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promiscuouspomegranate · 9 months

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Illicit Ivories

TWs: Stalking, Manipulation, Carnell is condescending, bullying (sort of), forced kissing, and angst (kinda).

(There is so much tension between you two, and you are CRUSHING!.!.! This is softer, but if there was a part two.. you’d see 💀 Enemies to lovers enjoyers come feast !! Yet again, another sleepy write pasted from notes.)

Each callus on my hand faintly whispered a story of my musical past, from begging my parents to buy me a violin in 4th grade to my first piano solo in middle school and restless evenings rigidly practicing sonatas for Macherów’s entrance exams. Every little chipped fingernail, bloody finger, and tear shed was all I could offer to such a grand university. Yet–although I am not entirely loyal to any god–I found divine intervention, and an accidental performance with a professor allowed me into the school of my wildest dreams.

The campus was nothing to write home about, but it was the prestige and education that set Macherów apart. Many of the contemporaries graduated from Macherów–except for a select few who decided to dabble in the University of the Muses would help them excel. Yet, I firmly believed that only the world's elite musicians came from Macherów. Those who failed to get in were better off playing piano for an elementary choir recital or tuning instruments in a music shop.

I gripped my sticker-covered violin case and headed toward an empty practice room. For, I believe I finally found my Melpomene to my Thalia. Carnell was an ostentatious, melodramatic, and horrendously talented musician I despised more than any mediocre musical performance. He relished competing with me in every aspect of music and boasted whenever he bested me.

The professors must have been severely intoxicated or praying for my unraveling–perhaps a bit of both–when they announced a graded concert. I remember hearing people gossip and whisper amongst themselves when I saw two names written in bold.

“Carnell and Y / N – An original duet composed by both.”

“Fucking Cosend must’ve been behind this,” I mumbled and pulled out ink-stained, crumpled sheets of paper, “He’s a madman, but fuck.. he knows how to arrange a good performance.”

I heard the door open and rolled my eyes as Carnell entered, his glasses at the tip of his nose, his long, black hair pulled back with a blue ribbon, and his pristine clothes tightly fitting his scrawny body.

“Wait.. fuck no. No! Y / N, he is not fucking attractive,” I thought and glared daggers at Carnell.

“I hope you intend on putting more effort into your appearances as well as your playing,” He advanced to the piano and smirked at me, “Have you tuned your instrument yet?”

“I’d worry about your piano playing; try not to hit the C sharp key so much this time,” I took my violin out of its case and began to warm up. I slightly blushed when I realized it was out of tune, “Don’t you dare fucking say anything.”

“I knew you wouldn’t take things seriously, as per usual,” He hummed to himself and took out the composition he worked on, “Now, you need to start with an E. Do you need assistance finding the right fingering?”

“I will fucking kill you with my bow,” I grumbled and positioned my fingers, “I hate you.”

“Oh, but I thought I was the miserable wretch? You are quite amusing, Y / N, full of contradictions and lacking in musical proficiency,” He laughed the way he usually did and smiled his stupid smile. His laugh always came from his stomach but sounded elegant despite its volume.

His smile was always mischievous at first as if he knew something you would never understand. Then, he showed his teeth, and his nose slightly crinkled. It softens his rigid, upper-class ego and looks. It made him look friendly and…

“You played the wrong note again,” He chimed, and I snapped back to reality.

“Whatever,” I muttered and resumed playing.

•

I took a spoonful of fruit as my friend knowingly smirked at me.

“You love Carnell; you’re so in love,” They loudly teased, “At the end of the duet, you should confess your passionate, animalistic desires to your lover!”

“S– Fuck off! Don’t talk so loud,” I blushed and covered their mouth, “Fuck you so much.

“Not as much as you want to fuck Carnell. I wonder what he’d say if I told him that in class today,” They grinned and gasped, “What if I told Carnell for you?”

“Shut the fuck up,” I loudly whispered and glared at them, “Stop talking about Carnell, I don’t like him.”

They burst out into uncontrollable laughter, and I felt my face burning.

“Oh shit, he’s right there,” They froze and pointed behind me.

I jumped and turned around, seeing nobody there. My friend started laughing again, and I splashed my water at them.

“The way you jumped! You sprang out of your seat,” They fluttered their eyelashes and spoke in a high-pitched voice, “Oh, is that my dearest Carnell waiting for me? How I wish to kiss his chapped lips and play with his ugly hair!”

“His hair is not ugly,” I scoffed, “You should focus on Lila’s horrible outfit choices.”

“Lila dresses like a sexy librarian, okay? She wants me so bad,” They groaned and slammed their hand on the dining hall table, prompting some people to look at us.

“But.. does Carnell talk about me in class? Seriously, don’t tease me, or I’m telling Lila that you’re not interested,” I pleaded, “I will finish the rest of your theory work, please!”

“You are so desperate,” They smiled and leaned in, “But.. I might have heard that he got caught practicing a song with your name on it.”

“You’re fucking with me,” my jaw dropped, and I giggled, “No, you’re actually fucking with me.”

“It was so Carnell worded too,” They took a bite of their all-melon fruit salad, “To my dearest Y / N, or some corny shit like that. Anyway, let me know when you two make out during practice. I might’ve pressed my ear against the door once or twice, and oh my gosh… You wear your heart on your sleeve. Don’t worry, he does too. Normally, he’s an asshole to everyone.”

“I’m going to kiss him today,” I stood up and gathered my belongings, “I know I’ve said that a thousand times, but I’m going to do it.”

“Well, good luck with that,” My friend hugged me and dreamily sighed, “I wonder if Lila needs someone to massage her back after carrying your entire class.”

I rolled my eyes and hugged them back before going to the practice room. I was incredibly excited to work with Carnell; I felt my heart pounding as I reached the door.

“Carnell, do you like Y / N? C’mon, just tell us, dude,” I heard an unfamiliar voice say as I listened in on the conversation, “There’s a rumor going around you wrote a song about them.”

“Oh, you honestly believe I would dedicate one of my songs to someone so vulgar and disorganized? Please,” Carnell scoffed, and I could picture his eyebrows furrowing, “I would rather dedicate a song to bile than write a measure in her name. She’s a terrible musician; you haven’t had the displeasure of working alongside her. Her head is always in the clouds, which is probably why she’s so breathless and air-headed whenever we rehearse.”

I felt my heart sting as he continued.

“I look forward to the end of this concert so I can get back to focusing on real music,” Carnell sighed, “Her saccharine, sappy, and utterly abysmal compositions make me want to cut my fingers off and never play any instrument again.”

“Damn, that’s harsh,” The voice laughed, “You suck.”

I heard footsteps approaching and hid inside a different room. I waited until the person was gone and went into our practice room.

“You’re late, Y / N. Right when I assumed you were beginning to take our practices seriously,” He playfully teased.

“Sorry, I guess I’m too much of a fucking airhead to remember anything,” I felt my emotions get the better of me as I clenched my case, “Maybe if I weren’t so stupid, I’d do a better job composing.”

I could see Carnell was taken aback and dropped my case on the ground.

“You know, Carnell, I actually really fucking liked hanging out with you. I thought our dynamic was fun,” I felt hurtful tears trickle down my face, “You– Carnell, I can’t believe you’d say that shit about me. I.. I liked you in a stupid, high school crush way. I was going to buy you fucking fresh-cut roses for the concert and shove them into your hands.”

“Y / N, I–”

“No, fuck you. I don’t want this duet to happen. I’m going to Cosend and telling him I quit,” I stormed out of the room and slammed the door shut behind me.

I felt myself crying as people whispered and pointed. I pulled out my phone and called my friend.

“Pick up,” I muttered and shoved it into my bag when they didn’t answer, “Damn it, they’re probably too busy fucking harassing Lila.”

I stormed off to the school gardens and took a secret path my friend showed me. I sat under a massive oak tree, pulled out a sheet of music titled “To Carnell,” and began to tear it into pieces. I cried and felt an irrational hurt in my heart.

“Fucking prick,” I wiped my eyes with my sleeves and took a deep breath, “I’m never talking to him again.”

I heard frantic footsteps and poked my head up. I caught a glimpse of a navy blue vest and immediately knew it was Carnell. I gathered the torn-up paper and stumbled to my feet. He panted as he stood before me, gripping a bunch of papers.

“What do you fucking want,” I croaked and mentally cursed myself for sounding so pathetic.

“Y / N, please, listen to me,” He took a deep breath, and I noted that he seemed slightly manic, “There’s a confession I have yearned to tell you ever since freshman year.”

“That you despise me and think I’m stupid,” I mumbled and tried not to cry again, “I got the message.”

I looked at his face and felt shocked when I saw how wide his eyes were. I stepped back and felt like something was terribly wrong with him.

“Oh my word,” He laughed, not as he usually did, but breathlessly and erratically, “This feels so unreal. I can barely believe that you reciprocated my feelings. Obviously not to the intensity I have, but still, you love me.”

He shoved the papers in my hands, and I looked through them. They were dated back to freshman year and were all dedicated to me. The content varied from musical compositions, dramatic sonnets, and poetry to ink-stained confessions with details that sent shivers down my spine.

“You are my muse,” He took a step closer, “When I laid eyes on you for the first time, I thought that the heavens were deceiving me. How could someone so perfect be at this university? When I heard you play for the first time, I had to excuse myself from the classroom. I bit my lip so hard it started to bleed. The crimson red reminded me of your favorite pen–the one you still use despite it being taped.”

He grabbed my arm, and I saw an eerie smile creep over his paling face.

“Your conversation with your friend at lunch today, I overheard it,” He leaned in closer, “You confessed you wanted to kiss me. Well, let me confess something as well: ever since I’ve laid eyes on you, I’ve thought of ravishing your body.”

“Carnell, please stop,” I mumbled and tried to pull away, “You’re freaking me out.”

He feverishly placed a kiss on my lips, and I felt my eyes widen. He quickly pulled away and whispered words of excitement.

“Hah! This– You are so much better than I ever dreamed of, my beloved,” He tightly embraced me, and I could hear him smelling my skin, “I-I need more of you. We need to finish our duet, dear.”

#yandere #yandere writing #yandere character #yandere oc #yandere male #dark romance #☆–Carnell

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footballffbarbiex · 2 years

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Would Like To Think Yes.

player: antoine griezmann words: 875 request: Bonjour chérie, first date at basketball game, s'il te plaît 😌 But she's a fan of the opponent. Did I do this right?

Antoine had heard the saying, “always take the woman swimming for your first date.” But what he didn’t expect was to think he should have asked if she supported a basketball team or not.

Getting to spend, while limited in terms of days, unlimited minutes, and hours with her after not being able to find a whole lot of time in Madrid due to their conflicting work and match hours was perfect. Being able to wake up next to her and not having to rush off for one reason or another felt too good to be true.

He loved strolling the streets of New York with her, huddling together on the subway with her body in front of his, his arms around her waist and his hood up to try and hide his face from the world. He liked it here. He liked that he wasn’t as well known here and could be open and affectionate without worry of someone coming up to him before shoving a camera phone and whatever they wanted him to autograph into his face or everything he did being viewed under a microscope to be picked apart like in Europe.

He liked the privacy and the anonymity that the U.S provided and though he very much considered Spain his home, he did like the freeing feeling of being across the waters in what could feel like an alternate universe where he was not famous, even if it was just for a few days. In Spain, though the two of them had managed to meet up in secret and he had asked that she slept at his, they hadn’t really had an appropriate first date. Not in the way he would have liked. Lunch here and there in a café near La Finca didn’t count as a real date, though being able to walk around the community on an evening with her and the dogs felt good. It felt normal.

And now, sitting here next to her as she cheered on the Knicks feels like a betrayal.

“Don’t look so glum,” she elbows him playfully and grins at him as he slumps back into the chair and rubs his face with his hand, fingers coming to rest at his lips as he shakes his head in disbelief. “You might still pull it back.”

“Not. Helping.” He mutters and she chuckles, finding it easy to do so when she’s currently on the winning side. “You could have told me who you supported.”

“You could have asked,” she replies, and he must admit she’s got him there; leaving him without the ability to give a good enough response. And so, he stays in silence, eyes following the path of the ball as his jaw clenches when possession is lost. Again.

“Isn’t there a joke here about how you curse the team you openly support?” She asks, leaning in to whisper. He tries his hardest to try not to smile. It’s true that his chosen teams do not always perform so well when he publicly declares his support.

“Only on social media. I didn’t say anything this time.” He counters, his eyebrow raising as he challenges her to deny that but instead, she sits, forcing her lips to remain in a tight line as she sucks them in and tries not to laugh at him as he crosses his arms over his chest and stares at the court while hoping this does truly turn around quickly.

Antoine’s fingers loosely lock around hers as they leave, wanting to keep her close and if need be, he’d pull her behind him in an instant and protect her body with his own if he had to. It’s not that he’s a sore loser, after all, he knows how sports work more than anyone but usually if he’s in a bad mood it’s because of his own performance out there on the pitch and not because of someone else. This wasn’t necessarily his pride that was hit, but it certainly made his stomach sink and a bitter taste remain on his tongue. Of all the games he’d watched, he’d never seen his team fall apart like this.

“You can’t help but touch me still, can you? Even if you’re a little annoyed.”

“I like you, just not your team.” He replies, fingers moving now to grip her hand properly as they move through the crowds. Antoine links them fully and clasping their palms together, needing that understated intimacy that came from public affection.

“Nice to see that you can handle it like an adult though,” she says, and he can hear the smirk bleed into her words, making him give her just enough of a tighter squeeze than before to silently show his dissatisfaction.

“Any other conflicting hobbies I should know about?”

“And give away all my secrets so soon? I thought you knew better than that Griezmann.”

“After tonight,” he pulls her closer to his side and presses a kiss to her hair before continuing his train of thought, “I’m not sure what I think anymore.”

“Would you still think this if you’d won?”

“That’s not something I can answer right now though, is it?”

“I’d like to think yes.”

“I’d like to think you’re right.”

If you’d like to be added/removed/update your URL, then please let me know here. Crossed out means that tumblr cannot find your blog at this time.

Antoine Griezmann: @petitharicot | @in-my-body-bag |

#antoine griezmann one shot #antoine griezmann imagine #antoine griezmann blurb #antoine griezmann drabble #antoine griezmann fanfic #antoine griezmann fanfiction #football one shot #football imagine #football blurb #football drabble #football fanfic #football fanfiction

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chaoticcatmoon · 1 year

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Happy Tears

Hi everyone! It’s been a really long time since I posted.

Here is what has happened. My last post I actually drafted in fear. I was paranoid someone in my family would find it. Firstly in that post I talked about how rough the distance was with my relationship. Us being long distance was rough. We were cherishing our times together when we could travel back and fourth, but not long after I typed that up we started to realize it wasn’t going to be financially viable for us to keep going. I broke it off. I started dating someone new, who was local, that my family approved of.

I was trapped in this sort of weird mental space. I felt like I HAD to garner the approval of my family in all of my actions or they would abandon me and I’d have no one. I was terrified. I started going back to church and pulling away from the craft that had drawn me in and given me the comfort I sought so desperately because I just wanted to please them.

I was renting a space from a family member who would just let themselves in whenever they wanted. No notice, home or not it didn’t matter. They were going through my belongings and throwing away anything that looked ‘witchy.’ My family is VERY Christian. I actually have over the last year completely denounced my religious beliefs. I am now an atheist, but I am open to the powers of nature and the energy the earth provides through witchcraft. So I suppose in some aspects I’m sort of agnostic. I’m still exploring really.

In that space I was trying to hide things to continue practicing when I could, but even my jar candles from stores were being thrown away and suddenly I wasn’t allowed to burn candles anymore. It was so toxic I reached a really dark place. My relationship was extremely unhealthy and he made me feel like I wasn’t myself anymore. Forcing me into this culty religious routine that sucked all of my self out.

Then July came and everything changed. I’d saved up to go on vacation by myself to just escape everything. Being completely alone on a vacation was something I’d never done, but I reached this really hopeless place of just wanting to be alone. It wasn’t a happy freeing alone it was a sad dark alone. I went to a nice hotel, with a spa in a very large city. I even had a thought that maybe that would be the end for me. I don’t feel comfortable divulging much because again, there is always a paranoia that someone in my family will follow the trail of bread crumbs if they find this somehow and put two and two together.

While I was there though it was like everything in the universe aligned for me. There is no way it was a coincidence it was strictly a sign. He was there. I’d told no one I was going to be there. Not a soul. It wasn’t near where he was, but he was there on vacation. It was like everything fell into place. I missed him so much and I didn’t realize the freedom I felt whenever we were together. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it until that very moment. The space helped me realize how much I could do this on my own. How much I needed to just cut the ties from my toxic family and boldly go out on my own.

So in November I found an apartment, signed a lease and I packed everything I could. I woke up early one morning, rented a small Uhaul with a tow for my car, put everything I could possibly stuff inside of it and just drove until I reached my destination. I got on my own phone plan and changed my number. There are a few family members who I still have on social media, but I don’t post anymore. I just have them because they are ones who escaped like myself or I didn’t have bad blood with. I keep them to keep an eye on what is happening within the family. We’re in the same city now. I wanted my own space to start, a space that TRULY is mine. No one can come in without my say. No family can just walk in and throw my belongings away. I can decorate how I want, I can leave whatever I want out without having to be secretive and I can dress how I want.

We are not officially back together, but we are trying to take things slow. We both very much want to be in a relationship, but I have a lot of healing I need to do on my own and he understands and respects that. I want to feel the independence I need to feel and I am finally able to do that.

Just thinking and talking about it here has caused me to cry with relief a few times.

I’ll be posting back here again as I get back into my craft now that I am settled into my space and feeling a happy, free comfort again.

#witch #witchcraft #greenwitch #kitchenwitch #freedom #toxic parents #toxic relationship #toxic religion #toxic relatives #trauma #trauma recovery

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lovinglyyours · 2 years

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Dancing Is a Dangerous Game

Pairing: TASM! Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of a mugging, knife, taser?? That’s about it.

Plot: After traveling to a different universe, a twenty-seven year old Peter Parker tries to turn things around, and that includes Aunt May setting him up on a ‘blind date’ with you

A/N: The reader is around 24 in this. I also did some digging and definitely found a fake university for Peter to teach at, I wanted him to be a professor so bear with me! Please let me know what you guys think about this little chapter!

Word Count: 6,883

New York City was anything but safe at night, in your mind no city is ever truly safe at night. There is some comfort knowing that there are certain people with responsibilities to the public, responsibilities like keeping the public safe. Maybe that’s why you only had a tiny taser on your keychain as you walked home.

Joanna did this every time the two of you were supposed to work together. Always something about how her family needed her or how she was too sick to come in, the regular excuses one makes to get out of work. It was starting to get to the point that you were sure she just didn’t like working with you.

Nonetheless, you covered her shift at the hospital all alone, again. Now it was four in the morning, your legs ached, and eyes burned as you walked home with your keys in your hand. It wasn’t your first time walking home alone at night and it wouldn’t be your last. You grew up just outside of the city and knew how dangerous it was at night, and yet, here you were walking down the street towards your apartment building.

You played with your keys, playing with the purple taser attached to them. It wasn’t until you heard the faint sound of heavy footsteps behind you that you gripped the taser tighter in your hand. Your weak legs picked up the pace and then the person behind you followed. You knew that if you ran they would just run right after you, and currently, you didn’t have that kind of energy.

They caught up to you when your foot hit a patch of ice, causing you to slip, and then their arms were around your torso, a small knife digging into your side painfully. You could feel yourself panicking as you tried to tase their leg in your struggle, but the knife just pressed deeper. “Come on, I just want whatever money you got in that bag of yours. I don’t want to kill you.” That voice was deep and threatening, you squeezed tears out of your eyes.

“I don’t have any money,”

“Sure you do, let me see.”

His hand moved for your purse, tugging harshly at the strap. Your fingers trembled against the taser once more, making a move to get a hit in before he could rob you. To your dismay, he caught on quickly and knocked the weapon out of your hand. “You’re starting to piss me off,” he muttered as you stumbled out of his grip into a dark alleyway.

“Help, somebody, anybody!” you screamed into the dark alley, pressing your back up against a nearby wall as you moved away from the man. You couldn’t see him in the light but you could tell in the dark that he didn’t have a mask on, just a simple hoodie blocking his features.

You started yelling again, yelling as loud as you could for some help, for anything. You were about to try and make a run for it when a familiar vigilante dropped down in front of you. “Really? No mask or anything,” he tsked as he dodged an incoming punch before he let out a prolonged sigh. “Come on, if you just let me do my thing we can all go home in one piece.” Another punch, another sidestep, another sigh. “Alright then,”

You were searching the ground for your keys and your taser, picking them up as your mugger kept lunging over towards Spiderman. You knew you should have picked up the keys and ran out of the alley, but this horribly petty side of you wanted to make him hurt just a little. You turned the taser on, charging at your mugger with full force. Then with one simple sidestep, you were accidentally tasing Spiderman. Your mouth felt dry as you quickly pulled the weapon away, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t aiming-”

“That’s okay,” he groaned as he held onto his stomach in pain, head snapping over to the mugger before he said, “Oh great, a knife.” Then you were being spun around and out of the way as Spiderman received a nice slash to his arm.

It wasn't long before your mugger was webbed against a wall and you were calling 911. The hero was about to make his farewell when your hands grabbed hold of his wounded arm, making him wince as he looked in your direction. “No,” was all you said before you were pulling him out of the alleyway.

He stumbled as he followed, a frown hidden beneath his mask. “I don’t usually make it a habit to follow women who tase me,” he quipped as you pulled him along the street.

“Yeah, well I feel guilty and you’re bleeding and, I don’t think I could sleep well tonight knowing I tased Spiderman and made him get stabbed.” You pushed, taking a turn towards a semi-nice-looking apartment building as you opened the lobby door, pulling him into the building.

He knew that deep down he could have easily gotten out of your grip, honestly, he could have left you all alone in that alleyway. Then again, that wasn’t very friendly of him. He was trying to be better, trying to be more neighborly and friendly, so against his better judgment, he was being dragged into an elevator.

You were panting gently as you gave his back a gentle shove, making him step into your apartment first. “You know, this is pretty unprofessional,” Your eyebrows raised at that and you pointed over to your kitchen table chair, watching as the masked hero sat down obediently. You nodded sharply before you were rushing over toward your bathroom to fetch the first aid kit you had under the sink.

“Do you have a lot of experience patching up people’s wounds?” He asked as he looked around the apartment, it was a pretty standard New York apartment, his own looked vaguely similar to it.

“I would hope so,” you said as you stepped into the kitchen, setting the kit onto the table before pulling off the trench coat that hid your scrubs, “I mean, I’ve had the job for two years now.” you teased as you sat down across from him with a smile.

He stared back, palms growing warm as he watched you. This scene felt too familiar, well minus the scrubs and certain other things, but still too familiar for his liking. Breathe, Peter, this is a New Yorker being a good samaritan, relax.

Your hands played with a small bottle of peroxide as you watched Spiderman start to have what seemed like a panic attack, “Hey,” you set the bottle on the table as you reached over for his hand, man that suit felt weird, “Are you okay?”

Spiderman let out a soft groan as he nodded slowly, “Sorry, I think I’m not used to this,” he lied as he heaved out another heavy breath. He leaned forward, bracing himself against his knees as he tried to calm down.

“Hey, look at me,” after a moment or two his head turned towards you “sit up and,” you sucked in a breath “Inhale,” you let it go slowly “Exhale.”

You heard a breathy laugh break out as he swatted at your hand gently, “I know how to breathe,”

“Do you? I am shocked!” you teased as you pulled your hand away from him, getting to work on the task at hand. You sighed gently as you searched for a needle within the kit. “You know I can’t hold you hostage here, you’re the one with superpowers, not me.” You reminded him once he seemed to calm down more.

