#if i have to fucking take college english again for a third time as a 27 year old i am fully going to lose my shit
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i dont know how to phrase this like a question basically but
when i have a special interest i get really excited about it and i immediately indulge in that special interest, as one does, but sometimes i get like, too excited? and like i wanna watch the thing but the thing is too good and i have to back off, like its so good its overwhelming? and so i have to put it down and do something else for a second and then i can come back to it. its like eating something really rich, like its super good but its almost nauseating how good it is, like chocolate truffles
i dont think i used to do this but then again i seem to forget the experience of having a hyperfixation (and i think they are more like hyperfixations bc theyre not super long lasting comparatively and when i lose it i dont lose fondness for it but i do lose interest, like with dr who and supernatural as examples (but also there are longer lasting overarching special interests (eg dolls and hello kitty) that i will indulge with concurrently to that special interest often time combining them)) every single time i have one
if i could hazard a guess why, i’d assume its sort of like a built in tolerance measure, so i dont get sick of it too quickly?
the point im asking is: does anyone else do this? i’d assume so, but maybe im just being anxious about enjoying something too much. and is that an adhd thing or an autism thing? the jury is still out as to what specifically is wrong with me
#gnome thinks im autistic and honestly theyre probably right but one of my siblings is autistic and they dont think i am so i dont know#in other news i did stop doing the fun thing to do a boring responsible thing#but my transcripts have been sent in#also fully forgot ive technically attended three colleges at this point#bc i took college courses in high school#except english#and i didnt officially take an english class in actual college#it was an honors course that acted like an english class but im not sure if that was actually an english class#if i have to fucking take college english again for a third time as a 27 year old i am fully going to lose my shit#the good news is that this course is entirely online (and has apparently been entirely online since 2000? wtf?#i guess it didnt occur to me that they would have online courses in 2000 but yeah i guess they did
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Saudade | Matt Sturniolo
Matt Sturniolo x reader
Summary: Where Y/N and Matt have a long-distance relationship. After months of not seeing each other, Y/N decides to surprise Matt in LA.
Warning: None.
Requested?: Yes, from @lizziesx
Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.
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Y/N sighed in relief as she left her last class of the day, closing her eyes momentarily and thanking that classes always ended early on Friday, before walking again, heading towards the Starbucks on the college campus.
A smile spread across her face when she saw her group of friends already waiting for her at their table, Julia already holding her usual, Caramel Machiatto.
"Oi meninas! (Hi girls!)" Y/N spoke with a smile in her voice, pulling out the reserved chair for herself, hanging her bag on the back of it, and sitting on the seat.
"Oi gatinha, como foi Direito Constitucional? (Hi kitty, how was Constitutional Law?)" Gabriela, who sat on her left, asked as Julia passed the drink to Y/N, who thanked her with a wink before taking a sip.
"Foi um porre, o professor adora pegar no meu pé, mas pelo menos eu tirei nota máxima no trabalho. (It was horrible. The teacher loves picking on me, but at least I got a perfect grade on my work.)" Y/N rolled her eyes, snorting at the mention of her teacher.
"Eu sei exatamente o que vai levantar o seu astral. (I know exactly what will lift your spirits.)" Anna, the third and last girl in the group, spoke as she raised her right hand, receiving everyones attention. "Achei um barzinho incrível na Vila Madalena, álcool é a solução pros nossos problemas. (I found an amazing bar in Vila Madalena, alcohol is the solution to our problems.)" She finished, a smile on her face, she was their typical Happy Hour organizer.
Julia and Gabriela smiled equally big, nodding their heads. By Brazilian tradition, Happy Hour always took place on Friday, so they were already looking forward to the idea through all day.
"Bora, amiga? (You coming, bestie?)" Anna turned to Y/N, waiting for confirmation after not seeing her react like she usually did.
"Não vou conseguir, meninas. Vou pra LA hoje. (I can't make it, girls. I'm going to LA today.)" She replied, unable to contain a smile when she mentioned the city.
"Hmm, vai visitar o boy? (Hmm, are you going to visit your boy?)" Julia said with a smile, stirring her drink with the straw.
"Sim, fazem meses que não nos vemos e não aguento mais só falar com ele por Facetime. Comprei passagem para ir hoje, e volto na segunda-feira, infelizmente. Se eu faltar mais uma aula, eu me fodo. (Yes, we haven't seen each other for months, and I can't stand just talking to him on Facetime. I bought a ticket to go today, and I'll be back on Monday, unfortunately. If I miss one more class, I'll get fucked.)" Y/N explained, taking a sip of her drink.
Y/N and Matt met on one of the girl's trips to Los Angeles years ago when she was still in her gap year, she and her parents had a house in the city and always went there on every vacation.
Their first meeting was an unusual one, but it caused the two to exchange numbers, keep contact, and, consequently, fall in love.
Because Y/N is Brazilian, lives with her mother in São Paulo and studies law at Mackenzie, she needed to travel back and forth from Brazil to be able to see her boyfriend in LA, since she wanted to finish her studies in her country.
The two agreed to continue their relationship in a long distance, and surprisingly, they handled that format very well. Their love for each other only intensified every day, and they felt like they fell in love all over again every time they saw each other in person, always reminding themselves that distance gave them a reason to love harder.
"Você vai de carro até o aeroporto? Ou sua mãe vai te levar? (Are you going to drive to the airport? Or is your mom going to take you there?)" Gabriela turned to her, seeing her shake her head.
"Nenhum, eu vou de Uber. O vôo é às 12pm e minha mãe tem plantão no hospital hoje, e eu não quero deixar meu carro no estacionamento do aeroporto. (None, I'm taking an Uber. The flight is at 12 pm, and my mom has a shift at the hospital today, and I don't want to leave my car in the airport parking lot.)"
"Eu te levo, amiga. (I'll take you, babes.)" Julia interrupted. "Depois eu me arrumo e vou direto pro tal bar que a Anna achou. (Then I'll get ready and go straight to that bar that Anna found.)"
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"Aproveita o seu boy e manda atualizações no grupo, eu quero saber tudo. (Enjoy your boyfriend and send updates to the group, I want to know everything.)" Julia spoke as she closed the trunk of her car, helping Y/N place her bags onto the airport cart.
"Eu prometo que vou atualizar vocês todos os dias. (I promise I'll update you every day.)" Y/N rolled her eyes playfully, smirking. "Obrigada pela carona, amiga. (Thanks for the ride, babes.)" She added, pulling Julia into a tight hug.
"Não precisa agradecer, só mandar o pix. (No need to thank me, just send the pix.)" Julia responded jokingly, laughing when Y/N slapped her arm.
"Idiota. (Jerk.)" Y/N rolled her eyes with a smile on her face, walking up the sidewalk and starting to push the cart with her bags.
"Também te amo! (love you too!)" Julia shouted as she got into her car.
Y/N quickly entered the airport, fishing her phone out of her jeans pocket and unlocking the screen, searching for her flight information. Her eyes read the boarding gate before putting her phone away again and pushing the cart to the check-in counter.
The process didn't take long, and soon, Y/N was able to sit in one of the chairs near her gate, taking out her phone again and unlocking it. Her thumb searched for the messaging app, opening it and seeing some chats with new texts.
The girl ignored all of them, as usual, and clicked on her mom's one, reading the latest texts.
"Honey, Matt sent me a text, he said that you haven't spoken to him all day and he is worried, thinking that you died."
"I said you had a test today at college and you couldn't use your phone during it."
"I think it's a good idea for you to send him a text before he's the one to come to Brazil."
Y/N pressed her lips together, trying to hold back her laughter. They were both so dramatic.
The girl sent her mom a brief text letting her know that she was already at the airport and assuring her that she would talk to Matt.
Her thumb clicked the back button, and her eyes quickly found Matt's chat, seeing 10 new messages and 3 missed calls. Y/N rolled her eyes, not holding back a smile. She understood why he was so worried, since the two of them talked via messages and calls practically all day long, every day, her not sending anything other than a "good morning, my love" was worrying.
But it wasn't her fault that, after class, she had to go home quickly and pack her bags, which she obviously left to pack at the last minute.
Y/N briefly looked at the time, knowing that Los Angeles' time zone was different from Brazil's, before clicking the call button, waiting for her boyfriend to answer.
"Baby?" Matt's voice sounded on the other end.
"Hi my love, I'm sorry for not talking to you today. I had a test this morning, and I couldn't use my phone during it." The girl spoke, persisting in the lie created by her mother, as her eyes traveled across the space in front of her, seeing people walking back and forth with suitcases in their hands.
"It's okay, I was just worried." The boy spoke in a low tone. The sound of objects moving in the background echoed through the line. "How was the test? I'm sure you did well."
"It was-" Y/N looked up at the flight board, seeing that hers was taking off in 20 minutes, meaning they would soon announce it, and the girl would have to board. "It was great, baby. Honey, I need to go now, Julia is here at home doing some college work. I'll call you later. I love you, bye." She spoke quickly, cursing under her breath after hanging up the call.
She knew Matt would be sad about the way she acted, but she hoped that she going to LA would be enough for him to forgive her.
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The sound of the plane pilot's voice coming through the speaker woke the girl from her sleep. Her eyes opened as her ears picked up the message that the landing would be made in a few minutes.
Y/N straightened up in her seat, her eyes going to the window on her side, seeing that the sky was almost completely dark. She took her jacket out of her purse, wanting to protect her bare arms from the cold of Los Angeles, since in Brazil was 40°C and here would be 9°C. She prepared her body for the thermal shock.
The shudder of the plane warned her that the landing was going to happen, her hands tightly gripping the arm rest as her eyes closed. She hated that feeling.
A few minutes later, passengers were allowed to leave. Y/N got up from her seat and grabbed her purse, following the line of people until she entered the airport. The girl unlocked her phone and saw that it was already 7 pm LA time. Her notification bar was full of messages from Matt, which made her heart sink. She could only imagine the anxiety her boyfriend was feeling.
Her eyes went over the last text he sent 10 minutes ago, warning her that he would film the car video with his brothers in 20 minutes. A smile spread across her face, her plan would work.
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"Matt, get rid of that ugly face right now." Nick spoke from the backseat, leaning on the side of Chris's seat as he looked at Matt's side profile.
"No can do. He's naturally ugly." Chris said, letting out a laugh followed by a yell when Nick slapped his forehead.
"Shut up, dumbass. we all look the same."
The oldest leaned away at lightning speed when he saw Chris quickly turn around with an angry expression, his right hand raised, ready to hit Nick back.
"Hey, stop!" Matt said, placing his left arm between the two of them.
"Then get rid of that angry face." Nick ordered again, leaning against the sides of the front seats, meeting Matt's eyes in the rearview mirror momentarily.
"He's like this because his little girlfriend has been ignoring him all day." Chris said as he looked at the camera, smiling when he saw Matt cross his arms and sigh deeply.
The two of them didn't know what was going on between Matt and Y/N, or if anything was going on at all, but Matt had been frowning since that morning, walking around the entire house while cleaning up all the messes he put his eyes on.
Nick had asked him what happened at one point in the day, but Matt just said that Y/N was acting weird before turning his back to his brother, going back to cleaning the video game equipment in the living room.
A knock on the window on the passenger side made the boys jump in fright; Nick let out a scream, pushing his own body onto the seat behind Chris's, while Chris bent down and covered his head with his hands, as if that would protect him from whatever that was. Matt turned abruptly towards the door on his side, moving his upper half away from it, almost lying on top of the car console.
It took a few seconds for Matt to register that whoever was knocking on his window was his girlfriend. His blue eyes widened, and his mouth opened in a perfect O, his heart racing a mile a minute as he felt his hands shake slightly.
"Are you really going to leave me standing out here?" Y/N's voice sounded muffled as she took some steps back and smiled, her right hand hidden behind her back.
"Y/N!" Nick shouted, jumping into his usual seat and pulling on his door handle repeatedly while begging Matt to unlock it.
"Y-Y/N?" Matt whispered, still in disbelief, ignoring his brother completely.
"If you don't open that door right now and give your girl a good kiss, I'm going to hit you." Chris spoke after straightening up in his seat, fixing the beanie on his head. "Go!" He spoke loudly, pushing Matt, who seemed to finally wake up from his trance.
The brunette's right hand flew to the button to unlock the doors, clicking there before pulling the handle, opening his door with a thud.
Matt had never gotten out of his car so fast, his feet running a few steps until he reached Y/N, pulling her into his arms in a tight hug, lifting her a few inches off the ground and spinning her in the air, a loud laugh escaping his mouth as he closed his eyes, praying in his mind that this wasn't just a dream, but that if it was, that he never had to wake up again.
"Baby, I... you..." Matt pulled away slightly, shaking his head as he tried to process that his girlfriend was actually there, right in front of him. His blue eyes ran over Y/N's face and body, recording her image in his mind, despite already having it drawn, painted, and stuck in his soul. "You are here." He whispered, his eyes burning with tears.
"I'm here, baby." Y/N spoke in the same tone. "Oh my love, don't cry." Her eyes filled with tears as well, and a laugh escaped her lips. God, she loved him so much.
"So that's why you were ignoring me." Matt sniffled. His right hand went up to his face, passing them over his eyes, trying to stop the tears from falling.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I had to stop answering you for a while so I could prepare this surprise." She spoke, feeling her heart racing and butterflies in her stomach from the look in Matt's eyes. He looked so amazed. "But I have a present for you, as an apology." Y/N said slowly before taking her hand away from her back, showing the prettiest bouquet of tulips.
"Oh my-" Matt's eyes were wide, and his mouth was open, his heart freezing for a few seconds before speeding up like never before. Tears escaped his eyes without him even feeling them, while his cheeks burned with adrenaline. "This is for me?" He asked, perplexed.
"Of course, meu amor (my love). I saw it on the way here, and I thought: "Why not buy beautiful flowers for the prettiest boy in the world?"" She said softly, her eyes scanning his reactions closely.
"Thank you so much. I've never received flowers before." He sniffed, taking the bouquet delicately, as if any sudden movement could destroy it.
"They are so beautiful together." Chris commented a little away from them, his eyes also filled with tears. What they said was real. When a triplet cries, the other two cries as well.
Nick, who was next to Chris, nodded, a giant smile decorating his face as his hands held the camera, the lens focused on the couple, capturing the cute moment.
"This is true love, Y/N came all the way from Brazil just to see this idiot, and she brought flowers!" Chris continued to Nick in a low tone, not wanting to disturb the couple.
"At least now he'll be able to film today's video properly. He was worse than Grumpy from Snow White." The oldest triplet muttered from behind the camera loud enough for Matt to hear, letting out a laugh at the dirty look he gave him.
"Yes, but he's my Grumpy." Y/N spoke up, receiving grunts of disgust from Chris and Nick and a laugh from Matt.
The brunette took his free hand to Y/N's cheeks, pulling her lightly for a kiss, the first of that night. A contented sigh escaped the girl's mouth, who instantly relaxed and brought her hands to Matt's covered waist, squeezing the hoodie over her fingers while feeling like fireworks exploded inside her.
"Ew guys, that's enough love for one night." Chris said, covering his and Nick's eyes playfully.
Y/N pulled away from Matt, unable to contain her laughter, finally turning to the other two brothers.
"I think you have a video to film, don't you?" She asked wryly, smirking as she saw Chris roll his eyes and raise his arms in surrender, as if he hadn't been crying just seconds ago.
Nick turned, walking back to the car to put the camera in its place, and Chris followed, getting into the back seat next to the one Nick sits.
"I'll demand my hug later, Y/N." Nick shouted from inside the driver seat, trying to balance himself on it as he fiddled with the camera's focus.
"What do you think about being our guest on today's video?" Matt hugged her from behind, securely holding the bouquet, while resting his head in the crook of Y/N's neck, breathing in the scent of his girlfriend's perfume that he missed so much.
The girl smiled, even though he couldn't see it, stroking his left hand that rested on her waist while nodding her head.
Their fans would go crazy.
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My asks are always open. Feel free to send requests or anything at all!! 🩷💋
#x reader#chris sturniolo#matt sturniolo#nick sturniolo#sturniolo x reader#fanfic#fanfiction#sturniolo#love#imagine#matt sturniolo x yn#matt sturniolo fic#matt sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo x reader#matthew bernard sturniolo#matthew sturniolo#matt x reader#matt au#matt fanfic#matt#sturniolo triplets#long distance relationship#brazil#brazilian!reader#latina#latina!reader#fluff#law school#portuguese#request
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match made in uni
☆ teacher college au ; strict adviser!nat (science teacher) x coadviser cute!reader (english teacher)
— im sure school isnt the same for everyone butttt for me in each class we have a teacher assigned as our advisor!!! they also teach classes
— longass oneshot because i’ve been working on this for two months……
soon, it was the beginning of a new school year at nyu. natasha, a science teacher known for her strictness, is finally getting her own advisory class.
natasha walks over to to her desk at the large, wine colored faculty and the new paper at the bulletin board catches her eye.
the list of co-advisors and advisors for this school year. natasha walks towards it and racks her eyes for her name and sees another beside it.
advisor - co advisor
Romanoff, Natasha - Y/l/n, Y/n
Barnes, Bucky - Rogers, Steve
Maximoff, Wanda - Barton, Clint
…
natasha furrows her eyebrows at the unfamiliar name next to hers.
“wanda, who is y/n y/l/n?” natasha turns around to the other redhead. if anyone were to know who and what, it would be wanda.
wanda was always the first to get on campus, natasha second.
“oh! she’s the new english teacher. very sweet young woman, maria accepted that job in harvard, remember?” she says with a sweet smile.
“you know this how?” natasha takes her seat in front of her desk, beside wanda’s “i bumped into her as she was given a tour, you’ll love her as your co- advisor!” natasha gave a hum.
she didn’t meet you till 2 weeks before the school year started. a faculty meeting was held at the auditorium. natasha walked in, expecting to be second, but was now third. she saw wanda and a y/h/c talking.
“nat!” wanda waved her over as the y/h/c turned her head to see natasha approaching “natasha, this is y/n! y/n, natasha”
“y/n” you smiled, extending your hand for a handshake “romanoff” she shook your hand once and dropped it “oh- of course, y/l/n then” you laughed as she nodded, taking the seat beside wanda.
natasha wouldn’t lie, you were attractive. she just didn’t know you enough. the meeting soon started, briefing what would happen when the students came. the list of advisors and co-advisors came up, making each person familiar with who they were working with.
after that, natasha soon realized your desk was beside hers at the faculty. you didn’t have much but some flowers at the side and sticky notes up.
natasha didn’t see much of you till the week of school starting itself. “wanda, do you happen do have y/l/n’s phone number?” “why don’t you ask her yourself, flirty” wanda giggled
“not in that way, genius. we need to prep our classroom” “sureeee… here ya go” wanda gave a post it as natasha grumbled, taking it.
Natasha Romanoff
Y/l/n, if you’re free please meet me
at our assigned room tomorrow. Thanks.
— N.R
Y/n Y/l/n
Sure! Around what time? :)
Natasha Romanoff
11AM Sharp.
Y/n Y/l/n
Got it! See you there!
“nat why are you being so dry to this poor woman” wanda looked over natasha’s desk as she hid her phone to her chest. “snoopy” “dry texter” “Well she’s my co-advisor! I’ve never had one and I like to handle things on my own”
“A, you’ve never even been an advisor, you need help. B, she’s kind, don’t break her. C, she’s pretty, maybe date her” wanda winked again “oh fuck you” natasha rolled her eyes “romanoff! we’re in school” “oh come on, I hear you swearing at little maximoff all day”
11am the next day came and each advisor and co had to decorate their own classroom. natasha and you decided to just make it as simple as possible. you two were decorating with quiet music playing from a vinyl player.
“sorry if ever i’m being rude or dry, i don’t trust people easily” natasha said, breaking the comfortable silence as she hung up decorations over the board.
“i don’t blame you, you did just meet me last week” you let out a chuckle as natasha climbed down the short ladder “natasha” she extended her hand “y/n” you shook it “I think this is good enough” natasha looks around the decorated classroom, satisfied.
“mhm… hey, wanna grab lunch? i know a great place around here” you suggested “why not”
you and natasha walked over to a café after lunch for come coffee “order?” she asked you as you took a seat “iced caramel macchiato please” she nodded and ordered for you both
natasha told you about her many stories as a teacher. “yeah this one time some kid threw a fit and ripped all the pages from their book” natasha said with a low laugh “oh lord” you shook your head with a smile
“what about you? is this your first teaching job?” natasha tilted her head “sort of? i was a student teacher for 2 years before i graduated this year”
“oh, so you’re like fresh out of college?” “yup, i kind of retook a year in grade school though so i was like a year or two older than my batch mates. they graduated 22 and 23 and me, 24” i shrugged sipping on my coffee. “that’s nice”
“what about you?” “my age? i’m 36.” your eyes widened at that “look, i know i’m old but at least don’t make it obvious” natasha laughed lowly “no! no i just- you don’t look it at all, i honestly thought you were in your 20s” you chuckled “well thank you, i’m flattered” natasha smiled
the morning of your first day, natasha handed you an iced caramel macchiato and you blushed as she remembered your order. “nervous?” she smiled, taking her seat beside you.
natasha wore a black betau top with cream wide leg trousers. you wore a lace flare top with flare pants.
“sort of, i have 3 classes today. they’ll probably hate me” you groan and take a long sip of the coffee “unlikely, you’re very likable. you may even take wanda’s place as nicest teacher. but if they ever disrespect you or any of that, i will personally have a chat with them”
“i really appreciate you, natasha” she nodded and stood up, extending her hand “time to have our first advisory class” she winked and you chuckled, shaking your head.
