#year of hell is on for the millionth time and I’m here for it

[sstarsalignn]

Forbidden

Synopsis ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

The new teaching assistant is too hot for his own good, distracting most of the girls in your class. You’re not too bothered by him, he’s just another pretty face- until you get pulled by him for failing the class. It’s every girls wet dream, getting taught by the hot new teacher- and you find yourself slowly falling into a sickly sweet situation.

Warnings ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

Age gap, inappropriate touching, arguments, angst, eventual smut, obsession, hidden relationship, public sex.

Word count ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

2.3k

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I II III IV V

Chatter mulls through the room as you sit quietly at your desk, reviewing some of the content for the final year of your class here. You can tell everyone is excited, the final year of this four year course upon you.

You, on the other hand, were less excited. The pressure of the material was very demanding already and you just wanted to get on top of it, keep it down to a minimum so it wouldn’t collapse your entire life.

A door opens at the back of the classroom and the chatter is suddenly gone, a stiff silence falling over the rest of your classmates as they take in someone who is definitely not your teacher, stood at the desk at the front of the class.

Immediately, you hear the hustles of chatter from all the girls in class as they take in the very obviously handsome man stood waiting. He grins, looking around the room and soaking up the attention. You roll your eyes and scoff, not bothered by his pretty face as you look down to review the material for what felt like the ten millionth time.

“Okay guys, enough chatter, let’s get started,” his voice scratches at the back of your brain, something about the way he sounds making you turn all mushy.

“So, you’re probably wondering where Dr.Mendez is, right?” A murmur of agreement washes the room and you glance upward, watching as his hands clasp around a book, stance all flexed as he leans against the edge of the desk. You can see him scanning the room and your eyes meet for a second, him flashing you a brief smile before you’re looking back down, again.

He’s hot. He’s making you all flustered, no doubt like all the other girls in the class- and it frustrated you. You’re just here to learn.

“Well he’s swamped with other classes this year so I’m stepping in to teach, you’re stuck with me,” you can hear the smugness in his tone, basking in the attention from the girls fawning over him.

“I’ll die a happy woman stuck with you, sir,” a whiny voice giggles from behind you and you already know it’s Kendra, a self centered bitch who has done nothing but make your life living hell while being in this class.

He laughs, thanking her, before moving on. You look up again, watching him as he strides around the desk to take a seat on the front of it and opening the book in his hands.

“I’m Rafe by the way. I’d prefer if you guys just called me that,” he looks around the room, thumbing the page he’s currently on as he takes in the entire class. Again, your eyes meet and he smiles again, something you don’t return as you expectantly wait for him to move on with the class.

“Right, so, I’ve been filled in on what you guys have been learning for the past three years, and this is your last year, yeah? Very important.” A chorus of further murmurs flow from the class and Rafe, now you know his name, nods. He slaps his knee, standing as he walks back to his laptop, clicking some buttons before it connects to the large projector.

“I won’t keep you waiting then, let’s get started shall we?”

By the end of the three hour class, you’re exhausted. You’re so ready to climb into your car and get home, climb into bed and have a fat nap. As usual, you’re one of the last to leave class, hating getting caught in the throngs of people all leaving with the same goal as you.

Kendra and her cronies are stood talking to Rafe at his desk as she giggles and twirls her hair around her finger about something he’s saying, and you roll your eyes as you shove your book bag further onto your shoulder and descend the steps down the the bottom of the class.

It really makes you want to scoff, how fucking sleazy she is- really, the guy has just started to teach the class and she’s already trying to get her claws into him. You wonder, sometimes, how she managed to get into an advanced class, but then you remember she was born into money, her perfectly bleached blonde hair and always perfectly manicured nails reminding you of that.

“See you later,” you hear Rafe say and you turn, to see his focus completely on you instead of Kendra. Her scowl could kill if it were possible, mad that his attention is on you rather than her. You smile and nod, waving goodbye before rushing for the door and leaving.

It’s cold out in the parking lot, and you regret parking your car at the far side this morning when you were in a better mood. You’re thankful, however, that this is your only class today and you can just go home and sleep.

The drive to your apartment only takes fifteen minutes, traffic light as a slight drizzle begins to fall on your windscreen, rolling your window down to scan your badge to get into your estate gate.

Your cat greets you through the window of your ground flat as you pull into the parking spot in front of it, turning the engine off and grabbing your stuff before rushing to the door, leaving down to greet whiskers as you close the door.

“Let’s go to bed, eh?” You ask, and he purrs, following you down the hall. When you’re finally relaxed in bed, you find yourself thinking of the new teaching assistant, wondering if he knows what he’s signed himself up for.

“Good morning guys, we ready to start?” Rafe asks the room, cup of something steamy in his left hand. You can hear Kendra giggle from behind you and you just know she’s twirling her hair in her fingers, which makes you sigh.

Today, your friend, Molly, had decided to turn up. You’re grateful, telling her about yesterdays events in a hushed tone as her eyes grow wider the further you tell.

You drop your eyes down to Rafe to see him setting up his PowerPoint again, clicking away on his keyboard.

“Yeah and he literally said goodbye to me, and she was all like grrrr and scowley like? I didn’t do anything,” you tell her, Molly flashing a frown over her shoulder to signify her displeasure. She hates Kendra just as much as the next person.

“To be fair, he is very attractive. I’d be mad if I put that much into my appearance and you stole his attention just like that,” she snaps her fingers to give you an idea of what she means and you blush. You definitely didn’t steal his attention, he was just saying goodbye. Right?

You both fall into silence as Rafe begins talking to the class about different formulas, all the basic stuff that you noticed at the beginning of the content paper. This class is shorter, only being an hour and a half, before you’ve got another class in the afternoon with another teacher.

As you work through the slides, you find yourself glancing at Rafe more and more. You had to give it to him, he was very attractive. Buzzed hair, sharp jawline and sparkly eyes that everytime they looked into your own, sent you dizzy.

Alas, he was your teacher. It begged the question in the back of your head of how old he was, because he didn’t look much older than you to be honest. The slides soon come to an end, Rafe clapping his hands as he thanked everyone for turning up today. Everyone grapples to leave, Kendra hanging by his desk as he lazily entertains her while typing away on his computer.

You bid Molly goodbye as she rushes off out the door, desperate to see her boyfriend before he goes to his next class, leaving you to pack your things as you earwig on what Kendra is saying.

“I think I could do with some extra tutoring, Rafe,” she twirls her hair around her finger again, eyes blazing down at him. Rafe grins, laughing up at her before going back to his computer.

“You’re fine Kendra, I reviewed your papers from last year. No tutoring needed,” you can practically hear the sarcasm from here, and you’re sure Kendra is one more comment away from bursting into tears and ringing her father because the teacher won’t fuck her.

“Oh, okay. If you say so Rafe, but I’m always free,” she scrapes her fingers along his desk, and act that makes you wince as you walk down the steps.

“See you next week, Rafe,” she drawls, before throwing you a scowl, leaving the classroom. You’re about to follow, not wanting to stop and chat, but Rafe does so anyway.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to speak to you, actually,”

You turn on the spot, swallowing despite suddenly having a dry mouth. You walk back, standing in front of his desk as he closes his laptop and smiles up at you.

“I uh, had a look at your papers from last year,” he begins, but you can’t help your mind from racing already.

“What? I’m not doing anything wrong am I?” You ask, words rushing out of your mouth like you’re spewing.

Rafe shakes his head, eyes never leaving yours. “No, no. I just think you’re lacking some certain aspects that could definitely help you be the top of the class,”

You breathe out, not realising you weren’t breathing at all. He grins, lazily, as he begins to toy with the edge of one of the books on his desk.

“I think I can help you be the best. I’d like to tutor you, if you’d like the help. You can say no and still pass the class but I think the extra help will get you to the top,” he concludes, fingers dancing along the edge of the book.

“I uh, I don’t know. I don’t think that’s very fair one other students,” you quip, pushing your bag up your shoulder. As you do, your skirt pulls up your legs a bit more and you see the brief second his eyes flicker down, before looking back up at you and gulping.

“I can see that, yes. I just think you have the most potential,” you eyes wander back down to his hand, now playing with the edge of the book, other moving up to rest under his chin.

He has nice hands, you think, and immediately want to slap yourself. He’s your teacher.

“Uh, thank you?” It comes out as more of a question and Rafe laughs, circling the edge of the book. You have to pry your eyes away from it.

“You can think. Let me know next Monday, after class. Have the rest of the week.” You nod meekly, smiling lightly at him as you bid him goodbye, heading for the door.

“Oh, and before I forget, make sure you read up on pages one hundred to one hundred and sixty for next week. I know you like to get ahead.”

“You’re going to say yes, right? I mean it’s a no brainer,” she continues, rambling. Truth is, the more you’ve thought about it, the more appealing it sounds. You’d love to be top of the class, make your dad proud, and rub it in Kendras face, like a reminder that money can’t buy grades.

“Like imagine? What if he tries to make a move on you, I mean look at you? Why would he not? Oh my god, this is perfect,” she almost yells, before taking a sip of her wine. You’d not actually thought about that part of it, choosing to mostly ignore it.

But then, if that were his motive, who would he ask you and not Kendra? She was the better option for something like that. You would like to think that it wasn’t one of those deals, that he actually wanted to help you, and that was the part that was convincing you.

“I think I’m gonna say yes, but just for the tutoring, I wanna get better grades,” you tell her, taking a sip of your own glass of wine. Whiskers jumps down from the windowsill next to you, fawning around in your lap before collapsing down and falling asleep. You scratch his head, looking over at your friend who wiggles her eyebrows at you.

“But you wouldn’t turn him down if he made a move, no?”

“I don’t know Mol, he’s just another pretty face to me,” you say, looking over at the tv. You were trying to watch twilight, until you got distracted by rambling Molly who only comes out after some wine.

“Cmon, he’s so totally into you! Turning down Kendra to then offer the exact same thing to you,” she declares, pushing your shoulder back. You have to admit, there may be some truth in her statement, because why would he do that for you but not her?

“I just hope I actually get taught what I’m missing,” you say, causing Molly to roll her eyes. “You’re not missing anything, you’re already one of the top in the class, he just likessss you,” she drawls the likes, making you giggle at her as you bite the edge of your wine glass, contemplating the pros and cons of letting Rafe be your tutor.

You’re going to do it.

Note ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ Hello!! First series I’m actually excited to write ! Teacher Rafe is just 🤩 much love, let me know what you think <3

Check out a teaser for a new series here <3

[queensunshinee]

So sweet || Patrick Zweig x reader, Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex), drinking, mention of an eating disorder, again, I really don't know what's going on here. It's so weird. Just a small but important reminder: English is not my first language, so please don’t be mad if there are any embarrassing mistakes- I’m really trying my best!

Word Count: 7.3k

So sweet

Patrick wanted to know what is it about you that makes Art lose it. You're not the funniest, not the best at tennis—or at anything Patrick has ever seen you do, to be honest—and you're definitely not the prettiest. You're not the best. You're just not.

"She’s just so sweet," Art had said when the two of them were sitting in one corner of the Stanford cafeteria, and you were in another. Patrick didn’t see it; he thought you were scheming. That you were the least sweet person he knew. And because Art has known you for so many years, Patrick has known you long enough not to trust you. Who picks a college just because the guy she’s sleeping with also chose Stanford? Only a conniving witch. Someone who wants to pull Art away from him and Tashi. Someone who wants to pull Art away from his dreams. From tennis. Someone who wants Art all to herself. Patrick figured it out years ago. You can fool Art. Fuck it, you can fool yourself if you want. But you can’t fool Patrick.

And it doesn’t matter at all that you and Art have known each other since you were six. It doesn’t matter that all the evidence points to your parents being responsible for your academic choices. It doesn’t matter that it’s only since you got to Stanford that you started sleeping together; he never touched you inappropriately even once before college. Patrick didn’t like you before you two started having sex, so he sure as hell doesn’t like you now. You didn’t even bother to sit with them. You didn’t even bother to say a simple 'hi' to him. You don’t respect him enough to sit at the same table when he comes to visit Tashi and Art. You don’t respect him. Period.

“Do you think she’s ever eaten a burger?” Patrick suddenly asks, completely ignoring Art’s rambling about competitions and trying to inspect your plate from afar. He can’t see what’s on it, but he’s sure there’s nothing nutritious enough there. “I know for a fact she’s eaten more than one burger in her life,” Art rolls his eyes. “Why are you so obsessed with her?” he asks for the millionth time. He asked it every summer. He asked it after Patrick went on about how insane it was that you and Art were going to the same college.

“I’m not obsessed. I just think there’s no way her pussy smells normal with that diet,” Patrick says, earning himself a well-deserved elbow jab from Art. Art never talks about you that vulgarly. Art doesn’t talk about you much at all. That’s part of what annoys Patrick: that they can talk about any other girl, but with you, it’s never an option. Even about Tashi, he managed to talk to Art. He gave him the signal. He told him. But Art doesn’t share anything about what he does with you.

Patrick knows about Melanie from statistics that Art slept with. Patrick knows about Georgia or Regina or whatever her name is who works at the library and made it to second base with Art. He knows down to the exact books they leaned on. But he doesn’t know anything about you. Art keeps you to himself as if you’re some treasure he needs to guard at all costs. Patrick hates you and the broccoli you’re shoving into your mouth while reading a book, ignoring the outside world. You’re such a fucking smug witch. You won’t be able to fool him. . . . Art will never tell Patrick that there are moments when he thinks he loves you. Sometimes. Most of the time, he doesn’t. Most of the time, he knows he loves Tashi. The same Tashi that Patrick took for himself. Snatched her right out of Art’s hands.

But with you, it’s different. With you, it’s been building for years. You’re the one he smeared snot on when you were six, and somehow, you kept coming over to his house to watch cartoons with him. You kept showing up at the tennis court, reading a book while he practiced. You kept being an inseparable part of him.

Art knows you love him. It’s so clear to him, almost as clear as the fact that his first dog was named Jameson and that he died when Art was 8-years-old. You held his hand when he forced his parents to bury him. He didn’t want you to hold it, tried to shake you off for a few seconds, but you insisted. He never told you, but it felt nice.

Your first kiss was with Art. He insisted. Of course, he insisted. You love him so much, and you’re so, so sweet. Always polite and blushing at the right moments, and at 14, he kissed you. Explained to you that you couldn’t start high school without knowing how to kiss. He was doing you a favor. You said “thank you” afterward, like the polite girl you always were.

You kept kissing after that, as if it was the natural thing to do. Every time he came to visit in the summer and you’d come over. Every time he went to your place. You’d end your time together with his lips exploring yours. So sweet.

He will never tell Patrick that he knows you better than he knows himself. That he knows all your secrets just as you know all of his own. That sometimes he melts under your gaze and would be willing to tell you his ATM code if you asked. He will never reveal this to Patrick. Or you. He will never tell him that sometimes he feels like you’re such a deep part of him that you are simply him. And he is simply you. And when he thinks too deeply about that, he’s capable of barging into your lecture, telling the professor there’s been an emergency, dragging you into the janitor’s closet, staring for a second at your terrified face, and fucking you there on one of the shelves. Not that it happened. Maybe. He won't tell anyone.

And he will never give you the chance to go all in for him because it’s too terrifying. Because with you, he feels helpless, out of control, almost embarrassed. And because Patrick hates you. He’s never seen Patrick hate anyone as much as he hates you. And Art doesn’t think he can be in a relationship with someone Patrick doesn’t like. Which, in itself, is a crazy thought.

But Patrick loves Tashi, and Tashi has nothing sweet about her. No look that radiates tenderness or sweetness. She doesn’t smell like cinnamon and vanilla. She doesn’t have a soul that wants to share secrets with him. Tashi doesn’t look at him like he holds the moon. Tashi doesn’t look at him as if he could fill an empty space in her heart. Because she has no empty space in her heart. Tennis fills her heart. Tennis and Patrick. Art looks at her heart from the outside. He’s not a part of her story. He so badly wants to be part of her story. He thinks it's a need at this point.

And every time his mind fills with Tashi, he finds some random girl willing to stroke his ego (and his dick) just enough to make him forget. He never goes for the easy option; he doesn’t go to you. He only wants to be with you when he’s thinking of you. When you fill him so completely that he can’t breathe. When he physically needs you in front of him. Not when he wants someone else to touch him. Not when he wants Tashi Duncan so badly he could cry.

He looks at her and Patrick, unable to understand what she sees in him. What she finds in his best friend. The scatterbrained guy who doesn’t shower every day, who wears the same underwear longer than is acceptable, who snores while laughing, who eats whatever he wants, whenever he wants, like he isn’t trying to make a living as a pro. Like everything is a joke. Art doesn’t understand how Tashi can waste her time on a joke. . . . "What are you studying, Little Dove?" Patrick pulled out one of your earbuds when he found you tucked away in a corner of the library. He saw how you physically recoiled at the nickname he’d given you the first time you met. Not a nickname you liked. That only made him want to call you that enough times for it to be engraved on your gravestone when you die. For you to maybe one day think it was your real name. For it to become a part of you. Little Dove. He didn’t even know why he called you that. It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t good either. But it wasn’t necessarily bad.

"What are you doing here?" you replied, half-indifferent, reaching out for him to give you back the earbud he’d so brutally yanked. "Killing time. I had a fight with Tashi, so I can’t go to her match. Art’s obviously there because well, he’s in love with my girlfriend." He paused to study your reaction, wanting to see how you’d respond to the fact that Art didn’t love you. That he loved what belonged to Patrick, and you didn’t belong to Patrick, so he would never love you. Not really. Not entirely. "You’re the only person I know here. It’s your job to entertain me," he said, flashing a fake smile.

Everything about Patrick was fake. That was something you’d learned to be indifferent to years ago. Every time he jabbed at you or said something vulgar to disgust you, you knew it was fake. There was no point in taking him seriously. You pitied him the way you’d pity a little kid whose ice cream cone had fallen and no one was willing to buy him a new one. "I’m not a clown, Patrick. I have a test tomorrow," you said and snatched the earbud from his hand. He didn’t retaliate. He simply sat down across from you, examining you more intensely than you were comfortable with. His gaze pinned you like a scalpel. You tried to breathe evenly. He’s always like this. He’s always like this. Remember that he’s always like this, and everything will be fine. This is not the time to panic. Not in front of Patrick Fucking Zweig. He can’t win a war you’re not actively fighting.

"How’s life, Little Dove? Happy at Stanford with Art? Better now that he finally agreed to fuck you?" He was blunt to the point that it made you glare at him and wrinkle your nose for a second. That only deepened the smirk plastered across his face. "Do you need something?" you asked, trying to sound as though his vulgarity couldn’t faze you. As though everyone around you spoke that way all the time. As though your pathetic sex life wasn’t plastered on your forehead like a billboard. He was laughing at you. Patrick Zweig was laughing at you.

The thought that he might know every intimate detail of what you and Art did in bed made your entire body shiver. He could see it on you. He knew he’d won. But you weren’t even playing. You wanted to scream you weren’t even playing. No sound came out. He’d won. He knew it, and you knew it, and there would never be a draw again. Because you would both always know he’d won. That Art had told him how you moan. Maybe Art had even figured out that you fake all your orgasms because you’re probably broken so he told Patrick that too. Maybe it was all more humiliating than you could imagine. Maybe you wouldn’t be able to talk to Art ever again. Maybe-

"You’re overthinking it, Little Dove. I can see it on your face. It’s not that deep," he rolled his eyes and took a bite of an apple he’d pulled out (you had no idea from where). "You can’t eat in here. This is a library," you mumbled, grateful for the change of subject. Any change of subject. You’d be willing to talk about cactuses at this point if necessary. "I’m not a student here," he reminded you, as if you’d forgotten. As if that wasn’t the sole reason for your fleeting happiness- that you didn’t have to see his face here 24/7. Only sometimes. Only when he was visiting people who actually mattered to him.

You put the earbud he’d pulled from you a few moments ago back in your ear, signaling to him that the conversation was over and that you hoped not to see him again for the next year. Or ever, if you're being honest. You wanted to go back to studying in peace. To not think about the brazen guy in front of you. The one so emotionally entangled with the boy you loved that sometimes you felt there was no way to win. No way to beat Patrick Zweig. Because he came gift-wrapped in a package deal with Art. And once, you tried so hard to make him like you. You tried to fit into their conversations, laugh at the crude jokes, nod when Art nodded. Just so Patrick would stop looking at you with disdain, stop looking at you like you were a stray cat too wet to save. Like one that had rabies. Like one that needed to be put down.

He just kept staring at you, eating his apple as if rules didn’t apply to him. As if he were above what was allowed and what wasn’t. Making you hate him a little more, but admire him just as much because you would never have the guts to act like the world belonged to you. You thought it had something to do with the amount of money he grew up with. Art once told you Patrick had two pools (in one of his houses). Who needs more than one pool in a house anyway? But that was all you needed to know about him—he was privileged enough to believe he had the right to treat people like they were beneath him. And you’d never admit it, but you didn’t want to be beneath him. You didn’t want to lose to Patrick Zweig. You didn’t want to lose when you knew the prize was having Art. . . . He finds out that Tashi got injured completely by accident. He leaves you alone in the library because you bore him. You don’t let him sink his claws into you, something he realizes he liked doing only when he's around you. So, he goes out to smoke a cigarette, what else is there for him to do when he’s stuck here while Tashi plays and Art makes eyes at her from the crowd? What else does he have to do when you're sitting in front of a book and ignoring his existence and the nasty words? And then someone said something about seeing Tashi's knee fly through the air, and Patrick’s cigarette fell out of his mouth.

He asked three different people where the athletes' clinic was. Two ignored him, and one gave him wrong directions. He found the clinic on his own, trying to make sense of the campus signage. He felt like it was taking him forever. In hindsight, maybe it was better that it took him longer. Because Tashi looked devastated, Art looked lost, and both of them screamed at him. Art’s scream hurt more. He wouldn’t admit it, but he felt Art’s scream all over his body. It made him shiver.

And that’s how he lost Art Donaldson forever. Checkmate by Tashi Duncan. He didn’t expect that. He thought only you could take his place in Art’s life. Never Tashi. He thought you were the only one Art would lose control for. Maybe he looked at everything wrong. What a terrifying thought, to realize you spent years trying to beat someone without noticing the other players. Absolute blindness. He felt lost. Stuck in your disgusting university. Stuck in the loop that his life dragged him into. No matter how much he tried to think about it in the last half hour, he couldn’t find a way out. He couldn’t see a world where he and Art could be friends again.

‘I've got your bag, you forgot it in the library,’ his phone beeped with a message from you. Another message with your room number. He nodded to himself, even though no one could see. He wiped away some of the tears that had fallen from him, hoping no one would see that either.

He knocked on your door loudly, not caring about the other students living in the hallway. You opened quickly, intending to say everything you think about him, but in the hour and a half he’d been gone from your sight, something in Patrick’s gaze had changed. You’d never seen him like this, and it made you lean against the doorframe, mouth half open. You know for sure that he cried, the trail of tears was obvious. You know for sure that he was confused, his gaze zigzagging. The famous smirk he dedicates to you at every moment wasn’t there.

"Who died?" you asked quietly, because you couldn’t find any other reason for what you were seeing in front of you. He just passed through you, as if your room was his own. As if he had an invitation. As if you had to let him in. "Can I sleep here tonight?" he asked. His leg was shaking. He looked the worst you’ve ever seen him. "What happened to Tashi's room-" "Please (Y/N)," he used your actual name, "I’ll be out of your hair by morning. You won’t even feel like I was here, there are no more buses, and my car’s at the tournament site," he explained incoherently but clearly enough for you to nod. For you to understand that something terrible had happened. Bad enough that he couldn’t sleep at Tashi’s. Bad enough that he couldn’t sleep at Art’s. The thought of it made you cringe because the only thing that could have happened, the only thing that could have caused Patrick to fold in front of you like this-

"Am I overthinking this?" you asked after what felt like an eternity. When you were lying on the bed in the dark, and Patrick was lying on a makeshift pile of sheets and pillows on the floor next to you. You hoped he’d tell you that you didn’t need to think about it too much. That he’d tell you the same thing he said to you in the library. "Not this time," he said almost in a whisper, "I’m sorry," he added. Neither of you knew what he was apologizing for; For how he acted all these years or was he apologizing on behalf of Art? On behalf of the person who until just a few hours ago was his best friend. Patrick thinks an apology won’t be enough for either of you. He tries to sleep. When he leaves, he doesn’t write you a note. But there’s a flash of understanding when he looks at you before he walks out; Art was right, there’s something sweet about you. Patrick will never admit it. But what reason would he have to admit it now? Art is no longer part of his life, and he’s pretty sure Art won’t be part of yours just as quickly. You and Patrick both lost him, you just don’t know it yet. He almost feels sorry about how out of the loop you are. And what connection do you and Patrick have without Art? He thinks he’ll miss you. He saw you move slightly, one leg sticking out from under the blanket. He’s sure he’ll miss you. What a humbling thought. . . . You haven't seen Art for a week. And that's okay. Because he doesn't owe you anything. He made sure to remind you at every opportunity that he doesn't owe you anything. Not with words. Never with words. With actions. By acting like he doesn't see you, even though you both know he does. He never sat with you in the cafeteria. He never introduced you to his friends from the tennis team. He never introduced you to Tashi. He drew a very clear line about who you are to him, and you decided years ago that it's okay. That it's enough for you. That Art is yours in the summer. That Art is yours at night. That Art is yours when he wants to be yours.

He doesn't want to be anymore. You can see it in him because on the rare occasions you do see him in the cafeteria, he looks away the second your eyes accidentally meet his. On the rare occasions you do see him this week, his arm is half-wrapped around some girl you don't know. He's trying to tell you something without saying it out loud. Hurt you without really hurting you. He's trying to remind you that he doesn't owe you anything.

You'll never tell him it hurts. You'll never tell him that when you were ten, your mom, half-drunk, told you that to be loved, you'd have to sacrifice a lot. You don't know why you remember that, but you do. And since then, all you've done is sacrifice and sacrifice and sacrifice until sometimes there's nothing left to give. And now is one of those times when there's nothing left to give. You look at him from across the room, and he's a stranger to you, and you're a stranger to him.