“I mean you’re not wrong, but when someone– let alone a nurse– drags you back to her apartment, you can’t really turn down free healthcare.”

You chuckled softly as you scooted your chair closer to him, “No one ever said that you were so,” you paused searching for the word.

“Amazingly witty?”

“Funny, I was about to say dull,” you teased as you moved in to get a closer look at the cut on his right arm. You grazed your fingers against his suit before you heard a gentle hiss come out from the hero, “Sorry didn’t know the joke got to you that much,” You muttered the joke as you pulled away from him. “Does the suit come off in one big piece or… I just need to get to that arm,” you paused “Please.”

He was laughing at that, watching as your cheeks turned a light shade of pink, “This is where I say that you should take me to dinner first,” he watched as you frowned up at him, holding the needle up in a menacing way. “Give me a second,” he groveled as he began to pull his suit down to his ribs “This okay?”

You didn’t stare too long, but the thought lingered a second too long, it felt creepy to think about. In the end, it was impossible to deny; Spiderman was fucking ripped. You nodded as you set the needle on the table and went back to the peroxide, dabbing the gash gently. “What’s your favorite food?”

“I was kidding about dinner you know,”

“I know that,” you pressed a tiny bit harder against the cut with a laugh “I’m asking because I don’t know you and you’re shirtless in my kitchen so I ask a question and you answer and I feel better about letting a strange man into my apartment.”

“Strange man? I’m a very local, very well-known hero and you asked me to get shirtless, miss… nurse.”

“You can call me Y/N,”

“Ah, pretty name,”

“Thank you,” you finished cleaning the bloodied area with a smile before you let out a humming sound “Now about your favorite food?’

“Apple pie,”

“Orange chicken,”

His foot was bouncing as you set to work with the bandages, listening to you mutter that it wasn’t deep enough for stitches. He couldn’t help but feel a little guilty as the silence between the two of you grew, so he decided it was his turn to ask you something. “Are you okay?”

“Thanks to you I am, yes,” you pulled away from him with a sweet smile before you were back to wrapping gauze around his arm. “Would you turn down a meal, Spiderman?”

“Right now?”

“I make a mean grilled cheese,”

His foot stopped bouncing and he let his head turn up towards the ceiling in thought, he wouldn't be comfortable eating in the suit. He’s done it before but it wasn’t very practical. However, he could go for something to eat. Did he eat dinner? No, he had lunch at work, but then he got a call from Aunt May. Yeah, he could go for a grilled cheese. “I won’t turn it down, no,”

Once you were done, you watched as he began to roll the suit back up before you hit his hands gently, “Hold on, I think I might have some clothes from an old boyfriend you can have!” and before he could say anything back, you were off of the chair and running around your apartment.

He wanted to tell you that he was just fine in his suit, but he guessed that you wouldn’t listen to him, so he sat at your kitchen table with his chest exposed. You came back in with a pair of holiday pajama pants and a plain gray tee-shirt with a smile on your face, it made Peter want to smile back.

“Poor guy is missing his candy cane pajama pants,”

“And now I bestow them to you, Mr. Spiderman.”

“I feel like you like saying my name,”

“Spiderman, why would you say such a thing?”

“Alright, alright, please tell me I can change in the bathroom,”

“She’s all yours,” You walked over to the kitchen with a smile. It was funny, he was good at keeping a conversation going. You pulled the bread out of the cabinet as you allowed yourself to get lost in thought. He was attractive from what you’ve seen and funny, well, so far. It was almost charming, but at the current moment, men had little effect on you as you were almost mugged less than an hour ago.

You were flipping the sandwich over on the other side when he came back into the kitchen, clearing his throat softly. You looked over your shoulder, smiling at the sight; the clothes fit him perfectly. He held up his suit in one hand, “Got a bag I can borrow?”

“Under the sink,” you replied as you watched him from the stove, laughing softly at the sight. He still had his mask on, but he was wearing candy cane pajamas and they almost matched. When he looked over at you, you simply turned away and went back to making the sandwich.

“Thank you, for everything.”

“You’re welcome,”

“Seriously, I don’t know what to say,”

“Eh, it’s a little selfish on my part because I like the idea of having a hero in my apartment after I almost got mugged. Might leave the front door unlocked tonight, I’m not sure,”

“Please don’t, you might tase me again.”

“I said I was sorry,” you whined as you pulled the sandwich off of the pan and put it on a plate before you got to work on another one for yourself. You could hear the soft patter of his feet as he got closer, leaning over your shoulder as he watched you make the sandwich.

“What’s the secret?”

You turned your head at that, looking up at him. He was taller, well when he was close it was natural he seemed taller, what was the question again? “Oh, I just put mayonnaise on the bread to make it more golden.” You breathed out nervously, watching him nod a little. “Uh, Spiderman,”

“Hm?” he let out the sound, his face seemed like it had gotten closer. You could feel your cheeks begin to burn as the hero stayed his ground, inches away from you. It wasn’t like you to feel so nervous around, well anybody. Then again Spiderman wasn’t just anybody it felt like he was more of a somebody. Important enough to be well known throughout New York City at least.

“You’re just a little close,”

“Oh,” And with that he was walking away from you, sitting back down at the kitchen table with a nervous smile. You fought back a grin before you were turning back towards the stove, flipping the sandwich over with a tiny sigh.

As you were setting the plates down on the table before you disappeared back into the kitchen to get the two of you some water. You played with the rim of your glass as you waited for some sort of conversation to begin. Then again, just because he’s here doesn’t mean he has to talk. It would just be nice to talk, instead of you sitting here staring at him dumbly as he ate with half of his mask rolled up. He had a strong jaw and nice teeth, stop staring at his teeth.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable earlier,”

“Oh, I wasn’t! I’m just not used to it I guess.”

“Used to what?”

Your mouth parted at that, searching for an answer as Spiderman smiled over at you. He had a pretty smile, it made you feel weak at the knees, stop. Think of an answer, anything, stop staring at him. “Tall men near me?” you said lamely, earning a soft laugh from him.

“Right,” he replied as he took a sip of water, watching how your eyes flickered over his face. You weren’t very good at hiding your emotions. That was for sure, curiosity must have been eating you alive. Peter didn’t really blame you, if he had a stranger in his kitchen he’d be anxious to know who they were too. Then again, you did invite him to stay longer.

“You have nice teeth,” you suddenly said, smiling nervously over at him before he started laughing at you.

“Are you being serious right now?”

“You do! They’re nice! I keep looking at them,”

“I thought you were looking at me because I’m so stunning,”

“I’m sure you’re lovely Spiderman, but I’m not into guys with stubble.” You teased, pointing at his chin, laughing as you watched him touch his chin quickly. It was, technically, a lie. You didn’t mind some stubble, but he was fun to make fun of.

“It’s basically nothing,”

You let out a playful groan and proceeded to ignore him by eating the last few bites of your sandwich. “I think I should get going,” You heard the hero’s chair scrape the floor softly as he stood up, walking his dishes over to the sink. You felt your heart drop into your chest, anxiety washing over you at the thought of being alone tonight.

Your eyes focused on a crack on the surface of the table as you stressed about the night ahead of you. You didn’t realize how much you needed someone else to be around you right now, it was a natural reaction to be afraid of being alone after a semi-traumatic event, but still. A hand softly gripping your shoulder pulled you out of your state, “Hey, I’ll patrol the area a little tonight,”

His mask was pulled down all the way again but you could tell there was a small smile under it by the tone of his voice. “Thank you for everything,” You stood up, standing in front of him for an awkward minute or so before you pulled him into a tight hug. “If you ever need some medical attention, or maybe just some company, you know where to find me,”

His arms raised in the air for a second, giving your back a gentle pat before nodding, “I’ll keep it in mind, thank you.” He said as you pulled away from him with an awkward smile. You let out a soft ‘oh’ before you were handing him the bag with his suit in it, reminding him once again that he was in candy cane pajamas. He laughed as he took it, heading over to your living room window, opening it. He stopped on the windowsill, looking back at you one last time before giving you a tiny wave and disappearing into the night.

“Woah, back up, he was shirtless in your kitchen?” The red-head questioned as she sipped on her iced americano.

Your hands moved with you as you spoke, “Yes! He was kind of gorgeous,” you joked before taking a sip of your mocha. Victoria laughed sweetly before she hit your arm in a playful way that silently meant ‘continue telling the story.’

“I asked him if he was hungry and I gave him,” you covered your mouth as you laughed at the memory “I gave him Alex’s old clothes, those candy cane pajama pants! Spiderman owns them now!” you cackled softly into the empty cafe. Victoria joined in with your laughter before you continued, “I made him a grilled cheese and there was some more not-so-witty banter and then I told him that he could always swing by if he needed to and he was gone.”

“Wow,” she sighed softly, “So, why did you give him clothes?”

“His suit was ripped and I don’t know, it looked uncomfortable?” You questioned yourself with a sigh, watching as your friend nodded. She had that look in her eyes that meant ‘oh, girl’ or something sassy of that kind.

“I’m going to be pissed if you start secretly dating a superhero.”

“Vic,” you laughed at the notion, waving your hand in the air as if to wave off the idea completely. “Come on, don’t be silly! Besides, I’ll probably never see him again.” You stated before you were looking down at the timer on your phone. “We have to be back in twenty,”

Victoria already had her jacket on by the time you were standing up, groaning that ‘you took forever’ before the two of you were walking down the street towards the hospital. “Speaking of dating,”

“No, not another blind date,”

“Come on, it’s been two years since you and Alex broke up! We know his Aunt,”

“Who is she?”

“May Parker, you know the nurse over in pediatrics?”

“Oh, yeah, nice lady,” you muttered to yourself softly before letting out a long sigh, “What’s his name?”

“Peter Parker,” Victoria answered with an excited smile, “He’s a bioengineering professor over at Empire State University,”

“Nice school,”

“I know, according to Mrs. Parker he’s wicked smart,”

“One would hope so,” you joked as the two of you reached the hospital doors, “Alright, fine, give me the details.”

It was a cold Saturday night and you were tugging on your gloves as you walked out of your door. You were running a tad bit late because you had tried something new with your hair, it didn’t work out the way you wanted it to but you were running later so you let the curls be. You were shivering before you got out of your building, hailing a taxi as quickly as possible, thankful to be out of the chilling air. The bar Victoria told you about wasn’t too far from your apartment but tonight you would rather be warm than practical.

The bar wasn’t run down, nor was it elegant, the best way to describe it would be nice. Victoria begged you to agree to a dinner with the stranger but you told her that you didn’t want to be trapped in a dinner with a stranger, you wanted to get to know him a little more before that.

As you waited for your date, you sat at the bar nursing a glass of water anxiously overthinking everything. Were jeans too casual? What if he came better dressed? Maybe you should have worn some earrings to match your top! No, it was cute as is… was it? Yes, your boobs look good in it. “Are you Y/N?” a familiar voice called out, sending soft shivers of excitement down your spine.

When you turned your head towards the voice, you were greeted with a man with handsome features and a kind smile. Your heart rate steadied as you nodded, “Yes, you must be the famous Peter!” You exclaimed softly, putting your hand out for him to shake.

“Oh god, what did Aunt May tell you?” He grimaced as he shook your hand quickly, soft hands, sweet smile. You waited for him to sit down next to you with a tiny hum.

“Just that you’re incredibly smart and handsome and,” you dramatically brought your hands up to your chest “Perfect for me,” You laughed heartily as he shook his head.

There were two reasons why Peter agreed to the blind date; Aunt May said that he owed her a favor and he remembered that name, and then he had to come because of his burning curiosity. Now, you’re sitting next to him at a bar, looking lovely as ever. Maybe it was wrong of him to come on the date having known you, but you didn’t need to know that he was Spiderman and you couldn’t possibly have known if he was , so maybe it couldn’t be that bad.

“So you’re a professor?” Your sweet voice pulled Peter out of his guilt-ridden thoughts quickly, smiling over at you.

“Yes, I teach some classes about genetic engineering and bioengineering.”

“Oh, so you actually are brilliant!”

Peter felt his face grow hot as he laughed off his nerves, “I wouldn’t say brilliant, more academically headstrong, or something witty like that.”

You grinned at that, liking the way his hands nervously ran through his hair, “Are you going to get a drink?” you asked, his eyes darting over to the bartender quickly.

“Maybe,”

You raised your hand, catching the bartender’s eyes in a second before you ordered a margarita and then motioning over to Peter so he could take his order. Once he ordered, you sucked in a small breath in an attempt to push out your anxious tendencies. “Do you do this often?”

Peter gave you a small smile, sadness prevalent in his eyes as he shook his head side to side, “No, it’s been a while if I’m being honest.” He caught a glimpse of blonde hair in the background and he focused his eyes on your kind smile, not daring to follow the memory.

“I understand,” you puffed out a sigh as you and Peter were handed your drinks. “Relationships are hard.” You said, playing with the tiny black straw in your drink. Your eyes locked onto Peter’s in a marvelous second and you were smiling again, raising your drink towards him “Cheers?”

Peter was grateful for the positive change of pace and he clicked his glass against yours, “Cheers!” he replied before the two of you drank lame sips of your drinks.

You pulled away from the drink laughing, it was funny, the two of you had similar mannerisms and yet seemed different in so many ways already. Peter smiled hearing your laugh and he was reminded of how sweet the sound was once again. “So, Nurse,”

“So, Professor?”

“Tell me about yourself,”

“What is this a job interview?”

“Could be,” He liked the way your smile grew at that and the way your fingers tapped against the side of your drink.

“My favorite holiday is Christmas,”

“You got the job.”

You picked up his hand and shook it firmly, “Oh, thank you, Mr. Parker!” Peter shook with the handshake dramatically, quickly pulling his hand away from you, feigning pain as you laughed with him.

“Seriously, what do you like to do, besides looking beautiful at bars I mean?” Peter invited with a handsome chuckle, there was that wide smile again– the one that made your knees feel weak in your chair, paired with pretty amber eyes.

“Well as fun as looking beautiful is,” You grinned, feeling the edge of your ears grow warm at the compliment. “I like reading,”

“Oh? A fellow scholar,”

“Well, if you count Jane Austen novels scholarly then absolutely!”

“There are worse authors you could have said, so I do believe she is scholarly indeed, by my decree.”

“Perfect, so long as she has the Parker seal of approval.”

He laughs with you at that and takes another sip of his drink as he shakes his head side to side, “I really like talking to you,” he sighs suddenly, shivers shooting down your spine nervously. It wasn’t his words that made you tense, it was the way he was looking at you, soft and kind eyes with a hint of sadness in them.

You swallowed the melancholy feeling down with a soft laugh, “May gave me some pointers,” you joked, watching as his eyebrows raised with sudden amusement.

“You’re joking, right?”

“Something about turning everything blue and red?”

“I was washing the American flag boxers, I own,” he watched as you threw your head laughing “I owed, in college.”

You moved your hands up to quote May, “Alright, laundry sheriff.” You laughed out in a bad impersonation of Peter, earning a scoff from the man next to you.

Peter could feel the heat growing on his face as you made fun of him, but it was also because of the thought of May talking about him with you and most likely your other coworkers. “I can’t believe that she told you that,”

“I’m pretty sure my mom does the same thing,” Peter let out a soft ‘oh’ as he motioned for your continue, “Okay, she loves telling people that when I was nine I was convinced that I was going to marry one of the Jonas brothers and made everyone call me ‘Mrs. Jonas’ for a year straight,” You finished, immediately regretting telling the story as you watch Peter’s smile grow.

“I didn’t realize you were a married woman,”

Your hand reached over, smacking his chest softly “Peter, don’t you start,”

He laughed softly as he reached up for you hand, examining it before tapping the ring finger playfully, “No ring,”

“No ring,” you repeated softly, watching as Peter’s thumb rubbed a soft circle around one of your knuckles. The feeling sent your heart into a frenze, beating hard against your chest.

“Want to get something to eat?”

“Right now?” his hand held yours gently, pulling you up before he was letting go of it to fish out his wallet to pay the bill. You felt a soft protest build in your throat before he was handing the bartender the money and the two of you were on your way out of the bar. “Peter, slow down, jeez.” You gasped as you tried to keep up with his fast pace.

“Sorry, Missus, have to make sure we get there fast so nobody sees us,”

You mocked a laugh as Peter slowed his pace to match yours, “Where are we going anyway?”

“A taco stand,”

“Do you usually take all of your dates to this taco stand?”

“Just the ones that are married to international musicians, you know the usual,”

You casted a glance over at him before you were putting your foot out to trip him, but Peter simply stepped over it with ease before saying, “Why don’t you just pull my pigtails and call me pretty already?”

“You’re the one who is being mean, I only have the laundry thing,”

“Good,” he teased as he hooked his arm around yours, pulling you with him as he hooked a slow left on the sidewalk.

Peter was watching you bite into a taco, holding back a smile as your eyes grew wide with enjoyment, “These are so good,” you groaned as you took another bite. Your eyes met Peter’s in one swift, embarrassing, moment before you were covering your mouth quickly. “Why are you staring?”

“I’m not,”

“Peter, we are making direct eye-contact,”

“Don’t I just have the prettiest eyes?” Peter changed the topic, fluttering his eyelashes quickly as he watched you give him an annoyed look.

“I don’t know if you’re annoying or boyishly charming,”

“One vote for boyishly charming,”

“I can’t believe you teach people,” you taunted softly before turning your attention back to the tacos in your hand.

“And I can’t believe you have sour cream on your nose right now,” Peter’s finger reached over quickly, brushing it off with a smirk. He brought the finger up to his lips and licked it off with a satisfied sigh, watching how your cheeks turned a dark shade of pink. Maybe that was too far on his end, but he did like the way you looked when you were at a loss for words. Your cheeks were so red and you eventually turned away with an embarrassed ‘whatever’. Peter was sure that he liked your smile the most, the way your eyes lit up when you smiled was a treasure Peter was sure to cherish for days to come, but he was getting ahead of himself again.

This wasn’t supposed to be permanent, because eventually you would find out or he’d tell you and he’d mess it all up again. Peter’s smile faded at the memory, blonde hair losing its luster, blood coating it’s ends. He couldn’t breathe again, gripping the park bench for some grounding. He blinked and suddenly you were on your knees between his legs, looking up at him with a worried look on your face.

“Hey,” that soft whisper made his eyes focus on yours again, and he felt his lungs fill with oxygen. “You okay?”

He nodded, watching as you stood up in front of him before awkwardly taking your seat next to him again. Fuck, he fucked this up already. “I’m sorry,” he stuttered softly, his hands playing with the ends of his plate nervously.

“It’s okay, I think we all get overwhelmed time and time again,” Peter’s head turned towards you as you spoke, your eyes catching the glow of street lights, “Even on first dates,” you quipped sweetly, smiling a heart warming smile that made the world seem just a little bit kinder. It was true that the following years after Gwen’s death he kind of went on a dark streak, but something about traveling to another universe kind of makes you gain a new perspective. Just his personal opinion at this point.

“No, because I didn’t mean to ruin the good date and now I’ve gone and done it and,”

“Peter,” you laughed sweetly at him, “I’m still having a good time, I never said it was ruined.”

“You’re having a good time?”

“I’m still here aren’t I? Now are you gonna eat tacos with me before walking me back to my apartment or what?”

Peter felt a familiar bubble of anxiety in his chest as the two of you walked home, soft wind passed through the two of you, earning a soft shiver from you as you pulled your jacket around your body tighter. He couldn’t pin down why he was so nervous, nor could he pin down why he kept thinking about Gwen of all things, but you still had a smile on your face so he must be doing something right tonight. It could have been that he hadn’t been on a date since her, he was almost seven years out of practice, but test runs considered, you were by far the prettiest contender thus far.

“You know what I wish we could see more of?”

“Hm?”

“The stars,” you pointed up at the black night sky, soft stars making their appearance in a scattered fashion.

“The university has an observatory,”

“Does it?”

“Maybe, I could take you there sometime?”

“Is that an offer for a second date, Dr. Parker?”

“Only if you play nice,” He teased as the two of you reached the lobby doors of your apartment. His hands buried into his jacket pockets, palms sweating as you rocked back and forth on your heels playfully.

“Do you want my number?”

“Yes,” Peter replied quicker than he would’ve liked to as you held your phone out towards him with a sly smile. Peter’s hands brushed yours, reminding him of the soft sparks he felt whenever his hands touched yours, punching his number into the phone before giving himself a call.

“Peter,” you said his name, mouth feeling dry as his head cocked to the side as if to listen to you better. “I had a really fun time tonight,”

“Anxiety attack included?”

“Anxiety attack included.” you nodded as Peter smiled, he took a step towards you at that and leaned down slightly. He smelt like the pleasant mix of sandalwood and orange blossoms, your eyes met his with a nervous smile before you were pulling on his collar, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. “You’ll have to earn a kiss on the lips if you really want one,” you teased, stepping away from Peter with a laugh. The light and playful pout on his lips told you that you were going to be in trouble sometime soon, especially if he kept up with his charming attitude.

“Goodnight,”

“Goodnight,” and then you were gone and Peter was running off to look for a place to get into his suit.

Okay, so maybe patrolling right after your date wasn’t the best idea. Peter was pacing the rooftop of the apartment complex, contemplating swinging by your window instead of doing any actual crime fighting. Maybe it was because it was so cold, but crime seemed lacking tonight. Perfect for New York City, terrible for him. He liked a good distraction, and right now he could certainly use one.

Meanwhile, you were pacing your apartment on the phone with Victoria, giggling as she was screaming over your date. “I cannot believe you said that!”

“I know,” You flopped down onto the couch with a soft groan, “You don’t think it was too forward?”

“No, it's perfect! ‘You have to earn a kiss on the lips’, stunning!”

“I didn’t want to freak him out, Vic!”

“I doubt you did, the poor guy was probably overwhelmed. May did say that he hadn’t been out on a date in a while.”

“I know, I know, you’re right.”

“I usually am,”

A soft tapping made your head pop up from the couch and turn towards the window, you felt your throat tighten with excitement seeing a certain masked vigilante at your window. “Hey Vic, I’ll call you later, my cat threw up.” you lied, mumbling a sweet goodbye before hanging up the phone. You opened the window in a hurry, practically pulling the hero in with a laugh, “What are you doing here?”

“It’s too cold for criminals tonight,” the hero explained, pointing at your wide grin “Somebody looks all giddy,”

“I do not,” you paused, before nodding with a gentle chuckle, “I do, don’t I?”

“What happened?”

You walked over to the couch with a sigh, sitting down with your legs crossing each other “I just went out on a date, a good date, for the first time in a while.”

“That explains it,” Peter grinned beneath the mask, watching your fingers play with the couch cushions. “Why isn’t he up here then?”

“Slow your role Spiderman, you know you’re the only man allowed in my apartment, and unchaperoned at that!”

“Me? I feel like I’m getting some sort of award,” he teased, leaning against the back of the couch. You let out an uncharacteristically loud laugh, patting the couch with a hum. Peter felt himself hesitate, but he ended up sitting on the opposite end of the couch, staring at your wide smile.

“He was really nice, and funny,”

“I’m nice and funny,”

Your head tilted to the side with amusement, “His humor is more charming, yours is more annoying, yet funny, quips.”

“I wonder why I even try,”

You laughed at that, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding,”

“You better be, or else I might invite a chaperone next time!”

“Oh, how horrid!” You gasped out dramatically as you spread your legs out on the couch, your socks almost meeting the hero’s outer thigh. “Seriously, why are you here? And follow up question, are we becoming friends?”

“Like I said, crime is low and I would like to believe we are, yes.”

