions,” you tell him. 

“Alright, geez,” he tells you, “no distractions.”

He makes a motion of crossing an x over his heart.

“Scout’s honor,” he tells you.

“Were you even in scouts?” 

“No, my parents weren’t really interested in involving us in extracurricular activities.”

You meet later at a table on the quad in full view of hundreds of students in faculty. No temptation even remotely possible for anything other than learning High Valyrian. 

Aemond flips through your book, long fingers stroking the tops on the pages with the pads of his fingertips. Jesus, you’re not down this bad, are you? You watch his fingers flex, how he rubs the corner of the page between his pointer and thumb. The hair on the back of your next stands at attention, though you blame the breeze.

“Taoba,” he tells you.

“Boy,” you answer, but your brows knit together, lips forming a pout.

“What?” he asks, noticing your expression.

“I think you’re pronouncing it wrong,” you tell him.

Aemond leans back in his chair, an exasperated expression on his face.

“Hmm?”

“You’re saying Taoooba,” you mimic, “isn’t it taoba. Really short?”

“Who is tutoring who?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Taooooba,” you say again.

“Stop that,” he says, turning the page causing you to chuckle.

Aemond’s mouth twitches into a slight smile as you place your head in your hands. 

“This language is the most confusing thing ever,” you groan.

“It’s extremely hard,” Aemond agrees, “I’ll admit, I had an unfair advantage learning it at home when I was younger.”

“Extremely unfair,” you agree. 

You hear someone call your name from across the green, before seeing Baela barrelling over to you.

“Hey Aem,” she says, greeting her cousin, before turning back to you, “party, tonight, you’re going.”

“Bae I really can’t,” you tell her, “I have to study.”

“You always have to study!” she groans, “Come on, just for a little bit, it will be fun!”

You glance at Aemond, but he’s buried in his book. He licks his fingers before turning the page and your lips part. 

“Where?” you question. 

“Delta Omicron Delta,” Baela tells you.

“Isn’t that Aegon’s frat?” you ask Aemond who nods.

“Gross,” you say making a face.

“It’s going to be fuuuun,” she says, leaning toward your face, “fun, Y/N, ever heard of it?”

“Okay now you’re being mean,” you tell her.

“Mhmm,” she doesn’t argue, “you’re still going.”

“Fine, but I need to study first,” you tell her.

“Cool, cool, I shall leave you be,” she says, retreating.

“A party huh,” Aemond asks, when Baela is out of earshot.

“You big party guy?” you taunt.

“No,” he says with a laugh, “not usually.”

“Okay let's keep going,” you tell him, turning the page.

You do not know how Baela talked you into this. The frat house is vibrating with music when you arrive, being escorted inside and then led to the basement. Baela hands you a red solo cup, sloshing with liquid.

“See! This is fun!” she tells you, tugging you toward the middle of the crowd to dance. 

You sway slightly to the music, nodding your head. You’ll stay an hour or so, then make your departure. Just long enough to keep Baela happy. Besides, she’s already sizing up Jace Velaryon from across the room. 

“Yoo no way is that Y/N Y/L/N!” Jason Lannister says, pushing through the crowd.

Oh Jason. A bit of a fuckboy, another member of Aegon’s frat. Was someone you tutored in your statistics class last semester. His eyes rake over you, taking in the skimpy outfit you had reserved for such occasions as these. You weren’t a total nerd, you went out every so often (though Baela would disagree). 

“You look fucking hot as hell,” he tells you, pulling you in for a hug. 

Your cup sloshes and Baela yelps, avoiding drops of warm beer. Baela pulls at Jason’s arm, removing his bearlike grip from your shoulders.

“Sorry, I’m a little buzzed,” Jason says laughing, “I didn’t know you came to these things.”

“Yeah sometimes,” you answer, feeling awkward. 

“You should more,” he tells you, “I like that you’re here, especially dressed like this.”

He’s practically drooling at your feet.

“You don’t have a boyfriend.. or girlfriend do you?” he asks.

“No..”

“Sweet,” he says, cutting you off, “let me get you another beer!”

“I actually have to pee, really bad,” you tell him, giving Baela a help me expression.

“Jason you should totally introduce me to Jace,” Baela says, grabbing his arm, giving you an out.

You make your way upstairs, pushing by people, trying to find an empty bathroom. You look at yourself in the mirror, fixing your makeup before exiting, hoping to avoid Jason. As you exit, you spot Aemond dressed in all black, looking like he’s having a horrendous time. 

“I thought you weren’t a party guy?” you ask, walking up to him, as he leans against the wall.

“I believe I said, not usually,” he answers, “having fun?”

“Not really,” you tell him, “it's just super fun being hit on by frat bros.”

Aemond’s eyes darken, sending a shiver down your spine like someone has poured ice water on your head. 

“Who?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you laugh.

“Who, Y/N?” Aemond asks again.

“Seriously, it's whatever,” you tell him, “I can handle it.”

“There you are!” Jason calls, making his way down the hall, “thought I’d lost you!”

He doesn’t acknowledge Aemond, though his drunken stupor causes him to trip, tossing your cup to the floor, beer splattering on you and Aemond’s shoes.

“Shiiit!” Jason says laughing, “my bad, totally, hey I thought we could hangout up here, it's a little quieter.”

Jason takes your hand, dragging you from Aemond and down the hall, toward a small parlor. There’s a leather couch in the middle of the room, a trophy case and pictures of frat brothers from the past. He deposits you on the couch, pushing you slightly.

“Stay right here, gorgeous, and I’ll get another drink!” he tells you, before leaving to find the keg.

You raise your eyebrows, preparing to avoid Jason, when Aemond enters the room. 

“Jason Lannister,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. 

You turn your head at the sound of his voice, a half smile appearing on your face. 

“Yeah,” you say, rolling your eyes. 

Aemond walks in, glancing behind him to see if anyone is following, before sitting next to you on the couch. You cross your legs, but your dress rides up, causing you to uncross them. You stand, sighing, walking toward a picture on the wall, examining it while Aemond remains seated. The back of the couch faces the door, so if you remain sitting you won’t see Jason return.

“He’s relentless,” you admit, not turning around, examining a plaque that hangs on the wall.

Aemond watches you for a moment, you feel his eyes tracing over your body.

“Come here,” he says softly.

You turn around to look at him. 

“Huh?” you ask.

“You heard me,” Aemond says, lifting a hand from his leg and giving you a come hither motion with his fingers. 

It works like he’s pulling you toward him by a string. Aemond opens his legs for you to stand between them. He brings his hands to your thighs, stroking the bare flesh, and looking up at you. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, a shiver running through you.

“Just looking,” he murmurs, “You look nice.”

The pads of his fingers stroke your thighs like the pages of a book. He spreads your legs open, fingers teasing the soft skin of your inner thighs.

“That’s not just looking,” you breathe, heartbeat increasing with every touch he gives you.

“I guess you’re right,” he says, fingers ghosting under your skirt, closer to your panties.

You can feel your body leaning into him, chasing his touch. Aemond notices your desperation, of course and smirks up at you. 

“What about Jason?” he asks, but there’s a glint in his eye when he says it. 

You push his shoulders back against the couch, maneuvering your legs to straddle him. 

“Should I wait for him to come back?” you ask, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Aemond settles his hands on your waist, pulling you against him. 

“Fuck that,” he says, connecting your mouths in a passionate kiss.

You lift your hips grinding down on him, as he slips his tongue into your mouth. Your eyebrows concave with the pleasure kissing him gives you. Aemond’s hand moves up your waist pressing into the small of your back.

“Are you sure?” you tease between kisses, “cause I can just get off-”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Aemond growls, nipping at your bottom lip. 

You moan against him, dress riding up towards your waist. You release your hands attempting to fix it, but give up rather quickly. Aemond takes the opportunity to kiss the exposed tops of your breasts, licking a path from your cleavage up your neck. He bites harshly on the skin causing you to buck your hips against him releasing a breathy whine. 

“Fuck, fuck me please,” you whine, body hot and aching with need for him. 

Aemond pulls away from you, eyes wide, smile wolfish.

“Fuck that’s hot,” he groans, kissing you harshly, “never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“Aemond,” you moan, impatiently.

“Hang on baby,” he murmurs, bringing his hands to his jeans.

You ignore the pet name, though your cheeks are burning. You bring your hands down helping free his hardened cock from his jeans. You let your dress scrunch at your waist, let Aemond loop his fingers through your underwear, pulling the lace to the side before you sink down on top of his fat cock.

“I was right about you,” he groans, once fully sheathed in your warm pussy.

The feeling of him fully inside you alone makes your thighs tremble as you rock your hips against him. Aemond helps you along, lifting your hips.

“You are a bad girl,” he purrs, wrapping a hand in your hair, “what happens if poor Jason comes back?”

You’re just whimpering on top of him, thighs burning as you slide him in and out. He feels so fucking good inside of you; you’re soaked and wet slapping sounds fills the room. 

“Or what if Baela comes looking for you?” he continues, placing kisses along your jaw. 

You place your hands on his shoulders, pressing down to aid your pace, pussy greedily suctioning him in. 

“Everyone’s gonna see how needy you are for me,” Aemond purrs, “the brightest girl in school is just my needy, little cock-drunk slut, huh?”

“Fuck Aemond,” you moan, lip pouting, “you’re so mean.”

Aemond hums, still smirking. His hands squeeze your ass, slapping both cheeks harshly, the sound echoing in the room. The force makes you gasp, grinding into him more. He’s fucking right, and you hate it. You’re so needy for him, so desperate. 

“I’m right though,” he croons, “you think Jason could make you feel this way, hmm?”

You’re whimpering, only able to shake your head in response, earning another pair of harsh slaps to your stinging cheeks. 

“No no no, I’m gonna need to hear you say it baby,” Aemond tells you through a chuckle, “who makes you feel this good?”

Your eyes are nearly rolling back into your head.

“You,” you whine, “Aemond you make me feel this good.”

“Yeah, that’s fucking right,” Aemond says bringing a hand to your mouth.

He pushes his fingers inside of your mouth and you suck on them greedily, sloppily coating them in your saliva. Aemond’s jaw slacks, curling his fingers in your mouth. 

“Fuck what a pretty mouth,” he murmurs, “I can’t stop thinking about those lips wrapped around my cock.”

You moan around his fingers, before he removes them, a line of spit connecting them to your slick lips. Aemond brings his fingers to the apex of your thighs, rubbing circles around your clit. Your head falls to his shoulder and you bite down to avoid screaming. It's a miracle no one has walked in on you yet. Aemond’s cock sends every coherent thought flying from your head, all you can focus on is the feeling of him inside of you, how the head of his cock perfectly curves to bully the spongy section of your walls that has you clenching around him.

“That’s it baby, make a fucking mess on me,” he purrs, as a strangled moan leaves you.

You turn your head, kissing desperately at his neck, hands tangling in his silky hair, trying to ground yourself as your orgasm washes over you. 

“That’s a good girl,” he moans, thrusting up into you until you feel his hot release deep inside you. 

You’re slumped over him, trying to bring your heartbeat back to normal. Damn, you two really cannot be left alone anymore. You run a hand over your hair, pushing yourself up, feeling him softening inside you. You lift your eyes and meet those of Jason Lannister, who stands wide-eyed with two beers in his hand.

“I uh-um I’ll just leave you to it!” he says, before leaving the room.

Your jaw has dropped, and you feel Aemond chuckling against you. You smack at his chest.

“It’s not funny!” you hiss, and Aemond brings you in for a kiss.

“It’s kind of funny,” he murmurs against your lips.

“What are we doing?” you ask, staying on top of him, “we clearly have a problem.”

“What is the problem?” he asks, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“We keep having sex,” you tell him, rolling your eyes.

“Do you like having sex with me?” Aemond asks, eyes narrowing. 

Well, here goes nothing.

“Yes,” you tell him.

He bites his bottom lip.

“I like having sex with you too,” he says, “even though you’re infuriating.”

“You called me baby,” you accuse.

Aemond blinks at you.

“I also called you a cock-drunk slut,” he tells you, “I say a lot of things during sex with you, you bring out the worst in me.”

You smile at that.

“I wouldn’t say that’s the worst,” you tell him, batting your lashes.

“Oh you liked that, did you?” he says, smile growing.

“Shut up,” you tell him, but don’t disagree, “listen I’m not sleeping with anyone else.”

“Neither am I,” he tells you.

“And I am very serious about my studies-”

“Same here.”

You narrow your eyes.

“So this cannot interfere with that,” you tell him.

“I couldn’t agree more,” he answers. 

“Good. So…” you say, shifting on his lap, “since we’re on the same page…”

“You want to get out of here?” Aemond finishes the sentence for you.

You grin wickedly at him, and nod.

AN: hope you liked this part!! 🤭

An Ego Thing Taglist: @ephemeralninon, @aemonds-wifey, @haydee5010, @schniiipsel, @sweetsweetpsyche, @letmeloveyouuuu, @glitterandgoldfinds, @greenowlfactif, @vrtualfairy @fan-goddess @let-love-bleeds-red @praline357, @castellomargot,

#aemond x fem!reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #modern!aemond #modern!hotd #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x female reader #modern!aemond x reader #modern!aemond targaryen #aemond/reader #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen/reader #aemond fic #aemond targaryen fic

[buckymorelikefuckme]

how to marry a millionaire | chapter two

mafia bucky x spoiled brat reader

words: 2.8k

warnings: **18+ ONLY** s*exual language, s*exual content, o*ral (m receiving), ex*hibtionism, thinly veiled threats (??) -- if i missed anything pls let me know my brain is fried

a/n: f i n a l l y... she is here. thank you @cultofcarter for reading through this for me :) as always, any and all mistakes are mine. feedback is encouraged & appreciated ♡

masterlist

“You've been an absolute delight this evening. Thank you for accompanying me.” He stands, coming around the table to offer his hand to you.

You accept it gratefully, your skin tingling from the contact as you rise from your seat. “Are you sending me home already?” you question, meeting his gaze straight on and ignoring the displeasure you feel when the warmth of his hand retreats.

Dinner had been, predictably, delicious. The conversation throughout was much more pleasant than you anticipated. He's got great banter, and you laughed more than you ever have on past dates. Honestly, he's so charming that you’ve almost forgotten you should be a little wary of him. You're hardly even putting up a front anymore.

He tilts his head, swiping his tongue along his bottom lip as he contemplates. “I’m not sure you're ready for more yet.”

“This is hardly the first time I've been through this song and dance, James,” you say coyly, tracing your index finger down the lapel of his suit jacket. “These sorts of arrangements are perfectly normal.”

He’s silent for a moment, watching you with unreadable eyes. You try to maintain eye contact, but it’s so intense you find yourself breaking it, glancing away to the empty room.

Everything about tonight has been nowhere near what you expected, especially James. You've dealt with enough men in your life to feel as if you know exactly how to handle them. Yet, with him, you feel like a complete novice. He’s totally unpredictable.

It’s unsettling.

It's exhilarating.

“I think you're confused about what's happening here,” he informs you. He grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. Your heart stutters in your chest and you have to physically force your shoulders to relax. “I'm not a fucking sugar daddy,” he states coolly, his expression still frustratingly blank. “I’m not interested in sharing and I’m not looking for something casual. If we’re to continue, we will be exclusive. I’ll still spoil you like crazy, don't worry about that, but I’m not going to throw money at you and not gain anything in return. The same way you know what you want, I know what I want. So you better decide now. It’ll be your only chance.”

Jesus. You know you should be terrified, because that was not a threat, it was a promise, yet for whatever reason it's got desire swirling in your core.

“You make it sound like you'll own me,” you mutter faintly.

His grin is all teeth. “Oh, sweetheart,” he starts, condescending, his grip on your chin tightening. “That's exactly what I mean.”

There is not even a hint of dishonesty in his eyes. You're not sure if that’s better or worse. The fact he's even giving you an opportunity to decline seems like it's a rare occurrence, so you actually take a moment to consider your options.

On the one hand, you're almost entirely positive his other work consists of illegal activities. You have no doubt that he’s done some truly nefarious things and that thought settles in your stomach like a heavy stone. His hands are definitely dirty. He’s a dangerous man, and there’s no way he hasn't made some enemies. The risks are substantial.

But, on the other hand, you have had a fantastic preview of what his money can get you. He's spent more on you in one day than some of your past sugar daddies have spent during the whole relationship. He's made it abundantly clear that he has more money than he knows what to do with. If you choose to agree to his stipulations, you could very well be set for life. Call you greedy, or even selfish, but you have every right to be spoiled beyond your wildest dreams as much as the next person.

It's with that in mind that you take the smallest step closer to him, craning your neck to hold his stare, his hand loosening and dropping. You slide your palms around his waist.

“May I still call you daddy?”

He grins wider, a wicked glint in his eyes. “You fucking better.”

Your chin drops slightly so you can look at him through your lashes.

“And do I still have to go home?”

“Well, I suppose that depends,” he hedges. “If we leave here together, I can no longer promise any type of restraint from me. I've used all of my willpower through dinner to keep from taking you on the table.”

Biting your lip, you hold back the needy noise that almost escaped. “I fail to see how that would be a problem,” you reply breathily.

You feel his hands slide down until they reach your ass. He squeezes roughly and you’re not quick enough to stop a gasp from slipping. His expression tells you he liked hearing it, liked knowing he could put a crack in your pristine, iron-clad composure.

“Then, I guess you better follow me to the car,” he says, landing a smack on one of your ass cheeks.

He threads his fingers through yours and begins walking towards the kitchen, pulling you along with him in the process. You do your best to keep up with his long strides, but you struggle to match his pace. Your heels do not make up for the height difference between the two of you. His legs are longer than yours, no matter what. He's a tall bastard. He's quite large, in general, actually. And according to him, that includes his cock, though you'll be able to determine if it's true or not very soon. Just the thought sends a rush of heat through you.

The employees in the kitchen all scramble to clear the way for James when you enter, their eyes trained on the floor as he marches by. Clearly, they know exactly who he is and what he's capable of and are not keen on getting on his bad side. They must've been in the middle of cleaning, you think, because there are rags on the stainless steel counters and a huge sink full of soapy water with pots and pans draining on the counter next to it.

“Dinner was perfect, gentlemen,” James announces as he passes. “Thank you for your time.”

Nobody responds verbally, but you see their shoulders slump in relief.

“You can take tomorrow off,” he adds, smiling when excited murmuring picks up after you've turned a corner and entered a narrow hallway. There's another overly tall, beefy man standing next to the door. “Anything I should know about?” James asks as you both approach.

“No,” the man replies, curt.

James nods. “Thank you, Steve. Is Sam ready with the car?”

“Yes. I assume the girl is coming with you.”

“The girl has a name, asshole,” you interject before James even has a chance to open his mouth.

The man, Steve, cuts his eyes to you. “With all due respect,” he starts, and you can already tell he means no respect, whatsoever, “I was speaking to my boss. Not his arm candy.”

You scowl. “Regardless, I would appreciate not being talked about like I’m not here, you overgrown guard dog.”

James snorts. Steve stares at you for a beat, then cracks a smile, shaking his head.

“You've met your match, Buck,” he states.

“It would appear so,” James agrees.

Steve pushes open the door and the three of you walk out into an alleyway where four black SUVs are idling. Steve tugs on the handle to the back door to one of them and beckons you and James to get in. The doors lock as soon as he closes it.

“I take it your date went well,” says the man in the driver seat.

“Better than anticipated,” James replies, winking in your direction. “Take us to the estate, please, Sam.”

Sam gives James a salute and shifts the gear into drive.

“The estate?” you inquire as the sparkling city lights pass by.

James hums. “Yes.”

“Still trying to impress me, huh?” you tease.

“Of course,” he replies easily. “Can't have you getting bored.”

“Cute,” you claim.

He huffs a laugh. “Nothing about me is cute.”

“That's debatable,” you retort.

Sam lets out a quiet snicker that changes into a cough when James clears his throat pointedly. You giggle, leaning into James’ arm.

“Oh, c’mon. Don't tell me the big, bad, scary man isn't allowed to be cute once in a while.” When all you get in response is an eye roll and a clenched jaw, you sigh dramatically. “Okay, fine. You're not cute.”

“Thank you,” he says loftily.

“Big baby,” you mumble.

His hand, which has been comfortably resting on your bare knee, squeezes hard enough that you jerk in surprise and barely bite back the protest on the tip of your tongue.

“You ought to be nicer to me.”

His voice is low and his eyes are dark with warning. You’re suddenly struck with the understanding at that moment that you're not necessarily promised anything here, not yet. One wrong move could land you on your ass, or worse, so it's in your best interest to keep a man like him happy. With that thought in mind, you make a mental note that too much teasing is off limits. For now, at least.

“Sorry,” you respond quietly. You let your palm glide across his thigh. “Let me make it up to you?”

He eases his grip slightly. “What did you have in mind?”

“Considering we’re headed for the highway, I imagine we have some time to kill,” you observe.

“Smart girl,” he praises, letting go of your knee entirely and reaching for the hand on his thigh, directing it to the considerable bulge in his slacks.

You cup him through his pants and realize he's not even hard yet, which makes the size of what you're feeling even more mouthwateringly impressive.

“Wanna blow you,” you request, meeting his eyes. “Please.”

“You're not worried about having an audience?” he wonders, nodding towards Sam.

“It wouldn't be the first time,” you confess with a cheeky grin. “And I doubt it'll be the last.”

James matches your grin then gestures to his pants. “Go ahead, doll.”

You're extremely grateful for the spacious floors in the backseat as you lower yourself to your knees and maneuver your way between James’ legs. These luxury SUVs are top notch for a multitude of reasons, but this is always one of the main ones for you.

You waste no time in undoing James’ Italian leather belt, the button and zip on his slacks following, then lower the band of his boxer briefs to pull his cock out. You wish you could say you're surprised, but the fact he has a perfect cock isn't all that shocking. The length of it alone is worthy of praise, but it's the girth that makes your cunt clench around nothing. He's going to feel fucking divine inside your pussy, but for now, you'll settle for getting your mouth on him. You wrap your lips around the head as you stroke him, getting him as hard as possible, swiping your tongue across his slit.

“So pretty,” he compliments. You glance up at him coquettishly and he smiles. “Yeah, yeah. You know.”

You hum around him, pleased, and he sighs as he settles more into the seat. You take another inch of him in your mouth, slowly working your way down his above-average length. As much as it pains you to admit, even to yourself, you can't deepthroat. It's not for lack of trying, or anything. You've just unfortunately been graced with an unforgiving gag reflex. God had to keep you humble somehow. So you'll have to make up for it, take as much of his cock as you can and work the rest with your hands.

Normally, you're the type to give sloppy head, but since you're both in nice clothes, you keep it fairly tame. James doesn't have any room for complaints either, considering the way his mouth is slack and he's got his head tipped back. He's letting out these clipped, quiet noises, like he's trying to hold them in, but it just makes you work harder to get more out of him.

You slowly pull off his cock, and when you reach the tip you lightly graze your bottom teeth along his frenulum. His hips spasm and you smile when his eyes quickly find yours. They're blazing, pupils blown and just a touch glassy. Holding his gaze, you dig your tongue in his slit, and the way the vein in his neck pops is so satisfying that you keep doing it for several more seconds. You take him back in your mouth, stroking him with one hand and using the other to play with his balls. His breathing picks up, his chest heaving with it, yet he still only lets cut off sounds slip past his lips.

It's when you let go of his balls, moving your fingers down a little further to put pressure on his perineum, that he finally groans. Deep, guttural, and music to your ears. After that, all bets are off. You go from bobbing on his cock to stroking it at a brutal pace and sucking on his balls, back and forth, all while continuing to massage his perineum. And to your absolute delight, James is putty in your hands. He still tries to cut off his noises, but he's mostly unsuccessful.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he grits through his teeth, fingers digging into the leather seat below him so hard his knuckles turn white.

You’re understandably proud of yourself, but your jaw is starting to hurt, so it's time to bring this blowjob to an end. Stroking his cock even faster, you hollow your cheeks and put suction around the head, rubbing his perineum harder. His hips begin shifting, his noises going slightly higher in pitch, breaths coming out in harsh pants. You look up at him with watery eyes and he whines, ass coming up off the seat about an inch, his jaw locking, and then with a drawn out groan, he comes.

You moan as his cum fills your mouth, swallowing all of it as you help him through his climax. He twitches with aftershocks and grunts with overstimulation, but you wait for him to weakly push at your head before you let go of him.

With one last lick to the red head of his cock, you murmur, “Thank you, daddy.”

He laughs, a breathy, disbelieving sound, and wipes a hand down his blissed out face.

“I don't know what kind of stars aligned for us to meet, but I’m sending all of my thanks to whatever deity that made it happen.”

You giggle, pushing yourself back up into the seat beside him as he sluggishly puts his cock back in his boxers and rights his trousers. He's practically boneless where he sits and you know you've done a fantastic job at making up for your thoughtless teasing to him.

“Once we get to the estate, I’ll take care of you, doll,” he promises with a lethargic grin. “Wanna get you spread out on a bed.”

“You won't get any complaints out of me,” you assure.