“good morning class, i’m ms romanoff, your advisor this school year. and beside me is your co-advisor, ms y/l/n. i’ve been teaching at nyu for 5 years and this is my first advisory class. i will also be your science teacher.” natasha said with a straight face as she turned to look at you before looking back at the students
“hi! good morning, i’m ms y/l/n, your co- advisor and english teacher this school year! it’s my first year teaching and i look forward to getting to know everyone” you smiled
natasha briefed everyone on general instructions and the schedule. english as first period today and science as last.
“that’s it, be good everyone, thank you” natasha stopped her presentation and all the students went off to chattering. you opened your laptop, opening your slides when natasha whispered behind you. “good luck, you’ll do great” she winked and you thanked her before you heard the door shut.
if’s been a month of teaching with natasha. you were cleaning up your things as your finished your class when natasha walked in, her class being the one after yours.
she made small talk to you while setting up her own things. she made you laugh when a student suddenly asked. “ms y/l/n! you’re a lesbian, correct?” your eyes widened at the topic
“excuse me, i don’t think it’s appropriate to ask a teacher that.” natasha shut them up as you both left the classroom, sharing a laugh
you had slipped out the fact you had a girlfriend in college to natasha on one of your café hangouts so she probably got the hint.
"what got them to ask that question" natasha chuckled "well the boys keep asking me out and i keep declining them. but don't they get they are students?!"
“oh trust me, it gets better. i’ve had my fair share of questions and-” natasha halted her words when she got the hint some students were whispering as the both of you passed by the halls.
“what are they whispering about?” “i’m actually not sure as well” you said “well i’ll see you after class” you waved to natasha, making your way to the classroom.
“ms y/l/n, i don’t mean to invade your privacy or anything but- are you and ms romanof dating? everyone has been talking about it and- i- i just didn’t want to assume” a student came up to you and you choked on your spit
“i- um- no! and i’m sure ms romanoff wouldn’t fancy the idea of students talking about her love life.” you shook it off with a smile, thoughts racing through your head. no way natasha would go for you.
“students are saying we’re dating?!?”
"hey, you've been staring intently at that paper for awhile, you alright?" natasha tapped your shoulder, standing beside you.
"this interpretation is so..." "so.." "read it for yourself" you lifted the paper up to natasha "pick a line from any shakespeare poem and interpret it... the answer was..”
'my chosen poem is 'o never say that i was false of heart' and my line is 'as from soul, which in thy breast doth lie', i think it means shakespeare approves of lesbians’"
"you can laugh" you said as natasha let out a loud laugh, covering her mouth. you looked up and you saw natasha smile widely before looking into your eyes.
time went by too slowly when natasha cleared her throat and handed you back the paper. “it’s funny” she stated, sitting back in her seat. the silence was now awkward.
of course she wouldn’t go for you. “yeah” you whispered and stood up. natasha watched you as her words died in her throat.
the next few weeks were you avoiding natasha as much as you could, and her doing nothing to fix it.
you had a particularly rough week with taking an extra class since wanda was down with the cold. you happened to have a love for history as well.
the papers to grade were twice as much now. you rubbed your forehead in frustration as you were the only one on school campus.
“y/n?” you turned around to see natasha by the door “yeah” you murmured before turning back to the papers. “it’s 1 am what are you doing?!” she walked over to your desk and saw the amount of papers scattered.
“go home” she stated “not done” you whispered, leaning on the palm of your hand “you can continue tomorrow, dekta” natasha let the nickname slip but was thankful you were too out of it to notice
natasha started filing the papers for you as you rested your head against the desk. “i can take homeroom alone so you don’t have to get in till 10am, ‘kay?” she helped you stand up as you murmured a yes.
“you won’t fall asleep driving?” she asked and you shook your head. “safe travels” she watched as you drove off.
the next morning students frowned at the loss of their favorite teacher in homeroom. “alright, we finished a few minutes early so… any questions?” natasha asked and received many raised hands
“yes, diana?” “where’s ms y/n?” natasha softened at the mention, not going unnoticed by the students “she- she’s taking a rest but will be here for your 3rd period”
“is her girlfriend taking care of her?” a student piqued. natasha stiffened “whatever ms y/l/n and her partner do is not relevant.” natasha looked at her watch and grabbed her stuff “have a good first period everyone.”
natasha couldn’t help but feel a weight on her chest by the thought of you having a partner that isn’t her.
unbeknownst to her, the students were ready in their cupid skills.
“i’m telling you, diana! she frowned and got all cold again by the mention of ms y/n having a girlfriend!” the student argued. “what if we sent fake flowers to her desk and ms romanoff got more jealous!” “that’s so childish!” “well- i am a teen?” the students bickered but quickly got quiet when their next subject teacher came.
the next day natasha’s mood got worse upon seeing roses on your table, with a note. you came a few minutes after hers.
“morning ms romanoff” natasha tried to hold her tounge at the downgrade from natasha to ms romanoff.
“morning y/n, you know you can call me natasha, right?” you nodded but smiled at the flowers on your desk
“girlfriend?” she asked and you laughed “no” you opened up the card to see a horrible pickup line that made you laugh.
“people ask me what blush i use, i just show them a photo of you and i’m all roses” you read out loud to natasha.
“corny” she snickered “yeah? you can do better than that, romanoff?” natasha spun her chair to face you “as a matter of fact, yes.” “try me” you smirked “oh you’ll see.”
since then, every morning you would get to your desk with a pickup line from natasha which were undeniably good.
it’s been four months of teaching when you left quite frantically that piqued natasha’s interest,
“what’s the rush?” she chuckled “gotta date” you shoved your stuff into your bag “bye wanda, steve, bruce, tasha!” you left before a reply
“hope she gets laid” wanda muttered, earning a slap from natasha “what! i’m being supportive!” natasha grumbled in response
the next day, natasha was surprised to see you and wanda earlier than usual. “morning nat!” wanda greeted and you forced a smile to her as well “what’s wrong?” “she stood me up… i got a lot of work done last night though” you leaned back in your seat
“i’m sorry y/n/n” natasha set her stuff down and handed you the daily pickup line. she smiled when you laughed. “how do you never fail to come up with a bad one?!? this is like number sixty!” “one of my many talents” natasha winked.
“imma get coffee, be right back” you left and wanda immediately said “ask her out.” “what?” natasha looked at wanda “come onnnnnn! it’s been 4 months” “should i really?” natasha asked quietly and wanda shrieked a yes. a small smile was forming on natasha’s face at the idea.
the next day natasha came even earlier than wanda and set roses on your desk.
natasha fiddled with her pen when you walked in “morning wands, morning tasha” you sat on your desk and smiled at the roses. wanda quietly snuck out the door. “are these from you?” you smirked, jokingly at natasha. “yes, and this is for you, natasha said seriously and handed you a post it. in specific, a sticky note that asks you out. this one finally has her name signed on the bottom.
“i- of course” you smiled at natasha “great! i- um- i’ll pick you up tonight at your place” “alright” you smiled widely “i have a thing- i’ll be back” she nodded as you left.
bonus-
you kept all post its from natasha and she was in awe when she saw them in the box.
the students all went crazy when they saw you both kissing online.
wanda was a bridesmaid at the wedding.
#natasha x y/n#natasha romanoff fluff#natasha romanoff x reader#black widow#natasha romanoff#natasha romanov#natasha romonova#black widow fic
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Throwback to the very first thing i requested from u bc i think it’s been over a month HAHAHA
For ‘i’m stuck with you’ (art student x stem student miggy) EXCEEEPPPTTT make the reader a english/langlit major, or just really good at writing (bc i love my writers)
Okay, we have established that reader is fucking terrible at math (i am them, they are me)
But how about miguel needing help with essays? Because sci students are lowkey kinda bad with essays
Cause yeah, even though i hc that miggy probably has really, really good grammar, when writing essays? Nah, that mf is all over the place.
Like he has the ideas, but he lacks the creativity and writing skill to get them onto paper
(Not a request, but write it if u want to :D)
SHIEEEEEETTTTTT i am forever in love with college miggy <333
(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)
i'm stuck with you. — miguel o'hhara x reader pt. 2 (college dorm mates au)
summary: it should come as no surprise to anybody that miguel o'hara was extremely good at running his mouth off and pretentious when it came to grammar and spelling... but making him write an opinionated essay, or a book report? oh, you're stumping him. luckily for him, he has a super adorable, english-smart dorm mate; unluckily for him, however, you can't put up with his annoying, whiny ass about how "boring" all this writing seems to be.
pairing: college!dorm mate!miguel o'hara x college!dorm mate!reader
genre: fluff <333
word count: 965
author's note: when is it my turn to have a cocky, math and science smarts stem boyfriend that sucks ass at creative writing ,,, i'm alr the writer gf, universe, ano ba 😭😭😭
he stared at the flashing cursor on the document he was supposed to be writing his book report for the english class he had to take. he sighed and folded his arms over his chest in frustration, his eyebrows crinkling as all he could do was sigh again at the lack of ideas swirling in his head. "this is why i took genetics, nobody needs to write reflections on alleles or why DNA is shaped as a double helix... this is idiotic." he muttered under his breath as he forcefully hit the backspace key repeatedly and sighed for the third time.
you soon arrived back to your dorm after attending all your classes for the day and was surprised to witness your so-called "genius" dorm mate slump over his desk, his forehead pressed down against the surface as his laptop remained open and the document remained empty–even emptier than before, actually. you walked over to miguel, half concerned and half unfazed, ironically. you had yearned to see the day when his ego would break, but unfortunately, you weren't there to see the fall–hence you drew barely any enjoyment out of seeing him all stumped.
"hey, genius, what's wrong?" you asked him in a partially sarcastic and partially worried voice, with miguel groaning as he thumped his forehead lightly against the surface of his desk. "words are hard." he muttered. you raised an eyebrow at him and chuckled lightly. "words are hard? wow, and you can piece together a bunch of letters and greek symbols together... either you're speaking an alien language of incomprehensible numbers, or you're just good at everything but linguistics." "the latter." miguel mumbled all muffled and groan again.
you chuckled and moved closer to him, practically hovering over him as you looked at the very blank document before you. "what's this supposed to be?" "an... essay." "an essay has words, you realize that, right?" you asked him sarcastically with a smile. he scowled at you as he sat up a bit from his computer chair. "it's... it's loading." "nah, i know exactly when words are loading, i'm around documents a lot–you've got nothing on it." you pointed out with a snicker as miguel rolled his eyes.
"well, if you're so good at this, why not you do it?" he asked you with narrowed eyes. you rolled your eyes and placed your arms over his shoulders, bringing your fingertips to the keyboard to type for him. you were in such close proximity to miguel that he couldn't focus on anything but the feeling of your forearms brushing against his shoulders and neck occasionally, and the scent of your perfume filling his nose. he felt a bit flustered at the feeling and scents he was picking up from you.
you tilted your head slightly. "what is it, mig? care to tell me what your essay's supposed to be about?" you asked him, snapping him out of his trance as he pushed his glasses back up on his face and cleared his throat. "it's about... my thoughts around my favorite person. i know, pretty rudimentary, it's a question for a first grader. but the problem is... i can't even begin to describe that 'favorite person' of mine. the thoughts are pouring in, the words just... don't come as fluidly." miguel admitted as he shrugged.
that was no problem for you, however–you had the ability to come up with the most effective and creative ways to write feelings, thoughts, and ideas out with ease; you were just the person miguel needed. you articulated his thoughts out on the virtual document for him, listening to him patiently describe his favorite person in such layman terms; and you, with your very eloquent and unique way of delivering his scrambled thoughts, wrote him a 7 page essay in that one sitting. all he did was open and close his mouth, speak in such simple terms to describe his favorite person–stuttering, stammering, repeating words involuntarily due to his limited vocabulary for adjectives that could properly describe that person, expanded by your own broad vocabulary aiding him in drawing a picture of this favorite person of his that... felt familiarly unfamiliar, in an uncanny way.
you two finished the joint work you were doing, and miguel's mouth hung open in surprise at how quickly you could type and how you never repeated a single adjective to describe his favorite person–and especially at how long the work you wrote was. "no... way." he muttered aloud as he rolled the mouse's cursor all the way down to the seventh page, his eyes bulging from their sockets as he took in every word you wrote for him. "my professor's not gonna believe i wrote this." he gushed as you chuckled. "is it that bad?" you asked him with a shy smile as he looked at you in disbelief.
"bad? this is spectacular, beyond everything i ever expected–thank you." he expressed his thanks to you as you smiled wider and shrugged. "dunno, i... think i could've elaborated more on paragraph–" "oh, please, if you elaborate any more, my professor's got fail me on the spot, they'll know i didn't write it by then. it's beautiful, it... really encompasses how i feel about my favorite person. thank you..." he said as he grinned up at you brightly. you had witnessed a side of miguel that no one had ever seen before... a grateful side to the cocky, arrogant genius of this college; and you swore, that from the corner of your eye... a hint of a genuinely happy, adoring miguel was staring back at you through those hazel brown orbs of his that peered into the deep recesses and depths of his soul, of his heart.... have you finally figured out who his favorite person is?
tags !! @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @melovetitties @arachnoia @luvstarrstruck @ophanimgold @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @simsrandomstuff @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @fictarian @yuridopted0
©kairiscorner (don't steal my work, i'll steal your kneecaps !)
#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara x y/n#miguel o'hara fluff#miguel o'hara fanfiction#atsv#atsv miguel#atsv fluff#atsv fanfiction#atsv x reader#atsv x you#atsv x y/n#atsv imagines#spiderverse#across the spiderverse#spiderman across the spiderverse#spiderman across the spiderverse x reader#spiderman across the spiderverse fluff
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3 pitch pearl
cw: panic attack
3. cold hands in warm hands | pitch pearl
The Honors English 3 class shuffled into their first period, the students bundled up from the chilled December air. Wet shoes squeaked against the linoleum after braving snow and ice outside. The air was thick with tension and exhaustion as the junior class was just barely surviving their final exams before their holiday break.
Danny found his way to his seat, hoping, praying for the best. This was an important semester after all - college applications were just around the corner. He had to do well or risk his chances at getting into a decent university. Sure, he’d gotten by decently with his higher-than-average intelligence (it was a Fenton thing), but this year’s courses had been rough. If he didn’t pull out of this class with at least a B…
He took a deep breath, and tried to calm the butterflies in his stomach, ignore the ache in his head, and steady his shaking hands. The first part of the English exam was multiple choice - he was confident enough in that. The second part scared him slightly - writing essays wasn’t his strong suit, but he’d seared the entirety of Catcher in the Rye into his mind. He could do this. He had to.
“Alright students, phones off, clear your desks,” Mr. Lancer announced with a stack of papers in hand. “I want to get these passed out to you as soon as possible so you have the full amount of time to complete it. A reminder that there are two parts - don’t forget to do both of them.”
The teacher looked around the room. “Best of luck to all of you, and enjoy your break.” His smile did little to ease Danny’s nerves. He grabbed his lucky pencil (it was hardly more than a nub at this point) and placed it on his desk, then dragged his sweaty palms against his thighs.
Mr. Lancer reached his desk, gently setting down the exam, and gave Danny an encouraging smile, which he tried his darndest to return, but probably gave more of a grimace.
Danny took a final breath, then dove in.
The first section did some good for Danny’s confidence - he only had trouble with a small handful of the questions, but at least he could take an educated guess. Now onto the essay section.
Three prompts were provided. He only had to answer one.
As he scanned through the list, his heart gave a drop. No, he shook his head. Just gotta read them again. Carefully. I can do at least one of these.
Yet as he read through them again, then again, and a third time, Danny couldn’t help but feel absolutely screwed.
His breathing picked up, hands shaking once more. His thoughts began spiraling until he couldn’t finish one before picking up the next. Danny was panicking.
He nearly jumped out of his seat when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Mr. Lancer looked down at him with a concerned expression. His teacher made a nod to the door, and guided Danny out into the hallway.
“Take a minute, Daniel. Come back inside when you’re ready,” he said with a smile.
Danny leaned against the hallway and slunk down against the wall. How humiliating. He crossed his arms and leaned his head forward. Now I’m gonna fail the test and everyone saw me freaking out about it. Fuck fuck fuck.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there before a soft “Danny?” interrupted his mental spiral. He didn’t move though. He couldn’t.
“Danny, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” the familiar voice said.
Danny still didn’t answer.
The air around him became colder as the presence approached him. Icy hands grasped his arms and unfolded Danny from his cocoon. Now he was looking into the burning green eyes of Amity Park’s own ghostly hero.
Phantom kneeled in front of him, grabbing Danny’s hands in his.
“I don’t know what happened. But I know you’re upset. I know you’ve been stressed, and working so hard the last few weeks.” As he spoke, Phantom gave Danny’s hands a comforting squeeze.
“I’m gonna fail,” Danny croaked.
Phantom’s face hardened. “Don’t say that. You don’t know that. As long as you get back in there and finish what you started, you cannot fail.
“You’re the smartest person I know, Danny. I’m so proud of you. And whatever happens, you should be proud too. Now can you just take some deep breaths for me?”
The two sat in silence, hands still intertwined, as Phantom watched Danny steady himself. It wasn’t a cure-all, but Phantom’s presence was doing something to bring Danny back to earth.
“Okay,” he said, a little shakily. “I’m gonna go finish my exam.”
Phantom leaned his forehead forward so that it was touching Danny’s. “You got this babe,” he whispered, then planted a kiss on Danny’s cheek before swiftly disappearing.
Danny swallowed, stood up, and went back inside.
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It's all academic darlin' PART 1/10
12k+ Hangster AU. Updating 2-3 parts per week and will be finished by 31st January 2024. (Each part is ~1500 words).
Bradley is a professor but living his best life with IceMav parents. Jake is a pilot. Maverick sort-of tries (and fails) to play matchmaker, so he tries again. Touch of epistolary and sprinkling of one-sided unknown/mistaken-identity.
(Note for later parts/chapters - Ice uses sign to communicate at home, I’m typing it like sign is English despite the fact that I know it isn’t (while NZSL is my third language, I have no working knowledge on the grammar useage in ASL).)
PART ONE
The 12 hour trip has given him plenty of time to think. He doesn’t know what possessed him to accept Mav’s offer; quiet place you can just get away from everything. When faced with the idea of going home and seeing his family, not being able to answer questions versus being offered a solitary retreat into the woods for a week or two or however long he could stand his own company… Well, he’s never spent very much time alone before and he guesses the novelty had held a certain appeal. He knows he might not actually be alone when he gets there. Mav had mentioned that his son might still be there, but that he’d be leaving to get back to school. It had made him sound young. But Jake’s seen photos, knows that Bradley has at least graduated from some form of college judging from the photos in Mav’s office and hangar, proud moments documented with pictures.
Sure enough when he pulls in front of the cabin there’s another truck out front, music blaring from somewhere. He steps out of his own truck and can now hear someone loudly singing along. He follows the sound around the house and yep, definitely the same guy from the photos (the flash of moustache is the clincher). He’s cutting wood, axe swinging easily in time with the music and Jake takes his time to just watch. He’s tall, maybe a bit taller than Jake and he hadn’t been expecting that with how tall Maverick was not. Shirtless, skin tanned and gleaming with sweat from the combination of summer heat and exertion of cutting wood. Jake swallows, letting his eyes run over the scene appreciatively because it’s been a little while and this right here is… nice.
“Baby can I hold you tonight?” Thunk. “Baby if I told you the right words.” Thunk. “Ooo, at the right time.” Thunk. “Would you be mine?” Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. “Baby can I hold you tonight?” Thunk.
As he watches, he assesses; Bradley looks around the same age as Jake and the other Dagger squadron members. Not young at all then. No wonder Mav had been so insistent about getting them all home, dad-vibe just morphing to encompass them all. He’d never had imagined a man with Maverick’s history to be a family man. That somehow, somewhere along the line, Maverick managed to raise a small human into the tall drink of water in front of him. Jake doesn’t know why he feels surprised, Mav is a good-looking man despite his age but he still doesn’t see much of a resemblance between him and Bradley. He shifts on his feet, not wanting to interrupt a man holding an axe, especially one as attractive while doing so… he licks his lips, wishing for a toothpick or some gum just to have something to do with his mouth and his lips twitch as he thinks about other ways he could occupy his mouth with the man in front of him. He startles, realization hitting him hard and fast. This is Mav’s son.
Fuck.
He cannot, under any circumstances, fuck with this man. Literally or figuratively. Maverick would kill him. He’d find some way to make it look like an accident, or just commit outright murder and then hide the body. And there would be no shortage of volunteers to help him do it. It’s only for a couple of days before Bradley apparently has to leave, Jake can be on his utmost best behavior. And it’s not like he’s in any fit state anyway. It’ll be fine.
“Fucking shit!”
Jake jumps at the yell, staring into the wide eyes of Bradley Mitchell, because there cannot be that many people with that moustache in the world. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, knows he’s going to have to refrain from so many comments about that distracting caterpillar of facial hair.
“Sorry!”
“Jesus man, you scared the fuck out of me…”
The urge to bite back and tell him he shouldn’t be cutting wood by himself, or have music playing so loudly he can’t hear vehicles come up the road are on the tip of his tongue but he bites them back. Best behavior he reminds himself. And when did he become such an old man? Ugh.
“Sorry,” he starts again. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I’m Jake. Lieutenant Jake Serensin.”
The other man’s face goes pale under his tan, eyes going wide.
“Fuck. Is Mav okay?”
Shit.
“He’s fine! Totally fine. Sorry. Again. I didn’t mean to worry you. You’re Bradley though right? Mav’s son? He said you’d be here, told me he’d let you know to expect me.”