“Can I tell my mom that I’m friends with Spiderman?”

“Only if I get to tell your dad,”

“Oh, we might have a deal,”

A warm silence filled the space between the two of you as you let out a relaxed sigh, too giddy to feel bad about taking up Spiderman’s free time. Peter watched as your head rolled back and body relaxed against the couch with a louder sigh of happiness. “Did you kiss him goodbye?” he suddenly asked, knowing the answer.

Your head raised at that, looking over at the masked man with a tiny chuckle, “On the cheek and then I was stupid,”

“Stupid, how?”

“I said,” you trailed off, hands reaching up to your cheeks as you continued, “I said that if he wanted to kiss me on the lips he needed to earn it,”

“Woah,”

“Was it too much?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“You’re a guy, maybe? I just need to know if he thinks I’m crazy or not,”

“As a guy, I’m sure that he’s mad about you or whatever.”

You sat up at that, sitting on your knees as you pointed at him with a small grin, “Be serious,”

“Okay, okay, bossy,” Peter moved to look at you directly, a suited up hand reaching out for yours with a confidence he didn’t seem to have outside of the mask. “If a woman like you said that to me, I’d be over the moon, truly.”

“What does that mean?”

“What?”

“A woman like me, what does that mean?”

Peter moved his hand away slowly, only for you to grab ahold of it quickly, keeping him frozen in place as you looked over at him. Your fingers were shaking, making Peter question the interaction entirely. What did you think he was going to say? “It means that you’re beautiful and smart and, from what I’ve seen, kind.” His voice came out sweeter than he intended, but anything was worth it to see that beautiful smile stretch across your face, wait had you gotten closer to him? Oh, you still smelt like warm honey and amber, intoxicating and sweet.

Peter cleared his throat softly before he stood up from the couch with lightning speed, earning a slightly shocked expression from you as he made his way towards the window again. “I should probably leave you so you can text your date, or get some sleep. I, I, I can always stop by later some, uh, some other time! Maybe tomorrow, or some other date in the near future.”

“In the near future,” You laughed as you watched him from the couch.

“Right, I’ll miss you, I mean I’ll see you later.” And just like that he was gone, the window snapping shut with a soft thud, leaving you and your cat alone in the apartment, reeling from the recent interaction.

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Tumblr Exclusive: Forestborn

Do you like shapeshifters, epic quests, magic, dark forests, and obstinate princes? Well, have we got an exclusive excerpt for you!

Forestborn is an upcoming @torteen novel by debut author Elayne Audrey Becker. Becker graduated from Vassar College with a BA in classics and history. She is currently continuing her education at the University of Aberdeen in Scotland after time spent as an editor with a New York publisher. She grew up with a lake and woods as her backyard, spending long days outside and visiting national parks with her family.

Forestborn will be available at bookstores everywhere from August 31. Read the exclusive excerpt below, and thanks again to Elayne for sharing her inspiration moodboard with us!

Forestborn By Elayne Audrey Becker

One

I find her deep in the Old Forest, facedown in the dirt.

Sharp pain needles my palms where I’ve balled my fists so tight, the nails have carved half-moon marks into the skin. Snaking across the twig-strewn ground, gnarled roots press against my boots like a warning as I roll the young woman onto her back. Best to be sure.

No, she is certainly dead. Cold, stiff, and hungry like the rest; even with forest debris masking much of her shirt, the threadbare cotton dips in unmistakable rivulets across her bony frame. I swallow my disappointment and push her eyelids shut, wanting to spare her kin the sight of those empty, pointless eyes.

“Sorry,” I murmur, sitting back on my heels. “I’m guessing you didn’t deserve this.”

Around us, the trees lean inward and down with ominous uniformity, leaves and branches straining against their holds, drawn to the dead woman as if tethered by ropes. The sway, the humans call it. I ignore the prickling in my belly. They’ll straighten out soon enough when the magic leaves her body.

With a final nod, I push to my feet and wend my way back to the forest’s edge. It’s a close wood, with broad oaks in summer bloom crowding the grassy floor, their leafy canopy admitting shafts of sunlight that glitter like crystal chandeliers. All in all, too peaceful a setting for someone driven to madness to die alone. I breathe it in deep to savor the scent while I can, grateful that for whatever reason, these trees never seem drawn to the magic in my own blood. I’ve had enough of vengeful wilderness to last a lifetime.

“Well?” Seraline asks, her knuckles nearly white where they clutch the hem of her shirt.

I shake my head. “Dead.”

Her shoulders sink. Though Seraline is sturdy as iron when she’s in her aunt’s tannery, shaping leather into draft horses’ yokes, standing a determined two paces behind the tree line now, she seems shakeable as snow.

“Come on,” I say, nodding to the stony town just across the open fields. “You’re going to be late.” I don’t ask if she plans to examine the body for herself. Seraline may have insisted on coming as a show of support, but our friendship has many limits, her discomfort with the dead and dying the least of them.

After a brief hesitation, Seraline falls into step at my side, sweeping her seeing stick across the ground in broad strokes. “Poor thing.”

I nod, my jaw clenched tight.

This time of year, the late summer air hangs heavy even in the early morning, enough that the back of my neck is already slick with sweat. The barley fields remain mercifully empty as we pick our way through the dusty rows, but still I plow forward with my head down and shoulders bent, half from habit and half spurred by the hour. Seraline isn’t the only one who’s running behind.

“Will you not come with us?” she asks, her head tipping to the side as we near the town. “Aren’t you due back in Roanin, anyway?”

“I can’t,” I reply, making it sound like an apology. I’m not really sure why we still play this game when we both know it’s futile. “I have a few things to take care of first.”

“Today of all days,” she snorts.

“You know how it is.” In truth, I’d give my right arm to stay away from the capital today. But there’s no help for it.

“Her husband deserves to know,” Seraline adds after a while. “The two of them were inseparable.”

“He will know. The trail wasn’t hard to follow.”

Seraline is always trying to persuade me to talk to the deceased’s families. She believes I have a softer manner than many in uniform, and once she even called me heartless for refusing. That time hurt the most. But it isn’t my job to report any deaths I uncover to next of kin. Only to the king. And it’s not like she’s stepping up to volunteer, anyway.

Briarwend is a humble farming town that stretches all of three streets, a collection of squared off stone shops that deal in necessity rather than charm. Its weather-worn residents are the same. When I began seeking intel here four years ago, long days tending the surrounding fields made the people lazy and open over a couple of pints. Lately, they’re just hungry, poor soil and rising taxes leaving gaping holes that only tempers seem to fill.

Each night under dwindling lamplight and over stained, sticky tables, the pub dwellers deal out anger and judgment like tossing seeds across the earth. The battered forest walker I helped home last night is not the only magical person I’ve found bleeding on cobbled streets. The humans’ anger is growing fists.

Seraline’s family is fixing their horse’s harness to an old wooden cart when we reach their cottage home. Most others have long since departed.

“Where have you been?” her mother demands, tightening the leather straps. The roan mare stamps a hoof, ears flicking nervously in my presence. “We should have left hours ago!”

“Lela needed my help. And you’re not ready, anyway.” Seraline shrugs.

“Nor are you. Breakfast is gone, so you’ll just have to wait. Go get changed.” She studiously avoids my eye, as if I’m not even there.

Seraline bids me farewell with a light touch on the shoulder, which causes her little sister to quickly interlace two pairs of twisted fingers and pull them apart. The sign to ward off bad fortune.

“You shouldn’t indulge my sister,” the dreadful Arden says once she’s gone, stomping over and swiping a greasy hand across his forehead. By far the weakest sibling in this family of four. “Seraline is delicate. She can’t be tramping about the kingdom with the likes of you.”

Which is ironic, really, since he was eager enough to sidle close last year, when he thought empty flattery might earn him a kiss. That was before a too-often empty belly soured his tongue, before he learned who and what I was. And though I truly could not care less what this boy thinks, I’m dismayed to find my stomach still burns with anger and something close to shame. My gaze drops to his pant leg, which bears splotches of dried blood from the night before.

“Problem?” Arden sneers, white skin burned red from long days in the sun.

A slow tingling feeling bubbles up from my core, threads of numbness that tiptoe across my arms and legs. I force myself to breathe deeply, to beat the threads back. “I know it was you,” I mutter.

He traces his chapped lips with two fingers, beady eyes darting to his mother before he leans forward, his smile stiffening. “You know nothing,” he hisses.

“You forget I have certain resources at my disposal.” I raise a hand in front of his flaking face, where my nails have sharpened into claws. “And that I know where you live.”

I stare until a satisfying trace of fear tinges Arden’s expression before stomping away toward the town’s single inn, which is little more than a guesthouse with four creaking rooms. If Helos were here, he would tell me to not take the bait, that I’m better than that. What he never seems to understand is that I’m not better than anything at all.

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imagine-darksiders · 3 years

Text

A gentle touch.

[Strife/Reader]

Summary: Set three years after humanity is resurrected. Strife shows up unannounced in your bedroom in the middle of the night, which would have been rude enough without him getting blood all over your cream-coloured carpet.

Tags: Blood, injury, PTSD, knife, protective Strife, whump, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, sharing a bed ;), bandages and cleaning wounds, how not to administer first aid.

-----

You have the apocalypse to thank for turning you into such a light-sleeper.

Even though the nights of sleeping with one eye open are far behind you and Earth is back on the road to a long and arduous recovery, you'll still jolt awake if your unconscious mind hears something scuttle beneath the floorboards of your freshly-restored home, and God forbid a tree branch should happen to scratch at the bedroom window...

Waking up with the feeling that your heart is three beats from bursting right out of your chest is exhausting, to say the least. And it isn't just you who suffers from the onset of hyper-vigilance.

It was a decidedly cruel consequence that the resurrected humans were able to recall their lives before the end of the world. Crueller still, they woke up to remember exactly how and where they eventually kicked the bucket, and of course, nobody knew that a significant chunk of time had passed at all since the end of the world and its rebirth.

They thought they were still in danger.

In one moment, all they knew was immense and excruciating pain, and then, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, they woke up again, screaming and writhing in the echoes of phantom pain that had occurred almost a century ago.

Three years down the line since ‘The Great Waking,’ and there isn’t a human alive who could claim that they’ve slept through an uninterrupted night.

------

The alarm clock on your bedside table has just ticked over to read '2:36am' when your eyes suddenly snap open and you fling yourself upright in bed, your spine ramrod straight and your ears ringing with a sharp, tinny note.

It isn’t a nightmare that wakes you. At least, not this time.

Worse.

It’s a sound.

An out-of-the-ordinary sound that isn't in keeping with the normal ambiance of your bedroom.

But where...?

....It's coming from your window.

Tired eyes swivel to the curtains whilst your hand immediately flies out to blindly fumble with the drawer of your bedside table. Once your fingers find the cold, metal handle, you rip it open and plunge your hand inside, rummaging around until you feel the reassuring grip of your most precious possession.

Your trusty bread knife. Serrated edge, nine inch blade, perfect for cutting slices of toast in the morning and for tearing through the toughened hide of a hungry demon.

Peace between the Universe’s species had been declared once humanity was fully introduced to the connected realms, a decision that suited a vast majority of Creation. Hell, however, had offered up a fair amount of opposition to the notion before eventually conceding and agreeing – albeit begrudgingly – to honour the peace treaty alongside angels, makers, undead and the rest.

Even demon-kind knew not to incur the wrath of humanity's strongest and most ferocious protectors, the Horsemen.

But... there are always exceptions to the rule. Some demons just... hadn't gotten the memo.

It wouldn’t be the first time one of them had tried to make an assassination attempt on humanity’s envoy.

Heart in your throat, you grasp the knife securely in your dominant hand and peer through the darkness towards the window.

Only a sliver of moonlight peeps through a tiny gap in the curtains. In another blink, the light suddenly disappears, and you know better than to assume that the moon has simply ducked behind a cloud.

Something is standing at your window, blocking out the light.

You think you might actually be sick when you hear the sound again, claws scraping on wood – a sound you know all too well – well enough to send your head spinning into a panic.

Swallowing back the nausea in your throat, you brace yourself, instincts flicking between running for the door and knowing never to turn your back on a demon.

Sadly, the decision is swiftly taken out of your hands. Through the darkness and the deafening roar of blood rushing through your ears, you can make out the distinct sound of your window sliding slowly open.

The knife is a comforting weight in your hand. But it’s less than useless if you don’t calm down and try to remember the lessons that Death has taught you. If the eldest Horseman were here, he’d probably have berated you seven ways to Sunday by now for freezing up and missing an opportunity to better prepare yourself for an attack.

A dark silhouette pushes the fluttering fabric of your curtains aside and pulls itself halfway into your bedroom.

Whatever it is, it’s big.

Breath catching in your throat, you clasp a handful of your duvet and get ready to fling it at the intruder as a distraction, hoping that it’ll be enough to buy you a precious few seconds to gain the upper hand. You've learned that humans are inherently weaker than demons, but if there’s one thing you’ve learned from Death, it’s that strength isn’t necessarily the deciding factor in any battle. You still have your wits. You only hope the demon has less.

Two luminous, golden eyes turn in your direction and you press yourself backwards into the headboard.

Several seconds drag by in perfect silence.

Then...

“Hey.”

And just like, that tension leaves your body like a balloon deflating of air and you heave the loudest sigh you can muster, dropping the bread knife into your lap.

“Damn it, Strife! You about gave me a heart attack!”

With a 'whump,' you flop back against your pillows and take a second to breathe whilst one of the Four Horsemen drags himself the rest of the way through your bedroom window.

Strife.

It's only Strife...

Whilst certainly a dangerous being in his own right, you know you have nothing to fear from the Horseman who had all but appointed himself as your friend three, long years ago, all in an attempt to irritate his brother, Death, of course.

At least, at first.

Death was the one who pulled you from the dying Earth and preserved your life-force as you journeyed together on a quest to resurrect humanity, but after he made the jump to introduce you to his 'little' siblings, it had been Strife who'd taken a particular shine to you, and it had everything to do with a compatible, if terrible sense of humour.

That first meeting sparked what was sure to be an interesting friendship between the pair of you.

-----

“So, my brother went and got himself a human, huh?” Strife had teased, pointedly ignoring the withering look he received from Death to add, “Gotta say, I'm impressed, Kid. Didn't think anyone would have the inclination to willingly travel with my brother. But then, I guess...” He trailed off and you could almost see the smirk growing under his mask. “Deathperate times and all that, huh?”

At once, his siblings all groaned out varying noises of disapproval. Fury, the loudest, cocked her hip and shot Strife a frosty glower. “You are singlehandedly ruining our reputation, brother."

“She's right, you know,” you spoke up, trying not to flinch when all eyes snapped onto you once more, “That pun was pretty deadful.”

The brief, startled second of silence was soon blasted apart when Strife threw his head back and barked out a triumphant laugh, while Death slowly turned to look at you, utterly betrayed.

“Ha!” Strife's eyes positively gleamed with mischief, “You're right, human. Guess I should'a considered the reapercussions of a joke like that, huh?”

“I ought to have known introducing you two would be a mistake,” the eldest Horseman grumbled, earning a sympathetic look from War.

“Sorry, Death,” you said with a perfectly straight face, “You want us to get out of your scythe so you don’t have to look at us anymore?”

Strife had howled.

Death, however, merely heaved a long-suffering sigh. Fury's eyes all but rolled into the back of her skull and War just stood there, struggling to keep his lips from twitching at their corners.

And you had looked around at all of them, a little proud and blissfully unaware of what you'd just unwittingly signed yourself up for.

You'd had Strife's attention from that day on.

-----

Shaking off the fond memory, you tiredly will your mind back to the matter at hand.

You reach across your bed and drop the knife back into the drawer before leaning down and skirting your fingers over the wall in search of a switch. The next moment, there's a 'click!' and the room is illuminated by clustered fairy lights that you've draped around your ceiling, forcing you to squint blearily against the intrusion of light as Strife hauls his leg into your room.

“Honestly. How many times have I told you to use the door?”

“S'locked,” he grunts.

You're in the midst of rubbing your eyes to try and stimulate a little life back into your bones, so you miss the way he stumbles a few steps away from the wall and presses a gauntleted hand to his abdomen.

“Yeah, it’s locked because it's-” You take a quick glance at the clock next to you. “-Two thirty in the morning! Strife, I’m supposed to be up at six to meet Ulthane! What do you need so badly that you'd-... Hey.. Are.. are you okay?”

At last taking a long, hard look, it suddenly occurs to you that the Horseman is... not entirely himself.

He's hunched over, his shoulders pulled in around his neck and his chest rising and falling in long, languid motions. The tattered cowl he wears around his neck hangs loose around his collarbones and it faces the very real threat of slipping off to the floor. At last, your eyes drop to the hand that's clamped over the left side of his abdomen and you blurt out a startled gasp.

In the paltry, pink glow of your fairy lights, you spot an unmistakably crimson liquid dribbling between his fingers, starkly contrasted against the steel-grey colour of his armour.

The next few seconds pass in a blur as you frantically begin kicking off your duvet and scramble out of bed, flying across the room to the Horseman's side.

“Strife! What'd you do!?”

“Oh, that's real sweet,” the Nephilim chuckles wryly whilst he collapses back against the wall and slides down it with a strained grunt, “Why're you – ung... assuming it's something I did?”

Without missing a beat, you snap, “This would hardly be the first time you got hurt because you're a wise-cracking jokester with a big mouth! Now tell me who you pissed off?!”

You drop onto your knees next to him and reach out, fingers hovering tentatively above his stomach. With your focus directed away from his helm, Strife doesn’t bother to hide the way his eyes dart from left to right before they settle back on the top of your head.

“Ah, it was... just some demon, caught me slackin', that's all,” he shrugs, letting you carefully grasp his wrist and lift it away from his torso.

At once, fresh blood gushes from a deep gouge cut into in the dark, leather under-skin he wears beneath his cuirass and you yelp, slapping a hand over your mouth in abject horror.

The sound draws Strife's gaze to you and once he spots the shocked despair on your face, he gives himself a mental kick.

He hadn't meant to... He... doesn't like it when you’re scared because of him.

"Hey, no, no – I'm okay!” he rushes to reassure you, “Don't worry about this. I've had worse!”

“That's not the point, Strife!” you argue, dropping his wrist and carding your hands through your hair, “You're hurt now! And I don't – there's so much blood, and you-” Cutting yourself off, you squeeze your eyes shut and inhale deeply through your nose, willing your pulse to ease so that you can rationally address this situation.

Another lesson Death had taught you - stay calm in a crisis. Panic kills.

Releasing a long, hard breath, you peel your eyes open again and nod, jaw set. “Okay. All right. I need to.. I need water. A-and I need to see the wound.”

The interrogation can come after you've dealt with... this.

“There's a bowl and flannel in my bathroom,” you announce, getting to your unsteady feet and gesturing towards Strife's cuirass, “Think you can get that off so I can have a look?”

Huffing out a breath of laughter, the Horseman winks at you suggestively and drawls, “An' here I was doin' things the hard way to get your attention. You know, you didn't have to wait till I got myself gutted before you asked me to take my armour off in your chambers.”

A wise-cracking flirt with a big mouth.

As exasperating as he is though, you don't mind it in the slightest.

This is your usual rapport, after all. A friendly back and forth interlaced with the occasional, flirtatious comment. At first, Strife had only initiated it because it drove an over-protective Death up the wall. The eldest Horseman had almost threatened to 'remove Strife's libido' until you'd up and flirted right back, distressing the old reaper even further.

It's funny. It's innocent. But right now, it's reassuring, if only somewhat, that Strife is behaving just like his shameless, old self.

Besides, you can give back as much as you get.

“Well, I had to wait for a good enough excuse,” you retort, “Couldn't come on too strong and risk scaring you off, now could I?”

In response, Strife just chuckles fondly and watches you turn and speed away to your ensuite, oblivious to the warm, soft glow radiating from his eyes.

In less than a minute, you're briskly striding back into the room, a dripping flannel in one hand and a bowl in the other, and he suddenly remembers that you'd asked him to remove his cuirass.

Mission failed.

But you don't even bat an eyelid to find it still in place, assuming that the Horseman can't get at the catches on the sides in his current state.

In one, smooth motion, you drop down beside him once more and set the cloth and bowl nearby. “Here, let me help..”

The Horseman's pulse sputters when your tiny fingers reach around his torso and fumble with the buckles and straps that keep his armour securely in place. It doesn't pass his notice that your hands are trembling.

“Hey,” he calls, catching your eye for a moment before you go right back to fiddling with the cuirass, “This is nothin’, you know that, right?”

You only press your lips together and hum, clearly skeptical.

You're working fast and in almost no time at all, the straps have been released and you carefully take the Nephilim's broad shoulder, giving it a tug, guiding him to lean away from the walls so that you can start to peel the bulky armour off.

“Nng, hang on,” he mutters.

Reluctantly, you sit back to let him tug his chest piece loose before he simply drops it onto the carpet next to his legs with a dull 'clang.'

Exposed to the soft glow of your lights, your eyes are instantly drawn to the gaping wound that stretches in a horizontal line across the left side of his abdomen. It seems that something really has tried - and nearly succeeded - to gut him. Several inches long and goodness knows how deep, even against the iron-grey colour of his skin, the gash is alarmingly obvious and the blood far, far too noticeable for your liking. It still comes as something of a shock to learn that the Horsemen, barring Death, can actually bleed.

Wordlessly, you pick up the flannel and wring it out into the bowl of water, wondering if he'll mind that you didn't wait for the tap to get warm before you soaked it. It shouldn't surprise you that the Horseman doesn't protest or even flinch when you gently press the wet cloth to the bloodied skin around his wound, nowhere near the gash itself, not until you've cleared away some of the mess around it and determined its real depth.

You don't notice that his eyelids flutter closed once you press the cloth to his skin, nor do you see when their golden light fluctuates in contentment as the fingertips of your other hand press gently to his stomach, the pressure barely enough for him to feel, but enough to keep you steady whilst you daub at his drying blood.

It takes a formidable effort to suppress the shudder that nearly races up his spine. This is the first time he's felt your skin against his without a single piece of armour standing between you.

Creator, you're so soft! Just like he always imagined you would be.

“Jeezus, Strife,” you whistle, abruptly snatching his focus away from the soothing strokes of your silky fingers,“You've made a real mess of yourself. Why on Earth didn't you just go straight to Death? I thought he was the best healer in your family.”

The warm skin underneath your fingertips jumps as the Horseman puffs out a quick laugh, gazing dopily at your temple whilst you wipe at the edges of his wound with small, careful touches.

“He is,” Strife readily agrees, “But the moody bastard wouldn't be nearly as gentle with me as you are.”

You blow an unimpressed huff from your nose and glance up at him in time to catch his lazy wink. “I can always press harder if you like?”

“Nah.” The Horseman settles himself more heavily against the wall, knocking his skull back against it and mumbling, “Just keep touchin' me all gentle like that. S'nice...”

Quite abruptly, the chatty Nephilim goes silent and the glow from his eyes that had illuminated your face only moments ago suddenly disappears.

“Strife?”

He doesn't respond.

“Hey, Cowboy! Don't you fall asleep on me, you hear?”

There's a long stretch of silence, then, “Won't,” he mumbles, cracking one eyelid open to peer down at you.

Harrumphing, you promptly turn back to the gash in his stomach and wipe the last of the dried blood off his skin, still far from clean, but at the very least, better than it had been.

“Right,” you declare, pulling away to stand up and drawing a decidedly petulant whine from the Horseman on your bedroom floor. “I'm gonna go get the first aid kit from downstairs.”

There’s a shift in his expression and something that hinges on alarm suddenly whistles through his blood.

“I won’t be long,” you promise, "Be right – Hey, woah! What're you doing!?”

