#i feel like i stepped on someone elses foot for some reason

[stevie-petey]

i lied

The air is sweet between you, tender, though there’s a homesickness to it that neither of you can shake.  “Do you think we were doomed from the start?” You ask Peter as you continue to look up at the stars. You can’t take your eyes off of them. They’ve finally decided to spare you their beauty, their final dance just for you and Peter.  You feel him shrug. You’re both drunk and open and vulnerable. 

Summary: you and peter were drunk when you first fell in love at the edge of a rooftop. it was always going to end this way.

Rating: mature, slight cursing, suggestive themes but no real smut

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, underaged drinking, mentions of burns and scars, reader has boobs

Words: 14k

Before you swing in: who wouldve thought that itd take me over a year to write my first peter fic ?? me ! anyways, here she is and she was inspired by an absolutely evil playlist that my beloved val (@southelroy) made for me specifically to write to. the songs are very sad so pls blame her ! please enjoy, this one is long n bittersweet <3

-

Sticky July air clings to Peter’s skin. The dampness of it leaves everyone else’s skin slick with sweat as their bodies knock against his. Music reverberates the apartment walls and Peter’s senses are going haywire.

He never attends parties for this very reason. They’re an overstimulating nightmare full of people who make him want to scream. 

Peter’s skin vibrates uncomfortably as he’s surrounded by a haze of drunken teenagers and sloppy movements. His eardrums sting when a girl next to him screeches something about needing another drink. The back of his fingers burn when said girl drops her new drink and he finds himself catching it before it can spill. 

“Woah,” the girl giggles, breath reeking of alcohol as she presses against Peter and paws at the drink he’s saved. “My hero.”

All Peter offers her is a tight lipped smile. The flashing of the lights are making him nauseous and he really doesn’t understand why he allowed Ned to drag him here tonight. He hands the girl her drink and shoves his way through the crowd, anxious to find his friend before he has a complete meltdown.

In the time it takes to find Ned, the guy is already incredibly drunk, and Peter has to take several deep breaths to calm himself down. 

“I thought you said you wouldn’t drink tonight,” is all he says to Ned, ducking his head down so that he can be heard over the music. 

Ned’s head almost knocks into Peter’s and he gives him a wide, messy smile that matches his glassy eyes and slurred speech. “Peter! What’re you doin’ here?”

“You dragged me here, remember?”

“No way!” Ned laughs gleefully, as if this is all some silly instance that warrants amusement. “That’s-that’s crazy, man. You’re like. Super strong! How’d I drag you?”

Peter runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “By guilt tripping me with us going to different schools soon, Ned. You made a whole deal about it.”

“Wait,” Ned’s eyes widen. “We’re goin’ to different schools?” 

“Alright, that’s it.” Peter grabs the teen’s shoulders and forces him to look in his eyes. He knows that whatever he’s going to say to Ned will be long forgotten tomorrow, but he doesn’t care. “We’re going home. This is stupid–”

“Peter!” Ned groans his name, long and child-like. He would stomp his foot if he could, but in his drunken state all he can manage is a slight wobbly step and pout. “We jus’ got here. Loosen up! Someone brought this yummy pink flavored drink and it’s–” he hiccups, startling himself, before continuing with his ramble. “It’s really good.”

“I don’t want to drink anything that’s ‘pink’ flavored.” Peter tries to push Ned through the crowd and out the front door, but the tiny apartment is overflowing with people and it’s damn near impossible to even take a step. 

Cursing under his breath, Peter looks around wearily. “This is definitely a fire hazard.”

“The obscene amount of alcohol or the sheer volume of people?” A voice from behind him says. “Either way, this apartment is definitely a fire hazard.”

Peter spins around, heart beating in his chest. For years now he’s relied on his senses to tell him where everyone is around him, but now, as he stands in front of a girl he’s never seen before, he’s disarmed. 

“Then again, it seems unfair to disqualify the fact that this building is in no way up to the city’s fire code. I mean, did you see the broken sprinkler system in the hallway?” In your hand is a bright blue solo cup, its color vibrant against the dark. You bring it to your lips, eyes never leaving Peter’s, and smile from above the brim as you drink. 

You’re waiting for him to say something, Peter realizes. 

“I, uh. Didn’t.” He breathes out, overwhelmed already with your presence. You’re standing really close to him now, almost as if you recognize him by the way you’re so familiar with his space, yet Peter is sure he would remember a face like yours in every lifetime he came across it.

“Not a man of words, are you?” You say, stepping even closer to him. 

Peter swallows heavily. His heart is racing and he forgets that he’s supposed to be taking Ned home. Distantly he wonders where his friend has slipped away to, but for now, with you in front of him, all Peter can think about is how strongly the scent of your perfume invades his senses in a dizzying manner. 

“I–” He can’t breathe. You’re so close and there are bodies everywhere and Peter is convinced that this is some type of purgatory because he’s in hell where your face resembles an angel that the gospels wail over. 

“It’s okay,” you step even closer to Peter, and now he can smell the woody undertones of your perfume. He has to stop himself from inhaling too deeply. “I can do all the talking for us. I’m Y/N, and no, I don’t come here often. This is my first time, actually.”

“I-I’m Peter,” he manages to laugh, small and amused as he unravels before you. “Do people really use that line on you?”

“Hello, Peter.” You smile even wider saying his name. “And you’d be surprised. It’s awful, so I figured I’d spare you the embarrassment.”

“Seems you’ve saved me, then.” Peter isn’t sure where this comes from or why talking to you puts him at ease. Your voice almost seems to dull the roar in his head. 

He can’t get enough of it. 

“Why don’t you repay me by getting me another drink?” This close, Peter can see flecks of glitter that line your eyelids. The movement of light behind you rains incandescent blues and reds across them. 

“Well?” You tilt your head at him, expecting an answer, and he knows he’s already lost. 

Peter’s hand lands on your waist. The flesh there is exposed, your shirt having ridden up slightly during your conversation. You’re warm, soft. Peter can’t help but squeeze the skin beneath his fingers and when you shiver, his heartbeat finally settles. 

“Let’s get you that drink.”

– 

Peter has spent a lot of time on rooftops. It’s a part of the job description, hanging around the tops of deserted buildings as he patrols. Senses on high alert. Waiting for a scream or a lonely passerby to trail home and ensure they remain safe. 

On every rooftop Peter has been on, he’s always felt a sense of unease. Even with his webbing and ability to stick to surfaces, he’s never been able to get past the feeling that one day he will slip and there won’t be anything to catch him. He would simply fall; there wouldn’t be anything he could do to save himself. 

Yet tonight, drunk and infatuated with you, Peter is on a rooftop dangling over the edge with a security he’s never felt before. 

“God, I hate rich people.” 

Peter’s head turns to you, his movements slow and messy. He’s lost count of how many drinks you’ve both had. “Why’s that?”

Your hands motion towards the sky, your movements also uncontrolled and childish. “The stars, dude. They’re all gone and it’s all their fault.”

Peter laughs, looking up as he lays on the ground with you next to him. Originally the plan had been to sneak up onto the rooftop and lay down together and stargaze. In your drunken states, it had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time. Romantic, even.

Both of you forgot that you live in New York and that the stars always remain hidden behind clouds and smoke. 

“I don’t think they deserve all the credit,” Peter lazily responds. The July heat makes the night air thick and warm, but the alcohol in his system makes everything more tolerable. Especially with you next to him. “I mean, didn’t society doom the stars from the start?”

“That sounds very philosophical,” your head lands on his chest, and he curls into you. “And normally I love philosophical-ness, but I’m drunk and you smell good and it’s making my head all fuzzy.”

“Fuzzy?”

“Fuzzy.” You’re giggling now and Peter finds himself giggling with you. 

One of your hands rests against your chest and Peter reaches for it, the itch of being closer to you driving him insane. His fingers interlock through yours and your palm is flush against his and Peter thinks his hands were made to hold yours.

You hum at the contact, moving your body against his. You link one of your legs over Peter’s and angle your body so that you’re practically laying on him and his heart thumps every time you move. 

“‘Doomed from the start’,” you murmur Peter’s earlier words, lips dragging across his t-shirt. “Think everythin’ is like that?”

The numbness of the alcohol suddenly wears off. Peter stiffens slightly at your question and every cell in his body constricts. The reaction far exceeds the question, he knows this, but he’s reminded of everything he was trying to forget tonight. 

In a lot of ways, Peter does think his life was doomed from the start. The loss he’s experienced, responsibility he never asked for, an entire city to look after. All before the age of fifteen. 

“Peter?” 

He doesn’t look at you, and you think he hasn’t even heard your soft questioning. When you first saw him lost in the crowd, it had been his naivety that drew you to him in the first place. How delicate Peter’s face was, the way his eyes seemed to hold lifetimes unbeknownst to anyone.

Now, staring up at him after his body has gone cold from your mindless question, all that you see is a hardness in Peter’s face. Stone-like and secluded. A hurt and loneliness that sculptors yearn to replicate. 

“Is everythin’ okay?” Your hand comes up to his face, gently coaxing him to look at you. “Did I lose you over there?”

The tender way you hold his face rattles Peter’s ribcage. He exhales shakily, shyly, and to ease the worry that’s creased your brows, he places a kiss on your palm. “I’m fine… Still here.”

It isn’t enough for you, though. “Did my question offend you?”

“No,” he’s quick to reassure you, kissing your palm once again. “No, ‘course not. Just… caught me by surprise. That's all.”

“Too philosophical?” 

The adorable way your eyebrows scrunch in concentration lessens the remaining sting in Peter’s chest. He draws you in, wraps you around him so that he can feel all of you. “Not at all. I don’t think everythin’ is doomed from the start. Do you?”

Your head falls back against his chest. He feels you exhale deeply, yawn, before wrapping your arms tighter around him. “No,” you say sleepily. “I like to think this isn’t doomed.”

Peter pokes your nose. “What isn’t doomed?”

Your smile melts into his bones. It’s mischievous and teasing, holding the vague words to your chest, and you don’t let him in on your secret. Instead, you admire how pretty Peter looks under the moonlight. 

“What’re you starin’ at?” He asks you, voice hoarse and quiet. 

Your eyes roam the length of his neck, down the angle of his nose, across the moles that line his face and the eyelashes that fan his eyes. They’re a warm, deep brown. Almost black in the dim lighting. Youthful, trusting, yet guarded. 

Alcohol blurs your vision and yet you know that Peter is the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen. 

“I kinda like your face,” you breathe out, hands coming up to cup his cheek. 

Peter leans into the touch with an almost embarrassing air of vulnerability. You’re warm. He forgets what the two of you were even talking about in the first place. “You like my face?”

You hum. “It’s charming. You’re charming.”

His face burns from your words. Something within him screams at him to run, to make up an excuse and leave you and the blurred lines alone. But he can’t. He finds that he doesn’t want to ever leave you alone. 

“Handsome,” your breath fans his face now, lips ghosting over the edges of his cheek. “Really handsome.” 

Peter doesn’t breathe. He’s worried that if he does, he’ll scare you away.

“I like your face,” your entire body rests on top of his. Your shirt rides up again and Peter has to bite his lip at the urge to grab the exposed skin. You notice this and you press your face against the base of his neck. “It’s a good face.”

“Yeah?” He’s overwhelmed with the possibility of you.

“Can I kiss it?” You ask him sweetly, honeyed and warm. You’ve never kissed anyone before. No one has ever left you wondering how their lips would feel against yours until tonight. 

Peter swallows hard. His ribcage threatens to crack open. He’s never kissed anyone either, but he really, really wants to try with you. You’re staring up at him with open and wide eyes and it’s over before it’s even really begun. 

He grips the back of your neck and you taste like the sweet strawberry daiquiri he’s poured for you all night. The taste of it emboldens Peter, craving more of it, and his hesitancy morphs into something deeper, darker. He holds your face between his hands and drinks from your lips as you take everything from him. 

The kiss is a combination of every contrasting conjunction Peter can think of. Rushed and slow. Soft and hard. The kiss is perfect in a way that only something messy and needy can create. 

Your hands find their way under Peter’s shirt, nails scratching the sensitive skin kept hidden. He shivers, kisses you harder, swallowing the laughter that pours from you. The sound of it makes Peter’s head spin. He squeezes your ass, creating a dizzying pressure against his jeans, and soon your teasing laughter turns a breathy moan.

“There you are,” he sighs against your open mouth. He rolls his hips up, hisses when you land right where he needs you. “Stay right there for me, sweetheart.”

You muffle a moan against Peter’s neck, biting at any skin you can reach. “I’ll stay,” you whisper over and over again; a promise that won’t be recognized until it’s broken.

The rest of the night is spent exploring each other’s skin and drawing sweet sounds from parted mouths. In the early morning sunlight, something sacred is formed. When your head lands against Peter’s chest for the final time that night, the finality of it is lighter than the weight of everything else that sits within it. 

Neither of you knows who ends up falling asleep first. Peter thinks it was you, he remembers playing with the strands of your hair for a while before his eyelids became too heavy. You swear that it was him, remembering the steady heartbeat beneath you slowing to a quiet rhythm. 

Regardless, when the two of you do wake up the next morning, you greet the other with laughter and teasing. There is no awkwardness from the night before; only something delicate. 

“Thank you for sacrificing your back for me,” your arms stretch above your head, the muscles pulling taut. Peter can hear something crack and you wince under your breath. “I obviously already have enough back problems as it is.”

“Who said I willingly served as your pillow last night?” Peter tries to fix his hair, though he knows it’s no use. “You could’ve tricked me into it.”

“I’m trying to praise you here, Peter.”

“Horrible mistake on your part.” 

You laugh, and the way you do so is still as open and carefree as Peter remembers it being from the night before. His chest warms, everything is so easy with you. Gentle and lovely. 

Before he can convince himself not to, Peter grabs your hand and kisses the back of it, and in doing so, he laces his fingers through yours. In the daylight, he sees how pink your cheeks get when you blush. 

“C’mon,” he stands up, arms instinctively wrapping around you to help you stand. “I’m sure whoever owns this rooftop will kill us if we stay up here any longer.”

You roll your eyes, though you accept Peter’s help and allow him to guide you back downstairs. “As if Veronica’s landlord even remembers that he owns this building.”

“Veronica?”

You frown at Peter. “Veronica Haynes?” When he shrugs helplessly at you, your frown deepens. “The girl who threw the party? The one we literally attended last night?”

“No idea who she is.” He’s sheepish, desperately hoping that he isn’t insulting a girl who might be your friend. “I-I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry, buddy.” You pat Peter’s shoulder sarcastically. “I’m just really confused as to how you even got into the party if you don’t know the host.”

He opens the building’s door, revealing the summer morning heat as the two of you start walking down the block. “My friend Ned invited me. Said he knew a girl who attended Rockefeller High through his AV club who was throwing a party. Guess that was Veronica?”

“AV club,” you snort. “Bringing people together since the dawn of nerds.”

“Hey, I used to be in the AV club.”

“And my point still stands.”

Peter shoves you lightly, causing you to stumble into him, and he laughs when you shriek in terror. You whip around to face him, eyes alight, before he holds his hands up in surrender. “Easy, now. I was just defending my honor.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you knock your shoulder against his. “Otherwise we’d have some serious problems.”

Peter sticks his tongue out at you, throwing an arm over your shoulders and pulling you close. He’s sure May is expecting him home soon, but he doesn’t want to say goodbye to you. 

“So,” Peter says, kissing the top of your head. “Where am I taking you?”

“Ideally? France. Realistically? Home.”

“Home I can do,” he sways your bodies side to side, zigzagging across the sidewalk playfully. He tries to ignore the disappointment of walking you home. “I’ll need an address though, sweetheart.”

Even though Peter is a stranger with a last name that is unknown to you, you tell him where you live. He walks with you the entire eight blocks. Not once are either of you quiet. Reminiscent of the night before, you talk about everything and nothing as his arms remain around you. 

Peter asks about where you went to school, how Rockefeller compared to Midtown. You ask him what his favorite word is, if he’s ever regretted a haircut that he couldn’t hide. The two of you gossip about shared classmates and the colleges they’ve chosen, and inevitably you realize that come fall, you’ll both be attending Empire State University. 

“Guess we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other, then.” You’re at your apartment building now, though you linger, not wanting to let go of Peter just yet.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He raises an eyebrow at you, not wanting to let go of you, either. 

“Never said it was.”

Peter smirks at you. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Your nose brushes his before you kiss him. Unlike last night, this time he tastes slightly salty, earthy. His lips are chapped, rough around the edges, and you can’t get enough of it. But you have to leave, soon your mom will be wondering where you are.

You finally pull away, lips tingling. “I’ll be waiting.”

Peter smiles wide, and unable to help it, you kiss him one more time, then two more, then three, before you’re lost in it all over again. 

“Just…” Pulling away again, you look at Peter and find the hesitancy in his eyes has returned. “Don’t make me wait too long, okay?

But almost as if you’ve imagined it, the hesitancy is gone. Instead, Peter smiles wide at you. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

– 

When Peter first revealed to May that he’d been accepted to every college he applied to, she hugged him tightly and rambled about how proud she was for five straight minutes. 

Then, when he told her that he’d be choosing Empire State over MIT in order to continue being Spider-Man, May hit the back of his head. 

“Patrolling every night while balancing chem labs and papers?” She had laughed right in Peter’s face. “You’ll be wishing you were dead before the first semester even ends.”

Unfortunately, as usual, May had been right. 

“Drink up,” a steaming mug gets placed in front of Peter. Its warmth seeps into the air and tickles his face, lazily coaxing his exhausted eyes to open. 

You wink playfully at him when you see that he’s finally opened his eyes. Setting down your own mug, you join Peter at the kitchen table. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

“Guessing I fell asleep at the table again?” Peter rubs his eyes, yawning. He isn’t surprised that you’ve let yourself into his dorm. He gave you a key the same day you gave him his. 

After spending the night on the rooftop in July, the two of you became inseparable. Dinner excursions, museum hopping, movie nights at your apartment, anything to stay together in the wonderfully intoxicating world you built together. 

Nothing changed when school began. If anything, the close proximity to one another and shared classes only made the two of you more unbearable. You joined the same clubs, befriended the same classmates, and now spend every waking second with the other. 

“Found you face down when I walked in, so.” You laugh at him, flicking his ear. “We’ve been in school for a month and you’re already falling apart.”

“Don’t remind me.” Peter drops his head back down onto the table. Peter’s roommate, Jude, is out of town for fall break, so at least he was spared the embarrassment of anyone else seeing him like this. “I just wanted to finish my lab report.”

“And did you?”

“No.” 

Though he really did mean to get work done last night. Peter had gotten back from patrol early specifically so he could at least format the report. Instead, his exhaustion won in the end. Again. For the fifth time this week.

Peter should really start listening to May. 

Your fingers tangle in his hair. “Poor baby,” scratching his scalp, you slowly begin to massage the tense skin. “If only you came to my dorm instead like I so graciously offered.”

“Y/N.” Peter tries to sound stern, but he finds himself sighing into your touch. Your words leak into his bones. He doesn’t want to give them a response, knowing that if he does, then he’ll spend the rest of the morning in bed with you. 

“All I’m saying Peter is that you could’ve spent a sleepless night with me instead of orgo.”

“I told you I couldn’t,” he winces, turning his head to look at you. “I’m convinced my professor is trying to kill me with this report.”

Which isn’t a total lie. He really does think he’s going to die at the hands of organic chemistry one way or another, but truthfully the reason Peter turned you down was because he had to patrol. 

You hum, stroking his cheek. “I’d admire your devotion to academia if it wasn’t so pathetic.”

“Finding me passed out on the kitchen table is a turn off?”

“Utterly so, lovely.”

Peter’s cheeks burn deeply at the pet name. You started using it the second week of sleeping together, whispering it against his ear so softly that he wasn’t sure he had heard you at first. As if he wouldn't be able to hear you over everything. 

You aren’t together. At least, not really. Sure, Peter spends most nights with you on his tongue, but he doesn’t stay. The moment he’s done, the moment you pull apart, he kisses your forehead goodbye and is patrolling thirty minutes later. He doesn’t tell you where he goes, and you don’t ask. 

The space Peter places between you in his life and Spider-Man is deliberate. It’s how it has to be. Even if neither of you are willing to talk about it.

“I’ll make it up to you later,” he grabs your hand and kisses it, silently apologizing for the lies you’re unaware of. “Scout’s honor.”

“Please don’t reference the Boy Scouts while flirting with me.”

Peter laughs and it’s the first time he’s done so since leaving your dorm yesterday afternoon. He tries not to think about how he only ever seems to smile these days because of you. Everything is easier, lighter, with you. 

After finishing your coffee, Peter helps you make breakfast. There isn’t much in his fridge, always inexplicably empty, but it’s become a sort of tradition between you. Quiet mornings at Peter’s dorm, using Jude’s coffee machine and toaster to make misshapen eggs and toast. The two of you work smoothly around the other, working together without saying anything. Synched and harmonious in a way only old habits can create.

“Gwen asked about you again yesterday,” you say, cracking an egg onto the pan Peter has already warmed up. “Says she expects you to be at her party tonight.”

“Is that so?” Peter hums, not really paying attention as he grabs his own egg to crack. 

“Yup.” Hot oil bubbles and move your hand quickly away. “I think she has a small crush on you.”

Peter looks at you, unsure how to gauge what you’ve just said. He finds that you aren’t even looking at him as you say this. Instead your gaze is focused on the eggs, watching to make sure they don’t burn. Your expression is cool, body relaxed. 

“Oh.” He stupidly says. It’s all he can come up with.

It’s not like Peter didn’t suspect Gwen’s feelings for him. He met her through his physics lecture and thought she was interesting enough. Similar to you with cunning eyes and a quick mouth. He had invited her out to coffee with you after class, figuring the two of you would get along, but the tension that followed told Peter that he had made a grave mistake. 

“You sound like I’m holding you at gunpoint, Peter.” You hit your hip against his, laughing. “Relax. I think it’s cute that she thinks has a chance.”

Peter nearly drops the egg he’s holding, making a pathetic squeaking sound when he scrambles to save it. You watch his reaction with interest in your eyes, lips turn upwards in amusement. 

He coughs, hitting his chest to try and dispel everything unspoken that gets stuck in his sternum. “She-uh. She doesn’t?”

You brush your hair over your shoulder, perfume invading Peter’s senses. Neck exposed, you tilt your head to the side and stare up at him. Eyes dark and wanting, Peter’s body draws to you without being commanded to.

When you have him right where you want him, head dangling down to try and kiss you, you whisper. “She doesn’t stand a chance, Peter Parker. Want to know how I know?”

He shivers. “Yes.” Voice weak and wanting. 

You lean in close, lips poised to his ear as if about to tell him a secret, before suddenly the warmth of you is gone. Peter is left grasping at air, and you’re across from him once again, giggling at what you’ve done. Cheeks flushed, pleased with yourself, you go turn the stove’s burner off and grab a plate for you and him to share. 

“That wasn’t funny, sweetheart.” Peter complains, helping you set the table. 

“You’re right.” Setting down the plate, you hand him a fork and sit. “It wasn’t funny. It was hilarious.”

Peter throws a napkin at you and you erupt into giggles again. He sits down next to you and nudges his fork against yours. You retaliate, stealing the piece of egg he’d been trying to get. It goes on like this for a while, eating together and sharing the small plate that has become a battle ground. 

“Do you really think Gwen doesn’t stand a chance?” Peter asks you, shoving the final bite of food towards you. He isn’t sure why he’s brought the conversation back up, or if he even wants to know your answer.

Yet, as you always do, you answer him with a quick thought and clever smile. All you ever seem to do is leave Peter standing at the edge of a cliff, holding his breath, anticipating a fall. 

“Lovely, orgo is going to kill you before she can ever sink her claws into you.”

It isn’t the answer Peter is expecting. There’s a slight sense of disappointment, but it gets masked behind his amusement as he snorts at what you’ve said. 

“Don’t jinx it, please.” Peter kisses your forehead, getting up from the table to start the dishes. “I’ve grown rather fond of annoying you.” 

“I think you’ve just grown fond of me.” You murmur, catching his hand before he can walk away. Your touch burns his skin, the hidden meaning behind your words chokes him. 

You understand Peter in a way that seeps terror into his bones. There are things you don’t know, that you can’t know about him, and yet you seem to always welcome the secrets with a warm embrace. Never questioning them. Never leaving.

It’s this warm embrace that first drew Peter to you. The solace in case he falls. Sometimes he wonders if this acceptance and way of seeing under his skin will hurt you in the end. 

“I’ll wash, you dry?” You spare Peter the trouble of admitting anything to you, grabbing the plate from him and turning the faucet on. 

Your face is neutral, content. As if you haven’t just toed the line. Hands under soapy water, you hum to yourself, the acknowledgement of Peter’s presence gone. 

– 

That night the two of you do end up attending Gwen’s party. Peter finishes his lab report earlier than expected and you end up outlining an essay a week ahead of schedule. 

Gwen’s apartment is huge, a penthouse in Chelsea that is almost impractical for her to have all to herself. All your friends will be there, alcohol is always provided, and the music is bearable. In all honesty, the only downside of attending would be the host herself.

“It’ll be fun.” You straighten Peter’s shirt, delaying the inevitable of ringing the doorbell and seeing Gwen’s delicate face. 

“Famous last words.”

You hit his chest and he clutches his heart, feigning pain. Rolling your eyes at him, you breathe through your nose and finally ring the doorbell. Music can be heard through the thick walls already and you think you can hear someone shriek in excitement when the bell rings. 

“Y/N!” Lily screeches when she opens the door. Suddenly she throws her body around you and Peter has to grab your hips to prevent you and the girl from tumbling over. “We missed you!”

“Hi, Lily.” You wheeze out with a laugh, touched by her sincerity. “How many drinks have you had already?”

“Only two.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m just excited to see you!”

“I’m here too, you know.” Peter playfully glares at the girl. “Not that you seem to care.” 

“Oh, I couldn’t care less,” Lily looks at him, smug. “But you know who might care a bit too much?”

“Is that Peter?” Gwen’s shrill voice cuts through the conversation. The music immediately gets turned down and the click of her heels announces that she’s already on her way over.

Lily sighs. “She’s found you.”

Peter gulps and you laugh at his misery. Looping your arm through Lily’s, you spin her around and leave him to fend for himself. You flee the scene just as Gwen arrives, perfume heavy as she clutches at Peter’s shirt. 

“What took you so long?” She purrs, ignoring you entirely as you leave.

Peter cranes his neck, nervous to let you out of his sight. He only came here tonight because you asked him to, and now you’ve abandoned him to deal with Gwen all alone. 

He should’ve seen it coming, honestly. 

“Y/N and I had some work to finish up.” Explains Peter, forcing a smile on his face. “Actually, she’s the only reason I’m here right now.”

Gwen’s seductive smile drops, quickly replaced with a scowl. With a huff, she turns around, not even bothering to say anything else to him. She leaves just as suddenly as she came, and Peter is left exhaling deeply, longing for you once more. 

He finds you with Lily and Harry, head thrown back mid-laugh as rum spills down your hand. Lily is saying something and Harry is looking at you with fondness in his eyes that makes Peter’s stomach twist. 

“Harry, back me up here.” Lily begs him, forcing him to look away from you. “You agree that Y/N should email her hot TA, right?”

“Sounds pretty unethical to me.” He knocks his drink with yours. “Isn’t he like, twenty-five?”

“Which would mean he has money, Harry.”

“You do realize my last name is Osborn, right? If you’re looking for money–”

Peter rushes to break up the conversation. “Okay!” He wraps a protective arm around you, exchanging a silent glance with Harry. “What are we talking about?”

Lily stifles her knowing laughter with her drink, but you don’t bother to hide your amusement over Peter’s poorly hidden motives. Sending Harry an apologetic smile, you lean against Peter’s body and offer him your drink. 

“According to Lily, I should ask out the TA I was telling you about,” then you point your drink at Harry. “And this one over here is yet again bragging about his rich father.”

He shrugs. “Isn’t that the whole point of generational wealth? Being able to brag about it?”

“Some would say it’s donating money to those who need it.” 

You elbow Peter’s side. “Ignore him. He’s just upset that I’m not giving him enough attention tonight.”

Harry snorts seeing the blood drain from Peter’s face and Lily cackles into her drink. You raise your drink towards them, laughing as well, and all Peter can do is shake his head at you fondly and tug at your side. 

“C’mon, you little menace.” 

“Where’re you taking me?” You try to resist, wanting to spend more time with your friends, but Peter’s hands are warm and his cologne is addicting. You leave without really meaning to, missing the pointed looks Harry and Lily share. 

Peter grabs your hand. “To the rooftop. Apparently you haven’t given me enough attention tonight?”

Your breath catches, stomach alight with desire, and you nearly stumble in your haste to follow after him. Rooftops have become something only for you and him. Whether it be at a party, inside the university’s library, or bored in your dorms, you always end up on a rooftop together. An homage to the night that started it all. 

The second the October air kisses your face, Peter is already kissing yours. 

He inhales you, lips aching and fast against your wanting ones. He doesn’t waste any time having you all to himself. His hands are everywhere, gripping your waist, squeezing your thighs, cupping your breast. Anywhere he can touch, anywhere that elicits soft moans from you that he adores. 

You let Peter do whatever to you. Allowing him to set the pace, to swallow the sounds he draws from your lips, to hold your hips against his and grind. When his hair gets caught in your fingers, every tug causes him to push harder against you. 

Peter uses his senses to find the nearest wall, desperate for more friction. He’s needy, he can’t get enough of you, and the moment your body lands on the wall Peter is moaning against your mouth. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he sighs into your neck, your entire body moving with his. He rolls his hips, feels the sweet heat between your thighs that he craves. “Fuck.”

Teeth graze your neck as Peter places his knee where you need it most. You throw your head back, moving even faster against him. He pinches your nipple through the fabric that traps it, sucking your lip with every gasp. 

“Stars,” you tug Peter’s hair harder, forcing him away. “The-the stars.”  

He makes an offended noise. “What?”

“There are stars.” Your heartbeat hasn’t slowed down yet. 

“Okay…?” Peter looks up, confused as to why you’re focusing on the stars when he has you throbbing underneath him. 

But then he sees it. Everywhere, across the entire sky, there are stars. Millions of them, more than he’s ever seen in his entire life. More than New York has ever had enough room for in its smoke infested skies. They glow bright. Winking down at Peter as if to say, about time, right?

“Oh, my God,” Peter can’t believe it. He’s spent endless nights patrolling under a dark sky. “Where’d they come from?”

“This might sound crazy, but I think stars are from space.” Peter pinches your waist in retaliation. You twist your body away, trying to avoid his attack. “Hey!”

“You know what I meant.”

You don’t respond, choosing to rest your arms around Peter’s neck and play with his hair; your eyes trace the sky. “We never did get to stargaze that night.”

The night you met. 

Peter draws you into him. Your head is against his chest. He kisses your forehead, staring up at the sky above as well. “Maybe the stars aren’t so doomed after all.”

He feels your laugh more than he hears it. The earlier desperation is gone. Your touch doesn’t burn Peter’s skin anymore and his lips don’t tempt you to open them. Instead, the two of you relish in the quiet together. A moment alone with only the stars as a witness. 

After the cold has set in and you ask to go inside, Peter finds that he no longer fears the rooftop’s edge. 

– 

Your parents announce that they’re spending Thanksgiving in Hawaii the day you’re supposed to go home for break. 

The announcement doesn’t necessarily surprise you, nor their lack of remorse for leaving you alone during the holiday. What surprises you in the end is the fact that they actually inform you before deserting you. 

Seems there’s a first time for everything. 

“Have you packed yet?” Peter asks you while he digs through his closet for clothes to bring home. “You leave in like an hour.”

You sit on his bed. “Nope.”

“Don’t you think you’re cutting it a little close?”

“Not really.”

“So you’re just going to pack when your parents get here?”

“They aren’t coming here.”

Peter pauses. He pokes his head out the closet and looks at you. “Are you taking the train home, then?”

“No.”

