#Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You Part 2

[tadpolesonalgae]

Azriel x third-oldest-Archeron-sister!reader: Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 2[*]

A/N: Really not sure about this one :/

Warnings: fingering, angst

-Part 1- -Part 3-

Heart pounding in your chest. Words ringing in your ear.

If you were half the female Elain is, then maybe he’d show a little interest. But you’re not. You’re painfully separate, unable to crawl into her skin to live as her, to please him. Something sharp twists in your chest but you gently push it away, shunning that bruised, neglected part of you back into its dark and cramped cell.

His mouth opens, tongue stroking over your own, flicking the roof of your mouth. Hands on your hips, squeezing your waist. Toes hurting from the effort of balancing on them, upper body stretched taut with your arms grasping him tight, keeping him tucked against you, pressing his scent into your skin.

Quiet, needful sounds pass into his mouth, fingers tightening on him, pushing into him, keeping him. He’s yours for the moment. Hands grip the fabric of your dress, material scraping over your goose-pebbled skin. Breath catches at the rough drag of fingertips on your upper thigh, gripping your bare hips.

Heat builds behind your eyes, pressure warming as they squeeze shut, grasping him tighter, clinging desperately. Something hard and wooden is digging into the base of your spine, but his hips are pushing into your front and—and you can’t feel anything. Not even a slight firmness. He isn’t even interested in your body.

You kiss harder, pressing against him, winding against him in attempts to stir something. To get some kind of male reaction. Soft, feminine sounds spill from your lips, quiet pants as you bite down on the groans, only allowing the sweet and pleasing noises to make their way out. You press your chest into him, utilising the book case to arch your spine, even as it hurts to level yourself upon it. His hands squeeze your waist, and you bow further, slowly settling back upon the aching flats of your feet, toes stinging from the weight.

Your neck tips back, craning upward to keep his mouth upon your own, his thumb running over the bare skin above the band of fabric clinging to your hips. You start at the action, wanting more. Slowly, carefully, in a way you hope he likes, you press your lips to the edge of his mouth. Gradually, you make your way to his throat, nipping and kissing his neck.

His scent wraps around you, and for a moment you imagine he really is—that his arms are around your waist and he’s holding you because he wants to. But that illusion falls to dust when his fingers hook beneath the material of your underwear and he firmly pulls away from your mouth, dipping so his own is over your throat. He noses the sensitive skin a little roughly, and a small sound whines from your lips, warmth heating your cheeks as you replay the noise.

It doesn’t seem to bother him as he licks the hollow of your throat, almost certainly feeling the way your arms tense and the way your breath catches.

His canines scrape and this is it, he’s going to bite down, and he’s going to mark you, and it’ll stay. It’ll turn purple and blue, then to a yellowy green, but you’ll have memorised it by the time it fades. Teeth prick against the delicate skin of your throat and you tilt your head back, giving him unlimited access, and his mouth opens, opens over you, preparing to sink deep inside, and— He pulls away. You were too eager.

Instead his lips seal over a spot beneath your jaw, suckling and kissing gently, but nothing that will leave a mark. Nothing he’ll have to face once this is over. His hand slides back, and you inhale sharply as he squeezes your ass, cupping the plumpness appreciatively. You go a little dizzy when his fingers slide deeper, going between your thighs with expert ease, pressing against your entrance.

Absolute humiliation flushes your skin as he feels just how wet you are, just how desperate you are for a kind word from him. If he asked you to stop, and asked you to get on your knees, you’re not entirely sure you’d be able to deny him. Even if it meant forgoing your own pleasure. If you could give him a little more…

He pushes away the sopping fabric, fingers circling the sensitive skin, making you tighten around nothing. No one’s ever worked you this well before. Never had you so desperate after receiving so little, and— You squeeze your eyes shut, pressure heating in a flash at the realisation.

“Look at me.”

His voice breaks through your world of darkness, eyes opening to seek him out. They flit away, embarrassed by the damp blur coating your vision. His fingers slide forward with ease, dancing through the mess between your thighs, pressing to that unfairly sensitive space at your apex. “Look at me,” he repeats. Still quiet, but stern; sharp.

You follow his orders weakly, meeting that piercing hazel that’s staring deep inside. His fingers press in, sliding to his second knuckle, and your breath halts, catches in your chest. His eyes are latched upon yours and you’re unable to look away as he swallows you whole, your entire self being devoured and obliterated over and over beneath him. Trampled and beaten into the dirt until you’re curling up within yourself shrinking away from this monster that’s taking everything you have.

If you continue to give him everything, what will be left of you?

His fingers curl and thoughts melt with your brain. You lap at the edges of him, that inherent otherness that comes with being fae reaching out desperately, standing on a precipice with nothing more than a hope to be caught. He touches a spot inside you and you stumble, quietly moaning as you focus instead on how he feels inside you. How he’s pressed against you and you’ve never been so close with anyone else. Never been so vulnerable, emotions and thoughts laid bare through the intimacies of what should be limited to lovers.

Azriel’s murmuring something but your world has gone quiet, sound a dim ringing in the chambers of your memory. Your world is comprised of touch and feeling, nothing but sensation and existence. His fingers retract and you’re cold and empty, but then he’s shifting to be in front, and, and—

His two fingers slide in to his knuckles, pressing all the way inside and you have to make way for him. Moans and pants spill from your lips in attempts to find room for his pleasure, the way he’s sliding in and out of your heat, curling and pumping and sound begins to return. You’re aware of the things he’s murmuring to you, saying how good you are, what a good job you’re doing, and you lap up every word he gives you. Every muttered praise, every lied encouragement. You’re content to believe them for the moment, to burn yourself in his warmth.

“Azriel…” you pant, softly.

His eyes flicker, again touching that spot inside of you that has you tightening around him. He marks the pace of your breathing, shallow and uneven, seeking more from him. You’re nearing that tipping point, nearing the pleasure he’s giving to you, but…

He’s taking it from you.

This moment, the meaning of intimacy, and your pleasure. He’s taking everything from you. Things he has no need for, things that have no use to him, because you’re open for him. Allowing him to do what he wants to you, and, yes, what you want him to do, too.

If you give him this…you really will have nothing. But he is everything to you, so it shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter but it does, somehow. You can’t give it all. That’s not something you can put yourself through. That’s not what you survived for. You haven’t made it two years without asking for hand from anyone just to have it all ripped away.

Pleasure builds, heat burning beneath your skin, coiling tighter and tighter as you look into those remarkable hazel eyes. “Azriel…” you moan, tightening your grip over his shoulders. That small, malnourished part of you screams, screams until her lungs rupture and her nails peel back from her finger tips as she claws at her cage. She screams with fury and rage at her imprisonment and you can’t, you can’t.

“Stop.”

He ceases his movements, but not willingly. He’s pausing, fingers still sunken inside your wet heat, keeping you on the brink of pleasure, within the palm of temptation. “Stop,” you repeat, hoarsely, arms releasing him in favour of taking his hand by the wrist, pulling it away from you. Shame weighs in your stomach as you feel your slick forming thin threads connecting his wet fingers to your sopping cunt. The proof of the choice you made. But the choice he made, too.

Azriel watches you intently as you pull back. You were right there. At the tip of his fingers, you were about to tip over. Why had you pulled away?

A small spark of that fire he’d seen earlier presents itself in your gaze, and he’s wanting you to fight again. But you’d told him to stop, and he will keep to his word. If you don’t want that pleasure, then you won’t get it. Not from him at least. It’s your choice if you want to pass up the chance he was giving you—the opportunity to have him and then leave. He was presenting you with a way out, but you’ve found your own. Made your own. It’s not the work of the doe-eyed, simpering woman he’s come to know you as. Maybe you aren’t the female he thought you were.

You can hardly stand to be in your skin as you push him away gently; numbly. That ringing sounds in your ears and it’s all you can do to cover yourself, easing out from between him and the book case to make for the exit. You don’t care to look back, even for him. Not so soon, before you’ve even had the chance to process. Because it’s a lot.

A lot has happened. A lot has changed. And you— You don’t know.

He’d seemed different, somehow. He’d seemed like— Well, he clearly isn’t. He’s not the male you had hoped he was.

————

Hours had passed in the blink of an eye, and thoughts were still a morning view clogged with thick fog. So you went to bed.

You didn’t allow yourself to think of him. Couldn’t think of him.

The buzzing had cut out, leaving an almost peaceful silence to fill the space he had left.

You washed, but did not eat, fearful of running into company. So you changed, and got into bed with an empty stomach; for a few strangely blissful moments, you were mortally, beautifully human again. Head empty, heart empty, belly empty. Tired and somber. A little numb.

Quiet.

————

You rose with the sun, arms stretching with the rays, and you allowed the silence to stretch until midday. Basking in quiet, peaceful relief. No thoughts, just feeling. The blue skies, billowing puffy clouds, fresh breeze. The smell of something clean and sharp; minty?

The first non-natural sound you heard that day was the leathery beat of wings followed by the blaring scuff of boots and voices. Hastily, you retreat to your room, finally having to face the music. Face what had happened. The choices you had made, and the choices he had made. Every messy, tangled thread. It was time to sort through them all.

So you sit on your bed, but it feels too stiff; too mechanical. You lie down, watching the ceiling and thoughts eddy out, like water between your fingers. You have no need for the useless noise. Only the memories and sediment.

Breath blows from your lungs, chest deflating. Aching for air. Breathe in. Hold, calm down, exhale.

And what?

What is there to do? Where is there to go from here? Where even are you?

Eyes slide shut. Closing in with your thoughts. Secret space for you and your memories. Solitude.

If you were half the female Elain is…

Eyes squeeze tight. Breathe.

If you were even half like her…

Heat builds. Nails bite.

If you were different, if you were more like her…

Muscle contracts. Aches blossom.

If you were different.

You nod to yourself, accepting it. He wants Elain, not you. And it hurts. It hurts that again, you aren’t good enough. It hurts, and he had said it out of anger—maybe irritation. He had apologised, he had been regretful, and the words still sting. Can you forgive him? Does it matter if you can forgive him?

What matters is where you go from here—wherever you are.

And it will begin with understanding, accepting he will not…he won’t… He won’t do whatever it is that you want. Whatever thing you desire, that feeling you get from him will never be yours. It’s not yours to take, but you want it none the less. So your first task will be acknowledging that, and letting it pass.

Breathe in. Lungs rise; expand. Skin stretches. Blow out.

Heat rolls back into your hair, dripping into the sheets.

Weight settles, pulling you down through your bed. Taking you away again.

You need to talk with him.

————

Agitation has been crawling, itching and festering. Stroking you skin with its lovely claws. Frustration opens her gently smiling jaws, pillowy tongue looking plush, and pleasant.

The library’s doors are looming, tall and ominous, and—no. They’re the same as they always are: double wooden doors, smooth and carefully crafted. You raise your hand to knock, but that wouldn’t make sense. The library isn’t his space, you don’t need to knock to enter a shared area. It’s your house as much as his, you don’t have to tip toe about. Don’t need ask for entrance.

Spine steels, straightening, and you open the door.

You know what he’s like: you won’t be able to find him if he’s trying to avoid you. So you’ll go as you usually do, sitting in the library, filling afternoons with books and parchment. Maybe you’ll actually be able to get some reading done today. Maybe you’ll be able to relax and return to normalcy. Somehow, you doubt it.

The doors swing open, perfectly silent, on well-maintained hinges, and you instantly pick out his scent. Pleasing and fresh. He’s already in here. You grip onto it, taking a step in his direction, heart pounding.

Are you really ready for this conversation?

Fuck.

Breathe in. Hold. Count. Exhale.

Hand over your chest, feeling the drum of your heart.

Beneath his scent, you can pick out a smaller, female scent. It’s faint and barely there, and memories come back. Wood digging into your back, his hips pressing into your front, not an ounce of arousal to be found. How severely you had embarrassed yourself.

One more step forward, one step at a time. There’s no rush, just go slow. At your own pace. The fact alone that he’s here: where he’s found you countless times past over the year…he won’t run away. He has nothing to worry about. He isn’t on the verge of falling apart.

The trail is leading you to that aisle, where the two of you had been just days ago.

Throat tightens. Lump forms. Difficult to swallow.

Breathe. Hold. Count. Exhale.

Final step.

Your heart spikes as you take him in, the light from the windows sweeping over his outline, revealing him in all his beauty. Watery sun catches on the slight iridescence of his wings, and your hand slides over your chest. Deep breath.

His back remains to you, and you know he’s allowing you to take control of this, how it unfolds. If you want to leave it for another day, he won’t make you face it. You could walk right back out of this library, and he won’t say a word. It gives you a little comfort at least.

You clear your throat, readying yourself to see him again, to look into those hazel eyes. His shadows are nowhere in sight, and you wonder if they’re perhaps giving you the privilege of privacy, the courtesy of not peeking into your business. Teeth find your lower lip, but you need to talk to him, or you can’t move forward.

“Azriel?” Your voice sounds louder than you had expected and you suppress your slight start. Swallowing, you try again, tamping down the flush of embarrassment. “I…I want to talk about what happened. Between us.”

Wings tense, shoulders go rigid as he moves sharply, turning on you with that lethal precision of someone who’s been caught off guard. Deep cocoa eyes latch upon yours, creamy skin flushed, silky hair hanging in lovely, elegant cascades over her shoulders.

Lips part in surprise, mind goes numb. Blank.

Azriel’s brow narrows as he takes you in, but it’s Elain your attention is on as she flushes deep, taking a step away from the male. “I—…” She turns to Azriel, who is still watching you with that piercing gaze. “Well, again, if you ever have an afternoon, I’d like very much to show you. I’ll leave you two to…talk.” She hurriedly excuses herself, the soft wisp of her lilac dress hardly registering as she brushes past.

You stare at Azriel, tall and unyielding.

You stare, and nothing comes to mind. Anything you had planned to say is forgotten, washed away to a land of mist and fog. Sharp hazel eyes meet yours, dark and accusing, spearing through you. Shadows peek over his wings, circling tight. Lips press together in a stern line.

“What was that?” Your voice is hoarse, rough at the edges. “What were you…? Why…?”

He regards you, then shifts, all grace and strength. “Don’t do that,” he says, a touch quieter than usual, and you wonder if he’s somehow thinking it might make this easier. “You knew this was coming. Don’t pretend you’re surprised.”

Words don’t exist in your mind, your tongue has forgotten them.

He waits, watching your mental stumbles and stammers.

Your throat rolls. “I just— I just wanted…” Your lower lips trembles, and his eyes flick away for a moment, allowing you to dry the dampness in your eyes, shame and humiliation settling. “Why in here?” You manage instead. “Isn’t that a little…?”

“I can’t plan these things,” he says, gently. “Bad timing, I suppose.”

Bad timing.

“You want me to believe that wasn’t a wake-up call?” You ask quietly, not looking at him. “I’m always in here around now. You know that. Don’t say you forgot.”

He pauses, and you feel the weight of his gaze returning to you. You want to meet it, but… “Like I said, bad timing.” Silence stretches, fractures spiral down your spine, shattering across your chest. “It wasn’t an intentional move on my part, as much as you may doubt it,” he adds, quietly.

When no reply comes, he shifts on his feet, “what did you want to talk about?”

You debate turning and running right then and there. Just leaving, but that would just be putting it off, and you don’t have the energy. “What happened here a few days ago.”

He’s quiet. Listening to you.

“I…” You don’t know. You’d hoped it would be an equal effort, that the conversation would just happen like all the ones you’ve had before. But those have revolved around Elain, and been led by Azriel. Now you’re in control, and you have no idea what to do.

You wipe your eyes again, not as discreetly as you would have liked, but it’s better than him actually seeing you cry. You stand a little straighter, but still can’t meet his gaze. “We… I shouldn’t have done that.” You settle on. “It was…it was a foolish choice to make, and I’m…” You breathe deeply, heat pushing from behind your eyes, and you dry them again. “I’m sorry for tangling you up in it,” you whisper.

He’s silent, and you wonder if he’s already left, wanting to give you privacy. But then he says, “I made some…I was wrong, too.” You don’t really know what to make of that, so you stay quiet. “I thought maybe it would help you get over your feelings,” he explains. In your peripherals you can see as he shakes his head, “I should have known better.”

It stings more than he probably meant it to, but you find yourself meeting his gaze. “I’m fully grown. I can make my own decisions and manage the consequences.” Yes, it’s a little bitter, but… No. It’s just bitter. No excuse.

“No,” he says, and your eyes flick away from his, “the things I said, comparing you to Elain was wrong and unfair. I shouldn’t have done that, and I’m sorry.” You nod stiffly, reluctantly accepting his apology, because you did some things…said some things, too.

“I’m not sure…” you start, then shake your head. “I shouldn’t have said what I did about your hands. It was wrong, and cruel, and I said it because I knew it would hurt you,” you admit, unable to meet his eyes. “I’ve never— Not once. I’ve never thought…” Frustration bubbles in your chest as you search for the words. But he shakes his head, “I understand.”

Your brows curve upward, looking at him, but there’s a wall behind his eyes, and you know it’s pointless. The scar you targeted runs far deeper. Pain cultivated across centuries, burrowing deeper and deeper until it made home in the marrow of his bones. And you’d struck it. Like the self-absorbed, jealous coward you are, you’d wanted him to hurt how you were.

You remove your gaze from him, too ashamed to hold it. “I just thought…I don’t know…” you mumble, ringing your fingers together. “Feyre and Rhys, Nesta and Cassian? Then Elain has—…” You cut yourself off, remembering how things had gone the last time you’d brought them up. “Well, I just thought maybe, that…I don’t know…maybe you and I…”

“Were mates?” He finishes.

You shift uneasily, rubbing the back of your neck as you peer at the floor, “not in an entitled way… Just a… I was hopeful. That’s all it was.”

“I don’t think you grasp the depth of a mating bond.”

You bite your lip to keep it from wobbling, “I guess not.”

Maybe he’s right. It’s not like you grew up on Prythian tales and lullabies—you only came into his land recently. You know so little about his world, despite having been living in it for the past two years.

“Anyway,” you say, softly, voice a little raw, “I’m sorry for trying to involve myself like I did.” He nods, accepting your apology, and your eyes flit to his right, the books on the shelf. “And, I didn’t mean to—… I mean, I didn’t know that you and…” you trail off. Tongue flicks out to wet your lips, “it wasn’t intentional on my part. I just wanted to get this out of the way…”

He nods again, “I believe you."

You swallow, managing a small, nervous smile, still peering at the row of books to his right. “I’d like…I think, it would be nice to be friends, then.” Your eyes flit to his, an effort to do so. But he offers no consolation, no last comfort. Humiliating silence stretches between you, and you hope he might say something, yearn for some sort of reassurance that you haven’t ruined things.

But your head lowers, nodding slightly. “Okay…” you say, weakly, “I get it. That’s fine.”

You watch your fingers ring together in front of you, nails sliding beneath one another as you fidget. “I’ll just—” You gesture to the door, and he still remains silent, just watching you. He knows not to reach out. It would be cruel to give you any sort of hope.

Teeth bite your lip, and you hang your head in shame.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “okay.”

CBMTHY Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @thekingravkadeserves @impossibelle @naturakaashi @sakurafrost3-blog

[feyascorner]

2 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. While seeing him leaving tore you apart from the inside and out, he chose not to see you. He decided what the end of your relationship would be without ever stopping to ask you. You should hate him, truly.

But as soon as you swing open the door, you only have one dying wish.

You want to see him.

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. and he finally makes an appearance;,; ik the first two chapters are a bit slow but i think i can start picking up the pace now woohoo!! Reader/Tav’s feelings are supposed to be confusing on purpose but I may have overdone it a tad,,

He hadn’t had time to gather any of his belongings when he left. And while your other companions graciously rid of everything they could into a single box packed away in the corner of the basement, even they could not bring themselves to throw the handheld mirror away–whether because of the intricate designs framing its reflection that surely held value or because of your apprehension for throwing it out, you’re not sure. You haven’t used it yourself, too afraid of even touching its handle out of fear it may crumble away.

One of the orphan children that Cora’s harboring places a cup in front of you. You raise a brow at her, silently asking how Cora’s doing, and she only shakes her head solemnly before scurrying away.

“Where were you at the time of the murder?”

“They’ve already said numerous times where they were,” Lae’zel spits in the Flaming Fist’s direction. “Are all Fists this incompetent, or are you just a special case?”

You run a hand down your face while Gale attempts to calm Lae’zel. Shadowheart’s had her eyes trained on the cups perched around the table for quite some time now, occasionally glancing up to listen to the Fist’s interrogation. Unfortunately, the cups lack their usual alcohol, but you don’t complain about the water with how dry your throat is. You pat her shoulder, and she finally meets your eyes, nodding before resuming her focus on whatever the Fist is saying. You’re not sure yourself at this point.

“As Flaming Fists, we must put the guilty in their rightful place, regardless of whether they’re the hero of Baldur’s Gate or not,” he straightens his back, then narrows his brows at you. “And right now, all witnesses point here. You were seen leaving the tavern with a man reported as missing this morning. Care to explain that?”

You can hear Gale’s chair scrape against the floor. “You can’t be serious. They saved the entire city, for Mystra’s sake! If they wanted bloody murder, they would've been positively drenched in blood by now.”

However, all you feel is the searing stares of your other companions, who remain blissfully unaware of the encounters of your previous night. But you can tell they’re not accusing you, unlike the Fist—they never would—but rather demanding an explanation. You sigh deeply. “I didn’t go home with him. We spoke for almost two minutes before I left.”

“And what proof do you have of that?”

“Considering I woke up in the Blushing Mermaid, I’m sure you can do a little questioning there to find some witnesses,” you stand, the chairs of your leg scratching against the tiled floors. “Are we done here? I need to go speak with Cora, because her husband just died."

“Sit,” he hisses, his fingers reaching for his weapon. “I won’t repeat myself.”

The air becomes tense in mere seconds. It'd been uncomfortable moments ago, but not as much as this—not enough to make Lae’zel reach for her sword as she’s doing now. Your eyes narrow warningly into slits at the Fist, but his subordinates only step forward to stand on either side of him as if daring you to take another step. From the corner of your peripheral, you can see Shadowheart’s palm spark with light. The others occupying the Highberry household, even from outside on the patio, are talking in hushed whispers, all gazes trained on your very breath. And after a suffocating silence, you hear a chuckle from the door.

“Now, Yevir, we shouldn’t be treating our city’s most esteemed citizens with such hostility.”

Grand Duke Ravengard–Wyll’s father–steps into the home, shaking his head. The Fists, who were willing to go head to head with you mere seconds ago, are now turned and saluting the Duke, which makes Lae’zel scoff at your side. “You lot are dismissed under my name. Though I do have a word to exchange with the bard.”

