#finally doing my midterm I fear | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

krosiefics · 11 months ago

Text

i like it • lee minho

MDNI 18+

Synopsis: Minho and you are best friends, one night that changes. What happens when both catch feelings but one’s afraid of love? (Inspired by I Like It by Stray Kids)

WC: 3.9k

Tags: smut, angst, friends to fwb to lovers, afab!reader, jealousy, cursing, fear of loving someone, mutual pinning, situationship, hiding feelings, oneshot, fwb concept, friends to lovers. I’m probably forgetting more, I'm sorry.

MDNI tags under cut

MDNI Warnings: softdom!minho, piv, unprotected sex (plz dont),thigh riding -if you squint-, grinding, fingering (f. receiving), creampie, missionary…probably forgetting some

————————————————————————

“Yah, wait up!” Minho called out to you. Turning around, you waited for your best friend to catch up. “What?” “Ice cream?”

“We’ve gotta study dumbass.” You grimace continuing to walk, midterms were coming up and you weren’t about to fail. “Jeez, you’re so boring.” Minho pouts, flailing his arms in defeat. “Midterms are at the end of the week, and if I don’t pass I could lose my scholarship.” You frown, trying to make him understand, though you’ve told him countless times before.

“I know, I know.” The brown haired boy sighed, “Your place or mine?” You glanced over at the boy who spoke, “Why the fuck would we go to yours?” You furrow your brows, a small chuckle leaving your mouth. “Because you love my cats.” Minho tilts his head in a matter-of-factly way. “I don’t get how you haven’t been caught with them in your apartment yet.” Minho simply shrugs, not even he knows how the landlord hasn’t found out.

The two of you round the corner of the dorm building. Climbing up the stairs to the floor where your apartment is. You unlock the door, allowing Minho to follow in behind you. You settle your things down on the counter, Minho does the same with his backpack. Studying, reading, writing, and a little talking is all that happened that night. Minho had dozed off to sleep by the time it was midnight, laying his body on the small sofa in your studio apartment. You powered through till about two in the morning before plopping over on the floor.

Midterms were finally over and you thankfully passed. Minho passed too, though he barely studied he still managed to pass all of his classes.

“Yo Min! Y/N!” A familiar voice called out to you and your best friend as you walked out of the main hall at the university. Jisung ran up to the both of you excitedly, “Party at mine tonight!” Jisung beamed before running off to tell more of his friends that were walking into the main hall.

“Party?” Minho smirked at you, nudging your side with his elbow. You simply shook your head disapprovingly. “Oh c’mon! We passed, we get to celebrate now!” Minho pouted, you stared at his face, eyes trailing down to his lips, noticing how soft and plump they looked. You realize what you’re doing, praying that Minho hadn’t noticed- he didn’t- your cheeks warmed at your thoughts. “Fine, party.” You mumbled in agreeance, walking away from the situation before you dwelled on it for too long.

You kept dwelling on it. Even after going your separate ways to get ready for Jisung’s party. Your mind still thought about his lips, your best friend’s lips. The more you thought about it the more your thoughts developed. How soft were they? Were they rough? Was he a good kisser?

By the time you knew it, Minho was already knocking at your front door, waiting to pick you up.

“Going!” You quickly glanced in the mirror, your face was red, walking out of the bathroom to the door, hoping the strange redness could pass off for over blushing. You open the door before quickly turning around, grabbing your things before heading straight out the door. “Yah, I didn’t even get to step inside!” You kept walking, your thoughts swirling around in your brain were too distracting.

Minho raced after you down the stairs and to his car. He unlocked the car and opened the door, like he usually does, before heading to his side, getting in and turning on the black sedan. At that moment he realized something. “Are you okay?” Minho worried, his hand touched your arm lightly. “You’re super red.”

You squeezed your eyes shut before shaking your head, “I’m fine just over blushed.” You lied, your cheeks reddened even more, though this time from embarrassment and not from unholy thoughts about your best friend’s lips.

Minho retracted his hand, unbeknownst to you his palms were sweating and his heart was racing. He put the car in drive and drove off to Jisung and Changbin’s apartment.

It was loud, obnoxiously loud. Music about sex was blaring through the speakers, people were making out on the couch and in the corners of the living room, the very same living room that was trashed with food and plastic cups everywhere. You swore you saw a couple humping each other at one point. Your senses were overloaded. You hated this, you wanted to go home.

“Hey Y/N! I didn’t know you were gonna be here!” A deep voice boomed from your right, looking towards the voice you see Felix and Chan smiling like idiots, clearly already drunk. “How’s it goin’ I haven’t seen you since orientation.” Chan had helped you out during orientation day, he was your upperclassman, though he never treated you as if he was of some sort of higher class. “I’m good, what about you two?” You shout over the music.

Chan nods, giving you a thumbs up. “Good, kinda wanting to get laid though. Anyone caught your eye yet?” Felix chuckles, his eyes scanning the room as if he had some people in mind.

You shake your head at his question. Though you follow his gaze, scanning the room as well until you land on one specific person, Minho. The brown haired boy was holding a red plastic cup, most likely filled with some sort of alcohol, he brought the cup up to his lips and- there it is…those thoughts flooded your mind again as you stared at his lips. You suddenly were brought out of your daze by the smile he gave you, you immediately flushed…did he just catch you staring at his lips?!

Avoiding his gaze, you turn to Chan and notice him staring at you already. You hadn’t even noticed Felix walking off to talk to Changbin. Chan’s eyes flickered down to your lips, he chucked awkwardly, “Sorry, your lips are so pretty, I kinda got distracted.” You couldn’t think anymore, too many things were bombarding your brain. You acted before you could even think as you sealed your lips on his, hoping to distract yourself from whatever fucking mental disaster is happening to you right now.

Minho was still looking at you when you kissed Chan. His eyes automatically darkened as he stared at the two of you making out. His jaw clenched when Chan brought his hand to your hips, squeezing at the flesh there, the flesh that he’s always wanted under his fingers. He fisted his hands as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he guided you to the wall, gently pressing you against it. Oh fuck no was this happening, not on his watch.

Minho stormed over, snatching your hand from Chan, pulling you out of his hold so quickly that you couldn’t even say anything before you were at least twenty feet away from Chan. “Hey Min! What the fuck!”

“We’re leaving.” Minho huffed out angrily, he shoved his way through the crowd and made his way out of the apartment, dragging you with him.

“I was about to get laid! Now who’s the boring one.”

“Just get in the fucking car Y/N-“ Minho softened his voiced realizing he was starting to raise it, “Please.”

You couldn't think, and quite frankly you couldn’t care to think. The frustrated boy opened the car door for you, his jaw still clenched. Frankly you didn’t want to piss him off more, so you just entered the car. The drive to your apartment was quiet, a heavy tension settling between the two of you.

You wondered why he suddenly got so ticked and bothered. Did he actually notice you staring at his lips? Was it the kiss? Why would the kiss bother him? By the time Minho pulled into your apartment complex’s parking lot, you were still overthinking. Today has been so weird. You thought to yourself, mentally cursing yourself for all the things you’ve thought and done today. The door suddenly opening brought you out of your mind, you never even noticed Minho turning off the car nor getting out.

Minho walked you to your front door. You felt awkward with this strange tension, sure you’ve fought before but there’s never been this kind of tension between you before. You glance over at the dark haired boy who had immediately walked and plopped down on the sofa. “Min?” You call softly, making your way next to Minho’s spot on the sofa. He pinched the bridge of his nose, face scrunched deep in thought. “What’s wrong?” You sigh, resting your hand on his forearm. Minho simply shook his head, dismissing your question.

“Min?” You frown, wanting to understand why he suddenly dragged you away like that, “It’s nothing, just fucking drop it!” Minho exclaimed. “Okay, what the fuck is happening?!” You pull your hand away, now you’re getting pissed. “First you get pissed and drag me out of the party after I was so close to getting laid, and now you won’t tell me why you dragged me outta there!” “I told you it’s nothing!” He protested, “If it was ‘nothing’ you wouldn’t be here yelling about it being ‘nothing’! You’re just jealous I was gonna get-“

You were cut off mid-sentence as Minho’s lips found yours. His lips move roughly against yours, his hands grabbing at your hips. You gasp at his action, pushing him away. “Fuck, I was jealous.” He admitted, hs face flushed red, “I don’t know why, I didn’t want you to fuck him.” Minho’s voice softens, he fucked up, he knows he did. He ruined our friendship. “Motherfucker.” You breath out shakily, you tried to comprehend what Minho was saying, but the lingering feeling of his lips on yours blurred everything. “I’m sorry, I fucked up. I wouldn’t blame you if you hate me- mmph.” You cut him off this time with your lips, cupping his face in your hands before pulling away. “You’re lips are so fucking soft, better than what I imagined.” You pulled Minho back into a rough, messy kiss. Minho didn’t kiss back, he couldn’t, his mind was too busy going over your words, ‘better than what I imagined’. Had you imagined his lips before? Is that why you were staring at him weirdly at the party earlier?

“Fuck, sorry.” You pant pulling away from him, noticing how he never kissed back. “Don’t be.” Minho grunted before pushing you softly against the wall, his lips reattaching to yours. He trailed his lips down towards your neck, gently sucking at the skin there. You bit your lip to prevent any moans to slip out, Minho nudged your legs apart with his thigh, slipping it between your mini-skirt covered thighs. Your hands make their way into Minho’s brown hair, entangling it with your fingers. Pulling the hair at the nape of his neck when he bites down on your collarbone.

A small whimper fell from your lips, Minho pulled away to look at you. The way your chest heaved with your shaky breaths, the way your face twisted with pleasure, the way your cheeks were flushed red, and your lips so swollen. The sight sent arousal straight to his twitching cock. “Is this okay?” Minho asked quietly as his hands surrounded the curve of your ass. Your eyes fluttered open, “Yeah.” You hummed, rolling your hips into his, desperate for any sort of friction.

Minho suddenly pulled away from the wall, still holding you by the ass, guiding your bodies towards your bed. He gently pushed you down onto the mattress, soaking in your beauty from his view from above. “So pretty, just for me babe?” Minho smirked, though he was teasing you, there was truth behind his compliment. “Min, I swear if you don’t fucking do something, I’m gonna kick you out.” You huffed, your cunt throbbing and yearning to be touched. “Okay, okay.” He chuckled, his hand reaching down towards your inner thigh, he parted them again with his knee. Spreading you open as your mini-skirt bunched up at your hips, revealing the panties you wore, a faint wet patch displayed.

Minho was dazed, he couldn’t stop staring at you, your body, the girl he’s liked for years was laid out underneath him, wanting for him to touch her. “You okay?” You exhale, noticing how your best friend stalled at the sight. “Yeah,” Minho blinked, his eys shifting back to yours, “God I really wanna fuck you.”

“Please do.”

Something was triggered inside Minho, he immediately stripped you both of your clothes, tossing them somewhere in the studio, leaving the two of you in just undergarments. His hands ran alongside your body, sculpting it into his memory. Minho’s finger trailed closer to the place where you needed him the most. He hooked his fingers on your panty, slowly pulling it to the side, exposing your leaking cunt that was begging to be touched. You whimper as he traces his finger along your wet folds, Minho pushes at your entrance, his fingers slipping in and out as he stretches you out. He shoves his hands down his boxers, pumping his hardened cock.

“Min, please. Fuck me.” You whined, he pulled his fingers down so that he could pull off his boxers. Finally freeing his cock, Minho pools his underwear by his ankles, grabbing you by the hips and repositioning your body comfortably at the edge of the bed.

He watched as you bit your lip from the feeling of him rubbing his cock against your bare cunt. Minho let out a soft groan as he finally entered you, he went slow at first allowing you to adjust to his size. “God, you’re so beautiful.” You hum as your cheeks flush at his praise.

You didn’t know where these compliments were coming from, sure Minho’s called you pretty before, but it was different this time- well no shit- it felt more intimate, like he really meant it and wasn't just saying it to make you feel better. Minho started thrusting slowly, you studied how his features scrunched up in ecstasy, a red hue spread throughout his cheeks to the tips of his ears, how his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat as he fastened his pace. It was all so hot, it drove you closer to your climax.

“Oh fuck, Min, I’m so close.” You moaned out, gripping his back. “Almost there too babe.” You groan at the pet name. Minho moved one of his hands to your clit and started rubbing it, “There you go, you’re being such a good girl, letting me fuck your pussy like this.” He grunts in your ear. His words along with the erotic squelching sounds that bounced off the apartment’s wall was enough to finally drive you over the edge. “C’mon baby, cum for me.” Minho continued ramming into you, whining at the overstimulation for a few more seconds until his thrusts became sloppy as he neared his orgasm, “Where do you want it?” “Inside, cum in me Min.” Minho’s vision went white, filling you up as his orgasm overflowed him. His warmth filling you. “So good.” He sighed, pulling out of your cunt. You laid there for a few moments after cleaning up your bodies before drifting off to sleep.

The sun peeked through the window, pulling the covers over your face at the light. Clacking of dishes finally pulls you out of your slumber, you turn over and peek through the soft comforter to see Minho in your kitchen making some breakfast. He didn’t have a shirt on, his back with faint scratch marks facing you, the memories of last night flooding your mind. Holy shit, I just slept with my best friend.

You couldn’t face him, what does that make you guys now? More than friends obviously, but partners? Hookup buddies? Friends with benefits? The realization that this could probably fuck up your relationship finally dawned on you.

You throw the comforter off of your body, rolling out of bed you stretch your arms above your head relieving some of the pain in your lower back. Minho must’ve noticed you, he turned around with a soft smile. “Morning, did I wake you?” He frowned, turning off the stove and making his way towards you. The scar on his stomach catches your eye, Minho was usually insecure about not wearing a shirt around others because of it, the scar drew uncomfortable and unwanted questions, he only really had told you what had happened, so you smile whenever he shows it, you feel his trust in you.

“Yeah, but it’s already kinda late anyways.” You chuckle, glancing at the clock. Thank God it’s the weekend. “Um, can we talk though, about…” You start, sucking in a breath hinting at last night, Minho just stared at you for a few seconds trying to think of what to say. “What’s there to talk about?” He decided on. “Wh-What?!” You scoffed, taken aback by his answer, “Minho we literally fucked last night…we’ve been friends for over six years! ‘Friends’ don't do that!” Minho simply shook his head, “It doesn't have to mean anything, and besides, you ever heard of friends with benefits?” You roll your eyes at his snarky response, Minho simply cocks his brow. “So what are we then?”

“Friends.” Minho shrugged, you gave him an exacerbated look, “Friends who fuck?” You smack his arm playfully. He lets out a laugh, “I don’t know, if it happens it happens. C’mon forget about it, let's eat breakfast.”

And it did happen, every other day it did. You’d get off with each other, a continuous sick-cycle carousel that never seemed to end. Night after night you’d lay in your bed wondering what the two of you were. Minho would make you breakfast, flirt with you, and ‘jokingly’ take you on dates as if you were dating. Over those weeks you started developing feelings towards him, you know you shouldn’t but if you’re honest with yourself you’ve loved this man for the longest time, given you loved him as your best friend, you’ve seen him at his lowest and he’s seen you at yours. You’ve watched him grow as a person, he’s always been there for you, what is there to not love about him. You loved this man, you loved your best friend, you loved Minho.

Fuck.

You needed to tell him, but you couldn’t tell him. You didn’t want to ruin what you already had with him, these past six years of friendship. You couldn't do that, you wouldn’t. Not until you let it slip one day after one of your hookups.

“What do you mean you want me to stop acting all boyfriendy? What the fuck does that even mean?!” Minho frowned, his arms crossing after placing a glass of water on my bedside table. “I just think it’s weird since we aren't dating…just fucking.” It hurt your heart to say that, though it was the truth, and he knew it was too. “Okay so you just want me to just stop being nice?” Minho’s voice began to raise in volume, his defensiveness coming up. “No, just the flirting, holding hands, the ‘dates’, the touchiness when we're not you know…that’s more for couples.”

“What’s that even supposed to mean?! Why are you even bringing this up all of the sudden? Do you-” A sudden dawning occurred to Minho, “Do you like someone?” Your cheeks flushed, I guess now’s the time. “And what if I do?” You remark, silently praying that you don't actually say the words you’ve been dreading to say for weeks.

“Y/N.” He says in a warning manner. “Why do you even care?!” You burst, anxiety and anger rising in you, “You’re not my boyfriend!” Minho’s heart dropped, he knew he wasn’t your boyfriend though he felt like he could portray it after all you’ve done together. He yearned for you, in more than a friends with benefits kind of way, but he was scared, scared of having his heart broken again.

“Who is it?” Minho mumbled under his breath, “No, I’m not going to tell you- mmph.” Minho cut you off with a kiss, frustration clouding his mind. You push him off of you, shoving him away. “You did not just fucking- what are we doing?!” You cried out of frustration, a small tear cascading down your cheeks. “We never- we weren’t like this…what are we?!”

“Stop asking that fucking question, I’ve already told you we’re friends!”

“And I’ve already told you, friends don’t kiss, they don’t hook up just because, they don’t hold hands or go on dates, and friends don’t fucking catch feelings for the other- shit, this is all so fucking confusing!” Your voice cracked between your cries, you didn’t even care that you confessed, you wanted your best friend…that’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“What do you mean ‘catch feelings for the other’?” Minho’s gaze darkened as he neared you again. Your hands raise up to push him away. “Y/N, do you lik-“

“Yes I fucking like you, how could I not! And it fucking hurts you know that, the way you treat me so well, I’m torturing myself by staying in whatever this has become.” You gesture between the two of you.

“I do know how bad it hurts!” Minho exclaims, “You don’t know how long I’ve liked you…and I’d never act on it cuz I care for you too much, I didn’t want to lose you.” Your face softened at his confession, tears continued falling from your eyes. “Why are you-“

“Because I’m scared, okay!” Minho yelled, tears falling from his eyes, “I’m scared.” His voice softened. You’ve only ever seen Minho cry one time, it was when he got his heart broken by this girl he dated for four years. He had loved her, truly loved her and she stomped on his heart. “I don’t want it- I don’t want to end up like last time.”

“But what if we don’t end up like that?” You sniffle, “What if we live through life and move in together. What if we’re happy?”

“We were happy for four years-” Minho takes a sharp breath, “love hurts and I don’t- I can’t…” He frantically shakes his head, his breathing unstable as he sobs, hands covering his face.

“I love you,” You state, “not just as a friend. I don’t know why it took me so long to see it, I don’t wanna lose you, and I don’t want you to push me away, the thought of that scares me…but I won’t stop loving you Min, never. You’re my best friend.” Minho looked at you from behind his hands, you hesitantly walked closer to him, taking his hands in yours, pulling them away from his face and intertwining them. You look down at your hands and smile through your tears. His eyes shifted to your hands as well.

You suddenly pull him into a tight hug, Minho melts into your hold, his arms reciprocating your hold. “I just want us to figure out what it’s that we’ve got going on.” You smile weakly, Minho leans to kiss the top of your head.

“I love you.” He finally says, dried tear stains on his flushed cheeks, “God I love you so fucking much.” Minho smiles before cupping your face and kissing your lips. You smile into the kiss. You both pull away before Minho engulfs you into another hug, “I love you.”

“I love you too Min.”

604 notes · View notes

hornychristianprincess · 1 year ago

Text

wasted (leehan x fem reader) FINAL

paring: leehan x fem reader, ft. taesan genre: smut, fluff, angst, fuckboy!leehan word count: 15k summary: finally confessing your feelings to leehan leads to a reaction you could have never prepared for. warnings: unwanted sexual advances (NOT from leehan), explicit [consensual] sex scenes, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it b4 you tap it ppl) read on ao3 if you please by clicking HERE.

“Jaehyun, you have a lot of friends, right?” asks Leehan when he and his roommate are relaxing in their shared living room, doing homework. “Do you know anyone who works in the tutoring office? Blonde streak of hair?”

It’s the only attributes he can remember about the guy he saw you entering your room with only a few days ago, noticing the blue tutoring office logo on the chest of his polo shirt and the distinctive stripe of color in the middle his head.

“Oh yeah, I think you’re talking about Taesan,” says Jaehyun, who luckily isn’t paying attention enough to his roommate to notice how he perks up at just the name. “Why?”

Even Leehan himself isn’t exactly sure why he cares so much.

It’s hypocritical at best and gross at worst to think that you have any less of a right to screw around than he does.

But whether it's his innate territoriality coming into play or the fact that he’s upset it wasn’t him at your side instead, he can’t help but see you differently after what he saw.

“I saw him with some girl I was fucking. Sexual partners are like cars – You don’t want one everyone gets to use, you know?”

Jaehyun, who had up until this point been lying on the floor and playing idly with his Nintendo switch, sits up to look at Leehan. “You’re not talking about Y/N, are you?”

The first thought that comes to a surprised Leehan’s mind is what he said to have tipped Jaehyun off. Failing to think of any divertive lie, he decides there’s no harm in Jaehyun knowing, only wondering, “How’d you find out?”

“I saw her going into your room the night of my Halloween party,” he explains reasonably, before his voice and facial expression turn suddenly serious. “You shouldn’t talk about her like that. She’s going through a lot right now. She just failed all of her midterms and she might get kicked out of school.”

“Wait, really?” asks Leehan, who is hit with a sudden pang of deja vu as if he’s heard this before but doesn’t remember from where.

And then, it’s with a sudden and strong surge of embarrassment that he remembers the moment when he was feeling horny and decided to send you a dick pic, pressing the little blue arrow after only briefly glancing at the above messages.

“Oh shit. I think she told me that.”

Jaehyun laughs jeeringly, the resentful sound of which brings Leehan out of his own spiraling thoughts. “You’re an asshole, man,” he asserts, saying it in a way that’s so casual it’s as if it’s just a known fact.

Not an insult or a compliment, but simply a thing that’s true.

And somehow, the neutrality of it hurts worse.

“No offense, but I totally hope she forgets she ever met you.”

Hit by the irony of such cruel words being preceded by no offense, Leehan becomes sarcastic to avoid having to express the true hurt of being told that. “None taken. That seriously wasn’t offensive at all, Jaehyun.”

Maybe Jaehyun is right. After working so hard to emphasize the line between being fuckbuddies and being in a relationship, yet still finding himself acting the exact way he feared you would, isn’t asshole the only way to truly express how shitty he’s being about this?

It’s at that moment that Leehan considers that perhaps this relationship between the two of you has spiraled out of control.

Because something that should be inherently easy and casual has now caused him far too much regret and remorse for his liking.

Sitting in an empty classroom with Taesan, you share a cup of bubble tea, the drinking of which causes you to bump hands several times as you reach out to grab it at the same time.

Interacting with Taesan always brings up sweet and innocent feelings that are like that of childhood crushes, or chasing fireflies on your lawn after dark.

Fall break has long been over and yet you continue to meet with him even outside of your mandatory weekly check-ins, forgetting the anxiety that once plagued you over this arrangement.

The time you spend with Taesan is so fulfilling that you’ve managed to completely forget that Leehan hasn’t contacted you in almost a week.

Well, maybe not completely.

You still wonder from time to time what he’s thinking, if maybe he read the text message you sent prior to his dick pic and internalized the part where you emphasized how you wouldn’t have time for him anymore.

There is of course a tiny part of you that feels empty and abandoned at the idea of him ghosting you and never talking to you again.

But it’s in a stroke of optimism, feigned or otherwise, that you decide to pour your attention into someone who feels like a much better match for you, that someone being Taesan.

“I’m just about to finish with this assignment. After I’m done, do you wanna go to the caf?” you mumble out in inquiry to Taesan as you check over your quiz answers for the last time before submitting.

You hear him make a noncommittal noise in response, which you first interpret as disinterest, but only seconds later recognize to be absent-mindedness as you feel his eyes warming the side of your face.

You let out a chuckle, just about to say something teasing to him for being caught staring at you when a few warm fingers glide across your ear. Taken aback, you meet Taesan’s gaze as he tucks away a piece of your stray hair.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, holding your face in his hand. “You have this…faraway look in your eyes.”

Your eyes dart between his face and his hand that’s slow to come off of your ear, surprised by the sudden bit of physical contact.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you answer calmly if maybe a bit shakily, trying to appear normal though your head screams with a million passing thoughts at once. Taesan nods in acceptance of this answer before turning back to his laptop as if nothing happened.

If you were at all a gambling person, you’d bet good money that the telltale, suave move of tucking your hair behind your ear was a way for him to see how you’d react to something less platanotic from him.

And if you were to allow this moment to pass by without saying anything, you know that he would follow your lead and pretend like this never happened. He’d use your silence as evidence that his advances are unwelcome.

Perhaps you’re feeling a little bold, but you don’t want him to go any longer thinking that his interest isn’t reciprocated.

“Wait,” you remark, reaching out to grab Taesan’s wrist. “Taesan, can I kiss you?”

The usually mysterious, confident boy loses his ability to speak when you ask him that, eyes going wide and only nodding to communicate his consent. Finding his sudden shyness charming, you smile as you lean in to press your lips against his.

Taesan’s mouth is just as inviting as you thought it would be all the times you spent staring at it when you were sure he wasn’t looking. He may have acted shy just now, but the way that Taesan kisses you is like fire. He presses his mouth hard against yours, and when his body does the same you soon find yourself pressed into the rolling chair you’re sitting in.

Your hand moves up to tangle in his hair, pulling him in to deepen the kiss. You were sure that Taesan, ever the responsible one, would be the person between the two of you to pull away before things got too heated.

But now, all he does is lean in to your provocations, sticking his tongue into your mouth while you whimper against his.

And as you try to allow your brain to white out so that you can truly relax into the gratification he is sure to give you, all you can think about is how his lips are not Leehan’s lips.

His hands are not Leehan’s hands.

His kiss doesn’t evoke even a fraction of the electricity that Leehan does just by looking at you.

You accept then that self-preservation must be a confounding myth to your psyche, because against all odds, you are still very much into Leehan.

And while you could easily fuck Taesan anyway and let the enjoyment of his sex prove as a temporary salve to the gaping wound that is your feelings for Leehan, you feel too much like he doesn’t deserve to fuck someone with such selfish intentions.

So, it’s with both regret and sobering understanding that you pull Taesan away from you, lines of spit breaking into drool as you separate.

The two of you become temporarily frozen in a moment of both confusion and shock. Taesan, looking at you with widened eyes and reddened lips, asks in a small yet urgent voice, “What? Is something wrong?”

You already feel like a piece of shit as you loosen your grip on Taesan’s hair, letting your hands fall to your lap and noticing that his still rest on your waist. “Taesan…” you begin, and already at just the sound of his name, you can see his expression wilting, like he knows by the unsure tone of your voice exactly what you’re going to say. And how couldn’t he, when you suck so badly at giving bad news?

“I think you’re an amazing person. And believe me when I say I really, really wanted this between us,” you emphasize, wishing you could get swallowed up by a hole as he continues to stare at you in dumbfounded awe.

You know that these aren't words anyone wants to hear but you feel compelled to say them, feeling like Taesan deserves honesty from you.

“To be completely candid with you, the reason why I’m on academic probation is because of a guy. A recent guy who treated me like shit, but because I’m an idiot, I still want him.”

You wait on edge for the moment when Taesan’s disposition will return to that of the understanding, kind person you’ve come to know, the moment when you’ll both laugh at the awkwardness of this situation and allow yourselves to forget it ever happened.

Instead, though, all you see in Taesan’s eyes is a fiery passion that makes your head hurt as you realize he won’t let this rejection go down easily.

“You know that doesn’t matter to me right? We don’t have to…be all romantic, and shit. I’m fine with something casual. Happier with that, even.”

It’s with a pang of insecurity that you fight back a self-pitying laugh at those words, wondering what it is about you that makes men only want casual, no-strings-attached relationships with you.

“I’m sorry for making things awkward. And if you don’t want to tutor me anymore after this, I’d completely understand,” you concede in the nicest possible tone you can muster, still incredibly conscious of Taesan’s hands that have still not left your waist. “But I can’t do this, Taesan. You’re amazing but I just…I can’t, okay?”

When Taesan continues to stare at you as if he isn’t comprehending a word that’s coming out of your mouth, you reach down to move his hands off of your waist yourself, and when you do, you’re shocked when you feel his fingers seizing around your wrists to hold them in place.

“You’re being ridiculous, Y/N. So what if you’re not over your ex? That shouldn’t stop you from getting your rocks off,” he says, voice rising considerably as he squeezes your wrists so harshly it begins to hurt.

It’s at this moment that you realize you’ll never be able to look at Taesan the same again.

No longer the sweet, kind and helpful boy you first met, he looks pathetic and at worst, scary as he continues to refuse your rejection.

“Taesan, I’m really gonna need you to let go of me,” you request, saying it without any niceties as you manage to convince yourself that maybe he’s just taking this extra hard for whatever reason and just needs to hear you being serious so that he can come to his senses. “Listen, how about we end early for today and talk about this another time–”

“I’m not letting you leave until you can look me in my eyes and give me one good reason why we shouldn’t do this,” he asserts, still holding your wrists, laughing a little in a way that makes it hard for you to tell if he knows that he’s making you uncomfortable or thinks that this is all just some game of hard-to-get. “You can act coy all you want but I know you want me, I could tell as soon as I met you.”

“I’m gonna tell you to let go of me one more time, Taesan, and then I start screaming,” you threaten, no longer feeling amused or pitiful but instead angry, adrenaline running through your veins as you consider the possibility of having to physically attack him.

You’re not sure how things escalated so quickly but now you’re quickly regretting ever befriending Han Taesan in the first place, ever thinking that he could be a permanent fixture in your life.

Catching you by surprise, Taesan stands up suddenly from his chair and drags you up with him. It’s in a flurry of movements that he somehow manages to pin you against a wall, smirking down at you from above.

You let out a squeal but he covers your mouth, strong enough to use only one of his hands to keep your arms pinned above your head. He laughs as you struggle against him, perhaps not realizing – or worse, realizing it and getting off on how deeply he’s managed to scare you.

“What?” he asks through upturned lips, pressing his body into yours. “Don’t girls like it when guys don’t take no for an answer?”

It’s in the strangest and most serendipitous stroke of luck that you hear the sound of the classroom door swinging open.

And when you turn your head to meet the gaze of your savior, it’s Leehan who you see standing there, taking in the scene in front of him.

It feels stupid and random that of course it’s Leehan who just happened to be the person to walk in here, but you don’t dwell too much on the details, focused on the relief that floods through you knowing there’s someone here to intervene on your behalf.

