#face is greasy haven’t washed it today but if i wash it and put on moisturizer hashtag dry skin then my face will still be slippery.

[aturnoftheearth]

glasses keep slipping on my face i’m ready to run into a brick wall

[luveline]

If you’re looking for anything zombie!au for Steve, I’ve got a request! I sent it a while ago so if you don’t like the idea, please feel free to ignore!

I love that Steve has his own platonic soulmate—Robin—and has that person that will always be his friend no matter the circumstances. Their relationship means everything to me. I’d love to see reader maybe reunite with her “Robin”, as in her best friend and see her find that comfort in her person. Steve gets to see a new side of her and falls in love with her even more <3

zombie au —you reunite with your Robin. fem, 1.5k

“I’m grody.” 

“You’re not grody.” 

“I have greasy hair.” 

You shrug. Steve’s hair is a tad greasy, but it’s nothing you wouldn’t run your hands through. “Steve, I don’t think anybody alive today is judging you for having greasy hair.” 

You wanna call him baby, despite how foreign it can feel on your lips. He’s being adorable today, but the moment to dote on him passes quickly. Robin’s halfway across the campsite, her scratchy, mellifluous voice a ringer for her. You’d recognise it anywhere. 

“New recruits!” she’s saying, her head turning past her friend Sarah to spot you and Steve as you approach. “Hey, guys! Look, I lived.” 

Steve jogs until the gap between them is closed. “Hey, what did you do to your face?” he asks worriedly, his hand rising. 

She ducks away from his touch. “I got totally sliced.” 

“By who?” 

“This girl, Mina, she thought I was a geek, how gross is that?” Robin smiles at you. “I’m not that ugly.” 

“You’re not ugly,” you say. 

“I know!” 

Steve grins. “I wouldn’t be too sure.” 

“I know you don’t think I’m ugly, Steven.” 

You’re hit by two waves of memory, one after the other. The name Mina is hard to ignore: back then, before the end of the world, you had one good friend, and her name was Mina Delecki. You’d get into little spats like Steve and Robin do occasionally, but your friendship wasn’t as sarcastic. Which isn’t to say they aren’t loving, they are. Steve gives her arm a squeeze and promises to help her clean out the wound, and it reminds you of Mina and her scabbed knees. 

“She was nice, besides the attempted murder. They looked like they haven’t eaten in weeks though, the whole group, I’m surprised they didn’t try and rob us.”

“Well, not everyone is evil,” Steve says, wiping Robin’s cheek with his sleeve. “You’re okay?” 

“I’m fine. Does it look bad?” 

“Might need a butterfly stitch,” he says, grimacing. “It’s definitely gonna scar. Where is this Mina? I’d like to give her a piece of my mind.” 

“Steve, it was an accident.” 

“Well, maybe she should be aware that accidents aren’t usually subdermal.” 

“That’s a big word for you.” 

You roll your eyes. “Guys, come one. Did you eat?” you ask Robin. “Let’s go find dinner at the mess.” 

“Sure you’re okay?” Steve asks quietly. 

Robin lets him dote, for once. He slings his arm over her shoulder and steers her to the mess —a porta-building with a designated team of cooks reminiscent of your setup back at the College. There’s a small line by the door, but it’s not as busy inside as you’re expecting. You can spot the newbies from their skinniness, and their dirty clothes, but it looks like some of them have had a wash by the river, dripping hair wetting the backs of their necks. One girl laughs into her bowl of stew. Another cries. 

You know how it feels to be starving and afraid and then suddenly dropped into a community. It’s so scary, but it’s such a relief. 

“You wanna sit down?” Steve asks, rubbing Robin’s back before he lets her go. “What about you?” he asks you, turning away from her to offer you the same nice smile. “I can get yours.” 

“I’m alright.” 

Robin slugs off to a table at the back. “She looks really tired,” Steve says.

They take Robin because she’s slight; she can fit into places a lot of people can’t. But Robin wasn’t built for fighting, she still isn’t, and she’s obviously tired. 

“Well, maybe you should start putting your foot down,” you murmur, “you’re her family, so… if you say she shouldn’t go, maybe she won’t. And I don’t mean asking her not to. Maybe you should fight.” 

“I don’t wanna fight with her.” 

“Somebody took a slice out of her face,” you say. 

You know Robin likes you, even loves you, but it doesn’t feel like your place to get into that stuff. If somebody is gonna convince her to stay, it’ll have to be him. 

“I’ll talk to her about it.” He brings a hand to your waist. “I will, don’t worry. I don’t like it either.” 

“Your hand is cold?” you say. 

Steve tucks it quick as a flash behind your back, brushing your shirt up to touch naked skin. “Is it?” 

“You jerk.” You laugh louder than you mean to and step away from his touch. “This is why you need dinner, you’re freezing to death.”

Steve tries to get you again. He grabs you at the side, the chill of his hands palpable as he pulls you into him. Not to hold, but to be close while you wait, to take up as little room as possible. You both prefer proximity to each other. You let him warm his hands on your hips. 

You’re looking up into his face with a smile when someone says your name. 

A melodic voice. 

She says your name again and you feel it click. Mina’s on your mind, that’s all —yet you turn, and a familiar face is peeking out from behind wet, fine hair. An apocalypse, and somehow Mina Delecki hasn’t aged a day. 

“Mina?” you ask, holding Steve’s wrist tight on instinct. 

She rushes forward to meet you. Steve’s defences go up, his expression hardening as he pushes you behind him, but you slink around his rigid arm with a happy shout, “Mina!” 

Steve lets you go. You weave around a full table of onlookers with pushed out chairs and meet her in the middle, where she throws herself at you, a whirlwind of smell and touch. “Holy shit,” she says, sounding immediately wrought with tears, and joy, too. “I can’t believe you’re here!” 

You’re shocked out of speaking. 

Mina leans back. She holds your cheek, beaming so brightly, you’d forgotten how pretty she was. She is. 

“You’re alive!” she says, squishing your cheeks. “You’re here! Y/N, I looked for you!” 

“You did?” 

“I went to your house, you weren’t there, and we had to leave. I’m sorry, I thought… I missed you.” 

You’re further surprised. You did? you almost ask. “I missed you too.” 

She flings her arms around you for another hug. “I worried about you. Were you all alone?” 

“No, uh, no, no,” —you shake your head against her— “I had Steve. I have Steve. What about you?” 

“Well, my brother made us go to the Lake, but there was nothing that way, so we came back here. Thank god we did, ‘cos you’re here, this whole place, there’s so many people.” 

“There used to be more.” 

Mine squeezes you. “I missed you so much.” 

Your eyes finally burn. “I missed you too,” you say, hiding as your voice cracks. 

You and Mina just hug. 

Your shoulders give an embarrassing shake under her hands. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” she says, rubbing your back, her tone light, loving, and one you already know. “Don’t cry. I’m happy to see you, too.” 

“I’m so happy.” 

“That’s what I just said.”

You pull away from her to scrub your face. You’re laughing as you turn to Steve, excited, elated to introduce him. “Mina, this is Steve,” you say, taking his elbow into your hand, comforted by his arm slinking behind you. He pats your back. “He’s my boyfriend.” 

“King Steve?” 

Steve winces. “Just Steve.” 

“He’s nice now,” you say, grinning, “total reformation.” 

“Hi, Steve. My girl kept you alive, I’m guessing?” Mina gives him a smile, too. She’s only teasing, and Steve picks up on it easily. 

“She did… Hey, you’re not the Mina that cut a chunk out of Robin’s cheek, right?” 

“Hard to say. Which one’s Robin?” 

—

“Sorry, does it hurt?” Steve murmurs. 

Robin hugs her knees to her chest. “It’s fine, just be fast, please.” 

Steve knows it hurts. He’s dousing her wound with an antiseptic, he thinks it’s iodine, doesn’t really know. It’s not brown, but it smells strong. He washes the outside of the wound with a sterile gauze soaked in bottled water, and he pats it dry. The butterfly bandage he applies sticks at an awkward angle, but he pulls it closed tightly. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs again. 

“It’s fine. At least she got a friend out of it.” 

You sit a couple of metres away with some of the reserves of your candy haul and a few things you won’t miss. Socks, a sweater, a pack of chamomile soaps. Mina doesn’t want any of it, she just can’t seem to stop touching you. You’ve been holding hands for hours. 

“She seems really nice,” Steve says. 

“Gonna get jealous like you did with Eddie?” 

“She didn’t know Eddie before, she just likes him, which is weird.” 

“Not that weird.” 

“Maybe I am jealous,” he says. It’s strange to watch you hold hands with a new person, but it’s not like you and Robin haven’t done the same. The trust between you has solidified, and you use each other like pillows when you want to. “I don’t think I am? It’s nice to see her like that.” 

“Maybe you weren’t jealous at all, you just don’t like Eddie.” 

Steve laughs. 

There’s something about you, sitting there smiling, watching you talk a mile a minute as you explain something to her with no fear of judgement. You’re completely relaxed. 

“It’s actually really nice… to see her like that.” 

“You’re smiling like a creeper,” Robin says. 

“Whatever.” 

[x0x0josephinex0x0]

The Hope in the Fault Lines | Part 3

Part 3 is finished folks! Warnings: some suggestive material, smut in the next part!!! (so minors probably shouldn't interact with any of this), car accident described, death of a sibling, PTSD, nightmares, pretty severe cold symptoms, 97 liners ft Wonwoo make an appearance Word Count: 7.6k

Read part one and part two here!! (and part 4 here)

“Hi, Mingyu,” you say weakly into the phone.

“Hi,” he says. “You sound awful.”

You look around your bedroom, littered with used tissues, cough drop wrappers, and every blanket in your house that doesn’t belong to Sara. “I am awful,” you groan. “I didn’t know one person could be responsible for so much mucus.”

He laughs his charming, high-pitched giggle. “What’s the move, boss?” he asks you. 

“Well, I’m not going to work,” you tell him. “And maybe you shouldn’t either. I’m worried you’ll get sick if you come over.”

He scoffs. “I’m offended. I never get sick.”

“Well, still,” you say stubbornly. Already exhausted from the conversation, you lean against the headboard, coughing pathetically.

“I don’t think you should try to take care of Sara when you’re like this. You should be resting,” he says, his voice taking on that specific color it gets when he’s concerned. “And someone needs to take care of you, too.”

“Don’t come, Mingyu,” you protest, wondering at the blush now rising in your cheek.

“I’m coming,” he says with finality.

“Why did you even ask me what I wanted to do if you were just gonna do the exact opposite thing?” you ask him grumpily.

“Because I know you don’t think you need to rest, but the rest of us do,” he tells you, and you can almost hear him rolling his eyes.

“The rest of us?” you ask him, stifling another cough.

“Yeah, like, every single friend you have.”

You lose the battle with your lungs and cough violently for a moment, which is good, because it hides how touched you are that Mingyu has lumped himself with your friends. Then, “fine. But stay out of my room. I don’t want you to get sick.”

“I’m not going to get sick. Have you eaten yet?”

Your silence earns a sigh from Mingyu. “I’ll make something when I get there. Hang tight, boss.”

It seems like hours before the doorbell rings and you have to drag yourself out of bed to answer it. The spring day is gloomy, and as you open the door a flood of cool morning air sweeps over you, making you shiver uncomfortably. But there he is, and he’s taking in the sight of you with an eagerness that belies the mundaneness of your meeting. Something seems to have changed between now and the hospital visit, but although words are your life’s work, you can’t put a name to what it is.

“Hi,” he says, and his voice is a little more shy than you’ve ever been used to hearing. The reasons for this newfound bashfulness completely unknown to you, you curse yourself for the way your heart nearly beats itself out of your chest. 

“Hey,” you croak, throwing up a peace sign. You know you look bad. Your hair is a greasy, kinky mess, you’re wearing your worst grandma nightgown, and you didn’t even have the energy for contacts today, so your face is covered with thick spectacles.

He laughs. “That’s a really cute outfit, boss.”

“Shut up,” you say, and cough out a laugh yourself.

“I’m serious! You look like my granny. I’m pretty sure she has that nightgown.” He leans in a little to inspect. “And possibly the glasses too.”

You frown at him, but without any real venom — although a little startled by his closeness. “Cruel of you to tease me while I’m on my deathbed.”

“Speaking of which,” he says, coming into the house after removing his shoes. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“Well, as much as I’m already regretting letting you come over, I couldn’t just leave you outside, could I?” you huff.

“I guess not,” he replies. “Where’s Sara?”

Your eyes get wide. “Oh my goodness. I haven’t even seen her today.” Guilt washes over you, followed by a pang of grief. What would Jeri say about you forgetting about her child?

Mingyu’s jaw drops, and he quickly runs to Sara’s room. He comes down seconds later with a sleepy-looking Sara in his arms. “She was awake, just laying there,” he says. “I think she knows you’re not feeling well.”

“Or she knows I suck at this,” you say quietly. “Either way, I’m glad she’s okay.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes. “You don’t suck at this. You’re sick. Now go to bed before I kick your butt.”

You purse your lips, but obey, trudging tiredly up the stairs while he watches you carefully. “Who works for who?” you mutter under your breath.

“What was that?” he calls up to you, his tone trying for stern but landing at amused.

“Nothing,” you say in a scratchy sing-song voice that makes him chuckle. You pad your way up to your bedroom, shutting the door and tucking yourself in bed. Downstairs, you can hear the muffled sounds of Mingyu making food, presumably for you. You listen with interest -- you can’t make out the words, but you can tell Mingyu is speaking as he cooks. The sudden realization that Mingyu probably talks to Sara all day while you’re gone fills you with fondness; it strikes you as something Jisung would have done. 

Settling into your mountain of pillows, you try to relax your mind. It’s hard, though -- hard because for some reason your mind keeps wandering down the stairs and latching onto the obscenely beautiful man who is making you breakfast right now. No man, not even the ones you dated or slept with, has ever made you breakfast, and Kim Mingyu is managing to do it twice in one week. Are men only good to you if you’re paying them? you wonder to yourself.

Just then, the doorbell rings yet again. Curiously, you wrap yourself in a blanket and head back down the stairs to see who it is, and are shocked to find Mingyu at the door with Cory.

Cory is taking in the sight of Mingyu (in a Christmas apron he probably found in your pantry, still holding a spatula that has a few flecks of what looks like waffle or pancake batter). He looks between the two of you as you come down the hall. “Hey,” you say. “Mingyu, I see you’ve met my editor-in-chief, Cory.”

Mingyu’s eyes light with recognition. “Oh! I’ve heard so much about you!” he says, his eager puppy-like energy making Cory blink in confusion. 

“Cory,” you explain, “this is Mingyu. He’s my...nanny.” You hesitate before stating Mingyu’s official job title, because “nanny” doesn’t seem serious enough for everything Mingyu does for you and Sara. 

“Oh,” Cory says, seeming to recover at least partially. You bite your lip, holding back a giggle, as Cory sizes Mingyu up yet again. “I’m sorry, uh, I thought…when you said nanny, I thought you meant…”

“A woman?” you say, raising an eyebrow. You cough, leaning against the wall for support, and Mingyu reaches out an arm to steady you.

“Well, I probably should go finish the pancakes,” he tells you after you finish coughing. “Nice to meet you, Cory!”

Cory’s eyes follow Mingyu down the hallway into the kitchen. “Your nanny?” he says in disbelief.

“Yeah,” you say, somewhat uncomfortable. “He came recommended by a friend who used to work with him.”

“Where? A bodybuilding competition?”

You really have to pinch your lips together tightly to avoid laughing. “So…why are you here?” you ask him after the urge subsides. 

“Oh,” Cory says, shaking himself. “I brought you some cough drops.” He hands you a bag of cherry-flavored cough drops lamely, his usual coolness tempered by the ego hit of meeting Mingyu, and looks at the floor. 

You take them from him. “Thanks, Cory. Don’t be late -- they need you there.”

“We need you there,” he corrects you. “Get better soon.”

And with that, he’s out the door.

You put the bag of cough drops on the kitchen counter and slump onto the couch in the living room. When you make eye contact with Mingyu as he turns around to put a pancake on a plate, you giggle. 

“What?” he asks, a little defensive and a little amused. 

“I think you just intimidated the shit out of my editor-in-chief,” you tell him.

His eyes get wide. “I didn’t mean to!” he protests. 

“I know you didn’t,” you say. Your laughs turn into coughs, which makes Mingyu look even more worried. He moves the now-empty pan off the hot stove and brings you a glass of water, which you accept gratefully. 

“Well, it’s cool your employees bring you stuff when you’re sick,” he reasons, taking a seat on the couch beside you as you drink the water. “You must be a good boss.”

You scoff. “My employees don’t bring me stuff when I’m sick,” you say. “Cory brings me stuff when I’m sick.” You can’t keep the annoyed tone out of your voice, and Mingyu notices.

“You...don’t like him?”

You sigh. “I like him just fine,” you say. But as Mingyu continues to stare at you, confused, you laugh again. “I’m sorry!” you say as his look grows exasperated. “You’re just funny. Um, well. I’ve known Cory since uni, and --”

“He likes you,” Mingyu realizes. His face has fallen from his bemused expression to a stony one.

You nod, grimacing in tandem with him. “He told me the night that Sara went into the hospital.”

Mingyu looks at his hands. “Got it,” he says. “And you don’t feel the same way about him?”

“I don’t think so,” you say, playing awkwardly with the hem of your shirt. “He’s a great guy, but I don’t think he’s quite my type.”

“Well, he doesn’t even know you don’t like cherry-flavored cough drops,” Mingyu says, like it’s the world’s biggest red flag.

“How do you know that?” you ask him, bewildered at this revelation.

He shrugs. “Simple observation. In the pantry where you keep the cough medicine, there’s also cough drops. You have a bag of every single flavor but cherry.”

“Huh,” you say. “I guess you weren’t a spy for nothing.”

He allows a small grin at that. “Or maybe I’m just paying attention,” he says quietly.

It feels stuffy and hot in the living room. “Well,” you say in an offhand tone, “I didn’t realize that not knowing my cough drop preferences was a deal-breaker. But I guess I haven’t really dated in two years. Like, since school.”

“Really?” he asks incredulously. 

“I dated around,” you clarify. “But even while I was dating, I wasn’t really thinking about dating. I was starting a business, I was trying to take care of Jeri, I was focusing on school…and then I got so busy with how well the magazine was doing. It never took priority.” You look around the room — at the baby toys in their basket and Sara’s blankets all over the couch — and sigh. “And now that I’m effectively a single mother, I think that ship has sailed.”

He scowls at this last admission. “There’s somebody for everyone,” Mingyu insists. “And you have a lot going for you, boss. So don’t give up on yourself.” He stands up and grabs Sara’s baby food off the counter, sitting down in the seat next to her high chair and spooning mashed up peas and carrots and sweet potatoes into her mouth. You don’t know what’s gotten into you today, but you find yourself fixated on his hands. They’re big and manly, with a dark purple scar over one of the knuckles the only hint at his past life. But it’s more than that. There’s something about the way they dwarf the tiny plastic baby spoon so it looks like a toy and how gentle and careful they are with Sara’s messy eating, brushing the mush from the corners of her mouth. You find yourself wondering how such a hand might feel through the fabric of the shirt at your waist, or moving up the curve of your spine, or wound in the hair at the back of your head while you sigh out his name …

What the hell? you think to yourself, surprised at this abrupt nosedive into insanity. Suddenly bashful, you swallow hard. “What about you?” you ask him, before you can stop yourself. And as he looks at you, a little shocked, you immediately backtrack. “You really don’t have to answer that,” you say, blushing fiery red and combusting into another fit of violent coughs. 

“That’s okay,” he says, watching you with the same worried eyes from the table. “I don’t mind. When I was a fed, I didn’t have the time to date. After I got out I had one serious girlfriend, we nearly got engaged, but then I think we both realized it wasn’t what we wanted.”

“No heartbreaks?” you ask slyly.

He grins. “Well, I wouldn’t say that,” he says. “Maybe just not romantic ones.”

You bite your lip. If there was ever a perfect lead-in for you to ask the question that’s been at the back of your mind since the hospital, it was that. You start, gently. “You never have to answer any of my questions if you don’t want to,” you tell him. “And I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t refuse to answer, so please let me know if I cross any major boundaries. But I noticed something. About you.”

He looks at you expectantly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you continue. “The doctor in the hospital seemed to know you.”

He smiles softly. “Any theories?” he asks you.

“Mainly that you or someone very close to you had a sick kid,” you say in a single breath, trying not to make him upset. 

He’s nodding thoughtfully. “You’re pretty observant,” he says. “Do you want to open that door?” His tone is still even, but you sense something behind it -- a soberness that is rare for his cheerful personality.

“Only if you feel okay about opening it,” you tell him. Honestly, it wouldn’t change anything if he decided to share or not to share, but you get the feeling that he has carried a heavy burden, unseen, for a good long while. And maybe you hope that you’ll be able to ease whatever you can of that burden. “It’s totally up to you.”

“Okay. Give me a second.”

He puts a lid on the half-finished container of baby food Sara is now stubbornly dodging spoonfuls of. Grabbing a washcloth, he gently wipes off her face as she writhes away from him, then brushes it over her hands and torso as well. Finally, he lifts Sara out of her high chair and into his arms, coming once again to sit by you on the couch while Sara rests against his chest.

He takes a deep breath. “My last official mission,” he begins, “was a security detail for an important diplomat’s wife and son as we evacuated them from the country due to some threats against him and his family. I got really close to the kid. He was six, and he was smart as a whip. Loved cars and toys and dinosaurs, but he also had seen a lot in his short life. Anyway, it took us a long time to get them here, and during that time, the poor guy started getting sick.”

You are unconsciously gripping your blanket around yourself as he tells the story, his soft low voice prodding at your heart in uncomfortable ways, but you are unable to tear your eyes away from his face. He keeps speaking, all while Sara, still exhausted from her own illness, falls asleep in his arms, probably soothed into it by the cadence of Mingyu’s voice. “He had been born prematurely, and his lungs weren’t quite right. But then he got the flu or something, and because of his lungs, it was a lot more serious for him. We fought to get him here in time to get help, and the doctors did an amazing job, but in the end, the bureaucracy of it all made it so he passed away. Doctor Song was his doctor, and she was fabulous, which is why I knew her.”

“Is that why you left the service?” you ask him, and your voice comes out a hoarse whisper.

He nods. “I had seen a lot, but watching that kid die was the worst thing I’d ever seen. Because it was totally preventable if we’d been able to make it here in time.” His voice is so calm, but you can gauge a small amount of bitterness there, softened by the years since. He stands up. “I’m gonna put Sara in her crib. Stay there,” he says.

He’s back in a flash, sitting down a bit closer to you this time. “Anyway. That experience was kind of the nail in the coffin for two things: one was that I knew I didn’t want to be an agent anymore, and the other one was that I wanted to work with kids.”

“That’s quite a career change,” you point out. “Why kids?”

He can’t help but break into a wide smile. “I love kids. Things are so simple to them. And after my last job, I really needed that.”

“Is it hard to leave them when the job is over?” you ask him, thinking of Sara.

He shrugs. “Sometimes it is. Sometimes it’s not so bad. The older kids are usually a bit easier because you can explain to them why you’re leaving. They know it’s not really your choice or that they did something wrong. With the little ones, it can be brutal.”

You shift uncomfortably, this vein of the conversation making you inexplicably anxious. “Well, I was absolutely serious about you having a job until Sara moves out. So…please don’t leave us.” You try to feel embarrassed by how pathetic this sounds, but all you can do is meet Mingyu’s eyes and try to convey how desperately you both need him. “And if you’re ever thinking about quitting, just let me know,” you continue, trying to lighten the mood. “I can be very persuasive if I need to be.”

He cackles. “You sound like a mafia boss. Are you threatening me with violence or trying to bribe me?”

“Whichever is more effective,” you joke. “But seriously, this was a very unhappy home just a couple weeks ago. You’ve made a massive difference. So if there’s anything I can ever do to improve your work or your life at all, please tell me. It’s the least I can do.”

