#i just feel there's something lacking and i felt the exact same way through the entire 11th doctor era

[maxdibert]

Personal view, as someone who grew up in an abusive environment and is hyper-reactive to seeing children in distress or being mistreated by adults, including in fictional depictions, I never felt the kids in Harry Potter were in any danger from Snape. He’s bitchy and snarky, yes. But no more so than other teachers in Hogwarts. And from what I’ve experienced in the fandom, a lot of Snape fans are abuse survivors in some shape or form. He’s a complex character, and unlike a lot of fictional abuse survivors, he can actually be angry and rage. It’s very cathartic for people who have had to mask and suppress their negative emotions in real life.

It's curious how most Severus fans tend to be survivors of bullying or people who see themselves reflected in him because they went through similar experiences in school, or people who have experienced violence at home. Meanwhile, the haters are simply kids who have a terrible teacher and project that onto Snape, so they hate him.

If we're going to play the "I had terrible teachers, so I know how it feels" card, then I can use that too. Not only did I have terrible teachers—so bad that what they did was absolutely reportable and punishable—but in university, I even had professors who LITERALLY made students cry with their critiques. And yes, I’m very angry with those teachers. Even though I wasn’t always a direct victim, thinking about the teachers from my old school fills me with rage. And yes, whenever I’ve run into some of them on the street, I’ve made sure to say something to them in a super passive-aggressive way.

But the thing is, I don’t see any of them in Severus. Not a single one.

Severus has always reminded me of a literature teacher I had in my last years of school. He was a guy who taught classes to make some money while finishing his university doctorate—clearly, his goal was to be a researcher or teach at a university level. And you could tell from a mile away that he HATED having to teach teenagers. But hey, the school paycheck was good, right? I’m not going to blame him for that. The thing is, he had a degree in Philosophy and Literature and had a level way above that of a regular high school teacher.

I remember he was young. At the time, he seemed like an old man to me because when you're 16, anyone over 20 seems ancient, but he probably wasn’t even 35 yet. The thing is, he had no patience for nonsense. He hated childish antics in class, got annoyed by dumb questions, and if he explained something and someone asked the exact same thing two minutes later, he would clearly get irritated. I remember once a kid told him he had just read the latest Dan Brown novel, and this guy, with the most cunty smirk, said, "Well, I wouldn't know about that, Mr. X. I don't read mass-market literature." And it was like… lol why so mean? But I found it hilarious.

He was the only teacher who called us by our last names and never used informal speech, which was shocking to us because it never happened with other teachers. He rarely attended staff meetings or team dinners (a teacher who was actually abusive and spent entire classes physically humiliating 15-year-olds used to complain about that a lot). You almost never saw him interacting with other teachers because, honestly, I’ve always had the feeling that he thought his colleagues were idiots—and I don’t blame him. If I worked with that bunch today, I’d think they were idiots too.

Now, this guy was strict. Very strict. If you got a 4.9, he wasn’t giving you a 5, because you didn’t get a 5. He wasn’t going to be nice to you unless he thought it was strictly necessary. He wasn’t going to be warm, he wasn’t going to be friendly, he wasn’t going to be funny. He despised mainstream literature and bestsellers, believed certain books were absolute garbage, and thought people who only read that kind of stuff didn’t actually understand literature and lacked the braincells for it. You could agree or disagree with him, but his behavior wasn’t abusive.

Was he sometimes too blunt? Did he have incredibly sharp, sometimes unpleasant responses? Yes. And, funnily enough, this teacher was widely disliked precisely because he was one of the strictest ones. He was hated even more than the guy who groped female students or the one who called kids fat, gave them weight-loss tips, and told girls they dressed like prostitutes if they wore certain tops. But those guys used informal speech, gave you a 5 if you got a 4.6, and weren’t that strict, so people didn’t hate them as much.

That’s why Severus always reminded me of this guy. Ironically, I really liked him because I appreciated his sardonic, sharp humor, and he appreciated that I had read One Hundred Years of Solitude at 12 lol. But above all, he liked that, even though I never paid attention in his classes because I physically couldn’t focus on a lecture for more than 10 minutes, I never disrupted anything. I never got caught talking, never caused trouble—I was just drawing my stuff or reading things unrelated to the lesson, but I wasn’t bothering anyone.

And honestly, I think that’s all Severus wanted from his students: for them not to be a pain in his ass. And if he was an even bigger jerk to some, it was precisely because they got on his nerves the most.

The Weasley twins were total chaos and constantly acting like fools, yet they never have a bad word to say about Snape throughout the saga besides that he was kinda mean sometimes. Why is that? Maybe because they didn’t put the whole class in danger? Maybe because, while they were insufferable in the hallways, they knew they had to tone it down in Potions?

Only two people have a real problem with Severus as a teacher throughout the saga: one is Harry, who disrespects him from day one, constantly challenges him, talks back, breaks the rules, and does exactly the opposite of what Severus tells him. The other is Neville, who basically exists to give Severus seven consecutive nervous breakdowns in a single class.

That doesn’t make you an abuser—it makes you an adult who is sick to death of two pain-in-the-ass kids.

[lovetaroandtaemin]

Number One Girl

Ning Yizhuo x Reader

Word Count: 4,257 Genre: Fluff, Angst Rating: Some adult themes, MINORS DNI!

Summary: Hoping to get over her crush on Yizhuo, Y/N starts to distance herself from her friend. Turns out that was the exact push that Yizhuo needed to realize that she has a crush on Y/N too.

Content Warnings: Alcohol consumption, very brief mention of sexual activity but no smut, unrequited love that is later requited. If you think I missed a warning, please let me know!

A/N: This fic is part of the @k-vanity network's "Love in the Mix" event! The songs that I chose to base my fic on were "Empty Glass" by Nam Jin, "Sleepover" by Hayley Kiyoko, "Number One Girl" by Rosé, "I Like You" by Day6, and "Unconditional" by Jaehyun. If you like this fic, check out the other fics that are part of this event! I'll be linking the event masterlist here when it's posted.

Taglist: @xomakara

Fic is under the cut.

You always hated going to the bar, but you never stayed home when your friends asked you to go with them, either. After all, despite your lack of interest in the city’s nightlife, the bar seemed like the perfect place to meet someone and finally get over your ex. It had been months since she’d walked away and left you heartbroken, and all you wanted was to connect with someone new and heal.

Honestly, though, when you really thought about how many times you’d already tried and failed, you wondered why you even bothered anymore. With slightly more thought, however, you concluded that it was a sick combination of desperation, loneliness, boredom, and a miniscule amount of foolish hope that made you want to keep trying.

When you finally arrived at the bar, you were certain that nothing interesting would happen. Still, that little bit of hope in the back of your mind kept you going as you made your way to the bar and ordered a cocktail. While you enjoyed your first drink of the night, one of the most gorgeous women you’d ever seen walked into the bar and sat on the stool right next to you. She looked at you and smiled, and you let the hope that carried you through the door continue to carry you into a conversation with her as you smiled back and introduced yourself.

“My name is Yizhuo,” she replied, her voice filling your stomach with butterflies as she spoke.

“What brought you here tonight?” you asked, hoping to hear her speak again so that the butterflies would come back.

“I just wanted something to do. What about you?”

“My friends dragged me out,” you answered, laughing softly.

Yizhuo laughed at your answer and asked, “Well, why did you let them?”

“The short answer is boredom.”

“I understand that, honestly. There’s never anything interesting going on around here.”

“Tell me about it.”

As the two of you continued to talk, you found yourself thinking about just how beautiful Yizhuo was in every sense of the word and how badly you wanted a connection with her that lasted beyond just one night. You wondered if she felt the same way about you, but you knew that it was far too soon to ask. So instead, you asked, “What do you like to do for fun?”

“I love to sing,” she answered. “I don’t think I would ever want to do it professionally, but when there’s music on, and I’m singing along, I feel lighter than a feather.”

“That’s really beautiful.”

“What are some of your hobbies?”

There was a brief silence before you answered, “I really like to read. Sometimes I write too, but never anything that I would want to publish.”

“I’d love to read some of the stuff you’ve written sometime.”

“Well, I’d love to hear you sing sometime.”

Just then, you heard an unfamiliar voice say, “Hello, everyone, and welcome to our weekly karaoke night! If you would like to participate, come see me in the booth next to the stage to pick a song and a time slot.”

“That’s perfect!” Yizhuo said with a smile before walking away. You wanted to ask her where she was going, but before you could, she was across the bar, talking to the guy that made the announcement earlier. He nodded at what she said, and she followed him to the empty stage.

“Ok, everyone, please give a warm welcome to our first participant for this week’s karaoke night, Yizhuo!”

You didn’t quite hear the title of the song that she sang, but once she started, you didn’t really care. The combination of the seductive nature of the lyrics and her sultry voice had you in a trance for the entirety of the song. You were sure that you looked like an idiot as you watched her onstage, but you didn’t particularly care. All you cared about was how beautiful she was and how she really seemed to be in her element as she sang.

When her performance was over, you clapped, and when she got back to her seat, you said, “That was incredible! You have a beautiful voice.”

“Thanks,” she replied, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks.

The rest of the night continued with nothing major happening, except for butterflies in your stomach every time Yizhuo spoke or smiled at you. For a brief moment, you wondered if it was a good idea to ask her to come home with you. After all, she was gorgeous, and you really wanted to show her just how beautiful you thought she was. In the end, however, you decided against it, too nervous to try anything beyond asking, “Can I have your number? I’d love to talk more.”

“Yeah, of course,” she replied, holding her hand out to take your phone. You handed it to her, and she handed you hers. You each put your contact information in the other’s phone, and with a smile, Yizhuo added, “I really liked talking to you tonight. I hope we get to see each other again.”

Before you could respond, she walked away, and your friends were surrounding you and telling you that they were ready to leave. You reluctantly left the bar, disappointed that meeting someone new hadn’t gone the way you’d hoped but excited that you’d met someone new in the first place.

When you got home, you considered texting Yizhuo, but you didn’t want to come on too strongly and make her uncomfortable. So, you decided to just turn your phone off for the night and go to sleep. Before you could, though, you opened your phone and saw a new message.

Yizhuo: Hi! Just wanted to say I had a lot of fun tonight. I’d love to see you again sometime. Y/N: That sounds great! Just let me know when you know what days you’re free. Yizhuo: Will do. Good night! Y/N: Good night.

The next morning, you woke up and got ready for work, just like any other day. When you got to the office, however, you were pleasantly surprised by a familiar face.

“Oh my god, (Y/N)! Hi!” Yizhuo cheered, pulling you into a hug.

“Hi! What are you doing here?” you asked.

“Today is my first day in the legal department! I’m so happy to see someone here that I actually know,” she commented, laughing softly as she spoke.

“Well, good luck! If you need anything or have any questions, just let me know.”

“I will!” she replied, letting go of you so that she could get to work.

Nothing significant happened for the rest of the day, except for Yizhuo asking if you wanted to get dinner with her after work. You happily agreed, and the two of you decided to go to a local restaurant that was close to the bar you’d met at the night before.

At the end of your shift, you met Yizhuo at the restaurant. Once you sat down at a table and ordered drinks, she asked, “So, when did you start working at the Kwangya Corporation?”

“I’ve been working there for just under a year. How did your first day go?”

“Better than expected. I thought that I was gonna struggle a lot, but Aeri was a huge help. She’s in charge of training me.”

“Aeri is one of the best employees the company has. If anyone can help you feel more at ease and teach you how to do things the right way, it’ll be her.”

The two of you continued to chat for what felt like hours as you enjoyed your meal and relaxed after a chaotic day. You talked about everything from what you did at work to foods that you liked, and with every word, you found yourself continuing to fall for her. The way she treated you fell firmly into the “platonic affection” category, though, much to your disappointment.

At the end of the meal, Yizhuo smiled and said, “Thank you for hanging out with me; I needed to get out and have fun with a friend.”

“It’s no problem. I’m happy to hang out whenever, as long as I’m not busy.”

After you paid for your food, she pulled you into a hug and left the restaurant. As you got into your car and drove home, you wondered if she would ever see you as anything more than a friend.

A few weeks later, you were walking into work when you saw Yizhuo speedwalking toward you. She looked much happier than usual, and when she finally reached you, she said, “Oh my god, you’ll never believe what happened last night!”

“What happened?” you asked.

“I met someone.”

You were surprised, to say the least, but you still tried to seem happy for her as you asked, “Really? What’s their name?”

“His name is Shotaro. We met at the bar last night. Actually, it was the same bar that I met you! Isn’t that cool?”

“Yeah, totally,” you answered, hoping that the hurt you were feeling wasn’t too obvious.

Before Yizhuo could say anything else, you walked into the building and made your way to your desk, which was in a different department. You knew it was petty, but you really didn’t want to listen to her talk about the amazing guy that she met, at the same bar that she met you, no less. All you wanted to do was focus on your work.

The day went by quickly, probably because you were determined to focus solely on your work until you got home. As you walked to your car, however, you couldn’t help but start thinking about how lonely you really were. Sure, you had friends, and you were somewhat close to your family, but you really missed having someone to fall asleep with at night and kiss good morning. You knew that you would find someone eventually, but you couldn’t help but wonder just when that would be.

The next month of listening to Yizhuo talk about how amazing Shotaro was and how much she loved spending time with him was difficult, to say the least. You were happy for her, of course, and you knew that holding onto your hurt wouldn’t help you get over her, but you couldn’t help but think about her constantly. You knew it was stupid, but you slowly found yourself falling harder and harder for your friend.

The way you felt only got harder to ignore whenever Yizhuo spent the night at your apartment. She stayed with you one night a week, sometimes two if she had a particularly bad fight with Shotaro, and over time, those nights became your favorite part of the week. Every time the two of you watched a movie together on your couch, her arm wrapped around you as you leaned into her side, you found yourself actually relaxing, and part of you couldn’t help but imagine that one day, she might see you the same way you saw her.

At some point, Yizhuo and Shotaro broke up, and you were the first person that she went to for comfort. She showed up on your doorstep late at night, tears in her eyes and a stuffed bear that you’d given her for her birthday in her hands. When you saw her, you knew pretty much immediately what was wrong, and the second your door was closed, you pulled her into a hug and said, “I’m so sorry. Do you wanna talk about it?”

Yizhuo shook her head and said, “I don’t think it would help.” After a moment of silence, she added, “Can I stay here tonight?”

“Of course.”

Once she was fully inside, you led her to the couch and picked a funny movie to watch together. While the movie played, she relaxed in your arms, and you found yourself thinking about how badly you wanted her once again. You knew better than to tell her, though, especially because she was there for comfort after the end of a relationship.

Eventually, Yizhuo moved on from Shotaro and started dating someone new. The relationship didn’t exactly last long, though, and based on the fact that she never even told you their name, you figured that it probably wasn’t serious. Regardless, she was heartbroken when they broke up with her, and you found yourself in a similar situation with her once again.

With every new relationship that Yizhuo got into, the cycle repeated, and after a few months of continuing to fall for Yizhuo while she dated and hooked up with other people, you started to consider distancing yourself from her. Not because you didn’t want to be around her, of course, but because you thought that space was the only thing that would help you get over her. So, over time, you started hanging out with her less and less.

When Yizhuo realized that you were distancing yourself from her, she couldn’t understand why. She stayed up late every night wondering what she did wrong, and she couldn’t think of anything that would have upset you. Every time the two of you talked or hung out, you were like a ray of sunshine, never even hinting that you were upset with her. Despite your upbeat demeanor around her, however, she couldn’t think of any other reason that you would distance yourself.

You even started avoiding Yizhuo at work, much to her disappointment and confusion. There were times that she considered just asking you what she did wrong, but she worried that it would cause an argument and make you want to distance yourself further or even stop talking to her entirely, so she really didn’t want to do that. Instead, she just hoped that one day the two of you could be as close as you were when you first met.

After a while, you found yourself thinking about Yizhuo less and less, and you wondered if it meant that you were finally starting to get over her. Before you could think about that too much, though you decided to try putting yourself out there once again, hoping that you could speed up the process of getting over Yizhuo by getting under someone else.

On a night that you felt particularly lonely, you went to the same bar that you’d met Yizhuo, but instead of actually meeting someone, you went home completely alone. So, you decided to try again the next night. Your second attempt was also unsuccessful, so you went home, collapsed onto your bed, and sobbed, wondering what was wrong with you that no one wanted you.

At some point in the night, amidst the depression threatening to swallow you whole, you thought, “Fuck it,” and texted Yizhuo to see if she was busy. Sure, you knew that you had no chance with her, but you figured that it was about time for you to fix your shit and accept that she only saw you as a friend. Hell, maybe the two of you could even go out to the bar act as wingmen for each other.

One night, while Yizhuo was thinking about the sudden shift in your relationship, she finally realized that her feelings for you weren’t strictly platonic, like she’d always thought. It all started when she allowed herself to actually wonder why she even cared so much, and all it took was a surprise text from you to realize that she was indeed falling for you.

Y/N: Hey. Are you busy tomorrow? Yizhuo: No, unless you count work. Why? Y/N: Do you want to go out tomorrow? Yizhuo: Sure!

Yizhuo’s heart started to race at the idea of actually spending time with you again, and she recognized the giddy feeling from when she first met Shotaro. As she thought about the implications of that, she wondered why her feelings changed when they did and why she had to have the realization that they’d changed after you’d already distanced yourself from her. In the end, though, all she could do was hope that you didn’t change your mind about hanging out or start dating someone else while the two of you weren’t talking as much.

Before Yizhuo went to bed, she spent a long time wondering if she should just tell you how she felt. In the end, she didn’t exactly make a concrete decision one way or the other. Instead, she decided to wait and see how your plans tomorrow went. If you seemed interested in her the same way she was interested in you, and you didn’t mention dating anyone, she would tell you. If you mentioned dating someone else or seemed uninterested in her, she would keep her mouth shut.

The next morning came, and you and Yizhuo agreed to meet at a local park after work. The moment you arrived at the park and sat down on a bench next to her, the feelings that you’d tried so hard to get rid of came rushing right back. You wanted to run away the moment you realized, but a strange feeling in your gut told you to stay. Maybe it was hope that Yizhuo would reciprocate your feelings. Maybe it was desire to not lose your friend. Most likely, though, it was a combination of both.

“So, how have you been?” Yizhuo asked, hoping that the small talk would ease some of the awkwardness between you.

You thought for a minute about how you wanted to answer her question. Did you want to lie and tell her that everything was fine, or did you want to admit that you missed her and felt like an idiot for pushing her away? In the end, you chose the latter and said, “Truthfully, I’ve been a goddamn mess. I’ve missed you a lot.”

“Then why didn’t you talk to me?”

With a sigh, you answered, “I was hurting, and I thought that I was doing the right thing by stepping back until I had time to heal.”

“All this time I thought I did something wrong,” she said, seemingly deflating as she spoke.

“I never meant to make you think that. I am so sorry.”

There was a moment of silence before she asked, “So, we’re ok?”

“Yes. We’re ok. I’m so sorry for ever making you think that we weren’t.”

There was silence for a while after that, but neither of you seemed to mind. It was like the need to fill the space with words was gone, with only the joy of finally being in each other’s company again remaining. After a while, however, Yizhuo felt like she was going to explode if she didn’t find out how you really felt about her. So, with a deep breath, she asked, “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, of course. What is it?”

“What was going on that you felt like you needed to distance yourself from me?”

You sighed at the question, unsure if you wanted to admit to your feelings. After all, what if she didn’t feel the same way, and you lost her again? But then again, what if she did feel the same way? In the end, you decided to just bite the bullet and quietly say, “I realized that I like you in a not-strictly-platonic way. I thought that distancing myself would make the feelings go away, but I was wrong.”

