#worst part is my grades are starting to slip. even when I was like this before I never let my grade in any of my classes drop below a 90

[enteragoodnamehere]

I was feeling really sad a while ago and it didn’t go away but then my period started and I was like okay thank god it’s just a menstrual cycle thing. but now my periods over and I’m still feeling like shit so I think I’m just really super depressed again

[mattnott]

𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

mattheo riddle x fem reader

SUMMARY. in wich your boyfriend thinks the best way to spice up the relationship is by playing hide and seek. WORDS. 4.7K+. english is not my first language. N/A. literally have no fucking idea, i was having a mental breakdown and this came out.

WARNINGS. smut, mdni, knife play, kinda mean!mattheo, porn w//plot, aged up characters, rough sex, established relationship, unprotected pnv, hard chocking, swearing, ass slapping, licking, making out, blood kink.

masterlist -> navigation -> mattheo masterlist

Being satisfied.

Mattheo was sure that he was not asking for too much. Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself over and over again for the last few weeks, but lately, satisfaction seemed out of reach—almost like an impossibility—and no matter how hard he tried, a fucked up emptiness was still there, tattooed on his very being as the control flipped down his fingers.

It was maddening. Absolutely maddening. He was certain he was losing control of his own body, of his mind, and just that thought alone made him feel nauseous; he felt like someone was twisting his stomach, slowly and painfully; and that wasn’t him. Being fucking miserable like this? That had never been him.

He was Mattheo Riddle, for fuck’s sake.

He never lost control; he thrived on it—he was the fucking embodiment of control. He controlled himself, his actions, and, most importantly, everything around him: Quidditch strategies, his routines, his grades, but above all, his relationships and everyone around him. But lately, everything felt off...vague, as if everything he had carefully built was slipping away, leaving him exposed and raw.

He felt like a wreck, in every sense of the word.

And the worst part? It wasn’t just affecting him anymore; the worst part was that it had started to affect his relationship with you. You, the only person he genuinely gave a shit about, the only person who mattered to him, the only person he couldn’t let slip away. That was the fucking problem.

In the beginning, everything was perfect, so goddamn perfect that sometimes he was fucking terrified to wake up and find out it had all been a dream, a goddamn illusion that his own mind created to punish him. The truth was that being with you was like a goddamn drug—in the best, most fucked-up way. It was addictive, intoxicating, and never lost its thrill. 

The way your bodies fit together, how you let yourself get lost in the things he did to you, how he knew your body by the tip of his tongue—it was all fucking exciting. And you? You never dared to say no to anything he asked, no matter how sick it sounded; that was what made him want to keep you locked up, all to himself.

And for a while it was all he needed.

But Mattheo wasn’t the type of man who loved gently or held himself back when it came to relationships. He never knew how to give just a piece of himself, and in return, he took everything from you, consuming you in ways that were almost humanly impossible. He always wanted to possess, to have power, and with you, it was no exception. 

No matter how much he tried to suppress it, the need to control you, to use you, was becoming unbearable, and Mattheo was sure that it was turning into physical pain; he could feel it in his ribs.

And besides all that bullshit, lately, the little control he had over you felt more fragile than ever, as if something had shifted in a weird way, something he couldn’t quite pinpoint, but it was fucking there, eating him alive, almost destroying his mind and opening his ribs; there was a part of you he could no longer reach, no matter how hard he tried, and it was driving him insane—he was furious with himself, and a twisted part of him was even furious with you.

He knew it didn’t make any sense, at least not to him. After all, he still fucked you in every way he could—rough, slow, and sometimes, when he was feeling nice enough, even with a strange kind of tenderness, Mattheo fucked you until you were both so drenched in sweat that your bodies stuck together like glue. But even that wasn’t enough.

He was not satisfied. 

It wasn't that being with you was horrible... fuck no! He would never say that, because he knew that if he did, it would only be a lie to hide the sexual frustration that was haunting him like a ghost. And if there was one thing he definitely wasn't, it was a liar. Besides, you were the only girl he dared to touch more than once, the only one he didn't toss aside like the others, the only one he fucking surrendered himself to—not just to blow off steam.

He knew he couldn’t be with anyone else but you. But lately, something was missing, something different, something more obscene, something more…him.

Mattheo couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to spice up the things in your relationship; he was done with the same shitty routine over and over again—he needed to push the limits of what he had with you, to push you further, to fuck you even better than he ever did.

He needed to fight for the relationship, fight for you.

It was then that an idea popped into his mind. A game. Something as twisted as it was intimate, something that would push the two of you into new territory that would push him toward the satisfaction he so desperately sought.

Hide and seek.

He knew it was probably a sick idea, a really sick one, but the way the thought consumed him, how it gripped his mind, and how the mere idea of hunting you down in a dark room with nothing but his filthy thoughts and a knife made his cock throb was impossible to ignore, especially after weeks feeling like shit, like a failure as a partner.

The truth was, Mattheo couldn’t stop himself—not when every nerve in his body burned with the desperate need for the satisfaction he craved and not when he finally found a way to solve his problems. He couldn't let you slip away, not when you were the only one who ever mattered to him.

He’d spent way too much time drowning in frustration, feeling his satisfied façade crumble, feeling the control he valued so much slip through his fingers like fucking sand.

But this—this fucked-up, twisted game—was how he’d take it all back. How he’d finally feel in control again, finallyfeel like he had all of you exactly where, to him, you truly belonged. To remind himself that you were still his—to wreck, to ruin, and to use however he wanted.

And that thought alone sent a rush of adrenaline through his veins.

So Mattheo approached you with caution, whispering sweet but fake words to tempt you, tracing his thumb along your thigh, offering you a false sense of security that he was waiting to take away. Looking into your eyes, almost pleading, begging for the uncertainty to finally leave them.

He offered you space to process what he wanted, making you think you had a choice, even though he knew he had already pushed you toward a thing you couldn’t refuse. And when you finally said yes, satisfaction washed over him, and he wasted no time pushing you into the game.

The small room was dim, with the only light coming through the large crystal windows. The setting afternoon sun streamed through the colored glass, casting soft, vibrant hues over the dusty old furniture and the cold stone walls. Strangely, it brought an odd sense of comfort and freedom to a space that otherwise felt heavy and stifling with what was happening inside.

The room was silent except for the faint creak of the floorboards beneath his slow, deliberate steps. Somewhere in the darkened corners, Mattheo moved like a shadow, his fingers wrapped around the cool silver of the knife, the blade glinting faintly in the dim light.

He wasn’t rushing—no, he wanted to savor this, to draw it out for as long as possible, and he knew that even if you couldn’t see him, a part of you could feel him and listen to his footsteps.

You were in the other corner of the room, your back pressed against the edge of an old desk, the cool wood biting your skin through the fabric of your shirt, your breath was shallow as you tried to stay as quiet as possible, determined not to catch Mattheo’s attention. The dim light filtering through the colored glass windows barely reached you; keeping you concealed in the shadows was the only advantage in this twisted game.

Every inch of your body felt wired, tense, your pulse quickening with each passing second, yet you could feel your pussy starting to get wet with anticipation of being haunted.

“Sweetheart.” He called in a purr, his voice smooth, slicing through the silence. It was the first word he’d spoken since he’d given you time to hide and entered the room, and you couldn’t help but press your hand to your chest, trying to steady your racing heart. “You’re hiding well... it’s almost cute, really.” Mattheo’s words were filled with mockery as he moved his head around, his eyes scanning the shadows of the room, searching for any sign of you.

He stopped near a bookshelf, casually flipping the knife between his fingers, the blade gliding effortlessly with every lazy movement. His dark brown eyes scanned the room, and he held his breath, savoring the familiar, sweet, and addictive scent of your perfume that filled his nostrils, quickening his pulse and making his heart skip a beat with anticipation. Yet, the scent was still too faint, and he knew you were still far from him.

And that made him even more eager to play, to catch you and use you as he wanted.

He tilted his head slightly, straining to catch any sound, but the room remained silent, save for the faint rustle of old books settling on the shelves and the distant hum of the castle beyond. Mattheo chuckled to himself. You were good—too fucking good for your own good. He couldn’t hear a thing. No sharp inhale, no shift of weight against the wooden floor, nothing to give you away. And he couldn’t help but feel a strange sensation of pride.

A slow, cruel smirk curled at the corners of his lips as he tapped the flat side of the knife against his palm, the sound barely breaking the silence of the stone walls. You were making this interesting—dragging it out, pushing him to the edge, making him hard, testing his patience. But patience? That was never his strong suit, and it never would be.

Mattheo’s footsteps echoed faintly as he began to move again, the knife still shifting between his fingers with that unnerving ease. His eyes scanned the room attentively, every inch of it, studying the shadows, waiting for the slightest slip—a twitch, a breath, the faintest shift in the air that would give you away.

But nothing did.

You held your breath even longer, your hand pressing against your chest as your fingers dug into the fabric of your shirt in a futile attempt to steady yourself against the nervousness that made your heart pound violently against your ribs—and the need now pulsing deep in your now wet cunt.

“Are you trembling right now, aren’t you?” His voice was a quiet hiss, the words almost dripping with a twisted amusement that sent another shiver down your spine. You could hear the satisfaction in his tone, his words dripping with that familiar sense of control. “Holding your breath? Hoping I’ll just walk right past you?”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” the voice in your head cursed as you felt his footsteps drawing closer, desperately trying to control the frantic pulse of your throbbing cunt.

Despite Mattheo’s footsteps, the room felt too still, too quiet—like you were holding onto every second, every inch of space between you and him. But he still could smell you, your scent growing stronger with every passing moment, enough to make his pants tighten around his cock, and then he finally could hear the faintest breath that made his blood burn with desire through his veins, and he wanted nothing more than to push you, to see you crack, to take this game further until you bleed.

His hand clenched tighter around the knife, the grip intensifying as he took another step, shaking his head violently to refocus on the task… breaking you? Well, that could come later.

He was going to make sure of it.

Your breathing quickened with the adrenaline, your heart pounding violently against your ribs as his footsteps grew louder, the vicious scent of his cologne intensifying with his proximity. You gripped the fabric of your skirt between your trembling fingers in a futile attempt to calm your nerves and to stop the excitement that was now dripping between your legs, hardening your nipples.

“Come on, sweetheart, I know you’re close; I can feel it.” Mattheo’s voice came out sweet, and you knew that was the exact opposite of the intentions that had him searching for you so eagerly. “You’re really making me work for it, huh?” He asked, gently squeezing the knife in his palm, the weak lights of the room casting the shadow of the metal on the wall in front of you. “Cute.”

You cringed at the falsely sweet tone his voice carried as you tried to hold your breath even tighter, bringing your trembling knees to your chest in a nearly stupid effort to stop your pussy from growing even wetter at the sound of his manipulative words.

Mattheo stopped suddenly, his brown eyes flicking across the big dark room, narrowing slightly as they scanning every corner for any sign of you. His fingers toyed with the knife, the blade catching the light as he stood still, trying to hear even the smallest sound.

He could feel the impatience growing, clawing at him, but it didn’t dull the ache in his cock—in fact, it only made him harder. The thrill of catching you, of fucking you into the oblivion, made the excitement burn even more.

“Don’t make me wait any longer, love,” he said again, his voice rougher than before, almost like a threat. “The longer you make me wait, the worse it’s going to be for you.” He chuckled low, sending a shiver down your spine, and your heart raced even faster than it already was.

You glanced up at the ceiling, noticing how his shadow was growing bigger and bigger by the second. He was getting closer to your hiding spot, making you instinctively rub your legs together in a desperate attempt to ease the heat growing between them.

Mattheo cursed under his breath, his impatience growing as he scanned the room once more, searching for any shadow that might betray your position.

When no sign appeared, he sighed again, this time with a touch of irritation; the silence was starting to get to him, but it didn’t last long, because a wicked idea flashed in his mind, and a cruel smirk curled on his lips, and in an instant, he slammed his foot against the wooden floor with all his strength.

The loud sound of his foot hitting the floor echoed through the empty room, so sharp against the silence that without thinking, without noticing, you jumped back, slamming into the table behind you. The movement was small but enough to knock over a stack of books, which crashed to the floor, the noise even louder than his footsteps.

You couldn’t help but curse yourself under your breath, realizing the mistake you’d made, your heart nearly leaping out of your throat.

Mattheo stopped instantly, a low chuckle slipping from his lips as he tightened his grip on the knife in his hand. His eyes locked onto the spot where the books had fallen, and a slow, malicious smirk spread across his face. He tilted his head mockingly, his gaze glinting with amusement when he caught a small glimpse of your head peeking out from behind the desk where you were hiding from him.

Without giving you a chance to run, he moved toward you swiftly, his heavy footsteps echoing off the walls, blending with your shallow, frantic breathing, and before you could even blink, Mattheo was right there, standing over you like you were nothing but his goddamn prey.

“Finally found you, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery, the way he said “sweetheart” making it clear he was loving every second of your discomfort. His eyes never left yours, and he could feel his pants tightening around his hard cock as the panic in your eyes grew.

Oh, there it was—the excitement he had been craving for so long.

You swallowed hard, your hand gripping the edge of the table you were leaning on for support, trying to ignore the dampness already soaking through your panties and the way his eyes were still locked onto your body, his fingers casually playing with the small knife in his hand as you stood in front of him.

“Yeah, i guess you found me” you said, your voice shaky as you tried to steady your shaky legs. “Satisfied now?” You forced yourself to meet his gaze, though all it did was make his twisted smirk grow even wider.

Mattheo took a final step, standing right in front of you. His free hand landed on your hip, his grip so tight it would surely leave a bruise. The coldness of his palm against your warm skin made you shiver involuntarily, and he couldn’t help but let out a low, knowing laugh at the way your body reacted to him, your pussy tightening at the rough, throaty noise.

It was always like this, always—you trying to hold your ground while your trembling legs threatened to give out, even if you tried to resist the urge to drop to your knees right in front of him, you trying to challenge him, when in reality, all you wanted was to have your wet pussy filled with his big cock and feel him pump you full of his cum.

The same thing happened each and every time, regardless of how you two fucked, and he felt dumb for ever thinking that this time would be different.

Still, he wasn't complaining, since it made the game much more entertaining.

“No, not yet,” he whispered, leaning forward, your faces so close that his warm breath brushed against your skin. His free hand massaged your hip gently, his thumb stroking your skin in a way that was both mocking and soft, and you pressed your thighs together, trying to control the throbbing between your legs.

Mattheo’s hand left your hip, his fingers tangling in your hair with a strength that had you gasping in surprise as he yanked your face closer to his.

His breath mingled with yours—hot—and you could feel the press of his hard cock against you; still, he kept his lips just out of reach, teasing you. “Be a good girl,” he whispered, the words almost a command. “Show me your tongue, love.”

“And why?” you asked, your voice trembling as you tried to keep your composure, but it was impossible. The air between you thickened as he pushed his hips forward, his clothed cock pressing against the top of your panties, making you whimper.

“Show. Me. Your. Fucking. Tongue.” He repeated like a command, his fingers tightening in your hair as he pulled you even closer. The grip on your scalp made a sudden soft escape your lips—somewhere between a moan and a whimper. “Now.” He ordered, and you quickly opened your mouth, your wet muscle sliding out to meet him, and you felt his cock throbbing harder against you.

“Such a good girl for me,” he praised you almost softly, and before you could react, he stuck his own tongue out of his mouth and gave yours a slow, tentative lick, making you shiver and whine with the contact, and then before you could even open your eyes again, he crashed his lips against yours in a heated kiss, full of teeth and tongue.

You moan into the kiss, feeling your tongues roughly clash against each other, teeth hitting with an brutal force as you taste each other’s lips, almost as if you were claiming again a territory that had belonged to both of you for a long time.

Your lips moved against each other in a frantic and aggressive rhythm, your tongues so intertwined that neither of you could tell where one ended and the other began. Mattheo let out a low groan, his cock growing even harder as the kiss deepened, and his grip on your hair loosened just enough for his hand to slide under your skirt.

He grabbed the flesh of your ass tightly, squeezing it tightly with a strength that would surely leave a mark before yanking you forward, grinding your hips against his, forcing you to feel the full weight of his hard cock pressing against you.

“Such a good fucking ass,” Mattheo growled against your mouth, fingers digging harshly into your ass as he thrust his hips into you, the rough friction making you whimper against his lips, your cunt dripping from the pressure alone.

He could already feel his damn frustration fading away, little by little.

His hand tightened on your ass, pulling you closer, making you gasp at the sudden pressure. Before you could react with another whine, you felt his teeth bite your bottom lip, breaking the skin enough to make the taste of your blood linger in both of your tongues. He grunted in satisfaction, savoring the familiar taste, and you felt how hard he was pressing his cock against your clothed pussy.

Without warning, he slapped your ass sharply, the impact leaving you surprised, a mark of his fingers on your sensitive skin. Almost immediately, he gave another slap, this one softer but still enough for the sting to make you shudder, biting down on your already bloodied lip.

Mattheo moved away from your body a little bit, a wicked smile twisting his lips as he kept just enough distance to leave you yearning for more, wanting him to finally fuck you the way he intended there and then. His pupils were dilated as he looked at you, and you met his gaze, agitated and breathless.

"Mattheo, please!" you pleaded, trying to ignore the pain on your lip, your brow wrinkled slightly due to the lack of friction you were experiencing. Yet, he only laughed, mocking you, finding it amusing that you were nearly as frustrated as he had been previously.

“Oww, are you anxious, sweetheart?” He blinked, pretending innocence, the hand that had been gripping your skin now tucking a stray lock of your messy hair behind your ear in a mockingly sweet gesture. “Poor, poor girl…” he taunted you, his eyes drifting to the small blade in his free hand, anxiously waiting to mark your skin.

He already had the prey; he only needed to cut it.

Mattheo pressed the flat edge of the knife against his palm, his grip tightening as he slowly dragged it down your skin. A shiver raced through you, and you held your breath as the cold, sharp blade grazed your sensitive flesh.

“What you’re trying to do?” you asked, your voice shaky as you watched the knife press harder against your skin.

But he didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed you by the waist and slammed your back against his chest, your feet stumbling to catch up as he dragged you with him. His arm locked around your stomach, keeping you pressed to him, making your head spin, and a soft gasp escaped your bruised lips when you felt his hard cock pressed against your ass.

Mattheo’s grip tightened around your waist, his chest resting against your back as he roughly pushed you into that position, giving him a better view of your ass. Another gasp escaped your lips when you felt his hand slide up to your throat, his fingers tightening around your skin, almost like a reminder of who was in control. Who the fucking prey was.

“Stay fucking still,” he breathed against your ear, his breath hot as he continued to press his clothed hard cock against you, and you obey, trying to ignore the pain of his grip tightening around your neck.

Your pulse hammered under his strong grip, your throat tightening as you swallowed, yet Mattheo only tightened his hold in response, his satisfaction growing with every painful whimper that escaped your lips and every shudder that ran through your already weak legs.

His other hand—the one holding the sharp knife—moved slowly down your stomach, the handle brushing against your skin as he slid the blade lower and lower. Mattheo couldn’t help but smirk even more as he felt your body tremble again and again, his cock pulsing, sensing the way you seemed to shrink back against him.

