#and maybe a lecture on what panic attacks are

[joemama-2]

the sound of you | ch. 2 just a stranger

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ pairing : gojo x fem reader

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ synopsis: what happens when a man who uses intimacy to numb his pain collides with a woman who sees vulnerability as her greatest weakness? a storm of desire, denial, and shattered hearts. you never imagined someone like him—magnetic, self-assured, and emotionally closed off—would enter your life. worse, you never expected to crave him in return. but fate has a cruel way of stitching together souls that should never meet, dragging you both into a spiral of unspoken truths, unresolved wounds, and a connection that feels more like a curse than a blessing.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ tags/warnings: slowburn, angst, fluff, sexual content, mentions of trauma, depression, unhealthy coping mechanisms, blood, miscommunication, alcohol, drugs, opposites attract, manipulation, mentions of bullying, death, smut, insecurity galore, selective mutism, mentions of anxiety and panic attacks, modern au

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ wc: 9.3k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ status: ongoing

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

Satoru can’t remember the last time he’s a good night’s sleep. Not the kind of sleep that makes you wake up periodically throughout the night—either in tremors or his own state of insomnia. The kind of sleep where you can feel cold even after wrapping yourself in multiple fluffy blankets, holding a warm body to your chest. The kind of sleep that makes it still feel like your body and mind are awake. In short, he doesn’t sleep. Going to bed late and waking up early, amounting to an average total of maybe three-ish to four-ish hours. 

But, Satoru can’t remember the last time he went to bed thinking of a woman he’s barely spoken to. And he also can’t remember the last time he went to bed alone. 

That in itself is questionable—maybe even a horrible thing. Who doesn’t remember the last time they slept without a stranger in their bed? Him, apparently. He’ll address that issue when the time comes. 

Now, he’s more so getting annoyed with himself. It’s been two whole days, two whole nights of the same question bouncing around

In his brain. He quite literally only knows your name and the fact that you seem like a shy little thing. Maybe that’s what’s drawing him in? So used to women flocking him, flirting shamelessly, not afraid to get a little handsy with him. But you didn’t do any of that. You seemed like you were scared to even look in his direction. Perhaps you’re just waiting for him to make the first move. 

Or you have more self respect than most women he comes across. 

Either way, it’s not enough to validate his reasoning for thinking about you. Like stated before, he’s getting annoyed with himself. The fact that he can’t stop his brain from shutting off the image of you—the smell of you. But it’s also so enticing. So inviting. So tempting. How easy that was of you to intrigue him. Easier than it was for her. 

Don’t, he mentally chastises himself, shutting off that brutal reminder before all else. 

However at the end of the day, you’re no different than any other women he’s met and fucked. It’s just taking a little longer to get you in his grasp this time. That’s fine. Satoru has tons of patience, he knows what women like—how they work. You’re the same, practically. He can play this game, that’s completely okay. 

“Not quite right,” Satoru hums, his arms crossed lazily over his chest, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up to his elbows. He’s leaning back slightly against the desk at the front of the lecture hall, a picture of casual authority. His sunglasses, as unnecessary indoors as they are iconic to him, perch on the bridge of his nose, partially hiding the faint circles under his eyes.  

The student standing at the board hesitates, chalk hovering mid-air, glancing nervously back at him. The equation sprawled across the board is nearly correct, but there’s a glaring mistake in the third line���something Satoru noticed immediately.  

“It’s a good effort,” he continues, his tone light yet tinged with amusement. “But you forgot to account for the boundary conditions. Physics doesn’t like to be neglected, you know. She’s picky like that.” A ripple of laughter moves through the room. Satoru smirks, enjoying the way he can command the energy of the space with just a few words. He gestures toward the error with a flick of his hand. “Go ahead, fix it.”  

The student nods quickly and adjusts the equation, his face pink with concentration. Satoru lets his gaze drift across the rows of students as he waits, casually scanning for signs of engagement—or boredom.  

His mind, however, refuses to stay present.  

Two days. Two damn days, and the image of you hasn’t left him alone. He doesn’t even know why. You weren’t doing anything special when he saw you—just standing there, shy and quiet, holding onto your glass like it was the only thing tethering you to reality. You weren’t fawning over him like most people do, weren’t trying to catch his eye. If anything, you seemed like you wanted to disappear.  

And yet, here he is, still thinking about you. In the middle of his lecture at that. 

He shifts his weight, adjusting his stance against the desk. Maybe it’s the challenge that intrigues him. Okay, so maybe you’re a bit different, yes. But not so different that you’re untouchable. He’s truly convinced that all it’ll take is time. And patience, of course. 

But why is he even bothering?  

The student finally steps back, looking at him expectantly. Satoru blinks, snapping back into the moment. He pushes off the desk and steps toward the board, glancing over the corrected equation. “Now that’s more like it,” he says, tapping the chalk against the boundary term they added. “See? Physics isn’t so scary when you remember the rules.”  

The student exhales in relief, and Satoru gives them a small nod before turning back to the class. “Alright, who’s next? Don’t be shy—I promise I won’t bite."  

Another wave of laughter follows his comment, and he grins, basking in the attention. But even as he moves on with the lesson, his mind keeps circling back to you. Your face. Your voice. That sweet, addictive scent that seemed to cling to the air around you.  Satoru can’t decide whether it’s infuriating or thrilling. Either way, he knows one thing for certain: this little game isn’t over yet.

“Megumi,” Satoru calls, spinning the piece of chalk between his fingers before tossing it lightly in the boy’s direction. His voice cuts through the low murmur of the lecture hall. “You’re up. Derive the time-dependent Schrödinger equation for me.”  

Megumi looks up from his notebook, his dark eyes narrowing as he catches the chalk with minimal effort. He sighs deeply, the kind of sigh that suggests he’s been called on far too many times to protest anymore. “Why me?” he mutters under his breath, earning a chuckle from a few of his peers.  

“Because,” Satoru says, flashing his signature grin, “you’re my favorite. And I know you secretly love being in the spotlight.”  

The class murmurs, but Megumi only stands, dragging his feet to the front of the room. He eyes the equation Satoru has half-written on the board—a basic starting point for the derivation—and sets his notebook down on the desk nearby.  

“You’ve got this,” Satoru says, leaning casually against the podium. “Just start from the time-independent version and use the separation of variables. Easy, right?”  

“Sure,” Megumi replies dryly, stepping up to the board.  

He picks up the chalk and begins writing. After a few seconds of writing and silence from the classroom as they all observe him work it out, Megumi pauses, glancing at Satoru, who nods encouragingly. With that, he continues on, satisfied with his progress, 

After another while, he finally underlines the solution and steps back, dropping the chalk onto the ledge.  

Satoru claps once, the sound echoing through the room. “Beautiful work, Megumi. See, everyone? Physics isn’t scary when you’ve got a brain like his.”  

Megumi mutters, “It’s scary when you’re the professor.”  

Satoru grins. “Aw, don’t be like that. You love me.” He turns back to the class. “Alright, who wants to explain why this solution works? Bonus points if you don’t repeat what’s in the textbook.”

Megumi makes his way back to his seat, shaking his head as he settles into the chair. He tries to block out the rest of Satoru’s antics, which are just as relentless as usual. Satoru’s eyes are always scanning the class, searching for the next victim, his grin never fading as he playfully calls on more students. “Yumi! You’re up!” Satoru sings, completely oblivious to the fact that the student has already raised her hand, having answered a question earlier in the lecture.  

Yumi hesitates but stands anyway, walking to the front of the room. She starts to talk, clearly struggling with the concepts, and Satoru can’t resist teasing her. He leans over the desk in front of him, chin resting on his hand.  

“No, no, Yumi, think about it like this,” Satoru says dramatically, throwing his hand up as if he’s revealing the answer to a grand mystery. “This is just like the time you—” He stops, eyeing her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You don’t want me to tell everyone about that time you tried to solve for a non-existent eigenvalue in your last exam, do you?”  

The class laughs, Yumi’s face flushes red. “I wasn’t—”  

“Don’t worry, I’ll spare you. But just remember, eigenvalues and eigenvectors don’t have to be that hard. Right, guys?”  

The room erupts into snickers, and Satoru turns back to the board, clearly satisfied with his little jab. Megumi rolls his eyes, sinking lower in his seat. This is just another day in the life of Satoru Gojo.  As the lecture drones on, Satoru finally gets around to the more challenging topics—perturbation theory and quantum tunneling—but even then, he’s effortlessly weaving in jokes, keeping the atmosphere light. To anyone else, it might seem like a circus, but to some, it’s just Satoru being Satoru: charming, unfiltered, and somehow always entertaining. Satoru finishes the lesson, clapping his hands together to signal the end of class.  

“All right, that’s all for today. Don’t forget to read up on the next chapter—expect a quiz next week!” Satoru’s voice is loud and enthusiastic, as always. “And Yumi, remember what I said. Eigenvalues, my dear. Eigenvalues.”  

The class starts to pack up, and soon Satoru is left alone in the lecture hall. Walking over to take a seat at his desk, mindlessly swiveling in his chair. Head tilted up as he focuses on the high ceiling, blowing a small raspberry of boredom. 

Quantum mechanics. Abstract algebra. God, how boring. Lecturing everyday about those two really makes his days feel short and fast at the same time. Sometimes, he wonders how it would’ve been if he took up a more artistic degree instead of something STEM related. Maybe he would be a music professor or a film professor. He almost laughs at the thought, yeah right. 

As much as he hates boring things, Satoru is a big time nerd. 

After some more swiveling around, legs kicking out in a childish manner, the sound of a text message brings him back to life. Grabbing his device from his desk, he sees the name Asahi. When he clicks on the message, he’s met with a question. 

Asahi:

Hey, you busy tomorrow?

With a small tilt of his head, he types back a response. 

Satoru: 

What time?

Asahi:

2pm

Satoru:

Should be, why?

Asahi:

Can you pick up Haruto from school for me? I have an interview 

Satoru sighs, pausing for a moment. Haruto, his nephew who’s only five years old. He loves the little boy as if he were his own, and he looks like a complete replica of him. Of his mother. 

Satoru leans back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the desk as he thinks for a moment. He can already picture Haruto’s wide, curious eyes, the way he lights up when she sees him. It’s impossible to say no to him, even when he’s deep in his own thoughts or wrapped up in his usual chaos. 

Satoru:  

Sure, I can do that. 

He sets his phone down, a small smile forming on his lips as he thinks about the little boy. It’s strange how easy it is for him to care about him, to feel something genuine amidst his often careless demeanor. He never thought he’d get attached to someone so young, but Haruto somehow made it happen, just by existing. Maybe it’s because he’s his nephew. Or maybe it’s because he sees his mother whenever he looks at him. 

“Ugh,” Satoru shakes his head, willing away the bitter, burning sensation he feels slowly crawl up his esophagus. He stretches his arms over his head, glancing at the clock on the wall. Tomorrow at 2pm, he’ll be out the door, picking up the child who shares his mischievous smile and contagious energy. The Gojo genes run strong, and not just by physical appearances. 

But then, the weight of his earlier thoughts presses in on him again. It’s like an annoying friend constantly trying to hang out with you even after you’ve made it clear you don’t want to. For a second, he wonders how it is you’ve invaded his subconscious without even trying. He rubs his temples, trying to push the thought away. Nope, she’s not special. 

But he’s got time, right? Time for what? To figure out why you’re still on his mind? To somehow make sense of why he’s so intrigued by someone he barely knows?

With a final sigh, Satoru grabs his coat and heads out of the lecture hall to grab some lunch in between his next class. The faintest sense of anticipation buzzing in his chest. Tomorrow might be a distraction—a break from the usual. He’ll see his nephew, the only family he has, and he’ll have a good day. However, with everything else going on in his mind, it feels like anything but.

“Why don’t you get on any dating apps, hm?”

Your lips thin into a grimace, brows knitting together. You shove your hands into the pockets of your cardigan, head shaking. “That’s not real at all,” you mutter. 

Shoko sighs through her nostrils, leaning back in the booth. “I mean, it could be. People meet their husbands and wives on there sometimes. You just never know.”

“Exactly.”

Her eyebrow raises at you, bringing up what must be her fourth coffee of the day to her lips. You two have decided to spend some small time together at a nearby cafe before you have to go back to your respective jobs. She seems more adamant about dating than you do yourself. “Look, I just think it would be nice, you know? You’re a hopeless romantic.”

You frown. 

“In a good way,” she quickly adds. “Any guy would like that. And I want to see you get treated nice and cute. You’re just not into dating right now or something?”

You exhale, fingers tapping along the cup of your iced coffee. The condensation begins to dampen the tips of your fingers. In a way, you’re not just not into it, but you feel like you’re also not ready. Sure, you’re a hopeless romantic. You love cheesy movies and novels, you enjoy the thought of being in love with someone and having that beautiful form of intimacy, but you also can’t help that nagging feeling in your soul that it’ll end the same way it did last time. 

Your own hesitation and fear is what keeps you at bay. 

Shoko watches you with a quiet intensity, her coffee cup still hovering near her lips after some sips. She doesn’t push further right away, letting the lull in the conversation settle as you trace absent patterns on the side of your cup. The clinking of mugs and soft hum of chatter from the surrounding tables fills the space between you. “I don’t know,” you finally admit, voice low but steady. “It’s not just about not being into dating. It’s more... I don’t think I’m ready to open myself up like that again.”

Her brows furrow slightly, and she sets her coffee down with a soft clink. “You mean because of your ex?”

You wince. She doesn’t have to say the name for the memories to start creeping in. The late nights spent crying, the way you questioned everything about yourself, the hollow ache that came after it all fell apart. You didn’t think you were still carrying that weight, but maybe you were. Obviously you were. 

“Partly,” you admit. “But it’s not just him. It’s the whole thing—the vulnerability, the risk. Letting someone in and having them... leave. Or worse, break me again. And I’m already so used to doing things alone, just being alone. I don’t need someone to come in and ruin what I’ve built.”

Shoko’s expression softens, and for once, she doesn’t try to mask her concern with sarcasm or a flat, teasing comment. “Not every guy is like that, Y/N. You know that, right? There are good ones out there.”

“Maybe,” you murmur, your gaze dropping to your drink. “But how do you tell the good ones apart from the bad ones? Before it’s too late? I don’t want to take any risks…”

Her lips press into a thin line as she considers your question. “You can’t always,” she admits after a moment. “But that’s the point of trying, isn’t it? You take a chance because the reward could be worth the risk. And honestly? You deserve someone who sees you for the amazing person you are. You’ve got to give yourself that chance, too. Don’t let some douchebag from your past hold you back from finding someone in your present. You don’t deserve that. ”

You sigh, the words hitting a little too close to the part of you that still dares to hope. You know you shouldn’t let things mull over and predict how your future will look, but it’s so hard when every time a man even attempts to flirt with you, you’re hit with bursts of horrible nostalgia. You didn’t even think nostalgia could be horrible. Saturday proved it could. You feel bad for comparing strangers to a man you regret meeting, but it’s just the way your mind works. It’s almost like a defense mechanism. “I don’t know, Shoko. Maybe someday. But right now, it just feels easier to be on my own. I’m not too unhappy.”

She nods slowly, sipping her coffee again. Setting the cup down before speaking. “Fair enough. But just know... you can’t hide behind those walls forever. Love doesn’t work like that. I know you’re not unhappy, but even the littlest amount, I don’t like. I want you to have that extra support, besides your family, besides me.”

Her words linger long after your coffee is gone and you’ve both parted ways. You tell yourself she’s wrong—that you’re fine as you are. But deep down, there’s a tiny flicker of doubt. A part of you that wonders if maybe, just maybe, she’s right. Is it wishful thinking? Probably. Shoko’s heart is in the right place—you know that. She’s the kind of friend who wants you to have the kind of love story people dream about, the kind that could make your life feel like one of those movies where everything falls perfectly into place.

It seems like Shoko just wants the best for you, she wants you to live out your own cheesy romance novel. You’re grateful for her optimism, for the way she believes in you even when you can’t quite believe in yourself. You thank her for that, but at the end of the day, you don’t think you could handle heartbreak anytime soon. 

While you may seem put together on a surface level, your emotions still feel incredibly weak. She, or anyone for that matter, doesn’t know how fragile you really are. Sure, you come off as put together—calm, composed, of course, very reserved—but beneath that, you’re still piecing yourself back together. Every crack, every bruise left behind from past heartaches feels like it could split wide open again if you’re not careful. You’re sensitive—that much is true. And you don’t try to be, but it’s just you. 

So, the truth is, you’re not sure if you could handle that. Not again. Not anytime soon.

You sigh, absently brushing away a piece of hair from your face. Thinking back to it—Sensitive. It’s a word you’ve heard all your life, always said with a tinge of judgment, as if being soft-hearted is a weakness instead of simply you. You don’t try to be this way—it’s not like you wake up every day deciding to let the world’s weight sink into your chest. It just happens.

You wish you were stronger, had more thick skin to take what the world and people have to offer you with a straight face—moving on. You’re envious of people that can do that. Even envious of people who have other ways of coping than work and your cats. But again, that’s what Shoko doesn’t quite understand. Love might be worth the risk, but risks don’t come without consequences. For someone like you, even the smallest breach feels like it could shatter your whole infrastructure. So maybe—hopefully you’ll take that leap someday. But for now, it’s safer to stay where you are, no matter how wistful Shoko’s dreams for you might be.

You remind yourself you’ve made it this far on your own. Still cleaning up past wounds, but that’s okay. Of course, you would prefer if the process was a little faster than this—if you could snap your fingers and be ready to dive headfirst into something new without the hesitation or fear. But forcing yourself to be content with something again is not on your agenda. Healing takes time. 

 You’ve moved to Tokyo for that sole reason. The bustling city, with its endless noise and neon lights, offered you a chance to hit reset. A complete contrast from your life in the small, quiet countryside. Tokyo’s a fresh start for you—mentally, physically, environmentally, in every way possible. It was your way of shedding the weight of the past, of stepping into a world so big and overwhelming that maybe, just maybe, you could lose the parts of yourself still tethered to old hurts.

Tokyo feels like a city of possibility, a place where no one knows your name or your story unless you tell them. Here, you can decide who you want to be. And even if you haven’t figured that out yet, there’s comfort in knowing you’re no longer stuck in the same place, walking the same streets haunted by the same memories. You’re here to start over. And as of now, that’s enough.

Sometimes, the thought of a fresh start is comforting. Other times, it’s terrifying. Starting over doesn’t erase the person you used to be or the things that happened to you—it just gives you a chance to approach it all from a different angle. And while Tokyo might seem like the perfect backdrop for reinvention, it also magnifies how small and unmoored you feel in a city so alive with movement.

You’ve noticed that your routines are slowly forming, though. The visits with Shoko, the quiet walks through the nearby park, the little bookstore you stumbled across last week that now feels like your personal haven—these things ground you in a city that never sleeps. You like the way the city hums, its energy pressing against your skin and making you feel part of something bigger, even on the days when you’re not sure where you fit in it all.

Sometimes, there’s a part of you that wonders if moving was just an escape. Did you come here to heal or to run away? Did you believe a change of scenery would make you forget everything you’ve been trying not to dwell on? Some nights, when the silence in your apartment grows too loud, those questions creep in, but you try to push them away. You remind yourself that running is sometimes necessary. It’s not weakness—it’s survival. Entering the grounds of the kindergarten again, you erase your inner turmoil and ready yourself for the job again. 

Practice, not perfection.

 

“I thought I invited Suguru.”

“Suguru invited me.”

“It’s called boy’s night for a reason, Ieiri.”

“What, and miss you two fondling each other all night? Can’t do that.”

Satoru huffs childishly as Shoko enters his place. A straight faced Suguru beside her who only offers his friend a shrug when he sends a glare his way. He locks the door behind the two, following them as they make their way into his kitchen. “Please, make yourselves at home,” he says, sarcasm in his voice. 

“Already planning on it,” Suguru and Shoko say in unison. 

Leaning against the kitchen island, Shoko is already reaching for a glass of wine, Suguru some snacks. “Anywho,” Satoru begins, arms crossing. “Don’t you have work, Shoko?”

Shoko shakes her head, looking over at her white-haired friend. “Early night tonight. Plus, I’ve been having a major headache since Saturday.”

“That was two days ago,” Suguru flatly responds. 

"Exactly," Shoko replies, deadpan, as she pours herself a generous glass of wine. "Two days too long." She leans against the counter, taking a sip, while Satoru narrows his eyes at her.

"You’re unbelievable," he mutters, before glancing at Suguru. "And you—what happened to our night? You were supposed to bring beer, not her."

Suguru shrugs, completely unbothered. "You know how this works, Satoru. She invites herself, I don’t argue. Besides, she’s more entertaining than you."

Shoko smirks into her glass. "See? I’m the life of the party."

Satoru groans, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks between his two friends. "I swear, you guys are impossible. I had plans, you know. Important plans."

"Yeah?" Shoko raises a brow. "What, binge-watching rom-coms and crying into your popcorn?"

Suguru chuckles under his breath, popping open a bag of chips and tossing one into his mouth. "Sounds accurate."

"First of all," Satoru says, pointing at them both, "I don’t cry during rom-coms. Second, I had a new board game I wanted to try, but I guess some people don’t appreciate culture."

"Board game?" Shoko asks, blinking. "Who plays board games anymore?"

"Me!" Satoru retorts. "And if you two weren’t heathens, you’d understand the strategic brilliance of Life."

Shoko and Suguru exchange a look before bursting into laughter, leaving Satoru to pout dramatically. "You’re lucky I tolerate you guys," he grumbles, stalking off toward the living room. "But you’re playing, whether you like it or not."

“That game is old and long.” Shoko walks over, plopping herself onto Satoru’s couch. 

“You’re old and long.” Satoru swiftly remarks, getting met with a pillow straight to the face. He grumpily peers over at Shoko, hitting her back with the pillow on her arm. 

Suguru, the pacifist in this situation, settled between his two companions. Leaned back with the ankle of his right foot over his left lap. His elbow atop the back of the couch in a lazy manner. "Satoru, stop instigating," Suguru says, his tone exasperated but laced with amusement. "You’re going to end up with wine spilled all over your couch if you keep this up." 

Shoko scoffs, lifting her glass in mock threat. "Maybe I should spill it. Wouldn’t that teach him some manners?"

Satoru gasps, clutching his chest as if wounded. "You wouldn’t dare! This couch is imported Italian leather. Do you know how much it costs?"

"Knowing you," Suguru interjects, "probably too much for something you’re going to ruin within a year anyway." 

"Rude," Satoru huffs, flopping his back onto the couch, snatching a chip from Suguru’s bowl. He pops it into his mouth, chewing dramatically. "You two come into my home, drink my wine, eat my snacks, insult my lifestyle—"

"And yet," Shoko cuts him off, "you’d be bored to death without us." 

Satoru pouts but doesn’t deny it. Instead, he sighs and grabs the board game box from the coffee table and tosses it onto Suguru’s lap. "Set it up, then, oh wise peacemaker. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right."

Suguru sighs, opening the box with practiced ease. "Fine. But if this drags on for hours and you start crying when Shoko beats you, I’m leaving early."

Shoko chuckles, raising her glass. "Cheers to that." 

Satoru narrows his eyes at them both. "Just for that, I’m going to crush you guys. Prepare to witness strategic genius."

"Uh-huh," Shoko says, kicking her feet up on the coffee table. "Sure you are." 

Suguru shakes his head, suppressing a laugh as he begins to sort the game pieces. It’s just another typical night with the trio—bickering, banter, and an overinflated sense of competition.

The night drowns on, with a couple glasses of wine being consumed, chips, and of course a small breakdown of distress after Satoru is forced to give Shoko some money from his earnings. Eventually, the three have winded down. Some comfortable silence here and there with a few mingling conversations. Suguru stands up from the couch, dusting his clothes off as he makes his way over to the bathroom. Presumably to splash some cold water over his face to sober himself up before he heads back home. 

Leaving Shoko and Satoru alone, she’s busy doing who knows what on her phone. Bored, Satoru is mindlessly eating some of the popcorn they made about an hour ago, lips pursing in thought. He’s debating something. Maybe now that Shoko’s a little tipsy, she’ll be more loose-lipped. “So…” he starts calmly, obnoxiously chewing loudly. 

“Hm?” Shoko hums back in obvious disinterest, scrolling her timeline. 

For a second, Satoru weighs out the options of what kind of reaction this question will cause. Can’t be too bad, right? Shoko’s his friend, and friends are there for each other. “What’s up with your friend?” Real smooth, Satoru. 

Shoko’s thumb halts mid-scroll, her eyes narrowing slightly at the screen as if it holds the answer to his question. She doesn’t look up immediately, making Satoru shift uncomfortably on the couch. “My friend, huh?” She repeats slowly, her voice carrying a skeptical edge but her expression giving nothing away. “Which one are you talking about, Satoru? I’ve got lots of friends.”

Satoru scoffs, leaning back dramatically against the couch and tossing a kernel of popcorn into his mouth. “You know who I’m talking about,” he says through his chewing. “Y/N. The cute, shy one.”

At this, Shoko finally looks up from her phone, her brow arching high. “No.”

Now Satoru looks over at her, lip quirking upwards. “What? No what?”

Shoko locks her phone and sets it on the coffee table, crossing her arms as she gives Satoru a pointed look. “No, you’re not going there,” she says plainly. 

“Going where?” he asks innocently, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrays him. 

“With Y/N,” Shoko says, her voice firm. “She’s not your type, and you’re definitely not hers.” 

“Not my type?” Satoru repeats, placing a hand dramatically over his chest like she’d just wounded him. “Shoko, I don’t have a type. I’m an equal opportunity kind of guy.”

“Right,” Shoko snorts, rolling her eyes. “Your ‘opportunity’ usually starts and ends at a one-night stand.” 

“Ouch,” he says, feigning offense. “You make me sound like some kind of—”

“Player?” she interrupts, raising an eyebrow. “That’s because you are one. And I’m not letting you mess with Y/N. She’s fragile.” 

Satoru scoffs. “Fragile? She doesn’t seem fragile to me. Shy, yeah. But fragile? Come on, Shoko, give me some credit. I’m not gonna break her.”

“No, but you might hurt her,” Shoko shoots back. “And trust me, she doesn’t need that. Y/N’s been through enough already. She doesn’t need someone like you swooping in, flashing your pretty-boy smile, and leaving her worse off than before.” 

Satoru frowns, sitting up straighter. “You act like I’m some kind of villain. I’m not that bad, you know.” 

Shoko exhales deeply, shaking her head. “First of all, Satoru, I already told you—don’t mess with my friends. Especially her. She’s off-limits, remember?”

“Off-limits?” he repeats, brows furrowing together with annoyance. “Come on, Shoko. I’m not trying to ‘mess’ with her. I’m just… curious.”

“Uh-huh,” she deadpans, tilting her head. “Look, Y/N’s been through a lot. She’s not like the women you’re used to. She doesn’t need someone waltzing into her life and turning it upside down just because you’re ‘curious.’” She leans forward, narrowing her eyes at him. “Satoru, you’re my friend, so I’m saying this with love: don’t even think about it. Y/N is off-limits. Got it?” 

Her tone leaves no room for argument. Satoru opens his mouth to protest, but Shoko raises a hand to stop him. “And before you say something dumb like ‘I’m different,’ save it. I know you, Satoru. You’re my friend, and I care about you, but you’re not exactly… boyfriend material for someone like her. No offense.”

“None taken,” he lies, his ego slightly bruised. “But, hypothetically, if I were serious—”

“You’re not,” Shoko cuts in firmly, sighing with exasperation. “I know you’re not, you know you’re not.”

Satoru blinks at her, caught off guard by her unyielding tone.

“Let it go,” she says, picking up her phone again. “Y/N deserves someone who’s going to treat her right. Someone stable, patient, and not…you. And that’s okay.”

For once, Satoru doesn’t have a quick retort. Instead, he sits quietly, tossing another piece of popcorn into his mouth as he mulls over her words. Silently brewing with frustration at his friend for thinking so little of him, annoyance for her assumptions, and confusion at why she’s acting like she’s the gatekeeper of you or something. Who even are you to Shoko? If you two were as close as she’s making it seem, why hasn’t he met you sooner? 

Unless, she’s been trying to keep him from coming across you. 

Shoko’s low expectations of him are almost laughable. Almost. That thought really makes him want to scoff outwardly. He feels oddly defensive, like he should clear his name with Shoko who obviously has little standards in him. It’s a strange, unfamiliar defensiveness bubbling up—a rare urge to protect his honor, his character, his intentions. But is that so wrong of him to be curious about a girl who’s cute? That’s normal. Shoko is really taking this out of hand, acting as if he’ll stomp on your heart and dignity. 

And while he’s not entirely sure how he would treat you, he’s not a horrible man. Sure, he’s flirted, dated, and yes, he’s left a string of fleeting romances in his wake. But does that mean he’s incapable of something more? Of curiosity that isn’t purely self-serving? Of wanting to get to know someone because they’re different? Because they seem… real?

The more Shoko’s words replay in his mind, the more absurd they feel. But the more he’s feeling the need to prove her wrong. Was it so wrong of him to be intrigued by a girl who’s cute? Who’s shy in a way that feels endearing, but not performative? That’s normal. He’s human, after all.

Shoko, though—she’s blowing this way out of proportion. Acting like he’s some sort of emotional wrecking ball set to demolish your strength and your own well-being in one fell swoop. He rolls his eyes. Still, as much as her words prick at his pride, they also plant something else: doubt. It lingers at the edges of his mind, gnawing at his confidence. He’s never been particularly introspective about his relationships—at least, not the short-lived ones. But now he’s wondering: What would I do? How would I treat her if I got close to her?

He doesn’t have a concrete answer, and that’s… unsettling. 

Maybe like a fuck-buddy. Casual, simple, no strings attached—that’s how Satoru’s relationships usually go. It’s easier that way. No expectations, no messy emotions, no one clinging to him for something he’s not willing to give. It works for him.

Because while he’s confident he’s not the villain Shoko paints him to be, he’s also not entirely sure if he’s the hero in this narrative either. And that, more than anything, stirs something foreign in his chest. Something that feels uncomfortably like self-awareness. And Satoru does not need that right now. So, he does what he always does. Forget. Forget the curiosity gnawing at him. Forget the way your quiet demeanor intrigued him more than the loud, shameless advances of countless others. It wouldn’t be hard to forget you, he only has your name. No sort of connection to you besides Shoko. No number, no anything beyond Shoko, who’s already made it abundantly clear that you’re off-limits. He doesn’t know where you live, your hobbies, or even your favorite coffee order. You’re practically a stranger. Forgetting you should be effortless.

He doesn’t know anything about you other than the fact that you smell like sweet honey drizzled on the prettiest flower, a scent that lingered in his mind longer than he’d care to admit because he doesn’t think he’s ever met someone who’s own smell pulled him in like that. 

It’s probably for the best. Shoko’s making it seem like you’re the type of woman who’d want something more and meaningful. Something he can’t—won’t—give. In a sense, Shoko’s saving him from the dread of dealing with a girl who will complain to him all the time. Saving him from the inevitable headache of a girl who’d demand too much. The complaints, the misunderstandings, the emotions. He can picture it already, and it feels stifling.

Yeah, it’s better this way. Satoru Gojo can be very good at forgetting.

Shoko heads home that night before Suguru. When Satoru is walking him to his car, Suguru is dead sober. Shivering from the cold night wind outside, unlocking his car. “Are we still going to the movies this weekend?” Satoru asks.

