#@ me and maybe I'll drop the chart

[emanation-aura]

Every day I wake up on this forsaken earth and remember that Baizhu and Kirara use Iniquitous Baptist boss drops and despair.

Yes, 3.6, we needed a new abyss boss for plot reasons, I understand. Let's assign it to the doctor from Liyue and the Inazuman courier cat nekomata and never look at it again.

This is nearly as sinful as Alhaitham and Mika using Setekh Wenut materials, but I digress.

[cigarettesuga]

꒰꒰⠀⠀⠀too good at pretending.⠀✸⠀(⠀ myg ⠀)

pairing: idol!fwb!yoongi x producer!fem!reader

genre: smut, slow-burn tension, hidden feelings, late-night studio rendezvous, slice of chaotic intimacy, mutual pining masked as indifference

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), fingering, teasing, rough sex, oral tension, light dom!yoongi, semi-public sex, dirty talk, marking, overstimulation, slightly possessive behavior, soft aftercare if you squint, mutual denial of romantic feelings, mention of work-stress/mental fatigue, they’re both bad at feelings but good at sex

word count: 4.3 k

summary: it’s after midnight in a nearly-empty hybe building, and she’s still buried in deadlines and demos, jaw clenched and hands in her hair — until the only person who knows her chaos in silence shows up, just as worn out and just as emotionally unavailable. but when yoongi finds her in studio 3A, looking like she hasn't slept and biting down on her own frustration, the air shifts. and when he pulls her into his lap and tells her to be quiet if she doesn’t want the whole floor hearing — neither of them is thinking about feelings. only about relief. except everyone knows — even if they don’t say it out loud — they’re already each other's. just too damn stubborn to admit it.

lu's note: hey there i just wanted to pop up and say that requests are open, i'm on a writing spree and hopefully i'll update more regularly now that i'm almost done with the semester. i'd like to know if you want to see something abt any of the guys... just send a whisper ;)

⠀⠀⠀⠀m.list | latest

the building's nearly dead.

just the low hum of fluorescent lights and the distant echo of someone vacuuming in another hallway. most people had cleared out hours ago — normal people, anyway. the ones with boundaries. sleep schedules. lives.

but not them.

yoongi stretches his neck as he turns the last corner, a paper cup of half-warm coffee in his hand, and there she is.

exactly where he figured she’d be.

her back’s to him, shoulders tense, hands tangled in her hair like she’s trying to physically pull inspiration from her skull. he watches her for a second before saying anything — mostly because it’s kind of fascinating, the way her frustration makes him want to smile. not in a cruel way. more like... fuck, of course it's her. of course she's making herself crazy over something that probably already sounds better than half the shit on the charts right now.

he leans against the doorframe. takes a sip.

“you know you’re not getting paid overtime for this, right?”

she doesn’t jump. just groans without turning around. “don’t start, yoongi. not tonight.”

he chuckles, low and quiet. walks in.

“been trying to reach you.”

his voice is softer now, casual, like this isn’t the third time he’s walked past her empty studio earlier, pretending he wasn’t checking in. “thought maybe you finally ran off to join that noise-pop cult you keep threatening me with.”

“almost did,” she mutters, fingers flying over her keyboard. “but then this demo started sounding like a crime against humanity and i couldn’t leave it like that.”

he settles into the chair beside hers — not close enough to touch, but close enough to be there.

his usual spot.

“play it.”

she hesitates, chewing her lip, and for a second he thinks she’ll argue. but she presses spacebar and leans back, arms crossed.

the track fills the room — unpolished, raw, still bleeding at the edges. but there’s something real in it, something aching and sharp.

and he knows her well enough to hear the exhaustion between the beats.

the trying too hard.

it ends. silence settles.

he nods once. slow.

“doesn’t suck.”

she scoffs. “great. can’t wait to put that on the album review.”

his smirk twitches. “i mean. it doesn’t suck as much as i expected, considering you’re trying to mix in what sounds like a dying printer.”

her mouth drops open in fake offense, and he can’t help it — the corner of his lip lifts again, amused.

this. this is why he came. not because he needed to hear the track. not because he didn’t trust she’d get it done.

but because she looks like a goddamn hurricane when she’s like this, all untamed and brilliant and so deep in her head that it scares him a little.

and he knows the world doesn’t always get the calmer version of her. the one that leans into the quiet. the one that lets herself just be.

but she gives him that version. even when she’s falling apart. especially then.

“take a break,” he says gently, pushing the coffee toward her. “you’re spiraling.”

she looks at the cup, then at him.

and for just a second — just one — her eyes soften.

but then she rolls them. “you’re annoying.”

“you like it.”

“unfortunately.”

he doesn’t say anything to that. just sits there beside her, letting the silence stretch, letting her know she’s not alone — that even when she forgets how to breathe, he remembers. for both of them.

the moment’s quiet.

too quiet for how fast his pulse is moving.

he watches the way her shoulders rise and fall — clipped, uneven — like she’s trying not to fall apart, like holding herself still is the only thing keeping her from unraveling right there in the middle of waveforms and midi tracks. and that shouldn’t do anything to him. he tells himself that every single time.

but fuck, there’s something about seeing her like this — worn down, raw around the edges, still fighting anyway — that guts him more than he’ll ever admit out loud.

he takes a step closer.

then another.

and when he’s close enough to feel the heat of her back through her hoodie, he bends a little, eyes on the crown of her head.

presses his lips there — soft, brief. a barely-there kiss that shouldn’t mean anything but always does.

her hand twitches on the mouse.

he pretends not to notice.

instead, he lets his hands find her arms, slow and easy, fingers tracing lightly from her elbows to her shoulders and back again. not squeezing, not rushing — just being there. reminding her she’s not in this alone, not tonight. maybe not ever, even if neither of them will dare say it.

his mouth finds her hair again, this time to whisper, low and amused, “you keep this up and you’re not getting anywhere with the song.”

her breath stutters — a soft exhale.

and she leans back the tiniest bit, like her body knows something her pride won’t admit.

“maybe,” she says, voice quieter now, “i just need to relax…”

he hums, and it comes out more like a growl than a laugh.

his thumbs drag slow circles into her arms now, a little firmer.

not suggestive — not yet — just intentional.

“yeah?” he murmurs, mouth still ghosting against her hair. “you want help with that?”

there’s a pause. one of those heavy ones, where a whole universe of unsaid things pass between two people who keep pretending they don’t care.

she doesn't say yes.

she doesn't have to.

her body shifts back into him, barely-there contact that might as well be a plea. her eyes stay on the screen, like she’s still pretending this is about the music — like the way her thighs press together slightly isn’t an answer in itself.

he leans closer, lips a whisper away from her ear.

“say the word.”

his voice is lower now. soft, rough, dangerous.

and god, if she says it?

he’ll make her forget what stress even feels like.

her hands on his hips feel deceptively casual — light, teasing — but he feels the tremor beneath her fingertips. the tension riding up her spine even though her voice comes out cool, steady.

"you know i’ll say yes, right?"

he looks down at her, lips quirking into that crooked half-smile — the one that always makes her roll her eyes like she’s not secretly addicted to it.

"yeah," he murmurs, brushing his thumb over the top of her arm. "but consent is sexy. and i’m nothing if not respectful."

her laugh is soft, almost a sigh, but her eyes never leave the screen, like it’s some kind of anchor. or maybe a shield.

he knows how much she hates vulnerability.

knows how much she hides behind work.

but when she leans into him like that — trusting him, choosing him — it undoes something in his chest every single time.

"c’mon," she says, still in that whisper, glancing toward the studio door. "we can’t take too long… we don’t know who’s still on this floor."

and he wants to say, let them fucking hear,

but instead, he lets her guide him — lets her take control the way she always does when she needs to feel like she’s not drowning.

her hand slips into his, fingers cold from hours on the mouse, and he follows as she leads him toward the tiny couch in the corner of the room, worn down from too many late-night naps and occasional power plays like this.

he sits down first, legs open, arms resting on the back of the couch like he’s not already burning for her.

she stands in front of him, hair messy, hoodie half-zipped, pupils dark and pulled — and it takes everything in him not to reach for her right away.

but he doesn’t have to.

because she climbs onto his lap with no hesitation, knees bracketing his thighs, arms sliding around his neck like she’s done it a hundred times — like it’s muscle memory now.

and maybe it is.

he exhales, hands settling low on her waist as she leans in, their foreheads brushing for a moment. a charged pause.

“you good?” he asks, voice barely there.

her mouth tilts into a smirk that doesn’t reach her eyes — not yet — and then she kisses him.

it starts slow, all lips and warmth and quiet desperation. not rushed. not rough.

like they’re trying to remind each other that even in chaos, this is the one place they always come back to.

his fingers press into her back, her hips roll into his without even meaning to, and the tension between them unravels thread by thread.

her hands are in his hair now, tugging, anchoring herself as their mouths move together in sync — and he swears she tastes like frustration and espresso and whatever scent drives him fucking insane every time she walks past him in a hallway.

somewhere in the back of his mind, he hears the vacuum whir down the hall again. a reminder of where they are. who they aren’t supposed to be.

but it doesn’t matter right now.

not when she’s sighing into his mouth like this.

not when she’s melting into his chest like maybe she’s tired of holding the whole world up by herself.

he kisses her deeper — just once — before pulling back just enough to whisper against her lips,

“five minutes.”

she breathes a laugh, breathy and wrecked.

“we’re gonna need at least ten.”

his fingers curl into the waistband of her sweatpants, slow and deliberate — a quiet warning and a promise all in one. the fabric bunches beneath his grip, and he tugs just enough for her to feel it, to know what’s coming next.

but then —

the vacuum hums closer, louder, just outside the door.

they both freeze.

he leans in, lips brushing her ear now, voice low enough to blend with the rumble in the hall.

“you’ll have to be real quiet if you don’t wanna get caught, pretty girl.”

his voice does that thing to her — that husky drop, the weight of intention threading through every syllable. she shifts against him, hips tilting just slightly like her body’s answering before she can think, and that’s all he needs.

he helps her out of the sweatpants — slow and careful, keeping her steady as she steps out of them one leg at a time. it’s practiced, familiar, intimate in a way that makes the air in the room shift.

and then she’s back in his lap, straddling him again, bare thighs brushing denim, skin against skin with only a whisper of lace in between.

her hoodie’s still on. her converse are still on — something about that is stupidly hot, chaotic and casual like everything about her.

his hands trail up her thighs, thumbs skating along the edge of her underwear, a slow tease that makes her bite her bottom lip.

he leans back just enough to take her in — flushed cheeks, messy hair, mouth slightly parted, and that signature don’t fall for me look in her eyes that he knows is all smoke and mirrors.

“lace, huh?” he murmurs, fingertips brushing just under the hem of her panties. “you really didn’t plan on finishing that demo tonight.”

her nails dig into his shoulders in response — not enough to hurt, just enough to say shut up and keep going.

he grins, letting one hand slip up her hoodie, dragging his palm along warm skin, the curve of her waist.

“we’re on a clock, baby,” he whispers, thumb circling higher now, just barely grazing. “think you can stay quiet for me?”

and yeah, he says it like a challenge.

like he already knows she’s not gonna make it easy.

her breath catches — barely audible but unmistakable — as his thumb draws slow, lazy circles over lace. there’s nothing rushed about him, no urgency in the way he touches her. just quiet control. patience that only makes it worse.

or better.

depending on how you look at it.

she shivers under his hand, biting her lip so hard it might leave a mark, trying to keep it together even though her thighs are already trembling around his.

he smirks against the crook of her jaw, amused and maddeningly calm, as if they aren’t one thin wall away from getting caught, as if she isn’t already this undone and he’s barely even touched her.

“you’re shaking,” he whispers, breath hot against her skin. “and i haven’t even done anything yet.”

then his fingers slip under the lace — slow, deliberate — and she gasps, soft and sharp, her hands grabbing at his shoulders like they’re the only solid thing in the room.

he grins, lips brushing her cheek.

“uh-uh,” he murmurs, nudging his nose along her jaw. “remember what i said.”

she nods, swallowing hard, eyes glassy and unfocused.

and that’s when he guides her hand.

takes her wrist gently and brings it down, pressing her palm over his own hand, over the fingers teasing slow, torturous circles just where she needs them most.

“use my fingers,” he whispers, low and rough. “you know what you like.”

and she does.

her hand trembles as she starts to move — guiding him, hips rocking in quiet desperation. it’s messy, it's intimate, and so fucking real.

he lets her take control, but never lets go — his other hand pressing firm at the base of her spine, grounding her, holding her there, reminding her that she’s safe, she’s seen, she’s his — even if they’ll never say it.

every breath she exhales into his neck sounds like a confession.

every roll of her hips says i need you louder than words ever could.

and yoongi, voice barely audible, lips pressed to the shell of her ear, breathes out the one thing he knows will wreck her:

“that’s it, pretty girl. just like that.”

his breath is hot against her skin — ragged now, catching with every sound she makes, every tiny gasp she tries to swallow back like it’s not unraveling him completely.

his fingers move slower, deeper. stretching her gently, curling just enough to make her spine arch into him. he knows her body by now — every twitch, every soft curse under her breath, every time she presses her mouth to his shoulder to keep from moaning too loud.

she’s trying to be good. to be quiet.

and he’s not making it easy.

“so fuckin’ wet for me already,” he murmurs into her ear, voice low and dark and laced with a smile she can feel. “this what you needed, huh? not a break. just my fingers inside you while the whole building’s still awake.”

his lips trail down her neck, open-mouthed kisses that go from soft to claiming real quick — he sucks just under her jaw, enough pressure to leave a mark that won’t fade by morning. something she’ll complain about later with a smirk, trying to act like she’s mad, like she doesn’t love it.

she whimpers — the sound small and stifled, but there — and his teeth graze her skin right after.

“shh…” he soothes, lips brushing the red bloom he just left behind. “you’re doing so good, baby. so fuckin’ pretty like this, falling apart on my lap, hoodie on, shoes still on — god, you’re such a mess for me.”

his fingers stretch deeper now, his rhythm steady but ruthless — working her open while his free hand tightens on her hip, pulling her flush against him, letting her feel just how hard he is under her.

“you feel that?” he breathes out, grinding her down a little. “feel what you do to me?”

she nods, desperate, mouth parted and gasping — but he doesn’t stop.

he can’t.

not when she’s trembling like this, thighs twitching, hands clawing at his shoulders, his name falling off her lips in broken whispers she probably doesn’t even realize she’s saying.

not when she’s losing herself and still trying to hold it together, still trying to not moan loud enough to echo down the hall.

he kisses her collarbone, trailing down with slow reverence before whispering against her skin — filth laced in affection:

“come for me, pretty girl. be quiet if you can… but fuck, don’t hold back on my account.”

she’s trembling in his lap now — her entire body shivering with the aftermath of it, hips stuttering as she rides it out against his hand, making a mess all over his fingers, on his jeans, like she’s got nothing left to give.

but the way she’s gasping his name, barely even trying to be quiet anymore, the way her hands are still gripping his shirt like she’s starving — that’s when he knows.

she’s not done.

not even close.

"yoongi," she breathes, voice wrecked, pleading, pulling at his shirt now like she’ll unravel if he doesn’t do something now.

he kisses her jaw, quick, and helps her up without a word, hands strong and steady under her thighs as she finds her footing again, legs shaky, lips kiss-bitten and slightly parted.

“c’mon,” he says, voice low, firm, laced with need so thick it’s almost a growl. he turns her gently, guides her to lean over the back of the couch, her knees sinking into the worn cushions — and fuck, the sight of her like that?

it nearly undoes him.

she pulls off the hoodie in one smooth motion, tossing it somewhere behind her, hair falling wild and messy down her back. the black lace underwear’s still clinging to her thighs, barely pushed down, an afterthought now — and something about it makes his brain short-circuit.

he stands behind her, hands trailing down her spine, over the soft slope of her hips.

he could tease. he wants to tease.

but not now.

not when she’s already shaking for him, not when she’s arching her back just right, looking over her shoulder with that desperate, wrecked little expression that makes his cock twitch against his zipper.

he leans in, one hand sliding up her back, pressing down between her shoulder blades.

“you want it like this?” he whispers against her ear, hot and low.

she nods, frantic.

he barely tugs the underwear any further, just enough to expose her, to have her. he likes the way it looks bunched on her thighs, messy and rushed, like they never really had the patience to undress properly.

like they never do.

then he undoes his belt, the quiet clink loud in the stillness of the studio.

and just before he sinks into her, he leans down, pressing a kiss to the top of her spine, and mutters — low and reverent — like she’s the only thing he believes in,

“let me take care of you.”

his hands are rough now, no more of that slow build-up — it’s fast, all heat and urgency, all of it fueled by the risk, by how easy it would be for someone to walk by and hear the unmistakable sounds slipping out from under the door.

his fingers dig into the swell of her ass, spreading her open, thumbs pressing into skin like he owns it. he squeezes, slaps once — quick and sharp — just to watch her jolt forward on instinct, breath catching as she reaches for something to bite down on.

she grabs the old throw blanket folded lazily on the armrest — some gifted merch no one ever uses — and she sinks her teeth into it, moaning into the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping her from getting caught.

yoongi’s head falls back for a second at the sight of her like this — needy and wrecked and his, half-naked with her shoes still on, knees digging into a couch they’ve both crashed on too many times.

and he’s fast now. fucking into her like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality, low groans escaping his throat every time she clenches around him, every time her hips grind back like she’s just as desperate.

“look at you,” he pants, leaning in close, chest to her back. his hand tangles in her hair, not too hard, just enough to pull her head back so he can get to her ear, mouth brushing the shell of it. “biting that blanket like you don’t want the whole damn building to know how good i’m fucking you.”

she moans louder at that — muffled but loud — like the filth in his voice is winding her tighter.

“so fuckin’ needy,” he whispers, hips snapping into her, rhythm relentless. “you were practically begging for it, weren’t you? making a mess all over my hand, whining in my lap like a pretty little slut…”

he kisses the corner of her jaw, slow and messy.

"you think they’d still respect you if they saw you like this? bent over, drooling into a blanket while i fuck you stupid?"

her whole body shudders at that — hips twitching, back arching — and he grins, breathless.

“didn’t think so,” he murmurs, voice like velvet and smoke. “now be good, baby. stay quiet, take it all — and don’t you dare cum until i say so.”

yoongi swears under his breath, voice low and ragged, eyes locked on the slick, messy glide of her body swallowing him whole — over and over again. the mess she’s making of him, of herself, of the damn couch cushions. it’s obscene. it’s art.

he can’t look away.

the way her thighs tremble.

the slick sounds echoing in the tiny studio.

the blanket still caught between her teeth, now damp with spit and moans she’s too scared to let out.

it’s almost too much — almost.

he slows suddenly, pulls out with a slow drag that makes her gasp and arch back instinctively, trying to chase the friction.

but he’s already palming himself, thick and flushed and dripping — dragging the head of his cock right against her swollen clit.

“yoongi—” she breathes, voice high and strung out, hips bucking back, needing more — needing anything.

he grins, lazily, running himself along her, smearing her wetness in tight little circles. messy, filthy pressure, just enough to make her legs shake.

“fuck, look at this,” he groans, thumbing her open again just to see the way she twitches. “you’re so wet for me, pretty girl. making a goddamn mess all over my cock, and i haven’t even finished with you yet.”

he pushes in just the tip — enough to make her cry out into the blanket — and pulls back again to rub slow circles against her clit, dragging the head across her like he’s trying to brand her with it.

“you like that?” he murmurs, watching her hips try to press back into him. “like how it feels when i tease you like this? you want more?”

she nods desperately, a muffled please slipping out around the fabric in her mouth, and it’s so sweet, so fucking perfect, it makes his grip on her hair tighten just a little.

“you’re gonna lose your mind if i don’t give it to you, huh?” he growls, circling her clit again, wet and hot and just enough to make her shake. “but i like watching you fall apart like this. so messy, so loud without even saying a word.”

he leans in close again, lips ghosting over her ear, voice lower than before — dangerous.

“keep that blanket right there, baby. ‘cause when i finally fuck you again… you’re gonna need something to scream into.”

he can feel it building — low in his spine, thick in his blood, the kind of tension that’s impossible to slow down once it starts burning through his veins. she’s soaked, her thighs trembling against his, back arching every time he drags himself over that perfect spot, and he’s dangerously close to losing it.

he pulls her up gently, not because he wants to be sweet — though he is, in his own way — but because he needs a better angle. needs to see her face, her wrecked little expressions. needs to feel her falling apart with him.

“come here,” he mutters, helping her shift, guiding her down onto her side, her legs curling slightly as he lays behind her. he hooks one arm under her knee, holding it up to keep her open, the other snaking around her waist to pull her flush against him.

and then he’s back inside her — deeper like this, slower for a second, but heavier, more intense.

“fuck, baby,” he grits, mouth pressed to the back of her neck, teeth grazing skin. “you’re so tight like this… you were made for this.”

she lets out a breathy, muffled moan — lips parted, eyes fluttering — and it’s so much, the intimacy, the sweat, the quiet gasps between them. the danger of getting caught still sharp in the background, echoing with every thrust.

he’s close — too close — and when she reaches behind her, fingers barely brushing his hip like she’s trying to pull him even deeper, that’s what does it.

“shit—” he groans, deep and rough, burying his face in her shoulder as he pulls out quickly, hand wrapping around himself.

in just a few rough strokes, he’s coming hard — hot and messy, thick spurts landing right across the black lace of her underwear still tangled around her thighs. he pants against her, forehead pressed to her back, hand steadying himself against her hip as the tremors run through him.

“fuck,” he whispers, breathless. “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

they’re still tangled like that — her on her side, flushed and slick, his cum cooling on her thighs and lace — when a knock slices through the air.

sharp.

loud.

too real.

they both freeze.

she shoots him a wide-eyed look over her shoulder, and yoongi curses under his breath as he scrambles for her hoodie, tossing it over her bare chest while trying to zip himself up with one hand.

“(y/n)-ssi?” a voice calls politely from the hallway. a young male staffer, probably an intern. “i was told to remind you about the morning meeting. they asked if you could check your email before you leave.”

yoongi presses a finger to his lips, mouthing don’t laugh when she lets out a wheeze and nearly chokes on it, face buried in the blanket again.

“thanks!” she croaks out after a second, voice not nearly as steady as she wants it to be. “i’ll check in a bit!”

silence. footsteps retreat. door remains mercifully shut.

yoongi leans down, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, voice smug and low and just as wrecked as she is.

“you owe me a new pair of jeans,” he murmurs.

“and maybe a warning next time you decide to look that fuckable in sweatpants.”

-quietly always, cigarettesuga.

[rivalsispunk]

20 Cigarettes pt. II (DBF!Joel Miller x reader)

pt. I here

summary: you and Joel both war with the aftermath of your night in his truck, and it isn't long until the real world comes knocking and leaves you questioning everything.

tags/warning: +18, mdni. Joel is in his 40s, reader is in her 20s. age gap. f!reader. unprotected piv. creampie. SMUTT. angst. slow burn. jealous Joel. jealous reader. drinking, swearing. bondage if you squint, (if I've missed anything let me know and I'll amend),. no outbreak, non canon, mention of TLOU characters but nothing is in line with the show/game aside from the fact Joel is the dilf to end all dilfs

w/c: 9.7k

a/n: not edited really, just wanted to get it out! so if any mistakes, my apologies x

It’s been a week.

Seven full days since Dina’s bachelorette party. Since the storm. Since Joel’s mouth was on your throat, his hands on your hips, and his voice in your ear telling you to come for him. A week since his weight pressed you into the worn leather of his truck’s bench seat like he was trying to carve himself into your skin.

And then he drove you home.

The ride was quiet. Awkward. Joel tried to make it normal. Failed.

“Storm cleared up nice,” he said as he turned into your neighborhood. It might’ve sounded casual—if not for the fact that you’d had your hands all over each other less than ten minutes earlier. If not for the way his come was still warm between your thighs.

You didn’t respond. Just gave a tight-lipped nod, even though Joel hadn’t looked at you since he merged back onto the highway, not even to check for oncoming traffic when it was time to pull off it. He didn’t say anything else until the truck rolled to a stop in the middle of the street—parked between your dad’s house and his, the engine ticking in the quiet.

“That was—” he started, then broke off, scrubbing a hand over his face with a ragged sigh. “We shouldn’t have… Sorry. That was—”

You cut in before he could unravel it further. “It’s fine. Really.” Then, with a strained chuckle: “You never had a one-night stand before?”

He finally looked at you. Briefly. He’d had his fair share. Wanted this thing between you two to be just that—just two people getting their fix and moving on.

He nodded slowly. Hit unlock on the door.

“Right,” he said. “See you around, kid.”

Kid.

Not darlin', like in the truck when his voice sank as low as his hands on your body. Not your name. Just kid. 

The moniker hit hard. Lodged behind your ribs painfully. You smiled halfheartedly like it was fine—just like you’d told him. Like you hadn’t been waiting, stupidly, for something. A look. A word. Anything that hinted at him knowing this wasn’t as simple as a one night stand.

But he just watched you go, shoulders tense, hands still on the wheel like they had nowhere else to be—no apology. No wait. No darlin’.

The morning after, Dina called. Too early, too chipper considering her state when she left The Rusty Antler—wanting to know every messy detail.

“So, you fucked him, right? Please tell me you fucked him,” she probed down the line.

You lied to her. Maybe for the first time in your whole friendship. Said Joel just dropped you off. That nothing happened.

“He’s my dad’s best friend,” you reiterated. “That would be…weird.”

She bought it. Or let you have it, at least. And still, through everything else—through final bridesmaid dress fittings, venue walkthroughs, and seating chart hell—you’ve been spiraling quietly, secretly. 

You’ve tried to shove it down. But your body still remembers, more than you’d like. Your thoughts keep circling back to him without permission at the most inconvenient of moments—at the checkout at the grocery store, when you’re sitting down for breakfast with your dad, while you’re showering. When you see the bruises on your thigh when he hooked you around him as he pummelled into you. The marks are fading now, from dark purple fingerprints to yellow smudges you keep hidden under jeans or sports leggings. You can’t help but relive the rasp of his voice, the look on his face when you came apart in his hands. The guilt and wonder that warred behind his eyes like you were something he never should’ve toyed with.

