#enemies to lovers type shit probably

[umilily]

i'm back. (and i didn't commit murder, but it was close.)

[chuluoyi]

✎ attraction

- gojo satoru x reader

to think it started with your crush on his best friend...

genre: high school!gojo being a menace, jealous!gojo but he doesn’t realize it? enemies to lovers, fluff, gojo begins pining on you

note: thank you anon who asks for gojo falling in love with a first year! i added some spice though haha

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

Back in 2006—

There was this tiny weeny part of Gojo that was like... questioning, how did his best friend Geto Suguru catch your eye, whereas he didn’t? Like, at all?

"I want Geto."

"Hah?" Gojo arched a righteous brow, swiftly turning your way—feeling the stings of irritation gnawing at him. "What?"

You shot him a look. “I said, you suck and I’m lamenting that I’m paired with you instead of Geto for this mission.”

Once upon a time, you did hate him for obvious reasons as other people do. He was obnoxious, boastful and overall grating on your nerves.

Well, actually, “hate” would be too strong of a word, so probably “dislike greatly” it is.

“Ehh, Suguru? With you?” Gojo glanced at you, purposefully scrunching his face into a mocking sneer. “No way. Absolutely not. Incompatible. I won’t give him my blessings.”

“Who are you to grant blessings?” you hissed with a bulging vein of frustration. “And no, it's not what you think! I—” you wanted to kick yourself for stumbling over your words, “—I just respect him in a way an underclassman would!”

Gojo let out a strained laugh.

To him, you were this cute little junior who looked funny when mad. Riling you up was on his daily to-do list, and poking fun at your obvious crush on his best friend was supposed to double the fun, until it made him wonder despite himself... just what exactly did Suguru have that he apparently lacked, leading you to always follow him with your eyes, whereas you spared him with nothing but glares and sharp retorts?

You didn’t exactly hide your feelings. Whenever Geto was nearby or greeted you in the mornings, you'd blush like a tomato. It was silly, because Gojo was sure his best friend’s type wasn’t a girl as skittish as you—surely, it must be someone as vivacious as Inoue Waka.

He knew you were doomed to fail.

"I suggest you go pick up some slack," he teased. "Better if you don't become a dead weight while assisting him in missions, no?"

He knows. Really.

"...do you know that there are only three things I can't stand here?"

"And those are?"

But...

"Your stupid glasses, your Limitless—and you."

He was still irked, regardless.

"Well, poor you, then," he shrugged, shit-eating grin on his face. This time he pushed his luck. "Do you know that you're nowhere nearing Suguru's type?"

Scratch that. You hate him. You turned to him with a reddened face, and it wasn't because you were blushing.

"I'm going by myself!" you declared, seething. "I couldn't care less about what you're about to do—I'm finishing this and going home!"

With that, you you marched towards the haunted house, paying no heed to his taunts behind you.

You felt a wave of embarrassment washing over. Gojo always messed with you and normally you would chalk it up as one of his shits—but this time, you didn't appreciate how he touched on that sore spot of your not-so-hidden infatuation with Geto. So what if you weren't his ideal type? He didn't have to be mean!

But soon you regretted leaving his side, as a monstrous cursed spirit quickly chased you out.

Gojo was still outside, bidding his time. He merely huffed when he heard you screaming in fear.

He was ready with a jab. "Well, well... Look who's running back into my arms—"

But his smirk quickly fell when he saw the cursed entity was apparently way beyond your level. You ran out—no, by some idiotic impulse of survival, you actually leapt out of the two-story window and almost fell flat on your face and broke your bones, but before then, he sprung to action, catching you, wrapping one arm on your waist.

You were grateful you that you weren't doomed—until you felt yourself dangling mid air in his hold... like a cat.

"Gojo!" you wailed. "I'm going to fa—!"

Oh, but Gojo was convinced that this was his moment to shine. He directed a smirk your way as the bright blue mass in his hand totally caught your attention. With one swift flick of his hand, he muttered the mantra for Blue, and exorcised the cursed spirit in one go.

He marveled at his own show of power—and hoping that somehow, you would too. Then, he placed his hand under your knees, repositioning you in a princess-carry, and the way your gentle curves nestled snugly in his arms sparked some intriguing thoughts in him.

Your wide, crystal-clear eyes gazed at him with such wonder. Red tinted your cheeks. The corners of his mouth curved into a winning smile.

It was at that exact moment when he realized it: he wants you. This funny girl who often made his day, he wanted you to look at his way too.

...but goddamnit, you like Suguru.

"Well, not that scary now with me around, isn’t it?" he boldly announced, and your amazed expression immediately turned into a cute frown.

"Thanks," you blurted, still with rosy cheeks and looked frazzled, but then you realized the state you were in his arms. "But—put me down!"

"Ehhh, I will if your feet can reach the ground!"

Who cares if you like Suguru? As he burst into snickers and you screamed at his face, Gojo Satoru decided then and there—in that spring of 2006—that he would make it his mission to win you over. To make you his.

And years later, not only he achieved that but also so much more—a ring on your finger serving as the testament to his success.

Epilogue

"Yaga-sensei," Geto sighed wearily. "Can I be paired with Shoko, please?"

"Geto-san, wait, please—" you frantically tried to explain, glaring at Gojo in the process. "I'll do my best so—"

"You're such a bother, even Suguru doesn't want to go on missions with you," the white-haired clown remarked with an evil grin. "Right, Suguru?"

"No, Satoru—"

"Well, but if it's me, I'll gladly mentor and teach you though~"

"I don't want you! You're so insufferably annoying!"

"Yaga-sensei, can I please get paired with someone else—"

[phas3d]

Crushing on You || Slytherin Boys

type :: fluff

tw/cw :: none

contains :: draco malfoy, tom riddle, mattheo riddle, theodore nott, lorenzo berkshire

summary :: cute little loser things they do because they’re so down bad for you. inspired by the fucking masterpiece that is ONE DAY ONE NIGHTTTT AHHHHHH by bts ofc. some of these might be creepy but I think they’re cute

DRACO MALFOY

It’s always an enemies to lovers for him, he literally cannot get crushes on someone unless he hates their guts

Probably cause he got daddy issue but meh, we’re not solving that today

He HATED your guts, he has literally thought of getting a hit-man on you before

You’re his rival in every single aspect, even more than Harry is

Academics, you’re better

Athletics, you’re better

Clubs and community, you’re WAY better

He hates you and makes fun of you every single day and time he gets the chance

Even worse, Harry, Hermione, and Ron all come to defend you which makes him even more mad

But overtime, his aggressive staring and cursing under his breath turned into admiration

It all started when one day during Quidditch practice, some annoying 3rd year thought it would funny to mess with Draco’s broom

He ended up malfunctioning during practice, almost speeding into the walls of the school at astounding speeds

But luckily, you came just in time and yanked him off his broom, letting his broon get destroyed into the castle. But he was unharmed and was wrapped securely in your arms

From then on, he’s had a huge crush on you and all of his hatred turned into admiration

His aggressive stares were a bit softer and his insults had a hidden compliment in it

Everyone thinks that maybe he just feels bad and is finally regretting how rude he’s been to you, which is kinda true

He’s always watching over you, kinda like a stalker (because he is one)

He learns your daily routine, your favorite foods, clothing brands, makeup products, skincare routine, everything

Goes as far to hire and pay different students to watch after you if he’s busy

Somehow, you never notice and just think that people are nosy

He takes his research really far though, like straight up creepy

Draco gets his hands on all of your medical history, every single thing about you

He learns what your allergic too, what your rising sign is, how much you weigh at every check up

When he finds out that you’re anemic, he crushes up pills and sneakily adds it to your food to make sure you’re healthy

Does this with other things too, like Vitamin C, iron pills, etc etc etc

But in the end, it helps you a lot and makes you feel much better

And it makes him happy to know that you’re better because of him

One day, you get asked out by none other than Harry Potter

Instantly, Draco is enraged and everything in his sight is going to die a painful death

He feels betrayed by you despite treating you like utter shit for so many years

Not the mention he’s also gotten with maybe two or three other girls

He plans to ruin your date and he succeed

He burns Harry’s outfit, posses someone to spill hot tea on you, and even goes as far to sneak food you’re allergic to into your food

The date ends with you crying back to your dorm and Harry beating himself up

From this, Draco is happy and prepares to come and play knight-in-shining armor for you

But once again, he sees Harry comforting you and giving you a tight hug

Draco is literally about to kill Harry for this, cause ain’t no way he just did ALL of that for Harry to swoop in again

“You can’t take her! I loved her first! I love her more than your stupid four-eyed could ever!” He shouts at Harry

So yeah…. He just confessed out of rage

TOM RIDDLE

Never ever EVER will he get caught lacking for someone

This man keeps all of his lovey dovey feelings to himself, bro literally got a diary 😭

But when he saw you, and just like all of those dumb movies he’s seen, he was instantly love struck by you

He never knew that this was possible, he’s instantly disgusted with himself and does his best to the diminish the crush

But it won’t go away… you’re just perfect in every way

He’s so frustrated that he genuinely thinks of just killing you

But, thank GOD, he decides to not kill you and just become a stalker 😊

He finds out your entire schedule and walking path just so he can get small glimpses of you

Whenever you see him or make eye contact with him, he looks at you like you killed his entire family and he’s coming for revenge

But he’s actually drooling and hearing the most beautiful classical piano in the background

He sees you as a god/goddess that blessed him with your presence

Tom has always seen himself as the chosen one, the one given enough power to destroy and fix the world

And he sees you as his future Queen to the brand new world he will make :) kinda romanticccc

Finds all of your social media and stalks it for hours

He makes one of those fake burner accounts that looks like a bot

So when he follows you, you think nothing of it

But in reality, he’s watching you in depth

Bro finds your SPOTIFY and YOUR AO3 ACCOUNT… That’s how crazy he is

He made an entire playlist of every song you’ve ever posted and mentioned

He listens to it daily :)

Honestly, he’s just like me fr

He’s just a lil crazy and wants to know EVERYTHING about you

If you ever come up to him or are assigned partners, oh my god he’s gonna act so cold

Acts like he hates your guts and despises your existence

But in reality, he’s gonna thank every single religious figure out there for blessing him with allowing him to be in your space

MATTHEO RIDDLE

When he first saw you, he thought you were fine as hell

He was just trying to get into your pants

But when he tried to make a move, you scoffed and shoved him away

Instantly, he was attracted to you

He’s only been rejected like twice, and both times it ended with them begging on their knees for him

He was about to do the exact same thing to you

Unlike the others, he’s the only one that shows it and actively makes a move

Constantly flirts with you, no matter the time or day

Kinda like Filipino courtingggg 🤭

Finds all of your classes and walks you to all of them

Even though you want to walk with your friends, he won’t let you and always pulls you away from them

He skips his classes constantly just so he can be with you and flirt with you more

Even if you keep rejecting him or even slap him, he won’t stop. He loves when girls play hard to get

Sends you flowers, they’re a little bit ugly, but it’s the thought that counts

Sends you chocolates and stuffed animals to the point where a whole section of your dorm is dedicated to the pile of 65 stuffed animals you’ve received

He can’t really write poems or love songs, but he sends you little drawings that are barely readable

He makes little stick figures to represent you guys, one that’s super tall with abs (him) and another one that has hair and a triangle body (you)

Although you can barely understand his chicken scratch drawings, it makes you giggle from how stupid they are

Sometimes it’s him fighting off dragons, or you drowning and he saves you, or him being a rich king and you’re his queen

Never ever gives up on you, no matter what

Will fight off every single competition he has, he doesn’t care if they end up paralyzed

One time, someone older than you guys by one year tried to ask you out

Because he was a grade above you guys, he thought Mattheo wouldn’t fight him

But nopppeeee he was dead wrong, Mattheo sent him to the hospital wing repeatedly for a whole month

Even though the poor guy learned his lesson, Mattheo was mad that not only did he have the balls to ask you out but to also doubt Mattheo’s strength

Surprisingly, he cares a lot towards your friends as well and never leaves him out of the picture which is sweet

If you get a 100 roses from him (an almost daily occurrence), then he’ll get your best friends a small bouquet of 10-12 roses in return

If you get a huge chocolate box of the most expensive chocolates, then your friends get a small little wrapped box of a few chocolates

It’s really sweet and it makes your friends see that he’s actually pretty cool and sweet

Definitely goes around and lies to people by saying you two are dating

Eventually, everyone is fucking tired of you guys and basically sees you as a couple

One day, your friends say they’re gonna have a girls day and ask you to meet them at this nice restaurant

But surprise! The girls lied, you got all dressed up for nothing :(

But surprise again! Mattheo pops up. Your friends set you up with him to help you two to finally start dating

THEODORE NOTT

He’s had plenty of one night stands, weird situation-ships, and more but with you, he’s never had that

You’ve been his friend for ages, before he got hot and ripped

And he appreciated you a lot for that, he felt like he could finally be himself with someone

Over the years, he’s slowly gotten more and more comfortable with you

When he was going to bed, he thought to himself “I wouldn’t mind marrying (y/n)”

He smiled as he said that, about to sleep until his eyes shot wide open as he repeated what he said

“I wouldn’t mind marrying (y/n)??!???!!?”

When he realized he likes you, he’s a complete idiot

Normally with girls, he’s super smooth and charismatic - but that’s only because he’s trying to get into their pants

With you, you knew all his tactics and how awful of a person he can and HAS been over the years

You’ve seen him cheat, yell, and sometimes be borderline abusive to his past girlfriends

He starts to worry about how you perceive him and wants to make sure he seems like a good option

He becomes so awkward around you, it’s painful

Starts to be way nicer to you than he ever has been and becomes a lot more chivalrous

He takes off his jacket and shields you from rain, if anyone teases you he’ll get really defensive, he spoon feeds you at times, always pays for your lunch and dinner

Even goes as far as to take you on shopping sprees with no limit - even if you say no he’ll just keep track of everything you look at and buy it for you

Gets you flowers every week and always excuses it as “this is what best friends always do”

You two are basically dating… just without an official title

He’s TERRIFIEDDDD to ask, he’s literally had break downs over his fear of you rejecting him

Please just confess to him yourself, I’m not sure when he’ll get the balls and confidence to do it

LORENZO BERKSHIRE

He’s the most sane out of all of them all 😭

Literally the one line from Taylor Swift, “in a world of boys he’s a gentleman” AHAAAAHHHHH

He gets a crush on you after you two are partnered for a long term project

Loves how smart and dedicated you are, it inspires him to be the same way

Sometimes he purposely acts dumb just so that you’ll help him

Always pays attention to the small details and everything you do

Spoils you ROTTEN omg

Will take you out to go shopping with him and he whips out his black card and casually drops 25k just on clothes and makeup for you

He loves the feeling of spoiling you, makes him feel like your future husband

Praises you for everything, even the bare minimum

“Woah! I like your outfit!” And you’re literally wearing the required school uniform

He wants to date you and call you his own, but he knows he’s a fuck boy deep down

Every time he’s dated a girl, he’s ended up breaking up with them because he can’t commit or just straight up cheating on them

He’s very confident that he could change and be better, but he wants to be perfect before he dares you

Because he sees you as perfect :”) and you only deserve the best

You help motivate him to become better, even though you didn’t know you did

Starts going to the gym, works harder in school, tries to be more nice to everyone

Eventually, he’ll get the guts to ask you out for the Yule ball but he’ll keep saying you’re going as “friends”

But one day you’ll overhear him and his group talking about how fat of a crush he has on you

They all tease him and call him a simp, loverboy, everything

But when he sees that you’ve been listening the entire time, he’s so reddddd

Tries to hide his face and runs away, he avoids you for a little bit

He’s so so so scared of not being good enough or even ruining his relationship with you

He’d genuinely be okay with just being your best friend for all his life whilst loving you, even though it would hurt him so badly

Please just accept this boy 🙏 tell this man he’s enough and that you love him

read more here! :D

[dimepdf]

★  𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇-𝐀, 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇-𝐀, 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐄. + 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐎'𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀

masterlist. / taglist. / tip jar. synopsis. no matter how many times you try to convince yourself that Miguel is the bane of your existence, the way you react during training proves otherwise.

─── ☆ notes. i need fics of miguel being an absolute dick, like a petty bitch just for the hell of it i need more attitude yk? Like if that man isn't calling me a slut it ain't canon! | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

─── ☆ length. 4.3k (33 min read).

─── ☆ genre and warnings. +18 nsfw under the cut. minors dni | no spoilers | smut, enemies to lovers, maybe mutual pining, fighting and violence, semi public sex, gym sex, mentions of abuse, size difference, pain kink, strength kink, degradation kink, manhandling, power play(?), begging, rough sex, cervix kissing, choking, fangs, biting, marking, cunnilingus, eye contact, hair pulling, creampie, open ended, not an taiyo fic without a few typos.

IF YOU ASKED any of the other Spider-men what they loved so much about being Spider-Man, their answers would all be the same, ranging from "the suit" to "the enhanced abilities." It was a no-brainer that being a superhero came with a few awesome perks.

Which was why your answer was just a bit confusing, "the combat." You would always smile, despite the many eyebrows raises and looks that convinced you you had to be some type of overcover masochist, especially since you would never really go into true detail about why.

Your reasoning behind putting on the mask was similar to all the others: another traumatized kid being thrown into a whole new reality that you never would have dreamed of being possible.

Sadly, you had been raised with the loss of most of your loved ones, and your family was in shambles from the abuse you would go through from them. It was the reason why it was difficult for you to grow up and make many friends, let alone navigate your abilities on your own accord, which was why it was a whole different ball game when you first joined the spider society.

When you first met Miguel O'Hara, you thought he was an overly intimidating man with an even more scary personality. Your aesthetics and morals would clash in the first few run-ins you would have with him.

In all honesty, you first thought him to be a massive dick who surprisingly needed more therapy than you did. From his bored expression to his unnerving glare, it was clear upon the first introduction that you two just would not get along.

Which was why the universe made him the only spider person willing and with enough free time to train you. It came as a surprise to you both, who are usually butting heads. Miguel was adamant about not wanting to waste his time training some little girl who didn't even know how to throw a punch.

With much shit-talking on your part and a lot of teasing claims of him being afraid that you were going to kick your ass, training had quite literally started in full swing.

It was probably a bad move on your part to push the buttons of the guy who was teaching you how to fight. Miguel was clear with his fight-style techniques. He was nimble with his limbs and swift on his feet. It was hard for anyone to get a hit on him, especially since he wasn't the type to hold back his punches. 

His teaching style was the same: your sessions included throwing you around as if you were some ragdoll and picking you up as if you weighed nothing, just to slam you into the ground with full bruising force.

There would be some very rare occasions when you would manage to get the upper hand on him. Miguel was about a foot taller than you, not to mention how pathetically compressed you looked standing next to him. You learned that the only way you could manage to get the upper hand was by using your size difference to your advantage.

All the sessions you won were hosted by you managing to tangle yourself from his claws and climb his towering figure into a headlock, praying that you had enough strength in your legs to make him tap out.

"How is she not dead yet?" Miles would mutter, looking concerned, as he stood from the sidelines of the training room, watching one of your sessions, as the blonde by his side didn't even wince at the sound of Miguel untangling you from the headlock you had him in.

His arms moved faster than you could process as he managed to loosen your hold enough to slam the air from your lungs as you fell back facing against the mat so hard that even Miles was convinced he could feel the blow in the lower spine.

"I mean, at this point, I'm kind of convinced she’s turned into his personal punching bag." Miles strains to watch Miguel not even wipe a sweat as he sprung back on his feet. He stretched out his full body, towering over you, curled flat against the mat, trying to collect your breathing as well as your broken ego.

Gwen nodded in agreement. "I don't even know how someone could hit someone so...squishy? She’s just so cute." She muttered, watching with her arms crossed. 

"This punching bag needs to learn that in the real world, people aren't going to go as easy on her just because she’s cute." Miguel, despite glaring at the two bystanders, leaned down and yanked you back onto your stumbling feet. 

Your fingers combed through the matted curls now drenched in sweat away from your forehead, using your water break as the perfect excuse to help cover up the reaction to the sudden compliment that came from his lips and the way he had made you feel.

"And her being my personal punching bag is completely at her fault, if you want to learn how to fight, you have to learn how to take a few punches." You couldn't help but roll your eyes and wave your hand out in annoyance at another one of Miguel O’Hara’s famous lectures.

"I’m not a punching bag, did you not see the hold I had on him early?" You huffed, almost choking on your water, trying to protest. Gwen humored your claim, the blonde reaching out and rubbing your shoulder out of support as you continued with your defense. "Any tighter, and I would have easily snapped his neck."

Of course, Miguel only smirked as you continued grasping at straws at the point of trying to prove to your friends your improvement, his eyes flitting back and forth at the exchange, expressionless at the sight of you managing to still joke around as if you weren't about to pass out from fatigue at any second.

"And was that before or after the part where I kicked your ass, little girl?" He shot out, chipping away at the final lock that held back your annoyance, you hadn't even had time to process the insult before he bumped his shoulder into you on his way out of the training room.

His rude exit enticed a round of reactions from Miles and Gwen trying their awkward best to comfort the boiling pot of anger they saw written all over your face, rolling your eyes, you pushed past the two, not without grumbling a string of insults in Miguel’s name to the washrooms.

You blessed the spider lords for somehow having the ability to shower under running water, let alone the unexplainable strange amount of amenities that the spider society dimensions had. 

Like a web shooter's wonderland, you quickly shed the sweating clothes you trained in and stepped foot into the cold cubicle shower booth, letting the water run for a bit until enough steam fogged clouded stepping under the stream. Even with the hot water splashing pressure against your aching muscles, no amount of water could manage to wash away the annoying feeling in your legs. 

It was enough of a jab at your pride to even find Miguel attractive in the first place, and here your body was betraying you once more, begging, throbbing desperately for his every touch in its every form, and having the nerve to grow more intense during your training.

The feeling had yet to fully disappear the next day, even with your session starting off with you fueled from yesterday's comments. You tried pushing the feeling as you were just ready to have Miguel mutter another word insult with the ass kick you were ready to give him. It was the only possible explanation for why you were so jittery about getting to training on time.

"It took you long enough." Was the first thing you heard Miguel announce throughout the empty room.

He wasn’t wearing his suit—neither of you did while training—instead, he was wearing dark gray sweatpants paired with some random dark red graphic shirt that fit him a bit too snuggly to leave room for imagination around his arms.

"Almost thought you were gonna skip out."

You were aware enough to spot this quick observation of your outfit as well. Keeping it casual and opting for better mobility, you shimmied yourself into plain Nike shorts that stopped higher up than you had expected them to on your thighs with a loose tank top that peeked out the straps of your sports bra.

Nothing about your clothes screamed attention grabbing—at least that's what you thought before you caught Miguel’s red-tinted stare on the way your shorts hugged your thighs.

He glanced away, muttering something in Spanish you couldn't quite translate the moment your fingers fidgeted with the bottom hems of the shorts, tugging them slightly more down while deciding to break the tense silence that had managed to sneak up on you. "So what are we doing today?"

"Huh, I’ve been thinking." He answered, followed by the clearing of his throat, "We try something a little different." You could never get used to the roughness of his voice or the way he spoke with so much arrogance that it reminded just about everyone that he thought he was better than just about everyone.

Even now that you stepped towards the middle of the mat, standing rigidly just a few paces away from him, you could tell from that stupid, cocky expression as he stood looking down at you that there was no possible way that he would ever see you as a real threat. "I want you to try to hit me." 

Your brows creased together in confusion. 

"What?" was all you asked, which seemed to be the wrong question to ask as Miguel stretched out a sigh from his mouth, his hands coming close to his to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

"I said hit me." He speaks more slowly, making sure to mockingly over pronounce every symbol in every word as if you were a child. "Preferably soon and as hard as you can." A grimace finds itself twisting on your lips before you can even process your bubbling annoyance. Your body moved on autopilot because of your keen senses, jumping over the swing of his left leg with ease.

You couldn't say that swift grace stuck with your attempt at a counterattack. Bending your knee just enough to reach out and kick, you were only met with the bottom of your foot stomping flat against the floor mat and Miguel dodging your kick, standing just a few paces away. "Too predictable," he scolded in that annoyingly deep voice you hated oh so much and totally did not turn on you at all. You sprung yourself up by the heels of your feet and charged at him with full determination to land at least one punch on his stupidly chiseled, handsome face.

It had been your second mistake, giving him too much time to brace himself. Already regretting your emotionally impulsive start, resulting in the punch you swung being easily deflected by Miguel.

His hand wrapped entirely around your wrist, bending your arm almost out of your socket and kicking the back of your knee to the mat with his heel. You feel down to a kneel with a hissing pain in your arm threatening to get worse at any wrong twist.

"Lose that fucking attitude, or you’ll get sloppy." As if your body could radiate any more anger, you knew he was just trying to push your buttons, trying to throw you off your game with smack talk that was not working on you or anything.

"Again," he prompted, letting your arm go and stepping back, egging on another attack from you.

"Give me a damn minute." No matter how much you wanted to snap back at him with something snarky, you knew it would only prove his point entirely—not only that but also the fact that he was mentally hitting you in all the places that he knew counted the most to throw you off your game. 

Biting back the insult you already had threatened to slip from your tongue instead of making a point by rolling your eyes as you stumbled back to your feet. Rolling your sore shoulder back as your eyes scan over his stance, trying to find the best opening for a better attack, you steady your breath and cloud your mind in thought. "You aren't going to get anywhere but dead standing around like that, you know."

So much for wanting to consider your options. Miguel took the first swing at you and was on the verge of kicking you on your ass if it weren't for your shoddy dodge.

"Didn't you just say I had to be less fucking predictable?" You snarled, lifting your foot with most of your weight pointed in the direction of his jaw. Surprisingly, the kick landed just not in the place you wanted it to; instead, Miguel’s arm blocked the blow, much to your annoyance.

"I also said—" All he was doing was using dodging moves on you, swiping your other foot from under you as he held the other one that you kicked up in his arm, resulting in you landing once again flat on your ass. "to lose that fucking attitude."