Mingyu puts a hand on your knee, poking out from between the folds of your blanket. “Thanks,” he says. “But you should know I really don’t foresee myself throwing in the towel here anytime soon.”

You smile. “Good,” you say, instinctively putting a hand over his and squeezing.

And then you burst into coughs — your most violent attack of the day. It is almost instantly made worse by Mingyu, who springs up to bring you your water, collides painfully with the coffee table, and ends up spilling your water, a potted plant, and a book on neoclassical art all over the floor. The ensuing laughter bubbling up in your chest turns into a gale of coughs, and Mingyu sheepishly grabs your cup from off the floor and limps to the sink to wash it off. He brings it back to you full again. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says, sitting down and rubbing at the spot on his shin that hit the table. “I’m a bit clumsy.”

You swallow your water and breathe carefully before responding. “It’s okay,” you say, trying to resist the urge to laugh, knowing it’ll just make you cough again. “Is that why you put all the pancakes on one of Sara’s baby plates?”

He nods furtively, biting his bottom lip. “I actually never use your nice dishes because I know I’ll break at least one, and they’re so pretty.”

The image of Mingyu eating off a plastic Dumbo plate with Sara while you’re at work flashes before your eyes. “How thoughtful,” you say with a grin. “But I don’t care if you break my plates.”

Truly, you thought to yourself as he, smiling widely, brings you the aforementioned pancakes, Mingyu could break whatever he liked of yours as long as he stuck around. 

***

“I’m not leaving,” Mingyu says stubbornly.

“You need to sleep,” you insist in a whisper outside of Sara’s bedroom door. 

“Not as much as you do,” he argues in a hushed tone. “You really should not be getting up with her in the middle of the night when you feel this bad.”

“I’m fine,” you lie, but your raspy voice gives you away — as has the entire day Mingyu has spent with you. 

Shortly after you had finished your pancakes, Sara had woken up. Mingyu had shouted you down from going to get her, instead accompanying you as you went upstairs and then marching you to your room for a nap. “You pay me to look after Sara,” he’d reminded you. “It’s my whole job. So you just rest.”

And you had rested, waking from your nap around 1 in the afternoon by a soft knock at your bedroom door. Mingyu had brought you some ramen on a tray, Sara strapped to his chest in a baby backpack, and his earlier accident ensured his steps were careful and measured. He had laid the try across your lap and bowed. “The queen’s lunch is served,” he’d said, winking at you as he left you to wonder why on earth such a simple thing as a wink could send a chill down your spine.

And then you’d brought the tray back down to the kitchen, and he’d scolded you — “who said you could get out of bed?” — but had relented when you told him you had been so bored upstairs by yourself and you’d wanted to watch a movie on the big-screen TV in the living room. Mingyu had set Sara down onto the fluffy white rug in front of the TV to entertain her for a moment, and you’d watched fondly as he blew raspberries into her chubby belly, drawing out her widest smiles. 

“Ooh, watch this,” he’d said. “She loves it!” He grabbed her thick legs and pulled them up and down in a mimic of a track runner, and Sara actually giggled. 

“Yeah, you’re shaking all the gas out of her,” you’d told him, and he’d laughed.

“She does usually fart a lot after,” he allowed. 

After awhile of searching for the right movie, you’d finally decided to watch Pirates of the Caribbean. Mingyu sat cross-legged on the rug, helping Sara play with her toys, but getting sucked into the movie at periodic intervals. Anytime something scary happened, he would cover Sara’s eyes and look at you in mock-judgment. After the third spooky moment, he exclaimed, “there is a child present!”

You had given him a dry look. “She seems really traumatized,” you had deadpanned, pointing to where Sara was whacking a plastic banana on the floor, babbling contentedly, completely ignoring the screen.

And so the day wore on, buffered by small moments of what you could only call growing comfort with each other. It was partially this that had you so adamant to kick him out — having Mingyu so close and so there was making your feelings all jumbled and weird. And having him stay overnight — waking up in the same house as he did — would most definitely not help anything.

So you try your best. “I’ll pay you to go home,” you beg. 

“And leave you by yourself?” He scoffs. “My mama didn’t raise me that way.”

“I manage just fine most nights,” you protest indignantly.

“Most nights you don’t have the plague,” he counters. “I’ve been around all day. I know how bad it is. You won’t even know I’m here. I’ll even sleep in the nursery again.”

“Mingyu, you’ll get sick —“ you start to say, and then pause. “What did you say?”

“You won’t even know I’m here?” he repeats.

“No, after that. You slept in the nursery?”

He shrugs. “Well, yeah, the guest bedroom doesn’t have a baby monitor, and plus I was worried about her, and that rug in there is basically a mattress anyway,” he says. “But seriously, she’s teething. You’ll probably be up all night, and that won’t be good for your illness.”

The look in his eyes as he says it — almost begging you to let him stay — would be too much under a normal circumstance, but learning that this man slept on the floor to keep Sara company while she was so sick pushes you over the edge. “Fine,” you whisper. “But at least take the couch.”

He grins. “Good to see the lady can compromise.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t push your luck,” you tell him. 

After bidding him goodnight, you close your bedroom door behind you and hold your hand over your heart, which is thumping wildly. This feeling is completely foreign to you — the closest approximation you can come up with is the embarrassing crush you used to have on Steve Irwin, which Jeri never stopped teasing you for. But even that was just enough to keep you interested in his work. It hadn’t reduced you to a full blushing mess as you slid down your bedroom door, a funny feeling in your stomach. You finally understand why people talk about “butterflies” as your insides flutter, trying not to imagine Mingyu stretched out on your couch, his eyelids closed, his pretty lashes brushing the top of his cheekbones  —

“Stop it.” You actually have to say it out loud because it’s ridiculous how nothing has even happened, but you’re blushing. It’s a good thing you’re so ill and exhausted, because otherwise you know you’d be tossing and turning all night. As it is, you pass out only minutes after your too-hot shower.

Your mind is not kind to you in your illness and exhaustion and confusion, though. In dreams you drift around the halls of the hospital, heart monitors beeping suspiciously slowly, producing an uneasy soundtrack for you to glide between rooms to. Your eyes can’t focus on anything properly, so you simply pass through room after room with blurry patients strapped to beds, bandaged or moaning or pale and silent, going faster and faster until you turn a corner and everything changes abruptly. 

Now you’re on an abandoned highway in the dark, and just ahead you can see the wreckage of a small teal vehicle.

You recognize the car, which is blistering in flames, its mangled exterior seeming to bubble grotesquely in the flickering firelight. You scan the interior, paralyzed with fear at what you’ll find there, but it is empty.

A voice is calling your name, a voice you know -- Jeri’s voice. You try to find your own voice to answer her, but when you open your mouth, all you can do is scream. And still, she calls your name, over and over and over again until you suddenly feel yourself being shaken awake by two large hands on your shoulders.

The first thing you register is the stinging in your throat as you wake up, signaling you had probably screamed in real life, not just in the dream. The next is the panicked brown eyes staring into yours, the perfect face they belong to a mask of worry and fear. “Are you with me?” Mingyu says. “Are you awake?”

The last thing you notice is how heavily you’re breathing. You sit up, coughing, while Mingyu watches you in paralyzed concern. “I’m so sorry,” you say raggedly when you can finally speak. “I’m so sorry for waking you up.”

Everything still feels surreal — like you’ve detached from the world you’re used to, like you’re watching things happen from outside your body. What brings you back down to earth is when Mingyu pulls you into his chest and nearly crushes you in his grasp.

He’s warm. Warm like a fire in the winter of your terror, warm like the sunlight after a chilly swim, warm like coming home after a long time of being away. You breathe him in, and everything is suddenly the clean scent of his shampoo and a hint of sweat and just the faintest dash of cologne. And somehow the spinning of the room stops, your heart slows down, the terror eases. You lean into him and close your eyes, letting yourself hold his massive body to you, feeling his broad fingers brush gently down your back and up again, hoping that neither of you will let go. 

“I thought something bad was happening to you,” he whispers into your temple. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“It was a dream,” you say softly. “It was a really bad dream.”

He pulls back to look at you, and a large part of you misses the warmth and the weight of him. This same part of you is rapidly soothed when he pushes some of your hair from your face to see your expression better, searching your face with those same anxious eyes. “Are you okay now?”

You are -- you really are -- but somehow you have the presence of mind not to say that. Instead you nod. “I’m awake,” you say with a soft nod. 

Mingyu sighs in relief. “Give me two seconds.”

He leaves the room, and you deflate into your pillows, exhausted and aching for the feeling of Mingyu’s arms around you again in a way you are not equipped to fight off. When he returns, you see he’s brought Sara with him, blinking sleepily. He slowly hands her to you and then sits facing you on your mattress.

You settle into the weight of Sara on your chest, which soothes you almost as much as Mingyu’s arms had. “What did you dream about?” Mingyu asks you, trying not to sound as worried as you know he must be. It makes you smile a little.

“I dreamed about the hospital and the accident,” you say simply.

“Your sister’s accident?” he asks. “Did you see it? When it happened, I mean?”

You shake your head, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. “No, it was something my brain entirely made up,” you say. “But it felt real.”

He pauses. You sense some trepidation in him, some debate over whether or not to say what he’s mulling over in his brain. Finally he decides. “What happened to them? I only know it was a vehicle accident.”

You give him a humorless smile. “Do you want to open that door?” you ask him, echoing his words from earlier.

“Only if you do,” he says, putting a hand on your knee.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. It is the first time you will ever tell another human being the story. “It was raining,” you say. “My sister and her husband had gone to one of his sales team’s events -- it was a swanky party in the canyon. They were stopped at a stop sign when they got rear-ended so hard they slammed into the opposite railing. Jisung died right there, but my sister was thrown from the car. She lived long enough for someone to find them, long enough to crawl back to the road and get picked up by an ambulance, but not long enough to make it into surgery. She died on the same floor Sara was in two days ago, but the west wing instead of the east.”

Mingyu’s brow is furrowed, his eyes overly bright. “And the other driver?” he says roughly. “What happened to them?”

“They still haven’t found him,” you say. “They used paint chips from the back of my sister’s car to identify the vehicle, which wasn’t registered to anyone living. The police are apparently still looking for him.”

Mingyu looks like he’s about to hug you again, but stops himself because of Sara. He settles for smoothing a hand over Sara’s head and looking at you with red-rimmed eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “That’s...unfair. And awful. And so sad.”

You nod in agreement. “It is.” You sigh, and with your breath you release a bit of tension you didn’t know you were holding in your jaw. “I just hope she knew how much I love her.” You think back to the last conversation you’d had — full of love and laughter and the promise to see each other soon. Your eyes begin to water, and you sniff.

Mingyu slides across your bed to sit beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into him. He holds you and Sara in his arms while you silently cry -- not the shaking sobs of despair from the hospital or the agonized scream from your nightmares, but a release of all the pent-up feelings you hadn’t had time to allow yourself to feel. You spill over with sadness and anger and pain, but most of all with longing for your sister. You want to hear her voice again, make her laugh again, make her angry again as long as you could just have her there. 

And all of this feeling pouring out of you leaves you feeling drained when it’s over. You are empty, but not the same kind of emptiness you felt in the months before you’d met Mingyu. It was more like the emptiness of a backpack after you take everything out, an emptiness that was no longer hopeless to fill. 

After what is probably more than an hour, you whisper, “Mingyu?”

His sleepy “hm?” from above you floods your heart with warmth.

“I’m afraid I should be paying you double. I think you’re taking care of both of us,” you say, still in a whisper. 

“No need,” he says softly, his arms tightening around you for a fraction of a second. “You heard my whole tragic backstory this morning. It was only fair.”

You smile against his chest, and Sara stirs, beginning to fuss. Mingyu sits up but doesn’t let go, looking down at Sara. “She’ll be up crying in a second,” he says. “Let me take her.”

He scoops her into his arms, rubbing tiredly at his eyes with one hand. “Get some rest,” he says, maneuvering himself off of the bed, stopping only briefly to brush one final tear off your face. 

“Sleep well,” he says softly as he closes your bedroom door behind him. 

You relax into the pillows, reaching over to grab the one Mingyu had been leaning against. It still smelled like him. The scent is enough for your overwhelmed brain — you fall asleep in seconds.

***

As he shuts the door behind you to allow you to go back to sleep, hoping that this time your mind stays free of traumatic dreams, Mingyu pauses.

He is in trouble.

He’d known it from that very first day. Because how could someone be so drop-dead gorgeous in their rattiest sweatpants, with their hair a mess, looking like they might burst into tears at any moment? 

And now, three weeks in, it was worse than ever — the light was coming back into your eyes, and that change was stirring feelings in him he’d never felt before. And as he’d heard more of your story, he became more and more enthralled. He was proud of how hard you worked, and he adored your sense of humor, and he admired your authenticity and honesty, but what had drawn him irresistibly to you was the way that you loved: passionately, almost recklessly, with everything in you. From what Mingyu could tell, that love had leached into every single thing you did — it was the reason your business was so successful, the reason Sara felt so safe with you, and the reason your grief was so heavy. Since realizing this, Mingyu hadn’t even stood half a chance.

As he bounced up and down with Sara in his arms, trying to soothe her fussing, he thought back to the moment when he knew he was a goner: when you’d knighted him in the kitchen and called him Sir Mingyu. The way he’d wanted to take your face in his hands and kiss you until you forgot about everything but him was almost criminal. And tonight...seeing your sleepy eyes, and how you’d melted into his embrace...he’d had to grab Sara as a buffer between the two of you, or he might just have risked it all, illness be damned. 

“Ah, Sara,” he whispered, remembering how you’d smiled dazedly at him as he left the room. “What should I do?”

He had tried to keep it professional with you. Tried to leave almost instantly when you arrived home without being rude. Tried to go out on weekends, so he didn’t have to think about you. But the truth was, he always did anyway. And coupled with the fact that Sara, too, had stolen his heart, and he knew he couldn’t love her more even if he were her own father — there was simply nothing for it. He’d just have to come to terms with the fact that he’d never felt more at home than when he was with the two of you.

It’s four in the morning, and Mingyu sighs as he pulls out his cell phone. “Why am I not surprised you’re awake?” he teases when Jungkook answers his call. 

“You know me,” Jungkook says, and Mingyu can hear the filthy smile on his friend’s face. “I never sleep.”

Mingyu shakes his head exasperatedly. “Got plans today?” he asks. “I’m working right now, but I think I need to go out later.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” For all his teasing, Jungkook is a good friend, and he can tell something’s up just by Mingyu’s tone of voice.

“I have someone I need you to help me forget.”

***

You wake up the next morning around 11, feeling better than you’ve felt in days, maybe weeks. You’re still coughing, but your energy is higher and you’re lighter than you’re used to when you first wake up. 

You head downstairs, where Mingyu is nodding off at the table, Sara sucking happily at her pacifier. You sit in the seat next to Mingyu. “Long night?”

“You have no idea,” he groans. 

“I’m feeling a lot better,” you say. “You should go home and rest.” You have to resist an urge to lay a hand on his arm. 

He blinks blearily at you. “You want me to go?”

You chuckle at his tone -- he sounds devastated. “You need to rest. In fact, I’m going to insist that I drive you home. I don’t trust you to drive safely right now.”

Mingyu smiles sleepily, the sight making it impossible for you not to smile yourself. “‘Kay,” he says.

“Alright, big guy, up you get,” you say, unstrapping Sara and putting her into her baby carrier. “Where do you live?”

He gives you an address, which you plug into your phone. Mingyu forbids you from carrying Sara’s car seat and strapping it in the car, doing it himself at a slower pace than normal due to his tiredness. You watch, amused, as he fumbles with the slots the carrier slides into, his eyes half open. Your heart nearly bursts as he finally gets her buckled and places a clumsy kiss on her cheek. 

He sleeps for most of the drive, slumped against the door of the car. When you arrive in his driveway, you have to shake his shoulder gently to get him to wake up. So you let him out of the car and walk him to the door, feeling somewhat worried he’ll pass out on the way there as he stumbles up the walkway. 

To your surprise, he knocks at the door. “This is your house,” you remind him, giving him a worried look.

He chuckles. “Forgot my keys. I have a housemate.”

Sure enough, in seconds the door swings open to reveal a slim, bespectacled man whose eyes widen at the sight of Mingyu’s tired face. “What happened to him?” he asks you. 

“He was up all night,” you say apologetically. “I tried to get him to leave at the usual time, but he just wouldn’t.”

He scoffs. “Sounds like him. Alright, get in here, you big baby.” The man pulls Mingyu inside by the sleeve of his hoodie, and Mingyu collapses onto the couch just visible from the door. 

You watch him, torn between concern, fondness, and amusement, until you notice the other man eyeing you. “I’m Wonwoo,” he says with a small smile. “You must be Miss Boss.”

“Is that what he calls me?” you ask, embarrassed.

“No, that’s what I’ve been calling you,” he says. “He talks about you a lot.”

You blush. “I’m sorry,” you say, although you’re not really sure why.

“It’s fine,” he says. “This job seems better for him than the last few, so I feel like I actually owe you one.”

“Oh,” is all you can say. “Well, Wonwoo, uh...just make sure he rests, okay? Tell him I can come get him whenever and he can drive his car home.”

“Will do,” Wonwoo says cheerfully. “Have a nice day!”

***

[23:23, the following evening]

“Why did I even come here?” Mingyu groans over the sound of the music.

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “You are absolute shit at forgetting people, you know that?”

Mingyu shakes his head. “Not usually,” he says. “I don’t really know what’s going on.”

“You need to be more drunk,” Eunwoo suggests. 

“And maybe flirt with someone else,” Wonwoo recommends.

Mingyu wrinkles his nose in disgust at the thought. “What are you scared of?” Jungkook asks with a laugh. “You said that you had absolutely no chance.”

“Yet,” Mingyu says. “I have no chance yet.”

“And your plan is to…what?” Eunwoo asks, leaning closer and examining Mingyu’s face. “Wait around until your chance comes?”

Mingyu hesitates. Jungkook shakes his head. “I don’t think you’re a waiter, Kim Mingyu, but you’re allowed to prove me wrong if you want.”

At this, Mingyu rolls his eyes. “You’ve been eyeing the girl in the black dress over there for the past hour,” he remarks casually. “You can talk to me about waiting once you make a move.”

Jungkook watches the woman in the black dress with a tattooed hand on his chin. “Alright, I will.” He shrugs his thin black jacket off, revealing his full tattoo sleeve, and makes his way rhythmically to the dance floor, leaning in to speak to the girl.

“I know that was just a move to get him to go away,” Eunwoo says. “But well done, regardless.” He pats Mingyu on the shoulder. “So tell me, do you want to wait for her?”

Mingyu bristles. “The only thing I know for sure is that I have feelings for her. Beyond that I have no idea what to do about it.”

“Are the feelings you have for her … loving feelings or horny feelings?” Wonwoo asks carefully.

“Both,” Mingyu says through gritted teeth, fighting off the memory of your body in his arms. “How did you know you were in love?” he asks Eunwoo, glancing down at the ring on his finger. “How did you choose Nabi?”

Eunwoo looks thoughtfully into the distance. “She made it easy for me to just…be myself.”

Mingyu immediately remembers how simple it was to open up to you, his heart pounding at the thought. “I keep looking for a disqualifier,” he moans. “Something that would make her…I don’t know. Less…everything I ever wanted.”

Eunwoo grins ruefully. “I can think of one. She’s your boss,” he finishes, stirring his drink with his straw.

“And she told that one guy who liked her that she wasn’t ready to date,” Wonwoo pipes up. “She needs time to figure out what she’s doing before diving into a relationship.”

“So the only thing stopping me is circumstance?” Mingyu asks, frustrated.

Wonwoo and Eunwoo look at each other. “It sure seems that way,” Eunwoo agrees. “And…I don’t know, respect for her.”

“If she wasn’t your boss, and she wasn’t grieving,” Wonwoo points out, “what would you do?”

Mingyu’s cheeks warm with the thought of everything he’d do if you weren’t his boss. If you were ready for him. But he can’t say those things out loud, so he opts for the most generalized version of his answer. “I’d never give up on her,” he says with conviction.

Wonwoo’s eyes behind his spectacles are wise beyond his years. “Circumstances change all the time,” he says simply. “I know you don’t enjoy waiting for things, but maybe the best thing to do is stop fighting the feelings and just let them flow. You’ll either get your shot or you won’t, but if she’s as great as you think, she deserves to be waited for.” Wonwoo sips his water while Eunwoo and Mingyu stare, open-mouthed, at his sudden profundity.

“Damn,” Eunwoo says after awhile. “You should talk more.”

Wonwoo grins. “I would if anyone would listen to me,” he teases.

Mingyu is still letting Wonwoo’s words bounce around in his brain. “What should I do then?” he asks. “Like, right now. When there’s nothing I really can do.”

Wonwoo thinks for a minute. “Well, there’s a difference between what I think you should do and what I would do if it were me. What do you want to hear?”

“Both,” Mingyu and Eunwoo say together. Mingyu shoots Eunwoo an amused look, and he shrugs. “Hey, the last thing he said kind of blew me away.”

“Well,” Wonwoo says, “if it were me, I’d try to hide my feelings until I felt like it was a good time to talk about it.”

“And what do you think I should do?”

He ponders. “Well, you’re garbage at hiding your feelings. When you try, they just end up exploding out of you like diarrhea.”

Eunwoo snorts. “You were doing so well,” he laments.

Unbothered, Wonwoo continues. “So I’d say just be yourself. Don’t cross any lines or confess or anything, but don’t try to hide, either. And wait for her to say something.”

“And if she never does?” Mingyu asks, breathless.

“Die of unrequited love, I guess,” Wonwoo says with a wry grin. “Or move on.”

read part 4 here

[altrmist]

Yung Gravy X Male Smut

I sighed as I walking into my small shitty apartment. I threw my mail on the kitchen counter. I threw myself on my couch and started scrolling on TikTok. Today had been rather uneventful and I just wanted to sleep. I decided to shower. I walked into my room and grabbing some shorts and a shirt. I stared at myself in the mirror. -disgusting- I though to myself as I ran my hands down my sides and to my hips. My phone buzzed. 

Gravy: Hey Kass, Mind if i stop by I need to talk to you abt smth

I took a moment before responding. 

Me: Yeah. Let yourself in bc I’m abt to shower

Gravy: Sick, be there in a few 

I left him in read. I smiled to myself. Matthew was one of my closest friends. When he got famous I was always scared he’d forget about me. I always had a thing for him, even throughout high school. He was super supportive when I came out and he went around saying how proud he was of me. His validation always made me smile.

I turned my attention back to the mirror. I sighed, It had been a few days since I had last ate. Oh well. “Kass?! You still in the shower?” Matthew’s voice came into the room from behind the door. “I’m not even naked yet, you can come in.” I said as I picked up my shirt. He opened door and stepped in. “Hey bestie.” He said smiling. God his smile. “Hey Matt.” I said slowly putting my shirt back on. 

He looked at me confused, “Your not gonna shower? I can go wait in your room.” I sighed, “Nah. It’s only been a few days I can go another.” Matthew gave me a worried look. “Kass, take a shower. Please?” He said lightly turning me to face him. I sat for a second, “Fine.” I said quietly.

Matt smiled before turning to leave. “Hey M-matt?” He stopped, “Yes bub?” I looked down in shame. “Can.... can you stay in here?” Matt looked at me confused. Then his face softened, “Sure.” He said smiling. He leaned on the counter and scrolled on his phone. I took my shirt off and looked in the mirror. -Your repulsive- I sighed and finished undressing. I got into the shower and turned the water on. Matt turned on some music to lighten the mood.

-Today’s the day he drops you. Why else would he ask to come over randomly.- I washed my greasy hair. “M-matt, what you wanna talk about. It isn’t bad is it?” The room was silent aside from the water. Matt poked his head in the curtain, eyes closed, “What?” “N-nothing” I said quietly. I turned the water off and wrapped a towel around my waist.

“You’ve gotten skinny.” Matthew said with a hint of concern. “I haven’t been eating much.” I said flatly. Matthew slowly approached me and grabbed my waist. I felt a bit of blush creep on my face. “Kass, what’s going on? You’ve been distant and I’m really worried about you.”