Your shoulders are drawn in. You avoid Peter’s concerned eyes, but he joins you on the bed anyways. You’ve never really talked about your parents, but beneath the indifference you’ve always presented, Peter has pieced together the hurt that keeps it in place.

“You’re not going home for Thanksgiving.” He doesn’t say it with any pity or accusation. 

You let out a bitter laugh. “Thanksgiving in Hawaii. Who knew that was a thing?”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Peter’s parents died a long time ago, but he can’t imagine the pain of losing parents you never really had in the first place.

“It’s fine.” Your voice doesn’t hold its usual confident cadence. “I mean. Guess now I have time to start prepping for finals. We have to present a case study for physics, remember?”

Peter can’t believe that you’re trying to spin this into some academic advantage. “There’s no way I’m letting you spend Thanksgiving break alone.”

“Not really much of a choice, buddy.”

He laughs at you. When you try to ask him what’s so funny, Peter shushes you and pulls out his phone. “Watch this.”

“What–”

“Hey, May!” 

You don’t move from the bed, terrified of the scene before you. Peter paces the room, chats with his aunt about his packing progress and when to expect him, before he turns to you with an evil grin. “By the way, May. My friend doesn’t have anyone to spend Thanksgiving with. What are your thoughts on that?”

Twenty minutes later you’re in a taxi heading to Queens with Peter’s smug grin bearing down at you. 

“Stop looking so amused.”

He flicks your forehead. As if he was going to let you win. “You’re so naive. It’s cute.”

May Parker is what you can only imagine the word “warmth” would be if it were a person. She’s soft, maternal and lovely, but there’s also a bite to her that cautions you to do as she says without argument. 

You fall in love with her the moment she shoves past Peter to hug you first.

“It’s so good to finally meet you!” May squeals, still holding you in one arm while she snaps her fingers at her nephew. “Peter, get her bags. Don’t just stand there.”

“Yeah, Peter. Get my bags.”

You stick your tongue out at him, pleased, and he rolls his eyes. Peter isn’t upset, though. If anything, he’s missed being commanded by May. He enjoys it even more now that she has you to help her order him around. 

“Yes, dears.” He says dryly, leaving you and May to talk as he gets the rest of your things and his. 

“You raised him so well, May.”

“Oh, he’s only being nice to me because you’re here.”

Peter sighs. He’s already resolved himself to a long week. He takes your things to his room, figuring that’s where May has planned for you to go anyways. There isn’t a guest room in their small apartment, and she knows that you’re special to him. While he hasn’t told his aunt the specific details, she understands that Peter really likes you.

“Peter Parker, don’t you dare unpack your things in your room.” May’s stern command causes Peter to jump. She stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest with you next to her. “You’re not sleeping here.”

He blinks slowly. “I’m… not?” 

“No. Y/N, honey, you can take his bed.” May turns to Peter. “As for you, you’ll be sleeping on the couch.”

Peter looks at her as if she’s crazy. “May!”

“I can take the couch, Mrs. Parker–” You also jump in, struck by a sense of intruding. You feel bad enough for barging into their home, but kicking Peter out of his bed feels extreme.

“I don’t want to hear it.” May holds her hands up at the two of you. “Like you said, I raised my nephew right. He’ll sleep on the couch, you’ll sleep in the room. There will be no sharing of beds so long as you’re under my roof.”

You cover your mouth, terrified of her implications. Peter’s face is on fire and he coughs awkwardly.  “Mrs. Parker, Peter and I aren’t–”

“This conversation is done.” May claps her hands together. “Now, who wants to help me bake some cookies?”

–

Unknown to you, the Parker apartment regularly hosts a Thanksgiving feast for all of Peter’s friends. It’s tradition, and there’s a warm tug in your stomach at the idea that you’re now a part of it. 

You meet Ned first. He’s a sweet guy, a bit shy, and he spends the entire time talking to Peter about the latest Star Wars installment and stories from MIT. His girlfriend Betty is a sweetheart who asks you nonstop questions about who you are and what you do. Flash is loud and obnoxious and you have to throw a roll of bread at him to get him to shut up, but eventually he grows on you and you offer him some advice regarding his girlfriend back home. MJ is quiet, but interesting, and towards the end of the night you end up sharing analyses regarding your favorite poets together.

As for Peter, his eyes don’t leave you the entire night. 

He watches how easily you get along with the people he loves the most. How you’re patient with Ned’s stammering shyness, how you entertain Betty’s journalistic interests, that you manage to defend yourself against Flash, and how MJ opens up to you within minutes. 

Peter has never let anyone see into this part of his life so intimately. Without fear and unease. Everyone falls in love with you that night, and, one night years from now, Peter will realize that this is the night he fell in love with you, too. 

“She’s great,” May hands him a plate to wash, looking over her shoulder to admire you as you talk to everyone in the living room. 

“She is.” Peter smiles down at his hands, shy. 

May grabs another plate, clearing any leftover food on it before handing it to her nephew. “Are you going to patrol tonight?”

“I have to,” he sighs. “It’s a holiday. You know how people can get.”

May doesn’t give him a response. She only hands him more dishes to wash so that she can store leftovers for tomorrow. They work quietly together side by side, neither disrupting the silence. Peter knows that May is still uncomfortable with Spider-Man, and she knows that he will never give it up.

“Does Y/N know?” 

Peter’s body freezes. He doesn’t look up at May, afraid that if he does, he’ll collapse. 

“No.” He coughs slightly. “She doesn’t.”

“She’s smart, Peter. You have to know that she’ll figure it out eventually.” She isn’t disappointed in him. Not really. May understands that there are aspects of being Spider-Man that she will never agree with.

Peter drops his head. “I know.”

“Then why haven’t you told her?”

He doesn’t know how to answer his aunt. How can he explain to her that the reason Peter kissed you that July is because you quelled the roar in his head? That being with you is easy and nothing in his life has ever been easy. That when he’s with you, Peter can pretend that he’s normal. That death doesn’t hang over his head every day. 

There’s a quiet that comes with being with you, and all Peter’s life there has only been excessive noise and thunder. 

If Peter tells you who he is, he’s terrified that the quiet will fade and all that will be left is blinding sound.

“It’s too dangerous for Y/N to know.” And it isn’t a lie. The more people who know his identity, the more people Peter is putting in danger. 

His aunt pinches the bridge of her nose. “And what about me? Ned and MJ? Why do they get to know, but not Y/N?”

“That’s different.” It isn’t. Not anymore. But his hands are shaking and Peter has to remind himself to breathe. 

May sees his loss of composure and she finally backs down, placing a comforting hand on her nephew’s arm. She rubs small circles, rhythmic and soothing, just like she used to do when he was a little kid.

“I only want what’s best for you, Peter.” She kisses his hair, though he’s grown since she’s last seen him and it isn’t as easy to do anymore. “There’s a spark in Y/N that I admire, but she also seems very prideful. I’m worried that hiding who you are will only jeopardize your relationship and hurt you both in the end.”

“We aren’t in a relationship, May.” The words are bitter on Peter’s tongue. “She’s just a friend.”

May finally looks at him, pauses slightly as she takes in the boy she raised. For the first time tonight she sees the exhaustion in his eyes. Bruises that line his knuckles, the scar on his eyebrow. The slouch of his shoulders from the weight he always seems to carry. 

“That’s why you haven’t told Y/N.” She whispers, eyes softening in understanding. Peter wants to ask her what she means, but when her gentle hand touches his face, all he can do is lean against it and rest his tired eyes. 

“I hope one day you allow yourself to have everything you’ve ever wanted, Peter.”

Someone calls May’s name, forcing her hand to fall from his face. She leaves Peter standing alone in the kitchen with nothing but her words to bear witness to his self destruction. 

He thinks of slow mornings spent with you. The curve of your neck. Coffee stained mugs. Your cold fingers through his underneath the covers. Late night study dates. Chasing one another through empty alleys. Rooftops and the buzz of something deeper than lust. 

Peter already has everything he’s ever wanted. Even if it isn’t really his.

– 

As long as the bullet doesn’t hit any major organs, Peter can heal from a gunshot wound in roughly eight hours. Sure, he’s sore for a while and it leaves a faded, silk-like scar, but he still thinks it’s pretty cool. 

If he’s stabbed? Peter is up and running again in less than six hours. Unless he needs stitches. Then it gets a bit trickier. Overall though, he can’t complain.

But a fire that takes out six entire blocks in the east village that the mayor is calling the worst incident New York City has seen since 1990? Currently, Peter is on day two of laying in soaked t-shirts and aloe oil. 

“Have you changed your wraps yet?” May asks him over the phone. She’d seen the fire on the news and wasn’t surprised when Spider-Man appeared. 

She also wasn’t surprised when the newsreel catches him crashing into a wall of fire five seconds after saving a little girl. 

Peter shifts in his bed, wincing when the fabric rubs against his raw and burned skin. “Changed them an hour ago, May.”

“And you’ve been icing?”

“If you count a bag of frozen peas as ice, then yeah. I’ve been icing the burns.”

“Peter.”

“It’s a little funny, May. C’mon.” Peter hears her sigh. He closes his eyes and softens his voice. “Look, I’m fine. No need to worry about me, okay? I’m just… a little warm, right now.”

May doesn’t dignify what he’s said with a response. Instead, she reminds him to apply a fresh coat of aloe before hanging with an exasperated goodbye. 

Peter tosses his phone down, ready to go back to staring at the ceiling because that’s all he can physically bring himself to do right now, but then a message appears on its screen. 

earth to peter?

Suddenly his entire body is cold. Your name accompanies the text and your face greets him. Peter hasn’t seen you since the night of the fire. He hasn’t spoken to you, either. 

Half of his body is burned to shit and he inhaled so much smoke trying to get everyone out that it sounds like he’s smoked twenty packs a day for five years. How the fuck is Peter supposed to explain any of that to you without revealing everything he’s worked so hard to mask?

peter? 

anyone there?

The influx of messages only further constricts Peter’s chest and doesn’t know what to do. 

it’s been almost two days, dude. answer me or die.

unless you’re dead. in that case: please come back to life. i miss you :( 

Cursing under his breath, Peter carefully picks the phone up and types what he hopes is enough to satiate you. 

I’m alive! Just sick right now. Bleh. 

But, predictably, this only makes everything worse because you immediately call him. Peter tries to hit decline, but with burned fingers and sore bones, he answers, and he really wishes the fire had knocked him into a coma instead of singeing his eyebrows. 

“Peter?”

He holds his breath. 

“Peter, I can hear you holding your breath.”

“Can you?” He cringes at how broken his voice sounds. He clears his throat, ignoring the sting of smoke still lingering. “I-I mean. Hi.”

“Jesus.” On the other end of the line, you sit up in bed, worried. “You sound horrible.”

Peter fake coughs, though it then turns into a very real, very painful cough. “Sick.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Wait–”

“I think I have all the ingredients for chicken noodle soup, and I remember seeing celery in your fridge a few days ago. Is it Jude’s? Actually, he’ll probably let me borrow some if I offer to make him some soup as well–”

Peter manages to raise his voice slightly, desperate to get your attention. “Y/N. You can’t come over.”

You’re silent for several long moments. This is the first time he’s ever denied you. “And why not?”

“I’m… sick?”

“And?”

“I’m contagious?”

You laugh, short and slightly endearing. “Lovely, are you forgetting that we literally swapped spit at the New Years party? I’m probably already contaminated. It’s fine.”

Peter really, really hates how stubborn you are sometimes. “But why risk it?” He coughs again into the phone, emphasizing how rough and disgusting the fake illness is. “Hear that? You really want to see the consequences?”

“I really want to see you, Peter.” You pause again. “Why are you being so weird about this?”

She’s smart. You have to know that she’ll figure it out eventually, May’s voice echoes in his head. He really needs to start listening to her. 

“I take respiratory health very seriously, Y/N.”

Both you and Peter know that he doesn’t, but you’ve been spiraling over his silence these last two days and at the very least, you know he’s okay. Taking whatever you can get, you give in. “Fine. But can I at least drop the soup off on your doorstep?”

The sincerity in your voice, the willingness to still take care of Peter despite his insistence not to, is what makes him give in, too. “Of course, sweetheart.”

He hears you smile, a sound he loves, even if he doesn’t know the name for it yet. 

“Hey, Jude!” Peter calls through the wall after you’ve hung up the phone. 

A thud. “Yeah?”

“Y/N is bringing me some soup and leaving it on the doorstep. Do you think you could bring it in?”

“Depends,” Jude has long become familiar with your presence in the dorm. “Can I have some?”

Peter rolls his eyes at his roommate, though he isn’t surprised. Jude adores everything you make for him and Peter. He’s even made it a rule for you to not make lasagna without him. 

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Wait, is it tomato soup? I don’t like tomatoes, they taste too red.”

Peter drops his head in his hands. He doesn’t have the energy to respond. Instead, he shifts in bed and carefully re-wraps the bandages that litter his body. When he crashed into the literal wall of fire, his suit luckily took most of the damage, but not without Peter’s skin searing and losing all body hair. 

Not that he had a lot of body hair to begin with, but still. Tough loss. 

Peter is about to call May to ask her if he should take an ice bath when his phone rings. He looks down at it, confused, and his confusion grows more when he sees your name flashing once again. 

“Y/N? Did you finish already–”

“Cut the shit, Parker.” 

His blood drains at the ice in your vocal chords. “I-I’m sorry?”

“You’re sick, correct?” You sneer at him. This is the most venom Peter has ever heard drip out of your plush mouth. 

Even without his spidey-sense, Peter would know that he’s on the precipice of a trap. “...Yes?”

“Funny. When I called your aunt to see if I should bring you anything else, she was touched that I was helping you take care of your sprained ankle.”

He’s so unbelievably fucked. 

“I, uh. Forgot about that!” Peter laughs nervously. “Sprained my ankle real good. And got sick. At the same time.”

“And how did you sprain it?” You don’t miss a beat. 

Another trap. Peter wracks his mind, tries to think of what May could’ve possibly told you, but he’s in the palm of your hand, ready and wilting. 

“Riding a bike?”

“Go to hell, Peter.”  

His heart jumps in his throat. “Y/N, let me explain–”

“You know, if you didn’t want to see me, you could’ve just told me.” The anger in your voice dissipates, slowly replaced with something akin to hurt. Peter can hear the slight tremor as you speak. “But lying to me is fucking pathetic.”

“I do want to see you,” Peter rushes out, practically begging. He hasn’t felt your touch in days and his skin misses yours. “God. Of course I want to see you, sweetheart.”

You want to believe him. Silence stretches over the phone, hesitancy that longs for solace. With every breath you take, every second that passes between you and Peter, he can feel you trying to hold onto the idea that he’s yours and good and whole. 

“Then why did you lie?” Whispered and raw. Everything that there’s left to give Peter.

“Y/N…” But he’s a coward. 

You take his silence as absolute. “Goodbye, Peter.”

The line goes dead. 

– 

Peter doesn’t hear from you for the rest of the day. 

The next morning, he checks his phone before his eyes have even opened, but there’s nothing. By the afternoon, Peter starts to lose his mind. His skin itches at the loss of your voice, he can’t sleep, his stomach is in knots, and all he wants to do is whisper apologies down your spine as he traces your back with his lips.

I’m sorry.

Peter’s thumb hovers over send. He rereads the message over and over again, convinced somehow that the words are blurring together. 

He deletes it, types something else. 

Can we talk?

You hate it when he grovels. 

Just call.

Too demanding. 

I miss you too.

Too vulnerable. 

Peter has never been good with words. He’s never had to be when it comes to you. You’ve always been able to read him, handing him water before his body can even recognize the thirst. In the six months he’s known you, you’ve become intertwined in the webs that surround him. 

It’s this worry for you and intertwinement that leads Spider-Man to your windowsill. 

This isn’t Peter’s proudest moment, he’ll admit. Using his masked identity to crouch in front of your window, hidden in the dark of the night, aching to catch a glimpse of you. He tells himself that he’s only doing this because he cares about you and that the burns that still mar his body aren’t healed enough for you to see him yet. 

But really Peter knows there’s something else behind why he’s doing this; he just isn’t ready to face it yet.

You’re in your small, cramped kitchen. The university dorms are hardly big enough for one person, let alone two, but your roommate Emma is gone for winter break and it’s only you home tonight. 

Peter’s heart lodges in his throat when he realizes that you’re wearing one of his old Midtown High hoodies. You stole it months ago, claiming it was vindicating to rep a school that your soccer team won against when you were sixteen, but Peter catches your nose buried in the collar when you think he isn’t looking. 

A dog barks and the screech of car tires force Peter’s attention elsewhere. He narrows his eyes, ears ringing trying to locate the source of the sound, but the night falls quiet again. He sighs, turns back around, only to find your window open, staring directly at him. 

Peter yelps in surprise, nearly slipping on the lamppost he’s on. 

“You’re smaller than I imagined,” you watch him trip over his feet in a desperate attempt not to fall. “I figured you’d be broader.”

Peter catches his breath, unsure what to do in this situation. You’re leaning out the window, hair falling over your shoulders, and the moonlight illuminates the apples of your cheeks. Your eyes don’t leave him, curious, amused, but tired.

Your eyes are tired. 

“What, are you just gonna let me imply that you’re scrawny?” You laugh at your own joke. “Thought you were known for your quips.”

“It’s ‘thwips’, actually, ma’am.” Instinctively Peter deepens his voice as he speaks, but the fact that he’s even responded at all, on top of his horrible joke, makes him want to slam his head into the lamppost. 

Your eyebrows scrunch together, though they do so as you smile. “‘Thwips?’”

“My webs, they make this…” Peter shrugs helplessly, thankful his mask hides the embarrassment. “Thwip sound? And I’m known for–well. My webs, I guess?”

“You didn’t plan this joke out very well, did you?”

“Not at all.”

The admission is quick, he doesn’t hesitate to confess to you that he doesn’t know what he’s doing, and the stark difference between Spider-Man’s response and Peter’s is a harsh reminder of everything you still don’t understand about him.

“Well, at least you’re honest.” You laugh, the edges of the sound tinged with bitterness. Nails picking at the window’s frame, you swallow hard. There’s always a lump stuck in your throat these days. “How heroic.” 

Peter closes his eyes. The words are aimed at him, and yet you have no idea who you’ve revealed this to. 

He swallows hard as well, reflects your own uncertainty. “Do you, uh. Want to talk about whatever is on your mind, ma’am?”

You tilt your head. “I didn’t know Spider-Man had an emotional touch to him.”

“Oh, trust me. Everything about me is emotional. I cried the other day saving a mouse from a glue trap.” Peter risks jumping onto the ledge of your window, landing softly with your body now inches from him. You gasp, surprised, and he smirks down at you. “I can be very cathartic to talk to.”

You don’t move away, the hum of his body next to yours is familiar, as if the skin underneath the suit remembers you, but in the years you’ve spent living in New York you’ve never encountered Spider-Man before. His skin has never met yours. 

“Was the mouse okay?”

Peter knew you’d ask him this. “He was fine. Bit my hand, but I like to think he did it with love.” You laugh, and he scratches the back of his head, not wanting to ruin this just yet, but he knows he has to. “But, um. Are you okay?”

The laughter dies and the smile lines on your face fade. You look away from Peter, nails picking at the window once again. “I met a guy at a party this summer.”

“Do we like this guy?”

“He’s my best friend.” You confess, a slight tremble in your bravado. “He’s-he’s more than that, even. I think he’s nestled himself between my fifth and sixth ribs, but to him I’m just…”

Unable to finish, your voice trails off. You can’t bring yourself to look at Peter, and he can’t bring himself to look at you. 

“There’s this hurt in him that he won’t let me see; he doesn’t trust me to see. Burdens he has to carry, that he thinks I don’t know are there.” Peter watches as your eyes harden, though there’s still a fondness for the boy you’re talking about that he knows is in his own eyes for you. “But I know him. I know Peter. Even if he doesn’t want me to.”

“He’s only been in my life for six months.” You inhale, close your eyes, and open them upon release. Your eyes find Peter’s and you hold his gaze, long and steady. “But I’ve memorized the dip of his back, the freckles around his thighs. He lets me touch him so softly, but he still thinks I don’t know who he is.”

Peter hangs his head, breaking his eyes from yours. His skin crawls. You know too much, and yet you know nothing at all. 

“I think knowing someone can be stifling,” he says, crouching down to face you. This close, he can see the flecks of remorse that line your eyes. Your breath ghosts his face. “Maybe Peter is still learning to breathe you in how you want him to.”

Give me time, he pleads silently. You fill my lungs every time you whisper my name, but everyday I choke on what I can’t tell you.

“Real poetic, Spidey.” You cup his cheek, the fabric of his suit softer than you expect it to be. Your gaze is sad. Lips downturned, bittersweet with melancholy. “I hope someday someone allows themself to breathe me in.”

The last of Peter’s resolve crumbles. He’s never seen this side of you, vulnerability lacing your weathered insecurity. The insecurity that he put there. All because he thinks this is what’s best for you. Holding you at a distance, the separation marring your bodies with longing. 

You’ve bled yourself dry for Peter, and the realization leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. 

I hope one day you allow yourself to have everything you’ve ever wanted, Peter.

This isn’t what he wanted. You fell into Peter’s fragile hands and he hadn’t caught you. What he wants, what he has to allow himself to do, is catch you before the fall kills you both.  

“I’m sure Peter will be ready one day.” To you, the words are merely reassurance. To Peter, they’re a promise. He’s tired of hiding. Of suffocating you both with secrets only meant to be his demise. 

“Goodbye, Spider-Man.” Your hand drops. He misses your touch the moment it’s gone. You move away from the window, he thinks he sees tears in your eyes, but then you’re gone, and it’s only Peter and a lonesome dog beneath him. 

The next day, the rest of the burn scars fade away. Peter’s skin is left baby-pink, new and sensitive. His hands still ache when he flexes them but his body aches even more being apart from you any longer.

Peter knocks on your door with flowers in his hand. He’s going to be better for you. He’s going to finally try, breathe life back in what’s gone stale between you. When you answer, you hold onto Peter so tightly that for a second he’s afraid you know everything he’s hidden from you. 

“You came,” your tears wet his chest, but neither of you pull away. 

Peter’s hands cradle you, holding you with the delicacy that he should’ve from the start. “I always will.”

And you know he means it, you know that the flowers Peter has brought you symbolize more than just an apology, and it’s almost enough.

–

The distance grows. Everything is cold where it used to be hot. A harsh winter wilts the flowers from Peter, its petals dead upon your desk. 

Everyone has secrets, trust comes with fallacies of vulnerability, but Peter’s soak through your stained hands and he slips through your fingers. 

You stop calling. Plans go unmade. Early morning breakfasts together become lonely. Some nights Peter is still yours, he kisses your breast and hovers over your heart, but as the days pass the pleasure turns into a hurt and slowly it all comes to an end. 

It isn’t Peter’s fault. None of this is, really. You’ve come to love him in a way that terrifies you and yet this was never something he wanted. It isn’t his fault that he can’t be honest with you, not when he never asked you to hold him accountable. 

“Still haven’t called Peter?” 

Spider-Man has become your new friend in the wake of losing your dearest one. He comes to your window most nights and his humor and mannerisms remind you so much of Peter that you can’t bring yourself to turn him away. 

“You’re oddly invested in my pathetic love life for someone who wears spandex every day.”

Peter snorts. “Sue a guy for needing breathable material to save civilians.” 

“But did you really need to wear a bodysuit?”

“I’m confident in my body, thank you,” He stands tall, long ago having been invited to sit in your kitchen for your late night talks. Gesturing to his chest and down, he stands proud and tall. “Can’t hide all of this from New York.”

You shove him, ignoring how strong the man’s chest is under your palm. “I thought heroes were supposed to be humble?”

“I’m the most humble person I know, Y/N.”

Peter’s response makes you laugh, and it feels so good to be able to do that again. Winter has taken its toll on you, paling your skin and sallowing your eyes. March is slowly creeping upon you with its fresh rosebuds and blue skies, and for that you’re thankful. 

“So,” Peter sits back down, kicking his feet up on your window. “Any exciting plans for spring break now that Peter is dead to you?”

“He isn’t dead to me.” You shove his feet down, hurt simmering under your ribcage. “I miss Peter, and I still care about him deeply, but until he figures out how to be honest with me and let me in, I’m done picking at an open wound.”

Peter holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay, I get it. The guy has problems, but who’s to say he isn’t working on them?”

“We sleep together every time we’re alone in a room. Can’t exactly get over any problems when you’re under them.”

“Not really understanding how Peter being unable to keep his hands off you is a bad thing.” He says, looking at you smugly. “I mean, you’re hot. I don’t blame him.”

You blush at Peter’s bold words, but the irony isn’t lost upon you. “Lust and love aren’t the same thing, Spidey.” 

“And if he does love you?” Peter leans across the table, his suit stretching the length of his body and accentuating the lean lines of his muscles that you force yourself to look away from. “Then what? Still going to give him radio silence over spring break?”

Have I lost you? He wants to ask, but you haven’t called Peter in a month and if this is all he’ll ever get from you again, talking with you while disguised as someone else, then he isn’t ready to let go of you just yet.

You roll your eyes. “He doesn’t love me, and as for spring break, I plan on getting incredibly drunk with my friends and pretending that for once in my life I can get what I want.”

And you do. 

The following week Lily invites you to some club with her and Harry, and before it’s even midnight you’re already drunk. Harry pays for everyone’s drinks, Lily spins you around as you dance together, and for a brief, addicting few hours, you forget. 

Bodies press against yours. Lily grips your hands while Harry finds your waist. The music in the small but packed room is nearly deafening. You’re sweaty and your hair clings to your neck but you don’t care. Harry’s hands feel good against your skin. The heat of his palms, the scratch of his nails. 

“Gwen’s here,” Lily shouts, pulling your attention from Harry. “I’m gonna go get her. Are you good with Harry?”

You look at him, finding him already looking down at you with interest, and you squeeze Lily’s hand. “Go, I’ll be fine!”

She smiles coyly at you, sending Harry a knowing wink, before leaving. “Have fun, lovebirds.”

Harry laughs, pulling you even closer, and his hands slide down to the curve of your ass and the weight of his touch feels different from Peter’s. His is softer than Harry’s. More protective than possessive, but alcohol burns your tongue and the grief of a love you once had clouds your mind. 

“This alright?” Harry asks you, lips skimming your ear. You nod, shivering at the sensation. With your permission, Harry draws his lips down your neck. 

Your head moves to the side, allowing him more access, and Harry murmurs something into your skin, but you don’t bother to ask him what he’s said. All you want is for him to keep kissing you, to trace over the path Peter once carved himself, to erase any excess of him that you’ve missed. 

Harry’s hands squeeze your ass and he pushes his hips into you. His hard on digs into you, he nips at your collarbone, and it’s all too much. None of it feels right. Peter never bites into bone, he doesn’t shove against you without satiating you first. 

Your stomach lurches, all the vodka from tonight threatening to return, and you pry yourself away from Harry. He says something, but you can’t hear him over the ringing in your head. Your legs manage to find an exit and you collapse onto the filthy sidewalk outside the club.

Hot tears run down your face. You’re a child, lost and alone. 

Numb fingers fumble for your phone. The screen is bright and you’re crying so hard that your entire body shakes. You try to type his name into your phone, to call the only person you can think of, but your fingers keep missing the “P” and you can’t breathe.

“Hey, miss? Are you alright?” A body lands next to yours. Their hand gently touches your shoulder and when you look up, all the air escapes him. “Y/N?”

Spider-Man kneels before you, arms encasing you as you tremble against the night’s cold. Phone forgotten, you cry into his chest, finally allowing every ache, every hour spent mourning, to fall down your cheeks. 

“What happened, sweetheart?” He whispers against your ear, hand running through your hair. The term of endearment only makes you cry harder, and all Peter can do is hold you through it. He doesn’t see any injuries on you. The smell of alcohol strong, your hair matted. 

“I wan’ to go home,” you slur out, breath hitching with fresh tears. “Please.”

Peter helps you stand up and gently instructs you to wrap your arms around his neck. You comply, and when he’s sure you’re secure, he grips your legs and wraps them around his body. He hasn’t held you like this in what’s felt like years. To have your hips around him again, to hold the weight of your body in his arms, it’s almost too much for Peter. 

But then you cry again, your head tucked against his neck, and he knows that he would bear the pain of relearning your touch over and over again if it meant your nose always remained pressed against his skin. 

Thankfully the club Peter finds you at isn’t far from your dorm. He swings as slowly as he can, weary of how many drinks you’ve had tonight. You don’t react in his arms. The view of the city below you goes unnoticed as the wind drowns out your cries. 

Emma is asleep when Peter carefully sets you down through the window. You’re shaky on your feet, body still pale and weak. He crawls in after you and rests his hand on the small of your back.

“Let’s get you to bed, okay?” 

You don’t say anything. Peter guides you to your room and in your drunken state you don’t think to question how Spider-Man knows which room is yours. He pulls the bedding off your bed, helps you lay down, before he brings the blanket just under your chin. 

When Peter goes to get you a glass of water and some tylenol, your hand stops him. 

“Stay,” you whisper, looking so small in your twin sized bed.

He bites his lip. “You need to drink some water, get some electrolytes in you–”

“Please,” begging, pleading. Liquid honey and nostalgia that is like sap in Peter’s blood. 

Weak for you, drawn to you as he always is, Peter crawls into your bed and you welcome him home. You place your head on his chest, splay your hands around his waist, wrap your body around him as you’ve always done. 

Peter’s heart pounds in his chest; you still remember your way around his body. You still smell like peonies and copper. You still press your nose to his neck as if it were made to fit where his collarbones rise. 

“Doomed from the start.”

He almost doesn’t hear you. He almost doesn’t ask you what you mean, he doesn’t want to bring it to light. “What’s doomed, Y/N?”

And, like the very first time you whispered the vague words to him, you hold them close to your chest. Only this time you don’t smile up at Peter, you don’t etch your name into his skin with lazy kisses. All that’s left within your words is despair. 

“I fell in love with a ghost,” you murmur, eyes tracing Peter’s masked face, as if you can see past the material. As if you know who lays underneath it, the freckles you’ve kissed before. “He won’t leave.”

“Y/N…”

Your eyes close. “I miss you.”

Peter tightens his arms, relishing in the proximity and admission of grief, even though you’ve mistaken Spider-Man’s body for someone else. Your breathing becomes steady, and he knows that he’s lost you again

That night, Peter doesn’t sleep. He spends the hours tracing his fingers over your skin, memorizing the lines of your skin, the scars and freckles that make you whole. Once, this body was his to worship. 

Morning comes and sunlight floods the room. You don’t stir, body exhausted still from the events of the night before. Your phone buzzes to life and Peter finds himself looking down to read the messages. 

Most are from Lily.

Babe, where did you go?

Harry said you got upset?? Did you go home??? Please call ASAP.

I called Emma. She said she heard you come in late last night. Call me when you wake up, ok? I love you!! If I need to kill Harry, I will <3

The final message is from Harry himself. 

I’m sorry about last night. I know you and Pete aren’t talking right now and I shouldn’t have acted on my feelings so soon. Whenever, or if ever, you want to talk, I’m happy to take you to coffee in a strictly platonic way. 

Peter wants to be angry at Harry, his fingers itching to flex into a fist on instinct, but when he looks down at your sleeping body, he knows he can’t. You were never his. Harry respected him enough to keep his distance while Peter kept you at arm’s length.

All he ever did was keep you at a distance, and now he’s learning how painful it is to be displaced. 

Peter sneaks out the window before you wake up. He almost leaves a note, asking you to call him, but then he remembers that it was Spider-Man who came running when you called, not Peter Parker. 

Both will always find their way to you, but last night it hadn’t been the one you needed.

– 

Months pass. Spring turns to summer and freshman year ends in a hazy and slow manner that Peter can’t quite remember. He doesn’t see you on campus. You stop going to all your usual places. 

Lily stops sitting next to him in bio, Gwen gets a boyfriend, and Harry stops greeting Peter whenever he sees him.

Summer break comes and Peter moves home.

“Will Y/N be visiting?” May asks him, prodding for an answer as to why you’ve stopped calling her. 

