#So now there is more car than dug out spots

[herunswithscissors]

One of my favorite things to do on calls with friends and family is to needle them about how nice my weather is right now while they are freezing their asses off and fighting over folding chairs marking dug out parking spots.

[waywardxrhea]

Casual - Spencer Reid

for the CM friends with benefits challenge by @imagining-in-the-margins <3

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

You thought that your sexcapades with Spencer Reid had meant more to him like they did to you, but after a couple of run ins with his BAU teammates you learn that he really meant 'no attachments.'

word count: just over 5k

content: smut (this is sinful whoops) MINORS DNI - 18+ ONLY: oral (fem receiving), public (ish) sexual acts, unprotected PIV, established FWB situation, drinking (just to the point of being tipsy, consent is still given), language, anxiety, angst.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

now playing: casual by chappell roan

“You finally made it!” your friend Maddie exclaimed gleefully as you walked into the latest bar that she had decided your small group of friends should try out that evening. 

Maddie’s girlfriend Celeste elbowed you gently in the ribs before teasingly asking, “Were you hooking up with Mr. FBI agent again?”

“That’d be, what? The fourth time this month?” Adrianna asked, a slight slur already in her words. She threw an arm around your shoulders and winked exaggeratedly before adding, “And it’s only the fifteenth! Get it girl!” 

“Ha ha, very funny, let’s all gang up on the girl with the best sex life here,” you joked, forcing a smile onto your lips despite the pang of hurt that shot through your gut at the comments. You grabbed a drink menu off the bar’s counter before heading back to your group’s claimed table for the evening, telling your friends, “I actually picked up an extra shift which is why I’m late and Doctor FBI agent is out of state on a case.”

“Awe, she knows when he’s out on a case, how sweet!” Celeste teased before winking and taking a sip of her brightly colored drink. 

“You three are impossible!” you said with a roll of your eyes as you stood up from your spot once more to escape the conversation and order your drink at the bar - a raspberry frozen margarita with sugar rim. Luckily when you got back to the table with your drink, the conversation had turned to Maddie discussing the latest drama at her job, so you sat back and relaxed as you sipped on your first drink of the night. 

“I can’t believe we finished all that paperwork in time to actually go out tonight,” Derek Morgan said as he stretched his arms, stepping out of his car and into the crisp evening air as he once more met up with the other BAU members at a bar the group gravitated toward when they had time to celebrate wins on cases. 

“Realistically it would have been nearly impossible for us to not get our work done in a timely manner. We got back from the case at ten AM and were all well rested after the flight, so our brains were all in ideal condition to finish the paperwork on time, even accounting for some delays in productivity due to jet lag,” Spencer Reid rambled off as they all walked into the bar, offering a small smile as some of his teammates rolled their eyes playfully in response. 

“Well all I know is that I’m getting a bottle of wine to celebrate wrapping that case,” Emily Prentiss commented as she dug through her purse. 

“What about you, pretty boy? Planning on drinking tonight?” Derek asked as he gently shoulder checked the younger man. 

“Just water,” Spencer replied. “Did you know that during long plane rides you can easily get dehydrated? The humidity within the cabin is usually around ten to twenty percent which is lower than the usual thirty to sixty percent that our bodies are used to. The lower level of humidity causes water to be drawn out of the body and the thirst reflex is diminished so you drink less water while at the same time losing more. I’m surprised that as a team we aren’t more dehydrated overall.”

The conversation was dropped as the team got their drinks ordered and then settled into a round booth at the back of the bar. As Spencer took a sip from his water, his eyes scanned the bar’s patrons to see if there were any people they may have to watch out for as the night goes on and more drinks are consumed. The water he was sipping on suddenly went down the wrong pipe though as he spotted a familiar face at the table adjacent to the team’s. It was you hanging out with a few friends, seeming to have not noticed his arrival. He wasn’t too surprised about that though because judging by the glasses on the table you were at least one and a half margaritas in and you already weren’t the most observant person when you were distracted anyway. 

“Everything okay, Spence?” JJ asked while she patted Spencer’s back. 

Derek’s eyes tracked where Spencer’s had landed and he smirked as he announced to the table, “Pretty boy just saw the girl he bangs on his couch.” 

There was a quiet cacophony of responses to Derek’s comment the moment it fell from his lips. “Remind me to not sit on your couch ever again,” Emily Prentiss commented with a quiet laugh. “Ooh Spence, how serious is this thing?” JJ asked in a sly tone. “I’m glad you found someone, kid,” David Rossi said with a nod and a toast of his glass. “As long as it isn’t going to affect you at work,” their unit chief Aaron Hotchner commented sternly. “Spencer’s dating someone? Why did Derek know this and I didn’t?” Penelope Garcia asked with wide eyes. 

Spencer didn’t respond immediately, suddenly overwhelmed by the barrage of comments, so Derek took a moment to dig the hole even deeper by adding, “He made me swear not to tell baby girl.” He got a mischievous look on his face as he continued, “But one time when I was at his place getting his go bag while he was busy in the shooting range, I found a bra in his dresser. It took some time but I finally got an answer out of him and it turns out this has been going on for a few months now.”

“Spencer Reid!” Penelope scolded while leaning over and playfully swatting at his hand. “How could you not tell me? You know I would have run a background check on her to make sure everything checked out!”

“Everyone slow down!” Spencer said, putting his hands up which caused the noise at the table to die down. “She quite literally ran into me at a coffee shop a few months back but I didn’t tell anyone because, well…we aren’t together. It’s just a casual thing.”

“Just casual? Is she okay with that?” JJ asked, quirking an eyebrow up in question. 

“She hasn’t said anything against it,” Spencer replied. He glanced over at you laughing with your friends one more time before shaking his head and asking, “Can we change the subject?”

“Whatever you want, player,” Derek said with a chuckle before the conversation moved on to whatever the latest sports news was, prompted by Derek’s reaction to something happening on one of the many TVs hanging around the room. 

Later that night after you had your fair share of appetizers and drinks, your friends were all starting to head home for the evening. “Thank you for coming, we need to do this again soon!” Celeste told you with a fake stern look before she giggled and leaned over into Maddie’s side. 

“We do!” you agreed as you grabbed your glass to finish off the last bit of your drink. “Get home safe!”

“You too!” Maddie said as she attempted to steady Celeste. “You’re calling a cab right?”

“Of course,” you told her with a nod, raising your glass in a toast as the pair headed off toward the door, following Adrianna outside. 

After finishing off your drink, you stood up, trying to balance as well as you could as you grabbed your clutch off of the table and went to the bar to pay off your tab. You weren’t completely drunk, but you were definitely tipsy and you were naturally clumsy, so nights like this were always an interesting time, especially when you were in heels. When you got to the bar to pay though, you were surprised to be informed that your tab was already paid for. “Who did that?” you asked the bartender, your eyebrows furrowing together in confusion. Adrianna was just about finished with but still in law school and Celeste was a teacher so you could never ask them to pay for your drinks. Maddie was a paralegal and made a good salary but still, you made enough on your own to pay for your drinks, so who…? 

Your question was answered though when you felt a familiar pair of hands glide along your waist and land on your hips. You turned your head the slightest bit and an immediate heat flooded your body as you whispered, “Spencer… Hi. I thought I heard your voice earlier. When did you get back?” Your emotions were conflicted at his sudden appearance because you had overheard him talking with his group of friends earlier and it had honestly upset you, but now that he was practically wrapped around you, your mind flooded with memories of his hands on your body in the most intimate way…

“Just got back this morning. The team met up here to celebrate and I was surprised to see you here,” he replied. His voice lowered and his lips grazed the shell of your ear as he mumbled, “You look irresistible in that dress by the way.”

“I…Thank you,” you breathed, feeling your heart rate increase as his hands massaged your hips. “And thanks for paying for my drinks, you didn’t have to…”

“But I wanted to,” he told you, gently nipping at your ear lobe which made your cunt clench around nothing in desperation for more of his touch. Truth be told, it had been a week since you and Spencer last hooked up and you hated to admit that you had gotten dependent on his touch lately. 

Your impure thoughts were interrupted by a low whistle piercing the air, and your head snapped in the direction it came from, to see two people you recognized from pictures in Spencer’s apartment. They must be from the BAU as well. You made eye contact with the perky looking blonde woman and offered a smile as the man beside her asked, “Pretty boy, why don’t you introduce us to your friend here?” 

“Oh, I-I thought everyone had left,” Spencer said, instantly making space between the two of you. You looked at Spencer’s panicked expression that quickly changed into something more neutral as he introduced you by name and then said to you, “These are two other members of the BAU. Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia.”

“It’s nice to meet you two,” you told them, a smile on your face as you raised your hand in greeting. “Penelope, you’re the tech girl right?” you asked after a few moments of going through your memories of what little Spencer had told you about his job. 

“That’s me! Resident tech genius because boy genius here refuses to get to know technology!” she replied chipperly. 

“Oh trust me, I know,” you said with a giggle, leaning into Spencer’s side as you remembered the last time you two had gotten lonely at the odd hours of night and wanted to video chat each other to get off. Spencer struggled to get the video call to work and it had ended up being muted for a few minutes before you finally got him to unmute himself so you could hear everything his surprisingly filthy mouth had to say to you. 