Yizhuo was silent for a minute as she processed your words, and you started to worry that you’d fucked up your friendship permanently. Before you could worry for too long, though, Yizhuo turned to you and said, “I also like you in a not-strictly-platonic way, you know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I realized it at some point while we weren’t talking as much. I don’t know why it took me so long to figure it out, but I’m happy I did.”

There was another awkward silence before you started to ask, “Does this mean that-”

Before you could even finish your question, Yizhuo wrapped her arms around your neck and kissed you. You melted into her hold, and you couldn’t help but feel like an idiot for not just telling her how you felt sooner. In the end, though, the fact that you waited so long to tell her didn’t really matter, because you two still found your way back to each other in the end.

When Yizhuo pulled away from the kiss, the first thing she said was, “In case that didn’t make it obvious, the answer is yes.”

With a smile, you asked, “In that case, are you busy on Valentine’s Day?”

“I don’t have anything planned right now, but I can definitely change that. Why do you ask?”

“Why don’t we go out that night? It’d be nice to go on a proper date with you.”

“Is this not a proper date?” she asked with a laugh.

“Let me rephrase. It’d be nice to go out with the intention of it being a date. Despite the way things worked out, I really didn’t intend for today to be a date.”

Yizhuo smiled as she responded, “That does sound nice.”

The two of you continued to enjoy your time at the park until it got dark outside. At that point, you each went your separate ways, but not without Yizhuo kissing you one more time. It was early in your relationship still, but as you drove back to your apartment, you had a pretty strong feeling that the two of you would be ok.

Valentine’s Day finally arrived, and you spent most of the day worrying about whether the restaurant you’d picked was good enough or if Yizhuo would like the gift that you’d bought her. When you actually met your now girlfriend at the restaurant, however, you realized that you didn’t have anything to worry about. She greeted you with a grin on her face and a bouquet of flowers in her hands, the exact same pink roses you’d bought for her.

When you both realized that you’d bought each other the same flowers, you shared a laugh, and you put the flowers in your car before the two of you walked into the restaurant together. As the two of you were seated at a table, you found yourself wondering how you got as lucky as you did meeting someone like Yizhuo. Her smile made even your darkest days brighter, and she never let a day go by without telling you just how much she cared about you. Valentine’s Day, of course, was no exception. As soon as the two of you finished ordering your appetizers, she said, “I love you.”

You were caught off guard, since she hadn’t explicitly said that she loved you before, but you still smiled and said, “I love you too.”

The rest of your time at the restaurant went by in silence for the most part, with both of you enjoying each other’s presence too much to worry about talking beyond the occasional comment about your food. If you’d been out with anyone else, you would have been upset about the lack of conversation, but since you were with the woman you loved, you didn’t really mind.

After you left the restaurant, you went home to put your flowers in a vase. Then, you drove to Yizhuo’s apartment, just like you’d planned to do earlier. When you finally got there, you knocked on the door, and she answered, though she looked disheveled. You wanted to ask if she was ok, but before you got the chance, she said, “Hi, honey. You got here faster than I thought you would.”

“Are you ok, baby?”

“Yeah, I’m ok. Just setting something up.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll see. Can you wait here for just a minute?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Yizhuo shut the door, and you waited outside for her to be ready. While you waited, you heard her walking around her apartment singing the same song she’d sung at the bar the night you met, followed by a crash and a string of curses. After a bit more noise, she opened the door and said, “Come in.”

You entered her apartment and saw that she’d decorated her entire apartment with lights and balloons, and “Howl’s Moving Castle” was ready to play on her TV. With a smile on her face, she led you to the couch. Once you found a comfortable position, she sat down next to you, leaned her head on your shoulder, and started the movie.

About halfway through the movie, you noticed that Yizhuo was asleep. You really didn’t want to wake her, but you knew that her bed would be far more comfortable than the couch. So, you gently shook her and said, “Baby, wake up.”

“What’s going on?”

“You fell asleep during the movie.”

“I’m sorry honey,” she said with a pout.

“It’s ok, baby, I just figured you might be more comfortable in your bed than on the couch.”

With an exaggerated pout on her face, she asked, “Will you stay here tonight?”

“Yeah, of course. Do you have an extra toothbrush?”

Yizhuo nodded and stood up before helping you off the couch. After that, the two of you got ready for bed together. After you both brushed your teeth, Yizhuo gave you an extra set of pajamas to change into. Then, you both changed your clothes and went to bed. Your lover held you close the entire night, and you couldn’t help but think that you wanted to fall asleep next to her every night of your life.

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please like and reblog! If you wanna be tagged in future works, fill out the taglist form here! If you want to check out my other works, check out my main masterlist. If you want to see what else is in the works, you can check my upcoming works list! If none of that interests you, or there's something specific you want to see, feel free to send a request via my asks or dms!

Thank you again for reading. I hope you had a lovely Valentine's Day!

[rapidhighway]

hey i might be controversial but im not really feeling the 12th doctor so far

[igotanidea]

Just right: Anthony Bridgerton x reader

part 1 to too much

part 2 : not enough

part 3 : almost there

part 4: Stuck

A/N: I am NOT sorry for all the possible spellings and punctuation mistakes there. It's been almost 2 months since "Stuck" and I am FREAKING OUT posting this while crying because it's over. Enjoy and thank you <3

Warnings: end of series, 4082 words (!!)

***

He felt like a fool.

Reverting to his old ways instead of showing all the emotions coursing through his veins.

Turning around and walking away, leaving her alone, when all he wanted was to fall to her knees and beg for forgiveness.

But how would the viscount Bridgerton look, while doing so, observed by all the ton, including the two biggest gossipers in the person of lady Featherington and lady Danburry?

Seemed like whatever he would choose to do, he would end up being a dolt.

“Anthony!”

He didn’t even flinch hearing someone calling him, nor recognize the voice. Too stubborn to stop he only continued his marching pace, hoping for the love of god that whoever dared to try and approach him in this furibund mood would get discouraged.

Not very gentlemanly of him.

“Anthony!”

He quickened his pace.

“Anthony Bridgerton!”

“What?” he almost spat spinning around on his heel, leaving a dent in the ground, taking on his most stern expression. If his obvious ignorance of the caller was not a deterrent perhaps the frown and fiery eyes would.

Supposedly it might have worked on anyone else, but soon enough Anthony transformed from the head of a family and the viscount into a little child, upon noticing that it was his mother, exhorting him to the halt.

“Mother…” he muttered looking at the ground, having only confirmed his previous theory of his role in this entire disarray.

“Let us take a walk.” Violet smiled brightly taking her eldest’s arm and imposing a walking rather than soldierly pace. “What did you Anthony?” the gentle expression never left her face even when she was scoffing her unmanageable child.

“Why would you think it was me that--?” the viscount took the last resort to protect his own pride, but the tightening grip on his forearm betrayed the fact that Violet knew the entire backstory, behind the marital disagreement.

“I raised you. I daresay it gives me enough knowledge to not answer your question. “

“If you let me –"

“Don’t, Anthony. Y/N has been nothing less but charming since the beginning.. "

"That's the way to describe her--" the man muttered

"Strong-willed and persuasive, surely, you wouldn’t take anything but, but charming nonetheless. So do tell me so we could remedy the damage before it arises further.”

“Shall you mistake me for Daphne and ask about my feelings—”

“Anthony Bridgerton!”

“I am a man, mother. A head of the family.”

“Clearly said head has been missing guidance in the right direction.”

“Mother!”

“Do not raise your voice on me son.”

“Apologies…”

“Good.” Violet beamed serenely “Do you think me so little knowledgeable to ask your emotions? I do not. I’m merely asking for facts, which you clearly have such a strong inclination to.”

Anthony mumbled something once more.

“do you wish you lose your wife, viscount?”

“What?” such possibility never crossed his mind. Y/N’s anger, her hurt, pain and merciless avoidance – yes. Abandonment and lack of her presence nearby? No. She would never… She could never. Lord above, who was she thinking she was? A woman married into a noble family wanting to cause a scandal by resenting her husband?

And once again, while his heart should have been shattered and humble enough to clarify the turmoil, the sudden blood rush turned into clenched fists and ire. All because he could not bare the thought of losing her for good, however hiding behind all the negativity was easier. It was something he was used to for years.

Nevertheless it was impossible to deny the facts further. It was her influence that caused the improbable openness in his soul was the exact same reason of his spirit bleeding.

And he needed her back.

Each minute without her was a minute lost. A minute less in the so very limited time they were given as a miracle on earth.

“What do I do?” he raised gaze at his mother, now truly looking like a lost man. Man in love, who was probably not the most romantic and gentle one with words, but still deeply infatuated with the woman who gave her whole life to him.

“Do not fret my dear. We shall alleviate the situation immediately.”

***

Y/N’s feelings were beyond anything possible to describe with words.

There she was, with her feet rooted to the ground, wishing for – and willing to accept – apologies but met with the harsh reality of the stone wall of Anthony’s behavior.

Accompanied by Eloise, smirking like the know-it-all she was, and Benedict with the compassion written all over his face.

Presumably, shall they not be there, the young lady viscountess Bridgerton would abandon all the pretenses of a woman of her position and begun blubbering in the middle of the promenade. However, the most mischievous of Bridgerton siblings acted with wit and sense, involving their dear sister-in-law in a challenging conversation, capably hauling her away from prying eyes and gossipmongers, preventing any possible rumors about incongruousness.

***

For unmistakable reasons she was not in the mood to see their ludicrous older brother and with the sudden disappearance of Violet, Benedict and Eloise took the privilege to invite Y/N back to the Bridgerton’s family house and extend the invitation for indefinite period of time. After all, Anthony might have been the head of the family as he proudly announced to anyone who was willing to disobey his wished and/or not listen, but Benedict was the oldest bachelor of the house and was more than willing to make a few decisions of his own to finally be seen as something more than merely second son and waiting for his time. 

***

Violet returned home few hours later and accepted the presence of her daughter-in-law with a mysterious smile and not a single word of objection. As amazing and uplifting as such approach might have been, it was also highly surprising. Viscountess Bridgerton was well known for her mitigating skills and tendency to scotch conflicts almost immediately, especially in her own family.

And it raised a lot of questions and secrets that Y/N and Eloise tried to uncover spending the night in the former’s bedchambers, talking for hours, creating conspiracy theories and preparing for whatever may have been coming.

Cause the fact that Violet was going to help her oldest son in winning back his wife’s attention was more than conspicuous.

Only that Y/N, who was forgiving and accepting at the begging was slowly turning cold at the fact that her husband could not simply apologize but rather resorted to some intricate ways of regaining her favor.

After a year of marriage, should he not know her enough for independent ideas and not seek his mother's avail?

***

First thing happening in the very early morning, was Y/N’s most trusted servant humbly asking for her lady’s time, which was bizarre and – as any other family may have deemed – inadequate and even shaming.

Moreover, any other house would quickly discard the commoner showing at the mighty's doorstep but Bridgertons were prone to discarding rules in private and with those who earned their trust. Be it servants or nobles. And Y/N was no exception to the rule, welcoming her maid with a smile upon seeing the person from her own household.

“My lady.” The girl bowed so low, she almost touched the floor with her nose.

“My dear Laura, please stand up, there is really no need for that-“ Y/N grabbed her hands and forced the girl up. “I assure you that-“

“But Lady Violet and Miss Bridgerton –“

“I assure you that they do not expect you to kiss the ground they walk on.” Y/n almost laughed at Laura’s discombobulation. Poor one was doing everything in her power to not make her lady embarrassed and act like a good and obedient servant, almost expecting Violet or Eloise to be cruel and judgmental.

“Dear Y/N, did you give your helpers the idea that we are some sort of tyrants?” Violet send her daughter-in-law a honest smile, which immediately got Laura’s reaction in the form of blushing.

“Lady Bridgerton I apologies if my appearance is the dishonor on-”

She didn’t even finish the sentence, met with Y/N, Violet’s and Eloise’s laugh and a polite look from more balanced Francesca sitting on the chaise longue.

“Do not fret, my girl, we are more than happy to welcome you in our household.”

“Tha-thank you my lady…”

‘Now I assume you came to talk to your lady, so we shall give you some privacy. Come girls, make haste for the matter to cover is of utmost delicacy.”

“And how shall you know it mamma?” Hyacinth almost twitched her ears, not really understanding much of why Y/N was with them rather than with Antony, but curious as a young girl could be.

“Precisely mamma, how shall you know?” Eloise, immediately picked up her sister’s question, only not so susceptible to extenuations.

“Eloise Bridgerton, I shall expect you to practice the bowing before your incoming debut in front of the queen. Daphne made quite an impression and –“

“Daphne was deemed diamond of the season and such title is below my ambition.”

“Regardless, you do not want to trip or slip do you?”

Eloise (and everyone else) obviously remembered what happened to Featherington’s sisters and the embarrassment so with a heavy, exaggerated sigh and one quick, sharp, bright look at Y/N Eloise left the room, followed by her mother and sisters.

And once the lady and her trusted eyes and ears of the house were alone, who could stop the two of turning a lot more unmindful of societal norms?

“My lady, the lord has been quite annoyed since the quarrel you lordships have had. He even refused to eat his favorite meal.” Laura confessed with blushing cheeks

“Are you to tell me that Prescott prepared the roasted pork for Anthony after he was so unjust towards the lady of the house? I shall have a word about a loyalty with him upon my return.” Y/N satirized wholeheartedly.

“When shall you return my lady? Seeing as that viscount is not the one to have a change of heart and admit his wrongdoing easily?”

“He will Laura. One way or another I am fairly convinced my husband may take a long way to do so and take the aid of his mother whilst deciding. It’s just I am not fully convinced if the apology made with cheating are worth accepting.”

“Oh! You took the lower route here my lady forgive the audacity.”

“Just the route of a woman who expect honesty from her man.”

“Fair enough I suppose. But shall you be agitated my lady I take it you do not wish to accept the viscount bestowment?”

“Bestowment?” Y/N frowned a little in confusion “and what shall that be?”

“I do not know, my lady. I am merely a messenger—”

“I believed you to be on my side Laura.”

“And I am, my lady! But one do not object the command of the lord, that is clearly ready to vent his anger on the first soul that happen to be unfortunate enough to be around.”

“My god, you are a prattler!” Y/N laughed “where is that gift in question? Cause since it is mine either way we might as well get a little curious, shall we? Would be such a shame to put it to waste.”

Laura stood up from her chair and started heading to the corridor, but Hyacynth was first to barge into the room carrying some parcel that was almost bigger than her.

“Y/N! Is this that gift from Anthony!?” clearly she was eavesdropping  “Can we take a look, please? It’s so big I wonder what it is? Come on, open it up! Open it up!”

“Curiosity killed the cat.” Eloise muttered but there was no denying she was equally curious as her sister.

Y/N only rolled  her eyes, inviting all the girls over and opening the box. Fishing out the most beautiful and definitely expensive new dress. The color was perfectly matching Y/N’s complexion and the material delicate yet durable – Anthony knew his wife and her adventurous tendencies.

“It’s so beautiful and elegant” Francesca whispered touching the dress with delight.

“So what, he think he can just buy her the garment and she will forgive him?” Eloise scoffed “Men are so simple minded and belittling of women!”

“Try it on, Y/N!” Hyacinth encouraged, almost jumping from excitement

“Do not try it on! This would be relenting!” Eloise objected.

“He made a gesture!”

“It’s not a gesture! It’s an attempt of buying her forgiveness!”

“Y/N!”

“Y/N?!”

“Quiet!” Y/N finally managed to break through the noise of two sisters. ““No offence girls, but this is my marriage and my decision. One I have to make by myself. So thank you “ she smiled brightly but with a hint of annoyance “for your positions on things, but I am perfectly capable of weighting the significance of the gift, on my conviction to forgive or not forgive him.”

“Uhm. My lady” Laura cleared her throat “I’d like to elaborate that the viscount also made an invitation to one special place….”

“Do not go Y/N!”

“Stop interfering Eloise! Y/N you have to go!”

“For heaven’s sake, Violet is truly a saint for surviving you two!” “Uhm. My lady” Laura cleared her throat “I’d like to elaborate that the viscount also made an invitation to one special place….”

“Do not go Y/N!”

“Stop interfering Eloise! Y/N you have to go!”

“For heaven’s sake, Violet is truly a saint for surviving you two!”

***

Anthony was waiting for her in the garden outside some estate she had no idea existed. After all, Y/N has spent her entire life in London, rarely being invited to the cottage. And in this case it could have been used a leverage, not that he was aiming for measuring forces and cold calculation.

No.

He was walking back and forth, almost trampling a path in the ground in a place where it should never be. Nervous enough to anxiously fiddle with his fingers like a lady before her debut entering the society. Hoping she would come. Wishing for any entity in heaven might want to listen that she would take this dress he send her as an expression of humility rather than boosting like a rooster. Praying that Eloise wasn’t there with her sharp tongue and unrestrained thoughts to discourage his beloved from accepting both the gift and the invitation.

The minutes turned to hours and even his father’s pocket watch refused to work with Anthony in this important moment. Having no regard to the poor flowers any other plants standing no chances against his heavy riding boots, the time seemed to stand still.

For whatever it was worth it, Anthony Bridgerton swore to himself that he would rather turn into a sack of boned waiting in this desolate place than walk away while there was still a glimmer of hope she might appear. He was done and fatigued with missed opportunities, poorly chosen and ill-spoken words.

It was never his intention to said all those atrocious words to her.

Too much.

Dear Lord.

Now that he was thinking about it, his heart was capering in a way that filled him with self-hatred. After all the pain he might have caused her during that little hurtful exchange while she did nothing more than be there for him. Even if he not exactly wished for it. Even if he himself didn’t know that her presence in his life was the best thing that happened since his father’s death. If not since forever.

Anthony wasn’t the one to believe in signs or any spiritual influence on earth, but the more he was dwelling on his own misery, the more deliberative of their first meeting he was becoming.

It was late lord Bridgerton’s death anniversary and as any other year – he separated himself from the rest of the family. To show how adamant his heart and mind was and to underline that this was nothing more than just another day in a line of any other similar ones. But the truth was, he wanted to visit his father’s grave alone without any possible disturbances or havoc that his younger siblings could have caused. None of them really knew Edmund Bridgerton the way Anothony did. The first born son, the heir to the title, deprived of his father’s guidance and presence and forced to take responsibility for the family in way too young age.

He needed to be by himself, cause god forbid anyone seeing him showing any signs of humanity and indulging in grief.

And his family knew and accepted it.

She didn’t.

Just a stranger, strolling by herself in the area, looking like a commoner, having no regards to the sanctity of the moment nor the place she found herself in.

And worse for her – spotting Anthony in the never-seen moment of vulnerability written all over his face.

“Lord Bridgerton” she bowed in a way that showed that the savage, Anthony took her for, actually had manners. And that he knew him, but this was not so unexpected.

He only grunted in response to annoyed by an unfortunate set of circumstances that worked against her. The viscount himself was not going to bow to a girl that was clearly a servant, with messy hair and in a dress that was far from anything a woman, even of lower position should be seen in.

“Don’t you have anywhere else to be, girl?” he muttered under his nose, throwing daggers with his eyes.

“I’m sorry my lord but-“

“You should be sorry. I am convinced your lady nor your lord will be pleased with the fact that their service wanders alone in an area that does not belong to them!”