Leehan hesitates momentarily as he wonders if he’s just had the misfortune to accidentally walk in on the kinky foreplay between you and this new guy you’ve been seeing. Attending a lecture in this same building, he happened to walk by the classroom and hear a distressed voice that sounded vaguely familiar.

Through the fogged glass material of the door, he could just barely make out your silhouette, instinctually barging in to see what was going on.

If Leehan didn’t know you so well, he might’ve immediately bolted at the sight of you engaging in intimacy with someone else. It would be too much and he knows it would force him to confront his conflicting feelings towards you.

But the moment he meets your gaze and sees the steely, ice cold fear that’s in your eyes, his next moves are made clear. Without questioning anything, he steps forward and punches an already staggering Taesan in the face.

The punch causes Taesan to fall backward, blood that you aren’t sure is coming from his lip or his nose splattering onto the floor. You and Leehan remain frozen, you in shock at both Taesan’s actions and Leehan’s sudden presence, and Leehan with the adrenaline of becoming unexpectedly violent.

It’s in that moment of stillness on both of your parts that Taesan has time to recover, and before you can react, he’s leaping forward to tackle Leehan onto a nearby desk.

You let out a squeal of shock as the two men struggle, causing desks and their chairs to fly around the room haphazardly in the process.

And to your horror, Taesan quickly gets the upper hand over Leehan, sitting on top of the shorter boy in a straddling position before letting his hands fly in a series of devastating punches.

You go to pull him off but he pushes you away, forcing you then to search frantically for your phone in the hopes of calling campus security before Leehan is pulverized any further.

“Hey, is something going o—” you hear an unfamiliar voice ask, and you look up to find that you’ve been discovered by a complete stranger, a boy who you assume is another student by his shaggy attire and backpack. He answers his own question by glancing into the room and catching sight of Taesan and Leehan who are both now bleeding as they remain wrestling on the floor.

You’re just about to enlist the stranger to help you in dragging Taesan off of Leehan when, suddenly, you don’t have to.

Realizing that the stranger’s presence could mean that even more people could arrive to inspect what’s causing all of this noise any second, you watch as the fear of getting in trouble overtakes Taesan’s expression until he’s getting up.

He gets up and sprints out of the classroom wildly, shoulder checking the stranger in the process as he flees out of the building.

“Should I run after him?” asks the student at the door who you’re sure is still processing what he’s just seen. But more than anything else, you’re worried about Leehan, who you just saw taking several punches to the face and is laying down on the ground making strangled, agonized noises.

“No. It’s better that you scared him away. I just need to get him to the infirmary,” you reply, trying to sound more calm and controlled than you feel but hearing how your adrenaline from the past few minute’s events causes your voice to come out shaky and broken. The stranger asks if you need any help but you wave him away, deciding it would be too much of a burden to have to explain what just happened to anyone else.

So it’s by yourself that you go to hover over Leehan’s body and try to push back the horror of seeing his face bloodied and bruised so that you can help him onto his feet.

And because most of the damage seems to be centralized on his face — maybe his back and head, too, after being tackled onto the ground — he mostly manages to stand up on his own. Though, once on his feet, he has to lean on you to avoid staggering.

“Don’t…let him…go, Y/N,” he mumbles, making you feel even more concerned and on edge as his garbled tone makes it sound like he’s one step away from passing out. “He was…hurting you, wasn’t he?”

“It’s fine, Leehan. Let’s just get you to the infirmary,” you reply dismissively, needing him to be pliant more than anything in this moment so that you can get him to your thankfully close by campus infirmary without issue.

Your transgression with Taesan with startling and for a brief moment, terrifying. But with him now gone, the majority of your distress lies with Leehan and making sure he’s okay.

And to your relief, as you take a few steps forward with Leehan’s arm leaned over your shoulder, he remains upright and mostly autonomous in his movements.

He continues to say nothing on your way out of the building outside from the occasional groan, and you’re sure that as the adrenaline wears off that the pain in his face must become more present. You luckily make it to the infirmary moments later, where the doctor on call takes one look at Leehan’s face and immediately rushes him into a care room.

Everything that happens after that is a bit of a blur for you. A campus security officer comes to take a statement from you. You tell him everything, giving him Taesan’s full name and picture in the hopes that it can lead to some type of action, although a part of you feels discouraged and numb at that notion.

You wait anxiously in the lobby of the infirmary, waiting for an update from the doctor and feeling like you’re gonna throw up when the older woman comes out from the hallway with a neutral, unreadable expression on her face.

“Hi ma'am. Your friend is doing just fine. All of the cuts on his face are superficial, so they’ll heal on their own. He’ll have some bruises and swelling, which will also go away with time. He does have a bit of a concussion, so we’ll send you both home with some Tylenol. If you’d like to come and see him, you can follow me.”

Though you figured that most of his injuries were minor, you still feel relieved to hear that nothing is significantly wrong; it’s irrational, but you know you would have been eaten alive with guilt had anything serious happened.

Getting up to follow the doctor, you walk into the care room to find Leehan sitting on the edge of an examination chair, a nurse still applying little white bandaids to a cut on his cheek. When he sees you come in he smiles, though only fleetingly as the gesture causes him to wince in pain.

You don’t know what to say to him, so you opt to sit down on a chair that’s directly next to his dangling legs. You watch as the nurse goes to prod at a separate wound on his lip with a q-tip dipped in brown liquid. You don’t realize how tense you are until you feel the warmth of a hand over yours, and when you look up, Leehan is staring at you in amusement.

“You’re shaking,” he observes, and though he can’t smirk without it causing him pain, he still gazes at you in a way that is teasing and smug. And the fact that he’s concerned about you when he’s the one who’s getting medical attention makes you let out a cynical, humorless laugh.

“Don’t worry about me. Look what he did to you.”

“I’m still good-looking, though, aren’t I?” he replies playfully, and because you’re so upset, you feel yourself almost inclined to scold him for making such jokes in light of the circumstances. But Leehan, never one to read the room or adhere to the tones and moods of others, is laughing as he commands, “You have to tell me or I’ll have an internal crisis.”

You stare at him with your eyebrows furrowed, wanting to be annoyed by him but not being able to help your smile as he continues to await your confirmation of his enduring looks with a pout.

Rolling your eyes, it’s with a bit of resistance in your voice that you reply, “Yes, you’re still handsome, Leehan.”

He pumps his fist up in the air triumphantly, and with that, the nurse leaves the room, telling you that she’ll return with the official paperwork needed so that he can be discharged.

Once she’s gone, it’s quiet between the two of you until Leehan breaks the silence with a question. “That guy…his name’s Taesan, right?”

You’re taken aback, both at the sudden change in his tone and disposition – his voice now serious and inquiring – and the fact that he even knows who Taesan is. “How do you know?”

“I saw you with him outside of your dorm. Asked Jaehyun who he is,” he responds plainly. And as you take in this information, you’re not sure what to say in reply. Even just knowing that he was outside of your dorm that day when Taesan came to your room and didn’t say anything makes you think he must’ve had some kind of reaction to seeing the two of you together.

And as you put the timing together, it makes sense why you hadn’t heard from him for a week until now.

But then again, it doesn’t make sense. Because the Leehan you know, the Leehan you’ve come to resent, surely wouldn’t — shouldn't — care to see you with another guy when he’s been so adamant about keeping things non-exclusive between the two of you.

“Are you together?” he asks when you remain silent, and in what feels like a complete switch in power dynamics, you find that Leehan is the one now clearly expressing some kind of worry or at the very least interest in what you get up to when you’re not with him.

And because you feel both vindicated to be on the other side of this sort of questioning, and not at all entitled to tell him the truth, you answer by asking, “If I said yes, what would you say?”

Leehan looks at you, all amusement absent from his expression even as he says somewhat sarcastically, “That I thought being with me meant you had better taste in men.”

His response causes you to scoff, the idea of him thinking that he’s somehow at a higher caliber than all the other similarly emotionally-unavailable men on your campus something you find absurd.

And yes, maybe it’s because you’re already feeling a little bitter towards him that you’re then replying scathingly, “If anything, wouldn’t my interest in you mean the opposite?”

“Funny,” he says sardonically in reply. The atmosphere between the two of you currently is tense. He resents you for being with someone else and you resent him for setting boundaries for your relationship that he never intended to follow.

And yet, despite the unresolved negative emotions that are clearly swimming between the two of you, it feels absurd and crazy to say that as you continue to make unbroken and silent eye contact, you feel like he’s about to kiss you.

That’s the sort of crazy chemistry you seem to have with one another, where even as you both have the rationality to recognize the toxicity of this dynamic you both still find yourselves magnetically pulled to one another in a way that, in most people’s eyes, would be viewed as mindless.

But it’s just as you swear he’s leaning in that the doctor comes into the room, handing Leehan a clipboard and telling him he can go once he’s finished filling out a few forms. You wait for him, not sure what will happen once you leave but feeling almost responsible to at least see him to his apartment.

And so, you exit the hospital together, and it’s as you’re walking out that you voice to him truthfully, “It feels weird just dropping you off like you didn’t just get your face rearranged trying to save me.”

He lets out a chuckle in response, swinging his body so that he’s standing in front of you before shrugging and saying, “Then don’t drop me off. We could go to your dorm, watch a movie.”

The request to do something as simple as watch a movie sounds so foreign coming out of his mouth that you can’t help but laugh out loud. “When do we ever watch a movie?” you ask, repeating the words in disbelief.

You’re mostly joking when you ask that, but it’s with a tiny pang of sadness that you acknowledge the tragedy of him wanting your company for something other than sex being something that’s so unbelievable.

“Today. Rocky V is probably ill-timed, but I love a good nature documentary,” he replies with a grin, and as always, you are unable to get a read on his expression to know if he is being serious or not.

But today has been a crazy day and you know that being in your room by yourself after everything that’s happened is only going to make you feel worse. So, deciding that there’s no harm in keeping him company for just a little while longer, you allow him to lead the way to the building that he’s been to so many times.

You know from learning your roommate’s schedule that she’ll be in a lab for the next 3 hours, a fact that makes you feel relieved as you enter your dorm with Leehan trailing behind you. He comes in and immediately collapses onto the couch, spreading his arms out on either side of the cushions in a way that brings renewed attention to his broad shoulders.

“So. Do you actually want to watch a movie?” you ask casually as you stand a few feet away from him, trying your hardest to keep any bitterness out of your tone as you watch him shrug his shoulders nonchalantly.

“You know, now that I’m here…” he says, already smirking as he watches you fight the urge to roll your eyes. “It feels like a much better idea for you to come sit on my lap.”

Even though you find yourself enticed by the invitation, in a small, distant part of your brain, it feels like you’ve been manipulated into letting him come to your room. That watching a movie had always been a lie to get you to have sex with him.

But something has changed inside of you, and from what, you can’t pinpoint. All you know is that the accumulations of lies and divertive tactics that you’ve endured from Leehan thus far has left you almost numb to his provocations.

Instead of feeling sad or shitty or upset, you just feel nothing.

And somehow, that change feels more concerning to you than the emotions from before did.

Still, you find yourself stalking silently to Leehan on the couch, his eyes never leaving yours as you make your way towards him. His legs spread naturally as you get between them, and it’s with a jaguar-like slowness that you crawl over his body until you’re straddling him.

Intensity rolls off of the both of your bodies like water, the silence and shared eye contact only contributing to the growing sexual desire that builds between the two of you.

In contrast to such lust, it’s in a gesture of affection that you lean in to lay a gentle, barely-there kiss against all of the wounds on his face. The cut on his cheek. His busted bottom lip. The knot forming on the top of his head. The bruise on the side of his jaw. You do it almost in apology but also because you want him to tease him, giving him only fleeting touches and kisses before you do anything substantial. He flinches at first at the contact but eventually relaxes into the softness of your lips against him.

And though you couldn’t articulate the reason why, you get the feeling that he flinches less out of pain, but more in surprise at the unfamiliar gesture of tenderness and how it impacts him.

You’ve only just reached his neck, sucking hickies into the pale skin there, when you can feel his cock hardening underneath you.

It’s after you’ve kissed every single piece of skin uncovered by his shirt that you decide to relieve a bit of his suffering by reaching a hand down into the waistband of his pants. All you do is close your fist around his shaft and stroke him languidly, but you suppose your teasing worked better than you thought as he whimpers at the simplest of movements. He bucks into your hand, not afraid of seeming desperate and shamelessly moaning at your touch.

Watching him writhe and shudder beneath you, sensitive in a way you’ve never seen before, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that this is one of the few times that you’ve felt even a semblance of control in your interactions during sex. It’s always been you on the receiving end of his endless repertoire of tactics, designed always to render you incomprehensible and under the thumb of his persuasion.

Spurred on by the observation, you take advantage of his submission to ask a question that’s been on your mind since you left the hospital.

“Can I ask you something? Why did you ask Jaehyun who I was with?”

You can just barely make out the expression of surprise that appears faintly behind Leehan’s glassy eyes, and in a tactic that even you admit is slightly contemptible, you never stop the movements of your hand as you await his answer.

Desperate for even a moment’s worth of vulnerability from him, you hope that by literally dangling his climax in your hands that he’ll be more inclined to be truthful with you.

But for Leehan, giving you the honest answer — that he’s simply a jealous person who can’t stand seeing you with someone else even though it’s hypocritical — would only serve in making you think that his jealousy is a sign of caring, his caring a sign of affection, his affection a sign that he wants to be your boyfriend.

And though that assessment isn’t as easy to refute as it may have once been when he first met you, it seems idiotic to put any ideas in your head that could lead to him having to admit feelings he isn’t quite sure of yet.

So, in lieu of the truth, he replies with something that, honestly, should be a bigger concern for him than it presently is: “Because you should tell me if you’re being intimate with someone else. What if you’re not using protection and I catch something?”

Up until now, you had prepared yourself to react calmly to whatever Leehan’s answer would be, a task you knew would be difficult because the idea of him being jealous at all is in itself insane and backwards.

It was he who insisted that this dynamic be free of any constraints or limitations.

But the fact that he’s implying you would have sex with someone else and be so reckless as to not make any precautions for your health has your composure breaking, a scoff leaving you as you blurt out, “Have you been honest with me about the people you’re seeing?”

It’s a question you already know the answer to as you still haven’t forgotten the night of the Halloween party, how Jaehyun let it slip that Leehan had been on a date. You’d never confronted him about it because, deep down, you felt that you had no right to.

But now, he’s placing judgment on you in a way that makes you want to throw all caution to the wind and express your true emotions to him for what seems like the first time.

Hearing the knowing tone in your question has Leehan worried, tilting his head to stare at you as if he’s just now seeing you for the first time. “Are you trying to catch me in a lie, Y/N?” he asks, amusement in his tone though you can tell your questioning rattles him. “I’ve never told you anything that wasn’t true.”

But that’s just because you’ve never told me anything of substance, you think to yourself, reflecting back on all of the times he left your room in a hurry so that he could avoid having to show you anything real.

You continue jerking him off intently, and even though he’s obviously enjoying it, you can tell that you’ve thrown him off. During sex you’ve always maintained this sort of scathing, playful banter, but this time, he knows that your question is motivated by a genuine desire to hear the truth from him. It makes him beyond uncomfortable, especially with his dick still hard and aching in your moving hand. In a sudden change of dynamics, it’s him trying to read what you’re thinking.

Seeing this crack in Leehan’s usually guarded persona spurs you on into saying even more things that you’ve been suppressing. “I know that you’re seeing someone else,” you assert, honesty you never thought you’d be capable of expressing coming out boldly and without ambivalence. “Jaehyun told me, the night of the Halloween party.”

Your eyes are glued to Leehan’s face as you scan for the smallest fluctuation in his expression, searching desperately for any indication of what he’s thinking. And in yet another gesture that might as well be a verbal admission of guilt, Leehan stares up at the ceiling to avoid your gaze.

Leehan – confident, cool, teasing Leehan – who has always made you feel like you were scared of intimacy for not wanting to make eye contact with him during sex, is now the one shying away the intensity of your gaze.

The feeling of triumph that comes with finally feeling like you have him at your mercy after months of the opposite has you speeding up the movements of your hand, watching as he almost winces from the overstimulation you provide.

But more than anything else, you want answers.

You want to know why he thinks it’s okay to police who else you invite into your bedroom when he clearly does whatever he wants without any regard for you.

You want him to decisively and plainly decide if he’s either a sadistic asshole who believes that he should be able to treat you like shit while he goes out and fucks whoever he wants—Or if, like you, the passion of this relationship has overwhelmed him so much that he now finds himself feeling things for you that are beyond sexual, things that have caused him to abhor the notion of you being with someone other than him.

It feels like you need the answer to that question more than you need air.

And so, it’s in desperation that your voice comes out shaky as you demand, “Say something.”

“I can’t,” he manages through gritted teeth, the sound of his voice coming out raspy and submissive making your cunt pulse with arousal. “You’re about to make me come.”

Feeling like he’s being backed into a corner, Leehan wants to tell you to stop, but the euphoria he’s experiencing is too great. He’s never seen you be so assertive, so purposeful in doing things that you know will make him go crazy.

Rubbing your thumb over his tip. Spitting downward so that the wetness of your spit can reach his cock. Stroking him wildly and meeting his thrusts into your fist.

Pressure builds in his abdomen until he feels himself about to explode with what might be the most intense climax of his life.

But in a move that shocks the both of you, it’s just as Leehan is about to finish all over your hand that you abruptly pull off of him.

Stop the movements of your hand and watch brazenly as the realization of what you just did is processed on his face.

Maybe he thought that you were joking and that this was all just some aggressive manner of foreplay.

But now, he can see in your shocked expression, how you look so surprised at even your own insistence, that to deny him of his pleasure in this way was something that took a lot out of you.

It’s been a hallmark of your relationship so far for you to devote yourself to his satisfaction. You’ve always cared so much about being wanted by him, even after he’s shown his disregard for you time and time again.

And so to see you work up the courage to defy him in this way makes it clear to him that you’re not gonna drop this.

This isn’t something that he can smile or flirt his way out of in the hopes of having you wrapped around his finger for just one more day.

You’re gonna force this into being an issue. And fine; if you want to have this conversation, he’ll have it.

Even if it means that by the end of this you'll realize how shitty of a person he is and want nothing to do with him afterward.

If you were still the same pliant, conflict-avoiding Y/N, you’d be alarmed at the change in his expression and how his usual amused smirk melts into a straight-lined frown. You’d transform into the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed girl who’d laugh and pretend that this was all just a way to rile him up into fucking you, hoping that you could forget this moment ever happened.

But it feels like something has been lost in your dynamic that can never be brought back. You’re no longer okay with being lied to, manipulated. And Leehan, realizing how serious you are, seeks to take back control of this situation by flipping your bodies over so that you’re on your back and he’s on top of you.

He pins your arms above your head, holding them down so you can’t move.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to hear the answers to.”

He says the statement with a warning sort of tone but it only makes you laugh, no longer able to take his provocations and vague answers seriously. “Then don’t try to act hypocritical and treat me like I’m a fucking irresponsible idiot,” you retort, no hint of banter in your words as you hope he understands how serious you’re being, how done you are with his lies. “Having sex with guys without protection and not telling them about it. How do I know you haven’t been doing the exact thing you’re accusing me of?”

You ask a valid question that Leehan sees no way to get out of answering. Clearly, you already know (because of his disloyal, talkative fucking roommate) that he’s been seeing at least one girl that isn’t you. And because he can tell with certainty that your pliance is dependent on at least some kind of honesty from him, he tells you a technical truth when he says, “Since I met you, I’ve only been fucking you. No one else. I swear.”

It’s an answer that protects him from having to further delve into whether he’s seeing anyone else romantically, an important distinction that he isn’t interested in clarifying for the sake of your continued interest in him.

And as he watches you scan his face, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you seek to find any indication of either sincerity or hypocrisy in his expression, he seizes the opportunity provided by your momentary lapse in questioning to reach past the waistband of your leggings, sticking two fingers into your pulsing cunt.

He watches with satisfaction as even in your bitterness, you still can’t help the way your back arches and your mouth parts naturally at the action. Mirroring your tactics from before, he gives you great satisfaction in exchange for your hopeful compliance. Thrusting his long fingers inside of you, he mumbles in sensual truth, “Your pretty, wet pussy is the only thing that’s been occupying my brain for the last three months.”

The part of your brain that would question the credibility of his words is turned off like a lightswitch as the thrill from his fingers takes over. As much as you try to fight off what you’re experiencing so that you can regain the upper hand, it feels like it’s almost in revenge that he fingers you with such vigor that you can’t speak.

“Can you say the same? Huh, pretty?” he demands, digits angled just right so that the tips of his fingers repeatedly push against your most sensitive parts. “Tell me I’m the only person whose been fucking orgasms into your cunt.”

You could usually appreciate such possessive sentiments from Leehan when they were spoken in moments where there wasn’t any lingering resentment between the two of you. Now, they only annoy you, causing you to petulantly reply in mocking of his earlier words, “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

And in a move that is surely in imitation of your earlier actions, he pulls his fingers out of you completely and with them, your orgasm. His expression is a handsome mixture of annoyance and frustration.

It feels like the two of you are in some sort of scornful, unspoken competition, you trying to get him to be honest and him trying to get you to drop this entirely. And all of this undercut by the fact that both really wanna fuck each other, only adding to the frustration of your pleasure being taken away.

Though your body reels regretfully from the sudden drop in adrenaline, it’s with an unmoved expression on your face that you sit up, making yourself level with him.

“What?” you retort derisively, amused to find him upset at tactics you only know because he modeled them for you so many times before. “Does it make you mad?”

“No,” he answers, a fierce expression on his face that lets you know despite the desire radiating between the two of you that he’s being serious when he says, “It makes me question the type of person you are.”

And as you poke his chest assertively, you reply, “A person abiding by the standards that you set,” reminding him once more how he lacks the right to feel entitled to your body.

You again question why he continues to insist that a no-strings attached arrangement is what he wants when it’s clear he doesn’t want you with anyone else.

And so, it’s in your confusion that you ask, “I’m giving you exactly what you want. So why does it feel like you’re punishing me?”

“This isn’t what I want,” he says in reply. And the way that he says it almost quietly, like a stream-of-consciousness that was accidentally blurted out loud, has you inclined to believe that maybe, he’s finally coming around to seeing just how poorly suited this arrangement is for the both of you.

So, it’s with a curious tilt to your voice that you ask, “Then what do you want?”

Looking at you with a sort of urgent, unyielding expression on his face, it’s after a moment of intense and searing silence between the two of you that he leans in to kiss you roughly. What was once a moment of willful competition between the two of you now becomes intense and panicked as the passion of the last few moments takes over your bodies.

Your hands move in a frenzy as you rush to take off one another’s clothes, and you get the feeling that had the fabric provided any real obstacle, you both would’ve been willing to rip each other’s pants and tops off. Actualizing your desire for one another becomes the most important and serious task to have ever been endeavored upon.

You’ve only just removed your final article of clothing when Leehan crawls between your legs, finding you soaked and pulsing in anticipation of his touch. Noticing this, he can feel himself going crazy with all of the unanswered questions he has about you and Taesan. He finds himself vocalizing these thoughts shamelessly as he mumbles, “Fuck, Y/N. I need you to be honest with me. Because if someone else has had this pussy, I’m gonna go crazy.”

“Make me come, and I’ll give you a straight answer,” you defiantly reply.

Tired of your games, it’s in expression of his growing impatience that Leehan slaps your pussy uncaringly. The act sends a jolt of shock through your body but especially your clit, making you moan in a mixture of both pain and pleasure.

“I’m serious, Y/N,” he says, and rather than being amused by his insistence like you were before, it's for the first time that you find yourself intimidated, as well as turned on. “Tell me the truth.”

Leehan has always been the leader in your sexual dynamic, but you’d never describe him as rough or dominant until now. Rattled by the change, you aren’t able to manage a reply to his demand, but it’s then that Leehan raises himself up so that your faces are level.

Making sure to keep his eyes on yours this time, he pushes three fingers inside of your aching cunt — more than you’ve ever taken from him and enough to have your eyes rolling back upon impact.

“Tell me that this pussy is mine,” he demands as he fucks you open with his fingers. You’ve never seen him this fired-up, this crazed, and it has you more turned on and pliant than you think you’ve ever been before.

His fingers thrust in and out of you with strength you’ve never felt before, and in an amount of time that you find to be pathetic, you can feel your stomach tensing with an approaching climax, moans leaving your mouth with every breath and every curl of his fingers.

But for the second time tonight, Leehan notices you’re about to come and rips it away from you by withdrawing his fingers entirely. And unlike before, you can’t pretend not to be dismayed as you whimper wistfully at the loss of contact. Leehan, unamused, only stares at you from above and says with finality in his tone, “Tell me the truth, and I’ll make you come.”

You can see now how serious he’s being, how important this is to him, and though you find it entirely irrational, the pulsing of arousal in your body is too strong to ignore.

“I never fucked him. He never touched me until today.”

“And anyone else besides him?”

“There’s no one else, Leehan,” you assure him, body wracked with the weight of several heavy breaths as you practically beg for him to believe you, to touch you, to relieve the almost painful aching of your cunt. “Just you.”

You’re pleasantly surprised when he doesn't require any additional scrutiny before accepting your answer at face value, muttering an approving “Good girl,” before diving between your legs.

And you guess by the almost hungry, desperate way he then proceeds to eat you out that his easy acceptance of your word is just as much in service to his own desire to taste you as it is to you and your enjoyment.

Because you find not just in this instance but always that Leehan gives head like his survival is dependent on your arousal. He licks and sucks and mouths at your clit, moaning languidly into your core like it's the best thing he’s ever tasted.

And as if that’s not enough to have you reeling, he brings his hand out from underneath your thigh and puts two long, crooked fingers back into your dripping hole, thrusting and curling them inside of you like he’s intent on finding the spot that will make you scream. You throw your head back and close your eyes at the feeling that washes over your body, something like electricity pulsing through you and making your legs shake.

Without intending it, your hips buck against his tongue in chase of your impending orgasm. And when he flattens the wet muscle, allowing you the agency to take your pleasure rather than him having to give it to you, it’s only seconds later when you feel your abdomen contracting with the intensity of your long awaited orgasm.

You’ve barely recovered from the high of your climax when you hear Leehan saying tauntingly from above you, “See? No one else can do that as good as I can.” He then spreads your legs apart, admiring the mess he’s made of you, slick turning your inner thighs shiny and wet. ”Don’t you know now why you shouldn’t fuck anyone else?

Refusing him the satisfaction of an answer, your only response is to sit up and tell him, “Lay down. I wanna ride you.

Leehan’s only show of resistance to this request is a raise of his eyebrow, but he’s otherwise pliant as you maneuver on the couch so that he’s flat on his back. You hover just below his hard-as-a-rock erection, realizing you should go and get a condom, but it feels like an ultimate test of both your honesty that you assertively inform him, “I’m on birth control.”

Understanding what you mean to imply with this admission, you watch as Leehan’s eyes gloss over, another wave of lust taking over at the notion of having raw sex. In a distant part of your brain that isn’t completely corrupted by wanting, you wonder if this is a good idea given that you have no way of proving whether he’s been honest about his sexual history with other girls.

But as you unconsciously scoot closer and allow his cock to brush against your folds, his encouragement of “Then sit on it,” ringing pleasantly in your ears, the only thing that delays you is your desire to further tauny him.

“Look at me,” you command passionately, holding on just barely to your own composure as you fight to get these words out amidst your own lust-corrupted brain. “If you stop, I stop. I want you to look in my eyes when I make you come.”

Leehan, either ignorant to how serious you’re being or uncaring, whimpers out your name in lieu of any indication that he understands and accepts what you’re saying. You sink down on him anyway and allow the feeling of being filled to the brim by his long, veiny cock to wipe out any and all thoughts out of your mind.

“Oh my god, fuck,” he mumbles out in expression of how good it feels, after you’ve only just began bouncing your body up and down his cock. You bear witness to the moment when the embrace of your tight walls becomes too much for him and he throws his head back, disregarding your words from earlier.

And although it hurts you to do so, makes your thighs burn and your lips part to let out a regretful whimper, you pull yourself upwards until his cock slips out of you completely.

“Open your eyes,” you demand assertively, not just for his sake but for your own, so that you can go back to riding the life out of him until you both can come. “Show me why you deserve this. Remind me why I keep letting you fuck me.”

The scathing remark and the brazen expression you wear as you say it causes Leehan to regain his focus, returning his gaze to yours and making sure to maintain it even as your reinsertion of his cock has him fighting not to shut his eyes closed. It’s with a feeling of regretful foreboding that Leehan realizes this is probably going to end way too soon, that the sickening combination of you riding him, your dominant and sultry words, the view of your body from above him, and the intense unbroken eye contact all work in service to his quickly approaching climax.

And even as you too feel yourself inching closer and closer to the point of incomprehensible return, you keep talking, feelings that you’ve been suppressing for too long coming out in sultry, brokenly-spoken expressions. “I want you to savor this moment. Memorize how it feels to be inside of me,” you tell him, and then, leaning down to bite the tip of his ear, you whimper, “Fuck Leehan. You’re so big.”

Your purposeful usage of all the things you know for a fact rile him up the most is not lost on him, and it’s almost like you want him to come as quickly and embarrassingly as possible. He lingers on that thought for less than a few seconds, but even just the fleeting idea of spilling his seed inside of you has his brain entering a whole nother level of depraved and uncontrolled, until he’s muttering out the word “Fuck,” in repeated succession and thrusting up into you wildly. “Gonna come,” he announces only seconds later.

“I know you are, baby. And when you do, remember that I can only make you feel this good,” you reply, surprised at your own ability to sound assured and in control in the midst of your own fast-approaching orgasm. But in a way, it feels like you grow more confident the more you watch his verbal and motor skills deteriorate with every bounce and squeeze of your pussy against his cock.

Making grunting sounds as his thrusts become sloppy and uncontrolled, he replies through gritted teeth, “I know. You’re my favorite girl, Y/N.”

You’ve always hated that term because of the implication it makes that there are other girls with whom he's comparing you to. But as you commit to fighting off all of the weak, vulnerable, sad emotions that have now only rendered you numb, it’s in another show of control that you reply, “Then say it. Tell me how good I’m making you feel.”

At first, you aren’t sure if Leehan can even manage a reply as you watch him grow focused and intent on his approaching orgasm. But it’s through a mixture of muffled grunts and whines, his hips never ceasing their thrusts into you, that he begins to speak.