“Well it’s nice to finally meet the girl who is getting pretty boy out of his shell,” Derek said, flashing you an award winning smile. 

“It’s nice to meet you too. I’m glad you all are keeping him safe out there in the field,” you replied. 

“All in a day’s work,” Derek said with a chuckle. He checked his watch before exaggeratedly yawning and telling Penelope, “Well baby girl, I think we should get going. Don’t want to hold these two up any longer than we already have. You two have a good one.”

“Thanks Derek,” Spencer mumbled as he watched the pair walk off and out the door. You watched as Spencer’s eyes did another sweep of the bar before his attention was back on you, turning you toward him and pulling you into his front, his hands snaking their way around to your ass and giving a light squeeze as he returned to kissing your ear and neck. 

Your hopeful thoughts from the conversation with Derek and Penelope were instantly abandoned and replaced instead by flashes of your intimate moments with Spencer over the last few months. Your hands drifted upward with one resting on his shoulder and the other lacing into his cropped hair as you let out a quiet moan in Spencer’s ear before asking, “Take me home?”

“God yes,” Spencer whispered, pulling away and turning you around so you were in front of him. To anyone watching it would look like he was simply helping you keep your balance as the alcohol in your system continued to impair your coordination, but only you knew the real reason for the closeness. So as you walked the block to the parking lot, you occasionally let your ass rub against the growing problem in Spencer’s slacks which earned low groans and a squeeze of your hips as you two made your way to Spencer’s car which was tucked away at the back of the lot away from other cars. 

When you got there, Spencer pinned you against the side of his car and his lips were on yours in an instant. After a few seconds, he pulled away for a moment and between panting breaths he asked, “Is this okay? You’ve been drinking, I didn’t want to-”

“You aren’t taking advantage of me,” you promised before he could complete his sentence. “I only had two margaritas and a shot and a ton of food. If you want to breathalyze me, agent, go ahead, but I promise you I’m all here and I’ve missed your hands on me.” As you said this, you carefully hooked one leg around Spencer’s waist and pulled your hips closer together with a smirk gracing your lips. 

“I trust you,” he whispered before your lips crashed together again. You once more laced one hand into his curls and used the other to pull him closer as your tongues began lapping into each other’s mouth, desperation and pure need guiding your actions. Shocks of pleasure began flowing down to your core and you felt light headed as Spencer rutted his hips into yours, seemingly desperate for any sort of friction. The moment that his hard cock brushed against your cunt you let out another moan that was swallowed by Spencer’s mouth before he was moving one of his hands from the grip he had on your ass.

Within seconds you heard the tell-tale sign of the car doors unlocking and Spencer was opening the door for you to get in. Rather than going over to his side to quickly drive to one of your apartments though, he instead pulled at the levers at the base of the passenger seat and began scooting the seat backward and flat, sending you into a near laying position and dizzying your senses. “Spencer, what-?” you asked as you regained your composure after a few moments. 

“I can’t wait,” was his reply before he began tucking himself into the now more open floorboard and pulling your panties down your legs. 

“What about- What if we’re caught-? Your job-!” you managed to get out in clipped sentences. 

“No cameras, no cars near us, it’s fine,” he replied quickly. “I just need to taste you,” he added, his voice almost dark with desire which had your cunt clenching around nothing again as your own desire overtook your anxiety about getting caught.

He hooked your legs over his shoulders and pulled your hips close to his face before you felt the flat of his tongue on you, going from your entrance to your clit before he stopped there and began focusing on your most sensitive bundle of nerves. You let out a sinful noise as one hand gravitated toward his hair to hold him close as he began sucking on your clit, not wanting to let go of the feeling. 

After a few breathtaking moments, Spencer pulled away slightly and mumbled, “You’re so wet, fuck…” The vibrations of his voice on your core made a high pitched cry escape your lips and he chuckled before asking, “You like that?”

“God yes,” you replied breathlessly as your chest heaved as the pleasure began to build already in the pit of your stomach. “I missed you,” you found yourself confessing as your hips bucked up to meet his tongue as he returned to his assault of your dripping cunt. Spencer’s only response was to shift and add two fingers to the mix which caused you to cry out his name as he hooked them skillfully, hitting the spot he knew could make you fall apart within seconds if he got it just right. “Oh fuck, right there- Spencer, I- shit…” 

“Come on baby,” he mumbled against you as his long fingers began stroking his target within you, causing the tight coiling feeling in your abdomen to increase more and more. 

It all became too much when Spencer began kitten licking at your clit at the same time and the coil snapped, sending waves of pleasure crashing over your body as your orgasm ripped through you. A loud moan slipped past your lips as your grip on his hair tightened and Spencer pulled his fingers out quickly before beginning to lap at your cunt like a man starved, holding down your erratically bucking hips as you slowly began coming down from your high. Overstimulation took over after a few moments and you gently pushed Spencer’s head away as you panted, trying to catch your breath. Spencer obliged, pulling away and wiping his face with the back of his hand before sucking the remnants of you from his fingers as he chuckled. 

You joined in on his laughter after a few seconds and the question that had been on your mind all night slipped past your lips, “Is it casual now?” Knowing it was a loaded question though, you panicked and quickly pulled Spencer up and into a kiss before he could answer. For good measure, you made sure to keep him preoccupied by teasing him as he drove you back to your apartment where he made sure to thoroughly make up for his week away on the case. 

A few weeks had passed and you were out with your girls again to celebrate Adrianna finally graduating law school. It had been a long and arduous journey for her, but she made it! So before she had to buckle down once more to study for the bar exam, the four of you went out to a nice, new Italian restaurant that had opened only a couple of weeks prior. The restaurant had great reviews, and most importantly to Adiranna, an excellent wine list. So the four of you celebrated with delicious pasta, only one glass of wine for you, and began on dessert - a tiramisu that smelled heavenly. 

As the dessert was being brought out by what seemed like half the kitchen staff who were all warmly congratulating Adrianna, your eyes drifted past them when you heard a distinct nickname being called out teasingly from across the restaurant. Pretty boy. You made eye contact with the man in question and like an instinct your heart rate began to increase and heat began to pool down into your core. It was a Pavlovian response at this point, as Spencer had explained to you the first time you brought up the fact that you would get turned on at the mere sight of him, even if it was in no way sexual. You averted your eyes a moment later and bit your lip as you shifted in your seat, thighs rubbing together to try and alleviate some of the tension building in your core. 

“You okay?” Maddie’s voice asked, breaking through the flashes of when Spencer dragged five orgasms out of you that night after the bar. 

“Just a headache, red wine doesn’t really agree with me,” you told in a half-truth. Red wine really wasn’t your forte, but it was what Adrianna wanted so that’s what you had been sipping on slowly throughout the meal. “I think I’m gonna head to the restroom to take a Motrin, I’ll be back. Maybe the lights will be a bit less harsh in there.”

“Maybe so. I’ll make sure to save you some tiramisu,” Maddie said as you stood up and began making your way across the restaurant to where you noticed the restrooms were earlier. You weren’t really going to the restroom to take some medicine or get away from what really wasn’t even that harsh of lighting in the dining area. There was some part of you that hoped that even from across the restaurant Spencer could tell that you needed him and would get the message to meet you in there. 

Of course as you passed the table Spencer was at, it was filled with the rest of the BAU members, most of whose attention was on the man animatedly talking about the wine and pasta selections. You thought you had gone unnoticed until you heard a low wolf whistle before the comment, “Go and get some loving, pretty boy.”

“Shut it!” you heard the distinct voice of Penelope snap as you kept your head down and made your way to your destination. 

Right as your hand reached up to push the restroom door open, you looked back to see if Spencer had followed you like you hoped, and to your body’s joy he did. Glancing at his lips as he wet them with his tongue, you felt the dampness in your underwear growing as your breathing began to pick up its pace along with your heart. “Hey,” you said simply. 

“Did you want to-?” was all Spencer asked before you nodded vigorously which earned you his lips as he gently pushed you into the single person restroom before locking the door. Spencer’s hands were on you in an instant, one diving into the low v-cut of your dress and beginning to massage your breast, thumb flicking over your already hard nipple as you moaned into his mouth. “If I knew you would have been here I may have dressed a bit nicer,” Spencer commented as he moved from kissing your lips to your neck, your hands desperately roaming his frame as he explored yours. 

“You always look amazing,” you told him earnestly as he hiked you up onto the sink’s counter space and pulled the strap of your dress down your shoulder so he would have better access to your chest. “Oh, God, Spencer…” you whispered as he took your sensitive bud into his mouth and began sucking. It wasn’t long before he moved on from the nipple to the surrounding skin and started to bite and suck which you desperately hoped would leave a mark. You loved it when he marked you because it made things feel more permanent, even if just for a few days.

Before you knew it, your legs were being nudged apart and Spencer’s fingers were teasing your entrance as he asked, “Are you ready?”

“Please,” you begged. The sound was breathy and high-pitched, but you didn’t care much about how desperate you sounded because you knew the sounds you made drove Spencer crazy. 