Peter shakes his head, silent, and it’s all his aunt needs to know that you’re gone. The smile she gives him is sad, understanding, and Peter misses the smile she’d give him when you called and teased him alongside her. 

He still patrols the city as he’s always done. A local pizza shop posts an ad for a delivery boy and Peter figures that the work will be a welcome distraction from everything that reminds him of you. It’s grueling and exhausting running around Manhattan, but the pain is enough for him to forget how you looked naked and on top of him. 

Ned stops by every day. He never asks Peter what happened and where you went, but he’s full of new stories from MIT to fill the silence you’ve left behind, and Betty sometimes tags along. Flash asks if he can still call you for girl advice and Peter doesn’t bother to answer him.

MJ isn’t as delicate and she punches his arm the moment she sees him. It hurts and leaves a bruise, but Peter doesn’t mind. He knows it’s what you would’ve wanted, and he misses knowing your wants and needs.

June seeps into July and there’s a party that Ned insists on attending. 

Peter knows he shouldn’t go. He worked all day and can’t afford to skip a night of patrol, but Ned doesn’t feed into his excuses and suddenly they’re in the same fire hazard apartment building from last year. 

He doesn’t know when he starts drinking or when Ned leaves, but he does know that when he sees you again after months of depravity, Peter’s heart stops. 

You’re dressed in red. The dress is short, it glimmers in the light, and your hair is pinned back and loose and your makeup is smudged and you smile wickedly when you notice him staring. 

“You come here often?” You’re around Peter now, the music is loud and you’re so beautiful. 

He laughs at you, remembering the way you warned him to never say that pickup line to you when you first met. His hands run up and down your waist, eager to relearn every inch of you, and Peter is drunk and so in love that it hurts. 

“I was here once last year,” he shouts over the music. He plays along. “There’s a rooftop I think you might like.”

And then you’re running through the crowd of people, giggling like little kids together, racing to the rooftop of where everything began. Peter opens the door. The July air greets him kindly, welcomes him back after being apart for so long. 

You sit on the concrete and Peter joins you. Your head rests on his shoulder and his arm hangs loosely around you. Up above you there are stars, bright and alive despite the city that tries to choke them. 

The air is sweet between you, tender, though there’s a homesickness to it that neither of you can shake. 

“Do you think we were doomed from the start?” You ask Peter as you continue to look up at the stars. You can’t take your eyes off of them. They’ve finally decided to spare you their beauty, their final dance just for you and Peter. 

You feel him shrug. You’re both drunk and open and vulnerable. 

“I was an idiot,” he mumbles. “I still am.”

“You were,” you agree softly. 

“I tried so hard to be what you needed.” The regret in his voice pulls you to look at him, and Peter is still as devastatingly handsome as the night you met. 

“I know.”

“I’m…” He hesitates, at the palm of your hand, before he accepts that this is how it will always be when it comes to love. Peter holds his breath, his fifth and sixth ribs tremble, and he reveals everything to you. “I’m sorry for the ghost that never leaves.”

The echo of the words that fell from your drunk lips in the spring meant only for Spider-Man to hear. 

“I know, Peter.” You tell him, undoing the weight of a secret that crippled Peter almost his entire life. “I always knew you were Spider-Man. I knew. I was just waiting for you to trust me to help you carry the weight of it all.”

But he never did. The shame of it burns Peter’s face, deteriorates his muscles. How naive he had been to think that it was easier to keep you in the dark than to have shared the light with you. 

Dread fills his chest, accompanied by the longing of what could’ve been, and all Peter can do now, all that’s left to do now, is hold you beneath the stars, stargazing together like you used to. 

“I loved you, you know.” Cards on the table. Peter shows you his hand. He hopes that the cards you dealt to him a year ago are still the same as the ones tonight. 

“I know.” And that’s all you have left to say.

-

⌑ writing masterlist

⌑ if youd like to buy me a coffee ☕︎

⌑ please feel free to like, reblog, and comment. i adore hearing from you guys :)

[schwarz-san]

Art for halfa Tim as Consilior Starling!

I did say I'm going to make art for it.

[mc-critical]

1.01 / 2.17 (41)

[pandapetals]

Mrs. Howlett

You get jealous of a student's mom trying to flirt with Logan.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, cute, fluff, banter, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor, jealously

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @enchanthings

You hated to admit it, but you could get a little jealous. Not that you ever had a real reason to be—Logan didn’t give other women a second glance, and he made it clear you were the only one he wanted. Most of the time, when someone flirted with him, you’d brush it off, secure in the knowledge that he was yours. Logan was usually too gruff, too uninterested, for anyone to make much headway with him anyway.

But today was different.

You were heading to his classroom to drop off some papers when you spotted him leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, a faint smirk on his face as he talked to a woman you didn’t recognize. She looked young—probably a little too young than some of the other student’s parents, with sleek hair and an outfit that was more stylish than practical. Beside her stood a teenage boy, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, clearly embarrassed.

But she? She was smiling up at Logan like he’d just hung the moon. Her hand even touched his arm briefly, a little too familiar, and you felt a flash of something hot and prickly ignite in your chest.

You tried to brush it off. It wasn’t a big deal. Logan didn’t even seem particularly invested in the conversation—just nodding along, probably humoring her because he had to be polite. And yet, the way she looked at him, hanging on his every word, had your jaw clenching before you realized it.

You took a breath, schooling your expression, but when you caught Logan’s eye over her shoulder, his smirk deepened, his gaze flicking to you with that glint of amusement he always got when he knew he had your attention. Oh, he’d noticed. Of course, he had.

Clearing your throat, you approached with an air of casual calm, though the jealousy simmering beneath the surface was anything but subtle.

“Oh, there you are, Logan,” you said, slipping your hand onto his arm with a bit more possessiveness than you’d planned. Your fingers tightened slightly, grounding yourself in the solid warmth of his bicep. “I was looking for you.”

The woman’s bright smile faltered for just a second, her gaze flicking down to your hand on his arm. She took a tiny step back, trying to recover her polite expression but with a hint of something else lurking in her eyes. “Oh, I didn’t realize… are you Miss… I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name?”

You felt Logan tense slightly, but you just smiled, leaning a little closer to him. “I’m Mrs. Howlett, actually.” Your voice was warm, but you let the words sink in, feeling a small thrill of satisfaction as you watched her face register the correction. Your fingers brushed up and down Logan’s arm in a slow, familiar rhythm, letting her know exactly where you stood. “And you are?”

She cleared her throat, glancing down at the teenage boy beside her. “I’m Liam’s mom,” she said, resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder as if to keep herself anchored. “Logan—Mr. Howlett—was just telling me about the upcoming history project. I thought it would be good to get a sense of what Liam would be working on.”

Logan’s smirk widened as he looked down at you, clearly enjoying the subtle show of jealousy you rarely let slip. His arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer in a way that made his claim on you unmistakable.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice a low, amused rumble that you felt through his chest. “She was just askin’ about the assignment.”

You looked up at him, arching an eyebrow as you played along. “Of course. Well, Liam’s a very brilliant student,” you said sweetly, turning to the woman with a smile that held just a hint of a challenge. “Logan says he’s a natural at history. Must be quite a proud mom moment for you.”

The woman’s smile became a bit too tight, her expression polite but strained. She straightened, giving a brisk nod. “Of course. Well, I think I have all the information I need for now. Come along, Liam.”

As she ushered her son down the hallway, Logan’s quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest, his arm still snugly wrapped around your waist. He waited until she was out of earshot before he leaned down, his lips brushing close to your ear.

“Didn’t know you could be the jealous type,” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement. “Should I be flattered?”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t quite keep the blush from creeping up your cheeks. “I’m not jealous,” you replied, feigning nonchalance. “I just didn’t appreciate her… forgetting my name. I mean, it’s Mrs. Howlett, after all.”

Logan chuckled, his warm breath grazing your skin as his fingers traced lazy circles along your hip. “I gotta say, darlin’… I kinda liked seein’ you all protective and possessive. Not somethin’ I get to see often.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t quite keep the grin off your face. “Oh, don’t let it go to your head,” you shot back, trying to sound nonchalant. “But I guess I might get a little territorial when some random woman decides to ignore the fact that you’re taken.”

His smile softened, and he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple, lingering just long enough for his warmth to seep into you. “Relax, gorgeous,” he murmured, his voice low and fond. “You know you’re the only one I’d ever put up with.”

“Oh, really?” you challenged, raising an eyebrow with a playful spark in your eyes. “Maybe I’ll keep you on your toes more often, then. Just to see that little possessive streak of yours come out.”

Logan’s laugh rumbled through his chest, his hand drifting lower to give your hip a slow, teasing squeeze. “Be my guest,” he drawled, his lips curving into a smirk. “I don’t mind remindin’ everyone who I belong to.”

You tilted your head, your fingers tracing along his arm savoring the solid warmth beneath your touch. “Good,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “because I don’t plan on sharing.”

Logan leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss. His mouth was warm and unhurried, lingering as if he wanted to make sure you felt every word he hadn’t spoken. When he finally pulled back, you were left breathless, a soft heat blooming in your cheeks.

He looked down at you, the playful gleam in his eyes softening. His forehead rested against yours, and whispered, his voice rough but gentle, “You don’t have to, sweetheart. I’m all yours. Always have been, always will be.”

[ghostedbunnie]

little things with tf141

little domestic moments I find oddly charming about each of the members.

warnings: suggestive

SIMON: he believes he forgot how to simply be. after every messed up thing in his life, he doesn't know how to not think four steps ahead in every situation. he still double checks the windows and doors before going to bed and sleeps so light that a feather fluttering to the ground would get his attention.

but most of the tension in his muscles leaves when you are around. he sits with his thighs spread far apart on the couch, watching a movie you like even though he couldn't care less about it. what he does care about is pulling you in between his legs when you bring popcorn for your little movie night, the hold on your middle almost makes you drop the bowl. you scold him, like you would a misbehaving pet and he only responds with a grunt that you feel through your back as you it's flush to his chest.

PRICE: the biggest handyman there ever was. his pride would take the biggest hit if you needed to call someone else. some other man. usually he won't even let you know he did anything, you'll just end up piecing the information together when the light in the garage works after months of you putting it off because it's high up and you get dizzy trying to reach it or when the stair that always creaked under your foot stops making noise after you mention how it drives you crazy to him.

when you bring it up to him, he only shrugs with a satisfied smile. "i don't do it for a reward, honey." but his words don't match the glint in his eyes, like he is gonna eat you up for dinner later.

JOHNNY: very much gives off the vibes of a velcro dog. wherever you are, he is. he is always right behind you or in your way and he is absolutely shameless about it. if you're baking he sticks to your back with his head on your shoulder, occasionally nibbling at your neck or nuzzling his stubble into it for a sliver of your attention when you tell him it's ticklish. when you are taking a shower at night he is either brushing his teeth right next to the shower curtain or slipping inside because "c'mon bonnie, cannae argue wit' savin' water." as if he doesn't let the water run while he inevitably bends you over to ravage you.

GAZ: brings you flowers at least once a week when he's not deployed. always says he doesn't need a reason to give his girl flowers. at this point every time he passes by a flower shop he thinks of you and since he's been doing it for a while he has the flower language down to a t. so much so he enjoys having you realize what each of these flowers mean especially when it clicks that he used to give you flowers even before when you were only childhood friends. every time he would drop by your house after coming back from deployment he would hand you a tulip with a soft smile and mess up your hair.

his smile only widens when he sees you google the meaning of tulips in flower language. hopeless love.

[lov-3-rs]

Let’s be Honest

Simon Riley (Bodyguard) x Reader!!

(mdni 18+)

Your father is an undercover investigator working a dangerous case on a human trafficking ring. Unfortunately, they somehow discovered his intentions, and now they're out for revenge. So, they’ve put a bounty on your head, claiming you’re worth millions to whoever is able to find you and sell you to the best bidder. Despite the danger, your father can’t abandon his mission as there were other lives on the line. He’s too close to cracking the case, rescuing the victims. To protect you, he hired someone no one would see coming for them and that was going to be protecting you. He hired a Ghost.

————————————————————————————

The moment you saw the brute, you couldn’t believe it. This 6’3”, 220lb, constantly masked man was supposed to be by your side for who knows how long. The sheer size of him was intimidating enough, but the mask? It kept you wondering what kind of man was beneath it.

You couldn’t argue with your father, though. He wanted you safe, and you weren’t about to be taken and sold off to some creep. So, you dealt with it. But now it’s been two months too long. Two damn months of constant monitoring, endless rules, and the same warnings: 'You need to listen to me Y/n,' 'Stay by my side,' or ‘It’s not safe.' It was honestly getting sickening at the fact he had complete control over your day to day life now.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“I was thinking of going shopping today, get some fresh air,” you say, taking a bite of your breakfast. He stands near the window, eyes scanning the street outside like he always does. “Maybe,” he says, his voice low, almost disinterested. You roll your eyes. “Jesus Christ, why not? It’s just us walking down the street, Simon.”

You started using his real name after weeks of pestering him to tell you. It felt weird calling him “Ghost” all the time—like something out of a video game. What good was being around someone this long if you didn’t even know their name?

He glances back at you, his expression unreadable behind the mask—if there’s an expression at all. Then, just as silently, he turns back to the window. “You never know.” You put your fork down and stop eating, “Simon, I can’t keep going days without stepping foot outside, i’m literally going insane”, he steps away from the window and pulls a chair out to sit beside you. “Everything I do and everything I say is to protect you, that is the whole reason I am here”. you looked into his hauntingly dead eyes. “Please you can’t keep me trapped in these walls”. You say with hesitation in your voice wondering if this will be another useless plea to let him agree for you to get out the house. He paused for a moment before nodding his head in agreement. You smile, “oh my gosh really? we can go?!” you say quickly standing from your chair in excitement. “yes. but the moment I feel something is off we leave, immediately” he says sternly. You were already putting your plate away and running to your room to get ready.

You visited a few of your favorite stores near your house, picking up small items here and there. Simon stayed close, as usual, walking silently beside you. As you stepped out of another shop, he leaned in slightly, his voice low. “We’re going to one more store, then we’re heading home. Do you understand?” You shot him a side-eye but nodded, not in the mood for another argument.

The last stop was the lingerie shop—you had been eyeing their new fall line for weeks. You grabbed a few panties and bras before something else caught your eye: the most stunning, sexy set you’d ever seen. You had to try it on. Walking into the dressing room, you slipped out of your clothes and into the delicate lace set. The fabric felt luxurious against your skin. You peeked your head out, only seeing Simon waiting, his posture as stoic as ever. You stepped out to check yourself in the mirror, admiring the way the set hugged your curves. From the corner of his eye, Simon caught sight of you. His jaw clenched almost immediately as he tried to keep his focus elsewhere, but it was impossible. He’d been around you every day for two months, and he had seen plenty—your tight shirts with no bra, shorts that barely covered anything. He’d always kept his cool, reminding himself that you were off-limits, and he took care of himself whenever you were asleep or when he took a shower. But seeing you now, in something so revealing, stirred something deeper in him that made his jeans tighten. He forced himself to remain still, but the tension in his body betrayed his thoughts. Respect for your father, the job—those were the only things keeping him from acting on what he felt. And he had to keep it that way, or at least he was trying to.

You caught Simon’s gaze in the mirror, and for a moment, the air between you seemed to shift. His eyes were unreadable behind the mask, but you could feel something he wasn’t saying. You quickly looked away, clearing your throat. “What do you think?” you asked casually, but your pulse quickened. You didn’t know why you even asked—it wasn’t like you cared what he thought about lingerie. Or did you?

He blinked, caught off guard. “About what?”

“The lingerie,” you teased, crossing your arms. “I thought I’d get a professional opinion.” His jaw tightened more, but you caught the flicker of something in his eyes. “You don’t need my opinion.” You stepped a little closer, testing his boundaries. “Maybe I do.” He stayed still, but you could see the tension in his stance. His voice, when he spoke, was low. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.” You laughed lightly. “What? Shopping?” His eyes met yours, and for a second, there was nothing but silence between you. “No,” he said softly, almost reluctantly. “This.” The weight of his words hung in the air. For a moment, neither of you moved. His response was a beat too slow. “You should hurry up,” he muttered, his voice deeper than usual. You rolled your eyes, but his tone made your skin tingle. There was something about the way he held himself that made you wonder—did he see you the way you were starting to see him? You slipped back into the dressing room to change, but the tension lingered, thick in the air. When you came out, dressed again, Simon stood up immediately, his shoulders tense. “Let’s go.” The rest of the walk home was quiet, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something between you had shifted.

You walked into the house, setting your bags down and slipping off your shoes. Simon followed closely behind, immediately locking the door and heading to the windows like he always did, scanning the outside for any sign of danger. But your mind was elsewhere, replaying that one word—this—over and over again.

What did ‘it’ mean? You had to know.

“Simon,” you called out softly, still unable to meet his eyes. “What did you mean earlier?” He stiffened immediately, turning to face you. He knew exactly what you were talking about, but he’d been hoping you would let it go. He didn’t mean to let that word slip out, and now he was trying to think of a way around it. “What do you mean?” His tone was even, but there was a slight edge to it, a hint of tension. You swallowed, gathering your courage. “You said I was making this hard. I’m not sure what that means… I want you to tell me.” Finally, you looked up at him, meeting his gaze. For a moment, Simon just stared at you, his jaw clenching and unclenching like he was fighting with himself. His silence hung in the air, thick and heavy, as though he was weighing whether or not to tell you the truth. He turned back to the window, staring outside as if it would give him the answer he needed. “You’re making my job harder,” he said after a long pause, but there was something in his voice—a hesitation. But you had a smirk on your face knowing exactly what it was, “it was the set wasn’t it?” there was a pause, “you thought I looked good, too good right?” you stepped closer to him testing his limits wanting more reaction out of him. “I think you should keep this fantasy shit to yourself” he said quickly snapping back at you, but you kept pushing, “I don’t blame you Simon, I bet it’s been months since you got laid and I won’t lie it’s been a hot minute for me too with you being around me all the time, having me cooped in this house” you can see his brows furrowing. “you’re crossing the god damn line” that’s what he was saying but the raging boner in his pants said completely different about your attitude.

Before you knew it, he was stepping toward you, his hand gripping your arm firmly. “You’re pushing me too far,” he said, his voice low and rough. You met his gaze, feeling a mix of fear and excitement. “Maybe I need you to push back,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The moment was charged, and without warning, one of his hands let go from your arm to lift up his mask above his nose exposing his lips. your eyes widen never seeing anything but his eyes for the last few months. Before you knew it his lips were on yours, It was intense and consuming, leaving both of you breathless and more entangled than before.

He picked you up and put you on the dining table. the kiss became more passionate with his hands tangled in your hair, you could feel your core throb waiting to be touched. Simon pulled away from you and looked into your eyes, “you don’t understand how long i’ve wanted to touch you” he says breathing heavily. “all those times you walked around with no bra and I could see your fucking nipples through your shirt and the times you walked around with your ass out, god I wanted to bend you over, i’d fuck you right there and don’t even forget about the times I could here you moaning in the shower doing god knows what to that pussy, ya fuckin minx” your cunt was practically dripping at his words, your breathing became more heavier, “Then do it Simon, bend me over and fuck me” before you could say anymore he already was turning you over on the counter and pulling your pants down. “already planning on it love”. Simon pulled your pants down then slowly pulled your panties down revealing your wet pussy. he bent down to get eye level with it bring his fingers up to your folds and playing with your clit. You moaned at his touched, “fuh-fuck”. Simon pulled his fingers away and replaced it with his tongue, licking your throbbing clit and making you squirm.

He ate you out till you came on his mouth, “Si please”. Simon got up and looked at your bent over form while he started unbuckling his pants, “please what love?” he already knew what you wanted and he wanted it just as bad. “fuck me hard” he smiled at your words taking his hard cock in his hand rubbing his pre cum all over the top of his head giving it extra lubricant. He aligned his cocked to your hole and slammed into you making you jump, “Shhhhhhhit” you hiss out the word from the painful pleasure. He started to thrust in and out of you hearing your moans made him want to cum already but he couldn’t, it felt too damn good to stop now. Simon bent down to your ear, “All those fuckin times you were playing with this tight cunt in the shower, who were you thinkin about huh?”. You didn’t want to answer out of embarrassment but you did it anyways, “y-you si, I thought about sucking your cock and you cumming all over my tits” that snapped something in him when you said that, his pace picked up he started fucking you harder, his balls slapping against your clit. “what would ya daddy think of the man he hired to protect you fucking your pussy raw?”. You could feel your self about to cum, “Si I’m gonna cum on your cock” his thrust became sloppier feeling himself about to finish too, “cum baby, cum”. Simon thrusted harder into your cunt making your back arch more and your ass jiggle against his hips the sight was pushing him over the edge, “god damn baby i’m gonna to cum” his hands gripped into your hips harder. “Simon cum inside me god please”. He busted a load in you, pushing his cock feel in you making sure nothing came out, “fuckin hell”.

After the intensity of the moment subsided, Simon and you lay there in the aftermath, the room now quiet except for your shared breathing. He gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch tender. “I didn’t plan for this,” Simon said softly, his voice filled with a mixture of regret and affection. “I never wanted to cross that line.” You turned to face him, your own emotions swirling. “Neither did I, but… it felt right in the moment. I just want to know what this means for us.” Simon looked at you with a conflicted expression. “I don’t have all the answers. This situation is complicated, and I’m still trying to figure out how to balance my feelings with my responsibilities.” he says lowly “I understand,” you replied, taking his hand in yours. “I just need to know where we stand. Do you want to try and make this work, or is this something we need to move past?” There was a pause as Simon considered his words. “I care about you more than I should,” he admitted. “But I also need to focus on keeping you safe. We’ll have to navigate this carefully.” You nodded, feeling a mix of relief and uncertainty. “We’ll figure it out together,” you said, squeezing his hand.

“As long as we’re honest with each other.”

[fastandcarlos]

Never An Interruption : ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen

summary: you’re all ready to celebrate max’s win with him, only when you find someone already there to celebrate, you begin to question the role you truly play in max’s life

Your smile was wide as you watched Max climb up to the top of the podium again, thousands of fans cheering all around you. It still felt surreal as you watched him climb to the top, proudly taking the trophy that was handed to him. 

His eyes scanned the crowd in front of him, giggling to himself once Max’s eyes met yours, noticing the excitable look that was on your face. You were stood just beside Christian, right at the front, exactly where Max always asked for you to be whenever you were there supporting him at a race so that you got to see everything. 

Once the celebrations were over, Max was rushed off to do interviews and gush about his win whilst you returned to the paddock, knowing you’d be able to catch up with Max later. 

It was as chaotic as ever as you watched the engineers begin to sort everything out, packing up ready to head to the next race. You usually didn’t mind waiting around, but today particularly you were on the edge of your seat with excitement about being able to see Max again. 

The race had been a lot closer than usual, leaving you on tenterhooks. Max had fought much more closely with Charles, swapping the lead between the pair until Max just edged him on the last straight. You were proud at the best of times, but today especially, you were thrilled that he managed to get the win. 

After checking your watch to see how late it was again, you decided to take matters into your own hands. You excused yourself from the paddock, heading down to the team’s motorhome, walking straight through to where Max’s driver’s room was, darting between the crowd of hospitality guests. 

It had almost become a bit of a second home for you too, having spent years travelling around the world to support your best friend. You knew the paddock like the back of your hand, and most of the people that were walking around in blue too. 

And despite the fact he had hundreds of people working around the paddock for him, the only person that really meant the most to Max was you. His best friend. 

As you approached the door, you weren’t surprised to hear some noise from inside. You listened for a moment before knocking gently, walking in before Max answered, exactly like he’d told you to do years ago when you first started visiting him.  

You barely managed to step foot into the room before it felt like you were being ushered back out. A nervous looking Max looked at you, hair messy as he ran his hand through it. 

“You alright?” Max smiled, unable to stand still. 

“Y-yeah,” you stuttered, trying your best to figure out what was going on as Max’s nervous eyes stuck on you. 

“I was just about to come and find you.” 

“It’s lucky I came and found you then,” you laughed, turning to take a seat on his bed, only to stop yourself just as fast. A figure stared back at you, one that you didn’t recognise but left you feeling incredibly embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t realise that you...yeah...I’ll just...go,” you stuttered, rushing back out of the room. 

Your body jolted as you were met by the crowd of guests yet again, rushing out before any of them caught sight of you. Your feet couldn’t move quick enough, heading back out into the fresh air and in any direction that took you as far away from Red Bull as possible.  

Once you were sat down, your head fell into your hands, letting go of several shaky breaths. Whilst you and Max were the best of friends, your heart wasn’t prepared to see someone else there with him. You knew you shouldn’t be mad, upset, hurt, he was free to do whatever, but for some reason, it still stung. 

It didn’t take long before a figure appeared beside you, almost as soon as you left the room, Max ran out to follow, sprinting all around the paddock in search of you. 

You remained frozen as Max dropped down to sit beside you, letting go of a deep sigh at how hostile you were towards him.  

“Please don’t shut me out,” Max frowned, noticing how tense your body was. 

“Haven’t you got somewhere else to be?” You coldly asked. 

“Not when I know your upset, of course I haven’t,” Max reasoned, nudging gently against your side, silently asking for you to look at him again. 

“If I knew you had company then I never would have burst in like that,” you tried your best to explain, feeling your cheeks begin to darken again, “I’ll stop doing that now.” 

“I love having you burst in,” Max tried his best to assure you, “you’re my best friend and never an interruption.” 

“I know,” you murmured, unable to hide the disappointment in your voice as Max reminded you. 

“What is it?” Max quizzed, knowing you too well, knowing exactly when you were hiding something from him. 

“Nothing...you just go back and be with your girlfriend, you should be celebrating,” you tried to tell him. 

“No way,” he stated, shrugging as your eyes pleaded with him. 

Max’s bluntness took you by surprise, your body almost jumped at how firm he was with his response to you. 

He sensed that too, muttering a quick apology as he realised how taken aback you suddenly were by him. 

“You can’t leave your girlfriend all by herself,” you repeated, reminding Max as to where his priorities should be. Not with you anymore. But with her. 

A small smile crept onto his face, “is that what you think that was?” 

Your shoulders shrugged, truthfully you couldn’t make sense of anything right now. You were sure that if Max had a girlfriend, then he would’ve told you, but maybe he didn’t trust in you quite as much as you thought he did. 

“She works for Red Bull, just came in to help me with something,” Max tried his best to explain with you, “there’s no one more important to me than you are, you know that’s never going to change.” 

Your eyes met Max’s, quickly noticing how sincere he was. His smile widened as he noticed the reality of what he was saying sinking in, reminding you just where his priorities were. 

“I thought you were with her,” you admitted. 

Max nodded back at you, “there’s only one person that I want to be with, and that’s the person I’m with right now.” 

Your heart raced as you listened, watching as Max’s smile grew wider, proud of himself for finally telling you the truth. 

“You mean that?” You nervously asked him. 

Max reached across and rested his hand over the top of yours, “I can’t believe you ever thought I would want to be someone more than I do you. You’re perfect.” 

You turned your hand so that it was palm to palm with Max, allowing your fingers to intertwine in with his. Max’s free arm held around your waist, keeping you as close into his side as he could have you. 

A nervous smile appeared on your face, resting your head on Max’s shoulder so that he could no longer see you. 

“Please don’t tell me these things just because you want to cheer me up,” you asked of him, wondering if what was happening really was true. 

“I mean every single word,” Max assured, “it only ever really has been you.” 

Max moved his hand so that it was under your chin, tilting your head back so your eyes met again. “Where do we go from here?” You whispered, feeling yourself losing control at an alarming rate. 

“I’m not sure,” Max whispered, “but I know that wherever we go from here, it’s going to make me an incredibly happy man.” 

Before you had the chance to respond, Max leant down, pressing the gentlest of kisses against your lips, finally getting to live out the dream that had troubled him for so many years. 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[mochatsin]

When MC Gets Pushed Off the Stairs

You can be the kindest person or the biggest brat this exchange program has ever seen, but it won’t erase the fact that you have enemies. Some demons just can’t stand the idea of a human earning the favor of the seven avatars… and there are others that plan on doing something about it.

TW: implied bullying, falling down the stairs, sprained ankle + MC in a cast, violence, demon brothers being a bit more sinister.

I was in the mood for a bunch of dark and spiteful demons. I might make a separate part of them taking care of MC during the times they have a cast.

------------

“Who do they think they are? They probably feel invincible when they have those brothers stuck to their hip.” 

You tried ignoring the rumors and whispers, you knew it wasn’t true so there wasn't any reason for you to bring this up with anyone. Though there were a bunch of demons, specifically these two girls, that are quite irritating. They definitely knew you could hear them, but that doesn’t mean they’ll lower their voices whenever they start talking about you. Seeing your discomfort is what even encourages them to keep talking, and you’re walking down the stairs to your next class so you can avoid them because there’s no way you’re gonna give them that satisfaction of seeing how bothered you are. 

“Invincible? As if! They’re just a human.” The other mocks, looking at you with disgust.

“Let’s find out.” Is the last thing you hear before you feel someone’s heel push your back, making you lose your balance and fall over. It was a blur after that, until he came by…

------------

Lucifer

Students are crowding the stairwell, and Lucifer can feel the annoyance already blooming. A crowd like this usually means trouble, and he wonders if Mammon is trying to place bets in secret again. It won’t be the first time he catches his brother discreetly collecting gambling money after convincing other students to bet on something stupid, so Lucifer isn’t going to be surprised if his initial thought was right as he pushes through to see the commotion. 

That’s when Lucifer desperately wished he was right as soon as he saw you on the ground. Two demons on top of the stairs laughed and mocked you, but the moment Lucifer stepped in the scene they immediately shut their mouths out of fear and so did the crowd of students around you. He can piece the scene together and understand what happened, but he needs to hear from you first. 

He kneels down to your level to check up on you. You’re not unconscious and that’s great, though you seemed pretty shaken up. Falling down the stairs and having several students stare at you wasn’t pleasant after all. “Come, let’s discuss what happened in the student council room.” Lucifer offers, since the last thing you need is to be the center of attention and he knows it won’t be a good idea to let you stay here longer.

He helps you stand, but you stumble and cling onto him for support. Your foot… it hurts so much that putting pressure on it sent jolts of burning pain that almost made you scream. You’re trying to be strong despite the pain, you can’t show weakness in front of Lucifer who’s relying on you to represent humans. What kind of image are you showing them? That you’re fragile and weak? It’s all getting overwhelming and Lucifer can see you’re already at your limit.

He turns to the two demons on the top of the stairs and glares at them. The temperature drastically dropped, breathing felt so heavy all of a sudden, and there’s this feeling of dread that paralyzed not only the two but also everyone around them. Trying to run away wasn’t an option, the two girls knew it would just make things worse for them. 

“I expect to see the both of you in the council room at the end of the day. Or else.” There’s no negotiations, and opening their mouths to protest is already a defiance to Lucifer’s orders. He’s already quite strict on his brothers, what more to a pair of demons that doesn’t seem to understand that there are consequences to their actions? “Everyone, get back to your classes.” 

Once everyone has finally left you both alone, Lucifer carries you in his arms. There’s no way he’s letting you limp to the infirmary in this state. He checks your ankle and sighs when he realizes it’s sprained. You thought at first that he’s stressed because you getting hurt meant more work for him, but the worried look on his face shows that it’s not about that.

You’ve been so strong for doing so much here like helping Lucifer manage all of his brothers while still doing your duties as a student, trying to keep up a good impression enough for Diavolo’s exchange program. Now seeing you hurt with a swollen ankle is making Lucifer rethink his views. It’s not pity that’s written on his face, it's… something else entirely. 

“I don’t think you’re weak at all… but maybe it’s time that we take care of you, little lamb.” Lucifer says. It’s an understatement to say that you’re dependable because you’re much more than that to him. He wonders how he even managed to get by with his brothers before you came into their lives. You’ve been so reliable, Lucifer almost forgets that you’re also fragile. You’ve done too much, you deserve a break and be pampered. It’s exactly what he does now that you’ve got a cast on your foot. 