“Your pussy was made for me. It’s all I ever think about. The sex we have – nghh – it’s the best I’ve ever had,” he tells you emphatically.

And the brokenness of his words, the way they come out rushed and passionate as if a suppressed part of him needs you to hear them, has you feeling profoundly impacted by the weight of them.

“You make me crazy, Y/N. I don’t want anyone else. Only you—”

It’s with one final rough, definitive thrust that Leehan comes inside of you. You’re overcome by the feeling of his hot, warm cum filling your walls, pussy clenching around him as you too experience another orgasm. And as you both recover from your highs, you can feel the atmosphere becoming almost instantaneously stuffy and awkward, the realization of what just happened and all of the things you allowed to come out in the heat of the moment hitting you all at once.

Wanting nothing more than to be released from the clutches of this regretful moment, you pull yourself off of him and wince at the feeling of his cum dripping out of you and onto your inner thighs, some of it spilling onto the couch.

And without ceremony, Leehan does what he does best – he gathers his clothes and things and begins to put them on as if nothing happened.

The silence that overcomes the two of you as you sit naked and uncovered on the opposite couch, watching him change, is unlike either of you. You’d usually at the very least manage a few words about how good that was, or small talk about anything fun happening soon on campus. Had Leehan been any good with silence, he might’ve just walked out and not said anything to you at all.

But it’s because of his own manipulative and egotistical desire to continue to remain in your good graces that he says, in desperation to ease the tension, “Hey. By the way, I’m sorry about the picture I sent you. I don’t usually read your messages, so I didn’t see what you had sent me beforehand.”

You stare at him, a mixture of disbelief and hostility coming over you all at once.

Having completely forgotten about the dick picture incident until now, you feel the emotions from then coming back up in a way that feels shocking given the relative inoffensiveness of his apology just now.

It’s hard for you to pinpoint what exactly about the statement sets you off.

Maybe it’s that you just had the most intimate, soul-baring sex, and now he’s basically back to reminding you of just how little he values you and your personhood.

How easy it is for him to completely ignore anything you say to him if it has nothing to do with him and his own pleasure.

And with these emotions more than likely reflected on your face, you watch as Leehan — like a startled deer in headlights — makes what are perhaps the quickest efforts he’s ever done to leave your dorm in a hurry.

“I should get back,” he’s replying coldly as he gets up, throwing his jacket over his body so fast that it folds awkwardly along his sides. “But thanks for this.”

This, he says casually. As if his seed isn’t currently wetting the inside of your legs right now.

“But Leehan, the rain—” you insist. Because you can hear thunder rattling your windows outside and you know that to walk home to his apartment is an entirely irrational notion.

“Don’t worry about me,” he tells you, already halfway to your door as he turns around to look at you, something like regret painted all over his passive expression. “We don’t do that for each other, remember?

And it’s with that last parting, ominous statement that you watch Leehan leave your dorm room without another look in your direction. He’s left your room like this — in a hasty blur without a word or an acknowledgement — more times than you can possibly count.

So why you find yourself overcome with the feeling that this may be the last time you’ll ever see him again, you’re not entirely sure.

But it’s because of that gnawing, persistent feeling, eating at you like it never has before, that you get up and find a robe to throw over your body so that you can go and find Leehan before it’s too late.

You’re not even sure of what you’re going to say when you find him standing on the outside porch of your building, head down and phone in his hand as he waits for an Uber. All you know is that it’s pouring buckets outside and even with the bit of roofing over your heads, the wind still blows rain onto your bodies, rendering his hair and face wet.

“Leehan,” you call out, watching as he turns to you and automatically freezes up as he realizes you followed him out here. “Wait. Don’t go.”

It’s at least a little bit understandable why Leehan appears taken-aback by your words and your presence — any other time you’ve had sex, you’ve never once tried to get him to stay behind, even though he could always notice in your expression or quiet intensity that you wanted him to.

So the fact that you’re here telling him not to go, and because of the nature of the sex you just had, it’s like he already knows that you’re planning to pour your heart out to him, and it’s in fear of that that he finds himself saying wearily, “Y/N—”

“No. Let me talk,” you assert before he can finish, a part of you feeling like if you don’t get these words out now, you never will. And so, fueled by the unexplainable feeling that this may be the last chance for you to tell him how you feel, you channel all the confidence you can possible muster and allow all the suppressed emotions from the last three months to spill out without any filter.

“After we have sex, I don’t want you to leave. I want you to stay because you like being with me. I want you to fall asleep with me. I want you to see me and treat me like I’m a human being and not some physical object that you use for sex and nothing else,” you exclaim with a self-pitying scoff.

“And I tried being the chill girl who just goes along with things that are casual. But Leehan, you make me feel things that no one ever has, and it’s not just the sex. For the past few months…it’s felt like my life only truly felt worth living if you were noticing me.”

You can plainly tell by Leehan’s stiff body language and overall lack of reaction that this entire spiel is making him uncomfortable. And as discouraging as the reaction is, now that you’ve started, it feels like you can’t stop until he knows everything that he’s put you through to get to this point.

“And maybe I only feel that way because when we fuck, it’s not like some one-night-stand or throwaway shit. It truly feels like I’m baring my soul to you. And I know that it’s not one sided,” you remark with confidence. Because being in bed with Leehan is the only time when you feel like you can truly understand him. It’s when your hearts, minds, and bodies are in sync and you can both be at your most vulnerable with each other.

“But then you leave, just like you’re doing now. And it makes me feel like the most massive piece of shit you can possibly imagine,” you mumble out with a broken, wet laugh.

Coming to the end of your spiel, you let your arms come down to your sides defeatedly, and with one last imploring look to Leehan’s blank and starry eyes, you ask the question that has been haunting you for the better part of three months now. “So what I guess I want to know is…what is it that’s stopping you from going all in with me? Is it that I’m just…not enough for you to want anything more than sex?” you question, insecurities that have been welling up for so long coming out in a way that has your voice sounding broken. “Or are you just too scared of commitment to allow yourself to feel loved?

“Because that’s exactly what I feel for you. And god dammit, Leehan, but I’m almost 80% sure you feel that way for me too.”

When you’re sure that there’s nothing else left to say and that you got everything you wanted to explain out, it’s with a relieving sigh that your body expels the weight of three months’ worth of pain, sadness, and thoughts of worthlessness.

And because you know it must be a lot to be on the receiving end of the heaviness of those words, it’s not surprising that the next few seconds after you finish speaking are filled by silence. Watching Leehan stare at you intensely, you allow him the time and the grace to process what he’s heard before you jump to assuming the worst of his silence.

But then, his first words to you hit you like an icy blast of wind.

“Y/N, you’re a good person. And the time we’ve spent together has been so much fun for me. But this has always been just that for me…fun. Sex,” he says unambivalently, framing the words delicately though it does nothing to prevent them from hitting you like a freight train. “And I’m sorry if I ever did or said anything that gave you an impression otherwise.

“But honestly, Y/N…” he continues, looking away from you and losing the ability to sugarcoat his thoughts as he expresses, “I told you from the forefront what this was. Why did you say yes if it wasn’t what you wanted?”

He asks a valid question that you unfortunately don’t have the answer to. Because honestly, what were you thinking? Looking back at that moment when he first proposed this arrangement, you have to wonder what possessed you to be delusional enough to think that this would possibly end well.

As embarrassing and humiliating it is to admit, it’s the sex. All those times he told you he desired you, how beautiful you were, how much he wanted you, made you feel like maybe he just didn’t know what he wanted. That eventually he’d come around.

“Because I didn’t think that it was that important to you,” you tell him, feeling your confidence shrinking in real time as your voice comes out quiet and whiny. “I thought…I thought you were changing your mind.”

“I don’t think we should keep doing this, Y/N,” he declares in reply, looking down at the ground in embarrassment. “I like you a lot, but I can’t continue on if I know you have the expectation that this is gonna blossom into something more. I’m sorry, but it’s just not.”

And with that last sobering pronouncement, Leehan runs a hand through his hair, an obviously fake chuckle let out of his lips as he seeks to break the awkwardness of this atmosphere. “This really wasn’t how I wanted this to go,” he mumbles out apologetically, and the way that he stands there stiffly lets you know he wants nothing else than to get away from you right now.

And sure enough, the sound of a notification going off draws both of your attention to his phone. Like a final dagger to your heart and self-esteem, he’s not even able to hide the relief that floods his expression as he announces, “My Uber’s here, so I just…goodbye, Y/N.”

You watch Leehan step off the porch and into the rain, the lack of light and storm clouds rendering him into nothing more but a blurry, gray silhouette.

It’s how you will more than likely remember Leehan as you watch him enter the white Mazda that pulls into the driveway.

Watch the car drive off knowing that you will more than likely never see him again.

He will forever be immortalized in your brain as the stormy force of a presence that came into your life like a tornado, wrecking everything around it and exiting like nothing happened, leaving you a splintered mess of a world to clean up for yourself.

You will be just another Natty, someone Leehan offhandedly mentions to his friends in the car with whoever he chooses to be his next victim, someone he spent a good few weeks with only to never mention them again.

“You’re an enigma, Kim Leehan,” you declared with sincerity. “I don’t want to be your girlfriend either. No offense.”

“None taken,” he replied with breezy indifference, bringing his hand to lay over the one you have on his face. “But don’t say that so easily. You don’t know me well enough yet.”

You rolled your eyes at yet another show of cockiness from him. “And are you saying if I did, I would fall for you?”

Even as his expression remained passive, he replied forebodingly, “Isn’t that usually how these things end?”

He was right.

The next two months of not seeing, talking, or hearing from Leehan go by in a gray-ish, incomprehensible blur.

You complete your classes, managing a passing GPA and thankfully holding on to your scholarship.

You go out to lunch and on study dates with your mutual friends, neglecting to explain why you always need to know who else is coming before you agree to going out.

You attend a couple parties and events on campus, wondering each time whether you’ll run into Leehan and not sure if the rigid feeling over your chest is because of hopefulness or fear at the idea of possibly seeing him.

And as you pack up your things to get ready to move out for the winter, it feels like you should be over this by now. You spent three months together. Tumultuous, but still only three – it doesn’t seem to make sense why you still feel so hurt.

But you’re now learning that situationships are the hardest to comprehend in their aftermath because it’s hard to know what exactly it is that you’re feeling wistful towards. Leehan isn’t your ex, but he’s also not a friend whom you simply grew apart from.

He’s another third thing that you can’t quite capture, making it difficult for you to reminisce on your exciting yet tainted memories with one another.

It’s with these thoughts running through your mind that you finish packing your last few items of furniture, readying them to be stowed away in the back of a U-Haul you rented for the day.

And with your dorm now basically empty, your roommate having moved out a few days before, you can’t help but to view it nostalgically from the vantage point of your doorway, memories of this semester’s escapades coming back to you all at once.

The dresser that you let Leehan stash his condoms in.

Your cheap bed whose loose, metal springs always robbed you of any chance at secrecy in your interactions.

Moving towards your kitchenette, you stare silently at the flowers he gifted you that one day, still alive despite several weeks of neglect. The little cardboard fish he stuck between the petals makes it appear almost like they’re swimming among colorful, sagging coral reefs.

Your eyes flit over to your couch, where you didn’t know at the time would be the last place he fucked you before he’d never talk to you again.

Going over these memories in your mind, it makes sense then why when you hear a knock resounding on your door, the first thing you think of is Leehan.

But surely, you’re just caught up in the emotions caused by the sudden moment of reflection; it has to be an RA, or a neighbor about to ask if they can borrow a broom and dustpan.

When you go to open your door, you don’t consider for a second that on the other end could be the one person you’re not prepared to see right now.

So when it swings open and you’re greeted by a straight-faced, wide-eyed Leehan, whose body is relaxed against the side of your door, it feels like all of the air is knocked out of your body.

“Hi,” he says plainly, straightening his posture when he sees you staring at him staggeringly. To say that you feel conflicted as you take in his handsome, tall form would be beyond an understatement. It doesn’t feel like it’s been that long since you’ve seen each other, and it’s almost like he could tell you right now that he’s here because he wants to fuck you and it would feel normal, like nothing has changed between the two of you.

But even in just making that mental observation, you feel angry and resentful that such a dynamic was normalized among the two of you for so long that you convinced yourself it was okay to be treated that way.

And as you stew in those feelings of renewed bitterness and frustration, you find yourself suddenly and strongly opposed to him being here, asking bluntly, “What is this? Why are you here?”

“I’m here to apologize,” he answers with an imploring look, and habitually you study his expressions in the hopes of discerning whether he’s being sincere or not.

But it’s with a feeling of resignation that you realize how done you are with trying to constantly read his mind and understand what motivates his decisions.

Because the same way there’s a chance that he really did show up here with good intentions, there’s just as equal a chance that he wants you to trust him again so that he can get his dick wet.

And so, in a move that brings you an immature level of satisfaction, you close the door on his face without another word.

You hear him exclaiming loudly “Y/N, wait!” on the other side of the door but you’ve already made up your mind, deciding that whatever he has to say isn’t worthy of your time or attention.

You’re done with his manipulative behavior, with his aloofness and undeserved self-assuredness, but most of all you’re tired of being made to feel like shit. And that’s all he ever did in those few months that you were sleeping together.

As you retreat to your bedroom, you go to return to packing your things, but the adrenaline from the passing moment makes your hand shake and your body pulse energetically. You need a second to pause and breathe and process what’s just happened, to walk around and pace away all of this unresolved energy.

But then you turn around to go back out into your living room, and that’s when you see Leehan standing right outside the arch of your bedroom doorway.

“Jesus fucking christ, Leehan!” you exclaim in a mixture of both surprise, frustration, and confusion as you wonder whether he broke in or if you—

“You left the door unlocked,” he replies calmly, and even though he knows he has a lot to make up for, he still can’t help the smirk that comes to his face as he jokes, “Kinda 101 not to do that if you don’t want someone coming in. That’s like me leaving the filter of my fish tank —”

“Get out, Leehan. Get out! I have nothing left I want to say to you!” you shout, impatient and uncaring to his jokes and his dimples and everything else about him that used to charm you. It’s all meaningless to you now, and you don’t care if you look crazy or unhinged when you go to physically push him out of your dorm.

But even with the nonchalant, noncommittal way he holds onto your wrist to restrain you, you still only manage to move him a few steps, much to your dismay and rage.

And so, in a heat-of-the-moment, emotionally driven decision, you move to close your bedroom door on his face. While successful in keeping him out of your bedroom, you don’t even realize until seconds later that he’s still free to roam in your hallway, kitchenette, and living room, while you’ve essentially just locked yourself in.

Predictably, you can hear Leehan chuckling outside of your door as he makes this same realization.

“You know, if it was your goal to get me to leave, then I’m not sure locking yourself in your room really…” he begins to say, not able to keep the amusement out of his voice at the foolish mistake on your part. But, remembering the reason why he came here in the first place, he tones it down to say soberly, “Nevermind. It doesn't matter.”

You walk over to the side of your bedroom that’s opposite from the doorway, sitting down on the floor, determined to tune out whatever it is that Leehan is about to say. Maybe if you stay silent and let him tire himself out, he’ll eventually leave knowing that there’s nothing he can say to make up for how he’s made you feel.

“I”m not super good at explaining myself, or talking at all, honestly. I go on tangents and my mind is just…a giant fucking minefield. So I wrote down what I wanted to tell you.”

Leehan’s voice is distorted but nonetheless able to be heard clearly through the thin wood that makes up your door, so much so that you can clearly hear the crumpling noises of a paper being unraveled as he starts to read.

“If you’re listening to me read this, it’s because I somehow managed to convince you to hear me out. Either that, or I broke into your dorm, which feels like the more likely option,” he says with almost no emotion behind the words, and against your own discipline, you can feel your lips twitching into a smirk automatically in reaction to his strange, off putting way of speaking.

“I know my insistence can come off as crass given how shitty of a person I’ve been to you. But I knew that today was move-out day, and I needed you to hear me out before you left.”

You hear him take a deep breath before continuing with the next part of his speech. “As you know, I’m a pretty fearless person. But when it comes to admitting my feelings for you, I’ve had a much harder time. Truthfully, since I met you, it’s been because of my own immaturity that I’ve seen other girls romantically. Even though I always knew my feelings for you were different, I pushed them away in the hopes of avoiding having to commit to anyone. When you told me how you really felt for me, truthfully, it scared me. I didn’t want to know what my life would look like if I decided to be with just one person.

“I thought that by rejecting you, by being away from you for this long, that my feelings for you would go away,” he remarks with the same sort of unfeeling, neutral tone to his voice, as if he knows the explanation behind his actions is unimportant given how they’ve impacted you. “I wanted to view you as just another name on a long list.”

But it’s with his next words that passion and sincerity and longing bleed into his voice all at once to say, “But it’s taken me this time of being away from you to realize that…I’m still not over you.”

After minutes of hanging onto his every word despite every inclination that has been telling you to do otherwise, it’s those last five words that hit you like a freight train.

And you know it’s foolish and dumb to be believing anything that comes out of his mouth anymore, but you suppose it’s no different from all of the other times you continued to let him in even when he showed you so many times why you shouldn’t.

Your reasoning remains the same – you just feel an irrational pull to him that is all-consuming, your heart connected to his in a way you can’t control.

And it doesn’t help that everything he says next is all of the affirmation you’ve been wanting and needing him to give you throughout your entire time of sleeping together. “You deserve someone that’s going to treat you with respect. Someone that makes you feel loved and beautiful and desired. Someone with the courage to be vulnerable and who will care for you in your most vulnerable moments. And I’m sorry if you felt like you didn’t have that with me,” he remarks, and you don’t even realize you’ve been holding your breath throughout his spiel until your chest literally contracts from the lack of air to your lungs.

“But if you can find some way to forgive me, then I want to make us work,” he asserts pleadingly. And with the finality that it feels like follows that statement, you get the feeling that what he says next is no longer being read off the paper.

Especially when you can hear what you think is the top of his head, leaned against the door with a small thunk as he quietly laments, “I want you, Y/N. Not just sexually, but for everything that makes you who you are. It’s always been you. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it.”

It’s quiet after that, so much so that you can hear his small and broken breaths being let out against the wall. You hear what you think is the sound of his hand being brought up to rest next to his head. And as the feeling of being pulled in so many directions takes over you, your heart in a heated battle with your brain, it’s after a few moments of silence that you stand up and walk over towards the door.

Leehan, observing the shadows of your footsteps through the little gap at the bottom of the door, perks up when it’s just a thin barrier of wood that keeps you from being face-to-face with one another.

You prepare yourself to be annoyed when you open the door in expectation that he will be his usual unreadable, unserious self.

But it’s in surprise but also a little relief that what you find when you face him is the expression of a man who’s truly understood the gravity of his mistakes and feels shameful over them.

“You look really pretty,” he blurts out, the suddenness of the remark almost betraying your slowly but surely growing feelings of understanding towards him. But you also can’t help that his random candor makes you laugh, reminded of some of your earlier interactions as he sheepishly says, “Sorry, bad timing.”

Still standing a fair distance away from him, the tip of your toes just barely meeting the tip of his as you look down at them to avoid eye contact, you attempt to ease the tension of the moment with a shy but truthful, “Thank you, Leehan. For the compliment and for the apology.”

You can feel the heat of his gaze as he tilts his head to stare at you, his attention feeling hopeful but not in a way that makes you feel pressured, but in a way that has you compelled to be completely vulnerable and honest with him.

“I’m just…really scared that you’ll hurt me,” you confess somberly, and it still feels strange to even say things like this to him because you’ve spent so much time suppressing your negative emotions when it comes to Leehan. Scared that you’d lose his approval and feeling like you needed such approval to feel good about yourself.

But over time as your relationship progressed and you found yourself little by little regaining the sense of self that your interactions with Leehan robbed you of, you were able to realize that you didn’t deserve to be treated like an afterthought, like an object only useful if it was giving satisfaction to someone else.

And it was in resentment that over these two months of not speaking you felt like Leehan believed that, too.

But now after hearing him explain himself and believing genuinely that he wants to be with you, you now battle with the parts of you that are scared to believe him in fear of getting hurt and the parts of you that so badly also want to be in a relationship with him.

“I’m not scared,” he tells you, the confidence you’ve come to know him for coming out more strongly than ever before. “I’ve got you, remember?”

He then goes to place his two middle fingers underneath your chin, pushing your jaw upward so that you’re forced into eye contact. Staring into his endless and piercing eyes, it’s for the first time that you feel like you understand him in a non-sexual context. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?” you mumble quietly in reply.

And it’s as you feel your lips twitching into a content smile that Leehan leans in to kiss you, and you accept the gesture without question.

five months later

“I wanna go half on a baby with you.”

These are the words that Leehan remarks to your sleeping form as you lay comfortably beside him in bed, sleeping but getting roused into attention by the faint sound of his voice.

“A fish baby, of course,” he clarifies, though you don’t even register what he’s saying as you remain half-asleep. “I think the ones in my tank are getting lonely.”

It’s hard to tell sometimes whether Leehan is musing out loud to himself or talking directly to you, but either way, the deep tone of his voice wakes you up just the same.

You lay on your stomach, opening one eye to find him sitting up on his elbow and staring down at you with a curious expression on his face. His hand, resting on your back, draws unintelligible figures on the skin that’s left uncovered by your night shirt.

All in all, it's a pretty domestic, intimate scene, had you not glanced over at your phone to find how early it was.

“Leehan, it’s seven a.m,” you complain to your boyfriend who still just stares dreamily at your sleepy figure. “What are you yapping about?”

Too familiar with your morning grumpiness to be phased by it, it’s with an unmoved expression that Leehan casually replies, “Just about how much I want a baby with you.”

When you hear those words come out of Leehan’s mouth, you’re sure you must still be asleep and that this is just an incredibly vivid dream. Either that, or you’re dating the strangest person in the world.

Given that both realities are entirely plausible, it’s in your tiredness and confusion that you sit up from the bed completely, staring at a relaxed Leehan with raised eyebrows. “Don’t you think we’re a little young for that? I mean eventually, sure, but while we’re in school—”

“I was talking about fish,” he interrupts you to say, chuckling at your confused expression and giggling again when you pout at being laughed at. “But since you’re so eager, why don’t I put a baby in you right now?”

Your own laughter in reaction to his words is suppressed when he presses a large hand on your stomach, pushing you back down on the bed. He leans in to kiss you, but per usual, you refuse to make things easy for him.

Reaching behind your head, you grab a pillow and smack him in the face with it, creating a barrier between your bodies. “You’re such a weirdo,” you playfully quip, a designation he only takes in stride as he goes to throw the pillow somewhere on the floor.

“I’m your weirdo though,” he emphasizes, and it’s as you’re both smiling in satisfaction that he leans in to press his lips against yours.

And as his cold hands roam your warm body, you’re hit with a sudden wave of happiness as you acknowledge how far gone the days of having to wish for him to stay even fir minutes after you’ve had sex truly are.

Because in the past five months since you’ve gotten together exclusively, not only is it routine for him to stay behind, but you also get to wake up together and experience these sleepy, romantic moments.

The moments when he slowly kisses down your body, dragging his plush lips down your sternum until he’s positioned between your legs.

The moments when you pull softly at his hair as he languidly drags his tongue up and down your folds, begging you in his gruff, sleep-affected voice to come all over his face.

The moments when you could be sponning sideways, on top of him, or below him and he’ll still find a way to spread your legs apart, pressing his long, veiny cock inside of you until you’re overwhelmed by how full you are.

The moments where his tiredness renders him impatient and he fucks into you so roughly that you can barely form words.

The moments when he kisses you lazily through every thrust until the sex becomes so good that all you can manage is the occasional swipe of your tongue against his lips or a whimper into his mouth.

The moments when you reach your climax together and he rocks his come in and out of you like he never intends on pulling out.

The moment when you moan out his name, understanding why when you first met he insisted that to know it was a privilege. That to know him is a privilege.

And finally, your favorite, the moments when you either fall back asleep in each other’s hold or get up to shower the sleepiness and sweat off of each other.

Today is one of those days that you relent to getting up and showering, convinced only by the fact that neither of you has a morning class, making it a perfect day to visit the pet shop conveniently located just a few miles from your college town.

“What about this one?”

You turn to face Leehan in the fish tank lined aisle of the pet store, lips curling into a smile as you observe him pressing his face up to the glass in awe. As you come up to his side to view the brown-colored fish that have him so captivated, it’s in a surge of honesty that you reply, “Don’t you think they’re kind of…ugly?”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes as you watch your boyfriend gasps dramatically in reaction to your words, even brushing his hand against the fish tank in a gesture akin to patting someone's head. “They can hear you, you know. I’m so sorry, fishies.”

Ignoring his childishness, you look around at the surrounding fish and sigh as you’re overwhelmed by all the different options. “Honestly, Leehan, you should just pick one. They all look the same to me.”

“But it should be something we both like,” he answers with a pout, circling the aisles a few more times before finally stopping at a tank in the very corner.

Inside of it are an array of multi-colored fish, but the one that stands out to you is an entirely white one with a patch of vibrant red at the top of its head.

It would be indistinguishable from a goldfish had it not been for its striking color and the appendage that looks almost like an inside-out brain on its head.

A label beside the tank reads Oranda.

“What about this one?” asks Leehan in curiosity, and in an almost alarming way, he points out the exact same fish you were just eyeing.

You come around to the other side of the tank to view it from another angle, giggling innocently when you make eye-contact with Leehan through the distorted lens of the water. “It’s pretty,” you remark simply, and because Leehan has come to know you so well, he knows that the simple attribution is a sign of high praise from you.

“Should we make it ours?” he asks you officially, and though you’re certain that this is the fish you’ve been looking for, there’s one question popping up in your brain that you still can’t find the answer to.

“What should we name it?”

You both take a beat to ponder on the question. Leehan chimes in first, blurting out, “I know. Loony.”

At this, you scoff, unsure as to where he would have gotten such an idea from. “Are you trying to say that our child is crazy?” you quip in feigned offense.

“No. It’s short for lunar eclipse. That’s when I knew we were gonna be more than just a one night stand,” he tells you sincerely, and with that context you find yourself becoming quickly attached to both the name and the fish who you take home in a plastic bag only moments later.

You allow Leehan to take the lead in homing Loony, a process that involves lots of complicated jargon about adjusting the water temperature and changing the salinity that you mostly pretend to understand as he explains it to you.

And when you are finally able to sit side by side in front of the tank and watch through the glass as Loony swims among the other fish, it’s with an adoring tone of voice that you hear Leehan say, “It’s pretty, awesome, right?”

At the sound of his voice, you turn to face him, and without being entirely conscious of it, you simply take in his features and how content he looks to be here, with you and with these fishes.

“Yeah,” you reply, laying down and resting your head on his shoulder. “It’s awesome.”

taglist: @lailols @papichulomacy @0310s @softiwoon @gardenforwon @cherrytaesan @mryuyux @saintriots @lonelylandofan @cyber-tiny @keyywrld @isabellah29 @amerecerasus @cadidupped @suhovhs @lionhanie @taesanmoon @revelettre @s9nwoo @brachioswrld @moneygal0re @karatttttt

thank you all sm for your support on this fic <3 your reactions, feedback, and compliments have meant the world

#leehan #boynextdoor #leehan smut #boynextdoor smut #leehan x reader #leehan fluff #leehan angst #boynextdoor fics #hornychristianprincess #donghyun boynextdoor #boy next door smut #donghyun smut #donghyun boy next door smut #kpop smut #kpop angst #kpop fluff

634 notes · View notes

steddieas-shegoes · 1 year ago

Text

i wanna make your heartbeat run like roller coasters

for @subeddieweek day one with the prompts manhandling and accidental subspace

rated e | 3,520 words | please check ao3 for tags

⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕

Eddie gets pushed against a lot of lockers.

It’s rarely accidental.

It’s always painful.

He doesn’t exactly have a lot of meat on his bones. Every hit leaves a bruise.

So when Steve fucking Harrington does his own dirty work for once, even though he graduated the way Eddie was supposed to, it’s just a bit embarrassing that it doesn’t hurt. It feels…kinda like he should be on his knees.

Which is really not something he wanted to think about when Steve’s got a hand on his shoulder, gripping hard enough to bruise, and something like fear in his eyes. Why is he scared?

“Did you sell weed to Robin?” he asked, teeth clenched.

Jesus fucking Christ. Steve’s got himself a band nerd girlfriend. How the hell did that happen?

“No, I sold to her friend. She waited by the treeline talking to herself the entire time.”

Eddie could hear his own voice shaking, but he wouldn’t back down. Black eyes were kinda metal weren’t they?

“Which friend?”

“Dude, I don’t even know. Someone else in band.”

The hand on his shoulder tightened and he barely bit back a whimper.

Steve’s eyes were very pretty this close. They were pretty from far away, too. Honestly, having Steve this close was probably rewiring something already broken in his brain. Having Steve’s hand on him like this was making his brain do somersaults trying to stay focused.

And then his hand was gone.

Eddie breathed in, breathed out.

“Sorry. I-” Steve shook his hands out and backed away. “Sorry.”

Eddie ignored whatever the fuck was happening in his stomach. It shouldn’t be happening so it isn’t, simple as that.

“Maybe you should ask your girlfriend if you’re so worried about her buying drugs.” Eddie should learn to shut his mouth at some point. “I only sell to the people who come to me first.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I remember.” Steve wiped his hand down his face. “Sorry again.”

Eddie looked him up and down, taking in the fact that he was genuinely apologizing. No one ever apologized for knocking him around, not even when it was on accident.

“You good?” He eventually asked.

“Yeah. Just, she’s been through a lot. I didn’t really want her to get pressured into buying something,” Steve sighed. “Has she come out of the band room yet? I’m supposed to bring her to work.”

“Uh, yeah man, everyone left an hour ago.”

Eddie watched Steve’s face fall as he checked his watch and must’ve realized the time.

“Shit. Okay. I must’ve lost track of time.”

Steve looked pitiful. Eddie’s seen dogs in alleys who looked less beaten down and neglected than Steve currently did.

“I can help you find her?” Eddie offered for some unknown reason.

Well, he knew the reason, but he was choosing to ignore it.

“She’s probably already at work. It’s my day off so I ended up getting distracted with something and didn’t realize it was so late,” Steve admitted, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. “Thanks, though.”