You expected him to say something when it happened. You expected a hug, and if he were sensitive enough, a kiss. You expected life to flip upside down and for the sun to stop rising. But life went on, and your sacrifices stayed behind. Along with secrets and hugs and caresses and tears and memories. So many memories. All of it left behind. You can handle heartbreak. Everyone can. You won't be the first to sacrifice and not be heard by God. You won't be the first to starve yourself, and you won't be the first to wait for a phone call that never came. You won't be the first to cry and cry and cry.

After two weeks, you stopped waiting for a message. You stopped expecting a 'hello' in the hallway. You stopped hoping that Art Donaldson would knock on your door in the middle of the night. After two weeks, you looked at him one last time with pleading eyes. With an almost tortured look. After two weeks, you decided you wouldn't sacrifice anything more for Art Donaldson.

After two weeks, you ordered pizza and ate the whole box. He doesn't love you. He doesn't owe you anything. It's okay. You're okay. If not now, then soon you will be. . . . Art spent all his free time helping Tashi recover. He missed Patrick the way you'd miss a vital organ that had to be removed in an emergency surgery. He missed Patrick's messages from the tour. He missed his stories. He missed hearing him talk about a show Art had never watched and never planned to watch. He missed Patrick, but he had Tashi. He missed Patrick, but it was necessary, and one day he wouldn’t miss Patrick anymore, and he’d still have Tashi.

It’s different with you. He doesn’t just miss you—he’s hollow without you. He doesn’t know who he is without your admiring gaze. Without your nose brushing his in the middle of the night. He doesn’t know who he is without you ever since he learned how your skin feels under his touch. And he thought he’d be brave enough to walk into your room and just tell you that he can’t keep doing what the two of you have been doing your whole lives. He can’t keep playing this game. Because it’s not fair. Because he wants to be somewhere else. Because you weigh him down.

He knew he’d be in trouble if things got too serious with you, so he followed all the rules. He never introduced you to his friends. He never took you on a date. He never called you his girlfriend. He did everything right, and he’s still in trouble. That frustrates him more than anything.

He’s noticed that you don’t seek his gaze anymore. That you don’t try to catch his attention. That you’ve stopped sending him messages. He’s noticed that you understood the painfully obvious hint of “no,” and he hated himself for it. He showered that day for almost an hour. Scrubbed himself until his skin was red. As if trying to wash you off his body. As if trying to cleanse the filth he carries in his soul. As if trying to convince himself he’s not a bad person.

He found comfort in the fact that summer was almost here. That it wouldn’t be up to him. That there would be family dinners. That your parents would invite him, and his parents would invite you. That someone would force you both to be in the same room. He found comfort in knowing he wouldn’t have a choice. He didn’t want a choice. He wanted to see how you were handling it. He always sees you immersed in a book. Immersed in a conversation with someone he doesn’t know. Immersed. So immersed. Once, he thought that look -that ability to see into someone’s soul- was reserved only for him. How presumptuous of him. How foolish. How fucking selfish. . . . Patrick sent you a picture of a pigeon that wouldn’t leave him alone while he was eating pita on a bench in some park. He didn’t know why he did it. You’re not friends. You were never friends. But he saw that ridiculous pigeon and wondered if there was something about it that might remind you of him. He wondered if you and Art were still you and Art. He wondered and wondered until he sent the picture. Maybe you wouldn’t reply, but ignoring something wasn’t your style. You’re too good to ignore someone. You don’t have any malice in you. He doesn’t know when he started thinking you didn’t have any malice, because up until two months ago, he thought you were a scheming witch.

'You don’t know how to take pictures.' -(Y/N)-

'Look at you bothering me while I'm eating, little dove' -P- He smiled as he typed.

'Are you bored?' -(Y/N)-

'Maybe I miss you like you clearly miss me' -P- He didn’t know why he wrote that. He didn’t know what he wanted from you, if he was being honest with himself. But he wanted something. He wanted someone. Everyone deserves someone, and Patrick deserves someone too.

'You’re full of shit' -(Y/N)- He could imagine you rolling your eyes as you typed that. He knows you don’t talk like that. He thinks it’s something reserved just for him.

He decided to call because typing with food in his hand was too much effort. You answered quickly, out of breath. “Are you in the middle of sex?” he asked, unable to stop himself. “Why do you always have to say the grossest thing possible?” you shot back. He was glad you couldn’t see him because if you could, you’d hold the grin on his face against him. “What’s gross about sex, little dove? It’s natural-” “Why did you call?” you cut him off, not giving him any more points. “Just wanted to ask how you’re doing.” His voice sounded smaller. Embarrassed. You’re not friends. You never were. That’s not the nature of your relationship. There’s nothing he loves about you.

“I’m fine. Busy with school.” He could imagine you shrugging. “You’re going home soon, right? Summer break.” He knew what that used to mean for you and Art. He didn’t know what it meant now. He was fishing for answers, trying to figure out where things stood between you two. He wanted to know if Art had cut you out of his life with the brutality of a killer or if he was still keeping you wrapped in a ribbon, belonging only to him. He thought the former sounded more like Art.

“I’m probably staying at Stanford, for obvious reasons.” He could hear your voice, quiet as though you didn’t want to admit it. “It’s not fair,” Patrick said. “You’re supposed to enjoy your summer.” He added, growing frustrated with how inconsiderate Art was, with the monopoly Art held over your shared neighborhood. Bull-fucking-shit; “I’ve got two weeks off, and my parents are abroad. You could come to my lake house if you want a change of scenery,” he said, spitting the words out quickly before he could regret the invitation. Art was the only one who’d ever been invited there.

“That’s nice of you.” You said. He could hear the surprise you tried to hide in your voice. “I mean it,” he said, much more determined now. “It’ll be fun. My parents have the most impressive alcohol collection you’ll ever see.” He didn’t know what he was doing or which part of his brain was speaking for him right now. “I’ll think about it,” you said, wrapping up the call with a few more sentences. It felt like a win. And more than anything, Patrick needed a win. . . . "Is it true?" you heard Art's voice before you lifted your head from the book you were reading. "Hey, Art," you said with the most genuine smile you could muster, ignoring your racing heartbeat that only quickened. The truth was, you hadn’t seen him this close to you in two months. "You’re not going home for the break?" He sat down across from you without an invitation. "Nope," you said, as if it were obvious. As if that had been your plan all along. As if three months ago, you hadn’t whispered to each other in the dead of night all the things you’d do over the summer. As if you’d never loved him.

"You weren’t planning to tell me?" he asked, his gaze never leaving you. All you could do was raise an eyebrow because, honestly, where did he get the audacity? Where did he get the nerve to sit down across from you and make demands? Where did he get the idea that he owed you nothing, but you owed him everything? It’s your fault. You know it’s your fault. You taught him that you’d give every part of yourself for just a sliver of attention. But you don’t need that from him anymore. He’s a stranger. A stranger whose favorite scent you know. A stranger you’ve seen cry at Titanic. A stranger whose taste still lingers on the tip of your tongue. A stranger you know too well.

"No," you answered honestly. Because frankly, what else is there to say to him? "Are you serious? Why aren’t you going home?" he demanded answers. Demanded and demanded and demanded, after you gave and gave and gave. It’s your fault. Your mother’s fault and her foolish advice. You spoon-fed him love. "Because I have other plans. I’m sorry, am I missing something here, Art? We haven’t talked in two months, and I don’t understand what the issue is now." You didn’t want to be rude. Not to Art. Not to anyone. Sometimes to Patrick, but only because he was the most vulgar person you’d ever met. But Art was gentle and sensitive and beautiful, and harsh words had no place in your conversations with him.

"What plans?" he ignored your jab, but you could see him swallow hard, his eyebrows knitting together as if you’d sent him to work in a coal mine all summer. "I’m going to a friend’s," you found yourself shrugging. "Who? Someone I know?" he asked. "No," you felt guilty for the lie, "Why is this your business, Art?" you tried to make him leave or at least give you an answer. "We had plans too," he said quietly, as if revealing one last secret to you.

"I don’t remember." His expression changed in seconds. It was the look you’d only seen when he played tennis or tried to fend someone off you at one of the parties he told you to come to. Ice. He stood up and walked away within moments. Maybe this is the closure you two needed. Maybe it’s for the best. . . . Until the very last moment, Patrick didn’t believe you’d come. He waited for your bus by the side of the road, and when you got off, dressed in a floral summer dress and an oversized hat, signaling to the driver that you had a suitcase in the luggage compartment, Patrick stood frozen in place, his mouth agape. Because if someone had told him six months ago that he’d want to spend his free time in the summer with you, he would have laughed in their face. If someone had told him you’d show up in this remote place, in that ridiculous outfit, he probably would have snorted.

"Little dove, I was sure you’d chicken out," he said. Back when you talked about it, he treated it like a challenge. He spoke about your arrival at the lake house like it was a mission on a reality show. Impossible to pull off, with so much to lose. "I told you I’d come." You shrugged and smiled a smile he’d once seen you give to Art. Patrick had never received a smile from you, at least not a friendly one. Always a fake one. The kind he wanted to wipe off your face. "Are you going to help me with my suitcase, or are you going to keep standing there like a statue?" you asked with a chuckle. Patrick thought he was ready to sell the Porsche he’d come in, just to hear you chuckle again.

"This car is ridiculous," you said as you sat down beside him and raised your hands for emphasis. The convertible top was too much for you. Patrick had chosen this car on purpose. He wanted you to have the full Zweig family summer experience. He wanted you to feel what it was like to be in his inner circle. For a fleeting moment, he thought maybe he could buy your friendship. He didn’t know why he wanted it so badly. He went to sleep with your messages and woke up to them. Neither of you had any other friends, not real ones at least. It would’ve been sad if it didn’t make him so happy. He was such a loser. But it didn’t seem like you cared, and maybe the Porsche would grow on you by the end of these two weeks.

He showed you the rooms and the massive windows that let an unreasonable amount of light into the "cabin," which was supposed to be modest but was larger than most of the houses in your and Art’s neighborhood. Patrick knew that. He studied your reaction to everything he showed you. Watched as you stared at the lake right outside the cabin. Sat on the sofa in the living room for a moment. Placed your belongings in the guest room.

"We need to go shopping," you announced after opening the fridge to find it completely empty. "We don’t have to. You don’t eat anything anyway," he blurted out, and he saw you pale. "What are you talking about?" you mumbled, looking everywhere but at him. "Nothing, I’ve just never seen you eat." He tried to say it casually, but the truth was, it had always preoccupied him. Every time he visited Art in the summer and found himself at gatherings with you, you’d take food onto your plate but never actually put it in your mouth. He couldn’t understand how it didn’t bother Art. He couldn’t understand how Art just ignored it. As if it were completely normal behavior to sit with someone you called your best friend and not eat.

"I eat." Your entire face was scrunched up, the way he’d learned it does when you overthink. When you’re trying to get the most out of a situation you’ve found yourself in. When you’re trying to be nice to Patrick but don’t want to because he doesn’t deserve it. "Whatever, little dove. Let’s go shopping. I’ll show you the main street. There are some cool spots there," he concluded the conversation because he didn’t want to argue. And honestly, it wasn’t his place to comment on your habits. So he decided to let it go.

The main street of the small village you were in was almost empty. It could have been suspicious if Patrick hadn’t been here dozens, if not hundreds, of times since he was born. This was one of his dad’s favorite vacation homes. After an hour of wandering between stores, they found themselves sitting across from each other at a diner. Patrick watched as you ate fish and chips in front of him like your life depended on it. Like you had something to prove. He just rolled his eyes, shoved three fries into his mouth at once, leaned back, and chuckled.

Everything was peaceful. Patrick was sure it would be much weirder, at least at first. But no. You fit into his summer as if you’d always belonged there. From conversations with the elderly neighbors at the cabin next door to the meals you cooked together- it was domestic. Patrick was afraid to talk about how different this was from anything he’d ever done with a girl. He was afraid to mention that you were sleeping in the room that used to be only Art's. He was afraid to admit that he thought you were pretty in a way he hadn't thought before.

He thinks you’re most beautiful in the morning, before you’ve had your coffee. If he’s lucky and goes for a morning run, even before you’ve brushed your teeth. He’s discovered you’re funny. That you can deliver the funniest line with the perfect timing. He thinks it’s because you read a lot. Because you’re smart. Because you know things. He loves that you come to watch him train, even though you’re busy with your own things and only steal occasional glances his way. He thinks he could replace Art in your life. He thinks you think so too.

But deep down, you both know nothing could ever replace Art. And one of the times you’re sitting across from him at the diner, he takes a picture of you sipping a milkshake while smiling and uploads it to Facebook. Because Facebook is the new 'it' thing, and everyone has it. And if Patrick’s lucky, you’ll make it your profile picture. Then he can look at it and remember that he made you laugh, that he made you happy, and for two weeks, he beat Art Donaldson at something. And it felt sweet. So sweet.

The night before you plan to go back to university, you and Patrick get drunk on his dad’s fancy tequila. He’d never seen you drunk before, so like many things, this was new. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and you were wearing shorts that were far too short because August’s heat was unbearable. And the more both of you drank, the fuller your lips seemed to him, the rosier your cheeks, the larger your chest.

He just wanted to touch something. To feel something.

When one thing led to another and you were straddling him, your lips on his, he let out a deep bassy groan he never thought he could produce. Patrick had been with girls before- God knows he’d been with enough girls not to lose his cool over someone agreeing to kiss him. But something about how delicate you were and how much he had hated you a few months ago, how much he’d wanted to erase every trace of you, made him so hard he found himself grinding against you like some kind of desperate dog. He fucked you on the couch in the living room, and though the couch was comfortable, he wasn’t proud of it. He thinks he should’ve restrained himself, taken you to a bed. He thinks you deserve more than him being lazy, drunk, and not at his best. But if there’s one thing Patrick Zweig is terrible at, it’s delaying gratification. And he wanted you so badly. You didn’t seem to mind the location, at least not outwardly.

His lips were everywhere, as if he was trying to swallow you whole in one go. The sounds coming out of you were pornographic. Every so often, the thought crossed his mind that Art was the only other guy who had ever heard you like this, seen you like this- so needy, so vulnerable. It made his cock twitch even harder than it already was.

When he touched you, you were so wet that he told you how dirty you were for him. He talked to you like he still hated you. Like it was all punishment. Like he was about to get up, point at you, and laugh at how pathetic you were. But you couldn’t think about that now. You didn’t have the bandwidth. Not when his hands were teasing your nipple. Not when his lips were marking your neck. Not when he entered you in one hard thrust, making you almost cry out.

At some point, your heels found their way to his shoulders. He looked at your face with the little focus he could muster, and it was a sight he needed to preserve. To remember until the day he died. And he pushed deeper with that thought, drawing sounds out of both of you that neither of you knew you could make. In the end, he felt you clench around him, making him release everything that had built up in his balls with one long groan.

He just lay over you for a few minutes, still wearing the condom. With the sweat, the tears, the marks- you looked so utterly fucked. And it was because of him. He hadn’t felt this proud in a long time.

“So this is what it feels like,” he heard you mumble. “What feels like?” he asked, finding himself playing with your soft hair. “To have an orgasm.”

He hadn’t expected that, so he shifted slightly to look at your face. Your eyes were still glassy. You weren’t focused. If you were, you probably wouldn’t have said that. “What did you say?” he asked, wanting you to repeat it. “I’ve never come before. I thought I was broken,” you chuckled like it was a joke. But Patrick’s heart pounded harder than he expected. He knew for certain that you and Art had slept together before. That wasn’t a secret. He knew you and Art had done things that weren’t just sex even earlier. “You and Art-” He was confused. “I’m not proud of it,” you sighed quietly. “I faked it so he wouldn’t feel bad. I read in a magazine what to do to make it seem real,” you explained quickly, as if saying it faster would make it less scandalous. “You don’t have to fake orgasms to make someone feel good, Little Dove,” he sighed. “You’re the one who's supposed to feel good. That’s the whole point of sex,” he declared, explaining it to you like reciting a rule to a confused puppy.

Patrick needed a win, and this—this was the biggest victory of all times. He had beaten Art Donaldson in every damn set, and it felt so fucking sweet.

It’s been such a long time since I’ve written anything, so this came out super weird and unclear. I hope you like it tho! Please DM me and let me know what you think. That’s it, byeeeeee

[evergumi]

M. FUSHIGURO ⋆ no more running.

pairing ⋆ guilty!megumi fushiguro x reader

summary ⋆ megumi cant be close to you anymore at all. hes avoiding you, and you dont know why. it hurts. missing your friendship, you are determined to find out why hes doing this.. ending in a unique relationship

warnings ⋆ fluff, fluff, fluff !! one sooort of spicy kiss heh :P also lowkey angsty.. poor gumi thinks hes hurt you but you prove him wrong ! we love y/n <3

wc ⋆ 2.56k words

a/n ⋆ awww the cuties ! i love gumi sm omg my adorable boyfieee, anyways enjoy ! i lowkey dont like this buttt :((

the warm glow of the setting sun stretched across the training grounds as you and nobara exchanged quick strikes, the air sharp with the rhythm of your sparring. you moved effortlessly, feeling the rush of energy, but something in the corner of your vision caught your attention. megumi stood at the edge of the field, his posture tense, eyes fixed on you. you knew exactly where his gaze was: the scar on your neck, a permanent reminder of that day.

you couldn’t help the tightness in your chest. you’d never asked him about it, never pushed him, but you knew it weighed on him—that day. the day he was trapped inside his own body. the day he killed two people he cared about the most. the day he hurt you.

"hey, fushiguro," you called out, your voice light, teasing, but there was an edge to it that betrayed your curiosity. you paused mid-motion, turning toward him with a grin as nobara glanced at you knowingly, heading toward her water bottle where yuji was standing. "wanna spar?"

for a moment, megumi didn’t respond. his eyes stayed on you, but they were unreadable, heavy. his jaw clenched. when he finally spoke, his words were quiet. "no thanks," he muttered, his gaze flickering to the scar on your neck, then quickly darting away. "i’m… busy."

you bit your lip, sensing the guilt in his tone. it was almost like he was afraid to be near you, and that stung more than you expected. he’d been distant these past few days, but maybe it was just a one-time thing. maybe he really was busy. you smiled, brushing it off.

"busy with what?" you asked softly, the teasing edge in your voice. "you don’t seem to be occupied, fushi."

"with—uh. itadori. me and itadori were heading to the… uh… store," he mumbled, looking anywhere but at you.

you frowned, your eyes shifting to where yuji was chatting with nobara, totally unaware of the tension between you and megumi. he was holding out a towel for her, laughing as she tossed her empty water bottle at his head. you smiled softly at the sight but then turned back to megumi.

"yuji… seems busy with his own things," you murmured, watching him shift under your gaze. his eyes avoided yours, and you couldn’t help but notice the bead of sweat rolling down his temple. maybe it was just sixteen-year-old-boy things, you thought, trying to convince yourself. but it still stung a little.

"oi! itadori! get the hell over here!" megumi called out, his voice rough, as if he couldn’t get away fast enough. yuji scrambled over with a pout, and megumi grabbed him by the collar, pulling him along hurriedly as they left.

you frowned after them, a strange mix of confusion and something else stirring in your chest. why was he avoiding you? why did it feel like he was running away from something that had nothing to do with the store?

this wouldn’t be the last time. over the next few days, you’d start to notice little things. his avoidance grew clearer. texts would go unanswered for hours, or when they were answered, they felt curt. and every time you tried to ask him to hang out, there was always an excuse.

you decided to reach out again, despite the growing frustration in your chest.

you hey fushiguro! wanna hang out today? maybe watch tangled in my dorm for the millionth time?

you smirked to yourself. tangled was your favorite movie, and you knew megumi wouldn’t be able to resist.

megumi can't, got stuff to do. sorry.

you frowned at your screen, your grip tightening imperceptibly, your smile fading.

you oh, okay. well, tell me if you change your mind!

megumi yeah, sure. maybe.

you stared at the message for a while, the vague response gnawing at you. megumi had always been blunt, but he never seemed to shy away from hanging out before. so why now? what was he busy with?

you walked to the dojo early, hoping to catch megumi before his training session. as you approached, you saw him deep in conversation with yuji and nobara, laughing about something—you couldn’t hear exactly what, but their laughter seemed genuine. when you stepped into the room, the conversation stilled for a moment.

megumi didn’t turn to greet you. he just nodded quickly, his eyes darting back to the floor. yuji, on the other hand, waved at you, totally oblivious to the tension.

"hey, you finally here?" yuji grinned. "we’re just talking about our next mission."

"yeah…" you said softly, but your eyes flickered back to megumi. "hey, fushi, wanna train?"

he hesitated. too long of a hesitation. then, he mumbled something you couldn’t quite catch.

"um, maybe later. i think i have a… thing," he said, trailing off before turning back to yuji.

your heart sank. thing? was he just brushing you off again?

you hey. you still up for tangled? we don’t have to do that if you're not comfortable, of course! i just want to hang out.

megumi no, sorry.

you oh. okay, ig.

megumi sorry. just been busy. i didn’t mean to make it awkward.

you it’s fine. just… if you don’t want to talk, it’s okay. no need to make excuses.

you stared at the messages for a long time. the words felt like a punch to the gut, but at the same time, they made your chest ache. what did you even do? was he avoiding you because of that day? the day when he hurt you? was he punishing himself for it? or was he just… shutting you out?

you walked down the hallway toward the dorms after sparring, your body still buzzing from the fight. nobara had gone off to take a shower, and yuji was probably somewhere being loud, as usual. but tonight, something felt different. you couldn’t shake the feeling that megumi had been avoiding you more than usual.

as you passed the common area, you noticed the dim light spilling from the small courtyard outside. curiosity pulled you in that direction. the quiet night was starting to settle, and everyone else was winding down. there, leaning against the stone wall of the courtyard, stood megumi.

he didn’t notice you at first. his shoulders were tense, hands shoved deep in his pockets, and his gaze was lost in the shadows. he looked almost… distant, like he was trying to escape from something. but you knew—you knew—he wasn’t running from the world outside. he was running from you.

you paused for a moment, your thoughts racing. then, despite every instinct telling you to leave it alone, you stepped forward. gravel crunched softly beneath your shoes as you approached.

"fushiguro," you called, your voice cutting through the stillness of the night.

he flinched like your words had startled him. slowly, he turned his head, but not enough to meet your gaze right away. his eyes lingered on the ground, and when they finally lifted, they didn’t seem to focus on you. they flicked up, then down again.

"hey," you said again, trying to keep your voice steady. but there was something shaky in it you couldn’t hide. "are you gonna keep avoiding me?"

there was a long silence. then, he spoke. his voice was low, strained. "i'm not avoiding you."

you raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "really? 'cause it sure seems like you are."

megumi shifted uncomfortably against the wall, his gaze drifting away again. "it’s not like that."

you could feel your frustration building. every time you tried to reach him, he shut you out. you stepped closer, standing just a few feet away. your voice grew sharp.

"then what is it? why do you keep pushing me away?"

he hesitated, his jaw tightening, then finally met your eyes. guilt and something darker swirled in his expression. the same guilt he’d been carrying since that day. the day he hurt you.

"come on, fushiguro! this is stupid! why are you doing this? don’t you realize it hurts me?" your voice rose, frustration spilling over.

his gaze flickered to your neck, the scar still fresh, and for a moment, it looked like he might say something. but instead, he stepped back, his shoulders tensing.

"god, just—just shut up!" he hissed.

you stopped talking immediately. the words stuck in your throat.

"don’t you realize? i can’t do this anymore!" he exploded, his eyes wild with frustration. "i can’t just—just watch you knowing what i did!"

and in that moment, you knew. he wasn’t just avoiding you. he was fighting something inside himself.

you took a deep breath, stepping forward, your pulse quickening. "fushiguro… i…"

but before you could say anything else, he was already walking away, his steps quick and purposeful. leaving you standing in the cold silence.

you stood there, the words still hanging between you, unspoken, unanswered.

and then you moved.

one step, then another, quickening your pace until you were right behind him, fingers brushing against his shoulder.

"don’t touch me!" he snapped.

you recoiled, hurt flashing across your face. so, he had yelled not once, not twice—but now three times. at you. you couldn't breathe, the question on your lips strangled by confusion and pain.

"what did i do wrong?" you whispered, almost to yourself.

megumi glanced away, a sharp look of anguish in his eyes. "i can’t. i can’t do it. i can’t come near you, talk to you, touch you, look at you."

you frowned up at him, confused. "can’t do… why?"

"i can’t go a day without thinking about what i did to you!" he hissed, voice breaking. "i see that scar, and i beat myself up over it. i… i can’t look at it. i can’t even spar with you. i can't… even stand my hand being this close to yours."

without thinking, you reached out, gently taking his hand, giving it a soft squeeze. you looked him in the eyes, your gaze tender. "look," you murmured, cupping his calloused hand with your own. "is this hurting me in any way?"

he didn’t answer.

you brought his hand to your face, cupping your cheek with it. "am i hurt?" you whispered, eyes closing for a moment, savoring the warmth of his touch. you felt his thumb twitch as it brushed against your skin. you leaned into it, your breath catching. "am i hurt, fushiguro?"

you stood there, the weight of his hand in yours grounding you, as the silence stretched between you. his thumb brushed against your scar, and you could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles were taut as if he were about to break. you could see the guilt clouding his eyes—heavy, suffocating. you knew what he was thinking. he was terrified.