Maybe that’s why you haven’t seen him since. No appearance for Sunday football. No midweek drop-ins for an after-work beer. Just…nothing. You’d half expected your father to be suspicious—he and Joel are each other’s lifelines, even more so since Sarah headed off to college—but he didn’t seem phased. Passed it off as Joel being busy with construction jobs or seeing Tess. The latter made your gut churn.

***

Joel’s been keeping to himself.

Outside of work—which, as the director of a contracting business, keeps his days full enough—he doesn’t usually do much but hang out with your dad, drink a couple beers, shoot the shit. But now he’s avoiding that routine like it’s laced with tripwires. Avoiding your dad’s calls, replying only by text. Busy this week. Catch you soon. Which isn’t a total lie. Work’s been steady, there’s a leaky pipe in the basement he’s been meaning to fix. But mostly, he’s been doing everything he can to stay out of sight, to keep temptation at arm’s length.

He’s been heating up microwave dinners he barely tastes. Spoke on the phone with his younger brother Tommy longer than he usually would, pretending the catch-up wasn’t just a way to fill the silence. One night he even rearranged the den furniture, despite the fact he almost never goes in there—always prefers the kitchen counter for his paperwork, within reach of the fridge and the back door light.

He tells himself it’s temporary. Just until Dina’s wedding is over. Just until you pack up and head back to Charlotte. Then he can go back to being your dad’s best friend, the guy who’s always around, always reliable. Not the guy who had you spread out in his truck with your panties shoved halfway down your thighs. He keeps hearing your voice telling him that you don’t care.

Want you.Your legs bracketing his hips. Your breath in his ear. And God help him—he wants more. Which is exactly why he’s staying away.

He almost gets away with it, too. But then your dad calls again. A longer ring this time. Joel lets it go to voicemail, but the message that pings through a minute later hits harder than it should.

Hey, jackass. Don’t wanna hang out with me anymore? You find yourself a new best buddy or somethin’? 

The message is left with a chuckle, but Joel knows him too well. There’s a note of something else underneath. Hurt, maybe. Confusion. That unspoken what did I do wrong?.

Joel swears under his breath. Guilt rises like bile, up his chest, stings at the back of his throat.

So he gives in. Which is why he’s standing at your dad’s front door—your front door—on a Friday night, two six-packs in one hand, sweat prickling at the back of his neck even though there’s a crisp breeze rifling through the fallen leaves along the street.

His heart thunders. Rakes a hand through his hair, trying to steel himself. This isn’t just dinner. Not really.

Not when all he can think about is how you looked half-naked in his truck, tits illuminated by sporadic cracks of lightning.

Not when all he wants to see if that fire’s still burning.

Not when he’s terrified that it is.

Joel pitches a hand up and raps his knuckles on the sage green wood, sucking in a shaky breath. You’re probably not even in. Probably out with your friends. Maybe back at The Rusty Antler. Or perhaps holed up at Dina’s while you help out with final wedding preparations.

But then the door swings open—and you’re standing there. Barefoot, hair tied up in a messy knot, wearing an oversized Volunteers t-shirt and black leggings. He hates that he thinks you look just as good entirely covered up as you did with your skirt around your waist and your tank pulled down.

You freeze when you see him. Thought it was the delivery driver bringing over the Thai food your dad had ordered. Joel shifts his weight, muttering a hey while holding up the six-packs like they’re peace offering. 

You almost laugh. Yeah, alcohol would be good right about now.

“Your dad—he invited me for dinner.”

“Right,” you say, blinking. “I just... I didn’t think—”

“Since when do you knock?” your dad interrupts, voice teasing as he appears behind you. Then, to you: “You gonna stand there and let all the heat out, or you gonna let the man in?”

You step aside, shrinking away from the threshold to give Joel the room to enter. His large frame fills out the doorway, broad shoulders nearly brushing the frame as he passes you, almost sheepish. He's in his Carhartt jacket again. The one he loaned to you that night outside the bar. The one you left in the footwell of his truck. The sight of it has your body wracking with a shiver, one your dad catches as he takes the beers from Joel, sliding two bottles out for the pair of them.

"You cold, sweetheart?"

You shake your head and hold your hand out to him. "Nope, all good. Let me put those in the fridge." Anything to put some space between you and Joel—let your nervous system calm down after the shock of his arrival. You can't seem to shake him though, feeling his gaze hot through the material of your t-shirt while him and your dad trail you to the kitchen, his boots heavy against the floorboards.

"So, where the hell have you been?" your dad wants to know as the three of you walk into the open-plan living area—a renovation Joel and your dad had carried out a few years back.

Joel gives a noncommittal grunt, scratches as his beard. “Like I said, busy week. Spent half the week waitin’ on drywall that never showed, and the other half explainin’ to a twenty-year-old apprentice why you don’t use a nail gun like a damn paintbrush. Y’know it is.”

He sounds normal—too normal—and it grates. The easy rhythm of his voice, the way he jokes with your dad. It’s infuriating, even though you’re doing the exact same thing—plastering on a smile, acting like nothing happened. But the more effortless he makes it seem, the more it needles under your skin. Because if he can brush it off that easily, what does that say about you? That you’re festering in the details—replaying every sound, every touch—while he probably went home, took a shower, and let the night rinse off him without a second thought. Didn’t even look back as it all sluiced down the drain.

You stay quiet as you slide the packs of Bud into the fridge, trying to keep your face neutral. When you turn back, your brow furrows at the number of settings your dad’s placed on the table.

“Four bowls?” You cock your head. “I know you’re getting older but you’re still a few years short of going senile.”

“Ha-a. You think you’re so clever,” he replies, reaching over to pinch the back of your neck like he used to when you were ten. “No, we’ve got another one joining us.”

You narrow your eyes. “You invite yourself a date over?”

“Not a date for me—a date for Joel.”

That stopped everything cold.

“What?” you and Joel say at the same time.

Your dad grins, oblivious, takes a sip of his drink. “I invited Tess. Figured it was time she came by for a proper family dinner.”

You blink, hard, like maybe you misheard him. “Tess?” you repeat. “As in Tess Tess?”

Your dad nods like it’s nothing. You run your tongue along the inside of your lower lip.

Tess. A proper family dinner. 

That didn’t sound casual. That sounded like a step. A step well on the way to relationship territory.

Your stomach flips. Was that all you’d been? Something Joel needed to get out of his system before going all in with Tess? Maybe it was never about you at all. Maybe it was just because you were there.

Was he lying when he said it wasn’t serious? Was he lying when he kissed you like that?

The doorbell echoes through the house and you feel Joel’s eyes on you as your dad ambles towards the front door, whistling like he didn’t just drop a bomb. When you dare to glance his way, his mouth is parted like he wants to say something. To object. To explain.

But you shake your head, once—firm. Don’t.

Then you’re turning your back, focusing on the fridge as if it’s the most interesting thing in the house. A breath shudders out of you just as the front door swings open and Tess’s voice floats in as she tells your dad she intercepted the delivery driver at the letterbox. Her voice is bright, familiar. Like she belongs here.

And so, you steel your spine and paste on a smile that feels like splinters.

***

Dinner is…dinner.

Your dad and Tess hold up most of the conversation: chit-chatting about work—Tess owned the florist beside the local grocer—rehashing some rumour that was doing the rounds among the neighbours. You add your two cents when necessary—try not to roll your eyes when your dad compliments Tess’s blouse and she tells him she chose it because green’s Joel’s favourite colour—but mainly stick to sipping your drink and picking at your food. Joel isn’t much better. He gives the occasional grunt or dry one-liner. Sometimes he goes all in with a chuckle that doesn’t quite sink into the lines at the corners of his eyes.

Tess, in all honesty, is perfectly lovely. You haven’t spent much time with her outside the occasional neighbourhood barbecue over the years, but she’s easygoing, certainly not hard to get along with. The kind of woman who laughs with her whole chest and doesn’t take herself too seriously. You can see why your dad likes her for Joel. Why Joel might like her for Joel.

She fills the silence naturally, poking fun at Joel’s quietness with a nudge of her elbow. “This one,” Tess grins, eyes sparkly as she peers up at him. “Man of few words. So very Joel.” 

You observe quietly as she leans in a little too close when she laughs, and rests her hand on Joel’s forearm whenever she made a point. You notice that Joel doesn’t respond, not really. No touches returned. No lingering looks to match her’s.

But then again, that was just Joel. A little rigid. Not touchy-feely. Except for—

“So, anyone special back in Charlotte?” Tess is asking you now, smiling over her wine glass.

You blink, caught off guard. “I just got out of a relationship, actually.”

“Oh,” she says, her voice soft with sympathy. She means it, too. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be back on the horse in no time. Gorgeous thing like you. Right, Joel?”

Joel looks up from his empty plate like he wasn’t listening. “Hm, what’s that?”

Tess lets out a small laugh, rolling her eyes with endearment before nudging her chin towards you. “I’m just saying she won’t have any trouble dating again.”

Joel’s eyes flick to yours for the first time since you all sat down. The glance licks fire at the base of your belly. He shifts in his seat, scratches his thick fingers behind his ear. “Oh, right. Yeah.”

And you take that as your cure.

You slide your chair back with a soft scrape on the timber floors. “I think I’m going to head up to my room. Lie down. Headache’s starting to kick in.

“That’s not good,” Tess says. “You know what I swear by? Peppermint oil, right at the base of your neck. Should clear it right up!”

You nod, already moving away from the table. “Yeah, I’ll, uh… give it a try.”

As if I just have peppermint oil just laying about, you think as you walk out of the room, but you stop under the archway that leads to the stairs when Tess trills, light and airy, “See you tomorrow!”

You turn back to face your guests. “What’s tomorrow?”

“The barbeque, sweetheart,” your dad clarifies. “Remember? Like old times. Sarah’s even coming down from UT to see you.”

Shit.

You’d totally forgotten. Your dad had mentioned it when you first got in from Charlotte, but with everything going on—with Joel—it had completely slipped your mind.

Your stomach twists. One look at Joel, eyes now back on his plate, and you know it’s going to be one fucking long weekend.

***

The dinner at your dad’s hung over Joel’s head like a bad hangover—pressing, hard to shake. Not to mention, it made him feel a little sick—you sitting across from him with a tight smile. Tess, beside him, chatting like she knew him better than she did, filling in the silences he was more than comfortable sharing with just your dad. The air between you both felt like a live wire as soon  as Tess was drawn into the situation, and he hadn’t known what the hell to say.

He still didn’t.

Now, he pulls his front door closed with a soft click and steps out onto the porch, ready—well, not ready, but willing—to head across the street. Afternoon sun illuminates his face, a warm welcome among the crisp fall air. Wind chimes clink lazily in the distance, oak leaves swirl by on a breeze that carries the smoke already curling from your dad’s backyard grill. It was a perfect October day for a barbecue.

He trudges down his front steps, six-pack swinging in one hand, the other shoved deep in the pocket of his Carhartt. 

It’s gonna be fine, he repeats to himself like a mantra, as if churning it over will somehow make it true. 

Then came the “Hey, Joel!” Tess. “Good timing.”

She’s walking up from the end of the block, a grin breaking across her face so fiercely her eyes devolve into slits. Joel hesitates for half a second, then nods with a smile a fraction of the size of her’s.

“I brought dessert,” she says cheerfully, holding up a paper bag adorned with the logo of a local bakery. “You boys always have the meat sorted but never anything to satisfy a sweet tooth.”

“Great,” Joel mumbles, then stiffens, when Tess loops her arm through his like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His heart lurches when he realises what this looks like.

Something. 

He felt a cold prickle at the base of his neck as he and Tess crossed the street, her wound around his bicep like it was nothing out of the ordinary. He wanted to pull away when he approached your dad’s side gate. Didn’t know how without offending Tess.

Shit. What if you saw? Hopefully you were inside. Hopefully you didn’t see. But gate’s rusted hinge screeched loud and sharp like it always did, announcing their arrival like a fucking parade float to the already bustling party.

Joel winced.

You were already outside, standing near the cooler, mid-laugh with Sarah who’d headed over about an hour earlier. Your head snapped around at the noise, but you didn’t feel like you had whiplash until your eyes locked straight on Joel, then Tess, hanging off him like an accessory.

Your smile faded, and Joel felt the loss of it like a blow to the chest. He dropped Tess’s arm as casually as he could manage, stepping a few feet ahead like that might somehow make it clear that they’re not together. Didn’t matter though. Not when you’d turned back to Sarah a bit too quickly, telling her something that’s swallowed by the music pumping through your dad’s old stereo setup. Then you’re off, crossing the yard to the house, green sundress swaying at your thighs, hair catching in the breeze that was nearing on being too chilly for you to be in such an outfit.

Joel’s gaze locks on you, on the dress that has no business clinging to you like that. Soft cotton stretches across your back, dipping low enough to show off the fading tan line from a summer bikini, the bow of it cinched tight at your waist, accentuating your curves. Every step you take has the hem flicking higher over the back of your thighs, just enough to make his mouth dry. And those legs—Christ. They’d been locked around his hips just over a week ago.

Fucking hell, he thinks, shaking his head like that might unlodge the image from his head. It doesn’t. Not even close. Which might be why he’s suddenly possessed to go after you, before the sense seeps back into his bones.

“Joel,” Tess calls before he’s stepped too far away, drifting over from where she’d been greeting some friends to press the bakery bag into his chest. “Can you pop this in the fridge? Don’t want the cream to melt.”

He misses the sickly smile she tosses up at him when he mutters back a distracted yeah, eyes still locked on the screen door you’d just slipped through. Then, bag in hand, heart somewhere near his throat, he followed you like gravity made the rules.

You’re in the kitchen, back to the party with your hands pitched against the lip of the farm-style sink, telling yourself to get your shit together after the sight of Joel and Tess walking into your yard like a long-term couple drained the colour out of your face. Sarah didn’t notice your sudden change in demeanour, thankfully, too engrossed in a story about a messy love triangle that’s unfolding on the floor of her dorm. Behind you, the screen door shuddered quietly before the floorboards groaned under the weight of someone—him—the static of his presence like a current riding just under your skin.

“Bit cool out for a dress like that, don’t you think?”

You don’t turn around, but Joel can see your shoulders wrack with a huff. “Bit out of your jurisdiction, telling me what I should or shouldn’t be wearing, don’t you think?” You pause, then: “Y’know… especially since you’re here with your girlfriend.”

“Tess ain’t my girlfriend.”

“That’s not what it looks like.” “I know what it looks like. I’m telling you it’s not that.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you mutter, yanking the fridge door open with more force than it’s made for, the seal breaking with a loud hiss. Bottles rattle on the shelves from the impact, a carton of juice sloshing from left to right.

Joel exhales, the sound harsh, tired—partially frustration at you, part at himself. Because your bratiness, your sharp tongue and narrowed eyes, have a way of stirring something up in him that makes his pulse gallop just that little bit faster. Makes him feel wired and restless in a way he hasn’t felt in a long fucking time.

So he bites. “You always get this pissed off after a one night stand?”

You freeze, knuckles whitening around the necks of two beers—one for you, one for Sarah. One night stand. He throws it back at you like a weapon. It stings. Maybe because you’d said it first when you were trying to play it cool. Now it just feels like a slap.

You straighten, shut the drudge with your hip and finally come to face Joel with your chin tipped high. “Nope. But I usually don’t have to sit across from my one night stands at the dinner table with their—” your eyes slice to Tess in the backyard, laughing with your dad while he flips burgers on the grill, “—whatever-you-want-to-call-her, and play happy families.”

Joel crosses the room until you’re both standing behind the kitchen counter, his voice low, urgent, when he tells you, “I didn’t know she was gonna be there. I swear.”

“Yeah, well.” You stare up at him, already feeling a little weak at the knees when the haze of his cologne hits you. “You sure know how to pick your surprises.”

His eyes dip slow, shamelessly, taking in the swell of your breasts where they rise over the fitted cups of your sundress. He doesn’t even try to disguise it. Just looks, jaw fluttering faintly under his scruff of facial hair before reaching past you for the bottle opener. Joel takes the two beers from your hands and pops them open with an effortless flick. Slides one of them onto the counter and takes a long pull from the other like you’d got it out for him.

You don’t say anything, just watch as he licks a drop of Bud from his bottom lip, leaning a hip against the counter, gaze sweeping lazily over you again.

“”S a nice dress, though,” he tells you, voice low. “I like the colour.”

You’d like to say it wasn’t intentional, that it was just the first thing you’d grabbed out of your wardrobe and thrown on, but it wouldn’t be the truth. You’d sat on your bed that morning in a towel, freshly-washed hair dropping onto your shoulders, starting at your open wardrobe. The doors were ajar, only just, enough to see the familiar chaos of reds and blacks, a hint of soft blue. But no green. Nothing in Joel’s favourite colour. Your stomach coiled. Out of nowhere came this pathetic, sharp urge to donate everything you owned. Burn it all down and start again. Build your closet back up in nothing but shades of moss and sage and pine. 

It was stupid. You knew it was stupid, but the memory had surfaced anyway—Tess at the dinner table, laughing, casually mentioning how she’d started wearing more green because it was his favourite. 

And now here you were, doing the same damn thing. Or wanting to. You never felt like that with Jesse. Never once thought about buying out the denim aisle to appease him, to drown yourself in blue to match him like some second skin.

You look down at your dress, the one you’d yanked out of donation bags that sat in your dad’s spare room, the garment just a smidge too tight on you compared to when you last wore it, probably back in high school.

I like the colour, Joel had said.

I know you do, you think—at least, you think you think it—but the words form aloud. The space between Joel’s eyebrows pinch and a shadow of a smile is gone before he reaches its full potential. The silence in the room sucks the walls inward, so instead of a kitchen, it feels like the pair of you have been shoved into a cardboard box. You watch as he drains the beer until there’s barely two mouthfuls left, throat working in quick swallows like whatever he’s about to do next needs a lick of liquid courage, his other hand hooking a thumb through the loop on his jeans. He takes one last swig, the weight of his arm tugging the faded blue waist down a notch so it exposes the waistband of his grey underwear.

Your quiet confession was like silk and barbed wire all at once. He shouldn’t want this. Not here, not like this, not ever, really. But fuck, if the idea didn’t sink its teeth in: you choosing that dress. That fit. That neckline. All of it with him in mind. It lights a slow burn in his chest that works its way lower, heat pooling behind his belt.

The muscles in Joel’s arm flex like an elastic band as he twists to put the empty bottle next to the sink, and your eyes train all the way up his neck to where the tendons pinch there, too.

“Did you wear that dress for me?” His tone dips with the question, thick with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

Your response rouses as a scoff at the back of your throat—yeah right—but it comes out as a strangled sort of whine, giving away that whatever excuse it was preceding would’ve been a blatant lie. “Get over yourself,” you tell him anyway, shoving back towards the fridge to grab a beer to replace the one he’d stolen from you. Joel follows suit to retrieve another, too, rivers of condensation running down its sides. He doesn’t move to clean the droplets that plummet to the floor. The galley in your dad’s kitchen isn’t that wide, so you and Joel are just about flush against each other when he turns back to face you. He doesn’t attempt to dissect your response to his question, just lilts the hem of your sundress with the bottom of his bottle.

A sharp breath shoots past your lips when it hits the inside of your thigh, the path of skin beside your knee igniting despite the bottle’s icy exterior.

“Don’t react. People are watching,” he tells you, eyes catching something over your shoulder. The kitchen counter is high enough to hide anything below the waist, so anyone looking on from the backyard would just see Joel and you in what would appear to be a casual conversation.

The idea that this is casual splits your nerves.

“When I ask you something, I want a simple answer.” He’s slow. Precise. The kind of voice that leaves no room for argument. “Yes or no, got it?”

You nod, your attention stuck on the rivulet of condensation tracking a glistening line down your calf. The room is suffocating, all the walls pressing inward under the weight of his stare.

Joel doesn’t let your silence slide. He lifts the cold bottle just a fraction, pressing it higher on your thigh, and the jolt of sensation is instant—your hips flinch, back hitting the edge of the counter as the bottle skims closer to heat. His voice slices through the static buzzing in your head.

“Yes or no?” It’s not a question anymore. It’s a command.

“I…Yes.” The word breaks out after several aching beats. And like a switch flipped, the tension in his shoulders unwinds. You watch the muscles above his collarbones loosen, the sharp edge of his jaw unclench.

“Good girl.”

The praise slams into you, pumps your chest with something dangerously close to pride, and you’re filled with the urge to please him, succumb to him, whatever him, so long as he’s this close.

Good girl.

His good girl.

A sudden laugh explodes from outside, a burst of normalcy that cuts through the fog. The reminder that you’re mere feet from the gathering—your dad, Tess, Sarah—has you instinctively pulling back, but Joel’s hand is already there, his fingers locking firm around your friend, calloused and warm and unyielding.

“I said,” he growls, voice molten and ragged, “Don’t. Move.”

The barrel of his bottle lands again—harder this time on your opposite thigh with a wet clink. Your legs almost betray you at the shock of the cold glass, but it’s the suggestion of what could come next that undoes you. The backyard fades into background noise again, muffled like you’re submerged underwater. Your heart pounds frantically, the only thing anchoring you now is Joel’s body on yours.

His stare on you like a weight, and the sear of his hand where he holds you.

“I’m going to ask you again,” he says, more frayed this time. “Did you wear this dress for me?” 

You both know you did. It’d be easy to admit. But the way his pupils have swallowed the colour from his eyes—wide, dark, hungry—tells you you’ve got him. And you’re not giving that up so easily.

A smirk threatens to crack across your face but you wrangle it down before telling Joel: “Not everything I put on is for your benefit, you know.” The sass has his dick kicking against his thigh, and you catch the flare of his nostrils just before he takes your wrist and guides your hand down, pressing your palm to the heat straining behind his zipper. “That benefit, you mean?”

Your breathing stutters and you swallow thickly at the weight of him, the barely-restrained hardness, how he feels hot and solid and real beneath your fingers. A flush shoots through you, fast and unrelenting, before Joel peels your hand away. The loss of him under your palm feels like a punishment, but for Joel, it’s his only line of defense against blowing his load in his pants like some touch-starved teenager. 

A light sweat pricks at your heaving chest and you cast your sight down, inviting Joel to follow. If he does, you don’t notice, because the beat blocking his next movement is almost non-existent as he jerks his beer upwards so it’s pressing against your centre, the thin material of your panties the only thing keeping your last shed of control in.

You both know how wrong this is—family feet away, a house full of noise—but neither of you moves to stop it. The thrill is the point. The push and pull, the control, the loss of it.

Joel dips close, his mouth nearly brushing your cheek. And then, he whispers his trump card, soft and lethal.

“Darlin’. Come on, you can tell me. You wore this dress just for me, hm?”

You press your tongue to the inside of your cheek. Each second that ticks by without a response earns you a fresh surge of pressure between your thighs. The icy bottle finally catches the swollen nub of your clit. You buck your hips forward, chasing the feeling. If Joel were to peel your dress up now, you’re certain he wouldn’t be able to tell where the condensation ended and your arousal began. Your breaths are jagged, fingers curling tight against the edge of the counter to keep you from melting into a heap at his feet. The kitchen stretches quiet and thick with tension as your gazes remained locked, challenging each other.

He wants submission.

You offer defiance. 

And he gets off on it.

Joel nudges the bottle up again, insistent. Daring. You dig your heels in, refusing to let up. Until—

“God, I was wondering where you went,” Sarah says from behind you, her voice slicing the moment in half. Joel yanks the bottle back so fast it tinkers against the counter, backing away from you like he’s been shot. Annoyance at Sarah’s interruption flares through you for a brief moment, then it’s chased by shame as you avoid looking at her out of fear that you have your dad just hand his hands up my dress written on your forehead in red ink.

She snags the original beer off the counter and sucks down a sip. 

You and Joel don’t speak. Just exchange a tight glance. Relief. Guilt. Something worse.

“Shit, this stuff’s good,” Sarah says with a dramatic lip smack, none the wiser.

A beat passes. Two.

Then she glances at her father with a raised brow. “Hey, what’s going on with you and Tess, anyway? Are you like… together now?”

The words hit you square in the gut. You blink, the haze of heat and touch and Joel’s voice still echoing inside you—Darlin’. But it fades fast. Like a splash of cold water, Sarah’s question brings it all back. The way Tess had walked in with her arm looped through Joel’s. The way she’d touched him like she had every right. Laughed at things only a couple could laugh about. The way you’d let yourself forget. You grind your teeth together.

What the hell are you doing? He’s not yours. And you’re not some girl who loses her sense over a little touching and a good girl. You’re smarter than this. You’ve got better boundaries than this. Or at least, you used to. Now, all you feel is a hot flush of shame—not just at Joel, but at yourself. 

For giving him the power. For liking how it felt.

You reach for your own beer with a forced smile and take a long, bracing sip. Joel still hasn’t answered his daughter’s question, so she looks to you, like you have some sort of in on the situation.

“No idea,” you tell her, voice clipped. “Not my business.”

But it is. It was. It shouldn’t be.

***

The fire pit crackles in the dark, casting long shadows across the yard, flames snapping at the logs like hungry mouths. Joel sits in a camping chair, one ankle hooked over his knee, a half-finished beer in hand. Tommy had rocked up a little while ago and dropped into the seat beside him, laughing about something Joel didn’t entirely hear. His thoughts kept drifting.

You.

He hasn’t looked your way since the kitchen. Not properly. Not when Sarah reappeared beside you, not when everyone lined up to serve themselves up for dinner, not even now, when you’re stretched out on a blanket across the yard, head tilted back as you talk quietly with his daughter. Joel’s still half-hard in his jeans. Still feels like a fucking idiot. 

“Someone forgot to put these in the fridge,” Tess’s voice chimes from behind him before appearing at his side, holding up the bakery bag he’d completely forgotten on the kitchen counter earlier.

Joel stands automatically, rubs the back of his neck. “Shit. Sorry, Tess.”