Mattheo was savoring every second of it, watching you squirm, watching the nerves take over, watching you hold your breath, waiting for the inevitable pain. That was what he wanted, what he needed—to regain control, to own you. You, the one who held his heart in your hands like it was nothing. If he controlled you, you could never hurt him, never break his heart, never crush it with your touch. So, he was just taking the safe option.

Control you before you even realize you were controlling him.

In a swift move, he yanked your skirt and panties down, exposing the soft flesh of your ass even more and your wet folds to the cold air. The sudden vulnerability made your stomach twist in a mix of nervousness and anticipation, but you barely had time to process it before Mattheo thrust one of his knees between your legs, forcing your thighs to open wider, giving him a clear view of your cunt.

“Such a perfect little pussy…” He whispered against your ear, his breath sending goosebumps down your body. “Hands on the table. Now,” he ordered. His hand remained firm on your neck, choking you, his voice dripping with dark mockery, as if he knew exactly what you were feeling. And he did. He knew, and he planned to use it all to his own advantage.

His fingers clenched around your neck more tightly when you hesitated, pressing with such force that you choked slightly—the gesture almost like a silent warning.

"You really think you can disobey me, slut?" He whispered, letting out a dark, dry laugh as he rubbed his covered length on your bare cunt, causing you to whine. “You know better than to piss me the fuck off. Especially when I have a knife in my hand. Don’t fucking test me.”

You followed the command, stifling a moan as his hands tightened around your neck, your shaking hands resting on the wooden surface, your fingers turning white from the pressure.

Mattheo hummed in approval, rocking his hips harder against you, and you instinctively rolled your ass against him, eager for more contact, his grip on your neck loosened just enough for his thumb to caress your jaw—mocking, almost caring.

Then, he finally pressed the cold blade into your ass, and you held your breath, feeling your heart slamming against your ribs.

He muttered, "Stay still," and bit down on your ear. You leaned into him—into the pain—knowing that this would be the closest thing to comfort he’d ever offer you in that moment.

And just when you let yourself relax a little on his grip, the first cut came.

Your eyes snapped shut with the new contact, and you trembled as the pain of your skin being sliced open hit you. Mattheo let out a chuckle, his cock throbbing harder at the sound of your whimpers and the sight of your eager, exposed pussy.

He pressed the blade harder, dragging it slowly and painfully across your skin, cutting through the soft flesh of your ass, still marked by his slaps.

Another shock of pain coursed through your whole body, and you let out a soft whimper, trying to move instinctively. But Mattheo’s grip on your neck only tightened, keeping you locked in place.

He wasn’t going to let you escape, not now that he was so close to getting what he wanted, to the satisfaction he was craving.

“Shhh, it’s just a game. Stay still, or you’ll make it worse.” His fingers tightened around your throat, cutting off your breath enough to make you struggle against his hold. Your head spun, your body fighting for breath, but strangely the adrenaline only turned you on more.

Reluctantly, you gave in, your fingers loosening their grip on the table as you allowed yourself to sink into his hold.

“Just like that, let me take care of you.” His voice dripped with false sweetness, but you let yourself fall for it, ignoring the burning pain in your marked ass as you tried to convince yourself it was worth it.

Mattheo dragged the knife further down, the cold blade scraping roughly over your skin, cutting into you and leaving a trail of blood behind before it finally tore through your flesh. You bit your lip hard, fighting back the scream clawing at your sore throat, your legs instinctively parting, offering him a clearer view of your dripping folds.

This time, it wasn’t just a cut—it was a permanent mark.

“Mine.”

The final stroke completed the “e,” and with each precise cut, you felt the heat of your own blood dripping down the curve of your ass, making your legs tremble more and more. The pain was sharp, but it made your heart race violently against your ribcage in a way you couldn’t explain; and yet his heartbeat mirrored yours, as if, after everything, he had finally regained control over you again.

Mattheo step back slightly, his hand loosening around your neck as he looked at the mess he’d made. He watched as your blood poured down your ass, staining your skin, tracing the deep cuts in thick, red lines. His eyes then moved lower, taking in the sight of your pussy pulsing with need, as if it were calling for him.

Fuck, he wanted to fuck your pussy so bad.

He placed the knife down slowly, his heart pounding in his chest, as he felt his cock straining against the zipper of his pants, watching your chest rise and fall, and your nipples pressed against the fabric of your shirt. His hand slid down to your ass, his fingers tracing the bloodstained marks, feeling the warm liquid collect beneath his nails.

Mattheo licked his lips before bringing his fingers to his mouth eagerly, sucking them clean, licking with the taste, savoring the metallic taste, as if, absorbing it as if by magic, your blood would mix with his.

“Your blood tastes so fucking good,” he muttered, sucking harder on his fingers. You blinked slowly, trying to keep the tears from spilling down your cheeks.

After one last slow lick of his fingers, Mattheo holds you again, a groan escaping his throat as he looks at your dripping cunt, and without wasting another second, he freed his hard cock from his pants, and with a single thrust, he slid himself inside your pussy.

“Ah, fuck!” You cried out in surprise as Mattheo's rigid cock entered you without warning, the force of his penetration making you almost sob. Yet instead of pulling back, he drove himself deeper, relishing the way your tight pussy clamped down on his throbbing cock. A low moan rumbled in his chest as he felt the familiar sensation of your inner walls around him.

“Even after all these months, you're still so fucking tight.” Mattheo groaned against your ear, his hips slamming against yours, the brutal force causing the blood pooling in your ass to trickle down and coat his skin. Each thrust pushing him deeper into your cunt, until the head of his cock was almost kissing your cervix, making your tender folds throb with the strange pleasure.

Fuck, he has been begging for this for months. Months begging for control, for satisfaction, and it was finally there; it was finally in his hands.

His hand tightened around your neck, making it hard to breathe, but he didn’t care. He only drove his cock deeper into you, forcing a loud moan from your lips as the pain from the fresh cuts burned through your skin, leaving you no chance to speak, no chance to even gasp his name.

You were almost certain that if he choked you just a little longer, or five more times, maybe even less, you’d be completely out of air—left to die right there with his cock still buried inside you.

But even though you couldn’t say his name or form a single coherent word, that didn’t stop the loud, desperate moans from spilling out of your bruised lips, your cries turning into broken, incoherent pleas as his grip on your throat tightened, dragging you closer to the edge.

“Yeah, just like that—moan like a fucking slut for me,” he breathed against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. His large palm slid over your stomach, pressing you even harder against his muscular chest, forcing your fresh cuts to rub painfully against his bare pelvis. The sharp sting made you bite your lip to stifle a cry, your fingers tightening around the edge of the table as another type of pain spread through you.

The pain only pushed you closer to your orgasm.

Mattheo’s grip on your neck tightened, making it almost impossible for you to breathe, let alone moan. His hot breath ghosted over your ear as he fucked your pussy with deep, brutal thrusts, each one so relentless that you knew you wouldn’t be able to get out of bed tomorrow. Yet you didn’t say anything letting him chase what he needed.

“Only letting go of your throat when you fucking come like a bitch, sweetheart.” Mattheo moaned in your ear, his hips fucking you faster, burying himself to the hilt as he felt your walls clenching around his dick, signaling your climax. He knew that his own release was close, but he refused to acknowledge it, determined to push you over the edge first like a sick competition he was playing alone.

With three more thrusts, both you and Mattheo felt your pussy clamp down around his rigid length, your whimpering cries echoing through the room as you came, making him grunt in satisfaction. He finally loosened his grip on your throat, allowing you to gasp in relief, but he didn’t stop. He slammed into you one final time before his release hit him like a wave, his cock pulsing violently, spilling his hot cum deep inside your cunt.

After a moment of silence, Mattheo carefully pulled his cock out of your pussy, his breath still ragged as he watched his cum spill out of your hole, then he gently traced his fingers over the “mine” carved into your skin, brushing the marks softly, almost reverently, as if he was looking at a piece of art. The satisfaction he craved now has a permanent mark on you.

“Are you good now?” you asked softly, feeling the exhaustion take over your features as you tried to steady yourself and keep your eyes open despite the pleasant pain.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss on your bruised neck before whispering, “You can say that, sweetheart.”

© mattnott 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝, 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚎, 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕, 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔.

hate this shit, the smut sucks but the idea is good, bye bye.

thank you to my girl @bucksplum for helping with the last paragraphs, i love you a lot <3

it’s 4 am so if you want to be rude, i will visit you in your nightmares or worse… (tomorrow i might edit better…or not

comments and reblogs are appreciated and help me a lot, so feel free to interact 🫶🏻

[heartsriki]

ALWAYS YOURS, NEVER MINE ⌇늦은

pairing ᝰ jungwon x fem!reader (?) — featuring.. riki & jay word count: 3k+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ pt. 2, angst, high-school au!, gut-wrenching angst like trust, love triangle, crying, lots of selfishness coming from won, hurt no comfort..., one-sided love.

synopsis — why did jungwon hide rikis love letter to you? (PLEASE READ PART 1)

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊there were a lot of questions/asks for explanations from pt. 1 so here it is! guys lowkey started tearing up I'm so sorry jungwon biases... I couldn't help myself again...

5 months before…

Today was Jungwon’s worst day possible. He hadn’t done as well as he wanted on an important test—not a failing grade, but not perfect either. On top of that, he left his stuff somewhere and couldn’t remember where.

Usually, he was calm, cool, and collected, but right now, he felt helpless. Resting his head on his desk, he let the frustration settle in, feeling like he was slowly being submerged in water—until he felt a slight tug on his hair.

Slowly, he lifted his head, only to see you, your hand still hovering above him. You flinched at his movement, clearly not expecting him to be awake.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I thought you were asleep, and your hair just looked so fluffy—” you blurted, your words tumbling over each other.

Jungwon just stared at you, silent.

You took his lack of response as a reason to keep going. “Anyway—I found this bag and recognized the name. Here you go!” You slung it over the back of his chair, grinning.

He glanced at the bag before looking back at you. You knew him? He didn’t know you.

The silence stretched, and you hummed, shifting awkwardly. He still hadn’t said thank you. You were about to excuse yourself when you caught a glimpse of the paper under his arms.

“Hey, a 75? That’s great! Man, I barely got a 65—you’re so smart. You wanna study sometime?”

Jungwon opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, the classroom door swung open.

“Y/N! We need you in the student council room—the boys are fighting again!”

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. Without another word, you gave him a small wave, flashing a pretty smile before running off.

Jungwon raised his head, staring at the spot you had just been. “A 75 isn’t even good,” he murmured, resting his head back down. “What a weirdo.”

Yet, despite himself, he kept thinking back to that moment. He wouldn’t admit it, but it brought him a strange sense of comfort. He also didn’t even want to imagine what would’ve happened if he had really lost his stuff.

Days passed, and while he didn’t speak to you much, he saw you everywhere. Then, one day, as he strolled through the library, he spotted you working at the front desk.

He lingered behind a shelf, watching as you glanced around before sneaking to the back of the library.

Curiosity got the better of him. He followed.

Turning the corner, he caught you opening a small box, slipping a piece of paper inside. When you turned around, both of you flinched.

“Jungwon? What are you doing here?”

He crossed his arms. “What are you doing here? What’s in the box?”

Quickly, you stretched your arms out, blocking him. “It’s nothing.”

Jungwon smirked, trying to peek past you. “If it’s nothing, let me see.”

Before you could stop him, he had already snatched up the paper. You groaned, covering your face as he read it.

“You were embarrassed over cussing someone out for wearing the same headband as you on picture day?” His grin widened, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I talked about wearing that headband for weeks…” you mumbled, looking away.

For a moment, he stayed silent. And then—he burst out laughing. Full, unrestrained laughter—the kind he hadn’t had in ages.

From that day on, he stayed by your side.

Jungwon was well-known around school. Girls found him handsome, even flirted with him, guys thought he was pretty damn good at sports and cool to hang out with. But because of that pedestal, few ever approached him as a true friend.

You didn’t seem to care about all that.

Instead of just waving at him in the hallway, you ran up to him to rant about your day. Instead of borrowing a pencil and ignoring him for the rest of class, you swapped desk numbers just to sit beside him. Instead of leaving him alone when he shut down, you stayed. Always.

You became his best friend. And he was yours. Thats all he ever needed.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

February rolled around—the month of love. The halls were littered with Valentine’s posters, the air buzzing with excitement.

Jungwon didn’t think much of it. Maybe he’d just hang out with you that day.

But when he sat down next to you in class, you were grinning at your phone, giggling.

He smiled. “What’s got you so giddy today, huh?”

You turned your screen toward him. “I got Riki’s contact today… look!”

Jungwon’s smile faltered. He glanced at the name on your screen. Ah. Right.

He forgot about your tiny crush on Riki.

Nodding, he turned to the window, pretending it didn’t bother him. But the dull thump in his chest told him otherwise. I guess you’ll be busy that day. How lame.

Later that day, he was on the soccer field when his phone vibrated. Seeing your name, he grinned stupidly and opened the message.

You:

JUNGWONJUNGWONOMG

PLSPLSANSWERLOOKATURPHONE

Wonnie:

Ok what the hell

What is it?

You:

You are NEVER going to believe who just slid into the back of the library.

Wonnie:

Is it Jake again? Poor guy

Maybe Jay? Idk tell me

You:

Nishimura… Riki…

Jungwon stared at the screen.

Riki? Well. It was about time. He had been into you without a doubt.

Scoffing, Jungwon typed back.

Wonnie:

… Fr?

Maybe he confessed to you?

You:

Right, totally.

Jungwon frowned. You could be so oblivious sometimes. To more than one person.

Wonnie:

Think about it.

Setting his phone down, he exhaled sharply. He had a weird urge to see you. Maybe you wanted to talk about it.

He sighed, packing up his things and heading toward the library.

As he neared the back entrance, he spotted Riki slipping out. Their eyes met for a second, but neither spoke.

There was something in that look. Knowing.

Jungwon clenched his jaw and walked past him, slipping inside unnoticed.

Then, his eyes landed on the box.

For a split second, he hesitated. Then, without thinking, he stepped forward.

Glancing around, he reached inside. There were a lot of letters. But he found Riki’s almost immediately—a pink envelope decorated with tiny white hearts, his name written neatly on the front which was uncommon for love letters being left vulnerable in a box.

Jungwon stared at it. “What an idiot.”

Without thinking, he plucked it from the box, turning it over in his hands before slowly opening it.

Inside, a note.

Hey, I don’t really know how to start this. Okay, so… I think you’re really annoying. But for some reason, I like how annoying you are. You’re incredibly nosy, but I don’t mind when you peck at my life. I don’t know when I started to feel this way, but I know how I feel now. I like you. A lot. Too much, actually. If you feel the same, then… I don’t know. You’ll know what to do. You always do. — N.R.

Jungwon exhaled, rubbing his temples.

If you knew about this, you’d be over the moon.

And yet—before he could stop himself—he shoved the letter into his bag.

Why?

He convinced himself it was to toy with you. Something deeper inside knew other wise.

When Jungwon saw you through the student council door, scanning through all the love letters, he felt a soft pang in his chest. You were looking for Riki’s… he knew it.

When he entered, he played it off—laughing, smiling—knowing he had the one thing you had been waiting for this entire year. But when the opportunity came to fess up, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

When Riki stepped in, both Jungwon and Riki locked eyes. It didn’t even last a second, but the way he looked at him… he knew. He definitely knew that Jungwon had grabbed the letter.

Jungwon excused himself, whispering, “Good luck,” into Riki’s ear. A small part of him meant it. It was more for you.

He walked slowly to the locker room, overthinking about you and Riki. Overthinking about you and himself. What is this? It hurt. It hurt so much.

He was caught off guard by a hand on his shoulder. It was Jay, another friend of his.

“Hey man, where’s your girlfriend?” Jay asked with a knowing grin.

Jungwon blinked, still walking toward the locker room. “Girlfriend? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jay sighed, glancing around before looking back at him. “Don’t play dumb. You know I’m talking about Y/N. Did you confess yet?”

Jungwon stopped, causing Jay to stumble a little. Jay looked at him, puzzled.

Confess. Did he like you? Is that what this is?

That’s what he thought about for the rest of the day.

He liked you.

He liked you.

He liked you. You. You. You.

He fumbled on the field, spaced out during conversations, and excused himself from after-practice hangouts.

When he got home, he immediately went to his room, throwing himself onto his bed and sighing at the ceiling. The moment of peace was interrupted by a vibration in his right hand. He brought his phone up to his face and saw your contact. You always called him after his practice.

He answered, bringing the phone to his ear. “Hey.”

“AHHHHHHH, Wonnie! You won’t believe it! He likes me back! Isn’t that crazy? For some reason, his love letter went missing—some weirdo took it. But he confessed to me!” you squealed from the other line.

He smiled a little at your happiness, ignoring the heaviness in his chest. “That’s great Y/N… You guys dating now?”

“Actually, we’re taking things slow. He blabbed about needing to take care of something first.”

That made Jungwon sit up. “Take care of something?” he asked.

“Yeah. No clue, but it doesn’t bother me. I’ve been waiting long enough—I can wait a little bit more.” You smiled to yourself.

Jungwon thought. Riki didn’t need to take care of something. He needed to take care of someone.

“I’m sure it’ll happen soon,” Jungwon said, trying to sound reassuring.

You sighed at his words. “Thanks, I feel like the happiest girl in the world.”

Jungwon didn’t respond to that. “I’m pretty tired from practice. Talk to you later?”

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Wonnie! Of course—sleep well, alright?”

“…You too.”

And with that, he hung up.

Jungwon stared at his phone, the call screen fading to black as the weight in his chest settled in. His fingers curled around the device, gripping it tighter than necessary.

He likes me back!

Your words replayed in his head over and over, each time pressing harder against the part of him that had only just realized the truth.

He liked you.

And now, he was too late.

Jungwon exhaled sharply, tossing his phone onto his bed before running a hand down his face. The ceiling blurred in his vision as he lay back down, feeling—what was this? Emptiness? Regret?

He wanted to be happy for you. He was happy for you. You were his best friend. That’s what best friends did. They supported each other, no matter what.

But then why did it feel like his heart was being squeezed in a way that left him breathless?

Riki still hadn’t officially asked you out. That was something, right? But Jungwon knew it wasn’t for the reason you thought.

He needed to take care of someone.

Jungwon scoffed to himself, letting his arm drape over his eyes.

Riki knew. He definitely knew.

And now, Jungwon had a choice to make.

Does he let this be? Pretend his feelings didn’t exist, swallow them whole, and stand by your side like he always had?

Or does he do something about it?

His fingers twitched at the thought, but deep down, he already knew his answer.

Jungwon had never been the type to back down from a challenge. But this—this wasn’t some game. This wasn’t a competition he could win just by trying harder, running faster, pushing himself more.

This was you.

And if anyone deserved to be happy, it was you.

Even if it wasn’t with him.

“Pass it!” Jungwon yelled across the field.

He had been practicing all morning, through breaks, and even during lunch. Soccer was his escape—the only thing that drowned out the noise in his head.

But that peace was shattered when he spotted a figure standing by the benches near his stuff.

Riki.

He stood there, arms crossed, gaze steady. His expression was unreadable, but Jungwon knew exactly why he was here.

Jungwon hesitated for only a second before calling for a break. With a deep sigh, he jogged over, wiping sweat from his forehead before sitting down on the bench. He didn’t look at Riki, just grabbed his water bottle and took a sip.