Suguru shakes his head. “Nah, I have a lot of errands to run and Shoko said she’s busy helping her friend with some community event.”

Satoru huffs, a white puff of air forming. “Since when do her friends do community events?”

Suguru chuckles lightly, opening the car door but pausing to lean against the frame. “Since her friend’s actually a decent person, unlike the two of us.”  

Satoru rolls his eyes, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his hoodie as the cold bites at his fingertips. “I didn’t ask for a lecture on morality. Who even is this friend anyway?”

“I think she said her name was Y/N…or something like that.”

“She’s been mentioning her a lot lately.”  

Suguru glances up at him, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Oh, yeah? Really? You’ve been hearing of her?”  

Satoru doesn’t immediately respond, his expression remaining neutral despite the flicker of recognition in his eyes. “Maybe,” he says nonchalantly. “What’s the deal with her? Shoko’s been acting all protective and weird about it.”  

“If it’s because you’re trying to get at her, Satoru, it’s also because Shoko knows you, Satoru.”  

“Knows me?” Satoru scoffs, frowning in offense. “What’s that supposed to mean?”  

Suguru raises a brow, his head shaking in disapproval. “It means Shoko doesn’t want you pulling your usual crap and scaring off her nice, sweet friend. And honestly? I don’t blame her.”  

“I am nice and sweet,” Satoru shoots back indignantly. “When have I ever—”  

“Do you really want me to start listing examples?” Suguru cuts him off, seriousness now dancing in his eyes.  

Satoru clicks his tongue, looking away as a faint blush creeps up his neck. “Whatever,” he mutters, kicking at a stray pebble on the driveway.  

Suguru sigh this time. “Look, her friend’s not like the girls you’re used to. She’s been through a lot, from what Shoko’s vaguely told me. So maybe—”  

“Don’t,” Satoru interrupts sharply, turning back to face him. “Don’t start with the ‘be careful’ bullshit speech. I’m not planning anything, alright?”  

Suguru studies him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he shrugs, stepping into his car. “Good. Keep it that way. Don’t start shit with her friends anymore.”

Satoru watches as Suguru starts the engine, his friend’s words lingering in the chilly night air long after the car disappears down the street. He huffs, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets as he heads back inside. 

Nice and sweet, huh? Maybe he should be offended. Or maybe—just maybe—he should prove them wrong. He entertains that idea before sliding into his warm shower.

Nope, just forget. 

As if to further set his mantra into place, he reaches for his phone from behind the shower curtain. Clicking on a random woman’s name, and typing out a small phrase. 

Satoru:

Come over

“Clean up! Clean up! Everybody clean up!” Mrs. Inoue’s voice sounds throughout the classroom, followed by her and your claps to emphasize the beats of the small song. The classroom is alive with the chatter and movement of little hands tidying up toys and art supplies. Mrs. Inoue’s cheerful voice leads the way, her clapping rhythmically keeping the children in sync. “Clean up! Clean up! Everybody clean up!” she sings again, glancing over at you with a warm smile that you return instinctively.

Clapping along to the beat as you walk between the miniature tables and chairs, gently guiding the kids who seem more interested in playing than cleaning. “That’s right, Kenta, put the blocks back in the bin. Good job, Aiko! You’re such a great helper,” you encourage, your tone soft but enthusiastic.

The kids respond eagerly to your praise, their small faces lighting up as they scramble to finish their tasks. You crouch beside one of the younger ones, helping her gather stray crayons from the floor. “You’re doing so well, Mika,” you say, giving her a little nod of approval.

Mrs. Inoue claps her hands together once more, signaling the end of the song. “Great job, everyone! Look how clean our classroom is now,” she exclaims, her eyes sparkling with pride as the children beam at the acknowledgment.

You straighten up, smoothing down your cardigan as you share a quick glance with Mrs. Inoue. There’s a quiet satisfaction in seeing the children thrive in this structured chaos, and for a moment, you let yourself bask in the warmth of the lively little classroom. There’s a small tug at your clothing, looking down to see a little boy holding a broken car to you. “Oh no, what happened here?” You ask, crouching down to better face the toy. 

“I…I was playing and I broke it….’m sorry, Teacher Y/N.” Haruto, an honest but lovingly obedient young boy, admits shamefully. Looking into your eyes with his own pair of clear sapphire ones.  A small pout to his lips that shows just how apologetic he is. 

So adorable. 

Your heart melts at the sight of Haruto’s pout, his little hands clutching the broken toy as though it’s the most important thing in the world. You reach out and gently place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Haruto,” you say softly, your voice kind and soothing. “Toys sometimes break when we play with them. It’s not your fault.”

He looks up at you with wide, watery eyes, still unsure. “Really?” he asks timidly, his voice small.  

“Really,” you confirm with a warm smile. “And you know what? We can try to fix it together.” You take the car from his hands, inspecting the damage. The wheel has popped off, and the axle looks a little bent, but it’s nothing that can’t be mended. “This looks like an easy fix. I think we just need some glue and maybe a little bit of patience. Do you remember what patience means?

Haruto’s face brightens, his pout quickly replaced with a hopeful smile and a frantic nod. “Really? You can fix it, Teacher Y/N?”

“Of course,” you say, giving him a playful wink. “I’m a toy doctor.”  

He giggles at that, the shame from moments before entirely forgotten. You stand up, holding the car carefully. “Why don’t you go wash your hands for snack time while I take this to the repair shop?” you suggest, gesturing toward the sink where a small line of children is already forming.  

“Okay!” Haruto chirps. “Can I help after I wash my hands?” You nod and he runs off with newfound energy.

Glancing at the broken car in your hands, your smile lingering as you head toward the supply closet. Moments like this remind you why you love working with children—their honesty, their resilience, and the way their little smiles can brighten even the cloudiest days.

When Haruto is done with washing and drying his hands, he skips back over to you. Watching meticulously as you describe what needs to be fixed and hot to fix it. He stands beside you, peering over your arm as you carefully lay the broken car on the table. His small hands rest on the edge of the table, and his eyes are wide with interest.

“Okay, Haruto,” you say, kneeling to his level so he can see better. “Here’s what we need to do. First, we have to figure out where this wheel was attached. See this little piece here?” You point to the broken axle, which has a slight bend. “That’s where the wheel used to be. We’ll need to straighten this out first.”

Haruto nods, his lips pressed together in concentration. “And then we glue it?”

“Exactly,” You smile, appreciating how seriously he’s taking the repair. “We’ll need to use just a tiny bit of glue so it doesn’t get messy. But we also have to hold it in place for a few seconds so it sticks really well.”

Haruto watches closely as you demonstrate, gently pressing the wheel back into place after straightening the axle with a small tool from the supply closet. “Can I try?” he asks eagerly, bouncing on his toes.

“Of course.” You pass the toy to him, guiding his small hands as he carefully applies the glue. Together, you hold the wheel in place, counting aloud to ten to let the adhesive set.

When you release it, the wheel stays attached, and Haruto gasps in delight. “It’s fixed!”

“It sure is,” you confirm, giving him a proud smile. “And you helped fix it, Haruto. You’re officially a toy repair expert now.”

Haruto beams, clutching the car to his chest like it’s brand new. “Thank you, Teacher Y/N!” he chirps, his excitement contagious.

Haruto beams, clutching the car to his chest like it’s brand new. “Thank you, Teacher Y/N!” he chirps, his excitement contagious.

You chuckle, giving his hair a gentle tousle. “You’re welcome. Just be gentle with it next time, okay?”

“I will!” he promises, running off to show his friends the newly repaired car.

As you watch him join his classmates with a wide grin, a sense of fulfillment washes over you. “Okay, friends!” Mrs. Inoue exclaims, standing in front of the room. “There are five more minutes until pick up time. Why don’t we go around in a circle and share one thing we learned today?”

The children quickly begin gathering on the colorful carpet, their giggles and chatter settling into a low murmur as they find their spots. You help guide a few stragglers into the circle, gently nudging them forward with an encouraging smile. Mrs. Inoue sits cross-legged at the front, hands folded in her lap. “Alright, who wants to start?” she asks, her gaze scanning the eager little faces.

“I will!” Haruto raises his hand, his repaired car clutched tightly in the other. He looks at you briefly before speaking, his voice loud and proud. “I learned how to fix my car! Teacher Y/N showed me how to glue it back together.”

A few kids gasp, their attention drawn to the toy in his hands. “Cool!” one of his classmates says, their eyes wide with admiration. You feel a small warmth in your chest as Haruto beams, his pride contagious.

 “Great job, Haruto!” Mrs. Inoue says with a smile. “That’s an excellent thing to learn.”

Another hand shoots up. “I learned how to count to fifty!” Akiko says, puffing up her chest with pride. “I didn’t even need help!”

The circle continues, each child eagerly sharing their new knowledge. Some learned to write their names, others discovered how to share during playtime, and a few even shared lessons about kindness or patience. When the last child finishes, Mrs. Inoue claps her hands together. “What a wonderful day of learning, everyone! You should all feel very proud of yourselves.” She looks up toward you, nodding slightly, a silent acknowledgment of how much effort you’ve put into the day.

You smile softly, giving her a small nod in return. The atmosphere is filled with innocence and growth, it reminds you of why you’re here. As the children begin scampering up and walking over to their cubbies to grab their belongings and prepare for their parents, you and Mrs. Inoue are helping a few. 

Soon, the parents start trickling in to receive their children. Some even run up to their parent’s legs with excitement, calling out either “Mommy!” or “Daddy!”

Mrs. Inoue and you wave goodbye to the children, offering exchanged brief interactions with the parents in politeness. As the classroom slowly starts to empty, you notice one child hovering in the back. 

“Haruto?” You ask, coming over. “What’s wrong? Is Daddy coming to pick you up?”

Haruto shakes his head. “No, Daddy’s not coming. Uncle is coming!”

“Oh,” you respond, head tilting. You give Mrs. Inoue a look that tells her you’re a little concerned about the safety of Haruto going home with a man you’ve never met. 

Instead, she shakes you off with a smile. “No worries, his uncle’s a listed emergency contact. He’s come a few times before you started working here.” 

Relieved but still cautious, you nod, squatting down to Haruto’s level. “That’s exciting. Do you like when your uncle picks you up?”  

Haruto’s face lights up with a wide grin, his sapphire eyes sparkling. “Yes! Uncle is so funny, and he always gives me candy!”  

“Candy, huh? That sounds fun, but don’t eat too much, okay?” you tease, tapping the tip of his nose lightly.  

Haruto giggles, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Okay, Teacher Y/N. I won’t, I’m a healthy boy.”  

You chuckle, head tilting in tenderness. But it’s suddenly ruined when a god awful familiar voice reaches your ears, causing you to momentarily falter. You freeze for a second, the warmth of the interaction with Haruto quickly evaporating as the voice cuts through the air, unmistakably familiar.

“Haruto! Come on, kid, we’re gonna be late,” the voice calls out. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is. You recognize the drawl almost instantly, the smoothness of his tone, the way it rolls off his tongue.

Him. 

You shift, standing up and turning slowly. There he is, standing in the doorway of the classroom, leaning casually against the frame with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. He’s looking directly at Haruto, but you can see his eyes flicker to you for just a split second. Surprise takes over as his eyebrows lift, lips parting for a fraction of a second but it's laced with a hint of something you can’t quite place. “Oh, Y/N, right?”

“Teacher Y/N!” Haruto corrects his uncle, to which the latter just playful shushes him, picking him up in his arms. 

Your lips purse awkwardly, hands held behind your back in a rigid fashion. Just how small is this world? You never thought you’d see the same guy from this weekend in a place you now consider one of your safe havens. It feels wrong and he looks out of place. But the child clinging to his neck says otherwise.

 In order to not make this situation any more unpleasant as it is, you should probably say something instead of staring at him like an idiot still. “Y—” you clear your throat, feeling the unsavory, but familiar scratchiness come back. You can only hum back in response, peering away. 

He subtly scans you head to toe, appearing as if he is about to say something back until Mrs. Inoue thankful interrupts. “Oh, Satoru. How have you been? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Her voice is filled with curiosity but also a warmth that teeters the line of worry. And from the flashing look in Satoru’s eyes that only lasts a second, you’re immediately alert. Brows furrowing slightly in wonder as to why Mrs. Inoue is talking with him in a way a concerned friend would. “Oh well, please take care of yourself. And Haruto did a great job today.” Mrs. Inoue smiles, waving at Haruto. 

Satoru, still holding Haruto in his arms, smiles warmly at Mrs. Inoue, though there's a subtle tightness in his expression, as if her concern hits a little too close to home. He shifts the boy slightly, setting him down to stand beside him, before giving a half-hearted chuckle. "I’m good, Mrs. Inoue. Don’t worry about me," he says, though his eyes shift for a brief moment, betraying a hint of discomfort. "And thanks. Haruto's always good at keeping busy, right, buddy?" he says, ruffling the boy’s hair, though Haruto just beams up at him, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension.

Mrs. Inoue doesn't seem convinced, her gaze lingering a moment longer before she nods in understanding. “Alright then, Satoru. Take care of yourself and Haruto. You know where to find me if you need anything.” Her tone softens, and the unspoken message seems to settle between them for a moment. She turns around to head deeper into the room, picking up a few stray toys that missed the children. Satoru watches her leave with a small nod, the atmosphere between the two of you is thick with something unspoken, but as Haruto tugs at his uncle’s sleeve, the moment is broken.

"Uncle Satoru, I want to show you my toy!" Haruto says eagerly, pulling at his uncle's jacket. 

Satoru’s smile shifts into something a bit warmer, his earlier discomfort melting away as he focuses on the child in front of him. "Alright, alright, let’s see this toy," he chuckles, his hand resting gently on Haruto’s head.

You take a small step back, still feeling the weight of the strange coincidence. Trying to keep things neutral, but words feel awkward on your tongue. “Bye, Teacher Y/N!” Haruto grins brightly, waving with one hand as he’s already walking out the door while the other hand is held firmly in his uncle’s grip. You give the boy a wave, lip peeking up halfway. 

Satoru glances back at you over his shoulder as he adjusts Haruto, a faint glint of amusement in his eyes, smiling in a way that shows off his pearly whites, giving you a small nod. "Take care, see you around."

And with that, the two of them leave, the door clicking softly behind them. You stand there for a moment longer than you should, trying to shake the unease creeping in, but all you can think about is how unexpectedly small the world has become. The feelings from Saturday rise up in your bones, the stiffness and uncertainty. 

It’s uncomfortable seeing the guy who tried to hit on you that past weekend in a place so wholesome, picking up his nephew nonetheless. But you’re just glad he didn’t make things worse. Not that he should have with a kid in his arms. And you’re also proud of yourself for keeping things cordial enough, despite the fact that you just wanted to hide in embarrassment the moment you made eye contact with him. It’s almost like when you were in high school and you’d see one of your classmates at a random time in the grocery store. 

It’s fine, you tell yourself, going over to wash your hands. Despite the fact that this man knows where you work, nothing will happen. If the time comes where you need to state your disinterest, you’ll do so. It’ll be hard, of course. But you can do it. 

If only you could get the words out. 

a/n: hi! i'm not entirely happy with my work in this chapter, but I'm still going to try and show it as much love as vl

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[tricks-n-illusions]

[Reaction to this post] - [Yako belongs to @askoinari]

Despite the dramatic fit of rage, Silas was quick to return to his frozen state when Yako neared. He was obviously going to be no threat to the Thievul anytime soon. His fear towards them greatly outwayed any anger. He could only hold his breath in the hope they wouldn't decide to retaliate and attack him back. Considering how disrespectful the Zoroark had been, they would be more than justified to do so and in this state, he was nothing more than a sitting duck ready to be killed at a whim.

With those final words, the threat dissipated, and the moment he felt their overwhelming presence lessen, his real reaction began to seep through the cracks of his facade. No longer able to contain his emotions Silas let out a loud gasp, quickly followed by an onslaught of panicky breathing. For some reason, he suddenly felt as if he couldn't breathe, almost like a weight was crushing down on him. The fox couldn't help but spiral into a panic, though he didn't seem to register that was what was happening.

He couldn't bring himself to do much but desperately claw at his ears and face for some type of relief from his mental anguish. After a long moment of him clawing at himself, he finally fell silent, though his frantic breathing did not.

His rage and frustration quickly began to return, and all the anger he felt towards their verbal assault finally hit him, though, it didn't last very long. Silas was just as easily overtaken by sorrow and depression. [Not this again.] Just as someone once told him long ago... He was always too emotional.

He silently sank to the ground, pulling himself close. He seemed defeated, tired even. Just truly done with everything at the moment.

"What is the fucking point anymore..."

→  Silas seems to have calmed down from his fit. →  The Ask Hints page has been added.

[fleurvi]

Sick!S/O | Arcane Women

request for arcane women with a sick gf

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characters: ambessa, caitlyn, grayson, mel, sevika, vi

cw: fem!reader

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Ambessa Medarda

Ambessa doesn't really take care of you when you're sick. She's a warrior, not a doctor. But we're delusional here, so I'll go with it.

You are not allowed to lift a finger. You need to recover properly so she'll have guards around you at all times so you can order them to get things for you. She visits you regularly to check up on your health and make sure you're being doted on. In a rare occurrence, she offers you a massage to relax you.

“How are you feeling?” Ambessa asks, heavy hands working against your shoulders and neck. You nod, thanking her for her service. “Maybe a bath would do you good.”

✩♬ ₊˚.✂️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Caitlyn Kiramman

Cait panics. She can't think rationally at all. You cough once, and she's writing a eulogy. When she's sure it's not super serious, she's diligent in her care. She makes sure you stay hydrated and get plenty of rest.

“What are you doing? You should be resting,” says Cait as she notices you getting out of bed.

“Babe, c'mon”

“No. Don't you ‘babe’ me. You should be taking care of yourself,” She fusses, ushering you back to your bed.

✩♬ ₊˚.✂️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Grayson

Grayson believes that if you mope around In bed, you'll just make it worse. She lets you rest when you need it, but she encourages you just to take some painkillers, hydrate adequately and go about your work.

“Here you go,” Grayson says, handing you medication and water. “We've got a busy day. If it gets too much, just let me know, and I'll send you home to rest,” She says, pulling you into a hug and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

✩♬ ₊˚.✂️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Mel Medarda

She just wants you to get better. Mel checks up on you but doesn't spend much time with you because she doesn't want to catch whatever you have. When she does visit you, she makes sure to ask if you're getting what you need and making sure you get it. She's mostly concerned about you resting, so she stays with you, talking softly with you until you fall asleep.

“Are you sure you're okay, my love?” She asks, running her hands over your back.

“Yeah, I think I need to sleep off. Thank you for coming to visit,” you say, closing your eyes.

“You're welcome, My Love”

✩♬ ₊˚.✂️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Sevika

Sevika loves you, but she's not going to baby you. She'll ask you if you're on your deathbed, and if the answer is no, then you can get off your ass and help her with whatever business she's been called on.

If you want Sevika to help you with anything, you've got to turn on the whining. She likes being useful, so if you really need it, she'll sit with you until you fall asleep, but she won't wait for you to wake up. You're tough, like her, so she leaves you to it until you wake up and are ready to get back to work.

✩♬ ₊˚.✂️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Vi

Vi thinks her immune system is “built different”, and she's not entirely wrong. She'll stay with you, hold you while you sleep, and make sure you eat as well as you can in Zaun. If you tell her you're not really hungry, she will lecture you until you give in and at least try to eat.

“C'mon, pretty girl,” Vi says, leaning in to kiss you. You feel gross and push her head away.

“You'll get sick”

“Babe. My immune system is made of steel. I've never gotten sick in my life. Now come here and give me a proper kiss,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Fine. If you get sick, I'm not gonna baby you.”

“Yes, you will”, she laughs, and you know she's right.

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Thank you for reading!

This was a request! My main interests right now are arcane and attack on titan so please keep dropping in my inbox!

[silkscream]

once bitten, twice shy

megumi fushiguro x reader

ੈ✩ wc: 3.1k (i cannot write anything under 2k to save my life)

ੈ✩ tags: emotionally constipated megumi, tsundere basically, friends to lovers, a lil angst, not actually unrequited love, pining, alcohol, typical yuuji nobara antics

ੈ✩ a/n: this is not xmas themed despite the title BUT it does end up taking place on satoru's birthday for plot reasons. megumi fushiguro your intimacy issues bewitch me mind body and soul.....

megumi does not know what to do with his feelings.

he’s never been the type to be particularly in touch with them — he didn’t remember his parents enough to blame them for whatever avoidant attachment he’d accustomed himself to. or maybe, that was the exact cause of said attachment style. gojo taking him in when he was a child didn’t help either — the man also refused to be very vulnerable around him, merely acting as a benefactor and a nuisance at best.

and while he was closest to tsumiki, he’d still built up a wall around himself that she couldn’t get through, and she knew it. she couldn’t break through it in his pre-teen years, and certainly not his teenage years when he was taking out his aggression on his classmates. he would ignore her soothing words and resent her kindness. perhaps he’d taken after toji in that way. constantly fending for himself for the sake of survival. always convinced that he was doomed to be alone.

and then there was you.

he’d met you first at jujutsu tech before any of the other students could. after sparring with maki, he’d been dismissed to shoko’s office. he’d opened the door that september day and was immediately met with your wide eyes, your searing cursed energy. gojo had found another stray.

shoko had made him your first experiment and you excelled. his injuries were healed within minutes. if anything, he felt better than he had in months — after battling insomnia and panic attacks, he felt… calm. like his brain was cleansed and that he had nothing to stress about. (until the next time gojo had gotten on his nerves.)

your introduction to his class was nothing extravagant despite gojo’s theatrics. megumi couldn’t help but keep his eyes on you after that — during practice battles, lectures, or lunch. he was always hyperaware of your presence. he blamed it on your cursed energy.

he hates how enthusiastic yuuji is about you, how yuuji tells him about how he manages to get you alone even though you often keep to yourself, and how he thinks you’re so fucking pretty, and that you’d agreed to watch the human earthworm movies with him. (megumi had refused when yuuji asked.)

he stews in that anger quietly because he’d rather die than let anyone know. nobara knows better, of course. she teases him about it and brings up jealousy.

why should megumi ever be jealous of yuuji? the boy was a freak accident in human form, with no inherent technique. who fucking cares that he can make you laugh without any effort?

it doesn’t matter. it doesn’t. because you have no direct effect on megumi and you don’t distract him during school. he doesn’t cling onto the memory of your hands on his skin. he doesn’t wish for the feeling again. of course not.

he tells this to yuuji and nobara, too. there’s one day where nobara goes too far — she teases him about setting up a date, that you rave about him, that he’s definitely your type. megumi doesn’t believe a word of it, especially because you’re probably more comfortable with yuuji. he doesn’t care to date because it would hold him back. he’s too focused on his training, on being the best, because he’s determined to follow in gojo’s shadow even if he won’t admit it. he could be the second strongest. he could be the most reliable.

it comes out in all the wrong ways. he’s more irritable than usual, so he yells at nobara instead of seething in hushed tones. he rants about how he does’t need someone by his side, certainly not you, whose only benefit is to heal superficial injuries and not much else. how your combat skills are poor, how easily you get beat when you spar on the field. how compared to him, you’re weak, so you’re of no use.

unfortunately, you hear him. every thought on his mind that tumbles out of his stupid mouth, his tone spewing wrath. you know that megumi is a moody person, but you’d never think him to be mean.

you pretend you’re just passing by, but from the faces nobara and yuuji are making, megumi already senses your presence. the color drains from his face, cobalt eyes wide.

“i’m — i’m sorry, i didn’t mean —“

“it’s okay, fushiguro,” you say softly. even after that shitshow, you’re still fucking smiling. it puts a sinking feeling in megumi’s stomach.

“ah, i got an extra pack of mochi and thought you guys would like it.”

you hand over a small bag and megumi takes it wordlessly.

“that’s so sweet,” yuuji beams, attempting to deflect. “hey, i was just looking for you. do you happen to have those jujutsu history notes? kugisaki spilled a soda on mine.”

“you knocked it over!” nobara protests.

“you put it on top of my stuff!”

you take your notebook out of your bag and hand it to yuuji graciously, avoiding megumi’s gaze and making up an excuse to see all of them later.

apparently, “later” means a week after. megumi sees you in class, and while he attempts to walk you to the dining hall or invite you to hang out, you bolt out the door before catching anyone’s attention. he has to find out how you are from fucking yuuji, who somehow gets to see you around the dorms every other day.

“i think she just likes to keep to herself, s’all,” yuuji says. he can sense megumi’s anxiety just from being in the same room as him.

“but you see her all the time.”

“she’s been tutoring me a little. and we just like the same movies and stuff.”

yuuji shrugs casually. his nonchalance makes megumi’s blood boil, because of course he’s the one who gets to occupy all of your time. of course you’re probably most comfortable with him. he knows he shouldn’t be seething at the thought of you two together — it isn’t his right. but his jealousy is starting to get the best of him lately.

“are you guys together?” he blurts out.

“no?” yuuji furrows his brows. “if anything, i feel like nobara might be trying to make a move since she’s way nicer to her than she is to us. except i’m pretty sure she and maki have been going out lately.”

“maki?”

“dude, keep up!”

and when yuuji accuses of megumi having a crush again, the same way nobara did all those weeks ago before he made a fucking fool of himself, megumi shuts it down with a grimace and a blush. he’s merely concerned about your wellbeing is what it is. that’s what he’s able to muster up to yuuji, of course, who absolutely isn’t buying it based on his shit-eating grin.

it’s annoying, especially because yuuji can make you feel more comfortable, comfortable enough to hang with the whole trio, and the pink-haired bastard has to meddle like a little troll. bumping the two of you into each other like you’re in middle school. somehow, it worsens everything. not your dynamic, but megumi’s self-consciousness.

he was already so extremely aware of you, but now he’s convinced that some angel above has tied the red string between you both extra tight. megumi looks for you in every crowd, awaits your arrival every day in the classroom and at lunch, and it’s starting to feel pathetic — the lightness in his chest whenever you’re even so much as ten feet away. his heart even beats faster at the anticipation of your text in the group chat, for fuck’s sake.

and then there’s gojo’s birthday party, a surprise orchestrated by the four of you, despite megumi’s reluctance. you’re particularly more radiant than usual. maybe it’s the lighting. maybe it’s the dress you have on.

despite the amount of shots he’s been forced to take in the past hour (three), megumi is still sober enough to feel anxious around you. though, he thinks he might be drunk enough to be lost in your image, fixating on your collarbone and the way your hair falls in your face as you laugh at one of gojo’s stupid jokes. it’s when the two of you lock eyes that megumi feels out of it, because you smile at him. you fucking smile.

if the warmth of the liquor wasn’t currently raising heated blood to his head, he’d deny the sparks that came from the mere sight of your smile, but he was hopeless. you’re mesmerizing. dizzying. he doesn’t know what to do with his face, not when his cheeks are flushing red and his motor skills are slowing down. fuck, maybe he was a lightweight like gojo after all.

he’s clearly out of touch with reality, because the moment fades as soon as it comes. perhaps it wasn’t a moment at all. he watches you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, your mouth moving slowly as you mingle with other classmates. he’s fucking fixated on your mouth — your lipstick tonight is a blush red with a shiny gloss reflecting light. megumi has only dreamed of what your lips would taste like once or twice. no more than that. he swears on it.

there’s brief eye contact between the two of you again for half a second. there’s a coy smile on your face as always before you slip out the back door of the house.

there are so many bottles around the place that no one will notice megumi taking an entire bottle of champagne for himself. he scowls at the taste, of sickeningly sweet pears — courtesy of gojo, probably. his head swims and thinks of you.

his momentary peace is rudely interrupted by the sound of nobara’s voice in his ear, asking for you.

“ijichi’s setting up karaoke!”

“there is no way in hell that i’m—”

“i don’t care what you do, emo, but i need her to do a duet!”

megumi heaves a sigh, making his way to the backyard where he finds you sitting on a tree stump. even with the dim fairy lights, he probably would’ve missed you if not for the cherried end of your cigarette.

“fushiguro-kun,” you nod at him.

“megumi,” he rasps. “just… megumi is fine.”

“oh, i get special privileges now? how come?”

there’s no mirth in your tone. you’re teasing him. he doesn’t answer your question.

(the mere act of you teasing him becomes an intimacy in itself — he had never thought that you would be comfortable enough to talk to him in jest. you’d maintained your distance from him fairly well.)

“didn’t know you smoked.”

“only when i drink,” you shrug. “ieiri-san doesn’t make much of an effort to hide her cigarettes, either. don’t tell on me, though.”

“wouldn’t dream of it.”

he doesn’t know where to look. luckily, you’re not looking at him, so he can settle his gaze on your mouth nursing the cigarette. plump. glossy under the moonlight.

megumi is not used to wanting. he had never asked gojo for anything during his adolescence, and refused any gesture of kindness from anyone. he was convinced since childhood that there was no point in desire because disappointment would be on the other end of it either way.

he’d like to be a monk about it. he could control himself and focus on his studies. never spare you a glance again that isn’t platonic. and then a cool december wind blows past the two of you, and he smells your amber perfume.

and when he turns his head, you’re looking at him, eyes bright.

“so… not enjoying the party?”

“i’m not really one for parties.”

“me neither,” you shrug. “that’s why i like to do my little ritual of escaping.”

“we have that in common.”

you hum, a noncommittal noise. you take another drag of your cigarette, which disintegrates slowly.

“what a pair, the two of us.”

megumi can’t pick up any sarcasm from your voice, though he assumes it. it makes his stomach drop even though the statement is harmless. the two of you. together. it makes endless futures bloom in his mind. maybe it’s the prosecco, but it almost makes him want to vomit. to think that he was even good enough to be beside you in your future.

you curse quietly when you pull your phone out of your jacket pocket to check the time, realizing it’s dead. megumi gives you a once-over. the jacket you’re wearing is all too familiar. like him, you’re not one to wear very many colors. but this jacket is bright red, varsity style, and oversized on you.

“is that itadori’s jacket?” megumi stammers.

“oh, yeah. i didn’t realize how cold it would be tonight.”

“oh.”

“why?” you give him a curious smile.

“nothing,” he coughs. “are… you two…”

you laugh and it’s like a song to him.

“i think he might be my best friend, s’all. why? you jealous?”

he looks at you again, head-on, your eyes still bright. brighter than fluorescents. there’s something in your irises that is meant to provoke him, but he’s dispensed of his usual cautious nature after he takes another gulp from the bottle.

“more than you can imagine,” he huffs.

“sorry?”

“’m not repeating that.”

“what, you’re not saying you’re like, into me, are you?” you exasperate.

megumi remains silent, cheeks flushed. he thinks that if his head could heat up any more, he’d end up with a migraine.

you breathe the tiniest gasp. if it wasn’t for how close megumi was to you, he wouldn’t have noticed.

“i kind of thought you hated me, you know,” you admit.

“i could never hate you. i don’t think anyone could.”

“you don’t have to pretend,” you sigh. he didn’t notice until now that your cigarette was finished, discarded onto the dirt with your boot to crush it into ash. “i— beyond the politeness, i get it. that i’m not your type or whatever. you don’t even have to be friends with me, fushiguro-kun.”

“megumi,” he emphasizes.

“megumi.”

“i’m not pretending. i… i really fucking like you,” he slurs. “it kind of scares me how much.”

“you’re drunk.”