“I- W-well.” I stammered. He pulled me in for a hug. “You don’t have to tell me right now. Whenever your ready.” He said reassuringly. “O-ok..” I said into his chest. Matthew moved one of his hands to my cheek. “Your so pretty.” He said with a smile. “I-I- y-you- I-“ I stammered. “Your so cute when your flustered.” He said before letting go of my hips and handing me my clothes. “I’ll be waiting on your bed.” He said smiling before he walked out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

-Wha- What just happened? He- he called me cute and pretty- I- I must be dreaming-

I smiled to myself as I got dressed. And pair of short shorts and an oversized shirt that happened to be Matt’s that he left here one day. I stepped out and saw him. Laying on the bed with the tv on. I sat down next to him. He paused the tv. “Kass, I need to tell you something.” I froze- “O-ok.” I said quietly. Matt held one of my hands in his. “I really really like you- like- more then a friend. I’ve felt this way for a year or so now and I thought I should tell you.” 

I looked at him. His tone and face were both serious. He- he really liked me- “I- uh- I like you too- I wanna be m-more then friends but I thought you’d be d-disgusted.” Matt scooted closer and held both my hands. The warmth of them sending shivers up my spine. “Kass. Will you be my boyfriend?” 

“Yes. Yes i will!” I said smiling and throwing myself onto him. He giggled. “Then it’s settled.” I smiled at him. I slowly felt myself leaning in for a kiss. Next thing I knew, His lips were on mine. They were soft and warm. His hands slowly moved around my body, sending more chills up my spine. His hands made their way under my shirt.

I flinched lightly as he ran his hands up and down my bare body. “It’s ok baby, it’s all in your head. Your my perfect little boy.” He whispered in my ear. “M-mhmm.” I said as I kissed his neck. Matthew’s hands moved from my upper body to my lower. He gently placed his hands on my ass. “You can say no at anytime and I’ll stop ok love?” He said reassuringly. “Mhmm.” I hummed again. Matt kissed me again before rolling us over so he could be on top of me.

“Your so cute when your under me~” He whispered in my ear. I felt my shorts starting to get tight. “I-“ I stammered. Matt chuckled and slowly slid his hand into my shorts. I felt his hand touch my dick. Warm and big. “Awwwwe how cute. Someone’s got a little dick~” That comments makes me harder. “I-it’s not that s-small.” I said. Matt got off of me and gently pulled my shorts down. “It’s about half the size of mine.” He chuckled, “How pathetic.” He knew my kinks and such I told him everything. Maybe this is why.

He licked the tip, “mmmmmh.” I moaned quietly. “Someones a little needy~” He teased. “M-matt please.” I begged. Matt got close to my face and lightly choked me, “That’s Sir you, you needy little slut,” 

“S-sorry sir.” I said apologetically. “Good boy.” He said lowly. He went back to my dick. “It’s just so small. How do you pleasure people?” He said laughing. “I-I don’t sir😖.” He chuckled, “Yeah because your nothing more then a pathetic little toy.” He said as he slowly jerked me off. “P-please g-go faster.” I begged. He chuckled and took his hand off my dick. I reached down to touch myself and he grabbed my wrists pinning them down.

“Little cocks don’t get pleasure.” He said before letting my hands go. He then lifted my legs up and put me in missionary. “Look at that fine little hole you’ve got.” He said before rubbing his finger over it. I let out a needy whimper. He licked his finger and slowly slid one in. “Mmmmhhhhhhh.” I moaned, I covered my mouth. It was only his finger and I was moaning so much.

“Cmon slut, I gotta hear you sing~” He said uncovering my mouth. “S-sir it feels so goooood.” I moaned loudly. “Oh yeah?”He said, quickening his pace. “Mmmmhmmmmhhhhhhh fuckkkkk.” I moaned. “Jesus your a tight little bitch aren’t you?” He said sternly. He then slipped in two fingers. “Mmmmmhhhhh sirrrrrrr.” I moaned again. Matthew pulled his fingers out. Then started to eat me out.   “S-sir yo- ughhhhhhh.” I said melting with the pleasure I was feeling. 

I ran on hands through his messy blonde hair. “D-don’t stop sir.” I said lightly tugging on his hair. His tongue was warm and wet. It felt like utter bliss. Eventually he stopped and looked me in the eyes. He layer down next to me. I saw his bulge through his sweats. “Suck.” He ordered sternly. “Y-yessir.” I said as I got on my knees by his crotch. I could smell his balls from outside his sweats. He just came from the gym. As much as I didn’t wanna admit it. The smell was intoxicating.

I slowly pulled his sweats down to reveal his boxers. “J-jesus it- it’s massive-“ I said looking at his bulge. He sat up to take his sweats of completely. “Puts your pathetic cock to shame.” He said leaning his back against my head board. I slowly took his boxers of and watched his cock spring out of his boxers. He gently placed his hand on the back of my head and pushed my nose into his balls. “You like that? You shameful little cock sucker?” I took a big sniff. “Answer me.” He said sternly. “M-mhmmmmm.” I hummed as I took another sniff. He spanked me, “Use your fucking words slut.” I whimpered, “Yessir. Y-you smell amazing.” He spanked me again. “Suck my mancock you pathetic little boy.” 

I moved my head up and kissed his tip. “Get your ass over here.” He said wrapping his hands around my hips and pulling me into a 69. He started eating me out again. “Ughhhhhhh” I moaned. “He gave me a hard spank. “Suck my fucking cock.” He said harshly. I slowly put the tip in my mouth and bobbed up and down. I wasn’t sure if I could throat his dick. It was big about 10 inches and it was thick. “Good boyyyyyyy.” Gravy moaned he placed his hand on my dick and started jerking me off. “Your little cock can have some attention I guess.” He said as he slowed his pace. I slowed my pace as well. He didn’t like that. “Stop sucking you needy fag.”

I stopped. “Come here.” He said as he grabbed my shirt and pulled me to him. I strattled him. He gave me another hard spank. “Just because I jerk your dick slowly doesn’t mean you suck my cock at that pace you little slut. Got me?” “Yessir.” I said quickly. He grabbed my hips and held me above his cock. “Here comes the gravy train.” He said, winking at me. He slowly moved me down. The tip sliding in slowly. “Mmmmmmh.” I threw my head back I pleasure. He slowly let me down fully.

“Take your time to adjust hun.” He said reassuringly. “It-its so b-big.” I stuttered. “You’ll get used to feeling it. I’m gonna train you to take my cock like a good boy.” 

I slowly started to move. “Mmmh it hurts sir.” Gravy slowly lifted me up off of him. “Lay down hun.” He said softly. I did as he asked. I got into missionary and he slowly slid in. “Mmmmmh.” I moaned. He started slowly and gently. “Your such a good boy. Taking my cock as good as you are.” He said softly. All I could do was whimper in response. He felt so good inside me.

He leaned down into my ear as he thrusted, “You might be a good bit but your still a worthless play toy.” I just nodded. That’s all I could do. I was utterly speechless. His cock was thrusting in and out at a constant pace. “F-f-faster s-sir.” I managed to say. He sped up. His cock going faster and faster. I reached down to touch my dick and he slapped my had away, “if I don’t make you cum then you don’t get you you greedy faggot.” He said as he moved his hand to my neck. “Mmmh s-sir I can barely breathe.” I whined. He started thrusting rougher, “Good.” He said as he lifted me up to get a better angle. “MMMMMHHHHUGHHHHH!!!” I moaned, “RIGHT THERE SIR!” Gravy smirked his devilish smirk.

“Sing it out baby boy.” He groaned as he jerked my cock. I felt like I was melting. He was hitting me right in my spot. I’d only ever felt this pleasure when I used toys, not real people.  “G-gravy I’m gonna cum!” I moaned loudly. “Cum for me you pathetic needy little faggot.” He said dominantly as he hardened his grip on my throat. “Mmmmmmmhhhhhhhh.” I moaned as I came all over his hand and my chest. “So much cum for such a small dick.” Gravy laughed. 

I felt his cock start to swell. “Fuck I’m gonna cum.” He groaned. “P-please sir cum in me.” I begged. “Oh I- w-will- ughhhhhh.” Gravy moaned as he gave one last thrust. Getting deep inside me and cumming. Gravy gently leaned down, his cock still inside me. “Good boy Kass. Goooood boy.” He whispered before kissing me again. Soft and passionately. He slowly pulled out and stood up. “I’ll be right back Hun.” He said as he rushed out of the room. My body started to calm down and I felt myself get needy. “Matthewwwww come backkkkkk.” I whined. He walked back into the room with some snacks and drinks a lot with Advil just in case.

“Here.” He said with a smile. I took the fan of Dr Pepper and the bag of chips and cuddled up to him once he was in bed. He unpaused the tv and we watch his favorite show. I felt my eyes grow heavy. I rolled over and planted my face in his chest. I heard him chuckle before he ran his hands through my hair. “I’m sleepyyyyy.” I said into his chest. “I can tell.” He said as he pulled me closer to him. He slowly massaged my scalp as I slowly fell asleep. “Good night Kass. I love you.” Matthew said quietly. “I love you tooo.” I said as I fell to the clutches of sleep.

[colinlegameboy]

Jacob's Secret

Today was the big day. After dating for 3 months, Jacob had invited Eliza over to his house to hang out. To Jacob, it was a miracle they had even started dating in the first place. He was the epitome of a nerd—6 feet tall, pale, lanky, blotchy face, greasy, short brown hair.

Eliza, on the other hand, was the most popular girl in school, and beautiful to boot. Fair skin, long black hair, curves in all the right places. She was the one that asked Jacob out, to the entire school (especially Jacob)’s surprise. Why she liked him, let alone why she wanted to come over, was still beyond him at this point. But he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he had spent all day prepping the house for her arrival.

Thing was, that was going to take more than just cleaning. Like any nerdy kid his age, Jacob was fond of video games, comics, and the like. That wasn’t what worried him—After all, these days, everyone was a nerd to some extent. But he had one hobby, one that, if Eliza discovered it, he worried she’d turn on him immediately.

After a long day of cleaning and hiding anything that could even remotely give away his hobby, Jacob changed into his favorite orange shirt, and sat on the porch to wait for Eliza. A thick fog had enveloped his street, making it hard to see anything past two houses down either direction. This, of course, just made him more anxious— If he noticed her car coming up, he’d only have a few seconds to compose himself.

As he waited, he rubbed his hands on his thighs vigorously. His eyes flicked from one direction to the other, peeled for Eliza’s red sports car. Then, he chanced a look down at his lap. To his horror, his pants had been stained with a strange, reddish substance. His hands shot up—Indeed, he had forgotten to wash them after putting away the evidence of his hobby. He ran back inside, up to his room and into his bathroom.

Just as he was changing into a new pair of jeans, the doorbell rang. Oh god, he thought. She’s here. OK, Jacob, deep breaths. Deeeeep breaths…

He walked briskly down to the door, his right hand shoved into his pocket to keep it from shaking. He opened the front door, and there she was—Eliza, his beautiful girlfriend, wearing tight skinny jeans and a red tank top. Clearly, she wanted to look good for him, but all he could muster was some basic clothes that probably clashed fashion-wise.

“Hey Jake! You look great!” Eliza (probably) lied.

“Well, you look even better,” Jacob said. “C’mon in.”

He walked her in, his hand still in his pocket, latched onto his thigh. “So, uh,” he said. “What did you want to do? This was kinda your idea.”

“I dunno. Just hang out, I guess. You said you had the new Playstation, right? Where’s that?”

“It’s… Uh… In my room…”

“Cool, let’s head up there, then!”

Jacob’s face went beet red. “M-my room? Are you sure?”

Eliza stared at him for a second, then went red herself. “Oh! Oh, no, I see. Uh… Right, you probably haven’t had any other girls in there…”

Jacob gulped, and straightened himself up. “W-well, would you like to be the first?”

Eliza smiled that beaming smile that always sent butterflies through Jacob’s heart. “Of course! Lead the way.”

As he led Eliza up the stairs, Jacob turned to her, smiling. “What made you think I haven’t had any girls in there, anyway?”

“Oh, shut up,” Eliza said, lightly elbowing him in the side. “You told me day one you hadn’t dated anyone before, and I praised you for your honesty. Don’t tell me you’re just a big, fat liar?”

Jacob’s eyes went wide. “No, of course not, never.” Before Eliza could question him further, they had reached the door to his room.

Jacob opened the door for Eliza, who kept a smile on her face despite likely being utterly disinterested in the nerdy memorabilia smattered across his bedroom. It was relatively large, with a bathroom connected via a door next to the large closet across the bed from the entry door. Facing the bed was a dresser with a small HDTV and a game console atop it. To its right was Jacob’s desk, a lamp and a laptop adorning it.

Jacob’s eyes darted around the room, looking for anything out of place, anything that could give away what he did in his spare time. Nothing immediately gave itself away, though the moisture from the fog outside was steadily creeping through his open window next to his bed.

He quickly made his way to the window to shut it, poorly masking his anxiety as he lost his balance colliding with the foot of the bed. As he shut the window, he looked back to Eliza, who was studying the game cases atop the console.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a light reflected off something small on his desk. As he focused on it, he realized to his horror what it was—A scalpel, tinged red at the blade.

Somehow, thankfully, Eliza had yet to notice it. But how to get her away from the desk? He frantically looked around him, his gaze eventually landing on a sketchbook sticking out from under his bed. Drawing, at least, was a much more normal pastime than what he had been doing lately.

Jacob pulled out the sketchbook. “Hey, look at that!” he said. “I haven’t seen this thing in a while. Used to sketch in it all the time, back in Freshman year.”

“Ooooh, can I see?” Eliza asked.

Perfect, Jacob thought. “Sure! C’mon over.”

Eliza came and sat on the bed. Jacob handed her the book, and she began to pore over it. Slowly, his eyes fixated on her, he backed up towards the desk. Closer and closer he got, his hand reached out behind him. After what seemed like a half-hour, he was able to grab the edge of the desk. He felt around for the scalpel, found it, grabbed hold—

“MAOW.”

Jacob’s entire body jerked towards the door. The scalpel went flying out of his hands, hitting the bathroom door with a quiet *clink*.

“Awwww, you didn’t tell me you had a cat!” Eliza said.

“Oh, yeah, good ol’ Ruffles, haha,” Jacob said. “You were always going on about your dogs, so I wasn’t sure you were into cats.”

“All animals are baby,” Eliza cooed, walking over to Ruffles. “C’mere, sweet child.”

While she was distracted, Jacob leapt for the scalpel, and stuffed it into his pocket. He quickly got back up and spun around to see Eliza cradling Ruffles.

“Awww, he likes me!” Eliza said. “Don’t you, Ruffles?”

“Y-yeah, he likes pretty much everyone,” Jacob said, scanning the room yet again to see if he had missed anything else. Thankfully, from what he could tell, everything in the room was in order.

As he breathed a quiet sigh of relief, he noticed Eliza’s eyes fixated somewhere. “What’s that thing?” she asked.

He tracked her line of sight to the corner of his closet door. Sticking out of it was a mouse tail.

His face went paler than it already was. “I… It’s… Uh… Hmm…” he stammered.

From the second Eliza put Ruffles down, Jacob knew there was nothing he could do. The relationship was over. She was going to hate him. He would be the laughingstock of the whole school—Dumped by the most popular girl there, over a hobby so weird and creepy that no sane girl would come near him again.

Eliza bent down to inspect the mouse tail. As expected, it was connected to a mouse. “Is this… Some sort of model?” she asked.

Jacob sighed. “Yes. I… I make and paint clay models.”

She turned the model over in her hands, studying it. “This is a model?”

Jacob raised an eyebrow. “Y-yes. That’s what I just said.”

Eliza’s eyes widened. “Holy crap, Jacob, this is amazing! It looks just like a real mouse!”

A flood of feelings washed over Jacob—Confusion, relief, joy, fear. Did she… Like the model?

“Dude, seriously, why would you want to hide this from me?” she asked.

“Well, uh, what kind of weirdo teenager sits around making clay models?” he said. “I thought you’d leave me and… And tell the whole school how weird my hobby was.”

Eliza sighed, set down the model, stood up, and kissed Jacob. “You wanna know why I asked you out?” she said, sitting on the bed and patting the spot next to her. Jacob took her invitation.

“We had art class together back in Freshman year. This was before I ended up ‘the most popular girl in school’, so I guess I went unnoticed. I sat behind you, and I saw you drawing in that sketchbook. Those sketches were amazing! You’re really talented, and I guess I… I guess I fell in love with you, right then and there.

“Then I ended up on the cheer squad, and in the ‘popular’ circuit, and everyone in that group was trying to keep me away from you. And then, 3 months ago, I said, ‘fuck it’, and asked you out. And, well, here we are.”

Jacob’s mouth fell agape. “Did… Did you say… Fell in love…?”

Eliza chuckled. “Huh. Guess I did, didn’t I?”

Jacob brought her close and kissed her passionately. They fell onto the bed.

Suddenly, there was a loud knock. The door was left open, and Jacob’s mom was standing in the doorway. “Keep it to kissing, or she ain’t allowed back till you’re 20.”

“Mom!” Jacob said, going beet red. Eliza laughed.

[rezzyromance]

hihi may i request a heisenburg x reader comfort fic? reader is feeling deppressed or something and karl and reader just cuddle or something

I need this right now. Where's MY big, crusty, greasy, metal hobo man?

(CW: mentions and descriptions of depression based on my own personal experiences.)

The bed felt like it was consuming you at this point. You barely left it all week, and hadn't left it at all today. Your heavy body only had a slight feeling of piece when you lay curled up in the bed no matter the time of day. All of the lights were off and you were left alone with your thoughts. A feeling of numbness consumed you, yet you ached at the same time. How could someone feel so numb but so in pain at the same time? The question had been taunting you recently as every day made you feel more and more useless.

The self isolation you had put yourself through was only making things worse. You live in the factory with Karl but you haven't seen him since you've started staying in your room more often. He's so occupied with work that he hasn't really noticed your absence.

Well, it was bugging him in the back of his head. Something didn't feel right and he knew it, he just couldn't put a finger on what. It was actually a bit distracting. He didn't realize what was wrong until he was journaling. When he writes in his journal, it's one of the few moments he has where his emotions become somewhat known to him. He barely knows what he's writing until he rereads it. He just lets his mind take over as he writes. He was rereading his most recent journal and the last sentence made him pause.

'I haven't seen (Y/N) in a bit. I wonder where they're at."

"Damn.... I'm stupid...", he mumbled to himself. "How could I have been so oblivious?", he groaned and rubbed his forehead before setting his journal down. He expected the worst as he roamed the living areas of the factory in hopes to find you. "I bet they're pissed. I bet they hate me now.", his mind was clouded with negative thoughts.

He twisted the doorknob to your room, hoping you'll be there with a smile on your face. That smile that warms his heart so much and makes him feel like he's worth something. Instead, he was greeted with you laying on the bed with your back facing him. "Yep. Pissed.", he thought.

"Hey.. you awake?", he asked in an almost-whisper. He wasn't aware of what time it currently is, but the fact that you were in the bed with the lights off made him assume it's probably late. "Yeah.", you respond. "I'm awake." There was no emotions behind your words. You sounded so tired, but not a normal, groggy and sleepy type of tired. Like an exhausted and pained type of tired.

"Were you sleeping?", he asks. "No."

He inhales deeply through his nose as he tries to asses what's wrong. "I know you're mad at me. And you have every right to be.", he starts off. His words confuse you. You weren't mad. You've felt this way for a long time, but having Karl around helped you keep your chin up and tuck the bad feelings away. It wasn't until he became super occupied with his work that the feelings came rushing back. You were left with nothing to help distract you from the negativity that had been brewing inside of you for so long.

"I'm not mad.", you say, still without moving from your spot. "You're not?", he sounded genuinely shocked. "No." "I just haven't really checked on you or paid any attention to you recently. I know you must feel like I forgot about you completely." His words made you feel bad even though there was no reason for them to do so. "I'm sorry.", you say. He cocks his head to the side in confusion. "What? Why are you sorry?", he asks as he walks over to where you were laying.

Suddenly, you feel small. So small. You feel your eyes sting at the threat of tears. "I..", your voice shakes a little. "I don't know..", you can't help but sigh. Karl isn't the most empathetic person, but seeing you this way made him feel a type of way he has never felt before. He could tell you were upset, and he wanted nothing more than to be able to help, but he had no idea how. He had no past experience or even an example from his life where he figured out how to comfort someone that is sad.

"You look tired. You should rest.", is what he said. What his words really meant where "I recognize your emotions and I understand completely. Please, take care of yourself.",

He crawls into the bed and lays beside you. "Tell me..", he begins to talk and hesitates slightly, unsure of what to say. "What's got you so exhausted?", he says. He continues to use words like "tired" and "exhausted" as replacements for "depressed", but you both know what he really means. His words cause a sharp pain in your throat. You wanted to cry so badly but kept it in. "I don't know. I'm just....", you can't help but let a few tears fall. "I'm so tired." Even though there is an absence of light in the room, he can tell you're crying.

He swallows awkwardly, thinking of what to do next. He takes a deep breath and places his hand on your arm. He can feel you shaking beneath him as you quietly cry. Something in him feels like it breaks a little, but something else in him grows. A passion for protecting. A need to keep you safe. It fuels him in the moment as he pulls your body into his. He was still fully clothed with his work shirt, pants, and even boots, but he didn't want to waste a second removing his clothes when he could be holding you close. You're his number one priority.

You clutch the fabric of his shirt in your hands as you fight back the tears. "It's okay.", he says as he rubs your back in attempts to soothe you. "You're okay.", he kisses your forehead and lets you cry out what you've been holding back for so long.

Once you're done, you feel a little embarrassed and unsure of how he feels. But, he still holds you tightly to his body. He rubs circles in your back with his calloused thumb.

"It's okay to feel bad. That's probably a dumb thing to say.. but it's true. It's okay to be pissed off and sad. Just, try to remember that you're so much more than what you feel.", for a moment, his words actually sound wise and it surprises himself. "Promise you'll try and remember?", he asks. "I promise.", you sniffle. "Good. I'm gonna shut up before I say something stupid while trying to sound smart." His words make you giggle which lights up his face and heart. A wave of relief washes over him and he continues to hold you.

Now, you're no longer alone in the bed with you're thoughts. Sure, they're still there. But you're not alone. And as long as Karl's around he'll make sure you never go through them alone again.

[arizona2004]

Hey can you please do a azriel x reader where the reader is struggling with bad mental health (maybe an Ed) because I’m struggling myself rn and alsao there’s not enough of them :). I can totally understand if you didn’t feel comfortable doing it

Okay, here it is. Everyone responds to their eating disorders differently, especially depending on the ED and severity of it. I hope this has what you’re looking for, though.

Azriel x reader

Word count: 1499

Warnings: Eating Disorders! The reader struggles with an ED and some depression and anxiety and a little OCD. Please don’t read if you think reading the unhealthy thoughts of someone with an eating disorder may cause you to relapse. It is not healthy to think about food and eating in this manner. Love you all. Don’t forget to eat something and drink some water.

Waking up, I immediately don’t want to get out of bed. I pull the covers over my head, keep my eyes closed, and scrunch my legs up to my chest. When I wake up again, it’s only a little later in the morning. I still don’t want to pull myself out of bed, but I can’t fall back asleep. So I just lay there. Turning to Azriel’s side of the bed, I notice he’s not there. Well, of course not; he’s already left for work. I stare at the spot he usually occupies before finally sitting up and checking the clock. It’s 10 am.

Standing, I wrap my robe around myself and walk out of the room, refusing to look in the mirror. I practice breathing evenly and focus on my routine. I need to eat breakfast. I spend nearly 20 minutes in the kitchen, moving around, deciding what to eat. I’m opening cabinets and closing them, finding nothing satisfactory. Eventually, I decide to make some bacon. The stove is on, and bacon is sizzling. The scent of bacon is wafting toward me, and I feel like being sick. I can’t eat bacon; it’s greasy and fatty. Toast, I think, I’ll make toast. So I put the bread in the toaster and let it cook. It’s only when the toast is cooked that I start thinking about the carbs that go into it. I haven’t been exercising enough recently. I shouldn’t eat so many carbs. I throw the toast out with the bacon and decide to make scrambled eggs instead. Whisking the eggs and milk together, I turn on the stove, letting the skillet heat and butter melt on it. When I turn, bowl in hand, ready to pour it into the skillet, it slips from my hand, spilling all over the floor. Anger and frustration wash over me; I guess I just shouldn’t eat this morning.

