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sinsofsummers · 10 months

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undone

2.2k | dbf!joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel miller worships the day you showed up braless to his fourth of july party. warnings: smut (of course), 18+, mdni. no outbreak au, fourth of july party (forgive him he's from texas), joel's pov, he's a dumb bitch, masturbation (m), pervy!joel but not really, age gap (reader is in her 20s, joel in his early 40s), slight religious slander (not extreme by any means!). note: this is just me dipping my toes into the dbf!joel universe, lemme know what you think! zero editing basically, i'm so sorry, there will probably be more drabbles for this. also this is consolation for the dumb shit holiday that is independence day in the us. i hate it here.

He's anything but religious; he hasn't gone to church since he was a kid. And yet...Joel Miller worships the day you went braless to his Fourth of July party.

Even now, laid in his bed with his arm thrown carelessly across his face and his fist curled tightly around his cock, he's not sure he'll ever recover.

Muffled grunts fall from his lips with every strained tug, and he's sure it sounds something like prayer. Considering the fact that you're as close to heaven as he'll ever get, he'll call it a fair assessment. If it's sacrilege to jerk off to the thought of his best friend's daughter every night...so be it.

He's never been one with any type of remarkable memory, but he knows that the image of your perfect chest peeking at him through the thin thank you'd worn that day would stick with him forever.

You'd blinked up at him with a grin, a bowl of fresh fruit salad prepared to share with the rest of the guests in your hands. A strand of hair had fallen into your eyes and he'd had to fight against every urge and keep his hand down at his side.

What he really wanted to do was brush your hair from your eyes (ever the gentleman), and then replace the spot where his fingers would touch your forehead with his lips. He'd always wondered what your hair might smell like, what shampoo you used in the morning, and how your skin looked when the suds ran down your body, rinsed down the drain.

What he wouldn't give to be the suds running down your radiant skin, to touch every curve and crevice of your body, the spots that never see the light of day.

He hadn't seen you since you'd gone to college. Well, not for more than a few days over your Christmas break each year, and even then...he'd made sure to steer clear of you. Tried to ignore the way your smile made his own stutter, how your arms were always so soft around his neck when you gave him the occasional hug.

How your eyes had begun to linger, just enough to make his jaw clench and his cock twitch.

A strangled sigh fights its way out of his chest as he remembers the events of that fateful party, and just how he's ended up here, cock in hand, your scent in his head, and your name on his tongue.

—

"Jesus Christ," he murmured when you and your dad showed up with your dishes to pass. The backyard had been strewn with red, white, and blue decorations, the perfect image of a typical Texan backyard celebration for Independence Day.

He'd been unable to hide his groan at the way the bright colors practically bled into his skull, but there was no other way to have a Fourth of July party, apparently. Of course, this was really just for tradition, and...well, his younger brother Tommy would have had his head if there weren't at least a few American flag streamers.

Your little white tank had already begun to cling to your skin in the Texas heat, the straps thin. Before he knew it, he was hoping that the sun would do him a favor and kiss your skin where he wished he could. That it might form those pretty little lines along your shoulders and give a warm glow to your face, evidence of your presence at his house, at his party, drinking his beer.

"Drunk already?" your dad's voice roused him from his momentary lapse in judgment and then Joel was getting tugged into a firm handshake and a clapped hand on his shoulder.

He tore his eyes from you and hoped that the pink in his cheeks (that was definitely there) could be mistaken for a quickly setting sunburn. He didn't want to think of what you might take his blush for if you noticed.

He chuckled, shaking his head and returning the handshake. “Hell no,” he answered hastily, “just gettin’ hungry for that fruit salad, man.” And the angel holding it. “Need a hand?” he asked you, forcing his eyes not to wander from yours.

Fuck. Your eyes were extra bright today, with the sun seemingly lighting them from the insides. And those cheeks? Already pink and sunkissed, just how he’d hoped they would be. He might have offered you some sunblock if he’d thought it was appropriate. Might have offered to help you spread it onto your smooth skin if he’d thought that was appropriate.

Of course, he’d be condemned to the darkest circle of hell if he let those thoughts run wild. So he trained his eyes on yours and waited for your response.

You shook your head and tucked your hair behind your ear. You squinted into the sun, an action that forced one eye closed, as if you were winking at him. “I’ve got it,” you said casually, “can I put it inside for now?” You adjusted your hold on the fruit salad, making your breasts shift under your shirt.

Joel nodded—fuck’s sake, he thought with the movement of your chest—and tilted his head toward the back door that led to the kitchen. “Go for it, Sarah’s already in there.”

Your dad had been called away by Tommy, so Joel was left in your quiet company. He watched your smile widen at the mention of his daughter’s name and felt his heart twinge. You were just a few years older than his daughter, and here he was, not only willing his cock to settle down at the sight of your nipples pressing against the cloth of your shirt, but also wishing that your smile widened at the mention of his name.

Joel wasn’t quite sure what happened in the subsequent minute or how he moved so quickly. Before he knew it, you’d stepped closer to him and he’d stepped to the side, except he was really just getting in your way, and your eyes were widening in surprise, and then the bowl of fruit salad was shuffling in your grip and he was stumbling to get back out of your way and then—

“Shit,” you mumbled a curse. The juice from the contents of the bowl—mostly watermelon juice, it looked like—had splashed up onto your shirt, seeping through the white fabric and painting your chest a pale pink. You looked up, a careless smile replacing the distracted look on your face. “Don’t worry about it, Mr. M, really. I was gonna have to wash this shirt tonight anyway.”

“I—uh, I didn’t mean to,” was all he could come up with, and he could feel his face heating once more at the look on your face. “Shirt’s ruined. I’m sorry darlin’,” he mumbled—was the temperature increasing by the second?—and pretended not to notice the way your shirt clung even tighter to your chest. It was like a damn wet t-shirt contest, the way the darker shade of your nipples began to peek through the soiled fabric at him. He blinked and looked away, trying to ignore the way your smile had turned into a smirk. Have you caught him?

You shrugged and passed the bowl to him. “No, it’s not,” you reassured him with a breathless chuckle. “I’m sure Sarah’s got a shirt or two I can wear.”

He’d been left standing with the bowl of your fruit salad as you’d trekked into the house, presumably to do as you’d said. When you came out just a few minutes later, he’d been talking to your dad and a few of the other neighbors that had come over. He’d almost completely forgotten about the incident, until you were there again, standing in front of him.

In his shirt.

“Uh,” he said dumbly, not sure whether you knew whose shirt you were wearing, or if you’d gone into the wrong laundry pile.

You picked at the hem of the shirt, and he traced the lines of your long fingers with his eyes, practically seeing your sweet scent sink into the fabric. He hoped you could smell his cologne lingering on the collar as it licked against the soft skin of your neck. “Sarah found this in her closet,” you explained, “she said it was one of her sleep shirts.” You flitted your gaze to him, and he caught a glimmer of amusement in the depths of your eyes. “Smells kind of…”

Like me. He shivered despite the heat and tapped his finger on his hip to calm himself down. It smells like me, and now you’re gonna smell like me, angel.

“Like men’s cologne,” you finished with a smirk dancing on your lips. “You sure Sarah’s not bringing home any guys you don’t know about, Mr. Miller?”

He cocked an eyebrow and bit back a cutting remark. “‘Course not,” he said smoothly, “they’d never get past the front door.”

It was all he could do not to tug you onto his lap with his shirt hanging past your hips, giving the illusion that you weren’t wearing any shorts beneath it. Fuck, he had to get away from your father before he did anything he regretted. “Need another drink, anyone?” he offered, shifting his weight away from you in a failed attempt to get the thoughts out of his mind.

The others shook their heads, but you nodded. “I’ll get another, actually,” you said simply. And then he was stuck with you, his fingers itching to lift that shirt from your body and reveal that warm skin to his desperate mind.

The kitchen was empty—a small blessing—and Joel fished through the fridge for another beer. Handing one to you, he cherished the way your fingers brushed his as you pulled it from his grasp, the droplets of condensation running down the bottle like he knew the sweat was running down his back at the thoughts that swam through his mind.

“S’my shirt, you know,” he grumbled softly, not quite sure why he’d said it. Maybe it was to gauge what your reaction would be. Maybe he already hoped that you’d smile at the thought.

You looked down at the shirt, cheeks reddening. “It is?” you said quietly, the surprise unraveling in your voice. “I’m sorry, I can get another one—”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Nah, s’okay. Looks better on you than it does on me, anyway.”

“Oh.” Just one word, but he noticed the way your legs wobbled at the same time. The way the bottle slipped just a centimeter in your hand.

Gotcha, he smirked inwardly.

—

Days have gone by, and he still thinks about that blush in your cheeks every night. He can’t help it when you just look so angelic in the shirt of a sinner like him.

Joel’s hand squeezes his cock for all its worth as he strokes himself languidly, faint mumbles beginning to fall from his lips like the verses of a damn hymn. “So fuckin’ pretty,” he groans in the darkness of his room, feeling the pressure build in his body. With every muscle in his chest tensing, he lets a broken sigh escape his throat as he spills his hot seed into his hand, the picture of your face embedded in his mind’s eye. Laying there for a moment, he catches his breath as oxygen raggedly pushes itself in and out of his lungs.

And then he hears it. A knock. The front door, it sounds like.

He hastily cleans himself up, but the faint feeling of stickiness remains on his hand as he traipses down the stairs in the dark, wondering just who the hell would be knocking on his door so late at night.

When he opens the door, he’s not exactly expecting to see the face he’d just come on his hand to.

“Hey,” he chokes out, hiding his hand behind his back as if you might be able to see the evidence of sacrilege on his skin. He’s afraid you’ll be able to decipher the sweat on his forehead for the sinful act that it had come from just moments ago. “What’s up?”

“Oh!” you sound surprised at his answering the door, a fact that makes him smirk. “I’m just…I’m just here to return Sarah’s shirt,” you explain hastily.

There it is, hanging from your loose grip, waiting for him to take it. “You mean mine,” he corrects gently, his grin widening as he feeds his hand up the frame of the door, hovering over you close enough that he can see your pupils widen and pulse at the proximity of his chest to yours.

Your mouth hangs open, just enough that he thinks about pushing his thumb in between your lips, up to the first knuckle. His mind goes wild at the thought of how warm and soft and wet your mouth would be around his fingers. How perfect it would be around even more.

He shoves the thoughts away as you nod. “Yeah,” you say with a breathless chuckle. “Yours, I mean. I don’t need it anymore, though. So…” your eyes drop to the shirt between you, your words trailing off.

Joel shakes his head. “Don’t need it back,” he says warmly. “Not yet, anyway. Keep it.”

You blink. “What?”

He shrugs, the thought of you wearing it more than once lighting his mind on fire. “Keep it for now. I’ll come to collect it some other time. No reason to return it in the dead of night, doll.”

Fuck. The nickname had slipped.

But based on the way your lips curl at the corners, he’s dodged a bullet. “Okay,” you say softly, and he swears he can see the moon reflected in your eyes. “Just for a little longer, then.”

He nods and says goodnight, closing the door only when he can see that you’ve made it back to your house next door safely. The door shuts with a soft click, and he grins to himself.

To hell with the shirt. Doesn’t matter to him. He’ll get it back eventually. And when he does, he plans to have it smell like you.

this ending was so rushed ahhhh i have to go to work!!! bye!!!! ty for reading and all the love!!!!

tagging here cause i have to goooo to workkkkk!!!

@mingiast @iluvurfather @cavillscurls @cupofjoel @thetriumphantpanda @morning-star-joy @sofiparallel @elegantduckturtle @evyiione @bitchwitch1981 @disassociation-daydreams @mrsquill @littlemisssluttyknee @papipascalispunk @mumma-moonchild @marchai @mlodanatka @xdaddysprincessxx @bongsrconfusing @tlouadditc @dinsdjrn @alejaa-a @daysilva2 @worhols @jellybeanxc @struig @cherryreddarbiter

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prongspoet · 4 months

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broken hearted | luke castellan.

first time writing for luke, so hope this is okay! tell me what u think in the reblogs i would love to know and get more luke asks!

summary: the curse of cabin 10 makes aphrodite!reader pretend to date her best friend so she doesn't have to cause a heartbreak to her actual crush. even though, at the end of it, she's the only one who had her heart broken. major inspo from this concept.

"You're staring." y/n' best friend, luke castellan, head counselor of the hermes cabin, pointed the fact out, side eying the girl right at his side, after looking at the boy sword training in front of them.

"he's staring back." the aphrodite girl said with a grin. the sunlight bathing her head making it comfortingly warm. luke would know, since he was the one caressing it while she laid down next to him. both of them on the grass, enjoying the late afternoon at camp. "so..."

michael dawson, ares' kid, was, in fact, staring. luke couldn't blame him, the way his best friend looked made everyone pay attention to her. she didn't even had to try. and still, the swordfighting happening in front of them made luke even more sure that mike needed a way so she could notice him. not naturally, but somehow, it worked, since the girl payed attention to him as soon as he started.

"oh well, like mother like daughter, huh. " he continued, in a mocking tone, holding his laugh, raising himself by his elbows, before taking one of his hands to the girl's arm. "your siblings wouldn't be too happy to see the goody two shoes dating an ares' kid, would they?"

"gods, don't fucking say that." she giggled, hiding her face with both of her hands. she went quiet for a second, still staring at the boy. "ares' kid or not.." y/n sighed, pouting slightly. "mike's nicer than the others, he wouldn't deserve to be a guinea pig."

"what do you mean?"

"you know what i have to do.” the girl muttered, with a soft sigh. she couldn't blame her mother, she worshipped aphrodite; her beauty, her power, her knowledge and her actions. that didn't mean that she enjoyed the judgment. the need to make someone else feel miserable just because she could. it wasn't fair. "the first love heart break thing."

"i'm glad i'm not in his shoes, that's for sure." the boy whispered, with a chuckle, still trying to be as quiet as possible. his thumb caressing her arm incessantly. it made her skin burn. in a second, y/n abruptly raised her chin, getting supported by her elbows, getting muffled groan from luke, once it hit his ribs. "what is it?"

"you could be!"

"am i your first love, daisy?" he raised one of his eyebrows, with a mischievous grin stamped on the boys face. the scar in his eye making itself more clear. "you should have told me sooner- ouch!"

"shut up, hero. listen to me!" he knew that tone. and as anyone else who had a single bit of sense, he kept quiet, wanting nothing more to hear her insane idea. "we could pretend to be boyfriend and girlfriend." the smile on her delicate face kept getting bigger as she explained her brilliant - yet not completely effective - idea. "i could pretend to break your heart. no one gets hurt, i can stay with mike after is over, and my mom ends up being proud of me!"

the aphrodite girl stared at him expectedly, hoping he would buy her insane plan, hoping he could save her from doing something he never imagined her doing it. luke got quiet for a minute. his eyes were darker than usual. he couldn't stand that. y/n knew her best friend well enough to know that he meant to say something. he never truly did. "you shouldn't be looking for her approval."

"i'm not searching for approval i'm just trying to prove myself.."

"you don't have to prove your devotion to her by doing this." his tone stern, more quiet. colder. "you burn offerings for her every single day. you pray, you're always expressing how incredible she is."

"you don't have to do it if you don't want to."

and suddenly, the idea seemed more appealing than ever. she wasn't using her charmspeak on him. no, luke knew how sugary and sweet y/n's words could be when she wanted to. at that moment, his best friend was just being honest. and even though he could retribute that feeling, luke felt that he needed to do it. just for her.

"yeah," he nodded. defeated. "fine, i'll do it."

"really?" the girl hugged him tight. more excited than ever. "thank you boyfriend!"

"yeah, yeah." he grinned, letting her rest her head on his chest, carefully watching y/n closing her eyes, like nothing else would ever bother her. "just don't be too mean when you dump me."

pretending was easy.

they've always been stuck to each other. having dinner with each other. burning offerings with each other. planning capture the flag with each other. training, swimming, talking, sneaking out to parties. always with one right after the other.

it wasn't supposed to be different, they just had to make it more believable.

"we should be holding hands," y/n pointed out as the couple walked calmly to the main area, where dinner was starting. "silena asked me why we never hold hands if we're dating, so i thought we could make it more..."

"real, yeah." luke nodded, grabbing her hand right the next second she spoke. "c'mon, girlfriend, hurry up." he grinned, and she couldn't help but grin back. "i'm starving."

luke could do that. he could kiss her in front of people, and tell everyone the way they got together. he could hold hands with her, caress her back and almost have a heart attack when she kissed him behind his ear. he could live with that, yeah. it was normal. it was pretending.

until it started to change. suddenly. quickly.

he noticed her. the eyes, the shape of her face, the way her eyebrows moved when she laughed, and the look she gave him every single time she entered a room he was already in, and luke couldn't help but pay attention at her soft hair, how excited she became while looking at pretty flowers, and especially, how her fingers felt against his own scalp when they needed to do some pretending. she was an aphrodite kid after all. y/n was charming. y/n was lovely. y/n was his girlfriend, at least for a while.

and she couldn't help but notice him either. how his scar looked more bright when they. the subtle, yet attentive and gentle way he taught her how to hold a sword, how to train, how to fight. the infuriating way at how he held her chin up slightly, every single time, before sealing his lips against hers.

and for once, neither of them were pretending.

the bonfire started earlier that night, but the couple came to it late; y/n helped one of her sisters who was in a small crises, and her sweet caring boyfriend waited for her by the aphrodite cabin's door, holding her hand as soon as she got out, so they could sit together at one of the logs, full of campers, chartering, telling stories, and enjoying the peacefulness that the simple event emanate.

luke choose one of the back logs for a reason, it was darker, harder to anyone else to see them. even so, as soon as the boy started to leave little pecks at her jaw, he was able to hear some whistles and exclamations. teenagers were gonna be teenagers after all.

"alright," y/n sat upstraight, taking a deep breath before continuing. "you can't do that here."

"i'm just having fun!" the boy said with a mischievous grin. he knew way to well what he was doing. she hoped he would do it forever. the teasing, the almost getting caught made her heart sink every time. "you are my girlfriend after all."

"don't get ahead of yourself, hero." she muttered, grinning at him, before sealing lips with him again. "i still have to break your heart."

"are you sure about that?" he furrowed his eyebrows, pretending to be offended, but getting right back at his job pretty quickly. "i'll just enjoy it until the time comes then."

she laughed, taking her head back so he could have full access to her neck, delicately taking one of her hands to his scalp. and he noticed how much he loved that sound. so much in a way he wished he could bottle it up so he could taste it every time he felt miserable. that wasn't possible. but y/n promised that as long as they were together, he was allowed to make her laugh any time he wanted to, if if meant getting him happy.

that's why it hurt even more when he did what he did.

when he revealed himself to be the traitor.

"come with me."

"i'm sorry, what the hell are you doing?" she cried out, feeling her heart beating faster than ever. "you're not thinking straight. you're not. you're not like this, i-" the words got caught up in her throat. y/n felt like she could pass out at any minute. "i know you luke." her voice was a mere pleading by then, hoping with all her soul he would hear. "you wouldn't do this to me."

"you mean a lot to me, daisy, but this is fucking different."

he was different, and she finally noticed. his eyes darker, his tone stern, and the way he held himself up, like he was prepared for a fight.

y/n would never fight him.

and he would never fight her, right?

and when luke turned his back against her, letting the aphrodite girl caught up with a sob, furrowing her eyebrows, feeling the tears already soaking up her eyes, y/n thought she understood.

maybe aphrodite didn't buy it. and even if she did, she knew it started out with a lie. y/n was playing house. thinking she could be smarter than her mom, she could prove it to everyone else how that curse was a lie, and that nothing would happen to the one that didn't completed it.

but it did happend.

no demigod could ever stand out a god. y/n was no exception.

and she finally understood that.

by the end of the day, y/n went back to her well known cabin, shamefully, missing her radiant aura and pretty smile, hiding a shattered heart in her pocket.

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke x reader #percy jackson #percy Jackson x reader #aphrodite!reader #demigod!reader #- gabi writes

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kaciidubs · 1 month

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Experiment 0915 | Spooktober 2023

❣ Summary: Experiment 0915, the boy with the galaxy on his face - he would make a perfect host, wouldn't he? ❣ ❣ Word Count: 1.9k ❣ Warnings: Dubcon Roleplay, Sub! Felix, smut, oviposition, sex toys [tentacle mention], bondage, dacryphilia, open ended ❣ ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣ ❣ Additional Tags: Felix is referred to as Lix[ie], Patient, Subject, mind the tags - read at your own risk ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist ❣ Spooktober 2023

Heavy.

His body felt so heavy.

Was he truly so exhausted from practice yesterday that his body decided to give out on him? Was this it for him?

“Patient 0915 seems to be handling the sedative well… He should be waking soon.”

Sedative?

Patient?

The heaviness quickly morphed into a deep haze, his senses seeming to turn back on one at a time; his ears tuning into the faint sound of repetitive beeping, and his nose picking up on the warm scent of vanilla.

But his hands- his wrists felt… was there something silky against his skin?

Felix tried moving his arms but felt a slight tug against his wrists that merely confirmed his suspicions; he was tied up in his bed with no possible way of getting free.

“Oh? Seems like someone’s finally awake.”

Forcing his eyes open, he blinked away the bleariness to focus on a face - well, part of a face, as everything from your nose down was hidden behind a mask. All that he could garner from a quick once over was the simple set of lingerie you wore; black with faint, shimmering accents of stars threaded into the lace - he tried his best not to lose himself in the way the straps hugged into your curves.

“Welcome back to the world of the conscious, Lixie.”

“Who-” He winced at the croak of his voice, swallowing thickly, “Who are you? What is this?”

“That’s not something you need to know, little star, but,” walking beside the bed, illuminated by the warm light of the nightstand’s lamp, you danced your fingers along an array of toys laid out and begging to be put to use, “I promise you, this’ll be a night you won’t forget.”

It started with a pair of nipple clamps; pink rubber tipped and connected with a chain that laid in a chilling line across his chest - he had tried his best to arch away from your sinful touch, but the inability to physically turn away rendered him defenseless.

“P-Please,” the small whimper was accompanied by a sharp inhale, shocks of pleasure shooting through his perked nipples, “w-what do you want from me? Why are you doing this?”

An intrigued hum floated past your lips as you inspected the clasps, gently tugging at the clamp around his left nipple and earning a shivering moan from the man tied to the bed.

“Interesting.”

His body tried in vain to curve away from your fingers walking the short distance of his pecs to meet the opposite pink bud, moaning louder when you tugged the second clamp.

He was ashamed of the way his dick twitched against his hip, he hated how his body craved more of your feather light touch - your scent seeming to cloud his head and block his mind from making any rational decisions.

“You’re sensitive with these… That’s cute.” Drawing back from his chest, you reached over to his nightstand and grabbed a small clear bottle; popping the cap open before pouring the liquid into your palm.

“‘M not cute- A-Ah!”

The liquid was cold against his dick, but with the heat of your palm quickly making up for the initial shock, he found himself succumbing to the lazy grip you held his cock in.

“I’ve barely done anything to you, but you’re already twitching,” you mused, amazement laced throughout your tone as you glided your hand up and down his length, “you truly are special.”

His eyes rolled, moans floating shamelessly past his lips with each pass of the curve of your finger and thumb past his flared tip, hips bucking in hopes of seeking out more of your twisted pleasure against his own better judgment.

Just as he thought he had found a decent rhythm, your touch left him and the reality of his situation spilled over him like a bucket of ice cold water, shocking his senses and jumpstarting his brain through the haze of arousal.

“C-Can you just untie me? I promise, I won’t do anything - I swear, I-I’ll be good!”

Not even batting an eye at his pleas, you traced your index finger down the taut skin of his balls and past his taint, smirking at the way his hips bucked and jumped, though he was unable to jerk his legs shut due to the ropes that bound his ankles to the foot of the bed - something he was quick to discover just before your assault on his chest.

“If you’re going to be a host,” your finger ventured lower until it grazed the puckered hole of his ass, applying pressure to the tight, fluttering ring, “then we need to make sure you’re ready.”

Ready? Surely you didn’t mean…

“W-Wait, please, what are you-”

His breath caught in his throat as your index slid into the tight ring, the glide of the lube making it all too easy for your finger to wiggle around and slowly stretch him open.

“N-ah- No, s-stop!” He cursed the break in his voice, further adding to the lack of insistence in his demand as his body shook against the bed - the arousal flowing through his veins feeling more like lava burning him from the inside out, laden with burning shame.

It wasn’t long until he felt another finger nudging at his hole, and soon you were steadily fucking him open with three fingers, your thumb pressed against his taint while your free hand caressed his thigh.

“See?” You cooed softly, your observant gaze taking in the flutter of his eyes as whimpered moans floated past his lips, “It isn’t so bad when you submit, now is it?”

His dick twitched at the condescension in your tone, though any form of denial was nonexistent on his tongue as he hiccuped out a hum, “Y-Yes!”

“Good boy, all you needed was a little convincing, hm?” Dancing your fingers up his thigh, you traced your nail along a vein running along the length of his dick, smirking at the way it jumped at the sensation, “I suppose all of our subjects can’t be treated the same.”

He didn’t know what you meant, he didn’t understand why this was happening, but every curl of your fingers and the sickeningly calmness of your voice lured him deeper and deeper into a false sense of security.

However, that security was broken the instant he felt your touch pulling away from him - pulling out of him - and he found himself bucking against the bed.

“No! W-Why- Please-”

“Easy, Lixie, I’m not going anywhere.”

Despite your reassurance, he could still see you sliding off of the bed and reaching for something he could only describe as an awkwardly shaped dildo - colorful and thick, bigger than his usual toys due to the curved stature.

You stroked the dildo with a small smile, though the glint in your eyes had him swallowing thickly, “We’re moving onto the next stage.”

It was a tentacle - curved and stout and a glistening blue and purple from the copious amount of lube you slathered it in; though, the part that had his bound hands clenching was the ominous opening where a pointed tip should’ve been.

“Even though I stretched you out as best as I could, this could be a bit of a challenge,” you murmured nonchalantly, dragging the curved tip between his slicked up ass cheeks before a smug smirk curled your lips, “but I’m sure it’ll be easy for you - you are the perfect subject, after all.”

He didn’t have the chance to reply, he barely had the chance to take a breath before the rubbery head was pressing against his puckered hole, pushing and pushing until the first inch of the textured notch seated within him.

A shivering moan left Felix’s lips, the sensation of the ribbed shaft bringing goosebumps to his skin as bump after bump entered his ass slowly yet steadily until the thickened base rested against his hole.