“i am. i know you heard me say all that shit to kugisaki and itadori, but it’s because they put me on the spot and i was nervous. i don’t know how to… deal with feelings. honestly, if i wasn’t even a little drunk right now, i’d probably have left the party with my tail in between my legs and avoided you for the next fucking week, and you don’t deserve that. you deserve… everything.”

“even you?”

when did you get so close to him? if he sauntered just a few inches in your direction, he could touch your noses together. he can smell your perfume so deeply.

“it’s the other way around,” megumi breathes. “i don’t deserve you. not anything close to you.”

“what if i want you regardless?” your voice is just above a whisper. a prayer, a hymn. a wish to be blown out.

megumi swallows the lump in his throat. he blinks at you, dark indigo luminescent. the world slows down. he may owe it to the liquor and the wine, but he assumes it’s just your presence. your scent, the softness of your hair in between his fingers, your soft breaths.

“what do you want, megumi-kun?”

he remembers something gojo said. that to be a jujutsu sorcerer, he has to be selfish. he’s not sure if that philosophy applies to the situation at hand, but he’d be damned if he let you crawl into bed tonight without knowing how he truly felt about you. so, uncharacteristically, he takes a leap forward.

he unwinds the tension in his body and presses his lips to yours. it’s soft, chaste, innocent. something like a pause. he’s afraid to touch you, but you’ve already reeled him in with arms thrown around his shoulders, fingertips touching the softness of his black hair.

you bump your nose with his, shyly, and he kisses you open-mouthed. tongue in your mouth, meshing the taste of tobacco and prickly pear. the vanilla chapstick that he’d put on before he followed you out to the backyard.

he has one hand caressing your jaw and the other on your shoulder, thumb brushing over your collarbone in a way that makes your entire body shiver. you’re embarrassed at the pool of desire in between your legs.

megumi has never let himself be full of wanting, but at the moment, his veins are surging with it. it’s like a drug to him — your warmth, your scent, the saccharine taste of your mouth. your flesh is so soft, so pliable, from the way you dip towards the cavern of his lanky body, pressed against him chest to chest. letting his hand dig into the fat of your hip. fingertips grazing the skin underneath your shirt.

maybe it’s the liquor, but he’s feeling experimental — he tucks your bottom lip in between his teeth. pulls your hair ever so slightly. you mewl into his mouth quietly and he thinks that he’s never felt anything better than this. you’re wrapped up in all of him. you can quite literally feel the heat on his cheeks and both of you realize how aroused he is, his bulge prodding your thigh.

“fuck,” he whispers into your mouth, and he pulls away. only a few inches are separating you as he takes a moment to breathe. his eyes are blown out wide, black stretching across dark blue. both of you are stunned, panting, and the tension is more palpable than ever.

a rustling of grass makes both of you jump. when he turns, he sees yuuji and nobara staring with wide eyes.

“you owe me 7,000 yen,” yuuji deadpans to nobara.

“seriously, fushiguro? i didn’t think you had it in you!”

“i always had faith in you, fushiguro!” yuuji chimes.

while you giggle, megumi growls under his breath at the new intrusions of dumb and dumber.

“i personally thought you were way out of his league,” nobara tells you.

“eat shit.” megumi seethes with arms crossed, and despite his wrath, he resembles more of an angry kitten to you than any potential threat.

“sheesh, don’t summon a shikigami on them, megumi,” you tease with a pleased grin.

“i—” he stumbles over his words in frustration, grimacing. “what do the two of you want, anyway?”

“gojo-sensei got ijichi to sing doja cat.”

“oh, i’ve gotta see this,” you snort, grabbing megumi by the hand as you begin to usher the crew back inside. his heart leaps at the feeling of your fingers intertwined with his.

despite his inhibitions, megumi’s decided that he could get used to this.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

Green | Part 3

What were you thinking?

Tags/Warnings: Rabbit hybrid!Jungkook, Fox hybrid!Reader, Single Dad!AU, strangers to lovers, Fluff, romance, angst

Length: ~3k words

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♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

You’re busy thinking about what to buy for dinner later, when suddenly, you feel a small hand tug on the hem of your jacket.

One look down, and you spot the by now familiar face of Jungkook’s little daughter, ears all folded downwards, eyes glossy with fear, and you instantly seem to snap right into a protective mindset, squatting down to her level. “What’re you doing here all by yourself?” You ask kindly, a bit surprised that she freely and almost eagerly clings to you, walking closer to have as much physical contact as possible- most likely to soothe herself. “Where’s dad, hm?” You ask further, and Minji just shakes her head, moving one of her hands to pick at her bottom lip. She then decides that you’re now her best bet, as she clings to you, making you think. “you wanna go sit in the cart?” You ask her, and she looks, before she shakes her head.

Well, you’ve not worked as a daycare worker for nothing.

So you pick her up, careful to make sure she’s securely placed against your hip, before you take out your phone to dial Jungkook’s number- just for it to not go through, signal too bad within the large store. “Let’s see..” you mumble, checking your surroundings before you move to walk closer to the exit, signal returning a little as you try again. Minji has calmed down by now, which surprises you- her attention now completely caught by your ear that’s closest to her, though she decides against reaching out for it, instead inspecting your necklace.

“I’m sorry, it’s not very good timing-“ Jungkook’s voice comes out of your phone’s speaker, panic clear in his tone as his daughter’s ears instantly move up and towards the phone in interest.

“I think I’ve got what you’re looking for.” You say, adjusting her a little as she giggles, visibly having relaxed now. “I’ll be waiting near the exit. I’m next to the ice cream section.” You say, and he hurries out a response, before he hangs up.

“I lost Sam.” Minji tells you quietly, looking for your reaction, as you watch her as well. You’ve not interacted much yet, but you’re honestly excited that she’s warming up.

“Sam?” You ask, and she nods.

“He.. wears like.. pants.” She explains. “that go like this..” she motions over her shoulders- she’s probably talking about overalls. “He’s a frog.”

Oh. She’s probably talking about a stuffed toy.

“Maybe we can look for him later. Is that why you got lost?” You ask, and she nods.

“Dad dropped him.” She explains. “now he’s alone.”

“I’ll track him down, no worries. Did you lose him inside the store here?” You ask her, and she nods. “You remember where?”

“There was big pots.” She explains. Jars, maybe? You’ve got an idea where she might have lost the soft toy. But before you can think about it much more, Jungkook’s boots can be heard, as he jogs towards you with his daughter in your arms. Minji doesn’t seem to see the severity of the situation at all- happily waving towards him, as if she didn’t just give him a heart attack.

“Jesus Christ, thank God you found her. Minji!” He scolds, and you want to tell him to calm down first before lecturing her- but you’re not in any position to do so, rather leaning down to set her onto her feet. But the sight of her dad all upset makes her shake her head, eagerly clinging to you, trying to climb back onto your arms by pulling on your jacket as best as she can. “you can’t run off like that!” He continues, while his daughter begins to cry into your chest, hiding away in shame. You share a look with him and he sighs, clearly getting your message as he calms down, letting his adrenaline slowly pass.

“Let’s go find Sam now, hm?” You ask her, wiping her cheeks as she nods, before she looks over her shoulder at Jungkook, who seems confused. “Her stuffed toy. She said she dropped it somewhere in the store-”

“No, dad dropped him!” She whines towards you, and you laugh, nodding.

“-YOU dropped him, and now we’re gonna go find him.” You say, getting up to put her in your shopping cart, having her sit down instantly. Jungkook follows quietly, still slowly working on relaxing again, while you look through all the different areas of the store, always on the lookout for something on the floor maybe. But there’s no sight of it- either someone has already picked it up, or it got kicked beneath the large shelves somewhere.

Jungkook is getting ready to call it quits, when you suddenly move away from pushing the cart, looking under one of the larger display shelves, something poking out there- and surely enough, while incredibly dusty, that seems to match the description the little girl had given earlier. “Hm, I think he needs a bath once you all go home though.” You laugh, dusting the poor toy off before you give it to Jungkook.

Minji reaches for it, but you carefully pull her hands back. “Sam is a little dirty right now. I’m sure you can have him back after he had a good scrub at home though.” You reassure her, and she nods, eagerly watching where Jungkook puts the toy now, visibly suspicious of her father now that he already lost her little friend once before.

Once the little runaway is back in the car and safely buckled into her seat, Jungkook sighs, door closed. “Thank you. I’m sorry I got so riled up-” He starts, but you shake your head.

“It’s understandable. I didn’t.. Want to overstep any boundaries by telling you what to do- and at the end of the day, it’s not my place to speak against how you act towards her.” You explain, and he shakes his head.

“If this is supposed to work, we’ll have to work together.” Jungkook disagrees. “I do agree that.. We should keep our steps slow and steady, but she’s going to be just as big of a part in your life as she is in mine, if we want this to work.” He offers, and you nod.

“She was.. Really touchy.” You say. “I was a bit overwhelmed.” You admit to him, and he laughs.

“It’s a good thing though?” He says. “You’re just too charming to resist. Seems like I’ll have to look out for potential competition.” The bunny hybrid laughs. “I might be able to handle my daughter falling for you, but that’s where I draw the line.” He playfully threatens, and you laugh along, giving him a kiss to say goodbye.

But as you walk back to your car, Jungkook calls out to you again, a hand waving you closer as he opens the door to where his daughter is sitting. “What’s wrong?” You ask, stepping closer-

“You need to say goodbye to me too!” Minji says, with the most adorable pout towards you, little arms crossed, before she reaches for you.

And of course, you take that chance to hug her.

You’d be a fool not to.

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His apartment looks pretty nice, now that you’re seeing it all in daylight- and without the burdon of believing that you’re ruining a family.

According to Jungkook, Minji is currently staying with Jimin again- to give him a day off and offer him some time to spend with you, able to put his whole focus on you. However, you notice that he’s awfully.. Uneasy almost. As if there’s something on his mind still.

“Are you worried about Minji?” You ask, as he sits down on the couch next to you, phone placed on the coffee table. His face shows that he’s caught off guard- and so you elaborate. “You just seem a little distracted.” You smile, encouraging him to talk about whatever is troubling him- and he sighs, before he breaks eye contact with you.

“It’s Minji’s mother.” He admits, and at that you become a bit less relaxed as well. “She’s not-..” He sighs, turning towards you to hold your hands. “I don’t think she’s interested in me particularly, but even if she was, trust me-” He presses, “-my feelings for her have long died. Or rather yet, given to someone else who will take way better care of them.” He tells you.

“Bold claim.” You try and ease the air, with only minimal sucess however. “But, if it’s not you- what does she want then?” You ask.

“She wants to.. See Minji.” He explains. “I’m not sure why- but I’ve got no right to tell her no, you know?” He tells you, and you nod. After all, she’s still her mother, and has every right to see her daughter.

Though it does make you uneasy. What if she was to show Jungkook how she’s overcome whatever might’ve made her so upset with her own child years ago? What if he realizes that he can indeed have this happy little family he was hoping for when he got with her from the start? He might not feel it now, but surely, a connection between parents must run deep.

“I mean.. Minji deserves to know her mother.” You agree, trying hard not to let the way Jungkook’s ears droop and face falls at the second you slip your hands out of his get to you. You feel terribly selfish in this moment- you're not his daughter’s mother, nor will you ever be. Of course you had fallen into the trap of hope for just a second, but at the end of it all, Jungkook will most likely be better off with a prey hybrid, a bunny just like him who can make the little girl feel more comfortable.

What were you even thinking? The second she’d go to school, she’d be the talk of the school with her weird, scary predator-hybrid mother.

“Hey- I promise you this won’t change at all how I feel about you.” He tries to reassure you, and you can feel your heart crack a little at the softness of his tone. “We don’t even know how it’ll go. And Minji already likes you a lot.” He says.

“Jungkook..” You start, but he shakes his head, hands on your cheeks now to make you look at him. There’s a certain sense of determination in his eyes- but you can’t help but feel like this confidence in this whole situation and its future is terribly one-sided.

“No, listen to me.” He urges. “Give it time. Trust me. Let it all just.. Grow at it’s own pace. I already know that what I feel for you is genuine love, and I hope that you can develop feelings like that towards me too.” Jungkook tries to soothe your worries. “And Minji will love you too. Just be patient, okay?” He requests, and you nod, though he can see from the avoidance of eye contact and the way your ears are still turned downwards, that it’s not quite getting to you yet.

So all he can do in this moment is kiss you, and hope that at least for a little while, he can make you believe.

Even if he himself, has his own doubts, deep down.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Its quite funny how things can suddenly change.

One second it feels like you’re living in a dream- everything around you appearing to fall right into place, like the world has decided to grant you your happiness and biggest wishes as a reward for staying strong for such a long time. And then, all of a sudden, the floor is ripped from underneath you, leaving you with no ground to stand on, destined to drown in both uncertainty and confusion.

You shouldn’t feel this upset. Yet everytime your sketches of the little frog family stare back at you, it feels like they’re mocking you, and no longer representing wishful thinking of a younger version of you.

You feel out of place. But have you ever been a part of that space you now feel exiled out of in the first place? Most likely not, now that you really think about it. If anything, you’d been a visitor. A mere spectator, watching from the sidelines, never invited to step any closer than the boundaries set. And the worst thing about it all is, that Jungkook was wrong. You don’t have to develop any feelings for him-

You already have, knowing that it would be a waste.

When Jungkook calls, you’re sure you know the reason already. He probably wants to know what he did wrong, what he can do to fix it, and you won’t be able to give him an answer to that, because you honestly don’t know if this should be fixed at all. Maybe its for the best. Just imagine. His former partner might’ve developed a longing to her biological child now, and once she gets closer to her, she’ll get closer to him as well. Old feelings might be reignited, past memories filling up hearts until you’re long pushed out of his heart, no longer needed.

What were you thinking?

You decide to accept his call, realizing that you can’t avoid him forever- and the moment you do so, his voice can be heard over the speaker, another one in the background you recognize must be his daughter. Is her mother there already?

“I know what you’re doing, you know?” He says, and you feel oddly put on the spot. Yes, you’ve been ignoring him for days by now, and yes, that’s probably very petty behavior- but you can’t help it. You don’t want to stand in between them, and quite honestly, you also don’t want to force him to choose one or the other in the worst case scenario.

“...well, that’s good then.” You try and shrug it off- but he sighs.

“Not really, no.” He denies, before you can hear Minji say something- though its too quiet to really make out. “Yeah, dad’s talking to her right now.” He answers, and you dread whats possibly about to happen. “Sure, come here- there. Now you can talk.” He starts, before you can hear her more clearly.

“Are you angry at me?” She asks, and your heart breaks at the prospect of her thinking that you might be upset at her- because you’re not. You’re not even upset at Jungkook, or any of it. You’re upset with yourself, if anything.

“No, of course not.” You answer because of that, trying hard not to get emotional. “I’m just.. Busy.” You attempt to justify yourself, hoping that that might be enough for the little girl to let go of it. But she doesn’t.

“Are you angry at dad?” She asks now, and you sigh, before you deny that as well.

“No, I’m not angry at your dad either.” You tell her. “I’m just.. A little upset with myself. But you don’t have to worry about that.” You attempt to reassure her.

“Dad can make us pancakes!” She suddenly chirps up. “With ‘nanas. He makes them when I’m sad.” She explains her reasoning as to why he should cook you food of all things, and you cant help but feel the way her innocent actions and thoughts seem to get to you. “Can you do that?” She asks away from the phone, and you assume she’s most likely looking at her father.

“I can, but I don’t know if that would make her happy.” Jungkook answers. “Sometimes people just want to be alone, Minji.” he explains to her, and its quiet for a moment, before she speaks again.

“But in the book-” She starts, collecting her thoughts while she speaks. “-in the book, when the mama-frog was sad, the dad-frog and baby-frog made her a cake together. And then she was happy again.” She recites what she must’ve pieced together from looking at the most recent book’s pictures. It’s not quite accurate to the story written- but the message has clearly been conveyed, despite her inability to read.

It’s not about how much you can offer another person- its the act of even just trying to give what you can that counts the most, even if its just silent comfort, or a cake made with leftover ingredients you found.

“Minji-” Jungkook starts, but you cut him off, unsure where you take the bravery- or stupidity, depending on the viewpoint- from.

“Lets bake a cake then.” You say, before you can back out again. “All of us, together.” You propose, and from the sounds of it, the little girl is more than on board with the idea-

Though it’s Jungkook’s voice that catches you most, as he speaks to you in a tone thats both warm, and holds so much more than just gratitude for a moment. Probably because he realizes that this is more than just a simple step towards the two of them- it's your war of telling him that you want to try this, even if it fails.

So his voice is soft, as he speaks.

“Thank you.”

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔗𝔴𝔬 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬𝔤𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯

Mike munroe x male reader

Summary: Two broken souls find solace in each other's arms. Two strangers in a support group, both scarred by their own demons. What started as shared vulnerability ignited into an electric connection, a fierce bond where Mike's protective instincts soon led to a heated desire neither of them could deny.

Requested from a really nice person here on tumblr. Hope you like it and sorry if i went overboard with your request <3

Tags: post event of Until Dawn. Everyone survived or Mike solo survivor, whichever one you prefer. Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. Mike and Jess are not together in this. Strangers to lovers. Scene of panic attack. Smut. Gay smut. Top Mike munroe. Bottom male reader. Riding. Anal sex.

Words count: 5000

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

𝔉𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔟𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔱𝔥

𝔅𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔶 𝔰𝔲𝔭𝔭𝔬𝔯𝔱

𝔉𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢'𝔰 𝔞 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔪

𝔍𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔶 𝔞𝔱 𝔅𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔴𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔐𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫

𝔄 𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢

ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔥 Part 2 of it

The room was quiet, the chairs were arranged neatly, giving an artificial sense of order to a room filled with emotional chaos and instability. The support group had just begun and already the air felt thick with vulnerability.

Mike Munroe sat toward the back, slouched slightly in his chair as if he didn't want to be noticed. His fingers tapped lightly on his knee, a nervous habit. He'd been to a few of these meetings now, always trying to blend in, hoping no one would ask too much of him. Sitting in this room surrounded by strangers, he was supposed to feel like he belonged, but he felt anything. He shifted in his seat, glancing around the circle, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone who looked too open, too eager to share.

Then his eyes landed on you.

Sitting a few seats away, you were quiet, withdrawn. You didn't seem to be paying attention to the group as much as you were lost in your own thoughts. Mike watched you for a second longer than he should have, curiosity tugging at the edges of his mind.

You looked familiar. Mike squinted subtly, trying to place where he'd seen you before. Classes? Maybe you shared a course or passed each other in the hallways. It was hard to say, but Mike couldn't deny the instant spark of recognition.

He had definitely seen you around.

The more he looked, the more he noticed how cute you looked. Your quite demeanor only made him more curious, especially since you hadn't spoken yet.

There was a vulnerability that mirrored Mike's own in some ways. You were trying to hide in plain sight, much like Mike had been doing. He couldn't shake the feeling that whatever had brought you here had left deep, unhealed wounds.

He didn't want to be another tragic figure, another story that people pitied. And yet, when he looked your way, there was something in your expression, a quiet strength that made him think you'd understand without judgment. His restlessness would ease just slightly when his eyes met yours, almost like it grounded him, bringing him out of his own thoughts

His thoughts drifted as he continued to sneak glances. He recalled seeing you once in the hallway between classes, maybe in a shared lecture hall, and he remembered thinking even then that there was something captivating about you.

Mike looked away quickly when you shifted in your seat, almost catching him staring. He wasn't here to be checking people out or getting distracted, but he couldn't help it. The way you sat quietly, as if trying to make yourself small, avoiding attention... it tugged at his protective instincts, the same ones that had kicked in back on Blackwood Mountain when everything had gone to hell.

The meeting was now over and chairs scraped against the floor as people stood up one by one, eager to escape back into their own lives.

You started gathering your things and as you glanced toward the door, you noticed Mike Munroe lingering by the exit. Your heart thudded lightly in your chest when he made eye contact with you, this time more intentional than the fleeting glances from earlier you noticed

There was something deliberate about the way he stood, hands shoved into his pockets.

He found himself hesitating for once. He usually bolted out of these things as quickly as possible. He watched you gather your things, preparing to leave, and Mike felt a strange pull to go talk to you.

His gaze flickers between you and the exit, caught in a moment of indecision.

Leave. Walk out now and avoid the vulnerability that talking to you would require. It's safe; it keeps him protected, doesn't risk exposing himself to someone he's only just met.

Take the chance. Go over and talk to you, risk the walls he's built around himself, and maybe find a connection that makes him feel whole again.

He takes a breath, steadying himself. And in a single, decisive moment, he makes his choice.

Take the chance.

A subtle shimmer appears, almost like a fleeting trick of light. A faint ripple in the air, the delicate flap of a butterfly's wings echoing outward.

ℬ𝓊𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒻𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉ℯ𝒹

His heart pounded as he walked towards you, mentally rehearsing what to say. 'Hey, I've seen you around before' No, that sounded too stalker-ish. 'Mind if I walk with you?' Too forward.

He's close enough that you catch the faintest hint of cologne, something warm and subtly daring, like cedar and smoke. He clears his throat lightly, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Well, that was intense," he says with a hint of playful sarcasm. "Almost feels like we deserve a medal or something, just for sitting through it."

You stifle a chuckle, feeling the tension melt a bit. "Yeah, definitely not how I'd choose to spend a Thursday night."

"Oh?" His brows lift, clearly intrigued. "And what would be your first choice for a Thursday night, then?"

"I don't know," you say, tilting your head. "Maybe something quieter... or a little less emotionally heavy."

"Quieter, huh? So no candlelit dinners or late-night rooftop stargazing?" he quips, his voice smooth and teasing. "Guess I'll have to cross those off my list."

The flirtation in his tone catches you off guard, and you glance away, feeling your cheeks warm. Mike seems to notice because he chuckles, leaning in just a fraction, his voice dropping lower

"I noticed you," You said, your voice tentative, testing the waters. "I've seen you around at Westgate. You're kind of well-known."

Mike's smirk grew a little wider, and he tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing playfully. "So you've been checking me out, huh?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the directness of Mike's question, but before you could respond, Mike laughed lightly, clearly enjoying his own teasing. "I'm kidding," Mike said, though the playful glint in his eyes remained. "But now I'm curious... What've you heard?"

"I've heard some things," you said vaguely, trying to stay neutral. "People talk."

Mike raised an eyebrow, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful. "Yeah, people do love to talk," he said, a hint of bitterness creeping into his tone. "But most of it's bullshit. People don't know what happened. They just make up their own stories."

Your expression softened, sensing the change in Mike's tone. "Yeah, I get that," you said quietly. "People don't know the full story."

Mike glanced at you then, his eyes lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "Exactly," he said softly, his voice dropping slightly. "Not the kind of reputation I ever wanted, though."

There was a beat of silence between you two. You understood the need to avoid delving too deep into things that hurt, offering Mike an understanding look.

Mike caught the expression and quickly shifted the tone again, this time with a playful glint in his eyes. "But hey, I guess I'm kind of a big deal now, huh? Maybe I'll start signing autographs."

You couldn't help but laugh softly, shaking your head. "I'm sure people would line up for that."

Mike took a small step closer, his voice dropping just a little. "Would you?"

Mike's gaze lingered on your face for a bit too long, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

Your heart skipped a beat, unsure whether it was the intensity of Mike's stare or the fact that you felt seen in a way you hadn't expected.

Mike broke the moment with a soft chuckle, glancing down at his feet as if trying to shake off whatever had just passed between them. "Look," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "I'm not great at talking about this stuff, but it'd be good to have someone who gets it, you know? Like having each other's back or something."

There was a vulnerability there, hidden beneath the casual and confident tone, and you found yourself nodding before you even realized it.

"Yeah," You agreed. "That sounds good."

Mike pulled out his phone, his fingers tapping quickly before he handed it over. "Here, give me your number. That way, you can hit me up if you ever need."

You hesitated for just a second before taking the phone, feeling the warmth of Mike's hand as your fingers brushed. You quickly entered your number and handed the phone back.

"Cool," Mike said, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "I'll text you later. You know, just to make sure you didn't give me a fake number or something."

You laughed again, the tension easing. "Yeah, I wouldn't want you thinking I was trying to ditch you."

Mike's grin widened, and for a moment, it felt like something was going to happen, something more than just words. But then Mike took a step back, his eyes still lingering on your face as he turned to leave.

The moment you stepped into your dorm, your phone buzzed eagerly in your pocket. Pulling it out, you saw Mike's name flashing on the screen. A grin spread across your face as you swiped to open the message.

Just making sure you didn't give me a fake number ;)

Day 1

Mike [9:35 PM]: Hey. Just making sure you didn't disappear on me after last night. Survived the rest of the day?

You [9:37 PM]: Barely but I’m still here. Didn’t think you’d notice.

Mike [9:40 PM]: Hard not to when you're the most interesting person in the room.

You [9:42 PM]: Pretty sure there were more interesting people there.

Mike [9:45 PM]: Nah, they were all talking about their problems. You? You're like a mystery I wanna figure out.

You [9:46 PM]: That's one way to get someone's number. Smooth, Munroe.

Day 5

Mike [11:22 PM): Do you ever feel like people are waiting for you to act a certain way? Like, they've already decided who you are?

You [11:25 PM]: Sometimes. People can be ruthless. You wanna talk about it?

Mike (11:30 PM]: It's weird. After Blackwood, everyone wants to know what happened but they don't really care, you know? They just want the story. I'm just someone who survived. It's not something I like thinking about.

You [11:35 PM): Yeah, I get that. People don't see what's underneath. They just want to know the stuff to discuss with others. It's tough. But you don't have to share that with everyone. You don't owe anyone anything. I'm sorry you feel this way, Mike.

Mike [11:37 PM]: Nah, don't be. I don't talk about it much, you know? But it helps. With you.

You [11:40 PM]: I'm glad I can help

Mike [11:41 PM]: You're the only one who doesn't see me as that guy from Blackwood Mountain.

You [11:41 PM]: You're just Mike to me.

Mike [11:42 PM]: that's why I like talking to you.

Day 7

Mike [6:05 PM): What're you up to?

You [6:10 PM]: Studying. You?

Mike [6:12 PM]: Thinking about how I hate that you're busy with something boring like that. We should hang out instead.

You [6:10 PM]: I've got an exam. Hanging out might have to wait

Mike [6:13 PM]: Exams are overrated I'm more fun anyway.

You [6:15 PM]: Flattery's not gonna work this time.

Mike [6:17 PM]: Who said I was flattering you? I'm just saying facts. I could help you study if you want. I'm great at, uh... distractions.

You [6:20 PM]: Right, because I need more distractions.

Mike [6:22 PM]: I'm an expert in distractions. Top of my class in Avoidance 101.

You [6:22 PM]: what does the final exam for that class look like?

Mike [6:25 PM]: It's an intense, highly advanced skill. Mostly it involves terrible movies and maybe some pizza. You're up for it?

You [6:27 PM]: Maybe later.

Mike [6:28 PM]: I'll hold you to that.

Day 13

Mike (3:15 PM): You free tonight?

You [3:18 PM]: Depends on what you're offering.

Mike [3:20 PM]: A walk, a drink, maybe we'll figure the rest out later.

You [3:22 PM): Sounds like you're trying to get me in trouble.

Mike [3:25 PM]: I'm just trying to get you to spend more time with me. Trouble's optional. You'll just have to put up with my charm for the moment ;)

You [3:27 PM]: Alright. Where are we going?

Mike [3:30 PM]: You trust me to surprise you?

You [3:32 PM]: Why not?

Mike [3:32 PM]: You won't regret it.

Day 24

Mike [11:50 PM): You looked good today, btw. Saw you in the library. Hard to miss when you're looking that sharp.

You [11:55 PM]: You saw me and didn't say hi? I'm offended.

Mike [00:01 AM]: Didn't wanna distract you. But next time, I'll make sure you can't escape me.

You [00:02 AM]: having trouble sleeping?

Mike [00:03 AM]: yeah. Another nightmare.

You [00:03 AM]: Want me to come over? We can hang out. No pressure to talk.

Mike [00:04 AM]: Yeah? That'd be great, actually. I could use the company. But only if you're cool with it. I don't want to drag you into my mess.

You [00:05 AM]: I'm already in it. Don't worry, Mike. I'll be there in 15.

It had been a few weeks at this point since your first meeting and the texts between Mike and you had become part of your daily routine. They didn't always talk about serious things. Most of the time they were just quick jokes, a random comment about a class or something funny one of you had seen on campus.

There had been that one night where everything seemed to shift between you and Mike. It had started like so many other nights, with the two of you sprawled out on the bed of your dorm room watching terrible horror films from sketchy free movie sites that Mike insisted on finding. The glow of your laptop screen illuminating your faces as you both leaned against the headboard.

It had become so normal to find him here, lounging on your bed or flipping through his phone while you studied or worked on assignments. In many ways it felt like you and Mike had been sharing this room for ages.

He strode in, tossing his jacket carelessly onto the back of your chair and remaining in a simple tank top, beads of sweat still lingering on his skin from the gym as he collapsed beside you on the bed. He immediately grabbed the laptop, pulling up the website you'd found for horror movie marathons.

"You really need to cool off," you muttered, half-joking as you hugged your hoodie tighter around you, trying to find some relief from the icy draft in the room.

"if you worked out with me, you wouldn't be freezing your ass off right now."

"I told you already that this week I couldn't" your voice was muffled by your hoodie as you reminded him of the upcoming exam you had, the warmth he was giving off made it hard not to scoot just a little closer.

"You're being dramatic. It's not that cold" The muscles in his biceps shifted slightly, not in an obvious display, but more like he was just getting comfortable, adjusting his position.

"You say that because you're like a human furnace," you shot back, trying not to let your gaze linger too much on the way his muscles flexed.

The screen of your laptop brightened up as the movie began.

The two of you had started a tradition of finding the worst horror movies you could dig up online. Free ones from obscure sites that had horrendous special effects and plotlines so laughable they were almost entertaining. It was like a competition on who could find the most hilariously bad movie.

At one point, Mike had shifted closer, closing the small distance between you. His arm had slid around your waist, pulling you gently against his chest as you both lay back on the bed, the soft glow of the laptop screen casting faint shadows across the room.

The last thing you remembered was waking up the next morning. It had taken you a moment to realize where you were, your body warm and heavy with sleep, but there was a steady pressure against your back

Mike's arm had been wrapped tightly around your waist, his sturdy chest pressed firmly against your back. He's breathing deeply, a low snore rumbling now and then, the sound soft against your ear, making the tiny hairs on the back of your neck prickle.

Mike stirred when he felt you shift, his arm tightening slightly around you before he let out a sleepy mumble. "Morning... Or, uh, afternoon?"

His morning voice was deep, husky, and the warmth of it against your ear made your heart skip a beat.

You turned your head slightly to look at him. "Afternoon. You comfortable there?"

Mike grinned, his face half-buried in your pillow. "You're the best pillow I've had in a while"

"Don't get too used to it. You hog the bed"

"I can't help it if I'm big and take up space," Mike teased, finally pulling away and sitting up. He stretched, his tank top riding up slightly, revealing a sliver of toned skin.

Something soon shifted between Mike and you after that moment.

It began subtly, with Mike showing up in the hallways just before your classes, waiting for you. He'd lean casually against the wall, his cocky grin in place as soon as he spotted you walking toward him.

"There he is," Mike would say, teasingly, every single time. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me."

You'd roll your eyes, smiling despite yourself. "You've got your own classes, you know. You don't have to wait for me."