Former bard, you want to correct him.

Your companions exchange an apprehensive glance at one another before you step forward. “And what do I owe the pleasure of speaking with the Duke?”

“You jest. We are all allies here,” he smiles. “Come, we must speak privately.”

You grin wickedly at Yevir as Ravengard steps past you toward the office in one of the other rooms. Yevir only shoots knives with his eyes, and you return the sentiments by sticking out your tongue mockingly, which earns a snort from Shadowheart. Then you quickly follow after Ravengard, shutting the door behind you.

“Have you had any news from my son?” he asks, facing the window with two arms locked behind him.

“Karlach’s been sending a few letters. They’re limited, as you might expect, but they do come,” you say. “She says Wyll is doing alright. They both are.”

He lets out a breath that can’t be mistaken for anything but what it is: relief. “Good. Now, as for what went down between you and Yevir in the other room, I apologize on his behalf. He’s always been too passionate for his own good. Righteousness is admirable, but not when it blinds your judgment.”

“A lot of things can blind judgment. I don’t blame him.”

He turns to you, and despite the questioning gaze in his eyes, he ignores it. “I’m sure you’re well aware of what’s been occurring in the city—you recently received a first-hand experience.”

“So has half the people on the block, apparently.”

“I’m not talking about Cora’s husband.”

He reaches behind his back, pulling out a slim file and holding it to you. “The number of victims is increasing every day now.”

Flipping through the pages in the file, each one is etched with the murder scene of each victim. There’s one with a man haphazardly buried half in the ground, another with a woman collapsed next to the alleyway in Wyrm’s crossing, another of a man bleeding out in the fields of Rivington. You flip the pages again and again until you arrive at one you would’ve preferred to forget.

“Colin Hedgins,” Ravengard says. “Though most of the Fist, including Yuvir, is unaware, his body was found this morning.”

His silvery hair is stained with what you can only assume is blood. His face, which is stretched in horror, makes you wonder if maybe slitting his throat yourself would have given him a more peaceful leave to the afterlife. Not that he really deserved it. You swallow hard, shutting the file away. “So you think I killed him too?”

“No. In fact, I’m sure you didn’t.”

“Then why show me this? This is classified information, no?”

“Each one of these victims has one similarity aside from their brutal deaths,” he frowns. “The puncture wounds on their neck, and the fact that their bodies seem to be drained of blood.”

Your breath hitches. While you’d had your suspicions, surely not all of them could have been of vampires? With Orin and the Bhaal worshippers now defeated or retreated into the shadows, the city had gotten eons safer—this just felt like a slap to your face. One group of murderers after another, it seemed. Instead of replying, you stare at Ravengard with pursed lips, urging him to get to his point.

“Wyll has told me of your relations with the vampires,” he says, and it makes your teeth clench. “He was gone by the time I’d joined your camp, but Wyll tells me you had a vampire for a companion for most of your journey. Could he be involved in-”

“No.” The answer is fast. Almost instant. And while a part of you feels disgusted for defending him, even now, another part refuses to let you live while the city thinks of him as nothing but a bloodsucking monster. Even if everyone thought of him as one now. “He wouldn’t have.”

The worst part is that he fully could have, even if you don't want to believe it. Your mind flashes back to the way his hands had felt around your throat, and for a moment, you can’t breathe.

Ravengard’s expression softens, and you see it again. Pity. Gods, you’d do anything to never see that kind of face again. “I’m also aware that you two had an—-arrangement. One that involved more than just mere friendship. But you must know if we cannot catch the vampire spawns that are running rampant in our city, dozens if not hundreds of more people will die.”

You want to tell him that he should not search for sympathy in you. Because you were once a person willing to get rid of 7000 spawns for the sake of one lover, who only ended up trying to kill you. “He won’t talk to me anyway. I’m sure you also know he didn’t leave on good terms, seeing as you seem to know everything about my love life. I can’t help you.”

The words come out snappier than expected, but Ravengard doesn’t react like he expected this.

“I see,” he says. “Then perhaps you’ll at least be able to keep an eye out. And please, report to me.”

You don’t budge.

He takes it as a sign to leave and moves toward the door. “If you do change your mind, let me know.”

You want to tell him your future is not a matter of what you want. It’s what he wants, and he’s already chosen your fate.

“And is anyone else aware that an entire horde of vampire spawn is living under the city?” Shadowheart says in exasperation. “No wonder they think Astarion’s the one who did it. They think there aren’t any more vampires here anyway! With that many vampires, imagine what destruction they could bring if they miss a few meals!”

“Surely we can convince our sharp-toothed friends to lay low in the Underdark with the others for a while? We convinced half of them. I don’t see why we can’t convince the other,” Gale suggests.

“A warrior who seeks blood shall have blood,” Lae’zel hisses. “I see no reason for them to leave. If I’d been a spawn, I would stay behind a city full of cattle than return to a place of eternal darkness.”

Your head hurts. From continuously sleeping anywhere but the comforts of your bed or from what’s going on, you don’t know, and you don’t care. You just want a nice long bath to wash the dirt on your face and a hot meal to go along with it. Your companions continue arguing, and it’s times like these when you wish Wyll and Karlach were still traveling beside you—they were usually the diffusers of the group.

To an extent, you had been too. Not anymore, though. That was the least of your worries.

“Why must we fix Astarion’s mess in the first place?” Lae’zel adjusts the sword she’d been cleaning on her lap. “We are not dogs to do his bidding. And from what I recall, we have no longer relations with him.”

This finally urges you to speak, almost instinctively. “We have to help. That’s final.”

It's not often that you reinforce your power as the appointed "leader" of the group, preferring to incorporate their opinions rather than choosing all on your own. They all turn to you with a mixture of suspicion and mostly cringe from Lae’zel. Your face flares in response. “I’m just saying we can’t just let a bunch of innocent people die!”

“Of course,” Gale coughs.

You can feel yourself losing your composure, your palms feeling clammy. Still, you straighten your back. “Astarion has nothing to do with me either. I’m doing this for the city.”

“Right.”

You opt to just clear your throat. “I’ll talk to Petras. We’ll figure out a way for all of us to be happy.”

Lae’zel rolls her eyes, but Shadowheart only raises a brow. “And how exactly are you going to find Petras? It’s not like he has a mailbox or an address.”

“I’ll figure it out. Always do,” you smile, and her face softens. “In the meanwhile, I’ll have to rely on you guys to pick up my work for rebuilding the city so I can focus on tracking him down. I don’t think it’ll take too long—maybe a week or so.”

Gale’s face knits together in concern. “And you’re quite sure you won’t need any of us to accompany you?”

“They’re fully capable of taking care of themselves, wizard,” Lae’zel snaps. “Very well, then. We’ll await good news.”

Looking back on it, perhaps you did need the help.

Days upon days of searching, yet nothing. You’re sure you covered almost half the sewers at this point, and you’re not sure if you’re just insanely unlucky or the vampires just left while you’d been searching elsewhere.

But the number of deaths says otherwise. 

So you’d turned to a new approach. If you couldn’t find them, you’d let them find you.

The days stretch longer, with the city being in its summer season. And while you’re grateful, since it means vampires will have less time to hunt, you always despise the way this cloak is sticking to your skin and the hairs that seem glued to your cheeks with the hood stifling any hope of breathing freely. Still determined, you force your legs forward into the darkest alleyways you can find.

Though you’ve had a few fruitless days, pacing aimlessly throughout the city during the dead of night into early morning, a part of yourself keens at the moonlight draping over you tonight.

It had been on a night like this, one where the clouds make way for the moonglow to illuminate what lurks in the city during the night. Though at the time, instead of the comfortable bed in the house you and your companions managed to buy after scraping enough gold together, you were sleeping on a bedroll that did little to shield you from the rocks, doing nothing to even the ground below.

Back then, your companions were nothing but that—companions on a journey you hoped to end as quickly as possible to return to the taverns and bars of Baldur’s gate, where you would spend your nights singing the familiar tunes that your patrons enjoyed most. So after the camp celebration with the Tieflings, when Astarion led you to the forest clearing where you first felt skin other than your own, you realized this adventure of yours was more than just that. It was a new stepping stone in your life.

He’d held you close to him, offering you whispers of affection while his hands ran through your hair. He’d kissed you, his hands caressing either side of your cheek. He’d let you marvel at the scars on his back, his hands resting on your waist.

The same hands that wrapped around your throat months later. You can still feel them sometimes.

Despite your speech to Gale before Cora’s husband showed up dead, you weren’t sure how you would react if you ever saw your former lover again. On nights that weren’t plagued with nightmares, you stayed up, wondering if you’d cry. If you’d reach out for him, embracing him in a hug you never wanted to let go from. If you’d let him brush his knuckles on your cheeks, if you’d let him press a kiss to your forehead, if you’d let him love you again.

You weren’t sure. And a part of you—the part shoved deep inside the corners of your heart—wonders if never seeing him again was a blessing. That regardless of the ache in your heart now, never seeing him would save you from something worse.

So deeply lost in your thoughts, you barely notice the murky figure swinging a pipe at your head.

Nearly scathing the surface of a concussion, you dodge, but he’s too fast. Before you’ve even begun reaching for your knife, the figure swings you toward the wall, and you swear you can hear it crack as your back collides with it. Your vision only manages to straighten itself once the figure has you shoved onto the ground, either of their knees on the sides of your hip. 

Instinctively, your hand flies up to stab at their arm, but you’re no match. They twist your wrist, forcing you to drop the blade, and pins either of your arms to the ground. You can’t see anything but the glint of their fangs against the light.

You’d fought vampires before, and you had never seen one so fast. So aggressive. So primal. Astarion had entertained you with friendly spars, but you’d also fought Cazador to the death. Even he hadn’t been this fast.

“I just want to talk to Petras! I’m not going to hurt you, I–” Your pleas go deaf on their ears.

When you squint, you can finally see the blood staining their fangs, and you realize that they’ve already fed.

They’re fed, and they’re still hungry.

A fed vampire, is a strong one, you remember. And if you add their hunger on top of that...

Even as you try to yank yourself away, they only squeeze their grip harder, enough to cut off blood circulation. The color drains from your face, your expression almost fearful. No, it does scare you. It scares you that this is only a spawn, but they can still attack someone so ferociously. It scares you that Astarion could have done the exact same thing to you.

The spawn yanks your head to the side with a claw on your hair, allowing them access to your throat. You thrash and kick, but to no avail, forced to watch as they’re about to sink their teeth into you. You hate your mind because even at death’s door, all you can think about is him.

Is this what he would’ve done to you had your companions not been there to save you?

Is this what he wanted to do the day he first approached you, asking for your blood?

Anger burns in your chest, and with the last bit of your strength, you lift your head and bite them first. Your teeth sink into their throat, feeling the break of skin just before they rip you away, wailing in pain as you’re carelessly tossed to the ground. As they grasp at the wound on their neck, you take the opportunity to lunge for your knife.

You feel genuine rage for the first time in what feels like forever. No self-pity, no dejection, no sorrow for losing the man you’d given everything to, but rage for the state you were reduced to just because of him. And that while his leaving tore you apart from the inside and out, he chose not to see you. He decided what the end of your relationship would be without ever stopping to ask you.

You thrust the blade into their chest, and they stop. It’s no stake, but it’ll do for now. And as their throat gurgles with blood, all you can hear is the desperate panting of your own breath when their body falls to the ground, face first. 

You pray they’re dead.

Then, your vision in one eye blurs with red. When you lift your hand to your forehead, you feel the warm blood trailing down, probably from when you collided with the wall. The little strength left in your legs vanishes as you reel forward, your knees crashing onto the mud beside the spawn.

Though you thankfully manage to collapse on your back rather than your poor counterpart who’s probably choking on the dirt and grim of the city grounds even in death, you can feel your head going light, even as your hands tighten around the knife laying on your chest. You greet the moon again, this time with a breathy laugh.

Seluné must be smiling back at you, surely.

You’re not sure who’s standing above you when you open your eyes again, being only seconds away from entirely blacking out. But you think it must be an angel, with his snow-white curls and how he revels under the veil of the moon. You want to reach out to him, but your shaky arm says otherwise.

He’s beautiful, you think, even if you can’t make out his face.

You hope the angel doesn’t pity you.

Apparently, heaven is at Elfsong Tavern. You’d imagined being greeted with the smell of roses and a fresh stream rather than the overwhelming stench of booze, but you suppose it’s fitting considering how you’d died in a puddle of what you assume to be a concoction of cat piss and your own blood.

No, that can’t be right.

Looking around frantically, you lurch forward, the sweat and mud sticking your hair to your skin. Multiple pairs of eyes bore into you. You’re slumped in the tavern's kitchen, several Fist soldiers peering at you curiously. And finally, you manage to make out Shadowheart, whose hands are hovering over you with a gentle glow.

“Lay back down, I’m almost done,” she frowns.

You ignore her request. “The spawn! I’m not sure if they’re dead–”

“Never mind that,” she snaps. “They found you blacked out on the ground next to a dead body and a broken wall. What in bloody hell happened last night? Do you know how much it scared us when the damn Fists were banging at our door at 4:30 in the morning?”

Your head spins, and you clutch at your head. “Got ambushed. I tried to talk to them, but apparently, they just wanted a midnight snack.”

“Heavens above,” she breathes. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

“No, I was so close, Shadowheart,” you shake your head frantically, smearing at the mud still plastered on your face. “I’ll be more prepared next time. If I manage to just capture one of the spawn alive, I could ask them where Petras is-”

There’s a loud yell from the hatch leading to the basement. Your head whips in its direction, then to Shadowheart, staring at her inquisitively.

She sighs, finally lowering her hands to her side. “Look, I need you to listen to me very closely. As your friend, I can’t have you losing your composure in front of the Duke downstairs. They’re in the hideout, but they’re also with–”

You hear Gale’s voice holler. “You’re the only one who knows them well enough, Astarion!”

Suddenly, your blood runs cold. While Shadowheart tries to keep you still, nothing can stop you as you yank the hatch open, sprinting downstairs. You run through the secret entrance to the hideout, your mind racing rapidly with words you can’t even decipher because they’re going by so fast. You want to hide away and barge into the room simultaneously, and the pounding of your head does nothing to help.

You're different now, you assure yourself. A part of you hates him for what he did, and you're willing to act on this hatred. You won't be passing out on the street, drunk on the pit of isolation he left behind, praying he'd appear from thin air and assure you things are fine. You're better now, and you did it all without his help.

But as soon as you swing open the door, you only have one dying wish.

You want to see him.

The room is cold–empty, except for three figures alongside two more guards standing at the door. Ravengard, standing at one end of the circular table, has his arms crossed, brows knitted together comprehensively. Gale, who had been pacing back and forth around the room, freezes instantly when he sees you. So does everyone else.

“Ah, and here comes the star of the show.” You haven’t heard his voice in so long. It almost feels foreign.

Standing between the other men on either side of the table, Astarion’s eyes bore into you, lips curled in a grin barely showing off his fanged teeth. When you lock eyes, yours grows wider as you take him in.

He looks almost the same. The same curly white hair, the same blood-red eyes, and the same smile that once brought you joy yet now only fueled the endless longing of your nightmares. While you expect yourself to feel anger, relief, or shock, all you feel is the rapid beating of your heart, your mind void of everything besides how uncomfortable the dried mud feels on your face. Your breath hitches as he lifts a finger to the side of his head. Only then do you also feel the warm liquid sliding down your cheek.

“You’re bleeding, darling.”

With the inevitable urge to barf up nothing from your empty stomach, you're back to being the same person as you were four months ago.

Tags: @ayselluna @littleenglishfangirl @bg3obsessedsideblog @iwillpissyourpants @cyberpr1m3 @ukeia-uchiha @snowlotr @road-riot @spacekidnova

[dira333]

Soul-Food - Osamu x Reader

Enemies to lovers - Requested by @notsochillnerd - with Atsumu as a terrible wingman who just wanted to check out his brothers' nemesis...

There is only one thing more annoying than Miya Osamu with his cooking talent, excellent marks, and unfairly good looks: his twin brother Atsumu.

“No.” You say again, arms filled with produce. He’s in your way and he’s not even sorry about it.

“Come oooon!” He whines, draping himself over the railing of the stairs as if this is a photoshoot for some perfume. “I’m so hungry! And Osamu won’t cook for me! I’ll even pay you!”

“Wow, now I want to do it even less, knowing you might not have paid me in the first place.” You snark, patience wearing thin.

“Now get out of my way, I need to get to my room.”

“To do what?” He steps to the side, but his face remains close to yours. You’re not the fastest as it is, even less when carrying that many vegetables. 

“I need to cook.”

“Perfect.” His grin is so wide, it could split his face. “You cook, I’ll eat.”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

You hesitate, if only for a second. But Atsumu is like a shark and that was the single drop of blood that he needed.

Half an hour later he’s sitting at the little table in your apartment. 

Your kitchen isn’t spacious, but equipped with everything you could possibly need - there’s a reason this school costs an arm and a leg each year. And Miya Osamu got the scholarship instead of you.

You wouldn’t have any problem with it if not for your father breathing down your neck. He’s got the money to send you here twice if he wanted to, but in his twisted mind, a 100% is barely a passing grade and you should have been able to win the scholarship, monetary status be damned.

“What are you making?” Atsumu asks from behind you.

“Udon.”

“Why is it black?” 

“I’m using Sepia.”

“Why?”

“Because I can.” You snap back, hoping against hope that he will fall quiet. He doesn’t. 

-

You’ve spent almost a year in a class with Osamu.

He might not always get a better mark than you, but he quickly figured out how much you hated it when he did. There’s nothing worse than someone else gloating over your loss.

The teachers love him and tolerate you. 

So far they’ve been kind enough not to put the two of you into a group project, or maybe they just played it safe. The sheer bloodlust you feel when he grins in your direction must have tipped them off.

But this year is going to end soon and your teachers expect you to come up with a dish. Your own creation, not unlike the dish you had to make for your entry exam. This time, however, it’s supposed to showcase what you want to do, going forward.

You can’t bring the same thing you made for your entry exam, even though it was perfect and a delight - you made it roughly one hundred times before. 

Your father has always been a fan of the Kaiseki Ryori and while you had loved taking part in the Haute Cuisine as a child, feeling grown up as you nibbled on tiny bites of expensive food, it has lost its appeal on you.

After all, there’s a set number of times you can eat a meal, even Chawanmushi, before you get sick of it.

“Hello? Are you still listening?” Nuisance number 2 asks behind you and you flinch, staring down at the dough that you kneaded for too long. 

“What’s Osamu doing for his exam?” You ask, feeling a little guilty about your attempt at spying.

“Why do you want to know?”

Nevermind. Now you only feel annoyed.

“Just because. Maybe I want to talk about something other than you.”

You move to throw the dough out, only to be stopped by Atsumu’s voice.

“What are you doing?”

“I messed it up. It’s not going to taste good.”

“So what? I’m hungry.”

“You want to eat gross noodles?” You eye him warily, but he shrugs with a grin.

“It’s definitely going to be better than what I’d produce myself. But since I hate cooking, I’d probably just get takeout pizza anyway.”

“Aren’t you an athlete?”

“Yeah?”

“And they let you eat Pizza?”

“They don’t know. Or they don’t care. Whatever you like better. I mean, they gave me a list of stuff I should keep away from but that’s like, all the food I usually consume.”

“Here.” You pull out a pen and paper. “Write down what you eat in a day. Snacks included. And drinks.”

“Why?”

“If I have to endure your chatting, you might as well get something out of this. Now, shoo!”

You turn, lid of your composter already open when his voice reaches you.

“DON’T THROW AWAY THE DOUGH!”

“Fine!” You snap. “You can eat your disgusting noodles!”

They don’t taste that awful in the end, not with your delicate sauce with mussels and steamed broccoli that turned out so good Atsumu licks his plate clean.

-

You’d been part of the track club in Middle School, switched to Volleyball in High School because they had fewer practice hours per week. Your marks had always been more important than any side activities, your future as a part of Haute Cuisine decided before you could walk. But it had been fun, especially when Coach gathered you after practice to talk about the importance of self-care. How certain foods could make or break you. How important salt and minerals were for your body, how food was more than calories, protein, carbs, and fat.

You’re not even a little bit rusty when you scribble down a meal plan for him. You keep it easy and as cheap as possible, light on the cooking because you figured he must be the opposite of his twin in the kitchen if he came begging for food… You’re not sure if you’re buying his excuse of a brotherly fight, but you’re not ashamed to say that you didn’t mind him praising your food over Osamu’s. Suck that, Miya!

Meanwhile, Atsumu’s brows are pulled so high, they’re hiding behind his bangs.

“What’s that supposed to be?”

“Your new meal plan. You follow that, you’ll increase your stamina.”

“But it’s so much work.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

“Whatever.” You get up, throw the pen down at the table. Your patience has never been the best anyway.

“Hey, hey, hey.” He follows you to the sink but not to help with the dishes.

“You could cook for me.” He offers it like it’s a great deal. You snort.

“I bet there’s something you want. Something I could do for you…” He wiggles his brows now, looks disgustingly like Osamu when he got a better mark then you. And that kickstarts your brain.

“I want Osamu… I mean the recipe…You know, what Osamu made to get the scholarship. If you can get me that dish of him to try, I’ll cook for you.”

Atsumu grins in a way that doesn’t feel good but he nods.

“Alright, it’s a deal. You’ll cook for me and I get you the dish.” He holds out his hand to sign the deal but you’ve been the daughter of a cutthroat banker for too long to fall for that.

“I’ll cook for a week.” You tell him firmly and watch with a sick satisfaction as his face contorts. He looks awful when he’s pissed and there are definitely not enough moments of the Miya twins looking awful.

“Two weeks.

“One week, only dinner.”

“One week, lunch, dinner and snacks.”

“Are you insane?”

“Do you want Osamu’s food?”

There’s a moment of Silence, and you’re eyeing each other, calculating who’s bluffing and who’s not.

“Fine.” You huff eventually, because you feel it in your bones that trying that damned dish will get you a step closer to figuring out what you need to present for your Final.

-

You feel like a drug addict, going down the deep end, when Atsumu appears at your door one week later, carrying a Bento-Box wrapped in the cutest fabric you have ever seen.

“Are those little foxes?” You ask, eyeing the reddish-tinted animals on the grey fabric.

“What if ?” He asks back, nose up in the air.

“Jeez, I was just curious.” You snap back and muster him. He doesn’t look malnourished.

“What did you eat this week?”