You had not gone down without a fight, twisting and kicking, trying to wrestle your limbs free by any means. Miguel had almost embarrassingly quickly ceased your squirming, his palm cuffing your arms and pressing hard against your chest as his other hand pressed tightly into your thighs, folding your legs in place under his hips.

The position was interesting, to say the least, but you still had some fight in you, wiggling against his grip with any strength you had left to break free. It was a useless battle, but the man had his grip around you tight as well as an overpowering size difference that blanketed your entire figure like one big rock.

And that's how you caught yourself in another web of misfortune. Your nerves are surging at the feeling of something—him brushing against your calf. Maybe it was all the adrenaline pumping through your veins or the fact that you were practically being manhandled so easily that did another thing to your body, or maybe it was just pure horny instability that your brain couldn't even process the lewd whine that tugged from your throat after the fact that it had happened.

Watching in pure horror as Miguel loomed on top of you, his mouth slightly agape as his chest heaved and his brows pulled together, the embarrassment from his confused, almost offended looking expression hit you fast. Here your body was betraying you once more, this time going absolutely haywire and melting like a stupid pile of putty at the fact that you were being body pressed against some mat with some guy's hard junk pressed into your leg.

You couldn't bear to even look him in the eye anymore, your head tilting to the side, pressing your cheek into the mat, and squeezing your eyes closed, not suddenly envying the spidermen with teleportation powers. "Fucking Christ, can you get off now?"

A beat of silence hovered between the small distance between you two, neither moving nor talking. It was starting to become unbearable how tightly Miguel had folded your legs against him, in the sense that you could already feel his body heat radiating. The close proximity did not help with how unbearably your heart was beating against your chest. "How do you manage after all of that to still have that shameless fucking attitude?"

You stilled at how his voice had managed to cut through your own thick cloud of betraying thoughts as well as the ringing in your eardrums. "Shameless? As if you don't have your dick pressed against me right now."

"By the sounds of it, you don't seem that bothered at all." Miguel taunted, You thought you were bound to die of embarrassment.

Yeah, this is how you went out—by dying from the sheer effect of your own extremely horny though—not some overpowered supervillain with a vendetta against you but Miguel O'Hara and his dick print.

You could already hear the new taunts that he would use against you, "Not even in your fucking dreams." being the only comeback that you could muster, your limbs tingling with slight pins and needles, threatening to go stiff under his unbound grasp. 

"Oh, like you wouldn't love to," he sneered, shifting the weight from his hips flat against your thighs. "Probably thinking about me taking off these tight fucking shorts and having my way with you?" Your body reacted first to the accusation, cursing under your breath as you felt your second heartbeat flutter in between your legs.

His lingering stare hadn't helped one bit, and you watched from the sidelines as his eyes raked over your body with interest.

"I bet this was your plan the entire fucking time, huh?" He asked, leaning in as the distance dwindled until you could feel the brush of his breath against your face. "Put on some sweet naive act in front of everyone, knowing that you're getting yourself off on me throwing you around, touching yourself like some bitch in heat."

You hadn't bothered covering the whine that parted from your lips at the feeling of his erection slowly rutting against your thigh, the cocky smirk on his lips wanting you to melt away against the mat.

Miguel practically growled at the pathetic sounds that parted from your lips, tugging your legs apart to rut his hips down against your core. You shivered at the intrusion of his bulge pressed against your eagerness, the foreign feeling of him grinding against you left your thoughts in a dizzy fog.

"What? Can’t fucking speak now," he said as if he were dangling your most prized possession in front of your face, his fingers creeping into dangerous territory, making it a point for his fingertips to drag down your lower torso only to halt right above the elastic waistband of your shorts. "Go on, use your words."

"...fuck you."

The small amount of distance made the space between you two fall tensely thick, and the words spoken from your lips were different from the feelings that made your heart thud against your ribs. You weren't stupid, you knew Miguel could sense it, he could sense just about everything about your body from how close he kneeled on top of you.

Maybe that was why he had closed the distance so quickly after, letting the tight grip around your wrists give way to his hand finding a new objective, wrapping his fingers around your neck, not bothering to be gentle as he guided your lips towards his. The kiss was as rough as you had dreamed it to be. Eager for each other's kiss, you couldn't even process the noise that vibrated sharply from your throat before Miguel could pull away first, leaving you panting for more of his touch.

"First time I've ever seen you so quiet," his deep taunts were starting to grow unbearable, shifting your hips at the brush of his fangs against the jugular of your neck with every word, "who knew all you needed was some dick?" The harsh kisses he left trailing down to your collarbone made you feel like a hot, needy mess of putty. If it weren't for the tight grasp he had on your body, you were convinced that you would feel like you'd melt into some type of puddle. The growing frustration had only started to build up more as Miguel let go of your thighs, his hand trailing between your legs ruthlessly as the bud of his fingers rubbed against your clothed pussy. 

As for why you shifted your hips up and let him impatiently tug and yank at the bow knotted around the waist of your shorts, breaking away from the red splotching light bruises already forming against your brown skin and wiggling you out of your shorts, Miguel thought it was quite the image, his eyes were fixated on the drooling sight of you under him, so vulnerable with your thighs hugging to your chest, spread open, revealing yourself in your pants.

All sanity was thrown out the window the moment he tugged you closer by your knees, your lower half lifted in his arms just enough for him to sit face to face with your cunt. His eyes darkened, his pupils blown as his tongue lapped over his lips, leaving you feeling restless. It was a slow and almost painful battle of trying to reach down and shove his face closer or buck your hips as his fingers sheathed and explored themselves against the fabric of your underwear.

As if Miguel could read your mind, his fingers hooked the fabric under the bend of his finger, followed by a quick tearing sound. "I’ll get you new ones," the comfort emitting a whine from your throat as you couldn't even scowl at him for ruining your underwear because you were too busy admiring the work his fingers were doing. Without warning, Miguel leans in closer, the warmth of his mouth almost sending you into a frenzy as his fingers spread open your lips, his lips sucking at your clitoral area, prompting you to let out a very lewd moan.

"Too loud," Miguel mumbled against your pussy, too busy webbed up in your own pleasure to even notice how every embarrassedly sloppy wet noise had seemed to perfectly echo throughout the empty room. You couldn't even explain the number of emotions that were flowing through you, from shame from being tongue fucked and fingered against the floor about the one man you hated so much to bashfulness from holding eye contact with him as he lay between your legs and ate your pussy like he was starving for you.

"I can't help it," you whined, shivering at the string of spit that contacted Miguel as he lifted his head in an idea. It took a second to process Miguel picking you up and turning you on your stomach, his hands guiding your hips up and stripping your torn panties down your legs to stuff them in your mouth.

Without a word, Miguel grabbed your ass with another hand, guiding your lower back into an arch as the other made small indents from his nail bearing into your cheeks as he spread them apart.

Before you could even feel embarrassed at the new position, he shoved his face between them, your moan being muffled by your makeshift cloth gag that worked a bit too well in lowering your whines as Miguel’s mouth sought his tongue out for your pussy once more.

"You're close I can smell it," you almost missed Miguel's groan over your building ecstasy, "just let it go, baby, let me take care of you. That's what you want, right?" His voice is drastically different from his usual rough, rude tone, softened to something of a coo that has managed to unknot your pleasure with his tongue. Your body tensed against his mouth for a moment as he had the nerve to suck his fingers clean. No grace period was given before he could lift you once more with a grunt, laying you flat on your back.

Slotting himself back between his legs, Miguel chuckled at the dazed look on your face. "It's alright, baby, I can take it from here." taking the balled up drool covered panties from your mouth and instead replaced them with his lips. The sensual change of pace wasn't enough to stop the shiver that rid your nerves of the feeling of his bare cock rutting against your slit, using his thumb to spread your lips apart to sink his tip inside of you with a low hiss against your mouth.

A gasp left yours as his girthy length intruded deeper inside of you, the burying stretch of his dick having your nails roughly grasping at the nape neck of his hair tugging a handful as his pace hadn't bothered to even get familiar already. Miguel’s hips weren't letting out as he fucked you almost animalistic against the floor. You were convinced he was trying to fuck you into the mat, to be one with the floor, which would perfectly explain the rough pace that left you breathless with each piston of his hips. 

The graphically lewd sounds of your weak groans were nothing compared to the pornographic sound of your skin meeting his, your brain empty with nothing but greed, wanting to take everything and more of what Miguel was giving you. His fingers reach to unwrap your fingers tangled in his hair to intertwine them in his. "That's it, mama, that's it," he whispers against the shell of your ear, earning a whimpering reply from you, almost close to spilling the tears clouding your waterline.

Your mind couldn't process anything other than how good Miguel’s dick felt being shoved inside of you, his cock dragging against your tight, flustering walls with each shaky breath brushed against your ear. Your cunt seemed to react to Miguel’s lashes tickling against your neck as his eyes screwed tightly shut, muttering a string of compliments in his mother tongue.

You weren't lucky enough to be more stable, surprised that your throat hasn't gone horse with how ruined your vocal cords sounded in the pace of his pistoning hips. Only going up an octave higher as one of Miguel’s hands reaches down to pay attention to your clit, he doesn't stop even when your limbs start to tremble from your climax. 

With one last hard thrust, he finally stills, your name being the only thing you could make out through his mumbling as his unfamiliar warm sensation welcomed itself inside of you. 

Groaning right in your ear, he cums inside of you with his entire dead weight pressed against you, caging you against the floor. "Alright," Miguel sighs, settling on top of you once more with his arms holding himself just a few inches away from your face. "Again."

🔖 @adonis-is-dead-lmaoo @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @inumakiiz @iheartlinds @creamyarishi @marzipaanz

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[wife-of-all-dilfs]

could we get some gally headcannons please?👀

Whatever you want to write🩷

Thank you ❤️

gally in a relationship headcanons

masterlist

finally some gally love <3 idc what anyone says, his eyebrows are beautiful. NSFW BELOW.

the glade

enemies to lovers type shit. i'm talking y'all would go as far as avoiding meal times just to avoid seeing each other.

he'd always be staring at you—from across the glade, through the bonfire, literally all the time.

sooo many interactions would end with y'all being up in each other's faces and throwing petty insults.

you'd slap him if he says anything that borders on sexism. he eventually learns what's what.

'there's a thin line between love and hate'.

other gladers would get so annoyed by how much he talks about you. his favourite excuse: "she just pisses me off so much".

but there's no excuse for jerking off to the thought of you late at night.

honestly, he would probably realise he likes you when you scull his secret recipe drink in front of him.

he'd ignore his feelings until you're the only thing on his mind and it infuriates him so fucking much.

you would be arguing one time and then suddenly he kisses you. the kiss would be aggressive, heated, and most likely up against a tree or hut.

suprisingly, his confession after would be very vulnerable and tender.

everyone is confused the next day when you're practically glued to each other's sides

gally would be very protective and borderline possessive. he'd hate it whenever other guys stare or talk about you.

would probably end up in a fistfight over it.

he'd be a rough/passionate kisser.

he'd be very into thighs. his hands are big and calloused so he'd enjoy wrapping them around the plush of your thighs, kneading the soft warm skin in his hand.

despite his gruff and harsh demeanour, he would always hold/touch you with utmost delicateness, apart from heated moments.

guards you whenever you shower.

would break so many rules for you. reluctantly, of course.

y'all know the term 'sleeper build'? that's gally. he might not seem extremely muscly at first glance, but once he starts heavy-lifting and building, his arms are legit bulging.

your first time together wouldn't be too great, but once you practice more, it gets good. like, really good.

love love loves receiving but also thoroughly enjoys making you come and knowing only he can do it.

his favourite sex position would be holding you up against a wall. he likes feeling strong.

arguments would almost always end with him taking you into the forest and fucking you against a tree.

when he gets stung, he would probably fight through the changing to tell you he loves you one last time before getting speared. oop.

the last city

when y'all reunite, you'd both collapse to the floor in each other's arms kissing and crying which surprises you. the gally you knew was not a crier or favoured public affection.

gally changed a lot since you last saw him, emotionally and physically. he is taller, more muscular, and has a more level-headed and calmer attitude.

he'd be more emotionally available and willing to be open and vulnerable with you.

the first thing y'all do when you're alone is have sex. and he even fucks differently.

the better wording would be 'make love' instead of 'fuck'.

he is much more gentle and loving and focuses on your needs wayyy more than his own. he couldn't believe how aggressive he previously was with you, how selfish he was.

he would worship your body and show you how much you really mean to him.

you would make him leave his mask on one time while y'all fuck. its hot af.

would always be touching you—an arm wrapped around your waist, holding your hand, your thighs, etc.

the hugs, man. he'd literally pick you up and engulf you in his arms. all the time. this mf had a severe epiphany and realised his love language was touch.

would always be complimenting you. "you're beautiful, you know that?", "god, you're a fucking angel.", etc

wouldn't get mad if other guys talked to or stared at you anymore. he would probably joke about it with them instead.

well, maybe he would be a little aggressive.

"yeah, ha-ha, careful or i'll throw you to the cranks".

trusts you to be able to take care of yourself but is still a major worrier, especially during the war within the city.

after arriving at the safe haven, he would build a house for you. you would enjoy watching him because, well... muscles.

all in all, gally would be an extremely different man compared to the one you first met, making your love for him stronger than it had ever been.

[chocolatetittymilk]

“I’m in love with you!” Series

Alhaitham x reader Summary — Alhaitham has never been one for social interactions - in fact, neither of you knew each other in the first place. His pride never allowed anyone to befriend him fully. Until you decide to confess your love to him bluntly one morning, ultimately changing his perspective about you. TW : angst-comfort, unrequited love, strangers to enemies to lovers, possible smut, aged-up characters word count : 2.9k

pt. 1 - "Excuse me?"

“I’m in love with you.”

“Excuse me?”

You both stood in the middle of a park, some corny shit out of some little kid romance film.

“I’m in love with you.”

Bags on the back of both of you, freshly out of class.

“This is what you dragged me out here for? Tch.”

He scoffs a little, almost like it’s a joke. The wrinkle in between his eyebrows was even more prominent. He’d never been one for jokes or wasting time. In fact, he hates wasting time. Even more so when it's people wasting his time.

But you don’t flinch, not a hint of hurt. Just a straight face while holding your books in your arms: like a fucking schoolgirl. (even if you technically are one)

He goes to open his mouth, reject you and move on with his day. Only, you interrupted him quickly, not a stutter or hitch.

“If you don’t feel the same way then I’ll be on my way.”

Not even batting an eye, you turn around swiftly and start walking away. No outburst, no crying, its dramatic flair to his annoyance. ‘Odd.’ That’s all that comes to mind when he watches you leave, not making any move to stop you.

See Alhaitham has always been popular among women; whether it be Valentine's Day or a rainy day, there was always someone wanting to confess their interest or feelings for the silver-haired man. Most of the time it ends with them raising their voices, crying and sobbing. Knowing that his interest in romantic aspects were, well, none.

But this was the first time someone didn't care slightly that someone, little to nothing himself, didn't return the feelings. Alhaitham turns some music on connecting it to his headphones, trying to shake whatever feeling came over him. Envy? Anger? This was one of the rare times Alhaitham had been consumed with something he didn't know logically to do with.

Meanwhile, you walked away not a care in the world. Your friends had hidden behind some trees aways away, trying to see some sort of drama or events take place. Especially with their all-nonchalant friend who didn't care for rejection or romance in the first place.

Coming up behind you, Dehya had a frown on her face. "You seriously didn't care one bit, did you?" It wasn't even a question, more of a statement. Observing your straight face, you raised an eyebrow.

You had asked Alhaitham after a class to meet up with him in the park to discuss something. It went fairly smoothly; he didn't even ask what about. You had thought he probably already had an idea about what it would be about. 'Always the cut-and-dry type.' you thought as you walked.

"Why would I care? What exactly would I care about?" You replied back, with no form of irritation or any negative emotion. 'Typical', Dehya had thought as Candace chose to speak up next, all of you walking towards home. Sun starting to set in the background.

"I mean, you liked him, didn't you?" She started to say, "It's okay to feel bad about it-"

"But I don't. Life goes on, nothing changes. In fact, I'm glad he didn't waste my time with idle chit-chat about, "when" or "how" I ended up liking him. It's so exhausting." You interrupted her, ranting about how it's not that important. Dehya just rolled her eyes, Candace trying to smile slightly at the both of you.

"That's a smart way of thinking about it but... I mean... It can be disappointing too."

You huff a little, eye twitching just a little. 'How irritating.'

"I love and appreciate you both for your concern and, uhm, support. But I do not need it, think of it all as a little experiment." You turned towards them, halting your steps. The three of you standing on the sidewalk, almost to your destination. "It failed and my hypothesis was incorrect. So, it's back to the drawing board." You smile slightly, walking up the steps of your home. Getting out your keys, Candace and Dehya look with a knowing look.

"Wasn't it you who even proposed the setting? Maybe he thought it was a joke since it was at a park..." Dehya offered an explanation, but even she didn't fully believe it.

"It was one of the better settings, it was secluded, away from prying eyes and away from earshot. Quiet and nothing to be distracted by. But maybe I should've chosen somewhere else." You finished, trying to think through all possible errors. "Either way it doesn't matter, what happened, happened. No use in fretting about it."

Dehya gave a grim look, "I didn't mean it like that..."

"It's okay. Plus, we're still studying, still young. I'm not expecting someone like him to be even hint in that direction with anyone. You know Alhaitham." You had a sly little smile on your face as you unlocked the door, glancing at the two girls.

Dehya laughs a little, "Oh we are very well aware... I honestly don't see how you had feelings for that iceman." Stepping inside your house as well with the two of you. Candace makes a face towards Dehya, knowing that it wasn't as polite as it could've been said.

You snorted a little as you got out leftovers. "Well, I took into account his demeanor but also his interests. He cuts to the chase, doesn't like idle-chit chatting, moving towards a career and goal-"

"I think we get the picture... Almost the male version of you." Candace replies cutting you off as Dehya tries not to laugh.

You roll your eyes and laugh a little, "Yeah yeah. So, are we watching a movie?"

"I'll make the popcorn-" Dehya starts to say.

"I call choosing the movie!" Candace says from the living room, already picking up the remote.

'This is all I need anyways.' you think with a smile on your face as you get out the snacks.

The next day was the same, at least both Alhaitham and you tried to go about it that way.

Attending classes, even the ones where the both of you shared. Going to lunch, where most of the time Alhaitham would be reading in a quiet space, teal eyes focused on the pages. Or you would be taking notes while sitting at a table with Candace or Dehya.

Barely a moment slipped passed your mind about him, and you to him.

It was almost like the confession had never happened; everything was in place as if it were untouched.

And, in all honesty, a week had passed with this routine. Each of you living your lives, studying hard to earn your degree. Alhaitham studied mathematics and science (and reading everything and anything in between) to be a scribe to Sumeru. While you studied biology and botany; trying to achieve a Naturopathic doctor of Sumeru for the head scribe. That is why both of you shared science classes in the first place.

Everything going smoothly until a shared class between the two of you. The professor had allowed the rest of the class to be used as studying or note taking; free to leave anytime in between.

"Hey, you're trying to become a doctor, aren't you?"

Alhaitham's ears picked up in the crowded lecture room.

"Yes, a Naturopathic doctor... if that makes any difference." You replied, still focusing on whatever last needed notes to write down. Kaveh sat down beside you, clearly interested in a conversation between the two of you.

'Always the annoying roach.' Alhaitham thought, knowing full well how Kaveh was. Being his roommate definitely had its perks, like constant groceries and good furniture. But that's about it, now that he thought about it.

The constant nagging, scoffs, and judgments from the blonde were the epitome of annoyance. Always, "You're always so cold" "Put away your books they're everywhere" and even "All you ever do is study, one drink won't hurt." The future architect didn't have any sense of routine, at least that's what Alhaitham believed. Except maybe the constant time at the bar for drinks after classes.

"Oh, what type of doctor is that?" Kaveh's eyes were full of curiosity as if he found his new thing to be obsessed with for a week.

"A healthcare professional who practices naturopathic medicine. Naturopathic medicine is an alternative medicine approach that emphasizes using natural medicine and a “whole person” approach to prevent, diagnose, and treat health conditions." You highlighted part of your notes, then shut your notebook, finally looking at the red eyes of the blonde.

"Basically, a doctor whose treatment and medication are plant or nature-based. No fake shit." You give a little fake smile and pack your things up, already slinging your bag on your back.

"You know, you seem pretty cool, wanna catch a drink together? I know this fantastic place, even the dishes are quite tasty-"

"I have studies I need to do, plus I already have some plans with a couple of friends of mine." You cut him off, trying to hurry off in the process. But Kaveh is one of the most stubborn people Alhaitham has ever met.

Alhaitham smirked a little at the rejection, hands pausing to listen. Of course, he wasn't truly trying to pry into the conversation, you both are just so loud. At least that's what he told himself. Trying to tune them out, he focuses back on his note-taking. Plugging his headphones into his ears, drifting off into his little world.

"That's okay! How about your friends and you come by - my friends also go there to get a drink so think of it like a big get-together." Kaveh tried to explain, hoping that his honest to God's idea would work.

You gritted your teeth, jaw clenching. It's not that social interaction was unattainable, but very much not wanted. It was hard enough trying to befriend Candace and Dehya years ago, little to nothing now. Walking out into the hallway towards outside, Kaveh still trails behind you, waiting for an answer.

"I don't know, my friends aren't really keen on big groups, so I'll have to ask them-" Suddenly Candace and Dehya are there waving at you to come closer. 'Looks like they were waiting for me to finish up...' you look a little surprised when Kaveh notices your look. "Are those your friends?" he asks, and without even waiting for your answer he walks up to them.

"Fuck." you mumble as you try to catch up and stop Kaveh from talking them into having a gathering together.

It's not that you didn't like Kaveh, in fact, you bet he's a very nice and kind guy... But you're not one for social events, nor making friends. They require a lot: opening up, spending time together, making time for them, and even dragging you into things you don't necessarily want to be a part of. And, as you watch the three of them talk, I guess this was one of those moments.

"Oh, we'd love to all hangout. In fact, we were all going to do that anyway." Candace smiles at Kaveh, accepting his invitation on behalf of quite literally the whole group. Dehya had a little cautiousness to her but still agreed anyway. Meanwhile. you tried your best to stay composed.

They exchanged words with each other and headed towards your home. 5 pm, that's the agreed time for the get-together. The girls and you had agreed to head back to your place to chill out (or, in your case, study) and then get ready to go.

"Do we really need to do all this unnecessary socializing? What if his friends are weird or perverts." You said, trying on some casual clothes. You knew it was unrealistic to think something of that, but you couldn't help but make excuses. Maybe if you put certain thoughts in their heads then you wouldn't have to endure this social gathering.

Candace is in the background fixing her makeup and Dehya watching from the sidelines. "It'll be finnnee, no need to worry we'll be in a public setting if anything happens." Candace tried comforting you, knowing full well how much you despised idle chitchat.

"Plus, there is our big strong guard dog that will protect us." She made a snide remark, looking towards Dehya who had her eyebrow raised.

You laugh, "Oh yes our big scary guard dog. How could I ever forget her." Candace and you bust out laughing, Dehya replying in an eye roll and sigh going out of the room and into the living room.

"Oh! I also invited Layla; she's been meaning to get out more so I thought this would be the perfect opportunity." Candace mentions as she finishes touching up her makeup.

Layla, always the quiet and tired woman who surprisingly hasn't died from lack of sleep. She's joined our group on the occasion, meeting her from Candace on one outing with them all. 'She's one of the only people I can tolerate for a long while.' You thought, thinking back on how Layla wasn't much of a talker. A commenter? Sure, but not out of any negative intentions, merely out of pure observation.

"Yeah, that's fine, I haven't spoken to her in a while." You concluded as you headed into the bathroom to change.

Oh, this was going to be an eventful night.

"Just go with us for once, it's not a big deal unless you make it one."

Kaveh stood in his and Alhaitham's living room, trying to convince the ever-so-monotone man to join in the fun for a night.

"And why would I waste time with pleasantries when I could be doing something much more productive." Alhaitham concluded, eyes never wavering from the pages of the book set in his hands.

Alhaitham hated wasting time, and what he believed in wasting time was quite a list. Social events, social gatherings, taking unnecessary amounts of notes, pleasantries, and idle chitchat. Oh and of course any and all romantic aspects. He just believed it was unnecessary, boring, time-consuming, and useless.

"And what is productive, Alhaitham? Reading all day? Making more of a mess?" Kaveh scoffed, truly not understanding why the man had no sense of respect for even his roommate.

"Do you need a list?" Alhaitham asked coyly, "I can give you one if you truly need one, Kaveh. Unless you're too busy drinking your sorrows away."

Kaveh just scoffed again, angrily grabbing his coat. "To think I wanted to introduce you to my new acquaintances." He stomped towards the door only to stop by the sound of Alhaitham's indifferent voice.

"And who in their right mind would agree to have a drink with you? I know Cyno and Tighnari are your usual, but besides that, I don't think anyone could tolerate ten minutes of your yapping."

Although, Alhaitham had truly meant what he said - Kaveh's non-stop talking had made a lot of people cut their visits short - part of him was wondering who was joining them. Wondering if it was you who had agreed.

Kaveh turned around sharply, "For your information, it was the girl in our class and her friends who were more than happy to join Cyno, Tighnari, and me. So, pull your delusions out of your ASS!" Kaveh said loudly and defensively, then turned around curtly and headed out of the door.

"The only delusions here are your life, dear Kaveh." Alhaitham muttered, wondering why you had accepted his invitation. 'Is she just interested in anyone?' he had wondered. 'Why does it matter, she's just a classmate.' Alhaitham had settled, yet part of him was curious about you.

Candance, Dehya and you had dropped by Layla's to accompany her to the bar. The four of you walked towards the bar, already spotting where Kaveh was waiting for you at the entrance. Nerves were a bit high already coming closer to the building, knowing you're not the best in social situations. Yet it wasn't as bad as you had thought previously.

'How sweet of him.' you had thought as he greeted each of you, opening the door and showing you to the table they already had.

The air was slightly stuffy due to the cooking and people gathered around, but ultimately it wasn't as loud as you thought it would be. The place was cozy, and the smell of mouth-watering food wafted through the air. 'Looks like Kaveh knows his places.'