Wayne liked to tell Eddie he was too nice to undeserving people. Lord knows he gave his dad too many chances and got let down every time. He even tried to be friends with Tommy Hagan in middle school because he could sense something was going on with Tommy’s dad much like his own.

But Eddie liked to remind Wayne that Eddie is often considered undeserving and he took him in and gave him multiple chances regardless.

“You wanna smoke?” Eddie asked, despite knowing he barely has anything left after the long week of midterms for students. His busiest times of year were right before school breaks, midterms, finals, and graduation weekend. He usually stocked up, but with Rick being in prison again, he had to try to stretch what he had out.

“Uh…smoke what?”

“Weed.” Then it hit Eddie that maybe Steve was into harder stuff. But he hadn’t ever even bought from him in high school. Tommy had, Carol had, almost everyone at his parties had, but Steve never did. “I have regular old cigs too if you prefer.”

“Yeah, man, cool,” Steve sighed with relief.

“I got a spot behind the cafeteria if you wanna…”

“Sure, yep, let’s go,” Steve nodded, gesturing towards the double doors that led outside to the cafeteria and auditorium buildings.

As they walked, Eddie’s mind raced with thoughts of being alone with Steve, Steve’s arm brushing against his, Steve pushing him against the wall of the cafeteria, of Eddie dropping to his knees and unbuttoning Steve’s pants and-

“I’m really sorry about what happened back there.”

Steve’s voice shook him from his thoughts, but his dick didn’t quite get the memo. When did he even start getting hard?

“No worries, dude.” His face scrunched in disgust at calling Steve dude. What was next, the bro pat on the back? A fist bump? “Kinda jealous of how protective you are of your girlfriend.”

Okay, actually, what the fuck? Eddie needed to shut his fucking face, right the fuck now.

“She’s not my girlfriend, but uh, I don’t think you’re really her type either,” Steve gave him a look, one Eddie knew well and one he couldn’t quite believe he was seeing on Steve’s face right now.

“Right, right.” Eddie wouldn’t make him say it, especially if it was actually the look he thought it was, but maybe he could offer a little something in return. “Yeah, she’s not really my type either.”

Steve stopped just before they reached the hidden area behind the dumpster and picnic table for staff to smoke.

“Really?” Steve’s eyes were wide. “So you’re more into…someone like…me?”

Eddie was actually leaking into his goddamn boxers. Why was he getting turned on just talking to Steve?

“That would be one way of saying it,” Eddie said. Still easy enough to back out of it, at least. Could just say he likes women who wear polos and use more hairspray than Melvald’s has ever carried at any given time.

“Huh,” Steve continued walking to the picnic table, sitting on top of it and kicking some dirt off the bench by his legs for Eddie to sit. “So those rumors were true?”

“That depends on if I’m gonna make it back home to my very loving uncle if I say yes.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Obviously, I’m not gonna judge you about it when my best friend is-” He cut himself off and Eddie had to give him major credit. The Steve he used to know never would’ve cared if he outed someone, or at least never would have realized that was wrong. He coughed and then looked down at the bench. “You gonna sit?”

Eddie sat down on the bench, extremely close to Steve’s legs. Almost touching. Was that heat coming from his body or was Eddie just extremely warm?

“Did you actually wanna smoke or did you just wanna get out of the hall?” Steve asked after another minute of awkward silence.

“We can smoke.” Eddie reached into his pocket, hating how tight his jeans were in the front, and grabbed his lighter. His pack of cigarettes were usually stored in his van because he rarely smoked them, but luckily he’d brought them with him all week to sneak smokes between classes. He pulled one out and handed it to Steve.

He started to light his own when Steve leaned down, his face right next to Eddie’s, breath hot on his neck.

“You aren’t gonna light it for me?”

Eddie whimpered.

He would deny it a million times over if anyone asked. He almost had himself believing he imagined it.

But Steve laughed and backed away, pulling out his own lighter and giving Eddie a second to catch his breath.

What the fuck was that? Did Steve know he was making Eddie’s brain flatline?

He watched Steve take a long drag out of the corner of his eye, his mind shuffling between ‘what if he fucked me right here?’ and ‘get the hell away before your dick pops a hole in your jeans.’

Steve’s lips were so pink, and looked so soft, and just wet enough from licking his lips before taking the next drag, and Eddie was really going through it right now.

He’d gone through his Steve Harrington phase just like everyone else, thought it was over when he graduated. Had avoided the mall all summer when he heard he was working at Scoops so he didn’t have to see him in those tiny blue shorts. Had even gone so far as to avoid being around when the kids were being picked up from Hellfire because Dustin mentioned Steve was his ride.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Except for Eddie’s imagination was impressive, and his late night thoughts turned into very vivid scenes of Steve working him to the edge and making him beg, or pushing him against a locker and making him take his cock with barely any prep, or-

“Dude, anyone ever tell you you’re kinda space-y?” Steve’s voice once again lifted him from his thoughts, though he felt a bit hazy.

“Think I’m comin’ down with something,” Eddie squeaked out. All he was coming down with was a sickness deep in his chest: Harrington Heart-itis.

“Did you hit your head?” Steve sounded concerned now, setting his cigarette in the ashtray left on the table and moving so he had one leg on either side of Eddie. His fingers landed in Eddie’s hair, pulling his head closer and inspecting it for injury. “I didn’t think anything but your shoulders hit, but maybe-”

“No,” Eddie gulped. He should pull away. “Didn’t hit my head.”

Steve’s fingers tightened, not quite painfully, but enough of a bite to it that Eddie whimpered. Again.

Steve’s grip loosened, but his fingers stayed buried in his curls, and Eddie felt pressure guiding him to rest against Steve’s thigh.

“You eat today?” Steve asked, though his voice sounded kinda far away, like he was above the surface of the water and Eddie was sitting at the bottom of a pool looking up at the sun. “Eddie?”

“Hm?” Eddie blinked up at Steve. “I ate.”

“When?” Steve’s hand was cupping his cheek. “Lunch?”

“Mmm, no,” Eddie shook his head, blinked. “Breakfast? Cereal.”

Steve cursed under his breath.

He was so pretty. Had he been told how pretty he was? Surely when Nancy was with him, she told him.

Even if Robin liked women, she had to at least notice how pretty he was, right?

Steve’s sharp intake of breath somewhat centered Eddie.

“I’m gonna drive you home, okay?” Steve whispered, leaning down so his face was only inches away.

Eddie could kiss him. It would be the easiest thing in the world to lift his head the final two inches to make their lips meet.

“Eddie, eyes open,” Steve’s fingers tightened again, gaining Eddie’s full attention. “Should I call someone? Are you dynamic or something?”

Eddie’s brows furrowed. What did that even mean?

“Like the sugar thing?” Steve continued.

“Diabetic?” Eddie still felt a little hazy, but he was starting to come back to it with Steve’s hand migrating from his hair to his shoulder. “No, my sugar’s fine.”

“I’ve got some soda in my car. I can drive you home and then bring you to school in the morning. You probably shouldn’t drive like…this.”

It all came crashing down when Eddie realized how vulnerable he’d just been, how he’d actually lost track of time, not sure exactly how long he’d been sitting between Steve’s legs with his hands in his hair before he started coming back to earth. He stood up, maybe a bit too quickly, rocking a bit before finding his balance.

“Woah, take it easy.” Steve held his hands out, grasped his biceps to hold him steady. “You were pretty far out of it. Don’t rush it.”

How fucking embarrassing.

Eddie had only gone down that far one time with someone and they got freaked out when he was giggling and couldn’t walk on his own because his legs felt like jelly. But that had been on purpose. This was- Steve didn’t– Jesus Christ.

“I’m fine now.” Eddie was not fine. He knew what would happen if he left right now. Aftercare was a major part of this whether Steve was prepared for it or not. “Just, um, walk me to my van.”

Steve looked like a kicked puppy, but Eddie didn’t have the time to explain all of this to him.

Steve Harrington didn’t know how much of a freak Eddie was even if he did know he was gay. There’s no way Steve participated in any type of BDSM with the many girls he slept with in high school.

There was absolutely no fuckin’ way Nancy Wheeler let herself get tied to a bed and get fucked by Steve.

He shook his head at the thought.

“I’d feel a lot better if you let me drive you. I promise we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Steve sighed. “I just don’t know if you should drive when you went down so hard.”

“You have no idea what even happened,” Eddie argued, pacing back and forth. “I can drive. I just need to walk it off.”

“You don’t walk off subspace.”

Eddie froze. Steve was standing right in front of him now, concern in his big, stupid, adorable eyes.

“How do you even know about subspace?” Eddie whispered.

“I slept with half the high school and two guys in Indy. I know what subspace is, Eds.”

Eddie must still be in space. Or maybe another galaxy.

“Sorry, did you just say you slept with two guys in Indy?” Has Steve seriously fucked more guys than Eddie has? Eddie, the resident gay man of Hawkins, has only been with one man in his entire life and Steve has apparently slept with two?

“Well, I wasn’t gonna sleep with two men in Hawkins!” Steve threw his hands up before putting them on his hips. “I hit up a gay bar and didn’t realize it doubled as a BDSM club until I was already in it and then a nice guy showed me the ropes. Literally. There were ropes involved.”

Eddie snorted. Steve was pretty and funny. Great. Just what he needed.

“I have a quick recovery, so I’ll be fine to drive home,” Eddie tried, though even he could hear his voice still shaking.

“No one is that quick,” Steve wrapped an arm around his shoulders, tugging him into a hug. “Has that ever happened before?”

“Not like that.”

“We should probably talk about it.”

The last thing Eddie wanted to do was talk about how someone playing with his hair and moving his head around while showing the bare minimum of care was enough to send him into subspace, but he had a feeling Steve wasn’t gonna give up easily.

“Fine. What should we talk about? How no one ever touches me gently so the moment someone did, I slipped? How I’ve been avoiding seeing you anywhere in public because I knew it would make my crush come back full force? Oh, I know!” Eddie laughed hysterically as he pulled away. “Let’s talk about how I still think about you in your stupid basketball shorts when I’m fucking myself on four fingers, which is never enough because I can never reach the spot I need to. Or how I once cut out your yearbook photo to keep for jerking off material because my mags weren’t enough. Could even talk about how earlier I wanted you to put your leg between mine so I could rub off on you. Or maybe the weather if you’d prefer that.”

Eddie was panting, could feel the heat on his face rising as he realized everything he’d just said, admitted, to Steve.

He’d never said any of that out loud. Shit, he’d barely said most of it in his own head.

Steve’s arms were pulling him in and Eddie let himself have it, let himself feel small for just a moment. If Steve wasn’t completely disgusted by what he said, then he would at least accept this offering of kindness for now.

They stayed like that for a while, long enough that Eddie started to wonder if he could just live here, right in Steve’s arms.

“It’s looking a little cloudy,” Steve said quietly, hands still rubbing Eddie’s back slowly.

“What?” Eddie still felt a little out of it, but that was entirely out of left field.

“You said we could talk about the weather.”

Eddie snorted. “Oh my God, you’re so-” Eddie looked up at Steve, who was smiling down at him. He felt off-kilter, being the object of that particular Steve look. “Stupid.”

It was fond, probably too fond for someone who needed to protect himself from whatever the hell was happening. He needed to shut this down.

“It’s been mentioned,” Steve’s eyes flickered down to Eddie’s lips, then back up to his eyes. “You good to head out?”

Eddie started to nod, but stopped.

This was his only chance. He wasn’t dumb enough to think he’d ever be alone with Steve again. If he was gonna kick start a spiral over feelings, he might as well go all out.

He stood at his full height, almost eye level with Steve, and leaned in.

The kiss was not even close to perfect. In fact, as far as kisses go, it was probably in the bottom three for Steve. Eddie chose not to think about how he screwed it all up.

But once the initial shock wore off, and Eddie put his teeth away, Steve’s hand cupped Eddie’s cheek and he licked past his lips.

Leave it to Steve to turn this around, make it something worth the risk.

Their lips moved in sync, both of them deepening the kiss without making it too wet, too filthy for a public space.

It was, dare he say, romantic.

Most kisses Eddie had managed to have were dirty and rough, hidden away in dark bars and alleyways, not exactly prime teen romance.

Of course Steve was good at this, of course he made Eddie melt against him, and of course Eddie was going to start writing hearts around Steve’s name in his notebook as if they were high school sweethearts.

When they pulled apart, it took him a minute to open his eyes. How stereotypical.

Steve was already looking at him, softer than he probably deserved.

“You’re pretty good at that,” Eddie breathed out.

“It’s been mentioned.” Steve’s lips turned up in a smirk before he pulled away completely. “Let’s go.”

They walked back through the school, stopping at Eddie’s locker to grab one of his textbooks as if he actually would use it. By now, he didn’t really need the textbooks to get his work done. And he was actually committed to getting it done this time around.

They were quiet as they continued out to the parking lot, only a few cars belonging to teachers left, maybe a few students stuck here for football or basketball practice. Steve’s car was towards the back, but Eddie’s was almost all the way in the grass field by the main road. It was less risky leaving it further away, less likely that anyone would slash the tires or key the side.

“You’re sure you can drive?” Steve asked as they stood outside his car.

“Yeah. Only five minutes to the trailer. It’ll be fine.” Eddie shrugged like it was nothing, but he was actually a little worried the kiss set him too off balance to focus on the road. Fuck the subspace, Steve’s lips were like discovering a new galaxy.

“Can I call you later? To check on you?” Steve seemed hesitant to ask.

“Uh, yeah? Do you…have my number?”

Steve shook his head, opening the door to his car and reaching into the glovebox to find a pen and an old receipt. As Eddie wrote down the number to the trailer, he thought about how much worse this would be tomorrow, how shitty it would be to have had this absolutely out of this world experience with the one person he never thought he could and then be left with scraps for the rest of his life.

“You uh, you don’t have to call, man. Don’t feel pressured. My uncle will be home so it’s not like I’ll be alone.”

Steve took the paper and pen back, folding the paper and putting it in his pocket and throwing the pen back into the car.

“I’m gonna call.” Steve moved a piece of Eddie’s hair from in front of his face. “You got a phone in your room?”

“No, but the one we have reaches to the bathroom?” Why the hell did he need one in his room?

“Good. Need you to be alone.”

“Steve, what the hell does that mean?”

“How else am I supposed to tell you what I wanna do to you?”

Well, fuck.

Day two: ao3 | tumblr

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #subeddieweek #sub eddie munson #dom steve harrington

610 notes · View notes

goldfades · 1 year ago

Note

manager literally having to handle every single thing and js bein emotionally exhausted, one day she’s just completely overstimulated from everything and walks out to let herself cry

i love angst sorry🤘

𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ─ UCONN WBB MANAGER

౨ৎ ─ summary | after a shitty week, manager breaks down over a stupid test score and her teammate helps her through it.

─ word count | 919

─ warnings | NIKA AND MANAGER BONDING TIME YIPEE! angsty af, hurt to comfort, manager putting too much pressure on herself, midterms (BLEHHH), pretty sure nothin else?

─ taglist | @xocherishxo @iienstein @yazmunson @euphternal @uraesthete @hello-nah817 @wanderlusturous and here's a link to my taglist if anyone would like to join!!

YOUR ENTIRE WEEK had been shit, to put it simply.

Scratch that, your entire month had been pretty shitty. Your midterms had gone terrible, your headaches have been becoming way more painful and more frequent and on top of all of that, you bled through your pants. Twice.

With play-off season arriving in about couple weeks, practices had been running later and later. You spent the entire practice usually on the phone, trying to figure out routes to away games, trying to coordinate transportation for the team, and dealing with the last-minute changes and complications that seemed to plague every plan you made.

As the playoff season even nearer, the pressure mounted to new heights. Every decision felt like it carried the weight of the world, and the fear of letting down your team gnawed at your insides.

Geno had told you that you could leave early if you absolutely needed to, but you hated feeling useless. You wanted to be able to do your job without letting your own personal issues get in the way but right now, it felt like you were way in over your head. Despite Geno's offer to leave early, the guilt gnawed at you, whispering that you were failing in your duties as a manager.

As today's practice wore on, your headache intensified, pulsing behind your eyes with an intensity that threatened to consume you. You clenched your jaw against the pain, willing yourself to push through, but with each passing moment, it felt like the weight on your shoulders grew heavier.

Your phone buzzed against your thigh and you picked it up, reading the notification. Your heart had dropped to your stomach as you read the email ─ you had failed your Geo midterm.

You threw your phone against the hardwood floors, feeling your eyesight become blurry. That was cherry on top, that was the final straw. Tears stung at the corners of your eyes as you struggled to regain control of your emotions. You got up from the bench, picking up your phone as you sniffled.

"Whoa, Y/N? Are you good?" You turned to meet Nika's eyes as yours widened in shock. You immediately wiped your tears as you averted your gaze.

Nika was thankfully the only person on the court right now, everyone else was in the locker-room getting ready for practice. Nika finished up early, like she usually did.

You sniffled again. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You're not, tell me what's bothering you. Who was it? Was it Paige or Geno, because I swear-"

"No, no." You sighed loudly as Nika's expression softened. "Just allergies. I need to go get something from my dorm, I won't be long."

Nika scoffed as she watched you walk away, her eyes narrowing with concern despite your attempt to brush off the situation.

"Allergies, my ass," she muttered under her breath, though she knew better than to push you further when you were clearly not ready to talk.

You went to your dorm and cried your eyes out, that was the only thing you felt like you could do. You almost debated whether or not you should go back to practice until you remembered that you left all your stuff there.

As you got up to the door, you heard a knock on your door. Your furrowed your eyebrows in confusion as you opened the door, revealing Nika. She held your bag in one hand and hers in the other, a warm smile on her lips.

You opened the door wider so that she could come in. Without a word, she set down both her bag and yours as you closed the door behind her.

"Practice ended early so you didn't miss anything," Nika spoke as she gave you a smile. She sat down on your bed as she gestured for you to come and sit.

"Thanks for bringing my bag," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggled to find the right words to express the depth of your gratitude.

Nika waved off your thanks with a casual shrug, her gaze reassuring. "No problem. I figured you could use a break from everything."

Then, with a small sigh, Nika reached out and took your hand in hers, her touch a comforting. "One test doesn't define your entire career, Y/N. I promise you, it will not matter after you graduate. It probably won't even matter in a month, or maybe even a week."

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, Nika had completely read you like a damn book. "How did you know?"

Nika just scoffed, "You think we don't listen when you ramble on about your tests and shit? We do, and trust me we know you better than you think."

A soft chuckle escaped your lips at her blunt honesty, the tension that had coiled tight in your chest slowly starting to unravel. It was true ─ Nika and the rest of the team had always been there to listen, even when you thought no one was paying attention.

"Look, Y/N." Nika kept her gaze on you, her expression serious. "We love you and we need you, but don't ever put us over your mental health. We need you all in one piece if you're gonna take care of us, right?"

"So, for us. Take the weekend off and come back on Monday, alright?" Before you could protest, Nika sent you a stern look and you sighed loudly. Nika's expression dissipated into a warmer one as she smiled, "That's our girl."

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#uconn wbb manager ★#uconn #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #uconn women’s basketball #nika muhl x reader #nika muhl #ncaaw #ncaa wbb #ncaa women’s basketball #nika muhl imagine #nika mühl

519 notes · View notes

galeorderbride · 9 months ago

Note

Good lord! That Gale fic?! I made a GRAVE error and read it at work and now I have to concentrate while doing business things?! 10000/10 no notes! Thank you so much!!

What if Gale used Invisibility with a consenting Tav?

Ohhh you’re a gem for saying that thank you <3 and I hope you recovered from workplace smut (I have definitely made the same mistake lol)

You put a thought in my brain, anon. I made this little ficlet based on what you suggested :)

18+ MDNI for smut, including: inappropriate use of invisibility spell (consensual), surprise intimate touching, fingering

I wrote this with F!reader as the subject, hope that's ok <3

Words: 1164

Gale wasn’t a man to do the expected. When you permitted him to use an invisibility spell in your—private moments—he wasn’t going to simply sneak up on you while doing dishes or writing letters. He decided to take the time to make things elaborate, unexpected to the nth degree. Which is why, when he finally did execute his plan, you figured he’d forgotten about the conversation. You couldn’t deny your slight disappointment, anticipating a playful surprise as days went on. Never knowing when he’d take action. Only to have nothing happen.

He was a busy man lately, now that he was a full time professor at Blackstaff and midterm season was peaking. Locking himself in his office for hours at a time, missing dinner if you didn’t bring him a plate after you’d finished. Followed by copious amounts of ‘thank yous’ and kisses on your cheek. Making sure you knew he hadn’t forgotten you, even if he holed himself up for so long. You tried to remain resilient, trust that he was preoccupied and once this time of the semester was complete, he’d be back to his attentive self once again.

Self care was a good distraction from the hollow silence of the tower. Tara wasn’t even there to lift your spirits, visiting Morena for the night. Instead, you ran yourself an indulgent bath, using extra honey scented bubble bath and rosehip oil. Frothy suds blanketing the top layer of the hot water as you sunk your body into paradise. Letting yourself fall under the spell of relaxation as you tried to get your mind off the isolation.

The dripping tap and gusts of wind against the glass windowpane were all that could be heard. Humming to yourself your favourite tunes from the bard performance you and Gale attended a week ago. Eyes closing as you became lost in the warm water, the perfect temperature for you.

Until a shift in the formerly still water catches you off guard. A smooth, tranquil wave of the bubbles splitting in two, as if a hand broke between. Teasing through the gap of your spread knees. You hardly noticed at first, just thought it was a twitch of your leg or stretch of your foot. But the light flow around your skin becomes a soft but evident caress from ankle to calf. Someone is touching you, but you are completely alone.

You unleash a shaky breath, a fearful but intriguing jerk within your muscles as the invisible touch hastens to move further between your legs. Ripples of water now waving in full force, sizeable enough that you pieced together just what—or who—guided such spontaneous magic.

“Is that you, professor?” You say, voice hitching with captivated breath as the formless hand brushes against your cunt. Featherlight to the point where you wonder if you even felt it.

No response, the typical verbosity of your wizard masked for effect. Part of you fizzled with fear, a tiny threat of a question in the back of your mind that asked if Gale was the one touching you or not. But you were more than familiar with the way he circled around your clit, the patterns of which he teased even though he’d swear there was no routine. After months of living with him in Waterdeep, when he’d seldom go a day without ravishing you, you found little trouble recognizing the force to be him.

You giggle flirtatiously, head lying back against the ridge of the tub as invisible fingertips went from tickling to softly rubbing your clit. Letting your ankle lift through the steamy bubbles and hook over the edge. Opening further for him, biting your lip in sinful satisfaction as you catch the desirous sound of his shaken breath in your ear. Definitely him, drowning in the essence of your soaked up pleasure. You moan a little louder for him, a sign for this new ghost lover of yours to keep going as you climb further toward climax.

Splashing increases around you as your lower body jolts with pleasure. Gale slides one finger inside, curling upward in the perfect way. Your skin runs red in a lusty blush as you picture what your pussy might look like as an invisible finger thrusts into it. Getting penetrated by nothing yet filled even further as he slips a second finger inside.

Your moan is almost guttural, ferally chasing that high. You say, “Are you going to show yourself or am I gonna cum all by myself?”

With his free hand, he snapped his fingers with a loud flick. Gale appeared behind you, resting his arm around the tub as your eyes stared upward at him. Strands of hair hanging around his face, the circles under his chestnut eyes darkened even further with incurable lust. Finished by a smirk so irresistible you’re sure you could explode just by looking at him.

Moving his free hand to your breast, prodding at the plush flesh, he says, “I’d hardly be able to concentrate if I tried. Watching you come undone for me…I can’t think of anything else.”

Gale smashed his lips against yours, passionate and fiery. The same pace as his thumb rubbing your clit, fingers thrusting assertively up. His other hand worked your nipple, pinching and twisting in just the right spots to get your entire midsection in tingles. Slipping his tongue into your mouth just as you let out a pleasurable yelp. Bringing you closer and closer to the edge of paradise.

He doesn’t miss a beat, maintaining rhythm even as your body writhes in ecstasy. Your kiss slips away, mouths still hovering over each other, drinking in your air. You shudder out, “D-don’t stop…nearly there…”

His breath is hot, keeping your foreheads together. Leading you up and up that hill of no return. He growled, “Yes, good. Do it for me, do it now.”

The crackle of his voice is enough to fully tip you over the edge. Your sex blossoms with a wet, intense orgasm that spreads throughout your lower body. Gale laughs quietly, taking in the satisfaction of finally unravelling you after so long waiting to strike with that invisibility spell. Days of thinking about the perfect time, now coming to fruition as you fall apart around his fingers. He can’t wait for the rest of the evening.

Your body calms down, settling into the lukewarm water filled with soap lines and sweat. Gale gives you no time before he scoops both arms under you, lifting you from the tub in a bridal style carry. You giggle as you hug his shoulders, rubbing your nose against his.

“Thank you for lifting me,” you say, “My legs are like jelly after that.”

He chuckled, “Well, it’s the least I could do. Considering I’m about to take you to the bed and make the rest of your body—like jelly.”

“Oh? Invisible or not?” You asked.

As he flipped you onto the mattress and climbed over you, he said, “Why not both?”

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 smut #baldurs gate 3 smut #gale smut #gale x reader #gale x reader smut #requests #gale dekarios x reader #bg3 gale romance

274 notes · View notes

mindfulstudyquest · 10 months ago

Text

❥﹒♡﹒☕﹒ 𝗴𝗼𝗮𝗹𝘀 𝗶'𝗺 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗱𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻 𝘀𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗻 as an exchange student who's not a party animal

𝟭. study day by day ( 🪴 )

i am a big procrastinator and when it comes to exams, too often i have left it to the last minute and pulled all-nighters to get high grades, but due to the spanish school system, which includes many more partial exams and midterms than italy (actually there aren't any in italy at all) i will be "forced" to change this tendency of mine, the goal is to study the lessons on the very same day so as to have a greater margin for revision that will allow me to secure my knowledge.

𝟮. allow time to rest/recharge ( 🔌 )

i once read a sentence: "if you have two minutes to do something, it will take you two minutes, but if you have two hours, it will take you the whole two hours". concentrating for a few hours a day, but in an effective and meaningful way is perhaps my biggest dream, this year i will do my best to limit the hours of study and dedicate time to rest and tourist activities that my year in spain will reserve for me (parties and hangouts included).

𝟯. learning a new language ( ⭐ )

i don't speak spanish at all, but i understand it very well. studying and living here for a whole year will definitely help me develop my linguistic/grammatical knowledge to start a deeper study of the language. the more languages you know, the better.

𝟰. get out of my comfort zone ( 🦋 )

as an introvert, i often find myself, especially during stressful times, retreating to my room, wrapped in the comfort of my favorite books and series. the real challenge will be to abandon the safe place for the unknown and finally embrace the idea that the unknown is beautiful, that it has breathtaking sunrises and sunsets, and that any scars that might come from it are as precious as diamonds.

𝟱. being proud of myself ( 🍋 )

realizing that i'm doing well, that the me from a year ago who was afraid of failing the university entrance exam has not only now completed her first year of architecture with excellent results, but now lives alone in a foreign country. a year ago i would never have believed it, so i should be proud of it, and not fear that i'm not enough. there is a lot to improve, but celebrating victories is equally important as aiming for the top.

188 notes · View notes

missmaymay13 · 3 months ago

Text

family is when i'm with you - m.boldy

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

dad!m.boldy x fem!oc | 10k

summary: matt and alea were still new to their relationship, and out of nowhere, they are thrown into a whole new world of chaos as they find out they are pregnant. having to navigate this new reality, they have to learn to lean on each other and the people around them to make it through.

author's note: i did use the same names for my oc's in this story as my other m.boldy fic 'everything after the whistle' but they are not related! hope you all enjoy!

masterlist

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The world goes quiet.

Alea sits frozen on the closed toilet lid, the pregnancy test clutched in her trembling hand. One line becomes two. Pink. Bold. Certain.

It feels like the air is sucked out of the tiny dorm bathroom. Her heartbeat echoes louder than anything else—faster, harder—as if her body's trying to catch up to what her mind already knows.

Pregnant.

The word flashes like a warning sign in her brain. Over and over.

She doesn't cry. Not yet. She just stares, her mouth parted, chest rising and falling in shallow, panicked breaths. Her soccer bag is still slung over one shoulder, cleats muddy from practice. Her hair's pulled back into a tight braid, sweat still clinging to her skin.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Not now. Not like this.

She drops the test onto the counter like it burned her and presses her fists into her eyes. Maybe if she squeezes hard enough, she'll wake up in her bed and it'll all have been a nightmare. A stress dream from midterms or overtraining or just... life.

But she doesn't wake up.

And the test is still there. Real and blinding.

Matt.

The thought of him sends a fresh wave of nausea through her—not from fear of him, but of disappointing him. What if this ruins everything? He's got hockey. A future. A life planned out.

They've only been together for six months. She still blushes when he kisses her forehead. Still gets butterflies when he calls her "Al."

How is she supposed to tell him this?

Her fingers dig into her knees as she tries to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. She's not ready. She's barely holding her own life together, juggling classes, practices, late nights, and a scholarship that might slip through her fingers if this is real—when this is real.

And it is. So real.

Her voice breaks as she whispers to no one, "What the hell am I going to do?"

The days that followed felt like she was walking underwater.

Alea couldn't look Matt in the eye. Every time she saw him across the quad or in the dining hall, her stomach twisted. His texts went unread. His calls unanswered. She skipped post-practice hangs, faked headaches, lied about study groups. She even bailed on their Tuesday night ice cream run—something they'd never missed.

Matt noticed. Of course he did.

And it was killing him.

He replayed every conversation they'd had, wondering if he said something wrong. Did he forget a date? Cross a line? Did she stop liking him and just didn't know how to end it?

By Friday night, he couldn't take it anymore.

She was walking out of the athletic center, head down, hoodie up, trying to slip past him when he stepped right in her path.

"Alea." His voice was soft but steady. Hurt laced beneath it. "What's going on with you?"

She froze. Her heart thundered.

"I—I can't do this right now," she said quickly, trying to push past him.

But he didn't move. His brows were drawn, eyes searching hers. "Did I do something?" he asked, quieter this time. "Because if I did, just tell me. I'll fix it. I swear."

Her bottom lip quivered. "No. God, Matt, it's not you."

"Then what is it?" His voice cracked. "You've been avoiding me like I'm a stranger. I miss you, Al."