“I-It’s so- F-Fuck, so big!”

A low chuckle escaped you as you slowly tugged on the toy’s base, stimulating him ever so slightly, “This is big? Cute - when the real deal comes, I only hope your reaction then will be just as adorable.”

The real deal.

Your words bounced around his lust fogged mind, not a single brain cell coming forward to try and put meaning to the insinuation - how could his brain even try to wrap itself around his current reality when he was being split open in the best-worst way possible?

Then, the first drag came, and the increasing slope of each notch leaving him had his back arching; the puddle of precum growing as it seemed to flow endlessly from his barely acknowledged cock.

“A-Ah!”

Leaving half of the toy within him, you thrusted the missing inches back in, setting an unforgiving pace that soon had the room filled with lewd squelching and desperate moans.

Whatever remaining willpower he held was subsequently fucked out of him, his body pliant and wholly submissive to the way the multiple ridges of the toy rubbed against his prostate - he was defenseless, free to be used by your hand, and he… He loved it.

“Maybe I should record your next session, Lixie,” you purred, licking your lips as hungry eyes met his tear filled ones, “your blissed out face is something all of our future test subjects should see.”

He nodded frantically - record him, show him off, anything if it meant he could feel like this again, he needed you to make him feel like this again, and again, and again.

“Ready for the final step?”

Your questions were rhetorical, his response was never a factor for your hypotheses, only his reaction to the aftermath - and this final reaction was what would make, or break, your experiment.

Felix’s thighs shook as you pushed the toy to its hilt once again - however, this time something was different.

“What’s-”

He cut himself off with a moan, the sound increasing in volume as he felt his hole stretch ever so slightly, the toy seemingly growing as if something was moving through it.

“What’s h-happening?! What are you-”

The stretch happened a second time and a tear ran down the side of his face - fear and pleasure mixing into something molten hot and stirring in the pit of his stomach, his dick twitching in the air to the rhythm of his racing pulse.

“Just one more, come on, Lix - one more egg, just for me.”

Of course, you were already a step ahead of him, working the third egg into the depositor hole through the center of the toy and, subsequently, into him.

The second the widest part of the final egg entered him, he felt his body jolt - his cherry lips parting, though whatever sound came out was behind blocked ears as his orgasm took him by storm.

Ropes of cum painted his stomach in uneven lines, mixing with his precum and further matting the fine, untrimmed hair on his pelvis until all that remained were the pearl-bead remnants dribbling down his flared tip and shaft.

He blinked hard, the heavy sound of his own breathing slowly registering back into his ears, and when he opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling, he caught a delighted hum falling from your lips.

“It seems our precious patient has given us some promising results…”

He choked on a gasp as he felt the toy slowly leave him, leaving the small eggs behind in the process, keeping his ass plugged and full.

“Let’s move on to phase two, shall we, Patient 0915?”

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @j-onedrabbles, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @sometimesleeknows, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @broken-glowsticks, @s00buwu, @junglyric, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @ivyisnotokay, @bahng-chrizz, @milknhoneyracha, @hann1bee, @palindrome969, @newhope8, @luminouskalopsia, @kpopsstuffs, @starquokka, @wolfs-howling, @laylasbunbunny, @zaethefangirl, @chxnb97, @4-chan-inpadella, @butterflydemons

✧. ┊Kinktober only: @selicua

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

#skz smut #stray kids smut #lee felix x reader #lee felix smut #lee yongbok smut #lee yongbok x reader #tw dubcon #dubcon tw

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matthewtkachuk · 3 months

Text

bad at love

Breaking your brother's only unspoken rule—don't date his teammates—has never been an issue in your adult life. Until now.

pairing: jt compher x reader

warnings: angstttt, smut, a minor car accident with mentions of injury (broken bone/concussion), and the usual (alcohol, swearing, etc. etc.)

word count: 4.9k

a/n: hiiiiii @comphy-and-cozy i'm your super secret fic exchange writer! sorry this is a day late and a dollar short. one of these days @wyattjohnston is going to perma-ban me from participating in exchanges. until that date she remains my ever loyal editor. mad thanks to @thomasschabot for reading it first and telling me they loved it even though they're contractually obligated to do so and for physically being there when the fic idea popped into my head <3

It’s not the first time you’ve shown up at your big brother’s house with a face full of tears and a couple bags full of all your worldly possessions. Despite your best efforts and well intentions—if you had to guess—it likely won’t be the last.

It is the first time you’ve done so with him being a married man, and so it’s your sister-in-law whose comfort you really seek and are expecting to pop up behind the slowly opening door in front of you.

Unfortunately for you, and for the poor soul you really don’t know that well, it’s not Kenzy who opens the door but the over-the-summer pick-up from Colorado.

If it had been any of the other, more tenured of your brother's teammates, you might have been waved inside with nothing more than a sympathetic glance and an unspoken ‘again?’.

Instead, JT’s look of utter confusion has quickly evolved into something more akin to a quiet rage, and you’re reminded that he is a big brother himself. The look is familiar to you, having inspired a similar one on Dylan’s face more times than you can count.

It’s been a really fucking long day, and you don’t have the emotional bandwidth to have any sort of reckoning with some guy you barely know in your brothers drive way.

JT’s in the middle of some sort of sentence that begins and also ends with “What—” as you none too gently push past him in order to finally gain entry to the house.

The mix of sympathy and feigned disinterest that greets you on the faces of your brothers teammates who occupy the large sitting room has your stomach rolling uncomfortably. It seemed like the entirety of the Detroit Red Wings were always around to witness your spectacular failures. What must they think, watching you disappear with the next great love of your life, only to reappear once again with bags packed in a manner of months?

You could hazard a guess at what your brother thinks, the variants of ‘I told you so’ that live and die on his tongue without ever leaving his lips. He wraps you up in an infamous Larkin hug that serves to fix a tiny crack of your broken heart, and so you revel in it like you used to revel in the comfort when the pain you felt was because of falling off the monkey bars when you were a kid.

But, he has a house full of hockey players to entertain and Kenzy has a glass of wine with your name on it. Dylan returns to the living room and you slide out to the back porch with your sister-in-law, briefly catching the eye of the one who let you in. You don’t see the telltale signs of judgment reflecting back at you, but maybe something else entirely.

Outside you pour your soul alongside the Malbec. Curled up on the wicker chair under a blanket you tell Kenzy about Owen and the promises he failed to keep. She oohs and ahs at the appropriate times, commiserating without belittling you.

By the end of the night your heart—and the bottle of wine—feels a little lighter. There’s a little less shame as you make yourself at home in the spare bedroom that might as well permanently be yours.

Owen visits you in your sleep, breaking your heart again and again until his face morphs into one with a ginger beard and kind eyes.

Those kind eyes become a fixture in your post breakup life. If he’s not hanging around your brother's house, he’s bumping into you at the local coffee shop you frequent when you’re in Detroit. If he’s at neither, he’s obviously at the games you attend in support of Dylan alongside Kenzy.

At Dylan’s, you barely speak to his teammates and friends beyond simple pleasantries. At your coffee shop, it starts at small talk but grows to be considerable conversations that dip just below surface level.

It’s at Little Caesars Arena where he really endears himself to you though. Warm ups are arguably your favorite part of the games you attend. You like to look out at the signs, from the heartwarming to the obscene—picking out your favorites and giggling about the latter with your sister in law.

Dylan’s always been really good about tossing kids pucks, and his big bleeding heart only grew larger when he got the red C strapped to his chest. Some of the other guys, even some of the so-called vets are less good about it.

JT’s just like Dylan, maybe even a little kinder hearted. He takes the time to read the signs that are meant for him, never turns down a trade for a puck and even gives a stick to a kid whose sign says he came all the way from Denver to watch him, his favorite player, play in Detroit.

It warms your heart.

So much so you don’t even notice you’re staring until Dylan’s slamming himself into the boards in front of you to startle his wife. She rolls her eyes and calls him a name not worth repeating while you try to pretend like you weren’t just fixated on his teammate.

The thing is Dylan has never outright said his teammates are off limits. Not since you were a teenager making eyes at his USNTDP teammates anyway.

The memory keeps you from looking JT’s way the rest of the warmups, but once the puck drops your eyes can’t help but wander.

Wandering appears to be your specialty, considering you’ve gotten yourself lost in the underbelly of the arena.

Your first mistake was leaving Ken’s side—she was your ferryman, guiding you down the River Styx, and without her, you were lost in Hell.

Were you overdramatic? Maybe. Were you lost with no hope of getting out? Still overdramatic, but definitely a possibility.

The walls begin to look the same, and you’re half worried you’ve accidentally fallen into a back room or something stupid when you stumble upon the one who caught your eye earlier.

‘Stumble upon’ is a gracious way of saying you absolutely smack into him and fall on your ass.

He hauls you up effortlessly with one hand and your skin burns beneath his grasp.

“What are you doing?” you both say in near unison before he laughs.

“I was getting my shoulder checked out, what are you doing all the way over here? Are you lost?”

Regardless of what he was doing, JT obviously has more of a reason to be found wandering the halls of the arena. And he’s right, you’re most definitely lost but you play it off like he’s crazy.

“Me? Lost? No, I know exactly where we are,” you bluff.

JT’s eyebrows raise and he nods slowly. “Which is…?”

Well, he’s called your bluff but he also gave you a key context clue. “Near the athletic trainer, obviously.”

He laughs again and it has your cheeks feeling hot.

“Okay fine, maybe I’m a little bit lost and maybe I was contemplating how I’d be trapped down here forever before you knocked me over.”

“I’m sorry, but you ran into me.” You roll your eyes and begin to argue, but he doesn’t let that happen. “Doesn’t matter, I can help you find your way out.”

You swoon dramatically, only half joking as you reply “My hero.”

Now that you’re no longer focused on navigating your way out of Pan’s Labyrinth, you’re free to focus on your close proximity to JT. Based on the way his eyes dart between meeting your own and staring at your lips, you assume he’s just as aware.

Is this not what you’ve been wanting since you knocked on Dylan’s door? But that’s part of the problem, and you’re sure JT is thinking the same. Not only is your brother his teammate—and you’ve always been off limits to your brother's teammates to your chagrin growing up—but he’s JT’s captain, too. There’s a million ways this thing could go wrong and blow up in both of your faces.

You could get caught, and be forced to sit with Dyl’s disappointment. You could hurt the one person in your life who consistently showed up for you and loved you and cared for you.

Not to mention you could risk it all for nothing—could crash and burn spectacularly as you were wont to do. Could fuck it all up with not only your brother, but JT too and be left with nothing. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d gone behind your brother’s back, but you had a sneaking suspicion things would be worse than they were when you were 15 to his 16.

Ultimately you decide fuck it, because what’s life without a little risk?

Tentatively, you slide your hand over the rough beard covering his jaw. When he doesn’t flinch or move away from you, you lean in closer.

He’s not pulling away, but he’s also not moving closer, letting you make the first move.

It’s probably a terrible fucking idea, but you’ve never been accused of being someone who makes good decisions when it comes to romantic partners.

The first press of your lips to his is cautious, barely a brushing of your mouths, just to get a taste. Quickly you become a woman obsessed. Unable to get enough, the kisses turn frenetic, bordering on sloppy.

He reciprocates in kind, his mouth hot and heavy on yours while his hands grasp and pull and hold. His very essence consumes you, taking over all of your five senses and pulling noises from you that you didn’t know existed.

If your arm burned from his grasp earlier, your entire body has caught fire.

You’re unaware or probably more accurately uncaring of your public nature, despite your earlier hesitance. Now you just want more and more and more of JT, as much as he is willing to give and maybe even a little more.

He seems to be on the same page, entire body wrapping around you and pulling you deeper and deeper.

Unconsciously your hands begin to pull at the waistband of his pants and it’s then that the two of you finally separate.

You’re worried you’re going to find regret in his eyes and excuses on his tongue, but he’s just looking at you intently.

“Not like this,” he says. “Not here.”

“I don’t want to wait,” you protest, but he shushes you with his mouth.

“It’ll be worth the wait.”

And worth the wait it is.

It's sexy at first. Clandestine meetings in dark hallways, sneaking in and out of JT’s apartment that’s on the same floor as Jake Walman’s, covert texts and quiet phone calls where you get off on the sound of each other's voices.

It doesn’t take long for you to want more, though. To fantasize about not just what his calloused hands can do to your body, but what it would be like to hold one in your own while walking down the street. To show up at a home game and have everyone know you were there to support not only your brother, but JT too.

It’s a fantasy that is only stoked by the comfort you feel walking around JT’s apartment in just his t-shirt with his number on the shoulder. By nights spent together at his dinner table, on his couch, in his bed. By sweet texts and stupid memes and random photos of things that made him think of you.

You don’t dare speak your desires out loud though. For fear of JT not wanting the same thing or for fear that he would, you’re not quite sure.

It’s a tough situation to be in. One where you’re worried you're heading to a fork in the road that has JT on one side and your brother on the other.

You have no delusions about the two paths eventually forging back together again, know that you’ve come dangerously close to that intersection marked with a big fat caution sign.

Probably you should speak to JT, get on the same page about where you’ve been and where you’re going. Following that, assuming he secretly yearns for the same thing you do, you should probably then come clean to Dylan.

Probably you should do a lot of things, but unfortunately what is done in the dark always comes to the light and sometimes it happens quicker than you can make your mind up.

A road win presumably has JT in a good mood. He’s texted you letting you know he’ll be home before midnight, requesting your presence in his bed.

It’s an easy yes, considering you’re already in the aforementioned bed. It’s nice to get out of Dylan’s house, of the suffocating feeling that you’re intruding in someone else’s home, on someone else’s life.

There’s really nothing particularly sexy about the way he finds you, but his eyes darken upon finding you curled up in his bed just the same. You’re not attempting to recreate a sexy pose from a boudoir photo shoot, and one of JT’s shirts and a pair of boy shorts aren’t exactly fancy lingerie.

That doesn’t stop him from dropping his bag dramatically and stripping from his dress shirt and pants.

“Awfully presumptuous,” you say as if the very fact that you’re in his bed in not much more clothing than he is.

He shrugs, “Not presuming anything. I’m fine if you just want to sleep, but I’m sure as shit not going to sleep in those dress pants. Bad enough I had to sit through a plane ride like that.”

His tone is teasing, but the implication that he would be just as fine falling asleep beside you as anything else pretty well takes all the fight out of you.

“C’mere,” you say instead of a catchy comeback, lifting the covers and inviting him into his own bed.

He wastes no time sliding in beside you and curling up around your body. “Hi.”

You snort and hide your face in his neck. “Corny.”

“I’ll show you corny,” he says, but you shush him by pulling his face closer to yours until your lips brush.

“Thought I was presumptuous,” he says upon breaking the kiss.

You roll your eyes—“Shut up.”—and kiss him again.

He doesn’t manage to keep his mouth shut, but at least this time it’s to slip his tongue into your mouth.

The temperature of the room rapidly increases—between the weight of his body covering your own and your body’s reaction to his fervid kiss, you feel the need to lose at least one item of clothing.

“I need—“

Luckily he quickly understands what you’re trying to accomplish by pulling at the hem of your shirt, lifting off of you long enough to assist in removing it from your body.

He makes a noise of appreciation at the bare skin revealed to him before diving back into your lips, this time with one hand cupping your right breast.

Appreciative noises of your own build in your throat when that hand slides down your body to dip into your underwear. It’s teasing touches at first, until you reciprocate by cupping him through his boxer-briefs.

Finally you both shed that last remaining layer, uncaring of where they end up in the bedroom. There’s a brief pause while he rolls on a condom and then he’s entering your body like it was made for him and him alone.

There’s no rush about his pace, just gentle thrusts and soft moans and sweet praises.

Sex with JT is so good, better than with anyone else you’ve ever been with. He’s the very opposite of a lazy, selfish lover. It’s like your needs and your pleasure come first, and you certainly do too.

The positioning of your bodies is so intimate, bodies close, mouths slotted over each other with intermingling breaths.

You worry you’re getting too caught up in that intimacy, possibly running in a direction not quite warranted and so you seek to depersonalize it a touch.

“Let me,” you say softly while gently pressing a hand against his shoulder, indicating you want him to lay on his back. He moves willingly, even helping you climb atop him.

It feels just as good with you on top, and the bit of distance between your upper halves means you can breathe a bit better.

It’s easy to get lost in the feeling, to tilt your head back and focus on your movements and the feel of his bruising grip on your hips.

Feeling the pressure build in your stomach, you slide a hand down your abdomen to where your bodies meet while the other grasps your breast just for something to hold on to. The added friction to your clit is pulling you closer and closer as you move on top of him.

He’s staring up at you with lust filled eyes, mouth open in a mix of awe and pleasure. A look of almost disbelief on his face. His hands are still on your hips, now helping the movement of your body on his when your body lights up like the fourth of July with your orgasm.

It’s hard to keep moving while in the throes of pleasure, but it’s like JT can read your mind, gripping your hips and thrusting up into you until he finishes too.

Your whole body tingles as you collapse on top of him, relishing in the feel of his arms wrapping around your body. Leisurely you kiss for a minute, until your heart rate returns to normal and you feel like you’re not likely to fall over when going to the bathroom to clean up.

When you return, you’ve slipped on one of his shirts once again. There's a soft look on his face as you crawl into bed beside him. It only cracks when you quietly whisper, “should we order pizza?”

“I think you’re the girl of my dreams,” he laughs.

The room is quiet, filled with only the sounds of your breathing and occasional kissing as you wait for the delivery.

Finally the doorbell rings. “I got it,” you tell JT and pull on a pair of discarded sweatpants before pulling the drawstring so they don’t fall.

You don’t bother to check the peephole, certain it’s your food which turns out to be a giant mistake.

Not only is it not your pizza, it’s also the last person you want to catch you with sex hair in oversized clothing that obviously belongs to the guy you’ve just had sex with.

Dylan’s mouth has dropped so far down it would be comical if it wasn’t also horrifying.

“Dylan I–” you start to explain yourself but pause midway through. How could you even begin to explain?

“I can’t believe this.” He shakes his head, hands curling at his side. “Actually no, I can’t believe this from JT, I can definitely believe this from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you snap.

Your brother laughs sardonically, “Well you’re not exactly known for making the right decisions when it comes to relationships.”

JT exits his room, no doubt lured by the loud voices and the lack of food. “Hey man, come on, let's talk about this like adults.”

“Like adults?” Dylan is incensed in a way you’ve never seen before. “Now you want to talk about things like adults? The time to talk was before you started sleeping with my sister behind my back.”

“I’m sorry you found out like this–” JT continues to try to defend himself, defend you while you stand there speechless.

Dylan interrupts, “Sorry I found out or sorry you got caught?”

JT goes to respond but Dylan cuts him off again. “I trusted you dude. I told you she was off limits, and not only did you ignore me, you went behind my back.” He then turns to you. “And you? My teammate? Seriously? You couldn’t have chosen literally any other douchebag to treat you wrong?”

That snaps you out of your stupor. “JT doesn’t treat me bad!”

A different kind of look crosses your older brother's face then. “Well when he does, don’t come running back to my house and crying to me.”

Dylan slams the door and you sit in the quiet of the room for a minute with your ears ringing.

The reality of the situation hits you.

“I can’t stay there, God not only am I a fuck up but I’m homeless too.”

“You can always stay here,” JT offers and it really bothers you that you can’t tell if he wants you to, or if he’s just offering because of his hand in the most recent blow up of your life.

“I’m pretty sure his baby sister shacking up with his teammate he doesn’t want her with isn’t exactly going to win me any favors with Dyl,” you reply.

“Well I’m pretty sure he’d rather you be here than living on the street.”

Ordinarily you think that would probably be true but the look on his face when you opened JT’s door is seared into your mind. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

In the end you do move your things into JT’s apartment. Kenzy is the accomplice to your crime, helping you pack your things while the team has practice, wrapping you in her arms and telling you that he just needs some time.

“He loves you,” she says.

You’re not so sure.

That’s probably overdramatic. You’re sure he loves you, and you sure hope he forgives you. You’re just worried that this time you’ve both done and said things you can’t take back and you’re not sure how things will move forward from here.

It’s not all bad though.

Living with JT is surprisingly easy, even right one might say. You fit directly into each other's lives like perfect puzzle pieces. His strict routines of practices and morning skates and games—both home and away—allow you the space to complete your own work on your own time. Cooking pregame meals together and curling up beside him when he takes his pregame naps quickly become some of your favorite activities.

You dance around the feelings talk, never quite broaching the subject. But it can’t feel this right if it’s all one sided, all in your head, right?

He’s even kind enough to let you drive his SUV even though the price tag makes you nervous every time you’re behind the wheel. You’re not a bad driver, as evidenced by the fact JT lets you drive the Audi, but you are possibly on this side of over cautious as a result of a bad car accident in high school.

Three home games after your fight with Dylan and approximately zero words or text messages exchanged between the two of you, you find yourself in the passenger seat.

“I could have taken the bus,” you protest weakly, almost knowing exactly what JT’s response will be.

“Over my dead body,” he laughs, eyes flickering over to you before focusing on the traffic in front of him. “Just pick me up after practice or text me if you’re still out and I’ll find a ride.”

“I’m not gonna leave you stranded at the arena, of course I’ll be there after you’re done.”

It’s oddly domestic, kissing JT across the console and then sliding into the driver’s seat that he vacates. You wait as he grabs his gear and walks away, you do really love watching him walk away.

The moment is cut short by catching a glimpse of your brother's vehicle. He’s not in it, obviously already inside the arena, but the sight of it makes your stomach clench all the same.

Thoughts of Dylan and his disappointment and worry that he’ll never forgive you flood your mind the entire drive. So much so that when the next light turns green, you let off the gas without realizing that there is a larger SUV running the red.

It all happens so fast. The screeching of tires, the crunching of metal, the pop of airbags going off and then a blinding pain in your wrist.

In the end, you’re pushed into the wrong lane of traffic, the other vehicle damn near in the passenger seat you occupied only fifteen minutes ago. There’s a distinct ringing in your ears and you offhandedly wonder if this is what it feels like to get boarded.

“Are you okay? I’m calling 911.” The words sound like they’re underwater, and it takes you several seconds to realize they’re being spoken to you. Turning your head to the side, you try to get the words out to say you’re fine, but you’re blocked by the airbag that has gone off near your head.

Emergency services come quickly, a perk of living in Detroit you suppose. Embarrassingly, it takes the jaws of life to peel off the driver's side door to get you out. A cop takes your statement and then you end up in the back of an ambulance. Despite your assurances that you’re fine, one raised eyebrow from the female paramedic and the idea that you’ve probably broken your wrist has you agreeing to the ER visit.

It’s then that someone asks you if there’s anyone you want to call. Heartbreakingly, your first thought is Dylan and your second thought is you’re not sure he’ll pick up.

Your third thought is JT and his SUV that you’ve probably totaled.

One of the paramedics helps you dial the equipment manager’s number, the one you were instructed to only ever use in case of emergencies. If ever there was a reason…

When he picks up the phone, you have to explain that you’ve gotten into a tiny fender bender and if you could please speak with JT and yes I mean JT not Dylan.

“Are you okay?” JT all but demands when he picks up the phone.

“I’m totally fine,” you fib, and then concede based on that same female paramedic once again raising an eyebrow. “Okay so I might have broken my wrist but–”

“Which hospital are you going to?” he interrupts.

You tell him, but try to say, “It’s okay you don’t have to–”

He interrupts again, “I’ll be right there.”

He hangs up quicker than you can ask how he’s going to get there without the car that you’ve wrecked.

True to his word, he’s sitting on a chair in your hospital room when you return from getting an x-ray. He stands abruptly upon your entrance and takes the three strides to stand in front of you before hesitating, like you’re made of glass.

You take matters into your own hands and slide your good arm around his back, careful to not jostle your injured wrist. There's a slight tremor to his body that you feel run through yours.

“I’m okay,” you say comfortingly, rubbing your good hand along his back before pausing. “Your car though….”

The tears are already starting to pool in your waterline as he pulls back.

His hands slide to cup your jaw as he speaks seriously, “I don’t give a damn about the car. It can be replaced, you can’t.” A tear slips out before you can stop it and he brushes it away with his thumb before kissing you softly. “I care about you. So much. And that phone call scared the shit out of me.”

Despite the less than stellar background and circumstances, his words have your heart leaping in your chest. “I really care about you too,” you whisper and kiss him again.

“Where is she?” you hear coming down the hall and it occurs to you that your brother is still your emergency contact.

“Did you tell him?” you ask JT who promptly shakes his head.

You don’t even have time to step back from JT’s embrace before Dylan comes crashing into the room. JT wisely pulls away and gives Dylan the space to place his hands on your shoulders and scan for any signs of injury.

“I’m okay,” you reassure him but the words feel hollow considering they’re the first you’ve said to him in more than a week. “Broken wrist they’re gonna cast and probably a concussion. Can’t say the same for the car.”

Eerily similar to JT, Dylan replies, “Cars can be replaced–”

“But I can’t,” you say in unison with him. “I know, JT said the same thing.”

It’s like Dylan remembers his teammate then, eyes sliding over to where JT stands and then back down to your slowly purpling wrist.

The room is silent except for the sounds of medical equipment and the faint sounds occurring outside the door.

“I’m sorry,” you say in unison with your brother again.

“No, I'm sorry,” he says first. “I’m your big brother and I’ve seen you get your heart broken too many times. I’m always going to worry about you but I was out of line.”

“I’m sorry we went behind your backs and I’m sorry you found out that way. We should have just talked to you, I should have just talked to you.”

“Truce?” he asks, like you’re 10 and 11 again, fighting over something silly and trivial.

“Truce,” you confirm, hissing when you knock your broken wrist as you pull him in for a hug.

Later, when you’ve gotten over the guilt of totaling JT’s barely used Audi and the cast on your wrist is long gone, it’ll be a fun story to tell at parties. About how it took an idiot running a red light for you to define your relationship with JT and to reconcile with your brother.

#nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl fanfiction #nhl fanfic #nhl x reader #jt compher fic #shelb writes

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comradekatara · 10 days

Note

what are kannas judgmental opinions on the gaang (+mai and ty lee?)

okay i’ve written before on how kanna feels about the gaang, but you specifically said judgmental which is a whole other question. bc I do think that kanna can be a massive cunt when she wants (or needs) to be :)

katara: she is gonna get their whole village killed, not because she inherently has a target on back, but because she insists on making one anyway. literally one day of quiet and she’d never ask for anything ever again. literally just one day where she sits inside and doesn’t yell and doesn’t run off somewhere and give kanna a heart attack. she’s too fucking old for this….. please katara. just go inside and do your chores, quietly. you are killing your grandmother. is that what you want, katara, huh??? to kill your grandmother? katara catches a cold one day and stays curled up in bed and doesn’t speak because she has a sore throat, and kanna just spends the whole day bringing her soup and katara is so cute and cuddly the whole time it’s literally the best day of her life.

sokka: exact opposite problem, which is that he’s too obedient and it kinda scares her. please fight back just a little. just take one day off. breaks are important! she was a rebellious child, so as much as katara exhausts her, she also understands her very well. she does not understand sokka at all. he literally does everything she would ever ask from him before she even has to ask (to the point that katara thinks he does nothing, because kanna never forces sokka into doing anything). she has no idea who raised him to be this obedient, because it certainly wasn’t her. he used to be funny and curious and full of life as a child, but now his miserable depressed aura saps the vibes out of every room. at least when she’s doing chores with katara they chit chat and make jokes, but with sokka, she doesn’t even want that boy in her house. absolute vibe killer.

aang: he’s a bad influence on katara. or maybe katara is a bad influence on him? either way they should know better than to go into a fire nation ship. say what you will about sokka’s wet miserable aura, but he simply would not do that. but he’s also really cute, so. it’s ok :)

toph: this girl clearly thinks that she is too good to visit the south pole and she has no idea why sokka speaks so highly of that rich snob. and the first time she meets her, toph isn’t even all that polite to her?? this kid is yet another delinquent bad influence on her grandkids. (she grows on her.)

suki: she has absolutely nothing bad to say about suki. next!

zuko: invaded her village + attacked sokka + grabbed her and shoved her rudely + kidnapped aang + stupid hair + pure evil. (once they are introduced properly after the war, though, zuko apologizes and he’s really sweet about it so she forgives him and basically just likes him from that point forward.)

mai: katara hates her but sokka loves her so she doesn’t know what to think. on one hand, katara is her favorite, but on the other hand, sokka exercises better judgment. she barely talks in her presence, so she genuinely has no clue. she kind of gives off scary vibes though. who can say.

ty lee: the most charming girl in the world, second only to suki. kanna has nothing bad to say about ty lee. in fact she once suggests to katara that she could stand to be more like ty lee, and katara throws a hissy fit. which is exactly the kind of behavior kanna was referring to. oh well.

appa: perfect creature. no notes.

momo: his green eyes are staring directly into her soul. for the love of god please get him some brown contacts.

#manicpixiedreamkiller #asks #kanna #kanna&katara #kanna&sokka #the gaang and #if kanna could she would simply merge both her grandkids into one singular reasonably obedient and content child #but since she has no way of performing such a feat she simply has to resort to ‘listen to your brother’ and ‘be nice to your sister’#which are not effective weapons whatsoever.

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weirdkpopgirl · 5 months

Text

Friends Who Kiss | Chenle Fic #1

Title: Friends Who Kiss

Genre: Best friends to lovers, high school/college au

Warnings: mentions of the reader being insecure and having a mental breakdown at some point. a little suggestive, but not really

Word Count: ~ 5.6k

Author's Note: Okay to be very honest, I think that this story is kinda stupid and cliché. But it was an idea that I still wanted to try writing. And this is my first full-length fic for Chenle too, so I'm happy to post something for him. So to those who like cheesy romance stories, I hope you enjoy this. Thank you for reading ^ ^

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Since the start of high school, Zhong Chenle has been a consistent part of your life. He arrived as a transfer student from Shanghai, while you were the reserved kid who often used studying as an excuse to avoid social interaction. So rather than you reaching out to him first, it was he who practically claimed you as his best friend. Your personalities were a striking contrast, but it proved to be the perfect balance. It didn't take long for the two of you to become inseparable.

However, your friendship took a turn in eleventh grade. You guys had gone to your house after school to do homework. Except it was mostly you working on assignments, while Chenle was animatedly ranting about some mobile game Jisung was terrible at playing.

“It’s unbelievable! Every time I check his character gets killed,” Chenle laughed, and you responded with a soft hum of acknowledgment.

The boy glanced up from his phone to find you engrossed in your textbooks. While your attention was focused on writing an essay, you were also trying to keep your mind from drifting to the unsettling conversation you had during lunch that day. Typically, you and Chenle sat together with his friends. But Jisung needed the boy’s help stalking his crush, so you found yourself sitting with some of the girls in your class.

Sensing the inner conflict brewing in your mind, Chenle rose from the bed and leaned over your shoulder.

“You've been at this since we got here. How is your brain not fried?” he asked, blunt as usual.

You shot the boy with an unappreciative glare. “It is fried. But our essay is due on Monday, and I still have to help you with yours.”

Chenle sighed, well aware of your enduring determination. Ever since he met you, he couldn’t understand why you stressed so much over assignments, especially when you always completed them before the due date. Then you somehow managed to go out of your way to ensure he was doing the same.

“You’re more than halfway finished, and I’ll get to mine on my own time,” He reassured, “Why don’t you take a break for now?”

Before you could protest, Chenle swiftly pulled you out of your chair and guided you to sit on the bed with him. Worry clouded his gaze. “Something’s troubling you, isn’t it?”

Your teeth sank into your lower lip, hating how Chenle knew you so well. He didn’t have a problem sharing what was on his mind, while you were the exact opposite. Yet, even a single look at you was enough for him to detect something was off.

“The girls at lunch were going on about their dating experiences and stuff,” you began to explain, your tone tinged with irritation at the memory. “They were all so surprised when I said I haven’t had my first kiss yet.”

You pushed yourself to meet Chenle's gaze, half dreading that he might burst into laughter. Instead, his expression held a hint of amusement, and that alone made you regret bringing up the topic.

Before he could respond, you hurriedly attempted to backtrack on your words. “It's stupid, I know—”

“It’s not stupid if it’s making you upset,” Chenle said firmly.

Leaning back in your seat, you let out an exasperated sigh. “I just can’t get their judgmental looks out of my head. All because I don’t have much experience with dating?”

Chenle's expression softened as he confessed, "There's nothing wrong with that, and there’s a lot of people like you. I haven't had my first kiss either."

“Really?!” You stared at him in disbelief. “Didn't you date Ko Mi-so though?”

Chenle scoffed, appearing slightly offended. “Okay, that happened such a long time ago. And we didn't even last a month, so we never kissed.”

Now that you thought about it, he was right about their relationship ending almost as quickly as it began. You recalled the time back in tenth grade when Chenle was quite smug about dating Mi-so, who happened to be the prettiest girl in class. Frankly, you were somewhat relieved when they broke up, given that she didn't particularly like you. Chenle hasn’t dated anyone since.

“Oh, I guess that makes sense,” your voice trailed off.

The boy stayed silent for a moment before an idea dawned on him. “You know what? Why don’t we have our first kiss now?”

Your cheeks felt like they were competing for a world record in how quickly they heated up at Chenle's proposal. He couldn't possibly be serious.

“Did I hear you right?” you stammered, thoroughly taken aback by the suggestion.

Chenle nodded confidently, “I mean, we're best friends, so it's not that weird. And it's better than kissing someone we don't know as well or not have a connection with.”

You could kind of see his point. Having Chenle as your first kiss did seem much safer than kissing some random guy. Besides, it wasn’t like either of you had any underlying feelings for each other. This would solely be for practice.

“Alright,” you reluctantly agreed, “But you have to promise not to make fun of me if I turn out to be a bad kisser."

Chenle chuckled and nodded. He inched closer to you on the bed, leaving little space between the two of you. Although he saw you every day, having your face this near made a faint blush tinge his cheeks.

He started to lean in more before pausing. "Um, maybe you should close your eyes."

"Oh—right," you mumbled awkwardly, then took a deep breath before allowing your eyelids to shut.

He had to suppress a chuckle, finding you kinda cute in that moment. Before you had a chance to second-guess yourself, Chenle pressed his lips against yours in a tender kiss. Shortly after, he drew back, searching for your reaction.

“So, how was that?” He asked, voice laced with teasing.

You stared at him incredulously for a moment before realizing he was waiting for you to answer. “I suppose it was okay,” you mumbled.

Chenle tilted his head with an amused grin. “Just okay?”

“Yeah, I guess I didn't feel much because we're not really into each other like that,” you admitted with a nonchalant shrug.

Okay, you might have partially lied about not feeling much during the kiss. Truth be told, there was this strange, fluttery sensation in your chest when your best friend's lips grazed yours. But perhaps all first kisses were like that, and you were simply overthinking it.

The boy beside you let out a hearty laugh. “Well at least we got that over with.”

You had to muster all your self-control not to blush when he followed up with, “And you're not a bad kisser, by the way.”

Believing that the experiment was over, the two of you returned to your previous tasks. Nothing changed much after that day in your bedroom, as you and Chenle remained best friends. But little did you realize that this wouldn't be the last kiss you'd be sharing with him.

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Despite your previous attempts to justify it, the second kiss you shared with Chenle happened partially because of you. As your senior year of high school unfolded, Chenle prepared for his performance at the spring festival. It was you who initially urged him to participate in the talent show. The countless times you had witnessed his piano playing and singing during your private moments together convinced you that he should share his talents with the world. Your compliments not only fueled Chenle’s ego but also prompted him to eagerly jot his name down on the sign-up sheet.

However, what you didn’t expect was to find him backstage, looking as pale as a ghost. He was supposed to go after a group of girls who were dancing to Red Velvet’s “Red Flavor.” With the intention of cheering him on in person, you spotted the dark-haired boy sitting on a chair, anxiously bouncing his legs.

“Last-minute jitters?" you asked softly.

Chenle glanced up at you and crossed his arms in a nonchalant manner. “What, me? I'm fine,” he replied, though his tone lacked conviction.

Just as Chenle knew you like the back of his hand, you were among the few who could read him. While he was partially correct about never being nervous, it didn't take an idiot to perceive that he was in that moment. It was evident he was trying to play it off to uphold his confident image.

One aspect that troubled you about Chenle was his constant facade of cheerfulness and carefree demeanor. No one could genuinely be happy all the time, and he was the kind of person who concealed his negative feelings when around others.

After deliberating on how to address the situation, you gently rested your hand on his shoulder, bringing yourself to eye level with him.

“Hey, you’re going to be amazing out there,” you reassured him. “I’ve seen how many hours you put into practicing that song. You have nothing to worry about.”

Chenle let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, you're right.”

The smile he bestowed upon you didn't quite convince you. Biting your lip in hesitation, you glanced around to ensure no one else was nearby. Once you were sure that you were alone, you leaned down and gently planted a kiss on the boy’s forehead. Chenle’s eyes widened in surprise at your actions.

“What was that for?”

Blushing, you took a step back and stammered, “Just for good luck, you know. I—I’ll be right there in the crowd, watching you. So if you feel nervous on stage, just look at me.”

A more reassured smile spread across Chenle’s lips and before he stood up to swiftly peck you on the lips, leaving you more stunned than he was a few seconds ago.

“There, I definitely feel more ready now,” he declared with a teasing glint. And the smug Chenle you were familiar with had returned.

As Chenle’s playfulness lingered in the air, the sound of the audience clapping erupted for the girls, putting an end to your “moment.” With a knowing look, you both parted ways, allowing Chenle to step into the spotlight for his performance.

As he took the stage, you found a spot in the crowd, eyes fixed on him with awe. The rhythm of the applause filled the air, drowning out any lingering thoughts. In that moment, the stage became his world, and you couldn't help but be swept away by the magic of his talent. The earlier exchange faded into the background as you watched Chenle shine, each note and melody weaving a captivating spell that left you in admiration.

Neither of you mentioned the kiss after that day. The interaction remained more platonic than anything, a gesture that was only meant to show your support for him. But Chenle still liked to think he killed the stage because of it.

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Chenle was undeniably responsible for the next time the two of you kissed. However, this particular incident didn't unfold until the first semester of your freshman year in college. The joy of discovering you both had been accepted into the same university was palpable, though Chenle appeared to be more exuberant about the news. In contrast, you felt a sense of relief, grateful that you wouldn't be venturing into the world of college alone.

In one of your classes, a sunbae began to show interest in you. Despite your attempts to politely reject him, it became apparent that he wasn't willing to accept no for an answer.

One day after class, he cornered you in the hallway, insisting that you go out with him. As you tried to maintain your composure, he grabbed you by the wrist when you tried to walk away. The harsh move triggered internal panic within you.

You could sense the danger in his tone as his head tilted cockily. “Come on, (Y/n), don’t be so difficult. I know you’re just playing hard to get.”

“I—I’m sorry but I just don’t feel the same as you, Sunbae,” you stuttered, trying to be assertive. “Please let go.”

Refusing to relent, the sunbae was on the verge of pulling you in closer when another hand intervened, forcefully ripping you out of his grasp. Your head turned in astonishment to see Chenle casting a disgusted look at the guy in front of you. The flames in Chenle’s eyes made you realize that you had never seen him so livid before.

“She said to let go of her. What part of that do you not understand?” Chenle’s voice cut through the tension.

The sunbae scoffed and crossed his arms in defense, “Yah, who are you to involve yourself in someone else’s matters? Are you her boyfriend or something?”

You watched as the corner of Chenle’s lips turned into a smirk as he snaked an arm around your waist in a protective gesture.

“That’s right. So who are you to go after another man’s girlfriend?” he retorted confidently. Your eyes widened, almost surprised as the jerk in front of you.

Shaking his head in a mix of disbelief and embarrassment, the sunbae pointed a finger at you. “This is a joke, right? You just asked him to pretend to be your boyfriend to mess with me!”

Before you could respond, Chenle took matters into his own hands. His free hand briskly moved to the back of your neck, drawing you in for a passionate kiss. In a typical situation, your best friend's impulsive actions might have freaked you out immediately. However, the way his fingers delicately pressed against your back reassured you that he was doing this for your sake, Closing your eyes, you kissed back and tried to reciprocate with the same passion Chenle was pouring.

Moments later, Chenle pulled away and turned to the sunbae, wearing a satisfied grin on his face. “Do you believe her now? Not that she has to prove anything to you.”

The older male muttered begrudgingly under his breath, “Whatever, not worth my time.”

With a scowl, he stormed off, leaving behind a palpable sense of relief in the wake of his departure. Once he was gone, you removed yourself from Chenle's hold and shot him a look of confusion.

“You know you didn’t have to do that right?”

Chenle chuckled, “Well, someone had to put an end to his nonsense. Besides, I've always wanted to play the protective boyfriend card.”

“Protective boyfriend? You almost gave me a heart attack!” You smacked him on the shoulder.

Chenle’s smirk remained, but he adopted a more concerned tone. “But seriously, (Y/n), why didn’t you tell me he was bothering you earlier?”

“I thought I could handle things on my own.” You shrugged weakly, lowering your head in guilt.

Chenle sighed, recognizing your aversion to depending on others for your problems. Throughout the time he’d known you, he'd witnessed your willingness to go to great lengths to help those you cared about. However, when it came to your own struggles, you seemed to prefer suffering in silence.

“We’re best friends for a reason,” he reminded you, “Looking after each other is 50/50, you know?”

You offered him a small smile, “I guess you’re right. Thanks for saving me today.”

“Well, you can thank me by buying food tonight,” Chenle said, the playful glint returning to his eyes. “It’s your turn anyway.”

Rolling your eyes, you let him lead you out of the building. But Chenle’s words from earlier lingered in the back of your mind. “We’re best friends for a reason.”

The two of you were the epitome of what best friends were. And that was all the two of you would ever be, right?

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At this point, you were beginning to lose count of the number of times you’ve kissed your best friend. Despite this, your friendship maintained its familiar rhythm throughout the university. But after that hallway encounter, the awkwardness that came with kissing your best friend faded. Although it was more of Chenle seeming unfazed, and you becoming less surprised each time it happened. And indeed, there were a few more instances that caused your lips to meet.

Like the time Chenle excitedly dragged you to his dorm to watch a Golden State Warriors game, and, in the heat of the moment, he gave you a quick kiss before cheering some more. Then there was the other time when you both went out for drinks with friends, a few drunken kisses were shared.

There weren't any real feelings attached to the kisses you and Chenle shared. At least, that was what you repeatedly told yourself. However, as you were halfway through your first year of university, you finally started to question the true nature of your friendship with Zhong Chenle.

Those thoughts began to sink in just before your first finals in college. Isolated in your dorm room, you immersed yourself in studying for a math exam scheduled in three days. Calls and texts from friends went largely ignored as you turned off your phone in an attempt to focus. However, Chenle wasn't about to let that slide.

One night, he let himself into your dorm, carrying a bag of your favorite takeout—knowing well that you tended to skip meals when stressed. You could see the determination in his face, ready to scold you. But the expression quickly transitioned to one of concern when he caught you on the verge of a breakdown.

You sat at your desk surrounded by textbooks and notebooks filled with scribbled equations. The sight of your trembling body and slightly tousled hair, a result of pulling on it too hard, tugged at Chenle’s heart. He was well aware of how your anxiety affected you at times. But he had never witnessed it manifest quite like this.

Instantly, the bag was placed on the floor, and he was at your side. “(Y/n), what's wrong?"

“I—I'm going to fail my calc final,” you swallowed, your fingers curling into fists. Your shoulders slumped, and the weight of despair was evident in the way you hunched over the desk.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, attempting to calm you down. “You still have a few weeks before finals, (Y/n). And you’re not going to fail.”

“Yes, I am!” you cut him off, your voice strained. Tears welled up in your eyes, and your hands clenched even tighter. “I’ve been studying for days, and my dumb brain still doesn't understand anything. Do you know how stupid I feel?”

“Being bad at math doesn’t make you stupid, (Y/n),” Chenle said, trying to inject a bit of lightheartedness into the situation. However, his comment didn’t seem to offer you any comfort.

You shook your head miserably in response. “Stop trying to be nice. I'm going to fail, and then I’ll end up letting down my parents and everyone else.”

Chenle’s heart ached at the defeat in your voice. Setting his jokes aside, he recognized that words weren’t what you needed at the moment. Instead, he enveloped you in a warm embrace. You hesitated only briefly before surrendering to his comforting hold, attempting to fight back tears.

“Just let it out,” he whispered.

Those simple words acted as an emotional release trigger, and Chenle found himself gently rubbing your back as you quietly cried into his shoulder. A sense of mixed emotions flooded him as he held you in that moment. A part of him felt a twinge of relief, grateful that you let him be there for you. You often kept your emotions bottled up, making it a challenge for him to discern how you truly felt at times.

However, there was a pang of sadness accompanying that satisfaction. He knew you didn't just cry in front of anyone, and realizing that you had reached this breaking point signaled the depth of your struggle.

After a while, Chenle gently pulled back, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You need a break, (Y/n). Let’s step away from the desk for a bit.”

"No, I really should—" you began to protest, but Chenle cut you off.

"You really should eat the food I brought you before it gets cold," he insisted, picking up the bag again.

He led you to sit on the carpet of your cramped dorm room, creating a makeshift dining space for the two of you. As you both shared a meal, Chenle continued to provide a comforting presence, occasionally cracking a joke to lighten the atmosphere.

As the night wore on, the exhaustion in your eyes became more prominent. Even so, you knew you should go back to studying. But Chenle seemed to disagree.

“Maybe you should just rest for the night. I promise to help you with math in the morning,” he suggested. However, upon seeing the unconvinced look you gave him, he backtracked on his words. “Okay, I'll have Renjun help you.”

Too tired to argue, you gave in, and that's how you found yourself lying in bed with your best friend. Back in high school, you used to have sleepovers at his house on the weekends. At night, the two of you would be lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and talking about anything. However, having him beside you at that moment felt strange.

You saw a sincere tenderness reflected in those large eyes of his. A part of you wondered if Chenle often gazed at you with such fondness and you simply hadn’t noticed before. Either way, the way he was looking at you made you feel even stranger. And the short silence that had settled between the two of you wasn’t helping.

Uncertain of how much longer you could endure the intensity, you broke eye contact with him and murmured, “Thank you for always being there for me, even when I try to push you away”

Chenle chuckled, adjusting his position to prop himself up on his elbow. “Well, of course, because how could you live without me?”

His ability to joke at a time like this struck you as unfathomable. Instead of the usual eye roll or pushing off the bed, a serious expression remained etched on your face.

“You're right, I don't think I can live without you,” you said, your voice laced with drowsiness. “Because you’re one of the few people who truly care about me.”

The amusement in his eyes danced away, as he felt the gravity of your words. Something about seeing this vulnerable side of you was so beautiful in his eyes. Before he could fully process his own thoughts, Chenle found himself leaning in to close the space between you with his lips meeting your own.

Uncertain whether it was the leftover stress from your meltdown or the sleep deprivation that prompted you to kiss back without much thought. You could recall all the times you’ve kissed Chenle throughout the years. But this one would always stand out to you.

This kiss lasted a lot longer than your previous ones. But it wasn’t just the way he tilted your chin upward for a better angle, or the feeling of his dark locks of hair slipping between your fingers. Nor was it the soft pressure of his lips moving in sync with yours. It was the indescribable emotions that made time seem to stand still, weaving an unspoken connection that surpassed words and left you yearning for more.

Aside from pulling away, both of you gasping for breath, and noticing how Chenle's lips were redder than you had ever seen them, you vaguely recalled what happened after the kiss. When you woke up the next morning, Chenle was already gone. However, he had left you a text message, mentioning that he went to check if Renjun could help tutor you in math.

But math was no longer the sole stressor in your mind. Your best friend had kissed you last night, and unlike all the other times, this one left you feeling more confused than ever.

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True to his word, Renjun offered to meet up with you that Sunday afternoon at the campus library. Within an hour of sitting down to unravel the calculus concept that eluded you, Renjun finally helped you grasp the material. Although the looming fear of failing finals had diminished, you still felt a weight on your shoulders.

“You don’t seem as relieved as I thought you’d be,” Renjun remarked lightheartedly. Even he could tell your mind was preoccupied with something else.

You smiled sheepishly, “No, I am! I seriously owe you for helping me out. I just…”

“Is it something to do with Chenle?” he asked, almost like he was a mind reader.

His unexpected question caught you off guard. “How did you know?” you stammered, feeling the heat quickly rise to your cheeks.

A knowing smile played on the boy’s lips as he leaned back in his seat. “Oh come on, (Y/n). You have that look on your face that something happened between the two of you.”

Sometimes you seriously wished Renjun wasn’t so good at reading people. Even though you weren’t as close to him as Chenle was, he’s known you long enough to notice things that others wouldn’t. For instance, when something was troubling you.

Biting your lip, you debated whether to be truthful with Renjun. Although you didn't typically share your problems with others, you recognized that confiding in someone at a time like this was necessary to maintain your sanity.

“Chenle kissed me last night,” you tossed the statement out in the air, hoping you wouldn’t regret it.

Renjun’s eyes widened at this revelation, “He did?!”

“Well you see, we’ve kissed before. But this time it felt different,” you clarified, baffling the boy across from you even more. Internally cringing, you were acutely aware of how bad this sounded.

Before he could question, you continued to elaborate. “Look, it's not as complicated as it sounds. It’s just ever since we agreed to be each other’s first kiss, Chenle and I just keep having these…accidental kisses. Whether it’s out of excitement or to get guys hitting on me to go away.”

Renjun listened quietly as you recounted all the other times you’ve kissed Chenle. When you circled back to the previous night, you felt more conflicted than ever.

“But the kiss last night left me feeling so confused,” you confessed, running a hand through your hair. “Initially, I thought he was just doing it out of comfort, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Well, have you considered the possibility that he has feelings for you?” Renjun inquired, crossing his arms. His suggestion sounded so simple, yet it felt like navigating uncharted territory in your mind.

You shook your head in denial. “N—No, I mean we’ve been best friends for five years. He can’t possibly see me that way.”

“Like that’s ever stopped friends from falling for each other,” Renjun cocked his head. “It doesn’t take a genius to know that he likes you, (Y/n).”

His point made you mentally curse. If you looked at your history with Chenle from an objective point of view, the two of you certainly didn’t act like normal best friends.

“And, it’s pretty obvious that you like him too,” Renjun added, twirling the pencil between his fingers.

His statement left you feeling exposed, as if you had been caught red-handed committing a crime. Laughing nervously, you shook your head, “Renjun, we’re just friends. I…I don’t see him that way.”

Renjun raised an eyebrow, “Friends who kiss? Did you really not feel anything in those moments?”

Your teeth sank further into your lower lip as Renjun’s question hit you. The reality of your feelings for Chenle lingered in the air, challenging the facade you had built to convince yourself otherwise. It was like trying to hold sand in your fists, slipping away no matter how tightly you clenched. The truth, however inconvenient, seemed to be unraveling before you.

“I…I did feel something,” you slowly admitted, “But I never said anything because I didn’t want our friendship to change. It just seemed easier to pretend those moments were nothing more than accidents.”

Renjun’s eyes softened with understanding. “Well maybe a little change is what you need in your friendship.”

Maybe Renjun was onto something, perhaps change was necessary. In the past, you had always held out on dating, using the excuse that you were waiting for the right person. Despite the fear of potential rejection, what if Chenle was the person you had been waiting for all along?

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Chenle’s living room bathed in the gentle glow of the TV screen, a familiar sight during your Friday movie nights since college began. It was supposed to be a time to unwind, to escape the pressures of school for a little while. However, instead of the usual peaceful and easygoing atmosphere, an unspoken tension hung in the air tonight. Beyond picking a movie and deciding who made the popcorn, you and Chenle barely talked. The weight of the unspoken words made the space feel suffocating, and you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in your chest.

Unable to endure the weighty silence any longer, you turned your head to make a lame comment about the movie. However, before you could speak, Chenle beat you to it.

“Can we talk?” His voice carried a hint of restlessness, an unusual departure from his usual tone.

Trying to maintain a casual demeanor, you lightly nodded. With your acknowledgment, Chenle exhaled deeply and sat up straighter to face you properly.

“I know how crazy this might sound,” he started, running a hand through his hair. “But I’ve been thinking, and I don’t think we can stay friends.”

His words felt like a gun being pointed at your chest, panic surged within you as you tried to process the boy’s words. Of all the ways you predicted this conversation could go, this was not one of them.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice even smaller than his.

Noticing the perplexity in your eyes, Chenle continued. “You see, I've been in love with you for—I don’t know how long. But I spent all these years burying my feelings like a fool, because I never thought you’d see me that way. Yet, every time we kiss, it becomes harder for me to ignore my feelings for you.”