“You’re lucky you’re so handsome,” she jokes, nudging his arm lightly, but Joel doesn’t laugh. He stiffens instead, setting his beer in the mesh cup holder in his chair. “Hey,” he says quietly, jerking his chin towards the edge of the yard. “Mind if we talk for a sec?”

Tess studies him, something flashes behind her eyes. Then she nods. “Sure.” 

His hands are in his pockets, shoulders set tight by the time they’re standing by the oak tree by the fence. “Look, I ain’t good at this kinda thing,” he tells her. “So, I’ll just say it plain.”

Tess waits, arms crossed. Her brow’s already lifted when Joel tells her, “I think we’re better off as friends.”

You clock it all from across the yard. Joel and Tess are locked in a quiet conversation, voices swallowed by the rest of the noise rousing from the party. Tess isn’t touching him, for a change. She’s touched him in some way every moment she’s been near him tonight. A hand on his arm. A shoulder pressed too close. A whisper with a hand curling around his elbow.

Not that you’d been paying that keen attention. No.

Now Tess is still. Arms folded. Her posture shifts slightly before she lets out an awkward laugh, the kind people use to save face. She reaches out, pulls Joel into a hug. It’s brief. Polite, measured, and when she pulls back, Joel doesn’t follow. You watch him track her retreating figure back into the throng of guests, to where she sits down gingerly to join a conversation with Tommy’s wife, Maria, and a couple of other neighbours. Meanwhile, Joel is unmoving under that tree, like its roots have grown right over his feet, keeping him stuck in the shadows beside the tyre swing.

Then his eyes find you. 

Half-lit by the flicker of the fire. Blanket pulled over your legs. Your face giving nothing away while you watch him suck in a deep breath. There’s a slight tilt of his head, the damn furrow in his brow that he gets when he’s working something out. You expect him to look away. But he doesn’t.

For the first time all night, Joel doesn’t look away. And neither do you, until your dad shouts your name from where he’s sat beside Tommy, hand pitched in the air to grab your attention.

“Mind getting some more wood for the fire, sweetheart?” he asks. “We’re gettin’ a little low over ‘ere.”

You throw him a thumbs up back, message received. You flip the blanket off your lap and head around the side of the house, firelight fading behind you.

The shed waits at the back fence line, its grey tin frame pretty much black in the shadows. You make your way down the gravel path, cold nipping at where your bare skin meets the air. 

Fucking stupid outfit for this weather, you decide, chastising yourself.

You’re reaching for the she’d latch when you hear the slow crunch of boots behind you. You don’t turn. Don’t need to.

“Fuck off, Joel.”

There’s a pause. Then his voice, that same rough rasp that somehow always manages to find the softest part of your spine. “Just seein’ if you need a hand.”

“Don’t need anything from you.”

You yank the shed door open and pull the dangling chain connected to the old bulb that flickers then hums to life, casting everything in a jaundiced yellow. You step inside and crouch by the woodpile, blowing a sheet of cobwebs off it. Joel lingers in the doorway, one shoulder leaned into the frame. The night breathes between you as you reach for a small shaft of timber at the top of the pile. 

“Told Tess we’re better off as friends,” he says. It makes you pause, even though you’d gauged as much from the awkward interaction you’d witnessed just minutes ago. 

“Congratulations,” you mutter, grabbing at the log harder than necessary. A sharp sting punches into your forefinger. You his through your teeth and yank your hand back, sucking at the blood already welling around a splinter lodged into the supple skin there.

Joel is on you in two strides.

“Let me see.”

“No.

“Darlin’—”

“I said I’m fine.”

But then his hand wraps around your wrist in a maddingly gentle way, the heat from his palm warm, sure. You try to shake free from his grip but it’s a half-hearted attempt that Joel clocks, but doesn’t make a deal of. “Just gimme a look.” There’s less grit in his voice now. More gravity, and you don’t fight it again.

Joel steps into the shed fully now, easing the door half-closed behind him, shutting out the party, the noise. It’s just you two now, with the hum of the lightbulb and the thud of your heart trilling at your ribcage. He brings your hand up under the light, turning your finger delicately between his own as he inspects the wound. Then—without warning—he brings it to his lips. Your lungs blaze somewhere high in your chest.

Joel’s mouth parts around your fingertip, warm, wet, and he sucks. It’s methodical. Deliberate. A few pulls of his lips and the splinter unlodges from your finger, tongue brushing your skin with a softness that doesn’t match the hungry way he looks at you.

You’re frozen. Breaths shallow. Joel picks the miniscule shard of timber off his tongue, which then darts out to flick the taste of your blood from his lips, eyes steady on yours. He hasn’t let go of your hand. Not yet. Just allow his thumb to drag slowly over the pad of your finger for a moment until he says, just as gravelly as the stones stuck in the tread of his boots: “You gotta do a favour for me now.” You cock your head, suspicious. “Yeah?”

His eyes, looking more amber than brown in the dingy light, stay fixed on yours, voice thick with whatever the result is of defeat and desire combined. “Tell me you wore that dress for me.”

You let his words hang there, let him stew, before your defiant side claws up in a soft whisper. “And what if I did?”

“Then, darlin’—” he shakes his head, jaw flexing in that incredulous way. “Then I’m fucked.” He steps in closer, crowding your space like he had back in the kitchen, your bodies nearly touching. The shed should feel cold, but the air is hot and heavy around you. “You’re drivin’ me outta my damn mind,” Joel mutters. His fingers graze your hip now, fingers trilling the tie at your waist. “Can’t stop thinkin’ about you. Hate how much I want you. It—it feels sick, needin’ you like this. Can’t shake it.”

The confession slops out like it’s been waiting in his throat for days. You don’t even have the time to answer before his mouth is on yours, starved while he pulls you to him like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. The shed door groans on its hinges as Joel reaches back and slams it shut behind him, muting the party completely. You taste blood—yours, from the splinter—and beer, cold and bitter on his tongue, and it makes your knees give out.

Joel doesn’t let you fall.

His hands are everywhere—palming your hips, sliding between your thighs, pawing at your tits—and in one clean, hungry movement, he lifts you up. Your legs wind around his waist like a habit as he carries you to the other side of the shed, never breaking the kiss. Joel sets you down on your dad’s workbench with a thud, and guides himself between your thighs as they hang off the edge. His large hands splay across the tops of your legs as he pulls back just enough to drink you in, pupils blown wide, lips red and raw, the makeup under your nose scrubbed clean off thanks to his facial hair.

“Say it,” he rasps, chest heaving. “Tell me you wore that dress for me.” You nod before the words even form, of course I did, slipping out on a sigh. It’s barely a whisper, barely a confession. But it’s all Joel needs to start kissing you again, rougher now, deeper. One hand buries in your hair, the other grips your thigh where it’s hooked around his waist, fingers digging in like his grounding himself in the feel of you.

“Christ,” he moans into your mouth. “Knew it. Knew it the second I saw you.” Your head tips back as he licks down your throat, beard scraping against the sensitive skin just right, just enough to make you whimper. The bench creaks under your weight, shifting with every movement. 

“Joel,” you breathe, hands tangling in his dusty waves as he trails brandishing kisses to your breasts, yanking the cups of your dress down. Free in the air, your nipples draw to impossibly hard peaks, flushed and aching to be taken into Joel’s mouth. Like he can read your mind, he licks at one, then the other, tongue working in circles over the pebbled flesh. His fingers pay attention to whatever one he’s not suckling at, twisting and tugging at them like it’s his expertise. And with the way a strangled moan yanks from your throat, it just might be.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, hips rolling forward for more friction. Joel hums in approval, the buzz of his lips on your breast zipping under your skin there. His mouth trails lower, kissing over the thin material of your dress on your stomach, hands swiping up your thighs to push the fabric of the skirt to your hips as he sinks to his knees in front of you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Your breath catches as his fingers hook into your white panties—lace with a floral pattern—dragging them away from your centre achingly slow. His dark eyes stay locked to yours the entire time like he’s daring you to look away. You don’t.

And then his gaze dips, a growl wracking his body when he finally sees you bare. “Jesus Christ.”

You’re already so wet, slick and aching, residual arousal lingering from the encounter in the kitchen. Your thighs instinctively spread for Joel, allowing him to lean in and press a kiss just above your clit. Then another, lower. His breath is hot. You twitch under it, again when his tongue parts you, slowly, sinful. You press a palm into the benchtop, steading yourself while a strangled moan escapes you. “Fuck.” Joel licks into you with a flat tongue and rapid pace, groaning deep when your thighs clamp around his head. He’s quick to correct that though, gripping your knees without losing tempo, shoving them wide so your calves dangle over his shoulders, your sneakers leaving damp dirt on the back of his jacket. He continues working you open with his mouth, broad strokes turning precise as he zeroes in on your clit. You writhe on the bench, every nerve ending alight, skin flushed, jaw slack.

“Tase so fuckin’ good,” Joel groans into your cunt. “So sweet. Could stay right here all night.

You believe him, and God help you, you want him to.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, eyes squeezing shut as you try to keep quiet—but then Joel sucks your clit into his mouth and the cry that leaves you in anything but subtle. 

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even pause, just grins against you and keeps going while sliding a thick finger into your hot, aching center. The stretch makes you jolt, eyes rolling as he curls it just right—then another joins it, pumping in tandem with the slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue over your clit.

“Oh, God,” you whine, holding Joel’s head to you as his tongue drags messy patterns over your swollen bundle of nerves. Very swipe, every thrust, every graze of his scruff against your inner thighs sends sparks licking up your spine. Your breath comes in broken gasps, the heat curling tighter and tighter. Joel pulls back for just a second, lips glistening, to drink in the sight of you—chest heaving, tits bouncing slightly with each sharp pump of his hand, back arched, head tipped back in abandon. But when he doesn’t return his mouth to you right away, you blink down at him all wide-eyed and wrecked, a painful ache in your voice as you grit, “Joel—please—I’m gonna come.”

Your thighs quake around his shoulders while he stares at you a beat longer, eyes burning with hunger and something just shy of worship. “Yeah?” he murmurs, thumb brushing featherlight over your clit. “Then give it to me, darlin’. Show me how much you wanna come on my tongue.”

And just like that, he dives back in with feverish speed, trilling over your clit relentlessly, fingers pulsing deep into your cunt in perfect rhythm—again, again—until you shatter into a million pieces, pleasure crashing through you as you yelp Joel’s name, the sound bouncing off the tin walls of the shed while you come hard against his mouth. Your body trembles uncontrollably, but Joel doesn’t let up, just keeps working at you until the aftershocks roll through you like thunder and your hand pushes lazily through his hair with something between desperation and praise.

Eventually, Joel pushes up from the dusty floor, his middle-aged knees screaming in protest, but he doesn’t care—not when his mouth is still wet with you. The glow of the low-hanging bulb glints off the slick coating his lips and chin. He doesn’t wipe it away. Just leans in and kisses you, your taste between your tongues making you mean into his mouth. Hips shifting like they’re already searching for him again.

You suck in a shaky inhale. You don’t know how long you’ve been gone from the party. Minutes? Longer? The crackle of fire feels a hundred miles away now. You pray it’s still burning, that your dad hasn’t sent Sarah or anyone else to find you. That no one’s wandered down the side of the house, curious or looking to help. There’s a pang in your chest where heat blooms.

The thought of being caught tangled up with Joel Miller should terrify you. But it doesn’t. The idea sends a fresh, dangerous thrill through your body. 

He’s all you can think about. All you can feel.

His hands find your waist, grip tight enough to bruise. Fuck, you hope it does.

“That wasn’t enough,” he rasps against your lips. His buckle rattles as he wrestles with it between your bodies. “Need more. Need to fill your hot cunt with my cock again. Been thinkin’ about it every damn day. How tight you are. How good you take me.” 

You’re still trying to breathe properly when he hooks his arm around you and lifts you down from the bench like you weigh nothing at all. You hardly have time to find your balance before he turns you, palms heavy at your hips. Then your back. One hand anchors itself at the nape of your neck, folding you down until your bare chest meets the cold, splintered surface of the workbench. You gasp at the sudden change in temperature, in texture—soft skin against worn wood. Blink as your eyes fall in line with scattered tools. A screwdriver. A roll of duct tape. Cracked plastic box of nails. All of it blurs as Joel steps in behind you, and your body flexes to meet him. Rising on your tiptoes, arching, pressing yourself back, desperate and unthinking.

Joel groans low in his chest, the sound almost feral as he watches the bare bulbs of your ass keen towards him. With his jeans and underwear shoved down to his knees, his veiny cock stands flat against his stomach, rock hard and begging to sink inside you. He skims one hand over your ass and down to your thigh, hitching it higher so you slot against him just right while the other hand drags his weeping head through your folds. And you—body flushed, mouth open against the bench, can’t find words anymore. Just want. Just him.

“I know, baby,” he mutters when his tip meets your entrance, already pulsating, trying to grip onto him, onto anything to chase what you’re needing. “Don’t know if I can go slow this time,” he says, hoarse, near your ear. “Need t’ feel you. That okay?”

You nod frantically, offering a choked sound that barely resembles anything but Joel understands. Takes it for what it is: permission.

He hands slaps against your ass once, the sharp sting left in its place already forgotten when Joel pushes into you with such force that your knees nearly buckle. You gasp, half a sob, reaching your arms backwards to anchor yourself at his thighs. But he quickly gathers your hands in one of his own and holds them there at the base of your back, locking you there. The rhythm he sets is punishing and relentless—like he’s making up for every second he couldn’t have you. The shed trembles around you. At least, it feels like it does, the world narrowing to the scrape of wood, the faint swing of a chain overhead, the shudder of breath between you and—

Shouting. Your dad. Distant, but approaching. Joel stills for only a beat, working fast to reach up and yank the light’s chain. The bulb flickers out, plunging you both into darkness.

“Be quiet f’me,” Joel breathes, barely audible even though his lips brush the shell of your ear. You nod again, frozen in place. He doesn’t pull out, try and shove his cock back into his pants. No, he doesn’t even slow, just shifts his grip to your waist, his pace so deep, so steady. All you can hear now is the thud of your heartbeat and the near-silent rasp of Joel’s breath on your cheek.

Your dad’s voice rings out again, closer this time, Gravel crunches under boots on the other side of the tin wall. You bristle. So does Joel. But you still clench around him, unable to help it. 

A quiet laugh puffs against your skin. “My filthy girl,” he whispers, affection and wickedness blurring together in his words. “You like the risk, don’t you? Like the idea of bein’ caught.” Your eyes roll back, mouth slack with a soundless plea. 

Footsteps pause just outside the shed. You brace for the rattle of the door. For the blinding flood of light and the horror of being caught with his best friend buried deep inside you. But the moment never comes. You hear him mutter something you don’t catch under his breath before the sound of retreating steps. Back down the gravel. Back towards the fire pit.

You’re not sure why he doesn’t open the shed. Why he doesn’t grab the firewood he’d asked for. Maybe he forgot. Maybe he got distracted. But you don’t let yourself question it too much. You’re just thankful. Grateful for the silence. For the reprieve. And Joel, his body pressed against yours, his breath at your neck, takes that silence and fills it with the slap of skin on skin. Continues hammering into you, worshipping you with every motion, like he couldn’t stop now if he tried. 

Your hands are back bracing against the bench, palms damp with sweat when Joel leans forward, clothed chest warm at your back when he tells you he’s getting close. “You gonna come with me, darlin’?”

You nod, helpless, leaning into the pressure curling tight inside your belly. Every movement he makes coils it tighter. You gasp his name again, and Joel moans like it wrecks him. Like his name on your tongue undoes him the most. Legs shaking, you’re right there on the edge. The sound of Joel’s breath, the feel of his hands, his body completely too much and not enough at once.

“Almost there, baby,” he whispers, teeth nipping at your skin. “Just give it to me. Let go.”

And you do. The orgasm tears through you in waves, silent at first before a sharp gasp as your body tightens around him. Joel follows, groaning one long low sound, surrendering as he falls apart with you. Hips stuttering, arms wrapped around your waist as he buries himself to the hilt at stills.

For a long moment, there’s only breathing. Your own, sharp and uneven. His, rasping against your skin. Joel’s the first to move. He presses a line of slow, reverent kisses down your spine, gently pulling out with his hands holding your hips steady. Wordlessly, he tugs the light back on and you turn to face him, taking in the lax look on his face, the way sweat gleans in the aging divots of his face. You watch him while he repositions your dress on your torso with care, smoothing the fabric down over your legs. It’s more tender than you were expecting, especially when you consider the cold and distant aftermath when you’d finished up that time in his truck. You’re still catching your breath when Joel bends to retrieve the small scrap of fabric that had been discarded earlier. 

Your panties.

He holds them up between two fingers, eyes glimmer in the low light as he meets your gaze.

“Here,” you say, reaching for them, but Joel just shakes his head. Smirks.

“Nah. These are mine now.”

“Is that right?” “Mmhmm,” he hums. Tucks them into his back pocket. “Means you’ll have to come find me if you want ‘em back.”

You shake your head with a snort as you smooth down your hair. “You’re such an asshole.”

Joel grins, grabs your hand before you can push past him, presses a soft kiss to your knuckles like he’s sealing some kind of deal. “Yeah, but I guess that makes me your asshole, right?”

The words hang there—teasing, sweet if you squint—but his eyes are serious when they meet yours. They dance with a promise. A question. A start.

And this time, he doesn’t turn away.

***

a/n: okayyyy so i'm sweatinggggg after writing this one!! it's the last planned part for this fic, but I'm not opposed to jumping in at a later date with a drabble or two for this duo. as always, let me know what you think!!!!!!

taglist: @hotmess-x @callmeknife @leesromanova @brinapedroswife @joelmillersgffff @lilasskicker2 @yslgreen @akah565

[yourlipstogodsears]

Injured on Duty (Robby x Resident reader)

Summary: she’s one of his residents and works part time as an EMT, she gets hit by an ambulance as it drives off. So she ends up in PTMC.

As soon as the ambulance brings her in, Robby rushes to the trauma bay, his eyes scanning the patient chart. He sees her name and his world stops. He takes charge, barking orders at the nursing staff, "what’s the mechanism of injury?" He rushes to her side when the paramedics tell him she got clipped by an ambulance on duty.

she tries to sit up, “I’m fine. It’s just my shoulder”

His hand immediately presses down on her uninjured shoulder, pushing her back against the gurney. "Like hell you're fine! You got hit by an ambulance! Now lay. The. Fuck. Down before I sedate you!"

she laughs, “okay okay”

He narrows his eyes but can't help cracking a small smile at her laughter. "Only you would find getting clipped by your own company hilarious." He shakes his head as he begins examining her shoulder. "This is going to hurt like a bitch," he warns, probing gently.

she grunts softly as he touches the area of shoulder feeling it distended from the socket and the skin stretching “feels dislocated.. my shoulders dropped.”

His expression turns serious as he confirms his suspicion. "Yep, it's dislocated. I'm going to need to pop it back in." He looks into her eyes, trying to gauge her pain tolerance. "On a scale of one to ten, how bad is the pain?"

“The strength of a thousand suns”

He chuckles softly, despite the tension. "Alright, drama queen. I'll take that as an eight or nine." He turns to the nurse standing by. "Get me a quick dose of morphine for pain management. We need to relax her before I reduce this dislocation."

she nods and smiles softly at Dr. Abbott who’s working with Robby today because they’re so short staffed, “does it have to be a small dose?”

Dr. Abbott raises an eyebrow at her question, smirking. Robby, however, fixes her with a stern glare. "if I give you a large dose, you'll be too relaxed and it'll make reducing the dislocation more difficult."

she sighs, “Robby, you are no fun”

He chuckles despite himself, adjusting the angle of her upper arm. "And you're a pain in the ass who can't handle pain like a normal person." Abbott hands him the morphine syringe "Stop complaining and let us do our damn jobs." He administers the morphine.

she relaxes, “you know what they say doctors make the worst patients. Med students are up there…”

He nods in agreement, his touch gentler now that the morphine is taking effect. "Too true. We know too much and expect too much." He positions her arm carefully, preparing to reduce the dislocation. "Alright, here we go. Try to stay still and breathe through it, okay?"

With a swift, practiced motion, he pops her shoulder back into place.

“FUCK- I HATE YOU!” she yells in pain, the entire ER could hear her.

Both he and Abbott burst out laughing despite themselves, with Robby gently pressing a cold pack against her shoulder. "I love you too, kid," he teases, trying to keep his tone light "Was that a nine on the pain scale? Or maybe a ten?"

she nods, “that wasn’t fun”

He smirks sympathetically, adjusting the cold pack. "No, I imagine it wasn't. But you're a trooper. Most people would've passed out or punched me." He smiles playfully, knowing she'll appreciate the dark humor.

“I thought about it”

Robby can't help but grin at her threat, shaking his head with amusement. "I'm terrified. Truly, you're a menace." He leans in conspiratorially, lowering his voice. "For the record, if you had punched me, I wouldn't have blamed you one bit."

“I’m well aware”

He laughs softly, adjusting her blanket to cover her better. "Of course you are." He pauses, his expression turning more serious. "you okay? Really okay? I know that hurts."

“You’re gonna be down a resident for a while if I gotta rest this shoulder. I won’t be able to work Thursday..”

His face falls at the mention of her missing work, a rare display of genuine concern. "Thursday? you can't even lift your arm without wincing. You're not coming in Thursday, or Friday, or possibly even next week." He sets his jaw, his protective instincts kicking in.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "You know what? Don't even think about coming in until you're cleared by me. I mean it." He points at her sternly, but his tone softens almost immediately. "And don't give me that look."

“Always the protective one” she mumbles.

He rolls his eyes, trying to maintain his stern facade, but failing miserably. "Shut up. It's my job to be protective. Especially with my favorite resident." He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're supposed to be resting, not arguing with me."

(First time writing for Robby, not sure how I’m doing but I have more to make this a second part.)

[asterafroditis]

hey so how do you think Riddle and Azul would deal with a crush who’s a helpful hard worker, if they in project together, crush works well with them and they get good grades, but they have no long term goals and ambitions and zones out a lot. Azul and Riddle, the most ambitious ones ever, are just like “She has no ambitious aura at all?! Wtf?!” And crush is just like

𐔌 . ⋮ no ambitions?! .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆ Riddle & Azul x gn! reader (separate)

𓏵 722 words

ᝰ.ᐟ headcanons, no pronouns used, fluff

Had lots of fun writing this out! can definitely relate to reader on some levels _(:3 」∠)_ feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

Riddle had initially been thrilled to be paired with you for the history project.

You were competent, diligent, and respected deadlines — a rare combination at NRC. Working alongside you was... pleasant, even calming, a sharp contrast to the usual chaos of Heartslabyul.

You would share notes, summarize chapters neatly, and double-check the requirements without him even needing to prompt you. Riddle found himself looking forward to study sessions, mind buzzing not just with textbooks, but the warm thought of how well you worked together.

“They’re so dependable. Such good habits... maybe—maybe I should invite them for tea next time.”

But it wasn’t long before he noticed something... odd.

During a break, while sipping tea he had insisted on brewing properly (“Sloppily made tea reflects a sloppy mind,” he said sternly), he asked in casual conversation, "So. What field do you intend to specialize in after graduation?"

You blinked at him, head tilting in that innocent, peaceful way you did.

"Hm? I dunno. Haven't really thought about it," you said, chewing on a cookie thoughtfully. "I'll figure it out later, maybe."

Riddle stared at you like you had sprouted horns.

"Y-you haven't thought about it?!"

You smiled serenely, resting your chin on your palm.

"Nope. As long as I'm doing okay right now, it's fine."

Riddle nearly dropped his teacup.

“No long-term plan? No ambitions? No charted career path?!”

He tried to cover his shock with a polite cough.

"Ahem. W-well, it is critical to set objectives and milestones to ensure steady personal growth," he said, words tumbling over each other. "I would be happy to assist you in making a detailed five-year plan—"

You just gave him that sweet, blissfully vacant smile. "Maybe someday! Thanks though, Riddle!"

Riddle sat stiffly in his chair, clutching his teacup as a vein throbbed in his temple.

“They're so efficient now, but they're... they're drifting like an unmoored boat! A brilliant, hardworking boat with no rudder! How is this happening?!”

He spent the rest of the project trying very, very hard not to think about how he found your aimless serenity oddly... endearing. Infuriating. But endearing.

─────────────────────────

Azul knew right away he was lucky when you were assigned as his partner for the class project.

You were attentive, methodical, and didn’t slack off — the dream partner. He thought to himself, “If only more students had such discipline, Mostro Lounge’s financial reports wouldn’t give me migraines...”

You even handled the trickier parts of the research without complaint. Azul was impressed.

“Efficient. Cooperative. Excellent work ethic. Perfect for building an empire together... Wait. No. Focus, Azul.”

He started to entertain the notion that you might be someone he could genuinely trust—a terrifying but strangely exciting thought.

So during a quieter moment at the Lounge after polishing up your project proposal, he asked, casual but calculating:

"And... what are your future plans? You strike me as someone who could achieve quite a lot if you applied yourself."

You twirled a straw idly in your drink, legs swinging lightly under the table.

"Future plans? Hm... Nah. I’m just kinda going along. I’ll figure something out when I have to."

Azul's smile froze for a fraction of a second.

"You... don't have a strategy? Or even a preliminary outline of your goals?"

You smiled brightly.

"Nope!"

Inside, Azul shrieked.

On the outside, he adjusted his glasses, masking the horror behind a tight, businesslike smile.

"I... see. How... refreshingly spontaneous."

But in his mind, it was chaos.

“No ambition?! No hustle?! No grand designs for success and power?! How can someone so competent lack the drive to leverage it?!”

Every fiber of his being itched to offer you a job at Mostro Lounge, start you on a 12-year plan, sign you up for five internships, and drag you bodily toward greatness.

But you just smiled and went back to doodling something random on the margins of your paper like you hadn’t just shattered his worldview.

Still... as much as it made his head spin, Azul couldn't deny it was... weirdly comforting to be around you.

Maybe it was nice, once in a while, to sit across from someone who didn’t constantly scheme and scramble. Someone content with now.

It drove him insane.

But he kept finding excuses to study with you anyway.

