#-shut the fuck up you irritating waffle

[echo-stimmingrose]

To all the people crying about the fact that the Grace siblings are now canonically black

[shalomniscient]

hihi sev! i adore ur work sm oml can i req an enemies to lovers with zoya? :D (pretty basic im sorry auahag)

but imagine, reader in a rival gang or maybe she’s a salva doctor. but either way they DESPISE each other. a heated battle or argument eventually blooms into sexual tension?? (i’m so bad at wording this i apologize)

OH ANON I HAVE IDEAS (or well. one idea specifically BUT I CAN WAFFLE) FOR THIS ONE 👀👀👀

what is this feeling? || zoya x reader

cw. petnames (princess), sexual tension (?)

notes. yeah this is based on that wicked song. also made this sft sorry anon 😔😔😔 also i went with salva doctor because if you were a rival gang leader, well. i think zoya would simply just kill you fhskskdjjs i hope this fits ur expectations anon

You always knew following your sister to Syndicate was going to be difficult. The people would always distrust you, and with good reason. Eastside has brought them nothing but pain and suffering, so why should they trust two doctors from there? For a while, SALVA was mostly empty, but soon enough, through word and action the unofficial hospital's reputation improved, and more and more people flocked to its doors—including gang members. Your sister had simply shrugged when you asked her about it.

"It's good that they're starting to trust us," she'd said over a bowl of instant noodles. "Even the gang members. At least, when they turn into Corruptors, I can use them to study Mania."

And that had been the end of that conversation. And she'd mostly been right about trust in SALVA spreading, though with one notable exception: the Commander of the Legion, Zoya. Ever since first showing up to the hospital, Zoya has never let herself be treated within SALVA. She lets her subordinates be treated, but avoids it herself. Which you wouldn't much care about, if she weren't so irritating.

She is, truly, insufferable. You'd rather deal with one of those Yagyu or Red Falcon pricks—at least they have the sense to shut up and follow your orders so you can treat them properly.

Zoya, on the other hand, simply refuses to even acknowledge the absolutely horrendous gash on her arm, as if it would simply disappear if she continues to act nonchalantly as she stands against the wall of the emergency room, a watchful eye on your nurses and assistants as they patch up her subordinates. She also has a particular habit of calling you everything but your title or your name.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and exhale a long-suffering sigh. "Can you sit down so I can actually stitch you up?"

Zoya offers you a look from down her nose, and you hate how ridiculously tall she is. Really, what the hell did she eat growing up to become that absurdly tall?

"I'll pass, princess," she hums, and you grit your teeth.

"It's doctor," you snap. "And it wasn't a request."

Zoya rolls her eyes. "And I told you already, princess. I'm fine, I don't need your help."

"You are bleeding all over my ER walls, for fuck's sake."

"Tragic," the gang leader drawls, and you swear your jaw creaks from how hard you're clenching it. With a snarl, you spin on your heel and stomp towards a nearby tray of equipment, grab some gauze, saline, thread and a needle before marching right back. Zoya arches a brow, then makes a sharp hissing noise as you unceremoniously pour out the saline onto the gash on her arm.

"What the hell?" she growls, moving to step away from the wall, before you grab her wrist and her eyes narrow. She stills, but not in agreement. No, this is the stillness of a predator before it pounces on its prey. You swallow despite the thick atmosphere, and just your chin out, meeting her dangerous gaze with as much stubbornness as you can muster.

"I am going to treat you," you say firmly, "whether you like it or not."

You think Zoya might’ve killed you right then and there, were it not for the jovial laughter of some of her legionnaires. One of them, a large, burly man with two nurses trying to wrap his bicep with a bandage, places a hand on his knee and chuckles.

“The pipsqueak has fire to her, eh Boss?” he says, and your brow twitches. Are members of the Legion simply allergic to referring to people other than their Commander by their proper titles? “Just siddown and let her patch you up. It ain’t fair that we get to feel better while our Boss isn’t in tip-top shape, ain’t it fellas?”

The other legionnaires in the room yell their agreement, and you would’ve had a headache from the sheer disorder in your ER room right now, but finally seeing Zoya’s stone facade crack and the slightest hint of a genuine smile bloom across her face made it all well worth it. She crosses her arms, then sighs.

“Fine,” she acquiesces, then turns to you. “But make it quick, princess.”

You scoff. “Don’t worry. I don’t plan on spending that much time on you either.”

Zoya snorts, then strides over to an empty hospital bed, and plops herself onto it. She braces her injured arm palm down on the bed, extending it so you can stitch it properly while you pull the privacy curtain around the bed. You chance a glance at her face while she’s focused on looking at her wound, and though she has an excellent stone face, you notice the slightest furrow in her brow—so the legendary Legion Commander can feel pain, after all.

You grab a stool and sit by the edge of the bed, then get to work. Zoya barely reacts beyond the slightest twitch of a muscle in her jaw as you continue cleaning the wound with saline. You can feel her gaze on you as you wipe the wound down with gauze, then start the first few stitches.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks, after a while. “Here, in Syndicate? This isn’t a place for pretty little things like you.”

Despite the harshness of the question, there is no malice in her voice. It is simply a question, one she’s right to ask. You don’t stop your stitching as you reply.

“I’m helping my sister.”

Zoya’s palm shifts on the bed, causing the muscles in her arm to flex. You pause, waiting for her to still again so you can stitch properly. “That’s all? So Syndicate’s a little family project to you?”

“Stop moving,” you growl. “And no, it isn’t. I’m helping my sister, but I’m also helping people like you who delight in making my life difficult.”

Zoya scoffs at that, fingers digging into the thin linen sheets of the bed. You can feel her gaze turn into a glare, but you don’t care. Zoya’s never liked you, anyway. She respects your sister—and yeah, you get that. Iron is just like what she’s named after. She’s solid, reliable, and won’t bend or break under intense pressure.

You’re… well, you’re just you.

You close your eyes and shake those thoughts away. Now is not the time.

“Syndicate deserves doctors who are here out of their own convictions,” Zoya sneers, her hand suddenly reaching to grab you by the collar of your white coat and pulling you close, “because at least then they won’t run at the first sign of trouble. Pretty little things like you who aren’t strong enough to blaze their own path should stay in Eastside.”

You meet her cold gaze with your own, your hand squeezing her wrist. It would do nothing to her, you know this, but there’s no way in hell you’re going to cower to her. She could kill you, but you won’t let her win.

“Am I going to have to pin you down, or are you finally going to behave?” you say, your voice frigid, icy compared to Zoya’s fire. And you see it flare in her eyes as she looks into your eyes, as if searching for something.

This close, you can truly look at her. And though you hate to admit it, she’s… attractive. A sharp jaw, defined cheekbones and that silky-looking silver hair that frames her sharp, wolfish eyes. Maybe under different circumstances, the rush of your heart in your chest might’ve been from butterflies and not pure loathing.

Then, of all things, Zoya’s eyes flick lower to your lips, and your breath stutters in your lungs. Her grip on your collar slackens, but for some reason, you don’t draw back—you can feel her warm breath fanning across your lips, and she leans closer, her eyes narrowed in something you can’t quite place but God, does it make your blood sing in your veins. Her lips brush yours and then—

“Doctor?”

Both of you spring apart as if you’d been burned. Zoya releases her collar and looks away from you, while you clear your throat and do your best to slow down your racing heart.

“Yes, nurse?”

“The legionnaires are all patched up,” she reports. “They’re ready to go. Will you be much longer?”

“No,” you answer quickly, going back to sewing Zoya’s wound, but this time twice as fast as before. She pointedly doesn’t look at you the whole time, but her fingers are curled tightly in the sheets. You wrap up in record time, then gather all the used material and dump them in a nearby biohazard bin.

Zoya stands from the bed, and glances at your handiwork on her arm. Her face remains impassive, but she looks it over without complaint, then slings her jacket over her shoulders again. She reaches for the curtain, but before she slides it open, she offers you a glance. Her eyes are stormy with a mix of emotions you can’t quite identify, with an underlying darkness that makes your pulse jump.

“Thanks,” is all she says, before she steps out of the private bed area, leaving you alone, and you lean against the bed, sucking in a breath and running a hand through your hair.

Fuck, she’ll be the death of you one day.

[tallymonster]

|| Memories of Us chapter 22: Spoonfuls of Romanticism || AO3

Life has absolutely been kicking my ass lately, hence the slow af uploads to the fic lol. On the plus side, I got my driver's license and I'm hoping to get a job soon so at least there's that.

Thanks to @cheesy-cryptid for supporting me, to @micropoe10 , @tragedybunny , and @mj-bites for being my hype squad. Y'all keep me going fr.

Oh yeah also thanks to @elorathebard and her gf Arwen for letting me pop them into my lil story.

Now onto the date!

The strong aromas of sweet foods, coffee, and various dishes waft throughout the small restaurant. Clinks of silverware hitting ceramic plates echo around Astarion as he and Octavia wait for someone to take their orders.

They sat in a booth at the back corner of the dining area, slightly obscured by a half wall adorned with frosted glass. Astarion watched Octavia flip through a menu full of food he could not eat. He glanced down at the sticky trifold he had been given by the extremely friendly waitress, grimacing at the fact he would have to order something to blend in.

“Sorry for the lack of wine.” Octavia teases, giggling.

“Ugh, I don't see how any restaurant can’t have wine, it's a necessity, in my opinion.” Astarion replies dryly, “What the hell is taking the waitress so long anyway?”

He shuts the menu and crosses his arms, still exasperated from having to babysit Gale and Sirilius while Octavia and Athena fucked off.

Astarion looks around hoping to get the attention of the bright haired waitress that was taking her sweet time chatting up an older couple at the other end of the restaurant. Astarion has no idea how much time passes before Octavia leans into his eyesight.

“Hey, are you trying to make her head explode or something? Everything okay? You seem off…” Octavia asks, gently trying to get a gauge on Astarion’s mood.

Astarion’s dark red eyes flick back and forth between Octavia and the waitress, before he sighs and slides back into the booth. He puts his legs up on the bench seat, with his back on the wall.

“I don't understand why I got left with the bickering children while you and Athena left. They kept getting into stupid arguments because of the tiefling’s arrogance. They finally stopped when I reminded them what their darling Athena wanted out of them. I don't see how that marriage is going to work out based on his behavior.” Astarion complains loudly, irritated to even be put in that position.

Astarion blankly stared at the wall across from them. The bitterness of having to host a wedding was clearly rattling him.

Why do I care, they're the idiots making a whole spectacle, let their families see how mismatched they are. Astarion’s thoughts were getting more and more acidic, making it difficult to enjoy the company he had.

Astarion looks at Octavia, he notices the concern and slight offense on her face, and scrambles to make an excuse, hoping that it would soothe over the frustrations he let slip.

“I’m sorry.” He clears his throat and continues, “This whole thing is just overwhelming, and it doesn't help when Sirilius is being extremely rude towards Gale.”

Astarion bristles, then sinks further into the seat.. A few moments of silence pass as Octavia continues to flip through the menu.

“How long have you been coming to this place? You mentioned coming here when you were looking for work in the city, but you seem comfortable here….you've been here before haven't you?” Astarion cautiously asks, changing the subject and causing Octavia to look up.

She smiles, closing the menu. “I used to come here with my parents. Usually after visiting the museum.” Octavia lowers her head in a small embarrassed chuckle. “Mom liked the coffee, Dad liked the eggs Benedict, I loved the waffles.”

“Ah, lucky guess about the waffles.” Astarion grins wide, he sits up leaning towards Octavia. He reaches his hand over, placing it atop hers. Octavia smiles shyly, lacing her fingers between Astarion’s, holding his hand properly.

A pleased hum makes its way out of Astarion’s mouth, he looks towards Octavia, noticing her staring back at him with a half-lidded dreamlike glaze over her eyes.

It seemed as if time had stopped while they kept eye contact, the dull sounds of the diner fading away as Astarion lost himself in her forest green gaze.

They are suddenly interrupted by the waitress, greeting them in an energetic excitement, “Hey guys! Welcome to Dennison’s Diner! My name is Elora and I'll be your waitress today!” Elora bounces on her heels as she smiles at the couple.

“Can I offer you some drinks? Are we ready to order?” speaking quickly, swaying back and forth, pulling her notepad and pen out.

Octavia pipes up and orders her food, “I’ll have the Cannon Blast, but can I get waffles instead of the pancakes? Oh and I'll have an iced white chocolate mocha.”

Elora writes down the order, looking towards Astarion patiently awaiting his response.

Astarion on the other hand, keeps his head down and pushes the menu towards her not ordering anything. “Uh, sir? Would you like to get something?”

“Unless you have wine you can magically manifest for me, I think not.” He replies sarcastically, wrinkling his nose in annoyance.

Octavia turns to glare Astarion, slightly shocked and irritated at his rudeness. Unfortunately for Astarion, the other woman dealing with him was quick on her feet.

“This diner may be named after the alcoholic father of our owner, but unfortunately for you and Mr. Dennison, his son was not as diligent about renewing our liquor license. Could I interest you in some coffee instead? It won't get you drunk, but you'll be wired as fuck because Arwen made it way too strong again.” Elora answers matter of fact.

Octavia smirks, while Astarion stares blankly at the younger woman. His face is a mixture of contempt, annoyance, and confusion. Elora, meanwhile, is still smiling, waiting for him to answer.

Astarion rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Fine, give me the stupid coffee. Black.”

“Oh, feeling adventurous, are we? Want anything to go with that? A donut? Maybe some cheesecake? Perhaps your date would appreciate a little sweet to tone down the sourness?” Another smooth sarcastic comeback from Elora.

Astarion closes his eyes and lets out a long, drawn out sigh. “Sure, whatever you recommend.” His voice is dripping with irritation, he musters enough energy to match her sardonic grin.

Octavia rolls her eyes and mouths a little “Sorry” towards Elora, who returns a nod to Octavia. With a head tilt she repeats the order and walks off. Astarion could have sworn she turned back around and stuck her tongue out at him, but he wasn't willing to do much about it.

“Astarion….what the fuck?” Octavia whispers in an irritated manner, clearly displeased with his attitude. “I would expect you to at least treat someone with the minimum amount of respect. Especially when they're only trying to do their job. It's not her fault that you got stuck with Gale and Sirilius.”

“Right, I guess I should take my annoyance out on the one whose fault it actually is?” He responds curtly.

“Me or Athena? I’m guessing it's me, since I'm the only one here.” Octavia answers him just as curt, letting her anger rise up to the surface. “Why do you have to take it out on some college kid who has nothing to do with it?”

“I’m doing no such thing!” Astarion protests.

“Bullshit. Now, play nice, or this date is over.” Octavia hands Astarion the rope, hoping he wouldn't hang himself with it.

Thankfully, he senses her seriousness, and leans back, shrinking into the seat, hoping it would swallow him whole.

It was ridiculous that he was letting the whole thing affect him so much. Was it jealousy that she chose to leave with Athena? Was it the fact that he felt forgotten?

What the fuck is wrong with me? He battles internally, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Hello again! I got an iced coffe and waffles for the pretty lady…” Elora gently placed Octavia’s food in front of her; before her voice drops and becomes more dry and direct, placing down a full mug, “And a black coffee.”

Elora hung around, smiling awkwardly. Astarion looks up at her with a wide eyed confusion. “Uh…thank you? I appreciate it.” Astarion says softly, taking a slow drink of the coffee.

To his utter disdain, it was delicious.

“Ah, the sassy elf is satisfied?” Elora quips, a giant snarky grin and a wiggle of her red eyebrows. She holds the tray close to her waist and swings her shoulders triumphantly.

“Will agreeing with you make you go away faster?” Astarion asks pointedly. He takes another slow sip of coffee, it must be incredibly strong for him to even be able to taste it.

“Possibly, but you're lucky I want to go hang out with the cute girl who made your coffee much more than I wish to spend any more time with you.” with that, Elora turns on her heel and walks away again.

Octavia’s eyes follow her for a few seconds before turning back to her food. The waffles on the plate looked particularly appetizing, the warm lighting from the restaurant glimmering off the amber colored syrup made her stomach growl.

“Go on, you don't have to hold back on my accord.” Astarion playfully mumbles into his coffee.

“I don't intend to, how's the coffee, by the way? Need me to prick my finger and stir some blood into it?” Octavia teases back, she notices Astarion’s brows shoot up in surprise.

He lets out a loud laugh and with a sultry tone replies, “Don't threaten me with a luxurious treat, my dear. I may take you up on it.”

Astarion places the cup down, turning his attention back to Octavia as she shoves some eggs into her mouth. “To answer your question, it's not bad…but to be fair, most things taste like ash or vinegar to me. This is pretty strong so I actually taste the coffee a bit, but if your offer still stands after we leave, I certainly wouldn't be opposed to having some dessert at my place?”

Octavia looks back at Astarion, her cheeks flush, “Astarion!! Could you at least wait until we're completely alone to be so…you?” She coyishly scolds him, softly kicking him under the seat.

“Darling, it's not my fault you're so generous. Maybe you shouldn't be so charitable with such an enticing and desirable treat?” Astarion’s eyes roam her face, thriving on the way she smiles as she stares back.

She's trying hard not to let him know how his words and glances make her body react, but fails. Octavia shifts in her seat a bit, the pinkish hue of her cheeks very obvious to Astarion.

Octavia continues to eat her food; Astarion keeps staring at her with a far off look, as if he's fighting with himself to say something.

“Do I have something on my face?” Octavia asks.

“What?” Astarion blinks rapidly as he's ripped away from his inner thoughts of her sticky lips on him. “Oh…no dear, I was just lost in thought…I uh…was just wondering if it's normal to have breakfast for dinner nowadays. You know, old man and all.” He laughs hoping to fool her yet again.

Octavia huffs out a soft giggle, “Are you jealous that you can't taste the syrup?” She shoved another piece of waffle in her mouth with a cocky smile.

Astarion, however, has an even more smug look than usual. “No, darling, I have my sights on a much more luxurious treat.” His voice dropped to a lower, much more seductive timbre. He keeps his eyes locked onto Octavia, causing her to choke a bit in return, coughing some and swallowing hard.

She gasps for air and takes a drink of her iced coffee. After she places the glass down, Astarion notices a bit of syrup that slid from the corner of her lip.

He reaches over and wipes it off slowly, caressing her lips in the process. Astarion brings his hand back and licks it off his thumb. “Well, I guess now I got a taste of some of that syrup of yours…but I don't think I got enough to really enjoy it. Perhaps we could turn this breakfast for dinner into breakfast in bed?”

Octavia’s eyes widen and she huffs out a shaky breath. She stutters a bit before recovering “You want to have breakfast in bed?”

Astarion’s thoughts falter, he didn't assume he would get this far ahead. Before he could answer, Octavia murmurs, “Well, we were at my place last time…”

“We were. Would you like to see mine? I did mention a private tour after all.” Astarion’s voice lowered to an almost whisper, if his heart could beat, it would burst out of his chest.

He wanted to take her to his home, to allow her sweet scent to wash over his bed, to take her into his arms and make her his once more.

Was he truly this far gone?

“I know it's probably coming out of nowhere, but I wanted to tell you something, and I think it would be the best place for it.” Astarion reaches out again, finding her fingers and interlacing his own into them. He stares at their hands, embracing the warmth that encompasses them.

Octavia smiles softly, she squeezes her fingers in his. The rest of the diner seemed to fade away as they looked at each other's hands intertwined on the surface of the table.

“Alright, let's go.”

Octavia’s voice cut through the haze they were caught up in. Astarion looks up at her dreamy green eyes and nods. “I’ll pay. Meet me outside?”

“Oh, how could I say no? What a gentleman.” Octavia teases playfully as she gathers her bag.

Astarion rolls his eyes with a smirk, he gets out of the booth and holds his hand out to help Octavia stand. “Hey, I’m taking you on a high quality date here. I know how to entice the object of my affection.”

As Octavia stands, Astarion brings her hand to his lips and gives it a kiss. Octavia couldn't help the giggle that bubbled out. She quickly covered her mouth with the other hand.

“Wonder what other noises I can get you to make.” Astarion purrs, pulling her close and giving her a peck on the cheek. “Go, I'll catch up.”

Octavia nods, and walks down the little corridor. Astarion followed behind, he couldn't help but stare at the sway of her hips. A little shudder of anticipation made its way down his spine.

As Octavia reaches the door, she looks back at him and smiles. Astarion watches as she exits the diner, sitting outside on a metal bench. Astarion comes up to the counter where, Elora, the red haired waitress was speaking with a shorter elven girl.

He clears his throat loudly, causing the two of them to stop giggling and turn to look at him.

“So, he makes his return! Did our humble offerings appease your highness?” Elora starts with a laugh, putting down a glass she was drying.

“Elora! Remember what Miss Serafina told you, some people don't have our sense of humor.” The other girl whispered loudly behind the counter.

“This one’s cool though, Arwen! You are cool, right?” Elora’s voice wavered a bit, sounding slightly anxious.

Astarion laughs causing Elora to relax a bit. “Yeah, I’m cool. You had just caught me after a very stressful day at work, I apologize.”

“Oh. Well, thank you. Most people would just tell me to get over it and that it’s part of my job.” Elora seems pleasantly surprised, Astarion in turn takes out more than enough to pay for himself and Octavia.

He slides the money over to Elora, making her gasp softly as she looks in between him and the money. “That's a lot of cash.” she says before slapping both hands over her mouth. “Are you-”

“Yes, I’m sure. Take it as an appropriate tip for my bullshit.” Astarion laughs as the two girls keep staring at with wide eyes.

“Wow! Your date must be going really well!” Arwen quipped, the smaller girl hid behind Elora, a big smile on her plump cheeks.

“It is, thanks to those waffles and strong coffee.” Astarion winks, making Arwen giggle in return.

“Enjoy the rest of it then, she's really pretty.” Arwen turns and leaves. Elora, meanwhile, was still in a state of disbelief.

“Are you alright?” Astarion asks with genuine concern.

Elora’s eyes snap up, a wild glee painted on her face. “HELLS YES! APOLOGY ACCEPTED! More rich people like you should stop by. You know, if you and your date ever get married, we do catering.”

Astarion blinks a bit before Elora laughs loudly, “Nah, I'm just messin’ with you. Now I just gotta figure out what gift to get Arwen with this sweet tip! Thanks again, Lord Benedick!” She proceeds to use her apron to give Astarion a dramatic curtsey and bow, before she quickly runs into the kitchen.

Astarion takes his leave as he hears the two girls talking excitedly. Outside, he finds Octavia sitting down. She’s leafing through a notebook that she used to keep track of Athena’s requests.

Astarion walks up to her with a mild confused look on his face. “I think the waitress called me a bendy dick after I gave her and what I assume is her girlfriend a nice apology tip.” He rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Promise me that we will never get catering from here.”

Octavia gives him a strange look, and laughs “She did what?? I don't believe you, what did she actually say?” Octavia shuts the notebook and scoots over, allowing Astarion space to sit next to her. He placed his head on Octavia’s shoulder, pouting dramatically up at her.

“She called me Lord bendy dick. My dick is not bendy.”

Octavia bursts out in an incredulous laugh, small tears begin to pool at the corners of her eyes. “Astarion! She was calling you Lord Benedick, not bendy dick!! It's from a play! Good gods, that's clever.” She wipes her face, her giggles slowing down and subsiding.

“Oh that was funny, I gotta give it to her, she really knew how to get under your skin didn't she?” Octavia turns to kiss Astarion’s forehead, nuzzling against his hair.

Astarion throws his head back, and groans loudly. Octavia could tell something was really bothering him.

“Alright, what's going on? You've been a lot more exasperated than usual, and you're letting some college kid get to you. Talk.” She rubs Astarion’s arm, attempting to soothe him.

“If it's all the same to you, I'd really like to have this conversation in a more secluded area? There's a spot at the museum I wanted to show you. That might be better.” He glances over at her, giving a small smile.

Octavia nods, then stands. “Lead the way.”

_______________________________________________

They walk on the familiar streets that lead back to the museum, the lampposts illuminated their steps as the night sky glittered above them.

Astarion held on to Octavia’s hand, silently guiding her to a small gazebo that was hidden by the gates of the garden. He often came here to relax in the glow of the moon and stars, the sounds of the nocturnal creatures that shared his evening habits, and the cold breezes that would embrace him.

Astarion guided Octavia to the iron bench that was surrounded with wisteria vines flowing around the banisters of the gazebo. He held onto Octavia’s hand, nervously fiddling with his fingers, squeezing her hand a bit before relaxing.

He sighs before Octavia rubs those small circles on his palm, “Astarion, are you alright? You seem a bit agitated, did the waitress annoy you that much?”

Astarion looks up at her, Octavia stares at him with a soft look that turns worried. The corner of his mouth turns up in a wry smile, before falling into a pout.

“This whole wedding thing is going to be so much work, I keep thinking that we're going to be making a huge mistake doing it.” Astarion takes a second, sighing and looking down at their hands.

Astarion scoffs and releases his hand from hers, “It just feels completely unnecessary. Why make it into such a big thing?”

Octavia returns his scoff and replies “How unlike you to deny the opulence of a grand party for no reason.”

“Maybe I just can't get behind the idea of it all.” Astarion grumbles and immediately bites his lip.