“Why do you ask?” He sets the Bento-Box on your table and saunters into your kitchen, peering into the still empty pots and pans.

“You’re an awful liar.”

“Okay, so I told Samu that you cooked for me.” He throws his hands up in the air like you’re the one making a big fuss about things. “Told him it was fingerlickin’ good. Got him all angry and puffy.”

You are not ashamed to say that comment lifts you off your feet just a little bit. Hah!

“So?” You ask cooly, untying the Furoshiki with eager fingers.

“So he insisted that he would cook for me. Everything went according to plan, I pretended it wasn’t as good as your food until I asked for the dish he made for his entry exams.”

“Did you know what it was?” You ask as you lift the lid of the box.

“Maybe.” He says and you can hear in his voice that he knew. He probably didn’t tell you just to experience this.

“He made Onigiri?” You ask, your voice a little shrill.

You had made Chawanmushi, a dish literally to die for, practiced one hundred times, and he beat you with Onigiri?

“Try it.” He reaches for one of the Onigiri in the box and you slap his hand away.

“Mine!” You hiss angrily and his grin is almost feral.

“I’ll take a walk around the block then.” He jokes, moving toward the door. “Leave you alone with it.”

“Leave.” You wave him off. “I’ll make dinner later.”

“Half an hour.”

“Leave!” You huff and the door clicks shut behind him.

-

You bite into the first Onigiri and time stops for a second. 

The rice is cooked to perfection, but you know the different varieties well. He must have splurged on this kind, bought from a boutique farmer of some sorts. 

It’s filled with tuna and spring onion, but it tastes different then all the Tuna Onigiri you’ve had before. You write down all the different things you can taste, compare them to the knowledge you have but still - did he use a spice you don’t know? A combination you’re not familiar with?

The taste lingers, but you cannot put your finger on it. You feel a little weepy too, as if you had just watched your favorite movie from when you were a kid. You sniff and take the other Onigiri, bite into almost cautiously. It’s Tenmusu, your favorite kind of Onigiri.

This time, literal tears run down your cheeks. The shrimp is crisp, the sweet sauce calling you back to childhood, reminding you of the few free afternoons you got to spend with your mother, just the two of you, no work allowed. You only remember to write down the taste and ingredients when the last bite has disappeared and your hands leave the paper stained. 

Well… You’re no closer to figuring out what to make for your finals, but you might be getting your period soon. Why else would you be moved to tears by food?

-

“Onigiri, huh?” You ask Osamu after class the next day. You can’t help yourself.

He looks up from his phone, surprise on his face. It’s ridiculous how good that makes him look.

“What about it?”

“I heard you made Onigiri for your Entry Exam.”

“Ah, yes.” He smiles, the kind of smile that makes you want to slap it off his face. “Tsumu told me he made you try it.”

You can feel your face go slack. WHAT?

“What did you think?” Osamu asks, way too confident for your taste. “Did you like them?”

You can’t decide between a huff and a snort and the sound that does come out reminds you more of a dying walruss.

“They were probably pitying you.” You point out, nose in the air. “I showed up with Kaiseki Ryori. I made Chawanmushi.”

“Ah.” Osamu sounds like he’s not sure what that is. But you’ve gone over that in class, he’s just messing with you.

“Well, when do I get to try it?” 

You blink. “What?” 

“Yeah, it’s only fair, right? After you tried mine.”

You swallow thickly, look around for some help, but you’re the only one’s still in the hallway.

“Fine.” You huff eventually, because he does have a point. “As long as I don’t have to eat it.”

His brows furrow and your mind unhelpfully supplies you with the information that his eyes are a different shade than Atsumu’s. Osamu’s eyes are almost as grey as his hair, reminding you of the sky outside. 

His mouth moves and you blink, try to focus on his voice, but fail. Your collar feels too tight around your neck and you pull at it, too aware of Osamu’s eyes that flicker to your neck and stay there. God, what’s going on?”

“What did you say?” You ask in the most snooty voice you can manage. “I wasn’t listening.”

“Why do you cook something you don’t like?” He asks. “Don’t you enjoy cooking?”

Something snaps inside you like a rubberband that has been pulled taut for too long.

“Why do you care?” You sniff and he rolls his eyes. 

“I was just asking.”

“Sure you were. But you’re psychological warfare doesn’t work on me! You can flutter your long eyelashes at someone else!”

Osamu laughs. “I wasn’t-”

“Neither was I. Well, are you coming or not?”

“Where?” 

“You wanted to try my Chawanmushi!”

“Gesundheit.” You turn, not the least bit surprised to see Atsumu standing there. It’s lunchtime for him, he’s coming to collect his goods. “Or was that a codeword for something naughty?”

“Oh god, you’re awful.” 

-

You know that the Chawanmushi has turned out as perfect as all the other times. You can tell by sight and smell, but you cannot bring yourself to try it.

The thought of it has you swallow back bile but you serve it to the brothers with the biggest smile you can manage.

“Here.” You present it in tiny, elegant bowls.

“Are you in pain?” Osamu asks and you drop the smile.

“Go f-” 

“Why is it so tiny?” Atsumu asks, eyeing the bowl skeptically. “I’m hungry.”

“I made you Curry.” You tell him off. “This is just a tasting. You can’t eat full bowls with Kaiseki Ryori, you’d never manage that amount of food.”

“Don’t underestimate me.” Atsumu digs in, spoon clinking loudly against the bowl to the point you fear for its life.

He’s done with it before Osamu has even tasted his, still smelling the dish carefully, pulling the spoon through as if to check for clumps.

“It was fine.” Atsumu gives his mark as one would comment on an order of KFC. “Now, the Curry?” 

You huff but don’t get up, eyes still trained on Osamu. Then, finally, he brings the spoon to his mouth. If you’re focusing a little too much on his full lips, that’s entirely because he’s the world's slowest eater at the moment and nothing else.

His face remains passive. 

Cold sweat runs down your back as he slowly but surely finishes the dish and nods appraisingly.

“It was good.” Osamu says calmly. “The Curry?”

Breathing is a little hard at the moment, but you manage to get up, collect the bowls - you don’t throw them at the floor in a fit of rage and you’re very proud of yourself for that - and get them safely to the kitchen sink.

Your hands shake a little as you serve the Curry in three different plates, but if the boys notice, they don’t comment on it. 

“I hope you like it.” Your voice is back to normal, your wounded heart tucked safely back into your chest. “It’s packed with protein and healthy vegetables to make sure you have all the necessary nutrients. You could eat this every day and wouldn’t have to worry about losing out on anything.”

Atsumu digs in without another word. He beams around the spoon, curses loudly.

“This is so good.” He says, mouth full.

“Pig.” Osamu announces next to him, puts the first spoon into his mouth and-

You can see it, in the widening of his eyes and the light blush that appears on the height of his unfairly sharp cheekbones. He likes it. He likes it very much.

You should probably feel a bit more upset about the fact that they insult your Chawanmushi but get high on your Curry, but then again, it just feels good to watch Osamu have the same reaction to your Curry that you had with his Onigiri.

“You should make this for the Exam.” Osamu points out in between a groan and another spoonful of Curry. “It’s amazing.”

“No!” Atsumu shakes his head, still speaks with his mouth full. “The Udon you made yesterday. That was crazy good.”

“What Udon?” Osamu’s voice has a tint to it you cannot place. Does he know about the Onigiri you tried but not about the deal itself? Is he jealous he didn’t get to try them?

“Okay, so she makes the Noodles herself, right? This time without the freaky black stuff-”

“Sepia,” you throw in but he ignores you, “But she used pork belly for the sauce and something creamy and mushrooms, I think-”

“Shiitake.” 

“And I tell you, Samu, it was so so good! Like, it reminded me of Mom making that stew, you know? When Dad had that big sale thing and we got to celebrate it?”

Osamu’s eyes light up in a way that has you looking down at your food, heart thrumming in your chest like a hummingbird on speed.

“Can you-” He hesitates for a second. “Can you make me that?”

“I could.” You point out, not at all feeling the upper hand. You feel nervous instead as if this is a test or something worse. You swallow thickly, try to think of something to wager against it. Your mind is unhelpful at best, offering the possibility of a date - as if! 

“If I get your recipe. For the Onigiri.”

Osamu’s mouth clicks shut. He blinks, clearly surprised. Then he grins, the kind of grin that tells you this isn’t going to work in your favor, at all.

“Sure. So, Udon tomorrow?”

“I was going to make Katsudon tomorrow.” You point out, pissed that he’s overthrowing your meal plan. Atsumu looks like he’s gotten a glimpse of heaven.

“Really?”

-

You hate to think about it, but the week is nearing its end and Osamu feels less like the devil and more like the dangerously cute boy from your class now. The dangerously cute boy who’s going to get a better mark than you, take the promised internship at one of Japan's leading five-star restaurants and laugh in your face if you don’t shape up right now.

Your father is as helpful as ever.

He’s currently obsessed with the Yakimono part of Kaiseki Ryori, taking you out to dinner each weekend only to try new variants that you should use for your Final Exam.

The food is good, there’s no denying that, but it lacks the emotional touch you had with the Onigiri.

The same Onigiri that you’ve made three times already. They never taste like Osamu’s.

You’re suspecting that he skipped on one ingredient in the recipe, the one thing you could not put your finger on when you tried them. 

“Hey.” Atsumu’s waiting at your door when you return from coffee with your mother. She had been even less helpful, talking about the new dessert dish she was creating. You might have gotten her cooking skills, but you hate baking almost as much as Chawanmushi.

“I thought we said we would skip the cooking over the weekend.” 

“Yeah, about that.” He lifts a heavy bag. “I wanted to ask for a favor.”

“I’m not setting for you.”

“Why would I- Never mind, I wanted to ask… Could you like, show me… how to cook?”

You blink in surprise.

“Why would I teach you that? Don’t you have your brother?”

“He’s not a good teacher.” Atsumu points out and you snort.

“So you want to learn how to cook? And stop harassing me and Osamu?”

“No, no, I will still harass the two of you for food, but it looked easy when you did it, so I thought you could teach me, maybe?”

“Fine.” 

“I’m even pa- Fine? Oh, wow, that was easy.”

“If I can ask you some questions in turn without you judging me?”

“Me, judging someone? Never.” He puts a hand on his chest, probably aiming for his heart, but he’s now swearing on his left ribcage.

-

You watch like a Hawk as Atsumu prepares the Omurice. He’s got a bad habit of getting distracted, but he’s not a bad student.

“So…” You swallow your nerves. “You and Osamu used to play Volleyball together, right?”

“Yeah. He could have gone Pro, like me. But he said…” He raises his hands to make air quotes and lowers his voice into a deeper pitch to mock Osamu, “Skillswise I'm just as good as you. But I think that, when all's said and done, you love volleyball just a teensy bit more than me.”

“And you were okay with that?” 

“Nah.” Atsumu flips the Omurice onto a plate and hands it over to you. “Try.”

“It’s good.” You hand it back to him. “Eat.”

-

When Atsumu leaves, you’re left with even more questions than before.

What does it mean to love something so much you’re willing to pass up something good?

Atsumu is making good money as a Pro, even now. But Osamu had no idea if he was going to make it into this school until he tried.

And why did he make freaking Onigiri?

Midnight has come and gone when you put a jacket over your sleepshirt and slip out of your apartment in nothing but booty shorts and bunny slippers.

You’re not sure if there’s a nightguard. There might be, this is still a mixed dorm filled with hormonal teens and tweens. 

Even though you’ve never been to Osamu’s place before, you know the route by heart. You had memorized it in a childish fit when you realized his room was just below the fire escape.

You wouldn’t allow him to survive you in case of an emergency.

You knock twice before you can hear movement. The door opens and you almost swallow your tongue.

His hair is in disarray as if he’d dragged his hands through it all night and there’s the imprint of his pillow left on his cheek. He’s topless and you keep your eyes trained on the imprint on his cheek as if you don’t notice his happy trail or his still well-trained abs. 

He blinks slowly and yawns.

“What’s up?” He asks. Something moves over his face, quick like a sparrow. “Shit, are you hurt? Did something happen?!”

“No, no, I… Shit, I don’t know, I-”

“Come in.” He pulls you inside, but he calculates wrong, uses too much force for your quivering body. You end up mushed against his chest, face plant right into the warm skin.

If you die like this, you won’t even be mad about it.

“Shit, sorry.” He grabs you and puts you at a distance again, blush high on his cheeks. 

“Your Onigiri.” You start, before he can realize that you’re flustered too. “You didn’t list all the ingredients.”

“I did.”

“Did not. They don’t taste the same.”

“Ah.” He makes that insufferable sound like he knows everything you don’t. 

You want to poke his abs, but you decide against it, mainly because it would make you look weird. But they do look ni-

“Tea?” He asks and you hold your right hand with your left, just in case it turns sentient. 

“Yes, thank you.”

“Your Onigiri don’t taste like mine, because I make them for someone.”

“What?”

“The Tuna one.” He looks at the kettle instead of you, but his voice is wistful, distant. “I always make that one for Tsumu.”

“And the Tenmusu?”

“It’s my Mom’s favorite.” He says softly and you can’t help it, but you start to cry.

“Your Mom likes Tenmusu too?”

“Ah, shit, don’t tell me- Wait, here, take this…” He hands you a tissue to blow your nose and dry your tears. 

“So you’re saying your secret ingredient is love? You’re really going to stand there and make me believe that you got the scholarship because you put love in your food?”

He shrugs. “You don’t have to believe me. But there’s a reason your Chawanmushi did not taste as good as your Curry.”

“Oh fuck off.”

“Gladly.” He smirks at you and this time your hand is faster than your mind, pointer finger digging into the firm muscle of his right pectoral.

“Don’t mess with me.”

“Why not?” His face moves closer to you, or did you move closer to his? “Isn’t it fun?”

Whoever moved first doesn’t matter now as his breath washes over you. His eyes skip to your lips and you lick them, no thoughts left in your brain.

Behind him, the kettle whistles, signaling that the water’s cooking, but neither of you moves. 

This could end very badly, or very great, however you want to look at it. 

Your mind, helpful as ever, comes up with a sentence that just slips out of your mouth unprompted.

“Atsumu said that you loved Volleyball a little-”

He draws back the moment he hears you speak, face now closed like a window that has let down its shutters. 

“Right, Atsumu.” He says, interrupting you. “You should get back to the bed.”

“But the tea…”

“I forgot.” He takes the kettle off the stove. “I was going to make a hot water bottle for myself. Sorry.” 

-

Somehow, somewhere, you took a wrong turn.

Maybe it was when you started liking Osamu, in this weird way that has you enjoy the bickering and the competitiveness. Maybe it was even before that, when you let Atsumu get away with his needling, fed him Udon instead of throwing him out.

Or maybe it was even before that, when you didn’t put up a fight everytime your father decided for you, when your mother put work before spending time with you. 

It’s a good thing that Finals are right around the corner.

You can’t focus in most classes, left staring holes into Osamu’s back. 

Atsumu’s stopped showing up himself, probably now a master in cooking for himself. Or he’s gone back to Osamu, to fantastic Onigiri and whatever else he knows how to make.

-

Four days before the Final, someone bangs on your door.

“Jeez, I’m coming.” You pull the door open to reveal Atsumu, soaked and clearly pissed..

“You okay?” You ask. “Or do you need a towel?”

“Why are you not a couple?” He asks back. “Like, the tension was there, you were practically undressing each other at the table - in front of me, might I add - and yet you’re not even speaking to each other? I even cooked all my meals these past weeks in the hopes of hearing good news but Samu’s acting like a bug crawled up his ass and died.”

“What are you even talking abou-”

“Oh, don’t fool me.” He steps inside and moves toward your bathroom without asking. “I just ran here because all I get from Samu are cryptic messages. Did you say something?”

“No, I-”

“Spill.” Atsumu points at the kitchentable, hesitates for a second, then he points at the kitchen itself. “Make some food while your at it. Also, can I have some change of clothes?”

You make Okayu with ginger and honey, the rice porridge a comfort to your heart and a boost to Atsumu’s immune system.

It’s not a long tale. It could be, probably, but you refuse to go into more detail than necessary. Atsumu might be kind of a friend, in his weird, annoying way, but he’s still Osamu’s twin brother.

“I’m gonna go talk to him.” He grabs the bag with his clothes and stalks off, dressed in one of your oversized hoodies and bright pink pajama pants, both things slightly too short on him.

“Give him a chance when he comes back,” are his parting words.

But Osamu does not show up.

Neither does he the next morning in class.

-

One of the teachers calls you over after class.

“You and Miya-san are pretty close, right?” She starts, speaks on while you’re still trying not to choke on your spit. “Could you bring him the notes from today? He called in sick. Tell him to take care and rest, so that he can take part in the Final.”

“I-I will.”

You end up in your own room instead, debating if you should just leave everything in front of his door and run. If he’s not at the final, you automatically win. But that’s not a win you’d feel good about, if you’re being honest to yourself.

Before you know it, you find yourself making Oyaku again, with Ginger and Honey, the one food that always gives you comfort and boosts your health. The process is simple, but it still calms you down every time. When it’s done, you look down at two portions and know what to do.

-

“Osamu?” The door is closed, but you can hear faint shuffling behind it. “I made you Oyaku. I heard you’re sick and got your notes from the teachers. I didn’t tell them that I’m a friend of yours, but she was convinced of it and didn’t let me change her mind. But I… we kinda are friends, right?” You feel so weird talking to the closed door. 

“Even if you don’t like me, we got to keep up the reputation. Eat the Oyaku, okay? Winning doesn’t feel the same if you kick yourself out of the game.”

You put everything in front of his door and leave, lingering at the end of the hallway, just out of sight, until you hear his door. When you look back, the Oyaku is gone and all you have to do is wait.

-

Osamu is already outside when you step out of the classroom. 

“Already finished?”

“Onigiri doesn’t take that long to make.” 

“Ah, right.” You nod, don’t know if you should avoid his gaze or follow your instinct and look a bit more closely. He sounds healthy at least.

“What did you make?” His voice is gruff when he asks.

“Ginger Honey Oyaku.” You answer, voice soft. “Which might confuse the teachers because I had all the ingredients ready for honey-glazed pork belly but I decided against it at the last second.”

“I’d have loved to try that pork belly.” Osamu sighs dreamily. “But that Oyaku was so good. I could eat that everyday and never get tired of it.”

“Same.” You smile but it falters when you feel his eyes on you and you know you’ve got to say it. “I made it for you.”

“Yeah, I know-”

“No, what you said… about the Entry Exam.” You can feel your heartbeat, like the fluttering of hummingbird wings. If you’re going to pass out during your confession, you’re going to kill Osamu for it.

Behind you, the door opens and two more students step out. Osamu looks at them and back at you and you nod, point down the hallway. “Let’s take a walk?”

There’s a broom closet not far down and you slip inside only to regret it seconds later. There’s barely enough space for the two of you, his breath washing over you as you try to focus on the words you need to say. Out loud, so he can hear them too.

“I want to beat you.” You can hear him snort, but you keep your gaze on your hands. You won’t be able to speak if you look into his eyes. “But you’re also really funny and caring and cute, in a way. I could see myself, I mean, I already, you know-”

“What about Tsumu?” He asks, voice strangely hoarse.

“What about him?”

“Don’t you like him more? You don’t feel the need to beat him every two seconds, right?”

You roll your eyes and groan.

“Seriously? The best thing about Atsumu is that he looks kinda like you.”

If you had wanted to say more - you didn’t, but you hate letting anyone else have the last word - it leaves your mind the second his lips press onto yours. 

Your mind’s not yet caught up, but your body is, hands dragging through his hair to pull him closer, to marvel at the softness of it - what conditioner is he using? - to have him a little closer.

His hands are on your hip, your back, roam over your shoulders, leaving warm trails and goosebumps behind.

Then there’s bright light and a shrill shriek and you burst away from each other only to face one of your teachers.

“What? The indecency! During an exam no less! Detention! Detention!” Her garbled words don’t make much sense, but the last word you understand.

Osamu sends you a look, his eyes speaking of little guilt and a promise to continue this latter. You can’t help but feel the same.

-

As it turns out, Detention automatically overrules your exceptional Exam marks. Neither of you wins the internship. Neither of you cares. 

Osamu had applied to an Onigiri shop not far from the school as a second option and with your last name you have no trouble securing an internship with a well-known nutritionist for Pro Athletes. 

Your father is not happy about your change in dreams, but when you explain the earning capacity of this position, and the business plan you’re already halfway through making, your excitement swaps over.

Your mother, as usual, barely listens. But you take it in stride, her usual droning on about a recipe she’s working on, by thinking about how in less than an hour, you’ll see Osamu again.

-

“You guys owe me.” Atsumu declares during Movie night. He’s perched on the edge of the couch, the last piece of the Pizza in his hands. “I’m talking about food for life.”

“We could have done it without you,” Osamu insists, arm around you, face nuzzled into your hair. He pretends he’s watching the movie, but you know better. He’s been thinking about the cheese crackers in your pantry for hours.

“If I hadn’t pulled you out in the rain to talk things through, you wouldn’t have gotten sick and your girlfriend wouldn’t have made Oyaku for you! That’s enough reason for you to love me forever!”

“If you hadn’t interfered he wouldn’t have had to think we were dating instead.” You point out and dig your hands into Osamu’s grip on your arms, moving away from him.

“Babe, what-” He starts but you nod in the direction of your pantry. “Get the crackers. I can’t watch you any longer.”

“Really?” His face lights up like a child in front of a Christmas tree. It’s worth the ridiculous price you paid for the crackers.

“Really.”

He kisses you and the moment could be perfect. But there’s still Atsumu, fake gagging in the background.