Her eyes filled instantly. She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to hold it in, but her chest heaved, and then it all came crashing out.

"I'm pregnant."

The words were barely audible, cracked and raw. A whisper. A confession.

Matt blinked. "Wait... what?"

She looked up, finally meeting his eyes. "I'm pregnant."

And just like that, the world shifted.

Matt stood still for a long moment, silent, as if trying to catch up to what she'd just said. His mouth opened, then closed. "Are... are you keeping it?"

Alea's throat burned. She nodded slowly, cautiously, bracing for him to walk away, to freak out, to do anything but what he did next.

He stepped forward and wrapped her in the tightest hug she'd ever felt, like he was holding onto her for dear life.

Her breath hitched against his shoulder. "You're not mad?"

"Mad?" he said, pulling back just enough to see her face. His eyes were glassy. "Alea, I've always wanted to be a dad. I dreamed about it. I just didn't know it would happen this soon."

She let out a choked laugh, equal parts relief and disbelief.

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled softly. "We're gonna figure this out. Okay? You're not alone in this."

She nodded, heart pounding in her chest.

He leaned down, pressed his forehead to hers, and whispered, "And our baby's gonna be the best BC super athlete ever. Fast and a sniper."

And then—his voice a little shaky, but full of truth—he added, "I love you, Alea. And I'm gonna love our baby just as much as I love you."

Matt kept his promise.

Alea never had to go to a single doctor's appointment alone. Even when he was slammed with practices or midterms, he found a way to be there—walking in breathless, hair still wet from a post-practice shower, holding her hand the entire time like it was second nature.

Their friends stepped up too. Their tight-knit group that once bonded over parties and game nights was now splitting baby books and researching prenatal vitamins. Alea cried the first time she walked into her dorm room to find a tiny stack of baby clothes on her bed with a note that read "One day at a time. We've got you."

But nothing could have prepared them for the moment they heard the words:

"You're having twins."

Alea blinked at the ultrasound screen, then at the doctor. "I'm sorry... did you just say twins?"

Matt's eyes were wide as he leaned forward. "As in... two?"

The doctor smiled warmly. "Two strong heartbeats. Congratulations."

The room spun for a second—excitement, shock, fear all crashing in at once. Alea's hand found Matt's instinctively, and when she looked over at him, she saw the exact same expression she wore: pure awe mixed with holy-shit panic.

They didn't say much after that.

In the car, they just sat there in silence. The engine off. Clinic parking lot bathed in late afternoon sun. The ultrasound photos resting face down on the dashboard, almost too real to look at.

Matt stared out the windshield, jaw tense. Alea picked at the sleeve of her hoodie, heart thudding.

Two.

They were having two babies.

And then, like magnets, their hands reached across the console at the same time. Fingers laced together tightly.

No words. Just touch. Just comfort.

It was overwhelming—this unexpected future unfolding in front of them. But they had each other. That much they were sure of.

And when Matt couldn't be there—when away games pulled him across the country or team workouts clashed with Alea's appointments—he made sure she never felt alone.

Sometimes it was Spencer Knight, his roommate, waiting outside her class with her favorite smoothie and a playlist of chill music ready for the walk. Other times, it was one of the rookies, awkwardly carrying her books while trying to keep up with her fast stride and baby bump.

And once, after a particularly rough day of nausea and classes, Alea opened her dorm door to find a giant stuffed bear, a bouquet of wildflowers, and a handwritten note from Matt:

"Even when I'm not there, I've got you. Always."

⸻

Sure enough, Alea's bump grew bigger with every passing week. What started as a little secret between her and Matt soon became impossible to hide under her baggy team hoodies and warm-up gear. Her teammates rallied around her, but the moment she told her coach she was stepping away for the rest of the season, her heart cracked a little.

Soccer had always been her constant—her anchor since childhood. Walking away from it, even temporarily, felt like she was losing a piece of herself.

Matt held her through the tears that night. Said all the right things without trying too hard. He didn't promise it would be easy, just promised he'd be there.

And he was. Always.

He came to home games when he could, sitting beside her in the bleachers with his arm tucked protectively around her shoulders. They still teased and chirped the refs, still screamed when her best friend scored a goal. But it wasn't the same.

Nothing was. And yet, everything somehow felt right.

⸻

The decision to move out of the dorms came not long after that. It just didn't make sense anymore. The tiny beds, the shared bathrooms, the midnight fire alarms—how could they raise one baby in that chaos, let alone two?

With the help of both their families, they found it—a slightly crooked, slightly musty, slightly-too-small bungalow fifteen minutes off campus. The floors creaked. The walls had handprints in the paint from past tenants. There was a weird stain on the ceiling Matt kept pretending wasn't there.

But it was perfect.

Soon, the place filled with mismatched furniture—an old loveseat from Matt's aunt, a secondhand crib from Alea's cousin, a table with only three matching chairs courtesy of their coach's neighbor. The living room smelled like cinnamon candles and takeout, and their kitchen cabinet somehow held seven different brands of mugs from people who didn't know what else to gift new, terrified parents.

To anyone else, it might've looked like a mess. To them, it was paradise.

⸻

It was weird, at first. They hadn't even hit their one-year anniversary and were suddenly learning how to split bills, buy groceries, and fold tiny onesies.

But they made it work.

Every morning followed a quiet rhythm: Matt would sneak out of bed for his early morning lift, pressing a soft kiss to Alea's forehead before slipping into a hoodie and sliding out the door.

By the time he got back, she'd be in the kitchen—barefoot, bump peeking out from under one of his sweatshirts, flipping eggs and handing him a protein shake.

He'd eat. She'd grab her backpack and dash out the door to make it to her 8am lecture, usually with Spencer or some poor rookie trailing behind her like an assigned bodyguard-slash-backpack-mule.

At lunch, they'd find each other. A bench under the old oak tree behind the science building. The floor of Matt's locker room. The campus café. It didn't matter where, as long as it was together.

On days Matt had practice, Alea would head to the library with her laptop and highlighters, waiting until his skates hit the ice for the last time that day. Then they'd walk home together, her hand tucked into his hoodie pocket, the world blurring around them like it didn't exist.

And on Matt's recovery days, they'd spend hours studying side by side—sometimes in their living room, other times on beanbags in someone's dorm, or surrounded by their friend group, textbooks scattered and laughter echoing between bites of snacks and shared inside jokes.

They were building something. Not just a home, not just a routine. But a life. A messy, beautiful, wildly unexpected life.

And somehow, even with all the unknowns ahead of them—they'd never felt more sure of anything.

⸻

They had tasked Spencer and Jenna with throwing a small baby shower/ gender reveal party.

So when Alea and Matt showed up to the team house neither of them expected streamers. Or balloons. Or a half-deflated "BABY BOLDYS" banner strung across the living room ceiling with what looked like hockey tape.

Jenna popped out from behind the couch, holding a glittery plastic tiara in one hand and a "#1 DAD" foam finger in the other. "SURPRISE!"

Alea blinked. "What is this?"

Spencer Knight—carrying a tray of slightly burnt cupcakes—grinned. "We couldn't let you two go through this without a proper party."

Matt looked around in awe. There were tables with pink and blue snacks, a baby name suggestion board already filled with ridiculous entries like "Baby Beckham" and Spencers personal favourite "Spencer Knight" and someone had rigged a diaper-changing race station using actual hockey gloves.

"You guys..." Alea murmured, tears already stinging her eyes.

"This is insane," Matt said, laughing as he pulled Alea to his side, both of them totally overwhelmed.

The entire hockey team was there, already placing bets on whether it was boys or girls, while the soccer girls made sure the vibe stayed Pinterest-worthy and not total chaos. Coaches had shown up too, awkwardly holding baby-themed gift bags and asking if onesies needed to be washed before being worn.

And of course, their families—Alea's aunts and uncles, Matt's parents and siblings—all filled in the space like it had always been theirs.

The backyard was decorated with tissue-paper pom poms and two big balloons: one blue, one pink. A homemade banner strung above them read: "He or She? Let's See x2!"

Spencer and Jenna took their jobs very seriously as the designated gender reveal duo.

"Okay," Jenna called out, standing on a lawn chair with a megaphone she clearly did not need. "Everyone, grab a snack, grab a drink, and gather around! It's time!"

Matt stood behind Alea, his hands gently resting on the sides of her belly, eyes locked on the balloons.

"You ready?" he whispered.

She nodded, cheeks flushed. "Kinda want to throw up."

"Same."

Jenna counted down. "Three... two... ONE!"

They popped the balloons.

Blue confetti exploded into the air—twice.

The cheers were instant and deafening.

A couple of the hockey guys threw their fists in the air, already claiming dibs on skating lessons. Spencer tackled Matt in a hug, and Alea was swarmed by the girls on her team, all laughing and crying and squealing.

"Twin boys!" Matt shouted, pulling Alea into his arms, spinning her once before grounding her back to earth with a kiss to her temple. "Two baby boys, Al!"

Alea looked up at him, eyes watery but glowing. "We're gonna have two little Boldys."

He smiled, pure and soft. "God help the world."

⸻

By the time Alea hit the third trimester, she was tired. Like, could fall asleep standing up in the dining hall tired.

But Matt?

Matt was a man on a mission.

While most expectant parents used the last few weeks before birth to rest, maybe catch up on Netflix, Matt Boldy had entered what could only be described as a full-blown nesting phase.

Alea waddled through the front door one evening after a long lecture, kicking off her shoes with a sigh. She was looking forward to her usual routine—feet up, ice cream in hand, and a quiet night on the couch. But the second she stepped inside, she heard it: the unmistakable sound of furniture being aggressively assembled.

"Matt?" she called, carefully rounding the corner into what used to be their dining room.

It was now a war zone of cardboard boxes, foam peanuts, open instruction manuals, and baby gear in various states of "almost there." In the middle of it all was Matt, wearing a backwards hat, a slightly panicked look on his face, and gripping a power drill like it was an extension of his arm.

Next to him sat a very confused freshman defenseman who Alea was pretty sure had only come over for leftover pizza.

"I swear this changing table looked way easier online," Matt muttered, glaring down at the manual. "Why are there twelve screws left over? There shouldn't be twelve screws left over."

Alea leaned against the doorframe, smiling softly as she took it all in. This wasn't the first time she'd come home to this sight. Over the past two weeks, Matt had turned their little bungalow into baby prep central.

She'd come home to a fully sorted closet with color-coded onesies.

A freshly built double stroller sitting in the hallway.

A giant wall decal that read "Future All-Stars Live Here" that Matt insisted was "inspirational, not tacky."

And every time, there was Matt—sweaty, determined, and usually yelling something about the instructions getting something wrong.

Spoiler. It never did.

Matt got it wrong. And Alea would have to go back and fix it in secret while Matt was sleeping.

"Babe," Alea said gently, walking over and ducking under his arm, "you know we still have a few weeks, right?"

Matt didn't even pause. "Exactly. Which means I'm already behind."

The rookie handed him a pacifier. "I don't think this goes with the crib."

Matt sighed. "I'm just... I want it to be perfect. For them. For you."

Alea felt the tears prick her eyes before she could stop them. Damn hormones.

She placed a hand on his chest and looked up at him. "It already is perfect. You're perfect."

He leaned down and kissed her—quick, sweet, but full of emotion. "Just wait until you see the baby swing I got on clearance. It plays lullabies and has Bluetooth."

Alea laughed. "Boldy, if you buy one more piece of baby furniture, we're gonna have to sleep in the driveway."

He grinned, already reaching for the next box.

⸻

It started like any normal Friday night at the team house.

Alea was curled up on the couch in the middle of a heated Mario Kart tournament between the boys. She had a bowl of popcorn balanced on her belly, legs stretched out on Spencer's lap while half the team hovered around the TV, shouting and accusing each other of cheating.

She'd been feeling off all day—crampy, a little nauseous—but chalked it up to being nine months pregnant with twins. Every movement felt like a full-body event lately.

Then, mid-popcorn bite, she felt it.

Pop.

And then... warm. Too warm.

She blinked. Looked down. Then up.

"Uhh... guys?"

Spencer turned, already grinning like an idiot. "You finally beat Matt's record?"

"No," she said calmly. Too calmly. "My water just broke."

The room went silent.

And then—pandemonium.

Matt nearly flipped the coffee table trying to get to her. "What?! Now?!"

One of the rookies ran in a circle and yelled, "Towels! We need towels!" like someone was about to deliver the twins on the living room rug.

Another kid—probably a freshman—started filling water glasses and shoving them at Alea like they were at some weird spa.

"WHY IS EVERYONE YELLING?" someone else screamed.

Matt, though prepared for this moment for months, was clearly malfunctioning. "Okay, okay, okay, we have the bag! Where's the bag?!"

Spencer, bless him, held up the overnight hospital bag like it was the goddamn Holy Grail. "Got it. Let's go. Car's out front."

Matt grabbed Alea's hand and led her out like they were walking into battle. Spencer slid into the driver's seat, throwing on his hazards while Matt climbed in the back with Alea, gripping her hand like he was the one about to give birth.

Everything felt real now. Too real. And suddenly Alea—quiet and focused—was way too quiet.

Matt's heart started pounding. "Why aren't you saying anything? Are you okay? Are the babies okay? ALEA, SAY SOMETHING!"

Alea turned her head toward him, face twisted in pain as another contraction rolled through her. Then, in the calmest rage-filled tone imaginable, she hissed:

"Matt. Take a long, deep breath... and respectfully shut the fuck up and let me focus on the two babies you decided to put in me."

Spencer let out a snort from the front seat. Matt went pale.

"Right. Sorry. Shutting up."

By the time they made it to the hospital, both families were already on their way, thanks to Spencer's panic texting and the hockey group chat that was currently blowing up.

The labor was long. And loud. And dramatic—according to Matt.

He paced the room. Ate all the ice chips. Got lightheaded twice. At one point, Alea threatened to kick him out if he asked the nurse one more time how much longer it would be.

"She's a warrior," he told her aunts at some point, half passed out on the couch. "I think I'm dying."

Alea, meanwhile? Cool as ever. Calm. Focused. Fierce.

And at 8:47 PM, after a final push and a whole lot of yelling from Matt that absolutely no one asked for—

Two healthy, screaming, perfect baby boys entered the world.

Wyatt and Kalen Boldy.

Tiny fists. Matching dimples. And two sets of lungs strong enough to rival their father's goal celebrations.

Matt cried the second he held them.

Alea did too—but mostly at the sight of Matt, holding their sons like the world had just stopped spinning for a second. Like everything that came before was leading to this.

Their new beginning.

⸻

The twins had only been home for a few weeks, but the bungalow already looked like a baby supply store had exploded inside it.

There were burp cloths in the couch cushions, bottles on every flat surface, and at least one baby sock had somehow ended up in the fridge. Matt was surviving on four hours of sleep and pure adrenaline. Alea was somehow functioning on even less and still managing to ace her midterms.

But the real surprise?

Matt was nesting. Still.

He hadn't stopped building things since the day they moved in, and now that the babies were actually here, it had only intensified. Changing tables, bouncers, play gyms—if it needed assembling, Matt was sweating over it. And usually, some poor rookie was sweating beside him, roped into helping with the promise of leftover mac and cheese and "character building."

One Tuesday night, Alea walked into the nursery to find Matt kneeling in front of the changing table with Kalen laid out in front of him like a tiny ticking time bomb.

"Okay, tabs go in the back... or is it the front?" he muttered, eyebrows knit together as he studied the diaper like it was an IKEA manual written in ancient Greek. Kalen, for his part, was happily kicking, offering zero help.

Alea leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "You've been at this for ten minutes. He's going to need a new diaper by the time you figure that one out."

Matt didn't look up. "He keeps kicking me in the sternum. I think he knows I'm weak."

She laughed as Wyatt cooed from his bassinet nearby. "Do you want me to—"

"No! I've got it." Matt looked up, determined. "I'm the dad. I can handle a diaper."

Thirty seconds later, he had it on backwards.

And Kalen peed directly on his shirt.

"Cool," Matt said flatly, holding the baby out at arm's length while Alea nearly collapsed with laughter. "Super cool."

The next morning, Alea found Matt standing in the kitchen, spoon in hand, half a pouch of baby puree already gone.

"Is that... the babies' food?"

Matt blinked. "It's apples and spinach. It tastes like applesauce. With a hint of guilt."

She stared at him.

"Please don't tell the guys."

"Oh, I'm telling everyone."

A few days later, Alea was desperate for a shower. The babies had been fussy all morning, Matt was at practice, and her hair hadn't been washed in... well, she'd lost track. So, she called in the troops.

Spencer, Jenna, and two rookies showed up with coffee and nervous energy, all claiming they were "ready for babysitting duty."

She left them with strict instructions, promised to be back in twenty minutes, and slipped into the bathroom.

Twelve minutes in, chaos erupted.

One baby had peed on Spencer.

The other was chewing on a pacifier still in the wrapper.

Jenna was trying to explain that babies couldn't drink Gatorade while one rookie Googled "how to swaddle a baby like a burrito."

The second Alea stepped out, towel around her shoulders, she was greeted with absolute mayhem.

Spencer looked up at her, wide-eyed, cradling Wyatt like he was holding a ticking bomb. "He pooped on my hoodie, Al. My team-issued hoodie."

Alea took one look at the scene—Jenna documenting the madness with her phone, one rookie singing a lullaby that was 100% a slowed-down Drake song—and just started laughing.

⸻

Jenna and Spencer had become the official documentarians of the newborn chaos. Alea would wake up to photos on her phone: Matt asleep on the couch, both babies sprawled across his chest. A blurry one of Alea in sweats feeding Kalen while writing a paper. A perfectly framed shot of the entire hockey team crammed into the nursery trying to hang mobiles—crookedly.

One day, Jenna handed her a little envelope. "For you," she said. "From us."

Inside were printed photos on thick, glossy paper. Their village. Their chaos. Their love.

At 2:41 a.m. on a particularly rough night, Alea sent a text to the team group chat:

"Anyone awake and want to do a bottle run? We're out. Matt's afraid to leave me alone with the babies."

Four hockey players showed up ten minutes later with every kind of formula on the market—and a box of donuts.

"Why donuts?" Alea asked, bleary-eyed but touched.

Spencer just shrugged. "For morale."

They weren't perfect. The boys were overgrown babies themselves half the time. There were spills and tears and way too many wipes wasted on stuffed animals. But the love was loud and constant.

Matt would still forget how to fasten the car seat sometimes. Alea would still catch him sneaking sips of pureed pears. But together, with their wild little village of hockey players, soccer girls, best friends, and sleepy 2 a.m. donut deliveries... they were doing it.

They were raising two beautiful baby boys with every ounce of love they had.

And somehow, that was more than enough.

⸻

March 2021

The call came on a Tuesday. Matt had just rocked Kalen to sleep and was halfway through folding tiny laundry when his phone buzzed. Minnesota. He stared at the screen for a second, heart hammering, before answering.

They wanted him in Iowa this summer. The farm team. The step before the dream.

When he hung up, he didn't smile right away. Instead, he just sat there, a onesie still in his hands, heart full and heavy.

Alea was in the kitchen, Wyatt balanced on her hip, sipping from a too-cold coffee while scrolling through course schedules. She looked up when Matt came in.

"I got the call," he said softly.

She stilled. "Minnesota?"

He nodded. "Iowa. They want me."

Her breath caught just slightly, but she didn't blink. Didn't cry. Just nodded, slow and steady.

Matt stepped closer. "Come with me," he said gently. "Bring the boys. We'll figure it out."

Alea offered a tired, understanding smile—the kind that says I love you, even if it's not said out loud.

"I can't, Matty. Not yet."

Her voice was calm, but full of something deeper.

"I want to finish what I started here. Soccer. School. My degree. My dream didn't disappear when I got pregnant—it just hit pause."

He nodded. He understood. Because that fire in her had been part of what drew him to her in the first place. And if there was anyone who deserved to chase her dreams, it was Alea.

And she knew him too. Knew how hard he'd worked for this moment. Knew what playing pro meant to him—what they used to whisper about in bed late at night before the twins were even a thought.

So they made a choice. Together.

They wouldn't break up. They'd just pause.

Put each other on a quiet shelf and trust that when life calmed down—when the babies were older and the timing felt right—they'd return to that shelf and pick up right where they left off.

They co-parented. FaceTimed every night. Shared schedules and swapped stories about teething and sleep regressions.

And when Matt visited Boston, he slept on Alea's couch—or in her bed when the boys were fussy. They didn't kiss. Didn't cross any lines. But they were still them. Her hand brushing his on the way to the fridge. His head resting on her shoulder when he rocked one twin to sleep.

It was soft. Intimate. A love still present, just waiting.

⸻

Alea returned to the BC roster with fire in her step. Balancing twins, school, and soccer, she pushed through every practice and every doubt—becoming ACC Player of the Year in her comeback season. She started taking classes toward her sports psych degree and still made time for every giggle, every first word, every sleepy snuggle.

Matt thrived with the Iowa Wild. He poured everything into the ice, missing his boys with every mile between them, but knowing every goal, every shift, was building toward something bigger.

Then, in January 2022, it happened.

The call. The one he'd dreamed of since he was a kid.

Minnesota was calling him up.

⸻

His parents flew out instantly. Alea promised she'd be watching the debut with the twins—Wyatt in his lucky onesie, Kalen with a paci in his mouth and his stuffed moose in hand.

Matt walked into the NHL arena, bag over his shoulder, bare-faced and quiet, nerves bubbling under his skin.

As he was lacing up, his coach walked into the room with a grin.

"Helping me announce today's lineup are three very special guests... Alea Mitchell, and Wyatt and Kalen Boldy!"

Matt's head snapped up.

There they were.

Alea stood in the doorway, a baby on each hip. Both boys reached out, arms outstretched, babbling loud enough to fill the room.

Matt was on his feet in seconds, blinking back tears.

It had been a month since he last held them. A month of phone calls, blurry screen kisses, and quiet ache.

Now they were here. For this. The moment he'd waited for his whole life.

He crossed the room, eyes never leaving theirs. And when he reached them, he pulled all three into a hug—tight, warm, needed.

His hand brushed Alea's back. She rested her head on his shoulder.

"I couldn't let you do this alone," she whispered.

He pressed a soft kiss to her temple. No promises. No grand declarations. Just them.

Then it was time.

Matt took his solo rookie lap around the ice. The crowd roared. His heart raced. And when he scored the game-winning goal, the roar nearly drowned out his heartbeat.

But he didn't care about the crowd. He was already running to the tunnel—already aching to see them again.

Alea was waiting by the locker room doors. The twins were bundled in matching Wild gear, cheeks flushed from the cold. She passed them into Matt's arms without a word.

He held them close, rocking gently.

Alea leaned in with a sly, knowing smile and said, "Wyatt, honey... who's that?"

The little boy looked at Matt, his sleepy eyes lighting up.

"Dada!"

Matt's knees nearly gave out.

Tears slipped down his cheeks as he pressed a kiss to each of their heads, then looked up at Alea.

They didn't need words.

They knew.

This—all of it—was worth the wait.

⸻

Matt's NHL debut was electric—crowd roaring, stick raised in the air, arms outstretched after the game-winner—but the real moment he'd been waiting for came hours later.

Not the spotlight. Not the victory lap. But this.

His hotel room was small, temporary, just a holding place until the team got his living situation sorted. But when Alea walked through the door with the twins in her arms and a diaper bag slung over her shoulder, it felt like home for the first time.

They ordered takeout and ate off napkins. The boys giggled through their bedtime bottles, then crashed almost instantly, worn out from their big night. Matt laid out blankets across the bed, turned off the lights, and just... exhaled.

Alea curled beside him, the twins sleeping peacefully between them. Her head rested on his shoulder. His arm found its home around her waist.

For a long time, they didn't speak. Just listened to the soft breaths of their sons and the hum of a city still moving outside.

Then Alea sniffled.

Matt looked down to find tears slipping down her cheeks, silent and sudden.

"Al—hey, what's wrong?" he asked gently, brushing a thumb under her eye.

She laughed through it, shaking her head. "Nothing. Everything. I'm just... I'm so proud of you, Matt."

Her voice cracked, and the words came tumbling out, soft and full of heartache and joy all at once.

"This is what we used to dream about. All those nights in the dorms, talking about our futures—about you making it, about the NHL. You did it. You're here."

He swallowed hard, eyes burning. "I wish you could've been with me every step. I missed so much."

"You didn't miss anything that matters," she whispered. "You never really left. You called, you visited, you showed up in every way that counted. And the boys know you love them. I know."

Matt blinked back tears now too, overwhelmed. "I missed you," he murmured. "Every night. Every milestone. Every little moment. But I knew you were giving them everything. And you're... God, Al, you're such a good mom. You're so strong. I don't think I could've done this without you."

Alea shifted slightly, her hand resting on his chest, feeling the thump of his heartbeat.

They just held each other there, warm and close, like the space between them had never existed.

And then, slowly, they pulled back just enough to see each other clearly.

Their eyes met.

Everything unsaid—every I miss you, every I still love you, every thank you for waiting—sat thick in the space between them.

Then Matt leaned in, and Alea met him halfway.

The kiss was slow. Deep. Familiar. Months of distance melting in a single touch.

It wasn't rushed. It wasn't shy. It was full of fire and softness, of aching and relief. A kiss that said I love you, I never stopped, you're it.

When they pulled away, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, hearts racing, the world felt still again.

"I'm so in love with you," Alea whispered.

Matt smiled, his thumb gently tracing her jaw. "I'm so in love with you too."

⸻

Sunlight filtered in through the sheer hotel curtains, casting a warm, golden haze across the room. For a few blissful seconds, it was quiet. Still. Whole.

Matt's eyes fluttered open first. He didn't move—just stared at the ceiling, Alea's hand tucked under his on his chest, one of the babies snuggled into the crook of his arm. He could feel the soft rise and fall of little lungs against him, tiny fingers curled into his shirt.

Then he looked down.

Alea was already awake, eyes on him, smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

They didn't speak.

They didn't need to.

It felt like no time had passed. Like all the late nights apart, all the FaceTimes and missed milestones and miles between them—had melted into this moment.

Matt reached over slowly and brushed a lock of hair out of her face.

"Hi," he whispered, voice still raspy with sleep.

"Hi," she whispered back.

And then Kalen stirred.

He let out a small, fussy whimper that only grew louder with every passing second. Alea gently rolled over, already reaching for him.

"Hungry," she said softly, rubbing his back. "Definitely your son."

Matt chuckled, only for Wyatt—startled by the noise—to let out a full-blown wail that had Matt flinching dramatically.

"Okay, okay, I got him," Matt mumbled, already scooping Wyatt up with the grogginess of a man who hadn't changed a diaper in a few weeks but still remembered the drill.

Within seconds, the hotel room that had moments before been filled with peace was now alive with baby cries, quick movements, and the chaotic harmony of two parents who were somehow still in sync.

Matt balanced Wyatt on his hip while searching for the travel pack of wipes with one hand. "I forgot how loud he is," he said, laughing as he made a face at the full diaper waiting for him.

"You forgot?" Alea raised an eyebrow as she gently rocked Kalen. "This one screamed for forty minutes the other night because I gave him the wrong pacifier."

Matt winced. "I'm sorry I missed that. But also... not sorry."

She laughed, exhaustion and happiness blending together in that effortless way they always did around him.

Within a few minutes, the boys were fed, changed, and curled up on the pillows between them—Kalen wide-eyed and kicking, Wyatt already dozing again.

Matt laid back, arms behind his head, looking at the chaos like it was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

"God, I missed this," he said. "Waking up with you. With them. Even the crying."

Alea rested her head on his shoulder again. "Feels like no time passed."

Matt turned to her. "It never really did. Not with you."

She smiled at that, eyes soft and full of love, before leaning in to press a light kiss to his cheek.

And just like that, they were whole again.

A little messy. A little tired. A little mismatched.

But home.

⸻

Alea sat in the backseat, nestled between two car seats, one hand gently patting Wyatt's thigh while Kalen dozed off with a pacifier in his mouth. Matt's eyes stayed focused on the road, but his hand gripped the steering wheel tighter than usual. His knuckles were white.

No one wanted to say it out loud, but they all felt it.

This goodbye hurt more than the first.

They had finally felt like a family again. Like the distance was shrinking, like maybe this could be their normal soon. But normal still meant long-distance. Still meant two cities, two lives, and a dream that hadn't quite made room for them all—yet.

Matt pulled into the airport drop-off lane and parked. His family was already waiting by the entrance—his mom with her arms stretched wide, ready to help Alea get through security with the twins.

Alea didn't move.

Neither did Matt.

For a long moment, they just sat there. The only sound was Kalen beginning to stir and whimper, his lip trembling the way it always did right before a cry.

Then Wyatt joined in, reaching out toward the front seat.

"Da—da—da—" he babbled between cries, his tiny fists clenched as he leaned toward Matt.

Matt turned around and reached for both of them at once, unbuckling their car seats with a practiced hand, scooping one twin into each arm. The moment they were in his arms, the crying slowed—but didn't stop.

Their chests rose and fell quickly, little faces red with frustration and confusion. They didn't understand why they were saying goodbye.

But Alea did. And it broke her.

She slid out of the car slowly, trying to blink away the tears stinging behind her eyes. Matt met her at the trunk, bouncing the boys gently as if the motion could hold all of them together just a little longer.

"I don't want to go," she whispered, brushing a hand over Wyatt's soft curls.

"I don't want you to go," he whispered back.

Her throat tightened. "We just got back to being us."

Matt leaned forward, touching his forehead to hers, careful not to shift the boys too much between them. "We are still us."

A tear slid down her cheek. "I miss you already."

"I miss you always."

He handed her Wyatt first, and her arms instinctively curled around him, even as her heart screamed to hold all three of them at once.

Kalen went next, reluctantly, squirming until Alea got a firm hold on him. He let out another cry, his little hands reaching for Matt's jacket.

Matt kissed both boys on the forehead, slow and tender.

"I love you so much," he said, barely above a whisper. "Be good for Mommy, okay? I'll see you soon."

Then he turned to Alea, who was already crying now, silently, her lips pressed tight to keep from falling apart.

"You're my rock, Al."

Her voice cracked. "You're mine too."

His arms wrapped around her and the babies, holding them all like he was trying to memorize the feeling.

They stood like that for a long moment. One more second. One more breath.

Then Alea finally stepped back, her legs heavier than they should've been, and gave him a tearful smile.

"I'll call you when we land."

"I'll be waiting."