[sunshine-and-kookies]

Venom

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷Summary-> With an impending hurricane tailing your city's shore, your despair to seek shelter elsewhere was off the charts.

Fortunately for you, your brother's best friend had ample amount of space for you in his abode.

Unfortunately for you, he has just as much leeway in his heart, prompting you to consider, maybe the hurricane was a safer choice in the first place.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷Pairing: Soft!Yandere Jeongguk x Reader

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷Genre: Angst, Fluff, Yandere

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷Warnings: Manipulation, Gas-lighting, stifling toxic relationship, dub con subtle touching, Jeongguk being a major red flag with no sense of boundaries , Jeongguk has a skewed moral compass.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷Word count: 1.7k

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷Disclaimer: This standalone piece delves into themes that may be triggering or dark in nature. It is important to note that the behaviors portrayed by Jungkook are purely fictional and do not reflect his real-life character. Reader discretion is advised. Minors are discouraged from engaging with this content. Remember, plagiarism is a serious offense.

“Copyright @sunshine-and-kookies 2024. All rights reserved. No translations permitted without explicit authorization.”

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Lugging your suitcase on the pristine white marble floor of the high-end complex, you briskly pace towards the elevator. Gingerly clicking the button to the topmost floor of the estate, you heave a sigh of relief. Navigating through the bustling streets of Seoul, especially on a busy Monday, has worn you out to the brink of exhaustion. The elevator dinged, prompting you to get inside.

The aftermath of the upheaval caused by the cyclone in your city forced you to abandon your dilapidated apartment building.

With a tear-stricken face and no roof over your head, you had to resort to calling your brother in the wee hours of dawn. 

Long story short, you were to house with a colleague of his, Jeon Jeongguk, temporarily until your apartment was refurbished.

Wringing your wrists together, you mull over how to introduce yourself.

Talking to people was never your forte, and sharing a roof with a man to whom you would be forever indebted had you conjuring up greetings to make a good first impression.

Scrambling through the elevator vault, you trudge towards the large mahogany door of the penthouse, rapping your knuckles on it.

You could discern light footsteps sauntering towards the door. 

With half a mind to turn around and beat a hasty retreat, your grip on the handle of the suitcase tightens. 

The door opens, and the first thing you see is a mop of curled, disheveled, black locks before a face pops out. 

Jeon Jeongguk was in a league of his own. 

With shimmering dark doe eyes that turned into crescent moons at the sight of you, a tall, well-defined nose that scrunched endearingly, a jawline sculpted by Adonis himself, and lips so cushiony, that had you biting yours to stifle lunging at his for a taste.

Gaping like a fish out of the sea, you thrust your hand towards him and mutter a meek, "I'm Y/N. It is a pleasure to meet you."

He chortles.

Smacking your outstretched hand and pulling you into his embrace.

He holds you for a moment before bellowing with a charming grin, "Ah, Y/N, the pleasure is all mine. But I would rather you drop the formalities. Your brother and I are great friends after all."

"Of course. I'm just very grateful that you're letting me stay at your place on such short notice. I'm sorry for inconveniencing you."

With a playful twinkle in his eye, he quips, "Inconvenience? Darling, having you here is anything but. Trust me, it's not an inconvenience in the slightest."

You bashfully nod and murmur, "I'll try to stay out of your way as much as possible."

His smile fades instantly, his expression hardening as he retorts with a clenched jaw. "You staying out of my way? That's not why you're here, Y/N. I want you to feel comfortable, not like you have to tiptoe around."

You offer him a sheepish quirk of your lips, distracting him from his ire as he glances at the curve of your plush lips. His eyes darken the longer he stares.

Perturbed by the sudden attention, you let out a light cough, breaking him out of his reverie.

His hand finds purchase on the small of your back as he grabs hold of your luggage. Opening the door wider, his smile widens as he motions for you to enter. "Shall we?" he asks with a charismatic grin, his demeanor back to inviting and reassuring.

Without waiting for your response, he ushers you inside, his hand still curled around your waist, almost possessively.

He closes the door behind him, his gaze lingering on you for a moment too long before he speaks, "Make yourself comfortable, second door to the right. I'll get you something to drink."

Once he leaves you to settle in, you try to shake off the feeling of his intense, almost palpable gaze by entering your temporary bedroom and taking in your grand surroundings.

The bedroom exudes opulence at every turn. The walls are draped in expensive silk wallpaper, a deep shade of burgundy that exudes richness and warmth. Swathes of velvet curtains drape elegantly around the bed. 

The bedding is a decadent ensemble of Egyptian cotton sheets, adorned with embroidered patterned motifs in gold thread, and a plush velvet duvet. A gleaming chandelier that hung from the ceiling added to the room's grandeur. The room was regal and lavish in every sense.

Unpacking the suitcase, you arrange your clothes in the walk-in wardrobe. Your hands unfurl your lace underwear, smoothing out the wrinkles left in their wake.

"What are you doing?"

A shriek escapes you as you hide your hands behind your back. 

"N-Nothing." 

"Y/n, I'm not going to repeat myself. You're living in my house now, and I'll have you know I will not appreciate you hiding anything from me."

Your lack of response prompts the irate man to grab your forearms before gripping whatever you were hiding from him.

He stills.

He clutches the offending item in his hand like his life depends on it.

You wanted the ground to swallow you instantly.

Mortified, you lurch towards him and take your panties back, eyeing him incredulously.

He quickly apologizes, cheeks flushing red. "I'm really sorry, Y/N," he says, his voice softening.

"I shouldn't have invaded your privacy like that." he says, though his tone lacks genuine remorse.

You accept the underwear with a wary look, your expression guarded. "Just... please don't do that again," you say, voice tinged with a mix of irritation and distrust.

He nods, feigning contrition as he tries to mask his growing arousal.

"Of course not," he assures you, biting back a grin, though a mischievous glint remains in his eyes.

"Anyways, freshen up, Y/N. I'm sure the travel must have been very taxing for you."

You nod hesitantly. "Sure, but please don't worry yourself preparing dinner. I'm already full."

"You don't get a choice, Y/N. What I say goes. No skipping meals under my watch."

You're about to protest, but he ushers you inside the washroom.

"Get in now. Don't forget your underwear this time." He jibes playfully.

The smile Jeongguk adorned slipped off the moment you closed the door.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵

Living with Jeongguk entailed a lot of things. 

He was as capricious as one could get.

He was sweet. Eliciting chuckles from you as you both do your laundry, feeding you strawberries as you sit on the kitchen counter watching him cook, and taking playful jibes at you as you both compete playing overwatch. He spoiled you, and you let him.

This was undoubtedly your first mistake.

What began as sweet gestures soon morphed into stifling control. He was overbearingly caring and fussy, ensuring you ate all your meals on time.

His overprotective nature was omnipresent as he made sure to drop and pick you up from college, glaring at anyone he deemed a threat to his "best friend's sister." 

With each passing day, his grip tightened, his possessiveness growing like a creeping vine, wrapping around your life and choking out your independence.

He monitored your every move, criticizing your outfit choices, isolating you from your friends, and slowly making you depend solely on him. For entertainment, for affection, for food, and for shelter. Until your resolve broke. 

You began to question, and push back against his control. But for every step you took towards freedom, he pulled you two steps back, manipulating your emotions with expert precision.

The sweetness of his gestures became tainted with manipulation, his spoiling ways a guise for his insidious intentions. You no longer wish to be the passive recipient of his spoiling ways.

"I'm not asking you for permission, Jeongguk. I'm telling you that I'm moving back to my place. It has been renovated, and there is no need for me to stay here anymore."

The weight of his gaze bore down on you as you hear him let out an indignant scoff. "That's cute."

You arch a brow, encouraging him to elaborate.

He grins. "It's cute you think you can leave whenever you please, baby." He hums contentedly, approaching you with a confident gait.

Your brow furrows at his dismissive response, a mixture of frustration and determination coursing through your veins. His words were like a slap in the face, a stark reminder of the power imbalance that had sullied your relationship.

But you refused to cower in the face of his arrogance, standing your ground as he closed the distance between you with a smug grin. His confidence radiated like a suffocating aura, but you refused to let it intimidate you.

Caught in his tight grasp, you struggled against his hold, feeling the pressure of his fingers like steel clamps on your arm.

"I won't let you go," he growled, his voice dripping with possessiveness as he tightened his grip, refusing to release you from his grasp.

"Don't you get it, Y/N? You came here on your own volition, but you only leave on mine."

Thrashing against him, you realize the extent of his obsession. The one that has sucked you into perilous doom.

"I've known you're mine since the day I saw you drop Tae's lunch in the office. How naive of him to think I'll befriend him without an axe to grind."

Your eyebrows furrow at that.

"People like him are just pawns in my world. Pawns without an ounce of dignity. Why do you think brother dearest asked you to live with a colleague of his rather than his own house, that too in the face of adversity?"

Your eyes widen with disbelief as you still in his hold. 

"Like I said baby, the only one you should rely on is me. I'll keep you safe."

He smirks as he sees the fight in you leave. A sense of resignation washing over you.

"Now be a good girl and kiss me."

Jeon Jeongguk was a lot of things.

He was charming, charismatic, and possessive to a fault.

But above all else, he was a master manipulator, skilled in the art of twisting words and emotions, tailored to suit his own desires.

You learned it the hard way. 

The hurricane you escaped was a safer, more viable option than residing with this monster.

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“©© All rights reserved to @sunshine-and-kookies. No translations permitted without explicit authorization.”

[lara4eclipze]

𝓢tart a war

— ( 🎴 ) I'm gon' try for you I'll fight for you, go off for you I'll start a war.

lara raj x fem!reader, angst, fluff, rivalry, swearing, cyberbullying, crying(?), comfort, wc [?], tags listed below

dream academy had it's up's and down's, for you and lara though? it was all down, i mean imagine this katseye is at the peak of their career, with touch and debut charting so high - well until hybe decided to drop the documentary

most received praise and got attention for the way they handled training, but fans had a different reaction towards you and lara — during dream academy you and lara were never close

yes you all lived in one house but unlike the rest, you never got along with the older girl — it wasn't anything personal, but it was just something you couldn't pinpoint

episode 7, the very episode where you got confronted about being "lazy", you knew some of the girls didn't feel like you deserved to compete — thinking you should've gone before the other girls

you thought the same, and during that confrontation you apologized and moved on with the rest — after debuting you and lara got closer than ever

maybe it was the fact you two discovered how similar you both are, lara loved music just as much as you did — you enjoyed writing lyrics and so did lara

but that day the documentary dropped numerous comments, videos, and posts made about you, titles such as "lazy queen" or "undeserving" were thrown at you, lara received hate too for her reaction to you not greeting her — getting dubbed as a bully

during this time katseye was on their asia tour, specifically the next stop was manila, backstage a few hours before the peformance you were reading comments even though sophia already told you it meant nothing

you wanted to stop — yet you couldn't, the more you read the more you start to think you did not deserve to be in this group

it wasn't like you were untalented but seeing how people thought and spoke about your lack of stage presence even comparing you to past contestants, hurt and it slowly gnawed at you, maybe you did not deserve this, did you steal someone's chance?

you lock the comfort room door, hunched over the toilet seat as you keep scrolling on your phone, endless reading — everything was silent to you at this point — your eyes got watery seeing the hate you got, you wanted this right? then why can't you handle it?

you try to quiet your sobs, looking down as you wipe profusely yet tears keep flowing like it was a waterfall, what hurt you the most was the hate lara got, she didn't deserve it at least not as much as you do

"y/n? are you there hun?" lara carefully asks through the door, you unlock it quickly covering your face with your hands, "yes! l-lara" you stutter as you force to stop sobbing

the desi girl quickly ran up to you, cupping your face as she asks concerned as to why you were crying, "baby why??, you know i hate to see you cry" lara frowns as you just stutter over every thing you said

the older girl looks down at your hand seeing the phone open — you were reading some comments, she quickly swipes the phone off your hand closing and deleting every comment under your post

lara wanted to scold you — to tell you it didn't matter, but seeing you so affected by these statements stabbed her — it was like someone twisted the knife

"i should've not just done that" you sob as lara held your head to her chest "i should've greeted you but i was so fucking stupid" you mutter

"we had our problems but we overcome it together — you do not need to shoulder all this hate, I'm always here for you" lara's soft voice a lullaby to you

"love it holds responsibility, my responsibility is to make sure you feel loved by me, no one else matters y/n — you don't need to read those" lara mutters as she kisses the top of your head

"it's just that you dont deserve it too" you whisper — lara seem to not budge and only kept comforting you "we both don't, that doesn't mean it'll stop" she responds

its fucked up, fucked up that lara had to experience this, fucked up that she has to stay strong through it cause its obvious you can't

"i want it to" you respond as she craddles you, slowly calming you down, "we can't make it stop, but I'll be here through all that with you — okay y/n?" lara says, and you nod

you two walk back into the dressing room, wearing the set performance clothing and testing the mics and ear fittings, lara held your hand squeezing it every now and then to make sure your okay

the place was loud and bright — people shouted and chanted katseye and member names — finally walking out cheers erupted — the mall was much fuller than you expected which only lightened up your mood

after performing three songs it was finally time to leave, you felt so successful that you couldn't help but cry, daniela noticed and hugged you right away as the rest of the katz bowed and hugged eachother

"thank you everyone!" sophia says as you all walk back to the backstage

maybe you weren't meant to be the greatest artist there is, that doesnt mean that you should always let others put yourself down

and whatever the problem is, lara will always be there for you, no matter what happens

also pic taken by me!! i miss katseye sm bru :((

[capr1pengu1n]

Hi! Hihihi! big fan here!

I am fiending for something mouth watering, torturing, jaw dropping smutty fun with our boy from Assault on Arkham. Female reader please. Maybe she's a nurse working a shift at Arkham or a therapist or care tech? I'm just seeing total domination, daddydom/zaddy type vibes. But feel free to do whatever you feel.

Thank you for your time and consideration!!

Tata~!

Corrupting the young with your uncivil tongue

Summary: While on shift at Arkham Asylum, what should be a routine check on an injured inmate turns into something a whole lot more.

Warnings: 18+ smut, fem reader (no use of y/n), Assault on Arkham!Eddie, dom/sub dynamics, praise and degradation, choking, rough sex, fingering, face fucking

Words: 4.4k

Notes: Thank you so much sweetheart, you're too kind! This gave me an excuse to rewatch his scenes on yt (mgg really is one of the perfect voice actors for him, even with his sometimes dodgy vocal deliveries)

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Being a nurse meant seeing the truly ugly side of Arkham Asylum; the dangerous patients always being one movement away from lashing out at times. You didn't mind your job, in fact it was rather rewarding at times to help those you could, being able to feel as if you were making a difference in this cesspool of a city.

But many of the inmates you knew you couldn't trust, dangerous criminal masterminds who were constantly using Gotham City as a battleground for their many wars with the batman. And you knew deep down that The Riddler was one of those men. But still, he'd been nothing but...kind.

Well, maybe kind is a little bit too strong of a word. But he'd always been one of your better patients, never giving you too much trouble. And you couldn't deny the tiny part of you that lit up when you saw his name on your rota, no matter how much you pushed the feeling down in the crevices of your mind. His snarky smile would always be waiting for you when you administered the pills that he most likely just hid under his tongue, or to patch him up whenever his big mouth got him into trouble.

It seems today was one of those days, as you made your way to the rather empty infirmary and saw Edward laying in bed, flicking through a book without a care with one hand, the other handcuffed to the side. The doctor that saw to him had been rushed off his feet, rumblings of a mass riot causing all of the staff to be more overworked that usual, if that was even possible for a place like this. Still, you stood by his bed and closed the privacy curtain.

"There you are sweetheart, I was beginning to believe i'd been forgotten about. A distressing thought, i'll have you know."

You can't help but laugh softly at his dramatics, as he lowers the book to his side to give you a look at his face. A cut was across his cheek, not overly deep.

"Ah yes, this. Well that'll teach me not to display my mental superiority at dinner time, lest i'm slashed again. I really should have enacted some sort of revenge before one of the idiotic guards blundered in."

"Does it hurt?"

"Nothing more than a scratch, my dear."

There's that smile again, self-satisfied and smug, but with a hint of something else. He adjusts himself so he's sat more upright, watching with sharp eyes as you look through his medical chart, not missing the slight confusion on your features.

"Does anywhere else hurt?"

"If i say my chest, will I get to remove this horrid jumpsuit?"

You flush in spite of yourself, laughing softly at his insinuation which delights him greatly. Placing the chart down, you look back at him as he adjusts himself yet again.

"I see no reason why you'd need to stay, I can call for you to be escorted back to your cell now."

"Yes about that," he starts, looking around in a dramatic manner, "why is there no guard here anyway? Don't tell me they hardly see me as a threat? I'll have you know I-"

Shaking your head, you interrupt him. "No no, there's rumors of a riot starting. Everyone is on high alert. And it seems that there's a mistake on your chart...it says you have a broken leg. I doubt they thought you'd get very far."

The momentary annoyance of being interrupted dissipated when he heard your words, and he lets out a bark of a laugh.

"Oh the ineptitude of these fools truly never fails to amuse me." With a smirk, he tilts his head as he looks at you before continuing. "But i'm sure a girl like you wouldn't have made a mistake like that."

At his praise, you can't help the flush of pride that swirls in your chest despite who he is, as you smile softly. Pleased with the way you respond, he reaches up and gently tugs you closer to the bed by your arm.

"Does it take truly so little to flatter you?" he asks, causing you to look away for a moment before he squeezes your arm. "No. Look at me."

You do as he says, looking at his eyes through his glasses, before nodding a little. "I guess not..."

"Pity." he murmurs, looking at your chest unashamedly. "I'd have thought you'd be used to compliments, looking like that."

You feel the embarrassment and excitement bubble up in you at his words, despite your better judgement, despite the fact that a criminal mastermind is flirting with you and you like it. Forcing yourself to clear your head, you glance away yet again.

"Thank you."

"No problem darling."

Before turning to leave, he coughs slightly to get your attention.

"Hold on a moment. You really think it's a good idea to go out there? You said it yourself, a riot could break out at any moment." he declares, his eyes firmly fixed on yours.

"Well...yes. I could always go with the guards, they'd protect me."

"I could protect you." he says without missing a beat, without blinking. The look of shock must be evident on your face as you look at him.

"Why would you do that?"

"Why do I do anything?" he challenges, the rattle of the handcuff cutting through the room.

"...you do things when they benefit you." you say softly, trying to match his gaze.

"Exactly. Or maybe I want to protect the pretty nurse who always turns a blind eye when I don't swallow my pills."

"I-I don't-"

"Don't lie sweetheart, it doesn't suit you."

Hesitating, you glance down to where his hand is cuffed to the bed. This is a bad idea, an awful idea and you know it. But your apprehension is delicious to him, and he leans in as best he can.

"And you like the idea, don't you? Of The Riddler's protection?"

You swallow audibly, not denying his accusation. "I can't...i'm not Harley Quinn or anything, i'm not gonna go running off with a psycho-"

"Don't call me that." he snaps harshly, his tone serious and even making you flinch a little. Upon realising, he clears his throat a little in an attempt to calm down. "I'm not trying to dump you in a vat of acid to prove your devotion darling. I'm simply saying I could protect you."

Upon being under your gaze yet again, he puts on a smirk. "Besides, I'm not blind. The way you look at me is quite different than the way the other dimwitted orderlies do. It's...refreshing."

You release a breath, shaky and slow as you weigh up your options here. If a riot does break out...he probably could protect you. And it's not like he has any reason to harm you, right? Nodding slightly, you try and come up with some pathetic excuse before he interrupts you.

"What time is it?"

Slightly bewildered by the question, you glance at your small watch and reply, "About 7."

He hums, rolling his neck. "Might be a good idea to get me out of these handcuffs sweetheart."

Frowning, you go to ask him why before the power goes out. The room is plunged into darkness, causing you to jump at the sharp noise of the lights going. Frantically you stumble to try and head backwards before you feel a hand grasp at your waist, and suddenly you're pressed against a man's broad chest.

"Okay, I may have lied about needing your help to get out of the cuffs." Edward murmurs, before laughing smugly.

Panic sets in as you scramble to get away from him, but he only laughs harder and uses both hands to hold you still.

"Oh please stop struggling. You know I could overpower you. But I meant what I said darling, I'll protect you." he coos into your ear, and you can feel the satisfaction radiating from his smile in waves as he lets go of your arm.

"Now, be a good girl and barricade the door when the lights come back on."

"How do you know the light's will-"

With a bang, the lights come back on, and on instinct you follow his instructions. Regardless of the morally dubious actions of the serial killer you've found yourself with, you know how bloody Arkham riots can get, so self preservation wins out as you take a chair and push it against the door. Barricading yourself in with The Riddler.

He watches you carefully, half expecting you to make a run for it, but being slightly relieved when you trail back to him. "Good."

"How did you know when the lights would go off?"

"You're a smart girl darling, figure it out."

He must have known about the riot, hell he might have planned it. But what you couldn't understand was...

"You planned the riot, or at least knew. But why aren't..." you pause, as he steps closer, too close, "why aren't you trying to escape?"

He chuckles, lifting his hand to cup your chin. "Oh you naive girl. You think I orchestrated this just to escape? Perhaps I was wrong about you, or perhaps you're just too modest."

Observing the look of realisation on your face, he strokes his thumb along your cheekbone. "You can't taste it until you undress it, what am I?"

You can't deny the hitch in your breath at his, albeit cheesy riddle, which causes him to laugh more. "The answer isn't what you're probably thinking, but it's still an apt description of what I want to do to you."

What he wants to do to you. That's all you can hear rattling away in your brain as you let him stroke your cheek, down to the side of your neck.

"And trust me my dear, I want to do a lot of things to you."

"Like what?" you ask, the words spitting out without processing, but he smirks anyway.

"You want me to tell you? Tell you how much I want to dominate you completely? Have you completely at my mercy, as this whole asylum tears itself apart from the inside on my orders?"

You couldn't suppress the small whimper that escapes your lips even if you tried, as you nod your head. Instead, he moves his hand to wrap around your throat, slender fingers gently squeezing.

"How about I show you?" he rasps out, before slamming his lips against yours. It's all consuming, the way he keeps you still with his grip as his tongue forces it's way into your mouth. He explores every inch, reveling in the small moans he swallows as he uses his other hand to grab your hips, pulling you against him so you can feel the bulge straining against the garish orange jumpsuit.

"Get on your knees." he growls out against your lips, and you drop obediently. "Good girl, you're learning your place."

Not deterred by his condescending words, you gaze up at him as his fingers fiddle with the zipper of his jumpsuit, freeing himself after a moment. Your eyes immediately dart to his hard cock, watching as he pumps himself a few times and gently rests it on your cheek.

"A man can get certain...urges in a place like this. A lesser man would have probably resorted to his own hand to achieve momentary gratification, but I knew...I knew if I waited, victory would be all the more sweet."

He taps his cock on your lips, and you open and let your tongue gently run along the head. Gritting his teeth, he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls, keeping you still and not allowing you the privilege of tasting him just yet.

"Ask me nicely. Tell me you've wanted me the same way." he demands.

"I've wanted you." you reply, staring up and giving him the most pleading expression you can muster. "I've always been attracted to you, I've always wanted you Edward."

He groans quietly, running his cock along your lips once again, humming appreciatively as you seem to have learnt your lesson in keeping your tongue to yourself.

"I do love you saying my name. But I think a different word is in order, after all, i'm here protecting you."

You know he's desperate for validation, desperate to feel superior and in control, but god you want to give it to him so badly.

"I've always wanted you sir." you ammend.

"That or 'master' will do." he smirks down at you, before tapping his dick against your lips deliberately. Getting the hint, you open up and let him push your head. Luckily he gives you the grace to not shove his whole length down your throat, pushing you halfway before letting you set the pace. You get to work immediately, bobbing your head as you suck, blinking up at him to observe his reactions.

You can't deny he looks stunning, his frown and brow lines relaxing as he lets you service him, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment to truly indulge in your wet mouth. He'd been in Arkham a few weeks now, and if what he said about relieving himself was true, it really had been a while since he felt such carnal pleasure.

As he opens his eyes again, he looks down at you once more, stroking your hair as you moan softly around his cock. While he certainly isn't going to admit it, he's relieved you were so eager to get on your knees for him, happy he got the signals right, happy he wouldn't have to admit that his lust was unrequited, what's he thinking, he's the riddler! Any woman would be lucky to have him, he's a specimen -

His thoughts are stopped when you push further, taking him deeper into your throat before pulling away for breath, taking him in your soft hand and jerking him. He let's out a slightly higher pitched noise, before growling and gripping your hair with both hands.

"Arms behind your back dear, let's see if I was right to choose you."

You do what he instructs, taking a deep breath before he pushes his cock into your willing mouth. This time he doesn't hold back, holding you in place as he thrusts shallowly into your mouth, before pushing deeper. Suppressing the urge to gag, you moan brokenly around him as your fingernails dig into your own arms, willing against your body's natural instinct to put your hands on his thighs and push against him. Instead you behave, letting him fuck your mouth and take his pleasure from you.

The look on your face has him getting close rather quick for his liking, but he's way too desperate to care. Glazed eyes, spit covered lips and chin from where his cock is pushing out your saliva, he thinks you look gorgeous. His one hand remains in your hair as his other grips your jaw.

"So good for me...fuck, almost makes me wish I hadn't had those idiots cut power to the cameras in here. Seeing my favourite nurse choking on my cock..."

He moans softly, cock pulsing as he gets nearer his climax. Rhythm faltering, he desperately ruts into your throat, wanting to cum so badly it almost hurts. All the while he's mumbling and muttering how slutty you are, how much this is usually beneath him, how good your mouth feels until-

"I'm gonna cum, you're gonna, shit, swallow it...swallow it all." he demands, before his hips still as he pumps his cum down your throat. Choking, you do your best to swallow all he gives you before he releases the death grip on your hair. You pull away and gasp shallowly for oxygen.

"What do you say?" he says condescendingly, although you don't miss the laboured breathing that betrays his excitement.

"Thank you." you start, but the firm tap on your cheek gives you the incentive to rephrase, "Thank you sir."