Lucifer doesn’t like seeing you with those crutches, it doesn’t sit right with him when someone like you is suffering from something as basic as going up the stairs. He starts making a proposal about making RAD more accessible for students by adding elevators or magical levitating platforms. While it’s a good idea on its own, you can tell that they had this plan so that you don’t have to suffer through the stairs anymore. Everyone else immediately agreed to the proposal without second thought. 

Lucifer had the two demons apologize to you, and he doesn’t care whether they bruise their skin or get covered in dirt, they will be doing it properly. To beg on their hands and knees, bowing down until their foreheads touch the floor. He won’t let them up until they actually feel genuinely sorry, he doesn’t care how many students will be staring at their pathetic displays. He’s almost tempted to dig his heels into the back of their skulls should they lift their heads for even a single inch from the ground. 

He’ll chip away at their pride that led them to hurting you, finding a way to humiliate them in every subtle way until they’re the ones cowering their head. Lucifer would make subtle comments each time their paths would cross, always looking for a single flow that he would call them out for under the pretense of how it’s unbefitting as a student of RAD. It’s so harsh that the brothers almost felt sorry for them. Is it petty? Perhaps it is. But he doesn’t feel guilty at all when they actively chose to hurt you, and maybe he’ll stop once your ankle is all better.

Mammon

You two were together but then he said had somewhere he needed to be. Mammon was supposed to meet up with you before classes, he just needs to talk to some people he owed a few grimm to and possibly ask for another deadline extension. He’s turning to every corner trying to make sure Lucifer won’t spot him counting his debt, though he did notice the crowd that was forming a few meters away. 

He didn’t give it much thought at first, but that’s until he heard the whispers of students walking towards the scene. ‘It’s that human exchange that fell’ ‘fell? They were pushed, weren't they?’ And that’s when Mammon starts to sprint, honestly hoping that it was Solomon and not you that they were talking about. 

“Outta the way dammit!” Is all you hear, with a few grunts from students getting forcibly shoved to the side before Mammon finally finds you on the floor clutching your ankle. He squats next to you to check the damage, and you can tell from the expression on his face that it doesn’t look good at all. 

He looks up at the stairs and sees the two demons snickering at each other before running away from the scene. Mammon recognizes them, he’s heard some of the nasty stuff they’ve said about this exchange program, and especially about you. It just never occurred to him that they’d do something this drastic when given the chance. Mammon was gone for ten minutes and that was enough time to hurt you. 

He wanted to run after them, force the two to apologize to you. To make them pay. Though the wince and cries from you are what makes Mammon think with a clear head. You tell him that your ankle is hurting, you can’t move it as much without any pain. So he carries you and makes a run for it to the infirmary. No ambulance compares to how quickly Mammon ran just to get you some help.

Mammon stays by your side, too afraid to leave you for another second after what happened. He stares as they patch up your ankle and you’ll be in crutches until it heals. He’s mad, but definitely not at you. He’s angry that this happened under his watch when he’s supposed to be making sure you’re safe from demons like those. That was a role entrusted to him and he already feels like he failed.

“Ya aint leavin’ my sight, not until that ankle of yours is back in shape aight?” And he meant every word. If he’s not glued to your hip, then you swear you can see a three-eyed crow that’s following you around wherever you go. You just feed it some snacks if you have some when you can, and you wake up with shiny trinkets by your desk the next day.

Mammon is ready to be at your beck and call anytime you need it. You let out a grunt of frustration if you dropped your bag and spilled all your belongings. Your sprained ankle makes it hard for you to bend over to get them, but the moment you turn your head, Mammon is already at your feet grabbing you everything. If it weren’t for the circumstances (like your injury), Belphie would probably exploit this and make his older brother do everything while pretending you asked for it. 

The two girls have noticed how much those crows have been following them around. Crows can hold grudges, and they definitely recognize the demons that hurt the human they (and their master) care about. 

It started off as something harmless as landing on their desks, squawking at them, or stealing their pens before an important exam. Though when Mammon noticed them occasionally mocking you behind your back for that cast once you came back to RAD, the crows became more aggressive. The birds pulled on their hair, pecked and bit on their skin, clawing at them whenever they could.

Desperate for this madness to stop, the demons are already by Mammon’s feet begging for the crows to leave them alone. Personally, Mammon would’ve done something much worse but there was no way he’s going to abandon you for a second with that cast. “I’m feeling quite generous, so if ya hear me out on my conditions i’ll let you off the hook yeah?” 

In exchange for finally getting some peace from those crows, the demons agreed to two conditions. One, never to lay a hand on you ever again unless they want the risk of the birds invading their homes. No more mocking or even looking at you with malice. Two, pay Mammon every month. By the time that you got that cast removed, Mammon has paid off some debt from his classmates and he’s quite proud of it. At least he could take care of you and save some coin at the time. No one said it had to be his money right?

Levi

Levi didn’t spend lunch with any of his brothers or classmates as usual today. He likes spending his free time alone in isolated places like the school garden, empty classrooms, or even the rooftop so he could play his games or watch his anime in peace. Socializing with too many people is overwhelming, this is his own way of recharging to get through the rest of the day. 

Though there are rare instances that Levi would ask you to join him in his little hideouts, because you’re one of the people he doesn’t feel too draining to be around. He planned to share some of the snacks he bought for the both of you, but he saw that you were talking with his other brothers at the cafeteria. Feeling dejected, he decided to spend the lunch alone as usual and wait for the class. There’s no way you would want to spend time with someone who’d rather play gacha games on his phone for lunch…

He was hiding by the corners of the stairwell to play his game when he overheard two demons talking so badly about you, followed by hurried footsteps and then a heavy thump at the end of the stairs. Then he heard a familiar voice cry out in pain, and it’s when he realized that you were pushed off the stairs. He saw your body on the floor, trying to recover from the fall and he felt like his world was crashing in on him. He’s frozen in place, unsure of what to do without making things worse.

You turned around and found him hiding behind the stairwell, eyes locked for a moment that felt like an eternity to the demon. That’s when Levi realized he can’t just stand there idly when his player two is injured. Despite the anxiety, he ran to your side anyway to check on you. His face went so pale when he saw you clenching your ankle, the pain evident in your expression. “I-i’ve got you just… dammit what do i d-do…?!” He mumbles the last part, because he knows this isn’t a game where it takes one button to heal you back. No saved file to help him now. 

Levi looks up at the stairs and sees the two demons glaring at the both of you. Out of all the brothers, they would never take Levi seriously. To them, he’s just some demon who dedicated his life to a world of fiction and seeing him fumble right now just proves it. They say that Levi just lacks any real skill to even help you before they left. 

He hates to admit that those two are right, and that makes him loathe himself even more. Levi almost went down on a spiral, but that’s until he felt a phone get placed on his hand. He turns to meet your gaze, you handed him his D.D.D. and he knew what you were asking him to do. Levi quickly dials for his brothers and help came to you after a minute of doing so. He’s thankful for their quick responses, he wouldn’t be able to handle it if a crowd started forming around you both. 

Everyone of them was huddled outside the infirmary while you were getting patched up, and Levi explained what he witnessed. Though he starts going into his self-destructive speech patterns at how he could hardly do anything to help you by himself that he needed to get his brothers to do it for him. He felt so useless to you, but Lucifer interjects. “It’s natural to panic. But if you did not call for us, then they would’ve been in pain for much longer.”

That helped Levi feel a little bit grounded hearing reassurances from his brothers. Lucifer then tasked Levi to be the one in charge of taking care of you during school days. Since Levi also takes his classes online, then he can watch over you while you’re resting in the house. You both can take online classes together while you recover from your injury.

Levi spends most of the time in your room instead because there’s no way he’s making you go up those stairs to his room, and he doesn’t want to risk you getting hurt or slipping if you try to get in his bathtub. As clumsy as he could be, Levi did his best to take care of you. He did want to spend some time alone with you, but he wished it didn’t take a sprained ankle to get what he wanted. 

“I-if only this healing item exists, it would’ve been really handy right now…” He says as you both play a two-player game, the demon staring longingly at the recovery potions on the screen and wishing it could take away your pain right now. Levi often wonders… maybe if he didn’t sulk from the jealousy, if he actually asked you that day to go spend lunch with him, then maybe you wouldn’t have gotten hurt like this. 

Levi was watching some anime while you slept, and he saw the bullies on the anime picking on the innocent main protagonist. The scene just reminds him of what happened to you, and that brings him this sense of rage and justice. It was unfair what those two girls did to you, and Levi doesn’t think it’s right that he does nothing about this (assuming that his brothers haven't gotten to them first). 

The girls found all their accounts hacked. From Devilgram to their bank accounts. Their emails and passwords were changed overnight so they couldn’t figure out how to get it back, and if by some miracle they recovered their accounts, everything was already wiped clean by then. Levi may not be the most confrontational brother, but he’s the best behind the screen. He’s chugging his third energy drink as he thinks of new ways to plant a virus in their D.D.D.’s when he goes to school at the end of the week to hand over both of your homeworks. 

When Levi overheard the girls still talking about you during break, they found all their stuff completely drenched and ruined by the time they came back to their seats even though the classroom remained dry. Gadgets were water damaged, and schoolwork that they were supposed to be submitting later is already long gone. Even their lockers were stuffed with sand and sea water, spilling all over their uniforms as soon as they opened it. The teachers scolded them for the mess they ‘created’ no matter the protests that they never did, but who would believe them if they said it was Levi’s doing? The girls never uttered your name again.

Satan

The teacher assigned you both as partners for a class project due next week, and Satan suggested that it’s best to get a head start on it while your schedules are free. You babysit all of his brothers every day, so Satan expects that your days are going to be quite busy if any of them knew you had a bit of free time to spare. At least his plans are something productive, he gets to spend time with you while also finishing some homework together. 

It’s ten minutes past the agreed time you both were supposed to meet. Satan is outside the school library, tapping his foot on the floor as he messaged you but receiving no response. He knows he could’ve gone ahead to do some research to pass the time, but the point of this study date was to do the project together. It’s never like you to be late without any notice, so he sets out to look for you. 

Satan is walking swiftly, wondering if you were still at the cafeteria. He dials your number to try to call you during his search, and he stops in his tracks when finds your phone on the ground, the screen cracked. It brought alarms in his head and he picked it up to figure out where you must’ve dropped it. It wasn’t hard because he soon spotted the crowd of demons by the stairway nearby. He could immediately guess what happened as he ran to the crowd, and he’s shocked when finally sees that you were the source of commotion.

He doesn’t care how many students he shoved just to get to your side. Seeing you on the ground in pain already warrants an emergency. Satan guessed your phone flew out of your hand when you fell. “What happened to you?! Where does it hurt?!” Satan asks, pulling you close in his arms and checking what’s causing you pain. He sees your ankle swelling slightly, and he’s trying to deduce what he can do to help after reading all of those human health care books just for you.

Though the laughter he’s hearing from the distance is annoying and distracting. Satan glances up and spots the two girls fleeing the scene, looking so proud of themselves. When he realizes what happened to you, his anger is already bubbling through the surface that it’s almost hard to contain. The pained expression on your face doesn’t help, the only reason he hasn’t fully transformed into his demon form is that he doesn’t want to draw more attention or hurt you more than you already are.

The way these students crowded around you like vultures to a feast is making Satan frustrated at each and everyone of them. How could they just stand there and watch while you were in pain? And those two girls, he will make sure to burn their faces into his memory for later. You could practically feel the heat of his wrath radiating from your pact and it’s making your body hurt more. Satan realized that his temper right now could be causing you more pain, so he focuses his thoughts into getting you some help instead of the anger that wants to burn everything and everyone around you.

“Calm down… just calm down…” he mutters over and over while he gently scoops you into his arms, though it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself. Satan is careful when carrying you so he can take you to the infirmary, and all the students parted like the red sea when Satan shot glares at them, quickly scattering like rats while the two of you disappeared into the infirmary. 

His eyebrows are furrowed the entire time as he waits for you to get patched up. His brothers have already arrived after they heard what happened, though they could sense that the fourth born is already on edge like a ticking time bomb. He’s quiet not because there’s nothing to say, but because he’s trying to hatch a plan. Something like this shouldnt go unpunished…

Satan is glad for his position in the student council because it meant that he could access some files from RAD. What does he do best? Studying and gathering as much information as he could. He looks for any detention notices until he finds the names and faces of the two girls that hurt you. A smile spreads across his face, though it was nothing pleasant. Like he just found his new prey. 

He just needs to wait for that detention day, patience is the key to success. So for now he’ll focus on taking care of you. Satan pays more attention to you, always attentive to your needs. He brings you notes from any classes that you’ve missed during your recovery, and you heard from one of the brothers that they’re all trying to rack up money for a better phone since yours broke. you do admit that you feel bad for all the extra work he puts up for your sake, especially since Satan even had to do most of the project that you both were originally supposed to do together in the first place if it weren’t for the incident.

“You’re speaking nonsense. I don’t mind putting in more effort just for you, all you need to do is to recover. I’ll consider that as my thanks.” Satan would bring you books in bed or make you some coffee topped with some latte art just so you wouldn’t feel so bored. You can’t go to cafes or libraries with him like you both used to, so Satan will do everything with you in the comforts of your room. 

Satan counted the days until it was time. He assigns another brother to watch over you. Asmo pretends not to hear the sound of the main door closing in the middle of the night, distracting you with something pretty he recently bought. The next school day rolls around and everyone is lucky you’re still in bed rest when the news broke out. Two students were found unconscious on the stairs in an awful state. Normally, falling down a flight of stairs doesn’t do much damage to a demon as much as it can to humans. And yet the bones in their legs were absolutely shattered…

None of the brothers were honestly too bothered to tell you the events that transpired, mostly because they knew the culprit. Satan would rather that you focus your energy on recovering. The only news that Satan told you was that you both got a perfect mark on the project you both worked on in the comforts of your room, but he doesn’t bring up what happened to those two demons. You only found out when Solomon accidentally told you during his visits. 

Asmo

There’s only a few minutes left before the next bell would ring, so Asmo makes sure to retouch his makeup in the school’s bathroom just as he usually does. He dedicates twenty minutes of his daily time making sure that he looks absolutely perfect, so he could bless the eyes of those who pass by to bear witness of his beauty. At least, that’s what he always tells you whenever he leaves. 

Just a bit of blush here and there to match his eye shadow, and Asmo has this proud smile on his face when he’s sure that he looks absolutely spotless. He wanted to bring you along to his little pre-class make up routines, and maybe next time he’ll hear that sweet ‘yes’ from you when he asks. Just thinking about you is making him giddy, so Asmo packed up his pouch and tried to look for you.

It didn’t take him long because as soon as he opened the bathroom door, he spotted a few students by the stairs. Asmo finds it unusual because what could be so important that he’s not the center of attention? Regardless, he’s intrigued enough to investigate the source and he’s horrified to see you down the stairs, clutching your ankle. 

If it wasn’t you, then it was Asmo’s shriek that probably drew more attention to the scene. He’s quickly running to your side and checks if you hit your pretty little face anywhere. “Darling, that must’ve been a nasty fall! I would hate it if you got any bruises anywhere on that perfect skin of yours.” Asmo whines as he helps you sit up to give you more support, wrapping an arm around your waist. 

When he did so, he heard a scoff and finally turned his attention to the top of the stairs where the two girls looked at you with disgust. He recognizes one of them from his fanclubs, a girl that often tried to get his attention. The facial expressions and body language says all he needs to know, he’s seen this look before. Someone like you being held by Asmo is a major offense to her eyes. The two demons storm off before Asmo could say anything. 

Asmo pursed his lips together in frustration before he turned to all the students crowding around you. For once, he hated this attention you’re getting and he sees how much you’re getting shaken by this. “Scram.” Asmo said with enchanted glowing eyes, watching as they all obeyed his command. He then turns to you and wraps your arm over his shoulder to hoist you up. “Come on, let’s get that treated or Lucifer will kill me!” Asmo says to try lighten the mood, though it doesn’t hide the bloodlust in his eyes. 

He doesn’t like sweating when he just retouched his makeup, but he can’t even bring himself to think about that now whenever he hears the pained whimpers from you everytime you struggle to take a step. The brother’s eventually arrive to find Asmo outside the Infirmary, scrolling through his phone. Looking closely, he’s actually stalking the profile of the demon he saw earlier and there’s a sinister smile on his face whenever he learns something new about his target. The smile was enough to creep Levi out. 

Asmo is always checking up on you when you’re at home recovering, trying to cheer you up whenever he has the chance. It’s gotten to the point he lessened his time clubbing or going to malls just so he could stay with you. “When you’re out of that cast, there will be a special bath full of rose petals with your name written all over it.” Asmo does his best to pamper you whenever he can, knowing how hard it must be to have that cast. It’s truly awful when these sorts of things have to happen to you when you both just bought some matching shoes together! He decides not to wear it yet until your foot gets better.

While you were gone, Asmo did what does best. Gossip. He started giving that other demon attention like she always wanted, whispering and suggesting things in her ear. About how that other demon, her friend, was saying disgusting things behind her back and Asmo is only telling her this to ‘look out’ for her sake. He relishes in her angered expression, knowing he now has her wrapped around his finger like a puppet and all he needed to do was sit back to watch the show.

Each day he found himself feeling excited to go to school just to see how those two would hurt each other this time. It started as something petty with his fan constantly bumping into what she used to consider as a friend, feigning ignorance whenever she’s confronted. Of course, she retaliated back until their silent arguments full of passive-aggressiveness turned into something more violent and hostile. It started from mean notes to death threats until they can’t even stand being in the same room without trying to claw out each other’s eyes. All because of Asmo’s pretty words.

There are times teachers are called to intervene because two girls began fighting in the hallways, screaming profanities while pulling at the other’s hair or horns. Whenever the drama dies down, Asmo would go back to add more fuel to the fire just to watch them burn. He tells his dedicated fan more lies just to enable that rage, spreading a rumor or two around the campus to make it sound reliable. He loves having that charm that captivates and charms, especially someone as gullible as this demon who’d listen to anything he says.

News was no longer about your recent incident, it was now about how the two demons fought so badly that they fell over the stair railings from the top floor all the way down. Given the severity of the injuries they’ve given each other from the week alone, they had no choice but to be suspended until the student council decides what to do with them. 

Of course, the brothers knew Asmo pulled the strings, seeing that smile on his face whenever the two girls would try to tear each other apart made it so obvious. Not only was it easy and entertaining, but it kept his nails clean too. It’s not like he broke a rule right? They both did this to themselves. “I can’t wait to tell my darling what happened~!” Asmo hums excitedly on his way home to you.

Beel

Lunch time is definitely Beel’s favorite part of the day (and the lunch lady's worst nightmare). He’s golfing down as much food as he could since he’s been so hungry from his last class which was Magical Potions. Whenever his hunger starts to act up, it’s already a struggle not to eat the ingredients to alleviate it, knowing his teacher would scold him just like last time when he chowed down the entire jar of shadow salamander tails. 

He’s lucky whenever you both are paired up together, since you bring him some candies to alleviate his hunger enough for him to focus again. You were his lifesaver. Just the thought of you makes Beel wonder where you were. He went ahead today because you said you needed to see Satan to discuss a project, and you were taking quite a while. He’s had food saved up for you and it’s getting harder for Beel not to eat your share, plus it’s always better when you both eat together. 

The last straw was when he saw Satan in the cafeteria and when he asked the blonde where you were, the fourth born said he couldn’t find you. Beel grabs a few snacks to keep his stomach going when he searches for you. Normally it’s hard to convince Beel to leave the cafeteria during lunch break, but you’re that important for him to abandon the heaping food on his table. He was trained as an angel to be ready for any sort of disaster, and his gut is telling him that something is definitely wrong. He only confirmed it when he was walking down the stairs and saw everything. 

Two girls were laughing and mocking the human he’s grown to love and care for, and when he found you on the bottom of the stairs after a fall, Beel was seeing red. He doesn’t hesitate to slam his fist against the wall and demand silence, because there was no way he was going to let them insult you any further. The two demons saw him and stiffened, quickly running away from the scene to avoid getting caught. The girls knew that Beel would crack their skulls open like he did to that wall if he got his hands on them.

Beel normally would’ve gone after them, but seeing how you’re struggling to get up on your own is what changed his mind and ran to you instead. He doesn’t even get to run all the way, at some point Beel jumps down the last flight of stairs just to reach you quicker. “Tell me if it hurts…” Beel whispers as he tries to help you up. You winced from the pain, and he decided to effortlessly carry you all the way to the infirmary because he would never make you limp this entire trip and deal with the ache. He’s a big demon, and lots of people find him terrifying when aggravated. And yet he’s so gentle when it comes to you.

Being a fangol player, Beel knows what it’s like to hurt yourself. He’s had Lucifer and Mammon help him back to the house after one intense match against the opposing team. The difference is that he could heal a bit more quickly compared to your fragile human body. What normally takes days for his body to regenerate could last months for you. He’s being careful when he carries you to the infirmary, holding you close like you’re the most delicate thing he’s ever held and he might be right at this point when he watches the nurses patch you up.

Beel is pacing so much outside the infirmary that his twin had to calm him down before he would drill a hole in the middle of the halls, his head is thinking about all of the what-ifs. Luckily you weren’t critical, save for the sprained ankle, but there’s this guilt on his face when he looks through the window and sees your cast. Maybe he should’ve been with you when you went looking for Satan so that he would have protected you, but what’s done is done now. So he focuses on taking care of you and reminding you that you could always rely on him for help.

He brings you some of your favorite treats whenever he comes home from RAD so you both could eat together. At some point, he heard from Solomon that milk is the key for humans to have stronger bones. You tried not to laugh when Beel got a galon just for you, innocently thinking that it would’ve helped you out with your injury if you drank all of it. 

Beel is too nice for a demon, he might be the kindest of the seven brothers. But there’s been this tension around the orange haired demon whenever he’s sharing a class with the two girls that pushed you down those stairs. There's this hardly contained rage and blood lust, so a lot of students avoided mentioning what happened to you around him unless they want to get caught in the crossfire. 

Beel finds it frustrating whenever he feels that he can't do anything about this rage. Watching you limp around in crutches around the house while those girls were striding down the halls without a care, it wasn't fair. It’s taking all his willpower not to just throw them out of the window for what they did to you. He broke several pens whenever he's too angry during class that Satan had to lend him some of his own. He feels this loss of appetite now that you’re not around to share food with him, and whenever he would remember the incident he would bend the metal of his fork, shaping it effortlessly like it’s clay. It’s a matter of concern for the brothers now.

Belphie took his twin out to the gym so Beel could let his frustrations through workouts. He may have destroyed two punching bags, but it was enough to bring down that anger to a safer level now. And during all that, Beel finally confided in his twin. About how he saw those girls mock you, and this innate urge to just see them suffer but it’s impossible to do that without destroying everything in his path. He would get in a lot of trouble, and he knows that would upset you instead. 

“It’s just unfair, you know that they didn’t deserve that…” Just because he was nice doesn’t mean he wasn’t vengeful, but he’s at a loss of what he could do that wouldn’t result in another property damage bill sitting on Lucifer’s desk. Belphie can just sense how his Beel is itching for a bit of revenge, and who is he to deny what his twin wants? 

For Magical Potions, Beel had to partner up with Satan and Belphie since you’ll be absent for the time being. They had the perfect plan, all Satan needed was a good sleight of hand to drop something in their cauldron when he walks by. Given that these two love pulling pranks on Lucifer specifically, they took a page out of their book of schemes for new targets. 

Maybe his brothers forgot to consider that these two demons do not have the same kind of strength or resistance that the eldest had… or they both did this on purpose. Adding hellfire frog legs into the girl’s cauldron during Magical Potions class was actually more explosive than they expected, resulting in awful burns on their skin and hair. Beel’s priority is to take care of you everyday so he didn’t have much time to relish in this side of his that wants to wreak havoc, but he admits that seeing your bullies in pain like this is actually fun. It’s almost as satisfying as those ten stack pancakes he had two days ago… ah great, now he’s getting hungry again.

Beel is coming home to you with a box of your favorite treats. You wanted to try those new batch of sweets from Madame Scream but the brothers kept you in bed rest due to your ankle, so Beel went out of the trouble to get them for you. It took a lot of willpower not to eat a single one on the way back which deserves praise. You’ve been feeding him so many snacks during class to help him focus, this is his way of returning the favor to you. 

He doesn’t bring up what happened during potions class with the girls that pushed you, and he honestly didn’t feel the need to do so since they weren’t important as you are to him. He’s too busy trying to feed you some yummy snacks to even think about that. You only hear about what happened through his twin who was grinning from ear to ear when he recalls the boils and burnt hair. “Well, it’s their fault for not checking their cauldron. They’re not smart and careful like you.” 

Belphie

Belphie found a perfect spot to sleep around RAD where he’s sure Lucifer won’t spot him yet. It’s hidden in the school gardens, a nice secluded area with a small bench surrounded by bushes that would surely keep him out of sight. He’s been slowly putting pillows and blankets he’s brought so that it becomes a little slumber haven for him, and Belphie feels that he’s ready to show you his secret spot. He’d never tell his brothers because he wants to have at least a few minutes alone with you every weekday.

The problem with that plan is that Belphie can’t even find you. He’s already at the verge of passing out from the exhaustion of trying to keep himself awake in his search for you. Lunch in school is normally his nap time allowance, but he really did want to show you this secret hide out so that you both could enjoy it together. 

He runs into his twin who was also looking for you, so it’s better they just stuck together right? Belphie had plans to show Beel anyways once this was done with. They passed by a corner to go upstairs in case you were already in the classroom, and that’s when they both saw you at the bottom of the stairs where those two girls were laughing at you. 

Belphie didn’t know what came over him, but his body could hardly move when he saw you like that. It’s bringing him a lot of bad memories of choices he came to regret until this day, remembering the things he did to you when he threw your body down the stairs. He wanted to forget that, but seeing this whole situation is making that memory repeat in his head. Like the guilt is creeping back to him, and he froze in place not knowing what to do other than to relive the moment. 

Beel grabbed Belphie by the wrist to snap him out of the trance, reminding the youngest that you need some help. The twins came by your side, hoisting your arms over their shoulders to help you in the infirmary. The two girls were already long gone while Belphie was in a frozen state, and Beel would’ve gone after them if not for his twin and you because his family always comes first. 

The one thing that’s comforting Belphie right now is the fact that you’re still alive and breathing, though it can only do so much. He doesn’t like seeing you in pain like this, so he offers a spell so you could sleep through it while the nurse from the infirmary patches you up. He’s quiet the entire time when he watches you rest, Beel tries to talk to his twin about it but he refuses to let his problems known. It’s not like it was hard to guess, Beel can tell what’s bothering his twin but doesn’t mention it. 

Belphie has been taking naps by your side whenever possible, sleeping in your room and making sure to give you sweet dreams each time you start falling asleep. Though he himself couldn’t sleep. Each time he tries to get some shut eye with you, he ends up reliving that day when they found you at the bottom of the stairs. The way those girls mocked you was unforgivable, and he hates how it’s hitting too close to home. Whenever he wakes up, he checks on your pulse while you’re asleep and sighs in relief every time he feels your heart beat. Like it’s the only thing that can calm him down. 

By the time he woke up from his third nightmare, Belphie had enough. If he wants to feel at peace again, then he needs to get rid of the source of the problem. It wasn’t fair that you’re suffering like this, he hates seeing the empty seat next to him in class knowing that you’re supposed to be there instead of staying at home with that cast. Lucifer told him that they’ll be dealing with the matters soon, but Belphie had no intention of listening to them in the first place. 

Belphie has been gradually giving the two girls nightmares, and each night they progressively get worse. From using their phobias against them to waking up from a gorefest nightmare in the middle of the night. It costs them sleep, and Belphie thinks it’s the perfect piece of karma whenever he sees the bags under their eyes getting darker each day. Hair and clothes started to look more haphazard when there’s barely any energy to keep themselves up.

Whenever Belphie shares a class with them, he pulls a little bit of magic to make them fall asleep during class until they get into a lot of trouble. He loves doing this when there are important tests and activities so they’d miss it and fail. No amount of coffee helps keep them awake during the day while the nightmares plague their sleep. The constant fatigue and the lack of sleep is starting to get to them, and Belphie has been observing everything. Movements were more sluggish and alertness has gone below the baseline. Just exactly what Belphie was waiting for. 

It’s a simple plan that leads to the least amount of struggling and effort needed, because all it took was one shove for them to tumble out of the railings and down several flights of stairs. When they’ve finally stopped rolling against the stairs, they hear Belphie’s heavy footsteps as he walks down to their level until he’s stepping on one of them with the heel of his foot. He’d compare them to bugs, but that would be insulting to all insects.

“You know, I had a lot of plans with them that day… I don’t like it when people, even my brothers, decide to ruin them.” His love for you and spoiled attitude is what’s fueling his anger right now, so he had no qualms with pushing them down the next flight of stairs with his foot. And whenever they think it’s over, he goes down and does this again. Like kicking a pebble he’s found on the ground… all the way down to the first floor. 

There’s this satisfied look on his face as soon as he sees the two girls on the floor already at the brink of unconsciousness. He feels so much lighter now, and all he can think of is how he wants to go home to take a nap with you. He doesn’t even walk over to the side, he just steps over the two girls on his way out. 

Belphie comes home with the usual drowsy expression, but you can tell he’s in a much better mood now. He lays down next to you in bed, already hugging you close to his chest while making sure he’s not hurting your ankle. “I think I can get more sleep now…” he says with a confident smile on his lips, lulling you to slumber with him. After that incident, it’s the first in a while that Belphie finally has his usual 10 hour nap. 

[hoshifighting]

tutor!woozi (part 2)

check the part 1 (kinktober bonus)

WARNINGS: +18, smut, (oral f. & m.), throat fucking, penetrative sex, mentions of body fluids (cum, spit)

after that night, for all the times you’d wanted to text him, your ego kept its foot firmly on the brake. if jihoon thought you’d just come crawling back after his little remark, he was dead wrong. it didn’t matter how much your body craved another taste of him; no way were you about to give him that satisfaction. besides, it wasn’t like you were the only one who enjoyed that night, despite his attitude. if he wanted it again, HE’d have to come to you.

over the next week, every hallway encounter was a battle of wills. you’d pass by him with your friends, glancing away just slightly so you wouldn’t have to meet his gaze. and while your friends couldn’t help but notice the way jihoon’s friends looked at you as you walked by—waiting for the smirk you always used to throw his way—you’d hold your chin up and act like he didn’t even exist.

the whispers had started up again, too. after all, you and jihoon had been seen together plenty at the start of the semester, supposedly “studying” for a class you knew you didn’t even share. his friends had even toasted him over some rumor that tutoring wasn’t the only “learning” happening during those sessions. and now? they watched you like they were trying to figure out if you’d switched interests, especially when they saw you walking through campus with someone else’s arm casually slung over your shoulder. jihoon’s friends wore confused expressions, and if jihoon himself noticed…well, he didn’t give a single clue.

but it was getting harder to ignore it. especially tonight.

it was 9 pm, and you were dressed and ready for a night at the local bar, hoping a little drink and dance would be enough to take your mind off him completely. heading out, you made the mistake of cutting through his dorm hall, almost jogging to keep the tension from catching up with you. maybe he’d be out. or maybe he was too busy doing something else. you didn’t care. but as you neared the end of the hallway, a hand caught your arm, yanking you backward so quickly that you stumbled.

before you could react, you found yourself inside a dorm room, the familiar smell already cluing you in to where you were before you could fully process it. jihoon’s hand was still around your arm, the dorm was silent, the noise of the hall muffled as the door clicked shut behind you.

“where are you running off to, dressed like that?”

your pulse was racing, but you gave him a steady look, shrugging your arm free of his grip. “does it matter?” you smirked, turning as if to open the door, only to feel him step even closer behind you, blocking the way.

