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analogwriting · 4 months

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Childhood Crush

Chapter 12: Stainless

Killer x gn!reader word count: 3.7k a/n: I'M ALIIIIIIVE. anyway, this is a honker and kind of a catch all bc it's gloss over timeskip stuff. i can't tell you how many times i wrote the last part tho sdlkfj next

Settling in was so much easier than you thought it was going to be. You moved into the spare bedroom at Myra’s, Lily excitedly helping you unpack - and by unpack, she just took your things out and went through your stuff before setting it on the ground to grab the next thing to look at.

You didn’t mind though. Going from a rowdy ship to just a house with two other people was definitely a big change - so you welcomed the noise. You just listened as she idly chatted about nothing as kids typically did. It reminded you of your brother when he was younger. He would constantly talk about nothing for hours on end.

There was one day that he talked about Victoria for about four hours. It was a fond memory you had because of the relentless teasing, but it’s long since turned bittersweet because of her untimely demise.

You didn’t just listen to your brother’s ramblings - since the boys were always at the house, you heard all of them ramble about something at one point or another. Still to this day, actually. Before everything had went downhill, Heat had come into your lab and started talking about a group of cats he had seen on the island you had all stopped at. He told you about how he had given each of them names and what they looked like. How they all even had their own personalities.

It was rather adorable, honestly. They all still would come to your lab and drone on about something they had seen or just wanted to share with you. Like an excited child telling their parent. Then, usually, you told Killer when the both of you would be making dinner.

Thinking about those things, you were already missing them. You felt terrible with the way you left things off. You wished you could have gone back and just…not have shut down like you did but…it was too late now.

Settling into work also went pretty smoothly. Everyone was incredibly nice - which it probably helped that Myra was the one that introduced you to everything. She was the head of the island, after all.

You had your own office space, which somewhat ended up as the Kid Pirates Museum. Your space was filled with different newspaper clippings. It didn’t matter who it was or if it was good or bad, all of it went on the walls. You were so proud of your brother for coming so far and making a name for himself.

However, you were worried about him. He seemed to be growing a bit reckless in his endeavors. He was going to end up biting off more than he could chew and that worried you. They all told you not to die on them, but really they needed to not die on you. You honestly wouldn’t forgive them. You already told yourself that you’d figure out a way to bring them back and then kill them yourself.

It was only fair.

Eventually, you created something that improved your own life significantly. It seemed like a simple arm band that you had around your bicep. It connected with your nerves and you were able to gain full functionality of your arm again. It was something you had worked on the side for a while and now - it was complete.

With the full movements and feeling in your arm back, you started to train at the facility. You wanted to be able to regain your ability to fight. You wanted to be able to protect those you cared about once more. You wanted to feel useful again. You knew, logically, that there was plenty you could do even with your bum arm. You even proved that yourself time and time again, but it was just something that your head couldn’t wrap around.

If it had happened to anyone else, you would’ve told them what your brother and his friends told you. That it was okay, there was plenty of other things. Hell, you probably could’ve even learned how to fight with one arm. You heard that Shanks only had one arm and he fought just fine.

Though, he was a completely different ballgame than you. He didn’t count.

To test out your newly regained ability, you started to go out on field missions. There was a group of combat trained scientists that would sail out to various islands to gather materials and/or research. Some traveled far, some didn’t. You were with the latter. You stayed close to the island, you didn’t want anything that would take up too much time considering that you eventually wanted to go and find your brother again.

You proved to be able to hold your own once more. Fighting became a breeze to you once more, easily taking out several people in one go. Just as you used to be able to.

When you returned from your most recent voyage, Lily and Myra greeted you at the dock. Lily ran up to you, immediately jumping in your arms. You laughed, holding her. “I missed you!” You grinned. “Missed you too, kiddo.” Fuck, it was going to suck when you had to leave for good.

Myra seemed to be pensive. There was a look of worry in her face. “What’s wrong, My?” you asked, setting Lily down as you walked over to her. She smiled, shaking her head. “We’ll talk later.” You narrowed your eyes at her. Something was wrong and you knew it. You left it for now, assuming that she didn’t want to talk about whatever it was in front of her daughter.

You decided not to pry, instead engaging in whatever Lily was prattling on about as you walked towards your temporary home with the two. You caught them up on your most recent mission and they caught you up on what you missed on the island - which wasn’t exactly much.

The entire day, Myra seemed on edge. Sure, she laughed and joked like normal, but you had a knack for reading people. You knew something was up, but you never said anything. At least not while Lily was awake.

Currently, it was after dinner and you were sitting on the couch, Lily fast asleep in your lap. Myra was sitting in an armchair adjacent to the couch. “So, you going to tell me what’s going on, My?” You looked at her and she seemed to stiffen. She looked at you for a moment before glancing down at Lily. She sighed softly, pulling a newspaper from the inside of her coat.

“Read this.”

With a scrunch of your eyebrows, you took the paper, careful not to wake the little one. You read the headline and your heart immediately sank. You felt your blood run cold. Your brother had lost to Shanks and seemed to sustain grave, life threatening injuries. Panic began to rise in your chest as your grip on the paper tightened.

You felt yourself relax once you reached the end of the article. Eustass was in stable condition, going back to his usual antics. However, you did notice something. “He fucking lost his arm?” You stared at the paper before you started falling into silent laughter - mostly so you didn’t wake up Lily.

Myra looked at you - completely startled by your reaction. “I- Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. That’s just funny.” She looked at you like you had grown an extra head.

You set the paper down, looking at Myra. “I mean, he lost his arm and temporarily, so did I. Technically, without the bracelet, I still don’t have a fully functioning arm.” You chuckled. “Guess having two arms doesn’t run in the family. But at least between the two of us we have one good pair of arms.” Honestly, it was hysterical.

“Oh man, I wonder which one it is. Because it would be so funny if it was the opposite of mine. Then we really do only have one good pair of arms.” You slowly calmed down, your laughter dying down as well. You took a deep breath.

“I thought you’d be more upset,” Myra said slowly, still unsure how to gauge your reaction. You looked at her with a small smile. “Well, my brother is strong and can hold his own. Especially if his crew is with him. He’s going to be just fine. The article said he was stable and sailing again, so I’m sure he’s going to heal up just fine.” Sure, you were still worried about him.

“However.” Your face soured. “I am absolutely going to tear him a new one for fighting Shanks. I love my brother, yes, but that was the dumbest fucking move he could’ve made. He’s nowhere near ready to fight him.” What you wanted to know was why he tried to fight him. Did it just end up happening? Or did he seek him out? You had so many questions swimming through your head.

Myra let out a small laugh and you looked over at her. “Guess I was stressed about nothing. I was worried that the news would upset you.”

“Eh. My brother and I have been through our fair share of shit - I know him well enough to know he’ll be just fine.” Your expression changed to a deadpan one. “Until I get to him, I tell ya. I’m going to kick his ass.”

After that, you two fell back into normal conversation, eventually turning in for the night.

“You’re telling me I have to do fucking what?”

Myra winced at your word choice. She still wasn’t accustomed to you cursing despite having lived with her the last year or so. You did well to not swear in front of Lily and other children, but adults were free game. You were a pirate, after all. Those words didn’t really hold meaning to you.

“You’re the only one fit for the job, y/n.”

You just stare at her from the chair you’re in. You’re currently in her office, her having called you in. There was apparently some really important plant they needed for some breakthrough but getting it was next to impossible.

“You’re asking me to go on a suicide mission, Myra.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “I think you’re more than capable. Besides, if you decide it’s too much, you can come back.”

“Can’t come back if I’m head.”

“Oh, come on.”

“No, you come on.” You groaned, putting your face in your hands. Were you ready for a mission like this? It was risky, but deep down, you knew you could do it.

“Besides, I heard your brother was last seen somewhere over there, so you can just send the flower back to us and go with your brother.” You looked at her, blinking. Eustass?

“Eustass is around there?”

Myra nodded. “We all know that this place is not your home, y/n. You were going to go back eventually. It’s probably time.”

“Kicking me out?” You smirked and she rolled her eyes. “Oh shut it. You know what I mean.”

You laugh, sighing after a bit. “Fine. I’ll do it.” She grinned, nodding. “Good.”

Hoo boy, nothing could’ve prepared you for what you’d end up discovering, however.

“I got you something, y/n.” You looked up from checking your inventory. You were currently on the dock, getting things ready for departure. “It’s from me, too!” Lily chimed from beside her, holding up a box. You blinked, tucking your clipboard under your arm and taking the box.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” you said with a small laugh.

“We know, but we wanted you to have something to remember us by,” Myra said with a small smile. She was never one to express large emotions. Quite the opposite of her own child who was currently beaming ear to ear.

“You act like I’m never going to come back.” You shake your head as you open the box, missing the sad look on Myra’s face.

When you open the box, you’re taken aback. You figured it would be some kind of book or something for taking notes, but it wasn’t anything studious at all. It was a large knife, like the one your crew had gifted to you. You carefully took it out of the box, admiring it. “Oh wow…”

It was a lot like the one you had already, only instead of the Kid Pirates’ jolly roger on it, it had the lab’s emblem on it. A soft, fond smile spread across your face and you felt tears welling up in your eyes.

“Y/n! Do you not like it?” Lily frowned, looking up at you. “We didn’t mean to make you cry!” You looked at Lily and laughed softly, shaking your head, ruffling her hair. “No, no. I love it. I’m just happy.” You attached it to your belt on the opposite side before picking up Lily and hugging her tightly. “Thanks, kiddo.”

Lily laughed and hugged you tightly. You looked at Myra over her shoulder and smiled. “Thank you, too, Myra.” The scientist just nodded, her own sad smile on her face. There was something she seemed to know that she wasn’t telling you, but you were going to leave it be for now.

Nothing about this mission was going to be easy. Get in Wano - already hard enough. Blend in - could be easy, could be hard. Somehow sneak into fucking Kaido’s castle - practically impossible. Get the flower - depending on where it is, could be impossible. Send it back or come back - that part could be easy.

You have no idea why you let Myra talk you into this, but you ended up agreeing to it. Saying goodbye fucking sucked. Since this was possibly the last time you would see anyone for a long time, it was a hard goodbye. Lily almost broke your heart in two when you said goodbye. She didn’t want you to leave in the slightest. You were like another parent to her now. You told her that you’d come see her again - that you’d write and call when you could.

This whole island was like your second family, but Myra was right. It was home to go home. You missed everyone. Not a day went by that you didn’t think about them.

You also had some unfinished business with a certain someone. You had some hands to throw.

Getting into Wano was pretty difficult, but you persisted. Going upstream was absolutely insane. Everything settled down after that. It completely wiped you out, trying to navigate all that. You narrowly avoided a whirlpool. Next thing you knew, you were on a beach.

You hid your boat, knowing that the people of Wano didn’t really take visitors. Which brought you to your next issue. Blending in. You made sure to keep hidden for the most part. After all, you stuck out like a sore thumb. You did at the lab too, but they didn’t care as much. It’s not like you were trying to blend in there.

You reached a small village, quickly spotting some clothes on a clothesline. Wasting no time, you snagged them off the line and changed. After, you continued forward, eventually ending up somewhere full of snow. Great. You were just glad that the clothes you had come across had a cloak that came with a hood and a mask you would wrap around the lower half of your face.

How much more lost could you get? Why did you agree to this again? All for a flower?

Ugh. Fuck.

It was cold - too cold. Snow began to fall and, soon enough, visibility was also shit. It was just warm not too long ago; what the hell was going on? And now you’re all turned around because everything looks the same due to the snow. You needed to find shelter - and soon. You didn’t realize you’d end up this lost in a winter hellscape or you would have prepared a bit better.

A sound suddenly tore through the air. It was enough to make you jump a bit. It sounded like some maniacal laugh from a bad guy - though a bit more haunting. It sent a shiver down your spine. Whatever the fuck that was - you wanted nothing to do with it. You were here for one thing and one thing only: that stupid fucking flower that you were really debating on whether or not it was worth it at this point.

As you were walking, you lost your footing, immediately taking a tumble and falling down some hillside. When your body decided to stop moving finally, after what was way too long and now you were way too cold, you found yourself in front of some woman and a child. They looked at you with fear in their eyes, both of them also sitting in the snow.

“Wh-” Before you could ask what was wrong, you felt someone behind you. You turned just in time to block the on coming attack with your own daggers. One from your brother and friends, the other from Myra.

The assailant was a very large man with two very large scythes. Though, that’s not what startled you in the least. It was the cackle that erupted from him paired with the unnatural stretch of a hollow smile across his face. It sent a shiver down your spine. That was definitely the laugh you heard - the one you wanted nothing to do with.

How the hell did you get into this situation again?

You pushed the swordsman off of you, sending him back a bit. “I’d get out of my way if I were you,” he warned. There was a familiar ring to his voice, but it was too distorted for you to place it. Besides, the damn guy wouldn’t really stop laughing either. That was also getting on your nerves. You already didn’t like the haunting sound of it.

You said nothing, only solidifying your stance to protect the woman and small child. You couldn’t help but be reminded of Myra and Lily when you saw them. “You guys get out of here,” you told them, glancing at them for a moment.

A moment too long because he used that to attack you. Your movements were delayed as you tried to block him again, only to fumble and he gave you quite the cut on your arm. If you lost another arm, you were going to lose it. Though, after pushing him back, you realized it just looked worse than it was. Nothing some clean up and stitches couldn’t help.

He seemed surprised that, even with your distraction, you were able to recover quite quickly. You ran at him this time, initiating an attack, surprising him further. You were able to knick him in the side and knock him backwards - you were on top of him, basically competing for strength at this point as you pressed your blades against his, trying to break his defense.

From this angle, you had a better look at his face. Or you would have had there not been bandages covering his features. His eyes though, they pierced right through your soul despite themselves looking soulless. They were a shade of blue that made them familiar, but the lack of life made it hard to pinpoint who it reminded you of.

They did tell you everything you needed to know. This guy wasn’t in his right mind at all. Clearly some kind of brainwash of some kind. That didn’t explain the unnatural smile that didn’t reach the rest of his features, like his eyes, or the haunting and hollow cackle that erupted from him every once and a while.

Everything about this was weird.

Your thoughts were interrupted as he suddenly gained the upper hand. He had you pinned to the ground this time, his blade dangerously close to your neck. Fuck, you needed to out of this. You didn’t even want anything to do with this guy to begin with. He was clearly a level of unhinged that you didn’t want to mess with. With a quick glance around, you noticed the other two were gone. That was one less thing to worry about. It also didn’t help that your arm was currently throbbing from the laceration. Ugh.

You look back up at your assailant, noticing the look on his face seemed to change. Well, the look in his eyes. They faltered for a moment as they fell on your blade. The one your brother had gifted you. You used this moment to push him back, sending him off of you at least. It was, unfortunately, enough to knock him out of the trance it was in and he ran at you again.

What was that about? Why would your own knife make him falter like that? Though, his eyes lost that hollow look and…hold on. No fucking shot. There was no fucking shot that this was Killer. Contrary to his name, he wasn’t a complete mindless killing machine. He had least held some kind of emotion in his eyes, but…he also wasn’t really one to smile and laugh. Especially not like this.

Besides, your brother was nowhere to be found. This was just an uncanny valley and this was nothing more than a ghost - a glint of someone you missed. Nothing more.

But what if?

Fuck, now you wouldn’t be able to kill him even if you wanted to. Not with the possibility in your mind. After all, Myra did say your brother was reportedly in the area. But…what would Killer be doing here? Like that? Without Eustass? Ugh, your head was hurting from thinking about it.

The man in question was advancing on you once more and you solidified your stance - only to lose your footing and fall down yet another large hill. You descended rapidly, trying to stop yourself. You grabbed on to anything and everything, but nothing was strong enough to hold you or slow you down.

When you reached the bottom, you groaned, slowly rolling over. You heard that laugh in the distance, echoing through the snow. Visibility was impossible at this point, so you had to make your escape now. You didn’t want to deal with the situation anymore.

You stood up, heading off, finding a large log and crawling inside. You collapsed, completely winded. Your head was spinning and you felt yourself slowly losing consciousness.

#idk if anyone reads tags but imma say it here #i wrote some angsty shit for these next parts so have fun #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #killer one piece #killer x reader #massacre soldier killer #am fics #cc

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panoffrying · 2 days

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okok so ummmmm ,,, this took me a while to write down bc i fucking SUCK at writing down my thoughts in actually coherent ways so i hope this all makes sense:

i think sozo's sorta the black sheep where he comes from . a lot of stuff abt ants is usually abt how BRUTAL they are toward other ant colonies , literally ripping each other apart an kidnapping babies n shit . so i think sozo's colony was sort of like that—very warrior-oriented with not much space for anything else . then there was sozo , who didn't have Any interest in fighting or anything to do with battle , instead WAY more interested in fungi an stuff

in his colony (and in others) fungi r generally treated as life-threatening pests , since EVERY ant ever knows tha horrifying tale of cordyceps an how they'll rip apart a colony from tha inside out n whatnot . most of sozo's colony just thinks his fascination with fungi is simply a childhood phase , that he'll get over it n realize how dangerous they are , but he doesn't because it's NOT A PHASE , MOM !!!!!!!! he wants to be a MYCOLOGIST , not a WARRIOR !!!!!!

(his colony is also in silk cradle . i forgot to mention that so i'm putting that here)

so sozo ends up leaving his home as a young adult after growing up as a social outcast , wanting to pursue his own dreams instead of just listening to whatever his queen wanted . he eventually Does become a mycologist an one day , ends up at shamura's grand temple to add his knowledge of fungi to their great library , which is when they first officially meet each other . at first it's a fairly generic follower meeting his god type thing , but after a while of talking their conversations slowly get more casual an they begin regarding each other as friends , an then eventually Close friends . maybe they could've become more if sozo hadn't gone off to anura , discovered those mushroomos, and ,,, well . you know what happens to him .

eventually shamura forgets about sozo (since this all takes place After narinder's betrayal) but they occasionally get a strange , yearning feeling ,,, like someone used to come to them everyday to talk about ,,, something. they can't quite remember what , though ...

it's only after the lamb takes over , when shamura is indoctrinated and sozo gets brought back from the dead (then promptly goes through rehab) that they meet again . shamura doesn't quite recall sozo an he only vaguely remembers them , but they still like to hang out together , especially as shamura's head injury slowly stabilizes into something more manageable for them . shamura likes to hear him talk abt his studies , and sozo likes having an attentive audience . they're really good friends who also maybe wanna kiss (but shamura isn't willing to unpack THOSE emotions yet bc they have weird feelings abt romantic relationships after that whole fiasco with their ex a few millennia ago but sssshhhhhh)

anyway that's abt it :3 i'm just realizing it kinda dipped into sozura toward the end there but ehhhhh that's still TECHNICALLY a sozo headcanon if u squint so

SORRY I TOOK SO LONG TO ANSWER THIS MY LIFE GOT A BIT CHAOTIC BUT YOOOOOOOOO OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH EEEEEEE I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THIS!