“I sense you aren't a fan of weddings?” Octavia tentatively asks, as if she's bracing herself for his answer.

“I just think it's all incredibly tedious and tiresome. Just fuck off and sign your stupid papers. Why show off?” He bitterly responds, crossing his arms and sinking into the bench.

“Haven't you ever met anyone that you'd want to spend your life with?” Octavia asks nervously.

“I-I’ve had partners before, long term ones, short term, but all mortal. It seems cruel to me, to know that I will outlive them all, and to promise my everlasting life to them seems like a lie.” Astarion responds, his voice full of regret.

“What about friends like Gale? Do you regret helping him knowing that this is going to remind you of that? His family has a second chance and it's all thanks to you for allowing them to come together and have this wedding at the museum.”

Octavia reaches out and places her hand on Astarion’s. She feels him tense up and turn his head to look at her hand. He exhales and squeezes his hand.

“You're awfully good at that, you know.” He breathes out softly.

“Good at what? Making you see what a grump you're being?” Octavia teases a bit, bumping her shoulder into his and making Astarion laugh back in a slightly mocking tone.

“No, you brat.” He responds with a smirk, “You're good at reminding me that I have a heart sometimes.” Astarion lifts her hand and kisses it.

“I care about you so much, Octavia. More than I have cared about anyone in a long time.” His eyes soften, and she notices his smirk drop. Octavia gasps, her heart begins to race. Astarion is watching her as her body reacts to his words. Her blood pumping through her veins rings in his ears, making his pupils dilate.

Astarion shakes off the rush of hunger that creeps into his mind, this is too important to be ruined by his visceral cravings.

“Octavia, I have a confession to make.” He plays with his fingers in her palm, making small shapes.

“You're right. I did have someone I wanted to spend my life with, but I was a different person then, scared, weak, insecure. I was so used to people using me and taking parts of me leaving only the discarded remains that weren't interesting or alluring enough; until I met someone who cared. They pulled me out of my darkness and in my selfishness and fear, I left them. I didn't think I was capable of caring about someone like that ever again, and then after decades of self imposed loneliness, I met you.”

Astarion turns his body to fully face Octavia, he could see her cheeks redden, he heard the thundering in her chest. Her pouty lip quivers, she stopped it by biting down on it.

“In almost a year you've reminded me that I'm worthy of being cared for and it scares me. I don't want to hurt you like I know I'm capable of, I know I wouldn't be the most attentive, or emotional, but something keeps pulling me out of my fears and pushes me into your arms instead. You have astounded me, pulled me from my misery, and held my hand when I pushed it away.”

Astarion melts into her hand when she brings it up to cup his cheek, her eyes are so beautiful, he could lose himself in them. He falters a bit when she pulls him close and kisses his cheek.

“Don't stop,” she says, her voice quiet, he can barely hear it over the croaking of the frogs in the pond nearby.

“As you wish.” He smiles with a laugh, “When you look my way, it's as if the angels have smiled upon me. Your laugh is like the sweetest music, only composed for me to revel in. Your affections are like the warmth of a summer's day, they fill me with such happiness that I could die over and over again being burned by your brightness. I’ve done so many stupid and selfish things in the past, many of which I regret, but doing this with you isn't part of that. On the contrary, you’ve given me something I haven't had for a long time. Hope for the future.”

At that, Octavia sighs, she hides behind a hand that came up to her face. A quiet giddy giggle hiccuped out of her mouth. “Astarion…Where is this coming from?”

Astarion clears his throat, the nerves getting the better of him, which they never had before. “I came to realize when you were gone that we hadn't spent much time apart, aside from you going home for the night, and it was killing me. I actually thought about surprising you at your father's before Gale reminded me that I had no idea where your father lived, and I didn't want to be seen as a creep who followed you.”

He laughs awkwardly, delaying the inevitable. “Also, I hadn't felt that kind of loneliness for a while, it was soul crushing. I haven't felt like this in so long, so I was kind of processing all of these things coming up while you were away.”

Octavia stayed quiet, her eyes were wide, unsure of where this was going.

“Being close to someone, that kind of intimacy was something I used to perform…for others. I know it's different with us, but it still feels somewhat tainted and it will sometimes bring up those feelings of failure and regret. I'm afraid I won't know how to be with someone after all these years. No matter how much I want to.”

Astarion keeps holding onto Octavia’s right hand, a small tremble begins to form as his throat dries up. He coughs a bit and continues on.

“I was hesitant to admit how much I missed you while you were away, I hated it. I hadn't felt that kind of thing in so long that I forgot how miserable it felt.” Astarion lets out a little nervous squeak of a laugh. “The longer you were away, the more those feelings of affection and attraction only grew and became more obvious. I can't imagine my life without you now. You're the first and last thing I think of when I wake, you're the first true emotional connection I've had in a very long time and I can't stop denying it any longer…I love you, Octavia, so deeply, and it terrifies me.”

Octavia gasps softly. She was staring at him with a shocked expression, her gaze burned him, and his mind began to panic.

Astarion’s face drops, Octavia could see small tears gathering at his eyes, she brings up her left hand and strokes his cheek with her thumb, catching one of the tears that fell and wiping it away. “Please don't tell me I just made a giant fool out of-”

“I love you, too, you silly man.” Octavia cuts him off, grabbing his left hand with her right, while her left hand wipes away the wet pearls that streamed down his skin.

A quiet beat passes, she hears Astarion gasp softly, “Really?”

“Very much. You're wonderful, Astarion.” Octavia pulls him close, pressing their foreheads together.

Astarion takes a chance and kisses her. He feels her tense up before relaxing and melting into their kiss. Astarion can feel himself sinking into the comfort that radiates off her. He wraps his arms around her waist lifting her onto his lap, not once breaking contact.

They continue their kisses for a few moments before Astarion pulls away, looking back at Octavia’s blown pupils, flushed cheeks, and darkened lips. She sighed happily and placed her arms on his shoulders. “What’s wrong?” She asks.

“Are you sure about this? I mean…after everything I just said?” Astarion’s voice was doubtful, and Octavia smiles at him and plays with the curls on his neck.

“You just poured your heart out to me, kissed me and put me on your lap, and you're questioning whether or not I'm sure?” Octavia giggles and rubs her nose on his, “I’m sure.”

Octavia pulls him in and begins to kiss him slowly, letting their breaths intermingle, heavy and hot.

Astarion pulls her closer onto his lap, spreading her thighs open. Octavia gasps as his hands run under the hem of her skirt. His nails drag along the stockings she wore. Astarion begins to kiss down her jaw and nips at her neck playfully.

“You know, I never got to eat my dinner…” he taunts, biting down softly but not penetrating. Octavia shivers at the pressure on her skin, throwing her head back with a stilted groan.

Astarion’s hands make their way up Octavia’s backside, squeezing her ass. She giggles and moans when one of Astarion’s hands breaks away and roams up the inside of her thigh.

Slowly, tantalizingly, Astarion presses his fingertips to the soft fabric covering her legs. He stops before touching where Octavia desperately wants him to. She whines, biting at her bottom lip. Astarion chuckles deeply, holding her at the edge.

“Fuck..” she draws out, lifting her head to stare at him with lust glazed eyes.

“Don't worry, I will.” He laughs against her shoulder as he continues to kiss down towards her chest.

Octavia huffs and pulls at the curls near Astarion’s ear causing him to tremble underneath her. She smiles at his reaction, leaning forward to press her chest up against his. She takes his face into her hands and stares into his gorgeous maroon eyes.

“Gods, you're beautiful.” She breathes out making Astarion blush slightly.

“As are you, gorgeous. Why don't we take this inside? I can give you that private tour I promised you earlier..” Astarion turns his head a bit, catching one of her thumbs in his mouth, sucking and biting on the tip.

Octavia lets out a shuddering breath and nods, “I bet you take all the pretty girls who sit on your lap there.”

Astarion’s smirk falters some, the cocky veneer replaced yet again with something more bashful and hesitant. His eyes soften a bit before speaking, “No actually, you're the only person I've allowed into my personal space. You're the only one I have given any thought to bring to my private quarters.”

Octavia can sense the shift, she kisses his neck softly to soothe over the hurt. The delicate ripples of the fountains running embrace them, she shifts off his lap and holds a hand out to him.

“Show me”, Octavia breathlessly replies, “I want to see it. Where you hide away when the doors close and the patrons leave and the halls silence. Where you go when you sneak up on me, like a ghost in the halls. I want to see you when I wake, the light from your candles glowing around you. To see you as you truly are. Please, I want to go with you.”

[phoxphenex]

𝗕𝗨𝗖𝗞𝗘𝗧 𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗦 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗦𝗣𝗘𝗟𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗕𝗘𝗘𝗦

DOYOUNG X FEM!READER

genre: academic rivals but not really? fluff

word count: 1.9K

things to know: arch-nemesis doyoung, jaewoo being annoying, happy birthday to the loml 🖤

—

—

—

“literally what are you wearing?”

“what am i wearing? what are you wearing?”

“bitch, i’ve been dressed since 9 am.”

“i got here before you!”

you and doyoung continue bickering about your outfits—your matching outfits. no, it was not intentional, despite what the others try to claim. how would they know? they weren’t the ones wearing the same outfit as their arch-nemesis.  

yes. arch-nemesis.

ever since the fifth-grade spelling bee, you and doyoung had been academically at each other's throats. you couldn’t stand each other, and you both blamed it on one another.

“look at you,” doyoung mused, pouting his lips mockingly as he crossed his arms over his grey sweatshirt-covered chest, “stealing my style just like you stole the spelling bee trophy from me.”

your mouth falls open before slamming shut and you can feel steam forming in your ears. “oh yeah? cause to me, you sound a bit... puzzled.”

the color of fresh strawberries touched every speck of doyoung’s face, and you could tell he was trying hard not to lose his cool in front of you. “you set me up to look like an idiot in front of the entire school!”

“i did no such thing!” you shouted back, genuinely offended that he’d think so low of you, especially as a child. “you spelled it wrong. you lost. boohoo, get over it—”

“aww, honey! look at their cute little couple outfits!”

both you and doyoung grimace in sync.

cute. couples. outfits?

i’m going to be sick.

—

“hey g—y/n, why are you and doyoung wearing the same clothes?”

you didn’t hesitate to smack jungwoo in the stomach with the back of your hand, shooting him a glare. “it was an accident.”

jaehyun stood beside his roommate and grinned as he eyed both you and your nemesis up and down. “yeahhhhhh, ‘accident’.” the finger quotes tipped you over the edge, and you slugged him in the shoulder as jungwoo recovered from his wounded gut.

“moving on,” you raised your voice after clearing your throat. “how are we splitting the fee? is everyone paying for their own ticket and food?”

every year, the four of you went on a nostalgia trip to work your way through everyone’s bucket lists. this year was disney world, which, unfortunately, both you and doyoung had on your list.

when you noticed how quiet the two roommates got, your eyebrows raised. “what? what is going on?”

“y/n, don’t get mad…”

“mad? why would i be mad?” your words came out rushed as a mix of fear and irritation spiked the nerves in your spine.

jaehyun and jungwoo shared a look before the former finally said: “we’re not going to disney world with you.”

“what?!”

—

“i can’t believe i’m in the most magical place on earth with you.”

“look, i’m not necessarily pleased, either.”

you rolled your eyes and took another bite of your mickey mouse waffle. “at least you could have changed. now we look like a couple!”

“i wasn’t the one who decided last minute on matching bunny headbands.”

“i bought mine first!”

“i wore them first!”

before you could bite back with another snarky comment, something caught your eye. you sucked in a deep breath as you watched the white blob float higher and higher into the sky.

doyoung followed your gaze, wondering what could have possibly distracted you away from getting the last word, when he saw it. instantly, his head fell towards you with a dull look in his eye. “really, y/n? do you know how bad that is for the environment?”

“i need it.”

“it’s a fucking children’s balloon. think of the environment.”

“do you even know how to spell environment?”

doyoung poked his tongue against his cheek. hard. “you know what? i’ll get you that ugly fucking balloon if it’ll get you to shut up about it.”

your feet stammered beneath you, and you almost tripped at his sudden statement. it sounded like an empty threat, but the words themself threw you off. he said he’d get you something you wanted. doyoung.

“fine. not another word until that balloon is tied around my wrist.” true to your word, you talked doyoung’s ear off the entire trip to the balloon stand, where your favorite huggable creature was waiting to be bought.

when doyoung pulled out his wallet, his jaw dropped. “thirty-five dollars?!”

“you flex your cash all the damn time. plus, this is actually going to something good!”

“no, it’s not. it’s going to you.”

“exactly! think of it as a gift.”

“charity, maybe.”

you stomped on his foot, not hard enough to actually anger him into stepping out of your deal, but enough for doyoung to scowl at you from over his shoulder.

within minutes, your giant baymax balloon was tied to your wrist, and you and your nemesis continued visiting all the disney-related items on your bucket lists.

turns out, aside from clothing style and academics, you and doyoung had a lot more in common than you thought.

—

“f. r. eeeeeee—“

“y/n, shut up.”

“what am i doing?!”

you were laying on your back across doyoung’s bed, bored out of your mind. you’d already studied all the material and invited yourself over to distract doyoung from the material to “sabotage” his grade, but he wasn’t the least bit interested in you.

“pay attention to me,” you whined, trying to get a rise out of your nemesis. since the trip to disney world, your hatred for doyoung had… changed into something else, but teasing him was the most effective way of avoiding your feelings.

doyoung simply turned his body away from you and either dodged or ignored the random items you threw at him as you tried to land them in the hood of his grey sweatshirt.

the same grey sweatshirt you were ironically dressed in.

“you haven’t even made any comments about our clothes,” you tried, pulling your legs beneath you as you huffed a sigh. “we didn’t even plan this and it happened again.”

still nothing.

with a sigh, you decided to bring out the big guns. you twisted so that your back was facing doyoung and leaned until your backs were pressed against each other. “you know, i still have that baymax balloon?” you felt him tense beneath your shoulders and smiled. “he’s a little deflated, but i think it’s cute—“

“can you stop?” doyoung suddenly spoke, his voice cracking a bit from lack of use. you pulled yourself up and off of him, turning over your shoulder to see him avoiding your gaze.

was that… blush on his cheeks?

“why are you here, y/n?”

to say you were there to bother him wouldn’t be a lie, but it also wasn’t the complete truth. so instead, you shrugged your shoulders. “i needed to make sure my arch-nemesis wasn’t slacking off. apparently, this test is really hard—“

doyoung shook his head and finally faced you. yep, definitely blushing. “why are you lying?”

“i’m not—“

“you are!” he took a breath as he faced his lap. “something… happened on the trip to disney, right..? i know i’m not the only one who noticed it. you’re different.”

you suddenly felt exposed, your fingers instantly reaching to brush through your hair. “different how?”

when doyoung failed to answer, you felt your insecurities bubbling up through your skin and let your gaze fall as well. “look, i know you hate me, but—“

“i don’t hate you.”

the comment was so abrupt that it startled both you and doyoung into silence. your breath was caught in your throat as heat rose to your cheeks. you stole a quick glance at the boy in front of you, who had gone sheet white, probably shocked by his own confession.

when it was clear that he could not come up with an excuse, you scooted closer and flashed a bright smile. “you mean, 'cause you adore me, right? and aspire to be me? i’m flattered!”

“y/n,” doyoung finally voiced out, and you felt your neck turning red. he couldn’t confess to you. not first, at least. “y/n, i know why you think i hate you; i mean, you drive me absolutely mad. but i just... fuck, why is it so hard to talk to you?”

his eyes gleamed with distress, unsure how to say what he was clearly thinking. seeing him like this made your heart swell, and you couldn’t stop your hand from flying toward his. doyoung’s eyes shot wide at the sudden contact, finally realizing how flustered you’d become.

“stop talking. you’re so bad at this,” you joked, happy to see your nemesis smile. “ever since disney—no, even before disney—being around you makes me... nervous? i don’t know. i get this, like, sick feeling in my stomach and at first, i thought it was because i’m jealous of you, but now i think...” you trailed off as you softly swiped a thumb over the back of his hand. 

“i think you’re just as bad at this as i am,” doyoung chuckled.

you pushed him away as a joke, but you felt strangely empty once his hand left yours. “shut up, this is harder than i thought.”

the backs of doyoung’s fingers gently grazed the soft skin of your jaw, and you froze. when he realized what he was doing, doyoung quickly moved to pull his hand away, but you caught him before he could. you looked up, catching his gaze. 

jesus, are those butterflies? he smiled. yep. definitely butterflies.

taking a deep breath, you decided it was now or never. here he was, your nemesis, in front of you and ready for you to say something. to confirm your feelings and accept his.

“i like you, doyoung. i like when we accidentally match our outfits. i like how our bucket lists are in synch. i like how you challenge me, intellectually. i just... i like you.”

doyoung’s thumb pressed into your jaw, not enough to hurt, just enough to show that... “i like you too, y/n. as much as it pains me to admit.”

you laughed and went to shove him away again but he grabbed your hand in his and intertwined your fingers. “pretty girl,” he said with a smile and your entire face turned scarlet red.

“shut your gorgeous self up right now.”

“can you even spell gorgeous, y/n?”

“i literally hate you.”

“good. i hate you more.”

—

“y/n, you should seriously consider going to a hospital or something. i don't think anyone’s feet should be this cold.”

“shut up, you just have extra warm calves. maybe you should get those checked.”

“hmm, alright. we can just go together.”

“yeah. okay.”

“bitch—“ you cut him off by snuggling closer against your boyfriend, wrapping your limbs around him like a koala. despite his complaining, doyoung didn’t hesitate to hug you back and give you a little squeeze. “you’re so obsessed with me.”

you hummed, your cheek squished against your boyfriend’s chest. “i am.”

his hand gently caressed your hair, “i guess i’m kind of obsessed with you too. yuck.” you gave him a playful punch in the chest. doyoung laughed at your attempt before planting a soft kiss against your temple. “happy birthday.”

you couldn’t bite back the beaming grin that consumed your mouth. “shut up and let me sleep. when i wake up, we’re watching the baymax series and eating cake. deal?”

“deal.”

[czenzo]

On the Hunt - Chapter III

[ao3] chapter links: [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ]

summary: After Simon gets bitten in an unfortunate run-in with a werewolf, he and Penny desperately search for a cure before the upcoming full moon can force him to undergo an excruciating transformation. Lycanthropy comes with many other side effects, however – and not only is Simon soon to experience them, but Baz will surely be dragged into the mess, too.

words: 2191 rating: M

note: this chapter officially marks 100,000 words posted onto my ao3, which is wild to think about, especially since almost all of it has been posted in 2022!! woohoo

DAYS UNTIL FULL MOON: 4

BAZ

Snow’s getting tetchy.

There are two upsides to this: one, all of his irritation is no longer being directed solely at me, but instead towards his hot flushes and mood swings, which are pissing him off so much the only thing he can do is mope around in his bed and spend the day tossing and turning. (He hasn’t attended a single class since getting bitten.)

Two, he’s hot, sweaty, and mere minutes away from taking his shirt off.

Now, before you get all righteous with me – I know. I know Simon’s going through hell, I know he’s having a horrible week, and I know he’s terrified of the upcoming full moon. But you can’t blame me for noticing how fucking good he makes suffering look.

It would be fantastic if he could be sexy and angry at a much quieter volume, though.

“Snow,” I say. I’m sitting at my desk, alternating between working on my Latin homework (I’m vaguely impressed that whole scholarly articles have been written about such trivial things regarding the language, but also a bit narked that I’m expected to wade through all the waffle) and making my way through one of the many werewolf-related books Bunce and I checked out earlier this morning. “I’m trying to work. Don’t you have anything better to do than roll around in bed all day?”

Admittedly, part of me hopes he doesn’t.

“Shut up,” he says, hissing his words so much it almost counts as one of my trademark snarls. “You’re not the one who got bitten by a bloody werewolf.”

“No, I’m not. I have more intelligence and sense of self-preservation than that.”

Snow huffs, and out of the corner of my eye, I see him wrestle with his duvet and throw it clean off his bed. The gush of air it sends across the room carries a strong, distinctly canine odour.

Crowley, he smells like a dog.

Having a nose that works supernaturally well is becoming tiring. I’m still reeling from smelling Snow’s blood the other night. (If I close my eyes, I can recall every detail. It smelt of cinnamon and honey, of autumn mornings and coffee, of wood and sweet burning and so purely of Simon Snow that if Bunce hadn’t been so quick to clean it up, I fear for the lengths my body would have taken to get closer to it, to breathe it all in, to lap it up with my tongue.)

(I scare myself, sometimes. Is it possible to be addicted to a person?)

“You can’t spend all day like this,” I say, rereading the same paragraph I’ve been trying to move past for the last fifteen minutes. I keep getting distracted by the grunting and groaning coming from Snow’s bed. (It’s not even the pleasant kind.) “Don’t forget you need to keep yourself in check. If I turn around and find you’ve gone and completely wolfed out on me, I’ll murder you in cold blood.”

“What, as if you've got any better ideas?"

“You underestimate me.”

“I over-estimate you. I give you way too much credit than you deserve.”

At this, I turn in my chair to face him. “When have you ever given me credit, Snow? I’ve still not had a thank you for finding that stupid necklace of yours.”

His face contorts for a moment before softening just a fraction. His reply comes out stiff and stilted, but I sense an ounce of sincerity. It’s incredibly odd. “Thank you, Baz.”

I turn back to my desk and say nothing in return for a short while. Both the lycanthropy text and the Latin chapter I’m reading refer to the same chapter of a book I’ve heard of in passing, so I take a moment to jot the title down, knowing it could be helpful for both my homework and Simon’s current predicament.

“Have you tried throwing yourself into the lake?” I eventually say. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret not speaking them with more animosity. I almost sounded sincere and helpful, which is far from how I want Snow to interpret it.

“What?” he replies after a lengthy pause.

“Go for a swim, Snow. It’ll bring your temperature down.”

“Baz, the lake’s fucking freezing at this time of year. Are you mad?”

“I’m not, but you may become so very soon if you don’t get off your arse and do something.”

“Shut up,” he says, but I soon hear him shuffling around and getting ready to go outside.

***

I’m not entirely certain how he managed it, but Snow convinced me to come with him to the lake.

One second I was in the warmth of our shared room, being productive and most definitely not thinking about the possibility of Snow taking his shirt off, and then it felt like I blinked and suddenly I was standing beside the lake, shivering, actually watching Snow strip down.

Merlin, Morgana, and Methuselah, Simon Snow is in nothing but his underwear. Across his chest is a generous spread of hair, and I think back to the glimpses I’ve had of his bare torso in the past. (They’re far and few, but I remember them in excruciating detail.) He’s never been covered in this much before. Snow needs to stop making lycanthropy look so appealing. It’s fucking annoying.

“You are aware that being half-naked isn’t a requirement for swimming, yes?”

“I’m not gonna swim in my trackies, Baz.”

“You’re going to make yourself ill.”

“I’m not a psychopath. The trackies stay off.”

Before I can conjure up a witty comeback, he’s already gone and chucked himself into the water with alarmingly little hesitation. He didn’t have the brains to consider emerging his body bit by bit and allowing it to adjust to the temperature, no – he cannonballed.

Whilst he’s submerged, I allow myself a second to dig my nails into my scalp. It’s both a grounding gesture and a reminder that I shouldn’t be dwelling on the mental image of Snow in nothing but a pair of boxers. (I’ve seen him change in our room countless times. I’m not sure why this time feels different.)

He breaks through the surface of the water with a shout, and suddenly he’s the happiest I’ve seen him in days. He splashes around, swims in circles, performs underwater somersaults, and floats around on his back, watching the evening sky darken above him. Meanwhile, I make myself comfortable on the lakeside, perching on one of the few rocks that aren’t coated in algae.

“You should come for a swim, Baz.”

It takes me a moment to process his words. “What?”

“Let off some steam,” he says, side-eyeing me as he lounges on his back, limbs spread out like a starfish. “You look dead tense. All the time.”

“A consequence of sharing a room with you for eight years.”

“I’m not really a fan of it either, but I don’t spend all my time bitching about it.”

“I don’t bitch.”

We exchange a look. I don’t like the knowing gleam in his eyes.

“Take the stick out of your arse and get in.”

“Absolutely not,” I say, turning my nose up at the body of water. It looks deathly cold, and I’m not sure how Snow’s still alive and moving. I'm not sure I would've suggested the swimming if I knew it was going to be like this, and I’m not certain magic would do much help, either – there’s so much water it would take multiple copies of me spelling it at once to increase the temperature by a mere couple of degrees.

“I said,” Snow paddles over to the edge. “Stop being a prig and live a little.”

“What in Crowley’s name did you just call–”

I don’t get to finish. In the blink of an eye, he reaches an arm out, firmly grasps my ankle, and pulls.

I can almost hear Bunce’s voice in the back of my head, informing me of the many perks of lycanthropy. As Snow bodily drags me into the cold, dark depths of the lake, I remember one of the ones that had cropped up the most during the beginnings of our research – enhanced physical strength. Lucky me.

If I weren’t already dead, I’m convinced that suddenly being plunged into the lake would have immediately stopped my heart in its tracks. By the time I emerge back at the surface, I’m ready to absolutely throttle Simon Snow, but the grin on his face and the laughter that erupts from him makes me forget I’m meant to be pissed off at all.

