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milfsloverblog · 4 months ago

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Good Luck, Babe! (NSFW)

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

A/N: I know, I know. I’ve got series waiting for an update blah blah blah. But when something sparks your inspiration, you just got to get to work!! This one’s - obviously - inspired by the Chappell Roan song. This is full on ANGST, HURT NOT COMFORT, you’ve been warned! One shot, no second chapter to fix it all. We love the pain. Hope you’ll enjoy my darlings and don’t forget to like and reblog if you do!! <3

Larissa had been startled awake by a sudden loud noise, her heart pounding in her chest as her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the bedroom she shared with the banshee that slept next to her.

Not a literal one - although that might have been a better choice, Larissa thought as she turned her head towards the man she’d been sharing a bed with for over a decade and nearly two. Ha, there it was again. That loud snoring that kept her awake for nights on end. A banshee, that’s what he sounded like.

She sat up, carefully swinging her legs on the side of the bed and trying her best not to wake him up - somehow the snoring was still more bearable than his incessant yapping when he was awake.

Larissa took a deep breath, rubbing her hands on her face as she contemplated what to do with the rest of her night. She had a little over four hours left of sleep before her alarm would go off, signifying the beginning of her working day. She brushed her fingers through her silver hair, holding back a whine when some of it got stuck in her wedding ring.

Oh bitter irony, she thought as she pulled away to inspect the golden ring on her left hand.

The banshee snored again, pulling Larissa out of her thoughts and nearly making her consider squeezing a pillow on her husband’s face. Instead, she quietly got out of bed, throwing a silky robe on her silkier shoulders and tying it close as a shiver ran down her spine.

Things could have been so different.

As her hand brushed down the wooden handrails of the main stairs, Larissa couldn’t help but reminisce about her younger days. She thought of Nevermore when she was only a student there and not in charge of it. The Poe cup, the Rave’N, the feeling of soft hands on her skin. Larissa stopped dead in her tracks. She could have sworn that she had felt it, right there in the middle of the staircase, the ghost of soft hands on her midriff. She took a deep breath and hurried down the stairs on the tip of her toes, still not wanting to wake up the banshee that rested upstairs.

Turning the light on as she made her way to the kitchen, Larissa walked straight to the sink and knelt to access the cupboard below it. She didn’t even look at the bottles, grabbing the first one that met her hand and pulling it out of the cupboard. It would be a good one anyway, her darling husband always made sure of it. Grand wine, grand house (that she had been against buying), grand life, grand wife. The thought left a bitter taste in Larissa’s mouth and she hurried to open the bottle, eager to replace the bitterness of a wasted life with the bitter taste of an aged Chianti.

As she sipped on her freshly poured wine, Larissa’s mind transported her back to a night twenty years ago.

“They’ll catch us!” Larissa half-whispered as her hand squeezed yours.

“Everyone’s at the Rave’N, they won’t even notice we’re gone. Come on, even if they did, Nevermore’s brightest student and its biggest weirdo? No one would speculate that we’re together. They’ll think that you went to bed early, as a bright student should, and that I’m hiding in some dark corner all alone like a loser.” You joked, pushing the door to your room open.

“I’m not Nevermore’s brightest student, Morticia is,” Larissa said, her crimson-painted lips falling in a soft pout.

“Ha, so nothing about me not being a weirdo or a loser?” You feigned being hurt before letting out a chuckle. “Morticia doesn’t have half of your intelligence nor a quarter of your beauty. She’s got a big pair of tits, that’s all.” You shrugged, closing the door behind you.

Something churned inside Larissa’s stomach, the early stirrings of jealousy making her face grow hot at the mere thought of you finding Morticia somewhat attractive.

“Kiss me,” she demanded.

“Wait, I’ve got something-“You didn’t have time to finish your sentence as Larissa's lips crashed against yours, bruising and demanding.

Larissa opened her mouth and you quickly followed, allowing her to thrust her tongue against yours in a dance you two had been rehearsing for months. Her lips moved down your chin and up your jaw, leaving a trail of red marks that you’d have to scrub at in the morning.

“Riss-“ you whined when she nipped at the thin skin of your neck, gently pulling away from her. “Wait, wait-“

Larissa reluctantly let go of you, wiping the corner of her mouth with her thumb and clearing her throat.

“I want to take my time,” you explained. “We always do this so quickly, most of the time I can’t even get you fully naked. Let’s take our time, everyone will be busy downstairs for another couple of hours.”

Larissa pushed a small smile and nodded. She sat down on your bed and watched as you pulled something from underneath it.

“How on earth did you get that?!” She squealed, nearly ripping the green bottle from your hand.

“Borrowed it from the kitchen,” you shrugged.

“You know that borrowing means you’ll give it back at some point, right?” Larissa mumbled as she read the tag on the bottle.

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll buy some cheap bottle from the supermarket downtown and put it back in the kitchen.”

Larissa let out a snorting laugh and shook her head.

“Do you even know how much this is worth?” She said, gesturing with the bottle in her hand.

“Now don’t be rude,” you raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one that comes from a rich family, not me.”

“Shut up and pour us a glass, if you have anything to open the bottle with!” Larissa pouted. You knew she hated being reminded that she came from money, but it simply was the truth.

“Who do you take me for, a rookie?” You huffed as you opened your bedside table only to pull out a bottle opener and wave it victoriously in Larissa’s face, making her laugh.

What happened next was a little blurry in Larissa’s mind. She remembered sharing the wine, drinking straight from the bottle as you laughed about everything and nothing. She remembered spilling wine on the awfully expensive gown her father had bought her for the Rave’N, and then soft hands helping her out of it. Her head between your thighs, yours between hers. She remembered falling asleep in your arms and waking up still in your arms the next morning. And that had been the breaking point for Larissa. Her parents would never agree to this, to her having this sort of feelings for women, for you. She had to nip this in the bud before it went too far. And so she did.

Larissa made sure to avoid you like the plague after that night, going as far as becoming friends with Morticia Frump and her clique even though she knew how much you disliked them. And then came Henry. He wasn’t Larissa’s type, obviously. But he would please her parents and so she let him court her until they officially became a thing. Then everything had gone so fast, her final year at Nevermore, the graduation, Henry proposing.

“Larissa!” You ran after her inside Nevermore after witnessing Henry’s proposal in the yard. What a dick move, proposing right after she had graduated. Nice way to steal her spotlight.

Larissa spun on her heels, fidgeting with the new ring that felt unfamiliar on her left hand.

“What do you want?” She sighed, trying her best to keep her eyes off of you.

“You can’t do that,” you said, shaking your head. “You can’t marry him, you don’t even love him! Larissa, please…”

“Please what?” Larissa snapped. “What did you think? That this fling we had would turn into more than it was? Don’t be ridiculous.”

You swallowed your pain, refusing to let your heart burst at the seam.

“When you wake up next to him in a decade or two,” you said, fighting against the lump in your throat. “And you’ll realise that you’re nothing more than his wife, you’ll think of me. You’ll think of everything we shared all of those years ago.“

It was Larissa’s turn to swallow thickly as she took in your words. Marrying him meant security, a normal life. But it also meant losing her freedom, Larissa knew that.

“Say something,” you pleaded, hoping that it would be enough for your ex-lover to change her mind.

“I’m sorry,” she simply replied, holding her head high as she always did in any situation - good or bad. “You knew this would come to an end.” She added before giving a small nod and walking past you, the sound of her kitten heels echoing down the corridor.

She hadn’t seen you since. You hadn’t replied to the wedding invite she had sent. She had hoped you’d show up, she’d hoped to prove to you that she had made the right choice. That she was happy in the life she had picked for herself. That she had moved on. But she hadn’t really moved on, had she? Drinking herself half-blind almost two decades after she’d last seen you. Maybe you had moved on. Surely you had.

When Larissa was pulled back to reality, to the empty kitchen and the emptier glass of wine in her hand, tears had started running down her cheeks which she hastily wiped away.

She had thought about reaching out more times than she would ever admit. But she never dared. Not when she had found your Facebook and you seemed so happy with that woman on your profile picture. She would never dare reach out to you for she knew that you would tell her what you always did whenever she had to deal with the consequences of her actions.

I told you so, Larissa. You know I hate to say it but I told you so.

And Larissa wished, she wished she had listened to you. She wished she could go back in time and she wished she could forget you.

But Larissa knew - she would have to stop the world to stop the feeling.

————————————————————————

taglist: @weemssapphic, @im-a-carnivorous-plant, @dingdongthetail, @azu-zu, @gwensfz , @erablaise-blog , @rainbow-hedgehog , @renravens , @kaymariesworld , @niceminipotato , @agathaandgwenslesbian, @witchesmortuary , @notmeellaannyy , @gwenilover, @weemswife , @m-0-mmy-l-0-ver33 , @redkarine , @women-are-so-ethereal , @opheliauniverse , @willisnotmental , @raspburrythief , @vigelvictoria, @fictionalized-lesbian , @weems13 , @lynn1ebug, @ness029 , @geekyarmorel , @h-doodles , @cxndlelightx , @m1lflov3rrr , @winterfireblond , @nocteangelus15 , @aemilia19 @ladylarissaweems @spacetoaim22 @1-800-milfdilf @vendocrap8008 @opalthefrog @jkregal l @gela123 @lilfartbox1 @raya0jpg @xuukoo @bellatrixsbrat @sadsapphic-rose @dumbasslesbi @larissaoftarthweems @larissalover3 @friskyfisher @thesamesweetie @fliesinmymouth @imprincipalweemspet @forwhichidream11 @amateurwritescm @imlike-so-gaydude @sugipla @lvinhs @http-sam @franouo @mysteriouslysapphic @gweninred @a-queen-and-her-throne

#gwendoline christie #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems #principal weems #no beta we die like larissa #larissa weems x y/n

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mediumgayitalian · 6 months ago

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“Will, can I tell you something?”

“You can tell me anything.” He glances up from his clipboard, grinning wide and wry and sparkling. “Especially if it’s that you’ve got food.”

Nico knows his best friend, so he does have food; a pack of twizzlers the size of his face that he tosses, deliberately quickly, at his face, smiling to himself when he misses and dives down to grab it anyway. His clipboard clatters to the ground, pen bouncing after it, as he tears into it, inhaling at least ten twisty candies in half as many seconds.

“Gods, I love you,” he groans, mouth open like the disgusting mannerless loser he is.

Nico coughs. “Funny you should say.”

He’s spared from having to jump clear through the nearest window and landing right on his neck by the honestly uncomfortable noises Will continues to make — by the gods if he finds out it’s been another twenty three hours since William has eaten he is going to kill him and resurrect his skeleton for permanent manual labour — and instead worries himself with the first random task he sees unfinished. Do the kiddie Band-Aids actually need to be emptied from their boxes and sorted by size and vibe? No. But Will won’t stop him. And Nico needs, like, twenty minutes of recovery. So.

“What did you want to ask me, by the way?”

His mouth is still — somehow — full, so it sounds closer to whaa joo wanna asme. Nico, brave veteran that he is, feigns confusion.

“Hm?”

“Question,” Will swallows, an actual, audible gulp, gods, where have Nico’s standards gone, “that you had.” There’s the sound of joints cracking and a deep sigh, then quick footsteps, and then Will is in front of him, eyes squinted, mouth wide and crooked, leaning on the counter. He has been up before the sun and working the entire time, people pouring in and out like ants to an anthill, and Nico knows he has not rested, but energy still sparks all over his skin. He bounces, almost, from his frizzy ringlet curls to the balls of his feet, humming, twitching, moving.

“I.” Nico’s throat is dry, and his eyes move from the bandages, to Will, to the bandages. “Well.”

When Nico was a kid he would stutter over his words. He was a shit speaker. Bianca spoke four languages by the time she was six, and Nico could barely ever manage the one; he knew what he was trying to say, and he would say it, only somewhere along the way his brain sent the wrong sparks or maybe his tongue got twisted or maybe his mouth made the wrong shapes. Or he blended them all together, like ice sleet on helicopter blades, and everything left his mouth just fine but got smashed to bits in the air outside of him, never reaching his audience quite right. And then he was ten and everything he cared about was smashed to dust and he stopped caring about where the words got twisted and stopped relying on them at all, and stared, instead; glowered, let his face speak for him, even if they weren’t saying the same thing. It annoys everyone around him. It frustrated his mother and pisses off his father and annoys or frightens every other person around him, and everyone guesses, fills in the blanks, deciphers what he is going to say to make his presence just a little easier to bear.

But Will waits, rocking, as he always does, eyes flicking around the infirmary, a handwidth of space between them. Fingers, drumming on the curve of his thigh, too-big front teeth gnawing on his chapped bottom lip. Waiting. For the words, for the time, for the courage.

“I missed you today,” Nico blurts, and it isn’t what he meant to say, not by a long shot, but it’s an approximation and it will count. And Will is suddenly smiling, huge, too big for his face; beaming, brightly, beautifully. “I hate it when you work too long.”

“Yeah?”

Nico exhales, cheekbones ruddy. “Yeah.”

“That’s not a question, Neeks.”

“Oh, stuff it.”

Will laughs, then, and the room gets brighter, and Nico gets warmer, braver, and takes his hand. He walks even both out of the infirmary and Will goes willingly, even though there is work too be done, swinging their hands, and he talks, and talks and talks and talks, and then he waits, quietly, humming to himself, and Nico says nothing, although he thinks things, and Will acts like he has said them. And his palm is still rough and warm against his, and the sun is setting, and Will smells like artificial strawberry and lavender body wash, and Nico thinks, You can tell me anything, and he vows that he will. And he holds his hand, and squeezes it around his, and smiles, and waits, easily, contentedly.

#i love them and the way they are so suited for each other #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #nico di angelo/will solace #nico di angelo & will solace #nico/will #will/nico #solangelo #fluff #100 ways #100 ways to say i love you #my writing #fic #longpost

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nimnia · 3 months ago

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𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬

pairing ── kim minji x female reader

summary ── cooking dinner for you and minji, who stayed after being invited by the H-trio. you thought it would be pretty normal but minji was just something else.

contains ── wholesome, dinner cooking, flirty minji, hahaehye on the outing, college students, non-idol au, clingy minji

taglist ── @flyingcigarettes

[masterlist]

── ── ꒰ [◉"] ꒱ ── ──

It has been one year and a half since you lived with the five girls in college. you enjoyed living with your five best friends.

the dorm was large enough to have six people; thankfully, you and the others are very organized and love cleaning. minji, hanni and you are in your 3rd year in college, while danielle and haerin are in their 2nd, and hyein is in her 1st year.

the first time you met them, it was a little nerve-wracking. ever since middle school, you were a bit paranoid and scared of what people would think of you.

although it would be normal for them to do so, you couldn't stop overthinking it, and lots of times you would get panic attack about it.

when you enter your 1st year of college, you don't have anyone to rely on. as an irregular student, it is already difficult for you to adjust to a new environment and people.

it was then you met minji and hanni, who are best friends ever since elementary.

at first, you were nervous around them since they look too pretty and a bit mean-looking. but as you get to know them, they are far from the mean part and definitely beautiful inside out.

the moment they introduced you to their other friends— danielle, haerin and hyein— you knew that they had already accepted you as a new part of their circle of best friends. and never have you thought of regretting to meet them.

and as time goes on until you reach your 3rd year of college, you start living with them in a large dorm, fit for six and over people. not a single day was boring, and because of them, you enjoyed your college despite the stress and humiliation you've experienced.

since then, you have grown closer to them. you shared your personal life with them and felt like your connection with each other is closer to a family bond, or even more than that.

otherwise, you were just so happy with your current life with them.

─────

"y/n-ah, you wanna hang out today with us?"

hanni asks as she knocks on your door and slightly opens it to peek her head, watching as you tie up your hair because it was getting in your way whenever you're writing.

you hummed thoughtfully as you finished tying up your hair. "i think i'll stay back for now, unnie. who will you go with?" hanni enters your room fully and trots towards your way as you ask a question.

"just going with haerin, hyein, and dani. they wanna eat outside, so of course, i would too since i like eating outside!" you chuckle as you spin your swivel chair towards her and hold her hands habitually and she stood in front of you.

"that or you would only stay in whenever i cook for us, hm?" you razzed at her, raising your brows at her playfully while she laughed sheepishly, playing with your fingers.

"it's cuz your cooking is much better than in restaurants! well, an expected of our hm student!"

sharing a peal of laughter, you released her hands and pat her hips playfully. "anyways, i guess you should be going now? time is running fast, y'know?" to which hanni nodded and patted your head as she turned away to leave your room.