"Better. You know how few people can say they've had the privilege of The Riddler fucking their face?"

Despite how fucked up morally you know it is, you can't help but feel slight pride at his words, knowing that it's you who he chose to sleep with. He tugs you up by the arm, before humming and squishing your cheeks together, tilting your face from side to side as he appraises you.

"How about you lay on the bed." he says, and despite the phrasing, you can infer from his tone that he's not asking. So you do, hearing the cheap infirmary bed creak as you lay down. Outside you can vaguely hear noises, yells and chants mostly, but you try your best to tune it out as Edward makes quick work of ridding you of your nurse uniform. He gives a wolf whistle, smirking shamelessly.

"Not bad at all." he mumbles, which you assume is quite high praise for him, as he gropes your tits roughly. "I knew I wasn't wrong to have been taken by your looks. It's a bonus you have half a brain in there somewhere."

Feeling a little mean, he gives one of your breasts a sharp slap, grinning as you flinch and squirm. He repeats the motion, and again for a third time on the other one, before soothingly massaging the tender skin.

Before long, he can't resist parting your legs to get a good view of your dripping cunt, needy and pulsing after being treated so roughly by him.

"Oh poor thing." he coos, the falseness of his sympathy only adding to your arousal. "Do you need master's help?"

You can only nod pitifully, as he brings his fingers to your clit and circles slowly, as if observing the consequences of his actions. At your hips jerking, he uses his other hand to pin you firmly to the bed, the structure squeaking under the weight. He continues to play with your clit, alternating his pace and rhythm to keep you on edge, never quite allowing you to reach the peak of the satisfaction he could bestow upon you.

"Such a needy hole, look at it. It's just begging to be filled, isn't it?" he asks, to which you nod again. In response, he slaps your cunt harshly. "If i wanted to talk to myself, i'd have simply jerked off in the safety of my isolated cell. Speak."

"Yes, yes I want to be filled." You say quickly, embarrassment fading away to let the desperation uncurl its claws in your mind. Seemingly satisfied, he slowly pushes two fingers into your pussy, barely suppressing the groan at how wet and hot you feel.

Starting to pump his digits, he curls them to press into your g spot, watching as you tense and make soft moans at the sensation. His other hand wraps around your neck, smirking at your wanton desperation.

"So quick and eager to have a criminal's fingers inside of you. And a nurse at that, don't you have a duty of care?" he taunts sadistically, languishing in your shame and embarrassment as he keeps fucking you harshly with his fingers. You try and shake your head, but you can't with how he's choking you ever so slightly; a reminder that your life is in the hands of one of Gotham's most feared supervillians. And your cunt has never been wetter.

But you aren't the only one affected. Edward was never the type of man to be able to go multiple rounds, and age didn't exactly help that fact. But whether it was being in the Asylum, his abstaining from self pleasure, or just you, he was hard as a rock again and itching to know what your pussy might be like around him.

"Please..." you start to beg, slightly dazed from the onslaught of sensations.

"Please what, hm? Please stop? Please fuck me? Oh please I want to be fucked by the greatest intellectual this city has ever known?"

You can hardly digest the intense self importance he's displaying as you nod again as best you can. "Please fuck me sir."

"Getting better, but say it louder. More conviction. I'm not an easy man to please." he threatens, moving his fingers faster, practically bullying the inside of your pussy as he releases the grip on your neck, allowing merciful oxygen to grace your airways.

"Please sir, please fuck me. Please make me yours, your slut. Please." you beg between moans, body tensing.

"I will." he assures you, pulling his fingers out and bringing them to his face to observe your fluids, "but you should know, you became my slut when you so willingly got on your knees for me."

He grabs your hips and pulls you towards him as he kneels firmly on the bed, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it under you. You almost voiced your thanks at the action, before he rubs the head of his cock on your sensitive clit.

"Once more, for good luck."

What an asshole, he doesn't even believe in luck, you think to yourself, but the stimulation on your core was leaving your breathless and needy, so you indulge him.

"Please fuck me master, I need you. I need The Riddler."

Playing into his ego, his persona, almost always works (not that you know that, opting for an educated guess instead) and he rewards you by sinking into your pussy, moaning uncharacteristically higher pitched. Once he bottoms out inside of you, he takes a moment to really take in the scene in front of him, before grabbing hold of your hips and starting to move.

You moan, the fingering causing your cunt to already be sensitive and on fire with urgency as he starts to fuck you. He bends over you, taking his glasses off and placing them at your side before starting to move his hips faster, determined to rid you of any other thought but him.

"That's it, fuck, go dumb on my cock for me." he encourages, as your eyes glaze over. "My dumb little nurse, so willing to spread her legs."

Not being able to deny his accusation, you simply hold on to his arms for dear life as he picks up the pace even more, thrusting into you and watching your cunt soak his cock in your wetness.

"Making such a goddamn mess." he grunts, leaning down and slapping your clit for the sake of it.

You whine at that, body jerking in response as he chokes out a small chuckle. Soothing it, he rubs circles with his thumb in time with his thrusts, content with the noises of pleasure that fall from your lips. Outside, the noise of the riot were obvious now, and he uses it to his advantage.

"What if someone were to see? Would they think i forced myself on you? Or would they see you for what you truly are? A whore who wanted one of her patients to fuck her." he demeans you, and all you can do is attempt to shake your head.

He tuts, leaning so his breath tickles your lips. "I told you, lying doesn't suit you sweetheart."

Perhaps you were a whore, for wanting a man like Edward to make you feel something, but you can't hope to deny that what he's making you feel is good, so damn good.

"I'm a whore." you mumble quietly, before he groans. He feels your walls tightening around him, can feel the way your body is tensing as you near release.

"Say it properly, and i'll let you cum all over The Riddler's cock. How about that?" he says it like he's giving you a gift, something so unbelievable that you should be grateful he even considered it. But either way, you give in.

"I'm a whore, i'm your whore sir." you manage to get out between punishing thrusts, nails digging into the meat of his biceps. "I'm The Riddler's whore."

He moans, slamming into you with conviction. "You're damn right you are."

You're unsure if that meant you had permission to cum, but between his thrusts and his thumb playing with your clit, you knew you couldn't stop it as you cum hard around him. Your back arches, giving him a hell of a sight as he chases his own orgasm brutally.

"Yes that's it, take it. Take what i give you...take my cum, god you're so lucky. So privileged, so-"

He cuts himself off with a groan, mumbling your name as he buries himself completely inside of you as he finishes. You squirm softly at the warmth of the sensation, but not being able to go anywhere due to the death grip he has on your thighs; you're most certainly going to have bruises.

After a few blissful moments, he pulls out, admiring how your cunt flutters around nothing before his cum slowly leaks from your used hole. He gently reaches down and collects some on the tip of his finger, before pushing it back inside, laughing at your overstimulated gasp.

"There. Now wasn't that more enjoyable than running to the guards for help."

Giving him a sweaty nod, he climbs off of you and fixes him jumpsuit, before rolling his shoulders and standing up. You force yourself to sit up a little, watching as he smirks.

"I'm a little ahead of schedule, I confess I was foreseeing a little more convincing on my part for you to let me bed you." he says, uncharacteristically self deprecating, now matter how slight.

"Ahead of schedule for what?" you ask, before your answer is revealed when he picks up an empty chair and smashes the window.

"Oh sweetheart, while I did want to fuck you, did you really think i'd not pass up the opportunity for escape? I think my sabbatical has reached it's conclusion." he announces, walking over and grabbing your wrist to look at your watch. "The morons should have neutralised the guard post by now, if they actually listened to what I had to say."

At your hesitance, he smirks as he lets go of your wrist and leans down to give you a lingering kiss. "Perhaps i'll visit you again, you certainly made quite the impression on me."

At a loss for words, you stutter out a quick "okay" before he turns and begins to climb out the window. Not before turning for one last look at you.

"I really should have left a mark, people need to know you're mine now. Get changed sweetheart, in my estimations you have about ten minutes."

With that, he's gone, and you're left on the bed, cum dripping from your cunt and sweat slowly evaporating from your naked skin. Still, you suppose, he did protect you from the riot.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(perhaps one day I will include a daddy kink in my writing, but alas I fear today is not that day)

[bkdk-dump-blog]

SPOILERS FOR MHA ULTRA AGE’S SPECIAL ONE SHOT

You have been warned…

Link to Reddit Post Containing the Chapter

I didn’t expect it to come out so early but it is Japan. That’s on me

Anyways… I’m so happy that they did not fuck this one up. When I saw it was about Eri a had a literal side of relief! They kept it simple and that was the main thing I asked for

I haven’t actually read it to be honest. I got this information from the MHA wiki and while fandom isn’t always reliable it did give me a summary and this one panel

Ngl… I don’t like Aizawa’s haircut but maybe it will grow on me. Also OLD MIGHT!!! I can’t wait to have a good look at him when I get the chance to see more panels

About the storyline itself, Eri wanting Deku to see her street performance but not wanting to draw attention to him is very wholesome and Deku is finally getting the clout that he deserves

Speaking of that…

DEKU IS #4 LETS GOO!!! AND KATSUKI IS #5!!! THANK FUCKING GOD!! I was going to blow a fuse if the billboard existed and they weren’t at least top 10!!

The wiki does say that “Dynamight remarking if there are people stuck in remedial lessons or probation, and Deku responding how amazing they are." I have no idea what this means from just the context from the wiki but I'll look into it

WAIT WAIT WAIT! I JUST READ IT!

Welp, I still don't get what Katsuki meant but maybe a talented fan could explain or maybe it's up to interpretation but I doubt that... Also, we still don't really get to see Deku's new suit in action and we porbably never will (unless the anime does it) but it is what it is

BUT, we kind of have a platonic bakudeku moment sneaked in there!

"Feeling inspired huh? The Great Explosive Murder God Dynamite is making a massive leap to number 5."

While yes, they did state in 430 that Katsuki dropped in the ranks because of his temper but my headcanon was that he needed Deku by his side as a source of inspiration to climb the charts together which considering the news reporter's insinuation, I think it's the case which of course I love for them

(OMFG! OF COURSE REDDITERS ARE COMPARING DEKU'S SUIT TO BATMANS. WHAT DID I EXPECT BTH)

[miasmaghoul]

Afternoon Delight

Rating: E

Pairing: Aether/Dew

Contains: a lunch date, complete with dessert. ft transmasc dew (use of cunt/clit/dick for his anatomy)

Aether sighs as his phone buzzes against his hip, tossing his pen onto the pile of papers in front of him. It's been a frantic morning in the infirmary, lots of running and putting out fires, and he'd finally had the chance to get to his charting. It's a little after 11am, almost an hour until his well-deserved lunch break, and the last thing he needs is another surprise emergency.

Thankfully, this text is a different sort of surprise.

D: come to the wing on ur lunch. got something 4 u.

He smirks at the screen, sending a quick thumbs up and sliding his phone back into his pocket. It's the third time this week he's gotten that same text from Dew, and he can't say he's upset about it. The little ghoul has been on his ass about eating better since they all got back from tour. Dew discovered that he'd been living off of protein shakes and caffeine during his shifts, and to say he wasn't happy would be an understatement. Since then, whenever their schedules allow it, Dew has been making him lunch. Now, a few times a week, Aether finds himself presented with a ridiculously elaborate meal and has the pleasure of eating it with Dew at his side. He tries not to let his mind wander as he goes back to his paperwork, stomach already rumbling in anticipation of finding out what's on the menu today.

The next 45 minutes pass in slow motion, he swears it. The second the clock hits noon he drops his pen, tosses his stethoscope on top of the stack of folders still waiting for him, and breezes out the office door. He makes it to the lobby before anyone catches him, and when the Brother behind the small intake desk waves at him Aether hold up one hand.

"I'm on lunch," he announces. "Whatever it is, leave me a note. I'll see it in an hour."

Aether strides into the hall before the man can answer, can feel him gawping at his back. If it's urgent, someone will call him. Right now he's focused only on the walk to the kitchen, finally letting himself think about what Dew might have waiting for him.

A few days ago it had been homemade pho with chicken and all the fixings, fragrant broth piled high with veggies and herbs pilfered from the greenhouse. Aether had eaten two bowls and part of a third, had gone back for the second half of his shift food drunk with his pants unbuttoned. Dew had chatted with him the whole time, munching on a bowl of grapes while Aether chowed down, face lined with both obvious amusement and something sweeter. He'd reached over to wipe a splash of broth from Aether's cheek and earned a kiss to the back of the hand for his troubles. Dew had accused him of being a sap, and Aether had not argued.

He groans when he finally reaches the door to the ghoul wing, the scent of something savory and delicious flooding his nose the second he enters. Aether floats towards the kitchen like a cartoon character smelling a freshly baked pie, rubbing his growling stomach as he rounds the corner into the common room.

"What smells so -"

Oh. There's no one here. That's a surprise, Dew has always been waiting for him at the dining table on days like this. Instead, he sees a lidded container sitting at the end of the island, a small piece of paper resting on top of it. Aether frowns as he shuffles over to it, snatching up the note bearing his name. Maybe Dew had gotten called for a last minute practice session or something. He tries not to be too disappointed as he unfolds the paper, but can't help but feel a little put out that Dew hadn't said anything. He peeks into the container, but condensation clinging to the inside of the lid obscures its contents. His attention returns to the note, and Aether's mood lifts almost instantly.

Made your favorite, it reads.

That would mean pork and veal meatballs with spinach, braised in a slightly sweet tomato sauce, served over parmesan polenta and topped with fresh ricotta. Aether can't believe he'd do all that for a lunch, of all things, but when he cracks the lid he sees he's right. It's still hot, can't have been in the container for more than a few minutes, and Aether tries not to drool down his chin while he goes back to the note.

Dessert's in your bedroom, it continues in Dew's scratchy hand. Go eat it first.

It's physically painful for Aether to shut that lid, but he manages. He tosses the note back on top of it as he turns on his heel, rushing into the hall and digging his keys out of his pocket. He can't imagine what Dew left for him, but it must be good if he'd included it in his note. Aether singles out his bedroom door key just as he turns the final corner, making a beeline to unlock the last room on the left.

Imagine his surprise to find it already cracked open. Dew must have been in a real rush, that isn't like him at all. Aether shoves his keys back into his pocket, pushes the door open, and in the center of the bed -

"Oh."

"Finally," Dew sighs, smirking, "I thought you'd never show up."

Aether can't get his mouth to close as he takes in the sight before him. Dew's in a t-shirt and socks, but that's it. Reclining against Aether's pillows, casually regal, with one hand up his shirt and the other between his spread thighs. He can see two of those long fingers working, and Aether's stomach cramps when he hears the slick sound of Dew pumping them in and out of his already flushed cunt.

The little ghoul slides them out, spreading dusky lips so Aether can get a good look at his creamy hole and plump little dick, and Aether's cock gives a mighty throb.

"Gonna have your dessert?"

Dew clenches around nothing and Aether's head spins. He stumbles towards the bed and Dew huffs out a chuckle, tugging at one of his nipples. They're stiff enough to poke through his shirt, one of Aether's favorite sights, and he licks his lips as he crawl up the mattress. He knows he's doomed when Dew raises those two fingers, stretching his slick between them as he brings them to his lips.

"I promise it's nice and sweet," he coos, tongue poking between his fangs. "You're gonna want a taste."

Dew presses those shiny digits inside with excruciating slowness, eyes rolling back at the taste as a raspy moan escapes him. It's exaggerated, a show, and Aether has to roll his hips against the blankets as he drinks it in. He's not even fully hard, not yet, but he can feel a sticky spot forming against his thigh regardless. He gets his hands around Dew's thighs as the little ghoul fingerfucks his own mouth, spreading him wide and damn near whimpering when those skinny hips rock upwards.

"Eat up, big guy," Dew lilts between pumps of his fingers, other hand slipping out from under his shirt to get a nice handful of Aether's hair. "I know you must be starving."

Dew arches off the bed when Aether dives in, lapping at his pudgy clit with too-rough strokes that he knows the little ghoul adores. A pair of sharp heels dig into his back, urging him on, and as the glorious taste of Dewdrop fills his mouth Aether has a feeling there will be a stain soaked into his khakis by the time he's done.

Dew will never let him hear the end of it, and Aether won't mind it one bit.

[theyluvlyss]

Hey!! you mentioned you wanted to write for tbp a while back, idk if ur still down but if so could I please get some robin hcs??

♡♡

𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐬 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐧...

...I figured I'd use this as an opportunity to expand on all of the black phone boys, plus gwen, because... because I fucking can lmfao. so yeah, along with robin, I'll add finney, gwen, bruce, billy, vance, and griffin, if that's okay :)🖤.

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥/𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

《 ♡ 》 headcannons

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 :

lyssa's personal rendition of the ghost boys + gwen (except the difference is that I'm 100% totally right and everyone else is wrong, so ya😙🖤✨️) ((I'm kidding, plz don't attack me)). also, prepare, because this is probably going to be sooo long lmao...

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 :

none

𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞 :

1978 (plus some time afterward) - "if they lived" hdcns

𝐓𝐖/𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 :

cursing - mentions of death/abuse/brutality - me getting passionate (hence why this is so long) - spoilers (if you somehow haven't seen the movie by this point💀) - autism/adhd related topics - highly encourage shifters to use whatever I've written here as black phone shift-inspo because I know the movie doesn't give us a lot to go on for the boys personality-wise (also, tag me in your drs, guys, I'm so nosy😆♡)

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞 :

I gotta get this off my chest before I forget and go insane, but oh my god, Finney is NOT the crybaby some of y'all make him out to be😹. That boy cried once in the entire one hour and forty-three minute runtime of the whole movie, okay? And it was when he was at his VERY LOWEST point during said movie/events, okay? Okay.

Y'all are fr gonna have to drop that narrative, because if it really came down to it, boy could talk mad shit and spread rumors like wildfire. All it takes is one little whisper to Bruce😆🤭...

Now that that's settled...

I feel like he's very non-confrontational as a person, though, fs. Like, if he's put in a position where his well-being/life is/may be on the line (😃...), then yeah, he'll do his best to stick up for himself. But otherwise, his main, favorite, and works-90%-of-the-time tactic is to just avoid conflict and places where it might occur altogether.

Also, I definitely think he's autistic. Like, no way he's not. Hyperfix? Space, obviously. Especially rockets, and then the science behind space/the things in space. I don't see him as a fan of loud noises, either (especially when we consider his upbringing). He also seems to not have the best handle on social cues/is awkward (but I guess that can also be perceived as a neurotypical trait, too, so idk). I also feel like he's defo a stickler for texture. Won't eat certain foods or wear certain fabrics,,, needs things to be a specific type of feeling/way for him to operate as usual, you feel me?

Having complete (emotional?) shutdowns when he's not in a positive mood and/or environment, only really having a logical way of thinking until the tasks/emotions run a bit too high and then he breaks down... I could go on, this really all seems like solid evidence to me, ngl🤷🏽‍♀️.

Bro just like me fr. Anyways.

I also think he's a huge fan of routine, especially simple ones that he can remember. Or, if/when a task is somehow connected to an object/person/other task? Yeah, his brain loves that.

He's a Cancer (birthday - July 10th), but I definitely think he's got Capricorn in his chart somewhere, too.

I might've brought this up before in another post, but I definitely think Finney would take/find interest in astrology. Maybe not actually believe in it or take it as seriously as the next person, but he'd definitely respects it because, while he's more of an astronomy guy, focusing on the logical aspects of space and stars and shit, astrology delves into a more spiritual and belief-based aspect, and he likes the thought of the stars that he loves having meanings and things that correspond to, not only your life, but to who you may be as a person.

Kind of like a little bit of insight, a look-see, on who someone is. So, with that, he definitely knows his own star sign and is happy to answer when asked.

"Oh, I'm a Cancer :). What are you?" And would probably find himself either asking or doing research on his own time on your/a person's answer to his rebound question.

A raging bisexual if I've ever seen one (I am one so I would know🫶🏽) (I give him the certified stamp of bi-ness, dw guys, I gave him proper clearance🫶🏽). Tell me he wasn't looking at Donna and Robin the same way. Actually, don't tell me, because if you say anything other than, "You're so right, Lyss😻‼️" I'm blocking you♡.

But in all seriousness, I feel like Finney himself didn't realize he felt the same feelings that he does for Donna for Robin until after he got with Donna (like,,, bro didn't clock it was the same feeling, nor that he even swung that way at all, until after the fact,,, does that make sense?). Sometimes, you just have those moments of clarity about yourself later on, I was kind of the same way.

Anyways, cat person to the third degree max. Only likes small dogs, and anything bigger than like,,, those little, fluffy ass dogs, he starts tweakin' real bad🥴💀. I don't blame him fr, though. Dogs are loud "BARK BARK🗣‼️" all in yo face, lick-lick, hyperactive, unpredictable... I could not deal, and neither could he.

I'm not saying cats are any more predictable or that they don't have their own cons, but hey, everyone has their preferences, and he just prefers cats🤷🏽‍♀️.

LOVEEESSS sugary/sweet tasting stuff. The type to always be craving a little sweet treat after dinner (genuinely, he does eat all the ice cream, he really tries to hold back for Gwen, but,,,😔✋🏽), or throughout the day, all he'll be thinking about is a crisp, cold soda.

😃💀His teeth are gonna be wrecked by the time he's thirty-five lol anyways...

He also loves a good crafting session. Could honestly spend hours in his room cutting up paper and pictures, building model rockets, making paper dolls for Gwen. He just really likes stuff he can sit, hunker down, and really focus on. Likes having his attention drawn, so things like crafting, watching TV, scrapbooking, etc. is really good/fun for him. Billy is DEFINITELY his picture plug, btw.

No way Finney isn't itching by the door for Billy to come by so he can be updated on the latest things added in the paper. Or, if his dad gets to it first, he's reminding him not to throw it out until he gets back home from school so he can still sort through it for what he wants.

Speaking of Gwen, I do fully believe that Finney was the one braiding her hair every morning before school. Not doubting their father's girl-dad skills or anything✋🏽😃✋🏽,,, but that man was barely coherent enough to not slur his words in every sentence, and you expect me to believe he was worried about making that girl's head look pretty for school? Girl, anyways💀✋🏽.

She probably asked him one day and he was like, "Gwenny, it's school, not a fashion show😐🍺."

For sure, it was her mom doing it every other day. So yeah, when she passed, Finney figured he wouldn't let tradition die along with her. He learned and would braid/style her hair for school however she wanted.

Umm, I think that's all I got, other than... like,,,

RIP Finney Blake, you would've gone feral watching The Sandlot😔🙏🏽.

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

𝐆𝐰𝐞𝐧 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞 :

She reminds me so, SO much of my little sister, so a lot of this might be me projecting her (my lil sis) onto Gwen🤭💀.

A little brat, but in the best/silliest way. Like yeah, she'll tease you and talk all that shit and lowkey kinda bully you, but bro, it's all love fr🫶🏽😙. If anything, if she's being extra polite and courteous to you, it's probably because you're someone she just met, or because she really dislikes you and is hoping that you'll catch onto her fakeness so she can exit stage left of the conversation lmao.

Another raging bi-in-training lollll. I'm sorry, but she's totally one of the girlies who never got a ken/boy doll so she had to "improvise" and "pretend" one of her girl dolls was a boy💀✋🏽. Like, girl, anyways, you know seeing Cher live on TV for the first time had you rethinking your entire life, don't deny it lmfao🤭🩷💜💙.

She has a very particular sense of style, like,,, has certain statement pieces and outfits she likes to mix and match, and only she really gets it, but it fits/suits her. Plus, some of it is from her mom, so ofc she has to rep it fr✊🏽.

Once broke a girl's shin (as in, yes, Gwen kicked it that fucking hard), because another girl had said the pair of earrings she wore that day were ugly. Now, to be fair, the girl couldn't have known they were Gwen's dead mother's earrings, but bitch, didn't anybody tell you if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say shit at all🤨? Exactly. Mind your manners or get your shin kicked in😙♡.

Speaking of, contrary to the movie (yup, I go against canon, idc, sue me), I feel like she is NOT a fair/honorable fighter at all (or a trained one, for that matter). Especially if you're hurting someone she loves (so Finney, obvs). She's biting, pulling hair, grabbing anything she can use as a weapon, outnumbering you if she can somehow recruit ppl; she gives no fucks.

And you can't talk her out of it, either. She's dead set on two facts; 1. If you attack me, I assume my life is at stake, and I'm fighting you as such. If you wanna call that unfair, idk, maybe you shouldn't have thrown hands with me🤷🏻‍♀️. 2. I don't start shit, I finish it. I won't throw the first punch, but if you do, anything I do to you afterward is self-defense🤷🏻‍♀️.

Robin and Vance have tried to teach her otherwise - y'know... give her the ol' dignity and honor speech - but sheeee...

She wasn't listenin' to that shit bro bffr💀✋🏽.

And while yes, she didn't take that piece of advice from him the one time, anything else that leaves Vance's mouth might as well be damn near close to Jesus speaking directly to her😭. She's practically got a crush on Vance, and it's so obnoxious, it's not even funny.

The girl will go off with her little girl friends and basically stalk him (guys, let's not act like teenage girls aren't literally insane😻💀) and often, she enjoys his fights and is finding literally any and every way to just even have a conversation with him. Vance,,, has not caught on at all, but it's probably for the best💀✋🏽.

He sees her as another one of his sisters, at most. Annoying, yet charming in her own way, and is always sure to give her some half-assed advice; "I don't wanna see your ass outside when the street lights come on, got it?" "Yup🫡😻!!" And occasionally gives her a fight-related tip.

Same thing with Robin, but to a much lesser degree. It's more like a fond admiration, like, that's basically a second older brother. Has and will continue to scarf down any food he brings over, even if it wasn't even for her. And if he gets pressed, she'll just-

"It's me appreciating it 'cause your stuff is good😃😇...!" "😐🧍🏽" And then she's running off to avoid any scoldings.

I feel like Gwen is a very ambitious person. Doesn't take no shit, which can make her stubborn at times, but at the end of the day, she always finds what she's looking for and/or gets the answers she needs. Ambitious and persistent.