Walking towards the table you spot a familiar face, "Tighnari, nice seeing you again." You had sat down next to him, offering him a small smile.

Tighnari smiled brightly at you, "Ah if it isn't the doctor in training! I wasn't expecting you to join us." He leaned in towards you looking at your face. "Did you grow your hair out a little? It's been a while."

Your ears turn a little red, embarrassed by his observation. You cleared your throat a little, "I haven't had time to get a haircut, studies are a necessity to-"

"-to success. Ah still saying the same thing I see." He finishes your sentence, smiling and shaking his head a little.

Tighnari had recently graduated from Amurta, specializing in biology, ecology, and medicine. Exactly what you wanted to study. The both of you knew each other from preliminaries, him registering for his last year in Amurta and you applying for your second year. Three years in total. One year difference. You both had bonded through the mutual interests in biology and medicine, Tighnari going as far as offering to mentor you if needed.

But you had your own things I suppose.

Then suddenly, a deep familiar voice spoke between the two of you.

"Proper care to oneself is also the path to success. Neglecting one's basic needs will only lower your chance of success." He pauses, slyness dripping from his voice, "Unless you're intentionally wanting to fail."

'This cocky piece of shit.'

pt.2 here | ''im in love with you!" m!list

2024 © chocolatetittymilk : do not repost or translate my works anywhere. do not copy or use my works in any site.

[boytearscore]

why can’t i hate you? — matt sturniolo & chris sturniolo.

summary: being best friends with chris and nick meant the world to you, it also meant you had to deal with their brother���s hate, rudeness, eye rolls, mean comments and coldness all the time. but that didn’t bother you, in fact, it was actually always a pleasure to annoy the shit out of him constantly.

warnings: swearing, enemies to lovers, best friends to lovers, love triangle (not threesome), toxic behavior, angst, comedy, possible smut and of course, strong female lead.

taglist: @sleepysturniolo, @soshere, @spideylovin, @calisturniolo, @ilovecheese09.

author’s note: this chapter was an intense one, hope you guys enjoy reading it just as much i enjoyed writing it. don’t forget to leave your thoughts down below the comments, and of course, have fun!

chapter one here.

chapter two.

chris was the first one to get out of bed, meaning he just open his eyes after trying to sleep the whole night. he didn’t get a fucking blink of rest. first because he was thinking about you, not being able to cope with the fact that he was partially responsible for making you feel at ease and sleep better which meant his touch and presence was good for you.

if his presence and care subconsciously calmed you down, that means it’s worth a shot, right?

he sighs, that leads to the second thing that kept him awake.

matt, of course. that was probably the first time they argued over a girl. they never had the same type, but this isn’t about type. it’s about you. and although he wasn’t sure if his brother had actual romantic feelings, the voice of intuition inside his head screamed yes over and over again.

he grabs his phone on the nightstand next to the bed and checks the time before opening titkok in order to make the thoughts go away, occasionally chuckling at some dumb weird ass videos on his for you page, but that wasn’t working as much as he wanted to. chris ponders for a while, staring at the ceiling and decides it’s best to take a shower, he throws his phone on the bed and slowly gets up, almost crawling to the bathroom.

the boy closes the door behind him, taking his clothes off and grabbing his toothbrush, immediately brushing his teeth as he goes start the shower head, stepping in and letting out a sigh of relief, the warm water relaxing the tense muscles of his back and shoulders. he suddenly catches himself thinking about last night again. both the good and bad events, you’ve been friends for so long and nothing like that happened before, sure, he already had a crush, but the urge to fight for you was definitely unforeseen.

he never thinks twice when it comes to fighting guys that are assholes to you, but that never happened because you knew how to defend yourself pretty well. as a matter of fact, that’s part of the reason why he’s so attracted to you, but that’s besides to point, the thing is that you’ve dated other guys before and he didn’t care about it, it was like he just came to terms with the fact that he never had a chance to begin with, he was convinced no guy will ever be good enough for you, not even him. that’s why he never said anything and… oh, right. also the fact that it could ruin your friendship completely.

however after last night, something changed that led to the conflict inside him. well, not something. someone. his own brother, for the first time in years he saw matthew acting without thinking. the matt from some days ago would never let you get to his head, not the mention the sudden move. he showed interest to literally no girls for a long time, but then tries to kiss you? the one he claims to despise to the core?

chris realized he has been there for more than 10 minutes and if nick finds out, he’d be dead. so, he finishes washing off the shampoo from his hair and the toothpaste foam from his lips, stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around his waist before walking over to the mirror and taking a glance at himself while placing his toothbrush inside the holder. he runs a hand through his wet hair falling over his eyes, pushing it back and opening the door still looking at the mirror.

“you’re such a narcissistic.” you said standing at the door frame of the bathroom, arms crossed and a smirk on the lips.

actually, you‘ve been awake for a while, but the house was quiet and you never leave the room when you guys have sleepovers before chris and nick does. you weren’t a very nice person right after waking up and facing matt’s comments in that state would actually turn gruesome really fast. the only reason why you got up was because god gave you the useless talent of distinguishing chris laughter by the way he squeaks. you’re quite proud of it, in secret, of course. knowing him, he was probably on tiktok before heading to the shower, you waited for a while and finally left the guest room exactly when he was about to get out of the bathroom.

your eyes were unconciously catching every detail of him, the wet hair he just brushed back and the few strings still falling over his eyes, making small water drops fall on his chest.

being the closest person to nick and chris probably meant that you already saw them leaving the bathroom after a shower using only a tower over their waist a million times right? wrong.

it’s in fact the first time you see so much of chris body, one thing is to see him shirtless on daily basis, and a whole different when he’s naked, just with a piece of cloth over his… dick.

of course you thought he was hot before, more like acknowledging it and not making it a big deal, after all, he was your best friend, but right now, that didn’t matter. you felt actual attraction to him, real bad. without thinking, you bite your lip, not being able to stop your eyes from casting down, admiring his well figured. his slightly defined torso, his collarbones, his lower stomach and then… his groin.

“like what you see?” his husky voice makes you avert gaze to his stupid cocky smirk, he knew you were thirsting over him.

“maybe.” you murmur smiling, you weren’t scared of exposing yourself, not now, not ever. nick and chris always tease you for having a flirty personality so your response wasn’t a surprise, wherever you start jokingly flirting with him, he would laugh and give right back to you, not taking it seriously.

but this time he didn’t laugh, he leaned closer to you without needing to actually walk, you both were already face to face, thanks to your decision to stand in the door frame, his post shower scent making a funny tingling sensation rush over your body.

chris swallows, his eyes fixed into yours. he loves the way you're always so bold, confident and fucking bossy. it’s a side of you he's seen often at parties you guys go to and even at hangouts, but he never experienced it being directed at him until now, and that makes his confidence grow more and more by second, so he decides to go for it, inclining his whole body against yours, standing so close that drops of water from his wet hair started falling on your chest making you shiver from the coldness. the towel over his waist didn’t not prevent you from looking down.

he catches your gaze drifting down to it before moving back up to his eyes. “sure, that’s definitely a maybe.” he smirks at you, clearly amused by the way you were salivating over him.

“it’s not a secret to anyone you’re hot, is it?” you raise a brow at him, arms crossed. his minty breath against your face making you wonder how good it would feel to kiss him.

“and yet you still feel like it's something worth pointing out." he lifts his hand and gently tugs on the collar of your tank top, pulling you even closer to the point where you actually felt his dick brushing against your stomach.

“meaning?” you know what he meant, but engaging the interaction was actually interesting. you were aware this was affecting him just as much it was affecting you.

chris looks down, his eyes meeting yours. his hand is still grasping the collar of your top, holding you closer to him.

“you know exactly what i mean.”

“i do.” you whisper, shivering with the closeness and following his gaze. “but i want you to say it.”

he glances down at your mouth, his eyes lingering there for a moment before looking back up at you. there’s not a chance of him backing down now, fuck his fears, fuck matt and fuck all of his worries from earlier. you managed to awaken a side of him no one else knew, not even him. he shrugs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, this time he only leans his head a bit closer, since it was almost impossible to get his body closer to yours. unfortnunelly.

he goes for your ear, lips brushing against your it as he asks. “you want me to say how much i know you're attracted to me?"

the sensation of his breath on your ear definitely got to you, it was one of your weakest spots and the asshole already knew that because you tell him everything.

but you couldn’t let him get away with it.

“no.” you let your hand cup his face, putting pressure around his chin with your fingers to turn his face to you. “i want you to admit how much you enjoyed the way i just looked at you.” your eyes glued to his and your signature smirk on the lips making him laugh in a mixture of surprise and lust at your forwardness.

“can’t say i didn’t.” you noticed his eyes darkened with a hint of lust when he dropped his gaze, wandering over your partly exposed chest, the tank top so tight he could see the tiny metal balls of your nipple piercings standout, chris feels goosebumps all over, his minding racing with the thought of taking your boobs into his mouth and licking the metallic taste of it while you moan his name. he lets out a soft gasp, the combination of the pressure of your fingers on his face and the friction of his dick brushing against your stomach not helping.

“like what you see?” you ask noticing how lost he was in thoughts and he frowns, feeling annoyed because you used his words against him. no matter how much anyone tries to make you lay your guard down, to get a shy reaction or even a stutter from you, it has never worked and he wanted badly to be the first one actually doing so, but he figured this wasn’t the timing. plus he was starting to get hard and if nick or matt walked on you both, things would get really awkward.

“there’s no winning against you, huh?” chris chuckles softly, taking a step back and you laugh a little trying to hide your disappointment from him.

“that’s because guys are weak.” you say loosening the grip on his chin and rolling your eyes, he just gives you a “whetever” face and heads to his room, pretending he wasn’t about to throw up his own heart.

you watch him until he gets to his room, a pleasant grin across your lips. all these years being friends with chris, he never really tried anything like that before. as a matter of fact, you didn’t even know he was so confident, he’s usually sweet and nonserious around you so that left you impressed and surprised… in a good way.

you shrug thinking that was definitely interesting and turns to the hall, the intention was to go to the living room but that didn’t go as planned when your face bumped aggressively into something hard as rock.

you hated that you instantly knew.

ever since last night's incident, tiny fragments got stuck with you. his scent, his presence and the warmth of his body. it's almost like you suddenly developed the power of being able to recognize him just by your skin touching his.

it was fucking matt.

you sigh, dealing with matthew right now wasn’t what you wanted. not because you felt intimidated by him, but because you didn’t want to play his little games today.

he gives you the usual mocking stare and smirk, crossing his arms.

here we go. you thought, ready to roll your eyes at whatever childish comment he was about to make and not engage.

but he just stood there for a while, arms folded, his usual stone cold demeanor ever present. he looked at you with a mix of irritation and annoyance, but beneath that, you could tell something else seemed to be lurking. for a second you thought he wasn’t gonna say anything and prepared yourself to go on your way, but his piercing gaze remained fixated on you, that made you stay for some reason.

and then he spoke.

“you can’t control your hormones or something?” he almost yelled. “always flirting with everyone, now even with chris.” matt laughs ironically and asks you. “isn’t that what they call a bop, though?”

you can’t help but laugh right back at him in the exact same tone, like, really loud.

of course he would use that term at some point, he was just like that type of guy. so you decided to play the game, anyways.

you get closer to him not giving a shit about how you were crossing his physical boundaries since he crossed yours first a night ago.

“not really.” you whisper to him, eyes piercing cold directly into his. “it’s called being confident and taking risks to enjoy life without denying your own true desires.” you lean even closer, not breaking eye contact for a second and giving him your best fake smile. “but what would you know about that, right?” at this point, the fake smile turned into a satisfied one with the feeling of already knowing that what you were about to say was gonna make him incredibly mad. “you couldn’t even admit to yourself how much you wanted to kiss me last night and just ran away to your room like a pussy.” you scoff and walk to the living room still looking at him as you leave, letting a dumbfounded matt behind.

chris was right.

there’s no winning against you. and never will be.

[spideyjimin]

PART I: SHIVERS | un cielo di perle

“un cielo di perle” means a sky of pearls in italian

⏤ pairing: taehyung x female reader 

⏤ genre: college au, rich kid!taehyung, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, fluff, angst, and smut 

⏤ rating: 18+

⏤ words: 5,981

⏤ summary: taehyung doesn’t know how to love, he actually has never loved anyone, not even himself. he dreams of escaping this life, a life where he can do whatever he wants and where his parents don’t exploit him. his dream becomes a reality when he meets you; however, it comes with a challenge. at first, you hate him. but as the saying goes, there’s only one step between hate and love. and when taehyung loves, he can steal a sky of pearls for his lover.   

⏤ warnings: mature language, swearing, mention of sex, sexual tension, mention of epilepsy, mention of heartbreak, mention of breakup, mention of cheating, mention of financial struggles, and mention of health issues

⏤ author’s note: the first part is finally here! 🥳 it's been a while since it's ready but i wanted to be back from holidays to properly read it and correct it before posting it 🤗 i'm actually very excited with this series, i have soo many ideas for this & i truly hope you'll enjoy it. don't hesitate to let me know what you think of it 💜

⏤ playlist: brividi - Mahmood ft. Blanco

SERIES MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

Running through the campus, you mentally check that you took all your belongings. It would be a nightmare to get them back, probably someone would steal them. In the best-case scenario, you’d have to go to the lost and found office. That doesn’t enchant you really well. 

But you’re running out of time. Today’s lectures ended super late, and you must be at the store where you work. The manager is quite harsh and isn’t very kind when someone is late. That has never happened to you. You always make sure to be on time since you’re the type to be a people-pleaser. Being late isn’t even possible, so you run to catch the bus and ensure you’re on time. 

As you reach the pedestrian crossing, a stupid car passes by and almost knocks you over. Luckily, you take a quick step back to avoid being hurt. You instantly yell, insulting the driver since the person seems not to have seen you. When you yell, you see the driver, he’s also looking at you and you show him your best middle finger, making him understand that he’s an asshole. 

“Asshole,” you aggressively shout.

Nonetheless, the second you realize who it is, you instantly regret it. That man is no other than Kim Taehyung. He’s for sure the most recognizable man in the entire campus but he’s also the son of the big boss of your shop. Well, to make it short, you work at one of the many Kim Couture’s shops and it happens that the company was created by the Kim family. A family that Taehyung is part of. 

The cherry on top is that Taehyung will be coming to the store you’re working at. The other point is that he saw you yelling and showing your middle finger. A devious smirk appeared on his face. 

Shit! You’re definitely in trouble. 

Taehyung isn’t just Taehyung. He’s known to be a fucker, and a good one apparently, a rich kid, full of himself, pretentious, popular, exasperating, and crazily annoying. He thinks he’s the king of the world. That’s the way you perceive him.

At the end of the day, he’s a guy who grew up with a golden spoon in his mouth. He always had everything he wanted, and everybody always licked his boots. He does whatever he wants with people. It’s quite annoying but you won’t deny that he is charismatic. 

Again, that’s the way you perceive him but you ignore that it’s far from being the truth. 

Quickly after, the bus arrives and you jump in it. Your heart is beating like crazy, you’re so scared of what will happen and what Taehyung will do or say. After all, he’s your big boss’ son. If he desires to fire you, he has the power to do it. You absolutely don’t want to lose this job. It was already hard to find one with your limited experience, but you need to keep it. The tuition fees are costly. 

Getting into a prestigious university was your biggest dream, and through some miracle, you managed to do it. It came with a lot of work, obviously. You were determined to be there. However, you thought that it would be harder than that. You believed that you needed to be the daughter of wealthy parents. But through your own efforts, you were accepted, and you’re quite proud of yourself. 

Having a job is what allows you to pursue your dream. Your parents insisted on helping with the tuition fees, but you don’t really want their financial assistance. This is your dream, not theirs, so they shouldn’t have to pay for it. That’s how you see things. Certainly, balancing your studies with your job isn’t easy. But you manage to make it work and you’re very proud of yourself. 

Of course, you appreciate the fact that your parents want to help, but the fees are extremely expensive. You don’t want your parents to ruin themselves to support you, they already face financial difficulties. You don’t want to be a burden for them. So, you’re going to work a lot and as much as you can to pay for everything on your own. 

Working at Kim Couture is definitely helping a lot. The wage is good, it allows you to even save some money. You wished to use it to help your parents but they refused. In some way, you take a lot after them, and you can all be very stubborn when it comes to finance. 

Once you arrive at your workplace, you run to the back to change yourself. There is a strict dress code to follow as a Kim Couture employee. Today, you even have to make an extra effort to dress even better than usual. You have to be perfect because Kim Jihyun, Taehyung’s father is coming.   

It doesn’t enchant you to meet him and his son today, especially after this incident with the son. 

“Mister Kim is coming in 5,” your boss, Namjoon informs you. 

You hurry up to avoid giving another reason for Taehyung to kick you out. It’s already enough you insulated him and showed him your middle finger. The outfit is quite simple, it’s a full black one and a full one created by Kim Couture. Jacket, t-shirt, classic pants, and shoes. Luckily, you can do whatever you want with your hair, the most important is to always be presentable. You always have to be impeccable under any circumstances. 

Through this job, you already had the opportunity to meet famous people, going from a king to a singer. A lot of them are surprisingly very nice and polite. Some others are the opposite, rude as fuck. Those ones, you hate them. With the little experience you have now, when someone enters the store, you can already tell if they are going to be nice or rude. It’s all in their aura. 

Once ready, you run to the front of the store and take place next to your colleagues. You are all lined up next to each other while Namjoon gives clear instructions. Mister Kim will only come to give a little visit, he does it annually. However, this year, it’s his second time visiting this one because this store has been doing great. In any case, it will be your first time meeting Mister Kim since you joined right after his last visit. 

Your colleagues described the man in a non-flattering way. Kim Jihyun is certainly one of the most famous people, there’s no doubt about it, but he’s a horrible person. He shows no mercy to anyone. If things aren’t done the way he wants, he literally explodes. The employees of his stores are treated like shit since they are poor. He inherited the Kim Couture house from his ancestors, he’s very wealthy but he’s definitely the worst person your colleagues have ever met. 

Hearing the stories shared by your coworkers gave you chills running through your spine. That man is, without any doubt, horrible. So, you have to be perfect today so you get to stay here. But now, your biggest concern is what Taehyung will do. Is he a piece of shit as well and he will kick you out?  

An impressive car halts in front of the store. The door is opened by the doorman and two imposing men make their way inside. To be fair, Mister Kim is a frightening person, but what his soul gives off is powerful. You can only have respect for him as he walks near you. He’s wearing a grey suit with a white shirt underneath. The outfit is completed with a dark trench coat. This man breathes money from afar.  

Your eyes move now to his son, Taehyung. He’s certainly very charismatic and he also gives off a strong energy, but not as powerful as his father’s. Unlike his parent, he’s wearing a blue polo shirt with an evident white shirt underneath, and white classic pants. For a second, you take him in. You heard so many things about him at uni, and a lot from your friend Nari. 

Nari is your best friend but also a rich kid. Her grandparents made a fortune by developing an intelligent program that is sold worldwide. You met her a couple of years ago and surprisingly, a very strong friendship blossomed. Both of you see the world differently, but that vision is what has brought you together. Obviously, you sometimes have very animated conversations because you come from two different worlds.  

Nari’s family is close to Taehyung’s family, so she knows him. She doesn’t spend much time with him because they are very different. The way she describes him is quite similar to the rumors people spread on campus. He’s a fuckboy, arrogant guy, full of himself, and a cold-blooded person. The fact that he’s wealthy as fuck makes his personality even worse. 

Taehyung’s eyes land on you. It’s obvious from the way he smiles that he recognizes you. Your heart starts beating crazily. Shit! He follows his father who is walking and examining all of you while Namjoon introduces you. As they do so, you bow in respect. 

“This is yn,” Namjoon says once in front of you. 

“Nice to meet you, Sirs Kim,” you bow to the men. 

They simply nod. The youngest doesn’t say anything which reassures you. Hopefully, today, you won’t be losing your job. For a couple of minutes, you stay in the same position while the other employees are introduced. Mister Kim then gives a little speech in which he says how proud he is of this store, and a lot of other things you honestly don’t listen to. 

Since you sit down on chairs while Mister Kim is giving his speech, you choose to sit at the extremity. So, nobody is sitting to your left. Well, that is until Taehyung decides to join you. At first, you don’t notice him since you’re focused on his father’s speech. 

“So I’m an asshole?” he whispers in your ear, causing you to jump in surprise. 

“For fuck’s sake, you scared me,” you instantly reply in a whisper. 

The same devious smile that was on his face earlier reappears. For a brief moment, your eyes meet his, but you quickly turn your face to look at his father. It makes you uncomfortable to have his glance directly on yours.  

“And to answer your question,” you very quickly look at him. “Yes, you are.” 

You’re hesitant to keep going, too scared that he could do something you’ll forever regret. 

“You were about to knock me over,” you add. 

“You’re being a tiny bit dramatic,” he instantly claps back at you. 

You roll your eyes, he’s being annoying. 

“Could you please let me listen to your father’s speech?” you raise without looking at him. 

He’s distracting you which isn’t good. His father is your big boss, he’s doing a speech and you have to listen to it. It’s rather important. 

“Why would I do that?” he asks back. “I’m an asshole after all.” 

You want to laugh, he’s stupid but it’s definitely not the right moment to be laughing. Namjoon will kill you if you do so. You absolutely don’t want to lose your job because of an asshole. So now, you decide to ignore him, to act like he isn’t even here. A smirk appears on his face when he realizes you’re ignoring him. 

For the rest of Jihyun’s speech, Taehyung leaves you alone, which you’re grateful for. All you wish for now is to not lose your job. That guy seems to be an absolute jerk and the son of your big boss so he has all the powers in his hand. 

Afterward, he leaves you completely alone, giving you some needed peace. Once his father finishes his speech, the two of them leave the store, but before doing so, Taehyung winks at you. You roll your eyes, causing him to laugh a little. The stupid man who almost knocked you over seems to be trying to flirt with you. Does it surprise you? No, because you’re convinced that he does that to every girl so they forgive him for being an asshole. 

But you’re not like the other girls, you won’t forget what he did. 

“Remember me why we’re studying?” Nari asks you while you’re walking. 

“To be badasses!” you jokingly answer. 

Nari laughs at your answer, but she couldn’t agree more with you. You’re studying to have an impressive degree so you can find impressive jobs. She’s aware that all of this is a hundred times harder for you than it is for her. If she doesn’t like this or wants to try something else, she’ll have her parents' money. However, on the other hand, you don’t have that. She knows how incredibly hard you worked to be here, and she knows that you wouldn’t have chosen something just for the fun of it. 

“I don’t want to attend classes today,” she replies. 

“Same,” you answer. “But we have to if we want to be the strongest bitches the world has ever known.” 

Nari admires you beyond comprehension. You’re always so optimistic, always seeing the bright side of everything when the world has shown no mercy to you. Since you’re thirteen, you’ve been battling with epilepsy. It has been a constant struggle but you have shown how strong you are. 

Nari doesn’t know that being positive and optimistic is what helps you fight this terrible and invisible disease. Otherwise, you would have gotten into depression a long time ago. Being positive allows you to genuinely be happy. 

“You’re right,” she says with a bright smile appearing on her face. 

“I’m always right.” 

The two of you enter the lecture hall and take a seat at a random place. It’s quite an impressive room and there aren’t that many students so you can choose wherever you want to sit. There are still a solid 10 minutes before the class starts so you animately keep talking. At a certain point, she frowns, and you turn your head to see what is causing that reaction. 

As you do so, you notice Taehyung coming in your direction. Deep down, you hope that he’s coming for Nari, but inevitably, you know it’s not the truth. You know he’s coming for you. 

“Hi, yn,” Taehyung says with a stupid smile on his face. 

“What do you want?” 

Nari is shockingly surprised by the way you answer him. She totally ignores what happened yesterday with Taehyung. You haven’t talked about it yet, but thanks to this idiot (or asshole as you prefer to call him), you’ll have to do it as soon as he leaves.  

“Calm down, miss dramatic,” you roll your eyes. “I went back to the store yesterday and I noticed you forgot this,” he hands you a personalized pen. 

This pen was offered to you by your dad some months ago. It’s a black pen with your name engraved on it in white. It’s a very pretty one, and for sure, it was expensive but you didn’t say anything. Since your parents didn’t offer you anything when you graduated, they offered you the pen as a little ‘good luck’ gift for this new step in your life. You love this pen, you always take notes with it.

Honestly, you didn’t even notice you left it at the store. However, you would have noticed it during this class as you wouldn’t have found it. It would have annoyed you but it won’t now since Taehyung brought it. 

In a way, it moves you that he considered bringing it back to you. Nonetheless, you’re convinced he has a reason to do it. This is Taehyung after all, he’s known for being selfish. He wouldn’t do this just to be nice to you. 

“You didn’t need to bring it, you could have left it there,” you tell him. 

Taehyung deeply exhales, you can see in his eyes that he’s a bit exasperated. 

“A simple thank you would have been enough,” he says. 

Before you can answer, the professor enters the lecture hall and Taehyung takes a seat somewhere else. You take a quick look at Nari. She’s definitely surprised by everything that just happened. You will need to tell her. It’s nothing major but it’s for sure shocking that this man even acknowledges your existence. Outside of wealthy people, he doesn’t know anybody else here. 

For a brief moment, you turn your face to look for him. You quickly find him and to your surprise, he’s also looking at you. 

In all honesty, you barely know him but you can tell that you feel a lot of mixed feelings. You kind of hate him for what he did yesterday, although hate is a strong word. You simply don’t really like him. However, he’s captivating. 

After the class, as you’re walking on the campus, you explain everything to Nari. There’s not much to be said but she’s your best friend so it’s normal for you to explain to her how you met Kim Taehyung. 

Taehyung wakes up with a massive headache. He drank too much as always. His eyes try to adjust to the light but it takes him some time since the room is fucking bright. His face turns to his left, only to find a girl sleeping on his bed. Nothing new. 