I’m here, now. May as well make the most of it. I scrape my hair away from where it’s been wetly plastered onto my forehead and push my hands in front of me, creating a small wave that engulfs Simon. He comes out of the other side gasping and spluttering, and I can’t help the small smile that makes its way onto my lips. (He made a particularly stupid face as he was trying to reach for air.)

“Feeling refreshed?” I say, to which he splashes water in my face.

“Yeah, actually. Wish I’d chucked myself in here sooner. ‘M not burning up anymore.”

“And now we’re both shivering, thanks to your idiocy.”

He grins. It’s a wonderful grin, all teeth and dimples and pure joy. “You enjoyed being dragged in. Admit it.”

“You can go and fuck yourself, Snow.”

“You’re too kind, Baz.” He pauses, and then his features pinch together to make him look uncharacteristically serious. I dread what he’s going to say before he’s even worked out how to word it. “Hey, why d’you seem so bothered about my, er– problem?”

I pull a face. It’s probably not a pretty one, but I’m too cold and focusing on keeping myself afloat to care. “What on earth do you mean?”

“You’ve been reading and researching just as much as Penny has.”

“Pardon me for not wanting to share a room with a werewolf for longer than necessary.”

“You don’t need to be a dick about it, Baz. I was actually going to thank you for a second, there.”

I take a breath and start making my way back over to the lake’s edge. “Spare me the sappiness.”

“Aw, you can’t be getting out already. You’ve only just gotten in!”

“More than enough for me.” I haul myself up and out of the water, scrambling to find my feet on the now-muddy lakeside. Luckily, my wand slid out of my pocket as Simon dragged me in, so it takes little effort to retrieve it and spell myself dry. I also throw in a You’re Getting Warmer to help regain the feeling in my toes.

Simon stays put, treading water and staring holes into my skull. I smirk and cast a quick Test The Waters, sending a stream of water directly into his face. The long string of expletives that pour from his mouth straight afterwards make a burst of laughter escape me, and before he can comment on it I send another stream of water his way.

“Alright, get out. Bunce will kill me if I let you die of hypothermia.”

“It’s not even that cold.”

“Your fingers are turning blue. And” – I briefly pause for effect – “I’m almost one hundred per cent certain you have a mountain of homework waiting for you at your desk.”

Snow groans and mutters a half-hearted insult. Eventually he clambers out, and I have to quickly drag my gaze far away from him. (Soaked-through boxers leave very little to the imagination, and a mere glance has, I must shamefully admit, given me wank material for at least a month.) (I’m glad it’s getting dark. I fed after my classes today, and the blood is now going straight to my face.) (And somewhere else, too.)

As soon as his feet hit solid ground, he physically shakes the excess water off his body and immediately starts pulling on his clothes.

“Aren’t you going to dry yourself properly?”

“With magic?" He scoffs. "Yeah, as if I can pull that off myself.”

Watching him try to drag his joggers back on over damp legs is an absolute pain, so I give in and spell him dry, too. I put considerably more oomph into it than I did on myself, and it makes his hair fluffier than I’ve ever seen it. It’s like one of those blow-dried cows Dev once showed me a picture of.

I must have started smirking at the thought of it without realising, because he shoots me a dirty look. “I’ll push you back in.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Snow, if we don’t get back to Mummers soon, we’ll have our heads chopped off.”

“I’d prefer that over wolfing out.”

“Would you?”

He looks me dead in the eye. There’s a glint of genuine fear, and it makes me want to get back to our room and my research all the more sooner. I’m not sure I want to find out how he’ll handle it if we don’t find a solution in time. “Yes.”

[cherryblossomforest]

Day 10 Inpatient

I spent the entire night without sleep meds in flashback hell, switching in and out to the point where I met a new (old) kid part. Only to fall asleep after 6am and be woken up before 8am to this irritating new patient singing at the top of her fucking lungs. Now if I go out there and tell her to shut her fucking mouth I'll be in the wrong.

Plus, you know what fucking sucks? Being fucking traumatised AND ovulating. I want to kms. Every fucking month my brain hyperfocuses on flashbacks just because I'm fucking ovulating. I want this motherfucking womb gone.

^^ 😀👀 What??! I think whoever was just in flashback hell rather than it being to do with our cycle because I'm genuinely fine 🙃

I've been sleeping all morning. In and out of flashbacks still, not as bad as last night though. I think November just has us by the throat at night.

Just had my ward round and tbh I think the consultant was waffling but he basically was saying that I'm very intelligent and how I've managed to keep myself safe in the past by using the tools I have. He said he thinks I have Chronic Dysphoria rather than actual depression? And that because I am so sensitive to medication he's basically not entirely sure what to do. He said that my main way of getting help isn't medication but therapy (SHOCKER) and that he doesn't want me to stay in the hospital too long but that it'll go at my pace. So although I'm starting Mirtazapine again he's trying to get me a better support system in the community while I'm settling here. So basically although I'm struggling I also can't get the full help I need here because he doesn't actually think I'm depressed he thinks it's ✨️Trauma✨️ I think this is kinda jarring because like yeah it's true but not being in the right type of therapy isn't going to help and I wish I could just go private because it would be so much easier. My consultant also said that I'll have a care coordinator and something else, as well as still being seen by the ED clinic but I'm nervous that it's not enough. The only reason I'm not drinking is because I'm being watched and I can't drink in here but once I'm back out there idk what's going to happen. I can't always be in the driving seat of this body...

Although I slept once the sun rose, after my ward round I also took my prn and slept some more. My brain is in trauma mode and it's coming out in my sleep and I absolutely hate it. So tonight I will be ensuring I'm taking something to sleep throughout the night because I do not want a repeat of last night at all. Especially as it's days away from the anniversary.

After looking through different private therapists, I am stressed. I hate that it's so expensive for DID clients. I just need some support whilst I wait to see if this referral gets rejected or not. It's stressing me out sm.

My brother is trying to be supportive because he's just now realising how expensive it'll be for me to go private. When I was going private therapy before I was working full time, living with my father and I had like 3 bills max. I'm now paying for my own home and car and everything that comes with it. It's a lot. My brother said he wouldn't mind helping out with my therapy bill 👀👀👀 which shocked the hell out of me. He's always so distant but then if I ask him for help he'll pop up and do whatever I need and he's like "You're my baby sister ofc I'll help, what's wrong with you?" I just always assumed that he was tired of me. Or I'm that mentally unstable little sister who's just been cast aside. I keep forgetting I'm not a teen and that he's changed and so have I. In our teenage years, he was hella embarrassed by me but now he's like cool with me and ??? My child parts who used to look up to him so much and think he was this super cool older brother are so happy every time he says he enjoys my company. Every time he calls and all that. It's super nice.

My Mirtazapine is working straight away and I'm exhausted suddenly, at least I'll have a good night's sleep hopefully 😴

[ichorai]

crying ; eddie brock.

track two of DEAR SCIENCE.

pairing ; eddie brock x vigilante!gn!reader ft. venom

synopsis ; society’s busted and we’re all wearing rose-colored glasses.

words ; 1.5k

themes ; comedy, mild action

warnings / includes ; profanity, lots of blood, violence, serious injuries, one mention of getting drunk, venom and reader are bffs, venom is an annoying little shit, 90 day fiance is mentioned twice LMAO, this fic is basically just the three of yall bickering constantly <3

main masterlist. 

There were always those scenes in movies where the main character sat up somewhere high, staring out at the city below them, and made some sort of offhand comment about how beautiful the view was. The fact that you thought the city still looked like trash from all way up here probably meant you were a side character of some sorts. You didn’t quite mind that. The streets always stank of piss and puke and weed, but you supposed that was home for you. 

You and Eddie were perched atop the scaffolding of a half-completed tower, observing the sun bleed out over the sky as it descended below the horizon. Having freshly slunken away from an alley fight, you were bleeding profusely from several orifices—dried blood caked the entirety of the bottom half of your face and you’d acquired a nifty new stab wound to your abdomen. It should’ve concerned you that it was slightly more laborious to breathe than usual, which led you to believe you had a fractured rib. Fuck. It’s not like you could go to the hospital—a vigilante with no name had no business in a place like that.

Eddie, on the other hand, looked perfectly fine (or, as fine as he usually did, which wasn’t very fine at all). He was unscathed due to the lovely fact that he had a literal goo parasite living inside him, but you supposed you couldn’t complain. He ate like trash and would barely sleep an hour a week, so you weren’t really sure who was worse off at the moment.

With a wheezing sigh, you took a bite out of the sandwich Eddie split with you.

“Why the fuck is there egg salad in this?” you snarled while shooting Eddie the dirtiest look you could muster, drawing your legs in towards your chest so you could rest your chin on your knees. “I’ve told you a million times by now—that shit is disgusting.”

Eddie grunted around a mouthful of his half of the egg salad sandwich. “It was all they had left. Just eat it, I don’t want you to starve.” 

With a disconcerted groan, you ripped off another chunk and chewed angrily, ignoring the clicking sound in your sore jaw. God, you were so tired. Were your eyes slipping shut or was that your vision growing darker? You honestly couldn’t quite tell. 

“Why don’t we go back to your place and watch a movie, hm? I’d invite you to mine, but Venom trashed the place. Punched me in the face with my own fist!” he chuckled dryly, but there was genuine irritation behind his words. Then he sucked at his own teeth with a scowl gracing his worn features. “I think I need to go see the dentist soon.”

“You were being rude! It was so uncalled for! I made waffles for you!” you heard Venom’s gravelly voice grumble. They really did bicker like an old married couple.

Eddie burst out into another squeaky tangent—now something about how Venom never respected his boundaries, god they were such a pain to work with—before you felt yourself slump forward and everything went pitch black for a moment.

“I swear to god, if you bring up Anne one more time—I… Y/N? Buddy, are you okay? Oh, there they go.”

You were, in fact, not okay. Taking a dozen blows to the head definitely wasn’t good for your physical health, was it? Not to mention the faceful of concrete, the stab wound, and that really annoying pain in your jaw. You began teetering dangerously from the railing of the tower, before you were slipping off to the side, and you were going down, down, down…

Until a slimy black tentacle arm wrapped around your midriff, and you were swiftly dragged back upwards. A gasp startled itself from your throat as you were ripped from the haze of unconsciousness, eyelids shooting open. Oh, your sandwich was falling off the edge of the tower. Whatever, it’s not like you’d miss it, anyways. You felt bad for whichever poor soul would inevitably smell like egg salad for the rest of the day.

“Ugh, fuck,” you groaned, slapping Venom away from you with a pinched frown. “Stop squeezing me so tight, I think I broke a rib.”

“A thank you would be nice,” the alien muttered lowly. Your scowl only deepened, and you flipped him off angrily. “You know I could drop you off this tower and have you killed easily, right?”

A sardonic leer stretched your bloody lips thin. “You like me too much to do that.”

“That’s true. You are my friend. Even though I tried to eat you when I first met you.”

A huff of a laugh bubbled from your lungs at his words. “Yeah, and I still have yet to hear an apology from you.” Venom remained blissfully quiet, and you hummed in satisfaction. “Yeah, that’s what I thought, big guy. You’re a shit friend, but you’re a friend nonetheless.”

The dark limb that had extended from Eddie’s back retracted back within his body and Eddie rolled his stiff shoulders with a grunt. “Anyways, as I was saying,” he said nonchalantly, as if you weren’t on the precipice of tumbling to your death just moments ago, “we could watch some crappy reality TV if you don’t have any movies you wanna see. 90 Day Fiance makes me feel better about how much of a mess my own life is.”

“Glad to see you’re being honest with yourself,” you snorted, elbowing him in the side. “But, sure, I’m down. It’ll try to keep me awake, anyway. If I pass out again, I might not wake up again.”

“Don’t say that,” Eddie hissed. “I can’t believe you sometimes. I specifically told you not to come with me this time, and what did you do? You came with me!”

Guffawing, you gruffed out, “That’s what she said.” When Eddie’s scowl only deepened, a shrug lifted one of your shoulders upwards, but you regretted the motion immediately when a jolt of pain coursed through your arm. Carefully, you set your limb back down and fixed your partner with a pointed stare. “You know what, Eddie, you’re not my therapist. Kindly shut the fuck up. It’s over now. Besides, you needed me. If I wasn’t there, you and Venom would’ve been fucked!”

“They’re right,” Venom’s gnarled voice admitted. 

“Thank you.”

“Stop encouraging them!” Eddie shrieked indignantly. 

“Might I remind you that you’re just as much of a vigilante as I am?” you asked. “We may be fucked up bastards, but society would be fucked without us. We’re all just wearing rose-colored glasses, blind to our own sins. Ugh, what am I even saying? I need to get drunk.” Your eyes slid shut again. “God, I’m so tired. Just… I’m just gonna lie down and go to sleep, okay? G’night guys.”

“No!” Eddie barked out, panic twinging his words. “No, no, no, you stay awake! Venom, slap them. Stay awake, Y/N!”

A cold fist slammed into your cheekbone and you half-groaned, half-sobbed as you crumpled into the scaffolding, cursing out a storm. Pain blossomed all over your face and you spat blood onto the wood, eyes barely pried open.

Eddie was all over you in an instant. “Oh, fuck, oh God, I’m so sorry! Are you okay? What the fuck, Venom? I said slap them! Lightly!” 

“You didn’t say lightly,” Venom said, unsure why Eddie was making such a big deal out of this. You were just punched, like, a million times today, what was the issue with one more?

Faintly, you could feel Eddie’s arms haul you up to your limp legs. 

“Jesus Christ. Okay, c’mon, you’re okay, let’s go back to your place. No hospitals, yeah? Are you sure?”

“No hospitals!” you hacked out, mouth tasting an awful lot like copper. 

“Eddie, they’re getting blood all over your jacket.”

“Not the time, Venom!”

“I really like this jacket, Eddie.”

The sky was dark now, and it made it hard for you to see anything as you stumbled along with Eddie. “I like this jacket, too,” you slurred, despite not being able to see the article of clothing and not at all remembering what it looked like. 

“You can have it, buddy,” Eddie said, patting your back lightly. “C’mon, I’ll take care of you.”

After a beat of struggling silence, you heard Venom choke out apprehensively, “I’m sorry I hit you.”

It hurt to smile, but you did so nonetheless. “Like I said,” you rasped, “you’re a shit friend, but you’re a friend nonetheless.”

“I like you better than Eddie,” Venom commented, which made you hoarsely cackle and Eddie balked angrily. “You’re not a pussy.”

“Thanks, Venom.” After a moment’s hesitation, you added on, “But if you hit me again, I’ll murder you in your sleep.”

“I don't need sleep, but fair enough, little human,” the alien easily said. Then, following a lengthy pause, he asked, “Eddie, what is 90 Day Fiance?”

[stylesberries]

Vegan Cupcakes

Summary: You and Harry have been quarantined together and he needs space.

Genre(s): angst (happy ending)

Word Count: 3.2k

Warning(s): angsty stuff, ~foul language~

You and Harry have been quarantined together for several months now and, despite the difficulty and the severity of the situation, you as a couple are having the time of your lives.

Harry was definitely disappointed and upset about not being able to go touring with Fine Line, but the second he heard the news he thought of you.

He has been donating a lot of money and supplies for those in need of it or unemployed while you took your university classes online.

Spending most of the spring together didn’t feel as suffocating for Harry as summer did. Your classes were over and you didn’t take a summer semester, so your time fully revolved around him. Which he liked.

In the beginning.

Until you clung on him like a koala for days and made him cuddle you all the time, which he enjoyed a lot until it became a routine. Harry couldn’t even tell you how he felt because it would hurt your feelings, so he didn’t say anything at all, keeping it all to himself.

“Baby?” You call for him from the kitchen.

Harry rolls his eyes as you, once again, interrupted his flow of thoughts. He gets up from the couch he was laying on peacefully before and walks towards the kitchen, where you are standing holding up a paper so big it covers your whole face.

“Yes?” Harry asks, trying his best not to come out too rough. You placed the paper on the kitchen island in front of you to look up at Harry. You didn’t pay close attention to his annoyance; you were too busy brainstorming what proportion of flour to sugar to take for your vegan cupcakes.

“Harry, do you think I should take 1:2? Like twice as much flour? Or do you want the cupcakes to be sweeter?” Harry watched you ramble, crossing his arms, feeling ~this~ close to bursting. “Or do you think the cupcakes shouldn’t be that sweet because they’ll have sweet icing on top?” You ket throwing question after question at your fuming boyfriend, still oblivious of his irritation.

“Or maybe we should make them both mildly sweet?” Shut up.

“They will be chocolate anyway, right?” Shut up.

“Would you prefer dark chocola-”

“Y/N, shut up already! Can you stop fucking rambling? My head is going to explode from your talking.” Harry explodes, not letting you finish your question, the excited smile leaving your face.

You felt your head being squeezed from sides, pressure increasing at your temples.

“What?” You ask, hoping that you misheard him, knowing deep down that you didn’t because the Harry you knew and loved would never say such a hurtful thing.

“I said shut up. My brain is buzzing from your talking. Do whatever you fucking want.” Harry said and walked out of the kitchen before you could say something to him.

Thinking that he probably isn’t in a good mood and certainly needs space from your rambling you stay back in the kitchen and go back to your recipe with a broken heart and wet eyes. Your hands shake as you brought the paper back up to your face, failing to read any of the words and measurements through a layer of tears that were collected in your eyes.

Even when you were fighting he had never said anything so mean to you before, especially after he found out that your whole life people have been discouraging you from talking, so you closed off and spoke up only when you were directly called out for not saying anything. It took Harry a couple of months to finally get you to open up to him and talk to him without feeling guilty for it. He used to love it when you rambled on and on about things you’re passionate about. At least that’s what you thought.

You spend the next hour making the batter for your cupcakes and baking them, which only took about fifteen minutes. You felt encouraged to go up to Harry when you smelled the chocolate cupcakes fresh out of the oven.

“I’ll put a couple on a plate.” You spoke to yourself placing the freshly baked cupcakes on Harry’s favorite flower plate. “Just like that.”

Talking to yourself was a way you brushed your nervousness and anxiety away. Harry would catch you talking to your reflection millions of times, just standing and secretly watching you sometimes with a wide smile plastered on his face.

You placed the plate on the tray you brought from your trip to Italy and poured Harry some black coffee, placing it next to the warm plate. You picked the tray up and walked out of the kitchen, making sure to watch your elbows at the doorway.

Making your way towards the living room, where you expected Harry to be, you spotted no grumpy boyfriends there.

“He’s probably in the studio.” You spoke to yourself, refusing to let Harry’s bad mood discourage you.

Harry would rarely hide from you in the studio when you’re fighting, usually he would face you and solve the issue before it grows and hurts you even more, so it was unusual for him to run off there.

You brushed the thought off and watched towards the studio door. As you walked closer you could hear Harry talking to someone, but knowing that there is no one home except you two, you understood that he’s talking on the phone with someone. You stood at the door, turning to the side to place the tray on the floor, freeing your hands to turn back to the door and knock, as you didn’t want to interrupt any important calls or interviews that Harry could have with your talking.

Before your knuckles hit the door, you heard Harry’s voice.

“Man, I mean she’s always next to me. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t wait for her to go back to uni for me to get some air.” Harry whines. Your heart stops before going back to beating at a higher rate, full of anxiety.

“Yeah, right! It just feels as if she’s been dreaming of being touchy-feely with someone and now that I’m finally home she can’t get herself off of me.” Harry kept stabbing your heart and laughed at something the person on the phone said.

With every word, you felt more and more empty. You started walking away from the door, bending over to take the tray with yourself not to leave any traces behind.

How could he say something like that?

I thought he loved me.

You didn’t know what you were doing. Your legs moved on their own and you just followed along, tears leaking from your eyes’ inner corners, tracing a way down to your chin. The salty trail wasn’t getting a chance to dry as new tears followed the same path as the ones before did.

When your body reached the kitchen your shaking hands placed the tray on the counter, Harry’s coffee slightly spilling on the tray.

Pain.

Never before have you thought than sadness could physically hurt so much; it hurt like a bitch.

You placed the tray on the table for Harry to find later and walked out of the kitchen to go back to your bedroom to cry in your pillow while he keeps complaining about you to his friend.

Harry came to bed in a couple of hours closer to the evening after looking for you all over the house to apologize for his rough words. When he saw you laying on your side of the bed, your knees pushed up to your chest, the duvet hardly doing its job keeping you covered and warm, he felt guilt running through his veins.

Walking up to his side, pressing a knee on the mattress first, Harry scooted over to you and pulled the duvet to cover you up. He let his arm stay on the duvet wrapping around your fragile form. He moved his upper body closer to yours, his chest pressing against your duvet-covered back.

“Baby?” Harry spoke softly, cautious not to wake you up. When no answer followed he frowned and positioned his face into the crook of your neck, pressing kisses on your neck.

“I’m sorry about earlier, baby. I was very mean to you.” He spoke against your soft skin. “I shouldn’t have exploded like that. It wasn’t fair to you.”

Harry’s apologies kept following one after another and you stayed silent, keeping your act on. You would’ve believed every word of his if only you haven’t heard him say the things he said about you to someone else.

You kept your eyes closed. Harry’s apologies subsided as he slowly fell asleep cuddled into your back. You stayed up that night, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes. You wished for the pain inside to leave with your tears but it stayed, eating you from inside, until sunrise when you fell asleep from the emotional exhaustion.

When you woke up, Harry was no longer lying next to you and you were thankful for it. You really hoped that he wouldn’t bring yesterday up, even though you knew he would because he never got to apologize to you awake.

Your stomach growled and you remember that you never got to have dinner the day before, falling asleep drowning in your own sadness.

You quickly got up to sneakily walk down to the kitchen, but you were disappointed to have smelled Harry’s signature chocolate waffles in the air. With your shoulders slumped in defeat you walked down the stairs towards your kitchen.

As you walked through the doorway of the kitchen you saw Harry placing the brown waffles onto serving plates and adding sliced strawberries on top. You stopped your heart from fluttering because you, unfortunately, knew more than you’d prefer to know about how your boyfriend actually feels about you.

Harry felt someone’s eyes on him and turned around to be greeted by your indifferent self. He felt his heart sink as he read the hurt from the day before engraved on the surface of your face. Harry kept fidgeting about the table trying to let you pass to sit in your place next to him and placed the plate of waffles in front of you.

“I made you your favorite, baby.” He spoke unsure of how you would react to any words that left his mouth.

You fought the desire to bite into the warm chocolate waffles that your belly was craving after crying all night long and being left hungry for so many hours and walked up to the counter to get yourself a couple of your ill-fated cupcakes.

You couldn’t see Harry’s head lowering as you dashed his hopes to make it better. Little did Harry know you weren’t upset about his outburst about the cupcakes yesterday, so a couple of waffles won’t help to glue together the ruins of your heart that he shattered.

As you bit into the cupcakes, you stood at the counter facing away from the table, Harry took no bites of his breakfast, staring at your back helplessly. Suddenly he felt small and didn’t know what to do.

“I’m sorry about yesterday, Y/N. I acted like a piece of shit. You don’t deserve to be treated like that.” His lips moved as his eyes watched your back for any reaction coming from you, his voice coming out soft and weak.

You stood there, your eyes glossy and your lips curving down in a frown, as you fought back the tears. Harry doesn’t have a single idea of how much pain he’s caused you and how none of these stupid apologies will ever fix the cracks that he left in your heart. You looked over your shoulder at Harry’s similar-to-yours state and hesitated whether or not to open up to him. Harry looked into your eyes with his and held a breath, hoping that you would figure things out. Your eyes broke the eye contact by looking down and speaking up.

“It’s okay.” You spoke and abandoned your plate, walking out of the kitchen, Harry’s eyes observing your every movement.

For the next couple of days, you stayed away from Harry and things were pretty cold between you. Harry would come up to you every day trying to apologize but you wouldn’t let him finish any of those times, leaving the room right away. Hurt was eating you from inside and you didn’t care what he had to say. Harry chose to sleep in the guest bedroom not to make you uncomfortable and you thanked him for it.

As time went by, you cooled down and felt better yourself. Harry gave you all the space you needed and it helped your healing process. You still hurt but you could talk to him now at least. Things went back to normal in most ways except one: you would stop yourself from expressing any kind of affection to Harry and he wouldn’t say anything but it drove him insane. He didn’t know why you wouldn’t kiss or snuggle him like you used to. You also started talking less because of your fight and Harry noticed every single change in your behavior and beat himself up for it.

“Y/N.” Harry walked into the bedroom with an i-can’t-do-this-anymore face on. Your eyes had to abandon the indulging book you were reading as Harry closed the door behind him, which meant he was determined to finally face the difficulty of the situation. Noticing the mood in the room change to a serious one, you placed the book on the bedside table and crossed your legs under the duvet, focusing all of your attention on your restless boyfriend with arms crossed.

“Mhm?” You ask, waiting for him to spit out whatever he’s been putting aside for almost two weeks.