“Turn around,” he said in a low voice as he helped you jump off of the counter. You didn’t even get the opportunity to tease Spencer or spread his own arousal over his head before you were being bent over the counter with your panties pushed aside as he quickly shoved into your throbbing core. Your moan was muffled as Spencer’s large hand came around and covered your mouth and he gritted out, “We don’t have long.”

You whimpered into Spencer’s hand as he pounded into you from behind, your exposed breast occasionally grazing against the cold countertop causing the most delicious mix of pleasure to course through your body. He always felt so big from behind and tonight was no exception, but the rate and rhythm that he was going at had the coil in your core building quickly. “Spencer, oh, fuck! I-”

“I’m close too,” was Spencer’s grunted out response as the grip he had on your hip tightened as his thrusts began to get sloppy. You don’t know if it was because of the prospect of getting caught, or what, but after a few more thrusts, Spencer was already losing it, whispering, “Baby, I- Shit, shit, shit! I’m coming, fuck-” 

You felt his hot release filling you up and you let out a moan in response, so close to your own peak, but instead of continuing his ministrations like he normally would, Spencer pulled out and began cleaning himself up. You stood there speechless for a moment, still bent over the counter with your heart racing and chest heaving as you recovered from your almost orgasm. Spencer had never left you hanging like that. Maybe to edge you to try and get your body to do what it still hadn’t managed to, but never to deny you an orgasm. 

Spencer approached you from behind once more and recovered your core with your underwear before beginning to straighten up your dress to help you look presentable. He turned you around and placed a gentle kiss on your lips before chuckling and telling you, “I think you may want to fix your makeup a bit.”

“I-I will,” you quietly agreed with a nod, watching as he ducked his head and left you in the bathroom alone, hot, bothered, and honestly a bit pissed off. You quickly relocked the door and went to the restroom, trying to rid your underwear and body of the traces he left behind with his abrupt finish. After cleaning up, you went to work fixing your makeup as best you could and hoped that with all of the wine in their system your friends wouldn’t notice that it was slightly less perfect than when the night began. 

As you quietly made your way out of the restroom, you froze when you heard Derek’s voice coming from around the corner as he asked, “That love toy of yours treating you well?” 

Your blood ran cold as Spencer responded, “Oh, I- uh- Yeah. She is.”

“My man!” Derek said with a bright laugh before the conversation was prompted to return to non-sexual topics by someone else at the table. 

You felt your shoulders slump as your eyes casted themselves down to the floor and you just wanted a sinkhole to open up beneath you and swallow you whole. A sense of dread began to fill your body and your head began to feel heavy as your anxiety started to climb. Trying to breathe through the dizzying feeling, you kept your eyes down as you made your way past the table Spencer was sat at. When you reached your friends, you offered a small smile before telling them, “The headache is just getting worse, I think I need to get going. I’m sorry to be a downer…”

“Hey it’s okay! Get to feeling better!” Maddie told you, offering a smile to try and comfort you. 

“Thanks,” you said as you reached into your small purse and pulled out a few bills that should more than cover your fair share of the meal. “Congrats again, Adri. You earned it!” you told her with a fake chipperness in your voice that you hoped was convincing. 

Once that exchange was over, you quickly made your way out of the restaurant and into the cool night air, trying to convince your lungs to take deep breaths before a full blown panic attack set in. You should have known that all of this with Spencer was too good to be true. You should have known that he just wanted you for sex and nothing more. 

Even though you know you shouldn’t have, after that night meeting Derek and Penelope, you had let your mind wander just a bit and had imagined a little life with Spencer. An apartment smack between both of your jobs, going to the movies together, reading in silence on the couch, maybe even him showing you off at some team party after they closed a particularly hard case. But clearly none of that was in the cards for him… It was just a fantasy you had built in your head.

How did you let this drag on for so long? You pride yourself on being a strong and independent person and for the longest time had sworn off dating after the last disaster that had ruined your life. Yet here you were letting Spencer come crashing into your life, upturning everything you had built for yourself. A searing hatred started to rise in your chest, but it wasn’t directed toward Spencer. It was for yourself.

Your thoughts were interrupted though when a gentle hand was placed on your upper arm to get your attention. Just turning to look at Spencer made you dizzy once again and you braced yourself against the building to keep from falling. “Are you okay?” Spencer asked. “You’re still on the pill right? I didn’t even think about asking, I-”

“Yes I’m still on the stupid pill,” you choked out through your tight throat that felt like it was threatening to close up any moment. 

“Then what’s-?” he tried but you interrupted him. 

“I just thought you thought of me better than a ‘love toy…’” you whispered, the sound barely audible. 

Spencer reached for your hand and squeezed it gently which made your heart soar, but it came crashing down once again when he softly reminded you, “No attachments, remember?”

Panic reared its ugly head again as that dreadful feeling threatened to overwhelm you. So before you could break down in front of Spencer in front of the restaurant, you jerked your hand away and sharply told him, “You can go to Hell, Spencer Reid…” 

a/n: phew, that was... something! i think i need to go touch some grass... anyways, when i was plotting this, i couldn't help but think of another song that ended up causing their backstory, so i'm going to start writing a part two to this called 'butterfly effect' because i don't like unhappy endings. i hope to see you there! likes and comments are always appreciated!

xo, brooke :)

part two - butterfly effect

[g4yforethan]

nonsense

pairing: deadpool x male!reader

summary: reader and deadpool reward themselves after an easy battle against criminals

warnings: cursing, smut, verse!deadpool, verse!reader

a/n: somethin about the deadpool suit makes mee...

“hey listen let’s lot make this any harder than it has to be okay?” you told the masked criminal as he came lunging at you with a hammer. you grabbed his arm and knocked him to the ground and blew him a kiss. "fucking cocksucker." the man shouted as he moaned in pain. you struck his head and knocked him out. " you're not wrong. gotcha now huh?" you smiled as you made your way to the front of the bank and found wade. "hey baby boy think you can help me out here?" he was in a chokehold with two other criminals in the front lobby. they held his arms down and restricted him from using his gun. “ugh you always have me doing all the work!” you rolled your eyes as you ran and kicked both of the men in the neck as they instantly fell to the ground.

“can we go home now?!” you asked as you felt fatigued from the long hours you two had been at it. wade came over and carried you back to the car. "listen y/n i enjoy your company and enjoy having intercourse with you but this is getting a little tiring." he replied as he took off his next and started the car. "oh come on you know you love me. actually because of our hard work how bout we go back and discuss this intercourse since you brought it up?" you grinned as he sped off back to the apartment. you two got back and you quickly got out of your suit and into your underwear. wade was going to do the same when you stopped him. "noo wade. you know i like it when you keep the suit on." he grinned as he kissed your neck as you felt on his ass. "woah easy there tiger. one more move and you're gonna get my prostate going." you rolled your eyes as the two of you moved to the bedroom.

you laid wade down as you got on top of him. he gripped your waist as you grinded on his growing bulge that was noticeable through the suit. "so about the whole intercourse thing... you still down for it or?" you replied as you kissed his neck. "only if you slam me with that dick of yours and vice versa, i think we can make some plans." he grinned as you went down to his crotch and unbuckled his suit. you took his long dick inside your mouth as you pulled his pants down enough to see his hole. you sucked on his cock while slowly sticking your finger inside him. "that's the stuff y/n holy shit!" he moaned as you put 3 fingers inside him while stuffing his balls in your mouth. he grabbed his hand and forced to swallow every inch of his cock. you threw off your underwear and stroked your dick. "ready for the real thing?"

"just fuck me before i nut all over this bed!" wade yelled as you slowly entered him. he gripped the bedsheets as you lifted his legs for ease. you dug inside him and hit his prostate while he rolled his eyes back. "that's the fucking spot y/n." he moaned as his hands started to grip your ass. "fuck yeah but you still gotta do me too." you whispered in his ear as he quickly pulled you over and pulled your legs up. "jesus you were really quick there huh?" you said as he smirked at you. "anything to get into that tight hole." he shouted as he dug inside you and slammed his cock inside your hole. you moaned while wade grabbed your dick and started jerking off for you. "fuck come on y/n let's cum at the same time!" wade yelled. "fuck im coming wade!" you yelled as you came all over your chest and felt wade fill your hole with his. wade laid down next to you and sighed. "fuck that was so good! i could really go for round 2...what do you say y/n? y/n?" he looked over and found already asleep and softly massaged your face. "go to sleep go to sleep...let my dick put you to sleep. say goodnight and let me cum in you twice!" he sung as you slapped him on his face and turned the other way.

[sungbeam]

𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬

nonidol!kang yeosang x f!reader

yeosang doesn't remember your name, but he remembers what kissing you tastes like and how you like your eggs in the morning. just your regular prince charming trying to find his cinderella, or in this case, his passenger princess..?

9.5k (lord.....), nc-17, s2l, frateez au, college au, mentions of alcohol, swearing, kissing, humor, fluff, minimal angst, another cinderella story au/trope(?), drama (i bring i bring all the drama-ma-ma-ma), a girl who is not a girl's girl :l, the barest of proofreading

a/n: this is for the @atzhouse you can't outrage us event! guys if the flirting is lackluster, it's cuz im running out of rizz

“I don't believe you.”