"yeah, man! we'll go now!" you bid her goodbye and turned back to your study table but hanni announced one more thing. "by the way, minji is staying back too! she said she's not feeling well!" then she left, leaving you chuckling.

"i bet she's that unwell." you shake your head, already knowing the oldest's reason.

─────

it has been half an hour since the four left the dorm, leaving you and minji at home alone. minji didn't make a sound outside her room, so you assumed that she was asleep at times like this while you continued working on your projects.

as time goes by, you begin to feel stressed about your work. you leaned back to your swivel chair and released a deep sigh, closing your eyes to ease the headache.

you rested for a while before going back to your projects until your stomach growled for hunger. you sighed once more before deciding to leave your projects alone to make an early dinner for you, and for minji, if she wants to.

retiring from your room, you head to minji's room and gently knock on her door. "minji-unnie? are you awake?" then, you smiled in relief when a soft hum was heard muffling from behind the door.

"i'll make an early dinner right now- do you have anything in mind of what you'd like to have?" you received no answer. you frowned slightly before feeling a soft vibration inside your hoodie's pocket.

you looked down and took out your phone to see a message from minji. you smiled understandingly.

'anything works for me'

just a simple answer from her is enough. you knocked once on the door, "alright, unnie. i will call you out later once it's done." without waiting for her response, you walked away to head towards the kitchen area.

you arrived and quickly turned on the small bluetooth speaker that you bought last month and connected it to your phone. going into your playlist, you tapped the first song.

'fly me to the moon' lofi

you place your phone on top of the speaker and begin your cooking session. you decided to cook dakgalbi with rice and egg and gaji namul, knowing that minji has been craving dakgalbi since yesterday, so you decided to cook that.

to say, you feel happy to eat meat again this week.

as you concentrated on cooking and humming the music, you weren't aware of a door opening and closing and minji appearing behind you.

earlier, while minji was resting since she was feeling a little unwell, she smelled something aromatic outside her door. curious despite feeling dizzy, she leaves her bed and room to check what you are cooking.

upon smelling the familiar scent, she was excited to know it was dakgalbi you were cooking. when she arrived at the kitchen area, she smiled at the sight of you, who was enjoying cooking and humming.

the atmosphere felt perfect for minji.

she tiptoed towards you, planning to hug you from behind. as minji was about to wrap her arms around your waist, you suddenly turned around and both of you shared a surprised yelp.

"unnie! i didn't even hear you coming in!" you placed a hand on where your racing heart was, laughing at what just happened. minji laughed with you, hugging you because she got a little surprised at the sudden turn. "i'm sorry! i wanted to surprise you but i guess we both got too surprised."

you shake your head, "it's okay! just a little surprise- are you feeling unwell, unnie?" you press the back of your hand on minji's forehead, feeling it heat a bit.

but minji only nodded against the back of your hand, loving the warm sensation that you left on her skin. "i'm kinda okay, feeling a little dizzy but water and medicine can fix it in no time."

she reassures you but you look at her with narrowed eyes. "uh huh, sure. go sit down for a bit, it's almost done." you shooed her away and turned around to finish cooking but you jumped when you felt arms sneaking around your waist.

"unnie, really."

minji giggles at your deadpan face, tightening her arms around your waist and leaning her head on your back. "let me stay like this first. i think you're making me feel better." you rolled your eyes at her flirt comment, but not rejecting this sweet being.

"not my fault if you collapse, minji-ssi~" you hummed at her, gently bumping your head to hers before concentrating on cooking. she chuckles lightly and hums back as she relaxes against your warm body.

"...you gotta let me borrow your hoodie one day, y/n. this feels too warm for me and i might steal it if you don't let me borrow it."

you snort as you reach up to the cabinet for 2 plates, ignoring the small whine on your back. "i let you borrow it but you left it inside your closet for months! i wouldn't have it back if i didn't remember it."

minji bit your back and proudly giggled at your yelp. "i felt bad but your worried look is too adorable. of course, not anymore when you got mad at me when you found it."

you nodded with an amused smile, "you don't like it whenever i get angry but you purposely find ways to make me mad, girl. don't even." minji stifles laughter, "well, my bad."

after a little chat, it was finally finished. you asked her to help you take the food on the table, to which she didn't hesitate to do so. once you placed all your meals on the table, you sat next to each other and started eating your dinner. "thanks for the food!"

you both exclaimed excitedly and dug in. the instant minji took a bite, she moaned in satisfaction. "y/n, seriously. you should consider my confession again- i need you as my wife."

you laughed heartily at her serious face and heart-fluttering comment. "shut up! just eat!"

minji giggles at your cute reaction, reminiscing about this heartwarming moment with you before retaking a bite of the dakgalbi, letting out a satisfied and delightful moan.

you hit her arm to stop the weird sound.

── ── ꒰ end ꒱ ── ──

#newjeans #뉴진스 #newjeans minji #newjeans hanni #newjeans danielle #newjeans haerin #newjeans hyein #softcore #fluff #newjeans x fem reader #newjeans x reader #newjeans x you #minji x reader #kim minji #nwjns #foodpics #foodporn #dinner #foodie

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moonstruckme · 1 year ago

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Love, OMG?? the doctor!rem fix killed me 😭 do you think you might do part 2 where shes bedridden and he's taking care of her?? currently sick too 😭

Thanks for requesting!

part 1 | part 2

Doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 962 words

Remus has got you all doped up. You didn’t even bother asking him what the pills he handed you a few hours ago were, but now you’re feeling tired and teary.

“Rem.” Your voice is hoarse, barely there. You try again. “Remus.”

A head of fluffy brown hair pops out of the kitchen. “You calling me, sweetheart?”

You swallow. “Yeah.”

“Oh, honey,” Remus eyebrows pinch together as he comes down the hallway to you. “You sound awful, I could barely hear you.”

“Sorry,” you croak, the sympathy in his voice only serving to tighten your throat. “Did you roofie me?”

His eyebrows raise as he sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing your leg through the sheets. “Think they’d have my license for that one, dove. Why do you ask?”

“I’m really sleepy.”

Remus nods. “That’s alright. You took the nighttime ones, remember? It’s a good idea to rest right now.”

“Oh.” You hadn’t remembered. Remus frowns like he can tell.

“Wait one second, dove.” He disappears back down the hall, returning a few moments later with a steaming cup of tea. “I put honey in it, so it should help with your throat for a little while.” He passes it to you carefully, keeping a hand on it as you raise it to your lips just in case you drop it. “Careful, there you go. Alright if I take your temp again?”

You nod, blowing gently on your tea while Remus puts the thermometer in your ear. You relish the feel of the steam on your face, and your first sip is so saccharine you wonder how much of the tea is actually tea and how much is just honey. It’s good like this, though. You lean forward until your forehead rests on Remus’ shoulder. You would’ve assumed that doctors would be so desensitized to illness that they’d have no bedside manner left for when they’re off the clock, but Remus is being so extra sweet to you. He’s made you drink probably four gallons of water, sure, but it’s all “sweetheart” this and “dovey” that, and you don’t think you’ve ever received a more soothing back rub than the one he gave you this morning. You don’t actually mind being sick all that much while he’s here to take care of you.

You’re so caught up in your maudlin reverie that you’ve forgotten the device in your ear by the time it beeps, and you jump.

“Sorry,” Remus laughs, surprised by your reaction. He puts a hand behind your neck, helping you ease yourself back down onto the pillow. “You start to drift off there, lovely?”

“A little,” you admit, pulling the covers up over your shoulders as a shiver takes you.

He hums, the sound half amusement and half concern. “Well, your fever’s gone down a bit at least, so the medicine seems to be doing its work. How’re you feeling?”

“I feel like I’m dying,” you reply, picking your phone up off your pillow to wave it about, “and I checked, the internet agrees with me.”

“Oh, really?” Remus smiles as he brushes a few wayward strands of hair from your forehead. “I suppose it’s a good thing you have the internet to tell you that, since there’s not, say, a fully qualified medical professional at your disposal.”

“What is it you’re always saying?” you ask him, and the tea really is making your throat feel better; the warm honey coats your mistreated esophagus like a balm. “It never hurts to get a second opinion? Anyway, you never said the flu would make my legs hurt like this.”

Remus blinks. “Your legs?”

“Mhm.” You flex your feet, bringing to life the ache that’s plagued you for the last several hours as if to prove it to him. “They hurt.”

Remus frowns as he feels for your leg through the covers. “What part hurts, honey?”

“All up and down them.”

Remus cuts an odd look your way before his hand finds your calf. He squeezes, and you hiss.

“Ouch!” you say. “Fuck, yeah, it’s there.”

Remus laughs. Actually laughs, and ever harder when you look at him with betrayal in your eyes. “Sweetheart,” he says. “Honey, my darling, do you remember how we went ice skating yesterday?”

You feel your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Yeah?”

“And do you see how that would work out muscles you don’t usually use all that much?”

Your frown worsens. “Sure. Why?”

The smile Remus gives you is kind, but you can still see the amusement twinkling in his eyes. “You’re sore, dovey. It’s got nothing to do with the flu, you just worked the muscles in your legs a bit harder than they’re used to. I’m feeling it in my calves, too.”

“Oh.” You nestle into the covers until they reach halfway up your face, retreating in embarrassment. Remus laughs again, pushing the sheets down under your chin and kissing your face. His nose is cold where it mushes into your feverish skin.

“Sorry, I’m not making fun of you,” he promises, though he’s snickering. “I mean, I will, but not when you’re so unwell. You’re still my poor girl for now.”

“I like poor girl privilege,” you decide, turning your cheek so he’ll kiss it again. He does, smiling against your skin.

“You know what other privileges you get?” Remus asks you. “Other than tea and a hiatus from teasing?” You hum contentedly. “I’ll tell you something I never tell my other patients.”

“What’s that?” you ask him, unsure if your sudden dizziness is from the fever or just the effect his affection has on you.

Remus climbs over you, slipping beneath the covers and pulling you up against him. “Cuddles are the best cure for the flu.”

759 notes · View notes

smellrain · 8 months ago

Text

in which: Jack has liked you for years, but so far you have been oblivious to his feelings. Will the guide he made with the help of his teammate make you fall for him? Or will it end up destroying your friendship?

tags: written, mention of use of alcohol, slight angst. (masterlist for this au) (my masterlist) <prev. part: prologue I next part: ch. 2>

notes: [4.3k] First of all: thank you for your kind words after the prologue yesterday! Very happy that so many of you liked it. There is an analysis post about this chapter here that you might want to check out after! I hope you enjoy :) & come tell me how you liked it!!!

It had been a long day at work for you. The data your boss had assigned you had taken you a lot longer to work on than you’d expected, which meant that you actually, genuinely missed your last lecture of the day. You had texted a barely-even-friend that attended the same elective about her notes but you hadn't gotten a text back so far.

Standing in front of your door now, you leaned the crown of your head against the outside of it and took a deep breath in. You had missed the key hole not once but twice now and the anger that welled up inside of you was completely unwarranted, so you knew you needed to mentally take at least one step back.

Four seconds in, seven hold, eight out. In and out. You blinked once and the dark of the wood was an unwelcome reminder of reality. Still, unlocked the door, this time succeeding on the first try.

The hallway was quiet, but you had expected as much. One of your flatmates had a nightshift at the clinic she was working at while the other was sleeping over at her boyfriends. The blissful silence you had looked forward to this morning seemed suffocating now.

It didn’t matter. It was fine like this, you were fine.

After turning on the kitchen light, you walked to your room, put down your bag and fell down onto your bed, face first. The scratchy fabric of your bedcover was not nearly as nice as the sheets you had dreamed of all day long.

For a while you let your eyes fall closed, not asleep, but resting nonetheless. You just wanted to rinse the day off of you, but you were too hungry to even think about showering.

With a groan you peeled yourself off your bed, sat at the edge of your mattress while an inexplicable urge to cry welled up inside of you. Your day had been really shitty and your were really, really hungry.

But you got up anyway and walked towards the light in the kitchen that shone through through the space of the door to your room.

The music you’d put on in the background helped but it didn’t quite scratch that itch for conversation, for company. When you saw your phone light up from where you had left it on the counter, you hoped it might be the classmate you had texted.

You rinsed off your hands to see who had messaged you.

Jack (worst Hughes brother): hey what r you doing tn? You: currently making dinner why what did you do what do you need Jack (worst Hughes brother): nothing wait why did you assume i did/need sth anyways: can i come over soon?

The shower. You still had to shower, but soon for Jack usually meant at least half an hour. It should be enough time and besides it was just Jack, no reason to put in more effort than necessary.

You: because you always text me when you need my help sure, I might be eating by then, have you eaten? Jack (worst Hughes brother): I did like 5min ago wait no ignore that, you’re telling me I could have had some of yours??? jkjk see you soon

You liked the last message and turned the heat off your stove. Shower first, you reminded yourself, even as you mourned the loss of the start of your dinner that you had been frying on the stove.

When he knocked at your door you were still sitting at the small kitchen table that could barely seat two people. “It’s open,” you said, loudly.

From the sounds you could hear him open and close the door, take off his shoes and leave his bag in the hallway. When he finally came into your view, you couldn’t help but smile. Strange how that worked, considering you had almost cried half an hour ago. Food really worked miracles sometimes. But then again he had always had that kind of effect on you, making you smile despite yourself.

“That’s not very safe of you,” he had said but he was already smiling, “having your door unlocked.”

“Hey you, fancy seeing you here.”

There was a warm feeling curling itself around your ribcage at the look at him, “hey yourself. I left it open because I knew you were coming over, don’t worry about it.”

“Alright,” he conceded, “did you watch the game yesterday?”

“‘Course I did,” you said, eyes following him as he took a glass from the cabinets and filled it up. There was something intimate about that, the ease he carried himself with, him knowing where to find your glassware and feeling comfortable enough to do so while carrying on with the conversation.

There was something in you that ached at the feeling, at having someone that comes home to you. At having someone that just feels that comfortable with you, that you live your life alongside with.

It’s not like you were lonely, you had wonderful flatmates and good friends, but there was just something different about this feeling, about this longing. Or maybe that was just the effect he had on you, inexplicable as always.

“Good, otherwise I would have felt stupid after my goal.”

You had seen the new ritual he did sometimes that he had been asked about by the media sometimes. He had done it a few times now, more often over this past year. He was approached by his teammates first, but then he was still for a bit, putting his hand on his chest and raising it up after, usually waving once. The warmth that had seeped into your bones crept up to your face, “you did that for me?”

The one time he talked to an interviewer about it, he had said it was a new good luck charm he was trying out.

Because of the small table the two of you sat close and his knee kept bumping into yours, but you hardly paid it any mind. It was comforting, having him here, this close in the low light of the kitchen, cradling one of your glasses in his hands.

Admitting something he hadn’t told anyone else.

“Yeah, of course, had to show my appreciation for my number one fan somehow.”

You laughed a little, “you are such an idiot.”

The smile he gave you in return crinkled up the skin at the corner of his eyes and you wanted to trace that fold with your thumb. What were you even thinking? “I know.”

So you just swatted his shoulder and got up to wash your dish. “Did you guys go out and celebrate?”

Jack turned in his seat, his body facing your back from where he was still sitting at the table, “yeah. It was a really small bar in the middle of nowhere, Nico said he didn’t want to be recognised, despite the win.”

You hummed in response. The constant scrutiny must have been affecting them all after these past few games. “Cool. Did it actually work or,” you trailed off, not really sure how to finish your question.

“Sort of, I mean we took a few pictures when we came in but it was a lot better than usual.”

“I’m glad then,” you said and turned back around to face him, “I’m glad nothing too exciting happened.”

At the word exciting his expression morphed into something odd. “What?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he answered but he wasn’t meeting your eyes anymore.

“You can tell me, you know you can,” you reminded him, now getting closer to him again. You were usually able to get out every last secret of his if you just asked the right questions.

“I know,” he assured you, now pulling you a little closer by your hip and resting his hand there. He had always been touchy like that, arms slung over your shoulders or around your waist, hands holding your wrist to pull you through crowds, thumbs circling your ankle when you rested your legs in his lap.

“But it’s really nothing, I just got a little drunk,” he assured you, but you didn’t really buy it.

Still, you had no real reason to press, knowing that it just made him close up further. He would end up telling you, just not now. “Okay.”

The two of you went back to your room soon after, deciding to watch a movie. You didn’t tell him that you were really, genuinely tired, because you knew he could tell. He always could, somehow, even if you yourself weren’t all that aware of it. Funny how that worked.