“I’m sorry for that fight, okay? I really am, sweetheart. You haven’t been the same since then and it scares me. I didn’t mean to go off at you like that. You didn’t deserve it at all. I was exhausted and felt shitty myself and took it out on you. It’s not an excuse to yell at you and be so mean, I understand and I’m sorry, beautiful. It was a mistake and it won’t happen again, I promise. Please forgive me, Y/N.” Harry spoke so desperately, his emotions all over the place. He started gesticulating, which you knew meant that he was anxious and frustrated.

“I’m not mad at that, Harry. I forgave you.” You spoke the truth; Harry looked at you with even more frustration behind his now-glossy eyes.

“But you don’t even touch me anymore! You don’t kiss me! You don’t even want to be near-” Harry lets all of his insecurities out, oblivious to the flow of your own that you prepare to pour on him. You couldn’t sit there and listen to him accuse you of being neglectful towards him so you broke in to speak yourself.

“You don’t want me to be around you anymore! You said that yourself! You-you said-” Your voice cracks as tears build up in the corners of your eyes. It became hard to talk. “-said I’m always next to you and you need some space from me always being there.”

The tears that were collecting in your eyes were streaming down your cheeks, Harry’s glance reflecting off of them. Harry couldn't understand what you were referring to but kept listening to you.

“And you didn’t even have the guts to tell me yourself. You whined about how annoying I am to your friend, embarrassing me. It’s supposed to be something kept between us two, not discussed with your friends.” Every word stabbed his heart in same places as it did yours.

Harry’s mind went straight to the call you were talking about. He felt his intestines turn into a knot inside of him, causing him to feel nauseous. He felt like an asshole. It was fair because he was one indeed.

I hurt her.

You don’t want to be around me anymore.

Does she really think that?

You need space from me.

My baby. My angel.

What a fucking piece of shit am I to hurt my precious love like this.

You saw right through Harry’s sudden self-hatred despite the two layers of salty tears between your eyes and his.

“I’m so sorry.” Harry’s apologies filled the room, as pain continued to fill his soul.

“I hurt you. I’m so fucking sorry. It was so wrong to share something so personal with anyone except you. I didn’t even know what I was saying. I can’t live without you.” Harry’s cries became louder and louder as his regret first doubled and then tripled in size. “Your hands, your lips, your beautiful eyes - I can’t live without those things on me constantly. I was such a fool to think that I needed space from you. You’re the love of my life! I love you so fucking much. I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N. I-” Harry's voice was cut by him having to take deep breaths to keep himself together. He placed a hand over his chest breathing in deeply.

You ripped the blanket off of yourself watching Harry closely, getting ready to sprint to his inhaler in case he needs it. Harry saw your reaction to his heavy breathing and rose his hand to gesture that he’s okay. You let out a relieved sign and scooted closer to the end of the bed where Harry stood. When he caught up with his breathing he looked down at you, moving to get on his knees in front of the bed. Harry’s hands flew up to cup your cheeks softly, giving you time to stop him if you wanted to.

“I love you so much, baby. I can’t express how sorry I am to hurt you so much. I don’t need any space from you. I can’t function properly without you on me all the time, without you wrapped in my arms.” Harry spoke and tears kept running down his face. You watched his eyes jump from one side of your face to the other, trying to absorb every single line and curve of your face.

“Fuck, I’ve missed looking at you so fucking much,” Harry speaks up, his face frowning as new tears start flowing out of his eyes. The frown on Harry’s face became more prominent as he understood the severity of the pain he had caused you.

”It’s all my fault.” Harry cries, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, your arms wrapping around him. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

Harry kept apologizing the whole night and many days after, not letting you walk further than an arm length away from him. It took him a lot of effort to kick the insecurities that he birthed out of your head, but he kept proving himself to you over and over again.

He is an arrogant son of a bitch, but nonetheless he loves you more than himself.

© all right belong to stylesberries. do not repost or modify.

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

Wrong Number, Asshole - A Bakugou Katsuki Soulmate AU

All Parts 

Part 22:

You closed your phone, rolling your eyes at his words. 

You were a floor down from Bakugou’s hospital room, currently stood in front of the vending machine. After your collective screaming match, you’d quickly realized just how hungry you were. Apparently, arguing and yelling so much works up one hell of an appetite- who knew? So now here you were, standing in front of the machine, holding a wad of horribly crinkled money Bakugou had insistently and unwaveringly shoved at you on your way out.

Originally, you had fully intended to pay for your own snacks. You’d even sneakily tried to grab your wallet as you left, but apparently that didn’t work. He saw you, because of course he did. So, waffling over it for just barely another second, you put your own money away. You knew Bakugou wasn’t bluffing- or probably wasn’t. It wouldn’t surprise you at all if he truly did know how expensive the vending machine was, down to the very last cent of each item. He was weird like that.

You shrugged, if he wanted you to use his money so badly than you weren’t gonna pick at fight over it. You selected a bag of chips for yourself, and the gross-looking health bar Bakugou had requested- because apparently, even while already uncomfortable and injured, Bakugou didn’t have an easy time giving himself a break. 

When you walked back, entering the hospital room once more, Bakugou wasn’t alone. You couldn’t tell what surprised you more- the three police officers crowding his bed, or the man standing off to the side. A man with hair so obviously fake and stop-sign red that it nearly nauseated you.

You weren’t sure how to proceed, whether or not you were even supposed to be hearing this conversation, but you didn’t have to flounder for long. The red-haired man saw you almost immediately and began making his way over. 

“Hey! How’s it going? I’m so sorry, but Dynamite’s actually not taking visitors right now!” He says, says brightly. Then he’s spinning you around and pushing at your shoulders lightly to get you moving out the door. “My name’s Kirishima though, and I can totally, totally, help you back downstairs to wait with the other civilians!”

“No, but I-” You start, your feet barely able to move as fast as Kirishima is dragging you along. “I have to-”

“Yeah, I get it! And that’s so totally nice of you to want to thank him, super, super nice,” Kirishima interrupts you, leading you down the hallway. “But he’s real busy talking to the police right now so-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! I’m his soulmate!” You pull your wrist out of his light grip, halting. “My name’s Y/n L/n.”

“Wait-” Kirishima stops in his tracks, suddenly spinning around to face you. “How do you know that name?”

“Oh my god-” You huff in frustration, shaking Kirishima’s hands off you. “You sound just like Bakugou. It’s- that’s my name- like, my actual name, okay! How else would I know it if it wasn’t me?” 

A beat of silence as you watch his eyes widen.

“So you’re really her?” He says in disbelief.

“Yes! Obviously,” You pinch the bridge of your nose, breathing through your irritation. “Now would you knock it off and let me go back to his room? I get it- you’re like, security, or whatever, but I’m not a civilian and I-”

“He’s gonna kill me.” Kirishima pales in front of you, suddenly grabbing your wrist again and pulling you fast in the direction of Bakugou’s room. “Oh god, he’s gonna kill me.” 

“W-what? Why?” You stumble, nearly falling into his back. “Hey! Slow down!” 

“Because I totally manhandled you out the door- god, that was so not manly of me!” He breathes out quickly, but he listens and drops your wrist, slowing down to a pace you could keep up with. “I’m sorry, it’s just- I thought you were a civilian, you know? They’ve been crawling all over the waiting room since I got here, sneakin’ up and trying to thank him, and I thought you were one of ‘em.”

“Thank him? For what?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Um- no?”

It’s hits you then that you didn’t really know why Bakugou was in the hospital in the first place. Only that he was ‘held up’ and then hurt and had been absent for the last two weeks. You wanted to smack yourself in the face. You’d spent the entire afternoon yelling and arguing with him and absolutely not asking the important questions. Well- you did ask some questions, but not enough. Apparently.

“Wow, figures. You know, that’s just like our guy Bakugou! Always talkin’ so much but still never bragging about all the actual cool shit he pulls off.” Kirishima rubs the back of his neck awkwardly for a moment. “C’mon, lets hurry back. I really don’t think he’d be too happy if I was the one who told ya everything.” 

You have a million and one questions sitting on your tongue but quickly decide you’d much rather ask Bakugou than the man standing in front of you. You pick up your pace, finally once again in front of Room 427. When you enter, the police are leaving, all three of them walking past you on their way out. 

“Hey! Shitty Hair!” Bakugou seems to ignore you, instead choosing to yell, loudly, at Kirishima. “Who the fuck gave you permission to go around draggin’ her like that? I fuckin’ saw you, you imbecile!”

“Hey!” The red-head whines, hands out and placating. “How was I supposed to know? You didn’t say anything, man! I didn’t know, okay?”

“It doesn’t fuckin’ matter, you dumbass, I’m not gonna let you just fuckin-” Bakugou starts, but then he whips his head around toward you, eyes catching yours. “Oi- Idiot. What the hell are you standin’ around in the doorway like that for, hah? Look stupid as shit.” 

“Bakugou!” Kirishima seems appalled, grabbing at his chest dramatically. “You can’t talk to her like that! She’s-”

“Perfectly fucking capable of defending herself, thank you very much.” You snark, walking towards Bakugou and tossing the health bar at him lightly. He doesn’t expect it and you watch as it hits him squarely in the chest. You smile. “Real nice catch, angry man.” 

“Woulda fuckin’ caught it if I was in top shape.” He grumbles, but then he’s smirking and opening the snack just the same. “Anyways- yeah, that’s Shitty Hair. Sorry he fuckin’ sucks.” 

You clasp a hand over your as a laugh escapes. Kirishima doesn’t seem to think it’s nearly as funny as you do, and you watch as his face seizes.

“Hey, man! What the hell!” 

“You deserve it, bitch! Shouldn’t a fuckin’ grabbed her like that and dragged her wherever the fuck.” Bakugou shrugs. “If you don’t wanna be told you suck, then don’t fuckin’ suck! It’s easy as shit- even for a clown like you.”

Kirishima just groans, hands beginning to wave emphatically. “Do you even know how many people I stopped from walking in here? I did it for you, man!” 

“Yeah. Whatever.” Bakugou barks, taking a bite of the health bar. He chews for all of a second, before talking through a mouthful of food. “You should fuckin’ leave.” 

“What? Why do I-” Kirishima pauses a second, blinks, looks at you, and then a smirk begins to tug at his lips. “Oh, I get it! Totally manly, Bakugou! It’s because of h-”

“No!” Bakugou defends, his cheeks reddening slightly. “It’s- fuckin’ police, shitty hair! Told ‘em to wait outside. They wanna talk to your dumbass- They have more idiotic fuckin’ questions about after I passed out.” 

“Oh. Yeah. Okay.” Kirishima nods, moving towards the door. “You want me to come back later?”

“No.” Bakugou growls.

That, you notice, strangely doesn’t seem to make Kirishima upset? He instead smiles brightly at Bakugou, giving him a thumbs up, and leaves, pulling the door shut behind him.

It’s suddenly quiet in the room, but you don’t let it last long. You’ve got answers to pry out of your soulmate.

“So- heard you passed out, angry man.” You state simply, dropping once again in the chair next to his bedside. “When’d that happen?”

“Few days ago. Been here since then.”

You roll your eyes at his short answer. Leave it up to Bakugou to tell you only what you literally asked for and absolutely nothing else.

“Okay. But how? Where?” You ask. “What about before then?”

Bakugou huffs at all your questions, but then he’d nodding and answering all the same.

“Had to fuckin’ save this man from hittin’ the ground real hard so I took all the impact. Hit my head or something, when I hit the ground, and I broke a bunch of shitty bones. Guess I was out a few days, and then I woke up here. Then I fuckin’ called you or whatever.”

“You- you took a fall? That knocked you out? For days?” You gasped. “How goddamn far was the fall? Jesus!” 

“Four stories.” Bakugou says, and the uneffected, factual way he says it makes your blood go cold. “My fault. Shoulda been faster but I was already fuckin’ weak from bein’ captured.” 

  “Captured?”

“Yeah. Went undercover and tried to infiltrate this villian lair, and the fuckin’ stupid group of villians lumped me in with a bunch of other hostages.” He grunted. “I tried to blow ‘em all the fuck up, once I realized, but they had this absolute bitch, with a stupid fuckin’ siren quirk! Sang a bunch of shitty, annoying, fuckin’ songs that paralyzed me. Couldn’t do a damn thing! For over a week!”

“O-okay.” You nodded shakily. “Then what happened? How’d you get out?”

“Fuckin’ didnt. Just sat there, stuck on my ass, kept barely alive by that stupid bitch and her henchman!” Bakugou barked, hands clenching into fists. “Then shitty hair and a few other fuckers came and knocked her out- they stayed to fight the rest of the other villians or whatever but I was still too fuckin’ weak to fight so I rounded up the other hostages.”

“So you fell saving one of them?”

“Yeah. Stupid kid stayed to watch the fight, like a complete fuckin’ idiot, and got blasted by a villian out the window.” Bakugou flushes, averting his eyes. “I jumped out after him. To save him or whatever.”

You nod, very minutely smiling as you looked at his flushing face.

You were proud of him.

He might’ve been bad- had done bad in the past, but it seemed like that wasn’t all Bakugou was. He had good in him. A lot of good. He nearly finished himself off saving an innocent after all- that had to a least make him some sort of a hero.

“Well- okay....That all- that all sounds fucking horrifying, but I get it. It’s your job, right?” You sigh. “I’m just glad you made it out alive. I was really scared, you know?”

“Hah? Scared? Now why the fuck would ya go and do something stupid like that?”

“Because you weren’t answering me!”

“I told you I’d be gone!” Bakugou defends, before pulling out his phone. “Look! Fuckin’ sent ya the texts and everything!”

“You said a few days! Not 2 fucking we-“ You paused. “Wait. Why did you say a few days in the first place?”

“Knew it was gonna be fuckin’ dangerous when I left, so, you know,” He averted his eyes, voice coming out low and guilty. “Was supposed to be incase I got hurt. And was fuckin’ out or something. So you wouldn’t wor-“

“Worry?” You groaned, running a frustrated hand through your hair. “It didn’t- I was worried! I thought something happened! Or worse I thought that-“

“Worse? Fuck you mean, shitty woman? What the fuck stupid conclusion did you come to that’s worse than dyin’?”

“Bakugou,” You huffed, your shoulders sagging. “I thought maybe, that maybe you wouldn’t tell me anything because you were a bad guy- a bad villian.”

Bakugou’s face crumples. His angry eyebrows fall and his puffed out cheeks deflate, and his mouth closes tip-lipped and tense over sharp teeth. He looks devastated. “It- I didn’t-“ He struggles and you’ve never heard his voice sound so small before. “Y-you don’t think that, right? Now?”

“No!” You try to recover, hands out and assuring. “It’s- after the video, maybe? I did, b-but not now! Not now.”

He doesn’t say anything- won’t meet your eyes.

“Look, Bakugou,” You clear your throat. “I only know you as you are now, not who you were before. And I think- I think that maybe, now you’re almost a different person than before. So that’s why it was a shock. To see you like that. To see you so hateful.”

You duck your head, just barely catching his eyes before he averts them again.

“But that’s not you anymore? Right? You’re not that guy. So it’s okay. We’re okay.” You sigh. “Will you look at me? Please?”

He doesn’t, just continues fiddling with the thin blankets trapped between his shaking fingers.

“Why wouldn’t you just tell me?” You ask, tone pleading. “I feel like, maybe, if I didn’t have to find out like tha-“

“Woulda been the same. ‘S always the same.” He interrupts, voice barely there. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t- because it would’ve- there would’ve- you fuckin’ wouldn’t-“

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and sitting still for a few moments.

“You wouldn’ta kept fuckin’ talking to me.” He admits. He looks so small in that moment that it nearly breaks you. “Didn’t wanna- I didn’t wanna wait all my life, have this fuckin’ tattoo for so long and still have nothing because I was stupid.”

You pause, the breath knocked out of your chest.

“What- I- how long have you had your tattoo?”

Bakugou lifts his head, finally looking at you. He looks bewildered. Scared, even.

“My whole fuckin’ life- didn’t you?”

“No!” You cried desperately. “I told you, remember? Over text, the first time I talked to you! The day my tattoo appeared!”

“You were serious about that shit?” His voice is utter disbelief, eyebrows creasing together. “I thought- I thought-“

“What?”

“It’s- it’s not the first time somebody has gotten my number and told me they’re my fuckin’ soulmate. So I didn’t think it was real- thought you were jokin’ or somethi-“

“Excuse me?”

“It’s not- don’t,” He stutters, blushing just a bit. “Being a pro-hero, people always say weird shit to me for fame. So I’ve gotten that before- a fuckin’ random text saying they’re my soulmate.”

“What?” You ask, voice offended. “Who- why- I don’t get it-“

“Every hero gets ‘em- even one’s that don’t even have a fuckin’ soulmate.” Bakugou says. “I guess maybe they just text everybody or some shit- I don’t know? Didn’t matter to me I always jus’ blocked ‘em.”

You could hardly believe your ears, feeling winded as you brought a hand to your chest.

Bakugou had a tattoo- your name for his entire life.

He’d know about you his entire life.

Had been waiting on you for his entire life.

“Why- why’d you believe me?” You ask quietly. “If you didn’t believe the others, why me?”

“Ya told me your name.” He pulls aside his hospital gown, exposing the writing on his ribcage. “It’s- if ya didn’t, I wouldn’ta believed you.”

On his side, just under the last rib, is your name. It’s a simple tattoo- small, but it’s there, and in your handwriting.

“That’s my name.” You say dumbly.

“Obviously, sunshine.” He sort of laughs, something a little sad but a little happy too. “Only been waitin’ my entire life for your dumb ass.”

“Why didn’t you look for me?” You can’t help but ask, pressing your against against your suddenly stinging eyes. “If you knew- why?”

Bakugou goes quiet again, dropping his hospital gown back down. His tattoo is covered, but that doesn’t matter to you, you couldn’t forget the look of it if you tried.

It’s a long few moments before Bakugou speaks again.

“It wouldn’t- I wasn’t ready-“ His voice is low, quiet, the most vulnerable you’ve ever heard it be. “Before now- I wouldn’t have been good. For you.”

He sighs, shifting uncomfortably in the hospital bed.

“Think- I think maybe that’s why yours didn’t come in ‘till now. Wouldn’t of fuckin’ worked before.”

When you pull your palms away from your eyes, it’s like you’re seeing him again for the very first time.

It’s strange- the way your heart seems to be breaking entirely and rebuilding itself completely all at the same time. It’s a wave crashing against your ribs- pushing and pulling and tumbling and pushing and pulling and turning and twisting and- calming when you look at his face. When you look at the way his hair sits and the way his jaw slopes and the way his eyes meet yours. It’s death and completetion and rebirth and red, red wildfire.

It’s your old life scorching and curling and burning up. And it’s your new, better, warmer life rising from the ashes.

“God, I’m so fucking glad I said my name.” You gasp, tears freely falling from your eyes.

Bakugou smiles, so soft and warm and fond. “I know idiot.”

You just laugh at the name, choking on tears and snot and emotion, but you’re smiling. You’re smiling and smiling and it feels like you’re never gonna stop smiling. Will never have to again.

Because he’s him and you’re you and finally- finally, you’re together.

It takes a long while for you to calm down, for your tears to stop falling. But when you finally do, when you finally feel okay, Bakugou’s already looking at you.

So how long are ya plannin’ to fuckin’ stay, idiot?”

“Huh?” You shook your head, tears still drying on your cheeks. “I literally- but- but no- I- D-do you want me to leave?”

“No!” Bakugou groans in frustration. “That’s not- can’t ya just listen to the words I say without fuckin’ readin’ into them all the time?”

“Yes?” You say unsurely, but then your shoulders drop and you sigh. “Actually no. Probably not, sorry I-”

“I told you not to fuckin’ apologize, remember?”

“Yeah,” You say sadly. “But it’s not exactly that easy.”

The room is quiet again, and Bakugou is smoothing out his hospital gown, fidgeting with the tie on the side. He looks nervous, his cheeks red, and his voice comes out quiet and strained when he speaks.

“If- if I gotta work on me not screamin’ and bein’ angry all the time then you gotta stop apologizin’ and worryin’ so goddamn much.” He takes a deep breath, finally turning to look at you but only to just barely make eye contact. “It-we can fuckin’ do it together or whatever. Idiot.” 

You blink, almost shaking your head in disbelief. Bakugou was sitting in front of you, blushing and grimacing and had just said something borderline sweet? Out loud? To you? You huff half a laugh when you look at him once more, at his intense eyebrows and his red cheeks and his pinched expression. He looked constipated. Like saying the words physically pained him.

You soulmate was an utter drama queen, a certifiable child- and you just found it adorable.

“Okay,” You wiped your final tears away, leaned forward on your elbows. Your chest hits the side of his hospital bed, and, extending your hand, you meet his eyes. “Pinky swear on it, then?”

“What? No! You makin’ fun of me? That’s- that’s-” Bakugou growls, but then he sees the hopeful look in your eyes. You watch as his irritated expression melts away and he grumbles as he extends his own hand. “Fine. Whatever.”

When you loop your pinky around his, pulling his arm until it lies flush against yours, you think it feels right. To be that close to him. To be touching him at all, really. You wonder if it’ll always feel like that- if the completeness you feel will ever fade.

 You hope it doesn’t. 

You think Bakugou must feel it too, his eyes focused on the way your skin meets. Something guarded in his gaze softens, almost minutely, but you don’t miss it. 

“Happy?” He suddenly says. He waves your connected hands in the air, but makes no move to shake free from your grip. “Feel all fuckin’ better now, idiot?”

“Much.” You smile something small and tender. “Thanks, Katsuki.”

Pop.

You yank your hand back in surprise, jumping slightly at the tiny zap you’d just felt on your pinky. It didn’t hurt, didn’t feel like much really- If you had to compare it, it was very similar to tiny, electro-static shocks you’d felt before when touching carpet.

“Did- did you?”

“No!” He yells, hand still left in the air. “I didn’t so fuckin’ shut up about it- it was nothing! You didn’t feel anything! Nothing happened! It didn’t happen! I-”

Mid way through his rant, Bakugou grabs at you hand, awkwardly jabbing his fingers into your palm before he finally just laces then through yours. He continues like he didn’t, though, not taking a single breath between his words.

“-And even if I did- which I didn’t- it’s your fuckin fault! So just- so just shut up about it already!” He huffs, absolutely red in the face as he averts his eyes. He grumbles. “Idiot.”

You just smile, giving his hand a squeeze. 

Bakugou won’t look at you, his eyes trained on quite literally anything else, but you think you seem him smile too. Something small, and unsure, and barely there- just the tiniest hint of his lip curling up. 

He squeezes back. 

--//--

hope u all enjoy,, luv u!!

[duskholland]

What about a Soft!Mob!Tom where the reader is suuper pregnant and tom gets anything she needs (like cravings or something), and even cuddles her.

Love u

grrr this is so cute. so so so so so cute. thanks for requesting! cw: food. 

– it’s mob monday !! –

“How’s that, darling? Is that better?”

Tom’s looking at you, concern written across his face. His tie hangs loosely around his neck, his shirt crumpled. For the last two minutes, he’s been fussing around you, trying to fluff up the pillow behind your back so you’ll be comfortable. It doesn’t matter how much you move and try to reposition—there’s been a sharp pain jabbing into your lower back for the last hour, and it’s been incredibly irritating.

You hum, shifting around slightly as you test the waters with this new position. A broad smile finds your mouth.

“Better!” You announce. You sigh as you lay back, your hand drifting to rest on the curve of your baby bump. You’re eight months pregnant, and though you’re enjoying your pregnancy for the most part, it’s grown tiresome. Your hormones are all over the place, your feet hurt all the time, and the cravings have been incredibly intense. 

“Can I get you anything else?” Tom asks. He reaches down to rest his palm on your belly, his pinky finger wrapping around yours. His eyes are tired but still so full of love, and you feel your heart do a backflip as you meet them.

“No, I’m okay.” You link your hand with his and squeeze him softly. “You should go back to your meeting. I’ll be fine here.”

He frowns, his eyebrows scrunching together. “If you need anything—anything—you call me. Okay?”

You bite back the smile that threatens to seize hold of your features, and nod. Tom’s been incredibly protective for the entire duration of your pregnancy, looking after you more than you’d ever expected him to. He’s always taken care of you, but it’s been upped—he’s uneasy whenever he doesn’t have an eye on you and doesn’t like being away from you for too long. He’s incredibly doting, and giving, and patient, and you love him so much it makes your heart hurt.

“Go,” you urge, knowing he’d happily blow off another meeting for you. “I just need to rest. Go do your job, mister.”

He kisses the back of your hand before begrudgingly stepping away.

“Fine,” he grumbles. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

For a while, you flick through the programmes on the large tv attached to the wall of your bedroom, only paying partial attention as you’re between sleep and consciousness. However, when a cooking show comes on screen, you find yourself waking up. You look at the screen, your eyes widening as they fall upon the delicious spread of food. Suddenly, you feel an incredibly strong, inconvenient craving come on.

You groan as you reach out, looking for your phone. You’re distracted by the tv as you write out some simple messages to Tom.

You: hey can someone get me one of those waffles from that market in camden pls You: a really big one with the strawberries and the syrup on You: please xxxx You: oh and cinnamon. thanks

Tom: give me ten minutes

You smile as you put your phone back on the mattress, stretching your arms out above your head as you sigh happily. Tom’s got men on the ground all across the city, so you don’t feel as bad as you did when you’d begged him to go out at 3am to bring you KFC. He’d done it, because he loves you, but you’d still felt guilty. It eases your heart to know he’ll probably just relay the message to someone else and then continue with his meeting, unbothered.