My Kofi if you want to tip me

[renshengs]

beyond evil (2021) occupies a very interesting space in the larger expanse of crime shows. like, it is a Cop Show. it is undeniably a Cop Show even if the two main characters, who are both cops for very different reasons, are handled with significantly greater awareness and intention than usual.

it is also, impressively, a show that pierces the real ugly rot of 1) police corruption and its overlap with capitalism 2) atrocious real-life lawmaking 3) the poor handling of femicide in stories. i cannot express how abruptly shocked i was to discover that i did not hate the way this show was carrying itself, despite its crime drama genre, narrative about two homoerotic cops, and its murder mystery premise featuring a plot about a serial killer with solely female victims. here is a story that understands its purpose and is so clear-eyed about it that i did in fact tentatively suspend all my wariness about Cop Shows to watch it—and what i got was a scathing response to every serial killer and true crime documentary out there. a narrative that said: enough. enough. look at the way grief rots people from the inside out. look at the way loss ruins lives. do not forget the sufferings of the innocent.

far too many crime dramas possess an incredibly dehumanizing analytical tone to them that goes, “what if these poor women died in brutal gruesome tragic ways? anyway, look at these men and their heroic journey for justice!” it’s why i can’t fucking stand to watch them for the sake of my blood pressure. while beyond evil is not exempt from using such gruesomeness as a part of its horror aspect, the women in this show, particularly the women who were murdered, occupy such a heavy weight over the narrative that it is impossible to reduce them to what they’re usually reduced to: numbers in files, or cold cases. and because the purpose of beyond evil is to examine the ways grief and loss bring about destruction to people’s lives and communities, these women cannot be seen as numbers. they need to be vivid and real; the audience needs to feel their loss as deeply and gnawingly as the townspeople do. as we would in real life.

personally i’m still surprised at myself for liking a Cop Show this much—because the law enforcement sympathy is unavoidable in a cop show—but then i’m also shocked at how immediately this show establishes its awareness of police power. i don’t mean it gives a passing nod, like a brief disclaimer. i mean that you watch until the end and you’re like: oh! the entire fucking show is about police power and its consequences! this entire goddamn show is about cops’ potential for harm and how it destroys lives! the main character only ever became a cop out of desperation because he realized it would protect him from suffering further at the hands of the police. because he realized it was the only way for him to get access to both the information and the legal power needed to take his own steps to solve his sister’s murder. it’s not radical—it’s a cop show. but it is novel. a cop whose relationship with his own occupation is bitterly resigned at best and traumatic at worst.

this is far from an original thought, but truly i think what makes beyond evil worth watching is that it is so incredibly careful with itself. its meta awareness of its own genre heightens it to a tier above other crime dramas—it knows and rejects voyeuristic perspectives into the lives of people who’ve suffered real loss and tragedy, and so it makes the loss inescapable. every direction you look, someone’s life has been irrevocably altered by the murders you learn about in the story. it gives you no space to push away the murder—no, you need to sit directly in its field of impact. all the fucking time. you are not watching the town suffer, you’re suffering with the town. the story sucks you in and makes you live alongside the rest of them; it's why the first watch hurts so raw. because the story refuses to let you take a true-crime approach. because it refuses to prioritize the narratives of perpetrators over human lives. you are there, and you are hurting.

man. really, if you're going to watch anything, watch this.

[foli-vora]

without you

matt murdock x f!reader

A/N: made myself hurt with this one tbh. I'll think about a part 2 if enough are interested, but I'll warn you - it won't be a happy ending lmao. Enjoy the angst-fest loves! x

Summary: You return after the 'blip'. Five years is a long time, and a lot of things can happen in that time.

Word count: 2.1kish

Warnings: ANGST. ANGST ANGST ANGST. i got sad af writing this. i don't even know what to put in the warnings. the events of infinity war & endgame, brief mention of the avengers, severe and utter fucking heartbreak, i would lose my fucking mind coming home after an apparent 5 years and finding the love of my life *******, lots of anxiety/panic, severe panic attack, passing out. no hate to karen here - she's a fucking babe.

-

It happens within a blink.

One moment there’s no one, and the next, an older woman is suddenly standing in your way and you can’t help the brief twitch of annoyance that she’s there. You have a meeting, you have groceries to get… you can’t just play chicken with a stranger on the pavement all afternoon.

She freezes, like many others you notice, and your frown deepens, confusion starting to take over the irritation. They all look at you, but not just you.

Time seemingly comes to a momentary freeze and you just don’t understand. Why is she looking at you like that?

The next minute—panic.

There’s a rush.

People scramble for their phones, they run. Cars swerve and there’s chaos. There are people crying, people start screaming, but there’s also awe, laughter. People embrace strangers. You know they’re strangers by the way they look around in complete bewilderment in the arms of the other, seemingly just as confused as you.

Five years.

Why do you keep hearing ‘five years’? Why are shop fronts different? What the hell has happened? 

“You’re… you’re all back,” the woman utters, tears starting to build along her lash line.

Back?

You feel it in the pit of your stomach, a sick feeling of dread slowly building until it feels like it sticks uncomfortably in your throat. Something happened. You don’t know what, you don’t know how, all you know is that you need to go home immediately.

It’s halfway back to the apartment, after passing things that weren’t there previously, shops that you had passed just hours before now different, and your phone simply refusing to connect for unknown reasons, that you break into a panicked run.

You want home, you want somewhere familiar.

Matt left for work the same time as you—would the new mayhem taking over the streets bring him home to you? Maybe he’d already be waiting, sensing the frenzy before you?

The view of your building is a welcome relief, and you slow as you reach the door, heart pounding in your chest as you take the stairs as quickly as possible. The apartment is unlocked, and you berate yourself for forgetting to lock up earlier, but Matt’s cane resting by the door turns your inward irritation to understanding.

He’s home. He got here before you. He must be waiting, maybe he’d have answers—

“Matty?” you call, “do you have any idea what’s—”

A clatter, a sweep of air, and then he’s on you.

He’s curled around you before you can even finish, his arms so tight and constricting you struggle to take in a full breath. He’s talking, muttering incoherent words into the skin of your throat and all you can do is stand there, mind whirling in a maddening rush, not even able to lift your arms to return his embrace due to his restrictive hold.

“You’re here,” he breathes, almost disbelieving, “you’re here. I didn’t want to have hope but—God, I—”

“Matt, I’m so confused,” you breathe, unsure of why tears are starting to gloss your eyes or why your heart suddenly feels like it’s beating in the back of your throat, “what’s going on? It’s crazy out there, I don’t know wh—”

“I know. I know, sweetheart. I’ve missed you. God, I’ve missed you. It’s been so long, I didn’t think I’d ever—” he trails off, unable to finish his sentence and a few more panicked kisses press into the side of your throat.

He’s crying.

You feel the wetness of his tears smear over your skin and it’s enough to bring your own falling heavily from your eyes. What is he talking about? You saw him this morning, only mere hours ago. You made breakfast, you kissed him goodbye like every other day, nothing had been different. 

“Matt,” you whimper, “what the hell is going on?”

—

Five years. You were gone for five years. Just one day—poof. Out of existence, never to be seen again. The city had been clouded by dust, remnants of those also taken disappearing with the autumn breeze. So many people just lost. You don’t remember any of it.

There was no pain, no suffering. You had no recollection of the time lost at all, and yet for Matt it had been years.

Years since he had touched you, kissed you, felt you. He tells you that he looked for you for weeks, months. Even went to the damn Avengers—or what was left of them—and found out what had happened. He’d been distraught, falling into a deep, dark pit of despair and heartbreak from the sudden loss of you.

You cry for him, for the time you’d lost together.

Nothing could ever make up for it. Sure, you’re here now, but could you ever truly make up for the loss of time? What had he gone through during your absence?

The two of you don’t part for what feels like hours.

Matt clings to you, inhaling you deeply and kissing whatever inch of skin he could reach. He doesn’t pull away to answer your questions, instead letting the low rumble of his voice melt through the fabric of your shirt and flooding warmth along your shoulder.

His hands still roam over you, almost as if they’re retracing your dips and curves to remind himself of how you felt when you disappeared five years ago. You catch his fingers with a sweet flutter in your chest, lifting his hand to press a tender kiss to the back of it when the smooth feel of metal catches your attention.

It’s a simple gold band, fit snug around the fourth finger of his left hand and you rub your finger over the shiny surface of it in curiosity. He wasn't wearing a ring this morning...

A ring. 

A wedding ring.

You feel sick.

He senses the moment you realise it, picking up on the sudden quicken of your heartbeat and the clammy sting of sweat that builds along the back of your neck.

His tongue darts out to moisten his lips as you stare at the smooth gold band in shock, feeling as if the room had suddenly gotten ten times smaller. He starts to shift, his fingers quickly flipping to wrap around your wrists to keep you from moving away.

“Let me explain—”

“You… are—are you married?”

“Sweetheart, please—”

You hurriedly stand, wrenching your hands from his and stumbling on your quick step back as he advances after you. He’s married? How can he be married?

Maybe he’s not. Maybe he just slid the ring you both picked out onto his finger when you disappeared in an effort to keep your memory fresh… but with the shine of guilt starting to seep into his features, you fear it’s not as sentimental as you hope.

Panic consumes you. Your eyes flitter around the room, your ears filling with a dull ring that drowns out whatever words fall from his lips as he cautiously steps after you.

It’s your apartment, but it’s… it’s not.

You start to notice the little things you had missed upon coming home so quickly. That throw over the back of the couch isn’t yours. The coffee mug next to Matt’s on the kitchen counter isn’t yours. Your trinkets aren’t lingering on the shelves where you’d placed them. Your shoes aren’t thrown by the door. Your photo with Matt isn’t in its usual spot on the wall.

Instead, another picture hangs there.

Bile burns the back of your throat. Your heart thunders away in your ears. You know what it is, you can see the general feel of it and who stands within the frame through blurry eyes, but you simply can’t accept it.

It’s morbid curiosity that makes you take those few steps towards it, a part of you screaming to not look, to turn away before it really hammers that final nail into the coffin and fucking destroys you. Maybe your mind needs to truly see it in order to make sense of it… but no. It only makes you more confused, more distressed.

What the fuck?

Oxygen is impossible. You can’t fucking breathe. You can’t—

“Sweetheart—”

It’s a wedding photo.

Matt’s wedding photo.

Matt and Karen’s wedding photo.

“Oh my god,” you whimper brokenly, clutching a hand to your chest in an effort to keep yourself together. You press where you feel the rapid beat of your heart, half wondering if you’d be able to feel the break of the frantic organ under your palm.

The room starts to spin.

This morning you’d woken up with an apartment and a fiancé, and now, only a few hours later, you have nothing. How can you have nothing? The apartment is home to you—you left your pyjamas on the floor of the bathroom this morning. You had your coffee at the counter. The love you feel for Matt is present as it always had been, there in the centre of your entire being, so sweet and consuming and yet, his love for you had seemingly vanished.

Disintegrated, along with your body apparently five years ago. Maybe with a clearer head, you’d come to understand that five years is a long time and it’s understandable that he had to move on at some point, but in the moment you feel nothing but hurt—rage.

Matt’s hands are frantic on your body, grabbing at your arms and keeping you from falling to the floor as a sob tears its way out of your chest. You can hear him try to soothe you, hear his worry that your heart is erratic and you just need to breathe.

Breathe, sweetheart—please, breathe.

You can’t. You simply can’t.

Oxygen isn’t coming as easily as it should. Your lungs burn. You’re shaking, unable to stop the tremble taking over your body as you choke on your tears. They burn your skin, painting your cheeks with the bitterness of your heartbreak and they just won’t stop. 

He supports you as you sink towards the floor, legs no longer having the strength to hold you up. He goes down with you, hands cradling your head to his chest and you can’t find it in you to push him away and escape his touch.

It’s Matt. Your Matt. 

You shouldn’t want to shrug him off. You shouldn’t feel guilty at his touch. He’s your Matt, has been for the eighteen months you’ve been together. It was meant to be you in that frame, swimming in white with a smile stretched along your lips, Matt dressed to the nines in an immaculate tux and his ever present red shades beside you.

But it’s not. It’s… it’s Karen.

It’s not you, there’s no trace of you anywhere to be seen. Had you been that forgettable? Foggy’s there, Marci a step behind holding a beautiful little girl with ribbons in her hair. They had a baby? You’ve missed so much.

You start weeping for the life you’d missed out on, for the chances and opportunities of growing older with them and the sweet potential you had had with Matt.

Gone.

All of it, just—gone.

Where would you be now had your soul not been chosen? Married? Promoted? A godmother to the sweet little angel cradled in Marci’s arms? 

“Sweetheart, come back to me,” Matt’s voice cuts through your despair, low and soft in your ear and you cling to him tighter, “breathe. I’ve got you, I’m here.”

“I-I’ve lost so much,” you choke out, hiding your tear stricken face in his throat and desperately trying to get ahold of your body jerking with each difficult inhale and broken exhale, “and I didn’t even know—”

You didn’t know. You didn’t know anything when you apparently ‘returned’. It’s all so haunting and overwhelming and so fucking confusing. 

He stills smells the same, feels the same, despite all these years. You cling to him, desperate for comfort in the moment of your utter heartbreak, but it doesn’t work like it used to and that only makes your pain increase tenfold. His hold feels wrong now. His hold isn’t for you anymore. He has a wife.

You still don’t understand. You can’t comprehend the fact that he’s married, that the arms that hold you are now meant for someone else. They were yours this morning. It’s not possible. You had him this morning; you felt him this morning, you kissed him—

“Sweetheart,” he’s urgent now, manoeuvring you in his hold until you sit in front of him, your back pressed up against his chest and his arms tight around your torso, “breathe with me. Feel my chest, listen to me and follow—in… and out. Come on—”

You pay attention to the exaggerated feel of him breathing against your back, focusing on every expansion of his chest and attempting to match the pace of your inhales. It doesn’t work. Your heart still thunders away against your ribs, your mind still runs fucking wild, and your eyes threaten to roll back from the rush of it all.

“Stay with me,” he begs, but his voice starts to sink to the back of your mind, taken over by the high pitched ring sounding in your ears.

It’s not long until black fully engulfs your vision, and Matt’s voice calling your name is the last thing you hear, frantic and terrified. Maybe you'll find peace in the darkness.

-

matty tags: @javier-pena, @dihra-vesa, @a-reader-and-a-writer, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @danidrabbles, @amneris21, @acourtofsnakes, @mstgsmy66, @evyiione, @stardust-galaxies, @kelseyxyeslek, @greeneyedblondie44, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @withasideofmeg, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @fangirl-316, @xoxabs88xox, @federleichtefreiheit, @lavenderluna10, @mindidjarin. @stardustingold, @androah, @itwasthereaminuteago, @wildmoonflower, @naughtynecromancer, @h-hxgirl, @Unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men, @juletheghoul, @punkerthanpascal, @itswanktime, @omlwhatamidoinghere, @celestinemuse, @chaoticemz, @alexxavicry, @mylifeispainandiloveit, @cran-berry-vodka, @nishi-reads, @mandocrasis, @lawfulgranola, @ew-erin, @fuckoffbard, @spaceserialkiller, @captain-jebi

[starringthesturniolos]

bite me (part 3)- matt sturniolo

part 1, part 2, part 3

summary: matt hates your guts but all of that changes when he finds out your his mate.

contains: vampire!matt x reader, highschool au! (18 years old), smut (not in this part)

a/n: a short chapter but the next ones a biggie. love yall and thank you so much for the support

——————————————————————————

when i wake up, i’m strapped to a bed frame. i struggle against the restraints but all that comes out of it is another dizzy spell.

“hey, your awake” i whip my head around to see two blue eyes staring back at me. fear shoots into my chest again, as i stare at matt’s brother, chris, in front of me. if matts not human, then i bet he’s not either.

“get away from me” my voice shakes and i gear my legs up to be ready to kick if necessary. “i know matt scared you pretty bad yesterday, but i promise, no ones going to hurt you here.” he comes and sits on the side of the bed, placing his hand on my knee gently

chris and i have only ever had one class together and it was in our sophomore year, but i always thought highly of him. he was nice and funny, unlike his brother. i may have even had a crush on him, if i had allowed myself to. the version of him i knew before, overides my fear of what he is and as he strokes my knee some of my fear goes away. but then all of a sudden, anger spikes within me that somehow doesn’t feel like my own. chris’ hand that was once comforting felt like a hot clothing iron on my skin. i wince and chris takes his hand off me immediately. instead, he looks towards the doorway apprehensively.

in the doorway, is none other than the matt sturniolo, and he looks furious.

fear and another feeling i can’t put my finger on fills me at the sight of him. i take a deep breath to try and calm myself down. at least he looks like he’s back to normal, no more red eyes and black veins.

“hey, she was freaking out, i was only trying to help. it’s not like that, i swear.” chris puts his arms up defending himself and trying to ease matts anger.

“whatever, get out” he snarls and i wince at the sound. chris scrambles out the room and matt marches up to me, sitting in the exact spot chris was moments before. unlike chris’ gentle touch, matt grabs my thigh roughly and possesively. even though the move was aggressive, when i feel his touch my body relaxes and my thighs clench together, hard. why is this turning me on and why did i stop panicking all of a sudden? his presence and touch should do nothing but scare me after everything he’s done. after everything i’ve seen.

“there you go” he coos darkly. “just relax, i have a lot of shit to tell you.” he says staring into my eyes intensely. the stare sends a heat surging through my body and i feel myself starting to get wet. if i could punch myself in the face i would. “get to it, make it quick.” i snip.

“have it your way then, i was gonna take it slow but i guess not.” he shrugs. “i’m a vampire and your my mate. thats why i went ape shit yesterday. thanks for listening to my ted talk.” he deadpans and cocks his head to the side.

even though it sounded like it was a joke, we both knew it wasn’t. my mind didn’t want to believe it, but my body knew it was true. matt is a vampire, and i am his mate.

“how? how am i your mate? whatever the fuck that is!” my voice raises in anger. did he pick me? maybe, to just to fuck around with me and tie me into all his weird vampire shit. did he really hate me that much?

“what, you think i know?!” he matches my angry tone before taking a breath, bringing his other hand up to rub his temple. “trust me, i have no idea sweetheart. if it were my choice, i’d have anyone but you. but for now, your stuck with me” he rolls his eyes. “and vice versa” he mutters.

his hand is still gripping my thigh and not a fiber of my being wants him to move it, even with all the arguing. and judging by the way he’s looking at me now, it looks like he’s stopping himself from doing more. i feel myself getting annoyed with myself for wanting him to do whatever he pleased and more.

“stop getting annoyed” he snaps. “its just the mating bond making us react to each other this way. nothing you can do about it” matt breathes in deeply and a shudder racks through him.

“what was that?” i ask weirded out by the almost animalistic behavior. “you just smell really good to me right now. i couldn’t help myself” he breathes out, eyes darkening slightly.

this man could really eat me alive if he wanted too. i shiver at the thought, but then my mind reels again. how did he know i was annoyed??.

“how did you know? that i was annoyed, i mean” you say bewildered by what being mated might entail. “now that you’re mine, i can feel your emotions almost like their my own. you can do it too, but humans aren’t as good at pin pointing it as we are.” he smirks like being a whole monster is something to be proud of and being human is childs play.

that would explain the random surge of anger earlier with chris. another wave of annoyance courses through me. he’s sooo possessive already. his words from yesterday rings through my head.

“because you’re mine.”

matts voice breaks through my silence. “but don’t worry this is all temporary” he smiles to himself. “i know a girl, and im pretty sure she can get rid of this” he gestures between the both of us. i can’t help the smile that rips through me at the good news.

“then what are we waiting for” i say impatiently.

@bbernard-03

@sturnthepot

@hoeformatt

@sturtriple16

@faygo-frog

@sturniol0s

@katie-tibo

@cindylcuwho

@mattslolita

[obrowne21]

ʙᴀʙʏ ɪ’ᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ

Chapter 2 - “Hates the Perfect Word”

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“Don’t stay out here too late, Baby.”

Sergeant Ken Lemmons was only partly joking with Baby when he said this to her. However over the three weeks of getting to know the stubborn blonde, he realized it wasn’t so far fetched for her to lose track of time.

And that would be proven correct as Baby was still out on the Airstrip, working away. She found it difficult to leave seeing as the view was so beautiful. The sunset painted the sky a warm orange and pink tone. A calm breeze briefly passed her, ruffling the tall grass, the trees, and even the bottom of her dress as it did so.

Sighing, she found a comfortable spot on a nearby crate. Busying herself by screwing two engine pieces together with a basic rod. The action was done smoothly like muscle memory.

A loud sound of an engine and the screech of tires had broken her peaceful state. Internally rolling her eyes, Baby prepared herself.

That could mean only one thing.

The jeep made a rough stop in front of her causing her to look up at the person responsible for the interruption.

Major John ‘Bucky’ Egan.

Even the thought of his name sparked annoyance in Delilah. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was about him that was so infuriating.

Maybe it was the way he walked around base like he was the king of the world. He had everybody under his spell, especially her brother Gale. She couldn’t understand how the two had ever became friends.

Or maybe it was how he would sometimes get caught looking at her but would never say anything.

It was like a game of tug of war. Always giving her signs of interest but then taking it back as if he physically and mentally couldn’t bring himself to go there with her. Like something was stopping him, more like someone.

She had a pretty good idea of who.

“A little birdy told me you were out here.” Leaning back in his seat, Bucky faced the woman.

Delilah, uninterested, gave him a nod before focusing back onto her work. “Never really liked birds.”

“Sad to hear that. They’re real fascinating creatures. I’m more of a unicorn guy myself-”

“I bet you are.”

After a beat of silence, Delilah glanced up to see him staring at her once again. It could’ve been because she had just rudely interrupted him but by the way the corner of his mouth twitched into his signature smirk made her think differently.

His eyes held nothing but admiration as he kept his gaze on her. The way she smoothly worked away like it was her second nature was wildly attractive. Not to mention the quick wits that shamelessly left her pretty mouth, which instead of feeling insulted he would always feel more amazed by her.

“Gale send you out here?”

“No.”

“So tell me…Major Bucky,” The name rolled off her tongue as a taunt. Placing the tool and engine piece down beside her, she leaned back onto her hands. “To what do I owe the pleasure of being in your presence?”

Bucky watched as she seductively crossed her legs and tilted her head awaiting for an answer. The reminder that she was his best friends little sister kept blaring in the back of his mind. But it was so damn hard to listen to.

“Maybe I just want to be in yours.” Copying her action, Bucky tilted his head. “You ever think of that?”

”It’s hard to when you’ve been avoiding me like the plague.”

He knew exactly what she referring to. Part of it was intentional but at the same time he really never knew how to approach her. Which was odd for him.

John Egan never struggled in talking to women. However he would always overthink with Delilah. She made him nervous, in a good way.

“Can’t say I know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.” Bucky let out a nervous scoff knowing he had been called out.

The use of the nickname made Baby raise her eyebrows in surprise. “That’s a new one.”

“You like it?”

“I’m not sure yet.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve been called many things, Major Bucky, but sweet has never been one of them.”

“What?” He dropped his jaw dramatically, pretended to be shocked. “You’re the sweetest.”

Bucky watched as she let out an adorable laugh as she threw her head back. A small wave of pride washed over him at the fact that he got her to smile, let alone talk to him for more than five seconds.

“If I’m sweet then you’re a good singer.” She playfully jutted.

“Oh,” He placed a hand on his heart. “You wound me, Baby. I’d have you know I’m an excellent singer.”

“A little birdy told me differently.”