A look of relief is quickly replaced by chagrin and Jake bites his lip, because he’s definitely not expected.
“Shit, I dropped my phone in the lake yesterday. Haven’t checked in with anyone. Obviously you’re welcome though, any friend of Mav’s is a friend of mine,” Bradley says. He’s smiling, reaching his hand out to shake and Jake gives himself a mental slap. He’s not sure if he should correct him on the whole friends with Mav front, because he’s pretty sure the older man merely tolerates him. And this is the son of a superior officer and he’s a guest and he will remember his manners if he doesn’t want to deal with the certain Southern guilt that will settle on him later. Best behavior. Which is also why he won’t go asking questions about why Bradley calls his dad by his fucking callsign.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise. Sorry I wasn’t expecting you. You obviously know Mav, and who I am. I figure you’re not a serial killer. Let me just, uh, grab my shirt and then I can help you with your bags.”
He wants to tell him not to bother, that he’s enjoying the view plenty, but even something as benign as ‘don’t put a shirt on on my account’ would come out heavy with the (intended) innuendo so he keeps his mouth shut and nods before realizing he doesn’t need any help with his bags and says as much, biting back another comment about the floral Hawaiian shirt that the other man is shoving his arms through but still leaving completely unbuttoned and okay, he’s thankful for small mercies. He’s going to look, he’s not a fucking saint.
“It’s fine man, come on. Let me show you the guest room. Did you bring groceries? I hope Mav warned you to bring food, because unless you like hunting and fishing you’re shit out of luck.”
Fortunately Mav had warned him and Jake had organized groceries. He carries everything inside with Bradley’s help; front door opening into a large living space with a kitchen and dining area to one side, a large wall-mounted TV on one wall and then a fireplace taking up the central inner wall, clearly used for heating in the cooler months. Down a short hallway Bradley points out Mav’s bedroom, his own and then the guest room where Jake drops his duffle.
Heading back to the kitchen he takes in the few photos, not many personalized ones, but plenty of ones of different types of aircraft and something in him feels a little more settled just looking at the pictures of the planes in the air. The piano and guitar make him pause and he wonders if either belong to Mav or Bradley. Obviously one or both of them play, although he can’t imagine Mav playing either. Then there are the books. So many books, some look like heavy texts and Jake wonders who the hell comes away on vacation to read textbooks that are thick enough to be classified as weapons. He can imagine Mav reading them over playing the musical instruments though. Bradley is putting the chilled items away in the fridge, offering him a beer and Jake takes it gratefully. One won’t hurt.
“So how was the drive?”
“Long.” Too long considering he’s meant to be taking it easy but he’s done worse.
“Where did you drive from?”
“North Island.”
“Shit. I thought you’d just come from Fallon.”
“Huh. No. That would have been much closer, but I needed to get away.”
He almost expects Bradley to ask, but he guesses growing up with Mav he knows some questions won’t get answers so lets it slide and Jake’s grateful.
“So you saw Mav yesterday?”
“Yep, sure did. He made the offer a few days ago and just reminded me of it yesterday and I thought… sure. Why not.”
“Did he give you a list of jobs?”
“No. Should he have?”
“He must like you,” Bradley laughs and Jake’s eyes catch the column of his throat as he tips his bottle to take a drink and he swallows roughly. Okay. He looks away and hums, shrugs. Doesn’t want to mention the concussion and bruises he’s still recovering from. He’s meant to be taking it easy and Mav knows it.
“So, what do you do? Or is being a lumberjack a fulltime gig?”
“Ha. No. I’m a… teacher.”
Jake quirks an eyebrow because that answer had waivered as an almost question. But it tracks with the summer break and the whole getting back to school thing Mav has mentioned. And it’s a good a conversation as any, although it is quickly turned on him, with Bradley asking him about his flying experiences, looking a little wistful when Jake mentions going through Top Gun and he wonders if it would be impolite to ask why Bradley didn’t join the Navy like Mav. Definitely. Obviously his face still asks the question, because Bradley is offering up information freely.
“My mom asked me to not join the Navy. Not quite her dying wish, but pretty damn close…”
Well shit. He winces.
“I’m sorry –” Jake starts and Bradley is already waving his hand.
“It was over twenty years ago, you’re good. I’m good. She just wanted me safe. Of course, telling a teenager he can’t do something isn’t usually the best approach. And keeping Mav from teaching me to fly was never going to happen. I got my solo license when I was sixteen and haven’t looked back. I love flying.”
“That is something I can agree with,” Jake says, tipping his beer bottle toward Bradley.
“To flying.”
“To flying,” Bradley repeats, his smile wide and friendly.
PART TWO
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Between two shelves | Eddie Munson x Reader
Summary: You and Eddie have a little make out session between two classes
Word count: 0.6k
Request: Hey! Can I get 45 and 9 with Eddie ? Please I feel like it could be really cute :) thanks :) (9. unbuttoning your lover's shirt, pressed against the wall + 45. ''we shouldn't do this'' but they do so, anyway)
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You learned the hard way that the library was not a very good make out spot. It was a little too quiet for the noises Eddie pulled out of you when he kissed your neck or slipped a hand underneath your sweater to grab your breasts.
You almost got caught three times in the span of two weeks and, while you liked the high the risk of getting caught gave you, public indecency would not look great on your academic record when you’ll be applying for college.
It didn’t stop you from going again, though.
Between the third and fourth period, Eddie’s jacket found itself on the floor of the library along with your backpacks and books while you kissed heatedly between two shelves. You will never see World War II and the Great Depression the same way.
‘’Missed you last night. All of you,’’ he whispered lowly between two kisses, involuntarily jutting his hips toward you.
His fingers fumbled with the buttons of your shirt and he undid the first few, then began kissing your jaw and down your neck, which coaxed a particularly loud moan from your throat. Fuck.
Immediately, Eddie covered your mouth with his hand to muffle the sound, praying no one - especially the library supervisor - had heard.
He bit back a laugh. ‘’I thought we needed to be quieter?’’
You giggled quietly behind his hand. ‘’Sorry,’’ you said.
Eddie retracted his hand and you grabbed at his shirt, wishing you could take it off and run your hands on his body, your manicured nails leaving red marks behind. One night without seeing him - and feeling him - and you were already getting withdrawals.
‘’Just an hour left until the final bell,’’ he recalled, the pad of his thumb gliding over the edge of your bra cup, fighting the urge to release your breast from its restraint. ‘’Can you be patient, sweetheart?’’
No, you wanted to say, but you kissed him instead. That seemed more reasonable.
You kept kissing and kissing, Eddie’s tongue swirling seductively over yours while your hands were in his hair and his were all over your body. Ironic how he was the one asking you to be patient yet, he’s practically groping you between two shelves.
As much as you wanted to keep this going, you felt something against your thigh and pulled away. Either Eddie was hiding something in his jeans’ pocket, or…
‘‘Eddie Munson, are you hard in the library?’’ You pulled him by the belt, making him groan as his crotch frictioned with your clothed pelvis, making his ‘situation’ worse. ‘’Do books turn you on that bad?’‘ You grabbed the first book you could reach on the shelf. ‘‘Marie Curie? I didn’t know you had a thing for older women.’‘
He hummed, looking down at the picture of Marie Curie. ‘‘I’m a man of taste. You see this woman? What a cougar.’‘ He caught his lip between his teeth, pushing the banter to another level. ‘‘Oh, I see you’re on your way too. I see gray hair here,’‘ He plucked a single hair from your head, making your jaw drop.
You swatted his hands away. ‘‘You liar, I do not have gray hairs.’‘
‘’It’s alright. I’ll still jerk off to you. Like I said, I love cougars.’’
You raised an eyebrow at him. "You jerk off to me?"
It wasn’t much of a surprise. When someone has a girlfriend, you sort of expect them to jerk off to them, but it still surprised you to hear Eddie say it so casually.
‘’Yeah, regularly. I’m a teenage...ish man. Before meeting you, I jerked off once a day, but now I jerk off twice a day.’‘
Your laugh was muffled as he kissed you again, taking things where you left off.
Half a minute later, another moan echoed, but this time the culprit behind it was Eddie, which made you giggle into his chest.
''We should stop. I got English next.''
Eddie nodded, ''We'll stop in five minutes.''
'’We’ll stop in ten,’’ you corrected.
Eddie grinned against your lips, completely fine with that.
-
Taglist: @broadway-or-noway @violetsleftfist @thelaststraw3 @cursedandromedablack @Slashersimpfor @savagejane1 @wh0reforbucknasty @eddiemunson-slut @slvdsjjk @hehehehannahthings @dreamdancers-world @grace-loux @iamharrystyleslover @matildavol6 @Original_babababoo
Eddie Munson taglist: @nighttwingg @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie @heizenka @eddiemvunsongf @Eddie_munsons_girlfriend @magicalchocolatecheesecake @eddiemunsonistheloveofmylife @avril-reblog-cave @Fandomfaeryreads @harrys-tittie @straycatarang
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson x y/n#stranger things#stranger things imagine#stranger things s4#eddie stranger things
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15 QUESTIONS, 15 TAGS
Tagged by @gallabee 😘
Read more cause it's long.
Were you named after anyone? Only in the sense that there's a character in the Bible named Hannah. But no. I don't even know that that's where my parents got it from. My parents were kind of intense about their kids not sharing initials and not being named after people so we could ~have our own identities~.
When was the last time you cried? Genuinely, not sure. I cry pretty easy, so there's like...no use even making note of it. It's been a long time since I cried hard enough to have a migraine, but just tearing up or gently crying over a song/book/tv show is pretty standard. I'm soft as butter tbh.
Do you have kids? I have two stepkids that are college age. They're pretty great! Beyond that, I have no desire for more kids, especially not anyone of my own body. I love taking care of babies though and will absolutely dote on my siblings kids.
Do you use sarcasm a lot? I don't think I do? I think because a few of my siblings are definitely on the autism spectrum, my family was just really accustomed to direct communication and I expect that.
What sports do you play/have you played? Unless we're counting dance and gymnastics, not a single solitary one. I was not an athletic team sports kind of kid. I wanted to be left alone with my books.
What's the first thing you notice about someone? I'm assuming we're speaking in person, in which case height and smell. I'm really short and I'm really sensitive to heavy perfumes. (Also my wife keeps calling me a super smeller in general because I get weird if she changes her deodorant or shampoo or body wash.)
Eye color? Very dark brown.
Scary movies or happy endings? 😂😂😂 Happy endings. I tend to avoid things that don't end happily. I've also seen MAYBE five scary movies in my whole life.
Any special talents? No. I mean, I read super fast. I can do a few different needlework craft things. And I have a nearly sociopathic ability to seem competent and professional in job interviews. But I don't think any of that counts. (Oh and I can remember the absolute fuck out of names.)
Where were you born? central east Texas.
What are your hobbies? I read. A. Lot. I also cross stitch and started getting into embroidery. Sometimes my hobby is me being hyperfocused on a video game for weeks on end (aka Operation Fuck Cullen in DA Inquisition). Once in a blue moon, my hobby will be writing (I wrote almost 300k words of fic in 2019 and haven't written a word since really). I indulge in the act of viewing sporting events. Can being hyperfocused on a TV show count? I do that too. I wish any of my hobbies included exercise. But they don't.
12. Do you have any pets? I have three cats! Littermates Luther and Lagertha are 10ish years old and Pandora is 9.
13. How tall are you? 5'2"
14. Favorite subject in school? In pre-University years it was anything English or History and then in University I liked all my math classes because they were straight forward.
15. Dream job? To make what I make now as a library technician again. I loved working in the library, especially in the back, ordering books and placing them in circulation and all the other extremely tedious collection maintenance. But those guys make like ...a third of what I make now. So it's just unreasonable. Makes me sad. Otherwise, I would pick something menial like data entry. But again, can't afford to do that.
Tagging: @dollsome-does-tumblr @scoundrels-in-love @sdwolfpup @pretty-thief @justshellies @hinakyuu @teex @starrybouquet
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oceane.
ex!seo changbin x afab!reader
warnings: fluff?? angst??
a/n: okay so, this is my first time writing something like this, but i just can’t get out of my mind this scenario. god i love changbin so much. i also wanted to add that english is not my first lenguage so i’m really sorry if is any grammatical mistake. enjoy :]
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
it was a cold autumn night. the wind made your hair blow gently as you waited under the leafless three at the bus stop. you had been waiting for about ten minutes, but it felt like tortuors years has passed with the cold breeze blowing through your bones. you sighed as you looked at the time on your phone, 9:47 pm. the last bus home would be arriving soon.
the street lights barely illuminated the darkness of the city. you looked at the sky. the moon looked so bright and beautiful. you really wanted to get home soon to take some time to admire it with a hot latte in your hands. lost in your own thoughts, you didn’t notice when the last bus of the day pulled away from the station. oh shit, you thought. without loosing your mind, you just let out a big sigh that you had been holding back. you closed your eyes for a few moments and took out your phone to call him. you didn't want to do it, you really didn't want to do it.
you looked out for the contact you least wanted to see. pressed the button that would dial that number and just waited to hear that voice on the other end of the phone.
one, two bells rang. the third did not arrive, you could already hear his annoying voice.
“what happened love?”
holy fuck, you really didn’t want to call him.
“hi. uhm. i stayed up late studying again and the last bus just passed. could you come and get me?”
“sure, i’ll be there in 5. do you need anything else baby?”
“let’s not talk again after this, bye.”
you hung up the call, really nervous. you have another heavy sigh. you were tired, not only for the classes at college, but also from him. how much longer was he going to go on with that? you ran your hands over your face, frustrated. this would be the last time.
a black car with tinted windows stopped in front of you. and you knew it well. the glass lowered and you could see his face. there was something different. you managed to see his longer hair under his cap, he looked good, so fucking good.
"get in honey, I'll take you." that voice again. you approached the door and tried to open it but it was closed, you saw his eyes with a serious expression.
“open the door, changbin.”
“not until you thank me and say you love me and missed me“
you rolled your eyes. changbin could be really annoying if he wanted to. you wanted to desist at his request, but your body simply begged you to pronounce those words because the cold was numbing you.
“thank you changbin, love you." you pronounced with your best smile.
the door opened and you quickly got into the car, feeling the warm from the heater and especially feeling it from changbin. he smiled as he handed you one of his hoodies to keep you warm. in silence you put it on, it smelled like him, it smelled like home.
“I'll take you home, do you want to go for a coffee first? I'll buy you your favorite, vanilla latte.” you didn't have time to answer when the car was already heading to your favorite coffee shop. you looked at the city lights while unconsciously smiling through the glass.
he kept talking and you listened to every word that came out of his mouth. he asked how your studies were going, how your dog was and even if your mother missed him. he ordered coffee for both of you and parked the car in a place with a good view of the sky. you couldn't help it, you couldn't help but fall again for him.
you had to admit it, changbin was the best ex boyfriend you ever had.
#stray kids#seo changbin#changbin#skz#skz x reader#skz changbin#stray kids changbin#fluff#changbin fluff#skz seo changbin#Spotify
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three of cups.
featuring: eren jaeger, armin arlert, afab reader.
word count: 5.5k
summary: you, eren and armin have been best friends for ages. there’s always been an underlying tension between the three of you, until that tension finally snaps.
content warning: smut, college au, post-timeskip characters, alcohol consumption (characters are tipsy but not inebriated), threesome, mlm, mutual pining, voyeurism, thigh riding, fingering (f receiving), slight edging, use of good boy/good girl, masturbation, cumplay
a/n: uhh so i was horny and this happened. pls be kind this is like my first fanfic ever (also english is not my first language so if you spot any mistakes feel free to let me know).
update: so apparently tumblr took out a whole ass paragraph after the “keep reading” and then repeated two different paragraphs twice?? i’ve seen people trying to fix this by adding asterisks so i’m doing the same. sorry about that lol.
18+ CONTENT - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
So loud, you think.
You can almost feel the room vibrate with beat of the music, your steps naturally adapting to the rhythm as you make your way through a crowd of college students in various states of dishevelment. A smile comes to your lips. The whole place smells of alcohol and sweat and the floor is sticky, but you can’t bring yourself to be annoyed at the chaos; the year had been brutal for a lot of you and with finals finally behind you, no one was gonna miss the chance to loosen up and just have fun, yourself included. Which was exactly what brought you to make this little trip across the room, eyes fixed on your objective.
*
*
*
He’s leaning against the wall, his golden hair making it easier for you to spot him in the crowded room. His eyes are trained on his phone as he mindless scrolls down with his thumb, so you’re not too surprised when he doesn’t notice you straight away, even when you’re standing right in front of him.
You take a moment to take in his delicate features, his skin turned to porcelain by the bright light coming from his phone; the alcohol makes you bold enough to trail a hand up his arm and rest on his cheek, successfully shifting his attention to you. His face relaxes in a smile when he sees you, but his eyebrows are still raised in surprise at your sudden closeness; he opens his mouth to greet you but you’re quicker, “Armin, would you please let me kiss you?”, your gaze keeping him pinned against the wall.
“I- what?”
You relish in the way his breath catches in his throat, and you certainly don’t miss the flush that comes to his face or the way his eyes drop to your lips.
“It’s for a dare… please?” your answer comes so innocent to his ears and he tries not to think at how pretty your plea sounded, even prettier than he’d fantasized so many times now.
“I- I mean, yeah, sure” he stammers; you chuckle when close the distance between you, his pretty blue eyes still confused as you press your lips against his.
The kiss comes out of the blue for him, yet you don’t miss the way his hands instinctively grip your waist as he pulls you closer to him. You hum into the kiss, your body suddenly so warm as he moves his lips against yours; he’s so pliant, all you had to do was ask and now he’s all over you, his grip keeping you flush against his body. Your fingers slip between his golden locks and when you lightly tug at them his hold grows tighter, his lips parting with a low moan. You swear you hear him whimper as you slip your tongue past his lips, taking control of the kiss as you explore his mouth, warm and wet and oh his hands are gripping your ass now, and you moan into the kiss as you feel his erection poking at your hip.
“The dare said ‘kiss’ but if you two wanna get a room…” Sasha’s loud voice somehow reaches you from across the room and you pull back from the kiss, a string of spit connecting still connecting your mouths. He’s panting, mouth still parted, and you can’t help but stare at his pink lips, slightly puffed and still shiny from the kiss.
Without thinking you brush a thumb against his lower lip, “so pretty” you murmur.
Armin swallows around nothing, and when your eyes meet his pupils are all blown out, pleading, almost begging you to close the distance once again. Fuck he looks so flustered, heat pooling between your legs as you wonder how he’d look if you took his cock in your mouth, if you could make him so lost in pleasure that his smart little brain couldn’t form any coherent thoughts.
You feel his arm around your shoulders before you see him, his usual scent of soap and lemon shampoo now mixed with a hint of smoke. You rest your head against his shoulder, your body craving physical contact after the kiss you’d shared with the blond. “Hi ’ren” you murmur against his shirt, dazed eyes looking up at him and then shifting to Armin. Your kiss was enough to make his brain fuzzy but now, with Eren’s arm wrapped around him and his body so close, he felt completely overwhelmed.
Eren pressed a kiss over your hair and pulled you and Armin even closer. “You shouldn’t keep all the fun to yourselves, don’t you know that sharing is caring?” he whispered, loud enough for both of you to hear through the music.
You can’t believe that cheesy line sent a shiver through your body. You figure it’s because of Eren.
“Maybe we should make use of that tequila bottle in our dorm room, what do you say Armin?” he adds, the blond choking out a soft affirmation. You doubt your sober self would have done that, but you were tipsy enough not to care when you took both their hands, interlacing your fingers with their own, a teasing smile gracing your lips. “Then what are we waiting for?”
You feel strangely calm as you walk down the hallway. It’s definitely quieter than the party, and your attention is quickly drawn from one dorm room to another, where you catch glimpses of people smoking and drinking to the sound of at least ten different playlists.
Again, you smile. For the third year now you’re witnessing how your otherwise rigorous and law abiding campus turns into a huge frat party in the weekend after finals. You don’t know if it’s the warm weather or the fact most common spaces are surprisingly clean by monday that makes everyone look the other way, either way you’re thankful. You close your eyes for a moment as you walk, slightly overwhelmed by the music and the loud chatter and the drink you had at the party, your brain lost in a pleasant buzz.
A light squeeze to your hand brings you back to earth. Your head turns to your left, eyes slowly opening to meet a pair of blue ones.
“Are you okay?” Armin asks softly, the tiniest hint of concern slipping past his lips. You wait a beat before addressing his question, choosing to look at him instead. You note that his cheeks are almost as pink as his lips, and that his blue t-shirt makes his eyes sparkle; you ignore how your stomach flips when you realize he’d been holding your hand since you’d left the party.
“I’m great,” you say as you shift closer to him “I’m in a good mood actually.”
You catch Eren’s eyes leaving you as he turns his head forward and keeps walking in front of you. You let your gaze travel from his head – you loved that half bun he kept his hair in more than you should – to his broad shoulders, entranced by the way his black t-shirt stretches over his muscular back.
You must have missed the part where he stopped in front of the dorm room, because you end up bumping against that back.
“You’re completely out of it” Eren teases with a grin.
“No, I’m not” you retort, “as I said, I’m in a good mood.”
The look he gives you is playful. “You call it good mood, I call it being drunk.”
“I had literally just one drink, there’s no way anyone could get drunk from that.”
“Depends on how strong the drink is.”
“Will you shut up?”
You’re still bickering as you enter the room, Armin rolling his eyes at the two of you with a fond smile. Once Eren shuts the door though, you all fall quiet.