Matt stood by the car as she walked toward his family—his mom reaching out to help, her voice soft and soothing—and then through the sliding glass doors.

He didn't leave right away.

He stayed there long after they disappeared inside. Long after the van behind him honked.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, blinking hard, and whispered the only thing he could:

"See you soon."

⸻

The summer heat clung to the windows of the bungalow, soft rays of morning light spilling across the hardwood floors. The same floors Alea used to pace with colicky newborns in her arms. The same ones Matt had skated across in socks more times than he could count. The same floors that held diaper blowouts, first steps, takeout dinners, and everything in between.

Now, they held the weight of something else entirely—pride.

Matt leaned against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, eyes locked on the woman standing in front of the hallway mirror.

Alea was smoothing the fabric of her graduation dress, adjusting the sleeves just so. Her long hair framed her face in soft waves, and she kept glancing down to check her shoes, her cap and gown folded neatly on the counter beside her.

Matt didn't say anything at first. He just looked at her—really looked—and felt that familiar ache in his chest. That quiet kind of love that built slowly, deeply, and never left.

He fell in love with her all over again, right there between the dining table and the baby gate.

"You look... unreal," he finally said, voice low and full of awe.

Alea glanced over her shoulder, blushing. "Yeah right. I'm sweating through this dress and haven't even left the house yet."

"I'm serious." He stepped forward, arms sliding around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. "You're the strongest person I've ever met. And today? You're graduating. You did it, Al."

She leaned into him, just for a second, her hand resting over his. "We did it."

The ceremony was packed, the air buzzing with excitement and camera flashes.

Matt sat in the second row of the bleachers, a twin on each knee—Kalen trying to eat the corner of his graduation program, Wyatt clapping at every name called whether he knew them or not. Jenna and Spencer were behind them, Jenna already crying and snapping photos. Matt's parents and Alea's aunt and uncles were all there too, eyes scanning the sea of graduates.

Then the name rang out through the mic: "Alea Mitchell, Bachelor of Science in Sports Psychology."

Everyone stood.

Matt was the loudest. He stood up with Kalen in one arm, cheering like she'd just scored a Stanley Cup-winning goal. The boys squealed right along with him. It was chaotic. It was loud. It was perfect.

Alea's smile as she crossed the stage was electric. Eyes glistening, cap slightly crooked, and still somehow the most composed person in the room.

Matt didn't take his eyes off her once.

Later, back at the bungalow, after hugs and cake and too many group pictures to count, the house was quieter. The twins were down for a nap. Spencer and Jenna had taken off. The family was packing up. It was just the two of them now, standing in the living room with the late afternoon sun pouring in.

Alea looked at him. No teasing, no buildup. Just truth.

"I'm ready," she said softly.

Matt blinked. "Ready for what?"

"To move to Minnesota. With the boys." She smiled then, slow and sure. "To come home."

Matt didn't speak—couldn't. His throat burned, his heart full to the brim. He just stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her slightly off the floor.

"God, Alea," he whispered into her neck, "I've been ready."

What she didn't know—what he hadn't told her—was that for weeks now, he'd been slowly turning his new place into a home for them.

The extra bedroom had been transformed into the boys' room—cribs already built, matching bedding, tiny bookshelves lined with bedtime stories. Alea's side of the closet was empty but waiting. The fridge had her favorite yogurt. He'd even ordered the same candle she always lit during late-night study sessions just so the place would smell like her.

It wasn't just a house anymore.

It was theirs.

And now, it would finally feel that way.

⸻

Moving day came with more cardboard boxes than either of them remembered owning and an overwhelming mixture of excitement and nerves.

Alea stepped into Matt's house—their house now—with the twins on either hip, a diaper bag falling off her shoulder, and her heart thudding in her chest.

It was beautiful. Clean, modern, warm. There were family photos already on the walls, tiny sneakers lined up by the door, a framed print of the twins' footprints above the fireplace. Every corner of the house screamed "I built this for you."

And yet... Alea couldn't shake the feeling of being slightly out of place.

Matt had a life here. A team. A rhythm. She was proud of him—so endlessly proud—but she couldn't help but wonder where she fit in now that she wasn't just his college girlfriend or the girl raising his kids across the country.

She was here. But what now?

Matt noticed the shift instantly.

That night, after the boys went down and the house quieted, Alea sat on the couch in one of his old t-shirts, knees hugged to her chest, eyes distant.

He sat beside her, close enough that their knees brushed, and didn't say anything for a moment.

Then, gently, "You okay?"

She hesitated. Then nodded. Then shook her head. "I don't know. I guess I just... this is your world. And I'm trying to find where I fit in it."

Matt didn't miss a beat. He took her hand and laced their fingers together.

"Al," he said, voice thick, "this world? It doesn't exist without you."

She looked up at him, surprised.

"I mean it. Everything I have, everything I've done—this house, this team, this life—I was building it for us. I don't want it if you're not part of it."

Her eyes welled with tears, but he leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers.

"I'm still so in love with you," he whispered. "We'll figure it out. Just like we always do."

The next day, he brought her to the rink.

Reintroduced her to the team—who were all wide-eyed at finally meeting the famous Alea and her twin boys—and more importantly, introduced her to the WAGs.

Alea had been nervous. She was young. A mom before twenty. She worried they'd think she didn't belong.

But the second she walked in, it was all smiles and hugs and warm welcomes.

"You must be Alea! We've heard so much about you," one of them—Sam—beamed.

Within minutes, they were offering babysitting help, playdates, and their favorite coffee shops.

"We'll make sure you're never bored when Matt's on the road," another said, squeezing her arm kindly. "Or alone. That's what we're here for."

And it was real. Kind. Easy.

A few weeks later, Alea found a hybrid job with a sports psychology company that worked with several minor league teams. It was flexible, challenging, and—most importantly—hers. A piece of her identity that didn't revolve around being a mom or Matt's partner. And Matt? He was thrilled.

It meant they didn't have to hire a nanny just yet. It meant more time with the twins. More time as a family.

Slowly, the routine began to rebuild itself.

Mornings were coffee and oatmeal and babies in matching socks. Afternoons were work calls and stroller walks and laughter. Nights were quiet dinners and tired snuggles, and sometimes even a glass of wine if the boys went down early.

They were finding their rhythm again. Together.

Then came the first away game.

The Wild were on the road, and the WAGs decided to throw a watch party. Alea, now a familiar face, brought the twins—dressed in Wild jerseys two sizes too big—and joined a sea of other moms and their kids.

The house was full of laughter, toys, snacks, and the game playing in the background. Kids crawled and toddled around like they owned the place, and everyone was relaxed and happy.

Alea stood in the kitchen holding Kalen while chatting with Sam, who sipped her drink and grinned.

"You know," Sam said, nudging her gently, "the entire time Matt's been here, he hasn't shut up about you."

Alea blinked. "What?"

"Oh yeah. You and the boys. Literally wouldn't stop talking about you. 'Alea's the strongest person I know.' 'Alea's raising the best kids in the world.' 'Alea this, Alea that.' It was adorable."

Alea felt her cheeks flush, her heart skipping.

Sam laughed. "We actually couldn't wait to meet you. He hyped you up so much, we were like—if this girl isn't a literal goddess, he's in trouble."

And just like that, the last piece of the puzzle settled into place.

Alea smiled softly, looking around the room—at the kids playing, at the game on the screen, at Wyatt crawling toward a plate of cookies.

She was here. Really here.

And for the first time in a long time... she felt like she belonged.

⸻

December 2025

It was a week before the twins' fifth birthday, and Minnesota was in full winter wonderland mode. Snow dusted the trees, Christmas lights glittered downtown, and the Wild's annual Family Skate Night had arrived—one of Alea's favorite traditions.

She loved watching the rink filled with laughter, kids bundled in team gear, partners clinging to the boards, and players in beanies helping their babies wobble on skates. It was cozy. Warm, even in the cold.

What she didn't know, though, was that Matt had been nervous all morning.

Pacing.

Checking his pocket for the ring every five minutes.

Googling "how to propose without passing out."

Brock Faber had tried to keep him cool, cracking jokes and throwing snowballs at him in the team parking lot. Meanwhile, Brock's girlfriend, Stacy, had been running the real mission.

She'd planned the whole thing with Matt behind the scenes: a casual shopping day that "just happened" to include a nail appointment. ("It's been a while, treat yourself, come on!"). Then a trip to get Alea's hair done ("holiday photos, duh"), followed by helping her pick out an outfit for the skate—and coordinating the twins' outfits too.

By the time they were ready to leave, Alea felt cute, relaxed, and had no clue what was coming.

The arena was softly lit, festive music playing over the sound system. Alea laced up her skates while Matt helped the twins into theirs—Wyatt already asking if he could race Uncle Brock, and Kalen tugging on Matt's sleeve asking for hot chocolate first.

They all laughed, gliding out onto the ice together, cheeks pink from the cold, the boys skating between them.

Eventually, Alea smiled and let the boys skate off toward Brock and Stacy, who waited at the other end of the rink. She didn't think twice about it—just took Matt's hand and skated beside him, falling into a slow rhythm like they always did. A calm kind of silence wrapped around them as they circled the rink, surrounded by other families laughing and cheering.

It felt peaceful.

Comfortable.

Home.

But then, near center ice, Matt slowed. He let go of her hand.

Alea turned, confused. "What are you—"

Her breath caught.

All the families—players, wives, kids—were gathering quietly at one end of the rink, all watching. Waiting.

And Matt?

He was on one knee.

In the middle of the ice.

His eyes glossy, his lips trembling with a nervous smile, hands holding a small black box.

Alea's hands flew to her mouth.

"Matty..." she whispered, barely audible.

She didn't even stay standing. Her knees hit the ice, too, right in front of him, tears slipping down her cheeks as she pressed her hands to his.

"I've been in love with you for so long, Alea," Matt said softly, voice thick with emotion. "You've been my best friend, my rock, my safe place. You gave me the two best kids on this planet. And somehow, you've only made me love you more every day since."

She was already crying, already nodding.

"You've supported me through everything. You believed in me when I didn't believe in myself. You've built this life with me—this family—and I can't imagine a future where you're not beside me."

He took a shaky breath.

"So... would you make me the happiest man on earth and please say you'll marry me?"

Alea let out a sob that sounded a lot like a laugh and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Yes," she whispered against his ear. "Yes. A million times, yes."

When they stood, she grabbed his face and kissed him, full and soft and sure. Their audience erupted into cheers—players banging their sticks on the boards, kids clapping, WAGs dabbing their eyes and taking a thousand photos.

Then, with perfect timing, Stacy and Brock let go of the twins.

Wyatt and Kalen came skating toward them in unison, cheeks red, arms out, shouting, "MOM! DAD!"

Matt bent down, pulling them both into a hug as Alea knelt beside him, arms wrapped around her family.

It was chaotic. Icy. Sweet.

Very them.

And as snow began to fall outside the windows of the arena, Alea rested her head on Matt's shoulder, staring at the ring now sparkling on her finger, and thought:

This is it. This is the life we fought for. This is the life we built.

⸻ bonus - the twins think they're funny

It started like any other Saturday.

Alea was in the kitchen, sipping her second coffee, scrolling through work emails. Matt was parked on the couch watching game footage with one AirPod in, glasses halfway down his nose, looking very serious about something involving zone coverage.

Then Wyatt and Kalen came in.

Their almost-seventeen-year-old sons, taller than both their parents now, both with that mischievous Boldy smirk that definitely meant trouble.

"Mom. Dad." Wyatt held up two thick envelopes, perfectly crisp. "We've made our decisions."

Alea's heart skipped. "Already?"

Matt sat up straighter, eyes narrowing. "You're both committing?"

The boys nodded solemnly.

Kalen cleared his throat, dramatically pulling out a folded paper from his back pocket. "I'll start. Dear Coach, thank you for believing in me. I am thrilled to announce that I will be continuing my athletic and academic career at..."

A beat.

"...Boston University."

Matt blinked. "I'm sorry. What?"

Alea straightened, slowly setting down her mug. "BU?"

Wyatt grinned and held up his letter. "Me too. Hockey. Go Terriers!"

The silence that followed was deafening.

Matt looked like someone had told him the Wild were being traded to Florida. Alea blinked, hand hovering over her heart.

They had raised Eagles.

There was a BC flag hanging in the garage. They had season tickets. They were donors.

Matt spoke first, voice low and shocked. "BU?"

Alea's lips twitched. "We love you both. Obviously. We support whatever you choose. But BU? Really?"

Wyatt nodded, biting his lip to hold back laughter. "We just thought... you know, switch it up. You did BC, so we figured..."

Matt's jaw tightened. "Sure. Of course. That's great. Really great."

"So proud of you," Alea added, voice a full octave too high.

The twins looked at each other—and lost it.

They burst into laughter, doubling over, the fake letters slipping from their hands.

"Oh my god," Kalen wheezed. "The look on Dad's face—I thought he was going to cry."

"You should've seen Mom," Wyatt laughed, pointing. "She started shaking."

Matt blinked again, finally catching on. "Wait. You're joking?"

"We're going to BC, obviously," Kalen grinned. "You think we'd survive family Christmas if we didn't?"

Wyatt tossed them each a navy blue BC sweatshirt with EAGLE MOM/ DAD printed on the back. "Early decision. Both of us. Got the emails this morning."

Alea launched off the stool and pulled them both into the biggest hug imaginable. "You little shits. I was about to write a strongly worded letter to the NCAA."

Matt stood, shaking his head with a stunned smile. "I've never been more mad and more proud in my life."

Wyatt looked at Kalen. "We should keep the BU letters though. Frame 'em. Just to mess with people."

Kalen nodded. "Yeah. Put one in Dad's locker stall."

Matt threw a throw pillow at him.

Alea laughed, eyes misty as she looked at the two boys—her boys—standing taller than ever, BC sweatshirts half on, full of love and mischief and everything she and Matt had built together.

"I can't believe we did this," she whispered to Matt, sliding her hand into his.

"Believe it," he said, pulling her close. "And thank god they didn't pick BU. I don't think I would've made it."

#minnesota wild #minnesota wild imagine #minnesota wild x reader #minnesota wild x oc #matt boldy #matthew boldy #matt boldy x reader #matt boldy imagine #matt boldy x oc #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nhl x oc #emmywrites!

63 notes · View notes

identityua · 3 months ago

Note

Haha... hi... slides in so cooly and normal-y... I hope you're doing well!! :D

I always find it so so interesting seeing people's relationship headcanons?? So if you're down for it, could we potentially see headcanons regarding a relationship with Richard Sterling and a gender neutral reader? If not that is so chill 🫡 I just think he's so neat & even with the little bit we've been given lore-wise, he's genuinely really interesting.

Anyways, thank you if you do, and no hard feelings if ya don't!! 🫶 :3

I don’t know what you guys see in him… but who am I to judge? Let me know If I messed up his character, I went purely off the canon knowledge here. (Also omg I finally finished my midterms, we can start the finals prep now!)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

R. STERLING HCS

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

PAIRINGS: Richard Sterling x GN! Reader

WARNINGS: Sensitive content. Richard being Richard, abusive/toxic relationship dynamics, mentions of intentional harm. Read at your own discretion...

Not proofread!

Source: ianrkives

Let’s start with a little analysis!

You can rely on Mariyka to never sugarcoat someone’s personality or flaws. Maybe, some like to portray this “Knight” as a lovesick, obsessive, manipulative romantic. A dark fantasy, so to say. A term that is often applied to this character archetype is “yandere” — an individual willing to do anything for their love.

Here’s the big kicker. Richard cannot love.

One thorough glance at your partner’s mind under a microscope can tell us a lot about his mental health. Let me put my nerd glasses on as I diagnose Mr. Sterling. Psychopathy and narcissism, textbook examples. While of course not everyone with the diagnostic criteria will push their "sister" down a flight of stairs, the shoe fits unfortunately. This one is villainous and the diagnosis does not help.

So, how does he fit the shoe? Richard does not display empathy or remorse towards his actions, he conceals his true intentions, he is a pathological liar and has delusions of grandiose. He wants to pose as the “Knight”, the ultimate savior for his royal highness. In this case, that is you (condolences).

At first, in pursuit of your heart Richard will come off as charming and dreamy. It may seem like a fairytale! You are the delicate rose and he is the nurturing florist, attending to your every beck and call. In fact, he may proclaim undying love for you as soon as there are hints of reciprocation from your side.

He will use the gentlest words of affirmation to coax you out of your shell and learn what makes you tick. People you value, places you like, your deepest fears... All will be used to keep you glued to his side without a chance of leaving. Richard is fully committed to fostering an illusion of a perfect relationship where his beloved can hide behind his back at any sign of danger. But what to do If he is the danger? Who to call for help now?

All escape routes will be gradually cut off, leaving you to solely rely on your partner. Sterling will step-by-step isolate you away from any support net you have had before, entirely submerging your being underwater, trapped in a fishing net of his unyielding devotion. At least he tries to write it off as devotion. The kisses he showers you with are sickly-sweet honey, ignore the bitter aftertaste.

In reality, the intense feelings hammering in the "Knight's" ribcage are a twisted concoction of preoccupation with the ideal love and a sense of entitlement. He deserves to be your only one, he is the only one who can provide his lover with the best conditions. Your opinion on the matter is irrelevant, Richard knows what is best for you.

Granting you with the ability to be beside him should be an honor you flaunt akin to a precious trophy. After all, the public exclusively sees his affectionate glances towards you and self-sacrificial gestures. The local aunties are in awe at this gentlemanly socialite! Play your role, whether you like it or not. If you are a disobedient actor... well, let's just say he might take some heavier measures to keep you in line.

As a mere boy, your partner was capable of manipulating servants to put them in sticky positions that endangered their well-being. Taking ladders down and leaving maids stranded on roofs, tripping up servants carrying heavy pots. Those little pranks were just a child's play (quite literally). Richard's been off his rollers for a while now, his sadistic creativity sky-rocketing with the flow of time. Tread on eggshells around this one. He may be patient, but pushing it is a bad idea.

A misstep previously cost him everything, forcing his hand at erasing the memories in the flames. He cannot mess up again. No matter how much you analyze the little twitches of your partner's face, Richard can never expose his true self. Can’t you see? He is just the perfect man catered to your desires.

Jealousy is not the right term to describe the sheer amount of hatred he has for any advances towards you. Remember, his sense of identity is built around an illusion. If someone tries to interfere with it? Richard takes it as a personal attack and responds accordingly. Quietly, not to seed any doubt that would compromise his image.

Your "lover" does not shy away from rather unconventional and at times disturbing methods of manipulation. Forget raising a hand at you, no, that would bruise his illusion of a perfect bond. Why not slip an herb you are allergic to into your tea instead? Or "coincidentally" leave you locked out of the residence for the night? A perfect opportunity to have you helplessly rely on your knight-in-shining-armor, chipping away at your self-efficacy.

"My dearest angel, I will cure thy illness.", wiping away the sweat from your feverish forehead, Sterling will grasp at your jaw just tightly enough to cause a stinging sensation. His smile is loving, yet his constricted pupils tell a different story. You write off the threat in Richard's tone alongside a chilling promise as side-effects of the brain fog. You must be seeing things. And he will go to great lengths to keep you in this vulnerable position.

Now, for the million dollar question – does Richard ever develop an attachment to you? The answer is surprisingly yes! However, there are some complications.

Within the first stages of your relationship the "Knight" sees no further than your usefulness in his ideal play. A resource to be discarded If it loses value. Gradually, that fixation begins to make a tiny space for you as a person. Richard finds himself genuinely intrigued by your personality traits and interests, which confuses him to no end. How did he come around to purchase your favorite novel, not because it caresses his ego... but because he wants you to enjoy it? Conflicting and unprocessed emotions will simmer in his mind, resulting in irritation. Then, wariness. Finally, acceptance.

Perhaps, for the first time in his emotionally bland life, there is a sense other than morbid curiosity. Should this realization excuse your partner's malicious actions? Absolutely not! The manipulation will not subside at any point, his delusional goals will keep you on your toes no matter what.

Yet, there will be flowers every morning by your bedside, their fragrance thoughtfully matching your preferences. Richard finds it amusing to scratch this unexplored itch of placing importance onto another person. Don't even think about leaving him. It was never an option the moment you've interlocked your hands in a promise of an eternal love. As the "Knight" he is forever loyal to your bond and the same sentiment is expected in return.

#idv x reader #richard sterling #idv knight #knight x reader #Richard sterling x reader

65 notes · View notes

cryptidghostgirl · 1 year ago

Note

I would literally pay you to write a sequel to Humanity’s Most Favored Fantasy where the reader ends up in heaven but goes back cuz she needs everyone to know she's OK and alastor confesses cuz he won't miss the chance twice

A/N It was supposed to be a one off but I can totally make this happen bc I do feel like she would be redeemed. Sorry for so many posts today, I am really trying to get through these requests before the week of midterms I am going to deal with next week followed by a family vacation.

Humanity's Most Favored Fantasy pt. 2 (Alastor x Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Part One: Humanity's Most Favored Fantasy (Alastor x Reader)

Warnings: I don't think there are any but please correct me if I am wrong. A tiny little baby bit of angst?? Idk, man.

Word Count: 1,783

Master Lists:

Master Lists

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Alastor Master List

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask about it.

"You have to send me back."

Sera watched Heaven's two newest angels with careful consideration. They were each the first of their kind as far as either she or Emily knew, sinners having been redeemed.

"You have to at least let me talk to them!" Y/n pleaded, "Please, Charlie needs to know it worked. This... this place, that hotel, it's her dream. She's been dreaming for this all her life, working for it, giving it everything she has her whole life! She needs to know, she deserves to know."

"I mean, Sera, what harm could it do?" Emily tentatively asked her companion.

Y/n turned, looking back at Sir Pentious for help. Both had died in the battle for the hotel, only to be reborn as angels. They each had sacrificed themselves to Adam and his wrath for the sake of their friends, their newly found family.

The journey to Heaven had changed them. Sir Pentious was decked out in all white and gold, little hearts hidden everywhere over his body because it was his confession to Cheri that had been the final straw, that absolute show of humility in the face of sudden violent fear. Y/n on the other hand had found her angle form very similar to the statues she'd poured over as a human. A chiton hung lightly from her shoulders, her hair pulled up in an imperial Roman style and laurels winding their way around her head and through her hair. She looked positively monumental.

"Please." Y/n turned back to Sera, noting Pentious' hesitation, "You... you have to. Aren't we supposed to be all about fairness? About kindness? About caring for others?"

"She's got a point." Emily hummed, "I think we should give them a portal, at least so they can talk to their friends."

It was now Sir Pentious stepped forward, shaking slightly as he still tried to take in his new surroundings. Unlike Y/n who had disregarded them entirely in favor of the fight she was now picking with the seraphim, Pentious was overwhelmed and confused, completely loosing himself to the situation.

"Um... please, my ladies." he tentatively began before Y/n desperately cut him off.

"We wont ask for anything! Ever again! Right Pen?"

Sir Pentious nodded eagerly, his hands clasped before his chest. Emily turned to Sera, her eyes wide and pleading.

"Come on, Sera! Please!"

Sera sighed. This whole occasion was completely unheard of, totally uncharted territory.

"I suppose."

She would need to talk to God, need to get some form of guidance. For now, allowing the redeemed sinners to speak to their friends didn't seem to be too much of a risk. Emily clapped her hands in excitement, Y/n could have cried.

"Thank you."

Reluctantly, Sera nodded her head in welcome and with a flick of her wrist, a spinning disc of gold appeared in the air.

"Here are the rules." she carefully began, "One, you are not to speak to them where Emily and I cannot see both you and them through the portal. Two, there is a time limit. You get five minutes. Thre-"

"Oh come on, Sera!" Emily cut in, "Isn't that enough? This is their family, they might never get to see them again."

Sera let out another world weary sigh. She didn't have the energy to fight with Emily, it was all too much.

"Fine, fine." she waved the younger seraphim off, "Are you two ready?"

Y/n and Pentious met one another's gaze.

"Yes." Sir Pentious answered for them, "I believe so."

With a snap of Sera's fingers, the center of the glowing disc spread open like the aperture of a camera. The sight that met their eyes caused Y/n to gasp, her hands flying to her mouth.

The hotel looked completely different. Everything was nicer, shinier, bigger than either former sinner had ever seen it.

"The fuck is that?" they heard Cherri ask in her thick, Australian drawl.

"It's us!" Sir Pentious happily replied and in a flash, every member of the hotel was gathered on the other side of the portal.

"Charlie!" Y/n exclaimed, tears running down her cheeks, "Angie! Husker!"

"Y/n? Pen?" Charlie asked, her eyes wide.

"You did it!" Y/n happily replied.

"Where are you guys?" Nifty asked, looking in awe at Y/n and Pentious' stark white surroundings.

"We're in Heaven." Sir Pentious proudly replied.

"Say hi Sera, Emily!"

Emily ducked into view of the others, waving excitedly while Sera stayed put.

"Or... not Sera, I guess." Y/n mumbled, a bit disappointed.

Charlie turned to Vaggie, grabbing her girlfriend by the shoulders and shaking her intensly.

"Vaggie!" she screamed in excitment.

"You did it! I'm so proud of you." Vaggie smiled up at her girlfriend, caressing her cheek gently with one of her hands.

"We did it." Charlie corrected, turning back to Y/n and Sir Pentious, "Oh my gosh, you guys! I'm so..."

Charlie sniffled and Y/n laughed, her eyes soft with care.

"We love you too Charlie. We..."

She turned to Sera, catching the look the seraphim shot her that alerted them to their dwindling time.

"We don't have much time." Sir Pentious finished for Y/n, "We just wanted to let you all know. We had to let you all know. Cheri, my dear?"

Cheri's cheeks flushed pink as Angle elbowed her playfully.

"Uh, yeah?"

Pentious smiled.

"I hope to see you soon."

"Sure. Whatever." Cheri looked away and Husk laughed.

"We hope to see all of you soon." Y/n added and then her face fell.

She hadn't meant to sour the mood with the impossibility of her words. Vaggie put a comforting arm around Charlie and Y/n could have sworn she saw one of Alastor's ears twitch from where he stood at the back of the group.

Alastor had been the only one to say nothing to the pair so far. The portal was growing smaller and the only thing on Y/n's mind was letting everyone at the hotel who she knew she might never get the chance to see again know how grateful she was to have had the opportunity to know them.

Brow furrowed, eyes lightly panicked, she turned to Charlie.

"Charlie, I love you." she announced, tears beginning to pool in her eyes, "I am so grateful for you, for everything you've done. You're an incredible person and I... I'm going to miss you so much. Same with you Vaggie. You are the brightest pair of people of any sort I have ever met."

That was the last straw for Charlie. The demon Princess began to bawl and with Angel and Cheri's help, Vaggie lead her out of sight of the portal. Next, Y/n fixed her gaze on Husk.

"Husker, I don't know if... if you or Nifty even want... it doesn't matter." she took a deep breath, "You are both such incredible people, thank you for being my friends."

Husk smiled sadly at her as Nifty latched onto his leg, hugging it tightly as tears began to fall. Lastly, Y/n turned to look at Alastor.

Out of everyone at the hotel, she knew Alastor the least. They never spoke much and when they were in the same room together, he always seemed to be as far away from her as he could get. It was complicated and confusing, but Y/n still knew none of this would have been possible without his help. She took a deep breath.

"Alastor?"

His ears picked up at the sound of her voice saying his name. Warily, he turned to face her.

Ever since the portal had appeared, his brain had been a rushing mess of thought, his heart a caged bird, trapped in the confines of his chest. He had thought he had lost any hope, any chance. Things had suddenly become much more complicated.

"I know we were never close." Y/n began and his breath caught in his throat, "I just... none of this would have been possible without you. I know you have no interest in redemption and... I wish I had gotten to know you better. You're... even though I don't really know you all to well, I want you to know that I love you all the same."

It was the first time, the very first time, those words had ever been directed from her to him. It felt better than Alastor ever could have imagined.

"I love you too."

The words had left his mouth before he'd really been able to think them through. His cheeks flushed pink at the realization of what he had said, Y/n's eyes widened, her lips slightly parted.

It was strange. Maybe it was because he always avoided her, maybe it was because she thought he hated her. Maybe it was a billion different reasons why she had never considered the idea before but none of those things mattered because she heard his words now, considered them now. Y/n realized that maybe, just maybe, she wanted to love him back. Not platonically because maybe, just maybe, in this moment, all she wanted to do was reach through the portal and kiss him.

Those were thoughts to deal with later. She would have time later, she didn't now. The portal's closure became faster and Y/n sent a panicked look towards Sera and Emily. They were, however, unyielding in her silent plea and so she turned back to the quickly shrinking image of Alastor, Husk, and Nifty.

"I..." her voice trembled, "Fuck! Alastor, there's no time. I... fuck!"

There was so much she wanted to say, so many questions left unasked. Alastor, to her surprise, broke through her stressed mutterings, fueled by a sudden, wild courage. It was that human part of him, that one remaining spark of light.

"It's alright." he took a step closer, "You don't have to answer I just... I needed you to know. When Adam... when you died, the... nothing mattered anymore. I never thought I'd get the chance to say it, to tell you the truth. I had to, I had... I'm sorry."

"No! Alastor!" She yelled fiercely back at him, her eyes wild and determined as he loved them best, "Never apologize for loving someone. Never apologize for caring. I..."

The portal was almost shut now.

"Come find me!"

In a burst of golden light like phoenix fire, the portal vanished. Y/n was breathless, she turned to Pentious who was smiling brightly.

"He loves me."

He nodded and she giggled giddily.

"He loves me!"

As reality set in, the joy slipped from her face.

"And I'll probably never see him again."

----

Tags:

@willowshadenox @i-love-jafar @elfyeet @reader3 @lazygirlfanfic0-0@kahlan170@wendyphan01203-blog

317 notes · View notes

towriteloveontheirarms · 2 years ago

Text

I would do anything (modern!Professor!Daemon Targaryen x Student!Reader)

synopsis: You are in danger of failing your class, so you have to beg your professor for a way to prevent that from happening. Something he is more than happy to help with.

warnings: age difference, power imbalance, semi public sex, smut, oral sex (m recieving), p in v sex, afab reader, she/her pronouns

word count: 2.5k

taglist: @ajthefujoshi @urmomsgirlfriend1, @hopelesswritergall

(If you want to be tagged in the `kissing booth AU´, for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

As you sit in front of Professor Targaryen´s Office waiting for him to call you in, you feel like in the beginning of a cheap porn movie. Your leg bounces up and down rapidly and you don´t even want to think about the reason why you are sitting here right now. You're grades are slipping massively and now you need to beg him for extra work or anything really to better them. Desperately so or your parents would kill you. And the worst part was, that it was all your fault. If you hadn´t gotten distracted you wouldn´t be in this situation. Fuck! You scream as loud as you can in your head.