Definitely a go-getter type, which was why she even took the time to read up more on her little ability, what it means, etcetc. Miss girl wanted answers, she was going to find 'em🤷🏽‍♀️.

I have no clue when her birthday is (if someone knows it, TELL ME👹), but for now, I hdcn she's either a Taurus, Leo, Gemini, Cancer or Virgo (some of those also being in her chart as well, if that makes sense).

She is so totally, undeniably, and authentically 🎀🩷✨️girl✨️🩷🎀 like,,, idk how to explain. Like, yeah, she's rough around the edges, and her mouth is trash, and her attitude is up the wall, but oHMYGOD, SHE'S THE GIRLIEST GIRL through it all, somehow. It's so sweet and cute.

The type to spend time dressing up her dolls and making sure her dollhouse is in PERFECT shape after just rolling around in the mud. Has Finney braid up her hair in all these intricate, detailed ways just to get her comb stuck in them in matted knots a minute later. Only uses purple, pink, and yellow pens for her school work/notes, but she inherited her dad's shitty handwriting, so yeah, you can barely read that shit...but it looks pretty as hell, don't it😌? Does her nails allll of the time, but will immediately do other things right after, barely letting them dry, which leads to them smudging and looking a little messy.

Things like that just make her who she is. They make her ✨️Gwen✨️, y'know?

Also, her favorite color is yellow. Random, but idc, it makes perfect sense.

RIP Gwen Blake, you would've loved White Chicks😔🙏🏽.

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

𝐑𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐧 𝐀𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐨 :

- before his death -

He's an Aquarius (birthday - February 2nd, which is literally two days before mine🤭💜🧡), but he's definitely got Libra and/or Leo somewhere in his chart, for sure.

I feel like he's the type to think/say none of that "astrology shit" matters, but then know his whole entire chart, top to bottom, and only wants to know/cares about the charts of people close to him. And I bet you he only did it because Finney brought it up once, and he wanted to know what the hell he was talking about💀.

While on the topic of Finney, tho, he probably had eyes on Finn since day one. Wanted to befriend him since the sandbox days, but didn't really have an excuse until he found out he was being bullied. Thought maybe one day Finn would fight back, but he never did, soooo😗...

Robin got to step in😈. And then all it took was landing on a common interest, and 💥BOOM💥. 4lyfers🤞🏽.

I feel like Robin also feels his feelings pretty deeply, more so than people realize, but again, he's definitely not finna let you know that. The type to cry it out/cuss people out quietly under his breath/vent to himself when he's absolutely sure he's alone, and then act like he never did it at all. And shit, he's good at hiding it. You'd probably never even know unless you were close with him or he flat out told you.

He's kind of a show-off, if anything😭. Just a little bit, nothing crazy, but he does get a kick out of "proving a point" beating the breaks off of someone "for the crowd". Or just anything he's skilled at; he might not actively seek the attention, but god, he hopes someone is watching, 'causeeeeee😗😙.

He was definitely taught to fight from his father, but continued to go to boxing classes after he went off to war and never came home. Robin would go wherever he could find them/they were offered (bonus points if they're free), spending a lot of time brushing up on technique, form, whatever. Even takes the time to actually read up on more, study it; does better with visual stuff, though, like pictures or videos or someone showing/guiding him, things like that.

That round-kick ain't just pure talent, y'know😌 (he'd definitely argue otherwise, tho).

He has a whole bandana collection that he's super proud of and kind of just started, but that green one is signature. Something his father left behind, and, like Gwen,,, my man's gotta rep it, you feel me😌✊🏽. Literally ONLY let's his mom touch it, and that's only to wash it. Off limits to every and anybody else, even his own uncle, and everyone knows it, too. The other bandanas are free game, though.

Robin was often given cooking lessons from his mom, and he found he likes to bake, too, but can't bake for shit. It always comes out completely burnt or not at all like he was expecting (it makes him so sad, too😭 like, bro just wants to make his own tres leches instead of having to wait for special occasions,,, is that too much to ask😫?).

A horror movie nut from day one. Definitely something that startled/disturbed his mother for a little while, but she got over it💀✋🏽.

He's not in it for the scares or anything, but for the production (although he loves and cherishes the semi-rare times where he actually jumps). He's actively studying the movies, what makes them good vs. bad, the actors, the lighting, the music, atmosphere, dialog, everything. Even watched the really cheesy, awful, bad ones. He's thought about hashing out some faint ideas he's had, maybe in script format, but really just didn't have the skill for that just yet. So, he stuck to just observing for the time being.

His favorite trope is "everybody dies". Doesn't mind a good "final girl/boy" or a "beat the shit out of the bad guy/murderer/ghost" ending, either.

...Robin realized/knew he couldn't fight The Grabber, but was super salty/petty about it. Would scratch and bite at him like a damn dog, kicked at him, made it really difficult for The Grabber to literally exist in that basement with him (which was why his death was quick, you alr know The Grabber was 'bout sick of his ass lmfao). Fought like hell until the end and thought about his dad the wholeee time.

Very- .... SUPER annoyed when he woke back up in the basement,,, livid when he saw The Grabber walk in with Finney...

- if he had lived -

I wouldn't put a label on Robin, and neither would he himself, to be honest. Like, even "unlabeled" is a label to him. He truly has the "If they're hot, they're hot🤷🏽" mindset and pretty much has his whole life.

Doesn't even really see the need for labels at all, but if you tried to get him going on that, he'd be more than likely to wave it off so he didn't have to go through the trouble of being misunderstood when trying to explain.

He totally would've been a movie buff/critique. Hell, probably would've made his way into the industry on some film student type shit🤭. Not the best when it comes to actually writing shit out or explaining exactly what he means, but when he has a vision, he has a VISION. Trust the process, fr🤞🏽.

Is totally the target audience for all that action-packed shit. Rocky, Karate Kid, Top Gun,,, very male, very g u y, very macho-manly lmao. Might possibly even be a weakness, like,,, he really can't resist that stuff (not as passionate as he is for the horror genre, tho).

I feel like he would get really into the rap/hip-hop scene. Would also fw r&b mad heavy, love him some Michael Jackson, even dresses diff to kind of fit with that aesthetic...

Couldn't bring himself to cut his hair, though, he's too attached😭. That's absolutely staying, or at least getting braided up or something.

Actually, he was straightening/perming his hair a lot of the time, mostly when he was coming up, but eventually stopped and let it grow its naturally wavy pattern. He would cut off the dead hair as it grew more and healthier (never fully chopped/buzzed it off, though, bc again,,, he couldn't bare to lose the length), and he eventually learned to take proper care of it.

(We love happy, healthy, natural hair over here, y'all lmfao😻‼️).

Would definitely cook for his mom, both when asked and just because he felt like it (or if he's craving something specific for dinner that evening, he'll pull the, "Ama, let me cook tonight, I love you🥰." card so he can get away with cooking what he wants lmfao). Sometimes, he'll send his uncle off with leftovers for work or just make his own lunch for school, boxing, or going to work with his uncle, shit like that.

Still hasn't quite grasped onto baking yet, though. Still burns most of his stuff and has totally given up on making cookies (he's fs the type to end up with one, giant, morphed ass cookie on the sheet and he just has to stare at it in pure disbelief like ">:0..." lmao💀) ...

MASTERED THE FUCKIN' TRES LECHES, THO, LET'S GOOOO🗣🗣🗣‼️‼️‼️💯💯💯

Robin has friendly beef with Bruce bc fym you playing against my man🤨? I think tf not, Finney better win or "...that's your ass, Yamada." Won't actually do anything, tho, Bruce is cool people fr lmao.

More on him as a person, though, I feel like he'd definitely realize he's one helluva looker one day and DEFINITELY use it to his advantage. Charmer, but in a corny way that makes you shake your head and sigh type beat. Not really a romantic, but has and will make exceptions for the right people at the right time.

Even before that, though, he was always kinda cocky and it really only got "worse" for lack of a better word💀😭. Like, he's cute/hot, and he KNOWS it, but he's still gonna play clueless as if he's not looking at you with those big brown eyes and giving you a knowing smirk. Gets away with entirely too much, fs.

Robin's also a certified yapper. Doesn't even have to know you. You give him one good reason to like you or he hears you say something even mildly relating to one of his interests, he'll just start talking to you like he knows you (it's how he's made a lot of his friends, ngl, he's just outgoing and relatively friendly).

Talks mad shit, too. Bro's no better than a woman😭. Gets all the tea from the beauty shop/salon where his mom be going. It's okay, tho, because he's got such good energy and is a charmer in his own way (like I said), so it's hard to dislike him or to want to turn him away from your ongoing convos.

Laughs at everything, but says nothing (if that makes sense). He's sooo... "Nah, nah, it's just...🤭💀*more giggling*"

Bro is just a dork, he's easy to make laugh/entertain, not as stoic as most ppl think he is (regardless of the resting bitch face he chronically suffers from). Dare I say, he's lowkey a little bit manic pixie dream boy coded. No, I won't elaborate♡.

One like on this fic equals one step closer to a cure for Robin's RBF😔🧡.

Only does edibles. He's so scared of something ever happening to his lungs (health class traumatized him, no joke. He saw that model of the charred, black lungs from smoking, and that was all it took. He won't inhale SHIT that's not oxygen bro lmfao💀😭✋🏽).

Would probably cry if his mom caught him smoking anything anyway, so it never even occured to him to try it. He can hide being high, but he knows damn well you can't hide the smell of that shit, so gummies it is🍃✨️☁️.

RIP Robin Arellano, you would've been geeked at the fact that the Halloween franchise is still going 3-5 decades later😔🙏🏽.

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫 :

- before his death -

I feel like he got moved around a lot as a kid because his dad was a military brat or whatever (a classic hardass type with The Abuser Mustache™) ((if you don't know what I mean by the mustache look, think about/look up Chloe's stepdad from Life Is Strange)).

It didn't matter where he went/was/moved, though, because it was a dysfunctional home life regardless. Mom and dad always fighting, no real stable income (one of those things where it was like,,, sometimes they came off as well-off and be spoiled, and sometimes, they were going to an off-brand thrift shop for cheap clothes and other necessities), things like that.

So when his dad left, it definitely left a mark on everyone in the house. Bittersweet type of thing because while yes, he was a dickwad, he was still their dad and he cared for them in his own, fucked up way (part of why Vance is so angy😞).

I don't give not one good fuck what anyone says, Jim Hopper (Stranger Things) is that boy's uncle, idcidc😻✨️!!

(I love connecting fandoms thru coinkydink headcannons♡).

Vance is a middle child who has all sisters (five, to be exact. One eldest who's college age, a second eldest who's about a year or two younger than the oldest, one that's basically his irish twin, a younger sister around Gwen's age, and then a baby sister who's still in diapers). And absolutely he would go to bat for all of them (especially them two youngest, he don't play about them and he spoils them to death if/when he can).

Woman dominated house fr, and probably a big part of the reason he isn't fully/entirely off the rails (AND WHY HE WOULD N O T TREAT WOMEN LIKE SHIT. Again, I'm sorry but y'all gonna have to drop the narrative of him treating girls and/or fem readers like absolute dogwater. He knows ENTIRELY better, he's not a crazy monster, bro probably wouldn't even enjoy cussing at you, let alone calling you out of your name with things like "dipshit" and "cunt" and "fuckface" in a "loving" way all of the time, like absolutely not,,, I could go more into this but that's for the next set of hdcns I'm going to pos-...oop, I've said too much🤭- MOVING ON...!).

Speaking of cussing, though... Regardless of what I just said before, I feel like it doesn't mean he still wouldn't curse. Like, no, that boy can work his mouth REAL good. He probably started talking from an early age, too. Dude's first word(s) was probably something really sweet/cute, or something just absolutely vile, no in between💀😭. Maybe both.

Over time, though, he learned when and when not to do so. Like, when/where it was appropriate for him to cuss and when not to. For example, he'll cuss with/at his friends, in front of adults he doesn't know/doesn't give a shit about. But in more professional settings like school or whatever, he'll tone it down because he's trying NOT to get in trouble more than he already has (doesn't mean it's worked, but hey, at least he tried lmao). He cusses at home, yes, he'll cuss around his mom but not AT her, huge difference. Has cussed out his father plenty of times, cops as well. Won't cuss around the younger sisters, but will with/at the older ones. Point is, he's good at gaging the situation.

He's a Leo (birthday - August 10th), but for some reason, I think there's maybe some Pisces in his chart?? I...idk, don't question my madness✋🏽🥴✋🏽. But yeah, he couldn't give two fucks less about birth charts. That stuff not only means nothing to him, but he thinks it's really stupid, too. The only reason he even knows his own sign is because of one of his sisters, and that's it. Knows nothing about what being a Leo entails, doesn't care to find out, and will probably look at you crazy if you bring it up.

He has this fixation with pinball because there was always a machine or a place that had one close by, no matter where he went; he'd used it to drown out memories/high emotions, but now is just addicted to playing it, even when he's not pissed off💀. He was real pissy one day, played it, WON,,, and since then, he hasn't really felt a joy/satisfaction like it. Angry/upset feelings immediately morphed into, "Holy shit, I fucking won...!!" And that was it, he was hooked. Bro probably has the highest score on so many machines across the midwest area and doesn't even know he has this "nobody can beat this mystery Vance guy" reputation states away or something💀✋🏽.

Another thing he uses to distract/sooth himself is music. Not a full music geek or anything, but LOVVVESSS rock/metal music (if you couldn't already tell given his style). Kiss, Metallica, all of that shit. Was dreaming for the day he either got an electric guitar as a Christmas or birthday gift or for when he could save up for his own.

And, because he wanted to further mimic all the cool rockstars he was seeing coming up, he tried a cigarette ONCE, and he ended up hating that shit💀. He fr wanted to see the appeal so bad, too, but he just can't, and side-eyes people whenever he sees them smoke, now.

"Their breath is fucking rank, I just know it..." "They're literally addicted, Vance, they cant help it." "They need to be addicted to a fucking toothbrush and some mint gum🫢🤢."

Like Robin, when Vance got snatched, he fucked with and was doing his best to beat the breaks off The Grabber until the bitter end. He had a better advantage, too, because he's much bigger, so he definitely got good licks in - which led to The Grabber starving him so that he was too weak to fight back so yes, he took his time with Vance, made his death hurt, which just kinda left Vance feeling pissed off and hopeless until he died.

- if he had lived -

He definitely would've learned to calm down a bit; some time and talks with his mother and sisters, some warning calls from Uncle Jim, the threat of actual prison and not just "juvie for a couple of days" eventually set him straight. Still quick to anger, but he doesn't practically kill people anymore😃👍🏽. Don't ... Don't fuck with his pinball machine, though, that's still a very active warning/threat on his behalf.

He also gained a sense of moral justice, so even if he did decide to go apeshit (y'know, for old times sake), it'd be for a valid reason, ngl.

That lady from the Grab'n'Go store fs gave him that pinball machine at one point (replaced it with a lamer game or something, like Pac-Man or whatever). When she straight up realized Vance wasn't going to let anyone else touch that shit, let alone beat his high score, which meant she wasn't getting any business with it, she basically just-

"Ykw, just take it😐". ... "...What :0??"

He was clueless as hell, too, genuinely had NO IDEA why she would give him the ENTIRE MACHINE TO KEEP FOR FREEEEE, but was VERY grateful. His mom even tried to get him to give it back, but that woman insisted😭. "I don't know what you think I'm supposed to do with it if you won't let anyone else touch it, Vance. Just keep it and stop wrecking my store."

He didn't at first, has no clue when or how it happened, but very suddenly and intensely grew a guilty-pleasure liking for superheroes. Really likes The Hulk and X-Men comics and has stacks of them he's both bought and stolen collecting in his room.

Sometimes, he rips them up and makes posters out of them, like,,, rips out certain characters or speech bubbles he likes or whole pages and then plasters them around his room.

Relating to superheroes, kind of... You wouldn't think it, but he's got that Spider-Man mentality where it's like,,, he's always looking out for the little guy. When his sense of moral kicked in, he wasn't just fighting for no reason anymore. Now he was fighting if he saw some fuckers talking mad shit or doing something he knew was wrong on their part, so he'd set 'em straight. Would make sure people he didn't have problems with weren't getting picked on.

Also has a high respect for Robin because he essentially does the same shit, and because while Vance has the size advantages, Robin has the skill advantages that he doesn't. The feeling is mutual, too.

Is very confused and awkward when he is told/finds out girls have crushes on him. Very much like🧍🏼‍♂️.

Not opposed, just... bro don't know what to do with that info, and he sure as hell aint making the first move💀✋🏽.

He's more of a close bond, has to have already been best friends first, and then develop feelings along the way, typa guy. Likes real and close connections that actually have a chance at lasting (especially considering his childhood consisted of a lot of moving around, never really getting to keep friends, etcetc).

RIP Vance Hopper, you would've loved Thunderstruck by AC/DC but slowed and reverbed😔🙏🏽.

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫 :

- before his death -

I'm not even gonna lie,,, think of your average, white, classic, all-american poster family from the movies,,, That was his life. Stay at home, quirky mom, breadwinner businessman father, bratty little brother, rebellious older sister, golden retriever dog, snow white cat, nice suburban house with a front lawn and a backyard with a grill and pool, all of that😭.

He's lowkey kinda spoiled, too, for the listed reasons above lmao. Not in a bad way, but sometimes he says or does things that are a little tone deaf and you're just like "😃..." But I mean, if you communicate well enough, he's more inclined to understand.

It's just cultural/environmental difference, fr, that's all lmao.

Billy was doing the paper boy gig to save up for a car. A specific one, too (defo a car guy, I feel like).

I couldn't give details, but I just feel it in my nuggets, he was saving up for a specific car and my boy was DETERMINED, too. Bro was DEDICATED to getting this fucking car. Everyone around him knew it, like he made it very clear his only goal in life at the moment was to get that car lmfao.

I feel like he's a very detail-oriented person, but in the way where it's like,,, Very adhd-coded. Won't clean his room because "It's an oragnized mess, don't touch anything, I know exactly where everything is" type beat. Or like, whenever he has multiple tasks to complete, he'll do that thing where he'll stand somewhere and just start glitching lmfao like when you give a sim too many tasks at once.

He also really likes making lists. But then all of his lists get jumbled up, so he's gotta find the right list for the right stuff LMFAO it's silly, he's silly.

I also think he's a good writer and takes interest in books and poetry. Wouldn't write poetry, but would read it a lot. But definitely has half-assed, pending ideas for his own original stories/books.

And comics, too, he really likes graphic novels, things that have both descriptions and pictures that correspond with one another.

Like Vance, he also really likes superheroes, but unlike him, he's always been into comics and stuff since he was little, so the interest didn't just pop out of nowhere. Not really a Marvel guy. He leans more towards DC, so his favorites are Aquaman and Superman.

He also loves cartoons. Like, to an unhealthy amount. There he is every morning, sat right in front of the TV, no matter how many times his parents have told him to back tf up before he ruins his eyes, with a piping hot cup of coffee, glued to the screen running all of his favorite cartoons lmao. I don't think he'd ever grow out of it, either. He'd be in his 40s-50s, totally adapted to the newer cartoons like The Amazing World Of Gumball or whatever lmao.

You can pry the original Scooby-Doo from his cold, dead hands, though💀.

Billy's a Sagittarius (birthday - December 12th), but I think he also has come Capricorn, Libra, and/or Cancer in his chart. He just seems like a very chill, curious, and understanding person, which can either make people really like him at first or misjudge him (maybe even dislike) him. But at the end of the day, he's very secure in himself and who he is. He knows what he's got going on. And like I said, he loves to learn further and understand, so it's not like he's ever going to purposefully cause problems or anything.

If at all, I think he's also a non-confrontational person, much like Finney. He stays in his own lane, does his very best to avoid conflict, and while sure, he's got a lot of scattered friends from different areas and walks of life and whatever, it's that way for a reason😭. He's just a good dude fr!

He's also more outspoken than you would think at first. Can definitely hold and even start a friendly conversation, and honestly... TAKE HIM TO YOUR PARENTS👹👏🏽‼️. Adults love him, he's very polite and courteous, and they find him funny because he can for SURE crack a well-timed joke.

I mean it, too, I think Billy definitely has a way with words and comedy. He's so on par with all different types of humor, so once he picks up on yours, oh my god, he'll have you crying-laughing lmao.

Like Vance, he's good at cussing, he will cuss you the fuck out with his sassy, petty ass💀✋🏽. Knows better than to cuss in front of adults (like I said, they love him, and he plans to keep it that way lmao), and he probabaly won't call you out your name, but boyyyyy he's got a mouth on him😭💀!

Speaking of, oUUU he's a petty mf, he don't let SHIT slide. Ever. Bro can't fight but whew...!! He be talking shit like he can😭 (he's probably gotten his ass kicked due to this once or twice, ngl, but hey, you live and you learn lmfao).

Billy was a little too calm when he got snatched up. Like yea, he fought tooth and nail when he initially got grabbed off of his bike, but once he was in that basement and after a few days, he sadly just kind of,,, accepted his fate.

What he didn't expect was to be put through the psychological tortures of like,,, being beat or thinking he had the chances to escape whenever The Grabber would give him false hope, that stuff. That really fucked with him up until he died.

- if he had lived -

Oh, you can bet your ass he got that fckn car💀.

He was feelin' himself for WEEKS after the fact, too. He was giving all his friends rides, honking whenever he arrived at places, always keeping it PRISTINE looking. Not a scratch, dent, or spec of dust on or in that mf😹.

Just overall being super obnoxious about it ngl lmfao💀😭 (but he deserves to be, he worked so hard for it and everybody understood that, so it's fine). Got a better job after the fact, too, now that he could actually take himself to and from.

I know I mentioned him drinking coffee earlier, but to expand on that a little more, he was basically always drinking coffee and energy drinks to stay awake and (barely🥴) coherent when he was doing his paper boy job and school at the same time, so he now unfortunately has a caffeine addiction that he cannot shake for the life of him. He's tried so many things, he just can't let go😭. He likes it really sweet, too (he has a sweet tooth).

He'll add a lot of creamer, flavored syrup, sugar... whatever he can find to kind of just dilute the bitter taste entirely, he's throwing it in the mug. Also part of the reason why he's more fond of soda/energy drinks, because at least he doesn't have to deal with that nasty taste coffee has (I'm a coffee hater, hop off😒✋🏽).

Also like I mentioned earlier, he'd still have this weird yet cute thing with cartoons. Like, yeah, he'd enjoy a good movie (indie, coming of age type stuff), but cartoons just really do it for him. Sitting at the kitchen table with his second bowl of fruit loops laughing at Tom and Jerry is his therapy, truly♡.

While he can be out of touch, he's very open and easy to gain understanding from, loves to learn (especially since he's a writer). Just an all-around stand-up guy fr, you can not go wrong with Billy Showalter.

Hell, he can do no wrong😭❤️.

I CAN'T BELIEVE I ALMOST FORGOT ABOUT HIS DOG, WHAT THE FUCK >:0!!!

HE LOVES THAT HYPERACTIVE LITTLE SHIT😭❤️🐶❤️. He's had her for a long ass time, since she was a puppy (idc what anyone says, the goldie is a girl, and her name is Harper), and it truly is the case of a dog is a man's best friend between them. He begged for the dog, got the dog, takes care of the dog, spoils the dog, he loves the damn dog, okay🥲?

He could be stripped of everything he knows and loves, and Billy would STILL make sure Harper was okay first before all. She's such a good dog, too. She's very polite and sweet, and it doesn't take much to get her going. Like I said, very hyperactive, so pretty much all you have to do is say a favorite word ("outside" "ball" "play" "treat" "good girl" "go get..." etcetc) in a certain, happy tone, and now she's all riled up.

Speaking of love, though, Billy's got so much rizz, I can't even fully explain what I mean. I could better convey it with writing, tho (somebody plz request Billy fics).

Like he's just... he's one of those guys you don't pay much attention to, but he could do ONE meaningful (or tbh even meaningless) thing, and suddenly, he's a 10/10.

The type of guy you'd have zero feelings for, but have one singular dream about being with him romantically, and then you'd wake up with a crush on him. He's just got it like that, idk what to tell you🤷🏽‍♀️😆.

RIP Billy Showalter, you and Harper would've loved Courage The Cowardly Dog😔🙏🏽.

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐞 𝐘𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐚 :

- before his death -

He's definitely a popular person, like,,, easy on the eyes, charming with both his words and actions, handsome smile, LOVES to gossip, has a clean-cut, crisp style, and you wanna tell me he doesn't literally know/is on good terms with everybody from every clique? Girl, bye🤭✋🏽.

He'd look at you and say it, too💀.

"Girl, BYE😹✋🏼!!"

On that, though, I feel like his mom very much prides herself on appearance. Not in a vain, controlling way, but just in a "I love and care about my babies, so every time they step out this house, they gonna be looking RIGHT, idc" type of way.

And after a while, he definitely picked that up from her, so he takes it upon himself to always look spick and span.

He's a Gemini (birthday - June 12th), but I think he could very well have some earth placements as well. He'd find astrology interesting, kind of like Finney, but he wouldn't dive too deep into it. He'd know his Sun, Moon, and Rising sign, ask about yours, and unless you went further with it, the conversation on astrology would probably end there lol.

Also, kinda random, but his nickname is "Brucie". Like, idk, it's just fitting. It's not an all the time thing that everyone calls him, but if you know him and if you're close to him, it's kind of like a teasing thing. "Heyy, Brucie, what'cha been up to😹✨️?" You know?

I feel like overall, he's just a very calm, cool, and collected person. Not easy to irritate him or make him mad/upset (but omg, don't do it, he gets feral so fast), and also very understanding. Good listener, which is why he's good with the gossip. Very much resident secret keeper, unless he knows it's something he needs to tell, if that makes sense.

Totally the type to be like, "I won't tell anyone :D!" And then immediately think to himself, 'I can't wait to tell my mom/best friend/Amy lol'. But don't worry, that's the only person he'd tell fr😭✋🏽 (who am I kidding, he's messy as hell, and we all know it).