Darting forwards, you hastily place your hands on each of Strife's broad shoulders, trying to push him back down as he grabs the window sill behind him and begins hauling himself up to his feet.

“What's it look like ‘m doing?” he answers gruffly, slouching forwards as if the weight of his own head is too much to keep aloft, “Comin’ with you”

Sputtering out a few, incredulous noises, you try to make him see sense. “I’ll bring the first aid kit to you! You need to rest! It's bad enough that you already climbed in through my second storey window!”

But Strife, stubborn as a mule and much, much stronger than you, isn't deterred by your protests. Grunting, he curls one arm over his stomach and takes a step forwards, ducking beneath your light fixture and standing to his full, imposing height.

Even with three years of companionship behind you, you’re still frequently taken aback at how effortlessly the Horseman can make you feel small and fragile when you stand close to him.

Knowing full well that you’ll never be able to force him down again, you allow your hands to slip from his shoulders and fall against your sides like lead weights. You aren’t sure why he’s suddenly so hellbent on following you, downstairs, of all places, but you don’t dwell on it, especially given that you’re far more preoccupied with the fresh blood that has already begun trickling out of his wound to replace the stains you’ve painstakingly cleaned away.

Puffing out your cheeks, you raise a hand and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Strife, please sit down?” You aren’t so proud that you won’t resort to begging, tired as you are and exasperated with his obstinate behaviour. “I’m worried about you...”

All at once, the Horseman stiffens. ‘Oh, now she’s fighting dirty,’ he muses to himself.

Gradually, you lift your eyes to meet his and try your very best to glare up at him, pinning him down with all the stern authority you can muster. For several, slow heartbeats, the Nephilim peers right back at you and you’re almost certain that you’ll lose this battle of wills, which is why it comes as such a shock when his fiery gaze falters, wavering slightly before it promptly drops to the floor near your feet.

It's... rare for Strife to be looked at by someone who isn't ashamed to show that they worry about him.

But the way you're looking at him now? Hell, the way you've been looking at him since he clambered through your bedroom window? You're practically broadcasting your concern.

Strife just... isn't used to seeing that. So he glances down instead, finding the fibres of your carpet particularly exhilarating tonight. Slowly, begrudgingly, he sinks down to sit on the edge of your bed, heavy enough that the frame creaks and groans under the weight of a fully grown Nephilim and he has to hold back a contented sigh at the softness beneath his legs.

From the corner of an eye, he can see that your jaw is hanging ajar and remains so until you give yourself a little shake and throw him a satisfied nod. “Thank you,” you huff before turning on your heel and striding purposefully from the room.

Strife listens raptly to your footsteps disappearing down the staircase, unaware that his hands have curled into tight fists around your duvet.

'It's fine,' he assuages the insistent voice at the back of his head, 'She's fine.'

He took care of the threat. That demon asshole isn't coming after his friend.

You’re only downstairs. He can already hear you pushing open the door to your little kitchen whilst the rest of his senses remain trained on the sounds and smells of the night.

It isn't as though something bad might happen just because his eyes aren't fixed upon you...

Frankly, he thinks he’s being more than generous to allow a full, Earth minute to pass as he taps his heel impatiently against the side of your bed.

Didn’t you say you’d be right back?

...

“Fuck it...”

-------

Perhaps, in hindsight, keeping your first aid kit on the top of the fridge hadn’t been one of your brightest ideas, given that you need a chair to reach it. Then again, securing immediate access to bandages and plasters hadn’t exactly been on the forefront of your mind when you were rebuilding your old home from the ruins it had been left in.

With a grunt, you drop your rickety kitchen chair next to the fridge and clamber up onto the seat. “I have got to find a better place for you,” you grumble at an apathetic first aid kit that sits gathering dust near the wall. Stretching your arm out, you manage to snag it by the handle and drag it towards you-

“The hell're you doing!?”

The violent jolt that shoots through you like lightening nearly sends you toppling off the chair. You let out a yelp, just barely catching yourself on the fridge with your free hand before you whip about to see none other than Strife silhouetted in the kitchen doorway.

“Wh- the hell are you doing!?” you retort, knitting your brows into a frown and clutching the first aid kit against your heaving chest, “Why aren’t you upstairs?”

The Horseman’s glowing eyes are fixed unsettlingly on the chair beneath your feet and rather than answer the question, he ducks under the doorframe and thunders towards you in a few, short strides, leaving you with no time to protest before he suddenly sweeps you up off the chair and into his arms, caging you against a solid chest.

At once, you begin to struggle. “Strife! Your wound! Put me down, you'll hurt yourself!”

But the Nephilim is hardly paying attention. His glare lingers on the flimsy, wooden chair legs for a moment before he flicks his gaze towards the large window above your sink, noting with no small degree of distaste that it isn't even shut.

It’s like you’re inviting danger in.

If you had any idea of the fate he and his siblings are currently trying to protect you from, you might just try a little harder to take better care of yourself.

“Hey!” you continue to protest against his hold but manage to refrain from jostling about too much, mindful of his injury. “For god's sake! What's gotten into you?!”

He offers little more than a noncommittal grunt in response and begins trailing back towards the staircase, casting brief glances at the french doors leading out onto your patio.

'Structural weakness,' he registers, 'Perfect point of entry for anything smaller than a Trauma...'

Shaking his head, he turns sideways to fit you through the kitchen door and takes the stairs up to your room.

After a second, he lowers his eyes to meet yours and finds himself meeting a highly unimpressed scowl. “What?” he asks, the very picture of innocence.

Raising your brows, you snap, “Don't you 'what' me! The hell is all this about? I told you to stay put!”

“You were takin' too long,” he shrugs.

“Too long!?” Indignant, you flick your wrist and rap the first aid kit against his collar bone, “I was gone a minute, max! If you were so worried about me taking too long to fix you up, then why are you moving around and making your injury worse!?”

The light of Strife's golden gaze dims and he turns his head away, staring up towards the top of the stairs and your bedroom door beyond. “S'not me m' worried about,” he mumbles.

It's such an about-face from his usual demeanour that you can do little but blink dumbly up at him and fall still against his chest, your mouth hanging agape.

In silence, the Horseman ducks through the door into your room and sidles over to the bed where, hesitantly, he lowers you down until you're sitting safely on the edge.

In the next moment however, just as Strife drops heavily onto the bed next to you, you slip away and settle on the floor instead, placing the first aid kit beside his boots and fumbling with the latches.

Despite blowing out a rough grumble of disapproval that sounds entirely too much like War for his liking, he lets you go.

Chewing on your lip, you stare at the contents for a moment before snatching up a pack of antiseptic wipes, tearing one out and bringing it up to his stomach.

“You want to tell me why you just exacerbated your injury to rescue me from my kitchen chair?” you ask him, adding as an afterthought, “This might sting a bit..”

When he doesn't reply, you glance up and quirk a brow at the underside of his chin, only to catch him peering back at you from behind heavy-lidded eyes. Then, with a weary sigh, he sags forwards and raises a hand to rub at the back of his neck, looking sheepish, of all things.

Unable to dispel your frown, you blindly begin brushing the wipe underneath his bleeding wound.

He doesn't even wince.

Strife tips his helm towards the bedroom window and slumps further backwards into your mattress, seeming so entirely out of place amidst the colourful duvet cover and frilly cushions.

“Okay,” he mutters, “I uh, I got a confession to make.”

Interest piqued, you make an acknowledging sound at the back of your throat and return your attention to his abdomen.

“Death didn't want us to tell you about this,” he continues quietly whilst you toss the now ruined wipe over your shoulder and pull out a fresh one, “And, to be honest, neither did I. We didn't want you to have to worry, y'know?”

You don't know. And you nearly ask him what you should be worrying about, but you soon let your mouth fall shut and settle for humming curiously instead, trusting that he'll tell you soon enough anyway.

There's a long pause, during which you find the courage to bring your fingers close to the edges of his wound and immediately have to withhold a gag when the motion sends another spout of blood oozing from the cut and dribbling down your wrist.

After a moment, Strife huffs and forges ahead, “Course, War and Fury did want to tell you-”

He's stalling, you realise belatedly.

“-War thinks you have every right to know. And Fury said there's nothin' for you to worry about anyway, cause we've got your back.”

“Fury said that?” you ask distractedly, dropping the wipe and rummaging around for a gauze pad. In response, Strife exhales, a tiny, hidden smile creeping onto his lips. “Fury says a lot of stuff about you that you don't know about.”

Gently, you unroll the gauze and press it against his wound. “Wow, you sure that's your sister? Sounds like she might've been body snatched.”

“Ha!” The Horseman suddenly throws his head back. “Well, if she has been replaced, I sure as shit ain't going lookin' for the original. This Fury is... she's...”

He pauses, tipping his head in thought before eventually settling on, “She's learning.”

You blow out a long, impressed whistle and he nods his agreement, adding, “Yeah, s'weird for all of us too.”

The room lapses into silence once again as you stretch the gauze across Strife's abdomen and mutter, “Hold this,” before your hands are retreating and the Horseman's slide down to keep the bandage in place.

Reaching into the box once more, you take some bandages and begin to unfurl them gingerly over the top of the gauze. “Not hurting you, am I?”

You miss the soft expression he aims at the top of your head. “Never.”

You're more than aware that he probably won't tell you you've hurt him even if you were to stick your fingers in the wound twist them.

“Sooo~....?” you prompt.

Peering down at you, Strife cocks his head to one side and echoes, “Soooo?”

“What did Fury and War think I should know?”

“Oh. Right...” His reluctance is as painfully obvious as a slap to the face but you're slightly more focused on plunging your hand back into the first aid kit and rooting around for a roll of adhesive tape.

He observes you for a moment, growing more and more certain that despite your curiosity, you aren’t actually paying a great deal of attention to his words. Quite abruptly, he asks, “You listening?”

Emitting little more than a vague hum, you finally snag the tape and run your fingernail along the smooth surface, searching for the ever-elusive end.

“You sure?” Strife grunts skeptically, “Kid, this is kind of important.”

Without missing a beat, you nod your chin towards his injury and reply, “Yeah, well, you're kind of important too, buddy.”

Oh.

Oh, that's...

Strife wracks his brain, trying to pluck an appropriate response from amidst his tumbling thoughts. Part of him wants to scoff – of course he's important! He's Strife! The best, damn marksman who ever walked the realms of existence.

But then, there's another part of him that lurks deep behind the walls of hubris and brass he's been building meticulously for centuries, and it gives a little leap at the sound of your words, delighted beyond measure.

Averting his gaze, Strife lets out a chuckle. “You're getting soft.”

“Ah, I've always been soft.”

His heart thrums. “Wasn't talkin' about you, kid.”

You shoot him a smirk as you stick a piece of tape over the bandages covering his injury. “Well, if you're talking about yourself, then you're wrong again. You aren't getting soft. You've always been soft.”

The Horseman mutters something incoherent, but it's his distinct lack of an articulate response that speaks volumes to your ears.

The slight pressure of your fingers as they prod at the tape with tentative care leaves him mourning the centuries he's gone without knowing such a gentle touch. Rolling his eyes down to you, his smile droops and he sighs, sagging forwards to rest his elbows on his knees just as you attempt to place another strip of tape.

“Strife!” you complain, leaning back, “I need to put more tape on!”

He merely blinks at you languidly and says, “Later. I want you concentratin' on me right now.”

“I've been concentrating on you all night,” you huff, though you eventually concede and sit back on your haunches, peering up at the Horseman expectantly.

Studying your face for another moment, he breathes a long sigh and gestures to his stomach. "I told you a demon did this..."

“Uh huh...”

Solemnly, Strife continues, “So more specifically, it was a Shadow Caster. Been on her trail for a couple of weeks now. Finally caught up with her on some farmlands west of the city...”

“Okay?” you nod, digesting the information, “And why were you on her trail?”

He hesitates, flicking his eyes between you and the window a few times before he quietly admits, “She was comin’ after one of my friends...”

“Who?”

The look he throws you is so pointed, you suddenly feel like a fool for missing the obvious.

“Ah.” Understanding, you slowly nod your head.

“Yup.”

“But, she's dead now, right?” You gesture to his wound. “You came straight here after killing her.”

Strife's eyes darken further and each time they try to land on your face, they seem to slide right off again and drop to the carpet. “Uh, yeah. She's dead.”

You heave a sigh. “She wasn't the only one who's after me.”

“... No..”

“I see.” Inhaling long and slow through your nose, you tip your head back and slap your hands on your thighs, rubbing at them anxiously as you gaze around the room. “So, do we know how many there are?”

The Horseman eyes you for several, silent seconds. Eventually though, he speaks up. “Got wind of a small group of about four of 'em. Demons mostly, one undead. You and I've got a mutual... uh, friend, who's been keeping his ears to the ground, and he reckons they’re aiming to provoke another war between Hell and Earth by killin' the human envoy.”

“Wow. Talk about sore losers,” you scoff humourlessly, “So, who is this mutual friend?”

Some of the tension bleeds out of Strife's posture once he notices that you haven't immediately flown into a panic. “C'mon kid,” he snorts, “You know I can't expose my source. He doesn't want you know that he cares about you. Thinks you might start askin' for discounts if you thought he was getting' soft.”

“Discounts, huh?” Your lips quirk up at their edges and Strife smacks a palm over his mask in mock distress.

“Ah, hell, I gave it away, didn't I?”

“I bet his name rhymes with Shmulgrim, doesn't it?” you laugh.

Chuckling, Strife leans back on his hands again and replies, “Hey, you came to that conclusion on your own. Technically, I never told you who my source was.”

With the atmosphere in your bedroom gradually becoming lighter and lighter, you follow the Horseman's lead and relax backwards onto your hands, stealing a surreptitious glance at the bandages adhered to his torso.

It's no longer as surprising as it used to be that Vulgrim is invested in the well-being of his 'valuable asset.' The Horsemen are perhaps his best clients, hence the vested interest in keeping himself in their good graces by looking out for their human ward.

Shaking your head with a knowing smirk, you push yourself up onto your feet and glance down at yourself, brushing off your pyjama shorts, only to grimace when your hands do nothing but smear Strife's blood all over the fabric.

“Sorry... for the mess.”

You raise your head at the sound of the Horseman's voice and find him glowering down at the stains he's dripped onto your carpet, his eyes hooded and glum.

Heaving a sigh that you hope conveys both exasperation and affection, you reach out and place your comparatively tiny hand on his shoulder to give the pauldron a reassuring squeeze, drawing his gaze back up to your face. “I don't care about the mess, Strife” you tell him matter-of-factly, “The carpet's just here to stop my feet getting cold in the morning. You're my best friend.”

Ever so slowly, his luminous eyes grow wide with wonder and he lets his jaw drop open to speak, but before he manages to utter a soft, 'what?' you give his shoulder a friendly jostle and add, “So long as you're okay, pal, that's the main thing. Now...”

Trailing off, you move back around the bed and let your fingers slide off the Horseman's arm, stepping up to the bedside table containing your pyjamas, oblivious to how swiftly and easily you've just swept the rug out from underneath Strife's feet. He twists himself around on your mattress to watch you, his eyes as wide as than dinner plates.

Did you mean to say... best?

He – well, he always knew that you considered him a friend! Hell, he'd even go so far as to say the two of you are close friends.

But best?

Best implies that there's nobody – nobody – that you hold in higher regard than him...

'How did I miss that!?' his psyche all but screams at him, 'When the Hell did I get so important!?”

You aren't even looking at him, too busy rummaging through your drawers, as if you have no idea that you've just pulled his heart right out of his chest and now you have it cradled in the palms of your hands.

You could crush the life out of him with hardly a word.

“So, you never did say!” you call out to him as you duck into your ensuite bathroom and flick the light on, hiding yourself from view whilst you change, “How does the master of marksmanship get tagged by a Shadowcaster in the first place? You’re not usually the type to get up close and personal. That’s more War’s thing, right?”

All at once, the threats that demon witch had made against you ring like klaxons in Strife’s head and he has to make a conscious effort to ignore his instinct to leap off the bed and barge into the bathroom just to be sure you’re safe. He hears the shuffling of fabric against skin as you pull off the bloodied shorts and begin to pull on the new ones.

Grinding his teeth, he spits out, “She just.. got me mad, is all. Made me wanna have the satisfaction of wringing her neck with my bare hands instead of filling her with bullets.”

“Wait, seriously?” Your silhouette suddenly appears in the bathroom doorway and and strife glances up, briefly enraptured by the halo of light glowing at your back. A fellow human might have likened you to an angel. Strife, however, knows that none of the feathery bastards could hold a candle to you.

Garbed in clean shorts that smell distinctly of you, and not copper, you step out into your bedroom. “How’d a demon manage to make you mad? You’re like, the champ of not getting mad. It’s like your superpower.”

“Yeah, well..” he mutters, turning his helm away, “This time, she went too far.”

You’re quiet as you flop down onto the bed next to him, your eyes flicking between his downturned head to the fists that are clenched like vices at his sides, metal claws gripping fistfuls of your duvet so tightly, you’re worried he might end up poking holes in the cover.

Whatever had been said to him must have been bad if he’s this riled up.

Biting your lip, you let out a pensive hum and lean backwards, your fingers brushing over a soft lump near the headboard. At once, your eyes grow wide and your lips stretch into a sly grin as your hand closes over something fluffy and familiar.

Strife is still busy stewing when he’s suddenly brought out of his thoughts by a face that’s shoved promptly into his line of sight. He blinks, drawing his head away to properly see what you’re holding up in front of him.

He can’t contain a chuckle once he realises that it’s none other than your old, toy horse, dangling in front of him with its little, black ears flopping forwards to cover a pair of button eyes.

Allowing a smile to grace the edge of his mouth, the Horseman wordlessly relaxes his grasp on your duvet in favour of reaching out to gently take the soft toy out of your hands, lowering it down into his lap.

“I thought David Hasselhoof might make you feel better,” you tell him, bumping your shoulder against his companionably.

The Nephilim simply smiles, stroking his palm over the horse’s fuzzy mane.

“Hey, Strife?”

“Mmm?”

You fiddle with your fingernail for a moment, dropping your eyes to the bed and taking a breath before you ask, “What did the demon say that made you so angry?”

It isn’t as though you want to pry. But having your friend turn up at your house in the dead of night with his stomach torn open warrants a couple of questions, in your honest opinion.

The Horseman’s brows knit together underneath his helm and he shifts slightly, twisting away from you further until you can’t even see the lights of his eyes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost dare to say that he looks shy. An impossibility, frankly.

When he speaks, his voice is gentle, a far cry from the normal, strident tone you’re used to hearing. “She, uh, she might’ve made a couple of threats about you.. Bad ones.”

You wait for him to elaborate, but for some time, he doesn’t utter another word, prompting you to ask, “And?”

You very nearly reel backwards into your headboard when Strife whips around to face you. “And?!” he echoes, incredulous, “The Hell d’you mean ‘and?’ Isn’t that enough of a reason?!”

Taken aback, you lift your hands in a placating gesture and stammer, “Woah! I - I just meant... Well, it’s not like I haven’t been threatened before? Just seems like a weird thing for you to get so angry about.”

Without warning, the enormous Nephilim lurches to his feet, the cuddly horse left to tumble, forgotten out of his lap. “Did you not hear me?” he snaps, “She. Threatened. You!”

“A-and that... made you mad?”

“Did - Of course it did!” he all but howls, his voice cracking as it raises in pitch, “She made me listen to all the god damn, sick things she wanted to do to you when she found you! She said - she said, I’d never see you again!” Roughly, he drags his clawed fingertips through his spiky, black hair and exclaims, “Next thing I know, I’m droppin’ Redemption and Mercy, I’ve got her heart in my fist and I’m... I’m...”

He trails off, knocked out of stride by his own admission. You remain silent, pressed up against your head board with the blankets clutched to your chest.

When he notices you staring up at him, small and wary amongst the sheets, the frustration saps from him like water circling the drain. “So... so yeah,” he huffs, his shoulders slumping and a great wave of shame crashing over him, “I got a little mad! I got a little pissed off. Cause I didn’t like hearin’ someone say they were gonna hurt my friend.”

And with that, he just... deflates, not unlike a punctured tyre. All the hot air inside him is dispelled with every heave of his mighty chest whilst he peers down at you, feeling the weight of your stare upon him.

Guilt leaves a sour taste in his mouth, rancid and acidic.

You look so..

...scared.

Sometimes Strife forgets that to you, he’s an unassailable figure from biblical legend, a bringer of the end days and an ancient gunman with a body count higher than there are grains of sand on the earth. Of course you’re going to be scared of him when he’s raising his voice at you and towering over you like this. And all because he’d had the life scared out of him in the first place.

“I’m sorry, kid. I didn’t mean to -” The words die on his lips and he sighs, defeatedly casting his eye over towards your bedroom window. He doesn’t want to leave you, not without knowing that his siblings have dealt with the remaining threats to your life. But... “I’ll just.. I’ll go.”

Turning his back on you, the Horseman bends to retrieve his discarded cuirass and takes a step towards the window, but a voice, thin as the cobwebs in the corner of your room, stops him in his tracks.

“Strife.”

The Horseman doesn’t move. he just stares at the darkness through your curtains.

Minutes pass without another word said between you. He remains stubbornly silent, hardly daring to breathe let alone respond to his name, until eventually, he hears a soft huff and rustling behind him.

Footsteps pad across the room and your scent grows stronger as you draw near, wafting over him like an intoxicating aroma before your hand places itself into his palm and he instinctively curls his fingers around it, shuddering at the feel of your soft skin pressed like silk against his roughened hide.

Your tiny, fragile hand... Creator, he really is just a beast standing next to you, isn’t he? The last time he felt this monstrous was..

No. Strife abruptly slams the shutters of his mind down around any thoughts of the Animus. Now is not the time to let dredge up old memories.

Luckily, your voice breaks through the haze and keeps him grounded. “Come on, big guy. Stay here, please?"

“You want me to stay?” he chokes out a laugh, “Even after I scared you?”

“Scared me? What?” It’s your turn to sound confused. “You didn’t scare me Strife, you shocked me. I’ve never seen you this serious before.”

The Horseman half turns to face you, giving you a glimpse of his warm, golden eyes. “And, I’ve never had a best friend before.” he admits slowly, hearing a soft intake of breath behind him.

“Wait?... I’m your best friend?”

With your hand still in his, Strife steps around slowly to face you, shooting you a quizzical glance. “Uh, yeah? I mean, I don’t exactly have a plethora of friends to choose from, so the competition isn’t that fie- Oof!”

He’s violently interrupted by a soft, squishy body colliding with his.

You fling your arms around the stunned Horseman’s waist and bury your face into his chest, momentarily forgetting about his injury. Strife, meanwhile, has to employ every molecule of willpower he owns to refrain from flinching, fearing that you’ll let go if he does. He can’t ignore how high his heart just jumped at the feeling of you pressed against him, nor the way his soul soars after realising that you still trust him enough to get this close.

It’s something that both he and his siblings are all having to get used to, these impromptu hugs.

Fury had almost flipped you over her shoulder and onto the ground the first time you came at her with your arms open wide, assuming you were going in for an attack.

War had pulled the most remarkable face, a mixture of alarm and wary delight that caused Strife to keel over in hysterics when you threw your arms around his broad stomach.

Death... Well, Strife hadn’t been around to witness your first hug with his oldest brother, but he imagines it must have been like hugging a block of cold stone.

And Strife? Well, he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the first hug you gave him. It was so tight and comfortable, and for all of a moment, the only things that existed were the two of you. Inside the binding circle of your arms, his troubles couldn’t touch him, the anguish of his sins took a backseat and he became convinced that he could live happily and peacefully until the end of time trapped in your silent embrace.