Riki sat beside him, wasting no time.

“Do you know what happened to my letter?”

Jungwon glanced at him from the corner of his eye, then turned his gaze back to the field. “Why are you asking questions you already know the answer to?” His voice was flat, expression unreadable.

Riki exhaled through his nose, nodding slightly as if he expected that response. “Why?”

Jungwon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know the answer to that too.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. The distant shouts of players and the sound of cleats against the field felt worlds away.

Finally, Jungwon sat up, patting his thigh before standing. “Is that it? I’m pretty busy.” He nodded toward the field, crossing his arms.

Riki stood too, this time meeting Jungwon’s gaze head-on. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it.

“However you feel, take it out on me. Not her, she cares for you.”

Jungwon clenched his jaw.

Riki let the words linger before turning on his heel and walking away.

Jungwon watched him go, fingers tightening around his water bottle. His chest felt heavy, like something was pressing down on it, suffocating him.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply before kicking the bench. It barely moved, but it was enough to make his frustration bubble over.

Why did Riki have to say it like that? Like he was some selfish idiot who didn’t already know that? Like he didn’t already hate himself for it?

With a forced breath, he shook his head, pushing everything down, just like he always did. He had a game to focus on.

Without another glance at the benches, he jogged back onto the field, forcing himself to get lost in the only thing that still made sense.

A week after that encounter with Riki, Jungwon found himself in your room. He was doing homework while you sat beside him, pouting at your phone. He glanced at you and smiled.

“What are you grumbling about?” he asked.

You sighed, putting your phone down and continuing with your work. “It’s nothing…”

Jungwon raised a brow. He had never seen you this down before. “What? Tell me. You always tell me what’s wrong,” he pushed.

Pouting, you looked at him with puppy eyes. “It’s Riki… It’s been about a week, and I haven’t seen him or heard from him. Do you think he ghosted me?”

Jungwon stiffened. He had overheard from some guys that Riki had gotten into serious trouble with his parents and now had to work overtime at his part-time job. He sighed, looking at you. You were so obviously heartbroken. Should he tell you?

Or should he be selfish?

This was his chance. He could win you over. He could show you that he was here. That he would always be here.

He gulped, staring back down at his work. He was selfish—just for a moment. But then, he heard a broken sniffle come from you. His eyes snapped to you, watching as you tried to dry your tears, a fake smile on your face as if pretending everything was okay.

His heart dropped. Did Riki really mean that much to you?

Jungwon quickly moved next to you, guiding you to rest your head on his lap. Your cries softened as he gently patted your head, just like he always did.

He looked down at you—your eyes shut, your breathing slowing, the tension in your body fading. And then, softly, he spoke:

“I overheard that he got into some pretty big trouble and is working overtime at his job. He probably didn’t want to trouble you with that stupid mentality of his.”

Your eyes shot open. You turned your head, looking up at him. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really.”

In an instant, you shot up, grabbing your jacket and shoes. “Gosh, that jerk. Where does he work? I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind. Text me the address?” you said, pacing around the room.

Jungwon watched you, unable to find the right words. He wanted to stop you.

Before you could rush out the door, he stood up and grabbed your wrist. You looked up at him, confused. “Wonnie? What is it?”

“I—uhm.”

This was it. He should tell you now. If he didn’t, it would kill him. But as he looked at you—eager, desperate to see Riki—he exhaled and let go.

“Take your umbrella. It’s raining.”

You smiled, running past him to grab it. “Thanks! Leave whenever you want! And don’t forget to take some leftovers home!”

And just like that, you were gone.

Jungwon stood frozen, staring at the empty space you had just occupied. Slowly, his eyes wandered around your room.

The walls covered in posters. The notebooks scattered on your desk. The lingering scent of your perfume.

It was all so familiar.

His mind filled with memories—the time you both got front-row tickets to your favorite band and shouted while holding hands, the nights he stayed up to bring you food when you were sick, the first time you hugged him while crying into his chest.

And yet, despite all those moments, despite everything he had done for you… he never came to terms with his feelings.

A tear slid down his cheek before he even realized it. He wiped at it absently, staring at his damp fingers in disbelief.

Then, without warning, the tears came faster.

He sucked in a shaky breath, trying to stop them, but his chest tightened, and his knees buckled beneath him. He collapsed onto the floor, hands gripping the fabric of his pants as silent sobs racked his body.

It was too much.

The love he had buried.

The longing he had ignored.

The pain of watching you run to someone else.

He had lost you.

And the worst part?

You were never his to begin with.

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

hey, so like. I'm a vaguely sex-indifferent asexual who's only had sex a handful of times but like. I had sex with someone who wanted me to ride them once and I could not for the life of me work out how the fuck you're supposed to move to make that both pleasurable and to not accidentally slip off your partner's dick and just.

"bounces on dick like I'm riding him to half canter."

my dude you have no idea how much this has clicked into my head as oh of course that's how that'd work. thank you??? idk when I'll ever ride someone's dick again but now I know how to make it way more enjoyable.

LMAOOOOOOOOOO there's a reason horse girls are all fucking sluuuuuuuuuuts (i say as a former horsehirl and current, proud slut)

People will sell you all manner of workouts to "make you better in bed" but fundamentally the best workout for sexual stamina I've ever had was daily horseback riding back when i worked as a stable hand. That shit will make you ride dick/strap like a motherfucking god

Also: it's a cheap and dirty trick for almost everything sex related, but yall, I'm begging my fellow three-holed sex havers to start doing kegel exercises with weighted aids until you can literally just orgasm command because I've had to do pelvic floor exercises my entire life and one time I rode dick so hard,so long, and so good, that the dick came dry on the last round and this was in no small part because I am capable of massaging the dick on purpose from the inside out baybeeeeeee. You know that trick people do with blowjobs where they put the condom on with their mouth? I can do that with my pussy folks, and trust me, they fuckin NOTICE the quality.

Not to mention, once your pelvic floor is in real good shape, basically anything can feel pleasurable because it's less about WHAT IS HAPPENING IN YOUR VAG and more about you physically inducing orgasm via muscle manipulation. It's the great equalizer of sex and orgasms. I have a lot of neuroses that mean I struggle with orgasm broadly, and especially on my own, but kegels have made it so that I am "sensitive" enough to orgasm real fast as soon as a partner whose movement I am not personally responsible for gets involved.

If anyone has seen that post about "none of your deserve to joke about pillow princesses until you respect the skill", this is kinda what that's talking about. Not that it's MY preference (I am not a pillow princess but I've fucked some and 😍😍😍😍) but I am very capable of laying back and making my top cum **no matter what they're doing** or if it should actually work out that way, because I understand how to perform kegels during sex to A) prevent dick/strap from fully popping out when things get a lil too wet and wild, B) "stroke" the dick/strap in an intentional grip and movement like with a handjob but in my pussy, my anus, or my mouth/throat as well, C) make sure I'm not getting so tight the dick can't keep doing its thing (less of an issue for straps but you fuck a glass strap for 3hrs and tell me how you feel about the idea that you can't get too tight on one for it to work right), and D) how to rotate my hips to adjust depths of thrusts to a top's preference for reaching or holding off from orgasm. That takes skill motherfucker, don't tell me a pillow princess doesn't work hard, that hole is premium grade have some respect and eat it out like it deserves.

.....I've gotten off topic here.

Anyway, I always HATED riding dick/strap because it's just not my thing you know, and like even now it is the worst of the positions for my personal pleasure. But you just can't beat the look on a power bottom's face when you pillow princess them from above like a goddamn succubus, and it turns out that horseback riding will teach you how to do just that while absolutely never once acknowledging that half the point of a morning ride for the horses is rubbing a few out in the saddle where no one can judge you but you and your god

[feyhunter78]

Flowers on Your Doorstep

Art cred: Panprika (y'all have no idea how long I searched for this pic, I was losing my mind)

Description: After you bail on lunch, Miguel finds himself seeking advice on how to deal with your cold shoulder.

You’re ignoring him, phone on do not disturb, dodging him on campus and you’re even skipping lab. Of course, the TA said you emailed saying you were sick, but Miguel doesn’t believe it.

He knows you, knows you always push through, that you never skip lab because you’re too afraid you’ll miss something important, and your grades will slip. You’re not sick, this is something else. Something that you won’t tell him, and Brett won’t tell him either.

So, he turns to his next best option, Mina. She’s laying on Gabriel’s bed like she owns it, phone in hand, the room smelling faintly of weed. First, she glares at him, and then clicks her tongue disappointedly, sighing, “you just had to go running around with Ava again, huh?”

“Bro really?” Gabriel groans from his desk, spinning around in his chair to face Miguel. “She’s the fucking worst.”

“She just needed someone to talk to, she doesn’t trust anyone else, I was just being nice.” He says, massaging his temples as Mina continues to click her tongue, the tsk, tsk, tsk sound starting to give him a headache.

“You know what she does to you.” Mina chides, pushing herself up into a sitting position.

He does, he knows it all too well. Ava brings out the worst in him, she corrupted him, as you might say. But she’s still a person he once cared about, even if she stomped on his heart and threw it in a gutter, all the while laughing with her new boyfriend.

“She’s changed, she and Kyle broke up.” He shouldn’t be defending her, he knows that, but there’s still a part of him that wants to prove it wasn’t a mistake to love her.

“Oh again? What is this the twelfth time? I’m sure it’ll last this time around.” She deadpans, raising a perfectly arched brow at him.

Gabriel snickers, then gives Miguel a half-hearted apologetic look.

“What does this have to do with y/n, Mina?” He says tersely, running a hand through his hair, frustration burning, licking at his heels. He just wants to leave, to find you and beg you to tell him what he did wrong.

“She likes you, dumbass, and then she found out you’ve been hanging around Ava, while you’ve been hanging with her. What do you think that looks to her?” Mina asks, her expression making it clear to him that the answer should be obvious, and that she thinks he’s stupid.

He’s going to be sick.

“I—I would never—it’s not like that, I don’t want Ava back, I was just trying to be nice, I didn’t think…”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Mina scoffs, going back to her phone and tapping it a few times.

His stomach churns as he thinks back to earlier this week, the way Ava dragged him away, distracted him with stories from back when they were dating, good ones, funny ones. It was only meant to be a short conversation, you were supposed to get lunch, like always, he wanted to get lunch with you, like always.

He can picture it now, you hiding behind the Sig Epp letters watching him, watching the way Ava still didn’t understand boundaries and put her hands all over him. He could hear the tears coating your voice when he called you, it was like a knife through his chest and he just wanted to go to you. Wanted to wipe away your tears and do something, anything he could, to make it better.

“Look Miguelito just apologize, maybe bring some flowers and wear that sad puppy dog look you’ve got perfected.” Gabriel chimes in, stretching his arms above his head, before standing and approaching him, squeezing his shoulder empathetically. “You can never go wrong with flowers.”

Gabriel was wrong, very, very wrong.

You take the flowers Miguel offers you as he stands on your doorstep, patient, anxious, stomach still twisted in knots.

“Did Ava not want these or…?” You ask, inspecting the flowers with a detached look.

“No—no, I mean, they’re for you, only for you.”

“Oh, okay so she got her own, cool, cool.” You say, placing the flowers on the entryway table next to your door and crossing your arms over your chest.

“I didn’t get Ava flowers.”

“Okay.” You say, foot tapping against the wood laminate of your doorway.

“She’s my ex-girlfriend, we dated for a while, she cheated on me.” He admits in a rush.

Your frigid expression melts into something softer. “I—I didn’t know that.”

He rubs his neck sheepishly. “I don’t like to talk about it. It was a really rough time in my life. But her and I are over, I don’t have any lingering feelings for her.”

“Brett told me. He’s seen you and her together, both before we got close, and after…” You wrap your arms around yourself, your eyes downcast. “If you still have feelings for her, I get it, she’s gorgeous, and you guys have a lot of history.”

“I don’t have feelings for her, we broke up the summer before my freshman year here. She just transferred in at the beginning of this year, and she’s been having problems with her boyfriend. I guess she hasn’t really made any friends, so she’s been leaning on me.”

“And you’re too nice to say no to her.” Your voice is soft, tainted with sadness.

“I told her to find someone else, after you canceled lunch, she wanted to keep talking, keep flirting with me because she knew her ex would see us. I said no.”

You look up at him, half in hope, half in disbelief, it’s written all over your face. “Yeah?”

He nods.

You bite your lip then release it slowly, picking the flowers back up. “These are really pretty.”

He gathers his courage. “Just like you.”

A smile flits across your face. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry I gave you the wrong impression with Ava, I shouldn’t have left you stranded while I talked with her, we had prior plans, and I should have stuck to them.”

“It’s okay.” You tell him, holding the flowers to your chest.

He wants to ask you if what Mina said was true, if you feel the same way he does, but it feels wrong somehow. Like it would cheapen the moment.

“Do you want to come in and see our costumes for the dance?” You ask, taking a step back and allowing him entry.

Directly connected parts: Jealousy, Jealousy (previous part) and Semiformal Kisses and Cat Fights (takes place after this current part)

TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhalee, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps, @chrishy973, @farrowroyale, @palesatan, @scaryplanetdestroyer, @denzmallows, @36namey, @scoobysnakz, @ihateuguys, @idkbros-world @smartyren, @deputy-videogamer, @blackrose8425

[nameless-ken]

The Things Better Left Unsaid - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Just an idea that came into my head that I wanted to get out. Debating on if I should do a part two to this. Let me know if I should!

words: 4.2k

warnings: mostly angst and fluff, best friends pining after each other

masterlist

You and Bucky had always been a team, growing up on the same street, your bedroom windows perfectly aligned across from one another. It started with the two of you tapping on the glass with tiny fists, trying to get each other’s attention. Later, it became the flicker of flashlights and shadow puppets against your curtains during late-night talks. By the time you met Steve Rogers in first grade, your trio was inseparable. Steve, small and scrappy, needed the kind of loyalty only you and Bucky could provide. Together, the two of you made sure no one would to mess with him.

Rumors were inevitable. By the time middle school rolled around, your moms were already joking about how you and Bucky were “destined” for each other. “One day, you’ll be Mrs. Barnes,” Bucky’s mom would tease, making you roll your eyes while your cheeks burned. In high school, the rumors took a life of their own. Some kids whispered about you and Bucky being secretly together; others claimed it was Steve. Some even spun stories about the three of you.

Whenever Bucky caught wind of it, he was quick to shut it down. “Platonic soulmates exist, you know,” he’d say, grinning in a way that dared anyone to argue. But it stung more than you’d admit, hearing him say it so definitively, as if he could never think of you as anything but a friend.

Then came sophomore year, when Bucky got into his first real relationship. The rumors died almost instantly, replaced by whispers of envied girls who wished they were in her shoes. For you, it was harder. Bucky, who had always been your partner for Friday night movie marathons and Sunday bike rides into town with Steve, suddenly wasn’t there anymore. He started skipping out on your traditions, forgetting dates and moments that had once felt sacred. Even Steve’s sixteenth birthday—a day you both had planned together since middle school—slipped through Bucky’s fingers. Steve didn’t forgive him easily for that, and neither did you.

When the relationship ended, Bucky came back, knocking on your window one Friday night like no time had passed. You and Steve teased him relentlessly about his absence, but deep down, you were just relieved to have him back. It wasn’t long before everything felt normal again—or as normal as it could be when your feelings for him started to shift.

The memories were countless, small and scattered like pieces of a puzzle that made up your childhood. There was the time in seventh grade when Bucky punched Tommy Matthews for stealing your lunch, even though it got him grounded for a week. Or the summer before high school, when you dared him to climb the old oak tree in your backyard, and he fell, breaking his arm. “Don’t tell Mom,” he’d begged through gritted teeth, laughing even as you panicked.

There were lighter memories, too: sneaking into the corner store for candy, getting caught and sweet-talking your way out of trouble; late-night snowball fights that ended with you shivering in Bucky’s too-big coat; and the time you, him and Steve decided to play hooky from school, spending the whole day reading comics on the roof of Steve’s garage.

But somewhere along the way, things changed. Bucky’s smile started to make your stomach flip, and the way he casually threw an arm around your shoulders as you walked down the school hallways left you buzzing for hours. The worst were the nights when you snuck into his room like you always had, curling up beside him and talking nonsense until the early hours. Those nights, your heart ached with the weight of everything unsaid, knowing it would never be more than this.

Senior year brought it all to the surface. The shared glances that lasted a beat too long, the playful teasing that felt like something more, the way your heart raced every time he called his “doll”. You didn’t mean for it to happen, to fall so deeply for your best friend. But now, as graduation loomed closer, the thought of leaving Brooklyn—of leaving him—was unbearable.

Steve, of course, had known all along. He had a knack for seeing what neither of you could. “You’re both idiots,” he’d scream inside his head, rolling his eyes every time he caught you staring at Bucky like he hung the stars in the sky. He tried everything to get you to confess—little nudges, not-so-subtle hints—but the fear of ruining what you had kept you silent. Bucky, for all his confidence, seemed just as scared.

One evening, as the three of you sat on Bucky’s porch and as the sun set and the street lights flickered on, the weight of the future settled between you. The silence stretched, heavy with words none of you could say.

“I’m gonna miss this,” you said softly, staring at the street you’d known your whole life.

“Me too,” Bucky murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. Steve stayed quiet, his head faced the ground as he kicked around a rock. 

You turned and looked at Bucky, searching his face for something—anything—that might give him away. But Bucky, as always, was impossible to read. Instead, he smiled, the same boyish grin that had made you fall for him in the first place.

“Come on,” he said, standing and offering you a hand and patting Steve’s shoulder. “Let’s make one last memory before we grow up.”

And just like that, all three of you were kids again, racing down the street under the glow of the streetlights, holding on to the fleeting magic of everything you couldn’t say.

The night air was crisp as the three of you ran, laughter echoing through the quiet neighborhood. It was like stepping back in time—back to a world where nothing mattered except the moment. Steve led the way, his small frame surprisingly quick, while Bucky stayed close by your side, glancing back to make sure you were keeping up.

“Where are we even going?” you called out as your breathed heavily, not being much of a runner. 

Steve turned around, jogging backward with a mischievous grin. “To the park, obviously! Last one there owes the other two milkshakes!”

“You’re already losing, Rogers!” Bucky shouted, picking up speed and tugging your arm. “Come on, doll, we can’t let him win.”

The nickname made your heart stumble, but you pushed the thought aside, focusing on the sound of your feet hitting the pavement. Bucky’s hand stayed wrapped around yours, warm and steady.

When you finally reached the park, Steve was sitting smugly on a swing, his hands gripping the chains as he swayed lazily. “Looks like I’m getting two milkshakes,” he said, his grin wide.

“You cheated,” Bucky accused, bending over with his hands on his knees, pretending to catch his breath. “Short legs like yours don’t move that fast without some trickery.”

“Maybe you’re just slow,” Steve shot back with a laugh.

You sat on the other swing, the cool metal chains biting into your palms. The park looked exactly as it had when you were kids—the worn-down merry-go-round, the old slide with a dent at the bottom, the same creaky swings where the three of you had spent so many afternoons.

“Remember when Steve dared you to jump off the swings while it was still moving?” you said, looking at Bucky.

He laughed, the sound sent a shiver down your spine. “Yeah, and I ended up with a sprained ankle. Mom grounded me for a week.”