He do be instigating fs. Will watch somebody like Vance or Robin get pissed about something and be in his ear all like, "Wooowww, I can't believe they'd do that, what are you gonna do? You're not gonna let it slide, are you🫢😗🙃??" LMFAOOO just messy💀😹.

I honestly think of him the same way I think of Benny Rodriguez. Baseball was life to him. Like, it was his passion, it wasn't just something he did because it was a fun hobby or a distraction. Like yes, but it was more than that as well. It was everything to him, and he definitely had dreams to go the distance with it and actively searched and scouted for any and every opportunity to do so.

I also think Bruce is a very thorough music lover. Very non-discriminatory or judgemental, and will honestly vibe to anything. But that doesn't mean he doesn't have his favorites. Just has a wide range, that's all. Also an MJ fan for sure, tho.

Like Finney, he's got a close bond with his sister, Amy (who I hdcn is younger than him), but the vibe is a lot different. You probably wouldn't even know they were siblings outside of the house if it weren't for the fact they look alike. Not because they're embarrassed of each other or anything, they just have vastly different cliques/lifestyles, so the only time they really get to reconnect is back at home or on family outings.

The Grabber took Bruce and he had a wholllle mental breakdown. Like, got in that basement and was a full-on mess, literally inconsolable. Cried at everything for every reason up until he died, and if one were to have witnessed it, it'd be very heartbreaking.

The Grabber almost feels guilty for it, but only because he can't get the sobs, hiccups, and voice cracks out of his head. Ik I just said Bruce is a triple C case (calm, cool, collected type), but c'mon, guys. He's a Gemini. He be switching up😔🤷🏽‍♀️💔. There were maybe two or three key moments where he did something beneficial to himself/was an attempt to escape, but...yeah...

- if he had lived -

Bruce would've fulfilled those dreams on going the distance with baseball.

Or would've done a complete 180° from whatever everyone and even himself thought and would've become a fashion designer. I can't elaborate on this, I just...I feel it in my bonesssss.

Which reminds me, he definitely would've discovered his own style at some point and would've dived DEEP into exploring different things. Trendsetter type of vibe (and it would either be the case of people around would've been eating it up or they would've shunned him, no in between. But I feel like he'd have the charisma for ppl to eat it up).

Much like Robin, actually, he's so the type to be cute and KNOW he's cute, but act clueless lmao. Walking around as if he's not getting letters and gifts and whatnot from secret admirers WEEKLY, flashing a smile and/or a wink at people, all of that. But what makes him even more likable is that he's such a GIVER.

Bro is always giving somebody something, it's just in his DNA, it's all he knows. Not even his parents know where he gets it from, and while it's a very admirable thing he does,,, don't get it twisted, he's not naive, he'll take things and remove himself from your life just as fast if you fuck up. Don't test him, his patience is lowkey surpsingly thin💀.

But yeah, he's always offering his time, his money, his thoughts, his praise, his compassion. If he feels like you derseve it (doesn't even have to know you well, you'd just have to make/leave a good impression on him), next thing you know, he's trying to find out what you like and what you're interests are so he can just pop up later and be like, "Oh, here, I got/made you this :)."

Like SIRRR???🥲💚

But anyways, yeah, Bruce is the resident pretty boy. I mean, he was before, but I feel like he's the type to just get better with age. Bro would be 80 years old looking like a fine ass 45😻. And it definitely is a result of upkeep/routine; he and his mama zon't💅🏽 play when it comes to looking fresh.

RIP Bruce Yamada, you would've loved fit-checks on TikTok if you ever figured out how to use it😔🙏🏽.

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠 :

- before his death -

This neurodivergent little fucker OUUU he's an AuDHD menace to society, a little gremlin👹. Nothing he does or says makes any sense but YES IT DOES like,,,

He's just so inquisitive and insightful; wise beyond his years type. Just one of those kids who have an innate sense of self, society, and the world from a very young age. But it's all thinly veiled behind this glass wall of silly/aloof behavior.

Also, he is a younger kid, so that kind of adds onto the whole "People don't take him as seriously as they often really should" deal.

He's one of those people you either really love for who he is, or you find him very odd and off-putting. Or both. Not that he cares because he knows exactly what and who serves him and what and who won't for the current moment. Like I said, he's just...ahead of himself/time/what people would expect.

But also-

"You ain't gonna tell me shit. ... Suck my dick. ... Suck my dick you fuckman. ... You're gonna be here sucking my dick." That's literally him.

"You ever think the wind is trying to tell us something?" His poor tired mom, probably > "I just want you to stop saying odd shit😮‍💨🍷..." That is also him.

He's a Leo (birthday - July 31st) but I don't believe that for even a second, so I have the theory he's got a lot of earth and air in his chart that overshadows the fact that he's a Leo. I think he's one of those kids that dips his toe into everything, so whether or not his beliefs align with whatever he has knowledge on doesn't really matter. He just likes to know.

So, on that note, he does know some stuff on astrology, knows his birth chart, will tell you his sign if/when asked and will definitely ask for yours if he's curious enough to know more about you. If not, he probably wouldn't ask.

Griffin is everybody's little brother, tho, fr. Like even if you don't really know him or "like" him per se, you always feel some typa way if you see him being picked on or whatever. It's pretty much an unwritten rule in that small down in Denver,,, Do not fuck with Griffin Stagg. Like, even fully grown adults go to bat for him, I'm being so serious right now😭.

Lowkey kind of a teacher's pet. Not because he's a try-hard or anything, but he genuinely does everything he's supposed to. He participates when he wants to, he keeps straight As, he's quiet, all that. So, whether Griffin himself knows it or not, he's on a lot of his teacher's good sides :).

It definitely makes his mom happy, too, which he likes. A total mama's boy all the way (I feel like all of the boys are, tbh, but not in that weird, emotional incest, toxic way lmfao💀).

Speaking of...! Defo an only child of a tired but very loving single mom. A SINGLE MOM WHO WORKS TWO JOBS, WHO LOVES HER KID AND NEVER STOPS😫🗣🎶‼️. That's their case.

And it's not that he's sheltered or anything. He just doesn't have the strongest urge or whatever to go out and do stuff that doesn't - like I said - serve or benefit him at the moment. His mom really does try to encourage him, though. To go out and make friends, to go do something with any free time he has besides spending it in his room or with her. Sometimes he listens.

Sometimes not lmao. He really is a homebody, and if he had things his way all the time, he'd like a nice, quiet, and peaceful environment to be in if he HAD to go out. Like a park but with no kids there or a library. Maybe he'd enjoy an arcade,,, but only if it was on a very slow day and everything was deep cleaned and the machine's volumes were turned down lower and- 🥴💀.

Yeah...

It's not that he has memory or noise/sensory issues or anything (or maybe he does, he honestly wouldn't know for sure himself lol), but he's just got stuff constantly whirring around in his brain.

Operates with the file system (has to open up specific cabinets/drawers and sort through the files, find the exact memory/topic he's looking for, etcetc, it's a whole, intricate system) and even then, that's not always guaranteed.

So yeah, if he's says "I dunno" or "Prolly" just give him a second or two afterwards, because it's not that he's actually forgotten or doesn't know, he's just stalling while his brain lags lmao (he might even be sassing you a little🤭).

When he got snatched and put in that basement, he was calm, but not like Billy, where he just had a moment of acceptance. Calm like,,, more like when Finney was in the basement. Just very observant, scared, and confused. Almost a little painfully naive, which made it easy for The Grabber to mess with him😕.

And he (The Grabber) did for a while, "play with his food" for lack of better wording, before Griffin eventually wised up and started getting a little too smart, quick, and sneaky for his liking. Which led to his death, for sure, because I have a hdcn that Griffin fr almost got out (again, kinda like Finney's case) but unfortunately, couldn't try all the lock combos in time before he was back in the basement and then eventually,,, yk,,, for having tried it at all.

- if he had lived -

I feel like he'd be the type to have explored so many different interests, niches, and just really overall loves to learn. Wouldn't be able to stick to anything, but it definitely keeps him busy. Good at everything kinda guy; you could ask him about/to do anything, and he'd genuinely have surface level knowledge on it.

Human Google. If you wanted help with your homework, project, or just simple research, he'd be the best guide. And he'd open up a little, too, while doing it because not only does he enjoy learning, but he'd love even more for a chance to yap about what it is he knows/has learned without somebody falling asleep on him mid-sentence😃.

His mom. His mom be trying to listen but bless her heart, she be TIRREEED😫. Like Griffin, honey, you might as well be singing that woman a lullaby, she is out like a light😭💀. But it's okay, he understands, so it's not like he holds a grudge or anything.

I also think the more time he spends with a person, the more "character traits" he picks up. Spent time around Gwen? Now he's cussing up a storm more than usual. Hung with Billy for a little while? He's got that sass on lock now. Had a chat with Finney? He picked up on that little nervous thumb biting thing he has.

It's endearing once you notice it, and he's not doing it on purpose. He just mirrors you because well,,, he likes you and wants you to like him, so subconsciously, he just-

*sees you doing something* *now he's doing it too without missing a beat or noticing himself*

He met Gwen, though, and it was a wrap. They were stuck to each other like glue, besties, 4lyfers, and then met Amy and Vance's younger sis and after that?? Even if he was sheltered, he sure as fuck wouldn't be anymore😹.

I'm sure they'd be running around Denver, wreaking havoc and being little sillies together♡.

RIP Griffin Stagg, you would've loved making slime😔🙏🏽 (he'd probably make a whole collection of different types and textures, maybe even sold 'em for a side-hustle lol).

𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐈 𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐡😌?

I had so much fun writing this even though it took me so long lmao :>. but yeah, little spoiler, I've got more tbp content coming up, most being requests, and then I am slowly making my way down my MASSIVE inbox, so hopefully - in due time - y'all will see more content in general coming from me :).

but, until the time comes, I hope whoever reads this enjoyed it !!/ᐠ^˕^マ!!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 :

anon

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :

9,296

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 :

none :(

[slut4celebs]

French Kiss

Reneé Rapp x French!Reader

Word Count: 1,006

Trigger Warning: suggestive comments, poor ending

Requests: “Renee x reader fanfic where reader is French and the guitarist in a famous rock band and Renee is just melting?” In which Reneé Rapp has fallen for a French girl and there’s no way out of it.

Fuck Duolingo. Reneé found herself at an afterparty for the VMAs, surrounded by her favorite band (and one of her best friends), Rated R. Of course, anyone would find this to be a plus. After all, Rated R were chart toppers, their music bringing a good mix of French and English to the rock world. An edgier, group version of Celine Dion, if you will. The only problem was, that Reneé was not able to retain a word they were saying, despite her many late-night dates with the green owl of doom on her phone. She wanted so desperately to understand what they were saying that it was silently killing her.

(Y/n) looked over to Reneé, having just laughed at something her bandmate had said. They had become best friends over their shared time in the music industry. Though, it always felt like their friendship was just a bit more than friendly. After all, the amount of flirting the two of them partook in sometimes blurred the lines, despite both of them being very flirty people in general. Gently. she nudged Reneé in hopes of getting the pout on the girl's lips to drop. "Come on, let's go get a drink." She offered her hand, which Reneé gently took, their fingers instinctively intertwining.

It was easy to see when Reneé was upset or wasn't having fun. She was such a ball of light and excitement that it wasn't hard to tell. "I think sometimes we forget that you aren't French, and I'm sorry for that. In our defense, your name is Reneé, which is very French." (Y/n) teased, earning a small laugh from the blonde, and (Y/n) could tell that she was cheering her up. "I can talk to them if you want. Remind them to speak a bit more English." (Y/n) handed over a drink, smiling a bit at Reneé.

"It's not that," Reneé thanked her for the drink, taking a sip. "I just wish I could figure it out. I want to learn how to speak French. For them, of course, but mainly for you. You always say these things that sound a bit flirty, but I… I can never respond because I don't know what you're saying. But I want to! Duolingo is just taking forever." She rambled, finishing her sentence with a soft groan coming from her lips. (Y/n) couldn't help but glance away, always in love with the way Reneé would go off on a bit of a tangent.

A playful smirk fell on her lips as she held up her drink to clink with Reneé's, an action immediately reciprocated. "Mainly for me, huh? Well, I will tell you what… I'll teach you French. Duolingo is… great, but… It doesn't beat having actual practice. You know, conversationally. There are many words, phrases, and slang that you've taught me that Duolingo never could." (Y/n) said softly with a wink Reneé's way. (Y/n)'s words seemed to effectively light up her face as she nodded at the plan.

She was grateful to have (Y/n) in her life. It was moments like these, though, where she had to restrain herself from kissing the girl before her. "I could never tell you how grateful I am… Hey, I had this thought. You know how I always do a little show with my guitarists when I sing Tummy Hurts? Any chance you'd want to come on stage for it, at least once? Maybe you could teach me some lines of it in French for me to sing up there with you. It'd be the collab of the century." Reneé reasoned, hoping (Y/n) wouldn't notice the pink continuing to spread and darken on her cheeks. Mainly, she was hoping she wasn't being too obvious in her feelings. Honestly, given their flirty behaviors, it was hard to tell if this was all a game or real life for each other.

A snort came from (Y/n) as she eyed Reneé. Taking another sip from her drink, she leaned on the wall. "You mean the famous Tummy Hurts performance where you're flirting with your guitarist? I couldn't turn that down, mon chéri." She said, leaning in slightly, their faces close together. "Maybe I'll finally get a kiss from you after the show then, hm?" She winked before pulling away slightly. Her teasing is successful, as shown by how red Reneé's face has gotten.

There was a pleasant feeling of surprise when Reneé had pulled her back in. Their faces were once again so close that (Y/n) could feel the blonde's breath fan against her lips. "Do you want to wait for the show? Or… I could just kiss you right now, if you want." A clear ask for consent that (Y/n) gave as their lips collided. It was a passionate but hungry kiss, both girls gripping at each other as if scared to let go. (Y/n)'s hands found themselves holding onto Reneé's waist, pulling her closer by the hips, and Reneé's hands held her cheeks before finding their way to the back of (Y/n)'s neck.

They needed to be reminded of where they were, and (either unfortunately or) fortunately, Aurélie, one of (Y/n)'s bandmates with a slightly thicker accent than her, cleared her throat. "We were just looking for you two. (Y/n) we're headed to get some fast food on the way to the hotel. Reneé, do you want to join us?" She asked with a wink over at the two.

"Come on," (Y/n) said softly, leading Reneé away with her other bandmates. Both girl's lips were slightly swollen from their kisses but neither was regretful. "You can stay in my room tonight and we can figure out all of this. If you want." (Y/n) said softly, squeezing Reneé's hand gently. "Yeah, I do want that." Reneé agreed happily as she got in the car with the band. She was sure her heart was beating faster than her thoughts were in her mind, not that she cared. She was excited and happy for whatever was going to happen next between them.

[the-offside-rule]

Carlos Sainz Jr (Scuderia Ferrari) - Get A Grip

Requested: via wattpad

Prompt: Carlos was a huge red flag during their relationship and then when Y/n glows up after they breakup, he tries to get back with her but she was having none of it because she was seeing another driver on the grid (you can choose)

Warnings: Carlos getting eaten alive (not actually just...metaphorically) AND THID IS A GIVEN BUT THIS IS COMPLETELY FICTIONAL

Monaco 2022. Y/n sat with her boyfriend in a nightclub as his shiny P2 trophy stood proudly on the table, surrounded by bottles and glasses. Y/n smiled uncomfortably as her boyfriend laid his arm around her shoulders and charted happily with his engineers. Yn played with the rings on her fingers, catching the attention of her boyfriend. Well that wasn't true. The engineer he was talking to noticed it and told Carlos. That made it worst. "You okay?" Carlos asked. Y/n nodded. "Is this one of those tricks where you say you are but you aren't?" She nodded again. "Well, whats wrong then?" He asked harshly. "I don't want to be here." She told him. Carlos reached into his pocket and pulled out the card to their room. "I'll be up in an hour. Order yourself food or something." She held her card in her hand, staring at it blankly. "Carlos, I want you to come with me."

"I don't want to leave yet." Carlos replied. "But I came here, not wanting to go out." Y/n said. "I got a podium. Of course I'm going to go out." Carlos scoffed. "You got podiums last season and we stayed in and had dinner. Why can't we do that?" She asked desperately. "Because we're in Monaco-" She cut him off"You got a podium in Monaco last year too!"

"Y/n, get a grip." Y/n felt her heart shattering. "What?" She asked. "Well, Im your boyfriend. I don't know how I am meant to help you with this." Carlos took another swig of his glass and set it down. "You could try and reassure me maybe. Just a thought!" She stood up and left, hearing Carlos call after her, but stopping after a single try.

"I don't know what to do Lily." Y/n sobbed in the bathroom. "I would dump him." Lily said, moving a piece of Y/n's behind her hair. "I- I can't see myself without him." Y/n sniffled. "Look, I couldn't see myself without Alex, sweetie, but if he spoke to me that way I'd find a way to be without him." It seemed so easy for Lily. Y/n physically couldn't think of a life where Carlos wasn't around. "I can't." Lily gave her fellow wag a sympathetic smile and hugged her. "Come on. Let's go. We don't want people seeing you like this."

Y/n and Lily walked through the dancing crowd, making their way to the VIP area where all the drivers stayed. As the security opened the red rope for the ladies to walk through,their eyes set on "What we're you doing with that girl?" Y/n asked, looking at Carlos with eyes full of rage. "She wanted a photo and we got a photo." Carlos said. "You kissed her on the cheek." Carlos groaned. "Wow, a kiss on the cheek. This is what I mean, you always-" She didn't like after that. It was seeing Carlos finally doing what everyone was telling her he does. "I'm done." She mumbled. "What?" Carlos asked. "I- I'm done." Carlos' face dropped. "Y/n-" She turned and walked away, leaving that life behind her. She would never let another man treat her the way he did again.

After the break up was announced, a lot of news came out about Carlos. A lot from girls he supposedly slept with at races Y/n didn't attend. How they all allegedly were invited to races Y/n wouldn't be at, and even some that Y/n was at. Regardless of if she was there or not, he cheated. God knows what would have happened if Y/n hadn't left the bathroom I Monaco. Maybe he would have gone further with that "fan". All she could do right now, was simply move on and build a life without him. And that was exactly what she did.

The 2023 summer break had finished and Carlos had partied more or less every weekend, racking up a body count but not wanting any of the girls to stay. He miled for photos and signed things for fans as he entered the paddock. As he walked on, past the flash mob and fans, another driver caught his attention. He heard the cameras flashing and turned to see Max walking in with a girl. It wasnt the girlfriend he had back at testing, she was different and he could tell by the colour of the hair. He pulled a face but continued walking to the Ferrari hospitality. He watched through the tinted windows to get a closer look. "Who are we stalking?" Charles asked, standing beside his teammate. "Max has a new girlfriend." Carlos muttered. "You're sure it's not the same as testing?" Charles asked. "No, the hair is different. So is the style." Carlos replied. "Hair dye, hired a stylist." Charles chuckled. "No, believe me. She's different! Look!" Carlos and Charles' gaze fell onto the girl holding hands with Max as the both laughed with eachother. Charles looked over to Carlos, waiting to see the moment realisation would settle in. "Is that-" He paused. Y/n.

"Well...she's a different girl." She was. Not only was she not the girl Max brought to testing, but she was barely even the girl Carlos had once dated. She changed immensely. She went back to her natural hair colour, instead of having it dyed and she changed her style. Her whole aura was different. "She is. Do you think Max has something to do with it?" He asked. "Or maybe your breakup." Carlos turned to Charles. "I'll go." Charles mumbled.

As the weeks passed, Carlos got sick of seeing Max winning, because it meant he'd see Y/n kissing him before he went to the podium each and every time, each time met with Carlos rolling his eyes.

In Qatar, Carlos didn't start and so he sat watching the race instead. As he walked through the paddock club, he spotted Y/n sipping a drink at a table with Jos. He didn't know what was happening, but he found himself walking over towards the table and before he could stop himself, he found himself shaking hands with Jos and having small talk as Y/n simply looked at him, Carlos looking back. "I need to go to the garage now, Carlos but it was nice catching up." Jos smiled as he turned to Y/n. "I'll see you there." Jos said to Y/n as she nodded. Jos left, leaving Carlos and Y/n to fill awkward silence. As Carlos stood there, watching the formation lap, he decided to speak.

"You know drivers move quickly." Carlos said to her. He face palmed himself in his mind. Why would he say that?! "Like how quickly you moved on from me?" Carlos clenched his jaw. Even when they weren't together, she drove him crazy. "You'd think you would have learned from the first driver." Y/n nodded. "The driver that has more bodies to his name than podiums? Yes. Of course." She rolled her eyes and went to walk away, but Carlos took hold of her hand. "Stop being like this. You were nothing like this with me, ever." Carlos said sternly. Y/b pulled her hand from his grip. "That was before you cheated. I've changed and you only think you have." He grabbed her again. This time when she looked back to him, the white in his eyes had turned as tears threatened to fall. "Carlos? Whats-"

"I- I can't find your face in these girls I try to be with. I need you. I miss you." Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat as she was faced with Carlos, crying. It was the first time she'd ever seen him crying but she knew exactly what she had to do. "Carlos-" Y/n began, regrettfully caressing his face, a soft smile on her lips. A spark of hope lit up in Carlos' heart. "Get a grip." She whispered, before turning and walking back to the Red Bull garage to watch her boyfriend go onto win his third World championship.

And Carlos watched in envy as Y/n kissed Maxs helmet, just as she once did to his. Get a grip. It was his yurn turn get a grip.

[lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom]

Does the End Justify the Means?

CX-2 (Clone Assassin) x Reader

Summary- CX-2 never planned on forming a relationship, but once he did he had to protect it. Even if it meant killing hundreds to keep you away from Hemlock.

A/N- SPOILERS FOR THE BAD BATCH FINALE. I feel like people forget that deep down, CX-2 is still a clone being forced to serve the Empire. Maybe I'm delusional though!!! MENTIONS OF BURNS AND TORTURE!!

Word Count- 5,253

"You know, CX-2. There was once a time where I considered scrapping you. The very cloning program that made you..." Hemlock started. "You were hard to control. My methods had little effect on you. Considering you had little to live for, well that didn't help."

CX-2 stood, arms crossed behind his back. He listened intently, staring at the grey border of the wall.

"You were too, hmm. Rebellious should I say?" He walked slow circles around CX-2, studying him. "That was until I found your little secret out." Hemlock laughed at his own wit. "Who knew a medic trainee would have an Assassin Clone falling so hard!" He seemed to think the situation was hilarious.

Silent, CX-2 contemplated killing Hemlock where he stood. It wasn't possible though, he was smarter than that. He probably had a weapon on his beloved as they spoke. Perhaps Scorch was with her now...

He didn't want to think about it, so he didn't. Opting to stare back at the wall again.

"Truly, I created you better than that. The problem with you clones is your loyalty. It would typically disgust me. Though, unlucky for you, this all plays out in my favor." CX-2 swallowed hard at his words.

There were not many things that scared CX-2, but the thought of Hemlock hurting you consumed him. Striking him with a never ending fear.

"You will bring me Omega. Unless, you want an accident to happen. That would be tragic, wouldn't it?" The man asked, taunting the clone. All while fiddling with his gloved hand.

For the first time in many minutes, CX-2 spoke. "I will retrieve the girl."

"Good, I do not doubt your abilities." Hemlock stepped closer, right in The Assassins face. "Dire consequences are at stake..."

CX-2 made sure his next stop was Pabu.

CX-2 had no intentions of forming any friendships, especially not a relationship. You, however, came natural to him. In one of Hemlock's attempts to have complete control over CX-2, a burn was implemented on his waist. He remembers the day vividly, as it was the first time he'd met you.

You were only on Tantiss because of your mother. She worked for the Empire as a medic, a famous doctor of some sort. While you never had the knack for the medical field, you enjoyed helping people. It was in your blood after all.

CX-2 was taken to a special room for clones of high status. You were there by sheer accident. A mishap guided you to his side.

"Uhm, hello sir." You introduced yourself. "I'll be your medic today. What's your name?" You asked, a little nervous to be assessing a clone by yourself. He wore black armor, head still covered. You'd never seen that style before, maybe he was new?

CX-2 just stared up at you, a hard gaze. Out of fear, you started to breathe a little heavier. He could have killed you there and no one would have batted an eye.

"Sir, is something the matter?" You pressed on, trying to mask yourself with professionalism.

He continued to stare, eventually pointing at the chart In your hands.

"Of course, uh. CT-4340?"

CX-2 didn't say a word, just tilted his head. You looked at him with doe eyes. "Are you CT-4340?" you hesitated.

"My code is CX-2." He commanded out, a modulated voice appearing.

You almost jumped at the sound. "I uh, seem to have the wrong chart. I am so sorry, I should get a higher official-"

Under his helmet, CX-2 resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His shoulder dropped, annoyed. This caused his side to jolt. The pain of the burn on him was strong, but he withheld any reaction.

You, on the other hand, seemed to notice the very small twitch his waist gave out. "Where are you hurt?" You asked, the words now flowing with a motive in mind.

CX-2 instinctively started unbuckling his chest piece. You flushed slightly, ashamed you couldn't be more serious in the situation. "Do you need help?" His head rose quickly, falling after looking at you for a second. He didn't respond, just continued to take his upper armor off.

Guess not...

The second you saw his skin, you suppressed a gasp. It looked gruesome, like something had repeatedly been burning him. With a deep breath, you shoved down any lasting fear.

Getting to work, you prepared bacta and bandages.

He was still, almost too still. You'd seen plenty of procedures and medics fixing up clones. There had been wincing, complaining, and fidgeting on lesser injuries. You would have expected tears and need of an anesthetic for any other man. But he was still...

You prayed you didn't hurt him more than he already was. You knew your hands were clumsy with inexperience. If you did, he made no effort to tell you nor pull away.

From then on you saw each other more and more. While your mother made sure you got plenty of experience working on clones, you were extremely busy. Never getting a second to actually talk to CX-2. A particular encounter with a clone in the hangar would change this.

You were helping a trooper with a broken arm- Simply wrapping it to prevent further injury. You crouched down, examining the break.