"you're not hurting me," you whispered, your voice quiet but steady. you brought his hand to your cheek, pressing it gently against your skin. "see? you're not hurting me, megumi."

he didn’t say anything at first, but his breath hitched at the touch. his eyes flickered between yours, searching for something—maybe an answer, maybe reassurance. his thumb gently caressed your jaw, and you felt your heart race in your chest.

he opened his mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out. instead, his gaze shifted to your neck—the scar that was still so fresh, the scar he couldn't bring himself to look at. you watched his jaw tighten, his gaze drifting downward like it always did when he was avoiding something he couldn’t confront.

you took a small step closer, your fingers brushing over the back of his hand, encouraging him, urging him to let go. "megumi," you whispered again, this time a little more gently, "please… look at me."

his chest rose and fell with every shaky breath, and for a moment, you wondered if he was going to pull away. but he didn’t. he stayed, standing there in the quiet of the night, his body so close to yours that you could feel the heat radiating off of him.

slowly, carefully, his hand moved to your neck. his thumb brushed lightly over your scar, and you could feel him flinch, just a little. but then he stopped, his hand hovering over your skin, like he was afraid to touch it too much. you gently guided his fingers down your neck, showing him that you weren’t afraid.

"megumi," you whispered, your voice softer this time, "i’m not afraid."

his gaze finally met yours, and you saw it—the hesitation, the guilt, the regret all etched in his features. but underneath all of that, you saw something else, something raw and vulnerable that made your heart ache.

"i’m so sorry," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "i can't… i can’t stand seeing it. what i did to you…"

you shook your head, a small smile forming on your lips. "megumi, you’re not the only one hurting. but i’m not afraid of you. i never was. i never will be."

he swallowed, his hand trembling in yours. he was close enough now that you could feel the warmth of his breath, could hear the soft hitch of his breath as his eyes flickered down to your lips.

you closed the distance between you, your heart pounding in your chest as you lifted your other hand to his face, cupping it gently. "look at me," you whispered again, your voice barely audible. "please."

he did. and when his eyes met yours, everything else seemed to fade away. there were no more words, no more hesitation. just the soft, steady rhythm of your breaths as your faces inched closer.

he leaned in, your lips brushing against his. it was tentative at first, just the barest of touches, as if he were still afraid that he might hurt you. but when you didn’t pull away, when you leaned into him, the kiss deepened. his hand found the back of your neck, pulling you closer, his other hand sliding to your waist, holding you as if you might disappear.

you let out a soft gasp as you melted into him, the kiss growing more urgent, more desperate, as if you both needed this, needed to feel the connection, to feel the warmth of each other’s presence after so much distance. his lips were soft against yours, and you could taste the mixture of fear and longing that had been building between you for days.

when you finally pulled away, breathless, you rested your forehead against his, your heart still racing in your chest. you could feel his pulse under your fingertips, his breathing shallow as he tried to steady himself.

"megumi," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper. "you’re not the only one who’s been hurting. but i’m here. i’m not going anywhere."

his eyes were wide, almost searching, like he couldn’t believe what had just happened. his thumb gently traced your jaw, his touch tender now, as if he were finally allowing himself to feel what had been building inside of him.

"i’m sorry," he whispered again, his voice cracking with emotion. "i didn’t want to hurt you. i don’t ever want to hurt you again."

you smiled softly, bringing your hand to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. "you won’t," you said simply. "i'll say it again. i’m not afraid of you, megumi. i never was."

the tension between you had finally broken. and in its place was something deeper—something real, something raw. you didn’t need words anymore. all you needed was him, and you knew, in that moment, that he needed you too.

a/n ⋆ nonnie ! ty for this req, this was so fun to write ! i honestly had trouble at the start butttttt omg the fluffy moments near the end made my heart melttt <33 i hope this was what you were looking for !

i heart the way megumi cares soooo much for yn but just wont admit it :( he literally says it but so indirectly yk ?? like he toooootally doesnt care..

thank you for reading, ily ! lmk if you wanna be tagged and remember, reqs are always open loves !

© evergumi

[jinxyvvrites]

-- [ m ] do not disturb

Warnings :

MDNI. sex. filth. language. oral. writer’s own interpretation of Steve Harrington, writer has an excuse to ship ronance, roommates to lovers if you really squint, mutual crush, soft!but dominant! Steve, use of petnames ( princess, baby, etc), this is when Steve / the gang are well into their 20s, so.. yeah.... if you’re gonna get bent out of shape about anything I’m warning you about here, don’t read this. Porn with a sliver e of plot, you have been warned.

Pairing :

Steve Harrington x Female!Reader

Word Count :

4k+

Snippet:

As soon as Robin says it, you swallow hard. “Robbie..” 

Another loud pop of thunder outside makes you suck in a harsh breath as you peer through the blinds at the storm that’s settled in over town. “You know I can’t be trusted alone around Steve. I almost kissed him this morning!”

“___.” Robin laughs as she rubs the bridge of her nose and waves at Nancy as Nancy makes her way into the dimly lit little video store, “I love you. I really do.” Robin scolds gently, “But I can’t keep being the buffer, okay? Look, tonight is like.. The only night Nance has her entire house to herself. And we haven’t been alone together in days. I’m going crazy.”

“I’m spending the night with Nance.” 

As soon as Robin says it, you swallow hard. “Robbie..” 

Another loud pop of thunder outside makes you suck in a harsh breath as you peer through the blinds at the storm that’s settled in over town. “You know I can’t be trusted alone around Steve. I almost kissed him this morning!”

“___.” Robin laughs as she rubs the bridge of her nose and waves at Nancy as Nancy makes her way into the dimly lit little video store, “I love you. I really do.” Robin scolds gently, “But I can’t keep being the buffer, okay? Look, tonight is like.. The only night Nance has her entire house to herself. And we haven’t been alone together in days. I’m going crazy.”

“I know, I just..” you blow out a ragged breath and you glare up at the flickering overhead lights. “I swear to God if the power goes out..”

You shriek again and Robin gives the phone a dirty look as she holds it away from her ear a second time, the line is filled with hissing, loud pops like it’s going to go at any second too.

“Let me guess.. She’s freaking out.” Nancy nods to the phone and Robin nods. “She is.”

“Are you almost ready?” 

“Almost, baby.”  Robin gives her girlfriend a chaste little peck on the cheek. Nancy blushes, a soft giggle escaping. 

You’re pacing the darkness, digging around in random drawers in search of a candle, a flashlight, anything just so you’re not trapped in total darkness. And you’re trying not to think about being stuck alone in the apartment with Steve during one of the worst storms to hit Hawkins in at least five years.

At least that’s what the dee jay of your favorite station claims.

“Are you done trying to make me deaf, woman?” Robin asks, turning her attention back to you. You swear as you stub your toe on the leg of the heavy wooden coffee table Steve found at someone’s curb and dragged back, restoring it with his own two hands.

“If he hadn’t looked so fucking sexy restoring this fucking table.” you grumble, making Robin laugh. “Stub your toe?”

“More like I broke it.” you muse. “What am I supposed t’ do, Robin? I cannot trust myself around him, okay? I cannot.”

“Hear me out..” Robin laughs as she props on the counter.. “What if you just go for it.. Instead of holding it in?”

“We both know what’ll happen.”

“I’m telling you,” Robin steals a look at Steve as Steve taps his wrist and nods to the clock on the wall, “ You’re so wrong.”

“Right.” you snort, “Like Steve Harrington is into me at all. If he were, he’d have caught on when I flirt. It always worked before, Robin.” you insist. “I think you’re wrong.”

“He’s kind of a dunce.” Robin points out. It’s gotta be the millionth time she’s tried to remind you of this, you just seem hell-bent on believing that the fact Steve hasn’t picked up on your pitiful attempts to flirt that this obviously means he’s not into you.

And she just wants to see her two favorite people as happy as she is.

There’s one final clap of thunder and the line is gone. Robin grumbles and slams the phone back down onto the cradle. Steve is just locking the door and as soon as he has, the three of them rush out into the parking lot, Robin and Nancy getting into Mrs. Wheeler’s station wagon.

“Hey, wait..” Steve stops Robin.

“I’m staying with Nance, Steve. I told you this earlier.”

“This means..” Steve raises a hand, dragging it through thick hair ,, it means you're gonna be all alone.. with ___, this is.. gonna be a long night, he thinks as he takes a deep breath. It's not a big deal, right?

Except it is and he knows damn well it is. Being around you drives him crazy because he's fallen so hard for you, so fast.. And the harder he tries to fight and resist that, the worse it gets..

The rain is hard enough that it nearly drowns out what he says next and Robin grumbles.

“If you two don’t stop using me and Nance as a buffer, I swear to God.” Robin says it without thinking and Nancy nods in agreement. “We’re going to lock you in the smallest room we can find, Steve.”

“Huh?”

“She wants you. You want her. So help me God, if one of you doesn’t make a move tonight.. We’re giving you the whole night, King Steve.” Nancy calls out over rolling thunder and pouring rain as she holds the door open for Robin to get into her mom’s station wagon. “If it helps..” Robin calls out to him, “She’s scared to death right now. She hates bad weather.”

Before he can ask if they’re sure they’re not misreading everything, Robin and Nancy are gone, red glow of taillights disappearing around the corner.

Steve blows out a ragged breath. His heart feels like it’s about to beat  right out of his chest at this point because he’s had himself convinced for weeks now that you’re not into him at all.

And now he’s just trying to convince himself there’s no way he’s been wrong the whole time. There’s no way what Nancy and Robin keep insisting is the truth.

Or is it?

—

You’re in the middle of lighting yet another candle when the door to the apartment swings open and Steve steps in, shaking out his hair from the rain. As he bends down to take off his Nikes, you try so hard not to stare. The dim candlelight casts a soft glow on him.

You roll your eyes at yourself.

Steve stands and sheds the scratchy green vest. You try again not to stare but you’re done for.

“Shit.” you hiss as hot melted wax drips onto your hand. You got so caught up in staring that you forgot you’d come into the room to try and find something to use as a candle holder.

Steve stops in front of you and as he pries the lit candle out of your hand, he’s staring down at you.

Quietly.

Robin and Nancy’s words repeating like a broken record in his head. The softly lit room forms a halo around you. You’re wandering around in a t-shirt. He nearly swallows his own tongue as soon as he realizes that it’s one of his, a shirt he thought he lost weeks ago.

You freeze under his intent gaze. You swallow hard as soon as you realize you’re wearing his yellow sweater. The one that smells like him with the sleeves that hang down past your fingertips.

Steve steps aside, finding a glass soda bottle. He shoves the candle into the bottle opening and places the bottle onto some little crochet thing sitting nearby just so the wax doesn’t pool and puddle onto the countertop.

But then he’s standing in front of you again.

,, There’s no way.” he tells himself. Watching as your eyes dart to his lips, linger there while you swallow hard.

When you lick your own lips, he nearly chokes on air.

“Everything okay?” he asks, gesturing to all the candles lit around the living room of the apartment.

“Mhm.” you answer. But you drop your eyes, staring down at your feet. And he picks right up on the way you flinch a little as thunder rolls outside and the wind picks up, sending a tree branch smacking against the window across the room.

He chuckles quietly.

“It’s okay.”

“Huh?” you ask, tilting your head as you look up at him. You’d been dazed, lost in thought. Willing yourself to just be brave and go for it like Robin and Nancy have been nagging you to do for weeks now.

You just can’t.

“If you’re scared of the storm.” Steve explains quietly. “It’s okay.”

“I’m not.” you insist, your words dying off as you laugh softly. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not.” Steve’s fingers curl beneath your chin and he gets you looking up at him. As he steps closer, he’s staring down at you. Searching for something, any kind of warning sign that Robin and Nancy are wrong and he needs to back off.

Your pupils are big enough that they’re nearly blotting out the color of your eyes. You glance at his lips.. At the way he’s making himself taller and keeps stepping closer and closer. When his hand rests against your hip gingerly, you suck in a breath and bite down on your lip just to keep from whining.

But you’re not fast enough. Or strong enough to hide it well. And Steve is finally all clued in.

He leans into you just a little more, body to body. “It’s not stupid.”

“We’re twenty four. I’m too old to be scared of storms and blackouts, Steve.”

“I think it’s kinda cute.” Steve wants to kick himself when he says it, but it’s too late. It’s not like he can take it back once the words have left his mouth. “I’m right here.” he mutters, a husky tone that’s foreign to his own ears, “I’m not gonna let anything happen.”

You can feel the second all the bones in your body melt and you end up leaning against him, face hidden in the front of his polo shirt. The one you like the most because the sleeves cuff his biceps.

“There ya go, princess.” he mumbles as you melt into him. When the thunder rolls outside and you hiss, your entire body tensing up, Steve pulls away a little. Just enough to look down at you in concern. “You’re really scared, huh?”

You can only nod. You’re still dazed by the way it felt to have soft muscle pressed against you, strong arms wrapped around your waist. You’re even pouting a little because damn it, you want him close again.

“It’s not funny.” you’re pouting a little as he chuckles quietly. He shakes his head. “It isn’t. I know.” he mutters, eyes glued to your lips, biting back a growl as your tongue drags their plump outline. “I’m sorry, I really am, it’s just..” he takes a deep breath. Steps into you all over again. Your back meets the edge of the counter and his hands rest on either side of you, you’re completely caged in by his body. “You’re so fucking cute right now.”

You lock eyes with him and a shiver passes through you as soon as you see the way honey almost glows like the last embers of a dying fire.

He’s looking at you but it’s like he’s only just seeing you. “Steve?” you question, cocking your head to one side as you stare up at him. 

“You’re gonna have t’--” he’s starting to lean down while also picking you up off your feet a little, letting your body settle on his thick thigh as he raises it, slips it between your legs. His hands skim up and down your sides and they keep stopping at the bottom hem of his sweater, the one you stole to wear around whenever you know he’s not home and he won’t be for hours.

“So that’s where it went.” he stares down. Your entire body heats up as his eyes drag over you slow before finally meeting your own gaze. “St–” you were just about to say his name but his mouth presses against your mouth. It’s lazy and clumsy, his tongue dragging over your lips. Teeth grazing against your bottom lip as your mouth falls open willingly. You raise your arms, wrapping them around his neck. Your fingers tug at the damp hair plastered to the base of his neck.

He bites back a growl. You’re playing with his hair, melting into him more and more each second and it’s got him hard. Hot and bothered. He can’t stop now if he wanted to. But he manages to pull himself together just enough to stop.

“Can I…” he mumbles, swallowing hard.. “It’s okay I kissed y’.. Right?”

You nod, swallowing hard. Pouting a little as your censor self-destructs. “Why’d you stop?”

That last thin thread of restraint inside him shatters and he’s pulling you up his body, sitting you on the counter. He pushes your legs apart and steps between them. Your arms wrap around his neck all over again and your legs end up tangled around his waist as he pulls you forward closer to him.

The storm -and everything else around you both, is fading, falling away. Dissolving into nothing.

There’s just the two of you. Mouths attacking each other hungrily. Your hand raises, dragging through his hair. His hand slips up your thigh, resting for a few seconds as his fingers drag lazily against your soft skin before slipping beneath the bottom of that yellow sweater.

Your back arches, his hand creeps up higher. The kiss deepens. You’re so dizzy from it at this point that you’re clinging to him, fisting at the front of the polo shirt he’s wearing. 

There’s nothing keeping the two of you apart and yet… Everything is.

Your hand drops, lingering at the waistband of his Calvins. He bites back another growl. His hand creeps higher beneath the sweater, a finger catching in the thin bikini strap of your favorite red panties.

He rests his forehead against yours as the kiss breaks and you both make one last attempt to pull yourselves together, fully aware that in just a breath, lines will be crossed.

His heart feels like it’ll beat right out of his goddamn chest at any second. Your heart is too, he can feel the way they’ve almost synced up perfect. He stares down at you, taking ragged breaths.

“I need you.” it’s breathed out against your lips as Steve’s hands start to wander all over again and he ruts himself into you all over again, needy whine shattering the silence between you both as soon as you feel him hard and throbbing through scratchy denim. “C’mon, please.” he begs, burying his face in your chest, “I promise I’ll make y’ forget the storm.”

“Please.” you choke out the word, your head falling back as he ruts himself into you all over again and you can feel the ache between your thighs getting so much worse. You’re soaked and you know he has to feel the way your thighs are slick enough now to slip off each other.

He scoops you off the counter, carrying you down the hall.  Your back meets his closed bedroom door with a soft thud as he fumbles with the knob and swears when he can’t just get the damn door open without breaking the kiss. The door flies open as he kicks at it on the bottom and he steps into his bedroom, your back meets his soft mattress and he’s parting your legs, caging you in with his body.

Your hands tug at the bottom of his shirt, freeing it from his jeans and he raises up, tugging off the shirt, letting it settle on the edge of his nightstand.

The sweater is worked up over your body and as the chilly air meets your warm skin, goosebumps rise to the surface. Steve dips his head, dancing his mouth over your skin. Dragging his tongue over the strip of skin just above the band of your panties. You shiver and whine, rocking yourself up into him and his hands grip and squeeze at your body.

“Steve, c’mon.” you whine out, back arching away from the bed. It sends you up into him and he groans quietly. “Wanna..” he pants as his tongue drags down your racing pulse, “Wanna take my time with you.” 

“Now.” you beg, dragging your nails up and down his bare back. He shivers, barely stopping a deep growl. The sweater is in his way now, this is the driving force to him pushing it up, pulling it away from your body. It settles on the floor of his bedroom and as soon as he sees you bare from the waist up, he’s hungry.

Desperate.

His cock is aching. Pushed tight against the front of jeans even more. 

“Fuck.” he steps back into you and you’re pushed flat against the bed all over again. Thick digits catch in the thin string holding your panties together at the side and they’re torn free, tossed out over his shoulder. You manage to get your hand down, you’re fumbling with the button of his jeans but he pushes your hand down, pinning both of them below one of his over your head.

His mouth attacks your skin. Biting, nipping, sucking. Latching on anywhere he thinks he can leave a tangible mark behind.. Because nothing is going to make him hotter than to look at you after it’s over and see all the little bites and bruises.. The handprint shaped places on your body where he had to squeeze just a little harder to keep control of himself.

He can’t wait to see it.

“Not fair.” you whine out, nipping at his neck the first time. He whines, your tongue dances over hot skin. “What’s not fair, huh?” he questions, pausing to look down at you. 

“You’re wearing too much.”

He pretends to mull it over. But you’re giving him big begging eyes and he just melts. He’ll do anything to please you.

Anything.

He untangles himself from you, pulling away so he can take off his jeans. You raise up to your knees, melting into him with your arms around his neck. You’re the one attacking him with kisses and nips, a few bites against his neck. As he tries to pull his jeans down, your hand catches in the waistband of his boxers and you’re tugging. Whining.

When you whimper as your hand circles his thick cock, he barely bites back a groan. He can’t get you on your back fast enough, your hands pinned down all over again just so he keeps control of the situation. You’re pouting up at him but as he kisses his way down your abdomen and his tongue drags a circle around your navel while he’s staring up at you, he relents. “One hand.. You’re gonna want t’ pull my hair, princess.. Hard.”

Gone is the awkwardness. Gone is the boy who doesn’t dare get his hopes up.. King Steve is back in all his glory. 

He finally has a reason to feel confident.. Sure about something. Hearing you beg for him, the way you whimper his name as you try to get so close to him he’d almost swear you wanna climb inside him.. This has to be real. This time has to be different.

He’s determined. One way or another, he’s going to keep you all to himself.

You swallow hard, back arching up as his teeth latch onto delicate skin just above where you’re trying to push his mouth. Your legs have fallen open, his fingers drag over your dripping cunt and you shiver, moaning his name. The sound of it as it echoes off his bedroom walls is only more incentive to keep him going. To make you do it again. And again.

“Does this feel good, baby?” he stops mid lick to stare up, watch you start to unravel. His fingers are moving slower too, pumping in and out and you let out a frustrated whine. “Y-yes.” you whine out. “More.”

He chuckles, a kiss lands against your hot skin. “More, huh?” he asks, voice muffled by the skin his mouth is buried in. “Will you let me taste you, baby? Please?” he begs, thrusting himself against his mattress because he’s dying to bury himself inside you but he’s determined to get you off with his fingers and his tongue first.

“Yes, ugh,God yes.” you whine out as his tongue joins the two fingers splitting you apart all over again. Your hand is buried in his hair, pulling at it just like he asked. The more you pull his hair, the deeper he buries his tongue inside you. You’re arching your hips up at his fingers and tongue, aching for even the smallest amount of friction he’ll allow. But he’s doing his best to keep you pinned in, his free hand squeezing your hip so hard that you know you’re going to come out of this with handprints.

“Good girl. C’mon.” he coaxes, just as he feels your entire body going tense beneath him, “Let go,baby. Be a good girl and let go.” 

You don’t have to be told a third time, your orgasm ripping through you, leaving you a shivering mess as you arch against his mouth and his tongue and fingers fuck you straight through it. He’s rutting himself against the mattress even more now, the bed shaking slightly. 

He pulls himself up your body, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth as he stares down at the way you’re trapped beneath him. He’s careful when he settles himself against you, tip of his thick cock teasing at entry. You whine, dragging your nails down his back as your arms wrap around his neck and your legs circle his waist. 

As his cock sinks in just a little deeper, you tense up. It’s thick. So thick that at first, it feels like you’re being split in two. He goes still, peppering hot little pecks against your skin and your lips. “You okay?”

“Just need..” you whine out, “It’s so big.” you bite your lip. “I’m okay, promise.” you try to rock yourself into him but he slips a hand down, bringing your hips to a complete standstill. “Aht. Aht. Let me take care of you, princess.”

“Steve.” you whine. The urgency in your tone has him smiling down at you, his heart swells. You look so dazed, glassy-eyed, staring up at him like you’re absolutely smitten. Like you love him more than anybody else.

It’s because you do and it’s the first time in Steve Harrington’s entire life that he’s actually been looked at that way. He’s blown away, completely blindsided.

,, she’s mine now. No matter what I have t’ do.. I’ll do anything.” he thinks, burying himself just a little deeper inside you. “Y’ feel soooo good. That’s it, princess.. I know you can take it. Good girl.” he’s touching you all over, kissing every piece of skin he can get his mouth on as he stares down at you, totally blown away at what’s happening between you. 

The storm that had been forgotten creeps back into your awareness with a loud crash, a branch hitting the window as the wind picks up and howls outside. You tense all over and Steve grips your chin, making you look at him. “Hey.” he coaxes. “I’m right here. Focus on me, ‘kay?” 

You nod. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.” he promises, burying himself inside you completely. Going still so you can cling to him and kiss him while you adjust to his thick cock.

You’re starting to rock your hips against him clumsily and he brushes some hair out of your eyes as he stares down at you, eyes full of hunger.

Love.

You melt into him, let him take over. Nails dragging up and down his back as he starts to fuck into you a little faster. Slowing down just as he can feel himself get closer and feel you go tense beneath him. 

“Steve.” you whine out, frustrated. “Wanna..” you gasp as he starts to pick up the pace again, headboard beating against the bedroom wall. “Yeah, princess?” he questions, his mouth latching onto your neck.

“Wanna feel you.”

“Fuck.” he mumbles. “Where, princess?” he asks a few seconds later when he just can’t hold back. “Where do you want me, hm? Use your words.”

“Inside.” you gasp out, heavy lidded eyes fluttering open and closed as your orgasm shatters you and you have trouble keeping up with the pace, “Want you inside me.”

“Fuck. Oh fuck.” Steve groans out, his grip on your body tightening as he slams into you. As his hot seed coats your insides, he slows down, hips barely thrusting as he peppers soft kisses against your skin and tries to come down from the high. 

“Wanna sleep in here tonight, baby?” he asks as he falls to the bed, pulling you on top of him. He wraps his arms around you to hold you against him in the darkness and you nod, yawning.

“Yeah.. You feel safe.” you admit quietly, drawing a dopey grin out of him as the words leave your mouth. 

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || Ch. 32]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s while Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 3k🌶️

ao3 link

The billboard across the street shifts from casting a blue glow into Matt’s apartment to a warm purple one. It is bright enough for you to be able to see your keyboard, but low enough that everything is still in shadow. You can maneuver around easily enough, which makes it the perfect level considering you are apparently the only one in your family who needs light to do so. 

Paired with the overall lack of decor, it fosters a nice working environment, with the ambience of the city providing the perfect background noise. 

You have a fair bit of invoicing to catch up on, so you have set yourself up at the dining table as Matt readies himself for his own night of working. Luckily, all the excitement of temporarily moving into a new place left your little Mouse exhausted and getting her down to sleep was as easy as it has ever been. You wish you would be able to go off to Dreamland as quickly as she does, but you know your brain won’t let you drift off without hours and hours of worrying first.

“You don’t need to wait up for me,” Matt says for about the millionth time. He’s changed mostly into his red Devil suit, and it still baffles you how different he looks in it versus his Lawyer suit. It is like he’s been possessed or switched out with a twin - it’s not necessarily evil but it is a completely different aura. All his fun and charm has been replaced with a caged animal ready to rip someone’s throat out, and you just happen to be his keeper who he knows isn’t a threat. He’s of no danger to you, but anyone outside these walls is fair game. 

“I have about forty emails to answer and even more orders to review and this is the only time I’ll be able to sit down and focus on doing all that. These are my working hours, too,” you reply as you finish connecting your VPN. “Plus, I’ll be up worrying until you are home safe. Killing two birds with one stone.” 

“No killing anything,” he chides, his voice dropping an octave. It sends a pleasant shiver up your spine, and you are starting to think you may like this Devil-y side of Matt. 

“You know I can’t even kill a cockroach.” 

He huffs from across the room, then in a few long strides, he’s behind you, putting his large, gloved hands on your shoulders and rubbing at them, “I mean it. If you finish before I’m back, try to get some sleep. You need it.” 

You let your head fall forward and enjoy the way his thumbs dig into your muscles. “I need to make sure I get my work hours logged. When you get home, we can both get some sleep.” 

Behind you, a pleased rumble comes from Matt’s chest. He bends forward and nuzzles just above your ear, whispering in that deep voice that makes your core clench, “call it ‘home’ again.” 

Your eyes flutter shut as your entire being heats up again. It isn’t just his voice and actions - it's the implication of his request - that he wants a home with you. He wants your home to be here with him. You can’t even take a moment to think about it, because you just want to please the Devil behind you. 

“Come home to us.” 