The only light came from the blue led Armin had put on his side of the room, casting a glow over your faces that was almost ethereal. There’s a weird tension, a nervous feeling gripping your stomach and making you tingle with anticipation. You’d been alone with them in that very room more times than you could count, cramming for tests, watching a movie or simply hanging out, but tonight something was different. You sit next to Armin on his bed, eyebrows knitting together as you quickly try to analyse that feeling.
The three of you had been friends for ages, since you all attended the same elementary school and lived down the same street. You had bonded with Armin first, his quiet and intelligent personality matching well with yours. You remember fondly the warm afternoons in his backyard, grass tickling your skin as he showed you his new ocean life books and you rambled about ancient Egypt, Greek myths or whatever you were fixating on at the moment.
Eren on the other hand – at first you couldn’t stand him. You only knew him as ‘Armin’s other friend’, but he was such a loud and hot headed kid, you’d always found his attitude too off-putting to even start a conversation, and you were pretty sure he didn’t like you either. After some pushing from Armin though, you’d actually tried to get to know each other; much to your surprise, you found out you had a lot of interests in common. Eventually, you’d even come to admire how passionate he got about the things he cared about, how strong his ideals were, and with time his impulsivity left room to a much more calculated approach.
After all these years, the three of you were still as thick as thieves; you’d become so comfortable around each other that people always assumed you were either dating one of them. You’d always brush it off with a laugh, but now you wonder if it’s normal for friends to behave like that around each other. It was the little things at first; lingering touches, wondering eyes, teasing comments. Then Eren’s hands all over you every time you wore a pretty dress, or Armin’s obvious erection that time you and Eren were messing around at the pool; even your friends had noticed how close you were – and never missed a chance to tease you about it.
This is stupid, you conclude. They’re your oldest and closest friends, you won’t allow your attraction to them – at least you’re admitting it’s there – to make things weird.
You move to get the tequila you know they keep hidden in the closet; maybe that will shake the awkwardness away. You take a long sip before handing the bottle to the blond, alcohol still burning in your throat as you lay on your back, head resting on his lap.
You feel him still beneath you; when you look at him, his flustered expression is clear despite the dim lit room – before you can catch yourself, you wonder if he’s still hard from before.
Eren looks at the both of you on Armin’s bed. You’ve closed your eyes and your head is lightly nodding along with some music coming from the hallway, the beat muffled by the closed door. He watches Armin, a fond smile dancing on his lips as he can almost hear the mental pep talk the blond gives himself before raising a hand to play with your hair. You hum at that, eyes slowly opening as you turn your head towards him.
“Eren, come closer” you say, stretching out an arm as if to reach him.
“And why would I do that” he answers with a playful smile on his lips.
You raise your eyebrow, smiling back to him. “If you insist on staying over there, I guess Armin and I are really gonna keep all the fun to ourselves, isn’t that right Armin.” You say lightly, rising from his lap to lay against his side, your body wrapping around his arm; his hand ends up between your closed thighs and somehow you manage not purr in his ear as you rest your head on his shoulder, both of you now facing Eren.
When Armin speaks, you don’t miss how his playful tone hides a hint of malice, eyes fixed on the brunette, “oh I’m sure he wouldn’t mind just watching if we were actually having fun.”
Eren laughs at that, his voice dropping lower.
“True” he admits calmly, as if the thought hadn’t brought him to several orgasms through the years, “but right now I think I’d rather join.”
And he does, sitting close to your other side.
You wish that type of exchange wasn’t as common as it was between the three of you. You also wish it didn’t send a wave of arousal trough your body every single time.
You watch him as he leans toward you to grab the bottle from Armin’s hand, taking a sip of the amber liquor. Your eyes follow a drop of alcohol at the corner of his mouth, unconsciously tightening your hold on the blond as Eren’s tongue comes out to bring the drop past his lips.
In that moment, Armin decides he’s had enough. He’s way too turned on to let all this teasing slide; if the three of you really are as attracted to each other as he thinks, this was the time he was gonna do something about it. So when he speaks, he does with a purpose.
“Is it weird that I’ve kissed both my best friends?” his question sounds so innocent, he even lets out a calculated chuckle to feign embarrassment.
Eren tilts his head toward him, throwing him a curious glance “You still remember that? Must have been one hell of a kiss huh” he smirks.
Armin knows he’s teasing, and that he clearly remembers too, but he can’t help the pink blush that colours his cheeks as his thoughts rush back to that night.
It happened first semester of junior year, after Sasha’s ‘small’ housewarming party had quickly turned into a full blown party. As the music got louder and more and more people filled the tiny flat, Jean, all tipsy and bright eyed, had gathered all of you in Sasha’s room to play spin the bottle – most of you had booed him, but you’d followed him anyway.
After watching you awkwardly peck Connie on the lips and Mikasa blush violently as Sasha took her face between her hands and gave her a loud smooch, it was his turn to play. He gave the bottle a spin and almost choked on his spit when it landed on Eren. He remembers everyone cheering as he tried to stop his face from flushing red, looking everywhere but at Eren; that’s how his eyes landed on you, quiet where your friends were loud, your eyes focused on him in a way that was almost daring.
He followed your gaze as it moved towards Eren, finally making eye contact with the boy. His attempts look composed failed miserably when Eren, a lazy smirk spreading on his lips, beckoned him with his hand to move closer.
“I- uh we don’t have to…” he choked out.
Eren’s smirk grew wider, “It’s just a game Armin, what are you scared of?”
Armin couldn’t tell if his tone was soft or mocking, either way he felt as he had something to prove now.
He stood on his knees and crawled on the floor as Eren mirrored him, ignoring the way his stomach flipped as they met in the middle of the circle, so close he could feel his breath over his lips.
“What’s taking so long?” Jean said from somewhere behind him, “it’s not like you haven’t done this before” he teased.
Armin wanted to turn back and state that no, they had not actually done that before – he’d probably sound way more disappointed than he should – but before he could even open his mouth he felt a hand on his cheek; his eyes flickered back to Eren’s green ones, only to find them trained on his lips as the brunette sealed the gap between them.
Eren’s lips felt so impossibly soft again his, he tasted like vodka and something sweet he couldn’t recognise and Armin couldn’t really thing about anything as he lost himself in the kiss. The hand on his cheek moved through his hair and Eren pulled slightly, just enough to make Armin gasp against his lips, taking the chance to slide his tongue against his lower lip and into his mouth. Armin broke the kiss at that, a whimper leaving his lips because he wanted, needed more, but the feelings building up inside him – and the arousal making his pants tighter – were sending him in a slight panic.
He barely registered his friends’ loud noises as he sat back on his spot, but he didn’t miss the way Eren winked at him and licked his lips, green eyes boring into his blue ones. Armin struggled to act like his normal self rather than some teenager who had just kissed his long time crush. He desperately tried to focus on something, anything but Eren and his stupid lips and stupid grin and stupidly pretty eyes right in front of him, and that’s how his eyes found you again.
You had watched the whole scene with an interest you hoped went unnoticed by your friends. You sure hoped Mikasa, sat right next to you, had missed the way your breath hitched in your throat as you watched the blond gasp under Eren’s grip, heat coursing through your body and pooling between your legs. When Armin’s blue eyes found you, flustered, with half lidded eyes and teeth sunk in your bottom lip, you’d lowered your head in shame.
Eren rests his head again the wall and closes his eyes, as to enhance the memory.
It had been over a year ago, yet he remembered Armin’s sweet lips against his, the small noises he unconsciously let out going straight to his groin.
He remembered your face, eyes glossy with desire as you watched them part, flustered almost as much as Armin, as if you’d been the one kissing him instead, and oh had he wanted to kiss you. Had it been just the three of you in that room, he would have grabbed your face and bruised those pretty lips, forcing Armin’s sweet taste in your mouth.
He’d long given up the guilt that came with fantasising about his closest friends, any uncomfortable feeling quickly replaced by pleasure every time he wrapped his hand around his cock. At first it was just one of you under him, on top of him; soon enough he’d started picturing both of you on your knees, eyes bright and pleading, pink tongue hanging out of your mouths as you wait for him to paint your pretty faces with his cum.
“So who’s the best kisser?” you ask, your warm breath against Armin’s ear making him shiver.
“I can’t- You both… I’m not gonna answer that.” Armin manages to sound flustered when he answers.
Eren looks at him. “I would” he states nonchalantly, “but I don’t have all the materials to make my choice.” His tone drops to a low murmur, green eyes slowly shifting to you.
Armin tries to hold back a smile, both of you reacting exactly as he anticipated.
Your heart is hammering in your chest, it’s beat so loud you’re sure both of the boys can hear it; when you speak, you desperately try to keep your voice steady.
“Then god forbid you make an uniformed decision.”
Eren is straight up grinning at this point; he grabs your wrists and tugs you closer, pulling you on his lap. You balance yourself on his shoulders as his hands graze your bare thighs up and down, your skirt bunching up to your hips and barely covering your panties.
When your eyes meet, you’re shocked at how softly he’s looking at you. “I’ve been waiting a while for this” he murmurs, his voice almost a whisper, and you swear you can feel him stroking your cheek before burying his hands your hair and drawing you closer. He’s so warm all pressed up against you, so sweet when his lips ghost against yours before finally kissing you.
You’re slow to respond at first, too lost in how right it feels to have him so close and all over you, but you’re quick to part your lips for him, his tongue sliding against yours; he tastes of alcohol and you get drunk on it, a small moan leaving your throat and getting lost in the kiss. You whimper as you feel him groping your ass and push you even closer. He’s kissing you like a man starved, devouring you, the intensity making you feel light headed. You break apart from the kiss with a sigh, head falling on his shoulder, barely registering what you’re doing as you lightly grind against his hardening cock.
Eren groans as he tugs your hair so that you can look at him, his dark pupils swallowing up almost any trace of green.
“So needy… how many times have you thought about this?” he asks, a teasing smile on his lips as his fingers play with the hem of your skirt.
You look away from him, cheeks heating up; you don’t want to admit how many times you’ve cummed on your fingers with their names on your lips, but you don’t think you have a choice.
His head dips lower to press an open mouth kiss to the column of your throat, “Answer baby, there’s no need to be shy; we’re all friends here.”
You suck in your breath, voice embarrassingly shaky “so- so many times, w- with both of you” you confess.
Armin groans at your words, a curse slipping past his lips. “We- we could have done this so long ago” he mumbles, eyes fixed on you as he palms himself through his jeans. You feel so hot under his gaze, so wanted, you never want his eyes to leave your body.
Eren steals your attention by sucking a purple mark at the base of your neck; you bite back a moan as he licks at the bruise, heat pooling in your panties. he clicks his tongue in disapproval.
“This won’t do” he says softly against the shell of your ear “how can Armin hear all your pretty noises if you hold them back?”
Before you can choke out an apology, his lips go back on your neck, finding that sweet spot below your ear that makes you whimper. You’re trembling as he sucks another bruise on your skin and this time you don’t hold back, soft moans leaving your lips as your hands grips his hair, tugging it loose and fawning all over his shoulders.
Eren pulls back, admiring his work as you try to steady your breath.
“Good girl” he murmurs, “let us hear you.”
You shudder at his words. You don’t think you’ve ever been so turned on in your life, and he’s barely put his mouth on you. You can feel wet slick gathering in your panties and you shift to straddle one of his thighs, grinding hard to relieve the tension as your head falls back, a loud moan leaving your lips.
Two strings of low curses reach your ears, and you barely register Armin slipping a hand under his pants as Eren pulls you down on him again, the knee you have trapped between his legs pressing against his hard cock.
“Fuck, baby you wanna cum like that? Riding my thigh?” he pants, slightly bouncing his leg up to meet your movements, successfully drawing another moan out of your lips.
He brings a hand your face, almost reverent as his thumb grazes your lower lip, just like you’d done with Armin barely an hour ago. Your tongue darts out and licks the tip of his thumb before wrapping your lips around it, sucking slightly as you nod, eager.
Eren parts his lips, eyes glued to your mouth. He can’t believe he finally has you – both of you – as he wants you, as he’s pictured so many times; he wonders if he’ll come undone in his pants like a teenager, as you add pressure on his throbbing cock with each grind of your hips. He slips his finger from your warm lips, rushing his hands under your skirt to take off your panties.
When you finally readjust yourself on his thick thigh, you almost sob at the feeling of your bare, sensitive cunt against the rough material of his pants. Before you can resume your movements, he lifts up the piece of fabric, dangling it in front of your face.
“Look at this” he murmurs, “completely soaked” his voice trailing off as an idea suddenly forms in his mind.
He turns to Armin, and fuck, he feels his cock twitch at the sight. The blond is laying against the headboard, legs spread apart; he has a hand wrapped tight at the base of his hard, leaking cock, his pretty face all scrunched up in pleasure.
Armin’s cheeks heat up when he notices Eren’s eyes on him, but it doesn’t stop him from slowly stroking his cock, trying to delay his orgasm as much as possible.
“’Min, you think you could use these?” Eren asks, dark eyes dropping between the blond’s legs. Armin’s eyes widen at the request, his brain shutting down for a moment as he looks at the drenched panties in his hand.
“What? I- I-…” he looks at you, dazed, half lidded eyes boring into his blue ones as you rub slowly on eren’s thigh. “Y- yes please” he chokes out, shame reddening the tip of his ears.
“So polite… what a good boy” Eren purrs, his deep voice making Armin twitch in his own hand.
He takes the panties, the beads of your arousal thick on the side your cunt was, and he wraps the fabric around his cock. You watch with wide eyes, struggling to believe that sweet innocent Armin would ever give you such a lewd sight; you’re itching to lean over and kiss, lick, bite every inch of his body, but Eren’s grip on your waist keeps you in place.
Armin moans loudly as your slick smears all over his shaft. He keeps rubbing at himself with your panties trapped between his hand and his cock and how the fuck is this already topping every sexual experience I’ve ever had he manages to think. His eyes trail up and down your body, Eren’s body, and he doesn’t even notice how much his strokes speed up, hips bucking desperately into his own hand.
“Slow down baby or you’ll miss all the fun” Eren’s voice is as soft as the hand he puts on his leg to appease him. “If you behave, y/n will let you cum on her, right?” he says, sneaking a hand between your legs and sliding two fingers between your dripping folds.
“Ah- ye- yes Armin, wherever you want” you squeak, arching your back as Eren slips his fingers inside you. You feel inebriated as he slowly starts pumping, his fingertips massaging your walls, so slowly you want to cry. You wail when his fingers curl over your sweet spot, a hand gripping your waist to stop you from fucking yourself against his hand.
“Please ‘Ren, oh god, please, faster” you sob, high pitched moans slipping past your lips before you even realise it.
Instead of listening to you, Eren pulls his fingers out and slides them up to your clit, collecting your slick; you whimper when he retracts his hand from your cunt, pressing down on his thigh once again to get more friction. When your clit brushes against a wrinkle in his pants your eyes roll inside your head, orgasm so close you can taste it, but apparently Eren has other plans.
“Not yet baby, hold it for a bit longer, will you?” he purrs close to your ear, his mouth peppering wet kisses on your neck.
“Please a-ah Eren I c-can’t-” your words come out as broken sobs but you’ve long stopped caring, your brain filled with nothing but pleasure.
When Eren looks at your face you look absolutely wrecked, sweat shining on your forehead and cheeks red from the strain, chest heaving as quick pants come out of your parted lips. “
Armin, come here.” He says, hungry eyes still locked on yours. The blond obeys and shuffles closer to the two of you, your panties forgotten on the bed.
“You’ve been so good I think you deserve a reward” he says, as he pushes the glistening fingers he’d just pulled out of your cunt straight into Armin’s pretty mouth.
The blond moans at your taste, both hands coming to grab Eren’s wrist and push his fingers further in his mouth, choking slightly when they hit the back of his throat. Eren watches him in a trance, mesmerised by his blown eyes and the drop of spit that dribbles from the corner of his mouth. He wants to fucking ruin him. But not yet.
He takes his hand from the blond’s grasp – the whimper that leaves his mouth almost makes him cum on the spot. Eren lifts you from his lap, ignoring your pout as he places you right beside Armin.
“Sit still for me” he says as he slowly palms his cock before unbuttoning his pants and sliding them down with his boxers. You hear Armin suck in his breath as Eren’s hard cock slaps against his stomach, your own eyes widening at the sight; in length he almost matches the blonde, but the girth is just… fuck. Even dwarfed by his huge hand it’s almost intimidating, a thick vein reaching his pink leaking tip.
Eren takes his time as he pumps himself, eyes fixed on both of you; he drinks in your pretty, desperate faces, hands clutching the bedsheets as you try not to squirm under his gaze.
“Where do you wanna cum ’Min?” Eren’s question snaps him off a stupor, eyes leaving his groin to settle on your face.
You’re surprised Armin can blush more than he already is as he stutters that he wants to cum on you tits. You smirk as you quickly take off your top and unhook your bra, lust clouding you senses as you lay on the bed, head towards Eren as you motion Armin to straddle your waist. His eyes flicker to Eren and you miss the brunette’s nod before Armin comes on top of you, knees straddling your thighs.
Armin can’t believe just how fucking pretty you look under him, naked except for that cute pleated skirt you’re somehow still wearing. His hand trails up your stomach to squeeze your tits, fingers playing with your nipples as he pumps himself faster.
You feel Eren’s hand cradle your face, “touch yourself” he says, and you do just that.
With your skirt bunched up at your waist and your fingers quickly circling your clit, Armin doesn’t stand a chance; he leans forward, a hand planted on the bed as he cums on your tits with loud moan and your name on his lips, warm liquid painting your heaving chest.
You watch the blond leaning back against the headboard, desperately trying to catch his breath; you lock eyes with him, toungue wetting your lips as you bring a hand up to play with the mess he made on you, getting high on the look of pure defeat on his face as you take your cum coated fingers back to your clit.
“Oh fuck” Eren can’t believe how wrecked his own voice sounds “who would have thought you two would be such dirty sluts” he pants, his hand sliding faster and faster against his cock.
You moan at his words “’Ren p-please can- can I-”
“Cum.” He orders, and you obey right away.
The sounds that leave your lips are nothing short of pornographic, your body shaking and twitching in pleasure, mouth agape and head thrown back as white lights explode behind your eyelids, any coherent thought wiped out of your brain. Eren chokes out a curse at the sight, soft, high pitched groans echoing in the room until he finally cums with a broken moan, the liquid coating his hand and making a mess on his clothes.
It takes a while before any of you even attempts to move; silence falls in the room once again, except for your labored pants mixed with the music still playing in the hallway.
Eren is the first to get up and head for the bathroom. By the time you’ve all taken a shower and settled back on Armin’s bed, no one has still said a word. You feel anxiety settle low in your stomach, its grip speeding up your heartbeats.
Did you ruin everything? Is this the end of your friendship?
“So who’s the best kisser?”
Armin’s voice comes out tired and rough, but it puts a halt to the doubts swirling in your mind.
The breathy chuckle leaving Eren’s mouth sends a wave of relief through your body; “I’m sorry ’Min but y/n is definitely winning this one.” You smile as you feel his hand ghosting over your spine.
“Yeah, figured.”
The blond curls up against you and you’re still smiling.
The bed is way too small for the three of you and the night breeze coming from the window does little to cool you down, but you’ve never been better, a warm feeling spreading from where your bodies connect with each other.
As slumber takes you, you hope they’re still gonna be there when you wake up.
#eren jaeger smut#eren jaeger x reader#eren jaeger x reader smut#eren smut#eren x reader smut#eren x reader#eren yaeger smut#eren yaeger x reader#eren yaeger x reader smut#armin arlert smut#armin arlert x reader smut#armin arlert x reader#armin smut#armin x reader#armin x reader smut#eren x armin#armin x eren#eren jaeger x armin arlert#eren x armin smut#eremin x reader#eremin x reader smut#attack on titan smut#aot smut#aot x reader#aot x reader smut
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Ch. 1
Shigaraki Birthday Week! MINORS DNI DO NOT PUT THIS ON TIKTOK
Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x fem!reader
Word Count: 3k
Warnings: reader is marked fem cause Tomura is a little sexist and hates you cause you’re a woman, no pronouns, incel!shiggy, collage au/no quirks, tomura is an asshole, gratuitous swearing, like so much, shiggy has a dirty mouth, mentions of shigs being anxious, let me know if I’ve missed something
Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6
Summary: Tomura gets stuck taking an English class to graduate and is partnered with you, a bitchy try hard (his words not mine) for his final project. But over the course of the semester he finds that while he hates everyone, he might hate you just a little...less.
AO3 mirror
The door at the back of the room creaked open and jarred Tomura from his half-sleep state. He didn’t look at who’d bothered to slip into this fucking class late, and instead tried to let the prof’s inane droning on Timothy Whoever The Fuck’s 18th weirdo letter book lull him into day dreaming.
He only made it about a quarter of the way back into his boredom induced coma until he was dragged unwillingly into wakefulness once more.
“Sorry, could you plug this in for me?”
Tomura jumped again when you leaned over to whisper to him, computer charger in one hand, gesturing to the outlet on the wall by his head. You’d left the typical courtesy seat empty between the two of you and he stared blankly at the way you leaned your weight on the vacant chair.
He recognized you.
The classic, dumbass teacher's pet who was always front and center of the room, iced drink at the ready looking like you belonged on the set of some god awful college b movie.
Well, almost always. You certainly had that loud ass drink, but you’d tucked yourself at the end of his row towards the back of the room and was clearly a bit embarrassed for bursting in almost 15 minutes late.
Tomura swallowed hard as your shirt gaped in the front. It took an immense amount of control to not gaze outright into the swell of your chest.
“You good?” you asked softly, head cocked like you were straight out of a fucking manga panel—tits on display with that stupid innocent, puzzled expression.