For the rest of the ride, you and James chatter about anything that comes to mind. Sam, who'd been totally silent before, pipes in when prompted and you're pleased to find he's got a sense of humor that rivals yours. It feels like hardly any time has passed when the car is turned into a driveway with an iron gate. Sam punches in a code on a keypad and the gate opens.

When you're able to get a good look out of the windshield at the looming home ahead of you, your jaw drops. It's fucking massive. You faintly register James snickering next to you, but your attention is better drawn to the mansion you're pulling in front of. You're still gawking when Sam comes around to open the door for you and James. Your “thank you” is quiet and mumbled and not all that polite, but like. C’mon.

“It's nice, huh?” James asks.

“That would be a fucking egregious understatement,” you retort, head tilted up to take in all the grandeur.

He steps up behind you, his front pressed all along your back, nose nuzzling your neck and ear, hands settling low on your hips. “I do believe I promised to lay you out on my bed.”

“That you did,” you murmur, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair.

“I’m a man of my word,” he says. “Always.”

Of that you have no doubt.

“I suppose you should take me inside then,” you reply.

Without another word, he links his hand with yours and leads you inside. You barely make it over the threshold before he's swept you off your feet, literally, and carries you up the stairs, grinning at your giggles.

You'll get a tour of the place in the morning, you guess.

#avengers fic #marvel fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #mafia bucky barnes x spoiled brat reader #mafia au #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x female reader

[goodnightmemes]

KNIVES OUT (2019) SENTENCE STARTERS

❛ Anything you need. You’re part of this family. ❜

❛ Kids today, with the internet. It’s amazing. ❜

❛ I read a tweet about a New Yorker article about you. ❜

❛ I’m here at the behest of a client. ❜

❛ You will find me a respectful, quiet, passive observer of the truth. ❜

❛ Are you baiting me? ❜

❛ You think I am dumb enough to be baited into talking family business. ❜

❛ This is not how I wanted to have this conversation. ❜

❛ He’s always been the black sheep of the family. ❜

❛ Are you, goddamn, insane? ❜

❛ You tell her or I will! ❜

❛ I know it’ll hurt, but it’s all for the best. ❜

❛ I expect it’s going to be about something, if not extraordinary, then at least interesting. ❜

❛ Does having a kind heart make you a good nurse? ❜

❛ Just the thought of lying, yeah, it makes me puke. ❜

❛ Have you seen her insta? She’s an influencer. ❜

❛ Can I wait inside? I feel like I shouldn’t be here. ❜

❛ So, somebody suspects foul play. ❜

❛ It makes no damn sense. Compels me though. ❜

❛ I don’t know why we keep going over this. ❜

❛ Physical evidence can tell a clear story with a forked tongue. ❜

❛ Can you just take your goddamn medicine and go to bed? ❜

❛ You really love drama, huh? ❜

❛ Why can’t I beat you at this game? ❜

❛ Such a bad loser you are. ❜

❛ There’s so much of me in that kid. ❜

❛ Playing life like a game without consequence, until you can’t tell the difference between a stage prop and a real knife. ❜

❛ I don’t fear death. ❜

❛ I don’t fear death. But, oh God, I’d like to fix some of this before I go. ❜

❛ Hey. You had a long day. You wanna do drugs? ❜

❛ I messed up. ❜

❛ You know, this is an interesting and efficient method of murder. I need to write this down. ❜

❛ There is no time, you have to listen! ❜

❛ If what you said is true, I’m gone, there’s no saving me. ❜

❛ But you have to do exactly what I tell you. ❜

❛ Will you do this? This last thing. For me. ❜

❛ What do you want me to do? ❜

❛ It sounds crazy, but it will work. ❜

❛ Don’t lie. Tell fragments of the truth. ❜

❛ I keep waiting for the big reveal, where it all makes sense. Wouldn’t that be nice? ❜

❛ Jesus, I’m gonna disappear until the politics talk is done. ❜

❛ Something is afoot with this whole affair. I know it, and I believe you know it too. ❜

❛ I trust your kind heart. ❜

❛ Be it cruel or comforting, this machine unerringly arrives at the truth. ❜

❛ You do as I say and everything will be just fine. ❜

❛ Best judge of character is a dog. ❜

❛ I don’t feel like talking. I’m distraught. ❜

❛ People grieve in different ways. ❜

❛ I don’t know what any of that means. ❜

❛ Now, you heard something. Spill it. ❜

❛ Maybe this might finally make you grow up. ❜

❛ This might be the best thing that could ever happen to you. ❜

❛ Nothing good is ever easy. ❜

❛ Up your ass. ❜

❛ Matter of fact - eat shit, how’s that? ❜

❛ The game is afoot, eh Watson? ❜

❛ Please accept it with grace and without bitterness. But do accept it. ❜

❛ You little bitch! ❜

❛ Did you know about this? Were you in this from the beginning? ❜

❛ Were you boinking my father? ❜

❛ In the meantime I’d maybe run. ❜

❛ I’m not on Twitter anymore. ❜

❛ You look like you’re gonna pass out. Have you eaten anything today? ❜

❛ I know I shouldn’t say this out loud, but when he told me, I… Jesus, I coulda killed him. ❜

❛ You asshole. ❜

❛ Tell me everything. ❜

❛ There is much that remains unclear. ❜

❛ I suspect foul play. ❜

❛ I have eliminated no suspects. ❜

❛ You’ve come this far. Let me help you go all the way. ❜

❛ What’s going on? This isn’t you. ❜

❛ You should do whatever you think is right. ❜

❛ You have to make things right. ❜

❛ I want you to know I’m gonna take care of you. ❜

❛ You lay low for a couple of days. Wait for this investigation to blow over, and it will. ❜

❛ Are we rich? ❜

❛ Why is grief the providence of youth? ❜

❛ I’d imagine that age deepens all feelings. Including grief. ❜

❛ One thing I assume of age is weariness. Damned if I don’t get more tired every day. ❜

❛ I think you have something you wanna tell me. ❜

❛ I don’t like any of this. ❜

❛ What kind of blackmail scheme is this? ❜

❛ You regret helping me yet? ❜

❛ Oh my God. I’m just pure adrenaline right now, I feel like I swallowed bees. ❜

❛ That was the dumbest car chase of all time. ❜

❛ Strange case from the start. ❜

❛ Listen, I don’t know what you want. Whatever it is, we can work it out. ❜

❛ I don’t want any more surprises. ❜

❛ God, you’re not much of a detective, are you? ❜

❛ You make a pretty lousy murderer. ❜

❛ You’re a pack of vultures at the feast. ❜

❛ Is anybody else confused? ❜

❛ I’m so sorry. I told them everything, I figured it was up. I’m sorry. ❜

❛ You shared a love of twisting the knife into one another. ❜

❛ I’m warning you! ❜

❛ You won’t get away with this. ❜

❛ A twisted web. And we are not finished untangling it. Not yet. ❜

❛ This is stoopid with two o’s. ❜

❛ You don’t have a shred of evidence. You’re just spinning a fairy tale. ❜

❛ In for a penny, in for a pound. ❜

❛ I knew you were a no good son of a bitch! ❜

❛ And then you’ll see just how much hell I can wreak on your life. ❜

❛ You vicious little bitch! ❜

❛ What the shit!? ❜

❛ I want you to remember something that’s very important: you won not by playing the game his way, but yours. ❜

❛ You’re a good person. ❜

❛ I have my own opinion. But I have a feeling you’ll follow your heart. ❜

#rp meme #sentence starters #rp sentence meme #sentence meme #rp prompt #roleplay meme #roleplay prompts #sentence starter meme #rp memes #rp prompts #*movie

[jurgan]

Slay the Princess and Process Theology

“You’re on a path in the woods. And at the end of that path is a cabin. And in the basement of that cabin is a princess. You’re here to slay her. If you don’t, it’ll be the end of the world.”

“Go and learn what this means: I desire mercy, not sacrifice.” -Matthew 9:13

I recently listened to a sermon about “process theology,” a subject of which I know little. The shortest summary I can give is that it holds God is not absolutely constant but changes in response to actions of humans and the wider world. This idea has quite a bit of biblical support- both Moses and Abraham successfully argue God into changing his mind, and Jesus at one point appears racist, calling a foreign woman a “dog” before being argued out of it. The preacher kept apologizing for the subject being dry and esoteric, but I was on the edge of my seat. He stated that people often see the God they expect to see, and that got me thinking about Slay the Princess. StP is a game I have played through several times over the past few months. I don’t want to get overly specific in case anyone reading wants to give it a shot, and its meaning is vague enough that each player will see it their own way. It’s a pretty easy game to play; there’s no real challenge, it’s more like a Choose Your Own Adventure book where the story unfolds and frequently stops to give you a list of options for how it should proceed.* What is interesting is that the Princess acts in response to your actions even if she couldn’t know what they were. For instance, if you approach her with a knife in hand, she is suspicious and cold, whereas if you approach unarmed she is hopeful and warm. This is not because she sees what you are doing, but because your own expectations color how you see her.

Through multiple replays, it becomes clear that the Princess is not one thing, but that she shifts between different appearances based on your own choices. There is a give and take between Player and Princess where each affects the other and is affected in turn. The third actor is the mysterious Narrator who instructs you to slay the princess with the claim that doing so will “save the world.” While he can occasionally force you to act, for the most part he is limited to trying to talk you into seeing things his way, and the Princess conversely tries to talk you out of killing her. The power of “persuasion” is, to my understanding, a major part of Process Theology. Each time you play the game, the Princess will seem different. It becomes clear that she is not a mere person, but something greater that you can only see one aspect of at a time.

“We are oceans reduced to shallow creeks.”

Am I saying the Princess is God? Maybe? There are a lot of valid interpretations, but this one might track. You’d have to play the game to decide for yourself, but what it comes down to is that her existence is only meaningful in relation to the player. These contrasts fill our lives. In Genesis, God separates the water from the land, yet the two are never truly separate. The world is full of these contrasts that aren’t really in conflict. Matter and energy. Particles and waves. The holy and the broken. The philosopher Heraclitus (thought to be an inspiration for the Gospel of John) was taken by the idea of “unity of opposites.” The player and the Princess are constantly at odds, yet their conflict defines each other.

“There is no constant! There is no center! Everything that is exists only in relation to everything that isn’t!”

And the world around you both also changes depending on how your relationship develops. Sometimes she is powerful and godlike and the cabin becomes a temple, sometimes she is vicious and feral and it becomes a cave. Sometimes you close yourself off to her, sometimes you become so close as to be inseparable.

“Does it matter where one thing begins and another ends?”

There is in fact a sort of theology in the game, a conflict between the Shifting Mound and the Long Quiet. The former is dynamic and impermanent, the latter static and immortal. You have the option of choosing between the two at the end, and neither can be reduced to good or evil. The Quiet is the traditional Platonic view of God as “immortal, unchanging,” while the Mound is the relational God of Process Theology. But the Mound allows for change and growth, while the Quiet promises a sort of eternal dullness. And if God values relationships and growth, the same must be true of us.

*https://www.slaytheprincess.com/ for a trailer and information about how to play. It’s available on Steam now.

#slay the princess #theology #christianity #process theology

[ashes-writing]

devil | scream 4 ; c.walker

A/N; so listen up kiddos. Recently I watched Jack Goes Home and this.. It sent me down a Rory Culkin rabbit hole. And naturally, this led me to rewatch Scream 4 for probably the bajillionth time, holy shit. Look, this is just something weird, something a little... dark.. that came to my brain. If weird, kind of spicy and wildly inappropriate are not your cup of tea then this post is probably not something you'll want to read. In the spirit of all my late posts, this too is a reader fic. Because things seem to flow better that way. aka when i get my nerve up to post some of my oc fics on here it's over for my ass bc they're gonna flop hard lmaooo. But anyway, another reader fic. This time with Charlie Walker from Scream 4.

Tag List ; @schizoauthoress is the only person on my horror tags rn. If you'd like to fix this and be added to it, please by all means.. Click the link below.

Pairing ; Charlie Walker x Troublemaker!Fem reader, listen there is no other way to say this. Reader is.. a handful.

Summary ; The last thing you expected was to find yourself in the supply closet in the back of the classroom with Charlie Walker. When this happens, things get a little spicy.

Warnings ; for now, there are only vague hints that he's stone cold crazy and planning to slash bodies or in liason with Jill. As dark as it gets is him going on an internal rant about the mistakes Billy made and how those got him seperated from Sydney. Beyond the slight air of darkness / murdery hints, there's making out in a semi public place, swearing, panty theft, almost a fight / bullying situation between Reader and Kirby and Robbie Mercer being both a conscience and a cockblock simultaneously.

Other Stuff ; tag list doc || rules + fandoms and some of the characters I write for || requests ; open, any fandom but pro wrestling with headcanons / nsfw alphabet and fluffy alphabet letters only please and thanks.

I do not consent to having my work reposted. I also do not consent to having my work rewritten / copied and changed to be reposted.

“Listen, I’m just saying… Virgins are always the first to go. The virgin is never the final girl. So if you want to live through this killing spree? Get laid. Do it now.. Screw the logic that says virgins live to the end because they don't I mean... Look who just died, there's the proof...” and as she says it, Kirby Reed settles back into her  desk. 

You roll your eyes to yourself a few rows away before smirking and speaking up. “Just say you’re a whore and go already, Jesus christ.”

You know it’ll start a fight but honestly, you don’t care. Because it’s Monday and Kirby fuckin Reed is already giving you a headache. You’d rather be anywhere but Woodsboro High to begin with, so the two combined and prompted you to look for a little spice. A way to make your Monday more interesting.

“Aw, look… It’s the girl who wants to be me so bad she can taste it.” Kirby barely looks at you. The jealousy in her tone might be missed by you, but Jill and the other girls pick right up on it. All Kirby has bitched about all weekend is how Charlie Walker is always following you around like some stupid little puppy lately. And she got angry as hell when Jill pointed out that she was upset, therefore, this meant she was jealous.

“In your dreams, bimbo.” you retort, twisting your hair around your finger. “I’d really rather not have to play pin the tail on the STD. How many are you up to this month, hm? Three? Four?”

She’s on her feet in seconds and you’re not a stranger to fisticuffs, so you don’t waste any time getting on your feet either. You’re pulling the big silver moon earring out of your ear as she starts your way and you smirk when Robbie Mercer grabs her. The only problem with this is about the same time Robbie Mercer grabs hold of her, you find yourself thrown carelessly over the shoulder of Charlie Walker.

You kick your legs, briefly flashing the entirety of the class behind you with the tear on the inside the leg of your favorite pair of fishnets and the faintest split second flash of deep black lace when your kicking sends your skirt flipping upward and shows your panties and the curve of your ass. 

You pound on Charlie’s chest and midsection with your fists and you squeal out in mock horror, “Unhand me, you asshole! I’ll bite, damn it!”

Normally, Charlie Walker doesn’t say more than a word or two to you here and there unless there’s dire necessity. He’s too busy following Kirby around or doing Film Club things or the video yearbook with Robbie, his best friend.

So it catches you off guard when he glances over at you and smirks with a little shrug. “Is that an offer, princess?”

“It’s a threat, sleazeball!” you assert. When you actually do attempt to bite him, it’s his abdomen that catches the unholy wrath of your teeth and he’s rushing to put you on your own feet in a quieter corner of the classroom -which happens to wind up being the supply closet in back. All you can do is smirk in satisfaction as you tap your foot against the tiled floor.

“What? Why do you look so damned smug right now, hm?” Charlie leans into you a little. Studying you intently. A curious gleam in ice blue eyes. “Does chaos just make you happy or something?” he demands an answer as he studies you intently. Looking at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time and honestly, it feels like he has.

See, until recently, it was all about Kirby.

But then you caught his attention by a happy accident.

You were trying to fight Trevor because Trevor decided to play grab ass with you  at one of Emma’s parties earlier in the month.

You’d dropped Trevor like a bad habit with just one slight movement, a simple sweep of your leg. Then when he tried to wrestle you down onto the floor with him because he couldn’t handle having his ass handed to him by a girl who was maybe 5 foot even at best, you’d straddled his hips and proceeded to squeeze his throat until he was struggling for his next breath.

Since that night, Charlie Walker had  barely acknowledged Kirby Reed.. Not that you’d notice, you seemed to be completely oblivious to the subtle shift in his intent focus... But he tried to pop up near wherever you happened to be a lot more. Which proved to be handy when you did something stupid like eating a habenero in the cafeteria on a dare and nearly choking, which he prevented by hitting you on the back until you coughed it up only to walk away wordlessly.. Or when he caught you pulling the fire alarm earlier this week just because to quote you, if you had to sit through one more boring pep rally, you’d simply die on the spot. He’d picked you up over his shoulder when you tripped while trying to flee the scene of the crime.

You were excitement. You were breathing chaos. When he compared you to Kirby Reed, Kirby only had sex appeal going for her.

And right now, as he stood there staring at you, standing taller and right in your way so you couldn’t get to Kirby like you wanted, he was starting to see that the scale of sex appeal was tipping a lot more in your favor than hers too.

You were snapping your fingers in his face with an annoyed look in your eyes and that’s what brought him crashing back into reality. 

“I said move, damn it.” you repeat yourself for at least the fourth time.

“Not gonna do that. Nope.” Charlie answers, stepping into your line of vision to block it. You pout up at him a little and laugh softly. “Oh, I get it… You know if I get past you, I’m gonna rip off your pretty little girlfriend's face and wear it like a Halloween mask. You don’t want me to beat her til she’s ugly inside and out… Right?”

“Nope. Not even close, kitten. Not even in the same galaxy as the answer.” Charlie’s hand raises and he drags it through his hair. You swallow hard because the smirk that tugs at his lips lets you know that he saw you when your eyes followed the way his hand dragged through his hair. He steps closer to you. Close enough that there’s no distance left between your bodies. Close enough that the scent of cologne and cigarette smoke and whatever body wash he uses and just… boy, those all combine and make you bite your lip just a little bit. You frown to yourself. 

You try to focus on what he’s saying, anything but the way his lips move when he’s chewing you out or saying whatever you’re barely listening to at the moment. Or the way he keeps stepping closer. The way he’s staring at your mouth intently as he does it.

And then your back’s against the blackboard behind you and his hips are pinning you between his body and the blackboard. One of his hands raise and catches against the side of your face. As the pad of his thumb rolls over your skin you shiver and before you can censor yourself, you melt into him. Charlie growls quietly. His other hand slips around behind you, settling against your ass as he squeezes. The fabric of your miniskirt bunching up in his hand. You whimper and your hand raises, tangling in his hair as your nails drag softly over his scalp.

Neither of you seem to stop and think, oh hey, this is a classroom and maybe we shouldn’t do this. Neither of you are focused on anything aside from just how good what’s happening feels. When Robbie’s throat clears from nearby, you two spring apart. Charlie glares at the taller boy and takes several deep breaths.

“I came to see if you got the spitfire under control. Apparently, she’s going to corrupt you now.” Robbie taunts him and you laugh, pouting a little as a hand raises to at least attempt straightening out the way Charlie had started to mess with and tug at your hair. All you can really do is shrug it off but the look on Kirby Reed’s face when she catches sight of the two of you looking as if you’ve just been caught with your hand in the cookie jar and are being reprimanded for it, that angry gleam is worth it all.

Even if Charlie only did whatever it is he was about to attempt just to get you to behave even a little. Robbie wanders back into the main area of the classroom with everyone else and the door to the supply closet bangs closed behind him softly but the damage is done. The trance has been broken.

Charlie steps back up to you and dips his head down, resting his forehead against your cleavage as he takes at least three long and deep breaths and grumbles out in a voice muffled by your tits, “Jesus. I swear the guy could unintentionally fuck up a wet dream.” as his fists clench against your hips when he grabs hold to pull you completely against him all over again.

“Were you going to kiss me, Charlie?” you ask with the softest of giggles. Melting against him which gets you a warning growl and the slightest nip to the side of your neck as the warmth of his breath tickles your ear when he responds “Thought about it, yeah.” laughing quietly as he gazes up at you. 

“What exactly is stopping you?”

“We’re kind of in a classroom supply closet right now, babe. Look around.” Charlie gestures to the lack of proper ambiance and you shrug. “It wouldn’t be the riskiest place I’ve made out before.” but you smirk as you say it and Charlie’s prompt response is to jam his fingers into his ears while loudly humming because he doesn’t want to hear it.

See, he’s gotten it in his head. This all ends with him and you. Screw his little agenda with Jill. He’s gonna turn on her and this time, the grave error made by Billy Loomis in not keeping his girl at his side will not be repeated by him, the new slasher of Woodsboro.

If Billy’s taught him anything through years of idol worship, it’s that even your idols can fuck up. And this time, he doesn’t intend on it. If Billy had kept Sydney in the dark. Kept her in line. Kept her well fucked and love-drunk then maybe their story wouldn’t have ended in tragedy.

He just knows yours won’t.

After all, you’re built different than Kirby Reed.

Otherwise, he’d never have taken notice, fucked around and gotten obsessed.

In short, he fully intends to be the last guy those soft lips of yours -or any other parts of your anatomy, ever touch. One way or another and he’s fully prepared to eliminate the competition any way he has to. 

“Charlie, c’mon. You’re looking at me all dopey right now.” you’re pouting up at him with those big, beautiful eyes. Batting those lashes. He decides to do the opposite of what his idol Billy would do in this situation. Instead of being a dick about it, he leans into the sappy romantic shit most girls want to hear.

His finger drags across your lower lip. His forehead settles against yours. “Maybe it’s because I wanna kiss you and I’m barely controlling myself.”

“Then don’t, oh my god.” you whine, wrapping your arms around his neck. You lean into him heavy enough that his back meets the closet door and he braces himself to stop the damn thing from flying open and both of you tumbling out just in time. His mouth latches against yours around the same time your leg raises to his hip and his free hand -the one not tangled in and tugging at your hair, grips your thigh right beneath your skirt. “This what you wanted, kitten?” he asks the question in the sweetest, most lovesick voice he can muster. It’s not hard to do at all and that surprises him. He’s been faking normal for so long now that when something is natural for once and it comes easily instead of being a tedious chore, it throws him for a loop.

Your whimper as you rock against him and melt into him has him drawing a shaky deep breath when the kiss breaks for a split second. “Answer me.” he grips your jaw gently in his hand and you pout because he’s not kissing you anymore. “Well it was til you stopped…”

“Babe, c’mon. Are you trying to drive me crazy here?” Charlie questions, frowning at you.

The class is still discussing the latest murder to have been gone viral when the two of you slip out of the closet and back into your seats. You’re dripping. And before you left the closet, Charlie Walker ripped off your panties and pocketed them while giving you that calm smirk. 

He says he’ll come by tonight. He wants you to leave your bedroom window open. And while it’s everything you’ve wanted since middle school, there’s a part of you that can’t help but wonder if you haven’t just entered into some kind of unholy union.

Because there’s always been something a little different. Just a little off with Charlie Walker.

#charlie walker #charlie walker fanfiction #scream 4 fanfiction #charlier walker fanfic #charlie walker oneshot #charlier walker x fem!reader #charlier walker x fem!reader fanfiction

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

A Cup of Tea and Paracetamol pt 2/?

I’m back with part 2! Sorry for the delay, last weekend was wildly busy. This part features a staunchly miserable Elijah, so I hope you guys enjoy that. Unedited, basically unread by me until I look at it later and hate myself for a random spelling/grammar mistake. Part one can be found here, if you’re interested in reading that/understanding what’s going on in this part lmao. I’m thinking this is going to be 3 parts, and the final one should be up later this week (hopefully. No promises lol). 

OH ALSO I am very much so not from England, I’ve never been outside the US so I’m sorry if I say something that sounds super weird or wrong about England. Just go ahead and pre-suspend your disbelief that basically no cold medication can be found in London while you’re at it. This is fiction and it’s at the mercy of what makes my characters the most miserable lmao. 

Enjoy!

cw: male sneezing, colds, contagion is mentioned but not explicitly in this part

A Cup of Tea and Paracetamol (pt 2)

“Stop laughing.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m not laughing, I’m getting it together,” Greyson took a deep breath slowly, but it came out once again as a squawk of a laugh. Elijah elbowed him hard in the arm before snatching his bag off of the moving carousel.

“You’re an ass,” Elijah grumbled, moving towards the exit.

“Boss, hey, I’m sorry, man,” Greyson said jogging a bit to keep up with Elijah. “But I mean, come on. It is kind of funny.”

“I literally cannot think of anything less funny,” Elijah said, pulling his hand sanitizer out of his pocket for the millionth time that day and squirting the last of it on his hands. “That was a fucking nightmare.” The sick man Elijah had been sitting next to literally couldn’t have done a worse job of keeping his germs to himself; he had basically sneezed and coughed for the entire seven hours, minus maybe thirty minutes of snoring with his open mouth facing Elijah. Greyson hailed a cab as Elijah shuddered; at least it was over.

“We’re gonna have to find an English CVS or something,” Greyson mused. “Do they have Emergen-C here?”

“I have no idea,” Elijah said, massaging his temples before opening the cab door. “Let’s just get away from this godforsaken airport.”

The ride to the hotel was thankfully quick, and by some miracle, the gift shop in the lobby did stock Emergen-C. Greyson and Elijah loaded up, dropped their things in the room, and headed out to dinner. Their first day was completely blown because of the flight and the time difference, so over their meals Elijah was busy texting the contact for the event.