For the past two years, his life has been made up of parties, hangovers, and lots of sex. That’s how he enjoys life. Well, that’s how he believes he enjoys it. Deep down, he knows he chose this life because two years ago, he didn’t want to stay at home. It was way too hard to be there, and partying, drinking, and having sex is a lot easier. 

Having girls in his bed is way too easy for him. All the girls are crawling at his feet, desperate for a little bit of recognition. Of course, he’s more than aware that he’s charismatic and he plays with it. Flirting is like second nature to him. It doesn’t take him much to make a girl crave him. It’s quite an easy game for him. 

However, when he realizes the girl who’s sleeping next to him, it instantly wakes him up. Shit! It’s Hyejoo. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he rapidly says while getting up.

Hyejoo isn’t any girl, she’s the daughter of one of Kim Couture’s investors, Park Daehyun. She’s super wealthy, even wealthier than him so Jihyun decided that Taehyung has to date her. And in dating her, he means to marry her. Not right now but he has to get with her and stay with her until marriage. The purpose is to make her a Kim. That way, her family will forever invest in Kim Couture. Honestly, it’s well thought out but Taehyung doesn’t want her, doesn’t want to get married, and most importantly, he doesn’t want to be used for the company’s interest. Nevertheless, that’s nothing new. 

His father has always put the company first. The rest doesn’t matter. He got married to a wealthy woman for the company, but he never loved her. Made children with her to ensure the future of the business. Luckily, a boy was born first so he didn’t need to try many times before producing an heir. He got a daughter afterwards but it was just a plus. So in the end, he has absolutely no consideration for his daughter, Yseult. Basically, he acts like she doesn’t even exist which is quite destructive for her. Taehyung tries as much as he can to protect her but it’s sometimes almost impossible to protect her from their father. 

With time, his mother started to be like his father. Her family was only good if it benefited the company. She always agrees with Jihyun, and in the end, they both use Taehyung for the business. They don’t see him as their child or even like a human at all. They only see him as the future CEO and the new face of Kim Couture. So they don’t let him do much. For sure, they let him party right now so he can enjoy life before being in charge of the company. But enjoy is a strong word. He doesn’t enjoy anything. 

When Taehyung was young, he remembers how loving and caring his mother was. He hated his father who was very severe with him but he deeply loved his mother. She was his everything. But as he grew up and she started to change, he also started hating her. He felt no more love towards her. Today, he doesn’t love anyone, not even himself. His life is quite sad in the end. 

“Good morning Taehyung,” Hyejoo says when she wakes up. 

“I have to go,” he simply tells her. 

She’s a bit confused but he doesn’t give a shit about it. He storms out of the room and basically runs outside. As he does so, he calls his chauffeur to come and get him. His parents don’t let him drive as they are scared something will happen to him. They trust Minho to always drive him anywhere. Things are a bit different now that he is in college, he can drive alone during the week but during the weekend, he can’t. Minho has to drive him anywhere he wants to. In a matter of seconds, he arrives to pick him up. Hyejoo tries to catch him but she doesn’t arrive on time. 

“Can we go to some random coffee shop?” Taehyung asks. 

“Yes,” the chauffeur answers while nodding. 

Taehyung looks from the window. Flashbacks from last night came back, he drank a lot and Hyejoo flirted with him. At first, he pushed her back since he didn’t like her but she was insistent. As he was getting drunk, he was letting his guard down so in the end, he couldn’t resist her anymore. 

He rubs his face while mentally insulting himself. He should have resisted because now, she’ll run around him even more. Hyejoo loves Taehyung, it’s no secret to anyone. She’s always around him, trying to make him fall in love with her. She’s also convinced that he’ll date and marry her as his father plans. Although she totally ignores that he doesn’t like her at all. He couldn’t actually care less about her. 

They arrive at a coffee shop, it’s a small one but it looks so cozy inside. Minho opens the car’s door to Taehyung and he walks to the entrance. His chauffeur remains in front of the car, waiting for his boss’ child. Taehyung is only going to grab a coffee and some pastries to eat while going home. 

He stands in front of the bar and checks the menu. He’s starving so he’ll take all the pastries that he craves. He orders and then moves to the right, to the little space where customers patiently wait. As he walks in that direction, a girl turns around, causing them to hit each other. Since she was holding a coffee in her hands, he got coffee all over his blue shirt. 

“Fuck,” he swears. “Could have been..” 

As he speaks and lays his eyes down on the girl, he realizes that it’s you. 

“You, again,” you mumble as you notice that he’s the guy hitting you. “You should be more careful,” you instantly tell him. 

“You’re the one who hit me this time,” he replies. “I was just walking to get my order.” 

“Well, I was going to leave after receiving my order.” 

Being around each other makes you both feel something you both never felt for anyone else. It’s weird since you’ve only known each other for like 4 days. He didn’t even know you existed until he almost knocked you over. 

Now, he’s covered in coffee which angers him and you lost half of your coffee which angers you as well. 

“Pff,” you say. “Now I have to order a new coffee because of you.” 

“If you were more careful, you wouldn’t need to do that.” 

You roll your eyes. Around him, you’ve rolled your eyes a lot. You’re even surprised by it, nobody has ever made you do that so often. On the other hand, he absolutely hates when you do that, he’d even say that it almost pisses him off. 

“Fuck you,” you simply say back. 

He takes a step closer to you, your faces are now very close. There is barely any space between you, his eyes roaming your face before halting for a couple of seconds on your lips. Your heart is hammering in your chest, ready to burst at any moment. This man is impressive. His face gets closer to you, and your heart beats even faster, something that never happened before. 

Taehyung notices that you don’t step back. Well, he doesn’t want to as well. You both glance at each other. For the first time ever, he feels his heart beating fast. No other girl, or anyone else, has ever made him feel that way. He notices how pretty you are. Well, from the first second, he laid eyes on you, he found you very beautiful. But now that you’re closer, he gets to see closely your beauty. You’re also very charismatic, you draw him in a way he can’t explain. Without realizing it, he’s attracted to you. You catch all of his attention when he’s near you. 

When he found your pen at the store, he could have left it there. But that was the perfect excuse to get to see you and talk to you. He can’t resist the urge of being around you. If he sees you, he only wants to get closer. Like right now. He could be talking to you without being this close, but he needs it. 

He takes in your sweet scent, you smell so good. 

Both of you are glancing deeply into each other. There is definitely something going on but you won’t admit it. 

After what felt like an eternity, he pulls himself together before getting closer to your ear. 

“What did you say?” he murmurs with a deep voice, causing shivers down your spine. 

“Do you want me to spell it out for you?” you dare to say. “F-U-C-K,” before you can even finish, he cuts you off. 

“Don’t you ever say that again,” he whispers. “Especially if you’re in the wrong.” 

“You’re threatening me?” your question almost sounds like an affirmation. 

“I’m just warning you, miss dramatic,” he says. 

Taehyung strongly stinks of alcohol but there’s also a bit of his cologne emanating from him. You don’t even doubt that he has a hangover and is most probably still drunk. 

“Oh,” you first say. “You think I’m afraid of you, asshole?” you then say. 

He’s caught off guard, causing him to take a step back to look at you. Usually, people get scared and leave him alone. Honestly, you’re kind of the surprising type. Now you’re the one getting closer to his ear before starting to whisper.  

“You should be the one being careful,” you murmur. 

The way you pronounced every word made him shiver. Fuck, he hates the effect you have on him. It’s been only a couple of days but you’ve been resisting him in every possible way. This almost feels like a challenge to him to make you fall onto your knees. 

“Or what?” he asks. 

“Well, you’ll have to discover,” you answer. 

Taehyung feels your breath crashing against his ear, and visible goosebumps appear on his body. You don’t notice as you’re concentrating on provoking him. As you take a step back, you’re startled by his burning eyes on you. To say that he’s devouring you is literally an understatement. Never before has a man looked at you that way. Thousands of butterflies are freed inside your belly. 

You don’t even know how to look at him or if you’re even looking at him the same way. The only thing you are sure of is that your cheeks are fully red. Even if this man impossibly angers you, he also manages to destabilize you. It’s so contradictory. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the feeling of his burning eyes on you. It makes you feel desired. Desired by Kim Taehyung. 

“I need to order my coffee again,” you say as you put a clear distance between you. 

Taehyung simply nods and a few minutes later his order is ready. For a brief moment, his eyes discreetly glance at you while he grabs his order. There’s something so mesmerizing about you, and damn, he really wants to discover what you’ll do to him if he pushes you again over the hedge. 

While you’re sitting on the bus, you’re completely lost in your thoughts. You’re thinking about what happened with Taehyung minutes ago. Things with him are evolving intriguingly. You’re both always colliding with each other. It’s not smooth at all. But that man is so fucking annoying! How can even people like him at all? 

The music is blasting in your ears through your headphones. Sabrina Carpenter is singing “Feather” for your biggest pleasure. It’s one of your favorite songs at the moment. Surprisingly, it’s one of the songs that has been reminding you that you were too good for your ex. Definitely, you’re better off without him. However, you try not to think too much about him because he devastatingly broke your heart. 

Kai, your ex, is the kind of guy that easily becomes friends with everybody. He’s super chill and super nice. You two instantly hit it off, you directly felt love but it took you some time to actually fall in love with him. Being loved and loving him felt so good. You both imagined what your future life together could look like. You were convinced that he was the one. But you were wrong. He never was the one. 

At a party, he kissed a girl. It wasn’t just a random girl, it was a girl he had a crush on a couple of years ago. It devastated you, especially since you were going through a tough time health-wise. You were also working too hard to get accepted at this prestigious university. It was just the last straw. However, since you were convinced he was your forever person, you forgave him. You thought that it was just a mere kiss, and he also did everything to make you forgive him. 

The reconciliation didn’t last long because you were such a mess. Everything was just too much and you couldn’t handle anything anymore. So you put an end to your relationship. You were devastated, to say the least. You thought that he was going to make his way back to you but he kind of didn’t. You had some conversations but they all ended up in sex. It was nice but nothing was being solved. However, he was doing that to keep you wrapped around his fingers. From there, everything became a mess. 

Kai hid from you that he was seeing that girl so he could have you. He was flirtatious with you, and you were having a lot of casual sex. You believed things were going to be solved and that you were getting back together. Today, as you look backward, you realize that it was merely a physical attraction. Nothing more. You never got back together because you ignored that he was actually with the other girl. 

It shocked you once you found out. Kai talked so badly of cheaters and he was there doing the exact same thing. What you didn’t forgive him is the fact that you were the other girl. He was cheating on his girlfriend with you while you weren’t aware of the situation. It broke you beyond comprehension. 

Kai is still with his girlfriend, it’s already been more than a year. You don’t know if she ever found out that he cheated on her. Probably not. You don’t think she’d stay with a cheater but you don’t know her so you don’t know how she’d handle it. Maybe she forgave him. You don’t know. The only thing you’re sure of is that sometimes he comes back. Thank god, Nari is part of your life and forbids you to interact at all with him. 

You rest your head against the window. Recently, you surprised yourself by wanting to find a new boyfriend. For the past year, you decided to focus on your health and your studies. Having a partner would only distract you from your goals. However, today, everything seems to be on track so you don’t have any reasons to hold back. But it isn’t that easy. You’re not the type to easily make friends, but you aren’t desperate so you don’t really care right now. It’s sometimes a bit hard to be wanting someone around you and you don’t have anyone. 

You leave the bus when it halts at your stop. The massive building housing the hospital stands in front of you. Recently, you’ve been coming quite often for blood tests, doctor appointments, and hospital stays. Some nurses already recognize you. This has been your reality for a year already. Your health has been a big mess even though it’s been the case for almost 10 years. Lately, it simply hasn’t been easy in between seizures caused by your epilepsy and the hormonal dysfunction coming from Hashimoto’s disease. 

Hashimoto’s disease is an autoimmune disease in which your thyroid doesn’t work properly. It doesn’t produce enough thyroid hormones. On top of that, your immune system attacks your thyroid. There is of course a treatment helping your thyroid to work properly. So, in summary, the treatment has to always be working otherwise everything gets out of control. 

Growing up with all that wasn’t simple, especially since you have never accepted being epileptic. Most of the time, it makes you feel like a failure so you don’t mention it to people unless it’s necessary. You don’t want anyone to look at you or treat you differently. You want to be seen as a normal person. But you’re not a normal person, and that’s what is complicated to accept. 

So you work a lot, sometimes way too much. You wonder if it’s not due to the fact that you’re a people-pleaser. But in general, you just work too much to compensate for your differences. Those health issues have a lot of impact, especially on your memory. For example, it’s hard for you to remember conversations. Most of the time, people have to repeat several times the same thing for you to remember it. 

At the hospital entrance, you notice Yseult, Taehyung’s sister. She’s coming out of the car to enter the building. You discreetly watch her. She looks a lot like her older brother, it’s evident that they are siblings. She also breathes money from afar, she also has that powerful aura. It seems like it’s a family thing. Before entering, she quickly scans her surroundings, almost as if she doesn’t want to be seen. It instantly arouses your curiosity. Why is she acting like that? 

Instantaneously, you grab your phone to text Nari. 

To Nari: Yseult is at the hospital & acting weird 

You wait until Taehyung’s sister enters the building before doing the same. Well, you can’t spy on her because you have an appointment but you’re for sure very very curious. 

From Nari: she’s probably just doing a check-up 

She’s right. It’s nothing, it’s simply your imagination. But it still leaves you wondering why she was acting like that. 

Later that night, while falling asleep, you see again Taehyung so close to your face. However, you chase away those thoughts because that man has been annoying you more than anything else.

[redstarwriting]

the clash | vii. i wanna be sedated

hobie brown x goth!reader

word count: 2k

genre: enemies to lovers

warnings: language, insults, you(?) hating hobie, anxious hobie, panic attacks, mentions of death, threat of main character death, giving blood, negative self-talk, ANGST

a/n: another short one, but that’s because it’s about to get intense. there’s a possibility the series may be ending within the next two chapters, but we shall see what happens! please enjoy this one, and i promise it won’t be all angst the rest of the time lmao there will be a pay off, next chapter should be LONG and give a smidge of happiness

previous chapter: vi. (with someone you shouldn’t’ve)

now reading: vii. i wanna be sedated

next chapter: viii. love you to death

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Hobie stares at Miguel. He can see his lips moving, but he can’t hear what he’s saying. All he can hear is his heartbeat and the blood rushing to his head. Kill? This other version of him was meant to kill you. Does that mean he’s going to kill you now that he killed him? No. No that can’t happen. He won’t let it happen.

“HOBIE!”

Hobie realizes he’s gripping the desk in front of him. His eyes are wide, and his heart is beating faster than he has ever felt it beat before. He clenches and unclenches his jaw, swallowing nothing. His throat is dry. Miguel hesitantly places a hand on his shoulder. “Hobie, can you hear me?” He nods, staring ahead of him at his hands. “I think I might know what you’re thinking. You won’t kill them. You aren’t going to take the place of Hobart on their world,” he assures him, and Hobie tries to control his shaky breathing. “You have to calm down,” Miguel says in probably the gentlest voice Hobie has ever heard from him. He forgets he’s a dad sometimes. And that he also has gone through some shit. He nods again, trying to take in what Miguel just said. He accidentally snaps two pieces off the desk with how hard he’s gripping it. He closes his eyes and takes a breath. “You were trainin’ ‘em to stop him.”

Miguel nods. “I was.”

“Does that mean I can still save ‘em?” Hobie looks at him, and Miguel sighs. “Maybe… but–”

“But what?” Hobie frantically asks, and Miguel frowns. “The Venom symbiote was supposed to take over as the Spider-Person for their world as Hobie Brown… if we defeat Venom…”

“Please don’t tell me…” Hobie whispers, and Miguel nods. “There is a 100% chance their world will collapse. It’s the final canon even in (Y/n)’s story.”

“No…” Hobie shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “No, there has to be a way! We can do somethin’!”

“Hobie…” Miguel starts, but Hobie turns his head towards him, suddenly angry. Ready to fight. “And you were just gonna let this bloody shit happen?! You care so fuckin’ much about the fuckin’ canon that–”

“HOBIE. No! I wasn’t going to let it happen. Why do you think I put so much time and effort into helping them?! I’ve been trying to fix it!” Miguel yells, “I know you might find it hard to believe but I’m not a fan of an evil symbiote taking over the world of someone I’ve been mentoring for the past month.” Hobie looks down again. “What if they just… stayed with me? In my world?” “Hobie, if their world disappears, they disappear,” Miguel explains and Hobie shakes his head. “No. Find out a way to make ‘em stay! You can do that! You have tech and all the shit to do it! We can save ‘em!” Hobie is screaming at this point, and Miguel stares at him for a moment. He sighs, rubbing his face, distressed. “There… might actually be a way,” he says. Hobie nearly falls to his knees. “How?”

“I’ve been developing something to change the genetic code of someone, making them appear like they belong in another universe. My thought process behind it is if Miles did it with the spider from Earth-42, we can do it here as well,” he explains, typing something into his computer. Hobie watches the screens. He reads everything happening in front of him, but it’s a little hard at this particular moment as it feels like everything is kind of crashing down around him. He is able to get some basic information on how Miguel would do this, though. “We’d just need somethin’ from my world, then?” he asks, and Miguel nods. “Yes… but unfortunately the process can be… painful.”

“How painful?” Hobie asks, and Miguel glances at him. “Are you willing to do anything to save them?”

“Yes!” Hobie says, and Miguel nods. “We tested it on inanimate objects until we were sure it would work, then we tested it on animals. And while it always turns out fine in the end… the process is difficult to watch. Their molecules will be rearranged and changed, tearing them apart and piecing them back together. Can you sit by and watch that happen to them?” Miguel asks, and Hobie gulps. “I can try…”

Miguel holds up a smaller device, showing it to Hobie. “What you do is you take anything from your universe, inanimate, and put it in here. I’ll also need a blood sample from you.” Hobie then notices that he’s still gripping the pieces of the desk in his hands. He opens his hands, and the remains of the desk fall out of them and onto the floor. Miguel hands the device over, and Hobie holds it, tossing it back and forth in his hands. “What do I do with this?” “I just told you,” Miguel says, glancing at him. Hobie stares at the little device in his hands. Right. He did just tell him. He hasn’t felt this scatterbrained in a long time. He takes off one of his pins from his vest, sticking it inside. It whirs and shuts tightly. Miguel takes it back from him and nods. “This should work perfectly. Now, I need some blood from you. We’ll perform a blood transfusion with the blood from your world to stabilize them as the genetic splicing takes place, luckily with the technology we have here on Earth-2099, the transfusion should take no longer than 3 minutes,” Miguel explains, as he begins walking toward his lab. Hobie follows him, quieter than he’s ever been in his entire life. Miguel glances back at him. “Are you okay to give some blood?”

“Yeah. Should be nothin’,” he mumbles and Miguel nods.

Miguel motions him to sit in a chair so he could get some blood from him. He sits. “You know, this is the first time you’ve done what I’ve said without fighting me on it,” Miguel says as machines start up, preparing Hobie’s arm for blood extraction. Hobie scoffs. “Come off it, mate,” he mumbles and Miguel shrugs. “I’m just saying.”

“I’m still Spider-Man. I can be responsible or whatever,” Hobie says as the machine takes some of his blood. “Mhm. Apparently, you can,” Miguel says, and he looks at him. “So, you like them, huh?”

“What?”

“(Y/n)? You actually ended up liking them?” Miguel asks again, and Hobie shrugs one shoulder slightly. “Guess so,” Hobie mumbles, and Miguel shakes his head. “The blood extraction should be done soon. How are you feeling?”

“Bloody brilliant,” he mumbles, and then sees Miguel’s face. “Buck up, bloke. I’m fine,” he answers and Miguel nods. “I’ll get everything ready. Bring them here, and we’ll figure out the rest. If it’s the worst case scenario, let me know. I’ll send back-up.”

Hobie stands, giving Miguel a nod, and walks out of the lab. The blood extraction did make him a little light-headed, but he doesn’t have the time to sit around and wait to feel better. He’s lost in his thoughts. He let his anger get the best of him, and in doing so, put you in danger. That was the last thing he wanted. He wanted to protect you and getting that asshole out of the way was the best way to do it. He thought it was the best way, at least. But it turns out that that asshole was him. And now you’re in even more danger than you were before. If that symbiote bonds with you… He doesn’t wanna think about it. Symbiotes can fuck up a host. He’s seen it happen. He doesn’t want you to have to go through any of that. And to top it all off, Miguel was saying how dangerous this symbiote is. Does that mean if it bonds with you, it’ll kill you? And is it like his symbiotes where noises drive it crazy? How did he fuck up this bad? 

He's torn out of his thoughts by a familiar voice. “Hobie! Hey!” Gwen yells, landing next to him. “Alright?”

“I’m good. You should have seen it, Miles, Pav, and I took down Doc Ock after he escaped from prison, it was crazy. We could have used you and (Y/n),” she starts rambling off and he just listens. “Sounds great,” he mumbles, and she raises an eyebrow at him. “You okay? You seem a little… down.”

“’m fine,” he mumbles, and she doesn’t believe him, but she knows he’ll talk about it when he’s ready. Miles and Pavitr appear shortly after, talking to each other about how they did a move together that was ‘so cool!’ and how they need to show Hobie it as soon as they can. “Right, great talkin’ to you all, but I have to go visit (Y/n),” Hobie says, fiddling with his watch to open a portal to your world. “Oh, are you guys on speaking terms again? About damn time,” Miles says, and Pav leaps up and down with a little clap. “Have the two of you accepted your feelings for each other yet?” Pav asks, and Hobie just glances at him, not saying anything. Usually, he would tell him to piss off. But he’s not about to do that when he did realize his feelings for you. So he just stays quiet.

The three of them look at each other with wide eyes as Hobie steps through the portal and into your world without a word.

As soon as he’s back, the air feels a little… different. Maybe it’s just him coming to terms with what he’s done, though. He’s unsure how much time has passed since he left, but a quick glance at the grandfather clock in the corner of your room tells him he’s been gone about three hours or so. He hears a soft meow and looks to see Shadow peeking out from behind a small crack between the wall and your fridge. “Hey, Shadow,” he says, crouching down and holding his hand out. Shadow cautiously approaches him, sniffing his fingers before walking into his hand. He pets him and looks around. “(Y/n)!” he calls your name but gets no response. Strange.

He hears another meow and looks down at Shadow who is staring at your balcony doors. The curtains have been pulled over them, but he can see that one is open from the wind blowing the curtain inside. He sees the silhouette of someone on your balcony, but if it was you, you would have been saying something to him by now.

He gets a bad feeling.

He slowly stands, and Gwen, Miles, and Pavitr end up coming through the portal. “Shh,” Hobie says, holding up his hand and pulling his mask over his face. The three of them glance at each other as they realize something is wrong, too. Hobie slowly walks toward your balcony doors, pushing the curtain out of the way and seeing your form facing out towards the city. You seem to be in your suit, as you’re shrouded in black from head to toe. But it looks like a new suit. Pav, Miles, and Gwen follow him, on edge the whole time. He stares at you for a moment, but you stay still.

“(Y/n)?” he says your name, and he sees your head tilt slightly, signifying you heard him. “Is that… you…?” he asks. You turn slowly. His eyes widen and his heart drops. He was too late. He sees a toothy grin spread across what was supposed to be your mask and clenches his fists as he hears Venom laugh. “(Y/n) can’t come to the phone right now,” Venom says, their otherworldly voice causing the four spiders to prepare for the worst. “But I would like to thank you, Hobie Brown, for freeing me of my constraints.”

Hobie has a flashback to his fight with himself. “The glass…” he mutters, and Venom lets out a laugh. He feels the world close in on him. His hands shake. He was too late. You were already taken over by Venom. As if reading his thoughts, Venom smiles at him, muttering the words that make his heart stop.

“You led me to them.”

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[luveline]

𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

You don’t mean to make an enemy of Eddie Munson — he’s handsome, and talented, but he’s the biggest jerk you’ve ever met. Eddie thinks you’re infuriatingly pretty, emphasis on the infuriating. Too bad you just can’t seem to leave each other alone. [13k]

fem!reader, enemies-to-lovers, rival rockstars, mutual pining (and hatred), slight miscommunication, angst, hurt-comfort, eddie has mixed intentions, kissing / heavy petting, hickeys, sexual tension, eventual hate-fucking, some misogyny (not eddie), TW readers bandmate is a bully, TW drugs/alc/smoking, disclaimer: I can’t play an instrument

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Indianapolis International Airport, Indiana, Late 1988.

There's a really sweet-looking boy sitting in the chair across from you. The airport is blotted out by both your headphones —huge chunky cans, the best you could afford— and your sunglasses. He's a shade of sepia from the lenses, dark hair darker still where it's tucked into the hood of his hoodie. 

There's no way he could possibly know you're staring at him while you're facing your lap, scribbling lyrics for a song that'll never get made with your body curled inwards, and yet he looks up from the novel in his. He smiles, his cheeks pulled up, and he looks younger. He isn't old by any means but something about his smile is transformative. 

You don't mean to give yourself away. You smile back just a little. 

He says something. You push your headphones around your neck and break the seal, soft 70's rock replaced by the sounds of the airport, footsteps and clicking and children laughing somewhere behind you. 

"I'm sorry," you say, covering the cans of your headphones to cut their weak buzzing, "what did you say?" 

"I said you have good taste."

He nods toward your guitar case patterned in overlapping band stickers. 

You notice his own case on the seat next to him. It's more conspicuous than your own with only one sticker, a band you've never heard of. 

"I wish I could say the same, but I don't know who that is, 'Corroded Coffin'?" you ask, purely curious. 

He sits forward, a picture of casual confidence as he drops his face into his palm, elbow digging into the ripped jeans covering his knee. "I'm offended, sweetheart. They're only the best sound to come out of Indiana in the last ten years." 

"The Stacey's?" you offer, scandalised by his suggestion. "Doorway to Cooperstown? The Cats?" 

He blinks at you. "You know the scene." 

"It's my scene," you say.

You don't mean to sound pretentious, and hopefully you don't, but music is your life. 

"It's mine, too," he says. He leans forward and scrubs a hand through his hair, scratching absentmindedly. "Where are you going? Must be pretty important to tear you away." 