“And you still tried to climb the fence two days later,” Steve added, shaking his head. “You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck.”

“Please, I knew what I was doing,” Bucky said, sitting on the swing next to yours. “Mostly.”

You laughed, the memory warm and familiar. “What about the time we tried to build a treehouse in Steve’s backyard? We didn’t even make it past the ladder.”

Steve groaned, covering his face. “Don’t remind me. My mom was so mad when we nailed those boards to the tree. She said we’d kill ourselves before we even got it halfway up.”

“Good times,” Bucky said, leaning back on his swing, his legs stretching out in front of him. His gaze drifted upward, to the stars peeking through the leaves. “Feels like yesterday.”

“Yeah,” you said softly, following his gaze. “It does.”

The three of you fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that only came with years of knowing each other.

Steve broke the silence, his voice quieter than usual. “You know, no matter where we all end up, this’ll always be home.”

Bucky nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Yeah. It’s gonna be weird, though. Not seeing you guys every day.”

Your chest tightened at the thought. Graduation was supposed to be exciting, but all you could think about was how different everything would be. Steve, with his dreams of art school. Bucky, with his plans to join the military. And you, still unsure of where you fit into the world.

“Hey,” Bucky said suddenly, nudging your arm. “We’ll figure it out. Always do, right?”

You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah. Always.”

Steve stood, brushing off his jeans. “Alright, enough of this sappy stuff. Let’s go get those milkshakes. And Bucky, you’re paying. I don’t care what you say—I won.”

Bucky groaned, but he followed, muttering something about “rigged games” as the three of you headed back toward the main street. His shoulder brushed against yours as you walked, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like everything would be okay.

But deep down, you knew this night was a goodbye to the way things used to be.

Your room was chaotic. Open boxes were scattered across the floor, half-filled with a mix of clothes, books, and trinkets you couldn’t quite decide whether to keep or leave behind. The walls, once plastered with posters and photos, were bare, the room already beginning to feel like it belonged to someone else. You sat cross-legged in the middle of the mess, holding an old photo of you, Bucky, and Steve from eighth grade.

You sighed, setting the photo down on top of a box labeled Memories. The future was coming on too fast and it felt like you were leaving more behind than you were taking with you.

There was a knock on your bedroom door frame. You looked up to see Bucky standing there, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

“Your mom said you might need some help,” he said, his tone light but his eyes soft, searching yours.

You forced a smile, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. “You’re brave to volunteer. It’s like a war zone in here.”

He stepped in, carefully maneuvering around the boxes. “Guess I better get familiar with it. I’ll be seeing places like that soon.” Bucky tried to joke and failed as your small smile disappeared. 

Bucky ignored it and moved further into your room. He picked up a stack of books, glancing at the spines. “Still got all those Jane Austen novels, huh?”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t act like you weren’t the one who borrowed Pride and Prejudice and never gave it back.”

He grinned, setting the books down. “What can I say? Darcy’s got some moves.”

The easy banter settled the tension slightly. Bucky crouched next to you, reaching for a smaller box labeled Miscellaneous. As he opened it, his hand stilled, pulling out a small, faded flashlight.

“No way,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.

Your breath caught. You hadn’t seen that flashlight in years. It was the same one he’d used to flash messages to you across the street when you were kids, the one that had started all your late-night talks.

“I can’t believe you kept this,” he said, turning it over in his hands, his thumb brushing against the worn surface.

You shrugged, trying to keep your voice steady. “I guess I couldn’t let it go. It’s… kind of important.”

Bucky looked up at you then, his expression unreadable but intense, like he was trying to memorize your face. “Yeah,” he said softly. “It is.”

The air between you shifted, heavy with everything unsaid. His knees brushed yours as he sat back, still holding the flashlight. You could feel the weight of his gaze, and your heart started to race, a nervous, uneven rhythm.

“Bucky…” you started, but your voice faltered when his hand rested on the floor, so close to yours you could feel the heat of his skin.

“Yeah?” he said, his voice quieter now, his eyes locked on yours.

For a moment, it felt like the world stopped. Everything in your room faded, the only thing you could focus on was him—the curve of his jaw, the way his lips parted slightly like he wanted to say something. You leaned forward just an inch, drawn to him like you always were, the space between you shrinking.

But then he pulled back, just enough to break the moment. He cleared his throat, his hand retreating as he set the flashlight gently back into the box.

“We’ve got a lot of work to do,” he said, forcing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You nodded quickly, blinking away the haze of the moment. “Yeah. Right. Lots to pack.”

The next few minutes passed in silence, both of you busying yourselves with the boxes, avoiding each other’s eyes. But the tension lingered but neither of you brave enough to name it.

When Bucky finally left, hours later, you stood at the window and watched him walk down the sidewalk and up his porch before he disappeared into his house. For a moment, you thought about calling him back, about saying the words that had been on the tip of your tongue all night. But you didn’t. Instead, you stood there, clutching the flashlight in your hands, the weight of everything unsaid pressing heavy on your chest.

The sound of laughter echoed through Bucky’s house. The kitchen was alive with your mom and Bucky’s mom chatting as they prepared trays of finger sandwiches and fruit platters, while Steve’s mom fiddled with the coffee maker, muttering about how much caffeine a morning like this required. The living room buzzed with excitement as younger siblings and cousins darted between the adults.

You stood at the top of the stairs, peering down at the chaos with a soft smile. Bucky’s house had always felt like a second home, and today, with all your families crowded together, it felt just like how it did growing. Your mind drifts off, reminiscing about all the holidays celebrated here, missing the simplistic and nostalgic feelings of those days. 

“Hey, don’t linger. You’re the one who insisted on wearing heels,” Steve teased as he passed you, nudging your shoulder.

You rolled your eyes but followed him down the hall to Bucky’s room, where the man himself was standing in front of the mirror, frowning at his reflection.

“This stupid tassel keeps flipping the wrong way,” Bucky grumbled, swiping at it like it had personally offended him.

“Here, let me,” you said, stepping up to fix it. Your fingers brushed against his shoulder as you adjusted the tassel, and he stilled for a moment before offering a soft “Thanks.”

Steve flopped onto the edge of the bed, adjusting his cap. “Man, this thing is itchy,” he muttered, tugging at the collar of his robe.

Bucky smirked, stepping back to inspect himself in the mirror. “It’s supposed to feel uncomfortable. It’s a reminder that we’re about to enter the real world where everything is worse.”

You rolled your eyes, swatting his arm. “You’re such an optimist, Barnes.”

“Hey, I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking,” Bucky replied with a grin, though his expression softened as his eyes darted between you and Steve. “But seriously… I just wanted to say something before we head out.”

You and Steve both turned to him, the lightheartedness fading away. Bucky hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck as he searched for the right words.

“I’m glad I had you two with me through all of this,” he said finally, his voice quieter than usual. “It hasn’t always been easy, but… I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Couldn’t have made it without you guys.”

Steve, ever the sentimental one, stood and clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “You’ve always had us, Buck. And you always will.”

Your throat tightened as you looked at them both, your best friends who had been by your side through every high and low. “We’re a team,” you said softly. “Always have been. Always will be.”

For a moment, the three of you just stood there, the weight of the day settling over you. It wasn’t just a graduation; it was the end of an era, the closing of a chapter that had defined so much of your lives.

Steve broke the silence first, letting out an exaggerated groan. “Alright, enough of this sappy stuff. Let’s graduate before I start crying.”

You laughed, and Bucky grinned, the tension easing as he reached over to nudge your arm. “Yeah, we can’t have Rogers blubbering in the middle of the ceremony.”

Steve shot him a mock glare. “Don’t push your luck, Barnes.”

The three of you laughed as you headed downstairs, your hand brushing against Bucky’s briefly as you walked side by side. Downstairs, the laughter and chatter of your families wrapped around you like a warm embrace, and for a moment, the future didn’t feel so uncertain.

Today, at least, you had this—your friends, your family, and a shared sense of belonging, that you grasped onto for these fleeting moments. 

The auditorium hummed with energy, a crowd full of proud families and eager graduates filling every seat. The stage at the front was adorned with banners and bouquets in your school colors, the polished wood gleaming under the bright lights.

You filed into your seat with your classmates, the rustle of gowns and the low murmur of voices filling the space as everyone settled in. Bucky was in the first row, his posture relaxed, but the subtle tapping of his foot against the floor betrayed his nerves. Two rows behind him, you gripped the program in your lap like a lifeline, the mix of excitement and bittersweet anticipation settling in your chest. Steve sat three rows behind you, his cap slightly askew as he leaned back in his chair, as he tapped his finger against his thigh, a nervous habit he’s had since forever ago. 

The opening speaker took to the podium, their voice cutting through the loud whispers. Stories were shared, advice was provided, and promises of bright futures were offered. 

It was when your gaze fell to the back of Bucky’s head that you noticed him shift slightly. He turned, just enough to catch your eye, and smiled softly. It wasn’t his usual cocky grin or a teasing smirk—it was the kind of smile that spoke volumes without a single word. A smile that was just for you.

Your breath caught, the tightness in your throat making it impossible to return the smile properly. When he winked, the simple gesture filled you with warmth, mingled with the ache of knowing everything was about to change. You managed a shaky smile before he turned back around, your heart racing throughout the rest of the ceremony. 

One by one, names were called, followed by applause and cheers as each graduate crossed the stage. 

As your name was called, you rose, your legs trembling slightly as you made your way to the stage. The moment felt surreal—hands shaking yours, the weight of the diploma in your hands, the cheers from your family echoing in your ears. As you walked back to your seat, your gaze briefly met Bucky’s again, and the pride in his eyes made your chest tighten all over again.

When the last name was called, the room erupted into applause. The principal gave the final cue as caps flew into the air, a chaotic flurry raining down.

You wove through the groups of familiar faces you’ve spent the last 18 years with, searching for the two people who meant the most to you. Spotting Bucky and Steve wasn’t hard—Bucky stood tall and Steve’s blond head was unmistakable in the crowd.

The three of you collided in a fierce group hug, arms tangling as you held on tight.

“We did it,” Steve said, his voice thick with emotion as he patted both of your backs.

Bucky’s arms tightened around you slightly, his voice soft but firm. “We did it. Together.” His arms lingered around you a fraction longer than they did around Steve, his warmth grounding you amidst the chaos.

The hug broke apart reluctantly as your families swarmed in, their pride radiating in smiles and tears. Cameras flashed, capturing every possible combination of family and friends. Your mom insisted on a dozen different poses—one with Bucky, one with Steve, one with all three of you—and the laughter that spilled out of you made your cheeks ache.

For a little while, the joy of the moment masked the bittersweet ache that had been building all day. But every now and then, your gaze would catch Bucky’s, and the unspoken weight of what came next lingered in the space between you.

For now, though, you held onto this moment—this memory—tightly, unwilling to let it slip away just yet.

Bucky’s backyard was alive with the sounds of celebration. Laughter mingled with the sizzling of the grill, and the sweet aroma of barbecue drafted through the air. Kids darted across the lawn, chasing each other with bubbles and toy airplanes. Parents clustered in small groups, sharing stories and toasting with glasses of wine and bottles of beer.

Your cap and gown hung over the back of a chair near the patio, forgotten for now as you crouched on the lawn. Bucky’s younger sister sat cross-legged beside you, her brow furrowed in concentration as she held up a tiny daisy.

“Do you think this one’s pretty?” she asked, her voice soft and earnest.

“It’s perfect,” you replied, smiling as you took the delicate flower from her and tucked it into the growing crown of wildflowers. 

As the sun started to dip lower, you glanced up, your eyes catching movement near the back door as Bucky slipped quietly through, his broad shoulders hunched slightly. 

Your gaze shifted to Steve, who had been leaning near the grill, chatting with one of Bucky’s uncles. He had noticed too, his easy smile fading as his eyes followed Bucky’s retreating figure. When he caught your eye, he gave a small nod, his expression knowing and a little sad.

You patted Bucky’s sister on the shoulder. “Keep working on this—I’ll be right back.” She nodded, already focused on the next flower.

Standing, you brushed the grass off your knees and headed inside, weaving through the crowded kitchen. You found Bucky in his room, standing by the window with his back to you. The curtains were slightly drawn, framing his silhouette as he stared out at your bedroom window.

“Hey,” you said softly, closing the door behind you.

He didn’t turn, his voice low and distant. “Just needed a minute.”

You stepped closer, careful not to startle him. “Big day,” you tentatively replied

“Yeah,” he muttered, his jaw tightening as he finally glanced at you. His blue eyes, usually so vibrant, were shadowed with worry. “Everything’s changing.”

You nodded, the weight of his words sinking into your chest. “It is.”

He turned back to the window, his hand resting on the sill. “What if it all falls apart? What if… we fall apart?”

The crack in his voice sent a pang through you. You stepped forward without thinking, crossing the space between you and wrapping your arms around him. He stiffened for a moment, caught off guard, but then his shoulders relaxed as he melted into your embrace. His arms wound tightly around your waist, keeping him grounded.

“We won’t,” you said firmly, your voice muffled against his chest. “No matter where we go or where we end up, we’ll always have this. We’ll always have each other.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at you, his face inches from yours. His expression was a mix of gratitude and something deeper. For a heartbeat, it felt like the world held its breath, the sound of the party outside fading into the background.

Then he smiled faintly, the tension in his features easing. “You’re my best friend, you know that?” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your head.

You returned his smile. “Yeah. You’re mine too.”

He grinned, but there was something in his eyes that made your heart tighten, like he wanted to say more but didn’t. You felt it too, the weight of everything you never said.

And so, instead of confessing all the feelings you had hidden for so long, you shared a quiet moment, wrapped in the understanding that things were changing. You would go your separate ways, but you’d always have this—the memories, the childhood you spent together with Steve, and the unspoken bond that would always tie you to Bucky Barnes.

And for now, this was enough.

[shardechance]

𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔦𝔰 𝔞 𝔱𝔢𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢 𝔤𝔦𝔯𝔩

ao3 link | playlist | detailed content warnings | masterlist

parts: 𝐈 𝐈𝐈 𝐈𝐈𝐈 𝐈𝐕 𝐕

pairing: feyre/mor

rating: explicit

wc: 7.9k (pt 1)

warnings: major character death, cannibalism

Self-proclaimed 'BFFs' and high school seniors Mor and Feyre have definitely had fights before, but none as bad as the night at the bar when Mor is forced to leave Feyre behind in the rather dubious hands of her distantly related cousin and wannabe rockstar. Mor fully expects to make it up to Feyre the next day, except her best friend doesn't show. Nearly one full week later, Mor is so overjoyed to see Feyre again that she is blind to all the strange new things about her crush--er, friend. Namely, that Feyre suddenly seems to have developed some rather peculiar tastes. That, and she's hot as hell.

[FREAK WEEK DAY 3 - PART 1]

read on ao3 or proceed below for small snippet.

“You think he’s bald?” 

The paper straw flattens between the press of Feyre’s lips, half soggy from how she keeps worrying it between her teeth. That, or the fact that it's been soaking up the same offensively flat Diet Coke for the last half hour since the band finished their set. They tried for something stronger, but the black crosses emblazoned on the backs of their hands were unfortunately doing their job of signaling to Jurian not to slip them any vodka, this time.

They’ve been watching the band pack away their instruments and file into the lounge behind the bar, a pitcher of beer and three pint glasses set out for them in a corner booth. A folded sheet of paper reading RESERVED in blocky script, sitting limply on the table.

Mor looks up from her phone, Instagram promptly forgotten in favor of whatever the hell caused Feyre to ask that question. “What?”

Rolling her eyes, Feyre nudges her chin towards the bar. The delicate twitch of one eyebrow has Mor turning, more bodily than she might like. There’s no such thing as subtlety in places like these. The guy in question looks even bigger up close—broad as he is tall, with arms thick as tree trunks and swirled with tribal tats. Mor struggles for his name, despite having just sat through their entire discography in a room with worse acoustics than their high school bathroom and blown-out speakers. 

“Under that beanie,” Feyre says, by way of explanation. The straw bypasses her lips entirely, and she irritatedly flings the limp wet thing from her glass to discard it on the sticky table. Probably not the worst thing that’s ever been placed on it. The nachos here have food poisoning written all over them. “He looks like he could be bald. Seems the type, you know? Like, did too many steroids on the high school wrestling team and now he’s paying the price?”

A reminder suddenly pings from her phone on the tabletop, interrupting a reel of someone from their year showing all the Homecoming dresses she decided not to buy. They’re all ugly, the dresses. Not that Mor’s is any better—the only one her dad had allowed her to buy. 

Ten minutes. Fuck.

“Feyre, for one second, can you be serious? My curfew is at eleven.” She doesn’t mean to snap, but Feyre knows how her dad gets. How strict he can be about grades and curfews. How little fucks he gives about everything else. 

“I don’t want to go just yet,” she whines, eyes following the unfathomably buff drummer back to his table and the two other guys sitting there. Mor watches as the big dude lines a shot in front of each of them, layered liquors starting to merge into a brown mush. They knock them back without so much as a wince. Mor is suddenly very grateful for her soda, even if it’s lost all the carbonation.

The only guy she recognises, Rhysand Sterling, catches them staring and waves. That quick flick of his wrist turns into a come over type gesture. Two fingers beckoning them forward. 

“You know him, right?” Feyre poses the question as if she doesn’t already know the answer. As if she hasn’t seen the one picture her father has of her in the living room. Taken at one of his firm’s Christmas parties, of course. Rhysand, a couple years her senior, had gone by Rhys back then. 

“Feyre, we have to go,” Mor reminds her, grabbing onto her wrist. She stares dejectedly at the side of Feyre’s face, deflating when she notes the way she seems to have perked up, eyes constantly flitting to the guy sitting at the table. Mor’s cousin. Twice removed, or something.

“It’s fine! We should just say hi!” She stands, neatly pushing in her stool but still well within Mor’s reach. She slips her hand into Mors, using it as leverage to tug Mor behind her, and crosses towards the booth. Maybe she notices how reluctant Mor is by the way she drags her feet, and Feyre offers the incentive, “Besides, it’ll drive Eris crazy.”

Oh, Mor doubts that very highly.

tag list: @shardminds @damedechance @velidewrites @melting-houses-of-gold @popjunkie42 @secret-third-thing @separatist-apologist @the-lonelybarricade @jon-snows-man-bun @iftheshoef1tz

[natalynsie]

The Noah Plan (Noco Oneshot)

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but everything Duncan’s saying is true.”

Gwen dropped into her chair next to Cody in French. It was a typical Wednesday, and Cody and Gwen just came from their History class.

Gwen didn’t like Cody at first. At all. Cody knew that. But he persevered (he didn’t leave her alone) and eventually she grew to tolerate him. And then be kind-of friends with him. Now Cody got to listen to her complaints about… everyone.

“Courtney has a major stick up her butt.”

Yup, there it was.

“Why do you say that?” Cody asked.

“She’s just so controlling about, well, everything! I can’t stand being her history partner. It’s all ‘Gwen we have to do our project on Jacques Cartier’, ‘Gwen, you have to indent exactly 1.25 centimeters so we’re all on the same page’, ‘Gwen, you have terrible handwriting’. Ugh, everything is her way or the highway.”