You sat down first and then patted the spot next to you on the bed, but for a split second you saw him hesitate. That hurt, just a bit because you had thought that the two of you were close enough for it to not matter anymore.

Still, he leaned against the headboard next to you, his shoulder softly knocking against yours and your worries disappeared at that. You must have imagined it.

“Any preferences?”

“Ratatouille,” you said immediately, not even knowing where that request came from.

He smiled, “I do like a girl that knows what she wants.”

For some reason you blushed at that, at the barely even there implication of being his. You really were going insane today. “Is that okay for you?”

“Sure,” he said, “let's watch the rat be a better cook than the two of us combined.”

You typed the website and clicked play on your screen and settled your laptop down between the two of you, one knee on each side of the bottom of it.

You were suddenly keenly aware of the fact that you didn’t even own a tv, that you were watching a movie from your laptop when he could be at home, watching it on a screen that was at least double the size of this.

It was a stupid thought, so you brushed it off. He was a professional athlete, you were a college student. There was something fundamentally different about your current lives, as intertwined as they were.

The movie started soon after, so you pushed all of that to the back of your mind. At first the two of you ran a semi-steady commentary about what was going on but soon after you were both too engrossed in the story to think about anything fun to say.

When a sharp sound came from the screen you realised that you had your eyes closed. Sleepily you blinked your eyes open again. It must have been for a few minutes, at least because you weren't sure what was going on anymore.

“Tired?” he asked, a knowing glint in his eyes.

You let your forehead fall against his shoulder, this time on purpose. It was a welcome contrast to a few hours ago when you did the same thing against your front door. His shoulder was softer because of his sweatshirt and he smelled nice. Like the shampoo he used, like his laundry detergent. You wondered when that smell had become intrinsically his and not someone else's' like a friend of yours that used the same deodorant.

You kind of wanted to drown in it, but you held yourself afloat anyway. He wasn’t yours, you weren’t his. The two of you weren’t like that.

“Had a hard day at work,” you mumbled, a little more tired now than you’d been just moments ago. His presence did that to you, calmed you down when you didn’t even know you were high to begin with.

He lowered your shoulder a bit which made it more comfortable for you to rest your head on it. “You could have said no, you know that, right?”

But you had wanted to see him once you had seen his message. “I know.”

“Good,” he answered, as if it was as simple as that and remained quiet after that.

You tried to turn your focus back to the movie, you really did, but before you knew it your eyelids were drooping again.

Then you were woken up again, this time by Jack.

The movie must have finished in the meantime because he had moved his arm, closing your laptop. You rubbed your eyes tiredly, trying to form a coherent thought but the only thing on your mind was the warmth of him next to you, the dream that just barely slipped out of your grasp.

“Sorry,” you said.

He turned to you, surprised. “What for? If anything I should apologise, I kept watching even when you were tired.”

“You know I don't mind that,” you said. “I just wasn’t very good company today. Sorry.”

Jack knocked his shoulder against you with a little more purpose so you turned to him. “Nope, none of that. I don’t mind, I got to see you, which is all I wanted anyway.”

How could he just say something like that? As if words like these didn’t bore themselves under your skin, living there forever, etching themselves into the white of your bones.

This casually, as if it didn’t just make your heart flutter the same way it did when you were eighteen, back when you had loved him. Still, in your barely illuminated room, late at night you let yourself linger. Let yourself pretend that his words held meaning.

Let yourself pretend that the two of you were different.

You thought about the thousands of times you must have seen him just like this, in the dark, looking back at you.

It was a weird memory that came to you, just then.

Back when the two of you had first met you had been crushing hard. It wasn’t really surprising, now looking back. You had never really gotten a lot of attention by boys growing up, so when he went out of his way to talk to you, you really had no choice but to fall for him.

Liking him had become addicting.

You could still remember the moment you thought he might like you back and the very same moment you knew it wasn’t, probably ever, going to work out between the two of you.

It was at a party, after you had just graduated. You had just come out of the bathroom, alone because your friend was finally, finally talking to the guy she liked.

Then you picked up a friend’s voice somewhere down the corner, most likely from the kitchen. “C’mon your turn now. Who are you crushing on,” Aaron had said. They must still be playing a weird mixture of truth or dare and some other game you had already forgotten the name of.

Your mind immediately went to Jack, the way his hand had brushed yours when he had gotten you a drink earlier that night.

“I don't?” Jack answered, slightly laughing, but there was an air of unease in his voice that you couldn’t help but notice.

“C’mon, Jack don’t be like that,” someone else interjected, and suddenly you were a lot more invested in the conversation than just a moment ago. It was always like that when it was about him.

“There are always so many girls throwing themselves at you, surely you want one of them,” you could hear the other guy’s jealousy from miles away but you weren’t sure if the others picked up on it too.

“I’m serious, I barely have time for my friends already, let alone a girlfriend.” Jack said and there was this tiny spark of hope rising in your chest. Maybe you could change that. Maybe you could be the exception.

“True,” Aaron agreed calmer than usual. You thought he might be noticing the tension waving off of the other guy.

“There is no shame in admitting it,” the other guy doubled down, “what about that one girl? Short, brunette, on the track and field club.”

Oh god, he was describing your friend, the one you had just left with her crush. “Nah, wait I think she has a boyfriend, but what about her friend, the one that Kevin hangs out with.”

You. Shit, he was talking about you. Did you really want to hear Jack’s response? What if he said he didn’t like you? But what if he did?

“She is my friend too, you know,” Jack said, “but she is pretty, I guess.”

He guesses? That kind of really stung. You knew that there was nothing all that memorable about you, but it’s not like you were ugly. A thousand different insecurities that you thought you had worked through rose to the surface and you didn’t have the strength to push them back down.

You had to escape, now, without being noticed and without listening to anything more. Still, your ear couldn’t help but pick up on the rest even as you pushed past that guy that sat behind you in math.

“Jack, don’t be like that,” the other guy insisted, “don’t you want to go up to her and just fuck her? I mean her ass-”

Humiliation. For some reason you felt humiliated and violated. You knew about locker room talk, but you had never wanted to be part of it. Tears were beginning to well up in your eyes and suddenly you could feel every single person that had touched any part of you today, suddenly questioning if it really was accidental.

You had to get out, now. The static in your ear was loud and the bass vibrating through the soles of your feet seemed to turn it up even more. You had run away, texting the friend you came with some kind of bullshit excuse for leaving.

The asphalt outside on the sidewalk was cold, but you sat down on it anyway. You just wanted to cry. Everything seemed so overwhelming and important all at once and you had no idea how to deal with all of it.

Soon you were leaving high school for good, your friends were moving all across the country, you were so fucking lonely and the guy you had been crushing on for a better part of a year didn’t even think that you were worthy to look at.

You drew your legs closer to your body and folded yourself up as much as possible. Growing up seemed scary all of a sudden. There was that one Lorde lyric that said that too, that you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Suddenly people were streaming out of the house, all at once. You wiped your tears, looking up at what was happening. In the stream of people you couldn’t make out any of your friends.

Then you heard your name being called. It was Kevin, still standing at his door. He held Jack at the others shirt collar, as if he was holding up a particularly unruly cat that had gotten in trouble again.

Your eyes must not have been red because when you came closer neither boy commented on it. “Get him home,” Kevin said and dumped a heap of Jack right in front of you.

Jack glared back at where Kevin disappeared back into the house, eyes murderous. You had never really seen him act like that, especially to a friend. But then again how well did you really know him?

A beat of silence. You really wondered what on earth had happened for the party to just end. You shifted your weight on your feet. “Do you have a car?” you asked eventually.

Jack brushed past you, “yeah. I’ll drive you home, didn’t drink anything.”

You followed him, but on the short walk back to his car neither of you said anything.

The stereo remained off all the way back to your place. After you had stopped looking at him to try and figure out what had him in this bad of a mood, you looked outside. The neighbourhood was so familiar, and the horribly sad feeling from earlier came up again.

You really needed some kind of distraction. “Thank you for driving me home.”

For a second he remained quiet and you really thought you were going to be ignored. He had always had a bit of a dramatic streak at times. “Of course.”

His expression remained scarily blank. “Can I ask what happened with Kevin?”

“Nothing,” he said, his gaze staring firmly ahead. Then, “I don’t like his friends.”

What kind of response was that? “Okay,” you tried, carefully, “then why did you come?”

“I didn’t know I didn’t like them before tonight,” he said.

Then you looked at the way his hands were gripping the wheel, specifically at his knuckles. Wait- “did you punch one of them?”

He laughed, and the sound bounced off the small enclosure and some kind of happy feeling made your heart swell, even though you had been apprehensive about him just moments ago.

It was a lot longer than your comment had warranted. You really were a bit concerned about him. Should he be driving if he acted like this? “I might have.”

Before you could ask why, because you had never seen him actually punch anyone, he continued, “in my defense, he started it.”

“That’s a shitty defense,” you said, “that just means you have to be the one to take a step back first.”

He only shook his head in response but you were happy he was back to acting like that Jack you knew. “You would have punched him too, I just know it.”

“Sure,” you replied. You had never punched a person because you didn’t like them and you didn’t think you’d start anytime soon.

“Trust me, you would have,” he said and left it at that.

The two of you arrived at your place soon after, so you thanked him and left.

The rest of the summer between highschool and college was spent getting over him, which you eventually succeeded at when he introduced his now ex-girlfriend to you and your friends.

In college you went out on a few dates, but none of them ended up going anywhere. That was fine to you, because it just meant that you were prioritising other things now, like your studies and your friends.

There wasn’t even anything all that similar between that memory and your current situation, but you drew the comparison anyway. His jaw was more refined now, his hair longer and his eyes seemed different now, a bit more mature maybe. Or maybe just a bit more tired.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

It must have been a bit strange, you just looking at him. “You,” you replied honestly. “Do you remember that one party, way back, after high school where you punched someone?”

He groaned and leaned his head back against the wall, his throat exposed. Your gaze lingered there for a bit before returning to his face. Some kind of feeling almost bubbled to the surface at the sound and the matching sight.

“I do.”

“I never actually figured why you did that.” When his gaze remained firmly on your ceiling, you continued, “I feel like now enough time has passed for you to admit why.”

He smiled a bit. “There was this other guy, right? The one I punched, I mean.”

You nodded.

“He was being a real dick about one of my friends, and when he didn’t stop talking about her I just kinda wanted him to shut up. Moved before thinking about it.”

“Asshole,” you commented, not about Jack.

“Right?” he turned his head so that he looked back down to you, “after that one punch I came back to myself but before I knew it Kevin had dragged me out by my collar, shouting that everyone had to go.”

“He must have wanted to avoid a full on fight,” you said.

“For sure, can’t even blame him.” With a mischievous gleam in his eyes he said, “but it felt really good to finally shut him up.”

You laughed, thinking that the entire situation was a lot more dramatic than it really had any reason to be. The laugh turned to a yawn by the end.

“I should leave,” he said but you had the weird urge to ask him to stay.

“Sorry, I’m a lot more tired than I thought,” you said instead.

“Don’t apologise for that,” he said, getting up. He ended up offering you a hand to help you get up as well even though you really didn't need it. You took it anyway.

He picked up the bag that he had left at the door, opened it and turned to you. “I had fun.”

You smiled, “me too.”

“Good,” he offered you a smile in return. You saw his hand reach out and stop for just a second, but before you could ask him about it, he held it against your temple and leaned down to give you a kiss on your forehead. He lingered in your orbit for a bit longer than the duration of the kiss, just hovering above you.

“See you soon,” he said, waving, and you replied the same. Then you closed your door and locked it.

You didn’t need to hold your hand against your cheek to feel it burn. What was that? He had never done that before. He had never done anything like that before, ever.

You stumbled to your bathroom, and went through the motions of brushing your teeth and going on the toilet. When you finally crawled under your sheets, you let yourself sink down into them.

Still, you were too tired to properly dissect the entire interaction so instead you closed your eyes. You drifted to sleep, your mind focusing on the tips of his ears that had seemed a bit flushed when he closed the door behind himself.

taglist: @alwaysclassyeagle @hughescomplex @lupinslibraries @megaluke @cixrosie (send me an ask to be added!)

#jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x you #nhl #nj devils #nhl imagine #nhl x y/n #nhl x you #nhl x reader #ame writes #jhgtfil

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megumislovedoll · 17 days ago

Text

super shy? no, super lucky

⠀ ⠀— chapter 2 of the cool with you series

yn pov 3rd person

She sighed, finally finishing her test. Now, it was time to see what she got on it. She'd been lucky enough to remember her test was today just in time, but now let’s see if she was lucky enough to get a good grade despite her last minute studying, constantly leaving online classes early, and turning in assignments late.

Which the only reason why these things would happen is because of newjeans.

“ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh,” she whispered, her hand shaking as she reached for the refresh button—or maybe she was just being dramatic. She pressed it, and then—“YES! OH MY GOD!” she cheered, seeing her grade: a B.

Just as she was about to scream some more, a text popped up, it was utahime reminding the group about an afternoon dance rehearsal for their new song, Supernatural.

“Right, rehearsal,” she murmured, calming down a little but still feeling the excitement. She grabbed her dance bag and was just about to leave when she caught a look at her reflection in the mirror by the door. Maybe she should actually get ready for the day—considering she’d just ran out of bed in panic earlier today and hadn’t even showered yet.

Megumi’s pov 3rd person

morning classes are done, and now he has about an hour and thirty minutes until his afternoon classes. Everyone else is out of the dorm doing something, except Toge, who’s napping on the couch. Megumi opens the fridge—nothing, besides four eggs left. "Of course," but he pulls the eggs out of the fridge and starts cooking them, which makes Toge’s big back ass wake up.

"Can I get some?" Toge asks.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because there’s only four, and you guys are always eating everything anyway."

Toge groans. Maybe a few minutes later, Megumi gets a text from Yuuta: "megumi it’s your turn to get the groceries and share some eggs with toge"

"No way you just snitched on me," Megumi says. "Shareeee, Megumi."

"You know what," he says, "since you wanna be so big..." He puts the cooked eggs onto a plate. "Have the rest. I don’t fucking care."

He moves toward the door and grabs his keys.

"Wait, where are you going?" Toge asks.

"To get some groceries, since you wanted to tell on me," he replies, leaving the dorm.

Yn pov 3rd person

It’s been about 15 minutes, and Uber won’t fucking work. She tried reopening the app, restarting her phone, deleting and downloading the app EVERYTHING but it won’t work. She also tried asking the other members to pick her up; half of them are already there, and the other half hasn’t seen her message.

“guess I’m just gonna have to walk.”

The walk isn’t exactly long, just a few minutes, but it’s still risky considering she could get noticed. So, she’s gonna have to wear a mask and some glasses. She went down the stairs, then out the door, walking down the street with her head down as well so she could definitely not be noticed. Amazing idea, right?

Yeah, until you bump int—

masterlist!

TAGLIST @cinnamxnangel @sorenflyinn @beepbopzlorp @angelcakkess @ibeatmywifeandkidss @h-aecat @megumisluciouslashes @gumims @starrysho @tlissablr @kiss-my-asscheeks @good-mourning0 @mikikoo @1l-ynn @stillnotherapy @kzoyu @brideads @mikko-mikko @shokosbunny @fushiguruuzzzz @hanniemylovelyquokka @adoremae @ocyeanicc @sentifua @sirenla @depressinglyobsessed @m1ndfulsorrows

#꒰ cool with you 💽꒱ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི #cwy #jjk smau series #smaufic #megumi x y/n #megumi x you #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #syd’s smau series .°˖✧#jjk fake texts #jjk texts #newjeans #kpop #smau series #toge inumaki #yuta okkotsu #utahime iori

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hiwelcometothemonstersancturary · 7 months ago

Note

What are your thoughts on Poppy’s and Catnap’s sibling dynamics and the shenanigans they get up to? Do they give their dad a headache?

Across all universes where Poppy and Catnap/Theo are on good terms and refer to each other as brother and sister, they give their parent(s) the WORST of headaches.

In normal Angel saves everyone/Poppy Worldwide AU, they tease and annoy each other a lot (affectionate), as all siblings do. Poppy is always stealing Catnap's eyeliner. He's always stealing her nail polish. Poppy is the one who suggests they do something stupid, but in a way that makes it sound like the rational thing to do. "Theo", she calls him. "We should bake a four tier chocolate cake! There isn't anything to celebrate just yet, but we should learn how to do so anyways".

"A... Four tier chocolate cake? With your baking skills?"