“Uh yeah, sorry,” Tomura mumbled.
You offered him this gross, clearly fake smile—because why the hell would you be grinning like that if it wasn’t just because you wanted something from him—as he threaded the cord behind his chair and plugged it in.
“Thanks,” you replied and turned back towards the professor, typing away cause you actually take notes in this class.
Of fucking course you did.
Probably trying to impress everyone with how you typed practically every word the prof said. Tomura decidedly did not take notes, and didn’t really pay that much attention in general. Usually he just played some trashy phone game under the desk or dozed with his head against the cement wall.
It had gotten to that portion of the semester when it was warmer outside but the buildings still had the heat cranked all the way up, especially here in the basement where the classroom was. That environment along with his usual hoodie/joggers combo created grade A napping conditions that Tomura took full advantage of.
As a rule, he actually cared about school and he did relatively well. But this was just some dumbass liberal arts requirement course that had nothing to do with his actual major, so he was perfectly fine with coasting. Why his comp sci degree required him to take a fucking Restoration era English class, he had no clue. Apparently neither did his advisor other than that the ‘administration recommended it’ so their students would have a ‘well rounded learning experience.’
It was almost certainly just a cash grab to make him take more credits than was necessary to graduate, but whatever. He was here now. And so were you. Your presence was overwhelmingly clear, typing away and smelling like one of those insanely specific laundry detergent label scents—fucking rolling meadows and grandmother’s clean linen or something like that.
He’d never sat this close to you before, but that didn’t stop you from annoying the shit out of him for the previous whole half semester and going since it was just now passing midterms. Long enough for him to have pegged you as a textbook try-hard, pick-me bitch. You contributed to discussion at every opportunity, turned in shit early, and debated other classmates regularly enough to disrupt his in-course sleep schedule.
The way you dressed pissed him off too, with a particular style that was enough to stand out but not so over the top that it would cause disinterest from any potential mates.
And now you were filling his corner of the room with the overpowering smell of freshly washed hair and demanding he do things for you.
Fucking disgusting.
“Tomura Shigaraki.”
He jumped a third time, attention directed from his lap to the front of the room where the prof stood, listing out names from the board. He heard your name next followed by Kai Chisaki. The list was projected on the board as well, grouping everyone into twos or threes with “Final Project Partners” listed in bold Helvetica font at the top.
Only fucking English profs used Helvetica.
He vaguely remembered mentions of a final presentation—one of like three grades in this class cause the prof was almost certainly a sadist.
No, not almost—definitely. Otherwise he wouldn’t have stuck him with you and that weirdo Kai pre-med student who insisted on acting so elitist you’d think he already had his fucking M.D.
One time he asked Tomura to move seats at the start of the semester because he looked “dirty” and Kai liked to sit in the back—which, fair enough, it wasn’t like Tomura showered as frequently as he probably should but what the fuck??
With you rushing in late, chest out and panting every now and again from your apparent sprint across campus, Tomura was certain he’d be subjected to a whole 6 weeks of watching you try to mount that fucking Kai dude instead of actually working.
This was going to be a nightmare.
From the end of the table, he saw you shifting and turned to find that stupid fucking smile flashed his way once again.
If you had a tail, he’d bet it would be wagging.
“Hey, well that’s convenient,” you chuckled and plopped down directly next to him, sliding your noisy ass drink across the table with you and brushing against his thigh when you shifted your bag to the side.
“Yeah,” he nodded.
It most certainly was not.
But Tomura would never say that because—as his roommate put it so kindly—he was kinda a pussy.
People made him nervous, they always had. That’s why he liked computers so much. Code made sense, there were clear rules and when something didn’t work out, he could fix it eventually, but you couldn’t see people’s codes. You had to fucking guess at shit and it made his anxiety skyrocket which the sides of his neck and finger tips suffered for.
So he cowered like the fucking dog you probably thought he was instead and kept his eyes on the floor, letting you set up in silence.
“Who was our third?” you asked, glancing around the room. “Sorry, I was busy making a shared drive and I came in late so I missed that last bit.”
Why the hell did you feel the need to apologize all the goddamn time? Seriously, who would believe you were actually sorry for being irritating as hell.
And god if he thought you were irritating.
“Kai,” he grumbled simply as the man in question sauntered over to the table and fucking Clorox wiped down the seat before sitting.
Tomura watched your smile falter just a bit and grinned inwardly at the slip in your fake little persona. But you didn’t say anything more, just moved your chair back so the three of you were in a semi-circle and pulled up a few pdfs on your laptop.
“Cool, so I was looking over the directions on the syllabus last week and I set up a little work delegation thing so we can distribute everything pretty evenly,” you jumped right in, tone matter of fact in the down-to-business manner he was used to hearing from you during class discussions.
It was better than you so clearly forcing yourself to be overly polite, and he honestly couldn’t really care less if you wanted to take charge of this thing. You seemed kinda bossy, but he begrudgingly admitted that your suck up behavior did mean you sort of knew what you were talking about. He was just here to pass and you might actually make that a lot easier.
It was okay as long as he was taking advantage of you, he told himself. And you would be too stupid to notice, so he could play your game and play pretend nice all the way to an A.
That walking condescension on the other hand—
“I’m not doing that,” Kai huffed through his ever-present mask.
Tomura wasn’t actually sure he’d ever seen the bastards face without it.
“What?” you laughed awkwardly. “Yes you are, you don’t really have much of a choice.”
You stared at your classmate who simply stared right back with his own, equally confused expression.
“Why do you look so surprised?” you asked after a moment of silence.
You weren’t smiling anymore and your voice had dropped down about a fucking octave. At least you sounded more like a person and not some wannabe uwu gamer bitch.
“People don’t talk to me like that,” Kai looked at you down his nose, legs spread wide and elbow resting on his knees.
Tomura could feel the pretentiousness wafting from him in waves, and waited with bated breath for you to get kicked off your pedestal. Just a bit though, he did need you around to do most of his work for this thing.
But in a shocking turn of events, you just laughed dryly twice and turned back to your laptop screen, mumbling as you did.
“Really? Well they should.”
Tomura would have laughed too, but he didn’t feel like inflating your ego. Kai on the other hand looked a bit like you’d just spit on shoes and furrowed those stupid, plucked thin eyebrows at the back of your head.
“So Tomura, you code right?” you asked, turning away from Kai completely to address him. “I just remember you saying you were in comp sci when we did introductions.”
He was taken aback by the knowledge that he existed as a person in your head outside of this room for a moment and simply nodded—suddenly feeling far too hot in his black on black sweats and hoodie.
God just talking to you made his skin burn.
“Great, cause we’re allowed to chose the medium we present in and I was thinking of taking it in a more creative direction cause I’ve had this prof before and he eats that shit up,” you begin to ramble again, scrolling through a bulleted list, shifting the screen for him to see.
“Right,” he murmured, still surprised you’d thought this far and not...actively hating what you’d brainstormed.
Well, it was a bit juvenile and you clearly didn’t know what you were talking about but the concept wasn’t horrendous. He could work with that and it shouldn’t be too hard. It kinda seemed like you’d overestimated a bit with how challenging it would actually be and saddled yourself with most of the heavy lifting. That or you were just a control freak which was a little more believable.
He wished you would stop looking at him over the edge of the screen. He could feel himself starting to sweat. Rivulets falling down the nape of his neck and racing across his bare chest under the sweatshirt. Tomura sorta regretted not wearing a shirt underneath but he knew that he wouldn’t have taken off the insulating layer even if that had been an option.
It would just mean you had more drying, pale as fuck skin to look at and judge him for because he knew that’s what you were doing. Fucking vapid and shallow like everyone else.
“It’s really rough so far, but I have it the gist outlined,” you indicated to another tab and then turned back to Kai who had been sitting silently glaring daggers into your back. “So, Kai, since you’re in STEM I figured you’d be okay with doing more of the preliminary research—”
“I don’t think so,” Kai interrupted, shaking his head and pushing off his knees to lean back in the cheap, plastic seat. “Look, it’ll be easier for all of us if you two just make it look pretty and I can handle the oral presentation.”
You gaped and looked to Tomura with this pathetic fucking incredulous stare, like you thought he’d back you up.
Which actually, now that he thought about it was probably a good idea—he did need you to remain somewhat cordial with him—but he certainly didn’t care enough to defend you in any way. Kai was a dick, sure, but he wasn’t gonna let you rope him into being your white knight or whatever.
He settled for a similarly disgruntled downward twitch of his lips. The movement pulled at the cracking skin which stung as it tore open even more. Tomura felt the familiar crawling feeling on his neck and shifted in his seat to resist the urge to scratch.
He couldn’t pinpoint why exactly you staring at him was so uncomfortable. He didn’t like you, he didn’t care about you and by extension didn’t give two shits what you thought of him, but anything he might have said shriveled on his tongue when you spoke or looked in his eyes too long.
Tomura had never made a habit of talking to females and they certainly had never wanted anything to do with him either.
Maybe he was fucking allergic or something.
Whatever the case, you seemed to take his half frown as a sign of solidarity and leaned back in your own seat.
“Okay, look,” you retorted. “If you’re seriously not gonna at least try to cooperate, then there is actually an option to do the project by yourself and I suggest you take it.”
The look on your face was distinctly impolite. There was a sharpness to the set of your jaw that Tomura had never seen before, but it looked practiced enough that he could bet it was simply the snake that resided in every woman just waiting to come out.
“Look sweetheart—” that masked jerk began, also for some fucking reason looking to Tomura for support.
For someone who was very much used to blending into the background scenery, this was the most eye contact Tomura had ever made in a day.
Except on the rare occasions his roommate had friends over and he had to make the dreaded trek from his room to reach the fridge.
“Oh yeah I’m not doing that,” you closed your laptop sharply and rolled your eyes. “I get it, but I’m really just trying to graduate. I don’t think this is going to work out and you,” Tomura froze as you shifted your gaze to him once again, “seem okay, so Tomura and I can just work this out by ourselves and you can find a different group.”
Kai scoffed behind the black layer of fabric covering his mouth and slung his backpack over his shoulder. “Whatever.”
Tomura watched him saunter straight out the door as the room was filled with the shuffling of notebooks and zipping of backpacks.
“God,” you huffed and turned back to him.
His raw skin burned under the new wave of heat and accompanying moisture that slicked his skin when you scooted closer to him. That clean laundry and shampoo smell was suffocating from this proximity.
Did you fucking bathe in the stuff?
He was becoming increasingly aware of his less than pleasant aroma and the fact that you not scrunching your nose up in disgust just out of some stupid, ingrained need to appease him.
“Well, that was...weird,” you chuckled in a way that was probably meant to break the tension.
Unfortunately Tomura felt more like he was about to break out in hives if you came any closer so it really just ended up making the atmosphere ten times more awkward. At least for him. You, somehow, remained resolutely unaware.
“Mhm,” he hummed in response and picked silently at the skin of his fingers.
“Anyway, I have a meeting in a few but we can trade numbers and pick a time to meet up sometime tomorrow maybe?” you suggested, quickly saving the steadily degrading vibes of the conversation and pulled out your phone.
He really hated the full body pulsation that rushed through him at the thought of getting a girls number. It made him fucking sick at himself for falling into your stupid trap to get him interested. Was your plan to just use him to get a good grade or whatever and then block his texts?
It wasn’t like Tomura didn’t know about his status as the class ‘freak.’ That one guy everyone whispers about and makes sure not to sit next to. And he knows you know, so why the hell else would you act so nice?
He wanted to say something scathing in return. That he could do the whole thing by himself too—which he definitely couldn’t but that was irrelevant—and that he didn’t need you bossing him around either.
“Sure thing,” he said instead and took your offered phone all too eagerly, typing in his number and watching as you shot off a text back so he’d have yours.
His phone buzzed against his thigh and he jumped a fourth time, but you seemed not to notice as you packed your bag and grabbed your basic ass drink. The ice clattered against the tumbler, dropping cool condensation against the searing skin of his hand.
Tomura shivered as you waved over your shoulder and slipped out the door with another rush of students.
He sat silently in the empty room for a moment, trying to process the last hour. He pinched himself idly, wondering if it had all been just a weird dream, but the results were inconclusive. A minute or two passed before he pulled out his phone to scroll through the list of reddit and discord notifs to find your text.
Unknown Number:
— pEopLe DoN’t TaLK tO mE liKE ThAt
— not very plus ultra of him...smh
— anyway, library at 6 tomorrow ?
Tomura caved, digging his nails into the side of his neck and hissed at the pain, confirming the day's horrible reality.
#tomura shigaraki x reader#shigaraki tomura x reader#shigaraki x reader#tomura x reader#bnha fanfiction#tomura shigaraki imagines#fem!reader#incel!shigaraki#college au#bee.writes
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... Stays In Quantico - FBI Part 2
Summary: Back in Quantico, you are reminded just how difficult your situation is. (Part 2 of the FBI Series)
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader
Wordcount: 3.1k | Rating: T
Warnings: descriptions of an anxiety attack
Here we are! I am so excited to finally start sharing this story with you. Having binged through all 15 seasons, I just want to say now that (1) this story will be canon-divergent and (2) it will be a slow burn. It is my first longer story about Hotch and I hope I will do his character justice. As always, you can find the posting schedule linked in my masterlist.
Have fun reading and let me know what you think.
masterlist | crossposted on AO3
“I don’t know what to think.”
“This is not the kind of job where you don’t know what to think.”
“I know.”
“Hard to believe from someone who just told me she doesn’t know what to think.”
You shifted in your seat. The office you were in was colder than the bullpen of the BAU and you wished you had remembered to bring your cardigan with you. Now all you were wearing was your short-sleeved dress and heels.
To be fair, you had presumed this would just be a standard meeting with the in-house therapist. After the incident in Kansas City, it seemed like standard procedure and you were glad to have been offered this opportunity.
Now though, sitting in the way too soft armchair with the brunette older woman looking at you over her glasses, this felt more like an evaluation than anything else. And you absolutely hated it.
You looked at the still-life of a fruit bowl on the right wall, right next to a bookshelf full of framed certificates. A woman who was proud of her accomplishments.
The first and last time you had had an evaluation was when you had first started working at the FBI and back then you had been sure that you had failed it. You had been sure you had failed all of it.
Your grandmother always used to say that if you looked for flaws long enough you would find them.
Dr Johnson looked like she spent her life looking for flaws.
“Tell me again why you chose to work for the FBI – and the BAU specifically.”
You would not make it anyway. Fuck it.
“There is so much hurt in the world,” you started, watching her eyebrows rise over the frames of her glasses, “I would feel better knowing I am trying to do something against it. And as for the BAU,” you shrugged, “Chief Sector Strauss approached me about it and I thought I would be stupid not to take the opportunity.”
She hummed, looking down at her file. “You don’t have any official FBI training.”
“No.”
“Any formal police training?”
“No.”
“Gun training?”
You hid your smile at the thought of the recent debacle for the gun qualification.
“I took down an UnSub in Kansas City last week,” you reminded her, “That is why I am here.”
She did not react to it. “In fact,” she leafed through the papers in her hand, “You only recently finished college. How did that go for you?”
“Good,” you nodded, trying to keep your knee from bouncing, “It was good.”
“What did you major in?”
“English,” you replied and when you saw her raised eyebrow, tried to elaborate, “Um, English literature to be exact and I have a minor in law as well.”
“Why only a minor?”
“Pardon me?”
“Why did you only minor in law? Were you not good enough?”
To cover the unease from her question, you crossed your legs. “I had no interest in law,” you answered truthfully, “My passion was and is with literature.”
The full truth was, you simply did not like law students. That and the pressure they were under was, you were convinced, what brought many lawyers to an early grave. But she did not need to know that about you.
Ironic that you had ended up in the BAU after all this.
Totally not stressful.
She said your name, then, slowly, and leant forward. You tensed, knowing that look too well. Was this the moment she would tell you that you had failed the valuation? The moment Hotch would come into the office and hand you your resignation with that disappointed look in his eyes.
Maybe the way Kansas City had ended was just a way to disguise the true going-ons of your work here in Quantico?
“You have been here, what, seven months now, Agent?”
“Yes, eight months, coming February,” you replied, meeting her gaze and swallowing the dryness of your throat.
“Would you say you have adjusted to your life here in Virginia?”
You frowned, “What do you mean?”
Dr Johnson made a vague gesture as if encompassing everything and anything, “Do you have friends here? Family? How do you get on with your colleagues?”
Well, you certainly had not been expecting this kind of question.
“I live together with a friend,” you answered slowly, “My family lives in Idaho.”
“Idaho,” Johnson smiled, “A long way from home, no?”
“Yes.”
“Look, Agent, I am not going to lie,” she sighed, putting her pen down on the notepad, “I am not sure if you are the right fit for the FBI.”
You’re not the only one, you thought with a grimace.
“I am sure you are a good person, that your motivations for working here are true,” she elaborated, “But your lack of training? Your lack of … experience,” she gave you a pitiful look, “I am simply not convinced you are cut out for the work we need here.”
You had always thought it but hearing someone else say it to your face hit deeper than you ever could have thought. Your fingers started to tremble and you clasped your hands together, squeezing them to somehow force yourself to remain with as much dignity as you could.
“Okay,” you nodded, taking a deep breath in the hopes that it would keep your tears at bay, “What – what does that mean?”
“As there are no reasons for a suspension based on your mental health, the next step would be that I get in contact with your supervisor,” she threw a look on her paper, “SSA Aaron Hotchner, is that correct?” you nodded and she continued, “A written evaluation of your role at the BAU will be requested and then we will go from there. Best case scenario is you won’t leave at all, worst case scenario …”, she trailed off.
Of course, she did not need to finish the sentence for you to know what she was saying.
Worst case scenario: You would leave the FBI.
Realization washed over you and you smiled tightly at her. “Thank you, Dr Johnson,” you stood up, reaching a polite hand out to her which she took, “If you will excuse me, I should get back to my desk while I still can.”
Dr Johnson smiled kindly at you which only made it worse. She was pitying you. She felt sorry for you. Sorry for your incompetence, sorry for you not belonging in this place.
You felt like you would throw up any minute.
“Of course, Agent,” she said softly, “I will inform your supervisor of my recommendation. You will receive a copy of the protocol within the next week.”
You nodded, not meeting her eyes as you hurried out of her office.
*
The staff washroom on the third floor was always empty.
You knew that from the fact that you had often used it as a refuge after nearly dissolving into tears in the bullpen. That and the fact that the third floor was far away enough for anyone of the BAU to search for you here made it the perfect place to come after your talk with Dr Johnson.
You threw a look on your watch.
Six minutes. You would give yourself six minutes and then you would go to your desk and work on those reports and show Dr Johnson that you loved your job and that you were capable of doing it. You would show her that you were not the anxious, incompetent student she saw in you but someone who could be an asset to the team.
I am not sure if you are the right fit for the FBI.
Tears shot into your eyes and you locked the little cabin behind you, sitting on the edge of the toilet as you rushed to grab a few pieces of toilet paper.
The first sob echoed in the tiled room and you pressed the tissues to your mouth, hoping it would muffle the sounds somewhat. Your skin felt too hot and too tight and you could already see how your makeup would be ruined by the tears no matter how hard you tried.
And you had left your backup mascara in your bag at your desk.
Great. Just great.
Anxiety filled you at the thought of having to prove yourself even more than before. After Kansas City and Hotch’s encouraging words, you had somehow hoped that the hard part was over now. That you could focus on delivering good work instead of questioning if everyone doubted your belonging in the unit.
But maybe they were and they were just too polite to mention it? Maybe Dr Johnson was finally saying what they all wanted to spare you from?
Tears were rolling freely over your cheeks now, dropping onto your dress and you cursed, trying to wipe it away and somehow keep your face dry. There were still quite a few hours left in the workday and although you hoped there would not be a case coming in today, you were working along with a team of profilers.
You were like an open book to them even if there was the agreement to not profile each other.
A look on your watch told you it was nearly time to go and you took a moment to listen if anybody was there before stepping out of the little cubicle. It was completely abandoned.
Much like you had expected, you looked an absolute mess and just seeing yourself in the mirror brought fresh tears into your eyes.
“Fidelity, Bravery and Integrity,” you echoed the motto, gripping the edge of the counter and taking deep breaths, “Fidelity, Bravery and Integrity.”
*
“Hey, kid, how did it go?”
You entered the chaotic bullpen, just barely avoiding crashing into Anderson before making your way to your desk. Reid was seated across from you which meant that no matter how much of a mess you left at the end of a day, it still looked comparably neat.
Now though, it was nearly empty.
“Hi Derek,” you smiled tightly, your eyes still irritated from your impromptu cry session as you sat down at your desk.
You had splashed cold water on your face in hopes of somehow feeling and looking better. Still, you immediately went for your bag, scrambling to find your emergency mascara and lipstick to sneak back into the washroom before anyone noticed.
Especially –
“Agent,” Hotch’s voice boomed through the office and you winced, feeling the heat of tears collecting in your eyes again. You stayed ducked over your bag, hoping that maybe he did not mean you. Maybe he wanted to talk to Derek or Emily or Reid or –
Cleanly polished shoes appeared in your field of vision and you swallowed.
“In my office. Now.”
“Yes, Sir,” you mumbled, hastily wiping your cheek of a stray tear before straightening and following him up the stairs. You ignored Derek’s worried look, instead choosing to straighten your shoulders and stoically look ahead.
This was but an extension of the interview with Dr Johnson. You could do this even if the man terrified and intrigued you more than he should.
You had barely stepped foot in his office when he sat down. “Close the door. Sit down.”