After cleaning the mess: doing the dishes that littered the sink and picking up the mess of eggs on the floor, I walk back up to my room. My head is pounding, and everything feels like it's crashing in on me. My heart is racing, and I just want to scream. My mind keeps flashing back to last night. We went out to Ritas, and it was supposed to be fun. But I just had to ruin things for myself. I barely ate. I stopped drinking early into the night. I wish I could have forgone the entire night. I wish Mor wasn’t so perfect. She has curves in all the right places and not a single flaw; I hate her for it, I think. Passing the floor-length mirror in my bedroom, I stop to look at myself. It’s been so long since I’ve looked in the mirror and liked what I saw. Why can't I have a body like Mor or Feyre or Amren?

I sit on the floor, just picking apart all the pieces of myself I hate. Thinking about all the insulting things people have said to me. Tears are streaming out of my eyes until I can’t even see my reflection. I’m clutching my chest as I struggle for air through my sobs. Why? Why? Why?

It’s an hour later, and I’m just lying on the floor of my bedroom, staring at the ceiling. I pushed my earlier hunger away, so I can’t feel it anymore. I wish I couldn’t feel any of it. The tears on my face have dried, and I’m breathing normally again when a small piece of folded paper falls next to me.

The Note reads: Meet me at my office at 11:30?

Azriel. I turn my head to look at the clock hanging on the wall. It’s nearly 11:20: a choked sob leaves my throat. Standing quickly, I rush to the bathroom to put myself together. In 10 minutes, my face is washed, and I’m wearing enough makeup to cover any signs of my tears. And I brushed through my hair and threw on some clothes. Rushing out the door, I head for the House of Wind. In the time it took to get to the door of his office, I’ve done breathing exercises to even out my breaths and slipped on a smile.

Knocking on the door to his office, I peeked my head in. “Hey,” I say, biting my lip.

He looked up to me, a grin spreading across his face and arms opening for me. I walked in, shutting the door behind me, and sat on his lap. He wrapped his arms around me, resting his head on my shoulder. He breathed in deeply, taking in the scent of me. “You smell wonderful, love,” he murmurs against my neck.

“Hmm,” I hum, holding him tight.

“Are you feeling alright?” He asks, pulling back slightly to look at me directly.

“Yeah,” An unconscious fake smile blooms across my face, “why wouldn’t I be?”

He just stares at me for a moment longer, eyebrows bunching, when he asks, “have you eaten today?”

“Yes. Breakfast this morning,” I say, “when I woke to an empty bed,” I try steering the question away from myself.

He knows I’m lying, “are you hungry? We could get lunch.”

“It was a big breakfast, Az,” I say, “I’m not hungry right now.”

He grips my waist and pulls me closer, wrapping his wings around us, “What’d you eat?”

“I made toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon,” It’s not entirely a lie, I think to myself.

He puts his forehead on my shoulder, resting it there for a long few moments, “baby,” he mumbles, “please don’t lie to me. We’ve been through this before: I can help, just talk to me.”

My lips start to quiver, I’ve upset him.

“I’m with you through all the good And the bad,” he says, head still down, “please tell me the truth about how you’re feeling,” he lifts his head to look at me, and the worrying features of his face make me sob again. “Hey, hey. It’s okay,” he consoles, wiping the tears from my face, “deep breaths.”

I take a deep breath in and out, and he does it with me. My tears start to slow, and the shuddering breaths even out. Az is running his hand up and down my spine, soothingly and when I’m ready, I explain everything, “I guess- things started getting bad yesterday. I didn’t really like the way I looked in that dress, and I just felt… off? Gross? I don’t know,” I take another breath in, “then Mor showed up, and she just looked so good in that dress; she’s so beautiful. And she ate and drank so much,” I’m ranting now, “Does she ever gain weight?!” I stop talking, trying to calm myself, and tears well up again, but I push them back. Looking back to Az, I start talking again, “I shouldn’t be jealous. I’m a horrible friend for being mad at her, but I just can’t stand her sometimes. I’m a horrible friend.”

I’m looking down between us now, but Az coaxes me back, “look at me,” he holds my face between his hands and pushes our foreheads together, “You are not a horrible friend. You are wonderful and kind. It’s okay to be jealous. You still love her, and you’re still a good friend. Now, tell me the rest.”

I shake my head holding back my tears, “It’s just the same thing. I just- it’s everything combined. I feel like I ate too much yesterday, and I haven’t worked out regularly this week. Then everything last night. So when I woke up this morning, everything was too much. Seeing myself in the mirror and thinking about how much I don’t deserve you. I’m not pretty enough. It’s all just so much. All at once,” my breaths come unevenly again, and tears are running down my face.

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment; his hands drop from my face and pull me into him. His hands run through my hair, and he just soothes me quietly for a few minutes. When he pulls back to look at me, he says quietly and calmly, “You’re beautiful, love. And I know me telling you that isn’t just gonna take all the bad thoughts and feelings away, but I need you to know: No matter what you see in the mirror or what your mind tells you, you are so beautiful. You have your ‘flaws,’ but that’s okay. You just have to learn to love them the way I do. And I’ll help you with that; I’m here to help.”

I nod, tears still streaming down my face, and lay my head on his shoulder, breathing him in and calming myself.

“Can we go eat food now,” he asks quietly. I nod letting myself feel the hunger I pushed aside and relaxed further into his arms. He lifts me with him as he stands and walks us to the kitchen.

[wondernimbus]

veritaserum — draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x female!reader

request: Hi I want to request a Draco Malfoy x Ravenclaw reader please! a spell gone wrong makes Malfoy can say nothing but the truth throughout the day. Scared but too embarrassed to approach a teacher, he decided to go to y/n instead because she’s the top student of their charms class to help undo the spell but what he didn’t consider is how he would later straight out confess his attraction towards her, going on and on about her hair, her eyes, etc and they just share a heart-to-heart moment

a/n: i did Not proofread this so i apologize in advance if there r any typos!! also i made a v minor change to the req but other than that bon appetit

Someone spiked Draco's morning pumpkin juice.

It would have been really helpful if he'd noticed it before he laughed at Snape's face and called him a greasy git, after which his eyes grew comically wide and and he tried to hurriedly apologize (more out of fear for his parents than Snape)—only for his mouth to tell Snape to "go wash your hair for bloody once".

Veritaserum. Someone put blithering Veritaserum in his drink, and now he can't open his mouth without spitting out several of his deepest, darkest secrets.

"Two points from Slytherin for your uncharacteristic and very offensive behavior, mister Malfoy," Snape had sneered. "I will only tolerate this foolery once. The next time you dare to speak to me like that, I will not hesitate to treat you the same way I would treat any other student."

Draco would have tried to defend himself, but he isn't stupid enough to let another truthful insult slip out by accident, so he'd kept his mouth shut and nodded.

If one were to go into detail, they would tell you about how Draco had tried to ask Madame Pomfrey to help undo the potion's effects only to severely insult the poor old lady's hair, and how he'd also tried to ask McGonagall only to admit the fact that he'd cheated on her transfiguration test two years ago. He has insulted every single person he has tried to talk to so far during the day. He's called Crabbe an illiterate oaf, told a random Gryffindor couple passing by that they look absolutely dreadful together (something that he doesn't really regret blurting out, but he could have lived without letting them know), and admitted to Professor Flitwick that he'd paid someone to do most of his essays.

But if one were to put it simply, they would go like this: Draco is in a dilemma, and he needs help, fast.

Except he has severely offended every single person he has tried to ask for help, and will no doubt do the same for anyone he plans on asking. Draco is desperate. He is halfway through the school day and the effects of the truth serum have yet to wear off. At this rate, he's going to lose all of his friends, as well as lose his teachers' favor.

Draco can't ask a teacher in fear that all of his good grades will slip from his grasp at a single (honest) insult. He can't stick it out for the rest of the day, either, because when he spends too long a time not talking to anyone, it seems that the truth potion grows impatient and starts making him blurt out a bunch of his innermost secrets.

He has already shouted "I peed my pants when I was eight" in the Great Hall; there is no time to waste.

Potions class comes around right after breakfast and brings with it the inevitable need to face Snape again. Uncharacteristically enough, Draco doesn't swagger into the dreary dungeon classroom. Instead, he keeps his head down as he perches himself on his usual seat right—which is, of course, right in front of Snape's desk.

When the last of the students have filed in and Snape closes the dungeon door shut to begin the lesson, he makes sure to fix Draco with a long stare; one that Draco only holds for several seconds before he sniffs and casts his eyes away to look at his desk instead. You'd think that a Potions master would be able to tell when someone was under the influence of a truth potion—but then again Snape might also have known, but was too offended by Draco's jab about his hair.

He looks up sometime along the lesson and catches sight of the light reflecting off of Snape's greasy hair; well, Draco had been telling the truth.

For today's lesson, they're tasked to brew some sort of calming draught. Draco can't entrust Goyle—his partner—to even as much as get the name of the potion right, so Draco shoots the poor boy a familiar scowl and proceeds to do everything on his own. But Draco is no Potions expert, so instead of the faint lilac hue the liquid inside their cauldron is supposed to have turned into, it becomes a violently bubbling pink substance.

"Four slices of the bat spleen, mister Malfoy, not five," Snape drawls, peering down at Draco's cauldron through his hooked nose. "And you have been too heavy-handed on the lavender. Shame. I expected better."

Draco suppresses a sneer. Snape usually never points out his mistakes—that sort of treatment is reserved for other houses. Snape, it seems, took his insult to heart, the greasy-haired bloke.

Feeling severely irked, Draco slumps down in his seat, folds his arms over his chest, and stops trying entirely. He may be acting like a sulky five-year-old but so be it because Draco is not in the mood. He has humiliated his own self far too many times in one day (and been humiliated by Snape approximately ten seconds ago)—he wants this day over, fast, and with any luck, the Veritaserum out of his system by the end of it.

But he can't see how, so Draco does the only thing that he can do to help himself: he keeps his mouth shut.

The annoyance on his face shows as he surveys the dungeon room with a sour glare. Stupid Potter and Weasley are laughing over something at their shared table; why isn't Snape telling them off? Bloody slimeball. How dare he even speak to Draco like that? It's not like Draco lied. He has never seen anyone in such dire need of shampoo as Snape.

Draco shoots the back of his head a nasty glare from where he's standing all the way on the other side of the room, looming over a table of two Ravenclaws. One of them looks bored and the other seemingly immersed in potion-making; her movements are quick and precise as she pours one ingredient after the other into their cauldron with the same kind of effort Draco would put into making his afternoon tea—like what she's doing is an absolute piece of cake.

"Sit up, mister Corner," says Snape curtly, voice echoing throughout the dungeon and ceasing all chatter as he fixes the bored-looking Ravenclaw with a stony gaze. Draco recognizes him now—Michael Corner, some annoying half-blood he shares a few classes with. As for the girl beside him.. Draco tries to angle his head to see her properly, but her head is bowed over her cauldron and her hair blocks her face from view. "If you think you'll be getting the same outstanding grade as miss [Y/L/N] without even as much as lifting your pinky finger, then I assure you, you are terribly mistaken. I do not tolerate free riders."

[Y/N]. Draco knows her. Some Ravenclaw he has several classes with but has never spoken to—the one with the pretty eyes, Draco vaguely recalls himself thinking at one point, back when he'd first laid eyes on her. And truth be told her eyes are pretty; a lovely shade of [Y/E/C] that Draco has only seen up close once or twice.

But that is hardly the topic of concern, because if Draco turns his head just the right way and sits up a little straighter, he can see that the liquid inside of her cauldron has turned a glossy shade of faint lilac, which, according to the instructions written on the board, is what is exactly supposed to happen. [Y/N] finishes faster than anyone else, even Hermione Granger, and Draco sees Snape give her an appraising nod before moving on to criticize some other innocent student.

So it seems Snape isn't the only Potions expert in the room.

He perks up a little in his seat and fixes the Ravenclaw girl—[Y/N]—with a discreet stare out of the corner of his eye. [Y/N] sits down properly in her seat so that Draco gets a good view of her face (not a bad-looking one, an annoying little voice says inside his head). She hasn't even broken out in a sweat—it seems that potion-making isn't as difficult for her as it is for other people. Draco pictures the truth serum in his veins quivering in fear (although physically impossible) because he is pretty certain he's found the answer to his dilemma.

The rest of the class passes by annoyingly slow—or at least for Draco—because it seems like ages until Snape finally dismisses them for lunchtime. Draco just about jumps right out of his seat and strides straight towards [Y/N], who is currently in the process of stuffing her books inside her bag.

Draco clears his throat.

She turns around, and he's suddenly reminded of why he'd dubbed her as "the one with the pretty eyes", because she truly does live up to the name. Her eyes are strikingly [Y/E/C]; even the whites of her eyes look like they're tinted with gold. He finds himself incapable of speech for a brief moment, but then she raises her eyebrows and offers him a grimace of a smile, and Draco is back to himself again.

He opens his mouth to say "brew me something that'll stop me from blurting out the truth every bloody second" but instead what comes out is: "I've never spoken to you before but that's mostly because I have an irrational fear that I haven't quite admitted to myself yet which is that I'm scared of talking to pretty girls in fear that they'll reject me and my pride will be in tatters."

There's a split-second in which Draco stands there, his own words not having sunken into him yet, and then his face slacks.

[Y/N] stares at him, evidently baffled. And then she opens her mouth, eyebrows furrowed in apparent bewilderment, and says, "Um," she swallows, forcing out an awkward laugh as she takes a step back. "Wow. Okay. Thank you..?"

If Draco had been thinking straight—if he hadn't been so flustered and if he wasn't rushing to take back his words—he would have probably paused, realized that talking would have made the situation worse, and left. But Draco is flustered and he isn't thinking straight, so instead he opens his mouth to take his words back only for the following words to leave his mouth in a rapid burst: "Your eyes are a really lovely shade of [Y/E/C] and you have a beautiful smile and I've never heard you laugh before but I bet my inheritance that it's one of the loveliest sounds to ever exist."

[Y/N] looks flabbergasted more than ever. She doesn’t even look flustered—just utterly confused. For a few seconds, all she does is stare at him, frowning.

And then, looking as though she wants to thank him but not entirely sure it would be appropriate, her gaze darts away from his momentarily before she purses her lips. Excruciatingly slowly, she repeats, “Your.. inheritance.”

Draco grits his teeth.

Apparently there are several truths that the Veritaserum in his system thinks appropriate to reveal to [Y/N]—truths that even he hadn't been fully aware of. He opens his mouth, thinks better of it, and closes it again. At that moment he catches sight of the quill and parchment in her hands that [Y/N] had been in the process of stuffing into her bag; hurriedly, he grabs it from her (much to a surprised [Y/N]) and begins to write down the following words (seriously, why hadn't he thought of this before?): accidentally drank truth potion, brew me a remedy.

He practically shoves the parchment into her hands. Still looking wildly confused, she takes it from him with the cautiousness of someone being handed a firecracker. Her eyes dance across the words on the paper for no more than two seconds before she looks back up at him; realization slowly floods her face and her eyebrows rise even higher as she mouths, mostly to herself, "Truth potion."

Draco nods, eyes darting around the classroom. most of the class has already left. Snape is at his desk, fixing the two of them with a frosty stare. When Draco meets his gaze, Snape flicks his eyebrows up at him and asks, in that same drawling voice Draco despises today, "I was under the impression that lunch time meant all students had to be at the Great Hall."

Draco's brain doesn't operate well when he's annoyed—that's something he's realized today. Against his better judgment, he opens his mouth to sneer a retort without even pausing to think about the fact that he might blurt out some other offensive truth, but [Y/N] cuts him off and says, "I'm sorry, professor, but Malfoy's asked me to help him with homework and I thought it'd be nice to help him." She stuffs the piece of parchment into her robe and side-steps Draco so that he's not blocking her from Snape's view. "Would it be okay if we stayed here for lunchtime?"

Snape's lip curls in apparent amusement. Staring at Draco, he drawls, "That’s quite convenient. I had been thinking of assigning mister Malfoy a tutor; it seems he's been having trouble holding his tongue—alas," his mouth twists into a sneer, "I meant potion-making. Forgive me."

And then he heads to the dungeon door, leaving Draco behind to stare at his greasy head on his way out.

[Y/N] purses her lips, cheek twitching with the threat of a smirk. "I’m guessing you've offended him somehow? Veritaserum and all?"

Draco opens his mouth again—really, remembering to keep it shut is easier said than done—and instead of the reply he'd been intending on saying, what slips past his lips is: "Has anyone told you you're one of the prettiest—"

"Okay!" [Y/N] 's eyes widen and she rushes to clamp her hand over Draco’s mouth, looking actually flustered now. "Okay—stop. Just.." Slowly, she pries her hand away from his lips, movements cautious, and Draco stares at her, body completely rigid as he registers the fact that they're a mere few inches away from each other and she'd just put her hand over his bloody lips. And this is the first time they've ever spoken to each other.

"I’ll brew you the remedy," she says, grimacing. There seems to be a hint of a faint pink blush spreading across her cheeks, but that could just be because the dungeon lighting is poor. She turns on her heel and makes her way to the ingredients cabinet all the way on the other side of the room, calling over her shoulder to Draco, "Just sit tight there—and keep it zipped before you say anything you don't mean."

The last part she says in a quieter tone, but Draco catches her words anyway and he finds himself thinking that maybe he did mean them.

Because [Y/N] is pretty—prettier than most. She’s not breathtakingly beautiful, but there's something about her that seems to have always drawn Draco, though he might not have ever thought much of it. Maybe it's why he always finds himself staring at her whenever they come across each other in the hallway. Maybe it's why he'd thought of asking her to the Yule Ball last year, but chickened out at the last moment.

He leans on the desk, arms folded across his chest whilst watching [Y/N] rummage through the ingredients cupboard. A moment later she turns around bearing an armful of different potion vials.

Draco means to ask her if she needs help carrying them (because yes, he may regularly be a prick but he has common courtesy). Instead, the Veritaserum still inside his bloodstream urges him to say, "I wish I’d asked you to the Yule Ball last year instead of Pansy."

He freezes.

At that moment, Draco swears to himself that he will inflict pain onto whoever poured Veritaserum into his pumpkin juice. He will have his revenge—no matter what it takes—and although he hasn't quite figured out how exactly he'll be doing it, all Draco knows is that he will.

He can't bring himself to look at [Y/N] any longer, so he plays it off by picking up a book on the desk he's leaning on and rifling through it. It only takes him a moment to realize that it's [Y/N]'s; her name is written across the bottom of the cover. Almost every page Draco flips through has tiny scribbles written in-between the lines—countless of notes, it seems, but so many of them that the actual text is almost indiscernible. Draco almost snorts. [Y/N] seems to be the quintessential Ravenclaw, if he has ever seen one.

She sets down the potions onto the desk, Draco still flipping through the pages. "I’d ask you how you accidentally drank Veritaserum," she says casually, "But I don't want you fawning over me even more than you already have."

Draco glances at her out of the corner of his eye. She’s in the process of uncorking two of the vials, both of which she pours into the now steaming cauldron. Whatever, he thinks to himself, rolling his eyes in an effort to convince himself that he's not embarrassed (even though he totally is: he's bloody blushing).

But then again, whatever. He’s totally not flustered. Totally.

Draco reaches the final few pages of [Y/N]'s Potions textbook without having even registered most of the ones he'd flipped through. The last two pages, like every other book, are completely blank save for the—

Draco's eyebrows furrow. There are drawings of all sorts on the back pages of her textbook, from cauldrons and brass scales to places in the castle that Draco recognizes.

But what has him most intrigued is the faces, all drawn so vividly and with so much detail they look as though they had been brought to life on paper. Draco sees Snape’s deprecating sneer and Michael Corner’s familiar face of boredom, sees Hermione Granger with her brows knitted together at the middle as she leans over her cauldron, Ron and Harry with their heads bowed over a piece of parchment—and then he sees himself, arms crossed over his chest as he fixes something with a stony gaze. But the more Draco’s eyes explore the pages, the more of himself he sees. There’s him slicing what looks like a dragon heart, scowling at someone that looks like Goyle, and another one of him smirking—

And then the book is snatched from his grasp by none other than [Y/N] who looks wildly panicky. "You—I—" she blubbers, gaping at him for a moment before whipping around, turning her back on him as she stuffs the book into her backpack. "How much did you see?"

Slowly, a grin breaks out on Draco’s face. "Enough," he says—and apparently it's the truth, because it's what he actually meant to say. A little surprised, he tries his luck again and means to say so you draw? But instead what leaves his lips is something so excruciatingly blunt and embarrassing part of him wants to dive under the table and hide there for the rest of his life: "I’m assuming because you've drawn me more than anyone else that you find me attractive so I’m going to go ahead and thank you for that, but unfortunately you're a half-blood so I might have to get my parents' permission before I think of asking you out."

A moment of silence, only interrupted by the sound of the antidote bubbling. Draco has to physically suppress himself from diving straight into the cauldron and never coming back out.

[Y/N] scoffs a little, uselessly fanning her face with her hand like doing so will somehow rid her of the blush on her cheeks. Draco grits his teeth and fixes his gaze on the stone floor, refusing to meet her gaze.

She clears her throat in an attempt to quell the sudden burst of suffocating awkwardness now resting between the two of them. Not quite looking at him, she peers into her cauldron and mutters, "I just like to draw all sorts of things. People, as you've seen," she adds, pressing her lips together abashedly. Draco watches her out out of the corner of his eye, lips twitching. "And I don't find you attractive. You just have.. a nice face. For drawing, I mean. It comes out nice on paper."

Draco’s eyebrows flick up of their own accord. He has a nice face. Are those butterflies he feels in his stomach, or is it just the Veritaserum?

It takes no more than a minute or two of silent awkwardness before the antidote is finally finished brewing and [Y/N] pours it into a small vial, which she hands to Draco.

Draco eyes it skeptically, holding the vial up to the light and swirling it around a little. It definitely doesn't look pleasant; a stark contrast to the clear hue of Veritaserum, the antidote is a murky brown in color and vaguely reminds Draco of mud and manure.

You expect me to drink this? Draco means to ask, but instead says, "You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen."

And just like that, Draco, exasperated and embarrassed out of his mind, uncorks the vial and takes a large swig.

The feeling of the liquid sloshing down his throat is an unpleasant one; he coughs a little, face scrunching up with disgust as he swallows down the last of the antidote. But not long after the vial is emptied, a tingly feeling spreads from his fingertips to his entire body and has him feeling weightless for a few moments before it fades and Draco feels normal again.

He sets the vial down on the table, rubbing his throat. When he looks up, he sees [Y/N] already cleaning up, throwing away the empty glass vials and emptying the cauldron with a single flick of her wand.  She’s taking all of her things and shoving them into her bag, and Draco watches as she slings it over her shoulder and makes for the door—

“You’re leaving?” says Draco without really thinking about it. “Already?”

She stops in her tracks and turns around, already a few feet away from him. Eyebrows raised, lips twitching up at the side just the slightest bit, she shrugs. “Well, yes,” she purses her lips. “Was there something else you wanted me to brew?”

Draco’s hand comes up to scratch the back of his neck. “No,” he says hastily. But he hadn’t been expecting her to leave so soon—not after his, ah, countless confessions.

What had he been expecting, though?

“Well, I’ll be going now,” [Y/N] says slowly, a little awkwardly, gesturing to the door. Draco watches her as she takes a backwards step away from him—but he knows a chance when he sees one, so he blurts out, “D’you wanna go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”

Her eyebrows rise even higher as a genuine look of surprise floods her features. Draco doesn’t know what the bloody hell he’s onto, but whether or not he regrets it is entirely up to [Y/N]’s answer.