It’s very different from other sozo headcanons and I like that a lot. I like to imagine for your headcanons sozonius is literally like hiccup from how to train your dragon lmao. To be fair he might know some self defense based on how he was raised.

I like the idea that sozonius colony was in silk cradle in which I have it in my headcanons that after Narinders banishment silk cradle becomes the most dangerous land of war, just killing without thinking. God bless Sozonius for making it through their bro💀🙏

AND YOU KNOW ME IM ALWAYS A SUCKER FOR THAT SOZURA FOOD. I really like the idea of sozonius meeting Shamura before sozonius went to Anura. THE BUGS ARE BESTIES a bishop and a mortal ant.

Bro my heart of thinking of Shamura remembering sozo in random moments and wondering where he is, then having to be explained to that Sozonius went missing years ago, before forgetting him again AGH MY SOUL!!! THE POTENTIAL HERE

I ADORE THIS SO MUCH THANK YOU FOR TELLING ME ABOUT YOUR HEADCANONS! Seeing this stuff inspires me and I love being able to interact with yall💜

#✨tarty has mail ✨#AAAAAA I LOVE YOUR HEADCANONS SO MUCH OH MY GOSH #not my headcanon #sozonius headcanons

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fellpurpose · 4 months

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There had been times, after Odin's uncharacteristically somber mention of vanishing, that Leo worried. The feeling would pass after a moment or two, usually chased away by some ridiculous phrase coming out of the mage's mouth. Eventually, Leo stopped entertaining the thought at all, pushing it into a corner of his mind to deal with later.

When later arrived, he unpacked that little corner, dealing with his hurt and sorrow in solitude. He'd never had a friend like Odin. The sudden departure--while not wholly unexpected--still dealt a bruising blow.

Leo always found some excuse to leave his second retainer slot open.

"Odin." Nohrian prince stares coolly at his fellow mage. Odin looks well, if perhaps a little travel-weary. Some of the mask cracks; warmth enters Leo's gaze. "Did your aching blood lead you here?"

ah. he knows this gaze all too well. a wintry desolation, a countenance that bears the weight of unspoken sorrows. odin's time with the nohrian prince has taught him that leo's coolness is not always of regal reserve, but sometimes born of the frigid winds that whip through a wounded heart. a responsibility that is his to bear for bowing out of his lord's story the way that he did.

he had his reasons, though it does little for a weighed-down fell heart. his time in nohr served a different purpose entirely, though odin does not discount the friends he made there. and certainly not leo, who at times could even see past his own disguise. it alarmed odin, though there was always a small part of him that felt relieved knowing there was someone who could understood him.

it is only fair then, that odin dark bows his golden head, heart thudding heavily in anticipation of a tongue-lashing. he meets the royal's steely gaze, and something within him threatens to falter. nonetheless, odin pushes onward. "lord leo," he says in an oddly somber voice. "it pleases me to see you well! i had heard rumblings of your travels."

for a second, odin is unsure whether leo remembers the promise they'd once exchanged. though parting ways, he has proudly carried his title of retainer. but perhaps leo reads his mind, for at the mention of a certain kind of blood, odin's shoulders drop in relief. it is then that he straightens up, positioning a twisted hand in front of his rapidly-growing grin. "i fear you know me all too well, milord!" the hand lowers, now pointing at leo's chest. "alas, not here. it seems as though the POWERS imbued in my blood have led me...to you. 'tis expected, for who can better aid the INEFFABLE PRINCE of nohr other than the keeper of darkness?"

an affectionate, albeit sheepish look, settles over odin's features. "i know these grounds hardly classify as the jaws of oblivion, but...i shall be glad to follow you here as well, milord. that is, if you'll have me again. whether as a friend, retainer, or even foe."

#✦ •・ SUPPORT ─ leo #✦ •・ ANSWERED!#princepsumbra #BANSHEE WAILING GOBLIN WAILING OH MY GOD LEO......MILORD....MY LIEGE....MY DARK ABYSSAL PRINCE....IM HERE NOW #sam ......🫳

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dallonwrites · 8 months

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from the oc asks: 🍑🌽🥃🌿 and 🍀!! (any oc you want but i wanna know about beau a little)

Well luckily my brain is just a rotation of Beau like a microwave so! I'm about to infodump

🍑 [PEACH] How do they show their kindness? How kind are they truly?

Beau has always been a kind character to me but in Lover Boy he struggles a lot with the "ugly" emotions that come with grief + emotional regulation in general (lol that grief + autism combo) so sometimes he THINKS he's become more jaded/meanspirited and I mean tbh...he has in some ways! It's hard not to when you go through a lot of sudden trauma! But I don't think that means he isn't "truly" kind. I like when characters have "contradictions" like that and what their awareness of it is (I also think with characterisation in fiction it's like...I'm not trying to write a "good" person I'm just trying to write a person. So even though I think Beau has a lot of kindness I try not to treat that as more "valuable" or than the not so kind parts of him, or as a redeeming factor.)

In terms of how he shows kindness, with his friends/loved ones he's absolutely a quality time guy he just loves spending time with people!! But also it's because he's terrified of being alone and he's having to confront that LOL

🌽 [CORN] How good are they at hiding and finding their way?

Okay this isn't very interesting for Lover Boy because like he just lives where he grew up LOL but in Winter's Slaughter (need to re-intro but basically: apocalypse AU set in a fucked up haunted forest) YESS he knows that forest like the back of his hand. He knows her rhythm. Which is a trait a lot of the main characters have but Beau has spent the most intentional time alone in the forest + he's also sooo good at being sneaky. Like he's SO quiet (autism swag) nobody suspects he's hiding around nearby.....the amount of people he has probably accidentally ambushed

🥃 [MATE] What does your OC look for in a friend? What do they find is a turn-off?

I think Beau finds it really easy to make friends because he comes off very extroverted (most of the time/in the right space) but he struggles to maintain deep and long term ones. Patience is probably the trait he looks for the most, because a lot of people haven't been patient with him

Also, you have to be nice to kids and be willing to hang out with his little brother. Like fair play if you don't like kids but Beau's brother is like his best friend and he wants close friends who would be happy to hang out with both of them (in Lover Boy he is 7 and Beau is 23! It's cute!)

🌿 [HERB] Is your OC religious? What do they believe in?

Oooh recently I've been trying to unpack + figure out Beau's relationship with religion in his upbringing and if he was raised religiously at all and I haven't decided for sure beyond being in a place that's culturally Christian. (Basically the basis of RR is a criticism of Christianity and I'd like that to extend to Beau even if he didn't have the same fundamentalist upbringing that Felix and Dorothy had). But as an adult there's two parts:

Absolutely has a growing resentment towards Christianity for a lot of reasons but specifically the way certain Christian communities weaponised AIDS as a punishment from God. Generally he would be an atheist anyway but seeing things like that just reinforces that for him

Desperately wants to believe in an afterlife because of all the people he knows, and knows of, who are dead. Not directly in conflict with above because you don't need Christianity to believe in an afterlife ofc but it's just something he finds very hard to conceptualise/visualise. He would def want to learn more about different belief systems re the afterlife so he can form something for himself outside the bounds of a Christian Heaven VS Hell

Ultimately though if you asked him what he believes in he would just say "ghosts" LOL and he is impatiently waiting for concrete proof that ghosts are real. Never met a man who wants to be legitimately haunted as much as he does

🍀 [FOUR LEAF CLOVER] Would your OC spend hours looking for a four leaf clover?

Absolutely + he would give it to his little brother

emoji themed OC interview

#thank you!!#lover boy #ask games

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sllowshow · 9 months

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🏡 + casey farb

this guy SUCKS. his kids should be allowed to murder him. he has 8 kids that he knows of, and his relationships with all of them are different. i think he has in the past tried to design like father's day camping trips and shit with as many as possible, but it just doesn't work out. gonna go in order of the elfbar post. and also put it under a cut bc its a long one.

starting on a strong note i do think titus is his favorite kid. and i think he like doesn't outright say it but there's some preferential treatment there. he's his perfect boy he gives off everything casey thinks he gives off, there's something insane and masculine that projects big about him. but even being loved by casey is a double edged sword, because it also comes with being most involved in his bullshit. like you're the number one kid he's going to call when he's in the holding cell, you're the one he's always trying to get involved in whatever crackpot scheme he's up to this week. in the long run, it may be better to be off his radar, but he won't shut up about how he sees so much of himself in titus (because he's a narcissist) and how proud he is of him.

karma is babygirl. she's the only daughter he's in consistent contact with, so he gets to put all of his "i'll kill any guy who tries to date you" energy into her. she probably gets away with the most with him because of that, i think he has a way higher bar for the boys, so whatever karma says goes as far as he's concerned (now perhaps whitney pulls the breaks on that. but he sure wont). again though i think it's double edged because it sure seems like he's just unilaterally more interested in the boys. which isn't fair to her. but i suppose the benefits win out here they probably have one of the more positive relationships.

i don't think he talks about jace. i think he still is not equipped to really unpack that loss. he isn't comfortable with the grief, and for that reason, he just leaves it unsaid. he kind of shuts down whenever it comes up. he disappears on the twins birthday.

i think his relationship with colson is really strained for a few reasons. first of all i don't think he knows what to do with them. they don't fit in any of the boxes casey knows: they're not a son he can place the crown of traditional farb man masculinity onto. they're not a cutie daughter he can spoil in his own fucked up way. they are in consistent contact with him, which is more than some of his kids can say, but it's more because they have a relationship with whitney that requires being around/getting along with casey. the elephant in the room though is always jace. casey's very much tried to avoid that conversation to a point where he's overlooking colson as well, even though they're separate people and colson is still here to have a relationship with.

mycah is not blood but is a farbling in that he made a huge deal about how she lived mostly with them growing up. their relationship is tumultuous: sometimes she gets to be another one of his babygirls, but there are lines she can cross where he throws the fact that he helped raise her into her face, like he didn't Have to do that etc. but i think she's just as good as dishing it back to him, and they are skilled at like having a blow out screaming at eachother fight but then they both cool down and move on. neither of them has the capacity to make it that serious.

i think he and skeeter see their relationship in different ways. casey looks at skeeter and thinks he's soft. he thinks this is a kid who needs to learn how to be a man (because who's gonna do it otherwise? his mom? his mom's lesbian lover?) so he's always made an effort to reach out and include him in things. but in my head skeeter is innocent little baby who just doesn't pick up on that as much as he could. like he's hearing the sermon and all and finds that annoying but is less upset by the fact that that's what their relationship is. kind of like a haha family can be crazy perspective when its like oh no that man is demented in some way. skeeter perhaps stop putting up with that.

mavrick really genuinely does not have many kind feelings for casey i think he's the kid who feels the most slighted/left out in the cold in his relationship with casey. multiple times in his life, i think he's tried to go no contact, and they make it a while without speaking, but casey will show up at his work or mavrick will make an effort to see one of his siblings and casey will check wind and crash. he's never let casey meet someone he was dating and he doesn't plan to start any time soon. the less this guy knows about his life the better. and i think he really does struggle with knowing that's half of him. i was joking about him sterilizing himself but ultimately i do think he's very conflicted about having biological children, because he doesn't want to look at his kids and see casey. if he does ever have a family, he wants it to be his own, and be one of the only things his dad can't taint.

the additional two known kids are both daughters (one grew up with her mom uptown. her mom told him she was pregnant and gave him a chance to be involved but eventually cut him out of their lives. they're not in touch now and none of his other kids have met her.) [the other he sees a few times a year. she's met at least his kids with whitney. she considers her step-dad more of a dad though. she calls him casey, never dad.]

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brooklynislandgirl · 2 years

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In All My Reverie || Accepting @lokitheliesmith {Part the First} The second part, as I promised.

Any favourite items of clothes?:

It feels almost petty to envy Lola's form when she appears through the door. Beth could never be so statuesque, nor so full in woman's curves. Heiðloa is achingly beautiful in whatever body she inhabits but it's almost more her innate grace, the unspeakable sensuality and glamour that makes Beth's heart ache above all else. And the dress. Deep greens with shadows woven into it. The golden accents that are always subtly somewhere. There is majesty in the threads, and yet reminds Beth of the foliage of wild roses. Protective and sharp, the thorns hidden among leaves.

It really almost hurts to swallow her coffee for how hard Beth holds her breath. "Good morning."

Hela doesn't seem to have what some would call Loki's extravagance in dress. Like Beth, she prefers her skirts to be floor length, with a leather or cloth apron beneath which she can hide her limbs. Having had her scar stared at and whispered about since the moment she got it, Beth understands more than she wishes she did.

Beth's fingers flutter to an already steeping cup of matcha with chase-devil. "Tea?"

Anything you like of theirs that makes you smile when they wear it?

While Beth is not exceptionally materialistic in any way, she does have a flare for giving gifts. Whether they are little trinkets; ribbons or sweets, or wild flowers gathered when she harvests her medicinal plants or gifts like the knife-like hair pins, new shoes, or a large enough sun hat hand-woven from native leaves to protect fair skin, everything she gives is done with love and affection. There is no one thing above the other that is prized, and any time something she's given is displayed, it makes her heart-swell.

What do they wear on holiday?

If she thinks about it at all beyond living each day, she would say that they're on a certain kind of holiday. Sure, there's other terms for it. On the run, on the lam, escaped fugitives, and maybe her favourite, 'in the wind' because she can see all three of them as birds or breeze blown seeds, as leaves drifting down. Be that as it may, one thing is for certain. Whether it's leathers or gowns, or the simple soft grey tunic of an evening, Loki seems to take more interest in xir appearance these days. Hela is more comfortable in her own garments, though Beth is certain in a few years she will be tall enough to share wardrobes. She hopes Hela likes the sneakers with the glitter-infused laces, though.

What do they wear if they’re just around the house?

Clothes.

Loose, comfortable, full length.

Both Hela and Loki tend toward covering up, and for the same reasons, though Beth has no leg to stand on ~and she cringes at that term, all things considered~ because she does the same. Loki tends to hide xer arms, chest, and legs, not due to current fashion from Asgard. Hela hides what is considered her withered side, and that breaks Beth's heart even more so. Neither of them seem to understand how beautiful they are just as they are. She wonders what they see, though she does know some of the feelings Loki experiences, having spoken them aloud.

Who’s the holiday planner and who isn’t allowed to hold the passports?

Hela is the decider of where they might want to go, and in ancient days, Loki would be at the helm, navigating somewhere between stars, dreams, and love for xir child. Beth doesn't mind it at all. Growing up as a Navy Brat, working with Médecins Sans Frontières, she knows how to travel. She can pack an entire house in a day, and can unpack it in half the time. Organization is a lifeline for her, and she keeps a mental list of where everything is.

Which type of phone do they have?:

When they walked away from Midgard, they left phones and most other devices behind.

What music do they like? Be specific if you know:

One thing that Loki did not seem to disdain was the vastness of her brother's collection of vinyl. The warble of blues and the liveliness of big band. The cultural rebellion zeitgeist of the sixties ranging from anti-war, to melodic love songs, the progressive eras. Classical from centuries gone by. One thing she doesn't think Loki realises is that she's even her xem singing a time or two, very quietly, like an afterthought. If she has to make an educated guess, she would say Loki has an affection for Queen and Fleetwood Mac {she suspects because Stevie Nicks is one of them}. But really, anything that encompasses deep and complex emotion or story through the music itself or the lyrics.

Hela is only now being exposed to the majority of those albums, and is still feeling her way through favourites, but again...educated guess is she likes whatever her papa sings the best. Like her father and Beth herself, she finds music in almost anything, but tends to favour thunderstorms and the lap of water on shores; rivers, lakes, seas.

Any favourite movie/tv shows?:

Before they'd left, Beth had a television. Technically still does, it wasn't as though she'd liquidated her apartment. She rarely bothered with it unless she had time to keep up with subtitles, pausing and rewinding to catch things she missed, and usually it was more hassle than it was worth. She preferred books and music. If she did bother to watch, she would rewatch all her favourite films, ones she knew by heart without skipping a beat, and of course, she has almost ever single episode of Shark Week. Something she shared with Hela along with popcorn or cocoa because it was educational.

Still, Hela did enjoy the Discovery channels, and sometimes told her stories of her family, the parts she could remember and Beth did everything in her power to catch and keep every single word.

Loki has never once touched the remote that she can recall, however, there'd been a weirdly high number of episodes of the Housewives franchise and the Great British Bake-Off that she's never watched in her continued viewing lists.

Do you see yourself being with them for a long time?

The night they met, Beth decided her best revenge upon Loki was to befriend xem. Perhaps she understands more than xe can ever know; she too is the younger sibling, the bastard child, the unwanted one. Too different to belong to the family. She too has magick in her blood, along with other things that aren't spoken of because they are wrong, wrong, wrong. There is no way to share their grief, the loss of a beloved soulmate and all of one's children is a thing she cannot even begin to put together. She will never have any of her own, and will not presume to say she gets...it. Half of her soul died with her brother, and she knows, though, that some wounds, no matter how long they are ministered to, will never heal.

Over the years of their friendship, the desire to annoy Loki died. It became a true friendship, a deep one. She learned so much, and still feels like she knows so little. She learned to bear the brunt of Loki's worst moments, and found joy in xer better ones, where while not happy, Loki was still... alive. Engaged. More recently Beth has come to understand that she loves xem. More than she does Sam, not quite the same way as Jay. Without condition or expectation. Though she does have dreams, relatively small ones.

And when confronted with the idea of not losing Loki forever? How could she not jump at the chance?

Then there is little Hela.

A lost spirit, a lonely child. A wonderful person in her own right and if Beth were to say every day keeping care of the girl was not joy and tenderness and everything she might ever have wanted, she would be lying through her teeth. It isn't that she's delusional. It isn't that she thinks she can take Angrboða's place nor does she want to, exactly. But again she knows what growing up without her mother was like. Which is not to disparage either Hela's own mother, nor Loki. Never was there a parent who couldn't use an extra pair of hands or another set of eyes.