You did, feeling much smaller than you had in Dr Johnson’s office. His lips were tight and he looked incredibly displeased, even for Hotch’s standards. You must have majorly messed up.
His hands were clasped in front of him and your eyes fell to his fingers. You swallowed heavily, hands wringing in your lap as you waited for him to start talking.
“Dr Johnson just informed me that a written evaluation of your performance on this team is being requested.”
“Sir, I can explain, I –“
He raised a hand, effectively silencing you and your mouth snapped shut.
“You do not need to explain anything,” he said calmly, “Dr Johnson is only doing her job and after what happened last week, it might not be such a bad idea.”
You nodded, trying to not seem as nervous as you were.
“Do not worry yourself over it. I meant what I said in Kansas,” he stated, facial expression unreadable, “You are a valuable addition to this team and I look forward to seeing your contributions in the future.”
“Yes, Sir,” you looked down on your hands, trying to hide your nervousness, “Thank you, Sir.”
“Call me Hotch.”
“Yes, Si- Hotch,” you corrected yourself with a sheepish smile. He was sitting at his desk, hands folded on top of it as he looked at you. And fuck, it should be forbidden to look this good. You froze, licking your lips and hoping you would be able to blame it on the dryness of your lips instead of you imagining what it would be like to feel his mouth on yours.
Not the time, a rational part of your brain reminded you, So not the fucking time.
*
Shuffling through the crowded metro you pressed your phone to your ear.
“I promise, it is all right, mom,” you assured her, letting yourself fall into one of the free seats, keeping your bag pressed against your chest. An elderly woman threw you an offended look and shuffled away from you as if you had any interest in stealing her dog off her hands.
“I am just worried, honey,” your mom said on the other side of the phone, “We are all worried. It is a hard job, isn’t it? And why do they keep putting you up for evaluations? You haven’t even been there for a full year!”
“Mom –“
“Are you okay?” she interrupted you in that voice that only your mom had, “Truly okay?
Your head fell against the window of the wagon, the heaviness of the day washing over you. You took a shuddering breath, “No, Mom, I – I don’t think I am.”
There was a sigh on the other side of the line. She was disappointed and worried, you could hear it already and it did not help to calm the anxiety raging in your stomach. You could almost see her in front of you, the pity in her eyes and the little furrow between her brows.
“You can always come home, hon, you know that, right?” she asked carefully and you cringed at how quiet she was being, “We can still find somewhere else for you to work. A nice option. You can come back home and dad and I will help you. I know it can take some time to find a good position. But you had so much fun doing literature, why not go back to it? You don’t have to stick there if it doesn’t make you happy.”
“But it does make me happy, mom,” you protested, wincing at how desperate you sounded, before adding quietly, “Saving people is what I want to do. And I can do it.”
“I am not saying you can’t, sweetie,” she assured you, “But maybe it is not what you should do with your life, hm?”
*
You could see that the light was on in the living room when you entered the small hallway. The sounds of the TV washed over your ears and you smiled.
“I’m home!”
A non-committal grunt answered you and you grinned, knowing that he was probably too entranced in whatever crime show he was currently watching. You let your keys fall onto the little side table and made sure to lock the deadbolt before making your way to Josh.
Your heels made clicking sounds on the floor and you took care to be as quiet as possible. “Hi,” you grinned, waving at him.
Josh was tall and lanky. And despite being offended if you ever told him that – looked exactly like one would imagine a law student to look. He was always well dressed and took great care when it came to all things cultural. He drank the best wine, read all the important books, watched all the niche movies to impress people.
Sometimes you joked that of the two of you, he was the one who could be expected to work for a government institution.
“It’s late,” he commented, nodding to the screen, “You’re usually here by the second episode.”
“I wanted to get some reports done,” you explained, shrugging out of your coat, “Had a chat with my boss today again. I thought it might be better to not give any more opportunities to criticize me. How was your day?”
“Boring,” he replied, “Attended that one event about intellectual property and want to lunch with a few friends from uni. You should come with us sometime, you will like them.”
You nodded, already thinking ahead of a day when you would have enough free time to join him and his friends. Dr Jones’ words about having a strong social life to fall back to echoed in your mind and you decided to make more of an effort to make friends.
It would be all right.
There was some Chinese takeout in Josh’s lap and you spotted a few grocery bags in the small hallway to your room and the kitchen.
“Did you get me the bananas like I asked?” you asked, slipping out of your heels.
Josh kept munching on his noddle, making a vague gesture that led you into the kitchen. And there, on the tiny dining table were two green bananas.
“They are not even ripe yet,” you called into the living room, “And I asked for four bananas, not two.”
“What do you need them for anyway?”
“I wanted to bake banana bread,” you said, turning to get out some flour and chocolate chips, “It’s an easy breakfast to have in the metro.”
Josh sighed, walking into the kitchen and throwing himself onto the black dining chair. “You barely eat at home anyway, that’ll just go to waste.”
“Which is exactly why it is nice to have something ready to eat on the go,” you explained, wondering if he had overheard your words.
Cracking two eggs into a bowl, you hummed. “I could bring it into the office,” you mused, starting to mush up the bananas, “I think JJ mentioned she liked it once.”
“To the colleagues that despise you?”
You frowned, “They don’t despise me. They are very nice to me, Josh.”
Josh took the last bite of his noodles, setting down the little container “By the way, Greg is coming over tonight.
“But it’s almost midnight,” you stated, throwing a confused look towards the clock, just to make sure, “Didn’t you say you will leave for that Seattle trip tomorrow?”
“Yeah, if it gets too late he will just stay on the couch,” Josh replied, shrugging. You nodded, not saying anything but knowing deep down that George would occupy the bathroom that morning so you would have to get up even earlier than normal.
That would be a stressful day.
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hello! do you have any fics where charles meets edie/erik's family for the first time?
Hi anon. I have plenty of fics where Charles meets Edie and/or Erik's family. I hope you enjoy!!!
Charles Meets Edie/Erik’s family for the first time
In the Bleak Midwinter – keire_ke
Summary: It is not easy to find out, well into the second decade of the twenty-first century, that your mother arranged a marriage for you. It is even less easy to convince her that you have no interest in the very fertile Magda, she of the wide hips and lustrous auburn hair. Fortunately, with a good friend at his side over the holiday weekend, Erik is sure he will prevail.
A Road Trip to Pennsylvania - Aainiouu
Summary: For a year Charles has nurtured the biggest and most embarrassing crush known to man towards Erik. They are friends and roommates and when Erik asks Charles to accompany him to home on Thanksgiving of course Charles goes.
Fools and Their Mamas – LoveSupreme
Summary: Charles FINALLY gets to meet Erik's mother in person! Sure she doesn't know any English (besides knowing when Erik is cursing and thus requiring a good smack) and sure Charles doesn't have a great history when it comes to mothers, but Erik is sure everything will be stupendous, when he has brain power left over from trying to find a way to ask Charles to move to the Lensherr estate.
A Nice Boy (The Family Matters Edition) – pocky_slash
Summary: Erik's not sure whether the problem is that he doesn't want his parents to meet Charles or that he doesn't want Charles to meet his parents. Either way, he never invites Charles to brunch. Why should he? It's not like they're dating.
First Impressions – Ook
Summary: The first time Erik Lensherr, CEO of Eisenhardt Enterprises, met Charles Xavier he might just have called him a homeless drop out and accused him of being a junkie, before realising he was a waiter. He almost apologised.
The second time Erik Lensherr met Charles Xavier, he was volunteering at the soup kitchen, and Erik definitely (In Charles's opinion) accused him of being a thoughtless freeloader and slacker. He did apologise. Eventually.
The third time Erik met Charles, he hit him with his car. This was definitely not on purpose. Erik didn't actually ever say he was sorry, but he did end up taking Charles home with him, that time.
Food, Family, and Friends with Benefits – endingthemes
Summary: “Everyone,” Edie says, voice bursting with pride. “Erik’s here, and he’s brought his friend.” She takes Charles’ arm and pulls him forward, presenting him like a shiny object. “This is Charles.”
Charles manages a weak wave and an even weaker, “Hello.”
(In which Charles gets dragged along to his fuck buddy's parent's house to celebrate a Jewish holiday, and things get weird.)
Impulse Decisions – listerinezero
Summary: Erik wakes up in Las Vegas with a hell of a hangover, a telepath in his bed, and a ring on his finger. Now what?
Look Up, You’re Standing Next To Me, What A Feeling – luninosity
Summary: Charles, when uncertain, buries the uncertainty beneath extra certainty about everything else, which reads an awful lot like arrogance to anyone who doesn’t know better. Erik does know better. His mother doesn’t.
I ♥ NY (It’s My Friends I’m Not Sure Of) – oddegg
Summary: Erik is a single, successful man who likes quick sex with no strings attached. Then, he meets college professor Charles and it's love at first sight, at least for him. Charles, who heard of Erik's notorious ways, wants nothing to do with him besides being friends. Cue Erik bending over backwards to steal Charles' heart.
Series
Mutually Beneficial Transaction – Pookaseraph
Summary: In his sophomore year at Columbia University, Erik, feeling slowly strangled by his mounting college debt, places an add on a sugar daddies website. He doesn't know exactly what to expect from it, but when he's contacted by a man named Charles who seems less creepy than the other people who have responded to his profile, he decides to give it a shot. Charles is nothing like what he expected, and Erik finds himself slowly falling in love with his sugar daddy while trying to find out exactly what caused this amazing guy to buy his emotional and sexual intimacy when he clearly deserves so much more than that.
Math Reasons – pearl_o, pocky_slash
Summary: "Mom says Erik always knows what he wants, it just sometimes takes him a little while to actually realize it," Ruth said.
Charles fell in love with Erik the first night they met, the first week of freshman year. Two years of friendship, adventures, arguments, hijinks, secrets, and summer visits later, Erik is starting to catch up.
Miss Missing You – WaxRhapsodic
Summary: In his head he knew it was unfair to compare Charles and Magda, but he couldn’t help the giddiness he felt around Charles. Erik had never felt this way about anyone before, and he relished the live wire of emotion coiled in his chest.
or
Erik and Magda are separated when he meets a charming young professor out on the town.
Soul of my soul – ikeracity
Summary: You can imprint on your soulmate anywhere — school, work, on the street, in a restaurant, on the subway.
Charles and Erik imprint on each other just in time for the holidays.
Heart of my heart – pinkoptics
Summary: You can imprint on your soulmate anywhere — school, work, on the street, in a restaurant, on the subway.
Of course, imprinting on the guardian of one of your grade one students isn’t ideal.
Then again, when has Erik’s life ever been ideal?
Love Over Challah – sebastian2017
Summary: As his first Shabbat alone with David approaches, Charles realizes he's overlooked one important detail: he's not actually sure how to have a Shabbat dinner. Thankfully, he meets Edie Lehnsherr, who just so happens to be having dinner with her son and grandchildren that very Friday and would love to have Charles and David over to celebrate the Shabbat with.
or
Charles and Erik meet while celebrating the Shabbat and bond over mutant activism and their adorable children.
When, how, and because we do – aesc, pearl_o
Summary: Erik brings Charles home to meet his mother. AU of Tough little baby telepath.
And your smile, oh darling, your smile – lavenderlotion
Summary: Charles turned back around to find Mrs. Lehnsherr still standing in the doorway, watching them with a smile and some very warm thoughts that made Charles feel very soft in his chest, right by his heart. "You have a lovely home, Mrs. Lehnsherr. It's very, very nice," Charles told her seriously, meaning every word and hoping that Mrs. Lehnsherr would believe him and not think him just terrible for the way that he had first thought the house too small.
Hearts and Bones – pocky_slash
Summary: Modern, non-powered AU. An impending visit with Erik's parents leaves Charles anxious and Erik unsure how to proceed.
Good manners (will get you far) – ximeria
Summary: Charles had been looking forward to the performance at the Met for ages. Little did he know, things would not go according to plan.
The Gift of the Magi, But Screw it Up – librata
Summary: He doesn't know if he's buying too much, too little, or even the right things at all, because he's never entertained a guest as important as Edie Lehnsherr.
‘How to Parent’ by Edie Lehnsherr – SprinkleofSunshine
Summary: Edie prided herself on being a good mother. The best mother even. After all, she had several mugs in her cupboards declaring that truth gifted by her two children over the years. However, something is going on with her son, Erik, and it's her duty to find out what....
Defying Expectations – Baamon5evr
Summary: Charles and Erik meet each other’s family. Neither of them gets what they expect.
Meeting the Parents – melonbutterfly
Summary: Erik takes Charles home to introduce him to his family.
Charles Does Not Buy a Shamwow – magneto
Summary: Charles and Erik are spending the first few days of their university's winter break alone at Erik's mother's house. Then, Erik's mother decides to come home early unannounced... while Erik and Charles are naked on the living room couch.
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one spoon for two |
first of all, i can't make my first post in english without thanking those who helped and encouraged me to make this decision. thank you for everything @waitimcomingtoo, @harryhoney-bee and @parkers-gal 🧡
summary: you and peter share spoons and sweatshirts and are “secretly” in love with each other.
pairing: peter parker x stark!reader
warning: hi! english (obviously) is not my first language, so I ask for patience, im still learning <3
"Good morning." You said with a enviable morning good humor as soon as you arrived at the complex's kitchen, receiving distracted nods and murmurs from Bucky, Sam, and Natasha. Peter, on the other hand, received your greeting with equal enthusiasm.
"Good morning, Y/N." He replied anxiously, straightening the posture and removing his feet from the chair beside. "Do you want to sit here?" He asked quick and shyly, pretending not to notice Bucky and Sam narrowing their eyes across the table. "I-I mean, it's empty, but you don't have to if you don't want to."
You nodded, accepting the offer before sitting down next to the boy you used to call best friend, frowning as you noticed that your yogurt with granola was already prepared next to a spoon and a glass of milk.
"Did you do that?"
Peter agreed, feeling a warmth rise from his neck to his cheeks.
"Yes, I figured you would be tired after last night."
That answer was enough to capture the attention of the entire kitchen. Steve, who was walking through the door with an empty mug in hand, stopped as soon as he heard the phrase leave Peter's lips, widening his eyes as he struggled not to let the ceramic object hit the floor.
"What?" Bucky asked in astonishment, blinking rapidly as he looked away between you and Peter. "What did you guys do last night?"
You and Peter looked at each other in confusion, but before you could respond, Natasha pointed to your clothes.
"Is that Peter's sweatshirt?"
Steve's pressure seemed to have dropped at this very moment. With trembling hands and flushed cheeks, the soldier sat down on one of the chairs, hiding his face amidst inaudible murmurs.
"Tony already knows this?" Sam asked with his mouth full of cereal, looking at you both with disapproval.
"What should I know?"
Peter swallowed hard when he heard your father's voice, dreading the mischievous smile that grew on Bucky's face.
"That me and Pete spent the whole night watching Star Wars." You were quick to respond, causing Peter to let out a relieved sigh.
"So that's what the kids call it these days?" Steve whispered, looking more shocked by the minute. Natasha patted her friend on the back, offering consolation.
"The Spider-Baby said he made Y/N very tired last night." Bucky, playing the part of the devil on Peter's shoulder, repeated the sentence with slight alteration.
"I didn't say that." The boy with bright curls said in horror, shaking his head frantically as his face turned as red as fresh strawberries. "It wasn't like that, Mr. Stark."
"So explain it to me." Tony demanded with a serious face, crossing his arms over his chest.
The boy became an clumsy mess in a matter of seconds. Bucky, Sam and Natasha holding their own giggling as the comic moment unfolded.
"You don't have to say anything, Pete." You reassured him, understanding your father's intentions. "Let's get away from those perverts. We still have a lot to enjoy this weekend."
You stood up with Peter at your heels, leaving the kitchen under the watchful eyes of the Avengers. Everyone, except Steve, burst out laughing as soon as Tony made sure that you were no longer around, Sam having to wipe away a few tears that had escaped from the corner of his eyes.
"What?" Steve asked confused, staring at the others strangely. "What did I miss?"
"They are so oblivious." Natasha said with a smile, shaking her head negatively.
"It's kind of cute." Tony admitted, shaking his shoulders. "The boy is unable to make a move, however."
"What?" Steve voiced it for the third time in less than three minutes. "They-they- you know; Aren't you angry? Isn't that a move for you?"
"They did nothing, cap." Tony stated between a sigh. "They spent the night watching Star Wars just as Y/N said, believe me."
"But is painfully obvious the Spider-Boy is upside down for her." Sam stated, earning a nod from Tony, Bucky and Natasha. "He was already here when me and Bucky showed up in the morning. He was sitting at the table and Y/N's breakfast was also already prepared. I was about to sit next to him– and it was the first time I ever considered sitting next to that child, I swear, when he simply put his feet up on the empty chair, saying that he had severe cramps and needed space. When Y/N appeared at the door all smiling and wearing his college sweatshirt, puft, it seems that the boy went out of his mind, and the first thing he did was to offer the seat next to him."
"There was one day that Y/N needed to help Bruce in the lab and was without access to her cell phone for most of the day. Peter and I were working together on his suit, but the boy was picking up the cell phone every two minutes. He sent a message at 04:30 and Y/N didn't answer until at 08:47, so guess what? Peter answered at 08:48." Said Tony.
"The boy was whipped." Bucky uttered between a sip of coffee.
"He and Y/N were sharing a pot of strawberry ice cream during the last movie session." It was Natasha's turn to share a moment between you and Peter, attracting the attention of the men accompanying her, "but there was only one spoon for both."
There was a suggestive exchange of glances between her, Stark, Barnes and Wilson, broken by Rogers' timid and cautious voice.
"So the kids didn't do anything indecent?"
"Oh, for God's sake!" Tony rolled his eyes, leaving the room.
–
It was almost seven in the evening when Peter came into the kitchen again, now with a green mask on his face and a Hello Kitty's patch over his nose.
"What the fuck?" Bucky asked skeptically, almost spitting out the sandwich that was in his mouth.
"Y/N and I are going skin care tonight." Peter replied simply, going over to the refrigerator as everyone watched him intently.
"And what is that on your face?" Natasha asked the question everyone wanted while Peter grabbed a pot of ice cream from the freezer.
"Avocado mask. She saw in TikTok that it is good for the pores."
"So that was the fate of the avocado I bought to eat in the morning." Steve said regretfully. "It's okay, I can buy another one tomorrow."
"I have many questions, but I don't think any answer will answer them." Sam do a grimace before turning to the food laid out on the table.
"Peter, you should ask Y/N out on a date." Thor gave his opinion. "That's what you Midgardians call, right?"
Peter choked with the air as he heard the Thunder God's phrase, almost letting the pot of ice cream slide down the sink.
"W-we go to dates almost every day." He refuted with red face. "Tomorrow we will go to the supermarket. We can buy another avocado for you, Steve."
"But this is not the kind of date we are talking abo–" Natasha tried to explain, but Peter was already leaving the kitchen practically running.
"Bye, Y/N is waiting me to put cucumbers over the eyes."
"You got only one spoon!" The redhead screamed.
"It's enough!"
The Avengers present exchanged a look of recognition before Thor broke the silence, repeating the question Sam had asked that same morning:
"Tony already knows this?"
Everyone shook their shoulders simultaneously, Bruce being the only one to speak up verbally when silence filled the room.
"I'm sure he's already pulling some strings."
–
"Please, Tony, don't tell me that you are hiding to spying Peter and Y/N."
Tony peeked a bit between the leaves as he heard Pepper's harsh voice, putting the binoculars in the back pocket of his pants as covertly as possible.
"Spying?" He laughed exaggeratedly loudly. "Of course not, dear. This is absurd."
The woman eyed him suspiciously, reaching into her husband's pocket as soon as he hugged her.
"So can you start explaining to me the binoculars, the camouflage clothing, and the presence of a giant plant that was not in the hallway before?"
Tony walked away defeated, lowering his eyes at the judgmental look he was receiving.
"The word "spying" is too strong, okay? Let's say I was watching them without them knowing."
Pepper rolled her eyes.
"They are already adults, Tony. You should let them make their own decisions, and it is pretty obvious that they like each other. I know that the idea of Peter and Y/N dating may be strange to you, but–"
"Strange?" He almost shouted, lowering his voice when he noticed that the music that used to come from your room had stopped, now putting his camouflage skills at risk. "Baby, I love you, but you are crazy." He whispered. "Peter is the only boy who deserves to be with someone like Y/N, and all I have been doing for the past seven months is trying to get them to confess the feelings that everyone knows exist, but they seem too blind to see. So far I remain with the verdict that the boy is right for her and I hope don't change my mind anytime soon. They are my OTP."
"OTP?" Pepper asked confused by the slang.
"One True Pairing. Honey, you are so out of date."
"All right, I'm leaving."
Tony arched an eyebrow as he watched his wife walk away and take the binoculars, shrugging his shoulders before hiding behind the leaves again. He spent almost two hours there, but nothing interesting had happened, just you and Peter going back and forth from the kitchen with greasy foods and ice cream, a spoon for two as you shared whatever it was in the aisles, sometimes even taking it into each other's mouths, making Tony look away from those nauseatingly sweet scenes.
He had a story appointment with Morgan and his presence in the little girl's room at nine was a must. The plan affectionately called "Project Starker" had failed that day, and Tony had to accept defeat as he went to your room, expecting to find you and Peter sprawled out on the bed while some nerdy movie was playing on TV.
"Y/N? Peter?"
The room was dark, lit only by adjacent lights coming through the window. Tony stumbled over a few objects along the way, walking blindly through the furniture until he was near your bed.