Looking away Bucky chewed away on the piece of gum in his mouth. Damn, she was good.

“If this birdy happens to be tall, boring, and has a head full of blonde hair on his head than you should ignore him and come see for yourself.”

Delilah laughed not taking him seriously. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’m serious.” He said. Eyes connecting with her honey brown ones. “There’s a dance, day after tomorrow. Come and I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Might skip out on this one.” She declined.

Nodding Bucky looked down. An idea popped into his head that might change her mind. “Huh, guess you Clevens are more alike than you want to admit.”

If there was anything he learned from witnessing the Cleven sibling duo was that they both were complete opposites. Buck was more serious, rule follower, and never really liked to do anything risky.

And although he didn’t talk to Delilah much, he would notice how she liked to do things in an untraditional way. Her presence here as one of the first female mechanics proves that. She also loved to make fun out of most situations. A small joke was always at the tip of her tongue and she could never keep it there.

He’d like to bet she loved to dance too.

Picking up the tool beside her she pointed it at Bucky with an annoyed glare. “Take that back right now.”

Bingo.

“Makes sense.” He shrugged his shoulders innocently. “Guess the ‘never have a good time’ genes got passed down to both of ya.”

“I can have a good time.” She rebutted.

Bucky nodded, not really convinced at all. “Okay.”

A moment of silence passed as Bucky continued to poke fun at Delilah as she thought over his words.

Letting go of her cheek, the one she was anxiously biting, Delilah sighed. “What times the stupid dance?”

A smile of victory took plastered across the Major's face as he mentally celebrated. “I’ll be there at 8:00, that’s when the real party starts.”

“Can’t wait.” She gave him a fake smile.

Taking a look around, they both knew that it was about to get dark soon and should head back.

Reaching over the passenger seat of the Jeep, Bucky propped open the door with one arm. “Hop in, sweetheart. I’ll give you a ride back.”

“I have a bike, you know?”

“That old thing?” Simultaneously the two turned to look at the bike leaning on the side of the crate she was sitting on.

“Yeah,” Delilah smiled proudly. It was one of the things she built on her own when she first got here. “Isn’t he pretty?”

“He?”

“Well you men always refer to your cars and planes as woman, so I’d thought I’d return the favor.”

As the blonde continued to admire her piece of work, Bucky’s gaze shifted to her. Taking in her smooth tan skin and pretty freckles that he’d like to individually kiss. And finally her full lips that were just calling his name.

He watched as she grabbed the handles of the bike and easily kicked her leg over to get on it. He furrowed his eyebrows. “Baby?”

“I’d rather ride a thousand miles on this old thang than one in there with you.”

He was left speechless as she petaled away without a second thought. The fact that her and a Buck were siblings was still a shock to him.

No matter how different the two were they both had something in common. The Clevens had captured John Egans heart. With a Buck it was respect and friendship. And with Delilah.

Oh, Delilah. He hadn’t even got to know her fully yet and she already had him hooked.

Snapping out of his trance he started the engine before catching up and riding along beside her. Now he was back to looking between the road and her pretty side profile.

“Still got you to go to the dance with me.” He gloated.

Once again, John Egan had managed to make her smile. Shaking her head she tried to petal faster but he would just match her speed. “I hate you!”

“Hates a strong word.”

“Hates the perfect word.”

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A/N : As y’all can tell I love a good slow burn. Hope y’all liked it! Let me know your thoughts on it please, I love to hear feedback.

ALSO DAYUM YALL REALLY CAME THREW WITH THE LIKES ON MY POSTS

Tag list(I can’t believe I have those now🤭):

@valenftcrush

@justheretoreadthhx

[hirukochan]

Blindsided

A Severus Snape x fem!reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Pairing: Severus Snape x former student reader

Summary: Complaining to your friend about Snape's complicated presence in your life ends up with you being pulled into the battle of Hogwarts. Will Snape survive?

Warnings: Smut, some degradation, angst, blood

Wordcount: 6300

Read on Ao3 or below the cut

“I don’t know!” You whine and drop your head onto the counter.

“What do you mean ‘you don’t know’ how can you not know why you fuck someone?”

“It was a lapse in judgement.”

“A huge bloody lapse that must have been.” Aberforth grunts and dries a glass with a dirty rag. “Severus fucking Snape - his name is almost as feared as you-know-who’s these days.”

“I know!” You peer up from the counter. Aberforth looks grim - but he always looks grim. In your sixth year, you once and for all decided the Three Broomsticks is too crowded and unpleasant to be in. The Hog’s Head already had a terrible reputation back then, but you didn’t care as long as it was quiet. A sorta friendship developed between you and the barman after that. “Do you hate me now?”

Aberforth grunts. “Hate you? Ridiculous girl.” He turns to put the glass back on the shelf to the other glasses that were never used. “What would I hate you for?”

“I slept with Snape.”

“And?”

“Twice.”

“I repeat, and?”

“He- he killed your brother…”

“I’m certain he has killed a lot more than just my brother and as you know Albus and I haven’t spoken in years. When you are as old as me you don’t view death as something so terrible anymore. Anyway, I heard he was sick. Caught some nasty curse or something.”

“I’m a terrible person.”

“Don’t flatter yourself! There are way worse people out there. Snape for example.” He makes a sound that distantly resembles a laugh. A rattling  humph  sound. You glare at him, but can’t help the corners of your mouth twitch.

“Was it at least good?”

“That’s the worst part.” You groan and prop your head up against your hand.

“That bad?”

“The opposite.”

“That good, hm?”

You blush and quickly take a large gulp of your drink to hide it. 

“You know, I’ve said it before you should-”

“I’m not joining the resistance, Aberforth!” You groan. “I have nothing to bring to the table. I was decent at best in Defense. I’d get myself killed within the first few days.”

“You know Snape.”

“I fail to see the connection.” Aberforth raises a brow and you shrink a little under his intense ‘are-you-kidding-me’-gaze.

“A spy in their midst would be useful.” He says gruffly and places another glass on a shelf.

“I’m no spy! I can’t fool Snape! We can hate him as much as he deserves to be hated but you have to agree that he’s a bloody genius! I could never fool him.”

“You said he broke into your flat while fatally injured. Even a genius is sometimes just a man thinking with his cock.”

“I’m not whoring myself out to-” Your outrage is cut short by an ear-splitting scream outside.

“This damn Caterwauling Charm!” Aberforth roars and hurls his dishcloth to the ground. You press your hands to your ears to shield them from the scream. It rips through the night like a sharp knife through skin, tearing at your eardrums and every nerve in your body. It is like the caster of the charm is standing right next to you but the terrible sound clearly comes from outside.

“What is this?” You shout over the wail towards Aberforth.

“Curfew’s been broken! They were boasting about being sent here to catch Potter. Seem to be thinking he’d be stupid enough to come here and they seem to be right.”

You get up from the bar stool and follow Aberforth to the window.

The wailing stops. You take a relieved breath and drop your hands to your side. Multiple Death Eaters dressed in dark robes are storming out of the  Three Broomsticks . They are talking about something, but you can’t hear.

“Poor Rosmerta.” You grimace at the thought of having to serve those monsters at your establishment. Instinctively you grab your wand in your pocket. Dementors flood into the village. You tense.

“Bloody fool!” Aberforth growls. A shimmering blue stag runs through the town centre, fighting off shadowy dementors. Potter’s Patronus. You gasp, clasping your hands over your mouth. So Aberforth is right. Harry Potter is here in Hogsmeade.

“What would possess him-”

Aberforth stalks through the room and rips open the door. 

“Potter!” He hisses. Wind tears at his robes and what sounds like three sets of hasty footsteps cross through the room and up the trickery wooden staircase behind the counter. You see nothing. If it weren’t for the steps you’d think nothing happened. 

“Invisibility cloak.” Aberforth mutters over his shoulder, but his attention is suddenly pulled away by multiple hooded figures reaching the pub. You take a step back, disappearing in the shadows. 

“So what?” Bellows Aberforth in response to something you didn’t catch. “So what? You send dementors down my street, I’ll send a Patronus back at’em! I’m not having’em near me, I’ve told you that. I’m not having it!”

“That wasn’t your Patronus! That was a stag. It was Potter’s!” A Death Eater shouts back, sounding rather childish you note.

“Stag!” Roars Aberforth. He draws his wand and you tense, grabbing your own tighter, your knuckles going white. If they attack Aberforth you’ll- jump into a fight you’re gloriously outnumbered in? “Stag! You idiot - Expecto Patronum! ”

Aberforth’s large goat Patronus jumps from the tip of his wand. Head down, it charges toward the village centre, and out of sight. 

“That’s not what I saw” says the Death Eater, sounding less convinced than before.

“Curfew’s been broken, you heard the noise,” Another Death Eater interrupted the first. “Someone was out on the streets against regulations-”

“It was me.” You say and step forward, out of the shadows like Snape always used to when catching you out and about in the castle after curfew and the thought almost makes you laugh hysterically considering what you’re about to do. “When I arrived that horrible sound started.”

“You set off the charm?” The first Death Eater says confused. His eyes roam over your body, causing a cold shiver to run down your back and a foul taste to spread in your mouth. You resist the urge to wrap your arms around yourself to hide from the hungry stares of the dark wizards.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“What are you doing here at this hour, beautiful?” The second one purrs in a sickly-sweet tone of voice. You somehow manage to keep your blatant disgust from showing on your face. You square your shoulder and raise your chin, looking down at the men with nothing but disinterested arrogance.

“That is hardly of your concern.” The men look at each other, snickering mockingly.

“‘Hardly of your concern’?” One sneers. “Princess thinks herself too good to follow the rules.”

“Perhaps we ought to teach her a lesson, boys.”

“I am-” you raise your voice to drown out their beginning discussion of what to do with you. “-here to see Severus, so do yourself the favour and fuck off, yes?” A murmur passes through the Death Eaters. Saying Snape’s first name feels weird.

“The headmaster doesn’t receive walk-ins - especially not at this hour, even if they are as pretty as you.”

“He’s expecting me, you moron!” He is definitely not expecting you! He said he hopes you’ll never have to see him again!

“She sounds just like him.” One of the figures murmurs.

“Wait-” Another interrupts him. “I recognise you! You’re Snape’s little whore! Yes! The one in Diagon Alley, you remember boys? The shop that’s off-limits. I wondered why a pathetic bookshop would be off-limits until Wilkies said he was sent to get Snape from there and who do you think opened the door?”

You keep your chin held high and your clenched fists hidden in the pockets of your coat you had not taken off in your hurry to get out all the things weighing on your chest. Aberforth catches your gaze. His brows are knitted, an unspoken question in his eyes. You give him a tiny nod. 

You can do this. 

If Potter is here, here, there must be a damn good reason for it and if you could keep Snape distracted long enough-

Something in your chest tightens painfully at the thought of deceiving the man, which is ridiculous! He’s a Death Eater and a murderer!

He said this will all be over soon and while he probably meant that you-know-who will kill Potter soon - you have the chance to help the resistance here, help Potter. Everyone says he’s your only hope so here goes nothing.

“If you’re done wasting my time, then!” You growl, pissed off by the way they speak about you right to your face.

“You’re not going anywhere alone!” The Death Eater who recognised you says sharply. “Wouldn’t want you to get lost on your way to your…” His eyes roam over your body and he licks his lips. “ Date .”

It’s hard to resist the urge to claw his eyeballs out with your fingernails but you succeed. Somehow. 

He steps to the side and gestures for you to lead the way. “We’ll escort you.”

You shoot him a snide glance and leave behind  The Hogshead  and Aberforth and the pretended safety you have been surrounding yourself in ever since Albus Dumbledore died.

Your stomach drops further with every step you take towards the imposing castle looming over the quiet village. You are flanked by two of the hooded figures. Your mouth feels dry and fuzzy and not even the sight of your beloved Hogwarts with its glimmering windows can ease your anxiety.

What if Snape blows your cover? ‘Expecting her? Why would I be expecting her?’  What if he decides to play along? Or maybe he’ll ask why you lied?

You take a deep breath, inhaling the cool night air into your lungs, focusing on the way they expand in your chest.

Snape came to  your  flat when he was fatally injured! Aberforth is right, that has to mean something! It just has to…And Potter is here for a reason! They say he is the only one that will be able to defeat you-know-who and while placing your fate on the shoulders of a seventeen-year-old sounds ridiculous  you  will certainly not defeat the most powerful Dark wizard to ever live! But you can distract Snape. Yes. You can keep him busy and buy Potter a chance to do whatever he is here for- 

Or Snape sees right through you and Potter doesn’t have a plan.

You can’t even begin to tell yourself you don’t want to distract Snape like that because your body is already working against you.

You reach the iron gate. It opens with a shrill squeak and your feet once more hit the grounds of Hogwarts. Even with your nerves raw and plotting an escape from your body to save themselves while you walk to your doom. There is light in Hagrid’s hut. The treeline of the forbidden forest is cloaked in shadows, thicker and somehow darker than normal shadows and just like when you were a student here you feel like eyes are watching you from between the trees. The water of the Black Lake splashes against rocks and while in your teenage years you found the sound soothing it now only serves to unnerve you further. 

You don’t look up to the headmaster's window. 

You’re also shamefully aroused and your heart flutters at the thought of seeing Snape’s endlessly dark eyes that look so cold and apathetic from a distance but when you were standing right in front of him they had looked so soft and filled with emotion you could not dissect and you wonder if they always looked like that. Perhaps you had just never stood close enough to him to notice? A vein part of you whispered that it is all for you and no one else. 

You squash the voice.

Your steps echo in the entrance hall. Your eyes catch the piercing gaze of Professor McGonagall, the strict head of Gryffindor house and Transfigurations Professor. Next to her in the doorway to the Great Hall stands Professor Flitwick. As soon as they see you and your escorts they hastily end their hushed conversation. They stare at you in quiet recognition and shock and you fail to conceal your fear from them.

“This way, beautiful.” One of the Death Eaters sneers and grabs your arm. You rip free and glare at him, barely resisting the urge to punch him. “Headmaster must be waiting already.” He grins, bearing his yellow teeth at you with unabashed ridicule. Disgust prickles over your skin, sinking into your stomach.

“Don’t touch me.” You hiss because you can’t help yourself. Without looking at your former Professors again you turn towards the grand staircase. Each step worsens the brooding feeling of inevitable doom that’s waiting behind the Gargoyle and then you’re standing in front of him much sooner than you ever would have expected or been ready to.

Snape is sitting behind a large desk, bend over a stack of parchments, greasy black hair falling in front of his face like curtains. He is holding a raven feather quill with a sharp silver tip which is gliding over the parchments with quick, elegant motions. He doesn’t bother looking up. He doesn’t seem to think the Death Eaters worthy of his attention.

You look around the round room. You were a good student - or at least a boring one. You’ve never been called into the headmaster’s office. The walls are lined with portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses and you feel transported back in time, just another student flinching at the stringent eyes of her professors. Dark leather-bound books adorn the many shelves and you can’t help but wonder whether Snape has read them all.

“I seem to remember you having been assigned to guard the village.” His deep voice cuts through the silence with taunting indifference and the way the words roll over Snape’s tongue and vibrate in his throat has you pressing your thighs together.

“This one claims you’re expecting her.” At that, Snape looks up. If he is surprised to see you, he doesn’t let it show. You shrink under his intense gaze no matter how much you told yourself you wouldn’t on the way up to his office. His eyes are cold…empty somehow. A man who has seen too much horror to not have lost some part of his humanity along the way. 

He’s even skinnier, the shadows under his eyes deeper. You feel the overwhelming need to hug him despite everything he has done.

“And?” The other one says impatiently. “Are you?” 

“I was waiting for you to leave but it appears I need to spell it out for you - unless you were expecting a treat for fetching what is mine like good guard dogs?”

He- he didn’t- he is playing along?

The hooded men grumble a few unsavoury insults and slam the door shut behind them. The sound leaves behind an eerie silence that Snape doesn’t seem too interested in breaking.

His gaze drops back down onto his parchment and he begins scribbling again. The portraits share looks and whisper with each other.

“Hi…” The word gets stuck in your throat and sounds far higher than you usually talk - you doubt he understood more than a gurgle. You clear your throat and take a hesitant step forward, closer to the man who these days is as feared as you-know-who.

Snape sets aside his quill and steeples his fingers. His intense gaze seems to burn right through your forehead and has you squirming. Something in his eyes softens, a change so miniscule you almost missed it.

“What are you doing here and why are you lying?” He asks. He speaks softer too. Less cold, less sardonically.

“I kinda…tripped the Caterwauling Charm when I arrived in Hogsmeade and…there were Dementors and Death Eaters and they said some things…I got scared so I kinda told them….you were expecting me-”

His lips curl. “‘Kinda told them’ ?”

“I did- I did tell them.” You let out a nervous laugh.

“Why were you in Hogsmeade to begin with?” Suspicion flashes through his eyes. You take another step forward.

“I- I missed you.” Not exactly a lie. You do miss him for some fucked up reason! You’ve been thinking about him every day since that stupid blind date stood you up and his eyes haunt you every night when you close your eyes. The memories of what happened in that exact bed you were lying in came back to you and more often than not ended with you panting his name as you made yourself cum - knowing your own touch would never compare to his.

His eyes darken, his jaw tense as though he can- 

You blush.

He can read your mind. He told you at the restaurant! You try not to think about Potter, but trying not to think about something always leads to thinking more about it so you bring your thoughts back to you in your bed. Covered in sweat, clutching your pillow-

“You missed me?” He asks, pretending to not have understood you but the subtle taunt in his voice betrays him. Perhaps he wants it to betray him. “And so you…what? Thought you’d go to Hogsmeade and try to get into Hogwarts? You could have sent an owl, dear.”

“The thought didn’t occur to me.”

“My, my…oh well, you’re here now aren’t you?” He pushes back his chair and spreads his legs. “Show me how much you missed me.” Mischief and an unspoken challenge glitter in his eyes and for some reason it turns you on further.

As though caught in a trance you move, rounding the desk and closing the distance between you and Snape. Distantly you are aware that the portraits are watching you. Your stomach churns and flip flops and the liquor you had at Aberforth’s turns out to have been a huge mistake. 

Snape undoes the buckle of his belt. Something in the way his hands move and his shoulders are drawn into a tense, straight line tells you he doesn’t expect you to go through with this.

Joke’s on him.

You’re not at all against this turn of events.

Not now that he is in front of you, so close you could just reach out and press your body against his, feel his hot breath on your neck or his lips against your breasts.

You push your coat over your shoulder, letting it fall to the ground as you sink to your knees between his legs. His eyebrows rise and lips part, his eyes following you.

“You’ll have to teach me though, headmaster.” You purr. A smirk pulls on your lips. Snape’s surprise lasts for another few seconds before it flickers and morphs to sombre satisfaction.

“Take out my cock.” You can’t help the trembling of your fingers when you reach for the buttons of his trousers. It’s not fear, rather the opposite. You bite your lip and slip your hand into his trousers. He inhales sharply when your fingers close around his cock. He is already half hard and throbs in your hand. Gently you free him and then look back up, waiting for instruction.

You’re not stupid. You know the basics - kinda. You’ve never done this, after all, a fact Snape seems to relish in.

“Dumb slut can’t even suck cock, hm?” He snickers. His insult should offend you. You should get mad and insult him back and get up, storming out of his office in a cloud of rage - you don’t. You get  wetter . An uncomfortable wet spot in your knickers - the testament of your decaying moral compass. 

‘Fuck it’, you think. ‘Potter is here - we might all die today.’

If the world ends today what does it matter if you’re a traitor? A terrible, depraved, morally corrupt woman that is drawn to you-know-who’s second in command? A man almost as feared as his master?

“Lick it.” His voice cuts through your thoughts. Cold and sharp like an icicle falling from a roof, large and fast enough to pierce through a person. You part your lips and swipe your tongue over the tip of his cock. Snape groans under his breath. He reclines in his chair. The old leather creaks under his weight.

He tangles a hand into your hair, stroking your head as though you’re his loyal pet, seeking its master’s closeness.

You press your flat tongue to his cockhead, licking several hard, broad strokes over it. You place kisses just beneath it and work your way down his shaft, alternating kisses with licks all while dragging your thumb gently over the underside of his cock, just by his cockhead.

Snape’s groans get louder with each pass of your tongue, his grip on your hair tightens. 

“Ahhh-  fuck….what a good girl- a filthy, dumb slut satisfying her headmaster, huh? Or at least trying. You’re giving this your all, aren’t you girl? How pathetic you are.” He tears at your hair, pulling your head up and pressing your lips against his cockhead. Beads of a milky liquid are gathering at the slit. “So desperate for cock you come all the way here in the middle of the night on the off chance I might be willing to fuck you again.” Keeping your eyes trained on his you catch the liquid with the tip of your tongue. It doesn’t taste as horrible as you feared it would. Salty, kinda bitter.

“Open your mouth.” You do. You obey without hesitation. Snape looks like a king sitting on his throne and you’re the new addition to his harem, learning to please her king in all the ways he likes.

Snape brings your head closer, pulling on your hair, keeping iron-like control of your head. You grab hold of his trousers, clutching the fabric between your still-trembling fingers. 

His cock slips between your lips, forcing you to open wider to him, your lips stretching around his girth. Snape looks at you with a mixture of admiration, tenderness and roaring lust and your chest swells with something akin to pride. Pride that you caused such a shift in a stoic, controlled man like Snape. And perhaps hope that Snape is not merely the barbaric Death Eater he is appearing to be. Perhaps there is more to him.

“That’s it, girl-” He groans and drops his head back against his chair, grabbing your head with both of his hands now, forcing it down on his cock. Force is unnecessary of course. You wouldn’t stop doing this even if he wasn’t holding onto you.

You drool over his hard cock while Snape bobs your head up and down, muttering words you can’t hear over your own sputtering and choking and the blood pounding in your ears. Your knickers are ruined at this point. Your cunt clenches around jarring nothingness. You’re so aroused it  hurts . There is an unbearable need deep inside you and you can’t- can’t-

You let go of his trouser, dropping your hand between your spread-out knees and under your skirt. Never have you been so wet. Your fingers slide into you without any resistance. You moan around Snape’s cock. 

He opens his eyes, blinks as though he isn’t quite aware of his surroundings. His eyes meet yours. You must look pathetic. Drooling over his cock, tears and snot smeared on your face while he uses your mouth to pleasure himself.

“Are you touching yourself, dear?” He coos, his lips curling into a smug grin. Your eyelids drop shut and you moan again. Snape pulls on your hair, plucking you off his cock. You whine both at the sting and the loss of contact. Before you can fully catch up with the situation Snape has gotten to his feet, pulling you with him. He smashes his lips against yours. His hand is securely tangled in your hair, pressing you closer to him while also preventing you from pulling away.