He buries his nose into your hair and inhales deeply while his hands tighten on your shoulders. He nods after a moment, then you feel him have to force himself to step away. 

“I’ll always come home to you. I swear on my life.” 

You resist the urge to follow after him and say something cheesy or dramatic. You stay planted in your seat instead, eyes still closed and breathing through your nose, trying to calm your fast beating heart. 

Matt strides back to where his gloves and helmet wait for him, and you listen as he dons the last pieces of his armor. Only when he has fully become the Devil do you let yourself speak again, hoping to encourage the beast coming to life inside of him.

“Keep the Kitchen safe. For me. For Minnie.” 

----

It’s closing in on three am when you hear the crunch of boots on gravel coming from the roof above you. You expected Matt to be home closer to one in the morning, but that was just a time you made up. 

Your emails are still on your screen, so you close them out and clock out just as the door on the landing opens and the Devil returns to the apartment. There is a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and you scrunch up your nose in confusion as he makes his way down the stairs.

“I thought you would be asleep by now,” he growls out and you can instantly tell the poor man is exhausted. 

You are up and out of your seat in an instant, making your way to him with your water bottle in hand. You hold it out to him as he comes to a stop in front of you and he quickly drops the bag to his feet in exchange for chugging the rest of your water.

“I told you I had a lot of work. Are you okay? What is with the - “You cut yourself off as the light coming from the billboard changes from red to yellow and you see there is a slice of suit missing from Matt’s arm. “You’re hurt!”

You don’t give him the chance to deny or explain - you turn and hurry back to the kitchen to get the first aid kit. 

“I’m fine,” he grumbles from behind you. You hear something thunk on the ground and assume it is his helmet. “It went through and through.” 

The words take a second to process and color drains from your face as they do. “You were shot?” 

“I’m fine,” he insists, a small hint of annoyance in his voice. “I just need to wrap it.”

You yoink the first aid kit down from where it’s hidden in a cabinet and whirl back around the face Matt. He’s removed his helmet and gloves and is in the process of taking off his boots. Your mind swirls into overdrive, flying back to your binder pages about gunshot wounds and you find yourself huffing at the Devil as practicality fills you. 

“Wrap it?” You almost scold as you march back to him. His head jerks up and his brows furrow, but your Mom Mentality is quicker than the Devil. “You can’t just wrap it; it needs to be cleaned and disinfected. Who knows what is dripping off your suit into it. You can’t punch away an infection, Matt.” 

His face slackens into confusion as you move to squat in front of him so you can open the kit and begin to rummage through it. 

“What..?”

“I need to clean it,” you repeat as you inspect the meager contents of the kit. “And disinfect it. I’m not very good at stitches yet, but you have butterfly stripes,” you hold up the pack as you find it and continue your rambling, “and gauze, so we can wrap it, and hopefully that should be good enough. Do you know what caliber it was? Was it a hollow point?”

He doesn’t answer you right away, and you assume he is trying to remember what happened. You focus on reading the different packets you pick up, setting aside wipes and antibiotic ointments. If it was through and through, you shouldn’t have to get out any debris, but you add the tweezers to your pile anyway. Your mind is a step-by-step checklist of everything you need and you really hope all your studying has prepared you for your first real wound cleaning. You are a pro at scraped knees and paper cuts, but a bullet wound is a completely different level. 

“What?” Matt repeats and you look up to see he looks completely dumbfounded. “You…aren’t angry?”

It is your turn to be confused. 

“Why…would I be angry?” you ask slowly, trying to understand why he is asking. “You..didn’t mean to get shot, did you?” He shakes his head slowly, and your lips turn down into a frown. “Then..I’m not angry.” 

You slowly sit yourself down and cross your legs, trying to process your own feelings around your Fix It and Make Things Better thoughts, “I’m scared that you got hurt. And I’m worried..I worry about you every night when you go out, but this…this is small, right? It’s through and through and in your arm and you aren’t bleeding everywhere, and you are standing on your own. You’re…you’re okay. You’re hurt. You’re hurt. But you’re okay…you’re okay and I just need to make sure you stay okay.” Tears start to prick at the corners of your eyes, and you shake your head to chase them away. “Please let me make sure you are okay.”

Slowly, Matt kneels in front of you and takes your face in his hands. He thumbs away a tear that managed to escape before leaning in to press his forehead to yours. 

“I’m okay,” he whispers, the Devil gone from his voice, and he sounds so so tired. “I’m okay, my darling. Let me get out of this and you can clean it, yeah? Then we can go to bed.” 

You press into his touch, needing it to ground you and help you keep your emotions in check. 

Matt’s hurt, but he is okay. It’s just a little wound, something you can handle. You know he is going to get hurt, going out and acting as a vigilante, and it isn’t always going to be bruises and split knuckles. 

People shoot at him. They try to stab him. They might have weird fire breath or laser beams. 

He’s going to get hurt, but right now he is okay. He just needs to be patched up and that is something you can do. 

You’ve been practicing and studying to make sure he will stay okay. 

You take a shaky breath and center yourself, then let your lips turn up into a small smile, “You’re all sweaty, you need a shower before bed. Or Minnie will complain that you are stinky in the morning.”

Matt huffs a small laugh and tips his head up to kiss your forehead. “Well, according to her my whole apartment is stinky and dusty and cold.”

“That’s why we are playing housekeeper tomorrow,” you whisper as he pulls away. 

You allow yourself to wipe your eyes with your nightshirt as Matt removes the rest of his armor, leaving him in just his boxers. You then focus on double checking all the items you’ve gathered, letting your mind go back into Practical mode versus Emotional. 

“Why do you have a duffel bag?” you finally ask, curious as to what he had been up to all night and why he has a new accessory. 

Matt gives a quiet groan, then begins to explain as he sits himself in front of you. “I found an abandoned…lab is the only way I can put it, in one of the utility tunnels. I guess it got flooded out with all the rain and whoever was running it was clearing it out. When I got there, there was only one guy.” As he talks, you begin to clean his wounds, and you are not surprised at how stoic he remains despite the stinging of antiseptics. “I think he was just grabbing files, and that is what is in the bag. Paper files and what I think are thumb drives. I’m not too sure.”

You look up in time to see him turn his lips down into a hard scowl. “The whole place reeked of human blood, though. Not fresh - stale. And there were cages. It was just a few rooms, but someone was definitely up to no good down there.” He flexes his fingers, then says your name softly. “I think it was some sort of government agency. The gun the guy had was standard issue for the FBI and the way he moved was in line with their training, but it didn’t feel like the FBI. It felt more advanced and after everything with Fisk I don’t think they’d try something twice here so close together. But in my gut, it’s telling me this isn’t something like the Hand or something underground.”

You turn to look at the simple bag laying on the floor, your heart sinking as you take it in. You trust Matt’s gut with this - this is not his first rodeo, and he has so much more information about all of this than you ever will. 

“Do you want me to read them for you?”

He shakes his head, “No. Well.. yes, but no. I think this is something I need to take to everyone - Foggy, Karen, Frank, Jessica. Another piece of the puzzle of what has been going on lately. I think we all have different parts, and we need to start looking at what fits together.” He pauses, rolls his lip between his teeth. “I’d like for you to be there, too..if you’d like. I don’t want to keep you in the dark. You aren’t out there, like we are but..I’m dragging you into this just by being with you. I…” 

He stops, and turns to fully face you, pulling his bicep from your grasp so he can cup your jaw with his other hand. He runs his thumb over your lips. 

“I can’t risk losing you. If you being in the know and understanding everything that is going on is what is going to keep you safe - keep Minnie safe - then I can’t lie to you and I can’t hide anything. But I need you to understand that there is a risk of knowing what lurks in the shadows. It is your choice; I want it to be your choice. I need you to be okay, too.” 

You don't need to let the words turn over in your mind - you know your answer. “I want to be there. I want to help, even if it is just helping you talk through things. You don’t need to hide things from me. I…I understand what you are doing.”  You mimic him and reach to cup his cheek, rubbing your thumb so lightly over his lower lip. “I just want you to be safe, Matt. I want you to come home at night.” 

You purposefully use the word, knowing it triggered a reaction before. 

It does again.  

His eyes flutter close, and he kisses your finger gently. 

“I’ll always come back to you,” he breathes out before swallowing thickly. You watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, and you wonder if he wants to say more.

Do you want him to say more?

You don’t know.

You don’t know and you don’t want to think about it. 

You just want Matt to be safe and right now that means finishing wrapping his bicep. You let your thumb linger on his lip for a moment before pulling away, “I’m almost done with your arm. I..I think it doesn’t need stitches. Everything here should be plenty.” 

“Okay,” he whispers as you hand drops, and he turns so you can apply butterfly strips to the holes in his bicep. 

You let your mind fall back to your guides as you wrap the gauze, mentally picturing exactly what you need to do while also making mental notes about directions you need to change and products you need to buy to fill out Matt’s first aid kit. While he has apparently been so much better at taking care of himself, his supplies are a bit lacking. 

As you finish, you hesitate before leaning in and placing a small kiss over the entrance wound, mumbling as you do, “Minnie would admonish me if I didn’t add a kissie for extra healing.” 

“She is the Doctor,” Matt replies gently, and you can’t help but smile.

You start to repack the first aid kit as Matt pushes up into standing to gather his own gear. You both clean in a comfortable silence and only once everything is put away, does Matt come back to you. 

“Shower with me?” He asks, his voice soft and low and your whole body quivers for him.

You don’t reply with words. You take his offered hand, and he leads you to the small room. 

The two of you can barely fit in the shower together, but it doesn’t matter. As soon as you are under the water, you are one.

Matt cups your jaw with both hands as he kisses you like he is savoring every microsecond. It is slow and languid, and you melt together so easily. Your hands are in his hair, pulling his closer, like you want to absorb him because maybe you do. Maybe you want him to absorb you, because you are safe in his arms, and nothing will ever hurt you or make you cry if he is there. 

You have Matt Murdock, and you have the Devil and he has you.

You don’t know if it's hours or minutes or days that pass before one callused hand drops to your thigh and with the lightest of touches, urges it up. Once it is around his waist, Matt rocks forward and slides into you with no resistance.

His pumps are as slow as his kisses and you lose yourself in him. If you could think, you would imagine he is lost in you as well, but the only thing on your mind is the pleasure he is bringing you and how perfectly full you feel.

His name is falling from your lips over and over, breathless and needy, but not for a release - just for him and it is like he knows that. His head drops to your shoulder, and he buries his nose into your throat, his lips moving in words barely heard above the spray of the shower.

Your name.

Mine.

Yours.

Perfect. 

Please.

God.

Love. 

((“I love you.”))

((“I love you, too.”))

---

:) <3

---

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[youlikegoodstuff]

Their anniversary (prologue)

All Might x arch nemesis! reader

Gender is neutral here. Reader is a villain called Highland Havoc

Summary: it’s All Might’s and his nemesis’s anniversary, and the fans are done waiting for the villain and hero duo to kiss.

Tw: none. Just a tensions and shipping. Swear words. Stolen stop signs.

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

“It Is Fine Now. Why? Because I Am Here!”

As always, All Might made a dramatic and enthusiastic entrance, even after years of duking it out with you.

“Took you long enough. You’re usually very early to our anniversary.” You said with a smirk on your half-masked face.

All Might’s signature smile only widened at this as his hidden eyes took on a slight mischievous look.

“My apologies, my arch nemesis! Allow me to make it up to you by making a special reservation for you in jail!” He said rather lightheartedly.

The bystanders who chose to stay looked on in anticipation, ready for an absolutely glorious battle like the ones before.

“Oh no worries! You don’t gotta make it up to me.” You said with a wicked grin before launching yourself at the man.

If it was anyone else, they wouldn’t last a second in the presence of All Might. Hell, he’d have them in front of a police station by now…

But you weren’t All Might’s arch nemesis for nothing.

Highland Havoc was the name, and causing havoc is your game.

Accurate to your villain name, you created chaos with your strength-based quirk, destroying government buildings, totaling police cars, tearing out parking meters, and stealing stop signs.

One thing that separated you from the rest of the villains wasn’t just your ability to rival All-fucking-Might, but your surprisingly noble morals.

You weren’t destroying small businesses or killing people, in fact, you’ve saved people on several occasions.

You were basically a professional villainess with standards.

You were a bad guy… but not a bad guy…

The worst you did was wreck a couple hero office buildings and steal thousands of stop signs, but you never ever stole candy from a baby.

In other words, you were just a cheeky little cunt.

You were a menace… but you were Musutafu’s favorite menace.

You casually tore out a stop sign that sat on the corner of the street (one that recently replaced the old one after you stole it) and placed it on your shoulders while smirking through your mask.

“So, what’s on the agenda today? You failing for the millionth time to land a good hit on me?” You teased.

All Might chuckled heartily, but he felt the same thrill coursing through his veins that he always felt when he was ready to fight you.

“I do hate to burst your bubble, my dear,” he began, using a nickname to tease you right back. “But I’m not about to go easy on you just because it’s our anniversary.”

“Oh I don’t expect you to hold back, I’ve been waiting for the opposite actually~” You said before lifting the newly acquired stop sign and twirled it expertly in your hand.

All Might’s eyes followed your every movement like a hawk. He never took his eyes off you these days when you were facing each other, and for good reason: you were not to be underestimated. He knew better than that.

“Still got that nasty habit of collecting those silly signs, I see.” He said with that signature smile as he flexed his thick muscles, getting ready for your first attack.

“You call them silly, but the city seems to take stop sign theft very seriously.” You said while getting into your own fighting position.

All Might scoffed as he rolled his shoulders to loosen up his muscles even more.

“And rightly so! Stop signs are important, you know.” He scolded before looking you up and down with a scoff “And that mask of yours is still downright hideous. How can you handle wearing that thing?”

“You and your issues with my mask. Always having a problem with it, lad.” You sighed and rolled your (e/c) eyes.

All Might looked around the city in feigned disbelief, as if searching for a nonexistent culprit.

”And whose fault is that?” He said, glancing at you again with a smirk. “If you just took the damn thing off, I wouldn’t complain all the time. Your face is probably the only nice part of you, but I have yet to confirm that.”

“Oh shush, you just want to be able to identify me so the coppers can hunt me down.” You said with a scoff.

All Might crossed his large arms over his built chest and let out a huff.

“Now that is the last thing I want, my dear.” He retorted, his smile faltering for a moment before a mischievous grin took over. “You’re my favorite villain to wrangle; I’d be devastated if you were taken off the streets.”

The bystanders who stayed to watch were getting restless, excited, or annoyed at the two…

All Might, the #1 hero who has been the world’s symbol of peace for years; and you: #1 super villain in the country and top ranked pain in All Might’s ass, has not once made any moves on each other.

Many years of rivalry… and their OTP still haven’t made a move on eachother…

…And it was driving the tabloids and the media batshit insane.

People were dying to know what was going on with the two, and for those who had that gut feeling, it was absolute torture for the hero/villain duo to not just fuck each other already.

Who would’ve thought the hero and villain would end up in a tango of sexual tension that lasted 15 years?

“Just kiss already!”

One guy in the gathered audience yelled loudly, saying what no one else dared to say.

All Might and you immediately both stopped what you were doing and looked over at the random citizen. You both had that “deer in headlights” look, and even with half of your face covered, the surprise on your face was obvious.

All Might actually went a shade of pink in the face.

The hero finally turned to the civilian. “S-Sir! This is a-ah-a battle! That would… be highly inappropriate in such an important moment!” He said firmly, but he looked so flustered.

“You have very interesting fans, All Might...” You muttered, glancing away from the hero.

“They’re your fans too.” All Might bickered.

Before he could retort against you, the same obnoxious idiot spoke up again.

“Maybe you two should just cut the bullshit and make out already!” He said, and several cheers came from the small crowd of onlookers.

All Might’s face went red again and he began to stammer. He was starting to get flustered by the comments. He tried to gather himself quickly, and he turned to the crowd again.

“T-This is not a performance! We’re not some dance for your e-entertainment! You people should take this seriously!” All Might protested, but the comments were getting to him.

More hollering and cat calling stirred from the audience; some were even chanting a ship name for you two.

You just deadpanned… but you were admittedly a bit amused.

“…you wanna just start the fight? Can’t really hear them over us throwing punches.” You suggested.

All Might looked back at you, a slight look of relief on his face.

“Y-Yes, an excellent idea! We’re wasting time here!” He said, flexing his arms and getting back into his battle stance.

The hero was trying desperately to ignore the chants and the cheers and whistles from the audience, which was only making him more and more flustered.

Even after 15 years, All Might was never bored of battling you. He was expecting your attack and was ready for you when you ran at him. He was also relieved that he didn’t have to listen to those insufferable comments for another second.

To add to that, Even though the crowd really, really wanted you two to finally French kiss, they weren’t disappointed when it came to you both fighting. For now, they didn’t try to push you two… for now.

You immediately launched yourself forward, leaving a small crater behind you. At the last moment, he sidestepped your attack and aimed a punch directly at your ribs.

You placed your free hand in front of your ribs and grabbed his fist as he unintentionally swung you around. Once you jumped away from him, you swung the stop sign at his head.

The man quickly blocked the blow with his massive forearm and pushed the sign away.

He wasn’t just going to accept any injury without at least putting up a fight. He was itching to actually land a solid hit on you, which was a challenge due to your strength and agility.

He took the opportunity whilst your stop sign was pushed away to aim a kick at your side.

All Might cringed inwardly when you were sent through a wall. He really was dreading the paperwork… Technically, you destroyed that building, he’s just doing his duty.

…Also, you had a tendency to let him strike on purpose so he could indirectly damage buildings *cough* *cough*-

As you were recovering from that kick and standing at the edge of the hole you left, the people in the audience were whistling and hollering at you two.

All Might stared up at you with a scoff before marching over to the new hole in the wall.

“Damnit, why didn’t you dodge???” He almost whined.

You chuckled as you placed your stop sign on your shoulder and jumped down, landing in front of him with a deep thud.

“C’mon… you know why~” You said cheekily.

Despite the mask covering your lower face, he could tell you were smiling.

He let out an aggravated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his signature smile up through gritted teeth.

“You’re terrible.” He muttered.

In the background, some of the more overbearing and blunt All Might and Highland Havoc fans in the crowd started shouting again.

“Get a room already!”

“The damn sexual tension is more thick than Midnight!”

All Might was blushing furiously, trying to tilt his face away from anyone’s sight.

‘If I hear one more comment from these people…’ he thought to himself, keeping up that friendly All Might front for his fans and for himself.

Unfortunately, he was interrupted by another loud comment.

“Stop being pussies and kiss already!!” A more blunt and shameless fangirl yelled from the crowd.

All Might looked at his nemesis with a strained smile on his face.

You… You just deadpanned.

“…I’m just going to swing this at your durable head, is that okay?” You asked plainly yet genuinely, holding up your stop sign to show off your weapon of choice.

All Might let go of his restraint and rubbed the bridge of his nose again.

“That is absolutely fine.” He replied in annoyance before pulling his hand away to look at you. “In fact, could you please hit me in the face? I’d rather we got serious.”

Just then, another shrill female voice cried, “Oh come on, a kiss would be soooo much better tho-“

All Might gritted his teeth and interrupted. “Please, random citizen, I’m trying to concentrate!!”

Unfortunately, because All Might lost concentration, you took this chance to slam the sign part of the stop sign into his face.

He took the hit like a champ and stumbled back, but it didn’t knock him down, just caused him to fumble with his massive feet until he got his footing again.

He clutched his now throbbing cheek and winced.

’Note to self: keep your focus from now on.’ All Might thought to himself as he righted himself.

He smirked through the pain and glared over at you again.

“…You’re going to pay for that.” He said.

Instead of trembling in fear, you simply blinked in surprise, amazed that you actually nailed him in the face with the metal sheet so easily, before looking at the stop sign.

Your shock quickly turned into amusement after you did a double take.

“Oh my God!” You laughed from amusement and shock as you stared at the imprint of All Might’s face in the stop sign.

All Might’s glare and smirk dropped for a moment, instead looking at her with a bewildered look before following her gaze to the sign.

When he saw the All Might face-shaped imprint, he actually snorted.

The fans in the background were cheering and hollering at the scene unfolding on the battlefield between their favorite number one hero and number one villain.

You continued laughing while leaning onto the pole of the stop sign for support.

It wasn’t even one of those taunting laughs he always heard from you, it was one of those rare, genuine ones.

The hoarse sound of your laughter was so unbelievably beautiful to his ears…

In all the years he’d known you, he rarely ever heard a genuine laugh, a guffaw or an eruption of amused cackling. He always thought you were a snickering or a scoffing type.

…In all honesty, the sound of your laugh was almost more damaging than a stop sign to his face.

“I actually managed to immortalize that face you made into the sign! Definitely going into my stop sign collection!” You laughed out, wiping a tear from your eye.

Your comment luckily broke him out of his smiling stupor.

“H-Hey, I do not make that kind of face during battle…”

“The sign says otherwise.” You said while getting control of your laughter.

All Might’s face was slightly flushed as he internally pouted at you but still kept his signature smile on.

“Well… that’s obviously not my normal look!” He protested before turning to a more playful tone.

“…Though you must admit, that is a lovely face, even imprinted into a sign like that. I can see why you’d want to keep it, Havoc.” He said with a cheeky lilt to his tone, trying to tease you back.

You smirked and brought the dented part down to your face to study it.

“…actually, you’re right… even caught that beautiful jawline of yours.” You said before lifting your free hand up to tug at your mask.

You pulled the mask down, and for the first time in 15 years, you exposed your lower face to All Might and the crowd.

All Might’s eyes went the size of saucers.

He was finally getting to see your face. He had been yearning to know what you looked like beneath that hideous mask of yours for years.

A little part of him had hoped you would unveil yourself to him in battle for years, yet here you were actually doing it, Freezing the hero from disbelief and awe.

The audience had gone dead silent at the sight of your revealed face, and more than one fan was filming the historic moment.

… and It was about to get more historical… cuz you lifted the All Might face dent and gave it a little kiss before lifting the mask back over your lower face.

It was almost like a scene from a film, except it wasn’t scripted at all.

All Might’s jaw had dropped to the floor the moment you kissed the imprint, but the realization of what had just happened didn’t sink in until your mask was over your face again.

Everyone in the audience was stunned, and for a moment, no one uttered a breath. The silence was so loud, you could hear a pen hit the ground.

Then the crowd roared.

The collective roar and screams of the audience were deafening, and they rang in the ears of both the hero and the villain.

All Might was still staring at you in disbelief, a bright red blush spreading over his face.

As was expected of people who were witnessing such a sight, the fans had their phones out and were taking pictures at record speed. One or two people were actually full on crying with tears of joy.

You stared back at All Might with an amused and mischievous look in your eye as the crowd and potentially the whole world were collectively losing their mind.

All Might tried desperately to find words to say, but he was so stunned that he couldn’t even process his thoughts.

The hero’s brain had short circuited and his jaw was hanging open. All he could do was gape at you while the people in the background were gushing and crying and screaming about a number one ship in history being finally confirmed.

But then, he quickly realized that he was just standing there like a fish out of water, and there are cameras surrounding both of them, filming the whole scene.

He quickly schooled his features and placed his hands on his hips and lifted his head.

“O-OKAY, LET’S BE CALM ABOUT THIS!” he bellowed, but the fans were still making sounds like they just won the lottery.

At this, he groaned in frustration and pinched the bridge of his nose again.

He didn’t know what to do anymore. This was the worst. The fans are going to make this moment in history live on forever.

He finally removed his hand from his face and shot you a look.

“You did that on purpose….” he muttered to you.

“Oh did I?” You asked innocently while holding a dark gloved hand up to your masked face and kicking a foot up behind you.

All Might squinted his eyes at you in annoyance.

“Don’t give me that, you knew exactly what you were doing…” He grumbled.

The audience was still going berserk, cameras were flashing from all sides. The former hero was just so over it at this point.

You snickered like a little vixen while still holding your hand to your masked face. He was slowly getting more and more irritated at how amused you looked.

“…Why did you even do that!?” He demanded with a shaky tone.

The crowd was still hooting and whistling in the background, but All Might didn’t care, his focus was completely on you.

You simply shrugged.

“Sorry, my dear~” you purred out, using the pet name he used for you using your strength-based quirk to jump off to somewhere else, leaving All Might to deal with the damaged building and the crowd of shocked and excited bystanders… and a news helicopter.

All Might was so too caught off guard by his own pet-name being used against him that he forgot to give chase to you.

He eventually came to his senses and whipped around to search for you in the sky, but you were long gone by now.

Groaning and pinching his nose for the 5th… 6th time? 10th? The hero turned back to the aftermath of the confrontation and was immediately bombarded by the fans who were clambering around him.

That night…

Yagi Toshinori *hated* paperwork.

At this point, he was used to doing excessive amounts of paperwork, so he was able to get through it all rather quickly.

But today’s paperwork involved the entire incident that had occurred between you and him. His hands were cramping up from signing forms and writing down details of your little escapade.

He was just scribbling away as the TV played in the background, playing today’s news. And of course, the entire day’s events featured heavily on tonight’s broadcast.

Yagi lifted his head to take a break and watch the replay of the confrontation on the newscast. Once again, he was met with seeing himself standing on the battlefield with his jaw on the floor as cameras captured your little… display.

Immediately, he groaned and put his head down on the desk with a thump, mumbling into the wood.

“I actually can’t believe it, she really just made it known to everyone!” The news reporter said a little too excitedly for someone who’s supposed to be unbiased.

The news reporter had obviously been waiting for this moment her whole career. She was acting like a fangirl, which in a way, was very realistic of her since many people would react the exact same way.

“Who would’ve ever thought that the number one hero or number one villain would actually have some kind of affection for each other? Could it even be love?”

Toshinori was just sitting there, face on the desk, listening to the broadcast as his now deflated, fluffy hair draped over his desk.

The news reporters continued to talk about what had happened, but something said by the man reporter caught his attention.

”It’s been 15 years, today marking the 15th anniversary of All Might’s and Highland Havoc’s rivalry… it’s about damn time.” The older news reporter, a 50 year old man, said.