"New York. I'm– I'm a techie for Godless. I will be, once I get there." You sound smug and nervous at the same time.

"Holy shit," he says. He smiles a gorgeous, awful kind of smile, like you've been friends for years, and your good news is his. "No fucking way. Go you." 

Godless have been compared to loads of bands but the one you favour is a heavier, feminine The Clash. It's an emerging sound, punk rock stolen, repurposed, and remade. Reborn by girlhood rage. You love their sound (though you have some notes), you love their statement, and you're probably the happiest you've ever been knowing you'll be behind the scenes of a new era of music. 

"And you're taking her?" he asks, gesturing to your guitar case. 

Inside is a beat up old bass guitar you got for nothing. You're self-taught, you're good, but you don't have any disillusions on what you'll be doing on tour. 

"She's worthless," you say, "mostly taking her for company." You reuse his pronouns, though you aren't the type to assign personality to your instruments. "What about you, uh–" 

"Eddie," he says, taking his guitar case into two fine hands. Your eyes snag on his ragtag assortment of rings, and he leans over the neck of the case to retake your gaze. "This… is Sweetheart." 

— 

Hotel Edison, New York, Early 1990.

"We have to go. Why are you guys never ready when I tell you to be?"

You panic slightly. "I need a minute." 

"Ananya, could you find, like, a modicum of patience? Fucking annoying." 

Sharp, Morgan's unhappiness sounds over the droning drill of your shitty hair dryer. You shift where you're kneeling in front of the floor length mirror to check she isn't talking to you — unusual, but not impossible that her hostility would be aimed at someone who isn't Ananya. 

Ananya stands in the middle of the hotel room, thick eyebrows pulled into a familiar scowl.

"Get it together," she says disdainfully, like Morgan's nothing more than a mild inconvenience. 

You wish you had her confidence when it comes to Morgan's tantrums. You stand up, clad in nothing more than underwear and a pair of black stockings, your t-shirt in one hand and the hairdryer still humming in the other. You turn it off and let it drop to the floor, worried you're just another rockstar cliche as you take in the state of your room. Your suitcase is open and your clothes are all over the place, laid flat in an attempt to dry your rain-soaked clothes. Your underwear dangle from the lampshade, a mix of pretty lingerie you've yet to wear and full-shaped panties that had made Morgan laugh for a minute, no pauses. 

"I can see why you're so desperate," she'd barbed. 

You slip your shirt over your head in case you have to act as a human shield. It's honestly not the worst thing they've had you involved in this year. 

"You're not wearing that, are you?" Morgan asks. 

She's a fascinating creature in that she isn't always talking with thinly veiled passive aggression. You genuinely believe she's looking out for you sometimes, or believe that she believes it, at least. She doesn't say it with malice, simply asks. 

She's multi-faceted. 

"No," you say, though you'd been meaning to. 

"Good, skirts really aren't your thing. You look blocky. I have a pair of flares in my bag, wear them." 

And Morgan — Morgan's the lead singer of Godless. You don't really have a choice. 

You find the pants she'd instructed you to wear and half tuck your shirt, scrabbling for your shoes as Ananya starts lamenting the time, sat on the small table by the TV.

"They have to wait for us, babe, that's the whole point," Morgan says, fussing over her eye make-up. 

"No, they don't. And we really don't need the attention right now." 

"That's dramatic." 

Ananya leans forward and clicks on the TV with a perfect finger. The screen buzzes to life. She clicks through the channels until she gets to the local news station, and then she slumps over the frame on her elbow. 

You giggle behind your hand. Onscreen, images of Morgan are blown up and slated, your bandmate sloppy drunk on the steps of Covey Gold. They've caught you red-handed in the background pretending you aren't with her, but luckily Morgan's too obsessed with herself to notice. 

"I really don't see the issue," she says breezily, slipping into her tiny heels one foot at a time. "I look sick." 

She looks stunning, easily, but that's not the problem. 

"You have a fucking snow trail," Ananya says. 

Unfortunately, Morgan's left nostril is crusted with coke. 

"It's punk rock!" Morgan's moved onto earrings now, and she's jutting her tiny pointed chin toward the door. "Hello? We're late." 

You don't roll your eyes, but you could. You slip your shoes onto your feet and tuck the laces inside without tying them while the news anchor on TV continues to relay current events. 

"Fletcher isn't the only rockstar making a mess in New York City this week. Members of up and coming heavy metal band Corroded Coffin were sanctioned by Flume Venues Tuesday night for damaging twenty six thousand dollars worth of equipment when their lead guitarist kicked over an amp and caused a quote unquote 'domino effect.'" The anchor laughs. "Their PR has certainly felt some corrosion." 

You look up at the joke and are just in time to catch a picture splayed across the screen of the band. You're so close that their faces are made up of red, blue, and green, more colour than photo. Your skin glows with the image. Your eyes widen, perplexed. 

"Do we know those guys?" you ask. 

Morgan grabs your hand and drags you up. "They know us," she says. "That's what matters." 

Ananya turns off the TV. 

You're thrilled at being included in the 'us'. You've been an unofficial official member of Godless for four months now. Each one feels more unreal than the first, and each one brings a solidity. In Ananya's words, you're on 'probation, given you can keep up', but you look at her now, her hopeless expression as she closes your room door behind you, and know she's not hoisting you off the stage anytime soon. She'd have to deal with the world's tallest toddler alone. 

Your tour manager and assorted personnel meet you in the hotel's lobby, furious and panicky at your being late. Morgan spouts the same spiel as you get shepherded into cars idling outside of the hotel.

"We're the talent. What were you gonna do, throw the gig without us?"

You're both embarrassed by her and impressed. Morgan is pretty and talented and extremely loud — she's not afraid to stick up for herself, even when she's (nearly always) wrong. She sees each hurdle in her life as an unfair disadvantage. Insanity, in your opinion, considering nearly all of those hurdles have been jumped by means of a favour, rather than any expended effort on her part. 

Her bad attitude aside, she's a good singer. She's gorgeous, exactly the kind of face that obliterates mainstream reluctance. 

She sits between you and Ananya and kicks her feet out over the console, boots between your driver and your tour manager, Angel.

"You guys can't be late like this. You have half the time you need for sound check now, you realise?" 

"I don't need practice," Morgan says. 

"It's not practice, Morgan, it's–" 

Morgan laughs and bursts into song. She does it whenever she doesn't want to listen to Angel, and she sings an apt tune: Angel by Aerosmith. You look out the window rather than watch, eyes snagging on the wet New York streets and taxis and people, so many people despite the weather, black umbrellas like inverse stars lining the sidewalks. 

Morgan has a great voice, raw when she wants it to be and full of life when she doesn't. You can't hear Angel's venue instructions under it and are barely paying attention as a lanyard gets tossed into your lap. It sounds stupid, and a few months ago you wouldn't believe it, but you get used to the motions. Ferried from one place to another, all anybody cares about is technicalities, politics, public image, and how you look on stage. All you care about is the music. Your bass guitar in your hands, that familiar weight, the strings as your pick slides across them, and the sea of the crowd. Its waves and ripples, hands and eyes and mouths like poppies, red-pink tongues and black throats at the centre as they scream. When you throw your pick people want to catch it. They fight over it. You throw a few. There's always more in a box in some poor techies bag.

The cushy car you're in pulls up and parks outside of the venue's main entrance. You climb onto a wet curb and shield the top of your hand with your head, dirty rain splashing down in fat, sparse drops that chill your scalp. Morgan blitzes inside and Ananya tags behind her. You go slower, eyes following down the sidewalk where, in a couple of hours, fans will wait to see you, shivering in the cold. 

— 

Every breath Gareth takes sucks in Eddie's short sleeved t-shirt. Eddie scowls at the top of his bandmate's head and tries to shift away. 

"Seriously, man? There's a whole fucking couch," Eddie grouches. 

Gareth sits up with bleary eyes furrowed into a scowl of his own. He's pale and missing his glasses, giving him the appearance of a concerned zombie.

"Shithead." 

Eddie has a lot of emotions he wants to express and none he feels he can properly articulate. The injustice of his current situation, for one, is a burning irritant. How the fuck can you get grounded by your manager? And why did his warden have to be the most boring member of the band? Sorry Gareth. 

"Can't you sleep in your bed?" Eddie asks. 

"You'll sneak out." 

Eddie will sneak out. He's a fledgling rockstar in New York. Suddenly, there are a hundred colourful boozy doors wide open to him, and he intends on haunting the threshold of each one accordingly. 

But you kick one amp and boom, you're the antichrist. 

"You know this is stupid." 

Gareth rubs his eyes. "I mean, do I know that?" He reaches behind the couch armrest for the two-litre bottle of soda stashed there, and he talks as he brings the lip to his mouth. "You've been a real pissant lately, Munson." 

"You're a pissant, pissant," Eddie says, really scowling now. 

Gareth kicks him across the sofa. Eddie kicks back, foot jamming into the side of Gareth's knees. Soda spills in a shoot over the carpet. Gareth is a know-it-all with a predisposition for being as unpleasant as he can possibly be at all times, in Eddie's opinion, and Eddie knows the second the soda lands what he's going to say. 

"Nice going, hotshot. This is why you're fucking grounded." 

Eddie's halfway across the sofa when the door opens, an unimpressed Jamison standing with the light behind him. He flicks on the main switch and glares, brown skin golden in the resulting yellow light. 

"What are you losers doing?" 

"I prefer the term 'freak'," Gareth says, glare softening. "I'm fending off Munson's advances, what does it look like? No means no, asshole." 

"You're disgusting," Eddie says. 

"You look disgusting," Jamison echoes. "I don't know who forgot to tell you, but they invented running water a century ago. Go shower. I'll watch baby boy." 

Eddie thinks Jamison is hot in the freaky way — Jamison is conventionally attractive, and Eddie would let him get freaky if he asked. He has a perfect complexion, the most attractive of the band by far, medium brown skin and a broad-shouldered frame. He's the eye-candy, literally; they'd admitted him into the fold based one parts on his talent, two parts his image. 

He can play piano, guitar, bass guitar, violin, all that shit. He's a musician, and he's better than Eddie at everything but the guitar. 

Nobody's better than Eddie on guitar. At least, not anybody running in his circles. 

"I can't shower, I'm watching him." 

"I'll watch him," Jamison says, like this is extremely obvious and Gareth is an idiot. 

Eddie pulls a couch cushion over his face and drags himself onto his back, whining into the fabric unhappily. "This is fucking bullshit," he mutters

"This is due diligence," Gareth says. Eddie feels his weight lift off the couch and lets his legs slide into the empty space. 

"This is fucking bullshit," he repeats. 

There's a silence. He sulks. Gareth collects toiletries and the bathroom door clicks open and closed. The shower spray begins to sputter, and then the pillow is being tugged out of Eddie's hands and tossed aside. 

"Jame," he protests. 

"Shut up." Jamison stares down at Eddie. "Are you done being a child?" 

"I already told you, it was an accident. Yeah, I kicked the amp, because my fucking string snapped and nobody would listen to me. I didn't know it was gonna actually move." 

"If we go out, can you behave?" Jamison asks quietly. 

Eddie sits up ramrod straight. "Absolutely… Why? What's so important?" 

"Jeff's asleep, I'm bored, and-" He shrugs offhandedly. "If you got 'em, flaunt 'em?" 

Jamison holds up a silver pair of car keys. They clink together, the sound music to Eddie's ears. 

—

So you and Eddie meet for the second time like this. 

“Does it have to be this loud?” you shout over the music, pleading gaze on Ananya, who shrugs. 

She looks better after a show, even drunk. Her lipstick is a pink-red with a darker but incomprehensible outline, leaving her looking kissed sick. Her dark eyebrows are ruffled and thick, their minimal gel sweated off. She has the most heartbreaking expression about her, and you think it isn’t truly fair, how she can look so pretty and be so talented at the same time. A tragedy that other people have time for both. You feel as though you barely have the time for one.

Despite the volume, you love the sound. This is your sound. Small town hatred in a big room — begging to get out and the music proof enough that you did. It’s passionate and anxious, a two-chord progression that’s boggling simplistic but drawing you in anyhow. Wrinkled noses and bored eyes say it’s not to everyone’s taste, but you’d hazard a guess that whoever plugged it into the stereo isn’t the kind of person who worries about public opinion. If Godless worked more on your choices, this is how you’d sound.  

“Whose house are we in?” you ask. 

“Babe,” Ananya says, “seriously, there’s a whole room of people who want to answer you. Go bother someone.” Else. Go bother someone else. 

She dismisses you with little more than that, slinking into the kitchen with a toss of her thick hair. The red of her corset top darkens to a bloodier shade in the mood lighting. She looks as though she’s bleeding out from the back. 

You aren’t sure Ananya’s right. You aren’t, in the eyes of the people here, anything impressive. A techie who’s been filling in isn’t anything new, no, you’re only impressive if you get to stay, if you play better than anybody else. You’re never gonna prove that under Morgan’s thumb, and you’ll never prove it without her. 

I need a bump, you think. Morgan’s coke nose flashes in your mind and you change your mind. I need something to drink. Something fucking cold, but if Ananya thinks you’ve followed her into the kitchen she’ll throw a pissy fit in front of everybody. 

The room is a gaudy yellow, a tobacco stained fingerprint over the lampshade with whorls of dirt in lines, darker patches where shadier reconciliation plays; in one corner, a bag of coke, another something worse. This had been a surprise with age rather than location, the commonplace of cocaine and the bravado of its sufferers from high school and up. You’d die for some of that cocky confidence now, numb gums and a sullen credit card. 

I need to get paid. 

The heat of a cigarette tip kisses your shoulder. In your ear, the sound of someone taking a long, slow drag, crackling paper. You turn into it slowly, looking up slower, right into the skinny face of your missing-in-action bandmate. 

“What’s up?” Morgan asks, blowing her smoke in your face. Your eyes burn. 

She’s placing the cigarette between your lips before you can answer. Whether she believes she’s tormenting you or throwing you a life raft, you’re grateful for it, sucking in a blistering breath and wincing as it floods your nose. 

You blow it away from her. 

“Ashtray?” you ask, pinching the cig between two fingers. 

“The floor’s fine.”

You raise your eyebrows, unsurprised at her cavalier suggestion and flick it still smouldering into your cupped palm. The door is perpetually open, guests flicking in and out like the froth of a cresting wave, a rushing entrance and a sluggish recession. 

“Can you get me a bag?” you ask her. 

“I’m not your daddy,” she murmurs.

“Bored already?”

“I have to be bored?”

To bother bothering you? Yes, Morgan would have to be bored. Bored or wasted, and she doesn’t seem inebriated. You place the cig between your teeth and lean your head back to look at the ceiling rather than give her the attentive watching she desires, the roof of your mouth an uncomfortable heat.

You remove it, blow all your smoke skyward, and drop your head. “How are you gonna fuck with me tonight?” you ask plainly. 

You find you aren’t asking Morgan. 

In her place stands a much taller, much more handsome face, big eyes set into pale skin. You don't recognise him at first. He wears the uniform well, in company with every other guy in the room, a crumpled shirt you imagine discarded and re-discarded on different floors. Ripped, dark jeans. He could be wearing nothing at all and the air of intimidation surrounding him would survive — there's something behind his eyes that alarms you, a knife's edge. Sweetness bordering cruelty. 

"I don't know yet," he says. An insipid smile takes his lips from corner to corner as he eases the cig from your hand. "I'm sure we can think of something… together. Sweetheart." 

Boys don't always give you the time of day, not the nice ones, and he doesn't look very nice. He looks like he's trying to calculate what he can get out of you. You're thinking you'll pay just about anything if he can get you a bump of something fun. 

He sees your look too, his lips poised to mention it, but you've just realised where you know him from. 

"I saw you on TV."

"Yeah? In Madison Square Garden?" 

"In court." You give him your best doe eyes, a soft, sweet look, far from mastered and yet effective where it counts. "How much did you have to pay for all the stuff you broke?" 

His smile shutters, realigns. A split-second and enough to let you know his cool gaze is nothing more than a parlour trick.

"You look familiar," he says. 

You hum. "Rollerboy paid, huh?" 

He glares, the idea that his record label might pay for the damages he'd caused laughable and undoubtedly correct. You aren't trying to make enemies, aren't attempting to play someone you're not — you're meek mannered, mollycoddled, too naive to be in the industry for very long. You can see it on his face, exactly what he's thinking, and it's easy to see because everybody else is thinking it too. Even you. 

Before you can repair the offence you've caused, he's dropping your stolen cigarette on the ground and grinding out the flame. 

"Nice to meet you," he says slowly. 

You stare straight ahead and listen to him leave. Smoke tickles your nose. When you look down, the cigarette is smouldering. You squat down, pick up the flattened bud, and drive it into the floor until your fingers are black with soot. 

You wrap those same ashy fingers around the neck of a bottle of coke and try not to be too pissy about it. Fucking rockstars and their fucking egos. He did something embarrassing, and you're the villain? 

You feel bad halfway through your coke. Maybe he'd had nice intentions, but how could you know? You'd talked for all of two minutes. And even if he was bad news, he likely wouldn't have been any worse than half the jerks here. 

He'd have had a handsome face to look up into while said intentions were being acted out, at least.

You frown more. Wishing you'd been nicer to him because you're bored enough to want to get laid isn't strictly kind. Human, maybe. 

The feeling worsens when his appearance garners a small crowd. He sits in a nest of dirty couch cushions and a cloud of smoke, the smell of green strong enough to irritate you from here, telling a story with frenetic hands, and despite the cool look he'd given you earlier, he's making a show of it. Cussing, giggling, blunt between his lips as he ushers for a zippo. A pretty girl with surfer curls relights it, an act of flirting in the way she pulls her shoulders in. 

He takes the blunt from between his lips and blows the smoke so it misses her completely. 

"Thanks, sweetheart," he says, voice rough as hewn stone. 

You kick one shoe behind the other and squeeze your tired thighs together. You get this feeling like a matchstick, red powdered head flicking against gritty scratchpad but failing to strike. Something is familiar about the way he speaks, his sticky inflection. 

Or you're lying to yourself, and you just like the way he talks 

The way he would've spoken, thick fingers braceleting your wrists as he forces your hands into the pillow behind your head, the weight of his body on top of yours, the snugness of a knee between your soft thighs. Your hotel light would've kissed his left side, dividing his curls into strands, the individuals glowing like silver thread as they danced over your cheek and temple, as his breath warmed your lips, as he closed the distance. 

Joan, you could hit him.

"That's an unfortunate hand. Are you sober?"

Cheeks full of heat at being caught in a fantasy, you lift your eyes and meet light, almond brown eyes almost entirely shielded by darker eyebrows. A man stands in front of you, a comfortable gap between his nondescript skate shoes and your worn boots. He's tall and pretty and surprising: he's smiling at you like you're something worth smiling at. 

"I'm–" You brandish the bottle as if that might explain it but harshly set it aside. "No, not sober. I mean, not willingly. Coke's were out here, so…" 

"Oh, right," he says, nodding knowledgeably. "Right, I was sorry to hear about that." 

You lick your lips. "'Bout what?" 

"They banned beautiful women from the kitchen," he says. "Hadn't you heard?" 

"No, that one passed me by." 

"I'm Jamison," he says, holding out his free hand. 

You take it. You tell him your name. 

—

Morgan is crying. Big heaping sobs that she attempts to talk through, creating this ringing whining sound that fills you top to toe with anxiety. You lean back in your hotel bed, wondering what it is in the world that could've happened to her as a kid to make her this unsatisfied now. Ananya blows on her freshly painted nails though they've been dry for hours, knee to knee with you atop the squishy hotel sheets. 

"I can't fucking do this," Morgan cries, tears dripping down her bare skinned cheeks. 

The three of you have been sworn off of makeup, junk food, and unapproved wash products for the next four to five hours. You're happy for this to continue until the end of time. Morgan, less so. 

You're trying to decipher exactly why she's crying, feeling a confusion you'd liken to the first modern day archaeologist that laid eyes on ancient hieroglyphics. All these symbols and colours and stories. No clear translation. 

If Ananya were an archaeologist, she's the kind who got to see the Rosetta stone. Morgan's moods make sense to her, and while she often doesn't empathise with her, she at least knows what to say to appease the worst of it. 

"It'll be alright, Morgs," she says, her faux sympathy unconvincing.

You feel a little sorry for Morgan and clear your throat. "And you're not by yourself. We're here." 

"Fucking amazing help you've been," Morgan says. Her voice does a theatrical peak, pure hysterics. 

It irks you how good she looks. You think that, maybe, if you could make your problems pretty the way that she does, you'd be a lot happier overall. You've often lamented that you suffer the kind of unhappiness that makes people uncomfortable and unwilling. You cry ugly, and always alone, hands over your mouth to smother the sounds, and that's when you do cry. Mostly, you bounce around inside yourself and feel very afraid that this feeling is forever. 

But, you think presently, that isn't Morgan's fault. Not all of it. 

Morgan throws her hands out at you and Ananya and spins on her heel, through the bathroom and into her own separate room. 

"At least the backdrop of her breakdown is nice," you murmur, hugging the pillow against your stomach, heels digging into the mattress to keep your knees up. 

Ananya snorts and flicks to the next page of her magazine. "Right?" She stretches her naked legs out over your sheets. You know she's decided to ruin your bed with her after-waxing oils rather than her own. "Better here than back home." 

"Why's she so upset?" you ask. 

Already, your thoughts are starting to drift. You take another peek at the phone across the room and will it into ringing. 

"She draws them on everyday anyway," Ananya says agreeably. 

You summarise that Morgan's eyebrows are the root of the problem. You don't blame her for wanting to look perfect tomorrow night. Your stomach is a weight every time you think about it, solid as petrified wood. This will be your first TV appearance that isn't a recorded concert, a mid-show performance for the Prover Music Awards, and it should further cement your place in the band. If you look good and people like you, public favour might be enough to keep you around. If they don't, there'll be a couple hundred different audience members with industry links. If you play well, and you're certain you will, you might finally prove to Morgan, Ananya, and the rest of the management team that you're worth choosing. 

You want it badly. You want lots of things, and being a real part of Godless could hand them all to you on a studded platter. Recognition of your talent, further experience, the chance to perform and be supported, to be adored, and the money isn't something you'll pretend you don't think about. A rockstar's salary is hardly stable, but a lack of stability is almost always supplemented by the amount. Wouldn't that be nice? To buy your own bass, to buy whatever you liked. To go out and have spa treatments like the one you'd had just this morning whenever you please. To get to feel beautiful and limp as this all the time. More than anything, you want the validation, the poster that comes with it. 

If Godless decides to keep you, it's a huge, blinking, neon-lit sign that says you're good enough. 

They chose me, and you're stupid for letting me go. 

They chose me. I'm something worth something. You didn't see it, but it's there in me. 

The subtext isn't important. 

You're scared shitless at the reality of performing tonight, knowing any fuck up could follow you, or worse ruin your hopefully budding career in rock for the rest of time. You have this body and this name, and if you want to keep your life you have to be good. It has your fingers itching for your piece-of-shit bass guitar where you know she's hiding under the bed. You should be practising, but this entire week has been practising. The dress rehearsal went well, and you'll give yourself a pass for having certain distractions. 

Morgan warbles. You glance at the phone. 

"Waiting for someone?" Ananya asks. She misses nothing. 

You both wince as Morgan screams and throws something across her bedroom, the eventual clattering smash indicative of a fragile target. 

"Think room service will send up a sedative?" she asks. 

Room service won't send a sedative, nor will they send the single hashbrown Morgan is apparently craving. You're starting to panic when the solution practically jumps at you. 

"Morgan," you say gently, standing in the doorway of her room with a tentative smile, "can't offer you something, can I?" 

You hold up your little pouch. Morgan doesn't know you well, but she knows it's where you keep anything interesting. She should know, she pilfers it of anything truly exciting within the day. 

"Don't be stupid," she scathes. "My eyes will be bloodshot. You know smoking doesn't agree with me." 

You hold in a comment on how she'd literally been smoking out of the window last night. 

"It's a brownie. It's a couple days old, but… perfectly edible." You offer her the pouch, dropping it at the end of the bed among her things. 

She picks at the brownie, timid princess bites that make you want to roll your eyes. You often think the worst thing about Morgan is that you love her, or you could love her more, if only she felt the same way. She isn't all evil and she never will be, she's just a person. But she takes shit out on you and makes your life harder than it needs to be, so even her most endearing moments fall short. 

"This tastes awful." 

You laugh and kneel down at her dresser to start putting her thrown jewellery box back together. "It wasn't that nice when I got it," you lie. 

You clean her room. Morgan never wants to do anything she knows can be done for her, and you know she won't bother here, not when room service will spend the hour it takes themselves. You think of some poor service worker squaring away the impossible amount of stockings and garters for a sad $3.45 an hour and the task suddenly becomes much more enjoyable. 

Morgan doesn't say thank you. You don't insult her intelligence by thinking she isn't aware of what you're doing. She sniffles and blows her nose daintily with a balsam tissue. 

"I saw you talking to that guy from Corroded Coffin." 

You brush off your knees as you stand. "Which one?" 

"Eddie. The rhythm guitarist." 

"The loud one." 

"He's kind of hot. If he calls, you should go out with him." 

"That's not–" who I'm waiting for. You squint at her. "Morgan, that would be terrible." 

"Can you get me something from the minibar?" 

You kick open her minibar and grab a cold can of seltzer. She slides onto her back and accepts it, pressing it to her eyes with a relaxed smile. Eyebrows forgotten, it seems. 

"That would be perfect. He can be the cat to your mouse." 

"Your definition of perfect–" You cut yourself off again when she starts to laugh. You don't believe it to be genuine. 

She lounges in bed for an hour until she's high, reappearing in you and Ananya's suite with a dizzying smile. You don't mind high Morgan. She's smoked enough in her time to bypass the dizzying, giggly kind of stoner. This Morgan is relaxed, almost easygoing. She sits at the end of your bed and watches you pluck out a bass line proposal for one of their current works in progress, head bobbing. 

An hour again and the stylists appear to spray you down with smells and oils and make up, and soon you've been strapped into a short shining dress with a cowl neck, dark black stockings that shine like oil, and heels you can't really walk in. You complain about them politely enough that Mel, the man in charge of your 'costuming', swaps them out for shorter ones. 