“what’s wrong with you?” you ask, crossing your arms.

you knew you had his attention, and now, for whatever reason, it looked like he couldn’t hold back anymore. jihoon opens his mouth like he’s about to answer, but he bites his tongue, his gaze dropping to the side as if the walls would have a solution for him.

“what’s wrong with me?” he finally retorts, jaw tense. “you had to ignore me that hard in front of my friends? couldn’t even throw a glance my way?”

you let out a genuine laugh. “weren’t you the one who told me not to reach out to you unless i wanted a ‘good fuck’? well, sorry, but didn’t seem worth it.”

his eyes flash. “really? ‘cause you seemed pretty into it at the time,” he counters, almost daring you to deny it.

“maybe i was.” you shrug. “but maybe i got over it.”

jihoon’s jaw clenches, and he takes a half step forward, closing the space separating you. “over it? you think you can just get over it that easy?”

“why not?”

he lets out a scoff, shaking his head. “you’re full of it. bet you thought about that night as much as i did. don’t. lie.”

your heart races, but you lift your chin defiantly. “if i’m full of it, then so are you, mr. i-don’t-need-anyone-reachin’-out-to-me. didn’t think you’d care if i ignored you. you’re all talk jihoon.” you tease, looking up at him, daring him to prove you wrong.

“all talk?” he scoffs, his mouth inches from yours, but he doesn’t close the gap. “maybe you need a reminder of how ‘not worth it’ i was.”

before you can reply, his hand slides down to the curve of your hip, pulling you close as his other hand tilts your chin up. his lips brush against yours in the faintest tease of a kiss before he pulls back, just enough to keep you wanting.

you let out a frustrated huff, trying to close the distance, but he holds you in place, a cocky smirk creeping onto his face. “not so fast... you wanted this, didn’t you?”

“you know i did.”

“so admit it... admit you wanted me to come after you.”

your pride fights to hold out, but the way his fingers dig into your ass meat, the way his voice drops just for you, it’s impossible to resist. “fine,” you whisper back. “i wanted you to come after me.”

he’s leaning in, lips parted, ready to crash into yours finally when your hand presses against his chest. he freezes, eyes flicking up to yours, searching. “bad boys don't get kissed.” you mock, savoring the way his expression falters.

he recognizes that phrase. he opens his mouth, maybe to protest, but he just closes his eyes, breathing out a low exhale through his nose, clearly biting back his response.

but the fury in his eyes returns, darker, and without a word, his hand slides up to the back of your neck, pulling you down with a grip that tells you exactly where this is going.

you let him guide you onto your knees.

“fine,” he mutters, voices gravelly, fingers grazing your jaw. “don’t need your kiss, anyway. got a better idea.”

his thumb drags along your lower lip, pressing until you open your mouth for him, and he can’t hide the hungry look that flashes across his face.

“this mouth of yours,” he mutters, thumb slipping between your lips. “always running it, always pushing me.” he watches intently as you take him in, tongue curling around his thumb, obedient despite the defiance in your eyes. “bet you’ll think twice about mouthing off when you’re choking on my cock.”

he undoes his shorts string, sliding it off, and before you know it, he’s pushing the fabric down just enough to free himself, his cock standing hard, thick and flushed in front of you.

he strokes himself slowly, dragging his length along your lips, smearing precum over them like lipgloss as he says, “you tap my thigh if you need a breath, got it?”

you nod, mouth already watering as you part your lips wider, letting him guide himself between them. his fingers tangle in your hair, pulling just enough to make you feel the sharp tug, and then he starts pushing forward, filling your mouth inch by inch until he’s pressing against the back of your throat.

he doesn’t ease up. he moves faster, driving deeper until he’s hitting that spot that makes your throat clench around him, your eyes watering instantly. spit starts to collect at the corners of your mouth, sliding down your chin as he pulls back only to push in again, even deeper this time, his cock stretching your throat wide, demanding every inch of space.

“all that attitude… gone.” his hand tightens in your hair, holding you still as he starts thrusting with a rough rhythm, hips snapping forward. “bet you’d do anything to prove me wrong now, wouldn’t you?”

he’s relentless, each thrust pressing your mouth and throat to their limits, your gag reflex triggered with every push. you feel spit pooling, slipping past your lips as you struggle to keep up with him, swallowing around his length even as he reaches deeper, his cock twitching at the tight, involuntary clenches of your throat.

you’re practically dripping, reduced to whimpers and gasps as he fucks your mouth, his hips rolling forward again and again, no space left for anything but him. when he pulls back for a second, a trail of spit stretches between your lips and the head of his cock, and he groans, wiping the mess over your cheek before plunging in again, going even harder.

“so pretty like this,” he mutters, watching as your eyes grow wetter, each thrust forcing a new wave of spit down your chin and neck, over his thighs. your fingers gripping his thighs for balance, and he smirks, giving a particularly sharp thrust that has you choking, throat convulsing as a line of spit drips down your chin. “that’s right. take it all.”

he starts slowing, grinding his hips forward, keeping himself pressed deep as he lets out a low groan, feeling the way you tremble. and then he thrusts one last time, deeper than before, pushing himself right to the base. he lets out a ragged breath as he stills, his cock twitching as you feel him tense, holding himself there, filling your throat as he spills into you, viscous and hot.

you swallow as best as you can, the bitter taste coating your tongue, but he doesn’t let you pull back right away.

you let the fullness press down on your throat until the edges of your vision begin to blur, the air thinning, everything swimming. you tap his thigh rapidly, a faint, desperate plea, and just as your lungs burn hottest, he releases, pulling you back with a hand steadying your shoulder. you slump onto your heels, shoulders sagging as you gulp down air, your head swimming with the remnants of his hold on you.

his hands stay firm on your shoulders, keeping you steady as you breathe, your throat aches, stretched and raw, the sting of his rough pace lingering with every shallow gulp.

as he maneuvers you onto the bed, his hands slide down impatiently and your dress and panties are gone all in once. he pauses for a moment, taking you in, his gaze raking over the sight of your swollen lips and sultry eyes, glazed with that barely-there smirk. 

he cant do this right now.

he grips your arm, twisting you to fall chest-first onto the mattress, hips lifted up as his arm curls around you.

“you—” you scoff, voice raspy, “can’t you fuck me while looking at my face?”

he lets out a low laugh, leaning close to your ear as his hand slides down your back. “oh, i think you’ve had enough of my face for tonight… plus, i think you look even better like this—bent over and whining.”

you couldnt even have a second to roll your eyes, a comeback on the tip of your tongue, but he’s already there, pressing into you suddenly, stretching your pussy in one hard, unrelenting thrust that punches the breath right out of your lungs. a cry rips from you, loud and hoarse, and you brace yourself against the mattress, fingers twisting into the sheets as your whole body shakes.

"that shut you up?” he breathes, hands digging into your hips as he sets a bruising pace. you can’t even catch your breath, every thrust leaving you reeling, gasping for air. tears prick at your eyes, spilling over as he hits that spot, so precise it’s maddening.

“fuck—s-so deep—” you choke out, incoherent as you press your cheek to the sheets, gripping the fabric so hard your knuckles ache. his fingers dig into the meat of your hips, pulling you back to meet every thrust, his balls slapping your clit making you convulse with everythrust. 

“thought you wanted this, yeah?” he taunts, leaning down. “thought you liked it rough. what, too much for you now?”

“n-no—” you manage, though the word comes out in a broken sob, your voice betraying you. he’s unrelenting, snapping his hips forward with every word, and you can feel yourself falling apart, the way he’s not holding anything back. it’s dizzying and yet you can’t help but crave it, want more, need more.

“thought you could handle it, acting all cocky,” he sneers, giving your ass a hard smack that makes you jolt, a fresh tide of tears spilling down your cheeks.“crying for it. pathetic.”

you let out a choked, breathless sob, the humiliation only heightening the need simmering inside you. “p-please…” you whimper, unable to do anything but plead as he keeps driving into you.

“oh, now you’re begging?” he laughs. “all that attitude, all that talk, and now you’re nothing but a crying mess on my bed.”

another broken cry slips out of you, and he chuckles. his hands trail down your spine, his fingers digging into your skin, grounding you, steadying you in the haze.

“you’re so fucking pretty like this,” he coos. “all desperate… should’ve known you’d like it this way.”

you can’t respond, can’t do anything but let out a helpless, broken cry, body arching, straining against him as you feel your orgasm approaching. and even then, he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, keeping you there.

“you thought you could come in here all high and mighty that night.. now look where that got you.”

“shut up,” you manage to gasp as he snaps his hips harder, the sound echoing in the small space. “you’re—” another thrust cuts you off, drawing another whimper from your throat.

“i’m what? too rough for you? too much for that little mouth of yours? you’ve got no problem talking back when you’re not getting fucked, huh?”

“i said shut up!” you cry out, though your voice is shaky, betraying you. “you’re just—oh my god—”

“just what?” 

“i hate you,” you whimper, even as your body betrays you, arching into him, chasing that sweet friction.

he can hear the contradiction.

“sure you do,” he laughs softly, his breath warm against your skin.

the moment you squeeze him harder, makes him wince, his cock feels so sensitive, after that last mind-blowing orgasm, and he can’t help but throw his head back, his breath hitching in his throat as he fights to control himself.

you’re lost in your own world, eyes shut tight as you cling to him, and he uses that to his advantage. with a smirk curling on his lips, he pulls out slowly, relishing the way your body protests against the emptiness.

“n-no, jihoon!” you whine, instinctively reaching for him. you grab his hand from behind your back, intertwining your fingers with his, a silent plea not to tease you anymore. 

“c’mon, jihoon, just stop teasing me already.” you push your ass against his hips, a cheeky slap echoing in the room. 

he would be lying if he says it doesn’t turn him on, when your existence is enough to make his blood run hot. as he lowers himself behind you, he can’t help but watch the way your pussy clenchesaround nothing, how your curves seem to invite him in. 

he leans in, letting his breath ghost over your skin before he dives in, his tongue swirling around your dripping pussy. you cry all cute on his sheets, like his tongue was a sweet and massaging reward after he destroyed your cunt with his thick lenght.

he lets your clit rest under his tongue as he dives the tip of the wet, pinky muscle, between your folds. just to flick the tongue down again and take the throbbing nerve inside his mouth, making you sob.

his tongue dances across your folds, the slickness of your cum coating him. his mouth is warm and inviting, eager haven as he drinks you in. he alternates between languid licks that tease your puffy lips and insistent flicks that make you roll your eyes. 

your hands tangle in his hair from behind, pulling him closer as you urge him on, the silky strands slipping through your fingers. his fingers tighten around your thighs, holding you firmly in place as he plunges his tongue deeper, swirling it around inside you.

your body is a symphony of slickness, the remnants of your cum coating his chin and the skin around his mouth. he dives back in, tongue swirling around your entrance, licking up every drop of your honey before turning his attention back to your clit.

“i’m so close, jihoon,” you whimper. “that's it!”

he responds by sucking your clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it while his fingers push into you, the pressure of them stretching you just right. 

as if on cue, you feel that big hot bubble in your lower belly snap, you cry out, each pulse of the orgasm making you tighter around his fingers. 

jihoon couldn't shake the feeling of unease as he watched you get up from his bed, your movements quiet and subdued after your intense orgasm. the post-orgasm glow faded too quickly.

“where do you think you’re going?” he asked as he pulled you back down onto the bed. you landed softly, your eyes wide and innocent as you frowned at him.

“i’m… leaving?” you said, trying to keep your tone light.

he exhaled sharply, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment as he fought against the frustration. “you’re only saying that because of how i made you leave the last time, aren’t you?”

you shifted slightly, looking away as if the truth was too difficult to face. “maybe..” you admitted softly, and that single word made his heart sink.

“i’m sorry about that,” he said, sincerity lacing his tone. “i miss those tutoring classes, you know? i didn't mean to push you away like that. it’s just… i think—”

“you think?” you shot back, crossing your arms defiantly. “you told me not to come after you unless i wanted a good fuck. not very delicate.”

“that was a mistake,” he insisted, as he searched your eyes. “i didn’t think it would end up like this. i thought we were just messing around.” he ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident on his face. “but i want more than that. i like having you around.”

you looked at him, your expression softening just a little. “so, what? you want to tutor me again? pretend like we didn’t just…” you trailed off.

“no,” he replied firmly. “i want to be honest with you. i want you to want me, not just as a way to fill some need… just like i want you.” he paused, gathering his thoughts.

“so you’re just going to keep me here, like this?” you asked, tilting your head. 

“if you’ll let me,” he replied. “just stay.”

“you really think it’s that easy? just because we had one good round?”

“it’s not just about the sex,” he said, getting nearer. “i want to explore more than that, but only if you’re willing.”

“and if i’m not?” you asked.

“then i guess i’ll have to work a little harder to change your mind,” he teased lightly.

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile creeping onto your lips. “good luck with that, jihoon. i’m not that easy.”

“i never thought you were,” he smirked, leaning closer. “but i’m willing to put in the effort. so, what’s it gonna be?”

you bit your lip, “maybe i’ll stick around for a little while longer,” you replied, leaning back into the bed with a teasing smile.

“good choice.”

[tinylilacbun]

omg omg idk if u take requests if u are can you do a winter soldier x little reader? maybe like bucky somehow gets into the winter soldier mode and is scary towards everyone else but the reader (like he goes soft for the reader)😭

Code: Winter

Pairing: daddy!Bucky x little!reader

Warnings: age regression, soft!Winter Soldier, mentions of guns, angst?, some fluff

⭒𖥸⭒

You whined when your nap got interrupted by the blarring alarm and constant repeating words 'code winter'.

Holding your hands over your ears you turned on your other side, expecting your daddy to lay beside you reading a book but frowned when you found his side of the bed empty.

Grabbing your stuffie you got up from your comfortable bed, making your way to the door and opening it slightly, peeking your head out.

You saw several agents and trainees running past your room, all seeming rather panicked and your little mind can't grasp the thought of there being a reason, or someone, for them being so scared, instead your curiosity got the best of you and you decided to go and look for yourself.

Meanwhile in the common area Steve was trying to console Bucky with Sam and Natasha behind him, aiming their weapons at him.

"Buck, come on, you know us-" Steve placed his shield down, trying to show he's no threat to the soldier.

"Steve! Look out!" Natasha shouted all three of them throw themselves to the side when the couch was being thrown their way.

Just as the soldier started approaching them he got send back by a repulsor shot from Tony who flied in just in time, in his iron man suit.

"That was a 2 thousand dollar couch, Terminator."

The soldier now grabbed the gun he had tucked in the waistband of his pants, aiming it at Tony when a small voice had them all turning their heads.

"Daddy...?" Your bottom lip trembling you held your stuffie close to your chest, not understanding why he was being mean to your aunt and uncles. "What you doin'?"

The soldier slowly made his way towards you, aiming his his gun straight at Steve when he took a step forward.

While walking to you the voice in his head he kept pushing away became even louder than before.

Do. Not. Hurt. Her. I dare you.

When he stood before you he tilted his head at the tear that was rolling down your cheek, his metal hand reaching up to wipe it away gently. In the deepest of his mind he knows you're no threat to him and picked you up with his metal arm placing you on his hip, his other hand still aiming the gun at the others to keep them at a good distance while walking out of the room.

The others all let out a sigh, still not at ease knowing the freaking Winter Soldier has you with him with no supervision.

"What are we gonna do now? If we step one foot in their room we'll have a bullet in our head." Sam said crossing his arms.

"He won't hurt her." Steve assured them.

"And how do you know that?" Tony laughed at him.

"I just know, alright. As much as the Winter Soldier wanted to, he couldn't. Bucky would never let that happen, even in this state."

"You better be right, Capsicle." Tony pointed a finger at him.

Back in your room, you were sitting on his lap, trying to analyze his expressions but there were none. Cold and dull eyes where staring at you, not the bright blue ones that you got used to and loved so much.

"You not daddy?" You asked, nervously playing with a lose seam of your stuffie.

When he shook his head you frowned a little. It confused you how he can be the Bucky you've known for years now but also doesn't at the same time. It's like talking to a clone, a much more colder one at that but still you can't help but feel safe in his arms.

The soldier doesn't like to see you upset, some inner part of him feels the need to comfort you in any way possible.

"Call me papa." He said with a russian accent and your face lit up at that, glad you didn't lost your caregiver completely.

You nod with a small smile, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck, your interrupted nap now catching up with you.

"Love you, papa." You mumbled, yawning before finally closing your eyes again.

The soldier hummed in response, his metal hand rubbing subconsciously on your back and feeling your body relaxing against his.

⭒𖥸⭒

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @aagn360 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @fluffyblanketgecko @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse @kissforvoid

For Bucky:

@almostcontentcreator

Crossed out are the ones I somehow can't tag!!

[loganhowlettshousewife]

animal

chapter 1

friendly reminder that i am not a writer, i'm just a girl who loves logan howlett and wanted to write something exploring his animalistic side since i so rarely see it done. my first language is also not english, so please do not be rude when giving me any feedback.

warnings: non-sexual nudity, swearing, some sexual-ish thoughts

series masterlist │my masterlist

you had been baking a pie, rolling out the homemade dough for the crust, humming along with the soft music playing through the house, when through the open window you’d seen him. a large man, as naked as the day he was born, running towards your farm. you could only watch in numb shock as he went into your barn, now hidden from view.

what the fuck.

you haven’t been inside that barn in over a year. the farm belonged to your grandparents, and you’d inherited the property after they died. while you love the peace and quiet that came from living in the middle of nowhere, you aren’t a farm girl, so the barn went largely unused.

you think about just leaving the man alone, hoping that he’ll leave eventually.

you keep rolling out the dough, soothing repetitive motions, while you stare at the barn, expecting something else to happen. but nothing does. you almost think you made the man up in a moment of insanity.

it’s this that gets you to finally exit the house, anxiously heading towards the old barn with its creaking wood and chipped paint. you take a deep breath to prepare yourself before stepping inside, every nerve in your body screaming at you that this is a very bad idea. 

you’re both relieved and not when you see the man curled up in a corner. relieved, because you weren’t going insane, and not because, well, now you’re going to have to deal with this strange situation.

you take a step closer when he doesn’t lunge at you to attack, then immediately jump back at the gleaming metal claws that appear from between his knuckles. one second he seems mostly harmless - or at least as harmless as a buff, six foot tall man could be - and the next he’s growling at you, face twisted into a snarl, body tense and ready to pounce at the slightest wrong move.

“hi,” you say, softly, the way you were taught to speak to distressed animals. the man cocks his head to the side but doesn’t lunge at you, which you take as a good sign. “i won’t hurt you, promise. but i am curious to know what led you here.”

by here, you mean both the physical location of your house in the middle of nowhere but also whatever reason he has for running through said middle of nowhere naked. there’s some kind of story there, likely not a good one judging by the way he watches you distrustfully. you have a feeling he hasn’t had a good or easy life.

the man doesn’t answer, not that you really expected him to, but slowly his claws retreat back into his skin. he’s marginally less threatening like this, though you know the smallest thing could bring the sharp blades back out.

despite this, you don’t believe he’s a danger to you. he just seems scared and confused.

“are you hungry?” you ask him. again, he doesn’t answer, and you wonder if he’s able to speak. “okay, how about this, i’ll bring you food and you don’t have to eat it but you can. i’ll be right back.”

you don’t turn your back on the barn, on him, as you jog back into your house. it’s much warmer inside than it is in the barn - you were so distracted that you hadn’t been feeling the full effect of the early winter cold. you think of the man, he must be freezing, but you hadn’t seen any sign of it, no shivering, not even goosebumps raising on his skin.

one thing at a time, you tell yourself.

your half-finished pie is sitting discarded on the kitchen counter and you look at it mournfully. you’ll finish it later, and maybe you’ll actually have someone to enjoy it with you.

(it gets lonely sometimes, so far from any cities or towns. usually, you don’t mind it, but apparently there’s some small part of you that still desperately craves human contact and interaction, since you’re jumping at the chance to take care of a random stranger.)

you have leftovers in the fridge that you suppose will have to do, since making him a fresh, home-cooked meal would take time, and you’d promised to return hastily. you heat it up quickly, the warmth emanating from the food another reminder of the frigid temperature outside as you bring the plate into the barn. 

he looks up when you enter, sniffing the air like a dog. it’s cute, and you smile as you put the plate down, careful not to get too close to him, letting him make the first move.

whether he trusts you or he’s just starving you don’t know, but he rushes to your side and starts eating like he hasn’t had food in a month. with him distracted and closer to you, you can get a better look at him. 

he doesn’t look malnourished. he’s buff, muscular and hairy, and you have to stop your eyes from going lower as you stare at his chest.

you look away despite the man being too distracted to notice your shameless ogling. he might be the hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life - or you’ve just been away from men for too long and have become pathetic.

he eats quickly, and looks up expectantly at you when he finishes, like a dog at their owner. you giggle at the comparison you’ve made in your head - it’s quite accurate, you find, with the way he immediately seems to trust you now that you’ve fed him.

“do you wanna go inside? it’s pretty cold out here, and inside i have more food.” you say, and when you go to stand up so does he. you explicitly do not look down.

he follows you into your house, and you’re so glad you live alone so there’s no one to question whatever is happening.

it’s easy to find extra clothes in the guest room, less easy to find any that you think will fit him. eventually, you give up, hoping the sweatpants you found will do for now, and grab one of your own shirts, thankful for your habit of buying oversized men’s t-shirts. it goes down to your thighs, surely it’ll fit him.

you turn to head back into the living room where you left him, and your soul nearly leaves your body when you spot him standing at the door. you yelp, your hand flying to your chest and the clothes falling to the ground.

he startles at the noise, tensing and looking around like he expects danger. 

“shit,” you swear, “how are you so quiet?”

he frowns, and you could swear that he seems apologetic, though you aren’t sure how accurate your interpretations of his facial expressions are given that you’ve only known him for about an hour. it makes you feel a little guilty, though really you shouldn’t be since he snuck up on you.

you’re about to offer him the clothes when you pause, gaze locked on his chest. “you should shower.”

he follows you when you lead him to the bathroom, which you take as agreement on his part. he’s dirty, covered everywhere by a thin layer of dirt. a shower will feel good. it would also give you time to process this without him watching you. his eyes are quite intense, and he keeps them directed at you. you need the privacy to freak out.

it’s only after you place the clothes down on the countertop and show him how the knobs in your shower work that you realise he’s not making any moves to enter the shower. you start to leave the bathroom and he takes a step to follow you.

you stop, thinking about how he doesn’t seem to know how to speak, how he looked so scared and confused when you’d found him, and you sigh when you realise it’s likely he doesn’t know how to use a shower either.

what is your story? you think to yourself.

“do you want help?” is what you ask instead.

he nods slowly, which is the closest you’ve gotten to a response from him so far. you look up at the ceiling, inhaling deeply and bracing yourself when you realise this means you’re going to have to touch the hot, naked man.

you turn on the shower, waiting for it to warm up before you motion for the man to get in. you are absolutely not willing to get naked in the shower with a stranger whose name you don’t even know, so you step in fully clothed, already regretting it when you feel the fabric growing wet and sticking to your skin.

it’s as you’re helping rinse the dirt off him that you spot the writing on his dog tags. you’d noticed them previously but hadn’t been able to get a good look. 

you take the metal chain in your hand, turning it to read the name stamped into the metal.

“logan,” you read, and the man in front of you purrs, a low rumble in his throat. you smile. “i’m going to guess that’s your name. logan.”

this seems to relax the last dredges of tension that he holds. he practically melts into you, and the feeling of being trusted so fully by someone who seems so broken warms your heart in a way that you haven’t felt in years.

you finish washing him up in silence, only interrupted by occasional soft purrs and hums from logan. he quite enjoys it when you wash his hair, hands reaching up to scrub shampoo into the strands, nails scratching at his scalp. you switch your earlier comparison from a dog to a cat, the purring reminding you of the kitten you had growing up.

he shakes his head when he gets out of the shower, water flying everywhere, and you laugh as you hand him a towel. you once again have to help him when he just stares at it like he doesn’t know what to do with it.

he gets dressed on his own, thankfully, since you already feel like you might implode from being in such close quarters with an extremely attractive, wet, nude man for so long. 

you leave him for a minute to dry yourself off and change into dry clothes. it’s nice to have a moment of reprieve, where you can simply breathe and process and question what the fuck you just got yourself into. you finally allow yourself to freak out a tiny bit, muttering to yourself in the mirror, tugging at your hair.

you just manage to pull a shirt over your head when you hear quiet whimpering at the door and the sound of loud banging against it.

your heart breaks at the sound, reminded of the wounded animals your grandparents would nurse back to health, and you rush to pull some pants on so you can open the door. logan looks at you with the most devastated eyes and then falls into you, face nudging into your neck, inhaling deeply. you stumble back, thankful for the wall that catches you. he’s heavier than he looks, which is saying something, given his size.

you’re shocked for a moment, frozen, but quickly come back to yourself and place your hands on his firm back.

“i’m sorry,” you say, “i didn’t mean to scare you. i wasn’t going to leave you, i just needed privacy for a moment.”

you don’t know if he understands anything you’re saying but it makes you feel better to explain yourself. you’re shocked that this is the same man who was snarling at you, claws out and ready to rip your throat out not so long ago, shocked at how quickly he’s grown attached to you.

shocked at how quickly you’ve grown attached to him, too. then again, you’ve always been this way. you like to help people, and logan seems like a man who needs a lot of help.

“i was baking a pie, when i saw you,” you tell him, “how about we go finish that? you don’t have to leave my side. you can watch me and i’ll teach you all my secrets.”

and as you expected, he follows you into the kitchen, trailing after you like a lost puppy. normally, you hate having anyone else in the kitchen with you, getting in your way when you’re in the zone, but his presence is nice. he doesn’t speak, doesn’t distract you or get in your way, just stands and watches you intently.

you’re already used to having him here with you, comfortable enough to turn your back to him. it’s crazy, and a (big) part of you knows that this isn’t exactly a smart thing to do, but you’re already planning on letting him stay for as long as he needs, maybe even forever.

taglist: @mystiquesvendetta @raeinyourdreams

[magicdustsworld]

𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 (3)

Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: A guide on how to properly date your tattooed, big, bad boyfriend.

𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒: Established relationship, slice of life

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: fluff, some profanity, reckless drunk driving(I do not condone), grave scratches(non sexual), mentions of smoking, usage of nicknames, no mentions of y/n.

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟑: 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒

A/N: I feel like I can make an updating schedule for this, Wednesday every week (at least, its Wednesday for me)? How does that sound? wc around 2.3k (got longer than intended)

Divider credits: @cafekitsune

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟐

“What’s the time?”

“Hmm?” Tossing his half burnt cigarette into the trashcan, Sukuna answers, “Quarter past eleven?”

“Right.”

Said so, you have hung up the call.

.

Sukuna knows he is reckless.

Often times has he found himself in situations due to this attribute of his. Although he manages to spare a laugh or two while recounting these situations, sometimes having you join in as well. That impulsivity is brought out by his need of chaos and to prove time and time again to everyone else that he isn’t someone they should mess with. Whereas this impulsivity—where he is driving down the expressway with his foot pressed on the accelerator, barely staying below the speed limit—is brought upon by you.

He zooms past all the cars on the road, the wind from the open window serves to tousle the fringes of his hair from one side to another.  A mild headache ripples through him a second later, the effects of alcohol finally showing its fangs. The fog of inebriation doesn’t necessarily cloud his eyes as he navigates the car past the pedestrians and vehicles; courtesy to his high alcohol tolerance.

His lips are twisted into a constant frown while adrenaline surges through his veins. And he will blame the entirety on you. What’s with you in the first place? Sure, he might have been out a little later than usual. Maybe he missed a few calls from you but that doesn’t mean you will return the same treatment. He has his reasons—good reasons. Unlike you who is just holding a grudge on him.

He clicks his tongue, rotating the steering wheel as he changes gears and just as he is about to pick up speed, the car comes to a screeching halt.

“What the fuck?!”

He curses out loud, eyes trained on the stray object lounging right in the middle of the street. Quite literally, right in the middle of the street as its eyes glow with the impertinent illumination of the headlights. The object in question is commonly called a cat.

“Not this shit,” He rolls his eyes, smacking his palm on the horn – disrupting the rather quietude of the neighbourhood and trying to get the feline to run off; It doesn’t. Instead, it lets out a yawn, nestling its head between its forelimbs and completely ignoring the driver.

Sukuna’s eye twitches. He smacks the horn again.

It doesn’t move.

Again.

It can only flutter its eyelids shut and pretend to be asleep.

At last, Sukuna has to take matters into his own hands. He steps out of the car, groggily walking up to the disturbance and looks down on it. His stare only passes the single message – Get the fuck out of here.

The cat has a bemused glare plastered on his features, probably to show that it doesn’t care.

Sukuna crouches down, extending his hand to grab hold of its collar when- “Agh- Fucking shit!”

He swears out loud as soon as the feline scratches him. He grasps his injured hand, staring at the pierced area with widening eyes and a twist of insanity causes his lip to curl up. The claws have made its marks over the scraped skin as a tad amount of blood oozes from the cuts.

“Oh, you did not just do that,” He mutters and in a second he has the cat in his grasp. Holding it via its nape, he dangles it before his eyes while the latter lets itself be held on air, without any protest; save for the unwavering glare it is shooting at him. “What? Got something to say?”

The cat merely lets out a high-pitched meow from its end.

Sukuna huffs, rotating on his heels and ready to toss the cat aside. “Fall back in your beauty sleep somewhere else.”

Slightly does he loosen his grip on the cat did it let out strangled sound; shaking its head vigorously.

Huh? He blinks, swaying the cat from one side to another which only incites displeased purrs from it. At last, he pivots his wrist and brings it closer to his face. The previous glare is still etched on its mien but the intensity has significantly lowered.

He scoffs, returning a scowl with a same fervour. “Listen here you piece of shit, my girl is already raging like a volcano and if I am anymore late then I will intrude your den and-” He pauses, “That’s a promise.”

The cat blinks like it understands anything, answering him in its language which comes out as a choked affirmation. Sukuna is about to drop it again and the same pattern as previous follows.

“Alright, what the hell is up with you?’

Irritation is flaring in his bones as the cat refuses to be let off. He takes a moment for himself, noting the physical attributes of the feline. Thick black far rustles under his palm, sharp yellow eyes and it’s staring at him with an expression which only evokes mischief.

Just a regular black cat and from his least bit of knowledge about the societal norms, he knows they are considered to be the bearer of bad omens.

For the next five seconds, he contemplates on all of his choices.

He finds himself making the worst one.

.

You are seething when he returns home.

No, you aren’t blowing up or throwing any temper tantrum as Sukuna expected. Rather you aren’t regarding him with anything at all.

When he steps inside through the doorway, purposely slamming the door with a bit more pressure than necessary to make you aware of his arrival; you don’t come to greet him let alone grace him with an answer.

As Sukuna strolls through the corridor and finally into the living room, he finds you perched on the couch and clicking through some channels on the TV before halting in one.

He clears his throat and you crane your neck to glance at him before shifting your attention back on the program.  

For obvious reasons that causes an irk mark to form on his brows. He saunters to the couch and sits beside you, calling your name; you don’t answer.

Alright, you’re mad. He squares his shoulder, “How long will you keep up that attitude?”

You pass him a look which extends a second too long and for some reason, Sukuna finds something drop to the pit of his stomach. “What’s the time?”

There’s that question again.

“I know, it’s pretty late–"

“I am asking you the time not records of your unpunctuality.”

“Christ,” He rolls his eyes. “It’s only a one-time thing.”

You raise an eyebrow, “One-time thing, really?”

“Fine,” An exhausting sigh leaves his lips. “Maybe not a one-time thing but I am back now.”

You merely roll your eyes, turning away from him. Sukuna is about to speak again but something just has to intervene.

“Meow!”

Instantly, you perk up, twisting your body from the direction of a feline’s voice. “What was that?” Before your boyfriend can answer any of your queries, said feline is striding inside the living room with a graceful yet suspicious poise which causes disbelief to cloud your visage. “Where did that come from?”

The black cat tethers a corner before halting just near your feet. It looks up at you and Sukuna has to suppress the flurry of retorts filling his mouth as the cat gazes at you with sheer innocence.