Cody and Gwen had the same History class, but seats were assigned. Their teacher promised to change them every quarter, and thankfully, it was close to ending. Cody was a social guy, but Ezekiel was impossible to talk to. And impossible to work with. His denial of everything related to prejudice of the early settlers meant they couldn’t do reports on 75% of events. And also, he had an eye on a classmate of his that he was hoping to sit next to.

“Settle down students,” the teacher called to the students.

Gwen lowered her voice. “And the worst part? She complains about how stuck up Noah is.”

Cody perked up. “Yeah?”

“She apparently shares every club with him. Model UN, Debate, Student Government, National Honor Society. I think that’s too many clubs, but whatever. Anyways, she’s always saying that he’s prudish abt fucking like… I don’t know nerd stuff. And she celebrates whenever he skips out on Student Gov. for Book Club.”

“What day is Book Club?”

“Uh, Wednesdays, why?”

“Do you think they’ll let me join?”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“I mean if they’re halfway through the book.”

“Right. Well, I’m in Book Club and we’re not. You’re welcome to join, but since when did you read?”

“I like reading,” Cody dragged his eyes from the board to Gwen. “Always have.”

“...Right. I just joined for something to put on my college applications.”

“So mind if I join?”

“I guess not.”

“Sweet!” Cody exclaimed, a little loudly.

The teacher whipped her head around to face Cody, with a stern frown on her face.

Cody grinned sheepishly. “Désolé.”

That afternoon, Cody entered an English classroom where the Book Club met. There were probably 7 people in the room, not including the teacher. Cody took his seat next to Gwen. No sign of Noah.

After he sat down, the club began to discuss the first chapter of the book they started reading. The teacher had given Cody a copy to catch him up to speed, and Cody read the first three pages before he got bored. How did people read this boring junk for fun? Once he hit the fourth page, he blankly stared at the words and counted down the minutes until he would leave. He probably wouldn’t come back. Noah didn’t even show up.

Cody took a glance at the clock- 3:29.

Then the door creaked open.

Cody turned his gaze towards the door to see Noah slipping in. He sat himself in an empty chair next to some Grade 9 kid that Cody didn’t know.

Noah didn’t say much for the last 30 minutes. But at least he was there! Next week, Cody was going to talk with him.

But that did mean he had to read the book.

~~~

Noah wasn’t there next week.

Cody had read up to chapter seven, just for Noah to not show up. He felt annoyed, betrayed even. By a boy he didn’t even know.

He had spent his entire week thinking about what he would say and his strategies on how he would talk to Noah specifically. Well he didn’t actually know much about Noah. He knew that he was friends with Owen, and that he liked books, and that he was sarcastic. Cody had been working on his humor. It was going… well, maybe it’s good that Noah didn’t show up.

Cody walked out to meet Tyler, his ride to the mall. He pulled out his phone- as expected, no texts or calls.

“Hey, Cody!”

Cody looked up to see Owen running straight at him.

“Oh, hey Owen!” Cody waved as Owen approached. “It’s been too long man.”

Owen gave Cody a fist bump. “Yeah! We should totally hang out sometime. I don’t think we’ve properly hung out since summer.”

“Sure! I’m free-”

“Move it along, Lunchbox.”

Cody shot his head up. Owen was the one, the only, Noah.

“Noah! What do you think about Cody taking a ride with us?”

Noah cupped a hand around his ear. “Huh?”

“Would you mind-”

“I actually already have a ride,” Cody told Owen. But really, he wished he didn’t. “And I’m going to the mall, I have work today.”

“Oh, Noah too! He works at that bookstore on the third floor on weekdays, except for Thursday. I was going to drop him off and then go home. You can tell whoever’s driving you that you don’t need a ride.”

“I’m going with Tyler and he’s going to the same place, so I can’t tell him no now. I’ll see you later Owen.”

“Totally! Text me when you get off work, we can make plans.”

“Sounds good. See you man!”

Owen waved Cody as he walked over to Noah and away.

He works at that bookstore on the third floor on weekdays, except for Thursday.

New plan.

~~~

Cody decided he would stay at Book Club one more time before quitting for good. He couldn’t keep up with the reading anymore. And Noah wasn’t even there most of the time. He thinks.

And maybe Noah would show up if he stayed one more time.

Lucky for Cody, he was right.

This time, Cody made sure to make a few comments on the book. He got too nervous to make any jokes, but Noah nodded in agreement to one of his opinions.

That counted as a win.

That Friday, Cody was ready. He knew Noah had work that afternoon. He was going to go straight up to him and start a conversation. About books. Because Noah liked books.

In History, Cody gazed from his seat in the middle to Noah in the front. He had nice hair. It looked soft and sleek. He took really good care of it. In STEM, he took occasional glances backwards to see Noah staring boredly at the screen, eyes blinking slowly. And in English (where he sat next to Noah) he actually got to talk to him! It was rare that anyone was allowed to say a word in English, but peer review came in handy. He got to comment on Noah’s work, but it was kind of hard to find anything to comment on. It was too good.

Noah handed Cody his essay, margins filled with edits and suggestions. “Cool topic. But you have syntax issues.”

Cody’s eyes glanced over Noah’s edits and chuckled. But he did make the essay more readable.

Oh, to be an English person.

Before he knew it, school was over, and Cody was yet again bumming a ride with Tyler to the mall. He took a quick trip to visit Trent at his job at the record store, and after a while left to the bookstore.

He first stepped in, and scanned the cash register. Noah was behind the counter. He quickly averted his vision and decided to browse the selection.

First of all, he decided that he needed a nice book. One that would impress Noah. But one that he would still enjoy.

Then he was reminded that he didn’t like to read.

He moved from the Thriller section to the Non-Fiction section, and picked up a book on the history of Physics. He wanted to get a headstart since he planned on taking Physics for his last year. Plus, it would make him seem smart. He really needed that after what happened in English.

He went to the counter and placed the book down. Noah scanned it.

“Oh, hey Noah!” Cody said, acting like he hadn’t seen him earlier. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

Noah glanced up. “Yeah, hey. That’ll be $20.99.”

“Do you take Physics this year?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Cool, cool, I take Chemistry. I’m just trying to get a headstart for next year.”

“Good for you.”

Cody chuckled awkwardly. “Okay, I guess I’ll see you later Noah.”

“See you…” Noah snapped his finger in silence for a moment, “dude.”

Cody waved and left.

Well that was awkward.

It now hit Cody- Noah didn’t even know his name.

However, Cody was dedicated. Maybe going straight up to Noah wasn’t his greatest plan. He was going to find another way, and it was going to be through Owen.

[waffliesinyoface]

Anyways whoops I wrote a short thing. Whoops!! I wish I was able to focus on Hasami's actual story but no, my brain only wants to write dumb AUs instead. This may or may not get something added to it in the future!! Who knows!! Not me!!

Hasami looked into the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her – a long mop of shaggy brown hair, tanned skin, canines that were just a little too sharp to be normal, and a pair of blood red inverted fang marks on her cheeks.

Fang marks that she’d been gifted in her last life.

Apparently, the Inuzuka Clan Jutsu wasn’t just skin deep. She was marked as one of them, down to her very soul.

Well. It was nice knowing she didn’t lose everything this time. Silver lining, she supposed.

------

The first time she’d been reborn, it was a confusing and disorienting affair, that left her with more questions than answers. She’d chalked it up to the general weirdness of the Elemental Nations, and assumed that the reason she’d remembered her past life was because the Fourth had distracted the Shinigami and her soul had managed to slip past without getting rinsed clean. It had driven her a little mad, trying to come to terms with an entire lifetime of memories shoved into her head before she could walk.

The second time was less confusing, but far more stressful. Up until she’d remembered, she was a normal little girl. It wasn’t until the first time she’d seen her own face and recognized those clan markings that the memories had crashed back into her head.

She wondered what her parents must’ve thought, that the sight of her own face had reduced her to tears.

-------

The worst part of reincarnating again wasn’t the fact that she had lost her friends, her family, and her teammates – well, okay, it was the worst part, but it was something she could carefully box up in her mind and not think about – but had more to do with the fact she had spent literal decades using her own body as a weapon, every inch of her body dedicated to perfect lethality. And now she was, once again, a squishy toddler who needed afternoon naps.

To put it simply, she was bored out of her goddamn mind.

She couldn’t even take her mind off of it with chakra training, because chakra didn’t exist here. Or, at least, her body wasn’t capable of utilizing it. The Tree of Life had never landed on this planet, and as a result, humanity had never developed chakra networks.

When she’d been reborn in the elemental nations, chakra had never seemed like something new or intrusive; it was simply a part of her. The fact that she could remember a life without chakra made it a bit easier to locate when doing the academy exercises that taught students how to start molding jutsu, but it just felt natural, like stretching a muscle she’d never realized she had. Going back to a life without chakra, however…

She just felt empty.

-------

It wasn’t until she was nearly four years old that she realized where, exactly, her soul had ended up this time. In her defence, while Konoha was immediately distinctive, her new home was much less so, unless one paid really close attention to the wildlife.

Look, it’d been ages since she’d played any of the games, she could be forgiven for not immediately recognizing things like Zigzagoon. It wasn’t until a trainer passed through town with a Skarmory, of all things, before she realized they were anything other than weird looking tanuki.

Vendanturf town wasn’t exactly bustling with exotic and interesting pokemon, after all.

-------

In hindsight, Hasami was probably a… difficult… child. Chakra or no chakra, child or not, she was still, at her core, a shinobi. In her last childhood, she’d lived in a town that had architecture expressly designed to facilitate rooftop travel, and had gone to a school where schoolyard fights were not only encouraged but graded. In that kind of environment, she was seen as a completely average ninja child.

To the people of Hoenn, however, she was a chaotic little monster who climbed onto people’s houses for fun and responded to classmates teasing her about her fang marks by breaking their noses.

Needless to say, the teachers at Mauville Elementary had rather politely asked Hasami’s mother if she wouldn’t perhaps be more suited to homeschooling, instead.

------

“Ne, Hasami, come look what I found at the market today!”

I got up from the couch and wandered into the kitchen. Verdanturf wasn’t quite as small as it had been in the games, but it was still tiny enough that if you wanted anything more than the essentials, you needed to visit one of the neighboring cities. Now that mom had determined I was old enough to not “burn the house down” while she was gone, I only bothered tagging along when she decided to make the trip to Slateport, because that was at least interesting. What could she have found in Rustboro, of all places?

“Here, catch!” As soon as I rounded the corner to see what was up, she tossed something at me. I grabbed at it before I’d even gotten a good look at it. As soon as my fingers touched it, it was obvious – grapefruit sized, round, and metallic – it was clearly a pokeball.

But then I actually looked at it and realized why, exactly, she’d thought it was interesting. It was a Timer Ball. Instead of the classic red and white, it was white with a stylized knob on the top, and, even more importantly, decorated with a pair of sharply curved red triangles emblazoned on the sides.

Without even meaning to, I reached up and brushed the marks decorating my own cheeks.

“Mm~! I thought you’d like it. Apparently, Devon only came out with them recently? The clerk said something about them being a timed exclusive…? Besides, I know ten is a bit more traditional, but…” she reached down to tousle my hair, “since you keep sneaking out to play in the woods, I’d feel a bit safer if you had a pokemon partner, okay?”

I blinked at that. Huh. I’d assumed that most people got their starters from their local professor but… well, in retrospect, there were far too many ten-year-olds for that to be the case.

“Wait, but,” I started, “don’t you need a pokemon to catch a pokemon? What if it breaks out?”

“Hasami.” She smiled, “you don’t think I just picked it up at the store, did you? Go on, click the button.”

I stared at the timer ball again. It hadn’t changed, but… it felt even heavier, knowing there already was a pokemon inside. I swallowed, nervous. Which one had she picked…?

I pressed the button, and was momentarily blinded by the flash as the pokemon inside was released.

I overheard mom stifling a giggled as I blinked the tears out of my eyes. ‘Note to self. Aim away from the face, next time.’ Then I loved down, and…

There was a small grey wolf sitting at my feet. A poochyena.

My breath caught in my chest, for just a moment. I’d never – there was no way she could’ve known what it meant to me. I could never truly replace her, but, just for a moment, it was like I was meeting my partner for the first time all over again.

And then it decided to jump up into my arms and cheerfully start covering my face with doggy slobber.

“Well, look at that! Friends already. I’m glad – my partner decided to scratch up my face on our first meeting.” Saying this, she shot a rueful look at Luna, the greying Delcatty currently snoozing under the table. “Glad I don’t have to bust out the antiseptic.”

I tried, unsuccessfully, to pry the poochyena off me, but my heart wasn’t really in it. “Maybe a towel, though?”

Mom outright laughed at that. “Maybe, maybe. So, any thoughts as to what you’ll name her?”

“Kagemaru,” I said. “Her name is Kagemaru.”

She wasn’t the same, but… she was close. And for the first time in eight years, I felt something I’d carried inside me relax, and I was reminded of home.

[xsweetcatastrophe]

You Broke Me First

part 7.

Zoe was starting to believe she was never NOT anxious, her natural resting state was just a constant low-grade anxiety attack and she picked the skin around her nails every second of every day.

At least, that's how the last 48 hours felt.

She was currently waiting for Cillian as he went to the bathroom; after a couple beers each (no seltzers) the tab was paid and the pair decided to call Cillian's driver to get home and just get their cars the next day. Zoe hoped the photographers weren't waiting for them outside, but she prepared for the worst.

The entire time at the bar Zoe was treading lightly. Something obviously set Cillian off, and she didn't want to see if this gets worse. However, Cillian seemed fine at the bar, and kept asking if Zoe was okay because she was suddenly so quiet. Sorry, didn't fasten my seatbelt for this rollercoaster i was forced on, Zoe thought.

"Ready?" Cillian said, emerging from the bathroom and walking to where she was sitting. She nodded, stood up and Cillian put her hand on her lower back as he lead her to the door.

She stepped outside and found the photographers waiting for them.

"Where's your driver?" Zoe said, turning to face Cillian.

"Right over here, this way" He said, putting his hand on her back once again and lead her to the black car waiting a few cars up.

"Hey John, this is Zoe" Cillian said to the man in the driver's seat. The Driver smiled as he held the back door open for them. "Hello Mr. Murphy, and very nice to meet you Zoe. I hope you guys had a great evening" He said as they slid in. Zoe smiled.

"Hi John. Nice to meet you, we did.. thanks again so much for picking us up"

"Ah, that's my job, Mr. Murphy makes it easy; I'm happy I didn't know him in his early 20's... I'm still picking him up from bars every now and then, but at least they're at a reasonable time of night" He laughed. "not that I wouldn't, by the way. Just appreciate the latest I've ever picked you up from a bar is maybe midnight"

"John... Please stop calling me Mr. Murphy. I've said it every time you HAVE picked me up" He said, rolling his eyes.

"no can do sir." John smiled, looking at them in the rear view mirror.

Zoe liked John. He seemed genuine, or at least that's what she picked up in the 30 second conversation she had with him.

Cillian took out his phone and saw him answer some text messages.

Once I get home, I can take a shower and relax. put on sweats. wash my face. Almost home, Zoe told herself. This was way too much socializing for her.

after a few minutes of silence, Zoe saw Cillian put his phone back in his pocket and put his hand on her thigh.

oh.

"what are you doing?" Zoe said before she realized what she was saying.

"What? I can't put my hand on my girlfriend's leg?" Cillian said.

"But I'm not -" Zoe started, but stopped as soon as Cillian squeezed her thigh. He was motioning with his eyes towards John, who was still driving.

"oh.. uh, sorry." Zoe said. She pouted internally. I don't want to lie to John. I like John.

Cillian's hand moved from her thigh to her balled up fist in her lap. She slowly opened her hand and let him slip his into hers. He noticed her cuticles - all picked apart, red and raw - and ran his thumb softly over them.

Cillian didn't say anything, but he understood. Deep down, he felt horrible. He knew how he was acting towards her, like a complete asshole. Zoe was getting the brunt end of all of his emotions from the divorce and that wasn't fair, or right. He knew she was dragged into something she didn't want to do, and not only that, but be put under a microscope. He's been an actor for decades, he's not exactly used to this but he knows what to expect and how to carry/handle himself when he's out in public. She's been doing this for 12 hours. A lot of pressure in a short amount of time.

Cillian brought her hand to his lips and kissed her hand softly.

"I'm sorry" He mumbed.

"that's the second time you apologized today, just so you know" Zoe mumbled back.

"This building up on the right on the corner, Miss Zoe?" John interrupted.

"Yes, that's me, thank you so much John" Zoe said as the car slowed to a stop. Zoe pulled her hand from Cillian and opened the door. She got out and started walking up the walk, and she faintly heard Cillian said "one minute" or something that.

She turned around and found him walking up behind her.

oh NO, Zoe immediately thought. Panic. I DON'T HAVE AN AIR CONDITIONER AND IM PRETTY SURE THERE'S A BRA ON THE LIVING ROOM FLOOR AND DIRTY DISHES IN THE SINK.

"Zoe" Cillian said, bringing her out of her mind and back to the present.

"Thanks for today Cillian, I had fun" Zoe said, half true and half a lie. She DID have fun.. the beginning half.

"no you didn't" Cillian said, sighing.

"No, I enjoyed lunch. but I'm not sure what happened once we left. you snapped."

"can I come in? i don't know if I want to have this conversation on the steps outside with photographers behind me" Zoe said.

"My apartment's a mess" Zoe said.

"Isn't everything a mess at this point?"

author's note: I'm picturing John as Joseph from Princess Diaries. I also went to end this by saying "I don't make the rules" but... I kind of do. so. John. Joseph from princess diaries. one in the same, leather coat and all. tysm

tags: @lau219 @wolfieellsworld

[scifrey]

NINE-TENTHS

Part Five

You remember what I told you about the Inciting Incident? Well, this is where it matters.

Because that alarm clock?

It sucks. 

Stu was right, and I couldn't tell when the light got bright. I am stupid-lucky my brain wakes up on its own, shouting something is wrong! It takes me thirty solid seconds of staring at the display to figure out what 'something wrong' is. 

I am very late.

I freaking run to Beanevolence, throbbing head down, gulping on air to keep from puking because I am so very hungover, and hoping I don't bowl someone over. I'm envisioning a line of pissed off suits waiting by the door, tapping expensive shoes on the filthy pavement. Or Hadi writing out a pink slip. She'd do it, too, even if she had to go buy the pink paper specifically for the dramatic gesture. 

Rounding the corner, I'm both relieved and horrified to see there's only one person waiting. Shit. I've totally screwed the morning rush. That's hundreds of bucks Hadi is out.

Then my stomach swoops, because it’s him. The guy I’d thought for a hopeful split-second had been at the bar last night. 

Now is not the time to be kicking yourself.

Now is the time to open the goddamn door, and make some coffee, and steal some of the weapons-grade painkillers Hadi keeps in her desk. Hangover Headaches are the worst. The fact that I did it to myself makes it even worse-er. Worser? Whatever, I hurt too much right now to care whether that's a real word or not. 

He’s in his usual uniform: a tailored-within-an-inch-of-its-life waistcoat, button-down, and dress pants combo, this time the yellow-and-hunter green check. Flattering, but not my fave. The newspaper under his arm is in French today. He looks slightly desperate for his caffe tobio. That’s a short pull of espresso doppio'd into drip-coffee. Hard core. If I didn't know what he was, I'd say it was a macho drink ordered to intimidate, like dudes who eat hot sauce that's too spicy to look cool. But who knows what caffeine does to people like him? Maybe coffee alone isn't enough to give him his morning perk. Maybe he just likes the taste.