The sentiment hasn’t dulled with frequency either. Every hug he receives is as powerful and intoxicating as the last.��

This one is no different.

Strife's large, thickset arms carefully raise to your delicate back and shoulders, where he simply folds himself around you, pushing the nose of his helm into your soft, messy hair and drawing in a long, deep breath, earning your snort of amusement.

“You a big fan of coconut, then?”

“Is that what that smell is?” he mumbles, feeling the world settle around him as his eyes slip shut, “S'different from last time...”

“...Setting aside the fact that you remember what my hair smelled like last time we hugged.. I ran out of apple shampoo.”

“Mmm.” He trails off, humming into your hair, a sound that rumbles straight through you and leaves the top of your head tingling.

It takes your brain another few seconds to recall the injury on his torso.

“Oh, shit,” you hiss, leaning back and instantly finding your progress blocked by the Horseman's sturdy forearms. “I'm sorry, I didn't think -”

“- Eh, s'fine,” he cuts you off.

“It's not! I forgot, you need to be resting it!”

Strife grumbles his displeasure when you suddenly become very wriggly. “Strife, let go. You should be resting, not standing.”

Cracking one eye open, he roves his gaze over towards your bed. “Resting, huh? …. Not a bad idea.”

Without warning, he stoops down, and for the second time tonight, you find yourself suddenly swept up off your feet, bleating out a garbled squawk of alarm. “Stop picking me up! You'll start bleeding again!”

Smirking to himself, the Horseman takes two, loping steps towards your bed and lowers you down amongst the folds of the duvet, taking great pleasure in crawling over the top of you to get to the other side, armour and all. It isn't the first time he's rested in your bed, usually following a long night of playing your video games and catching up on all the human things he's been missing out on, and it likely won't be the last.

The bed springs creak despondently as he lifts his corner of the duvet and flops heavily onto his side next to you, grinning at the unimpressed glare you're shooting him.

“I like your bed,” he announces, burrowing himself deeper beneath the duvet, “You got a lot of pillows. And-”

His hand rustles beneath the covers for a moment before he winks... and slowly draws out David Hasselhoof, wiggling him back and forth in front of your eyes. “There's room for a threesome.”

“Oh my god. Goodnight, Strife!” Your lips quiver until you give in and crack a genuine smile, grabbing a pillow and whapping it softly down onto his helm. You get no resistance from the Horseman at all in retaliation. He merely lays there with his head hidden, black tufts of hair sticking out from behind your pillow as his shoulders bounce around a throaty chuckle.

Leaving him where he is, you roll over, turn off the fairy lights and plunge your bedroom into cozy, unassailable darkness.

A thick silence falls over the two of you, and the back of your neck begins to prickle, sensing without a shadow of a doubt that the Horseman's eyes are open and watching you. Sure enough, you peel your eyelids apart and find that your far wall is faintly illuminated by the golden light that emanates from his gaze.

Rolling your eyes, you resign yourself to a long night of fighting for your covers and kicking a wriggling Horseman back over onto his own side of the bed. And yet... if it's him, if it's Strife, it most likely won’t bother you in the slightest.

The alarm clock on your bedside table steadily ticks over to the three o'clock mark and you finally feel sleep crawl up behind your eyes. Just as you think you might nod off, however, the bed shakes ever so slightly, and behind you, there's the sound of shuffling sheets. It stops just as suddenly as it starts and you snort, chalking it up to a certain, restless Horseman trying to get used to the human-sized bed.

Several more minutes pass.

The shuffling starts up again, then it stops.

The same thing happens again a few more minutes later and your eyes snap open when something cool and solid nudges gently into the back of your head and you hear a quiet sniff before the whole bed shudders as the enormous Horseman laying upon it releases a monstrously low rumble of contentment.

-----

Strife leaves his helm right behind you all night, not that you'd know until the morning however, when you jerk awake to your bedroom door suddenly slamming open and Death thundering inside. He takes one look at his brother laying at your back and promptly begins a lecture that you're fairly certain will be the favoured topic of neighbourhood gossip for some time to come.

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #darksiders 3 #Strife #reader #fluff #sharing a bed!#monster boyfriend #interspecies relationships #blood #injury #whump

175 notes · View notes

shokobuns · 3 years

Text

“𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐛𝐫𝐨?”

your irritating step brother likes to come in your room during your zoom classes.

PAIRING: stepbro!gojo satoru x f!reader

GENRE(S): smut, quarantine!au (au? LMAO), college!au, taboo

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

WARNING(S): darkish, smut, drug use (weed), high sex, stepcest, taboo, slight dubcon, slight manipulation, exhibitionism (if you squint), sensory deprivation (blindfold), degradation, size kink, unprotected sex, creampie, oral (f receiving), squirting, dacryphilia (if you squint)

(A/N): this rly do be my first time using proper capitalization huh, anyways all characters, SORRY I FORGOT TO ADD THE READ MORE I FIXED IT

More.

One thing you easily learned about Satoru was the fact he wasn’t easy to satisfy. He’s demanding, cocky, all the while being nonchalant. He rarely exerts effort, but gets the desired results. He’s arrogant, but it’s nearly impossible to point out a flaw to counter it at all.

It makes your head hurt. It makes your teeth clench.

When you make eye contact, you make sure to stare back daggers. When you’re forced to talk to him, your voice stays monotone and expressionless. When you’re in a room with him for more than five minutes, your earbuds are already out, drowning out the sound of his voice. But it’s all difficult when you’re under the same roof.

Knock. Knock.

You roll your eyes at the sound of your step brother knocking your door, wondering what the hell he wants now. At this point, he’s probably just trying to annoy you, poke at your sides until he gets attention, any kind of attention, all just to satisfy his boredom.

Your calm demeanor and sharp tongue has always contrasted with Satoru’s teasing attitude. He’s always seemingly trying to provoke you, trying to pry apart the walls you’ve barricaded yourself in. His personality never rubbed you in the right way from the day your dad surprised you with a dinner with your new brother and your new mom. It didn’t matter anyways, you thought. You’d be going off to university soon enough.

The pandemic ran over all of your plans like a truck.

Better yet, your parents still had work without the option of staying home, leaving you and Satoru home alone for a little over eight hours a day. When he wasn’t in class or tutoring his juniors, he was knocking at your door, most likely red-eyed, though you can’t see it, and relaxed. Despite his persistence, you rarely let him in no matter how insistent he is in “getting to know his new lil sister.”

“Go away, Satoru.”

Behind the door, he pouts while you scribble down notes from the screenshared presentation. He comes in anyways, reeking of marijuana and cologne, half of his shirt buttons undone. You steal a small glance before once again glueing your eyes to your computer screen. The voice of your professor bores you, but you’re hyper aware of Satoru’s presence as he makes himself comfortable on your bed. “Get the fuck off! You stink!” You yell, turning off your camera before throwing a pencil right at him.

He catches it mid air with ease, relaxing his head on your pillows while fiddling with one of your many Sanrio plushies. “Can I have this?” he asks, holding one up as you contemplate its value in your head.

“If it gets you out of my room, then sure.” you reply in a monotone voice, turning back to your notes.

“You’re no fun,” he mumbles, rolling over to lay on his side with the plushie in his arms, “Is that organic chem?”

“Yeah, can you go now?”

“I’ll be quiet, princess. Don’t worry about me, just wanna know what my lil sis is up to.” He waits for a response, but is only rewarded with a huff.

It stays like that for the next ten minutes, him watching your professor’s lecture, you scrambling to write all of the information on the slides as he continues the fast paced lesson. You’re hyper focused on your class, putting in your effort to absorb the entirety of the content. In your mind, the only people in your room are your and your computer. “You know, you don’t have to understand everything all at once,” a voice speaks up from behind you, causing you to purse your lips in annoyance, “It’s easier to learn when you’re actually paying attention to the lecture instead of focusing on trying to get everything down.

“We get it, Satoru. You have straight A’s and you’re naturally good at everything.”

“Hey, you’re getting advice from an aspiring teacher. Don’t need to use that tone with me, Princess.” He mumbles, rolling to his back on the bed, “Just tryna help you out in my free time.”

“I don’t need your help.”

He stays silent while you go back to drawing some of your basic compounds. Ethanol, methanol, propane, all of it. Your scribbles are messy and they progressively fill out the page in your notebook. You hear a tsk behind you, rolling your eyes as you prepare for another criticism from Satoru. Sure, he was probably right, but you refuse to feed into his ego. “Does he not link the slides to you guys or something?” he asks, this time with a friendlier tone.

“He does.” you reply, swiveling your chair until you’re facing him. He’s laying on his side again, his shirt spilling off his shoulder as your breath hitches at the sight. The blindfold is snug against his face, his hair pushed up. You’re sure that the stink of marijuana has rubbed onto your sheets and you make a mental note to wash them after class. “Then get high with me.”

“I’m in the middle of class, dumbass.”

“But you can always look at the slides later.” he suggests, “Plus, you’ve looked super stressed lately. Wonder why.”

Because of you, you want to say, but you stop yourself, opting to stay silent while pondering the offer. “Sure.”

He excitedly walks back to his room, returning to your bed seconds later with a joint between his fingertips. “This your first time?”

“Nah.”

“Ooooo,” he hums like a child, “That’s what you’re up to when we’re not around, huh?” he teases and you shake your head with a smile forming on your face.

“I guess.”

He shrugs, holding the joint up to your lips and lighting up the tip. You suck in the smoke into your lungs, holding it in, before exhaling out the screen door of your window. He takes a hit, opening his mouth and inhaling through his nose then passing it back to you. Your professor’s lecture fades into background noise as you fixate on Satoru, finally giving him the attention he’s been craving for weeks. He makes a mental note to offer you weed the next time he’s overcome by boredom.

The high hits you almost immediately. You’ve never had anything this strong and it’s liberating. You feel weightless, but your eyelids feel heavy. Your face is awfully warm and lifted and your vision gets more and more blurry by the second. The intoxication is pleasant, the present worries in your head being cut off as you focus on what’s right in front of you.

Satoru.

Satoru, your dear, irritating step brother who was kind enough to share the weed he stashes in his drawer. It’s getting harder and harder to hate him and you can’t reason why you felt so many negative emotions that you projected onto him at all. Sure, your room reeks and it’s all because of him, but the sight of him laying on your bed in a shirt that barely covers up his upper body makes your underwear feel uncomfortable. You don't know where it’s coming from, but shutting it out was easy when you’re sober. Key word: sober.

You stand from your desk, making your way to your bed and laying next to him. Both of you face each other, easily getting comfortable, warmth radiating off his body. It feels oddly intimate and your thighs press together in order to suppress the lustful feeling that takes over your body. Your arm comes around to the back of his head, tugging on the fabric that covers his eyes. “Can I take it off?”

“Sure.”

He lifts his head, allowing you to pull on the knot until it becomes undone. You don’t know what you were expecting, maybe a scar or something, but you’re in awe of the blue orbs that make you feel like you were staring into infinity. They’re bloodshot and half lidded and it’s when one fact you really didn’t want to accept hits you.

Satoru Gojo is one of the prettiest men you’ve ever seen.

And he’s your step brother.

Uneasiness stirs in your lower tummy and you curse at whatever higher power that decided to give you this type of luck, but a hand on your hip trails to your back, pulling your closer and closer until your faces are at a dangerous distance. You can feel your cheeks becoming alarmingly hot and you hate that you can’t blame it on the weed. His hand comes up to your cheeks, his thumb stroking the soft skin. “Thought you wanted me to go away?”

“Changed my mind.” you whisper, eyes slowly closing, lips parting open as you wait for him to lean in and close the gap.

“Hmm? What’s this?” he sneers, causing your eyes to shoot open and your body to jolt up from your bed. The hazy feeling on your head still remains, making it hard to stand completely straight. “Get out.” you sternly demand, leaning back on your desk chair and pointing towards your door.

“Why should I? I don’t think you really want me to leave, babe.” He props his head on his hand, leaning his elbow onto your mattress.

“It’s wrong.”

“What’s wrong? We’re just two people hanging out on a bed. Unless you were trying to do something else, dirty girl.”

“I- I wasn’t! You’re my step brother!”

“Step brother.” He repeats, justifying your actions.

You’re shaking, guilt occupying your mind keeping you distracted. It’s the perfect time for Satoru to get comfortable in the space between your legs, pulling down your loose shorts and taking you by surprise. Before you have a chance to protest, his nose brushes against your sensitive core, making you let out a squeak. “W-We can’t do this!”

“Didn’t you want this?” he questions, looking up at you with wide eyes, “Wanted me to take care of this pretty little pussy, right?”

You know you should be refusing. You know you should be pushing him out your door. But it’s so hard when his pupils are dilated and the grip on the sides of your thighs feels so right. At this point, you’re not thinking, only nodding along to whatever he’s saying, anticipating his next actions.

“So wet.” He mumbles, pulling down the flimsy fabric and throwing it off somewhere in the room. He licks a thick stripe from your entrance to your clit, sucking softly on the pearl while holding you down as the pleasure causes you to jolt upwards. He sucks and slurps like it’s his last meal, making your empty walls pulsate and little whines along with to leave your lips. Looking down, your eyes meet his, the lower half of his face immersed in your cunt.

The wet muscle fucks into you, curling and pressing against your walls, while his thumb rubs against your little clit. He hits all the right spots that make you squirm, pushing your legs wide open to see more of your ruined pussy. The wetness collects on his mouth, his chin, and his cheeks, filling him with a sick sense of satisfaction. “Such a whore, aren’t ya?” he pulls away to comment, but your fingers thread through his hair, pushing his head back where you need him most.

The action is assertive, something he usually hates dealing with. Though this time, he’s filled with a sick sense of pride at the fact that he was able to turn you, someone who seemed to hate him with a burning passion, into a moaning mess with just his mouth. He hums satisfactorily, sending vibrations into your sensitive core that make your thighs shaky.

You’re already cumming in an embarrassingly short time, gushing all over his face while he laps up all the juices you have to offer.

Before you can process anything else, his lips capture yours, lifting your body and dropping you onto your bed. You look at him with half lidded eyes, still sensitive from your last orgasm, while he pulls off his own clothes. His length rests on the inside of your thigh and he’s huge, so huge that it feels heavy against your skin and it scares you. “Satoru, I don’t think I can take you-”

“Shhh, princess,” he reassures you, “You started this. You have to take it.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to speak, taking the fabric of his blindfold and covering your eyes, tying a tight knot on the back of your head. This isn’t right, a voice in your head tells you, but you ignore it because Satoru treats you so well. He keeps you company, gives you some of his weed, eats your pussy without you having to ask him.

The only thing you can see is black and you whine. You so badly want to see Satoru’s pretty face, his chiseled body, his thick cock, but your thoughts are interrupted by the fat tip prodding at your tiny hole. “Too big..” your voice trails off as your mind is lifted, only the feeling of him splitting you in half remaining. You’ve never felt so full and it feels so dirty, yet your slick says otherwise, betraying any rational part that still resides in your body.

“I got you, Princess, don’t worry.” He slurs, drunk on the sensation of your snug walls. The stretch strings, whimpers spilling from your lips, but his cock hits every spot like no other. By the time he’s fully inside of you, it feels like he’s actually in your guts and it’s all intensified by the isolated feeling, not being able to see him at all. Every bite on your shoulder, every kiss on your open mouth, every delicious drag on your gummy walls is amplified.

You’re already cumming around him, a ring of cream forming on his cock as he gazes down at your bare body, wrapping his lips around a sensitive nipple. You squeal, your breath hitching at the same time you clamp down around his throbbing length. “Already? Such a sensitive little princess, aren’t you?” He mutters in your ear, your nails digging into his shoulders, piercing the pale skin. Tears spill from your eyes, flowing down the sides of your face.

His teeth sink into your shoulder and you want to tell him to stop, but the words don’t quite leave your lips. Only babbling noises accompanied by the wet sounds of your cunt and skin slapping against skin. He’s still pounding into your cervix at a relentless pace, in awe of how your slick drips down his balls and onto the white sheets.

Every time he hits that sweet spot, there’s an odd feeling that forms, like you’re about to make a mess. And when your next orgasm washes over you in intense waves of euphoria, a clear liquid spurts from your cunny, coating his lower stomach and your inner thighs. “Who knew my little princess was such a messy girl?” he taunts, making your cheeks flush in embarrassment.

“S-shut up-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he leans in close, his lips dangerously close to your ear, “I’ll clean it all up.”

His smooth voice causes you to squeeze around him, almost like you don’t want him to ever leave your cunt, and it gets harder and harder for him to move. “Fuck, baby you’re so tight, need you to loosen up,” he mumbles, his own orgasm finally approaching, your little cunny milking him for all he’s worth.

He’s rambling little praises, hot pleasure elevated by the high, his hips stuttering and his cock stuffing you to the brim with his warm seed. You both lay there, still intertwined and his body resting on top of yours.

“Ms. (L/N)! Did you have any questions about my lesson today?”

Your face drops in horror, your hand immediately pulling off the blindfold, as you push Satoru away from you and press the leave button on Zoom. A mix of your juices drop onto the floor and he chuckles, pulling you back to bed. “This isn’t over.”

He pins you back onto the mattress, his cock twitching at the sight of your leaking cunt, pulling your thighs until you’re close and pinning them to your chest. In one swift movement, his entire cock is shoved into your cunt, his balls slapping against the flesh of your ass with every thrust, fucking his cum back into your womb.

Gojo Satoru would never be satisfied.

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mindninjax · 3 years

Text

Awake

Bakugo x Reader (duh)

wc: 1.7k

A/n: Had a full on mental breakdown yesterday. Tried to sleep tonight. Couldn’t. Wrote this instead. I listened to Rain Clouds by The Arcadian Wolf while writing it and it’s the song that’s referenced in this. I could link it but I’m lazy and depressed so I’m not gonna *dabs sadly*. Anyway here’s a comfort Fic I guess.?

Bakugo: Hey

(2:38AM): uh…hey?

Bakugo: You up?

(2:39 AM): clearly… clearly I’m up Bakugo. Why are you?

Bakugo: Can't sleep.

(2:39 AM): oh. I’m sorry.

Bakugo: Come outside?

(2:40 AM): like outside outside?

Bakugo: What other outside would there fucking be?

(2:41 AM): don’t curse at me stupid. I meant the balcony? Or are we going for a walk or something?

Bakugo: Fine. Nevermind. Forget I asked.

…

Bakugo: Balcony.

(2:52 AM): gimme five to put on pants.

Bakugo: Ok

(2:52 AM): folk or classical?

Bakugo: Ugh neither.

(2:53 AM): neither wasn’t an option shit head. Pick one.

Bakugo: Whatever you played last time. It helped me feel far away.

(2:54AM): Folk it is.

You put your phone down, the light dying and drawing you back into the darkness of your room. It’s quiet, you can hear him rustling on the other side of the wall, hear the balcony door slide open in his apartment next door and then shut.

You sit in bed for a moment, your heart the only thing thrumming in your ears as you take a deep breath. The city is quiet for the first time in a long time. There are no cars on the street, no sirens, just the sleepy lazy sound of the wind blowing and alley cats slinking through the garbage filled alleyways.

Then you get up, grab a pair of sweatpants and exchange the large holey t-shirt you’re wearing for a comfy but secure cami top. You search around your room for the little Bluetooth speaker and pause when your eyes fall on your acoustic guitar. You smile to yourself, it's perfect. You’ve been thinking about the song, the chords should be easy enough to grasp, and the words have been drifting around your head for days now.

You grab your phone to send him another quick text.

(2:58AM): Change of plans. The roof.

He doesn’t hesitate.

Bakugo: Ok.

He’s up on the roof of your city apartment building before you are, gazing out at the city lights , the moon in the sky blazing white shimmering light through his ash blond locks. He doesn’t turn around or acknowledge your presence when you land delicately on your toes and deactivate your air quirk. He’s wearing a red tank top, must’ve had to change out of the usual black one he wears to bed from all the sweat. His shoulders look broad and you can see the scars rippling down the muscles of his arms.

“Took you long enough, even with your floaty little air quirk,” he taunts, back still to you.

“And yet you’re still here,” you quip back, rolling your eyes and grabbing a crate to sit on. You pull another over and plop it down across from you the same time he turns to join you on the other crate. He has dark circles under his eyes, there’s still a gleam of sweat shimmering on his jaw and neck. He watches in anticipation as you ready the guitar on your leg and hook your arm over it, expert fingers finding the correct chords to strum a lovely tune.

“What’s the occasion?” he asks, gesturing to the guitar. You smile down at the guitar, concentrating on the correct note in your mind to start the song.

“It’s a nice night,” you murmur, eyes still focused on the instrument on your lap.

The muttered “It is now,” is swallowed by the sound of you strumming the strings softly diving into the tune as you rock back and forth. You close your eyes and hear Bakugo take a deep calming breath in and out before you start singing the lyrics.

I'm being frightened by the people

They look at me like I'm a scar upon their perfect skin

Perfect to only them

I'm being shadowed by my past

Reminding me of what I was and what I could become

My sins should stay where they belong

The wind is blowing gently and you can smell Bakugo’s sweet scent on the breeze. His crisp pine scented body wash mixes with his smoky sweet scent and it almost feels like the two of you are sitting around a campfire. Your voice drifts dreamily over the lyrics, enunciating the words and basking in the ease of the notes while putting your own lovely spin on it.

Listen to my voice

Close your frightened eyes

Hide behind my love for you

Fear's only a choice

One that we all must make some day

So know you're not alone in this

It’s clear and strong like a bell, punctuating every phrase with meaning that sits in Bakugo’s core and makes his heart do that weird thing where it’s fluttering but also extremely tranquil at the same time. When you end the song and finally open your eyes, he’s looking at you incredulously.

“How do you do that?”

“Hmm?” you say, placing the guitar against a huge wooden pallet gently.

“How do you fucking do that? Every time. It’s fucking creepy.”

“You mind elaborating, dummy? I’m not a mind reader.”

“Coulda fooled me,” he grunts, rolls his eyes and folds his arms, pouting.

You roll your eyes before chuckling and answer the question you already know he’s asking. “Somewhere out there. Someone has made a song for every feeling you’ve ever felt. So I won’t take credit for that.”

“But you show them to me.”

“Yes,” you say this as if it’s an obvious statement.

“And play them for me.”

“Yes.” Again, another obvious statement. Why wouldn’t you play them for him. It’s why the two of you are here. Right?

“And make them….ya know… sound good and shit,” he says, stuttering over the words as his cheeks and ears start to turn pink.

You smirk, “You can say I sound pretty. I won’t tell anyone you said it,” you tease.

“Tch. Idiot.”

There’s a beat of silence, you’re lost in your thoughts staring up at the starry sky before you look at him again.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You’re going to even if I say no.”

“Correct. Why do you text me when it happens? Why me?”

He shrugs his shoulders, looks away sheepishly and doesn’t meet your questioning gaze. "Don't know.”

You raise a suspicious eyebrow, “Yes you do”

He sighs, holds out a hand to gesture as if it’s obvious. Why would you be asking this? Especially after the many nights the two of you have done this. “Just feels right I guess. And after we talk I can go back to sleep just fine.”

“You realize what that is right?” You lean in closer to him, elbows on your thighs, chin in your hands. “That’s called trusting someone.”

“Sure I guess.”

Another beat of silence and then a long winded sigh from you, one that definitely says “I’m tired of this” and it makes a shiver of fear run up his spine.

“Look Bakugo. I’m not usually one that skates around feelings. And as much as I enjoy late night jam sessions or sneaking out and gazing at the moon with you until you feel ok enough to sleep, I…”

He holds his breath, “What?”

“Hmm…” you have a finger up to your chin in the universal thinking pose.