“Service?” Y/N smirked looking at him with amusement and twinkling eyes. And Anthony with his youthful energy and virility could not miss the fact that she was actually pretty.

“Yes, service.” He hissed at her “now get out of here girl, before you get yourself in far more trouble from me and end up on the street!”

“I shall-“ she obviously was not going to let anyone maltreat her like that, but her acuity wore up that very moment. She noticed the weariness in viscount’s eyes, noticed the monument nearby, and realized what day of the month it was.

“Forgive me, my lord.” She bowed in respect “I shall be on my way. And I shall not mention this meeting to anyone, hopefully wishing for you to forget my impertinence.”

She was gone as fast as she appeared, and Anthony thought to never see her again.

Until the next rout Daphne was attending, where he actually did.

Immediately realizing the scope of his previous mistake, upon learning that the service girl was in fact Miss Y/L/N, the youngest daughter of Lord Y/L/N. And met with another look of those glistening eyes and amused face expression. Forced to accompany her for the evening, since apparently Lady Bridgerton and Lady Y/L/N has made some arrangements for the future.

He was thinking it was all just a coincidence back then, but now he came to conclusion that it must have been his father who send this girl into his life. Knowing better than him that she would turn his ways around, challenge him, test him patience mercilessly and yet – that she would be the one to love him unconditionally and whom he would love with all his broken and unperfect self.

And the burden of possibility of ruining it all for them was even more overwhelming.

He clasped his hands behind his back, walking shorter and shorter distances, turning back more and more often, stuck in his belief that he would stay here as long as she didn't show up, even if -

“Anthony.”

Viscount spun around so abruptly it almost caused him falling to the ground.

She came.

She truly came.

It was like meeting her all over again, back in time, back next to his father’s grave.

Only she wasn’t looking like a servant girl now.

She was wearing the dress he sent her, looking not only like a viscountess, but like a queen herself. His queen. His wife. His love. His everything.

Her skin was radiant due to the color of the material (just like Violet predicted), cheeks flushed, hair done in perfect curls surrounding her face, bright like a sun.

“Y/N….”

“It was so unwise on your part viscount to call upon me and invite me into a wild place a woman like me should never step foot on.” She said sternly, but the everlasting and never changing glistening of her eyes betrayed her true intention “and perilous, may I say? Far from the city? Lady travelling alone? So many hazards awaiting me on the way.”

“Benedict and Colin were following your post chaise.”

“Oh I knew I heard someone laughing on the way. But my coachman brushed my concerns off!”

“Did you really believed I would send my greatest treasure into the wild without proper security?” Anthony took a few steps forwards, reaching for her hands and placing gentle kiss on her knuckles.

“Your brothers?” Y/N let him show the courtesy, but raised eyes in skepticism of the words.

“Believe me my lady, you should never underestimate the man of the Bridgerton house.”

“In what aspect my lord?”

“In every aspect, dear.” He looked deep into her eyes.

“Why did you ask me to meet you here?” Y/N quickly averted her eyes, because Anthony’s gaze were so full of passion, love and genuine remorse and apology she found herself falling into his charms. And this couldn’t have been so easy for him. “You sister discounselled me on coming here.”

“And yet, you came my lady.” Anthony reached for her chin and slowly, gently and with tenderness turned her face towards him so that their eyes had to meet again.

“Anthony I –“

“My love, I am sorry.”

“this is not—”

“Let me speak” he hushed her, not breaking eye contact. “I asked you here, because this is the very place where my father asked for my mother’s hand. Where he pledged her his undying love, support and loyalty. And you, out of all people in the world, learned how much I cherish my father’s memory and his legacy.

“Anthony-“

“Therefore, here I am. Standing in front of you, expressing my deepest condolences-“

“Oh, dear lord, Tony!” she cried out in frustration “stop using the words you would say to me if Lady Whistledown were nearby! Tell me how you feel!”

How he felt was not with words.

How he felt was expressed by the way he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to his chest, capturing her lips in the searing but gentle kiss that conveyed more than any noble and dignified words of a lord could.

I love you.

By his strong arms encompassing her like a shelter from the storm.

I won’t ever let go of you.

By tender caress of her hair and back.

I will always cherish you.

By the way his lips were moving against her, whispering silent words understood only by two souls forevermore yearning for each other.

I am sorry.

She was the first one to pull back for air, reluctantly so.

“My love. My beloved.”

She smiled at him, connecting their foreheads, allowing his arms to tighten around her waist and waiting for what was coming next to assess the truth behind his words.

“Am I too much now?” she whispered

“You are always too much. To much for me to keep. To much for me to even wish and pray for. Too much of a blessing in my life. Too much in the best possible sense and—”

This time It was her who cut him off by a kiss, silencing anything else that might come from his lips. He was honest and sincere. And if he was trying to apologize by saying anything else and backing out on what he said back there she probably would not forgive him sensing manipulation. But this?

“I forgive you.” She whispered against his lips.

“Thank God.”

“Is this cottage inhabited or--?”

“No. It’s not. And I intend on taking advantage of it right this moment.” He grabbed her and carried inside bridal style, ready to not get back to London for at least a couple days.

(spoiler alert below)

I got a request for a fluff pregnancy fic.... <3

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[mvltisstuff]

go home - e.b

summary: why does she feel so lonely but constantly surrounded by people?

angst, fluff, tw for suicidal thoughts, depression, not having any idea why you feel such a way

a/n: hi all <3 i wanted to write this as a way to express my feelings recently, and also as a way to let people know they aren’t alone. please, please stay. text 988, please. someone out there loves you. the river may twist and turn, but it will always meet the sea. i’m sorry if this is a bit messy, but it’s something i wanted to express as i can recognize y/n.

——————————————————————————

the second the alarm went off on her phone, y/n felt the equivalent to a million bees stinging her head. every single day was the exact same thing.

hit snooze.

sleep five more minutes.

wait until work ends.

the bed was freezing cold despite the man beside her. obviously, she felt a love for him that goes for light years, but why did it feel like a chore to show it?

buck and y/n had been together for years. they’ve taken their time with one another, slowly and precariously loving on the other. buck needed y/n like he needed oxygen. he knew her. he knew her like the clouds know the blue sky. he knew her like a flame knows gasoline. he knew her like his heart knows to beat.

he rolled over, hearing her alarm and feeling her body adjust to turn it off. he flung his arm around her upper body, pulling her tightly into him.

“i’m so tired.” she whispers, her morning voice peering through.

“i know,” he takes it as a joke, a temporary feeling of wanting to doze off again. “day off tomorrow, though.”

she didn’t think buck knew what she meant by tired.

she meant exhausted. she meant feeling like a car low on gas, but there’s no station around. she meant feeling like a ghoul had grabbed onto her head, squeezing tightly at all moments. she meant the sinking feeling in her chest that wouldn’t vanish.

finally, buck dragged his girl out of the bed and took her to work. he loved working with her, getting to keep an eye on her at all times. he knows that she’s safe when she’s with him.

y/n loved working with buck. she worked with all of her friends, and had the most rewarding career out there, as well as the hardest.

the losses on the job feel like a string being cut off the guitar. the losses feel like someone came in and plucked away more of the good in the world. there’s no avoiding the losses as a firefighter, but y/n doesn’t understand why she feels absolutely nothing.

she feels like a villain, just wanting to go home and forget about the entire day and the people she saved. she feels selfish and entitled, but she doesn’t have the energy to care, nor to fix the way she’s feeling.

therapy never worked for her, and she doesn’t have the schedule right now, anyway. she didn’t need therapy, at least she doesn’t think so?

not until the morning after her thoughts eat away at her about vanishing. y/n doesn’t want to die, she just wants everything to stop.

she feels like love is never coming for her, even though it’s right in front of her face, screaming at her to pay attention to it. she feels a lack of success and uselessness. there’s always someone better.

buck, as well as the rest of the 118 family, started noticing the symptoms. the classic ones, but also the more hidden ones. buck knew her, how could he not notice?

•

y/n came home from work, finally ready for her day off. she was looking forward to it all week, just thinking about the warm clothes she could slap on and the sleep she could fall into.

she was asleep when buck got home. he nudged it off as being tired, seeing how hard she works first hand. the next day, on her day off, she woke up past noon, took a nap, and was back asleep by 10. buck felt like she moved across the country by the time the next weeks followed.

he felt like he was in a war with himself and y/n’s sleep. he was pushing it away but it was still consistent. she didn’t want to go out for date night, or babysit jee. if he stayed at work longer, he’d come home to her asleep in their bed.

even when she was awake, buck had to ask himself,

did he know her?

•

when bobby cooks, you may as well clear your diet for the rest of the day. one plate was not an option, you’d be crawling back to the pot like it contained gold.

however, just one bite of food recently can make y/n feel like she’s gonna throw up. bobby makes her favorite dishes, but y/n had a distance from it.

they sat at the table, a calm break from the storms outside that were just a call away. y/n sat down first. she’d usually wait for buck to get his plate, but he didn’t mind.

“only one plate, y/n? never seen that before,” chim chimed in.

deep down, somewhere in her, y/n wanted to laugh. she had a voice clawing up in her to just crack a smile. alas, her brain suppressed it again.

“what, im not allowed to not stuff myself ‘til i faint?”

silence. forks stopped scratching against the plate. chewing stopped, even the slightest breath noises slowed. they’d never seen her eyes roll so far to the back of her head without a grin creeping after it.

“uh oh,” eddie adds. “someone’s not happy.”

god, she wanted to scream.

•

the profoundness of the loneliness in her body just dragged her down. it felt like a different foot every day that was going to lead to six. she yearned for people, but it was all she has.

she’s felt this way for far too long, and it’s getting old. she hates it. y/n wants the monster inside of her to be murdered. she can’t fill the deep void inside of her, but she wants it so bad. the depression, meanwhile also trying to diminish her, sapped her whole body and mind. it was a poison that y/n doubted would ever escape. the monster in her was here to stay. it grew stronger the more isolated she got, gaining control that would scare her to death. it was impossible to escape his suffocating grip around her and she didn’t have the courage to fight back on it.

y/n didn’t want to die, but she would let the monster take her away.

weeks passed, and nothing had changed. y/n and buck were two souls combined. he could feel everything happening to her like it was happening to him.

it was two a.m and y/n drove through a whole tank of gas. she went over city lines after telling buck she was going to run errands. errands gone a little long lost in thought. she sped down highways, thinking of swerving off. in certain moments, she would let her hands drift off the wheel and let it guide her.

a mix of fear and disbelief rushed through her veins as the black car sped up to her. y/n going fast wasn’t an invite for him to join. it pissed her off, bad. some random asshole just ruining her peace, which seemed like it always happened to her.

it wasn’t until her front bumper came in contact with the dodge’s rear that her mind had to snap back into itself.

buck waited up for her, regardless. he knew she would come home. y/n would never drop a love as special as that, no matter the fog in her head.

he heard the front door twist and unlock, the door creaking open. he stayed on the couch, waiting to see what she would do. he almost just ignored it, knowing she would just go to bed. but, maybe he didn’t know her.

y/n stood in her sweatpants and her 118 zip up, staring at buck with her hair thrown into a ponytail. “hi.”

“hey, beautiful,” buck replies, gently and his words graze her like a feather. but, the look on her face is nearly unfamiliar. it’s a whole new look of awakening. she looks more alive than he’s seen her in weeks. in contrast, the look on buck’s face contains pure alarm.

her chest rises and falls rapidly, like she’s trying to take in every breath she can. shes never felt this close to the end of her life before. a new fear was unlocked, a phobia of herself.

“i think, um,” she stares at the hardwood floor. buck walks up closer to her, his hands connecting with her forearms to steady her. “i think i need some help.”

“i know, baby,” he starts, rubbing her soft sweatshirt with his hands to warm her skin. “and im gonna help you. we’re gonna help you.”

“i don’t want to die anymore.” buck’s heart sinks into his toes hearing her say that. the woman in front of him, the one who his world revolves around, the one who may as well have her name carved into his back, was telling him she almost gave up.

he couldn’t help but well tears in his eyes, but he fought them back. he allowed her body to slump against his, as they stood in the dim walkway of their apartment.

to love someone is to fight their monsters.

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR TWENTY FOUR

in which you and eddie win the bet.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 7k+

→ a/n: oh, holy fuck. holy fucking shit. i have no words, because i know it's not really over yet (we still have an epilogue, friends! don't forget that!) but... i did it. i finished another fic. that's just... insane?

thank you to everyone who has been so very kind and supportive of this fic. i owe you all the world. i'm sure i'll either make a sappy post between now and thursday, or i'll get extra sappy in the a/n on the epilogue, but for now - please know you have all my love. <3

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

24:00 ─────────────── ㅇ 24:00

DINGUS: hey, i facetimed them for last hour’s proof. had to work out when they wanted me to head over and pick her up. 

BIRDIE: both still alive? both still well? 

DINGUS: so it seemed. 

ARGYLE  😎: what a relief! I knew they had it in them

JOHNNY BOY: They still have to last one more hour. 

NANCE: They’ll last the hour. Have a little faith, babe. 

JOHNNY BOY: Still don’t like the fact we’ve just started calling them instead of requesting the photo proof. I mean, how do we not know they’re lying? Did you talk to both of them when YOU called, Nance? 

NANCE: Yes, I told you guys that.

NANCE: Besides, you guys already know that Eddie hates having his picture taken. We’re lucky we ever got picture proof to begin with.

DINGUS: also i JUST facetimed them??? physically saw them?? your lack of trust in me and nance kind of hurts jon

BIRDIE: @NANCE hey can you call ME babe next? 

HOUR TWENTY FOUR – 4:00 PM

“Hey there, love birds. Glad to see you didn’t kill each other.”

Steve. 

You wait for Eddie’s arm to leave you, for him to put space between the two of you, but he doesn’t. He keeps you pressed flush to his side as if the sudden arrival of a friend doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference. 

“Hey, Harrington,” he even casually greets first. 

He’s making no move to get up off the floor. 

Just a little bit longer. Let me sit here and live in this moment a little bit longer.

“Munson,” Steve nods to Eddie before setting his sights on you, “Doll. Nice to see you, kind of glad I’m not having to fish you out of the canals.” 

You feel it — Eddie’s arm tenses behind you ever so slightly at Steve’s nickname. Clearly, it’s still a sore spot for him to work through. 

“I was feeling generous,” Eddie shrugs as if he hadn’t just revealed a flash of jealousy to you. You’re not even sure if he knows that you felt it. But it was there, in the slightest tightening of his grip and the flexing of his bicep behind your shoulder.

“Generous? I think you were feeling friendly,” Steve waves his hand between the two of you, as if he thought he was pointing out the obvious. 

If he thought this was close, he’d faint at the imagery of you on the kitchen counter, Eddie’s face between your legs as he begged for you to let him touch you. 

Just as you had noticed Eddie’s jealousy, he notices the way you suddenly heat up, shifting in your seat ever so slightly. That pull on the corner of his lips tells you all you need to know. You kind of hate how easily the two of you can finally read each other. You kind of love the way he’s looking at you as if he’s thinking the exact same thing. 

“Do I get my free punch now?” you finally speak up, tone flat as you muster a glare in Steve’s direction. You’re forgoing all polite and pretend oblivion. 

Every single one of you here knows what happened. The bare bones of it, at least.

Eddie looks at you curiously, “Excuse me?” 

Steve only grins, holding out his arms as if welcoming you, “Take your best shot.” 

You stand quickly, and Steve even flinches. He clearly had thought it was all a bit, but you were deathly serious. After the night you’d had, you wanted to punch something, anything. 

“Hold on,” Eddie fumbles to follow you as you stand in front of Steve, your eyebrow cocked as you pause, “Hold on, why are you punching Harrington?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. ‘She’d never go for me, why would she go for you?’” you remind him, and fully expect for hurt to flash across his face. Instead, merriment continues to tug on his lips, “That ring a bell?”

“It might,” Eddie drawls, slowing down his movement to stand more casually, no longer in a rush to break up the fight. His eyes flash with something, with some sort of affection as your hand curls into a fist threateningly and you continue to glare daggers at Steve, “‘S cute to see you defending my honor, sweetheart.” 

Your knees almost physically wobble. The nickname that once struck such anger and irritation in you has become your favorite thing, something that can so easily elicit such a physical reaction. Any taunting has dissipated from his tone when he falls from his tongue now. Adoration takes its place.

Steve looks between you two for a second before his face twists up, “God, I think I liked it better when you two hated each other.” 

“Never really hated each other,” Eddie corrects Steve, but his eyes never leave yours. 

“Right, must have slipped my mind.”

One of the questions that had been torturing you has now been answered — Eddie would, in fact, be acting differently around your friends. It’s almost enough that you feel no need to punch Steve.

Almost.

“Where do you want it?” you tear your gaze from Eddie, looking back to Steve now expectantly, “Cheek? Nose? Chin? Jaw?”

Steve’s eyes widen. “My God, have you just been dreaming of this moment for the last hour?”

“I have.” 

Eddie leans back against the wall, still watching and still smirking as he crosses his arms. 

“I know Eddie’s your boyfriend now but-“

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you correct him quickly, but something inside of you twists at saying that.

He wasn’t your boyfriend. You two had just agreed you’d need time apart before even thinking of exploring what this new chapter will bring you two. So why does it feel so wrong? Why do you suddenly feel like a pathetic teenager, desperate to bestow some cheesy title upon her crush? 

Eddie nods when you suddenly look at him, as if he can read your mind, “I’m not her boyfriend. Just… her scary dog.”

Scary dog privilege. And God, does that moment feel light years in the past now. Years ago rather than hours ago. His promise to protect you suddenly rings truer now. If you ever did find yourself in trouble, you knew he’d answer your call. You knew now why his protection only extended to you. You finally, finally understood.

“Scary dog?” Steve squints at Eddie, and his judgmental demeanor has fully returned, “What the fuck does that even mea-“

He doesn’t get to finish the sardonic sentiment. The slap of your palm interrupts him.

“Ow!” he yelps out, head snapping from the force of the hit and hands already coming up defensively. 

Eddie pushes off the wall the moment Steve’s hands are up in the air, “Lay a hand on her in retaliation, Harrington, and I’m breaking your arm.” 

All the joking, cocky demeanor has faded. Like he had said — scary dog privilege. It applies to more than just pricks at the bar.

“I’m not,” Steve grumbles, rubbing at the red imprint now singing his cheek, “Jesus Christ, I said a punch.” 

You fight a smile, “I don’t know how to throw a punch.”

“I can teach you,” Eddie pipes up, now standing beside you, hovering in your orbit. 

“Don’t-“ Steve puts out a warning finger, “-encourage her. I only said you could punch me because I knew you couldn’t throw a punch!” he continues to cradle his face, now pouting at you, “Do you feel better now?” 

You only answer with a triumphant smile. Because your palm is stinging, and you know violence isn’t the answer, but yeah. You do feel a little bit better. 

“I don’t,” Eddie hums. He only has to take one step forward for Steve to back up, throwing out defensive eyes as he narrows his eyes, “Think I deserve to get a slap in, too, Stevie.” 

“Fuck that,” Steve spits, eyes wide with genuine fear that makes you want to giggle, “You do know how to throw a punch. If I’m letting you get a free one in, I deserve twenty four hours notice.” 

“Then consider this your notice.” 

Is this what I had always been missing out on? 

You always knew Eddie was playful with everyone, had witnessed how he joked with friends, but you’d never been included. The thought that this was the new normal makes your heart nearly burst. To be on Eddie’s side finally, to be in his good graces properly, makes you feel as if you belong more than any private movie night with Steve or impromptu dinner date with Robin. More than any night out with Nancy. More than any smoke session with Argyle, and more than any literature debate with Jonathan.