She again sees so much of herself in Hela and has such hopes for the girl whom she already loves dearly. So easily she fits into that place that lay empty inside of Beth for want of her own children, for the stolen hope of nieces and nephews of her own to dote on. She wants to spoil Hela, take her places and show her things she might find anywhere else. She wants to foster the girl's curiosity and wonder at the universe that spans just beyond her fingertips and let it bloom like a secret poem for her. Art, music, medicine, dance. She wants to teach Hela how to drive and how to knit. She wants to tuck her in at night, exhausted and satisfied, with the promise of a new day. She wants her to know she is loved, safe, wanted.

Can Beth see herself staying with them? For as long as they allow it, as she told Loki, the answer is... yes.

Do you share a home? If not why not?

The most difficult split had been when Loki was still at the Tower and she was keeping Hela at her apartment. Devoting time and resources, keeping father and daughter apart, especially in light of Loki mourning xer children had murdered her on the inside, but it was a necessary evil. One slightly mollified when the pair had been reunited and she's made Loki her offer, one he resolutely turned on its head. Now the three of them share everything, under a single roof or wherever the days and nights find them. There is certain space in that togetherness. And they make it work.

What quirk do they have that you love?:

In less than three seconds, Beth could list a hundred things for each of them; the difficulty comes when trying to narrow things down.

Her favourite thing about Hela is seeing her eyes light up when someone compliments her style, her appearance, or a particular skill. The way she smiles when she's included in a plan or activity she hasn't experienced before. Or when Beth asks her to share experiences. Or asks her to share skills or knowledges Beth is uncertain about. Hela is so lovely when she's aglow. She is such a brave and curious soul and in some ways Beth wishes she could have been more like her when she was younger.

She's almost ashamed to admit it because she's sure if Loki knew, xey might never do it again. But it's that one particular smile. It is slow to bloom and is full of hoarfrost ~sharp and brittle~ until it reaches xer eyes. That's where it sometimes changes, melts away into something pure and fresh. Devoid of the shadows lurking around xer edges even at the best of times, sometimes limned with a hope that is too soon worn away. She loves the double lines of dimples that appear around xer mouth, and how pale the miniscule pinholes that line upper and lower lip alike become. Loki will never know the restraint she bears in keeping herself from touching them.

Lastly what do you like watching them do?:

In a word? Everything. Hela swimming in crystalline waters, the way her tiny fingers collect dew from spiderwebs and that Beth can swear turns the vibrations to music. Simply how she grows and changes every day. But if she had to pick one in particular, it's connected to her favourite thing to watch regarding Loki. It is seeing Hela curl up close to him, enthralled and delighted by whatever her papa is about, eager in expression. Listening to her questions full of remarkable insight and its own native wisdom.

From Loki? It is the stories. Woven through with xer voice and enchantments. Living things that might change but still manage to carry a core truth regardless of how they are spun. She has never not been moved by them, received them as the treasure they are.

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slasherscream · 3 years

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hear me out crazy ass boy gang with a s/o that writes them songs but has never shown them. randomly the guys find them knowing them some are gonna be insufferable with the amount of arrogance they now possess and some of them have no clue what to do with the concept of someone loving them and verbalizing it 🥺

A/N: oooh my gosh i'm obsessed with this concept

billy loomis: Was waiting for you to get back from school/work, and couldn’t keep his hands to himself. He wasn’t necessarily trying to find anything, but the book was on your desk- you were asking him to read it, at this point. He’s only halfheartedly looking until he realizes the words are lyrics. It doesn’t take a genius to realize the love songs are written with him in mind. At first it makes him smirk. But he can see the evolution of your relationship through the lyrics. General feelings of infatuation melting into the deeper connection of being in love with him, as opposed to being in love with love itself. It’s an ego boost, for sure. Mostly it’s a relief. Here are your feelings, written out on page, clear as day. Your every unfiltered thought. He doesn’t tell you he read the book. He just walks around with a knowing smirk on his face that you’re very suspicious of. You’re easily distracted from this onset of smugness by his sudden romantic nature. He’s never been a bad boyfriend, but he’s certainly never been so downright doting. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, you decide to just enjoy this random streak of tenderness.

josh washington: You two were moving in together and he was just trying to unpack some of your boxes for you. He’s honestly just setting up your desk for you. All the boxes are marked so that either one of you can unpack anything inside with at least a vague idea of where the stuff should go. Something about the unmarked notebook that doesn’t look like its for school makes him take a look inside. When he realizes how personal it is he wants to put it down. Then he spots his name... and well, he isn’t a saint.

He melts as he goes through the pages. He knows the two of you love each other. You have to love each other, with all the bullshit you’ve been through. But he knows it’s not easy to be with him. Sometimes he worries that you’ll wake up one day and be done with him. Be done with all the problems that come with being with him. He wouldn’t blame you but the thought leaves him hollow. He doesn’t know what he’d do without you. He doesn’t know if he could handle you being gone. You love him though. It’s inked into the pages. Some songs written out slow and careful, and others written out sloppy and fast, like you had to get all the feeling out of your chest because it hurt to have it all trapped inside. You’ll walk in carrying takeout and find Josh crying. You nearly drop the food to run and comfort him. When he tells you what’s wrong - or really, what isn’t wrong, you won’t even have the heart to be angry. He looks somewhere between overwhelmed and awe. All he can think to do is pull you into his arms. He holds you so tightly you wonder if he’s afraid someone will come and take you away.

stu macher: He was just going through your stuff because he was bored, honestly. He wasn’t expecting to find anything juicy. The minute he realizes he’s holding onto a notebook full of songs he’s giddy. It’s practically a diary! You'll come into your bedroom and see him poring over your words without shame. He won’t even have the decency to stop. “Hey babe!”, will be his absentminded greeting as his eyes stay glued to a far-too-familiar book. You’ll have to literally snatch it from him. “Didn’t know you felt this way about me.” His teasing will be relentless. You’ll have to threaten to break up with him, and give him a bit of the silent treatment too. Eventually he’ll ease up on you, his grin going soft around the edges. “You should show me them on your own next time. Else I’ll have to go hunting for ‘em.” It’s not an idle threat. Now that he knows the book exists he’ll really tear up your entire house looking for it. Don’t bother trying to hide it. It won’t be worth the headache.

jd: His first instinct is to become insufferable. As he reads more of your lyrics, he starts getting overwhelmed. Even as he holds the proof in his hands, he can barely wrap his head around you feeling so strongly about him. He traces over your handwriting and relishes every word. You'll catch him in the act but you won't have the chance to get angry. He kisses you like a man starved. Whispers every thought of love he's ever had against your lips, uncaring if he sounds obsessed. He was allowed a glimpse at your soul. It's only fair that he bares his in return.

kevin khatchadourian: Honestly was indifferent at first. He was going through your things because ‘why shouldn't he?‘ when he found all the songs. Page after page he reads. Slowly but surely it starts to get to him. The only person who's ever loved him is his father, and that love is built upon an endless tapestry of falsehoods and manipulation. His father loves someone who doesn't exist. His mother knows him, always has, but she despises him. Celia loves him, but it's pathetic. The hopeless and unthinking love of a dog. And now there's you. When he's with you he drops the act of normality he puts on for everyone else. You were around so constantly that he couldn't stomach wearing the mask 24/7. Beyond that though, there was something about you that made him want to show you everything. At first he thought he wanted to scare you. Now he doesn't know what he really wants from you.

As he reads through the pages he's sifting through your words, finding the deeper meanings. Watches as you stop writing about his mask, and start writing about him. Jagged and malicious and apathetic as he might be. You're infatuated maybe you even love him. You've written out the words in a hundred different ways. He can see it every time you look at him, reach for him, follow him, talk to him. Reading it is different, somehow. You probably never wanted him to see these words. To know the depth of how you feel. You were probably afraid he'd mock you. A few months ago he would have. Now? He puts the book back, exactly where he found it.

He won't tell you about reading it, but the words are always on his mind. You'll think you misplaced the book one day and be beside yourself over losing it. Eventually you’ll find it again, out of the blue. Something is off about it though... but you’re not sure what. You’ll never know that what you have is a replica of the original book. A good replica, granted, but a replica nonetheless. Kevin thought about the songs too much, and committing them all to memory hadn’t scratched the itch. The constant cycle of the words running through his head. The irritation he’d feel when he forgot a part of a song, or mixed lyrics together. Having the book itself? It quieted his mind. He’s uncomfortable with the fact that he keeps it under his bed, tucked away inside a lock box, just so no one would be able to look at it. He’s never felt so protective over an item before. He tries not to think about it too much.

nathan prescott: He actually looked at your song book on accident. He needed to borrow some notes for a class and you told him he could just go to your room and grab them. He would never go searching for something like that. Saying he values his privacy would be an understatement, so he'd never disrespect yours. As soon as he realizes these are songs he wants to stop reading... but he's desperate to know what you think of him. People lie so easily, but here's a chance to see the raw truth of how you feel. He's terrified as he starts to read. Then he's just shocked. He'd hoped you weren't like everyone else around him. Wanting him to fail, to lose it, waiting for some sort of pay-off or trickle down. Even if you were, he wanted you so badly he was willing to have you any way you came, as long as you stayed. But here you are, your deepest feelings written out in ink, and you love him. You don't even pity him, you ache for him, want him. The next time he sees you he tells you he loves you for the first time. You'll never know that he read your songs, you'll only notice how much your relationship seemed to change over night.

sebastian valmont: Has to deflect. The only reason he’s being such an asshole about your songs is because he’s trying to deflect. He’s the only one here who has also written about you. Maybe not in lyrics, or in poetry, but he’s written about you. His diary is full of you. He started writing about you the moment he met you. Not unusual for him, considering absolutely everything is in his journals. But from the start there’s been something different about the entries that mention you. All his words suddenly become electric, leaping off the page. His descriptions of you, of the time you spent together, nearing obsessive in their detail. As if you were a puzzle he was trying to solve.

If there’s anything Sebastian is good at its manipulation. He knows he has you. He can have anyone, if he puts his mind to it. He’s made people fall in love with him before. There’s a long line of people who wants his head on a platter for that very reason. You’re the only prize that’s ever mattered, though. He has you now, sure. But what about tomorrow? Or the day after that? It’s easy for eyes to wander, for the heart to turn fickle. Sometimes he watches you and tries to imagine what you might want from him. Tries to figure out what he could do to keep you interested from moment to moment. If he ever shared his worries with you, his worries that you could just get bored with him and leave, just like that - you’d tell him you don’t want him to be anyone but himself. And Sebastian doesn’t want to be anyone but himself, he doesn’t. But people contain multitudes, are more than a single face. He’d rather be a version of himself that captivates you then a “true” version of himself that you can grow tired of.

But here’s written proof that you love him. As he is. All the long nights you’ve spent talking to one another, side by side. The conversations where you traded barbs and philosophy, and everything in-between. The dinners, and picnics, and phone calls, and rooftops. He was so busy observing you, and trying to create a version of himself that you could love, that he forgot that there was something real for you to fall for. Didn’t even know how much of himself he was earnestly offering to you. Now he can see it in ink, and it’s scary, even with how much he loves you, to realize how much of the real him you know.

So he’s an asshole for a few days. When you confront him he falls apart like a wet sandcastle. You won’t have time to get angry before he’s pushing his own journals into your hands. Sebastian has never played fair, but something about you seeing through him despite all his masks made him want to show you more. As scary as it had been, it was also a moment of pure connection. The most electric, addicting thing he’s ever felt. He wants to feel it over and over again.

#billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #jd x reader #kevin khatchadourian x reader #nathan prescott x reader #sebastian valmont x reader #josh washington x reader #crazy ass boys gang #heathers #scream #scream imagine #until dawn imagine #i am not proofreading this if you see an error no you didn't

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titularkilljoy · 3 years

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sometimes and always

//a love story in five acts

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: It's hard to resist falling into bed with a cute neighbour, but it turns out it's even harder to resist falling for him. (alternatively- Spencer Reid and the reader struggle to resolve their feelings but make valiant attempts to do so while lying horizontally in each other's beds.)

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, strong language, decidedly non-American spelling conventions

Author's Note: SO. This fic was originally part of a fic swap for the wickedly talented @imagining-in-the-margins, but it is now over six months too late. Thankfully, patience apparently springs eternal in her?? besides all the other amazing things?? Unfair, but good for me. So, Pom, this one is for you. Thanks for being the absolute best and putting up with my rants and not judging me for mocking everything and everyone all the time. Love, Perpetually Tardy.

(i)

This is how it happened the first time.

I was frowning at the pitiful stack of mail in my hands, wondering if the conspicuously missing letters and subscriptions would ever be returned to me. Ever since moving to my new apartment, I had been at the mercy of the Postal System and that was never a good situation to be in. I’d resigned myself to having to take an extra trip back to my old building and do some investigating, when the elevator dinged and I stepped in. Just as the doors slid closed, there was the frantic rumble of footsteps and a hand slipping into the narrowing gap.

The doors sprang apart to let in the harried owner of the appendage, who barely spared me a glance before turning to face the front, eyes briefly darting to the buttons. It took me a second to recognise him. It was the guy from the apartment opposite to mine, although so far that seemed to be only a nominal living arrangement; in my two weeks there, I’d seen him exactly once, merely in passing, and we had exchanged a sum total of zero words.

I followed his lead and stopped blatantly staring at him, though I continued studying him covertly through my peripheral vision. He looked—well, his jawline looked like it could cut glass effortlessly and he had the soft chestnut hair of a male model and I knew I was probably going to develop a very embarrassing crush on him at some point— but besides that, he looked browbeaten, his whole posture seeming to buckle under the invisible weight of the world.

There was an awkward moment when he realised we were both heading in the same direction, and I took it upon myself to break the ice.

“Hi,” I greeted, introducing myself, “I just moved in. I don’t think I’ve seen you around.” I gave him my warmest smile.

His swift assessing glance would have escaped my notice if I hadn’t been paying such close attention; his expression was still shuttered off, but he offered an endearing little quirk of his lips and an introduction. “Spencer Reid. I’ve-uh, I’ve been away on a work thing.”

“Oh? What do you do?” I asked, beginning a leisurely walk down the hallway and fishing my keys out of my bag. I immediately regretted the query when, impossibly, his eyes became even more guarded.

“I’m an FBI agent.”

Well, that clipped admission would have given anyone pause. “Oh, wow. That’s really impressive, dude.”

“Thanks.” He hesitated before adding, “I’m part of the Behavioural Analysis Unit.”

“So, you’re like a psychologist?”

“I catch serial killers.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable so much as it was brimming with my insecurities. The alcohol in my blood helped with that, though; the next words were out of my mouth before I even registered the thought.

“Do you want to come in?”

“Oh, uh—”

He was going to say no.

“It’s just that you look like you could use some company. And I think it’s absolutely criminal that we haven’t gotten to know each other yet.”

“It’s really late.”

But he was rocking forwards on his toes just the tiniest bit, leading me to believe that some part of him did want to take me up on my offer that night.

“So it is. Come on, Agent Reid. Be a good neighbour.”

“It’s Doctor, actually,” he corrected. “Doctor Reid. I have Ph.Ds. Three of them.”

My eyebrows had risen to my hairline and, sensing the change in the air, he hurried to put me at ease. “But you can just call me Spencer.”

“Huh. You don’t hear that every day.” I chuckled sheepishly. “Well, come on in, Doctor.”

There was a moment when his whole body leaned towards me and his face looked conflicted but slightly enthusiastic, and I was convinced I could turn the night into a very pleasant one for both of us. Then, with a loud clatter, my keys slipped from my hands, startling us. The moment was broken, and I sighed in resignation.

“Let me guess, you’ve decided I’m too drunk and we’re going to go our separate ways.”

At least he had the good grace to look apologetic. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea right now,” he told me slowly as he bent down to pick up my keys and pressed them securely into my outstretched hand, “It’s late and I’ve had a long day. I’ll...see you around?”

“Sure,” I managed to say with a regretful smile, “I’m holding you to that.”

*~*

That, however, turned out to be easier said than done, for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was the Herculean feat of unpacking and organising my new place with a mild hangover and a tinge of frustration over lost opportunities looming over me. Once that was dealt with, the bigger challenge turned out to be actually locating the man in question. I knocked on his door a few times, but when the responding silence continued to persist for over a week, I began to think he’d just been a drunken hallucination in the first place. And the longer I went without any follow-up interactions, the more intensely I started overthinking the slightly fuzzy memory of our brief conversation.

Of course I’d managed to make a fool of myself in front of a really cute guy. That was absolutely in character for me. Every time I passed by his door, I convinced myself a little more that I owed him a sincere apology for my poor, inconsiderate conduct.

Beyond the embarrassment, however, work didn’t leave me much time to think about it, and by the time I was trudging to my apartment the next Saturday, the whole encounter had been relegated firmly to the back burner. Naturally, that was when the faint glow of light under his door distracted me from the very passive-aggressive email I was composing. I hesitated.

The deep breaths I sucked in didn’t serve much more purpose than to make me somewhat lightheaded, but I forged on anyway. I knocked on the door, and waited.

There was silence, followed by the sound of reluctantly shuffling feet, and then, finally, I was face to face with Spencer Reid once again.

“Um,” I started, “hi.”

He stared at me wordlessly for a beat, during which I started to wonder if he’d actually forgotten me already.

“So, we met the other day, and I just want to apologise. I didn’t mean to come on to you so strongly, and I get that you weren’t int-”

“Do you want to come inside?”

“..What?”

“Do you want to come inside?” he repeated, enunciating clearly. That didn’t clear up my confusion, though.

“Um. Yes? Sure. I mean, no, shouldn’t we talk about this a bit?”

He let out a tired laugh. “I don’t want to talk right now.”

“Alright,” I said, biting my lip. I followed him inside, and pushed the door closed behind me; it emitted an innocuous little click as it fell shut.

There was something about the weariness behind his eyes and the careful set of his jaw that made me want to study him and understand what was going through his head, but all I could glean that night was that Spencer didn’t seem amenable to much time spent on documentation.

“So,” I began unsurely, shedding my jacket and scanning the contents of the room, the piles upon piles of books and the distinct lack of much else, “tell me about yourself.”

“Didn’t I already do that?”

“Hmm, that’s not the whole story,” I mumbled, running my fingers over a broken-spined, wrinkled copy of Paradise Lost laid open on a heavy wooden desk. A single smudge of blue ink stood out against the yellowing page, and beside it, the print read: This horror will grow mild, this darkness light. “You’re not just an FBI agent.”

“That’s all that’s important,” he asserted, taking a step towards me. He had one eye on my curiously wandering fingers and, sensing that it was making him more antsy than he needed to be, I tucked my hands into my back pockets, facing him with a grin of false bravado. I really wished I was drunk. That would have made things infinitely easier.