His heartbeat picks up and his fingers start to fiddle in the pocket of his sweatpants. “Fucking what? You just said you don’t skate around feelings so what?”

You frown at him, “Hold your flippin’ horses I’m thinkin’ first.”

“‘Flippin’ horses?’ You’re such a weirdo.”

And now you’re glaring. "Speaking of thinking before speaking. You should try it.”

“Fuck you.” There’s no hostility to it and he knows you know it.

“Very original. ANYWAY, I was going to say despite your constant attitude and constant shouting, I still really like hanging out with you. So I’d like to not only hang out at…”you pull your phone from your pocket and gaze at the tiny blue screen, “4 AM”

Another pause as he processes his elation. He’s happy you’re not telling him this is the last time. But this isn’t the hard part. “Ok.”

You squint suspiciously. “I mean it.”

“So do I.”

“Then say it aloud to me,” you challenge.

This is the hard part.

He takes a few deep breaths and then… “I don’t wanna be just friends with you. I don’t know what any of that shit even means. All the stupid lovey dovey shit Raccoon Ey-”

“Ashido.”

It’s his turn to glare. “Fine, Ashido talks about all the time. All I know is no one talks to me the way you do. And I always feel calm around you. Calmer than usual. I always wanna hang out more with the idiots when you’re around to hang out with them too.”

You smile but hide it behind your fingertips. He doesn’t look finished so you nod to encourage him to finish.

“And I don't know what it is. But whenever I wake up from the fucking …” He doesn’t say the word “nightmare”. He struggles with it like if he says it he’s surrendering to weakness or something. “Whenever I wake up the only thing I think of is you. Wishing you were there, like a fucking idiot. But it never goes away, not until I text you and I see you and I hear your voice.” His head is in his hands, like he’s ashamed to admit this to you.

It’s quiet again, some cars from below have started bustling on the street. The morning wind carries his scent and the city's waking smells of coffee and fresh baked bread. You stand quietly and walk over to him, head still hanging in his hands as he crouches over on the crate.

You hug him, force yourself between his legs and wrap your arms around his head. And at first he stiffens but he doesn’t pull away from you or move out of your grasp. He just sits there with his arms hanging limply at his sides,eyes wide, and your arms wrapped around his head. His ear is pressed against your chest, listening to the city waking around you. You're warm and you smell impossibly good and he knows this is what he craves when he wakes up from those terrifying nightmares. Your embrace is the cure.

“I like being here. I like being there for you.”

Then his arms move up to wrap around your waist and he hugs you back and sighs into your chest. He stays there for at least 10 minutes listening to the steady beating of your heart.

And then he quietly mutters, “Thanks.”

#bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #marquie writes #yea it’s unedited #I just told y’all I was depressed #sheesh #idk what I’m doing anymore #I’m numb and empty 🙃

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lostinthewiind · 3 years

Text

Piss Off Your Parents - Part 9

Ukai Keishin - Haikyuu

Synopsis: freshly turned 18, you want to prove to your parents that you aren’t a child for them to push around anymore. First, get a job at the local corner store. Second, use the store owner’s 26-year-old son with piercings and a cigarette addiction to piss your parents off. Third, accidentally fall in love.

Rating: PG13

Warnings: arguing, harsh language, swearing

Song → 18 by Anarbor

Previous → Part 8

Next → Part 10

The trek up the stairs from the store to the apartment felt like climbing a never-ending escalator that was going the wrong way. After the day you had had, you were both mentally and physically exhausted and ready to call it a night early.

Thankfully, as if you had finally hit a stroke of luck that day, Keishin had texted you saying that he would pick up dinner on the way home, saving you the exertion of having to leave the apartment again. So, with that information in mind, you kicked off your shoes for the day and fell unceremoniously onto the couch in the living room.

As you sat down, you heard the envelope in your back pocket crinkle and the sudden noise seemed to completely fill the otherwise silent apartment.

Ah yes, the envelope.

Pulling the decision to your future out of your back pocket, you stared at it for what felt like another hour or so. No matter how long you held the envelope in your hands, you couldn't force yourself to open it. You simply didn't want to.

At some point between when your mother had handed it to you and now, you had subconsciously decided that you wanted to choose your own path forward despite what the decision letter may or may not say.

Feeling strangely empowered and confident, you stood to your feet and ventured into the bedroom where you slipped the envelope into one of the drawers Keishin was letting you keep your clothes in and tucked it underneath one of your sweaters. Maybe one day you would open the damn thing when whatever was inside wasn't weighing so heavily on your mind and future, but today was not that day.

Just then, you heard the front door open and knew Keishin had arrived home. Closing the drawer, you plastered a smile across your face and exited the bedroom to greet your boyfriend.

"Welcome home, Dear," you giggled, trying your best to fake the part of a doting housewife. "How was the volleyball game?"

Keishin chuckled softly as you took the takeout bags from him. "It was a close game, but they pulled it together in the last set and won."

"Oh, good!" You placed the bags onto the table before retrieving some plates and chopsticks from the kitchen.

"How was your day?" he asked as he pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek.

You sighed as you thought back on your day. "It was okay," you answered, not really wanting to go into much more detail than that. You doubted Keishin wanted to hear about your minuscule problems with rude customers after the long day he had clearly had.

Keishin, however, picked up on your uncertainty right away. "Doesn't sound okay," he commented. "Want to talk about it?"

You shrugged. "Just some shitty customers. Seems I had forgotten how poorly low-level workers are treated sometimes . . . just threw me a little," you said. "I'll be fine. Just glad the day is over now."

"You and me both." He flashed a smile as he turned to head for the bedroom. "I'm just going to change quickly and then we'll eat."

"Sounds good." You started dishing out some of the food. "I was also thinking we could watch a movie tonight as well. I could use something to clear my mind."

"Sitting on the couch with a beer is an ideal evening in my book," you heard him respond faintly from the bedroom. "There's a new action movie that came out. I think it's about-"

You waited for Keishin to finish his sentence, but when he didn't, you cocked your head and looked toward the bedroom doorway. Before you had the chance to call out to him, he appeared in the doorway shirtless, eyebrows furrowed and the envelope from the university in his hand.

"W-why do you have that?" you asked, the look on his face upon discovering the letter making your heart drop. "That was in my drawer . . . why were you going through my things?"

"I was looking for my sweater, the one you always steal," he answered. "Y/N . . . what is this?"

Rounding the table and approaching Keishin, you snatched the envelope out of his hand. "That is one of the many reasons why my day today was so shitty."

As you turned to head for the kitchen to toss the envelope in the garbage and rid your life of it, Keishin followed you. "You didn't get in?" he inquired.

You shrugged. "I have no idea. I didn't open it."

As you moved to toss the letter into the trash, Keishin grabbed your wrist and stopped you. "Why are you throwing it out if you didn't open it yet?"

"Because I don't care what it says. I've decided that I'm going to stay here with you and work at the store. This is the life I want . . . the life I get to choose for myself."

"You should still open it," he reasoned. "You might change how you feel about it when you see the result."

"I don't want to change how I feel about it." You shook your head as you gently pried your wrist out of his grip. "No need to make things more difficult than they need to be. I've had enough difficulty for one lifetime, thank you very much. This decision is easy, and best of all, it makes me happy."

Gesturing to the envelope, Keishin sighed. "But this is what you wanted. When you told me about your dream to play soccer at the University of Tokyo, your face lit up. Why are giving up on your dream before you've even given yourself a chance to experience it?"

"Dreams can change, Keishin," you told him before sighing and deciding to humour him for a moment. "Okay, let's say I open this letter and somehow did get in. What then? I couldn't pay for that school in my wildest dreams; not without my parents' help. Sometimes dreams are just childish and unrealistic. So I found a new dream, one with us living here together."

"You could apply for student loans. Tons of people do." He folded his arms across his chest. "I don't think this is about the money or your parents. I think this is about us. You've gotten comfortable here."

Throwing your hands up into the air in exasperation, you huffed. "And so what if I have? Is that really so bad?"

"I just don't want you to throw away an opportunity like this over me."

"Over you?" you cocked a brow. "Because you're, what, trash? Not worth it? A lowlife? A burnout?"

Keishin bit at his bottom lip. "You know what's not what I meant."

Inhaling deeply, you glared down at the god-forsaken envelope in your hand and began to tear at the top. "Let's not fight about something that probably isn't even going to happen." You pulled the letter out and unfolded it, your eyes scanning the text quickly. "The University of Tokyo is notoriously difficult to get into and I-"

Keishin quirked a brow when you stopped mid-sentence. "What does it say?"

A broken laugh was the only thing you could manage as you lowered the letter and shook your head. "Un-fucking-believable." You handed the paper over to Keishin, the edge crumpled from where your grip had tightened when you read the decision.

Keishin looked at the page for all of two seconds before he found the bolded 'Congratulations' and a huge grin spread across his face. "You got in!" He was way more excited than you were about this. "This is good news. You can play soccer at the University of Tokyo. Come on, you can't tell me this doesn't make you at least a little happy."

"I wish it did," you answered honestly. "I wish it were that easy."

"It is! It can be." Keishin set the letter down on the counter and took your hands in his. "Student loans, part-time jobs, it's all possible. Sure, it might be a little tricky to work out, but it's totally possible."

When you didn't respond, Keishin hooked his fingers under your chin and tilted your head up to look at him. "Accept the spot at the university. Follow your dream," he told you.

". . . but I'll have to leave you." You felt the words catch in your throat and tried your hardest not to start crying. "You make me happy—you're the first thing that's made me genuinely happy in a long time—and I don't want to leave that for a chance at something that might not even work out."

"But what if it does work out? You don't know that it won't," he said softly. "Don't end up like me, looking back at your past and wondering what might have been if you had just chosen a different path. I know this might seem good enough for now, but how will you feel after ten or twenty years of working the same dead-end job for the same shit pay all while getting treated like shit by people who look down on you? Look at how one day of catering to pretentious assholes made you feel. Do you really want to live the rest of your life like that?"

"But what about you?" you asked, your voice shaky.

Keishin dropped his head, a few stray strands of hair falling into his face. Unlike that morning, when he had been asleep with loose hairs in his face, he looked annoyed and frustrated now. The bags under his eyes and tension lines on his forehead were a stark contrast to the soft, peaceful face you had woken up to that morning.

"Don't throw this away over me," he repeated. "Don't throw your future away over a 26-year-old burnout."

Lip quivering, you sucked in a deep breath. "I thought you were different . . . but you're just like everyone else."

Keishin eyed you. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You said I should make my own decisions and live my life how I wanted but it was all a facade." You slipped your hand out of his and took a step back. "In the end, you're just like everyone else . . . you think you have a right to plan my future for me without giving me a say in the matter. You want to tell me how to live my life just like my parents."

"How could you say that?" Keishin almost snapped but managed to collect his anger before he did. "All I want is what's best for you."

You scoffed as you wiped a tear from your cheek. "If I had a penny for every time I've heard that I'd have enough money to pay for the University of Tokyo and then you'd get your damn wish . . . I'd be gone."

"When did I ever say I wanted you gone? Why are you so adamant that going to Tokyo means we can't be together?"

"Why are you so against just letting me make my own decision about this?! Why do I have to go to play soccer at that fucking university and leave you? I don't want to leave you!"

"Why not? Why are you so damn hung up on someone like me?!"

"Because I love you!" The two of you froze in place the second those words left your mouth. Chest heaving from the shouting and high emotions, you snapped your mouth shut before you said anything else in the heat of the moment.

Eyes wide, Keishin stared at you like a deer in headlights. "You what?"

You debated whether or not you should repeat what you had said, but by then, the damage had been done. "I love you," you breathed. "And I know you told me not to fall in love with you . . . but I did. I fell hard and fast and now I'm stuck in you and I cannot possibly leave you so please stop asking me to."

You waited for what felt like an eternity for Keishin to say something, say anything. He opened his mouth a few times like he was about to, but nothing ever came out.

"Keishin . . ." You took a cautious step forward. "Please say something."

Keishin swallowed hard before looking you directly in the eyes. "If I said I didn't love you back, would you go?"

You felt your heart crack and the sensation of being punched in the gut spread throughout your entire body. "Is that what you're saying? You don't love me?"

"If I didn't, would you leave?"

You inhaled sharply. "If you look me in the eyes right now and tell me that you don't feel the same way that I do; that everything over the past few months has meant nothing to you, there would be no possible way I could stay in Miyagi," you answered truthfully. "If you tell me that you don't love me and that you never have, I would have no reason to stay in this prefecture."

Keishin's lips parted once more. "Y/N . . . I-" His brown eyes locked onto yours and you could feel what he was about to say even though he never did. "I . . . I can't do this right now."

With that, he brushed past you, grabbed a sweater from the bedroom and threw it on before storming out of the apartment, leaving you and the now cold takeout food alone.

Tears in your eyes and a lump in your throat, you turned to look over your shoulder at the decision letter sitting on the counter, practically taunting you.

You should have thrown the thing out the second your mom dropped it off. Or better yet, maybe you should have never made that deal with Keishin and applied for the university in the first place.

#piss off your parents #part 9 #haikyuu #haikyuu!!!#lostinthewiind #sexy time #haikyuu smut #reader imagine #x reader #reader insert #fanfiction #ukai keishin #ukai keishin x reader #ukai x reader #haikyuu!!#series

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rinstars · 3 years

Text

clean up

pairing: college!sukusa kiyoomi x reader

genre: smut

word count: 1.6k+

tags: cunnilingus, penetration, size kink, a bit of degradation/dumbification(?), choking, probably more but i suck at tags.

note: not as long and didn't proofread as much cause i did this on a whim (again) but here's frustrated sakusa cause you didn't watch him practice like you usually do and he missed you. basically, university/college au cause i don't write them as high school students! always always 18+

"you didn't come to see me in practice." you looked up from the desk to see sakusa entering the sliding doors of your classroom. he quietly walks over to you, the mask strapped on his face unable to hide his obvious distate at your absence. he leans on the teacher's desk in front, calloused palms pressed flat on the wood to support him as he looks down on you.

"sorry, baby. lots of council stuff to finish." you look up to him pouting, but his glare on you is hard and unmoving – making you press your thighs together as your body heats up with arousal. with the slight bob of his head, he motions you to stand up and get closer to him as he removes the mask from his face.

the moment you sprung up to your feet, you wrap your arms around him, nestling your head on the crook of his neck. one of his hands traveled all the way down to the back of your thighs, guiding you to lift it so one of your knees are resting on the table while the other one remains standing between his legs. you rest a bit of your weight on him, attempting to sit down on his thigh so you're stradling it. you groan in annoyance as his firm grip pulls you back by the waist.

then all of a sudden, without warning, he licks a bold stripe on your ear before whispering, "shhh patience... missed my baby girl."

your breaths slowly get shallower by the second as he continues licking and biting your lobe, the hand on the back of your thigh slowly disappearing to find its way below your skirt. you whimper as the pads of his fingers press on your sopping clit, rubbing small circles through the thin underwear. "missed this little pussy."

your fingers grip the hairs on the back of his head, slowly grinding on his hand as he continues pressing open-mouthed kisses on your jaw. he hooks his fingers on the band of your underwear as he tries to tug it down with one hand. when he successfully manages to get it on the floor with your help, he pulls back to look you in the eye. he flips you around to switch your positions and hoists you up the table so you're sitting on it.

"spread your legs." he simply murmured, making you twitch in excitement as you slowly opened your legs, skirt bunched up to the sides. his eyes follow your every movement, pupils dilating in hunger as he stares at your glistening pussy.

"omi, touch me now, please." you pathetically beg, spreading your folds even further with the use of your two fingers so he can get a clearer look of the way you're repeatedly clenching into nothing.

he kneels in front of you, thumb collecting moisture as he runs it softly on your protruding clit. "already making a fucking mess. you're creaming so much, it's soaking the damn wood."

his face inches closer and closer to your cunt and you close your eyes, waiting for the warm contact of his tongue – but it never comes. not when he suddenly spits harshly on your pussy, making you yelp both in surprise and pleasure. you feel his spit slowly run down from your bud to your slit – almost at the table when sakusa's tongue suddenly connects with your folds to collect it instead, making you cry out.

the one time sakusa is willing to be messy is when he's lewding you. he doesn't care if you're dripping on the sheets, the floor, all over him. he loves seeing your cunny get swallowed by your wetness.

"my sweet little slut." he groans, sending a series of vibrations through your core as he laps and flicks your clit over and over – drinking whatever drips out of your hole.

"o-omi, ah, yes baby, j-just like that." you squirm against him, panting with your head thrown back. "your t-tongue, put it.. ah shit – put your tongue in, please."

he forces his tongue inside you, wriggling it a little to fit it into your hole as he uses his fingers to roughly rub your already sore clit, making you grip the edge of the table. he interchanges his fingers and tongue after a moment, sinking two fingers inside you and scissoring it as he sucks on your bud.

"gonna cum, omi." you sob, grabbing a fist of his hair and pressing his face harder to you as you slowly rock your hips.

he just hums into you, encouraging and giving you permission to let go. you soon feel your juices flow out along with the sighs escaping from your mouth. when you looked down at him, he's peering at you through his lashes, lips shining with your slick. his tongue glides past his lips as he stands up, pulling you closer to him.

"that's enough prep time, right baby?" he coos at you as he removes the knot on his training pants, sliding it down his thighs. "you'll take me balls deep and let me fuck you dumb?"

you shook with both desire and fear. sakusa is long and thick, lined with prominent veins. the first time you both did it, you cried so much with barely the tip in. by the time he's halfway in, you're already panting from overstimulation. even now, no matter how many times you've done it already, even when your insides are already taking his shape, you can't help but shed tears when he fucks you. that's why he always takes time to prep you, get you wet and stretched enough.

"be gentle, omi." you plead him, reaching out to touch his face. he places his hand on top of yours, giving it a squeeze before pulling it away and eyeing you with mischief.

"you didn't come to see me in practice." he repeats, hand wrapped around his cock as he slowly pumps himself, spreading the pre-cum leaking from his tip. "bad girls get their little cunt punished and split apart."

tears blur your vision as he comes near you, aligning his cock on your opening. you gently grab his forearm and prepare yourself for the impact of his cock slamming into you. you waited as you felt sakusa pull back a little before burrying himself in you, making you scream out and tighten your grip around his arm.

his hands immediately found your mouth, covering it to prevent you from making any more sound. "fuck, quiet down, baby.. unless you want someone to see you? is that what you want, hmm? someone watching you cream around my fat cock while i split you apart?"

you bit his palm to prevent yourself from making a sound as tears continue flowing down your cheeks and into his fingers. you couldn't hold back the gasp when you looked down at your connected bodies to see that only half of his length managed to slip in. he roughly goes in and out a couple of times, accepting whatever you have to offer at the moment as he helps you adjust a little.

when you feel him start to pound the rest of his length into you, your eyes rolled back, touching his waist in an attempt to make me go slowly.

"omi, n-no more – ah ah you're gonna split me apart, you're gonna break me, p-please yoomi you're too big." your muffled voice resonates through the room.

he completely pulls away from you, leaving you empty without his cock inside you. he steadies your head to face him and look at him in the eyes as he slams all of himself to you, making your body shake both in pleasure and pain. you vision whitens when you feel his tip right at your cervix, touching the spongy area inside you.

"hm? then break for me, little one." he moves his hand from your mouth to your throat, squeezing gently while the other one wraps around your waist.

he pounds into you over and over, making you feel every single vein rub through your walls as you take his shape. his hold on your throat prevents you from making any sound – the wet squelching sounds of your cunt being ripped apart along with his grunts the only thing audible.

"you're gushing so fucking disgustingly around me – fuck, stop clenching me like that, i can't move." he grunts, not out of anything but pure pleasure. he loves it. he loves seeing you wrap him in your stickiness, sucking him dry as you tighten around him.

your toes curl as you feel orgasm flooding your body. you look at him with desperation, and he nods to you, understanding what you're trying to say. he lets go of your throat to pinch your nipples through the sheer white of your uniform, closing the distance between you as he sucks your neck.

with one last moan, you spasm around his cock while your own fingers circle your clit to ride your high. you feel his cock start twitching inside you and you hear him suck in a breath before he, too, spills his seed in your walls, filling you to the brim.

he stays unmoving in your cunt, watching you fail to accommodate all of the juices flowing in you as it falls to the floor. after you both catch your breath, he grabs your face gently, turning you to him so he can press a soft kiss on your lips before hugging you to him.

"did it hurt a lot? are you okay?" he strokes your hair, pressing comforting kisses on your temple. you soften with his touch, assuring him it's fine.

you both stay like that for a moment before he pulls his pants back up, walking away from you to one of the cabinets in the room. you laugh as you realize he's getting cleaning supplies to fix the mess you both caused. luckily, you both finished your duties in practice and council late so you don't have to worry much about getting caught (except probably a few more students who also has things to do).

"well help me clean up your damn mess." he lazily glares at you from across the room, making you reach over to your discarded underwear on the floor and slip it on before grabbing one of the mops from him.

note: thank u for 100 followers :D

#sakusa kiyoomi smut #sakusa kiyoomi x you #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa smut #sakusa x reader #sakusa x you #haikyuu fic #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you

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saintshigaraki · 3 years

Text

ONE DAY WE’LL REVEAL THE TRUTH (THAT ONE WILL DIE BEFORE HE GETS THERE)

title: youth by daughter

pairing: dabi x f!reader

words: 1.7k

excerpt: But what is rage, you’d ask him, if not one of the many faces of grief?

a/n: dabi my beloved (derogatory). this fic is my love letter to parentheses.

tags: angst, toxic relationships, explicit s*xual content, light choking, dabi is a bastard but he is a needy bastard

in case you’d rather read it on ao3!

MDNI

He’s just outside the door. He hasn’t made a sound, but you know he’s there. You can feel it; in your blood, in your bones, in your marrow.

(You’ve always been able to feel him, monstrous and cruel beneath your skin. An itch. An awful taunting itch. You’ve wanted him out since he first stuck his claws in you and buried himself deep, but he’s near impossible to shake. He won’t leave until he’s hollowed you out, until your flesh is no longer your own, until all that’s left of you is him. Until all that’s there, is what he believes there should be.

He’s a self-important bastard like that.)

When he finally decides to open the door, he does so with a slam. It would’ve made you jump if you hadn’t been so focused on the skyline. Tracing the buildings, looking for stars you know you won’t be able to see. They get swallowed up, this deep in the city. Drowned out by light.

(When you were a child, you didn’t quite understand how stars could vanish in the night. Weren’t they the brightest things in the universe? Burning and brilliant, even light years away?

You understand it better now. How mankind has this nasty habit of ruining, of polluting, of blotting out things of wonder and then desperately trying to remake it in our own image.

It’s never as beautiful as what was, but it’s far too late for us to admit defeat now.)

He’s mad, burning up with fury. You can feel the heat of it, cutting straight through the heavy chill of the night air. It’s stifling, your balcony so small that he’s practically breathing down your neck with how close he is. Accompanying his presence, always, is the faint smell of burnt flesh he can never quite mask, no matter the amount of cheap aftershave he tries to drown himself in.

He’d texted you, and you’d ignored him. For a week, you’ve ignored him and if there’s one thing Dabi hates, it’s when he gets ignored.

He’s the one that ignores you, it should never be the other way around.

You know that, of course. You know all his little unwritten rules.

(Don’t ignore him is at the top of the list. Except, of course, during those nights when he thinks you’re asleep and he clings to you like a child, his tears burning where they touch your skin. Even his grief, you can’t help but think, is scorching.

On those nights, you’ve found it’s best to stay quiet. He wields his grief like rage and you’d rather not be caught in the crossfire.)

He’s waiting for you to talk, to stumble over your words, make some sort of vague attempt at an apology. It’s what you would usually do after you’ve broken one of his rules.

