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raainberry · 2 months

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Whispers in the Hallway

Momo x gn!reader

synopsis - two months of hiding your relationship from the kitchen, it’s only a matter time until it gets out

wordcount - 5.2K

T/W - this serves as an epilogue to “compliments to chef” but you dont need to have read it to enjoy this one kinda chaebol!momo - chef!reader - mentions of food - you don't hate each other anymore - kinda suggestive at some points but nothing too crazy - that's all i can think of, tell me if i missed anything

A/N - chef epilogue v.2, shout out to @cry4mina this ones for you sorry i gatekeeped it for so long tell me when you read it so i can delete

The last of the dinner shift guests left the building, unknowingly crossing the path with the owner.

Momo sent them a polite nod, her eyes shifting to their linked arms and entwined hands. Two months ago, she would have rolled them at the sight. Love on display, even late at night when only the moon could complain, she used to despise it.

Or so she thought. Turned out she was only single

That night her eyes narrowed with a soft smile. The couple barely paid her any mind, lost in their love, but she couldn’t care less.

She was on her way to meet her own.

Sure, she had to sneak around the back and hid it from most people, but it was there. Waiting for her, in that dim lit hallway near the walk-in freezer.

That location wasn’t exactly sexy, but romance wasn’t dead. As long as you were there, she’d meet you anywhere.

Holding her excuse against her chest—a stack of meaningless papers—she slipped into the restaurant, her presence a well-practiced secret.

A small smile played on your lips as she approached. It was an oddly intimate invite, the lighting casting soft shadows that seemed to close you off from the rest of the world.

"Hey," she greeted softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Hey," you replied, stepping closer. "Everything alright?"

She nodded, handing you the stack of papers. "Just wanted to go over these changes with you before tomorrow."

A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you looked down at the printed ink. “‘March ‘22 Menu Items’? Seriously?” You looked up to find her eyes, meeting the faint blush on her cheeks.

“It was all I had around...” She said, allowing herself to pout a little at your amusement.

“I guess it’ll do,” you shrugged off, deciding to let her off the hook this time. “To what do I owe this honor then if not for actual work?”

Momo grinned. Real talk, finally. “There’s this place a few blocks away I wanted to check out.” Her hands wiped the jet black uniform on your shoulders, adjusting the wrinkles from the day. “Benchmarking. I could use your help.”

You hummed, “That new Japanese place that opened a couple weeks ago?”

“That one,” she nodded, pursing her lips. It was adorable, the way she tried to keep it professional. She was doing a great job. An adorably great job. “What do you say?”

“I say that’s a great idea. Can’t let an opportunity to get inspired slip my hands, right?”

It took everything in her not to kiss you. That smile of yours, the way you looked at her… This was the only downside of keeping you a secret.

She settled on a smile, and you were more than fine with it. Seeing her struggle not to lean in was enough of a satisfying sight for now.

“I knew I could count on you.”

You stood there, wrapping up the conversation with soft laughter and shared smiles. These were also a rare moment of peace amidst your hectic schedules, and you made sure to savor it.

It wasn’t unusual for you to prolong them, carrying your talks into a much more personal territory. Nothing crazy nor risky, only a couple questions about each other’s day. The information was probably not worth risking getting caught, especially if you could get it in the privacy and comfort of her living room an hour later; but alas.

Falling love is anything but rational.

“How did you like your lunch?” You asked, eager to get her feedback on that new twist you’d added to her favorite.

And as she told you all about her thoughts, Mingyu and Ryujin were making their way through the kitchen, finishing up their tasks for the night.

As they passed the hallway, they heard the soft murmur of voices.

Curiosity piqued, Ryujin nudged Mingyu, and they both peered around the corner, their eyes widening at the sight before them.

You two were standing close. Too close. Heads bowed together, whispering. There was an unmistakable tenderness in the way you looked at each other, something that spoke volumes no matter how hushed your voices were.

"Are they...?" Ryujin trailed off, her voice barely audible.

Mingyu grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Looks like it."

They watched for a moment longer, seeing Momo lightly touch your arm, her fingers lingering just a bit too long for it to be casual. The way you leaned into that touch confirmed it all.

Ryujin pulled back, a grin spreading across her face. "I knew it. I knew there was something going on. Pay up.”

Mingyu chuckled quietly. "Wallet’s in my locker. I’ll give them to you later.”

Ryujin narrowed his eyes on him. “Right. Twenty dollars,” her finger reminded, and he laughed.

“Twenty dollars.” He nodded, glancing back to the hallway. “Guess we should keep this to ourselves, though, huh? Let them have their secret for a bit longer."

Ryujin nodded in agreement. "Yeah, but it’s going to be fun watching them try to hide it."

Their eyes met once more, the same idea popping in both their minds.

“Twenty more on the table, how long do they keep this up for?” Mingyu said, holding out his hand.

Ryujin only looked down at his palm, thinking. “Let’s talk.”

They shared a quiet smirk before quietly retreating, leaving the two of you completely unaware and oblivious that your secret was no longer as well-kept as you thought.

“You parked outside?” You asked, already knowing the answer. She confirmed it with a slight nod. “See you there in thirty?”

She nodded once more and you finally parted ways. Momo headed back to her car to wait for you while you returned to the kitchen. You both carried the warmth of your connection, but unlike her, you had to cool it before joining Ryujin and Mingyu.

The two of them greeted you with innocent smiles. You didn’t like it.

“What?”

“Nothing, chef.” Ryujin’s expression was nonchalant. Stacking plates like you’d asked her to moments ago.

Only odd thing was the twinkle in her eyes when she glanced at Mingyu.

“Just wrapping things up.” Mingyu added, wiping down a counter.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, sensing the unspoken words between them. “Okay… Right, well let’s make sure everything is spotless.”

—

“Are you okay?”

The poor sushi on your plate was grateful for the break. Momo’s voice had halted your train of thoughts, during which you kept pushing your food around.

Glancing up at Momo, you found her eyes already on you, her chopsticks paused mid-air. She tried to ignore it, but the lack of conversation on your end was kind of ruining this date night.

You knew it. You felt it. That’s why you hesitated to tell her about what circled your mind. Your suspicions about Ryujin and Mingyu’s odd behavior lately.

You weren’t blind nor deaf. Neither were you stupid. You could put two and two together, regardless of the result pleasing you or not. They definitely were on to you.

You didn’t want to worry Momo, but you knew keeping it to yourself would only make you nervous. More prone to errors and slip-ups.

So you sighed, “Yeah, I’m fine,” trying to sound casual. “Just… I think Mingyu and Ryujin might have figured us out.”