“Besides,” he continued, this time meeting my eyes directly, “I don’t know anything about you either.”

“Fair enough,” I conceded, stepping closer to him.

His eyes didn’t leave mine, until my own strayed to the bobbing curve of his throat and the tantalising motion of his tongue sweeping over his bottom lip. Not for the first time that week, I wondered how terrible of an idea it would be to try to kiss my attractive neighbour. I could see my own apprehensions mirrored in his stance, and I saw the exact moment when he identified the focus of my gaze.

I didn’t have to spend much time contemplating. He decided, just as I did, that any consequences of this impulsive decision could be dealt with later.. I lunged for him just as he closed the distance in one long stride, grasping my jaw in both his hands. Then we were firmly attached at the lips, and his arms wrapped around my waist and dragged me closer, seemingly intent on devouring my mouth. Gradually, our actions slowed a bit, the kiss turning softer and more exploratory, our tongues winding around each other gently, my lungs readily accepting his deep, nasal sigh.

His arms around my waist were a steadily spreading band of warmth, and I could feel the growing evidence of his arousal against my thigh. I found myself thinking I could be very happy with just kissing him like this, feeling his breaths tickle my face, letting my hands suffer minute pinpricks from the stubble littering his jaw. But then his grip shifted to my hips and tightened ever so slightly, and it was like I’d been doused with fuel and set alight. My fingers struggled to unbutton his shirt as he pressed distracting kisses along my neck, my soft whimpers breaking the relative silence of the room.

All of a sudden, the ground shifted and my stomach swooped, and it took a second or two before I realised I was now in his arms, being carried towards, presumably, his bedroom. Content, I got to work on undoing the last button and trying to slip the shirt down his arms entirely. He granted me a chuckle for my troubles before laying me down gently on our destination and taking it off himself.

He didn’t waste any time in sinking his knees into the soft mattress on either side of my legs, helping me out of my own clothes and methodically kissing every bit of newly exposed skin, until finally, I was clad only in flimsy cotton and he was nosing at my aching core. With two fingers, he deftly removed the last of my defences and pressed his mouth against me. I moaned, my hands flying to his hair and trying to keep from pulling too hard as he used his tongue to examine every inch of my arousal, evidently experimenting based on the sounds he managed to elicit from me.

“Oh, my God,” I babbled, hips bucking wildly under the iron grip holding them down.

“Tell me,” he demanded, pulling away slightly, “tell me how much you like it.”

“Spencer,” I breathed desperately, “Please. I need- I need more.”

He hummed leisurely against me, frustrating me to no end. My grip in his hair tightened at last, guiding him where I needed him most, and I swear I felt his lips stretch into a smile.

It went on for what felt like hours, but there was no earthly way I could have lasted that long. He took mercy on me eventually, plunging two long fingers deep inside me, closing his lips around the bundle of nerves that, predictably, sent me into a violent, shaking climax. He nursed me patiently through the aftershocks, waiting till my legs had stilled before rising to undo his belt and rid himself of his pants. I was already mourning the loss of his closeness, and I pulled him back on top of me the moment he was within reach.

“Come on, Doctor,” I taunted, “It’s time you made good on your promise and got to the main event.”

“I never promised anything,” he retorted, but the playful glint in his eyes excited me, and while he reached over beside us to the nightstand, I rose to the occasion.

“Oh? Well, if you don’t want to, I guess I’ll just head out, then,” I teased, going so far as to attempt to sit up from underneath him. I felt a low, threatening sound begin in his chest and make its way up his throat as his hands gripped my wrists and brought them down to my sides, pinning me in place.

It was my turn to chuckle at his eagerness, lifting my head to briefly peck him on his lips.

“Don’t worry, Spencer,” I cooed, “I’m not going anywhere. Now fuck me already.”

“With pleasure,” came the response, and while I wondered idly how a smirk could simultaneously be sinister and bashful, there was the sharp sound of crinkling foil, and then he cut off my thoughts by entering me in one fluid motion.

“Fuck!” I cried out, holding him around the shoulders, bringing him impossibly closer.

“That’s it,” he groaned in my ear, “let me hear you.”

He set a torturous rhythm, thrusting into me harshly before pulling out slowly, carefully, making me relish the sensation, anticipation building steadily in the pit of my stomach and spreading until it engulfed me. A ceaseless litany of moans and whimpers filled the air around us, the source of each barely discernible. At last, I could feel myself riding the very precipice, and his name began to fall from my lips like a prayer.

“Spencer,” I called, “Spenc-”

He swallowed the rest of my inconsequential cries, bringing his thumb to where we were joined to guide me over the edge, and as I convulsed around him soundlessly, he reached his own climax, blunt fingernails leaving crescent marks on my hips, his heavy panting breaths stuttering, once, against my clavicle, before calming and slowly evening out.

We stayed that way for a few minutes, my hand combing lightly through his hair, his closed-mouth kisses pressing against my neck like a balm. Eventually, though, we had to move, and it was he who did first. He pulled out and walked away from the bed without looking at me, tossing the tied-up condom in the trash. I sat up, cross-legged, watching him for a bit, pursing my lips when I noticed he was actively avoiding my gaze.

I cleared my throat. “Where’s your bathroom?”

He pointed in a general direction and mumbled something incoherent; sighing in disappointment, I stood up gingerly and went to clean myself up. When I returned, the room still smelled like sex, and Spencer was still evasive, but he was sitting on the edge of the bed now. He looked up when I entered, watching me pick up my clothes.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

I glanced over at him. “Yeah, I’m good. You?”

Nodding, he watched me get dressed, then followed me into the living room and watched me drape my jacket over my arm. Then he watched me walk to the door, all the while not saying a word.

The cool steel of the doorknob in my hand, I looked over my shoulder one more time.

“Well, Spencer. You know where to find me, I guess,” I muttered, shaking my head slightly. Then I left his apartment, and despite the enormity of what had transpired during my visit, the click of the door closing sounded exactly the same.

(ii)

Of course, after that, I resolved it would never happen again. The man next door clearly had some issues with what we had done, and I couldn’t be bothered to solve them. It was, frankly, idiotic to jeopardise the prospect of good neighbours in favour of sex, however great it might have been.

It was embarrassing how quickly my resolution packed its bags and jumped out of my third-storey window.

I was awoken the next morning by three firm raps on my door. I think I knew, somehow, who was trying to get my attention, so I took my time, but the reveal of Spencer’s regretful face didn’t surprise me any less. I was wary as I stared at him wordlessly, cycling through all the possible reasons for his visit, and his eyes dropped to the way my arms tightly hugged my midsection. He winced then, meeting my eyes.

“I’m sorry for the way I acted,” he blurted, and it sounded so rehearsed that I had to stifle a guffaw. There was a flicker of something in his eyes that could have been frustration, but he powered through. “I’ve had a pretty terrible week at work and I think I was trying to get something out of my head. But I was awful to you, and it was completely my fault. I’m sorry if I offended you. I had...a great time.”

I’d been watching him carefully throughout his speech, and if he was faking the earnestness in those last couple of lines, he was an extraordinary actor. I concluded, as I studied the apologetic slump of his shoulders and the dark bags into which his eyes had sunken, that I didn’t need to worry about the veracity of his words.

“It’s okay,” I said hesitantly. “I mean, no, it’s not okay, it felt really awful, but thanks for explaining. I get it now.”

“Oh,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking off to the side, “that’s great. Thank you.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

“Problem?” I was bemused.

“No!” He was looking back at me, now. “I- well, to be honest, I wasn’t expecting it to be this easy. I thought I’d have to convince you.”

“Huh. Well, you can still convince me, Doctor. Give me a second to get ready. You’re buying me breakfast.”

I quite liked the shy smile that graced his face in response.

*~*

It kept happening. There was no way I could have stopped it, and there was no reason I would have wanted to.

We quickly grew into a familiar rhythm. Each time, it started with one of us having a particularly stressful day. Each time, it started with a knock on the door and some perfunctory shuffling around. Before wasn’t the time for talking. Each time, we’d stumble into whichever surface was closest, and every time it wasn’t the bed, Spencer would make some halfhearted protests about germs and hygiene, before I shut him up very effectively with a manicured hand on his dick. Each time, in the During, I marvelled at how well we fit together, how quickly we’d learned each other’s bodies, and each time, I saw more of him than I had the last.

And I loved every bit of it.

Spencer no longer retreated into his shell in the After. He’d try sometimes, but I knew how to coax him out, now. I’d slip my hand into his, ever so gently, and wait. Or I’d sling one arm around his waist until he returned the embrace. I was getting scarily good at reading him. It was like working on an intricate puzzle, and every new achievement was rewarded with a deeper, longer look into his mind.

I carefully stored away every casual anecdote about someone from work or his godson or his mother, and I loved to watch the life burn bright in his eyes. Of course, they were all happy stories. I could sense the bittersweet aftertaste they left in his mouth, but he never let me inspect it too closely. In turn, I regaled him with tales of my own, of my sister and my parents, of my cat that was perpetually falling asleep on top of me. I told him all the easy, palatable things, holding back just as much as he did, always careful to maintain the wall of superficiality.

But things did slip through the cracks every once in a while, from both of us-- they were bound to, what with the sheer amount of time we spent together in various states of undress. Things that made me burn with curiosity that couldn’t be sated without jeopardising the very foundation of our arrangement. So I turned a blind eye to the jagged scars on his thigh and neck when he failed to maneuver to hide them; in return, he kept mum when I walked into his apartment, on the day of my worst professional disaster, with runny makeup and bloodshot eyes, shivering all over.

If he noticed that I kissed the skin over his scars a little more tenderly, lavishing attention on him the first time I saw them, he didn’t show it. If he liked the way I always nuzzled my face into the one on his neck when we were done, he didn’t show it.

For my part, I tried very hard not to read into the slow, shallow thrusts or the almost reverent way he handled me when my tears still hadn’t dried. I definitely did not read into the arm over my shoulder or the slightly baffled crease in his brow while we sat on his couch with a random episode of The Office.

And if, maybe, the frequency of his visits increased as the months went by, who could blame him? He was an FBI agent. He probably had a lot of bad days.

Sometimes, though, I’d go over when I’d had a good day and I felt like celebrating. Sometimes, I’d knock on his door just because I was bored and I wanted to see him. It wasn’t as if he would know the difference. Our bodies knew how to be around each other, and that was all that mattered.

This was just stress relief, after all.

(“Have you ever been in love?” I asked him once, abruptly, my heart still pounding as the sweat cooled on our skins.

He glanced at me warily, but he must have detected only honest curiosity on my face, not lovesickness or anything else that would have had him running for the hills.

He chewed on his lip for a moment. “Once.”

“What happened?” My finger traced an aimless pattern on his chest.

“She loves me,” he said, “but she isn’t in love with me.”)

We never articulated any feelings we may or may not have about each other or our situation. We dodged sincere conversation like it would kill us. So all the pieces we owned of each other were ones that we had been remiss in guarding diligently. That only made them all the more precious.

But on the heels of every stolen glance, there was a moment where he looked right through me, where I felt blank and insubstantial, like I was a placeholder for something or someone, and that would be enough for the wall to be between us again, rigid and unrelenting.

It was a shame that I was stupid enough to hold on to the scraps that fell through anyway.

(iii)

I was an immensely stupid person.

That was the only explanation for why I was leaning against the outer wall of our apartment building at three in the morning, desperately shoving my hands into my coat pockets to brace against the cold.

“You don’t have to be here.”

Can he read minds now? I wondered sullenly. Spencer was sitting on the front steps, with his head in his hands. His hair was dishevelled, and his eyes were the picture of torment. I would have loved to console him, but every attempt so far had been firmly rebuffed.

He had knocked on my door an hour ago and silenced my greeting with a bruising kiss. Of course, I knew how to do that dance, but Spencer had been off his rhythm tonight. When I’d reached for his shirt, he’d pushed my arms away. When I had kissed his jaw, he'd flinched. When I’d finally retreated in concern to ask him what was wrong, he had huffed out that he was perfectly fine, before trying to lift my shirt over my head.

I’d pushed him onto the bed and tried to distract him, and he had responded by clenching the sheets in his fists instead of grabbing my hips. I’d whispered his name in his ear the way he usually loved, and he’d climbed out from under me, sitting up on the bed with his chest heaving. At that point, I’d given up. What had followed was an exercise in patience.

(“Spencer, what’s wrong?” I’d asked again, to no avail.

“It’s nothing. I don’t want to talk about it,” he’d gritted out, glaring at me.

I’d sighed. “Okay, which is it? Nothing, or that you don’t want to talk about it?”

Silence.

“Well something is clearly bothering you. Am I just supposed to ignore that?”

“We don’t need to talk about anything.” He’d tried to kiss me again. That time, I was the one who pushed him away.

“No, Spencer, this isn’t working. I don’t think we should do this tonight.”

The glare had intensified. “Fine.” He’d gotten up and tried to put his shirt back on, but his hands were shaking.

Cursing my investment in this man, I’d helped him while he stared daggers at me. When he’d hunted down his shoes and made his way out of my apartment, I’d pulled on my coat and followed, petting my cat briefly when he tried to follow us.)

So now we were outside, experiencing the most awkward silence ever known to man. Every time I attempted to put a hand on his shoulder or sit beside him, he would tense up yet again.

“Yes, Spencer,” I replied at length, “I do. You look like you might accidentally walk into traffic. I’m not leaving.”

“It’s not your problem.” The petulance was beginning to get on my nerves. I hadn’t signed up for sleepless weeknights.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” I told him, shrugging.

I pulled out my phone to distract myself with the cute animals in my game. Spencer was still worryingly silent. But if he didn’t want to talk to me and he wouldn’t let me near him, there was little I could do but stand there.

Every now and then, his breathing would hitch, and I would study him out of the corner of my eye. Whether he fully registered my presence or not, I was unsure, but he seemed to be calming down. He looked less on edge, his eyes less wild, and I was about to approach him and try again, when a black car pulled up just ahead of us.

Both our heads jerked to attention, but the petite blonde who exited the car only had eyes for Spencer.

“Spence!” She rushed to him, pulling him into a hug that he slowly reciprocated. “Your phone is off. After what happened, I was so worried,” she murmured into his hair, her eyes shut in relief.

And Spencer-- Spencer’s face was something to behold. His eyes were tightly closed, his lips turned down unhappily, and his face was so naked and open that I almost looked away. Almost. The pain that shone there riveted me. I felt as if I could see every wound he had ever suffered, in that instant. He’d never shown me that before. And he still hadn’t-- this wasn’t for me. The embrace broke, but his face stayed the same while the woman fussed over him.

Something came back to me, a fragment of a memory. She loves me but she isn’t in love with me. Unbidden, a sound of realisation escaped my throat, drawing two pairs of eyes to the dark corner in which I had been so far obscured.

Spencer schooled his face back to some semblance of normalcy, and ran a hand through his hair.

“Uh, JJ, this is--”

“Leaving,” I blurted out, then cleared my throat. “I was just leaving. Work in the morning. Nice to meet you.” I tried to smile at her, but it felt more like a pained grimace.

I brushed past both of them, but hesitated on the top step. “Spencer…”

His gaze was inscrutable, and I was too tired to try to decipher it.

“Feel better,” I mumbled, and then I left them there.

*~*

I was not sulking.

I told myself this as I lounged on the couch in my most comfortable pyjamas, stuffing my face with junk food and watching Michael Scott lament his foot injury.

So what if Spencer was in love with a beautiful blonde while getting him to talk to me was like pulling teeth? It wasn’t like I’d been carrying a torch for him. We were just extremely compatible sexually. And in very close proximity to each other. That put us in the ideal position to hook up whenever we needed it. That was the extent of our relationship. For all I knew, he’d been sleeping with other people this whole time. I hardly had the right to protest it if he had. We hadn’t set up rules. We just fell into bed together as and when we liked.

It was a good, uncomplicated thing.

So I needed to make sense of whatever needless jealousy I was feeling, before I ruined it. I couldn’t sit around being pathetic. I had a life.

There was a knock on the door.

Sighing, I turned off the TV and put the snacks away. Spencer was quiet as I let him in. His eyes roamed the small living room as if he didn’t know his way around my place as well as he did his own. I perched on the arm of the couch and stared at him, hoping my face didn’t betray the rollercoaster of emotions I’d experienced over the last forty-eight hours.

“So,” I started, “you okay?”

He looked a bit startled, as if he hadn’t expected me to address it at all. I tried not to roll my eyes.

“Yeah. I’m alright.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” I prompted, “It was pretty intense.”

“It-uh, it was a work thing. JJ helped me out.”

Of course she did. “Great,” I said aloud.

We looked at each other for a beat. “She’s the one, isn’t she?” I blurted before I could stop myself.

“What?”

“The one you’re in love with?”

There was a telltale spot of red high on his cheeks, even as he sputtered. “That’s not-- I mean, yes, but that was--”

“It’s fine,” I said cheerily. “I was just curious.”

He frowned at me. “She’s my best friend, it’s not--”

“No, I get it.” My stomach was somewhere near my feet. “So, do you wanna fuck?”

Again, he seemed taken aback. “What?”

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” I directed my gaze at his meticulously polished shoes.

“No.” A pause. “I just wanted to say-- would you look at me for a second?”

I forced myself to comply.

“I, uh, I wanted to thank you. For staying with me the other night.” The sincerity in his eyes was a bit too much to bear at the moment.

I hadn’t done anything, and I told him as much.

“You didn’t have to. Just being there was more than enough.”

“Right,” I said hollowly. “So is that it?”

“Yeah.” He seemed very lost. “Um, are you okay?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re acting kind of strange.”

“That’s because there isn’t usually this much talking,” I snapped.

I longed to smooth out the lines on his face and make him feel at ease again. This was supposed to be the good, uncomplicated thing. He was apparently making an effort. I could return the favour.

“I’m sorry,” I said, letting out a deep breath and rubbing a hand over my face. “Can I get you something to drink? We can talk about it if you want. Or just hang out.” I tried to squash down the hope that bloomed in my chest.

“Oh. Sure, if that’s okay.” He was chewing on his lip again, and it was unfairly appealing.

And so he stayed. I got two mugs of coffee, and when I came back, he was on my couch reading a well-worn paperback, as if he belonged there. I had to agree with the thought. When he heard me enter the room, he looked up with a smile.

When he left three hours later, I couldn’t remember what we’d talked about or the name of the book he’d abandoned within minutes, but I remembered the way he’d leaned close to me while gesturing wildly with his hands, and I remembered that we hadn’t touched beyond accidental brushes of our fingers the entire time.