Instead, you find the bedroom door opening nine minutes later, and in strolls Tom, waffle in hand, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“Here you go, my darling,” he announces. He passes you the plate and kisses your forehead before waltzing off to the side, his fingers going to his tie.

“Fuck,” you moan, taking the first bite of your food and feeling your tastebuds delight. “Thank you.” You look to Tom and frown as you see he’s stripping off. “Wait, what about your meeting?”

Tom quirks an eyebrow. “You need me,” he says, stating it as a fact.

You nod along, deciding not to tell him that you needed the waffle, not him, because now he’s walking towards you, shirtless and in a pair of grey sweats, and you realise...yeah. You’d quite like a cuddle.

“Definitely,” you agree. You finish eating and Tom takes the plate, putting it on the side. He offers you a glass of water, then waits for you to finish that too before approaching the bed. “Ah, fuck. I need to pee.”

Tom briefly rolls his eyes, well used to this by now. “You always need to pee,” he teases. He pulls back the duvet and offers you both hands, which you gratefully accept.

“Yeah, well, try carrying around a baby, and maybe then you’d understand.”

Tom kisses your temple before you walk away. You’re quick through the bathroom, and you find yourself yawning as you dry your hands on one of the soft cotton towels. When you walk back into the bedroom, you discover it considerably tidier than you’d left it. Tom’s apparently passed over it like some sort of cleaning fairy, and he’s moved away all the scattered clothes and dress pillows. He’s sitting in bed waiting for you, the big light switched off, and he’s apparently just as prepared as you to have a nap despite it only being late afternoon.

“You’re very cute,” you say as you get back into bed. You snuggle down and Tom curls into your side, throwing one of his legs over yours as he presses his face into your neck. His hand goes to your bump as he kisses up your neck, very softly.

“What d’you mean?” He mumbles, voice quiet and soft. His fingers draw light circles over your belly, and you hum contentedly. Already, you’re feeling sleepier, just from the darkness in the room and the warmth coming off Tom’s figure.

“So attentive,” you say. “So sweet. So...soft.”

Tom grumbles into your neck. “‘M not soft.”

“Yes, you are.” You snuggle further into the duvet and smile into the darkness. “Ditching your meetings for me, bringing me whatever I want, cuddling me all the time… You’re a big softie, Tom. It’s cute.”

“Hmph.” Tom rubs your stomach gently. “I just want to make sure that you’re okay. Happy mum, happy baby.” You roll your eyes as he repeats the buzz phrase which has characterised your pregnancy. Happy mum, happy baby has been his mantra. You aren’t complaining. It’s worked out quite well for you.

“Yeah, but when the baby’s here, you’ll be ditching me for her.”

“Never, darling, never.” Tom chuckles as he kisses your jaw. “You’ll just need to share the spotlight. Can you do that?”

You bring a hand up to play with his hair. “I think I’ll be able to figure something out,” you reply. You’re quiet for a few moments, your eyelids falling shut as you let yourself relax. You’re very content, with Tom’s soft curls against your neck and his soft breathing fanning out across your skin. You feel full of love. “‘M sleepy.”

“Go to sleep,” he whispers. Tom turns his head to kiss your shoulder. “I’m here.”

“Okay,” you mumble, yawning. One of your hands goes to rest on your stomach, and Tom repositions his palm so it’s resting on top of yours.

“Sweet dreams,” he coos. “Sleep well.”

[drawing-way-outside-the-lines]

➖ Mature content, 18+ ➖ check the trigger tags each time ➖      

Chapter 31 - Why are you in my kitchen?

Episode 5. Adrian: Fuck! *He groaned lightly and shook his head, and slow ran after Raven, catching him midway on the small path separating Adrian's lot from the main dirt road* Raven! *he grabbed his arm firmly* Raven: *He spun around fast, his eyes full of tears* Just let me fucking go Adrian! I'm tired of this back and forwards shit between the two of us! Adrian: Please... listen! *he sighed soft* Raven: For what? Another insult?! I think you keep forgetting that no matter how hard you try to picture me as the boogie man, there's a person underneath as well... a person with feelings despite what you believe! And I'm tired of getting hurt just for the sake of spending 5 more minutes with the man I wish I didn't love! Adrian: *He frowned surprised* Love?

Raven: What? You think I have nothing better to do than stalk someone I have a simple crush on? Fuck! You really are the most- Adrian: *Now he grabbed Raven's other arm, pulling him tight against himself, as he leaned in and planted a firm kiss on Raven's lips* Raven: *He quickly pushed himself away* What the fuck are you doing?!? Adrian: *He sighed irritated* Kissing you! Raven: Why?! So you can brush your teeth with a steel brush as well and kick me in the crotch about it?! I suppose I forced you to do that as well?!? Adrian: No! You didn't force me to do anything, I kissed you to make you shut up for a second, so I can tell you I DO see you differently! Perhaps not in the way you had hoped... but I do see that you are a person with feelings, and I do understand I have hurt you... a lot... and I'm truly sorry, and if I can in any way, I wanna make it up to you! Raven: ..... *he sighed soft, actually feeling speechless, he had given up hope of ever getting through to Adrian, but as he gave up, he had seemed to get through anyway* okay *he frowned soft* apology accepted. Adrian: *He sighed soft*.... I'll try to be nicer Raven: *He couldn't help but snort* Adrian: *A soft chuckle escaping him* Raven: You're an ass. Adrian: ... yeah, I know *he sighed deep* Raven: I'm sorry about the basement Adrian: *He frowned deep again, taking a deep breath* I... liked it *he mumbled low* Raven: What?! Adrian: You heard me *he grumbled and took a drag of his cig, looking up at the sky* it stays between us, and I'll never admit it again! Raven: *He did his best to conceal a smile* Of course not. Adrian: *And then he did perhaps the most unexpected thing ever, both to himself and Raven. He reached out and wrapped his arms around Raven, hugging him tight* We've been through a lot of things together, haven't we? Raven: *He sighed soft* Yes. Adrian: *He nodded soft* *And they stood there several minutes, quietly hugging, till suddenly Raven spoke again* Raven: You're getting cold. Adrian: *He let go of Raven and looked down himself, realizing he was still only wearing a towel* Shit! Raven: *He chuckled lightly* I'll head home so you can get inside to your man Adrian: *A light wrinkle formed on his nose* I'm starving.. so I bet you are too... how about... you come in for a peaceful breakfast? Raven: *He looked surprised at Adrian* ..... yeah... if you're sure? Adrian: *He nodded lightly* why not? I bet the night *he looked at the sky again, realizing it was turning purple* well morning can't get more awkward than it already has been... Raven: *He chuckled lightly* I'm sure you can manage just fine Adrian: *He glared lightly but couldn't help but chuckle, then turned around, walking towards his house* come on! Raven: *He chuckled softly and quickly wiped his eyes, hurrying to catch up with Adrian* Sam: *He smiled soft at the two of them as they entered the house* there's coffee already *he nodded at two mugs by the dining table* Waffles and eggs are coming in a few minutes.... Adrian: *He smiled soft and walked to Sam, kissing his temple lightly* thank you! Sam: Thank you for making peace *he smiled warmly at Adrian* Adrian: *He sighed deep* I'm trying... Sam: *He nodded lightly* and that's the perfect start. Adrian: *He turned and looked at Raven gesturing towards his dining table* Sit down... grab a mug... m... make yourself at home. Raven: *He smiled softly and slowly walked to the table, grabbing a mug, sipping it lightly as he sat down* Adrian: *He sighed soft* Sam: I'm proud of you *he said in a lowered soft voice* it means the world to him. All he wants is for you to finally bury the hatch and accept him. Adrian: Yes *he sighed soft* I'm starting to get that. Sam: *He smiled warmly* Better late than never. Adrian: *He nodded lightly, then walked to the table and sat down on the opposite side of Raven, grabbing the second mug, taking a large sip* I still prefer my morning coffee as quiet as possible. Raven: *He smiled lightly* Me too. *It was just past noon as Andy woke up. The bed next to him was empty. He sighed soft, and was just about to feel depressed, as he remembered the kiss the night before... or kisses. Sure Dalton had made it sound all casual, but it hadn't been just casual to Andy. He smiled soft as he brushed the tip of his fingers over his lips, then decided it was no time to lay around and feel sad about an empty bed! He quickly got up, got his pants and socks on, then lit a cig and walked to the bathroom. He quickly peed, did his best to brush his teeth with a finger and some tooth paste, ran his fingers through his hair to look somewhat presentable, then cheerfully walked downstairs. Hm. It seemed empty as well? It did however smell like coffee, so he walked into the kitchen, spotting a note on the counter. This time it wasn't Malou's handwriting, but Dalton's. He smiled bright, running a finger over the paper, as if it was Dalton's skin. 'Morning! There's coffee on the machine, and a fridge full of food, help yourself to whatever you need. We're in the studio. Feel free to come down, if you want to. - D' He smiled bright and spoke loudly to himself as he poured himself a large mug of coffee* Seeing you work, hearing you sing, together with my morning coffee? Don't mind if I do *he chuckled hoarsely at himself and walked to the hallway, struggling a bit to get his boots on with one hand then finally made his way out the door. He happily jumped down the stairs, one by one, making sure not to spill his coffee. Then next flight of stairs, leading to the basement. He observed Dalton and Malou through the windows in the door for a moment, before he opened and walked in* Dalton: *He turned around immediately* Hey! *he smiled happily and waved a hand to signal Andy to come join them*

Andy: *He sipped his coffee as he quickly crossed the floor, and stopped by the two of them, sitting by a desk*

Dalton: Listen to this *he nodded at the screen and started a song they had clearly been recording* tell me what you think

Andy: *He nodded softly and listened to the music, the lyrics, the voices... tabbing a foot here and there* It's good... it's really good! *He smiled happily* it's probably the best I have heard in a while. A bit darker than usual... like you are finding back to your roots...

Dalton: *He smiled softly* yeah that's thanks to Malou... she's the one who helped me get back on track

Andy: *He sighed soft, of course it was! But at the same time, he was happy for her... seemingly starting to form a bond with Dalton he could only dream of* it's really good *he smiled softly at Malou* I like your bit too, very melancholic, it hits the right spot.

Dalton: See I told you! *he exclaimed excitedly* I told you you're much better than you think you are!

Malou: *She blushed lightly, clearly getting shy as she chuckled awkwardly* Thanks *she smiled softly at Andy*

Dalton: I told you your voice is much better than you think, as long as you get a bit of training in using it!

Andy: Yeah, I always thought she has a good voice...

Dalton: *He nodded agreeing* Yeah!

Malou: *About to turn as small as a mouse so she could escape into a crack in a wall, forcing an awkward smile*

Andy: Don't be so modest *he chuckled hoarse*

Dalton: *He shrugged lightly* I like it... I think it's rather cute... and refreshing...

Malou: *Definitely full on blushing and quickly got up* Anyone need anything to drink? No okay, only me then? *she hurried towards the small kitchen corner, finding a quick escape in trying to brew herself a cup of tea with trembling hands. He really liked her voice!?! Well they both did, and she did appreciate Andy's compliment as well, more than she could describe. BUT... Dalton.Liked.Her.Voice. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And well the whole song, which was actually mainly HER lyrics!!!!!!! She could hardly contain herself from screaming of excitement. Instead she quickly finished her tea and sipped it with a wide grin, while observing the boys working together, talking about stuff she yet had no understanding of, the more technical part of the process of making a song. The last fine tunes, if you may. It was all coming true! Her dreams of having a song with Dalton, a duet even, and quite possible more songs were coming true!!!*

[george-mackay-macfine]

Lets Play A Game - CH.2

Chapter 2 of let's play a game. Imagine who you wish as Jude.

“Okay, well, if we’re going to do this, we need rules.”

“Rules?”

“Rules.” I pushed the heavy-bodied oaf off me and stood up, “You know, like the Geneva contract….”

“This isn’t a world war, Edwards.”

“Oh really?” I spun on my heel, “Because I’m treating it as war.” I motioned between the two of us, “If I’m going to be playing dirty with the enemy, then I need to make sure there are no casualties, apart from you, of course.” I dipped my head to the side, sending him a cheeky smirk.

“Fine,” He rolled his eyes. “We’ll make some rules then.”

“Okay, first rule.”

“No one but us get’s to know about the game,” He pointed at me. “No mothers, no friends, no one.”

“Like I’d want anyone to know I was doing anything with you.” I agreed. “PDA?”

“Obviously,” He rolled his eyes. “No one will believe we’re dating if we don’t show some PDA.”

“Right, sorry, I forgot I was dealing with a man whore.” I threw at him. “Handholding.”

“Scared you’ll get cooties.” I shot him a glare. “Kissing.”

“Ugh,” I shrivelled my nose in disgust. “If we must,”

“You liked it.”

“No, not really.” He sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees. The feeling of his eyes on me began to make my chest feel warm.

“Then why are you still here, in my shirt, this close to falling back into my bed.”

“I’m not close to ‘falling back into your bed’, Hastings.”

“Oh really?” His hand grabbed at the bottom of his shirt, pulling me greedily towards him.

“I don’t have time for this again. I have to go.” The skin of his knuckles brushed the skin of my thighs as he fiddled with the hem of his shirt.

“C’mon Edwards. Admit it, you like this.” His fingers pushed up the shirt again, causing a sharp intake of breath from me. “And that.” He looked up at me through his eyelashes. “Shows me just how much you want me.”

“For God’s sake, Hastings. You’re insane.” My hands gripped onto his wrists fruitlessly, trying to stop him. “I have to leave.” In an instant, his hands had reached around my thighs and pulled me down onto his lap. His right hand rested on the curve of my ass—his left hand wandering up underneath his shirt, running along the skin of my stomach.

And when he looked at me with his stupid lips twisting into that cunning smirk. Dear God. If only his personality matched how attractive he was.

“You really want to leave?” I looked up to the ceiling, averting my eyes, so I didn’t make any more mistakes. “Stop me touching you, in the same way I was touching you last night” His hands went to the button on my pants, fiddling with it. “Admit it, I already know exactly what you like, Darcy.” His hand returned to my shirt, pushing the material upwards. I felt his lips on my skin next. Kissing along the exposed flesh. “There’s still one rule we need to decide on.”

“Mhhm.” Oh god, his hands touching me felt like it left a trail of fire in its wake, and maybe if I just pretend it was someone else, maybe Chris Evans, I could let this happen again.

“Sex,”

“What.”

“Sex, Will we have it through this little game?”

“God no,”

“Oh, come on. Tell me you don’t want it,” He whispered against my skin. I shook my head, biting my lip, hands going to his shoulders, holding on for dear life. “I need you to tell me.”

“I have to go,” I pulled my head down from the clouds and pushed him away. He fell back onto the bed with an exasperated huff. “I have brunch with my parents, and thanks to some cocky asshole, I’m going to have to sit through it without underwear.”

“Well, I’m going to have to get through today without my favourite shirt, So we’ll call it even.”

“You poor baby,” I straightened the jacket. “I hope you don’t die without it.” I walked towards the door, stopping just shy of it turning back to look at him. “Or, ya know… you can… do whatever suits you best, really.” I stepped through the threshold out into the unfamiliar hallway. “Shit,”

“Lost?” His ever so irritating voice whispered in my ear after I stood a moment, deciding what way to go.

“Of course not,”

“Then lead the way to the door, Honey.” I turned to face him at the nickname. He was still shirtless, now a pair of tracksuit bottoms covering his lower half.

“Honey?” He grinned, both top and bottom teeth on display, leaning back casually on the doorframe as he watched me. “That’s the nickname your going with? Really?”

“What?” He laughed, and God, he’d always had the kind of laugh that made you want to laugh with him. “I’m trying it out.”

“Try another one.” I looked left then to the right, trying to recollect what way Hastings had pulled me from last night.

“Need help?”

“No.” I stepped forward, then spun to the left, taking a tentative step forward, stopping when he cleared his throat. I turned to face him. His head shook no. “Mother ducker.” I muttered, spinning on my heel and walking back past him.

“You could have just asked for directions,”

“Shut up.” I growled as I stormed down the hallway and out into the living room. Surprisingly it was cleaner than I’d ever expected from Jude Hastings. “Have you seen my purse?”

“Hanging on the doorknob.”

“Great,” I walked to the door, grabbing the black shoulder bag I’d spent my morning looking for all over his bedroom. “Well,” I turned to look at my own personal demon. “This has been a ride…” A dirty smile broke out on his face. “Stop it.” I rolled my eyes.

“I’ll call you,”

“You don’t have my number,”

“Are you sure about that?”

“If you do have it,” I took a deep breath, pulling the door open. “Lose it.”

“Backing out already?”

“Never!” I shut the door behind me, ending the conversation. “What is wrong with me.” I muttered to myself as I began the walk to the cafe.

I had just agreed to potentially - doubtfully - fall in love with Jude Hastings, my mortal enemy. It may be dramatic, but he was the absolute worst, at least whenever he opens his mouth. Maybe I can just put a bag over his personality and gag him… then I would happily reinstigate what happened last night. Can you bag someone’s personality?

Not important right now, Darcy.

I had to formulate a plan, a way to make Hastings fall in love with me so I could crush his heart in my hands. A quick google as I walked told me most of what I already knew.

THE EASY FAULT FREE SIX STEPS TO MAKE YOUR WORST

NIGHTMARE FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU!!

A dissertation by Darcy Alice Edwards

1. Maintain eye contact.

This was already a problem for me. Looking into Jude Hastings eyes for too long was known to induce nausea.

2. Be interested in who they are as a person and listen to everything they have to say.

Another problem for me, as I wasn’t interested in anything he had to say or anything he was interested in. Not only that, but the sound of his voice was often like the sound of nails on a chalkboard for me.

3. Make them feel appreciated and special.

Make Jude Hastings feel appreciated. How can I even manage to do this with a straight face?

4. Smile a lot.

This one maybe I could do. If I think of happy thoughts and pretend it was anyone but Hastings.

5. Embrace what the other person is most passionate about.

For Jude, this was beer pong and margaritas. I could embrace them.

6. Touch them more often.

What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

“Darcy, sweetheart, there you are.” The high pitched tone of my moms’ voice broke me from my research. She and my father sat at a table by the front door. The pair of them had a half-drunk coffee in front of them. Crap, they’ve been waiting, and by the frown lines on my mom’s face, it was longer than five minutes. “We’re been waiting for you.” There it was, three seconds into brunch, and she was already chastising me.

“Sorry,” I pushed my phone into my back pocket and took a seat across from her and my father. “Hi Dad,”

“Hi kitten,” Out of my two parents, my dad had always been my favourite. When my mom was harsh, my dad was kind. When mom drilled into me about my life, my dad made sure I felt loved. He was always the one to parent me, not just order me around.

“You couldn’t have dressed nicer for Sunday brunch?” Mom looked over Hastings crinkled shirt with an upturned nose. “What will people think?”

“Can I please order a mimosa.” I grabbed the nearby waitress with a pleading smile. “I’m sure they’ll think there’s Darcy Edwards.”

“Drinking already?”

“Extra champagne.” I called after the waitress.

“Darcy…”

“So what are we thinking of getting.” I ignored my mothers’ warning tone, picking up the menu. “Egg’s sound good.”

“I had the eggs last time. They were good.” Dad added. “I think I’ll have sausage and eggs, maybe some bacon.”

“Bacon sounds good.”

“You need to watch your cholesterol.” I was vaguely paying attention as my parents began to argue about my father can and can’t eat, but mostly I was dying for the mimosa to hurry up and arrive,

“There you are.”

“I don’t know if I want eggs anymore, maybe pancakes.” I muttered, poking the page with my finger. Syrup soaked pancakes did sound amazing right now, or maybe waffles.

“Baby,”

“Jude?” My head snapped up at the mention of his name. Standing beside me was Hastings dressed in his police uniform. “What are you doing here, sweetheart?” It was totally the man in uniform kink making my heart rate spike, not just Jude Hastings in a uniform.

“I just came to drop this off to Darcy.” He waved my wallet in the air. “She left it in my apartment when she rushed off this morning.”

“Oh, is that right?” Jude Hastings, you dirty dog. “Why don’t you join us for breakfast, Jude?” Mom smiled happily at him, she’d always loved him.

“He can’t-“

“I’d love to.” The seat was pulled out roughly, and his body flopped into the chair, his arm coming to rest on my shoulders. I turned to look at him. He was smirking. Of course, he was. “Hi.” He leaned in and kissed my lips.

“So.” I could hear the smile in my mom’s voice. “When did this all happen?”

“Two months ago.” I blurted, looking at Hastings’s eyes. “Right, Jude.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, turning to my parents. “We ran into each other one night at a bar, and we began talking, like civilised adults, finally, and it just started from there.” He shrugged as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

“And you didn’t tell me, Darcy?” I heard the edge on my mothers’ voice, oh boy. I was in big trouble.

“Well, we wanted to see exactly where things were going before we announced it to the whole town.”

I honestly believed that half the town would roll over and die when they find out Jude Hastings and Darcy Edwards were ‘dating’. Considering we’d nearly pulled the town apart with our pranks.

“Given our history,” Hastings added.

“Well, I think it’s wonderful.” My dad smiled at us. “You know I’ve always liked you, Jude.”

“Thank you, sir,”

“Kiss arse,” I let out under my breath.

“What was that sweetheart,” Hastings looked down at me with that fucking shit-eating grin.

“I said how sweet.”

“Mimosa,” The waitress reappeared.

“Please.” I held up my hand partly, mouth practically salivating at the idea of my alcohol in my bloodstream helping me get through this brunch. “Thank you.” I smiled as she placed the champagne flute in front of me.

“Mimosa, huh.” Hastings’s voice sounded teasing, but I knew him well enough to know this was no innocent observation. “You’d think she’d had enough to drink last night.”

“You went out last night?” My mother’s eyebrows shot up before a look of displeasure replaced the shock. “Is that why you’re dressed so…” We reached this part of breakfast quicker than I thought we would. Sit back, ladies and gents, the shows about the start. Act one; My mother judging my life choices as if I hadn’t been of legal age for the last six years.

“So what? Mother?” I picked up the flute and sat back in my chair, waiting for my mother to go off about my appearance.

“Messily.”

“No.” I deadpanned. “I’m dressed so messily because I was up early grading papers for my fourth-grade class.”

“Darcy, you surely don’t believe that I would believe-“

“It’s true. Darcy was up around dawn and began working.” As soon as my mother heard Hastings testimony for my ragged appearance, she sat back in her seat, a sweet smile replacing the devil horns.

Classic mom, always willing to believe the perfect Jude Hastings.

Speaking of the demon man himself. I don’t know if Hastings saved me because he felt terrible for the verbal ass-whooping my mother was about to give me or because he wanted to hold it over my head at a later date.

Probably the second one.

“See,” I took a long swig of the mimosa and looked at dad. “What are you getting, dad?”

“Waffles,” He smiled widely. God, he was a good man to put up with both my mother and I’s fighting. “With a side of fruit salad.”

“Sounds delicious.” I felt Hastings fingers fiddle and tap on the back of the chair, occasionally brushing my skin as they moved. “Mrs. Edwards, what are you going to get?”

I ignored the polite conversation trying to fight the feeling of nausea in my stomach as I watched my parents interact with Hastings and him with them. He was good at this, a borderline professional, but then again, what could you expect from a man who’d had more girlfriends than Keeping up with the Kardashians had seasons. I swear, in high school, it was like he had a new girl every week. I thought it was going to end up a category in our yearbook.

Most Girlfriends in a single year: Jude Hastings.

“Babe, your mother asked you a question.” His shoulder nudged mine, breaking me from my daze.

“I’m sorry, I was reading.” I looked between the demon and my mother. “What were you saying?”

“I was saying, sweetheart, that perhaps we should go out to dinner with the Hastings soon, all of us together to celebrate you and Jude finally getting over that childhood tiff of yours.”

“Yeah, sounds great.” I mumbled, picking up the champagne flute.

“Wonderful,” My mother clapped her hands excitedly. “I’ll call Francine.”

“She’ll be excited to hear from you.”

“How’s work, Jude?” My dad distracted Hastings, pulling him into a conversation, only this allowed Hastings to work his dark magic in seducing them into thinking he was a good person.

He wasn’t. No way.

As I listened to my parents both fawn over him, I had one goal in mind. Make him fall in love with me so hard I can watch him crash and burn in a flaming pit of fire, and I will go down in history as the one girl who broke Jude Hastings heart.

[flourgirl]

Sick of Losing Soulmates

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Months after you and Peter have broken up, you run into each other at Harry’s Christmas party.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Both fluffy and angsty. Mentions of alcohol and sex. A mild amount of curse words.

A/N: I’m ALIVE! I hope you all are having a wonderful holiday season, and Merry Christmas to everybody that celebrates it! I am so happy to be able to share my work with all of you! Enjoy <3

“And maybe we got lost in translation Maybe I asked for too much But maybe this thing was a masterpiece Till you tore it all up” -All Too Well, Taylor Swift

He wasn’t supposed to be here. Harry had promised you that his roommate would be spending the holidays with May back in Queens. But here he was, wearing the sweater that you had given him last year with his arm snaked around another girl’s waist.