Chenle glanced down at his folded hands, vulnerability seeping into those brown orbs of his. “The other night made me realize that I don’t want to just be friends who kiss anymore. I want to be something more to you.”

His words lingered in the air now that they were out in the open. Your heart raced faster than it ever has before, as your cheeks flushed with heat. Chenle’s eyes bore into yours, his expression nervous yet hopeful.

For a moment, you were left speechless. But you still had the sense to hit him on the shoulder, scolding, “Oh my gosh, you can’t start a conversation like that, Chenle. You scared me!”

The boy chuckled sheepishly, rubbing his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. But seriously, (Y/n), I meant what I said.”

A mix of emotions played on your face before you quietly admitted, “Honestly, I’ve wanted to be something more to you since that day we kissed in my bedroom.”

You noticed a smile of relief beginning to form on his lips, but you held up a finger before he could say anything. Now that he had taken the first step, you decided it was time for you to do the same.

“But I kept trying to convince myself that all the times we kissed were accidental or just for comfort,” you confessed, looking directly into his eyes. “And the reason I’ve been pushing away my feelings for you was because I was afraid of losing a friend who means the world to me.”

His hand rested on top of yours, the light touch sending a shiver down your spine. “You don’t have to be afraid because you’ll never lose me, (Y/n).”

The softness and sincerity in his eyes made you want to cry for some inexplicable reason. You once believed that confessing your feelings for Chenle would only lead to frustration and heartbreak. However, as you sat here with him, holding his hand, those worries seemed to vanish.

“So…what do we do now?” you asked, unsure of what was supposed to come next in these situations.

A mischievous glint danced in his eyes as he grinned. “I think this is the part where we kiss. But you know, as boyfriend and girlfriend.”

Just as you were processing his words, he moved closer, his breath warm against your skin, making your heart flutter. His eyes searched yours for permission.

“Well, what are you waiting for then?” you whispered.

With that, the distance between you closed, and your lips met in a tender kiss. It was a sweet surrender, a culmination of years of friendship and suppressed feelings. Although this wasn’t your first kiss with Chenle, it felt that way in a sense. For you could finally savor the tender feeling of his lips without questioning the intention behind it.

In that moment, all you focused on was the way Chenle had his hand on the small of your back, guiding you closer as he deepened the kiss. Your fingers found their way to rest on the nape of his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin.

Although the change in this dynamic had just begun, this newfound connection promised countless moments of shared laughter, whispered confessions, and the sweet warmth of shared kisses. You had a feeling that you could easily get used to this beautiful new normal. By the way Chenle smiled during the kiss, you could tell he felt the same way.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

#nct dream #kpop #nctzen #czennie #nct dream imagines #chenle imagine #chenle fic #nct dream fic #chenle x reader #zhong chenle #nct scenarios #kpop fic #nct dream x reader #chenle #chenle scenarios

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whois-jess · 5 months

Note

can i request rhea ripley x reader

rhea and y/n are former best friends that have feelings for each other, but have grown distant due to rhea joining the judgment day, and y/n dominating the singles division, but y/n is attacked by Damage CTRL(or someone else, they’re the only ppl i could think of) rhea is the one to save her, and they make up with hesitation and distrust on y/n’s end of it, because rhea injured y/n’s good friend liv morgan. rhea shows reader how much she truly missed her.

Trust me

Rhea Ripley x Fem!reader

Rhea and me were best friends since NXT we went everywhere together and when we could traveled together, we were even a tag team everyone loved us and our chemistry i was Rheas 'girl' but when she joined the judgment day we became more distant she was always with Dom or the rest of them.

I am working in the singles devision and i what many say dominating the singles devision, i was also friends with Liv Morgan and people said we had good chemistry now.

I was walking out to the ring when i felt a kick to my back "shit!" I said falling down i turned to see Bayley "oh my god! Its Damage CTRL!" Michael yelled "poor y/r/n didn't see that!" He added "maybe because they came from behind!" Wayne said back as Bayley stomped on my arm making me scream Iyo Sky and Dakota Holding my arms as Bayley repeatedly kicked me "y/r/n all on her own" i tried to fight back trying to wriggling out their grip but failing when i hear a theme.

"Oh my ITS RHEA RIPLEY!" I lifted my head to see bayley, Dakota and Iyo drop me walking backward to the ring "Mami is not happy she is back for her girl!" Rhea runs straight by me to Bayley kicking her "touch her again! Go on!" then when Dakota tried to help Rhea ran her into the steel steps Iyo too busy looking after her friends as Rhea walks back to me "you okay y/n" she asked kneeling down by me fans screaming 'MAMIS GIRL' "Yeah yeah" i held my stomach and Rhea picked me up bridal style "lets get you backstage".

We got backstage to my dressing room both not saying a word as hurt still lingered when i saw her "so you Okay?" She asked sitting by me "yeah just sore" i nodded and she looked at me "look y/n i am sorry" i looked at her funny "why?" I asked as she did nothing but maybe that my problem "well i guess i been ignoring you and other stuff we were so close then i just leave you" she looks down at her hands as she speaks, i dont know what to say not really trusting her "i abandoned you in a way and i am sorry y/n" i sighed looking at her "i mean Rhea you injured liv one of my best friends" Rhea looked a little guilty "that wasnt my intention you know me i am a massive softy y/n" she said and i sat there thinking and moments when we would bake together or have sleepovers because we had the same hotel room "i do Rhea and it hurts that you left me" i looked down this time but her soft hand lifted my chin up "y/n i want to go back to how it was us two my girl..." I looked into her blue eyes and even though i felt the hesitation her eyes told truth and emotion "yes Rhea of course i will be your girl again" i smiled and her face lit up "really you mean it!" I nodded and she ran over lifting up "you got to met the judgment day you'll get on with them! We can all go on trips we can have girls day and everything!" She smiled like a kid on Christmas making me chuckle "calm mami lets just enjoy this" i smile at her still in her arms as we hug again for the first time in what feels like years "we're back!~" Rhea smiled as i we both laughed.

#rhea ripley #rhea ripley x reader #wwe judgement day #wwe x reader

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lynn-w3st · 3 months

Note

hii! can I request something with Syzoth? (if you write stuff with him in it of course)

can be headcanons or anything you prefer

[idea: maybe something with jealous Syzoth? That is jealous about reader that is not even theirs in the first place? Like they are friends but he wants it to be something more and is just jealoussssss and how he deals with it etc.]

have a nice day, if you don't feel like it - you can turn down this request I won't be mad don't worry :)

MK1: Jealousy At Its Finest

Pairing: Syzoth x Fem Reader

Note: This took me a bit of time to plan. I tried my best so I hope you guys enjoy read it. Also, I started writing down a bit of Babysitting 101.

Warning: Slight Possessive Behavior, Jealousy, Johnny being Johnny, Szyoth is Pookie 🥺. Hope you guys enjoy 😊.

Syzoth first met you when you accompanied Kenshi, Kung Lao and Johnny to go confront Shang Tsung but ended up imprisoned in his dungeon. But when all hope was lost, he came and saved not your life but your friends as well.

From that day forward on, Syzoth had became very close to you and formed a deep bond and attachment to you. He became a bit protective since you showed him kindness and gave him a second chance . He vows to always be there for you just like how you were always there for him.

Syzoth knew at that moment he had fallen in love with you. Your kindness and compassion made him feel special and loved by you. He often ask Ashrah on how to court you properly.

Every time you would pass by or simply waved a hello at him, Syzoth would feel his heart race at the sight of your lovingly and gentle smile. He badly wants to express his feelings to you.

But a part of him feels like why should you love a freak and monster like him. He lost his wife and kid to Shang Tsung. What if he loses you the same way . Is he destined to be alone?

Whenever Syzoth isn’t busy with missions, he often times seeks you out and often stays by your side the whole day, watching you work.

Being a medical doctor can be very stressful as you have to deal with a lot of injured monks and combatants. But you really appreciate it when Syzoth assists even if he doesn’t know much about Earthrealmers culture or anatomy.

As a Zatteran, he tries his best to court you by showing off his skills and ability but no matter how much he tries to gain your attention Kung Lao or Johnny steals you away . He gets very jealous on how Johnny or Kung Lao flirts with you or how close you are with the both of them.

“Hey (Y,N)! You should totally be in my next movie. Could use a beauty like you.” Johnny said as you chuckled and gave him a smile as you were hanging up the wet blankets up in the rack while Syzoth was helping you fold them.

“Thanks for the offer Cage but I’m good. I have other things to worry about besides fame.” You said as you smiled as you pick up the basket.

Syzoth gave an intense glare at Johnny and wrap his tail around your waist in which you didn’t mind thinking it was a friendly gesture.

“Oh come on!! You would be a very big hit in Hollywood. Imagine the fame!” He said as you just chuckled but before he you could do say anything else Syzoth stood close behind you and gave the actor a very judgmental looked.

Syzoth doesn’t get jealous often but he can be very clingy of you at times and this was one of them. He didn’t like the way Johnny place his hand on your shoulder but felt relieved when you brush it off and gave the actor a smile.

“Thanks for the offer Cage!” You called out as you and Syzoth left the courtyard and headed towards your estate to prepare some dinner.

Syzoth enjoys spending every moment with you as he is hardly stays away from you as he often helps you with daily tasks and activities. He would have a lovesick smile planted on his face whenever you would hug him. You always thought he was very attentive because how he would accompany you and assist you. Totally not because this how Zatteran court their mate.

Syzoth wants nothing more than to express his romantic feelings for you as he sees this as a second chance for him to have. He wants to marry you and start a family of his own again.

You mean the whole world to him and he would anything just for you even if he has to wait for you at the end of the realms and protect you.

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

Syzoth watch in envy the way you laugh and joke around with Kung Lao who was talking about the shenanigans that Johnny did during training and how amazing your cooking was.

“So you are saying that Madam Bo’s cooking is not good enough for you, Lao?” You tease at him which made him blush in embarrassment. Kung Lao blush in embarrassment as he grab your hand and gave you the puppy eye looks.

“(Y,N) please don’t tell Madam Bo that I said that. She’ll tear me a new.” He said as you just chuckled lightly before poking his forehead. Kung Lao smiled as he decided to confess his feelings for you. “(Y,N) would have the honor to accompany on a date to Madam Bo’s.” He said.

You stared at him with wide eyes but before you could speak something inside of Syzoth snap as he was at your side in an instant and brought you close to him and silently growl at Kung Lao.

“I’m very sorry Kung Lao but my hearts belong to someone else. I see you as a brother and I hope we can still be best friends.” You said sadly as Kung Lao frown but understood you.

Kung Lao knew at that moment that you were in love with Syzoth. His suspicions were now confirmed that you’ve had a feelings for him so that means Johnny owns him a meal at Madam Bo. He smirk at how Syzoth had a possessive embrace around you. He chuckled at the sight.

“Well Syzoth has something to tell you. Let me know when the food is ready.” He said cheekily as he went to go find Raiden and Johnny.

You turn to face Syzoth who frown and averted his eyes before gently grabbing your hands. “(Y,N).” He said shyly and nervously as you gave him a worried expression. “Would you give me the honors to court and mate you. I have loved you for a while.” He confess as you were stared at him speechless with your cheeks heated up.

“You showed me nothing but kindness and gave me a second chance after everything Shang Tsung did to me. I love you very much please allow me to make you mine.” He said softly as you gave him your famous smile that he had fallen in love with. His love for you is unconditional and would do anything for you.

You place both of your hands against his cheeks as you place a gentle soft kiss which made him blush before returning the gesture. The both of you broke away as Syzoth smiled lovingly. He brought you into a tight hug as he nuzzled into you. “I love you, (Y,N). You are my forever.”

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

I tried my best making Syzoth super jealous but sadly I’m a vanilla person when it comes to writing romance. I’m more of a wholesome romantic type of person in general. Spicy romance isn’t really my specialty 🥺😣.

If you guys have any questions or concerns please feel free to message me, I’m always happy to help and available anytime I can.

#mortal kombat #mk1 2023 #mk1 fanfic #syzoth x reader #reader insert #reptile x reader

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nichirinpen · 1 year

Text

DILF for Hire

TojixReader

Can also be read here on Ao3

Synopsis- You hired a stranger to accompany you to an event your Ex is attending. One thing leads to another and the next thing you know he's come home with you.

Content Warning- AFAB reader descriptions, Smut, cunnilingus, Edging, vaginal penetration

~Minors DNI~

You knew it was risky using an app to find a date. There were all those horror stories about 'ChadsList' and weirdos who kidnapped women or killed them. You hadn’t wanted to use a dating app for obvious reasons, one unsolicited dick pic was enough to have you delete them forever. But this new app that had taken the world by storm seemed reputable. At least to you it did. Called " Don’t Sweat It " it touted itself as a reliable and safe network that did everything right.

Background checks? They did it. Social media checks? Also done. Hell to even sign up to the app you had to provide your driver's license and wait a month to hear back. But you got it and got in. The level of security you knew other users had to go through put you at ease.

Maybe too much at ease. Looking at the man looming over you, the thick scar near his mouth, the way his lips curled as if he were annoyed. Perhaps it was just as bad as internet rumors said.

"You're Name . Right?" His voice was deep, the tone of annoyance sending a shiver down your spine. The man was tall, so tall he was half titled to look down at you as he waited. You nodded stiffly, looking at the app confirmation that sat cheerfully on your phone. The clean shaven smiling man in the photo was for sure him.

"You're Toji?" Your voice came out as a squeak, the words half strangled. Clearing your throat you blushed, looking back down at the app. It was indeed Toji, he looked exactly like the photo on his ad space.

That's how the app worked. They knew people wanted a reputable site for odd jobs and requests so one was built. Part of it functioned for the buying and selling of goods, the other half for finding someone to fulfill a request. Need a babysitter for a night, they had hundreds. Need someone to take grandpa to the doctor? Pick your driver. And for you, sadly, you had entered a search for a companion. Specifically one who would go to a company party with you and play boyfriend for a few hours. After scrolling past people who were definitely way too young to use the app, you had found Toji. Profile had stated he was a single dad, 34. The ad in question, " Anything goes ".

You sincerely hoped not. More so for his sake and his kid. Toji looked like he could crush someone with his bare hands but you still found the ad a tad reckless.

"So what's the plan?" His gruff voice snapped you out of your thoughts and you blinked rapidly to clear your head.

"Well. Tonight at 8 pm there's a company dinner I have to attend. Like I messaged earlier, I don't want to go alone."

Toji nodded, leaning back against the glass display he was next to. The fake cakes glittered obnoxiously, their cheerful sign telling you to ‘ check out the third floor! ’ You waited nervously, glancing about the busy space. Being smart was one thing you had wanted to do, so the local mall had seemed like the best place to meet him. Shoppers bustled about the well lit stores, chatter over-layed the low music that seeped from the old speakers. It wasn’t as packed as it normally was but that suited you just fine. There were security cameras and other people if he tried anything.

"Is that why you're all dressed up?" His question sounded judgmental. You flushed, looking down at your dress and heels. The elegant black dress paired with your favorite black heels was a muted choice. You wanted to look good but not stand out. Even so. The neckline swooped low, your breast pushed up nicely by the built in bra. And the dress hugged your form, leaving rather little to the imagination. It had been custom tailored after all, a gift of sorts meant for another occasion. You bit your lip in frustration. It made you feel like a clown wearing it in the middle of a mall where kids bustled past, pizza in hand.

"It is indeed." It was also why you had asked him to dress nice. Apparently Toji's interpretation was a tight black shirt and sweatpants. They complimented his form, but not at all what you had in mind. He looked like he was ready to go to the gym, not sit at a 5 star hotel bar and down liquor.

"We need to get you a suit." Your words seemed to annoy the man slightly. His eyebrows twitching as if he were trying to suppress a nasty comeback. Toji simply nodded and gestured for you to lead the way.

You did so, wobbling slightly in the heels as you made your way across the mall to a suit shop. It was the oldest store in the mall, it's elderly owner, one you knew well unfortunately. As you made your way to his shop you glanced at your wrist watch. 6:58 pm . Would that be enough time? You hoped so.

The bell above the door signaled your entry, the little old man scurrying from the back with a huge smile on his face. Mr. Itadori looked tired, the lines on his face deep. You noted the lack of his grandson in the shop. Poor old man must be working overtime.

"Ms. Name !!" How pleasant to see you again!" Mr. Itadori’s cheerful countenance made you feel guilty for some reason. The old man took your hands with a smile. His dry hands felt like cold paper against yours. Squeezing them gently you shot him a small smile.

"Picking up a suit for Gojo?"

You shook your head slowly. "Uh no. Gojo is. Gojo bro..." You paused, finding the words stuck in your throat. The old man looked at you worriedly, his fluffy eyebrows pinching as he waited.

"I need a suit for my friend!" You went for the easy route, gesturing to Toji. Mr. Itadori shot you a look before turning and sizing up the tall man. Your companion towered over him, his face stoic.

"Silly Toji here forgot about the company dinner tonight. So we rushed over here!". The forced cheerfulness in your voice was so blatant. You winced, knowing you had no one here fooled. Just a little longer and you could be out of here. Away from the questions that lingered in Mr. Itadori’s gaze. He would never ask, he was far too polite, but you could see he knew exactly what you weren’t saying. And he pitied you for it.

You waited as the old man took measurements and hummed over the fabric. He moved like lightning back and forth from one suit rack to the next. Toji watched impassively, his green eyes occasionally flicking over to where you sat. You hoped he would just quietly accept this and that the night would go over well. Paying 1,000 dollars for essentially a glorified escort was going to make a dent in your savings. Part of you was ashamed, the thought of using funds for such a stupid reason made you want to curl into a ball from embarrassment. But the part of you that was angry, hurt and betrayed, was stronger. 1,000 was a small price to pay if it would make Gojo Satoru jealous and maybe even hurt.

“I'm thinking we play off the black you are wearing dear.” You jumped slightly at Mr. Itadori’s voice. Nodding, you quickly focused, shoving the anger that had welled up back down. The small old man stood in front of Toji, holding a black suit with a dark red button up underneath. You tilted your head at the combo, but nodded. Mr. Itadori had been making suits for 60 years according to him. You were not about to question a master tradesman. Mr. Itadori quickly closed the curtains around the dressing area, scurrying over to you as you both waited.

“He’s a nice looking fellow.” His statement had a question hidden under it. You hummed, deciding to not open that can of worms. Mr. Itadori hummed back, his keen eyes peering at you from under bushy eyebrows.

“I’ll never give him another discount on suits.” You turned at the words, frowning slightly. Mr. Itadori jerked his head towards the shop front, gesturing to nothing in particular.

“You’re a nice woman, Gojo was lucky you ever gave him the time of day.” Mr. Itadori’s brows were furrowed as he scowled up at the ceiling. He seemed genuinely disappointed in the other man. You smiled, patting his hand gently. “You don’t have to change your business up because of me. I know he’s one of your top clients.”

Mr. Itadori grumbled, crossing his arms, “Well maybe I'll just stick him with a pin now and then.”

You laughed at that, shaking your head at the old man. He seemed pleased by your reaction, his expression clearing into a cheerful grin. Both of you turned in surprise as the curtain was roughly shoved back, revealing Toji fully dressed. The suit looked good on him, really good. You weren’t sure if it was just him or if Mr. Itadori was that good at his job. The black fabric clung in all the right places, emphasizing the muscles that sat tense beneath.

“Hmmm which tie.” Mr. Itadori held up a few, all of which Toji brushed away.

“This is good.” He unhooked the first 3 buttons of his shirt, exposing his collarbone and neck. You pretended not to see, turning to Mr. Itadori and digging through your clutch. Pulling your debit card from its spot, you handed it over with reluctance. A new suit was not on your list of monthly expenses. But hey you had come this far right?

“Ah, no.” You nearly jumped out of your skin as Toji pressed against you, the hard plane of his chest snug against your shoulder. The man knocked your hand from its outstretched position, offering up his card instead. Your eyebrows raised at that and you looked up questioningly. Toji said nothing, his nostrils flaring slightly as he looked at you.

No, not quite. You felt your cheeks and neck flush, he was very blatantly staring down your dress. The angle from his height gave him a nice view of the tops of your breasts and the hidden skin of your sternum that the dress was covering. Pretending not to notice you shifted, tucking your debit card away in your clutch.

After paying you hurriedly left the store, your watch said 7:20 . That was the perfect amount of time to get a cab to the venue. You wobbled your way down the stairs to the first floor, hell bent on making it to the front doors. Toji followed behind slowly, his hand stuffed deep in his suit pockets. He seemed unbothered whereas you were all nerves. Your stomach clenched and you again began wondering if this was a bad idea. The quest for revenge or at least a small slice of it seemed to be paved with stupidity. You chewed at your bottom lip as you pulled up the cab app. It cheerfully asked for your destination which you input with slightly trembling fingers. Pushing through the front doors of the mall, you input your address and almost immediately got a ride confirmation. Thankfully there was one a block away and you sighed as you stood at the curb waiting.

“So how bad did this guy fuck up?” Toji’s voice was low and even, his eyes roaming over your form as you turned to look at him. The question confused you for just a moment, but one look at his smug, almost cat-like smirk, you knew what he meant. Toji knew exactly why he was hired without you being forthcoming.

“Uh well.” You tapped your foot nervously against the sidewalk. The cab turned into the mall parking lot and you waited, not sure what to say. It skidded to a halt near you, the back doors unlatching. Toji opened your door for you, allowing you to slide in before he made his way around the other side. Once he was settled the cab was off, the driver quietly ignoring the two of you. With the divider in between, you knew that he couldn’t hear, not that it mattered.

“We dated for 6 years.” You leaned back in the seat with a sigh, tilting your head to look up at Toji. The man nodded, his expression apathetic.

“I bought this dress for an evening that was planned.” You paused, feeling that icy clench in your heart. It hurt to say these things out loud. You had barely acknowledged them the past few weeks, drowning your feelings with too much work and way too much pizza. But you had to confront them, that was the whole point of tonight.

“Uh three weeks ago we were supposed to sit down and he was going to propose.” You looked away from the man, your gaze locked on your reflection in the window. Toji was reflected as well, his eyes skipping over your form as he waited.

“Instead the day before I get a text. All it said was ‘It’s over ’.” You clenched your fists, your fingernails biting into your palms as you thought of the message. Of the calls being denied and then eventually you being blocked. It was as if 6 years hadn’t happened. As if you were a stranger pestering him. No goodbye, no explanation. Just over.

“Sounds like a pretentious prick.” Toji huffed. You glanced at him, slightly surprised. The older man shrugged at you, his expression impassive.

“He told you when he was going to propose?” The man shook his head, dark hair obscuring his eyes slightly. “Tacky.”

You shrugged, looking down at your hands. Truth be told you had disliked the fact that he had told you, that it had been so planned out. But that was Gojo Satoru. He was the son of a successful CEO, his life wasn’t just handed to him but also meticulously planned out. Every last detail, including breaking up with you. Your stomach churned at the thought of seeing him. What was that saying? Don’t date coworkers. You were feeling the consequences of ignoring that big time.

“It is what it is.” You sighed, glancing back out the window. A large rough hand was on your thigh, thick fingers squeezing gently. You jumped slightly, heat rushing through your veins as you stared at him. Toji shot you a smirk, fingers tightening again as he squeezed your thigh.

“Hey you paid me for the night. Let’s give the little bastard a good show eh?”

You laughed in surprise, one hand pressing against your mouth as a snort left you. Out of all the things he could say, all the reactions, this was different. Everyone else had given you sympathy mixed with a hint of ‘I told you so ’. It had infuriated you to no end the sorry and the looks that said that you should have seen this coming. Even worse, your mother making that face you knew meant ‘ What did you do wrong? ’.

But Toji? The man had withdrawn his hand but his smirk stayed the same. He looked like he lived for fucking around with people. Your eyes went to his hand, now resting in his lap. Toji had nice hands, the skin was nicked with small scars here and there, but they were charming. In an odd way.

The cab lurched to a halt and you felt your heart drop. There was the hotel, in its shiny glory. Bright lights flashed outside, a small group of press loitering around the entrance. Of course they were. Gojo posed for the camera like no other high society figure. He reveled in it. You hated it, the flashing lights, the lewd questions. Always entertained by the white haired man but never you. Nothing was worse than being splashed across the front page of a tabloid. What had they called you? ‘ The Mouse.’ You grimaced, unbuckling your seat belt.

Toji had already exited the car, yanking your door open and extending his hand. You raised an eyebrow as you stepped out, gently sliding your arm around his. Toji took the lead, his large shoulders easily punting a reporter aside as he made his way up the stairs. You kept your head ducked slightly, hoping that the unfamiliar man and your lack of flair would keep them disinterested.

“Hey, it's Ms. Mouse!” You flinched at the shout, your hand tightening on Toji’s arm. He looked down at you, taking in your pinched expression and tense body. From behind you could hear the reporter shouting again, the man’s greasy voice drawing the attention of the other reporters.

God this was a nightmare. You should have never come out.

Your heart dropped as you felt Toji’s arm leaving yours. Was this too much? You hadn’t exactly been upfront with the man. The request was simply ‘Need a date for a work event.’ .

“What the fuck did you just call my girl?” Toji barked. You watched, flabbergasted as his large hand whipped out, grabbing the weasel looking reporter by the scruff of his jacket. Toji shook the man slightly, snapping the question again. The reporter looked mortified, his waxy face going pale as he stuttered excuses and apologies. Toji merely scoffed, shaking his head before letting the man go. You watched as the reporter fell on his ass, sliding a few steps down before he caught himself.

“Let’s go.” Toji placed his hand against your waist, guiding you up the last few steps. The doormen swung the heavy gilded doors in, bowing as the two of you entered. You flashed your work badge to the security detail, Mr. Panda. The large man smiled at you, his signature hair buns wiggling slightly as you were let into the event. It was packed, event staff and your company's many employees bustling about. You recognised a few faces here and there, but the place was so packed it was hard to get anyone’s attention. Not that you necessarily wanted to at the moment. No, the target of tonight's actions would suffice.

“Ms. Mouse.” Toji snatched a champagne glass from a nearby waiter, downing it in one gulp. You nodded at his words, feeling slightly awkward. He was a stranger and yet, he was being shown the most awful and anxiety-inducing parts of your life.