Momo’s eyes widened slightly, her chopsticks lowering slowly. “What makes you think that?”

“They’re acting a bit… weird lately,” you explained, fiddling with your napkin. “You know how they are—playful and stuff, but… I don’t know, tonight they were just too… odd. And there was this look that they shared too.”

Momo’s brows furrowed. A little too loose of proofs but, she didn’t want to dismiss them just yet. “Do you think they’d tell anyone?”

You thought about it for a bit, but it was useless. The answer was obvious. “No,” you sighed, leaning back against the chair. “I don’t think so. They’re good people, just very nosy. Knowing them, they’ll probably just have their fun watching us.”

Momo smiled, somewhat reassured by your words. She allowed herself to relax, picking up the sushi she’d given up on earlier. “Well, I guess we’ll have to be more careful.”

You chuckled softly, the tension easing away. “Really? I thought you’d stop your little visits.”

Momo giggled, shaking her head no. “Never. I mean, it was annoying at first, but it’s actually kind of exciting. The sneaking around, the secrets…”

Her gaze held a sense of mischief you recognized from your moments behind closed doors. The ones at her place or yours, where you didn’t have to hide from her world. The memories made you smile, along with the sight of them through her eyes.

“I can’t say I’m not enjoying it.” You smiled, grabbing your glass to cheer with her.

She clinked her glass against yours, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “To keeping secrets.”

“And to not getting caught,” you grinned.

—

“Do you think they’ll bet on us?”

You glanced at Momo, and the sight of her in your t-shirt made her question vanish from your mind for a hot second. The way it fell on her shoulders, baggy and reaching slightly too high on her thighs, revealing just enough of the cute shorts underneath to make your heart skip a beat.

The evening was calm, a nice close to the night. You’d walked into Momo’s apartment right as midnight turned to one. The late hour enveloped you in it’s peace and quiet, offering you a moment to cherish.

“Y/n?”

“Hm?”

“If you want to stare at least do it subtly.”

Blood heated up your cheeks in no time, and you focused back on the toothbrush in your hands to hide your embarrassment. “Sorry, you just look… really good.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Nice save.”

You watched from the corner of your eye as she raised a foot to the sink she was sitting on top of, hugging her knee to her chest. The movement was casual, yet it highlighted her grace and the intimacy that had grown between you two.

You cleared your throat, trying to steer the conversation back on track. “Anyway, yeah probably. It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“What do you say we give them a run for their money then.”

You raised an eyebrow, the toothpaste foaming at your lips now. “What do you mean?”

Momo grinned, a mischievous spark in her eyes. “Just… subtle things. Little moments that keep them guessing.”

You laughed softly, the idea sounding both thrilling and amusing. “Oh, I didn’t know you were bad like that,” you teased, making her to roll her eyes. “But I’m all for it. Go on, what do you have in mind?”

She tilted her head thoughtfully, her eyes never leaving yours. “Maybe… a secret smile here, a lingering touch there. Just enough to make them question everything.”

She demonstrated by brushing her fingers lightly against your arm, sending a shiver down your spine. Her touch lingered just a moment longer than necessary, her eyes locking with yours.

“Yeah,” you finally answered. Your voice was a little higher than usual, strained, betraying the sudden lack of oxygen from her touch. “It could be fun.”

Momo chuckled, clearly amused and loving to see you lose your composure like that for her. It was familiar, taking her back to when you both spent all your time getting on each other’s nerves in the kitchen. The memory held a weird sense of nostalgia now.

You finished brushing your teeth and rinsed your mouth, still smiling at her earlier proposal. Momo hopped off the sink, her bare feet making a soft thud on the bathroom floor.

Her arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. “Ready for bed?” she asked, her voice soft, a bit tired.

You nodded and leaned in for a kiss. She hesitated for a moment, making you chase it just to tease you, but ultimately gave in, granting you that small peck you’d grown addicted to as days went by.

Her giggles resonated when your lips trailed to her neck, contrasting with the quiet and shy compliments that followed. “You’re ridiculous,” she murmured, though the word did nothing to tame the affection in her voice.

You loved these moments—seeing Momo so relaxed and happy, away from the pressures of work. If only you could go back in time, tell yourself everything you’d learn to like about her… Just to see your own face. It’d be worth the round-trip.

That smile she gave you, the look back at you as she guided you to her bed, was just one of many.

—

Your steps were light, carrying, hurrying you to meet her as you walked along the glass bay separating her office from the rest of the open space.

The sight of her in there made you smile. She was wearing a black suit, glasses perched on her nose, her name badge hanging around her neck. She looked focused, all serious and professional like she loved to present herself. Funny how that side of her made your heart race for entirely different reasons now.

It was one of those rare afternoons when you had some time to visit her at the headquarters. Usually in between your lunch and dinner shifts. The office was quiet, with only the soft hum of the air conditioning breaking the silence. You didn’t bother to knock, and Momo looked up from her work just as you entered, a warm smile spreading across her face.

"Hey, you," she greeted softly.

"Hey," you replied, closing the door behind you. "Busy day?"

"Always," she sighed, but there was no real complaint in her tone. She loved her work, and it showed.

You walked over to her, unable to resist the urge to touch her. Your fingers brushed against hers as you leaned on her desk, causing a shiver to run down her spine. She looked up at you through her glasses, her eyes sparkling with affection.

Two months, yet you still weren’t getting used to it.

"Got something for you," you grinned, reaching into you bag.

Momo's curiosity was piqued. "What is it?"

You pulled out a takeout box that she recognized from the kitchen and opened it, revealing a beautifully crafted marshmallow-based treat. It was a delicate arrangement of marshmallows squares, dipped in chocolate and adorned with tiny edible flowers. "Just a little something sweet to keep you going."

Her face lit up, a small gasp escaping her lips as if you didn’t bring her food multiple times a week. And yes, you also melted at her reaction like you didn’t witness it just as much. "These look amazing! Thank you." She took one and popped it into her mouth, her eyes closing in bliss as she savored the taste. "They're delicious."

You chuckled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "I'm glad you like them."

Momo placed the container on her desk, right next to her monitor. "They'll be my little rewards. Thank you.”

You leaned in, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead. "You’re very much welcome."

Just as you were about to pull back, there was a knock on the door. It opened before either of you could say anything, and her assistant stepped in.

"Oh, sorry to interrupt," She said, clearly not expecting to find you there. Though she did question those expectations after realizing just how often she’d caught you hanging here.

Momo quickly composed herself, adjusting her glasses. "It's fine. What do you need?"