He still hadn’t revealed the source of his despair, and I knew there was someone he loved. I knew whatever this was, it would be temporary.

But the smile on my face as I closed the door was real.

(v)

Spencer kept coming over. I was never given the chance to initiate contact because it seemed like he was always at my place. Whenever he was in the city, he would be with me. I started to worry about his apartment gathering cobwebs from the disuse. But I couldn’t honestly complain about this new development.

Sometimes we had sex, and sometimes we didn’t. Sometimes he came in sore and tired, other times he was brimming with excitement with a playful grin. Sometimes he was angry at the world and I was allowed to coax him down from his rage. Those nights were in turn infuriating and thrilling.

(“What happened?”

“Work.”

“That’s really helpful, Spencer, care to elucidate?”

“No.”

“Okay, caveman.”

“Shut up and take off your clothes.”

I’d rolled my eyes and complied.)

I enjoyed every bit of him. I wanted to observe and chart every one of his moods and his little quirks. I loved the small pile of his books that had found their way onto the coffee table. I loved introducing him to pop culture that he approached with the same diligence as he would a textbook of quantum physics. He was an eager student, and I attempted to return the favour whenever he launched into his obscure tirades.

Some nights I would drowsily let him in and he would crawl into bed with me, fully clothed. The following mornings, I would wake up with a silly grin on my face, seeing him utterly relaxed and at peace. We’d have breakfast in my kitchen and slowly come awake together over our steaming mugs of coffee.

It was fun, learning him.

In the dead of night, as I was drifting off to sleep, he would tell me bits and pieces of horrible things he’d had to see. All I could offer him then was a tight, protective embrace and a steady gaze as the words clawed their way out of his reluctant throat. It felt like he was giving me some sort of twisted boon, these revelations of his pain. I collected them just as carefully as I did everything else. If it was a part of him that was freely given, I knew I wanted it.

At intervals, I would have to remind myself that he wasn’t truly emotionally available. It wasn’t hard. I only had to picture JJ’s relieved smile and the raw uncloaked expression on his face that I had never seen again. He mentioned her every now and then, and I’d discovered that his godson was her child. He never seemed upset, talking about her family, but he wasn’t the kind of man who would resent another’s happiness, even if it was at the expense of his own. I knew that now. I still remembered the way he would pull away from me and flinch at my touch, and I knew I was playing a losing game. There was no way out of this where I didn’t get hurt. All I could do was try to control it.

Three months after that night outside our building, I knew I’d fallen for him.

I was in trouble and I needed to do something about it, quickly. So I stopped preemptively cancelling plans with my friends and coworkers. I joined a book club. I called in a guy to loudly fix my bathroom sink the day I knew Spencer would be getting home. I even got a gym membership. I tried to be away from home as much as I could.

Whenever Spencer texted me, I would let him know I was unavailable. His texts got progressively more frustrated. Watching the excitement on his face dim when I turned him away at my door was painful. But it was necessary. I convinced myself that when Spencer and I stopped existing in this vacuum without other people, my feelings would weaken and I would be able to get him out of my head.

It didn’t work, of course, and I spent every day missing him. I tried to distract myself with work and my suddenly-full schedule, but the feelings were still there. Try as I might, I couldn’t stop thinking of him every morning and every night, and every time I passed his door and every time I walked by a bookstore.

So when Neil from work asked me out a week later, I said yes.

I wore a nice dress and heels, and he picked me up. We went to a midscale restaurant and talked about boring first-date things, and I knew within the first fifteen minutes that I didn’t want to see him again. I went through the motions, smiled pleasantly at him, and told him I would take a cab home. When I walked dejectedly up to my apartment, it took me a second to realise what I was looking at. My heart leapt and I dropped my keys.

Spencer was sitting on the floor outside my door, and he looked tireder and older than I’d ever seen him. He had looked up at my approach. I froze.

“Spencer.” I hadn’t seen him in a month.

He looked me up and down, and there was an unhappy tilt to his mouth. I wanted to kiss it away. He reached for the keys and rose to his feet.

“Hi.” He held them out to me, and I wanted to laugh and the eerie reflection of our first meeting.

“Hi,” I echoed.

“Were you on a date?”

There was no point in lying to him. “Yes.”

He looked away, his jaw clenching.

Silently, I unlocked the door and held it open. After a moment’s hesitation, he walked in.

He paced the floor of my living room. I took off my shoes and put my keys on the table, waiting for him to speak. I felt out of sorts and unprepared for what was to come. Even when I heard him come to a halt, I didn’t lift my gaze to meet his.

“Why would you-- I thought we had something.” His tone was heavy with accusation.

I stared back at him in challenge. “Sure. We had something. But I didn’t want to fool myself into thinking it was more than it was.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Us! You. You send me all these mixed signals, and I know you’re still hung up on someone else but I let myself get in too deep anyway. I had to protect myself.”

“I’m not hung up on someone else,” he shouted, raising his hands in frustration.

“Of course you are!” I matched his volume. “You told me so yourself.”

“When did I do that?” He sounded honestly bewildered.

“A few months ago. You said you were in love with someone but she didn’t love you back. And then I saw you with JJ that day. I know it’s her. It’s okay. You didn’t promise me anything.”

Feeling drained, I wrapped my hands around my middle. The tears were threatening to fall, but I tried to hold them at bay. This would be over soon. It all would.

“JJ--” he barked out a laugh, surprising me.

“What about this situation is funny to you?” I demanded.

“No, listen--”

“You’re hot and you’re cold. You kick me out right after our first time and then you’re sweet the next day. How do you want me to feel about that?”

“I’m sorry about-”

“Trying to talk to you is impossible! I want to help you. But you clearly don’t want to talk to me!”

“That’s not--”

“And then you’re over here all the time, and I get that it’s because you want to distract yourself, but you have to know how it would con--”

“God, would you just shut up and listen to me for once?”

I glared up at him. He was undeterred, a strange glint in his eyes.

“I love you,” he informed me, striking me dumb. “It took me a while to realise it, but it’s true. I love you.”

All I could do was gape at him as he walked closer to me and took my tightly clenched fists in his hands. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I was holding back. I’m trying to be better. And I don’t know what you thought you saw between me and JJ,” he said very slowly, stroking his thumbs gently over my palms, “but all that’s there is a lot of trauma and shared experiences. Yes, I thought I loved her once, but that was a long time ago. We’ve never-- she’s not you.”

Traitorously, that tendril of hope began to coil around my heart again as I searched his face, looking for a trace of a lie.

I found none.

I surged forward, crashing my lips to his with no finesse and too much force, but he was ready for me, releasing my hands and cradling my waist instead. I gripped his hair, letting the tears spill at last, an overjoyed laugh bubbling out of my throat and into his mouth. I let my hands roam the hard plane of his body, the delicious ripple of wiry muscle beneath his shirt, the hidden softness that only I could feel.

“I love you,” I told him when we broke apart for air. “I’m glad I can tell you, I love you, I fucking love you.” Spencer grinned down at me, and the look was so fond I had to kiss him again.

The rest was a blur of hastily discarded clothes and the steadfastly ignored pain of knocking into furniture before we finally found my bed and tumbled into it.

(“All this time, I could have had you,” I groaned into his ear while he thrust his fingers into me, mouthing along my jaw.

“You have me,” he promised into my skin an eternity later, when he was inside me and my nails were scrambling for purchase along his back, my vision going white.)

That night, there were no painful confessions or taunting insecurities. There were just the two of us, blissfully entwined together, and the deepest of dreamless sleeps. Somewhere in the middle of falling out and falling back together, we had found our new rhythm.

.fin.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut #mgg #matthew gray gubler

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lunacellestia · 3 years

Text

M!Drider x F!PlusSize!Reader

"Goodbye Mrs. Baker!"

"And to you too dearie! Stay safe!"

The basket rested on your arm as you said your goodbyes to the lonely woman.

A widower she was, left alone by her husband who passed on several years prior.

"He was my first love, and at my age, it's simply too soon to go after another. Besides, he was all I ever needed and he's still here.. Not physically but I hear his voice every so often, telling me to go on and that he'll see me soon, only when it's time." She had said one day, her shaky hand resting over her heart, her face scrunched up with a content smile.

Your eyes glanced towards her ring, the shade of emerald in the shape of an oval.

Somehow it was still gleaming, despite it being decades old.

You wondered briefly if she ever got it polished, but decided to keep that question for another time.

You sipped your tea and smiled at her, nodding as she went into her tales of her past.

"May I see some old photos of you both Mrs. Baker?"

"Why of course! Just give me a moment dear."

Together you both looked at the photos of her beloved and her together.

In her youth, her hair was a bright orange, going from flowy and wild to a nice pixie cut as the pages went on.

Her love, a man a bit taller than her, had on biker clothes in select photos, his hair darker than the women's on boxes you see on hair dye boxes.

"He was such a mad lad that one. Always getting into trouble."

"He was your little trouble maker."

"Indeed he was." She giggled

You let out a small sigh as your memories of that day came to an end, instead opting to focus on the small dirt path in front of you.

"What a wonderful lady. But still.. I wonder, is love really that strong?" You muttered to yourself.

You had never been in love; it was a bit odd to you, but you've just never felt the connection.

You've had crushes, had your fair share of cry days when they were taken. You've had those that fawned over you and vice versa, but its never been like others describe it.

"I guess I'm just too.. Myself for love." You sighed and continued on your journey towards your home.

You checked your basket once you arrived, seeing that the goods you purchased were still in tact, not a thing gone and not a thing broken or spilled.

"Can never be too careful these days, those in the forest are mischievous and take what they want. Pranks and all." One of the local men had told you.

The fairies that inhabited this area were a bit too... Chaotic for their own good.

They loved to play pranks and annoy the people when they could, sometimes getting upset if they didn't get the reaction they wanted.

You headed inside and closed your door, locking it and listening to the click.

All was silent for a moment as you checked around silently for any signs of something.

You didn't want to deal with a fairy that had snuck it's way inside by mistake or even purposely.

Heading into the kitchen, you unpacked your things and put them away then headed to your couch and went onto your phone.

'We can cross that off the list. I need to get some silks tomorrow and get to working on some clothes.'

A knock sounded as you jumped a bit and held your chest, caught off guard and frightened a bit.

"C-coming!"

'Could that be one of the fairies playing pranks? No... I don't want to play their games right now. Besides, I'm already inside.'

You headed to the door, albeit a bit cautiously and peaked out the window first.

You squinted a bit seeing a hint of something but nothing too clear.

Besides, you didn't want to make it obvious that you were staring.

Letting out the smallest of breaths, you unlocked the door and opened it a bit, peering out and up.

"Yes..? Can I.. Help you?"

"Apologies for coming so abruptly my dear. I wanted to catch you before you came all the way to me later tomorrow."

You blinked and opened the door more, seeing your supplier of the very silks you needed.

"Raveed!"

"Yes?" He asked, raising his brow amused.

You opened your mouth then closed it, getting a little shy and embarrassed under his gaze.

'Worried for nothing.' You thought with a small sigh.

"Sorry.. It's nothing. I just couldn't help but to get a little scared. Anyways, what was it that you needed again?"

"Well, I won't be available tomorrow. I have some matters to attend to. So I wanted to provide you with some silk now."

"Oh that's fine! I could've waited though, you didn't have to do that for me."

"Nonsense, I couldn't let my favorite girl go on without her supplies. What kind of supplier would I be hmm?"

"I suppose you have a point. Come in! I'll make you something?"

"I'll just take some water if that's alright dear."

"That's fine, give me a moment." You said and stepped aside so he could come in.

It was a bit of a squeeze, his lower half having to turn a bit in order to come in.

Raveed was a drider, and like many, he had the lower half of a spider.

Though he only had two arms instead of four like some, he had 8 legs, each slim and proper.

His hands as well were slender, with beautifully manicured nails, evident of how well he'd taken care of them over the years.

Just as his appearence had showed, his aura and air were the same, not once betraying him.

He had a handful of admirers, even those who feared driders, mostly due to their fear of spiders.

His skin was like the shade of mocha, his eyes, 6 in total with three on each side, were dark and dreamy.

His hair, long and braided to the side, was the color of night, mixed with some white as he had dyed it in (or, you assume so, you never asked if that was natural for him).

His lower half was also a simple black with some crackles and specks of fuchsia.

You had thought he hailed from a prestigious family with his looks and way of speaking, but he always waved you off and let out a small chuckle.

"Had I been, I would've had you as a queen by now. You, by my side, as we ruled together."

You had brushed his words off each time and chuckled nervously.

He always had a way of making you flustered, so much so that you may have developed the smallest of crushes on him, though never anything too grand to consider it love.

You closed the door behind him once he was safely inside, and proceeded to make your way to the kitchen.

He stayed and instead looked around while you poured him a glass of water and came back out.

"Here you go Raveed."

"Thank you dearest. Now, shall we get started?"

"Huh?"

"With my silk."

"I-I'm not sure how I'm supposed to be of assistance."

He chuckled lightly and shook his head a bit.

"I'm not as shy as I was when I was younger. I used to hate others seeing me produce it. But it is my job now."

You turned away and pretended to busy yourself with a task.

"I-I see! Well! I'll leave you to it! I still don't wish to intrude on you."

"You aren't, and this is your home after all."

"Y-yes but-"

"Dearest, you aren't scared of me are you? I hope I don't frighten you so at times." He said somberly.

You turned back quickly and waved your hands.

You have shied away from him before, but not necessarily because he was scary, you were just a bit nervous to be around him.

"Its not that really!"

He inched towards her a bit and gently cupped her cheek after setting down the cup

"You're so beautiful you know?"

"What?"

"You're so beautiful. And so bashful too. I absolutely adore that about you, my dearest spider lily." He said softly, his thumb stroking your cheek.

You swallowed and felt a nervous laugh bubble up in your throat, not knowing what exactly to say or do.

"Ahh, is that so?"

" 'Is that so' Indeed it is. I would never lie to you. Well, maybe aside from another part of the reason on why I came to see you. I did come to see you to give you the thread you needed for the silk but.. I also came to see YOU. Do you understand me now?"

"I... I think so? I'm - you're here for me?"

"Spider Lily, I'd like to take you on a date."

Your mind felt boggled and your mouth dry; a date?

"Are you sure about that? I mean I.. Don't know if I can give you the best company and-"

"You are already wonderful company dearest."

"I think I'm immune to love!"

He blinked, all six of his eyes in unison as he bit his lip holding back a small laugh.

"And why do you say that?"

"I've never.. Fallen in love."

At that, his eyes widened a bit, before a calm smile graced his lips.

He stepped back for a moment and opted for your hand, dipping his head down and pressing a small kiss to it.

"Will you be so kind as to grant me the honor of allowing me to show you just how you may fall in love?"

You swallowed, a bit scared of his words, scared of disappointing him if you didn't feel the same love he felt.

You had a crush on him... But was that all? Strangely, you felt something growing in you.

"I... Alright."

He grinned, one full of teeth, sharp and on display.

"Oh dearest spider lily, you will not regret this choice you've made. I can assure you of that and then some." He declared, kissing your forehead.

"Now! Onto the silk finally!"

You both laughed a bit; onto the silk he goes.

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get-shiggy-with-it · 3 years

Text

Just My Type Pt. 1

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: slight dubcon, stalking behavior, voyeurism, male masturbation, sorta subby shiggy if you squint, reader is pretty gender neutral, no pronouns used, 18+ MINORS DNI

Summary: You’re a part time transporter for the LoV and Shigaraki just can’t seem to get you out of his head. So much so that he follows you home and jerks it to you changing in front of your window.

Note: first time writing for shig and this sat in my drafts forever, I’m thinking of a part two If there is any interest.

Part 2

AO3 Mirror

He didn’t understand you.

Though, to be fair, he didn’t really understand anyone—he never needed to.

As long as the League did what he told them to do when he told them to do it, that was always enough. Ultimately, people were nothing more than overly complicated pits of questionable motivations, each arbitrarily categorized as good or evil and judged accordingly. Whether or not he understood those motivations was immaterial.

It was enough to have them simply obey.

And he’d never bothered with wondering why they followed him.

But that wasn’t exactly true anymore, because Tomura Shigaraki did wonder now—wondered often, and somewhat obsessively, about you.

He was doing it now, even. Eyes creeping their way across the dingy floorboards to where you stood by the bar’s entrance. You looked very out of place there, and your voice was almost too loud as it broke the almost constant silence.

It wasn’t that you stood out, though—really it wasn’t. To anyone else, you probably didn’t at all. In fact, the only reason he became even tangentially aware of you at all was because you came to him for payments. You were just a transporter, showing up every now and then to drop off or pick up a new order and rushing out again.

‘Reliable’ is the word Kurogiri used. That’s why he recommended you, and he was right.

You did your job quietly, without error.

All this was just to say that from the outside you were frustratingly unremarkable—a blip, a smudge on the page of his life’s work in the making.

And yet.

And yet you were so impossible to ignore, standing out immediately every time you walked in a room.

You were nothing special, nothing he hadn’t seen before. Though, now that he thought about it—neck tingling the second he felt your eyes on him—maybe it wasn’t so much that your presence itself was incongruent. No, objectively speaking, you did fit in perfectly amongst the shitty furniture and refuse. But it was specifically the way you carried yourself around him which seemed so blatantly unusual.

“Everything’s unpacked and accounted for,” you called to him, sauntering over to his seat along the bar.

You had a particular walk—It was something he noticed early on. Like you always knew exactly where you were going.

“Good,” he nodded and tossed an envelope of cash your way.

He never knew what to say to you, so he tried to say as little as possible. Though there were plenty of things he wanted to say. Questions and phrases occurred to him nightly, clamoring at the seal of his lips to escape, to be spoken into reality.

“Same time next week?” you asked, obvious to the rampage of thoughts in his head.

You always looked him in the eye when you spoke, no one ever did that.

“Yeah.”

The upward quirking of your lips when you spoke made his palms sweat, “See you then. Pleasure doing business with you, as always.”

Your hand was the last thing to disappear from around the door frame and into the street. As your figure faded away into the crowd, the air seemed to grow heavier. The soft clinking of glasses as Kurogiri tidied up, the oppressive scent of bodies and liquor and smoke all wafted back in.

Now he’d wait another week to say all of two words to you and pretend it wasn’t the only thing he’d truly looked forward to in years.

***

So no, Tomura Shigaraki didn’t understand you, but he was beginning to wish that he did.