“What’d she say about the product we ordered?” Greyson asked, his leg bouncing nervously under the table. Elijah gave him a pointed look and showed the chef his text stream with the contact – a woman named Samantha.

“She said she has it all,” he said as Greyson read through their texts. “Stop worrying so much.”

Greyson snorted. “That’s rich coming from you,” he said, taking a bite of his sandwich. “The king of fuckin worrying.”

“It’s a festival event, Grey. We’ve done a thousand of them. It’s not like we’re doing it in Mumbai and we don’t speak the language.” Greyson shrugged and Elijah sent off another text.

“Okay,” Elijah said, clapping his hands together. “Tomorrow: prep. It’s 1,000 portions, if we get to the kitchen at seven, it’ll probably take us ten hours to get everything done.”

“Seven?!” Greyson asked, incredulous. “Isn’t that like three in the morning our time?”

Elijah shrugged. “We have to get it done, Grey. We don’t have the team help us; I think the event provides a couple of culinary students, but that’s it. It’s gonna be a long one.”

Greyson groaned and put his head in his hands. “Fine,” he said after a moment of mourning his sleep. “But I’m gonna complain the whole time.”

Elijah chuckled as he flagged the server. “I’d expect no less.”

***

Greyson peeled his eyes open at the ass-crack of dawn to see that the bathroom light was on and the shower was running. Jesus christ, he thought, does Elijah ever fucking sleep?

The chef rolled unceremoniously out of bed and grudgingly shoved his legs into jeans and his arms into his chef coat. It was so goddamn early. He was so goddamn tired. While buttoning his chef coat, Greyson fantasized about running away, skipping the event and just enjoying London like it was a vacation; beer and fish and chips in a dark pub, strolling through museums with no schedule, taking a long ass hotel nap and then going to a Michelin-starred restaurant for dinner. Yeah… now that sounded like a trip.

Just as he was about to pound on the bathroom door and ask if Elijah had fallen in, Greyson heard his boss’s breath hitch.

“hehh...huhNGTSH-uh!”

Oh, mother fucker.

“Lij…?” Greyson called into the bathroom. When he didn’t get an answer, he knocked tentatively. “Y’okay in there?”

Greyson heard nothing for a moment, the a sudden – “HGTSHH-ue!” Greyson set his jaw in anticipation, and just as he was about to knock again, Elijah opened the door.

“I’m good,” he said, his voice slightly lower than it usually was. “You ready?”

“Uh, yeah,” Greyson said, motioning to his getup. “Are you sure you’re alright? I heard you, uh… sneezing.”

“I’m fine, Grey, just steam from the shower. C’mon, we need to meet Samantha in the lobby in five minutes.”

Greyson followed Elijah silently to the elevator, and continued his silence as they descended to the lobby. He couldn’t lie; he was worried. Worried about his boss, a bit, but mostly worried about the event - if Elijah was sick, who was going to work the booth with him tomorrow? He couldn’t do it himself, he knew that much for sure, but, to be frank, he was fairly scared of invoking Elijah’s wrath by asking if he was sick, or even offering to get him medicine. Instead, while Elijah went through the finer details of the event with Samantha, Greyson snuck off to the giftshop, bought two bottles of water, and filled them both with Emergen-C. Before Elijah could notice he’d left, Greyson breezed back to the lobby and placed a bottle in his boss’s hand.

“What’s this?” Elijah asked as he waved goodbye to Samantha. Greyson shrugged.

“Emergen-C. Long flight, long couple days; better to be safe than sorry.”

Elijah gave Greyson a pointed look, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he unscrewed the cap of his water bottle and chugged half of it.

“Right,” he said, screwing the cap back on. “Let’s go check out the kitchen.”

***

Not to be dramatic, but Elijah really wasn’t sure how he was going to make it through the weekend.

It was about seven hours into prepping the short rib nacho they were serving for tomorrow’s event, and Elijah’s eyes were drooping at even the thought of another seven hours. He’d definitely been entirely too optimistic about his and Greyson’s abilities to get this knocked out in ten hours; the culinary students he’d assumed would be helping them prep were, as it turned out, scheduled to help run the booth tomorrow, not cook with them today. Elijah and Greyson were balls-deep in chopping, searing, frying, and basting with no end in sight. And it really didn’t help that Elijah couldn’t seem to get one little thing under control.

“hehhNGTHSH-uh! HGSTH-oo!” Elijah sneezed into his elbow for what felt like the billionth time that day and sniffed as hard as he could before returning to slicing potatoes on the mandolin.

“Careful,” Greyson said, also for the billionth time. “Do you want me to take those over, boss? We really can’t have you slicing your finger off.”

“Ndo,” Elijah said, wincing at how his own voice sounded. “I’mb good.”

Whatever monster of a cold the man on the plane had had yesterday, it certainly traveled quickly. Elijah had woken up that morning with a scratchy throat and slightly runny nose, and now at just after noon he was fairly sure he was dying. “HETSSHCHH-ue!”

“Bless,” Greyson said, curt. At the beginning of the day, Greyson had been sympathetic – almost overly sympathetic, bordering on neurotic. He’d offered to buy Elijah medicine in the gift shop, which Elijah had staunchly declined until about ten am. After the third offer, Elijah had broken down and given up on the ‘I’m-not-sick-I’m-totally-fine’ charade. “Fine, yes, find me what they have.”

But Greyson had come back empty-handed, with exception of the mystery drug the man on the plane had requested yesterday – paracetamol. After a quick google search, they found out it was pretty much just tylenol.

“Tylenol??” Elijah had asked, dumbstruck. “That’s really all they have?”

Greyson had nodded. “I asked the woman at the front if there was, like, a drug store somewhere that sells dayquil and she had no idea what I was talking about.”

“You have got to be fucking shitting – HGTSHH-oo! Huhh...hehESTCHHH-ue! Snf.” Elijah wiped his face on his sleeve, defeated. “Shittigg mbe.”

He was not. A call to a local drugstore confirmed that dayquil and nyquil weren’t available in the UK, and their best bet was going to be the paracetamol. Elijah had tried to stifle a groan, and Greyson had offered his sympathy.

“I’m sorry, boss,” he said as he browned the short ribs in a huge tilt skillet. “I can ask the front desk to make you some tea?”

After Elijah had grumbled something about hating tea, Greyson had sighed and seemingly given up on the niceties. Now, several hours later, he had taken to not even mentioning Elijah’s condition.

“HRETSSHHOO!” This one caught Elijah off-guard, and he ended up doubled over his legs with his arms over his head to keep from contaminating the food. “Mbother fucker,” he mumbled, moving towards the hand washing station to blow his nose. From across the kitchen, Elijah heard Greyson sigh.

“Boss,” he called as Elijah threw away a handful of paper towels. “Go take a break.”

“Grey, we have so mbuch left to do. I’mb not leaving you.”

“Lij, please. Just go lay down for an hour or something, I literally am standing here with my stomach in my asshole freaking out that you’re not going to be able to do the event tomorrow, so please please just go and take a nap with some tea. Please.”

Elijah raised an eyebrow at Greyson and coughed lightly into his fist. “What the fugck are you talkigg about?” he asked, walking closer to the chef.

Greyson ran a nervous hand through his hair, then, noticing what he’d done, snapped the gloves off his hands and threw them in the trash with much more force than was necessary. “I’m just worried, dude, like you look like fucking hell. You look like you’re going to fuckin keel over, and I literally cannot do this event by myself. I can’t, Lij.”

Elijah huffed out a laugh that turned into a dry cough. “Greysond,” he said, as gently as he could muster, “I don’t care if I have two brokend arms and two brokend legs. I’mb going to be at the event. Okay? It’s a cold. I’mb fuckigg miserable, but it’s a cold. It’s gonna be fine.” He placed a careful hand on the chef’s shoulder and shook him lightly. “Okay?”

Greyson let out a shaky sigh. “Okay,” he said. “Good,” Elijah said, giving his friend’s shoulder a squeeze. “But you’re right about onde thing: we ndeed a break. And I think I mbight take you up ond – HGSTHH-oo! HRSHH-uh! Huhh…hhNGSTHH-ue!” Elijah groaned into the sleeve of his shirt and took the paper towel Greyson held out to him. “Ond the fuckigg tea.”

#snz #snez #sneezefic #snz blog #male sneeze #sniction #male cold #cold #coldfic #sickfic #sick #whiskeyswriting #original character #oc snz fic

[denim-mixtapes]

Diamonds and Rust [2/5: Missed Connection] - (Eddie Munson/Reader)

Rating: T Word Count: 1170 Pairing: Eddie Munson/F!Reader Warnings: Language, Eddie is kind of a simp Summary: Eddie works up the courage to bring a gift by your place of work, reminiscing on the first time you met along the way, only to find that you aren't there. Also posted on AO3

A/N: While the rest of this fic is in your traditional reader insert 2nd person perspective, this chapter is in the 3rd person! Just cause I really wanted to make Eddie's train of thoughts and feelings very clear in this chapter. It'll be back to 2nd person for the last 3 chapters!

There’s bound to be holes burned into the floor of Eddie Munson’s trailer, the way he’s spent all morning pacing back and forth. 

Today’s the day. 

He planned this for weeks, spent just as much time working up the courage to deliver this mixtape as he did curating the track list and recording the songs off the radio, but he’s finally doing it. The tracks are written as neatly as he could manage on the sleeve, though it still looks no better than chicken scratch to him. On the opposite side, he’s penned a short-but-sweet message explaining why he picked each one, or why they remind him of her. Frankly, they all remind him of her, because she’s the only person he thinks of when he hears a good song, now. 

It’s no secret that he doesn’t have the most conventional taste in music, and it’s something he’s come to terms with over the years; it’ll be rare to find someone whose tastes align with his so well, but it seems that her’s do. He’s been planning this since the first time they met. 

On his first visit to the little second hand store on the edge of town, he decided to browse the tee shirts and see if anything interesting stood out to him. He wasn’t expecting much, but he got to the Hideout much earlier than his bandmates and he had some time to kill, so why not? He thumbed through racks of duds. Hawkins High and Purdue University spirit wear and “Official Indiana State Fair Produce Judge.” Hand drawn designs and many, many local business logos. Just as he was starting to give up hope, flipping even faster through the hangers, a familiar face caught his eye. Going back to see if his eyes were playing tricks on him, he breathed out an excited, “ Finally! ” as he pulled the Iron Maiden shirt off of the rack and threw it over his shoulder to keep looking. 

“Find what you’re looking for?” Her voice caught him off guard. Obviously he knew that someone must have been working in this place, but he had seen nobody when he came in. He didn’t jump at her voice, no, he just…moved on very quickly to the next rack, but she definitely noticed, a melodic laugh accompanying her next statement. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“Oh, no, you didn’t–” Eddie turned to look at the girl who greeted him and tripped over his words. He could feel the weight of her smile deep in his chest, like it was a sight that he could (and would) commit to memory in seconds flat. Her nose wrinkled as the smile widened, and he forgot how to speak entirely. Jesus Christ, Munson. Just say ANYTHING at this point, what the hell are you doing?   “It’s just so quiet in here – I mean, I wasn’t expecting – yes, I did find something. Thank you.” In an effort to look like less of a bumbling fool, he held up the tee shirt, balled up in his fist, making her breathe another soft laugh. He decided at that moment that her laugh was one of his new favorite sounds. 

When he deposited the shirt onto the counter and she searched for a price tag, her eyes widened with excitement. She looked from the shirt, to Eddie, and back again, and he suddenly felt very aware of himself, straightening his posture and attempting to tame his mane by running his fingers through it. 

“About damn time someone bought this thing,” she said, folding the shirt. There was a hint of color to her cheeks when she added, “if it spent one more week on the rack I was about to take it for myself. Seems like nobody in this town appreciates good music. It’ll be $1.79, if that’s all for you today.” 

“Almost nobody,” he corrected, raising his eyebrows and pointing to his own face with both hands. “Some of us actually listen to more than the top 40 radio bullshit. And of course by ‘some of us,’ I mean myself, my bandmates, and like, two freshmen that I took under my wing last year.” 

“So not only does he listen to Iron Maiden,” her eyes flicked to the various patches and buttons on his vest, “Motorhead, and Judas Priest…but he’s in a band?” 

Eddie nodded and bowed dramatically, “in fact, he is . And uh, what about her? What else is the mysterious thrift shop clerk into?” 

After that, they talked about music for hours, about their likes and dislikes, favorite songs and guilty pleasures. Why their favorite bands earned that title, and theories on why everyone else in Hawkins seemed to think that pop dance music was the standard. He sat at that counter talking to her for so long that he was twenty minutes late to sound check (which the guys will still not let go of, almost a month later) . 

Finally, with one last deep breath (and a quick check in the mirror), he chucks the tape in his inside jacket pocket and makes his way to the thrift shop. 

He twirls the keys around his finger nervously as he walks up to the shop door, prepares what he wants to say one more time in his head, and steps in…only to be greeted by an unfamiliar face and a gruff greeting from the man behind the counter. 

Eddie stops dead in his tracks. 

He’s been here almost every day for a month, except for Sundays when they’re closed, and she’s always here. Why –  today of all days – was she not here? 

“Can I help you find something, son?” The man behind the counter asks. 

Hands in his pockets, Eddie approaches him. “Yeah, uh, there’s usually a girl here who helps me out, is she here? Maybe in the back?” He cranes his head around the man toward the dark back room where the donations are kept. 

The man visibly deflates, knowing he isn’t getting a sale from Eddie. “Nup,” he carped, “she had a family thing. A wedding or a funeral or something, hell, I dunno, but she’s off today either way.” 

“Ah, okay.” Dejected, Eddie decides it’s still now or never. If he brought the tape home with him, it wasn't ever going to see the light of day again. He had to take the chance. Pulling the tape from his pocket, he slides it across the counter, “Could you leave this for her? Just tell her Eddie dropped it off, she should be expecting it.” 

So maybe it wasn’t 100% truthful, but he figured the best way to get the tape in her hands and not the trash as soon as he left the building was to say that she knew it was coming. 

The man waves a hand in dismissal and pulls out a cigarette, lighting up before he responds with a clipped, “sure, sure.” 

Eddie thanks him and turns on his heel to make his exit. No turning back now. 

#eddie munson/reader #eddie munson/you #stranger things reader insert #eddie munson reader insert #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #fluff #diamondsandrust fic

[simprop]

oh my god 😭😭

okay so, i’ve started a new play through since my old laptop died (rest in peace brick) and i’m going through the premade households to get everything set up right?

well i went into the curious household and i’m waiting for vidcund to get abducted when pASCAL HAS QUADRUPLETS??? AHHHHHHH

#oh god oh shit oh fuck #i mean it’ll be interesting but JESUS i was not expecting that #sims 2 #ts2 #the sims 2 #simblr #strangetown #pascal curious #the sims

[tipsydipsydo]

Pairing: tall! & sub! Reader x dom! OT7 BTS

Gender of the Reader: male

Word Count: 2.3k  

Rating: 18+

Genre: Smut/PwP

Warnings: Dirty Language + Dirty Talk; Dom-/Sub-Dynamics; accidental overhearing of a phone call, Mentions of Exhibitionism & Voyeurism; Mentions of Sex Toys & Masturbation; slightly mentioned Double Penetration; mentions of Anal play; Praising; Petnames; some Degradation; Daddy-Kink; Teasing; slight Edging; the boys are teasing the poor reader to Death

A/N: Well- that was a quick writing. Instead of studying I decided to write this funny request and to use my procrastination in a better way than scrolling stressed through TikTok. I hope y’all like it!!

Status: unedited bc I am lazy and should study. 

Request: i want to request a drabble/one shot: sub taller male reader and his seven boyfriends in which he confidently talks naughty things with his friend on phone but when he realized his bf are watching, he became crazily shy because he is just a big cute boy, then his bf decided they want to test those ‘words’ he has said, poor boy =))

Requested by: anonymous 

[Links]:

▪My Writings

▪Blog Navigation

「© tipsydipsydo」

This following story is my intellectual property and belongs only to my blog tipsydipsydo.tumblr.com!

I’ll not accept any kind of reposting, stealing or using/editing my work!

That includes reposting my content on other social media platforms too, even when you link me as the original author.

Thank you.

After too many and super busy weeks full of work, you’ve finally managed to find a free afternoon in your schedule where your best friend and you have enough time for a nice, long telephone call on the couch. You are already over one and a half hour on the phone, exchanging the newest stuff that happened in your life with each other and joking around. Slowly your conversation turns their focus to your more private life and your bestie asks you about your polyamorous relationship with your boyfriends. At first just normal things like, how’s it going in general, how you all manage the relationship with all the different time schedules, how often it comes to fights and how you deal with that etc. Just normal stuff and  the ‘typical’ questions you’re already used to, when people realize that you’re not in a monogamous relationship. 

Your best friend and you grew up together. You met each other in elementary school, went through the curses of puberty as an inseparable team and even survived middle and high school thanks to the other one. Already in your teens, where both of you made your first experiences and got into your first relationships, your best friend had a guess that you’re not as straight as you want him to believe. No, they even assumed that you’re maybe not made for the typical monogamous relationship which the society preach every fucking day. 

Well, turns out that your best friend really knew you better than you did yourself back then but honestly, nowadays you’re thankful for their suggestions and that they gave you the save space you needed to dare to make new experiences in those directions. 

Nevertheless, they were still more than surprised when you introduced him to not only two or three boyfriends, no that you brought seven (!) other men to their birthday party two years ago. At first they were a little worried if you didn’t overload yourself with such a complex relationship dynamic and that it’ll turn out as a serious burden and not an enrichment for your life. Turns out, now it was their turn to make a false assumption about what’s the best for you and theu were more than happy to admit that everything turned out just fine. It truly makes their heart swell to hear the happiness in your voice through the phone everything you mention something about the boys. 

Quickly your phone call turn into an even more private talk and dedicate itself to the really interesting stuff. You’re sharing every detail in your life with another, so why should it stop when it comes to sex talk? You have absolutely no problem and any shame to talk freely with your best friend about your kinks and dirty thoughts. Sometimes you even think that you’re better informed about each other’s preferences better than your actual partner(s) are. 

“I think, I already told you that idea more than once... that I have a thing for exhibitionism and the thought of getting catched doing something ‘forbitten’ or ‘dirty’, right? Uhm... TMI but I don’t give a shit, whenever I am alone at home because they’re busy and we can’t meet for some days... I mastubate with some of the toys they’ve bought for me and imagine that they catch me. You know, when we have sessions with Dom and Sub Dynamics, they’re only temporarily and usually we go back to normal in the moment when the scene is over... that means, when I am alone and horny, I can do whatever I want to. I can jack off or fuck myself as much I desire and they wouldn’t say anything about it. It’s not like, I don’t appreciate my personal freedom when it comes to masturbation or that I want something completely different, no! We both already talked about that too, I don’t like the idea of Total Power Exchange, I prefer to be an independent person as soon as I walk out of the bedroom- okay, not only bedroom, we have sex in other places than the bedroom too- ANYWAY, what I wanted to say with that: ...”, you mutter and take a deep breath into your lungs. 

After holding such a long monologue your mouth dried up terribly and now you need quickly something to drink. You get up from the couch and walk over to the kitchen island to pour some soda into a glass. A satisfied hum leaves your throat after you took some gulps of your favourite sparkling sugar bomb. 

The whole time, where you moved around in the eat-in kitchen of the apartment, you are not that alone anymore as you thought you’d be, especially right in this moment. Namjoon, Hoseok and a boyish smirking Jimin joined you around ten minutes ago, leaning casually against the wall next to the door of the room and listen very interested to the conversation you have with your friend right now. They didn’t mean to overhear your private talk, they just wanted to know what kind of take-out food you’d prefer for tonight. 

Unfortunately your conversation turned out to be very, very interesting for them, so they decided to give you some more time to talk with your best friend about the sexual fantasies you have which they don’t know about... well, until now.

Hoseok texted the other boys in the group chat to join them in the living room as well, they need to hear those very important information too! 

Poor you, completely oblivious and naïve to what’s happening in this moment, not getting any kind of hint that not only your best friend would get those significant informations...

“...-what I actually wanted to say with that: I prefer to be independent in relation to all other non-sexual life-responsibilities. Well, that doesn’t mean we couldn’t increase the Erotic Power Exchange, right? To be very honest, I can’t get the fantasy of them taking my sextoys away and to forbid me to touch myself without their permission out of my head. I love to be their good boy and to get praises, I really do... but there is this thrill to be break the instructed rules, getting caught while doing it and getting punished for it. I want... I want to get called bad, filthy and dirty names, I want to be a disobedient, greedy and insatiable slut for them. I want to get spanked, edged and overstimulated, I want to get fucked into the mattress so bad, up to the point where I can’t get a single clear thought together and my brain turned to mush... I want to get used, ruined and wrecked by their cocks, getting my holes stuffed full with their cum and then plugged up, so nothing can run out anymore- God fuck, I should stop talking like that or I’ll get a serious problem! Well... sorry for so much detailed TMI, you know that this shit always happens when you tell me to stop overthinking and encourage me to spill everything that comes to my mind. Now you got every filthy detail you’ve asked for, you’re welcome.”, you joke sarcastically and facepalm yourself. You can’t believe how incredibly blunt and shameless you just threw your latest sex fantasy in every fucking detail at your poor best friend. 

Usually you’re more than shy to talk about such things, in your understanding the magic for your shameless mouth towards your best friend has to reside in the deep thrust you have in him and simply the knowledge that your relationship is platonic. It’s not like that you couldn’t trust your boyfriends wholeheartedly, god no! You know, that they would never kinkshame you for anything, 

it’s just... after sharing those thoughts it would result something out of it. You don’t want that they  think you’re a weirdo or that they only do specific things because they know it would turn you on. 

The other one just snorts in amusement when you voice this slight helpless apology, they can imagine the significant blush which has settled down on your cheeks. 

“Hey buddy, don’t apologize for that. There is nothing to apologizing for, I am way too curious for my own good as well and I need to make sure that you’re happy in your relationship, especially when it comes to the point if they are able to fulfill your sexual desires. I need to know that, believe me. Okay, there’s one thing... I knew you were submissive, my dude. But I didn’t expect that you’d be such a masochistic hoe and that you’d have such a thing for degradation, Jesus! Nevermind, more important: did you talked with them about that fantasy? Would they be down for this idea and would they like to be more in charge? Please do not tell me that you’re too shy to talk with them about it, not again! I tell you this every goddamn time, communication is key!”, your best friend says to you in a serious tone. 

Here you go again, getting scolded by your friend all over again. He is right, you know that... y’all already talked about ‘how to deal with certain kinks some of them or you have but the others aren’t into and how to not make them feel bad or insecure about it’ several times, you tend to overthink everything you have ever said to them all over again. You are always so flustered when seven pairs of eyes are looking at you, waiting for an answer. You are tall, even taller than Namjoon, but under their curious stares you feel always so small, fiddling with your fingers around like a little schoolboy. You love that about them, putting you into such a submissive place just with their aura and charisma and giving you the feeling as if they overtower you physically too. 

“I can absolutely agree with Y/BF/N, communication is key. Why didn’t you told us those nasty fantasies you have in your cute head up here, right away? Too shy again? Do we really need to call your best friend the next time to get some hints to your secret kinks, Babyboy?”, Taehyung rasps into your earshell and wraps his arms around you. He chuckles slightly as you squeak high-pitched in surprise. 

An equal surprised yelp of your best friend comes out of the speaker of your phone which takes Yoongi out of your hand and excuse you with the apology that ‘they need to have an important talk with you now and that you have to hang up unfortunately’. 

The display of your phone turns dark and Yoongi puts it on the surface of the kitchen island before he flashes you a dirty smile. That you’re mortified that they caught you spilling all those filthy fantasies to your best friend is the understatement of the century. Never and you mean never did you hoped so bad that the floor opens up and swallows you whole, saving you from this embarrassing misery. But Yoongi give you much time to drown in shame, coming up to you and connect your lips to a rough kiss. 

“God, I love it when our so sweet and shy Baby has such nasty and indecent fantasies in his head... why don’t you tell us these ideas in every single filthy detail once again? I think we could turn the information into some very good use, big boy~”, whispers the smaller one with blown-out eyes against your lips.

“...or would you prefer that we call you a needy cumslut, hm? The things I’ve heard give me the assumption that you want to get fucked stupid and pumped full with cum as if you are our personal playtoy?”, growls Jungkook and grabs himself a handful of your right asscheek, kneading it with a firm grip in his big palm. 

“Come on, big boy, admit that you want exactly the things Jungkook just said... I can feel how fucking hard you just got from his words... already so hard and swollen against my palm even though we barely touched you. You’re truly such a pathetic, needy slut... I bet you’d already cum in your pants if we just tease you enough... Am I right?”, chuckles Namjoon in his deep, arousal soaked timbre against your neck, nibbling at the sensitive spot of your Adam’s apple. 