As her assistant explained the situation, you stepped back, giving her space to handle it. But you couldn't help but notice the subtle smile that played on her lips whenever she glanced your way.

The subtle gesture took you back to her scheming a couple weeks ago. She never put her plan in action. Not that you expected her to—you knew it was just fun and games. It didn’t keep people from talking though… With spring and summer coming up, her (non-secretive) visits to the kitchen were getting more frequent. Lots of actual business planning ahead of the most profitable season, done in broad daylight but behind the office closet door.

You could understand how it could be seen. Their speculations weren’t exactly baseless either; you weren’t strictly talking business in there... So as long as they remained gossip, the whispers didn’t bother you. But after Mingyu walked in on you a few days ago, you could tell this whole situation was starting to bother Momo.

The sound of the glass door closing pulled you out of your thoughts. Her assistant had finally left, and Momo turned back to you, her smile widening. "Where were we?"

You grinned, watching her pull on the string to close the blinds. The newfound privacy prompted you to lean in closer. "Right about here," you said, brushing your lips against hers.

Her kisses were still so hesitant. Soft, like she was stuck in your early days. When those lips of yours were all but a reminder, a blend of how sharp and hostile your words had been with her. As if she’d cut her own on the remnants of your journey up to this point.

Yet she’d steal yours often. More as time went on, being brave for the both of you. Allowing her doubts to grow into a blossoming connection, pulling you into a need, a craving for it she prayed wasn’t one sided.

She considered you a weakness. But as long as you consider her yours, she'll be fine with it.

The warmth of her breath mingled with yours, her taste a sweet blend of the marshmallow treat and something that was uniquely hers… She pulled away first, you gave her no choice.

Your breath was a little uneven, and she could see the same awe in your eyes that she felt in her heart. “I can’t believe I used to hate your guts,” she chuckled to herself.

“Wasn’t that long ago. Things could change again.” You joked, earning yourself a playful push.

“Let me go back to work.”

“But I’m here, it’s break time,” you pointed out, walking after her as she made her way back to her chair.

“That’s an entirely self-proclaimed thing. I never agreed to that.” She gave you a mock glare, but the corners of her mouth twitched in amusement.

“Why not? You’re the boss.”

“I am. That’s why I need to finish this,” she said, settling back into her chair, her focus returning to the papers on her desk.

You dropped into the armchair across from her desk and sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll wait.”

And so you did, you watched her as she worked, the way her fingers moved over the keyboard, the slight furrow of her brow when she concentrated. It was mesmerizing, seeing her in her element, so competent and strong.

Every once in a while, you couldn’t resist the urge to poke fun at her, tossing a paper ball you made out of boredom her way.

She sighed, picking it up and tossing it back at you without even looking up. “You’re such a child.”

You only shrugged, grabbing the ball from the ground, “Sure, but when are you gonna be done?”

She glanced up, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Soon.”

You sighed once more, and after a few more minutes of quiet, your mind drifted back to your earlier thoughts. About the whispers in the kitchen hallways.

Your eyes found Momo again, focused on whatever was on her monitor. She seemed preoccupied. This probably wasn’t the best time to bring it up, but it slipped your lips before you could even think to hold it back.

“You know, there’s rumors spreading back in the kitchen.”

Momo looked up from her report, all worries on her features fading to leave room for curiosity. “What kind of rumors?”

“You know, the kind that involves us,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “People are starting to notice how often you come by.”

She frowned slightly, considering your words. “I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later. I never really did that before you.”

“Yeah, but it’s not just that,” you continued. “Some people are starting to think there’s more to it.”

Momo tensed up, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Right. Then let’s have our meetings in my office from now on.”

You raised an eyebrow. Kind of a drastic move, even coming from her. “Wouldn’t that be more suspicious if you stopped coming in all of a sudden?”

She sighed, clearly frustrated. “I just don’t want people talking.”

“Why are you so worried about it?” you asked, genuinely curious.

Her reaction was a little odd. Very different from the one she had at the restaurant, when you told her about Ryujin and Mingyu. You had a feeling she was serious about hiding from the kitchen, despite her passing off her worries as nothing more than jokes.

At first you thought it had to do with the industry. About the word going around fast or something along those lines. Thinking it had to do with her family, you agreed to her wishes. You thought it was a good thing too, and it would allow you to explore this whole thing in peace.

But if that was the case, you wouldn’t be visiting her office so often then, would you? The word would spread faster in corporate than in the kitchens.

It’s been a few weeks since you realized that, and her intentions were still as blurry. Her actions made little sense to you as days went by, but you knew best than to question them. You’d seen enough of that with the banquet.

But now, seeing her so visibly agitated… You didn’t like it. Her worries obviously ran deeper than just industry gossip. You could see the way her shoulders tensed, the worry etched into her expression. She wasn’t just concerned about the whispers

She was scared of them.

You took a deep breath, deciding to press gently. “Momo, is this really about the industry? Or something else? Because I can’t help if I don’t understand what’s really bothering you.”

Momo looked away, her fingers playing nervously with the edge of her blazer. “It’s not just the industry or my family,” she admitted softly. “It’s about you.”

“Me?”

She nodded, meeting your eyes again. “I don’t want them to think you only got the job because you’re sleeping with the boss. I don’t want anyone to undermine what you’ve achieved because of me.”

The weight of her words settled between you, heavy and uncomfortable. You hadn’t realized the extent of her concern, how much she was trying to shield you. Hell you hadn’t even realized she even was shielding you. “Momo, that’s—”

“I know it’s not true,” she interrupted, her voice trembling slightly. “But people can be cruel. They can twist things, make assumptions. They can act on those and… I just don’t want you to face that.”

You felt a pang of emotion at her vulnerability, at how much she was willing to protect you even at the cost of her own comfort. You reached out, taking her hand in yours. “Thank you for looking out for me. But we can’t live our lives based on what people might say or do. At this rate we’d have to hide forever.

“But what if they—”

“They won’t,” you interrupted gently. “And if they do, I’ll handle it. Don’t worry about me.”

Momo scoffed and rolled her eyes, a hint of the stubborn chef she was trying to hire just months ago resurfacing. She recognized that same defiance, that same determination. It was oddly reassuring.

“Besides,” you added, a mischievous glint in your eye, “even if they think all that, they would just sound stupid.”

Momo furrowed her eyebrows at your words. “What do you mean?”

“We never slept together,” you grinned.

Her confusion melted into amusement, and she cracked a smile despite the slight annoyance at your comment. “You’re right. I guess that’s one thing they can’t twist.”

You both shared a quiet laugh, the tension easing from the room. Momo’s grip on your hand tightened.