It’s as if Eddie was the missing link. You never felt you belonged, because you’d always ached for your rightful spot at his side, not just amongst the group.

The three of you stand in a makeshift circle and every single one of you smiles. Even Steve, through his slipping pout and swollen cheek, is grinning. 

Suddenly, it’s not quite as heavy as it once felt.

Everything has changed. Leaving now is not leaving forever. 

“I’d pay to see that,” you comment, taking a daring step to bump shoulders with Eddie. His eyes meet yours, his dimples come to life, and suddenly — you’re home, “Think I can get a front row seat to you beating Steve’s ass?” 

Steve starts to protest but Eddie only nods eagerly, “I think that can be arranged.” 

“I am once again reminding you two that I liked your screaming matches more than whatever this,” his hand flails, motioning to the way you two are standing closer to one another than you are him, “whole teaming-up-against-me bit is.”

“We’re not dating,” you’re reiterating as Eddie laughs out, “Stop being a crybaby.” 

You look at one another again. Another foot in the door of your newfound home, another look into your new place to rest your head. It’s as if you’re just now realizing you’ve spent the entire year missing Eddie, even as he was right there in front of you. 

“Well, God save us all when you two are finally dating,” Steve mumbles with a shake of his head.

“If-“ Eddie starts to correct, but you stop him.

It’s not an if when it comes to you two dating, you decide. It’s a when.

“I’ll send a gift basket when the day comes,” you snark. The look that Eddie sends you could heal every wound ever left behind, right then and there. 

You’re home. When Eddie throws his arm around your shoulders and Steve rolls his eyes at you two (affectionately, even if he’d deny it), you know you’re home.

—

But then, you actually do have to go home. 

You try to put it off. The three of you occupy Eddie’s living room for a while, Steve complaining about the way Robin woke him up endlessly throughout the night and how he never did finish that assignment due in his English Literature class. It reminds you that life will continue on; you have to go back to work and school, deal with daily annoyances that should seem bigger than all that’s happened with Eddie tonight, but they don’t. They all seem minuscule now, really. 

“Do we still have to send photo proof?” Eddie asks once Steve’s tirade has waned. You’re sat between the two boys, Steve’s body turned almost completely to face the two of you while you and Eddie slowly sink back into the cushions. 

You’re sure if Steve knew the activities that had taken place on this couch, he would not be sitting so comfortably. If at all.

Steve sighs at the mention of the bet, “You probably should. Jonathan’s been antsy about it the entire time. Me and Nance tried to cover for you guys, lying about calling and stuff but-“

“Why would you lie?” you inquire, uncurling a bit from your overly comfortable position to stop from falling asleep and actually participate in the conversation. 

“Because, unlike the other idiots,” Steve gives a pointed look at you and then Eddie, “We had a hunch about what was going on here. And it’s about time, by the way.” 

You think over his words for a second before you look at Eddie with sudden embarrassment, “Have you- Oh my God, have you been telling Nancy what we’ve been doing?” 

“What?” Eddie sits up straighter, looking just as panicked, “No. No, absolutely not, I-“

“What have you guys been doing?”

Both of you ignore Steve as Eddie continues on.

“-just spoke to her on the phone once or twice. But I didn’t give her any details. Have you been telling Steve what we did?” 

Steve, still being ignored, repeats himself, “What have you guys been doing?” 

“Absolutely not,” you scrunch your nose at the thought of being that honest with Steve. You loved him, truly, but not enough to tell him about those kinds of things, “I’d rather sleep in the canals than tell him.” 

“What have you guys been doing?” 

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up, and he mockingly stabs himself, “Ouch, sweetheart.”

“Not like that,” you backtrack, but more casually as the worry of Steve and Nancy knowing the truth, “I just meant-“

Eddie interrupts with a hand on your knee and a smile on his face, “I know what you meant. I’m just fucking with you. I feel the same way with Nance.” 

“Guys?” Steve grows further impatient, “I- What the fuck did you guys do? Oh my God, is it even safe to sit on this fucking couch right now?” 

“You don’t wanna know,” you say.

“No, it isn’t,” Eddie says. 

It earns him a slap on his stomach as he leans over in laughter at the way Steve launches out of his seat.

“You guys- No. No fucking way,” Steve brushes at the back of his jeans, as if they’re contaminated, “Nope. No way. You’re just fucking with me, Munson.” 

“Am I?” 

Another slap lands on Eddie’s shoulder as he laughs harder. 

“Steve,” you turn to your friend, trying to smile sweetly, “Sit back down.” 

“No.”

“You just said you don’t believe-“ 

“We should get going,” Steve insists through his blush, “You two should take your final picture and we should get going.” 

Eddie finally stops chuckling, leaning back up and against the armrest, his ankle cross in front of your shins as he stretches his legs out and sighs, “God, you should see your face right now, Harrington.” 

Steve’s scowl deepens, “It’s not funny. Take the fucking photo so we can go.” 

You make no move to dig out your phone, because you know. You know once you take this photo, you’ll be leaving, and this will all be over. Once you step foot back into that hallway, time apart begins. Learning how to navigate this new unknown with Eddie begins. It terrifies you, it saddens you, it exhausts you. You hadn’t been prepared for this part of the night.

Even before the confessions, you hadn’t given much thought to the ending of the twenty four hours. You’d assumed it would end in bloodshed and a larger than life fight, probably before the clock even ran out. You’d never assumed it could end in laughing, inside jokes between you and Eddie, in something not only bitter but also sweet. 

“Phone, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers as he leans forward and holds out his hand with the palm up, “Before we traumatize the poor guy any further.” 

“I will wait in the car, I swear to God-“ Steve starts to protest as you finally dig your phone out of your pocket. 

You’re looking down, unable to meet Eddie’s gaze in fear of him picking up on your faint sadness, as you mumble, “Get your panties out of their twist, Steve. Jesus.” 

Eddie snorts at that, right as you pass your phone over. 

Steve doesn’t comment when you willingly tell Eddie the code to unlock your phone, or the way you let him hold it rather than you. He doesn’t comment on the arm that Eddie seems to constantly keep around you now. 

He’s doing it while he can. Cherishing being able to hold you at any capacity before you leave and the distance begins. The time apart you two agreed upon won’t be for forever, but it still kills a buried part of him that had just begun to sprout roots again. A thing made of hope that he planned to tend to this time around. 

“So, how do we wanna do this?” he asks in a strained tone, as if asking that question and throttling you two closer to the finish line physically pains him.

You hope it pains him, selfishly, because it pains you. “No idea.”

“We’ve gotta make it a good one.”

“We do.” 

Eddie suddenly lights up with an idea as his thumb sweeps across your screen, opening your photos’ app and scrolling up to the first picture you two had taken at the beginning of this night. 

“Up for a trip down nostalgia road?” he teases, wiggling his brows as he holds the phone up for you to get a clearer view of the picture.

Eddie, flipping off the camera and scowling. You, hardly smiling with a pathetic thumbs up. 

“Yeah,” you breathe out, nodding slowly. 

It’s unspoken, what happens next. The camera app is opened and Eddie returns your phone to your grasp. The two of you resituate to mimic the photo as closely as possible while Steve fiddles with some of the items on Eddie’s entertainment center. 

You stretch out your arm, put your thumb up into view, blink away any tears burning the back of your eyes. Eddie’s hand has taken position as well. 

You snap the photo before you can think too hard on it. 

“Think that’ll be the winner?” Eddie curiously asks as you immediately bring the phone close to your face, swiping to view the snapshot just taken. And when you do, with the refreshed memory of that first photo, your heart physically aches. 

Almost an identical image. At a quick glance, it’s the same Eddie and the same you from the first one. But the similarities fade the moment you look closer. Eddie isn’t scowling, not genuinely – those damn dimples are even making an appearance as his eyes were squinted up in a valiant effort to fight off the smile he wears now. And your smile, your smile, is no longer half-assed. It’s something real, something full, something even a bit sad. The same face you wear when saying goodbye to an old friend and trying to hold back any tears until their train has long since left the station. You can almost physically see your vines in this photo wrapping around the two of you, clinging so desperately to avoid any separation. Time apart. You’re regretting suggesting that now. 

It’s a cute photo. A photo of two friends, if you could call yourself and Eddie that now. 

“All done?” Steve interrupts the moment, both of you and Eddie only staring at the photo. You take a peak at him out of your peripherals, and you can see it written plainly on his face – he’s feeling all the same emotions as you. Something sad, something nostalgic, something reluctant. “Not to rush the process but… I may or may not have a hot date tonight to get ready for.” 

Eddie tears his gaze from the photo, “A hot date?”

“A hot date,” Steve nods, a boyish grin gracing his lips, “And I’m picking her up in… t-minus…” he pauses, checking his watch, “Three hours.” 

“Smart move. Charm her before I rearrange your face and all.” 

Steve throws his head back in a groan, “You two won’t be letting that go any time soon, will you?” 

“Nope,” you chime in as you swipe to open up the groupchat, not offering Steve a single glance until you’ve sent off the final addition of photo proof to the rest of your friends. You consider adding some sort of sarcastic comment, some well earned bragging and a boisterous told you so, but you don’t. 

It doesn’t feel like you’ve won. Leaving this apartment, this battleground, with all the new bruises and healed wounds you’ve acquired over the span of the twenty four hours doesn’t taste like victory. Really, it tastes like… nothing. 

There’s no victory, no solid ending for you to cling to. It’s simply ending and there’s still thousands of words you have to say to Eddie. You need more time, another twenty four hours, to fill with every single thing you never told him. More casual confessions of honesty, more hours wasted in his bed, more insignificant bickering to partake in. It’s all on your tongue and desperate for attention, and yet, you know you can’t succumb to it. 

You have to go. It’s the last thing you want to do, but you have to. 

Steve checks his phone when it buzzes with the notification of your message you sent and opens his mouth, no doubt about to comment on your lack of words with the message, but you’re already standing. It’s like ripping off a bandaid. You need to get it over with, get out of this apartment before you decide you’d rather sink right into these couch cushions and decay just to ensure you never have to really leave. 

Eddie’s quick to follow. 

“Let’s go,” you say to Steve, grabbing up your bag, not looking at Eddie at the risk of losing all composure. 

Neither boy fights you, following you right up to the front door. Steve leads, opening it back up as reality slams you in the chest. As if there’s an invisible barrier here, and you know that in crossing it, you’ll be leaving a piece of yourself behind in apartment 2C. 

Leaving now is not leaving forever. 

But it sure does feel like it. 

Steve awkwardly looks over your shoulder at Eddie, some silent communication you only see his half of as he shrugs and does a timid wave, turning to leave. 

One foot hangs midair, your toes beginning to push through that barrier, when Eddie grabs you. 

“Hey,” he breathes as he wraps his fingers around your bicep, forcing you to turn to face him. You let him, your body moving to his accord but your eyes still not meeting his, “You good?” 

You take a deep breath in through your nose, “Me? Yeah. Yeah, I’m great. I’m… I’m good.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Positive?”

“Will you look at me, then?” 

Reluctantly, so very reluctantly, your eyes meet his. Big, brown doe eyes. This close to them, you can see the way they shine to match yours. You both probably look insane to Steve right now, but you don’t care. Between the sleep deprivation and all the emotions you’ve had to experience over the last day, the tears are well earned.

You almost reach out and kiss him. You almost press up onto your toes and put your lips on his, almost pour every emotion you’re feeling in the moment into a far from innocent peck. 

But you don’t.

“We did it,” you croak blandly, “We won the bet.” 

As if the Universe is screaming in agreement, you can hear a chime in the distance signifying the hour. Probably the church you recall passing in the middle of the night when the two of you had ventured off to the parking garage. It almost feels as if it’s mocking you. 

“We did it,” he echoes as his grip on your bicep loosens. You expect him to let it fall back to his side, nearly begging out loud for him to retract his touch from you so you don’t do something stupid like stay.

You swallow down thick emotions, just like molasses, “I guess I’ll see you around, yeah?” 

Time. You two needed time apart. 

“Yeah,” he sighs, as he does the one thing you had somehow hoped he wouldn’t yet yearned for ardently – the hand that had wrapped around your arm now cups your cheek, thumb stroking your skin so softly, you nearly melt in his doorway, “I’ll see you around, sweetheart.” 

It doesn’t taste like victory, yet it doesn’t taste quite like loss. It’s bittersweet. 

You still don’t kiss him. And he doesn’t kiss you, even as his touch against your cheek lingers so heavily before he pulls away. 

You cross the barrier and find you were right. You feel that piece of you tear off and flutter to the ground, and you begin to wonder when you’ll have the chance to come back and reclaim not just it, but Eddie.

—

Steve didn’t speak much on the drive back to your dorm, and you’re sort of grateful. 

If you were a good friend, you’d ask more about his date. You’d get him giddy as he spills the details about this girl and his plans for the night, chastise and tease him all in good fun. You’d be smiling and making plans for coffee tomorrow morning so he could tell you all about how the date went. 

But you’re not a good friend.

You sit in your silence the entire drive, and you pick at your nails, and you selfishly stay focused on Eddie. On all of your own qualms and all your own issues, worrying about what comes next and already feeling your chest tighten the moment you start to think about when see you around will come.

The two of you never discussed that, did you? There was no discussion of just how much time was needed apart. 

Steve shifts the car into park in the west lot, right outside your building, “Alright, stop making your cuticles bleed for two seconds and tell me what’s wrong.” 

Your hands pause exactly as he requests, caught red-handed. “Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Something’s obviously wrong. I told you to go get him – and yet, he’s still not your boyfriend.” 

“It’s complicated,” your voice finally breaks. There’s no tears this time, just confusion and desperation clawing at your throat. 

Because, was it complicated? Was it really?

The last year was what had been complicated. All the pretending and the fights and the tension. All the false beliefs and all the lies overlapping with one another. That was complicated. But this? The feelings you harbored and finally acknowledged for the boy you just left behind? 

That wasn’t really complicated. 

And Steve knows this, you can hear it in his sigh, “I think that’s the issue.” 

“What?” you turn your head towards him, scrunch your brows, even your breathing and try to shoo away the image of Eddie’s wet eyes. 

You wish you would have kissed him. 

“Look, i just think you two keep making things complicated when they should be simple-” 

You didn’t want to hear it. Childish as it might be, you do not want to have to hear this speech. Because you know Steve’s right.

“I’ll see you later, Steve.”

“Wait-”

You don’t wait. You slam the door in his face once you’ve got your footing outside of his car, truly earning your title of bad friend.

Awful. You weren’t just a bad friend, you were an awful friend. 

And yet you can’t think on it, leaving it be until you had the time to properly dwell on how you’d apologize later. All you care about now is getting inside your dorm, moping and being miserable on your own. Your strides are longer and faster than they were even when you’d backtracked to Eddie’s apartment, determined to get behind closed doors and to properly mourn all that had been gained and all that had been lost in the last twenty four hours. 

Twenty four hours ago, you were reluctant to even step foot in Eddie’s apartment. And now, it’s the only place you really want to be. 

Luck refuses to be on your side as you slam into your dorm room, sweaty and tired and just fucking emotional, only to find your roommate there. There will be no dramatic crying, no cinematic scene with your back pressed to the door as you fight back sobs, it seems. 

“You look rough,” is all she notes, sparing you a second glance before she returns to whatever she was tasking on at her desk. Her makeup, you think.

Good. Maybe she’ll be heading out, leaving you to suffer alone like you wanted. 

“Yeah,” is all you can answer her as the door clicks shut behind you. 

Rough’s a good way to put it. 

“Think you’ll be here tonight?” she asks, still distracted, “Troy and I are hanging out today – he spent the night here last night, by the way – and if you’re gone again, I was thinking about inviting him back over. Only if you’re cool with it, or already have plans, though. Our RA has this final and I didn’t even have to sneak him in last night-”

She continues on her rambles, never looking your way as you drop your bag onto your bed, and quickly lift yourself to lay right next to it. 

Normal. You were having to go back to fucking normal. Your worries were no longer revolving around Eddie or making it through the next hour, no longer preoccupied with keeping your friends up to date in order to ensure a payout of five hundred dollars – now, you just had to worry about boys named Troy and possible room checks by your RA. Finals to be taken, essays to be finished, shifts to be covered at the diner so you’d have enough cash to go out with your friends next weekend. 

You should be relieved. But it all just feels impossibly heavy. 

Your roommate catches on quickly, and when you only reply to let her know you’ll be here tonight, she stops talking. She focuses on finishing her makeup and gathering her things, hardly even offering you a goodbye as you shift to curl up more comfortably in the center of your mattress. 

You should also know better than what you decide to do next. You can’t help it, though, as you tug your phone out of your pocket and unlock it. You don’t listen to the voice inside your head that screams stop as you click on your photos’ app. Ignore the animal inside that whines as you scroll, and you click on the very first photo of you and Eddie. 

It’s painful, but you have nothing better to do in your solitude. You don’t linger on the first photo too long, still being fresh in your mind, before quickly swiping along. 

The set of matching photos you and Eddie took of one another, black and white socks covering touching toes visible in each one. You nearly laugh at the Darth Vader figurine both of you took turns holding. You nearly cry when you realize you were, in fact, smiling in your photo. A small one, a forced one, but there nonetheless. 

The selfie from the bar, your amaretto sour and Eddie’s whiskey & coke lifted towards the camera. The way both of you had tried to look annoyed, over exaggerated and furrowed brows paired with pouting lips. Your thumb swipes subconsciously over the photo for a second too long, and you’re startled when you realized it was a live photo. The moment after the photo was taken, Eddie’s eyes had moved to look at you. And in that live photo, you watched every ounce of annoyance evaporate. Leaving behind something you recognized now. Leaving behind eyes sparkling with a brief glimpse of adoration. 

There’s something else you better recognize now in the next photo. The picture you’d taken when Eddie had locked himself into his room, only opening up long enough to insist you took the photo, the one that guaranteed you your money. You had been right – there was a flood of regret on his face. You hadn’t imagined it. But you had also been wrong; he was never looking at your own rotted vines and mourning them; he was looking at his own, tethered and shredded, regretting that he had ever taken an axe to them. You don’t press down to see this live photo. You don’t want to witness that door slamming in your face again. 

The two photos taken in his bed. The one in which both your faces are scrunched from the flash, in which you can see the physical wall between you two.  And the one in the dark, where you both wear tired smiles, unaware of the night to come.

The photo on the bike, a helmet mostly covering your blushing cheeks, but not Eddie’s. 

The photo from the parking garage, meant just for you two. 

The photos from Betty’s. You don’t linger on the one of you; you do linger on the one of him. 

Each swipe only makes your heart ache more viciously, painful and sharp reminders of the night you had had. You don’t have to press down on another single photo to witness the live outplay of it – each memory is running through your mind in real time as you retrace your steps of the night. Twenty four hours, twenty four steps. With each photo, you watch yourself grow more relaxed, watch smiles come easier without your awareness and finally pinpoint all the care Eddie had been looking at you with the entire time. 

You notice the lack of photos from the last few hours. You nearly scorn yourself for it, but there had been no time. There was no time for memories frozen in time amongst all that hard honesty and those sacrilegious revelations.

Except there was one more moment in time frozen for you. You’re quick to exit the photo app finally, leaving behind that picture of Eddie with full cheeks only to open up your text messages.

Your text thread with him. Filled to the brim with bad pastry jokes and underlying need. You remember that urgent want to comfort him, to remind him he was enough. To erase all the hurt and all the old scars caused by a life from before your time with him you still hadn’t become fully privy to. 