“...what about we change our location to the bedroom and talk about the things you’ve said to Y/BF/N? Maybe we could try some of your newest kinks out? Would you like the thought of us watching you from the couch while you prepare your needy asshole for us? Showing us how you stuff you clenching rim with a girthy dildo? Wearing a cockring so you couldn’t cum without our permission? Prepping yourself all messy, whining for our finger, tongues and dicks in your ass like the greedy slut you are? Yeah, you’d love that thought.”, Seokjin teases you mercilessly, rolling your sensitive balls in his palm, just how you like it.  “Y-Yes, Daddies... I’d love to be a greedy cumslut for you... please turn me into one!”, you wisper. 

@cys-mental-escapades​; @bangtanloverboys​; @btsxmalereaders​

#kpop bts #kpop bts ot7 #bts ot7 #bts smut #bts imagines #bts jung hoseok #bts x reader #kpop smut #bts scenarios #kpop x male reader #bts x male reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #bts x tall reader #jimin x male reader #namjoon x reader #tall sub reader #dom! bts #sub! reader #requested #by tipsydipsydo

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part IX

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 14.3k

Warnings: timeskip, mutual pining, author doesn’t know shit about science subject matter, explicit sexual content, ass play, snowballing, tooth rotting fluff A/N: This is it, y’all. This last part was so much fun to write, I can’t even put it into words. The feedback on this has been incredible, so a big thank you for that, and before anyone asks, I have a handful of spinoff oneshots planned for this series. Enjoy~

- NINE YEARS -

“Hey, don’t forget about the meeting at three.”

 Mike glances up from his computer to find Henning leaning through his office doorway. It’s the first time Mike has looked away from the screen in at least an hour, and he blinks at his colleague several times in an attempt to get rid of the gritty feeling in his eyes.

 “Yeah, thanks,” he nods, rubbing a hand down his face. “Definitely would’ve forgotten about that one.”

 Henning leaves with one rap of his knuckles against the doorframe, and Mike checks his phone to see how much time he has before he has to make his way to the conference room. It’s twenty after two, so he spends a little while longer reading over the journal that had been sent to him, only tearing himself away when his alarm goes off at 2:55. 

 He waves at a few people as he passes, shows the reserved smile he’d mastered upon entering the corporate world, then walks into the large meeting space and sets his little notepad on the mahogany table as he sits down in a plush rolling chair. 

 This meeting has been planned for a few weeks now, a team of researchers contracted by the government to study Lake Sina and everything wrong with it. Its water quality is at an all time low, and it's up to Mike and his team to figure out a way to change that so it can be purified enough to distribute to the public. There are a few large cities close to the lake, all of lower income and all struggling with their water systems. If Sina can get clean enough, it would solve a huge crisis that most people don't even know is taking place. 

 Tomas, Henning, Lynne, and Nanaba are already in the room, and after a few minutes, another group of four walks in, all unfamiliar except…

 Mike’s eyebrows knit together as he stares. He can only see a profile from where he’s sitting, but it’s one he recognizes. The time he spent admiring it, mentally sketching every feature—of course he’d recognize it. Recognize you.

 There is a pounding in his chest that Mike hasn’t felt in years, and his palms are suddenly damp. The collar of his shirt is too tight around his throat, and he reaches up to undo the top two buttons so that he can fucking breathe, but Jesus Christ, he can’t believe it. It feels like a lifetime has passed since he last saw you. 

 He wonders if you’ll have the same reaction when you finally notice him, if you’ll gawk at him or grin or run away. He wouldn’t blame you if you tucked tail. That last conversation—if it could even be called that—is not one of Mike’s fondest memories, and he can’t imagine the toll it took on you, what you must have felt going into your final year of undergrad. 

 “Is there a remote for the projector?” You call out to the table, and your voice sounds exactly the fucking same. It makes Mike want to slam his head into the wood, but before he can, you zero in on him. 

 He watches as your eyes grow, jaw setting, shoulders rising with a deep breath, and oh, you’re panicking. You’re panicking just like he is.

 “Um,” you cough and shake your head, then lean over to speak to one of your people before basically jogging from the room.

 No one seems to think anything of it. Mike has to white-knuckle the arms of his chair to keep himself from getting up and following. There's no reason he should follow, though. The two of you haven’t spoken in almost a decade. He has nothing to share with you, no reason to talk to you on a non-professional level. You don’t know each other anymore, and that’s fine. It’ll be fine. 

 A mousy looking man starts passing out little binders to everyone at the table, then introduces himself as Moblit and the other two in the room as Hange and Abel. 

 "And, the other girl you saw is—"

 "I'm back, I'm here," you announce as you step into the room, closing the door behind you and introducing yourself with a wave. "Did we get the projector working?" 

 "Yes," Abel answers, passing you the remote that Nanaba had procured a few minutes ago. 

 Hange plugs a cable into a laptop and the white screen is lit up with the image of the well known lake, once beautiful, deep blue but now a murky brown. 

 Mike has been preparing for this project for a few months now, going to an off-site lab to look over the samples being sent in or dropped off. He knew there was a research team studying the lake, but… what are the odds that you would be part of that team? 

 He supposes your jobs could overlap just like your classes used to, but you had told him you wanted to go into natural hazards ("You're a natural hazard," he had replied with a snort). Of course, that had been a long time ago, but how had that dream morphed into hydrology? 

 Before the presentation starts, Mike's boss, Keith Shadis slips through the door and takes his seat at the end of the table. You're quick to grab one of the binders and walk it over to him, flashing a smile and never letting your gaze flit to Mike. 

 Hange does most of the talking, going over all of your findings while all of you "braved the wilderness". Moblit and Abel insert a few things here and there, and then Hange clicks to a slide with a graph on it and hands the remote to you. 

 "If you turn to page seventeen in the binders, you can probably get a better look, but this shows how much the level of pollution in Lake Sina has risen in the last year alone. We took samples over…"

 You keep talking, but Mike loses his focus, watching your hands move as you speak, the way you're rocking back on your heels, and how you look anywhere but at him. 

 Even though there's a tiny tremble in your voice, you sound passionate, and why wouldn't you be? Mike is passionate too. About the same god damn thing. 

 With a PhD in environmental science, his specialty is pollutants. It's something he's been interested in since grad school because the earth is beautiful but in an awful state, and Mike wants to fucking change that. He's written journals and articles, worked with leading experts, and it's what he's decided to dedicate himself to, so why is it that this life that he's built for himself is suddenly intermingling with yours? How—

 A hand comes to rest on Mike's and he startles at the touch, jerking his head upward to see Lynne with raised eyebrows. 

 "Mike, I get why you're lost in the pollution sauce, but if you click that pen one more time, I will throw you out of this high-rise."

 He stares at her for a second before chuckling and tossing his pen onto his blank notebook. He hadn't even realized he'd been doing it. It's a little embarrassing, actually. How many people noticed? Did you? 

 The presentation ends with Hange telling everyone that they're happy to be teaming up with the Corporation to work toward a solution and a plan to clean Lake Sina and possibly implement it into larger bodies of water.

 The planning stage of the project will more than likely last for a few months, meaning you'll all be regulars in the office which Mike isn't especially thrilled about, even if you will be sequestered in a little annex and spending a lot of your time in the lab. Mike will still have to see you and work with your team, god, probably have to talk to you. 

 The floor opens up for any questions, but Shadis is the only one who speaks, wanting clarification on some statistic that Mike is going to have to read over later. Once the boss is happy, he stands, then walks behind Mike's chair to slap him on the back and say the last thing Mike wants to hear.

 "This is Dr. Mike Zacharias. All of you should get familiar with him since he'll be heading this project."

 Mike sits up a little straighter and forces a tight-lipped smile that all of his colleagues know is fake. 

 "Happy to be working with you." 

 It isn't a lie. He's been excited about this project for a long time now. He just wasn't expecting such a massive wrench to get thrown right into the middle of it. 

 The four of you start packing up your materials. When Henning tries to hand you his binder, you tell him, "No, those are for you to keep. Just to get a real grasp on what we found out there."

 Mike knows he's staring, swiveling back and forth in his chair, twirling the pen he's picked up again, and he wonders if it would just be easier to rip the bandaid off. Exchange hellos, go over the bare minimum—how long he's been with the company, how long you've been researching. Just enough to appear casual, like you didn't break Mike's fucking heart in college. 

 And, then he thinks about just avoiding you altogether. There's always the chance your issues could come up in conversation, and it's so far in the past now, there's nothing either of you can say to make the other feel better. This can't be about closure. It's just a job. That's all. 

 "Wow, everyone really… cleared outta here."

 Mike's vision unfogs, and he glances around to find that yes, you're the only two left in the conference room. Fantastic. 

 You're wrapping a cord around your elbow then shoving it in a laptop bag, and he can tell you're moving as fast as you can, ready to get the fuck out of there. 

 "Uh, yeah," Mike agrees, pushing himself to his feet and grabbing his notebook to curl in his hands. "Everyone's just ready to get back to work, I guess."

 "Yeah. You can only hold someone's attention with a PowerPoint for so long."

 Mike's mouth is too dry, and it feels like he needs to cough, but he doesn't want to startle you, so he just quietly clears his throat in an entirely ineffective way and tells you, "Good PowerPoint, though."

 You snicker, not loud enough to hear your real laugh, and Mike doesn't know if he's grateful for that or not. 

 "Thanks. Mobs made it."

 Slinging the bag over your shoulder, you finally look up at Mike—really look at him for the first time—and he sees your expression go soft, mouth twitching like you’re caught between smiling and frowning, and Mike is taken back to the first night he met you when he wanted you to shotgun that disgusting beer. 

 You blink at him, open and close your mouth, and Mike is waiting with baited breath for you to say something else, but all you do is hold your hand out for him to take the projector remote from you. 

 "Here."

 He grabs it with two fingers, careful not to brush your hand. Fuck, he wishes his heart would stop beating so hard, it's incredibly uncomfortable. 

 "I feel like I should say something," you murmur, "But I have no idea what, so I'm just gonna tell you I look forward to working with you, Dr. Zacharias."

 He grins. Widely. He doesn't mean to, but he does. It's been so damn long since anyone has said his last name like that. 

 "Do you, though?" He asks. 

 "Do I what?"

 "Look forward to working here."

 "Oh, uh…" You bite your lip, start rocking on your feet again, then shrug. "I guess? I mean… Big project."

 "Very big."

 "It's important to me. I can't say that I was expecting—"

 "Me?" Mike offers with a tilt of his head. 

 He's standing too close. It feels like he is, anyway, so he moves back to lean against the conference table. 

 "Yeah, pretty much," you laugh. "It's been a while."

 Mike wonders if you remember that night as well as he does. No matter how much he's tried to forget it, that image of you with fat years rolling down your face just will not leave him. Do you remember how it felt? Can you remember everything he said to you? 

 Before Mike can respond, you wave a hand. "Anyway, I need to go help set up our little area, so…"

 "Yeah, for sure. I'll be around."

 After powering through the last hour of his day, Mike bolts from the building. He needs to get home. He needs to get a drink in his hand. He needs to unwind and not think of you. 

 He needs to fucking call Erwin. 

 "Hey, bro, what's up?" 

 "Dude," is all Mike says at first. 

 "What?" 

 "You will never fucking guess who's on the team we’re working with on the Sina water project."

 Erwin hums in a sing-song sort of way, then chuckles. "Funny, I got a similar call about an hour ago."

 "You guys still talk?" Mike asks a little too loudly. 

 "Yeah, man. Not every day or anything, but—"

 Mike rolls his eyes. "You're unbelievable." He isn't mad, and Erwin knows this. He's just a little surprised. His friend hasn’t as much as uttered your name in the last ten years. 

 "Yeah, whatever. How'd it go from your perspective?" 

 "It—Wait, what did she say?" 

 "Oh, no no no," Erwin laughs. Mike here's a distant, "Hold that, please!" and figures he's making his way to the elevator to leave work as well. "I am not getting caught up in your bullshit again."

 Pouting, Mike finally turns on his car and pulls out of the parking lot. "Fine. It went… Well? I think? I mean, super awkward, but that isn't surprising."

 "No name-calling or confessions of undying love?" 

 "No, I'm not twenty-two anymore."

 "Could have fooled me," Erwin snorts. 

 "Fuck off. It was a good presentation, but she was nervous, and I couldn't tell if it was from having to speak in front of people or if it was 'cause I was there, and then we talked afterward—nothing important or anything, just, like, an acknowledgement. You know, you're here, I'm here, we have to find a way to co-exist, except neither of us actually said that," Mike has to take a deep breath. He's rambling, he knows, and Erwin is just listening, probably storing it all away to make fun of him about it later. "It was okay. It could've been worse."

 "Could have been better too."

 "What? How—"

 "Could have bent her over the desk and—"

 "Dude!"

 Erwin breaks into that deep laugh Mike is so used to, tells him, "I'm just saying! I know she's still cute. We have each other on Facebook."

 He's right. Too right. You are absolutely still cute, all dressed up in business casual attire, so different from the leggings and hoodies you used to wear. Your face has matured slightly—naturally—and your hair is different but still suits you. Mike has no idea how he's supposed to work with you for the next few months. 

 "I can't deal with you," Mike grumbles. "Why did I even call you?" 

 "Probably because I'm the only one who has an inkling about what you're going through right now," Erwin replies. "Aside from her anyway."

 "Yeah, yeah."

 They chat for a little while longer until Erwin gets to the bar he's apparently meeting some coworkers at, and Mike spends the rest of his drive listening to music too loud as he tries and fails to clear his mind of you. 

 *

 You're pacing. You have been for the last hour. The food you made for yourself went cold some time ago, but you're too busy whining into your phone to notice. 

 "Just—like—what the fuck am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to work with him like this? He's overseeing the whole fucking project! I can't just avoid him!" 

 "Okay, first thing's first," Hitch stops you. "I need you to take a deep breath for me."

 "Hitch—"

 "Breathe!"

 You inhale through your nose then blow out through your mouth, but that's obviously not good enough for Hitch because she demands, "And, again."

 "What are you, my therapist?" 

 "I mean, I usually act like one, so… anyway, while you're calming the fuck down, I'm gonna call for backup. Hold please."

 Dropping yourself onto the hotel couch, you try to relax even though you know it'll be impossible because—

 "You're working with Mike?" Rhi's shrill voice meets your ear, and you have to pull the phone away. 

 "Rhi, you're supposed to help me calm her down, not add to her panic," Hitch reminds her. 

 "Yeah, no, that's not gonna happen," Rhi tells her, and you laugh to yourself. 

 "Agreed."

 "Okay, so tell me what happened. Oh my god, did you cry? Did he cry? What'd Erwin say when you told him? You told him, right?" 

 You've gotten used to Rhi's rapid fire inquiries a long time ago, so you have no problem answering, "We walked in for the big Sina presentation today, and he was just there, and I was freaking out, so Hange had to do most of the work but still made me go over my findings 'cause I understand them better than they do, but anyway. I don't think he was paying attention at fucking all which is cool 'cause I wouldn't have been either, and then we talked for a second afterward, but there were no tears. There was almost vomit 'cause I felt like I needed to throw up, but I kept it together. I think."

 "Okay, and Erwin? What'd he say?" 

 You snicker to yourself. "He made fun of me for a little while and then he told me to talk to Mike once I calmed down just to catch up and then to—this is verbatim, by the way—to possibly have dirty sex in Mike's office."

 Both of your friends howl, Hitch being the first to gather herself enough to giggle, "He fucking would say that, oh my god, I hate him."

 "Same," Rhi drawls. "Okay, but is there the possibility of dirty office sex?"

 "Wha—That's what you're taking away from all that?" You splutter. 

 "Uh, yeah."

 "I'm kinda curious too," Hitch pipes up. 

 You wave your free hand around in confusion and tell them, "I—we—no! We don't even know each other anymore. We said, like, four words to each other today, and it was fucking weird, so no. Pervs."

 "Do you want to, though? Has he aged well?" Hitch asks in a low, sultry voice. 

 You click your tongue and pause, not wanting the first thought that pops into your head to be what comes out of your mouth because yes, holy shit, yes, Mike looks so fucking good. It was one of many reasons you were so tongue-tied in front of him. 

 He's still impossibly tall and broad, but in slacks and a button up. The beard he’s always had is short and rugged and a tad darker than the hair on top of his head that he's let grow out long enough to tie in a bun, and it fits him too well. You thought you were gonna start drooling on his fancy shoes. 

 "He's alright," you play. They see right through you, falling into another long fit of laughter until you admit, "Okay, okay, he's still stupid hot, alright?" 

 "God bless. I'm so happy to hear that. I'm so happy for you."

 "Why would you—"

 "Just promise you'll invite us to the wedding."

 "I think you guys are getting a little ahead of yourselves."

 "Oh my god, we have to call Marie."

 "And, Maddie."

 You shake your head as the other two start going back and forth, talking about you like you're not even there, bringing up college memories, old parties you'd all gone to. 

 "Hey, remember when you hated me?" Rhi questions, and both of you snort. 

 "And, you hated me right back. Stole your man or whatever."

 Hitch mutters a quiet, "Ew, fuck that guy."

 And, Rhi picks up, "Yeah, fuck that all-American, record-breaking pitcher."

 The three of you talk well into the evening, eventually switching to Zoom so that you can all see each other and add Maddie and Marie into the call. You and Hitch break open bottles of wine, but Rhi and Maddie don't drink, "Solidarity with this pregnant bitch," Maddie says, and Marie lifts her glass of water to cheers via internet. 

 Sophomore and junior year of college, you never would have expected to get close to anyone other than Hitch, but through a few shared classes and petty curiosity, all of you ended up seeking solace in one another and came out on the other side as best friends. Hitch was even Maid of Honor in Marie and Nile's wedding. Against all odds, everything turned out pretty wholesome. 

 "I genuinely hope it works out," Hitch says now, words long, lazy, and starting to slur together "Like, even if it's just you and Mike making up and being, like, cool with each other again."

 "Hitch, you're drunk, please go to bed."

 "I am drunk. But, I still mean what I said. I miss when you guys were just best friends."

 "Why?" You question with a head shake. 

 Hitch sighs, "'Cause you were so happy."

 "No, I—"

 "I mean, you were still all… weird and guarded, but that dude made you laugh and smile so much."

 "I daresay I even saw you giddy on a couple of occasions," Marie hums. 

 "Whatever. I just want it to be… not awkward."

 "Then, talk."

 "Mm, pass."

 *

 A light knock on the wall of the impressively large cubicle gets your whole team's attention, all of you glancing up to find Mike standing in the little entryway, hands in his pockets.

 "Hey, just checkin' in. Have you all gotten settled?" 

 "Yes!" Hange is up on their feet. "Great accommodations, and that lab you guys use?" They moan, and you can tell Mike is trying not to laugh because his mouth is twisting to one side like it always does when he tries to appear unaffected by something. However, you know well that it is very hard to remain unaffected by Hange Zoe. 

 "Yeah, we haven't had a lab that shiny in a long time," Moblit chuckles. 

 "Don't you work in government buildings?" Mike frowns. 

 "You ever seen the inside of a post office?" You question, immediately regretting it when those light green eyes land on you. 

 "Uh, yeah?" 

 Smirking through the butterflies, you tell him, "Those are government buildings too."

 "Don't mind her. She's just being a smartass," Abel says.

 Mike is really fighting that smile now. Even pinched to one side, you can see the way his lips are trying to curve upward, and you have to bite yours and look at the floor before you start acting like a god damn school girl. 

 It's nearing the end of the first week at your new location. It hasn't been terrible, and some of the strangeness is beginning to wear off, but it's still jarring to see Mike walk around or hear his voice carrying through his office door. 

 Neither of you have gone out of your way to talk to one another. Anything project related, Hange handles for the most part, and if anything is delegated to you, you try to pass it off to Abel because you're just not ready to be alone in a room with Mike. Your brain and your heart can't take it yet. 

 You can't deny that you're curious, though. You wonder what his life is like now, what his job is like outside of what you've seen (which, admittedly, is not much), what he does in his free time now, who he spends his time with. You couldn't help but notice (you made a point of looking) that there isn't any type of ring on his finger which is pretty fucking surprising since, well, Mike has always been a catch. How has someone not come around and swiped him off the market? Or, does he just not wear a wedding band at work? Or, does he just have a girlfriend and is waiting to take the next step? So many questions you have no business asking.

 Mike hums, rubs at something probably nonexistent on the carpet with the toe of his shoe, and mumbles a little, "Nothin’ I haven't dealt with before," that makes everyone look at him curiously. "With co-workers, you know. Lotta sass in the office."

 You stifle a laugh and stand up. There are a lot of sassy things you could say, but you figure none of them are actually appropriate, especially since Mike is technically your boss now—why is that so hot?—so you just slip out of the cubicle, doing your best to not brush up against Mike. He apparently doesn't care, though, because while he moves to the side, he does the thing that all men do, placing a hand on the small of your back as if to guide you past him, and it makes you burn. 

 "'scuse me," you squeak, relieved to be able to run to the restroom where you can sit in a stall and scream to Hitch through texts. 

 You are dying—mostly because you don't know what you want. Do you want to be friends? Do you want to seduce him? Do you want another nine years away from him? You have no idea. 

 You were sad for a long time after that holiday break. You trudged through your spring courses, took more classes in the Summer, then started all over. Hitch had to physically drag you out of your tiny apartment a few times but never to any parties, thank god. Just to lunch or the library, and eventually, Rhi, Marie, and Maddie came into the picture. Further into the picture, anyway. 

 While they got you laughing again, though, that ache didn't ever fade. Mike's words replayed in your head in a constant loop, day and night for months. I can’t do this anymore. Start fresh. Shouldn’t be hard for you. You were mad at yourself for a long time, for ruining everything and hurting him. If you could have gone back to the start of it all and done things differently, you would have, but you just had to sit with all your mistakes instead. 

 Then, your anger shifted toward him. Because you weren't the only one who messed up. You may have been the first one to, but he did some shitty things too. He's the one who didn't care even after finding out it was Zeke who blocked his number. He's the one who refused to believe that you and Erwin weren't actually a couple. He's the one who brought Rhi to the ranch house with the specific intention of hurting your feelings (and to wet his dick). 

 And, he's the one who didn't want to work things out. 

 You understand his frustration. You broke his heart, after all. But then, he turned around and broke yours too. 

 It was nine years ago, and you've moved on. You've dated people since then. You've fallen in and out of love. Mike wasn't even on your radar until Monday, but now… Now, there's no forgetting him. Old wounds get jabbed every time he peeks around the corner, any time you hear him laugh or see him smile, and when he actually looks at you, fuck, it's like someone is ripping stitches out of your skin.

 It is not a productive work environment. 

 Your team hasn't noticed much other than Moblit asking what has you so tense these days, but no one has made any connections, and you'd like to keep it that way. Hange would have a fucking field day if they found out. 

 There are many meetings to toss around ideas, plans and blueprints that get scrapped. You stumble through presentations, trying not to look directly at anyone as your cheeks heat up and your hands shake. 

 "You've never been nervous about stuff like this," Abel tells you in the conference room one day as everyone else files out. "What's up with you?" 

 "Nothing," you shake your head. "Don't worry about it."

 "Nothing my ass," he grumbles, walking out without you. 

 "You really should try to relax," Mike tells you from where he's still sitting at the table. "No idea why you're so nervous."

 Everyone else is gone which means you're free to squint at him, scathing retort on the tip of your tongue, but when you see that he's smirking at you, the words dry up. 

 "Don't play dumb, Zacharias."

 "I'm not playing anything," he tells you. "But, I do need to know how long we're gonna keep up this I don't know you-you don't know me thing."

 "You literally just said—..." Taking a deep breath, you look over your shoulder to, one, form a coherent sentence in your brain, and two, make sure no one is close enough to hear it when you say, "What would you prefer we do? Not like we can just pick up where we left off. Unless, you know, you wanna go back to being incredibly fucking pissed at me for months on end."

 "Man, you really are tense about this," Mike chuckles, and you're torn between slapping him and jumping his bones, so you do neither. Fuck, why'd he have to wear the purple tie today? It looks so good with his complexion and complements his eyes. A few strands of hair have come loose from the bun at the back of his head, and he shakes them out of his face like he used to shake his shaggy bangs, and all you can do is stare and squirm and tell him, "I have to go."

 "Go where?" He asks, standing from his chair. It feels like he towers over you even from across the table. 

 You hold your hands out and gesticulate a little frantically, "I don't know—work? Maybe?"

 He's extremely amused, even laughs as you make your way out the door, then calls, "Whenever you're ready to talk, just let me know! You know where my office is."

 "I don't wanna talk!"

 You really don't. But, you also really do. 

 *

 Mike starts having fun with his new department (you specifically) around the third week. 

 He's never seen you like this before, having to mentally prepare yourself before you walk into any room, like you have to be ready for him. You nibble on your lip and rock on your heels. Your hands shake in meetings when you have to point to pictures or graphs. 

 It’s just so unlike you. He got so used to the surly, uncaring girl in college, never happy to see Mike until you gave him a fair chance (and decided you enjoyed his cock). He expects everything to come out of your mouth to be sarcastic or suggestive, and when it's not, it takes him off guard.  

 Mike is nervous around you too. He can easily admit that. But, his neverending panic really just manifests in the form of nausea and heart palpitations which he thinks is better than trembling and stuttering, but it's still mildly distracting. 