Which was concerning in it’s own right. He was not accustomed to whatever the pit that developed in his stomach when you came around was called and for good reason. Things like that got in the way of progress. He knew that much at least. And he tried, so very hard to disregard it, but you kept coming back every week and he—

He couldn’t.

It was just because you were attractive. That was what he tried to tell himself. It was because you were attractive and you wore those tight uniforms sometimes and Dabi was...Dabi, so he always pointed it out. It was because you were attractive and he was only human, as much as the rest of the world tried to deny it. That was the only reason you ever crossed his mind. He could accept that. It was a physical response, nothing he could help.

You were nice to look at, and he appreciated your willingness to do your job and keep your mouth shut otherwise.

In the beginning, it was easy to convince himself of this.

Easy to live with just the stolen glimpses of you rushing in and out the door. But as those short few seconds grew and your employment with the League became increasingly stable, just the sight of you weaving through the tables or negotiating with Kurogiri at the bar wasn’t nearly enough to keep him satisfied.

Then you started staying for drinks some nights, maybe every other week or so, which certainly didn’t help the situation.

The others liked you enough. Despite the effect you seemed to have on him, to everyone else you were unassuming in a way Tomura was beginning to think must be purposeful. Shallow, yet personable enough to be appealing to just about anyone. He was sure the rest of the team would never notice it, but he had such a hard time doing anything other than drinking in every word that fell from your lips that it was hard not to see the way you casually dodged every question thrown your way.

In any case, it made you easy to get along with, and so when you did decide to hang back after runs, the bar was always a bit lighter and filled with the scent of drugstore shampoo instead of blood and grime. Tomura himself never actively participated in ‘team bonding activities,’ but he remained in the periphery.

Listening. Looking.

At you.

Tonight was one of those nights, and it was following the same formulaic structure as usual. Kurogiri made everyone a drink, Toga laughed too loud at a terrible joke, and after a few shots Dabi made a thinly veiled pass at you.

Tomura was starting to think that he did it specifically to get to him, and it was annoyingly effective. His chest grew tight as he watched a scarred and stapled hand slide it’s way into your lap. Tomura’s own nails dug painfully into the scabs of his neck while Dabi’s bit at the flesh of your thigh.

But the surge of anger, of jealousy, didn’t mean anything. Not really.

Dabi always pissed him off, so he tried to blame the visceral reaction on the fact that the burnt piece of beef jerky masquerading as human was a bit of a bastard. And since everything Dabi did pissed him off, it also made sense that this did too.

This had absolutely nothing to do with you particularly he thought to himself, even as the burning in his throat lessened when you pulled away and stood to get another drink.

It made a frustrating amount of sense for you to fuck Dabi, though. He was outspoken in a way Tomura could never match, with a more traditionally dominant manner that attracted partners like moths to his flame.

He thought maybe you would at first.

Fuck Dabi, that is. You struck him initially as one of those quiet types who saw softness where there was none and clung to it. Gravitated towards broken people in a desperate attempt to fix them, as if that could bring some meaning to your useless existence. Of course, he’d probably made an equally poor first impression as well.

Regardless, he was fairly certain you never did fuck Dabi.

Mostly because he would have assuredly rubbed it in Tomura’s face and because sometimes—like right now—he’d push past the churning in his gut to look up as Dabi not-so-casually propositioned you into his bed. And when he did, he caught the way you hid a secret grin behind your hand, ducking your head down with the most incredulous look plastered on your face for just a second. Like you knew that charred asshole didn’t have a fucking clue.

Though he really couldn’t be sure if that was anything more than a trick of the light.

“Care to join?”

Your voice ran through him like a thousand volt shock as he looked up from the table to see you standing just behind him.

“What?” he asked incredulously.

He didn’t seen you coming, too busy glaring at your empty seat to notice the signature sound of your footsteps drawing near.

“Do you want to come drink with us?” you said again and nodded towards the empty glass in his hand.

This wasn’t part of the routine. You hadn’t ever approached him before outside of the necessary work related conversations. Predictably, Tomura fumbled just a bit.

Yes. “No, I’m done here.”

The way you kept moving your head to keep eye contact with him was nearing oppressive. He just barely caught the slight frown as you backed away for him to brush past you towards the stairs.

“Suit yourself,” you shouted after him.

He didn’t bother answering, just slammed his bedroom door and sat at the edge of the mattress with his head in his hands and his dick raging hard in his pants.

***

Even from two floors away Tomura heard you getting ready to leave. He could easily picture it, and was currently despite his attempts to think of quite literally anything else. The way you’d slide your empty glass across the bar top and just fade like a shadow into the night air.

He could hear the rest of the League beginning the crawl up to their respective rooms one by one. And it was the persistent thought of you sliding back into your coat that convinced Tomura to finally let his mind slip.

All the failed attempts at concocting business strategy, budgets or what he would need you to deliver next fell away, leaving only thoughts of the way your lips fit around the rim of a glass. How the moisture beaded just on the plushest part and your tongue flicked out to wipe it away.

Then his hand was slipping too, teasing under the waistband of his pants and stroking his still aching cock.

He’d never had his dick sucked but he imagined—in the dark of his room, listening to you offer your goodbyes through the floorboards—that you’d be good at it. Thought you might nip at his thighs and take his whole length into the wet heat of your mouth in one go. You’d roll your pretty tongue over the head of his cock until he couldn’t take the teasing doses of pleasure. He’d buck his hips up, milking himself with your throat and you’d happily let him.

Tomura pumped his length, fucking his hand in earnest now. Curiously he made a small ‘o’ with his thumb and index finger, trying to replicate what the seal of your lips might feel like. He closed his eyes and attempted to conjure a good accompanying image: you, on your knees, head bobbing on his cock. And, god that was so good. He even muttered the words under his breath, but it wasn’t quite enough.

The image quickly shifted as he chased his climax. Maybe you’d want to press your fingers past the tight ring of his ass too till he was a shaking mess, cumming all over your face and chest. He did it himself sometimes, rocking back on his hand when he was really desperate to achieve a knee-weakening high.

That almost did it, his hand sloppy with drool and precum all while you were just downstairs.

These moments were the most delicious. When he stopped trying to deny himself of the fantasy—what was always buried in the back of his head when you came around.

That you might touch him. That you might tell him how good he feels. That you might like it.

But then the loud click of the door swinging shut on the main floor rang through the halls. And at the thought of you, gone once again, all the images were soured. Instead, the pressing reality wormed it’s way back in. Reminding him that he would only wake up in the morning—as he had so often done—crusted in cum and sweat and wondering if you were the type to stay the night or if you’d disappear from his bed just the way you did from the bar every time the others got a bit too close.

And the more he allowed that thought to creep it’s way into his head, ripping away his climax, another compulsion grew. He could feel himself cresting a hill as you slipped right through his fingers—taking a nosedive straight into a disaster that smiled up at him with your pretty, pretty lips.

***

It was just good business practice.

That’s what Tomura repeated in his head, hoping from streetlight to streetlight just a block or so behind you. But nothing he did was ever strictly good, and the only thing even slightly business related about following you home tonight was that you happened to sort of work for him.

Damn, you moved fast.

Tomura guessed that shouldn’t come as a shock considering your job depended on it, but it was a struggle not to lose sight of you. He ducked into doorways or alleys when you stopped to cross the street. Your form flitted quickly between the patches of neon-lit sidewalk, passing 24-hour convenience stores and clubs whose thick bass beats reverberated in the cool night air.

He hung back when you finally began ascending the stairs of what seemed to be an apartment complex at the far side of a dead end. It looked shitty, but in a sort of charming way—vines growing haphazardly up the iron railings and paint chipping so the walls looked like an oil canvas from far away. Tomura watched you take the stairs two at a time until you disappeared into the depths of the building.

In the stillness that followed, he began to question the point of all this.

The decision to follow you was not well thought out.

After whipping the mess of spit and cum from his hands, Tomura had snuck out into the hall. Really, he’d only meant to listen, maybe catch an extra glimpse of you before the night ended. But then, through the halfhearted bantering and inane pissing contests, he caught you drifting towards the door. And as he watched you slip, really watched and felt the distance growing between you, something struck him.

Maybe it was the way that sliver of light pollution from the doorway illuminated the dips and hollows of your profile. Or the sparkle of your coat buttons amongst the smoke from Dabi’s cigarettes. But more likely, it was the way you paused—one foot already in the street—and glanced at him for just a split second. Immediately catching his face hidden between the railings as though you could sense his gaze on you. Like you felt the same shiver down your spine.

When your eyes roamed over him, they left tremors in their wake.

It was pathetic. It was sad and disgusting—a part of him knew that—but just that one simple look, that small acknowledgement of his existence had him raging hard in his pants once again.

Tomura moved without thinking, moved by the shameful compulsion to grab any scrap of attention you’d throw his way and cling to it.

And now he was here, standing outside your apartment like the creep he knew he was, to do what exactly? What had he hoped to accomplish? He just...he wanted, needed to feel it again. So long he’d subsisted on incredibly complex daydreams and nightly fictional scenarios in which you kissed him and didn’t spit in revulsion at the feel of your lips on his.

And when you looked at him, half caked in shadow and lit up with haze, he was overcome with a desperate, mortifying need to know for sure that all those dreams weren’t unfounded.

Tomura Shigaraki wanted you so badly it hurt, like his ribs were cracking under the pressure of it.

You gave him a crumb with that glance, but he was never known for his patience. No, he was greedy and selfish and he needed more.

And for once, the powers that be seemed to have taken his side. Just a few minutes after you were swallowed up into the mass of concrete, a light flicked on in one of the upper windows. Through the drawn back curtains, Tomura was absolutely blessed by the sight of you—hands tugging the top from your shoulders and baring swathes of your naked skin for him to wonder at.

If just a look could get him hard, then this might just kill him on the spot.

You really shouldn’t be changing in the open like that. Anyone could be watching.

But with a show this good, well it would be insulting not to take full advantage wouldn’t it? Of course. You’d want him to. How could he waste such a perfect opportunity to jerk himself off to the thought of fucking your perfect chest while he could actually see it. And oh, oh god your nipples were definitely hard and just begging to be sucked on. He could almost taste you in his mouth, feel how silky the buds would be against his tongue.

Fuck.

You were going to ruin him.

Looking around, the street seemed to be deserted, no other buildings lit either. It wasn’t so much that he cared if anyone saw, but letting his guard down so out in the open was never very appealing. Though the visage of you, stripped and illuminated for him alone, was enough to over power any amount of trepidation.

Tomura’s hand dipped back into his jeans, wrapping around his cock and stroking as best he could in the confined space. Precum streamed from the tip as he teased it with his thumb while you started to shimmy out of your pants. He whimpered at the glimpse of your ass on full display.

His mind raced.

You were both exactly and nothing at all what he expected. Which was more to say that the you that existed in his head was an amalgamation of all his favorite porn vids mashed into one, but this—this was nothing like he’d ever seen hastily sifting through tabs on his PC.

There were marks and dips and curves and angles that he hadn’t thought of before. Hadn’t ever really seen without the separation of clothing and it was delicious and not nearly enough. God, his cock throbbed, gushing at the thought of your thighs around his waist, or head, or hiked over his shoulders. He could give you what you needed, he had no evidence of this but he just knew it.

You stretched, and he could nearly hear the joints popping. Out in the open, exposed and so close to being caught, all of Tomura’s sense were heightened.

God what he’d give to see your face, watching, knowing how hard he was for you. He could picture it now: the twinge of shock, the barely disguised pang of want. Maybe you’d be disgusted with him, but really this was all your fault. This is what you did to him.

The wrongness of it all only made that much more enticing.

Tomura set a steady pace, pumping his hand along the length of his cock, so hard and dripping with every swipe of his thumb over the tip. You were shifting in and out of his view now, rummaging around what he assumed was your bedroom. It was physically painful every time you disappeared, a whine bubbling up in the back of his throat at the loss.

His length pulsed against his palm and his toes curled inside his sneakers.

Small, ragged gasps leaked through the cracks in his lips and condensed in the air. In the dim streetlight, the little clouds of condensation shifted and sparkled like sweat on taut skin. He envisioned drool dripping down onto your back as he pounded into you. His free hand dug into the meat of his thigh, pretending as though it was your flesh he was leaving fingerprint bruises on instead.

Trying to convince himself this was anything other than what it was.

Tomura’s hand moved faster, knuckles scraping the zipper of his jeans and spilling slow, thin streams of crimson onto his aching dick. It stung and stoked the coiling low in his gut. Fuck, his teeth ground down biting into phantom flesh. What he wouldn’t give to mouth at that perfect curve in your neck, run his tongue up the pulsing vein and hear whatever lovely noises spilled from your lips.

He was so close to spilling over, but he just a bit more. He’d come this far already, why not dive just a little deeper off the edge?

It wasn’t entirely conscious, the quick steps he took across the street and up the stairs you’d taken. Tomura’s body was functioning on base instincts, carrying him mindlessly closer to the object of his desire. It wasn’t hard to find the right room. It wasn’t a large building, only a few units, and he swore he could smell the familiar scent of your soap wafting out from under the door.

God he really was a pathetic fucking dog, sniffing you out while his dick was aching to rut into his own hand.

But as he stood outside, debating whether to dust the whole wall separating your sweet, naked form from him or to pick the lock and slip inside, the knob turned on it’s own. Before he could even think of rushing back to the street, you were standing before him, eyes alight in a way he’d never seen before—wide and blazing and hungry.

#tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura/reader #shigaraki/reader #tomura shigaraki #smut #tw dubcon #tw voyeurism #stalking #bee.writes

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titan-fodder · 3 years

Text

Prima Vista Part IV

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 9.6k

Warning: a big helping of abandonment/daddy issues, lots of feelings, explicit sexual content A/N: y’all are gonna be so soft and then so mad lmao.

The plan was to go to Mike's house then back to campus. You said you didn't have anything to do at your mom's, that a long phone call would suffice, which is why Mike is confused when you ask him if you can stop by before going back. It's an hour out of the way, but it's not like he has anything better to do, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious about your humble beginnings.

The house is in a decent-looking neighborhood, small, nearly identical one-story homes surrounded by cracked sidewalks. He has to be careful not to trip as you make your way to the front porch, pots of dead or dying plants along the edges of it. You shove your key into the lock, twist and open, then motion for Mike to follow.

The den is dimly lit, ceiling fan above with only one working bulb. A crime show is playing on the TV but there's no one watching. There is, however, another light pouring from a back room, and as soon as you drop your bag on the couch, a head pokes out from the doorway.

"Baby girl!" A shrill voice cries, and Mike sees you grimace. "I thought you weren't coming by!"

A woman walks into the den wearing long, cotton shorts and an old tie-dye shirt then pulls you into a hug so tight that it makes you cough.

"Mom," you take a deep breath as if to refill your lungs with all the air that was pushed from them. "This is Mike."

He holds out a hand and smiles, but all your mother does is stare with round eyes and blurt, "Oh, he's a big boy."

"My fucking god." You don't yell or whine, just pinch the bridge of your nose and mumble, "Just shake his hand please."

"Sorry, I'm sorry, just was not expecting… You didn't tell me how tall he was."

"'Cause it doesn't matter. Why would I—nevermind," you cut yourself off, face falling flat just like your voice.

Mike isn't sure if he should be flattered or offended or embarrassed, so he just ignores the comment entirely and says, "Nice to meet you."

You make your escape to the back, dragging Mike with you before shutting your bedroom door and leaning against it.

"Mom is a little weird, but you'll always know where you stand with her," you tell him. "Also, sorry about the house. She’s a teacher, so she’s usually pretty beat at the end of the day. Not enough energy to do a lotta cleaning."

"Didn't even notice," he reassures you.

Mike unpacks his bag next to you, and you gather the dirty clothes from both yours and his, balling them up and taking them with you out to the garage to throw into the washing machine. Mike should have done it at his parents', but as you were packing up that morning, his mother got all teary eyed and his dad just kept shaking your tiny hands and telling you to come back, so it just didn’t happen.

Back in the living room, your mom is sitting in an old rocking chair, and Mike thinks you'll take a seat on the adjacent couch, but instead you ask, "You need help with anything? Dishes or vacuuming or somethin'?"

She looks up at you, fly-away hairs sticking out around her temples and forehead and responds, "It'd be nice if you could do the dishes. I just haven't gotten around to it."

"Can do," you nod and walk into the kitchen, opening the dishwasher and making a displeased noise at the dirty plates and bowls inside. There's room for a few more, but once it's full and running, you just clean what's left in the sink by hand. Mike finds a towel, stands next to you, and holds his hand out for every scrubbed dish, drying it and placing it in the rack to hopefully be put up later.

"You hungry?" You ask when you're done and drying your hands. "It's almost one."

"Uh, yeah. I could eat."

Truthfully, he's starving having only had a small breakfast at his parents'. He doesn't want to say that, though, doesn't want you making a big meal for him or apologizing for anything.

"Sandwiches okay?"

Something in your tone has him on edge. Your voice is too quiet, deflecting downward as if you're forcing each word from your mouth.

"Yeah," he nods. "If you get the stuff, I can make 'em." Mostly so that you can relax but also because there's no way he's gonna let you make him a fucking sandwich.

You shrug your shoulders, grab bread, lunchmeat, cheese, and condiments, then say, "You can make ours. I'll make mom's."

He knows he's missing something, but he doesn't know what, and right now he's too afraid to ask.

He eats next to you on the couch, you and your mom watching TV as Mike tries to subtly glance around. Mounted shelves are decorated with dusty, mismatched figurines, cracks opening at the corners where the walls meet the roof. The brick fireplace is stacked high with plastic tubs and books, probably from your mother’s classroom, and the carpet has seen better days.

Mike isn't judging—not in the least—but he has a feeling he knows why being here puts you in a sour mood. The house feels lived in, cluttered and cozy and worn around the edges, but it's still empty somehow.

After the three of you are finished eating, you take the paper plates and dispose of them, then tell your mom that you'll be in your room. She gives you a soft smile that you struggle to return.

It's a little more you in the bedroom, blue walls covered in old posters and collages, a quilt similar to the one in your dorm folded at the bottom of your bed. Your pillow cases are faded and covered in an old flower design that matches your sheets, and there's a small nightstand next to the headboard that's bare on top with wrinkled papers poking out of the bottom drawer.

"It's not much, but if you wanna snoop around like I always do, feel free."

Mike doesn't really want to, especially since you already seem so uncomfortable in what should be a safe space for you. The only thing he feels okay investigating is the old bookshelf next to your closet—mostly YA novels, some poetry books, an old set of The Lord of the Rings series, a textbook over rocks and minerals and another over volcanoes. Tucked away in the bottom shelf is a tiny booklet that looks like a photo album, and Mike has to fight the urge to pull it from its place and flip through the plastic pages. Anything to get to know you better.