"Have you stopped to think that dad and mom would need a four tier cake for their future wedding? They'll need us!"

And then Catnap, on all his glory, accepts the idea, except they should make just two tiers so they won't waste food if things go wrong. They spend HOURS in the kitchen, which would be a big deal if it wasn't for the fact that it was 2 AM. Anyways, they burnt the cake, half of it was undercooked, and it was way too sugary, but the fact that they didn't burn the whole kitchen down made it clear to them that they COULD do it. In theory. In practice Picky, Long Legs and Dogday banned them from the kitchen, and Angel was just horrified that these two were left unsupervised in the kitchen.

Poppy was also sent flying more than once from her INSISTING that Theo should run as fast as possible, with her using him as a ride around the farm. Did she learn from that? No. Did Theo learn from that? Also no.

Catnap, most of the time, knows when one of Poppy's ideas is just stupid. He does so anyways because he wants to see the results, because after 10 years working as a cult leader he really, really wanted to act more reckless without it hurting the cult. Poppy likes the idea of offering Catnap guidance, being older for far longer, but she doesn't have the sharpest self-preservation instincts, while Catnap is always thinking about consequences and what is best for everyone. "You should relax more" / "I'm trying, but I can't" is a good description for their dynamic.

Catnap doesn't like asking Poppy for advice. The only ones he doesn't mind are Dogday, Angel and the Prototype. Poppy feels like having to ask your sibling to drive you somewhere, and that sibling can and WILL tease you for it. Meanwhile, Poppy really, really wants to connect more with Theo, mostly as a way of coping with the fact that she wasn't there to watch him grow up, and believed him to be a monster for most of the past 10 years of her life. She doesn't like to be reminded that their first few months post-rescue were messy and of constant side eyes and bickering, and neither does Theo.

Catnap will refuse to admit it, but he looks up to Poppy a bit. She's content with her body and somehow is able to cope in mostly healthy ways. She was trapped for 10 years in a glass case and is somehow not only a bit of a social butterfly, but someone whose company is good to have.

They both really care for each other, despite the strange first year, and give their parents SO MANY headaches. In Great Escape AU, it's Poppy and Catnap sharing the same braincell and coming up with increasingly over-the-top and stupid plans to make it so everyone is able to escape PlayCo. They give a headache to the Prototype with how reckless they are when together, and when Angel comes into the picture what was bad somehow gets WORSE.

Anyways tldr they're stupid when together.

#poppy playtime #poppy worldwide #save everyone au #ask tag #catnap #ppt poppy

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nerdieforpedro · 1 month ago

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A Cowboy in the Bar

Chapter One of Honey and Sugarplum

Jack Daniels x Maeve (black OFC)

My entire masterlist and blog are for readers 18+ MDNI. I do not consent to my work being used in AI, recommended on TikTok, borrowed or plagiarized.

Summary: Maeve meets two men: one is a gentleman and one is not.

Word Count: about 1.7k (give or take)

Warnings: well-meaning friends and family, a possible mid-life crisis? or introspection? It's got a name I don't know, bad jokes,

Notes: I think I'm up to three chapters on AO3 so I promised myself that I would go ahead and start posting this one. It will be on the short side so maybe five to six chapters total? Or maybe not. We'll see, but these two are hilarious (I'm biased though.)

My Main Masterlist/ Jack Daniels Masterlist/ AO3 Link

Life is comfortable and Maeve was content. She went to work four days a week, ten-hour days and relaxed in the evenings with books, TV or video games. On the weekends she would get groceries and gas when she needed, maybe a brunch with friends when they were able to coordinate their schedules once a month. One of her friends Maria had a four-year-old son and a two-year-old girl that she would babysit from time to time when she went out with her husband James. He seems to be a nice guy, easy on the eyes, but there always seemed something shifty about him. Maeve only spoke to him when she went to the house to watch the kids, Maria loved him to bits so all is well she guesses.

“You’ll find your love one day Mae.”

“Why don’t you try going out with us sometime?”

“Are you on the dating apps?”

“You have to make yourself available.”

“There’s no perfect men. You just gotta work with what’s out there.”

“You’re not getting any younger.”

“One day you’ll meet the right man for you.”

“He’ll love you no matter what, you’ll need to support each other.”

Things all Maeve had heard over the years but have never cared about. She had dated sure, but between toxic relationships and just being bored with sex. Apparently, she’s doing it wrong and clearly she was, so in her late 20’s she stopped dating and having sex. It was nice, she didn’t worry about meeting men or her better half. Sometimes she wore sweats, other times, jeans, if she was really feeling fancy, one her favorite sundresses. Maeve was in her mid-30’s now and was content. The only children she saw were her friends’ kids. People also mentioned that too, that her uterus was going to be geriatric soon and she needed to go ahead and start on it if she wanted kids. She used to just either ignore the comment or say she didn’t want them, which was true, but people usually pressed on. They shut up when Maeve asked them, who she was going to have them with and who’s going to help with childcare for when she has to go back to work because she then won’t be able to watch their children and hers. She’d be preoccupied. Annoying people became quiet then.

A Saturday brunch that leads to mani-pedis and dinner with drinks, soft blues played in the background, Maeve nursed her lemon drop, sipping it slowly as she watched two of her friends dance in the middle of the bar. She was chatting with her friend as they drank their great tea lemon drops, two men came up to them. Her friend went to dance with the taller bald gentleman while the second man tried to chat Maeve up, he complimented her, asked her about her drink and asked her to dance, and if she didn’t want to, he had a hotel room down the street. She sighed, she declined, telling him that she was out with her friends and not in the mood. He, instead of accepting no, started in on how she should be glad that he was even talking to her given that she barely fit on the barstool and that she was probably too old to have kids and wouldn’t know how to please a man anyway. Maeve chuckled, she agreed with him and since she couldn’t do any of what he was talking about, he would have a better night if he left her alone. The man scoffed and walked toward the bathroom.

“Maybe he’s going to take an angry shit.” The woman made herself laugh, having dealt with his kind for years, she heard another laugh two stools down. A man with a large tan cowboy hat on, gold sunglasses; he had a full mustache that dances on his upper lip. His denim shirt and pants masked his broad shoulders and chest, the sleeves were rolled up exposing his forearms and a watch on his left wrist. It appeared like he had some sturdy thighs under those jeans. His entire face seemed to smile, he removed his sunglasses and put them in his shirt pocket, his brown eyes danced with the low smokey lights.

“With his attitude, he needs to take an angry shit.” The bartender poured Maeve another lemon drop, she told him to pour the guy at the end another glass of whatever he was drinking. She tipped her glass toward the man in the hat and smiled. She might be a little drunk, he seemed interesting. That was good. Most men seemed boring, like floating talking heads, sometimes they smelled like old spice. “Name’s Jack, what’s yours sugarplum?” The man’s accent dripped like golden honey on a fresh biscuit that just came out the oven, sticky and warm. It made her lick lips, tasting the lemon on them and her frowning slightly. Wrong flavor, I need more honey.

“My name’s Maeve. You local or from out of town?” She asked, there was no point in getting too into this man and he lives four states away or in a different country. The man grinned and got up from his seat, he walked over to the stool next to Penelope, settling on the stool next to her.

“If I say I am, will you have reason to talk to me sugarplum?” Jack chuckled and brushed the back of his hand to hers, trying to gauge if she was alright with touch. Her hand did not move, she gazed up at him and smiled, wiping the water off her hand before making a circle on the back of his hand with her finger.

“I’d rather spend my time talking to someone I’ll see again rather than someone who will go and I’ll never hear from them again honey.” She replied, but her eyes widened when she realized she called him a pet name. It’s not…too weird, right? She did not have a sexy accent like him so it might be. Jack’s eyebrows raised as his grinned, lightly bumping his shoulder to hers.

“Well now that we’ve given each other pet names, maybe we should see to some contact info so we can keep in touch Miss Maeve, you’re not taken, are you?” Jack asked, he took out his phone but didn’t unlock it. Maeve watched and sipped her drink with her other hand. Her legs didn’t quite reach the rung on the barstool for her feet, so she just crossed her ankles, that voice of his saying her name. It could have very well been a decade since she felt this horny for a man, a small spot was forming in her panties.

“Don’t worry I am not. It seems to bother people that I’m not. I used to feel some type of way about it, but now I’m not bothered. I start asking the people who ask me questions and they get really uncomfortable. You spoken for cowboy? I’m not gonna have a woman named Miss Kitty coming after me, am I?” Half serious, she leaned closer to him, so their shoulders touched again, the cowboy chuckled, starting to tap his foot on the floor, he was getting a bit riled up.

“No, no. Only lady in my life is Lady Luck and I think she’s looking out for me tonight.” Jack’s hand left the bar and ran up Maeve’s arm, landing on her shoulder as he stood and leaned into her ear. “You wanna save a horse and ride a cowboy darlin’? It don’t have to be tonight. I can work you into it slowly.” Jack kissed her cheek and leaned back. Holding her hand out, Jack unlocked his phone and handed it to Maeve and she entered her number. She chuckled and gave him his phone back.

”I might be temped to try you for a ride Jack. Let’s at least have more than one drink. How’s a meal sound? Which one is your favorite?” His new sugarplum replied, her hand found itself on his chest. He felt solid. Good, he might be able to get through a ride or two. The cowboy’s pearly whites were on full display while he used one hand to send a text to her number. She’d saved herself under the nickname ‘sugarplum .’

“I enjoy many a meal. A real man ain’t picky darlin’. However, I know a good brunch place that has good food and good drinks. Think we might make an afternoon of it?”

”Asking for so much of my time already? You think you’ll keep me interested that long?”

”Sugarplum, I think the real question ya should be askin’ yourself,” Jack had the nerve to move his hand from her shoulder to her hip, squeezing it and whistling when he felt how supple her flesh was as he jiggle it, “Are you going to let me dine on a particular meal I’m looking for?” A second kiss was placed on her cheek and he was pulling back his hand, but Maeve placed it back.

”I might. You’ll need to work me into it like you said Jack. Mind if we talk more first?”

”Sure sweetheart.”

The entire scene played out before Maeve’s friends and they were certain everyone was having the same seizure. This is the same woman that insults every man who tried to talk to her. They wondered if it might be the cowboy hat or the denim. They could not figure it out and the questions began once Jack walked Maeve to her car. Her only answer was: “I think I became a different woman for a few hours while talking to that man. We just chatted at the bar the entire time. He just made me feel safe and not defensive. That’s what I know.” A couple friends nodded and a few others were still very confused.

Neither Maeve nor Jack were worried about it, he was going to pick her up in two days for brunch. Turns out, brunch became dinner and breakfast the next day. They didn’t get up to what people thought they might have. Jack was a gentleman and Maeve’s guard was still up. It was slowly coming down though.

Jack did have a surprise for her though after a month, a weekend trip to his ranch.

Peeps up for a weekend trip: @megamindsecretlair @soft-persephone @readingiskeepingmegoing @jessthebaker @yorksgirl

@morallyinept @lady-bess @avastrasposts @baronessvonglitter @professionalpromqueen

@magpiepills @westside-rot @djarinmuse @tinytinymenace @maggiemayhemnj

@sunshinehaze1 @movievillainess721 @inept-the-magnificent @rav3n-pascal22 @tuquoquebrute

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #jack daniels #jack daniels fanfic #jack daniels x OFC

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the-hopeless-haze · 2 years ago

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When Will the Clouds All Disappear? (ch1)

Gregory House x Reader - part of Series If You Want It, You Can Bleed on Me

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: heavy suicidal ideation

“Kind of rude to make a cripple head to the roof of a building to look for you.” You hear his voice, loud and clear behind you, gravelly and distinctly masculine. You’d know it was him anywhere.

“What do you want, Greg?” You ask, sniffling. You're sitting on the ground, your back against the ledge, having made yourself sick staring off it for a good ten minutes before he arrived. Your head is in your hands, blocking him out, blocking everything out. You can’t open your eyes. You can’t bring yourself to look at him.

“You know,” he says firmly. You wish you had four hands so you could block your ears, too. You wish you were senseless. It would be so much easier. So much more peaceful.

“You wouldn’t have to worry anymore. I would just be gone,” you say, and you hate this, you hate everything, you wish he didn’t come up here so you could jump. Guilt-free. You know you look fucking ridiculous, with your hospital gown riding up to your thighs and those stupid non-slip socks damn near falling off your feet. Your hair is blowing wildly in the bitter January wind, and you feel lightheaded and woozy as it is, having pulled out your IV that hooked you up to fluids a half hour ago now.

“That isn’t what I want. I want you to come back downstairs with me.”

“How did you even know I was up here?” you question.

“You’re the one thing I can and can’t predict. Knew you’d come up here when they said you left the bed… still don’t know if anything I can say can get through to you. If you jump I jump?”

You shake your head. “No. You deserve to live.”

“And you don’t think you do?”

“No. And I don’t want to either.”

“Why not? I thought we had fun together.”“But you don’t care—“

“Why am I up here with you freezing my ass off if I don’t care?”

“Just go.”

“Not without you, sweetheart.”

You grimace at the pet name, it sounds so fake coming from his lips. “You didn’t even come to see me,” you whisper.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know what to say.”“Anything would’ve been better than nothing.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. You’ll say anything so I don’t jump,” you say, tasting bitterness acrid on your tongue. You wish you could turn off your brain, but you’ve been here before, seconds to an attempt and still gone through with it with no one to stop you except for your diseased brain. And it was diseased, every impulse usually hardwired to keep your body alive at all costs screaming to be let out of its misery and to just let you die, please. It’s almost like an addiction, instead of one more hit, it’s just like, one more thing to let go of. One more thing to convince yourself doesn’t matter, one more person to convince yourself wants you to die or doesn’t care if you go, one more event you’ll never get to live through that you convince yourself you didn’t want to attend anyway.

“I mean it,” he says urgently. “I’m sorry. Okay? I’ve been a shitty boyfriend, lover, friend with benefits, or whatever you want to call me. I know I’m not the reason you’re contemplating this right now. You’ve struggled with this all your life. I’m not going to fix it. But Jesus Christ. You and I both know this isn’t the goddamn answer. You spent your whole life going to school and working to prevent people from offing themselves.”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you,” he says. “I came for the surgery—“

“You had plenty of time to see me. You weren’t there when I needed you to be! I’m just another patient, is that it? Don’t come visit them unless you think you’ll learn something? What was it, you never got to see a D&C before? I called you, Greg. You never answered. I had to call Wilson to make sure you weren’t dead but of course, you weren’t, you were just avoiding me and why should I expect anything more from you? Of course you run when things get hard; when the woman you’ve been fucking might need a little more than after-sex cuddles.” You stand up as you say this, turning your back to him, looking over the ledge. Fuck.

“I’m sorry. Just please don’t jump,” he says and if you were in your right mind you’d notice that he was getting increasingly desperate, but you aren’t noticing much of anything right now. Except that your plans were thwarted. You see firefighters and they’ve already set up a trampoline on the side of the building. You don’t say anything, nothing at all, and you start to walk away from that ledge and then sprint toward the other one, hoping that you can get over there, run faster than he can, but he’s on you, and he moves fast for someone with an injured leg when the adrenaline kicks in, and you feel yourself knocked to the ground, his warm breath fanning your face.

“Got you. You’re not getting away from me that easy,” he says, and you finally look at him for the first time since you’ve been up here. You wish he would crush you to death but he’s barely putting his weight on you, just enough that you can’t move.

“I can’t go through this again,” you mutter, squeezing your eyes shut, and you expect the hysterical tears but they never come. You feel numb. Empty.

“You can. You can and you will.”

“You’re going to put me on a hold?”

“I have to,” he says, and you could trick yourself into thinking there’s guilt in his blue eyes when you open yours again. “I’ll make sure they give you the good stuff. Say you need to be chemically restrained. Order you Haldol, Ativan, or whatever you want. But I need… I need to know you’re safe.”

“So you’ll sedate me?”

“It’s the only way I’ll be able to sleep.”

“Just like you to make it about yourself, huh?”

“Shut up,” he says sternly, tacking your name on the end of the command like a warning. “This isn’t about me. None of this is about me. I know that.”

“Then you should have let me go.”

“One day you’ll thank me,” he says, digging his phone out of his jacket pocket. “Hey. Yeah. I need help bringing her downstairs. She’s not going to go willingly.”