 Every once in a while, he catches a glimpse of that old side of you, though, a mumbled smartass remark or an unimpressed expression, and he has to make a conscious effort to not grin like an idiot because he's still trying to decipher his actual feelings. 

 Is he supposed to act like nothing ever happened, or should he hold a grudge? What seems more natural? What feels more natural? 

 Mike knows the answer to that last question, but he hasn't fully accepted it. 

 "It's kinda cute, actually. Like, I walk into the room and she gets this little doe-eyed expression. Looks like she's about to run away."

 "You're kind of a sadist, you know that?" Erwin says. 

 "I mean, is it so wrong to get a little satisfaction outta this?" 

 "I think so, yeah. You're driving her crazy, dude."

 Mike smacks his lips and rolls his eyes. "Man, how would you know—"

 "'Cause she told me!" Erwin basically shouts like it's obvious. "The words came out of her mouth. Mike is driving me crazy. Just like that."

 Pouting, Mike takes another sip of his beer and lets his eyes travel to the bottom of the TV screen to check the score of the game he isn't watching. 

 "Well, it's not like I can really do anything about it. She'll only be here for a few months."

 "Do you happen to know how long it takes for a stomach ulcer to form?" Erwin asks. 

 Mike frowns. "Uh, no?" 

 "Well, neither do I, but I'm pretty sure it's not very long."

 Both of them laugh. Mike mutters something about Erwin being fucking stupid, and then Erwin sighs and speaks, "I am begging you, dude. Please just get a fucking drink with her or something."

 "We don't mix well with alcohol," Mike snarks. 

 "What's the worst that could happen—you end up in bed again?"

 "Well—"

 "Honestly, both of you could probably benefit from a good fuck, but what do I know? I'm just the guy both of you call for this shit."

 "Alright, I get it. I'll… see if she's up for something," Mike mumbles. 

 "I mean, I wouldn't open with sex, maybe start off with lunch or…"

 "I'm hanging up now."

 Mike doesn't actually know how to ask you, though. You're so fucking skittish around him, and you're obviously worried about people finding out you have a history, so he's gonna have to be strategic about it, maybe plant the seed a few days before or—

 "Hey, listen…" You appear in Mike's office doorway, long cardigan falling to your knees and swishing behind you even after you've stopped moving. "I know it's almost five, but I'm, like, right in the middle of mapping out a new plan, and I don't wanna lose steam, so is it cool if I stay late?" 

 "Yeah, I don't care," Mike answers, tacking on, "S'long as you're okay with being here late with me."

 "Oh, th-that's—" you splutter for a little while, and Mike raises his eyebrows. "That's n-not necessary. You don't have to, like, supervise me or anything."

 "I'm not supervising you," Mike snorts. "I'm trying to finish my piece for a journal."

 "Ah, right, that's… yes." You shoot off a half-hearted finger gun, and Mike wants to hop his desk to get to you. There you are. There are your dumb fucking mannerisms, please, just act like yourself, for the love of god. 

 "Okay, well if you need me, uh, I will probably be on the floor in the annex, so…"

 "We do have chairs, ya' know," Mike smirks. 

 "Yeah, but it's easier to just spread everything out so I can see it."

 "Want a corkboard? You can make it look like you're doing a murder investigation."

 "Hmm, might make it look more official," you muse, making a face of contemplation. 

 Before you can actually say yes, Mike pipes up again. "I don't actually have a corkboard. It was a joke."

 "Yeah, I know," you snicker. "Wouldn't be big enough anyway."

 Too many responses flood Mike's brain at once, causing him to bite his tongue because every last one of them is gross, but you must be able to read it on his face because you point and tell him, "Stop."

 "I didn't say anything!" He laughs. 

 "You don't have to. I know."

 Mike rolls his eyes, "Okay," and looks back to his computer, hoping the screen is high enough to hide his grin as you turn and walk away. 

 The next hour is spent editing the same paragraph over and over with no real motivation because everyone has vacated the floor except for you and Mike, and this could be a good time to talk to you, but he also doesn't want to disrupt your work. Just because he can't focus doesn't mean you can't. You'd only get upset if he distracted you from your work anyway—it's happened before—redirecting your attention from a textbook or study guide to… other things. 

 He goes down a rabbit hole, reminiscing on those occasions, then tweaking them just a little to fit into the current setting, and it's the absolute last thing Mike should be thinking about, but it's Friday, and you're slightly more casual in your flowy cardigan and tight jeans, and all he wants is to get one teeny tiny look at your ass in them because he knows your it’s perfect. He's seen it in leggings and cheeky little boy shorts and lacy thongs, and there is absolutely no way he can go out to talk to you now. 

 Also, he really needs to write at least one paragraph before leaving tonight. It's all about water and waste and pollutants which is the shit Mike knows like the back of his hand. He'd just rather have said hands on something else. 

 "Yeah, this isn't gonna happen," he mutters to himself, taking his hair down to scratch at his scalp. He's better off just going home. 

 Mike packs a few things up before stepping out of his office, closing and locking the door behind him. Half the lights are off, but the portion over the annex is shining brightly. Mike stares in that direction as he debates telling you he's leaving or bolting without saying anything. 

 It's the thought of you walking out to your car alone that makes his mind up, and Mike saunters to the annex and finds you on hands knees surrounded by several sketches, crumpled notes, and the set of blueprints that Mike is pretty sure got thrown in the recycling on Tuesday. 

 "Where'd you even find those?" 

 You don't look up when you answer, "Recycling comes every Monday."

 "So, you went… dumpster diving?" 

 Lifting your head, you squint up at Mike, tracking him as he squats on the other side of your organized chaos. 

 "Is it dumpster diving if it's all paper?" 

 Mike shrugs. "Dunno. How's it comin'?"

 "I'm comi—It!" You correct a little too loudly. "It's coming! It's coming along just fine."

 "Yeah?" Mike chuckles. "Cute Freudian slip there."

 "It was not—" You grit your teeth, fingers curling on the papers they're resting on, then question, "Did you need something?"

 "Just came by to say I was leaving," Mike tells you. Something catches his eye, though, some of your notes scribbled just big enough for him to read a few of the words from where he is, and he grabs the sheet to look it over more carefully. 

 Irrigation plans, specialized pumps, introducing new life into the lake, specifically filter fish…

 "I was just vomiting ideas out on paper, it's nothing important."

 Mike hums and reads further. Some of it is familiar because Mike has considered some of these himself, but while your engineering thoughts are a little vague, the ideas that lean more toward the biological side of things are pretty interesting, even if they're just sloppy bullet points and arrows. 

 "You wanna vomit on a person instead?" He asks, chuckling at the look you give him. 

 "Ew."

 "Just spitball. Throw it at me."

 "Oh, I'm gonna throw somethin' at you all right."

 Mike slips his bag from his shoulder and sets it down before sitting on the ground, picking up the papers closest to him. 

 "Tell me about the xylem tissue method," he prompts. 

 You don't speak right away, just chew on your lip while staring at the sketches on the ground, but then you nod and sit back on your heels. 

 "So, we know that white pine trees are a natural means of filtering, but there aren't any around here. I know it's more of a long-term plan, but we can't just go with a temporary fix, so I was thinking—"

 Mike listens. To everything. Everything you can think of. He watches too. You rub your hands over your jeans and flick hair from your eyes. You change positions, sitting on one foot while resting your chin on your knee as you think out loud, then move to sit cross-legged only to get up to pace the length of the cubicle, barefoot since your heels were kicked off long ago. 

 He asks questions or makes suggestions here and there, and soon it isn't just you who's brainstorming.

 It's easy. It's what Mike knows, and it's obviously what you know too, and a couple of hours pass before either of you realize it. 

 "Shit, it's almost ten," you state, looking at your phone. "Sorry, I didn't mean to keep you here so late."

 "It's fine. Wouldn't have stayed if I didn't want to."

 Mike stretches as he stands, twisting to crack his back and rolling his neck. You gather up all the papers, straightening them into a neat pile then putting them in a drawer at the bottom of your desk. 

 You walk out together, still chatting in the elevator and out to the parking lot, and Mike feels good. He feels like… He feels like he did in college. 

 "Please tell me that is not your car," you say, eyeing the boxy, white Mercedes that is, in fact, Mike's. 

 "What of it?" 

 "These fucking Jeeps are so ugly, I cannot believe—"

 "Uh, it's not a Jeep. It's a g-wagon, thank you."

 You roll your eyes. "I liked your Wrangler better."

 "I bet you fuckin' did," he mumbles, too lost in the memory of you riding him in said Wrangler to think about how you might take the comment. 

 "It was easier on the eyes," you explain. 

 "It was a frat boy car."

 "You were a frat boy!" 

 "And, now I'm a professional."

 "Are you, though?" You tease, expression skeptical save for your tiny smirk. 

 "Most of the time."

 The only other vehicle in the lot is a Land Rover, considerably larger than the little hatchback you used to drive but very fitting for someone in your line of work. Mike thinks about mentioning that it's basically the same as his Mercedes, just not as expensive and with rounder edges, but he knows you'll just get indignant and defensive. 

 He walks you over to your car, and you don't question it, just open the passenger side and throw your bag inside. 

 This is your chance, Mike realizes. Just ask. Ask her to go somewhere else and talk about something other than work.

 "Hey, uh, do you wanna grab a drink or something?" He tries, heartbeat picking up once again. His eyes are a little too wide as you regard him carefully, studying him like one of your samples.

 Then, you shake your head. 

 "No, Mike. I don't wanna grab a drink." His stomach opens up, the heat that comes with embarrassment creeping up his neck. 

 "Oh, sorry, I just—"

 "But, there's a breakfast place close to the extended stay they put us up in. I've been wanting to check it out."

 And, like that, his hope is restored. Hope for what, Mike doesn't know, but it's certainly there, blooming in his chest like unkempt wildflowers. 

 "Yeah?" 

 You nod. "Yeah. I'm still not really a morning person, but d'you wanna meet there at, like, ten or so?" 

 "Tomorrow?" 

 "I mean, if that works for you."

 "Yeah!" Mike clears his throat, lowers his voice so that he sounds a little less excited. "I'm usually up and moving by eight."

 "God, why do you hate yourself?" You cringe. 

 "I've always been an early riser."

 "Not from what I remember."

 Mike leans against your rover, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, maybe not when I was kept up into the early morning hours, but usually I was up before everyone else."

 You post up across from him, one hand on your hip, and Mike realizes this is gonna go on for some time. 

 "Kept up? Like you didn't wanna be?"

 He's fine with that. He'll stand out here talking with you until the sun comes up if you'll let him. And, maybe after that too. 

 *

 Breakfast is good. Breakfast is safe. Breakfast is the start of the day and free of alcohol. There is nothing suggestive about breakfast. 

 Except breakfast has become a habit. For the last three Saturdays you’ve sat at the little cafe next to your hotel talking with Mike for at least an hour. You’re kind of getting to know him again, but most of the conversation consists of stupid jokes or blatant deflections. 

 His parents are still doing well, both in their sixties now, but Scout, unfortunately passed away a few years ago. Hearing it makes your eyes burn, and watching Mike’s face fall actually makes you wipe at your own rapidly forming tears. 

 He still keeps in touch with several of his frat brothers—Erwin (obviously), Nile, Gelgar, and some of the younger kids, Jean, Marco, and Connie.

 “Yeah, I’m actually pretty close to Marie now,” you tell him. “And, Maddie, and Rhi.”

 “Rhi?” He looks incredibly surprised.

 “Yeah,” you laugh. “Bonded over the woes of college boys.”

 “Didn’t see that coming.”

 “Neither did I, honestly.”

 Working with him is easier now. The ice has been broken. The boundaries have been set even if they are unspoken. You still do your best not to touch him at all, never stand too close or brush against him in any way, but you’ve loosened up a lot, and your team seems to appreciate it. Unfortunately, they also start to notice the way you light up a little too much whenever you’re around Mike, and naturally, Hange just had to comment on it a few days ago. 

 “You have a crush on the bossman or somethin’?”

 “What? No. We just work well together, I guess.”

 You do not tell Mike about this exchange, in fear of him prying. Well, do you have a crush on the bossman? You’re not ready for that, probably never will be. 

 There are a few breakthroughs in the Sina project. The research team gets extra funding to run more trials, and you start to stay late more often, sometimes in the tower with everyone else and sometimes in the lab. Things are progressing nicely. 

 Eventually, breakfast turns to lunch, lunch turns to dinner, and then you find yourself in Mike’s apartment, sitting at his kitchen table while he cooks.

 “So, we talk every once in a while now, but it’s usually really awkward. Like, I still don’t ever know what to say to him.”

 “Do you find it weird that he reached out in the first place?”

 “Kind of? When I was younger, I always hoped he would, but now that he has, I almost wish he hadn’t. Does that make sense?”

 Mike shrugs as he pours noodles into a strainer over the sink. “I mean, he’s your dad, so yeah, it makes sense. What he did was super shitty, but I figure it’s hard to forget the good times and just abandon all hope.”

 “Yeah. On the bright side, he sends my brother money for commissary, like, every week, so that’s nice.”

 It took a little while, but you’ve let yourself open up to Mike much easier this time around. Whether it’s because you already know you can trust him or because you’ve gotten the closure you needed for so long, you’re not sure. You just know it’s been easy. 

 Unfortunately, with vulnerability comes feelings, and you are having a lot of those. Too many. You’re glad that it’s not debilitating dread and nervousness now, but the overwhelming affection isn’t any less distracting.

 Watching Mike move around his kitchen, though—clad in a t-shirt, faded jeans, and the dish towel thrown over his shoulder, you are painfully reminded of why you got so attached all those years ago. 

 It isn’t fair. You really didn’t want to fall back into this hole. You knew it was a possibility as soon as you saw him at that first meeting, but you were trying to put it off until you had to leave. 

 Because that’s the plan. You come in. You complete the project, get them started on a long-term plan for the lake, then head back to your home facility and wait for another job to be assigned. You can’t just stay here, even if the idea gets a little more tempting every day. 

 You’re just friends, though, just spending time together because it’s familiar. It’s nice being back on the same page, just letting the past stay there.

 “So, it’s been about two months,” Mike starts, and something about his tone makes your stomach drop. “I feel like that’s an appropriate amount of time to wait before finally addressing the elephant in the room.”

 So much for letting the past stay there. 

 Groaning, you rub your hands down your face. “Do we really have to?” Of course he would want to talk about it now that you’re comfortable.

 “I really think we do.”

 “Mike, that was so long ago. I was a dumb fucking kid. What do you need to know other than that?”

 He braces himself on his counter, face serious. “Nothin’ really. I just want you to know that I was a dumb kid too.”

 “Yeah, and we’ve grown since then and gotten over it, right?”

 He lets out a long sigh. “I had gotten over it, but working with you every day has kinda... brought some things back to the surface.”

 Staring at him, you swallow and try to stay calm. You know where he’s coming from, and it’s a little comforting to know that he’s been experiencing at least some of the emotions that you have been, but you don’t know whether or not it’s a good thing. 

 “I get it. I’ve been struggling too, but there’s nothing we can really do about it.”

 You’ve thought about just taking the plunge and sleeping with him again. It would be nice—really fucking nice—but it would only make things worse. 

 “I guess. It’s been cool to hang out again, but…” Mike chews on his lip for a moment before finishing, “We’ve never been good at just hanging out.” 

 The reminder makes your skin prickle with heat, and you shift in your chair, reeling in your thoughts before they run wild. 

 “Yeah. If it would be easier to just not hang out, I’d understand.”

 He turns back to the stove to stir something and turn on the vent then twists back around. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

 “Then, what are you saying?”

 Mike makes a little disgruntled noise, hanging his head like he’s getting frustrated. “I’m saying some days are hard. I tried to keep some distance, but that lasted for about a week, and now you’re here, and even though you’ve changed some, you’re still you, and I’m still me, and… Some days are just hard.”

 Some minutes are hard, you think to yourself. You can be going about your day like someone who isn’t completely fucking smitten, and then you see Mike, and he nods or grins and suddenly all you want is to be alone with him and trace over his lips with yours, feel his hands on you, run your fingers through his long hair. 

 “If I could take those feelings away from you, I would,” you tell him, and it’s apparently the wrong thing to say because he frowns.

 “Do you not feel the same way then?”

 Your reply is almost instantaneous. “Christ, Mike, of course I feel the same! I was in love with you! I didn’t know how to show it back then, but that’s what it was, so yeah, I feel it too, but there’s no point in—in analyzing it or turning it into something—”

 “You were in love?”

 “Dude. Yes. It took me a while to realize it—like, way too long—but yeah. Definitely love. Junior and senior year wouldn’t have sucked so much if it was just lust or infatuation or something.”

 “Sorry.”

 “Don’t be,” you wave him off. “I fucked up. You had every right to be pissed.”

 “I could’ve handled it better,” he mutters.

 You shake your head. “Dumb kids, remember?”

 Mike looks genuinely upset, and you don’t know what to say anymore, so you get up from the kitchen table and walk over to him. You have to physically urge him to turn and face you, but once he does, you wrap your arms around his torso and sigh. He immediately locks his wrists behind your back, resting his chin on your head, and it feels familiar and right and a little bit like home. You can smell the fabric softener that clings to his shirt and the fresh scent of his deodorant, different from what he used to wear, but that doesn’t make it bad.

 “Can we wait for a while longer before we decide to act like dumb kids again?” You ask.

 Mike chuckles above you. “You say that like you’re positive we will.”

 You’re just being realistic, and you tell him as much. The chances of you leaving the city without having sex at least once are slim to none. You figure the two of you will break and indulge in one of those ‘just for old time’s sake’ fucks, but if Mike keeps talking to you like this, admitting feelings and what not, you’re gonna lose it much faster than you’d originally planned. 

 “Yeah.” You feel him nod. “Yeah, we can wait.”

 When he kisses the top of your head, you almost give up then and there. 

 *

 This fucking sucks. Everything sucks. Mike was never one of those people who looked back on college as his glory days, never really had the desire to go back to it, but now he feels like he’s reliving them because he’s back to being twenty-one and obsessed with a girl—being obsessed with you. 

 It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t know that you felt it too, but you admitted it, so now the only thing that’s stopping the two of you from exploring that avenue is, what, fear? Again?

 He gets it. He does. You don’t want to fall into something serious only to leave, but it’s possible to navigate relationships like that. Long distance-works. There’s technology for that like phones and video chats and sex toys. Then, there’s always the option of just relocating. It would be drastic, but Mike isn’t against the idea. Arrangements would have to be made, but he could swing it. It’s a little crazy so early on, but...

 He’s not gonna push it, not in a blatant way, but he’s gonna try his damndest to make it harder for you to go. He grows bold enough to start touching you more. A hand on the small of your back as you leave a room together, an arm around your shoulders when you watch TV over dinner, tucking hair behind your ear (“God, that used to be Erwin’s, like, go-to move.”). It’s fucked up because he knows your colleagues are asking about it, that he’s subjecting you to their interrogations, but he can’t help himself. He can’t stop.

 It definitely has an effect on you. You get flustered every time, can’t look at Mike for a while, and he hopes it’s because you’re thinking about other ways he could touch you—has touched you—f you’d just give him the chance.

 He thinks he has the patience to keep it up, wind you up more and more every day until you spin out of control and into his bed. You’re still spending time with him outside of work, still sharing pieces of yourself, and you’re not stopping him from putting his hands on you. so it’s only a matter of time.

 It comes to a head in his apartment after dinner. It’s so simple, something Mike didn’t even do on purpose, but as you’re washing your hands, he comes up behind you and reaches past you for a paper towel. He puts a hand on your hip without thinking, and his chest presses against your back, and then you’re exhaling in one quick huff and squirming to turn around.

 “Okay.”

 “Okay, what?” Mike asks, confused as he takes a step back. 

 “Okay, I’m ready to act like a dumb kid.”

 You don’t even dry your hands, just curl your fingers into his shirt and gaze up at him with dilated pupils, and Mike is elated.

 “Oh, thank god, fuck, thank god.”

 He leans down, and you stand on your tiptoes, and when you meet in the middle and he feels your lips on his for the first time in almost a decade, he groans. 

 You pull him closer, tilt your head further back to give him better access, and Mike cradles it in his hands. He tries not to breathe too heavily, pant like a fucking dog, but he’s been waiting for this since he saw you again. Maybe before that. He thinks on some level he’s been waiting for this since he left you alone in the ranch house, a little voice nagging at him to go back, to fix things, and he just never did. 

 “This is stupid, this is so stupid,” you murmur against him. “Only gonna make things harder.”

 “Just stop thinking about it,” Mike replies, nipping at your bottom lip. He doesn’t want you to think about it because he doesn’t want to think about it otherwise he’ll blurt out everything he’s been stewing on for the last couple weeks, the possibility of a real relationship, of you staying or him going, and that's too much. 

 You both shed clothes on your way to the bedroom, a trail of shirts and pants until you’re naked and laid out for him, and Mike swears he just might cry because you’re so beautiful, just as he remembered with a little more meat on your hips and thighs, a new scar on your calf that he asks about before brushing his lips over it. That leg is already resting on his shoulder, and once he gets situated on his stomach, he throws the other one over himself.

 His mouth starts to water as he gazes at your pussy, so fucking pretty, hole fluttering when he spreads you open. You can’t answer his question about the injury as he lowers his face, pressing the flat of his tongue to the sensitive skin then dipping it inside of you. 

 “Oh, fuck.”

 You taste and smell and feel perfect, and the only thought in his mind is to devour you. He won’t stop until you’re crying, drool leaking from your mouth and your cunt. And, he knows exactly how to get you to that point. 

 Mike flicks over your clit until it grows firm against his tongue then sucks it into his mouth. The noise you make goes straight to his cock, and he starts to rut into the mattress to get some kind of friction. He can already feel precum dripping from his tip, knows you won’t be the only one getting messy tonight, but he doesn’t care. He’s never cared. 

 Mike only pulls away when your thighs start to tremble around his head, and it’s only to mark them with bruises. It reminds him of the last time, when you’d let him fuck you in a fit of desperation. It had been his undoing. He thought of that night for years, and now that he’s able to do it all again, he can’t help but confess, “Fuck, I���ve missed your pussy,” just before he spits on it. 

 Your chest is rising with every little whimper you release as your nails dig into your palms. He’s never been happier to have long arms, able to reach up and massage your tits, stretching his fingers out to span across your chest, thumb on one nipple, pinky on the other, and as he teases both of them, he moans at the fresh slick that coats his tongue. 

 “A finger,” you pant, “Give me a finger, fuck, at least one, please please please—”

 You’ve always been so cute when you babble. Mike can never say no when you talk to him like that, but after assessing and deeming you fit, he slides two fingers into you at once, still sucking your clit.

 You swear loudly, almost in surprise, but that doesn’t stop you from moving your hips, fucking yourself on every digit as your jaw drops open. 

 Mike wants to see your face—has to see it, so he licks up your body, stopping to tongue over your nipples as he goes. He never falters in his thrusting, still knows the exact angle he has to crook his fingers to hit your g-spot. Your back arches, and you plant your feet flat on the mattress to give yourself more leverage, more control. Mike smirks down at you, enjoying your euphoric expression as he grinds his palm against the bundle of nerves that is the key to making you fall apart. 

 “Oh my god—oh, god—fuck, Miche.”

 His breath catches in his throat. God, he hasn’t heard that in too long. He never told you, not that he ever had to, but hearing you call him that drove him crazy, made him fall further in love and lust at the same time, and hearing it now has the same effect.

 “Please,” you whine, then repeat it, spreading your legs to coax him deeper. “Fuck, I need you so bad, s-so bad.”

He’s in the perfect position to rub his cock over your stomach, smearing pre everywhere it touches. From the beginning, Mike has loved leaving traces of himself on you, always felt like he could almost smell it on your skin, like a sigil to ward off others.

 He places a soft kiss at the corner of one closed eye, then on the other, and when you open them to look at him, he sees that they’re filled with tears. 

 It makes him pause, but you keep riding his fingers and beg, “Don’t stop, please don’t stop, m’fine, just—”

 “Why're you crying then?" he grins, leaning down to lick your bottom lip. "Feel good?" 

 You nod, raising to your elbows to force your mouth against his, sliding your tongue inside then whining when Mike pulls away, but it's only to gather the spit in his mouth. When he kisses you again, he makes sure you take it all, pushing saliva past his teeth and onto your palette, and when you swallow, Mike makes a noise of satisfaction. 

 "That's my fuckin' girl."

 That wide, fuck-drunk smile he loves so much spreads across your face as you accept the praise you never would have when you were younger.

 Mike noses just under your ear then asks, "You ready for my cock?" 

 "Always,” you breathe. “Always ready for it."

 "Yeah?" You nod, face scrunching up, and Mike thinks there's a chance that you're—"Gonna come for me first?" 

 Your muscles are starting to tense, hips stuttering, and he can actually feel your pussy spasming around his fingers. 

 "Come on, baby, you can do it. Just—'

 Your eyes roll back as your body pulses. Mike's hand is coated with slick that he can't wait to lick off, and he fucks you with his fingers until you go limp. 

 He cleans his hand then slithers back between your legs to catch everything that's leaking from you. You release a pitiful moan when he traces a circle around your entrance then squeal when he rubs his beard over it. 