You lay in bed, eyes locked on the ceiling, and Mike doesn't know what to do. There's a very small TV sitting on your dresser, an old DVD player next to it, so he figures he'll save both you and himself from talking by picking out a movie.

He fingers through them, not that there's a lot, just skims the spines until he pulls out a copy of Space Jam. You only glance at the screen when the intro starts, and Mike immediately zeroes in on the way your jaw sets and your brows furrow.

"I can pick something else," he tells you quietly.

You take a deep breath and shake your head. Slowly but surely your features begin to soften.

"'S'fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. My, uh…" You swallow loud enough from Mike to hear, neck bobbing with the motion. "My dad and I used to watch it all the time."

He doesn't know what to make of it or how to respond. In the months he's known you, Mike has never heard you mention your father a single time, and he's never asked in fear of what your response might be.

He moves your quilt to sit on the very edge of the bed, a little too tense as he heavily contemplates ignoring what you'd said and still switching movies.

"You can lay down, you know," you mumble. "I'm not gonna bite you."

"You have before," he tries to act casual, but it comes out too stiffly.

You laugh through your nose— "Suit yourself—" then get more comfortable on the mattress.

Michael Jordan gets pulled into a golf hole and the Loony Toons journey to retrieve his shoes from the real world. Mike is barely paying attention, more focused on the way your breathing evens out until it becomes slow and deep.

That's good. You could use a nap.

He watches you for a while, the way your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks and your lips part. You're all curled up on yourself, hands tucked under your chin, knees to your stomach, and Mike wants to slip behind you so badly, to pull you to his chest and lay with you until his heartbeat syncs with yours.

But first.

As carefully as he can, Mike stands from the bed and glides to the bookcase. He lowers himself in front of it, quickly finding what he's looking for and pulls it from the shelf.

It's a small little album, full of polaroids and old pictures cut in half. The first page sets the tone for the rest of the booklet, a photo of a very small you outside eating a popsicle next to a man that is most definitely your dad. You've got a similar facial structure as well as his coloring. Not to mention the expression he's wearing is one Mike has seen you make many times before.

The next picture is the two of you dressed up for an event. He's in a striped Polo and slacks while you're in a little checkered dress, a rose corsage on your tiny wrist. Some kind of father-daughter dance, Mike guesses.

Sitting on his lap at a fair, a chubby little boy a few years older than you standing close with a stuffed snake around his neck. A party where you're posed with an honestly frightening costume character. You in a bright, mesh jersey standing back to back with your dad, arms crossed, looking at the camera with your chins tilted upward.

They all look like good memories. The little boy in the fair picture appears several more times, and as he loses his baby fat, Mike sees the resemblance he shares with you and your father. It's too close to be a cousin—your eyes and mouths shaped the same—so he must be your brother.

Mike doesn't know how to feel about that because again, you've never uttered a word. As far as he knew, you were an only child, so why…

He gets lost in the pages, watching you grow and pose mostly next to your dad. Smiles and laughs and silly faces with your tongues sticking out. Your mom is in some, brother in others, and then, you're in a cap and gown, grinning widely next to your dad who's beginning to gray at the temples. His own smile is barely there now, a ghost of what was seen in the previous photos. It's forced, it's sad, and it's the last picture in the book.

Mike's chest hurts. He wonders what happened, when exactly you'd lost him. Was it a quick goodbye, or had it been drawn out and painful? Had he been sick for a long time? He'd looked perfectly healthy in all the shots. Maybe a car accident that took both him and your brother…

He flips to check for one last photo on the back of the page, but it's empty. However, tucked in a tiny, paper pocket is a folded up note that Mike stares at for a few solid minutes, debating the pros and cons of reading it. He knows he's already violated your privacy by looking through the album, and fuck, he's only been in your house for a couple hours at most—how has he already managed to tumble down such a humongous rabbit hole?

Your tiny snores reach his ears, and Mike gently pulls the note out, biting his lip as he unfolds it as quietly as possible. It's soft, like it's been read too many times, and the letters scribbled in all caps are beginning to fade, but the words are still legible.

It starts with your name, and then it's all apologies—sorry I can't stay, I have to leave, you don't understand how much this hurts me and so on.

Mike's eyebrows pull together the further he reads, blood pounding against the walls of his arteries, pulse picking up because he understands now.

Your father wasn't in any sort of accident; he just left.

The letter ends with a gut-wrenching, You'll always be my little girl, and Mike nearly crumples the paper up to throw away. He resists somehow, simply folds it with shaky hands and slips it back into the pocket at the back of the album.

He's never been so mad at a stranger in his life. This must be it. This must be why you are—

"Should've known you'd go straight for the photo album."

Your voice makes Mike's body jolt, his face heating as he turns to look at you with wide eyes.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—"

You wave him off and prop yourself up on an elbow. "It's whatever."

But, it's not. It's this huge part of you that still affects you to this day. Mike is no psychologist, but he has a pretty good feeling this is the main reason you hold everyone at arm's length.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"What's there to tell?"

Sitting up fully, your gaze moves to the screen just in time to see Michael Jordan step off of the spaceship and onto the baseball field. I Believe I Can Fly is playing, and you're gritting your teeth.

"It's not anything that comes up in normal conversation anyway. I wasn't just gonna hit you with it outta nowhere. Also," you look back to Mike, eyes still sleepy, lips pulling downward in a frown. "I'm not the only one who hid stuff about my family."

Mike sighs and quietly tells you, "That's different," as he closes the album and slides it back into the row of books.

"Is it, though? Is it really?"

"I..."

Mike shuts his mouth and actually thinks on it. He wasn't trying to lie to you about his home life or his heritage. He's only half Greek on his mom's side, after all, and he's only been to the country to visit family a couple of times—once when he was a child and once right before college. The culture is a little different over there, but it all seems so natural to him, especially after being raised to speak the language.

Honestly, he didn't ever tell you because he didn't think to, but Mike can understand the shock of walking into his childhood home and getting thrown through that loop. It must have been jarring for you.

It's a positive aspect of his life, though. It's not something that's damaged him or made him cold toward others. And, he hates describing you in such a way, but it's true.

At least it makes sense now.

"I guess not," he shrugs. He's not about to fight you on it.

You stare at him for a while, waking up a bit more as you rub your eyes and stretch.

Then, you flop back down on your pillows.

"So. Any questions, Zacharias?"

He's surprised that you're asking, and though he doesn't want to twist the metaphorical knife in your gut, he still replies honestly: "Too many."

A long exhale through your nose, and then you're patting the mattress next to you and grumbling, "Fine, I'll do my best, but you gotta come up here."

"Why? You gonna need to cuddle afterward?" He can't help but tease.

"Fuckin' maybe, dude! We're about to get into my god damn trauma so—"

Mike is up on his feet and flying toward the bed. He isn't about to sabotage the one fucking moment you're opening yourself up.

"Alright, what first?" You ask, trying to look bored, but Mike can clearly see that you're nervous.

"He left."

"Yeah."

And then he gets the full story.

Your dad was pretty perfect during your younger years—a bit of a workaholic but still good. He took you to dances like the one you'd both dressed for in the photograph. You'd spend days at amusement parks where he'd carry you on his shoulders. He coached the basketball team you'd played on as a child.

"Not saying he played favorites, but I was definitely closer to him than my brother was."

The brother who developed a drug problem at fourteen, who was always either out with his little addict friends or at home where he would just scream at you and your mom.

"He went to rehab a couple times, but it didn't stick."

He left home at seventeen and hasn't gotten in touch with you or your parents since.

"I keep thinking one day we'll get a call from the police saying they found his wallet on a fucking corpse, but who knows. Maybe he got clean. Maybe he started a family somewhere else. He'd be twenty-five now."

"Were you ever close with him?"

You shrug. "We spent a lot of time together when we were really little, but even back then he was kinda a mean kid."

It very quickly circles back to your father. Mike still doesn't feel like he has all the answers, so he asks through the skin of his lip, "Why'd he leave?"

At this point, you've got your head in his lap as he sits against the wall. He smooths your hair back from your face every once in a while, something his mom used to do to him when he was very young that always soothed him.

He hopes it's having the same effect on you, thinks it might be considering you've had your eyes closed for a while now, humming now and then as you talk.

"Honestly, I don't really know. I don't think he and my mom were ever in love. Like, they just kinda settled for each other," you sigh. "They didn't have a lot in common. They had different upbringings. But, they didn't fight or anything—not in front of us. They were good at hiding the hard times from me and my brother. They just didn't… click."

Mike bites his tongue, wonders if that was hard to watch or if you'd been too naive to notice.

Then, there's his second train of thought that's really just the voice in his head screaming, we click, though! You and I work! But he keeps it to himself. This isn't about you and him.

"I think maybe dad had, like, a 'stay together for the kids' mentality 'cause as soon as I graduated, he was fuckin' gone. And, I mean gone. We went to a graduation party the next weekend that lasted a few hours—just me and mom—and when we got back his truck wasn't in the driveway and his drawers were empty. He left that note you read on my desk."

Mike breathes. Just breathes. He tries to make sense of it, how someone could just do that without a real reason. There hadn't been any explanation in the letter, only apologies.

"Have you seen him since?"

You open your eyes and reply, "Nope," popping the 'p'. "I don't know where he is, and he hasn't reached out. Mom made the drive to my grandma's—his mom—but she said she didn't know where he was either. Pretty sure she was covering for him, though. She was always kind of a bitch. You know, save for the whole paying for my college and all."

Mike snorts at this, not that there's anything funny about the situation. It's just his first reaction.

You ignore it, moving on with an, "Anyway."

"Anyway," he mimics.

"I don't know if you've noticed in the short time you've been here, but my mom is a little… off. Not super good at taking care of herself."

"Is this why?"

"Clever boy," you show a bitter smile. "I didn't really understand since they weren't, like, in love or whatever, but… I think it was the betrayal more than anything. Like, it came outta nowhere, a big ol' slap in the face."

"Plus, he left you behind," Mike adds, as if you don't already know.

Looking up at him, you raise your eyebrows and smirk. "And, now you know about my abandonment issues." The last part comes out in high-pitched, melodic syllables, a little song that would be funny if Mike didn't know it was a coping mechanism. It most definitely is, though. He can tell that you're the type to mask every issue with humor and sarcasm. It's how you've been dealing with him for the last several months.

"So, that's my story," you conclude on an exhale. "Now you know all my dirty secrets."

"For some reason I don't think that's all of them," Mike pets your hair again. "But, probably the important ones."

"Mm. I guess."

The rest of the day is really just spent killing time. You cook an easy dinner that you refuse to let Mike help with, then sit in the den with your mom just like you did at lunch. A medical show is playing. Then a reality show. Then a game show. None of you say much of anything, and it's painfully awkward for Mike now that he knows what happened, but he can power through a few days of this if it makes you feel better.

Hours pass until you can retreat, and moonlight shines through your bedroom window, not that Mike needs it. He's memorized your body at this point, knows where to touch without even seeing. He makes sure to be gentle, to suckle and blow on your pebbled nipples as you card fingers through his hair and breathe faster and faster.

Leaving love bites down your chest and stomach, he sucks on your skin, gently grazing his teeth over every bruise. Mike wants you to see them all the next day—not a staked claim, just something you can't ignore when you look in the mirror, evidence of his feelings in every mark.

When you're finally nice and relaxed, he spreads your legs and licks into you, trying not to be too rough with his beard, but a few swipes of it over your clit leave you shaking in his grasp. You whisper his name, the common one that everyone knows him by, but then, rolling off your tongue like a prayer, you call him, "Miche," and he can't help the rumble that rises in his chest.

It should be strange. That's the name only his family uses, the one he was born with. He only simplified it so that kids in school wouldn't ask questions or make fun of him, and after that, it just sort of stuck. But, here and now, falling from your lips, it's so soft. So intimate.

You whimper when he sucks on your folds, making them swell, making them sensitive. And then, he's pushing his tongue inside of you and humming happily at the taste. His nose is bumping against your clit, and Christ, you even smell good to him—that ripe, tangy aroma that has Mike going a little crazy. He has to make sure he doesn't get too carried away. You can't make very much noise even with the rattling of the air conditioner, but as he slowly slides a finger into your pussy, he hears you moan around the fist you're holding to your mouth.

He stretches you just enough to get you ready, then he holds himself over you and pushes into your wet cunt. Your eyes are open, locked with Mike's as your brow raises and your jaw drops. It's erotic, something you've never done with him before. You typically either gaze somewhere other than his face or keep your eyes squeezed shut.

Tonight, though, you've been vulnerable and apparently want to stay that way for a little while longer.

He bends to catch you in a kiss, lips and tongues moving just as slowly as his hips, and when you reach to tug at Mike's hair, he pants into your mouth.

Those words are there again, stuck in his throat but slowly crawling upward until they're just there, pouring from his tongue, "I lo—"

Until you cut him off with a sharp, "Don't."

He makes a noise of frustration, wants to protest because he's so deep inside of you, and you're holding onto him like you want him—truly want him, but you mutter once more against his lips, "Don't say it, Miche."

So, he doesn't. He bottles the confession up and keeps it locked away, hoping like hell that one day you'll let him tell you.

After you climax and coat his cock in slick and cream, he gives a few more thrusts and comes inside of you, filling you with himself and wondering why you're so willing to accept him in that way but not in any other.

He's hurting again, like he did at his parents' as you walked around like you belonged there. Except it's worse now.

If you don't want him to say it, that means you don't want to say it back.

He stays with you for a few more minutes before pulling out. You leave to clean up, and while you're gone, Mike sits on the edge of the bed, head in his hands as he tries to get it all out of his system, whispering it out loud to himself:

I love you. I love you, I love you.

You still let him hold you as you fall asleep, gripping his hand until you can't anymore, and as Mike drifts off behind you, he has one last thought—Just let me.

* There’s only three weeks left of the semester when you head back to campus, and you intend to make the most of every passing day.

You pay better attention in class. You study harder in the library to prepare for final exams. You go to a few more Pi Alpha Kappa parties, making sure not to burn yourself out. And, you let Mike fuck your brains out every few days. Sometimes it’s late at night after those parties. Sometimes you're too tired after the nights of drinking and end up just going to bed only to wake up in the morning and have slow, sleepy sex. Sometimes it’s in the middle of the afternoon when you both have breaks between classes.

Neither of you bring up anything that happened over the break—meeting families, details about your childhoods, how much you learned about one another in general.

Most importantly, neither of you address that first night at your mom’s, the way Mike had basically worshiped your body, how he’d come so close to uttering the three words you least want to hear.

Thinking about it still makes your chest tighten, your heart beat faster. Sometimes when you’re sharing his bed with him, back pressed to his chest, large arm slung over your waist, you think about why it is you’re so vehemently against it. The two of you already act like a couple most of the time. You walk with each other to class when you can. You stick to each other’s sides at parties. You fuck like rabbits and don’t care who knows about it.

And, though you’re hesitant to admit it even to yourself, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have feelings for him. Mike is your best friend at this point. He’s insanely hot. He’s goofy. He’s kind. Yeah, the frat boy persona he puts on around his friends is annoying, but you understand it a little better now. Plus, he always takes off the mask when he’s alone with you, giving both you and himself a break from it.

You know your time with him is quickly coming to an end—for about two months, at least—and whenever you think too hard about it, it makes you pout and huff. You’re not looking forward to your summer classes without him, but he promises on several occasions that you can call him while he’s at his parents’ if you ever need help with the material.

It’s impressive, the way he’s able to act like nothing happened. You know it must be troubling him, but it’s not like you can do anything to soothe him. If he was really upset with you, he would have stopped spending time with you, but he hasn’t. He just bottles it up, keeps smiling at you all crookedly, and keeps satisfying you in the bedroom (more than satisfying honestly. There’s really not a word to describe what he does).

He’s back to getting along with everyone in the Pike house, everyone being Erwin. It’s a relief just because you don’t have to put up with the tension between them, but it’s also awkward. And, a little frightening.

The brothers have Smash Brothers tournaments and movie nights, a few date parties here and there, and it never fails that at some point during the evenings, you find your neck prickling as it always does when you feel someone staring at you. You always hope it’s Mike. Fuck, you wish it was him. But, when you glance up and around, it’s Erwin. Every time. His deep blue eyes are trained on you, the corner of his mouth twitching upward on one side. It doesn’t matter if he’s alone or if he’s got Maddie or some other girl sitting in his lap. He's fucking shameless, and it makes your stomach hurt.

You keep your mouth shut for the sake of the friendship but also for the sake of Erwin’s pretty face. If he and Mike ever got into an actual fight, Erwin would probably be able to get a good few punches in, but you’re nearly positive Mike would end up destroying him in the long run. That could get him kicked out of school. That could get him thrown in jail.

Finals roll around, and you manage to pass all of them without issue, even getting grades above the class average. You feel fantastic, like your long term goals might actually be attainable. You have a long road ahead of you, but your GPA at the end of the year is more than enough to raise your confidence.

Mike asks you to come back to his house for the couple weeks between the end of the semester and the start of your summer courses, but you turn him down, too scared of what might happen while you’re there. Acting like a couple in front of his parents will only exacerbate his feelings as well as yours, and you’d like to avoid that as best you can.

Even now as you’re standing outside by the Jeep, he tries to persuade you one last time, almost pleading, “Are you sure you don’t wanna come?”

“Miche, I’m sure,” you tell him, trying to stay stern, but it’s hard when his sea glass eyes light up at the sound of his real name. It’s a habit you’ve gotten into, a bad one considering how much he likes it. How much you like it. “I already told you I wanna spend the free time I have at mom’s. I need to check up on her and… Probably clean, honestly.”

He lets out a little grunt of disappointment, then nods. “Yeah, I get it.”

“You saw what she’s like,” you remind him. “Someone needs to drop in every once in a while to make sure she isn’t, like, wasting away or something.”

“Makes sense. I’ll be bummed, though.”

“Be bummed all you want,” you smile. “I’ll probably still bother you over break. A lot.”

He sounds terribly sincere when he mumbles, “You never bother me.” It makes your stomach flip in the way you do not enjoy.

Mike sighs, taking in one of those deep breaths that makes his broad chest rise then fall, calling attention to it and making you bite your bottom lip.