"Can you even see each other here? God, how–"
Tony had to interrupt the sentence, surprised to see you and Peter snuggled up to each other, sleeping peacefully while a current series he didn't know the name of played on the TV at an almost inaudible volume. He shook his head in denial, holding back a smile before nudging Peter's waist, forging an angry timbre:
"Kid, you have a room here for a reason. What are you doing in my daughter's bed?"
Peter blinked a few times, completely lost and surprised by Tony's presence.
"Mr. Stark?" He asked stunned, trying to see Tony through the shadows. "Why are you here?"
Your father raised one of his eyebrows, aghast at the sudden boldness of the teenager before remembering the younger man's sleepwalking habits. Peter probably thought he was dreaming or some shit.
"Why are you here?" Tony returned the question, crossing his arms.
"Because I'm in love with Y/N and I want to sleep next to her."
Tony opened his mouth like a goldfish, cursing himself mentally for not recording that statement, shaking Peter's body when he started to close his eyes again.
"Aren't you going to your room?"
Peter mumbled something indecipherable, tightening his arms around your body as you continued to sleep heavily on his chest.
"No, thanks for the offer."
Tony nodded to nothing, deciding to just close your curtain and ask to Friday to turn off the TV.
"Thank you for doing Y/N too, Mr. Stark. I appreciate that."
Tony laughed softly, promising himself that he would tease the boy about it the next morning, “Go to sleep, kid. I'm sure no one will leave you alone tomorrow after I tell what you said."
Stark was about to leave when he noticed Peter's feet sticking out of the covers. The night was cold, and there was nothing but a thin comforter protecting the two of you.
"Just one blanket?" He asked.
"Yes." Peter kind of whispered, pulling you closer. "It's enough."
This time Tony didn't hold back his smile, shaking his head before closing the door, leaving you and Peter in that little bubble of teenage passion.
"Point for you, Spider-Boy."
#imagine peter parker#peter x reader#peter parker imagine#avengers imagine#stark reader#tom x reader#imagine tom holland#tom holland x reader
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The Rumor Mill Game (pt4)
I swear I didn’t forget about this au. This chapter is just....long.
Welcome back to this mess of an au :) If you need a refresher, you can find Part Three [here!] Or if you’re new check out the first part [here!]
Summary: Logan is...dealing with the fallout of him and his coworker, Remus, having created a rumor about them being married and now apparently having a kid except not because Logan screamed at the top of his lungs that Virgil wasn’t his kid. His boss has a different definition for what “dealing” actually means.
Words: 8292 (Holy shit remember when this au was 2k words)
Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist
When Logan had seen his boss after he made Virgil cry, he hadn’t expected it to end up like this.
Granted when he hadn’t exactly been expecting anything. He hadn’t been looking ahead, hadn’t been making plans, hadn’t been thinking at all. Which was most likely how he ended up outside the bar in the first place.
Logan could, of course, count the number of times he had been drunk on one hand. College had been a time for experimenting, and of course for his twenty-first birthday his friends at the time had been insistent that he needed to imbibe an unholy amount of alcohol in one night. They had turned it into an experiment, where Logan documented exactly what he was feeling after each drink and he still had the notes in his desk at home, despite the fact that his handwriting had become illegible after the fifth drink and someone had spilled an orange soda based tonic on the third page. The notes themselves were worthless, but they served as a memoir to people who he no longer associated with and a younger version of himself who had still been learning.
And Logan did have a soft spot for that imbecile: Twenty-one-year-old Logan Ackroyd who still believed in the goodness of people and who wanted to change the world and who could fall in lov--
Logan pitied him-- that kid he used to be-- which he was certain that his younger self would be indignant about. Logan always did hate when people pitied him. Those emotions had rarely ever been genuine, rarely ever been helpful, rarely been productive. What was he to do about people feeling bad for him? About others being disappointed? About others making assumptions about him and how he felt?
He didn’t need pity, and he didn’t want it. Not when he got rejected to his first three colleges, not when flunked that English class and had to pay to retake it the next year, not when he had bought that ring and gotten down on one knee and made a whole carefully edited speech and--
And he’s not nearly drunk enough to deal with these types of thoughts. Or any thoughts for that matter. Wouldn’t it just be great to stop thinking?
Then he wouldn’t have to remember the looks on his coworkers faces when he storming into the office less than fifteen minutes after initially leaving for lunch and demanded that Beatrice turn in her overdue spreadsheets in twenty minutes or he’d have her fired before slamming his office door hard enough to crack that frosted glass, or the look on Remus- fucking- Prince’s face when he tried to act like everything that had happened was not his fault and that Logan had taken the game to far by himself without any sort of prompting from Remus, or the look on Virgil’s face when Logan lost his self control.
Like an idiot. Like an asshole. Like someone who doesn’t think before he acts.
Like someone who should be alone for the rest of his life, because he can’t seem to get a hold of those useless emotions of his.
And Logan wanted so very badly to blame Remus Prince for this whole endeavor, the whole production, the whole catastrophe. He wanted to say that without Remus he never would have gotten that angry, wouldn’t have had that conversation, wouldn’t have even gotten Thai today.
Logan wanted to say that, but really it's his own fault. If he had just dismissed Remus’s rumor in the beginning, if he had just told Jen and Quin that his personal business was his own, if he had just ignored the urge to get coffee and finished the spreadsheets without getting up that last night.
His fourth finger itched around the base, the area where that little silver ring had been sitting for less than a day. It was ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, because Logan had never worn a ring before and now suddenly the absence of it caused his skin to crawl in a most unpleasant, unproductive way.
Distantly Logan realized that by gifting Remus such a wonderful present, he had also thrown away four hundred dollars. And perhaps ironically Logan noted that he feels annoyed about it-- four hundred dollars had been sitting in a pocket of a dress jacket in the corner of his office for over nine months and he had tossed it aside in a fit of impulsive anger.
Logan had not been hurting for money recently, with how decently he was paid, and the amount of overtime he worked, and how little time he had taken off since that disastrous night.
But perhaps he might have been able to return it to the jewelers and weathered the terrible, awful pitying looks they would give him when he requested about their refund policy or a location where he might be able to sell it himself. It was a ring that was worth four hundred dollars and he had given it to Remus, and isn’t it funny that that’s farther than he got with the one for whom the ring had been originally intended?
And as Logan downed his next rum and coke of the night, he hoped that Remus found a better use for it. Newton knows it hadn't done any good for Logan.
(Its stupid, Logan knew, to blame a ring for the way that he had screeched “He’s not and never will be our son!” Its stupid, Logan knew, to blame a ring for the way that Remus had hummed mischievously “I think I enjoy being fake-married to you, Logan." Its stupid, Logan knew, to blame a ring for the the way his last partner had said “We should see other people”. Its stupid, stupid, stupid--)
“Hmmm,” A voice behind him said, “I thought I would find you here!”
Logan didn’t realize he had closed his eyes until he heard the voice and felt every atom in his body figuratively threaten to combust. He wasn’t drunk enough to be thinking about him, and he most certainly wasn’t drunk enough to turn and look at the incessantly, perky man that had decided to sit down next to him.
Logan waved at the bartender and ordered another rum and coke and watched his freshly emptied glass disappear like the handful of others he didn’t bother to keep count of.
“And I’ll have two waters, please!” Patton Hart added with one of his peppy, happy, insufferable laughs, before turning to face Logan. “Hiya, Lo! It's been so long since we’ve seen each other!”
“Not long enough,” Logan disagreed, with a rueful smile that should very clearly, very precisely detail how much he does not want company at the current moment. “Don’t you have things to be doing tonight, Mr. Hart?”
Patton hummed, pressing his lips together as he thought-- a monumental task for someone like him, surely. Logan was partially convinced that if he removed his glasses he might be able to see the squirrels beginning to run on that rusted wheel in the other man’s brain. If Logan was of a less logical mind he might even be brazen enough to call this the first time Patton had used his brain all week.
“Well,” Patton said, carefully settling himself on the stool next to Logan. “I was graciously informed by my son that he would be enjoying the perks of being a teenager with no bedtime tonight and along with where exactly I could shove my homemade lasagna.” He laughed lightly, “Kids, these days! He really does keep me on my toes!”
Logan did his best not to roll his eyes. “I do not know the whereabouts of your son, Mr. Hart.”
“Patton,” He said easily, “And I’m not here for my son. I’m here for you, Logan.”
“If this is about the glass in my door, you are very capable of taking that out of my paycheck.” Logan told him.
The bartender placed Logan’s new rum and coke in front of him and he reached for it almost immediately, only stopping when Patton’s hand landed on his forearm.
“Mr. Hart--”
“Patton,” Patton corrected with that smile that Logan suspected was the worst thing in the world. Worse than Virgil’s blank expression when he told them to get out, worse than Remus’s smug one when he suggested that Logan did indeed enjoy the ability to manipulate his coworkers, worse than Beatrice faulty excel sheets, than broken glass of his door, than a ring he never wanted to see again and yet he still felt like it was missing from his finger.
“Mr. Hart,” Logan said again, “I am going to get horrifically drunk tonight, and I will be calling out sick tomorrow, regardless of what you say. So my advice to you is, say anything of importance now, before I am too incoherent to register and respond accordingly.”
“That doesn’t sound too smart there, kiddo!” Patton said, like he was any older than Logan was.
“I do not feel like being smart right now,” Logan said snippily. Because being smart involved thinking, and Logan had done quite enough thinking for the day. He was tired of thinking, tired of memories, tired of the lump in his chest that had formed during his lunch break and hadn’t dissolved in the eight hours since. He was tired.
“Would you like me to be smart for you?” Patton asked.
Ah.
Yes, Logan remembered suddenly with just a few words why he hated Patton Hart so much. Why he hated those too-wide brown eyes, those stupid freckles, that soft smile. Why he hated the way that Patton had tracked him down despite the fact that he had turned off his phone, the way that Patton had ordered two waters, the way that he hadn’t taken off his jacket. The way that he had taken out his keys and put them on the bar counter between them and Logan could pick out his own house key from the jumbled mess of bits and bobs.
“I heard something pretty interesting today,” Patton said, when Logan didn’t reply because he was too busy remembering why he hated Patton so much.
“Please don’t pretend like you didn’t know about my so-called affair before I did.” Logan snapped. “Honestly, Patton!” Logan dropped his arm from the glass and instead pressed his knuckles to his forehead. “Playing dumb about your own company is my least favroite thing about you.”
“I thought you hated my laugh the most.” Patton looked at him, letting the smile slip into something more serious.
“I hate everything about you.”
“Pay for the drinks, Lo.” Patton told him, “And I’ll take you home. We can have some of my lasagna and watch a space documentary, like we’re twenty years old again.”
Logan hated Patton and hated the way his chest ached at the offer. His knuckles bore into the side of his head, jabbing the frame of his own glasses into this temple. He hated the way that Patton was looking at him, soft and sweet and naive.
He hated the way his fingers itched to take Patton’s hand and go home.
“And after all that,” Patton continued so lightly, “You can tell me all about how Remus Prince got under your skin.”
Logan’s hand slammed on the counter, so suddenly he surprised himself. Patton, however, didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink, didn’t react other than to hold that smile.
“I am not drunk enough to be talking about Remus Prince,” Logan spat. “Especially not to you, Patton.”
Patton was quiet and at first, Logan really had thought that he had won something-- he thought that perhaps Patton would grant him mercy and let him drown his sorrows alone and miserable in a bar until he forgot his own name. But Patton was too good of a friend and Logan really should hate him less for that.
“You know,” Patton said with a cold type of humor that doused Logan with awareness. Bad awareness. The type of awareness that sunk it’s metaphorical claws into Logan’s chest and pierced straight through his heart before Patton finished what he was saying. “I think….yeah that does sound familiar. Do you remember the last time you said you weren’t drunk enough to tell me something?”
Logan did.
Logan couldn’t forget if he tried.
And he had tried so very hard for so very long-- except that Remus Prince had waltzed into Logan’s life, had called him a Robot, had smirked at him and run their coworkers around like cattle with pretty little words. Except that Remus Prince had gotten bored and decided that the only logical next course of action was to mess with Logan’s personal life.
Except that Remus Prince had played along with the rumor game, and smiled at him, and kissed him, and---
And Logan had started thinking---
And Logan’s mouth had started moving--
And Virgil face had--
Logan reached for the glass in front of him, reaching for the cool ice and the spritzy carbonation and the burn of the rum.
Patton watched him, blinking in the long, slow, dumb way of his that had fooled just about every person that he had come in contact with. With the goofy smile and the habit of deliberately misunderstanding key phrases and making puns and jokes when things were tense, it was hard to see him as anything other than a rich son who became CEO via thinly veiled nepotism.
Logan knocked back the drink, blinking back the burn behind his eyes that were from the alcohol and definitely not from the lump in his throat that had started dissolving.
He didn’t want to close his eyes, because he knew what he would see when he did: a nice suit, a fancy dinner, a walk to the bridge dotted with fairy lights of all things. He’d see that stupid ring, that stupid face, that stupid end of the night that everyone had told him would be nice, and perfect, and everything he would ever want!
And he didn’t want to think about how it had not been nice or perfect or anything either of them had ever wanted!
He didn’t want to think about how years ago he had come to a bar just like this, and tried to get so drunk he could pretend that it hadn’t happened, and Patton had shown up then and offered him a job and--
“He wants to go by Janus now,” Patton said, picking up one of the waters and taking a sip.
Logan squinted at him and tried not to be happy about the distraction from his own thoughts, “Who?”
“My son,” Patton said, like it was obvious he had switched back to a neutral topic. “He told me earlier during our phone call he wants to go by Janus, now. He said he’s hated the name Dante for forever. Can you believe it, Lo?”
Logan couldn’t actually. Because he had known Patton since they themselves were teenagers, since before Patton had brought up how empty being a CEO was without anyone to come home too, since Patton had first invited him to Sunday brunch and introduced him to the child he called “son”. Logan had babysat Dante when Patton had business trips and Dante had always been proud of himself, of his better-than-the-status-quo lifestyle, of his name that held power and prestige and weight.
Dante had been practicing saying his name in the mirror since before his voice cracked. Dante Hart, future CEO. Dante Hart, son of Patton Hart. Dante Hart.
“He’s a teenager,” Logan said, “He’s rebelling.”
“Maybe so!” Patton laughed, and it dwindled down to something that was easier felt in the air than definable in terms Logan was familiar with, “Gosh, I love him so much, Lo. My baby! He’s growing up so fast now! The other day he told me he had a boyfriend. He’s at that stage where he doesn’t want me to help him anymore!”
And despite the buffoon having not had a single drop of alcohol, Patton was tearing up. Logan gritted his teeth at the implications of a weepy, teary, so-full-of-emotions Patton. He had spent enough time in college trying to console him as he figured out the whole “Why does it always have to be about sex? Why can’t I just love hugging someone, Lo? Why does everyone make me feel so broken?” Logan hadn’t been any good back then, and he definitely hadn’t gotten better with time.
After that disaster with the last guy, Logan had decided that feeling things, frivolous things, emotion-like things, were not something he was into anymore.
Logan learned from his mistakes, after all.
Even the mistakes that started with “R” and ended in a $400 ring being thrown away.
“Is that why you’re here, Mr. Hart?” Logan asked, in that way of his that told even Patton with his squirrel run brain that it wasn’t actually a question at all. “You can’t baby your son anymore so you’ve moved on to the next best thing?”
Patton stuck his tongue in his cheek and set his water back down. “Patton.” He stressed. “And I’m not here to baby you, Logan. I’m here to be your friend.”
He said “friend” like it was a word in the dictionary Logan didn’t know. It was infuriating: the insinuation that Logan had never cracked open a dictionary before, that he was so unknowledgeable about the concept of a friend that Patton was about to show him the online Oxford dictionary definition, like someone who played dumb all day and peppered his windows with sticky notes in the shape of a game of Frogger knew more about something than Logan who had clawed his way up from nothing and was constantly needing to prove how he earned his position.
Patton nudged the second water in Logan’s direction.
Logan stared at it, at the condensation on the glass, at the ice cubes, at the refraction of the low lights from the bar counter. He stared at it like it was a portal back through time that would allow him to slam some sense into poor, pitiful twenty-one-years-old Logan before he let himself fall in Love.
Before he bought a ring or stopped taking days off unless Patton tromped down to his office himself. Before Remus Prince borrowed his cup and before Logan got it in his head that he was serving revenge rather than idiocracy. Before he let himself think too little and say too much and hurt a kid that had never deserved to be upset before in his life.
“If my son wants to be called Janus, I’ll call him that,” Patton says softly. “Because even if it doesn’t make sense to me, it means something to him. And even if my friend is struggling with emotions that don’t make sense to me, I’m still gonna try to help him, Lo.”
Patton ducked his head just a little, just enough that he managed to catch Logan’s strategically averted gaze and make something out of it: a swell of guilt, a sense of hope, a pinch of safety and unadulterated kindness.
His throat was dry, but it was the type of dry that couldn’t be fixed with a glass of water.
“I made a kid cry,” Logan said, because self loathing is a coat he had thought he’d outgrown but he can still fit his arms in the sleeves.
Patton nodded. “Yeah, I heard about that.” He sipped his water. “I think we all have at one point or another.”
“See, the distinct difference that you are missing here, Patton, is that you are a father.” Logan snapped, “And your son will cry at the drop of a hat if he thinks he can get something out of it. And you would never harm a child! Not for any reason in the entire world!”
“And you would?”
“I did.” Logan felt himself sink into the chair, sink like an anchor in the ocean, sink like the floor below him had turned into a blackhole. “I did, I did it. What type of person does that make me?”
“I hate to break it to you, Lo,” Patton said, as kindly as he could, which Logan knew was truly, sickenly nice. He wanted to choke on the sentiment but he found that he couldn’t quite make his chest hurt the way he wanted it too when it came to Patton’s pity.
“But that just means you’re a normal person.” Patton smiled dumbly, tilting his head and shrugging. “Everyone says things they don’t mean sometimes.”
“You don’t.”
“I do,” Patton countered gently, “Like when I hired Beatrice before realizing that she had lied about knowing how to use Excel.”
“Fuck, Beatrice,” Logan agreed, because if he closed his eyes too hard he thought he might still see grid patterns as much as he might see Virgil’s hurt expression and he hated it so much. So much.
“I also told-- Janus once that I would get him anything he wanted for his birthday, and he asked for a snake.” Patton shuddered, almost comically, “And you saw how that turned out.”
“I’ve always been impressed with his ability to sneak things into the school buildings,” Logan sighed. “I doubt anyone has ever forgotten that Show-and-Tell.”
Patton chuckled quietly. It was almost lost in the buzz of the other patrons in the bar. He drew a smiley face in the condensation on his glass and Logan reached over to wipe it away, like he had done a hundred seventeen times since college.
“So….Lasagna?” Patton offered. “We can make some garlic bread too.”
“I regret ever meeting you,” Logan said, even as he picked up the keys on the counter between them. He wished that Patton didn’t look so self satisfied, so pleased, so smug when the words tumbled from his lips, but Patton had never been one to pertain to the wishes and whims of Logan like that.
Settling his tab was quick; a pile of bills from his wallet that he didn’t actually check, but decided the bartender deserved anyway and then Patton linked their elbows together so that Logan couldn’t walk off the way that he used to when he would agree with Patton just to get him to shut up. Logan snagged Patton’s glasses from his head and fogged them up with his breath, before taking on the tedious task of cleaning the fingerprints off the lens meticulously while walking in a wobbling straight line.
Patton laughed like silver bells and it alone brightened the entire street with a type of magic that Logan had long since given up on trying to scientifically explain. The poet in him that Logan had buried under Calculus classes and Statistics courses and a Business degree and only let out when the alcohol out weighed the blood in his system, whispered that it was because it was Patton and his aloofness, and his kindness, and his generosity that never made any sense, and wasn’t that reason enough for the universe to lighten up?
It was drizzling outside, scattered raindrops and dark heavy clouds that whispered of a thunderstorm later. Patton skipped, Logan rolled his eyes and let himself be dragged towards the familiar pale blue punch buggy. It was the same exact car from their college time together, if one ignored the frankenstein replacements of just about every single component in it. Patton clung to the car the same way he had clung to the delusion of Logan being a good friend; sticking close through every breakdown, excusing every letdown, and spending far too much money on it when economically it would have been more beneficial to just let them go.
A wave of self loathing wrapped over Logan again when he pulled on the car door. Patton was genuinely a good person, a good friend. He was stupid at times and he made decisions that made Logan was to strangle him, but he cared so much more than other people. He offered fourth and fifth chances when Logan would have stone-walled his offender at one.
Not to mention, he had come out in the rain to find Logan specifically, probably traversing through three other bars to find the one that Logan had chosen to be his misery echo chamber.
By some sort of lucky happenstance, Logan had originally walked far enough to hail a taxi to get to this bar, leaving his car in the safety of the parking garage where Patton’s company paid a nice sum for security. Logan had tried to argue about that expense with him back in the day, but Patton had pulled out a picture of his toothy grinning son-- Janus-- and said “Lo!! What if my son comes to visit when he learns to drive?! I don’t want to worry about him getting attacked in the parking garage!”
Logan had brutally pointed out that his son would never visit him during work, and so far he had been correct in that assessment, but that didn’t stop him from feeling the slightest bit guilty about his bluntness even so much time later.
Patton had always looked for the best in people, had more strength than most of humanity, had more hope in happy endings that Logan had trust in fact and numbers.
“Is your son okay with me calling him Janus? I’m unsure of etiquette on this. Should I wait until he tells me his preference or should I just make the switch and not bring it up to him?” Logan asked with a sigh as Patton pulled out of the parking spot and set them towards Patton’s house on the other side of town. Unobstructed and following the driving laws, it would only take them about fifteen minutes, and yet Logan wondered about the possibility of Patton having Advil in the car.