"This fucking corset is a nightmare," Morgan grumbles. 

"Sorry, love, that's all we've got." 

The commute is over in a blink. You arrive outside of the venue for the Awards, staring up at its imposing silhouette against the skyline, a dark building in the strange blue night. The sun is unseen but light illuminates the wet streets in blinding patches, so white they glow violet behind your eyes. 

There's a modest red carpet where you thankfully don't have to pose for many photos. After all, besides being a temporary member of the stage, you aren't truly in Godless. Most casual fans (the majority of their fan base) only know the faces in the magazines and on TV, and you have yet to be in either until tonight. 

After a bundle of shy and regretfully nerve-wracking photos, you're drawn inside the building and away from all the flashing hubbub. You sit in your seats, short rows divided by the occasional table for drinks, and you try not to sink into the carpeted floor. It smells insanely like nothing at all. No bleach, no air conditioning cleanliness. Every now and then another guest walks past your row and you get a whiff of perfume. 

A familiar scent pricks your attention. 

You look up, slightly over your shoulder, and your eyes meet familiar sticky brown. 

He drops down in the seat next to you, and you think, No way. 

He holds up the placard that had been under his thigh. His name is typed in clear blocked letters. 

It's a strange humiliation to have been read for filth like that. You're you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me expression can be pretty telling, evidently. 

"Hey, sweetheart." 

Matchstick against the box. You tilt your head and try to place him for the tenth time. 

"Have we met before?" you ask. 

He actually grins like this is the best thing you could've said. "You met my friend," he says, pointing down the aisle. 

Jamison stands talking to a woman who is admittedly gorgeous, and, to your sinking horror, much prettier than you. They kiss each other on the cheek and it's the kind of over friendly to make you sick. 

Eddie pouts at you. "Better luck next time, sweet thing." He throws one leg over another. "You look different. New haircut?" 

"You look exactly the same," you say. 

It's surprising how untouched he is. Sure, he's had some makeup applied and his hairs been tousled into life, but his outfit is remarkable in its simplicity. Surely rockstars can wear suits too? He looks neat and dark and tidy, but he also looks effortless. It's irritating.

This phenomena is not self contained, you find, as his bandmates sit down the row with their managerial chaperones and one date. Jamison sits right at the very end. He doesn't look at you. 

You avert your eyes and wonder if it's possible to die from embarrassment. 

The venue gets increasingly busy as the bigger names and bands flood inside. Soon, you're sitting amongst legends, people who pretty much spearheaded late 80s glam rock, punk, grunge. People you've only ever seen on TV. And it isn't restricted to alternative sound, there are pop stars and their supermodel girlfriends shaking hands and kissing cheeks in the row behind, while producers with names big enough to make your mouth dry up clap each other on the shoulders in front. 

"You'll catch flies." 

You turn to Eddie. He doesn't sound entirely cruel. He doesn't sound like much of anything. You could almost believe him to be a friend. 

There's a smudge of eyeliner on his cheek. 

"You have–" You point at your own cheek, a mirror. 

His lightness fades. "Nice." 

"No, seriously, you have something. Make up, on your cheek. I have a wipe if you want it." 

He scrubs at his cheek ineffectually. 

You're reaching out to help before you can stop yourself, witnessing your own actions with a strange out-of-body horror as you wipe the small black line gently. It spreads, and you panic and dab at it until it's an unfortunate grey shadow. 

"Let me get the wet wipe," you say. You'd been holding your breath, awkwardness stiff between you, and it sounds too much like a laugh. 

Eddie flinches away from your touch and covers his cheek. "I got it," he says stonily. 

He leaves, stepping over his bandmates feet like stepping stones, earning a cacophony of protests and disparagments. 

Dick, you think. Again, that had been a little bit your fault. Not all of it, he seems to be in a perpetual bad mood that can't be your doing, but you can understand why he might think you were laughing at him, and the defensiveness that comes with it. When he comes back you'll apologise. 

Or that's what you tell yourself. The lights go down, the curtains open, and the venue erupts with applause. By the time Eddie takes his seat again you're too afraid of disturbing the quiet. 

After half an hour you're ushered backstage. You have to move in front of Eddie and the rest of Corroded Coffin as you go. 

He looks up at you in silence. Head tipped back, face barely lit by the lights while you stand in between his legs. His lips part and he's all rockstar, his brown eyes and their edging of straight dark lashes, his pink, pretty lips. He has a distinct line to his nose, a cupid's bow perfectly shaped. His maker must have looked at him and known somebody, somewhere, would want to kiss him right there. His lips twitch. 

"Can I help you?" he whispers. 

You stammer a response that won't form and Morgan shoves you. 

"Fucking move," she says. 

His expression flickers. 

"Sorry," you say, unsure of who you're talking to. "Sorry." You sound pathetic. A kicked puppy. 

You keep your eyes on the floor until you're in the aisle, where a new set of nerves tries to swallow you whole.

—

Eddie knows exactly who you are, and he hates himself for it. He remembers you, the first you, shy and sweet and so excited, sitting pretty in Indianapolis International Airport with your guitar and your huge leaky headphones pounding death metal. While fame has broadened the amount of people who want to sleep with him, it hasn't changed his type, and you'd been a ringer, right there in the middle. 

You'd been pretty and maybe you knew it, maybe you didn't, it didn't matter — what he liked most was the way your hands had moved as you spoke, hummingbird thrumming, an energy he'd seen in himself and every other musician desperate for a chance. He loved the passion and your eyelashes and the way you'd smiled as you'd waited for your plane, the two of you destined for New York, where you both seem to have looped back now. Only, he'd been cursed with remembering your every detail, and you either didn't remember him or don't care. Both sting, but he likes the second better. He'll take purposeful cruelty over the casual any day. 

Like your thumb pressed to his cheek. The heat, and then your laugh. 

"The fuck is this?" Gareth asks, leaning over the space between their two chairs. 

Eddie looks up at you on stage and shrugs. While bands made up completely of women aren't new, they aren't as common as bands made up of men, obviously. He likes it, likes your sound, though it's not the kind of thing Corroded Coffin would ever play, and he won't join in on Gareth's doubt. Even if you are, like, a magnanimous shithead. You're good. 

"She's hot," he furthers. 

"Jesus, Gareth." 

"What? She's fucking hot." 

He has to squint to see you from this distance, and he can't truly make out many details. Gareth's not wrong. You're pretty, and out of the three members of the band you're the only one who actually looks like they're having a good time. 

The lead singer trails around the stage pulling Blond Ambition poses. She can sing well, she has a strong voice that does whatever it is she bends it into, but her propensity to drop the guitar slung around her neck to grab at the microphone stand like it's escaping isn't helping anything. 

The girl on drums is arguably given a pass, fighting to keep up with the pace, sweat sticking her thick hair to her neck in glossy spirals and her huge eyes set in concentration. Her messy lipstick sparkles under the stage lights, a party pink that pops against her brown skin. 

He thinks you might be trying to cover up the lead singer's sloppy playing. You're good, sure, but it's not the easiest to tell when it's ragtag and rough like this. Only because he's watching does he notice your pick slipping between strings to the floor, and your willingness to strum with the sides of your fingertips. He likes that. The dedication is hot. 

"I've never seen a girl on drums who didn't look like a guy," Gareth says. "She's killer. Think I can get her number?" 

Eddie groans. "No, you fucking loser." 

"I was just asking." 

You bounce around and Eddie shifts in his seat, annoyed that he'd assumed you were the one Gareth was talking about. 

He claps for you when the song is over and hates how you return to your seat during the break, back in your cute dress and beaming, practically dripping in deodorant and post-show adrenaline. 

You apologise again as you step over him, and if there's one thing he doesn't want from you it's a sorry. Twice now you've spoken to him in the last week and twice you've made fun of him like some plaything under your thumb. Eddie isn't in the habit of being under anyone's anything. Apologies feel like salt in the wound, even though he knows you aren't saying sorry for the stuff that's pissing him off.

"What the fuck was that?" Lead girl asks you, sounding about as uptight as she looks as she climbs over your leg. "What were you doing?" 

"Morgan, I don't know if you noticed, but you didn't play half of the song," you say defensively, the skirt of your gem-encrusted dress glancing off of his thigh. The gems are tiny, like pinprick stars in country night skies. They shine purple, green, orange. 

Morgan holds her hand up for an attendant. When one approaches, she says, "Appletini," and nothing else, waving dismissively. She pulls at her stockings and doesn't notice the ladder she makes near the calf. "You're here to play what you're given." 

"I did." 

"And only that." 

Your silence speaks volumes. What he'd thought to be an edge in Godless' sound may have been an improvisation, something Eddie personally applauds. 

"Christ," Morgan says, "you're more trouble than you're worth. I hope you know that." 

Eddie believes the sting of her barb to be in the presentation rather than the words themselves, though what she'd said is hardly kind. She looks away from you as she says it, like she's giving instruction far below her station. Factual, concise. 

You barely wince. The lights dim, and he watches you contend with how you're feeling from the corner of his eye.

Eddie isn't evil. You may have gotten off on the wrong foot, and he's definitely holding his resentment at being forgotten tight to his chest, but nobody deserves to get shit on like that. You'd played well, you'd had a great time, and that should be commended. What's worse, your lack of a reaction tells him this is a common occurrence. 

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," you say. 

Morgan waves you away like she had the waitress. You stand, and you say, "Excuse me," to every person you pass. Eddie put his hand on the back of his chair to follow you up toward the back of the room where the sign for the bathrooms glows green. 

He sets his eyes back on the stage and begs himself to stay sitting. Corroded Coffin's nomination for best up and comer has already passed, a loss, and there's no reason he can't nip to the bathroom himself. There's also no reason he should go after you. 

Fuck it, he thinks. 

What could go wrong? What could go wrong, outside of the women's bathroom, where he has so obviously followed you, where he waits for you like some creeper trying to paw one off on you. He can't hear anything but the running tap. For a moment he thinks you haven't come here to collect yourself after all, you'd needed to pee, which makes his situation that much awkwarder. 

Stuck between indecision, he leans against the wall between the women's and men's and digs for a cigarette. His pockets are empty, a precaution for exactly this moment. You can't smoke in the Prover Theatre, pissant.

You appear and blitz past him. 

"Hey," he says before you can go too far, "d'you have a card?"

You turn on your heel. Hands already in your purse, you dig out an unopened box of cigarettes and offer it to him. You don't look as though you've been crying or anything like it, but you don't look him head on, so he keeps his theory. 

Eddie peels the plastic off of your box and slaps the end against his chest for good measure. 

"I don't think you can smoke in here," you say finally. Your voice is tired. 

He raises his eyebrows and peers down into the box, pulling a cigarette free and sliding it between his lips. He holds out his hand for a lighter and you give it to him, already waiting with it between two fingers. 

He lights it, inhales sharply, and passes you back your carton and lighter with a clouded, "Thanks." 

"Yeah." 

He's surprised when you don't move. You stand there and watch him smoke, whorls of pearly smoke dissecting the air between you, spider-webs over your pert face. You're waiting for what he doesn't know, so he'll give you something. He's nice. 

"She's a piece of work." 

You shift uneasily. 

"I'm not the feds," he says, pulling the cig from his lips to talk unfettered.

"Forgive me for wondering if you have my best interests at heart." 

He beams at you, really smiles, startled and enamoured by your sharp tongue. "Now why wouldn't I?" 

You don't say anything, only pull at the neckline of your dress in what's likely a nervous habit. He gets a flash of the top of your chest and looks away. He thinks you're beautiful in a rather understated way, and he doesn't not want to see what it is you're showing, but he knows you don't actually mean to be so forward. He might be an asshole, but he's not like that. 

It's quiet here in the foyer, like standing outside the doors of the movie theatre. You can hear the announcement of a new category, the roaring applause. The hallway and the bathrooms feel cordoned off from it in a strange way, an uncanny energy that has him on internal tenterhooks. 

"You always let her treat you like that?"

"Like what?" 

He steps toward you because the distance feels unnecessary. "Like that. Like you're a dog." 

"Fuck you, I do not." 

He pouts, the taste of smoke thick on his tongue. 

"What would you know?" you ask.

"Besides hearing it all fucking night, nothing. You must like that shit." 

Your eyes go wide. He hadn't meant to say it. There's a light behind them now, some life, something to cover up that shitty wounded despondency you'd been wearing. Your hands bunch in the soft skirt of your dress, shaking. He's touched a nerve. 

"I must like it," you quote, strained.

"Woof. Do you do any tricks, or is it just the one?" 

He doesn't mean for it to happen this way, he wants it on the record. He's a dick, he's a loser, whatever, he hadn't meant to argue but he will. And, you know, there may be a slight possibility that he isn't as sure in himself as he appears, and that there are nerves he keeps too close to the surface, too. 

"You can teach me one of yours, if you want," you offer, voice tight with annoyance, "I'm thinking smug asshole picks easy target, but I'm open to other options." 

That's funny. He takes another step toward you, another, your cigarette between his lips smouldering at the tip as he inhales through his smirk. 

"Yeah, like what?" he asks, smoke licking your cheeks as he breathes out. 

"How you get your head through the door might be a good place to start." 

He waits for you to explain, knowing the silence will force you to fill it. 

"You know, considering you're in the exact same place as me, only one of us performed tonight and it isn't the one acting like God's gift." 

"You think they invited you to play because you're good?" he asks, feigning an earnest tone.

"I know exactly why they didn't ask you." You hike the strap of your purse higher up your shoulder, chin lifted in a snooty superiority that makes his heart pound. "Wannabe rookie who had too much smoke blown up his ass and thinks he's somebody. But you're not," you say. "You're a child. They've seen a hundred guys just like you in the Indiana circuit."

"You're a jumped up fucking groupie that got lucky," he says.

The light behind your eyes dims. He takes that last step, the step that's gonna put you shoe to shoe. 

He should stop now, he would, but suddenly his anger is real, this isn't strictly fun anymore. He says what he knows is gonna hurt you. 

"You're a stand-in, a temp who's already overstayed her welcome." He flicks the tower of ash between your heels. You follow it down, watch as it settles into the fibres of the carpeting. "You're a burnout waiting to happen." 

Your breathing is loud in his ears. Slightly too fast. 

"You don't know anything," you murmur. 

"If it barks like a dog, and it heels like a dog," he says, pausing, words coming out thick and slow, "it's a dog."

Your face flares with hurt. You're gone before he can say anything else. 

He's glad for it. Honestly, he's not sure what else he would've said, and later, he'll regret this, regret blowing up at you, regret following you out here and making you feel worse when he'd wanted the opposite. But tonight he's lit up from the inside out, your words a reverberation. A hundred guys just like you.

"Yeah, right," he says to himself, scoffing with a surety he doesn't feel. 

—

Donington Park, England, August 1990

"I'd be a little more excited if I knew they weren't desperate this year," Jamison's saying, "that's all." 

"They're hardly desperate." 

"Last time they had KISS, Iron Maiden, Megadeth." Jamison sighs and falls back into the couch, muttering about the stale smell before continuing, "and this year, what do they have? Poison? Thunder? Who cares." 

Eddie thinks he might actually have an opponent for biggest ego right now. 

"You know they put Godless bigger on the poster," Jeff says with a bright smile. 

"Can we not talk about them for one fucking day?" Eddie pleads. 

He's a little disappointed at the lineup too, but that doesn't make this entire festival a bust. Monster of Rock may not be the most prestigious event they've ever attended but it's still impressive to be asked to play here, and this is only Corroded Coffin's third festival. Eddie's a smug bastard and even he knows Jamison sounds like a bitch. Besides that, he's so, so tired of talking about Godless. 

"They finally stopped stringing that poor girl along. What was her name?" Jeff asks, clicking his fingers. "Eddie, you know, the one who said she didn't know you in the magazines?"

"What?" Eddie asked. "They cut her?" 

Jamison sits up, eyes lit with mirth. "What's it matter to you, heartthrob?" 

"It doesn't." 

He's not being truthful. His bandmates are all unkind, and none extend the generosity of pretending they believe him. 

"Nah, she's not cut, she's official. Writing credits on the new album and everything, 'cordin to Rolling Stone." 

"You have it?" Eddie asks.

Jeff laughs at him but digs it out of his suitcase, brandishing it all rolled up. 

"Shit better not be sticky," Eddie mutters under his breath. 

"... Skip the interview with Kim Gordon." 

Eddie gags and flicks through the pages until he finds the article on you, or rather the column. 

"All female rock band Godless finally welcomed a new bass player this month after the departure of Millyanna Richardson in '89. Y/N L/N, 24, had been with the band for almost a year under a 'touring only' basis, though she performed live with remaining members Morgan Fletcher and Ananya Roy at the Prover Music Awards in early June. Fans have praised her talent and finesse, and are looking forward to her contributions to the band's next album expected this December. Hopefully she has thicker skin than her predecessor, who branded the band's inner politics as 'gruesome' and 'unlivable'."

There's a grainy photograph of you and your bandmates at the Prover Theatre overtop. You look exactly as you had that night, pretty and glitzy. He scowls at your printed face.

He can't fucking stand you, let it be known, and he thinks your frontman is the most spoilt brat he's ever seen. He hadn't seen the article, but he'd heard via word of mouth that you'd both had something to say about him. His approximation goes as follows: 

Interviewer: …and you guys will be performing at the Monster of Rock music festival in England this August, right? Any faces you're excited to see? 

Morgan: I think I'm better than everyone despite being in a mildly popular band that didn't qualify as hard rock until, like, three months ago, and I totally shit on our bass player for trying to make the change by the way, so I'm not excited to see anyone besides myself in the mirror. 

Interviewer: How sophisticated and mature of you. And you, Y/N, are you excited to see anyone? Photos from the Prover Music Awards show you were sitting beside Corroded Coffin's Eddie Munson, did you two hit it off? 

Y/N: Who was that, the guitarist? I'm so sorry, I don't really remember getting a chance to talk to him, but I'm excited for the opportunity to meet more people in the scene right now and to get to play for a new audience. Also I suck and I want Eddie sooooo bad. 

"I wish I were asleep." Gareth squints at the ceiling. "Asleep or back home."

"Miss mommy?" Jamison asks him. 

"And Cindy." 

"Oh, god," Eddie groans, "I don't want to hear it, seriously." 

"She always had smooth legs, you know?" Gareth says. "Always shiny, soft. Fuck, I miss her legs. Girls on the road never shave their legs." 

"Do you shave your legs?" Eddie asks. 

"Fuck off, Teddy, you know you like it better when they shave." 

"Do I know that?" Eddie asks. 

He turns to Jamison, giving him a much-used 'make him stop' expression. Eyebrows raised, lips parted. When Jamison says nothing, and Gareth starts to talk about hair removal in other places, Eddie scrubs his eyes with both hands and stands up. 

He's a guy. He has guy thoughts. Yeah, he thinks about girls, and their legs, and everything else, but he also thinks about them as actual people, something Gareth hasn't quite grasped yet. 

"Remember why Cindy said she didn't wanna come with you?" Eddie asks. 

"Because she was jealous of my success." 

Eddie snorts and shrugs on his jacket where he'd left it thrown over the ratty couch. "Because she was going to beauty school," Eddie corrects. "I'm going out." 

"We're miles away from anything interesting," Jeff says, magazine crinkling in his hands. 

"I'm sure I'll find something," he says, and doesn't add that it should be easy. 

What counts as interesting has taken a sharp turn since arriving in Donington. Which isn't to say it's boring, exactly, there's a rich culture Eddie isn't familiar with, and a fucking castle, but he's so used to loud dives and backroom parties that this has been a stark change. Wending had said to think of it like a vacation to get his head screwed on tight. Paula had said to think of it like a punishment, which had been funny at the time. Now he's wondering if she was serious. 

He knows there'd been a convenience store somewhere down the road from the hotel. Or rather, the bed and breakfast, a strange cottage situation where the hosts keep an eye on you under the guise of making your dinner. Eddie's first world problems continue. 

He could get weed, possibly. He doesn't know where from, but he knows someone who knows someone who must know someone, right? 

Then he starts debating with himself about if he should smoke just to escape boredom. That sounds like a terrible idea, life isn't even bad right now, he's just hungry, and— 

Eddie turns the corner, wet sidewalk dark as pitch under his feet, and spots the back of your head as you disappear inside of the convenience store. The corner shop, as Wending had informed. Eddie doesn't understand because it isn't on a corner, but he has bigger fish to fry. He considers waiting for you to leave. What are the chances you'll walk back this way? Pretty likely. 

Don't be a bitch, he tells himself. 

Light rain spots his neck as he hurries inside, the bell above the door ringing to announce his entrance. He's confused as soon as he looks up, because in front of him is an aisle, and to either side is an aisle, and he can't make out where the cashier is. He takes a tentative step in, eyes tracking muddy footprints down the way to the drinks fridge humming loudly at the back of the room. 

Claustrophobic, he makes his way through the aisle and stops in front of the drinks. Because luck isn't ever his friend, you're standing toward the leftmost part, where a second fridge hums, filled to bursting with canned beer and litre bottles of cider. Eddie isn't sure it's really you until you turn to the left slightly and reach out for a colourful glass bottle. He should walk away. He doesn't like you, he has no business watching you, but there's something so sweet about it. 

You in the humming chill, a coat pulled tightly around you, your chin hidden by the multicolour of a yarn scarf. You turn the bottle in your hand delicately and blink slow as you read the ingredients. Your hair is frizzy from the wind, flyaways surrounding your face in a little wave. His fingers twitch. 

You keep the bottle and pick up a second, nails clinking against glass. Your movement pulls like you're moving through jello, and Eddie turns to the fridge in front of him hurriedly. 

He can feel your gaze on the side of his face. 

He picks up a couple of drinks without thinking, his face burning with heat. When he chances a glance your way, you've moved. He stares at the rainbow of drinks and the gaps where you've taken what you wanted. 

He leaves some time between your departure and follows the way you must've gone down an aisle of more alcohol that's unrefrigerated and pet food, wondering how they organise here, and is confronted with you again at the end. 

It's a snug building. You're blocking the way past where you're standing in front of the cashier's desk, a plexiglass shielded cube decked out in hanging sweets and cigarettes. 

"Do you have Newports?" you ask mildly. 

"Sorry." 

"That's okay, uh, I'll just take a carton of whatever you think is best?" 

The cashier retrieves a light blue box of cigarettes. "Lambert and Butler blues," he says. "Total, sixteen fifty six, and I'll need to see some ID." 

You pull your passport from an already opened purse and offer it to him. While the cashier's checking it over, you peek at Eddie, and you don't smile but you don't not smile, a formal quirk of the lips. 

"You're American?" the cashier asks. 

"I'm visiting for the festival," you say. 

Apparently having passed his test, the cashier hands your passport back and accepts your card. 

"Are you paying together?" he asks, nodding at Eddie. 

Eddie grins unconsciously, worse when you say quickly, "Oh, no, we're not together." 

"Your brevity wounds me," Eddie says.

You snort with a similar geniality. "You don't need me to pay for you, do you? I heard you're rich now." 

There has been an improvement in Eddie's finances lately. Your album breaking into the Billboard top 100 does that. 

"I thought you didn't know who I was?" 

"I thought that was kinder than what I really would've said." 

He hates how your snark makes him smile. You're not looking at him, waiting for your change with your eyes forward as the cashier clicks a couple of buttons on the till. 

"What were you really gonna say?" 

The cashier hands over your change. You slip it into your purse, put your purse in the pocket of your coat, and slide your hand through the weak blue handles of your plastic bag.

"Thank you," you say sincerely. You take a step like you're going to leave, but you pause, and you look Eddie in the eye and say, "I would've said you were mean." 

His jaw drops. You look hurt, and you leave with a discomforting frown. 

He puts the drinks he's carrying down on the cashier's desk and says, "I'll be right back," before following you out.

You've pulled your hood up to defend against the thickening rain, walking with your face angled down. Eddie beats along the wet pathway. 

"Hey! Hey, wait, wait a second, princess." 

"You can't be serious." 

"I'm so serious," he says. 

He weaves in front of you and stops. You look cold as he feels with his red-tipped nose and stiff fingers, your arms drawn together over your chest. You look pretty and he's so sick of thinking it and not saying it. 

"You're hot when you're mad." 

You glare at him. "I wish I could say the same." 

"Hey, hey, okay, we had a spat, but we got off on the wrong foot, you know?" 

"I thought that too," you say. 

He smiles. "See, we're– you're fucking with me. Nice." 

You start laughing, edging around him. He moves in front and you shrug, stepping off of the sidewalk and into the leaf litter clogging the gutter. 

"Don't be stupid," he says, hands held up in surrender "get back on the sidewalk." You keep walking. "Come on, don't get hit by a car. That would really put a damper on the festival." 

You take a step further into the road, the kind that would make a collision unavoidable. He checks both ways for cars and sees none, knowing you're fucking with him and hating it anyway. The two of you are locked into a stand off, grey skies above you and wet ground underneath, your face partially occluded by your scarf and your hood and the dribbling rain. If he listens, he can hear the small sounds of the festival preparations a half a mile away, guitars hooked up up an insane array of speakers and the pounding of a beat through the floor. 

You start walking again. He follows, treading backwards to keep your attention. 

"Seriously, come on." 

"No." 

"No?" he asks. 

"No. I don't have to listen to you." 

"You're being stupid." 

"Eddie, I truly, honestly, don't care." 

"Sure." The sound of tires on the road draws his eye. A car appears behind you, approaching fast. "It's your funeral."

"What do you get out of this?" 

He bites his top lip, shaking his head from one side to the other. "Out of what?" 

"Tormenting me." 

"Tormenting you? Sweetheart, we hardly know each other." 

"Exactly!" You almost trip over your own shoes. "Exactly, you don't know me, but you thought you could say all those things–" 

"You started it." 

You laugh again and Eddie would be pissed but the car is still coming, headlights beaming through the light downpour. He huffs and grabs your wrist, tugging you up onto the sidewalk with his second hand on your waist. He doesn't mean to rag you about, feeling especially apologetic when your face knocks into his chin. The car spins close and validates his concern. You have enough sense to realise what's happened, watching over your shoulder as the car beeps and whizzes past. Still, you yank your arm out of his. 