“Alright, I should get going,” he concedes, bending down to kiss you too deeply for simple friends with benefits. It doesn’t stop you from humming into his mouth and smiling against him. You hold him by the back of his neck as he pulls your body close to his, his voice muffled when he tells you mischievously, “Don’t forget to send pictures.”

It makes you laugh, and you lean back to swipe your tongue over his lips so that he groans and chases after you.

“I promise I will. Perv.” The beating sun is nothing in comparison to the way your body heats at the thought. You’ve sent him nudes before, but the idea of him looking at them from hours away, fisting his cock as he admires your body through his phone… It makes seeing him off even harder.

After a couple more softer kisses, Mike swings into the Wrangler and pulls out of the lot. You stand in his parking space and watch him until he’s out of sight, then walk back to your dorm, dragging your feet the whole way.

You only stay at your mom’s house for a week, and just like you predicted, you spend most of it cleaning. She thanks you the whole time but makes excuses in between. You just reassure her that you don’t mind even though you do. She really should see a therapist and sort out the depression she’s been stuck in for a few years now, but telling someone they need professional help is easier said than done.

Sleeping in your old bed is much harder this time around. You're all too aware of the weight that isn't behind you, and most nights you lay awake for at least a couple of hours trying to imagine it.

Like you’d promised, you send him a few pictures, some of them just lewd selfies with your tits pouring out of the cups of your bra, but others are of your naked body in the bathtub, sometimes a shot of you with your hand between your legs. It feels wrong to touch yourself in your childhood home, but it’s necessary, especially when Mike sends you a few pictures of his own—one with his torso on display, defined abs absolutely mouthwatering and the V of his hips suggestively leading into mesh shorts. Another is of him in the gray joggers he wears all the time, the ones that always show off his cock.

He’s so fucking hot it atually hurts, makes your pussy throb as you crave his touch. It’s an awful feeling honestly, but even worse than that is the way you miss him. You aren’t supposed to miss him. You’re just supposed to be friends who have sex. Nothing more than that.

It's why you’re glad to go back to school. Your classes will distract you, keep you from thinking about him too much. The semester is shorter during the summer, so you have to work even harder than you do during fall and spring. You don’t really think it’ll be a problem since you’re trying to cram your brain full of anything other than Mike which is great motivation for studying.

Nothing is gonna get you off track, you tell yourself. Nothing will interfere with your studies. That’s the plan.

Then, you meet Zeke Jaeger.

* You're studying in the library. It seems like you spend most of your time here, nice and quiet and empty. The campus isn't nearly as busy in the summer as it is during the rest of the school year. No parties, no sporting events, just you alone with your books.

It's nice. Most of the time. A little boring but mostly nice.

Your eyes are getting tired, and when you check your phone, you realize why. It's almost eleven PM, meaning you've been studying for about six hours. You've had longer nights, usually spent on the phone getting quizzed on the information you're learning with a few breaks in between, but that wasn't the case tonight as Mike had to spend the day with family from out of town.

It's okay. You're supposed to be distancing yourself anyway.

Taking a deep breath, you pack up your books and slide your laptop into your bag, then stand and swing it over your shoulder.

The strap is too long. The bag swings too hard, and your heart sinks when you hear a little grunt followed by a, "Agh, hot!"

Turning with wide eyes, you immediately start apologizing, "I'm so sorry, oh my god, fuck, I'm so sorry!"

A head of light blond hair looks up from the brown stain on his white t-shirt, icy blue eyes narrowed behind wire-rimmed glasses, but when he sees the mortification on your face, his own expression softens, and he chuckles.

"It's fine. You can calm down."

You're still breathing heavily, guilt making your hands shake, but he really doesn't look angry. In fact, he's grinning now, eyebrows raised like he's amused.

The longer you stare at him, the more familiar he looks. You're pretty sure you've seen him before. Many times before, actually, and then it clicks that this guy is on the front page of the school website. You see him every fucking time you log in, looking much more stern than he does now. Baseball hat and jersey, mitt on one hand as he hides his other in it, and yeah, you know him.

"You're Zeke Jaeger."

He makes a face, scrunching his nose up and squinting. "Yeeeeah, I guess I am."

Best pitcher in the college league despite being a sophomore like you. He's beaten the records of some major league players.

You don't give a fuck about baseball, have never even been to any of the school's games, but you've been hearing about Zeke since the last season. You've learned to tune it out because, again, no shits given (and also you're much more partial to lacrosse now), but he's hard to ignore when he's staring you right in the face.

"Well, uh," you try to act casual. It's something you're pretty good at these days. "Cool."

He snorts, picking his shirt off his chest to air it out like it'll help, then says, "I don't know your name, though."

You run your tongue over your teeth, wondering why he cares, then introduce yourself.

"Oh, you're Zacharias' little girlfriend, aren't you?"

Your stomach flips at the mention of him.

"We're not dating."

Zeke cocks his head to the side. "No?"

"No. Just friends."

He hums but doesn't say anything, and your eyes are once again drawn to his chest as he fans over the stain.

"Okay, let me get you a new shirt or something," you try.

He laughs again. "I highly doubt you've got a men's shirt tucked in that bag of yours, sweetheart."

"I—" you pout for a second, mumble, "Okay, yeah, fair point."

"Another coffee, though," he muses out loud. "Wouldn't be the worst thing."

You shoot him a finger gun and smack your lips. "On it. Where do you get coffee at eleven o'clock?"

"I'll walk with you," he states more than offers.

Then, you're both leaving the library, leaving campus, and going to a little 24 hour cafe where you blow on lattes and cover the basics about each other—philosophy major, valedictorian of his high school class, playing baseball since age seven, etc. You should sleep. You should get ready for another long day of studying.

But it's hard to make good decisions when Zeke Jaeger is smirking at you from across the table like you're the most interesting thing he's ever seen.

* Zeke gets your number that night. You're not exactly sure how, but he does.

Then he doesn’t text you for three days. It doesn’t bother you that much. You figure he has other things to focus on. He’s on campus to take a couple courses and practice for the upcoming season, so he’s probably just busy. If that night had just been a one-off, it’s fine with you. It was cool to talk to him, but your heart isn’t broken.

These are all the thoughts and justifications running through your head when you’re in class on Tuesday and your phone lights up during the PowerPoint lecture. You glance down, expecting Mike or Hitch, but it’s an unknown number instead. Eyes flicking from the projection screen to your much tinier one, you slide to open the message and chew on your lip.

Hey, it’s Zeke. You have classes this afternoon?

You do not. And, you are too quick to tell him that.

He takes you to a little Mom and Pop restaurant, too far to walk so you end up riding in the black Bronco he drives, trying to convince yourself that it definitely does not make him any more attractive to you. Because you aren’t attracted to him in the first place. Right?

You sit at a table for two eating paninis and fruit. Zeke asks how classes are going, you ask about practice, and as you talk, he gets that look in his eyes again, like you amuse him or interest him or something.

It confuses you, and for a moment, you’re taken back to last fall at that first Pi Kappa Alpha party, the one you met Mike at when he tried to get you to shotgun a beer. God, he had been so obnoxious back then, always following you around and flirting and—

“You listening, sweetheart?”

Your eyes refocus on the man in front of you, his raised eyebrows and little smirk. “Looks like you’re a million miles away. Sorry if I’m boring you.”

“No, no,” you try to defend. “I just zoned out for a second. Realized I, uh, got an answer wrong on the quiz I took today.”

“That sucks,” he hums. “Anyway, I can stop talking about baseball.”

“It’s okay. Just go over the last, like, ten seconds,” you say with a laugh, hoping your cheeks will stop burning sooner rather than later.

Zeke chuckles and does just that, doesn’t seem irritated or put out. He tells you about how he has a new trainer this year to warm him up and make sure his throwing arm is in top shape. “I hope he’s as good as my last. Colt was always on it, knew exactly how hot to make the warm compresses and how cold to make the ice packs. Stuff like that. He learned my needs.”

You both laugh, and if it was anyone else, you’d have an innuendo sliding off your tongue, but for some reason, you don’t think Zeke would want to hear it, like he’d be unimpressed with your vulgar humor.

Back at the college, he drives you to your dorm, explaining that he lives in the apartments on the other side of campus and wouldn’t want to make you walk that far. Then, as you slide out of the Bronco, he stops you with a smooth, “Hey,” that makes you look over your shoulder at him. “Make sure you save my number in your phone, okay? I’ll text you soon.”

The way your stomach flips is worrisome, a feeling you’re only used to when you’re with…

“Yeah, okay.”

He grins widely and nods, then waits for you to get a good distance away from the car before driving off.

No distractions, you’d said. It’ll be good for your focus, you’d said.

What a fucking joke.

Mike has to help you with some homework that weekend. You can hear his smile through the phone, snort when he makes his little nerd jokes, then sigh when he gets to the actual subject and explains it to you without a problem. His brain is incredible, and when you think about it too hard, it makes you warm inside.

“You’re so fucking smart. Why don’t you let people know?”

“Maybe I just want you to know,” he chuckles. “You think I wanna spend my days tutoring every idiot who needs help?”

“Miche, did you just call me an idiot?”

You hear another breathy laugh followed by a sigh. “I have many, many names for you, but ‘idiot’ isn’t one of them.”

“Oh yeah?” You play. “And, what might those other names be?”

He lists a few, all of them making your face flush and your body tingle, and before you know it, you’ve got your pants off and your fingers between your legs. You can hear Mike’s heavy breathing on the other end, the wet sound of his hand stroking his lubricated cock, and when you reach your climax, you moan out your usual, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, Miche.”

He tumbles down right behind you, panting and telling you in a voice of disbelief, “Jesus, it just keeps coming.” It makes the pulses of your orgasm even stronger, remembrance of all the times he’s painted you in white, and God, you are so ready for him to get back to the school.

Then, there’s the voice in the back of your head that makes you think maybe it’s better that he’s gone for now, that he might not be too pleased that you’re spending time with another guy. But, it’s not like things with Zeke are going anywhere. You wouldn’t even call him a friend. You text on and off, have brunch or lunch or coffee depending on the time of day.

And, yeah, he calls you pet names, tells you that you look nice even when you’re just in leggings and a t-shirt, talks about his family and…

Okay, it could potentially lead to something more, but it’s only been a week, and considering his golden boy status, he could have anyone he wants, so why would he even be interested in you in any way, shape, or form?

Naturally, your thoughts circle back to Mike and the way he could have any girl on his arm, but he still chooses to spend time with you. To fuck you. To nearly confess his feelings to you. You have to wonder if you’re emitting some kind of scent or beacon, if there’s a sign hanging above your head with an arrow pointing down. Sports gods, come get a piece.

If only you’d never gone to that party. If you had just kept your head down like you had freshman year. Your life would be so much easier now.

But now you’re in Zeke’s apartment listening to him rant about some philosopher you’ve never even heard of. He’s gesturing with his hands, flipping curling, blond bangs from his face, and whenever he pauses to think, he scratches his beard. He’s very fond of the white t-shirts and jeans get-up, sometimes switches it up and wears a button down under a sweater vest. Both looks are becoming of him no matter how much you try to deny it, but when he drops down onto the couch next to you and peers into your god damn soul with those piercing, blue eyes, you have to choke back a dreamy sigh.

What is happening to you?

“So, what do you think about it?” He asks, looking hopeful that you might have some insight on this matter.

But, you simply laugh and shake your head. “Zeke,” you start. “I’m gonna be real honest with you here. I didn’t understand a fucking thing you just said.”

You assume he’ll be disappointed, maybe tire of you since you can’t be as intellectually stimulating as he’d like you to, but Zeke exhales in a lighthearted sort of way, shows one of those amused smiles, and tells you, “You’re cute.”

Anyone else and you would have snapped back, something along the lines of, don’t fucking patronize me, but with Zeke, all you can do is stare at him and let your lips part, silently asking for something you won’t speak out loud.

His gaze moves to your mouth for a split second. That soft smile turns into one of his famous smirks. Then, he’s back on his feet and asking, “You wanna go to dinner?”

You are more than relieved at the shift in atmosphere, but your heart is still beating too hard as you follow him downstairs and to his car.

* Summer is passing quickly. Too quickly. The eleven week classes are kicking your ass, or are close to kicking your ass. Lucky for you, you have your own private tutor just a call or text away. Mike helps you, and you laugh and goof around, shoot off innuendo after innuendo, but the phone sex slows to a halt eventually. You tell him that you’re tired, and you are. It isn’t a lie. But, it also isn’t the full truth.

Between classes when you could be resting, you’re eating out with Zeke. Or, watching him and the rest of the baseball team practice for the upcoming season. Or, sitting in his apartment, watching movies and chatting about all manner of things. Nothing important, of course—there’s no diving deep into your life story like you had done with Mike over Spring Break, but Zeke still learns the little things about you. Why you’re majoring in geosciences and how you became good friends with some of the Pike guys. You don’t give him the full details on that one—that you got blackout drunk and fucked Mike and just couldn’t stop. You don’t think Zeke would be interested in hearing about it anyway.

You learn a bit about his dad and stepmom, the latter of whom he isn’t very fond of. He also has a little brother who’ll be attending the college starting this fall, and he’s interested in the Greek life. Naturally, you build PKA up. Even if there are some… Problematic people in the house, there are also a lot of really good guys.

“I’ll make sure to pass it along to him,” Zeke tells you one evening as you’re both sprawled on the couch, backs against the armrests as you face each other. It’s how he seems to prefer to sit when the TV isn’t on. When you asked him why, he had told you, “Just like looking at you,” and you didn’t know how to respond. You still don’t know how to respond.

“Eren thinkin’ about joining any sports?” You ask now. “Does baseball run in the family or anything?”

Zeke snorts. “Kid couldn’t hit a baseball even if it was on one of the t-ball stands.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.”

“I would say he’s more academically inclined, but,” Zeke sighs. “That would be a lie.”

You can never tell if he actually likes his brother. Most of the time he complains about him, but every once in a while he’ll bring up something cute Eren did as a little boy, and you see a fond glimmer in his light eyes.

“Anyway,” Zeke waves off the subject and transitions to a new one—one that makes your stomach drop. “Are you gonna tell Zacharias about us?”

You choke on your own spit, leaning forward to cough a couple times, then challenge him with a nervous laugh, “I wasn’t aware there was anything to tell him.”

Zeke tilts his head, mouth pulling up as he raises his eyebrows. “Come on,” he chuckles.

“Come on, what?” You frown. If you were with Mike, you both would have died at that. Come on my face, you can hear him say, and you have to fight a smile because there’s absolutely no way you could explain that to the man in front of you.

“You don’t have to play coy, sweetheart. We both know there’s something going on between us.” He says it with such confidence that even if he wasn’t right you wouldn’t be able to argue with him. The assumption should annoy you, should make you scoff and leave, but instead you sit there staring, caught up in his gaze and cocky grin.

“I—”

“It’s okay, you know. Not like you’re alone in this.”

Those questions swim through your mind again, all the insecurities that you’ve been sorting through with Mike, but now that voice is louder because that sense of trust hasn’t formed yet. You’ve only connected with Zeke over meals and movies. It sounds domestic, but despite your apparently obvious attraction to him, you still don’t feel like you really know him.

But, he draws you in, like a moth to a flame. You can’t help it. There’s just something about him that makes you want him to like you, like you want to impress him, like you want to be good for him. You’ve been trying to ignore those thoughts, but they’re much harder to fight now that you’re sitting in front of him, taking in his wavy hair and pale blue eyes, that ever present smirk on his face, the curve of his neck that disappears into his shirt.

He could just want sex. He could just want a fling. Wait for everyone to get back on campus and drop you for another girl. You tell yourself you wouldn’t care; you’re good at keeping things casual.

Wouldn’t it be fun to be his arm candy for a while, though? Let people look at you and whisper louder than they did when they’d see you and Mike together? You don’t care about status, about being in the spotlight. It’s more for the experience, dating someone who could teach you things.

Mike teaches you things, that voice pops up again. He’s been helping you with your work for almost a year now. You can’t just overlook that.

“What, are you weighing the pros and cons over there or something?”

You snort. “Maybe. We still don’t really know each other all that well, Zeke.”

“Might I remind you that we’ve been hanging out all summer? Did you honestly think it wouldn’t lead to anything more?”

“Honestly,” you mimic, “I never thought you’d be interested.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” His brow furrows like he’s genuinely confused. “You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re cute.”

God, you can’t even count how many times he’s called you ‘cute’, how many times it’s made you blush over the last several weeks, just like it does now.

Then, he pushes, “Do you not find me at—”

“Of course I do,” you cut him off. “I don’t know who doesn’t, which is exactly why I don’t know where this is coming from.”

Zeke sighs like he’s annoyed, then turns the hand on his thigh palm up and beckons you with two fingers. “Come here.”

“What?”

“Come here.”

Your blood pressure spikes, breaths coming in little puffs that have no way of getting to your brain. It’s probably why you obey, rolling to your knees and clumsily crawling over to him. You stop short, right between his bent knees, but Zeke sits up, straightens his legs, and pulls you into his lap.

More of that precious air leaves your lungs as you exhale too sharply, staring at him with huge eyes. You don’t know what’s happening, can’t believe it’s happening. It doesn’t feel real even as you rest your hands on his shoulders, even when he holds your hips and pulls you so that your full weight is on him, but fuck, you can’t say anything. You can’t make a sound. All you can do is wait for him to make his next move.

“Why do you look scared?” His voice is just above a whisper, but at this proximity you can hear him without a problem.

“I don’t have a lot of experience sitting in men’s laps,” you manage, trying to keep your usual careless tone, but you doubt it works.

“For some reason I don’t believe that.”

You rear back, actually offended. “Excuse m—”

That ire, however, melts away as quickly as it arose. Zeke slides fingers up your waist, all the way to the back of your neck to bring your face to his—your lips to his.

He feels different, not at all what you’re used to. His kiss is more demanding, hungry, and God, you still can’t breathe, can’t think straight because his tongue is moving past your lips, and you’re letting it, letting him taste you as your fingertips dig into the flesh of his shoulders. You lift yourself from him just a little only for Zeke to pull you back down with the hand still gripping your hip. He makes sure you feel him when he grinds up into you, the zipper of his jeans rubbing you through your little shorts so that you gasp into his mouth.

You both stay like that for what feels like a fucking eternity, biting and sucking on lips, stroking over each others’ tongues until you absolutely have to break apart. You’re panting now, body still tense on top of his, and Zeke stares at you with half-lidded eyes and shows the ghost of a smile.

“Oh, I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

The statement sets you on fire, so much so that all you can do is whimper quietly and lean in for more.

And, as you get lost in Zeke Jaeger, you decide for yourself.

I need to tell Mike

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