You’re still rereading the last message, bet you wouldn’t say that to my face, when suddenly a new message appears. 

EDDIE: Make it home okay? 

Space and time. They are the last things you want, that you need from him right now. 

YOU: yep. my roommate just left. 

EDDIE: Is your dorm bed as comfortable as you remember? 

YOU: like sleeping on a cloud. 

You wish you were still in his bed. You wish you were back at the beginning, with him rather than all alone. 

EDDIE: Oh shit, you’re trying to sleep? Sorry

EDDIE: I’ll stop bothering you and leave you to it. Sweet dreams. 

No, you nearly scream at your phone screen, come back and bother me. Bother me for the rest of my days for all I care. 

You’d never sleep another wink if it meant having him. You remember what you told him about starting over, starting fresh. And maybe taking a much needed nap would offer that. Maybe sleeping for more than thirty minutes at a time would be the smart choice, letting you awake with a clearer mind and better intentions.

But you don’t want that. The animal inside still clings to all that has happened. 

Something about that makes you brave.

YOU: i never said that, and you’re not bothering me.

EDDIE: Didn’t you say you wanted a nap earlier?

YOU: that was earlier. i’m wide awake now. 

An internal battle continues to take place. Your mind whispers liar, knowing damn well that if you put down the phone and turned your cheek to bury into your pillow, you’d be out like a light within seconds. 

EDDIE: Ah. I see. 

You fiddle with your thumbs for a second, stomach churning as you try to come up with a response to keep the conversation going. Technically, when you had said the two of you needed time apart after all that had happened, it should have meant interactions like this as well. Texting each other was not offering each other space.

But he’d started it. That was on him.

YOU: do you remember what i said about space? and starting over? 

EDDIE: I do. I’m not very good with giving you space, it seems. 

YOU: well, considering you’re on the other side of town, i’d say we’ve got the physical sense of space down. 

There’s a pause in his replies that causes you to sit up. A falter. You curse him for not having a smartphone as well, for not having the privilege of being notified whether he was just taking his time typing or if he had put the phone down. You really hoped it was the former, practically wished upon every star that that was what was happening. You hoped he was glued to his phone as you were yours. 

Maybe he still had that photo he’d taken a few hours ago, the one you swore you’d heard him take as you dozed off. Maybe he was still staring at it like you had done with all of your photos. 

EDDIE: About that…

You stare at the message, the hidden meaning behind it completely lost on you. 

YOU: About what? 

EDDIE: I’m not home right now. 

Your heart clenches. 

YOU: You’re not?

EDDIE: I’m not. 

YOU: Eddie, where the hell are you right now?

Your mind reels with all the possible choices. He could be at the bar, at the parking garage, at Nancy’s place. He could be anywhere. 

But then he only sends a picture in response, and you know where he is. 

You nearly topple into three other students from how you sprint down the hallway. You don’t even grab your key to your dorm room, skipping the elevators and nearly throwing yourself down the few flights of stairs in haste. You don’t care how your lungs cry out, you don’t care how your thighs burn, you don’t care how your shoulder aches from how roughly you slam open that front door of the building. You don’t care about the strange looks you get on your way out. You don’t care about the odd angle you twisted your ankle in on that last step. 

The only thing you care about is the boy standing there, helmet off and balanced on the seat of his parked motorcycle that he leans on, arms crossed as his eyes light up at the erratic sight of you. 

You don’t even check for any traffic in the parking lot as you make your way to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he calls out once you’re close enough to hear him, “I know we said give it time and shit, but you left, and I just-” 

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence. 

When you make it to Eddie, you’re in no business to carry anymore regret with you. This time, you don’t just yearn to kiss him, to wrap your arms around him, to pour out all those emotions you were feeling across tongues. 

You do it. You kiss him, uncaring for all the stares of fellow students. He nearly falls backwards into his bike from the force of you colliding against him, but he’s quick to catch himself as his hands find your waist. 

“You-” you pull back, gasping a bit to start to scold him before his lips follow and interrupt you, “Fucking-” Push and pull. You retreat, and he follows, “Idiot.” 

His hands squeeze around you, tugging you a stumbling step closer so that your chests are flushed against one another.

“I am,” he mumbles against your lip, the tip of his nose grazing over your cheek as he refuses to let anymore distance be put between the two of you, “I am a fucking idiot. I’m sorry.” 

“Stop apologizing.” 

His hands cradle your face and he kisses you this time, reaffirming that he felt everything you had. All those words you hadn’t said, all his own admissions he’d withheld, spill between clashing teeth and eager lips. He takes your breath away, shamelessly, greedily. And you let him. You offer all the air that’s left in your lungs up to him on a silver platter. 

When the two of you finally pull apart, eyes opening wide and foreheads pressing tightly to one another, he’s grinning like a fool. 

“So, I had a better idea than time apart,” he murmurs, “What if we just… start over?” 

“Start over?” you question wearily. 

He nods, “Yeah. Just… Just pretend this last year and all our bullshit didn’t happen. Start fresh. Let me not be a massive dick this time.” 

His hands drop from your face as he takes a step back, taking you in fully. You want to shy under his gaze, but instead you can only melt. His fondness is a warmth like no other, capturing you by the crown of your head and pouring down over you in waves. 

“Okay,” you finally agree, feeling your own cheeks spread and ache in a lovesick smile. Coming home, that’s what this felt like. “Okay, we can start over.” 

“Great,” the homecoming warmth only spreads as he straightens up his posture. A very serious look overcomes his face, laced with determination for a brief second until he relaxes it into a friendly smile, doleful eyes meeting yours as every single flower he had ever planted in your chest blooms like a spring morning. He sticks his hand out, nearly making you snort, “Hi, I’m Eddie.” 

You can’t help it. His front door is open, a warm glow within welcoming you. 

You ignore his hand entirely as you impulsively reach up and interlock your fingers at the nape of his neck, tugging him into you for another kiss. 

He pulls back far too soon for your liking, but his hands have also found their spot against the small of your back, “Do you greet all the new strangers you meet like this?” 

You roll your eyes, “Shut up.” 

He pulls you back in for a chaste peck, and it tastes like home. 

“I like you,” you whisper into the limited space between the two of you, “I mean it. I like you so fucking much, Edward Munson.” 

He grins, cracking your chest wide open with hope, “The feeling’s mutual.”

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

taglist is now closed.

[mysticallystilinski]

hey hey love! it would be super cool if you wanted to bless us mere peasants with some angsty stiles? i was thinking like you guys get in a fight and after it's over he like.... desperately needs to make up for it. i love you doll!!!!

MAKE UP OR BREAK UP

a stiles stilinski x fem!reader fic

— ౨ৎ masterlist

synopsis - problems are consistent throughout your relationship with stiles. what happens when you hit your breaking point.. and he wants to make it up to you?

CW ! 18 + SMUT ( fingering, oral intercourse [f!recieving], slightly toxic stiles, completely out of character lydia )

lav speaks.. hii lovey! i hope you enjoy this, i really wish i wrote more angst but i’m hoping to make a part 2 soon ;)

lydia.

it has always been stiles pining over lydia, until of course you showed up in the picture. you knew about stiles obsession, and how it stopped after you two got together. learning that lydia had feelings for him had bothered you since the beginning, but what could you do about it.

the touching, the flirting, but most importantly the looks. it was never stiles, always lydia. since you and stiles were more of a lowkey couple, she hadn’t known much about your relationship. only thinking it was a fling, that it would never last, she wanted to shoot her shot.

after a lacrosse game, you headed over to stiles, but lydia beat you there. placing her hand on his arm, she was gazing up at him with a seductive look. you heard the whispers of congratulation, and the way she praised your boyfriend.

it angered something in you.

slowly approaching them on the field, stiles noticed you right away. he turned away from lydia, and walked the distance to close the gap between you guys. he placed his helmet, and stick on the turf in a quick movement. a light smile brushed his face, then quickly was removed when seeing your expression.

“baby, what’s wrong?”, stiles spoke softly, placing his sweaty palm upon your cheek. you shunned your head away, practically giving him the silent treatment. your relationship was healthy, except for the way stiles dealt with lydia; or the lack of how he pushed her away.

tears welled up in your eyes, “stiles, i just can’t do this anymore.” as soon as you spoke those words, droplets fell onto your head. it started to rain, and everyone else started to leave. you wanted to stay, wanted to get an explanation, an answer.

the rain came down as fast as it possibly could, mixing the tears and precipitation together down your cheeks. stiles was in awe; not knowing what to possibly say to that. he took a step forward, you took one back.

“is this about lydia?”, he questioned. “of course it’s about lydia”, you scoffed in response. his response was out of the ordinary, “i don’t get why you have such a problem with it. lydia and i have been friends for years.”

“sti — you know it’s not like that. it’s the way she looks at you, the way she flirts with you.”

he practically laughed right at you, “you’re kidding right? she doesn’t like me like that.” you laughed back at him, not understanding his point of view. “stiles, she obviously does, how can you not see it?”.

you were getting soaking wet, the rain was making you way too cold. stiles looked beautiful in it, but you couldn’t focus on that fact when he wouldn’t understand your feelings.

stiles stood there, no response, thinking of something to say. it was like he was in slight shock, but slightly happy about it. feelings that lingered for years just don’t go away once you meet someone new.

“yeah, i’m just gonna head inside if you’re not gonna say anything. i’m tired of you defending her like she’s your girlfriend. reality check, i’m your girlfriend, not her stiles.”

you take a step away from stiles, making your way across the field. you felt his presence stay in the exact same place without having to even look back. you headed through the rain, no jacket, no boyfriend with you, and going into the dimly lit school.

heading to the locker room, you went to stiles locker to grab your spare jacket. you couldn’t handle the rain anymore as it was beating down too hard, and you didn’t have a ride home. the least you should have is your jacket.

nobody else was in the large locker room, completely vacant but yourself. when you heard the door open, you immediately knew it was stiles. “y/n, are you in here?”, he asked. your breathing fell silent as you saw him round the corner, and his face slightly contort as he saw you by his locker.

“why are you at my locker?”, he asked in a semi-harsh tone. “oh don’t you worry sti — i’m grabbing my jacket to walk home.” stiles face went from a type of anger, to compassion. “what do you mean walking home? i thought i’m taking you home.”

you laughed, turning to face stiles, gym shoes squeaking from your position. “really, you think i’m grabbing a ride with you? i’m okay. go take lydia home”, you giggled. within a snap, stiles headed from the other side of the room towards you, and placed his wet lips onto yours.

you gasped in surprise, not expecting stiles to kiss you. he reluctantly pulled back, “what don’t you get? i want you, not lydia.” stiles hand caressed your cheek, pulling your chin up to face his eyes.

the silence in the room was deadly, but so was the lust. you felt yourself ache for him, especially after he confessed to only wanting you. it wasn’t unlike stiles to profess his love, but each time it got you more turned on. he turned your head to the side forcefully, and proceeded to place kisses on the surrounding area.

between each kiss he groaned, “let me make it up to you baby, let me prove it to you.” quickly nodding, stiles took that as a sign to make hickies down your neckline. sucking, and slightly biting down, he caused you to moan out in pleasure.

you felt his smirk through his lips on your skin. each kiss on your body was passionate, and filled with a sort of energy. stiles motioned for you to life up your arms, as you did he lifted your shirt above your head. giggling, you went in to kiss stiles, but he pushed you back against the locker once again.

“baby — i said let me make it up to you. i want to make you feel good.”

you practically came in your pants from his tone and mix of words. you tugged at the hem of his jersey, slowly pulling it off to show his glistening wet body. running your fingers across his torso, he smirked at your expression. he tugged off his own lacrosse shorts, only to be left in his tight boxers. a visible imprint was seen, completely covered but revealing to the imagination.

in response, you grabbed the waistband of your shorts, and slowly pulled them down in a seductive way. you heard stiles whine at your action, proving his loyalty to you. bra and panties, that’s all you were left in.

“let me just remove this, and take this to the shower”, stiles smirked while taking off your bra and panties, plus pointing from himself to you. “sti –”, you protested as his boxers weren’t pulled down yet. he took that as a sign to remove them, discarding them with the rest of the clothes on the bench.

without waiting for him, you headed to the private part of the showers. turning on the water, you placed it on a hot setting, just enough for the locker room to get steamy. stiles made his way towards you, eyeing you up and down as he did. “mm’ you look so good”, he groaned, lacing his fingers in the back of your hair and pulling you closer.

interlocking lips, stiles was rough. he wanted to fuck you to prove his loyalty, and especially his attraction. his tongue made his way into your mouth, just as his hand made it’s way to cup your ass. you gasped, giving him easy access to your mouth.

he kneaded his fingers into your soft skin, placing rubs up and down your back. without ever staying apart, stiles led you to the bench in the shower. he sat you down, and went down onto his knees. just him in that position made you even more wet. he was all ready just for you.

“i’m gonna show you how much i need you baby”, he spoke in a hush. before you could reply, he spread your legs apart and slowly licked a stripe up your folds. a shiver was occurring in you as he began to suck slowly on your clit.

immediately, your fingers locked in his hair. pulling and tugging as hard as you wanted made him whimper into the depths of the act. the vibrations caused your legs to begin to shake. “sti – this feels so good.”

without a verbal response, stiles moaned. you knew he enjoyed it just as much; if not more than you did. he was vocal to say the least, lapping and sucking at your soaking cunt. with each movement, bliss fell into your lap.

the stimulation was always too much with him, his tongue worked too many wonders. without an ask, he placed a single digit into you, slowly pulsing it in and out.

a gasp left your wet lips, not expecting him to go even further than he already had. that urged him to placed another finger into your heat, making a sloppy sound fueling him to the max. 2 of his fingers, deep inside you, filling you to the brim was enough for tears to stain your cheeks once again.

the mixture of him sucking, plus the deep penetration was magic. “i can’t take it anymore, i’m gonna come”, you spilled in a whine. stiles sped up his motions, causing your body to tense. your chest began to rise, and fall in a timely manner. his doe eyes looked up at you, causing the pit in your stomach to finally break.

juices spilt out of you quickly into his mouth, and all over the surrounding parts of his face. he lapped up your release to the best of his ability, trying not to leave any to waste. “you did so good princess”, stiles smirked, slowly licking the juices off his lips.

your legs closed from habit, but stiles opened them once again. “aha’ i’m not done yet”, he whispered getting closer to your face. “stiles, i don’t think i can take anymore.” the harsh reality hit you.

“well, i’m not done making it up to you just yet.”

— ᡣ𐭩 LAV

[primrosebow]

Idea I had

_--> Vox x reader //

//

!content warnings!: nsfw, vox is a warning of his own right

This is so goofy ya'll.......

//

//

He watches you through the cameras, he sees your every movement: every yawn from absolutely mind-numbingly boring paperwork, every sip of whatever drink you got to try and keep yourself awake, every flick you give to a page to try and make sense of the words after they start to scramble toguether in your mind... he.. felt a familiar pride rise in him as he noticed you do that last one in particular.

Vox... tries to be confident. Were it not annoying, you'd probably commend his commitment to "the bit" (that "bit" being his dominant act). His cold and controlled demeanor carefully stringed toguether by him holds up as well as a sugar cube in tea when he tries to still somehow hold it up even when you are mixed into the situation.

He had been observing you for quite the substantial ammount of time. In your bedroom. In your house. Through your electronics, your every move was permanently etched into his mind so he could look back at it during those times where the strain in his pants got far too uncomfortable to bare- he's getting sidetracked- (probably because that is the exact situation he is in right now) what brought him pride was the way you'd watch his shows with rapt attention, the way you'd talk of him so fondly to your friends, the way he was taking sleep away from you because of how in love you are with him! (Yes, his delusions do run that deep. Whatever it takes not to crush that fragile ego he has, I suppose.) Because you were anxious to be around him because you were flustered, of course, (because he is the equivalent of a ticking bomb except you never know when it's going to explode. But, whatever helps him sleep at night) and it definetly gets to you when you're trying to sleep, and THAT'S why you're so tired (the unshakable feeling of being watched at night doesn't exactly allow for much sleeping.).

And he calls you up to his office, having planned out everything down to his tone of voice. Down to the precise words he would say. His woven persona built with love for what he thinks is what you find attractive laid in front of you as you look at him mildly shocked, but weirdly unimpressed. While of course Vox would do something like this, there is also the "what the hell? What has gotten into him?" Aspect that can't seem to answer itself in your head.

Your silence and furrowed brows as you look at him don't inspire the same confidence he started with. The words that came from you next weren't the kindest, but they made the fuzzy feeling in his brain grow further. Your expression that went from mild surprise to a sly, malicious smile had him reeling- this- isn't going as planned-

"W-Well! Do something about it!" He exclaims after some moments of bickering between the two of you. His voice is slightly glitched out and his screen shows an occasional error message, but, despite that shameful display of vulnerability and lack of control over his emotions, you quickly grabbed onto his thigh and slowly brought it further up so you could get into a more comfortable position yourself. Your willingness to do this made the screaming voices of self deprication get quickly replaced by his unchecked ego. He felt like the most powerful man to have ever walked this earth.

You look at him again as you reach out to touch where he needed it most- and it was better than anything he could have hoped for. It made his entire body jolt as he finally got the reward he's been desiring for ages-

But he can't ever let things just be good the way they are without interfering in it unnecessarily. His resolve was breaking but he couldn't even tell, his screen brightened noticeably as even more glitches were escaping onto it along with a vague noise like building pressure in a lightbulb that was very hard to ignore. It was in the middle of that where he decided that this was a perfectly good moment to establish his dominance (which he hadn't noticed he was barely grasping at) and degrade you.

"You slu-" his voice is suddently cut off by a seeming "system default" one which overcame your senses with the message "[Error 404: "dominance" not found]"

You wanted to laugh-

This is just too perfect.

Your grin widens as he stumbles over an attempt to make up an excuse for what you just witnessed- though he is quickly cut off by you sliding your finger over the leaking tip of his dick.

Your turn.

// //

//

Goofy recreation of the last scene WHWHEHEHE

I had so much fun with this.

//

@bigfatbimbo as you accepted being tagged in my every post... and because it's vox

I had a blast with this. Not proof read. Not proof anything I'm just word vomiting. It is nearly 4am

[extrahorribledynne]

Theres a lot of layers of general tragedy to bill amd fords relationship. Theres the obvious one a lof of people have remarked upon in aus and fix it fics- you know ford would have helped bill if bill had just told the truth. Ford clearly thought a lot of him and definitely would have done anything that was asked of him but admitting any amount of non-omnipotence and weakness was not something bill was willing or even capable of doing. He doesnt even tell ford the truth abouy euclydia, he is like. Dancing somewhere in the vicinity of the truth and THAT immediately triggers a meltdown even daring to imply a level of personal culpability through a lie of omission (that conversation happens not very long before the portal experiment, ford remarks bill has been gone foe an unusually long time following, and when bill does come back he is just on the warpath and everything goes to shit as we all know)

The other that i havent seen touched on is the way in which bill cipher was a character who, formerly at least, desired to be understood. He felt ostracized and alone and in a desperate bid to make others understand him he destroyed his entire universe, leaving him entirely alone and as far as im concerned pretty much ruined his life though the character would definitely not view it in that light. Then he meets this guy who feels the same way. Ford is isolated through a mixture of his own pride and a lack of social skills, hes brilliant and places a great deal of importance on that isolation, but in spite of that he hungers for companionship and, of course, for people to finally understand him. and clearly bill becomes quite taken with him. And yet he is still leading ford along like a lamb to slaughter to do the exact same thing he did that ruined literally everything- the portal would absolutely shatter earths reality in a way similar to euclydia. Yeah he clearly has a lot of very intense feelings about ford but those feelings did NOT stop him from wanting ford to accidentally commit omnicide.