You don’t want to.

You missed him so much. Even though you don’t really know him. Even though you really shouldn’t. He was your teacher and he is a murderer and you don’t give a shit.

You mewl into the kiss and cling to the front of his robes.

“You’re fucking beautiful.” He murmurs against your lips. His hand leaves your hair. He grasps at your arse, squeezing your cheeks in his large hands that have slipped under your skirt. He is grinding you into his erection. 

“Snape-” You moan. He forces you back. Your thighs hit the edge of his desk. Snape lifts you up on it and drops to his knees. Your hands tangle into his hair instantly, pulling him closer, parting your legs for him. 

“So fucking beautiful.” He repeats, sounding almost dazed. He kisses your knee, trailing up your thigh, inching teasingly, torturously towards where you need him most.

“-Snape…”

“I don’t want to die without knowing how you taste.” Your mind is too far gone, too useless, too lust-drenched to register his words or the pang of worry you would normally feel at hearing them. Just a few minutes earlier you would have noticed the certainty in the word die. Like a man on death row, walking towards his execution. 

Snape tears at your knickers, pulling them roughly down your legs.

Hot. His tongue is so hot- heat that sears at your skin, killing and saving you all at once. 

You grip his hair tighter and throw your head back. Snape laps at your cunt, licking broad, hard strokes over your folds, pulling moan after pathetic, whimpering moan from you.

Much too soon he stops, leaving you just on the edge of release, suspended in the air, surrounded by heat and desperation and roaring pleasure.

“Snape.” You rasp, your voice strained.

“You’ll cum on my cock or you won’t cum at all, dear.” He says. He probably aimed to sound teasing, in control, smug maybe. But control has long left this room. Neither of you possess a single ounce of it and he sounds equally as needy as you feel. You wrap your legs around his hips and pull him closer.

“Yes, headmaster.” You say. His Adam’s Apple bobs with the hard swallow he takes. He closes his eyes and his jaw tenses.

“Vixen.” He growls and pounces at you. One second you’re sitting, smirking at Snape, the next you’re buried under his weight, pressed down on the desk. He enters you in one thrust, a truly sinful groan falling from his lips. He fucks you rough - much rougher than the last two times. You’re kissing, clicking teeth and gasping for air. Snape pounds into you, his thick cock stretches you open, hitting all the right spots. You cling to Snape, grasping at his sleeves and collar, desperate to touch him, feel him. 

Last time Snape clung to you like a dying man to life - now you’re clinging to him like life not ready to let death take what is hers. 

“Snape!” He sucks on the delicate skin over your throat, hard enough to leave a bruise.

“I had made my peace with never seeing you again.” He rasps in your ear between feverish kisses. “I don’t- I can’t-” Whatever it is he wanted to say, it’s lost to your shared pleasure. Snape presses his face against the crook of your neck, panting and groaning and you cry out, pressure mounting inside you. Ripples morph to tidal waves, swallow you up, pull you under and lift you up all at once and Snape murmurs something against your collarbone you can’t make out. 

You can feel it’s important though. 

Crucial, world-changing, momentously significant information and you sob. The worlds slip through your fingers like sand in an hourglass and you hold onto Snape tighter, tighter so perhaps those words aren’t lost- he isn’t lost-

Snape lifts his head and kisses you. Soft, gentle. A stark contrast to before. There’s longing in the kiss, regret and pain and you weave your fingers through his hair and kiss him back, begging for him to shatter your worries because something isn’t right here! You can tell- something- 

What aren’t you seeing?

Droplets hit your skin.

Are you crying?

An explosion tears you apart. It’s in the distance, muffled through the many ancient walls separating the headmaster's office from the source. Both of you look up. Snape at once composed, his eyes once more distant. Wetness lingers in them. 

“Stay here.” He orders.

“What’s going on?” Is Potter here? Snape has meanwhile straightened up and fixed his clothes and hair.

“Stay.”

“Snape!” You push your skirt down and jump from the table, following him towards the door. He pauses. Tension drawn into every muscle, in the very way he stands, unable to face you. “Please-” Your voice breaks.

“I need you to stay here.”

“Please talk to me.” Now you’re definitely crying.

“I told you this will be over soon. Today’s the day.”

You shake your head. Can he stop being a fucking enigma and just be honest with you for once! 

He wants to leave, but you grab his hand and hold him back. He’s trembling. You couldn’t tell before, but touching him now- 

He’s scared.

You wrap your arms around his waist and press your face to his back, sobbing. 

“I need to know you’re safe. Please- I’m begging you- stay here.” His voice is heavy and crack at the end.

“Severus-”

He swirls around in your embrace and cups your cheeks before kissing you. The kiss tastes of salt…

“It’ll all be over and if it goes according to plan you’ll be free. You’ll be safe. It’ll be over. Promise me- promise me you’ll find happiness. That you’ll live, that you’ll find love and have a family of your own and- that you will be happy  and safe  and loved !”

“Severus-” Snape presses his lips to your forehead before leaning his own against it. He has his eyes closed.

“Promise me.” He sounds like the words physically hurt him. “Please! ”

“If you promise to come back to me!” You’ve grasped the front of his robes again. Tears stream over your cheeks. Snape doesn’t answer. He gently disentangles your hands from his clothes and with a billow of his cloak he is gone.

You clasp your hands over your mouth and sink to your knees, shaken with silent sobs.

This can’t be happening- this can’t be real. You feel numb. There is no fear left, not even pain which you had expected. You feel empty. Like Snape took a part of you with him when he left.

For a long time, nothing happens. You gather your pathetic self from the ground and drag yourself over to Snape’s chair. Aimlessly you open drawers in search of some liquor. Snape surely would have liquor in his desk, right?

“Bottom drawer, dear.” A warm female voice says. You flinch but quickly remember you are in fact surrounded by a bunch of portraits. You don’t even have it in you to blush.

You open the suggested drawer with more force than necessary. A bottle rolls over the bottom of the drawer. It’s some fancy whiskey. Not that you care. You pick up to bottle and are about to unstopper it when-

A picture lies in the drawer. It was hidden underneath the bottle. With knitted brows, you set the bottle aside and pick it up.

It’s you.

You are in front of the bookshop. Wind is pulling at your hair and snowflakes are falling down on you. You’re laughing and trying to catch them with your tongue.

Why does Snape have a picture of you in his desk? Why is it in his whiskey drawer?

Your mind pictures him sitting here, taking swigs of his fancy liquor and staring at the picture of you.

You should feel uncomfortable. This is- weird. It should  be weird. 

It’s not.

It doesn’t feel like it at least. It feels of suppressed longing, of a yearning for something he can’t allow himself to have but is unable to let go of.

You can’t stay here. You have a terrible feeling about all this. Something terrible is going to happen. 

Leaving Snape’s office you stumble into a war zone. Hexes and curses flash through the air, there are screams and shouts. You duck, draw your wand and join the battle. 

It’ll all be over today .

Snape’s words play on repeat in your head. Everything blurs together. You send your nastiest curses at the hooded Death Eaters all while looking out for greasy black hair and slimmer than they should be shoulders. 

You don’t find him anywhere.

Out of breath and scared for your life and everyone around you, you wind up in the Great Hall. You’re bleeding from a wound on your head and several gashes all over your arms and upper body of varying severity. 

And there you spot him. He’s standing in the middle of the room. The battle seems to come to a halt. The remaining fighters have gathered around the walls of the former dining area. Next to Snape stands Harry Potter and they’re facing you-know-who together- 

Wait.

Snape is facing his own master?

A blood-soaked bandage around his throat Snape glares at the pale, noseless monster. He is hunched over, his breaths seem to be laboured.

There’s a duel. Halfway through you-know-who’s red eyes lock with your own. The intensity of the sheer cruelty in his eyes knocks the air from your lungs.

“How ill-conceived of you to bring her here, Severus.” A pale, long wand is aimed at you. Snape swirls around. His eyes widen with shock and fear and accusation.

Everything goes quiet.

Green light speeds towards you. You-know-who turns towards Potter. Snape runs towards you. Potter’s spell hits you-know-who’s in the air.

Snape shouts your name. Droplets of blood fly through the air.

And at once the sounds return, smashing into your eardrums with deafening force. You throw yourself down on the ground. The curse hits the wall behind you. It bursts into shards of stone that fly through the air. Some hit you. Some hit others. You look up, your heart racing in your chest, your fingers tremble from the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

You almost died. 

Fucking Voldemort almost killed you!

Quickly you look up, gripping your wand tighter, prepared to defend yourself if necessary-

There’s cheering. Voldemort is dead, they shout. You spot the pale figure on the floor with Potter standing over him.

He is dead?

Truly dead?

It’s over-

You let out a laugh somewhere between hysteria and pure joy.

“Severus-” Where is he? He was running towards you- “SEVERUS!”

Heads turn towards you. 

Snape is on the ground, surrounded by his black robes, a puddle of deep red blood growing around him steadily.  “HELP! HELP! SEVERUS- ” You sprint towards him, dropping to your knees even before you reach him and slipping over the ground. “SEVERUS! SEVERUS! PLEASE-” He is still warm. You gather his slack body into your arms, cradling him to your chest. No no no no no no- please-

“Severus- Severus-” Warm blood sticks to your hands. Too much- way too much.

“Please please- no- Sev- no-” Arms wrap around you, tuck and pull on you, tearing you away from Severus. You scream and flail around, trying to hit whoever is trying to take him from you, take you from him- no-

“SEVERUS! LET GO OF ME! SEVERUS- ” 

Madam Pomfrey rushes towards Potter and Snape. She sinks to her knees and waives her wand over Snape’s lifeless body. You give up your fight. You sob and cry and whimper Snape’s name, pleading with whichever deity is listening to you to not take him- no- not now-

“He was on our side all along-” Potter says, his voice cracking. “Dumbledore asked him to kill him- He was on our side-” 

You watch the healer work with bated breath. Magic flows out of the tip of her wand in a steady flow, battling whatever had Snape bleeding. Potter has fallen to his knees in the meanwhile. McGonagall is silently crying.

“He’s stable.” Madam Pomfrey says, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “For now at least.” The hands holding you, release you and you scramble off the floor. Snape is lying in a cot the healer summoned. She is already gone, hurrying towards the next victim of this battle needing healing. You have no strength left to care or to even consider helping anyone. Nobody asks you to.

You lie down next to Snape. 

“Please don’t die-” You whisper the words again and again until your voice fails you and you just watch his chest rise and fall because as long as his chest is still rising and falling he is still alive. 

Your eyes fall shut.

You let them.

For just a moment. A moment of rest.

“I- told you to…stay-” You startle awake. “You never listen…” Black eyes blink at you. Tired but alive. So alive.

“Severus!” You sob and crash your lips against him. A hysterical laugh of relief escapes you. 

“Ow- careful-” He groans.

“Sorry sorry sorry!” Quickly you back off. “You’re alive.”

“It would appear so. Believe me, I am as surprised as you are.”

“Idiot! You fucking wanker! How dare you almost fucking die on me again!”

Snape laughs, but it sounds horrible. Like nails on a chalkboard. You heard that Voldemort’s snake tore open his throat and Potter just about managed to save his life.

“I apologise.” He rasps. “Allow me- allow me to take you to dinner. Proper dinner. With at least five courses and wine.”

“As long as you actually show up to the restaurant.” You chuckle and wipe the tears from your cheeks.

“Only a fool would waste the opportunity of a date with you.”

[asvterias]

𝖯𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗒 𝖡𝗈𝗒 (𝟥)

Part 1 | Part 2

Warnings: Just Heartfelt Fluff

Pairings: (FWB) Jaime Reyes x (FWB) Black!Fem!Reader, Bestfriend!Milagro x Bestfriend!Reader

Summary: Being friends with benefits with Jamie is hard to keep undercover, in hopes of Milagro never finding out. The number #1 rule is to be strictly sexual and not explore romantic feelings for the other. What happens when that rule is broken?

Word Count: 2.0k+

Tag List: @n7cje @drqcrys @websterss @pxachy-tea @moralesszz @odiesdayoff @allthingsvicf @tinkerbelle05 @alienstardust @lemonyboy97 @alastorhazbin @writing-fanics @gay-dorito-dust @presidentbarbieirl @veronicarose20 @conicoroahre @sodacatz @chaotic-reblogger @horrorluver20 @zipporahsstuff @yutasol @littlekidsteve @illicee @everybody-hates-mills @hoshi4k @violettathewriter @mymanjaimereyes @vampire-grrl @666kpopfan @nutella-directioner-vampeete @ushygushysimp @borhapparker @tessamoreno @stitched-mouth @obrienslove @raebo0421 @loki-is-low-key @tacoreib @staraifos @avitute @dumbperson6 @idyllcy @luvly-writer @june-pop @madnesspea @chaoticbi-cheesecake @daltonshotgf @unreasonablysapphic @planetvenusworld

Author’s Note: What’s this??; not me publishing two parts in one day! Kinda got carried away with the fluffy ending but who cares?! :)

Spanish Translations

“mi vida.” — “my life.”

“Cálllate, Milagro!” — “Shut up, Milagro!”

“Cálllate, hermano! No me ves teniendo sexo con tu mejor amigo, verdad?” — “You shut up, bro! You don’t see me having sex with your best friend, do you?”

“Uhh, muy grosera, hermana. Estoy parado aquí mismo.” — “Uhh, very rude, sis. I’m standing right here.”

“Bien, entonces no necesitas que me repita.” — “Good, then you don’t need me to repeat myself.”

“No te preocupes, cariño. Sabes que siempre serás mi chica número uno.” — “Don’t worry, babe. You know that you’ll always be my number one girl.”

Everything seems to be picture perfect as you and Jaime viewed, all hot and bothered in each other’s arms. That was…until shit hit the fan for the both of you.

“Jaime! What the actual fuck are you doing?! And with my best friend?” That voice made your heart stop, instantly breaking out of your bubble. Thoughts of Milagro arriving back and catching you two in the act didn’t cross your mind.

You and Jaime looked at each other like deers caught in headlights as you both stumbled to cover yourselves up with your duvet.

How were you two gonna explain this to Milagro now?

“I’m scarred! For life, I’m permanently scarred.” She covers her eyes despite closing her eyes and leaving the room. Guess she needed double reassurance of security to unsee what she just saw. “(Y/N), where’s the bleach? I need two gallons of it for my eyes.”

“You’ll be fine!” Jaime brushes his sister off.

“Says you; you were the one getting it! Lock the door next time! I’m not ready to be an aunt just yet!” She shouts from the kitchen.

“Shut up, Milagro!” Jaime yells, annoyed at his sister. You got dressed in one of Jaime’s oversized hoodies and slipped into a pair of panties, preparing to leave and talk to Milagro.

“Cállate, hermano! No, me ves teniendo sexo con tu mejor amigo, verdad?”

Her statement causes you to softly giggle at their classical sibling tactics. “We have to go out there and talk to her.”

“No, we don’t,” He brings you in by the waist, tightening his grip so you can’t escape from his loving embrace, “She’s twenty years old, not ten and she’ll get over it.”

“She’s used to seeing me naked, not her older brother.” You defend the situation, your finger wiggling onto his chest. Jaime swiftly got dressed after hearing your concluding sentence.

“Wait, what?” His eyebrows furrowed together in shock and confusion, “When did my sister see you naked?”

“That’s a secret that I’ll take to my grave.” You leave the room.

“What? Why not (Y/N)?” Jaime begrudgingly jumps off the bed and follows after you.

The whole discussion with Milagro was awkward. Why wouldn’t it be awkward? She caught her brother and best friend having sex behind her back. The three of you awkwardly surrounded the small kitchen island, all remaining silent.

“When did this sneaky scandal begin?” That was her first question.

You answered, quickly calculating the time frame. “About two months ago.”

“Are you happy?” She cringes, even at her own words.

“It just happened, Milagro. He was the right guy at the right place and time.” You held her hand, “Please don’t be mad, Millie.”

“I’m not mad. Why would I be mad?”

Your perisan white cat Mimi jumps on the kitchen counter, and walks over to you, her fluffy tail high in the air and meows in your arms when you pick her up.

“So, are we good, Mil?” You nudge her. “All water under the bridge and shit!”

“Of course, we’re good, (Y/N).” Milagro assures you before gesturing over to her brother, “But out of all people, why my idiotic brother? You could do so much better.”

“Uhh, muy grosera, hermana. Estoy parado aquí mismo.”

“Bien, entonces no necesitas que me repita.”

Jaime began to argue until you interrupted him. “Guys, we’re getting off track here.”

“Were you guys drunk….when you two first slept with each other,” Your best friend grimaces in horror, shaking her head as she struggles to her words out. “Never mind, don’t answer that. Is this friends with benefits thing going anywhere?”

“I don’t feel comfortable discussing my sex life with my sister.”

“Well, you’re sleeping with my best friend so I’m required to know where this relationship is going.”

“That’s none of your business, that’s between me and (Y/N).” He finalizes. Mimi gestures over to Jaime, wanting to escape from your hands and into his. You scoff at her sudden switch-up, knowing that she was often clingy with you, barely paying attention to Jaime when he came over.

Mimi curls up into Jaime’s arm and he pets her.

“You know for friends with benefits, you two sure act like a couple.”

“What? Where did you get that idea from?”

“Oh come on, even Nana knew before you two idiots.” Milagro rolled her eyes, “She said; ‘There’s nothing like love at first sight, and your best friend and brother are no different to that infamous saying.’ She mimics her grandmother’s words.

“Wait, Is that why mami and papi were acting so weird with me whenever (Y/N) came to visit?”

“Everyone else knew except the two of you.” You stared at Jaime, unable to decipher his thoughts behind his eyes.

Was it true? Were you and Jaime so oblivious that neither of you noticed when other people started to discover the tension between you two? Did Jaime have feelings for you? If so, you were anxiously waiting for his reaction, hoping that you might have the possibility of becoming a couple.

Milagro’s voice broke you from your train of thought. “Don’t make no babies!” Those were her last words before the door slammed shut.

Dreaded silence lingered around the whole apartment as you thought of what to say.

Luckily, Jaime beat you to it and spoke first. “It was true...what I said earlier.” He hesitates.

Mimi jumps out of Jaime’s hold, and scurries off into the living room on a couch, wanting to escape from this current love confession.

“When you said that it was always me, not any other girl. That you’ll always choose me over any girl.” You clarify, recalling his words from doing extracurricular activities with him earlier.

“Yes, all of that is true. I do have feelings for you, (Y/N). I know we made a pact to remain strictly sexual and nothing beyond that but…I’m breaking it because I’m in love with you.”

“I feel the same way,” You whisper, leaning your foreheads together as you caress his face gently stroking his cheek with your thumb. A smile overtook his face, overjoyed at the reciprocated feelings.

You giggled at him when he picked you up, lifting your feet off the ground as you held him tightly. He spun you around, hearing your marvelous laughter erupt from your mouth, and stopped to give you a wholesome kiss.

“You’re free to back out now because there’s no going back anymore once I have you.”

“Oh no, pretty boy, I have no second thoughts, and neither should you. I’m in it for the long haul, all of you.”

A smirk appears on his face, “All of me?”

You quirk an eyebrow, immediately catching on to your unintentional seductive innuendo.

“Don’t push it.” You peck his lips.

“And you better not be holding out on my well-deserved kisses.” He quips, caressing your face as you gaze into his eyes. The boy puckered his lips, “Now I know that you can do better than that.”

You chuckle in amusement at his humor, sending him a thoughtful intimate kiss, as if you were pouring all of your love and affection into it. This time his lips are soft, melting onto your plump brown ones.

When you pull away from him, he gives you a dumbfounded expression, hazy from the powerful kiss.

“Oh yeah, I could certainly get used to this.” He nods, beaming when you pull him in for another kiss.

“Red’s definitely your color.” He says referring to your shade of lipstick as he disconnected your lips. Little does he know that he’s sharing the same faint lipstick on his mouth…and certain parts of his body. “I don’t know why you don’t wear it more often.”

“Because I’m working most of the time, Reyes.”

“Yeah, but when you’re off work, it’s a different story. You should absolutely wear red lipstick occasionally, you look even sexier in red.” You narrowed your eyes at him, urging him to elaborate, noticing his shyness replacing confidence. “Not that you need makeup to look sexier. I was just— meant to say that you do whatever you want to do.”

“Well, I do know that I look sexy in red, Jaime.” You tease him. “But I think that you prefer me with nothing at all. Just all natural, isn’t that right?” Although he grew used to your confidence, you still rendered him clueless and flustered at times.

Mimi brushes against your legs, making her presence known again, causing you to pull away from Jaime. Picking her up gently, she meowed in affection.

“You also have a stepdaughter now.” You held up Mimi excitedly, waving your medium-sized cat in front of your boyfriend.

He laughs as Mimi reaches out for Jaime. Your cat cuddles into his embrace and lounges her body all over him.

“Kiss-ass,” You mutter folding your arms, avoiding eye contact with either of them, hating that your boyfriend’s attention is already being stolen away by your cat, “Just so you know, I’m not fighting with my daughter over my boyfriend.”

With Mimi comfortably adjusted on his left arm, he stretches his other arm across your shoulder, pulling you into his side. You have to crane your neck just to look up at him because he is almost nearly 6 feet tall.

“No te preocupes, cariño. Sabes que siempre serás mi chica número uno.” He places a kiss on your temple, content when you snuggle into his body, wrapping your arms around his waist.

The cat cuddling Jaime screeches in betrayal, seemingly understanding the different language.

“Apparently, Mimi understands Spanish as well.” He jokes, looking down at the cat, whose eyes narrow down in annoyance and disappointment. Attempting to bring up Mimi’s mood, he scratches her head and kisses her on the head as well. The persian cat purrs lovingly in response as she rests her head on his chest.

You swoon over the wholesome interaction between your boyfriend and your dear cat.

“I love you, mi vida.” He kisses your cheek.

“I love you too, my pretty boy.”

Perhaps some rules were made to be broken, exploring the boundaries and the depth of the type of relationship. Either way, you finally had Jaime and you were never letting go of him. Hopefully, your new healthy relationship will transpire into a long-term relationship, full of mutual respect, admiration, and most importantly, communication. He was determined to make him the best boyfriend that you dated.

likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated!

© asvterias, 2023. please do not plagiarize any of my works.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Are you planning on writing a part 2 to Can't Bring Myself to Hate You?

Because I need it desperately 😩

Okay, I feel like this is the first time actually writing something intended to be angsty/upsetting so…yeah. Little unsure, but hope you enjoy!