“Hey!” Betty grinned, throwing her arms around you. She had a half-empty glass of mulled wine that you could tell was doing a good job of getting her tipsy. “I’ve missed you so much, Y/N. We never see each other anymore.”

She pouted, a pair of reindeer antlers where her signature black headband usually sat. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” you assured her, still staring at Peter effortlessly carrying the conversation with a bunch of people you didn’t recognize. “Uh, who’s the girl with Peter?”

“Gwen Stacy,” she muttered, obviously not a very big fan. You figured it was because there was only room for one preppy blonde girl, and Betty didn’t feel like sharing that position with anybody else. “Don’t worry though! It’s nothing serious. Peter actually hasn’t really dated anybody ever since the two of you…”

Her voice trailed off as you locked eyes with her, silently communicating for her to drop the subject. It was a relief to know that he hadn’t moved on, but the fact that he was wrapped up in a fling with somebody else still made your heart hurt.

“Come on, Y/N. I’m sure MJ and Ned would love to see you! They’re over in the kitchen.” She reached for your hand, dragging you along through Harry’s expertly decorated apartment. 

You dropped the box of cookies that you had baked on the counter before tapping MJ on the shoulder. She was turned away from you, lecturing Ned on why his secondhand Beyblades were not acceptable Christmas presents.

“Who the hell is touching me?” she snapped, turning around with a look on her face that told you she was ready to throw hands. “Holy fuck. Y/N! How long have you been here?”

MJ’s frown faded into a smile as she pulled you into a side-hug, her other hand busy nursing a glass of Harry’s infamously terrible eggnog. “Only a few minutes,” you laughed, your face smushed into her torso. 

“Hi,” Ned piped up, offering a small wave. You could tell he didn’t really know where he stood ever since his best friend basically ripped your heart out and threw it on the floor. Well, it wasn’t actually that dramatic, but he had a flair for exaggerating stories. “Remember me?”

“Of course, stupid,” you grinned, offering a fist bump that he happily accepted. “How could I forget those iconic fits of yours?”

“True,” he said, popping his collar and doing a little twirl that made Betty and MJ roll their eyes. “You look pretty fly too, though.”

“Thanks,” you replied, holding the edge of your dress as you curtsied, something you and Ned had made a habit of doing as the so-called best dressed members of the group.

“You two are just as ridiculous as ever,” Betty mused, happy to see you still fit in just as perfectly as when you were Peter’s girlfriend, even if you weren’t around as much.

The reunion was interrupted by the loud chatter of a certain couple, and your heart sank as you watched a very drunk Peter and Gwen stumble towards the kitchen, a giggling mess. They situated themselves under the archway that separated the two rooms, a piece of mistletoe conveniently hanging above them. 

You could tell that MJ was ready to put a stop to her friend’s embarrassing behavior, and the looks on Ned and Betty’s faces told you that they had no intentions of holding her back. 

“They’re so gross,” MJ complained, setting down her untouched cup before excusing herself to drag Peter out of his drunken makeout session. “I can’t believe he’d do that when you’re right here!”

“Wait, MJ,” you blurted, grabbing onto her wrist to stop her. She turned to face you, her eyebrows furrowed. “It’s okay. I don’t care about it. I’m just going to head to the bathroom, alright? I’ll be right back.”

You did your best to stop yourself from tearing up, although you realized you had made the utter mistake of forgetting that the very arch that Peter and Gwen were sucking each other’s faces under was the only way out of the kitchen.

Not even a few moments of you awkwardly standing next to them, occasionally clearing your throat, made them notice you. Eventually, the discomfort grew too heavy, and you tapped Peter on the shoulder. He finally pulled away from Gwen, her lipstick smudged across his mouth and a dazed look on his face.

Gwen whimpered at the loss of his kiss, obviously annoyed at the random girl that had just interrupted them. As soon as Peter recognized that it was you, he stepped away from her, wiping his mouth and fixing the hair she had been running her hands through, just like you used to.

“Y/N. I didn’t know that you’d be here,” he reasoned, a blush spreading across his face as a sense of regret settled into his stomach. 

“Obviously,” you sighed. This wasn’t the Peter you knew—the sweet, shy one that you had fallen in love with. “You guys are blocking the hallway, by the way.”

“Shit, sorry,” he stammered, stepping aside to allow you to pass in between them. He followed you, leaving Gwen irritated and confused as to who you were. “Y/N. Can we talk later?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Nice sweater, though,” you quipped, not even turning back to meet his gaze before climbing the stairs towards the guest bathroom. Everything felt all too familiar, memories of you and Peter stumbling up the same steps after a date flooding your brain.

The first time Peter had kissed you was after MJ’s birthday party. Neither of you had been drinking, since you hated alcohol and Peter refused to touch any before he turned 21. This meant that you got to spend the whole night laughing at everybody else’s drunken mischief. 

In the middle of his performance of some Nicki Minaj song, Ned managed to spill a whole can of beer on you and Peter, which resulted in many cheers as the two of you ran to his room to grab a change of clothes. Shirts came off, confessions were made, and the party went on without you guys.

You took a deep breath, shutting the bathroom door behind you and sitting on the edge of the bathtub. If you had known Peter would end up being here, you would have never accepted Harry’s invitation. There were so many old wounds being opened up that you had spent months trying to heal, and you weren’t sure some stupid Christmas party was worth it. 

But you didn’t want to leave. It wasn’t fair how much the break up had stolen from you. All of your friends were here and you were tired of shying away from going out with them anymore because you were too scared to see Peter. Too scared that you would never be able to stop being in love with him.

By the time you rejoined the rest of your friends, Harry was announcing that it was time to start the game of White Elephant. You bit the edges of your fingernails as the party guests filed into Harry’s living room, hoping that Peter wouldn’t somehow pick your present.

“What’d you bring?” you asked Betty, squishing in next to her on the couch. 

“Gift card to In-N-Out,” she giggled, satisfied that her present could only be used on the other side of the country. “But Harry’s rich friends might not have any trouble flying their private jets to California, so maybe I’m not as clever as I thought.”

“Heard that,” Harry said, leaning behind you on the edge of the couch. He placed a quick kiss on your cheek, something the two of you had always done as friends but stopped once you started dating Peter. “Hey, Y/N. Glad you could make it.”

“Hey, you,” you replied, smiling back at him, your leg bouncing impatiently. “We doing this thing or what?”

“Yeah, yeah, give me a minute,” he laughed, running out of the room. Moments later, he came back wearing a fake beard and a Santa hat, complete with a miniature sack of toys. 

“Alright, boys and girls. Let’s get this game started! Hopefully you all know the rules, but I’ll repeat them anyway. I draw a name out of the sack, you pick a random present and open it up for everybody to see. The next person that goes can either steal your gift or pick a new one. If your gift gets stolen, you get to do the same. No stealing twice!”

The first couple of people you didn’t really know, and they had all pulled presents that were relatively uninteresting. A scented candle, toilet paper, a pair of socks. Nothing you really considered worth stealing, although Ned ended up taking a framed, autographed photo of Harry from MJ, which resulted in her stealing Gwen’s mini waffle iron.

By the time it was your turn, there weren’t many gifts left. Going with your gut, you grabbed the bag covered in glittering polar bears. Reaching past all of the tissue paper stuffed inside, you pulled out a red sweatshirt that you unfolded to see had a large graphic of Spider-Man printed on it. 

“Oh,” you said, a little confused. The only people you knew that wore stuff with the Avengers on it were little kids, but you figured that was part of the joke. “I mean, I prefer Captain America, but thanks, whoever this is from!”

Peter’s face blushed to a shade of red, amazed that out of all the presents, you picked his. The only issue was that you didn’t know that he was actually the guy on the front of it. Nobody except Ned knew, although he was sure that MJ and Harry had caught on to his secret identity by now.

“Okay, two people left. Jake, you’re up next, buddy,” Harry called out, happily bouncing around the room, his Santa hat now replaced with a baseball cap that had “I Love Ned!” embroidered on it. You watched nervously as he walked around the room, eyeing up all of the presents before settling on the tiny, golden box that you had placed under the tree when you first arrived.

“Let’s see what we’re working with,” he smirked. Your thoughts raced, immediately feeling a sense of regret over the gift you had picked. “Oh, shit. Sweet! I’ve got a date with Y/N!”

“Sup, baby,” Jake continued, his words slightly slurred. He pointed at you and winked, and you offered him a polite smile in return. “We’re gonna have a good time. Just name the time and place and I got you.”

“Awesome, congrats, man,” Harry said, obviously ready for the game to be over. It had been going for way longer than any of you had expected, mostly due to the fact that two girls wouldn’t stop arguing over a piece of rose quartz. “Okay, we’re nearly finished, guys. Peter, you’re up. Pick any of the gifts that haven’t been stolen yet, or the last one under the tree.”

You locked eyes with him, a familiar scowl on his face that told you he was thinking really hard about which gift to pick. His spidey-senses felt your heartbeat pick up as he walked around the room before stopping in front of Jake, who was busy gloating to his friend about how “hot” you were. Your face heated up as you watched Peter take the little note that you had written out of Jake’s hands, smugly gesturing for him to pick up the present under the tree.

He waved sheepishly at you, and you felt both relieved and angry at his decision. Did you want to go on that date with Jake? No. Were you still mad that, technically, you now had to go out with your ex-boyfriend? Yes.

The game ended and the party-goers dispersed throughout the apartment. You lingered in your spot on the couch, your arms crossed and heart full of mixed emotions. Peter, whose gaze never strayed from you, walked over to where you were sitting.

“We don’t actually have to go out,” he whispered, hoping that you’d actually look at him this time. “I just didn’t think you wanted to go out with that guy. He seemed like kind of an asshole.”

“Yeah, well, it would have been nice if you let me decide that. You’re not my boyfriend, anymore Peter. We aren’t even friends. You don’t get a say in who I go out on dates with,” you grumbled, your eyes focusing on everything in the room except for him.

Before you could say anything else, Peter had already grabbed you by the hand, dragging you away from the rest of the party. Strangely enough, you went along with it, a little curious to hear him out.

You started to remember your first date, and it was almost like you could hear his excited laughter after you finally managed to knock a pin down. It became a tradition that whenever you had something to celebrate, Peter would pick you up and twirl you around until you had to beg him to stop.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Peter slamming the door behind him and cornering you against it, his heartbeat racing. He had pulled you into the laundry room. “I can’t stand seeing you with anybody else,” he panted, eyes flickering down towards your mouth.

His hand pushed a piece of your hair behind your ear, and your breath hitched as you felt his rough fingertips against your skin. But before he could lean in to kiss you, you were ducking underneath his arm and backing away.

“Peter, we really shouldn’t,” you whispered, watching the disappointment wash over his face. No matter how much you wanted to kiss him, you just couldn't forget how he had broken your heart months ago. “It’s over, okay?”

“Y/N, please. I—”

“You what? You love me? Because last time we were together, I told you how much I loved you and you said that we should break up. Remember?” you cried, embarrassed at how you couldn’t control your emotions anymore. “You’re just… you’re too late.”

You fumbled with the door, slipping through the opening before rushing towards the balcony. As soon as the cold air hit you, a wave of relief washed over your body, and you laid your head against the metal railing. Your breathing slowed and time seemed to stand still as you watched the snowflakes flutter through the wind.

“Peter’s an idiot,” you heard a voice call out from behind you. You turned to see Harry holding an extra coat in his arms, and you started to wonder just how long you had been standing out there. He draped it over your shoulders before leaning next to you against the balcony’s edge.

“Huh?” you asked, wondering if he knew what had just happened. You looked at him, the multicolored Christmas lights reflecting off his shiny hair. “What do you mean?”

“He’s stupid for ever letting you go,” he remarked. He had a look in his eyes that made you unsure of what he actually meant. “I mean, look at you. You’re so beautiful, and smart, and funny. And if he was dumb enough to throw all of that away, then yeah, Peter’s an idiot.”

“Oh, thanks, I guess,” you shrugged, your voice faint under the music that was still playing inside. You looked at him, his cheeks a rosy hue, which you couldn’t tell was from the cold or whatever he was trying to tell you.

“You know, I used to have the biggest crush on you,” Harry admitted, laughing a little bit at how nervous he was. Everybody knew that he was a player, so being flustered over a girl was uncharted territory for him. “I never told you this, but you were my first kiss.”

“Wait, really?” you asked, a little shocked at his confession. “But I thought you kissed Sarah Emerson on the playground in the fifth grade?”

“Nope. I was just a liar,” he grinned, running a hand through his hair. “It was right before our eighth grade formal, when you asked me to teach you how to kiss because you were scared that Jeremy Pellegrino was going to try and french you.

“Oh! I forgot all about that,” you laughed, suddenly remembering just how long you and Harry had been friends. “Hold on a second... You gave me kissing lessons without knowing how to kiss!?”

“Guilty,” Harry chuckled as you punched him on the arm. “Ow! Damn, Y/N. When did you get so strong?”

“I have a lot of rage,” you mumbled before the two of you burst out into laughter, which slowly faded into a comfortable silence. 

“You don’t feel that way anymore, right?” you wondered out loud. Harry looked at you, smiling softly.

“No, not anymore,” he affirmed, and you let out a sigh of relief. You knew what it felt like to love someone and not be loved back. “I think what really helped me get over it was seeing how happy you and Parker were when you were dating.” 

“He misses you a lot,” Harry continued, his tone more serious than before. “He keeps this scarf that you left behind under his pillow because it still smells like you. I found out because he was having a pretty bad dream one night and I had to try really hard to calm him back down. And we both thought Gwen would help him move on and get his mind off of you, but I think she only made him realize just how much he still loves you—”

“Harry,” you interrupted, cutting his rambles short. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because you and Peter should be together.”

“You think so?” you asked him, pulling the jacket tighter to keep you warm.

“Yeah. We all do.” It took only seconds for Harry to realize his fumble, accidentally admitting that the whole thing had been planned by him and your friends.

“We?” Your frowned, all of the coincidences from tonight suddenly making much more sense. “Wait, did you know that Peter was going to be here tonight all along?”

“Uh… yeah, about that. MJ, Ned, and I have kind of been pulling a Parent Trap on you guys.”

“HARRY!” You glared inside to see them not-so-secretly watching the entire exchange from behind the Christmas tree. Ned did some awkward finger guns, which MJ immediately swatted down. “I am so going to get you guys!”

You marched inside to where your friends were attempting to hide, the rest of the party guests too drunk and oblivious to notice what was happening. 

“The eagle has left the nest. I repeat, The eagle has left the nest!” Ned yelled, ducking behind MJ, who was already shielding herself with a throw pillow.

“What’s going on?” Betty whined, half-asleep on the couch. “Is this that stupid plan about Peter and Y/N?”

“It’s not stupid!” Harry grumbled, his voice cracking a little bit. You could hear MJ snorting about it from her hiding spot. “Whatever, Michelle.”

“Shut up!” she shouted back.

“No, you!” he said, crossing his arms and standing his ground.

“Make me,” MJ said, narrowing her eyes and shooting daggers at him.

“Uh, guys. This isn’t about you two,” Ned interrupted, snapping them out of their mini argument. There was a weird tension between them that you just knew you would have to address some time in the future.

“Right,” MJ continued, sticking a middle finger up at Harry before turning to you. “Y/N. You should go talk to Peter.”

You nodded, exchanging hopeful looks with each of your friends before walking away. They might be dramatic goofballs, but you loved them so much that you didn’t really care.

Wandering around the party, you spotted Peter trapped in a conversation with Brad Davis, who was explaining his conspiracy theories about the Denver Airport and its demonic horse statue.

“So, all I’m saying is that they’re totally planning the end of the world over there. I mean, the Freemasons built an entire bunker for when they activate the nukes!” he rambled, Peter politely nodding along to his nonsense.

“Hey,” you said, tapping Brad on the shoulder and batting your eyelashes at him. “Can I borrow Peter?”

“Uh, yeah, totally, Y/N,” he stuttered, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards into a smirk. You could smell the peppermint Schnapps on his breath.

“Great. Thanks, Brad!” you smiled, grabbing Peter’s hand and pulling him towards the staircase. By the time you made it to his bedroom, he had already asked what was going on about ten times.

“Why’d you dump me?” you asked, the two of you sitting together on the edge of his bed, your knee brushing against his. He could tell you were wasting no time in getting to the point. “Be honest.”

He stared at the floor, unsure of how to answer your question. You reached for his hand, running your thumb across his knuckles until he looked up to see you smiling at him. His eyes were starting to water. “Just tell me, Peter. It’s okay.”

“I was scared,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I was scared of how much I love you. I mean, Liz was just a crush, and Gwen was a hookup. I’ve only ever loved you, Y/N. Before we met, I had to watch May’s heart break day after day when we lost Uncle Ben, and when I realized how much I loved you... I just wasn’t sure if I could handle ever losing you like that. And so I felt like I needed to protect you from all of the people who would want to hurt you.”

“Hey, Peter. Calm down. I’m right here,” you whispered, wiping a tear from his face. You watched as his breathing slowed, eventually evening out. “Why would anybody want to hurt me?”

“Because…” he started, hesitating a little bit. “Because I’m Spider-Man.”

Your eyes grew big as you mulled over what he had just said. “Are you being serious right now?”

He nodded, feeling a weight lift from his chest. Your eyes followed him as he walked over to his closet, digging around through piles of clothes before he found what he was looking for.

“Holy shit,” you breathed out. Peter was holding up Spider-Man’s suit. His suit. The sweatshirt from earlier made a lot more sense now.

“I would never lie to you,” he said, folding it up and sitting back down. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I thought I was doing the right thing—that you’d be safe—but I was so stupid. I, uh, I think about you all the time. I worry whether you’ve gotten home alright and how your little brother’s doing and if your mom got the promotion that she wanted and—”

You cut him off with a kiss, something you had been dying to do ever since you shut his bedroom door. “I forgive you,” you sighed, gently playing with his hair.

Peter stared back at you, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “Does this mean that we’re back together?”

“Yep,” you confirmed, before leaning into another kiss. And another. And another.

“Wait,” Peter said, breaking away from you. “I have a present for you. It’s actually from when we first started dating, but I was waiting until Christmas to give it to you.”

He moved to his desk, digging through one of the drawers before pulling out a flash drive. “Here it is,” he smiled, dropping it into your hand. It had your name scribbled on it next to a cat sticker. “It’s a playlist. Of all the songs that make me think of you. I think it’s got around a hundred on there?”

“Wow,” you beamed, marveling at the little piece of plastic in your hand. “You’re making me look bad. I didn’t get you anything.”

“Not true. You owe me a date, remember?” he reminded you, wiggling his eyebrows and pulling you into his lap.

“You’re right. Let me think,” you hummed, running through all the ideas of what the two of you could do. “Oh! I got it. The Central Park Squirrel Census for this year just got released. What if we analyzed the data? You could do the wrangling and I could do the visualizations!”

“I love you so much,” he laughed, pressing a kiss onto the tip of your nose. You giggled as Peter buried his face into your shoulder, his grip around your waist tightening. “But you are such a nerd.”

“I’m your nerd, Parker,” you agreed, leaning further into his embrace. “Always have been and always will be.”

—————-

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[eggjorp]

Ch2 - Boxers or Briefs?

Main Masterlist

3AM Masterlist

Chapter 1 - Insomnia

Next

Notes: swearing, angst, comedy, 3k

You end up drifting off at around six and wake up to both your alarm blaring at half past eight and your head throbbing with a similar kind of ring. You get out of bed, sighing as you trudge to the bathroom, getting ready for class.

You swap your pyjama bottoms for jeans and throw a hoodie on top, grabbing the bag you carefully packed the night before (one of your few good habits) and a banana you stuff into your mouth as you leave. Once you arrive in class you silently sit next to your group of friends and grab the closest source of caffeine.

“Black coffee? Are you fucking with me? You’re such an old man oh my god!” you exclaim after taking a big gulp of the stolen coffee.

“Yet you’re still happily drinking it? Fuck off that’s mine, you kept me up late I need it!” Doyoung retorts.

“I didn’t do shit actually. If I remember correctly you told me to shut the fuck up and you went to bed. And you ignored me! A lot! I told you, I’m sensitive!” you pout as you hand him back his coffee. During this interaction the rest of your friends sit there in confusion, you don’t bother trying to explain, not enough energy.

“Okay did y’all fuck or what?” Jaehyun asks pointedly, and Johnny tuts at him for his explicitness. Instead of replying you wink at Jaehyun and ignore Doyoung’s disapproving glare. Jaehyun gasps dramatically, “Oh my god y’all really fucked? I thought you guys were like archenemies, but FINALLY!” his words catch the attention of the people sitting around but it doesn’t last long as he offers them his signature charming smile as an apology.

“We didn’t fuck, they texted me at three am and five am, calling me a bum and a poopyhead? They’re actually so immature. How you’re at such a prestigious university I’ll never understand. Perhaps you paid your way in? Fucked the dean of admissions?” he turns to you, quirking his eyebrow.

You give him a smirk, “Darling, you don’t need to worry about how eventful my sex life is. If I were you I’d worry about yours.” you poke, knowing full well Doyoung prioritises his studies over relationships. It is something you admire but you would never tell him that, god no, you would never give him the satisfaction.

“Should I be envious that your grades resemble your sex life? Full of Ds?” he snaps back, and you purse your lips to stop a snort, as you reach down to pull your laptop out of your bag and hide your face.

Before the lecture starts you reach your hand over Jaehyun to grab Doyoung’s coffee once more, finishing it with a quick gulp before smiling sweetly and dropping it into the bin beside you at the end of the row.

“That was uncalled for.” Doyoung’s jaw tenses and he glares at you. If eyes could kill, you would be dead ten times over by now. Nothing new though, you’ve grown immune to his stare considering how many times you’ve fallen victim to it. Annoying Doyoung is the highlight of your day—no, week— and has become part of your routine.

“Guess what?” you lean over the desk and beckon Doyoung to lean over and meet you in the middle. He stares at you blankly, refusing to move, and you roll your eyes, “Your face was uncalled for.” you grin, once more, before returning to your seat and focusing your attention on the start of the lecture.

“For fucks sake, the stubble in my armpits keeps stabbing me. It's so uncomfortable!” you rub at them, hoping to soothe the skin. Johnny laughs and Doyoung rolls his eyes. “I don’t think that’s information we needed to know.”

“Your face isn’t information we needed to know.” you bite back, sticking your tongue out at him,  watching his jaw tense and teeth grinding.

“You know, if you keep grinding your teeth like that, you’re gonna flatten them all. You’re gonna look like an old man with no teeth at the age of 25!” you snort, pointing your finger at him.

“I wouldn’t grind them if you didn’t stress me out so much!” he scoffs.

“I wouldn’t stress you out if you didn’t stress me out!” you immediately return. Johnny is laughing at you both for the entire duration of this conversation and inwardly you congratulate yourself for providing such brilliant entertainment.

“What the fuck do I do?” he asks as you three reach the McDonald’s, “You exist.” you deadpan, ignoring him as you walk past him to get into line. He rolls his eyes for about the twentieth time today and doesn’t respond. Doyoung decides it’s better to ignore you back.

“Johnny, Dongyoung, what do you guys want?” you ask.

“Umm, cheeseburger, fries, strawberry milkshake,” Johnny responds, followed by silence. You look expectantly at Doyoung.

“Hey? You big bum, what do you want?” you ask Doyoung, poking his side. He falters for a second, “Uh, Chicken nuggets, Large.”

You nod and turn to order, “But why?” you look back at him, confused, “Why are you ordering me food?”

This time it’s you who rolls their eyes, “Are you rejecting free food? Okay, I see how it is.”

“No, I’m not! Just wondering...” you ignore and order, telling them to sit down as you wait for your food. Once you return with the food you sit down, drinking your hot chocolate and munching on some chips.

“Yo, have you guys watched the new Pokémon movie yet?” Johnny asks. You shake your head.

“It’s probably gonna be shit. People go for the Pokémon, not the plot.” Doyoung pokes. “The plot is the Pokémon you dumbass,” you respond.

“Regardless of the plot or the Pokémon let’s go watch it!” Johnny suggests excitedly. Reluctantly you all make your way to the cinema, buying a large popcorn to share, and get your tickets for the movie.

“Hey, Doyoung?”

“What?”

“You’re an expired waffle.” The room may be dark, but you don’t need light to know that Doyoung was rolling his eyes.

“You’re a useless paperclip.” he retorts and at this, you gasp “Kim Dongyoung how fucking dare you.”

He smirks and feigns innocence, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You narrow your eyes at him and give his wrist a light slap, “You know exactly what I’m talking about! I used that insult and you said it was dumb and now you’re using it!”

Doyoung slaps your wrist back, “A dumb insult for a dumb person eh?” your mouth is wide open. You’re astounded that he dares give you this attitude, so you do what any normal person does— you grab a handful of popcorn and drop it down his shirt.

This, of course, causes Doyoung to yell and a little girl to stand up from her seat, turn around and say, “Excuse me can you please be quiet?” Doyoung grabs at your hand, still hovering over his shirt and you both politely apologise. Johnny is cracking up, as expected, and Doyoung is boiling with anger. You can practically see the steam tumbling out of his ears and the scowl across his face is clear in the light from the screen.