 "Jesus fuck!"

 "Sensitive?" He teases before crawling back up to kiss you. 

 Holding himself up with one arm, Mike takes hold of his cock, painfully hard at this point, and parts your wet folds with his tip. He slides it up and down, teasing both you and himself and gasping every time it just barely dips inside of you. 

 "Miche, please."

 "You sound good when you beg," he tells you. You've been doing an awful lot of that tonight. 

 "Good enough to fuck me?" 

 "Mm, maybe," he plays, but he's cut off when you lift yourself just enough to take his cockhead inside of you, squeezing it so that he swears. 

 It completely dismantles any self-control Mike thought he had, and he gives you everything he has in a single thrust that makes you scream his name. 

 "You asked for it," he tells you, starting to pull out. 

 You grip his biceps, shaking your head. "J-just stay still for a—oh god, oh god…"

 Mike doesn't move, lets you adjust while he enjoys the way your cunt clenches around his cock. You're panting, eyebrows knit together, and apologize, "Sorry, give me… a minute. Been a while since I've taken anything this s-size."

 It's juvenile, but Mike's chest still puffs a little when you tell him that, and that feeling only grows when you give him the go ahead to move and he pulls out to see that his cock is already covered in white cream.

 Breathing out a quiet, "Fuck," he slowly pushes back in, mesmerized by the way it creates a thick ring at the base. "So pretty," he mutters, rubbing a thumb over the skin that's stretched around him. "Such a pretty pussy."

 He lets a string of spit drip from his mouth and onto your clit then strokes the swollen bud in circles, the pad of his fingers brushing over the tiny hole that makes you twitch every time. 

 Mike falls into a very slow, deep rhythm, torturing you as he drags his cock over every inch of your satin walls. Tiny gasps are pushed from your throat with every thrust, growing louder when Mike sits back on his heels and pulls your hips up to meet his. It leaves you helpless, only able to claw at the blankets, but your efforts are half-hearted, the press of Mike's cockhead against your g-spot obviously making it hard to do just about anything. 

 "I—I—I—..."

 "You what, baby?" He coos while admiring how big his hands look where they wrap around your waist, holding you mostly still as he drives his cock in and out of you. 

 Your cunt is pulsing again, so tight around him as it drips with slick and cream. The sounds it's making, an obscene balance of suction and squelching, has Mike shaking over you because it's so lewd but so familiar, and god, he has missed this. 

 And, you're right. It's stupid because he's just putting himself in the same place he was in ten years ago, but now he's a grown fucking adult, able to handle himself better, communicate better, fuck you better. 

 Tears leak from the corners of your eyes when he picks up his pace, and he groans when he presses in just a little too far, cockhead nudging against the wall deep inside of you. Your eyelids flutter, toes curling where your feet dangle and shake on either side of Mike. 

 His hips start to snap against yours, his balls swinging every time, and Mike remembers how nice it felt when they'd slap against your clit, the way you'd sing for him, and well…

 "Turn over," he breathes, pulling out and helping as you get to your hands and knees. 

 He takes the time to appreciate the view, letting the weight of his cock settle on your back just to get a visual of how much you take of it, what it might look like deep in your ass and what it would be like to see your stomach bulge from it. 

 Another day.

 Not wasting any more time, Mike sheathes himself inside you once again, spreading your cheeks and spitting on your puckering hole so that he can press against it with a thumb. 

 Your pussy opens up for him, like your body is begging him for more, so Mike fucks you harder, faster, slipping the tip of his finger into your asshole so that you tense up and say his name drunkenly. 

 His heavy balls hit your clit over and over, making you squirm and swear, head hanging back in an invitation, so Mike uses his free hand to grab you by the hair, pulling and glancing at what he can see of your face to make sure he isn't hurting you too much. 

 That grin is back, crooked and shiny with drool you keep having to suck back from your teeth. Mike hasn't felt this good having sex in god knows how long (he knows exactly how long it's been), and he thinks out loud, "Always take my cock so well. Always been able to…"

 "Feels so good, Miche," you cry, "You feel so fucking good, oh my god."

 He takes you like this until you can't hold yourself up anymore, elbows buckling underneath you, and all he does then is fall onto his back and pull you with him, letting you ride him like this and dragging his nails down your spine. It curves under his touch, arching and bowing as you lean forward to plant your hands between his legs and bounce on him. 

 Mike has a perfect view from this angle, huffing at the way your puffy lips open for him, clinging to his cock and dripping gossamer strands. Pressure slowly starts to build in both his gut and his balls, a hot sensation that grows, making him feel full and swollen and fuck, he can't wait to fill you up, can't wait to see you sloppy with his cum again. 

 But, not yet. Not yet. 

 Pushing you until you move off of him, Mike grabs his pillows and shoves you down on them, kissing you again before burying his face between your legs. Your hands are immediately in his hair, and he smiles when you tug at it a little harshly, using the strands as a means to guide Mike right where you want him. Even though he's taking this little break to let himself calm down, he can't help but press his hips to the mattress. He's hot and throbbing and dripping pre, ready but not ready to unload everything inside of you. He doesn't want it to end too soon, wants to savor every second because you're here crying and pleading for him, pushing yourself against his face only to pull back when he sucks on your clit. 

 He's able to fit three fingers inside of you now, keeps licking and fucking you until you whisper a slew of curses and start to warn him, "You're gonna make me—" breaking into a high-pitched moan as you squirt into his mouth and all over his hand. 

 "Fuck yes, again, come on, baby, do that again."

 Mike coaxes another out of you, groaning at the feeling of you dripping down his face and chuckling at the way you shiver and sit up. Your eyes are barely open, head swaying back and forth, but you plant a hand on his chest with the confidence of someone who doesn't look like they're about to pass out, shoving him back until he lays down. 

Straddling him, you sink down on his cock and bite your lip as you rock back and forth for a few seconds. Mike can feel fluid dripping over his pelvis, murmurs, "So messy," while pulling you down for a lazy kiss. 

 He lets you ride him, lets you think you're in control for a while until your legs start to get tired, rhythm becoming slower, and then Mike takes over. He lifts and drops you to his content, hips meeting yours as he fucks up into you. Your own hands cup your tits, pinching your nipples and putting on a show as you bounce up and down. 

 "You're so good," you breathe. "So fucking good to me, god, Miche, right there."

 He's on the brink, so close to his climax, but he holds back, giving it to you just the way you want it until it starts to hurt, and then he grunts, "'m gonna come, baby, I have to. Fuck, please, please, let me—"

 "Yes, yes, wanna feel you…"

 Mike's head sinks further into the pillow as his hips move without any thought on his part. He spills inside of you, hot ropes of cum filling your cunt so that it starts to leak out around him, then shooting even more inside of you. 

 "Jesus fucking—"

 Your muscles clench, squeezing and milking him until Mike starts groaning and twitching from overstimulation. 

 He could die right here and now and be totally fine with it. He really could. But before he can let that happen... 

 Mike urges you back, letting you get situated on your pillows again as he gazes at your stretched pussy and everything dripping out of it. 

 As soon as you stop moving, Mike is working his tongue inside of you. He can taste both himself and you, feel it coat his tongue as he drinks in as much as he can before sliding up to your face and taking your chin so you'll open your mouth. 

 The first drop makes you open wider, sticking your tongue out so that Mike can fill your mouth with his cum and spit, and the fact that you let him is so incredibly arousing, he just might fuck you until he's coming dry. 

 The little pattern is repeated a few times, Mike licking your pussy then spitting everything into your mouth, but he leaves some for lubrication, shoving the last of his cum back inside you when he starts fucking you on his fingers. He keeps you pliant, sucking on your clit so that he can slowly ease his pinky into your ass, and it isn't long before you're letting out breathy little sounds and tensing underneath him. 

 He takes care of you through your orgasm, looking at your face from where he lays. You're so pretty when you come, mouth open, eyebrows high, the picture of ecstasy, and Mike wants to remember it forever. He wants to keep you like this forever. 

 You shudder when he pulls his fingers from you, whine when he slowly laves over your sensitive pussy with his tongue, but after several long licks, Mike crawls back up to lay next to you. 

 "God damn," you laugh. "I had almost forgotten how good you are."

 Mike smirks, kissing your temple and nipping the shell of your ear. "Almost?"

 You nod, a spent smile making your lips curl. "I don't think I could ever fully forget even if I wanted to."

 Humming, he traces fingers over your stomach, now sticky from the mess of precum he had basically slathered you with. 

 "Yeah, we were pretty good for each other when we weren't being stupid," he muses. 

 He should probably step away for a few minutes, hop in the shower and wait for the flood of chemicals in his brain to fall away. 

 "We were, weren't we?" 

 "Mhm."

 Mike dips to press his face into your neck. He just can't stop touching you, can't stop breathing you in. He needs to memorize everything about this—how soft you are underneath him, how you smell like sex and sweat and your perfume, how quiet your voice is when you speak to him. 

 He feels your body rise and fall with a heavy sigh, and he's about to ask if you want to rinse off, but you open your mouth first, thoughtful when you tell him, "I loved you so much, Miche."

 "I know," he replies. Even if he couldn't see it then, he can now. You may not have told him to his face, but if Mike had been just a little smarter back then, he would have realized you were telling him in different ways. "I loved you too."

 He feels you pet his hair, probably a tangled wreck from being pulled. "I, uh…" You swallow hard, and Mike rests his chin on the hand on your chest, your heart beating against his palm a little too fast. 

 "You wanna shower before you say whatever you're about to?" 

 He knows what you're about to tell him. He just wants to make sure you don't regret it when you come back to yourself. "Yeah, probably."

 Both of you leave the bed on unsteady legs, Mike leading you to the shower and setting it to your favored temperature. He stands under the spray with you, taking the brunt of the water while kissing you. You move slowly, tangling your tongue with his, mapping out his body with exploratory hands. 

Mike is the one to break away after several minutes, insisting on soaping you up and dragging his loofah over your skin. He even sinks to his knees, gentle as he cleans your thighs and between them, careful not to get suds anywhere they're not supposed to be. When he’s finished, Mike presses a kiss to your pelvic bone before standing again, grinning when you pull him back to your face. 

 He doesn't have the same, short refractory period he used to otherwise he'd fuck you against the tiled wall, but he's content to stay like this, sucking on your lip and pressing against you. 

 Even after you've been given the chance to get your thoughts in order, you still blink up at Mike, water droplets dotting and falling from your eyelashes as you tell him, "I love you. I still love you. I don't think I can stop."

 He holds your head in his hands, brushes his nose against yours as his chest swells with more emotion than he thinks he can actually handle, and his own confession is easy: "I love you, too." Another soft peck to your lips before he adds, "I think you already knew that, though."

 "Wasn't positive."

 Mike knows there are logistics to consider, but the two of you can work on that later. For now he just wants to finish rinsing off and crawl into bed with you. 

 He should probably change the sheets, though, and find you pajamas, so Mike does exactly that as you traipse back out to the kitchen for some water, wearing absolutely nothing and making him bite his lip. 

 He puts new bedding on the mattress, then digs through his dresser for a t-shirt and boxers. Something catches his eye, printed material that almost makes him laugh out loud. He doesn't know why he still has the shorts, especially since he ruined the shirt a long, long time ago, but he's so glad he does. 

 Pink and covered in palm trees, he can't even fit into them any more, but it's fine. He thinks he knows how he can repurpose them. 

 But first, he needs to call his mom. 

 *

 It's an easy fix, really. Before the Sina project even comes close to wrapping up, Mike finds a place for you in his department, something you hadn't thought possible, but apparently he's kind of a big deal in the field. 

 When he makes you the job offer in the conference room, he's able to keep it professional for a whole three minutes before you agree to the terms, and then he's out of his chair and picking you up to swing around. Just like that, the whole fucking office knows about the two of you. 

 "Ha! You owe me fifty bucks, Moblit!" Hange shouts for everyone to hear, and you shake your head as the quiet man asks if he can Venmo them. 

 "I fucking knew it! I knew there was something going on! God, that's so satisfying. I'm not even mad that you're leaving us."

 "It's been going on for a long time now," you snort. 

 Hange leans against the wall and wriggles their eyebrows, "Yeah, what, like, the whole three months we’ve been here?" 

 "Try ten years," Mike mutters, and the eyes behind Hange's glasses nearly roll out of their head. 

 You and Mike have to sign a few things, contracts and couples disclosures and what not, but you don't mind. 

 The first thing you do is ask for a few days off in order to move, and Mike naturally does the same to help. You live just over three hours away, but are able to recruit some help in the form of your old friends. 

 You let out a shrill scream when you see Erwin step out of his car outside of your apartment complex, all but throw yourself into his arms so that he laughs and squeezes you tight against him. It's been a couple years since you've actually seen him, the distance between you just a little too far, but it's so nice to stare at his stupid face again. 

 Nile is also there with a very pregnant Marie on his arm, and Hitch and Rhi arrive as all the guys are carrying down the first load of packed boxes. 

 "Damn, it has been a long time since we've all been together," you say, looking around at everyone and grinning after you tape up another set of cardboard flaps. 

 "Yeah, kinda weird how we all just get along now," Hitch giggles. 

 "It's almost like we're adults or something," Rhi adds. 

 You pass her the box, but she just groans and passes it to Erwin. 

 Everyone takes turns making trips to Mike's apartment, and the moving effort takes three days in total. You really need to find a way to repay all of them, maybe suggest a nice dinner. 

 "God, why do you own so much shit, babe?" Mike asks after loading the last shelves of a bookcase into his car (that you still hate). 

 "Because everything has sentimental value. Don't judge me."

 "Oh, I'm judging. When'd you get so soft?"

 You roll your eyes and reach past him to close the trunk door. 

 The others are all standing in the parking lot with you, antsy and excited for the two of you, or so you assume. 

 "I really can't thank you guys enough. You've made this so much easier," you tell them. 

 Erwin grins widely and pulls you into a hug, and to your surprise, Hitch slides around you to hold you from behind. It makes you laugh and call them dumb, but when they step back, you're hit with the realization that they weren't just being goofy; they were strategizing, keeping you shielded from Mike who is now kneeling on the asphalt and chewing on his bottom lip. 

 Your eyes grow wide, and you step back only to run straight into Erwin's chest. He puts two, grounding hands on your shoulders, and you can almost feel his smile as Mike reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. 

 A small pink box. 

 A small pink box with pieces of fucking palm trees wrapping around it. 

 "Did you get that fucking upholstered?" You shout, and Mike lets out a giddy laugh, his eyes so narrow from grinning that you can barely see the green. "I don't even wanna open it. I cannot believe—"

 "Good thing you don't have to open it then," he chuckles. “I do.”

 "You are fucking impossible, you know that?" 

 "Yeah," he agrees before prying the ridiculous box apart and revealing a ring that makes you tear up. 

 It isn't huge, but it's far from plain, sparkling stones wrapping around it with a larger, round cut in the middle. It's extremely pretty and very you, and oh, you wanna put it on, you wanna put it on right now. 

 "Don't look too impressed. Mom helped me pick it out, and it’s all ethically sourced, of course," Mike says, and you wipe your eyes while giggling. 

 "Oh my god, she's crying!" Rhi yells. 

 "Shut up, it's because of that atrocious box."

 Mike looks behind you at Erwin. "I knew she'd love it."

 "Yeah, good call, bro."

 "I hate both of you."

 "Still gonna marry me, though, right?" Mike is still grinning, but you can see the barest hint of worry in his eyes, and you can't blame him because this is big. This is commitment. Marriage. He wants you to marry him. 

 And, some will say it’s too quick, that you’ve only been actually dating for a couple of months, but it makes sense because if you’re being honest, you never really fell out of love with Mike. He’s always been nestled deep in your heart.

 "Against my better judgement," you smirk. 

 He stands up quick enough to make himself dizzy, has to brace a hand on his car as he kisses you. 

 "Finally!" Erwin shouts, clapping his hands and being joined by the others. 

 Mike slides the ring from the terrible box, pushes it onto your finger with shaky hands, and when you admire it in the sun, you look at him and nod. "Very nice, Zacharias. Even in the parking lot setting."

 "I just wanted everyone to be here! If we went somewhere fancy, you would've figured it out."

 That's true. Going to some nice restaurant or quaint little park would have definitely tipped you off. 

 "Also, you know once we're married, you will also be Zacharias."

 "Yeah," you nod thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess I will be. Hey," you look at him with raised eyebrows. "Wanna shotgun beers at the wedding?" 

 Mike laughs loudly. "That is how it all started, isn't it?" 

 "Yeah, this stupid frat boy in a Hawaiian shirt came up to me and demanded I shotgun a room temp beer."

 "Sounds like an asshole," Mike chuckles. 

 You shrug as he pulls you into his chest and sigh into his shirt, "He turned out alright, I guess."

#mike zacharias x reader #miche zacharias x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfic

[specialagentsergio]

baby kiss it better

summary: When D.C. implements a lockdown order, you and Spencer decide to quarantine together. There’s just one problem—he’s working from home, and his coworkers don’t know about you.

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

category: fluff

content warnings: a few swear words, but otherwise it’s just fluff

a/n: ahh, the secret partner trope. how i love it. this is set in 2020, but with the season 5 cast! i was feeling particularly self-indulgent, so i made reader a night shift worker. this is for you, fellow night owls. stay safe out there everyone, and wear a mask!

a/n 2: i don’t actually know what a doctor or physical therapist would recommend for spencer’s knee injury. this is just going on my basic understanding of anatomy (i took a class in it this fall!) and what i've seen on grey’s anatomy lol.

word count: 2.2k

masterlist

Spencer tries not to grimace as he shifts in his chair. Working from home during the lockdown had initially seemed like it came at a great time, starting just a month after his knee injury. Sure, he wasn’t thrilled about having to do almost everything digitally, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about being mobile.

Unfortunately, that had turned out to be a downside. Tethered to his seat by headphones, he hasn’t been able to get up and stretch his leg properly, and as a result, is experiencing more pain.

It’s only 8:30, but he can already feel it flaring up. It’s been happening earlier every day, likely due to the existing irritation from the day before. Today is Thursday, and he’s miserable—he dreads to think of what tomorrow will be like.

He’s wondering if there’s some way he could get out of work tomorrow when he hears the sound of the front door being unlocked. He looks up to see you pushing the door open with your shoulder, carrying far too many grocery bags than is reasonable.

“Be careful!” he exclaims, watching as you teeter to the side a little. You just wave him off and close the door with your heel.

Working from home may not have been the positive he was expecting it to be, but you’ve more than made up for it. The two of you had decided to quarantine together, and he’s really loved having you around. Granted, you’ve only been here since Sunday, but he’s starting to think that this is going to end with him asking you to move in with him for good.

He hears a thunk as you dump all the groceries on the kitchen table. Then you’re back in the living room, taking off your mask as you walk by so you can blow him a kiss. He presses his knuckles to his mouth to hide his smile.

Usually you give him a proper cheek or forehead kiss when you get home, but the team doesn’t know about you yet. It’s not that he’s necessarily keeping you a secret, he just... likes having you to himself, and he doesn’t really want it to change just yet.

He’s also not looking forward to the pitch Garcia’s voice is going to hit when she finds out he’s been dating someone for over a year without telling her.

“Are you listening, Reid?” Hotch’s voice makes Spencer focus back in on the screen.

“Oh, y-yeah. Yeah, of course. Um, I was just thinking that this choice of rope to bind the victims is interesting.” He doles out a few facts about it, which seems to do an adequate job of convincing everyone that he’s paying attention.

They take a break when the main briefing is over—Jack needs something from Hotch and Sergio has apparently knocked something breakable off of Emily’s kitchen counter. He slides his headphones off and mutes his mic. Apparently that’s a cue you’ve been waiting for, because only a few moments later you’re placing a mug of tea on his desk.

“Green tea,” you say. “Might help reduce the inflammation in your knee.” Then you’re lifting his foot off the small stool it’s resting on and sliding another pillow under it so his leg is more elevated.

“Wh—“ he starts, but you’re already hurrying back into the kitchen. You come back with a baggie of ice wrapped in a dishtowel in your hands, which you place it gently on top of his knee.

“Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off,” you say. “Then repeat with heat instead, like your physical therapist said. I’ll get the heating pad from the bedroom.”

“Hey, wait.” Spencer snags your wrists before you can walk away again. “How’d you know it was hurting?”

“Oh, I always know,” you reply. “You should have realized that by now.”

He thinks on that as you leave to get the heating pad, sipping his tea. You do always seem to just know, whether he’s in physical pain, a bad case is bothering him, or even if he’s just in a bad mood and doesn’t know why himself.

Not a day goes by where he doesn’t feel incredibly lucky to have you in his life.

“I’m leaving it by this outlet behind you. Have you been doing your stretches?”

He bites his lip, hesitating because he knows you won’t like the answer. But he doesn’t have to say it; you can tell from his expression.

“Spencer. You know you need to be doing them.”

“I know, I do,” he insists. “I just... can’t really get up and do them with these headphones.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Okay, so take them off. Your laptop has speakers.”

“But I don’t want to disturb you,” he protests. Since you work the night shift, you sleep during the day, usually heading to bed around 11 AM. He doesn’t want the noise from the Zoom calls to keep you up. Much like the bullpen in the FBI building, the calls can get rowdy.

“You won’t,” you assure. “I’ll just shut the bedroom door.”

“I guess that works,” he relents. “But I feel weird getting up and stretching in front of everyone. Like, wouldn’t that be disruptive?”

You sigh. “Spencer, I understand it’ll make you self-conscious, but you want full mobility in your knee again, right?”

“Yeah, I do, I get it,” he says sullenly, looking down into his mug. “I need to do the stretches if I want it to heal well.”

“Hey.” You take one of his hands and squeeze it. “I’m not trying to annoy you. I just want you to get better and be in less pain. I don’t like to see you hurting.”

“You’re not annoying me. I guess I’m just... not really used to being taken care of,” he admits quietly.

“Well, I’m gonna fix that.”

The confidence in your voice makes him unable to hold back a smile. “Alright.”

You smile back. “Is there anything else I can do?”

Spencer’s about to tell you that you’ve done plenty when an idea strikes him. He tilts his head to the side. “Well, there is something.”

“Yes?”

“There’s some research—nothing too substantial, but still some—that says kisses can help relieve pain,” he says.

You laugh, but it’s not unkind. “Oh, so you want me to kiss it better?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, glancing away shyly.

“Okay, then.” You tuck his hair behind his ear and press a kiss to his forehead. “Better?” you ask softly.

He hums. “Better.”

“Good.” You stand back up and stretch. “Well, I’ll be awake for a few more hours, so let me know if you need anything.”

“I will.”

Spencer puts his headphones back on—he wants to wait to unplug them until you go to bed to spare you from hearing anything gruesome—and looks back at the screen to find Morgan, Emily, JJ, and Garcia staring him down. Rather hesitantly, he unmutes his mic and asks, “What?”

Emily is grinning—she looks the more awake than she has all morning. “Is there anything you wanna tell us?” she asks.

“Yeah, Spence,” JJ chimes in, “any new developments in your life?”

“I don’t—” he starts, then it hits him like a truck. He remembered to mute his mic, but the camera was still on. Clearly, they all saw you kiss his forehead. He barely stops himself from hitting his head against the table; he covers his face with his hands instead and groans.

“Isn’t the whole point of all this that we stay away from other people?” Morgan asks, and Spencer doesn’t have to look up to know that Derek has a shit-eating grin on his face.

“People outside of your household,” he corrects without thinking.

“Oh my god!” Garcia shrieks and he winces, pulling the headphones off out of instinct. He’s not the only one—JJ jumps and yanks her earbuds out, and Derek lifts one side of his headphones away from his ear. Spencer hesitantly copies him, putting one half of his headphones back on.

“Jesus, Pen, you scared the shit out of Sergio,” Emily’s saying.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” she says, then turns her attention completely to Spencer. “Boy wonder. You’re living with someone and I’m just now hearing about it?”

“I mean, you never asked,” he points out.

“Well, I didn’t think I’d have to!” she huffs. “You usually tell your friends if you’re seeing someone new, let alone living with them!”

“You do, maybe. Emily and I don’t,” he says.

Emily herself shrugs. “Good point. Fair enough, Reid.”

“Besides, we’re not living together,” he continues, “We’re quarantining together.”

“Right, because that’s such a big difference,” JJ teases. He glares at her in return.

Rossi returns to his desk before Penelope can start bombarding Spencer with questions. But there’s no reprieve for him—the man takes one look around and knows something’s up. “Okay, what’s going on?” he asks.

“We just found out pretty boy has a partner,” Morgan sing-songs before Spencer can say anything.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.”

“And he didn’t tell any of us!” Garcia adds.

Spencer groans again and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “This is exactly why I didn’t say anything,” he mutters.

A knocking sound draws his attention away from the call. You’re standing in the bedroom doorway, your hand resting on the doorframe. “You okay?” you ask. “I just heard you groan.”

Spencer mutes his mic again and then leans over so he’s out of the camera’s frame. “They found out,” he sighs.

“Found out what?”

“Found out about... you.”

Realization crosses your face. “They saw me kissing you better?”

“Yeah. I forgot the camera was still on,” he says sheepishly.