But you say nothing, content to sit in the too-heavy silence. You’re tired. Of him. Of whatever it is you two have been doing. It’s the same stupid story, the same vicious cycle. A snake cursed to eat its own tail.

He’s using you. He has been for a long while now. If you’re being perfectly honest with yourself, he most likely has been since the beginning. And God, it’s exhausting work, being used.

Although, really, you’re not all that much better than he is. In the beginning, you were with him purely because he fascinated you. All his grief laid bare, and so vulnerable. So obvious and painful. Undeniable in its brutality.

(Rage, he’d say, it’s righteous rage, not grief.

But what is rage, you’d ask him, if not one of the many faces of grief?)

It didn’t take long for you to realize he’s chasing something. And it took you even less time to realize that whatever he’s after, is probably going to kill him one day.

(You wonder if he knows he’s chasing his own death. You wonder if he’d care at all.

He reminds you of Eve, eating the forbidden fruit. You think she’d take a bite of the apple, again and again and again if ever given the choice, even knowing the consequences. Even with intimate knowledge of the suffering to come. How could she not? How could any of us hold our fate in the palm of our hands and choose not to sink our teeth into it?)

He’s growing impatient beside you, burning up with it. If he touched you, you’re sure he’d melt your flesh straight to the hollow bone.

But you don’t break. Just once, you want him to fall apart first. Just once, you want him desperate.

(He’s always been so good at making you desperate, with a hand around your neck, just tight enough to leave you gasping for air, your back to his chest and his staples drawing blood, as he pounds into you so hard all you could do is dig your nails into his arm.

His lips are right by your ear, you’re mine, he says. You’re mine. You’re mine. You’re mine.

And God, with his cock hitting all the right spots in your cunt you’d believe it. You’d believe anything he’d said to you as long he just kept going.

Say it, he hisses, say you’re mine.

You don’t answer him right away, mostly because you can’t, not with the way he’s fucking you. You can’t catch your breath enough to form a sound, you can’t get your bearings enough to collect a single thought that isn’t Dabi Dabi Dabi.

Annoyed at your lack of answer, he brings a searing thumb down to your overstimulated clit. You keen, arching, desperately trying to get away from the sensation that at this point is more pain than pleasure.

Say it, he says again, there’s a strange sort of edge to it. Looking back you think it might’ve been desperation. Say it.

When he presses down just a little harder, you finally crack.

Yours, you gasp. I’m yours. Yours. Yours. Yours.

He laughs, so deep in his chest that you feel it in your own.

It echoes in your head for weeks afterward.)

“What,” he grounds out, low and furious, “the fuck.”

It’s not a question.

You turn towards him, at last. Though you can hardly see him, surrounded by shadows. There are glints of his piercings in the polluted light, a gleaming flash as he runs his tongue along with his teeth. But it’s his eyes that you lock on. Bright and a brilliant blue. Glowing and monstrous in the dark.

(You’re reminded, once again, of the stars. Burning and burning and burning.)

With no preamble, you say, “I think I love you.”

The air around you quiets. Like the city itself is holding it’s breath.

It’s not a sweet confession under the moonlight. In the week since you came to the realization, it’s already started to fester, to rot straight through your bones.

It’s a curse more than anything. You love a man whose chasing his own death. You love a ghost. Or, you suppose, a ghost in the making.

Before you can say anything else (though really, what else is there to say) he cuts in sharply, meanly, “No, you don’t.”

You can’t help but tilt your head at that. You don’t really know what to say. You don’t know if you’re supposed to say anything. His lips are pulled back, teeth bared, he’s gleaming and sharp, pulled so taught with tension you wonder how he’s even breathing. He reminds you, vividly, of a cornered animal. A scared one. Though he’s trying to mask it with annoyance, with a type of anger that toes the line of fury.

He’s always doing that. Masking his fear with rage. Masking his grief with rage. Hiding any part of himself that might be perceived as weak, as soft, as vulnerable, under the guise of rage.

You can’t imagine that it’s anything less than exhausting.

Though you have to admit, you didn’t expect this response. You didn’t expect fear. You thought he’d be unbearably smug about it. Proud of himself for finally sinking his teeth into your heart. Ready to chew you up and spit you back out. You were ready for him to move on.

You didn’t expect him to deny it.

(He could be right, though you doubt he is.

You wonder what it means to love, you wonder how you’re supposed to love. You wonder if you can only love someone if you’ve seen the cruelest parts of them first.

You suppose if that’s the case, then he might be right.

You’ve never actually been able to force yourself to look up what exactly he’s wanted for. What exactly it is he’s done.

Mostly because you’re afraid that even if you knew every last gory detail, it wouldn’t be enough to make you walk away. And how would you be able to look at yourself in the mirror, after that? Knowing exactly who you let share your bed? who cried scorching hot tears into your shoulder?

Ignorance is bliss, they say. In your case, it could very well be your only hope for salvation.

But, you don’t really think there’s a set way a person is supposed to love. It’s what makes it so terrifying. It’s an unknown. And it’s so hard to not fear the unknown.)

“Dabi-” you start.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he spits out. Eyes flashing, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

You want to laugh at the absurdity of it all, of him trying to tell you what you do and do not feel, but you think he’d turn you to ashes for the slight. His pride has always been so easily shaken.

“Dabi-” you try again.

But he’s two steps ahead of you. He always is.

He’s already turned around, hiding his face from view, opening the door. And you don’t stop him. You don’t see why you should.

You can’t shake him from the path he’s on. You don’t think anyone can, really.

Grief is all he has, it’s all he’s let himself have. It’s fundamental to him now. It’s all he is. And you’re sure he believes whatever he’s chasing is going to fill the hollow void it’s made of him.

It won’t. You’re sure of that, at least, because even if he does succeed, what will he be left with then?

You don’t say any of that to him, because you’re not his fucking therapist. And because you’re not so sure he wouldn’t kill you for it.

It’s anticlimactic, watching him disappear into your darkened apartment.

But all you can think about when you hear the click of the front door closing behind him is how honest his fear was, almost childlike. Remnants of a poor, grief-stricken boy.

What a monster it’s made of him.

a/n part two:

thinking about adrianne kalfopoulou’s ‘grief will keep you reaching back / for what is not there.’

i could not tell you why this took me over two weeks to write. i had a lot of fun with it though. dabi my beloved. go to therapy please. also i know dabi can’t cry but....let me have this.

#bnha x reader #dabi x reader #bnha smut #dabi smut #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #dabi imagine #bnha x you #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #bnha x y/n #bnha imagine #vicwrites #vicwritesbnha #vic.thirsts

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buckyownsmylife · 3 years

Text

Oh, well, imagine - Andy Barber smut

The one where Andy gets tired of living a double life

Word count: 2K<

Warnings: smut, sugar relationship, infidelity (reader is the other woman), daddy kink, breeding kink, dubcon because Andy does stuff without getting reader’s consent beforehand, unprotected sex.

A/N: this was written for @donutloverxo‘s #sugary4kchallenge! I took the opportunity to write something in the same universe as my first Andy fic, I write sins not tragedies, but this could be read by itself. Congrats on 4k, sweetheart!

Y/N’s P.O.V.

The sound of the door being slammed startled me, almost making me drop the dishes I’d been washing. My eyebrows furrowed, confused and worried about what was going on. Only Andy had the key to the apartment, so I wasn’t curious as to who it was, just what had him behaving that way. In all the time we’d known each other, I’d never once seen him angry.

Still, when he appeared by the kitchen, it was clear that was the case. His chest heaved with the simple task of breathing, and when his eyes fell on me, they seemed darker. I almost felt scared - I probably would, if I didn’t trust him so much.

“Andy?” I asked, but he immediately shook his head.

“Not what you call me, princess.” Automatically, I stood up straighter, body electrified by the meaning behind his words. I knew what he wanted, even if it was clearly that more than desire. He needed this.

“Daddy.” He nodded once, clearly pleased at my acknowledgment. But there was still so much I needed to understand. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Instead of answering, he just kept staring at me long and hard, making me feel small and naked under his attention.

“Come here.”

My legs obeyed instantly, having been trained long enough to do exactly what he said without having to think about it. “Good girl.” The compliment was like some pavlovian buzzer to my poor cunt. I could feel the fabric of my underwear begin to uncomfortably stick to my lower lips, and I shifted from one leg to the other as I waited for further instructions.

“Daddy needs you tonight,” he finally began explaining, a single finger running under my jaw to make sure I’d keep our eyes connected. “Will you let me do whatever I want to you and this body?”

The perspective excited me, and I didn’t know if I was stupid for it, but I found myself nodding anyway. At the end of the day, I trusted Andy with my life. I knew he wouldn’t push me further than I could take it, and if he ever came close to it, I always had my safeword.

“Yes, Daddy.” He rewarded me with a kiss, but it wasn’t a soft one. His tongue invaded my mouth and before I could even realize what I was doing, I had to find a hold on his shirt, standing on my tippy toes just so I wouldn’t completely tip over.

“Are you excited to help daddy?” He asked, fingers already making quick work of my clothes as I trembled with excitement in his hold. He looked feverish, like he couldn’t hold back anymore, his mouth nipping and sucking and biting every inch of skin he could find.

“Yes, Daddy,” I repeated, forever his subservient servant, knowing that aiding him would bring me to pleasures I’d never known before we’d met. I watched as he licked his lips, taking in my naked body before his, the kitchen a mess of my discarded clothes and abandoned dinner, but instead of taking off his clothes, his hands went directly to his belt.

“Lay back on the floor.” It took me a full second to understand what he was saying, but thankfully he didn’t read it as hesitation. Instead, despite his eager state, he watched as I slowly lowered myself to the cold marble, stopping once I was on my knees to make sure of what he really wanted.

“Lay back,” he repeated, nodding towards me, and despite my confusion, I did as he said, gasping once my naked back met the icy stone. My nipples hardened against the air of the silent apartment and under his gaze, and I gasped when he knelt before me, hands reaching out for my thighs as he pulled me even closer.

“So, so beautiful,” he moaned, and I watched stunned as he lowered himself until he was eye-level with my navel, and I felt more than saw as his tongue stuck out and collected the wetness that was already threatening to drip from me. “And mine, all mine.”

The first time he’d said that, there was a conversation to be held right after we both came back from our highs. I needed to make sure that he remembered what this was, and he laughed when I tried to phrase it as sweetly as possible.

“I know this isn’t conventional,” he’d said, “but as long as it lasts, you’re mine. In and out of this apartment, but especially in this bed.” It didn’t take too long to realize that he was right.

I truly was his. My body responded to him in a way it’d never reacted to anyone else before. And I knew that whenever this little affair of ours came to an end, he would still forever own parts of me I’d never even realized I had before we met.

Andy’s P.O.V.

My mind was becoming hazier by the second. I needed to make sure she understood what was going to happen before I completely lost it. But first, I knew I’d hate myself if I didn’t take advantage of the delicious meal laid bare before me.

“Daddy!” She screamed, fingers curling around my strands as I lapped her up, rubbing my bearded jaw on the apex of her thighs. She was everything. I had never wanted anyone the way that I wanted her. And I knew that I never would again.

It was why I couldn’t lose her.

Connecting our eyes, I pushed two fingers inside of her and immediately curled them as I searched for that sweet spot I’d memorized so many months before, knowing I’d struck gold when she cried out for me again.

“Yeah, baby… I know you like that, sweet girl. So sweet for me, aren’t you?” I knew she wouldn’t be able to answer, and I didn’t mind. I could barely speak myself. The need to have her was just too strong, and so I kept licking her pussy and fucking it with my fingers until I felt her clench around my digits, not even waiting for her to calm down as I immediately raised to my knees and worked on releasing my member from its confines.

“Better get ready, princess… I won’t be able to stop until I’m done with you.” The lust in her hazy eyes was unmistakable, but just as I was about to plunge into her, warm hands found their way inside my shirt, holding my chest to stop me.

“Andy… the condom…” but I wasn’t having it.

“No,” I announced it, the finality in my voice clear as day as I pushed her arms down against the floor and penetrated her slowly, making sure to watch her jaw going slack as it always did at my first thrust.

When I saw that the initial shock had started to subdue and she was about to argue, I took her lips with mine, devouring her mouth the way I’d done with her pussy just seconds before. “I’m fucking you just like this, and you’re gonna take it.”

She wiggled underneath me, but it seemed more like she was going through the motions of showing that she didn’t want that than actually trying to make me stop.

It didn’t stop me. She would never be able to stop me. Not when I was in this mindset, not when I needed her so much. “I’m tired of wanting you,” I admitted. “I’m tired of wanting you, having you and then going back to wanting you again. I will never have my fill of you, I know that now. I need you.”

Her pussy clenched around me sporadically, her moans escaping her lips as she failed to speak when my hips grew quicker, my thrusts more forceful. “I need you more than sexually. I’m desperate for you, baby.”

And finally, she stopped squirming, her eyes suddenly widening in realization as my voice betrayed all of the emotions I was feeling. “I want to come home to you, Y/N. Only you.”

My confession earned her surrender. I felt her muscles relax underneath me, a sign of her acceptance of my new quest for ownership of her body, and so I could finally release her hands to run mine all over her skin.

“Don’t worry, sweet girl,” I whispered once the tempo became softer, but no less passionate. “I haven’t fucked her since we met.” I could see the shock in her expression, and I knew what she would argue.

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” I shook my head at her silliness, stroking her cheek after I kissed her one more time. I could see my future in her eyes, even if she didn’t allow herself to see hers in mine.

“I want to get you pregnant, Y/N.” And there it was. The truth and my heart, stripped of all pretense, exposed for her to see. And if I feared the rejection, the way her eyes softened before she pulled me to another kiss sealed our fate.

“I love you so fucking much.” And so we made passionate, desperate sex on the kitchen floor. I fucked her so hard, it didn’t take much to have her drooling for me. I drowned all of my worries and sorrows in her sweet pussy, making sure to worship every single inch of her body with my lips and tongue.

“I’m gonna keep you forever, princess,” I promised, heart aching just at the thought of ever losing her. “She won’t ever take you from me. Ever.” At the reminder of the reality of our situation, the fact that she was “the other one”, her body writhed underneath me, her struggle to fight back once again rising, but I wasn’t having any of it.

“Ever, baby,” I promised against her lips, silencing her cries with a deep, sloppy kiss that only ended when I needed to gather some air. “I can’t even think of having to live without you.”

The rhythm of our hips finding one another kept up, the sounds growing exponentially wetter with each second, with each drop of her arousal that collected on her lower lips, lubricating my member and aiding my goal to fill her up until it lathered the floor beneath us.

“You won my heart,” I confessed, making sure that she’d see the honesty deep in my eyes. “You left me no choice but to fall for you. Now I won’t live without you.” A desperate cry tore from deep within her, rekindling the passion with which I fucked her. Normally I was so sweet to her, so patient. But I knew she liked this as well. She liked to be fucked like a whore, even if she was as far removed from one as possible.

“Call my name, sweet girl.” It was a plea, a desperate need to blur the lines between what our relationship was and what I wanted it to become until they disappeared altogether. “Say you are mine. Say it.”

She was drooling now, and I knew how hard it was for her to find the words I needed her to say as she succumbed to bliss right there, on the kitchen floor, with me. Still, her scream penetrated my hazy mind, adding to the overwhelming tightness that squeezed me, begging for my cum, “I’m yours! I’m yours, Andy.”

The aftermath found us breathless, with flushed chest and flushed cheeks. I don’t think I’d ever seen anything quite as beautiful as the nervous but hopeful look with which she gazed at me. I knew what she needed to hear, and with a kiss on her forehead, I reassured her, “Let’s go to bed, princess. You won’t be sleeping alone tonight.”

And as we cuddled the night away, the unspoken became clear and clear. Not tonight, nor ever again.

#sugary4kchallenge #my fics #andy barber smut #smut #andy barber #sugar daddy au #andy barber x reader #andy barber reader #andy barber reader insert #andy barber reader inserts #andy barber one shot

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ptergwen · 3 years

Text

only you and me

w/c: 6.7k

warnings: angst, mentions of weed, and some swearing

summary: whenever peter tries to tell you how he feels, harry gets in the way

a/n: ahhhh hi my loves! my mini writing break is over :,) life has been just a mess for me and i’ve been way more critical than usual about my work but i’m doing a little better and ready to get back into everything! this helped me a lot so i’m excited to share it with y’all <3 it’s also my first time writing harry osborn so lmk how i did lmaooofwfjj but yeah pls enjoy

“dude, she’s right there! just tell her!” ned whisper yells to peter, elbowing him for emphasis. they’re hidden behind a wall to watch you at your locker. you’re grabbing books while betty rants to you and mj rolls her eyes. “not now. she looks... busy,” peter gulps, gaze trailing down your body. he always finds excuses to put off telling you how he feels.

or rather, excuses find him. something comes up every time he gets the courage to do it. he has no idea why he’s so scared because he’s pretty sure you like him back. pretty sure. there are a few reasons why you might not. also, plenty why you might. you stay up late texting most nights, and you’ve even flirted a couple of times. it never fails to make peter blush. he trips over his words whenever he tries to flirt back.

he’s had feelings for you since the first time you two hung out alone. none of your other friends could make it, but you happily took him up on his offer to come over. you grinned through his whole apartment tour, asked about may and what she does. when peter showed you his room, you even complimented his movie posters, much to his surprise.

“really? you don’t think they’re, like, dorky?”

“no, peter. your interests aren’t dorky. everyone likes what they like.”

and, he liked you. he knew it from that point on. you’d know it too if the universe wouldn’t keep stopping him from saying that.

“she’s so...” peter pauses for a second. him and ned watch you pull betty in by her shoulders as if you’re going to kiss her. she dodges you, mj pushing her back, all three of you giggling about it before you grab betty’s hands and give her words of encouragement. “cool,” peter finishes, turning back to ned. “i mean, how she puts herself out there like that.”

“what’s stopping you from doing the same thing?” ned points out with a knowing smile that peter returns. you make it look so easy. whenever you’re comfortable around people, you can let go of any doubts you have. you stop worrying about what they might think and instead do what you want. it’s inspiring to peter, and heart warming getting to be one of the people you’re fully you with.

he wishes he could apply your wisdom himself.

peter shakes his head, staring down at the floor. “oh, you know. anxiety, fear of rejection. that fun stuff.” “so, yourself,” ned concludes, clapping peter’s backpack so hard it makes him stumble forward. betty and mj wave goodbye to you before heading to their first class. you’re still getting your things together at your locker. this is peter’s moment.

“come on, dude! y/n’s not busy anymore. you got this.” ned keeps his hand on peter’s back, adding on, “it’s been a year already.” “half a year,” peter corrects him in a mumble. he’s liked you for a really long time. “ok, i’m going. wish me luck.” he takes a deep breath and focuses in on you. “aw, dude. you don’t need it.” ned gives him one last pat on the back. “good luck, though.” “thanks, man. see you in trig.”

right as peter starts heading over, harry comes up behind you and covers your eyes. you squeal, jumping up and turning to him, laughing as you playfully hit at his chest. he brings you into a hug where your face is buried in his sweater and probably inhaling his super strong, super expensive cologne.

that’s what’s stopping peter, harry freaking osborn. his own friend.

peter quickly loses the tiny bit of confidence ned gave him. he figures it might be better to hold off on his confession and get an early start to class. unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen. harry has already spotted him and calls him over.

“hey, pete! come give us some love, eh?” harry beams, an arm slung around your shoulders and you smiling up at him. you direct your smile to peter when he slumps his way to your locker. his lips pull into a barely noticeable frown. you notice. “there’s my guy. why so down, sunshine?” harry offers his fist for a fist bump. peter gives it to him, eyes staying on you.

harry osborn. where to begin with such a specimen? he’s the perfect combination of everything you’d want in a guy. he gets good grades, he’s a star player on on the basketball team, nice to everyone and makes you laugh, popular yet fits right into your small group.

he was friends with you before the popular thing. what kicked it off was him making varsity basketball while only being a sophomore. yep, he’s unreal. since then, he’s been balancing his cool life and also hanging with “the nerds,” as he likes to call you. he got his own feelings for you along the way. peter can tell.

he’ll give you rides home, compliment how you look, basically act like your boyfriend without really being it. it absolutely infuriates peter because he doesn’t compare to harry in the slightest. if he were you and had the choice between himself or harry, he would pick harry.

it’s been a factor in why he hasn’t come clean about how he feels yet. he’s not trying to create a love triangle that he doesn’t stand a chance surviving in.

“for real, peter. you good?” you ask him, eyebrows knitted together in concern. “fine,” peter lies and musters up a smile. “i’m just tired. didn’t sleep too good last night.” you’re only more concerned now. this has been happening to him a lot lately. you search for his eyes. “again?”

“aw, man. you need something for it?” harry punches peter’s shoulder and lowers his voice. “i know this kid who-“ “harry, stop.” your words are serious, tone lighthearted. you throw your head back on his arm. “do you really know a kid?” “i’m not telling you,” he says in an overly happy voice, you humming the same way. peter feels like he’s third wheeling.

“i was telling pete.” harry looks at him expectantly, peter’s mouth dropping open while he thinks of what to say. harry likes to mess around. this is a different level, though. “no thanks. i- i shouldn’t. i’m-“ “relax, i don’t know a kid,” harry chuckles and points at peter. “your face right now.” it’s completely flushed. you knock into harry’s side.

“ok, well literally no one laughed. you’re scaring him,” you tell harry sternly. peter tugs tight on one of his backpack straps. he doesn’t feel like he’s third wheeling you two now. he feels like your kid. he’ll never let ned mettle in his love life ever again if this is where it gets him. “he knows i’m kidding, y/n/n. right?” harry checks with peter. you make a face at him that says you aren’t convinced.

he switches his arm from you to peter, drawing him into his side. “look, pete. i’m sorry. the only kid i know who’s selling is chocolates for his band trip.” you’re satisfied with that, grinning at both of them. peter forces a laugh and nods. “no worries, man. i gotta get to class.” “good boy,” harry lets him go. “bye, pete. we’ll see you at lunch,” you remind him. he gives you a tight lipped smile. “see you, y/n/n.”

you and harry continue practically spooning each other as soon as peter is out of sight.

what the hell is going on?

peter is back to being grumpy, plopping down in his seat next to ned. their teacher has the lesson plan pulled up on the smart board. ned looks from it to peter, almost jumping in his seat. “oh, you’re back already? how’d it go?” “it didn’t go,” peter huffs, copying down the aim. he’s only doing it so he doesn’t have to look ned in the eyes while telling him he bailed. again.

“you didn’t do it?” ned repeats, peter writing something about pi and a unit circle in his notebook. he bites the inside of his cheek. “you have to do it at some point,” ned sighs out and picks up his pencil. even he’s getting tired of this, and ned never gets tired of a good friends to lovers moment. “i think she likes harry,” peter says under his breath. “huh?” ned gasps.

peter doesn’t feel like explaining the extremely awkward moment he just finished living. although, it wouldn’t hurt to get a second opinion. “y/n. he came over, and they kept hugging and whatever.” “they always do that,” ned almost scoffs, their trigonometry teacher moving to stand in front of the class. “yeah, but he had his arm around her the whole time we-“

the bell rings and cuts their conversation short. peter struggles to label the unit circle they learn about when his mind is filled to its capacity with images of you and harry all over each other. it’s not daydreaming. this is a nightmare. maybe, he actually will be having sleep problems.

peter’s morning is relatively decent after that. he gets to do an experiment with mj in chemistry, and she lets him take the lead for once. spanish is easy, health is okay, then he has a free period, then it’s lunch. things can only go downhill from here.

he thinks about hiding in the library until it’s over, but it’s the thought of harry eating your face that gets him to drag himself to the cafeteria.

flash is at the head of your table talking to harry when peter gets there. great, now he can’t eat his soggy chicken fingers in peace. “sounds dope. let’s go on the-“ flash stops saying what he was saying and nods at peter. “penis parker, you’re late.” peter takes his seat on your left, harry on your right. you glance over at him to make sure he’s okay. he acts like he doesn’t care, peeling open his milk carton.