The last place you expected to end up was in the front seat of some guy's white Lexus while the party raged on inside the ATZ fraternity house just down the street. According to him, he had to run out just before the crowd rolled in, and when he got back, somebody had snatched his parking spot. 

“Okay, but why don't you believe me?”

The car smelled not like fresh leather, but an enchanting mixture of something like pine and smoked wood. Bitter, yet somehow, refreshing. You bet, even as the alcohol was hitting you, that it was what he smelled like. 

His name was Yeosang—the guy sitting next to you in the driver's seat, the owner of this car, and the ATZ fraternity brother you bumped into at his house's own party. That had been just about twenty minutes ago when you'd ended up isolated from your pack of friends, and Yeosang had needed a desperate breather. It seemed he'd been running from someone (question mark), so you asked if he knew where the kitchen was. Eager to get away from whoever it was, he guided you straight to the kitchen and where the secret stash of flavored sojus were. 

An offhand comment about wishing you didn't have to miss this one drama episode dropping tonight led to a longer conversation about the dramas you both enjoyed, which somehow landed you in his passenger seat. 

The rest was history. Or—you supposed the rest was now. 

“Because,” Yeosang said in a tone that sounded a lot like he was saying 'duh’, “you don't look like a biology major.”

He was gorgeous, even if the lighting in the party and out here was jack shit. The way the shadows cut across his face made him look like a faerie torn straight out of one of your old sketchbooks. You were half certain he had pointed ears beneath the cat-eared beanie he wore, but maybe that was just the alcohol doing its thing. 

You sputtered out a laugh as he knocked back another gulp of his melon soju. He was more drunk than you were, maybe not by too much because that wouldn't have been fair, but it did take him seven tries to unlock his car seven minutes ago. “What's a bio major s'posed to look like?”

“Mmm…” he hummed, lips pressed together in a line that dug into his cheeks. “Not you.”

It only made you laugh harder. It wasn't even that funny. “That doesn't even make sense!”

“Does it have to make sense?” He squawked. His face shuddered for a moment as if he just experienced a glitch. “I forgot what I was gonna say, but it's the vibe.”

“The vibe,” you parroted in mild amusement. After you swallowed down your next gulp of soju, you gestured to him with the bottle, “Okay, now what about you? Your major, go.”

“I read shit.”

“Who doesn't?”

“Jared, 19,” he replied, dead serious. 

Equally serious, you asked with wide eyes, “Really?”

He gave you an emphatic nod back. Really. Now, if you were a little less tipsy, you wouldn't have taken what he said at face value, but tonight was already miles away from your regularly scheduled program. 

You pondered on that—the “I read shit,” not the misfortunes of one nineteen year old named Jared. “So if you read a lot of shit, does that make you a literature major? No, wait! I got it; you look like Comparative Lit.”

“Bingo,” he cheered, raising his bottle up into the air. “Wait. What do you mean I look like a comparative lit major? What does a comp lit major even look like?”

“I dunno, but it’s you.” 

He pursed his lips into a deadpan at your callback to what he'd said before, and you merely stuck your tongue out at him like the mature adult you were. “Touché, my friend. Touché…”

Silence passed between you two for the first time since you met each other. In the distance, you could hear the muffled sounds of the party raging on. It wasn't that you didn't go to parties often; it was more so that you usually went to house parties hosted by friends or friends-of-a-friend. Making it all the way to Greek Row was not something you did every weekend, but a mutual friend—Chungha—knew the ATZ president and got you and your friends in. 

Nearly finished with his third bottle (or was it his fourth?...), Yeosang knocked the remainder down his throat with a grimace. With the empty bottle, he set it at his feet on the car floor to join another—the cup holders were already occupied with yours and his second rounds. The first was abandoned on the frat house lawn somewhere. 

“I think—” he slurred, blinking slowly at you like a cat, “—that you look like an artist.”

“An artist?” You parroted dumbly and felt warmth rise to your cheeks. “And why would you say that? Vibes?”

“Well, yes!”

You sputtered out a laugh at the way he said that. “Then yes, I am an artist,” you said, emphasizing the latter half of the word so it sounded like “teest” and not “tist.”

Yeosang gave a hoot. “I'm so good at this. Does that—does that mean you can paint me like one of your French girls?” He pulled his lips into an adorable, little smile, the back of his hand poised beneath his chin as he fluttered his lashes. 

“I don't think I could do you justice,” you admitted. There was a rather annoying buzz at the back of your brain that was distracting you. With a shake of your head, you refocused your gaze on him. “You're too pretty.”

He preened at the compliment, unconsciously reaching up to adjust his beanie. “Like calls to like then.”

“What does that mean?” Your buzzed-out brain couldn't compute—

“It means that prettiness is attracted to prettiness, and I'm attracted to you.”

You whined, burying your face in your hands. Yeosang giggled to himself, incredibly proud at making you flustered, his knees curling upward to kick his feet in the cramped space. “I don't like you.”

“You don't?” 

“No,” you raised your head up with a displeased frown, only to see that his eyes seemed to be twinkling with unrestrained happiness and something else. You weren't in the right state to hyper-analyze the way he looked at you, but it made your heart skip more than just a beat. “It's not fair that you're a literature major.”

“But I'm drunk,” he said innocently. 

“That's even worse!”

He grinned boyishly at you, bashfully stretching his limbs and then cupping the back of his neck with a hand. “What if I told you I'm minoring in math?”

You deadpanned. “I don't think that makes me feel any better. You rule both the realms of words and numbers.”

“It doesn't mean I'm good at math,” he guffawed, leaning back in his seat. “It's only there 'cause my mom's a math teacher, and having a math minor makes my parents feel better.”

That sounded familiar… awfully familiar. The thought made you sober a bit, and it seemed your counterpart wasn't so wasted that he didn't notice the shift either.

“Uh oh,” he chuckled nervously, “what'd I say?”

You waved your hand around dismissively. “Oh, it's nothing. I'm kind of the opposite—my bio major is sort of to appease my parents and the fine art minor is for my sanity.”

He pressed his lips into a line, nodding in understanding. “Ah, I see,” he drawled. “So you don't… you're not happy? With what you're doing, I mean.”

Maybe it was the way he asked it, but it made the cogs in your head turn. You bit your lip. “I'm happy-ish. It's kind of a lot, but I'll survive.”

“'m sorry I upset you,” he pouted. “But,” he stammered, swallowing, “but I get it. My parents never wanna talk about my major anymore. Pretty sure they're just bitter and disappointed. I always feel like I’m walking on eggshells around them.” 

You could tell that it affected him more than he wanted to admit. You wordlessly passed him your half-drunk bottle, and he gladly took a generous sip. When it was back in your hands, you guzzled down the remainder. 

The buzz was getting better. 

“Well, if they're not proud of you, I am,” you declared, setting the empty bottle at your feet. Your eyes blinked slowly for a moment as you got your bearings again. Maybe… maybe you should stop drinking! Yes, that would be the smart thing to do. 

Yeosang hummed. “Thanks,” he said with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He gazed over at you from his side of the car. “I'm proud of you, too. You'll be happy one day; it'll always turn out okay, Yn-ie.”

Something warm and fuzzy settled in your chest, like a cat had just curled up there, purring and content. 

A thought suddenly popped into your head. “Yeosang, how do you like your eggs?”

He snorted and burst into laughter, coaxing a similar expression out of you. A moment later, you were trying your best to pout at him, “Hey! Don't laugh! I hear it's all the rage on the pick-up line scene.”

“You're trying to pick me up?” He giggled. All memories of the previous topic flew out the car window.

“Well, is it working?”

He licked his lips around a smile, leaning over the center console to rest his cheek against his fist. “Ask me again.”

You took another sip of your soju before returning it to its cupholder. “Okay. Yeosang, how do you like your eggs in the morning?”

“However you'd like them.”

You deadpanned, and that only made him laugh louder. His head tilted back so you caught a glimpse of his canines, before he brought himself back down to Earth. His cheeks looked as flushed as you felt—even in the dim streetlight you could make out the blooms of peony pink across his cheekbones. “Yeo.”

He reached over to pat your head a couple times, though the sloppiness of his movements made it feel closer to two affectionate smacks. “Okay okay. Sorry. How about we say it at the same time?”

“Okay.” That wasn't a bad compromise. 

“Okay, one, two, three—”

“Sunny-side up,” you both said at once. 

Your eyes and his eyes widened at once, gasps of delight sounding into the quiet car. Could this guy be any more perfect?

“You're not bluffing?” You asked with narrowed eyes. 

Yeosang shook his head vigorously. “Mm-mm. I wouldn't lie to you, Yn-ie. Scout's honor,” he slurred, holding his hand up as if he was a boy scout. 

You giggled at the gesture, and he broke form to melt into an ooey gooey puddle of liquefied butterflies. For a moment, he just stared at you with a strange look on his face, one that you couldn't quite place when you were in this inebriated state. 

You chuckled, shifting your position when one leg started falling asleep. “What’s wr—?”

He leaned forward and—oh. Oh. Those were—his lips were on yours. He had leaned over the console and kissed you. He was kissing you. 