“Daikaku, you shouldn’t swear, we’re on live tv.” The younger news reporter said with a hint of worry.

But All Might didn’t focus on that…

15 years. 15 years of you being his nemesis…

He hadn’t even realized that it had already been that long. And he hadn’t realized that he had feelings for you for 90% of that time… that was… a really long time.

The news broadcaster interrupted the former heroes thoughts when the subject was changed to an All Might fan.

“Let’s listen now to what the fans have to say about the incident that unfolded in today’s fight.”

All Might groaned when he heard that. He just knew the first fan they were going to show was going to be an overly obsessed and delusional fan. And of course, that is exactly what he got.

“I CALLED IT! I KNEW the two of them have been dating in secret for YEARS!!” The first fan cried out through one of the speakers of the call, clearly a child.

All Might was so over it. He wanted to bang his head on the desk.

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

Yes. That fan at the end is 100% Midoriya.

This takes place 3 years before All Might meets Midoriya, which means he’s 11 and All Might is 46.

Let me know how well I did and if you’d like more 👍👍👍👍

…or don’t. I’m planning on making a lil series anyways, like it or not.

[natnatscorner]

Mattheo begging for you back after cheating on you

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Summary: After 2 years of dating, the boy who you thought loved you cheats on you with your best friend. Now he's trying to get you back.

word count: 581

cw: none.

masterlist - harry potter fancast masterlist

"Mattheo go away for the millionth time."

You could not believe that he was back again. It's been a week since he cheated on you, with none other than Melanie, your best friend since 3rd year. You were stumped to find out because Melanie always told you to stay away from him because he's bad news. But maybe that was all a lie, and she wanted him for herself. Doesn't matter because she's dead to you, I think she got the memo when you threw all her stuff out of the dorm. You hated both of them at the moment.

"Y/N, please we need to talk." You hear his muffled voice behind the door. You roll your eyes and are about to walk back to your bed but stop as he starts to speak again. "Please baby, it was a mistake. She was the one who came onto me." he pleaded. You scoff as you turn around and open the door to see a teary-eyed Mattheo who looks relieved that you finally opened the door. You give him a dirty look and step back after he tries to grab your hands. "Whatever you want make it quick, I don't want to see your face right now." He took a deep breath in.

"Look I know I fucked up really badly, b-but she was a mistake. I love you so much more than anyone in this world. Please don't let my actions ruin us." He urged in a desperate tone. He looks as if he's about to start crying, but you don't feel bad. Why is he the one that's acting a mess, that should be you. I mean you ARE the one that got cheated on. "I'm not sure what you expected, but we are not getting back together. You would have kept it in your pants if you loved me that much. Now please go away." You state just about to shut the door. "W-wait!" Mattheo stops the door with his hand, opening it back up, and pushing you back.

"What the hell, Mattheo?!" You groan in annoyance. "Y/N, please don't leave me like this. You just can't. You have to forgive me! I can't live without you." He says, sniffling and wiping the tears from his face.

You feel yourself wanting to cave, maybe you should just forget this all happened and go back to him. Because, deep down you knew, you still love Mattheo Riddle. However, this cut is too deep to just forgive and forget.

"Look Mattheo," You take a deep breath as you prepare to shatter his heart.

"You and I, we're over. you broke my heart Mattheo, 2 years of dating and you cheated on me. Not to mention it was with my best friend. You must have real guts to come back begging for me, how pathetic. You seriously need to move on with your life because like I said, we are done. There is no more us. So just go." Looking at him coldly.

"Y/N y-you can't be serious, please. I-" He stops. It hits him, now realizing that he would never get you back. “I’m sorry for the pain I caused you. I hope you can forgive me” He looks at you one last time before muttering the words ‘I love you’. He walks down the stairs into the common room.

Oh god, what have I done? You thought to yourself. Instantly regretting what you said.

I'm not sure I'll continue, but if I should tell me!

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© natnatscorner - please do not copy, repost or translate my works on here or any other platform!

[vhstown]

time out (part 1)

[boxer au] — 42!miles g morales x gn!reader

summary: Miles Morales makes boxing history. Your boyfriend isn't there to celebrate.

warnings: angst-ish, description of (boxing) injuries, self-destructive behaviours, briefly implied death, pov switch (yay), gtranslate spanish

word count: 3.9k

a/n: ive never written 42 miles before but he's a cool lil guy split into two parts cuz it was too long 😭 semi-edited (for the millionth time)

PART 2 → / THE AU

"Just six rounds in, Miles Morales knocks out the Vulture!"

Screams and cheers exploded from your phone as you laid in bed, watching the recap of your boyfriend's boxing match. Your eyes were straining from how close you were holding the screen to your face; this was probably the third time you’d watched Miles’ win. After training to hell and back, he’d made it to the national league with you and Aaron to support him. He did more than just “make it”, in fact. His “revolutionary” victory was plastered all over social media and the news. Everywhere you looked was: “17-YEAR-OLD NYC BOXER OVERTAKES LIGHTWEIGHT CHAMPION ‘VULTURE’ IN US NATIONALS”. Miles Morales — your boyfriend — had made boxing history.

The giddy grin on your face only grew wider as he came up again on screen, sporting the stoic expression he'd perfected over the last few months behind the overly-done editing and animations of the recap. As much as you'd wanted to go out and see him live (though begging your family to let you go to Vegas wasn’t exactly feasible), he'd made it clear he didn't want you, or anyone for that matter, in that arena. It was something about having "total focus" — and it must've worked, you thought, as you watched him give his post-fight interview.

“I jus’ hope you watchin’, cause I’m here. Miles Morales made it!”

Despite his boyish, adrenaline-fuelled shout at the mic, the quiet laugh you let out was one of pride rather than embarrassment. He had every right to celebrate, and you were watching, even if it wasn’t live. Everything he'd done up until this point was well worth it: the constant training, sparring, the late nights and early mornings — maybe even the countless unanswered texts and missed calls too. Miles had worked himself to the bone, and while it might've worried you at the time, it was nothing compared to the satisfaction you felt while watching him on screen. He knew what he was doing; Miles was semi-professional at this point. You had to let him do his own thing, even if that meant letting him go for a while.

Right now, though, Miles was home from Vegas. Tapping out of the video, you scrambled to your messages. The last ones were from you, sent weeks ago, a "good luck" and "i love you" read and without a response. Your fingers kept missing the keys, and you frowned at yourself until you finally were able to hit send.

CONGRATS BABY!!! Not delivered

IM SO PROUD OF YOU Not delivered

You tried resending them, only to be met with the same red message.

why arent my texts sending Not delivered

miles??? Not delivered

Not delivered? It'd almost been three days since the tournament; Miles always had his phone on.

"To leave a message, please press one—" The call went to voicemail for the third time. Your stomach swirled with something like uncertainty. It didn't even ring at all. Miles made it a habit to always be available, so why...?

Boxers needed time to recover, he was probably just tired and turned his phone off. Or he could be busy with an interview; Miles Morales was sort of a celebrity right now — who wouldn't want to talk to the 17-year-old boxing prodigy? You knew you wanted to, prodigy or not.

It was probably because you hadn’t seen Miles in so long, but possibilities kept forming in your head, disappearing just as fast. What if he blocked you? Or he could’ve changed his number. Were you over? No. Nope. No way. Not like this.

There was one other reason that made some sort of sense, but you decided to think against it. Miles had made it to the semi-finals in entire the National League. It was over; he'd gotten what he wanted. He was supposed to be resting right now.

Miles wasn't that stupid, right...?

You pulled up Rio's contact. It was better to be safe than sorry.

Riiiiiiing, riiiiiiing…

Better for him to be safe than sorry — or stupid.

"Hello?"

"Hola, tía, uh, could I speak to Miles?" You felt just a little crazy as you held the phone to your ear, but there was no harm in calling his mom.

"Ah, he's not home right now — said he was going out with his tío."

"Oh… Do you know where they went?"

"I'm not sure. Something important. About a... contract?"

"Contract…?" you muttered to yourself. “Okay… thank you.” It wasn't like you knew anything about a contract, though it wasn't like Miles would tell you anyway. At least he was safe, and with Aaron. It was probably important, official — something that didn't involve you. Not a lot of things in Miles’ life involved you, it seemed.

"How have you been?” Rio's voice interrupted your thoughts. You had called her out of nowhere, and after a while. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Oh, um..." The last time you'd talked to Rio was… right before Miles had left for Vegas. Well, you hadn't exactly talked. All you remember is just comforting her in silence. "Yeah, tía. Have you?"

"I have, but I've just been all over the place recently. So many reporters…" Rio's voice lifted up slightly in exasperation. You could only imagine what it was like for her. Your feelings suddenly felt a lot less significant, and you were back to your comforting mode all over again.

"I see. Must be exhausting." You attempted a polite laugh, which came out more like a sigh. If only you could be as patient as Rio…

"I'm so proud, though." Her voice warmed with a smile. If your chest ached with melancholy or empathy, you didn't know. "I didn't want him to leave home so soon. I still think this whole… professional thing is a bit too much, but… I want to trust him also."

"I'm sure he'll be fine, tía. If he's in the nationals already, he's probably getting a lot of support." It was more like you were trying to convince yourself. "I'm sure he has great coaches... and he's got me and Aar— uh, his uncle, too."

"I know…" For a moment, you weren't sure if either of you had anymore to say.

"…If not, I'll have to go there myself and give them a piece of my mind, eh?" she continued. You weren’t sure if it was a joke, but a smile formed on your lips anyway.

"Yeah…" A quiet laugh leaving your mouth at the image of Rio cussing out Miles' poor manager, in two languages no less. No wonder he was such a good boxer — Rio must have passed down her fighting spirit. "Maybe you'd even get signed,” you joked, the image of that even more amusing (and a scary possibility.)

Rio let out her own laugh, and your smile only grew; talking to her always made you feel better. "Me? Boxing? Nunca (Never.) — I'll work in that hospital until the end of me."

There was another stretch of silence. You thinned out a sigh, trying not to let the smile leave your face, even if she wasn’t there to see it.

"Come over for dinner tomorrow. I'll tell Miles to come and get you."

"Sure, tía, I'd love to." He probably just needed a break. Not from you specifically, but in general.

"You know tú y Miles sois mi vida, ¿bien?" (you and Miles are my life, right?) It wasn’t often Rio said that, but you always remembered every time she did, and how it made you feel — like you were family. Rio was pretty much a second mother to you. It made you wonder what Miles' father would've been like.

"Well, it's getting late, and I have a lot of laundry to fold." Rio's tone had a fake sort of enthusiasm — tiredness? You couldn’t really tell with her; the woman was always upbeat. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"I will." It was late, you realised, and the sky outside your window was a lot darker than it had been before. "You too, tía."

“Descansa, ¿sí?” (Get some rest, yes?)

“Sí, tía.”

The call ended, and you were left facing your messages, a bittersweet feeling hugging you from behind. Right now, Miles was out with Aaron, about some contract, probably to do with boxing…

But why weren't your texts going through?

miles are you ok? Not delivered

im really proud of you Not delivered

i wish i couldve seen you live Not delivered

It wasn’t like there was much point, but…

i love you Not delivered

Maybe it was just out of habit; maybe you just missed him. Your reflection frowned at you behind the messages, thumb hovering over the power button to shut your phone off, until your phone pinged with a notification — Aaron was texting you.

Hey man

Out of town

LMK if miles breaks in

You sat up immediately, fingers floating uselessly above the keys for a moment.

sure Read at 11:24PM

are you out of town already? Read at 11:25PM

Ping!

Yeah

@ Queens

Miles was with Aaron about some “contract”... and Aaron was in Queens?

You knew Miles hadn't blocked you, or turned his phone off — he had no signal. And there was only one place in Brooklyn you could think of that had no reception, and that MIles had any reason to be in. It was also the one place you didn't want him to go to: that damn warehouse.

The place he’d spent training all those weeks — what reason did he have to be there right after finishing the tournament? Putting on your jacket, blinking back the sleepiness and collecting the fleeting remains of patience you had left, you could only hope that Miles had even a shred of common sense with him.

THWACK! THWACK! THWA— Crack!

"Mierda..." (Shit...) Miles hissed, drawing his glove away from the punching bag. His hand was paralysed for a moment, a deep, gnawing pang running through his fingers down to the rest of his arm. The tight gloves only suffocated him more, doing nothing to ease the pain as he gritted his teeth and waited for it to dull down.

Why was he even here? It was over — that Norman bastard had blown him off hours ago. It felt like a couple minutes, the words still fresh in his mind. Searing pain shot through his hand when he tried to flex his fingers, the rest of his muscles starting to ache too. This was going to hurt after the adrenaline wore off. Damn it, Morales.

The walls flashed white all of a sudden, a faint rumble of thunder interrupting the pounding of his heartbeat as he tried to straighten himself out. It was quiet, except for the sounds of the incoming storm. The playlist he was listening to had finished ages ago — your playlist. If he didn’t want to think about you, he wasn’t doing a good job of it.

Rain blasted quietly against the windows, and Miles’ eyes stung with dryness as he squeezed them shut. There was no way he'd be able to go back now, not to you, definitely not to his mom. She'd probably go on and on about how he should've taken his jacket, how he ruined his hair in the rain again, maybe how he wasted his damn time being a boxer...

It was probably fair; his mom had enough on her plate trying to support them both — especially him right now. She’d done everything in her power to make sure he got to Vegas, and he’d just left her alone again right after. But how was he meant to face her now? He was supposed to make her proud, make his dad proud, but it wasn’t like he had any pride left after he’d lost his contract. The Green Goblin had probably set the record for fastest knockout when Miles lost to him. Of course just the semi-finals weren’t enough; Norman Osborn was the big shot of boxing, and if Miles lost to some rookie in just about 15 seconds, then maybe he wasn’t worth the investment.

It didn’t make sense — nothing about The Green Goblin (or “Harry”, whatever they liked to gossip about) made sense. He’d just debuted, but didn’t even look like a boxer; he didn’t stand right, his style was inconsistent, his head movement was all over the place, but his punch had almost knocked Miles’ brain straight out of his skull. It was almost superhuman. Even with no openings, the freak of nature had forced his way through like an animal. And he was scrawny, not nearly as built as Miles at least, like he should’ve been in the weight class down. Either way, the asshole was being celebrated, and Miles was out of a contract.

And Miles had just stood there, while Norman berated him and tore Miles’ dream apart right in front of his very eyes. Maybe he’d hoped too much as an “amateur” boxer. That’s all he was, apparently — no matter how hard he worked, or what he achieved, or what he promised.

“Why should I keep you? The Vulture was destined to lose at his age.”

“Even rigged matches wouldn’t get you anywhere.”

“I mean, you’re as good at fighting as one of those street kids.”

“That’s all you were before I decided to give you a chance, no?”

The image of the Norman’s uncanny, sneering face sent his good fist reeling towards the punching bag. Should’ve pummelled his pelirojo (redhead) ass to the ground—

"Miles!"

The glove crumpled mid-air against the bag, arm going rigid. It was silent as he let out a breath through his teeth — he wasn’t hearing things, was he?

The rush was starting wearing off, his mind starting to cloud and pain faintly radiating again from his other hand. His good fist tightened inside the glove, pushed against the bag which was still and awkwardly tilted.

You’re losing focus, just punch the damn thing—

"Miles, what the hell are you doing here?"

The noise of the door shutting made him turn around, floor squeaking under his stumbling feet. It was you by the door, breathing just as heavily as him and dripping head to toe with rain, in a jacket that was way too thin for any sort of weather.

Dios... (God...) He knew he couldn’t be hallucinating that disapproving look on your face.

Rain was pattering gently against the glass as he pulled his arm away away from the bag, letting it swing in front of him before his eyes met yours.

"It's midnight, what are you..." A sharp intake of breath interrupted your words �� a shiver.

"What’re you doin’ here...?" Miles asked instead through a grimace. His voice came out wrong — hoarse. Cold sweat was clinging to his skin, and his throat was dry and tightening. A mess — that’s what you were talking to right now, barely your boyfriend. All he could do was stare as the rush died down and his senses were coming back to him. The fog in his mind made it hard to speak, even harder to look at you.

"My texts and calls weren't going through— You weren't with Aaron or your mom, I just..." You sucked in another breath through your teeth; raindrops were glistening on your skin. He should’ve just stayed home, damn it. "Was just worried."

Well, he certainly looked worrying, even more so than you. Swallowing back his breathlessness wasn’t helping; it was like he’d ran a marathon with his fists. The pain from his knuckle was starting to bleed into the rest of his hand so much so that it might’ve been broken.

"'M good... You, though?" He let out a bit of a growl to clear his throat before deciding to cut straight to the chase: you’d come here in the middle of the night, in the rain, by yourself. As much as he was being an idiot right now, the amount of times he’d told you to not do any of those things, pleaded with you even, was making you look like the delirious one in his eyes. Miles was being stubborn, but he knew you were worse.

“You insane…?” he muttered, taking a step away from the bag. “Did Aaron tell you to come here or sumn’?"

"No, he was supposed to be with you," you shot back, eyes narrowing at him from under your hood before thunder bellowed from all around. The rain was growing into a loud static noise, and your voice was muffled as your expression grew more exasperated. "You came home 3 days ago and you didn't even text me. Yeah, I probably should've texted you, and I tried, but now you're here training alone again when your mom thinks you're with Aaron and—"

"You come here to scold me?" His jaw crunched a little as he tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice. Miles wasn’t trying to be mad at you — he was just mad in general. It just so happened to be in your direction right now.

“Huh? No, I came here because you scared the hell out of me — and Aaron told me to not let you break into his place.”

If it was supposed to be funny, the laugh he let out was anything but amused. At least Aaron wasn’t here for him to disappoint too, or get a weirdly-phrased life lesson from, or both. “Well I’m not breakin’ in, and I told you, I’m good, so I don’t get why you’re still here.”

You stepped a little closer, and Miles’ heels dug into the ground to keep himself from moving. “Isn’t it obvious? Or are you just being difficult on purpose?”

“Difficult?” he mirrored dryly, trying to push back the growing exhaustion clouding his head.

“Can you not just take a break for once? It’s over, Miles; you already won—”

“I didn’t win.” The walls echoed with his voice, words having escaped on their own. It wasn’t at you, but he didn’t know what he was mad at, resolve fading as he watched your face straighten with realisation.

“Don’t tell me that’s why you’re here…”

His fingers unconsciously clawed into the boxing glove, pain shoot through his hand. Nothing came out of his mouth, but his silence was loud — incriminating. That was the reason, right? That he didn't win?

“Kid didn’t stand a chance.” What was the point of you being here?

“A one-punch concussion — on a newbie, no less.” It was over, like you said.

“It’s a shame, I bet on him too.” Everyone had given up on him.

“You should be resting right now— you’re shaking, Miles.” So why wouldn't you?

“No ‘m not…” is all he could muster, flexing his shoulders uncomfortably. Your hand was on his arm before he could realise, and he was met with a stern look as he tried to keep his gaze from shaking too.

The velcro on his gloves crunched as you started undoing them, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop you. It’s not like he had the energy.

“You coulda’ got hurt on your way here.” The croak in his voice made him sound more hopeless than reprimanding as you slipped off the first glove, pausing half-way down his palm. His bare palm.

“…I could’ve got hurt?” Miles held back a sigh as he was made to look at his own hand. Bruised, blackened, branded with anger — it hurt more to look at it than anything. “You didn’t wear your wraps?”

The other glove slid off, revealing the fresh, festering swelling coming from his middle knuckle — the aftermath of that sickening cracking noise. You took his curled hand, easing up his middle finger and making him hiss under his breath.

“Think you can straighten it?” you muttered, gently trying to do it yourself only to lose his hand from your grip.

“’S gonna be fine,” he mumbled, eyes fixed to the side as his hand closed back up.

“It won’t if you can’t move it properly.”

“You a doctor now?”

“Nah, but your mom’s a nurse.” You carefully held his hand by palm, thumb tracing over the tender, split skin, his fingers wrapping around the side of your hand in futile protest. He’d have to bother his mom again — he didn’t even think about that. “You basically just punched yourself.”

Everything you were saying was right — it always was. He hated that fact.

“You a boxing expert too?” he thought to retort.

“Thought that was supposed to be you.” Miles’ eyes narrowed, and yours narrowed in response. “I don’t get it, baby...” you sighed, shaking your head a little as you put down the gloves to the side.

Baby. His breath almost hitched. You were dating, and it didn’t even seem like it anymore. Not after all those weeks apart. The word didn’t even feel endearing, it was condescending, like he didn’t deserve it. Maybe he was being a baby, and maybe he always had been. You were the one who always had to drag him out of this make-shift gym. Right now was no different, except…

“…Why are you still doing this?” he heard you mutter, still turned away with his hand in your grip. You didn’t even know the half of it.

“Why are you still here?” His hand tried to slip away again, but you only took it by the wrist instead, now facing him.

“Why won’t you answer my questions, Miles?” Your voice deadened into a whisper, only serving to frustrate him.

“I don’t know why you care so much.” He let out a quiet huff, staring at your hand when your grip ceased to relax.

“I care because you look like you’re about to pass out and I can’t let my boyfriend kill himself over something stupid—”

“I’m not killing myse—” A pained groan escaped his mouth as you ruthlessly pushed up his injured finger.

“Don’t push me, Miles.” Oh, you were serious.

“You’re pushin’ sumn’,” he strained through gritted teeth. “Mierda… quit it already.”

The pain tore on another moment, and he was just now realising how bad it actually hurt. All you were doing was staring at him, brows knitted together. “Cariño, please…” he whispered, a wince forming on his face.

Your hand loosened, and he let out a quiet, frustrated, somewhat relieved sigh.

Still a sucker for nice words... He didn’t say them as much as he would’ve liked.

“You need to take a time out,” you stated after a beat of silence. The expression on your face was serious again, killing any sense of tenderness you might’ve shown.

He freed his hand from your grip with the opportunity, before giving you a dubious look. “Like, for kids?”

“Like for boxers, dumbass.” Your gaze followed his retreating hand for a moment before falling back on his eyes. “But if you want me to treat you like a kid…”

“I’m good.” Another roar of thunder rang out before he could add anything, and the rain was so heavy that anything you could see from the windows became a blur.

“…You got your jacket?” you suggested, without much hope.

The idea only made Miles’ eyes squeeze shut again. A shallow exhale left him, and he tried not to let his fatigue cloud his judgement. If he kept talking stupid to you, he’d probably have worse to worry about than a broken knuckle. “You think imma go outside?”

All you could do was sigh. It seemed like the two of you would be in “time out” for a while.

🕸️🔭👾

thank you for reading part 2 soon but then again its not my fav fic in the world 💔 i rewrote this like 8 trillion times and it still wasn't clicking for me 😭 idk i just got sick of editing it again and again

this isn't as short as my usual fics because i felt like i needed to add context... I've never written an au or anything remotely original so this is just yeah... im tryna figure it out! i have . too much lore for this au

reblogs appreciated lmk if you did like it (i hope this is someone's cup of tea lmao)

catch my atsv masterlist here !

[jebbzfixations]

In honor of The Old Guard 2 actually existing soon, I decided I had to rewatch the first one for the millionth time and write an essay about it because mental stability is overrated. This movie is what I’d consider a low level fixation in my head. Nowhere close to the Inception brainrot, but I think of this movie fondly and have watched it a bunch of times because it’s so easy to watch. I know a lot of the general public sees it as some stupid action movie that Netflix shat out, but I give it a lot more credit than that. There’s creativity and heart to this story that a lot of Netflix garbage films don’t have. So here’s some rambling for anyone who cares. Also, side note, I haven’t watched the trailer for the second movie because I have a weird thing against trailers and refuse to watch them so if anyone actually reads this, plz don’t spoil anything to me thanks <3

When I try and think about why I love this movie so much, I go to one of the same reasons I love Inception so much: the world it creates. These four people have been traveling the world together for eons, seen so much carnage and beauty and insanity together, and have been forever bonded as a result. I really do want to hear all the stories in this movie that they don’t tell us. I want to hear about Andy conquering the world on her own, want to see Nicky and Joe’s love story, even want to see what happened to Booker’s family. I’m sure there are fics out there for all of this and that’s what I love about a story that builds such a big world. It inspires creation. Besides invoking emotion, I think that is art’s purpose.

Another reason I love this movie is because of how surprisingly complex all of its characters are. Sure, they all sort of fall into action movie tropes, and I really am giving this movie more credit than it probably deserves, but I don’t care I love it. Andy is a fascinating character. She’s so jaded for most of the movie, and who wouldn’t be? She’s unable to see the big picture anymore because in a way, it doesn’t have meaning to her anymore. She’s been alive for so long, so much longer than the rest of the group, and she’s done a lot of that time alone or with people she lost. How she affects the world all blends together in her head and ends up meaning nothing. Sure, she saves some lives, but she knows that in another twenty years some other catastrophe will seemingly erase all the work she’s done. Her ability to see so far ahead, to predict the world, makes it impossible for her to unsee those patterns. I mean, come on. Even being alive for 20 years has made me jaded. Just learning history shows me how we’re bound to repeat it. Hell, the state of the US right now is enough to bring anyone to near ruin. Imagine experiencing that kind of loss of hope for so long? Andy has been trying to save the world for eons and it just keeps on dying anyway. I can’t blame her for wanting to give up. She’s developed a black and white mentality. Can’t save everyone, so save no one. It’s an extreme only someone as apathetic and old as she has can develop, and it’s something only Nile can undo.

Nile is probably my favorite character because of what she represents. Andy says to Nile that she thinks Nile showed up to show her what it was like to feel invincible again. But I kind of disagree. To me, it seems more like Nile showing up is there to help Andy relearn humanity. Andy loses her immortality, and so for the first time she has to remember what it is like to ache. She has to hurt. She has to suffer consequences, she must live and fight protecting herself rather than leaning on death. Nile helps her regain her personhood and remember what it feels like to be unremarkable. To be human. I think that’s exactly what Andy needed. To understand what it is like to feel.