Running a hand through your hair for the millionth time. Until finally the clicking sound of the door besides you can be heard and Professor Targaryen calls your name.

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I know I could have come in during office hours, but I… I just couldn´t wait that long.” You say as your fingers pick at each other.

“It´s okay. Why don´t you tell me what you wanted to speak about?” He looks at you over the top rim of his glasses.

You take a deep breath, feeling your pulse between your legs at the sight. Daemon Targaryen was a good looking man. Aged like a fine wine more than anything. He had all of the female student body wrapped tightly around his finger, some of the guys as well probably and you were no exception for that. Damn it, but you had to concentrate right now. Distractions like this where the whole reason why you were sitting right here right now in the first place. He on the other hand seemed like he had exactly those distractions in mind exclusively.

“I am aware that I let myself get… distracted for a while and my grades have suffered from that. Badly. So I wanted to consult you about ways to bring them up again?” You can barely keep your eyes away from how tight his shirt sits over his chest.

“So much is true and I admire your determination to wanting to better yourself, but I fear I am not sure if I have that much extra work left so close to the midterms.” He folds his hands on top of the desk as he speaks and you have to pull yourself together not to drool over them then and there. His long fingers just had that effect. His own eyes rest comfortably on your figure. Running over the barely hidden swell of your breasts, the pooch of your belly, and the hint of firm thighs just under the hemline of the summer dress you decided to wear today.

“Please, professor. I´ll do anything you ask of me.” You plead. Close to falling to your knees and begging. Damn, you needed to get a grip of reality and you needed to do so fast. This wasn´t actual porn.

“Anything?” That word made his ears perk up in interest. Would you really do anything?

“Yes, professor. I swear I would do anything. I just need my grades to become better again.” You bite on your lower lip in an attempt to calm yourself. A seemingly innocent action that gets his blood flowing. Boiling. Directly all the way down to his core, making his cock stir in the tightening pants.

“Well, if you swear it… There might be a way.” His tongue darts out to wet his lips, at which you can´t help but feel your core clenching around nothing.

“Please, tell me professor.” You lean slightly forward in anticipation. Completely forgetting what you had decided to wear today, thus granting him an almost perfect look deep into your cleavage.

“Oh, fuck you calling me professor like it doesn´t turn you on just to say it.” He chuckles and shakes his head slightly. “Come here.”

Hesitantly you stand up and walk around his big desk. Watchful eyes never leaving him, as he pulls his chair back enough for you to take your place in the space under his desk.

“Kneel.” It isn´t a suggestion that passes Daemon´s lips. It´s a clear command spoken in a raspy tone and you are not about to disobey him. Not when the mere sight of him running his hand through his hair and readjusting his glasses drove a fire through your veins that could only be doused by his touch.

You bite your lip again as you settle down, looking at your professor through your thick lashes. Your hands immediately run up the inside of his thighs to open his belt. Pulling out his length, your eyes widen at the size of it.

“Do you like what you see?” He muses. Your only answer coming out in the form of a slow nod. However when your eyes meet his lilac gaze again and you see the look in it, your hesitation fades.

Leaning forward, you lick a stripe up his shaft to the tip. Watching his eyes shut you repeat the motion, letting your hands continue to caress his thighs. When his breath hitches at your ministrations you finally take him into one hand, spreading the fluid collecting at the red tip along it.

Letting your tongue swirl around it teasingly slow, you flutter your eyelashes up at Daemon. Waiting until one of his big hands found their way into your hair, holding it in a makeshift ponytail, to wrap your lips around his cock. By the way his hand flexes you can tell that he is holding back from pushing your head down. Breathing as heavily as you are as you take him further into your mouth with every time you move it down.

Once his cockhead hits the back of your throat, you let out a low moan. The vibration getting his length to twitch in your mouth, which in turn causes tears to burn in the corners of your eyes. If only you hadn´t worn makeup today. Your mascara would end up smudging for the whole rest of the school to see. Too bad you couldn´t give a shit about that little fact at the moment. The weight of his length on your tongue being absolutely distracting you from any coherent thought or concern.

Blinking the tears away you start bobbing your head up and down in a slow pace, the hand that still sat wrapped around his hardness, falling into rhythm with your head. Shifting your weight slightly you sit back on your haunches, hollowing your cheeks just to get another reaction out of him. Which you do this time in the form of a soft groan and his fingers pulling at your hair ever so gently. The dull pain that travels over your scalp from it pulls another moan from your lungs. This one louder than the last. Prompting his eyes to dart over to the door. Hoping that no one would hear, but also bucking his hips at the same time. For a split second the thought about this being wrong crosses his mind, but just as fast as it comes, it is replaced by how arousing it is nonetheless. Fastening the pace with which you bob your head up and down, you take Daemon in even further, swallowing around his thick length. Concentrating on how to breath, your eyes flutter close. Keeping your rhythm steady. Daemons groans come more frequent now. The heavenly sounds eliciting a whimper or whine from your side every single time. Your own arousal collecting between your thighs, sticking your panties to your core. The next time his hand tightens in your hair, you start to rub your wet core against your heel. It´s not something you control, but rather something that controls you. Leads you on your path towards relief as you bring Daemon there as well, but it isn´t enough. Nothing you could do to yourself could be enough, when you could have his touch instead.

As your whines of frustration grow frequent so does his hips bucking up into you. So you ignore the way your neck and jaw slowly start hurting and pick up your pace ever so slightly once more.

“Fuck… I´m so close.” Heavy pants leave his mouth.

His eyes return to lock with yours as hot ropes of cum shoot down your throat before he can even give you another warning. Leading him through his orgasm, you slow down the movements of your hand, before letting his cock out of your mouth with a wet pop. Panting heavily as you swallow and let your tongue swipe out to clean the remnants of his spent. Daemon thinks that just with this sight in mind he could die a happy man as he helps you stand up again. Leaning against the desk as your knees still slightly hurt from the hard floor. Both of you catching your breath for a second. Yet his erection didn´t seem to go away. If anything it throbbed even more with each passing second as his dazed, hungry eyes roamed over your body. Shining with remnants of his cum and your spit.

“Turn around.” His rough voice rings through to your foggy brain. One hand caressing over your jawline , neck and exposed collar bones.

You turn around immediately. Swaying as you do what you are told. Holding onto the desk, your knees wobble even more as Daemon stands to press up behind you. The hand that had before caressed your chin, now wanders up your back to grab the back of your neck. A surprised whine escapes your lungs at the sudden rough touch. The fire in your core churning, burning even brighter as he tears down the thin straps of the dress. Effectively exposing your whole bare upper body to him and anyone that might enter the room at any second. Instead of letting this stop the two of you though, it only turned you on more. Letting him push you onto the surface in front of you, you hastily push up the skirt of the dress and your panties to the side and spread your legs for him.

Daemon wastes no time in entering you. Sucking in a drawn out breath as your velvet walls surround his dick tightly in their wet heat.

“So tight…” He says breathily. Giving you barely a second to get used to the pain of the way he stretches you out.

Your back arches off the table so hard you feel like it will break under him rutting inside of you without abandon, turning the pain into delicious pleasure soon enough.

Daemon takes his free hand off your hip, where he had previously held you, to wrap it around your body. Bringing it down to your clit to rub fast circles into it. If it wasn´t for that hand you are sure you would fall to the ground with how weak your knees feel at his ministrations. Wobbling like they are made of jelly as he fucks into you like he is possessed.

“So… Good…” Your words come out in a hushed whisper. “Please.”

You don´t even have to finish your plea for him to understand. Daemons fingers rub even faster circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs, his hips slapping against your ass as he pistons inside of your wet pussy. The sounds your bodies create in the process so lewd and addictive at the same time, you think you will never forget them. When a particularly loud moan falls from your lips, the hand form your neck loosens too to clamp down over your mouth.

“Shit… Shh, or we will be caught and you don´t want that. Do you, good girl?” He rasps into your ear.

You shake your trembling head. A muffled “No.” Sounding through his long and thick fingers.

“That´s a good little slut. All nice and tight, doing whatever her professor wants her to do.” The words are taunting but the tone he says them in is so sweet and full of praise, your brain gets even foggier. You barely even realize the whimper of protest coming from you at the pet name.

“What? Are you not letting me fuck you for a better grade?” He chuckles, followed right by choked grunt as your cunt tightens around his length with the oncoming waves of an orgasm. “I thought so.”

Chasing that oncoming high your hips develop a mind of their own. Meeting his thrusts as best as they still can. The rhythm almost too fast to keep up. The whines and cries of pleasure from you come without pause now. Small tears trickling down your cheeks from the pure sensation of his fingers on and his cock inside of you. Every oh so little sensation, like his hot, heavy breath in your neck, are driving you further towards the edge and as he does so the walls of your hot core can´t help but flutter. Seemingly sucking him in even further and pulling him closer to the edge with you. Your moans turn frantic the closer you get. Glad for his hand over your mouth, as if had it not been there, someone would sure walked in on you two by now. Daemon is much better at controlling the volume of the grunts and curses that leave his mouth. His mouth that was so close to the most sensitive part of your neck.

”Fuck, fuck, fuck…” A string of muffled high-pitched curses makes its way through his hand. And with a few more thrusts of his hips dragging his thick cock over the spongy spot inside you, you fall over the edge hard. The waves of overstimulating pleasure pulling you under until you feel like you can´t breathe anymore. Daemon pulls your shaking hips close to his stuttering ones one last time and with a gasp he comes for the second time. Painting the walls deep inside of you with his seed.

Exhausted you collapse forwards onto the desk beneath you. The wood cold against your bare breasts. A happy, blissed out smile on your face as he removes his hand from your mouth to let you catch your breath. Staying inside of you until the two of you have calmed down enough to continue on.

When he pulls out you let out one last whine at the sudden empty feeling. Fixing yourself up again your eyes rest on your professor once more. An almost hopeful and ultimately satisfied expression shimmering in them as the two of you sit back down in your respective seats.

His eyes watch you even closer than before now. The way your thighs press together in an attempt to not let his cum drip out of you and onto the chair or anywhere else, the way your hands play with the hem of the dress again as you try to find the right words for this new situation.

“So, uhm…” You feel your face and décolleté burn with the awkwardness of the remnants of your previous doings hanging in the air and the question you feel like you have to ask, just to be sure. “So, can there be anything done about my grades?”

He runs his hand through his hair and readjusts his glasses again, before he speaks in a calm voice. “We most definitely can. And… if you come back tomorrow, they might become even better.”

With those words and a wink he lets you go.

#daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x you #daemon x you #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon imagine #modern hotd au #modern hotd #modern house of the dragon au #modern house of the dragon #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fic #house of the dragon fic #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #hotd x you #house of the dragon x you

233 notes · View notes

spinedog · 7 months ago

Note

Please talk about birds and why their existence is horrifying!

For dabble prompt, Yang and Weiss making macaroni, as inspired by the recent Instagram where Barbara and Kara made macaroni.

You can request a ramble and drabble here, and see prompts I've finished and am currently working on!

Ramble - I have a lot of Emotions about birds and their relationship to mammals.

Drabble - The college AU returns: guess who has no fucking idea how to make macaroni, and who else finally got fed up with it.

Birds. Birds my beloved, birds my beloathed.

Here's the thing. Every time I research birds, for any reason, I learn something new and horrifying. I could fill a post the length of Do You Like The Color Of The Sky with the shit I know and fear about birds. Rather than go into a specific reason, let me explain the underlying reason why I find them both fascinating and disturbing.

Birds are endotherms (warmblooded), like us. They have a four-chambered heart, like us. They have complex social behaviours across multiple unrelated genera, like mammals. Many unrelated bird species use tools and can solve human puzzles. While not shared with us, birds also have paired larynx structures that let them make insanely complex noises. Between the intelligence and this ability, many species are capable of mimicking human speech - and at least one species has both scientific and anecdotal evidence of being able to use human speech to communicate. (The only mammal proven to be able to mimic verbal speech is a goddamn Grey Seal btw)

All of this is lovely until you take a step back and realize our ancestors diverged 300 million years ago. Our shared ancestral traits are a handful of internal changes, the loss of gills, keratinized skin, and fucking chest breathing. That is how goddamn little we have in common with birds ancestrally. To be clear, the first true mammal came along closer to 225 mya - but we are the only living group left from the synapsids, then therapsids, that grew Better Teeth and split off. In comparison, birds and crocodiles are the only living members from archosauria, and the arrival of birds themselves is still under a lot of debate but was probably around 150 mya.

This is the part that I find so fascinating. Go all the way back to that paragraph with all the things we share with birds. Both mammals and birds evolved all of those traits separately. And yet, despite being so far away that we may as well be alien, we've ended up on a parallel course to each other. Almost every part of our body, right down to the brain, works in a completely different way and yet the outcome is spookily similar. We can reason. We can problem-solve.

We've gotten to the point that a well-educated human and a well-educated grey parrot have stood eye to eye with each other and had a true, verbal, two-way conversation.

Seriously. Think about that. That's something we had to use sign language to do with our closest living relatives, and talking buttons to do with our longest-running domesticated companion species - and both happened in the last few decades. The first account of a 'talking parrot' was in 5th century BC.

I think that's a significant connection, on the grand cosmic scale of time and evolution. Sister groups not in blood but in destination, driven by curiosity and a miraculous set of coincidences, reach out and speak to each other in a language both are able to understand.

And I didn't even touch the fact that birds and mammals are the only two living vertebrates that developed fucking flight.

---

"I wouldn't use this in a hot pan, it's plastic."

"Oh." A pause. "Right."

Yang's voice coming from the kitchen wasn't new, but Weiss' certainly was. Blake poked out from her room, curious enough about the potential of dying in a house fire to emerge from midterm studying.

Immediately she saw Ruby, pressed up against the wall to stare down the stairs. The younger woman turned, catching sight of Blake and pressing a finger to her lips before motioning her forwards, kneeling to clear room for her. Blake slowly crept up, leaning over Ruby as they both peered around the corner.

Down the stairs, the small, messy kitchen was visible. Weiss Schnee hovered over the stove, hair pulled up in a ponytail and eyes wide with uncharacteristic worry. "Okay, I think it's all combined."

"Good, now you can pour the milk in." Yang appeared from behind the wall in their view, where she must have been standing by the fridge. "Don't do it all at once, pour in about... here. That much. Whisk it together until there's no clumps and then add the rest."

Blake turned her gaze downwards, bewildered.

"Weiss admitted she doesn't know how to cook mac and cheese." Ruby whispered. "Yang couldn't let that one go."

She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. It was probably bound to happen. Weiss hadn't had to cook for herself a day in her life, and Yang had probably been cooking for herself and Ruby since she could reach the stove. Sooner or later, there would have to be a collision. Of course, she had to feel a bit bad that no one had ever taken the time to teach Weiss any of it. But any guilt she felt was immediately overwhelmed by the sheer surrealism of the scene unfolding in the kitchen. Weiss had merely brushed off all points at her complete lack of housekeeping and cooking. And now here she was, taking lessons from the person who gave her the most shit for it.

"This all seems complicated?" The trademark Weiss sass wasn't gone entirely, even with her being miles out of her element. "Isn't mac and cheese supposed to be a really simple thing that kids can make?"

"That's Kraft dinner. This isn't much harder to make and tastes way better, so we're starting with it. Relax, ice queen, it's hard to screw it up completely."

Weiss heaved a frustrated sigh, whether it was at the nickname or the recipe wasn't clear. "Is the pasta in yet?"

"Nope, water still isn't boiling." Yang had leaned against the cupboards, clearly amused.

"They always say, to uh." Weiss looked up, blinking. "A watched- when you look- when you watch the bowl of- it never boils." She looked over, as if hoping Yang might have understood the verbal equivalent of an orchestra falling down the stairs.

Yang nodded sagely. "Exactly."

Blake pulled herself away from the corner, barely choking back laughter. Ruby's breathing devolved into chaotic inhales.

"Seriously, what is the saying?! Something about pots? And watching it?"

"No, no you nailed it. A watched when you look when you watch-"

"Yang Xiao Long I will beat you with this spatula I swear to God."

She could hear the grin in Yang's voice. "You and what ladder?"

That was the final straw for both Blake and Ruby. Ruby broke first, the laugh escaping like a water from a high pressure hose. Within moments both of them were in hysterics, Ruby on the floor and Blake leaning against the wall, fighting for air.

"Well." Blake managed to look over, and found Weiss glaring at them both from the bottom of the stairs, hands on her hips. "If you two are going to have input, you may as well get downstairs and help cook."

It was a fair enough point, and the two women managed to pull themselves down the stairs and into the kitchen, still wiping tears away. Yang watched them sit down at the table, clearly fighting back a laugh of her own.

Weiss re-entered the kitchen, frowning down at the water in the pot. A split second of quiet.

Blake wasn't much of a comedian - but she knew when the timing was right. "A watched pot never boils, Weiss."

Yang broke like china, falling against the fridge with a howl of laughter. A spatula bounced off the center of Blake's forehead, and it was worth every second.

#spinedog speaks #spinedog writes #good news i have another 'talk about birds' ask so you guys are gonna hear about bird lungs next #also shoutout to Kara fucking up 'a watched pot never boils' the worst anyone's ever done it

22 notes · View notes

harleykeeners · 1 year ago

Text

Be My Life Line (Please)-Parkner

Peter Parker/Harley Keener

Prompt: Peter Parker is overwhelmed. His Dads happen to be called out on a mission the same week his life decided to fall apart. With 4 tests, massive presentations, and no parents, Peter starts popping pills to cope with the pressure of everything crumbling around him. Harley finds him and accidentally makes it worse.

Word Count: 9282

“Hey, kid. Just checking in, we just landed. Everything good?” Tony asked.

Peter put the phone down as he sighed, “Yeah, everything’s great.” Lying through his teeth, Peter started to make his way to the medicine cabinet.

“That’s good to hear. Hey, we should be back in 3 days tops. Just gotta wrap something up here with Nat quickly, something about some rogue spies, I don’t even know at this point.”

“Sounds like fun. Well, I gotta go, got things to do. Be safe, love you.” Peter hung up and just… stared into the mirror. He closed the medicine cabinet and walked away. Tony and Stephen were suddenly pulled away for a mission Peter (and apparently Tony) knew next to nothing about. Which was normal.

Except it had to be this week.

It had to be the week Peter had his Calc and Physics midterm.

It had to be the week Peter had an English and History test.

It had to be the week Peter promised to help MJ with Academic Decathlon practice.

It had to be the week Peter was set to present his work to the other head scientists at Stark Industries.

All in all, he had too much this week. Too much, all at once.

Normally, whenever Tony and Stephen were out, Peter would ask Pepper for help. Well, with Pepper being promoted to CEO, that was next to impossible. After Pepper, Peter would go to Happy. However, it appeared the universe was dead set on making Peter’s week terrible. Happy was preoccupied with training new bodyguards and media specialists (which wasn’t his job?).

So, Peter was alone. Alone with a crammed schedule.

He took solace in his bedroom, the lights low with just a lamp over his desk. He figured the best course of action was tackling everything one thing at a time. Or else he feared he would drown.

Peter found it kind of funny, how all of his teachers decided to assign work the same week his internship project was due for a presentation. He figured he’d start with his Physics review. The packet had 60 questions, and he hadn’t started yet. His midterm was 40% of his final grade. He couldn’t afford to fail- which he doesn’t think he will- but better safe than sorry.

As he stares at the packet, Peter wonders why he cares so much. Maybe it's because everyone tells him how “lucky” he is. How he has to make his Dads proud. How he has to live up to his Dads expectations. How he has to prove he’s “worthy” of the life he has.

He knows it’s irrational.

But, it's still enough to motivate him to study himself into an early grave.

He stares at the paper… and completely blanks out.

Friday alerts Peter that it is time for dinner. Normally Tony would make dinner, (or at least leave Peter some leftovers), however, he left in such a rush that Peter had to make his own dinner. The only issue with that is, Peter easily loses track of time. Peter would find himself burning several meals and leaving the oven on multiple times.

It’s not that Peter is a bed cook, just not a safe one.

Tony had banned Peter from the kitchen multiple times.

Worse comes to worst, Peter will cook. However, he’d rather not. Whenever Tony and Stephen would usually leave, Pepper or even Harley would come over and cook. They’d make a day of it.

As Peter stares into the fridge, he really starts to contemplate calling or texting Harley. However, he imagines it’d go something like this:

“Harls, how do I make pasta?”

“Peter, you can not be serious…”

Once Peter sees that there isn’t food, he goes back to his room. He doesn’t want to waste more precious study time. Besides, he wasn’t that hungry. Dinner could be a bit later.

Peter went back to his packet and about his day.

Before he knew it, Friday alerted him it was midnight.

“Great..” Peter muttered. He hadn’t eaten and still didn’t understand certain problems in his review packet.

Peter gave up and started getting ready for bed. He wasn’t that hungry anyway. He set his alarm and then remembered, Tony wasn’t here to drive him. He’d have to take the bus.

Peter set his alarm for 5 A.M.

After a quick shower, he settled into bed and checked his phone. No notifications. It seemed his Dads were busy.

“Goodnight,” Peter says to himself. He could feel it, this was going to be a hard week.

Initially, Peter thought he’d be fine. His Dads joke about how it would be a trial run for college. Peter would be responsible for getting to school, work, and all the house chores. “I’ll be fine,” Peter said. “Go! Go save the world!” Peter ushers his Dads out the door after a quick goodbye.

He wishes he went with them.

The alarm hurls him awake. Peter fights every force known to man, plus some, to get out of bed. His phone's brightness slightly blinds him, and he sees the time says 5:10 A.M. and a text from his Dad.

Dad: Have a good day! Just killed a weird alien, will bring goop as souvenir!

9:45 P.M.

Peter hurls himself out of bed and makes his way into the bathroom.

“What the fuck!” Peter shouts as he hops into the freezing shower. He laughs to himself, “Oh, the universe is out to get me.”

Pro: Peter was no longer sleepy.

Con: Peter was freezing in the middle of January, in New York.

He rushes to pack his bag, making sure to shove his review packet in there. Peter hoped to do a few extra questions on the bus. Racing downstairs, Peter quickly grabs a banana for breakfast and races out the door.

“Next bus in 30 minutes,” reads on the bus app. Great, that only means Peter just missed the bus.

He sat at the bus stop, regretting not dressing warmer, and started working on his review packet. The smell of weed hit him as a few people started to gather at the bus stop. It frustrated him that he had to smell weed this early in the morning. That was the main reason he asked Tony to drive him to school.

He wasn’t a fan of starting his day with the horrid stench of weed at 5:30 A.M.

By the time the bus came, Peter had to fight his way on. He ended up standing in the alley, holding on to the overhead rails for support. Any plans to keep studying went out the window.

The morning bus was always oddly crowded. People getting on would shove and jostle Peter, and he simply got used to it.

As luck would have it, Peter forgot to grab his headphones. The nice thing about the morning bus was that no one tried to talk to him. He quietly watched the street view and the soft fall of snow outside.

He found comfort in the route. It was the same route every day. It was a constant.

When he finally got off at Midtown, the time was 6:45 A.M. Peter had 15 minutes before class in which he can continue his studies. He found a small corner by the school and settled down.

“Yo, you got those practice questions I asked for?” MJ asks. She seemed to appear out of thin air and scared the shit out of Peter.

“Oh, no. Sorry, it completely slipped my mind.” He answered as MJ opted to sit next to him. Peter forgot that MJ was in the hospital with her mother and needed help with Academic Decathlon practice questions.

“Ah, don’t sweat it. I just need them before Thursday.” She looks over his shoulder at the packet. “Last minute cramming?”

Peter nods and sighs at the same time. “Yeah. I think I’ll be fine but can never be too sure.”

MJ laughs and quips back “Yeah, don’t be like Flash. He’s going on and on about how he knows he’ll ace it but” MJ leans closer to Peter, “If you look at him closely, you can see the panic in his eyes.”

They shared a laugh before MJ got up to roam around school a bit before class. Peter was feeling a bit more confident, however, his test anxiety was acting up. Bad enough that he has to take this test at the end of the day. Now he’ll just be anxious all day.

Throughout the day, Peter’s head started to hurt. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, mixed with his empty stomach, and his anxiety that started making his head spin.

It was fine, he just needed to get through this midterm. That he forgot about until yesterday. That was worth 40% of his grade. That could tank his 96% “A”. That Flash 100% bombed if his face at lunch was anything to tell by.

If Peter played his cards right, he just needed 81% to end up with 90%. He needs to end the semester with an “A”. He can only afford to get 12 questions wrong. He should have studied earlier. His head is spinning. His palms are sweating. When did it get so hot?

Peter flips over his test and quickly skims the questions. He doesn’t remember what happens next.

He walked out of the classroom, feeling relief that it was finally over. Until he remembers he has to go on patrol.

Peter really didn’t want to go on patrol as he had his Chemistry midterm on Thursday. But, Spider-Man can’t just disappear for a week. So, despite his better judgment, he calls Ned to take his bag.

Normally, Peter loves patrol. He loves swinging from building to building and helping those in need. Peter finds that being Spider-Man is one of the few moments he can truly be himself. No pressure from school, friends, or his Dads. Spider-Man is his window to freedom.

And right now, Peter wants to slam the window shut. Right now, Peter needs to be studying. However, just as he thinks that Peter sees a cat in a tree.

“Hey! Someone a little stuck?” Peter asks the cat, not really expecting a response. (However, he doesn’t ignore the possibility of a talking cat.) Luckily, the cat doesn’t try to scratch him. Peter easily scoops up the cat and returns it to the ground.

“I feel like I should find your owner…” The cat ends up running away behind some home, allowing Peter to conclude that it was an outside cat that simply got stuck.

He wishes his patrol ended there. Over the next 3 hours, the universe decided to line up every petty crime back-to-back. First, Mr. Delmar found himself behind gunpoint. Then, some teenagers decided to rob a gas station. Followed by three guys causing a commotion on the subway. And the cherry on top of this picture-perfect night was a woman getting mugged right as Peter was going to go home.

Peter knows he’s there to help. But sometimes, sometimes he wishes he could be selfish and take the day for himself.

He swings by Ned’s window to collect his bag and makes his way home.

“Welcome home, Peter. It is currently 9:37 P.M.” Friday announces. Peter simply groans and makes his way to the shower. One thing he feels he must do is shower after patrol. Even though he should go to bed, Peter needs to study.

The relief Peter feels as the hot water hits his shoulders is unparalleled. It's the first moment of relaxation all day.

As Peter gets dressed, he notices the clock strikes 10 P.M. That gives him roughly an hour to study. He silences his phone to avoid all distractions and hits the books.

Dad: Everything okay? Haven’t heard from you yet

10:12 P.M.

Pops: Hope you’re doing well, Peter.

10:19 P.M.

Dad: Sleep well, kid. Love ya

10:35 P.M.

He doesn’t notice the missed texts. Peter wakes up on his desk.

His phone is screaming at him from across the room. His head hurts and the lights he left on blind him.

“Shit,” He thinks. Peter pulls himself from the desk, his back in agony and his head pounding. “Friday, what time is it?”

“It is 6 A.M, Peter.”

“Oh, shit.” Peter thinks. “I’m going to miss the bus.” Immediately, Peter throws on the first thing he sees and races out the door. No time for breakfast. Now that he thinks about it, he missed dinner yesterday.

As he rushes to the bus stop, Peter realizes the bus is approaching. Luckily, there's a line of people to get on so Peter makes it on in time. Way too close for comfort.

By now, his head is pounding. He keeps forgetting to eat and he’s not getting enough sleep. He’s still sore from patrol and he’s anxious about his tests. And now, he’s out of breath from chasing the bus.

It’s not like today is going to get any better. Peter knows he still has to do the Academic Decathlon questions MJ asked for. Plus, he needs to finish patrol quickly to review some formulas that were wrong on his internship project.

Once again, MJ finds him sitting in the same corner, now reviewing Chemistry. Peter sees her from the corner of his eye and prepares to let her down again.

“Before you ask, no, I still don’t have the AcaDeca questions. I’m sorry, I’ll try my hardest to get them done by tomorrow.” Peter doesn't promise and he isn’t even sure what he just said is true.

He doesn’t really know why he can’t just tell MJ he doesn’t have the time to do them.

Well, Peter knows why.

He doesn’t want to let her down. He doesn’t want to admit he can’t do something. He doesn’t want to admit he bit off more than he can chew. Peter wants to be someone people can rely on. But right now, he can’t even rely on himself.

“No sweat, just let me know if it’s too much. I can always ask Ned to do them instead.” MJ calmly answers back.

Peter should tell her that would be better, but something stops him.

“Hey, MJ.” Peter finds himself saying. "Do you have any Advil on you?”

“Yeah, why? Headache?”

Peter nods his head as MJ hands him the small pill. “Slept horribly.” He doesn’t even bother getting water and dry swallows the pill. MJ shoots him a look of sympathy and understanding.

“Happens to the best of us,” she says. With that, MJ bids Peter farewell and he resumes his studies.

When 3rd period rolls around, Peter is hit with the fact that he indeed has a history test today. He’s not panicking, just annoyed he forgot. It seemed like things were slipping from his memory recently.

The class is silent as they take their test and Peter starts to feel dizzy again. He didn’t eat during lunch and instead kept studying. He drinks some water, which does help him a little, but right now Peter just wants to put his head down.

He finishes his test and makes a dash for the bathroom. He just needs a minute to breathe. “Okay, just calm down. Just relax and focus,” Peter thinks as he splashes water onto his face. He begins to form a list and organize himself:

Patrol.

Internship formula.

Chemistry Midterm.

English test.

Academic Decathlon Questions.

And dinner.

He keeps forgetting that one.

Peter just needs to better manage his time. Other than that, he sees no reason to be overwhelmed. He’s just all over the place. However, his head wasn’t feeling much better.

The nurse can’t give him any medication so Peter will have to wait till he gets home.

The bell finally rings and Peter makes a dash for an empty alleyway. He doesn’t bother giving Ned his bag as he simply webs it to the wall. Peter jumps into his suit and begins his quick patrol. No more than an hour, the city gets Spider-Man for one hour and that’s it. Today, Peter Parker is needed more than Spider-Man.