She lets out a breathless laugh, looking dubious. “You’re being serious?”

Draco stares at her for a little while—Merlin, she really does have pretty eyes—and then he shrugs a casual shoulder, nodding.

She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously, but there's still that hint of a faint smile resting on her lips. Draco finds himself wishing he’d see her do it more often—in front of him, and not halfway across the classroom. She feigns a look of contemplation, tilting her head at him, now full-on smiling in a manner Draco thinks might be playful. (Alright, those are definitely butterflies in his stomach.) "And what d'you have to offer?" she asks him, eyebrows raised.

It’s Draco’s turn to narrow his eyes at her, unable to suppress the tiny smile that slides across his face. He pauses to think about his answer first, all the while holding her impish gaze, before finally shrugging and saying, "My company. And not everyone gets to enjoy that," he adds as an afterthought, and it's true—Draco is very picky with who he graces with his presence.

But then [Y/N] replies, "Well, not everyone gets to enjoy mine, either," and her tone is almost challenging. Draco, for some reason, finds himself on tenterhooks. Something about her is drawing him in; he can't quite decide whether it's her coyness or her eyes. Likely both.

Severely amused, he leans on the desk and inclines his head a little towards her. "So would you do me the honor of blessing me with your company this weekend?”

There’s a beat of silence—this time not at all awkward—as they stare at each other, a sort of tension between them that Draco finds himself enjoying. And it's a blessing that she breaks it because if it had stretched on for any longer Draco would have lost himself in her eyes completely; “Alright. Sure. No harm to it,” says [Y/N] with a light laugh, nodding.

Draco’s lips break out into a grin and he nods, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. "Maybe you can tell me more about your drawings. Well,” he pauses, brows raised teasingly. "Drawings of me, to be specific."

She lets out a scoff, rolling her eyes, but she's laughing. "Okay—and maybe you can tell me about how much you love my eyes."

Draco’s face falls. [Y/N] grins, beginning to walk towards the dungeon doors. "I’ll see you around," she sings, and her back is turned but Draco can hear the smile in her voice. Just before she disappears into the corridor, she pauses at the doorway and looks back at Draco, and her eyes are positively sparkling. "Try not to get lost in my eyes too much. Wouldn’t want you tripping over yourself."

With one last playful grin, she leaves the Potions classroom.

And while, just a few minutes ago, Draco had been prepared to get revenge on whoever put Veritaserum in his pumpkin juice, now he feels like thanking them.

[raineydays411]

The best of friends pt3

Peter Parker x Stark!reader

Summary: So it turns out that you do have other friends. Who would’ve guessed? 

A/n: Hello! So.. because i don’t feel like writing the whole fight scene, the events of homecoming already happened before the actual dance and Liz is moving after the school year ends.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Am I dreaming or is that you Jason Todd?”

“Yeah its me, don’t cream your pants.”

You laugh, running to embrace your friend, and he catches you spinning you around then putting you down. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask breathlessly, “Doesn’t your dad hate leaving Gotham?”

“Well he had a meeting with your dad today, so we made him bring us.” 

“Ohh, so that’s the meeting dad didn’t want to go to” You think.

“You’re brothers are here?” You look around for the boys, but not seeing any.

Jason laughs, “Just Tim and Damian, I kind of ditched them at the Tower, I think I would’ve gone crazy if I stayed another second.”

“Aw, were you expecting me to be there?” You tease, grinning wide as the boy turned a light shade of red.

“Oh please, if you were there I think I’d die of boredom” He teases back, a matching grin growing on his face. But before you can answer back you hear Mj shout at you. 

“Y/n! Are you gonna keep flirting or can we go on some rides?”

“Yeah Iron baby, are you gonna keep flirting?” 

You roll your eyes at the nickname, despite your protests you know he’s not going to stop calling you that. 

“Hey you’re not here with anyone are you?” “Um no why?” 

You grab his hand and pull him towards Mj and Ned, who were looking at the both of you in shock.

“You’re Jason Todd..” Ned says, surprised to see him here.

“Uh..hi” Jason responds, not knowing what to say.

“Jay and I are friends” You say, “ We hang out at the galas and judge people.”

Jason laughs, “That is not what we do.” 

“Oh? So then why do you mean mug people from the corner of the room?” 

Mj and Ned make eye contact, having a silent conversation as you and Jason banter. 

“So, you’re one of Y/n’s ‘friends that don’t live in the city’?” Mj asks, eyeing Jason and you. 

He slings and arm on your shoulders, “ Is that what you call us Y/n?” He turns to Mj to respond but before he can answer Peter and Liz finally make an appearance. 

“Oh so you two finally decided to grace us with your presence?” Mj drawls 

“Sorry guys, I really wanted this Spiderman plush and Peter was trying to win it for me” Liz says with a giggle. Peter blushes, not taking his eyes off Liz. 

You frown at the sight. Frustration growing in your head, this was supposed to be your day with Peter. And now it was ruined. 

“You spent over an hour trying to win a little doll?” You said bitterly, making everyone stare at you. 

“Ah come on iron baby, we all know those games are rigged.” Jason says from beside you. You tear your eyes away from Peter and Liz, “Rigged or not, I bet I can win a prize before you, Jay-Bird”

“Oh is that a bet?” “Um yeah, I literally just said that.” “Okay fine!”

Then you and Jason are off, running towards the nearest booth that gives out prizes. 

“Umm, who was that?” Peter asking, looking in the direction you ran off. 

“That was Jason Todd” Liz responds, “ You know, Bruce Wayne's son.”

“What was he doing with his arm around Y/n?” he asks with a frown.

“Well apparently they’re friends, he just showed up. We didn’t even notice him until we saw him spinning Y/n around like a washing machine.” Ned says with a laugh.

“What, so they’re like...close?” Peter asks. Mj and Ned look at each other. 

“Um I guess...” Ned says hesitantly.

“Well, I for one, haven’t heard Y/n talk as much as she has been now.” Mj says, a knowing look on her face. Peter made a face, not understanding what Mj was talking about. 

“That's true” Liz adds in, “She’s pretty quiet, it’s kinda weird.”

“Well to be fair you two haven’t been exactly talking to her.” Ned defending you, “ She opened up quite a bit after she got comfortable.”

“Yeah, besides, Peter is the one who she knows the best, I wouldn’t be comfortable hanging out with people I just met.” Mj says, glancing at Peter. 

Peter didn’t know how to feel. At first he was psyched to be spending time alone with Liz. He didn’t even think about how you would feel when he invited her and his friends on your shopping day. This whole day he was trying to get closer to Liz, he forgot that you hardly knew Ned and Mj.  But it was okay, you gained two new friends, and now Peter has a chance with Liz. 

He looked at Liz, 

“She looks so pretty” He thinks, but deep in his mind, a voice kept bringing up an image of your face.

“Oh shoot” Liz says, “ Hey guys, my mom is here to pick me up.”

“I’ll walk you to the car!” Peter shouts, startling Mj and Ned. 

‘Okay thanks Pete!” Liz says, wrapping an arm around his. Peter turns back to Ned and Mj with a grin. 

Ned winks back and Mj just rolls her eyes, going to find you and Jason. 

As Peter and Liz walk, he starts to get nervous. This whole day he has been alone with her, but now...now he has to leave an impression. 

“I had a lot-” “It was really coo-” 

The two laugh

“You go first” Peter says.

“It was really cool of you to invite me, I had a great time.” Liz says with a smile. Peter grins, happy that she had a good time with him. and his friends.

“Yeah? I’m glad, I had fun too.” 

They finally make it to the parking lot where Liz’s mother is waiting.  Liz’s face suddenly looks nervous.

“Hey Peter,” Liz turns to Peter, “ Do you have a date to homecoming?”

Peters breath hitches, “Um..no-no why?” 

“Well, I was wondering if you wanted to come with me?”

He...he isn’t as excited as he thought he’d be. In fact, this was kind of anti-climatic. 

“Y-yeah, of course!” Peter says forcing enthusiasm.  Liz’s face brightens and she smiles, pulling Peter into a hug.

“Awesome! I’ll text you with the details later?” She asks, pulling away to get into the car.

“That sounds great” Then without warning, Liz grabs Peters face and gives him a quick peck. 

“I’ll see you later Peter Parker.” and with that, she hopped into her mom's car and drove away. Peter stood there, hand on his mouth looking at the spot Liz stood. 

For some reason..he didn’t feel as happy as he should’ve. 

“What is wrong with me?” He asked himself. He shakes his head and turns around. Ready to walk back to where he last saw his friends. 

Turns out, they were all at a booth near the parking lot. And saw the whole thing.

“Dude!” Ned said running up to Peter, “Liz Allen just kissed you! You’re going to HOMECOMING with Liz Allen!” 

“Yeah..I am” Peter says, forcing excitement for his friend,” I can’t believe it.”

“Dude! You’ve been pining over her for YEARS! “ Ned shouts, “ You did it!” 

Meanwhile, Mj is rubbing your arm in comfort as you hold back tears. You saw everything. Peter really didn’t like you the way you thought. You felt defeated, betrayed even. All those moments...they meant nothing to him.  Every moment you held close to your heart. 

“Hey, are you alright Y/n?” Jason whispers, sensing your sadness. 

“um..no not really...” you whisper back, feeling a tear run down your face. Jason wipes it away before you could. 

“Hey, come on lets get you something to drink.” He pulls you away from Mj with a nod. But before he could get far, Peter called out

“Y/n..are you okay?” 

You don’t say anything, your back turned to him so he doesn’t see your face.

“She’s not feeling too hot, I’m gonna get some water and food in her, see if she perks up” Jason responded for you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

Peter looks at the arm, “I can do that” He steps closer to you but before he can touch you, you speak up.

“Don’t touch me, I want Jay to take me.”

And with that, Jason adjusts his grip on you and walks you to a food truck. Leaving behind a disheartened Peter. 

You sit on a bench as Jason orders you some food. Alone, you’re able to gather your thoughts and think about what just happened.  

“Did Peter really not like me? If he didn’t why did he act so flirty with me?” 

It made you mad. It wasn’t fair that he made you feel special then dropped you as soon as someone else came along. He ignores you all day for her, then acts innocent? Screw that.

“Here you go, one greasy ass burger and a bottle of water. We dine like true kings.” 

Jason plops down next to you, “So are you gonna tell me whats wrong or what?”

You scoff, “ Wow, you sure have a way with the ladies.” 

“Whatever.” the raven haired boy rolls his eyes, “ So what’s up? Is it that Peter kid?”

You sigh and explain everything. From when you first met Peter to now. After you were done, Jason stayed quiet. Digesting what you just told him and trying to find the right words to say.

“Fuck him.” He says simply. 

“What?” You say surprised at his comment. 

“Fuck. Him” He repeats looking you in the eye, “ Why are you going to waste your time on someone who doesn’t want you? It’s his lose anyway.”

You stay quiet, not exactly knowing how to respond. 

Two of you eat in silence, watching parents run after their children, and take in the atmosphere. 

“Hey.. we never did finish our bet.” Jason says, standing up. 

You look up at him, a small smile forming on your face. “No, I guess we didn’t.”

“Well come on, I don’t have all day.” He holds out his hand, refusing to look at you. You take it, interlocking your fingers.

You walk in silence, faces red but its comforting. It was nice to see this side of Jason. When the two of you see each other, you both have a this fake persona for the media. You couldn’t truly show who you really were. You only caught glimpses of each others true self when you’d sneak away from the crowds. You both hated those stupid galas Bruce threw. Your dad would force you to go so he wouldn’t be alone, and Jason had to go as Bruce Waynes son. 

A match made in heaven.

“Here we are.” Jason says, releasing your hand. “Ready to get your ass handed to you?”

“Oh you wish Todd.”You scoff, walking up to the man running the booth. 

“Hello little lady, three bucks for a three chances.” 

You hand him the money and get the balls. It seemed simple enough, toss the balls, knock down the clowns, win the prize. 

You wind your arm back, and throw the ball with all your might. You end up knocking down two out of the five clowns down. You go again, getting the other three.v

“You got a good aim little miss. What can I get for ya?” 

“The Iron man please.” You hear Jason scoff from his place behind you, “ Oh, is someone a little salty he lost the bet?”

“Whatever princess, it was pure luck.”

“Luck? or years of training with an expert marksman?” You say referring to the times you trained with Clint.

“Whatever.” He says rolling his eyes.

“Aw come on Jay bird, don’t be so salty.” You coo, “ Here, something to remember me by.” You hand him the Iron man with a smirk.  He takes it with a sigh, trying to hide the smile forming on his face. 

“Yeah yeah, come on let's go play that booth with the balloons.” He takes your hand, dragging you to the booth. 

It turns out to be a game with water guns. You both race to make the balloon pop. Jason wins at this game 

“Ha” He says turning to you with a smirk. “ Aw, come on Princess, don’t be so salty.” He turns to attendant “ yeah can i have the Red Hood, thanks” 

He hands you the Red Hood doll, “ Here, something to remember me by” 

You roll your eyes, “ Don’t you use my words against me.” You take the doll, looking it over, “ Hey, why the Red Hood?”

Jason freezes, as you caught him in a lie or something. “Uhh, cause...he’s from Gotham, and so am I...” 

You squint at him, finding his response weird, “Um, okay?” 

He looks relieved with your acceptance. Weird. 

He takes your hand again and you both walk around, catching up on stuff you’ve missed in the months you haven't seen each other. While you were talking, you could’ve sworn you saw a flash of light from the corner of your eye. 

Oh well.

“Hey guys, over here.” 

You both turn to see Ned and Peter. 

“Hey, where’s Mj?” You ask as the two boys walk up to you and Jason.

“She had to leave, her dad picked her up a few minutes ago.” Ned replied, “We were coming to look for you guys.”

“Oh, are you ready to go?” You asked, “ Is anyone picking you up Ned?” 

“Nah I’m spending the night at Peters, we’re gonna watch Star Wars.” He says excitedly. 

Jason snorts, and you elbow him in the stomach, “ I happen to like Star Wars very much. And even if I didn’t, don’t be a dick to my friends.” 

“Sorry man, you just reminded me of my...brother, Tim. Sounds like something he’d like.” Jason says apologetically. 

“I’m friends with Y/n Stark..” Ned whispered.

Peter was quiet, he hasn’t said a word since he saw you and Jason laughing together. His mood worsened when he saw your intertwined hands. 

“So, you’re feeling better.” Peter states, avoiding your eyes. 

“Um, yeah...guess I just needed some food in me.” You mutter. An awkward silence coming over the group. 

“Hey are we going to ride the subway? It sucks going on there at night.” Ned says breaking the silence. 

“Is it? I know I hated walking around at night back home.” Jason says with a frown.

“Yeah man, my mom had to work late one night and she said she saw two homeless people getting it on.”

The four of you cringe at the thought.

“I’ll call Happy” You say pulling out your phone. You walk away, letting go of Jason's hand.

The three boys are left alone, not exactly knowing what to say to each other.

“So...how do you know Y/n?” Ned asks

“Oh uh” Jason goes to say how he knows you when he stops, he noticed how Peter’s mood seemed to worsen when he saw him with you. 

“Me and Y/n ditch galas together.” He says, “ We sneak into my room and...play games.” 

Peters face darkens, “Play games?” 

“Yeah, you know”

“No. I don’t.” 

“Interesting..” Jason thinks to himself 

“Like poker and shit”He replies, “ She’s shit at it, but i like seeing her get all happy when she wins so I let her.”

Peter smiles, knowing how happy you get when you win at games. Then frowns, knowing that Jason has seen you the same way he has. 

“Hey, whos that?” Ned asks, “ He’s been looking at Y/N for a while now.” 

Peter and Jason whip their head towards where Ned was pointing. Low and behold, there was a guy staring at you. You, too busy on your call with Happy, weren’t paying attention to your surroundings. 

The guy looked like a creep. His eyes roaming your body as if you were a piece of meat. It was disgusting.  But before Peter could do anything, Jason was already striding towards you. 

Now, Peter was strong, but he wasn’t too intimidating out of his suit. But jason? Jason was massive, even for an eighteen year old. He was tall, very well built, and just had this dark aura around him. 

Peter didn’t like him. 

Meanwhile, you were chatting to Happy about the where you were, apologizing for calling him so last minutes. 

“Thanks so much Happy, I’ll see you right now.” 

“Yeah yeah.” He hangs up. You chuckle putting your phone back into your purse. Looking up you see Jason striding towards you. 

“Hey i just-” He cuts you off, harshly slamming his arm above your head and leaning in close. 

“Theres a man staring at you.” He whispers, “ Right over there.” 

You follow his gaze, seeing the man who has a frightened expression. Jason was sending a death glare his way that could have frightened Batman himself. The man scurries off without a second glance.

Jason gently thumps you on the back of your head, “See what happens when you stand there like a space cadet.”

‘Oh..I was?”

Peter and Ned walk up to the two of you

“Y/n, you have to be more aware when you’re by yourself.” Peter scolds. 

“He’s right, or its going to be your own damn fault when someone kidnaps you.”

“Oh right.” You say standing up straight and alert. Jason rolls his eyes.

“We said when you’re alone.” “Right.” you say still alert.

“You don’t have to worry about it when you’re with me, you can space out whenever you want.”

“Oh? You gonna protect me Jay-bird?” 

Jason just smiles, not responding as he looks away from your face. 

“So, is Happy coming or what?” Peter asks rudely, taking you by surprise. He’s never talked to you like that before. 

“Um..yeah he’s on his way.” You respond, “ He should be here in a few minutes.”

Peter nods. Yet another uncomfortable silence falls on the group. 

You start walking to the entrance, and without a word the boys follow you. 

You don’t get it, first Peter ignores you all day and now he’s mad at you? What the hell is he playing at? 

“So I’m assuming you’re staying at the Tower?” You ask Jason, “ Your dad would be blowing up your phone if you weren’t.”

“I turned it off” Jason says with a smirk, “ I’m sure they’ll be alright.”

You laugh at his antics, knowing that he’s gonna get an earful when he gets back. Then. from the corner of your eye, you see Peter roll his eyes and glare at Jason.  Ugh, what a weird day.

Finally Happy, shows up. You pile into the car, a tight fit with all four of you, but you make it work. 

The tension in the car is so thick you can cut it with a knife. Happy doesn’t even make any comments, he just drives to Peter’s house to drop him and Ned off. As soon as he gets there, he jumps off the car as if something bit him. Going into the building without a goodbye. Ned just awkwardly smiles and says bye, then follows Peter into the apartment. 

“Okay...That was weird.” Happy says, “What happened? Usually the kid won’t shut up.”

“I have no idea. He’s just being a dick I guess.” You respond sourly. Looking out the window, signaling that you were done with the conversation. 

You finally get home, exhausted physically and emotionally. As you ride the elevator, you think about today's events. So much has happened today it makes your head spin. You were,’t even paying attention when you got to your floor, Jason having to nudge you to get you to move.

“Jason.”, you hear a deep voice rumble. You look up at the sound and giggle

“Looks like you’re in trouble Jay-bird.” “Shut up, please.” 

You laugh again, “It’s lovely to see you again Mr. Wayne, are you staying at the Tower tonight?”

“Hello Y/n” Bruce says, “ It seems so, seeing as my son has been missing all day and we’ve missed our check in time.” He glares at Jason. 

“Aw come on Bruce, we’ll all have a sleepover, bread each other’s hair and tell secrets” You dad says coming out of nowhere. He pecks the top of your head. 

“Hey kid, how was it?” 

“Ugh, don’t even get me started” You say rolling your eyes, “ How was the meeting?” 

“Ugh don’t even get me started.” Then he turned to Jason, “ Hey, didn’t know you were a fan.” 

You laugh, knowing he’s referring to the plush you won for him. “Where’s the rest of the boys?” 

“Damian fell asleep and Tim is in your fathers lab tinkering.” Bruce responds, “ I was about to head to bed.” 

“Oh me too, I’ve had quite the day.” You hug your dad, “ Night pops.” 

Then you turn to Jason, “ I had fun today Jay, thanks. Good night Mr. Wayne.” 

And with that, you walk off to your room, desperate to shower and sleep this day away. 

“So, care to explain why your phone was shut off?” 

Yikes, poor Jason.

[t-o-m-hollands]

Summary: It’s the late summer of 2004. You are set to travel across the country for university and your best friend Tom is staying behind. You spend your last night together before you leave. 

Themes: Friends to lovers, love confessions, first love. 

Warnings: Drinking beer. One mention of smoking weed. Mentions of parents fighting and also implied neglectful parents. Smut (+18), two spanks?? otherwise pretty tame.  

Word count: 3,4 k

Notes: I don’t know, this might be a bit different? Or it might just feel that way to me. It’s very reminiscent of teenage years and first love and nostalgia. Please let me know your thoughts, I’m genuinely not sure what to think about this one. 

Massive thank you to @augustholland​ who read through it and very kindly reassured me that it wasn’t bad 💖

Also, this fic was inspired by the Phoebe Bridgers song. I’ve never actually listened to it but it keeps showing up in my recommendation and i like the title of it so this is what i imagine that song is about. Mostly I listened to Harry Styles - Fine Line while writing this.

You finish up early that afternoon. Wayne, your old boss, tries not to cry as he hugs you goodbye. He tells you to take care in a gravelly voice close to breaking, as he avoids looking at you. It’s your last shift in the greasy bar, where for the last two years you’ve been selling cheap beer and watered down whiskey to weary old men and rowdy students who come in for a game of pool. It hasn’t paid much, just a few pounds an hour; just enough so that on each thursday you and Tom have enough money for movie tickets at the local cinema. It’s your tradition. Like a religious man goes to church each sunday; you spend your thursday nights with Tom’s arm slung around your shoulders, watching whatever new film they have on, sharing a bowl of popcorn between you. Afterwards you'll have burgers at the fast food joint across the street; talking about the movie long into the night, sharing a bag of fries. 

When you were younger and hadn’t been able to afford to pay Tom had sneaked you both into the cinema anyway.  Your hand in his, he had led the way into the movie theatre when no one was looking. Sitting in the back row he’d sneak you Fruit Polos to snack on, his arm slung around your shoulders, as you watched movies you were way too young for.

Last week was your final movie screening; some light-hearted American comedy, and the entire way through it you fought the lump in your throat, forcing yourself not to cry. Tom hadn’t laughed either; had just held you closer than usual. 

Tomorrow you are set to leave the small seaside town behind you, the place where you have spent most of your life, for a drive all across the country; to start university in a city you’ve only visited once before. You’re not sure when you’ll return.

Thus lately everything has been laced with goodbyes; childhood having reached its end.

Just two days ago there had been the last bonfire where you had watched the Holland boys fight each other while playing football as his parents looked on and laughed, grilling sausages over the open fire. 

It was on the same rocky beach where you have spent many summer days; grilling food on the open fire and throwing back cheap beer with your friends from school. You have scraped your knees on these rocks, burned your skin from both the bonfire and the sun there; have had your heart broken over and over and over again during your school years as you watched Tom kiss whatever girl he was dating at the time by the fire during summer night parties.

Maybe you had broken his heart a few times as well. 

As the afternoon light turns everything golden you drive through the main street in the small town where  everyone knows everybody, and has done for generations. You watch the people as you drive them by. You know everyone’s name, know each crack in the pavement; can find your way home in the dark. 

God knows how many shoes you’ve worn out over the years walking down these streets. 

The radio plays a blink-182 song you know by heart as you follow the road out of the city, through the woods and up to the coast. At the end of a muddy track, on the border to the forest, stands a shabby old caravan. It faces the beach and above the door christmas lights are lit up all year round. 

The Holland family legend says that Tom’s great uncle had won the small patch of land in a bet. Unable to build a large house he had bought a caravan and put it on the lot. The old man had lived in the Shed for the rest of his lifetime, before passing it on to Tom; the youngster of the family, his younger brothers having yet to be born. When he had turned seventeen he moved out of his parents larger, more comfortable house, and into the Shed. His mother had agreed on it on the condition he took on the apprenticeship to become a carpenter that he had been offered. 