“You know,” you continued softly, “we can’t let them control how we live our lives. We’ve worked too hard to be where we are.”

She nodded, her eyes softening. “You’re right. It’s just… difficult sometimes.”

“I know,” you whispered, pulling her closer. “But we’ll figure it out. One step at a time.”

Momo took a deep breath. “Alright then. Let’s be careful, but not scared.”

“Exactly,” you said, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “No more sneaking around.”

You couldn’t blame her for being cautious. The industry was as small of a world, as it could be vicious. You’ve seen it on your own account. She was right, but unrealistic. Hiding your relationship forever wasn’t an option. You had to find a balance, a way to be together without giving people the ammo to hurt you.

—

The next day, you maintained a professional demeanor when Momo came by the restaurant. She was all for letting the stolen glances and subtle touches free, but you could tell it cost her.

She kept catching Ryujin and Mingyu glancing over at the two of you. They were definitely betting on you, and it took everything in her not to scold them into focusing on their work.

It was a Friday afternoon, and the kitchen was bustling with activity in preparation for the evening shift. You’d usually be running that kitchen like the marines, but Momo had requisitioned you for the next hour. So you stood at an empty corner of a counter, papers spread out before you, discussing the finer points of the upcoming summer menus.

You’d noticed her glancing around every so often, visibly nervous about this new setting. So you decided to bring her focus back on you.

“I think you might need to yell at me or something soon.”

Momo furrowed her eyebrows at the sudden change of subject. “What? Why?”

“I don’t know, they’re looking at us weird. Whispers might spread,” you teased.

She wanted to whine so badly. She also hesitated to actually yell at you, but instead, she settled on playing into your dumb teasing and saved her annoyance for later. Maybe she could give you the silent treatment or make you walk to her place instead of picking you up. Right now there were more important matters.

“I mean, I could, but…” She trailed off, looking over a dish you’d sketched out. “Would it work?”

You shrugged, “Don’t know until you try.”

She paused and stared at you. “But I thought we didn’t care about people talking anymore. If you miss me yelling at you, just say that.”

You stayed silent and shrugged, fiddling with your fingers. Neither denying nor confirming the claims.

Her jaw dropped, and she couldn’t hold herself back on shoving you. She deemed it necessary.

“So it did turn you on, you freak.”

“I never said that! Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“I wouldn’t have to if your intentions were clear.”

“My only intentions here are to cook and make you the best in the business.”

“I already am.” She said, handing you a pen. “Sign here; it’s the menus for the first half of the summer. You reviewed them, right?”

You nodded, taking the small stack. You went through it one more time, and it picked at Momo’s patience. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure there’s no surprise marriage clause hidden somewhere.” You smirked, eyeing her reaction above the stack of paper. “You never know with you business families.”

“You wish. Just sign it,” she sighed, desperately trying to hide the smile tugging at her lips.

“Wait, I just want to see something. There’s a dish I thought about last night. Might be able to take it up a notch.”

“How?”

You spiraled into an explanation, your words as animated as your hands. Momo listened intently, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she chimed in with her ideas.

“…and I think if we add a hint of yuzu, it’ll give it that perfect summer twist,” she suggested, her hands gesturing with that circle she always did. Regardless of what she was talking about, it was a circle. It made you smile.

You nodded, smiling at her passion. “Sounds good. I can try and get my contacts working at the market for some fresh ones.”

“But do you think it would pair well with the main courses?” Momo asked, her eyes focused on the menu.

You nodded, your attention equally split between the menu and the kitchen staff. “I think so. The flavors should complement each other nicely. But we should probably do a taste test first, just to be sure.”

Momo smiled, her eyes softening as she looked at you. “Do what you need to. I trust you.”

Time passed by, and the dinner shift approached. The staff around you visibly picked up the pace, and you had to get back to them soon so Momo gathered her things as she prepared to leave.

She let you walk her to the door separating the kitchen from the dining hall, your hand hovering over the small of her back. Your eyes lingered down on her as your conversation wrapped up on the hushed part of the business.

“Don’t forget to text me on the feedback from tonight’s service,” Momo said, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.

“I will,” you replied, a small smile playing on your lips. “Drive safe, alright?”

Without thinking, Momo leaned in and planted a quick kiss on your cheek, a reflex she’d picked up from your mornings together. The gesture was so natural and familiar that she didn’t realize what she’d done until she pulled back and saw the stunned expressions around the kitchen.

The kitchen fell silent. Every pair of eyes turned to you both, and the sudden stillness was almost deafening. Momo’s eyes widened in realization as she pulled back, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of red.

You were stunned too. Only you managed to keep your composure at least. You had to. Momo was already too far past the point of even trying to.

“Uhm, thanks,” you muttered, trying to play it off. You glanced around the kitchen, noting the shocked expressions on your staff’s faces.

Among them you noticed Ryujin and Mingyu, catching the triumphant look they exchanged.

Mingyu mouthed, “told you,” to Ryujin, who could barely contain her laughter.

Clearing your throat, you clapped your hands to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, let’s get back to work. We have a service to run.”

The staff quickly resumed their tasks, though the air was thick with unspoken questions and barely contained amusement. You and Momo continued your conversation as if nothing had happened, but the blush on her cheeks and the subtle smirk on your lips told a different story.

As the kitchen buzzed back to life, Ryujin slid up to Mingyu, her voice low. “Guess you won the bet.”

Mingyu chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, but I didn’t think it would happen like that. This is going to be interesting.”

#momo x reader #twice x reader #hirai momo #twice momo #momo imagines #momo fluff #momo angst

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transform4u · 3 months

Text

Getting taught a lesson

Ethan Campbell sat in his car, staring at his phone with a sense of resignation. His fingers scrolled through job boards as he contemplated his future, the morning sunlight casting a dull glow inside the car. Another day of teaching loomed ahead, an event he approached with all the enthusiasm of a dental appointment. The prospect of facing another day teaching the morons on this campus and dealing with their behavior was daunting enough to make him consider bringing a flask to work.

"God, I hate my life," he muttered, the words carrying more weight than he intended. His gaze flickered to his phone screen where a notification from Grindr blinked insistently, but he brushed it aside. The loneliness that had settled into his routine was a constant, punctuated only by sporadic, unsatisfying encounters.

Ethan navigated through the throng, feeling out of place in his own workplace. He questioned his decision to stay, debating whether feigning illness and leaving might have been the wiser choice.

Ethan Campbell's career as an adjunct professor of English had been marked by a distinct air of intellectual superiority, one that often set him apart from his students and even some of his colleagues. He prided himself on his erudition and discerning taste in literature, often dismissing popular fiction in favor of dense philosophical treatises and obscure literary works.