"I know," he'd reply with a shrug, falling into step beside you, "but I have my priorities straight."

And that was the start of it. Before long, it wasn't just random meet-ups between classes. Mike was always there, hovering in the hallways, waiting for you after each period.

He also loved seeing you flustered, loved the way you'd get shy whenever he said something that was just a little too bold.

His once constant texts had dwindled, but only because he was with you in person almost every day. He'd walk with you, talking nonstop about everything and nothing, making you laugh with his over-the-top stories or complaining about how much he hated certain professors. He'd check in on you between classes, finding excuses to walk you to and from the dorms or to meet up for lunch.

He was everywhere.

It became so normal this routine of walking together that you started arriving late to class more often than not. Neither of you seemed to care much about the time, too wrapped up in your conversations.

There was also a different side to Mike, one that became obvious whenever anyone else tried to get too close to you. He'd start glaring at anyone who so much as looked at you the wrong way, standing just a little too close, his expression hardening.

Sometimes it was in the quiet way he'd linger just a bit closer when people passed by or in the way his eyes scanned the crowd, arm almost always resting comfortably on your shoulder. He was always aware, always attentive

A late afternoon, the two of you were back in your dorm, this time working on Mike's classwork. He was propped up against the wall on your bed, legs stretched out casually in front of him as he flipped through his notes while you sat beside him, trying to help him with some difficult subjects from his class while you sat cross-legged near the foot of the bed, focusing on explaining a concept that clearly wasn't sticking.

You glanced over at him to see if he was even paying attention as you began your speech.

Mike gave you a lazy grin, his brown eyes half-focused on the notes and half on you, not even bothering to deny it. "I think I'm getting more distracted than enlightened right now."

You raised an eyebrow, trying not to smile. "Distracted? How hard can it be to pay attention for 5 minutes?"

"Oh, I'm paying attention," he replied smoothly, his eyes shamelessly roaming your body. "Just... maybe not to the notes"

Your cheeks flushed, and you swatted his shoulder, a half-laugh escaping you. "Keep talking like that, and I might actually make you study."

Mike leaned in even closer, his shoulder now brushing against yours. "There are other ways you could help me... without the textbooks.”

You glanced up at him, narrowing your eyes in mock suspicion. "What exactly did you have in mind?”

Mike smirked, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before flicking back up to meet your eyes. "I'm sure I could think of a few things."

"You're hopeless," you said, though his voice was soft, not unkind.

"Hopelessly charming," Mike corrected, leaning in just enough so that your shoulders brushed again, his proximity impossible to ignore.

A sudden gust of wind rattled the windowpane, drawing both of your attention to the world outside. Snow had started to fall, tiny flakes drifting down in a serene, delicate pattern.

Mike's smile faded

His body grew still, his expression unreadable. Mike's playful energy had disappeared, replaced by something colder, more distant. His jaw tightened, the muscles in his shoulders tensed, his posture rigid as if bracing himself for something unseen.

You glanced up, your brow furrowing as you followed Mike's gaze to the window.

"Mike?" You asked softly, your voice gentle, concerned.

His gaze was still locked on the snow, his breath coming in shallow, uneven intervals.

He was back on that mountain, back in the freezing cold, back in the nightmare that had nearly destroyed him.

His hand jerks toward his left hand, gripping it tightly, pressing into the spot where two of his fingers are gone, severed by that brutal bear trap. The memory is vivid, visceral, a searing pain that haunts him, sending shockwaves through his hand as he clutches it, trying to stave off the ghostly ache. His whole body begins to shake, and you can see his chest rising and falling erratically, his breaths turning into strained gasps.

The screeching echoes of the wendigos in his head are getting louder and louder, and he can smell the stale scent of blood in the biting wind.

His hand drops to his lap, trembling violently, and he grabs the edge of the bed, his fingers digging in, his knuckles white as he grips it like it's his lifeline. "No, no, not again," he chokes out, his voice a raw whisper, barely audible

You reach out and place your hand on his shoulder, your touch firm, grounding, and his eyes flicker, focusing on you for a split second before glazing over again. His breaths are erratic, shallow and quick, and his face twists with panic as he fights to stay present, his whole body trembling. "Mike, look at me," you say, your voice steady, trying to reach through the fog of fear. "You're here. You're safe. It's just snow, nothing else."

Slowly, he seems to register your words, his gaze flickering back to you, his breathing still labored but slowing slightly as he focuses on the warmth of your hand on his arm.

"I thought I was past it," Mike admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But it keeps coming back. Like I'm right there again."

He trailed off, his voice breaking slightly as the weight of it all pressed down on him.

"You're not there anymore," you said softly, your voice full of quiet reassurance. "You're here. With me."

His eyes were drawn to your lips. The way they were slightly parted, the soft flush of color there. He hadn't realized just how close you were sitting until now.

Mike's breath hitched slightly as he swallowed hard, his gaze fixated on your lips. He felt an overwhelming pull, like gravity itself was drawing him closer, and suddenly, all the fear and tension that had gripped him earlier faded into the background. His thoughts narrowed to a single focus.

Pull back. The fear of what this could mean loomed large. He could stop now, retreat to safety, and keep his heart protected.

Go for it. Take that leap into the unknown, embrace the connection forming between you, and let the moment unfold.

Mike's breath quickened as he hovered just inches from you, the world outside forgotten. In that heartbeat, he made his choice.

ℬ𝓊𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒻𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉ℯ𝒹

Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, Mike began to lean in, his body moving of its own accord, his instincts guiding him now. He paused for a split second, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, searching for any sign of hesitation, any signal that he should stop.

But your gaze remained steady, your eyes soft, open, and Mike took that as all the permission he needed

His lips brushed against yours, hesitant at first, testing. Then something inside Mike broke free. The kiss deepened, becoming more insistent, more demanding, as if he couldn't get close enough. His hand moved to cup the back of your neck, pulling you in, and the kiss grew rougher, needier.

Mike's other hand found its way to your waist, gripping you with a quiet desperation, his fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt. His chest pressed against yours as he angled his head, deepening the kiss even further, his lips moving with a hunger he hadn't realized he was holding back.

You leaned into Mike's touch, matching his intensity. Mike's breath hitched as his tongue slowly flicked out, teasing your bottom lip. When your lips parted slightly, giving him the invitation he was waiting for, Mike couldn't hold back the groan that escaped him.

It was a low, deep sound that rumbled in his chest, full of need and relief. His tongue slipped past your lips, moving with a slow, deliberate exploration, tasting, savoring.

His tongue moved deeper, seeking out the warmth of your mouth, exploring with a kind of roughness, a hunger that Mike couldn't quite control. He groaned again, the sound muffled by the kiss, his fingers tightening their grip on your waist as he pulled you closer.

His body was warm, solid, and you instinctively crawled into his lap, seeking the closeness that both of you seemed to need in that moment. You straddled him, your knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his thighs, your hands cradling his face. The light scruff of his beard scratched against your palms as you kept kissing him deeply.

Mike's mouth found your neck, his lips trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. His breath was hot against your throat and you tilted your head back, giving him more access. His tongue brushes lightly against your skin as his hands tightened on your hips, pulling you down harder against him.

You shifted in his lap, your movements slow and deliberate as you began to grind against him, the tension between you building with every passing second. Mike let out a low, guttural sound, his hands gripping you tighter as he moved with you, his hips rising to meet yours in a rhythm that grew more urgent by the minute.

"God," he muttered against your neck, his voice thick with need. "You feel so good.."

His hands gently rested on your ass, groping the delicate and soft flesh gently while he took off all the pieces of clothing protecting it.

He circled your hole gently before pressing his finger inside up to the second knuckle, leaning down to kiss you firmly

Working the two fingers in deeper, Mike watched for any reaction, kissing your lips over and over when you squeezed his shoulders.

Suddenly you let out a strangled cry of pleasure, hips bucking upward to press the two fingers in deeper. That was the spot you wanted. He massaged that little area over and over, biting little marks along your shoulders and upper chest.

After the third finger you were begging for more, digging your nails into Mike's shoulders and moaning against his lips.

With trembling hands, you reached down, feeling the heat of his arousal through the fabric that still separated you. The anticipation was a slow burn, an exquisite torture as you took your time, savoring the way his breath hitched, the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

And then, with deliberate slowness, you freed him, your hands sure and steady as you positioned yourself over him.

His gaze never left yours as you slowly sank down onto him, the feeling so overwhelming that it stole the breath from your lungs. The sensation of him filling you, stretching you, was almost too much.

A low groan rumbled from deep within his chest as he watched you. His hands moved up your back, tugging at your shirt as he pulled it over your head, discarding it onto the floor without a second thought.

You responded in kind, your hands sliding under his shirt, your fingertips brushing against the hard planes of his chest.

Mike's hands found your hips again, and this time his grip was firmer, more urgent, as he guided you to rock against him with more intensity. The friction between you was almost overwhelming, and you could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter with every movement, every touch.

His breathing was heavy, ragged, and with each thrust, a low, guttural grunt escaped his lips. He tried to lose himself in the moment, to forget the memories that haunted him.

As the intensity between you built, Mike's movements became rougher, more demanding. His hands gripped your hips tightly, guiding your movements as you rocked against him harder, faster. You could feel the heat building between you, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it was almost unbearable

Without warning, Mike grunted softly, his arms wrapping tightly around your frame as he lifted you off his lap in one smooth, fluid motion. You gasped at the sudden shift, your legs instinctively wrapping around Mike's waist as you were lifted off the bed. Mike was still fully inside you, enveloping you in a warm, secure cage formed by his strong, protective arms.

His hands gripped your thighs tightly, keeping you secure as he lowered you onto the mattress with a quiet grunt, his body hovering over yours, never once breaking their connection.

His eyes locked with yours, filled with a mixture of desire and vulnerability, and he leaned down to kiss you again, his lips soft but insistent.

The moment you two were settled, Mike began to move again, his thrusts deep and powerful as he pressed your body into the mattress. His hands gripped your things firmly. He was doing everything in his power to please you, to show how much you were appreciated.

His eyes locked on yours as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. It was rough, desperate, filled with the same urgency that was driving Mike's movements. His tongue slid into your mouth.

Mike groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest as he continued to move, his pace quickening, his hips snapping forward with a roughness that sent waves of pleasure through your body.

His body pressed against yours, warm and solid, grounding you in the present moment.

With a final, powerful thrust, Mike let out a deep, guttural grunt, his body trembling as his release washed over him, sending shudders through his entire frame. You cried out, your own climax hitting you at the same time, the intensity of it all making your body tremble beneath Mike's.

Mike collapsed beside you, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His arm draped across your waist, pulling you close and giving you the chance to bury your face in the crook of his neck. You could feel the tension in his body slowly start to fade, his breathing evening out as he relaxed into you.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice rough but filled with gratitude. His lips pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, his arms still wrapped tightly around you as if he couldn't bear to let go.

He shifted slightly, adjusting his position so that he could hold you more comfortably, his arms still wrapped around you protectively. His breathing slowed further, the deep, steady rhythm of someone who was finally allowing himself to drift off, to surrender to the quiet peace.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Mike allowed himself to relax completely. There was no tension in his body now, no lingering fear or panic. He might not have been fully healed, but in this moment, he felt whole. And that was enough.

Mike let out one final, soft breath before sleep claimed him-peaceful, quiet, and free. For tonight, at least, the nightmares would stay away.

Note: If you liked this story please leave a comment, I love reading them <3.

[m0nnypie]

hii! can you write something similar to ur dating deku but ur bkg’s sister but flipped? as in dating bkg but being deku’s sister <3 thank u!!

SORRY FOR BEING SO LATE! I was so busy that I forgot to post this 😭😭😭 but here it is!!! Hope u likeee it

DATING KATSUKI (BEING DEKU'S SIS)

Warnings: just Katsuki being his usual stupid, 'n Deku a brother who love u a lot.

Bro!Deku x Sis!reader, Katsuki Bakugou x fem!reader

_ Well, everyone knows that you've known each other since you were kids. I mean, if Katsuki was Deku's friend, how could he not know you?

_ Your relationship was good, I mean, he was what you called a hero. Silly, right? But can you blame kids? They always see the good side of things. And that's how it was with the blond. You saw him as someone who, despite being a bit temperamental, was your knight in shining armor. He protected you from bad people, he was a true hero, as you said.

_ But of course that changed. You presented your quirk, about a month after him. You were happy, you played together more, you tried to figure out how your quirk worked, great, right? But over time, you could tell that he was developing a feeling of revulsion, maybe? For your beloved brother.

_ You were worried, I mean. It was already past the normal time for people to develop their quirk, and so far your brother hasn't shown any sign of having one. So, when your mother came back from the doctor, you saw her crying, you saw your brother crying. Your first instinct was to run to Katsuki. But as soon as you told him, you saw something change in his eyes.

_ It didn't take long for you to find out that your brother was being bullied, you wanted to kill whoever was doing it. And to your surprise, it was your precious friend Katsuki. Of course, when you asked him why, he said something like "he's scum, that's what he deserves for being born that way" "you're lucky to have a quirk, or you would have to join your brother". After that, you beat him up so much that you had to have about 3 teachers separate you from Bakugou.

_ You warned him many times to stay away from Izuku, but he never listened. You always ended up getting into a lot of fights. Fights that drove your brother crazy with worry, because you always ended up getting hurt. But no matter how many times Izuku asked you to stop, you always said that you would rather die than let anyone touch your brother.

_ It didn't take long for you to go to U.A. What surprised you was your brother's quirk. You just figured he was a late bloomer, that's all. Meanwhile, you could see the blond fuming with rage, not that you cared.

_ On the first day, as soon as you met for the first time, you stared at each other for long minutes. You could tell there was something more in the way he looked at you, something he wanted to say. But he simply stopped looking at you and bumped into your shoulder. Making you angry.

_ The day he was kidnapped, you had a panic attack. The only person who knows about it is Uraraka, she was the one who helped you calm down. You also went with him to save Katsuki, even though your brother didn't think it was safe. You just wanted your old friend to be okay, that's all.

“(Name) I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go along…it could be dangerous.”

You understood him, really. He was worried, but he had recently discovered his own quirk. You’ve had yours for years, you trained for it.

“Izuku, I trained for years to get into U.A, and Katsuki is someone who has been part of my life for years…you’re not going to be the one to stop me from going to save him.”

He could see the desperation in your eyes, but he was so afraid of something happening to you. He knew that if he didn’t let you go along, you would find a way to go there. So he simply accepted.

_ After saving him, nothing really changed. He was still the same arrogant guy he always was. You often fought, being separated by Kirishima, your brother, or Aizawa. You often got lectured for it.

_ Because you fought a lot, you were often paired up to improve your companionship. And it never worked out, because one moment Aizawa was watching you, and the next he saw Katsuki blowing your face off, and you punching him in the face and pulling his hair.

_ Over time, you learned to live together again. It wasn't that you were best friends, you still fought a lot. But your relationship with him improved to the point where you could work with him without strangling him to death. Not that you didn't want to.

_ The rest of the year was hard for all of you. After Katsuki basically died, and you almost passed away due to a punctured lung, you changed completely.

_ He even apologized to you, which certainly surprised you. But you forgave him, you didn't see any point in resenting him anymore, not after what happened. You started spending a lot more time together after that.

_ Which didn't last long, because Izuku wouldn't let you go. It's not that he didn't trust Bakugou, he just...cared about you. And of course, his clinginess irritated you, which made you fight.

_ As strange as it may seem, it was Katsuki who comforted you, in his own way of course. He basically gave you a portion of the spicy food he had made for himself, and kept telling you how stupid it was for you to cry over stupidity. Neither of you knew it, but that day something more blossomed between you.

_ At first, you only went out together in the company of others, never alone. That changed when you had to do the dorm shopping. You realized that it was much nicer to be alone than to hang out with others. Not that you didn't like them, but everything was so much simpler when it was just with the blond. You liked the comfortable silence between you, as well as the common taste for many things.

_ So, from the end of the second year, you started going out more. Obviously, this didn't go unnoticed by the green-haired boy. Once, he even followed you with the help of Uraraka, Mina and Denki. What went wrong, because Katsuki got angry and blew them up, and you stayed in the corner eating your ice cream, because if you had Bakugou to do the dirty work, why lift a finger?

_ You were as close now as you were when you were kids. When you started calling him by his first name again, even though he wouldn't admit it to himself, he died of nervousness inside. I mean... that should mean something, right?

_ You went on an official date, only after the end of school. Because even though you two were developing feelings that you were too cowardly to admit, you two wanted to focus on the goal of becoming heroes.

_ In the 4 years after U.A, you had a few relationships. Nothing that would leave a big mark on your life, but it certainly did leave a mark on Bakugou's life.

_ When you were 19, you started to distance yourself a little from him. Obviously, this didn't go unnoticed by him. He hated doing it, but he went to your brother to ask why. And when he heard that you were dating, he was (????). How come you were dating? Oh, for some reason he hated your boyfriend.

_ He saw every breakup you had, not that you were close enough for him to know how you felt. But Mina would make everyone go out for drinks, watch a movie, or even stay home, to support you because of the breakup.

_ At 22, a month after your breakup, everything was great, until it wasn't. You were on one of your daily patrols, until by chance you ended up running into your ex-boyfriend, the one who made your life hell when you were dating.

_ You did everything you could to make him go away, and as much as you wanted to send him to hell and beat him up, you couldn't. That's because your PR team would kill you. But like a demon disguised as an angel, Katsuki showed up.

_ He simply came up to you, asking if you were excited about your date today. And to make it even better, he pulled your waist close to his. And of course, he looked at your ex with that mocking face.

_ Then it was hard to explain to your PR team that this was a mistake. Which was denied by Katsuki who said he would take you on a date. He said that, and left you there, open-mouthed along with your team.

_ Of course Mina FREAKED OUT about it. She seemed more excited than you. She literally arranged everything, chose your outfit, hair and everything she thought would look good on you.

_ The date was great, it was at a small spicy food restaurant that you used to go to back in U.A., and of course your fans and his went crazy, that place was packed the next day.

_ One date became two, which became three and then became many. You missed going out with Katsuki, and so did he. Anyone who looked at you could say that you two had never seen so happy in each other's company.

_ It's obvious that your brother didn't like it much at first, not that he didn't trust Katsuki!! But after you had your heart broken several times... he was afraid. He even threatened Katsuki that if he hurt you, he would end ruin hid life (Katsuki took it seriously, especially since you were Deku's sister).

_ After 7 months, you were finally dating. Even though your friends thought you should just get together, you thought it was better to get to know each other again. And it was amazing, every moment. The kiss shared under the cherry tree you used to climb as children, the wonderful meals Katsuki made, every moment you had with him was incredible.

_ At 27, all of his fans found out he was married. That's because, after being away for 3 months and then coming back with a ring in his hand, they started to suspect, and he confirmed it.

_ As strange as it seemed, you wanted to keep the relationship under wraps for a while. You wanted to be able to enjoy each other, without anyone getting involved. And finally, the day you revealed you were married, it was a mess. Your PR team, certainly hate you guys.

_ Of course you had the support of all your friends. All of them talking about you in interviews. Especially Deku, who talked about you as if he were talking about angels (?), he loved to say how much Katsuki loved you, and how even in front of everyone he was rude and annoying, when he was with you he was a cute little cinnamon roll (he freaked out with Deku after that), and also how amazing you were, that you always supported him, and that he knew that if you were there, Katsuki would be in good hands.

_ You loved him, even though he was often complicated and extremely annoying and stupid. And he loved you, even though he often tried to distance himself, even though he tried to run away from love. Your 'n his greatest achievement was your relationship.

HEYYYY! if y'all like it, I can do a fic with the part that bakugou says to reader about the date, then I'll do gender neutral if y'all prefer

[acowardinmordor]

So you know how lots of kids get dumped into foster care when their parents are either not around or deemed unfit? And you know how lots of religious groups and religious get approved as foster homes despite being cruel? And you know how the Midwest of America is/was super not great for anyone queer in the 80s? And how sometimes if people couldn’t get store bought conversion therapy, homemade was fine?

Before Wayne finds out that his brother and sister in law have lost custody of their kid, before he raises hell and rips up the system to find him, Eddie goes into the system for a few years.

After Wayne finds him, he immediately rebels against all the things they insisted he do. He listens to satanic music and he finds dungeons and dragons and becomes as much of a freak as possible. Because those are the pieces he feels safe reaching for. That’s the stuff they lectured about and reminded all the kids not to touch. That’s what’s safe.

The stuff they really wanted to crush down and smother is too broken for Eddie to rebel against. Not right away. Not a few years later when he starts to think about it more. Not when he tries to like girls his junior year and fails at it.

The things they did to him when he was a kid and gave them the slightest indication he might be queer are too deep in his bones.

Even when Steve comes out, and Robin and Will. Even when they’re supported and loved, even then, he can’t break that hold. He doesn’t repeat the words that echo in his memories, he knows it would hurt his friends. He isn’t unsupportive, but he can’t even think about himself that way without feeling sick.

And maybe Robin and Steve aren’t paragons of queer inclusion and are actually sharp about. Because it’s so obvious to them that Eddie is gay. He flirts with Steve constantly and he has never stared at women or girls, no matter how hot they’re considered or how topless they are. They’re confident. So confident they kinda pressure him. It’s with the best of intentions, since they both felt so much better about themselves after coming out and finding allies.

They know Eddie was in the foster system for a little while, and that Eddie hated them, but to Eddie, they didn’t do anything beyond the normal scale of shitty guardians. He doesn’t think of it as conversion therapy. To be honest, it wasn’t. It was Aversion therapy. He never really got a chance to recognize anything about himself before they started grinding that identity into dust.

It comes to a head when they’re all a little crossfaded and hanging out at Steve’s. Nancy, Jon and Argyle are there too, everyone laughing teasing each other.

Eddie always sits next to Steve and he always leans close when he teases, when he jokes, when he flirts. It’s so so obvious to everyone, and Steve knows everybody in the room is some kind of queer. It’s safe. He knows it’s safe.

Steve closes the distance, kisses Eddie. It’s a question and an invitation. Do you want this too? Do you like me? Can I kiss you again? Longer? Harder? It lasts a short few seconds.

Eddie shoves him away, hesitates, and then breaks Steve’s nose. He’s out the door and gone before the others have gotten past their initial wtf reaction.

The only reason Eddie is still in town the next morning is because Wayne was home when Eddie got there. He got a fragment of an explanation, and stole the keys to Eddie’s van when he passed out after a panic attack and breakdown.

[lovelybee666]

FLUFF ALPHABET DOGDAY

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

I already published it in one of my first writings but so that they don't bother to see it, they both play hide and seek, tag, maybe truth or dare, etc.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

He thinks everything about you is beautiful, from your eyes to your your toes (if you even have toes or feet).

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

If you are sad he tries to cheer you up either by giving you physical or verbal affection, drawing, talking, watching something, whatever cheers you up.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

It sounds strange but he would like to have a family (he knows he can't 😞) he would like to see you and him with his little children but since he can't, he use his stuffed version as one and depending on how you are, you will play along or try (don't even think about telling him that it's stupid of him or I swear I will come to your house with a gun 👹 /j)

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

He's in the middle 👍 there's not much to say honestly

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Look, I don't know what happened but it was probably your fault😒(just joking) their arguments probably don't go beyond a few raised voices, the second the discussion ends there are two options, the first is that he run to you and apologize or that he is lecturing himself with his tail down.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

He is VERY grateful and even thanks for things he shouldn't(I'm sorry this is short, I couldn't think of anything)

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Imagine there is a door, that door symbolizes honesty now look at Dogday's door that door is so open that the door flew away and the frame too.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

I'm already doing a hc of him jealous so this will be more summarized and shorter, It's difficult for him to get jealous since he trusts you TOO much but if he is jealous he will try to get your attention hugging you and saying your name over and over again.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

The first kiss was okay although he had never kissed so at first it was a little awkward, as time went on his kissing skills improved(he definitely didn't ask Bubba, Cickin and Bobby for advice☺️ DEFINITELY)

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

He was nervous, he asked Catnap if he could come and support him, he complied as a good friend and he was a little far away but behind you with a sign that said "YOU CAN DO IT, DOGDAY!" or said what Dogday was supposed to say because he probably forgot(I promise to make a more detailed version soon in the not too distant future).

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

He wants to marry you but since you and him are toys you can't but still in some creative way you got married, they used a fabric that they found with the help of Crafty and they got married, it was actually something funny and adorable to see (YOU DEFINITELY WORE THE SUIT AND DOGDAY THE WEDDING DRESS‼️‼️) by the way, the ring was some donut-shaped gummies.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

I already made a post about it but I wanted to make a little update here by adding "angel" and "star"

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

It's VERY obvious, just watch him for a few seconds and you'll see how when you're close he moves his tail and seems happier, he stops what he's doing and comes to greet you giving you a hug while his tail moves at a thousand miles an hour, he's not sure if he's in love, he confuses his feelings and thinks maybe he just loves you as a close friend (spoiler, it wasn't)

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

He's a big fan of PDA and even once probably shouted from somewhere quite long how much he loved you(a worker or Miss Delight scolded him because the children were supposed to be sleeping at that time), He loves to hold your hand and kiss your nose, he probably emphasizes 24/7 that you're dating him, he is very proud to know that you are dating him, If you are not a fan of PDA, he respects it and when you are alone he gives you a lot of kisses on the cheeks and hugs you.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

There's not much to say but technically you're second in command for dating the guy who's the leader👍 IDK MAN

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

He is cliche AND creative, He likes to do very cliché but very creative things at the same time, They are going to have a date with red petals and candles, yes, but instead of candles they will be candles with fun shapes, the petals will be daisies (clearly I don't get them from a destroyed Daisy) and the chairs are chairs of frogs, he likes to do the same things that are romantically cliché but at the same time add things that have nothing to do with it or make it chaotic.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

ABSOLUTELY YES, it will help you in anything, believe 100% that you can achieve any goal you have.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Every day he do something new with you, one day you are looking some ants working and the next you are creating a base to protect yourself from a non-existent deadly virus that he created with you.

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Depending on who you are, he probably knows a lot about you and is quite empathetic (I couldn't think of anything here, I'm sorry)

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

For him you are the most important thing in his life, his top is probably

3. Humans

2. His friends

1. You

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

When you give him the cold shoulder after an argument he goes to Catnap and Catnap has to deal with his best friend crying because you don't listen to him

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Y E S He is very affectionate although obviously there are days when he is less affectionate.

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

He will be looking for things that remind him of you and hugs them while waiting for you to appear.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lenghts for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

He is willing to do almost anything for the relationship, his only limits are attacking or killing someone for obvious reasons.

I FINALLY FINISHED THIS, now I will have to do other pending things

[prncssie]

ever since you’ve became friends with hobie, he makes your insides feel all weird. he’s got to know what this feeling is. he can probably help you with it, right?

caution! mdni 6k wrdz, mentions of religion, reader is super sheltered, set in a college setting, black fem reader, fingering reader receiving, oral reader receiving, corruption kink mayb just barely, hobie is real gentle, everything happens on a desk, blushing is described but can’t be physically seen, unrealistic description of coochie juice we all know it doesn’t actually taste like that hobie is just obsessed, the smut section is a littleeee bit short but i def think i could expand on this in the future pls do not spam like my blog if you enjoyed it, feel free to tell me in the reblogs

hobie has been a good friend of yours for a few month now. it all really started at a party at the college you attend. with it being your first year, every experience is a new one. your sheltered childhood only further added to it.

it was easy, hobie always claims, to tell you didn’t belong when you stood in the room, eyes wide and frantic. not to mention, you were fully dressed in jeans and a sweater. he didn’t understand how you hadn’t passed out, yet.

he walks up to you that very same night. your panic only became more evident when he’s introducing himself. “you alright, love?” and he’s truthfully concerned. you’re nearly shaking, hands clasped together.

you explain to him what happened. that the group of girls you came with disappeared, that you don’t know anyone here, that you’re extremely overwhelmed.

it’s hobie who leaves the party early, despite enjoying himself. he escorts you back to your room and stands outside your door until it’s clicked shut and locked. he also leaves his number in your phone that night with the innocent promise to help you with whatever you need.

the reaction from your parents is expected when you tell them what happened. you receive a scolding for going to the party and indulging in secular music and sin, as well as trusting a man and allowing him access to your room. you can argue that you didn’t invite him in but your parents won’t and don’t listen.

you’re used to it, used to their lectures that you actually heed their warnings. all your life you’ve been living by their rules. no boys and no parties. church every sunday, home at nine. you’ve even accepted the routine phone checks every night with no back-talk. this has been your way of living since forever.

so of course the big, gentle, temptation himself intrigues you to no end when you’re presented with such an open gateway. you’re sure if your god-fearing parents saw him, they’d have a heart attack right on the spot.

six five and exactly what your parents warned you against. piercings galore, stick and poke tattoos decorating his skin. his hair is assorted into wicks, which you don’t mind but your relatives would have called him sloppy. not to mention the clothes he wears, decorated in spikes and chains. sometimes the gems in his belt catches the sun in just the right way and he glows like an angel.

hobie gives you butterflies and not just in your stomach but in other places as well.

you don’t know what to do about the fluttering in your pussy when hobie’s had grazes your thigh when he bends to pick something up. even the word pussy has your face warming up.

at first, you thought it would be a one time, unrelated thing. the wet mess in your panties shocked you after spending your evening with hobie. you made a mental note to stop by the doctors in case it was something serious and went about your night.

and then it happened again and every night since. coincidentally, you’re with hobie every night, only to return to the safety of your dorm and deal with the same heated feeling.

that’s exactly how you find yourself in this dilemma tonight. you’re as quiet as a mouse, strewn across his bed. the strip led lights cast a blue shadow on the room. hobie is across from you at his desk, clicking around in some music making site you wouldn’t even try to comprehend.

his headphones are over his head, stretched to the biggest setting to accommodate his hair and his fingers, nails painted black, tap against the wooden desk. hobie can’t hear you with the noise filling his ears. he hums softly to the beat.

you’ve been staring at him for a while, now. originally, you were working on some homework due that night but your gaze found him and his sharp jawline that’s just barely visible from the diagonal angle he’s sitting.

before you know it, your eyes have wandered downwards until you’re looking at his legs, wide and manspreeding. your downstairs area does that weird pulsating thing.

you lips form into a pout and you shift to remove the discomfort. you never actually made it to the doctor, having realized this is only something you experience around hobie. despite this unusual situation find yourself in, distancing yourself from him wasn’t an option. oddly enough, he’s one of the few people that didn’t make you feel other.

“come listen to this.” hobie swivels in her chair to face you. he pops the headphones off his head and waves you over. “was thinkin’ about submittin’ it as my project.”

you sheepishly shake your head. your cheeks burn at the possibility of him catching you. “oh, i don’t think you want me to.” it makes you nervous to partake in the creation of something so vividly can nonreligious. you're already laying in his bed, unsupervised and alone with him. all your teachings let you know it could lead to other things.

he tilts his head, dangling the headphones off his fingertips. you can hear the punk rock melody blaring from where you’re stationed. “you never wanna listen to my music. scared or somethin’?” he doesn’t wait for a response, already slapping the bluetooth headphones back over his ears and turning back.

hobie already knows the answer but he’s uncaring, regardless. he’s become accustomed to your thinking and even though he feels it’s distorted with reality, he doesn’t judge you for it. nor does he blame you.

you’re back to staring at him and the way his hands dance across the keys. his hands are so big, you think. each finger is slender and long and could probably swallow you whole.

you take your lips in between your teeth with a disgruntled sigh. all these impure thoughts are driving you up the wall. you can’t even blame him because he’s doing nothing to provoke it. you, apparently, just can’t control yourself.

with hobie’s back to you, you’re able to silently pack your stuff up. your laptop is tucked away into your bag and you grab your spiral notebook. he doesn’t notice you’re preparing to leave until you softly slide off his platformed bed and shove your feet into the soles of your matte mary janes.