"Don't touch me," you say quietly. 

He dips his head to force you to meet his eyes. "Next time I'll let you get hit by a car. Great idea." 

"I wasn't going to get hit by the fucking car." 

You're infuriating. 

Infuriating, and yet he feels bad for pulling you around. He lowers his voice, softens his tone. "Sorry," he says. "I don't know why this happens, everytime I see you, I…" 

You look intensely uncomfortable. "I have one of those faces, I guess." You shrug away from his reach. "Try to play well tomorrow? I don't want to go on to a dead crowd." 

His mouth snaps closed. "If you need me to warm them up for you, just say that." 

—

You go to watch Eddie's set because you're awful. You want it to suck. You want Corroded Coffin to bomb it and you want it to be his fault, anything to wipe that pretty smile off of his face, smother the electricity of his bouncing steps as he bounds from one side of the stage to the other. He's entranced by the crowd — it's hard not to be. Ananya had told you on the plane that UK festival audiences are a different kind of enthusiastic, eager and loud, and it's obvious now that she was right, and that Corroded Coffin had more than a few loyalists in the sea of people. 

The barrier bends under the force of it, thousands of warm bodies throwing themselves against one another despite the terrible weather, mud to the shins and sliding. You've never seen so many people happy to be covered in dirt. 

Neither Morgan nor Ananya had wanted to join you so you stick to the shadows with your lanyard pass. You refuse to think about why you've dressed the way you have, a black, stiff corset type top to cinch your chest, exposing the soft hills of your breasts, and the flare pants Morgan had insisted make your thighs acceptable. You're bedecked in pretty jewellery and your hair looks perfect, and it's all for your show, you swear, all for your set straight after his. 

Eddie's dripping with sweat and rain at this point, darker curls wet and slick and sweet around his face. His brows are furrowed like he's in pain, and his thumb has split on the strings, blood like cherry juice running down the body of his guitar, a Warlock NJ Series electric with a red and black tortoise shell design. It shines like mother-of-pearl. 

You're impressed by him, and worse, there's a heat stirring in your abdomen you despise. He's attractive, you've always thought him pretty, but on stage he's something else entirely. The passion transforms him, makes him a different person. No trace of agitating smugness about him. 

And he's good. You're not a critic, an expert, and your opinion hardly matters, but if he's this good now you'd love to see him at Hammet's age, at Hanneman's. He could be one of the greats. 

You're riddled with jealousy. Bass and rhythm guitar are not the same, and they're comparable in some ways, incomparable in others, but you know you're not like he is. You want to be the next Entwistle, the next Ian Hill, but practising You've Got Another Thing Comin' until your fingers bleed is never going to give you what Eddie plainly has. 

You hide your bandaid covered fingers in your back pockets and shake your head. You can pinpoint the moment Eddie notices you on the side stage despite the small audience they've attained. His neck snaps to the side, and his eyes bore into yours for a split-second. 

You could pretend you aren't here. If he ever calls you out on it, you could lie. You want me so bad you're seeing me places, Munson. 

You don't do that. 

You wave. 

You've never been the prettiest girl. You know you aren't model material, people aren't shy about letting you know that, and so, you're practised in the art of quiet flirtation. Your wrist straight, you wiggle your fingers sweetly, a face of fresh make up and your sweetest smile, like he's a guy across the bar and you're trying to get a ride in his passenger seat. 

For a split-second you adore him. It's the meanest thing you can do. 

You aren't expecting him to fuck up. His hand slips down the neck and that's it, one missed second of sound. He throws himself back into it and doesn't look your way again, a storm of emotions clouding his handsome face. 

Not what you'd meant to do, and yet. There's a cruel satisfaction in knowing you'd had any sort of power over him.

There's a ten minute gap between sets, twenty because of the shitty weather. Morgan and Ananya are nowhere to be seen as Corroded Coffin pour off of the stage and down the short stairwell where you're waiting, picking at your clear nail polish absentminded. You don't look up, and the resulting quiet makes you think they've all left. 

A wooden board creaks. 

You look up. 

"Hey, you–" 

Eddie takes your shoulder into his warm, big hand and pushes you back. You wobble and rush to correct your posture, hand clamping around the crook of his elbow. Even though he's soaked through, wet to the skin, his hand is a blistering heat. 

Your shoulders collide with the wall under the stairwell. It's a snug fit, dark and out of view. 

"What gives?" you seethe, pushing at his chest. 

"You fucking–" Eddie tucks a lock of wet hair behind his ear, and his hand stays at that height, hovering between you. "What's wrong with you?" 

"What's wrong with me?" 

"You want to mess with me, is that it?" 

His hand takes to your face, index finger following the line of your cheek, his thumb along your jaw. He isn't kind. He isn't cruel. He's touching you, just touching you, and your mouth is bone dry at the sensation, the stuttering beat of your heart. 

"I don't want to do anything to you, Munson." 

"We both know that's not true." You've never heard his voice like this. It's scratchy– pleading. It's a desperation. 

He's breathing hard. Your proximity means you feel each one as it comes, heat fanning over your lips. You look to his, find them parted, the barest hint of pearly teeth between pink dewy skin. They look soft. 

You lift your chin. 

I dare you. 

His hand slides down. He presses his thumb into your bottom lip and inclines his head. You close your eyes, fine stands of his hair drawing lines of wetness against your face as he boxes you in. 

"Are you going to–" 

"Shut up," he says, crushing his lips to yours. 

It his nose you feel more than anything, the force of it as he moves in, bridge sliding down your own. His hands, and how they tighten, fisted in the slope of your shoulder and clutching at the underside of your jaw like you might slip away. His touch brings you in, his hips force you back, wedging your spine tight to the panelled wall behind you. 

You let him kiss you, let his lips work over yours, let him take what it is he wants. Your fingers slide softly up the chilled leather of his jacket, coveting the wet mess of his hair. You weave your fingers into it, their tips pressed to his roots, and pull him away. 

You steal the gap between you and try to take control. You don't know how to kiss like he is, you don't know where all that meanness comes from. You force his hand from your face and nip at his bottom lip, imprecise, stammering pecks that reveal too much. 

Eddie inhales hard, pulls the breath from your mouth. 

"Don't play games," he says. 

He presses a firm, hard kiss all lopsided into your lips and pulls away, yanking your hand from his hair and setting it against the line of his waist. 

"You like games," you argue. 

He tilts your head to one side a millimetre at a time, tilting his own to follow you. A teasing light burns behind his eyes, a playful flare of his lashes that worries and excites at once. 

His thumb haunts the column of your throat, pressing, releasing, pressing again. Never enough to hurt. 

"Stay still." 

You stay still. You aren't expecting him to weave the other way, the hot and unapologetic scratch of his teeth against your pulse. You laugh at the feeling, find it gets all clogged up when he starts to bite. The hand that isn't anchoring your head roams down your shoulder, your back, falling into the small of it as though it were made to be there. His fingers spread and pull and your pelvis pushes hard into his own. 

"Is that a–" You cough on your murmuring, chastened by his thumb outside your windpipe. "S'that a micronta quartz in your pocket, or are you just," —you hiss as his hickeying turns brutal, hand pawing ar his waist uselessly— "happy– Happy to see me?" 

Your shuddering makes him smile. He lets your bruised skin slip from between his lips only to scandalise you further, kissing and nipping, licking a humiliating stretch until he's under your ear, speaking into it. 

"I'm never happy to see you," he murmurs, hand turned, the back of his index knuckle stroking a tender back and forth. His forehead kisses your temple. "You should know that by now." 

A picture of composure but you know what you feel. You roll your hips to revel in his subtle groan. 

"You want me to mark up the other side?" he asks. 

His question sounds so genuine, you almost say yes. He laughs at your silence and kisses wherever he can reach, crescent moons, spit-damp and branding. 

He pauses to speak into the corner of your mouth. "Mess me up again during a set and I won't be this nice." 

"You're not nice," you say, lashes skimming the skin under your brows as he stands at full height, widening the gap between you to a safe distance again. 

"Exactly…" Eddie squeezes your cheek until it aches. His eyes are unreadable. "Have a good set, sweetheart." 

Unreadable turns smug. He pats your panging cheek, gaze dancing over the sore stretch of your neck, and turns without a second glance. 

You press the heel of your palm to the cold wall behind you and blink. Once. Twice. In that moment you hate him more than you've ever hated him, hate him like you've never hated anyone, because his retreating figure is unaffected, and you're dizzy with the lingering press of his lips.

You have to hand it to him. He's good at the game. 

You'll have to be better. 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

I wrote the bulk of this really quickly so please forgive any major errors I missed during editing, I’ll go back again in future and make more corrections! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and if you did please consider reblogging or telling me what you thought, I promise it makes a big difference <3 I was super nervous about this one and I still am lol

[simpingforheros]

Jason Todd Head canon 1#

I’m bored at work so I’m giving yall silly headcannons to make y’all smile. This is very crack! Headcanon vibes because I’m manic as well right now. But, I love my toxic zombie boy.

Redhood! Jason Todd X Batgirl! Reader

If they had became vigilante’s together, they would definitely reconnect after Jason starts to forgive the BatFam.

Would definitely always pair up with her just so they can cause some mischief during patrols.

Definitely play up the flirting in-front of civilians and would definitely encourage shipping just to annoy Bruce.

Would ditch galas to do riding around.

You two basically just resume your friendship until one night, you both got drunk after hanging out at Roy’s and yall wake up the next day with a broken bed and tattoos on y’all’s hips.

If You became batgirl after Jason’s death, God bless you

Jason would be hard on you with the intimidating and dickish act for a long ass time.

He wasn’t as bad as he was with the others because he understands that you weren’t involved with his death and you weren’t a replacement for him as much as you were Oracle’s.

When the moody stage finally passes and he realizes that you won’t put up with his tantrums, he will try a new approach.

Red hood becomes known as a menace to Batgirl in the media.

Whether it be he would somehow end up saving Batgirl while being a snarky ass hole or do behaviors that would cause her blushing face to be on the covers of tabloids.

At the manor, the pair bicker almost as much as they bonded over common interests.

Now the arguments revolve around those interests even if half of them started because of joke either one of them started.

“Bridgerton is just a horny girl’s excuse to not read Jane Austen” “Take that shit back right now!” “Make me.”

When the feelings actually start to develop, the bickering and the flirtation gets so bad that they become the most shipped ‘enemies to lovers’ ship among the tabloids and Gotham’s youth.

Finally, tension boils over when an incident happens where Batgirl was almost killed by a major villain.

Oh shit, Red Hood was not very happy to find out that Batgirl was currently in a hospital bed after a failed recon mission.

He went head hunting after that 🫢 Not that kind of head.

After that, Jason became unbearably protective of her. Volunteering to be on patrol with her, driving her to appointments, stalking her , breaking in coming over to her room/apartment to hang out.

It all boiled over after a heated and trauma dumping confrontation between the two where the neighbors/residents of the manor heard screaming, yelling, maybe a broken vase, and some creaming.

Red Hood! Jason Todd X Civilian! Reader

Ngl y’all, Jason dating a civilian would probably be a little toxic.

He’s either gonna date someone so fucking sweet that it fuels his need to be a protector and act as a balm to his failure complex.

Or he’s gonna date someone as fucked up as him so he feels some form of trauma bond with them.

He probably would spot eyes with them in a busy setting and because he’s very good at reading people, he would immediately start his stalking because he wanted to know if he can trust them before building a relationship with them.

Would probably never approach them as the Red Hood before meeting as Jason Todd unless it was a situation where he had to step in.

Secret lover boy with self sabotaging tendencies.

He would stage their first meeting as a form of meet-cute scenario. Most likely on the street or a bookstore.

Would play the long game of meeting by ‘chances’ and casual little conversations.

Has a weird prey/predator mentality where he wants them to give him their number first or ask him out first but he’s the one actually pursuing them.

If they started dating, he would treat things very slowly or very casually depending on which type they are.

If it’s the sweet one, he’ll play it slow and gentlemanly, like the romance movie lead.

He wouldn’t want intimacy or pressure anything like that even if he constantly thinks about it.

Maybe a little less toxic but more manipulative.

“Oh baby, there’s been a ton of robberies around that area. Let’s just go riding then we can go see that movie you been talking about.”

“Sweetheart, I love how precious you are, but I’m really busy right now. How about I swing by after work with some treats I already had picked out for you.”

His true nature would come out eventually. His vulnerability would show more, but by then his sweet little partner would be so loving and understanding.

They would comfort his nightmares and rub his aching muscles.

It would be 1.5 to 2 years into dating before he would reveal he’s Red Hood.

The fucked up one is getting toxic Jason.

This pairing probably met at a bar/party, and their relationship started out as a casual friends with benefits.

The two would become closer faster than he would with a sweet one, but oh my god, y’all fight for your lives.

Arguments are usually loud and heard throughout the apartment building before they would either screw iy out or have to separate.

Jason would eventually return with either dinner or a gift to apologize. He learnt that from his daddy Brucie.

Unless that man is down bad, in love, he ain’t telling y’all anything.

Anytime he gets asked about where he’s going to at night,

“It’s none of your business.”

“Work, don’t worry I’ll tell her you asked.”

“You know I’m busy.”

Don’t worry, the longer you two stay together, he sweeter he becomes.

Our toxic king will get better and less toxic.

It takes him to the moment he realizes that you really aren’t gonna leave him and that you love his fucked up ass, for him to tell you he’s the Red Hood.

+++++++++++

AN: That’s all I got for right now. Let me know if you want an Arkham Knight version or if I need to calm down with our Toxic King.

+++++++++++

[laelelinae]

HI can i plsplspls request haikyuu characters & how they ask you to be their partner?? w kenma, suna, iwa, & atsumu?

how did they ask you out?

featuring: Kenma,Suna,Iwaizumi & Atsumu! High school and time skip version!!!

Warnings: not rlly proof read,I just wrote this right in the morning when I woke up 😭

HUHU I THOUGHT I CAN START OFF WITH THIS FIRST!! I WILL DO THE REST OF THE REQUEST SOONN!

Kenma HS:

Lowkey I feel like Kenma would’ve told Kuroo,then Kuroo snitched on him because he felt like Kenma was a whimp and wouldn’t budge to ask you out.

Here’s how I imagine it💀

So, Kuroo came to classroom in the morning. Asked you can you go to the end of the hallway after school

You thought Kuroo was gonna ask you out GAHAHA

And then after school you went to the end of the hallway as Kuroo said, you spotted him with Kenma?!?

As you went there Kuroo was like “okay so you see ,this boy LIKESSS you. He will be a good boyfriend, trust” 😝

And..you just laughed at it,OF COURSE YOU ACCEPTED IT!

Kenma was redder than tomato that day..

———————-

Kenma TS:

I feel like he probably met you on some sort of collaboration in another country yk?

He got quite attached to you after that so when he went back to Japan,he started calling you often (he never got bored of you)

Then this little bitch boy never realized he had feelings ,literally. Honestly he was busy streaming all day but he kept thinking of you and mentioning you in the streams.

Soo..you and him just kept streaming together..till fans started shipping you two CRAZY

Probably told Hinata after that and Hinata was like “owh,you should confess” first time in Kenma life,he took an advice like that.

I feel like he would’ve confessed to you after a long stream with you.

So before you two ended the call,Kenma breathed heavily and looked at you in the camera 😭

“Y/n I like you”

HE GOT SO EMBARRASSED HE LEFT THE CALL LMFAOAO

The rest of the night you just had a long conversation with him about this, of course you accepted his confession :)

—————————

Suna HS:

Lowkey you were probably NOT a fan boy or girl ,he probably likes a bold and doesn’t mind to stand up for others and themselves type of person

You probably had a “enemies” to lovers with him LMFAO

You were in the same class as him,your actually a pretty good student, good grades ,top, blah blah whatever

He does kinda admired that.

You know how some boys would mess with you when they have a crush on you? THATS HIM!!

Soo he started just looking at you pretty often,instantly looking away when you noticed it.

And …out of the blue he started talking to you. And became your close friend? (Sneaky..)

Then he started messing with you like,stealing your pen(he does give it back later),putting your stuff high in the air till you can’t reach it,say some shit like “shortie” “nerd” honestly just teasing you know?

HE WHINED YOU TO GO TO HIS PRACTICE

Okay after a few months of THAT,on some random day. At the school rooftop ,you were eating lunch with him. He just said “Y/n I like you”

And you started dating him😝😝

———————

Suna TS:

I feel like he was getting a morning coffee at some local cafe that had great reviews.

And..you were the cashier there!😝

He prefers fresh coffee more since I feel like he doesn’t like bottled coffee ?

His eyes instantly landed on you 😭🙏

He was like “zamnn..that’s a pretty cashier..lemme 𝓇𝒾𝓏𝓏😍”

LMFAO IM SORRY I FEEL LIKE HES A BIT BRAIN ROTTED IN THESE MODERN DAYS YK?

So while he came up to you,ordered his drink. He non stopped looking at you.

Day after day..he just kept going to only see you.

And he did some stalking on social media and found your Instagram! And he texted you.

You swore you got a literal heart attack from that like,a literal pro volleyball player just texted you normie?

Then he just asked to like hangout with you since he said “oh I think your pretty cool” LMFAO

Then when you got closer to him,one day when you were about to close the cafe around night time (every other staff was gone)

This man appeared outta nowhere ,runs to you and looks at you panting.

“Y/n,I like you. Can I take you out?” BOLDDDD

And you did accepted it!

——————-

Iwaizumi HS:

Lowkey maybe you were Oikawa’s and Iwa’s close friend ,like everyone knew that in the school. You knew Oikawa and Iwa since you were kids ,I guess

Soo he probably had a crush on you in middle school but you were so focused on studies he never tried to budge to ask you out.

So when high school rolled around,your last year. And you three knew you were gonna separate your ways.

Soo on your literal graduation,he felt like it was the day to tell you

You know in Japan boys would confess to the girls they like and give the girl the boys uniform button that’s the most near their heart? HE DID THAT!!

You were honestly so touched by this,you literally hugged him and started crying and everyone near by you guys were like proud parents. ESPECIALLY OIKAWA.

Like you were crying,hugging him. Under the cherry blossom tree LMFAO.

———————-

Iwaizumi TS:

(This doesn’t connects with the high school confession one)

Okay so,he probably reunited with you by Oikawa since you were pretty busy with your career and you kinda cut off everyone after graduation?

You only kept in contacts with Oikawa since you knew him the most ykyk?

So after a game,you and Iwa started talking blah blah blah.

Over the months you guys got closer and closer again😝

And thennn one day after he finished training with the gang ,(you were watching them that day)

He asked you to stay behind and his so called gang was peeking through the literal door in the gymnasium LMFAO.

He sat down,you sat down and he spoke.

“Y/n..I liked you since high school..can I be your boyfriend?” HUHUHUHU

THE REST OF GANG OUTSIDE WAS TWEAKING ,LITERAL PRAYERS NOTHING WILL GO WRONG.

And you smiled at him,just saying a simple agreement (boy ,Iwa was literally blushing so badly)

THE REST OF THE GANG CHEERED SO LOUDLY ESPECIALLY FUCKING OIKAWA. YOU TWO LITERALLY HEARD THEM LMFAO

——————————

Atsumu HS:

You surely wasn’t his fan girl 😭 idk does bro even like his fans ngl.

He probably was your classmate,he kinda admired you like how Suna did.

He just kept looking at you often,giving you small silly waves and smiles like :D whenever you pass by him (he does this multiple times a day)

Of course it got kinda sus..well his teammates literally knew he probably had a crush on you,and his fan girls was not happy💀

And then..one day,you stayed after schools at the library to study. After that you just packed your bags and go

Atsumu literally skipped training for this 💀

He catches up to you,offering to walk you home. Well of course you accepted without hesitation.

It started off like this, he asked did you like anyone. And you said yes 😳

So he got all whiny like “tell meeeeee” but you refused,asking him does he like anyone and who.

He started making you guess who he liked by giving you details THAT PERFECTLY DESCRIBED YOU.

And you finally made the guess of saying “me?”

And he nodded!

“Okay,can I be your boyfriend now?”

——————

Atsumu TS:

I feel like you were probably helping around Osamu’s small restaurant?

And when Atsumu came for a small visit,eyes literally landed on you instantly.

He lowkey kinda backed up,since he thought you were his brother girlfriend😭

And after you left ,atsumu asked him questions about you and his osamu was like “no she’s not my girlfriend,she’s just helping around”

Atsumu literally flew out of the chair in happiness💀

Soo over the course of weeks,he started talking to you when he visits. He sometimes even brought you stuff.

Okay so one time ,Osamu had something to do. So you took his place to take care of the restaurant that day.

And atsumu knew 😭

When you were gonna close,atsumu came in and he was hiding something behind his hands

Soo he waited for you to finish the rest,after your doneee..

He sat you down..and just boldly spoke

“Can I be your boyfriend y/n,pretty please?”

And you did accept his confession ,BOY Osamu was PROUD!

———————

HUHUHUHU I HAD A FUN TIME WRITING THIS !! I WILL WRITE THE REST SOON!! TRUST!😝

[sugawarassoulmate]

someone else tries to get with them

feat loser!kuroo, enemies to lovers!kita, and toxic!oikawa

part 1

cw: fem!reader

loser!kuroo

kuroo's body tensed the second one of them came close to him. he always hates these events — spending hours fake laughing at awful jokes to get on the good side of investors. his only joy is when you tag along, keeping prying eyes at bay.

but kuroo's found himself cornered by three women, all the much-too-young wives of some of his colleagues who were all taken with the handsome ceo.

"this suit looks amazing on you," one of them said. kuroo wanted to tell her that his wife picked out his outfit but before he could answer, another chimed in. "you just fill it up so well, have you been working out?"

his eyes flick over across the room, where you're standing with a quirked brow. you've calmed down a lot since marriage and don't explode with anger every time another woman so much as breaths near kuroo anymore. instead, you took a sip from your wine glass and gave him a look that said, "figure it out."

"can we get you a drink?" one of the other women asks as kuroo feels another pulling on his bicep. did they not see the wedding band on his finger? did none of them notice him walking into the room with you on his arm?

he starts sweating, eyes darting back to you and then the women. kuroo's so used to you taking charge and staking your claim on him but he can't allow you to be disrespected like this.

as one of the women tries to pull him in again, kuroo fights out of her grasp. "i'm married!!!" he blurted out, startling not only the women but a few people that were nearby. embarrassed that he raised his voice, kuroo cleared his throat. "sorry for yelling but i don't think it's appropriate for us to talk like this. i love my wife very much. have a good night."

kuroo makes his way toward you, a smug grin on your face. "so, you into ugly girls or something?"

"baby, please," he whines.

enemies to lovers!kita

you may have found kita absolutely insufferable but most people found him a joy to be around. he was kind and respectful to others. the kind of person that helps others without asking or walks old ladies across the street. it seemed as though kita didn't have an unkind word to say about anyone, except for you.

because of his benevolence, most people wanted to be around him. girls threw themselves at him, knowing that he'd be the type to spoil his significant other. that wasn't the annoying part — because you definitely didn't care about some dumb bimbo trying to get his attention. it was the older women who tried to set kita up with their daughters that irked you the most.

"you know, i have a daughter your age that you'd just be perfect for," or "do you have a girlfriend? my niece could really use a sweet boy like you, can i give her your number?"

even after explaining that he was too focused on his studies and helping his grandma with the farm to even think about dating, these women wouldn't take no for an answer.

"can you tell whoever's blowing up your phone to cut the shit?" you complained, growing tired of the constant buzzing.

kita rolls his eyes at your foul language. he doesn't bother looking at his phone as the two of you lock up the club room for the night. "one of my grandma's friends gave my number to her daughter and she keeps tryin' to set up a date," he says, bored expression never leaving his face.

"you're that down bad that you need your grandma's buddies to get a date?" you scoffed, trying to hide the fact that it may bother you just a little bit that there are so many people trying to get kita's attention.

perceptive as ever, kita catches onto your catty attitude. "she probably won't stop until i say yes to a date," he says nonchalantly, walking back onto campus.

he's only getting a rise out of you. what little free time kita has left from all of his other responsibilities goes to you—both of you know it's true, there's no reason to argue. still, you'd just die if you couldn't make a comment at his expense. "i mean if, sure, you're into ugly girls. this girl can't get a date on her own?" you rambled, stomping beside kita as you head back to your apartment. "but don't let me stop you. i know how much you love doing charity work."

"i won't go if you don't want me to," kita hums, holding the door open for you (1. because he's a gentleman, 2. because he knows it pisses you off.)

"i don't care what you do," you said back to him in a similar mocking tone.

that weekend, though, kita is at your place, where he usually spends most of his weekends. "your date was that bad, huh?" you said as soon as you open the door for him.

"i told her it wouldn't work out and deleted her number," kita answers, carefully removing his shoes and placing them neatly by your door. "i only have time fer important things." he makes direct eye contact when he says it before brushing past you to head to your bedroom.

kita's words stump you for a second, trying to figure out what he meant but soon, his irritating voice comes back, scolding you to hurry back and any thought you had before is forgotten as an insult leaves your lips.

toxic!oikawa

you felt terrible for being late. punctuality was something you always prided yourself on but your boss seemed to think differently, keeping you in the office for hours.

normally, you'd suck it up and accept that you had a shit day at work but you and oikawa had a date planned — one that took ages for both of you to set up.

the image of oikawa sitting at the restaurant alone broke your heart, so you practically raced over there, barely having time to change out of your work clothes.

"i'm so sorry, babe. my boss is such a dick and then the trains were slow—" you rambled as soon as you sat down, immediately asking for your boyfriend's forgiveness

"hey, slow down! it's okay, honey," he said, pushing a glass of wine across the table for you. "i know you didn't mean to be late. you're here now, that's what matters. i already ordered for the two of us."

he had every right to lay into you tonight. this was the perfect opportunity for him to be at his most dramatic, to really make you feel guilty for being late but he acted with a maturity you weren't used to seeing.