“You act more like a mink.” He shot you a smile, the words and action making your heart swell for some reason. You coughed, trying to think what to say. The skin of your ears burned slightly and you hoped he hadn’t noticed. Words failed you as you trailed to the large gilded bar. Sliding up to the counter, you signaled the bartender. The young woman flashed a smile nodding dutifully as you asked for a Bailey’s.

“Irish liquor?” Toji leaned against the bar, not bothering to leave much space between the two of you. His hip pressed against yours, the warmth spreading across your skin. You nodded in response to his question, shoulders shrugging. As your drink was passed to you, you nearly spat it out as Toji asked for vodka, no ice. Shooting him a look, he merely smiled.

“I like the strong stuff, puts hair on your chest.”

You snorted in response, taking another sip of your drink, “Oh yeah you can attest to that?” The words were teasing, playful, but you could see Toji’s pupils dilate slightly at the words. He leaned in, one large finger playfully sliding down your right bicep. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Mink.”

You hummed in response, the lack of words more due to you attempting to regain composure. His teasing tone and finger had your stomach fluttering. A low heat pooling in your nethers as he slid the finger back up to your shoulder.

“Oh My God!” You both flinched at the loud squeal that rang out across the venue. It was so shrill the sound somehow was louder than the rest of the party. You knew that voice all too well, with a sinking heart, you turned, glancing over your shoulder at the commotion. It was Gojo of course, his new shiny pink haired fiance plastered to his side. She was the one squealing, her shiny skin and lips reflecting the party lights all too well.

“Jesus how much plastic is pumped into that bimbo?” Toji’s question made you chuckle. He wasn’t wrong, the woman looked like she was three surgeries away from being on one of those botched surgery shows. Not that it mattered to her, no being the heiress of a large makeup company meant she had little to worry about. Especially so with her future husband secured before any surgery could go wrong.

The squealing was apparently about jewelry, because of course it was. The man was laughing, his stupid suit sparkling slightly under the bright light. It made him look ethereal, as always. Gojo was larger than life, otherworldly looking. And he knew it.

Part of you felt incredibly insulted. Had you not been dumped by him, had you never dated him and this was just a regular work event? Incredibly uncomfortable and inappropriate. No one would stop him of course, Son of the CEO and all that. But you could see the discomfort rippling through the ground, the shared glances and small grimaces.

You flinched as his gaze shifted, his fiance chattering away with one of her friends. Gojo’s icy blue eyes met yours, eyebrows lifting slightly. He was surprised you were here. You took a small step back as he started cutting across the crowd, your back hitting the bar.

“Can I touch you?” Toji’s odd question pulled you from your frozen state, you gaze lifting to his. The man was leaning awfully close, his warm breath tickling your forehead. His eyes crinkled in the corner and the grin he was wearing was definitely a shit eating one. Toji was up to something.

Your gaze went back to Gojo, the man stopped by a few coworkers and blessedly still several feet away. His eyes kept flicking to you however, the blue you once loved making your stomach cramp with worry. Looking back at Toji, you nodded once, wondering what he was up to. It wasn’t like he had asked to touch you early on the stairs.

Toji leaned in, one hand sliding around your waist while the other tugged your chin up, tilting your head towards his. You gasped in shock as his warm lips met yours. His tongue slid into your mouth, teeth clicking together slightly at the passion in which he kissed. Toji pressed against you, the hand at your waist sliding lower until he was grabbing a handful of your ass. It made your knees weak. His rough kiss was breathtaking, literally. You flushed, pulling away to catch your breath.

Toji smirked, his eyes not on you but over your head. Without turning you knew he was staring down Gojo. Something very few people had the balls to do around here.

“I am going to freshen up in the bathroom.” You stated shakily, your face tomato red. Also regain your composure, how many coworkers had just seen him grab your ass like that?

Toji merely smirked at your words, downing his vodka in a single gulp. You scurried away, slipping down the back hall and into the ladies room. There was no makeup to fix, you had opted for a simple lip gloss. You dabbed a wet paper towel around your lips, taking off the excess gloss that had been smeared there. There was nothing to do about the bright red of your face, time would cool your flushed cheeks. You were tempted to splash cold water on your face, but that would lead to drippy mascara.

Opting to not stress about it, you took a deep breath, puffing out your chest slightly as you fixed your dress. You looked good and you had successfully gotten in a little jab at Gojo. It wasn’t much, but it was as good as it was going to get. He was a spoiled rich boy, he would forget you and forget this moment in a matter of days.

Stepping from the bathroom, you started down the hall, back to the loud noise of the party. Your head felt slightly foggy still from the kiss, like Toji had somehow stolen your breath. Cheeks burning brighter, you felt your stomach tighten at the thought of his lips against yours again, his hands sliding over your skin.

“So who is the meathead?” You spun around, the train of thought broken. To your dismay the worst case scenario was playing out. Gojo, in his bright blue suit, stupid dark shades nestled in his hair, stood in the hall. Hands shoved deep in his pockets, he sauntered up to you. He was upset, despite his large grin. There were creases near his eyes, a slight twitch in the right corner of his mouth. Gojo was just barely keeping it together.

Toji had really gotten under his skin. You swallowed the urge to smirk, leaning against the hallway wall casually. Feigning disinterest, you gestured down the hall, back to the large crowd.

“You mean my date? Toji?”

Gojo nodded, “Yeah, since when have muscle heads been your type?” He was definitely irritated and as he took another step forward, you shrank back. The super angry part of you wanted to ask what was so great about his new bimbo fiance. But you didn’t have the heart. She wasn’t the one who broke your heart, she wasn’t the one who had ignored your texts and calls for answers. Just because she had chosen an unfortunate set of surgeries didn’t mean you could be nasty about her. It would make you no better than Gojo.

“I'm surprised a guy like him even has a suit.” Gojo laughed, the sound slightly strangled. You took another step back, lips pulling in a straight line as you attempted to swallow the small pang of fear that bubbled up in your chest. Gojo was known for always getting his way, known for jealousy. You had seen it while dating him, the anger and stonewalling he would direct at you when someone dared glance at you the wrong way. As if the glances of strangers were your fault.

“Kinda soon after a breakup to let another man shove his tongue down your throat?” His voice was much too loud, a half yell that felt like it echoed around you.

“Says the man who dumped me for a heiress.” You snapped back, crossing your arms against your chest as you leaned back, trying to avoid his advancing pace. Your words irked him, his thin white eyebrows dancing slightly as he tried and failed to hide the snarl that flashed across his face.

“You know I was going to be nice.” Gojo laughed, brushing a hand through his hair roughly. His stupid small glasses were flung off, skittering across the floor behind him. The man paid no mind, leaning forward as he spoke. He looked almost manic and as he opened his mouth again you caught a whiff of alcohol.

Just great. Drunk Gojo was a persistent asshole who would whine, yell and cry until he got his way.

“After Hillary and I got married, I was going to let you be my mistress.” He spoke with such sincerity it was laughable. You snorted, one hand coming up to cover your mouth as your brain tried and failed to think of a snappy response.

“No thank you.” A simple answer, but your words upset him, the man swaying as he took another step forward. His brow crinkled and you could see tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. He would cry, then yell until finally you crumbled. Or at least that was what he was expecting. But you were no longer dating him, no longer giving him your heart on a silver platter.

“No one else is gonna give you what I can.” His words slurred slightly, a single tear sliding down his cheek. What he was giving you was the start of a migraine. But you had no time to respond, a warm hand sliding around your waist. It was Toji, glaring at the other man. You relaxed slightly, pressing against him with a small sigh. He was a stranger but still more welcome than the sniveling man that stood in front of you.

Gojo stood up straight, his jaw clenching as he took in the tall man. His blue eyes shifted back to you, once again shining with tears.

“Please, no one else can give you what you want. Just me.” Gojo’s lips trembled as he looked at you, his eyes begging you for an answer. Instead of tugging at your heart, it made you angry. You clenched your fists, trying to think of an appropriate response.

“Full offense pal but you don’t strike me as the pussy eating type.” You let out a shriek of mixed shock and delight at Toji’s words. The man smirked at you, his fingers tightened slightly on your waist and you became painfully aware of just how warm he was. Gojo for his part was standing in shock, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“Speaking of, let’s get outta here.” Toji laughed this time at your look of disbelief. You allowed him to shepard you away from Gojo, your face burning red at his words. Gojo was shouting something as you made your way to the front door, but you couldn’t hear it. Rather your mind didn’t bother to pick it up. You were too focused on Toji’s hand, it had slid back down to your ass, thick fingers squeezing the flesh gently as you walked.

“Fuck that guy.” You nodded numbly at Toji’s words, blinking as he shoved something in your hands. It was your clutch, you must’ve forgotten it at the bar. You took it gratefully, fishing your phone out clumsy.

“Your place?” Toji asked, his voice low. You blinked at him in surprise, your hands freezing mid air. What did he mean? You tilted your head, brow furrowing as you waited for him to elaborate.

“I was serious.” He gestured back towards the hotel venue. Your frown deepened. Serious about what?

“You look stressed, getting eaten out might relax you.” He spoke so matter of factly, no trace of teasing or sarcasm. His expression was genuine for the first time that night. You felt your mouth drop open as you sputtered, unsure of how to respond. Was he serious? Part of you hoped so, the thought of his head between your legs, green eyes watching as his tongue lapped at your folds. It made your knees weak.

You shook your head, snapping yourself out of that train of thought. He was still a stranger. Toji waited, a small smirk on his lips as if he knew the internal battle you were having. Plucking your phone from your hands, he opened your messaging app. You watched as he clicked on your most frequent contact, Nobara. Toji lifted the phone slightly, snapping a selfie of the two of you. In it you looked slightly dumbfounded, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. He sent the photo, then handed the phone back to you.

“Now your best friend knows how I look.”

This guy was too smooth. You bit your lip, looking down at your phone as you thought. To your place or not? As if to give you a nudge, Nobara responded. ‘Please tell me you got a piece of that beef cake.’

You opened the Cab app, quickly typing in your address. Looking back up, you wiggled the phone at the man. He smiled, slipping his arm around your waist and escorting you down the stairs. There was no more press outside blessedly, they had either left or slipped into the venue uninvited. Looking up at the night sky, you chewed at your bottom lip, heart racing as you thought of what you were about to do. This was utterly unlike you. And yet, you found yourself incredibly thrilled.

The cab arrived and as you sat in the back, you couldn’t help but bounce your leg. You could hear your heartbeat as the cab turned on familiar streets and made its way towards your apartment. Toji looked calm, leaning back against the seat as he watched you. His gaze was almost predatory, green eyes narrowed to slits. It made your heart skip a beat.

The cab stopped and for a moment you were frozen. Then you were out, walking shakily up the stairs to your apartment building. Your key card got you inside and then the two of you were making the long trek up to the 8th floor. The excitement waned slightly as you stumbled up a step, your heels catching on the metal stairs.

“Which floor?” You looked up at his question, wiggling your heel from the stupid gap between the metal slats. Toji motioned up the stairs, wordlessly asking his question again.

“Oh! 8th Floor.” He nodded, then swooped in, lifting you with ease. You squawked in surprise, the hard planes of his shoulder digging into your stomach. Toji bolted up the stairs, easily clearing the long trek in a matter of moments. You stared, impressed as he set you down. The man wasn’t even winded. He seemed to know what you were thinking, flexing his chest, the buttons of the suit visibly strained, just barely keeping together.

Your hands trembled slightly as you swiped your key-card again, your heart pounding so hard you could hear it. The thrill of doing something like this was making you dizzy with excitement. Opening the door, you tiptoed past your two neighbors to your apartment at the very end of the hall. The door creaked as you opened it and slipped inside. Toji followed, his eyes roaming around your rather messy apartment. You felt a twinge of embarrassment, the pile of clothing near the door was meant for donation, yet you hadn’t had the time or the heart to take them away just yet. Nearly everything in that pile was gifted by Gojo or something he had mentioned as his favorite. It was a sad reminder of the past, one you wished never happened.

Kicking off your heels, you crouched, rubbing at your feet. The shoes while amazing looking pinched your toes way too much. You wiggled the appendages as blood rushed back into your pinky toes.

“Did you pick this or him?” Toji’s voice sounded judgmental and as you turned to look you felt your face heating up again. He had plucked the light blue lace lingerie that had been sitting on the top of the pile. Shaking your head, you stood and snatched it from him.

“Him.” You tossed the garment back on the pile, your shoulders slightly tense. It was hitting you again that Toji was a complete stranger. You felt nervous, fingers twisting together slightly as you stared up at him.

“What do you prefer?” Toji leaned in as he asked the question, his eyes narrowed to slits. He was teasing you, his pupils dilating as he took in your look of questioning surprise.

“Honestly?” You picked at the fabric of your dress, unsure of where to look but not wanting to meet his intense gaze. “Nothing. No fancy lace, no leather or anything like that.”

Toji smiled at that, nodding. He didn’t comment on your opinion as you expected. Most men did, asking why you didn’t feel sexy or what was wrong with looking good. You thought you did look good, no wrappings or decoration needed.

“So. We’re doing this?” You gestured lamely towards your bedroom. The open door showing your black comforter and the closed blinds beyond. Toji shrugged, reaching up to undo his suit jacket buttons.

“Only if you want to. If not, I can leave.” His words hung in the air, green eyes locked on your face as he waited for your decision. You chewed at your bottom lip, gaze flicking between him and your bedroom. It wasn’t like you were drunk, quite the opposite you were fully lucid. And as odd as he was, Toji didn’t scare you, didn’t set off any alarms. In fact the only thing he set off was your arousal. The man had teased you already to the point of being wet.

Taking his large hand in yours, you led him to the bedroom, closing the door behind you. The apartment complex was touted as being sound proof, but you still didn’t want your floor neighbors hearing anything.

Turning back to him, you held your arms awkwardly to your sides, unsure of the next step. You had never had sex randomly with a stranger. It was always with a partner that you had been dating for a good amount of time. This was new and you were feeling slightly insecure. You shifted nervously, biting your lip as you tried to think of the first move.

Toji sat on the bed, shrugging his suit jacket off and tossing it on the floor. You watched, slightly mesmerized as he rolled up his sleeves. His muscles rolled under the tight shirt, their outlines tantalizing beneath the red fabric. Toji caught your glance, smirking slightly as he shifted his leg, spreading them open as he patted his thigh.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, head tilting as you watched him pat his thigh again. Slowly, you shuffled over, face burning as you sat on his right thigh.

“What do you like?” His question had you pause, eyes searching his face as you pondered. Had any of your previous partners ever asked you that before? You didn’t think so.

Cheeks burning, you ducked your head slightly, eyes locked on your hands which sat limply in your lap. Toji’s chest was warm against your side, his large hand resting against your waist gently. You shivered as his lips brushed against the skin of your neck, the sensation exhilarating. He bit the skin gently, your heart rate picking up at the action.

“Im not sure.” You answered honestly. Gojo hadn’t been the best of partners, despite 6 years together you could easily count the few amount of times he had made you orgasm on your hands. He had been very selfish in the bedroom, often leaving you feeling like a glorified sex doll rather than a partner. Before him had been partners as inexperienced as you, awkward fumbling, not quite figuring things out. You had yet to be with anyone who was experienced. The thought had you blushing deeper, more so from embarrassment at the unspoken revelation.

“Can I take the lead then?” Toji nibbled at your ear, his grip on your waist tightening. You nodded slowly, your heart rate picking up again as a shiver ran down your spine. His hand slid to the zipper at the back of your dress, fingers quickly tugging it down. You shivered as the dress opened, the warmth it had been holding being replaced by cool air.

Toji’s large hand moved to your back, fingers pressing against your spine as he drew his hand downwards. You sat, eyes wide and lips slightly parted as you waited for his next move. His eyes weren’t on you, not quite. Toji was focused on your skin, his lips moving so softly against your shoulder that it tickled.

The man had come off earlier as impatient and slightly crass. But now he was moving achingly slow. He smirked at his expression and you felt your face flush deeper. Toji was doing this on purpose, he was teasing you.

“No bra?” His thick fingers tugged at the back of the dress, the fabric quickly sliding down to your waist. You shivered, goosebumps cropping up as the cool air hit your chest. Nipples standing on end, you let out a small sigh as you shook your head. “Built into the dress.”

Toji hummed at this, his eyes locked onto your breasts. If you didn’t know any better you would think this was his first time seeing a pair. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated. A puff of air left his lips and you laughed, deciding to tease him back.

“So you’re a boob man huh?” Your words set forth a flurry of motion. Toji’s movements were so fast and fluid you barely had time to register the fact that he had indeed moved until you were on your back on the bed. Your mouth dropped open, heart racing as you stared up at the man crouch on top of you.

“I am an everything man.” Toji practically purred, his voice so low you almost didn’t hear it. Part of you wanted to laugh at the words, but he spoke with such conviction all you could do was nod, lips parting as you stared up at him. You shivered as he shifted, tugging your dress from your hips and tossing it aside. Both of you paused, you from embarrassment, Toji looking near feral. With how tight the dress had been, wearing underwear really wasn’t an option. You pressed your thighs together, your face burning as you looked away, not wanting to look at Toji.

The older man laughed, licking his lips as he straightened. His fingers deftly undid the buttons on his shirt, the red fabric flying to the far corner of your bedroom. The white undershirt quickly followed, leaving his chest exposed. You swallowed at the sight.

Beefcake indeed. Toji was built, his broad shoulders and chest complimented by his rather slender looking waist. Scars littered his skin, the small marks scattered about wildly. His muscles rippled beneath his skin, making you wonder just how he worked out to be that in shape.

‘Triangle Shaped’ Popped into your mind and you giggled. Toji squinted at the noise, his belt half undone. You bit your bottom lip, watching as the belt slowly slid from the pant loops. It too was tossed, the sharp noise of his zipper following the sound of the belt hitting your dresser. Bright green boxers made your eyebrow lift slightly and you stifled another giggle. Not at all what you had expected.

Leaving just his boxers on, the nice suit pants quickly lay draped across the floor. Toji joined them, to his knees at the edge of your bed. You lifted yourself on your elbows to see him better, waiting for his next move.

“OH!” You gasped as he grabbed both of your ankles, tugging you to the very edge of the bed. His head was positioned right above your cunt, warm breath fanning across your skin. You shivered in excitement, eyes wide as you watched him.

Toji spread your legs, warm breath tickling the sensitive wet flesh of your pussy. You shivered again in his grip, the warm puffs of air feeling teasing as they slid over your skin. His grip shifted from your ankles, sliding tantalizingly slow down your calves, then thighs. He finally rested his thick fingers on your waist, pinning your legs in place on either side of his head.

“You like teasing?” Your question was slightly shaky, your heart beat making your lungs feel breathless and head hazy. Toji smirked, nodding as he licked his lips. His dark hair obscured his eyes slightly, the green hue of his pupils nearly hidden beneath the dark curtain. It was like being stared at by a hungry predator. You wanted to urge him to start, to stop staring so intensely, but your words sat trapped in your chest. The anticipation was too thrilling, your body angled towards him as you waited, breathless.

Toji bent his head, lips gently caressing your inner thigh. The touch was barely there, each one butterfly light as he trailed down to the apex of your thighs. A strand of dark hair tickled against your other thigh, the sensation matching his infuriated soft kisses. You squirmed slightly in his touch, stilling as his hands tightened their hold. Toji paused, looking at you through his lashes.

“Be still darling.” You nodded, suppressing the shiver that ran down your spine. The man smiled at you, his grin sharp and catlike.

“Good girl.” He pressed a kiss against your clit, sending a wave of pleasure deep through your core. You gasped, trying your best not to let your hips buck into his face. Toji chuckled, tongue sliding roughly across your clit. You moaned quietly, clamping a hand over your mouth as he dragged his tongue across your folds. His tongue was burning hot against your pussy, the warmth he radiating seeming to all spill out through his mouth. Your fingers tightened over your mouth, a strangled moan slipping out.

Toji bent forward, his nose rubbing against your clit as one hand slid up your side, tugging your elbow and pulling hand from your mouth. He wanted to hear you, a fact that had your face bright red.

His hand slid back down your side, rough fingertips teasing as he slid the hand up your thigh then down. You whined low as you felt a finger slide against your folds, the finger resting at your entrance. His lips were on your clit again, sucking harshly as the finger gently circled your entrance. You wiggled your hips slightly, breath coming in pants as he continued with the slow torturous pleasure. Toji chuckled again, the vibrations making you whine.

He pulled away from your clit with a pop, pressing his tongue flat against your folds as he slipped a finger inside you. The thick digit was met with slight resistance, your walls tightening around the finger slightly.

You shivered as Toji began pumping his finger achingly slow, the pleasure a dull burning in your stomach. He ran his tongue up your pussy, laving at your clit before turning suddenly and biting the inside of your thigh. You yelped in surprise, hips bucking up in response.

The action shoved his finger deeper, your walls fluttering slightly as his finger scraped against the sensitive flesh.

Toji slipped in a second finger, the action stretching you. He chuckled at your red face and the short panting breaths you let you. The man was reveling in teasing you. He spread his fingers wide, the ache of feeling overly stretched starting up. You let out a whine, hips moving as he began rhythmically pumping his fingers. His rough skin felt heavenly, the friction building the tight heat coiling in your abdomen. Toji hadn’t broken his intense gaze, his eyes drinking in your gentle writhing as he pushed his thick fingers in deeper with each stroke. It was erotic in an odd way, you liked how he looked at you.

Toji’s teeth scraped over your clit, the action sending you over the edge. You gasped as you came, your walls spasming around his still pumping fingers.

Toji pulled back, letting your legs dangle limply over the edge of the bed. He smirked as he licked his fingers clean, eyes crinkling with amusement as he took in your relaxed form.

“Feeling better?” Toji teased, nudging your leg with his knee. You nodded, it had been a while since you had orgasmed. Toji smirked, turning and grabbing his slacks from the ground. You sat up, confused as he started tugging his pants on.

“You’re leaving?” You tilted your head as you asked, brow furrowing. Toji paused, one eyebrow raising as he looked at you.

“I said I’d eat you out and I did.”

You nodded slowly, gesturing with one hand to his very tented boxers. “What about you?”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, glancing down briefly before back up at you. “I didn’t want to impose. I'm not a horny teen, I’m not pushy with women I barely know.”

You blushed at his words, they rang true. He was right, you were just strangers. Still, you felt the heat in your stomach coiling again, not quite wanting the night to end. “Well, I wouldn’t mind.” You bit your lip as you spoke, “If you were a little pushy.”

He stood for a moment, hands on the waist of his slacks as he decided. To your delight, the pants were dropped, Toji kicking them off with a grin.

“I can blow you?” You suggested, feeling slightly embarrassed to utter the words. Toji shook his head. “Gagging is a turn off.”

You opened your mouth to state you wouldn’t gag, and found yourself speechless as he dropped his boxers. Maybe you would gag, the man was thick, much thicker than you thought possible. What he lacked in length he made up for in girth. You shivered as he gave himself a quick pump, his thumb rubbing against the beads of precum that sat on the head.

“Ready?” Your nod of affirmation was jerky, your eyes locked on his cock. The man slid onto the bed and you wiggled backwards to give him room. He nestled between your legs, warm skin pressing against you.

Toji grasped both of your thighs, pulling your hips up to meet his. You gasped as he entered you, eyes wide as you struggled to accept his length. Toji was surprisingly gentle, his hips still as he waited for your body to relax. You did so slowly, moaning as he pushed further in, the stretching of your overstimulated walls making you nearly cum again. Twisting your hands in the comforter beneath you to ground yourself, you mewled as he stretched your walls further.

“Almost there.” He grunted, teeth clenched in a partial snarl as he slid in another inch. His broad chest was flushed, large arms shaking slightly as he held still again. The sight was divine, Toji looked like he was holding himself back just barely. You shifted, canting your hips into his and allowing for the last bit of him to slide in. The man grunted in surprise, hands tightening their hold on your thighs.

The grip was intense and you knew you would have bruises the next day. You found yourself shivering at the thought, walls fluttering around his cock as you drank in the sensation. Never before had you had a partner like him in your bed. It was exhilarating.

Toji drew back slightly, his thick cock rubbing against your walls as he pulled nearly all the way back. There was a small pause and then he was slamming back into you, the force mind numbing.

You let out a long gasp, head lolling back as the tip of his cock hit your cervix. The mix of pain and pleasure added to the fire in your stomach and you matched his pace as Toji began thrusting into you. Toji spat out a curse, the word strangled. You shuddered as he leaned over, biting your calf. He was like a wild animal, the odd composure from earlier slipping away as he thrust into your wet heat.

You felt your release building again, each thrust pushing you closer and closer to a second release. Walls fluttering around him, you softly let out his name, hips canting to meet his. Toji tilted his head back at his name, eyes narrow slits as he took in your light panting and sweat soaked skin.

He moved, again faster than you had time to comprehend. You cried out as he flipped you, still fully seated within your heat. You found yourself face down in the comforter, cunt aching as he pulled back and began thrusting again. Moaning into the blankets, you scrabbled to ground yourself, feeling his heavy weight pushing you further into the bed. His broad chest pressed against your back, pinning you in place as he continued his almost desperate thrusting.

You felt one of his large hands slid beneath you, roughly grabbing your breast. Toji shifted slightly, putting his weight on one elbow, the other hand pulling your hips closer roughly.

“Where?” The question confused your pleasure-addled mind. You moaned in response, pushing your hips back into him. Your walls fluttered wildly as a smaller orgasm hit you. Toji groaned, head resting against your back as he continued his pace, thrusting through your orgasm. It was too much, tears of over stimulation leaking from the corners of your eyes. Your cunt ached, each thrust scrapping harder and harder against your cervix.

“Where little mink?” His voice was strained, words coming out in a gasp. The fog in your mind cleared slightly and you pressed your hips against him. “Inside.” The word was whispered, barely audible, but Toji heard.

The man’s grip on your hip tightened painfully, his thrusting becoming erratic and sloppy as he chased his release. You moved weakly with him, feeling as though your bones were made of jelly. Toji came suddenly, his teeth latching onto the skin of your back as he thrust his cock deep within your walls. You whined at the sensation, the warm feeling of being utterly filled was erotic.

For a moment the two of you lay, locked together. You quickly caught your breath, head pressing into the comforter as the urge to sleep washed over you.

Toji rolled off of you, his limp cock slipping out. You shifted, rolling on your back to look at him. The man smirked at you, one large hand reaching out to pinch your nipples. You swatted at his hand, a laugh weakly leaving your lips.

“We should do this again.” Toji sat up, reaching to snag his boxers from the floor. You nodded quietly in response. It would be nice, maybe you could become something other than strangers.