“where are you going, duck?” he pushes the left side back until it’s no longer covering his ear, rapidly glancing at you.

“my room.” you grab your hello kitty lanyard off his desk. “i’m going to do my work in there. can’t do it here. i’m too distracted.” you sling your bag over your shoulder.

“shit, is it me? hobie pauses his track. he’s rapidly hanging his headphones on the stand and jumping to his feet. “at least let me walk you back.”

hobie stuffs his feet in his traditional black boots. he doesn’t care enough to tie the blue, ladder laced laces. he’s already grabbing that loud, extravagantly pinned vest before you have a chance to blink.

“no, you don’t have to do that.” you nervously fiddle with the blue ribbon tied at the base of your braid. “i don’t want to inconvenience you and it’s not the far from your room.”

he merely tsked and rests his hand atop your head, right in between the pigtails. “darlin’ there’s no chance i’m lettin’ you walk your little self back alone. you of all people? fuck no.”

“hobie!” you chastise, hands flying up to cover your ears. the keys dangle and bump again your cheek. your mom always told you that anyone who says adverse words is going straight to hellfire. you didn’t want to be apart of that.

he opens the door and motions you through, a hand on the small of your back. “you’d follow a man to his truck just ‘cause he said please.”

the warmth from his fingertips spread throughout the nerves on your spine and you feel like you’re on fire. you pout and it can easily be mistaken for your opposing opinions on your naivety.

“sorry but it’s true.” the door clicks shut when both of you have stepped outside it. hobie shoves his keys inside his pocket and begins down the hallway to the elevator. he hasn’t noticed you trailing behind him, teeming with explanations as to why your core throbs at the sight of him.

you do this all the way until you’re out the door of the men’s dormitory. you haven’t uttered a word, thumb rubbing against the warming metal of the cross dangling around your neck.

it’s not like you’ve ever felt this feeling before. not even around the other boys you’ve been around. granted, your hangouts were never like this. it was always under adult supervision, even in your older years, and you mostly saw each other during youth groups and summer camps. this, what you’re feeling now, is an entirely new and uncharted territory.

“hobie,” you start. the warm summer breeze ripples across your skin and leaves behind a chill of the promised winter to follow.

hobie lifts his head. the rock he kicked scattered off the sidewalk and into the grass. he hasn’t spoken to you. either. that’s the best thing about him. he doesn’t ask questions, letting you process things your own way. hobie is all too aware of your differences and has no problem letting you take your time.

“i have a question. it’s kind of personal, i think.” you take a brief pause before each word, meticulously picking them to match your uncertainty.

hobie is still silent. at some point, you would have begin to question if he’s even listening to you if it weren’t for the way he lazily shifted his gaze over to you.

“are you . . . have you ever gotten this feeling in your stomach? like a hot one.” you wet your lips. your heart is about ready to stop beating. how do you explain this to him? are you just supposed to tell him he makes your no-no square all fired up? do people say that?

“what are you goin’ on about, lovely? has my stomach ever burned? yeah, if i eat enough dairy.” he chuckles with a small shake of his head. unbeknownst to him, that is not at all what you’re referring to and you are too ashamed to ask him again.

“never mind,” you say with your head hung low.

it’s your parents fault and the way they neglected to teach you about your body. it’s not like you’re a complete idiot and you know sex can lead to children. however, you were taught that sex is bad and children are blessings so it’s fair to say you’re a bit clueless on the contrasting beliefs. not to mention this weird feeling a boy invokes. the boy that might as well be the son of satan himself.

you sigh, heavy and drawn, pulling your keycard out your lanyard. it scans and the lock beeps, allowing you both entrance into the girls dormitory.

hobie lifts an arm and holds the door open over your head. he’s confused. it’s obvious you’re mulling over something, putting so much energy into it that you don’t notice the weight of his eyes boring into the back of your head.

it isn’t until you’re standing in front of your door does he speak his mind. “what’s keepin’ your head so busy?”

your hand is steady on the handle but you have yet to turn it. you can feel the heat from his body standing so close to yours and just once you wish for him to reach forward and put his hand — oh no.

“m – maybe you should just come inside.” you yank your door open and pull him behind you. it’s a drastic decision on your part. never have you ever invited any man in your room, not even hobie. at best, he got glimpses of the shared living space but never of your room down the hall. he’s always walked you back, stood at your door until you were safe inside, and made his exit. always.

even when he’s come to walk you to class, your roommates would open the door and invite him in but he’d stay planted right at your welcome mat. hobie knows you, knows what silly boundaries you have but he follows them strictly because as long as you’re comfortable, he’s comfortable.

“hold on, look at me.” hobie finds himself abruptly stopping in your living room. he yanks his arm until you’ve spun back around and settles his hands atop your shoulders. his eyes fall on your lips, caught between you teeth and nearly knawed raw. he doesn’t miss your hands clenched into tiny fists by your side. “are you okay? this isn’t like you to act so . . . erratic.”

he has to stop his curiosity from getting the best of him and drink in the interior decorations you’ve done. out the corner of his eyes, he can tell just what you contributed, different nooks and crannies filled with pink trinkets and round eyed figurines. you’re the sweetest thing all worked up and making rash decisions. he doesn’t like where this is leading.

you give him a small nod of your head, eyes downcast and on the tops of his worn boots. the grime is welcoming. better than looking in his eye and having him see how unnerved you are.

as if you aren’t shaking under his grasp.

“dove, don’t lie to me. if there is somethin’ wrong, you need to let me know and i need to hear you say it.” his hands drop to your elbows, fingertips just barely touching your skin. hobie knows you’re avoiding him, avoiding addressing something big but welcoming him in your personal space. the contrast is enormous and it’s especially a big deal for you.

“i’m f – fine. i just . . .” you timidly shift your feet, sweatered arms going to wrap around yourself. you’re clutching your cross again, attention boring into the floor. “. . . can we please talk about it in my room. it’s not something i want to say here.”

he’s hesitant to let you go, drawing in a breath. you’re going to be the death of him, he decides, with the way you concern him but he’ll take your word for it. maybe, maybe just maybe you know exactly what you want.

he allows you to take him back to your room, pushing the door open. immediately, he gets a good whiff of the clean linen wax you have burning in your wax warmer.

your space is tidy, but not necessarily clean. you’re a bit of a maximalist, soft blankets and frills draped around your room. you have posters and paper hearts hanging on your wall, a my melody rug laying in the floor beneath your chair.

there’s a couple flower cushions strewn about and plenty of stuffed animals to go around. you have fairy lights across the wood of bed, casting the room in soft yellow lighting. there’s a rack in the corner full of lacey clothes that he assumes you’re planning on wearing soon.

you look so comfortable, fitting right in. of course you do, considering you decorated it yourself. hobie lingers at the edge of the room while you go through your routine of taking off your shoes and putting your bag by your desk. you’re putting your earrings in the strawberry shaped jewlery holder when you finally address him.

“you don’t have to stand there like that. you can take your shoes off and stuff,” you speak with your back turned to him. you know it’s weird, having him in here. it’s weirder when hobie acts as if his presence in your room will turn it into an active landmine.

hobie licks his lips, hands deep inside his pockets. he doesn’t even want to let his eyes linger too long on anything in fear he’s taint your purity, full of innocence and hope. “what am i here for?”

you rest your hand against the cool, light colored wood of your desk. you feel feverish, the topic making your palm sticky with sweat. the room suddenly gets hot and you’re clearing your throat while motioning for hobie to close the door. “um, well . . .” you trail off, tapping your manicured fingers loud enough to fill the silence with quiet clicks and clacks. “i have something to ask you.”

“ ‘nd you needed to bring me here to ask me?” his head tilts in deep skepticism. hobie leans against the white wall next to your door. he doesn’t want to go any further. he doesn’t belong here.

you’re irked, hands flying to wrap around yourself. the ruffles at the bottom of your dress rub against each other like flower petals in a spring breeze. “just listen! i have something serious to ask you and you’re being awkward. it’s making me awkward.”

hobie lifts and drops his shoulders. he’s tense when he crosses the threshold of your room and takes an uncomfortable seat at your desk chair. “sorry doll but we both know i’m not supposed to be in here. what do you want to talk about? make it quick so i can go.” he leans back as far as the chair will allow, eyes up and on you.

his question demands a straight forward response, one that you cannot provide. you don’t know what is happening, yourself. you’re back to your silence, grasping for words to form an explanation. “remember when i asked you if your stomach ever burned before?”

“not this again. i thought we already talked about –”

“no! listen.” you’re shouting at him again, lips pressed into a pout. you’re just barely working up the courage and you need to get it out before it goes away. “lately, i’ve been feeling like that but not in my stomach.”

you’re speaking so fast, hobie can barely understand you. he just catches your words, suddenly sitting up with his brows knitted together. “are you okay? sick?” he presses his hands flesh against your cheeks and forehead but your skin isn’t warm to the touch.

“n – no. not that i know of.” you nearly whine when his fingertips brush along your waist as they’re lowered back to his side. “it’s a little uncomfortable.” you rub your knees together in an attempt to satiate the ache between your thighs.

hobie has enough experience to recognize the little shuffle you do, accompanied by the needy glint in your eye. it startles him. not you. anyone but you, miss purity herself. he’s seeing things. “then what?”

he’s terrified of the way you look at him, eyes glossed over. the cherry colored blush dusted across your cheeks appeals to your cherubic state. this is his worst nightmare and best dream, that you would entice him like this.

it isn’t easy to ignore the chub of your ass that you’re unaware you carry and the softness of your breasts when you grab his arm and press your body against his. it especially isn’t easy to ignore the sweetness in your voice when you plead and chastise him for his vulgar words and behavior. oh how badly does he want to twist your brain but he won’t. he can’t allow himself to. you’re too good for that and that’s the problem.

“i feel weird inside around you, hobie. only you and . . . i don’t know.” you’re meek and quiet, face advert and back in the ruffled hem of your white socks. you cross and uncross your ankles to satisfy your need to stir and wriggle. “i wasn’t going to say anything but i don’t know how to make it stop and sometimes it hurts.”

you look so pitiful and pretty like this, almost begging for his help. it doesn’t take a genius to understand what you mean but hobie can’t bring himself to act on it. it feels so wrong on so many levels. he can’t take advantage of your unawareness like this.

“aw baby,” he has to curl his fingers into his palm to prevent himself from reaching out and grabbing you. that’s why you were so insistent on coming to your room. “you don’t want my help with that.” he keeps telling himself he has to be the bigger person, the one who thinks clearly.

“i do,” you insist, daring to take a bold step closer until you’re slotted between his knees. it’s a lot for you, coiling in on yourself to find comfort despite acting out your comfort zone. “i can’t take it anymore. you don’t understand.”

his hand comes up to rest against your cheek, following an empathetic shake of his head. “no, you don’t understand. you don’t even know what you’re talking about. what am i supposed to do if you can’t even tell me what you’re talking about?”

hobie stands, presumably to take his leave. he pushes you away from him by your waist. he’s stopped when you wrap your hand around his slender wrist, staring up at him with big, entreating eyes.

“please? anything? please, hobie. i’ll take anything just help me do something. tell me what to do, i don’t care. it’s terrible and uncomfortable and i can’t bear it anymore.”

he takes one look at you and is met with your waterline, gathering in tears of desperation. all his resolve slowly breaks until he’s cupping your cheeks with a soft sigh. “you’re gonna be the death of me, you know that? babblin’ about shit you don’t even understand.” he’s gentle, backing you up until your knees are knocking against your desk. he sits you up there, hands resting on either side of you.

“hobie,” you reprimand him again for his words out of habit, hands going to cover your ears again.

he stops them, much larger ones enscasing yours with a tut of his tongue. “don’t even. you don’t get to complain about me sayin’ shit and fuck and whatever else. not right now.” he presses your palm against his lips, piercings warm against your skin.

your mouth falls open, only to wordlessly shut. you don’t know what to say, what to do. all you know is you’re slightly overwhelmed with the future possibilities. what’s about to happen? what is he going to do?

“i don’t even know what to do with you. you sure this is what you want?” hobie doesn’t feel he needs to ask with the way you were begging him but he can’t help it. you’re such a sweet thing, asking him to do something about your aching cunt. you don’t even know what you’re asking him.

you nod, eyes widening when his hand falls over your knee. it’s a respectful distance but you’re anxious, already wiggling under his gaze. “you keep asking me.”

“i know darlin’ but can you blame me? just gotta make sure.” hobie ever-so-swiftly slides his hand up your thigh until his thumb is brushing against the front of your panties. he isn’t interested in beating around the bush and quite frankly, it would be so much better to just get the first touch done for. break the ice just enough.

your body immediately reacts, legs pressing closed as far as you can get them. your eyebrows knit together as your nerves crackle and pop with a sudden desire you haven’t felt before. “i’m s – sure.”

“never had this pretty pussy played with before have you? ‘course not. you’re a good girl.”

you hate the way he’s talking to you. it’s not quite derogatory but it makes you feel otherworldly in a negative way. as if you have no clue what he’s talking about. you don’t. and his words are so unclean.

“not gonna fuck you tonight. you’re not ready for that, yet.” he aids your legs back open with a firm grip, holding them in place. “you know what that means, yeah?” hobie doesn’t mean it as an insult, circling his thumb around your already puffy clit.

“mhm,” you’re wiggling again, lip caught between your teeth. you’ve heard the phrase in passing, understanding the word and its context. never have you used it, yourself. you’re clueless, not dumb.

hobie bunches your white dress up by your hips. he’s greeted with a view of your black panties, dark enough to conceal the dampening spot but he can still feel it beneath the pad of his thumb.

your glittery lip gloss has begun to spill over your plump lip and dribble down your chin with how much you quiver. he swipes the excess off, lightly chuckles at the way you fawn and fall over.

just over the clothes touching has you like this, mewling and hiccuping and doing your best to conceal it. it’s endearing, the way you try to maintain his level of composure.

he continues toying with you, a bit hesitant. it’s not like him but hobie knows he has to take his time with you. he can’t rush. he has to prep you thoroughly, get you used to his touches. this is what you want.

“and you’re not gonna act all shy when i take these off, are you?” his finger hooks through the leg hole, snapping the fabric back until it pops against you when it’s released. “or are you still trying to be a little angel?”

the thought of hobie pulling your underwear down and seeing what no one, let alone a man, has seen. your private jewels that you’re sure are soaping wet the way they are every other night. your cheeks heat up and you squeeze your eyes shut, knees trying to do the same. “no, i’m not.” you’re trying to be so brave, it’s cute.

“don’t worry, dolly. not yet. just gonna rub your cunt, just like this.” he pushes and pulls on your clit, hot underneath the pressure of his thumb. it has your hips shuffling in an attempt to rut against him. he doesn’t know if you’re aware, the way you stare at him like he hung the moon himself. “could make you cum like this, i bet. you ever done that before?”

a particular jerk of his finger has you gasping and grabbing whatever part of him you can get to first, his forearm and his shoulder. “i never –,” your chest heaves with a broken moan, partially restrained, “n – no. i don’t.”

as far as you know, premature sex and masturbation is a sin. you have never been tempted before even meeting hobie. not only would he be the first to touch you but he’d be the first to make you cum.

his boxers get increasingly more tight at the thought. you’re so pure and he’s so lucky, being the first, even before you, to dip his fingers between your folds. he can barely restrain himself.

hobie plants himself in your hair, his gruff groan vibrating your scalp. he can’t help the way his thumb jostles your clit. it’s nearly primal, how badly he wants to draw an orgasm out of you and he knows you’ll do it so easy with how pent up and inexperienced you are.

“you don’t gotta hide it, baby. let me hear you, dove. tell me what you like so i can make you feel good.” your hair smells of vanilla and shea butter. it makes hobie want to devour every part of you, his long cock leaking with precum but he has to remember to take his time. he has to.

“hobie . .” your weak whine fills the hazy spot in his brain that’s indulged so deeply in every part of you. you don’t have to tell him for him to know, it’s obvious in how you’re unable to be still, nails stabbing into his skin. “i f – feel weird.” you’re so wound up.

hobie pulls his head back. he feels heavy with need as he tilts your chin towards his face. he just wants to see you, that’s all. he just needs to see the expression you make the first time you cum. “don’t fight it, sweet girl. just let it happen. it’ll feel real good.” his thumb strokes your jawline, coaxing you to give in to the growing lust filled pit in your stomach.

hobie knows you cum simply because he can feel it. your pussy spams so hard, he swears he can hear it. he doesn’t even have to put a finger up to your entrance to feel the pulsating. it’s almost as if your hole is searching for something to suck in.

your mouth has fallen open in a tiny o, working your body into hobie’s through your experience. he was right. it felt so good, satiating the need and burn of your body. it’s almost addicting, the way your body reacts to his touch. your brain is becoming mush with each throb. “oh my goodness.” you speak in between breaths, finally releasing hobie and drawing back your nails.

he only chuckles, rubbing at your thighs. “that was good, wasn’t it? did it help your little problem?” he plays with the bottom of your dress, conflicted between pulling it down to set you free and suggesting another round. you offered a starved man a seat at the table.

you smile shyly at him. you don’t know what to say now, what to do. your friend just made you cum after you begged him to. how do people do this casually? “yes, thank you. i’m deeply sorry for being so forceful.”

at this, hobie laughs out loud. it’s genuine and booming against the walls. it seems he has yet to break you in but he supposed he was too hopeful. of course he couldn’t turn you into something like him just from rubbing on you a little bit.

“you’re all good, duck. you weren’t being forceful, at all.” he pulls out the desk chair and takes a seat, getting comfortable in the flower shaped cushion. his limber fingers are back to picking at the side of your panties. he’s a bit hungry, he thinks.

his eyes, dark and narrowed, do something to you. you don’t understand. you can still feel the sticky mess in your underwear but something is stirring inside you, again.

you both stare at each other in a heated silence, thinking the same thing but waiting for the other to say it first.

“you want me to eat you out?” hobie is the first to speak with his head tilted. he’s far more impatient and bold to play around. when he wants something, he’ll take it.

at first, you believe you heard him incorrectly. “do i want you to what?” you feel stupid having to ask but you’re truly at a loss. “i’m sorry. hobie, i don’t know what that is.”

hobie is the luckiest man in the world. if he could whip his cock out and slide it inside you, he would but having you on his tongue would be the next best thing, especially when you’re asking him what that is. “you’re about to find out.” he murmurs, pulling you to the edge of the desk.

you’re surprised when hobie yanks your underwear down, lifting up a hip at a time to get it down your legs and tossed across the room. both the cool air and his dark gaze has you snapping your legs shut. there’s too many things to hide from and you’re unprepared.

“no, no. don’t shut me out like that.” he has his hands hooked under your knees and props them on your shoulders. his excuse is that it would be better for you to manage but truthfully, he does it to get an eye to cunt view. he pulls you even closer until your lower body is dipping into his lap and you’re relying on him to hold you up. “you’re gonna like it, i promise.”

“oh, i don’t know about this.” you grip the edge of the desk, still sitting up and getting a perfect view of the carnal look in hobie’s eye. he actually licks his lips, flicking his attention up to you for only a second.

“just once. just try it once and if you don’t like it, we can stop. you have my word.”

you don’t know how much you can trust him like this but his warm breathe is just tickling you in all the best ways. it’s hypnotizing enough to have you nodding in agreement before you know it. “o – okay.”

hobie has enough sense, what little he has left, to put a hand in your tummy and pushing you down until your back is against the cool wood. he doesn’t have to tell you to stay there. he just knows you will, especially when you’re gasping at the feeling of his hot tongue on your cunt.

your sap is sweet and unbelievably so. like cherries and strawberries and mangos on a warm summer day. he’s delusional, drunk already and nose deep in your cunt.

his tongue finds your entrance as the source of the sweetness all to easy. he’s addicted to it, each suckle and slurp persuading more of your cream to pour out your hole.

it doesn’t take you long to start writhing, hand all in his hair, tugging in every direction. each swipe of his tongue and bump of his nose in your clit has your back arching. it’s better than you could have ever imagined. you can’t believe you were about to turn this down, or the fact that you didn’t allow yourself to experience such pleasure simply because of your parents fears.

you cry and sob, legs shaking on his shoulders. you can’t decide whether or not you want to tighten your legs around his head or open them wider to accept more of him. “hobie, p – please!”

hobie almost doesn’t hear you. almost.

your words just barely float around his brain but your pleas stick just enough for him to push your legs up by the bottom of your thighs. he keeps you hooked there so strongly, he’s able to grasp your hand and maintain his hold.

it sounds so wet that it’s humiliating. you can’t believe these sounds are coming from you, that hobie’s tongue is deep in you, that he has you folded like this. you didn’t know this was possible.

your body is all warm all over again. you’re fortunate there’s no excess clutter on your desk with the way hobie has you. your hands fly to the metal structure holding your bed together, mouth drying from how long you’ve held it open.

you swear it comes faster than it did before. it occurs to you that you’re a ticking time bomb. the previous orgasm has your clit feeling like each touch is a hot stone.

it’s as if hobie steals your breath with your growing cries at your approaching release. you don’t know what to do with yourself, where to put your hands. it’s overwhelming, your second orgasm and the first time anyone has ever “eaten you out”.

“feel weird again!” you say through broken sobs. you’re met with hobie’s acknowledging hands massaging into your skin. he’s coaxing, encouraging you without having to remove himself from his new favorite spot in the world, right between your thighs.

it gives you whiplash with how quickly your orgasm comes, pushing out of you as if the first one never happened. it’s just as strong, if not stronger. your body trembles with your spurts of cream. it’s weeks worth of sexual frustration to know end and a confusing search of a solution, all washed off you in one night.

you’re so sensitive, you have to push him off with your feet at his chest and chest heaving for air. “fuck, that was good.”

“did you just say fuck?” hobie leans over you, bringing the bottom of his shirt up to wipe your sheen off his face. he’s well amused, almost snorting at your response. that had to be his influence.

“did i?” you cover your mouth with quick regret. you didn’t realize it rolled off your tongue so easy.

hobie grins, pulling you to seating and then to your feet. he tries not to ogle at you too much. it’s difficult when your lower half is completely exposed and he’s still so desperately horny but he puts your needs first, closing his eyes and clearing his throat. “you got somethin’ to clean you up with? wipes or somethin’ until you shower?”

you open your desk drawer and pull out a pack of baby wipes. you present the package to hobie, who pops it open and takes one out.

he doesn’t ask you to move, merely just lowers himself to the ground and with gentle hands, wipe up the mixed mess of saliva and your juices.

you whine, presumably from the unavoidable ache that accompanies your sensitivity.

“i’m sorry, lovely. have to,” hobie tries to be as quick and harmless as possible, soothing you with kisses to your inner thigh. they’re well mannered and innocent, until you’re clean enough and he’s throwing the baby wipe away. “are you okay, though? you don’t regret it, do you?”

you watch hobie straighten out your dress again. his gaze is as polite as it can get, avoiding any look at your pussy, although its right in front of him. instead, he meets your eyes until he rises to his feet. “um, no.” you’re back to being quiet, hands clasped and fumbling with each other.

you’re suddenly aware of how close he’s standing but it’s short lived when hobie is making his way back to the door to put his shoes on.

“i’m gonna go because i’m sure you want to process that and get your space and whatever else, yeah? but don’t worry, i’ll answer your texts and your calls.” he does feel bad, as if he’s fuck-and-dashing you but in reality, if he doesn’t get out of here, he’ll be too tempted to try and actually fuck you. “i’ll be back tomorrow to walk you to class, doll.”

you’re speechless as you watch him gather himself to leave, grateful for the space because you could probably explode right now. you also miss your panties just barely peeking out of his pocket.

“and feel free me to ask me again if you ever need my help.” and with that, he’s gone with a soft click of your door.

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: Simon had been on the verge of getting the fuck out of Dodge, the enormity of everything he'd found out starting to bog him down. He hadn't been able to do it alone, not anymore, not even for Maddie. Thankfully, the universe had heard him and had held out an olive branch.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.11

Simon crept to his car, a tactical advance, hunched low to the ground and clinging to the shadows as far as they would take him. He was afraid, adrenaline pumping, heart pounding in his ears; he didn't want Mr. Anderson to find him sneaking around the school a second time. Not after what he and Maddie had uncovered in the supply closet.

Mr. Anderson had propelled up Simon's short list of suspects to the top spot, the cache of money a sure sign the man was up to no good. Simon didn't have a lot of experience with society's seedy underbelly, but if movies had taught him anything, it's that normal people didn't hide stacks of cash outside of their homes unless they expected a police raid.

Was Mr. Anderson a drug dealer? Some kind of kingpin moonlighting as a high school English teacher? It was the perfect disguise. Cops would never think of a man who works with teenagers capable of that level of corruption. At least, not in Split River. No matter how many problems the town had, it wasn't that degree of shitty.

Only, Mr. Anderson had seemed nervous; a man forced onto a ledge at gunpoint. Threatened. Scared.

Okay, Simon reasoned, so Mr. Anderson wasn't a high-ranking drug lord. But he was definitely on the wrong side of the law and was obviously desperate. And desperate people were unpredictable when they felt backed into a corner.

He'd claimed he'd given Maddie what sounded like had been a large sum of money. A bribe, maybe. One that, in the end, hadn't been enough to convince Mr. Anderson she wouldn't rat on him. The thought made Simon's stomach churn, bile burning the back of his throat.

Maddie had been wrecked by the discovery, hands shaking from a surge of emotion too enormous to contain. She'd held it together long enough to caution Simon not to contaminate the evidence by touching it, assuring him she'd count it after he was safely off campus.

She'd shooed him from the classroom, "You have to leave, now," eyes watery as Mr. Anderson's betrayal had finally seemed to register. "I've got this, okay? Just go."

Simon had done as ordered. What good would he be if Mr. Anderson took him out next?

He peeled out of the parking lot and into the road, lightheaded as a thousand and one questions flooded his brain. His chest tightened, breathing labored, and—God, shit, he hadn't had a panic attack since middle school but, since Maddie's disappearance last Friday, they'd made a grand comeback. Kept him awake at night when there was nothing left to distract him from what could've happened to his best friend.

"Fuck." Simon rasped, smacking the steering wheel with his palm. And then, increasing in volume and intensity, "Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!" He beat the steering wheel, accidentally hitting the horn once and startling a woman walking her dog.

"Sorry!" He called, sheepish, through the open driver's side window, flashing a hand in apology. He didn't wait for a reaction, simply continued to drive home.

The thought of interacting with his parents put him on edge. He didn't know how he was supposed to stay quiet about Mr. Anderson. Noticeably off the last few days, Simon had already endured three separate lectures about drug use, depression, and sexuality respectively.

His parents' unconditional support, though amazing, made him feel like garbage—or, more accurately, a landfill—for causing them to worry to the point of draping a rainbow flag over the back of the couch and reassuring him that, "Love is love, mijo. We just want you to be happy."

Even if he could slip past his dad, his mother would undoubtedly pick up that whatever plot she suspected Simon of hiding had thickened. And, frankly, if she asked just right, Simon knew he'd crack and tell her everything. About Xavier, about Mr. Anderson...about developing The fucking Shining and assuming the role of Watson to his best friend's ghost.

Buying himself some time, Simon took turns he didn't have to; drove through random neighborhoods as he tried to think up a plausible excuse for his behavior that wouldn't result in another intervention. He didn't have it in him to watch his mother's face crumple as he lied to her again. The umpteenth time that week.

He needed to talk to someone. To get it out of himself and share the burden. His skin felt too tight and his bones too heavy and he couldn't carry the weight of Maddie's murder mystery alone.

And then, as if God had heard him, Simon's prayers were answered.

Without thinking it through, he pulled over and beeped his horn to get your attention before you turned onto the path that margined the small, neighborhood greenspace.

Clambering sideways to get out of his car, his foot caught on a pedal, seatbelt still hooked, Simon called out, "Hey!" grunting when he was knocked back into his seat by the strap. He took a second to collect himself, unbuckled his seatbelt, and climbed out in a less frenzied manner.

"Uhhhmm, are you okay?" You asked, your face displaying how not okay you thought Simon was. You glanced up and down the street, puzzled, "What are you doing here? Don't you live in Cedar Bank?" A suburb on the other side of the river that bisected the town.

Simon debated whether or not it had been a good idea to stop, but he didn't think he could give you an excuse and drive away, either. He dimly sympathized with how Mr. Anderson had felt back in that classroom; splitting threads pulled through the eye of a needle.

He summoned his resolve and turned to face you, "I need to tell you something."

You cocked your head, looked Simon over, and nodded slowly. Simon could tell you were trying to determine what this was about. Realized as you walked him into the little playpark and took a seat on one of the two swings, that he'd come out of nowhere in a move that could easily be interpreted as stalkerish.

"I could give you a lift home if you wanna talk in the car?" He offered, settling into the second swing all the same. The park was deserted, dark, the glow of the streetlights falling short by a few meters.

You shook your head and hooked your thumb over your shoulder, "That's literally my backyard."

Simon followed your indication and saw the top half of an antique build, painted a deep royal purple and trimmed in evergreen, that peaked over a tall, bushy hedgerow. A wooden fence several inches shorter than your family's hedges divided the public space from private property, running the length of the park behind your house and a few others.

"Huh." Simon returned his gaze to yours, "Never mind."

"Did you talk to Nicole?" You asked, possibly thinking that that was what Simon wanted to discuss.

He fiddled with his hands, closed his eyes, and supported his head on the metal chain that held the swing up. "No." He stated honestly. He needed to tell you about Mr. Anderson. Just. Start talking. But the words kept sticking in this throat.

"Simon? You're starting to scare me, is everything okay? Is this..." You trailed off and when you spoke again, you sounded worried, "Is this about Maddie?"

"Kind of," Simon admitted, pressing the meat of his palms into his eyes. "Screw it," He spun the swing so he faced you completely and then uncorked the bottle, "I found a shit ton of money in Mr. Anderson's classroom. Like, wads of it. Probably thousands of dollars hidden in the wall in the closet."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

What the f u u u u u u ck.

One minute you'd been on your way home, trying to parse out why the connection between you and Wally had gone dormant as soon as you'd left him, and now, there you were, listening to Simon basically tell you that he'd unmasked Mr. Anderson like a Scooby-Doo villain.

You didn't have that on your Everything is FUBAR bingo card, that's for sure.

Okay. Okay. This was...big. Huge. And, "Holy shit, maybe it has to do with why he freaked on me in the theater," you said, mostly to yourself though you knew Simon would hear it.

"He what?"

You looked at Simon, "Earlier, I was—" Lie like a smart girl, "—looking for something Tilly forgot in the theater and he found me. But, Simon," You stood, started to pace, "He was acting paranoid like I found his dead mom à la Norman Bates. He practically threw me out of there." Which was, fine, a mild exaggeration, but Mr. Anderson's paranoia hadn't been. "I've never seen him like that. And he kept getting these phone calls that made him even more angry."

"Wait, what do you mean 'phone calls'? Did you hear anything?"

"No, just that he needed a minute. I guess to go find somewhere I wouldn't hear him."