[theemporium]

i saw this friends to lovers prompt that reminded me of nico:

“cuddling for comfort in a Very Platonic manner”

like they’re pretending it’s totally platonic and doesn’t mean anything, no, but also, like, come closer

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

It felt like an inside joke whenever you and Nico would insist you were just friends—a joke that everyone except the two of you were in on.

Because you weren’t dating. And you totally didn’t have feelings for each other. And Nico definitely didn’t look at you like you had hung the damn moon. And you definitely didn’t become the personification of the heart eyes emoji the second he was in your vicinity. 

You were just friends—very close friends. And colleagues too. 

There was absolutely and positively nothing remotely romantic going on between you, the Devils’ social media manager, and Nico Hischier.

Not in a million years. 

Except there was, it was just a goddamn tragedy—and painful watch for the team—that neither you nor the captain had the balls to do something about it. Truthfully, it had just never crossed your mind that Nico would even look at you in that way. 

Hockey had been a constant in your life. At every major event in your life, every single milestone, you could remember a hockey game being played in the background. You could remember watching games with your family, you could remember the way your parents cheered when your family’s favourite team won, you could remember the first time you attended a playoff game. 

It had always been a part of your life, and you knew you wanted it to be a part of your future too. 

Your father had been the one to send you the application form. You were fresh out of university, a degree in hand you weren’t totally sure what to do with and a resume that most people turned down due to a lack of experience. When he had sent you the intern application form for the New Jersey Devils, you laughed and joked that it would at least be a good story to tell years down the line. 

You hadn’t expected to actually get the position. 

And you definitely hadn’t expected to befriend the newly appointed captain of the team but the universe worked in funny ways. 

And despite your best attempts to remind yourself these boys were your colleagues—that you were just a part of the social media team, just a part of the bigger Devils team that they bantered with—you found your friendship with Nico bubbling into something akin to a crush. 

You thought you hid it well, but the teasing remarks from Jack said otherwise.

What you failed to realise—or believe when Jack started talking your ear off about acting upon your crush—was that Nico felt the exact same way. 

But even if a small part of you yearned to believe as much, you knew you would never risk your friendship with Nico. Never in a million years. Not even if your friendship was hardly a friendship these days, now something far more. 

“And oh! That looks like a broken stick from Hischier who doesn’t look happy at the final score.” 

You winced as you watched him hit his stick across the goal post, as it snapped in half before he skated towards the tunnel without even a second glance. His head was down, but you could see the frown and furrow in his brows in your head clear enough. 

You knew he would be beating himself up for the loss. You knew he would be blaming himself for the last goal slipping through. But unfortunately for you, you wouldn’t be able to see him until long after the post-game interviews and debriefs were over. 

You didn’t get the chance to actually see the boy until the team found themselves huddled in the bar fifteen minutes from the stadium, each player eager to drink away the memory and pain of their freshest loss in what seemed to be a streak of losses. 

It was almost like your body was pulled towards him the second he stepped into the bar, looking as though he had a heavy weight on his shoulders. His eyes found yours in an instant and he was moving through the bar before anyone could even greet him. 

It was like an unspoken language shared between you when you saw the look in his eyes, when you opened your arms and let him just fall into your embrace and hide his face in your neck. 

“You played the best you could,” you whispered to him, your fingers threading through his hair before you felt him sink further into you. 

“But it wasn’t enough,” he muttered, and you could hear the self-loathing in his voice. “Nothing seems to be enough these days.”

“You’ll break the streak soon,” you assured him, nothing but confidence in your voice because maybe that was just what he needed to hear. To know that someone still believed in him and the team when he didn’t. 

“I’m just sick of being asked the same question, of being asked what I can do to help the team win,” Nico whispered, a hint of vulnerability and doubt in his voice that he would never let the boys hear. “I feel like I’m disappointing them.”

“You’re not,” you said to him, your voice a little stern as you clung onto him tighter. “Nobody blames you, Nico, except maybe yourself.”

He huffed out a laugh, though it felt a bit self-deprecating and bitter.

“You’re in no mood to drink,” you murmured as you tugged his head back, letting his red-rimmed eyes meet yours. “Do you wanna go?”

He nodded. 

You paused for a moment before continuing. “Do…do you want me to come with?”

“Please,” he whispered softly, his voice cracking a little when he did. 

You gave him a shy smile, and something in his chest eased a little at the sight. “Let’s go then.”

His hand fell down to take yours, intertwining your fingers together without a second thought—almost like it was a bodily instinct more than a choice. He pulled you behind him as he made his way towards the exit, pushing through the crowd and glancing over his shoulder to make sure you were okay. And just before you reached the door, your eyes found Jack’s from across the bar, that knowing look in his eyes. 

But tonight wasn’t the night to test his theory or let your feelings take over, so you pushed them down like you always did and followed Nico out of the bar.

.

[musicalmoritz]

Good Femslash Fics Already Exist

With the whole push for more femslash in fandoms, I’ve never understood the amount of hate I see femslash “fans” direct towards existing creations. There’s nothing wrong with wanting more variety, I do too, but every time someone brings up the fact that femslash fan fictions are already being written someone opens their mouth to say “yeah but those suck.” And then they proceed to read 300+ atrociously mischaracterized mlm fics. They complain abt plotless fluff and then read the exact same pwp scenarios over and over again

And hey, if you don’t want to read femslash that’s totally fine. You don’t have to pretend it interests you. I’m someone who actively looks for femslash and my only problem has been a lack of content in smaller/male-dominated fandoms, the fics themselves are cute af. Ya’ll are missing out on some real masterpieces by labeling all existing femslash fics as “boring,” some of my favorite fics ever are femslash. If an mlm ship invades the tags just filter it out, filter out every mlm pairing in the fandom if you have to. AO3 gives us that option for a reason

I’m not saying we don’t need more variety, but we’re not going to get that by shitting on writers who actively put in the work to make more femslash. When I started writing femslash consistently it was very discouraging because I’d seen soooooo many people online saying they want more femslash fics, yet nobody was reading mine. Then I looked at the stats on other femslash fics and they were the same, really great fics were barely getting any hits or kudos. It kinda sucks knowing that an mlm fic I wrote in 3 hours got more kudos than a wlw fic I spent months on (for pairings of relatively equal popularity). This seems to be the biggest roadblock for people wanting to write femslash, no one supports it. Even tho fandoms claim they would support it, they never do. It’s something I’ve learned to stop caring about but not every writer is gonna push through

This brings me back to a comment I saw about “boring, hair-braidy wlw fics.” That description really stood out to me, and to this day it makes me feel a little self-conscious about my old femslash fics that were “boring” and “hair-braidy.” But then I came across a fic for this one pairing that had actual hair-braiding. It was incredibly well-written and meaningful, exploring how both characters struggled to ask for help but they were able to recognize each other’s dilemmas and help in subtle ways. They did this, of course, by fixing each other’s hair when they both felt helpless to do anything with it. Such a simple way to express a very deep bond. This made me reassess the way people talk about femslash fics, and the way I’d been thinking of them myself. Is fluff really that much of a crime?? Do all cottagecore-type fics really have no substance?? Do femslash fics have to copy exactly what slash fics are doing, or are they allowed to have their own tropes??

My attitude towards the overload of plotless fluff wlw fics is “this is a good starting point.” We need more people writing femslash, more variety in what is written, but that doesn’t mean what we have is bad. I critique wlw fic tropes a lot but I always give the disclaimer that I actually love the fics themselves, I just want to see more of a different thing. And I comment on every femslash fic I read (every fic I read in general but especially femslash), I try to leave something thoughtful to let the writer know I appreciate the effort they put into their work. You’d be surprised how many writers said they were encouraged to update a fic or write more femslash because of a positive comment I left them. Engaging with fics will give you more of a good thing. It has so much more influence than that video you’re about to make talking about how there’s no good femslash fics. When you say things like that it actually discourages people from writing, and makes them feel bad about things they’ve already written. Support femslash writers guys, it’s sexy

[bellestrinkets]

I don’t think molly loved dutch.

you see, they had the strangest relationship to my understanding. not an ounce of love was ever really shown so that I could say, “yes these people do love each other, they’re just going through a rough patch”. i love molly’s character, i believe her to be misunderstood by many who play the game, yet the lack of love she felt for this man does not go unnoticed by me. if they were going though a rough time, they had been for a long time.

every time i look at her i think about the perks of being a wallflower’s quote; “we accept the love we think we deserve” because, i believe her to be the embodiment of those very same words. grasping at straws to simply get an ounce of whatever it is that she thought love was back; and still she got nothing if not crumbs.

personally, i believe molly was obsessed more than in love. really important distinction in my opinion. because, obsession doesn’t necessarily come with such feeling (love), but it does with a degree of care, and she did care for him, for his opinion of him on her.

it is implied through her poem that, to her very core, she feels this anger towards dutch because, “i was a girl until you call. I’ve-nothing left. I gave you all” and still, in that very same piece she does not blame him for the isolation she was feeling but the others in camp; “your parasites and lackeys crawl. mocking a love they dare not see…” it’s as if she had this constant paranoia that the rest mocks them, mocks her. to a degree, she’s right, we clearly see that she is not the most cherished person at the van der linde’s campsite. however, you can perhaps blame that to the fact she does not do any manual work around there, christ, she’s wearing white boots! (which i think is hilarious and says a whole lot more about her character).

she deflects from the truth because that hurts less. if she really left all that life behind for a man that was not showing her any fulfilling interest, then what was the point of it? why was she there? she’s also really young when compared to dutch, there’s a clear imbalance between the two. so, did this man take advantage of her? i don’t doubt it.

she was obsessed with dutch, wanting, begging for a proof of true affection from the man. she was obsessed with love, the idea of being in love and being loved. we see her take any opportunity to flaunt her love for him, when she talks to the other girls, to reinstate over and over how “i really love him, you know?”

hey, not to discredit that at any given moment she didn’t loved him, she probably did. nonetheless, the despair and dismay of being reciprocated deteriorated it all. to further the case, hosea got more proof of affection from dutch than molly ever did.

it’s was just such a blatant thing, this obsession for dutch’s approval that arthur throws a little jab at both on chapter two. I don’t remember the exact wording but it was something along the lines of, “she’d proof that this x thing was real if it meant pleasing you”. again, I don’t recall the exact wording, but come on, even to the characters saw such disparity in affection. “she did not such thing, she was in love—!” screams karen to misses grimshaw, and I had to hold my pearls.

on her final moments it is showcased the frustration she feels, the rage finally is let loose. for the first time, she’s honest with others, with herself and yet, she dies —in a cruel way may i add—; it’s one of the last spits to her face the whole story has for her. I believe the very last to be the thoughtless and nasty burial she gets, she doesn’t really get one, she’s allegedly burnt.

dutch didn’t love her, he could not even abide to her last wish, “come one, shoot me!” he doesn’t. she dies in a very similar outfit she started out in the game (on chapter 2), there is a sense of closure for that same reason. the cycle of this loveless relationship comes to an end, a bad and horribly tragic one at that.

she is the idiot with the painted face, in the corner, taking up space.

she knows (i know – fiona apple) that.

she deserved better, she didn’t get. she deserved better from those enjoying such piece of media, she didn’t get it. she died a snitch and even though in the same game it is cleared out she wasn’t, people still hold it against her.

molly was not the snitch, she lied, perhaps because she wanted such ending. she begged the man she thought loved her to finish it all and did not even get that from him.

molly did not love dutch, not because she didn’t have love to give, but because the man made her feel insecure, obsessed. she took one big step to be there, alongside him —running away from whatever life she had—, and did not even get a shuffle of feet from her lover back.

[ohnococo]

Fight Night | CHAPTER 4 | MMA Fighter!Sukuna x Reader

“Further down the hall to the right if you want to find yourself a drink though.” Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. Something about the way he leans back onto his hands and sets his mouth into a line, brows rising as his eyelids lower, makes it feel like a test rather than a genuine offer. You consider taking the offer nonetheless, maybe clearing out something nice from whatever alcohol he had to make up for him wasting your time getting dressed up just to stand here feeling like he was playing some game with you without explaining the rules, or the goal.

Two months after you last closed the door on your "situation" with Sukuna, he sends you a message.

Notes: There's a tone shift here, and some development of reader i.e. explicitly stated hobbies.

Warnings: Oral sex (giving and receiving), deep throating, fingering, vaginal sex, manhandling, rough sex, ruined orgasm, creampie

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

You hated how much you’d dreamt of him texting you again. It felt pathetic, dreaming of a text. At least in your other dreams about him you’d suddenly find yourself in the middle of a club, dancing, his hands hot on your body, stirring you up even though in reality you were very much alone under your covers. But just a text would have you waking up with an uneasy churn in your stomach.

Just like the one you have now, but that second of wondering if it was actually happening is overtaken by the excitement that yes, it was. You even do a double take, thinking you might have imagined what was on the notification that had popped up, brightening your screen and presenting you with that little “👹👑” that had last left you giddy two months ago.

Then, you open your phone and actually read the message.

You free right now?

You roll your eyes, annoyed at his usual lack of formality. No hey, no how are you, no long time no see, just asking if you were free. It annoyed you even further that he couldn’t throw a little sugar on his first contact after months. You roll your eyes again as you begin typing your response, trying to stomp down the butterflies fluttering in your stomach despite him being straight to the point as always.

I thought you had to keep clean for 6 months?

When he’d told you that you took it as him saying that, at best, you two wouldn’t see each other until after his next fight, after all the random drug tests were out of the way and he was able to party with you like before. It was either that or what you’d come to accept was the far more likely scenario, which was him forgetting about you in that time, having found a new woman to party with the exact same way he’d found you. Here he was though, 4 months out from his next fight and texting you. Responding within a minute as well, to your shock as your phone lights up again just seconds after you’d locked it.

are you coming not?

You imagine the annoyed sigh that had preceded his message and smile as another one comes immediately. This time, it’s an address.

As you look it up you’re surprised to find it’s not some club, it’s a neighbourhood. A nice one. An area filled with giant gated houses, spanish style architecture with just a splash of McMansion flair, and uncomfortably uniform topiaries. Maybe it was a house party. Maybe it was a party at his house.

Another message comes through.

im free after 2

You’re more confused than before. 2? In the afternoon? You can’t even wrap your head around what kind of pre-gaming Sukuna had in mind to be meeting up so early, but you weren’t exactly going to say no. You never did when it came to him, especially not when you’d gone without as long as you’d gone with.

see you then

When you step out of your Uber you find that the house is just as big as you’d expected. He’d spent enough on your nights out for you to know by now that he had money to burn, but as you make your way up to the door in your heels you can’t help but think about how your own place could fit in the driveway alone.

Once you get to the front door you take a peek through the large accent windows on either side, seeing how spacious the house was just from the little view you could get. Then you ring the doorbell, tucking your small clutch under your arm to tug your dress down your legs a little as you wait for an answer.

The door opens and you’re unsurprised that the person answering is Uraume, though they do seem very surprised to see you.

“Why are you here?”

You’d learned not to take their brusqueness personally during the encounters you’d had with them since the first one. You’d figured that shared trait was why they got along with Sukuna so well.

“Sukuna said to come over after 2.”

Their eyes narrow. “And he asked you to come here?”

Heavy steps approach from the large, brightly lit hall just visible from where you were waiting at the door. Uraume stops, looking back as Sukuna appears. You’re surprised to see him out of his usual clubbing attire, no slacks, no expensive leather shoes, no button up straining over his musculature, not even a flashy chain around his neck or watch somehow large enough to be ostentatious on even his frame. Instead he’s in tight boxer briefs and nothing else, with a towel over his shoulder to catch the drips coming off of his wet hair.

“What’s the problem, Uraume?”

“I didn’t know you were expecting someone.” Any trace of shock or confusion that had been on Uraume’s face isn’t present in their voice as they speak to him, but apparently Sukuna senses it nonetheless.

“Do I need to tell you about every single person I bring into my own home?”

“Of course not.” Uraume steps back and opens the door wider, giving you space to enter. They close the door behind you and turn to Sukuna, giving a deep nod that borders on bowing before leaving towards what you presumed was the kitchen due to the distant sound of an extractor fan.

“Thank you, Uraume.” There’s annoyance there, but it’s a thanks nonetheless.

Sukuna looks you up and down, and somehow his expressionless appraisal is more intimidating despite having dealt with it several times before. You don’t want to hear it, not when you were still trying to figure out what exactly was going on tonight.

He can’t be stopped though, “I can always count on you to get all dressed up for me.”

Then, he’s tilting his head towards the hallway he’d previously emerged from, gesturing for you to follow as he walks off before you can respond, forcing you to catch up with his long stride in your heels. As you walk just behind him you glance into the rooms as you pass, finding them either blindingly bright due to the floor to ceiling windows, or incredibly dark with only the sunlight from the skylights above the hall illuminating them.

You’re half expecting him to take you to some room with a built in bar and all his entourage pre-gaming. Or pre- pre- gaming at this hour, maybe, but when you finish the walk through his halls and reach your destination you find that it’s just his bedroom. To your surprise, this room falls into the category of “blindingly bright” and the high ceilings and cold tile floors would leave it feeling sterile if it weren’t for the things filling it. Dark wood furniture, warm toned bedding, and monstrous looking masks above his bed not dissimilar to the little emoji you had in your phone representing him.

As he disappears into his walk-in closet for a moment you think you know what he’s getting at now, a party before the party, and you’re a little embarrassed at how your body is already responding to the thought of it.

Then… you’re just confused again as he re-emerges fully dressed in grey sweatpants and a tight white t-shirt - attire very much the opposite of what you were in. He says nothing, sitting on the edge of his bed and looking at you expectantly.

You swallow thickly, looking at him, “Well…”

Something about standing in front of him while he just stares silently has you suddenly feeling self-conscious about getting dropped off at a rich man’s house in the middle of the day, in tight clothes and makeup meant for dim lighting no less. On your nights out you could fool yourself into thinking you were on equal footing - or at least that there wasn’t such a gulf between the two of you as you blended seamlessly into his entourage. Here though, with just the two of you and no distractions, you feel very small in his big, big house. You feel small in front of him.

“Well?” He parrots you, undoubtedly taunting you with that glint in his eye. Your annoyance at that tone and at how it makes your pussy respond pushes you to finally form your confusion into words.

“So what are we doing then?”

He looks at you like you’re stupid, like he hasn’t been vague as hell like he always was, expecting you to be able to read his moves as he makes them. “Hanging out.”

“Hanging out?”

He raises his brows and tilts his head like it’s obvious, like he shouldn’t have to repeat himself.

“Just me… and you… and Uraume?”

A dismissive hand waves in the air, “Uraume is just finishing my meal prep, then they’re leaving.”

“Are we going out tonight?”

“I’ve got training at 5 tomorrow, and when I’m clean I’m clean.”

You cross your arms, scoffing at your inability to get an actual answer out of the man and getting a little sick of it. When your little display of petulance draws a chuckle from him you click your heel against the tiled floor, hoping it would distract from whatever tell you might have that his laugh alone was already turning you to putty in his hands.

“Further down the hall to the right if you want to find yourself a drink though.”

Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. Something about the way he leans back onto his hands and sets his mouth into a line, brows rising as his eyelids lower, makes it feel like a test rather than a genuine offer. You consider taking the offer nonetheless, maybe clearing out something nice from whatever alcohol he had to make up for him wasting your time getting dressed up just to stand here feeling like he was playing some game with you without explaining the rules, or the goal.