“just text me later, man. get outta here,” harry dismisses flash, the two of them doing a bro handshake before he leaves. he’s well aware of his and peter’s history. he keeps them separate for the obvious reasons. peter appreciates it because saying no to flash is nearly impossible. he shouldn’t be so mad at harry, should he? he’s a good friend.

harry’s arm snakes around your waist and brings you closer to him. never mind.

“who’s up for sushi later?” he asks the table, everyone agreeing and saying how awesome that sounds. everyone except peter. you tap his shoulder with a small smile. “what about you, peter? you coming?” he realizes you’re all waiting for him to respond and puts down his milk. “uh, i can’t. homework,” he lamely answers.

“dude, we have homework, too. just do it a little later,” ned suggests, betty laying her head on his shoulder. you share a look with her, your eyes wide and a grin on your lips. that must have been what you were talking about this morning. she asked for boy advice. ned advice. why can’t this crap work out for peter?

“i really can’t. sorry, guys,” peter half heartedly apologizes.

he misses the disappointment that crosses your features because he’s pouting at his lunch again.

“homework, huh?” mj tests him, squinting as she takes a sip of apple juice. harry nudges peter’s side with two fingers. “you still mad about the sleeping thing?” “sleeping thing? what sleeping thing?” betty wonders while ned rests his head against hers. a quiet laugh slips out of you as you lean in to tell her.

“peter said he couldn’t sleep last night, so harry offered him...” you mime rolling a joint. “i said no,” peter clarifies, rolling his eyes at the inevitable teasing he’s about to get. none of you have even smoked besides harry. you’re being annoying about it. “of course you did,” mj sighs and kicks her feet up on the table. “unrelated to what y/n just said... harry, i have insomnia.”

everyone bursts into laughter at that, betty shoving her side and you pulling harry by his torso as he pretends to go into his backpack. peter wants nothing to do with any of this. he usually enjoys joking around with the group, even if it’s at his expense because it’s from a place of love.

today feels like you’re straight up making fun of him. harry might as well invite flash to join in.

“alright, alright, alright. enough of the weed talk,” harry decides, you removing your arms from him and grabbing your coffee. “you’re such a bad influence.” your voice drips with sarcasm. you bend the straw and take a sip while scooting closer to peter. “you really can’t come later? i feel like i’ve barely seen you today.” that’s on harry. “i wish i could, y/n/n,” peter exhales. “i’ll text you later, okay?”

you don’t get to answer because mj tugs on your arm, distracting you from peter. she explains how she has to do an art project on what it means to be a woman and needs help brainstorming ideas. you’re full of them, offering up an interesting perspective for her to use. peter smiles to himself as he listens in. you find a new way to impress him every day.

he should tell you that.

“hey, y/n?” “listen to her! you’re seriously my idol,” betty gushes, so loudly you don’t hear peter. not a single thing has gone in his favor at this table. he gives up.

peter locks himself in his room when he gets home from his overall terrible day. he does homework like he said he would, only taking a break for dinner, giving one word replies to may’s questions about school. he’d much rather be having sushi with you. he would’ve gone if the others didn’t.

after dinner, it’s back to grumbling and scribbling down answers. there’s a knock at peter’s door around ten o’clock, which he assumes is may saying goodnight. “i’ll be done in a few minutes, may! love you.” “it’s y/n,” you reply, the smile clear in your voice. his eyes go comically wide. that’s the last thing he expected to hear. “oh. uh, come in.”

you’re holding a small takeout bag, shutting the door behind you and walking over to his desk. you meet his twinkling eyes in the dim light that hits off his walls. from his open window, you faintly hear cars as they rush by and honk their horns in the distance, accompanied by a fresh breeze. it’s cozy, safe. it’s peter.

“hey. what’re you doing here?” peter questions, leaving his pencil in his binder and shutting it. you shake around the plastic bag. “i saved you a roll.” he bites back a smile, getting up from his chair. “may let me in. she was really chill about it,” you continue and hold out the sushi for him. “it’s a california roll. i wasn’t sure what you wanted, and everyone likes those.”

peter lets his smile spread out and takes the bag from you. “thanks, y/n/n. i was honestly hoping one of you would have leftovers.” you laugh softly, peter setting the bag down on his desk. he scratches the back of his neck. “did you guys have fun?” “yeah. i missed you, though.” you clasp your hands behind your back. “everyone did.”

“i feel bad i didn’t go. just... things felt off today,” peter admits the real reason he stayed home, you letting out a breath. “it was harry, wasn’t it? god, he was being so weird.” your arms drop back to your sides. “there’s a difference between playing around and actually upsetting people.” by people, you mean peter. no one else seemed too bothered by him. “i’m sorry, peter. i tried to make him stop.”

“no, you don’t have to apologize,” peter assures you sweetly, grabbing one of your hands. “it’s not your fault, okay? he probably didn’t realize what he was doing. the jokes landed.” he’s referring to ned, mj, and betty finding harry’s comments hilarious. you lace your fingers with peter’s and frown. “this isn’t like him. maybe he’s stressed about a game.” your gaze drifts off to the side, what you see getting you to perk up.

“is that new?” you ask peter, leading him by his hand over to a poster he put up recently. it’s for 13 going on 30. you showed it to him a couple of weeks ago, and he clearly liked it a lot. any movie that makes it to peter’s wall is a special one. “mhm. i got it literally right after you went home the night we watched,” he chuckles and looks over at you while you study the poster.

you turn to face peter again, keeping your hand tight in his. “were you gonna tell me something earlier? at lunch?” he’s confused for a second, then he remembers your ideas for mj’s art project. the fact that you cared enough to bring it up after all these hours makes his stomach do summersaults in the best way. he shrugs and gives you a smile.

“the stuff you were saying about femininity and how there are so many ways to define it,” peter starts, you grinning back at him, at how he took an interest in what you were saying. “you’re so smart, y/n. you make me wanna be better.” a light pink dusts his cheeks. “peter, you’re a feminist?” you coo, joking but genuinely wondering at the same time. he squeezes your hand. “duh.”

“i thought so,” you nod, taking in the rest of what he said. “you think i’m smart? i trust you because you’re way smarter.” peter pffts in response. “i’m only good at, like, physics. you’re good at things that really matter. smart in that way.” you’re feeling your own face get hot. you swing yours and peter’s hands back and forth. “why are you the nicest person ever?”

the answer to that, may, peeks her head into the room. “hey, kids. it’s getting late.” she notices your intertwined hands and shoots peter a smirk. “i thought you were a cool aunt,” he teases, you sadly letting go of him. “she is. thanks for having me over so late,” you tell may on your way to the door. “oh, stop it. you can come over any time.” she puts a hand on your arm. “thank you so much,” you murmur back.

you walk backwards to the doorway, may leaving you two to say your goodbyes. “wanna hang out only you and me? on friday maybe?” that should make up for everything earlier. “yeah, of course. friday is perfect,” peter agrees and bounces on his feet as excitement takes over him. “thanks again for the sushi.”

“no problem. goodnight.” it’s taking every last bit of power in you to not freak out. “night. text me when you get home.” he presses his tongue into his cheek. you slowly pull the door shut. “ok, i will. bye!” it closes, leaving peter skipping across his room to his bed on one side and you doing a little happy dance on the other.

the next day at school, everything is back to normal. honestly, better than normal. your hangout with peter is tomorrow, and he’s planning on telling he likes you then. he already talked it over with ned. he’s relieved it’s finally happening, especially since him and betty have their own thing. she’ll be taking up most of his free time from here.

your group is spending lunch outside today, lounging across a picnic table, surrounded by trees and the shining sun in a bright blue sky. mj sits on the table and has her feet on the bench, which would usually bug peter to no end. he doesn’t mind this time because it takes up enough room that harry has to sit with ned and betty instead of you. you lean into peter’s side and stab a piece of lettuce from your salad.

“it’s so nice out,” betty sighs, ripping off half her cookie and giving it to ned. “we should ditch.” “oh my god, you sound like harry,” you groan between bites of salad. peter lets out a breathy laugh, you looping your arm through his. he grins down at where you’re linked. harry crosses his own arms over his chest. “she wishes.” betty only nods because her mouth is full of m&m’s.

“nah, seriously. i’d take us out somewhere, but i have practice after school.” he speaks quieter than he normally does, less confident. your theory about him having basketball drama was right. “what did we tell you? talk about the sports shit with your sports friends,” mj complains, sitting back on her hands. she glances at harry over her shoulder and catches ned mouthing you can’t say that.

sitting criss cross, she spins around to face harry, unenthusiastically saying, “what i meant was, you sound upset. what’s wrong?” harry gets into it right away, like he’s been waiting for someone to ask. “coach says there might be a scout at the next game. it’s a really good opportunity even though i don’t have to worry about... college yet.” the word makes him cringe.

“oh, damn. that’s a big deal. scary,” mj snorts, turning back to you and peter. her behavior makes ned internally face palm. “that’s awesome, dude. you’re gonna play amazing like always.” he gives harry a high five, who smiles nervously in response. he’s never nervous. “thanks, bro. you guys wanna come and watch?” he’s never invited you to one of his games before either.

this isn’t a group of friends that likes to spend their weekends in bleachers while angry teens shout around them.

“definitely. we’ll be there to support you, harry,” betty answers for everyone, ned pecking her cheek in satisfaction. mj cusses to herself before replying. “if i absolutely must, sure.” only you and peter haven’t said anything yet. he’s been chewing his lower lip, and you your salad. harry looks between you two hopefully. it’s more so at you, which peter doesn’t like.

“y/n? pete? it would help a lot, i’m serious.” he taps his fingers on the table until one of you speaks up. you’re the one who does. “i’ll go. this is pretty huge, right? congrats.” you reach across the table and squeeze his shoulder while simultaneously tightening your arm around peter’s. he takes that as a cue. “i’ll go, too. happy for you, man.”

though peter isn’t currently in the best place with harry, he should show his support by showing up. it can’t be too bad since the rest of you will be there.

a loud, long chuckle leaves harry as he hops up from his bench and comes to yours and peter’s. he bends over and wraps both of you in a hug from behind at the same time. his arms are around each of your shoulders, holding you so close his cheeks are squished against either of your heads. you giggle at that, peter finding himself laughing along and reaching back to ruffle harry’s hair.

staying mad at him is one of the world’s greatest challenges.

“you’re saints, both of you. my angels.” he kisses the back of your head, then lays one right on peter’s cheek, leaving him blushing red and grinning. “what about the rest of us? i never go to shit like this,” mj huffs and seems genuinely offended. harry wiggles his eyebrows. “you want a kiss?” his offer gets her flustered, which she can’t manage to hide. that’s a first.

“shut up. i’m just saying... never mind.” mj glares at you and peter, ned and betty making kissing noises behind her. “someone change the subject.” peter steps in. “when’s the game, harry?” he asks, harry snapping and waving his finger. “tomorrow! cancel your plans, kiddos.” “like we had any,” betty retorts.

some of you did. that was going to be peter’s hangout with you.

ned smiles sympathetically at peter before betty is getting his attention. you‘re unfazed and rambling to harry how proud you are of him.

did last night mean nothing? was it an empty gesture? were you only doing it out of guilt? peter must have read your visit wrong. he’s been wrong the whole time he’s liked you. you don’t like him back, you pity him. harry is who you’re really interested in.

may always says he should trust his instincts.

peter pulls his arm from yours suddenly, swinging his backpack onto his shoulders. you’re taken back because it’s so out of no where. you stop talking to harry so you can figure out his deal. “where are you going?” “bell’s gonna ring,” peter mumbles and picks up his lunch tray. he heads to the garbage can without another word or goodbye to anyone.

“i’m gonna go check on him,” you tell harry, already getting up from the bench. “you do that,” he acknowledges and calls mj’s name again.

peter tosses his mostly untouched food in the trash, seeing you make your way over from the corner of his eye. he tries to speed walk inside so he doesn’t have to talk to you. you’re too quick, cornering him between the door and brick wall.

“we still have ten minutes,” you state, worry flashing across your face. he’s avoiding you. well, attempting to. “what’s wrong?” peter gulps before saying anything. “my next class is on the other side of the-“ “no,” you cut him off. “what’s really wrong?”

he doesn’t feel like having this discussion. it’s bad enough he came to the realization his feelings are one sided. must he break that down for you so soon?

you toy with your sleeve while you speak because peter doesn’t. “i thought you and harry were fine again. i mean, he kissed you.” peter clenches his jaw so hard he can imagine the sound of it cracking. “it’s not about harry.” “what, then? what the fuck happened?” your sleeves are now balled in your fists. you hate it when peter does this angsty routine.

he keeps his voice low and calm so he doesn’t come off as jealous or hurt. he’s both of those things. “the game is tomorrow. friday. when we were supposed to hang out.” you meet peter’s eyes with nothing but remorse in yours. “i... i forgot,” is all you have to say.

you feel awful. he’s had a tough couple of days, and you fell through on your promise to cheer him up.

“clearly,” peter remarks, voice sharp. the way you’re looking at him makes him think he won’t like what’s coming. “peter, we have to go,” you almost whine. “i’m really sorry, i am, but this is a big night for harry. he needs us there.” peter stays silent. you’re twisting the knife deeper into him with every word. “i wouldn’t be cancelling if this wasn’t important.”

now you’re cancelling?

you reach for peter’s hand, but he shoves it into his pocket. that stings for you and him. “please, peter. we’ll hang out at the game, i swear.” this is the last chance you’ve got, so you pile it on. “harry won’t even be there, technically. he’ll... he’ll be on the court.” peter hadn’t thought about that. he lets himself unclench, starting to see the appeal. you add one more thing to lighten the mood and persuade him.

“i’ll buy you popcorn, all you can eat.” it’s that easy. cracking a smile, peter accepts. he’ll deal with his unresolved, unreciprocated feelings after he stuffs his face, courtesy of you. “you better. i’m gonna need it for this long ass game.” your face lights up, grabbing his wrist in both hands.

“so, you’ll come?” “i’ll be there,” he confirms. you throw your arms around his neck. he laughs into the hug and holds you by your middle. “i promise this’ll be the first and last game we ever go to,” you say and mean it. harry is lucky you’re even suffering through this a first time. “thank god,” peter exhales, resting his chin on your head.

that interaction leaves peter confused as hell. you’re crushing his mind and soul one minute, then hugging him the next. you were making him feel so special lasts night, and treating harry the same way today. it’s so jumbled that he isn’t sure if he’s in the friend zone or something more zone.

there are a ton of mixed signals coming his way, and he sucks at reading people as is.

he can’t take another second of this. he’d rather you come out and say you like harry already because it’s torture. knowing you don’t want him in that way would at least eliminate the possibility of anything happening between you two, and allow him to stop driving himself insane.

he’d be able to stop taking it out on harry, too.

the hold you have on peter, that you’re oblivious to, rules his every thought and decision. he’s constantly analyzing what you say to him, debating whether or not your affection is simply platonic. it’s been half a year of this madness, the night of harry’s game blurring every line so much more.

your group arrives a bit early to find seats and hype harry up before he plays. peter gets there after all of you because he’s not exactly in a rush to watch sweaty guys be aggressive. there’s only one upside, which is spending the night with you... and everyone else.

he steps into the gym that’s filling up fast with family members, friends, and the college scout harry was talking about. midtown has a different feeling to it at night. the smell of pencils is oddly stronger, and it’s a lot less intimidating.

cheerleaders are huddled in a circle while the team supervisor has them run their chants. the “leading official,” who peter thought was called a referee, takes his place off to the side. coaches give their players last minute instructions, players fool around with each other, a lot is going on.

peter scans the room for you, and grins a toothy grin when you catch his eyes. you’re sitting by yourself in one of the middle bleachers, only a bag of skinny pop in your lap. you return the smile once you spot him and wave him over.

“i don’t know why, but i thought they’d have an actual concession stand,” you explain the lack of fresh, buttery popcorn as peter takes a seat next to you. he catches the prepackaged bag you toss him. “it’s just a snack table.” “works either way,” peter hums and pokes the bag. “i’m not sure skinny pop is all i can eat, though.” “it’s good!” you defend the snack you chose for him.

“i’m kidding! you’re right, it’s kind of addicting.” he puts it by his feet for now and gives you a half smile. “you’re welcome,” you deadpan in a playful tone. “thanks.” he narrows his eyes. “where’s everyone else?” “right,” you twist around and gesture to the bleacher above you. mj is gloomily seated near the back. ned and betty are a few behind you.

“i told them to find their own seats so we can sit together, alone.” you look over at peter and move ever so slightly closer. “welcome to our friday hangout. just the two of us.” “aw, you didn’t have to do that,” peter laughs out, his knee bumping yours. “but, i’m happy you did.” he goes to put an arm around you, then harry comes racing up the stairs.

just the two of you didn’t last so long.

“y/n, i’m freaking out,” harry announces, zooming through your row to get over to you. he stops once he’s standing in front of peter and shakes him by his shoulder. “hey, pete. you made it.” “yup,” peter replies, pressing his lips together. you wince at his reaction, then quirk an eyebrow at harry. “you’re freaking out? why?”

harry sits down between you and peter, blissfully unaware of the moment he interrupted.

“i found the scout. he’s fucking terrifying as fuck. this super ripped guy, looks like he’d rather be anywhere else,” he talks quietly, like the man will hear him. “he’s not the only one,” peter says to himself, kicking around his bag of popcorn to pass time. you ignore him and grimace.

“shit. wait, how do you know it’s him? did they tell you?” you’re not sure how these things go. harry casually shrugs a shoulder. “dude has a clipboard. seems legit to me.” he gives you a cocky smile. “he’s also in the row before mj. that’s how i noticed. um...” his back now facing peter, he whispers something in your ear that makes you giggle.

peter’s face scrunches up as the spark of anger the past few days have lit reignites itself.

when harry pulls away, you motion for him to come closer with your index finger, cupping your hand around his ear and speaking into it.

nope, no more. peter is entirely about to explode. you cancelled your plans so you can force him to watch basketball, you sweet talk him so he’ll let it go, and you’re running right back to harry after all of that? what the hell does that mean?

peter stands up from his seat. “y/n, we need to talk,” he demands, you moving away from harry to respond. “ok, gimme a minute. we’re-“ “no, we need to talk now.” you don’t have time to refute because he’s taking your arm and dragging you away. harry squints at you in utter confusion.

“um, have a good game! we’ll talk later,” you call back to him, walking with peter even though you have no idea what his issue is and aren’t a fan of how he’s acting.

he releases you once you’re in the hallway. you make a point of harshly yanking your arm back, a scowl painting your lips. “jesus, peter. i was having a conversation.” “do you like harry?” peter blurts out. you’re so shocked at his abruptness that you don’t give him much to work with, only, “what?” “do you like harry?” he asks you again, this time less accusing and more curious.

“do i like...” you’re too aware of the seemingly hundreds of people surrounding you to answer comfortably. “can we talk about this somewhere else?” “sure,” peter nods, letting you lead the way since he did to get out here. you two go down the hall and choose the first room you see, which happens to be the custodian’s closet. it’s thankfully unlocked.

things were tense between you and peter on the way over, and it’s physically mirrored when you step into the room, air thick and smelling of lemon cleaning supplies. you tug on the string hanging down to turn on the light. it casts a faded glow, leaving you in mostly darkness. you sort of like it. this feels more intimate, which is fitting for what you’re both about to say.

neither one of you knows where to begin. peter’s question is ringing in the back of your mind, and you could touch on that, but there’s more to it than a simple yes or no. you don’t have to worry about it because peter gets his words out first.

“i think harry likes you, and i think you like him back,” peter restarts, already sounding deflated by what he came up with. “he doesn’t, and i don’t.” you take a step towards him. “he likes mj.” it’s peter’s turn to be shocked. the hint of a smile sets on your lips. “that’s what we were talking about. harry asked if he should take her to dinner after the game, and i said yes.”

this is going better than he expected.

“mj is the one who likes him, not me,” you reiterate and watch some life enter peter again, a tiny bit. he’s coming around, and he wants to believe you. his trust issues don’t. “but, you’re so... touchy with each other. the hugging the other day?” he mentions. you tilt your head to the side in amusement. “friends can’t hug?”

to be fair, you hugged peter yesterday. that’s a point rightfully shut down.

“he calls you pretty,” peter tries, raising both eyebrows. you have to laugh at this one. “you call may pretty.”

obviously, peter’s analysis skills could use some serious improvements. it sounds like he had the right idea, wrong person. your relationship with harry is platonic. hell, he’s crushing on a whole different person. this actually opens up the possibility of you liking peter in the romantic way, of him being in the something more zone. he had it backwards.

in case peter isn’t convinced yet, and because you really want to, you use one more trick to prove to him you don’t like harry.

“do me and harry do this?” your lips speak for you, colliding with peter’s unexpectedly yet easily. he feels like he’s floating, like he’s in some sort of magical wonderland until it hits him that this is real, and he should probably kiss you back. he does so softly and tangles his fingers in your locks. his hand supports the back of your head as the kiss goes on.

you push forward so your bodies are almost fused together, the closest you can be while you hold his jaw. peter breaks the kiss for a short breather, going back in without more than a moment passing. this one is feverish, his free arm looping around your lower back, hand resting on the small of it. you let out a giggle against his swollen lips and stroke your thumb over his jawline.

he’s been waiting to do this for the longest time, but he doesn’t have to tell you that. it shows in how eager he was to reciprocate, his shyness blossoming into passion. you feel yourself melting under his touch, the kiss eventually becoming a series of short pecks. peter gives you the final one. his pink lips form a grin when you pull apart. your hands stay on each other, not in a rush to go anywhere.

“woah, i like you so much,” peter laughs out. the words roll off his tongue naturally. “you know i like you,” you drawl, smiling at him, a full body smile while you caress his skin. he winds both arms around you and dips his head down to steal another kiss. you’re loving what’s happening. however, you don’t feel like making out while dirty brooms stare at you. you should take this back home.

“wanna get out of here? i do,” you suggest, voice muffled from his lips. they detach from yours and brush your cheek gently. peter makes a funny face. “hm, i thought we had to come. harry needs us,” he says what you did yesterday, earning a groan back. “you’re joking.” “i’m not. what kind of friends would we be, ditching him like that?”

he’s going to end you one day.

“yeah, no. i have no idea how basketball works, and i’d like to keep it that way,” peter drops the act, pressing his fingers into your sides. “i’ve been so mean to harry. i was...” “a dick?” you finish for him. it’s more of a statement than a question. to soften the blow, you rub his cheek with the tips of your fingers. “yup. he’s gonna think i hate him or something if we don’t stay.” his formerly smiley face is frowning.

“harry of all people will understand after we tell him our reasons,” you reassure him, nudging under his chin with your nose. “besides, he has other things to worry about. mj, the scout. it’s fine.” peter considers it, ultimately giving in to you like he always does, resting his forehead on yours. “i guess so. less distractions for him, yeah.” “exactly. that’s what i wanna hear.”

having his approval, you unwind yourself from him and head to the door. his fingers wrap around your wrist gently. “what about my popcorn?” a giggle escapes your lips. “you’re still on that?” “you said all i can eat!” his voice comes out high pitched, adorably high pitched.

“fine. i might have those bags you put in the microwave.” you smile when his fingers lock with yours, peter kissing the side of your head.

“even better. let’s go home.”

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