And when you didn't kiss him back, he drew backwards, an embarrassed expression painted over the adorable flush on his cheeks. “That—I shouldn't have done that, should I? I'm sorry; I dunno what I was—”

You crushed your mouth against his this time, effectively stealing the apology right off his tongue. He tasted like melon soju, and his touch was gentle as he brought his hand up to cup the side of your face, cradle your jaw. He was tracing the outline of your features in the dark like he could sketch them in the lines in his mind. 

He tasted like the color of amber, warm and bright, but not blindingly so. He was mellow and sweet, with the undertones of the burnt wood in his cologne. 

You melded your lips against his mouth like you could engrave him into you, and you were practically half over the middle console already. Yeosang's free hand fumbled backward to find the button on the side of his chair—there. The chair began moving backward with a monotonous brrr sound, and as it moved you couldn't quite keep your lips physically attached to his. 

You disconnected from him for what felt like an eternity in order to climb over—shoes knocking against empty soju bottles, ass nearly bumping the horn—and with some clumsy, awkward maneuvering, you were on him again, this time quite literally. You tumbled into his lap, his hands landing on either side of your waist and your hands bracing against the back of his chair.

He loosened a soft groan with the return of your lips to his, and he hauled you down closer to him, until your chests were pressed flush against one another and you couldn't tell which heartbeat was who's. His beanie fell off at some point, but your fingers buried themselves within the dark, silken mass of his hair, a hat in their own right. 

When you both pulled away for breath, your chests heaved in tandem to catch it. You settled your cheek against his shoulder while you inhaled the smell of his cologne, much stronger now that you sat against his chest with your nose by his throat. His hand warmed the small of your back with the other cupping the back of your head in an affectionate cradle. 

“I don't think I've ever kissed someone like that,” you admitted into the quiet. You suddenly couldn't hear the muffled music blasting from the party in the background anymore. 

“Me neither,” he replied, voice hoarse from the kiss. “I've never met someone like you before.”

“Never in your life?”

“Never in my life.”

“So let me get this straight,” drawled Wooyoung with both hands poised at his temples, eyes screwed shut against the bright morning light coming in through the window. There were currently eight people crowded onto President Hongjoong's bed at a time that was far too early to be alive for a group of people who partied until four in the morning. “You're saying that you know this girl's family life, how she likes her eggs in the morning, and how she kisses—but you don't even know her name?”

Yeosang was propped up against the headboard, squeezed between a very unfairly serene-looking Seonghwa and a mildly hungover Hongjoong. Yeosang's bangs were flat against his forehead and he squinted his tired eyes through the strands. “No, that's not what I said. I said that I know her name… it's just not coming to me right now.”

He knew your name. Right? You told him your name, right? He addressed you by your name at least once last night, right? 

(If he was being honest, as soon as Yeosang woke up this morning, he started whimsically recalling the events of last night in his head. But once he realized he neither had your number nor remembered your name, he jostled his friends up to invade the president's room for an emergency round table discussion. Who would have guessed their alarm clock would be a very panicked Maltese screaming, “I DON'T REMEMBER HER NAME!”)

“Which pretty much means you don't know her name,” Jongho piped up where he was laying against Yunho's back on the corner of the bed, his eyes closed while he attempted to squeeze in five more milliseconds of sleep. 

“Well, do you know who she came with?” San asked. “She probably has at least one mutual friend or else she wouldn't have gotten in.”

Mingi furrowed his brows together. “Not necessarily. The pledges might not have been thorough when checking.”

Hongjoong's eyes narrowed. “You were supposed to be there with them at the door, Mingi.”

“Oh, was I?”

Yunho cut in before Hongjoong could tackle Mingi off the bed. He grinned to himself, “Okay, but San has a point. Usually people are only able to sneak in if they're with a group.”

“Awh,” Wooyoung cooed, reaching over to pinch at Yeosang's cheek, “Yeosangie fell in love with a stowaway—ow! Hey! He just bit me!”

“Deserved,” Seonghwa said plainly. He turned his head so as to not have to face Wooyoung's wounded puppy eyes. It was too early for this. “Do you know if she came with anyone, Yeosang-ah?”

Yeosang scrunched his nose up, disgruntled. “No. I'm pretty sure she was looking for her friends when we met… something like that. I remember some things, but not everything.” He pinched the place between his brows in an attempt to piece together his memory of last night. He could remember the way you made him feel—it was the jittery warmth that came with falling, and his heart had never grown wings before like it had around you. 

After the kiss, the two of you had sunk into a comfortable, quiet conversation about anything and everything beneath the sun. For the first time in a long time, he felt comfortable and heard by someone other than his fraternity brothers. You were perfect, for lack of a better word. And he knew a lot of words. 

But how could he fucking forget your name? 

He was never drinking that much melon soju ever again. 

“She's a biology major,” he offered with a defeated sigh, letting his hand fall into his lap. 

“What does she look like?” Hongjoong asked. 

Yeosang's gaze went up to the ceiling as he recalled what you looked like to his friends. It was pretty dark the entire time he was with you, but there were a few moments when the streetlights hit your face and his conscience was constantly trying to keep his drunk ass from kissing you within the first ten minutes of meeting you. He'd managed to hold it together for a little bit longer before throwing all caution to the wind. 

When he was done, San said in light amusement, “I'm just surprised you kissed her first. She must be something then, huh?”

Yeosang couldn't conceal the smile that slowly crept onto his face. “Yeah, she's…” He cleared his throat. “I just don't want last night to be the first and last time I see her.” It couldn't be—just when he thought he clicked with someone, the universe couldn't possibly be so cruel as to rip you away from him, could it?

“Don't you worry!” Mingi chirped, “We'll help you find your passenger princess.”

Seonghwa snorted. “Passenger princess? What is this, Cinderella?”

“It might as well be,” San chuckled, lifting his shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Operation: Passenger Princess is a go!”

Yeosang wasn't sure if recruiting his friends’ help was a good or awful decision. But because his past, drunk self hadn't done many favors for his future, sober self, he would take all the help he could get. 

You knew the moment you stumbled out of your bedroom and saw your roommate that you were in trouble. It wasn't trouble in the conventional sense; considering her eyes were laughing as she watched your pitiful walk of shame from your room to the shared bathroom, you knew you were not going to hear the end of everything that happened last night ever. 

“Not a word,” you said to her as you winced at the blinding bathroom lights. 

Her toothbrush hung out of her mouth as she slipped in behind you to spit her toothpaste into the sink. When her mouth was rinsed and clear, she made eye contact with you in the mirror, eyebrows wagging up and down. “So you and Yeosang, huh?”

You glared at her from around your own toothbrush. You would have taken the damn thing out to defend yourself, but you were already late. 

Reina took full advantage of your occupied vocal chords. “I never knew pretty frat boys were your type, Yn,” she teased, practically floating out of the bathroom to go check on the state of her espresso in the kitchen. 

“Aye hae yuu,” you grumbled around your toothbrush. 

“What's that?” She cackled, bringing a hand up to the shell of her ear. “I love you? I love you, too, Yn. But you know who else loves you?—”

“Dompt shae it.”

“Yeosaaaang!” 

You loathed the fact that her saying such things made butterflies flap their wings and dance around in your belly. It was simply delusional to think of love when all you and Yeosang did last night was make out in his car and accompany each other in deep, provoking conversation… conversation that definitely didn't make you feel incredibly seen or anything… definitely not. 

Finally, you were able to spit your toothpaste out to make your argument. “Okay, first of all, I don't even have his number. And—how could he love me?” As if possession of a phone number could even correlate to love either.

Reina paused, her expression arranging into loud incredulity. “You what? After all I went through to separate the two of you to go home, you didn't exchange numbers?”

Okay, so maybe you shouldn't have disclosed that information—now you just looked stupid. 

You lathered up facial cleanser in your hands and on your face. “Look. Exchanging numbers was just the last thing on our minds—” Oh, Yn. Have you ever said something smart? 

Reina snorted. “Oh, I know.”

“We didn't just make out,” you grumbled, your cheeks warming beneath your hands. You furiously splashed cool water over your skin before patting your face dry. There likely wasn't much time left before you and Reina had to run to meet your other friends at your weekly volunteering session. “We talked.”

“Uh-huh, and you know that denial is a river in Egypt, right?”

Suffice to say that Reina most definitely did not let your shenanigans from last night go. The two of you managed to reach the food bank sometime before fifteen minutes past your original start time. Everyone else was already stationed and on time, and because you and Reina were the last to arrive, you were sent straight to dishwashing. 

As you and Reina pulled on your twin pairs of pink rubber gloves, your friend Mark Lee (and brother with the NCT fraternity) barrelled into the backroom with a dirty ladle in his hands. His head perked up at the sight of you both, a smile blooming on his face. “Well, good morning, Party Animals. How was the ATZ party last night?”

He deposited the ladle into the sink for you to wash while he went to go find a clean one. 

“It was cool, but I think Yn would love to tell you all about her experience,” Reina teased, bumping her elbow against your side. 

Mark sidled up beside the two of you and leaned in close in proper tea-spilling fashion. “Oh my gosh, did something happen?”