What the hell was up with that attitude earlier?

It nuzzles its head over your ankles, letting out a tender purr while doing so. Just like that, you find yourself falling under its charming spell.

“Aww come here, cutie,” Cooing, you pick up the feline, cradling it into your arms as if it were an infant.

As for the cat, when it finds refuge in your arms, it doesn’t hold back from nestling into a better position.

“Where did you find it?”

“On the middle of the road,” He replies, leaning back as his eyelids narrow. “Quite literally.”

You take your moment to run your hand on its fur, sighing out of content. “So you brought it home? That’s so sweet.”

“I tried to toss it away more times than I can count but this fucker won’t budge.”

“Hey,” You protest, shooting his a playful glare. “It’s so cute and wait-” Shifting, you reach the conclusion. “It’s a boy.”

“Wow…”

Ignoring the sarcastic remark, you pat his head, “Aren’t you such a good boy?”

Physically, Sukuna has to stop himself from cringing at the attention you’re pouring over the filthy feline. However, before he can descend into that spiral, a wave of nausea overrides him. Sooner than he can comprehend, he is rushing to the bathroom and throwing up in the toilet. The expunged contents is flushed down as he takes a moment of rest.

He hears footsteps and a second later, you’re kneeling beside him. Greeted by your mien which evokes concern, your hand is placed over his shoulder.

“Hey,” You call softly. “You okay?” He nods, refraining himself from giving you a verbal answer as the sense of nausea still lingers. You rub circles over his back, trying to soothe his momentary queasiness. It does work as the tension starts to wear off. “I will bring you some water. Stay here, ‘k?”

Before he can affirm, you’re out of the bathroom. The next seconds are a blur and Sukuna refuses to let the silence mess with his head. You return soon after as you push the glass to his lips. He gulps it down in one go.

“Better?”

He nods.

“Should I get you some medicine or will you be fine?” He shakes his head negatively but he should’ve known you are stubborn. “I will get you one just in case.”

You are about to leave again but Sukuna is quick. He grips your wrist, tugging on it as he beckons you to sit with him.

Tilting your head, you ask, “Hmm what?”

As for Sukuna, he has his eyes lowered to his lap while he chews on his bottom lip. Surely, he’s got something to say to you but to get the words out is a task on his own. “I- I’m uh… fuck, this isn’t supposed to be this hard.”

In response, you can only stare at him with confusion flickering in your irises. “What happened?”

“I’m… uh, I’m sorry.”

You blink, “Sorry?”

“Sorry,” He repeats, raising his eyes to meet yours. “Sorry for… uhm not caring about the- the time and making you… you worry.”

It’s almost like he is mumbling the words to you and he doesn’t even know if you’re able to register half of it. A silence stretches and he finds himself in a position where he might’ve to repeat himself. Until he doesn’t.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips and you shake your head. “Aww, ‘kuna,” An amused smile curves up your mien and for reasons unknown a heat swells in his chest. “You’re so adorable.”

That heat now permeates to his face and he arrives to the conclusion that he is only burning with a fever. “No.”

“Aww, but you are.”

“Stop right there.”

“But baby…” You jut out lower lip, leaning forward as you hold his face in your hands. Sukuna is on the verge where he feels he might pass out any second. “I am just telling the truth, you’re so adorable. My adorable baby.”

He arches his knee, ready to leave after prying you off but you don’t relent.

“Alright, alright sorry,” You laugh, wiping a stray tear from your eye. “I accept your apology, ‘k?”

He hums, again refusing to meet your eyes before he adds, “Don’t get used to it.”

“Ay, ay captain,” You raise your hand, holding it on your forehead as a salute.

This time, Sukuna doesn’t refrain from letting that taunting grin slip into his lips. However, just when he thought both of you were having a moment until you aren’t. The new addition of life in your abode comes loitering inside the bathroom and you are swift to nestle up the cat in your arms.

“Were you lonely? I didn’t mean to leave you alone though,” You speak to the feline again, apologetically. One which is returned with an affirmative tone from the latter’s whimper.

You continue the tender conversation with the cat and Sukuna takes the moment to just watch the two. “He likes you.”  He comments after a second, garnering your attention.

“I like him too,” A wide smile has curled in your lips as you scratch behind his ear earning a soft sigh from him. “A lot. Kinda reminds me of you, don’t you think?”

“Please,” He scoffs, a frown forming on his face as if the comparison hurts. “I am far better than this annoying pest.”

“Don’t call him that,” You rebuke tersely which he returns with a roll of eyes. “Give him a name.”

“I am not going to do anything like that.”

“Sukuna…”

The warning in your voice doesn’t elude him but he isn’t giving in either. “This thing doesn’t even like me.”

“This thing is ours so you better give him a name now.” Sukuna looks like he’d rather watch paint dry, inciting a low sigh from you. You bring the feline near his face. “C’mon, you brought him home. You should name it.”

If he acquiesces to your command, you might let this charade drop. Well… The cat is black so… “Kuro.”

“Kuro?”

He nods, “Kuro.”

“Kuro, it is then.” Your eyes gleam with excitement as you rock the cat in your arms. “Do you like your name, Kuro?”

“Meow!” He replies and you take the high pitch squeal as his likeness to the new name.

Sukuna lets out a sigh, leaning back as his head rests against the basin cabinet. Maybe he can get used to a cat.

The said cat passes him such a mischievous smirk from your arms that he has to rethink his choice.

He grumbles under his breath, “Fucker Kuro…”

“Meow!”

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟒

A/N: ik the title is misleading but y'all as someone who doesn't want kids ever this is self indulgent wish + I can never see Sukuna as a genuine father so you have that lol.

Taglist: @comeonatmebruh @o-ikawaii

[thatnonameuser]

The Red King holds a Bleeding Head

A Wonderland of Yanderes - Masterlist Chapter 1. Heartslaybul Part 9.

“Ngh….”

Every cell in your body throbs. That’s the first thing your brain manages to register when you come to.

Your eyes burn as you struggle to open them, you can feel the stickiness of blot on your face and skin. It’s like tar, if it burned skin. 

You groan and whimper, as you force your body into a sitting position, muscles screaming in exhaustion for rest. You feel like someone’s let you drown in tar and yanked you back out at the brink of death. You can feel blot sticking to your skin, dripping off of you like blood; stuck in your throat and burning and churning like bile in your stomach. 

You forced down a shaky breath, before hacking up a mouthful of blot that you didn’t know was in your lungs. Are you dying? You’re not sure.

The last thing you remember is Riddle’s voice. Asking something to his mother? You’re not really sure.

“A-Ace…… Deuce? ……G-Grim?” You rasp, your tongue feels too big in your mouth. Your lips feel like someone super glued them together. You finally gather the strength to open your eyes, and with some pre-emptive struggles, you’re immediately blinded. Wherever you are it’s too bright here, it’s too white. Too- shit. After a few moments, the blinding light subsides for a moment. And you can make out shapes, slowly unblurring and becoming more detailed. But that’s the problem. You made out shapes, not colors.

“Am….Am I dreaming again?” The world is black and white, just like your dreams. A world bleached into a complete greyscale. But the one difference you can see is there’s no red color anywhere in the rose garden. Well, except the puddle of red-black color of the puddle of blot you’re sitting in. 

Footsteps lead out from the puddle, staining the garden of gray perfectionism. Speaking of the garden, it’s not like Heartslabyul’s or the Queen of Hearts’ in your dreams. It’s different, because while it is beautiful, it’s completely clean. Like a hospital clean. No scattered petals from the roses on the grass, or stray leaves on the ground or even a speck of dirt on the stone pathway. Not a blade of grass is too long, or a stone out of place. You could even swear that the grass was so cleanly cut that the gardener probably was on their hands and knees with a pair of scissors and a ruler. Everything here is so clean….it’s discomforting. 

But, you’re more concerned with the foot prints. If the blot is any indicator, Riddle is involved somewhat.

But why, what does a terrifyingly clean garden and house you’ve never seen have to do with any of what just happened. And why are you involved? All you remember is an otherworldly force pulling you to Riddle, getting struck with a wave of blot and then, you for some reason woke up here. Why are you involved?

With some struggle, you stumble to your feet. Your legs shake like a baby deer’s with every step through the garden. Your footsteps stain the grass along with the ones someone else, probably Riddle, left behind. But you’ll worry about that later. “Riddle?” You call out, but you receive no reply. There's no sound here. No birds tweeting, no bees buzzing, no people talking.

The back door is open, an inky handprint stains the otherwise polished wood. 

“Riddle?” You call out, but nothing calls back in reply. In fact, Just devastating silence, and the few sounds you’re making. You feel a chill run up and down your spine. “I know you’re here.”

You push open the door, and it doesn’t even creak. More footprints stain the polished flooring. 

You don’t want to go in but you  have no choice but to follow the trail through the house. If this is anything like your dream then, there’s something that you’re meant to see. Besides, you don’t have a history of liking being stuck in places you can’t get out of.

“Riddle?” You try again. But no response. You take a hesitant step into the house,searching for any residents. Besides the footsteps stained into the floor , there’s no sign of life in the house. No matter where you look, there’s no movement, no sound of footsteps, nothing.

Just the stains of blot on the wall, all the decorations on the wall. Or it would be better to call it the achievements on the wall. From wall to wall in minimalist frames, are diplomas, medals, certificates, newspaper clippings. No photographs of fond memories, no whimsical or artsy decorations, adorable yet poorly made children’s art or even a visible picture of whoever lived here.

If the walls are not covered with achievements, it’s covered with shelves filled to the brim with books. Not storybooks, or fictional stories filled with entertaining adventures, or non-fictional anecdotes that tell interesting experiences. Journals. Textbooks. Encyclopedias. Any book that would bore a child to tears, or make adults beg for mercy should they read them. Some shelves are full of trophies rather than books. All in varying sizes, but only for first place. They’re not even whimsical activities or hobbyist or amateur events for just fun either, trophies for academics and academics alone. 

You can’t help but feel a little inferior walking through the halls, and apparently whoever was in here with you didn’t like them either, having left stains and blotches of the ink on the awards and obscuring the recipient’s name from view, or their faces in the few photographs on the walls.

If this is Riddle’s house, you can understand why he’s a little nuts. This house is so minimally decorated, it looks like one of those sad houses all over the internet back home. Bland and boring, even in the black and white. This house doesn’t look like a home, it looks like a doctor’s office.

You wander the halls, following the footsteps to wherever they lead, looking for life, and finding more depressing decorations. The living room is spotless, except for the blotty footsteps,  and horrifyingly untouched, the kitchen is as boring and empty with the most minimal of spices and cookbooks for the most bland of meals. The study you passed in the hallway looks like a mix between a library and a college classroom.

Not one thing in this house is remotely fun. No instruments to make lively music, no entertaining books to read, and no fun games to play. Just endless boredom and lifelessness.

You follow the footsteps through the house, more and more disturbed by how depressing this house is. If your instinct was right, then you can’t help but feel a little bad for…. “Whoa….”

As you enter the dining room, your earlier deduction proves right. Just not exactly as you thought it would. 

Sitting at the dining table, obediently following the manners his mother probably ingrained into his head, is a child version of the Red Tyrant, a young Riddle Rosehearts. 

And unlike the dim, dull world his youthful features are bright with color. He looks exactly like himself in the real world, albeit a decade younger. Crimson red hair, steel gray eyes, rosy cheeks, he’s a beacon of color in this greyscale world.

And frankly, he’s adorable, smiling softly as he sits as still as a statue, waiting for someone. 

And the footprints you’d been following lead right up to him. So if Riddle of the present was here, then this was him. In the body of his child self. 

“Riddle?” You ask, but he doesn’t acknowledge you. Can he not see you?

You feel someone faze through you. A woman, whose face is completely blacked out by shadow. But you can still make out the little heart-shaped bangs, just like Riddle’s. Is this his mother? 

She sets down- “Wait, what is that?”

The ‘that’ in question is a brick decorated with leaves. An eight birthday candle sits on top of it. If that’s a cake, the baker should be sued.

A woman says, “Happy Eighth Birthday Riddle.” Her voice is snobbish, and sounds completely uninterested given that this is, as she says, Riddle’s Birthday. You can’t see her face, but you think it’s safe to say she isn’t smiling. “This year’s birthday cake is a low-sugar recipe made with nuts and lecithin-rich soy flour to improve cerebral function.”

“Your son’s birthday cake…. That is your son’s birthday cake?” You’re about 90% percent sure, the diet mongering supermodels of your world would just not get a birthday cake than eat whatever that is. And Ms (Mrs?) Rosehearts thought it was a suitable birthday cake for a kid, that looks mostly fine?

Also, you’re not convinced that this isn’t a birthday party. The dining room is as blandly decorated as the rest of the house, the only thing on the table are books as thick as actual bricks and names so long and boring that your eight-year old self would rather play with the wrapping paper than read them if you got them. Plus, besides Riddle and his mother, no one’s here. No friends singing happy birthday obnoxiously, no grandparents spoiling him with gifts, no one other than the woman who thought the inside of the compost bin was a cake.

This can’t be a celebration a loving well-off mother would give her only child.

You remember Trey had said Riddle’s mother was a perfectionist forcing her legacy onto Riddle. And Riddle seemed to think his mother’s word was a law he couldn’t break….so, you don’t have very high expectations for the woman. 

While you ponder whatever’s happening before you, Riddle smiles, blowing out the candle and accepting a slice of the disgusting looking cake, before shyly raising a hand to ask a  question. “Thank you. But, Mom…”

He waits for her acknowledgement to continue speaking, and you can’t even see the raging tyrant you did fifteen minutes ago. He even shys away under her gaze, shrinking in his seat as he finally asks his burning question. “Just once…I’d like to try one of those tarts covered with bright-red strawberries.” He gives her an adorable, hopeful smile once he finishes, as if hoping for a positive response with great anticipation. 

But he doesn’t get one. Not even on the celebration for the day of his birth.

“Absolutely not! Those tarts are monstrously unhealthy. I might as well feed you poison!” The younger Riddle flinches, before shrinking back in his seat immediately. The demure behavior feels so opposite to his explosive rage from before. “Even just a single slice would exceed your recommended daily intake of sugar.”

You feel the same anger that you felt dealing with Riddle earlier. All she needed to say was no. Not lecture the kid till he shrank all the way into his chair. As SHE said, it’s his birthday, and he was polite about it. At least be nice about it in response, lady.

Regardless of whatever you’re thinking, she blatantly ignores Riddle’s clear disappointment and sadness in favor of dishing out an equally bland-looking meal. “Now, dinner tonight will be a tuna saute rich in DHA and omega-3 fatty acids.” This woman has to be an almond mom, because there’s no way any eight year old would know what those words even mean, let alone willingly eat that at age 8, let alone that over the slice of…brick.

“Now that you’re eight, your caloric intake should be 600 kilocalories per meal so don’t eat more than 100 grams of it.” It’s his birthday and Riddle’s eight, does this woman suck the joy out of life as a hobby or a living. What good mother forbids her child from eating something he clearly likes or wants because of a calorie recommendation. He’s eight and healthy, not a kid with diet issues?!

“What is wrong with you?” You say aloud, but she can’t hear you. You’re not saying that she should feed him nothing but junk food, but if she’s always strict about this stuff, give him a little wiggle room on his birthday. 

No one hears you, and Riddle only bows his head, glum as he picks at the bland looking fish. “Yes, mom.”

You feel a burst of pity in your chest. Even if Riddle was a tyrant, no child deserves a birthday so boring and restricting as the one he did. But you guess all tyrants were children once, maybe- Wait. No.

No. 

No. You are not feeling bad for Riddle. You are not going to feel bad for Riddle. Sure, he had a miserable birthday and probably upbringing because of a horrible mother didn't bother picking up a parenting book, but everyone has shitty people in their life. That’s no excuse to hurt others because of it. And he outed you, no forgiveness, not yet-

“I’d always wanted to try one of those tarts with the bright red strawberries….” The older Riddle’s comes in from the ether and makes you jump out of your skin. Was he trying to get you to pity him? Well, tough fucking- 

The world warping interrupts you mid-thought. “Wh-What the hell?!”

Now you’re in a street in front of that beautiful, but actually severely depressing house. A young Riddle walks hand in hand with his mother, his eyes locked on the delicious looking strawberry tarts in a bakery’s window. You spot the name ‘Clover’ painted on the glass. Is that Trey’s family’s bakery? 

“The local cake shop had them in the window. They shined at me like forbidden jewels.”

The tarts like Riddle are colorful and match his description. The sugary treats sparkle in the sunshine. And you can see the look of disappointment  and longing on Riddle’s face as his mother tugs him away from the treasure that caught his eye, held just out of reach.

“Alright, Riddle.” If he’s just gonna show you this, and not provide any explanation, you’re providing your unsolicited commentary. “That sucks, but plenty of kids don’t get sugar or have depressing birthdays and don’t abuse or threaten to murder their classmates. This isn’t an excuse.”

No reply again.

The world warps again, and this time you’re in the study you walked past earlier. You were right in thinking it looked depressing, as the young Riddle is seated at a small desk, writing notes as his mother shuts a very thick textbook. “That’s enough classical magic study for today.” You roll your eyes at the sound of her voice, which is in your ears thanks to her snobbish tone. “Your homework is to read the first fifty pages of the philosophy of language book referenced in today’s magical philosophy texts.”

“....Fifty?”You’re taken aback at the assignment. “He’s eight!” You say, dumbstruck and outraged, at the mother that made Riddle into a monster.

Fifty pages? Of something as confusing and boring as Philosophy? That was a second year elective at NRC. A high school, for seven’s sake. He’s eight… he’s not even supposed to be learning about this yet.

But the bitch didn't hear you. 

“You may now have one hour of independent study before your potionology lesson.” What the-

“Miss ma’am, He’s eight! He’s not supposed to be learning this till high school! How can you expect him to understand this?!” Still, no reaction to your reasonable words. “And why aren’t you letting him have a break?! He’s still just a kid!”

He’s not getting a break? But he might have been studying for hours. Kids need to play and have fun too. But considering a child lived here, and you hadn’t seen a single toy or child’s storybook. You didn’t think he was allowed that either.

“Thank you, Mother.” The young Riddle responds, in a polite monotone. He’s said this before, possibly every day of his life since he learned to talk.

“Don’t thank her! You’re not supposed to be studying all day long!”Despite your dislike for the present Riddle Rosehearts, you want to pull the child version out of the room and away from all the stacks of work his mother was giving him. He’s a child, not a trophy. He should be playing, not studying. Wait.

You slap yourself across the face, “No!” You do it again, “No! We are not feeling bad for him! Even if…. he really is suffering…”

“I need some time to prepare the lesson materials. I will see you in one hour, okay?” Riddle’s mother’s voice is as uncaring as it was when she wished him happy birthday. 

“How can you be so heartless to your only child!?” You  ask, but you know whatever answer you get won’t be a good one. This bitch is so self-centered that she wouldn’t be able to convince anyone with whatever reason she stitches together in her crazy mind..

She adjusts a stray hair on Riddle’s head, something imperfect on her perfect trophy, before leaving him alone. No gentle ruffling of his hair, no parental hug, no trace of affection. She reminds you of one of your super strict, no-nonsense teachers that was impossible to impress. Always expecting more despite how much effort was poured in. 

You watch the young Riddle pull heavy books off the study’s shelves in the study, obediently following his mother’s orders, as the older continues his narration. “I was studying every possible subject, scheduled down to the minute. When I didn’t understand something, the lesson was extended until I did.”

“But you’re a child. Sure, you need to learn but you’re still a kid…. You should be playing, not learning high school level topics.” You say to the ether, but once again you get no reply.  

“That was my ‘normal’.” It’s just saddening, really. To watch a child live a life enforced by a parent that raised him to be a trophy. To watch the young Riddle flip through pages of topics that don’t make sense, even to you, and you’re a decade older than him at this moment.

You sigh. No point in pretending now. “Okay, Riddle. I admit it, this sucks…. But why are you showing me this?” If Riddle is reminiscing on his traumatic childhood, why are you here to bear witness to what made him into a monster. Still, no reply.

A knock resounds from the study’s window. Both you and Riddle turn your heads to the window. Someone’s there. 

“...Is someone knocking on the window? Maybe a bird?” Riddle steps away from his desk, curious. You follow him, just as curious. This place looks as empty and lifeless as a haunted house. Who would willingly scale the spiked, wrought iron to peak into the windows of the Madam Boring and her unfortunate prisoner/child. The ornate glass swings open, and both you and Riddle gasp for two very different reasons.

A boy managed to slip past the high gates of Riddle’s home. A boy that looks similar to- “Trey?”

 No one hears you. But who cares. Like the rest of the world, he’s colored black and white. But the glasses are a dead giveaway. The younger Trey Clover, looks genuinely surprised that Riddle actually answered. “Whoa, he heard us!” Wait, who’s us-

“AHHHH!”

“WAUGH?!”

Both you and Riddle jump in surprise as a familiar, but much younger face pops out of nowhere. Without a body. A younger Chenya, your brain rapidly supplies, fuelled by adrenaline. So he always gave people heart attacks when he first met them. “Hey, hey. Come play with us!”

Good to know that he was always like that. 

Anyway, Chenya practically made poor Riddle jump out of his skin in surprise. “Who..Who are you?”

Chenya reveals the rest of his body, giggling and smiling in his Cheshire way. “My name’s Chenya, and this is Trey. Let’s play Croquet!”

“C-Croquet?” Chenya proceeded to give Riddle, and you, another heart attack, as he dug into his clothes, pulled out a curled up hedgehog and tossed the poor creature directly into Riddle’s hands. 

But the result of it was frankly adorable, as you watched Riddle’s eyes light up at the small creature resting peacefully in his palms. “He wants to play with you too.”

The sight of the lonely child’s face light up in wonder makes your heart warm up. You feel the urge to pick him up and set him outside, to save him from the prison of his mother’s making and let him have fun for the first time in forever. 

But as you think that, Riddle’s budding excitement falters. “But I…” You watch him look back at the books on his desk, the reminder of his mother’s assigned task looming in the back of his mind. And her rules. “It’s my independent study time, and I have to focus.” 

“Go. Go play. It’s okay to break rules once in a while.” You say, even if he can’t hear you. It’s not like the egg donor that is his mother would know. The door’s shut after all. “You can go and come back in time.” You may not be the number one fan of the present Riddle Rosehearts, but you can set aside your anger and hatred to the one that hasn’t done anything wrong yet. And honestly, you had enough of tyrants taking the fun out of everything. Even if this one would grow up to be one, you want him to have fun, for what might be the first time in his life.

Even if you can’t be heard to convince him, the child Chenya turns out to be quite the sweet talker. “That means you get to choose what you study, right? My gramps says that playing is basically a kinda study.”

The sudden epiphany causes Riddle’s eyes to widen, “Play..is learning?” 

“Want to come down and join us for a little bit?” Trey offers with a bright and friendly smile on his face. You watch the genuine excitement cross Riddle’s face as he chooses between an hour of fun, and the boring work he’d probably spend every single day of his life doing if he rejected their offer. 

“You can do it. Go.” Your words are wishful thinking. You have no say in how this is presented, but you want to actually see Riddle break his horrible mother’s rules. 

After way too much contemplation, Riddle gives into the temptation much to your relief, and crawls out the window. “J-Just… Just for a bit then.” 

Noticing his apparent struggles, Trey holds out his hand in offering. “Mind if I ask your name?”

Riddle hesitates for a second, and you briefly feel your heart accelerate out of fear for his refusal, but thankfully, he finally gives in, “R-Riddle. Riddle Rosehearts.”

The world warps again, changing scenes. And what comes next is beautiful. 

After what has to be years of living under his mother’s strict rule, Riddle finally is free to let loose. 

The garden that felt so empty beforehand breathed new life as the trio played. Smiles, laughs, cheers and excitedly uttered words broke the intense silence, as the grass was rolled in, the planters were shifted, and the bushes were crumpled. 

It was everything short of perfect. And that was perfect in a way Riddle’s mother could never achieve.

You felt rejuvenated watching the three play. The breath you held was suffocating, caused by standing around in something made to be so perfect, and you finally let it go watching Riddle have fun, breaking the restrictive rules his mother forced him to obey. 

The shrills of high-pitched laughter as the young Riddle was letting out suddenly mute as the elder voice continues his speech.

“I had the best time playing with Trey and Chenya. We did so many things that I have never done before. They both taught me things I didn’t know.” Riddle sounds so fond as he reminisces on these memories. It feels so sweet hearing the uptight and strict Riddle Rosehearts let go of his hold on the rules to enjoy having fun but….

“Where did it all go wrong?” You murmur as you watch the young Riddle struggle to tame a flamingo for a game of croquet. There’s no sign of malicious intent that you felt around the one a decade older. “You were so close to learning that the rules your mother made were insane, what changed to make you go back to who you are now?”

Here, Riddle had friends. He had fun, unshackled by his mother’s chains. Free to have fun whilst being the golden child that his mother craved. 

But why did he completely one-eighty? Go from a rule breaker who broke a pointless rule to an enforcer of the most ridiculous rules.

This may be extremely beautiful and heart-warming, but it also serves an awful reminder that this young Riddle grew up to be the one that was just as strict and restrictive as his mother. 

The world changes again, Back to the study, where a young Riddle pretends to work, subtly watching the window with all his focus. Trey and Chenya appear, and Riddle practically leaps out his chair to join them.

“After that I would slip out of my room everyday.” The child Riddle climbs out the window, his work abandoned in favor of playing with his friends. “During my one hour of independent study time without notifying my mother.”

“Good job.” you praise. You’re just happy to see him having fun.

The world changes again. To out in the garden.

“Whatttt? You’ve nyever had a strawberry tart before?” Chenya exclaims in surprise, kicking his heels on the bench next to Riddle.

Riddle twiddles his thumbs, shyly in his lap. “No…My mother says they’re bad for you.” Perfectly parroting another one of his mother’s bogus rules that she relentlessly drilled into his head.

Now incredibly awkward, Trey readjusts his glasses nervously. “I mean, you probably shouldn’t eat too much of it, but…calling it poison is just kinda…yikes.”

“Yeah, the only poisonous one here is her.”

But seriously, Trey actually speaking his mind feels alien to you. Trey keeping his honest thoughts and opinions to himself when Riddle’s present was the norm for his older self. Had whatever forced Riddle to change had caused Trey to change too? You’re starting to get a bad feeling. 

Trey’s eyes light up with an idea, “You know, my family runs a cake shop. Let’s go get a tart right now!” He holds out his hand in offering, and the promise of the forbidden fruit his mother denied him makes Riddle’s eyes widen in excitement.

“Really?” Riddle says excitedly, before he hesitates, “But…I shouldn’t.”

“Just one slice. It’ll be fine.” Trey insists, taking Riddles’ hand in his own, before Chenya steps in and pulls Trey and Riddle out of the garden, in the direction of the Clover bakery. 

“One slice for YOU maybe. I want a whole one!”

Whatever objections Riddle is yet to utter dies on his tongue as he enters the warm bakery. Another shift of scene. Inside the cake shop is full of warmth, the treats covering nearly every inch of shelves and the air filled with the sweetness of freshly baked pastries and warm sugar, chocolate and fragrant fruit. Like a literal kid in a candy store, Riddle’s eyes sparkle in awe. Everywhere he, and by proxy you, looks is full of sweets and pastries ready to be devoured. Whatever hesitation he has is rapidly dying. 

“So is this what caused it? You didn’t really want to eat the tart because of your mom, but you got peer pressured into it and that made you break the rules?” You ask the ether. You still don’t understand. If Riddle was careful, like he’d said he was, why would this be important?

The Clover bakery, more specifically the part of it that’s Trey’s home, is the exact opposite of Riddle’s. Cluttered with decorations of family portraits, children’s drawing’s height markers on the doors as they grew older. Excluding the scent of sweet pastries, you can smell the love in this home. You can hear other voices, the voices of Trey’s siblings and his father joking scolding them for their pastry based gluttony. Riddle looks around in genuine curiosity, not used to the mess, warmth and life this house has in contrast to his own. 

Still, the bad feeling churns in your gut, as time progresses. And as Trey returns with the fresh slices of a strawberry tart, it doesn’t dissolve despite the warmth of the new scene.

“A bright-red strawberry tart on a pure white plate.” Riddle stares at the slice with all the awe, excitement and wonder only a child could. Like a child holding their very first snowglobe, he inspects it with curiosity and barely contained excitement. “To me, it sparkled brighter than any jewel ever could.”

“Eat it. You want to eat it. So eat it.” Your demands actually are answered, as tiny hands raise the fork, shaking slightly in excitement. Riddle takes his first bite. And as soon as the strawberry hits his taste buds….

Color fills the world, chasing the bland gray away. 

“The first bite was so sweet and delicious, like nothing I’d ever tasted before. With every bite, I became more and more entranced…”

Not one speck of this world remains in a dark, lifeless gray, filled with color and the life that comes with it. 

All it took was a tart, but it was more than that. It was the taste of friendship, of fun. But most importantly, it was the taste of freedom. Freedom that he’d been denied over and over, that he was finally allowed to taste. 

Along with the color comes the laughter chasing the dull world away, with its restrictions and its chains. You can’t even fight the smile forcing its way onto your face. 

How could you not? This was just so- 

“-And completely lost track of time.”

“Shit.” An icy chill runs up your spine as the world returns to that study, completely cold and dull in comparison to the warm and vibrant bakery. 

The smile on your face vanishes with the color and warmth. “Oh no…”

“I put on some of the organic tea I ordered-” Riddle’s mother returns to the empty study. And the tea set she’s holding shatters on the carpet. Your joy follows it on the floor. 

You hate every second of what comes next. 

Riddle, in the middle of the fun time he was having, spies the clock on the wall. And notices the hour he was supposed to spend studying had ended twenty minutes ago. 

His mother, searching for him in fury (not worry, you noted) finds him just as he's hurrying to leave the bakery. Trey and Chenya are right behind him, and she immediately spots the crumbs that, in his haste to leave, he’d forgotten to wipe off. 

The realization that follows, and the shaming of Trey’s kind parents. As she screams at them in fury for feeding her, now bawling, son; Riddle grips her skirts while begging her to stop. Trey watches, stunned in either guilt or horror, not his parents but Riddle as he pleads with his hysterical mother. Chenya, probably using his magic, is hiding somewhere. 

And then Riddle is dragged back to the depressing prison that he calls home….. to be punished. And the warmth and color is gone, replaced with a cold chill.

You feel your blood boil as the bitch screams and berates her son. “Unbelievable!” Completely irate and unreasonable, Riddle’s mother screams at him with all the fury she’d given Trey’s parents. “Not only did you abandon your study time, but I find you eating a mountain of sugar as well!!” Riddle takes her screeches and yells completely silent, trying to interject with apologies to spare himself from her wrath even further.

Riddle doesn’t even try to defend himself, too afraid of her wrath. 

If he can’t…you will. Even if no one can hear you.

“SHUT THE HELL UP, YOU SELF-CENTERED BITCH!” You yell back, even if she can’t hear you. This isn’t parenting, this is abuse. You stand between the two to offer a small modicum of protection to the still crying Riddle, but you know that you’re not actually doing anything. Because you weren’t there when this happened all those years ago. Still, you can’t pacify your own anger. “JUST SHUT UP, YOU HEARTLESS WITCH!”

Riddle’s mother chooses this completely horrible moment, to turn to the window. And she spots Trey and Chenya beyond the fence that makes this house a prison. “Those two are what must have led you astray….”

“SHUT UP, YOU OLD BITCH!” Anger forces tears into your eyes. Even if….no, you’re angry but you don’t hate him. Not completely. “All they did was teach him something you never could!” You grind out through your teeth, infuriated.

“There will be no more playing with those terrible influences ever again!” Horror and panic flood Riddle’s face. 

And you can feel the blood roar in your ears. “You evil!-”

Riddle fazes through you to apologize and plead with his mother to not take his friends away, to not take his happiness away. “I’m sorry, Mother!! It won’t happen again, so please!” 