It’ll go up on 2nd of September at 19:00, so keep an eye out!!

Hope this doesn’t piss too many people off 😬

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 2[*]

‘ “Look at me.”

His voice breaks through your world of darkness, eyes opening to seek him out. They flit away, embarrassed by the damp blur coating your vision. His fingers slide forward with ease, dancing through the mess between your thighs, pressing to that unfairly sensitive space at your apex. “Look at me,” he repeats. Still quiet, but stern; sharp. ’

‘ You stare, and nothing comes to mind. Anything you had planned to say is forgotten, washed away to a land of mist and fog. Sharp hazel eyes meet yours, dark and accusing, spearing through you. Shadows peek over his wings, circling tight. Lips press together in a stern line.

“What was that?” Your voice is hoarse, rough at the edges. “What were you…? Why…?” ’

[bloatedandalone04]

Against All Odds - Part 2

➪the one where bradley pushes away his pride and finally admits to himself what he already knew, that you are his number one priority.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, mentions of injuries, descriptions of injuries, arguments, break ups, bradley is a major dick in this

Word Count: 3.8k | Part 1

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

Bradley had to blink away the sleep in his eyes as he quickly sat up, his phone nearly falling from his hand as he brought it up to his ear. “Baby,” he said desperately as he called you back. 

It rang and rang until he was beginning to think he had completely blown it, then the call connected. He was met with silence, but you had actually picked up, so he knew you could hear him.

“Y/n,” he hesitantly said, his heart beating loudly in his ears as he heard your quiet inhale. 

“Bradley?” Your sweet voice called his name, and Bradley felt his eyes sting a bit as he sat up and planted his feet onto the carpet to ensure he was stable and not dreaming this.

“Babygirl,” he rasped, his body full of adrenaline even though he had just woken up. His face was as sore as anything else and his body ached, but he was talking to you for the first time in months. The only thing that would make it better would be if you were actually here with him. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.”

He heard you sniff quietly on the other end, and he knew you were beginning to cry. His heart ached to be with you right now and his fingers were begging to be able to wipe away your pretty tears. 

You didn’t say anything and he was desperate to hear your voice again and get you talking to him. “Y/n,” he called softly. “Talk to me, baby, please.”

He hears you sniff again before you mumble. “I don’t know what to say,”

“Anything,” he answered instantly. “Say anything, please. Yell at me, call me a selfish asshole, tell me that you hate me. Just don’t hang up.”

“I don’t hate you, Bradley,” you tell him quietly, making his heart race as you confess that he was wrong in thinking you’ve spent the last couple months despising him. “And you’re not a selfish asshole.”

He could’ve cried at that if he wasn’t too focused on trying to figure out what to say next that will keep you talking to him. “I’m so sorry,” he said again, his voice hoarse and his face aching. “I’ll keep saying I’m sorry for the rest of my life. I need you, Y/n.”

“Bradley,” you trail off, your tone quiet and your breathing uneven. “It’s been months.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “Trust me, I know. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since…since I broke up with you. That has been the biggest mistake I’ve ever made in my entire life. I can’t believe I talked to you like that. Fuck, you deserve so much better.”

You were quiet for a bit and he began to think he had run out of time with you, but then you spoke softly, “I’m sorry about last night. I watched a bit of it, but I couldn’t bring myself to see the end. I guess you lost, huh?” 

Fuck, he almost wish you got to see him get his ass handed to him. It’s the least you deserved, to watch the guy who broke your heart get his face beaten in. “I’m glad you didn’t,” he admitted. Then he clued in to what you said and a small smile formed on his lips as he asked, “You still watch the matches?”

“Sometimes,” 

Bradley wasn’t sure whether or not he should feel relieved or guilty. He leaned back on the couch and draped his free arm over his sore abs as he sat in silence for a few seconds. He wanted you back, more than anything else in the world. He knew now what he should’ve known before, and that is that he’d do anything for you. 

You wanted him to give up his career? He will. He’d get an office job if it meant he got to have you back in his life. 

You wanted to have a house together? He’ll get the papers ready that confirms it within a few days. 

You wanted him to take you and your relationship seriously? You’ll be his number one priority for the rest of his life, like you should have been since the very beginning. 

“Baby,” he nearly whimpered. “I miss you so much. Every fucking day.”

He dreaded your next words, unsure if he should even be telling you that he missed you right now, but he was never good at keeping his thoughts to himself. That was one of the things that caused you to leave him, and that really fucking hurt to think about. 

Thankfully, you saved him from hurting even more by whispering, “I miss you, too,”

He knew he was going too fast, but he couldn’t help it. He needed to see you, face to face. He needed to tell you how sorry he is in person. “Y/n,” he begged. “Come over, babygirl. Please.”

-

“Bradley, what the fuck were you thinking?” You nearly yell as you carry more than half his body weight while you guide him into the house. “He could’ve killed you. Why do you insist on getting so damn cocky every time you’re in that stupid ring?”

“Enough, baby,” he muttered as he pulled away from you and limped his way into the living room. Truthfully, he probably needed your help right now in order to fix up the wounds he received, but not if it meant you were going to baby him like you were his mother. “It’s fine.”

Of course you weren’t going to let him off easy. You never did and it was usually something he appreciated, but he was really fucking annoyed right now and just wanted to end the day with you in bed, but you looked as energized as ever. “It’s fine? It’s fine? Bradley, it’s not fine!”

He huffed and sat down on the couch, lifting his sore hand and massaging his knuckles. “Fuck off,” he said under his breath, not at all saying it to you but about his current situation. He just wanted to sleep off the events of the night, and you weren’t letting up. 

Maybe he should have been clearer about that, though. “Fuck off? Seriously, Bradley?”

He held back an eye roll as he leaned back against the couch. “I wasn’t saying it to you, come on, baby,”

You glared at him. “Who were you saying it to then? ‘Cause if you haven’t realized, I’m the only one here. I’m always the only one here. It’s me who has to clean you up whenever you get the shit beaten out of you, and it’s me who has to haul you all the way home since you won’t let anyone else touch you,”

Bradley did roll his eyes this time. “Sue me for only wanting my girlfriend to take care of me,” he grunted, pressing his thumb harshly against his bruised knuckles. “You do realize that’s what you are right? You’re my girlfriend, not my fucking mom, so can we please drop this and go to bed?”

You laughed. “Why? So you can just forget about it? You do this every time, Bradley and I’m getting pretty fucking tired of it,”

“Oh, cry me a river, Y/n,” he huffed as you stepped towards him. “You knew what you were getting into when you said yes to going out with me five fucking years ago. Why is it such a problem now?”

You cross your arms, your gaze softening a bit. You hated arguing with Bradley, and while you didn’t do it all the time, it was something that had been happening quite often as of lately. “It’s always been a problem, Bradley. You know I hate seeing you get hurt,” 

Bradley looked up at you and his hard gaze, too, faded a bit. “It’s part of my job, babygirl. You know that,” he reminded you and tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. “You said you supported me.”

“I do,” you say, a bit offended as you stand in front of him. “But I don’t support the guy you become when you think things are too easy for you. Why do you instigate things with the guys you fight? You always end up eating your words when they put you back in your place. It’s like you go out of your way to put on a good show or something, and I’m the one who’s left to look after you when it’s over. It’s hard on me, baby. I hate seeing you get hurt and you seem to get a kick out of it.”

Bradley pressed his palm flat against his bruised face as he tried to think of a rational way to respond to you. He did not want to be talking about this right now, and you showed no signs of giving him the fucking break he was craving. He knew you were just worried about him and he loved you for it, so he was trying hard to not go off on you since you really didn’t deserve it, but it was taking a lot out of him to keep calm. He felt like he was being interrogated, and he felt like he needed to remind you once again that you are his partner, not his parent. 

“It’s my job,” he said again, this time not doing much to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “I’m supposed to entertain people.”

“Not by going out of your way and ensuring you walk away with a beaten up face, Bradley,” you counter, wrapping your arms tighter around yourself. “That’s not entertaining, it’s scary. You don’t care what happens to you as long as you get what you want out of it, and it’s scary. You scare me sometimes, Bradley.”

While on a normal night your words would’ve had him straightening up his act a bit and apologizing, the events leading up to this moment have him feeling more pissed off than understanding. 

Things were going well for him a few hours ago, and he just started his sixth round with Banks Harper when you tried giving him a pep talk that felt more like a lecture. Your scolds were all he could think about as he threw his first punch, then he spewed out some dumb line about how his mother could fight better than Banks, and then he was getting the shit beaten out of him. 

It wasn’t your fault he lost tonight, but he was far too stubborn to think that it was his own right now. “I scare you?” He asked with a humorless laugh, and by the look of surprise on your face he knew that wasn’t the response you were expecting from him. He pushed himself up so he was towering over you, using his height and build in ways he used against his opponents, not while he was with his sweet girlfriend. “Why the fuck are you with me then? Huh? Why the fuck are you here?”

You stare up at him with hurt evident in your eyes. “I’m here because I love you, Bradley,” you weakly answer. “Because I don’t believe in throwing away five years just because you don’t know how or when to stop.” 

Bradley could see how much his harsh words were affecting you, but he was fired up now and you weren’t offering him the escape from it all like you usually did. You were adding to his frustrations instead of helping him get rid of them. “So you don’t believe in me. Is that what you’re saying?”

“No!” You yell and drop your arms to your sides. “That’s not what I’m saying at all! You’re putting words in my mouth. I’ve been your biggest supporter ever since we started dating and I still support you now, I-”

“Still? You still support me now?” He asked as he stepped closer to you. Your eyes were pleading with him now and if he had half a mind he’d shut up and whisk you away to bed so he could apologize to you while holding you in his arms. But he was running off of the small amount of adrenaline he had left in him, and it was making his brain feel a bit fuzzy. “Then fucking act like it. Maybe, I don’t know, don’t question me on everything little fucking thing I do. If I want to talk shit to the guys I fight then I will. You don’t get to fucking control me or what I do when I give you everything you could ever need. I provide you with everything, the least you could do is act a little grateful, not jump on me as soon as we get home. Just…get off my back, alright? Fuck.”

You cower away from him a bit as tears sting your eyes. You were glaring at him now and trying to fight off the way your lip was quivering, but you were feeling hurt at this point and he still wasn’t seeing it from your perspective. “I’m not trying to control you, Bradley, I…” you trail off, looking down at the floor as the first of many tears begin to fall. “I can’t believe you actually said that to me.”

Bradley rolled his eyes and walked past you, the adrenaline doing a fine job at keeping his body upright and taking away the pain he will be feeling later. “What? Can’t believe what? That I won’t let you walk all over me? You can say all this bullshit about me but then get mad when I throw it back at you,” he muttered. “Real original, baby.”

“Bradley,” you gasped as you turned to him and tugged on his arm. “What the hell. All I wanted was for you to see things how I see them, that’s all. Maybe if you did then-”

“Oh, my fucking- you’re still going on about that? Enough, Y/n,” he raised his voice in a tone he never used with you before. You step away from him, putting some much needed distance between the two of you. “I swear, sometimes you’re so damn unbearable, I’m surprised I haven’t pulled out all my fucking hair. Take the fucking hint and leave me the fuck alone, okay? I don’t want to talk to you right now. At all.”

And maybe the two of you would’ve been fine if you had just left it at that. Maybe you both would have slept it off, made up the following morning.

But then you wiped at your eyes as you tried to find the courage to de-escalate things. “I just-”

And he reached his breaking point and turned back around to face you. “Jesus Christ, when will you learn to shut up? Seriously, shut up,” he yelled. “I’m so fucking sick of talking about this. We could have avoided all of this if you hadn’t decided to act like my mother as soon as we walked through the fucking door. I can’t deal with this right now. I can’t deal with you. Fuck, just go. Leave. I don’t want you here anymore, not if you’re going to treat me like a fucking child.”

Your eyes widened a bit, your mouth parting in a silent plea. Surely he didn’t mean that, right? 

Wrong. “I mean it, Y/n,” he rasped as he turned back around and headed towards the bedroom. The same one he had shared with you, officially, for three months. Unofficially for five years. “Get the fuck out.”

-

Bradley wished he had let Nat take better care of him last night. Maybe she could’ve helped prevent his face from looking this fucking bad. Without proper care for them, the bruises worsened overnight and his left eye was half closed because of the darkened skin around it.

He looked terrible, but still he found himself feeling happy because you would be here soon. 

You were coming here, to him.

He could look as bad as he wanted, it still wouldn’t dampen the mood he is in at the fact that he would finally get to see you again after spending so long without you. 

Though, he was sure you would hate his current appearance. You never did like seeing him like this, and he wished he won last night and didn’t let himself get knocked around so much if he knew there was a chance he could get you back the next day.

His heart skipped multiple beats at that. 

He was a few minutes away from possibly getting you back, from being the one who receives all your love and affection like he had been for five years. He’d be damned if he fucked this up. 

Minutes that feel like hours pass before he hears quiet knocking on the door, and Bradley had to take a second to compose himself before he embarrassed himself by rambling as soon as he saw you. 

He made it to the door in three strides and took less than a second to open it. 

For the first time in months Bradley felt like his world was falling back into place. His heart leaped in his bruised chest and his arms begged the rest of him to take you into them. 

He longed for the sweet scent of vanilla you always seemed to emit, and he was desperate to know if you still fit perfectly against him. He knew you did, but he wanted to prove it to the few doubts that ran around in his head. 

“Baby,” he rasped, his voice rough and breathless as he took you in.

You hadn’t changed at all, not really. You effortlessly made the grey sweatpants and black tee you wore look like the most beautiful outfit he had ever seen you in, and he knew if he looked close enough he might be able to tell if your hair had grown out a bit or not, but he was mainly focusing on your achingly pretty face. 

“Bradley,” you said back, equally as quiet. 

Then he was taking one step towards you and you were meeting him way more than half way by jumping into his arms. Your legs wrap around his waist as his hands instinctively grab onto the undersides of your thighs, and you fit perfectly against him. 

The impact of your body crashing against his had him holding back a grunt as his chest was still extremely sore, but he needed this. He needed you, and he was fucking kidding himself when he tried to think otherwise. 

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled, burying his face in the space between your neck and shoulder. Not being able to stop himself, he kissed the skin there multiple times as he felt his eyes sting with unshed tears. “So fucking sorry. I can’t believe I said all that shit to you.”

He pulled away in order to make eye contact with you, finding your eyes in a similar state as his. 

“I was out of my fucking mind, babygirl,” he murmured, brushing his nose against yours as he spoke the words you’ve been wanting to hear for weeks now. “Completely out of my mind. You’re everything to me, baby, you always have been. Always will be.” 

No more words were said after that as you both gave each other a look of consent before Bradley was closing the distance between you completely and kissing you deeply. Your hands slide up and tangle in his hair, tugging on it in the way that still drove him crazy. 

Your lips mesh together like no time at all has passed. One of his own hands reached up and gripped the side of your face gently, his fingers curling around your jaw and angling your head a bit as the kiss progressed. 

“I missed you,” you confessed when you pulled away for air, your eyes softening at the bruises around his eyes and on his nose. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. You’re right, I should’ve been, I-”

Bradley shook his head quickly, effectively cutting you off with the simple movement. “No, I wasn’t,” he corrected you. “I was wrong about everything. About all of it. I’m just a big fucking idiot. I can’t believe I said all that to you. I was mad and embarrassed and you were just trying to help me. God, you’re so perfect, babygirl. You’re too good for me, I don’t deserve you and I never did. I know that, but I love you. So fucking much. There’s no one else for me except you.”

Your fingers gently trace the edges of his wounds, your slightly wet lips quivering a bit as you took in both his words and appearance. 

He sounded as broken as he looked, and the sight had your heart aching in your chest painfully. “Bradley,” you whisper, closing your eyes and kissing his forehead as your tears begin to steadily fall. “You really don’t see yourself in the way I see you, huh?”

Your breathless laugh has a smile forming on his lips as he shakes his head again and pulls you close to him once more. “I’m an idiot,”

“You’re everything,” you say and wrap your arms tightly around his shoulders. “I want you to be happy, and if you weren’t happy with me then that was okay. I didn’t want to hold you back, I still don’t want to hold you back. If you still want me, I promise, I will be your number one supporter forever. I’ll get over everything and be on your team again. I’ll be in your corner whenever you’re in that ring, I swear.”

Bradley let out a laugh mixed with a cry. “I still want you, baby,” he promised, holding your body close to his. “I’ll always want you. Always. You make me happy. I was the one who ruined everything, not you. This is all on me.”

You pull back, grinning at the way his arms reluctantly loosened around you. “I love you,” 

He leans in and kisses you, pulling your chest completely against his as he stepped back into his house and kicked the door closed. “I love you,” he said back, kissing you again as he stumbled his way into the living room. “I love you so much.”

He repeated it as he settled on the couch above you, wrapped up in your arms now. 

“Take me back,” he begged, kissing along your neck as your hands trailed through his hair. “Please, take me back. Stay here with me, please.”

You take his face in your hands and press a soft but firm kiss to his mouth, soothing the sting of his bruises with the pads of your thumbs. “Always,” you promised, and Bradley knew there was a lot more you and he needed to talk about, but he was okay with just being with you like this until that time came.

-

@itsmytimetoodream

@khaylin27

@broosterradley

@haydenshousewife

[adorethedistance]

First I Love You - Jamie Drysdale x Reader

Hockey Masterlist

Warnings: swearing, mentions of anxiety, sexual references.

Words: 1677

Summary: First I Love You - After a day that gets increasingly worse, Jamie plans a date night to indirectly celebrate your two-month anniversary.

A/n: Cherry is back with a fic after a month of radio silence in typical aodre the distance fashion lol. Anyway! This has been in my drafts forever and I hate it, I can't proof it due to writer's block, and I'm honestly just done staring at it so here ya go!

You can read part 1 of the series of firsts here. The next and final first on the list is first time which is of course gonna be a lil smutty. I might write some Trevor pieces in the interim just depending how I'm feeling.

Today is just one of those days. My class ran much longer than usual and I had to stay after to ask my professor questions before the midterm that night, then I didn’t have time to make myself lunch so I grabbed the pizza rolls from my freezer to heat up at work, then I burned the pizza rolls beyond consumption and did not have any back up food, then I was starving and stressed and unable to use my time at work to study for the exam. I was crying in a puddle of stress and tears. And Jamie didn’t miss a beat. 

Upon hearing how horrible my morning and afternoon had been, he ordered my usual meal from In-N-Out and brought it to me at work so I wouldn’t starve. Then, he offered to make me dinner after I finished my midterm and I tearfully and appreciatively accepted. These little actions of consideration are what have made me fall deeper and deeper in love with Jamie. 

We reached our two months anniversary today but I didn’t make a big deal about it. I feel weird about potentially being one of those couples that celebrates every tiny little milestone like it’s the biggest thing in the world. Still neither of us have said “I love you” yet. But if Jamie continues caring for and about me like this, I’m not sure much longer I can hold it in. That’s why I decided I would tell him tonight.

After cooking dinner for the two of us, and pouring a congratulatory glass of wine to celebrate the 95 I got on my midterm, we laid down on the couch together. Happy and fed, I rest my head on the expanse of his broad chest. Jamie presses a kiss into my hair, bringing his left arm to drape over my shoulders.

“God, 2 months already?!” Trevor asks Jamie incredulously, making me roll my eyes at the playful jab.

“Don’t sound so surprised, Zegras.”

“You’re just mad cause you can’t pull.” Jamie’s accusation makes me laugh at the offended look on Trevor’s face. 

“Don’t get it twisted, I can pull.”

“You just can’t get them to stay?” I ask innocently, absentmindedly messing with Jamie’s fingers. Jamie laughs heartily. He interlaces his with mine to give my hand a gentle squeeze. “But to answer your original question, yes, it’s been 2 months already.” 

The scruff of my boyfriend’s 5 o’clock shadow brushes the back of my hand as he kisses the flat part of my knuckle. Trevor, observing the entire action, leans over the kitchen trashcan and pretends to throw up. Jamie merely laughs and I roll my eyes once more, “Shut the fuck up! You are so dramatic.”

“And for what?” Jamie chimes in which makes me smile to see he’s been picking up some of my mannerisms and phrases as well. That’s been my favorite part of dating him so far. The way his music taste slowly infiltrates mine. The way he now keeps a trashbag in his car after realizing how useful the one in mine is. The way he’s wearing the soft blue hoodie he lent me, for the reason that it now smells like me, which is why I had stolen it from him in the first place.

“I’m happy for you guys, really,” Trevor grabs his car keys from off the granite kitchen counter, “Thank you for rubbing salt into the open wound.”

“Oh my god-” Jamie starts.

“Get out of here!” I finish for him, urging Trevor to leave. 

“I’m gone!” He obliges. Then, Jamie kisses my head again, prompting me to sit up. 

“Did he say where he was going?”

“Mmm… no, actually. If I had to guess, he’s probably going golfing with the guys.”

“No way, he was dressed way too nice for golf…” I trail off, racking my brain for where he could have possibly been headed. Shrugging off the idea, I straddle Jamie’s hips, and look down at him. I smile. Overcome with the warm sensation of staring at my boyfriend. Jamie nudges me with his hips, indicating he would like me to lay back down. Before I comply, I pull my hair back tying it out of the way so I’m free to kiss Jamie as much as I please. He watches my every move, eyes flooded with adoration.

“At practice this morning, McT said he…” Jamie trails off mid sentence. As he was talking, I finished tying my hair back and then leaned down as he had wanted me to. He’s looking at me with eyes slightly widened and lips parted in surprise. 

“What?” I ask, concerned as to why Jamie stopped talking. He simply says,

“You’re really pretty.” The seemingly arbitrary declaration makes me laugh but does nothing to aid my confusion.

“Okay?”

“You’re just so pretty I think I short-circuited.” The earnest confession makes me smile and giggle, so I press a soft kiss to Jamie’s lips.

“You’re cute. So what did Mason say?”

“Oh yeah, he said that he wants to meet you.”

“Really?” I ask, rubbing my thumb over Jamie’s cheekbone. He kisses my palm before responding,

“Despite how much you and Trevor bully each other, he’s told everyone on the team about how cool you are. He kinda took the liberty to do it himself since I do gush about you, but I get shy about it.” Jamie is uncharacteristically speaking out loud his stream of consciousness, and I take a back seat to admire how talkative he can be when he’s with me. A stark contrast to the shy, almost silent boy I’d had my first date with. Noticing how much he’s talking, Jamie ends his rambling but I smile softly, encouragingly,

“It’s unfortunate that the ‘cool girl’ is seemingly the only archetype that consistently receives approval from men, but it is true nonetheless.”