You hate how he’s talking about you the way you would talk about patients to your coworkers, and you hate him for calling Wilson to help him walk you down the stairs. Wilson’s a certified sap, and the look on his face, his brown eyes sympathetic and his brows furrowed… makes you want to hit him, and maybe you’d try if you had the energy to. You don’t want pity. You want to be left to your own devices. You want nothing, hatred, you could stand, but Wilson looking at you like you were a kicked puppy is more than you can handle right now.

“I wasn’t going to jump,” you say, and it’s unconvincing even to your own ears. “I wasn’t even on the ledge when you came up here.”

“Yeah. Well. It’s enough that I don’t believe you,” Greg says. “Your track record sucks. Every attempt has been after a traumatic event. Forgive me for being a little worried.”

You’re about to protest, say he doesn’t know anything, but you know he went through your medical files before the first time your lips touched his. Fair enough. Two could play at that game, certainly, and you took what you felt you could without him getting suspicious out of your file. You looked through his, too, because what’s good for him is by all means fucking good for you too, and if you can’t have normal conversations like a normal couple, at least you could learn about each other unconventionally. Isn’t that love, at least kind of love, searching high and low for information, trying to memorize somebody else like you know yourself?

Never mind that it’s illegal.

You feel his mouth on yours, his scruff scratching pleasantly at your skin, and… yeah. That’s when the fucking tears come.

You wish neither of these men saw you like this. You were meant to be firm, cold but compassionate, distant but likable, albeit only from that distance. You didn’t get close to people, not since you were younger, because you knew how you’d get and you knew it was a horrific sight. Wilson, you love like a brother, but Gregory… you love irrevocably, irreverently, irreversibly. Intense is an understatement, and you wish it wasn’t the case, you wish so badly you could turn it off and become the woman you were before that man and his cane hobbled into your life. You wish more than anything you were alone right now.

But then again. You might not be alive.

“Shh. It’s okay,” he says, and you don’t believe him. He doesn’t believe it himself. It’s just something to say. And he hates those clichés. He hates talking just to talk. Yet … he says that to you. He lies to you, just for your benefit. Everybody lies.. but it's usually for their own gain. “I don’t want to make this worse than it has to be,” he says slowly. “Make this easy for us.”

“You have drugs on you, Greg,” you say, rolling your eyes through your tears. You hate that you know him this well. “You’re prepared to sedate me regardless.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t want to have to get to that point. Would you rather be sedated? Because I can arrange that.”

“Get off me.”

“Are you going to walk with us?”

“Yeah,” you huff.

“Good girl,” he says, and in a different context that would lead to something very different than this. But no. He lifts himself off you instead of dicking you down, wincing when he puts his weight back on his leg, and he and Wilson both help you off the concrete roof. It’s now you realize your back is scraped from when Greg pushed you down, and you grimace as you stand up. Everything hurts.

You have four strong hands on your body now, Wilson’s thin graceful fingers wrapping around your left arm, the other hand on the small of your back to steady you. Greg, you’re more fine with seeing you this way, he’s a train wreck himself and you’ve gotten him out of his shell before. But Wilson? He’s got everything together, well, except for his marriages. House’s larger hands grip you too, one hand firm on your right shoulder and the other around your side.

It’s a slow walk down the stairs, back into the building and you feel a rush of relief at the feeling of heat on your body, but then it becomes too much and you don’t know what you’re fighting for because you know there’s no way you could run, you may be faster than Greg but there’s no way you’d get by Wilson in your current state, and then you’re pushed against the wall in the staircase, Wilson’s calling for security on a radio and a gurney on the radio, and they’re both holding you there and you’re struggling against them, arms you try to push out of the way and legs you try to kick but it’s to no avail, you feel the slight pinch of a needle in your arm and … that’s it. Maybe this is what you were asking for but you were too ashamed to say, too ashamed to acquiesce verbally to the sedation, too embarrassed to say “no, I need to be unconscious for this, thank you.” But you weren’t too embarrassed to pull a fucking nutty in the staircase of the hospital you work at.

“I would’ve just given it to you,” you hear Greg say. “You don’t have to do everything the hard way.”

And then, thankfully, mercifully, pleasantly, you fade out and away.

#greg house x reader #gregory house x reader #house x reader #house md #hate crimes md #i love this tag #james wilson #gregory house

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succubusonthedoorstep · 2 years ago

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THE BACHELOR AUCTION ⭑ ʏᴏᴜ’ʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɢᴏᴛ ᴀᴡᴀʏ.

sᴀᴛᴏʀᴜ ɢᴏᴊᴏ & sᴜɢᴜʀᴜ ɢᴇᴛᴏ x ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ. Minors DNI!

‧₊˚✩彡 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉? 3.7k

‧₊˚✩彡𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈? Explicit Language and Smut, Infidelity, A Dead Marriage, Workplace Relations (with Geto), Making Out, Phone Sex, Gojo's Already in Love, Masturbation (F & M), Feelings of Anxiety, Gojo briefly picks you up, Nobara doesn't like us </3, Reader is toxic but in a hot way... (Mentions of: Face Fucking, Toji Fushiguro, Toxic Parents (If you Squint!))

‧₊˚✩彡𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇’𝓈 𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈? The plot in this had me <333. This part ends in a flashback, but part two will pick up exactly where this one left off. I swear this came at me so fast I just had to indulge. Like, Comment & Reblog!

“𝘕𝘖, 𝘐 𝘊𝘈𝘕’𝘛 𝘞𝘖𝘙𝘒 𝘖𝘝𝘌𝘙𝘛𝘐𝘔𝘌 𝘛𝘖𝘕𝘐𝘎𝘏𝘛. 𝘐'𝘝𝘌 𝘎𝘖𝘛 𝘗𝘓𝘈𝘕𝘚.”

With heeled feet propped on your glass desk, you glanced over your nails. “Don’t you think I deserve some time to myself? After working my ass off for the past year?”

“What? Of course, you do.” Suguru sighed into the phone line, already sounding deep in thought. It wasn’t often he had to work around your schedule or anyones. It was a new experience he honestly didn’t care for. “What are you doing, anyway?”

You clicked your tongue. “Aren’t you married now? Should you still be asking me this question?” Your shoulder held the phone to your ear as you clicked away at your computer, only half in the conversation. “Is she not fucking you right?”

“Watch it.” Suguru warned, voice dropping into a sinful threat. “I’m still your boss.”

You rolled your eyes, something he could hear through the phone. It was your go-to reaction when he brought up the very close race to CEO between you. At his new position, Suguru tended to play favorites much to your dismay. The attempts at being content with COO were futile- the need to top Suguru Geto was always in the back of your mind.

But for now, you’d settle for teasing him.

“Barely,” you said, hoping to sound exasperated. “I’m leaving early too. My nail appointment is at four.” Glancing at the clock, it was only an hour and a half from now. Luckily, you could fit in an appointment so soon, but it was just your connections. You could feel him frowning on the other side of the phone at your words, most likely because there were several major projects due.

“Are you mad at me? Be honest.” Softening your voice worked wonders on Suguru, even when you didn’t mean it. He could always tell in person, but never on the phone. His breathing hitched, and you knew he was caught.

“No, of course not,” he expressed. The change in tone made you smirk. “I could always stay a little later. It’s not like there’s anything urgent due,” Sarcasm dripped from his voice and you hummed in response, swinging your legs off the desk and onto the floor. “It’s much warmer here anyway.”

“Here? In the office?” You asked, standing up and finally taking the phone in your hand. “So I was right.”

“For once,” he quietly confessed. The line was quiet for a moment while you waited for him to continue. His eight-month marriage to his wife was over in your mind. The miserable demeanor and volunteered late nights developed a side to Suguru you had never seen.

“For once, yes. I haven’t touched a woman in six months. Tell me, have you ever been this deprived?”

Yes. “Not that I can remember.”

“I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy,” he huffed out, and you heard him lean back in his chair. “I miss pussy the most. The sight, the smell- fuck, the taste? I used to be able to pick a favorite. Can’t anymore,” A bit of shuffling came before he continued. “Porn isn’t cutting it- not when I've had the real thing for so long. Not even the amateur shit, unless I'm in it.”

You knew what he was referring to. Rhythmic soft clicking gave away what he was doing on the other side of the wall, and you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him to stop.

Biting your lip, you couldn’t help but lean back onto your desk and egg him on. “I knew it. I caught you looking at my ass last week during lunch. You’re getting sloppy.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

It was your turn for the phone to go silent. Admitting you enjoyed Suguru’s gaze made you cringe, but it was the only thing you could think to answer him with. At your quiet admission, he stroked his cock faster and let out a satisfied groan. “Thank you for the image, your ass did look good in that pencil skirt. I bet your pussy is even prettier.” He spat sharply onto his length and you almost moaned at the mental picture.

“Everyone’s having lunch. I could make you cum on my desk a few times and send you off to your nail appointment early,” Suguru’s words came out as a grunt, exposing just how little he needed to get off. “I’ll even pay for it.”

“You know we can’t, Suguru. How could we face each other at work after that?” You asked, voice tight. With what, you weren’t sure. “We’d make it a habit, then we’re fucking at my place ‘cause we can’t keep it in the office.” The scenario had you admitting to yourself that being Suguru Geto’s mistress is an attractive offer. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but he was a generous gift giver, influential in culture and business with no kids.

On paper, he was the perfect counterpart, aside from the dry wife.

He had you on speaker now with the volume turned down. The freedom of his second hand allowed him to cup his balls and give them a few slow pulls, mouth gaping as he sighed deeply to the ceiling. “Pussy must be good, you sound like you’ve gone through this before… Are you touching yourself yet?”

“You’re not doing what you think-“

“Should I come over there and check?”

The question had your thighs rubbing together and your ass pressing against the glass desk. Sliding back and making yourself comfortable, you teased your bud over your panties and said, “If you need to ask then the answer is no. You’re not brand new, Suguru.”

He inhaled sharply, rubbing the tip of his cock with slow circles. “Ffffucking close, (Y/N). If you make it over here fast enough I can bust on your face,” his voice deepened in lust, eyes fluttering shut. It was easy to imagine you on your knees in front of his chair; Suguru had a photographic memory. Your hard nipples poked through the thin shirt you wore, and an order from your superior exposed them to the cool office air. You’d hold them in your palms as he gripped the back of your head to hold it steady while he fucked your face.

Suguru’s teeth dug into his lip as he came all over his clothed stomach and chest. The moans he let out drowned out your snarky response, your name echoing through the wall separating your office and on the phone simultaneously. His pleasure echoed off the walls as your hand dug into your thin panties.

Soaking wet, as you expected. You knew Suguru would be proud, but you stopped yourself from telling him. His ego didn’t need the stroke.

Your fingers wet themselves and soon you were knuckle deep in your cunt with two fingers. As quietly as possible, you fucked yourself on your desk to Suguru’s come down. The slick cum coating his cock was used as lube to overstimulate himself, and he shuddered when it became too much.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” he whispered into the phone, his voice filled with the same lust. It was as if he hadn’t even come minutes before.

‘Of course, his stamina is that high, plus he’s pent up because of her.’

“I’m on my way over,” Suguru announced as his chair scraped the floor. “Just give me a minute to clean up, we still can fool around before anyone makes it back,” You heard the jingling of his belt buckle as he secured it and the soft pull of tissues being dispensed. Your fingers had slowed but didn’t stop.

“Don’t come over, Suguru.You’ll regret it,” Using your best warning voice through finger fucking yourself wasn’t an easy task, but you managed. “It’ll be an HR nightmare, people won’t take us seriously…” You tilted your head back and let out an exaggerated moan before continuing. “Stock prices will fall… but you’ll have the woman you want, right?”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Why not? Too realistic?” Pulling your fingers out of your cunt, you sucked them clean and licked between them. The tight grip Suguru had on his chair became even tighter at the lewd slurps.

“Don’t you have any cute friends to set me up with, Suguru? To get me off your mind?” You slipped off your desk and held the phone to your ear with your shoulder as you packed your bag.

“I don’t think you’re going anywhere.” His voice was back to the deadpan tone he took on when you pissed him off. “Wouldn’t get along with any of my friends, either.”

“No? Did you marry someone who would?” You asked sarcastically, stuffing the last folder of paperwork into your purse. Before he could respond, you slammed the phone into its receiver and snatched the bag from your desk.

It didn’t surprise you that Geto wouldn’t set you up with anyone, but it did piss you off that he thought he could have his cake and eat it too. The feared glances you caught from employees as you departed the building solidified your reputation as an ice queen, you knew. These people wouldn’t understand you in a million years, and Suguru wouldn’t either.

The floor-length formal gown you wore did a fine job of hiding your lack of preparation for tonight’s event. The 102nd biennial Bachelor’s Auction had the world’s most eligible bachelorettes sitting at heart-shaped tables with notepads and ballpoint pens. Some of the women came with folders and color-coded tabs.

Your seat in the front left of the stage fully visible. One might even say it was the best seat in the house, speculation confirmed by dirty looks and eye rolls.

A simple smile is all you returned to them. They weren’t rivaling you or your wallet.

Thick red velvet curtains split down the middle to reveal the host for tonight- a young woman with ginger hair and a bright smile, microphone in hand. The scattered applause and dimmed lights signaled the beginning of the auction, along with a bright spotlight on the stage.

“Welcome, Bachelorettes!” She announced as the audience quieted. “Tonight we’ve gathered bachelors from around the globe to help raise money for the orphanage being built just a few blocks away. Proceeds will go towards new clothing, gifts for the holiday, and food.” An applause louder than the one before erupted, one you joined in with.

“To participate, simply raise your number to bid on the Bachelor of your liking. Information like hobbies, interests, and values in a partner will be shared, but not his appearance. You’ll have to wait until after his auctioning for that!” She gave a cheeky wink before reaching into the pocket of her jumpsuit and pulling out a stack of cards.

“Without further ado, let’s get started!”

After an hour of men waltzing on and off stage, you had begun to yawn.

The occasional plastic surgeon or music executive did catch your eye, so there was some hope to be had for the night. You watched as an overly excited woman in a short pink dress approached the stage to meet the man she bid so highly on- 1.1 million to be exact. Judging by the way she was bidding, you were sure it was nickels and dimes to her.

Nobara extended a hand to help her onto the stage before giving her one last fact about her match.

“He’s been in the professional boxing ring since he was nineteen years old and has since won several international titles! Recently, he’s been the mastermind behind organizing several successful matches and is looking to settle down with someone special. He’s one of our most eligible bachelors tonight- Toji Fushiguro!”

The room erupted in gasps and applause, with some women groaning in disappointment. Toji emerged from stage right, wearing a jet-black suit and waving his hand convivially. You drowned out the pain of the women behind you, instead opting for catching Toji’s eye and giving him a wink.

Nobara caught Toji by the arm before he could give you a response and gave him a push towards the woman in the pale blue dress. As she took the microphone back in her hand, a glare was shot your way.

“What a lovely couple. Toji has already taken the liberty of planning their first date, so let’s allow them time to work out the details. We hope this couple works out well!” She announced, sending the pair off the stage. Toji linked arms with his match and led her to the door next to the stage, politely holding it open to allow her through first. He turned to lock his gaze with yours, the scar on his lip curving with his smile. Toji held your eyes as he licked his bottom lip and turned to leave the hall.

You sighed, now understanding the women’s disappointment.

“The next Bachelor- ooh, this is a good one! Our next Bachelor says desserts are the key to his heart. He also mentions his work as a philanthropist, frequently donating tablets and computers to local schools.”

Cute. You thought, twisting the handle around your auctioning paddle. Nobara had an unmistakable smirk across her lips that she didn’t have before.

“He loves tropical vacation spots and often finds amusement in his Digimon obsession from grade school.” Nobara concluded the history with that, taking her spot behind a podium. “We’ll start the bidding at fifty thousand dollars. Any takers?”

Before you could raise your paddle, bidding had already begun. You resisted the urge to turn around and see who was already bidding so highly on the mystery man, instead opting to lift your number in the air. Nobara’s reactions to his card had sparked the curiosity of all the women in the room, including you.

“-That’s five hundred thousand dollars to number 936, the woman in the front!” Nobara announced, looking around the room for more offers. She soon moved on to the next bidder, not without noticing how many women stopped bidding when you did.

Every time you were outbid, you simply flashed your number with little concern. The numbers Nobara announced only got higher, and slight pauses had begun between biddings.

“Seems like things are winding down!” Nobara clicked the card against her wooden podium, seemingly dissatisfied. “One more fact, perhaps? This Bachelor is well known for his bloodline, as they are one of the most influential and respected families in the world. His grandfather once had a monopoly over several industries.” She trailed off, allowing the women in the room to ‘ooh.’ You rolled your eyes, not needing any more competition. Nobara was doing a fine job at standing between you and your mystery date.