"Sorry," I say, as I swoop in.

The split-tongue steps back, gesturing to the door. This close to him, I can tell he's got that weird aftershave on. It's smoky-amber, with musky deep undertones of fermenting grapes that one field trip too many to peninsula wineries has tattooed on my brain. 

"You're late—" he starts, and I shouldn't call him a split-tongue, even in my own head. He doesn't lisp. 

What he does do is talk in a skin-tinglingly precise accent that’s British in the vowels and hard Canadian on the consonants. It’s arresting, and lyrical. He even rolls his 'r's a little and, okay, I have wondered how you get a forked tongue to do that. The point is, it's the kind of accent no one else has had in decades. Maybe centuries, I don't know. 

I mean, I have no idea what the dude's name is, let alone his age. Kind of a rude thing to ask. 

"I'm aware," I grunt.

"Allow me—" It takes me a second to realize he's trying to get at the door to, what, open it for me? Like some sort of romantic hero?

Oh, no.

No.

That's cute.

That will not do.

I can feel his body heat , and my brain is seriously not online enough to separate last night's fantasies from reality, and arrggggh. 

"I got it," I say, a bit stronger than is polite. 

His eyes snap wide. This close, the sunflower yellow of them is flecked with sparks of warm amber. He blinks a few times, the gold-leaf freckles that dance across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose getting lost in a mortified flush. 

Shit, I'm being an asshole. 

"Sorry," I say again. "Can you just… let me actually open first?"

He stands there, all handsome and forlorn. "I thought you might be ill—" 

I drag my under-caffeinated gaze from his mouth—this close I can see that the upper peak of his lips are so perfectly shaped they look like they've been tattooed there. I don't think I've ever seen his elegant face composed into anything except a politely thoughtful expression of near-nothingness, sort of like if resting bitch face had a refined older brother. But now he looks hang-dog.

I want coffee. 

I want him to back off. 

(I want to kiss him.) 

I'm so hungover. 

He is so pretty in the morning light.

I'm being so uncooly feral. 

What is wrong with me today? I bet if I'd actually gotten laid last night I wouldn't be staring at him like he's the last donut. 

"Fine, come in."

He heads for his usual front corner table. He must know he looks good sitting there. Possibly he likes this table because he likes his back to the wall, and a full view of the street. Hadi painted the support columns of the old black building the same blazing bronze as her logo, and they do frame the view nicely. And him. Or maybe he just likes the warmth from the windows—it could be a cold-blooded lizard thing. But honestly, I really think he's doing it just to torment me.

'Cause when the sun hits the front of the building just right, it sparks off his spun-copper hair, lines his high cheekbones and beaky nose in gold, gilds his shining freckles, and lends a flush of warmth to his otherwise cream-pale skin. 

(What? I’m still a writer at heart. I’ve already decided exactly how I'd describe him on paper. Don’t judge me.)

God, I'm thirsty. 

I lie to myself and pretend I mean I need something to drink. 

The fact that I can almost hear the syrupy anime love theme every time I look at him is the unfairest kind of bullshit imaginable. I am a trashperson, lusting after him when the most we've ever spoken before today was the time he miraculously asked for a second caffe tobio (he'd had bruises under his eyes like thumbprints. I'd wanted to ask him if he was okay, but he was back to his table so quick and—) 

Maybe Gem is right and I do need to lay off the romance novels. 

(Never.) 

Thirsty. Focus on the coffee.

Right. 

Maybe I need a glass of ice-water instead. 

Maybe just a whole-ass cold shower.

Previous Part | Next Part | Read on Wattpad

[crvstybowlofcereal]

ok i'm just gonna cut to the chase

this is that personal post i was talking about last night. this could be triggering for some people, even as i'm writing this i'm not sure how much detail i'm going to go into, but i will be talking about eating disorders. please read with caution, and stop if you're not in the headspace.

i'm trying not to make this longer than it needs to be, or super triggering, so i'll be sparing details. besides, i'll probably talk more about this stuff on my sideblog.

i first developed an eating disorder in 7th grade, around 12 years old. When I graduated 8th grade i felt really out of control in my life, and it really took hold. 14-15 i was at my worst, it totally consumed my life, i was so obsessed with food, control, and my body.

it had always been kinda on and off until i got to highschool, so like, 14 and a half? and it was a full time thing from there really. partially because of the people in my life. or at least one person. i have very conflicting feelings about my relationship with that person.

anyways, when i turned 16 i decided i wanted to get better, and i started putting in the work. since i decided to stop letting myself spend all my time body checking and fixating on food, I started looking for other forms of entertainment in my freetime, which led me to learning about witchcraft and paganism and it helped me realize a lot about my religious beliefs. (i had struggled a lot with my religion growing up, and finally admitted to myself at 14 that i really had never believed in God as far as Christianity was concerned)

some of the biggest parts of my spiritual belief that really helped me in recovery was that i feel that nature is sacred and inherently beautiful, and, well, i'm nature. even if i don't like the way that i look there's an inherent beauty of my body existing in whatever state it does when i honor my needs. and with this, combined with active self love, i learned to love my body again. how to feel good in my own skin. how to dress myself to feel confident while acknowledging that just because some clothes don't look good on me, my body still isn't the problem.

but recovery isn't linear, and sometimes its way harder than others, and i've definitely slipped in to relapse so many times since I was 16 that i lost count. and sometimes it was really bad. but i always picked myself up after a couple weeks at most and got back to active recovery.

it really really sucks, when one moment recovery is easy, you don't even think about it anymore, you love your body, you love life, you don't worry about food, and then the next moment you're fighting yourself. it especially sucks because you KNOW it makes more sense to keep recovering, you can have 1000 reasons to keep going, but that one point in the back of your mind says "but i want to be thin" and they reach a stalemate. or worse, that little voice wins. and i find myself thinking, why is this so hard? it feels like a beast the size of a tree losing to a little bug. it's humiliating in a way.

that shame on its own of relapse would be enough to keep me from asking for help sometimes. i feel like i need to be able to pick myself up by the bootstraps and take care of shit on my own. but also when i'm in the relapse, sometimes i think "this is it now. i'm actually going to stay like this." it's comfortable, its a coping mechanism, i want "results." and i want to keep it a secret, so no one can stop me.

so um. thats some background context for you.

so basically i discovered Metal Family right at the end of february, and i hyper-fixated on that harder than anything i've ever fixated on things. sure, i've deep dived further on other things, or have been obsessed with them longer, but i was never so IMMERSED like i was with this. for 2 weeks i was in bed pretty much all the time just rewatching the show over and over and consuming fan content. i would do that for 13 hours straight on average. i couldn't pry myself away. i couldn't make myself watch other things. i neglected eating and sleeping for the most part. and when i finally snapped out of it and chilled the fuck out and calmed down to a normal fandom-level obsession, i realized that i had lost weight. during a time i would typically be gaining weight. and i sort of figured "wow great start! if i just go back to my old habits, i can lose so much more! i can be as thin as i used to be." (so toxic, why do you want me to suffer, brain?)

long story short I've been relapsed since then, and last night i was doing my favorite food fixation thing, watching people on youtube eat. and i was watching a wiead video by some girl who was in recovery and the way she talked about it was so much more personal to me and my beliefs than other recovery based channels. hearing her talk about missing out on fun moments in life, and looking back on celebrations and having it be shrouded in Bad Feelings about food and body image really struck a nerve with me. i already have so many photos of myself during "happy times" where looking back all i see is how fake my smile was. how miserable i was and how i hid it. how obsessed i was with restricting food and losing weight. i have things in my life coming up, and i really don't want that to be how i look back at them. I'm the maid of honor in my sisters wedding this september. for the last month or so i was so obsessed with losing weight to look good at the wedding (even though i already look good as fuck in that dress ngl) and now i'm so worried that i'll be too caught up in avoiding food to enjoy it, and that this wonderful day will be overshadowed by memories of how unhappy i was in life.

the biggest thing for me is imagining myself hosting events, particularly, i want to someday host a Dumb Supper for Samhain, (among many other traditions for many other pagan holidays) and it just won't happen if i'm worrying about food. partially because a lot of it, dumb supper in particular, focuses on food, but mainly because with my religious beliefs i feel super guilty when i relapse, and i feel like i don't deserve to engage in the religion. like by actively neglecting my body, i'm insulting the Goddess, and i shy away from my little religious routines and witchcraft (that i could be using to help myself feel better mentally) altogether.

i'm not really sure how to wrap this post up. i just needed to make it so i have people to do it for. because i can't do this if i hide away. i know myself well enough to know that if i think "no one knows anything about it" then i will think "might as well keep it a secret, don't bother them with it, and don't give them a chance to make you stop."

i'm going to document my recovery journey on my side blog @crustyisgettingbetter i'll include my religion and craft and how i use it to rebuild my relationship with my body, introspection in my relationship with food, exercise, and my body, challenging fear foods, etc. i want to be real and show the ups and downs of recovery, so i'll update with good days and bad days and everything in between. also my fitness journey. but that will be a much lesser part of the blog lol.

well that was long as fuck and super personal about probably the one thing i don't like sharing. TL;DR i'm recovering from an eating disorder and shit's hard.

y'all are more than welcome to follow the blog above and ask me questions and stuff about it there. now that this is out in the open, no more hiding. take care guys, ily.

time to actually be vulnerable for two seconds when i hit post..

[cursedzucchini]

Didn't plan on continuing, but here we are. Im bringing.... The plot of the second book Danny wrote!!

Yeah ik i should maybe work on the actual plot, but i got attached to Evelyn and that way to Danny who's writing her.

Anyway i might in the future post the third and last book in the series.

--

*i don't mention it in this, but the whole books there are Evelyn's parents being more and more against the supernatural and all. Like it's def there, not that much important but always coming back*

*another psa, i forgot to mention, the readers don't know how Evelyn died. In the book it's only written like "it was just one afternoon alone in my house, what's the worst that could happen? Well, my death, apparently. CHAPTER TWO Even if blue was my favorite color in life, i couldn't help but despise it in death. I mean, who's idea it was to make the fucking afterlife blue, huh??" Etc. There r only ever hints, which r vague enough*

The second book starts with a nightmare. There are two Evelyn's. Evelyn herself isn't sure which one is she and which one is the imposter and she wakes up in tears.

Following the formula of the first book the first chapter is trying to act similarly carefree, but it just doesn't has the same vibe. Evelyn gets stuck on several details which send her into panic, and the chapter ends with her hiding somewhere, finally saying out loud things aren't okay.

The second chapter is the real start to the book. Evelyn is monologuing about how she wished her life could be a book. How that way she could just skip the uncomfortable or boring or not quite right parts. In the end it's revealed she once again disasosciated and was brought back to reality by worried Greta. Evelyn is falling more and more into depression, so much it affect every moment of her day, and with her rising mental instability, her abilities get more and more unstable. Like she starts floating, or other stuff.

Her friends and sister are trying to help her, but it seems everything they do only pushes Evelyn away. Her grades start slipping, she eats and drinks less. There is deep sadness in the knowledge that she will never have the life she had. But she also mourns for her future and the people around her and everything. Just... Not herself. Also needless to say this is not healthy sadness and mourning. It doesn't help Evelyn, and if nothing happened she would continue being depressed and wouldn't get better.

A mysterious old friend of her parents is introduced. Evelyn doesn't focuses on him that much

Throughout all of this, she still keeps slipping into the realm at night. She walks around, of simply waits to wake up. She meets new people and finally has the realization they are ghosts. Evelyn still refuses to acknowledge she died. It's also important to mention, Evelyn only says (or thinks) she died once, and that is at the end of chapter one. Otherwise she only hints at it, or doesn't finish saying the sentence.

In the half of the book, she gets physically ill. She starts falling asleep and dreaming once again of two Evelyns. slowly they start talking (or arguing?) where one insults the other and sorta is just kinda what Evelyn is thinking unconsciously. The other Evelyn is trying to disprove the first, but slowly she becomes more and more quite. Evelyn still doesn't know which Evelyn is she (like she feels like she's both and none at the same time).

At this point it's 3/4 of the book, and Evelyn is more and more vocal about her hatred of herself (or what she became). She starts hearing a strange voice as she's journeying through the infinite realms, or even when there are two Evelyns. It comes to the point where she decides to tell her parents about her apparent supernaturality, not because she wants to be honest, but as a way to punish herself. She is stopped by Greta who breaks down and tells her how much she was worried for Evelyn and how she absolutely cut them off, and that's not fair.

Evelyn also breaks down and it ends up with the whole group (Evelyn, Daniele, Greta and Alan) cuddling and talking stuff out. Evelyn talks about how she hates what she is, and cant seem to find a way out of everything. They start talking about how everything will be better now that they're together.

That's when another Evelyn appears. She's taller, sharper and colder. She's Other.

Evelyn recognizes her, but before she can say anything, the other Evelyn grabs her neck and starts choking her. She introduces herself by the same name as our protagonist, but tells them to call her Eve.

Evelyn's friends don't know what to do, but try and help her, but they're quickly defeated. Eve starts talking about how undeserving Evelyn is if everything, spelling out every insecurity she ever had. It ends up with Eve resetting the timeline to the moment before she appeared and replaced Evelyn. Evelyn instead appears in a void.

Her existence at this point is the moment she died. She can't breath or blink, at this moment she is truly a ghost. [She noticed she also looks like one. Her normally dark hair is now whiter than the walls in the hospital. She's wearing what she died in, and while normally she's able to ignore it, as the realm is interesting enought by itself (didn't mention that, but Evelyn is very adamant Abt not acknowledging her problems)

She tries interacting with well anything, but only gets pieces of Eve's life. She understands something happened and her parents old friend is partially to blame? It's not very clear, and she can't quite concentrate.

Suddenly a voice appears (this voice could sometimes be heard in in the infinite realms). It tells her about what Eve did. It tells her about how Eve destroyed her original world. It tells her about how she has to die for her world to live.

And Evelyn thinks. She thinks about her friends and about how they promised each other to be strong. She thinks about how disappointed and sad they would be.

And she tells the voice to kill her.

But the voice doesn't. Sure, it's quite for a moment, but than speaks up, voice cold yet warm, harsh yet soft. It tells her they expected more. It tells her they expected nothing less.

And they drop her back into the real world.

After an eternity of no sensations, Evelyn is overhelmed. But more than she is disgusted. How could she just give up on her family and friends?

But she doesn't have time (she never does) and so she's already running to stop Eve.

They fight.

Eve has the upper hand the whole time, it's basically one sided beat down. Until Evelyn gets a lucky, her powers short out in the right moment, and she gets a lucky shot in. Eve is in a thermos Evelyn's parents developed.

The book last chapter starts w the sentence "everything is okay" and also ends w it. The summary of it, is basically "nothing is ok".

Sorta the vibe:

Everything is okay.

(Nothing is okay. She betrayed her friends, she's weak, she can't even think about parts of herself without feeling sick, everything is going so quickly, she's forgetting what is she forgeting--)

But everything is okay.

--

Yeah, i feel Dan is a really big plot point, so i made him part of the plot.

ALSO I GOT A QUESTION ABOUT TAGGING; someone told me to start using the dpxdc & dcxdp tags, bc if u use the ones w spaces, it shows on only dp & DC tags too.

But tbh when i tag without spaces, it def doesn't have that big of a reach, which i get that not as many peeps seem to know about it, but tbh my reach is getting smaller and smaller? Which might be my fault, but also I'm overall a lil confused. And also lots of people still use the tags w spaces, so huh?

[I'm gonna tag this w both of the tags, bc i really wanna know the answer, and i might be lil proud of the plot-]

You know what? Fuck it

DC x DP prompt #3

I think at least lmao.

Anyway! Jason starts making videos on YouTube for one reason or another (is really stressed, no one listens to his rants Abt books who cares). His content is mostly bad books he read or really really really long rants Abt pride and prejudice. Like 3 hours on one tiny detail he noticed on his 214th read through.

He's kinda popular, mostly bc his terrible books videos. He talks Abt the ones that made him the most mad, which coincidentally are mostly romance and supernatural. Like he's one of the well known figures in the supernatural romance critique group (whcih is pretty small, but well). (Also he doesn't show his face on camera, bc secret identity and stuff, it's just his voice over a video of something mundane, like the sky or a room in which is a fly or something)

And now this can go two ways, that i can think of (w dead on main in mind at least)

1) one day Jason finds a book which is supernatural romance and is actually good. It has a kidna cliche system for the supernatural stuff, but with a refreshing twist. The characters have depts and flaws, yet are still very likable. The plot is actually interesting and overall the story's theme is death, not belonging anywhere and overall stuff that is very close to Jason's heart. The story doesn't shy away from violence and it is suprisingly accurate.

(I'm.gonna reblog this w pretty long idea of what this book could be Abt, bc i don't wanna annoy ppl lol)

Anyway Jason kinda falls in love w it, and it becomes famous for being the first novel Jason rated positively or something.

Meanwhile Danny, who was told by jazz writing is good way to get his feeling out, and just wanted to make a quick buck, is really fucking confused how tf did his book become so popular and who tf is this nerd who rates books for a living.

(basically big fan Jason and suspicious/awkward Danny lmao)

2) there is a famous series on Jason profile. It's the worst fucking series he ever read and it's just fucking awful. All the characters are fucking terrible, always going on and on about one thing, the romance sucks in a way that isnt even funny. Jason would love to believe some wrote this as a joke, if it wasn't for the absolute cringefest this was, and it wasn't a whole ass series!! Like who writes 12 books for a joke?

Danny ducking Fenton that's who. Dude was so ducking annoyed at his rogues, he threatened them w writing a terrible romance novels abt them. The ghosts, knowing his terrible grade in literature backed off for a moment, before someone crossed the line. And write Danny did. It was the worst thing he had ever written, the love interest was perfect caricature yet still faithfully go the original. And Danny, because fuck them he lost sommuch sleep over that one prank, decided to publish it. (The book was pretty thin so it didn't take that much time writing it). Unfortunately it became immensely popular in the infinite realm. So the ghosts started crossing lines on purpose. Before Danny figured it out, he had already published his fifth book and was writing another three. After some bargaining, getting a book written Abt them as a piece of shit love interest became a reward.

And while yeah, he had to say his writing was terrible and the books sucked, some small part of him was kinda proud y'know? Like a mother of her twelve ugly as fuck toddlers.

So when he saw some nerd on the internet not only shit talk his book, but also get money of it?

Danny decided to haunt him (just like his books did him, now that everyone knew Abt them thanks to this guy)

(enemies (sorta it's not that serious tho) to lovers ala terrible writer Danny who hates his books and kinda famous YouTuber hasn't who also hates Danny's books)

--

Fuck this is way too long wtf. Anyway imma reblog this w 1) book idea. Might add whatever i think the twelve books could be Abt. Pls if u want to add anything to this pls do!!

[wintervalewritersecond]

siren song || - xavier thorpe

requested: yes! requests: open! second part of siren song! the third part is also out, check my masterlist! ^^

A/N: thank you for the love on siren song! to read part one, click here! i hope you enjoy this part &lt;3 i had to rewrite this considering i accidentally deleted it :')

wordcount: 4.736 warnings: xavier being a bad friend, curse words, slight memory loss, incorrect information about siren song probably, use of weed.