You scowled at Reina, then said to Mark, “Nothing catastrophic—”

“She hooked up with Yeosang!”

You cut her a hard glance. “Reina, I don't think Neptune heard you.”

Mark's eyes went comically wide, jaw slackening. “Yn and Yeosang? That's so wild. Like—like Kang Yeosang?”

“I think? We didn't exactly exchange last names, but why would it be wild? We just kissed and talked.”

“Who kissed who now?” The new voice had you all glancing back over to the kitchen door where another member of the group, Yura, walked in. Yura was Reina's cousin, and the two grew up quite close, so it was natural that they ended up in similar social circles. You and all your other friends got along pleasantly with her. She flashed you all a small smile. “From the sounds of it, I'm guessing you guys had a fun time at the party last night?”

“We did!” Reina chirped. 

“Shame you couldn't come with us this time,” you said offhandedly. It wasn't like Yura to miss a party. 

Reina cocked her head to the side. “I could've sworn I saw you there though—”

“Ah,” Yura waved her hand to dismiss her cousin's thought. She chuckled, “You're probably mistaking someone else as me; I had that paper I needed to work on last night, remember? But Yn, you and Yeosang?”

You groaned. “I thought we were over this.”

“Dude, we can't not get over this,” Mark quipped back. “Yeosang just doesn't do stuff like that—hook up with people, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Yura chimed in, “I've seen him at a couple other Greek parties with some of my sorority friends and he looks pretty standoffish most of the time. He's usually always with one of his brothers. He's kind of cold, really.”

Mark furrowed his brows. “I wouldn't call him cold; he's just a little shy, is all.”

“My friends told me that a lot of sorority girls chase after him,” Yura said with wide eyes. “They get, like, aggressive about him or something.”

You and Reina exchanged a look. Was that who he was running from last night? “That must be kinda stressful,” you said softly with a small frown. 

“Apparently, that's why his social medias don't take DMs unless approved,” she shrugged. 

Well, there went your backup plan of finding him on social media. Then again, if he recognized you or your name, would that help if you requested him? That was if you deigned to change your profile picture to yourself and not one of your silly doodles. 

You couldn't help the weight that your heart seemed to gain as it sank to the pit of your stomach. 

“Well, that's mildly disappointing,” Reina muttered, turning to quickly wash the ladle Mark had just dropped off. 

“I just wouldn't want you to get targeted by any of those crazy sorority girls, y'know?” Yura gave a laugh that sounded almost nervous. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before snapping on a fresh pair of gloves. 

You nodded, gnawing on your bottom lip. “Yeah, no, I—I get it. Thanks, Yura.”

She gave you a sympathetic look. “Of course,” she said. With a wave, she made her way back toward the kitchen door. “Mark, we better get back to work. See you guys at lunch break!”

When she was gone, Mark clapped a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Hey, listen. I don't really know the guy personally, but me and Wooyoung are pretty tight. I can get in touch with them if you want—”

Baekhyun, the section leader for your session, charged into the kitchen with his arm piled high with dirty dishes. If you didn’t fear for the safety of the porcelain bowl at the top of the stack, you might have chuckled at the scene before you. “Mark! We don't pay you to stand around.”

“Hyung,” Mark huffed exasperatedly as he rushed over to help Baekhyun before the section leader could get knocked over the head by a rogue dish assisted by gravity. “You don't pay us. We're here out of the goodness of our hearts.”

“Well, I don't get paid enough for this,” Baekhyun said once all the dishes were transferred to the sink, and you and Reina were put to work. “Now come on; lots to do!”

Just as Mark was about to follow after Baekhyun, he caught your eyes. “I'm serious about the offer, Yn.”

You smiled. “Thanks, man, but let me think about it and I'll get back to you.”

“Yeah, just lemme know!” And he was gone. 

Word broke out that someone in the ATZ household was searching for a girl. Word of mouth was a method of dissemination that could spread like wildfire, leaping from one tongue to one ear to another, leaving only ash and debris behind. And around Greek Row, it became a massive game of Telephone. 

But while nearly everyone in the university's fraternities and sororities knew about his strife, Yeosang’s efforts seemed to be for naught. The only thing that emerged from this were more people harping after him, claiming to be 'the one he was looking for.’ None of them were you. 

Your name had manifested itself in his head about halfway into the week. He'd been toiling over the theory readings his professor assigned for Thursday's lecture when he'd underlined a word, and it came crashing down upon him with ice cold clarity. 

His eyes went wide as he shot up out of his chair, nearly sending Jongho careening off his bed on the other side of the room. “What the—”

“Yn,” Yeosang said. Then he declared a little louder, a giddy smile on his face, triumphant and bright, “Her name is Yn.”

Jongho resettled himself on top of his bed. “Well that narrows things down for us,” he drawled, taking his phone out and typing something out. “I don't suppose you have her last name.”

Yeosang fwumped onto the edge of his bed with his lips pressed into a line. “Dude. I literally just thought of her first name. Do you really think I can come up with—”

“Okay, okay,” Jongho laughed, flicking his wrist at him for a moment before resuming his typing. 

“Who're you texting?” Yeosang asked as curiosity drew him across the room to Jongho's side. 

His friend sat up so he could peer over his shoulder at the phone screen. “I'm doing the heavy lifting,” he teased. Based on the social media handle at the top of the direct messages channel, Jongho was texting Chungha, a friend of the frat's but a closer friend of President Hongjoong's, and the recently graduated head of the Phi Omega Phi sorority. “Hongjoong hyung mentioned offhandedly that Chungha wanted to get some friends into the party on Friday, so I'm seeing if she recognizes this Yn person you're looking for.”

Yeosang’s eyebrows flicked upward as he settled into a more comfortable position on Jongho’s bed while they awaited Chungha’s response. In the meantime, he pulled out his own phone in an attempt to search for your name amongst his mutuals. He frowned at the lack of a successful search—did you use a different name or did you not have a social media account? Was that why you hadn’t attempted to contact him in the past few days?

For a moment, a shard of self-consciousness pierced through his chest at the prospect that you didn’t want to contact him. Did sobriety make you embarrassed at what happened that night? Had he made you uncomfortable with the amount of vulnerability that was in the car—no, the vulnerability was mutual… but maybe—

“Gotcha.” 

Yeosang’s head whipped back over to Jongho’s screen. Having your name and major seemed to ring a bell for Chungha, and she forwarded a social media handle, along with a “tell Yeosang good luck ;)”. 

“Thank you, Jongho. And bless up, Chungha,” Yeosang muttered as he swiftly input the social media handle into his search bar. There it was—a private art account with your first name in the biography line. There were only one or two people who you both shared mutuals with, which made sense. 

His thumb hovered over the request button, and he bit his lip. With little else left to do and his heart banging around in his ribs from the anticipation alone, he clicked the button. 

It didn’t take you incredibly long to accept his follow request and to follow him back. (Though, half an hour felt like an eternity when he was so anxious.) He made it painfully obvious that you acted in response, because Yeosang fumbled his phone between his palms like it was a hot potato, before he dropped it and stubbed his toe with it. 

Jongho sent him a strange look as he handed the device back to a red-faced Yeosang, who furrowed his brows together to think of an opening direct message to you. 

“It doesn't have to be perfect,” Jongho said as he peered over Yeosang's shoulder this time. He had even paused the game he was playing on his phone to stay tuned into the live entertainment. 

Yeosang made a face. “Yes, it does.” It had to be the perfect mix of witty and funny and subtle and—

He figured it out. 

@/yskang99: how do u like ur eggs?

Jongho released a sound of utter flabbergast, and Yeosang shushed him, both pairs of eyes pinned to the three dots that appeared on the bottom left-hand side of the screen. 

@/studioyn: sunny side up

Yeosang broke into a smile, and Jongho's face contorted into pure incredulity. “What kind of security question is that?”

“Inside joke,” Yeosang replied giddily, rising from Jongho's bed to cross over to his side of the room. He collapsed into his desk chair and propped his feet up along the end of his bed. 

Jongho scoffed, shifting his lounging position. He threw his friend another incredulous glance before giving up and returning to his game. He'd done his job. 

@/yskang99: congrats u passed the test!

@/studioyn: ahh so that was a test? i imagined us doing a virtual handshake tbh

@/yskang99: i like that better actually

@/studioyn: also how did u find me lmao

Yeosang bit his lip through a grin. I have my ways, he typed out cryptically, cheekily. 

@/studioyn: wtvr u say ig… 🤨🤨🤨

For a brief moment, Yeosang wondered if he should bring up the concern lingering in his mind—why you hadn't reached out to him. He didn't want to simply assume that he was “popular” enough that just anybody knew who he was, but he was also aware that most people were able to track him down on social media. But would that kill the vibe? He liked the energy. 

@/studioyn: i can't get a read on whether or not ur any different than how u were drunk 

@/yskang99: would that matter?

@/studioyn: not particularly, no, but i've met people who r

@/yskang99: no i get that, i've met my fair share too :/ 

He began typing out slowly: I missed you… Then he swiftly amended it to: I missed talking to you. 

@/studioyn: awhh wait ik we've only technically spoken the one time, but i missed talking to u too yeo :’)

A smile split his face from ear to ear. Would you wanna hang out again? Only if you're comfortable, of course. 