Simon was standing now, pacing in a pattern the opposite of yours.

"He was on the phone when I saw him. Talking to someone about how he shouldn't have given Maddie money."

You felt like the sky had fallen on your head, "He gave Maddie money? Is that why she..." You'd wanted to say ran away, a kneejerk reaction borne from days of convincing yourself she'd just put Split River in the rearview. With what you knew now, you settled for, "Disappeared?"

Simon appeared to notice your choice of wording, peered at you like a math problem, but didn't mention it, instead revealing, "It's a line of inquiry."

You rubbed your temples to ease away the migraine that was building. Today had been too much; too many things unfolding one after the other: First hearing from Wally that Maddie was a ghost, and then just Wally and everything you had to unpack with that, and now Mr. Anderson's apparent criminal activity that may or may not have had a direct impact on Maddie's being a ghost in the first place.

Of course, you reminded yourself, she wasn't a ghost because you couldn't see. her. Which meant that, if he was involved, Mr. Anderson had drugged her to the point of a coma and had hidden her body somewhere.

"Oh my God," You moaned dismally, "This is so f u c k e d." As the gears turned, a thought clawed for your attention. "Simon," you ceased pacing to lift your gaze and regard Simon closely, "Why were you there?"

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Simon knew he had to give you something, but, Jesus Christ, he was nervous. He'd already decided not to admit he could see Maddie, unable to believe that you wouldn't tell a trusted adult. And he wasn't keen on getting pumped full of antipsychotics and locked in a padded room, thanks.

You watched him, eyes hard, jaw set, more serious than he'd ever seen you, "Simon, what the hell?"

He swallowed, opting for half-truths, because he'd come this far. He needed help. A confidante. Would've preferred Nicole but she'd galivanted off with Xavier, apparently, and took the choice out of Simon's hands.

"I've been looking for clues about what happened to Maddie," Simon confessed, a weight lifting from his shoulders. "Since the search on Monday, when Xavier got arrested—"

You interrupted, fierce, loyal, "He wasn't arrested, Si. His dad was just taking him to the station to give an official statement."

"In the back seat?" Simon deadpanned.

"There's no room in the front of the cruiser!" You threw your hands up as if dealing with the situation would drive you to drink.

"With the lights on?"

"Because there was a crowd of people practically throwing themselves at the car to get Xavier's face on video."

Simon conceded and resituated himself on one of the swings. You followed his example, though, this time, you shrugged off your backpack and dropped it in the sand beside you.

"So, what do we do?" Simon wanted to know, close to getting on his knees and begging you to take the reigns on this because he was exhausted.

"Alright." You shifted to straddle your swing, hands in front of you as you counted details on your fingers. "We know that Maddie went missing on Friday. We know Xavier had nothing to do with it." Your eyes narrowed, daring Simon to comment. He didn't. "We know that Mr. Anderson is hiding money and that he gave some to Maddie. To keep her quiet?"

"That's what we-" Simon tensed, quickly undoing his mistake, "I'm thinking."

That intense look of scrutiny was back on your face and Simon resisted the urge to gulp. Three days ago Simon had figured you for the only person who'd believe him about Maddie's ghost. My how times have changed.

"If he was hiding money in his classroom, he could be hiding other things around the school, too." You rationalized. "Like the theater. I bet you anything that there's something in there he doesn't want us to find."

True. In fact, "Do you think he's hiding Maddie in there?"

"What, like, under the stage? That'd be pretty risky. And the cops went through every room in the school with search and rescue dogs and everything. Wouldn't they have found her if she was down there?"

Simon deflated, "Good point," reluctant to add that those dogs probably weren't the type trained to find cadavers.

"Right." You paused, either to organize your thoughts or analyze Simon further, he wasn't sure, but you soon continued, tone weak, "Simon, if he did have something to do with Maddie...I take back what I said before."

"About?"

You shrunk into yourself, forcing, "Maddie being okay," as if the words had to be wrenched out of you. "I don't want to believe Mr. Anderson could've hurt her but..." You blinked a rapid dozen times up at the sky, visibly shaken as you considered the worst, "I don't think she's okay."

A lump formed in Simon's throat. He was all too aware of the painful truth. His vision blurred, nostrils prickled, the enormity of the situation closing in on him.

"Yeah," He sniffed, "Me neither."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Neither you nor Simon were aware that, only ten feet away, crouched in the bushes, a figure wearing Simon's best friend's face had heard everything.

Cold.

Hungry.

And without an iota of guilt.

💀___________________________

PART TEN - PART TWELVE

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[vanillarosekiss]

hihi!! ive had this idea in the back of mybhead for a while but cannot write for the life of me lols. would it be possible to do like a mlm (if posssible??) enimies to lovers type blurb where reader is also a soilder and he shows up to prices door after getting in a fight becaise he has nowhere to go + maybe goes to smut???

Hi pretty!! I’d be honoured to, i love this idea. I hope this is what you envisioned..ꨄ︎ This was circling my thoughts the entire day and i’m going to write it in 2 parts, where the 2nd part will have smut. Enjoy lovely!

Anger’s Aftermath pt.1 ⋆⁺₊❅.

warnings: amab!reader x John Price, language, mentions of violence, brief description of injury/blood, panic attack, angsty-ish, this is LONG and only part 1! (lmk if i forgot any).

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

The obnoxiously loud pounding on Price’s door came again, sharp and impatient. His first instinct was to ignore it—whoever it was could sod off and leave him to his peace. But the knocking didn’t stop.

“Bloody hell,” Price muttered under his breath, grabbing his glass of whiskey as he strode to the door. Yanking it open, he was halfway through a harsh ‘what the fuck do you want?’ when the words caught in his throat.

It was you. Of all people.

Blood trailed sluggishly from your split lip, pooling in the middle of your chin. One of your eyes was swollen, the skin surrounding it an ugly purple, and a deep gash above your eyebrow still trickled fresh crimson. Your knuckles were raw and split, with flecks of blood—your own or someone else’s, Price couldn’t tell— dotting the backs of your hands.

“Christ,” Price muttered, his tone a mixture of exasperation and disbelief. “What the hell have you done now?”

“Got in a fight with one of the lads.” You say, looking as if your knees would give out any minute.

“Looks like you lost.” He replied, apathetically.

“Didn’t lose,” you bit out, though your voice wavered slightly. “Just… didn’t win as clean as I’d like.”

Price let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “And what? You thought showing up here was a good idea?”

You shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his judgemental gaze. “Just let me in, Price. I’m not asking for a damn favor.”

“Sounds like one to me.” He says, but reluctantly moved aside and let you in, shutting the door behind you.

He went into another room for a minute or two and came back with a first aid kit.

“Patch yourself up.” he said, leaning back against the wall.

You scoffed, picking up the towel with trembling hands. “Thought you’d enjoy this. Gives you another excuse to lecture me.”

“I don’t need excuses. You’re enough of a disaster on your own.” He said bitterly.

You glared at him but it lacked your usual fiery temperament, and you said nothing.

He let the silence hang for a moment before he pushed off the wall and crouched in front of you.

“Give me that,” he said gruffly, taking the towel from your hands. “You’ll just make it worse.”

You tensed but didn’t argue, watching as he dabbed at the cut on your lip. His touch was careful, precise, but his expression stayed impassive and unreadable.

“Mind telling me what happened?” he asked, not looking up.

“Does it matter?”

“It does if it’s going to keep dragging you into my house at this ungodly hour.”

You huffed, looking away. “One of the lads made a crack. I didn’t like it.”

“And you couldn’t keep your mouth shut?”

“Didn’t feel like it,” you muttered, words littered with a subtle shame.

Price’s jaw ticked, but he kept working, his movements a little rougher now. “You’ve got a real talent for making enemies.”

“Funny,” you shot back, your voice sharp despite the pain.

Price didn’t respond immediately. He finished cleaning the cut on your lip before moving to the gash above your eyebrow.

“You know,” Price said finally, his voice low but pointed, “for someone who’s so damn good at running their mouth, you’re surprisingly bad at thinking things through.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” you muttered, shifting slightly on the couch.

“Don’t start,” he warned, his tone sharp enough to cut. He knew you weren’t in the best of moods but he was still above you, being your commander and all. “You’re lucky it’s just bruises and cuts that aren’t that bad.”

“I didn’t ask for a lecture,” you said, though your voice lacked stability.

“No, you asked to bleed all over my couch instead,” he snapped, setting the bloodied towel aside.

The words hung in the air between you, the tension crackling like static. Instead of snapping back, you dropped your eyes to the floor, your shoulders slumping slightly.

Something about the way you sat there—worn down and vulnerable—made Price’s irritation falter. For all the bravado you usually threw around, you looked utterly defeated.

“What’s really going on?” He said out of nowhere.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, too quickly.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Your jaw tightened, and for a moment, Price thought you’d tell him to shove it. But then your hand trembled slightly as you began to talk.

“It’s just…” You stopped, your voice cracking slightly. “It’s not just the fight. Everything’s been—hell, I don’t even know. I’ve been trying to..”

Your words trailed off, your breathing quickening. Your chest rose and fell in shallow bursts, your hand gripping the edge of the couch tight.

“I can’t—” you gasped, shaking your head, your voice suddenly unsteady. “I can’t fucking breathe—”

“Hey,” Price said sharply, leaning forward, his tone immediately changing to something steadier. “You’re panicking. Look at me.”

You didn’t. “I can’t—can’t stop—” Your chest heaved, the edges of your vision swimming as your breaths came faster.

“Look at me,” Price said again, more forceful this time. He moved closer, kneeling in front of you, his hands gripping your shoulders. “Breathe with me.”

“I can’t!” Your voice cracked, a tear slipping down your cheek as you struggled against the panic swallowing you whole. It felt as if you were drowning but above water.

“Yes, you can,” Price insisted, his grip steadying you. “Listen to me. Look at me. Right here.”

I’m beyond excited to write pt. 2!!! Why is my writing so much better with other people’s asks/ideas?? I love it though.

[p1nk-matter]

shiggy fluff cause he deserves all the love // inspired by @aslutforfictionalmen's post (here's my interpretation, i also spontaneously wrote this @/3am so his quirk may have been erased not his trauma tho)

‘’There is no reason to be wearing that.’’ You laugh as you look at him.

Tenko in a suit has to be the funniest thing you’ve ever seen. ‘’It's just a drive-in movie theater.’’ You tease and he scoffs.

‘’Yeah well I can’t win, can I? Tracksuits are too casual, I remind you of a busker, remember? And what’s wrong with that by the way, you wish you had their talent–’’

‘’Enough, we’re running late.’’ You cut him off but can’t hide your smile when he’s all annoyed lecturing you in a fucking suit.

The movie chosen was cliché, borderline comical especially when you’re accompanied by a tall man with questionable appearance. How you even convinced him to join you is beyond comprehension, most likely because you promised him to play Nintendo Switch, his latest obsession. You’d play with him regardless, a man with a childhood lost, robbed from things you experienced firsthand at a younger age but Tenko couldn’t really see it. You on the other hand recognized it, and through small acts (annoying as such because for some inexplicable reason he always lost to you) you showed him everything he’d missed.

‘’I wrote you 365 letters. I wrote you everyday for a year!’’

Ryan Gosling says as you feel a hand squeeze yours tightly, shoulders touching as the night sky glows above the projector. You turn to look at him confused, The Notebook was one of those films you’d seen a million times, failing to evoke powerful emotions after some time but it was still a very satisfying rewatch. Tenko turns his head.

‘’What’s wrong?’’ You say, anxious he might be having another panic attack. You knew how to calm him down but never the extent of it and that scared you.

‘’It’s nothing’’ He whispers, his voice is composed, you note, good.

‘’Yes... it wasn't over, it still isn't over..’’ Gosling continues.

‘’Can you believe he wrote to her all this time? This is so fucking cruel!’’ he almost shouts, as a couple of heads turn to look at him annoyed.

‘’Oh my god, are you crying over the movie right now?’’ You want to burst out laughing but the stares warn you otherwise, both your tones too loud. You can’t believe what a sucker for romance he is, he always acts all tough but ends up being hungry for love anywhere he can find it. You kind of get it, it also kind of breaks your heart.

‘’I’m so posting this.’’ You tease as he wipes his eyes clean with a tissue he had in his pocket.

‘’I swear to god if you don’t shut the fuck up.’’ His voice is shaky but his eyes are glued to the scene, anxious for what’s coming next. Will they make up? Maybe even make out, have sex? Poor him, he’s unprepared for the bittersweet end.

-

The drive back home is silent, you take it he’s still thinking about the film, contemplating its ending, unsure whether he likes it or not.

‘’Sooo.. did you like it?’’

‘’It was okay.’’ He feigns indifference and you don’t continue. You allow him to ponder before speaking up, he almost always adds something on his own.

‘’I just think it’s funny she married the other guy, you know.’’ He says.

‘’What was she supposed to do? She didn’t know about the letters, remember?’’

‘’Still, if she really loved him, she should’ve waited, should’ve been alone, grieved on her own. How could she do this?’’ He asks as you sigh.

‘’It’s just a film and people make mistakes. You never know until you tell them.’’

This time he doesn’t continue.

-

‘’So what do you want to do?’’ You ask once you’ve arrived home, it’s already past midnight but both of you are too lively for sleep.

‘’You promised Nintendo.’’ He reminds you and you sigh. Not your favorite part of the day but you silently take a seat next to him on the couch.

3 rounds of Mario Kart racing on the Nintendo Switch and Tenko is losing consecutively as he whines frustrated: ‘’Enough!’’

‘’I just don’t understand why you’re always losing.’’ You tell him, as far as you know he was unlocking the game levels with ease on his own.

‘’I don’t know, shit, you ask way too many questions today’’ he complains, ‘’I’ll go change, this suit is itching the fuck out of me’’ he continues as you get up.

He finds you scrolling on your phone, a towel wrapped around him, droplets falling from his hair, which he must’ve aggressively ruffled (in failed efforts to dry) as he literally drops his body onto yours, scaring you and making you drop your phone.

‘’Tenko, fuck agh!’’ You groan, ‘’my phone!’’

He was so annoying and on top of that soaking your shirt too.

‘’I’m sorry.’’ He smiles, he wasn’t really sorry, he missed you, he thought. Even though you were together the whole day, he still missed you. So much. He couldn’t get enough of you, any moment shared only made him more anxious for your next departure, he wished he could somehow glue you to his skin forever.

You playfully slapped his arm and he retaliated, pinching your nose as you pouted.

‘’Don’t pout.’’ He warns, ‘’I'll bite you.’’ But you don’t listen. He brings his mouth to yours as his teeth sink in your lower lip, pulling at it and letting it out softly.

‘’Ouch, you douche!’’ You fake pain but he knows he didn’t actually hurt you, he could never.

There was a moment where neither of you did anything, must’ve been less than a minute, before he leaned closer, mouths in close proximity as he noticed your eyes shut.

I want to kiss her, he thought and he did. Soft lips brought to yours, as you immediately kissed him back, cupping his wet neck and bringing his face even closer, deepening the kiss. His arms quivered, threatening to make him lose his balance and fall on top of you, he lost himself every time you kissed him.

His hand slid down your waist, positioning you higher on the couch as your hungry mouth searched for his again, needy breaths escaped your lips, a sight that made him feel the all too familiar pain in his groin, a towel was still draped around him and you were still in your outside clothes.

A peak across the room showed him the window curtains open.

‘’Give me a minute, baby.’’ He said as he got up to close them, returning to you with his arms stretched out, ready to move this somewhere more comfortable.

–

He was awakened by an asleep arm, your weight had fallen on it and he felt numb.

He gently tried to remove it but you moved around and whispered in a raspy voice, god, how much he loved that voice.

‘’What is it?’’ Your tone sounded anxious, were you afraid something was going to happen to him? Could it be that you cared that much?

Without a word he shushed you.

‘’It’s all right, go back to sleep.’’ He said moments later, a pain in his chest since he couldn’t tell you that actually yes, there was something on his mind.

‘’You know, you have to tell people how you feel, remember?’ You spoke so wisely, even after an interrupted slumber and he couldn't help but smile.

‘’I know baby, goodnight.’’ He said as you sighed and turned around.

For Tenko could not tell you that nothing compared to this, nothing like doing nothing with you and to admit this to himself was a big liability. He would tell you eventually, maybe he’d write it down, he found it easier, but on that day he chose to wrap his arms around you again, risking numbness, than to speak the words.

[bonny-kookoo]

Does someone older JK spoil the OC sometimes? Like surprise her with something which he considerd to be nothing it would mean so much to her?

Oh he does, ALL the time! Warnings for a bit of angst, beginnings of a panic attack but Kook handles it well

"...we can go there again, maybe before new year's if I can get a table on short notice." He simply says as he drives you both back to his place, radio playing quietly in the background.

You're still a little overwhelmed.

He does things like this a lot- expensive dinner dates in restaurants he either knows or wants to try out, randomly buying you clothes or jewelry he finds online and deems pretty, or he just changes things in his house to adjust it more towards you and your preferences. Like the pillows in his bedroom, the by now multiple pairs of thick socks for your cold feet, or the baking supplies he bought for you now stacking up in his kitchen.

It's things like that you're not used to. In the past, it has always been you who needed to adjust and do things for your partner- not the other way around. So now, you feel almost guilty whenever he does something- like a bank account draining, slowly going further and further into the negatives, red numbers piling up and making you anxious as to when he'll want it all payed back.

"Did you not like it?" He wonders, taking your silence as a sign of discomfort as he pulls up on the expressway. "You don't have to lie." He chuckles, reaching out to hold your hand.

"No, it's not that." You deny, letting him warm up your cold fingers. "It's just.. it was a little expensive, no?" You wonder, and he shrugs.

"Was it? To be honest, I don't think it was considering what we ate." He just brushes off. "I've been to steak restaurants that were a lot more expensive and half the quality. And the service was great too, so I didn't mind." Jungkook explains, and it's now that you realize once again that you and him live in quite different worlds. Or at least, used to.

For him, money isn't an issue. He's made and is making enough of it to live comfortably, he doesn't have to really worry about running out of it anytime soon, even if his company was to go bankrupt next week. And he's also got enough saved up, has invested with good tactics in mind, so it's really no wonder he doesn't see a problem in spending the amount that he does.

But you aren't used to that. You have been living paycheck to paycheck with barely anything left over at the end of the month, needing your bonus desperately as to not fall behind on any payments you have to make regularly. You've lost your apartment before, had to sleep at friend's places to get by, and even ate only at the company cafeteria to save money usually spent on groceries. All of this feels almost excessive, and you also worry.

What if Jungkook starts spending too much on you? He shouldn't fall into a habit of mindlessly throwing money out.

"What's on your mind, darling?" He wonders, lifting your hand to kiss the back of it, before he changes lanes.

"I just.." you fidget a little. Jungkook isn't a bad guy. He won't get mad. He won't scold you. You won't have to endure being lectured for the rest of the ride- you know all this, and yet again, the past haunts you and makes your breathing pick up as you begin to chew on your lip.

Suddenly, you realize he's pulling up to a gas station, parking on the side. He gets out to get something from the backseat, before he walks around the car to open the passenger door where you sit, unbuckling your seatbelt. "Here." he offers the bottle of water, having opened the cap for you. "Put your legs out like that- there we go. Breathe baby." He gently tells you, squatting down a bit to make himself look smaller. "Take your time."

You feel embarrassed. How do you explain to him that you were feeling like a kid about to confess a bad grade just now?

"We can keep it a one-in-a-month thing, maybe, if that makes you more comfortable." He proposes. "I didn't take into account that it might be overwhelming to you- I'm sorry." He apologizes, but you shake your head, looking down at your knees.

"I just.." You mumble, unsure how to really explain. "I feel.. back then, you know.." You sigh, having trouble finding the proper words. "Talking in the car makes me.. anxious." You admit. "Because you know, when you get mad.. I can't escape.." You say. "I can't get away from it."

Jungkook kindly takes the bottle away from you to put it on the backseat again, before he's back in front of you.

"Thanks for telling me. I had an idea it might be that, but I wasn't sure." Jungkook says, hands on your knees. "I promise you I'm not mad. And I'm in no position to be mad at you for having opinions or personal taste that might differs from mine. We're two different people-" He chuckles. "-of course we'll have different views on things."

"But I really liked the dinner too." You say. "I just.. I don't want you to start.. spending so much money on me to the point of, I don't know, losing sight of it." You confess. "And maybe, we should keep stuff like this a bit rare? So it doesn't become routine. I want to keep it special.." You say. "I'm not.. I don't really know much about this stuff, because I never had enough money to go to these fancy places, and get designer clothes, or plan vacations in different countries and all that. I feel.. stupid sometimes?" You spill, making him lean his head a bit to the side. "Like, what if you one day take me to a company gathering or something, and someone asks me something and I can't answer or I say something dumb-" You rant. "-or maybe you won't ever take me because I'm too young? Maybe Eve is right and I'm not really the kind of-"

"Baby, darling, stop-" He chuckles, pushing your shoulders back a bit to look at him. "-take a good breath. You're panicking." He worries a little, but tries hard to stay composed as to not make you spiral any further. "Eve is wrong. If you're okay with this, of course I'll take you to company events. Why wouldn't I show off such a beautiful women at my side? I'd never pass up a chance to make those stuck up geezers jealous." He jokes, making your crack up a little. "Let's keep the dinners to special occasions. Keep it special, like you said." He offers, holding your hands now. "And I'm also.. the fact that you worry about me makes me feel.. very special." he chuckles. "I appreciate you looking out for me."

"I always look out for you.." You mumble. "..I just don't want to overstep any lines. You know. Since you're older than me-"

"Just because I'm older doesn't automatically mean that I know everything better." He reassures you. "Our age gap has nothing to do with any sort of power balance. Please don't think you can't speak your mind just because I was born earlier than you."

"..okay." You nod, and he leans forward to peck your lips, before he closes the door for you after you pull your legs back in and buckle your seatbelt, him getting back into the driver's seat to do the same.

"You know.." he starts, as he pulls out of the gas station to continue the drive back home. "..I'm really falling in love with you." He chuckles, dimples of his cheeks showing with how hard he smiles.

"Huh?" You wonder, taken aback by the sudden confession.

"I mean it." He nods. "I really am."

"I'm glad then." You admit. "..cause I am too." You admit, making him grin before he reaches over to hold your hand again.

Knowing that he really won't ever let you go again.

[novelistrry]

Harry visibly clenched his jaw, but that didn’t stop Y/N from going on, “You want to speak of your deception and your dishonor?”

“I don’t think you have any right to speak about deception or dishonor, Y/N. You parade yourself as the perfect princess, and yet, you lie to your subjects. Do not lecture me on deception or dishonor,” Harry drew the boundary between them, a harsh red line that was clear and hard to miss. 

“Is blackmail honorable, Prince?” Y/N seethed.

“Is fucking the stable boy honorable, Princess?” Harry didn’t know if this was actually factual, it was only the assumption he made as to why the stable boy would lie for Y/N for so long.

Y/N stuttered over her words, “I-I’m not!”

Or

Harry is a prince, Y/N is a princess, and Harry is incredibly deceptive

Tropes: Enemies to lovers, forced proximity, fake dating, tension, etc.

Warning: Mentions of panic attacks, nightmares, wet dreams, praise kink, deception, etc!

Word Count: 15k+ with the prologue, 12k without.

Prologue (A/N: only read this if you have not read the blurb, if you’ve already read the blurb you can scroll down to where part one “The Ruse” starts)

Y/N hated Harry.

Actually, she wasn’t quite sure the loathing could run quite as deep as it did. It was almost as if when her eyes locked with his, or she got a whiff of his cologne in the corridor, the hatred would flow through her veins and act as a power source. As if the only fuel she needed was how much she absolutely and utterly loathed that man.

So when her handmaid had told her summertime was officially in action, and she knew what summertime brought, Y/N wanted to stomp her foot like a child and throw herself onto the floor. 

Summer was supposed to be excellent, filled with fruits and sunny skies. It was supposed to be warm and lovely, but when Y/N’s parents invite Harry and his family to the palace every summer, it’s hard to find enjoyment in the season. 

He was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, and Y/N wasn’t one to deny it. Green mosaic eyes, captivating and alluring like a siren sat atop a rock luring sailors in with that beautiful voice. Only instead of using his rhythmic voice to lure her in, he used the gaze of his eyes. Soft features and delicate sculpting to his face that were so perfect it was absolutely infuriating. He was perfect, truly, in every way possible and the people loved his beautiful face and charming personality. 

Except when the large wooden doors shut, leaving Y/N and Harry alone (which wasn’t supposed to happen per Y/N’s request, by the way), his mouth was foul and his charming qualities were consigned to oblivion. Around Y/N, Harry was his worst version of himself and Y/N could not stand him. 

“I don’t want him to come this year, Dorothea!” Y/N exclaimed to her chambermaid as her heels clicked against the large tile pieces. She was pacing back and forth, a nervous tick she’s had since she was little. 

Sweat accumulated in the pits of her palms, a telling sign that she was nervous, though she would never say that to Dorothea or let it be known to Harry because he would never let her live it down. 

See, Y/N and Harry were similar in two ways. One, they were both heir to a royal bloodline. And two, they were both so, so stubborn. 

“I know, dear.” Dorothea, the sweetest old lady the palace could find, spent most of her day assisting Y/N in her needs even though there weren’t very many of those. Y/N was relatively low maintenance and hated to be waited on, “It’s only three months.”

With that sentiment, Y/N sat on the edge of her bed that was just made and fluffed, deciding she would spend her day sulking in her room rather than participating in any of the start of summer festivities. As if Dorothea could tell Y/N just wanted to be left alone, she quietly made her way out of the room, and left Y/N to her own devices.

____

Maybe dreams do come true, because the summer season had officially been in swing for three days and there were no sights of Harry, or his family, lingering around the palace. Eventually, she thought she would turn the corner and catch him chatting up a chambermaid with a devilish smile and eyes that would turn a girl into a puddle of melted candy, but it had been three days and even the girls she passed (who were anticipating him heavily) were whispering about the prince being late.

By the fifth day, Y/N was beginning to feel the weight lift off her chest and the ease flood through her veins. Though she didn’t dare to ask her parents about Prince Harry’s whereabouts because that would come with an agonizingly painful interrogation (they truly believed their daughter would wed the man), and a small reprimand because of her prior years sour behavior toward him, though they didn’t know just how insufferable he was in return. 

Small talk whisked throughout the palace by the seventh day, explaining that Prince Harry would not be attending this summer season because he was to be married by the end of the year to a princess Y/N had never heard of. A small twitch shot through her chest, but she brushed it off feigning it as relief she never had to deal with him again. While Y/N acted oblivious, everyone knew the reason Harry and his family visited the palace every summer is because the families were hoping for an alliance of sorts— for Harry and Y/N to form a union, to form a bond that would end in marriage. As much as she chalked the twitch in her chest and the hollow in her belly as a feeling of relief, she was confused as to why she wished he would have written. Not necessarily her, but at least to her parents, informing that he would not be there this summer (or any summer for that matter because he was getting married) that way she didn’t have to walk around for days on end, thinking there would be a jumpscare in the corridor or the dining hall.

A flicker of annoyance lit inside of her, an emotion she was familiar with and actually grateful for at the moment because it took away from the abnormal sensation in the chest and abdomen. Why wouldn’t he write? Or his parents at the very least? What kind of person does that? Y/N knew just how hard the chambermaids, the scullery kitchen, and the people who made the palace function as well as it did were working to ensure their guests were accommodated and comfortable for the three months they were staying with them.

It was very unlike Y/N, usually very polite and soft-spoken to feel that kind of irritation. The kind that was so pent up it was making her breathing slightly erratic and she was puffing breaths in and out through her nose. In a very un-Y/N like fashion, she decided that if Prince Harry wasn’t going to write to her, then she was going to write to him and tell him how distasteful his lack of presence or notification on the betrothal was.

Before she could even process what she was doing, she was in the main library of the palace, sitting at the writing table and crafting a heartfelt message to her dear friend Prince Harry, slightly berating him in each line for his so-called prince ethics (or lack-there-of). 

Dear Prince Harry,

I am sitting here, writing to tell you how distasteful I find your lack of arrival. It is great news within our palace that you are to be married, which in turn, delays your arrival to our annual summer festivities, and possibly inhibits you from attending these festivities ever again.

A true prince, knowing royal ethics, would have written far in advance, revoking his acceptance to my family’s invitation. It seems that, as always, you are too engrossed in your own endeavors to care about the people around you who have taken the time to prepare for your arrival. 

I know our royal household has been working gravely to make certain you and your family have a wonderful stay over the summer, as they have done every summer for the past two years—

“I knew I would find you in here,” his voice, clear and steady, echoed through the library bouncing off the walls and the leather bindings of the books which sat on the shelves of the wall, “You’re always in here doing something or another.”

She knew who it was by the sound of his voice, deep and sultry. He always spoke with such precision and so bluntly that even with her eyes closed, she could tell who it was just by the energy that filled the space. Arrogance and tempting were his two most significant qualities and they always filled the room, leaving her to suffocate in his presence.

Quickly, she jumped up and grabbed the letter, crumpling it in her hands. The ink was so fresh it smeared all over her hands with her rush, and when she looked to see him standing under the doorway, she noted that not a thing about him had changed. He stood with that same arrogance in his posture, his eyes were still that deepsea green, and his lips, chin, and jaw were as beautiful (if not more) as the last time she saw him.

Quirking his eyebrows, he couldn’t help himself. “Now I need to know what was in that letter you were writing. Are you in love, my dear Y/N.”

He took a step forward, and she realized he thought she would just hand the letter over to him, like it was his property to be read. And even though it technically was, the letter was now void because he did, in fact, show up for the summer season. While it may have been intended for him, the content of the letter did not matter, and because he expected her to walk over and drop the letter in the palm of his hand, that absolutely infuriated her.

“I will not give this to you,” Y/N shook her head and furrowed her eyebrows. She almost cringed at the tone of her voice, so abrasive and calloused. Harry brought out the worst in her, he really did. Though, she didn’t understand how Harry could make this frustration brew inside of her when the rest of the Styles were so lovely to be around.

In two long strides, Harry was rounding the writing desk and in front of her. He towered over her, reaching for the crumpled letter in her hands and before she could grasp the paper tighter, it slipped beneath her fingertips and he was reading it aloud.

“I thought you said this wasn’t for me, Princess?” Harry wasn’t asking, it was more rhetorical than anything. The mock in his tone sent a heat through her, plummeting up from where her heart dropped in her stomach to the apples of her cheeks.

He held the letter above the both of them, the words still readable even though the ink was smeared on the page. As he read aloud, Y/N wanted to drop to the floor and cover her ears from listening to speak her foolish words out loud. If anything, the letter was an act of catharsis. She probably would have never actually sent it to Harry, even if she said she was going to, but writing the words on the paper and pretending like she was going to send it to him was semi-therapeutic. By the second line, she was jumping in the air like a fish out of water, trying to grasp the letter from his hands so he couldn’t continue. To make matters worse, he was chuckling between words and flashing wide grins in her direction when he paused.

Eventually, the way she was jumping and frantically trying to snatch the letter from him was just as humiliating as the strong words she had put on that piece of paper he held in his hands, so she stopped and turned away from him so that he could not see the look of horror on her face as he finished reading the letter.