“Right now, number 936 is in the lead with one million

dollars. Going once-“ A woman cut her off with a bid of 1.3 million, to which you had to turn around. The room stopped to watch you death-stare the woman into submission. The tall woman with pale blue hair simply gazed back, unfazed. She gave you what seemed like a wink, but a braid blocked her other eye from your view.

Giving her one last warning, you raised your number and turned back around in your seat.

“Going once…” Nobara trailed off, giving the woman ample time to bid again. “Going twice… Number 936, you’re the winner of this round with 1.4 million. Our highest bidder of the night!” She paused to allow applause, but only a few people joined in. Mentally you rolled your eyes, but in the meantime, you were escorted up to the stage by a man with pink hair and a bright smile.

“You’re very generous,” he appreciated, offering a hand to help you up the few steps. Nobara cleared her throat, and the man gave you one last smile before turning and disappearing backstage.

You made your way onto the stage and gave a plastic smile to the crowd of brooding women. Some had their heads down and were writing notes, others chatted with other tables. The woman with the pale blue hair watched your movements on the stage like a snake hunting its prey.

“Ready to meet your man?” Nobara’s air about her switched, but the smile she had on her face still reflected her dislike. Without waiting for a response, she began her monologue.

“Ladies, he was heir to the throne in one of the most prominent countries in the world. You may remember him for his fashion week appearances, as he’s walked and designed for several exclusive brands over the years. The sunglasses brand he started as a teenager hit a billion in sales last year. He soaks up the spotlight in every room he’s in, and he’s planning on sharing it with our charitable bidder! Everyone, put your hands together for the one and only Satoru Gojo!”

The erupting gasps and applause that ensued failed to make it to your ears. Ringing was all you heard instead, and you swore the stage was spinning as Satoru Gojo stepped from behind the velvet curtains. A hand was tucked in his pocket as he waved the other toward the crowd. Dark circular sunglasses blocked his gaze from yours, but you felt your eyes lock and goosebumps littered your arms. Nobara watched his hand extend to yours, catching it in a gentle hold.

“Haven't seen you since the wedding,” he greeted, lifting your hand to kiss the inside of your wrist. Whispering from the crowd and a loud sob from the back of the room didn’t stop Gojo from giving the vein there a teasing nip.

He looked exactly the way he did eight months ago. You remembered sitting a few pews back from the altar of the ornate church, a strange pit in your stomach as you watched Geto recite his vows. Witnessing the event left you more nauseous than expected and seeing him kiss his wife made you avert your eyes.

“So kissing is your weakness, hm?” Gojo asked, catching you alone on the balcony at the reception. The midnight breeze he brought made you shiver, but he was soon by your side and replacing it with body heat. “It wasn’t before, I’ve seen you kiss a pretty good amount of people… Especially on the blogs.”

You leaned forward on the metal bars, arms balancing yourself. His back was to the railing and his head was turned to study your ass in the tight dress you wore. “I didn’t think you were such a big fan, Gojo. You checking up on me often?”

“Maybe. I know Geto isn’t capable of it, not anymore at least.” The statement was a fact and he said it as such.

It didn’t surprise you that Gojo caught onto your… uncomfortable feelings at the wedding. He was always apt at learning the behaviors of the people around him, sometimes unintentionally. You once told him a quality like that is invaluable in business.

“I appreciate the thought, but I don’t need you or the newlywed to make sure I'm okay,” you set your feet firmly back on the ground to look up at him. “He’s my co-worker, you’re his friend-“

“Wait- we’re not friends?” he broke in, disappointment in his voice. “We follow each other on Instagram, your birthday’s on my calendar and everything. Do you think we’re really not friends?”

“You’re Geto’s friend first,” you stated without opposition. “We only talk when we see each other. You don’t got my number, bestie?” You licked your lips at the hint of sarcasm on your tongue. Behind the dark sunglasses, Gojo’s eyes followed.

“You don’t got mine?” He repeated after you, pushing himself off the railing to take a step towards you. You hadn’t noticed the detail embroidered into his suit until now, when his body barely touched yours. “I remember you texting me after the exile and we talked for a minute after that… Why did we stop?”

Because he was there. “We’re both busy?” you offered, standing on your toes to wrap your arms around his neck. Distracting him (and yourself) away from the complicated situation you had with your boss felt like the easiest option, and the reception’s open bar was starting to catch up with you. His hands automatically found a place on your hips as his body finally pressed against yours and warmed you up.

“You say the word, I’m there. I told you that before,” he expressed, giving your forehead a tender peck. “I’m in the city more than you think. You don’t gotta hesitate.”

Gojo’s availability for you despite both of your schedules made you slip a hand on the back of his neck down his chest and trail it down the row of buttons on the front of his shirt. You stood on your toes again to connect your lips in a kiss that Gojo wanted to relive forever. The hands on your hips massaged you in slow, sensual circles that left your cunt clenching.

His fingers threatened to fall lower to cup the crease of your ass and give it a few indulgent squeezes. You wouldn’t believe him if he told you he’d pictured this while doing mundane tasks like brushing his teeth or sitting through a dull meeting. You didn’t know it yet, but he was already yours and needed you to learn his body.

Your back pressed into the cold metal when he walked you forward, a wave of possessiveness compelling him to kiss you harder. He cupped your thighs with big hands and lifted you onto the metal bars with little effort, lips still defiantly pressed onto yours. His tongue ran across your bottom lip for permission which you granted without doubt, fully encapsulated in the ex-prince’s warmth.

He couldn’t help but moan into the kiss at the taste of your strawberry lip gloss. Your affection was everything he imagined and with the way you looked tonight, Gojo was prepared to sneak you away to the altar.

With hands rubbing circles into the fat of your thighs, Gojo gave your lips a few lingering pecks as your lips pulled apart. After slipping the sunglasses from his face and pocketing them, you leaned your head down to connect your foreheads.

“I’ll stay in touch after this,” You promised. “Don’t let me slip away from you again.”

Tysm for reading! Like, Comment & Reblog, it helps!

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crazyunsexycool · 7 months ago

Note

Val, I’m hogging this entire Reader Appreciation game.

I love this. I love you and your work!

From the Romantic Prompts

Honey and Stevie slow dancing together! You know how Steve always said that he was waiting for the right partner, well, who would be better than his Honey and Honey Bee?!

In my head, I feel like Honey would be up and about in the kitchen, early in the morning, craving something. Steve would then find her, and this big romantic teddy would dance with her, sans music, with the refrigerator light faintly in the background.

Please I love this!!!!

Warning: pregnancy, talk of food/eating, fluff, STEVE!!!!!

Slow dancing in the dark

It was almost four in the morning when Steve finally made it home. He was naturally quiet but he made sure to watch his steps and where he placed the shield. You were having hard time sleeping and he didn’t want to cause you to lose what little sleep you were getting.

Steve was on alert when he heard movement in the kitchen. When he turned the corner he found you putting something together and muttering on how good it would taste. He couldn’t help but admire you from the shadows as you did a little happy dance after the first bite. In this moment he was extremely grateful for his enhanced vision because the only source of light was the one above the stove.

“This was a great idea honey bee. You’re such a smart girl.” You said in between snacking.

Steve made sure to make some noise as he walked into the kitchen so he wouldn’t scare you.

“She gets it from her mama.” He says stepping behind you.

“Finally, you’re home. When did you get back?”

Steve kisses your cheek when you turn your head to look at him.

“About half an hour ago.” Steve follows the swell of your belly before settling both hands under your bump and lifting gently.

You sigh in relief and sag against his chest.

“That feels amazing.” You murmur, accepting all the kisses the Steve leaves on your temple and cheek. “You should be my professional baby bump holder.”

Steve chuckles.

“What are you doing up anyways?”

“Little Miss here decided I needed a snack.”

Steve looks over your shoulder to find a grilled cheese and tomato soup.

“Want some grilled cheese?”

“Sure but don’t worry I’ll make it myself. You sit down.” Steve tries to usher you to the breakfast table.

“Are you kidding you just got home.”

You turned to look at him only to find yourself face to face with his chest. Steve is smiling down at you and he takes your hands in his. He places one his shoulder and keeps the other in his hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Dance with me.” He says softly before dipping his head and kissing you.

“Shouldn’t we have music?”

“We don’t need anything except you, me and Honeybee.”

You smile but have happy tears in your eyes as Steve sways with you in the dark with no music. Your belly bumping stands in the way between you and Steve so you can’t press yourself into him the way you’d like. Seeming to realize what you wanted, Steve spins you out and pulls you back towards him. This time though your back is to his chest. You’re all smiles as your hands lay over his. Honeybee starts to stir against his palm, seemingly not wanting to be left out. After a few minutes of swaying Steve breaks the silence.

“Thank you.”

You tilt your head back to look at him better. “For what?”

“You’ve given me everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

#you’ve got mail 💌#val answers #Val’s reader appreciation 2024 #a love as sweet as honey extra

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beauregardlionett · 8 months ago

Text

you've walked a hundred times before

AO3 Link

“That’s pretty much the lay of the land,” Lydia said, boosting herself up onto one of the plinths. She leaned back on her hands and smiled cheerily as she knocked her heels against the plinth supports. “Any questions?”

Mar hummed, shoving their hands into the pockets of their scrub pants. “How busy is an average night here?”

“Depends on a few things,” Lydia said, crossing her ankles and tipping her head to one side. “Usually the main driving factor is how safe the city is on a day to day basis.”

“Why would that change so frequently?”

Lydia went still, gaze zeroing in uncomfortably on Mar’s face.

“You have worked in a city before, right?”

“Yeah?” Mar said, hesitant. “During school I had placements in two different major cities.”

“Which ones?”

“Trenton and Philadelphia?” Mar said, failing to see how this was relevant.

“Hm, condolences,” Lydia said, pushing herself off the plinth as Mar made a face at her. “You probably only worked during the day, didn’t you?”

“You know many physical therapy clinics that are open after seven at night?”

“Fair,” Lydia smirked. “Anyway, my point is, Gotham is a fucking nightmare when it comes to crime and weirdo villains - sometimes during the day, but mostly at night. So, the more active they are, the less patients we tend to have. It’s kind of like when the weather gets bad and all the elderly people cancel? Of course, there’s always people who just do not care and show up regardless, so we never have absolutely nothing to do.”

“Hey,” Fariha called, poking her head out of the tiny front office. “I finished organizing the schedule for tonight since Jiro had to take off. First patient should be here soon.”

“Thanks!” Lydia said with a wave. She turned to beam at Mar, brown ponytail swinging and teeth blindingly white under the fluorescents. “I almost forgot to mention, there’s an emergency clinic across the hall you might have spotted on your way in. So if you hear any commotion, it’s probably them and not a robbery. If it is a robbery, Fariha has it covered.”

Mar blinked, opened their mouth, then closed it. They decided to just take that statement at face value and hopefully never find out the details.

“Do we take walk-ins?” Mar asked instead, gaze shifting to the door as it opened. An elderly looking Hispanic woman toddled in, grinning brightly as Fariha called out a greeting.

“Oh yeah, if we have room in the schedule for them. Most of them come in without scripts so I hope you’re prepared to do some detective work.”

Mar hummed again in response as Lydia moved to grab her rolling desk and laptop.

“Hi, Mrs. Jimena!” Lydia said, gesturing to a plinth in the corner of the room. “Got your table all ready for you. How’s that knee doing?”

Mar ducked into the front office with Fariha, shifting through the small stack of patient charts left out for them. The pro bono clinic was only open for five hours, starting at four in the afternoon and closing somewhere in the vicinity of nine. Lydia had said it depended on what their schedules looked like that determined how early or late they could close up.

“Hey, Fariha?” Mar said, leaning against the filing cabinet to face the cheerful front desk woman. She had a heart shaped face, warm brown eyes, and she hadn’t stopped smiling since Mar met her half an hour ago. Fariha had a slight accent that dripped like honey through every syllable, making her friendly disposition increasingly effective. Her golden septum piercing seemed like the brightest thing in the world under the dingy lighting of the clinic.

Fariha turned her rolling chair to Mar and hummed to show she was listening.

“Lydia said if the schedule is light, we could close early some nights. How does that work with walk-ins?”

“Oh, well, it’s been a while since we’ve gotten to close early,” Fariha said, leaning back in her chair. “But I think the policy is, if we have no one on the schedule, and no walk-ins for half an hour, we can call it a night. Since walk-ins aren’t on the schedule, we don’t lose productivity for closing. Besides, it’s pro bono so it’s not like it affects paystubs.”

Mar nodded, glancing down at the folders in their hands again.

“I also had a question about this paperwork.”

After Fariha patiently explained some of their general paperwork, Mar’s first patient came hustling in, on the verge of tears and breathlessly apologizing for being five minutes late. Between Fariha’s sweet reassurances, and Mar fluidly ushering the patient back to the treatment area, there was mercifully little drama to handle. The next three hours passed without further issue between Mar and Lydia’s patient load, which Mar accepted for the blessing it was. They had only been living and working in Gotham for around three weeks thus far at a hospital based clinic four blocks from here. Mar had ended up agreeing to do pro bono work because they enjoyed it during their time at school and it wasn’t like they had anything better to do.

They occupied a mildly shitty apartment two blocks from the pro bono clinic with a roommate Mar trusted to at least pay their half of the rent. This felt like an about average experience for someone who had finished graduate school five months ago and passed their boards a month prior. Gotham was a less than ideal place to work, but Mar leapt at the job offer that promised an income to start paying back their loans.

“Here’s the paperwork from Mr. Boyle,” Mar said around a yawn, placing the sheets next to Fariha’s keyboard. “Have you heard anything from my next patient, by the way?”

“I just got off the phone with her, actually,” Fariha said, scooping up the papers and placing them in her scanner. “She said she wouldn’t be able to make it. She has to take her mother uptown for some last minute appointment, so I rescheduled her for next week.”

Before Mar could say anything, the door in the waiting room swung open to admit a tall, broad figure wearing…a bodysuit? The man strode up to the window at the desk, beaming with a smile that rivaled Fariha’s and eyes shrouded by a domino mask with white outs. As Mar had told Lydia earlier, they worked in a city during school - so Mar was used to seeing a lot of weird shit. But this was…new.

Mar looked down at Fariha for some reassurance that they were not hallucinating, but she was simply beaming back at their latest entry.

“How may I help you?”

“I saw you take walk-ins,” the man said, like that explained everything about this situation.

“We do indeed,” Fariha said, opening up a new appointment on her computer. “What’s your name so I can enter you in?”

“Nightwing.”

Mar watched in stunned bemusement as Fariha typed ‘Night’ into the slot for a first name and ‘Wing’ in as the last name.

“Age?”

“How old do you think I am?”

Fariha chuckled and entered in a random birthdate that dubbed Nightwing as twenty-five years old.

“Gender and preferred pronouns?”

“Male, he/him, please.”

Fariha entered the information and submitted the appointment. A window popped up claiming the chart needed more information and Mar waited for Fariha to fill in all of the required fields as expected. Instead, she flagged a box next to a line of text Mar was not fast enough to read, pressed ‘enter’, and smiled over the screen at Nightwing.

“You’re in luck, sweetie, we have an opening right now.”

“Great!”

Fariha spun in her chair and stared at Mar. They were still standing beside her, baffled.

“Oh, yeah,” Mar said, voice cracking slightly. “That…that would be me. Uhm…”

Mar looked down at Fariha and then back up at Nightwing.

“Follow me?” Mar said, feeling absolutely delirious. They turned and exited the front office, waiting for Nightwing to join them before leading him to one of the few private rooms they had for evaluations. Still uncertain if this was a fever dream or not, Mar gestured to the plinth in the room for Nightwing to sit on and then glanced out to the floor where Lydia was treating her patient.

“I need to grab my laptop, I’ll be right back,” Mar choked out before ducking from the room.

Their laptop was conveniently located near where Lydia was treating her patient, so Mar snagged her elbow and gestured frantically. Lydia left her patient doing a simple exercise and ducked her head close to Mar, an eyebrow raised with confusion.

“Could you explain to me why a man in a mask and skin tight suit just walked in and Fariha filled out an appointment with little to no information and acted like this was a normal occurrence?”

Lydia’s eyes went wide and Mar had all of two seconds to feel relief that someone here was still sane before that hope was obliterated.

“You got a Mask in your room?”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Mar whisper-screeched.