Joe and Nicky are of course probably the biggest highlight of the movie. The first time I watched this they were wholly unexpected and an extremely welcome surprise. They’ve been together since the 17th century, holy shit. How do you stand someone for that long? Really though, they are so insanely lucky. They never had to be alone. That completely changes their view on their immortality. They can see good in it because it not only gave them their soulmates but gave them forever with each other. Their closeness in small moments touches me deeply. The gentle touches, the “there’s a TV!”, the checking on each other each time they die to make sure they get up again. I am so afraid the next movie is gonna fuck them up and I am pleading with the writers not to.

I appreciate Nicky’s spiritualism through time. He seems the most at peace out of all of them not just due to this intense, lasting love with Joe but also because he sees clear purpose. He can live with not knowing the “why” because he is content with just that fact that, to him, there is a “why” in the first place. He feels like he was given this power for a reason, and that when he loses it, it’ll be for an equally important reason. I think this is probably the ideal mindset to develop if you were given this ability. You have to find a way to believe in it or it’ll destroy you. It’s a good metaphor for anything that causes someone adversity, I think. Sure, you can hate this thing inside of you that makes you fundamentally different from those around you. You can see it for all of it’s bad, all of the pain it causes you, and treat it like the enemy. I certainly don’t blame Andy and Booker for doing that, or anyone in the real world for doing that with their adversities, physical or otherwise. I know I fall into those traps. But in the end, you have to live with what you’ve got regardless of how you feel about it. You can hate and hate, but you can’t hate something out of your body. Nicky knows that. He doesn’t have resentment for his ability. To him, it’s a gift. He finds the good in it. That, to me, is crucial to sanity. Joe seems to be the more pragmatic of the relationship, which makes that van scene all the more special. He’s supposedly the less lofty one, the less spiritual and more grounded, and yet he gives this syrupy yet genuine declaration of his love to Nicky. I just love how his affections for Nicky pour out in a manner that Nicky understands best.

Late in the movie, Andy says something to Booker about how they’ve been doing a shit job with their immortality, not because they’ve achieved nothing but because of the mindsets they’ve developed. I love that the answer to Booker and Andy’s grief is what they’ve been missing: an acceptance of love. Because it isn’t that they aren’t loved. They’re loved by the group, but they refuse to let it in because of all the pain love has caused. Booker lost his family, Andy lost her friends who might as well have been family. They can’t trust love. Can you really blame them? They’ve become bitter towards love because all it’s done in the end is hurt them. Trust and faith in that emotion is too difficult for them. But Joe and Nicky have love as a lifeline. It keeps them human, keeps them hopeful. They have the unique opportunity of never having to lose that and yet always having that fear in the back of their mind. Andy finally at the end realizes that it’s not love which ruined her but the lack of feeling it in the first place.

Speaking of love and affection, I’ve always sort of “headcanoned” Andy as being queer, though not in a traditional 21st century way. I mean, think about it. Andy was alive long, long before sexuality was even a concept. She would probably never really subscribe to modern day labels because it’s all just noise to her at this point. She’s been alive for so long that it means nothing to her. I can imagine she’s gone through the world falling for whoever she damn well pleases. I’ve always seen her relationship with Quynh as more than friendship. I don’t know if that’s purposeful by the movie but it’s what I’m going with cause idk I can do what I want.

Booker and Andy sort of, kind of have some implied connection beyond friendship that I don’t really want to touch cause I don’t really see much value in it. Booker is an interesting character. I end up having sympathy for him despite what he does. He’s definitely the most tortured of the group besides Andy, and I’d even argue that he’s more hopeless than she is. At least Andy still holds value in battle, in fighting even just for the sake of it. I don’t think Booker has that. He just wants this to end. Not only is he full of this grief, he’s had to watch Joe and Nicky be happy with this thing that feels like a curse to him. Even Andy must be difficult to be around to an extent because she’s so ancient she’s sort of beyond the level of grief he’s at. His grief feels closer to the surface for him, always ready to spew out, while hers has been calcified through centuries of burying it all. Joe being the angriest at him makes the most sense to me. Him and Nicky understand Booker’s suffering the least, and I would say Joe even less so than Nicky. Nicky at least has his intense spiritualism that connects him to emotions he may not entirely feel. Joe is plain old angry, can’t see anything besides the betrayal Booker has caused. I think everyone’s reactions are accurate. The way Andy screams and shakes in the betrayal has always haunted me. Imagine being with someone for so long and then they do something like that to you? Andy already can’t trust, can’t love. How is she supposed to learn how to after that? I hope that in the century he’s gone, Nile can help Andy learn again. And I don’t mean that in a romantic way. I’m sure some people see Andy and Nile together, but I think the years between them are just kind of insurmountable. Andy is a mentor, the jaded teacher to the naive student. I see a parental relationship far more than a romantic one.

One more thing I forgot to mention, one of my favorite lines is when the doctor says to Nicky: “I believe this can change the world.” And Nicky responds with, “A fine justification. I’ve heard it so many times before.” The doctor doesn’t know what to say. Her and Merrick have this close-minded egotistical goal that assumes somehow, they are the ones who can solve this mystery despite it existing for thousands of years. I love that this line completely undos any actual justification you can give to these villains. “They want to save the world! They’re just trying to help! They have so much grief!” Yes, sure, sure. But I’ve heard it so many times before. History repeats. Nicky knows that. Someone should probably listen to him.

I’m just going on and on at this point. I just feel like this movie is something special, something I didn’t think Netflix could be capable of. We have a diverse, queer cast, action sequences that are well done and well choreographed, and a plot that almost makes sense. There are weaknesses in this film, of course, but overall it feels so strong to me. I’ll probably rewatch it again before the new one comes out, and I’m sure I’ll have a lot to say when July 2nd comes around.

If there’s one thing in this world I love, it’s rambling on this website about the most random pieces of media. Tumblr, never change.

[yshzai07]

syn: when your mother falls ill, you return back home to take care of her, and the family boarding house. however, you don't anticipate meeting Suna Rintarou, or the changes he brings

wc: 1.5k

-> part 1/part 2/part 3

By some fault of your own, you hadn’t been home recently.

Lots had just… happened. School had been way more stressful than anticipated, and home had become just out of your reach, pushed further and further by looming deadlines and the never-ending tutoring sessions you’d taught for a little extra cash. No weekend had been freed from the shackles of your irritating schedule. Not to mention, you hadn’t exactly been… welcome.

But school was over, and you’d been summoned back home by the imposing, strict woman in the hospital bed beside you.

“Tuberculosis?” You sounded out the illness named by the smiley doctor with the clipboard, glancing down at your scowly mother. “That’s, ah, kinda bad-sounding.”

“We can start treatment asap,” the doctor said, flipping a page. “Your mother will be fine, but she’ll be in the hospital for quite a while.”

“Oh. Okay,” you scratched your neck awkwardly. “Let’s do the treatment then.”

Your mother squawked in disapproval, while the smiley doctor nodded and stepped back.

“Alright then. I’ll get that paperwork arranged for you, then,” the doctor drew back the curtain. “Have a good day.”

“You too.”

The silence stretched thin, and you cleared your throat.

“Stupid doctors… hospital for months… what idiots…” the ominous grumbles from your mother reached your ears, and you sighed.

“Ma, tuberculosis is serious. You can’t just go home and brush it off, yknow?”

“Of course I know that. I’m not a fool, y/n,” your mother glares. “I just have actual responsibilities in my life, and I’ve a right to be concerned about them.”

“I’ll take care of the boarding house, Ma.”

“Like hell you will,” she sniffs. “You could hardly wait to get out of here once your precious school started. You don’t even want to take care of the house!”

“Yeah, well, you’ve got no other option, have you?”

Silence. Again.

You sighed, for the millionth time that day. Your mother evidently hadn’t changed in the years you’d been gone. Not that that was unexpected.

“I’ll take care of everything,” you muttered, shoving your hands into your pockets. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Without waiting for a reply, you turned on your heel, leaving and drawing the curtain behind you. You were no stranger to hospitals, but you were certainly a stranger to seeing your once-formidable mother laying there, vulnerable. Shivering, you shoved the thought away.

Instead, your mind focused on the boarding house. Having inherited it from her in-laws, your mother had run the place like a sergeant, raising you and the house simultaneously. You’d grown up with your mother’s priorities clear; it was the boarding house first, and you second.

You wanted to leave.

You didn’t want to stay, for God knows how long, running the house you’d practically leaped to get away from. Or maybe it was your mother you'd ran from. Internally, you cursed yourself for answering the phone. It was a terrible habit of yours, giving in so easily.

By the time you got home, the sun was setting. There were no guests, but you were greeted by the few other people in the house, two older girls who were employed by your mother, Mei and Yua. They helped with the household duties, and had been around since you were an unruly teenager.

Yua smiled at you welcomingly, her brown eyes warm. “Is she alright?” she asked worriedly, her hands clasped. Mei stood silent behind her.

“Uh, yeah. The doctor said she should have a full recovery,” you nodded. “She’ll be in hospital for a while, though.”

Yua shakes her head. “Oh dear,” she whispered. “Don’t worry. We’ll help you out with the house, of course-“

“You are staying, right?”

Mei’s voice was sharp, cutting Yua off. With her eyes narrowed on you, you couldn’t help but shift on your feet.

“I am,” you said flatly.

“Good,” Mei sniffs. “You do seem to have a history of leaving.”

The silence stretched thin as you took in the low blow. Evidently, she didn't like you.

“If that’s all, I’ll see you both tomorrow,” you meet her gaze. The distaste was mutual.

The sun had set, long ago, yet sleep evaded you. Thoughts ran through your mind endlessly, crashing up against each other like waves. Having given up on trying to sleep, you'd resorted to sitting in the communal dining area, staring down at your phone. As expected, your messages to your mother went unanswered.

Before you could lose yourself in your mind, sharp raps sounded at the door, startling you back to the present. Hesitantly, you rose from your seat, padding to peer out of the front window. It was late into the night, the moon high and bright. Usually nobody came knocking at this time of night.

"Hello?" His quiet voice pierced the silence, momentarily freezing you in place. He sounded tired.

Fumbling with the locks, you swung open the door, coming face-to-face with the stranger.

He blinked.

You blinked.

"Can I help you?" You say, eyes narrowed up at him. His gaze never faltered, his grayish-yellow eyes focused on your face. It made you feel uncomfortable.

"You're not the owner," he muttered out, his voice low and raspy. "Who are you?"

"Does it matter?" You retorted. "Do you need a room?"

"No, I'm just here at a boarding house for kicks," he deadpans. "Is there any space available?"

You stared.

He stared.

You should never turn away a guest, y/n, your mother’s voice echoed in your mind. It's bad practice.

You leaned against the wall in the dining room as the man ate. You didn't turn him away. No, you offered him a room. Then food. After all, you were taught to be nothing but hospitable.

"The previous owner never stared at me whilst I was eating," you ignored his piercing gaze on the side of your face.

"I'm not looking at you," you muttered.

"Liar."

You slid your gaze over to him, before turning away, towards the kitchen.

"Stay."

You paused, tilting your head. Nothing but hospitable, you reminded yourself. Sitting down opposite him, you observed the man who's name you'd taken down as Suna Rintarou.

Suna Rintarou had sharp eyes, high, defined cheekbones and hair that was dark brown and stuck out in tufts. Eerily, he was akin to that of a fox, causing an uncomfortable sensation to ripple down your spine. Suna Rintarou wore dress trousers, and a creased white button-up that was rolled up to his elbows. His jacket was hung on his chair behind him, and his knuckles were bloody.

"You do have a staring problem," a slight smirk played on his lips. Suna Rintarou apparently was also an asshole.

"Sorry," you diverted your eyes. Nothing but hospitable.

"No, you're not," he said casually. "But I'll take the apology."

"How kind of you," you grit out.

"It's one of my many gifts," he grinned to himself into his bowl. Definitely an asshole. "So, who are you?"

You blinked "Huh?"

"Who. Are. You?"

"Y/n. L/n."

He tilted his head. "L/n? So you knew the previous owner?"

"She's not dead," you said defensively. "She's my mother."

"I didn't know Ms.L/n had a daughter."

"Now you do." Was he seriously not done with his food? You wanted to go to bed now.

You could feel his gaze on you again, as you intently studied the grooves of the table. For some reason, meeting his eyes made you feel odd.

"Got no questions for me?" Suna sounded bored.

"Why should I?"

"Am I not interesting enough for you, Y/n?" Your name coming from his lips felt familiar, almost as if you'd known each other beforehand; impossible, of course.

"I already know your name," you answered after a beat.

"Ask me a question," his gaze intensified, his grip tightening on his chopsticks. You glanced at his bloody knuckles and swallowed.

"Why are you here so late?" You blurted out.

Silence. He tilted his head. "I needed a place to stay."

No shit. You nodded. "Okay."

Abruptly, he set down his chopsticks, flexing his fingers. "I'm done. Show me to my room, please." Not an ounce of politeness in that statement, but you complied nonetheless. Nothing but hospitable.

His room was at the top of the house. Something in your gut had told you to distance yourself from him, setting him as far away as possible. It felt like he was breathing right down your neck as you climbed up, and up, and up.

"Here's your room." you said, your voice barely more than a whisper.

"Thank you, Y/n." He slipped past you, hand pausing on the doorknob. "How long are you staying here for?"

You swallowed. Telling this seemingly-dangerous man how long you'd stay in one place for? Stupid idea.

"The foreseeable future," you divulged. Idiot.

Unable to see his face, you were unaware of the smirk forming.

"Interesting."

No response was needed from you, as he slipped into the room before you could open your mouth, leaving you unsettled and nervous.

Who was Suna Rintarou?

[mays-simping-for-leona]

𓏲̣̇. "STUDY. NOW." ⏤͟͟͞͞★

𓏲̣̇.info

characters : leona, GN!reader ⏤͟͟͞͞★

genre : SFW, non-romantic, fluff, "big bro" leona, hurt to comfort, aggressive encouragement ⏤͟͟͞͞★

type : fanfic ⏤͟͟͞͞★

𓏲̣̇.scenario

You’ve been spiraling—ignoring everyone, drowning in exam stress. Then Leona shows up, unimpressed. “Get your act together,” he mutters, but sits down anyway. No coddling, no pity—just him, flipping through your notes, making you focus. It’s harsh, but it’s him. And somehow, his presence makes it all feel possible ⏤͟͟͞͞★

a/n : aaa this is basically a fanfic i got from my own situation — i have finals in like 17 days and i lost all sorts of will to study, trying to encourage myself and anyone like me🙏🏻

Note before reading: in this fanfic, reader is in whatever educational stage is — school, university, academy, anything..and it is not in twst, no, it would be your own real studies and not NRC exams!

𓏲̣̇. Enjoy! ⏤͟͟͞͞★

“Oi, herbivore?”

That sentence echoed with a knock at your Ramshackle dorm door, followed by an annoyed sigh.

“You know I’m not gonna stand here forever. If you don’t open up now, I’m leaving…” he said in a calm, final-warning tone, hands in his pockets as he waited… but no reply.

“Alright, fine. Goodby—”

Click. The door opened.

“Ah, finally—…” He turned to look at you with his usual eye roll and attitude... until he saw your face.

“?? What the hell—Herbivore?!” he snapped.

“Leona…” you whispered, wiping tears off your cheeks with your sleeves. Your face was red from crying, and you looked exhausted—like you just ran a marathon. Your clothes were messy and wrinkled.

The past week had been rough—mentally, emotionally, everything. You were sick of studying, of tests, of people constantly asking, “When are you graduating?”, “Are you prepared?”

You had spent the whole year trying your best, but now you were just… done. You were exhausted to your core, bitter toward everyone who ever thought up the concept of school in the first place.

Leona—supposedly your closest friend—had been pushed away along with everyone else. You refused to go out, refused to leave your room, cried almost daily from the pressure. You were right on the edge of giving up, even preferred flunking over looking at one more textbook.

Naturally…

Leona wasn’t having it.

“You serious? I leave you alone for a week and come back to this? What’s going on??” he asked, confused and clearly shocked—he’s never seen you like this before. He didn’t wait for permission and just stepped inside, raising a brow at you with a slightly bewildered look.

You sniffled. “I’m sorry… I just… I’m not okay,” you said, sitting down on the bed and wiping more tears.

“You think I’m blind? I know you’re not okay. Look at your face!” he snapped, gesturing at you, clearly irritated. “I need an explanation. Now. You’ve been getting food delivered to Ramshackle all week, not going to the cafeteria, avoiding everyone—even that moldy thing Grim said you kicked him out and made him sleep in the lounge. What the hell’s going on??”

He asked again—for like, the millionth time. This time, there was no dodging it.

“…I can’t take it anymore, Leona. I wanna quit this damn school and just rest! I don’t ever wanna see these books again! Finals are close and I feel like I’m this close to burning every single textbook!!”

You suddenly snapped—literally broke down crying, yelling, collapsing under the weight of everything.

Leona stood there for a second, watching silently… then glanced around your room. Books were scattered all over the floor, pens cluttered the desk, the bed was covered in torn-up notes.

Yeah. He understood now.

He crossed his arms, silently watching as you fell apart in front of him.

“Believe me, I can’t take this pressure anymore. I wake up every day feeling like I’m being shoved into a battlefield I never signed up for. I try to study, but I can’t focus. My brain is all over the place, my body’s tired, and even when I try to sleep, I’m still studying in my head.

Everyone keeps saying the same crap: ‘Hang in there, it’s almost over,’ but none of them get it. This isn’t just stress, it feels like I can’t even breathe.”

“I’m just… tired.” you muttered, burying your face in your hands.

You didn’t expect him to say much.

But then you heard him… picking up one of the books off the floor and flipping through it casually.

“…Are you even listening to me?!”

“You’re gonna hate me for saying this, and I don't care, but… what’s the point of crying like a baby now?” he said without turning to you, flipping another page. His voice was that usual calm, annoying tone of his. “You’re like a runner who gets to the final lap and says, ‘My foot hurts, let me sit for a bit’—and lets someone else grab the trophy.”

You blinked, wiping your face. “What are you even saying?”

“I’m saying… you already made it through the hard part. You’re literally right there, after a whole year of effort—and now you wanna quit and cry like a coward? Then why’d you study at all?” he turned and gave you a side glance.

You fell silent. “I…”

“I don’t see how crying helps anything. If anything, it makes it worse. And yeah, I get the irony of hearing this from me…” he turned around, holding up a book. “This one’s nearly ripped to shreds. Why’d you do that?”

Suddenly you snapped, storming up and yanking the book out of his hands.

“You don’t even know what I’m studying or going through—how dare you judge me?! I’m venting to you and you’re scolding me?!”

“You’re blaming everything but yourself. But if you looked in the mirror and fixed that, everything would be easier.” He sighed. “What you’re studying now? I had to learn that crap as a kid, under way worse pressure. I think someone your age can handle it.”

“Oh, right. Like I’m some genius who can just match your superhuman intellect?” you snapped.

“You don’t let yourself be a genius. You’re just giving yourself permission to fall apart now that you’re close to the finish line. You’re setting yourself up to regret this later—calling yourself stupid when you could’ve made a difference.” His voice was calm. Almost too calm.

And then silence.

“…So what do I do then?” you asked in a small, shaky voice, eyes glistening.

“Study. Now,” he said flatly. “Stop lying to yourself and pretending there’s another way out. Studying is the solution. Not crying, not whining, not collapsing under pressure. None of that will help you reach your goal.”

“Let’s see… You’ve been studying since you were, what, four? And now, all these years later, you’re sitting here crying and saying you wanna quit? That’s what weak people do.”

Leona started gathering the books from the floor and sat beside you on the bed. His calmness was weirdly soothing—it made your heart settle just a little.

“How much time is left before finals?” he asked.

You sighed, rubbing your face. “Not much… I don’t think I’ll finish studying in time…”

“You won’t, because you’re mentally beating yourself up and drowning in negativity. Not because you can’t do it.” He opened your notebook and flipped to the study schedule—it wasn’t even completed. You had slacked off during the past days after losing motivation.

“You still have time. It’s not like you haven’t studied these topics before—you’ve done it all year. Get a grip. There’s nothing left to cry over.”

You fidgeted with your fingers, breathing shakily. “But… what if I can’t answer the questions? What if the test is hard and everything I did goes to waste? What if I study and—”

Suddenly, you felt his hand grab your chin and lift your head—not to look at him, just to keep your head up.

“Oi. Don’t talk like your life ends here, alright? Academics aren’t everything. The world doesn’t revolve around your test scores. How do you think some people live happy lives with no degree at all? You’re overthinking this.

Do you wanna be the idiot who cries after the exam because the questions were easy and you didn’t study? You’ll break down again and come crying to me—and to your friends, your family—and they’ll all pity you. Worse, they’ll blame you.

Or would you rather say, ‘Yeah, I studied, but I still couldn’t do it.’ That way, at least you’ll feel peace inside.”

“And keep your head up.”

“Giving up is for the pathetic. As long as you have a chance, you have no excuse to waste it. Got it? Hold your head up high and feel ashamed that you’re the one underestimating yourself.”

Silence again. You sat there… taking in his words, thinking deeply. He was right. Painfully right.

But…

“…Why don’t you do the same?” you whispered.

“Ugh…” he groaned, rolling his eyes. “We’re not talking about me. This is about you, herbivore.”

You smiled faintly, a bit bitter.

“Are you joking with me? Don’t tell others to be productive and successful when you’re the last person who can talk about that.”

He scoffed. “You’re wrong. The difference between you and me is that I gave up by choice—because I know what my future holds. I tried, over and over, and nothing worked. Meanwhile you…

You still have so much ahead of you.

People believe in you, they hope for you. You still have a chance.

Me? I’ve got none. So why would I keep trying?”

“Don’t compare yourself to me,” he added sharply. “And don’t you dare make me your role model.”

He stood up from the bed, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he made his way toward the door.

“You’ve got a brain. Two hands. Two legs. Opportunities.

Other people would kill just to have what you do… and you’re the one choosing whether to rise—or to fall straight to rock bottom.”

He paused by the door, not turning back.

“These are crocodile tears. And they won’t help you when you’re holding that diploma later.”

“Study.”

“No more stalling.”

And with that—he left.

𓏲̣̇. Thanks For Reading! ⏤͟͟͞͞★

[mj-102009]

The Marionette (Alastor x oc Part Three)

Other parts in masterlist

----------

I walk into my kitchen with a bottle of hell’s finest air freshener.

“Is that really necessary?” Alastor asks, unamused and exhausted. 

“I’m telling you that scent is foul,” I grumble, pinching my nose and spraying the air around him. “Having been around as long as I have, the smell of mistakes tends to linger.”

He would have scowled if his curse would have allowed him to. “I came here for help,” The word sounded unnatural on his tongue.

I snorted and sniffed the air. “And as I’ve told you several times these past few nights,” I snapped lightly. “Unless you find a loophole that allows you to tell me who you sold your soul to; the best I can offer you is a deal breaker.”

“And as I’ve told you,” He said tightly. “Deal breakers that have enough power to return souls are few and far inbetween. And you’re the only one I’d trust to do that job if we hadn't just made a deal.”

“Flattered,” I mumbled, raising my eyebrows mockingly and looking down at my breakfast we’d just been served. “What about Rosie?”

“We’ve already made deals,” He said quickly, I clicked my tongue and tapped my heel to the floor. “People who you’ve made deals with can’t break soul binding contracts.”

I gave him an odd look that said ‘You think I don’t know that?’ and rolled my eyes. “How long until you can go back into the public?”

“Whenever they deem it necessary.”

“Hm,” I hum and rise to my feet. “Well, I suppose you’re under my protection until you want to go back to your tower.”

He nods distractingly and once I leave, I assume he begins to go over his contract for the millionth time. I sigh and walk into the shadows to appear back into my bedroom.

I run my hands down my face and scowl at the mirror. As always, it takes a moment for me to recognize the white skin and inky black hair that contrast so boldly. I purse my colorless lips and thrust my hand out at the mirror to which it shatters.

“Call off my meeting with Vox, Indara,” I tell her over my shoulder as I walk into my office. Alastor looks up from where he had perched himself on one of the couches facing each other.

“He’ll be upset,” She says back.

“I don’t much care what an oversized television thinks of me,” I snip lightly. “If he threatens you, direct the line over to me.”

I shut the door and walk over to my desk.

And immediately yelp when Alastor blinks up at me innocently from my seat. “What’s on the Agenda today, Liviana?”

I wrinkle my nose and shake my head. “Up,” He does so. “I’m going down to your territory, per your request, to make sure all is well and nothing has changed. I also want your opinion on a small team, say 30-40, down there by my office.”

“I suppose if I can’t defend my own territory…” He muses, tapping my desk with his long claws. 

“Alright then,” I scribbled something on a sticky note and stood, Alastor matched my movements and I narrowed my eyes. “Stay here.”

His smile twitched. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” I said dismissively. “You can’t go into public, and therefore can’t handle your affairs unless it's through me. Stay here until I find a way for you to help.”

The mighty Radio Demon’s smile strained at the force of my concret case. He settled back down into my seat and because I didn’t want to kick him while he was down— I let him.

-1 year later-

“I’ll check it out later,” I said from behind my hand and through a mouth full of breakfast.

Alastor’s static screeched. “If there is someone poking around my territory I want them removed.”

I rolled my eyes. “You go do it.”

He grumbled and stuck his fork into the dead deer he’d been picking at. “Your…pet has been poking around my quarters.”

“Moria is not a pet,” I objected, waving my fork around and glaring. “She’s a companion.”

“For you, not for me.”

I looked to the ceiling and mumbled something unintelligible. “Leave the cat alone.”

For the past year, I’ve been swearing to myself and the house maids that I'd kick him out eventually. I never seem to get around to it, and I doubt I ever will. As much as I banter, Alastor really is more helpful than I tell him. He’s a great cook, an overlord so I can throw some paperwork at him and he’d understand it, a great cleaner too. 

“I have a meeting with the Vees,” I shouted, white heels clicking on the floor as I walked into the parlor. 