“Yeah, like, it’s not that I need his approval, but it is nice when your boys like your girlfriend… Well, it’s what you said, you just said it better. I’m mansplaining aren’t I?” He asks, bashfully. I roll my eyes and appreciatively kiss his lips once more.

“Get out of your head, Drysdale. Do you have anxiety?” 

“Shut up. I think you’re the only person I’ve ever met who can always tell when I’m overthinking.”

“Maybe I’m just the only one with the audacity to comment on it,” I playfully propose, smiling when I succeed in making Jamie laugh. 

“I don’t think so.”

“We’ll agree to disagree. It’s unlikely, but not impossible.” Dropping the bit, Jamie and I smile at each other, melting into a comfortable silence. He looks at me with soft eyes, pink blush creeping across his cheeks the longer I continue to stare. I rest my left hand on the side of his face once more. I brush my thumb over his cheekbone again, and rub the top of my fingers repeatedly against the stubble adorning his jaw. Jamie lifts his eye brows before saying,

“What, do I need to shave?”

“No. I just like the way it feels.”

“Oh, hey, you said you’re done with school by mid december, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“My mom asked if you were coming to Christmas this year.”

“Did she really?” Jamie hesitates a moment before his brows furrow in sincere disapproval.

“You’ve been my girlfriend for two months now. She will not shut up about meeting you.”

“What? Why?” He then blushes fiercely and cowers his head into the large hoodie he’s slouched on. Jamie doesn’t meet my gaze as he talks,

“I told her all about you the other day.” I bite back the giant smile that prods at my features before replying,

“What did you tell her?”

“Just stuff about you!”

“What stuff about me?!”

“I told her you’re a student and what you’re studying. I told her where you’re from and what your family is like. And I told her about how I stare at you between red lights when we’re going somewhere.” The last piece of information makes me laugh and I tilt my head in confusion.

“How did that last part come up?” It was a simple question, really. One that I hadn’t even bothered to put a lot of thought into; one that came from my basic stream of consciousness. And certainly not one that I imagined would ellicit such a reaction from Jamie. His eyes widened and softened all at once, his blush glowing brighter across his cheeks, and his lips parting to allow the irregular pace of breathing he had now adopted.

“I guess… I called her because I was unsure of what I was feeling…? I was kinda freaking out about it. As I told her about our first date, she said that just talking about you made me visibly happier. She noticed that, even though I wasn’t aware of how happy I’d gotten. Then she demanded to meet you as soon as possible…” Jamie sheepishly looks up at me after finishing his mini monologue. The traces of endeared happiness immediately vanish and Jamie looks at me horrified. In describing how happy I make this boy, I felt tears welling up on my lashes, relieved to be experiencing something so thoroughly mutual.

“Oh my god, please don’t cry I’m sorry!” I laugh through the tears and playfully smack his chest.

“Jamie…”

“You make me really happy, Y/n. Like, really really happy-”

“I love you,” I blurt out. I’m a bit stunned and honestly scared of how quickly this confession escaped me. But I know it’s true. And isn’t that the scariest part?

“I love you too.”

“Really?” I ask through unrelenting tears.

“Yes,” Jamie rests his hands on the tops of my hip bones, “I kind of lied by saying my mom said I looked happy… She said I looked very in love, but I didn’t want to be too forward and say that if you maybe didn’t feel the same way.”

“Bro, you worry so much, are you sure you don’t have anxiety?”

“Shut the fuck up!”

***

a/n: copy pasting tags is the best thing that has ever happened to fic writers I think.

[bitchesgetriches]

MASTERPOST: Everything You Need to Know about Repairing Our Busted-Ass World

On poverty:

Starting from nothing

How To Start at Rock Bottom: Welfare Programs and the Social Safety Net 

How to Save for Retirement When You Make Less Than $30,000 a Year

Ask the Bitches: “Is It Too Late to Get My Financial Shit Together?“

Understanding why people are poor

It’s More Expensive to Be Poor Than to Be Rich

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Bitchtastic Book Review: Hand to Mouth by Linda Tirado

Is Gentrification Just Artisanal, Small-Batch Displacement of the Poor?

Coronavirus Reveals America’s Pre-existing Conditions, Part 1: Healthcare, Housing, and Labor Rights

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The Latte Factor, Poor Shaming, and Economic Compassion

Ask the Bitches: “How Do I Stop Myself from Judging Homeless People?“

The Subjectivity of Wealth, Or: Don’t Tell Me What’s Expensive

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On Pulling Weeds and Fighting Back: How (and Why) to Protect Abortion Rights

How To Get an Abortion 

Blood Money: Menstrual Products for Surviving Your Period While Poor

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Our Single Best Piece of Advice for Women (and Men) on International Women’s Day

Bitchtastic Book Review: The Feminist Financial Handbook by Brynne Conroy

Sexual Harassment: How to Identify and Fight It in the Workplace 

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Queer Finance 101: Ten Ways That Sexual and Gender Identity Affect Finances

Leaving Home before 18: A Practical Guide for Cast-Offs, Runaways, and Everybody in Between

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The Financial Advantages of Being White

Woke at Work: How to Inject Your Values into Your Boring, Lame-Ass Job

The New Jim Crow, by Michelle Alexander: A Bitchtastic Book Review

Something Is Wrong in Personal Finance. Here’s How To Make It More Inclusive.

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On mental health:

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Stop Recommending Therapy Like It’s a Magic Bean That’ll Grow Me a Beanstalk to Neurotypicaltown

Bitchtastic Book Review: Kurt Vonnegut’s Galapagos and Your Big Brain

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[torturedblue]

Part 2 of endless Disaster Twin parallels, the not so fun version

Part 1, the fun version

Considering the series shows Donnie coming off as autistic, he’s portrayed that way much more in fan art and fanfics, etc. We often see it in fan portrayals through an aversion to touch or his senses getting overwhelmed, etc. In the show I noticed Leo actually has a consistent aversion to anything with a gross texture too: like in the first episode when they’re all sliding down Draxum’s vines and he’s tripping over himself, the only one bothered by them “I hate this!”

He also starts flailing in a panic after a worm jumps on his face (and do I even need to bring up how the texture of worms ain’t all that enjoyable let alone on your face), recoils when that evil Hidden City massage guy pours hair serum all over his head, and he’s the most visibly repulsed when Raph gets trash all over them in the beginning of Battle Nexus: New York. So on multiple occasions he comes off as pretty texture or germ averse as well

Both also have insecurity issues about their role to the team: “If mystics can do everything I can but better then why would you guys even need me?” “I’m nothing without them!”

Ironically, in Many Unhappy Returns, Splinter thinks Leo doesn’t know what he’s doing and isn’t taking the mission seriously, saying he should’ve brought Purple. But in the same episode during fights with Shredder Donnie’s seen texting on his phone half of the time. Which is also very parallel to Leo making quips in the beginning instead of helping fight like Donnie and the others

In that same fashion, Donnie’s also goofiest when everyone’s acting serious in Insane in the Mama Train, while Leo’s the unserious one in the following episodes. Another role reversal from their norm

The show also portrays these two as feeling the most affected by Splinter’s history of emotionally distant parenting. Donnie constantly talks about his unmet need for parent-aged-adult approval/validation, and Leo shows his struggle in a more Leo-like way, constantly finding father figure connections in other people like Jupiter Jim and The Dunk. He also rejects/roasts Splinter a lot too, which seems more like a form of overcompensation; acting like he doesn’t totally need or crave Splinter’s attention. The exact opposite of Donnie’s methods. “No! I’m not going back to what’s-his-rat.”

“He’s my all-time favorite actor/role model/father figure!”

“That eccentric billionaire, who was kind of a surrogate father figure to me, has shown me a version of myself I don’t like.”

Leo acts like he doesn’t pine for his affection. I’m sure he sees the way Donnie openly, desperately goes after it when it’s offered and then gets crushed even harder with disappointment (ahem Turtle-dega Nights). No way Leo’s opening himself up to that. I mean come on how sad is the moment when Splinter says they should do something together and Mikey is so eager to jump on the opportunity before it gets taken away, only for Donnie to have to pull him aside and remind him it’s usually some kind of trick or he’s likely possessed? Just for Mikey to immediately respond, “You’re right, I always fall for this!” Ouch. Honestly considering Mikey’s empathy and emotional maturity in mind, the reason both he and Raph seem to handle Splinter’s lack of attention so well is probably also because in addition Raph became a second parent himself, and taking on that role like Splinter, he knows from his own experience that even though their dad doesn’t show it in the ways they wish he would, of course he loves them and what he does do to take care of them as a parent proves that

I think the parallels and direct contrasts between how Leo and Donnie show their dissatisfaction in their relationship with Splinter is probably the most developed and interesting one to me 💔

I mean Leo’s the only one who would actually say something like this to Splinter and you can’t tell me there’s not some deep-seated resentment in the way he looks and the way he says it…

So yeah. There’s the sad edition of Disaster Twins parallels. Let’s all cry together 😃

[weixuldo]

Linecook Anakin HCs pt 2

pt one

HELLO once again i am back with more ani hcs… i have a multitude of ideas like a never ending flow so if u all want more lmk :)

warnings: cursing, ani is a typical horny young adult, smoking; weed, cut?

Sometimes he wears a black bandana to hold his hair back and…. Fuck, its hot

Wears a black hat sometimes too

One time he forgot to bring something to pull his hair back so he embarrassingly had to use someone’s neon scrunchie- he was not thrilled

The type of guy to douse himself in cologne before shift so he smells “good” for longer (plus he thinks you'll like it)

He definitely looks on the schedule app to see what day’s you’re working

Happily surprised when he sees you walk into the kitchen when he knew you weren’t scheduled. 

Walks up to you when you’re clocking in; tosses his rag over his shoulder and leans up against the wall beside you.

“Hey beautiful, I didn’t think you were scheduled”

“Nah, I picked up Hera’s shift, wanted some extra money”

He clicked his tongue and smiled, “Ahh, I think you just missed me, you could have just texted me princess”

“In your dreams Skywalker”

Lots of “fuck’s” and “goddamn’s” when he accidently burns himself on the grill or oven. 

When he cuts himself while preparing the meat or veggies, make sure to clean it out and put a brightly colored bandaid (he keeps them in his pockets) on it… mostly because he wants you to notice he injured himself. 

“What happened Anakin?”

“Oh, nothing- I just was cutting too quick- it kinda hurts tho…wanna kiss it better for me?” he comments with a smirk

“Ughhh, I guess” you roll your eyes and indulge him. 

He gets pissy when the other waitresses aren't running the food in the window because it backs up his workspace and he cant put out new orders

“Hands to the front!” he yells, as he checks the screen for the incoming orders

No one answers, he looks around and sees the waitress doing side work and getting drinks, but not running his food. what the fuck?!

A part of him is frustrated that you aren’t backing him up, but then he realizes you're not even in the kitchen. 

You walk in and see the window is still full; “Guys! Can I get some hands to the window?! I can’t run all of your food plus mine and serve my tables all at the same time” you say loudly. 

You stand by the window handing the plates to the new line of waitresses who are now ready to work so they don’t get yelled at later

“Alright, let's get these out quick! I know its rush but Anakin cant put up the new orders if these don't go out” 

He smiled to himself, you’re not only helping him out, but you also care about him being able to do his work too. 

Once everything is out and things have calmed down he thanks you

“I appreciate it, princess”

“No worries, I was just sick of running everyone’s shit by myself” you sigh

“You’re doin great” he smiles

One time you were on vacation for two weeks and he thought he would die

He flirted with other waitresses but it wasn't the same

The day you came back to work he was surprised to see you- he had forgotten to check who was working

“Hey y/n!” 

His ears perk up at your co-worker’s sing-songy voice.

“Hey Rose” you reply.

You walk into the kitchen; your skin has a noticeable beach tan and he can see a small hit of your bikini line by your collarbone (and ofc that goes straight to his dick- good thing he’s wearing an apron)

“Hey Ani” you say, walking past the kitchen to put your purse in the back. 

“Hey beautiful” 

Throughout the shift he can't help but watch you breeze through the kitchen like you never left. 

Your radiant smile enchants him, making it hard for him to concentrate on the orders coming in.

Definitely curses out new cooks when they mess up too much during rush

Anakin hates when the manager assigns him trainees- he doesn’t wanna come to work and have some idiot mess up his flow by following him all over creation

He gets this new guy and already doesn’t like him because he’s way too talkative

When the new guy finally starts on his own, he starts trying to get the know the waitresses: He talks about this TV show with Hera, exchanges jokes with Rose, banters with Ahsoka, but he doesn’t really talk to you; not that you care, work is for work- you don’t need to make friends with everyone. 

Deep down Anakin is kind of glad he doesn’t try to talk to you (he gets a weird vibe from the new guy)

On 4/20 he brought a bong and all of the cooks and him hit it in the back before shift. 

Everyone thought it was gonna be a disaster, but surprisingly all the cooks were more on top of orders than usual; half of them got really focused on getting stuff right, others just relaxed, and then there was the few who thought everything was hilarious

The restroom is in the front house where the guests sit, so when the cooks need a break they have to walk through the restaurant. 

Sometimes you’ll see anakin come from the back; apron off, messy hair, and his cleaning rag looped on his belt.

But what you also see is a multitude of customers watching hungrily as he walks by.

For some reason that stirs something in you… annoyance? Or maybe it's jealousy?

He really is too hot to be working in the back of a restaurant- his face alone would make much more doing something more appearance based. 

But what you don’t know is that he thinks the same exact thing about you. 

Anakin walks back in from a smoke break and hears the “new” guy talking about a certain waitress he seems to like. 

“Yea, y/n? she’s bangin’, like fine af. Y’all don’t understand how hard imma hit that when I get the chance” 

Anakin’s eye twitches at the disrespectful description of your body and who tf did this guy think he was? There’s no way you’d even entertain him. 

He’s two steps away from taking this guy out back and kicking his ass. 

“Woah, woah man. That might not be the best idea” Rex, another cook, says. 

“Yea, dude. Y/n is basically Skywalker’s girl… and I wouldn’t wanna mess with him when it comes to her” Cody offers. 

Anakin saunters from around the corner, acting like he wasn't listening and the conversation subsides. 

Later walks up to the new guy and grips his shoulder uncomfortably hard; “Yea, the guys are right- I would advise you stay away from y/n and I swear- If I ever hear you making crude comments about her again- you’ll be meeting me out back”

Anakin pats his back and continues on- safe to say he never talks about you again

Scrolls on dating apps that he never actually utilizes when he gets home from a closing shift and finds you- he sits up and focus on all of his attention on your profile

Suddenly bro’s a super spy because he’s analyzing everything- your bio, your likes, what you're looking for, your preferences, your music taste. 

He taps through your pics and his eyes widen as he sees you in clothes other than just work ones… and maker- you are gorgeous. 

His sweatpants feel a little tighter as he scans over a pic of you from your beach vacation- he recognizes the bikini by the tan he saw in you earlier in the month. 

His hands tremble just a little as he decides if he should swipe right or just let it go. 

In a moment of bravery he swipes right- now he’ll show up in your feed to judge-

“Match” 

What?

The screen flashes pink and the words “match” are plastered across the top 

That means that you saw his profile first and swiped right… what does this mean for work tmr??

[starringthesturniolos]

bite me(part 4)- matt sturniolo

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

summary: matt hates your guts but all of that changes when he wakes up and finds out your his mate.

contains: vampire!matt x reader, highschool au! (18 years old), dark themes, death, smut (not in this part)

——————————————————————————

“well its three am. i thought your lazy ass would be asleep” matt sighs “but if you want to go now we can, shes definitely up. let me call her and let her know. be ready in ten minutes.” he emphasizes the ten like a father talking to a child that can’t manage time.

i didn’t even get bitter about it though, instead, my heart pangs at the thought of matt being on good enough terms with a girl to be calling at 3 am. “just the mating bond” i mutter to myself as i peel my clothes from the day before off in exchange for new ones. as soon as i walk out the room, matt is right there.

“awww, is someone jealous? don’t lie, i felt it sweetheart. i wanna hear you say it. say you want matt alll to yourself. go on” he teases me relentlessly causing my cheeks to heat up. “shut up” i groan but then decide to tease him back. lets play on this mating bond thing while i still can

i smirk and walk up to matt and place my hands on his chest. his eyes darken and his hands are clamped to his sides, probably to stop himself from touching me too. i sigh at the fact and then make my move.

“im all yours, matt.” i say seductively. “aren’t you mine?” you question looking up at him with doe eyes. matts gaze darkens even further and he can’t stop himself from grabbing my waist and bringing me closer. he dips his head down and i think he’s going to kiss me. instead he brushes his lips against my ear, “what are you doing to me?” he whispers more to himself then to me. i smirk before pulling away “nothing.” i shrug, “didn’t know the mating bond could take away your ability to answer simple questions”, i add nonchalantly. matt rolls his eyes at this. “you are sooo annoying, i can’t wait till im rid of you” he says turning his back on me and walking, a silent way to tell me to follow. i do, laughing at the effect i have on him.

we walk outside to matts van and are met by chris. “your sitting in the back” matt snips, looking in chris’ direction. “y/n your up front with me” he says choosing to not look at me.

“come on man, your still mad about that?? i was just trying to help!” chris practically whines. matt just huffs and grabs me, practically throwing me in the frontseat. chris climbs into the back dejectedly and i ask whats on my mind.

“chris, not that i mind you here, because i don’t, but why ARE you here?” i question. this was a problem strictly between me and matt. my mind reels at the thought that i actually would have preferred it to just be me and matt. a day ago i literally didn’t want to sit next to him in class….

he sighs and i look back and am suprised by the pain on his face. “my mate was already dead when she was given to me.” he whispers. just by being around matt, i can tell how big of an effect the bond can have, and i can’t imagine how sad he must be at the loss. “i’m so sorry, chris” i say softly. even matt looks sorry for him. he looks at his face through the review mirror while starting to reverse out of the driveway. chris just shakes his head, trying to shake the feelings away.

“its okay, i’m sure madi will be able to make everything go away.” chris offers me a half smile. “i hope so” i say giving him a reassuring smile in return before turning to matt. i roll my eyes at his sour face, he’s clearly jealous but he refrained from saying anything because of the nature of the conversation. “are you going to get jealous every time i talk to ANYONE but you?? he’s your brother! and who the fuck is madi?” i say, cringing at the jealous tone in my voice. matt side eyes me before answering my questions. “can’t exactly help the way i feel, i told you that, so stop punishing me for it. i don’t see chris complaining!” he adds looking for support. “yeah no not at all” chris chirps awkardly at being included in the argument. i’m about to say that chris is just trying to get back in his good graces but matt continues. “and madi’s practically our sister, right chris?” chris nodds in agreement and i sigh. “how exactly is she going to help us?” chris eyes matt suspiciously after i asked.

“what? you didn’t tell her?”he questions and i look to matt, whose eyes are set on the road ahead of us. tell me what??

“shes a witch.” matt says matter of factly.

——————————————————————————

we pull into the driveway and a pretty girl with long black hair is standing outside waiting. sister my ass.

chris runs out of the car to greet her. “MADI!!!” he runs and jumps into her arms sending her into a fit of giggles. i couldn’t help but smile at the sight. maybe shes not so bad after all…

“are you going to get out of the car, or are you gonna stare at my brother some more??” matt snips. “oh my god can you stop with that” i say while climbing out the car. in an instant, madi is by my side.

“Hey, y/n, its nice to meet you. you’re super pretty by the way.” she smiles warmly at me and all my weariness about her fades away. “thank you, so are you” i smile back at her. she turns to matt, who is looking off into the distance pretending to not hear about anything we’re saying. “what brings you here, tough guy?” she knew my name but she didn’t know why i was here?

“i’m looking to get rid of the mating bond between us” he gestures to me and him. madi’s eyes widen slightly. “you know that if you get rid of the bond both of you die, right?” she says questioning why he’s even trying. i spin around to matt, hurt coursing through me. “you’d rather die than be with me?”, my voice wavers with hurt and i hate it. quite frankly, i didn’t want to die either, so he didn’t just put me at risk but both of us. matt grabs my shoulders and shakes them. “relax, i’m not dying for your sorry ass.” he scoffs before turning both me and him back towards madi, “i’m just looking for a cheat code, if there is one.” he says. “i think i know what you mean” she replies and turns beckoning us to follow her into her home. we walk in and i can’t help but oggle at how nice it is. she looks back and sees my face. “you like it?” she laughs. i smile and nod, continuing to look around the house. matt places his hand on my back gently to help guide me. his touch grounds me and i suddenly feel apprehensive about losing this feeling. not him, just the feeling, you think to yourself, trying to justify your emotions

“what are you thinking about?” matts eyebrows are furrowed clearly confused on the sudden onslaught of emotions. “the telepathy shit is a real pain in my ass.” you sigh completely avoiding his question. matt chuckles, “you’re telling me.”

me, matt, and madi end up in a office type space. there’s a desk in the middle of the room and it has a large book in the middle of it. madi puts some glasses on and flicks her wrist. the book goes flying open and lands on a certain page. wow, that was so cool, you gush over her abilities. for a while, the room is completely silent as madi reads. matt grabs my hand and i feel his nervousness surge through me. i don’t know why but something in me wants to comfort him and tell him everythings going to be alright. i don’t though, because lets be honest, i have no idea.

“ahhh, okay” madi starts taking the glasses off her face. “i can take away the symptoms of the bond, like the telepathy and the-“ she clears her throat, “sexual urges” she raises her eyebrows. “andd the death by distance” my own eyebrows raise and she sighs.

“he really didn’t tell you anything did he? if you had spent even a week apart both of your bodies would secumb to the bond. without the other, the bond won’t let either exist” she says matter of factly and i note that she is really well versed in the subject. chris comes in to the office and sits awkwardly in one of the chairs, waiting for me and matt to be done so he could talk to madi.

madi isn’t quite finished telling us about her solution though. “but i can’t take away the other thing” matts grip on my hand tightens and i look up at him. “what’s she talking about??” i say softly seeing his nervous face. “if you die, i die. and your human, so your chances of dying are wayy higher.” he breathes out and an uncontrollable shiver goes through me.

“but its okay, matt, i can do a protection spell on her. nothing will harm her after that, trust me.” she says trying to ease him and i feel his nervousness let up a little. she continues, “its an incantation and i can’t do it until sunrise. its not easy but i can manage” she says confidently. “do you want me too?” she ask softly while looking at our conjoined hands. much to my disliking, matt lets go of me.

“do it.”

@bbernard-03

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