He watched the three dots appear, then disappear. You were thinking and his heart was sinking.

Finally, your response came in. I'd love to, but I don't wanna disappoint you with my god awful schedule this next week. 

@/yskang99: what abt the weekend? something low stakes maybe?

@/yskang99: my brothers and i r going to the nct house on sat

@/studioyn: oh!! im actually close friends w mark lee :] i'll see if i can drag my friends along, and we can link up there?

The thought of seeing you again, even if it was at another dumb Greek party, made electricity zip through his veins. His stomach filled to the brim with butterflies, and he had to shift his position because of how much it tickled. 

@/yskang99: yeah sounds great :D i'll look forward to seeing u

@/studioyn: same here yeo :’))

@/studioyn: how's ur week been so far? 

Yeosang leaned back in his chair again, propping his elbows on the armrests to sink into a comfortable position. He had a feeling he might be here awhile, but he would sit here all night if it meant talking to you. 

“Yn! We're gonna be late!” 

You nearly jolted at the sound of Reina's voice carrying through the other side of your bedroom door. You dropped your phone onto your bed, racing to finish up the rest of your makeup. “You can never be late to a Greek party!” You countered, swiping your thumb over the pigment you just put on your lips. 

Your bedroom door opened just as you were slipping a chain necklace around your collar. Reina poked her head in, her eyes looking you up and down. “Ooh-la-la,” she gushed with a teasing smile. “Someone's gotten all dolled up. I wonder who for…”

You rolled your eyes and ignored the obvious warmth rising to your face. “I just felt like it,” you defended weakly while spritzing a light mist of perfume over your neck and wrists. You stood up from your desk to collect your wallet, keys, and lip gloss to dump into a purse, then went over to retrieve your phone. 

The screen displayed another message from Yeosang, no doubt continuing the conversation you had to abruptly pause because you would be late for the NCT party. This was going to be the second Greek party in two weeks—a record for your books. But you had a feeling it was going to be a good time like last week, you were sure of it. 

As you skimmed the message Yeosang sent, you slipped out of the room to join Reina in the main living space. She casted you a pointed look with arms crossed over her chest and lips pressed together. 

“What?” You blinked over at her innocently. 

“You're never gonna see your boy at this rate,” she said as the two of you picked out your shoes for the night. 

You sent a text answering Yeosang and letting him know you would be at the party soon. “He's not 'my boy,’” you said. 

“Right. He's your man.”

You hated how hard it was to keep the giggle in your throat down. It was embarrassing how you smiled just then, too, turning your head away from a smug Reina. 

God, he was just a guy; how did you get so head-over-heels after just one night? It had to be the fact that you'd been texting him nonstop over the past few days. Though you were busy and exhausted, you continued to check your phone all throughout the days and stayed up long into the nights just to talk to him. He had you hook, line, and sinker. 

At some point, you'd forgotten what Yura warned you about on Saturday. 

Your friends picked you and Reina up in one of their family minivans. A round of greetings went up as you clambered in behind Reina, and your friend asked where her cousin was tonight if she wasn't carpooling with the rest of you. 

“She said she was at her sorority friend's house,” Sieun said offhandedly from the driver's seat. The minivan door closed on its own with a mechanical whirring sound. “She's probably at the party already.”

Some nights, parties called for a pregame session, while others (not unlike this one) was attacked raw. Sieun parked the minivan about a block outside of Greek row where there were spaces between cars along the curbs and where there was less of a chance of her accidentally running over a drunk partygoer stumbling into the street. The party was already in full swing with neon green strobe lights blazing aggressively through the front windows, and Gasolina blasting at nothing less than one hundred percent speaker volume. 

You felt your phone vibrate in your hand as Reina grabbed your hand to avoid instantly losing you in the crowd. 

@/yskang99: im on the second floor where there's less people 😋😋 they've got a nice balcony we can hide on!!

“Mark said they've got spiked Capri Sun somewhere in here!” Reina shouted into your ear. 

You nodded your head vigorously. “Let's find it then!”

@/studioyn: gonna grab hard caprisun and then head up!! do u want some??

@/yskang99: surprise me w a flavor, pretty pls x

You grinned to yourself and slid your phone into your purse to focus on the task at hand. 

The NCT fraternity house wasn't a completely unknown landscape to you and Reina. Being friends with one of its brothers and friends-by-association with all the rest, you'd popped by more than a few times. You could likely navigate this house with your eyes closed; that was what it was like weaving through the dark rooms and throngs of people squeezed together like sardines in a can, anyway. 

Along yours and Reina's trek to the kitchen, you gained a couple people in your conga line of linked hands, NCT's own Xiaojun and Jungwoo. NCT frat brothers always pregamed, so the two brothers were already tipsy and giggled about your kindergarten field trip line (with Reina being dubbed the poor kindergarten teacher tasked with keeping you together). 

When you arrived at your destination, it didn't take long for you to lose both Xiaojun and Jungwoo to the game of Texas Hold 'Em being played at the breakfast table. The singular lightbulb overheard made it feel like a smoke-filled backdoor gambling den. 

“Aha!” You cheered after playing a game of mystery cooler roulette, and opened the cooler lid that held the spiked Capri Sun juice pouches on ice. 

“Mine!” Reina snatched up the last cherry flavored one, the shiny aluminum slippery and ice-cold as she impaled the opening with the thin, yellow straw. 

You grabbed a Pacific Cooler flavored pouch for yourself, and a second for Yeosang. 

“Ah, is that for the man of your dreams?” Reina said between sips, her pouch already half empty. 

You sent her a look. “He has good taste, which means he'll probably appreciate Pacific Cooler as much as I do.”

“As long as it's not lemonade,” came a voice to your left. There stood a rather tall and lean man, his warm smile enunciated by the dim kitchen lighting as the green strobe lights from the living room painted across his face. “I can't deal with sour shit,” he explained, making a face. 

You laughed. “That's valid. Fruit Punch is a classic though.”

“Can't argue with that,” he replied, leaning down to pick his poison for the night. He stabbed a straw into his pouch of strawberry kiwi juice, then arched an eyebrow at you. “I feel like I know you. Do I know you?”

“Hey,” Reina chimed in as she leaned over your shoulder, “you're with the ATZ frat, aren't you? I recognize you from Twister last week.”

He smiled sheepishly from around his straw. “Ah… haha, not my best moment, but yes. I'm Yunho.”

“Reina,” your friend replied. 

“Yn,” you added on. 

Yunho's expression jerked as if he'd just been delivered an electric shock. He waved his pointer finger at you. “Oh my god, you're Yeosang's girl!”

Your eyes shuddered in surprise. Yeosang's girl. “Sorry?” You stammered. There was an insane amount of possessive pronouns being used tonight, buy you definitely weren't complaining about it, and could he perhaps say that again—

“Yeah, he won't shut up about you.” Yunho slurped up the rest of his juice pouch, draining and flattening the life out of it in record time. “He loves Pacific Cooler, by the way.”

He took his leave then, saying nothing else to you and Reina except for shooting you a pair of finger guns like saying 'go get em, tiger!’

Reina wheezed, draping herself over you for a moment. “Oh—my god! Good thing Yeosang's just as down in the trenches as you are.”

“Don't do this to me, Reina,” you whined and dragged her along out of the kitchen toward the second floor staircase. “I don't need encouragement; the crush is enough!”

“It's never enough,” she declared with her pointer finger up in the sky. “You are gone, my friend! Gone, I say.”

You patted her head as you both began your ascent up the stairs. “Alrighty; then gone, I am. Do you remember where the balcony is on this floor?”

She hummed. “Ooh! Somewhere by Johnjae's room, abouts. I just remember because Mark told us how—”

“Right—the sophomore year Romeo and Juliet reenactment,” you snorted. You couldn't wrap your head around the batshit crazy things that occurred around these parts. “Who convinced Doyoung to play Paris anyway?”

She made a noncommittal noise. “Must've been bribed—oh, there it is, but I think there's a couple out there already…”

There was most definitely a couple on the balcony. Their outlines were silhouettes against the residual strobe lights shining up from downstairs, so it was a little too dark to make out who they were. They seemed close—the girl was all over the boy, the latter trying to hold her up by her waist. Maybe she'd had too much to drink, and for a moment, you were glad someone was taking care of her. 

But when she leaned in for a kiss, green light glanced across their faces to reveal their features to you. It was only a split second, but it was all you needed. 

“Reina,” you exhaled in shock, turning away from the balcony with enough speed to nearly give you whiplash. 

She didn't question you, as you both careened back down the hall from where you came from, heading for one of the open bedrooms on this floor to collect yourselves. When the two of you were out of earshot of the balcony, she hissed under her breath in utter disbelief, “Yura?”

You'd seen it nearly clear as day, too. That was Yura kissing Yeosang. 

Your head spun as you shouldered your way into Mark's and Haechan's room, their names plastered on the door in foam letter stickers from the craft store. As Reina closed the door and turned on the lights, you sat down in Mark's desk chair attempting to make sense of what you and Reina just witnessed. 

Yeosang and Yura? But wasn't Yura the one who warned you that chasing after Yeosang was a risk because of how many others were, as well? Why would… 

Oh. 