“Hm,” Alastor hummed distastefully. “Do you know when you’ll be back.”

I clicked my tongue and tilted my head back and forth. “A few hours or so.”

He nodded and flicked through his book.

“Keep Moria out of my room please, I just redid the carpet,” I told him, brushing hair out of my face and doing a final check.

“Have a civil meeting, Liviana,” he said, teasing. 

I snorted and left the mansion. Waving to the security as I shifted into the shadows. 

“Listen, TV screen,” I rubbed my temples and shut my eyes. “I’m not replacing a guard that you killed.”

He sputtered and Val snickered. “I told you.”

“Libby, it was an-“

I slammed my hand on the table and glared at him. “I’ve told you not to call me th-“

“Marionette,” Indara said breathlessly. 

Without a beat, I was standing up and steadying her. “Yes?”

“It’s your house– a fire.”

“We can continue this tomorrow,” I called over my shoulder, voice as calm as I could force it to be. The Vees all gulped and nodded quickly.

I gripped Indara’s forearm harder than necessary and we swirled into the shadows and I dropped her onto the street some 50 yards away from the house. “Shit, shit, shit!” I shouted, curling my fists and snarling at the massive bonfire that had been my home.

I tried so hard to try and get into the house, but there were not shadows that were big enough to step through. I appeared closer to the house and tried searching for Moria when I found no sign of the cat, I screamed a swear for only my ears. I turned to Indara to find her waving her arms, I composed myself and appeared close to her.

“What?” I snapped. “How– shit,” I breathed in deep and calmed down. “Call Vox’s fire team and have him clean this up. I'm staying in the office tonight.”

She clearly wanted to ask questions, but instead she nodded and moved to stand with the guards. I twisted my hand and rematerialized in Alastor’s radio tower.

There was a steady hum of static and I turned around to look at the demon.

“Moria,” I breathed, kneeling down when the black and white kitten jumped off of Alastor’s lap and started whirling around my heels. 

“Finally,” Alastor said, dusting the fur off of his jacket and striding over to me. “We need some last resort form of communication, your companion made me aware of the fire and I had no way of-”

“Thank you,” I said firmly. “I appreciate it.”

He bowed regally and his signature smile didn’t change. “Simply repaying the favor.”

“I’m staying in my office until I can get my house rebuilt,” I told him. “You’re welcome to stay but I doubt you’d like the spare couch I have.”

“Much appreciated but I’ll pass for now,” He said. “I believe I have…business to attend to.”

I nodded in understanding and picked up Moria. “Thank you.”

With one more nod for him, I was gone in a whirlwind of shadows and faintly visible ravens.

The next day an overlord by the name of Muse came into my office begging for mercy, admitting she had started the fire. I laughed and laughed until she stopped crying, then I cut off her head and sent a package of fried dough to the radio tower.

-Two years later-

Out of all of the Vees, Valentino had the weirdest meeting spot by far: a strip club. It was so crud that I tended to avoid telling Alastor where I was going on days where we had a meeting. 

Indara had me wear a tight black dress that ended just above my knee, no pattern, very simple. I put on the gold necklace and rings just for flare. 

“Where’s Val?” I shouted to the bouncer, he gave me directions and I shoved my way into the room. “Disgusting,” I hissed, looking down on the moth demon covered in women.

“Ahhhh Marionette,” he purrs. “Lovely to see you.”

I looked down at him in disdain. “What do you want?”

He clicked his tongue and pushed the strippers off of him with no grace. “Always business~” he snapped his fingers a few times and a lanky spider demon strutted over and laid himself over the overlord’s lap.

I squinted at him trying to remember where I’d seen him before and hummed to myself, Val looked up at me again and noticed my gaze. “You like?”

“Shut up,” I grumbled. “You know I don’t.”

“Prude,” he tossed me a set of papers that came seemingly from nowhere, I flipped through it for less than five seconds and tossed it back. The spider blinked at me and I met his eyes, searching quickly before looking back up at Val.

“No.”

He sputtered and damn near threw the spider on the couch. “Woman— the fuck do you mean no?”

“I don’t want one of my teams to feature in your films,” I inhaled. “For 120 people.”

“Why not?”he growled, standing up and towering over me. 

I don’t flinch, I scowl and stand straight. “Vox may be an asshole with no morals, but he’s a good businessman. Not a moth drawn to an ass like a light.”

The moment he raises his hand, I raise a single brow and he growls and redirects it on the spider demon. 

“Stop Val,” I say sternly. “Don’t give him shit because I don’t want what you're offering.”

He kicks over the poor boy and finally I snap my fingers and freeze time. I yelled in frustration and attached an invisible string to Val— moving away so I stood in front of the spider. I snapped my fingers again and watched plainly as Val stumbled. 

“I’ll give you security for the spider.”

“You can’t have his soul,” Val shouted. “He’s mine.”

I tilted my chin up and eyed him viciously. “I didn’t say his soul, I want 48 hours.”

He snarled and looked between the two of us. The spider demon hadn’t moved from his trembling position on the floor. Val growled and thrust out his hand. “48 hours.”

“As discussed,” I hummed, taking off my glove and snatching Val’s hand. Gold and red dance around each other before dispersing.

The moment the deal is sealed I turn to the fallen demon and offer my hand (with half awareness to the angry moth demon). “Come on,” I said snapping my fingers and gesturing for him to stand up. “I don’t have all day.”

He weakly looked up at me and finally took my hand. I tugged him up and with a harshness that I swore I was apologize for, I started leading him out of the building. 

“Bye Dash,” I said quickly to the bouncer still elbowing sinners and imps. I glanced back and let go of the gaping spider and snapped my fingers, suddenly we were both wearing comfortable clothing with our hoods up. “Sorry,” I said, bringing the hood further down my face as we walked. “I don’t think anyone deserves to be talked to like that, especially because of me. Plus I’m sure he would do much worse once I left.”

He was still quiet. 

“It’s dinner time,” I said, trying to pull back the stern regalness I used as a mask. “I’m sure my kitchen will have served something by-“

“Do you know who I am?”

I quieted and glanced around the street, no one was there. “You look familiar.”

He hummed. 

“Do you know me?” I asked

“Of course,” he snorted, a hint of sas shining through. “Everyone knows the Mariotte.”

I laughed under my breath. “You know what I mean.”

Silence.

“Liviana DeAngelo,” he said quietly. “You married the Don.”

Again, I laughed. “I am, what’s your name, kid?”

“Angel.”

“That’s it?” I swapped languages and started speaking Italian. “I don’t believe you.”

He scowled at the ground and shook his head. “No, stop, I do this shit with Val for a reason.”

I glanced at him and hummed. “Understandable.”

“Is it?” His accent was strong. “You were born into one of the most powerful families in Italy and almost immediately married the most powerful man in New york; at the time anyway.”

“Angel, everyone in that family was horrible,” I told him. “I had no choice but to marry that man.”

He doesn’t reply. “So what am I doing today? Am I you and his fucktoy?”

I wrinkle my nose and walk to the empty part of the street. “I planned on having dinner and offering you a guest room for yourself.”

“Why are you- I don’t- What?” He stops and turns in a full circle. “We are in hell, toots! No one here does anything unless they want something.”

“I already have everything I want,” I tell him, smiling. “I don’t benefit from hurting you.”

I checked my phone and responded to Indara. 

“This is the middle of nowhere lady,” He deadpanned. “We’re like a half mile from the edge of pride.”

I offer my elbow. “I needed time for my assistant to kick my roommate out, he’s a dear to have around but not the friendliest.”

He eyed me skeptically before grabbing on.

“Val is gonna beat my ass,” Angel told me, scarfing down pasta. “I…appreciate this but it's gonna be worse when I get back.”

I set down my fork and crossed my arms. “We can make a deal.”

He laughed. “I don’t have my soul, toots.”

“I don’t want your soul,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “Once a month you come here so I know that you’re not dead, and I will come to protect you at the time of your choosing.”

Angel hesitated, understandably, he thought to himself and very carefully extended his hand. “Okay.”

I took off my gloves and he glanced at my hands before we shook hands. A swirl of pink and gold, the gold turned to a mist and swirled around Angel before a thin string of gold connected the two of us.

“You’re a good kid, Angel,” I said, after dinner, handing him a set of pajamas. “That’s why I’m doing this.”

He didn’t respond.

-4 years later-

“Indie?” I called, stepping out of my office. “Did Al get those papers filled out?’

She blinked at me and shook her head. “He told me you said he was off.”

I cocked my head and pursed my lips, speed walking into his office. “Alastor?’ I said skeptically, walking over to his desk and looking down at the bare table. I frowned and opened a drawer– nothing. “Moria,” I said out loud. A tiny meow came from the shadows and the cat scampered out and to me. I knelt down to her level and ran my fingers over her fur. “Find him,” I whispered, my words heavy with weight and power. Her eyes flashed gold and she was off.

----------

hihi its been a minute since i worked on this one lol im still in love with the concept but i lack the time and motivation to actually write tell me if you liked this and if you'd like to be tagged!

[badbatch-badfics]

Thief (TBB x Male Reader) Part 1

Characters: TBB + Phee, but it's mainly you stealing from them for 90% of it

Relationship: Enemies

POV: 2nd (you/yours)

Pronouns: He/him. The horn pattern (as in thick or thin lines defining your sex) and the hair color are not mentioned, so it's trans-inclusive as far as Imps go lmfao. 

Species: Helluva Boss type Imp- imagined the Imps with digitigrade legs and claws for your legs, and I haven't watched Helluva in a whileeeee.  Like, at least a year or more.  Nothing about Hell is mentioned, so you're just another species, so to speak.  Also, you obviously have red skin.  But I occasionally put in a [shade] so it’s not totally limited and you can still be you (more or less). 

Content: You’re stealing shit??

Warnings: You stealing shit, Wrecker throws you, Hunter threatens you. Cringe lol

Word count: 2,588

You glanced around the pub, checking on the targets for what felt like the millionth time.  When will they get moving?  Your employer had sent you on a rather vague mission, ordering you to scrounge “anything that seemed of value,” and to “keep an eye out for a band of four adult men and one little girl.”  Unspecified by your employer, there was another member- an adult woman, a pirate, so it would seem.  Apparently, if you could lose the little misfit band and find their ship, it would hold wonders of great value- credit wise.  A war modified Omicron class attack shuttle, with more war supplies inside- enough for four men and a child- would be a complete jackpot.  And, Maker, were you thankful.  Even if you didn’t get the direct riches, the reputation and rank would more than suffice.

Obviously, any jackpot is rather risky, and you were not looking forward to it.  That much was evident by the swaying and twitching of your tail.  But, hey, if you could do it well, there would be an abundance of awards.  But before anyone could make a grab for anything, you needed to make sure they were far away from the ship- which would be far easier if your employers had provided some help.  But, to be fair, since when was anyone's employer ever fair?

Finally, the group got up and left- the young girl happily skipping along, talking about heading to the market to buy an assortment of small trinkets.  Perfect.  You waited a few minutes until they were certainly gone before heading up to the bar, credits in hand.  “So…” you began, “That group- the one with the big guy, droid guy, skull tattoo, googles, the pirate, and a little girl- you know who I mean?”  The Twi’lek bartender nodded his head, lekku slightly bobbing.

“Fantastic, now, for some extra credits, would you be so kind as to point me in their ship’s direction, and perhaps access to the lot…?”  That was certainly the most inconvenient part about the job- the ships’ 'parking’ spaces had fields around them, and you needed the key to get in.  Keys that only the ship’s owner and the bartender had access to.  The Twi’lek raised an eyebrow- unfortunately for you, he seemed to have decent morals.  At least, decent enough to question a rather suspicious looking stranger asking for access to someone else’s ship.  You sighed, and began to explain- “I’m not going to do anything harmful, it’s just a simple grab and retreat- you can watch me through the security cams, or even come with me!  I’m a thief, not a killer, or any other bad things.  Just a thief.  Which is pretty ironic sounding, I know.”  You flashed a smile, trying to appear more honest and trustworthy.  Not that you were lying, anyway.

The Twi’lek scrunched his eyes in contemplation, slowly rubbing one of the dirty glasses.  You were leaning forward, eyes wide, tail swishing in excitement.  Finally, he sighed, before turning to grab the keys to the Marauder.  You quickly slid the credits over, flashing an incredibly toothy grin.  “Remember I am watching you.  If anything happens other than some petty thievery- you won’t be making it out of here in one piece,” he warned, accusingly glaring while pointing the not-at-all threatening cleaning rag at you.

“Trust me, I won’t hurt anyone!  Except for their pockets, I suppose- ha!”  The Twi’lek sighed before explaining the directions to get there, and how to work with the keys.  He shortly returned to his work, as you happily bounded out before remembering to be discreet.  You ducked and swerved, squeezed into tight spaces, hopped over a few fences, and other tasks that were annoying, sure, but not difficult in any way.  Finally, the docking lot came into view, the Marauder in the center, taking up all the glory.  Before stepping into the port, you looked around, pulling down scanner goggles, easily locating all the cameras.  You had said that the bartender could watch you, so scrambling the cameras for the long-run was a no-go.  But, perhaps, you could manage to short them out for only a minute or two, or scramble all of them except the camera over your target.  Keep the promise, and all.

You fished around in your pockets and pouches, seeing what trinkets could be of help.  There must be some sort of protection against scrambling devices, if you could just… “HA!  Yes, this will do,” you whisper-shouted triumphantly, holding up a little stick on device you had crafted yourself, many rotations ago, just in case of a situation like this.  You smiled triumphantly, perhaps feeling too much pride given the circumstances.  You waited for the cameras to drift away before jumping up onto the fence, using your tail to help balance, before jumping up the wall.  Thankfully, whoever designed the lot wanted it to be pretty, considering the intricate carvings swirling here and there.  Unfortunately for the designer, though, anyone with enough claws and skill could use the indents to scale their way up or across the compound- and you had plenty of both.

Carefully, you made your way across until there was a large horizontal pole with a label for the row.  Angling yourself, you quickly leaped and grabbed the pole, swinging before bringing up your legs and balancing on it, one hand wrapped around, the other holding the small device.  Squinting your eyes and focusing, your arm drew back, everything carefully placed.  Then, with a quick motion, you threw the device, which immediately stuck to the camera observing the Marauder.  Grinning, you fished out the scrambling devices, and its remote.  One by one, you tossed the scramblers across the compound, surrounding the perimeter.  As soon as your [shade] red finger touched the button, electricity sparks flew and the cameras slumped down, utterly defeated.  It was almost too easy, which never happened.  There was always some bizarre twist- employers never gave the full story.  You’ll worry about that later.

You wrapped your tail around the pole repeatedly, before lunging down, hands extended to catch your fall.  Quickly bounding back up, you looked around once more before sprinting to the ship.  Looking over your shoulder every five seconds, you inserted the key and twisted it, bringing the field down with a triumphant smile.  You quickly scraped off the plate covering the wires to open the ramp, claws leaving dents.  Well, that’s inconvenient- now they’ll know someone was here- if they’re smart, anyway.  A problem for tomorrow.  Or the next hour, or whenever they show up- especially if the bartender would rat out the plan.  Maybe you shouldn't have compromised with him, promising to let him keep some view on you, ready to give information to the owners of the ship.  Yeah, you would definitely need to get off of this planet soon, especially since your appearance was… unique, to say the least- but it did help that your striped horns were covered, but the long red tail certainly didn't help.

You began hot-wiring the ramp cords, pulling and plugging and making electric connections from one to another, until a satisfying hiss escaped and the ramp began unfolding.  The lights in the ship activated, making the ramp look like some blessed trip to paradise, war equipment and Maker knows what else, all ripe for the taking.  You bounded up the ramp, tail swishing back and forth rapidly in excitement.  Your hand twisted up to grab the large sack from your back, opening it up and getting ready to completely loot the place.

Running back and forth through the ship, you collected bombs, blasters, bits of armor, rations, and what appeared to be someone’s… arms and legs- or, at least, spares.  There was one pair of legs, with a spare foot, and two different arm types- one resembling an actual arm, and the other one seemed to possess a number of tools.  They all looked like they were a work in progress, someone making upgrades to it all, perhaps making  different aspects specific to certain goals or terrain.  You hesitated, arm hovering out.  I mean, it would be pretty cruel to take someone's legs and arms…but the employer would be thrilled…  Sighing, you took the arm with the tools, and left all the other artificial limbs.

You continued forward, picking up a spare set of goggles and a data-pad left on one of the top bunks.  On the other side, one of the bunks held several vibro-knives, which you quickly grabbed.  Those were valuable, and there were no guilty feelings involved- win win.  For you, anyway.  Certainly not the group you were stealing from.  The bag feeling was heavy in your hands, so you figured it was time to bail.  There was enough stuff in here to last you forever- or rather, your employer.  Shame you couldn't just drop out, that the employer would hunt you down and then some.

You tightly sealed the bag, and slung it over your back before walking out to the ramp.  Before stepping out completely, you looked, listened, and smelled for any sign of life, or even some sort of droid under their command.  Nothing was noteworthy, so you put one clawed foot in front of the other as you descended the ramp, quickly un-doing the hot-wiring from before.  It certainly wasn’t a clean job, but you should be able to get out of there before anyone comes back.  Hopefully.

You quickly retraced your steps, until you were far away from the docking lot, and far away from any possibility of the group tracking you.  Again, hopefully.  You carefully made your way to your designated escape escort, being sure to check if anyone suspicious, especially the group you’d just looted, was close behind.  Finally, the view of the transport ship was in sight, the escort waiting, rather impatiently, a scowl on her face as her foot bounced about a ‘hundred miles an hour.  “Sorry I’m late,” you huffed out, lugging the bag into the ship.  “They took forever and then some to leave, and the bartender had better morals than the average- had to plead my innocence- well, my ‘I won’t harm anyone, just their pockets,’ type innocence.”  All she did was grunt back, clearly disinterested.  “Okay, whatever…” you mumbled, sheepishly looking for a place to sit.  Clearly she didn’t care why someone was late, only that they were.  Which was rather annoying, it’s not like them taking forever was your fault.

You quickly settled down into the seat, pulling a latch over yourself as a form of comfort.  Giant hunks of metal soaring through the empty and cold vacuum that was space, in which you would immediately die if suscepted to with no gear, was not your ideal method of transportation.  The ship shook as the engine powered on, the vibration only increasing as it lost contact with the solid ground.  Your hands flew to the sides on the restraint bar, gripping them as hard as possible.

Soon enough, after the ship had left the atmosphere, things calmed down- no more shaking or weird creaking.  Just silence.  It was unclear if noise, or the lack of, was creepier.  Oh well.  You slowly unlatched the bar, figuring that if the ship were to explode in the middle of space, it wouldn't matter if you were strapped in or otherwise.  Carefully standing up, using the wall as support, you began a miniature exploration expedition.  A very miniature one, considering it was just the room you were in and one to the left, the only ones which you had been granted access to.  You were tired, and perhaps the other room had a bed.  Or at least some blankets you could toss together and call a nest.

You opened the door, entering the access code, and much to your complete disappointment- it was empty.  Utterly, completely, so-very, empty.  A deep sigh escaped your lips, shoulders slumping in sync.  So much for that 10-step trip.  You sharply turned around, tail swishing in a mixture of annoyance and boredom.

Unfortunately, before you could make it two steps away, a rough hand grabbed the nape of your neck, hauling you upwards and turning you back to face the assaulter.  A sharp cry escaped, and you pulled your legs and tail into each other, trying to become a small ball hanging involuntarily by the giant mass of a man.  A man, you realized with horror, who was part of the group you had just looted.  That was bad.  You sheepishly raised one hand to wave, smiling in the most last-ditch effort to save your red hide.  Before you could get any pleas out, he roughly tossed you, twisted his own body for extra momentum.  You landed, hard, against the metal wall, black blood trailing down your nose.  A rough cough came out, followed by a copious amount of saliva.  Your hand reached up to wipe it off, the other one underneath you to provide some balance as you were down on knees, tail curling in front- a feeble attempt to look menacing.

Looking around, you took in the four adult men- but the adult woman and little girl were nowhere to be seen.  Made sense, considering the attire between the group.  The four men were dressed in armor, like soldiers, whereas the other two had general attire with a few handy trinkets or weapons.  I guess these four do the more ‘beat-up-people’ focused work…

“Nice surprise, right?” said the one with a half-and-half black and white helmet, a red stripe going down the middle.  “Didn’t expect us to know about your little plan, did ya?”  Half-and-half approached, unsheathing a vibro-knife.  That wasn’t good.  You scrambled up, backing into the wall, a desperate and toothy smile plastered on your face, despite the watering in your eyes.  The one with the goggles backed off, presumably to grab the loot.  That was extra not good.  “Was it the Twi’lek bartender?  Did he rat me out?” you asked, voice cracking, still holding that desperate smile.  Before you died, you at least wanted to know what went wrong that led to this, your ultimate demise in a, truthfully, not all that long career of crime.

Half-and-half bent down, and lifted your head up by the horns, holding the blade to your neck.  Your heart rate spiked, chest rising and falling far faster than any chest ever should.  “Technically, we got to him first.  Told him to let you loot us.  Told this ship’s pilot to do what we say.  And after we land, you’ll be taking us directly to your employer.  Got it?” he loathed, voice all the more terrifying under the helmet.  Your yellow eyes, scrunched and watering, reflected perfectly back in his visor, making the entire situation all the more real and terrifying.  You shakily nodded, agreeing in full.  “Good,” he spoke firmly, pulling the blade away from your neck and twirling it back into its sheath.  He dropped your horns, and you slumped backwards, a shaky breath exuding.

He stood up, signaling something to the other men, and they all began to turn around and walk out.  You cautiously opened your eyes, only to be met with everyone leaving- you quickly scrambled, and attempted to tell them to wait, but it was to no avail- Goggles was already losing the door.  An echo sounded through the room, leaving you alone, your eyes comically glowing administ the pitch black, ragged breathing filling the room.  This was so, very, not good.

[kaceriminn]

shits and giggles fanfic

been reading catcher and the rye for english class, and now I'm writing fanfic for it. lmk if yall fw this

December 18, 1952

New York City

8:47 PM

“Did you grow a foot or am I growing blind?” 

Her sickeningly smooth voice broke him from whatever argument he’d been in. Currently it was an argument with the bartender, whom he was trying to get to serve him a scotch, despite being clearly underaged.

“Vodka tonic, and the scotch.” 

She asked, slipping the bartender a five and a pretty smile before taking a seat beside the usually grumpy teenager. He didn’t look to be in the best of spirits, granted she wasn’t sure if he ever was these days.

“He would’ve given me the goddam drink eventually, ‘didn’t have to put on a whole show.” 

He grumbled, having calmed down a tad since she’d sat beside him. Expensive fur coat resting on the back of her chair, along with a bag that cost more than this whole dingy joint.

“Just ‘cause you have gray hair an’ smoke a pack a day doesn’t mean you look legal.” 

She commented, a brow raised as she accepted her drink from the bartender, taking a brief sip before placing it down on the bar with a hum.

“Could I bum a cigarette? Or have you quit for the millionth time?” 

She asked, pulling a small silver lighter from her coat pocket. The one he’d gotten her last Christmas, oddly enough that felt a thousand years away right now.

“I never said I would quit. I said I’d think of quitting.” 

He corrected, passing her one from his pack regardless. His eyes lingered as she flicked the lighter to life, lighting the cigarette like it was second nature. She’d been a smoker as long as he could remember, and he’d known her since she was thirteen, so that said a lot.

“Well you did quit Pencey, or so I’ve heard.” 

She quipped, brow raised as she started with the one topic he was the most uncomfortable with. She had a habit of doing that, bringing up what you hated most. Maybe for her own enjoyment, or maybe she lacked a social sense, he wasn’t sure.

“That place was stupid anyways, ‘full of phonies.” 

He muttered, grimacing as he took a long sip of his scotch, the heavy liquor burning as it slid down his throat. Maybe hard liquor wasn’t the best thing to start the night with. 

“You won’t graduate at this rate, y’know.”

She commented, a hint of both judgement and concern in her voice. Even if it was impossible to tell sometimes, she did care for him. He was her friend, she didn’t want him to just flunk out of school. She wasn’t that heartless.

“And what makes you think I want that? So I can have a buncha’ phonies tell me things I’ll never need all for a goddam piece of paper?”

“Yeah well that goddam piece of paper will get you into college, and a job.”

“Oh great, so I can work on Wall Street with all those phony assholes like your old man?”

“I’m just trying to be realistic here Holden, Christ.”

She let out a heavy sigh, if he was one thing? It was stubborn as all hell. Sometimes it felt like arguing with a brick wall. You’d have thought she was asking him to saw his own leg off, not graduate high school.

After an all too long period of silence, she spoke again, knowing that if she wasn’t the one to do it they’d be sitting in silence until they were both drunk off their asses.

“I just think you should at least graduate, ‘doesn’t even have to be at some fancy prep school, just graduate from a school.”

He didn’t reply at first, too busy rotating between his own cigarette and scotch, mulling over her words.  Sure he wanted to graduate, but graduating was scary. It meant he was in the real world, the shitty real world of New York City.

“Fine, fine, I’ll think about it. Now willya’ drop it? ‘Wouldn’t have invited y’out if all y’were gonna do is pester me.”

She let out another sigh, nodding before taking a much longer, much needed sip. All the liquor in the world wouldn’t get her through this damn conversation. 

“Got it, no more school talk.”

What else did they even have to talk about? Half the reason he’d invited her out tonight was to see if he could con her into letting him stay at her parents' place. Seeing as he had yet to tell his parents he’d been kicked from Pencey, and staying at some shitty hotel sounded like hell. He knew with the goddamn castle of a condo her parents owned, she could spare him a room. He just didn’t want to look like some loser bringing it up all of a sudden. Not in front of her, not a chance in hell.

“How’s… everything else?”

He asked, a bit awkwardly, sure, but nothing had been as awkward as the silence they’d been sitting in prior.

“Good. Everything's… good.”