You remember when he had told you of his decided future, one late evening as you sat on the driftwood by the beach, smoking weed and watching the sun set over the horizon. It had felt right somehow, you had been able to  imagine him working with his hands, skillfully forming and bending wood to his will; his long and slender fingers knowing just how to fix things. Tom has always been good at mending things. It had been three years now and he was a full time employee at the JBT Carpentry Services. He says it doesn’t pay much, but he’s happy; and that's all that matters.

As you park the car outside the Shed Tom comes out. Standing under the colorful christmas lights he grins widely as he sees you, his eyes crinkling at the sides. The most genuine smile you know. He’s tanned from a summer spent on the beach, his hair a wavy mess; as if he’d just woken up from sleep. It’s a warm august day and the world seems sunbleached somehow; but in the afternoon light Tom looks golden. 

You are painfully aware that it is the last time you’ll see him like this for many months to come.

Walking up to him and he gives you a bear-hug; his warm, hard body pressed against yours, holding onto you tightly. With your face in the crook of his neck you breathe him in and discover that a faint trace of bonfire smoke still lingers on his skin. It all feels achingly familiar and safe. So heartrendingly unlike the uncertain life at university that lies in front of you.

Tom is your safe place.

Your parents had always fought like cat and dog and sometimes when you were younger and  they’d argue you’d climb through your window and walk all the way over to the Holland household. You were always welcomed there and his parents didn’t ask any questions, no matter how late the hour; instead they fed you, treating you like a member of the family around the dining table with gentle teasing and reminders of homework that needed to be done, letting you sleep over when needed. No questions asked. 

With the years the fighting at home got worse. When Tom fixed himself a beat-up old Land Rover and moved out to the Shed you’d call him from the payphone down the road. He’d always answer, telling you to pack up; and that he was on his way. He’d pick you up by the end of the street, a duffle bag with schoolbooks and a change of clothes slung over your shoulder. He’d take you back to his place to sleep. His caravan only had one bed, so you used to curl up next to each other in bed. On the nights when you were crying he’d hold you, and in the morning he’d make you breakfast before you both went off to school. 

Your parents never noticed your temporary absence. 

Tom lets go of the hug, but with an arm around your waist he leads you into his home. There’s a lingering scent of fried food in the air and the boombox is playing the 3 Doors down CD he’s been obsessed with since you bought it for his birthday. You tread the cherry wood veneered flooring with your battered tennis shoes, feeling more at home here than anywhere else on earth.

 “Fancy a beer?” Tom asks, leading the way to the kitchen area. “Warn you though, it's warm. Just got back from the store so they haven’t had time to cool”.

Everything is warm today, and the caravan is no exception. The ancient AC had given in years ago and Tom could never afford having it fixed. You heave yourself up on the countertop, replying a simple “sure” to his question. 

He opens a Stella and hands it to you. He isn’t wrong, the beer is tepid. Yet you drown half the bottle in one big swig; happy just to have something to do with your hands when he’s standing so close to you. Gulping down on the liquid and you cannot help but notice Tom’s eyes on your throat as you swallow. He opens a bottle for himself and takes a swig. 

You smile at the ancient gray t-shirt he’s wearing. At one point there had been a band logo on it, but it has long since been washed out. He notices you smiling at him and as if it's infectious a smile broadens on his face as well. “What?” he asks, leaning against the small counter across from you.

“Nothing” you say, smiling wider. “Just wondered how many times I’ve seen you in that shirt. I mean, it has to be near a couple of thousand times by now”.

“You don't exactly love buying new clothes either” he says, a teasing smile playing at his lips as he looks at your washed out jeans shorts. “I know for a fact that those aren’t new, darling”. His eyes linger on your legs for a moment too long before he looks away, taking a swig from his beer. 

“So, when are you leaving?” He asks, and you can tell that he’s trying to sound relaxed, but leaned against the countertop, his arms crossed in front of him, head bowed; holding onto the bottle of Stella he’s nursing with a tight grip. He looks tense and on edge. 

“Tomorrow morning”

He takes a swig from his beer. There’s nothing more to say, not really. Everything that happens now is just aftermath; you might as well have already left. 

“I’m nervous” you admit, biting your lip, trying hard not to et out the tears you’ve been holding in for days now; embarrassed that your voice trembles on the last word. 

His head snaps up to look at you. Pushing off the counter he takes a step forward, placing himself in between your legs. 

“Hey” he says, with a voice a low and gentle as a whisper, his hand cupping your cheek. You look up at him; long dark eyelashes framing his beautiful brown eyes, his thin lips slightly parted and across his nose freckles are spread out, the result from a summer spent in the sun. His calloused hand strokes your cheek. “You’re going to take them by storm, Pebbles”.

You smile, despite your fluttering heart. He hasn’t called you Pebbles for a long time. It had been his nickname for you when you first became friends, the reason behind it long forgotten. He was the only one to ever call you it, and the name had lingered long into your late teenage years. 

“You took me by storm,” he admits. 

You blink up at him through wet eyelashes. Your family had moved to the town when you were ten years old. This was the kind of small town that strangers seldom came to and inhabitants rarely left; and so the new addition to the small local school had everyone talking. You had felt like an astronaut shuffled into space on your first day, trying to find gravity in the unfamiliar school corridors. You had felt the pull of gravity in form of the brown-eyed boy sitting next to you in english class. He had given you a warm smile as you sat down next to him. He had made you his friend, listened to you and confided in you; had made you laugh until your stomach ached. You found further gravity in his home; surrounded by his family and their endless squabbles and laughter, sitting next to Tom at the dinner table.

It hadn’t taken long before you and Tom were an inseparable item; your names always linked to one another in the mouths of others. 

“You’ve worked so hard for this scholarship” he says, and the corners of his mouth tugs up into a smile, “I mean, I’m pretty certain you’re the only reason I even finished school”.

You had helped him write most of his essays at school. He’d struggled with reading a lot and found the assigned novels difficult. There were evenings where you’d spend hours laying on the bed; twisting the phone cord between your fingers, as you read the books out loud for him. 

Sometimes, in order to be left alone from his parents and younger brothers, he’d walk down to the end of the street and to the payphone there, where he’d spend all his pennies listening to you reading. You had talked and talked until your voice got hoarse; until he ran out of pennies. Yet when he hung up you always felt a tug of longing in your chest, knowing you wouldn’t be able to see him until the next day in school. 

“Well,  I heard you’re doing pretty good as a carpenter” you say, smiling up at him. “I always knew you’d be good with your hands”. 

As soon as you’ve said it you can feel your face heat up. You had heard the rumours at school; Tom Holland is a stellar fuck. Once, while you were in the bathroom stall, you had heard a gang of girls discuss it as they reapplied their lipgloss in the mirror. One of them told the story of her one night stand with Tom, how he had made her come several times over with his hands and mouth; how he’d fucked her so long and so good. You had stood in the stall, your heart in your throat; feeling sick to your stomach, but unable to stop listening.

There were girls that reached out to you in school, knowing you were Tom’s closest friend, and asked you in hushed but awed voices if it was true. If he really that good in bed.

He looks you dead in the eye, an unusual seriousness to his warm eyes. He knows what you’re thinking, knows what thoughts have made your cheeks flush with colour. Letting go of your cheek he places his arms on either side of you on the counter; caging you in. 

“There’s never been anyone but you, Pebbles. Not really.” His tone is heavy with meaning and you feel light-headed; both oddly detached from your own body and painfully aware of the closeness of his. Your heart is beating hard in your chest. 

This is a line you’ve never crossed before. 

“I know I’m ruining everything by saying this, but you’re leaving tomorrow and I’ve been walking around with this secret lodged in my chest like a bullet since i was ten years old; I love you, Pebbles. I’ve always have”.

You should speak. You should tell him that you’ve known for a long time how he’s felt. That it’s been evident in the way his eyes keep lingering on your legs, in the way his arm usually finds its way to rest around your waist. In the way he’s always been there for you. You should tell him that you understand why he hasn’t been able to voice his feelings for you; because you haven’t done it either. Too scared of losing him. But your breath has caught in your throat and all you can focus on is those caramel eyes on you, and how hard your heart is beating in your chest.

“I love you too” you say, voice hardly louder than a whisper. You swear there was music coming from the boom box but all you can hear is the blood rushing through your body. 

He kisses you.

He takes your mouth slowly, kissing you thoroughly until you can’t think straight; can’t remember any other kiss than his. Then his lips move over yours with more fervour; more urgency, one hand around your throat and the other tangled in your hair. He kisses you until you're both moaning and gasping for more. 

This is it. You’ve crossed the invisible line between friends and lovers; and there is no return, no going back from here. When you leave tomorrow you will leave knowing what his mouth feels like pressed against your.

You dig your hands into his soft hair, runs them both up his chest, realising that this is what your hands were made for. He lifts you off the counter and you wrap your legs around his waist. He moves you both across the caravan and into the bedroom. It’s baking hot in there and you can already feel sweat forming at the low end of your back. The room, just big enough for a bed to fit, is lit up with sunlight. His bed is a mess of rumpled white sheets and the walls are the same cherry wood colour as the rest of the caravan. 

You kiss and lick his jaw, his neck, his throat; anywhere you can reach you stroke him. You tug at his hair, kiss his soft lips, and nib at his ear. It’s like the gates have been opened, because even though his arm has always been a comforting presence around your waist; and even though you’ve slept in the same bed more times than you can count, his body curled up next to yours, forming himself like a question mark around your body; he’s never been yours to touch before. Not like this.

His breathing is accelerated, his chest rising and falling in rapid speed, and so is yours. There’s a heat to his eyes that tells you he’s just as turned on as you are. You pull at his shirt before he’s even laid you down on the bed; impatiently craving all his warm, suntanned skin pressed against yours. It’s an almost feverish frenzy, and in the back of your mind you know that you should take this slow. You don’t want this to end too soon, because this might be all you get. But the sun hasn’t even set yet and through the old white-washed curtains you helped put up and light shines through, bathing you both sunshine. 

Outside the waves keep crashing against the shore and in the kitchen his boombox keeps playing songs you’ve heard a million times before. It is like it always has been at Tom’s, except that for laying on his sofa and talking he’s removing your clothes; kissing his way down your body. Wet, opened mouth kisses that leave a trail of heat in its wake that have you bucking your hips up for more. His hands are everywhere, exploring your legs. He’s looking at your skin with wide-eyes adoration. With his body in between your wide spread legs he kisses the soft inside of your thighs. 

“So soft” he groans against your skin, “and so sweet”.

You feel overheated and breathless; aching all over from wanting him. Perched up on your elbows you observe him; his dark hair brushing against the low of your stomach as he kisses the tender skin of your hip bone. He bares his teeth and bites the sensitive flesh. 

His hand cups your cunt. You’re wet and aching and as you presses his thumb to your clit, gently but steadily moving up and down, you feel like you’re going to combust. His strokes are soft at first, before speeding up, making you moan wantonly, spreading your legs wider for him.

“Glad you like that,” he says, a satisfied smile spreading on his face. “Do my fingers feel good on you, darling?”

All you can do is moan in response, arching and moving your hips up to meet his hand. His movements are fast and slippery and it doesn’t take long until your close, so close, so close; on the brink of tipping over and then - 

A sharp slap on your pussy, leaving a stinging bite, and it is like the world splits into two. 

“God” you moan, voice hoarse. You’re shuddering all over; moanes falling freely from your lips. 

He looks up at you from his position in between your legs, his dark eyes sparkling. He kisses the soft inside of your thighs again. “You have any idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you here?” he asks. “I bet you do, torturing me for fun in those short jeans shorts”. He spanks your pussy again and you couldn’t have stopped the moan falling from your lips even if you tried. “How long I’ve wanted to taste you here?”. And he places a hot kiss on your wet slit. You can feel his soft hair pressed against your thighs; his warm breath against your skin.

His lips part and he covers you with his mouth, his tongue moving over your opening; touching you, stroking you, tasting you. A guttural moan leaves him. He looks up at you through tassels of hair, caramel eyes glued to your face.

You fall back against the mattress, “more” you demand, in a voice that sounds a lot like begging. “Please, more”.

It is as if he’s been unleashed. You have never felt anything like it, but he laps you up, tastes you; his fingers moving inside you; pressing against the place that has you seeing stars. You can’t even look at him now, you’re eyes shut; too overwhelmed by the stimulation. Both aching for more but not sure if your body can handle that kind of pleasure. Your thighs are shaking, and something in your stomach grows tighter and tighter by each flick of his tongue against your clit.

“I’m coming” you cry out breathlessly “fuck I’m coming”

And you do. Hard. He keeps kissing and touching you through it; both grounding you and dragging out the intense sensation. 

His hands, now familiar with your thighs, make their way up to the soft swell of your breasts, as you struggle to regain your breath. He’s cupping them in his hands, pinching your nipples in between his fingers, kissing them with ferveor. Hungry hands move over your breasts, your stomach, your face; cupping it so that he can kiss you with the sort of yearning that comes from years of unanswered desire. 

Your hands move over his body as well, moving over his abdomen chest and arms, defined from long hours of hard work. You kiss his throat and collarbones, kissing at the skin; licking, sucking and biting until you hear guttural moans coming from his throat. His lips are slightly parted, and his glossy dark eyes are fixed on your face; his fingers loosely tangled in your hair. 

He presses you down onto the mattress again, until he’s face to face; his arms on each side of your face, holding himself over you.

“You sure?” he asks, voice hoarse, panting slightly. 

“I want this” you answer him, voice low but clear, “I really, really want this Tom”

He smiles, breathing out the breath he’d been holding and moves away from you, reaching for the side of his bed and to take out a condom from the drawer. 

He places a quick kiss to your lips, your cheek, your belly button, before he sits up. He removes his underwear and you can feel your face heat up again. Because this is Tom, your Tom, whom you’ve been in love with for half your life. But being with him, both naked as the day you were born, feels right. You know everything about this man, all his preferences and secrets; his favourite movie and how he likes his food and why he skipped class every day for a month in year nine. And he knows everything about you. It feels right that he should know this as well; know each curve of your body and the way you like to be kissed and what has you moaning and begging for more. 

He unwraps the foil package and puts the condom on with firm fingers. Leaning over you again he lines up against your opening. His eyes glossy with lust, damp hair falling over his face; his mouth swollen and wet from kissing you.

Then with a sharp thrust and a groan he’s inside you. 

All coherent thoughts go out the window as he starts moving in and out of you. The only thing that exists is his strong, sweaty body above you, moving in and out of you with slow, deep thrusts. He’s so hard where you are soft and you can’t stop touching him, dragging your fingers over his back, pulling at his hair, kissing his arms. It’s like the wires in your brain have crossed, sending out sparks of pure pleasure in your body. 

He hits a particularly tender spot inside you and the groan that leaves you is almost animalistic.

Tom nearly halters in his pace, before collecting himself again. “Fuck” he moans out, kissing your neck. His movements become more frenzied and you roll your hips under him, meeting his movements; trying to get him deeper inside you. 

He pushes himself up onto his hands, pulls back slightly; and pushes in. Starting to really fuck you. 

You can’t stop looking up at him; naked body damp with sweat, muscles moving as he works; arms flexed and cheeks flushed. His eyes are closed pleasure now. Your hands are on his hips helping him set the pace as he fucks into you with fast, hard thrusts. Without warning you clutch around him in pleasure and he groans loudly.

“How the fuck does your cunt feel better than it tastes?” he asks, panting for air. “

He presses a hand over your heart, letting it rest there. You wonder if he can feel it pounding for him. You feel like you’re dissolving into a thousand tiny pieces as you come around him with a choked scream. 

He’s so close and you can practically feel it; aching for him to have it. You want him to come; in you, on you, over you. 

And then he does, his brows furrows; like the pleasure is so intense it hurts him. The sounds he makes when he comes are guttural; almost whimpering. 

As he falls down on the bed beside you he pulls you close, has you pressed against his body, an arm firmly wrapped around you. The sun has set now, but the ocean waves still crash onto the shore, the sound of it the only thing to fill the silence part from your laboured breathing; the music having gone quiet in the other room. 

Neither one of you say anything. You knew the end to this when he kissed you. You’ve regretted nothing that has happened here, and you know that he doesn’t either; but tomorrow you are leaving to drive all the way across the country and he cannot follow. You don’t know what will happen now, and he doesn't have the answer to that either. And so you just let him hold you; wishing with all your might that you could stop the morning from coming.

***

Please let me know your thoughts, genuinely don’t know what to make of this one. 

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Here is my little drabble for Writer Wednesday @autumnleaves1991-blog @clydesducktape

Armitage Hux x GN!Reader

Warnings: Soulmate Au. This is me, angst. Pain. Mentions of an accident.

Word Count: 1541

Soulmates. Everyone wants one, everyone wants to find that extra special person they spend the rest of their life with but it’s so difficult when all you have to go on is the last words they ever say to you tattooed on your body. You had poured over yours for years wondering what it meant, everyone had this vision of spending their whole lives with the right person but fate never worked out that way. You’d given up anyway, everyone was destined to meet their soulmate at some point, it was just a case of when.

You stared at the tin of soup in your hands, you hated shopping. No one told you as an adult you’d have to feed yourself at least once a day if not more and you’d have to think about it and cook it. Every. Damn. Day. The sound of the tin hitting the bottom of your basket rang out loudly and you looked up hoping not to have disturbed anyone in the quiet shop. There was only one other person near you, a tall gentleman smartly dressed in a suit and he certainly looked too well put together to be shopping here. You looked back at the shelf but the urge to look at him more was almost overwhelming and you ducked your head, turning slightly so you could see him out of your peripheral vision. His shoes were smart and shiny, his suit a rich black, the shirt crisp and white creating the perfect contrast. He shifted slightly and you got a good look at his profile, high cheekbones and light green eyes that were looking at you. He was looking at you. Oh shit. Embarrassment made you feel hot and uncomfortable so you quickly walked round to the next aisle, standing in front of the fridge of ready meals and hoping it would cool you down. You grabbed a lasagne and dumped it in your basket trying to think of what else you needed but nothing was coming to mind.

“Hi.” You flinched and looked up momentarily speechless. His bright red hair fell over his brow, his eyes were intense as they looked at you, a slight smirk tugged at his pink lips and you found yourself thinking he was the most gorgeous person alive.

“I…um….oh….sorry….hi.” You muttered, feeling the heat creep under the skin on your face wishing the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

“Can I…?” He pointed at the meals you were blocking from him and realisation washed over you.

“Oh! Yes of course…sorry.” You sidestepped and watched as he reached across you to retrieve a packet of Macaroni cheese. He was close enough to smell and you couldn’t help but breathe him in, the brush of his jacket swiped your arm making goosebumps race over your skin and you shivered slightly. “Good choice.” His head turned to you and you wished you could just keep your mouth shut but when you felt uncomfortable you always spouted nonsense. And now you felt you had to talk yourself out of this. Your eyes rose to meet his amused gaze and before you knew it you were babbling. “I mean I like that meal too…I chose a lasagne today though. I hate cooking, it’s such a chore. I mean…I’m not being nosy…sorry I ramble…..” You were drowning in air. What was wrong with you? You shifted the basket to your other arm and stuck your hand out offering your name. To your surprise he took it, his skin smooth and soft but his handshake was firm and sure in your grip.

“I’m Armitage. Armitage Hux.”

“Hi,” you breathed, caught up in the open expression on his face as his eyes studied your features. You snapped your hand away, realising you've been holding it for far too long. “I haven’t seen you here before. I mean not that I make a point of scouting the men that come in here, it’s just….” You gestured to him. “You kind of stand out. In a good way!” You almost yelled, your eyes wide. You couldn’t believe he hadn’t walked away yet, just standing here looking at you holding his macaroni cheese and sandwich.

“I haven’t seen you here before either.”

“Oh. Oh.” You didn’t know what to say, a numbness was creeping over your brain and it was making you feel sluggish and even more stupid.

“Have you lived in this area long?” He asked. He wanted to keep the conversation going. You raised an eyebrow in surprise expecting him to run in the opposite direction long ago.

“A while, the days just kind of all slip into one another, what with work and then coming home to an empty flat and cooking.”

“You live alone?” He enquired.

“Oh I mean I have like 6 housemates and they’re all burly body guards….you’re not a murderer are you?” His laugh was loud and rich and you smiled nervously.

“No I am not, sorry I was trying to deduce if you were single or not.” Oh.

“I am so very single…” you murmured.

“Then you wouldn’t say no if I asked you out to dinner?” Your brain stuttered, your thoughts scattering, fleeing, leaving you utterly thoughtless and your mouth opened but no sound came out. “You know, what with you hating cooking and all….” He trailed off. “You can say no…”

“No! I mean yes! I mean I’d like that.” You smiled slightly as the nerves twisted your stomach into a million knots. “I hate cooking so, yes. I would really like that.” He smiled and it changed his whole face softening that intense demeanour he had just moments before.

“What do you like to eat? I’ll let you pick the restaurant.”

“Oh, I am so indecisive….” You looked him over again and realised you were judging where he’d like to go by the way he was dressed. He could like a greasy burger from a fast food joint for all you knew. “Somewhere that does chips?” He nodded.

“That’s good, I like chips too.” You smiled shyly as he looked at his watch, his mouth pulling down in surprise. “Damn I need to go, my meeting started 5 minutes ago.”

“Wait!” You dug around in your bag quickly scribbling your number down. “Here, otherwise knowing my luck we’d never find each other again.”

“I promise I’ll message you as soon as I can!” You followed him to the tills, noticing he placed your number in the pocket inside his jacket and a warm sensation began to expand through your chest. He paid and turned to you. “Enjoy your lasagne for a family of five. I’ll be seeing you,” he breathed close to your ear with a smirk and you rolled your eyes.

“You bet I will!” You called after him. Both of you smiled at one another before the door closed after him. You frowned, something he said made your mind race.

“Miss, are you ready to pay?” Said the cashier but you didn’t hear her as a cold sensation ran through your body, the basket crashed to the floor at your feet, falling from your numb hands. Everything was muted, like your ears were stuffed with cotton wool, your hands shook as you pulled back your sleeve to see the words scribbled on the inside of your wrist:

I’ll be seeing you.

“No….” You were aware someone was trying to talk to you but all you could think of was to get to Armitage. Your legs moved but they were slow, too slow. The door to the shop opened and you saw him stop in the middle of the road, looking down at his wrist. You wanted to shout at him, scream his name but your throat had closed up. He turned to look at you, his eyes meeting yours and you saw the realisation dawn on his face. He took a step towards you, his mouth open to say something when a waft of air ruffled your hair and he wasn’t there anymore. The screech of tyres rendered the air around you, tears already sliding unbidden down your cheeks. People shoved past you, voices rose in panic but you didn’t register any of it. He had been right there, just seconds ago. His red hair glinting in the sun, his green eyes full of concern for you. But he was the one who had been taken. You flinched as your wrist burned, the writing of the last thing your soulmate would ever say to you began to fade. Everything about him was being erased making your heart flutter in your chest. It pained you to think your soulmate had been around all this time and as soon as you met him, a cruel twist of fate took him from you. Turning away from the accident you found your feet moving, leading you down an alleyway where you stumbled. Your legs gave way and you fell to your knees as the pain of your soul splitting in half engulfed you. A cry ripped your chest echoing against the walls heightening the anguish you were feeling to an almost unbearable pitch. He had been right there…and now he was gone.

[thetaoofzoe]

FIC: Syverson the Protector Pt 4

*   Syverson The Protector - Part I (pairing Syverson x YOU)

*   Syverson the Protector - Part II (pairing Syverson x YOU)

*   Syverson the Protector - Part III  (pairing Syverson x YOU)

Summary: You are an embedded journalist and on a mission, everything goes wrong. The two of you have made it to safety and now it’s time for the healing to begin. 

Rating for this part: Budding romance, Fluff, medical related content, I’ve picked ‘Henry’ as Syverson’s first name and he’s grown his hair out :D

Must be read in order, no part can stand alone. I expect to have at most,  two more parts, 5 and concluding in 6. 