But the old windbag can’t see reason. “BE QUIET!” Riddle nearly bursts into tears again as she throws him off. “You broke the rules, and now you’re paying for it.”

“AND YOU NEVER WOULD HAVE LET HIM ANYWAY!” Every yell in his defense that you make goes unheard. But does it really matter? No, this tyrannical bitch is a horrible mother, and she ruined someone that could have been wonderful. “YOU’RE AN EVIL, HORRIBLE MOTHER WHO RAISED YOUR FLESH AND BLOOD TO BE A TROPHY! HE NEVER DESERVED THIS, YOU FUCKING!-”

“Honestly, it must have been too soon to allow you so much freedom.” She moves to shut the window. To separate him from sweet freedom forever. 

“I simply must keep a much closer eye on you…” Darkness fills the room as the glass and shutters close. And soon all your senses can pick up is the Riddle of the past’s sorrowful pleas and sniffles slowly dissolving into silence. “I’m sorry, Mother! I’m sorry!...”

You’re going to have an explosive aneurysm with how hot your blood is boiling. Not because of Riddle, but because of his evil hag of a mother. No fucking wonder Riddle grew up to be a complete psychopath. Does this world base its laws on fucking nothing?!

And the one of the present, fills the void it made. 

“Because I broke the rules….” A small window of light fills the dark. Riddle stands before it, looking in sorrow at his friends just beyond his home’s gates, but still painfully out of reach. “My days of fun were cut short.”

Chenya looks like he wants to come in again, but Trey stops him, his eyes downcast. They both go, leaving Riddle behind to the prison of his mother’s making. “That’s why I vowed to never again break my mother’s rules.”

“B-But it wasn’t your fault. You were a suffering kid being offered freedom. She was the one in the wrong.”

The hag appears behind him, holding the life of drudgery in the form of a textbook, and this time Riddle doesn’t have the freedom of a choice. He does his studies, at the hag’s behest. The color in him leeches out, turning into a cold gray that matches his monster mother’s. 

“After all,  my mother is the most accomplished in our town, therefore making her the most correct.”

She never was Riddle, she destroyed your life to make hers seem more accomplished.” You can only hope that your words reach his ears. He didn’t do anything wrong, he was brainwashed by his mother’s abusive parenting. And that led to disaster. “Deep down, I know you know that-”A hypothermic chill goes up and down your spine. “Huh?”

The entire room drops in temperature till its deathly cold. You whip your head around in panic for the source, desperate to see whatever the source was. 

And halfway through that Riddle’s mother turns from a person, into a human-shaped pile of blot. 

“AHH!” You back up until your back hits the wall. And the blot that you hadn’t noticed was on it. Blot is seeping out of the cracks and spaces of the darkening study. 

This room is being flooded with blot. 

And you and Riddle are still trapped here. 

“Still…..How come, mama? How come my chest still hurts so much?”

“Riddle, I know that this is hard for you but you need to snap out of this!” The blot’s high enough to reach your calves now. You wade through the blot towards the child body of Riddle Rosehearts. If Riddle is the reason you’re here, he’s the way out too. You need to snap him out of this. 

“I want to eat lots of tarts, even if it’s just for my birthday…”

“You can still do that, you just have to wake up!” The blot’s up to your knees now, and because it’s as thick and sticky as tar, you can barely wade through it. That’s not the only thing though. The boring and enormous textbooks Riddle’s mother burdened his childhood with, stack precariously high. Up to where the ceiling no longer is. 

“And play outside all day long, and make lots and lots of friends.”

“It’s not too late, just wake up!”The blot’s at your thighs now. The towers of boring literature sway, threatening to fall at any moment and crush you both. 

“Tell me, mama…” The body of the young Riddle, is suddenly engulfed in blot, and reveals the current form of the present Riddle, still in overblot. You can see the tears fall from his eyes onto the desk. His voice, not disguising the pain. 

“What rule should I follow to end all of this pain?”

“Riddle, WAKE UP! You don’t have to live in pain forever!” You yell desperately. The blot’s at your waist now. Out of options, you throw yourself forward.

And your hands finally meet cold skin.

“Huh?.....I don’t?” Riddle turns and his eyes focus on you. The towers of books threatening to fall suddenly steady. The blot flooding the room stops pouring, stops rising. All is calmer now. 

“You can hear me?” Riddle nods and you sigh in relief. He can finally see you, finally hear you. You embrace him as tightly as possible. “Thank goodness…I was worried we both would die here.”

His arms wrap around you, returning your embrace. “W…Why are you here?”

“I don’t know but I’m glad I’m here…” You withdraw and wipe the inky black tears spilling down his cheeks, away from his face. You take a deep breath before sighing again. “I’m sorry I had to see all that. It must have been hard for you to live like that your entire life.”

Riddle doesn’t respond, his eyes avoid meeting yours. Is it shame, guilt or something else? “How much did you see?”

“Enough. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry that your mother was who she was, you didn’t deserve to suffer the way you did for so long. But you don’t have to live that life forever.”

“How?… The rules-”

You interrupt him, “The rules your mother gave you are ridiculous. Yes, kids need structure and rules to grow but they need to have fun too. And friends. And your mother stole that from you because she wanted you to be a trophy she could show off.”

“But mother was never-”

“She was wrong, Riddle. And a lot of the rules she gave you were wrong too. I know it’s hard to have your whole world crash down around you but there’s a part of you that never liked your mother’s rules….Right?”

Black tears pool in Riddle’s eyes. “I just wanted to eat a strawberry tart… Just once.”

You wipe them away, letting your hand rest on his inky/blot stained cheek. “And you can. You can make your own rules for your life. If you want to eat tarts till you’re sick, you can. If you want to play till you can’t move, you can. You don’t have to follow her rules or the Queen of Hearts’ rules, just your own. As long as you’re happy and not hurting yourself, or forcing them onto someone else, do whatever makes you happy.”

He cups your hand to his face before you can remove it. “Would…Would you do it with me? I wanted you to be my friend, I want to eat tarts till I’m sick with you….” 

Ok, bit of a red flag, that's a bit concerning given the world you’re in. But you really can’t do anything if he traps you here. “Of course. But we need to get out of here to do that.”

A flash of light sparks up next to you both, causing you both to turn your heads to it. A door appears out of nowhere. 

Small, tiny and barely there, but the light coming out of it shines brightly, it's not the light at the end of the tunnel. You hope at least. 

“I think that’s the way out. Are you ready?” You hold out your hand in offering. “You have a lot of apologies to make, one to me included, but I’ll be there to help you.”

Riddle takes your hand, it’s warm and the blot falls away exposing his normal skin. “Not really, but let’s go.”

Riddle sets his other hand on the door knob. And the dark world fills with light.

“Riddle!” Trey’s voice is the last thing you hear before things go dark. Or, uh, white.

Consciousness hits you like a brick to the face.

You jerk upwards so fast you give yourself vertigo. The remnants of blot in your stomach churn threaten to come up with bile. But you manage to choke it down, despite how much it burns. 

Ace, Deuce and Grim probably feel the same, because-

“...Hi guys-” You barely get those words out before they tackle you and your back hits the torn up ground of the rose garden. You choke out a weak cough as soon as they hug you so tightly that you can feel the air you just breathed in get squeezed out of your lungs. 

But despite the pain, you laugh, now fuelled by adrenaline. “You guys, I’m okay. Let me up.” You say in between laughs. 

Ace is angrier because of what you just said.“Okay, my ass ______! You stopped breathing!” Oh, shit. Okay, maybe you should stop by the nurse after this. 

Deuce is more concerned, “We thought you were dead, Prefect!”

Grim like Ace is infuriated at your near death experience. “I seriously thought you were going to die, Henchman!”

“But I’m okay now. Just calm down.” After a few more seconds in their smothering embrace, they finally let you go and help you up. You scratch your fingers through Grim’s fur, soothing the tiny rage in your direbeast before giving your two friends a serious apology. “Sorry about that you guys.” 

“You better be sorry. We were worried sick!” Ace smacks the top of your head, before finally calming down.“Just don’t freak us out like that again.”

Deuce, in turn, breathes a slow sigh of relief, “Just give us some warning before you try to do that again… I was worried I was going to lose you.” Your adrenaline fueled laughs are replaced with churning worry. 

There would be no bad yandere thoughts after the shit storm today. “Sorry,” you say as sincerely as possible.

Cater seems to share your trio of friends' relief, “Well, it’s about time….We were just about losin’ our heads here -figure of speech, sorry - ‘cause we thought you might never wake up.”

You’re scooped up into a hug the next second, and for once you’ll let it slide. “Nice to see you again too, Cater.” 

Trey is the only one yet to greet you now that you’re awake. More concerned with waking up the still unconscious Riddle. 

Well, now you’re fucking concerned. 

As soon as Cater lets you go, which he doesn't, you wiggled out of it; you run to Riddle’s side. “Is Riddle okay?” You ask, now very worried. Why did you wake up but not him? Did something go wrong? Is he going to die after all?!

Trey gives you an anxious expression that seems to worsen the longer “He hasn’t woken up yet.” Trey looks more worried the longer that Riddle stays unconscious. “Why hasn’t he-”

Thankfully because the universe has impeccable timing, The sound of a sharp inhale rings out, followed by a  “Gah!” And Riddle’s eyes flutter open, and he’s awake. Thank goodness. 

“He’s back!”

“What….What in the world happened..?” Riddle’s weak voice fills the air, and you sigh in relief.

“Ah, Mr. Rosehearts appears to have regained consciousness. Excellent.” Oh, Crowley’s here. Wait.

“Crowley, Riddle and I have been lying dead on the ground for god knows how long and you didn’t call for the school nurse?” The crow doesn’t say anything in response to your question. You’re growing sick of his antics, and he’s the person you’re relying on to send you home. How this school hadn’t been burnt to the ground is a growing mystery. 

Trey, in light of Crowley’s uselessness, gives Riddle the check over he desperately needs, whilst calming whatever “Don’t worry, Riddle. Just try to rest.”

“Yo, that’s just the sort of coddling that led to him going nuts in the first place!”

“Ace, the man nearly died. Chill out.”

“Yeah, well now the garden is tore up from the floor up, not to mention that we could’ve died! _____ almost died!” Well, at least he’s concerned.

Deuce gives you a sorrowful look whilst agreeing with Ace, “He’s right, it was looking bad for a while there.” Well, they’re going to be stuck to you like glue for the imminent future. 

“For cryin’ out loud. When you humans let that stress build up, the results ain’t pretty.” For a constantly hangry dire beast, Grim does say something occasionally that is very insightful. You gotta give him credit for that one. 

“Yes, it isn’t Grim. Yes, it isn’t.”

“The truth is, I…. I really wanted to eat the chestnut tart…”

“Huh?” “And I don’t care if the roses are white or the flamingos are pink. And I prefer honey to sugar cubes in my tea, and I like milk tea better than lemon tea anyhow. And after a meal, I want to be the one sitting around talking with everyone…”

“Riddle…” “And I really wanted to play  with you and Chenya more, Trey.” And then the tears start flowing. 

“Riddle Rosehearts, in tears…. Hashtag #WOW.”

“Cater…now’s not the time…” You murmur.

“You think a few crocodile tears is all it’ll take for me to forgive you?”

“I’ll repeat. Ace, the man nearly died.”

“I’m sorry, Riddle. I knew you were suffering, and all I did was pretend not to notice.” Riddle keeps sobbing, finally letting all the pain that he contained within him for years flow out. You hug him, allowing him some comfort as he cries. Ace actually opens his mouth to object, but you motion for him to shut his mouth and keep his thoughts to himself for now. “So I’m gonna say what I should have said earlier. Your way of doing this was wrong, and you owe everyone an apology.”

Riddle can barely get out his apologies in between his loud sobs. “I’m sorry…..I’m really sorry.”

“I know I’ve been saying I wanted an apology from Riddle, but now that I got one, y’know what?”

“One stupid ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t even come close to making up for what he did!”

“Ace, I agree with you, but what part of ‘Riddle nearly died” is not clicking?!”

“DUDE! Way to be a capital-J Jerk!”

“And proud of it! Have you forgotten how he made a total fool outta me?!” “Have forgotten how he just threw away that chestnut tart we worked so hard on?! That ain’t something you can make go away with a few tears and a flimsy ‘I’m sorry’!”

“ACE!” Listen, you’re not team Riddle, but you’re team not kicking a man while he’s down post mental breakdown. Like chill out for ten seconds, and not throw a fit about an apology that you think was actually genuine. 

“Wow, I ain’t never met anyone who was better at holdin’ grudges than I am.” Yeah, that’s genuinely surprising that Grim is less trouble than someone else.

“Then…then what do you want me to do?!”

“You know…. I don’t got a birthday party coming up anytime soon.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“So I demand a do-over for the unbirthday party! Except this time, we ain’t going to do squat. This time, YOU’RE the one who brings the tart!” Well that’s a fitting apology. Completely fair and appropriate. You’re surprised that- “And no getting Trey to make it for you! Do that, and then things are square between us.” There it is.

Well, after the whole day he sectioned out of your busy schedule, you’re not letting that one fly. “All offense Ace, you had a lot of people helping you make your tarts.” 

“Quiet from the peanut gallery! What do you say, Riddle? We clear?”

“Yes… We’re clear.” Well, at least you have a potentially fun party in your incoming future. Maybe if the darling reveal doesn’t make the incoming future hell. 

You kind of forgot Crowley was there, until he spoke again.“Ah, yes. Compromise is a beautiful thing. I believe that concludes this matter.” 

“You didn’t do anything, Crowley.” You say for the umpteenth time.

Well know that the problem is solved, the garden’s a wreck. And you need a bath. “Welp, looks like we got some cleaning up to do. All that work making the garden Magicam-worthy and now it’s a total tire fire. Laaame.” Cater’s right, this is just a mess. 

“Yeah, speaking of which.” You mutter as you detach yourself from Riddle, cringing from the stickiness of the remaining blot all over your skin. “I should probably go clean up.”

“I’ll help out.” 

Cater is the one to actually the one to point out the obvious dangerous condition Riddle’s in now that the storm has passed.“No, why don’t you get Riddle to the nurse’s office. That was a full-blown case of overblot. We need to make absolutely sure he’s okay.”

Crowley in his perpetual uselessness proceeds to piggybank on Cater’s actually useful idea. This is really starting to bother you. “Mr.Diamond is correct. I will go along with you.” You bite your tongue before you say ‘To do what?’

“Understood. Thank you, sir.” Trey helps Riddle stand and limp to wherever the nurse’s station is. Crowley does nothing because he wants to be useless when a student nearly died. Just because. 

Anyway, that leaves you, Ace, Deuce, Cater and Grim in the rose garden/ battlefield. Well, time to leave this mess behind to deal with tomorrow. And hopefully for the tired and non-magical you, not ever.

“Man, am I starved after usin’ so much magic!” As you prepare to leave and take the longest bath of your life and get Grim some much needed snacks, Grim spots and an odd stone lodged in one of the destroyed rose bushes. “Hmmm. Hey, check it out!��

“What is it?” You ask.

Grim digs it out of the destroyed brambles. “It’s another black magestone, just like the one we found in the Dwarf’s Mine!”

“You’re right. Wonder where it came from?”

“Just don’t put it in your mouth this time-”

Ace’s warning goes completely unheard, “No way. After how great the last one tasted, I can’t get that thing in my mouth fast enough!” Before you can stop him, he stuffs it in his mouth.

“And there he goes.” 

“Oh, Grimmy… Have some self-respect, honey. That was literally trash.”

As if describing a five star meal, Grim goes off unprompted. “Ahhhh! Rich and sweet, but with a complex hint of bitterness in the aftertaste. Equally delicious, but with quite a different mouthfeel from the last one I ate.”

“You have such a way with words, Grim…. So I guess this is just a thing now, or?” You hope that he won’t get sick, if he does then you’re just fucked. But with your bad luck it wouldn’t be a surprise.

“As a monster, maybe his stomach works differently than ours?”Ace reasons, but you frankly don’t care.

“Even still, eating trash can’t be good for anyone.”

“As long as it keeps my food bill down, he could eat the grass for all I care.” Since Crowley won’t pay it, you might as well improvise given Grim’s gluttony.

As if on cue, Grim takes a hearty munch of the torn up grass. “Ooh! I just tried the grass, and the flavor was surprisingly pleasant! Crisp, even!”

“See? He’s fine, and if anything happens, I’ll just stop by the vet or something.” You hope this society has free vets. Just in case. 

“Hey, that’s our lawn! Don’t eat that!”

“Uh, A-F-K while I go throw up….” As you all leave contemplating the workings of Grim’s digestive track, you can hear Cater say under his breath. “But….seriously, guys. Thanks.”

You had just barely caught that, “What did you say, Cater?” you ask.

Cater laughs, brushing off your question whilst poking you directly on the nose in his usual demeanor. “Nooope. Nothing at all.”

The raging storm is over. And with it, all the B.S. that came with dealing with Riddle and his overblot, you’re sad that it happened, and happy that it’s over. Like any rational human being. 

Since you got out of this relatively unscathed, excluding some nausea from , you went straight to Ramshackle to take a very, very long hot soak to at least try to get the blot stuck to your skin and hair off. Turns out that uniform was garbage bound, because after three and half hours of scrubbing your skin and hair, six bath water changes and two full bottles of cheap shampoo being emptied, you were about 80% sure you got it all out. 

So with your hair dripping with the remains of your bath water, you decided after all the bullshit you did today, you would just have a cozy night with Grim, trying to figure out how to gaslight Ace and Deuce into thinking you weren’t a darling.  

What a great way to spend the rest of your day. But considering Ramshackle was empty, except for you, Grim and the ghosts (who thought it was funny to hide your slippers in the crawl space), you were completely satisfied. 

“Henchmannnnn! My tuna!” 

“Be patient, you glutton.” You laugh at Grim’s whining. He’d been like this after hour one of cleaning the blot off. While you told him where he could find his tuna, the Great Grim was bested by his inherent lack of thumbs to open the can. Thus, enter the whining and hissy fit. 

“Henchman!”

“I’m opening it, chill.” The sound of the can opening fills the creaky silence of Ramshackle settling. The creaking is unsettling, but peaceful. And that’s how this evening was going to go. You ‘sharing’ a meal with Grim, alone. Making conversation in the silence as you try to figure out how to gaslight Ace and Deuce into oblivion about the darling thing. Finally a calm night because Ace and Deuce were staying in Heartslabyul tonight-

“Motherfucker, who is it now!?” You yell throwing the half opened can of tuna hard onto the counter (which ricochets onto the floor), completely pissed. The knocks on your door just remind you of how fucking unlucky you are. Is one night alone impossible? One single night?!

“Henchman, whyyy?!” Grim mourns the tuna scattered as you storm out of the kitchen. 

Is one night impossible!? What did Ace and Deuce do in the three hours you left them alone!?

You yank the front door open with a booming slam, before yelling “WHAT!?” at whoever thought bothering you after a rough day was the move they would make today. 

“...Did I come at a bad time?” Trey’s on your porch, an awkward expression on his face. Trey so far had to be the only one that was remotely normal. Ooo! and he was holding a cake box. 

And you just yelled in his face. “Oh oops, uh, it’s you. Sorry.” You’re now as awkward as he is, your face turning warm with embarrassment. 

Trey gives you a gentle smile, “I would have called first, but you don’t exactly have a phone.”

“Yeah…. “ You awkwardly scratch the back of your neck. “After everything I went through in the last three days, I thought I could get a few hours to myself and Grim.”

“I’m sorry I disturbed you. I just thought you might want these.” Trey holds out the box to you, which smells like the bakery from Riddle’s overblot memory thing? Either way, you can feel the nausea in your stomach finally soothe. 

“Thank you.” Opening it, you find it full of sweet looking treats, topped with light frosting, sugary glazes and glittering toppings. “But, you didn’t have to save these for Grim and I.”

“It was nothing. I owe you an apology too, so I figured that this was the best start.” Well, considering your dinner today was going to be a bunch of instant noodles, you'll accept the apology. 

“Uh, well do you want to come in? Might as well not do it on my porch.”Trey accepts, and now you have the normal one in your lounge, sitting on your couch. Great thinking, you. 

“Grim! Trey’s here, he brought us food.” you call out. 

As soon as the word ‘food’ is uttered, Grim shot out of your kitchen like lightning. “Where!?”Oh and of course, you called out to Grim the second you passed the kitchen. And then you and Grim played mouthball with a cookie in the dessert box. Turns out Grim was great at catch, but maybe it’s because you threw him food. Aw well, good to know in case of a competition for you to play or something. 

“How have you been? You really had us worried for a moment there.”

“Better, the worst thing I got out of that was scrubbing all the blot off of me.”And the darling thing, but you weren’t going to bring that up. “I’m pretty sure that I scrubbed a bald spot into my scalp. How’s Riddle?”

“I checked on him on my way here. He’s fine, like nothing ever happened, but he’s on bedrest and isn’t allowed to use magic for the next few days.”

“Well, that’s both comforting and convenient.” Nice to know that the overblot mess didn’t cause brain damage or anything. 

Trey “If you don’t mind me staying so,  I thought you’d be more mad at me.”

“That ship sailed yesterday and crashed when you finally told Riddle off earlier, and let’s just say that I can understand why you kept your mouth shut for so long. And while I would punch you in the face, you brought me free food so you’re forgiven.” You stuff a mouthful of a tart slice into your mouth, humming as a delicacy hits your tastebuds.

Trey gives you a warm laugh, before saying. “Good to know. But there is something I wanted to talk to you about.” 

“What is it?” You say, taking another mouthful of cake. 

“About what Riddle said, about you being a darling.” Shit. Fuck. 

“Um…..Do you believe him?” You hope he doesn’t. Four out of five of the people you know is already too much. 

The answer Trey gives you doesn’t bring you peace.“I already knew. When Riddle figured it out, he told me because he wanted me to keep an eye on the students around you. I was suspicious, but I was never sure until then.” 

“....Great.” you sigh. “This just keeps getting better and better.

Trey puts a hand on your shoulder, in an attempt to soothe you. “Look, I can understand this whole darling thing is very troubling for you.”

You shrug his hand off. “How would you know? You’re not exactly the person being negatively affected by it.”

“Not exactly. Two of my siblings are darlings, one of my brothers and my little sister. I’ve seen them afraid of what their futures hold. I worry about them not being at home when I get back. I've watched them be as jumpy as you are.”

“But you see all of that and you still think it's okay to do that to the person you love.”

“It's not that, it's just the whole darling thing is seen as the lesser of two evils. I would never do anything to hurt people like you.” But you still aren't moved. 

Is it worth trusting him to keep his word? Because even if you learned some things about this world, you're still a stranger. A stranger who is stumbling blind in a world you don't understand. For all you knew this could be a technique to gaslight you into thinking he's a safe bet, only to use that against you.

“You…” This is going to sound dumb, but you don’t have a lot of options right now. “You promise?”

Trey smiles at you in a way that pacifies your looming worry, “I promise.”

“Well,” you shift in your seat, “ if you won’t hurt me what about your dorm? Can you get them to forget what Riddle said?”

“Luckily,about half of them were too busy freaking out and running away to pay attention to Riddle’s speech. The other half either doesn’t believe it, or doesn’t care. Heartslabyul’s understanding of darlings is that they’re wild and unruly without us, so some of them see Riddle’s words as an insult. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“Well, that’s a relief. But what about Ace, Deuce and Cater?”

“Well, Cater found out on his own. Trust me, when I say that Cater is in the know about nearly everything on campus, I mean it. But don’t worry, he doesn’t have any plans on releasing it to anyone outside of the dorm.” Phew. 

“And Ace and Deuce? They were already suspicious of me…”

Trey’s gentle smile drops for a moment, an apologetic expression forming on his face. “Whether they believe it or not is up to them. I’m sorry.”

“Well, what about you? Since you know, were you ever going to…. Do anything to me?”

At that moment, Grim yawns while gorging himself on the other desserts in the box. You finish the few bites of the treat in your hands. The sweetness of the pastries fade away to the nervousness as you await in his response. And fatigue for some reason. Maybe a full belly is making you sleepy. 

“Don’t worry, I don’t have any plans on hurting you. I owe you one after all.” You sigh in relief. “And if things get tough, you don’t have to do anything on your own. If you need anything you can come and get me for anything. I’m always here to help.” He offers you a hug, which you gratefully accept. After the whirlwind you experienced some human contact in way that’s not fucked up feels like a welcome relief. 

“Thanks Trey.” You mumble into his embrace, accidentally cut yourself off with a yawn as soon as you finish your sentence. Well, that was fast. You know that you’ve had a long day, but it was still very early so how in the world did you get tired so fast. Sure you were a little tired, but not to the point where you were starting to feel sleepy. “You should probably go…. I think I should get some sleep….”

“I should leave then, but excuse my bluntness…You should take better care of yourself.” The hell does that mean?

You’re too tired to contemplate it tonight. Maybe tomorrow.“I’ll try. Good night Trey.”

You see him out and just before you shut the door, you can hear him say, “Get some sleep, ______.” You nod in response, shutting the door. As soon as you click the lock into place, you-

“Wha-” Another wave of exhaustion hits you like a bus, to the point that you can’t stop straining your jaw with yawns. Maybe today was more exhausting than you thought.

“Still….. How did…..I-” You can’t stop yourself from yawning in between words. Your heads spinning and your visions already blurring. Your legs become so weak that you can barely keep yourself upright. 

You stumble back to the lounge, Grim, his face still covered in crumbs and frosting from the box of treats Trey had brought, is snoring into the box of treats. You gingerly set him onto one of the couch cushions before plopping down on the closest possible sofa. Even if it’s safer and cleaner for you to sleep in your bed tonight, you can’t bring yourself to climb up the stairs to bed, or even carry Grim all the way there.

‘But…..’ a voice in the back of your mind says, ‘you only felt tired after you ate the treats Trey fed you. And Grim was wide awake the whole afternoon. So why?’

Your last thought before losing yourself into the dream world is….. Why am I so tired?

As you lie in a world of dreams, none of your questions are answered. 

Not the one about your exhaustion. 

Not the one about why you were involved with and forced to fix Riddle’s internal conflict.

And most importantly, not the one about your questions of wonderland. 

Why? Because you didn’t dream of Wonderland that night. Nor of Red Kings and lost girls from Earth. You slept peacefully. Too peacefully…….

Your one hope didn’t welcome you that night. And when you eventually awoke the next morning, when you checked it out nothing had changed. Like when you were awake, the doorway it once offered was shut. 

And all the information it offered was held out of reach. 

And that way was how it remained for three more days.

Just dreams that you couldn’t recall, showing flashes of the odd and nonsensical things that you once did. 

No dreams of containing answers, no dreams of containing new questions…

Nothing about the world through the mirror for the next three days either, all the way up to the day of the make-up unbirthday party.

To say that your mind was preoccupied nearing the make-up unbirthday would be an understatement.

But you were mentally just not there the whole way to the unbirthday party, because your mind was just preoccupied with why your nightly journeys had suddenly concluded. As far as you knew, the story had never ended there. Alice eventually got home, following a path she used to escape the Queen’s madness and wake herself up to her normal life and her normal world. If that was your way out, then you needed to figure out how to reach it. 

Still, though after a stressful three days of hanging out with Ace and Deuce (three days which neither of them brought up what the darling thing, so maybe you were in the clear) while they were lumped into cleaning up the Heartslabyul garden, it was time for the unbirthday party. Yay!

“All hail our leader, the Red Sovereign himself…Housewarden Riddle!” You stifle a laugh at the goofy announcement. Guess some things won’t change, huh?

“We salute you, Dorm Leader Riddle!” On the positive side, the residents don’t sound as forced this time. Riddle must have apologized to everyone in the past few days, because they sound much happier.  

“Hm. The garden roses are red, the tablecloths are white…This seems like a proper unbirthday indeed.” Riddle inspects the garden like during the first unbirthday party, but he looks significantly more relaxed. Calmer even. Ace and Deuce had told you he wasn’t enforcing the Queen of Hearts’ rules as much since he’d been discharged from the nurse’s station. Which to you is a good sign. Because it means that, a weight of the rules was lifted off his shoulders. You hope. “Is there a dormouse in the teapo-” You sure fucking hope n- “Er, well, I suppose it’s fine either way.” Phew, you can actually drink the tea this time. Also, progress! He’s started to see which rules are bullshit and which ones aren’t.

“Not everything has to change completely, you know.” Trey looks much more at peace too. With the disaster in both his and Riddle’s childhood behind them, they both look much happier. “Like maybe spread the jam on your scones, instead of on the dormouse this time?” So the dormouse wasn’t ejected from the party premises, well then you’ll stick with water.

“Let’s try to set the bar at ‘it’s great if it’s this way,’ not ‘it absolutely has to be this way.’” According to the Ace and Deuce of two hours ago, Trey’s been working on trying to get Riddle to relax his old ways and unlearn his mother’s super strictness.

“Yes, that makes sense.” Riddle had been doing well in that department. And while he’s slipped up once or twice but no one lost their heads so, once again, progress. 

Ace sighs in annoyance. He and Deuce had been roped into repairing the garden along with a lot of other Heartslabyul residents. Which he, as usual, complained about, “I can’t believe we got roped into cleaning up and prepping the garden again.”

“Well, at least the dorm leader recovered from his overblot without any complications.”

“And the garden is Magi-cam worthy once again! Hashtag #no filter on this gorgeousness!” Cater in his magicam addiction snaps enough pictures to fill his phone’s gallery, but this time you don’t exactly flinch away from them. It’s a party damnit, you’re going to relax. 

“Blah blah blah! Let’s just eat already!”

“Then eat we shall! I’ll get the-”

“Wait a minute!” Riddle’s voice sends the garden into terrified silence. Oh no. What’s wrong? What was messed up? Who broke a rule? Are we going to go through this mess all over again?!

“Huh?”

“There’s a white rose!” How the hell did someone miss one?! You were in this garden yesterday, and every rose was painted when you all left! 

You’re not the only one panicking. 

“We missed one?!”

“Ace, Deuce, I told you to make sure to paint every rose?!”

“Wait, this is our fault?!” 

Even Trey’s panicking, “R-Riddle, listen…”

You jump into damage control mode. “Riddle, it was an accident!” and if Riddle freaks out again, then you’re knocking one of his teeth out. “They didn’t mean to-”

Riddle chuckles, still calm. “Well… I suppose I can overlook one or two missed roses.” Everyone in the garden nearly collapses as you let out a sigh of relief. Yay, progress…..

“Geez! Don’t give me a heart attack, Riddle!” You jokingly protest. But you’re very happy he’s not serious. Besides, practical jokes are closer to what you felt was normal. 

“After all, if we work together then we should be able to get them painted in no time.”

“What? They still gotta be painted?!”

“Even so…. I’m impressed. You’ve changed, Riddle.”

“I’m starvin’ here! Let’s just get these stupid roses painted or whatever!”

“All right, is everyone ready?” After a very energizing and hunger-inducing rose painting session, you all return to the tea garden to eat and drink. And Ace, as cocky as ever, finally gets to have his cake and eat it too, or rather get his tart and-nevermind. “So what happened to that tart, Dorm Leader?”

“I made it for you, as I promised I would.” Riddle’s actually taken aback for a split second at Ace’s bluntness, but he does direct everyone’s attention to the tart set on one of the dessert tables. “Here: one strawberry tart, crafted by yours truly.” A strawberry tart that sparkles in the sunshine. It’s a little misshapen, but he tried.

“Nice! The shape’s a little off, but I can tell you put a lot of work into that glaze.”

“He’s right. It looks great, Riddle. Good job!” Riddle seems to bolster from your praise, smiling softly before Ace kills the moment. 

“Oh, puh-leeze. How about we actually TRY it before you start fawning over him, _____?”

“Hold it! Don’t you start cutting that before I get my Magicam snap!-” Cater snaps a picture without anyone’s consent but who cares, the tarts ready to be cut and served “Okay, got it!”