After finally convincing Bianca to use her Siren Song, you get some well-deserved peace in your head. How long does it take for Xavier to notice the changes?

"What?"

The question catches Bianca off guard, not something that happens a lot. Tears are staining your face as you sniff, trying to not start sobbing again.

"Hey, it's okay. Come in."

Her arm is placed on your shoulders as she guides you into her room, placing you on her bed before grabbing her desk chair, sitting next to you.

"What has gotten you so upset?"

You look down at your hands, biting your cheeks as you nervously fiddle with your fingers. You feel embarrassed to sit here, crying in the dorm of your friend that used to be Xaviers girlfriend, but you didn't know anyone that would know how you feel. No one except for Bianca.

"I think Xavier hates me."

"What?" Bianca exclaims shocked. "Why do you think that?"

If there is one thing that Bianca was sure of, it was that Xavier is completely infatuated with you. Even during their relationship, he still made sure to spend some time with you, and Bianca never cared. She trusted both of you, as you became her friend when the relationship was going on. When the couple broke up, your friendship watered down a bit, but you were still both friendly.

"We just had a fight," you whisper. "He never yelled at me like that. Never."

She hands you a tissue, breathing in deeply.

"He has been ignoring me for weeks. He became so obsessed with Wednesday that he did not have any time for me. She- she asked him to the Rave'n and then he found out that she just used him," you ramble. "I asked him to come with me, not even as a real date, but just so he wouldn't be alone. And then he totally ditched me there the second Wednesday came in. The worst thing is, she doesn't even like him. She told me."

How stupid can a boy be? Bianca grits her teeth, shaking her head.

"He is dumb. If there is one thing that he should do, it's to get his head straight. I can't believe that he would do this. Especially after all you have done for him!"

"What if I just become more like Wednesday? I- I can braid my hair? I will even learn to play the cello. He- He said that she was better than me... That I just bother him. Am I too obsessed or- or annoying?"

Even Bianca's heart breaks at that point. The tears are rolling down your face again as you still don't dare to look up at her.

"Am I really that bad of a friend?"

"No!" Bianca immediately responds. "No, Y/N, if anything, you are a great friend. Too good for him. You don't need to be Wednesday to be better. I think she is too emotionless for her own good."

"I wish I was that way," you sigh. "Please, Bianca. If I tell you that I really want it, can you really not use your Song?"

Bianca takes a deep breath, her leg bouncing up and down. Her eyes fall down to the amulet around her neck. It is very against the rules to use her Siren Song, it is something that could get her in a lot of trouble. But, at the same time, she knows exactly how you feel. Xavier is just someone who deserves love, yet he doesn't know how to act around it when someone is literally handing it to him on a silver plate.

Her heart tells her to help you, to give you everything you deserve, but she knows that she also needs to think about the possible consequences. Though your grades have been slipping and your mood has been down for a while now as well. So many factors.

"Y/N, I really don't know."

"What if I consent to it? Surely that must be fine. I- I will sign a contract, even. Write it myself. I- Even only thinking about doing this for me would already be enough."

You must genuinely sound so annoying now, but you know that this will help.

"Why won't you try talking to Kinbott first?"

"I just need something... Something that will work immediately. A Siren Song can always be undone, right?"

"I'm not sure about that," Bianca grimaces. "It's hard, Y/N. I promise you that I will think about it. Just... Try and get some rest, okay?"

-

You had spent the rest of the weekend laying in bed, napping or reading, and sometimes you would head to the Quad to get something to eat. Kent made sure to try and cheer you up, which did work to an extent. You appreciate having a friend like that.

Even from the distance you sit at now, you can still see the figure of Wednesday Addams, sitting alone at her table while writing something down in her notebook. Ajax waves Xavier over to get him to sit at your table but is quickly rejected as the long-haired boy decides to sit with Wednesday. She looks up with the deadliest of looks, though it doesn't seem to phase him at all. Can't he see?

Bianca looks out from the second level of the Quad, spotting both you and Xavier. Not one word is exchanged, though your body language speaks for itself. Your shoulders are slumped and even though Kent tries his hardest to make you laugh, it isn't enough.

Seeing you so upset about someone who doesn't deserve it makes her feel bad. Even in her relationship, she felt like you were more important to Xavier, and that is something she just... Accepted. She never blamed you for it, as Bianca could never really trust Xavier either. But the feelings he has for you are totally real.

After that dinner, you retired back to your room. Yoko would be hanging out with Divina anyway. Just as you let yourself fall on your bed, you hear a knock on the door.

"Coming!"

You kick your bag underneath your bed before walking up to the door, opening it to reveal a Bianca behind it.

"I will only do it after you agree to all the consequences."

She walks in as you close the door behind her, trailing after her.

"You're serious?"

"You deserve to have some peace, Y/N. God knows I wish someone could have done this for me when I was in your situation. I will tell you every consequence," Bianca looks at you sternly. "And I have some conditions."

"Yeah- Yeah totally."

Bianca sits down at your desk, handing you a pen and paper.

"You are to write down that you agree with the Siren Song. I can't just use it whenever I want. Principal Weems will have my head if she finds out."

"Anything, Bianca."

You start writing, still listening to the siren as she explains everything.

"I can genuinely not say if I am able to undo the Song. There is a high likelihood that it will not return to you and Xavier being best friends. I also do not know what to do if this news ever reaches Weems. No one knows that we are planning to do this, no one except for us."

"I promise you, I will take all the blame," you nod, a weak smile on your face. "It is the least I can do."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" She looks at you, her eyebrows stuck in a frown. "It's not something small. You deserve much better than how Xavier acts now."

"I- Yeah. I thought about it all day yesterday. I just... I want to. I promise."

You hand her the paper in neatly written handwriting.

I, Y/N Y/L/N, fully consent to the use of the Siren Song by Bianca Barcley. I have willingly agreed to be under the influence of the song for as long as I wish. All punishments that are given for using the Siren Song are punishments I will take over. Bianca Barcley is not to be lectured nor punished for her actions.

Underneath it is your handwriting, together with the date of today. Bianca takes a deep breath, nodding as she reads it over and over again.

"What exactly... Is it that you want me to do? You just... Want to forget him?"

You nod.

"I was thinking that... I don't want to be scared of him, I just want to stay out of his way. If that makes any sense?"

"Xavier Thorpe will be the one you forget, from now on his name will stop sounding in your head," Bianca mutters, trying to practice whatever she will say. "Distance is something that you will keep, he will not be the reason as to why you... Weep?"

You will forget Xavier, make sure to keep your distance, and not cry over him. You do feel guilty for making Bianca use the Siren Song on you, but in your eyes, it feels like the only way out.

"I think you will just return to how it was before you met Xavier," she then nods. "I will try to make sure that you will not get too close to him again, but I can't promise anything. If you have feelings for him now, you might just... Start liking him all over again."

"I just need to forget," you say, handing the handwritten note to Bianca. "Thank you so much, Bianca."

"This might be the first time I feel guilty for using it," she laughs nervously. "But, you deserve it. Truly. Xavier just needs to get his act straight. He loves you, he's just dumb."

You don't fully believe her. You want to, but you can't. You truly thought that he liked you back, that he was also interested in you. But now you were not even sure if he liked you as a friend anymore.

"Ready? You will probably be sleepy after this."

Trembling hands and nervous sighs.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

Bianca nods, pulling the necklace off of her neck. She closes her eyes, holding your hands in hers.

"Xavier Thorpe will be the one you forget, from now on his name will stop sounding in your head. Distance is something that you will keep, he will not be the reason as to why you weep."

-

You had woken up with a slight headache. Your limbs are still sore from the Rave'n dance, but that can't stop you. Not that you remember a lot of it; they must have spiked the drinks. You pick up your bag from under the bed, emptying it out before filling it with everything you need for the day. After finally finding all your books, pens, and notebooks, you exit your room.

"Hi, guys!"

With a big smile, you greet your friends, plopping down in between Kent and Bianca. You had gotten a sandwich from the dining hall, trying to get some breakfast in before your first class.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Kent snickers. "You're up before me most of the time."

You shrug, taking a bite of your sandwich.

"I was so tired," you mumble, wiping your mouth with the napkin. "I'm still sore from all the dancing!"

Ajax and Enid soon also join the table as Enid huffs.

"I feel like the paint is still in my hair," she complains. "I mean, it was a good post for my blog, but that dress was my favorite dress ever! "

You let out a chuckle, closing the sandwich container before placing the leftovers in your bag. Yes, the paint was a pain to get out of your hair and your dress has also been stained, but the rest of the evening went splendidly.

After fifteen minutes, the first bell rings, signaling that classes are to start in only five minutes. You sling your backpack onto your back before standing up from the table.

"You ready for Botany?" Bianca smirks.

"Well," you sigh. "Can I use your notes? I can't find any of mine from the last three weeks. I don't know what I did during class, but I know that there is a test coming up and this is not my best subject."

Bianca's smile falters for a second, realizing that you really don't remember a lot about Xavier anymore.

"Yeah, you can sit with me. Might be the easiest anyway."

You nod, entering the class as you greet miss Thornhill. She had already placed some strange plants in the front of the classroom as other students slowly entered the classroom.

Some students already picked a spot, including Wednesday. She is placed next to another person, hair to his shoulders and a frown on his face.

"Good morning, Wednesday!"

You sit down on the opposite side of Bianca as she and the boy sit between you and Wednesday.

He feels familiar. It is almost like he was in a dream. Like you accidentally bumped into him once or twice, only seeing him in your classroom once in a while. It's like the lingering smell of perfume when someone walks past you, or when you see a half-erased line of pencils on a page. He is mesmerizing, yet extremely intimidating. It is almost like you can't rip your eyes off of him, but you are also too scared to keep looking.

Bianca gives you a look before placing her notebook in front of you, making sure that you can read all of it as Thornhill starts talking. You try to write down all she says, making small sketches of the flowers and plants she shows while also trying to write down all the notes from the last few weeks.

"Alright, so, I will be expecting the essays about the Ghost Orchid and at least two more carnivorous plants. No maximum amount of words, but at least 450 words per plant."

Thank God for Bianca's notes. Without those, you would have actually failed this.

"I think I'm going to be doing my homework in the Nightshade library," you whisper to the girl. "I really need to get started on this."

After writing down the last few sentences, you drop your pen. Your hand is cramping from all the writing and your fingers are covered in ink. Only Biology and one hour of fencing left and after that, you were going to sit with the Choir Club, even though you're not a member. You would often hang out with them, sitting on a bench nearby while waiting for your friends to finish. You yourself were actually in the Art Club, but you tend to hang out with other clubs on days that you didn't have any.

A small break after Botany, just long enough to grab a hot drink from the dining hall before getting dressed in your fencing suit again.

"Bianca? You want to team up?"

She raises an eyebrow, smirking while grabbing a saber, switching it from hand to hand.

"I thought you would never ask."

"I can use some competition. And improvement."

Bianca won. Not once, not twice, but five times. You groan as you end up on the floor again, the tip of the saber pointing to your chest. You hold up your hand before pushing yourself up.

"We get it," you let out a laugh before pulling the mask off of your head. "I'm going to need a break."

She holds out her hand, helping you get up before taking her own mask off. The two of you walk towards one of the small wooden benches that sit against the wall of the room, grabbing a bottle of water before cracking it open, and taking big sips.

Everyone else is still training, the clanking of sabers and the sound of shoes against the mats filling up the classroom. You let out a big sigh, pushing some strands of hair out of your face.

"I don't know if I will ever fight you again," you mumble.

"You're getting better," Bianca laughs, closing the bottle back up. "I have seen worse."

You look at everyone around you, some also taking off their masks to catch their breath as Coach walks around, giving out tips and advice where needed.

The boy with the long hair is here again, yet you still don't know where you know him from. Bianca sneakily looks at you, blinking before looking at Xavier. He acted like you weren't even there as he just fenced against Ajax. She does still think the two of you fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, but Xavier first needs to figure himself out. She knows he likes you; it is clear as day. But as long as he acts like this, he doesn't deserve you. Not at all.

Has he always just been in the background? It is like a ghost, you know that you have seen him, yet you don't know where or when.

"One more round?"

-

"I think I'll be heading to the library now," you tell Bianca. "I genuinely don't know what happened these last few weeks, but I am behind on all my homework."

Half of the Choir Club time has passed as they rehearsed their songs for Outreach Day. They were to perform when the new statue in the town square was going to be revealed. But you had more than enough homework to do.

"I might join you later," she sighs. "Some quiet would be nice."

You tell your friends goodbye before slinging your bag over your shoulder, hurrying down the Quad and into the small hidden hallway leading to the Poe statue. With two snaps you get in, making sure that the entrance is closed off again before going down the stairs.

Nice and quiet.

After around forty-five minutes, you hear some more rumbling. Ah, Bianca must be here. You have gotten a lot of work done, actually. The Ghost Orchid part of your essay is already done, now moving on to the Crimson Pitch plant.

"Hey, Bianca!"

The footsteps descend the stairs, but the figure does not belong to Bianca. The tall guy with long hair walks into the library, the one that felt like he lived somewhere in your memory. Your eyes grow big as you immediately throw everything back in your bag. You didn't know that he was a Nightshade as well.

You close your bag hurriedly. Something about him is so intimidating, but he is absolutely mesmerizing at the same time. Why are you so afraid of him? When walking out you accidentally bump into him.

"Sorry," you quickly mumble, running up the stairs before he can even reply.

Bianca is cleaning up when you get out of the library, so you run up to her. Luckily she is still there.

"Can I do my homework in your room? Yoko was inviting some friends to my dorm and..." You look around, making sure no one is around them. "That guy showed up again. The new one."

Bianca clenches her teeth, grabbing the last few papers before stuffing them in her bag, taking your arm to take you up into her room. She can't have Xavier mess this all up. You haven't been this happy in weeks.

You sit down against her bed, laptop on your lap as you are typing away. But the words are getting stuck, the same sentence being rewritten multiple times before finally getting one that slightly makes sense.

"Is he new?"

Bianca turns around on her chair, looking at you.

"Who?"

"The guy with long hair. He was in the Nightshade library. I- I didn't know if he was supposed to be in there because I wasn't sure if he was in our group."

Why does he have to be there at the exact same time as you? It almost makes the Siren Song useless. You might avoid him as much as you can, but he isn't under the spell.

"He's new."

"He's kinda pretty."

Bianca scoffs.

"Pretty weird. It might be best to stay out of his way, he needs to work on himself before making new... friends."

-

Xavier groans, dropping his bag on the floor. You had been fully ignoring him, but to be fair, he totally deserved it. He had noticed you sneaking into the library and his plan was to try and talk to you, but you had fled before he could get one word in.

He had called Ajax, asking him to come down to the library as soon as he could. Xavier spent some time sitting in the room, biting on his lips while bouncing his leg up and down. He really, really fucked up.

Rumbling of stones and footsteps.

Ajax shows up, slightly out of breath. He had ran here from his dorm. Xavier said that there was a big problem and if he was needed in the Nightshade library, it would probably be huge.

"What's up, man?"

"I fucked up," Xavier runs his hands over his face. "Like, really bad."

The Gorgon frowns, looking at his friend. Xavier looks stressed out, more than usual. His hair is messy, his eyes are red and he has big eyebags underneath his eyes.

"What did you do?"

The artist breathes in shakily, pacing around the room while fiddling with his hands.

"I have been a total asshole to Y/N," he mumbles. "I left her at the Rave'n, drenched in that paint, and then she went up to visit me. I wasn't only a horrible date, but I was an even worse friend."

"Xavier?" Ajax asks yet again. "What did you do?"

Xavier breathes out roughly, blinking while pursing his lips. He is too ashamed to say it, but he needs to tell someone. He needs someone to set him straight.

"I treated her like shit. I told her Wednesday was better than she is."

His friend gasps, looking at his friend almost disgusted. How could he have said that to her? After all those nights of the artist hanging out in Ajax's dorm, him smoking some weed while listening to his friend blabber on about how much he liked you, and then he does this?

"What the fuck? Xavier, you have liked her for years, why would you say that?!"

Xavier rubs his eyes. If anyone is disappointed, it's him. He was so in his head that he took it all out on you. Wednesday isn't better than you. He has liked you for the longest time now, and this just messed it all up. Xavier his mental health has been declining, especially now that he is also suspected of being some type of monster. But that isn't your fault. None of it is. You have always, always been there for him, and he just swept you to the side.

"I'm going to be honest, dude," Ajax looks at his friend. "I am really disappointed in you."

"As you should be," Xavier whispers.

"I'll help."

Xavier looks up, kind of shocked. For some reason, he expected Ajax to just abandon Xavier in the library, leaving him to fend for himself.

"Only if you promise to never do this again. Go to Kinbott more, try and talk about your feelings. Y/N never cared, you could show up crying at her dorm at three am and she would make sure that you're fine before she even thinks of going to sleep."

"Ajax- Thank you so much."

"Yeah, yeah. Just try to talk to her. I'm serious, Xavier. You might be my best friend, but this is not cool."

-

For the last two weeks, Xavier had tried to talk to you on multiple occasions. He even sat at your table, though Kent and Bianca were hovering around you, not even letting Xavier get one word in.

During Botany he tried to draw a butterfly, making it float in the air before it quickly gets swatted away by Bianca who just gives Xavier a disgusted stare.

During Fencing he walked up to you, wanting to ask you to train with him like you usually did, but you quickly darted away once you saw him coming for you.

He went down to the Nightshade library to wait for you, yet you never came.

What he did do was 'accidentally' bump into you. He would calculate when he had to stand up to go to class. The first thing you would put in your bag was your notebook, followed by your pencil case. After that you would close the zipper; his sign to stand up. After swinging the bag on your shoulder, you would walk off.

You accidentally bump into someone's back, making the bottle of water that they had in their hand fall.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!"

As you go to pick it up and give it back, you see the boy again. The boy that appeared in your dreams as if they were faint memories. The boy reminded you of ink splatters and the smell of freshly painted walls.

You quickly hand him the bottle, excusing yourself before finding your way to a picnic table again. He makes you nervous, and you don't know in what way. Bianca warned you for him, so all you could do was listen.

In your room, you had a collection of handwritten notes, asking you to meet up in the Nightshade library. You never did. Once you showed them to Bianca, she immediately shook her head.

-

"I don't know what else to do," Xavier furrows his eyebrows, "She just doesn't want to talk to me. I don't blame her for not wanting to, but sometimes she even completely ignores me. As if she doesn't even know my name. I tried everything."

Ajax takes a hit of his joint, his eyes tinted red before he blows it out of the window. The moon is lighting up Nevermore, its stars shining around it.

"Everything?"

"Yeah," Xavier responds. "I tried to talk to her, give her notes, even accidentally bumped into her. But, Bianca and Kent are just acting like bodyguards to her."

"If you want, I can try to talk to her tomorrow."

"You would do that?"

"Yeah," the Gorgon shrugs. "She still talks to me sometimes. Hanging out in the Quad after classes. I'll let you know how it went."

-

"Y/N! Hey!"

Ajax runs up to you, a big smile on his face before he pulls his beanie back down.

"Ajax! It is nice to see you again."

"What are your plans for today?"