Rushing to wrap the patrol up, Peter ends up slamming into a pole.

“Fuck!” He shouts and concludes patrol then and there. His arms are throbbing but that doesn’t matter, Peter still needs to get home and review his project.

The tower is freezing, and Peter makes a run to the bathroom. With no time to revel in the soothing hot water, he quickly cleans up the sweat and blood and changes into his comfort clothes. The other interns will simply deal with Peter in Harley’s hoodie and sweatpants.

Before going down to the lab, Peter goes to the medicine cabinet. His head is killing him and the pain in his arms isn’t going away. He looks at the bottle of Advil and opens it. He takes two for his headache and two more for his arms.

As he swallows the pills, Peter realizes that he hasn’t eaten yet. However, he then remembers Friday exists. “Friday, could you order a pizza and deliver it to the lab for me?”

“Of course, Peter.” Friday happily responds.

With that settled, Peter heads to the lab.

Peter is face to face with the whiteboard and one problem on it. He’s been going over it for hours. He keeps ending up with a remainder, however, it ruins the machine's code. All the other interns have taken a stab at it and none have been successful.

“This is going to be the death of me.” One of them says, which by the size of their eye bags, seems to be right.

“I swear I’m going insane. How do we keep getting a remainder? We’ve used every rational method…” Another intern says.

“We have to be missing something super obvious. Maybe, we need a new set of eyes?” Peter says and then realizes his error. They have all been staring at the same problem for the better course of an hour now, and probably all have tunnel vision.

The only issue is, they've run the problem by every intern.

“Are you going to call your Dads? I bet they could figure this out.”

And that comment struck a nerve in Peter. Mainly because he knows he can solve this. He’s solved this type of problem thousands of times before. But for some reason, he’s stuck.

They have to figure this out, as they are set to present this robot to the pantheon of scientists at Stark Industries on Thursday.

“Wait…” one of the interns speaks up, “Isn’t Harley in today?”

Peter silently cries tears of joy.

The universe is throwing him a bone.

Harley is an intern in every way but legally. Peter rushes to call the front desk and hunts Harley down. “Send Keener to lab 37, immediately. Tell him it’s life or death.”

They all let out a sigh of relief, finally having a small break from the same numbers on the whiteboard. It’s 8:45 P.M. and Harley is met with five interns surrounded by several cups of coffee and energy drinks.

“What’s going on?” Harley asks in a slight panic.

Peter doesn’t answer. He simply hands him a dry-erase marker and places him in front of the whiteboard. Harley doesn’t need direction, as Peter can see his mind running as he stares at the problem. They all leave him be.

Peter takes the time to pick up his pizza and eat a bit. He forgot how good New York pizza is. With some food in his stomach, Peter quietly sneaks off to take another pill. His arms are still throbbing and his head is killing him. At least now he has some food in his system.

He comes back to see Harley on a completely new board, the previous one filled with equations.

“Still can’t crack it?” he asks.

“Darling, I think you finally got me. What the hell is this?”

“I have no idea. We’ve been stuck on this for weeks and keep getting a remainder, which then causes a system error in the bot. Thought you’d be able to figure it out.” Peter answers.

“Do you guys still have your previous proofs?”

“Yeah, right over there.” Peter points to a stack of paper on a nearby desk. Harley nods and ruffles through the stack, his eyes quickly skimming the numbers.

Peter goes off to grab some water. He gets the compulsion to check his phone and notices he has a few texts from Tony and Stephen.

Dad: Just checking in, all good?

6:11 P.M.

Dad: Would you like an alien finger as a souvenir?

8:24 P.M

Peter laughs at the messages and sends back a quick selfie to make sure Tony knows he is indeed alive (despite what his body is telling him). To his surprise, Tony replies right away and they spend a few seconds discussing TSA guidelines for transporting severed alien fingers.

Harley then speaks up and asks, “Peter, what’s the square root of -1?”

“It’s i.” He quickly responds. The square root of -1 does not exist, so its i, which stands for an imaginary number.

“Right, and who wrote this?” Harley calls him over to review some work. He points to some long equation where there’s a smudged number.

“Does that say 1 or i?” He asks.

Peter sees red. They have all spent weeks looking over this problem, going slightly insane, all because of some poor penmanship.

“That’s supposed to be an i..”

“Yeah, but then they added it to the equation as if it were a one- which throws everything off-”

“By one,” Peter concludes. “That’s why we keep having a remainder.”

In a moment of pure blinding rage, Peter throws all the work onto the floor. His entire team had spent weeks refining their robot, all because someone misread a number. Peter was fuming.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Peter shouts.

This grabs everyone's attention. They all gather around Harley, who's picking up the paper on the floor. “Hey, at least we caught it now and not in front of the professionals.” Harley tries to reassure Peter.

The group nods, but Peter doesn’t care.

He’s beyond exhausted and at the end of his patience.

He quickly checks his phone and sees that it’s 10:22 P.M. He’s even more frustrated as he still needs to shower and do homework. However, before he storms off he speaks up, “Next time we do something like this, we are all making our numbers and variables extremely legible.” He doesn’t wait to see the looks on everyone’s faces and storms off to his room.

The entire fiasco was making his head hurt even more, so Peter pops another pill before bed. At least he ate today. Peter will take the small victory.

He lost track of how many pills he took today.

Before going to bed, Peter realizes that he doesn’t care about bothering Happy. He calls Happy and -borderline begs- him to take him to school. Happy agrees and Peter is over the moon he can sleep in a bit more.

The extra hours of sleep do wonders for Peter. He’s able to take a shower without rushing and is even able to eat a light breakfast. Peter allows himself to stop and breathe. He feels like he hasn’t had the chance to.

“Kid, are you ready to go?” Happy calls out as Peter quickly packs his bag. He nods and they both make their way to the cars. Peter hops in the back and, to his surprise, ends up falling asleep.

(It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. He looks like shit.)

It was a much needed power nap, and Peter felt slightly better. He says goodbye to Happy and makes his way to his corner. He sees Ned sitting there, eagerly waiting for him.

“Woah, dude are you okay?” Ned asks with concern. Peter simply waves him off and says he’s fine. Ned doesn’t question it and simply changes the subject to the Academic Decathlon training they have in two days. With that, Peter remembers that he needs to finish those questions. He makes a mental note to finally start them.

Peter knows he has his English test today, and he honestly can’t be bothered to review. He knows he’ll be fine.

Instead, he begins the Academic Decathlon questions he promised MJ he’d have ready for tomorrow. Now, the challenge with that is that he needs to come up with questions that are challenging- but not impossible. Which is extremely difficult.

He promised MJ 30 questions: Ten math questions, ten science questions, and ten history/geography questions. In the first two sections, Peter had it in the bag. He pulled several problems from projects he’d seen in the labs and even a few Tony used on his suits.

The history/geography ones stumped him. This was MJ’s field of expertise, not Peter’s.

However, Peter’s too stubborn to ask for help. It doubles as reviewing, in a weird way. Peter pulls several articles from various historical moments and begins crafting some questions. He convinces himself that he’s reviewing his reading compression skills.

By the time his English test rolls around, Peter has managed to complete 26 questions. He’s running on pure adrenaline and 2 more Advills, but he’s getting it done. Like clockwork, Peter blanks out during his test. He’s sure he did fine, English wasn’t ever challenging to him.

However, he can’t afford to worry about that. In the grand scheme of things, that test was less than 1% of his stress. He almost forgot about his Chemistry midterm tomorrow. Plus, he had his presentation and AcaDeca training the following day.

Peter sometimes wishes he knew how to say no.

Patrol was starting to feel more like a job. Peter dreaded it and that frustrated him because Peter loved helping people. He loved seeing people smile and making their day. Being Spider-Man is one of the things Peter’s the proudest of. However, he can’t help others if he can’t even help himself. That’s evident by the empty pill bottle in his bag.

Once again, Peter is convinced the universe is out to get him. Everything that could go wrong, goes wrong. Mr. Delmar gets held at gunpoint, the bank has two attempted robberies, Peter counts seven muggings, and finally, some punks thought it would be funny to rob the pawn shop run by the old lady. Honestly, he couldn’t catch a break.

And it was one after another. Spider-Man didn’t stop and was constantly moving between crimes. He was getting overwhelmed and his movements were getting sloppy. The worst part was that Peter wasn’t pulling back his punches. There was so much going on at once that controlling his strength was the last thing on his mind.

That’s when he finally accepted he had a problem.

He saw the blood on his hands and the horrified looks of the criminals he was hurting. Thankfully, most civilians had fled the area so they didn’t witness the grotesque image of Peter decking them with ease. So Peter had to call the cops and the ambulance to patch up the bodies he left behind.

He was getting irritable and irrational. He has to cut the patrol short. Spider-Man is becoming more of a danger rather than an aid.

His knuckles are busted open and he has bruises all over his chest. When he gets home, Peter downs another 6 pills to try and numb the pain. He hasn't eaten and he hasn’t showered but that isn’t his concern. He sloppy puts on some bandages over his wounds and immediately hits the books.

By now it's 8:48 P.M. and Peter is about to pass out. He’s staring at his desk with his chem packet and AcaDeca questions all spread out. He’s almost done but he's beginning to see spots. His head is pounding and no matter how many pills he takes, the pain isn't going away. It hurts to move and he’s hungry and he knows he stinks.

Finally, it seems the universe has him beat and Peter snaps.

Peter- against his will- breaks down. He’s crying his eyes out and his head is killing him. Peter can feel a migraine coming on and he doesn’t think he’ll survive. He begins hyperventilating and he runs for more pills. Whether or not they work doesn’t matter, Peter’s convinced himself it's better than nothing.

By this point, Peter’s blocked out all his surroundings. Therefore, he doesn’t notice when Harley walks onto the floor and calls for him.

“Hey, Peter! So, for our presentation, I was thinking we should maybe revisit the previous reversion with-” Harley stops dead in his tracks when he finds Peter.

Peter knew what he was doing was wrong. He knew this wasn’t healthy. He knew he was destroying his body. But Peter was ashamed.

He was too prideful to ask for help.

Harley simply looks at him, and Peter knows what it looks like. His hair is a mess, his hands are bloody, his face is bruised, his eye bags are heavy, and the empty pill bottle on the floor seals the deal.

“Peter, what did you do?” Harley asks with worry and anger in his voice.

“I’m fine. Harls. I’m just stressed.” Peter waves off. The last thing he wants is for Harley to lecture him. “I’m okay, you can go. I have homework I need to finish.”

“No! I’m not gonna sit around and watch you do this to yourself!” Harley yells. He starts to pace the living room back and forth, shaking his head and looking in shock.

“You preach on and on about how drugs are the downfall of our generation and now- what? You’re popping pills? Peter, what the hell?”

Peter feels awful. He feels like shit. He wants the ground to swallow him whole.

Peter knows what he’s doing is wrong. He knows he's in the wrong. But… he just wants to help people. He just wants to meet their expectations. And now… he feels like a failure, and Harley is only rubbing salt in the wound.

“Harley, please…” Peter breaks down and Harley snaps out of his angry trance.

“Please, just hold me.” Peter wails as he falls onto the floor. He holds himself tight as he tries to process the millions of thoughts swimming in his head. Harley suddenly drops to the floor and begins to comfort Peter.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what to do. I’m so stressed. And it started small.” Peter starts. He isn’t sure if he hears Harley ask questions, but now he can’t stop talking.

“I was just having such bad headaches and taking them made it better. But then I started taking them whenever I got stressed and- I was so stressed this week. Patrol was so hard and they helped with the pain, and I lost track of how many I’ve had. I’m so sorry to disappoint you, but I already feel like shit, Harls. I don’t need you reminding me of the failure I am. I already know that! I let you down, I let my Dads down, I let myself down. I let everyone down!”

“I just want my Dads.” Peter sobs into Harley’s arms. “I’m so tired…” Tears are filling his eyes and it's getting harder to breathe. His chest feels tight and he’s in so much mental anguish and physical pain that he isn’t even really present at the moment.

Harley rocks Peter back and forth. He runs his fingers through Peter’s hair and kisses his forehead. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I snapped. I just… I care about you so much I got worried.”

“Where are my Dads?”

“I’ll call them right now.” Harley then forces Peter to look at him.”Tell me what you need. Tell me how I can help you.” Peter can’t verbally answer but he simply signals towards his chest. Harley removes his suit and notices the black and blue bruises with dried blood. Harley also notices Peter's greasy hair.

“Let me make you a meal and run you a bath,” Harley whispers into Peter’s hair and hugs him tighter.

While Harley goes to the bathroom, Peter passes out on the floor, finally allowing himself some peace. He doesn’t remember falling asleep. He wakes up to the smell of chicken soup and Harley gently shaking him.

“Hey, the bath’s ready. I called your Dads and they’ll be here in the morning. Also, I talked to Ned. You’re not going tomorrow.” Harley says as he lifts Peter onto his feet and helps him remove his suit.

“Harls, I have to go tomorrow. I have my midterm and I need to give MJ the questions I promised her.” Peter answers.

Harley simply shakes his head. “I say you take it next week, however, if it bothers you that much, after tomorrow you can go. I’m sure Tony can sort that out with your teacher. But you need to take at least a day off. And if the presentation stresses you out that much, I can cover for you.”

Peter should feel relieved but he doesn’t want to give up just yet. He’s done so much to make it through this week, he just wants to see it to the end. “Can we talk about this later?” Peter asks.

He’s down to his boxers and Harley has a full view of the bruises littered all over Peter’s body. Peter can see Harley is fighting the urge to say no, but instead, he simply nods his head and kisses his cheek. “Sure, just go get cleaned up.”

Peter agrees and makes his way to the bathtub. Nice that Harley probably figured Peter can’t stand long enough for a shower.

The water is warm and sends immediate relief throughout his whole body. Peter sinks into the tub and lets the water engulf him. He looks at his body and notices just how severe his injuries are. He should probably have Stephen check those out when he gets back.

After an incredible half hour in the tub, Peter finally gets out. He didn’t realize how much he truly needed that.

He changes into some light PJs and finds Harley by the kitchen island with a bowl of chicken soup.

Peter can't remember the last time he had an actual meal. Harley sat next to him as Peter slowly drank the soup. “So, what about tomorrow?” Harley asks.

Peter checks his phone and realizes it's 10:41 P.M. He had two options: he could either take tomorrow off, or he could suck it up.

“Would you mind helping me study?” He asks. Before Harley protests, Peter cuts him off. “I have my midterm first thing in the morning, after that I’ll have Happy take me home. That lets me give MJ the questions I owe her.” Peter didn’t go through the worst week of his life only to not see it till the end. He was stubborn like that.

Harley didn’t seem to like the idea, but he agreed nonetheless. When Peter finished his soup, they both headed to his room and Harley quizzed him on a few problems. Peter was feeling okay, his anxiety was just through the roof.

They both called it quits at around midnight. Harley crashed on the couch and Peter was out like a light.

He only had two days left. He was so close.

When the morning rolls around, Peter wishes he chose to stay home. He is groggy and tired, but still feeling the best he’s felt all week. He assumes Harley was already up and making him breakfast while he went to shower.

They had both agreed that Peter would skip patrol. He was in no condition to help anyone and would probably just hurt himself again, which isn't helpful to anyone.

To his surprise, however, his Dads were home. He walked into the living room to see Stephen making breakfast (no sign of Harley).

“Good morning,” Peter says as he goes to hug his Dad.

“Hey, Harley told us what happened. Just text us when your exam is over and we’ll come to get you. I also need to check your injuries, Peter.” Stephen said as he lightly tossed Peter’s hair and serves him a small stack of pancakes.

Peter silently hopes Harley didn’t mention the pills.

By the time Peter finished his breakfast, he wanted to vomit. He hadn’t stomached that much food all week and his body was trying to reject it. He holds it down as Tony pulls up to Peter’s school. “Text me the second you’re done. Promise?”

Peter sees the worry in Tony’s eyes and simply nods. He already feels guilty. He doesn’t need the reminder. (Looks like Tony understood that.)

As Peter gets to school, he immediately tracks down MJ. He hands her the questions, doesn’t wait for a thank you, and runs to the bathroom.

He can just feel vomit rising up his throat. His eyes are losing focus and he’s currently heaving over the toilet. “Maybe I should have stayed home,” Peter thinks as he stares into the mirror over the sink. His dark circles are getting worst and his skin is breaking out. He splashes some water on his face and quietly reminds himself that he’s almost done. “Just two more days.”

The bell rings and Peter heads off to his classroom. He’s taking his midterm first thing in the morning and right now, he’s fighting to stay upright.

Almost routine, Peter receives his test and flips it over. He knows he knows the material, he just has test anxiety. The studying he did with Harley definitely helps, so he’s confident he’ll do fine.

He ends up blanking out. He doesn’t remember much of the exam, nor many of the questions. However, he feels lighter, like a weight has been taken off his shoulder.

Peter ends up vomiting in the bathroom.

He’s heaving over the toilet and clinging on for dear life. His throat burns and the aftertaste of his breakfast is in his mouth, with a mixture of acid. He’s drenched in sweat and can’t see straight and he feels a migraine coming on.

Quickly, he texts Tony that he can pick him up. Peter gets off the floor and washes his face in the sink. His face is sickly pale and the lights are blinding him. Out of habit, Peter reaches for his pockets to get a pill, only to realize that he doesn’t have any.

That movement alone scares him.

He’s worried he’s feeling dependent.

When he leaves the bathroom, he quickly tracks down MJ in the library. “MJ, here are the questions I promised you. I’m so sorry they’re so late.” He profusely, but rapidly apologizes to her as he hands her the packet.

She doesn’t even look at them, instead places her hand on his shoulder and looks him in the eyes. “Pete, are you okay?” Just being forced to look at her is giving him a headache. The library lights are a blinding yellow and he can hear noise from the hallway.

“Yeah, just a little headache,” Peter says, but MJ still looks at him with worry. “MJ, I’m fine.” Peter doesn’t even believe in himself. He has that gazed look people have after they vomit their guts out and a small twitch in his eyes due to the lighting.

It seems like she doesn’t believe him either. Before she speaks, before she pities him, Peter runs to the office, knowing Tony will arrive any second.

As he waits in the office, he decides it's better to wait in the bathroom. The office had too many people talking, stapling, and filing. The office had too much noise.

That was the main thing he hated about his powers, his senses were heightened, making his migraines a hundred times worse. He’s on the brink of tears when the receptionist yells out his name to alert him that he’s leaving.

It seems that Tony notices so he doesn’t speak, simply thanks the staff, and ushers him into the car. Tony shuts off the radio and hands Peter a jacket in the backseat. Immediately, Peter covers his eyes and attempts to drift off to sleep. He’s just realizing how tired he is, mentally that is.

The ride home is a much needed break. He only has to get through tomorrow’s AcaDeca practice. (He’s not expecting to stay conscious during class).

When they do eventually arrive at the Tower, Peter can’t stand. His body has completely given out on him. Tony ends up carrying the boy inside and up the elevator to the medical compound.

“Okay, kid, you’re scaring the hell out of me. What happened?” Peter wakes up on one of the medical beds and is met with the horrible blinding lights in his face.

He’s too overwhelmed to talk and simply points to them, silently begging Tony to turn them off. He does, thankfully.

“I took on too much,” Peter says. “Everything just pilled up on the same week, and you guys weren’t there, and I don’t know how to say no..” The tears finally begin to spill as Peter talks. His head is killing him and his body is sworn and the voice in his head is nagging him even more. The look on Tony’s face says it all. Peter let him down, Peter disappointed him, and Peter worried him. “I’m sorry, I thought I could handle it.”

Tony doesn’t answer and simply steps aside as Stephen appears to tend to Peter’s medical needs. He doesn’t say anything, he just stands off to the side and looks at the ground. Peter can’t read his face, he can’t tell what's going on in his head. Is he angry? Upset? Not knowing is somewhat worse.

When Stephen finishes, he tells Peter that he’s simply dehydrated and only has a few bruises, nothing extreme. Seems like most of his injuries were healed due to his enhanced abilities.

No one says anything. They all look at each other and quietly leave for their own spaces. Peter can’t muster the courage to tell them what happened. Right now, he just wants the ground to swallow him whole. Peter makes it to his room, takes a much needed shower, and tries to sleep. He’s awakened, however, by Tony at his door with a plate of food.

“Oh, thanks but I’m not really-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Tony coldly states and Peter shuts up. He hands Peter the plate and Peter realizes he isn’t leaving until Tony sees him clean the plate.

Reluctantly, Peter ate. His body needed to get used to consuming food on a regular schedule, not just every other day. When Peter finishes, he hands Tony the plate and apologies once again.

Tony doesn’t say anything, instead reaches over and kisses his forehead.

The next morning is a little better. Peter feels well-rested and his stomach isn’t doing flips. (He’s happy he kept his food down this time.)

He knows today his only task is to make it through the AcaDeca training (which would be easy, as he made the questions), and make it through his internship presentation. That alone takes the pressure off him, with a bonus that it’s Friday. Peter desperately needed the weekend.

He doesn’t even bother changing out of his pajama pants. He just throws on a hoodie and walks out the door. When he gets to school, it seems like MJ and Ned plotted to corner him. They both catch him in his usual corner and block any exits. “Pete, you gotta talk to us. Are you okay?” Ned starts out sweetly.

“Yeah, you look like a bus hit you on the way here,” said MJ. He laughs at her bluntness but assures them that everything is okay. (It’s not, but he thinks he’s getting better)

Today is just about staying awake- if he can even manage that. His migraine is still lingering and the school bells still hurt, but he thinks he’ll be okay.

Peter is proven wrong the minute he sits at his desk. Once he’s in his chair, his head is on the desk and he’s out cold. His body is catching up on the sleep he’s missed all week. No one bothers to wake him up, and if they did, Peter didn’t notice. Today marks the first day Peter slept in every class. Usually, he’d chug coffee to keep himself awake, but today he just couldn’t find the strength.

Every time the bells ring to switch classes, he’s violently jolted awake. Some teachers tried to check up on him, however, Peter still refuses any help and claims he’s okay.

When the final bell rings, Peter is beyond overjoyed. (No more loud bells in his ears.) He quickly makes his way to the auditorium for the AcaDeca training and throws himself into a chair.

Slowly, the rest of the team makes their way inside and immediately, “Parker, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Flash speaks up. And Peter can’t even be mad, he knows he looks awful. Flash saw him completely passed out in chemistry and history. Thankfully, MJ shuts him down and begins the training.

As MJ begins reading out questions to the team, Peter gets a text on his phone.

Harls: Hey, hope you’re feeling a bit better. The presentation got moved to 7 tonight, btw. Xx

3:56 P.M.

With a sigh of relief, Peter relaxes a bit and is able to focus on the training. While most of it was pretty easy, given that he made the questions, MJ threw in some surprise ones as well. The team discussed strategies and tactics, but Peter didn’t really listen. He patiently waited for the MJ to call the meeting to an end before he bolted out the door.

Tony was already outside the school. He’s patiently waiting in what appears to be Happy’s car. Peter hops in and just slumps into the seat. “Remind me to never take on any more responsibilities,” he says as he throws his bag into the backseat.

Tony laughs and replies, ‘Kid, you and I both know that you need to learn to say no. It’s about you taking on too much- well, partially that- but it’s also that you take on extra when you can easily say no.”

Peter thinks about that for a moment before responding, “Well, what am I supposed to do? I can’t just say no to someone in need.” By now, Tony is pulling onto the road as Peter leans his head against the window. “That’s true, just be mindful of those who need help and those who are taking advantage of you. Remember, put on your own oxygen mask before helping others.”

What Tony says rings true, and Peter sits with it for a bit. Maybe people are taking advantage of him. Or maybe he just took on too much. Right now, Peter is too exhausted to figure out which one applies to his current situation.

Eventually, Peter allows himself to close his eyes, finally allowing himself a moment of peace. (Sleeping on school desks is never comfortable, ignore if anyone tells you otherwise.) As he lays back against the seats, with the soothing hum of the car, Peter drifts off to sleep.

When they arrive at the Tower, Tony isn’t sure whether or not to wake Peter. It looks like he’s finally comfortable and finally resting. However, one quick glance at the clock and he knows Peter would be upset if he didn’t wake him up in time to review for his presentation. “Hey,” Tony starts gently shaking Peter, “We’re home. It’s 4:30 P.M. Figured you and Harley would want some time to prep for tonight, and maybe even have some dinner before.”

Peter musters up all the strength he was to get up and make his way out of the car. He thanks Tony and sluggishly drags himself to the lab. The bright lights from the Tower and the constant jostling are enough to wake him up a tad, but he’s still rather dazed.

As he enters the lab, Peter is met with Harley and his team all frantically reviewing. Harley is pointing at people and assigning roles as he catches a glimpse that Peter arrived. “-And you, get Peter a coffee, please!” The intern runs off and quickly returns with a cup of expresso for Peter.

“Alright, what do we need to go over,” Peter says as he takes a sip of his drink- and suddenly he feels much more awake. Harley begins running down everything they’ve covered. Who will be discussing the prompt, the robot, the calculations, and its real-world implications. “We just need someone to finalize the posters. Do you have the files, Peter?”

Peter nods, taking another sip of his expresso. (He can feel his entire body shaking.) “Yeah, I got them. Just to clarify, it’s one poster showing the rendered robot, another showing the entire crew, and one more for the overview and prompt?” Harley nods as Peter sets off to work in the corner. He and the team had agreed that he would begin the presentation and introduce their design, leaving the math to the other interns and Harley, who was far more awake and present. Peter quickly notices that he’s drank all of his expresso, and goes off to get more. His body is shaking and he feels dizzy, but he needs to stay awake. He just needs to make it through tonight.

Opening his computer, Peter finalizes all the posters and sends them down to the printing lab. He takes it as his excuse to get up and walk around, making sure his legs don’t fall asleep. He starts looking over all the reports, research, and calculations they did, and everything looks good. However, you can never be too sure.

Harley seems to be stressed out of his mind. “Okay, we start in an hour. Anything else we need to get done?” he frantically asks the group. After a series of ‘no’, Peter mentions that he’s going to pick up the posters and bring them up and that it should be the final thing they need. Harley lets out a sigh of relief and opts to join Peter as they both head downstairs.

The ride down the elevator is calming. Peter takes it as his chance to drop his head onto Harley’s shoulder. To this, Harley brings up his hand and begins playing with Peter’s hair. “I’m so tired..: Peter says, mumbling into his shoulders, The expresso is making him shake and he refuses to drink more, genuinely concerned for his health. “I know. You just need to do this one last thing, then you’re free.” Harley says as he places a light kiss on Peter’s head before they step put the elevator. Thankfully, the printing lab was empty. Both boys quickly gather the posters and then stand there for a moment.

“You know, I’m really sorry I snapped at you,” Harley says quietly. He’s looking down at the floor and won’t look up. “I was just so scared, I’m sorry if I made it worse.”

“No, no you didn’t.” Peter starts, “Yeah, it hurt, but I needed the reality check. I was so far in my own head that I didn’t realize what exactly I was doing. I didn’t consider how it’d affect me, or you…” Peter replies. They both look up and meet each others’ eyes. Peter notices the beginning of tears forming in Harley’s eyes and he makes his way over to catch them before they fall.

“I had a stumble. I’m…” and Peter wants to say that he’s okay, but he doesn’t want to lie anymore. He wants to fall over. He wants to cry. He wants to go to bed. “I’m getting help,” he concludes. Harley nods in approval of that statement and makes his way to kiss Peter’s foreahead. I’m just happy you’re okay,” He whispers.

Peter smiles and after a few seconds of enjoying each others embrace, they pull apart and begin to head back upstairs. By now, it’s 6:17 P.M., and Peter chooses to get a meal and a shower in before he presents. He is fighting to stay awake, as the espresso is wearing off and he can feel himself crashing soon.

After a quick warm shower, Peter finds himself a plate of food waiting for him at the table. Stephen is in the kitchen cleaning dishes when he noticies Peter. “Hey, I saved you a plate. Nervous?”

Peter immediately begins to scarf down the food. He feels slightly more refreshed after the shower, however the food finally makes him feel complete. His stomach is no longer growling and he’s not so light headed anymore. After a little small talk with Stephen, Peter feels a little more relaxed. They fall into a casual conversation, delicately avoiding the topic of Peter’s situation. He’s thankful, truly. He feels guilty enough and hearing about how it hurrt those around him just makes him feel worse.

By now, its 6:48 P.M. and Harley comes rushing into the kitchen. Without forming a coherent sentence, Peter understands what Harley is trying to say. “Robot. Present. Prep. Now.” Immediately, they both get up and begin bolting to the lab. In the distance, they hear Stephen wish them good luck.

The reason they were both so stressed was because of their reputations. It meant the expectations were even higher. These weren’t scientist that were just impressed because Peter was related to Tony Stark, these are people who couldn’t give less of a shit about Tony’s fame. However, they took it into account when setting the expectation.

When they make it to the lab, the other interns are also franctincally reviewing flash cards and pacing around the room. Peter luckily didn’t need to prepare for much, he just reviewed the outline of the introduction. Instead, he opted for drinking more espresso, trying to make it through the final push. His reward after this would be a long awaited nap.

As the scientist enter the room, Peter escapes into his safe space. If it was nay other day, he’d be fully present and in the moment, which might have caused an anxiety attack. However, Peter is just too tired to give a fuck. He disappears into his safe space and puts on his confident persona.

He goes trough the overview and introduction smoothly. Not really remembering where he is, just that he’s talking. Peter isn’t even present in the moment when the team begins to discuss the calcutioans and revisions they went through.

Peter only snaps back to reality when the board claps and congratulations them. Their faces ins’t giving anything away, he can;t tell if they’re disappointed or impressed. But honestly, he doesn’t care.

They end up finishing at 9:51 P.M. and Peter is beat. He can hardly stand up straight, and Harley is supporting his every step. When they finally making it to his bedroom, Peter dones;t even bother to get under the sheets. He falls onto his bed and the minute his head hits the mattress, he is out like a light.

Harley chuckles at the sight and draps a blanket over Peter, before kissing his forehead. Peter finally gets a break after, what he considers to be, the worst week of his life.

End.

Reposting the fic I posted here a few months ago. Wanna get into formatting more on tumblr!

#peter parker #harley keener #parkner #peter x harley #peter parker x harley keener #mcu #marvel #mcu fanfiction #i love them #mlm #gay

88 notes · View notes