"i still feel bad that you were sitting here all by yourself," you said, reaching over to hold his hand.

oikawa shrugged. "well, i wasn't totally alone. our waitress kept me company while i waited."

you hate to say that the second he said "waitress" the alarm bells started ringing in your head. a handsome, young man like oikawa sitting alone in a fancy restaurant is like food on a silver platter for some of these vultures.

and you could only imagine how charming he must have been when the waitress comforted him about being by himself—smiling at her jokes and staring up at her with those warm brown eyes of his, completely unaware of that she would take it as an invitation.

you tried to swallow the bitterness down, not wanting to put a sour note on the night. you opened your mouth to speak but a grating sound stopped you.

"ohhhh, how good of you to finally show," said the high-pitched voice, dripping with faux concern. "i was worried you might have stood this poor man up."

oikawa laughs at the unfunny joke, clearly finding all of this amusing and she practically sparkles at the slightest hint of his approval. "i don't know how you'd ever let him out of your sight. any girl would just love to snatch him right up,'

his eyes glance over at you, ready to see how you'll react. oikawa just loves it when you get territorial of him and even though you've gotten better over the years, there's still that part of you that's always ready to claw someone's eyes out for thinking they could stake their claim on him.

"you're right, any girl would. in fact, many have tried and they've all failed," you smiled up at her, gripping oikawa's hand harder so she would have to take notice of it. "now be a dear and have our food ready soon, okay? i want to spend some time with my boyfriend."

with her tail between her legs, the waitress scurries from the table, muttering something about the food. oikawa laughs again, pressing a quick kiss to your knuckles. "my mean baby, you know you don't have anything to worry about, yeah?"

of course, you knew. you wouldn't be with oikawa if you didn't trust him but any girl who had the slightest inkling that she could lead your man astray had to be humbled—and oikawa would be lying if he didn't enjoy the possessive look you get in your eye.

"let's enjoy our dinner, babe."

©sugawarassoulmate 2023 all rights reserved - please do not repost/translate my work on other platforms!

[algea]

Ghoul School

prompt: you, Lucky, Phoebe, Trevor, and Lars go to investigate a spirit infested school, but ends badly for you.

Ummm basically enemies to lovers?? idrk tbh LOL

warnings: idk scary stuff? cussing! sexual tension! um you smoke 1 cigarette and thats it. GORE!!!!!!!

a/n: I’ve been thinking of this since I saw the movie…

*THIS IS A SUPER LONG STORY!!!*

“A school? Are you serious, Lars?” You mutter, running a hand down your face and sighing.

“I wish. What’s your grudge against a school anyway?” Lars said, cocking an eyebrow at you as he turned to look at you.

“Well I don’t know, maybe it’s the fact that kids still go there. It makes me sick how they have to experience that while being in an environment where it’s supposed to be safe and welcoming.” You explain, tapping your fingers nervously on your desk. Behind you, Lars sighed,

“Well that’s why we’re going innit? So stop worrying about it so much.” You snapped your head when heard the door open. In trudged a slime covered Trevor, Lucky, and Phoebe.

“Lars, I need your help with something!” Lucky called. Lars stood and strode to her, his eyes lingered on you for a little longer than they should’ve. Trevor had a proton pack on his back, which was slightly smoking from the interior.

"Piece of shit only fizzed when we tried to turn it on, know a way to fix it?" Trevor asked, gazing up at Lars. Lars' face was stone cold, probably because he had to deal with the dumb shit Trevor stirred up.

"First off, it's not a piece of shit. Second off, did you even try to figure it out?" Lars scoffed, eyebrows drawn together in a scowl.

"Give it to me, I'll see what I can do." He sighed, obviously not wanting to deal with him anymore. Trevor basically shoved the proton pack into Lars’ arms, which didn't waiver when he received it. Hot. You thought. Lars trudged to his station and set the proton pack down. He removed the protective covering, and coughed when smoke blasted in his face. You snickered, which earned an unimpressed glare from him. Lucky appeared beside you, ready to talk about what else you've come up with her to test.

"What is it?" She asked, tinkering with the item on the desk.

"You know how there's buckshot for a shotgun? I've figured out how to compress protons into little pellets and create a buckshot-type stream." You explained, showing her how it would work on a sheet of paper. You heard Lars muttering about something, though you brushed it off. You handed Lucky a few pellets, which contained about 12 rounds of buckshot each. She eagerly shot off into the test room, excited to try it out. With nothing else to do, you shuffled behind Lars, peering over his shoulder to watch his hands work efficiently. Lars really didn't know you were there, truly he didn't. So when he turned around to go get something from his desk, he jumped back.

"Good Christ you scared the shit out of me!" Lars exclaimed, putting a hand on his chest and letting out a big sigh. He shoved his glasses back up his face and ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry! I just wanted to watch you work..." You trailed off, staring at the ground in embarrassment.

"Well maybe next time maybe fucking keep to yourself." He snapped, brushing past you, his hand grazing yours. You just stood there, hands clenched and cheeks burning in embarrassment. Phoebe stood next to you, putting a hand on your arm and whispering,

"It's ok, really, he doesn't mean it."

You couldn't help the tear that slithered down your cheek. Blinking away the rest of the tears, you muttered an 'excuse me' and walked outside of the lab. Taking a left, you headed through the doors to the cool breeze outside. Stuffing your hand in you pocket, your hand found purchase on the cig case you had. Sliding one out of it and grabbing your lighter, you lit the cig up and shoved the lighter back into your left pocket. You sat against the wall and pulled your knees to your chest. Hearing the doors open, you see Trevor walk out. He spots you and slides down the wall, sitting next to you.

"It's not your fault. It really isn't." Trevor offered, watching you let out a sigh, smoke going with it. You laugh, dragging a hand down your face.

"Listen, don't ever fall in love, man. Shit sucks." You sighed, resting your head against the cool brick. Trevor started to say something but the rest of the three burst through the doors. Lars was wearing his red jacket, walking towards the car. Lucky was carrying yours in her arm, right on the heels of Lars. He spotted you and Trevor sitting down against the wall. Trevor hopped up, offering you a kind hand. You took it, cigarette still in hand.

"Put that shit out." Lars commanded, crossing his arms. You glared at him before taking a long drag and blowing the smoke out. You dropped the rest on the ground, twisting your foot against it which successfully put it out.

"Happy?" You huffed, throwing your arms out in surrender. He just stared at you before pushing past you to get to the car. 'Bitch' You mutter under your breath. God he’s insufferable. Following them, you hopped into the passage seat. Lucky handed you your red jacket, which you put on before you buckled up. You zipped it up all the way burying your face in the collar. Lars watched you from his peripheral, drumming his fingers on the wheel.

“Are gonna stare or drive the goddamn car?” You snapped, turning to gaze at him. His hand tightened on the wheel and started to drive.

To say that Lars was a good driver was a pretty big overstatement. You were even lucky you made it to the school alive, much less in once piece.

“You are never ever driving again, Lars.” You said, stumbling out of the car as a wave of nausea hits you.

“Stuff it.” He replied, pushing up his broken glasses. You turned your gaze to the school, which stood ominously in the distance. You shivered, which didn’t go unnoticed by Lars. He took a small step closer to you, his hand ghosting the small of your back. You jumped slightly at his feather touch, but relished it. Lars flicked on your switch, making your proton pack hum with the familiar ‘whirring’ sound. You walked to the front steps, pushing open the two massive double wooden doors. You were blasted by a cold air, which you stumbled back from.

“S-shit.” You muttered, hands shaking ever so slightly. You reached for your flashlight, but froze when you saw a shadow figure dart through the darkness.

“Lars.” You whispered, a lump forming in your throat. Lars was off busy helping the others get their packs on, which meant you were the only one at the front. You felt something tugging you forward. You stumbled back into the school following the tugging sensation to a room downstairs.

Lars looked up, about to ask you something, when he noticed you were gone.

“Where the bloody hell did Y/N go?” He asked, looking around. His question was answered when he heard your frantic screams coming from inside of the building. They all looked at each other, then bolted to the building.

The building was absolutely freezing. That you were certain of. The frigid temperature fucked a little with your head, at least that’s what you can conclude. You found that being able to see in the dark was not your forte, which caused you to fall down a flight of stairs.

“OH FUCKING SHIT—!” You screech, tumbling down the stairs. You landed with your head cracking against the cold floor. Groaning, you tried to lift your head, but you felt like you were spinning like a top. You eventually stood, swaying slightly after. You blinked a few times, holding your head in your hands. In the corner of your eye, you could see another shadow figure. It was tall, tall enough to reach the ceiling. It started to approach you, but you let out a scream, starting to run back up the stairs. You felt a push, then you tumbled back down the stairs, smashing your head into the pavement again. You landed on your knee, successfully snapping the bone in your shin. You let out another bloodcurdling scream, spitting out blood in the process.

You felt lightheaded as blood spilled from your shin and lips, dribbling down your chin and neck. You were in too much pain to cry as you crumpled to the floor again. You heard all three of them yelling your name, but you couldn’t yell back. Instead, you pulled yourself across the floor, leaving a long streak of blood as you went. With as much effort as you could muster, you pulled yourself to the steps. It took everything for you to scream,

“LARS!!!”

Footsteps could be heard, which sounded like heavy boots clomping towards you. You clawed at the steps, trying to grip anything that you could to pull yourself up. The blond man appeared in the doorway, shining a flashlight down the stairwell. Lars hair was tousled, eyes wide. You make out how he was panting, as well as a horrified look painted across his face.

“oh my god.” Was all he said. He rushed down the stairwell to get you. You couldn’t make out much of anything, you kept fading in and out of consciousness. His hands, his strong and elegant hands held your face as he tried to keep you awake. Your breaths became labored again as you felt extreme pain rippling through your limbs. You let out another scream, which was muffled by Lars chest as he picked you up and started to rush you outside. One of his hands found purchase in your hair, gently stroking it with his thumb as he ran to the car.

Lars felt like it took years to make it to the hospital. His red jacket was drenched in your blood, but he couldn’t care less about what he looked like as he rushed you into the ER. Immediately after, you were rushed into a room, where you would reside for God knows how long. Lars sat next to Lucky, his face grim. He didn’t care how long he had to wait to see you again, just as long as he could see you. Lars stayed there all night, into the morning to be able to see you. When they told him that he could see you, he ran to your room as fast as he could. There you laid, eyes closed, face peaceful. When you heard the footsteps, you opened your eyes and found the blond man standing in your doorway.

“Bloody hell, I thought I’d never see you again.” Lars breathed as he approached your right side. Your hand lay limp on the top of the bedsheet. He brought up a chair and sat, taking your hand and lacing his fingers with yours.

“I was so scared that you were going to die, I couldn’t bear to see it.” He further explained. You smiled weakly and croaked,

“Are you being nice right now? That’s so unlike you Lars.”

Before you said anything else, Lars pressed a kiss to your lips. It wasn’t your ideal first kiss with him, but you relished the feeling.

“I didn’t save you because I thought it was the good thing to do, I saved you because I love you.” Lars whispered, his nose brushing yours.

“God I love you too, Lars.” You whispered back.

[mercurygguk]

head over skates · jjk ; part ii.

··· SUMMARY; jeon jungkook is the captain of the hockey team and one of the biggest fuckboys on campus. you happen to have known him for as long as you can remember but he is not who he used to be and you simply can’t stand it.

so what happens when you’re suddenly stuck doing a project with him for three weeks?

SERIES MASTERLIST · # TAG · MOOD BOARDS · PLAYLIST

PAIRING; hockey player!jungkook x f. reader

GENRE; fwb au, childhood friends to enemies to lovers au, college au

WORDCOUNT; 1,074

RATING; 18+

WARNINGS; swearing

a/n; part 2 os hockey jk!!! i hope you're enjoying this little series so far <3 please feel free to share your thoughts in the comments or in an ask! ty for reading muah

The Nook – the campus café – is bustling with students and professors when you step inside later in the afternoon. You just finished your psychology class and texted Jihyo, asking where she was. She told you to meet her at the café for late lunch at which your stomach grumbled as soon as you read her text. That granola bar you ate earlier will only get you so far before hunger returns. Your stomach grumbles again as you step closer to the counter, quickly glancing over the menu before ordering a chicken salad and an iced coffee. 

Once ready, you grab it and try to spot Jihyo inside the busy café. When you finally spot her, you frown softly – she’s sitting in the far corner with Namjoon. They really didn’t waste any time getting to work on the project. You try your best to ignore the jealousy bubbling inside of you as you make your way to their table. 

When class had ended almost immediately after the pairs were revealed, you had packed up your stuff and left the room before Jungkook could start a conversation. When Jihyo texted you about your sudden disappearance, you were already sitting in your seat in your next class. You told her you only had a 5 minute gap between classes and had to hurry there to make it – she seemed to believe your excuse and didn’t ask any further questions.

Phew.

“Hey,” she greets you with a warm smile when you sit down next to her. “How was class?”

“Boring but at least I had Minhyuk to keep me entertained,” you grumble, voice dripping with sarcasm as you unbox your salad to pour dressing over it. Before you can take your first bite, you look up at Namjoon with your best attempt of pleading puppy eyes, “Namjoon, please switch partners with me. Please!”

Both he and Jihyo look rather surprised at your sudden outburst as you stuff your face with a big bite of salad and chicken, looking more upset than ever as you wait for a response to your pleading request.

“I- um, who was your partner again?” He asks instead of just agreeing like you had hoped he would.

You sigh deeply, “... Jungkook.��

The mention of your childhood friend turned ex-friend has Namjoon shaking his head and laughing dryly as if you just told a really bad joke. You stare at him with a glare, waiting impatiently, internally praying and hoping he’ll say yes if you look miserable enough.

“I’m sorry, ____, but no, I don’t think so.”

You groan, the hints of a whine under it, “why not? You know Jihyo and I always do projects together-”

He shrugs, “as much as I feel bad for you, it’s still a no. Jungkook isn’t exactly the type of guy you wanna pair up with for projects.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, “yeah, no shit. Why do you think I’m asking?”

Jihyo places a hand on your shoulder as if to calm you down. Looking at it from an outside point of view, you probably need it. 

“Come on, ____,” she chuckles, “I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you think.”

She’s probably right – Jungkook isn’t a bad guy or anything, that much you know. He’s just that guy who cut you out of his life as soon as popularity grabbed a hold of him and made him prioritize everyone else over you. You’ve never been about that popular lifestyle so when he first gained attention from the pretty girls and the cool boys in high school, you knew the expiration date for your friendship was nearing. And as someone who hates holding grudges, you’ve been holding this exact grudge for half a decade with no plans of ending it any time soon.

“But it’s Jungkook,” you groan in frustration, “you know our history.”

She nods, “yes, I do. But maybe it’s time for both of you to move past that? It’s been 5 years already, ____.”

Despite knowing she’s right, you let out a fake laugh and return your focus to your salad. As much as you’d like to move past it, you just can’t. Jungkook really hurt you and it seems he doesn’t care so why would you spend your time and energy on him? Why should you forgive him for leaving you behind without so much as an explanation for his asshole behavior?

“Yeah, over my dead body.”

Jihyo sighs deeply in defeat while Namjoon stifles a laugh. You shoot them both an annoyed look before taking another big bite of your salad. You should’ve known Namjoon wouldn’t switch partners with you – he’s crushing on your best friend, for Christ’s sake. But still, it was worth a shot.

The three of you finish lunch in the matter of 30 minutes before you have to be at yet another class. They share their next class and you’re on your own once again, dragging yourself to class.

Luckily, this class is the last one for today.

Once you locate the classroom and find a seat, you get settled and ready for the class to start. You’re browsing around on your laptop when a text suddenly appears in the right upper corner of the screen. The fact that you receive a text isn’t that exciting or out of place but the person sending it certainly is. 

And as if one text wasn’t enough, a row of them ticks in after the first one.

[2:24 PM] Jeon🤬👊🏼: hey, idk if this is still your number

[2:24 PM] Jeon🤬👊🏼: if it is, hey ;)

[2:24 PM] Jeon🤬👊🏼: wanna meet up sometime this week to work on the project? 

You stare at the texts for a minute, racking your brain for all the reasons why Jeon Jungkook still has your number after all these years and then you wonder why you still have his. Also, since when does Jeon Jungkook care about doing a project? You didn’t exactly peg him to be the one encouraging school work. Although, it seems you’re taking too long to reply because he sends you another text before you have the chance to think of a reply.

This guy certainly doesn’t fear the concept of double texting. Or triple texting. No, he shamelessly texted you four times – probably without second guessing it too.

[2:25 PM] Jeon🤬👊🏼: I’ll bring iced Americano :)) if you still drink it, that is

You’re simply speechless.

all rights reserved © mercurygguk · tumblr

[caeunot]

hii first of all i love your writing and im so glad i came across your fics 🖤 i was wondering if you could maybe write a johnnie x fem reader, enemies to lovers fic? or something along the lines of johnnie and fem reader always bullying each other a bit only to realise they've been crushing on each other the whole time?

johnnie guilbert x reader

enemies to lovers 18+

➷ you hated his guts, everything about him irritated you and made your skin crawl. you are friends with jake and you absolutely love him to bits so you spending time with him normally equals to you having to be around johnnie. these feelings aren't without reason though, your not the type of girl to hate on others very easily.

it happened a few years back, when your own youtube career recently jumpstarted and you started spending time with other similar youtubers near you. this is how you originally met johnnie, even before jake. you were first invited to a party hosted by some popular la youtuber at the time and you obviously took the invite since you knew this would not only help you make more friends in the industry but to also promote yourself!

you were greeting everyone and taking many pictures as the night went on, fully using this opportunity to the best of your ability. as it hit 12 you decided to look around and scope out the last person you want to introduce yourself to before you head home. you saw a short-ish guy with deep red emo hair swooped to the side with harsh makeup around his eyes and you were immediately intriged. you preferred a more grunge look yourself so seeing someone with such familiar fashion made you feel at ease.

"hey im y/n!" you say, introducing yourself. "do I know you?" he says coldly as he turns to see who was speaking to him. "no but everyone will soon the way my channel is going" you say with some sass so you can counter his rudeness. "you have way too much confidence" he says with a smirk. "so I've been told".

"what's your name?" you ask, "my names johnnie, johnnie guilbert". "well nice to meet you johnnie" you say with a smile. "what do you do for a living? if I can ask", " I make youtube videos and I also make some music on the side!" he says. you two talk for a little longer before you check the time seeing its quite past what you had planned. "hey it was great meeting you! I don't want to stay too long so I think I should get going!"

as you say goodbye and walk away you feel him grab you by your wrist, you turn around. "wait don't go yet, your the most interesting person I've spoken to today and I don't want to go home just yet" you bite your lip, "fine, how about I just walk you to your car then". he rolls his eyes, "is that all? anyways I don't even have a car, I came with uber"

"wait why did you take an uber?", you say confused, "do I really have to say". "yes", " okay, I can't drive.. happy?" you scrunch up your face, you don't feel comfortable letting him go home with an uber this time of night. "I don't mind giving you a lift! then you can talk to me during the ride all you want"

you walked him to your car and he got in on the passenger seat, let me just say that convincing him to let you take him home was harder than you imagined, but you could see in his face he appreciated it.

"why are you doing this again?" he asks as you start driving. "because I'm a nice person and I don't trust ubers". he nods, "I like your piercings" he says, observing your face in the dim lighting. "thanks!" you say as you stick out your tongue, showing your snake eyes. "oh shit I've never seen that in person before, it looks great". you blush slightly, "it was pretty painful and it's hard to upkeep but I don't regret it at all".

he brushes his hands through his hair, probably anxious from the small talk. "this might sound weird but, do you have a girlfriend" you ask. "I don't, why?", "it's because I figured that if u did she would be the one driving u home from a party, so I was just curious". "haven't had one in years", he says leaning back. "really? your really hot so I'd imagine girls would be all over you".

he laughs, "maybe in the past but not anymore, my sense of fashion and my lack of confidence kinda makes getting a girlfriend hard" he says, opening up to you effortlessly. "I think emo guys are hot" you turn and look at him.

"what are you implying?" he says, giving a lewd grin. "that if I had the choice to either have sex with you or not have sex with you that I would". you notice him squirm slightly in his seat. "if you mean that, pull over" he says

you do as he says and you climb into the back seat. you crawl into his lap and find yourself grabbing and pulling on anything you can find as you feel his tounge slip deep into your mouth, tasting the alcohol he had ingested that night. you wish you could recall the rest but you were much drunker than you thought you were and ended up slightly blacking out.

the moral of the story is that you gave him your number, and he never came back after that. not a call, not even a single text. you never ever hooked up with guys, this was your first time. and you hate how knowing a guy for just one hour could make you feel such strong feelings towards him, for johnnies case those feelings were a mix of lust and disgust.

back to current times, you ended up meeting jake a year later and that's when you saw johnnie again for the first time since that night. but instead of apologizing or at least being honest he instead found himself ignoring you. this frustrated you the most, you despise a man who cannot own up to his actions, let alone not even acknowledging them. every time you found yourself around him you felt your blood boil and you just wanted to give him a peice of your mind, but you can't.

you can't since it's been 5 months since and neither of you have said anything at all, 5 months of pure pretend. jake noticed your dislike towards his roommate but he didn't want to get involved in any issues that didn't require him, which you appreciated greatly.

after a lot of convincing, jake did eventually get the both of you to film a video together with him. it was one of those food rating videos and the goal was to order one type of food for everyone, jake said that I will do the drinks, johnnie the main and jake the desert. you were dreading this.

and you have been dreading this day for the past month since jake started bringing it up. you couldn't even handle being in the same room as him for a few minutes let alone a whole video.

"let's plan what we will order now so that we don't have to think to hard tomorrow!' jake says as you sat down on the couch next to him and opposite from johnnie. "I already know what I'm making you guys eat", "let it be actual food and not just chicken nuggets please" jake says jokingly. "knowing johnnie he will probably poison mine" you say with a scoff. a few minutes later jake started getting a call from someone and had to leave, aka leaving you alone with johnnie.

"why would you say that?" johnnie said to you the moment jake left the room. "say what?", "say that I'd poison your food, it's rude". you laugh from the pure nerve this guy has. "don't fuck with me, don't act like your the victim here". "says the one starting unnecessary shit". " I'm not starting anything, you started and I'm just continuing". the tension in the room was cut as jake walks back in, "sorry guys that was my studio, anyways where were we!" he looks between the two of you and johnnie gets up and leaves, saying he's not feeling well.

that evening you sat down in the passengers seat of jakes car, you breathe in and out meditatively to calm your nerves. "okay everything is orderd we just gotta wait for the food!" jake says climbing into his seat of the car and started prepping for the recording. you fiddle with your rings and move around your hair for a solid 12 minutes before johnnie got in the car with the food in hand.

the video started off fine, you didn't laugh at his jokes and he didn't laugh at yours. you two didn't even make eye contact, that was untill it was jakes turn. "okay guys for johnnie I got him a really massive chocolate chip cookie because hes a basic bitch and I got y/n a gummy lunchable because she's never had one" you laugh since the idea for having gummy pizza seems so obscure. "jake that's so wrong you know I love lunchables". jake turns to you as if implying you should give him a piece.

"I rather not" you say softly, but not soft enough to where johnnie couldn't hear you, "it's literally just a lunchable what's your problem". " I never said I had a problem, it's not my fault you don't have manners and can't ask for something yourself". "I literally just said that I love lunchables, stop starting shit were recording".

jake turns around to face the both of you, "what the fuck guys, what's your problem", you look at johnnie, "ask him". " you guys are acting like fucking toddlers either tell me what happened or just sort your issues alone, like now" he says as he gets out of his car, "there's no point in keeping on filming so let's just go inside okay".

you go inside and sit down and you feel as if your in the third grade getting detention from your angry teacher Mr Webber. "so.. what happend, you two have been like this since the moment you met and I don't understand, y/n, johnnie,I love you both so much but I can't handle this bad energy", you stay quiet and so does johnnie. "okay if you guys are going to be like that I'm going to my room, just please sort something out because I promised our fans we were doing a collab". he says walking off into his room.

you bite the inside of your mouth and look around, not able to handle the awkward silence. "johnnie I just have to ask you one question, why?" he makes an upset face, "what do you mean 'why'", " you know what I mean" you say in almost a defeated tone. you stand up and walk towards where he is sitting, "I mean why didn't you text me back, why did you ghost me" he looks away. "don't be a coward please, im tired of our crap". upon hearing this he stands up.

"fine okay, I'm a fucking coward. I was too scared to message you back because I was drunk and you were drunk and I knew for a fact that nothing would happen between us because I mean look at you, your gorgeous and I know if we somehow started something in the future I would feel so guilty that we hooked up the night we met, I've only ever had sex with two people y/n!! that's you and my ex and I feel guilty for it every day because sleeping with random people is not me!!"

your feel as if your in shock, almost frozen in place. you brush your hand through your hair about to say something but nothing comes out. "I never met to hurt you at all I just, I'm stupid I'm fucking st-" you cut him off by putting your lips on his, he doesn't push you away and instead takes his arms and grabs onto you tight while pushing you against the nearest wall. "I sware I'm not usually like this" he says, breaking the kiss,"you just.. do something to me"

'fuck' you mutter as you grab onto his hair as the kiss becomes more and more passionate. he takes his hands off the wall and starts to remove your baby tee, exposing your lacy black bra. as he did this you hear something behind you and look to see jake, his mouth dropped right to the floor. johnnie immediately stood in front of you to cover your exposed skin and when he heard jake walk away he helped you put your shirt back on. "I'm so sorry" he says with the most guilty look on his face.

"shh don't be it's okay!" you say holding his face and giving him a soft kiss, "I definitely overreacted to everything because of how much I liked you, it hurt me so much that someone I felt so strongly about could shove me aside like you did". " I haven't gone a day without regretting what I did" he says. you felt so relieved that this issue between you two was finally sorted out.

"what now?" you ask, indentifying the elephant in the room. "its my turn to say sorry I shouldnt have kissed you like that it was impulsive and careless of me".

"y/n". " yes?", you ask completely confused. "I've never met someone I've wanted more then you in this moment, I want you and all of you" he says walking towards you and holding your waist, "let's not torture each other as we have, please" you smile "I'm all yours".

❣