“Well, it was bound to happen eventually.” You make your way over to him and take the ice off his knee. “It’s been twenty minutes, by the way.”

“Thanks. So, um...” He picks up the fidget toy you bought him when he was going stir-crazy in the hospital and starts messing with it. “What do you wanna do about this?”

“Whatever you’re most comfortable with,” you reply immediately.

“Okay, good answer,” he says. “But I actually want to know how you feel about this.”

“Well, I’m fine with meeting them, even if it’s just over Zoom. But if you’d rather wait, I’m fine with that, too. Really,” you add when he raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, well.” Spencer looks back at the screen. Hotch has returned now, and even though he can’t hear anything, it’s clear they’re all waiting on him. Best to just do this now, he thinks, otherwise I’ll be hearing about it all day. “How would you feel about meeting them right now?”

You blink. “Um, okay. So long as you don’t mind me looking like I was up all night, because, you know... I was.”

“You look fine,” he reassures. “Uh, just stay put for a second. Let me ask if this is okay.”

He readjusts to sit in his chair properly. He starts to put his headphones back on, but you unplug them so you can hear what’s happening.

“You ready to continue, Reid?” Hotch asks. It’s business as usual with him—if he was told what happened earlier, Spencer can’t tell.

“Well, actually,” he starts, and nervousness bubbles up in his chest. He glances up and you give him a reassuring smile. “Actually, I was wondering if I could introduce you guys to someone first?”

Garcia squeals. “Ooh, sir, please say yes!”

“Just keep it quick,” Hotch says. He didn’t even hesitate—they totally told him.

Spencer takes a deep breath, then gestures for you to come over. You seem a little nervous as well, but you handle it well, walking around the desk and into the frame. “Oh, we should have gotten you something to sit on,” he laments when you lean over the back of his chair.

“It’s fine.” You drape your arms around his shoulders and adjust so your head is on the same level as his. It’s silent for a moment, then you say, “Well, introduce me, silly.”

“Oh!” He clears his throat, trying to ignore the heat he feels in his cheeks. “Um, this is (Y/N). My... my partner.”

The call explodes with greetings, everyone talking over each other. “Slow down, slow down,” Spencer pleads. This is all overwhelming enough—he doesn’t need any excess stimuli.

Once it settles, everyone takes their turn introducing themselves (you already know who they all are, though, as he’s told you so much about them). Then you field a few questions—what you do for work, how you met, what your favorite food is (that was Rossi—Spencer suspects that he wants to know for the first dinner party he can hold after quarantine is over).

It’s going well. Everyone seems to like you, and you’re getting by just fine. Until Garcia asks her question, that is.

“So, (Y/N), how long has boy wonder been keeping you a secret from us?”

Both of you tense. “Uh, you know what, I’ll let him answer that,” you say quickly. “It’s just about time for me to go to bed.”

“Wha—no. No, it’s not. It’s just barley past nine,” Spencer protests.

“Yeah, I’m really tired. I’m gonna try and get some extra sleep today.” You give a little wave. “It was nice meeting you all.”

“Don’t leave me,” he whispers desperately. “Not with that question.”

You feign a yawn. “Sorry, I’m just too tired.”

He watches you go back to the bedroom with a pout.

“Well?” Garcia insists when he looks back at her.

Spencer cringes and preemptively lowers his computer volume.

---------------

tell me what you thought here!

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid #fluff #my fic #yes i watch grey's what about it

[engie-ivy]

Another story for my candy heart fix from @goodboylupin and the Candy Hearts Challenge! Humour, lots of shameless flirting and a fed up Regulus.

Candy heart message: CRUSHIN'

Regulus has agreed to tutor a classmate in statistics, but quickly comes to regret his life choices when the only chance the guy seems interested in, is the chance of getting to snog Regulus’ older brother.

“You want to snog my brother!” Regulus points his pen accusingly in Remus’ direction.

Remus huffs and straightens his back. “In my defence, your brother is very snogable!”

Part one: Crushin'

Part two: Fallin'

What chance do I have? Part one: Crushin'

REGULUS BLACK: You can come over. My parents aren’t home.

REMUS LUPIN: ??

REGULUS BLACK: Oh my god. That sounded wrong.

REGULUS BLACK: I meant for the tutoring session.

REGULUS BLACK: I know my parents’ reputation. I thought you’d feel more comfortable coming here knowing they aren’t home.

REGULUS BLACK: I am NOT trying to hook up with you.

REMUS LUPIN: Oh thank god.

REMUS LUPIN: Not that you’re not an attractive guy.

REMUS LUPIN: I just don’t see you like that.

REMUS LUPIN: And I mean, you’re probably a bit young for me.

REGULUS BLACK: Lupin.

REGULUS BLACK: Please shut up.

Remus drops his phone on his bed with a shudder.

He’s not a bad student. He knows all about history and writes killer political essays. He’s just terrible with numbers, but he needs to pass his statistics course.

Regulus is a quiet guy, but he’s nice enough. Rumour has it that his parents are these excessively pushy and high-demanding lot, who bully their children to do nothing but study and threaten the school into letting them skip grades. Apparently, they want their eldest son to become the youngest doctor in town, and their youngest son the youngest lawyer, just so they can brag about their advanced children to their posh friends. They’re lucky both their sons are actually very intelligent. Regulus is in Remus’ class, despite being much younger, and they say his older brother, who should be somewhere around Remus’ age, is already in college.

In any case, Regulus won’t pass up the opportunity to earn some extra credit by tutoring Remus in statistics over the summer.

The house of the Black family is exactly like Remus would’ve pictured it. Very old-fashioned, with weird, old objects everywhere, but while some houses packed with old stuff seem warm and cosy, the Blacks’ house just seems cold and dark.

Remus is sitting at the kitchen table watching Regulus flip through textbooks, talking about how they’ll start with refreshing his knowledge on basic chance calculation before moving on to z-scores and significance tests.

Remus is already bored.

Suddenly, a tall, muscular, slightly sweaty guy barges into the kitchen. He’s wearing running shoes, shorts and a t-shirt that clings to his form and shows off his broad shoulders. As good as the shirt looks on him, Remus isn’t complaining when he takes it off, revealing his well-trained torso.

“Jesus, it’s warm outside,” the guy says, dropping the shirt on the floor while pulling the hair tie out of his hair and letting it fall in dark waves across his shoulders. He grabs a water bottle out of the fridge, and throws his head back to drink, spilling some water that drips down over his chest.

As Remus not very subtly ogles the guy, he wonders whether statistics was so boring that he zoned out and is now in some sort of hormonal teenage fantasy. Well, he hopes that if that were the case, he would’ve at least not fantasized Regulus sitting there, glaring from the guy, to Remus, and back to the guy.

“Sirius!” Regulus eventually snaps. “We have a guest.” He gestures at Remus.

The guy, Sirius, who must be the older brother, turns his head and only now spots Remus sitting there. He smiles sheepishly at him. “Oh. Hi.”

“Hello,” Remus says, and they just look and smile at each other for a while.

Then, Remus leans his head on his hands, giving the guy a sweet smile. “So, do you come here often?”

Sirius blinks at him. “Eh, yeah. Yeah, I do. I kind of live here.” He quickly recovers himself. “What about you? You’re a classmate of Reggie? You must be new. I don’t recall seeing you when I went to school there, and I definitely would’ve remembered a face like yours.”

Remus grins. “Yes, my parents moved around a lot, so I went to a lot of different schools.”

Sirius raises his water bottle. “Well, here’s to hoping you’ll stick around this time.” He takes a swig and then grins. “And hoping you’re so bad at... statistics, was it? That you’ll be coming around here more often.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Remus says, looking up at Sirius through his lashes. “I’m bad. I’m very, very bad.”

A slight flush appears in Sirius’ neck, but the grin stays in place. “Good. Then I guess I’ll be seeing you. I’ll try to keep my shirt on next time.”

“Don’t trouble yourself on my account!” Remus calls after Sirius as he leaves the kitchen.

As he stares through the window at other side of the house into the backyard, where Sirius has gone to stretch, Remus can feel Regulus’ eyes burning on him.

“What?”

“You want to snog my brother!” Regulus points his pen accusingly in Remus’ direction.

Remus huffs and straightens his back. “In my defence, your brother is very snogable!”

Regulus shakes his head. “What is it that people see in him?”

Remus points towards the backyard, where Sirius is just bending over to stretch the back of his legs. He doesn’t think he needs any more explanation.

Regulus groans.

The second tutoring session, Sirius walks into the kitchen in low-hanging sweatpants, clearly just out of the shower, with damp hair and a towel around his neck, again shirtless.

He smiles as he sees Remus. “How is it every time I see you I’m not wearing a shirt?”

“I guess I’m just lucky?” Remus suggests.

“I know chance calculation isn’t your strong suit,” Regulus says without looking up from his book. “But considering the fact that Sirius walks around shirtless ninety percent of the time, you don’t need much luck. In fact, it would’ve been more impressive if you saw Sirius with his shirt on.”

Remus lets his eyes wander over Sirius’ muscular chest and abs. “I highly doubt it.”

Regulus’ eyes snap up as Sirius sits down on the kitchen counter. “No. You. Out. Now.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “You’re kicking me out of my own kitchen in my own house? I’m not disturbing you.”

“Lupin has enough trouble learning anything as it is, without you sitting there making eyes at him, turning his brain to mush.”

Sirius glances at Remus, who just shrugs. Regulus isn’t wrong.

The third tutoring session is, to Remus’ disappointment, at his house. He’d wanted to protest, but Mr and Mrs Black are apparently back from their business trip, and shamelessly flirting with Regulus’ hot, older brother in front of their strict, high-society parents seemed a little awkward anyway.

When Remus opens the door, a disgruntled looking Regulus immediately pushes past him and strides into the house, leaving Remus looking at a brightly smiling Sirius.

“Hi! Regulus wanted to ride his bike here, but you know, it’s probably going to rain, so I thought it better to give him a ride in my car instead.”

Remus looks up at the clear blue sky with the sun shining brightly, not a cloud to be seen anywhere.

“I see,” Remus says. “And I suppose you have to give him a ride home as well?”

“Yes, definitely.”

“And it’ll be a lot of trouble if you have to drive all the way up and down again.”

“So much trouble indeed.”

“The best thing is probably for you to just stay here.”

“That sure seems like the best solution to me.”

For the fourth tutoring session, Remus has lost track of time sitting at the kitchen table at the Black family home, drinking tea and chatting with Sirius. Remus is telling him about all the different places he has lived, and Sirius is telling him what it’s like to be in college at his age.

REGULUS BLACK: What’s keeping you?

REMUS LUPIN: ?

REMUS LUPIN: I’ve been at your house for like more than an hour, waiting for you to come down from your room?

“You said you’d let me know when Lupin got here!” Regulus points a finger at Sirius.

Sirius blinks innocently at him. “It slipped my mind. I have such a bad memory.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “You know the Latin name for each part of the human body by heart!”

“Did you know Remus wants to study history?” Sirius says, not very subtly changing the subject. “Won’t he just make the cutest professor?”

“Not so much as you’ll make the hottest doctor!” Remus replies.

“Yes,” Regulus says, while placing his books on the table. “I’m sure the scientific community and the world of medicine will be greatly benefitted from your good looks.”

Remus sighs.

Sirius has just gone upstairs after Regulus threw a book at his head when he interrupted his explanation for the fifth time, distracting a very willingly-distracted Remus with cute dog videos.

Remus sighs again.

Undeterred, Regulus keeps on talking about some jar of marbles out of which Remus for some reason only wants to take the red ones.

Remus sighs again.

“Is there any chance you’re going to stop doing that if I keep ignoring you?”

Remus shakes his head, and Regulus drops his pen and looks up at him. “Okay, what is it?”

“I don’t think I want to snog your brother anymore,” Remus says.

He had expected Regulus to be relieved, but instead something fiercely protective flashes over his face. “I swear to god, Lupin, if you were just leading him on all this time...”

“What? No!” Remus quickly says. “I just mean that I don’t want to just snog your brother anymore. I think I actually like him! Like, like like him! I think I have a crush on your brother! You know, the massive, won’t-go-away-on-his-own kind.”

Regulus just stares at him.

“I mean, at first I just thought he was incredibly hot, funny and charming,” Remus continues. “But now I found out he’s also clever, sweet and caring!” Remus’ tone makes it sound like it’s the worst betrayal he’s ever experienced.

“And this is a problem how?” Regulus asks.

“He’s in college!” Remus exclaims. “He’s probably just looking for a fun summer flirt to pass his time before school starts again, and now he has ruined me for other men forever!”

Regulus pinches the bridge of his nose. “Lupin, I know you’re terrible at chance calculation, so I’m going to put this in words even you can understand. The chance of my brother being into you is one hundred percent.”

“Really?” Remus’ face brightens.

Now it’s Regulus’ turn to sigh. “I never thought I’d ever be saying this, but I’ve had enough. Lupin, will you please go upstairs and snog my brother?”

Remus knocks once and then steps into Sirius’ bedroom. He’s immediately backed up0 against the door by Sirius’ body pressing against him. Sirius’ arms wrap around his waist and Remus’ arms almost automatically wrap around his neck, so he’ll soon be able to finally run his fingers through that perfect hair.

Their faces are so close together Remus can feel Sirius’ breath as he speaks. “Took you long enough.”

Part two

#rscandyhearts #CRUSHIN' #my tumblr writing #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #regulus black #regulus ready to scream #flirtatious remus lupin #confident remus lupin

[lumosandnoxwriting]

Trying Something New - Fred Weasley

Title: Trying Something New Pairing: Fred x Fem!Reader Warning: NSFW!! Dom/sub, daddy kink, male receiving oral, dirty talk, teasing, pet names, sex toys, overstimulation, unprotected sex, after care Summary: Fred and the reader decide it’s time to spice things up in the bedroom A/N: this is for @le-weasley-simp​ who wanted some kink exploration and an anon who wanted some dom!Fred with daddy kink!! This is mostly just smut but if you look hard enough there’s some plot I guess haha. Feedback is always welcome!!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What do you think of this one?” Y/N asks, holding up another bra for Fred to examine. It’s a deep purple color with a little lace detailing on the cups. When all Fred does is shrug Y/N sighs and puts the bra down. “What’s wrong with you? We’re surrounded by lingerie and you’re acting like we’re at the dentist’s office.”

“I dunno, I thought shopping for lingerie would be more exciting, and sexy,” Fred sighs, looking around the store. “But in reality it’s pretty boring.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Well if you would pick out some stuff you like I could try it on for you, Freddie. But if you’d rather just go and do something else I can meet back up with you later.”

“Try it on for me?” Fred asks, perking up. “Why didn’t you start with that, love? Wait here, I’ll be back.”

Y/N shakes her head fondly with a chuckle as she watches Fred move around the store. He starts to eagerly grab a few things off of the shelves, clearly more interested in their shopping trip than he had been before. This shopping trip is the first part in their journey to get a bit more adventurous in the bedroom. Their sex life is far from vanilla, but both Fred and Y/N expressed interest in taking their activities to the next level. So they decided they’d spend the day out in muggle London to do some shopping for some supplies that will hopefully turn things up a notch in the bedroom.

When Fred comes back to where Y/N is standing a few minutes later, he has quite a few things in his hands and there’s a cheeky grin on his face. He shoves them all into her arms before ushering Y/N towards the dressing room. “Go, go, go. I’ll wait out here.” Fred takes a seat on the chair outside the dressing room, giving her a wink. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

“Okay, okay. Keep it in your pants, Freddie,” Y/N teases before closing the curtain behind herself. She hangs up the few things Fred had shoved into her arms, deciding to try on some of the bras first. She gets her top half undressed before grabbing the first thing her hand lands on. She slips it on, before turning to look at herself in the mirror.

It’s a deep red color that compliments her skin tone perfectly, and it’s completely made of lace. It plunges low, so her cleavage is on full display, and her nipples are visible through the sheer fabric. She adjusts it so it fits just right before turning around and opening the curtain up. “Thoughts?”

Fred’s eyes widen and he bites his lip to keep from moaning. He lets his eyes rake over Y/N’s body, focusing on the way the fabric clings to the curve of her breasts. “Oh I have many thoughts and none of them are appropriate enough to be said out loud right now.”

Y/N rolls her eyes as she shuts the curtain. She takes the bra off carefully and sets it aside for her to buy. She tries the next few bras on, showing each one to Fred, but they don’t quite elicit the same reaction as the first one. Fred had picked out two fuller pieces as well, and Y/N turns to those next.

The first one is sheer with some lace detailing throughout, with high cut leg holes that leave most of her sides bare. It’s high cut up the back as well, and if Y/N didn’t still have her panties on practically her whole ass would be hanging out. Y/N sticks just her head out of the curtain, so she can beckon Fred closer. “Come here, I don’t wanna expose my entire ass to the store.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Fred gets up and stands in front of the curtain, blocking the rest of the store from view. “Come on then, let’s have a look.”

“It’ll look a bit weird since I still have my underwear one, but I’m sure you can use your imagination to picture what it’ll look like when I’m naked.” Y/N opens the curtain fully then for Fred to see what she’s wearing, suddenly feeling embarrassed under his intense gaze.

“Jesus,” Fred groans, reaching out to touch Y/N’s thighs. He lets his eyes slowly roam over her body, memorizing every inch of skin. “If you don’t buy that I will never, ever, ever forgive you, Y/N. I’m serious. If we were allowed to use magic around muggles I’d be casting a few spells and taking you right here in this dressing room.”

“Fred,” Y/N scolds, before pulling him into a brief kiss. “Okay go sit back down, lover boy. I’ll try the last one on and then we can head to the next store.” Y/N shuts the curtain again and gets undressed, placing the black piece with the red bra she tried on earlier. She slips into the white piece quickly, taking a few moments to admire herself in the mirror. This one is less revealing, yet somehow feels sexier to her. The material is lace, but not only sheer in the areas that sprawl over her stomach and the leg holes are only cut a smidge higher than a normal pair of underwear, leaving much of her sides and ass covered. But the neckline is a plunging halter top, which leaves much of her breasts exposed.

Y/N opens the curtain, giving a little twirl for Fred. “You like?” she asks.

Fred nods wildly. “Very much. You look so sexy in white, Y/N. So innocent, yet so dirty at the same time. You’re driving me wild, baby.”

“No need to lay it on so thick, Freddie. I already agreed to sleep with you,” she teases. “Now go wait outside. I don’t want you to see what I buy so it’ll be a surprise.”

Fred gets up and comes to stand in the doorway of the dressing room, pressing a brief kiss to Y/N’s lips. “Such a tease, Y/N.” Fred pulls his wallet out of his pocket and places it into her hand. “Whatever you want is on me, baby. Okay? I’m spoiling you today.” Back when Y/N and Fred first got together during their Hogwarts years he used to dream about the day he’d have enough money to shower Y/N in presents and treat her like the Queen she is. Now that those days are finally here he takes every opportunity to spoil her, whether she likes it or not.

“Freddie,” Y/N responds before kissing him again. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know, but I want to.” Fred winks at her. “And this way I don’t feel as bad when I inevitably destroy something ripping it off of your hot body.”

Y/N closes the curtain on Fred then, shaking her head as she listens to him laugh as he walks away. She gets redressed quickly, holding the three things she plans on purchasing in her hand. Y/N walks towards the till slowly, grabbing a few pairs of underwear on her way, including a red lace thong that will go perfectly with the bra Fred had picked out. Once her purchase has been made Y/N heads out of the store and meets back up with Fred.

“All set?” he asks, wrapping an arm around her waist. When Y/N nods he grins. “Perfect. To the sex shop we go!”

-

“Who knew there are so many kinds of dildos?” Fred muses as he stares at a wall covered top to bottom in different dildos. “I mean so many different colors, and shapes, and sizes. It’s truly remarkable,” he comments, turning to look at Y/N. “Isn’t it?”

“Yeah sure, Freddie,” Y/N giggles. The basket in her hand is already quite full of a few things, but Fred insisted that a trip to the sex shop wouldn’t be complete without getting a new dildo. Y/N is quite familiar with a variety of different sex toys, many of them having been gifts from Fred, but those are tucked away in her bedside drawer for her to use on her own when Fred isn’t around. This is the first time they’re picking out toys to use together, and Y/N would be lying if she said it wasn’t turning her on.

Fred wraps his arm around Y/N’s waist, pulling her close to his side. “Any one in particular catch your eye, love?” He leans over to whisper in her ear. “It’s your pussy it’ll be buried in after all.”

A shiver runs down Y/N’s spine right to her core and she lets her eyes roam over the wall. There truly is a wide variety of dildos, and some even scare her a little bit. She turns to Fred and presses a kiss to his cheek. “You know what I like, Freddie. You pick one out, surprise me.” Y/N hands him the basket and gives Fred a stern look. “Don’t make me regret that decision, Fred.”

“Have I ever given you a sex toy you didn’t like?” he asks. “You’re in good hands baby. I promise.” Fred waits until Y/N has left the store before he grabs the dildo of his choice, making sure to grab a few extra things on his way to the checkout counter.

-

Y/N examines herself in the mirror, wiping her sweaty palm off on her bare thigh. She’s standing in her and Fred’s bathroom wearing nothing but the lacy red bra and thong she’d purchased earlier that day. Even though Fred has seen her in far less clothing, she can feel nervous butterflies fluttering around in her stomach. Something about exploring new things with Fred has her feeling like a virgin all over again, nervous and unsure what to expect. Y/N had been mostly hands off when deciding what new things to explore, leaving the decisions to Fred. She trusts Fred with her life, but the uncertainty of where the evening is going to take them is making her a weird combination of excited and turned on.

“I’m ready when you are, baby,” Fred calls from the other side of the door.

Y/N takes a deep breath, before she opens the bathroom door and steps into their bedroom. Fred is sitting on the end of their bed in just his boxers, leaning back on his hands. She can tell that he’s already hard, and arousal starts to blossom in her stomach.

“Baby, you look ravishing,” Fred comments, letting his eyes take in every inch of her body. The red looks amazing on her, and the skimpy fabric leaves much of her skin bare, just how Fred likes it. Y/N’s hands move to cover herself up, and Fred drags his gaze away from her bare thighs so he can make eye contact with her. “Come on, Y/N. Be a good girl, let me see you.”

Y/N blushes and clasps her hands behind her back, so Fred can see all of her. His voice is deep and firm, and it puts her at ease. Fred dominating her is familiar, and it quiets the butterflies in her stomach. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Good girl,” Fred praises. “Now turn around for me, I want to see all of you.” Fred bites his lip as Y/N turns around, his eyes immediately drawn to her ass. “So pretty, baby. Do you like getting all dressed up for me?”

“Yes sir.” Y/N’s skin is burning from Fred’s intense gaze and she can feel the blush that’s creeping down her neck to her chest.

“Turn around,” Fred demands, smirking when Y/N instantly faces him again. “Listening so good tonight, baby. I might not even have to get that brand new paddle we bought earlier.”

Y/N shivers at the thought of Fred using a paddle to spank her. She’s no stranger to the feeling of Fred’s hand swatting her on the ass, but it’s usually purely for pleasure purposes, never to punish. And the thought of Fred taking her across his lap and spanking her until she cries makes her core throb.

Fred starts to palm himself through his boxers, trying to decide what to do next. “Get on your knees, kitten.”

The nickname is new, and it makes Y/N’s core throb as she drops down to her knees. “Yes, Daddy.” Y/N’s eyes widen, and she looks up at Fred. It’s always sir or master when he dominates her, never Daddy. They’ve never talked about it before and Y/N would be lying if she said she wasn’t eager to say it again.

“What did you call me?” Fred asks, wanting to make sure he heard her right. He tries to keep his tone even so that Y/N doesn’t think he’s angry with her.

“Daddy.”

Fred’s cock twitches at the name and he has to bite his tongue to stifle a groan. “Get over here, kitten and suck Daddy’s cock.”

“Yes Daddy,” Y/N answers as she crawls over to Fred. She immediately settles in between his spread thighs and pulls his boxers down to his ankles, freeing his cock. One of her hands wraps around the base as she takes the head into her mouth, sucking on it gently. Fred’s moans encourage her to keep going, and Y/N starts to slowly move her head down, taking more of Fred into her mouth and down her throat.

Fred groans as Y/N’s lips squeeze around his cock, and he gathers her hair up into a ponytail. It’s a warning, that if she isn’t a good girl for him he’ll have to fuck her throat so hard she can’t speak tomorrow, and as she starts to slowly pull her head back Fred gives her hair a light tug. “Don’t be naughty, kitten. You know how Daddy likes to have his cock sucked.”

Y/N moans around Fred and starts to bob her head faster. Her hand twists at the part of his cock she can’t fit into her mouth, and she lets her tongue rub at the vein on the underside of his cock. Y/N’s hand starts to stroke him as she pulls off to allow her mouth to pay extra attention to the head. She looks up at Fred under her eyelashes as her tongue starts to lick and flick at just the tip, gathering up the precum that has started to bubble out.

“That’s it,” Fred moans. “Being such a good girl, kitten. That pretty little mouth of yours was made for Daddy’s cock wasn’t it?” Y/N moans as she swallows him down again, causing Fred’s hips to twitch, forcing himself a little deeper down her throat. “Where should Daddy shoot his first load, kitten? All over your pretty tits? Or do you wanna swallow it, like the little cum slut you are.”