“This is pro bono,” Lydia said, as if that explained anything. When it became clear to her that Mar was not following, Lydia sighed. “Gotham has vigilantes, right? They can’t exactly use their insurance for medical visits without exposing their identities. So we have both the emergency clinic and pro bono for them and for citizens who don’t have insurance or have shitty insurance. Didn’t anyone tell you about the vigilante rules when you signed up for pro bono?”

“Lydia, do I look like anyone explained that to me before I got here?”

Lydia ran a hand down her face and made a noise of exasperation, like she was the one most stressed out by this situation. “Look, they’re just another patient. Do what you normally do!”

“And ignore the spandex and domino mask and the fact that everything about the conduct of this appointment is a severe breach of several APTA guidelines - sure.”

Lydia dropped a hand on Mar’s shoulder and chuckled. “It’s cute that you think the APTA has any jurisdiction here.”

Mar watched her walk away, resignation feeling like a rock in their gut. Rolling their table and laptop back to Nightwing’s room, Mar tried not to look affected by this development.

“Sorry for the wait, Mr. Wing. My name is Mar, and I’ll be your physical therapist this evening.”

“Please, Mr. Wing was my father,” he said with far too much seriousness. “You can just call me Nightwing.”

Mar’s face went hot with embarrassment, well aware they were being teased, as they locked the wheels of their table with more force than necessary.

“Alright, Nightwing,” Mar said, tone clipped. “What brings you in today?”

“My right shoulder has been bugging me for almost two weeks now and it’s not really getting any better. Someone I know used to get physical therapy and said it was great, so I figured I’d just pop in and see what it’s about.”

“You appear to be…working,” Mar said, hesitant as they looked Nightwing’s ensemble up and down. “Do I need to get you in and out quickly this evening?”

“Nah, it’s a slow night. Plus, I know some others are out and about who can cover for me.”

Mar decided not to think about that comment too much. “So, what happened two weeks ago that made your shoulder start bothering you? Anything significant or out of the ordinary for you?”

Nightwing tipped his face to the ceiling, seeming to contemplate the question before shrugging and smiling at Mar.

“Nothing I would consider out of the ordinary. Usual patrols through Blüdhaven and sometimes here in Gotham, swinging from buildings and lampposts, the occasional flip and somersault, and getting thrown around during fights.”

Mar had been typing as Nightwing spoke, putting everything in a blank note to try and parse through later, but paused at the last comment. They looked up slowly and really took Nightwing in, assessing his posture, where he was holding his weight, and what they could see of his expression. They had a process for evaluation visits, a systematic flow of questions that were considered important, that provided information for both prognosis and diagnosis. Mar had put a lot of time and effort into figuring out a flow that worked for them during their schooling, and was quite proud of the results.

But between Lydia’s comment about the APTA and Nightwing off-handedly mentioning getting “thrown around”, Mar was beginning to question how to proceed.

“What…what constitutes getting thrown around?”

Nightwing tipped his head sideways at Mar like they were the one saying something unusual.

“What do you mean?”

Mar unlocked the wheels on their desk and pushed it aside to stand directly in front of Nightwing.

“I mean people who practice martial arts get thrown around, flyers in cheerleading get thrown around, and they do it in a way that is trained and practical to their goals. How are you getting thrown around and is there anyone there to catch you?”

Even without being able to see his eyes, Mar caught the strange faltering of Nightwing’s easy-going expression. He only slipped up for a moment, plastering it back in place, but it looked shakier.

“I work solo most nights,” Nightwing said, clearly trying to seem unaffected and almost getting there.

“Okay,” Mar said, making a mental note for his social history and moving on quickly. “So what are you landing on?”

“Uh, pavement? Cinder block walls? Sometimes my feet.”

Mar was beginning to regret signing up for pro bono.

“Okay, so nothing great.”

“If it helps, I do have training and I land on my feet like…nine times out of ten.”

“It doesn’t.”

Nightwing snorted a laugh and grinned at Mar, their heights almost even where he sat on the lowered plinth. Mar had no idea if he actually was twenty-five, but if he was, that made Mar older than him by a few years. It hurt to think about him getting thrown around and having no one to help him up and no one to go home to. But that was a conversation for another day, when they had more of a rapport to go off.

Mar felt slightly ridiculous for thinking they would ever see this guy in the clinic again.

On that thought, Mar decided, fuck it, just do what needs to be done.

“On a scale of one to ten - don’t give me that look, Nightwing - on a scale of one to ten, ten being I’m calling an ambulance, how would you rate your shoulder pain right now?”

“Right now? Uh…three?”

Mar reached over to their laptop and typed his response out quickly. “What is it at worst and what are you doing when it feels like that?”

“Usually when I’m putting weight through my arm or swinging between buildings, and I guess…a six?”

“Does it ever feel sharp, stabbing, or burning? Or is it more of a dull ache?”

“Dull, like I worked out too much.”

Mar typed those pieces of information out, too. They stared at the lines of text, something like disbelief pinching their throat. It was always like this with athletes and performers. Their perception of pain was less about how painful it actually was and more about how much it affected their ability to do what they deemed necessary. Or how much they were able to muscle through and ignore the pain. Mar suspected Mr. Wing here was no different. These numbers were seemingly average pain ratings, but Mar already doubted them based on the comment about concrete.

“Alright, let me get a look at your shoulder.”

They took Nightwing through a quick exam, subtly making sure his nervous system wasn’t royally fucked before actually focusing on his shoulder. If he had any qualms about said exam, he didn’t make them obvious, instead going through every motion and test Mar requested. Then they had him follow along with arm motions, Mar watching his right side carefully for any differences or abnormalities, and kept asking him if different things changed his pain at all. After a few more tests for his shoulder, some of which were less than pleasant for Nightwing, Mar snagged a rolling stool from outside the door and sat down on it next to the plinth. They dragged their desk over and made a few notes on their laptop before pushing it away and looking at Nightwing again.

“Okay, so the good news is, you don’t seem to have any broken bones, and haven’t torn anything in your rotator cuff.”

“Awesome. Does this mean there’s bad news?”

“I wouldn’t call it bad news,” Mar said, twisting their fingers together in their lap. “But you’ve definitely strained your shoulder muscles. It’s not overly serious, but if you don’t give your muscles time to heal, your shoulder is only going to get worse.”

“I thought these things went away on their own,” Nightwing said, distinctly pouting.

Mar pressed their lips together and cursed - not for the first time - the quality of health education in public schools.

“Have you ever heard the acronym RICE?”

“Maybe?”

“It means rest, ice, compression, and elevation. There are other versions of that acronym that are more involved and updated, but there’s nothing wrong with RICE. Anyway, it compiles the basic ideas of how to best treat an injury to your musculoskeletal system. If you don’t do any of that, your injury will absolutely get worse.”

Mar gestured to Nightwing’s shoulder for emphasis and said, “that includes swinging from buildings, by the way, which I guess is the bad news. You should take a break or find a new means of travel that doesn’t involve stressing your shoulder. I’d also prefer if you were thrown into less concrete-like surfaces.”

“Define less.”

“Zero would be ideal.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“I appreciate that,” Mar said flatly. “I’m going to grab you an ice pack instead of having you do exercises for today. While you sit there with it, I have some papers for you to fill out.”

Mar ducked from the room and came back a few minutes later with two papers and an ice pack wrapped in a towel. They adjusted the ice pack on Nightwing’s shoulder and then wrapped it up to hold it in place so he didn’t have to hold it.

“These two papers are what we call outcome surveys. They’ll give me more information on how this injury is affecting you so I know what to focus on in your treatment.”

Nightwing took the offered papers and pen to fill out. Mar pulled their laptop over and started compiling a list of exercises for him, putting more than usual in case they never saw each other again or in case it took him a while to get back here. As they were filling out the note in Nightwing’s brand new electronic chart, Mar paused the cursor over family and social history. They could make a few guesses based on what he said earlier, but they figured it wouldn’t exactly be ethical to not ask. As much as they had wanted to wait until they knew each other better, there was a high likelihood Mar would never see Nightwing again. It felt wrong to let him leave without asking. Plus, despite how far off the reservation from normal this entire encounter had been thus far, Mar wanted to maintain some semblance of sanity this evening.

“Nightwing,” Mar said, peering over their laptop at him. He glanced up, the white outs of his mask level with Mar’s face. “Do you live alone?”

The white outs didn’t move, but Mar could feel the way he was blinking at them, baffled.

“What?”

“I need to make a note about if there is anyone at home with you in case of emergencies. I suppose…given your situation, I don’t need a name or contact information. But it would put my mind at rest to know if there was literally anyone at home or within a reasonable travel distance should you need them.”

Nightwing was silent for a moment longer and Mar was beginning to regret asking, about to shrug it off and tell Nightwing to forget it.

“No, I–I live alone.” Nightwing’s fingers tightened subtly around the pen in his hand. “But I have…people I can contact that live here. In Gotham.”

Good enough.

Mar added a few more exercises to his list in silence, letting Nightwing get back to the papers. They sent the list to the printer and stood, quietly informing Nightwing they would be right back and to finish the papers.

Ducking into the front office, Mar went straight for the printer and ignored Fariha’s insistent stare. Flipping through the papers to make sure they were all present and correct, Mar sighed and turned to Fariha, crossing their arms and raising their eyebrows as a prompt.

“Is he nice?”

“He’s a mess.”

Fariha waved her hand dismissively. “Aren’t they all?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Mar said, voice heavy with sass. “I’ve never worked in a clinic unregulated by the APTA with vigilantes before.”

“It’s fun, right?”

“It’s giving me a headache.”

“You get used to it.” Fariha twirled back to her computer as the phone on her desk started to ring. She pulled a bottle of NSAIDs from one of her drawers and put it pointedly on the desk beside her. “You haven’t seen anything until you’ve worked the front desk at the emergency department overnight.”

“Sounds great,” Mar muttered as Fariha answered the phone with her cheerful, scripted greeting. Mar took their chance to exit and went back to the treatment room, ignoring the NSAIDs. Nightwing was setting the completed papers on Mar’s rolling desk as they walked in, the ice pack still in place.

“Here’s a list of exercises for you,” Mar said, plopping back down on the rolling stool. “I highlighted the ones I want you to focus on most and wrote down how many times per day and per week I want you doing them. And for the record, I’m banning you from swinging until your shoulder is doing better. If I see you swinging in this city, HIPPA be damned, I’m calling you out.”

“I don’t think that’s legal.”

“I’ve been informed the APTA holds no power here, so I’ll take my chances.”

Nightwing glanced up from his papers in surprise, the white outs of his domino mask widening slightly. “Are you not from Gotham?”

“No, I just moved here a few weeks ago.”

“Oh. That’s surprising.”

Mar glanced up from where they had been typing, eyes narrowed. “Why’s that?”

“You just seemed so calm and unfazed by all this. Usually people who aren’t from Gotham are more…freaked?”

“I have an uncanny ability to tolerate the shit that could only happen in a city,” Mar said in monotone. “I went to graduate school in a city - it’s a survival tactic.”

“Understandable, I suppose,” Nightwing hummed, folding up the sheet and spiriting it away somewhere on his suit. “Still impressive.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Mar stood, closing their laptop before freeing the ice pack from Nightwing’s shoulder. Leaving it on the plinth next to him, they gestured to the door.

“Before I walk you out, do you have any other questions for me?”

Mar was used to patients brushing that off, or immediately firing back with questions about surgery, imaging, or other healthcare visits they might need. It usually provided good insight on how the patient thought the visit went, whether they trusted Mar or not at the end of the session. But Nightwing sat quietly for a long moment, actually contemplating something.

Eventually, he asked, “that comment you made about not swinging until you cleared me, were you serious?”

Mar’s first thought was that’s a stupid question, of course I was serious. Their second thought was why did he ask me that?

“I was. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just…usually B is the only one telling me not to do something for my health and safety.”

Mar pulled their stool back over and sat down again. “Who is B?”

“He’s…” Nightwing paused long enough that Mar began to wonder if he was giving them the silent treatment, hoping they would move on. “Someone I work with.”

“And how well do you follow B’s advice, if I might ask?”

Nightwing immediately turned sheepish, grinning and scratching the back of his head.

“Admittedly…not well.”

Mar exhaled a sharp breath that sounded halfway like a laugh. Leaning forward, they propped their elbows on their knees and folded their hands together, staring up at Nightwing.

“Listen, Nightwing,” Mar said, serious enough to catch his attention. “I can’t actually enforce anything upon you. At the end of the day, your recovery is in your hands and depends on the choices you make. All I can do is provide advice based on the medical knowledge and expertise I have, and support you. So, I am strongly advising you to give your shoulder a break before you actually tear something and end up being unable to do the things you need to do, or require less conservative interventions. You’ve got a lot of strong muscles supporting the joint, but you’re stressing something that’s trying to heal and those other muscles can only do so much. Does that make sense?”

Nightwing nodded, shrouded gaze locked in on Mar. They nodded back and asked again, “any other questions?”

“Nope.”

“Alright,” Mar stood, brushing their hands down their scrub pants and gesturing for the door again. “I’ll walk you out.”

They went to the front desk together, standing at the window to schedule a follow up with Fariha. She explained the cancellation policy to Nightwing and said that if he was unable to keep a scheduled appointment, he could walk in again and they would do their best to get him on the schedule. Mar was fairly certain that was strictly a vigilante policy but they didn’t say so. For all they knew, it probably applied to other patients here, too.

Once Nightwing was set up, Mar walked him out into the short hallway that joined the pro bono clinic with the emergency clinic.

“Thanks again, Mar,” Nightwing said with a grin. He turned to go and Mar couldn’t hold back their last niggling concern any longer.

“Nightwing? I have one more question for you, if you want to answer it that is.”

He turned back to them, seeming nervous but still grinning.

“Earlier, you said that B was the only one who gave you health advice. You seemed surprised about something I consider a routine part of my job.” Mar paused, chewing at the inside of their cheek.

“There really is no delicate way to frame this question. Have you been neglected by other healthcare professionals? Because if you have, we can report them. I could submit anonymous information to the HR department if they’re within the hospital system and I can’t guarantee anything drastic will come of it, but the complaint would still be in the system and–”

Nightwing stepped forward and held his hands up toward Mar. “Whoa, hey. No, I wouldn’t say neglected. It’s just that this system of anonymity for vigilantes wasn’t always a thing, y’know? It’s only come about in the last few years, so it takes some getting used to. The system failed a lot of the vigilantes I know, so even with things like HIPPA and PHI in place, it’s not easy to show up and trust healthcare will keep us anonymous and treat us unbiased. And some of the people I’ve seen think we’re a little…what’s the word? Invulnerable? Like we’re all Superman and can heal quickly.”

“Well that’s stupid.” Mar immediately put a hand over their mouth, flinching. “Sorry, that was unprofessional.”

Nightwing laughed, short and loud. He put his hands on his hips and shook his head, still grinning broadly.

“You’re not wrong. But my point is, I appreciate you treating me like I’m a normal human despite uh…” Nightwing gestured to his ensemble. “This.”

“Until you stop being human, you’re going to be treated like one,” Mar said solemnly, making Nightwing chuckle again.

“I appreciate it.” Something at his wrist beeped and Nightwing grimaced, starting for the door. “Sorry, I really have to go now.”

Mar waved him off and called out, “no swinging, and don’t forget to do your exercises!”

“Sure thing!” Nightwing called as the automatic doors slid shut behind him.

Mar walked back into the clinic, already wondering how the hell they were supposed to document this visit. Fariha and Lydia were inside the front office, Lydia’s patient having left during Nightwing’s visit. They both nearly leapt through the door as Mar entered, figuring they should just get the interrogation over with before they sat down to document.

“Was that Nightwing?” Lydia squealed, eyes sparkling. “Was he nice? Is he as hot as the blog posts claim? How did his butt look?”

Mar made a face at Lydia’s questions, holding their hands up to fend her off.

“Yes, yes, subjective, and I was treating his shoulder, not his ass.”

“He seemed like a very pleasant young man,” Fariha said with a sigh. “I wish my boyfriend was as charming as him.”

“Fariha, your boyfriend is a computer engineer, a massive geek, and plenty charming,” Lydia said without moving her imploring gaze from Mar.

Fariha put her hands over her chest and swooned in her chair. “And I love him dearly. But Nightwing has a different kind of charm - so boyish and sweet.”

“As entertaining as this conversation is,” Mar said flatly. “I need to write up his note so I can go home.”

“Wait!” Lydia whined, chasing after Mar as they left the front office. “I have more questions about Nightwing!”