Ethan's teaching style and choice of literature often clashed with the expectations of his students. He favored novels that dissected societal norms, questioned authority, and probed the complexities of human nature. His syllabus included works by authors like Toni Morrison, James Baldwin, and Virginia Woolf—writers whose narratives challenged the status quo and delved into issues of race, gender, and identity.

To his students, Ethan's reading list was derisively labeled a "woke reading list," a term that sparked eye rolls and muttered comments among those who preferred lighter fare or more traditional classics. They found his lectures dense, his interpretations overly critical, and his insistence on unpacking every nuance of a text exhausting.

"He acts like we're supposed to dissect every sentence like it's Shakespeare," one student quipped to his friend after class, echoing a sentiment shared by many. Ethan's lectures were punctuated by impassioned monologues on intersectionality, postmodernism, and the deconstruction of literary canon—an approach that left some students feeling alienated and others intellectually stimulated.

For Ethan, teaching wasn't just about imparting knowledge; it was about sparking intellectual curiosity and fostering critical thinking. He saw himself as a gatekeeper to a realm of ideas that could reshape the way his students viewed the world—a responsibility he took seriously, even if it sometimes earned him the reputation of being pretentious or out of touch with the practical concerns of his students' lives.

In the quiet corridors of the college campus, a clandestine plan began to take shape among a group of unlikely allies—jocks and science nerds who shared a common disdain for Professor Ethan Campbell. They had grown tired of his lofty lectures, his condescending demeanor, and what they perceived as his out-of-touch worldview. As they idly bantered in the campus cafe, an idea was born—one that would turn Ethan Campbell into the very caricature of a college guy he'd disdain.

It started innocuously enough with a casual conversation over lunch. Chad, the star quarterback with a mischievous glint in his eye, suggested a prank that would teach Professor Campbell a lesson. The math nerds, led by Brian, contributed their expertise in chemistry to concoct a plan that would alter Ethan's reality.

Late one evening, under the cover of darkness in the campus chemistry lab, the group huddled around a workbench littered with beakers and vials. With meticulous precision, they synthesized a chemical compound that, when ingested, would temporarily alter the fabric of Ethan's reality based on suggestions fed to him—suggestions carefully crafted by the jocks to mold him into the exact guy Ethan hated, "typical college guy."

The plan crystallized around an innocent apple, carefully chosen to be Ethan's mid-morning snack during his next lecture. Brian, the brains behind the operation, carefully injected the compound into the fruit, ensuring it was undetectable to the naked eye.

On the appointed day, as Professor Campbell droned on about existentialism in modern literature, the unsuspecting target reached for the poisoned apple during a brief break in his lecture. Oblivious to the eyes watching him, he took a crisp bite, unknowingly ingesting the chemical that would soon alter his perception.

"James Baldwin didn't just observe; he dissected the human condition with a raw, unapologetic clarity that forces us to confront uncomfortable truths," Ethan reiterated, his voice carrying the weight of conviction that had long defined his lectures. His gaze swept across the room, meeting the eyes of students who had grown accustomed to his impassioned discourses.

Amid the expectant silence, Trey's meaty arm abruptly shot up, breaking the reverie. "Yo teach!" Trey grunted, his voice resonating with an unusual intensity. Ethan stifled a sigh, the flicker of annoyance evident in his eyes as he responded, "Trey— I'm in the middle of my lecture. Can't this wait?"

"Naw, professor," Trey persisted, his words laced with a disarming sincerity. "I got some uncomfortable truths for ya'. Don't you think all this woke liberal stuff is a bunch of crap?"

Ethan's fingers instinctively moved to massage his temples, a dull throbbing beginning to pulse behind his eyes. It was as though a haze was settling over his thoughts, obscuring the clarity that had once defined his intellectual pursuits. Ayn Rand's name surfaced in his mind, her ideas on rational self-interest and individualism now appearing more coherent, more compelling than they had ever been.

"As I was saying," Ethan resumed, his voice betraying a hint of uncertainty. "Ayn Rand believed in rational self-interest, the pursuit of one's own happiness…"

His voice faltered, the words hanging in the air like a fragile thread. The pain in his head intensified, a relentless pressure that seemed to coincide with the erosion of his once-firm beliefs. Memories of spirited debates on social justice and systemic inequality fragmented and slipped away, replaced by a growing inclination toward perspectives that he had once dismissed with righteous fervor.

Ethan's ideological landscape shifted, reshaped by the unseen influence of the chemical compound now coursing through his system. Concepts that had once anchored his worldview—equality, justice, solidarity—began to recede into the background, supplanted by a burgeoning affinity for viewpoints that echoed the sentiments of those he had often scorned.

As the lecture hall buzzed with whispered conversations and suppressed laughter, Ethan Campbell struggled to reconcile the fragments of his shifting consciousness. His head still throbbing, Ethan's focus wavered as he attempted to maintain control over the deteriorating situation.

"Bro! Yo, Bro!" Hunter, a burly figure from the wrestling team, called out, his voice tinged with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. Ethan winced at the familiar address, his patience fraying. "I'm not your bro, Hunter—I'm," Ethan started, his words interrupted by a sudden surge of discomfort in his chest.

"I'm your—your professor, and you should address me as such."

"Okay—uh, Professor Bro, hahaha—uh, have you been working out 'cause you're looking ripped," Hunter rumbled, barely concealing a smirk. Ethan's hand instinctively gripped his chest, a sharp pain spreading through his muscles. His shirt strained against an unexpected expansion as his once-modest pectorals ballooned into hefty mounds of muscle.

Ethan staggered, his balance faltering as a sudden heat surged through his abdomen. His shirt stretched and strained as six tight-packed abdominal muscles emerged, carving themselves into prominence over his previously flabby gut. Each muscle group defined itself with startling clarity, a stark contrast to the softer contours that had defined Ethan's physique until now.

As Ethan struggled to comprehend the rapid changes overtaking his body, his legs began to thicken, quads bulging with newfound mass. His feet, confined within shoes too small to accommodate the burgeoning growth, burst through the seams as they expanded to size 14. The sensation was alien and overwhelming, his lower body morphing into a shape that bore little resemblance to his former self.

Simultaneously, Ethan felt his biceps throb with an unfamiliar sensation. The muscles swelled to the size of footballs, straining against the sleeves of his shirt. His arms, once slender and unassuming, now boasted a formidable strength that belied their previous appearance. The transformation extended to his neck, where his Adam's apple grew more pronounced, signaling a deeper, more resonant voice emerging from within.