But… you don’t really feel like drinking if he isn’t. So you slip off your heels, deciding that you weren’t going to be uncomfortable in them at least, toss your small clutch onto his bed, and sit down next to him.

“Meal prep, training at the crack of dawn, not even one little drink… you’re really serious about this whole fighting thing, I guess.”

He looks irritated for a moment, but amused nonetheless. “I have been the reigning champion for 6 years, you know.”

You lean back onto your elbows, crossing your legs and looking up at him, trying your best not to give away that you already knew that.

“And 3 years before that at my last organisation.”

You knew that too, and that he’d been banned from there for fighting dirty. You knew a lot more about him since you’d last seen him, having watched what clips of his fights you could find. He was impressive, worthy of being as cocky as he was, worthy of all the starry eyed reactions he’d get on your nights out.

“That’s cool.” His brow raises and you go on, feeling the need to assure him that you weren’t being sarcastic with him for once, “it’s nice to have something you’re passionate about.”

His expression goes blank, and you’re beginning to realise when he’s indifferent and when he’s trying to look indifferent - that subtle distinction between him peering into you and looking through you.

“What are you passionate about?” You think he might be genuinely interested. “Other than getting fucked up.” You think he’s pretending he isn’t.

“Um…” you have a brief moment of suddenly remembering nothing you’ve ever done or liked just because you’ve been asked, and the smallest twitch of a smile forms at the corners of his lips before he seems to decide to throw you a bone, just this once.

“What are your hobbies?”

Your mind is still drawing a blank, but you’re more able to continue, feeling like talking about what you like feels a little easier than explaining something you were as passionate about as 6 Year Reigning Champion Ryomen ‘The King’ Sukuna was about fighting. “I like reading, playing video games… uh…”

It’s weird having a conversation with him. Not that you hadn’t before, but they were always dripping with innuendo, banter dipped in tension and implication acting to fill the gaps between drinks and drugs and fucking. Conversations containing questions like ’What do you do for work?’ followed up with ‘you don’t have some sugar daddy waiting for you to come pay him a visit tonight, right?’

Now there’s another kind of tension here, one that Sukuna cuts with his usual playful bite, “So you’re a bookworm and a nerd?”

Sitting back up, you open your mouth, ready to lash an equally sharp remark back to him, but he’s stopping you in your tracks with his next words.

“Cute.”

He’s said it before, several times, but it always had that curt tone in it, clearly broadcasting that it was meant as his own special word for you in lieu of calling you a brat. Because that’s always when you’d earned the name, when you were being a brat. This time you don’t feel like there’s anything behind it, and it might just be exactly what it was: Sukuna thinking that you’re cute.

Even considering that that might be the case makes a little bit of warmth blossom in your chest, then lower down when one corner of his mouth lifts just so and it looks like he knows exactly what it’s done to you. That’s his only tell, as he moves on quickly, wrapping his arm around your waist and resting his heavy hand on your hip.

“What kind of games?”

Now the blood that had rushed downward makes its way to your face as you shrug, “I dunno…”

“You don’t know what games you play?” His brows raise in a way that telegraphs he’s warning you not to lie to him, the thought of what the punishment might be for such a trespass has your mind racing.

You feel an odd pang of guilt in your chest though, for thinking of what he could do to your body when he seemed to be looking for an actual conversation, but then you’re second guessing even that. So you decide to just take it as what it is, a question, and answer it.

“I like Animal Crossing.”

“The children’s game?”

The bite is back as you roll your eyes at him, “It’s not just for kids.”

He smiles and squeezes lightly at your hip, then pulls you close, so your sides are pressed together and you have to tilt your head up to look at him. It makes you pause, makes you have to tell yourself not to be obvious in the way you cross your legs a little tighter. He doesn’t miss a thing, though.

“Well what’s this Animal Crossing about, then?”

“You’re a villager-“

“Like a peasant?”

“No, like… a little guy. Or girl, or whatever, and you move onto an island with a bunch of animals that live there too.”

His smile widens as his brows raise higher, “And that’s not just a children’s game?”

“It’s not just that, you basically build up a little town, planting trees, building things, decorating the place.” You pause, waiting for another remark from Sukuna, but find he’s just listening, waiting for you to continue. So you do, “You can even do things like fishing or catching bugs, it’s-“

He dips his head down and his lips brush yours, pressing for just a moment before he’s pulling back and speaking low. His nose is still pressed to yours, and hearing his voice at a near-whisper for the first time has your panties wetter than ever. “It sounds surprisingly peaceful.”

“I like a little peace and quiet sometimes.”

“Not when you’re out with me.”

You look into his eyes, and notice what an interesting shade they are, warm and deep and as intense as he was. It makes you realise that you’d never seen them without being overtaken by dilated pupils.

“Well… that’s you.”

The small ’Hm’ he lets out is dipped in something you can’t quite decipher yet, but it doesn’t really matter as his tongue parts your lips, giving you the kiss you’d come to crave. He lays you back, arm still underneath you, and you wrap your arms around him as he scoots you further up his bed bit by bit until your head is resting just below his pillows.

Whether the conversation before was genuine or simply pretence doesn’t matter now as he slips his muscled thigh between your legs, giving you an encouraging hum when you grind on it. Your hands are quick to find their way into his hair, then work their way down his back and up his sides. He feels so familiar yet different as the resumed training has made his body harder than before. When your hands finally make their way down to where his clothed cock rests heavy against your hip, you find a wet patch at the tip to match the one you were undoubtedly leaving on his thigh. His tongue is strong against yours, lips demanding as they lead until you’re moaning into his mouth, ready for him to do more than have you humping at his leg.

Sensing that, he pulls back, moving to lay beside you, hand on your jaw keeping you in place so he can look down at you as he speaks.

“Still scared to suck my cock?”

Here it finally was, that moment when he brings it up when you’re not too worn out to do something about that unstoppable smugness. You push him onto his back. Or, rather, you try to, finding him an unmovable object as your strength means nothing to him. He chuckles, and slides off of the bed to stand next to it.

“Here,” he slides his hands under your arms, pulling you until you’re lying on your stomach, elbows perched on the edge of the bed and peering up at him standing over you, “let me help you out.”

He hooks his thumb in the waistband of both his sweatpants and underwear, tugging them down enough to have his cock out and hanging, too heavy to stand fully on its own despite its hardness. He pumps it a few times, squeezing up slowly until a new bead of precum forms at the tip, and when you open your mouth wide, sticking your tongue out to catch it as it drips down, he gives you that wicked smile you know so well.

“You’ll have to get it nice and wet if you expect it to fit in your throat.”

“Obviously.” That was the closest he’d get right now to an admission of you being intimidated by his size, he already wasn’t letting you forget those words that first night you’d met.

He’s right though, so you lean forward and swirl your tongue around the thick head, wrapping your lips around for just a moment before shifting to latch onto the side of his shaft. He holds it steady by the base, watching you intently as you suck and kiss your way down, letting the spit gathered in your mouth cover it as you go, and giving him the smallest hint of what he wanted. As you lick your way back up to the tip you look up at him and he bares his teeth, eyes sparkling as you finally take it in your mouth again and slowly sink down.

Just as the head hits your throat, you pull back, eyes still on his, before going back down slowly. You bob your head up and down like this a few times, coating his cock more and more until spit is dripping down your chin and into the floor below.

Then, he pulls his cock away from your mouth and flips you flat onto your back, this time with your head hanging over the edge. You open wide, tongue out, and grab onto his hips as he wipes the head of his cock across your lips before pushing in. He pauses for a second when he’s about to enter your throat, releasing his grip on his cock now that he’s firmly anchored inside of your mouth, and pulls his shirt up and over his head, throwing it onto the ground behind him.

You wonder why he’d even put it on in the first place, then you wonder nothing at all as he starts pushing his way into your throat and you have no choice but to put your full focus on the challenge before you. He only goes so far before he’s pulling back until you’re tightening your lips over the head of his cock in a kind of kiss - catching your breath for just a moment before he’s parting them to push his way back in. He repeats this motion, pushing in a bit further each time, until he’s pressing his way all the way in until your nose is nuzzled into his heavy balls.

He stays there, low grown bubbling out from his throat, and your own throat starts to clench around the length inside of it. It’s not long before you’re squeezing at his hips and bringing your knees up. He pulls out then, and you only have a second to sputter and cough before he’s bending down and kissing you hard, tongue feeling much less invasive now that he’s had his monster of a cock in there.

When his lips part from yours, the smile he gives you makes your pussy flutter, “See, I knew you could take it.”

It feels like a compliment as much as it feels like a warning.

Then, he’s standing up, and sliding his cock right back into your mouth and down your throat in one quick thrust. As he fucks into your mouth you find that your throat, and lungs are indeed more accommodating than you had thought. The throbbing soreness of having something so thick so deep isn’t so bad, and you time your breaths perfectly before your air is cut off briefly from the intrusion. Eventually he stays deeper and deeper each time he pulls back until he’s barely leaving your throat before he’s filling it again.

His thrusts are slow and relaxed while he leans down and runs his hands over your body. He gropes at your tits, squeezes at your stomach, then settles a hand over your pussy. He presses firmly, moving his hand side to side as he enjoys the wetness already there.

“Tell me, are you this wet just from a few kisses, or from finally getting a taste of my cock?”

You wait for him to pull back and let you speak, or sputter, or even moan as he continues palming at you pussy. Instead he hooks a thumb into your panties, pulling them to the side and sliding two fingers into you while thrusting harder into your throat.

“Got nothing to say for yourself?”

In lieu of an opportunity to speak, you swallow around his girth, tightening your throat enough to have him hissing through clenched teeth. A laugh follows that has your pussy clenching, and the sudden knowledge that even that had your body needy for him pushes the sound from a chuckle to a pleased growl.

“That’s fine, just let this do the talking.”

He fucks his fingers into you fast, stirring you up so well you lose your focus on breathing when you get the rare opportunity. You feel yourself getting lightheaded, eyes rolling back, grip on Sukuna’s hips loosening, until he suddenly pulls back and returns to those much more shallow thrusts where he’s only barely entering your throat.

You think it’s a merciful break, until you realise he’s pulling his fingers out of you and repositioning himself to hunch down over you on the bed. He slides his arms under your thighs, before hooking his hand back in your panties and settling his face between your legs, cock back to bullying it’s way as deep as it can go in your throat while still letting him keep his mouth on you.

His tongue is big, lathing over your pussy in long firm strokes, dipping inside you just to feel you clench before he pulls it back out and presses the flat of it over your bundle of nerves. When he wraps his lips around it he sucks hard, pulling back with a wet pop and leaving you yelping around his length as the intensity borders on painful. Then, just as quickly as he’d done it, he’s rubbing it better with his tongue, warm and soft and working you towards your orgasm.

He keeps your panties firmly out of the way with his index, sliding his middle and ring finger inside of you to give you something to clench around as sucks and licks your pussy until it’s drooling for him. You can’t even tell whether the wetness dripping down your ass is from you or his mouth as he growls into it, seemingly driven back to that savage state he’d fucked you in once before just by the taste of you. It’s sending you flying to the edge, whole body tensing, not sure if you’re breathing and not sure if you really need to as he fucks your throat, and the final push comes suddenly as you start clenching around his fingers.

All at once, it’s ripped away from you and you’re tightening on nothing. The cold air is jarring as he sits up, mouth and fingers abandoning your pussy, cock vacating your throat, and you outright scream in frustration at having your orgasm ruined. He pulls you up, tossing you back into your earlier position with your head on his pillows before he’s flipping you on your front and pulling you onto your knees.

“Fuck, I was cumming!”

“Too bad,” he lines himself up with your pussy, “I need to fuck you.”

His words ring loudly in your ears and your head spins as you realise this is the first time the two of you will have fucked completely sober, though you hardly felt sober with the way he’d toyed with your pussy like that.

As he presses in, much more slowly than you were anticipating, he groans and throws his head back, hands rubbing over your ass.

“So tight… no one’s fucked you right since me, hm?”

You don’t intend to answer that. It wasn’t any of his business what you did, and didn’t do, in the time he’d left you hanging.

Sukuna won’t be ignored though, ending his slow push forward by shoving the last few inches of his fat cock into you hard and fast enough for a little skin on skin slap to ring out just as you yelp.

“You haven’t been fucked stupid like that again, have you?”

“N-no.” It’s hard to keep your composure when you’re being split open for the first time in months.

He pulls out to the tip, and you brace yourself for another punishing thrust, but instead he’s back to pressing in slowly. He leans down over you, tracing his tongue up your back as he continues fucking you deep, pausing every so often to kiss and nip at your skin until you’re arching your back, rocking back into him.

“There you go,” he squeezes your hips, picking up the speed just a little, “a pussy like this needs to be fucked often, doesn’t it?”

You nod, moaning as your orgasm is already inching closer thanks to his cock dragging deliciously along your walls.

“Guess I’ll have to keep you around then, it would be a shame to waste it.”

He’s stirring you up so well you can only think to agree. Of course you needed his cock, of course it would be a waste, and how gracious of him to sort you out like this. Like his cock was a favour. Like he hadn’t said just minutes ago that he was the one that needed it. Not wanted it, needed it.

Your head is spinning, stomach clenching as he begins to fuck you like he was making up for wasted time. It’s hard enough that you’re unable to stay upright, slumping forward as your arms give out on you. It doesn’t slow Sukuna down in the least, as he pulls you back into his thrusts quickly, fingers pressing into the very spots your body knew his bruises belonged. He leans up and into you, shoving your body forward enough that you throw a hand up to brace yourself from being pushed into the headboard as he leans his full weight onto you, reaching beneath you to swipe at your clit roughly.

He’s shoving you towards that edge again, making you whine and moan for him as you have no choice but to cum fast and cum hard, something he does right along with you as he’s snapping his hips against yours and filling you with wave after wave of hot cum.

You collapse fully beneath him, pussy still twitching every so often with the aftermath of your orgasm, Sukuna acting as a far too heavy weighted blanket on top of you while he gets his breathing under control after an orgasm that seemed to rip through him as hard as it had you. He seems to finally hear your struggle below as he sits up and pulls out, letting you take full breaths now with his weight off of you.

He tugs his sweatpants back up and lies down on his side next to you, pushing your hair out of your face to make sure you were at least conscious before letting out a small huff of a chuckle.

“I thought you had passed out for a second there.”

“Don’t give yourself too much credit.” The bite isn’t really there as your voice cracks and you lick your lips, mouth dry from how you’d been panting so hard.

Another chuckle and he’s rolling you onto your back and pulling you into him, sliding his fingers into your pussy and smirking as he feels your walls still twitching with the aftershocks of your orgasm. He leaves his fingers settled in there, playing idly in your warmth as you lie there under his smug gaze.

You want to say something but you don’t know what, and deciding he looks content in this silence you just let the moment hang. Then, as your heart steadies and your body stops buzzing with the soft afterglow, you find yourself clear headed for the first time since you’d gotten that text from Sukuna earlier this day.

“Fuck!” You push yourself up onto your elbows, trying to reach for where you’d tossed your small clutch on his bed but being stopped by his heavy arm across your body, fingers hooked securely inside of you.

Once you start to shove at his arm he sighs, sliding his fingers out of you to grab the small leather purse and tossing it onto your stomach. He seems entirely uninterested in whatever you were on about as he settles back down on the bed and slides his fingers back inside of you.

“I completely forgot I had actual plans tonight.” You’re annoyed at yourself for just forgetting everything the second you’d gotten one text from Sukuna.

You’re annoyed at yourself even more for admitting in front of him that you’d bailed on these plans without a word the second he came calling, catching the way his fingers stop stirring inside you for just a moment before they’re back to their lazy movements.

He doesn’t seem interested in teasing you for it at least, letting out a contented sigh as you dig your phone out from where it was squeezed into your clutch, taking up all the space in there save for a small slot for your lip gloss. He watches through half-closed eyelids as you type your message of apology to your friend. You don’t bother explaining yourself, knowing they’d probably text you something back about getting your back blown out and you didn’t need his head getting bigger about any of this. When he sees your messages he locks onto his name in your phone again before you lock it and start to put it back in your bag.

“Put my name in your phone.”

“What?” You look up at him, surprised he still cared about that. He doesn’t look mad, or annoyed even, not like he had the first time he’d seen it. Whatever is in his expression isn’t fully clear to you, though it doesn’t feel entirely unlike when you’ve disappointed a parent.

“Put my name in your phone. Properly.”

You watch him carefully as you pull your phone from where it was half-stuffed in your bag, and do just that. Looking down at the screen to type out ‘Ryomen Sukuna’.

“There.”

He pulls his fingers out of you, rubbing your wetness and his lingering cum through your folds, then patting your pussy lightly. Then, he pats it again, this time firmly enough to make you jump. “Good girl.”

-

CHAPTER 5

[victonair]

A short drabble entailing your confession to Azul.

Author’s Note: This is just a drabble that I wanted to practice my writing on. Regardless, I hope whoever reads this enjoys it! Words: 600+

Your eyes were akin to the moon and stars above; it wasn’t the color that reminded them of you, but rather how each one looked as enchanting as yours. You were reminiscent of a shipwreck that he had always taken solace in his childhood and most of all: you were the reminder that he had someone in his life that treasured him, the same way he treasured you back. In every way, words cannot describe you; if he tried painting how he felt for you on a canvas, it would be filled to every crevice with every color possible, because somehow - everything leads him to thinking back to you.

When you had confessed to him, he felt his heart beating out of his chest akin to a drum; he felt his blood actively run through his veins to support his heart - he felt every response of his body to your words of admiration and love. It was the way you stared at him, a soft smile on your face and words easily rolling off your tongue. Just how did you do that? How do you say such things without stuttering or running off? If it were him, he couldn’t have taken it.

Silence was often his best friend, the lack of noise in his office was frequent company - but as of the current? He had grown to hate it in the matter of seconds. It was the fact that he was so silent after everything you had said, even as he tried to will his mouth open and speak every single rushing thought that came to his mind: he could only say one word.

”Why?”

Your only response was a chuckle, accompanied with a smile and one answer, “I’ve grown to love you throughout our time together; I must say to you that my heart does not beat at a fast pace as it normally should when one loves another. Rather, it beats slowly at the thought of you. If I’m to be honest, my life is a fast-paced race that I advance at a strenuous speed, it’s dangerous and for my time in this world and my own - I haven’t been able to slow it down.”

You look at him like he had hung the moon and stars, and created everything just for you and yet, it was the exact opposite of the words that were coming out of your mouth, it was painting the most exquisite picture on how you exactly felt for him.

“But with you? My heart and mind does not race with stressing thoughts, instead I slow down. I didn’t slow down at first, but gradually it slowed down effortlessly around you. I find my days get slower when you’re around, and I find that those are the days I treasure the most. I find myself seeking you out, and making unconscious accommodations to you in my life. You’ve unknowingly made yourself a space in my life.”

Taking a pause, you further your words, “Love to me is the sea where you grew up in, to me it is the pulse of your heart, it’s the look in your eyes whenever you feel joy - love to me is the definition of you.”

And at your words alone, he is rendered speechless - he wants to return your words, say something of the same caliber of effortless prose and affection and yet he is unable to. He feels his lip trembling to say something, and yet - he can’t. All he is able to manage are his lips curving into a smile with what he is sure is the softest look that he is unconsciously mustering.

And he could tell with the wide smile you were presenting to him that this was all you needed to see.