Word count: 2293

Want to read more? Click for my Masterlist

Lying flat on his back, Syverson stared morosely at the ceiling and listened to the gentle thwapping sounds of the bedside machine that was currently and eagerly siphoning fluids out of his intestines. He let his mind tick over what the machine was actually doing to him and blearily considered why he wasn’t in constant pain from the electronic manipulation of his own vulnerable flesh.

Surely those plastic tubes driven into his guts should hurt, right?

Sure, you’re right, his mind chattered, a little giddy to be imparting an unknown bit of information, but consider this: morphine – a wounded man’s best friend.

My best friend, he thought and then as if the devil knew it was being called, another machine beeped and a flood of soft luscious haziness rushed into his bloodstream and he immediately relaxed. This tired mind drifted and it didn’t take long for him to slip back into sleep.

Hours later, Syverson startled out of a clinging and sticky dream with a desperate gasp. He felt hot all over, stiff and aching and the very thought of trying to move elicited a terrible pain response. Hot, oily bile crept up in his throat and his mouth watered in that awful familiar process of preparing him to violently empty his stomach.

I have to sit up, his brain screamed. I have to sit up. I don’t want to puke still lying on my back!

A broad cool hand pressed down on his chest and another closed about his shoulder. Someone was speaking but he couldn’t make out the words through the heavy veiling fog that enveloped him. He tried to speak to the person, and tried to tell them that he was going to be sick.

‘It’s ok, Henry,’ a voice was telling him. ‘You’re ok. I’ll help you roll onto your side if you need to vomit.’

Swallowing jerkily, throat working hard to force the urge back down, Syverson clamped his teeth and shook his head.

‘All right. How about we move you a bit. Are you ok with that?’

Move? God no. I can’t bear that. Moving meant pain.

He shook his head again, but the warm voice came back to him, sounding much more insistent this time.

‘I can help you, Henry, or I’ll put the positioner in bed with you and it will make you move. We want to prevent pressure sores, remember?’

Syverson took in a breath and after a moment nodded to show that he understood. When the man leaned in close, Syverson could smell his cologne. It was a pleasant and fresh woodsy scent that reminded him of his cabin back home. A sudden homesick ache tightened his chest and tears wet his dry eyes. He didn’t like feeling that way, but everything seemed to be out of his control now. He hated it.

Nevertheless, he put his arms around the man’s shoulders and gritted his teeth when his body was repositioned and stretched out again on the stiff mattress.

He gasped and couldn’t believe how out of breath such a small exertion had left him. But, he noted, he did feel better and the nausea had subsided.

The urge to eat suddenly struck him and he blinked up at the nurse.

‘What time is it?’ he rasped, voice rusty from disuse.

‘You hungry?’ asked the nurse with a grin.

‘Yeah, I could eat,’ he answered, wriggling a little to get more comfortable in the pillows under his head.

‘I can get you something, but it’s after breakfast and not quite lunch.’

Syverson nodded. He didn’t care. He just wanted to eat.

‘Fries and a coke, then,’ he said closing his eyes and grinning a little.

The nurse laughed and gently patted his shoulder condescendingly. With the state of Syverson’s gut, there was no way he was going to survive ingesting any amount of carbonation. That little fact didn’t stop the cravings though.

‘I’ll see if there’s some soup still left. I think it’s chicken.’

When he was alone again, the memories came back. After the jeep explosion, he was sure that he was going to die out in that sandy wasteland. Had it not been for you, he was sure that he would have died. Had it not been for the beautiful, plucky reporter, some stony faced military man would be paying his parents a visit to inform them of their youngest son’s passing and that his body would be flown home for burial.

Instead, he had been saved. And when he found that you’d been housed in the civilian wing of the hospital, he wanted to see you. He wanted to thank you for saving his life. When visiting you was denied, considering the fragile state of the both of you, Syverson had instructed that the well stocked gift shop be bought out and carted to your room, all with his heartfelt thanks.

He owed you his life. A few flowers and a couple of teddy bears was the least he could do.

The plastic and faux wood table rattled next to him and snapped Syverson out of his muse. He opened his eyes and watched as the nurse positioned the table over his bed and put down a ceramic bowl of steaming soup. He groaned and strained a little to help himself up into a sitting position.

The nurse was distracted and looking down into his other hand.

‘I ran into your girlfriend’s nurse in the hallway and she gave me this to give to you.’

God, he sounded so smug and Syverson wanted to punch him square in the face.

Girlfriend?

His brain searched for a face to put to the name but came up empty. He’d broken up with his ex more than five years ago, right before his latest deployment. And then it clicked.

The reporter. You.

The nurse handed the card to Syverson and upon seeing it, his heart sank. It was the same envelope that he’d sent along with the gifts. Had you refused his outpouring of affection? He slowly opened the envelope and breathed out with relief when he saw the new message that had been written for him.

He didn’t want to smile at the note in front of the gossipy nurse, as he didn’t want to encourage any nonsense rumours, so he kept his elated reaction to himself. But inside his heart soared and the soup tasted better than anything he’d ever eaten before.

**

The day that you both championed and dreaded finally arrived. The day you could get out of bed on your own and walk down to the men’s wing to pay your captain a visit. He had come a long way, you’d heard from the nurse, but would still have trouble doing any taxing travelling. However you were well enough to make the trip.

‘That is, if you still want to,’ said your nurse with a glint in her eye.

Oh, she thinks she’s funny, does she?

You sighed luxuriously and stretched back on your pillows. You’d managed to wrangle an extra set so that you could prop yourself up like a royal lady taking in visitors for the afternoon. You ran the edge of your thumbnail across the thick scar skirting the side of your left palm, scratching it lightly but thoroughly. You had recently had your bandages removed and the sight of your hands was shocking. The backs of your hands had taken the brunt of the burns and they were wrinkled with scar tissue which butted up against new skin growth. A daily cream was a must to keep the tissue from tightening up and preventing normal usage of your hand. You scooped up a handful of the waxy smelling stuff and massaged it into your hands as your nurse watched you expectantly.

Her expression fell a bit when you didn’t answer right away.

Serves her right, you thought, casually kneading fingertips into the palm of your opposite hand.

‘I mean, you don’t have to, if you’ve changed your mind.’

She picked at a bright yellow rose bud that had fallen off of one of the new crops of flower bouquets. Henry had made sure to keep you flush with fresh beautiful flowers. You had to draw the line at the character balloons, and had to tell him that he should stop sending them because the hollow sounds of them knocking together at night was creepy and it kept you awake.

‘I haven’t changed my mind, Barb,’ you said and gave her a smile.

I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to see him again.

‘Well, good. He’s been asking after you… like… constantly now.’

You said nothing, but a tiny grin stretched your lips.

Constantly?

‘We can whip out the chair and wheel you over there after lunch.’

Your heart leaped with sudden and visceral terror.

It’s soon. So soon. Too soon! Today?

You swallowed hard and felt your face heat with uncertain embarrassment.

‘S-sure.’

‘Ok, I’ll reserve one and be back in a few hours.’

Barb turned around and left the room. You could hear her chuckling as if this matchmaking was the best thing that had happened to her all year.

You sat up in bed, greasy hands limp in your lap and you made a face when you sniffed at yourself under your hospital gown. No way were you going to present yourself to Henry, or anyone else who would be in the day room, looking like you’d been in an accident.

Heaven forfend.

So, you washed carefully and put on the pale peach coloured long-sleeved pyjama set you’d received from the Ladies’ Supply. The Ladies’ Supply was an organisation of volunteer women who ensured the dignity and comfort of women at the military hospital through social visits, clothing donations and other feminine needs.

You did your hair the best you could and whiled away the hours until you heard the squeaky wheelchair being rolled into your room. With heart crashing excitedly against your ribs, you perched delicately on it and Barb rolled you away.

**

The day room was spacious and welcoming and abuzz with activity. Some of the men were still hooked to IVs and sitting by the wide windows and others who were more capable were dispersed amongst the tables either reading or playing cards or just talking with each other. There were also some women in there, so you didn’t feel like you were entering the lion’s den. You spotted Henry by one of the card tables and you wanted to put your feet down on the floor to stop Barb from rolling you right up to his side. Unfortunately, you didn’t do it in time and when you squeaked to an unceremonious halt at the edge of the table, he glanced up from his cards.

The look on his face when he recognised you was one that you would store in your memory for an eternity. He put the cards face down on the table and made to stand up. You immediately put up your hands to stop him.

‘No, no, don’t get up, you don’t–‘

But, he had already struggled to push himself up and out of the chair and you didn’t want to take that victory from him. You stood up as well, ready to give a firm friendly handshake, or a paltry pat on the shoulder but he had other intentions. He dragged you into his arms, and crushed you to his meaty chest, before you could manage to say, hello.

When he finally let you go, you both went back to your respective seats, feeling overwhelmed by the perfect greeting.

Grinning at him, you made a gesture to your own head.

‘Your hair… it’s all curly!’

The last time you’d seen him, his hair was shorn right to the head, and there was really no hint as to the texture or really even the true colour. So it surprised you to see a neatly clipped mop of glossy brown curls. Henry put a self conscious hand into his hair and ruffled his fingers through it.

‘I like it,’ you assured him, hoping to put him at ease. ‘I like it a lot.’

Grabby hair, your brain chittered. Perfect length for grabbing.

With that the two men who had been playing cards with him at the table, picked up and left, taking the not so subtle hint that they should leave the two of you alone.

‘I’m glad to see you. Finally,’ he said, wincing a little when he shifted in the chair.

‘Does it still hurt?’ you asked, reaching out to put your hands over his on the table.

‘I’m getting over it,’ he said, dodging the question effortlessly.

He turned his hands up to hold onto yours and you felt as shy as a virgin on a first date. So, what could you do but make a joke the break the tension.

‘I mean… if I had to get blown up to get a date with you in a hospital day room, don’t know if I would do it again. Ehh, I probably would.’

Your eyes swept up to his and he stared at you a moment, puzzled and when you gave him a little hesitant smile, Henry started to laugh. The sound it lit you up with happiness and then the awkwardness was broken.

You spent about an hour chatting and if you were honest, most of it was spent flirting, until you started to feel tired.

You didn’t want to overstay your welcome and he seemed disappointed (much to your juvenile delight) when you said that you were leaving.

‘Tomorrow then?’ he asked, big blue eyes bright and eager, his hands unwilling to let you go again.

‘Yes, tomorrow.’

-End part 4

[tsukkisbean]

how they cheer your up | headcanons

genre: fluff

characters: iwaizumi hajime, miya osamu, terushima yūji, kunimi akira x gn!reader

warnings: none!

a/n: hello if you’re seeing this, that means my scheduled post worked, yay!! hopefully this shows up in the tags otherwise i’ll have to reupload it at a later time (sorry in advance if that’s the case hehe). i’m also trying my hand at writing for other characters so hopefully this does their characters justice??

anyways, i hope everyone is doing well and staying healthy and happy! if you requested something from me, sorry i haven’t gotten to it even though i said i would. i’ll try my best to complete them when i get the chance, thank you for being patient with me 💖 all boys after iwaizumi are under the cut!

iwaizumi hajime

best boy iwaizumi would without a doubt use exercise as a way to cheer you up

but don’t get me wrong, he’s not going to force you to run a marathon or anything like that

i imagine him taking you to one of those entertainment/game parks (not really sure what they’re called ahh) where you guys just hang out all day

when you get there, he’ll immediately take you to the batting cage so you can just channel out all your anger into your swings

once your blood is pumping from the adrenaline he’ll take you to the trampoline area where you guys just bounce around and do flips into the foam pit to burn off all your extra energy

you’ll just be chilling, jumping up and down on one of the trampolines, your back turned to iwaizumi when he straight up scoops you up and tosses you in

he’s cackling and dying of laughter and when he finally offers to help you out you grab his hand and pull him in

when he doesn’t resurface you get nervous, where could he be?

from the corner of your eye you see the foam rumbling slightly but you react too slowly and iwaizumi pops out and tackles you in the biggest hug, peppering kisses all over your face and people are staring as you scream your head off trying to pry him off of you

for dinner, you guys indulge in all the greasy food the park has to offer, and by the end you’re stuffed

to help with digestion you suggest a game of mini golf which iwaizumi gladly agrees to

for someone who played volleyball his aim is absolutely horrifying

he argues that the windmill is IMPOSSIBLE to get a good score on and no one can ever get a hole in one

luck must have been on your side because you get a hole in one right after (and so does the small child behind you guys, but you choose not to tell him that)

you end up destroying him (he lowkey hints that he let you win but we know that’s not the case)

when the park closes, instead of taking you straight home, he’ll take you to a nearby park and the two of you just stroll around enjoying the chill of the night and the stars in the sky

miya osamu

he pulls you onto the couch next to him and the two of you look through baking videos on youtube and osamu being osamu cannot decide because he wants to make them all

eventually you guys settle on a cake recipe by cooking tree (a/n: 10/10 would recommend watching them, their videos are super soothing and aesthetic esp if you enjoy cooking asmr!!)

so at 9pm you guys set off to the grocery store to buy the ingredients you guys are missing 

the trip takes much longer than expected because osamu keeps putting in more and more snacks that you guys definitely don’t need

so instead of shopping osamu is trying to grab as many snacks as you can while you trail behind, trying to put them away  because your pantry is already way too full

by the time you get home it’s close to 12 and you’re tired but osamu insists that you guys start now

for the most part all goes well, you guys manage to get the batter to look smooth in the cake pan (definitely some playful flour throwing here and there)

the real problem is assembling the cake. at this point you’re wondering why you guys decided on a 3-layered cake that required cutting

teases you for cutting the first layer slanted and so you pass over the cutting to him but his slicing work is just as bad and you just have to bring up the fact that he owns a restaurant but apparently his knife skills suck

you thought cutting the cake would be a problem?? now you guys have to fill the layers and it’s a complete disaster; there’s whipped cream just everywhere and at this point you guys are half filling the cake half throwing it at each other

cake ends up being iced unevenly but that’s the least of your problems

you guys pour the decorative icing on top and instead of running over the sides only slightly, it drips messily down the cake and onto the counter and now you guys have a blob of a cake

you guys spend the rest of the night cleaning up and pass out on the couch and in the morning you guys enjoy a sweet breakfast together <3

terushima yūji

terushima is a free soul and so he believes expressing yourself through art is one of the best ways to feel better

when he sees that you’re down, he’ll immediately whip out all of his salon products and pull you into the bathroom

he takes you by surprise saying that he wants you to whatever you want to his hair - today his hair is your canvas

at first you’re reluctant, but he insists - as a hair stylist it’s all about experimentation with styles and colours and plus he can easily fix whatever you do considering that it is his job after all

so you guys scroll through pinterest together, trying to find some fun hair ideas that you’d be able to pull off on your own (with some instruction from teru of course)

you finally decide on a style and so together start on getting all the hair dye ready

he explains to you the different types of develops and how important they are in the hair colouring process - there are different volumes and will essentially affect how much your hair colour changes

after all the colours are mixed and ready to go, you gingerly grab a piece of hair, constantly checking your phone to make sure you’re doing it exactly like the photo

meanwhile terushima has the softest smile on his face, watching you through the mirror - he thinks you look absolutely adorable with the way your brows are furrowed and your tongue sticks on slightly as you focus

as you run the colour brush along his hair, he’s constantly encouraging you, telling you what a good job you’re doing and how he’s so excited to the end product

while the dye sits in his hair, you sit in his lap

once it’s time to wash out the hair dye, you bring him to the sink and carefully run your hands through his hair, trying your best to give him the best head massage he’s ever had!!!

after toning and a hair treatment, your masterpiece if finally done!! ofc being the boyfriend he is, he takes a million photos and posts them on social media to show how talented his significant other is - like not only is it your first time dying someone’s hair but you managed to pull off RAINBOW hair!! (a/n: think sehun from exo as a reference hehe) he literally will not shut up about you to his clients tomorrow

kunimi akira

kunimi has a rep for being lazy and just overall a really nonchalant kind of person but he’s sharp, so when you’re feeling down he immediately picks up on it even if he doesn’t confront you about it

however i don’t think he’d be as aggressive as the other three and do something huge rather he tries to make you feel better only in smaller ways and it definitely adds up

like in the morning he’ll make you coffee or tea or whatever you want - orange juice, a bakery bun? he’ll make an excuse saying he wanted something from the convenience store anyways and head down. when he comes back  with three bags of food and drinks he’ll insist that he just grabbed whatever he saw because he was “too lazy to decide” n b d

throughout the day he’ll be a lot more affectionate than usual, hugging you whenever he gets the chance, maybe even a kiss on your forehead

when you tell him you want to go out on your own for a bit  he doesn’t argue - whatever you need to do but when your back is turned he’ll slip you a handwritten note telling you to enjoy your alone time and that he l-word you and it’s even signed off with a teensy teensy heart that you almost don’t notice

when you get back, you’re greeted with the smell of your delicious food mixed with a burning smell and on the kitchen table you see takeout from your favourite restaurants and in the garbage is a black burnt mess - kunimi insists he doesn’t know how it got there even though its quite obvious

you bring the food to the living room and to your surprise there’s a blanket fort set up with pillows spread out all across the floor

when you try to question him, he just shrugs saying that it’s not that hard to throw a blanket over a couple of chairs, even a baby could do it

today he lets you choose the movie even though it’s technically his turn and when you choose a  comedy he doesn’t complain about the obnoxiously loud and hot headed lead character

when the movie is over, he quickly cleans up all the trash, making sure you don’t have time to move from your spot

when he comes back, he flops on top of you, holding you close

then he plays the spotify playlist that he made for you; it’s a whole mix of songs - slow, upbeat, instrumentals - anything he thought might help you feel even the tiniest bit better

and so you guys just lay there not speaking, enjoying each other’s presence until you fall asleep

[random-mha-thoughts]

Self-Care (Todoroki x Reader x Bakugou)

Pairing: Todoroki x Reader x Bakugou

Genre: Fluff/Crack

Summary: Todoroki steps in on you doing your skincare routine and his curiosity is rewarded ft. a nosy Bakugou

Word Count: 1,419

Tags:  @yuki-osaki​ @liviitehe​ @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog​ @bunnythepipsqueak​

a/n: Feels pretty nice to be back writing some original content from my fluffbrain ^^.  Here’s a cute little thing I thought of, inspired by a conversation in one of my Discord group chats.  It’s in the same universe as Quarrel, but you don’t need to read that one to understand this, it’s just the same relationship dynamics.

I gave you guys a little bit of both fluff and some crack, so I really hope it makes you smile since it was really fun to write 😊

Today is my day. It was the end of a stressful week of exams and I'm in need of a pampering self-care night all to myself.

I just got out of the shower and changed into a fresh set of pajamas, my hair still damp since I haven't dried it yet. The tension in my muscles have all but dissipated from scrubbing my troubles away under hot water. Soft music tinkles from my speaker as I don a soft character headband to push my hair back. All I have to do now is do some skincare and I'll go to bed. My soft sheets already call for me to grace them, but this is my practice to wind down before I get there.

Until there's a knock at my door.

I huff in a pout. Who the hell is that? I tie the ribbon on my robe tighter before greeting my uninvited visitor. My pout melts into a smile as soon as I meet a familiar mop of red and white hair. "Oh, it's you."

Todoroki's face scrunches in confusion when he notices my attire. "I just came to see you, but it seems I'm interrupting something."

I open the door wider. I guess there's room for my lovely boyfriend in my personal time. "No, you can come in." I pull him in gently and motion for him to sit down. "I'm just doing some skincare."

Like a puppy, he tilts his head curiously as his eyes follow after me to the bathroom. I silently wash my face with foaming cleanser. Sometime between me coming into the bathroom and rinsing the suds off my face, my boyfriend sneaked into the bathroom and started observing the whole ordeal. We remain there in silence, the only noise being the music still playing from my speakers.

As I spread a brightening mask over my face, he finally speaks up. "I'd like to try what you're doing."

His suggestion catches me off guard, but his serious face seeps with undisputed determination that makes me chuckle. "Alright, I'll help you. But first." I pull another character headband out from the vanity drawers. "We'll have to push your hair back."

I'm not sure if it's his blank expression or seeing his forehead come out of hiding, but I had the sudden urge to pepper his face in kisses. Sadly, the mask on my face prevents me from doing anything near that sort, so I settle for pulling his forehead for me to place a soft kiss on it.

His cheeks cover in blush. "Maybe I should've suggested this sooner."

I guide him to wash him own face with cleanser over the sink, only intervening to scrub his face with a brush and letting him rinse his face clean.  He sits in front of me on the toilet lid.

"Alright, next thing for you is the toner."  I remove the cap and pour some into a cotton pad.

"What's it for?" Todoroki asks innocently and closes his eyes before I can tell him.

"You put this on your face to balance your skin pH and prep it for the other good stuff you're gonna put on it now."

"But you didn't put it on your face.  Are you gonna put that paste on me too?"

Observant as usual, I think proudly.  "I usually put this on after mask.  I don't think you need the same help as me, your face is already pretty clear."

"But I wanna do everything you do."

I inwardly swoon at how childish he sounds despite his straight face.  "Alright, next time.  Maybe next week, it's a date."

His warm smile sends another spark of electricity to my heart.  "I'd kiss your face, but it's messy right now."  He maneuvers to kiss my nape below my ear.  "I'll settle for that."

My first instinct is to burst into a face-cracking smile, but then my mask will actually crack.  "Sneak."  I pull out another bottle, pump it into my hands, and gently pat his face with it.

"What're you putting on my face now?"

"This is serum, sweetie."

"What does it do?"

"Mmm, it makes your face all bright, glowy, and smooth."

He furrows his eyebrows and stares straight at me.  "You mean it isn't already?"

How many times is he gonna kill me today?  I loop my arms around his neck lovingly and chuckle.  "It makes it more bright, glowy, and smooth, you perfect boy."

He beams at my wholehearted compliment and rests his hands on my waist.  "You're perfect, too.  I doubt you need any of this."

A snort escapes me.  "It's because of all this that my face looks normal, babe."  I retrieve my jar of moisturizer.  "Last thing, moisturizer to keep your face nice and hydrated through the night."

Todoroki lets me pat his face again only to catch one of my hands gently and place a kiss on my palm.  "Thank you for humoring me, love."  His mismatched eyes grace me with chaste affection.

Cradling his cheeks, I ask, "Does it make you feel better?"

He leans into my touch.  "Yes, because you did it."

My thumb trace his perfectly angled cheekbones.  "And you were a perfect little client."  I wiggle out of his arms to wash the dried up mask off my face.

In that moment, heavier footsteps enter the room as I dry my face.  "What the-Baku-?!"

My friend bursts into laughter, guffawing at his own sense of humor and throwing his head back.  "Nice headband, Glamouroki!"

My boyfriend keeps a monotonous expression in the face of Bakugou's immaturity.  I continue applying toner to my face like he isn't there.  "Todoroki decided to join me having a skincare day."

"HA!  How rid-!"

I shoot him a death glare.  "I know you aren't about to say skincare is 'girly' or something, Katsuki.  Besides, look how clear his face is.  When was the last time you inspected yours?"

Todoroki's lip turns up into a smug smirk while Bakugou's jaw drops.  "What's that supposed to mean?!  I have good skin!"

"Oh, stop being a child.  Besides, you're sweaty all the time, your pores are all clogged," I dismiss, continuing with my own routine.

The blond growls to himself and slumps into the bathroom to inspect his face in the mirror.  With a frown, he turns back to me and mumbles, "Doing just your boyfriend's skincare is pretty rude, what about your best friend?"

I shrug.  "Todoroki asked, you just got here.  But I thought you weren't interested."

"Shut up!  I take back what I was gonna say, just do whatever you have to."

I'm not one to give up any opportunity to mess with Bakugou.  A smug grin spreads across my face.  "If that's the case, you have to get into uniform."  Before he can say anything, I fetch my last character headband and push his hair back with it.

His face turns as red as his eyes when he looks at himself in the mirror and pouts.  "You didn't have to humiliate me like this!"

Todoroki and I have to suppress our laughter.  "I'm just moving your hair out of the way, relax.  Now go wash your face with this."