Hm, what were your plans? You did really want to go to the Weathervane to get a drink, but considering it is a Thursday, you weren't too sure. There are no shuttle buses today, and walking in the chilly weather for twenty-five minutes didn't sound too appealing.

"I have some homework I still need to do. I was thinking of going to the Nightshade library to study. Want to join?"

The boy eagerly shakes his head, following you through the hall and down the stairs. The small table gets filled with books, pens, and notebooks. Ajax didn't really take a lot of homework, but he did provide some snacks.

The two of you talked about all different types of things. How he was planning on asking out Enid, how you expected Outreach Day to go, which homework you were doing, and much more.

"Can I maybe ask you something personal?"

You hum, looking up from your paper.

"Of course."

"I was just wondering," he awkwardly laughs. "What happened at the Rave'n?"

"I have no idea," you shrug. "I think there were some Normies who set off the sprinklers. All I know is that my dress is still stained and that, whatever it was, really burned my eyes."

Ajax frowns, what are you talking about?

"Yeah, no, I was there. One beanie destroyed," he chuckles. "But I meant more like... After the Rave'n. What happened?"

It is your turn to be confused.

"Well... I showered, tried to wash the stains out of my clothes, and then hung out with Bianca."

Do you just really not remember?

"What? No, Y/N, I mean... What happened with you and Xavier?"

Even more confusion spreads on your face as you put your pen down on the paper. What is he talking about? All you did was dance, drink punch, took a break, danced more, and then went to clean yourself from the sticky red paint. And who is he talking about?

"Who is Xavier?"

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

TAGLIST

@pagesfalling @skrlls-devonte @clingytraitscclist @annamarieisbae @babyminghao @rayliz7931 @morningstar09 @flowersownme @sunnytkm23 @sweeterheartxamerica @geekgirleve @lorayma9 @eringaitskill @itscheybaby @sophiathereader @r3fundmyb1rth @sweaterxav @stxrangerdxnger @wrenwastooshort @negativity4you @poppet05 @bambi-munson @diorheaven @mirikusashes @yksthings @kis9na @br66klynbaby @ietss @xxhospital-for-soulsxx @secretdazeobservation @lunacurlclaw @dredres @joselyn001 @sojo154 @parkersmyth @hannahnikohl @peanutbutter-y-jams

[it-happened-one-fic]

I Just Missed You - Riddle

Author Notes: This one is a touch indulgent. As soon as I thought about Riddle having to go home and face his mom after overblotting I wanted him to have some sort of escape. So I gave him one. An easy chat with the Prefect. This one is female-reader simply because I felt like it and it was written to "Far Away" by Nickelback

Type: Angst/Comfort/Fluff/ Platonic or Romantic you choose.

Warning: Riddle's Mom... that's it.

Word Count: 928

Riddle inhaled deeply, resting his head back against the door of his room and letting his hand lay limply in his lap, cradling his phone. He’d known visiting home was going to be a test worse than anything he’d ever faced before.

He’d come quite a ways since his overblot. Y/n, the Prefect, had helped him to better himself. To change his ways and not become a tyrant fit to overtake his mother. But it was still hard. Returning home to the place where it had all started. 

Everyone had told him he shouldn’t have been treated that way. Even Ace, who’d held Riddle accountable for his oppressive actions, agreed that his mother had been in the wrong. And yet Riddle wasn’t comfortable blaming her.

 It was true, she’d been tyrannical about her rules and had, in many ways, treated him horribly. But she’d also raised him. Without her there was no telling who he’d be now.

He looked down at his phone, already feeling drained. It hadn’t taken his mother long at all to discover the changes in him.

“I thought you were in Heartslabyul? What about the rules?!” Her astonished and evident agitation had made him cringe and want to burst into apologies. But he knew he shouldn’t. He couldn’t really help the overblot nor the Heartslabyul rules. The worst part was he didn’t know what she was upset about.

“Having cake each day at the Unbirthday Parties is a rule Mother.” She’d pursed her lips at his surprisingly calm statement. But rules were reliable. They were a way he and his mother could communicate.

“And your grades?” Riddle had offered a sheet on which he’d carefully monitored his progress, doing his best not to tense as she scanned the neat line of top-notch scores.

“Perfect as always Mother.” She’d hummed as she scanned her way down the sheet of perfect attendance and grades. When she’d given an approving nod and returned the sheet to him, Riddle had almost beamed. It had felt like a pressure had been lifted from his chest and could breathe again. From now on this visit would be smooth sailing.

Or so he had thought.

“And you aren’t making any… unsuitable friends? The sort that would lead you astray? I heard that Clover boy was going there and when you were young-”

“Of course not Mother.” The lie had fallen from his lips like a defense mechanism. Too fast and desperate. A condemnation.

Her eyes had narrowed at his irretrievable reply. It had sounded too urgent even to his ears. She hadn’t said anything but Riddle knew it was coming. That was why he’d sealed himself in his room with the excuse of studying.

The moment she’d questioned his choice in friends, Y/n had come to mind. A wonderful person and a loyal friend, but definitely not what his mother would deem suitable. Not with their light-hearted teasing and easy going nature. Y/n wasn't strict enough about rules and didn’t have high enough grades.

Mother didn’t even view Trey as trustworthy and only barely accepted that he was the vice-housewarden when Riddle had explained how well he knew and obeyed the rules. There was no way she’d accept Y/n… Much less Ace or Cater.

Riddle’s fingers itched to tap in the number that the Prefect had given him just before he’d left on break. She’d donned such a bright smile as she’d handed him a tiny slip of paper, “I haven't ever given you my number so, here! If you get bored or… need anything, I’m just a call away and I’m not going to be doing anything anyway.”

It was like she’d known he would need someone to get him through this ordeal. Sure, he could leave the house and go visit Trey but….

Trey would doubtless be busy with customers and catching up with his family. After all, his siblings and parents adored him and their bakery was always busy.

If Riddle were to be totally honest, he missed the Prefect who’d turned his life upside down. She’d done far more than just save him from overblotting and then work with him to figure out the Spelldrive situation. She’d worked with him and helped him to overcome his obsession with rules. She’d shown him he didn’t have to punish every single slight infraction and could relax at times. And he missed her.

His fingers hovered tentatively over the screen. She was a single tap away and even though it’d only been a few days it already felt like it had been far too long since he’d heard her calm but friendly voice.

What would she say? Probably something along the lines of knowing he could face this and that everything would turn out alright in the end. And then she would ask him mundane questions about his home and he would humor her. Calming down at the sound of her quiet voice that always ensured he relaxed. That ensured he didn’t melt into a ball of stress and frustration.

Riddle had hardly realized what he was doing until he heard the beep at the end of the line and her familiar voice sounded from far away, “Hello?”

He exhaled, strangely relieved to hear her voice, “Hey, It’s me.” He could hear the smile in her voice when she responded, immediately chipper.

“Riddle! What’s up?” He smiled despite himself at her casual words. No, Mother definitely wouldn’t like them. But he did.

“I just…” He hesitated and she waited, ever patient with his hesitations and unsureness. “I just missed you.”

[wilmabyers]

Why does no one ever f*cking remember me?

Disclaimer: This is Part 4 of The Fruity Four but it can also be read as a stand alone.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three (18 + only)

Summary: Reader, their boyfriend Eddie Munson and two best friends Steve and Robin play Never have I ever with a twist and secrets get spilled.

Tags: Fluff, playful flirting with eddie, talk of sex and role-play, drinking

By the time we go back out to join everyone, we find Robin and Steve sipping nearly empty beers on the couch. Dumb and dumber nowhere to be seen. Turns out Beth got embarrassed so they dipped.

Without turning around to face me, I hear Steve say “You two are officially the worst wing women in history”

“Hey, I didn’t do anything!” Robin snapped back.

“Exactly! That’s the problem. You two are better when you put your heads together. You should have been helping her!”

Eddie walked over to the kitchen to grab some beers from the fridge. I started to quietly work my way over to the other couch.

Then Steve turns toward the kitchen and points a finger “And you, Munson!”

He freezes, juggling 4 beers in his hands. “What did I do, man?”

“Nothing! That’s the issue! I’m convinced you all want me to die alone.”

Eddie walks over to Steve, managing to move all the bottles into the crook of an elbow so he can put a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out with Mary, dude. Cold one to drown your sorrows?”

Steve nods and grabs one.

Robin snorts, “Her name was Milly!”

I could tell right away Robin was drunk. She always had this child-like giggle and shit eating grin after a few too many. I loved drunk Robin though.( A little too much, clearly.)

“No, It was...” he pauses a moment then laughs. “Shit, I don’t even remember anymore,” then takes a long swig of his drink.

Eddie laughs and starts walking over to me, tossing a drink to Robin on the way, then to me before sitting on the couch next to me and putting his arm around my shoulder. I took a long sip and leaned into his touch.

“You know what will make this night all better? Never have I ever!” Robin announced with a grin.

“Ok, now I know you’ve had too much if you’re suggesting a drinking game,” Steve says while reaching over to take her beer away from her but her reflexes were too quick.

“I’m not drunk. I may be a little bit tipsy but that’s it. You owe me some fun after this shit-show, Steve”

“I concur, “ I chime in, reaching over to clink my drink with Robin’s.

“Fine. Fuck it,” Steve says taking another swig.

I look over at Eddie and he just shrugs. “I don’t care what we do as long as I get to drink but...” he trails off, making his way off the couch,” we’re doing it the right way.”

He points both his fingers in the air theatrically and skips back into the kitchen like a hobbit getting his second breakfast. Gods, this man was such an adorable little dork. I can’t believe he’s mine.

He goes to the kitchen again and comes back with 4 shot glasses and a bottle of whiskey.

“Dude, my dad will kill me!” Steve exclaims.

“Just fill it with a little bit of water. He won't even notice. This isn’t even the top shelf kind. We’re good.”

Eddie starts to fill the shot glasses. “Ok, for every finger you put down, you have to take a sip of your beer. If you run out of a whole hand, you take a shot. Once all the shots are done, the game is over and we’ll all be pleasantly toasted.” He explains with a bow and a shit-eating grin. His dungeon master ways clearly didn’t just stay within the confines of the Hellfire Club.

“Oh, I’m so in!” Robin says leaning forward, eyes wide with excitement, “mostly because I know you guys will be drinking those shots and not me.”

“Oh, yeah little miss innocent over here” Steve Mocks, pointing his thumb at her.

Eddie returns to the couch. “Ok, princess, you go first.”

“Shit, ok. Umm never have I ever failed 12th grade twice” I said trying to stifle my laugh.

“That’s a low fucking blow, man” Eddie says before taking a sip with one hand and slipping the other one under my ass to pinch it.

“Ouch!” I yelped.

“Ok, my turn.” Robin chimes in. “Never have I ever kissed Eddie.”

I go to drink my drink when Eddie interjects. “That’s not exactly true, Robin"

Steve and I snap our heads to look at Robin. I can feel my blood boiling.

Robin looks shocked and confused. “What are you talking about?”

I look over at Eddie and I swear smoke must be coming out of my ears. “Someone better start explaining real fucking quick.”

Robin starts to stutter and she looks genuinely upset, “I honestly have no idea what he’s talking about.”

“God, why does no one ever fucking remember me?” Eddie exclaims, dramatically dragging his fingers over his face and into his hair. “It was during band camp in middle school. 7 minutes in heaven?” He looks at her with raised eyebrows, impatiently waiting to see if it starts to ring a bell.

“That was you!?” Robin exclaims with complete shock, her hand smacking over her mouth. “I tried to block out that memory. That whole night was so humiliating and very affirming that I was into girls...” She trails off then realizes she inadvertently knocked Eddie. “No offense!”

“None taken, sweetheart” he shrugs and lets out a half-hearted laugh.

I was able to relax my shoulders and unclench my fists after hearing the story. Friends hooking up with my boyfriend was a sore spot for me. When I left my old school before Hawkins, my best friend and boyfriend ended up in a relationship together almost immediately. Eddie was a saint for dealing with my trust issues from that. That combined with his baggage, it was no wonder we were like two bulls in a china shop whenever we were together. Who would have thought that the man that used to be able to fill me with homicidal rage with one look, was now one of the only people in the world to love me the way I never thought existed( or thought I deserved.)

He looked over, noticing that I calmed down and started to rub my back. He whispered in my ear “you can stand down now, tiger. It was barely even a peck and we were so young. I honestly forgot too until now”

“I was so close to decking you in the face” I said.

“I know. I could tell by that scary look in your eye.”

Robin and I both took a drink.

“Looks like you played yourself there, Robin,” Steve quipped before rubbing his chin trying to think of what to say.

“Hmmm..never have I” then he looked over at Eddie and he got a mischievous smile on his face, “never have I ever had sex while role playing as Lord of the Rings characters.”

Eddie got up immediately and ran to the other side of the room, dodging any chance for me to hit him on the arm again. It must have a bruise by now.

“Edward Franklin Munson, I’m going to kill you!,” I said, flicking a beer cap at his face but he moved his head out of its path.

He had that sly smile on his face that pissed me off and melted my heart simultaneously. Seeing my death stare, he put his hands up defensively. “I realize now it was an invasion of privacy, ok? But you should think of it as flattery! I was excited about it and wanted to share the tale with a trusted buddy, ok?”

Steve leaned over toward Robin “ they wore costumes and everything.”

Robin whipped her head toward me , grinning “I didn’t know you guys were such freaky little nerds!”

I covered my face with a couch pillow to cover my most-likely beet red cheeks. I don’t know why I was so embarrassed. I trusted Robin and Steve more than anyone and I know they don’t judge me. I’m just not used to sharing my sex life in such detail. At least Steve chose the more mild of stories to expose me because that’s not even close to the kinkiest things that beautiful man and I have done. Gods, I wonder what else Eddie has told him.

I suddenly feel a thump on the couch before I feel my favorite pair of hands wrap around my waist. Then my favorite deep voice like honey and venom in my ear “I’m sorry, baby. Punish me for it later?”

I lowered the pillow and turned my face to catch his lips in a kiss. Then I whispered into his ear “Oh, I will definitely enjoy punishing you later”

He backed away winking and replied “Not as much as I’ll enjoy being punished.”

“Alright, let’s continue the game, lovebirds. Your turn, Eddie”

Eddie stays close to my side but faces the group and claps his ringed hands together. “Right! Hmmm, ok. What haven’t I done? What haven’t I done?” He looks up at the ceiling with his tongue sticking out, feigning being deep in thought.

I go to punch him again but he catches my fist and pushes it down to wrap both his arms around me.

“Never have I ever slept with Steve,” he says wiggling his eyebrows at me, tongue slightly sticking out again. That tongue would have been really distracting to me, thinking of all the amazing things it does if I wasn’t incredibly irritated with what he just said. I was kind of relieved though that he seemed to mention it like it was just a funny thing of the past because he definitely didn’t treat it like that when he first found out. I thought he was going to smash Steve’s face in when he found out. He almost did but luckily I was able to calm him down. They got over all that eventually and are able to have a real friendship despite how unlikely a duo they are. It’s honestly so fucking cute, I can barely handle it. Seeing my two favorite men together, getting along? It just warms my heart. I took a drink and noticed Steve was looking down at his feet nervously.

“Umm..” Robin starts shakily, “I guess this is as good a time as any to admit that I, too ,slept with Steve.” Eddie and I stared at her, jaws on the floor. “Just one time!” she explained, “ After the first time Vickie and I broke up and after ingesting A LOT of vodka.”

“I’m sorry, what!?” I gasped.

“I’m confused. I thought you were a lesbian.” Eddie blurted.

I punched him on the arm again, right on the growing bruise.

“Stop hitting me!” he yelled, holding his arm.

“Stop saying dumb shit!”

“Yeah, I thought so too,” Robin started, “But...he’s very pretty,” she said, stifling a giggle.

Steve shook his head but he smiled and blushed a little.

“Yeah, so as it turns out I can only have romantic connections with women,” she says glancing briefly over at me then snapping back and looking down awkwardly with a laugh,” but sex with men isn’t terrible “

“Wow, thanks Robin” Steve deadpanned.

“I used to be scared of penises but it turns out they’re just like dildos but like warmer and squishier and better!” she laughs, her face turning bright red.

“Ok, I am livid you guys didn’t tell me thisbefore but that can be saved for another time.” I said before continuing the game.“Ok never have I ever...”

“Kissed Robin? Oh wait, sorry, that’s not true anymore” Eddie blurted.

I whipped my head at him, giving him the most deadly death stare.

He immediately realized his drunken slip up.

“Wait, you didn’t tell him? You’re a total hypocrite, babe!”

“What the hell is going on right now?” I heard Steve say, his eyes wild with disbelief.

I looked at Robin and she looked embarrassed, averting her eyes.

I let out a sigh. “Yeah Robin and I kissed last Friday. Ironically, vodka was also involved.”

“Not nearly as much as the night with Steve though. Like seriously, I...”

“Robin, please!” Steve yelled in a high pitched tone, cutting her off.

“Jesus H Christ. I thought you guys were the three musketeers but you are seriously dysfunctional” Eddie remarked before leaning over and downing one of the shots. “I needed that just to deal with this fucking soap opera.”

“You know what I just realized?” Robin asked with an amused look on her face.

“What?” we all asked in unison.

“All of us in this room have hooked up in some way or fashion except for you two,” she said, wiggling her fingers at Eddie and Steve.

“That’s right! “ Both the guys avert their eyes while Robin and I look at each other and both get the same idea telepathically.

I poke Eddie in the ribs. “Babe, you guys have to kiss. It’s like a prophecy. It’s written in the stars”

He looked me up and down intensely with one eyebrow arched. His lip was snarled. I laughed at seeing how uncomfortable he was.

“Come on, Steve. Just a little peck on the lips. Come on.” Robin egged him on.

Steve looks up with this look in his eye like he has an idea. “Ok, we’ll do it.”

Eddie jumps up out of  his seat, “You’re not fucking touching me, Harrington!”

I jump up to put my hands on his chest soothingly.

“Baby, we’re just joking. We’ll stop. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, slow down there, big boy. We can make this work to our advantage.”

Eddie slowly sat back down eyeing Steve suspiciously. He sat down in silence for a few seconds. “I’m listening” he says,” bringing his beer to his lips, taking the last sip.

“If Eddie and I kiss. Just a quick peck, ok? You ladies, have to drink all the remaining shots AND I wanna see you guys make out in person”

“Ok, now we’re talkin’. I knew I liked you, Harrington.”

“Ew, no, this isn’t happening,” Robin says. “What is it with guys and their fascination with girls kissing? Like seriously does having a penis make you brain deficient? My sexuality doesn’t get to be some spectacle for you guys.”

“You two were just wanting us to kiss. How is this not the same thing?!” Eddie asked.

“I was just playing around! I’m not going to get some sort of sick pleasure from it.” Robin replied.

“I might” It escaped my mouth without my permission. Damn this liquor.

All of them looked at me. Robin looks shocked and betrayed a little. Eddie looks intrigued and Steve just looks dumb-founded.

“I...it does sound kind of hot to me. But if Robin isn’t comfortable with it then let’s just drop the whole thing and turn on a movie or something.”

“Wait, you’re down to do it?” Robin asks incredulously.

“Umm..yeah kind of.”

Robin studied me and there was a look in her eye I couldn’t place.“Ok. Deal.”

Eddie sputtered, “What?”

“You heard me, Munson. Pucker up if you want your prize.”