"Well, yeah—Pride is coming up and I have to look good for—" Ethan's feminine voice faltered, the words catching in his throat as he struggled to reconcile the alien masculinity that now coursed through him. The jocks exchanged knowing glances, their mischievous grins widening as they witnessed the extent of their prank's success.

"Bro," one of them muttered under his breath, a smirk playing on his lips as Ethan's transformation continued unabated. The professor who had once commanded intellectual respect now stood amidst a chorus of laughter and incredulity, his physical and vocal metamorphosis a testament to the power of unintended consequences.

Tucker, the quarterback for the football team, couldn't help but be a prick in class. With his feet propped up on the desk and a smug expression plastered across his face, he had no qualms about disrupting Ethan's presentation. "Yo bro, what are you talking about pride for? You always tell us you hate fags, you're always telling about how much pussy you've scored over the weekend, bro!"

When Ethan heard Tucker's words, he felt a mix of embarrassment and anger welling up inside him. "I-I was just kidding," he stammered, trying to recover from the awkward situation. But as he looked around at the shocked faces of his classmates and saw Tucker grinning cockily at him from across the room, something shifted within Ethan. As Ethan tried to explain himself, a cocky grin washed over his face.

Ethan's face contorted into a snarl as a long-festering wave of homophobia washed over him. The mere mention of Pride and fags sent his blood boiling with disgust. Memories of making fun of loser gays filled his mind, and he couldn't help but let out a cruel laugh.

"Fucking fags," he spat, glaring at Tucker. "You think I give a shit about some gay pride parade? I don't care if you like dick or not - just keep it to yourself."

Ethan launched into a long rant about feminist bullshit and how it was ruining the world. "You know, I'm sick of all this political correctness," he said, gesturing wildly with his hands. "I mean, come on! We're men! We should be able to say what we want without having to worry about offending some snowflake."

He paused for effect before continuing. "But enough about that nonsense," he said with a smirk. "Let me tell you about the hot blonde bimbo I scored with over the weekend." Ethan recounted in vivid detail how he had fucked that chick's brain out - describing every moan and groan she made as if it were happening right then and there in front of his students

"Haha, teach that was epic! You'll be a perfect fit for the frat," Topher, the baseball pitcher, chimed in, his voice filled with a mixture of admiration and amusement. Ethan's head throbbed with each word, the impact of the chemical prank continuing to wreak havoc on his once-sharp intellect.

"You're the dumbest, loudest, most obnoxious bro on campus," another voice added, laughter rippling through the lecture hall. Ethan struggled to focus, his thoughts slipping like sand through his fingers. The weight of academic discourse and literary analysis dissolved into a haze, replaced by a flood of trivialities and frat-boy banter.

Like a wrecking ball to his mind, Ethan felt himself growing dumber, his mental acuity fading with each passing moment. The intricate plots of novels and the nuanced critiques of societal norms were replaced with useless sports trivia and memories of pulling pranks with his bros. The lines on his face seemed to smooth out, the clock of his life winding back until he felt like a carefree 20-year-old college sophomore once again.

He remembered the struggle of his freshman year, nearly flunking out until he switched to Econ to fit in with his frat brothers. Memories flooded back—a wild party last night, the taste of cheap beer still lingering on his tongue. A wave of nausea hit him, and he let out an unapologetic buuuuurrrrp, the sound echoing through the now rowdy classroom.

"You bros—what are we doing in this boring class, let's party! Let's get wasted!" Ethan hollered, his voice now unrecognizably boisterous and carefree. The words slipped from his mouth effortlessly, devoid of the eloquence and depth that had once defined his speech.

The entire class erupted in cheers, the students joining in the revelry of Ethan's transformation. Gone was the professor who had challenged their intellects with complex theories and philosophical debates. In his place stood a caricature of collegiate stereotype—a figure of amusement and camaraderie among his peers.

Ethan's name slipped away from him, lost in the tumult of cheers and laughter. He was no longer Ethan Campbell, esteemed professor of English. As the echoes of applause filled the lecture hall. And as he looked around at the faces of his cheering students, he was ready to party.

As the group entered the local college pub, Ethan's face underwent a subtle transformation. His jawline, already strong, seemed to chisel itself into sharper relief, giving his face an air of calculated confidence. His lips curled into a perpetually cocky grin, one that exuded a blend of charm and entitlement.

His eyes, normally warm and inviting, now sparkled with a glint of mischief and bravado. They scanned the room with a self-assuredness that bordered on arrogance, taking in the attention from others with a satisfied nod. Ethan's posture subtly adjusted, his shoulders squared confidently, as if he owned the space around him. As soon as Ethan stepped into the bar, he assumed a persona that was a stark departure from the reserved professor he had once been. He swaggered through the crowd with an air of entitlement, exuding the brash confidence of someone who believed the world revolved around him.

At the bar, surrounded by his bros, Ethan's behavior escalated to the epitome of obnoxiousness. He loudly heckled the players on the screen, critiquing every move with an exaggerated bravado. His voice carried over the din of the bar, drawing attention to himself with every shouted comment.

As he stood at the bar, Ethan's eyes were glued to the sorority chick with big tits and blonde hair across the room. Ethan's demeanor shifted into overdrive. He flexed his muscles, struck exaggerated poses, and flashed a grin that oozed harm. A sudden tan seemed to wash over his body, adding to the illusion of athleticism and vitality.

Ethan turned to his bro Topher and yelled out loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear: "I'm plowing that bitch tonight! Bet!"

"Dude, you're like the biggest party animal on the team," Spencer shouted over the cheers, slapping Ethan on the back with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Coach was right to make you the captain, Zayne!"

In that moment, everything clicked for Ethan—or rather, Zayne. He was no longer the boring college professor burdened with intellectual pursuits. He had transformed into Zayne, the embodiment of every fratbro stereotype—dumb, obnoxious, and self-assured. Captain of the college football team, his path was clear: lead his team to state victory and revel in the adoration of his peers.

Zayne was the loudest, most obnoxious bro at the bar that night. His muscles bulged under his tight t-shirt, and he downed shots like they were water. He grunted to his bros Topher and Spencer about his "sick gains" at the gym earlier in the day, flexing for them whenever he could get away with it.

Zayne caught sight of himself in the mirror at the bar, and he couldn't help but check himself out. His huge muscles were on full display, and he felt an undeniable sense of pride swell within him.

As he flexed for the mirror, admiring his chin strap beard and tight t-shirt, Zayne became more vain and vapid by the second. He couldn't believe how hot he looked; it was like all those hours spent pumping iron had paid off tenfold. With each passing moment, Zayne sank deeper into a state of self-absorption - lost in his own reflection.