After going through the same motions as with Todoroki with cleansing, I sit Bakugou down.  "Well, your skin is oily and you have all those blackheads and comedones all over your face.  Not to mention sometimes you get these really huge pimples-"

"Stop making fun of my face, damnit!"

I ignore his protests and pull out my charcoal mask.  "I'm gonna need to put this on your face to get the impurities out and absorb the extra oil."  I use a small spreader tool to apply a thin, grey layer over my friend's skin.

"So these are the kinds of people who need that mask," Todoroki comments, for sure just to push his buttons.

"I'M GONNA KILL YOU ICYHOT!"

"Settle down, it won't be even if you keep moving," I reprimand him.  When I finish, I put everything away.  "Alright, keep that on for 10 minutes until it dries.  And no moving your face or else it'll crack."

"Are you kidding me?!" the impatient boy grumbles.

"Do you want to keep being a greasy, pimple face?"

He crosses his arms over his chest.  "No."

"Then stay still."  I bring out my phone.  "Let me take a picture of us three in our cute headbands!"

"Don't you dare!"

Todoroki leans over and holds Bakugou still, smiling to the camera when I take the selfie of my two idiots.

.

.

.

Bonus:

Once Bakugou washes the mask off his face and finishes the rest of the skincare routine, he admires himself in the mirror.  "Look at how clean my face looks now, Icyhot!"

"My face still looks perfect."

"SHUT UP, PRETTY BOY!"

[be11atrixthestrange]

Waking Up In Vegas Chapter 15

After a night of debauchery, Ron and Hermione wake up in Vegas... married.

Muggle!AU. Romcom!Romione. Slow burning, smutty, angst-fest.

Rated M.

Ao3 | FFN

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More Chapters

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*Six Weeks Later*

[Ron]

The flat is small but well-arranged. Bookshelves line the walls from floor to ceiling, maximizing the vertical space that only one of its residents can fully use. The kitchen is sparkling clean, save for two empty red wine-stained glasses in the sink. Usually, the dishes would be washed and stacked away before the clock strikes bedtime, but last night other, more fun activities got in the way.

The apartment's decor is simple — it has to balance the strikingly orange accent wall behind the television. The only other thing commanding attention is the large painting of a cityscape hanging on the wall across from the entry. It's an artistic rendering of a well-known skyline, characterized by neon lights, a replica of the Eiffel Tower, and a series of flashy hotels. Although the portrait might be recognizable to many, it's meaningful to only a few.

As the morning light peeks through the windows, the bedroom's blinds give up on filtering it out. The sun casts a ray across the pillows, illuminating the two sleeping figures entangled together in bed. Gentle and mild, the light is easier to ignore than an intense desert beam, and it takes a few moments for the tall, red-haired man to open his eyes.

When he does, he turns onto his side to bury his face into his pillow. The bed is warm and comfortable — the satin sheets were a worthwhile investment. Same for the pillow, which somehow maintains the perfect combination of cold and cozy. Ever since they bought a new, albeit expensive mattress, his back problems have become a thing of the past.

He smiles at the mountain of fluffy blankets beside him, topped with spirals of bushy brown locks. There's so much goddamn hair. It looks like a plush volcano of cushions is erupting with curly brown hair. He can't decide what he loves more: the explosion of brunette, the bright orange Chudley Cannons t-shirt, the black mens' boxers that have a little too much fabric for a woman, or the person it all belongs to.

Well, technically, the Cannons t-shirt and boxers are his, or at least, were his. But marriage is about sharing.

"Morning, wifey."

Hermione groans and covers her face with a pillow. "Too early."

Ron slips an arm around his wife, encouraging her to turn toward him. She obliges and snuggles up into the crook of his arm, where she fits perfectly. He presses a kiss to her forehead and nuzzles his head into her hair.

It would be easy to stay like this forever, ignoring real-life responsibilities. In a way, their bed has become an escape from reality, an oasis built upon the lessons they learned in Las Vegas. Defined by frequent 'I love you's, reprieves from work, and late-night explorations fueled by a glass of wine and the need to destress, it's the place that keeps them anchored to the magic. Who wouldn't want to stay forever?

But alas, they can't, as they have Maid of Honor and Best Man duties to attend to. Today is Harry and Ginny's wedding, and within a few hours, they need to transition from the carefree vacationers they became in Vegas to the highly organized planners helping to orchestrate the festivities.

Ron groans. Although their friends know they're together — they put on quite a show back in Las Vegas, after all — they haven't revealed the extent of their relationship, and the worst part about being in public together is pretending that Hermione's just his girlfriend.

"We should just tell everyone," murmurs Ron into Hermione's hair.

She chuckles and snuggles closer. "After the wedding. Let's not steal their thunder."

Steal their thunder. To be honest, Ron has frequently fantasized about stealing Harry and Ginny's thunder. A small part of him is jealous of their hen and stag weekend in Las Vegas and their elaborate wedding. Ron wants everyone to celebrate him and Hermione, and as time passes, he grows more desperate for them all to know.

"I want to steal their thunder."

"I know." Hermione gently pushes him over on his back and slides on top of him. The movement is swift and natural, and as always, she fits like a glove.

"Hmmm, hi," he says right before their lips meet. The kiss lingers; Hermione's teeth lightly latch to his bottom lip, driving him wild. Without breaking their kiss, Hermione shifts some of her weight onto her hips. She knows exactly what she's doing, and if Ron doesn't stop this train, they'll be late.

"Er-my-nee," he groans, pulling away. She pouts at him with her wide chocolate brown eyes, and it's all he can do to resist tangling himself back up in her arms. "Can I ask you a question?"

"What?"

"Do you wish we had more thunder?"

Hermione brushes a tuft of hair from Ron's forehead. "Sometimes. But I still wouldn't change a thing."

Ron smiles as she leans down for another kiss. Her fingers thread into her wild curls, prompting him to flip her over and land on top. He groans when she wraps her legs around his waist.

"You know we don't have time for this," he says between kisses. "We should get rea—"

"Shhhhh." She pulls him into her embrace and tightens her leg lock around his hips. "There's always time."

"Hey!" he teases, then leaning down toward her ear to whisper, "I take offense to that."

Ron doesn't give her time to respond before connecting his mouth to hers for another kiss. He can smell his cologne from the night before on her skin, yet it still tastes like Hermione when his lips travel from her mouth to the nape of her neck. A soft moan escapes her lips and sends him into a tizzy that leaves nothing else to do but get lost in her.

Six weeks in, and he's still convinced he'll never get sick of snogging Hermione Granger.

Plus, she's right — there's always time.

x

Harry and Ginny's wedding is just as elaborate as their weekend of partying in Las Vegas, but of course, classy. The venue is a converted warehouse, which initially horrified Molly, Ron and Ginny's mum, but it's unrecognizable after a few hours of decorating. They tie the knot underneath a trellis of climbing vines and twinkling lights illuminating the exposed brick wall behind them. Cafe lights drape from the ceiling beams, filtering the room's color just enough that everyone appears to glow. Each row of seats is marked by a simple bouquet and a periwinkle ribbon that matches the color of the bridesmaids' dresses, and the aisle appears to have been assaulted by flower petals, courtesy of Victoire, Ron and Ginny's niece, who recently discovered the true strength of her throwing arm.

Ginny has insisted that she and Harry walk down the aisle together as equals. Although originally disgruntled at the pushback on tradition, their father, Arthur, chokes up when he watches the pair approach the altar. Ginny's eyes sparkle with rare tears, and Harry can't keep his gaze off her radiant smile.

They're a couple in love, and there's not a doubt in the room.

Ginny's dress is simple — Hermione had said something about satin, but Ron doesn't remember the details. It's one of those dresses that doesn't dare pull focus from the woman wearing it, not that any dress could. Ron's always resented the Weasleys' fiery red hair and the way it sticks out like a sore thumb, but Ginny makes him think that maybe it isn't so bad after all.

While everyone watches the couple, Ron chances a glance at Hermione across the altar. He can hardly stand seeing her in her periwinkle bridesmaid dress, and he hopes to heaven his gawking isn't too noticeable. When he shifts his eyes in her direction, she turns her head back toward the bride and groom.

She was checking him out, too.

He doesn't have to keep his eyes on her for his imagination to run wild. That periwinkle dress turns white, and suddenly it's Hermione walking down the aisle. Her hair is tucked up into a spiral on top of her head, a few wisps escaping to frame her face.

Since it's his sister's wedding, Ron forces the image out of his mind, but he can't stop a wistful smile from forming on his lips and staying there throughout the ceremony.

When Harry and Ginny arrive at the altar, the music slows to a stop, and the officiant steps out from behind a curtain.

"Well, hello, folks!" says the blonde-haired man in a thick, mumbling American accent.

The wedding guests stare in silence at the man, who's dressed in white from head to toe, a greasy black wig barely covering his blonde locks.

Harry and Ginny burst into laughter, which breaks the seal for everyone else to follow suit.

"Yes! You got an Elvis impersonator!" shouts Fred, Ron and Ginny's brother, from the front row. "Someone check Mum's pulse."

With that, Ron snaps his head toward his mum, whose face has collapsed into her hands. Her body is heaving with what can only be sobs, or…

Laughter. Ron grins when he realizes that his mother's laughing hysterically.

At Molly's outburst, the tension and stuffiness of a formal event dissipate, and the ceremony continues flawlessly, having now been marked by Harry and Ginny's personalities. Elvis speaks to their bond, and even though he doesn't know the couple, he manages to capture how they approach life, always wearing their hearts on their sleeves and marching to their own beat. They've written heartfelt but humorous vows, expertly eliciting laughs and tears from their guests while they read them with shaky hands. They share their first kiss as a married couple to a round of applause and a standing ovation. Emboldened by the support, Harry picks up Ginny and drapes her over his shoulder as he skips back down the aisle to a chorus of cheers and whistles.

The wedding party follows the happy couple back down the aisle, starting with Ron and Hermione. They link arms and lock eyes, sharing a small, knowing smile. Ron wonders if she's also imagining the roles reversed, everyone clapping and celebrating for them as they traipse down the aisle after tying the knot.

What would the pseudo-Elvis have said about them if this were their ceremony, not Harry and Ginny's? Would he have spoken to how they disliked each other when they first met, and the utter disbelief they felt when they woke up next to one another in bed? Maybe he'd have talked about their strong determination to get a divorce and straighten everything out, followed by the looming 'what ifs' that kept knocking. What if they gave it a chance? What if they opened their hearts and it worked out? What if it was meant to be?

Maybe Elvis would have told a white lie at their request, saving their families the heartache of learning that they missed the original wedding, even though Ron and Hermione kind of missed it too.

That would be best wouldn't it? They could hire an Elvis to spin a new love story for their family, so they could keep the real one to themselves—not due to shame, but the simple fact that it's theirs.

Ron can't help but wonder.

Rather than a formal sit-down dinner, the ceremony transitions straight into a party. The delicate set-up of chairs and flowers clears into a dance floor. The doors to the warehouse open to an outdoor deck complete with a buffet and a dessert table, and a crowd forms at the bar.

Tugged away by Ginny, Hermione disappears into the crowd, and Ron becomes absorbed by friends and relatives. He'd rather stick with Hermione, but before he can locate her again, he's trapped in a conversation with long-lost family members. Old cousin Barny, Auntie Muriel and her flavor of the week — a scruffy looking man who introduces himself as Argus, and a neighbor who used to babysit when he was a toddler — he smiles through it all.

"Anyone special in your life, Ron?"

"I noticed the way you were looking at the brunette."

"Is it serious?"

"Should we be marking our calendars for another wedding?"

He deflects the expected questions — the ones that could draw attention away from the happy couple — with suggestive 'maybes' and 'we'll sees' although the truth, or at least a version of the truth, is evident on his face.

Yes, there is someone special. Yes, he was probably gawking at the beautiful brunette. Yes, it's serious enough that they live together.

"You're living together before you're married?" Auntie Muriel chimes in her most dismissive, judgemental tone.

Ron gives her a guilty look, a 'we're already married, you just don't know,' but to her, it's an admission of living together in sin.

"Well, I hope for your sake, she's the one."

"She definitely is," he says, nodding in a way he hopes ends the conversation.

Ron eventually negotiates an escape from small talk and heads to the bar for a slight reprieve. He slides into a seat and accepts a generous glass of champagne from the bartender. One sip reveals just how thirsty he is, and he lets out a satisfied sigh of relief before indulging in the rest of his glass.

"Another?" asks the bartender once he finishes.

"Erm, sure. Thanks."

While the bartender refills his glass, Ron takes a quick scan of the room. He's looking for Hermione, but she's nowhere to be found. His search doesn't last long as a certain someone slides into the barstool next to him and interrupts.

"Thank you for being here," says the dark-haired man beside him. "It means a lot."

"Ugh, not you," groans Ron, but his tone is laden with a touch of sarcasm only his best friend can decipher. "Should I say congratulations?"

"Yes, please," grins Harry. "Even though you've said it a million times."

"Well, you should soak it up because tomorrow, I'm done congratulating you," he says. "So needy."

"Cheers to you too," says Harry, clanking his champagne glass against Ron's.

"I've been meaning to ask you," says Ron, remembering Harry and Ginny's elaborate ceremony. "Why Elvis?"

Harry laughs. "Oh, Ludo? We met him at one of the casinos in Vegas."

"And you just asked him to officiate your wedding?"

"Well, he offered, and we didn't have anyone else," shrugged Harry. "To be honest, we were kind of drunk when we agreed, but Ginny wanted to bring some of Las Vegas into the wedding, so it worked out."

"Well, I liked him. I thought it was brilliant."

"I agree," grinned Harry. "So, will I get to congratulate you anytime soon?"

"Congratulate me for what?"

Harry rolls his eyes, aware that Ron is playing dumb. "Do you think you and Hermione will ever get married?"

"What makes you ask that?" Ron looks over at his best friend, and his expression that's full of excitement. Part of Ron loves that he and Hermione are the only people who know about their marriage. Another part of Ron just wishes he could share it all with his best friend. It doesn't feel right keeping him in the dark.

"You live together and seem pretty happy," continues Harry, oblivious to Ron's internal debate. "I'll admit, at first, I thought you two were moving fast, but you seem well suited for each other."

"After Hermione, you'll be the second person to know," says Ron, grinning at his friend.

"I'll take it!" says Harry. "Can I give you one piece of advice?"

"Sure, mate." Ron can't help but smirk — Harry's been married for barely two hours and is already touting marriage advice. Typical.

"If you know she's the one, don't overthink it. You'll just waste time."

Ron laughs softly. "I don't think that will be an issue for me."

"Good. I'm going to find my wife," says Harry, emphasizing the word like he's trying it on for size. "And you should go dance with your girlfriend. She looks like she could use a hand."

Harry motions across the room to where Hermione and Luna are alone at a cocktail table. There she is. Hermione's stiff body language is a stark contrast to Luna's eccentric gestures, and it appears that Hermione has become an unwilling audience for one of Luna's wild conspiracy theories.

"Happily," mutters Ron as Harry saunters off to find Ginny.

Ron meanders across the room to rescue Hermione from Luna's verbal clutches. Since she doesn't see him approach, he decides to surprise her by sneaking up behind her and looping his arms around her waist.

"Hi, girlfriend," he whispers into her ear.

"Hmmm." She seems to melt into his touch ."Hi, boyfriend."

"Sorry, Luna," says Ron, as he slides a hand down Hermione's arm and interlaces his fingers with hers. "I'm going to steal Hermione away for a dance."

"Of course! Have fun, you two," Luna says before turning around toward the crowd and skipping away, presumably in search of another unsuspecting guest to engage with.

"She's a lot, isn't she?" asks Ron.

"She's not too bad, once you get to know her. She's just talkative, that's all."

Ron tugs Hermione toward the dance floor where a smattering of couples intertwine, swaying to one of the rare slow songs in the D.J.'s repertoire. She wraps her arms around his neck, and he tightens his embrace, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"It's a little weird to call you my girlfriend."

"It sounds wrong," she says, her voice muffled by his dress shirt. "I was never your girlfriend. It's probably how people feel when they first start saying 'wife' or 'husband.'"

"I reckon you're right."

Ron reflects on the first time he called Hermione "wifey." It didn't feel weird at all, probably because it was a joke. Eventually, the joke just turned real.

"Hubby suits you better, anyway," says Hermione. She always seems to know what he's thinking, but he doesn't mind one bit.

"I agree, love." Even now, Hermione can still make his cheeks tinge red with a simple statement. "Are you enjoying the wedding?"

He can feel her nodding against his chest. "Yeah," she mumbles. "Although, it was a lot of work. Are you?"

Ron shrugs. "Ours was better, I think."

Hermione laughs. "I'm sure it was. Too bad we can't remember it."

Out of the corner of his eye, Ron can see Harry and Ginny embracing on the dance floor, surrounded by his grinning family. A spotlight shines on them, and at the sound of clinking glasses, they lock eyes and share a kiss. When they make contact, the bystanders whoop and whistle. "Maybe they should have gotten hitched in Vegas like us. This is a lot of commotion."

"Well, you know Harry and Ginny," says Hermione as she loosens her embrace to glance over at the couple. "They like their parties."

"They do," he says, tugging Hermione back into his arms. "What would you have done if this was your wedding?"

Ron expects Hermione to take some time for her answer, but surprisingly, she has one at the ready. "It would have been smaller. Maybe a live band instead of a D.J. And red velvet cake."

Ron smiles into her hair as she continues.

"I probably wouldn't have had a huge wedding party. Probably just a maid of honor. Intimate rooftop ceremony. I'd write my own vows. I even have photos of my dream dress."

Ron chuckles. "You have it all planned out."

"I never really planned it, I just knew." She's smiling when she pulls away and meets his eye, but her smile fades into a frown. "But seriously, I wouldn't change a thing."

She must have interpreted his pensive look as disappointment. "Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Let's plan it."

"Plan what?"

"Our rooftop wedding," he says as the color pink creeps up his neck.

"Ron, we're already married." Despite her deadpan tone, there's a twinkle in her eye and a soft smirk hiding behind her lips.

"Then let's get married again."

She narrows her eyes at him, and Ron can almost see the gears turning inside her head. "You don't think that would be a waste of time and money?"

"No. Not at all. Plus, I couldn't stop picturing you walking down the aisle today, and I'd love to see you in your dream dress."

She leans back and stares at him for a few moments, clearly running questions through her mind. When she finally speaks, her eyes are glassy with held-back tears, and a smile lifts her words. "You're serious?"

"Hermione Granger," he states in his most serious tone. "Will you marry me again?"

Their feet stop moving, and she bores her gaze into his. Her answer is swimming in her eyes, but he waits for her to verbalize it. "Of course I will. I'd marry you every day."

Ron barely has time to smile before she's pressing her lips against his. He responds so enthusiastically that it could very well be their first or thousandth kiss, lifting her gently off her feet. They're probably drawing attention to themselves, but Ron doesn't mind. It's like she's the only person in the room.

That seems to happen a lot.

Ron sets her back down and slides his hands down her arms, landing at her unadorned fingers. He rubs a thumb across her left hand, desperately wishing he had brought the ring. He didn't think to bring it to the wedding.

The ring — a modest emerald-cut solitaire in yellow gold, is still safely stashed in his bedside drawer, hidden by a few football magazines. He had a whole plan that didn't include a quiet proposal at someone else's wedding, but sometimes the best things in life are accidents.

"I have a ring, you know."

"You do?" she asks, her eyebrows raised. "You planned this?"

Ron laughs. "Well, sort of. But I wasn't planning on asking you tonight. Didn't want to steal anyone's thunder."

"When were you going to ask?"

He had it all planned out. A surprise candlelight dinner at their flat. A homemade cocktail — his best attempt at Liquid Luck. Slow-dancing in a dimly lit living room, furniture pushed against the wall to make room. Dropping to one knee in the middle of a dance. Strawberries and whipped cream. It would have been perfect.

But this is perfect too.

"I was going to propose six months in. Since that's when you can finally divorce me if you want to—"

"Right. Divorce," she scoffs. "When did you buy the ring?"

Ron averts his gaze when he answers. He hasn't planned on telling her this part. "In Las Vegas."

"That early?" she asks, her tone suspicious.

He nods.

"You knew you wanted to stay with me?"

"Of course, I did. Didn't you know, too?"

She smiles and answers him with another kiss. This time it's slow and loving, taking its time. Their bodies seem to melt together into one.

"That would have been so sweet," she says when they eventually break free.

"We can stick to the original plan if you'd prefer that—"

"No!" Her eyes widen as if she's afraid he'll take it back. "When have we ever followed plans?"

Ron grins. There it is — that spontaneous Hermione that only he gets to see. "And you were worried 'Vegas Hermione' would disappear completely," he says, tucking a hair behind her ear.

"I guess she's here to stay," says Hermione as she nestles her head into the crook of Ron's neck where it fits so perfectly. "I love you so much, Ron."

"I love you more, fiance."

Ron can't help but wince at her new title. 'Fiance' sounds just as odd as 'girlfriend,' and it'll only be true for a small fraction of their lives together — not enough time to get used to it.

"I still like 'wifey' better," she says as though reading his mind.

He does too. "Then I guess we have another wedding to plan."

"I guess we do," she says. "And what about our real wedding? Do you want to tell people?"

"Should we?"

"No," she says before securing her arms around his neck. "That wedding can stay ours."

Ron smiles as his lips meet hers. The desire for everyone to know is still there, but less so. They'll get to celebrate a 'real' wedding together, their guests blissfully ignorant of Ron and Hermione's little secret. It's a perfect plan, really.

Someday they might reveal the truth. They might let it slip in conversation, or accidentally admit it to Harry and Ginny after a few cocktails, or decide to tell their future children.

But until then, their original wedding can just be theirs.

*THE END*

[mysticgoblinwriter]

thor angst

this is for my boo's 500 follower writing challenge, it is angst as an ode bc @blackberrybucky is queen of angst

tw- bad relationship, but no domestic violence, swearing, one mention of the sex, shitty angst

18+

Two Weeks Ago

The door slammed shut, his boot steps getting fainter the more he walks away. The more he walks away from you.

‘Fine! Walk away, its all you know how to do anyways, I don’t know why I expected anything else!” You scream at the door, praying just a little he would come back. Deep down you knew he wasn’t, it had always been you crawling back. Always been you, scraping together what remained of you two after every fight. Never once had he tried. All those years, all those damn years and not a single ounce of effort from that man.

You collapse onto the greasy couch, not even crying. You were used to this.

You knew the routine pretty well by now. After drinking the local pub dry, Thor would fall asleep in his car. Thankfully it never left the parking lot. As always, the bartender took his keys. Thor would be back in about 22 hours with a bouquet of daises and amazing make up sex. In about 4 or so months the cycle would repeat, as it has for the past five years.

You. Were. Done.

Last Tuesday

“This apartment doesn’t have in-unit wash, but it does have a dishwasher and a parking spot.” You look around; this was your chance at a fresh start. As disgusting as it might be.

“Great. I’ll take it.” “But you haven’t even seen th-” You narrow your eyes and send a glare to the bald man. “I said. I will take it.”

Today

Thor was five feet away from you front window. He noticed the geraniums you set out in a pot. Not like her, he notes. The place was a drab beige, and needed a new roof.

He rings the doorbell and not five seconds later it opens.

“Hey, its okay if you’re late, I hear traffic’s a bit- What are you doing here?”

You grip the door until your knuckles turn opaque. “I was expecting a Grubhub delivery. You have three seconds to leave.” He splays his hands out, “Now wait justa minute! Can’t I talk to you? I wan-”

“No. Leave. Now, Thor.” He scoffs. “After all we’ve been through yo-”

“Don’t give me that shit! We are both terrible for each other.”

He smiles, as if remembering something he can almost reach out and touch.

“But weren’t there good times too?”

“Yes.” You hang your head down, ”Not enough.”

“If we’ll just try again, maybe with time.” He tries but his voice falls away.

“But just how long can I keep singing the same old song? How long? This is all we ever do. We fight, you leave, and I put us back together."

"That’s who we are. I’m done. I don’t ever want to see your face again, not unless its on the obituary page.”

With that, you slam you door.