Fred’s dirty talk is sending shocks of pleasure right to her core, and Y/N has to clench her free hand to resist the urge to start touching herself. She isn’t allowed to touch without Fred’s permission, and if she does he’ll spend the rest of the evening edging her but never allowing her to finish. After a few more bobs of her head Y/N pulls off, stroking Fred slowly, changing the pressure of her grip as she does. “Want it in my mouth, Daddy. Please.” Y/N presses a few kisses to the tip of Fred’s cock, before taking him back down her throat.

“Of course, kitten. How could Daddy say no when you ask so nicely?” Under normal circumstances Fred would keep Y/N on her knees for him for the better part of an hour, not only for his pleasure, but hers’ as well. The longer Fred waits to finally touch Y/N the more intense her orgasms are, and their sex is much more enjoyable for Fred when Y/N is screaming his name. Fred starts to thrust his hips gently to meet Y/N’s movements and his grip on her hair tightens when she moans around him again.

Y/N takes a deep breath and relaxes her throat, before moving her head until her nose touches the skin just above Fred’s cock. The tip of his cock hits the back of her throat and she gags around him. A few tears leak from her eyes and saliva starts to drip down her chin, but she stays there for a few moments before pulling back to wrap her tongue around the head and suck. She tilts her head back slightly so Fred can look at the mess she’s becoming, before she takes him all the way back down again.

Fred moans as Y/N gags again, the image of his cock between her red, swollen lips with drool dripping down her chin and tears leaking down her face still fresh in his mind. “Fucking hell, kitten. You sound so pretty choking on my cock. You like the way it fills up your mouth, don’t you?” Y/N hums as her lips reach the tip of his cock and Fred lets out a deep groan. “Daddy’s getting close, kitten. Gonna shoot into your pretty mouth so you can swallow it down just like you asked. Being such a good girl for me already. I bet your pussy is already dripping just from having my cock in your mouth. You’re such a little cock slut, aren’t you kitten? You always need Daddy’s cock filling you up, isn’t that right? Nothing makes you cum as hard as Daddy’s cock does, right kitten?”

Y/N moans as she continues to take Fred’s cock all the way down her throat, letting herself gag for a moment before pulling back and repeating the process. She can feel Fred twitching against her tongue, a telltale sign that he’s on the verge of climaxing.  Y/N focuses on the feel of his cock in her mouth to keep her mind away from her pussy and the way it pulsates. Fred has somehow managed to talk dirtier than normal, and each word that comes out of his mouth goes right to her core.

“Oh fuck, kitten. Such a good little cock slut. Love the way you gag on my cock.” Fred pulls Y/N off of him slightly, and shallowly thrusts his hips a few times as he feels himself about to cum. “Here it comes, kitten such a good girl. Making Daddy cum from just your mouth.” Fred lets out a long groan as he reaches his climax, his hips twitching as his cock releases thick ropes of cum onto Y/N’s tongue and down her throat. He grabs Y/N’s jaw as he slowly pulls out to keep her mouth open. “Let me see your tongue, kitten. Daddy wants to see how pretty it looks with all of his cum on it.”

Y/N looks up at Fred and sticks her tongue out. Once Fred releases her jaw she swallows his release, before opening her mouth again, allowing Fred to see that it’s all gone. “Did I do good, Daddy?”

Fred nods, and uses his thumb to wipe away the drool on her chin. “So good, kitten.” Y/N shivers at his praise, and Fred cups her cheek. “Always my good girl, kitten. Such a good mouth, always sucking me so well. And you look so pretty with my cock between your lips, kitten. That mouth was made to suck Daddy’s cock, wasn’t it?”

Y/N nods, preening under Fred’s praise. “Yes, Daddy. Made just for you. I love sucking your cock, Daddy. Thank you for letting me suck you off and swallow your load.”

“You’re welcome, kitten.” Fred pats his thighs to give Y/N permission to sit on his lap, and he chuckles as she scrambles off of the floor to straddle his waist. This is the first time he’s touched her all night, and he lets his hands run down her back, over her bum to her thighs, before following the same trail back up. “Daddy’s gonna touch your pussy now, kitten. But you’re gonna be a good girl and not move. Right?”

Y/N places her hands on Fred’s shoulders and digs her fingers in as she nods. “Yes, Daddy. Always your good girl, promise.”

Fred moves Y/N’s thong to the side and lets two of his fingers massage her wet folds, just barely brushing her clit. “Wow, kitten. So fucking wet already just from having Daddy’s cock in your mouth.” Fred sinks one of his fingers into her heat, just letting it sit there. When Y/N remains still in his lap he smiles and starts to slowly fuck her with the digit. “Good girl, kitten. Daddy is so proud of you.”

“T-thank you, Daddy,” Y/N stutters as his finger curls inside her. Fred’s moving at a frustratingly slow pace, but with how turned on she is Y/N figures she could probably cum just from this one finger alone. “Can I have more, Daddy? Please?”

Fred pulls his hand away from her core, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s neck when she whines. “How about we get one of the new toys Daddy bought you, kitten? Would you like that?”

“Yes please, Daddy. Thank you Daddy. I love you.”

Fred pulls their mouths together in a slow kiss, his hands gripping her thighs as he stands up. He places Y/N down on the bed gently and pulls away. He chuckles when Y/N pouts at him, and he presses a few quick kisses to her lips. “I love you too, kitten. Now lay back on the bed for Daddy, okay?” Fred waits for her to get into position before he walks over to their dresser where a few of the toys he’d purchased earlier are sitting. He had hoped Y/N would be a bit naughty so he could try out the paddle, but he’ll have to save that for another time. He settles on the new pink vibrator Y/N had picked out. It’s not as long or as thick as Fred, but it’ll be a nice warm up for his cock.

“Here,” Fred says as he reapproaches the bed, handing the toy to Y/N. Instead of rejoining her on the bed, Fred grabs the chair from the corner of their room and placed it at the foot of the bed. It gives him the perfect view of Y/N and what she’s about to do for him.

Y/N swallows thickly as she examines the toy. Her pussy is throbbing with the need to be filled, so much so that it takes her a few seconds to notice that Fred hasn’t rejoined her on the bed. “Daddy,” she whines, propping herself up on an elbow to look at Fred. “You’re too far away.”

“Don’t worry, kitten. Daddy’s right here. He’ll join you in a bit.” Fred bites his lip, his cock twitching at how unbelievably sexy Y/N is. “Tonight is all about trying new things, right kitten?” When Y/N nods he continues. “Well tonight Daddy is giving you permission to touch yourself. I wanna watch you fuck yourself with that pretty pink vibrator, okay? And once you’ve come all over it, Daddy will come back and touch you. Sound good, kitten?”

“Yes, Daddy. Thank you Daddy.” Y/N keeps herself propped up on her elbow so Fred can watch as she takes the vibrator into her mouth, sucking on it just like she’d sucked on Fred earlier. Once it’s wet she pulls it out of her mouth with a pop and turns it on to its lowest setting. She trails it down her chest to her breast, moaning as the vibration stimulates her nipple. If she were alone Y/N wouldn’t bother with the theatrics, she’d just go right for fucking herself on the toy. But she wants to put on a show for Fred.

“Oh Daddy,” she moans as she moves the vibrator to the other nipple. She makes direct eye contact with Fred as she starts to trail the vibrator down her stomach towards her core. She takes a moment to push the fabric of her thong aside, before she presses the tip of the vibrator against her clit. It sends shockwaves of pleasure through her body and her hips jut up as she whines.

“Feel good?” Fred asks, his eyes trained on Y/N’s dripping core. He can already feel himself getting hard again, and he starts to slowly stroke himself with a loose fist.

“So good, Daddy,” Y/N moans, turning up the vibrator up one notch. She presses it against her clit harder, her head tossing back as she groans.

“Does it feel better than Daddy’s fingers?” When Y/N shakes her head, he chuckles. “What about his mouth?”

“No, Daddy,” Y/N pants as she starts to tease her entrance with the tip of the toy. “Nothing feels better than your mouth.” Y/N starts to slowly push the toy into her, her walls clenching around it and sucking the toy in further. “Oh fuck,” Y/N moans, pushing the toy in as far as it can go.

Fred squeezes his cock, biting his lip to contain the noises he wants to make. Y/N looks ethereal as she fucks herself with the toy and Fred doesn’t want to distract her. “How does it feel, kitten? Talk to Daddy as you fuck yourself.”

“F-feels good.” Y/N increases the speed of the vibration as she starts to fuck herself with the toy slowly. The pace is agonizing, but the tip of the vibrator brushes her g-spot with every movement and she already can feel her orgasm building. “Not as good as your cock, Daddy. But so good.”

“Nothing is as good as my cock, isn’t that right, kitten? No toy or man will ever be able to make you feel as good as my cock does. That pussy belongs to me and no one else. Right, kitten?” Fred has to stop stroking himself to avoid orgasming again. The next time he cums it’ll be inside Y/N, and he still has a few plans for her before that’s going to happen.

Y/N’s toes curl as she increases the pace of her movements and she can feel her walls spasming around the toy. “Yes, Daddy. My pussy is yours. All yours,” she babbles. “Gonna come soon, Daddy. Can I come? Please. I’ve been such a good girl.”

“Gonna come already, kitten? You’ve barely even touched yourself,” Fred teases. “Do you like showing off for Daddy that much?”

Y/N moans and her back arches as her orgasm nears and she stats to slam the toy into herself harder. “Love it so much, Daddy. Love being your good girl. Always wanna be good for you.”

“You are such a good girl, kitten. You look so good fucking yourself with that toy. You’ve already got Daddy hard again.” Fred stands up, his eyes trained on Y/N’s face. “Go on then, kitten. Come for Daddy.”

“Oh, oh, Daddy,” Y/N moans as she finally reaches her climax. Her hips thrust down on the toy as pleasure washed over her and her thighs tremble from how intense her orgasm is. As she comes down from her orgasm the vibration of the toy is too much, but before she can pull it out Fred is sitting next to her on the bed and grabbing the end of the toy.

“We’re not quite done here, kitten.” Fred increases the speed of the vibrator and starts to slowly fuck Y/N with his, watching as her body writhes on the bed.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” Y/N babbles as Fred starts to fuck her with the toy faster. Her body feels like it’s on fire, and she can already feel her next orgasm building. Tears have started to leak out of her eyes, and she collapses against the bed. “Too much Daddy, please.”

Fred slows down the pace of his movements for a moment. “Do you need Daddy to stop, kitten? It’s okay if you do, you just need to say the word and Daddy will stop.”

Y/N shakes her head. “Don’t stop Daddy, please. Wanna come again. Feels so good Daddy.”

Fred starts moving at the same pace as before, leaning down to press a few kisses to Y/N’s forehead. “Such a good girl, kitten. Come for Daddy on the toy one more time and then he’ll give you his cock, okay?” Fred grabs one of Y/N’s hands in his and intertwines their fingers, before pressing them down against the bed above her head. “Good girl, kitten. Come for Daddy.”

Y/N’s back arches off of the bed as she comes, an incoherent mess of moans and whines falling from her mouth as pleasure rockets through her body. Her whole body is trembling, and it feels like she can’t breathe as Fred turns down the vibration on the toy and continues to slowly fuck her as her orgasm rolls over her.

Fred watches Y/N’s chest heave with deep breaths as she comes down from her orgasm, and he slowly pulls the vibrator out of her. He leans down to kiss her forehead gently, squeezing their intertwined hands. “You did wonderful, kitten. So, so good. I love you so much.”

“Thank you, Daddy. Thank you. I love you.” Y/N whines and tilts her chin up, silently asking Fred for a kiss.

Fred complies immediately and kisses her slowly for a few moments. He presses a few quick kisses to her mouth before pulling away. “Do you have one more in you, kitten? Are you ready for Daddy to fuck you?”

Y/N nods, letting Fred help her sit up. “Yes, Daddy. Need you so bad.”

Fred grabs the bottom of Y/N’s bra and pulls it over her head, kissing her again as his hands starts to massage her breasts. He lays her back down as he settles in between her legs, his hands running down her torso towards her core. “Can’t wait to bury my cock in your pussy, kitten. You always feel so good wrapped around me.” He slowly pulls her thong down, admiring her now naked body.

“Fuck me Daddy,” Y/N begs. “Want you to pound my pussy.”

Fred practically growls as he grips Y/N’s thighs and he pulls her down the bed closer to him. He braces himself on one hand near her shoulder, while the other wraps around the base of his cock and positions himself at her entrance. “Ready, kitten?”

“Yes, Daddy, please.”

Fred slams his hips forward, pushing all of himself into Y/N’s dripping heat. He throws one of her legs over his shoulder and grips her hip before he starts to snap his hips into her hard and fast. “Fuck, kitten. Still so fucking tight for Daddy. How does my cock feel? Is it stretching you out?”

“Daddy,” Y/N moans, starting to move her hips to meet Fred’s thrusts. She clenches around him tightly, wanting to bring him to his orgasm. She’s still extremely sensitive from her first two climaxes, and from the way Fred’s cock is relentlessly rubbing against her g-spot she knows it won’t be long before she comes again. “Your cock feels so good. Feel so full, Daddy.”

“God, kitten. Love your cunt so much. Always feel so fucking good.” Fred starts to rub harsh circles on Y/N’s clit, hoping to bring her to her third orgasm. Her walls are like a vice grip around his cock, and Fred knows we won’t last much longer. “Who does this pussy belong to kitten? Is it yours?”

“No,” Y/N pants, shaking her head. She lets out a long whine as Fred lands a particularly hard thrust and she momentarily loses the ability to speak from the pleasure flowing through her veins. “Belongs to you, Daddy. All yours.”

“That’s right, kitten. All mine.” Fred’s rhythm starts to falter as his orgasm approaches, and he starts to apply more pressure to Y/N’s clit. “Come on, kitten. Come for Daddy. Give him one more and I’ll fill you up with my seed.”

Y/N’s eyes roll to the back of her head and her back arches as she comes again, a low moan ripping from her throat. She relaxes against the bed as she comes down, her hands tangling in Fred’s hair and tugging on it harshly. “Please Daddy. Come inside of me, want you to fill me up.”

Fred buries himself completely in Y/N and his hips still as he comes, his cock twitching as it paints her insides with his release. He rolls his hips slowly before stopping his movements all together. He gently places Y/N’s leg back on the bed, and he leans down to kiss her softly. Fred slowly pulls out of Y/N and lays down next to her on the bed, pulling her into his chest.

“Love you Freddie,” Y/N  mumbles as she presses her face into his neck. She wraps her arms around his torso and presses a few kisses to his sweaty skin. “Love you so much.”

Fred chuckles and presses a kiss to her forehead. “I love you too, Y/N.” He just holds her for a moment, pressing her to his chest tightly. He looks down at her, noticing the slightly dazed expression on her face. “I’m gonna go run you a bath, okay? Stay right here, baby.” Fred kisses her gently before he climbs out of bed and heads into their bathroom.

Once the bath is warm and filled with bubbles, Fred goes back into the bedroom and slowly picks Y/N up bridal style. He takes her into the bathroom and places her in the bathtub carefully before getting in behind her.

Y/N relaxes back against Fred’s chest, letting the warm water flow over her. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, baby. Anything for you.” Fred rubs his hands up and down Y/N’s arms in the water to soothe her and presses a few kisses to the top of her head. “So, Daddy, huh?” he teases after a few minutes of silence.

Y/N laughs and tilts her head back so she can look up at Fred. “You’re in no place to talk, kitten,” she fires back.

Fred smiles and leans down to capture Y/N’s lips in a sweet kiss. The angle is awkward, but neither of them seem to care. “Hey, I’m not complaining it was wicked hot. What about you, did you enjoy trying something new?”

Y/N hums and nods, kissing Fred again. “Let’s just say I think we should head back to that sex shop again sometime soon.”

“Does tomorrow work for you?”

#fred weasley #Fred Weasley smut #Fred Weasley imagine #Fred Weasley fanfiction #fw #golden

[chainhead]

ink

leon has tattoos. ethan was never informed.

leon/ethan. mild swearing. smug leon, done-with-life ethan. fluffy!

It's fine. It's fine. This is totally fine.

Is it weird? Is he weird? God, he must be weird. It's nothing to get this riled up over, yet here he is, peeking over at Leon every now and then to catch a quick glimpse of the ink that spirals up his forearm.

Ethan bites his lip. Twirls the pen in his hand and clicks the button on top a few times, his desk work momentarily forgotten.

No, this isn't normal. Then again, neither is Leon with tattoos, so how is one supposed to think? React? He's been pretty good about hiding his (admittedly disturbing) attraction to the special agent; but things like this… well, they're on the same level as glasses, or piercings. A small change that—for a select few—can turn their entire world on an axis.

How far up do they go?

Does he have more?

When did he get them, and what do they symbolize?

"Ethan?"

The blonde startles, blue eyes flickering up in embarrassment.

Leon blinks at him. "What's your damage?"

Oh, Jesus Christ. "Nothing, sorry. Just a little spacey… today."

"I'll say."

Ethan hurriedly scoots closer to his desk, quickly turning his attention back to the papers that scatter across it. He isn't even sure what he's supposed to be doing with these, or why he even got assigned to deal with them, but if things keep going the way they are, he's gonna be here all fucking night.

Ethan frowns. And then he hesitates, realization dawning on him slowly that… hey, doesn't Leon work crazy late hours, too?

No.. no, no. He's on the clock. He needs to pay attention…

"Ethan." It isn't a question this time. Ethan meets Leon's gaze with a sheepish expression, and the other man draws his brows together. "Seriously, what's going on with you?"

How does one go about confessing their guilty, weird, quid-pro-quo attraction to their superior without coming off as a freak? Better yet, how does one go about it without getting fired? Ethan feels a cold sweat prickle beneath the collar of his button-up.

I like you. I like you. I like you.

"I like…" It's like there's a solid chunk of ice stuck in his throat. "Well, I mean, your… you know."

Leon's look of concern quickly shifts into one of bewilderment. "No?" He says, real slow-like. "I don't know."

Ethan wants to die.

"It's just…"

The atmosphere in the room shifts. Ethan's hands are clammy and cold and he regrets even opening his mouth; wishing he could've just opted to say that he feels sick and his head hurts, and maybe even take the rest of the night off so he could reflect on all of this – perhaps over a nice glass of red wine. Instead, because he's terrible at socializing and even worse at socializing with Leon, he's currently staring the agent down with terror flashing in his eyes.

Leon doesn't say anything, but it's obvious that he's dying to get this over with, just like Ethan is.

"Y– you can't get mad," Ethan stammers, clenching his fingers.

More silence.

Ethan sighs. Then, finally, he lays down his cards with a quiet, "Your tattoos."

Leon tilts his head. "... Mine?" He asks, a bit delayed, and Ethan has never wanted to evaporate into thin air more than he does right now.

"Yeah."

"Like, the ones on my arms?" Leon rotates his wrists, glancing down at his own artwork. 

"Yeah."

"Ah." 

Great. When should he start packing up his belongings? Now? Tomorrow? There's a spare produce box in the break room, and he only has a couple of personal items on his desk. His name placard, a picture of his childhood dog, a cup full of pens he got on clearance at Staples…

Although Ethan doesn't get to stand up or prepare before Leon is speaking again, his voice surprisingly nonchalant. 

"And...?"

Ethan sucks in a deep breath. That's a good question. "They're… distracting me?" Vague enough to keep matters civil. He can do this. "And that's why I'm a little… slow, today. I think. Because they're doing that. Distracting me, I mean."

Leon hums, acknowledging that he heard Ethan's answer. He waits, silent until Ethan manages to scrounge up the courage to meet him eye-to-eye, and then he laughs.

There's something to be said about the way in which Leon handles all things; from topics as serious as bioweapons wreaking havoc on unsuspecting townhomes, to things like this – Ethan admitting he's intrigued by the older man's ink. He's good at finding the balance while still remaining cool and collected, and that's a trait Ethan's always admired.

Because, sadly, he cannot do that.

"I knew there was something about you, Winters," Leon says jovially, as if he's uncovered some grand secret. He leans back in his chair, pushes himself a little further away from his desk, and says: "Do you want to come have a better look?"

Ethan nearly chokes on his spit. "W– wh– what?"

Leon's grin widens. He's enjoying this. "I can't have distractions in the workplace. So if you're curious, and think it might help you refocus, I implore you to get your ass over here and take a gander."

The blonde flusters, his lips screwing into a scowl. Implore. What did this guy know about words like that?

Regardless, he still obediently gathers himself to his feet, taking the necessary steps to close the distance between him and Leon. The fine hairs on the back of Ethan's neck stand at attention, and he's acutely aware of the personal bubble he is now officially bursting— not that Leon seems to notice, or mind.

Infact, the only thing he does when Ethan comes to stand beside his chair is jut both arms out, letting Ethan do whatever he likes.

Instinctively, Ethan grabs them. Then panics, because holy shit, he's touching Leon fucking Kennedy. Then double panics, because why did he do that? Why is he still doing it right now?

"Uh…"

"You just wanted to hold hands?"

"N– no!" Ethan exclaims, immediately letting go. Leon bursts out into full-bellied laughter, and the blonde has to take a deep breath before he passes out from his nerves. "Jesus, Leon, I– I was trying to bring them a little closer."

"Oh right, the bad eyesight," Leon drawls. "I forgot you wear glasses sometimes. Near-sighted?"

"Far-sighted. Now shut up and let me look," Ethan snaps, finding his second wind. He reaches for Leon's arms again and finds relief in how the older man wordlessly obliges; giving Ethan the opportunity to twist his arms and inspect the patterns that dance across them. It's not a situation Ethan could've expected, or even predicted, but Leon's right about one thing—this is definitely scratching that terrible itch he feels, somewhere deep down. No more needing to sneak creepy, uncomfortable glances to figure out what they are.

However, he'll always wonder where the tattoos lead. And how many more of them Leon has, hidden underneath all those layers of fabric.

"I see." Ethan nods, smiling faintly as he releases his grip again. "They're cool, I wasn't expecting you to have them. Then again, I've never seen you wear anything other than long sleeves."

Leon quirks a brow. "You pay attention?"

Ethan's smile drops. "Oh. I mean, not in like– not in a weird way, that isn't what—"

There's the sound of a scoff, and then Leon's hands are on Ethan's wrists, gently pulling him down to his level. The blonde stumbles forwards and catches himself with a knee on Leon's chair, and the situation is so intense and utterly stifling that Ethan has to rear away with his eyes narrowed in firm on the office door.

"Ethan," Leon coos.

The blonde makes a noncommittal sound in his throat. 

"Ethan, c'mon, look at me."

There's no way this is happening right now. No feasible way. He must be dreaming.

Ethan registers with rapt attention as Leon let's go of his wrists in favor of bringing both hands up to cup his cheeks, and whether Ethan wants to submit or not isn't really an option anymore. Determinedly, the older man coaxes him to meet his gaze again.

"Shy?" Leon teases, and then quickly changes his tune when Ethan struggles in his grasp. "Okay, okay, I was just kidding! Damn."

"Leon—"

"Hold on for a second, sweetheart. I've got a few things on my mind." Ethan's face burns as he tries to process this, process the feel of Leon's touch as it sears itself into his memory. His heart pounds so fiercely in his chest he fears that Leon can feel it, but if he does, he doesn't comment.

Leon brushes his thumbs over Ethan's cheekbones. "You thought I'd be mad?"

"It's... unprofessional," Ethan breathes.

"What is?" Leon asks. His eyes are so blue. "Wanting to see my tattoos?"

Ethan nods. Leon snickers, pulling him that much closer, and the blonde is enveloped in the smell of bergamot and gunpowder and something spicy like sage, and… what was the question again? He can't think clearly when he can feel Leon's words flit across his lips.

"The only 'unprofessional' thing I see is the subordinate about to climb into his boss's lap," Leon murmurs with a wry smile. Ethan lets out a small gasp, jolting, and Leon makes sure he doesn't slip away. "Woah, hey! I never said I didn't like it."

"L– Leon, I don't understand what's…" Ethan stutters, shivering, feeling the traces of electricity that follow Leon's fingertips. He doesn't know whether to lean into him or settle his entire weight on top of Leon, so to play it safe, he refrains from doing either.

The agent takes a moment, eyes sweeping over Ethan's features, before letting out a soft exhale. "Well, now you've seen them. I hope that helped you find some kind of clarity..."

Not even a little bit, Ethan thinks miserably.

"... But it'll probably kill you to know that there's more than just this, and I can assure you, they are much more interesting." Leon chuckles as he tugs the blonde in one last time, and kisses him, right on the corner of his mouth.

"Still distracted?" He whispers.

Ethan can't even think of a proper reply. His brain has turned to mush.

"You…"

"Mm?"

Ethan sucks in a deep breath. "You're a fucking asshole."

Leon throws his head back and laughs, and when he recovers Ethan is already swooping in for another kiss. To hell with professionalism.

#heyyy i dont usually post my writing here but #im gonna!!! >:) #*flings my drabble at u* #ethan winters #leon kennedy #resident evil #lethan