“Morning, sunshine,” Raya chirped, almost immediately getting in Mar’s way as they walked into the clinic the next morning. The hospital was bustling already, despite it being barely seven in the morning, and Mar personally thought that was a direct insult to their exhaustion.

Mar grunted a greeting in response, ducking around Raya and making for the back office where the therapists kept all their stuff. Undeterred, Raya trailed after Mar, grinning brightly like the morning person she was.

“I heard you had a fun night.”

Mar, setting their bag down on their desk, paused and turned to furrow their brow at Raya.

“How the fuck did you hear about that? It has literally been twelve hours since then.”

“Fariha’s, like, my best friend. We talk shit together on Fridays during lunch.”

“Of course you do.” Mar shoved their bag to the back of the desk and swiped up their coffee mug, immediately making a beeline for the office coffee maker.

“So,” Raya said with emphasis. “You met Nightwing.”

“You did not phrase that as a question so I will not deign to answer it.”

“Oh, come on,” Raya groaned, slumping against the wall next to where Mar was persuading the coffee machine to provide them with something to live for. “You’ve got to have something to say about him. He’s, like, objectively one of the coolest heroes in this fucking city and he doesn’t even live here!”

“It seems like everyone who has asked me for details on Nightwing already knows more about him and his ass than I do. You’re just looking for me to confirm some preconceived parasocial ideals, and it is far too early for that.”

“That’s a lot of bold talk for someone who had a five year long ‘delulu’ K-pop phase.”

“One, it was a coping mechanism. Two, I never developed a parasocial relationship about it. And three, Mamamoo is superior and you will pay for insinuating otherwise.”

Raya rolled her eyes and pushed off the wall to head to her desk. “Tell that to the collage of photocards on your bedroom wall, darling.”

“Maybe I will,” Mar said as the coffee maker sputtered out the last dregs of liquid gold into their mug. “At least they won’t talk back.”

Raya snorted an admittedly adorable laugh behind her hand and ruffled Mar’s undone hair as she passed by on her way out of the office.

“Whatever you say, champ. We’ll talk more over lunch.”

“As long as you don’t make me talk about his ass.”

“You’re no fun.”

#batman #batfam #my writing #writing #dick grayson #based off a CPS fic on ao3 #PT but make it batfam in gotham so it's a logistical nightmare #dc

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 24 days ago

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WIP Wednesday...

...12 Days late and on a Monday (oops)

I was tagged by the lovely @sixhours - thank you so much! - to share a snippet from a wip, but here's the thing: I'm just working my way back into regular writing after unintentionally taking like two months off and after finishing up the latest Aphelion chapter with @something-tofightfor, I'm not even sure which wip to pick back up. So here are a few snippets from the things in my twisted wip heap, I would love if you all could weigh in on what I should focus on next!

*snippets and poll under the cut*

from Part One of The Grove, an Ezra x F!Reader series:

Shit, shit, shit.

You crashed through the brush, desperately seeking the same path you took into the heart of the forest so that you could find your way back out. But even though it had been less than an hour since you’d trekked through those very same trees, you couldn’t find so much as one of your own footprints or a bent twig to point you in the right direction. Heart pounding, you spun in a slow circle, scanning the dense greenery around you.

No, no, no. There’s gotta be… something. I’ve gotta be missing something.

You squinted, straining your eyes against the dwindling light that made it down through the canopy. Trees and vines and short, leafy bushes were all that you could see, like the forest had grown around your footsteps to swallow up any trace of you.

from Part Four of Recall, a Jack Daniels x F!Reader series:

“Please, listen to me.” You have to listen to me, Jack. You took a shaky breath, trying not to move as you let it back out. “She wasn’t-”

“Real? Yeah, you keep sayin’ that.” He gave the lasso a tug to tighten the noose around your arms and torso. You felt the synthetic threads of the rope biting into your biceps. “You say it one more time, darlin’ -” His top lip curled as he coated his words in venom. “And I’ll show you what else this thing can do.” Giving the grip another sharp yank, he pulled you a few steps closer.

from Part Three of Unfinished, a Marcus Pike x F!Reader series:

You turned into the hallway just in time to see Marcus open the door to the guest room. As he froze in place, head cocked to the side in confusion, you realized you’d forgotten to address the one logistical hang up of his visit. He spoke your name, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Am I missing something?”

“Shit.” You winced, fingertips coming up to rub at your closed eyelid before dragging your palm down over your face. I completely forgot about - you groaned. “I’m sorry, Marcus. I forgot to tell you. Bill took the guest bed when he moved out.” You gave a pathetic little shrug. “It was technically his, so…”

Trailing off, your eyes widened as another realization hit you. Oh, fuck. Because of how the night had gone, the sheets for the pullout couch that you’d thrown in the wash that afternoon had never made it into the dryer. “Shit!” You half sighed, half hissed through another wince. “I fucked up, Marcus. I left the sheets for the pullout mattress in the wash and now-“ You clicked your tongue and threw up your hands.

Now it was two in the morning and far too late to rewash and then dry a load of laundry.

from Kiss Me & Smile For Me, a Joel Miller x OFC series:

“I mean,” Emma went on, tongue flicking out to wet her lips as she playfully rolled her eyes. “It’s pretty much my fault that she’s so into this band anyway.” She laughed through her nose. “I was always playin’ their songs for warm ups, and then-”

“You’d do that?” He breathed out the question, cutting her off. “You’d…” Swallowing, he hooked his thumbs into her belt loops, head shaking from side to side to send his hair askew. “You’d go with her? You sure?”

Emma’s answer came without hesitation, her fingers coming up to rake the rogue strands of his hair back into place. “Of course, Joel.” She smiled, cheeks rounding out and eyes shining up at him. “I know how much it means to you to be able to do this for her. And I want her birthday to be special, too.” She nodded. We’ll make sure she knows the tickets are from you, and that I’m just going with her. Besides, I already got her a gift, so- ”

Joel didn’t let her finish her explanation though, suddenly overcome with the need to kiss her. Bringing his hands up, he cradled her face between them and swallowed the small surprised sound she made. It only lasted a few seconds, neither of them deepening it but both of them letting it linger so that when it ended and Joel spoke, his lips moved against hers. “I love you, Em.”

#HELP!#wip wednesday #on a monday #which wip should a witch whip?#help me decide #ezra (prospect)#jack 'whiskey' daniels #marcus pike #joel miller #or a secret fifth option

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sooverwhitesandpinks · 2 years ago

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Wish You Were Sober Part 2

fbh x bestfriend!reader Warnings: hurt/comfort, none really, fem reader

Part 1

You hadn't seen Harry since Friday night, and you would call it a testament to your avoiding capabilities. He texted you Saturday afternoon when he woke up. You knew he probably wouldn't remember the conversation from the night before, but you found yourself hoping he did anyway.

H☀️: breakfast?

You quickly typed an excuse about having to work on some huge project that didn't actually exist. Sunday went similarly, Harry texted you a few times asking you to take a break from your work and hang out, you reluctantly declined each time.

"He's relentless," you groaned, staring at the messages Harry had sent you so far. He'd gotten into the habit of sending you funny pictures and his random thoughts throughout the day.

"Well it's not like you're ghosting a Tinder date. You guys are best friends. You've seen him at least once a day for the past three months," Gianna reasoned, looking up from her laptop.

"But I've been short with him for days now," you told her, falling backward onto your mattress.

"I think you should just talk to him," she shrugged.

"Or I could just avoid him," you suggest, running a hand down your face.

"Until May? It's only October," she said, still typing away. You rolled onto your side to face her half of the room.

"I've avoided him for this long," you replied.

"Babe, it's Wednesday," she laughed. You groaned just as your phone dinged again. You glanced down to see another message from Harry, this time inviting you to a party Friday night.

"He just invited me to another party Friday," you announced.

"Tell him no," Gianna urged. You sighed before typing a response.

probably not this time sorry.

Only a few seconds passed before your phone dinged again.

H☀️: Are you avoiding me?

"Gianna, he just asked if I'm avoiding him," you looked up at your roommate.

"You should say yes," she laughed.

"This is serious, what do I tell him?" You shrieked.

"I don't know, I don't have a handbook on how to avoid your best friend," she responded.

"I'm just gonna ignore it, I'll answer him later," you turned your phone off.

Almost immediately, four sharp knocks rang through the room. You looked up at Gianna with furrowed brows. She hopped down from her bed and approached the door. She ducked down to look through the peephole.

"It's Harry," she whispered.

"I'm not here," you whispered back. She rolled her eyes before she opened the door just far enough so that he wouldn't be able to peek in.

"Hey, Harry, she's not here," Gianna greeted.

"Is she avoiding me?" He asked. You felt a tug at your heart strings, the poor kid sounded confused. You knew it was wrong to leave him in the dark, but you couldn't keep putting yourself in that situation.

"I think you should talk to her about it," Gianna answered after a beat of silence.

"It's kinda hard if she won't speak to me. I haven't seen her all week and she's barely answering my messages," he replied. You watched as your roommate adjusted her posture.

"Honestly, Harry, it's not my place to tell you. I do think she should talk to you, but I understand why she isn't," she told him.

"Fuck, okay. Do you know where she is?" He questioned.

"Not right now, she left a few hours ago," Gianna lied smoothly, or it would've been smoothly had your phone not dinged loudly again. You quickly turned the volume down.

"Is she in there?" He asked, you cursed silently before throwing a blanket over you face and body.

"No, that was mine," Gianna lied, less smoothly this time. You froze when you heard the door open further and Harry's footsteps as he neared your bed.

You closed your eyes tightly just before he grabbed the corner of the blanket, slowly peeling it back.

"Really?" He finally spoke. You forced your eyes open, not ready to face the consequences of your actions. It didn’t help that he looked so good, he was in one of his black hoodies. The hood was pulled over a hat that his curls were spilling out of on the sides.

"I'm actually doing homework in here, so take that shit to your room," Gianna stated as she hopped back up onto her bed.

You sat up, flipping your legs off the side of the bed. Harry held his hand out to help you down, you hated him for being so considerate when you're supposed to be upset with him. Down from the bed, you shoved your feet into your slippers, glaring at your roommate.

The short walk down the hall to Harry's room was silent, but not awkward. Even in the middle of whatever this is, he still made you so feel so comfortable in his presence. You hated that he was personified sunlight.

You stood behind him as he unlocked his room, his roommate out like always. He held the door open as you ducked under his arm, you walked to his bed and sat down on the edge. He followed you in, taking a seat in his desk chair a few feet in front of you.

"Um. I'm sorry for avoiding you, that wasn't fair," you started.

"Why did you?" He asked, eyes trained on your face while you looked anywhere but at him.

"Because I need to distance myself from you," you shrugged, looking down at your hands. You were already struggling not to breakdown and apologize. You had to hold your ground.

"Why? You're my best friend, y'know. You didn't think ghosting me would actually work, did you?" He asked, sounding frustrated.

"I don't know," you finally looked at him as you tried to find a way to explain without having to tell him how you feel. "I just, I'm tired of going out every weekend and dragging you back here drunk out of your mind."

"You ignored me because you don't like taking care of me when I'm drunk? That's bullshit. I can think of like a million ways to work around that," his brows furrowed.

"No, that's not- Harry I don't mind taking care of you," you responded. You knew you weren't making any sense and you felt guilty for clearly upsetting him. It was hard to explain what you meant.

"Then what is it? I need a real reason. You don't just get to ignore me all week with no valid explanation," he said.

"It's not you drinking, Harry, I don't care about that. It's all the other stuff," you tried to explain. You were growing more upset about your own inability to communicate. It would be so much simpler to just tell him how you feel.

"Hey," he said, scooting his chair closer until you were knee to knee. "Did I do or say something Friday night? I don't remember much after leaving the party, just bits and pieces of the walk back.

"You tried to get me to have sex with you," you admitted.

"I did? Jesus Christ," he breathed. "I'm sorry, you don't deserve that."

"It's fine. Well, it's not fine, but I'm used to it," you said, backtracking when you found yourself excusing his actions.

"You're used to it?" He asked. You cursed yourself internally, dropping your head into your hands.

"No, I didn't mean to say that," you shook your head, still face down in your palm.

"Please explain."

You hesitated before answering, praying this conversation would be over. You felt Harry's hand tugging at your wrist, forcing you to look at him.

"That's not the first time it's happened. But it's okay, you were drunk and you never tried to force me or anything. It's really only an issue 'cause I'm-" you stopped yourself.

"'Cause you're what?" He asked, his chest rising a little faster as his breaths quickened. You paused. Fuck it. No way we're going back now.

"I'm tired of you playing with my feelings," You finally admitted. "I know you aren't doing it on purpose. You're a touchy friend and I love that about you, but I fell for it, so now it's just really hard to watch you gallivant with a new girl every weekend. And I feel bad for ignoring you, Harry, really I do. But it hurts that you only think of me in that way when you're too hammered to find anyone else and I can't keep signing myself up for it every weekend."

You finished your worked up confession just as you felt tears start pooling in your waterline. You wanted to hide in your hands again, but Harry still had a hold on your wrist. You tried blinking them away as you turned your gaze to him. He looked like he was still processing everything you said.

"You fell for it?" He finally spoke. You shrugged at him, not sure what to say. "What do you mean?"

"Oh my- Harry. I love you a lot, and not in a friend way. Like I'm in love with you. I'm sorry. All your charming bullshit worked on me," you laid it all out.

"You love me?" He asked, seemingly still processing. He moved from the chair, sitting down on the bed beside you.

"It's kinda hard not to. You've treated me like a girlfriend for months, and I was okay to be that for you. I'm fine with constantly hanging out and cuddling and watching movies and whatnot," you took a second to breathe. "But then we go out and I see you with all of these girls and it hurts that you only think of me that way when you're drunk."

You finished rambling, leaving the room eerily quiet. You felt a few tears start to fall, glad that Harry moved and was no longer facing you. He didn't talk for a second, the first sound to break the silence was a sniffle from you. Harry's arm looped around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest. That was all it took for your restraint to exit the room and your tears to fall faster. You let yourself be comforted by the only person that could make you feel better, ironically the same person that hurt you.

He leaned backward slowly, the two of you falling into his bed. You laid against his side, one of his arms wrapping loosely around you while the other ran through his hair.

"You're right. It's not fair to you," he finally spoke, pulling you in tighter. He let you cry for awhile, just holding you.

"I'm sorry," you apologized, though the sound was slightly muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

"It's not your fault,” he hummed. “You were wrong though, I'm not a flirty friend.”

"Yeah, right," you scoffed. You looked up at him, his eyes already set on you.

"I'm serious, I've only ever been that way with you. You're making me realize that I've been playing with your feelings for while."

"You weren't doing it on purpose," you sighed, sniffling as your tears slowed.

"Not deliberately no. But I think I was doing it on purpose, in a way," he said.

"What do you mean?" You asked, confusedly. You sat up slightly, resting on your elbow. You looked down at him, his head against a pillow.

"I think I was too scared to think about how madly in love with you I am so I kept you close without admitting it," he explained, sounding like he was still sorting through his thoughts.

"You don't love me, Harry. Don't say that so I keep following you around forever, I can't do it," you shook your head.

"I'm serious," he said, looking you in the eye. "I know this is coming at a bad time."

"Then what was the point of a different sorority girl every week?" You asked.

"Distraction, maybe? I don't know. I only ever went home with you though," Harry shrugged.

"You gotta understand why I'm finding this hard to believe," you said.

"I get it. I didn't really start to realize it until you weren't around. We spend a lot of time together," he smiled softly at you. You cursed yourself when you felt your heart melt at the sight of him.

"Are you sure, H? Don't say shit like that just to say it. I'm trying really hard to be vulnerable right now," you shook your head at him. He mirrored your actions, adjusting himself so he could slide his hands up to your cheeks.

"I'm one hundred percent sure that I'm just as in love with you as you are with me," he gently moved your head while he spoke. A hesitant smile spread across your face as you looked at him. He seemed just as genuine as he always did.

"Okay," you replied simply, nodding as best as you could with Harry's hold on your face.

"Okay," he nodded back with a grin, pushing your cheeks together. He tugged your face down slowly. Your eyes closed as his lips met your pouted ones. You pulled away slightly, your hand coming to rest on his chest.

"Why didn't you say any of that before I started crying?"

"You just looked so pretty," he answered with another dimply grin.

Masterlist

Thanks so much for the support on Part 1!!! 🫶🫶🫶

#harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #fbh #frat boy harry #blurb #poc reader #harry styles x poc #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader

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