The energy in the room was electric as Zayne, Tucker, Topher and the rest of the frat house down they're shots. They had just come from a grueling workout at the gym, and they were amped to let loose and party.

"Dude, I just hit the gym and killed it!" Zayne exclaimed excitedly. "I'm so pumped for tonight." His eyes scanned the room hungrily, searching for any signs of hot chicks who might be interested in joining them.

Topher nodded in agreement. "It's about to get lit af in here," he said confidently. "Damn right fam. Let's go find some babes to party with." Zayne hollered. With that, they made their way over to the bar where a group of girls were already gathered around another table laughing loudly.

Zayne spotted a drunk sorority chick from across the bar and grunted to his bros, "Yo, let me show you how it's done." He made his way over to the blonde bimbo and shamelessly flexed his muscles. She giggled vapidly in response.

"Hey babes, check out this fine piece of ass," Zayne said with a dumb laugh. His hands began roaming her perky ass and tits as he continued talking about football and gym sessions with with the blonde chick. Flexing his biceps as regaled her about today's football pratice. The girl seemed entranced by Zayne's bravado; she didn't even notice when he slipped his hand down her pants.

The night became a drunken blur of partying, drinking, and hitting on dumb bitches. Zayne lost track of time as he moved from one girl to the next, flexing his muscles and telling stories about football and gym sessions. His frat brothers hollered in approval from across the room while they downed shots of tequila.

In between making out with various girls, Zayne would occasionally glance over at Tucker who was deep in conversation with a brunette beauty at another table. Topher had disappeared somewhere into the crowd but could be heard cheering every now and then when someone scored a touchdown or did something particularly impressive on stage during karaoke night.

Zayne met up with a hot cheerleader chick who had the biggest rack he had ever seen. They ordered shots and grinded and danced throughout the night. He knew he had found the chick he was going to plow that night.

As they continued drinking, she began stroking his firm pecs and squeezing his huge biceps. She was dumb, blonde, and drunk - just the way Zayne liked it. He couldn't help but laugh at her inane comments as they made their way back to his place later that night.

Zayne was the most obnoxious, dumb, crude conservative asshole in the frat house. He loved to flex his muscles and brag about his "sick gains" at the gym. His favorite pastime was hooking up drunk sorority girls and taking them back to his place for a good time and working out.

Despite being a total douchebag, Zayne had an undeniable charm that drew people towards him. His bros Topher and Tucker looked up to him as their fearless leader - someone who could always be counted on for a good time or an epic prank. Zayne has become the epitome of an obnoxious, dumb republican bro in the frat house. He's always flexing his muscles and showing off his latest workout routine, which consists mostly of bench presses and bicep curls. His wardrobe consists mainly of tight t-shirts that showcase his pecs and abs, paired with baggy shorts or jeans that hang low on his hips.

His hair is styled into a messy quiff that he thinks makes him look like a "total stud," but it just ends up looking greasy most of the time. Zayne is constantly talking about how hot he is and how all the girls at the bar can't resist him. Zayne is just another spoiled, entitled rich white frat boy. He comes from old money and has never had to work a day in his life. His parents have always given him whatever he wants, so it's no surprise that he expects the same treatment from everyone else. He loves nothing more than throwing his weight around at bars and clubs, buying rounds for everyone just because he can afford it.

Whenever someone disagrees with him politically or challenges one of his opinions, Zayne gets extremely defensive and starts shouting about how great America is and how liberals are ruining everything. He loves to start fights at bars just so he can prove how tough he is by throwing punches.

Zayne is the epitome of what people hate about frat boys. He's the most obnoxious, dumb conservative bro in the house, and he knows it. His muscles are sculpted from hours spent at the gym, and his clothes scream "I'm hot stuff." He loves to show off his physique whenever possible, often wearing tight shirts that reveal his chiseled abs and flexing for anyone who looks his way.

His personality is just as big as his ego; Zayne thinks he's God's gift to women. At bars, he loves to order rounds of shots for everyone around him while shouting out cheers like a drill sergeant leading troops into battle. His favorite pastime is pulling gross pranks on unsuspecting victims with his bros –

When it comes time for scoring with drunken sorority chicks at bars (which happens often), Zayne goes all-in by buying them drink after drink until they can barely stand up straight anymore before making his move on them later in private rooms or dark corners of the bar.

In shot: if there were ever an award given out for being "Biggest Douchebag on Campus," then without a doubt that trophy would belong solely on Zayne’s mantlepiece because this guy truly embodies everything people despise about frat boys – but somehow still manages remain the most popular bro on campus. Zayne is the quintessential douchebag, and he knows it. He struts around campus with an air of confidence that only comes from being completely oblivious to his own shortcomings. His muscles are always pumped up from hours spent at the gym, but his brain is as soft as marshmallow fluff.

As he flexes in front of the mirror at the bar, admiring his reflection, he can't help but feel a surge of testosterone coursing through his veins. It's not just because he looks good; it's because he knows that every girl on campus wants him. And tonight, he has one lucky lady all to himself.

His date for the evening giggles vapidly as Zayne whispers into his ear "Why don't we had back to the frathouse and you can show me what a slut you really are". Zayne drunkly grunts. She doesn't even know what she did to deserve this guy; all she knows is that she wants him more than anything else in the world right now. As they make their way back to his place, Zayne can feel himself growing harder by the second… until finally, out pops a massive 10-inch cock! He grins like an idiot and starts thrusting against her without even bothering with foreplay or lube – after all, who needs those when you have such incredible stamina?

#gay to straight #male tf #douchebag tf #homophobia #jock tf #nerd to jock tf #transformation #lib to con

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coldbronzemoon · 1 year

Text

Danny Fenton, Totally Mortal Hero Consultant (DPxDC)

Snippet for an AU I'll probably never fully write where Danny takes a job as a consultant for the Justice League to help with ghost and demon bullshit. It's a pretty good cash flow to help him with college, after all, and very flexible hours.

He just claims all his knowledge comes from his parents. Unfortunately, the JL has caught word of the elusive yet active hero Phantom, and want Danny to help them meet and assess him. Whoops.

Over the phone, Tucker sighed. “Good Christ, Danny, why do you keep doing this?”

“I’m not doing anything,” Danny said immediately. He winced at the vague sound of screaming below. Demons sucked. “I didn’t know the JL thing was gonna have me finding Phantom. How would I? They were talking about tracking down powerful ghosts, I was assuming Ancients!”

Tucker sighed again, which was really quite unfair of him. “Mhm. Well, Fenton Catcher?”