CX-2 was just passing by, heading to see what his next mission was. He barely took note that a soldier under his command broke an arm. Why would he? Clones die everyday, including ones under CX-2.

He did however take note of you. He recognized you immediately. He surprised himself, why would he care about some medic? He'd never remembered the ones that had worked on him in the past.

At this, he stared at you. He took in your silhouette, something deep down told him to bask in your every feature. So, he did.

Of course you felt the beaming eyes of CX-2. It made you nervous. Was there something on your face? Did you make him mad? It distracted you.

"Ow!" The clone exclaimed in pain, face screwing. He yanked his arm up. It was an accident, you were sure. A response to the pain you caused unintentionally. CX-2 didn't seem to think this when he saw the clone raise his arm to hit you.

It all happened so fast, you didn't have time to lean back or even register what was happening. The next thing you knew was that the unidentified clone was on his back. CX-2 stood over him, a vibroblade at his neck and foot on his chest.

Falling onto your butt, you gasped and regained some sense. "CX-2...."

He slowly turned around to face you. The two of you looked at each other. His hand still expertly rested centimeters from killing the clone.

Adrenaline pumping, you spoke. "it's okay. It was an accident."

He pushed the clone back with his foot, hand raising. With the vibroblade still wielded, he stormed to you. Your heart pumped viciously, though not in fear. If he was going to really hurt you, he would have let the clone hit you.

No, your heart thumped in your ears in anticipation.

He grabbed you by the forearm with his free hand, careful of the blade. He yanked you up, off of your position on the cold floor.

You briefly noticed eyes around the hangar now in your direction. You grew nervous, only at their judgmental looks.

The quickness of it all made your head spin. You stepped out, trying not to fall. His hand still gripped your arm, he stood unmoving. He let you catch your balance, just watching you.

"Excuse me, what is going on here?" A vice admiral questioned, appearing from your left.

CX-2's modulated voice said your name. It was harsh and cold, but you somehow knew it wasn't directed at you. "She is my medic."

"And? What gives you the right to attack a clone for no reason?" The admiral demanded.

CX-2 didn't like being questioned. Before you could get a single word in, CX-2 pulled you with him as he turned to leave the hangar.

"Wha-" You decided not to protest, the man was on some kind of mission. One he had made for himself the second he saw a threat to you.

He guided you two through the complex halls and levels of the lab. You were beyond lost, but he seemed to know where he was going. After a few minutes of paced walking, you stopped him.

"CX-2, where are we going? I don't want to risk getting reprimanded by the admiral." You were cautious, the smallest of complaints could get you reassigned. Tantiss was not for the faint of heart.

"You won't." He would make sure of that. He continued to walk, this time a little slower.

Finally, you found some familiarity in the halls. You noticed he was leading you to the very room you met in. The examining room for special operatives.

He pulled you into the room, making sure the door shut behind him.

"Examine me." He demanded.

You were dumbfounded, "Excuse me?"

CX-2 actually rolled his eyes this time, even when you couldn't see them. In response to your confusion, he removed his left arm's armor.

A gash that went from the top of his shoulder to before his elbow was present. "CX-2..." Your sadden voice spoke.

You didn't actually have clearance to be in that room, nor the supplies. But you worked nevertheless.

"Please, sit." You asked. He followed your instructions immediately, sitting up on the exam bed.

Just as the day you met, you retrieved bacta and med patches. You coated the wound in extra bacta, then prepared the gauze wrap.

"So," You held his arm up gently, starting to wrap it. "How did you get this? Was it your latest mission?" Your hands carefully worked, moving under his arm.

"No." Was all you heard.

"Oh, how did it happen?" You asked, trying to make conversation.

His skin twitched as a subconscious response when you smoothed over it.

"Better if you don't know." He kept his eyes on the wall ahead of him. "Sorry I asked..." You really were. He said nothing.

After a few more moments, you made sure the wrap was steady in place. "I think you're done!" You smiled at him. He dropped his arm at his side.

After, he promptly nodded, but gave little indication on what to do next.

You looked around, feeling a little awkward.

"So... What division are you from?" You tried to ease the tension.

"Project Assassin." He said, being short.

"I haven't heard of that, wha-" He inturpted you. "Tell me about you."

You blinked. You'd only seen this man a dozen times, many of those in passing. Even so, a shot of nerves flowed in you each time. There was something special about him. It was like your heart knew something your brain didn't. You weren't a child though, you knew 'love' was something of fairy tales. That there must be a perfectly rational reason you were feeling this way around him.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

Though, if that were true, why did you sit up next to him and tell him everything?

From that day on, the only medic he allowed to work on him was you. The number of visits varied, depending on how evil Hemlock was feeling. CX-2 tried to hide the backstories from you as much as possible, sometimes even ignoring your questions.

Though, late at night, when he'd sneak into your room, he'd tell you the truth. At first he would listen. Anything you'd tell him, you had his full attention. Then, right before you fell asleep, he'd whisper his secrets.

He'd whisper them to the only person he ever trusted, you. Then, it was your turn to listen.

You cried for him, the pains he had went through. He was the perfect clone in your eyes. The only problem was how stubborn he was, no matter how hard Hemlock tried- you were still the only one who could persuade him.

Despite his grunts of protest, you'd just hold CX-2 some nights. Using your fingers to rake through his hair, cradling his head. You tried you best to give him the comfort he had never experienced before.

Everything was going so well. You would continue your training, he would continue his missions, and at night, you would talk and he would listen. You would spoil him with affections under the nights bask.

Of course, all good things must come to an end.

The day Hemlock found out about you was the worst day of CX-2's life.

CX-2 was called in for a meeting about his next mission, something he was used to. He only received orders from the highest of officials, so seeing Hemlock or Scorch was common.

"I have... a special mission of some sort. One I cannot risk incompletion of." Hemlock began.

CX-2 stood upright, ready for instructions.

"Now, despite what we have tried to instill into you- I do not want you to listen to any other orders. I think this particular mission requires your mindset." His words didn't effect CX-2, he'd heard worse.

"One of your fellow operative has been captured. Alive. I will not accept him risking our organization."

"My orders?" CX-2 asked.

"Find and neutralize him." CX-2 nodded at his words.

"You have 48 hours to kill him." Hemlock walked up to CX-2, arms folded behind his back. "If you fail, that...medic... you are so fond of? She will reap the consequences of what you sow."

It was impossible to cover up the way CX-2 breath hitched. If he didn't have a helmet on, Hemlock would see his eyebrows scrunch in anger.

"Yes, that's right. I know about her." Hemlock said, his voice mocking. "Oh, don't fret my little assassin. She will remain unharmed, that is... unless you fail your duty..."

"I trust you will locate him and rid the republic of any information?" Hemlock taunted.

"Yes sir."

How? How did Hemlock find out about you? He was so careful... He immediately headed to your quarters. Damned everyone else, he pushed through crowds and odd stares.

He banged on the door, fist closed. If you hadn't opened in the next 10 seconds, he'd shoot the door down.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." You 'tsked.'

"Oh, CX-2." You breathed out once you opened the door. Unsure if he was there for pleasantries or business.

He shoved his way past you, pressing the button to close the door shut.

"Wha-" He stormed around your rooms, it was quick considering there were only two. A bedroom and bathroom.

He held his blaster up as he checked every crevice of the room. His eyes glanced back at you quickly to make sure you were still there and alive.

"CX-2." You raised your voice. His head shot your way. "What's happened? You're scaring me..."

He paced up to you, removing his helmet as he walked. "He knows about us." Was all he managed out, throwing his helmet to the floor in favor of grabbing your cheeks gently.

Your face dropped, heart pounding in your ears. "How? I don't understand!" You started to breathe heavily.

"I just had to make sure you were safe." His gloved hands felt cool on your hot skin.

Your mind wandered, what would they do?

"I have to leave now." He said, dropping his hands. "No, wait. You can't just drop that bomb and leave!" You had so many questions, and you didn't want to be left alone freighted.

"I do not have time, if I don't complete my mission he will kill you." Your blood ran cold. "I am so sorry I brought you into this. I should have never stepped between you and that clone." He readied himself to exit the room, turning and putting his helmet back on.

"CX-2!" His shoulders dropped, he stood silent. You walked around to face him.

He let you reach your hands up and lift his helmet off. "I'm not upset at you. I only want more time..."

"I can't."

"I know." At your last words, you pulled him down by the collar of his blacks. Now level, you kiss him. Scared it would be your last.

The few seconds your lips touched felt like an eternity. All the time you needed with him...

Eventually, he pulled away. "I-"

"I know... please be safe..." You asked only one thing of him.

He nodded, placing his helmet back on snug. He then walked out your door, your thoughts consumed with wishes of his safety.

CX-2 would fulfill his mission, killing the compromised Operative. Though, that was only the first time he'd have to leave your grasp to keep you alive...

CX-2 reminded himself why he was currently headed to Pabu. 'Dire consequences are at stake' echoed in his mind.

He would capture Omega. He had no care for the innocent people he might have to kill. In his eyes, all of his actions were justified in the name of your well-being.

He never told you of his endeavors, now being sent on more gruesome missions than ever. He knew you'd be disappointed in him, but he also knew he had to always protect you. No matter the cost.

While expertly leading a fleet of soldiers, the only thing that let CX-2 think straight was you. He filled his mind with memories of your laughter. Of the times you begged him to choose a real name, even when he protested. When you first touched, when you first kissed.

He worried for you until the second he had Omega tied up on his ship.

Even after, he was anticipating his reunion with you. He had the girl, he had what Hemlock wanted. He could see you again.

And he did... Hemlock was consumed with his experiments and testing on Omega. So much he that didn't bother CX-2 for a few days. Oh, it was bliss.

The time you shared reminded you of before anyone knew you were together. You both still had your duties as clone and medic, but spent any free time with each other.

You laid in your bed, a glance at the clock scolded you for being up so late. You paid little mind to it, just enjoying the feeling of CX-2's arms around you.

With your head now buried in his chest, you let your hands wander. Slipping under the top portion of his blacks. He used to shiver reluctantly when you felt his skin, now it seemed like second nature.

You loved tracing his scars, the texture consuming you. While they were painful memories, they were treated with love and tenderness. He looked at his scars and thought of you, how you took care of him so nicely and delicately. Not Hemlock.

A light flickered from his panel brace. The one that rested on your nightstand. It lit up the room, and CX-2 immediately reached for it. he pulled away from you, but was careful to keep a connection with his leg still feeling you.

"I have to go." He said, standing to put his arm and chest armor back on.

While he was always quick and determined when hearing from Hemlock or Scorch, he was frantic here.

"Did something happen?"

"Nothing, do not stress. I love you." He gave you a quick kiss on the lips, and an affectionate rub of your thigh before putting his helmet on and leaving.

You sighed and leaned back when the door closed again. This was slowly becoming the new normal for you. You still savored every spare second you had together...

Just as you rolled over to fall asleep, the door opened. "Did you forg-" You jumped up, almost hitting your head on the baseboard of the bed. It was Scorch.

"Come with me. Now." He grabbed your arm and pulled you rough out of bed.

"Excu-"

"You are under arrest until further assessment." He forcefully put you in handcuffs.

You tried to resist, but put up no real fight in comparison to the trained clone. He grew tired of you and stunned you with his blaster.

You fell unconscious.

"You activated me?" CX-2 asked over Comms, like he would in any other situation.

"It seems we have another problem with our favorite girl." Hemlock said.

Omega...

"You see, she has managed to escape with the other children. Did I mention she also freed the zillo beast?"

CX-2 listened intently, not moving a muscle.

"You have been the only operative capable of capturing Omega thus far. I will see that you will find her again. Before she finds some way to leave the planet." CX-2 could hear the frustration in Hemlocks voice. It made him flicker a smile.

"Affirmative."

"Oh, and as a little motivater, I think it would serve you well to know your medic is currently held up in a cell." Hemlock went radio silent, leaving CX-2 to head to the exposed section of the base. The hole the Zillo beast left, and the way Force 99 was headed.

Your head throbbed, vision a little blurry. Raising your head from the cold of the floor, you noticed you were in a cell.

The room spun around before you sat up. Your whole body ached. Not to mention the confusion you were feeling.

Looking around, you saw other prisoners lining the walls. You knew exactly where you were. The hall where all the traitors and experimental clones were kept.

Were they going to experiment on you too? Was CX-2 okay? Did something happen to him that made Hemlock finally get you?

The building shook with a loud boom, it did nothing to help your nerves. It sounded like some kind of cannon went off.

"You okay?" A clone asked in the cell across from you.

"I don't know..."

With the effort and passion of a man whose entire reason for living was at risk, CX-2 and the other Clone Assasins were able to capture the rouge clones.

With his blaster barred in his hands, CX-2 guarded the three prisoners. He was occupied with the thought of what The Empire was doing to you.

You must have been so scared in a cell... He knew you didn't like small spaces. With his new fury, he closed his fist, doing yet another round of the platform they were on.

Boredom was unable to strike you, anxieties kept you busy. Your mind ran wild with the possibilities of CX-2. For a moment you questioned if he had just abandoned you as a whole, but quickly shunned yourself for bringing it up.

CX-2 loved you, and wouldn't dare leave you to rot.

"Look!" A clone yelled out, just as you saw a small girl and a storm trooper running by.

What were they doing?

They crept around the corner, swiftly blasting and taking out 2 storm troopers in the process. The girl got to work on the main computer that operated the cells.

"Hey kid, whats going on?" Someone asked.

"We're breaking you out."

Seconds later, your cell door opened. You slowly walked out, unsure what to do. What would CX-2 do in a situation like this? He'd probably tell you to keep your head down and blend in. Stay out of trouble, 'for his sake.'

You did just that, creeping out of the cell and hiding within the groups of clones.

Apparently, the 'storm trooper' was a clone, so was the girl. They were on a mission to free their three brothers, recruiting clones as they did so.

Was this the big mission CX-2 was called to? To capture the people they were here to rescue?

"We've checked all the cells, they aren't here."

You knew where they probably were... The training room. The very room that tortured and left your beloved marked. You didn't dare say a word. As much as you hated Hemlock and his 'methods,' worse things would happen if CX-2 failed his mission...

"Well... they could be in the training room." Damn, another clone had though the same as you.

They decided to head there, a few turning for an easier escape.

What should you do? Warn CX-2? You weren't raised as a soldier, you had no training. No fighting experience. You knew how to save and help, not attack and kill.

A small hand was rested on your arm, the girl from earlier. "Hi, I'm Omega."

You looked down to her. "I know it's kind of scary, but we have to fight for what's right.." If only she knew your true intentions...

"You're right... i'll come with you..." All you wanted was to find CX-2.

So, you did. Following them to the training room, they planned an attack from the lower circle.. You, however, had a new idea. To come in through the main balcony. The one that led directly to Force 99.

You managed to sneak away and climb the steps that brought you to the main doors.

"Hey, you! Are you supposed to be here?" A trooper stopped you.

"Yes sir," You gave him your chain code, "I am a medic. Hemlock has requested my services in the Training room." You lied, faking a confidence you never had.

"I never heard about Hemlock ever needing a medic in the training room..."

"Well if you want to ask him, while the Zillo beast is one the loose, he has new prisoners, and while his top experiment is lost- Be my guest. I just don't think he'd be very happy with you questioning his methods." You crossed your arms behind your back, something you'd seen CX-2 do many times.

"Fine." He moved out of your way, letting you head to your destination.

You walked to the door, ready to put your mother's clearance codes in. With a steam they opened, leaving you to witness a terrible sight.

The 3 captured clones were out, fighting. You got there in time to see the big clone burst out of the glass, tackling a special operative.

With the sound of the door, the man with a bandana looked your way. Along with CX-2, who rose swiftly upon seeing you. You distracted him long enough for the clone without a hand to blast him in his side.

You gasped as you watched CX-2 fall in your direction.

With an electrospear in his hand, the bandana man stepped to him. He only managed to zap him once before you ran in.

"No!" Your scream pierced out, you threw yourself onto CX-2. Using your body to cover his.

You didn't care if you died then and there, at least you'd die in CX-2's arms. You'd at least die together...

"No, don't!" You squeezed your eyes shut, prepared for a shock that never came. You felt a weak hand raise from under you to grip your clothes.

Tears streamed down your face violently. Pattering on CX-2's armor.

"You do realize the crimes he has committed..." The man panted out, he was also wounded.

"Please, it was for me... It was all for me..." You sobbed out. "Hemlock threatened my life..." You buried your head in his neck, holding him tightly.

"Hunter, no. We should kill them both now." The handless man spoke.

The man you assumed to be Hunter didn't have time to respond.

"I swear we wont follow you... Hemlock is probably on his way to his private ship... I swear..." Your words were muffled but they understood well enough.

"We are wasting time, lets go." Hunter commanded, the two of them left.

You gave out a whimper, "CX-2... Please... Stay with me." You pried his helmet off. He was in a rough state.

His eyes struggled to focus on one thing, but he still tried to find your face. "It'll be okay, just let me grab a med pack." You went to pull away, but he gripped you tighter.

"Let me.. hold," He coughed, "You.."

"You are not going to die on me. You wouldn't do that to me, would you?" You tried to joke. He shook his head, 'no.'

"Then let me do my job, and help you." He still held you tightly. "Please... you deserve to live..." He let you go.

It was only half a minute, you grabbed a medics kit that was nearby and began patching him up.

Making quick work of taking his armor and blacks off. It reminded you of the first time you'd done this to him. A very similar wound on his waist.

You forced him a pill, and squeezed out as much bacta as you could from its packet.

"Can you roll over for me, baby?" You asked, helping him get on his side.

He complied as much as he could, and you were able to patch up his other side.

"Okay, this will hold you over. I know the closest procedure room, a droid can give you a proper examination." You helped him stand, an arm under his own to keep his balance.

"You'll be okay, we'll be okay..." You whispered praises and words of affirmation to him. The walk was extremely painful for him, you could tell he was hiding most of it from you.

Lucky for both of you, a droid was able to identify where the blast was and give him a proper cleaning of the wound.

He was still woozy, but forced himself to stand. "We have to go. Tarkin is on his way.." CX-2 strained out. He was stubborn and refused any medication that would cloud his mind.

"W-where? Your ship?" You were scared, not just for CX-2, but your futures as well.

He pressed a few buttons on his panel brace as you picked up his helmet.

"Turn left." He instructed you all the way to his ship, even with the pain starting to blur his vision.

The two of you somehow managed to make it to his ship, you opened the door with his panel brace and sat him in the co-pilot's seat.

You clicked away, starting the ship up. Though, you did need some guidance from him.

You had never flown a ship before, but knew you had to take the risk to save CX-2. It was wobbly, but you raised the ship and let Auto-Pilot blast you into hyperspace. It had a set of coordinates in, ones you didn't know the location of.

A groan made you turn to your lovers direction, you were at his side immediately. Crouching down you spoke, "Hey, its okay... We're far away. You can take the pain medication, its just us two."

He peaked open an eye to look at you, his face barred disappointment in himself. Almost like he was a lesser man if he took the meds.

"Take them. If not for yourself, for me." You pulled them from your pocket. He did take them, minutes later he felt the relief.

You took another look at his wound, it was stable for now. You figured that he would need a cleaning and new bandages in a few hours. Hopefully his medkit was fully equipped on his ship. If it was, you'd be able to last many days without needing to land.

You stood, pulling his head to your breast. "Shhh, rest now. We are both safe."

He truly did feel safe in your arms, like he didn't have to always be on guard. A huge change from his normal. One he'd hoped he could live out with you for the rest of his life...

A/N- Thank you so much for reading! I got a little carried away with this one... I just had to get this idea written down!!!

Tags-(lmk if you want to be tagged as well!) @thethreeeyed-raven @knight-of-flowerss @dangraccoon

[torialefay]

Let’s talk about this clip: https://x.com/naurnotchan/status/1823682297868247193?s=46

Mainly that last part where he keeps saying it’s too revealing and lets him know he’ll see him at home.

The majority of observations and analysis of Chan’s chart say that he would be slightly controlling. Would that include what you wear? I don’t really see him telling you what you can/cannot wear. But… he might drop little comments or something? What do you think? I also think if it’s for him to mainly see, he’s more than happy.

warning: a litttttle angst ahead & kinda toxic chris <3

i love me a protective man 🥰😋 BUT, i think he's got a few options.

(1) he'd be fine with you wearing something that's still sexy but not superrrr revealing. like a tighter-fitting dress, a lil slit action, maybe a tinyyy bit of cleave & i don't think he cares. he knows you're hot, so what?

(2) if he thinks you're looking tooooo good, he's definitely gonna make some sly little side comments that he's trying to pass off as jokes.

like "damnnn, why don't you save that for me," as he winks.

"you better make sure those guys know you have a boyfriend."

"i'm a little jealous other people get to see you like this," he says, pulling you by your waist into him.

"wouldn't you rather wear that at home?" while he smirks.

but lowkey he's testing the waters to see how you'll respond. and he thinks that eventually, you may give in. either way, he's planting little seeds. and it would probably work...

he'd start texting you while you were out looking all cute. again, he's making little side comments, "joking" for you to come home bc he can't stop thinking about the way you looked. he's doing his best to get you to focus your attention on him instead of the other people gawking at you & giving you complements.

but then, you pick up on it & decide to play with him a bit.

(3) you finally step out of your room wearing the tiniest, sexiest dress you could find. as soon as chan's eyes landed on you, they were basically bulging out. but he quickly collected himself because he's a good boyfriend, right? he's not gonna freak out at how good you look... or at the thought of you looking like that around other people. of course not.

you'd walk to him and ask "how do i look?," smiling before you take a seat on his lap.

"too good to leave me," he says, sickness pooling in his stomach as he suppresses everything in his body that tells him there's no way in hell he would willingly let any other man see you in the state you're in.

"that good, huh?" you tease back before planting a small peck on his nose. "i'm not sure what time i'll be back from the club though. it may be pretty late."

"do you all have something planned?" chris raises a brow.

"apparently someone invited lizzie and all of us to vip, so i guess we're going to go hang out there for a while." you let out a small sigh.

chris' face went stoic. "who got vip that would know lizzie and the rest of you? i didn't know people still did that honestly..." he said, trying to get in a little jab. his hand instinctively ran around until it reached your ass, taking a tight hold.

"well you know she's been talking to yeosang for a while now. i think he and some of the other guys got some tables." you saw chris' eyes turn blank, then squint a bit. the muscle in his jaw held tight.

his grip around you got tighter. "ateez, yeah? is there a reason you didn't want to tell me?"

"no-" you started, almost out of shock. "i didn't think it would matter... i thought you liked those guys."

"i like them just fine, but i don't like the fact that they'd be talking to you all night. eye-fucking you all night. i mean damn it, look at what you're wearing!" he raised his voice slightly.

"i thought you said i looked good," you added a frown to your face as you decided to play dumb.

"you look fucking perfect, but there's a limit to this shit! you would really go out there and have other guys look at you like that? looking like that for them and not for me? i thought you were all mine." his eyes locked onto yours, full of frustration but challenging you.

"i am all yours," you said with a pout, trying to diffuse the situation... but you couldn't help that a part of you liked it. this is exactly what you wanted.

"start acting like it then," he said darkly before thrusting your body a bit to the side so that he could move your legs to wrap around him, effectively forcing you to straddle him.

he grabbed your face quickly, pulling it to his own. "i can't let you do this. what kind of boyfriend would i be if i let you leave the house like that?" he looked at you sternly, holding tight to your face so that you were forced to look into his eyes.

"you know i love you, right?" he asserted more than asked.

"i know, and i love you too channie," you whispered, feeling like maybe you'd pushed him a little too far.

"then stay in with me. don't go out... please."

[bloopitynoot]

Reading TGCF: Chapter Twenty-Six

For those who don't know, I am reading TGCF for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag Bloopitynoot reads TGCF. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read BUT if you followed along with my SVSSS read, the rules and vibe are the same.

Today is a day for comfort and soft things. I've declared it, so it is LOL. If you are reading this you are legally obligated to do something nice for yourself.

This latte is brought to you by my partner <3

Let's go chapter 26!!!!!

Okay, so Mu Qing DID reach out and pass on the message. (he did sort of a shit job, but he DID do it). The guys who were supposed to pay attention were just busy doing illicit temple things. p311

Not related to this story at all, but the significance of the ritual in this story really made me think about how different cultures approach auspicious ceremonies. The one that came to mind for me (my family is from Sicily, and some- married in- from Sardinia) is Mamuthones of Mamoiada a Sardinian practice. Definitely not as beautiful as the parade here, but the vibe is essentially the same; using ceremony to chase negativity in preparation for a good year. I just think it's so cool that different places in the world all have their own way of handling luck. p315

This guy (Xie Lian) is a mess. 1. only 3 passes so already starting rough. 2. the divine outfit is filthy. 3. bro lost his earing too. p319

The tension between Mu Qing and Feng Xin is far too much! If these two don't become lovers, I swear. p320

What a wild translation, "No, no. You promise me right now that this stops here. Otherwise, I'll break up my relationship with you, and you'll be cursed to never find a wife!" p326

:( Everyone bullying Mu Qing. No wonder this man is moody as hell. p230

Qi Rong; an absolute menace behind the wheel. Someone needs to get this man in a mafia au. p335

oof. MXTX just casually tossing this trauma out there. The fact that Xie Lian went from being a picky eater to literally eating trash just hits me in the heart. p337

I feel like half the characters in this series need mental health support. Poor Qi Rong honestly, this kid was struggling from day 1. p339

My heart! If this is the same bandaged boy in the present, this kid has been through too much! p345

Hong's little "ugly" broke my soul. p349

This is so wild to me that they want to punish Feng Xin for doing his literal job. p353

adds "daddy issues" to Xie Lian's chart. p355

Jeeze. Qi Rong's parents story to. No wonder this kid is unwell. p358

oooo! Hong LYING about his home. Mu Qing dropping the truth and calling this kid out. Why the last sentence of the chapter though!

Once again we are left at a critical point.

I need to know this little man's story. Why is he so small, how is it that he basically cannot die, what are they plotting????

Can yall believe there is 1 more chapter (I think 1 maybe 2) left of book two!?!?!?