“You’re helping me get it off!” still with your hand in his grasp he stands up, pulling you along with him, and some popcorn falling to the floor with a crackle.

“What the fuck am I meant to do?” you whisper but he pays you no attention and urges you to walk down the stairs.  The audible crunch of the stray popcorn under your feet after every step makes you wince and Doyoung’s grip on your wrist remains tight. Reluctantly you follow him out of the theatre doors.

“You’re such a fucking child! Now I have popcorn stuck in my boxers, Y/N, my BOXERS!” he frantically pulls on his shirt, trying to rid himself of the small kernels.

“You seem more of a briefs guy to me...” you respond with a cheeky smile, attempting to keep the mood light-hearted.

“You’re going to pay for this!”

“Hey, I bought you McDonald's, didn’t I?”

“That doesn’t give you a free pass to shove popcorn down my shirt! What is it with you, seriously!” his irritation only heightens with your responses, allowing for some harsh words to fall from his mouth.

“Do you have any common sense at all? We’re trying to watch a movie for god’s sake, and you’re just playing around like an immature child! Can you not be sensible for one fucking moment?” you furrow your eyebrows while listening to him berate you.

“Alright there, Mr Kim, maybe you wanna slow down for a second? Go clean yourself up and take a breath.” you try to be the sensible adult he doesn’t think you can be and hold back with further insults.

“Oh great, now I seem like the bad guy,” he says, giving up in trying to rid himself of the popcorn remains.

“Don’t worry, we know in this situation you’re the adult and I’m the child you get to lecture.” You cross your arms and squint at him, struggling to hold in your own irritation.

“Your passive-aggressiveness is really subtle you know!” you take a step closer and tilt your head with a sweet smile, “Well I learnt from the best!”.

His jaw tenses and your eyes quickly flit to it before returning to his, “Seriously, stop grinding your teeth— but you don’t need to take my advice! Who in their right mind would listen to an immature child, right?”

You try to walk past him to go back into the theatre but Doyoung lightly grasps your forearm. “I didn’t mean what I said...”

You turn to look back, faces only centimetres away but eyes filled with spite, “Yes, you did. In your eyes I’m nothing but an irritating child, but you’re right so it’s fine.” you yank your arm away and re-enter the theatre, returning to your seat.

“Everything okay?” Johnny asks.

“Yep. He just got really pissed.”

“Oh, because of the popcorn?” Johnny offers you a sympathetic smile.

“Because I’m apparently immature and dumb and can’t be sensible.” you scoff.

“I mean, you did chuck popcorn down his shirt...”

“And he’s slipped ice down the back of mine? It’s mutual. Or at least I thought it was.” you sigh, frustrated that the day had to turn sour so quickly for no good reason.

You and Johnny end the conversation there, even when Doyoung returns. The extent of any other conversations consisting of the occasional comment about the movie. The movie ends, and you take your time getting up, stretching your limbs and yawning.

“That was actually a decent movie.” Johnny expresses.

“Yeah, it was okay, but I feel like it was more plot twist than plot,” you joke, both boys chuckle and hum in agreement but you pay no attention to Doyoung.

“Let’s go get sushi?” Johnny suggests. You groan in response “I’m a broke bitch and I bought us all McDonald’s earlier! Only if you pay?” you give Johnny a sweet smile, but he responds with a look of pity, “Hoe, I’m broke too...”

After exchanging a knowing look for a few moments, you both turn to Doyoung with that same sweet smile, and he knows exactly what you want.

“Ugh fine, but there’s a cap on how much you can spend!” he groans and begins walking ahead while you and Johnny cheer together.

Johnny links his arms with yours as you follow Doyoung to the restaurant, the time filled with absentminded chatter.

“Alright fellas, I need to go to the toilet, don’t kill each other while I’m away!” both you and your frenemy roll your eyes and ignore him, continuing to eat your meals.

After about thirty seconds Doyoung breaks the silence, “I’m sorry about earlier.” and while you would love to snap back with something rude and witty, you swallow your anger and echo his short apology.

Johnny comes back and, although you still aren’t speaking, he can sense the tension has dissipated and is content with the progress. A few more jokes and beers later you all end up outside of the restaurant, Johnny insisting he’s fine even though he keeps mixing up his home address with a bar nearby and you send him home by taxi, opting for a train as you’re not sure your bank account could take another hit.

As you and Doyoung live relatively close you take the same train home and so are walking to the same train station.

“Uh, can we stop here for a second? I need to get some things.” he pauses outside of a convenience store and you give him a small nod. A few minutes later he remerges with a white carrier bag in his hands.

The pair of you continue walking, breathing in the cold air, and he pulls out an item from the carrier bag, grasping your hand and placing the item in your palm, before closing your fist and giving it a tight squeeze.

“Drink this tea before bed, it’ll make you sleepy, there’s no caffeine.” you chuckle quietly at his gesture and tuck it inside your backpack.

“Why did you get me this?”

“I didn’t want to wake up to your dumb messages calling me a poopyhead,” he complains of fake annoyance.

The corners of your lips turn up slightly and you utter a soft “Thank you,” but that’s all until you get to the train station and make your way onto the train.

The lights are bright compared to the dark sky presented behind the dusty window. A few people are scattered along the carriage, a man in formal wear, a few students, an older woman, and some young men.

A stop in you hear a whisper in your ear,

“Actually, I do wear briefs but they’re all in the wash so I had to resort to boxers,” at first it startles you, not expecting the warm breath, but you smile and turn to look at him. Doyoung tries to suppress a smile and look straight ahead but as you continue to stare at him, laughing quietly, he can’t help but let a few noises escape. He then quickly buries his face in his hands and you both melt into a pile of giggles.

“I can still feel the popcorn scratching my chest,” he says in-between snorts, “You deserved it, to be honest,” you counter,

“You always say I deserved it!”

“That’s because you do!”

Your loud laughter gains the attention of the few people in the carriage and you begin shushing each other, it doesn’t make it any better, but you continue regardless.

A few seconds later Doyoung grabs at your hand and pulls you up, “Our stop!” dragging you along and he runs off the train. It takes you a few seconds to realise what’s happening but you’re already off the train, hearing the beeping signifying the doors are closing only moments before you leapt out. Doyoung stops suddenly and you crash into his side, unprepared for it.

“Woah there!” you grab onto his arm for stability, “I can’t believe we almost missed our stop,”

Doyoung laughs and starts walking towards the exit, “See, I’m so reliable. Unlike someone...”

You roll your eyes, “I almost got smushed by those doors, less reliable more lucky!”

He looks at you with fake offence, a hand on his chest in a mock upset, “You’re just rude that's what you are.”

“You’re just rude, that's what you are.” you imitate him with a high pitched voice, and he narrows his eyes at you before shoving your hand off his arm and speeding his walking up.

“Nooo! Doyoung! Don’t be mad!” he continues to walk away silently, and you speed up to match his tempo. You get to the crossing where you go separate ways, he continues without you and so you get his attention the only way you can.

“WE’LL TAKE THE HIGHWAY TO HEAVEN AND I CAN’T WAIT TO LOVE YOU ALL ALONE—” he runs after you and slams his hands over your mouth to stop your screeching, taking a few steps backwards due to the force of colliding. He lowers his hand slightly to your shoulder and places his other hand on your back to stop you both from falling.

You hold onto his jacket and laugh, and his head hangs low in shame, “I can’t believe you I really can’t. You’re insane, you know that right?” you continue to giggle and just nod in response. He shakes his head, but you can see the corners of his lips turning up, “I should’ve left you on that train when I had the chance.”

“Nooo,” you whine, “You can’t leave ME! I’m your BEST FRIEND!” he gives you a dirty look and you shift your attention to the other students passing by in a group, “Guys! I’m his best friend!” they just chuckle, and one yells “That’s nice!”

You turn back to Doyoung, who is groaning and embarrassed, “You’re not my best friend! We’re enemies, remember?” he widens his eyes and shakes his head at you, “That’s not what you were saying last night...” you trail off. He narrows his eyes again, “Last night you called me a poopy head and I told you to go to sleep...”

“Didn’t say I was your enemy though!”

“Didn’t say you were my best friend though!” he offers you another dirty look and you pout in response.

“Hey, Kim Dongyoung, don’t be mean!”

“I’m not! I’m—”

“BABY YOU A BAD GIRL WATCH YOUR MOUTH—” he pulls at your jacket to try and drag you home, “Shut up you’re gonna wake everyone up!”

You let him drag you, reluctantly, “No I won’t, I’m not even that loud!”

“We’ll take the highway to heaven,” you finish with a sulk.

“I swear to god you’re such a child!” he groans.

“Yeah, but I’m your child.” you retort and he looks at you in confusion,

“I’m not your dad?” you wink in response, knowing full well you’re not making any sense, and he lets go of your jacket, shoving you away, the playful atmosphere quickly being replaced by a cold one. You finally feel the cool breeze of the wind and there’s a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Why do you always do this Doyoung?” you’ve both stopped on the side of the road.

“Do what?” he asks, his expression showing irritation.

“We’re having fun messing about and then you get all cold and icy. Just like at the cinema.” you finally spill what’s been on your mind for a while now.

“I don’t! You put popcorn down my shirt, of course I was gonna react like that— if anything you took it too far!”

“That’s just how we play around is it not? You’ve done plenty of similar things. I honestly thought we were friends who joke around that they hate each other, but I guess not. I guess you really do hate me and you’re just not able to tolerate my bullshit anymore.” he furrows his eyebrows and opens his mouth to say something, but you don’t give him the chance.

“Goodbye, Doyoung.” you say before walking away, leaving him standing in the cold.

[vangoghmusings]

are you hiding too? part two | shoto todoroki x reader

summery: part two of “are you hiding too?” read part one here: ✿✿✿

college au + nsfw 

pairing: shoto todoroki x fem!reader

word count: >3,000

warnings: cussing, mention of drugs and alcohol, nsfw, oral, intercourse 

a/n: oh my goodness, i can’t believe you guys wanted a part two!! and with smut?! lord have mercy, i can’t believe i’m giving y’all permission to be horny on main smh...oh well >:) i had a really great time writing this and if you guys dont like it i might actually cry...hehe enjoy!! 

taglist: @mixfi​ @lilacskyura​ @brownmoonchild (comment or message me if you would like to be added)

After what seemed like ages of attempting to drag Mina and Ururaka to their shared dorm, you finally managed to put them into bed. You felt drained, the two of them were completely drunken toddlers. Except worse because they reeked of vomit and were far from cute. 

You walked took the stairs to your own dorm, sneaking in quietly. Tsu was asleep in her room, and you did your best to not wake her up. Your phone chimed, signaling you had failed. 

“Shit shit shit,” You whispered, quickly turning your phone on silent. You made your way into your room, closed the door behind you, and plopped onto your bed. You exhaled deeply, exhausted from your night before looking at who had texted you. 

unknown number: hey, y/n its shoto :-) 

You blinked and bit your lip, your cheeks heating up. You recalled the nights events. You had only just truly met Shoto, but the way he kissed you made it seem like you had known him for a lifetime. Before you could reply, you heard your name being shouted from your window. You hurried over to the window and peered your head out. On the sidewalk below stood the very drunk Denki Kaminari and a plastered Eijiro Kirishima. 

“Oh y/n, y/n, let down your hair!!” Kirishima sang, his words slurring together. 

“Nah man you gotta be like, HEY Y/N FLASH ME YOUR TITS!” Kaminari wailed, flinging his shirt in the air. 

You rolled your eyes, “Go to bed boys.” 

Their eyes widened seeing you look down at them. Kirishima cleared his throat. 

“Shall I compare thee to a summers day-” 

“CMON Y/N, LET US UP! WE’LL MAKE IT WORTH YOUR WHILE,” Kaminari sang, thrusting his hips out in the air suggestively. 

You laughed and shut the window and closed your curtains. You hopped into the shower, washing off the smell of weed, alcohol, and Mina’s vomit. You got into your pajamas and crawled into bed. You remembered the text from Shoto and eagerly grabbed your phone, replying quickly. 

you: hi shoto, did the party die down? 

shoto: yes, thank goodness. did you get home safely? 

you: yes :) thank u,, hows whiskers? 

shoto: he left me for koda :-( 

you: oh you poor thing!

shoto: i know what would make me feel better though...

you: hm? whats that 

shoto: can we go on that date sooner? like, sunday? 

you: sounds perfect :)

It was Friday going into Saturday. You almost wished he’d ask to see you tomorrow, but that must’ve seemed too eager. Another text came in as you looked back to the screen. 

shoto: great :-) i’m beat so im gonna go catch some zzz, good night 

you: good night shoto 

You felt like your heart was going to beat out of your chest. You barely knew him but everything just felt so normal. 

Before you knew it your eyes fluttered shut and you were sound asleep. 

✿ 

You were woken up, quite harshly by Mina and Ururaka screaming in your face. Mina shook your shoulders, your head wobbling around. 

“Okay okay!” You groaned, pushing Mina off of you. 

“IS IT TRUE?!” She shouted. You rubbed your eyes, irritated from the rude awakening. 

“How the hell did you guys even get in here?” 

“Tsu let us in,” Ururaka chimed in. 

“Sorry!” Tsu yelled from out in the living room, causing you to sigh. 

“Stop dodging the question!” MIna said, gripping your shoulders once again. You slapped her hands off. 

“What question?” You glared. 

“That you made out with THE Shoto Todoroki!” 

You blinked. 

“ARE YOU SERIOUS MINA YOU WOKE ME UP TO ASK ME THAT?! YOU WERE THERE!” 

Ururaka squeaked at your sudden outburst, pulling Mina away. 

“Thats what I told her! She couldn’t remember,” She said, Mina pouting. 

“Just how drunk were you last night?” You question, Mina turning away in shame. 

“Enough to forget that you made out with Shoto,” She grumbled. 

You chuckled and got out of your bed stretching. 

“Mmm, well, yeah. And we’re going out on Sunday.” 

Their jaws dropped. 

“SUNDAY?!” 

You cringed at their shouting. Ururaka began spilling out a bunch of dating advice while Mina kept begging you to tell her all the details in case you got the opportunity to “give him the ol’ razzle dazzle” as she put it. 

“Hey I made waffles! Get them while they’re hot!” Tsu yelled. The three of you looked at each other before running into the the kitchen, sitting down at the table, and proceeding to stuff your faces. 

“So, Todoroki huh?” Tsu said, sitting down beside you. You blushed and nodded, cheeks full of waffle. 

✿ 

You anxiously pressed your hands on your skirt. Shoto was supposedly 10 minutes away and you had no clue to where he was taking you. You stared at your self in the mirror. You donned your most confident inducing outfit, a mini skirt and lace trimmed top. You took a deep breath before reaching down to slip your sneakers on. There was a knock on the door and you shot right up. You ran to the door and inhaled deeply as you opened the door. 

“Shoto- What are you doing here?” 

Standing infront of you was Mina and Ururaka, pure excitement in their eyes. 

“We came to see you get ready-”

“We wanted to make sure you wouldn’t make a fool of yourself,” Mina said cutting the brunette off. 

You rolled your eyes and let them inside. 

“He’s supposed to be here soon,” You said, the nerves bubbling up once again. 

“You’ve got this y/n!” Ururaka cheered, giving you a tight squeeze. Mina made her way to the fridge, shuffling around and grabbing a day old breadstick from a pizza box. You tilted your head at her. 

“What are you doing? Those are mine!” 

“You can’t possibly think I’m going home when you’re going out with him. I need to be here for when you get back so you can tell me every juicy detail,” Mina scoffed, punctuating the sentence with the last few words. 

You huffed and nodded, your eyes widening as a knock was heard at the door. 

“OH MY GOD!” Ururaka mouthed, waving her hands in the air frantically. 

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT HE’S HERE HE’S FUCKING HERE,” Mina mouthed, jumping up and down, the breadstick flopping between her teeth. 

You opened the door, relieved to see the real Shoto standing there. You smiled up and him, praying he couldn’t see how nervous you were. 

“Hey,” You said breathlessly. Shoto looked, stunning. You thought he looked beautiful in the dim yellow lighting of the room at the party, you were proven wrong. He wore slim trousers and a gray button up, open at his collarbones. 

Shoto’s eyes seemed to replicate the same thoughts. 

“H-hey,” He said, nerves edging his voice. He tried his best to not make it too obvious that his eyes were raking you up and down. 

You closed the door, Mina and Ururaka giving you energized thumbs up. 

“Sorry about that,” You blushed, walking at his side.”They were excited to see you take me out.” 

“I don’t blame them, I’m excited to take you out too,” He smiled sweetly. 

You punched his shoulder playfully, “Don’t be so cheesy.” 

He chuckled, making his way to his car and opening the passenger door for you. You stepped inside, looking around. You inhaled, his car smelled just like him. 

He sat down in the drivers seat and buckled himself in, you doing the same. 

“So, you never told me where you’re taking me.” 

“Oh?” He smirked. “I know.” 

“I hope this isn’t a plot to murder me.” 

“Oh no, nothing like that,” He laughed, turning on the ignition and beginning to drive.  

You arrived at what you believed to be an art museum. He hopped out of the car and ran to open the door for you. You beamed up at him as he took your hand, walking inside. 

“Reservation for Todoroki,” Shoto stated to the security guard. The guard nodded, opening the door and letting the two of you inside of the massive, and empty museum. 

“Dean’s son huh?” You looked up at him, swinging your laced hands in between you. 

“Its got its perks,” He chuckled. “Like renting out the art museum for just the two of us.” 

You blushed and you walked around the corner to see a series of paintings. The two of you walked and talked and gushed over the art for what felt like hours. 

You came to a stop in front of a painting. The image portrayed a gorgeous Japanese woman in a traditional kimono. You bent down to look at the title of the painting. Courtesan: after Eisen, Vincent van Gogh. You hummed and stood back up. 

“She’s beautiful.” 

“Yeah, she is.” 

You turned to see Shoto looking at you, tenderness and endearment in his eyes. You blushed deeply. 

“I thought I told you to quit it with the cheesy-ness.” 

Shoto cupped your face, leaning in, his lips brushing against yours as he whispered, “Sorry.” 

You drapped your arms over his shoulders, closing the gap and kissing him deeply. He set his hands on your hips, his lips moving with a loving softness that made you melt. He pulled you closer the kiss gaining momentum and getting rougher. He pulled away, slowly, teasing you by biting on your bottom lip. The two of your stared at each other, pink cheeks and eyes filled with lust. Shoto quickly grabbed your hand and began walking. 

“This way.” 

You followed behind him like a love struck puppy. You found yourself int he photography section of the museum. The space was illuminated by a red light, the photographs lining the walls. There were several benches in the middle of the space. 

You looked up at Shoto, the red light highlighting how hungrily he looked down at you. He sat down on one of the benches, you following his lead. 

Before you could say a word, his lips latched onto your neck, soft whimpers of shock leaving your mouth. You felt his lips curl into a smirk against your skin. You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging gently when he bit down on your collar bone. 

“S-Shoto,” You huffed. You could sense yourself getting extremely wet, and the sudden idea of jumping him right in the museum wouldn’t leave your mind. He seemed to get the message, placing his on your inner thigh. He snaked his hand further up, his eyes widening feeling your soaked panties. 

“I-I,” You stammered, afraid of what he would say. He said nothing actually and instead dropped to his knees in front of you. You blushed profusely, as he took the zipper of your skirt in his fingertips. 

“Is this okay?” He looked up at you, waiting for your consent. 

Is this okay? Oh god yes. 

You nodded, too excited to see what he would do next to let the words come out of your mouth. 

He proceeded to unzip your skirt, your thighs exposing themselves to him. 

“You know,” He says softly, his nimble fingers, gently removing your soaked panties. “I’ve been wanting to do this since I saw you in philosophy freshman year.” 

Before you could reply to his confession, he burred his head between your thighs, darting his tongue inside of your heat. You gasped, your spine shuddering at the sudden penetration. You gripped the bench tightly, Shoto humming happily against you. His tongue swirled inside you, his nose tickling your clit that was so needy for more. You reached your hand down, and proceeded to rub your sore clit. You whimpered and bucked your hips, Shoto pulling away. His eyes widened at the sight, causing the erection in his trousers to cause further friction against the fabric. He stood up, and unzipped his pants, pushed down his boxers, allowing his strong erection to stand at attention. You eyed his length hungrily. Not only was he big, but he was long. 

You opened your mouth, a fake innocence glazing your eyes. Shoto blushed as you took his cock in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you began to suck. 

“F-fuck,” He groaned, griping your hair. He tenderly ran his fingers through your locks, brushing the baby hairs that were pressed against your forehead with sweat out of the way. And all this time you were still touching yourself. 

“God, you look so pretty when you touch yourself y/n,” Shoto spoke softly, his mind beginning to blank from how good you were sucking him. You shuddered and whimpered, your fingers quickening their pace. You were reaching your climax and Shota had noticed. 

“No,” He said sternly, gripping your wrist and pulling your hand away from your aching heat. 

Your face was filled with defeat and embarrassment. 

“S-Shota please, I just want to cum,” you whimpered.

“You’ll cum y/n, but when I say so.” 

He sat down on the bench, gripping your hips and turning you so you would face him. The lust in Shoto’s eyes seemed to have crept to the rest of his features. He held his length in front of your core, it was dripping in your saliva. He picked you up and placed you above his lap, your entrence hovering over his cock. Part of you was afraid you wouldn’t be able to take all of him. The other part of you really wanted to try. 

“Ride me,” he commanded. You nodded without hesitation and kined yourself up with his lenght, slowly lowering yourself unto him. You shut your eyes tight as he entered your tight hole. 

“Shit,” you whimpered, but you were on a mission to fit all of him inside you. Shoto groaned, his cock twitching inside your tight walls. Once you managed to take in his whole shaft, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking huge,” You exhaled. You places your hands on his chest and kissed him hungrily, but not making any attempt to bounce or grind against him. You were cockwarming him, and Shoto adored you for it. But not for long. 

“Fuck it y/n, I wan’t you to ride me already.” You giggled at his needy request and began to bounce yourself on him. Moans passed your lips effortlessly. Shoto was in a position that directly targeted your g-spot, and with every thrust upwards from his hips, you felt like you were on cloud-9. 

Shoto watched you, completely enamored. You somehow managed to make riding him look so elegant. You glowed under the red lighting, and he was dying to see how your face would look under it during your orgasm. In one swift movement, he laid you on his back, your legs laying against his chest. You gasped in surprise. Shoto had gotten impatient and was dying to please you. 

He gripped your legs firmly and began began thrusting-no-pounding into you. He huffed with every forceful thrust, grunting at the tightness of your walls. Your moans and wails were music to his ears. Your knuckles were white from gripping onto the bench. 

“I-I’m close Shoto,” you moaned, the words shaking as they came out. 

Shoto nodded and proceeded to roll his hips, hitting further inside of you. You groaned, your eyes rolling back, and seeing your face like that caused him to moan too. You arched your back, reaching your climax and Shoto continued to pound his entire length inside of you. You cried out in pleasure and cummed heavily all over his length. Shoto’s suspisions were correct, you looked glorious during an orgasm. So glorious infact, the sight caused him to cum himself. He groaned in a raspy tone, hot ropes of cum filling you up. Shoto slowed down, allowing the both of you to ride out your highs. He pulled out, the mixture of your cum flowing onto your thigh and the bench. He swiftly grabbed your damp panties and slid them on you. 

“You’re just going to have to keep that inside of you until we get home,” He said with a smirk. You blushed and pecked his lips. He helped you up and off of the bench, and the two of you proceeded to get dressed. 

“Hey!” The two of you whipped your heads around to see the security guard. 

“Is this where the two of you have been hiding? Your session is up.” 

Shoto bowed infront of the guard. 

“I am so sorry sir, here,” he pulled out his wallet, and handed the guard what appeared to be two $100. “We didn’t mean to take so long. Thank you and have a good night.” 

You squeaked out a little thank you to the guard, before Shoto and you were running back to the parking lot, laughed and grinning at their adventure. Once again, Shoto opened the passenger door for you and proceeded to get in the driver’s seat. 

“Are you okay with staying at my apartment tonight?” 

You blushed and nodded. 

“A sleepover with the dean’s son? How could I say no.” 

He chuckled and drove away from the museum as you pulled out your phone. Three texts from Mina. 

mina: how’s it going?? ;)) 

mina: its getting late wya 

mina: oh my god are u dead 

You rolled your eyes and replied. 

you: i’m fine, staying at shoto’s house tonight <3 

Not even a second later, Mina answered. 

mina: OMG YOU SLY BITCH GET IT GIRL

You giggled and put your phone away. Shoto set his palm down in front of you. You took his hand and your fingers laced together. He smiled, focused on the road and rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

You’re a Mean One, Mr. Kneef (Part 3)

<- Part 2 | Part 4 ->

For @thatesqcrush​​’s Naughty or Nice Holiday Bingo! Filling the Mistletoe square

Bryan Kneef x Female Reader

Warnings: NSFW. Rough-ish hate-sex, mild degradation. Enthusiastic but dubious consent! They both want what’s happening but Bryan is reader’s boss who coerced her into the date and reader is now (half-jokingly?) blackmailing him. It’s super healthy 🙃 

5,400 words

Bryan wished he were drunk.