She nodded, taking a drag from her cigarette as she ran her index finger over the rim of her glass, which was almost empty by now. She waved the bartender over for another, she sure as hell needed it right now.

“You still paintin’ like y’used to?”

She nodded at that, mid-sip when he’d asked. It was one of the most notable things he could remember about her, among others. She had quite the artistic gift, bedroom decorated in various canvases of all sizes. It was more interpretive art, sure, and none of it made any sense to him, but they were pleasing to look at. Or maybe she was just pleasing to look at, to him she was just as intricate as the art she crafted.

“Here and there, whenever I have the time for it. I’ve been working on a new piece, I’ll have to show you sometime.”

“I’m free tonight… If you’re parents don’t mind, ‘rather not piss off your old man again.”

Bingo, for once he’d found the perfect opportunity to get what he wanted. Once he was at her house, it wouldn’t be all that hard to stay the night. He’d say he’d had too much to drink and didn’t want his parents to see him wasted like that, and then he’d have a warm bed for the night. Gods he could be a manipulative motherfucker, but right now he was glad he was.

“Uh… sure, why not. Grab us a cab and I’ll settle the bill, yeah?”

“Deal.”

[themetaphorgirl]

Omg hiiiiii I’m so glad you’re back! I hope you had a fabulous wedding and honeymoon!! Your latest psolc chapter was *chefs kiss*. I reread the whole thing again for the millionth time and I kept getting this scene in my head of the kids in the future. Like they all meet for thanksgiving or they’re all back for the summer and no one’s seen anyone for a few months and like 18/19 year old Spencer just casually strolls in like he isn’t suddenly 6’1 and is the tallest instead of the shortest. Everyone’s just like where did this beanpole come from? Kinda the same vibe as when he cuts his hair in season 5 in the show and just walks in and everyone is like are we gonna talk about this😂 anywaysss I’m excited to read more❤️❤️

this is SO cute and I'm emotional about Spencer being all grown up.

----------

Emily opened the front door with her hip. “What’s up, bitches?” she hollered. “I’m here, and I brought presents!”

The townhouse was warm and noisy, filled with chattering conversation and Christmas music playing on the speaker. Penelope jumped up from the couch, nearly bonking JJ in the nose, and ran over to her. “Emily, oh my god!” she said, flinging her arms around her. “Oh my god, I didn’t think you were getting in until tomorrow!”

“Yeah, me neither, but it turns out when you work for the Czech ambassador and the French ambassador owes you a favor, they can pull a few strings,” Emily laughed. “Oh my god, look at you. Somehow you look exactly the same and yet you’re completely different.”

“That’s what happens when you get older but retain your youthful aesthetic,” Penelope said. “Ooh, you brought wine? I can take care of that.”

“It’s weird to think we’re old enough to drink wine now,” JJ said. She had changed more than Penelope had, her face slimmer and her blonde hair cut in a chic long bob.

“Speak for yourself,” Dave snorted.

Emily snickered. “Nice mustache, Rossi,” she said. He scowled, stroking it self-consciously.

“We’re just waiting for Aaron and Haley now,” JJ said. 

“Derek can’t make it, he’s got a football game tomorrow, but we’re going to set up a zoom call,” Penelope said.

Emily looked around the cozy living room. The Christmas tree glimmered with warm white lights, making the ornaments sparkle, and three stockings were hung up on a bookshelf in lieu of a mantel. “Where’s Alex?” she asked.

“Kitchen with James, they’re finishing up dinner and they’re refusing to let us help,” Dave said.

Emily hurried down the hall. “Where’s the bride?” she hollered.

Alex started, nearly dropping the spoon she was holding. “Emily, what the fuck?” she said, but her eyes lit up. “Oh my god, you’re here early!”

“Show me the ring, show me the ring!” Emily said, beckoning. Alex held out her left hand, her cheeks turning pink. “Good goddamn, Blake, you did good.”

“I’ve had that ring in the back of my mind for years,” James said, beaming proudly. “I thought she would like it.”

Emily held Alex’s hand in hers, turning this way and that to get a good look at her sparkling engagement ring. “You like it, right, Alex?” she said. “Because if you don’t, I will march James to the nearest jewelry store to piuck out something you do.”

“No, no, I love it,” Alex said. James kissed her lightly as he walked past her. “How was your flight?”

“Long, but bearable in first class,” Emily said. 

“Well, you got here just in time for dinner,” Alex said. “Perfect timing.”

A tall young man with tousled light brown hair stuck his head in the kitchen, sliding in his socks. “James, where’s the stereo remote?” he asked.

“Should be on the end table,” James said.

“Oh, perfect, thanks,” the stranger said, darting back out.

Emily frowned. “I thought it was just going to be us this Christmas,” she said. “A good ol’ St. Thaddeus reunion.”

“It is,” Alex said, wiping her hand on a dishtowel.

Emily glanced back over her shoulder. “Then who the hell was that?” she said. 

Alex and James both looked up. “Do you not…oh my god,” Alex said.

“Well, he has changed quite a bit,” James said.

“Guys, who is that?” Emily asked.

James grinned. “Hey Spencer?” he called. “Can you come in here, please?”

Emily’s jaw dropped. “No,” she said. “Oh hell no. You two are shitting me.”

The tall boy, probably in his mid to late teens, ran back in. “What’s wrong?” he asked. He noticed Emily and his hazel eyes lit up. “Emily! When did you get here?”

Emily covered her mouth and doubled over. “I am hallucinating,” she said. “You cannot…that’s not…” She straightened up and peeked through her fingers. “Spencer?”

He smiled, and now she could recognize the little nine-year-old in this grown up boy’s face. “Hi!” he said. “My growth spurts finally hit.”

Alex patted his cheek. “My baby isn’t a baby anymore,” she sighed.

“Holy shit,” Emily said. “Your voice changed. And you’re a giant.”

“I’m almost as tall as Aaron and James now,” Spencer said proudly.

“Don’t let him fool you, he still sleeps with his blanket,” James said. 

[theratboyking]

Nocturnal Me (Part 2 to Forever Yours)

Pairing: Papa Emeritus ii/Reader, Vampire!Secondo/Reader

Word count: 4.5K

Summary: Secondo was convinced that the only sanctuary he would ever know was in your embrace. The only grace he would be allowed in this world was with you. He could spend hours here, silently praying to the temple that is your body, hands exploring every nook and cranny, every perfect imperfection he could find. He relished in it, took pride in every shutter, every moan he could manage to get out of you.

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Like seriously MDI, violence, Blood, Fluff, LIke major Fluff, sub!reader, dom!Secondo, PnV, Possesive!Secondo, Death

Master list Part One Ao3 Link

“You’re a devil.” The melody of your laugh reaches Secondo’s ears, only spurring his attack on your neck even further. The feather-like kisses tickling you only draw out more of the song. It was a sound Secondo had decided he would never get tired of.

Biting down slightly, sure to leave a mark in its wake, a moan escapes you. You could feel the smug bastard smirk around you from the reaction he was garnering, “I think you love it, La mia stella.”

He pulled away slightly, his mismatched gaze snapped up to look at your face. The milky light of the moon bathed the room in a soft glow. Casting shadows along your face, framing you in such a way that Secondo was almost convinced he had dreamed you. In the months since that fateful night, he had found himself caught in your embrace ever since. He found himself clinging to it like a man lost at sea.

In his many lifetimes, he doesn’t think he had ever been in love. Sure, he has had his share of lovers–a string of broken hearts he has left behind, but none of them compared to you. You had managed to find your way into his cold heart, lifting a weight off of him he had carried for hundreds of years. Secondo almost couldn’t recognize the man he had turned into.

Hell, even his brothers noticed. You had turned him into a sap, as Terzo had so graciously told him one night, Primo chiming in to say how it looked good on him. Copia was the only one to come to his defense, but even he had said how he wore it well. Despite all the teasing, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

He thanked Satan himself for giving him you, his lips once again connecting against yours for what would be the millionth time that night—slowly making his way back down to your neck, determined to get more of the sweet melody out of you. He couldn’t help himself. You simply demand his attention. Letting out a soft chuckle as you weakly protest.

“I’m sleepy, love.” You mumbled, letting out a small moan as his sharp canines brushed against your windpipe. 

“Too tired for me, amore?” He questions, pulling himself from your neck to look into your eyes, “Are you already ready to send me away for the night?” He teases, already knowing the answer. 

 You softly laughed, “How could I ever send you away? If it were up to me, I would keep you forever.” A sigh escaped you as you longingly smiled down at him. He pulled away from you, his eyes practically glowing in the dark room as he stared down at you.

It was quiet for a long moment, your love looking deep in thought. Secondo couldn’t say he hadn’t thought about it. He’s been thinking about it since the first night he found himself in your embrace. The idea of losing you had plagued his mind since that attack. Forever was a long time, but if it's with you, he couldn’t help but long for it.

Just before you could question what was wrong, before Secondo could stop himself, he whispered, “What if you could?”

The question hung heavy in the air. For the first time in a long while, Secondo was scared. What if you said no? But then again, what if you said yes? The rejection scared him, yes, but the fear that you would come to hate him for cursing you with this life scared him even more. Although losing you to the hands of time scared him most of all, it tore him up inside. He looked down at you, eyes wide, and despite his better judgment, held hope behind them.

You stared up at him, a look of shock and uncertainty clouding your features. “What do you mean?”

Swallowing what little saliva was in his mouth, he decided to continue. “You could have it if you want it.” He looked down at you, drawing you closer into his grasp, scared that you would vanish if he let go, “If you asked it of me, I would give you forever.” Despite his fear, there was a touch of hope behind his offer.

You look up at him, the weight of his offer heavy on your mind. It’s not like you would be leaving much behind. You wouldn’t be leaving behind any family; most of them were either dead or had no contact with you. The friends you did have would probably not even notice you were gone. The only thing you had going for you was your job at the station, but even that was starting to run its course.

You had daydreamed about this conversation a million times by now but never really let it past more than that. Sure, you had imagined what a life with him would be like, to find yourself safe in his embrace for the rest of your days. You didn’t want to get your hopes up, scared to get your heart broken. Thinking that, at some point, the love you both had for each other would eventually end.  But here he was offering it to you. Offering you eternity, you could feel your heart swell with more love for the man before you, if that was even possible.

Doubt started to cross Secondo’s mind, and he looked away from you. He was asking too much of you. “I’m sorry, forget I said anyt-...”

“Yes.” You cut him off, no hesitation behind your answer.

“Amore, are you certi-…”

“Yes.” You repeated yourself, more forceful this time. “Of course, silly.” You let out an airy laugh.

He looked at you in wonder, something he could not quite place swelling in his chest. “Forever is a long time, La mia stella.” He whispered, a smile starting to form on his face, one that he only seemed to reserve for you.

“But it’s forever with you.” You caress his face, looking back at him with conviction, trying to convey everything you couldn't find the words to say.

He searched your eyes, looking for any sign of hesitation. He was only met with what he could only describe as love and adoration. He was sure that if his heart could beat, it would have skipped a beat. The distance between you both closes as his lips reach yours once more. Getting lost in each other.

Pulling away, you rest your head on his, trying to catch your breath. He was smiling more than he had in years; it was silently saved for you. Secondo could hear your heart rapidly beating. You didn’t need to say anything, neither did he. There was an understanding between both of you.

“You’re going to have to tell your brothers, my love.” You whisper, letting out a small chuckle.

“I’m sure they’ll be happy about it. They already consider you a part of the family.” 

“Let me rephrase; you’ll have to tell Terzo.”

You feel him tense under you as he lets out a groan. “We could just run away, amore.”

“With you, I would go anywhere.” You pause, “I’m going to have to quit my job, aren’t I?”

“Afraid so.” He looks away for a moment. “There are many things that will have to change, but I will be with you every step of the way.”

“Promise me something?” You bring your hand to his face.

Relaxing into your palm, he returns his gaze to you, “Of course.”

“Promise you will not leave my side.”

His eyes soften then, a small smile making its way to his face, “I have lived many lifetimes, amore mia. I have seen entire empires rise and fall before my very eyes. I have never been really sure of anything, but I do know one thing for sure.  I love you more than the sun loves the moon, more than a bird loves the sky. For as long as you will have me, for as long as you will allow me by your side, that is where I will stay.”

There were tears forming in your eyes. This was the first time he had actually said he loved you. It was always implied in his actions; he never really had to say it, but now that he had, it was almost impossible to keep your emotions at bay. “I love you too.” He pulled you closer in his arms, holding you like you were the most precious treasure in the world. In his arms, you couldn’t help but feel like you were.

 The rest of the night and most of the early morning was spent between two lovers making plans for the future. What to expect, what you would have to do. To say you weren’t scared would be a lie. The whole thing was terrifying, but you were doing it with him. As long as you were in his arms, you could face whatever the world threw at you. Together.

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

You both had decided on a night in June. That would be the day you would end your mortal life in turn for an immortal one. The date couldn’t seem to come fast enough. You missed him, if you were being honest. Your love has been busy getting everything ready for your arrival. To be honest, you were no better, also busy trying to get everything sorted out before you embarked on your immortal life. You had all your affairs in order, had quit your job, and resigned from classes. As far as your friends were aware, you were moving away. Most of your things had either been sold or put into boxes awaiting transfer to Secondo’s place, and the lease on your apartment ended that Monday.

The plan was simple, really. You would meet Secondo at your former apartment. From there, you would go to his place. After you were somewhat settled in, you would begin your immortal life with Secondo by your side.

To say you weren’t at least a little nervous would be an understatement, but there was still excitement behind it. The walk home from your last show was filled with silence. You were positive that whatever went bump in the night could probably hear your heart hammering in your chest. The building seemed to blur together as you hastily made your way back to your former home, excited to finally be reunited with your lover.

As you rounded the corner that led to your apartment, you couldn’t help the smile that formed on your face as you noticed the prominent, shadowy figure standing in front of your doorway. Picking up your pace, you hastily make your way towards him. He looked as if he was dressed up for the occasion. A smile made its way to Secondo’s face when he noticed your presence.

“Are you ready, amore mia?” He questioned, reaching out his hand for you to take.

Nodding your head, taking his hand. “Lead the way, lover boy.” you teased.

The walk to his place was relatively calm, small talk between you both taking up most of the time. Secondo seemed just as excited as you were; he just did better at hiding it. The only thing that gave him away was the small smile that didn’t seem to want to leave his face. The further away from your old apartment you got, the more your excitement grew.

This would be the first time you have ever been to his apartment before. Usually, you and he would spend time at your place, or he would usually sneak into the station and keep you company while you worked. You couldn’t help but let your imagination run wild. Especially as the buildings slowly turned into the more upscale part of town.

Suddenly he stopped, turning into a rather large modern-looking building. You let out a small gasp as you took in the lobby; everything was upscale, a total far cry from what your old building looked like.

“Mr. Emeritus.” The man at the desk tipped his hat toward Secondo as you both passed.

Finally reaching the elevator, you watch as he clicks the button to the top floor– punching in a code finally sends the machine upwards. You held your breath, taking it all in. Despite everything that had happened in the past months, you couldn't help but feel like you were dreaming.

The elevator opened, revealing what you could only assume was his apartment. Ok, maybe you really were dreaming. The room was dark when you entered. Black-out curtains were hung, keeping even the moonlight out. His place was just how you expected it to be. High ceilings and wooden floors only served to cause an echo as you and Secondo walked in. The room was decorated in dark wood with accents of emerald green thrown in. Everything about the room screamed Secondo.

He paused in the doorway, observing you as you took in his living room, “What do you think?”

“I’m not exactly sure what I was expecting from you.” you let out a laugh, “But I believe you have been keeping secrets from me, my love.”

“Whatever could you mean, amore?” He teases, rushing to your side, picking you up bridal style. 

It was hard to make out much else as he carried you off to what you could only assume could be his bedroom. Your laughter mixes together, bouncing off the walls to create a melody that has never been heard before in the flat. He only placed you down when he reached a door at the end of the hall, opening it and allowing you entry.

His bedroom was just as extravagant as the rest of his house. The curtains were drawn, allowing for some light to be cast in. A fireplace sitting on the far wall that looked like a balcony, a small fire crackling with life. A large four-post bed sat in the middle of the room, and a canopy wrapped around shielding the inside–the sheets were a deep emerald color. The whole room screamed luxury.

Taking in the room around you, mouth agape in wonder, you didn’t notice Secondo coming up behind you, pulling you into his chest. Turning you so that you were facing him,  “Are you ready?” He questioned, a reassuring smile gracing his features.

A wave of emotions hits you all at once. It was time. You were going to be giving up your current life for one with him. To say you weren’t a little scared would be a flat-out lie. You were nervous beyond belief, not of giving up your mortal life for an immortal one but rather the process of it. From what you were told, it wasn’t exactly painless…

When you didn’t answer at first, Secondo pulled away slightly, “What’s wrong, mia amata?”

“Nothing is wrong, my love.” You had a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Secondo sighs, taking you into his arms. His grip on you was tight but offered you some sort of comfort. “If you’ve changed your mind, that’s also ok. You’re still more than welcome to move in, and I’ll stay by your side as long as yo-…”

You cut off his rambling, quick to reassure him. “No, no, nothing like that, my love. I’m just nervous, is all. I can’t imagine that this won’t hurt.” You whisper the last part, looking away. 

 “I can’t say it will be pleasant, but I promise to make this as painless as possible.” He looked down at you. Bringing your face so that you were looking at him, his eyes piercing into yours, trying to convey to you that he meant every word he was saying.

“I trust you, Matteo,” You whisper, caressing his face.

Relaxing into your touch, “We can go slow, luce stellare.”

“Just kiss me, please.” You pled with him.

He didn’t need much convincing, closing the distance between you both. Swallowing your small body within his much larger one. The kiss was slow– as much as he trusted you, Secondo couldn’t help but fear that you would change your mind at any given moment. The kiss wasn’t just trying to calm you down but also him.

Deep down, he knew you wouldn’t. He knew you were his for the rest of his eternal life.  Slowly, it started to get more intense, more needy. Guiding you backward til you felt yourself collide with the foot of the bed. Secondo catches you, slowly pushing you down onto the bed. You fall back with a soft umh. You looked up at him. Your hands fly up to pull him to you, lips searching for his in the room's darkness. Your hands find themselves at the base of his shirt, pulling it up. Trying your best to undo the buttons before finally throwing it somewhere in the room.

Yours wasn’t far behind, bra coming undone at an inhuman speed, ripping it from your body in a mess of fabric, “Hey!” you protest, “I liked that one.”

Looking down at you, Secondo couldn’t help but pause–taking you in as if it were the first time. Your eyes were blown wide with lust and love. Chest rising and falling as you try to catch your breath. You truly were breathtaking; you made his heart stop every time you allowed him to have you. He couldn’t believe that he got to call you his.

“I’ll get you another one, amore.” His eyes practically glowed as he looked down at you with nothing but love and a hint of mischief. 

 Slowing down, he found his way to your neck. Kissing and biting at your sweet spot, enjoying every sound he could get out of you. Making his way down your body, taking one of your breasts into his mouth, his sharp fangs threatening to break the skin. Letting out a whine, you could feel him form a smirk.

 He knew your body like the back of his hand, knew the exact spots to get you to be absolute putty in his hands. He would take his time tonight, savor everything he possibly could. You had offered him a gift he would never be able to repay, but he would spend the rest of his immortal life trying to repay you for it. He would worship every inch of you, hoping he could convey to you just how much he loved you.

He let out a satisfied hum as he finally reached his destination. Slowly pulling your panties down your legs, exposing you to him. Secondo looks up at you, watching you wither underneath him. Watching as your chest rises and falls, your heartbeat picking up from the anticipation.

“Please. Need you,” You whine, desperate for some sort of release. Finally, he took pity on you, mouth enclosing around your sex. Savoring the sweet cry you let out, enjoying the taste of you. There was nothing quite like you, he was convinced. Letting out a groan of his own.

Your legs were wrapped around his head, keeping him in place. If he needed oxygen, you were convinced he would have suffocated by now. He worked his tongue over the bundle of nerves, sliding his hand down your body until he found your entrance. Groaning as he felt how wet you were, two of his fingers gliding into you with ease, setting a steady pace.

Secondo was convinced that the only sanctuary he would ever know was in your embrace. The only grace he would be allowed in this world was with you. He could spend hours here, silently praying to the temple that is your body, hands exploring every nook and cranny, every perfect imperfection he could find. He relished in it, took pride in every shutter, every moan he could manage to get out of you.

Curling his fingers, he finally reached the spot that would make you see stars, “Fuck” a drawn-out cry leaves you.

You could feel the familiar coil forming in your stomach. You were close, and he knew it. He was doing everything in his power to get you to that point. He knew just what to do, just how to curl his fingers, just how to move his tongue. He knew just what to do to make you see stars and fuck if he wasn't exceptional at it. 

“Cum for me, cara.” He growls, sending vibrations down your spine. Pushing you over the edge.

Letting out a satisfied hum, he finally moves from his spot with a pop. Making his way back up your body, kissing your exposed skin. Finally reaching his mark on your lips, capturing you in a long, heated kiss. His tongue finds dominance over your own. You could taste yourself on his breath, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. The friction on his pants over your naked flesh causes you to shutter. Your hands reach for his belt, fumbling to get his pants off of him. He pulled away from you, only enough to rid himself of the fabrics. His cock springs to attention, hitting his abdomen. Secondo finds his way back to your lips, rutting against you.

 “Are you ready, tesoro?” Secondo asks, sliding his cock over your folds, coating himself in your juices. Hitting your overstimulated clit a couple of times for good measure.

“No more teasing.” You plead, “Need you.”

“Making demands, are we?” he tuts, an evil smile forming, pushing the tip at your entrance. “Who am I to deny anything that la mia principessa wants.”

With that, he slammed into you. Crying out, mouth hung wide open, eyes rolling back in your head. Secondo looked down at you, his eyes practically glowing, taking you in. Giving you a moment to adjust to his size. This was a sight he never got tired of, seeing you cock drunk and wanting more. He couldn’t want to no longer need to hold back, to give you everything he had. Slowly, he pulled out before plugging back in, setting a steady pace.

He simply adores seeing you like this. The way your mouth hung open as needy whines left your sweet lips. The way your tits bounce oh so delicately as he pistons into you. The pleasant burn of your nails clawing at his back as you hold on for dear life. You grip onto him like he is the only thing in the world keeping you from floating away.

He brings one of his arms from caging you in favor of playing with your tits. Pinching and pulling at your nipples. The other he brings to your hips, pulling you forward to meet his thrusts.

“Fuck.” Your voice trembled as he hit just the right spot.

“Just like that, cara mia. So good.” It was a low rumble in his chest, “Always so good for me.”   He was picking up speed, driving his point home. He brings his hand forward, closing around your throat.

He growls as you tighten around him. You were close and he could tell. It only served to spur him on, determined to get you to cum again, to make you forget all your worries, just to focus on the pleasure that only he could bring you. You belonged with him; his heart was yours and would be forever more.

“Who do you belong to?” His grip on you tightened

“I’m yours, S-secondo. Fuck.”

“That’s right, and after tonight, you’ll be mine forever.” He growled, slowing his thrust ever so slightly, “You want that, don't you, Amore mia?”

All you could do was nod your head, so close to falling over the edge.

“Words, amore, I need your words,” Secondo commanded.

“Yes, my heart is yours, my love.”

“Good girl.” His motions were starting to stutter. “I’m close stella. I can feel you are as well. Cum for me, please, cum all over my cock.”

You didn’t need to be told twice, cumming with a shout, holding him in a vice grip. Secondo was not far behind you, giving a few more powerful thrusts before spilling his load out inside you. He stayed like that for a long moment, allowing you to catch your breath. The only sound that filled the room was labored breathing. Secondo only looked on, watching you, his emotions hitting a high, and he knew he could no longer wait.

“Stella, I need you to tell me this is what you want.” Secondo pants, shuttering from the feeling of you wrapped around his cock. “This is what you want, SÌ?”

“Yes,” You whisper, “I’m ready, my love.”

With a growl, he pulled out–teeth lodging themselves in your neck. He showed little restain as he lapped up your sweetness. Letting out a gasp, you could feel the life leaving you as he drank from you. Your limbs going lip and your eyes going heavy. You didn’t even feel him pull away.

“Drink.” He commanded, bringing his exposed wrist to your lips.

With the little life you had left, hesitating, you drink from him. The warm liquid dripping down your throat tasted of iron at first; slowly, it came to life, dancing across your taste buds, becoming the sweetest thing you have ever tasted in your life. You could feel your strength coming back to you. Gripping onto him like he was your lifeline.

  “Amore, slow down.” He breathes out, a grimace making its way onto his face, “Amore, stop.” Your grip on him only tightened, “Enough.” He breaks free.

From your place on the bed, you convolve. You expected the pain; in fact, that was the first thing he warned you about, but this was excruciating. It felt as if every cell in your body was combusting into flame. You were dying and being reborn all at once. You almost could comprehend it. Letting out a scream, all Secondo could do was sit there helplessly as the transformation overtook him.

Suddenly, you stopped all movement; Secondo could do nothing but look on. Worry started to overtake him. What if it didn't take? What would he do without you if it didn't work?

“Amore?” Worry was evident in his voice as he could do nothing but look at your lifeless form, only relaxing slightly as your eyes flew open with a gasp.

Slowly, you sit up, letting out a groan as you look around. The whole room was impossibly bright; everything was loud. Everything was too much. It was hard to focus on much of anything except the burning need to feed that was developing in you. There was a burning feeling in your stomach. You were hungry. More hungry than you had ever been in your life.

Turning your head so that you were facing your love, “I want some more.” You flash him a smile, your newly formed fangs on full display.

A fond smile makes its way to his face as he reaches out his hand for you to take, “That I can help with, amora mia”

Looking at him for a moment, you blink, focusing in on him. Your smile only widens.

You take his hand.

Translations:

La mia stella- My star

Amore- Love

luce stellare- Starlight

Tesoro- Treasure

la mia principessa- My princess

Stella- Star

mia amata- my beloved