“Probably not. They know me pretty well at this point, and unlike what Sam says I can be professional. I’d confuse them with the… uh…”

“Stoner shtick?”

There was more screaming happening, but judging from the pitch it was a demon screaming this time. Danny checked the situation. Yep, demon getting their ass kicked. He didn’t need to get involved with a blaster. Yet.

Instead, he scowled at his phone. “Stop calling it that.”

“You’re gonna tell me flanny Danny wasn’t a pitch-perfect stoner, huh? With the chill vibing and the dopey look?”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, bud.”

The sound of a clacking keyboard that had underlined their conversation stopped. “But seriously, Danny, what the hell are you gonna do with this?”

“Uh, lie, probably,” Danny said, because it was very likely.

“Alright, smartass, what are you going to do when that lie backfires on you like literally every other one does?”

“That’s when I start gaslighting, gatekeeping, and girlbossing, babe.”

He had a hard time hearing Tucker’s distant groan of “Why am I still your friend?” on account of the sudden explosion. Danny checked again. Hm. Demon dude had a nasty fire thing going on.

Danny switched on his Fenton water gun—holy water included!-- and shot the demon in the face. They let out a cracking hiss of rage, but dropped the fire spell thing. He waited for them to stop looking around wildly for the culprit for a moment.

He went back to the call. “‘Cause you loooove me, Tuck. From the bottom of your twice-dead heart.”

“Unfortunately,” Tucker deadpanned.

Danny just cackled. It was lost amongst the sound of supernatural bullshit below.

“Anyway, I’m still figuring out my plan A, honestly. Might bring in gray-man?”

“Amorpho’s an asshole, though. He’ll ruin the whole thing by taking the opportunity to shift into a JL member for a bit.”

Hm. True.

“Yeah, but he’s the main guy I know with that power set.”

“Ask after Desiree?” He could hear the immediate distaste in Tucker’s voice. “Ugh, pretend I didn’t say that. That’s worse than Amorpho.”

“It’s awful,” Danny agreed easily.

Desiree was actually pretty alright nowadays, mostly on account of Danny remembering the last couple minutes of Aladdin and wishing she could refuse wishes she didn’t want to grant. That had made her happy enough to stop actively picking fights.

Unfortunately, spending the entirety of one’s afterlife twisting the wording of wishes to their worst form made it hard to stop being an asshole. Who knew! So getting Desiree to split him in two for like a week had a 50/50 chance of fucking up his work relationship with the literal league of superheroes irrevocably. And this was his main cash flow right now.

So, no Desiree, no siree.

“Come up with something better then, asshole.”

Danny hummed and, since the heroes below were focused on the demon, lifted up a little and did a thoughtful back flip. What to do, what to do…?

Oh!

“My cousin!” he exclaimed.

“What cous—? Oh, Ellie.”

“Yeah, Ellie, Tuck. Which other cousins do I have?”

Tucker scoffed. “You literally have that whole Nightingale thing going on through your dad?”

Danny couldn’t help the face he made. The remaining Nightingales were worse than his parents somehow. “The Nightingales don’t count.”

“You can’t just say they don’t count.”

“I can say that, actually, and I will. They’re, like, cousins through my great-great-great-grandpa anyway.”

“Isn’t there a fight going on over there? Should you be shooting someone?”

“Yeah, probably.”

He peaked down through the window once more. The heroes must have gotten the first demon to leave while he was talking, because the horned demon fighting them now was a truly unfortunate shade of yellow-green instead of purple. Or maybe it had transformed for some reason? They had it about as in-hand as the other one, though, so Danny definitely didn’t need to go down there. He shot the maybe-new demon in the face real quick.

“Anyway, Ellie can totally help out, she’s been practicing with changing up her looks. She’s also more, uh, malleable than me, what with her situation and all. Looking fully like Phantom shouldn’t be hard.”

Tucker hummed. “She’d try to embarrass you though.”

“Yeah, that’s a problem.” Danny spun in place. “I could bribe her?”

“With what? Her life doesn’t involve needing much cash.”

“She doesn’t get out to the Zone very much. Not many of the inhabited places, anyway. I can promise her the weird apple things Dora’s been growing with Sam’s help, she loved those.”

“If you think that’ll work…” Tucker trailed off dubiously.

Danny laughed. “She’s annoying sometimes, but she’s not gonna fuck over my job if I ask her not to. I’ll just bribe her extra hard for resisting the temptation to mock me.”

“Fair enough.” The clacking of keys resumed. “I’ve really gotta pay attention now, someone’s trying to stop me from getting into this database. Someone half-decent, actually, did they upgrade? Hm. Make sure no one died, yeah?”

“They’re alive. Bye, Tuck,” Danny said, and ended the call.

He shoved his phone back into his jacket pocket and made his way down the stairs. The fight outside he had been stationed for was basically over—Captain Marvel and Green Lantern (Danny was pretty sure he had accidentally learned the dude’s actual name at some point, but hell if he could remember)—had pulled out the magic restraints one of the other consultants had handed out.

That had probably been Constantine. Ugh. Constantine. Dude could stand to lighten up a little; skulking and smoking all the time wasn’t the base state of someone enjoyable to be around. Then again, Danny knew he annoyed the shit out of some of the league with his own attitude, so he maybe shouldn’t talk. But at least he was annoying with a smile!

Case in point: Danny grinned at the heroes. “Got it handled?”

“Suppose so,” said the Green Lantern, “though a little more help would have been nice.”

Captain Marvel was too busy getting in a minor tussle with the demon to say anything either way.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m like, pretty mortal,” Danny said. “I’m not fucking with demons right where they can hit me. And I did shoot him!”

Green Lantern rolled his eyes, but admitted the point. Danny cheerfully flipped him off anyway.

“I’ll be heading out, then, the hellmouth this guy crawled out of is like three miles away.” Captain Marvel said, hauling the handcuffed demon over his shoulders like a very angry backpack.

“Oh, one more for the road!”

Danny hit the demon with a final water gun shot. Hissing and scrunching their face like a cat, the demon tried to lunge at him. It wasn’t very successful. Weirdly non-verbal for a demon, who usually had to talk to make deals and steal mortal souls, but Danny wouldn’t judge. Might be a minor demon. A really basic imp? Who knew.

“Stop being a little bitch and you won’t get spray-bottled, asshole,” Danny chided.

With a loud laugh, Captain Marvel sped away.

#dp fanfic #dp fic #dp x dc #dp x dc fic #dp x dc fanfic #dp x dc crossover #if anyone wants to use this idea feel free lol #my writing

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