“It’s late, so I need to get back.” He was standing now, reaching for the rest of his clothing. You sat up, feeling slightly dizzy as you watched him dress. Sluggishly you tugged on a bathrobe, ignoring the sensation of his cum sliding across your thighs.

Walking Toji to the door, you paused, looking up at the man. He leaned down, pressing a kiss against your forehead.

“If you don’t mind kids, you’re more than welcome to join me tomorrow morning for breakfast.”

You raised an eyebrow at his offer, smiling in response. “I’d love that. Where should we meet?”

Toji smirked, opening the apartment door before turning to you. The look on his face was one of extreme amusement.

“How about the lobby?” You tilted your head, eyes narrowing at his teasing tone. Toji jerked his thumb to the stairwell that sat across the long hallway. “I live on the 5th floor. See you at 8?”

Your mouth fell open and you nodded stupidly as the older man laughed. He leaned in again, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before sauntering down the hall. You watched him leave, rolling your eyes at his perfectly sculpted behind. The night had not really gone as planned. But you were just fine with that.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji smut #toji x reader #toji fushiguro #smut #jjk smut

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kangaracha · 7 months

Text

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 1

---

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

previous | masterlist | next

---

"Tell me the news," Minseo says before you're even all the way through the door, hauling you over to the couch pushed against the back wall of the room.

Hayoon’s head turns, seated on the other end watching the final four members of their group clean choreography. You don't know her very well compared to Minseo and a couple of the others; she's only been a trainee at JYP for a matter of months, and you'd started working as a group just ten or twelve weeks ago.

Minseo though, you've known for years, ever since she entered the company with no dance skills to speak of but the full voice of an angel. Minseo, you'd been excited beyond belief to debut with. Minseo, you'd been friends with through the worst and the best years here, until they had pulled you apart with no warning.

"This is a lot of manic energy when I could be about to tell you that my contract is terminated," you say, to hide the way your teeth rattle against each other, your heart pounding in your chest. Your nerves are run ragged from the hours spent in that room, executives staring you down - and even now, Hayoon stares from the corner, however unobtrusively.

Minseo bites back a ruder comment, a hand slapping your knee. "That's not the face you'd be wearing if they ended your contract," she tells you confidently. Probably correctly, too.

You can't stop the small smile that tugs at your lips, the rise of emotion down in your chest that squeezes at your lungs. "See?" Minseo cries, pointing at you. "They didn't fire you. They made you an offer."

Slowly, you nod. "They made me an offer," you admit - and for a minute, all the apprehension that has been building in your chest relieves. You're going to debut, one way or another. You're going to live out the dream you've all been chasing for so long now; you're just going to do it-

"Solo debut?" Minseo guesses, and your smile tightens, struggling to slide right off your face.

"Group debut," you correct her; and then, because there's no better way to tell her, blurt out, "They offered me a contract within an established group. To replace a missing member."

Minseo stares at you, her fingers stiff where they cling to the seat cushion you sit upon. "Which group?" she questions - skipping over, for now, how unusual the circumstances are, the hundred other questions there are to ask about how and why and what the hell are you talking about.

You take a breath, because it's only going to get weirder. "Stray Kids?" you say tentatively, as if she might not know the name - but of course she does. Everyone here knows of them, if not knowing them personally.

"That's a male group," Hayoon says from the corner, because Minseo is too busy stuttering her way through several questions to voice any single one clearly.

"JYP are interested in making them a co-ed group, if I'm interested in taking the contract," you reply, near-verbatim from the meeting you've just sat through, and twist in your seat to look at her. You don't know her very well, but you've always liked her - calm under pressure, logical and shrewd in her judgment, yet still able to have fun outside of practice.

"In what world are you not taking the contract?" asks Minseo, who has never once let an opportunity slip through her cut-throat little fingers.

"In this world, maybe," Hayoon shoots back without hesitation, "where she'd be the only girl in a group that's not only all male but also two years her senior."

You don't know how Hayoon managed to sum it all up in one sentence, but she's right; the hesitation that builds up in your chest, the welling fear that you're going to end up somewhere worse than an empty dorm room, your friends debuting without you. It's because of the untenable position the executives have offered you - to join a group of seniors, to always be an other within their unit...

"What happens if you don't take the contract?" Minseo asks.

"I get dropped from the company," you answer, and then shrug. You think it comes off as very nonchalant, despite the pit in your stomach. "I'll be too old for the next planned group, and they aren't willing to offer me a solo contract."

"But they can offer a random contract in a male group?" Minseo presses.

Hayoon is pensive, her brow creased in thought. "Co-ed groups are insanely popular right now," she says, "but adding a girl to an existing boy group is...weird."

"It's creating publicity for the group and the company," you recite, the words still fresh in your mind from another woman's mouth. "They want to do something new and exciting. Something people might talk about."

"Everything always comes down to money or clout," Hayoon sighs.

"I think you should do it," Minseo puts in, leaning back into the sofa. "What else are you going to do, just quit? You've been here like six years for nothing then."

"Four," you correct her, though six isn't wrong; the first two years had just been spent in another company, slowly realizing that they had no intention of debuting you. "And I can try another company still. I'm twenty-two and I look like, eighteen, I'm not dead."

"Another company is risky though," Hayoon points out. "You're trusted and respected in JYP - if I were them, that's why I'd have offered you the contract, not because of talent or anything. Another company isn't going to care at all if you get a chance to debut, even if you audition perfectly and never make a mistake."

"How are you so wise, unnie?" Minseo asks teasingly, and a smile curves the other girl's lips.

"I've been around the block a few times," she responds. "Got friends in high places, giving me advice. How do you think I got here?"

You feel slightly uncomfortable at that; the insinuation she's making. The thought creeps into your head that she stole your spot, but you chase it away just as quickly as it comes - your spot is empty now, not filled by someone else. Your fight is with whatever face of management looked at a photo of you and decided to rip it up, not the girls down here, and there is no point losing friends and allies over it anyway. It's already done. Midnight isn't the path you will be allowed to take.

You turn to look at Hayoon, somewhat surprised at what else she is saying. "You think I should do it too?" you question.

Hayoon is slow to answer, thinking it through one last time. "It's a shit choice," she says, the language slipping from her tongue in a carefully constructed way that says she doesn't care who hears it. "You either become a scapegoat for whatever happens with Stray Kids, or you throw yourself to the wolves of the industry. Solo debut would be much kinder."

"But if you stay," Minseo tacks onto the end, "we get to hang out every day still."

"If you stay," Hayoon interrupts, "you debut in a company you trust and a group known for doing their own thing and protecting each other. If you're going to be added to any group, they're definitely one of the better options."

"Their leader was in the meeting," you say suddenly, your eyes turning to the polished wood of the floor. "He didn't seem very happy about the idea."

"Bang Chan sunbaenim?" Minseo says. "He's really nice though."

"How would you know that?" Hayoon asks.

Minseo throws a hand up, defensive. "I just see him around, I don't know. Everyone knows Stray Kids are nice guys."

"Nice or not, he was pretty vocal about not wanting a new member in his group," you sigh.

Hayoon falls silent, apparently without a rebuttal to this statement. "He'll just have to get over it then," Minseo says, elbowing you gently. "What's he going to do, ice you out? He could lose his whole group doing that."

"You're very rude," Hayoon says, leaning forward to look at Minseo. "I don't know what the best decision is. Stay or go, it's a risk either way. You don't know what kind of group you'll end up in with another company either."

"And they want an answer by tomorrow," you add dejectedly.

Minseo pats your arm, Hayoon a quiet, grounding weight on the other side. "You'll make the right choice," she says. "You're way smarter than me, and way better at singing - if I'm going to be mega-famous, you're going to be there quicker."

Despite yourself, a small smile quirks in the corner of your mouth. "But not better at dancing?"

Minseo laughs, open-mouthed and mocking. "No way," she replies. "You'll never be better at dancing than me. Nice try."

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids @hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts @puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @keepswingin

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my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction · 2 months

Text

Gojo satoru x F!reader fic in which you and Megumi interact after his "adoption"

You guys I know Gojo's more like a mentor to Megumi in cannon, but pls pls pls just let me have this, I'll give you good vibes for a week if you do 😭 Also, Satoru is more like a side character in this one, sorry babes.

Warnings: Slight innuendo, some cursing, good feels

The walk home with Gojo was...interesting. No, scratch that. Annoying. Megumi could do nothing but listen to him talk and talk and talk, to the point that he wished he was getting sold to the Zenin clan.

"Man, you're boring for a 1st grader, huh? What are you, like 8?"

"I'm 6."

"Rightttt....most serious 6-year old I've ever met."

coming from him? Megumi liked that. Whoever Gojo found entertaining had to be crazy.

"You know, my usagi-chan is gonna looove to meet you,"

"Usagi-chan?" He stretched out the pet name, a confused and judgmental tone in his voice. What kind of parent names their kid "little bunny"?

Gojo beamed, holding his hand out and counting on his fingers all the things he liked about you. "Oh yeah, She's great! She's smart, and funny, and she's a great cook, and a really strong sorcerer, and..."

Megumi tuned him out. It was bad enough, dealing with this guy, now there were going to be two of you? He dreaded what the rest of his life would look like.

Gojo was still talking as they walked up the final steps to Jujitsu tech, making their way to the dormitories, only shutting up for a moment when he opened the door to Megumi's new room.

You were there, setting a bouquet of carnations in a vase and angling it perfectly on Megumi's new night stand. The second you realized they arrived, you nervously turned around and smiled sweetly. "Hi! You must be Toj- uh, Megumi Fushiguro!"

"Toji's son" sounded a little demeaning to you.

Megumi nodded, seeming to be examining your face, trying to get a read on you. "I'm (y/n), It's great to meet you...I was going to make lunch, but then I realized I don't even know what you like...so how about when you're settled you can tell me what you like and I'll make it for dinner?" So Usagi-chan wasn't your real name...

"Can you even cook," Megumi asked, the first thing he's ever said to you, his little voice mature sounding for a kid his age.

You giggled, his bluntness making you relax a little at how amusing it was. "Well, he thinks I can," you laughed, pointing at Gojo, who has now made his way over to be next to you, "But he thinks I'm good at everything, so how about you try it and find out?"

Megumi hesitantly nodded, satisfied with your answer, and plops his backpack on the ground. He's decided he likes you.

You made pork gyoza for him that night, some of the best gyoza he's ever had, yet to be matched in his mind. As time went on, Megumi came to realize that you and Gojo filled entirely different roles. While Satoru lived in the dorm right next to Megumi's, Megumi saw a lot more of you than him, even though you worked at the Kyoto sister school.

You came over every day, eating dinner with him and shoveling big portions on his plate because he was "a growing boy", helping him with his homework, listening to his problems, attending his elementary and middle school graduations. At first, Gojo really only interacted with him to train every weekend, to bring him up to his level, but as you took a more parental role, so did he.

Of course, neither of you wanted to be called mom or dad, and Megumi didn't want that either, so he just called you by either your names or "sensei" when being educated. That said, you and Satoru always joked with each other about being teen parents, lamenting the fact that you "got the kid without any of the fun." The very implication of you two doing that always made Megumi gag.

Speaking of that, having the talk with him was surprisingly easy for you and Satoru, disgustingly easy in Megumi's 12 year old eyes, and although at the time he never intended on putting the information to use, it was still good to have.

You were always patient with him, staying gentle during his angsty middle school years, and eventually helping him train even more once he entered high school. You even insisted he danced with you at your wedding, stating that you needed "at least one dance with a gentleman."

All of this said, none of the other first years in the Tokyo school even knew of your existence until the good will event. You showed up with your students, The first person you greeted being Maki. Despite being Mai's teacher, Maki loved you. You were just so...bubbly.

"Maki! Ugh, it's been forever since I've seen you," you squeal, bringing her into a tight hug. You greet Toge and Panda respectively, Before rushing over to your now husband and dramatically swooning into his arms. "Oh, Satoru," You sigh, the back of your hand resting delicately on your forehead. "Ah, Usagi-chan, How I've missed you in the time we've been apart," he sighed, holding you by your waist and the nape of your neck. The sight was completely cringe-worthy, but it was funny to you two and that was all that mattered.

The two of you kissed, much to the confusion of Nobara and Yuji. You opened your eyes, peaking at their faces, and quickly sprung out of the arms of your beloved husband.

"You never told me how adorable your first years are," You giggled, taking Itadori's face in your hand and examining it. You didn't release him as you turned back to Gojo, calling out, "This is the vessel, right?" Satoru nodded, saying, "That's him," proudly. Yuji finally spoke up while Nobara laughed at the sight, asking, "Uhhhh...who are you?"

You pulled back, posing a little and responding with, "I'm (Y/n) (L/n), Satoru's wife!" You never took his last name, seeing as just being connected to the Gojo clan made you a bigger target than you already were. Nobara and Itadori's eyes lit up, both of them shouting, "Tell us everything!"

You would have been happy to, but you saw Megumi out of the corner of your eye. "Ah, Megumi!" You zoomed over, hugging him so tightly his bones might crack. "I've been meaning to ask, what do you want for dinners this week?"

Nobara and itadori got even more excited, you being the best source of information on their closed off friend and surprisingly mysterious teacher.

"I don't care..." Megumi sighed, blushing a little at how open you were about all this. "Maybe Gyoza," he muttered.

Ok, you could be a little annoying sometimes, but that's how all mothers caregivers were. He wasn't mad, even when you invited Itadori and Nobara over for dinner after the event, or spilled all of the details (except for the ones not even Megumi knows) about your life with Megumi and Satoru. He was ok with this, albeit a little peeved, because at the end of the day you cared for him in a way he never would have imagined being cared for.

Life didn't turn out to be so bad after all.

I absolutely loved writing this, it's been on my mind for a while now! As always, let me know what you think :)

#fanfic #new to tumblr #fan fiction #new writeblr #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #jjk gojo #megumi fushiguro #jjk x reader #jjk megumi #jujutsu kaisen megumi

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oncasette · 2 years

Text

𝗔𝗕𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗨𝗦

eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: 3.3k.

“I was gonna go with you, you know. To New York,” he says softly. He brings his hands up to run across his face, brushing his unruly bangs out of place. His hair is longer than you remembered. Curlier, too, maybe.

“What?” There’s no way he could’ve known. No. You told him it was because of time, you were out of time, there wasn’t enough time. You didn’t tell him.

or the one where you broke up with eddie before you graduated thinking it’d be too hard to do the long distance thing. not having told him why you ended things, seeing him at steve’s place a couple years later was not something you were prepared for.

warnings: not beta’d, smut, porn with miniscule plot, unprotected sex

masterlist | taglist

He wasn’t supposed to be here. God, you were never supposed to see him again. Ever. Why was he here? In Steve Harrington’s basement, sitting over on that couch with that stupid vest you’d gotten him for your first anniversary on.

You don’t think he’s seen you, yet. He’s too engrossed in a conversation with the Henderson kid to have seen you. Too smiley–you hope–to have seen you. Not that you didn’t want him happy, no, you only wanted him happy. Just, it hurts to see him smile, you think. To know he can smile without you next to him. When he’d told you you were the only thing that let him smile, that kept him going.

Just hurt, is all.

“Nance, we gotta go,” you mumble over to her, not even a second after the two of you had stumbled down the steep staircase.

“What? We just- oh.” she saw him, too, then.

“Please,” you say. “He can’t-I can’t.”

Your voice is shaky already, tears threatening to well up in your eyes as you try to figure out your situation.

He can’t have seen you, yet. You haven’t been there long enough for him to have seen you, and you have to get out of this stifling room before he sees you, or, you know, you spontaneously combust.

He calls your name over the crowded space, approaching you faster than you’re able to finish conjuring up an escape plan. He’s got that nervous smile on, the one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, as he says, “Hey, uh, what are you doing home? Thought you moved up to New York?”

“Yeah, I did. Just home for the summer,” you say, refusing to tilt your head up enough to meet his gaze.

“Cool…” you can see him tapping his boot against the smooth concrete, the laces bouncing almost in time with the cheesy ballad Steve had to have been in charge of.

“So, we’ll see you around then, Eddie-” Nancy says at the same time that Eddie chimes in with, “Would you, maybe, wanna go somewhere a little quieter? Catch up?”

And it seems like Nancy just can’t catch a break because as soon as she says, “I don’t think that’s the best idea,” you’re cutting her off–against your better judgment–with your own, “Yeah, yeah. Sure, Eds.”

He almost looks surprised, despite having proposed the idea, slapping at his pockets like he was looking for something important. His keys, maybe, his wallet.

“Henderson! Watch my shit, I’ll be back!” he calls across the room, not even bothering to look over his shoulder to confirm the kid had heard him before he’s leading you back up the stairs. He’s not forceful with it. Not dragging you anywhere. Just showing you where to go.

His hand’s around your wrist, but only barely. Like he’s afraid to touch you, hold onto you too tight. It’s gone before you want it to leave, too. You’re just getting used to the warmth of his touch again when he’s pulled you into Steve’s bedroom and clicked the door shut.

“What’d you wanna talk about?” It’s harder to breathe here. Harder to think without all the body heat.

He hasn’t moved much, either. He’s just standing there staring at you with those stupid brown eyes you could never say no to.

He thought it was going to be easier. He thought that he would be able to collect his thoughts, get what he wanted out. All he can think about is three years ago, though. How you’d gone without him, how you’d left him stuck in Hawkins.

“What?” There’s no way he could’ve known. No. You told him it was because of time, you were out of time, there wasn’t enough time. You didn’t tell him.

“That’s why you ended it, right? Because you wanted to go be a hot shot at NYU?” he asks, practically spitting the school’s name at you.

“Eddie-”

“God, do you even know how hard I worked to graduate for you? I did it for you,” he says. He’s inching towards you, barely taking steps yet still managing to cage you in against the door. “Just for you to break up with me two weeks before graduation.”

“It’s not that simple, please-”

“I loved you,” he says.

It’s something you never thought you’d hear again, not from him at least. There’d been the one college boyfriend, the drunken nights. But never again from him. It’s–

Loved.

“Loved?” you stutter out. It really shouldn’t have affected you. Love, loved, fucking any of it. You ended things, it was over. “Loved me?”

You’re able to meet his gaze for the first time that evening. He’s close enough now that you can feel his breath against your face, even if only slightly. Smell the cheap liquor on it. The weed. His spearmint toothpaste, and those chocolates he always seemed to be eating.

“I-I mean… fuck, you can’t do this to me,” his exhale is shaky. “This wasn’t how– you can’t do this to me.”

“Eddie,” you mumble. It falls from your lips so easily. Like you never stopped saying it, like you were meant to be saying it.

“You said it would work out. You promised me, baby,” he says. He hasn’t stopped looking at you. Hasn’t dropped his eyes, hasn’t faltered even in the slightest. His palms are flat against the cheap wood of the door. His shoulders, hell, his everything is so close to you. He’s so warm, too. Always ran hot, but the flush he’s sporting is radiating off him in waves.

“I know, I know…” you say. “I don’t know what happened.”

“You dumped me, remember,” he says.

“It’s not that simple.”

“See,” he hisses. “You keep saying that, but I think it is that simple. You left me a note. A fucking note in my stupid fucking drug box that it was over and then you wouldn’t even talk to me afterwards. You had your parents on ‘don’t let Eddie in the house’ duty, like you never wanted to see me again.”

“You know that’s not true,” you say quietly.

“Not true? What else would you say happened, then, princess?” The thought of leaning forward, just ever so slightly, to catch his mouth crosses your mind. Stop his rambling the way you always used to.

“If I- If I saw you after I ended things…” you trailed off, watching as his tongue pokes out to wet his lips. “I would’ve just come crawling back. It never would have– I wouldn’t have left.”

He doesn’t respond, filling the room’s heavy silence with the steady rhythm of his breathing.

“You didn’t even let me say goodbye, baby.” the malice in his voice has dissipated. The pain, the anger as his eyes scan yours.

“Eddie,” it’s a breathy gasp, a moan almost as you bring one of your hands up to clutch the open zipper of his jacket.

“Didn’t even let me say goodbye,” he mumbles before he drops his mouth to kiss you. Fully kiss you, too, experimentally tilting his head in hopes that you wouldn’t push him away. He’d been dreaming of this, of you, of touching you again. For years, months, every night.

“Please,” you whimper against him. He seems to understand before you fully do. Always knew you better than he knew himself.

His hands drop down to palm the backs of your thighs, signaling for you to jump. Always stronger than he looked, too.

It’s a short walk to the bed in the corner of the room, leaving Eddie to lay you down on the comforter rather than drop you like you’re sure he would’ve done a couple years back. It’s the first thing you notice. How gentle he’s being, how barely-there his touches are.

It’s also then that you realize how much of a goner you really are. There’s no way you’re going to be able to leave again without him. Be able to live three states away without thinking of him every night, wishing you could’ve just stayed here with him. Just needing him.

“I-uh…” you stutter as you try not to focus on the way his hips are pressed against yours. More, how good it feels. How hard he already seems to be. How the button on his jeans is pressing just right against your clit.

He’s leaning down to press his mouth to yours again before you can finish your thought, though, the chain of his necklace dangling against your throat.

Eddie moves a lot slower than you’re used to. A lot more focused on where he’s putting his hands than nineteen-year old him had been.

His fingers brush past the hem of your top on their hunt for bare skin. And it’s just your hips, barely your waistline, but the feel of his cold fingers against you sends shockwaves down to your core. You bristle as he begins to push the flimsy cloth up, exposing more of your stomach to his touch until he leaves it bunched just under your bra.

“‘S this okay?” he exhales. Even with all the shit he spewed earlier, he was still just Eddie. Your Eddie. The boy that never wanted to overstep, to push you too far.

“Mhm,” you moan before you lean up to chase his mouth.

“No,” he says. “Need to hear you say it for me. Need it, please.”

“It’s okay, Eddie. I want you to touch me,” you sigh as the calloused pads of his fingers trail back down the front of your torso. He pushes them past the waistband of your shorts, straining against the denim as he addresses the thin lace of your panties.

“Never thought I’d get the chance to feel you again,” he admits softly. It’s breathy, barely there, like everything else the two of you had said since he’d pulled you away from the wall. A stark contrast from the revved up Eddie Munson you’d seen five minutes ago.

His fingers continue to move down over your underwear, his middle finger delicately brushing past your clit as he collects the slick that’s already seeped through the thin fabric of your underwear. You arch against him, pushing your hips further into his hand in an futile attempt to get him to do something.

“Nuh-uh, baby,” he tuts. “I waited too long for this. Taking my time with you.”

“Take your time a little faster, please,” you say. He drops his head to press his lips against your throat, chuckling in his process of placing open mouthed kisses along it. You always got so worked up for him. Always begging for him before he’d even really started.

“Don’t think you get to make any demands right now, sweetheart,” he says before he pulls his hand away from you completely.

He doesn’t even give you a chance to whine about it before he’s popping the button of your shorts and tugging the denim and underwear down your legs. It takes a little bit of maneuvering on your end, planting your feet and lifting your hips, but you don’t think you’ve ever been so glad to get clothes off of your body.

Well, except for maybe that one summer, down by the lake. When Eddie had tugged your bikini bottoms off and fucked you on the dock. He’d been teasing you the whole day, having pushed the cloth to the side more than once only to leave you high and dry seconds later. God, yeah, that was the most excited you’d been to get clothes off. This, though. This was a very close second.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, hm? Can hear you thinking.” He’s back on you, now, after dropping his jacket and t-shirt off the side of the bed. Leaning over you. Too far to kiss, but close enough that his chain was dangling, again.

He’d gotten new ink since you last saw him this bare. Devil horns on his rib cage. What looked to be a dancing skeleton along his bicep. Your name scrawled out in his handwriting along his collarbone.

“You got my name tattooed on you?” you ask, choking slightly on your spit. Or the air. Or just the idea that he’d gotten you permanently imprinted on his body without your knowledge.

“What?” he glances down, realistically knowing that he probably wouldn’t have been able to see the ink, anyway. “Yeah, yeah. I-uh… I got it done a while ago. I was gonna…”

“You were gonna what?” you bring your hand up to trace the lettering.

“I was gonna surprise you with it at graduation,” he says.

Instead of responding you surge your face forward, bridging the awkward gap between you in order to press your lips against his and, in turn, pull him further down towards you. Kissing him was as easy as it’d ever been. As good as it’d ever been. Even better, maybe, with the way he was licking into your mouth.

“Fuck me, Eddie,” you moan against him.

“Nope, no. Not gonna fuck you,” his voice is muffled against your skin, teeth grazing your lips as you swap air.

“Fuck, please,” you whine. It’s too much. The idea that he’s gonna stop, when you just got him started again. The idea that you might not even get to feel him one last time.

“Not gonna fuck you, baby. Gonna show you why you never should’ve left. Gonna make you mine again,” he hums. It’s then you notice his hands on your hips again, the bruising hold he’s got on you.

“Eds-”

“Gonna make you mine, baby,” he grunts. His hand is on your bare pussy in seconds sliding two fingers through your wetness, only to bring them back up to circle your throbbing bundle of nerves. “Have to. Can’t lose you again.”

“You’re not gonna lose me, Eddie,” you say. And you mean it this time. There’s no possible way you’d be able to leave him again, you’re not strong enough. You were barely strong enough the last time.

“Yeah?” he plunges the two fingers into you.

“‘M all yours. Always was,” you sigh.

You’re already worked up, already stoking that fire in your core as he pumps his digits in a steady pace.

“Need you, Eddie,” you say.

“I need you to cum for me first, baby,” he dismisses your begging.

“Don’t care. I need you,” you gasp as his fingers brush that spongy part deep inside of you, leaving the band of his ring to graze the heat of your core.

“Fine, fine. Fuck, next time I’m going to make you cum as many times as I want,” he grumbles, pulling his hand away to swipe your juices on his jeans. You push yourself up on your elbows as you watch him attempt to unbuckle his belt and get off the bed at the same time. His eyes are flickering back and forth between you and where his hands are shakily fiddling with the leather, forcing you to sit up fully and gently slap his hands away.

You take your time, slowly tugging the thick leather through his belt loops as you push yourself up to your knees, forcing yourself to be face to face with him. He’s watching your hands, watching you pop the button and unzip his fly. As soon as you’re done, though, he’s pushing the restrictive denim and obnoxiously green boxers–not that you had time to comment on them–down his thighs and onto the floor. He does his best in helping you pull your top over your head, but you pretty much have to take the reins on that, too, before he’s pushing you back to crawl over you.