The back of his head was already aching from the days events: banging his head on the keyboard all morning leading up to his disastrous lunch date, Remus, Virgil, squinting at spreadsheets until he couldn’t make out the numbers anymore, and the of course stumbling his way to the bar and dealing with Patton.
Patton giggled. “Oh yeah! I asked him earlier if it was okay to tell you. He said he wanted you to call him Janus now. He also said to tell you, you can take a hike.”
Knowing Janus, it was probably something more volatile than “taking a hike”. Most likely it had been something that might have required him to put a full five dollars in the swear jar that they kept on the counter next to the cookie jar. Not that it would matter much. Logan had stayed over at their house dozens of times and every single time he had come across Janus taking that money back out of that swear jar.
As far as Logan was aware, the swear jar had never actually been full. Patton must have noticed at some point-- probably that very first time Janus had taken the money back out-- but he was irritating insistent that he play dumb about it. Thus, Janus continued to swear in excess, Patton continued to make him put money in a swear jar for no real reason, and Logan continued to never understand either of them.
The radio in Patton’s car had been broken fifteen times since Patton had gotten it, but Logan assumed from the silence of the drive that it was now sixteen. He rested his elbow on the window and watched the drizzle turn into a steady rain and the windshield wipers flutter across their vision to occasionally bring them clarity.
The night life was somewhat dreary. The driving pace was slow, and they hit every single stop light in the city because that was just Logan’s luck. There were a few people running around in the rain: a family with a small child who was jumping in every slowly forming puddle on the sidewalk, a couple sharing an umbrella walking so close together they appeared as if to be one misshapen form, a group of friends chatting outside a 24 hour dinner in raincoats, and a few smokers huddled under an alcove with embers burning just enough for Logan to make out their forms through the downpour.
Logan realized almost immediately that the pit in his stomach was much more bearable if he instead focused on the raindrops on the window that are much easier to look at, much less representing something that Logan had always expected he might one day have, much less accusatory in wondering what is wrong with him that he can’t act like a normal human being, this isn’t working, who wants to marry a robot like you--
That was the reason why he wasn’t expecting the sudden jerk of the car coming to a hard stop at a yellow light that they absolutely could have made.
“PATTON!” Logan yelled.
The car behind them blared it’s horn and Logan rubbed his neck and reset his glasses from the sudden movement, ready to question what exactly Patton thought he was doing, because truly of all the things Logan was not in the mood for, this was one of them.
Except that before Logan could get any words out, Patton had put the car in park and whipped off his seatbelt to kick open his door. A wave of rain came pouring into the car as the man threw himself from the driver's seat like there was something wrong with the car, and for a second Logan entertained the absurd idea that they were going to blow up.
Which truly, would have just been a fitting end to his horrific day.
“Patton!” Logan hissed, grabbing after the other’s coat to pull him back inside before the rain soaked into the seats. “Get back in th--”
The other man ignored him, frantically waving to someone in the rain. “REMUS!! MR. PRINCE!! OVER HERE!!”
If Logan knew slightly less about human biology he might have been inclined to say that his heart jumped straight to his throat and climbed its way up his esophagus to strangle him. He wouldn’t have recognized the figure on the street corner on his own: Remus Prince was wearing a black leather jacket and jeans with holes in the knees. He was soaked to the bone, without an umbrella, and his usual bouncy brown curls were matted to his head, as if he had been walking out in the rain for much longer than the rain had been sweeping through the city.
He was standing with the smokers under their minimal tarp, although he, himself, was without a cigarette at all. When he turned at the call of his name, there was only confusion and exhaustion in his face. None of the smugness, or the ego, or the energy that he usually had.
Logan didn’t know why that bothered him. He was hurting from earlier; that was good.
After all, it was Remus’s ridiculous game that he had dragged everyone else into.
((Logan’s finger itched and he dug his nails into his skin so deeply he was afraid to glance down in case there was blood pouring off hands.))
Remus ventured out to meet them, dodging across the lanes of traffic without a care in the world, or perhaps with a death wish. Remus didn’t seem particularly like he would mind getting run over by the way that he opened the back door, climbed in, and shook the excess water out in the interior of the car like some type of undomesticated dog.
“Is this a kidnapping?” He asked, rain dripping down his face. “A murder? Do I get to know your name before you dismember me, cutie?”
Patton laughed joyfully, even as Logan felt his face screw up at the sound of Remus calling their boss “cutie”. It was beyond unprofessional, even if Remus was apparently unaware that his career hinged entirely on not insulting Patton. It took a lot to make Patton angry enough to fire someone-- his patience was the best and worst thing about him, as Logan had been reminded every time they interacted-- but once Remus crossed that line, not even a cockroach like him would be able to drag himself out of the metaphorical wasteland Patton would make out of his life.
Cutie, honestly. Who calls anyone they’ve just met cutie. Logan could understand Remus having called him Lovebug and Lolo, but cutie?
For Patton?
Patton climbed back into the car, snapping on his seatbelt and managed to get out of park at the very same moment as the light turned green. He wiped his sleeve along his glasses, and brightly said, “I’m Patton! And you already know Logie here!”
“Logie?” Remus repeated, sitting back against the seat taking in Logan for the first time. “Oh shi--”
“Do not call me that,” Logan said. “Patton, you can drop me off at the next corner. I will walk home.”
“Don’t be silly!” Patton said, in the same tone that he had used during their college days to coax Logan into driving him to the nearest grocery store after he had successfully managed to pull two all nighters in a row. Logan hated that tone, and Patton knew that well.
“If you do not stop the car, I will throw myself from it while it is still moving.”
“I can get out, actually!” Remus said far too loud for the small car. Logan resisted the urge to turn around and scowl at him. Surely, his pea-sized brain had managed to figure out that he was the point of contention here and that his best move would be to shut up, so why had he decided to open his mouth? “I need to get home anyway. Big day tomorrow and everything.”
“Oh?” Patton said delightedly because Logan would not ever play into subject changes willingly. “What’s tomorrow?”
“I’m getting fired,” Remus said with a nonchalant shrug.
Patton blinked for a moment-- his squirrel-run brain jamming at the sudden twist of the words because whatever he was expecting from his visitor it was not that. Logan resisted the urge to reach over and give him a shake at the shoulders: of course he wouldn’t be able to expect anything with Remus Prince. The man was insufferable and illogical and he wrought chaos for fun.
With everything that had happened, did Patton really think that there was an exaggeration in there?
Remus wanted attention. And he said whatever he needed to in order to get it: a fake affair, a fake divorce, a fake child-- Of course he would say he was getting fired tomorrow if it got Patton to have to use all of his meager brain cells to figure out how serious he was.
“Is that something to celebrate, Mr. Prince?” Logan cut in coldly. “Getting fired?”
“And here I thought that you would be happy, Ackroyd,” Remus said. “Unless you think you’re going to miss me.”
“If only I would be so lucky,” Logan said, digging his phone from his pocket, and turning it back on. The screen was blindingly bright and Logan’s eyes ached just glancing at it in the corner of his vision. “Patton, pull over. I am not doing this tonight. Or tomorrow. Or ever again.”
“I’m not going to let you walk home after however many rum and cokes you had, Logan.”
“Patton,” Logan snarled. “If you continue to treat me like you treat your son, I will tender my resignation tonight. Pull over now.”
Patton opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was swallowed up in Remus’s empty voice speaking.
“You went drinking?”
“Do not talk to me, Mr. Prince.”
“You’re not even yelling.”
Logan wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, which may have irritated him more than the fact that he was so insistent about continuing to talk when Logan was liable to push the car to crash and kill all three of them. Remus was already staring at him, his expression dark and serious in the passing car lights and somehow Logan thought that he looked vulnerable.
Logan gritted his teeth as his headache pulsed behind his eyes.
“Shut up,” he said. “And put on your seat belt.”
“Or what? You’ll divorce me?” Remus pushed forward between the seats until he was just a few inches from Logan’s own face, grinning with all his teeth. It was at once the same smile that Logan had catalogued through every week of working with him and also something completely foreign.
Remus had pulled him into a kiss earlier that morning, and Logan remembered the taste of pickles on his lips just as well as the smirk he kept as Logan walked away. But this expression is somehow inverted, somehow shifted, somehow a weapon more than a challenge.
“Boys,” Patton said. “Please don’t fight in my car!”
“If you did not want us to fight, why did you invite him in this car?” Logan asked. “You, of all people, know my opinions on--”
“Logan, you’re drunk.”
“What does that have to do with this?!” Logan bit out. He glared at his phone: there were three missed calls from Patton and a handful of text messages from him that Logan couldn’t actually read in the combination of the bright phone light and darkness around them. His eyes were blurry even with his glasses on and the frustration of not being able to read only heightened as he made out the notification for his email which meant that Beatrice had managed to finish her work (allowing Logan to be able to go fix it) or that news of him yelling at a child made it around the office and now he was going to harassed by them as well.
All because of Remus Prince’s inability to shut up.
Patton threw a hand out and grabbed Logan’s phone from his hand and carelessly tossed it over both their shoulders to Remus.
“Patton!” Logan hissed, rubbing the irritated tears from his eyes. “Remus, give it back!”
Remus, however, was just staring at the phone in his lap like it was some type of bomb. Logan’s phone locked itself and the screen went dark, and still Remus sat inhumanely still in the seat, staring at it, with a type of blank expression that Logan oftentimes related to their coworkers when Logan asked them to perform any sort of math without a calculator.
“Remus,” Logan said again.
Remus jerked at the sound of his voice, snapping out of whatever fit the phone had put him in almost meekly-- if Logan could describe anything Remus did as meekly without it being a blatant falsehood. “Meekly” itself had never seemed to be a word in Remus’s vocabulary which was another irritating fact about him that made Logan break out in figurative hives.
Logan knew how Remus was.
He knew Remus.
It didn’t matter that he had never talked to Remus before today, that his thinly veiled contempt for his coworkers kept him from being willing to stand in their presence more than he was being paid to, that this fake affair was the first stupid relationship of any kind he had gotten outside of Patton and his son since his last boyfriend had dumped him on the night he was going to propose and hadn’t he thought he’d known him too? Isn’t that what led to all this?
It didn’t matter.
Logan was smarter, now. Logan was better now. Logan was--
“I don’t…” Remus said, trailing off as he stared at the messages popping up on Logan’s phone and Logan wondered why it felt like his lungs had shrunk right in his chest. “I don’t think you should be reading these right now.”
“He definitely should not!” Patton said, with a very convincing amount of forced happiness. “Hold that for him will you, Remus? Oh and why do you think you’re going to get fired tomorrow?”
Remus looked up at Logan and then at Patton and then back at Logan, like Logan was supposed to know what that meant in addition to every other stupid look he’d given Logan all evening. Logan shoved his glasses up to his hairline and rubbed his aching eyes, and yet somehow that still didn’t fix the pounding in his head or the exhaustion hollowing out his bones. It also didn’t make Remus disappear from the backseat, which was equally annoying, even though Logan hadn’t truly thought he was a shared apparition for him and Patton.
“You didn’t mention anything about today to your… what are you a fuck buddy?” Remus said.
And Patton laughed.
Logan grabbed the door handle and yanked on it, but of course the ridiculous safety locks were engaged, and Logan had spent far too many sober years getting locked in this car to try to puzzle out the broken locking system in order to drunkenly throw himself out of the car. He was not in the habit of wishing for miracles, or even believing in deities, but he imagined that some powerful entity was finding ruining Logan’s life to be semi enjoyable.
“See this is why I can’t fire him!” Patton said through giggles and Logan thought maybe he was being addressed for this. Patton met Remus’s gaze through the rearview mirror and shook the last bit of water from his damp hair. “You make everything so entertaining!”
“What?”
Logan grit his teeth and yanked on the door handle again. “Remus, meet Mr. Hart, the CEO and your boss. Also put on your seatbelt.”
Remus blinked at them both, leaning between the seats and definitely not putting on his seatbelt. Logan counted backward from ten, reminding himself that one of the hiring requirements for Patton’s company has always been must be the stupid beyond belief. He’d known for a while that his coworkers were idiots on a good day, hazards to his health on bad ones, and yet somehow in the whirlwind of the day he’s had, Logan had forgotten that Remus counted as a coworker still.
“I’m not… getting fired?” Remus said, acting much like a computer after being turned on. “Why do you know my name then?”
Patton shrugged, flicking on his blinker to change lanes before the next light. “You have interesting ideas for your advertising strategy! Of course I would know your name! I’m sorry about vetoing that last one. I know Logan liked it, but I wanted to stick to the family-as-a-whole angle.”
“Patton,” Logan warned with an edge.
“Logan liked…?” Remus echoed, before turning towards Logan with a look of bewilderment that annoyed Logan far more than it had any right to. “You actually look at my shit?”
“Put on your seatbelt, Remus,” he said, because wasn’t it obvious that Logan looked at his things? Before the whole Robot incident Logan hadn’t had a problem with Remus at all: he was effective and efficient and the rumors were irritating but below him to indulge in. Before Remus had dragged him figuratively kicking and screaming into this mess, Logan approved the budgets that came with the projects Remus created.
He still did that, just with more anger than before. Petty feelings for Remus himself aside, his work was objectively good.
Logan knew that about him.
“So!” Patton said over both of them, with his signature grin that Logan suspected he would still be wearing even if Logan decided to kill him right now. It must be the by-product of being controlled by rodents running on a wheel. “How was your volunteer work Remus?”
Remus froze in the back seat, going unnaturally still again. “Are you some kind of stalker-- uh sir?”
“Will you knock that off?” Logan snapped, which only made Remus’s shoulders jump straight to his ears. “And put on your seatbelt.”
“Just curious!” Patton said, ignoring Logan entirely. “Darlene is a good friend of mine! I make sure to send monthly donations to the organization since I don’t have a lot of free time to jump over and help.”
Remus didn’t say anything to that. He swallowed audibly and leaned back against the seat, dragging fingers through his wet hair and then tucked his arms in his own armpits. Logan pressed a palm to his forehead watching the street lights bend from behind his eyelids because that was easier than staring at Remus act like Patton was trying to pull his teeth out.
“You actually do volunteer work?” Logan said. “You don’t seem like the type.”
“Ha,” Remus said without any inflection. Logan thought that was the quietest that he had ever been. Where was that stupid ass smirk? Where was the stubbornness that pushed back against everything? Where was that loud voice and that confidence?
“Put on your seatbelt,” Logan said again.
“Why do you care if I wear the belt or not?”
“Remus put on your seatbelt or, so help me Newton, I will climb back there and put it on for you, myself!”
The air simmered from the acid in his tone, making the silence figurative chafe against his ribs. Remus stared at him, blinking slowly, with the street lights casting roving shadows on his face. His dark eyes were just so-- so--
Logan dug his nails into his palm. Why was it Remus Prince could make him feel like this? What gave him the right?
“It’s okay!” Patton said, setting the car to park. “We’re here anyway!”
Logan reached up and pulled his glasses back onto his face properly, but it still took him a moment to realize that they were near a bunch of townhouses, double parked outside one that Logan had considered moving into all those years ago when he had first been looking for an apartment for after college.
Remus too, apparently needed a moment to recognize the area. “We… are at my apartment? Holy shit, you are a stalker.”
Patton giggled, flashing Remus with his blinding smile and reached back to pick up Logan’s phone from his hands. “Thank you so much, kiddo! We’ll wait until you get inside all safe and sound, and I’ll see you tomorrow!”
“You will not,” Logan said. “Tomorrow you have a business deal two hours away to complete and if you miss it--”
Patton stretched back in his seat and let out a hugely exaggerated yawn. “But they’re so boring! Maybe I should bring Janus with me. He always makes my business deals entertaining. I love when he sets his snake on people. He looks so happy and he laughs and--”
Logan squeezed his eyes closed and recited the first twenty digits of pi in his head to keep from grabbing Patton’s squirrel run brain and slamming it into the steering wheel.
“Homicide is wrong,” Logan said.
“I’ll help you vouch for insanity,” Remus said. “I mean, tied together through a murder, and possibly hiding a body is much more juicy than a fake marriage that’s falling apart. We’d be the talk of the office.”
“They would not find any body that I hid,” Logan said. “Nobody would.”
Remus opened his mouth to say something more, but whatever it is he decided against it. Instead he slid over the seats and kicked open the door right behind Logan and stepped out into the night air.
“Thanks for the ride, Mr. Hart, sir,” he said, strangely formal, then squinted and added, “Daddy?”
“I’m not firing you, Remus,” Patton said. “No matter what you call me!”
Logan ran his tongue over his teeth counting each and every one. Remus looked at him but ultimately finally adhered to that whole shutting up thing. He closed the door to Patton’s blue punch buggy and started towards the door to the apartments.
“Oh,” Remus said, and turned back at the last second. He knocked his knuckles on Logan’s window a few inches from where Logan’s gaze fixed itself on a light. Patton apparently knew more about what to do than Logan because he pressed the window lowering button and Remus reached his entire arm into the window to drop a small object right into Logan’s lap.
Logan caught it mainly due to reaction rather than skill and his skin tingled at the familiar item. Even in the dark, Logan’s fingers roll over the shape of the ring that had always reminded him of the worst day of his life. It was still warm from being in Remus’s pocket.
“I think that should stay with you,” Remus said, like it wasn’t a big deal at all. “You know… for the next boytoy you take to your sex dungeon or whatever nerds like you do on weekends.”
And then he turned around and fled towards the apartment building. Patton turned off the hazard lights and slipped back into traffic and Logan wondered if he would be polite enough to not comment if Logan started crying right then and there.
His throat felt swollen, his tongue too big for his mouth, and the headache thrummmmmmed painfully.
Logan knew Remus Prince.
“You know that Remus Prince isn’t gonna be like him,” Patton said to fill the silence.
“Remus Prince isn’t like anyone.” Logan didn’t whine. To whine would be unbecoming. And childish. And embarrassing.
So Logan didn’t whine and Patton mercifully didn't call him out on his not-whining.
And neither of them mention the choked tone that Logan had for the rest of the night.
When Logan had seen his boss after he made Virgil cry, he hadn’t expected it to end up with him clutching that ring like a lifeline, but as he ran his fingers around the rim, he wondered if it had fit on Remus’s finger at all.
(Part Five)
#intrulogical#sanders sides#logan sanders#remus sanders#patton sanders#Far too many OCs gross#Rumor Mill Au#rumors#well fake marriage#sympathetic remus#Logan is bad at feelings#so bad#now with more logan angst#Patton is a good friend#This au is so old that I called Janus Dante and I decided to fix that#alcohol#drunk logan
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Hey I want to share a kinda fucked up childhood memory I have. I live in a third world country where a small porcentaje of people are ridiculously rich and of course take advantage of that. The difference is not only about money, it's also about looks: they don't have brown skin and their last name isn't Ramírez or Pérez, they are white, blonde and have European last names. These kind of people always treat us "cholos" line we are objectively inferior in every sense: they act like we are dumber, uglier and disgusting. Anyway, that's just a little introduction
I grew up in a poor and rural place, my school only had about 200 students and like 6 teachers who taught more than one subject (for example, my science teacher was also my art teacher and my English teacher even though she didn't know English at all). I remember that when I was in middle school there were students from a rich college who would come every year and literally camp in our school??? Let me rephrase that, there were people from rich families who would come to our school to see how poor people live, as if we were zoo animals. They would just put their tents and observe us with fascination, the same way a toddler looks amazed at the zoo animals just live their lives. They would often look at us with pity, wondering how could we live without eating lobster and caviar for dinner every night. Why did my school allow it? Money. The teachers were so underpaid that they accepted these people coming to our school and making fun of out sad poor lives. While some of us only went to school so we could have the meals our families couldn't afford, they would just watch us and show off their fancy shit. I think that was kinda weird even as a kid, but now I realize that they just wanted to feel better about themselves by watching poor people trying to survive.
ugh. poverty tourism. a disclaimer that sometimes these things can be done correctly, as in people are brought on tours into impoverished areas by a local, and educated about the situations and often mismanagement and corruption that causes the poverty, and they get to meet with people and are encouraged to purchase things from their businesses, thus putting money into the area. these programs are done with the consent of the community and are for education primarily, as a lot of people assume that people are only poor because they're lazy or unmotivated; these programs try to correct this misconception. unfortunately programs like these don't seem to be as common as people just coming in to gawk, without any intention of educating themselves. it really is just a case of seeing how "the other half" live, and I don't understand why people do it. I think a lot of them probably just want to seem sensitive, and like they care about the plight of the poor, but they come and they look and then they go back to their comfortable lives and these people are just a dinner table story for them, to make them look worldly and caring. it's messed up.
it's not quite the same thing, but I had to put up with something similar growing up where I did. my country was coming out of the end of a nasty civil war when I was a teenager, and for the first time in about forty odd years, tourism was pretty much fully safe again. of course people capitalised on the war, and tours were set up where buses drove around the worst affected areas. for the most part I was for this, because barely anyone cares about the horror of that time or even knows it happened, but what bugged me was that me and my friends would just be chilling out living our lives and people would take pictures of us, without our permission, because it was a novelty for them to see these locals actually existing in this (still pretty war-torn) landscape. I mean there were still entire rows of houses burned out behind us, or massive 20-foot tall fences topped with barbed wire separating the two communities, and it was clear that we were kind of a novelty. I didn't mind so much if the tourists chatted with us and asked our thoughts on what it was like growing up there, and what we thought about the future etc, but it was a really unpleasant feeling that I struggle to describe when a bus rocked up as me and my friends were eating a chippy, and like 40 cameras started flashing.
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