“Tch, I see Cater hasn’t changed a bit either. All right, let’s dig in!” The tart is cut, and served for everyone. To be honest, you can’t wait to try the fruits of Riddle’s labor. He didn’t really have to make one. But he kept his word to Ace, so you’re glad to see his positive change. 

And you get to eat the tart that led to this entire storm happening. You stuff the tart into your mouth and take a huge bite.

And then you choke. 

It’s salty, like a mouthful of table salt salty. 

“This is kinda….Salty!” You can't even join the scream of the anguished at what has to be a mountain of salt mixed into the tart makes your mouth as dry as a desert.

“What?!” Riddle’s completely taken aback by the fact all his hard work is actually the culinary equivalent of serving salt onto a plate. 

“Err? This isn’t KINDA salty - it’s a full on salt lick! What did you put in this?!” You have no choice but to agree with Ace. This is not ‘accidentally added too much salt’ salty, this is ‘completely replacing all the other ingredients with just salt’ salty. How could someone who once followed rules so strictly mess up a tart recipe so badly?

After a few failed attempts, you swallow it down and wince, before dry-heaving. “Did you mistake salt for sugar?” You rasp

“No, I followed the rules exactly, and measured everything precisely! Unless…Oh!”

“What?” You rasp.

“Could it be…. from the oyster sauce?” WHAT. Trey, why?!

Deuce spits out the mouthful of salt tart into a nearby napkin. “Wait… did you actually use that Walrus-brand oyster sauce Trey jokes about?”

“But Trey said that oyster sauce is an unlisted secret ingredient in all tarts! He said all the finest bakers use it.” Damn it Trey…..

“And you actually believed him?! How could you not tell that he was joking?!”

“You fell for it too, Ace. But even then, it was only supposed to be a splash. How much did you put in?”

“It’s an unlisted ingredient! How could I measure it if he wouldn’t tell me how much to put in?!” Geez, no wonder this tart was like drinking seawater.

“Pffft..” Trey practically loses his shit laughing at the successful prank, “I can’t believe someone actually fell for the ol’ oyster sauce prank!”

Instead of flipping out, Riddle takes the realization on the chin and laughs fondly, “Yes; Quite humorous indeed. I truly am a fool.”

Even if you're sure your mouth will never be the same from taking such a big mouthful, all you can do in this situation is laugh. And everyone does.

“Ha ha! It really is so disgusting that it’s actually kind of funny!”

“Yeah, what else can we do but laugh!”

“You know, in its own weird way, I think it’s actually kinda good!”

“Well, uh, it’s an interesting flavor profile…” 

In the end, you're just glad to have a taste of normalcy. After the headache the last few days have been, a break to laugh is welcomed.

The garbage tart doesn’t dampen the mood in the slightest. While it led to some discovery of Cater’s own tastes, it was actually more informative and humorous than miserable. Which in contrast to the original unbirthday party you got kicked out of, this is so much better.

What changed the mood is the new voice in the garden. “Mm mm mmm! Your baked goods are always so delightful, Trey.” Chenya appears out of nowhere, stuffing his face with the not-super salty tarts. 

Both Trey and Riddle look surprised to see their childhood friend here. “Chenya?! What are you doing here?!”

Still, speaking in his carefree nonchalance, Chenya hums, “Hm? I came to celebrate my unbirthday with all of you. A very merry unbirthday to you, Riddle.”

You're not sure what caused it, but the warm atmosphere drops at least 10 degrees. “The unbirthday party is a Heartslabyul House tradition. It does not pertain to you.” Isn’t Riddle also friends with Chenya, why the hostility?

Chenya points at you and Grim, “And those two? What about them?”

“Favoritism.” You quip, because it is.

The current conversation doesn't kill Grim’s curiosity, because he asks the same question he never got answered. “Hey! You’re that weird semi-invisible cat guy from before! So you never told us- what dorm are you from?”

“Chenya isn’t even a Night Raven student.”

“I knew it!” You exclaim, and then everyone stares at you surprised by your sudden, excited outburst. They laugh slightly at your exclamation, as you flush slightly. “S-Sorry, carry on Trey.”

“He’s a student at our long-time rival school, The Royal Sword Academy.” Oh, there’s another magical school nearby? Must be if Chenya can come here and go back so quickly.

“Whaaat? You go to a different school?”

“The frickin’ Royal Sword Academy, no less?!”

“Uh, guys, why exactly is Royal Sword Academy so important?” You ask, still left out of whatever loop they’re running on.

“Did that guy just say the ‘Royal Sword Academy’?!”

“He’s one of those pompous jerk-faces?!” Hey, isn’t that guy the jerk that tried to pound your face in because of an egg? Hypocrite much?

“What?! Who’s from Royal Sword? We gotta run ‘em outta here!” You can practically feel the bloodlust emanating out of them, as the other residents try to surround him. What the hell are they-

“Well now that I’ve tasted some tart, perhaps I should see myself out.” Chenya literally vanishes, as the single minded Heartslabyul residents try to run him out after he’s already disappeared.

“Whoa, everyone turned bloodthirsty real quick.” Yeah, bloodthirst is right. They went from enjoying the party to ready to commit murder. What the hell did they have against RSA?

“Sure. Let’s not consider the possibly lethal ramifications of this.” You murmur, going thankfully unheard. 

Your unspoken question is answered by Riddle. “The vast majority of Night Raven College students perceive the Royal Sword Academy as the enemy.” 

“No surprise, given that they’ve kicked our butts every year for a hundred years straight…”

Oh, it’s just a school rivalry. Thank the seven. If it was something like the school having a history of stealing the darlings of the NRC students, then that was awful. “Cool. Something normal like school competition, finally.”

“Hey, stop harshin’ the vibe! This is supposed to be a day of celebration. Can’t we all just enjoy our unbirthdays?”

“Myah! Merry unbirthday or whatever! I’m gonna eat till my stomach explodes!” Grim cheers before diving into one the dessert trays. 

And you do. But after a while gorging yourself on not over-salted sweets, you actually make your way to Riddle. Perhaps it's time you have your first real conversation with the no longer Crimson Tyrant. “Riddle?” Riddle almost drops his tea cup at the sound of your voice. You hadn't gotten the chance to speak with him after he'd gone to the nurse. But you weren’t expecting his surprise.

“Y-Yes, _____?”

“I’m glad you’re doing better.” You are and you aren't. Maybe it's the lingering feeling of dread that hasn't displaced itself from your mind. “Trey says you're trying to do better…”

“Yes, I have. I've been making individual apologies to everyone, and I believe that I owe you one too.” 

“Well, yeah.” You shrug, you weren’t not expecting this, but you’re not surprised. “Might as well say it now.”

Riddle takes a deep breath with all the original poise he had back before his overblot. “I should not have said what I did about you and for that I am truly sorry.”

Well, if he’s truly sorry, then maybe….“And you mean it?”

“O-Of course, I should not have-”

“Then, you need to let me do something.” The itch in your palm is back. You're not as mad as you could have been then, but you still want to seek retribution.

Riddle gives you a look of confusion, “W..What is it?”

“This. Stay still.” He gives you a confused look, as you draw your fist back. His eyes widen slightly in recognition but he doesn’t make any moves to avoid it, holding still. You hit him hard enough to make him stumble a few feet back. A now inflamed bruise is painted onto his skin. “Alright, you’re partially forgiven.”

Riddle rubs the reddening bruise on his cheek, looking more surprised at your response rather than the punch. “Partially?”

“You kind of outed me to Ace and Deuce and your entire dorm, and while the former haven’t said anything that doesn’t mean they don’t believe it because they were already suspicious of me. So, partially.”

“I see.” Riddle looks disappointed, did he want you to forgive him that badly? “Then how would I earn your total forgiveness?”

You sigh, even with the day being genuinely enjoyable, your first few weeks here had been hectic. So very hectic. You just wanted to be left alone. “I just don’t want to be bothered anymore. I don’t want to be dragged into a mess because they have some stupid problem involving me.” You finish, before hastily tacking on a “No offense.”

“None taken. I deserved that. If you desire to not be bothered, I will ensure that you aren’t.” You breathe a sigh of relief.

“Thanks…. I appreciate it.”

“It is no problem. And know that you are always welcome at Heartslabyul.”

“I'll…” Considering all the Heartslabyul drama you were involved in for no goddamn reason other than the fact you were existing, you needed a bit of alone time before you dropped by for sleepovers. “...Keep that in mind. But we’ve all had a hard couple of days, so let’s just enjoy the party today.”

And so you party with worry looming in the back of your mind. Sure, you’re glad that this stressful whirlwind is over, but something doesn’t feel right. 

Maybe it’s your unfinished dreams? Or the reason for your sudden exhaustion? Something feels wrong, but you can’t figure out what it is.

You just hope this is the end of this.

Do stories end at the ‘the end’? Because the ending isn’t really the ending. It’s just where the narration concludes. The people in the tale continue living, facing victories and tragedies. 

And this story isn’t a tale that ends with a victory for the protagonist. No, it ends with a tragedy, the bloody kind.

Shall we watch the blood on the ax dry?

[flowerandblood]

To please, to serve (Oneshot)

[ canon • Aemond x niece • wife female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, oral sex, smut, fingering, the angst, degradation, role play, dirty talk ]

[ description: During a meeting of the Small Council, Aemond learns that his wife is feeling unwell. Fearing that these are symptoms of another pregnancy, he abandons his daily routine and visits her in their chamber. To his surprise, he does not find her there, but someone else. Sexual tension, dark, loving, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: The events of this oneshot are part of the canon of The Fall from the Heavens series and feature the same characters. This oneshot takes place several years after the events of that storyline and can be read as a standalone story. I just came up with this idea and decided that's it, I have to write it. Ehhhhh.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

"Where is the Queen Regent?" He asked impatiently, surprised that, although it was not her custom, she was late for the Small Council meeting. One of the guards bowed his head and shifted from foot to foot.

"The Queen Regent requests that the meeting be held without her today, as she has been feeling unwell, Your Grace." He said.

He pressed his lips together at his words, driving his fingernail into the skin of his second finger at the thought that his wife was perhaps expecting his child again.

Seventh, he thought in disbelief, staring dully ahead.

That would be the seventh.

As many as she had promised him.

And what would happen next?

He tried to focus on the meeting and what each person was saying, however, he knew that he was involuntarily pushing for it to end as soon as possible.

Once everything was settled, he approached the Grand Maester, wanting to know what the situation was.

"Do you know anything about my wife's condition?" He asked coolly, frustrated by the possibility that he might have withheld such important information from him for some reason.

The man shook his head.

"No, Your Grace. I am surprised myself. The Queen Regent has not summoned me, so it is possible that her frail condition is due to some other cause." He said, making him feel discomfort in his stomach.

Although he always took part in sparring after the meeting, wishing to remain as skilled and agile in sword fight as he had been in all the years he had been king by his wife's side, this time he headed for their chamber.

When he stepped inside, he did not see her where he expected her to be, which was in their bed. He looked around the room, tense, the servant standing next to him bowed humbly.

"Where is my wife?" He asked, approaching the window overlooking the courtyard, thinking he might perhaps catch a glimpse of her walking between the cloisters.

"The Queen has left, Your Grace." The girl answered him. He furrowed his brow as her voice seemed familiar to him, but he wasn't sure why.

"Where to?" He asked, walking over to his desk to pour himself some wine and quench his thirst.

"She didn't say, Your Grace."

"You may leave." He replied, taking a few deep sips from his goblet deciding that she was probably hiding in the library for some reason. He set his goblet aside, impatient to hear that the girl had not moved from her place.

"Did I express myself unclearly?" He asked, turning to face her and froze, unsure if he had seen correctly or if he was slowly beginning to slip into madness from exhaustion.

The girl standing on the other side of his chamber looked at him before their gazes met, however, she lowered her eyes meekly to the floor when she sensed his surprise and frustration.

She had his wife's face, his wife's figure, his wife's voice but she wasn't dressed like her – her hair was pinned up in a braid around her head, her attire simple, consisting of a long-sleeved red bottom garment and a linen top gown belted at the waist.

"What?" He asked more to himself than to her, looking at her with wide eye.

"The Queen is not here, Your Grace." She said, looking at him again, something in her gaze from which he felt heat in his lower abdomen.

Her gaze was bright, piercing, familiar, but terrified at the same time.

Was it possible that a woman so confusingly similar to his wife had served in the Red Keep?

He swallowed hard, feeling the dryness in his throat, so he reached for his cup again and took a sip from it, looking at her intently.

"Have you been serving here for long?"

"For a few days."

"Mmm."

Perhaps that's why she doesn't know all the rules of good manners yet, he thought.

"If I say you may leave, then you are expected to leave."

She lowered her gaze and did something that betrayed her: her hands entwined with each other as she began to play with her fingers in a gesture of discomfort that he knew all too well.

Fuck.

It was her.

"The whole kingdom speaks of the affection you have for her, Your Grace. About the fact that she has already given you six children, although she is still so young. Perhaps she should rest from this duty." She whispered, looking down at her hands, not daring to look at him.

He pressed his lips together, wondering if she was implying something.

Was she tired of him and carrying his offspring in her womb.

"I could have your head for this insolence." He said, intrigued by what she was trying to achieve, what her plan was.

"You could have something else. While she rests." She confessed finally, the gaze of her bright eyes surrounded by dark lashes lifted to him.

He felt a shudder at her words, at the realisation of what she was suggesting, what she was aiming for, and his cock expressed a desire to participate in her idea, pulsing greedily in his breeches.

"Indeed?" He murmured, raising his cup to his lips, sipping the remainder of the wine from it, not taking his eye off her with a mischievous look.

She did not reply, standing still, her lips parted in an accelerated breath betraying that she was aroused.

"Very well. Come here." He said, stepping around his desks and spreading out comfortably in his chair, looking up at her from below. He set his cup down on the table as she approached him slowly, her gaze fixed on the floor.

"Kneel." He ordered.

She swallowed loudly and obediently sat on her knees between his legs, not daring to look at his face. He licked his lower lip involuntarily as he undid the buckles of his tunic with his long fingers, only to immediately slide them down to the fabric of his breeches, untying them with an agile flick of his wrist.

"Don't delude yourself into thinking I'll treat you like my wife. You don't deserve it." He scoffed in a trembling voice, feeling the chill of the chamber envelope his swollen erection, leaking with desire. Her gaze lifted to his manhood as she nodded, moving closer, the look of her innocent eyes rising to his face in anticipation.

"Open." He said, grabbing the base of his swollen cock, directing the throbbing, pink, wet head of it to her face.

Her lips parted in an obedient gesture as she leaned forward, her hands clenched on her lap. He tilted his head back, feeling the rapid pounding of his heart as her puffy lips slid its tip into her warm interior, her tongue giving him one encouraging, gentle lick.

"– fuck –" He breathed out, clamping his free hand in her hair, forcing her to take it all the way in, the head of his manhood bumping against the back of her throat with her quiet moan of discomfort.

She knew him too well, knew what drove him mad, what touch and where drove him to the brink of insanity.

"– quiet – you wanted it yourself – now suck like a good girl –" He gasped, watching with a wide grin as the fullest part of his manhood disappeared again and again deep between her lips with the quiet clicks of her saliva.

He squeezed himself tighter at the base, trying to find a rhythm with her, involuntarily rolling his hips back and forth, each time making her almost choke, tears of exertion running down her face one after the other.

"– only my wife deserves to swallow my seed – maybe I should come on your face? – hm? – would you enjoy that? –" He sneered, and she shook her head quickly and cried out, looking up at him with big eyes full of tears, whimpering as he quickened his pace suddenly, disappearing again and again deep into her throat.

Her beautiful face was all rosy with exertion, droplets of sweat on her cheeks and forehead, unruly strands of her dark hair stuck to her skin.

So pretty.

"– no? – then how about your tits – show me your breasts –" He exhaled, sliding out from between her lips to avoid coming too soon, taking a surprising amount of pleasure from this unusual act of their marital intimacy.

His wife drew in a loud breath, wiping her cheeks wet with tears, and reached up to untie her dress at the back, blindly undoing it. She looked at him with a look he knew perfectly well when she finally slipped the bright and red material off, showing him one of his favourite parts of her body.

She was so fucking wet, he knew it.

"– go on – I didn't let you stop –" He said coldly, and she leaned over him again, taking his fat erection between her lips with such commitment that he groaned, biting his lower lip so hard that he could feel the blood under his tongue.

"– good girl – just like that – fucking serve your King –" He growled, clenching his fingers in her hair, allowing her small hand to caress what was not fitting deep in her throat imposing a fierce, aggressive pace on her. She cried out loudly, clearly not able to keep up with taking a breath, making him stop in half-motion.

"– too much? –" He mumbled, stepping out of his role for a moment, but she shook her head, looking at him with affection.

He stroked her hair, his fingers sliding down to her face, his thumb running over the hot, moist skin of her cheek – her murmur of satisfaction ran in vibration through his erection, making him pulse hard between her lips.

"– just a little more – your King is satisfied and about to come – hm? –" He cooed, and she nodded, letting him do what he wanted with her mouth, thrusting his long manhood into her again and again with the greedy, deep stabs of his hips.

The warmth of her mouth, her tongue that ran over the soft skin of his erection swollen from his veins, her lips that clamped again and again on the thick head of it made him close his eyes, losing the urge to pull it out of her.

"– I changed my – f-fuck – fuck, gods, swallow –" He gasped out, panting heavily with pleasure, tilting his head back, feeling his cock begin to throb all over in elation, his wife whimpered when suddenly his spend spilled deep down her throat.

He looked at her with dreamy eyes, breathing through his parted lips, stroking her head, listening to the quiet sound of swallowing.

"– that's it – easy – you did well –" He praised her, and she took a heavy breath as he finally let her go, sliding his erection out from between her sweet lips with a loud slap.

She closed her eyes and pressed her face against his thigh, embracing it with her arms, trying to calm down after what she had done. His fingers roamed through her hair, his gaze fixed on her full of curiosity.

"– come here –" He murmured.

She looked at him sleepily and lifted herself up on trembling legs, however, to her surprise, he didn't let her sit on top of him with her arms around him, but turned her so that she was resting her back against his chest.

They both sighed, and her legs spread involuntarily to the sides as his broad hand rolled up the material of her gown, exposing her thighs, slipping under her smallclothes. While there his fingers sank into her silky, leaking folds, the fingers of his other hand embraced her neck, making her moan softly, tilting her head back.

"– only my wife deserves to be fulfilled – so how will it be? –" He whispered in her ear, placing hot, loud, sticky kisses on her red, welted sweaty cheek – her hand involuntarily wrapped around his arm while the other reached back into his hair for balance.

"– please, my King –" She mumbled pleadingly.

"– tsk-tsk – not like that –" He gasped, teasing her little spongy bud with his fingertip, playing with it gently, his other fingers trailing over her throbbing, moist slit.

"– ah – gods – Aemond –" She sighed, bucking her hips to the rhythm of his strokes, his fingers clenching warningly around her neck.

"– call me right or I'll tease this little cunt all night long, but you won't experience fulfillment, sweet girl –" He said warningly and felt her swallow loudly under his fingers, his hand between her thighs all slick with her sticky wetness.

"– husband – please, husband, please, please, please – ah! –" She mewled, clenching her hand in his hair as his two fingers burst into her hot, fleshy interior, pressing the spot hidden between her muscles from which she could see stars, while his thumb teased her pearl from the outside in circular, gentle strokes.

"– good girl – fuck yourself with my fingers – only my wife can use me for her own pleasure –" He gasped, watching with satisfaction as with a cry of pleasure she fell apart in front of him, reaching her peak – his hand from her neck clamped down on her breast, all swollen with milk, feeling her weeping cunt squeeze his fingers again and again, sucking them inside.

His once again hard erection pushed against her buttocks, delighted by what he had just witnessed.

Her hands closed around his, making sure he didn't let go of either her hot, leaking womanhood or her soft, plump breast.

"– what unusual idea did you come up with, hm? – is that the reason for your non-attendance at the Small Council? –" He sneered, placing tender, lazy, sticky kisses on her neck and cheek.

"– I've been thinking about it for a while – what it would feel like – and have you ever had fantasies of doing this to a servant –" She muttered, breathing heavily through her mouth, looking at him curiously.

He snorted under his breath and shook his head, sighing contentedly, spreading himself comfortably in his chair with her.

"– I didn't feel the need for it until it turned out that you could be one – I'm afraid it's not a question of role but of your pretty face – those big eyes of yours –" He murmured, grabbing her chin, turning her head so that she could look at him. She giggled sweetly at his words, her eyes lit up with joy and warmth from which he felt heat in his chest, a feeling he only experienced in her presence.

He hummed under his breath, pressing his forehead against hers, smiling in a way that was meant only for her.

For his wife.

"– if you wish, we can satisfy each other in this way, if you need to rest for a time from bearing me children – you have given me as many as six –" He said softly, wanting her to know that her sacrifice for their lineage, for the kingdom and for him was precious to him, and he held his gratitude for her deep in his heart.

She blinked and smiled comfortingly at his words, her fingers running over his cheek.

"– since Daeron was born, the deliveries have become easier for me – they're shorter each time, I already know exactly what awaits me – I promised you one more, didn't I? –" She whispered, and he nodded.

"– and then? –"

"– hm? –"

"– when you give birth to our seventh child – what will happen after that? –" He asked, and she amazed him by bursting out laughing.

"– it will be surely followed by another – as long as my flower does not wither –" She said, resting her head on his shoulder. He put his hands around her breasts, not wanting her to get cold, thoughtful.

"– our children already think there are too many of them –" He sighed and heard her snort at his words, amused.

"– they will be able to speak on the matter when they become parents themselves –" She replied, looking up at him, placing her hands on his. He kissed her temple and nuzzled his forehead against hers, closing his eyes, imagining how many more children she would bear him.

"– let's take a bath, wife –"

[mini-mews]

to the beat of your heart

enhypen lee heeseung x gn!reader

wc: 1.1k

summary: heeseung meets you outside after avoiding you at a house party, when you just happen to call him the wrong name that throws your whole relationship into question.

warnings: non-idol au, alcohol/drugs mention, heeseung is toxic, kinda situationship vibes- reader and heeseung's relationship is unclear, no happy ending

a/n: First off thank you so much to my lovely @inkchwe for beta reading and helping me edit. I want to turn this into a sort of series of toxic enhypen so please look forward to that!!

toxic love series masterlist ✰ heeseung ✰ jay ✰ jake ✰ sunghoon ✰ sunoo ✰ jungwon ✰ ni-ki

THIS DOES NOT REFLECT THE ARTIST'S BEHAVIOUR OR ACTIONS - THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION

✰࿒ ჻࿒ ჻✧࿒ ჻࿒ ჻✰

Loud music reverbs through your body as you try to stabilize your breathing. Tapping your foot against the patio, you wait for Heeseung to join you outside. It's been 10 minutes since you texted him, seeing him read and not respond feeding into your anxieties. A million thoughts a second come and go too soon, building onto an already nauseous feeling. Music seems to match your rapidly beating heart as it bleeds out from the house.

It was only after you saw him coming through the door, a girl wrapped around his arm that really made your heart sink. Heeseung turned back and gave her a sweet smile, saying something that you couldn’t quite make out before she lets go of him. She leans up to whisper in his ear, biting back a smile as he nods. 

He finally turns to you standing a few feet away, not before allowing his eyes to follow the girl swaying her hips as she walks back inside. You clench  your jaw as he walks up to you, a lazy smile playing on his lips, “What’s up sweetheart?” 

“Where have you been? I’ve been texting you for the past 10 minutes trying to find you. And I saw you leaving me on read…” Attempting to keep your voice stable, you meet his eyes. Heeseung gives a little shrug before pulling out his phone, “Oh yeah sorry, was catching up with some old friends, must not have heard it buzz.” Quickly dismissing you, he opens a chat and replying to someone else.

“It’s fine I guess, Hee. Can we get going? It’s already getting late and I have early classes tomorrow.” Suddenly his fingers stop typing, seemingly frozen as he stares at his phone. 

“Hee? Are you okay?” Stepping closer till your chests are almost pressed together, his eyes snap back to meet yours. 

“What did you call me?” 

Heeseung’s eyes are now boring into yours. His stare feels so intense you unconsciously sink into yourself a bit. “Uh I- I said your name?”

“You didn’t. You said something else. What did you say?” Heeseung’s voice comes out short and blunt.

He closes the distance, almost glaring down at you with how cold his eyes had become. The height difference had always been noticeable between you two but now it felt like he was towering over you, completely isolating you both from the rest of the world. The music buzzes into the background as your heart drums in your ears. 

“Hee? What’s wrong with you, I don’t unders—" "That's what's wrong, why are you calling me that?” 

The silence is deafening, suffocating. 

“What are you talking about? It’s your name! Am I suddenly not allowed to say your name? Seriously, I don’t know what's up with you, but I just want to leave, so can we—” 

“We?” Heeseung stares down his nose at you, eyebrows furrowed, “Listen you can go home if ya want, but I ain’t leavin’ yet. I got some friends waitin’ for me.” 

It must be the alcohol, that’s the only logical reason you can think of. Or maybe he took something? Heeseung was never known for his drug use, but maybe something happened tonight when you two got separated. “What’s going on with you? Did you take something?” Heeseung just stares down at you, eyebrows still furrowed. “What’s going on with you?” That question makes you stiffen up, his tone was ice cold as he looked through you. You had never felt so small in front of him. 

The few months you’ve gotten closer to Heeseung, he’s never been so cold with you. Always making an effort to be gentle towards you. It was one of the first things that drew your attention, Heeseung’s famously known ‘bambi eyes’. Eyes that held such comfort, now holding you down in place under his gaze. 

“Hee?” It was barely a whisper but something glazed over his eyes. “What makes you think you can call me that?” It feels like something snaps in you. Nothing's made sense this entire night. “I don’t understand what you mean! ‘Hee’ is your name!” Your chest aches as your throat constricts, emotions overwhelming your body.

Everything is whirling around too quickly, nothing is making sense. 

“I never said you could call me that. Why are you acting like you’re allowed to?” A cool breeze blows through you, the music from inside still pumps through your veins. “Are you being serious right now Heeseung?” 

His eyes widened for a second seemingly taken aback by your reaction. “I told you why are you—” “Told me what?! That I’m nothing to you!” Tears flood your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. It’s a misunderstanding.

“So all our time together was nothing? Everything we’ve said, done for each other, nothing. You can’t possibly be saying that.” Your breathing gets labored as he cuts you off. 

“I told you at the beginning of us that I don’t want anything serious, yet you were the one who didn’t listen. How is that on me?” 

It feels like a bucket of ice water was just dumped on your head. Goosebumps rise across your arms. Looking up at him trying to meet his eyes, Heeseung looks past you.

How could he say that so casually?

A choked sob escapes you as tears streak down your face, chest squeezing all the air out of your lungs. It sets a sense of emptiness in you. Nothing. You were nothing to him. All the time spent together, the quiet whispers of romantic feelings, intimate nights together. 

Nothing. 

Everything you gave for him, crumbling before you. 

He feels too awkward to look at you, drumming his fingers on his jeans waiting for something to happen, for you to say something. But it never comes. Heeseung never expected this reaction from you, he told you that he didn’t want anything serious, it's really not his fault if you caught feelings. 

Looking up as Heeseung stood stiffly in front of you, refusing to acknowledge you. 

Your chest rises and drops quickly, trying to calm your breathing. You will yourself to not let him see you cry over him. Whispering out, one last plea to him.  “Heeseung look at me, please” 

Heeseung looks down meeting your eyes, those soft bambi eyes looking back at you. Those eyes you fell so in love with, now causing the burn of regret and hatred within you. “You’re heartless Lee.” Your blunt tone catches him off-guard as you push past him, making your shoulders bump as you return to the party. You allow yourself to get lost in the drunk bodies dancing to the heartbeat of the booming music. Eyes slide shut as bodies surround you, the air heavy of smoke as the music drums on, leading your heart beat.

✰࿒ ჻࿒ ჻✧࿒ ჻࿒ ჻✰

i hope you enjoyed, please consider leaving a like/comment/reblog as any interaction is greatly appreciated and motivating! ©mini-mews

tags: @sweetvenomnet @inkchwe

[shoukokus]

hello!!! it's my first time requesting so is it alright if I can request the reader who was raised and trained to be a black widow from marvel

gn reader pls, idk if u have seen or watched marvel so if you want further details lmk!! but the one detail I want u to include (as angst ofc) is that black widows do ANYTHING for information since they are professional spies and assassins. (they are taken when they are like really young btw so like black widows, they don't got a childhood).

I gotchu, and I wrote this with an already established relationship with them in mind!

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle is shocked, to say the least, if not a little saddened

It was like his own childhood turned up a thousand notches. At least his mother never made him kill someone

He knows that, in a new world, you have no reason to continue that life and wants more than anything to give you a new start

Frankly he doesn't want to know what you've had to do in the past, that was another life and world ago

You can truly bond with him based on wild childhood expectations and lack of a normal experience

He'll be there every step of the way to make you feel okay again, you don't need to be a Widow anymore

Leona Kingscholar

Immediately tells you never to talk about it again, but not for the reason you may think

He's royalty. How would that look if everyone figured out his significant other was an assassin?? You'd be put on trial, and your whole relationship would be undermined

He knows you aren't here to hurt him, or get information, or even get money. He knows it because he knows you. The you that had been trying so hard to fit in Twisted Wonderland, be normal

Doesn't ever want you to have to use those skills again, but he's not going to discourage it, if that makes sense? It gives him some peace that you aren't helpless

Isn't going to judge you either, he knows how shady high society can be

If you ever have to be a Widow again, just make sure he's in on it, okay?

Azul Ashengrotto

Has frankly no idea what to do when he finds out

Is this marketable?? Can you make money like this? Wait no, he quickly feels bad about thinking that, but he doesn't know what else to think of it

Just sits you down and asks you to explain everything, and listens very quietly

You tell him that you had to do things in your previous world, things you aren't proud of, that haunt you

After telling him about your childhood, or lack thereof, he brings you into a suffocatingly tight hug

You don't have to worry about any of that anymore, he's going to take care of you from now on

Kalim Al-Asim

Similar to Leona, Kalim says that it needs to be kept secret

Look, he's a ray of sunshine and generally unconcerned, but he's had his fair share of assassins. He knows what they do and what they're about

No, he isn't worried about your past, but some people around him might be

But you're the one he wants around the most!

Kalim isn't really going to understand anything you tell him, just the big picture, so if you're looking for some comfort about specific things like not having a childhood, you'll have to tell him. You just need love!

You have his support for a lifetime, and anything you need will be yours as you find new footing

Vil Schoenheit

Vil is very rarely left shocked, but here he is

What on EARTH do you mean you were a trained assassin?

After the initial bomb drop, he sits you down to talk like Azul, and allows you to just say everything you wanted to say

It's certainly... jarring to learn about it, but he's strangely calm. I mean, if you had wanted to kill him or take something from him, you would have done it by now right?

He does very briefly wonder if you were after something, but as he looks into your eyes, full of unshed tears and shear hurt... those thoughts stop

You wanted to begin anew, but could no longer keep the past from your lover, and he could work with that

Idia Shroud

Idia kind of wonders if you're like a cool movie character, then realizes you're being serious. This ACTUALLY happened to you

Honestly though? After hearing everything, the full truth, he doesn't feel any differently about you

His family has been doing the underworld's dirty work for some time. HE'S done things he wants to take back

Idia's only real concern is if you still feel the same way about him, that it wasn't just an act...

When you assure him that nothing you've done in Twisted Wonderland has been as a Widow, the relief is visible on his face

You share a tight, warm hug as you both agree to move forward together in peace and honesty

Malleus Draconia

At first, I don't think he'd think much of it. I mean, his country had gone through wars and espionage

It was like that for you, he guesses

Then he starts to see how it affects you. Your mannerisms, your habits, and your fears. It cuts him deeply

You must have had a terribly lonely life like he did, right? Not knowing warmth until you met other people, kind people

He just wants to hold you and never let go after those thoughts crossed his mind. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do anymore, and he isn't concerned about you doing that to him

As his significant other, anything like that will be taken care of for you, not by you