[mezz-merizing]

gosh the experience of trance is like, literally the best thing ever. nothing tops it!!

it's because it's so varied and diverse. among subjects, among hypnotists, among inductions,no trance ever feels exactly the same, but it always feels heavenly

sometimes the hypnotic sensation intertwines with the sensation of sleep and it's like "mnh,," as you can't stop swaying on your feet... you're trying to have thoughts but it's like trying to swim in syrup- every thought just drifts lazily through your mind and fizzles out, and it would be so easy to just close your eyes and let the last remnants of your consciousness fade out, but you can't! not when those pretty words in such pretty tones are twisting and twirling around your sleepy head, crossing right past your barely-conscious mind and into the depths below to etch themselves into your psyche <3

sometimes it's different, in a way i've talked about before! sometimes instead of deep and consuming sleepiness, it's a crystal clear sort of focus, an unbreaking clarity on one single thing. there's nothing around you but you and them, it's all just a black void, as you sit, with your hands folded in your lap, your eyes wide open and staring, but the mind behind them off, the gates open, begging entry. sometimes it's an engulfing focus that takes you over, that subjugates you, that demands your attention, and seizes it, and never lets go

sometimes it's emptiness. sometimes it's a serene sort of endless blackness that engulfs your mind and your soul, a complete lack of thoughts, a hollowing-out, an erasure. sometimes it's a wiping-away of everything you were and are, just for a time!! it's almost nirvana... you just exist, free of burden and free of thought. and of course, exquisitely programmable, too... an empty bowl like that mind of yours begs and pleads to be filled, and surely the person who did this to you has no shortage of ideas on how to fill it <3

sometimes it's the exact opposite, sometimes it's chaos!! not sleepiness, not focus, not emptiness, but a sort of fullness that you can't even parse, where words and thoughts and phrases and concepts swirl around in your mind, with you standing in the eye, barely-aware, and certainly not comprehending!! and it would be so easy for someone to just slip yet more into that vortex, so when it finally calms and you manage to organize everything back into its neat place in your psyche, all those fun things that drifted in get sorted back in with the rest~

sometimes it's delight in your complete lack of understanding- sometimes your trance just dumbs you sooo far down that all you can do is giggle and smile as your hypnotist tells you what you're to think, and say, and act like <3 sometimes you can't help but feel anything but giggly and happy about how deeply entranced you are, because you're sooo hypnodrunk that all your fuzzed-out mind can feel is pleasurable euphoria!!

and sometimes it's order. the very purest order. when your mind is dismantled and restructured into the perfect machine, when all the chaos is carefully extracted from the equation, and your complex consciousness is reworked into an efficient, effective, purpose-built thing. when your mind is designed. and of course, when your mind is designed by someone, they can redesign it however, and whenever they wish~.

and the really fun part?? the craziest part?? sometimes it's all of those things!! sometimes it's one, sometimes it's some, sometimes it's something completely different, and it's always something nobody's ever quite felt before! the incredible beauty of hypnosis is in its infinity, how you can go deep day after day for year after year and still discover brand new things you had never even conceived of before!!

hypnosis is art!! trance is expression!! and i, for one, think i'm extremely lucky to have fallen accidentally into a kink that has taught me more and brought me more fantastical experiences than any other ever could :3

[hargreeves-duncan]

DUDE THAT DIEGO FIC??!!! HOLY SHIT!

soooo…since we both love the man, could I please ask for a DILF Diego fic (HIS MOUSTACHE UGH) where he and reader are having some marital problems, her parents are living with them and causing issues, until Diego finally snaps and takes his frustration (wink wink) out on reader 😏

a/n: anon, i like the way you think… i have not proof read this AT ALL, i just felt inspired to finally write something so… enjoy😉

summary: diego is sick and tired of being the last person in your house to get your attention

warnings: this is SMUT so 17+ for this one, lowkeymean!dom!Diego, degrading, fingering, p in v, gagging/choking (fingers), edging, swearing

word count: 3.5k

A lot had changed in the last six years. For one, you were no longer fighting off doomsday, but since your re-arrival in a corrected 2019, you and Diego had settled down. You’d been pregnant with your first baby girl for a while anyways and you loved one another more than life itself, it was natural succession that you’d get married too and so, you had. 

You’d settled more than comfortably into your role as a mother to Grace, so much so that you’d begged Diego for another child to be able to experience having a young child all over again. He had given in to your pleading almost immediately, and that had blessed the two of you with a gorgeous set of twins, Coco and Miguel.

It had been a few years since then and all your babies were not so little anymore but that didn’t stop your constant doting on them. They were your everything and you’d be damned if even the smallest thing were to hurt them.

Diego felt the exact same way, his girls and Miguel were his priority, always, but that didn’t mean that he didn't want some time just for himself with you, time where neither of you had to parent and you could just be yourselves for a while.

He knew that children were needy, and he couldn’t blame them for something as simple as wanting their mother, but he had needs too. Needs like actually receiving attention from his own wife once in a while.

More recently, your mother had fallen ill and your father had gotten far too old to take care of her alone. Now, Diego wasn’t a monster, the first thing he’d done was offer to let them stay at your place whilst your mother got back on her feet. Each and every day she was recovering and, as selfish as it was, a part of Diego hoped that with your parents in the house, it would mean that he would have time with you whilst they looked after the kids. Oh, how wrong he had been.

Your parents didn’t help with the childcare at all. In fact, they required more babying than your three children combined. It was exhausting to be around and, subsequently, exhausting for you to adhere to. By the time all of your children were put to bed each night, you were too drained to even keep a conversation going, let alone anything more.

Diego was tired of only seeing you in passing. He had tried to express his feelings to you several times, but it was only ever met with a wave of excuses and exhaustion. He knew you loved him and that you were doing your best to just get through the day, but the increasing lack of time alone with you was beginning to take a toll on him. 

Diego was reminded of it more than ever right now. It was Christmas Eve and you were currently setting the dining table for a hearty lunch for the five of you. Your hair was frazzled as you rushed around the downstairs in preparation of everything, calling out various commands as you did, “Coco, what have I told you about being mean to your brother?”, “Ma, have you moved the napkins?”, “Grace, be my lovely girl for me and go set the table, please.”

All morning, Diego had remained in the same spot on the sofa in the living room, waiting for you to even acknowledge him. The longer he went without so much as a “hello” from you, the deeper his irritation grew.

Diego couldn't take it anymore. He watched you hustle about the house, tending to everyone and everything except him. The kids were fine, your mother had been pampered all morning, your father was being served beer on the hour by you, the food was practically ready at this point and he knew that you’d already set up the table hours ago. You didn’t even need to check up on anything else and yet here he still sat, as if he were a ghost in his own home.

For the hundredth time this morning, he watched as you adjusted the blanket on your mother’s lap, checking up on her and speaking tenderly.

Your father, sat on the armchair beside her, frowned at Diego from across the room, spouting hate once again, “You know, sweetheart, I’ll never know why you chose this one. He just bums around doing nothing all day. A postman, isn’t he? What good is that to a woman like you? You could’ve had anyone, you know-“

Diego’s face darkened, his lip pulling into a thin line as cut your father off, “Could I talk to you for a second?”

He looked over at your father pointedly, trying, and failing, to conceal the frustration bubbling up inside of him at the sight of you at his side, “Alone.”

You frown, slightly taken aback, but you nod, “Yeah, of course.”

You gently squeeze your mother’s wrist and offer her a reassuring smile as you walk after your husband who’s already halfway up the stairs and out of sight, “Keep an eye on Ma for a second, please, Dad!”

“You think I don’t know how to do that! She’s my wife!” You hear your father rambling angrily from downstairs but you don’t hear him, having practically chased after Diego into your bedroom.

He shuts the door behind him and looks up at you with eyes that are both seething and swimming with hurt. You feel your chest tighten.

“What the hell is going on right now?” Diego asks, searching your eyes for any kind of answer.

“I… What?” You reply, head shaking in confusion, “Diego, what’re you…”

“Don’t play dumb with me. You haven’t even looked in my direction all morning, so I want you to tell me what’s really going on.” His words are firm but his voice is tender, you know what he’s really saying, what he’s really feeling. Deep down, he’s still the same little boy who’s terrified of not being enough for his family.

You take a step towards him, your expression softening. "I’ve just been focused on getting everything ready for today," you say, "I’ve just been busy…"

Diego shakes his head. "No, don’t give me that shit, it’s not just today.”

“You’ve been off for weeks now, months… and I… I don’t know what the hell I’m doing wrong so why don’t you just tell me, hm? ‘Cause clearly I’m missing something.” His words come out bitter and resentful as he puts his hands on either side of you, pinning you against the door.

As he pins you in place, you feel his warm breath against your skin. His gaze is  fixed on yours, as if willing you to understand, and it pains you to think that this is probably the closest you’ve been to one another in months, “No, Diego, you haven’t done anything wrong. You’re not missing anything, I-“

“We used to be something. We used to actually be a couple instead of a pair of… of… of…” He groans in frustration, banging his fist on the door as his stutter distorts his words. He pulls back, running stressed hands through his hair.

It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him this worked up, this frustrated, and you’re not even sure how to react to it, knowing the distress that you’re causing him.

He sighs, swallowing down the anger in himself as he looks back up at you. His eyes burn as he narrows his gaze on you, “I bet you haven’t even noticed it, have you? How weird things have been?”

You part your lips to speak but he shakes his head. It’s not really a question. He knows that you haven’t, you’ve been far too preoccupied in everything that isn’t him. 

He exhales through his nose, “Do you know how many times I’ve tried to get your attention these last few weeks? To get something, anything, out of you?”

You don’t answer and he groans, “You haven’t even spoken to me today, Y/N. It’s two in the afternoon.” He reaches up, cupping your face with both of his calloused hands. His grip is tight and fierce.

He continues, his voice growing more raw with every word, "Every time I try, it’s always the kids, or your mother, or your father or some other goddamn thing that needs tending to. You never pay any attention to me and I’m sick of it.”

His hands drift over your body as he looks you in the eyes, “So, right now, that’s what I want from you. I want all of your attention on me. Nobody else, just me.” He says, as his voice lowers dangerously. He tightens his grip on your waist.

Your eyes widen slightly, hands instinctively reaching for his forearms and grasping them tightly, “Diego, we can’t, I have to finish setting up-“

He practically growls as you says that and he shakes his head, “No, you don’t have to do anything. No one is asking you to. The kids are fine. Your mom is fine. Everything is fine, we can have this.”

“But the twins need-“ You begin, but Diego simply growls angrily.

“No, they don’t. The twins don’t need anything, I do.” He says, his breath growing more rapid.

You protest, eyes softening as you look up at him, “I promise, we’ll do something just us. I just need you to wait for me to finish with lunch and then I’m all yours.”

“No, Y/N, they are fine. They will be fine.” He says, stepping forward, gripping your chin and tilting your head up to face him, “But I want you now, and I’m going to have you now because I need it. I need you. Show me that you need me too and let me have you.”

His grip tightens on your waist and there’s nothing you can do to stop your cheeks from flushing at the unbridled desire in his words, “Diego, really, I can’t, I…”

Diego shakes his head, voice low and gravelly, “Yes, you can. You can do this for me. You’re going to do this for me.”

He’s speaking softly but it’s clear how desperately he wants you. You’d be lying to yourself if you hadn’t missed this aspect of your relationship. The passion. Parenting three toddlers had slaughtered that but right now, what he was offering you…

The fire in Diego’s eyes blazes, dark and determined, as he watches you hesitate. “You don’t get to say no to me today, baby,” he growls softly, his voice low and dripping with frustration. “Not after ignoring me for all that time.”

You glance at the bedroom door, wary of the sound of your children’s voices downstairs. Your lips part to respond, but before you can reply, Diego turns your head to face him and presses you up against the wall.

“You’ve had time for everyone else,” he murmurs, his tone cutting. “The kids. Your parents. Everyone except me. So now, you’re going to give me what I need.”

His hands glide down your arms, his grip rough but deliberate, starting a fire within you. “I’m tired of waiting. I’m shouldn’t be an afterthought. I’m your man, and you’re my girl. We see each other, we put each other first, always.”

He presses his forehead against yours, “You should see me the way that I see you. I’ve been waiting but I won’t anymore.”

Diego’s hands find your hips, gripping them tightly as he pulls you flush against him. “You can handle everything and everyone in this house. So, right now, you’re going to handle me and take everything I’ve been holding back, because if you’re big enough to handle everyone else then you’re big enough to take me, aren’t you?”

Your breath hitches, your body reacting instinctively to the roughness in his tone, the way he’s asserting himself. It’s not just his anger you feel— it’s his longing, his desperation for you to seek him out.

His dark eyes bore into yours, daring you to defy him. “You don’t get to brush me off anymore. You don’t get to be in control today. That’s my job. I speak and you listen.”

There’s a frustration in his eyes that you’ve seen before and you already know that you’re going to be aching tomorrow just from the sight of it.

“You don’t come until I say so. You don’t touch me unless I let you. You’re going to listen to me, Y/N, because I’m the one who’s been here, waiting, and now it’s time for you to finally listen to me.”

His hands run over your hips, a low snarl growing in the back of Diego’s throat, “You’re going to regret ignoring me for so long, baby.” He mutters breathlessly and those words have you trembling already, “Gonna treat you just as mean as you treated me. Show you how it feels.”

Diego begins to press sultry kisses along the column of your throat, his teeth barely grazing the skin. His mustache, a recent and entirely welcome development, brushes over it too, heightening your sensitivity. It’s been far too long since you’ve had him like this, every skim of his touch feels like a million fireworks tingling along your skin.

Diego presses you back against your bedroom wall, his hips trapping you there. He tilts your head and entices you into a kiss.

You can feel his need for you pulsing through his every movement. Diego’s hands are latched onto your hips, tugging you closer and closer, there’s no gap between you and closer fiendishly they tug still.

His teeth catch on your earlobe as he moves back down, pressing more lingering kisses against your throat. His teeth nip at your skin, a sign of his agitation with you. You swallow in anticipation. Diego smirks against your neck, and then he bites down.

You whine in protest but he shakes his head, “Take it quietly. I don’t want to hear a single sound from you. You wouldn’t want to upset your parents, would you?” He asks bitterly.

He eyes flicker dangerously and his hands slip down over your stomach and to your waistband. Your back arches into his touch and Diego laughs, “God, so desperate already. You melt as soon as I touch you.”

His hand dips below your waistband and trails tantalisingly over the lace of your underwear. Your breath catches slightly, “Diego…”

His eyes flicker up to yours, “Can you keep quiet or do you need my fingers to shut you up?” His voice is gritty, harsher than usual and you know you’ll need to make things up with him badly to get out of this.

You go to open your mouth and Diego huffs, “You really can't help yourself, can you?" Diego mutters, his tone laced with mockery. "Always got something to say, even when I told you to stay quiet."

His fingers press more firmly against the lace of your underwear, teasingly slow. You bite your lip, trying to obey his command, but the small gasp that escapes your throat betrays you.

Diego's jaw tightens, and he pulls back his hand. The absence of his touch leaves you aching, he grips your jaw, tilting your face to meet his stern gaze. His dark eyes narrow as he leans in, his lips hovering just over yours.

"Did I not make myself clear?" he growls, grip tightening with every word. "I said quiet."

You swallow hard, your heart pounding as his fingers trail back up to your lips.

"Open," he commands, and like muscle memory, you obey, your breath hitching as he slides two fingers into your mouth.

"There you go, atta girl," Diego murmurs, his voice dripping with both approval and desire. "Maybe this'll keep you from talking over me, hm?”

His other hand moves back to your waist, slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear once more. His touch is rough, demanding, and deliberate, a clear message that he's not letting you get away with ignoring him for so long.

He forces his fingers further down your throat and you whimper softly around them. Diego’s lips curl into a dark smirk as he leans closer, his breath hot against your ear.

"I want you to think about the way you’ve treated me. I want you to remember it every time I touch you, every time I make you fall apart like this. Maybe then you won't forget who I am to you."

His fingers move with more purpose now, he slips his other hand back into your waistband and moves his two hands in tandem, filling both of your holes. Your back arches, a muffled moan escaping around his fingers, and Diego's grin widens.

"That's it," he murmurs, his tone softening just slightly. "I've got you…” You feel drool begin to pool around his fingers.

He pulls them from your mouth, brushing your slick lips with his thumb before gripping your chin firmly. "Tell me who you belong to," he demands, his eyes boring into yours.

"You," you gasp, your voice trembling as you choke slightly, gaining back your breath. "I belong to you."

Diego's expression softens for a fraction of a second, “That’s right, baby.” He leans in, kissing you fiercely, forcing every ounce of his emotion that he can into the kiss.

"I’m gonna help you remember that." he murmurs against your lips, his hands roaming your body once more. He slips his hand out of your trousers and slides them down so that they pool around your ankles.

He flips you around so that your face is pressed up against the cool wall. His fingers linger on the white lace around your hips for a moments longer before he tugs them down too, “Shit…”

Diego groans, caressing a hand over the curve of your ass. He bites his lip and gives it a small tap before he leans in close, pressing his body against yours, “You don’t come until I say you can, remember?”

You nod dumbly, already arching backwards into him. He taps your waist and then he slips in with ease, you’re already slick with want and he lets out a guttural moan as he presses in.

He begins to pump in and out of you, slow, at first, gentle almost, but as soon as you grow used to the pace, his hips snap forward. You groan in protest, pressing your forehead against the wall.

“You can take it. You’re my big girl.” Diego says, pressing deeper and more forcefully still as he seeks his own release.

You whine, eyes fluttering shut as the pain begins to be replaced by a wave of pleasure. You feel that familiar coil twirling in your stomach, “Not yet.” Diego chides.

You groan, biting on your bottom lip, pressing your hands against the wall, anything to distract yourself from the brink of euphoria you feel that you’re on.

Diego’s low moans in your ear do nothing to help your situation. Strained utterances of ‘So good, baby’ and ‘My girl’ teasing you as he keeps pushing.

His pace becomes more brutal, his hips snapping against you as he chases his high, “That’s it, my baby, there you go… finally giving it to me the way I want it…”

His hips rock against you as he groans. His hand reaches up and presses your face against the wall as he seeks his release, “I’m gonna come, baby, shit…”

“Can I…?” You plead, speaking up for just a moment to seek your own release which you desperately need. The stretch of Diego inside of you after so long is too good and you’re barely hanging on by a thread.

“No. Hold it.” He says breathlessly, his breath catches and within seconds he’s filling you up with his release.

He grunts as he presses it back inside you, keeping you stuffed. You could scream, you’re so frustrated. He’s teasing you with his own orgasm, dangling the ecstasy that you so desperately crave right in front of you… and that’s when it hits you.

You won’t be coming tonight at all. He’s doing exactly what he said you’d been doing for weeks - tending to everyone else’s needs but his. He’s flipped it around on you to teach you a lesson.

He pulls out.

You let out a frustrated cry at the realisation and that only seems to spur Diego on further, “You figured it out, have you, baby? Poor thing.”

He smirks, “No, I’m not going to let you come just yet. I’m going to let you wait. A couple of weeks, maybe?” He taunts, slipping his shirt back on.

“Diego, you can’t be serious…” You protest, legs still trembling in anticipation as you attempt to sit up.

“Oh, I’m serious. We’ve got a family lunch to have.” He says, putting on his trousers and biting back the smirk he longs to let out at the devastated look on your face.

“But…” Your jaw drops as you scramble for a solution.

“Merry Christmas, baby.” He winks as he ducks out the door. Funny, you think to yourself, because after that performance no one will be coming down any chimneys for a while.