Finally, he got to the part where he walked in and startled her from her writing desk, her thoughts coming to an abrupt halt on the paper when his voice echoed throughout the room, and even though he was done reading the letter, she couldn’t bear to look at him. If there was one thing about Harry, he always had the upper hand with her. Always.

“I wish I hadn’t interrupted your thoughts when I came in here a few moments ago. I’m positive the rest of this letter would have been a great read, and you print your thoughts so eloquently, Y/N.” He was trying to get under her skin, even though he knew he had already burrowed himself under the flesh like a mite the second he walked in the room. That was another one of Harry’s traits— he wanted to see just how much he could push her until she snapped, because he loved watching her snap.

“Enough,” she spoke, barely turning to look at him. She caught a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye, enough for her to squint just barely and for him to know she was giving him a dirty look.

“Well, Y/N, clearly this letter was for me. Was it not?” He was doing it; pushing and pressing until the temper within her flicked on a light and her thoughts rifling through her brain started spewing like fire, the world around them turning to ash with each word that fell from her lips and targeted him like a huntsman and its prey. 

“It wasn’t for you—” She began, getting cut off by the prince.

“It clearly says ‘Dear Prince Harry, I am sitting here, writing to y—”

Within under a second, she was turning on her heels to face him once more and trying to pry the letter from his fingers. To no avail, she didn’t think she could handle him reading the letter out loud once more, so she covered her ears and began begging him to stop. The worst part was the feeling she had in her gut, the feeling one gets in their gut and their throat before the tears start forming in their eyes. While Harry had many horrid qualities about him, one of her terrible qualities were tears that formed, not out of sadness, but out of anger. Deeply, she inhaled to smooth out her thoughts and quiet her mind. “Stop, stop, stop.”

Grinning like the devil, he spoke slowly and quietly so any chambermaids passing by could not hear the words he was about to speak to her, “Are you embarrassed, Princess? The girl everyone thinks is so ladylike and polite writing words that would tarnish that sweet reputation.”

“I was never going to send it, and I think you know that,” she countered, and even though she knew he knew that letter was never going to leave her possession, she felt like she needed to reiterate that point.

Carefully and slowly—almost painfully slowly— he brought his finger to her cheeks and swiped across to feel the heat radiating off of her skin and she knew he was gaining even more satisfaction at the heat in her cheeks confirming his question, that she was embarrassed by him finding her letter. To rub salt in the wound, he folded the letter up and stuffed it in the pit of his pocket where she would not dare to fish out, as it was not very polite to stick your hand in someone else’s pocket, “For safekeeping,” he stated.

Those two words made her want to do it— stick her hand in his pocket and fish the letter out, tear it in little tiny pieces, and then stomp on the shreds of paper right in front of him, but she wouldn’t do it because she, unlike him, did not lack manners.

“You are absolutely unbearable, Prince. Do not think my opinion on you has changed. I can assure you it has not,” she wanted to get under his skin the way he got under hers, so she added, “Where is your betrothed?” 

He paused for a moment, searching for the words, “I am not to be married, Y/N.”

The tone was cut and brief, not the same tone he had when she was pushing his buttons, but a clear line was drawn showing her this is where the boundary was placed, and as much as she wanted to upset him the way he upset her, Y/N did not want to pick and pry about his presumably failed engagement. Though, she did not blame the girl for not wanting to marry someone with such an insufferable attitude. And maybe, just maybe, she also didn’t want to hear about the girl. She didn’t want Harry to talk about how beautiful she was, or what her hobbies were. She didn’t want to know a thing about her or how she wormed her way into the heart of someone so aloof and out of touch with the idea of love. To put it plainly, she didn’t want to hear about their courtship and what he did to make her swoon.

Y/N would never admit it, but the first time she ever met Harry, she was taken with him. And then he opened his mouth, all-knowing and witty bordering intolerable.

“Well, then,” Y/N didn’t quite know what to say in response, seeming to be more uncomfortable with the idea of him getting married than he was.

With a mere couple inches between them, he leaned down to whisper something in her ear. Soft lips grazed the tops of her ears, a warm heat shooting through her, and though she was disgusted with herself for having such an instinctual reaction to his body and his lips so close to her skin, she was graceful enough to remind herself that it was only natural for her core to stir and her stomach to flip.

And when he finally spoke, his lips moved against her ear, “I am going to enjoy playing with you this summer, Y/N.”

She wanted to scream. She almost did.

Instead she took a step back, gasping and brushing out the wrinkles in her dress, “I absolutely loathe you.”

“I love that you loathe me,” he replied before turning on his heels and walking out of the library.

Y/N knew it was going to be a long summer filled with taunts from Harry.

And much to her dismay, that night she dreamed about his lips pressing against her.

I. The Ruse

Y/N had told Dorothea she was feeling too ill to attend the breakfast table that morning. Albeit, the truth of the matter was that she was shaken by her dreams poisoned by Harry— maybe they were good dreams about his lips, his fingers, the way he caressed her cheek, but the fact that it was Harry doing those things to her was enough to deduce it was a nightmare. A terrible, terrible nightmare.

“Should I fetch you some tea?” Dorothea pressed her hand to Y/N’s forehead, feeling for a fever, but when the skin under her hands was cool rather than clammy, Dorothea raised an eyebrow in suspicion. 

“No, no,” Y/N swung the covers over her, revealing her nightgown. Stiffly, she planted her feet on the wooden planks beneath the bed as she made a show of stretching, “Don’t fuss over me. I’m already feeling much better, Dorothea.”

“Better enough to attend breakfast?” Dorothea questioned her, the brow still raised in suspicion, and Y/N knows she should just tell Dorothea the truth but it was her stubborn nature that prevented her from letting Dorothea know about her encounter with the Prince yesterday. 

“I believe it’s late anyway,” Y/N reasoned, “I will fetch something when the dining hall has been cleared out.”

Dorothea only shook her head in disappointment, but Y/N pretended not to notice. 

______________

In an effort to maintain his dignity, Harry had to stop looking at the chestnut oak double doors separating the dining hall from the rest of the castle. Each time a servant opened the door to replenish something on the table, Harry’s head snapped over, hoping it would be Y/N that walked through the doors just so he could see her again. 

It was agonizing, honestly. She was sweeter than droplets of nectar. Bees were probably drawn to her, knowing her personality was as sweet as the honey they produced, attracting to her like the pollen they longed to search for. 

That, precisely, is why she aggravated Harry so much. From the time Harry was born, it was engraved in his brain that he was a ruler; he was honorable, decisive, and empathetic. All the qualities that made up a leader, and he knew it, too. Though, he was self-aware enough to know where he was lacking, and he was lacking (probably) the most important quality a leader can have—compassion and the ability to connect. 

For Y/N, that was something that came so naturally. She could connect with just about anyone. The princess blended in with the common folk so... Seamlessly, it was absolutely infuriating. Harry had tried, plenty of times, to blend in, to connect with his people and his royal household but he could never achieve it the way Y/N did. She was a real princess, and it made him feel like a fraud. 

Years had passed with him learning about how to rule, the best way, the honorable way. For Y/N, it seemed that she was born with the knowledge, never having to lift a finger or read a book. 

So it pleased him, angering her to the point of outbursts. In her court, she was polite, loved, and deemed the absolute most charismatic one can be. When she was just about shaking with rage, foul words dripping from her lips, that is when Harry was content— when she looked less like a statue, the perfect creation this court has formed her to be, and more like a human. More like him. 

That is when the irritation he felt toward her stopped festering, just for a moment in time. 

And he knew he was absolutely terrible for it, absolutely atrocious, but he wanted to corrupt her. Ruin the molding she was fit into. 

Sounds of fingers fiddling on the doorknob caused him to look up, and when a servant walked in with another tray of warm bread and fresh butter, his eyes averted to his plate to avoid the teasing that was about to come from the King’s Hand— or well, Prince’s Hand, really, since he wouldn’t truly be the King’s Hand until Harry’s coronation.

But he was too late, and the words were already coming out of Niall’s mouth, “If you’re going to keep glancing up every time someone walks in, wishing her to walk through those doors, then why don’t you just go seek her out?”

“I don’t wish for her to walk through those doors, Niall,” Harry’s jaw tensed as he spoke, the inclination that he was waiting for her making him somewhat irate, “I am merely observing, isn’t that important? To be aware of one’s surroundings?”

“Yes,” Niall sucked in his teeth, moving his gaze from the angle of Harry’s jaw back to his plate of food, “Indeed it is.”

Harry spread butter on a fresh piece of bread, ignoring Niall’s comment, and when Niall realized Harry wasn’t going to say anything else, he continued to poke the bear. “Why didn’t you marry Duchess Violet when you had the opportunity? Why push the wedding? So you could come here? See her?”

A hiss left Harry’s mouth before answering in a hushed voice, low enough that the people around them could not hear. “Why so many questions, Niall?”

“I’m trying to understand,” he shrugged his shoulders, the level of his voice now matching Harry’s.

“I pushed the wedding because I did not want to marry the Duchess, Niall. Simple as that. I came here because my parents are convinced that Princess Y/N and I will form an attachment if I spend enough time with her. That is what they want after all.”

“Then what?” Niall’s questioning was causing sweat to bead on Harry’s forehead. He didn’t want to think of the then what factor.

“I suppose when I return home, the arrangement between the Duchess and I will initiate once more.” Harry cocked his head over to Niall, dropping the piece of bread on his plate. Suddenly, he wasn’t hungry anymore.

“What is your game here this summer, Prince?” Niall asked, locking eyes with Harry’s whose eyes were the same pigment as a field of green clovers populating in the crisp months of Spring, mischief dancing in his irises.

Slowly and carefully he gave Niall the essence of his plan, “I will convince the Princess to form an alliance with me— A facade, if you will. We will put on a show, and before our attachment is sealed with a ring, she will say she can no longer do it. And I will be so heartbroken, to the nation’s knowledge, that they will not pester me about marrying. I do not need to marry. I will not need to marry.”

“And will you be heartbroken, Prince?” This seemed to be Niall’s only concern.

“No,” Harry paused and then added on, “I do not believe so.”

“And what if she does not agree to a facade?” 

“Then I will charm her. Seduce her.” This was all Harry was willing to say on the matter as he pushed his chair up.

______________

Y/N, to her credit, was full of secrets.

Every now and again, she would poke her head out, scan the corridor, then jump back into her bedchamber when she heard the sound of heels clicking against the flooring. 

And she’s never felt quite so childish before. Usually, when Harry came for the summer, Y/N didn’t go out of her way to avoid him, but after their interaction in the study she didn’t think she was ready to face him yet. 

If Y/N was honest with herself, two years ago when she first met the prince, she was quite smitten. And maybe it was the fact that he was engaged to someone else. .. Someone Y/N didn’t know. Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t bother to tell her, or write to her family that got her so worked up. Maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that someone wormed their way into his icy chest and planted a seed of fire that caused him to want them.

She had trouble admitting it to herself, but she fancied Harry more than she let on. The only person in the entire castle that knew just how deep her feelings for Harry ran was Dorothea, though the words had never left Y/N’s lips and they might not ever. 

Rage has simmered in her gut, boiling over into her fingertips that flowed against the page where she etched words onto a canvas that conveyed her grievances with Harry. The memory of her sitting there, rage-writing a letter she never intended to send, and Harry snatching it out of her hands and reading aloud sent a churn in her stomach, the humiliation of the moment festering inside her once more. 

The true reason she had been avoiding him, at last. She was utterly embarrassed by the entire ordeal. All he had to do was read in between the lines, and all of her feelings were on display. Harry having that letter was a different kind of vulnerability. 

So she snuck out to the stables, where her good friend Brad worked as the stable boy. Y/N and Brad shared a secret the people did not know, it was kept between the two of them, and she liked Brad for the fact he has known her secret for about four years and has not told a soul has made her like them all the more. 

Boots trudged in the muddy grass as she made her way out to the stables, where Brad tended to her horses (and the other horses, of course). Birds cooed in the sky, the sing-song noises filling her ears and putting her at peace for the first time since yesterday. 

When she had finally made it to the big barn, nearly a quarter mile away from the actual castle, Brad was nowhere to be seen. Quietly, she lurked around, craning her head around corners and scouting him out. 

Right as she was about to call out his name, because it was very unlikely for him to not be here, she rounded one more corner and saw him nestled next to the Prince— next to Harry. 

She almost audibly groaned when she saw him standing there, invading her space. Where she liked to go to clear her head, but before a noise could escape her lips, she realized if she slowly backed out of the hall then she might escape the pair before either of them saw her.

As she slowly tried to back out of the hall encompassed by horse stables, the two rather close together, both snapped their heads in her direction. Two sets of eyes locked with hers, her mouth watering as her stomach turns nervously when Harry’s green gaze of disapproval scans her up and down.

“Y/N?” Brad asked, projecting his tone down the length of the hall so she could hear him clearly, “What are you doing all the way down there?”

“Nothing!” Her tone projected as well, matching Brad’s. “I was thinking I could see Freya, but I see you’re busy.”

“Why don’t you come closer, Princess? So we don’t have to shout too loud.” Harry said, and Y/N knew the look upon his face. Whenever he was about to do something devious, a smirk would spread across his lips, his eyes sparkling with the game he was about to partake in.

And Y/N doesn’t know why she listened to him, why she didn’t just turn away, but before she could tell herself to stop, she was walking toward the both of them. Each step felt shameful, her eyes averting from Harry’s and to Brad. She couldn’t stand the way Harry looked at her, like she was a toy, like he could burn holes through her soul if he really wanted to.

She shifted her body to angle more toward Brad, not completely cutting Harry out of the circle they were now standing in, but angling herself enough to show that her body language was more open to Brad than she was to Harry.

“Isn’t this one Freya?” Harry pointed to the stall directly across from them. There stood her light gray horse, mane and tail braided perfectly. 

Actually, if someone saw Y/N and Freya standing side by side, they would simply know Freya was meant for Y/N by the way she holds herself; strong, with a gentle demeanor radiating off her. The only problem is that people would never see Freya and Y/N side by side, because Y/N (as much as she loved Freya) was too afraid to take her out of her stall. In Y/N’s kingdom, it was inevitable that every young prince or princess had to ride, because at their coronation one of the requirements was to ride in on their horse. The issue wasn’t that Y/N didn’t know how to ride. She did. The issue was that Y/N wouldn’t because of an accident that happened three years ago, leaving Y/N scared to ever get on the back of a horse, or to even walk around with her lead rope in hand. Nobody knew, except Brad, that Y/N hadn’t been on the back of her horse since the accident, it was a secret the two of them kept together.

“Yes,” Y/N turned to him, just slightly, “That is her.”

“Go on, then,” Harry motioned toward her, “We don’t mind if you take her out.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped, glancing at Brad to see if he could help her worm her way out of this situation. He has helped her before, when her parents would find her in the stable and ask if she wanted to go on a ride with them. Brad would say something like, Princess Y/N just put Freya back, they went on a lengthy ride earlier and Freya is resting now. It made Y/N feel selfish to know how much trouble Brad could get in for lying, but she was too much of a coward to tell anyone her fears.

Brad interjected, just not with what she hoped for, “Y/N doesn’t ride.”

Confusion contorted Y/N’s features as he outed her secret to the one person she didn’t want to know an inkling about her. “Brad!”

Brad’s eyes widened slightly, his brows raising as he replied, “I’m sorry, Y/N! I thought it was okay for him to know? It’s not as if he lives in the palace.”

Harry stepped closer, putting a pin in the conversation Brad and Y/N were beginning to have right in front of him, “Why doesn’t she ride?”

Brad waited, momentarily, for Y/N to respond but when her lips stayed sealed, withholding the information from Harry he decided to come clean for her. “Y/N has panic attacks when she gets too close to horses. Nobody knows.”

At least he didn’t tell Harry why horses made her panic.

“Yet you come out here anyway?”

Heedfully, she took in a deep breath and began to collect her thoughts which seemed to be swimming everywhere. These past two days, she had never felt so exposed, so bare in front of him. First with the letter, and now with Brad’s indiscretion to Y/N’s secret. “As you may already know, horse riding is big in our culture, so I come out here to keep up appearances. And, I do love my Freya.”

“You’re a fraud, then? A liar?” Harry sucked in a breath, that grin teetering on amusement— a fine line between pure and utter cruelty. 

“If that’s what you will call it,” Y/N tried not to let the emotions welling inside show on her face, remaining neutral and stoic was the best way to ignore Harry. She, too, could sink her claws in him and tear him apart by simply ignoring him. “I must be going.”

Swiftly, she turned, paying no mind to Freya and blocking out the snickering coming from Harry as she walked out of the barn. Her boots trudged in the mud once more, and the frustration brewing inside was threatening to spill over, though she would not allow it to until she was alone in the privacy of her own room. 

The palace was in plain sight, she only needed to walk a straight narrow path before she could take a side door to the main corridor and scurry off to her room (hopefully avoiding many of the household staff on the way). It was unfair, but she wanted to yell at Brad for offering Harry such private information. Should she blame him, though? He’s been keeping her secret for nearly three years, lying for her, and obviously he didn’t know that Harry had brutish tendencies— especially when it came to her. In fact, she thought back to it. The way the two of them were standing, how Harry was shifting closer to Brad with each word. If Y/N didn’t know better, Harry was trying to turn Brad into putty in his hands which honestly might have been more of an issue than him knowing her secret panic attacks she would have in the privacy of Freya’s stall. Was Harry interested in Brad, trying to charm him with his good looks and that personality that oozed sweetness? Y/N may have never seen that side of him, but amongst the chambermaids he was quite the sweet-talker.

“Y/N,” a low, gruff voice called from behind her. When she tried to pick up the pace, she only heard the shuffling of Harry’s boots behind her go faster. 

It wasn’t like she would be able to escape him, if he truly wanted to pester her he would find her in her bedchamber. It was better to have a discussion with him out in the open instead of him tainting her bedchamber with his attitude. 

“What?” She turned on her heels and snapped her head toward him, the tone of her voice laced with anger.

“I wanted to have a discussion with you,” he took a few steps closer so they were only an arms distance from each other. He wanted his next words to be just barely above a whisper.

“Then speak,” Y/N pursed her lips together, crossing her arms so that she could shield herself against him in some way. Clearly, crossing her arms wasn’t actually going to protect her from him, but in a way, it felt like a mental shield, keeping him out of her head and far away.

“It has been two days of me gracing you with my company, and within those two days, I have obtained a letter I’m convinced you would not like to fall into the wrong hands, and I have discovered you have been deceiving many people and getting the stable boy to lie for you,” Harry’s pointer finger traced under her chin, noting the shiver that ran down her back as she stepped away from his touch, “Now, if you do not want that letter circulating throughout the palace, and if you do not want everyone to know you are a fraud, then you will offer me something I need.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Harry was blackmailing her? She had always taken him for possessing a certain cruelty about him, but never thought he would stoop low to the point where blackmail (quite literally when she takes the letter into consideration) would be hanging over her head like a bundle of mistletoe. 

“What is wrong with you?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, stepping backward as her arms tightened around herself once more. 

“What is your answer, Y/N?” He spoke with such an airy indifference that she almost couldn’t tell if he was playing a very humorless joke on her.

“I don’t believe I have much of a choice in the matter!” She barked back, and that flicker of anger displayed on her face and in her tone of voice made his lips curve up into a cursed smile, so she tried to cool herself down and remain stoic— just as unbothered as he seemed to be.

“I am giving you a choice, darling,” Harry said, the word rolling off his tongue like the pet name was second nature to him, “One option is unfavorable, though. For you, at the very least.”

It was written across his face; either answer she gave him was a win for him. This was a situation where she was going to lose, a situation where the upper hand was in his court and he was playing the game with no mercy. If she said yes, she was indebted to him, owing him a favor. And if she said no, the shame of her actions would not only reflect on her, but her family as well. 

“Tell me what you need,” an exasperated sigh she didn’t mean to let out, falling from her lips.

“Agree first.” Harry was a politician first, a prince second, and a human being last.

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes, “Do you believe I haven’t learned to never agree to something binding without knowing the stipulations first, Prince?”

“And do you think I would present my vulnerabilities to you without an answer first? I tell you, you don’t agree with the clause, and now you know what I need. Why should I do that?” His reasoning was valid to her, though she would never admit to it.

“Then my answer is no,” Y/N began turning on her heels to walk away; get as far away as she possibly could, but she stopped in her tracks when he caught up behind her, hooking his fingers around her waist and pressing his front against her back.

Incredibly cool and collected, he pressed his lips against her ears before he spoke, causing a chill to rip down her spine and a tightening coil in the pit of her stomach. “You’ve made your choice, then. Tonight in the dining hall, while we are in the middle of dinner with the most important people, I will stand and tell everyone of your fraudulent activities. In fact, I might even embellish it— explain how you’ve been keeping the stable boy so quiet with your mouth. Do you know what that means, princess? I will tell them how you’ve squandered his innocence, and when the shame is rising from here,” Harry’s fingers trailed from her hip to her stomach, and then all the way up to the apple of her cheeks, “To here… That is when I will twist the knife, and begin reading your finest letter aloud. And when you are crying, I will not stop.”

Y/N turned back around, stepping away from him to get distance before spitting out, “You are cruel, Harry. So, very, cruel.”

“You are flattering me,” he quirked an eyebrow, and she so badly wanted to connect her fist to that stupid smirk on his face.

“Fine,” Y/N nodded her head, refusing to give him any more leverage, “I will help you.”

“Great, then I will court you for the entire summer, and just before it is time for me to propose to you… You will come up with some excuse to break it off, and I will pretend I am utterly heartbroken and need time to heal.” 

Y/N was shocked his ruse was not nearly as bad as she had expected it to be. She thought maybe he would be requesting her to break into the general’s office and steal classified military documents, or something absolutely absurd and dangerous. But a courtship under false pretenses was… Dishonorable, but not a crime.

“That’s it?” She shrugged her shoulders. “Why?”

“Because,” he was beginning to feel frustrated, and Y/N could tell by the way he pinched the bridge of his nose in between his fingers. “I do not want to marry the Dutchess, and I fear if I do not place a ring on your finger, that is my destiny. However, if you end our courtship and I feign heartbreak, how could anyone tell me I need to marry when I lost the love of my life.” He rolled his eyes as he spoke the words.

“And—” Y/N began to ask another question before Harry interrupted her.

“That is all the information I will give you on the topic.”

“Fine,” she, herself, was done with the conversation anyway. There were much better things for her to do than scheme with Harry, “Now if you would leave me be, I would like some space from you.”

“Take what you need, because after dinner we will be attached at the hip once we announce our courtship.”

This might be the death of Y/N.

______________

Pretending to be under the weather was not going to cut it this evening, Y/N knew she couldn’t get out of another meal with her family, Harry’s, and the other important people that made it to the dining hall list without a stern talking to from Dorothea. 

On top of that, she knew that Harry was going to announce their courtship, and he probably wouldn’t be too keen on the idea of announcing it without her there. Actually, she wasn’t too keen on the idea, either. Who knows what he would say?

With thoughts racing through her head, and the click of her ballet flats on the mosaic tile, she made her way down the corridor until she was standing just outside of the tall oak doors. As soon as they opened, she would find her seat, and her fate for the summer would be sealed.

“Looking nervous, darling.” Harry spoke from behind her, creeping up on her for the third time since he’s been here. Rolling her eyes was beginning to become a natural reaction at this point. 

“Don’t call me that,” Y/N hissed out, barely taking her eyes from the door as he walked up behind her so he was nearly touching her backside as his fingers reached for the knob and turned it slowly. 

It was quiet when her eyes locked with her mother and father’s eyes, and when she slid her gaze over to Harry’s parents, she couldn’t help but feel shame that ticked in her lower stomach. It was one thing to be deceptive to her own parents; it was another to be deceptive to someone else’s. This was definitely something she was going to bring up to Harry later. 

Dorothea was sitting beside Y/N’s mother, and when she noticed her, Dorothea offered an approving smile and a small glance toward Harry’s direction. On multiple occasions, Dorothea had tried to convince Y/N that Harry was not that horrible as she knew him since he was a young boy, but Y/N would gawk and scoff and exclaim with exasperation: Why are you taking his side? Now, Dorothea had believed Harry finally charmed Y/N just enough to weasel his way into her heart, but little did Dorothea know, it was quite the opposite. 

Dinner was going by smoothly. Every now and again, Harry would make some small talk with Y/N, and as soon as the pair began speaking softly under their breath, the entire table would stop talking to hear what the two of them were conversing about. It was making Y/N rather anxious to have so much attention thrown in her general direction, but she supposed if she were in their shoes, she would be just as curious.

Before the meal came to a close, Harry tapped a shiny piece of silverware against his glass, gaining everyone’s attention. Though, Y/N wanted to tell him if he wanted all eyes on him, all he would have to do is look at her, whisper her name, and the chattering amongst the table would cease so everyone could hone in on their private conversation. “Everyone, I wanted to announce mine and precious Y/N’s courtships. After two long summers of denying our tension amongst one another, we decided it was in everyone’s best interest if we gave our compatibility a shot.”

A couple people clapped, and Y/N tried so hard to repress the eyeroll and the scoff that wanted to surface so badly. Dorothea shot a wink in her direction, so Y/N offered a small smile because a grimace would lead to questioning from her later, and lying to Dorothea was not something she felt too good about. Y/N had already deceived her once today by feigning illness, and twice with Harry’s speech of their courtship, but she did not want to have a separate conversation with Dorothea that contained the weight of her lies.

As soon as dinner ended, Y/N found herself rushing from the dining hall, nausea filling her gut as bile threatened to creep up her throat. In a few turns, she was down the corridor, and finally, she was on the terrace, breathing in the crisp night air. Stars illuminated the sky, the moon brightening the path she was walking down, and she should have known better to think she would get just one moment alone (or one moment where Harry was not creeping up behind her).

“Y/N, I want to talk,” Harry whispered, although the words may have been hushed, but they were on the louder side like a… Hushed shout?

“I’m not sure I would like to talk right now,” Y/N replied back, kicking scattered rocks out of the path they were taking that led to the gardens on the right side of the palace.

“I promise I will leave you alone for the night after this,” Harry sounded sincere, “I just want to work out the logistics with you.”

“The logistics with me?” Y/N scoffed, pivoting on her heels and throwing her hands up in exasperation. The tone of her voice was laced with venom, and the scrunch of her nose which led all the way up to her eyebrows, giving her the look of an angry kitten was enough to tell Harry she was quite upset with the ordeal, “You mean, you would like to speak of your deception?”

Harry visibly clenched his jaw, but that didn’t stop Y/N from going on, “You want to speak of your deception and your dishonor?”

“I don’t think you have any right to speak about deception or dishonor, Y/N. You parade yourself as the perfect princess, and yet, you lie to your subjects. Do not lecture me on deception or dishonor,” Harry drew the boundary between them, a harsh red line that was clear and hard to miss. 

“Is blackmail honorable, Prince?” Y/N seethed.

“Is fucking the stable boy honorable, Princess?” Harry didn’t know if this was actually factual, it was only the assumption he made as to why the stable boy would lie for Y/N for so long.

Y/N stuttered over her words, “I-I’m not!”

“Maybe you’re not,” he looked her up and down, the sinister glare in his eyes making her want to recoil into herself, “But you want to.”

Y/N did not deny her attraction to the stable boy, though, she had never fantasized of him in such salacious ways, and that little flicker of emotion that ran across her features was something Harry picked up on immediately. 

“Would it break your little heart, Princess?” Harry took a step closer, the vein on his neck popping out as he clenched his jaw harder, “If I let your stable boy lay in my bed?”

Y/N gasped. She had never heard someone be so… Vulgar. 

The response she was looking for swam through her head but she couldn’t quite locate it as she filed through the crevices of her brain. How could she answer that? To her luck, Harry was on his heels and walking toward the direction of the stables so she didn’t have to respond to him. He muttered out the grumpiest, “I’ll find you later,” and Y/N’s heart sank as she realized Harry was trying to find Brad to either bed him, or tell Brad about her embarrassing little crush. Y/N had never felt so exposed in her own territory. 

______________

“This is never going to work, Niall!” Harry exclaimed, kicking off his riding boots and pacing his way back and forth in Niall’s personal cabin. Niall was the Prince’s Hand, his second in command, but he needed his space. When they would come for the summer, Niall would occupy the cottage on the outskirts of the palace, the only way to get there was by horseback, which is part of the reason he felt so comfortable being open with Niall. There was no possible way the princess would be strolling down the corridor and overhear him chatting with Niall when they were so far away, and the only way she could get there was by horseback, which he knew she wouldn’t do.

“What do you mean?” Niall looked over at him, pouring a glass of sparkling wine that was located on the bar top near the kitchenette. Harry noted that Niall was pouring two glasses, one for Harry and one for himself.

“She’s too stubborn.” Harry sighed out, taking the glass from Niall as he reached his hand out, then plummeted into one of the cushion filled chairs in the corner of the room. “She won’t be able to go through with it.”

“And you have leverage over her, do you not? I thought that was why you were so sure of your plan?” Niall pressed the frosted glass to his lips, then tipped his head back.

Harry followed suit, tipping his head back after pressing the cool glass to his lip. The slight carbonation of the alcohol, and the burn of the alcohol itself singed the back of his throat before he shook his head and shut his eyes tightly. “I do have leverage as I told you about. I fear if she backs out, I would never be able to put her through that, though.”

“It was my understanding that you didn’t care and you do not like her. If that is the case, then what is the issue, Prince?” Niall questioned.

“I do not care about her and I do not like her, but what would it say about me if I grasped that leverage and exposed her so openly like that…” Harry’s voice trailed off as he brought the glass back to his lips once more.

“So you do not care about her, and you do not like her, but you care about what others would think if you humiliated her so publicly?” Niall was beginning to understand.

“Exactly,” Harry agreed.

Niall didn’t like giving Harry advice like this, but he was loyal to Harry first and always. When he began fitting the puzzle pieces together of the dynamic between Harry and Y/N, before he could even process his own thought process he blurted, “If you think she is too stubborn, then change that. Have you thought that maybe the reason she is so stubborn around you is because of the fact you are so mean to her. Stop being so cruel. Be a gentleman, make her like you. Hell, make her even love you, and at the end of the summer, if you still do not believe you are the type of man to marry, then begin corresponding with the Duchess again, forcing Y/N to break it off with you. You told her it was all a ruse, then so be it. However, that does not mean you have to make her life a living hell. You can charm her, make her fall for you, and when you invite the Duchess to the ball at the end of the summer, Y/N will have no other choice than to call it off.”

Harry paused, sitting upright in the chair rather than slouching over, “So you are saying to charm her still, even though she’s already agreed to the facade with me?”

“Precisely,” Niall pushed the guilty feeling down.

“And at the end of the summer when I want her to call it off, let her find me entangled with Duchess Violet?” Harry was the one asking questions now.

“Yes,” Niall let out a small breath.

“Smart man,” was all Harry said, and that was the end of the conversation as Harry slipped his boots on, bolted out the door, mounted his horse, and rode back to the main palace so he could talk to Y/N.

______________

Y/N was still in the garden, ruminating over the argument she just had with Harry. How could someone be so handsome, resembling a person who was probably carved by the most delicate angels themselves, have such a crude mouth and an evil demeanor? If Harry was a little bit nicer, she thinks he would be the easiest person to fall in love with.

“Y/N?” Harry whispered, and when she turned around to look at him, he noted the way the light from the moon reflected off the top of his curly brown hair, where it hit the highs of his cheekbones, and she noted the delicacy in his sea moss green eyes.