“I’m on the pill,” you say before he’s got a chance to ask.

“I-uh. Fuck, okay,” he exhales. It’s a step you hadn’t taken before, not with how vehemently opposed your parents had been to the idea of birth control in high school.

It takes him a second to line himself up, still struggling to compute the idea of fucking you raw. Then, though, he’s pushing in and the stretch of him has you seeing stars. He almost feels bigger, somehow, though you know that’s highly improbable.

He stays still once he’s bottomed out, lip tucked between his teeth as he inhales sharply. You can tell he’s struggling, already on the brink of cumming. You are, too.

“Baby, baby, you’re killing me,” he mumbles when he feels you clench around him. “Already got me so wound up.”

He’s practically panting as he begins to shallowly thrust his hips. It only takes him a couple of those, though, before he’s picking up his pace. He’s relentless in the punch of his hips, already having lost track of his ‘not fucking you’ mantra from before.

He’s too fucking pretty like this. Above you, inside you. His curls falling over his shoulders and his eyes blown black with lust. His hips slamming into yours, leaving your hands with nothing to grasp onto other than him.

The one hand he’s not using to hold himself above you stuffs itself between your bodies to press harsh shapes against your clit. Something you can’t make out, at first, not with how fuzzy he’s got you in the head right now. But then he’s mouthing along your jaw, mumbling as he goes. Mine, mine, mine.

Christ, he’s spelling out his name against your pussy with his fingers. You can feel it all now. Very clearly. E. D. D. I. E. Over and over again.

“Gonna cum, Eds,” you whimper at one of the E’s.

“Good,” he says, spelling his name faster. “I don’t think I’m gonna last much longer, either, sweetheart.”

It’s not long after that that your orgasm is washing over you, clenching around his throbbing cock and sending him spiraling down the same path. It’s a sharp inhale on his part before you’re blurting out, “I love you.”

“Fuck, yeah. I love you, sweetheart,” he drops to rest his forehead against yours as he stills his movements. You can feel his spend mixing in with yours, deep inside of you as the drip down your walls to pool around the base of him.

He takes a second to just sit there, take in the atmosphere, before he’s pulling out of you with a hiss and dropping next to you on Steve’s, now ruined, duvet and tugging you under his arm.

“I really thought about going up to New York once or twice, you know. After you left,” he says after a while. “Bought a bus ticket once, and everything.”

He reaches over the side of the bed to grab his jacket, plucking one of his cigarettes and his zippo out of the pocket as he leaves you to mull over his comment. His touch remains constant, just barely leaving his palm pressed to your shoulder.

“Why didn’t you come?” you ask. It’s the obvious question, after all. Hanging there in the air between you as he lights up.

“Didn’t think you’d want to see me,” he shrugged. “You made that kinda clear, and, you know, I tend to run away from things that scare me.”

You don’t even have a good response for him, then. Too much running through your head, too many questions, too many answers. Far too many things you just need to get out rumbling around in your brain.

“Don’t worry about it, baby. We’ll figure it out, yeah? Now that you’re mine again.”

“I-”

There’s a string of profanities followed by an incessant knocking—no, banging—against the door that has your heart dropping down to your ass. Time to face the music.

“Hey, guys, what the fuck? In my bed?” you hear Steve yell from the other side, sending you into a fit of giggles as you curl yourself further into Eddie’s side.

tags-- @milkiangl @gods-and-monsterss @zeldaknight @ridestomars

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #stranger things #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine

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multi-fandomfuckboy · 9 months

Text

Stranger Than Fiction

Part 22: Help

Billy Hargrove x Reader (Slowburn)

Part 1,... (Masterlist)...Part 23 (Coming Soon)...

AN: SURPRISE! Word Count: 3,744 Warnings: Language, suggestive comments

You stand for a moment longer, watching Billy’s car disappear around the corner. After a beat of silence, you notice how close you are standing to Steve, heat radiating off of him into your back, his hand still firmly wrapped around your bicep. Your eyes dart down to his hand, drawing his attention to your proximity as well. He lets go, offering you a small smile. You think you see a dusting of pink in the tips of his ears peeking out from his wet hair. He must be freezing.

“Thanks.” you say, returning his smile as you take a step towards his car. Trying not to pay attention to how cold it feels when you step away from him.

“No problem.” Steve says, following you.

After a short pause Steve speaks up again.

“Did he uh- say anything to you?” He asks, rubbing the back of his neck, keeping his gaze down as he pulls out his keys.

“No.” you answer. You’re not sure why you don’t tell Steve about what Billy says to you, but it’s something you want to keep to yourself. Standing at the passenger door, you wait for Steve to unlock the doors. Steve opens his door and quickly leans over the console to unlock yours. You rush to climb in, the cold already chasing away any warmth you had moments before.

“I think you should stay away from him.” Steve says, keeping his eyes forward as he starts the car. You gap at him for a moment, unsure what to say. “He’s dangerous.” He adds, finally looking at you. You can see the worry in his gaze, the tension in his shoulders. This isn’t the first time Steve has warned you about Billy, and you know he’s right. You rub your hands together, trying to chase away the cold.

“I know.” you say simply. Steve’s eyes catch on your hands, a bit of the tension leaves him as he turns on the heater and leans forward taking your hands in his.

“Here, put your hands close to the vent.” he instructs, guiding your hands closer to the heat. He cups his hands around yours to generate more warmth.

“Thanks.” you say, unable to stop the smile that pulls at your lips with his mothering. Noticing your smile Steve let’s go of your hands, clearing his throat.

“I’ll start leaving the door unlocked for you.” Steve says, pulling out of the spot.

“How kind of you… considering it’s the middle of December.” you snip back. Steve rolls his eyes, his own smile emerging.

“You’re lucky I don’t make you walk, babysitter.” she shoots back.

“Are you kidding? You wouldn’t last 2 minutes without me.” you challenge. Steve scoffs.

“You’re delusional. What do you think I do when you’re not here?” He asks, clearly struggling to hold back his smile.

“Wait for me to get back, obviously.” you say matter of factly. A barking laugh escapes Steve, causing you to laugh as well. You’re thankful that the conversation had shifted away from Billy. Steve is your closest friend, and you don’t want him worrying about you like that.

Steve talks about practice as he drives towards your house. You recall what Nancy said about asking Steve for help with history as he pulls into his usual spot on the street in front of your house.

“Hey Steve, can I ask you something?” You begin.

“Yes, you can use the shampoo I bring over.” He answers smirking as he reaches into the back to grab his bag.

“Not that.” You chuckle, slapping his shoulder.

“Alright, what is it actually?” He asks moving to climb out of the car. You move to follow, swallowing past your rising embarrassment.

“Do you think you could help me with history?” You ask as the two of you make your way up the driveway. Steve stops, turning to look at you fully, his eyes bright.

“Sure! I love history!” He gushes. Relief washes through you. Not only at his enthusiasm to help but also the lack of judgment in his gaze.

The two of you enter the house and quickly get set up at the kitchen table. You do your best to stay quiet, not wanting to wake your mom before her alarm.

“So, we are covering the Great Depression right now.” you explain, opening your textbook between you so he can see the pages as well.

“Cool.” He says, still smiling brightly. “Did you know that the first political office Hoover held was the presidency?” He explains, not even glancing at the book spread between you. “Maybe that’s why he didn’t really know how to handle a country wide job shortage,” he adds. “Oh! And did you know that …”

You quickly learn that Steve's interest in history is largely recreational. You don't gain much from his interesting facts and trivia he seems to be able to rattle off. You have little hope that any of the information you have gained will aid you in the upcoming exam.

After about an hour, you thank Steve for his help and usher him out of the house before your mom gets up.

Instead of focusing on your dwindling options, you get started on dinner. The failed quiz still tucked away in your back pocket. You weigh your choices as you mix together the ingredients for your grandma’s spaghetti sauce, it’s one of your favorite dishes and making it is almost therapeutic.

You could hire a tutor, you have a little bit of money saved up now. It would almost certainly demolish your college fund though. Billy’s offer flashes through your mind.

No. That is definitely a bad idea. He has to have some hidden agenda, why else would he offer to help? Plus you’re fairly certain Steve would have a heart attack if you start spending time with Billy, no matter the circumstances.��

“Good morning, Kiddo.” Your mom greets you, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she enters the kitchen. “More like ‘Good night’, right?” she asks, chuckling lightly at her own joke. Coming around the counter she grabs a cup of coffee.

“Morning, Mom.” you say, offering her your best attempt at a smile. Taking her coffee back to the counter she takes a seat across from you, blowing gently on the steaming liquid.

“Was that Steve I heard earlier?” She asks, keeping her eyes on you as she takes a tentative sip of her coffee.

“Yea, he came over to study.” you tell her, grabbing a rag from below the sink to start wiping down the kitchen.

“You too have been spending a lot of time together.” She says, hiding a knowing smile behind her mug.

“Mom.” you warn, rolling your eyes. She only chuckles at your exasperation.

“It’s just too easy to tease you honey.” She says, taking another sip. “How are your classes going? Any A’s to report?” She asks casually. You know she is only curious, but it stings anyway. You turn away, taking a pile of dishes to the sink.

“School’s good.” you reply simply. You can feel her eyes on your back as you dip the dishes into the lukewarm soapy water filling the sink. There is pause, you know she’s reading your body language. It’s a skill you inherited from her but sometimes you wish she was a little less observant.

“Are you doing okay?” She asks gently. It’s a loaded question, and you know it. It’s been a long year, and you can feel her thoughts turning to where you were this summer.

“I’m good.” you say, trying to relax your features enough to give her a convincing smile over your shoulder. She’s watching you carefully, lowering her coffee.

“You sure there’s nothing I can help with?” She asks, clearly not convinced. You shake your head, turning back to the dishes. There is no way you can tell her about your grades, or ask her for a tutor. She already works so much and that’s barely enough for the two of you.

“I said I’m okay, mom.” you say firmly, scrubbing harder at a particularly stubborn splash of pasta sauce. Glancing up at the clock above the sink, you sigh. “You had better hurry though.” you say nodding toward the clock. “Looks like you’re running behind.”

Her eyes widen, looking at her own watch.

“Damn!” She curses, standing quickly from her seat. “You’d think at my age I would have developed some form of time management.” She clicks her tongue, grabbing her nursing bag from the table. You see her cast a disappointed glance at her half finished coffee. “And I didn’t even finish-'' You set her lunch in front of her as well as a travel thermos of coffee.

Her face softens, filling with gratitude and love.

“What would I do without you?” She gushes, taking both and stowing them in her bag.

“I don’t know, probably starve.” you tease. You groan as she pulls you into a tight hug placing a kiss on your cheek. As she pulls away she hesitates, her eyes searching your face. You see the worry in her eyes, the thought alone causes your heart to constrict.

“I love you, kiddo. Just…” she pauses, cupping your cheek gently with her palm. “Don’t be afraid to ask for help.” she says, keeping her eyes on yours. Shame washes through you at her words.

“I know mom.” you respond reflexively. “You’re going to be late.” you remind her. Smiling, she pats your cheek before rushing out the door.

You watch her pull out of the driveway, waving goodbye as she disappears down the street. You pause, standing on your porch. Taking a deep breath in, the cold air stings your lungs. Reaching into your back pocket, you pull out your quiz. Unfolding it, you glare down at the damning red ink.

You need help.

Turning on your heel, you walk quickly back into the house. Half a plan forming in your mind as you pack a container of food. Shoving the leftovers into your bag, along with the quiz, you grab your coat and start walking.

---

You reach Cherry Lane a quarter after seven. The sun had disappeared shortly after you started walking. The only light illuminating your path are the intermittent street lamps.

You don’t really have a plan, just a general direction and a desperate need.

You need help with U.S History. That much is obvious. Nancy is too technical, Steve’s not technical enough, and paying for an actual tutor is the last thing you want to do.

Billy offered to help… for nothing. As much as you hate the idea of asking him for help… he’s your best bet.

“4819.” you read the numbers on the mailbox as you slowly approach the house. There are two cars in the driveway, one of them is Billy’s camaro the other is the Hargrove’s family car. There are lights on inside the house, but the porch light is off. Your stomach twists thinking of the last time you stood on those steps. You have no intention of interacting with Niel Hargrove anytime soon.

Scanning the area, you quickly form a plan. All you need to do is talk to Billy for a minute, no need to disturb the whole family.

Sticking to the shadows, you move around to the back of the house. There is a small yard with patches of dead grass illuminated by the light shining from the windows. Staying low, you hug close to the house, crouching beneath the first window. You poke your head up just enough to see into the back of the kitchen. You can see Neil, Max, and Susan at the dinner table, everyone's attention on the TV in the living room. No Billy though. Marking that as strange, you crouch back down to move to the next window.

Unfortunately, the next window you come to is too high for you to see into. Glancing around you spot a plastic crate propped against the paneling. Doing your best to stay quiet, you position the crate under the window and place one foot on it, testing to be sure the plastic can hold your weight. Stepping fully onto it you can see into the room.

This room is clearly Billy’s. There are band posters on the walls, clothes littered over the floor and a stereo on the dresser next to more tapes than you can count. Looking around you can see Billy laying on his bed, flipping through a magazine. Checking one more time that his bedroom door is closed, you take a deep breath.

A small voice in the back of your mind screams that this is insane, it sounds strangely like Steve. Ignoring that part of yourself, you quietly rap your knuckles against the glass. Billy immediately sits up, looking around for the source of the sound. When he doesn't notice you at the window you gently knock again.

His eyes cut to you and he looks startled seeing you there. Recovering from the shock, he glances to his door before getting off the bed and coming closer. You see his mouth move, mumbling what you can only assume is something along the lines of “Fucking crazy ass…” before he flicks the lock on the window, sliding it open.

“You scared the shit out of me, loca!” he scolds you. But you can see the amusement mixed into his annoyed expression.

“Sorry.” You apologize, the embarrassment radiating to your face. “I need to talk to you.” you explain. His eyes search yours and you have to look away, you feel yourself shaking, more from your nerves but the cold isn’t helping any.

Billy sighs, running a hand through his curls. He glances over his shoulder to the door again, before looking back to you.

“Well, there’s no use in you freezing your ass off outside.” he grumbles. Before you can protest, Billy leans down and grabs your arms firmly, hauling you up through the window. You do your best to suppress the yelp of surprise that comes from you as you scramble into the room. You ungracefully fall to the floor, banging your knee on Billy’s dresser.

“Ouch!” you hiss, instinctively cradling your knee. “You could really be more-” your complaint is silenced by Billy’s hand over your mouth.

“Shhh!” he hisses in your ear, kneeling tensely next to you on the floor. His eyes are trained on the door. There is a beat of silence. You can hear the faint sound of the TV from the living room, and the scrape of silverware on plates. When it’s clear that no one is coming, you feel Billy release a breath, removing his hand.

“Thought I heard something.” he says, moving to sit with his back against the wall. You rub your aching knee as you watch him snag a pack of cigarettes from his night stand. Placing one between his lips, you think you see his hand shake as he lights it, inhaling deeply. The next inhale his eyes return to you, still sitting on the floor in front of him.

“What is it you want?” he asks pointedly. “Or did you sneak into my bedroom just to look at me?” He asks lifting a brow suggestively. Your nerves ease slightly at the sight of his familiar smirk.

“Right.” you say, reminding yourself of the whole reason you came to him in the first place. Struggling off your backpack you pull out the container of pasta and your quiz. “I came here to bribe you.” you explain offering the container to him.

“What?” He asks, looking between you and your extended offering.

“Listen, I really need help in history.” you blurt out. “I can’t afford to pay you, but I’m a pretty good cook and I can bake too.” you explain. Billy’s eyes remain fixed on yours, a strange mix of confusion and what you think is shock. The container of food suddenly feels heavy in the air between you. Billy doesn't say anything for a moment and you can feel the embarrassment and panic begin to creep up your throat. Your heart sinks at his apparent rejection. It was a long shot, but at least you tried.

Sighing, you set the container on the carpet between you and start to zip up your bag.

“Sorry about scaring you.” you say, moving to stand. “I’ll just-”

“Can you make meatloaf?” Billy asks suddenly, cutting you off. You watch him with wide eyes as he leans forward taking the container and popping the top open the peer at the contents.

“Yea, I can make meatloaf.” you tell him, a small smile pulling at your lips. Billy nods, placing his cigarette in the ashtray.

“Good.” he says, extending his hand. “I’ll help you.” You can’t stop the side smile from your lips at his words.

“Thank you!” You exclaim, taking his hand and shaking it enthusiastically.

“Alright, alright, calm down crazy.” He grumbles, but you’re certain you see a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I owe you anyway.” He adds, dropping your hand. Before you can ask him what he means, he stands, taking whe food with him to sit on the bed. “When do you want to start?” He asks, taking the lid off the container fully and poking at the contents with his finger.

“As soon as possible. The midterm is on Friday so that only gives us-”

“5 days!?” Billy asks in disbelief. “You’re telling me I have to cover 6 weeks of material in 5 days?” He clarifies. You swallow, nodding as you bite the inside of your cheek.

“Well 4 days if you don’t count today.” you clarify. Billy’s eyes narrow on you in a glare.

“The day’s not over yet loca. When we start is no longer up to you.” He informs you.

“What do you mean?” you ask, watching as he begins eating with his fingers.

“I mean,” he begins, speaking around a mouthful of pasta. “We start now.” he says. “Grab the history book off the desk.” he instructs, taking another bite.

You gap at him for a moment, still reeling from the fact that you are now officially being tutored by Billy Hargrove.

Billy rolls his eyes.

“If you don’t start listening to me I’m going to throw your crazy ass back out that window and you can find some other sucker to teach you.” he says, waving a sauce-covered digit in your direction.

“Right.” you say, unable to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at his antics. You grab the textbook from his desk and turn, catching sight of the stack of flashcards you had made with Nancy. “Oh, that reminds me, I already made a couple flashcards so we can-” Billy scoffs.

“Flashcards?” he shakes his head. “We aren’t going to train you like some seal. You’re going to actually LEARN the material, not just memorize trivia.” he explains, shoveling another finger full of food into his mouth.

“I’m not really sure how we are going to do that.” you say, looking down at the book in your hands. “I don’t know what it is, but history just doesn't stick in my head.” you admit feeling the slight sting in admitting that fact out loud.

“Everyone has their thing.” Billy says, scooting back to give you space to sit on the bed. You hesitate looking at the small space next to him on the twin bed. Seeing your hesitance Billy scoffs again. “Calm down Loca, I won’t bite. Until you ask me to.” he says, giving you a flirty wink. The shameless come-on actually makes you chuckle, your nerves settling.

“Don’t hold your breath.” you respond, moving up the bed to sit next to him. Folding your legs under you, you open the textbook to the correct section.

“You like to write, right? Like stories and stuff?” Billy asks. Your brows draw together in confusion.

“Yea?” you confirm, not sure where he is going with this.

“We all have subjects we are stronger in, it’s just the way our brains work. I think you are thinking about history the wrong way. If you want to actually learn it you have to convert it into something that makes sense to you. If you’re good at writing stories, we need to frame history like a story, so it sticks in your head.” Billy explains. You’re actually stunned by the analysis. Not only is it possible, it’s even more shocking to have come from Billy. All you can do is stare at him for a moment.

His eyes are on the food he’s nearly devoured. He scoops the last remaining bits of pasta into his mouth, running his finger through the sauce at the bottom of the container, popping it in his mouth and licking it clean. He closes his eyes for a moment at the taste. You study the column of his throat. His adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. You can see the slight stubble along his jaw that has grown throughout the day. His tongue slides along his bottom lip, searching for any remaining sauce. Your stomach twists.

“What are you looking at?” Billy’s voice startles you. Looking back up, his eyes are on you.

“Uh-” you stammer, looking away, at anything other than his blue eyes. You can’t seem to think of an excuse. “I was just looking at-” you swallow thickly, feeling heat creep up your neck.

“What you should be looking at is Chapter 27.” Billy snaps.

“Right.” you say, flipping to the correct chapter. Your embarrassment grows as you hear him huff a light laugh.

“Unless you want to study something else.” he teases, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” you grumble focusing on the textbook. “You just have sauce on your face.” you lie. You feel Billy reach up to swipe at his face to get the invisible sauce in question. You would laugh but as you read over the first paragraph of the section, your stomach sinks.

This is insane. There is too much. There is no way-

“Alright, let’s talk about one of the lowest points in American history.” Billy begins, setting the now empty container aside. “In order to understand the Great Depression you need to see the rise that came before the fall.” he continues, sitting up. His knee bumps against yours as he pulls the textbook to sit between you.

AN: I hope you guys like this and I hope it was worth the wait. You'll hear from me soon :)

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mangoisms · 10 months

Text

circle k (back to you)

summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.

━ chapter three: this doesn’t feel right | read chapter two

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 6.6k

━ warnings: robbery, gun gets pulled but nothing happens, brief mention of blood, basically canon-typical violence

━ masterlist

━ a/n: decided to include the last minute scene i wrote between tim and steph, specifically the one at the very end. fair warning, we shift to steph’s pov! also my first time writing for a canon chatacter so be gentle <3

“How’ve things been?”

“Like you don’t know.”

Red Robin, you think, sure has the gall to look as smug as he does right now.

After all, it’s not as if he had a point to prove to you. You very specifically told him he didn’t and that you didn’t care what he did regardless of whether he took your advice or not.

Despite the look on his face, he manages to say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” you say, a little bit more accusingly than you mean to, following him as he ventures to the candy aisle.

“Alright,” he concedes, not looking at you as he bends forward to peer at the display of gummy candy. “But just so you know, it ended up taking a life of its own. You’ve made a solid impression so far.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Not at all. The list of places we can visit like this without having the cops called or worse is very short.”

“But that perception works.”

“Well, sometimes it’s less about fear and more about plain disapproval. Which also does its own job but… tiring, sometimes.”

That… makes sense. The Flash can walk down the street in Keystone and Central without anyone getting all up in arms about it. These guys can’t.

“But it’s necessary, no?” Just curiosity. Not agreeing, exactly.

Red Robin takes two packs of sour gummy worms and straightens, turning away from you to head to the refrigerators at the back. “Doesn’t change the fact that we can find it a little bit tiring. Makes you wonder if you can strike a balance, but in the end, it’s nothing more than an ideal. Fear rules best.”

“I’m sure.”

“Civilian, remember?”

“Yeah, well, this civilian gets to pass judgment since I’m a citizen of this city just like you guys are.”

Seems like they forget that sometimes. Or Batman does. You’ve heard whispers of metas who found out they had powers and attempted to use them for good. Only to be sharply turned away by Batman.

There is something to be said about ensuring not just anybody goes out and does what they do, lest they get themselves and others killed, but the impression you’ve gotten is that he doesn’t allow metas in the city. No matter their experience or skill level. The only exception to the rule, so far, is Signal.

You don’t know. When you were younger, they seemed cool. As you got older, that changed. How could you trust them? How could anyone know if they were trying to do good or if they were just enacting their own convoluted brand of justice? Red Hood’s existence several years ago proved that to you and all the others.

Even if he was trying to set himself apart from Batman or whatever, the fact remains that everyone in East End, in Park Row, in the Narrows, in the Bowery, feared that they might be next. Didn’t matter if you were innocent or not because one’s definition of innocent differed sharply from his—from theirs. And when you were desperate like most people there were, that changed everything, too.

Sure, the GCPD is corrupt and so is the justice system and the government and practically every institution in this city, in this country, but… you just don’t know.

So, maybe he does have a point to prove to you.

Maybe they all do.

“Well, look,” he starts, surprising you as he turns with two bottles of Zesti in hand. “If you want us to stop coming around, we will. No harm done.”

Fine.

Maybe you’ll regret the decision but… it does make them all the more tangible to you.

“It’s fine. Keep coming around. Might discourage anyone from trying their luck and it keeps my shifts interesting.”

“And it’s all about you, is it?”

“If not, find another Circle K to haunt.”

He laughs. The sound is familiar but nice, in a way. Comforting almost. It’s then you shake your head and turn away sharply, trying to push the feeling away.

There’s that, too. Maybe if you can keep Red Robin coming around long enough, you’ll figure out what exactly it is about him that bothers you, that niggles at you.

It should help take your mind off things. Like your growing concern about Tim’s lack of contact with you. You and Steph have hung out twice since she came back and both times he said he was busy. It shouldn’t be something that bothers you, but the fact that your attempt a few days ago to hang out with him alone for ice cream was also shot down with that same excuse. And of course, his sparse replies to your texts.

But he did reply eventually. Just some agreement about what you said about Signal. Didn’t exactly carry the conversation much further but at least he replied, right? Same goes for the shared group chat between you, him, and Steph.

You haven’t spoken to her about it, either, but you don’t want to.

It’s—complicated.

That’s just what your life feels like these days.

Complicated.

Red Robin keeps coming around.

The others come around, too. You don’t see much of Signal working the night shift but you do see Black Bat again. Even Spoiler, though she keeps her distance for a reason you can’t understand. Not to say she is mean or anything. She just waves at you but she never says much else. You’ll hear her and Black Bat talking quietly, though the words themselves are lost on you no matter how hard you strain your ears.

You keep worrying about Tim, of course, and hanging out with Steph, who squeezes in time to see you in between her internship with social services.

For a while, things are calm. The vigilantes who pop up grow increasingly familiar and any wariness evaporates.

Then you get a new face.

The guy walking around the store in the oversized grey hoodie is doing a bad job at robbing you, you think.

Well, he hasn’t actually robbed you. But his hand stays in the pocket of his hoodie, clearly grasping something as he makes a couple circuits around the store. Either scoping it out to see if there is anyone else to worry about or trying to work himself up to it. You think it’s the latter, with how nervous and sweaty he looks.

Mostly, it’s for your own nerves to think that.

It’s been a hot minute since the store was robbed and you were held at gunpoint (or knifepoint). You aren’t explicitly allowed to trigger the silent alarm until either of those things make an appearance, so even with the bad feeling in your gut, you can’t yet do anything.

You are close, though. So very close.

But you don’t have to wait any longer as he rounds the corner and pulls out the gun.

Oh, great.

Before he can say anything, before you can say or do something, the door swings open.

When you both look, there is nothing there.

You wince at the rush of hot smelly air from the outside.

“Who—who’s there?!” he yells, then swings the gun back to you. “What did you do?!”

“I didn’t do anything—”

The arrow comes out of nowhere.