He reclined in a leather armchair, a warm weight in his lap. He stared intently and with disinterest at the embroidery on the edge of a red Christmas stocking hung above the fireplace in his parents’ living room while his tiny nieces and nephews giggled at holiday movies.

If he had been drunk, he would at least have an excuse for his behavior tonight.

No, not for making a dozen paralegal nobodies miss Christmas, leveraging his authority to coerce you into doing a personal favor, or introducing NC-17 language to a family dinner. Those were all par for the course for the most ruthless litigator at STR Laurie.

It was the particular favor he had coerced you into—asking you to pose as the MILF he’d been banging when she dumped him via text on Christmas Eve.

Just so he wouldn’t have to explain why Sydney wasn’t with him. 

Just so he wouldn’t be alone for the long drive.

Fucking brilliant.

Now his most obstinate, irritating, antagonistic employee knew about Sydney, knew how attached he’d gotten, had met his mother, and seen photos of him getting a bubble bath in the sink. (He loved his mom, but sometimes he wondered about murder.) Making you do such a humiliating favor seemed like a good way to finally control you. But his upper hand was quickly reversed.

You were right. The whole thing was pathetic.

Still, you were playing along better than he could have expected.

The strangest part was, you fit in with his family so much better than Sydney would have. She was hot, but honestly, dumb as a brick, and as difficult as Bryan himself. He had a better time with you. The way you gently teased him, commiserating with his family over what a pain in the ass he could be. The way you smiled so naturally… he saw how things could have been with Syd. With someone who called out his bullshit, but cared about him anyway.

It was a shame you were just pretending.

Try opening your heart sometime.

Fuck that.

He didn’t need to open up more. He needed to get back to the Bryan Kneef he used to be before some bitch fucked with his heart. He needed to get Syd out of his fucking mind and replace her with someone else. Anyone else.

He needed to fuck someone.

And you…

His attention turned to the weight in his lap.

You were there.

*****

When did the pretend little gestures start getting to you? Start feeling enough like real affection that there was a lonely ache in your stomach?

You fucking hated Bryan Kneef.

But there you were, your fingers tangled in his beard when no one was even watching.

You’d been sitting on Bryan’s lap for what felt like hours—you could probably figure out how many based on the number of Christmas movies that had played and how many of the children had gone off to bed in various guestrooms.

Now the fire in the hearth was burning low, and only the adults remained hanging around in the living room.

His hands were wrapped around your waist, and you had gotten so comfortable, you were practically nodding off to sleep against his chest. Bryan was getting more comfortable, too. You idly stroked his beard, and he didn’t disguise the way he nuzzled into your hand.

The private whispers you shared started as touchy warnings not to screw up your “Sydney” act and counter-threats to expose him if he crossed a line. But that invisible line kept moving, and the whispers became more like the sweet nothings between lovers they were meant to resemble.

He even started stroking your hair. Bryan Kneef, gently running his fingers over your scalp. It was a Christmas miracle.

You might have drifted off in his arms, except for one major distraction—the bulge pressing against your ass.

“What the hell is that?” you asked, close to his ear.

“My dick.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Stupid question, then.”

“Fuck you.”

“Want to?”

You accidentally let out a heady sigh instead of an offended gasp, and his hand moved a little higher, slipping under your knit sweater, grazing over your belly. You meant to tell him to fuck off. Really. You should have told him to cut it out. But the problem was, you didn’t want him to.

“My offer’s still on the table,” he murmured. “Since you’ve been such a good girl tonight. You deserve a reward.”

Being called a good girl did something to you, even though it was—or maybe because it was—somewhat demeaning. Your skin prickled. You swallowed the dryness in your throat. Your skin felt too hot… much too hot, and his thick cock was still trapped firmly between his hips and your ass. His offered reward.

“Y-yeah, I deserve a medal of honor.”

For what, again? For helping out your coworkers? They were already home with their families—you didn’t have to stay this long.

Maybe continuing the charade was just more fun than sitting in your apartment eating Chinese takeout. You accused Bryan of being lonely, but the truth was, you were the one who had nowhere to be tonight—everyone you cared about was half a country away. And your horny, irrational side wanted to feel that cock without so much clothing in the way. Wanted to feel exactly how a selfish asshole like Bryan would ravage you with it.

He would devour you like the big bad wolf…

“That wasn’t a no,” he observed, his beard tickling your ear.

“Shut up!” you hissed back, loud enough to draw attention.

He chuckled, and you felt the vibrations of his chest at your back. “Yes, kitten.”

To his credit, Bryan didn’t try anything further. His hands behaved themselves, chastely stroking your hair, and eventually his erection returned to its pre-arousal size. You had been on his lap for a long time, your ass grinding against his groin whenever you shifted. It was a natural, physical reaction… That was all.

The fact that it felt so good you were soaking through your panties was just natural biology, as well.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Bryan Kneef was the worst boss you ever had. He had no respect for his subordinates (or for anybody—you recalled the deposition in which he’d told a name partner of Reddick, Boseman & Lockhart to “call her own ass”). The fact that he was handsome just made you hate him more.

But god, his lap was warm. The smell of his cologne, and the steady rhythm of his breath…

You got to see a human side to him tonight. The way he acted with people he couldn’t treat like shit. A private side no one who knew him professionally—and you doubted any of the fifty-two other women he hooked up with per year—ever got to see. You were peeking behind the curtain of his life, and it made Bryan squirm. It was kind of cute. And your wild, horny side was clawing at the inside of your brain to give in to all the lewd promises he kept whispering.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK!

*****

Martha yawned and patted her husband’s knee. “Well, us old folks are going to bed. Feel free to stay as late as you like, just turn the TV off when you go. No one’s in your bedroom if you do decide to stay over,” she added. “I’m making waffles in the morning.”

You swiveled your head around at the empty couches and realized it was just you, Bryan, and his parents left in the living room. Everyone else had gone home or gone up to bed. Bryan had been so cranky about wanting to leave right after dinner, but after you settled onto his lap, neither of you had found a reason to move.

Bryan stood and dumped you unceremoniously off his lap—you barely stuck the landing. He stretched.

“Nah, we’d better head out, too. Thanks for dinner, ma.” He kissed her cheek and hugged her and his dad goodbye. “Get your things, Syd,” he snapped.

Sounded like girlfriend-duty was over. Good. You could stop pretending to like him.

Good.

“Be nice,” Martha chided, batting him on the arm. “Go help her find her coat; she doesn’t know the way around.”

Bryan put his hand on the small of your back and led you through an archway to the entrance hall.

His father cackled as you passed through it. “Look up!”

Mistletoe.

Bryan glanced up at the bundle of mistletoe without moving his head, so it looked like he was rolling his eyes. Then he looked at you and quirked a brow. You let out an awkward laugh, which he took to mean kissing was not part of the deal.

“It’s depraved that you want to make your children kiss,” he said dryly. “You do this to Tim and Steve, too?”

“We did, and it was adorable.”

“It’s tradition! Kiss. Kiss!”

“We are not going to kiss for you like trained monkeys,” said Bryan.

His parents passed under the arch and pecked each other’s lips.

“I love you, dear,” said his mom to his dad.

“Love you, too,” said his dad to his mom.

“No,” said Bryan.

“’ Night, peanut.” Martha pinched his cheek, and she and her husband took their perfectly hideous matching holiday sweaters upstairs.

“There,” Bryan sighed as his parents’ bedroom door clicked shut. “That wraps it up. Good work tonight.” Genuine praise from Mr. Kneef was rare, and sent a strange flush of heat between your legs. He turned toward the closet to fetch your coat, but you caught his wrist. He turned back to you.

“It is tradition…”

“Is it now?” His eyes narrowed, and a confident smirk turned the corners of his lips. He stepped closer, dangerously into your space, pushing you back against the corridor wall. “We wouldn’t want to defy tradition...”

Fuck, fuck—what were you doing?

His scent was overpowering and masculine, his presence overwhelming your senses, making him seem so much taller than he was as he shadowed you from the overhead light. You grabbed the front of his cashmere sweater and pulled. His lips crashed into yours, as hungry and fierce as you dreamed they’d be. There was no slow mounting of intensity—the moment his mouth was on yours it was fighting for dominance, wet and hot, his tongue forcing your lips open, not giving you a second to catch your breath. He tasted like cocoa and peppermint. A low growl rumbled from his throat, and you felt it in yours, his tongue was buried so deeply down it. You wrapped your arms behind his neck, tangling your fingers in his salt-and-pepper hair, drawing his weight down on you, letting him trap you against the wall. Someone was making a pathetic high-pitched whimper, and you realized it was you, desperately clawing at his sweater to grab more of him, rocking your hips forward until he reciprocated and his erection pushed against the aching heat between your legs.

When he finally pulled away, you were panting, lips drenched and throbbing from his aggressive technique. His hand was unabashedly cupping your ass, rolling the fat of it in his palm.

Oh, fuck.

No. No, no, no. He’s an asshole. A shallow jerk, and you hate him. You were not supposed to give him the satisfaction of seducing you.

He brought a hand to your face, holding it firm to keep you looking at him. His green eyes were dark with lust and energetic with desire. He lowered his face to yours and licked the saliva off your mouth. You shuddered, hips twitching forward into his cock.

Then again, it wasn’t like this meant you had feelings for him. He certainly didn’t have any for you. This was about sex. About your satisfaction. What was so wrong about fucking your boss?

The same dominating, shameless personality that made him a nightmare to work for would be right up your alley in bed. You wanted those big hands all over you, holding you down. That filthy mouth degrading you. You wanted him to call you kitten and sweetheart while he had his way with you.

His big hand was still holding your face, his lips still breathing your air as they hovered over yours.

That was it. The floodgates were open, and there was no closing them again. The wild, wanton part of you won out and took control. There would be no more rational decisions tonight.

“Can I have my reward now… Mr. Kneef?”

“Yeah?” he breathed against your lips, still pinning you. “You want the medal of honor?”

“Fuck you.”

“Since you asked nicely.” He grabbed your hand and dragged you up the master staircase, down a hallway, and pushed you into a bedroom.

As soon as the door was closed behind you, his demeanor shifted slightly. His strong hands were pawing at your ass, roving under your clothing, but he pulled his head back when you tried to kiss him. “You sure you want to do this? To be clear, this is not part of our arrangement—I don’t want to hear from HR later that I forced you to fuck me.”

“I plan to leave this part out of the complaint I’m filing.”

“Good to know you’re still filing it.” He pinched one of your nipples through your bra to punctuate the thought. You tried not to melt in his hands.

“Maybe that depends on your performance,” you purred, letting a slow, wicked smile spread over your lips. “You’d better fuck me like your job depends on it, Mr. Kneef.”

“Treacherous little bitch,” he growled. “I like this side of you. You just tell daddy exactly how you want it...” His teeth grazed your ear. A flight of goosebumps broke out over the back of your neck.

“Oh, fuck… I want that nasty fucking attitude of yours. You never hold back, never have any respect for anyone—I bet you like giving it hard, don’t you?” You pulled his hips toward you and snapped yours against them.

“Is that what you want? You like it rough?” His fingers tangled in your hair and pulled your head back, exposing your neck. His lips were hot and his beard scratchy as he sucked a mark onto the soft skin of your throat while you moaned.

“Yeah. I want you to use me. Think you can do that?” you challenged, only a slight hitch to your breath betraying what his mouth was making you feel.

Despite the soft domesticity of your performed cuddling earlier, you could only imagine Bryan one way. And soft wasn’t it. One tolerable night didn’t mean you liked him… but it was kind of hotter if you didn’t. You had your own frustrations to work out.

The big bad wolf could fuck you hard enough to forget you were alone on Christmas.

“I think I can handle it.” He pulled harder and sucked another mark, this time enough to leave a bruise.

You let a moan slip out, grateful it was the time of year you could get away with wearing a scarf all week until those faded… because you wanted more—a whole little collection from Bryan Kneef’s filthy mouth.

“I knew you were a slut deep down…” He found the hem of your sweater and yanked it off over your head in one motion. “Having such filthy thoughts about your boss is naughty behavior,” he tutted. “Santa’s going to bring you coal.”

“And what about sexually harassing your employee?” You cocked an eyebrow, using the temporary space between you to posture with your hands on your hips defiantly.

“You’ve got no case for that one, sweetheart,” he chuckled darkly, stroking your cheek with unsettling fondness. “You barged into my private office and asked me out for drinks. Sounds like you’re just a slut.”

You glowered at him incredulously because… he wasn’t… wrong.

“It’s OK. I like sluts.” He smirked. The thumb stroking your cheek worked its way over your chin, brushed your pouted lips, and slipped between them. Your tongue instinctively darted out to taste the salty pad, and his eyes darkened with desire. “That’s right… take it, you filthy little—” He hissed when you nipped him hard enough to get his attention.

“And you’re lucky naughty boys are fun to play with.” You ran your tongue over his thumb soothingly.

His chest reverberated with a predatory grumble. You were going to pay for that. Within seconds he had your top off, and then your bra—his hands were everywhere, rough and demanding, not waiting for permission.

He wrapped one strong arm around your back to brace you and lowered his face to your breasts and started sucking on them, hard. His free hand kneaded your other breast, rolling the hardened peak under his thumb. Lightning shot through your body, making your back arch, your chest rising into his mouth. “Oh, Mr. Kneef…” you moaned, curling your fingers into his thick hair.

He was so ravenous his beard burned your skin, his tongue leaving wet trails of saliva along your abused breasts. Your nails dug into the back of his head as you pulled him deeper against you, encouraging every dangerous graze of his teeth and every mark he left on your skin that turned your lower body into molten lava.

“Fuck… yes, Mr. Kneef,” you panted. Always “Mr. Kneef.” It did something frenzied and primal to remember you were fucking your boss. Bryan wasn’t the kind of man you would fuck unless he was your boss. He wasn’t a lover, he was a kink.

Just when your raw nipples couldn’t take anymore, his mouth was on your lips again, assaulting your tongue with his, deep and persistent. There was a blur of movement. Your stomach lurched, the room spun, and suddenly you were on your back, on a mattress with Bryan on top of you.

Then he was sitting back, pulling his cashmere sweater off and unbuttoning his dress shirt while your fingers grasped at his belt, fumbling to unbuckle it. The tent straining the fabric beneath it was considerable, and that melting heat in your core was desperate for it.

You could see the dark need in Bryan’s eyes, but he managed a little more restraint than you were capable of in the moment. “Ground rules,” he said. “If you want to go through with this, there’s none of that fake lovey-dovey shit, understand? You are not my pretend-girlfriend. I am not going to be tender. There’s no cuddling.” His white undershirt fell open and revealed a broad chest covered in a forest of greying hair you wanted to get lost in. He followed the path of your eyes, and one corner of his lips twitched into a greedy smirk. “I am going to fuck you. Hard,” he growled, lowering his body on top of you, so close you could feel the heat of his skin on yours, the tickle of his chest hair on your sore breasts. His half-undone belt hung down and dragged on your hips. “I am fucking pissed about being dumped, and you are just a replacement. A body for me to fuck. That’s the deal—do you understand? Don’t come running to me Monday expecting any special attention.”

“Deal. On one condition.” You grabbed his beard and pulled his face down so his eyes were locked with yours. “You don’t fucking tell anybody about this. No one at work hears a word. No disgusting locking room talk. I am not one of your conquests. You want to tell anyone you got laid? It was Sydney.”

“Deal, Syd. Now shut the fuck up.”

You released his beard and pat his face condescendingly. He caught your wrist with an annoyed grunt, fingers circling it effortlessly, and pinned it beside your head on the mattress. Then he was stealing your breath with another fierce kiss, all teeth and tongue and snarling into your mouth. You felt dizzy when he finally broke it to pull his shirt the rest of the way off and toss it aside.

“Oh fuck, Mr. Kneef… you really are attractive,” you commented, running your free hand over his muscular chest and arms. God, those arms were the size of your head, with thick veins running their length.

He glanced down at you but barely took note of the way you were salivating over his body. He knew how hot he was. It wasn’t news. What interested him was you.

He slid your skirt and panties down over your hips, stripping you completely naked on the bed, and looked you over appreciatively. For someone who dressed so conservatively all the time at work, you were sexier than the real fucking Syd. He was starting to think it was a good thing the bitch dumped him—look at all he was missing out on being chained to one pussy.

“You OK?” you asked. You noticed him pause after getting your clothes off, and he had that strange sort of sad look again.

He blinked, and his eyes hardened.

His pants dropped to the floor so he was standing just in his boxers. Then he was on top of you, pushing you back down into the mattress, using his knees to spread your thighs apart. That wild, needy heat flared up within you, anticipating it.

You reached between his legs to cup his bulge through his underwear, his heavy balls, the stiff erection above it. His cock was so thick you gasped as your fingers surrounded it to take in its size, and couldn’t wrap all the way around.

“Fuck. Oh wow, fuck. That’s huge,” you husked, voice slurred with desire. “I guess when you strut around like you’ve got a huge dick, it’s for a good reason. I always thought you were compensating for something.”

He growled and thrust his hips between your spread legs so you could feel that massive cock grind against your pussy.

“Ohh—fuck!” you groaned. You considered the monster between Bryan’s legs, and suddenly the idea of him fucking you with it as hard as you asked for made your throat go dry. “I don’t know if I can take this all at once.”

“You won’t be able to walk right on Monday. Everyone’s going to know what a great holiday you had,” he promised sinfully. “I’m going to rip you in half.” He rocked his hips again, rubbing your clit with the pressure of it, and you felt yourself getting wetter.

“I fucking mean it, Bryan. You are actually going to hurt me with that thing.”

His face grew serious. “You want me to stop, say stop—any time. Say no. Slow down. I’m not going to fucking hurt you.”

That was entirely relieving, actually. You’d kind of jumped into this hoping he’d ride you hard and push you around, but the fantasy didn’t work if you weren’t in control if he pushed too far. You were actually putting a lot of trust in a man you hated because you were horny.

He felt like shit that you’d think he would actually hurt you like that. But he could hardly blame you. “If you can’t speak, tap out. Can you do that? Show me you know what I’m fucking talking about and you’re not just nodding along.”

You scowled indignantly and tapped three times on his arm.

“Good girl.” His beard was tickling the soft skin of your chest as he made a path of bites and kisses down your body. “Don’t worry, kitten. When I’m done, you’ll be begging for me.”

He lifted your legs over his shoulders and sucked a long, teasing mark into one of your thighs, pinching the flesh in his teeth, determined to leave a lasting impression with this one—so anyone else who might fuck you in the next few weeks would know he was there. Then he moved his attention to your already-drenched heat. He dipped one of his long, thick fingers in first, and you gasped, flinching as it plunged its full length up to the knuckle into you, and he chuckled at your reaction.

“You’re tight even around one finger,” he said. “Am I making you nervous?”

You looked down your body at Mr. Kneef, your asshole boss, between your legs, slowly pumping a finger inside you. “Fuck you.”

“Trying, but I’ve got my work cut out. What a beautiful pussy, though…”

Without warning, his tongue darted out and licked your clit. You felt yourself clench around his probing finger and relax again, flooding with warmth. He grinned against your heat and began eating you out relentlessly, filling the room with filthy wet sucking and lapping sounds. Your soft, whimpering cries filled the air, too—you tried not to make too much noise with his family in the house, but you couldn’t stop a few from slipping out. You yelped as he added fingers with just as little warning, stretching you open a little at a time. He changed up the pattern and speed of his tongue on your clit, always backing away just as the molten heat of your orgasm began to build to its delicious, irresistible heights. He didn’t stop until his beard was soaked, and your pussy was practically sucking his fingers in with the need to be satisfied—until you were begging for it.

“Please… Mr. Kneef—ah! Please let me come?”

“Now, now. You’re going to come on daddy’s cock.”

“Yes!” you gasped, clawing at his hair, “Yes—fuck me. Oh god, fill me up with that perfect cock.”

He stripped his boxers off, and his red cock sprang free, already glistening with arousal, the smooth head pulled out of his foreskin. Veins snaked up the sides of it just like his arms and the backs of his hands. It was every bit as big and solid.

Kneeling between your legs, he gave his cock a few strokes and rubbed it through your dripping wet folds. The blunt, hot pressure of it sent waves of arousal up your spine. Your legs opened a little wider without your bidding them to.

“Wait!” you choked out, coming to your senses. “Condom.”

Bryan grumbled. “I’ve only been with one partner for the last three months. I’m clean.”

“Put a fucking condom on—”

“Or you’ll tell HR?”

“And your mom, too.”

“Bitch.” He smiled, the corners of his bright eyes wrinkling. Nobody ever called you that like it was a compliment before.

“Asshole.”

There were condoms in his business card case, as if he had rather expected the night to go this way.

When he finally entered you, he was studying your face almost tenderly for signs of pain or hesitation. He worked you open in a steady movement—not rough as promised, but not patiently waiting. His blunt head stretched you more than his fingers, but you were so sensitive already—so close—your walls eagerly gripped him, reshaping for his size, and the sore, burning sensation of being stuffed past your limit was one you relished as much as the pleasure.

Your legs hooked around the back of his thighs and guided him in until he was buried in your tight warmth.

Slowly at first, he rolled his hips fluidly until he was sure you could take it. When he felt you relax around his cock, your eyes on his with lust-blown desire, he snapped his hips against you once, the smack of flesh echoing through the quiet dark of the bedroom. A deep, startled moan followed it, torn out of your chest.

You were already at the limit of pressure your body could take just being filled by Bryan’s cock. The hard thrust went even deeper—too deep. You had never felt such a fullness before, and—fuck—he was hitting something so deep inside. Something that made your whole body start to melt. It didn’t matter if you could take it or not.

You wanted every inch of this bastard.

“Yes… That’s it… More. Give it to me.”

Bryan lifted your legs up onto his shoulders and leaned over you, pushing them toward your head. The new angle made him feel impossibly large, and when he found just the right angle for leverage, he started fucking you harder and deeper than you’d ever experienced. Every ruthless snap of his hips hit so deep it knocked the air from your lungs and drew a wailing moan from low in your throat.

He clamped a hand over your mouth, eyes a warning. “Quiet. Don’t wake the house.”

“Oh god… oh fuck, Bryan, you’re so… big.” Your voice shook as you tried to speak and hold back another moan.

Unlike the high, breathy gasps you usually gave, Bryan’s massive cock was pulling a new level of moan out of you, as penetrating as his thrusts. Another tore from your throat. You couldn’t hold it back if you wanted to, when his cock slammed into that spot that made you melt. It came from so deep within it shook your bones.

His hand covered your mouth again, and a fire kicked up in your stomach. The warmth of his salty palm pressing over your lips, pushing your head down into the mattress as he jackhammered into you—you were lost and aroused at the dominance of it. This time you grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand over your mouth tighter.

He tipped his head at you curiously, and you shot him a defiant look, grinning against his palm as he realized how much you liked being gagged.

“You like that, you little slut?”

You moaned even louder, letting him muffle you. You didn’t have to hold back now—the harder he rutted, the louder you wailed into the weight of his hand, which meant he didn’t have to hold back either.

The entire bed shook, legs scraping the floor with every powerful thrust as he fucked you into the mattress.

“Take that cock,” he grunted. “That tight pussy feels so good.”

Every stroke bottomed out, hitting depths you never thought possible, and hitting something that ached exquisitely and sent tendrils of molten heat out to your fingertips and down the base of your spine.

It came on so gradually you almost didn’t notice the warm tension building up in every part of your body until it was breaking over you like a wave. Bryan tightened his grip to silence your climax, sobbing into his hand, kissing it, but mostly just letting yourself cry out louder as wave after powerful wave shook you from toes to fingertips, making the world lose focus. All you could feel was him filling you so completely, fucking you through it as your walls convulsed around his cock, and the weight of his hand on your mouth holding you down, anchoring you.

He grunted, pumping faster, shallower as your walls clenched too tight to penetrate, then just as you were starting to come down from your high, his hips jerked, stuttering in their rhythm, and he heaved an exhausted, satisfied sigh as his hot release filled the condom.

His hips stilled. He slowly released your mouth, and you kept moaning, “Fuck… fuck… oh my god, fuck. That was so good.” Your skin was still prickling with warm needles, and you felt… vulnerable.

You felt him start to pull out and grabbed his thick ass, pulling him flush against you.

“Don’t...” you panted. “I want to feel you inside me a little longer.”

“I told you none of this clingy shit,” he frowned. His brow was beading with sweat, and a sheen covered his chest muscles. His pink nipples were hardened peaks in his greying chest hair.

“Shut the fuck up,” you sighed, head falling back on the pillows. You relaxed your legs off his shoulders and crossed them around his back, holding him in place. “I just love your cock. You’re still an asshole. Just shut up and pretend you’re someone nice for a second while I catch my breath.”

It wouldn’t last long before he grumbled about needing to shower and dispose of the condom. But for a few minutes, the callous Mr. Kneef did as he was told and held you as the stars faded behind your eyelids, and your breath stopped trembling. When he was quiet like that, his solid presence was comforting—an anchor when you felt like you might float away.

When he wasn’t taunting and condescending—being himself, in other words—you could imagine he was the kind of person you would want to hold you.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

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