“I’m too exhausted to argue, Prince.” She remained grounded, her feet planted into the soil. Her cheeks were still wet from the tears spilled over after Harry left her feeling silly, and even though the streaks remained on her cheeks, there were no more droplets forming in her eyes.

He stepped closer, so close that his body was almost pressed against the front of hers. She noted the way his hand lingered by her hip, wanting badly to close the gap between them by positioning his hand behind her and pulling her close. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” She was strong, she was going to be tough.

“I feel terrible, Y/N,” the sincerity in his eyes was enough to send a ripple of shock through her. Honestly, the sincerity he felt was enough to send a ripple of shock through him. It was true, he did feel terrible. He never meant to make her cry.

“It’s fine,” Y/N said, beginning to turn away from him, but he caught her with his hand around her hip, then closed the gap between them so there was no space between the pair.

“It’s not,” he disagreed, “I… I want to be your friend, Y/N.”

“My friend?” She was so fucking confused.

“Yes,” he nodded his head, creeping his free hand under her chin and forcing her to look up and directly at him. “I do not want to be the only person benefiting from this deception.”

“Okay,” she didn’t know what else to say.

“Let me teach you how to feel comfortable on a horse again. I can give you lessons.” He decided showing her how to be confident atop a horse would be something she would benefit from. She wouldn’t have to feel confined to the palace anymore or lie to the people around her.

“So you can belittle me in our lessons?” Y/N asked, raising a brow at him.

“No, Y/N. No more of that, I can assure you.” He sounded so sincere, he was convincing himself. Maybe the truth was that arguing with her, getting under her skin, and picking her apart was exhausting and he didn’t like feeling like the worst version of himself around her. He was so confused. So confused. He hated this perfect princess exterior she put on, but he disliked being an asshole more.

“You really want to help me?” She could hardly believe it.

“Yes,” he dropped his hand from her chin and her hip, taking a step away from her, “Tomorrow morning, meet me at the stables.”

With that, he turned away and found his way back to his bedchambers. Harry really needed to decompress.

______________

The next morning, Harry found her in the stables. She had gotten there before him and was waiting by Freya’s stall. Brad wasn’t there quite yet. It was so early, the sun was just starting to poke through the horizon. 

Colors of red, pink, and gold reflected from his skin as he approached her, and Y/N noted that the colors peaking from the horizon were almost as beautiful as him. While the sun rise was beautiful, it was not nearly as beautiful as him.

“Are you ready?” Harry asked, walking up to where she leaned against Freya’s stall.

“I’m ready,” she explained.

They had spent hours talking about how to form a bond with a horse, how to treat a horse, and where not to stand when around a horse. They talked about how to saddle a horse up, how to put the bit in a horse’s mouth without injuring yourself or the animal you need to be taking care of. Harry was actually a very good teacher. He wasn’t pushing her out of her comfort zone, he wasn’t belittling her for the things she was taught when she was younger but forgot how to maneuver. Harry even brought up what Brad had said about her having panic attacks when she was too close to horses, and told her that if she was feeling anxious to let him know, they could find a spot where she felt safe. Overall, working with him wasn’t too bad.

Y/N tried not to talk about the incident that made her so fearful of horses to begin with, and as much as Harry wanted to know why she was so afraid of them, he didn’t want to push and pry. He knew what it was like when people pushed their way into your personal space, and it was his biggest pet peeve, so he wasn’t going to subject her to something he hated deep in his bones.

Brad was surprised the first day when he came in, and saw Y/N, with shaky hands, petting on Freya. Freya seemed to enjoy it, and Harry stabilized her shaky arm as she reached in the window of the stall and pet her, whispering small encouragements in her ear. He was standing directly behind her, the front of his body pressed to her back as she reached in.

“Good girl,” Harry said, his fingers clutched around her elbow to combat the shakiness in her arm.

“She is a rather good girl,” Y/N said, touching the softness on Freya’s nose.

“No,” Harry laughed out, his fingers still gently holding her elbow steady, “I was talking about you. You’re being a very good girl.”

Y/N felt the heat rise to her cheeks, but chose to say nothing, and much to her good luck, Brad had finally showed up for the day, amazed at how Harry stood there with Y/N and held her from behind as she touched Freya.

“Wow,” Brad said, dropping some of the grain he was holding into the stall next to Freya’s, “You’re doing very well, Y/N.”

Y/N didn’t think she could handle all the compliments, so she redirected the attention to Harry, “It’s all him. He's a great teacher.”

“I bet he is,” Brad shot a look toward Harry, a smirk forming on the edges of both their mouths. It made Y/N wonder if they actually had some sort of relationship like Harry hinted at the night he told her he was going to bed Brad in order to spite her. “I just hope you don’t have nightmares tonight.”

“Nightmares?” Harry’s grip around her elbow tightened, pulling her arm out of Freya’s stall and letting Y/N’s arm fall to her side. “What does he mean?”

Y/N turned around, and threw a scowl in Brad’s direction. Her back pressed against the stall door as she let a sheepish smile appear on her face when she turned all her attention toward Harry. “I used to have nightmares about the incident.”

Harry’s lips pressed into a hardline, a serious look glossed in his eyes. “If you start having nightmares again, tell me. Please.”

“I will.”

______________

Y/N didn’t know what to do about the dreams she was having regarding Harry. It seemed that every single night her dreams of Harry were becoming more and more graphic. The first night she dreamt of him was the first night he was in the palace, and she dreamt of what his lips felt like on hers. 

The second time she dreamt of him, she dreamt of the ways his hands felt around her body, and ever since then she had been having that same dream of him, over and over again. He would start by kissing her neck and touching her all over, calling her sweet names, and making her cry out in pleasure.

Every morning she woke up feeling debauched, and when she would meet Harry at the stables in the morning, she tried her best to not let the emotion flood her face. Sometimes she was scared that he could just look at her and know she was having inappropriate dreams about him.

A week had passed of her spending time with Harry. She learned about his favorite food, what he loved about his own kingdom, and even found out that the Marigold flower was native to his kingdom. 

“You kind of remind me of a Marigold.” Harry said softly.

“Why is that?” She looked over at him, as he began putting the bit on Freya. Y/N wasn’t ready to ride yet, but today she was going to walk Freya along the property with Harry to get used to her holding the lead rope in her hand.

“They’re bright and beautiful,” Harry buckled the bit, pulling the lead rope through as he spoke to Y/N, “A lot like you.”

“I think we’ve come a long way,” Y/N noted, grabbing the lead rope with shaky fingers when Harry handed it to her.

When Harry realized that her fingers were shaking and her eyes were nervously glancing around, he grabbed the lead rope back from her and began walking Freya out of the barn and toward a trail nearby, “I’ll walk her for now. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

They walked together, talking about the most random things and getting to know each other. Y/N couldn’t believe she didn’t like Harry at first. Fine, he was slightly annoying, and when she thought about how she was technically still being blackmailed it made her a little furious, but when he was being so pleasant and lovely, she tried not to think of those things. 

On top of all that, how could she say she still disliked him when she was dreaming of him every single night?

“Why don’t you try holding the lead rope as we walk, and I’ll hold your hand over it?” He suggested, coming to a stop in the middle of the trail. As much as he liked walking Freya, he did want Y/N to make some progress. 

“I think I can do that,” Y/N agreed, grabbing the rope in her hand and locking it securely between her fingers. Her hand wasn’t on the rope for even two seconds before Harry threw his hand around hers and gave her a look that she knew said I’m here for you. 

Her heart nearly skipped a beat as his hand enveloped hers and his eyes brought comfort to her hammering heart. For a moment, she closed her eyes and imagined how his lips would taste— probably sickeningly sweet. She thought of the way he might moan against her, like he did in her dream. The vibrations flooding through her, feeling like pure ecstasy.

What the hell was she doing?

______________

Y/N thought back to the first night Harry had been to the palace. That night, she had a dream of Harry pressing his lips against hers. The more time she spent with Harry, the more she dreamt about him at night, and as the days passed, the more graphic they got. 

Today wasn’t the first time she had woken up with a puddle between her legs due to a steamy dream she had about Harry, though, it was the first time she had reached her climax in her sleep and she couldn’t help the shame that picked away inside her.

Quickly, she cleaned herself off and began putting on her riding clothes to meet Harry in the stables. 

______________

This morning, Y/N could barely look Harry in the eye, and he wondered why that was. They had been working together for a little over two weeks now, and she was growing much more comfortable with him each day. Actually, it was rather frustrating for him to find out that he somewhat enjoyed spending time with her. She was kind of funny, a little sweet, and overall, easy to teach. 

“Will you tell me why you can’t look at me today?” Harry grinned at her, and noted the way she dropped her gaze from his eyes back down to her hands, an emotion he couldn’t quite place lingering on her features. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled out, still refusing to meet his eyes. This might actually drive him crazy.

“Tell me, darling,” Harry reached for the water that was sitting atop Freya’s stall door, and began taking a few sips, his eyes still locked on Y/N, waiting for her to explain. Sooner or later, she would tell him. She was quite bad at keeping secrets.

“Did you actually take Brad to bed?” Y/N still didn’t look up at him.

Harry choked on his water; that was the last thing he expected Y/N to say to him. “Why do you think that?”

“You told me you were going to take him to bed the night you told me you wanted to be my friend,” Y/N recalled.

“I did say that,” Harry hummed out, placing the water back atop the door of the horse stall before moving toward her, “No, I did not take him to bed.”

“Do you want to… You know? Do you like him in that way?” Y/N was trying to avoid certain words, too shy to actually say what she was thinking, and the shyness in her tone was enough to make Harry’s knees almost buckle.

“I think he’s handsome, Y/N, but I would not hurt your feelings like that,” Harry explained, shrugging his shoulders.

“So you only like him, then? That is why you would not marry the Duchess?” Y/N had so many questions rifling through her mind, she didn’t know where to begin.

Realization dawned on Harry’s face, “I have a preference for both, Y/N. I do find men attractive, but I find women attractive too.”

“Oh okay,” Y/N nodded her head, “I’m sorry I was just thinking of that night and how maybe you and Brad—”

“That’s so naughty, Y/N.” He took a couple steps toward her, reminding her of the night he told her he would teach her how to ride. There was only a small gap between them, the front of his chest pressed to the front of her chest, but this time, there was a wooden wall behind her and if he only took one more small step, she would be pressed against the wooden wall in the barn and the front of Harry’s bodice. She was so depraved.

Harry’s voice was full of teasing, but Y/N was so wrapped up in her thoughts, she thought he was chastising her, “I’m sorry, Harry! Not like that!”

“Darling, I’m only teasing you,” Harry’s grin was contagious, Y/N couldn’t help the small smile that spread across her lips, “Now won’t you tell me a secret? I’ve given you one of mine.”

Y/N didn’t even think about it before blurting out, “I wish I knew what it was like to be kissed.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, his hand pressed against the wooden wall, trapping Y/N between his body and the wall (still offering her a way out from the position on his left). All he needed to do was bend down and connect his lips to hers and she would know what it’s like, but he would never do it without asking first. “Would you like me to teach you?”

“I would like that,” she breathed.

So, he would give her what she wanted. In the matter of seconds, his knee was positioned in between her legs, almost touching her center. His head had swooped down so his lips were just a few centimeters from her own, and his eyes were full of peer lust. Without much thought, he pressed his lips against her gentle ones, sliding his tongue across her bottom lip, begging for her to open up for him and let him in. Though, Y/N didn’t understand the cue, and Harry understood that since this is her first time being kissed, she wouldn’t know the trick of sliding your tongue against someone’s bottom lip and what that was asking for.

Gently, he brought his lips to her chin and pulled down ever so slightly, parting her lips and allowing access to her mouth. It was the most pleasant noise he had ever heard, the moan that vibrated into his mouth and warmed his muscles. The blood was flowing to his cheeks, his heart rate quickening and pumping the blood through his body, and straight to his cock. Honestly, if they didn’t stop kissing, he might actually come in his pants, so he pulled away, leaving her breathless and hot.

“How was that?” He asked.

“I think I liked it a lot,” she panted out, pressing her legs together and Harry knew the signs of that all too well, but decided not to comment on it.

“We can do it again sometime.” He shrugged, removing his hand from the wall and taking a few steps back.

“O-okay.” She muttered.

Y/N was feeling things she had never known were possible.

______________

Harry’s lips were pressed against her neck, his hands wandering to the waistband of her underwear before looping his fingers around the elastic and pulling them down her legs. Before she even had time to process what was going on, he was gently laying her against the bed, but they weren’t in her room… No, she didn’t know where they were, and for a moment she was dissecting the bedchamber and all its decor until Harry’s thumb found its way to her clit and one of his fingers sunk into her, rubbing against the button that had her back arching off of the bed.

“Oh,” she gasped out, her breathing becoming erratic with each stroke. “Please, Harry. Please…”

In this scenario, she didn’t feel ashamed for calling out his name, for begging for his fingers. Harry had positioned himself so that he was on top of her, one hand holding him up so that he good get a good look at her face (in this scenario, he liked to watch the way her nose scrunched when she hit her climax) while his hand worked her clit and flicked against her g-spot. 

“Don’t worry, darling girl,” he leaned down, his lips pressed against her lips as he spoke, “I’m going to get you there.”

She couldn’t help it, she needed him so badly. When he pulled his fingers out and inserted another, expanding the space inside her, she arched her back off the bed and bucked her hips into his hand begging for more friction than he was supplying her with.

“Don’t be greedy, love.” He found a different position so he could use one hand to pin her hips to the bed, and the other one to tease her with his fingers. “You need help orgasming, darling?”

“Harry, I need help!”

“Y/N!” Harry shook her shoulders, causing her whole body to shake as her eyes opened to reveal a panicked Harry peering down at her.

It took a moment for her to understand what was going on, but when she looked at her surroundings which were dimly lit by candles, Y/N realized that she was in her bedchamber, and no longer in the bedchamber in her dream, and Harry had pulled the chair sitting in the corner of her room to the side of her bed.

A dream. It was just another dream. And it took a moment before she realized that Harry was here, waking her from her dream frantically.

“Harry,” she breathed out, and though he heard the breathiness in her tone as a sigh of relief, for Y/N she was coming down from the orgasm she just had in her sleep. In front of Harry. “What are you doing here?”

“Baby, you were having a nightmare. You’ve been screaming my name,” he tucked a strand of hair that was coated in sweat behind her ear, and she noted the softness in his voice, a guilty feeling ripping through her.

Actually, his voice wasn’t the only thing soft about him. Harry was still sporting sleepwear, white linen pajama pants and a matching button top. His curls which were normally assorted and crisp looking flopped against his forehead, and she couldn’t help but notice the way he stroked his thumb against her head whispering sweet nicknames he had never called her before, but what she really couldn’t stand was the guilt and worry flooding those cloverfield eyes of his.

“I—” she went to explain that she wasn’t having a nightmare, but before she had a chance to get the words out, he was telling her what happened.

“They came and got me. Dorothea told me this is the fifth consecutive night you’ve been screaming my name, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me the lessons weren’t working, and they were putting you in such a bad place. I didn’t want this for you, baby,” Harry continued to stroke his thumb against her head, this time lowering his hand so that his thumb was stroking along her lips which wasn’t helping the sticky wetness pooling in her panties and the ache in her lower belly.

Y/N, filled with shame at the guilt in his eyes and the crude dreams she’s been having, tried to find her voice, “Wasn’t having a nightmare.”

“What do you mean, darling? You were screaming my name, asking for help?” 

In response, Y/N only pulled the edge of her blanket closer to her chest, tucking herself away from him.

It took Harry only two seconds to understand, “Oh?”

“Sorry,” she muttered, dropping her head and inching away from the touch of his fingers.

“No!” He exclaimed, hooking his fingers around her arm as she tried to scoot to the other side of the bed, “Don’t be sorry. There is no need for that, Y/N.”

Y/N didn’t know how to respond, so she nodded and expected him to get up and leave her to her own devices.

Harry’s voice dropped to a whisper, “I just didn’t take you for a beggar, darling girl.”

It could have been the nickname, the same one dream Harry had given her as he brought her to her climax or the fact that he was calling her a beggar but she couldn’t help the heat that flooded through her cheeks as she averted her gaze from his, “Stop!”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said, and Y/N noted the way his fingers that were once tracing circled over her cheeks and then rubbing against her lips were now touching and grasping at her arm, like he had to be in constant contact with her. “You should never be embarrassed of what your body naturally desires.”

“Easy for you to say,” she scooted closer to him, back to where she was before she began inching away, “You’ve never been embarrassed.”

“I have. The first time I ever let someone touch me, I reached my orgasm in my trousers,” he began, offering her a questioning glance to ask if this is okay? When she nodded, letting him know he could climb into her bed, probably against her better judgment, he stood from the chair and put his knee on the bed. Before she knew it, he was putting his knee over her, straddling her momentarily, then found his way to the other side of her bed, so that they were laying side-by-side. Y/N couldn’t help the way heat filled her cheeks, tearing at the tiny tendrils of muscle throughout her body and igniting a fire from deep within her abdomen. How could she think straight when she was dripping with need, her body begging for some sort of release. 

Harry continued what he was saying once he was in a comfortable position next to her, but Y/N had trouble listening to his words when the only thing she could focus on was regulating her breaths, “That was pretty embarrassing. The second time I was embarrassed was the first time I met you, and you were standing there looking so beautiful and perfect, I tripped over my words. The third time I felt embarrassed was when I read your letter in the office and you expressed that my actions were not that of a gentleman, and you were right.”

She didn’t know what to say, only that she was burning with desire and needed him as close to her as possible. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“You’ve got me all soft tonight. I was under the impression you were having nightmares because you were too nervous to tell me you didn’t want to continue with lessons. I am cruel, Y/N, you have always been right about that, but I am not a monster,” his words were honest and true, something he would probably regret tomorrow, “Believe it or not, I never wanted to give you nightmares.”

“You haven’t given me nightmares,” Y/N was used to feeling shame around Harry, even though she could cover it quickly by hurling a snarky comment toward him.

“You have no idea how relieved I was to hear that your dreams about me are nothing but good… I would like to rectify the situation for you.”

“Rectify the situation?” Y/N was beginning to feel even more confused than when she woke up in her bedchamber with Harry’s fingers wrapped around her shoulder, waking her from her vivid dream.

“Yes,” he breathed, turning his body so he was laying directly parallel to her, “Would you like me to take care of you?”

“I… I would like that,” her fingers held the quilt tighter to her chest, not quite sure if this was going to be a mean joke to toy with her and then laugh about it later.

“Do you trust me?” His eyebrow raised, knowing her answer without her even needing to speak the words.

“Not… particularly,” her breathing was becoming more rapid as the conversation took such a sultry turn.

“If you don’t trust me, I can’t make you feel good, darling.” He tried to reason with her, and as much as he wanted to run his hands over her sides and touch her all over, he knew he couldn’t do that. Not while he was trying to gain her trust.

“I’ve never done this before,” she said quietly, barely audible.

“I know,” he agreed, “We are going to take it slow. You are safe with me.”

And Y/N didn’t know if it was the look in eyes, or if it was because of the fact he rushed to her bedchamber when someone woke him up from his peaceful slumber to come comfort her from her “bad dream,” but in this moment, she really felt as though she could trust him. On top of that, he knew her biggest fear, and never let her feel uncomfortable when he was teaching her how to ride, so why shouldn’t she trust him?

“I feel safe,” she told him and expressed her limits, “I trust you. No mean words, Harry.”

“No, baby, only praise for how well you’re doing.” 

Those three little words, the innocence in her eyes, and the way she clung to her blanket for a security measure could have sent Harry into a downward spiral. He tried to compose himself, tried to contain himself, because he knew he had to take it slow with her. He propped himself up so that he could loop his hands around where she clutched her blanket so tightly. “Have to relax, darling.”

She took in a few deep breaths, just how he taught her when she was trying something new, and her body released the tension as she made eye contact with him. Something about Harry was so contradictory. How could he make her feel so guarded and upset, but also make her feel so safe in her most vulnerable moments. As her grip loosened from the blanket, he asked if it was okay for him to remove it, to expose her body only dressed in her white nightgown. When she murmured a small yes, he peeled the blanket from her body. Cool air encompassed her, and she hadn’t realized just how hot she’d been under the blanket.

Y/N used her elbows to prop herself up, leaning back against the pillows, giving herself a full view as she sat up right, and Harry took this moment to lean back, so his upper body was still parallel to hers, but he still had enough room to use his fingers to work her to the brink of her orgasm. Fortunately for her, he was reading the situation thoroughly, checking for the signs that she wasn’t ready and verbally communicating with her to make sure she was feeling okay.

“How are you feeling, love?” Small touches is what he started with, using the arm that he wasn’t propped up on to trace heart shapes (though, Y/N couldn’t tell what shape he was making) with his forefinger around the bare skin of her hip.

“Feeling good,” her words were breathy, making his cock twitch in his pants, “I’m ready for you.”

Harry let out a small chuckle, his eyes glancing between both of her eyes as he spoke, “We’re going to take it very slow. I’m gonna teach you about pleasure, darling, with my fingers. How does that sound?”

“With your fingers?” She hated how demure it sounded, how underprepared and unknowledgeable the words sounded coming from her.

“Yes. With my fingers first,” he trailed his fingers from her hip, to her lower abdomen until he was over the cotton of her panties, feeling the wetness seep through, “You’re so wet, it feels like you’ve already reached your pinnacle. Did you?”

Sheepishly, she nodded. Though she may not know what it felt like when she was awake, she knew the signs when she woke up from a dream about him. Typically, she was as wet as she is now, a sticky feeling between her legs. “In my sleep.”

“Christ,” he breathed, pulling her panties to the side, but not taking them completely off in an effort to make her not feel so exposed. First, he used his thumb to touch her clit, using small circular motions at a very steady pace. When her breathing picked up once more, and small guttural moans fell from her lips in encouragement for him, he picked up the pace. Harry couldn’t help it, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

Slowly, he lowered his head, pressing his lips against her own as he continued to rub in circular motions. Her back arched from the bed, his lips still on hers as he swallowed the noises she was making against him, and her mind was spinning with absolute desire. Pure bliss is what she felt, her flesh hot with each touch as he continued to work her most sensitive spot while his lips moved against hers. She didn’t know she could feel this… Good. In her dreams she was a sweaty, whiny, mess, but in this experience. In this very, very real experience, she couldn’t hold back the whines or the way her back kept arching into his touch. It was a complete parallel to the way she felt in her dreams, the way dream Harry took care of her and the way real Harry was taking care of her now was so similar.

____

Harry’s mind was a whirlwind of emotion; he loved the way he was making her come undone beneath his fingers. While his thumb worked her clit, he slipped his middle finger in, the cool gold of his rings making her gasp against his mouth, and he took this moment to slick his tongue over her bottom lip and find his way into her mouth. Her mouth was warm, tasting of sweet fruit and honey… She was everything he could ever desire, and he hated the way he crumpled beneath her. She made him feel so out of control, but in this very moment, he had all the power. For a second, he removed his lips, staring down at her with her eyes shut. Her ribcage flared with each breath, her chest heaved as small whimpers tumbled from her lips with his name somewhere in the mix.

As soon as he found that spot inside of her, the spot he knew could make a woman buckle at the knees, she was finding her release and rocking against her hand. Normally, he would tell his partner to stop riding his hand to control the situation, to make them so pent up with frustration and desire that they could barely stand it. He loved to see tears form in his partner's eyes due to overstimulation and pure desire, but this time around, he just wanted her to feel good and comfortable as she reached her climax. This was a vulnerable moment for her, and he didn’t want her to remember it by looking back and thinking about how he wouldn’t let her cum… No, she was being such a good girl for him, rocking against him with such a politeness as she whimpered small pleases and thank you’s that he didn’t want to reprimand her for feeling what she was feeling. In fact, he decided she needed a good reminder.

“You’re being such a good girl, Y/N. So good for me,” as soon as those words filled her ears, her walls began pulsing around his fingers and he knew she was about to reach the brink of the universe, so he continued to encourage her, “Let it out, baby.”

“T-thank you,” she said, clutching the sheets in her hands as her back arched from the bed, and she clenched once more around his fingers, drenching his hand, his wrist, and the end of his pajama sleeves. 

“So polite, darling,” Harry noted as her hips thrusted up once more, riding out her orgasm on his hand. Once she was completely fucked out against his hand, Y/N’s eyes fluttered open as she tried to maintain eye contact with him, and when Harry brough his hands coated in her arousal to his mouth and licked them clean, another wave of arousal shot down her spine.

“Is it your turn?” She asked him, barely able to keep her eyes open.

“Not tonight, darling,” his hands found their way to the quilt, covering her up with the blanket so she wouldn’t get cold after she fell asleep. Normally, he would clean his partner up before allowing them to get cozy in bed, but the thought of making her get out of bed and wash up felt too evil as she could barely keep her eyes open.

“When?” She muttered, eyes still closed, “I want to.”

“Let’s talk about it tomorrow, Y/N.” He lifted himself off the bed, and she mumbled a small okay as he walked out of the room.

Harry was so fucked.

[rayyyzz]

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓭𝓸𝔀𝓼

≪𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝔀𝓸.≫

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

The cold air hit your face as you walked into your college , hands buried deep in your coat pockets. The streets, covered in a blanket of snow from the night before, sparkled under the morning light. Everything around you was a blur—students rushing past, the sound of cars humming in the distance—but inside your head, it was chaos.

You couldn't stop thinking about him.

The guy that tried to attack you last night..

His face—well, what little you had seen of it—his orange goggles, the sharp reflection of the hatchet he'd gripped in his hand. The way he chased you through the woods when you were going back to your house from a friend's house , the sound of his loud footsteps behind you, closing in. No matter how hard you tried to shake it off, his image remained like a shadow over your thoughts.

You didn't know what to make of it. It was like something out of a nightmare—except you knew it was real and not some fictional story. You had heard the crunch of snow, felt the cold panic hitting at your chest as you barely escaped him last night. Every time your mind went off track, it immediately went back to him, to the woods, to the feeling of being hunted like a lost deer.

You arrived at college, walking through the entrance doors with your head down, lost in thought. Normally, the busyness of campus would pull you out of whatever mood you were in—the noise of people chatting, rushing to class, laughing. But today, it all seemed muffled, like you were walking through a fog. Your focus get away, and all you could think about was last night. That face...those eyes behind the orange goggles.

Your first class began, but your mind was anywhere but the lecture. The professor's voice faded in and out, like a distant echo. You stared at the chalkboard, pretending to take notes, but the words swam in front of your eyes, turning into images of that forest—the snow, the trees, and him lurking behind them. What was he? you thought. A psychopath? A killer? A  drug addict? And why you? Of all the people in the world, why had he fixated on you?

You barely made it through class, and as soon as the professor dismissed the class, you found yourself wandering toward the food court. Maybe some food would help, though your appetite had long since vanished. You bought yourself food from the food court, picking up something simple, and sat down at with your friends, hoping to distract yourself with your friends laughing about embarrassing high school moments would help clear your head.You tried to focus on the conversation but yet, they couldn't distract you.

The memory of him crept back in, his figure getting closer and closer in the night. You could still feel the terror you had felt as you ran to your door, praying to reach it before he reached you. You hadn't even told your parents the truth. If you had, they'd probably think you were crazy—or worse, they'd never let you out of the house again and lock you up, because you were their only child which they cherished so my h that they didn't want anything bad to happen to you. You were so lost in thought that you didn't even notice the news heading that came on one of the TVs in the corner of the food court.

"Breaking news..."

Your head and your friends heads snapped up. The TV screen had switched to a local news channel. A stern-looking reporter filled the screen, her voice laced with tension.

"We have an update on the string of violent murders that have been plaguing the area. Local authorities are warning the public about a dangerous individual believed to be behind the killings. He is described as a young man with a disheveled appearance, often seen wearing a mouth guard and orange goggles, and is armed with a hatchet."

Your blood ran cold. No way...

"This man, known to some as Ticci Toby,' or Tobias Erin Rogers ' is believed to be involved in several brutal slayings. His victims were found with multiple deep wounds, consistent with the use of a bladed weapon or even chopped up into little pieces. Officials are urging residents to avoid going out at night and to report any suspicious activity immediately."

Images flashed on the screen—crime scenes cordoned off with yellow tape, police cars parked outside houses, a body bag being loaded into the back of an ambulance, but they also showed how chopped up the victims were. Then, they showed sketches of Toby: the messy hair, the goggles, the massive gash on his cheek , behind the mouth guard. It was him.

Images flashed on the screen—crime scenes cordoned off with yellow tape, police cars parked outside houses, a body bag being loaded into the back of an ambulance, but they also showed how chopped up the victims were. Then, they showed sketches of Toby: the messy hair, the goggles, the massive gash on his cheek , behind the mouth guard. It was him.Your breath caught in your throat, and the room seemed to freeze around you. This wasn't just a one-off encounter. Toby was real, and he was killing people. "He almost got me", you thought, feeling the full weight of the reality crash over you.

The report continued, showing clips of detectives speaking to the press, but you couldn't hear it anymore. You were too busy staring at those victim photos, at the scenes of violence left in his presence. How many others had tried to escape him and failed?

The report continued, showing clips of detectives speaking to the press, but you couldn't hear it anymore. You were too busy staring at those victim photos, at the scenes of violence left in his presence. How many others had tried to escape him and failed?Your mind raced, racing with questions. Why hadn't the police caught him yet? Why was he still out there? And more importantly, why had he targeted you?

The food you bought in front of you now seemed disgusting. You pushed it away, your appetite gone. The room felt too crowded, too loud all of a sudden. You stood up abruptly, drawing a few curious looks from students around you, but you didn't care. You needed to get out. You needed air. You're friends were asking you if you were okay and you said "I'm fine I'm okay." They tried to figure out what was wrong but,

You pushed your way through the food court's front doors and stepped outside. The cold air hit your face, sharp and biting, but it did little to calm the panic rising in your chest. The college campus, once bustling with activity, now felt wrong. The shadows under the trees seemed darker, and every passing stranger felt like a threat.

You couldn't stop looking over your shoulder, half-expecting to see Toby lurking behind you, watching from the shadows, waiting for another chance. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you hugged your arms tighter around yourself as if that could somehow keep him away.

It was just a coincidence, you tried to tell yourself. "He doesn't know who am I" . He just happened to be there...right? It wasn't on purpose right..?But even as you thought it, you knew it wasn't true. He had seen you. He had chosen you. And the worst part? You had no idea why. And why he made himself known to you. Why didn't ye come into your house and kill you and your parents? Like how they always said he leaves no spare victims he comes into their houses and kills everybody in there. Why didn't he do that to you?

The rest of the day passed quite quickly . You tried to make it through your classes, but your thoughts kept going back to that news report, to the images of those victims, and the idea that you could have been one of them, torn apart, and chopped up into pieces. By the time your last class ended, you were mentally exhausted, the weight of it all pressing down on you like a heavy load.

As you left campus, walking toward the bus stop, you couldn't shake the feeling that he was watching you. Every step felt like a countdown, every sound like the echo of those footsteps in the snow.You looked over your shoulder one last time before boarding the bus, but there was nothing there. Just the empty street. You took a deep breath, trying to pull yourself together. Toby may have found you once, but it wouldn't happen again. Right?

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

Hey ray here, I just wanna apologize for the long ass wait for chapter two, I had 0 motivation to write during the few months but I plan on working and posting chapters 3 and 4 later in October because I’m found to do little one shots of Creepypasta characters x the reader since I have a lot of ideas in mind!

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