One blink and it’s embedded in his hand, the same hand holding—previously holding—the gun. You flinch as the weapon clatters sharply to the ground, your stomach churning at the sight of the arrow embedded in his hand, blood dripping; he yells in pain, dropping to his knees.

Then comes the owner of the arrow.

Dressed in black and dark shades of purple, the Huntress is a sight to behold. Her boots are soundless on the tiles. She looks… bored as she talks to someone. Some kind of comm, you guess.

“Yeah, I know, I’m on my way back, I’m picking up coffee. From the—yeah. So he’s gotten to you, too? Figures. What’s the sound—? Oh, just some idiot trying to rob the store. Yeah, go ahead and call the cops.”

You stare, heart beating so quickly you feel a little dizzy, as she knocks the guy out, leaving him to slump on the ground. She kicks the gun further away from him for good measure.

Finally, she looks at you.

The Huntress, a figure you’ve only seen in the newspaper or articles online, mostly grainy pictures, is very pretty up close. Shoulder-length dark hair, olive skin, lips painted a deep, pretty shade of purple, and sharp blue eyes, easily revealed through her mask.

“Are you okay?” she asks, watching you carefully.

“Y-Yeah,” you stammer. “Thank you.”

A slight shrug. “All in a day’s work. Coffee?”

“Um. Over there.”

“Thanks.”

You watch, befuddled, as the Huntress steps over the body of the now-unconscious robber and strides to the coffee machine, entirely unbothered as she grabs three cups.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know how you take your coffee, O. Give me some credit. Is Cat coming by? No? Alright, just you and BC, then.”

As the machine sputters out coffee, she comes back over to you. “Do you have any drink carriers?”

“Yeah, they’re over there.”

You point them out, on the other side of the Slurpee machine, and she nods her thanks, grabbing one.

She returns to the counter a couple minutes later.

“So, um,” you start, clearing your throat. “Is there anything in particular I should say to the police about this?”

She tilts her head, confused for a moment, before realizing what you mean.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. You can say it was me. They’ll want to see the footage, too. Let them.” She pauses, giving you an appraising look. “Is there anyone you would like me to call?”

“Call?” you ask, confused as you ring up the coffees.

She fiddles with a pouch in her utility belt without taking her eyes off you, pulling out a ten dollar bill.

“Red Robin?”

“Red—no. No, I don’t think… I’m fine, I mean.”

Huntress nods and lets it go, accepting her change.

“The cops’ll be here in a few,” she says. “I’ll be around until then, so don’t worry.”

“Thank you, again.”

She gives you the smallest of smiles. “Like I said. All in a day’s—night’s—work.”

You watch her go, one part of you not wanting her to leave, but the other assuaged by her promise to hang around and make sure nothing and nobody bothers you again.

The police arrive a little while after that. By the arrow in the man’s hand, they already know who saved you, but they still demand to see the footage.

“So, it was the Huntress?”

“Yes.”

“Has she ever come by?”

“No.”

“Have you ever interacted with her anywhere else?”

You pause, barely stopping yourself from narrowing your eyes, because you do not like the accusatory tone this cop is giving you. What did he say his name was? Bullock or something.

You send a silent apology to Sandra Bullock for having to share her last name with this idiot.

“Well?” he asks, burning cigarette hanging from his lips, arms crossed. The smell of tobacco is nauseating this close. What’s worse is you’re outside while the other guys handle things inside. Even at one in the morning, the heat edges on unbearable and the humidity is even worse, making your skin tacky with it.

“No,” you say, a tiny bit exasperated. “I have never interacted with her before this. Why would I want to?”

“You were talking to her.”

“She was talking to me. Asked me if I was okay.”

Unlike any of these assholes who blew in here, sirens wailing, and made you put your hands up as they came in, guns brandished, even though the guy was obviously down for the count. Honestly, they scare you more than the shooter. At least in that moment. These guys can be real trigger-happy.

Now, they’re just a pain in your ass.

You need a Slurpee, you think. No, deserve one. For your troubles.

“It’s cut-and-dry, Harv,” the other detective, Montoya, puts in, having stepped away. She sends you a sympathetic look that just annoys you even more. “Got some calls from a few other convenience stores for suspicious activity. They saw this guy, too, but he always left before doing anything. Guess he finally worked up the nerve to do it here but it didn’t work out well in his favor.”

Bullock grunts. “You run her ID?”

Oh, for the love of—

“She’s clear. We’re good.”

Behind you, two EMTs haul the still-unconscious robber out and into the ambulance, which promptly leaves; a cop with gloves on steps out, the gun in a baggie.

Montoya asks you a few more questions, obviously trying to make up for Bullock’s brusque manner of speaking, but it’s a futile effort. You still cooperate, however, as politely as you can with the annoyance still burning inside you and this damnable heat.

Eventually, they leave, called away to some other incident, cars peeling away from the curb, blue-and-red lights flashing, sirens wailing.

You watch them go, allowing your scowl to come out full-force, your arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“Bullock’s always like that. It’s not personal.”

“Jesus,” you hiss, heart pounding as you whirl around; it takes a moment for your eyes to pick out Red Robin leaned against the brick apartment building next to the store, his figure mostly cloaked in shadows.

He steps into the light. Despite the nonchalant tone of his previous words, he looks, dare you say, worried.

“Just coming around?”

“No. I heard what happened. Wanted to come and see how you were.”

“Annoyed. And hot. And tired. Come on, let’s go inside. The AC isn’t that great but it’s better than this.”

Red Robin follows you in. You click your tongue upon finding the blood from the guy’s hand still on the tile. So, now you have to clean that, too, on top of the paperwork you have to fill out for the incident. Great.

You jump at the nudge of a knuckle between your shoulder blades. “What—”

“I can clean it up.”

“No, that’s—”

“Let me do it. I have more experience cleaning blood than you.”

“Charming,” you mutter. “But alright, fine. Thanks.”

“Cleaning supplies?”

“First aisle.”

A nod and he turns, cape fluttering behind him.

You rub your forehead, feeling a headache start to form, and continue for the Slurpee machine at the other end of the store.

A few minutes later, Red Robin joins you, wiping his gloved hands with what looks and smells to be antiseptic pads.

“Good as new,” he tells you, reaching for a Slurpee cup, too, as you sip at yours. “Like nothing ever happened.”

You sigh. “Thanks. Appreciate it.”

“So,” he starts, holding the cup beneath the tube for… the Zesti Cola flavor? What a complete weirdo.

“Are you—” he stops when he looks at you. “You’re judging me.”

“Who comes in to get a Cola-flavored Slurpee? That’s weird. You might as well just get a bottle of it.”

“Woah. It’s so not the same thing. If there was a drink form of, what do you get? Blue raspberry? Yeah. If there was a drink form of that, would you do that instead? A Slurpee is about the consistency. The slushy factor.”

Okay, that’s fair, but something about everything he just said makes you laugh. Hard.

Maybe the heat is getting to you. Maybe it’s the hysteria setting in. Maybe it’s Red Robin passionately defending his choice in Slurpee flavor and saying shit like ‘The slushy factor’ with a straight face. You don’t know.

“You’re finally losing it, aren’t you?” Despite his words, Red Robin looks almost relieved. He really was worried, you surmise, which is a… touching thought.

You quell your giggles, shaking your head; though the laughter was nice, your head is really pounding now.

“Here,” he says, digging through a pouch at his utility belt, pulling out a mini packet of… huh. Tylenol.

“Tampered?” you ask, taking it from him, anyway.

“If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it already.”

“Again. Charming.” But it still doesn’t change the thoughtfulness of the action; he doesn’t have to. If anything, this stuff is probably best kept for him. Though with their proclivity for putting their lives in danger, you don’t imagine Tylenol would be particularly helpful against gunshot wounds, but still…

“Thanks,” you say, a little quieter now, more meaning in your voice as you tear it open and shake out two pills.

Red Robin shakes his head. “It’s the least I can do.”

You can tell he means it. Which is, again, both touching and maybe a little bit confusing, too.

But trying to decipher why he does what he does is a futile effort.

This is, after all, the same guy who dresses up and goes out fighting the worst of the worst night after night.

Best not to look too closely. Who knows what you might find.

Despite your best efforts, Steph finds out about what happened. Something about the newspaper, which is odd, because you don’t recall seeing the news there—honestly, much more crazy shit happens overnight in Gotham. Robberies are old news.

But either way, you can’t complain too much because you are appreciative of her coddling the next day, which includes, but is not limited to, ordering takeout, burrowing on your crappy couch together, and watching old 2000s movies.

The only thing missing is—

“He said he was busy but he sent me the money for takeout. To make up for it.”

You purse your lips but don’t say anything. That you don’t want his money. You just want—

Nothing.

“We don’t need him,” Steph says determinedly in the next second. Which is a departure from what she usually says—that you’ll see Tim eventually, that his work at WE will let up. You don’t have the energy to ponder why.

You sigh, sinking further into the couch. Steph is warm next to you. You can smell her shampoo. Jasmine.

“I guess not,” you concede in a mumble.

You can’t do anything but concede. After all, it’s your initial avoidance of him at the start of June that caused this, right? And he keeps dodging your calls, your requests to hang out—points in which you might’ve been able to clear the air, apologize for it, but… no.

It’s not like you could track him down. You know the apartments he lives in—down in Old Gotham, in a much more expensive building than your shitty one here in Coventry. But sometimes he spends time at the manor, too, up in Bristol and you can’t ambush him there. You couldn’t. That would be too much. Right?

Trying to find him at WE is a lost cause, too. Not just because they have three given locations throughout the city but because you wouldn’t know if he was in or not.

Or maybe you’re just looking for the easy way out.

Complicated.

Why does it have to be so complicated?

“You look tired.”

“Thank you, Red, because that’s what every girl loves to hear.”

“Just a simple observation,” he responds, leaning against the counter, eating a kolach. Your Slurpee cups sweat in the mid-June heat, creating rings of condensation on the scuffed and scratched counter. You watch a droplet slowly roll down, joining the ring of water.

Your eyelids are heavy, dragging with each blink. A dull headache reminds you of your restless sleep and you’re sure the bags under your eyes tell it to the world, too. To Red Robin, specifically.

He finishes his kolach, crumpling the wrapper in one hand, looking steadily at you all the while.

“What?”

“Is it because of what happened last week?” he asks and his voice is frightfully gentle in a way you are not emotionally prepared to deal with.

“No,” you say quickly. “It’s not that.”

The occasional nightmare bothers you but that’s normal. You can deal with that.

“Then?”

You shake your head. God, you are exhausted. You fold your arms on the counter and bury your face there.

It’s quiet for a minute.

The refrigerators hum at the back. The AC makes an odd clanging noise before it turns on. Somewhere outside, a dog barks.

“I’m a good listener,” Red hedges after a minute. “Or so I’ve been told.”

“It’s stupid,” you say, voice muffled.

“Why?”

“Because it’s, like, stupid twenty-year-old drama and not, I dunno, the latest rumors on drug trades.”

Red laughs. It’s a pleasant sound that makes something inside you unwind.

“You should be relieved to hear I am up to date on the latest rumors on drug trades. And also, believe it or not, I do like to talk about things other than crime.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

A soft chuckle. It sounds almost affectionate.

“Come on. Whatever it is, it’s making you lose sleep. That’s not good.”

“Losing some sleep isn’t the end of the world.”

“I don’t know. Feels like it might be for you.”

You grunt, an old memory from Keystone niggling at you. You set it aside for the moment.

“It’s nothing,” you say eventually. “It’s just—nothing.”

“I don’t think it’s nothing,” he remarks. “But if you don’t want to talk about it now, that’s cool, too. If you ever do—”

“Dr. Red, to the rescue.”

He laughs. “Well, I’m not a licensed therapist and I can’t promise my advice is sound, either, so…”

“Don’t sue you?”

“Like you even could. But still, I’m here.”

You want to ask why but that might be too much for you right now.

You let yourself settle with some generic explanation, that he is obligated to ask that as a vigilante, as someone who is generally supposed to be concerned with the wellbeing of the citizens of this city. And also he is trying to prove some kind of point, so this is part of that.

“So,” you quickly say to change the topic. “What are the latest rumors on the drug trade?”

He laughs. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“You look tired.”

“Thank you, Flash, that’s exactly what I’d like to hear.”

“Just a simple observation,” he says, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.

“Well, rest assured, I have Tim and Steph on my case about it. They’ve both demanded a video call with me tomorrow despite me telling them I am alive and well. Apparently, just saying I’m alive isn’t reassuring. Can’t imagine why. That’s more than enough in Gotham…”

Mother hens, the both of them.

And Flash, too, apparently, though he does a better job of covering it up.

Off near the coffee machine, a melodic hum of Dancing in the Dark, the song currently playing lowly overhead, reaches you. You tune into it, the sound lulling you, both because it’s pleasant and because the song makes you think of Tim and his love for Bruce Springsteen (largely in honor of his late father, Jack Drake). Because of that, you totally miss Flash’s next words.

“—here? Oh, Jesus, Piper! Stop humming. You’re distracting her.”

“Oh, sorry!” comes the apologetic and still melodic voice of the Pied Piper. More normal now, though, letting you shake your head and focus again. Piper comes around the aisle, a big cup of coffee in hand; he gives you a handsome and apologetic smile that you wave off.

“It’s fine—what were you saying, Flash?”

He wiggles his fingers at you. “I’m just curious about those two, that’s all, since they seem very worried about you, oh, practically all the time. Not that it’s unwarranted, of course.”

“I’m fine, Flash.”

He gives you a look. “I don’t believe that but seems like they got it covered so, I’ll let it go. I’m still curious about them, though. What are we talking here? Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Both boyfriend and girlfriend? That’s cool, I don’t judge.”

“Are you—what? In regards to who?”

“You, obviously.”

You shake your head quickly. “No. No, absolutely not. Tim and Steph dated when they were teens, they’re exes. That’s weird.”

A bit of an uncomfortable discussion, too, if only because you are… too aware of your own attraction to Tim. A different kind of attraction. One that has you constantly admiring him. Or had you, back when you were in Gotham. With Steph, you know she is stupidly pretty but it doesn’t fluster you.

It's… nothing.

(It has to be nothing.)

“Feelings are a natural part of life, kiddo! Nothing weird about it. Have they been weird about it?”

“We’ve never even discussed the remote possibility of me dating either of them—because that would never happen in a million years.”

“Well, if they’re friends, then it shouldn’t be a problem. You don’t get many exes who can stay friends after a breakup. Right, Pipes?”

“It’s true,” he says easily, and, hold on a fucking minute, is… is the Flash implying that he and Piper dated?

“Yes, we did,” Flash answers and oh, you said that out loud, and this is… a bit of Flash lore that you aren’t sure you ever needed to know.

But still. He continues, shooting a grin at Piper. “And we’re still great friends! Me, him, and my wife!”

“Wife?” you choke out.

Great. More lore.

Piper rolls his eyes. “Flash.”

“Okay, I didn’t mean to give that away but it’s fine, we can trust her. She’s a friend.”

The words would be sweet if you still weren’t compartmentalizing the fact that he is actually married and… apparently dated the Pied Piper at one point. The Pied Piper who used to be part of the Flash’s rogue gallery, then reformed. Huh.

“You—” you point at him for good measure “—have a wife? Someone actually married you?”

Piper bursts out laughing. It’s a pleasant sound you could get lost in… No! Focus.

Flash looks affronted. “I’ll have you know I am excellent husband material!”

Piper, still chuckling, looks at you and gives a small shrug. “It is true. The superhero community isn’t very ripe with it, for reasons I’m sure you can figure out, so, Flash is a bit of a standout in that area.”

“Because the bar is low.”

“Not true,” Flash interjects. “Superman is married. You know how hard it is to compete with Superman? It’s hard. But I manage it. We’re nearly neck-and-neck in terms of husband material, I’d say.”

He ignores Piper’s snort of laughter and leans in conspiratorially. “But you know who isn’t married? Batman. He’s not husband material. He’s not even boyfriend material.”

You look at Piper, who shrugs. “Never met the guy, thankfully, but from what I’ve heard from Flash, I have to agree. The tall, dark, and broody thing can be attractive but—”

“He’s just a sourpuss,” Flash finishes. “No sense of whimsy whatsoever.”

“Oh, and you have that?”

Piper laughs as Flash sputters. “I can have fun! Why do you think I hang around you?”

You laugh. “That’s… Alright. Fine.”

Flash cocks his head suddenly, no doubt listening to the police frequency he tunes into. Piper fishes out a twenty for everything and tells you to keep the change. In the next moment, the both of them are gone, leaving you with a sharp gust of wind and arcing blue lightning that makes your skin break out in goosebumps.

Okay, then.

Your video call is the next day—Saturday—and it goes as well as you think it will.

“You look like shit.”

Steph is more blunt about it, but the sight of Tim’s grimacing face on your laptop screen shows he very much agrees.

“Thank you, my dear friends, it is lovely to see you, too, yes, I’m doing quite well, thank you. And you?”

“Okay, fair,” Tim says, holding up a hand, “but don’t lie and saying you’re doing ‘quite well.’ Someone doing ‘quite well’ doesn’t look as exhausted as you look.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “And you wonder why you don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Or boyfriend,” Steph tacks on immediately, not one to miss an opportunity to tag him.

He rolls his eyes. You shuffle around, freshly showered, looking around for your lotion, then remember it’s in the bathroom.

“Give me a sec,” you say to them, heading over to it.

The audio of the video call feeds out from the speakers of your laptop, so you can easily hear their next conversation.

“It’s so hard, isn’t it?” Steph asks

“What is?” comes Tim’s confused question.

“The urge to resist wiring her money. It’s written all over your face, duckie.”

“Like you don’t want to, either,” he shoots back.

A pause.

“Maybe we can—"

“I can hear you!” you call as you go back to your desk, bottle of lotion in hand. They look a tad sheepish as you settle in your chair. “And look, fine, I won’t say to a couple bucks—"

“Define a couple bucks,” Tim says.

“Max twenty—for dinner—” as soon as you say that, they’re both scrambling for their phones. You grimace. “Guys, come on, it’s not that bad.”

Tim gives you a concerned look. “Even your bags have bags.”

You blink. “Did you just… quote Spongebob?”

Steph grins in the other frame. “He’s finally cultured.”

Then they both return their focus to their phones.

A second later, yours chimes with notifications from Cashapp, twenty dollars from each of them.

“Guys… everything is fine.”

“No, it’s not,” Steph says stubbornly. “But that’s fine. You know you can rely on us, right? We’re friends. That’s what friends do. I know Timothy over here doesn’t always set the greatest examples for it—”

“Thanks, Steph.”

“You’re welcome,” she replies without missing a beat. “Anyway, let us help.”

“You’re already helping,” you soothe. “So, it’s okay. This semester is going to be tough but it’ll be worth it. And after this, it’ll be easier, okay? You guys are here now—”

“Not in a way that really matters,” Tim mutters.

“Which is not an invitation to come over here,” you warn—him, mostly. Steph would go along with it but he’d be the instigator.

They both pout.

You smile. Sometimes, it’s hard to handle the fact that you have friends like this. Friends who care so deeply, who love you so much, it feels hard to breathe. Because you know you love them just as much.

“I love you guys,” you say next, because you have to say it, they have to know; it’s hard for you, sometimes, just because it scares you, but after everything, you know how important it is for the people you love to know you love them.

They soften, echoing the words, and that’s enough for you.

Of course it is.

You don’t have much. No parents, no other family.

But you have them.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

A slow blink. “Updating Redbird’s security protocols?”

The garage of Tim’s townhouse smells sharply of oil and rubber. But he isn’t elbow-deep in the engine today, just seated off to the side, laptop perched on his lap and hooked up to its system. ‘Updating’ it. God knows why. The Redbird’s security protocols are just as stringent as the Batmobile’s.

Jason once regaled them with his plan, way back when, to blow it up. Bruce included. And how he went about it.

“It’s got safeguards like crazy, right? Even when it’s idle or shut down. Come up to it, fire a gun, launch a missile—doesn’t matter. Not gonna touch it before the security protocols kick in. It can sense you on thermal, air currents, video recognition, all of it.”

“So, how’d you get past it?”

“SEAL-grade wetsuit. Invisible to thermal with reflection fibers that play hell with video. But the biggest thing? Going slow. And I mean slow. Like five seconds per inch slow.”

The insane attention to detail and paranoia runs in the family, obviously.

Tim had sat in for that. Stephanie remembers the look on his face. Begrudging respect, combined with a familiar twitchiness that told her he was absolutely dying to run out and start updating his stuff.

Question everything. That’s what Bruce says.

Tim tries to separate himself from it. He really does. It gets tiring, exhausting, to live like that. But old habits die hard and his big brain precedes him sometimes. Wondering at the possibilities, at the million-in-one scenarios.

Ordinarily, Stephanie has more sympathy for him. Really. But right now, after your phone call about his little visit to Circle K…

She’s pissed.

“Don’t play dumb,” she says, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

“What is it that I’m playing dumb about?” he asks, averting his attention back to his laptop, keys clacking quickly, pausing momentarily as he takes a swig of Red Bull.

She tells him.

At the sound of your name, he stops.

But now that she’s started, she can’t stop. “Visiting her? As Red Robin? What are you thinking, Tim?”

The clack of keys resumes. The set of his gaze on the laptop screen is very intentional now. Avoiding her.

“It’s nothing, Steph,” he says and she almost believes it. But she knows him, so she doesn’t. “It’s harmless.”

“So, why won’t you hang out with us? Her? Because I assume you’re also avoiding her individually.”

A little sigh. Impatient. “I’m not avoiding her. I really was busy. Have been busy. You know how the heat messes with the city.”

It’s the excuse that bothers Stephanie.

Tim is making some kind of choice here. Choosing to favor Red Robin over himself, over Tim Drake, and it makes no sense. Red Robin isn’t your best friend. He isn’t even your favorite vigilante. (Black Canary is. She agrees, though it would be nice for Spoiler to get some spotlight but that is neither here nor there.)

You know who is your best friend? (One of them, anyway.)

Tim freakin’ Drake.

Stephanie knows why he’s avoiding you all of a sudden. The connection will be too easy to make. It’s why she—as Spoiler—keeps her distance. Tucks away her hair, hides her face even more, when she and Cass visit Circle K.

Even though! They had talked about telling you. Stephanie wanted to tell you so badly. You know who her father is. Was. You know how her mom used to be like. You know everything and you never once judged. You were, to be sure, a bit wary of them—the vigilantes—but most were. You wouldn’t turn them away if you knew.

If there is anything Stephanie knows, it is that.

But then she went away to Metropolis for a week and a half and suddenly, he’s visiting you as Red Robin. And he’s not trying to ease you into it, not trying to help you latch onto some clues, to make it easier—because they’d discussed that, too!—he’s doing it because… Well, she doesn’t really know. But there is a reason. She knows that much. A big reason.

It makes no sense to her, considering his feelings. Complicates things unnecessarily. Especially with how he’s avoiding you because of it, because he apparently got cold feet on telling you the truth.

And it’s the excuse… it’s the excuse that pisses her off.

Their relationship, back when they were kids, had some questionable origins. It did. Stephanie did things she wasn’t proud of. He did things he wasn’t proud of. It was messy. She tries not to kick herself about it—about being a silly girl in love, awed at the attention of a boy like Robin, knowing he was dating a girl (Ariana Dzerchenko, her name was, she would later find) and making moves on him despite that, moves that he always, always went along with. Like two magnets that couldn’t help but fall together.

Don’t get her wrong! The blame is not solely on her. It’s on him, too. She shouldn’t have pushed. He shouldn’t have went along with it, knowing he had a girlfriend, too. He shouldn’t have held his knowledge of her identity over her head the way he did. He isn’t mean-spirited at heart but he had an advantage over her. He knew she was Stephanie Brown. She knew him only as Robin and nothing else. Not until later on that would change and that… that was another mess entirely.

But they were dumb and young. Stephanie tries not to hold it against herself. They know better now. She knows better now. Knows what she deserves.

But this feels too close to him crossing that line.

No, he has crossed that line.

Given one persona up for another.

Approaching you as Red Robin, while you know nothing of him, and doing god knows what…

Someone is going to get hurt.

Last time, it was him. The circumstances, Bruce’s unceremonious reveal of his identity to her—a mistake, an egregious overstep—it all culminated in Tim feeling betrayed. Betrayed that Bruce would reveal that to her without Tim’s say so, without even asking him if he was okay with her knowing. Betrayed that Stephanie went along with it.

This time?

Stephanie feels it in her bones.

The person who is going to get hurt is you.

You, clueless about these lives they lead, clueless as Tim monopolizes your time as Red Robin, all the while you have no idea it’s him. You, her best friend. Stephanie loves you to the end of the universe.

She doesn’t want to see you hurt.

The mere thought of it, of the potential fallout, leaves a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Steph. Steph, it’s fine.”

She blinks, coming back to herself. Tim is standing in front of her now, dark brows knitted together, blue eyes intent on her face. Concerned.

“You’re lying to her.”

“We’ve been lying to her.”

“Not like this,” she says quietly. “Not this way. You’re… This is too much, Tim. I don’t understand why you’re doing this. What happened?”

“Nothing,” he says. For what it’s worth, to anyone else, it sounds believable. But like she said. Stephanie knows him. For better or for worse.

And on that end, she also knows he is not going to budge. No matter how much Stephanie wants to drill this into him, grab him by the shoulders and make her point. Once he’s made a decision, he commits.

Or more like he’s dug himself into this grave and he doesn’t (can’t?) want to get out.

“This is a mistake,” she says. “And you know it. I just hope you actually try to fix it sooner rather than later. Because if you break her heart, I’m going to break something of yours.”

Stephanie loves Tim. He’s a great friend. They’ve had their ups and downs—even discounting their relationship—but they’re solid. They are.

But she loves you, too. So much so it sometimes feels like she’s going to burst with it. She’s never had something like that, like this, and in the end, she doesn’t want to choose, but Tim knows better. And because he knows better, you are her first priority.

Even worse, he doesn’t seem bothered by the threat. Relieved, if anything.

“I’m counting on it, Steph.”

Which is so unfair in so many ways (fix it, she wants to yell, don’t rely on me to come clean up when shit hits the fan—do it yourself!) but she’s had enough of this conversation and all the ways this can go wrong.

Maybe he will turn around. Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But she doesn’t think so. He won’t. Not until the consequences of this, of his lies, of his excuses, come hit him in the face.

She wishes it weren’t like that—knowing what it will result in.

But some things you just can’t change.

She knows better with Tim.

She really, really does.

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