Well, now you just felt stupid. 

Reina dragged over Haechan's desk chair to settle in front of you, her expression less enraged than before, and more concerned over what she was reading off of your face. “Hey, don't do that. Don't think like that.”

“You don't know what I'm thinking,” you murmured, setting the untouched juice pouches on the desk. 

“You're thinking that you're stupid.” 

“Okay, maybe you do know what I'm thinking.” You inhaled, then exhaled slowly, leaning forward onto your knees. “I don't really know what to think or assume.”

Reina nodded, chewing on her bottom lip. “That's okay. I don't think I really understand what I saw either.”

“But that was Yura, right?”

She bobbed her head again. “That was my cousin, yeah.”

“Would it be fair to even think that she told me all that shit last week to discourage me from seeing him?” You didn't enjoy thinking that another person would have such malicious intentions without understanding their point of view, especially someone you considered yourself friends with. 

“Well,” Reina drawled, “I think we both saw what we saw, and Yura was acting strangely about it on Saturday. It would be fair if you were hurt by it; I think your feelings have been clear.”

You gave a small nod. “Do you think he…?”

“I'm not sure, hon.” 

You resolved to talk to him about it. If anything, you had these juice pouches left to console yourself, but you wanted to make sure you knew where his feelings laid. You would be lying if you said your heart didn't harbor even a glimmer of hope that this was all a misunderstanding, and that the kiss was an accident and didn't matter. 

You and Reina left the relative safety of Mark and Haechan's bedroom to go find Yeosang. There weren't any new messages between either of you since the Capri Sun exchange, and you thought about texting him on his whereabouts. 

The balcony by Johnny and Jaehyun's room was empty now, barren of any evidence somebody was there in the first place. 

You and Reina wandered back down to the main floor. The party was nowhere near over; the night was still young. Hope was sinking fast in your stomach as the two of you traveled from room to room in search of him, but with no luck. Even asking around was useless. 

“Text him,” Reina encouraged, as the two of you sipped on the juice pouches that were supposed to be for you and him. 

She held your spiked juice while you texted him. 

As time passed, and a response had yet to come through, you tossed yours and Reina's flattened Capri Sun pouches into the nearest garbage can.

If he wasn't going to answer, then maybe you would just go home for the night. You had a lot to think about. 

Defeated, you let Reina sweep you under her arm and guide you to the front door. “Let's go home, hm?” She said, rubbing your shoulder. 

On your way to the front door, you paused. You thought you heard someone calling your name—

You turned around to find Mark barreling toward you through the crowd with another guy at his side. “Mark?” You shouted over the music. 

“Hey, we've been looking all over for you,” he said. Nodding to his friend, he told you, “This is Wooyoung, by the way, the ATZ brother I'm friends with.”

“Yeosang's been looking for you,” Wooyoung said in earnest, eyes as wide as Mark's. Had they been looking for you as much as you were looking for Yeosang?

Something like hope sparked in your chest again—you were at odds. The fight had nearly dissipated from your blood and you were ready to go home. But if he was trying to find you… it must be worth it then, right?

“Where is he?” You asked. 

It was nearing midnight by the time you settled yourself on the concrete curb outside the ATZ frat house just down the block from the target being thrown at the NCT house. With everyone over there, no wonder it was quiet enough to finally hear yourself think. With the coming of deep autumn, a slight breeze wafted by that drifted over your skin and raised goosebumps on your arms. 

You heard gravel crunching from behind you, coming down the ATZ driveway, and before you could turn your head to look, a warm jacket was placed over your shoulders. You held your breath, fingers finding the lapel to keep it from slipping as you glanced over at your counterpart. 

Yeosang lowered himself onto the curb next to you, mimicking your position with his knees bent and arms resting upon them. “I���my phone died,” he said lowly. 

“Oh.” That took care of at least two of your questions. 

“Is there—” He stopped himself, amending his statement, “There's something on your mind.”

Understatement of the century. You pulled his jacket around you, the intertwining scents of alcohol and his cologne lingering on the collar. “I was going to meet you at the balcony, and I was there, but… but I saw you and Yura, and…”

It was his turn to say “oh.” He angled his body toward you now until his knees bumped against yours and he was muttering out an apology he didn't need to say. He laid his upper body over his arms that were folded onto his knees and peered up at you through lengthy lashes.

He was waiting for you to finish. 

You swallowed, following his lead and turning your body toward him. “I saw her kiss you,” you said, the sound barely audible to anybody but you and him. “Reina and I went somewhere to kind of just soak in what we saw, and then we went back out to find you so I could talk to you about it, but we couldn't find you.”

“I'm sorry you had to see that,” he murmured, eyebrows furrowed together. “It—it didn't mean anything. She did try to kiss me, but I pushed her away before she could.”

You believed him. You loosened a small chuckle from your lips. “Y'know, it sounds silly to me now, but last week she told me that there were a number of girls who were pursing you and were very aggressive about it.”

He snorted. “If there were any, I only know of one.”

“She…?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, lips pursing. “I know she's liked me for a while, but I've made it clear I don't see her the same way. At last Friday's party, I was actually trying to lose her in the crowd when I found you.”

Your eyes widened. “So she was there?” Then Reina had actually seen her cousin at the party; Yura had lied about where she was. 

“She told me tonight that she was scared about me liking you more than her,” Yeosang said as he lifted his body back up to rest his cheek against his fist. “She was really drunk—which was why you probably saw me trying to hold her up—and then she… tried to kiss me. I pushed her away, and one of her friends found us, so I handed her over and went to get some air.”

And that was why you couldn't find him. You released a breath you didn't realize you were holding in. “Are you—are you okay? I'm so sorry she did that to you.” 

The corners of his lips tugged upward in a reassuring smile. “I'm alright, thank you. And it's not your fault.”

“I know, but still,” you insisted. “Your boundaries were violated, and it makes me feel so icky that I've called her a friend of mine, and—what?” 

Your words came to a screeching halt when you realized that Yeosang was just smiling at you. Or rather, gazing at you, admiring you. It was whatever he did whenever his eyes possessed a set of twin jewels in his irises that needed no light to glitter like gold; and when his grin softened at the corners by a tenderness that knocked the wind out of you, all words and systems failed you. 

You recognized this look, except this time, you weren't drunk. 

“I'm really happy I met you,” he said in your silence. “And I'm happy I got to see you again.”

You nearly melted. You smiled back at him, replying quietly, “Couldn’t have said it any better. Thank you for being honest with me.”

“And thank you for believing me.” He reached for your hand, his movements slow as if giving you an opening to pull back if you wanted to. But you didn't, and you closed the remaining space to link your fingers and press your palms together. 

You and Yeosang shared mutual smiles in the dim lighting outside his fraternity house. Your heart beat had quickened a considerable amount now that he was so close to you again. 

You cleared your throat. "Just to be clear though—when you said she was scared about you liking me more than her—?"

His smile reached his eyes and turned them into upturned crescent moons. "I'm not scared," he said, "that I like you more than I have ever liked her." By a landslide.

Your heart gave a lurch in your chest. "Good," you smiled. "That's good, because I like you a whole lot, too."

“Do you wanna get out of here?” Yeosang inclined his chin toward where his car was parked a couple vehicles down. “Properly this time, now that we're not completely wasted?”

You laughed. “I would love nothing more.”

Pleased, he helped you to your feet. You must have stood up far too quickly though, because the blood rushed up to your head in a riptide current. You swore as the vertigo hit you, and your footing stumbled. 

“Woah, careful there, pretty,” he murmured, his low voice by your ear as he steadied you with one hand pressed between your shoulder blades and the other around your waist. 

Oh, there went your heart… it flew up to halo around Yeosang's head, and it wasn't yours anymore—

“You okay?” He mused. 

You cleared your throat, straightening. “Yeah, I'm great,” you said sheepishly, ducking your head toward your chest. 

A warm, fond chuckle left his mouth. “Cute,” he murmured. He lifted your chin up so you would look at him, his eyes darting down toward your mouth, and yours mirroring his movements. “I was wondering…”

“You can kiss me,” you blurted out, ignoring the utter leap in your pulse and the heat crawling up the back of your neck. 

You tasted his smile as he leaned over to seal his mouth over your own, a long awaited return to the place that felt just right. You breathed him in, inhaled him, devoured him whole—you wrapped your arms around his shoulders to pull him closer just as his hands pressed you flush against him. 

In the distance against the heavy house music in the background, a cheer went up into the night sky. 

You and Yeosang parted only to crane your heads in the direction of the noise, only to find what looked like a gathering of your friends and his friends hooting and applauding like it was New Years. 

“OPERATION: PASSENGER PRINCESS WINS!” The guy from earlier, Wooyoung, practically howled up at the sky. 

You pressed your face against Yeosang's shoulder as he groaned. “I am so sorry about them,” he chuckled through a grimace, lips grazing over your crown. 

You laughed along with him. “My friends are also among the guilty party, Yeo.” 

He kept his arm around your waist and you kept your head against his shoulder as the two of you walked away from your friends and toward his car. Contentment curled itself up over your chest again, and it nestled in deep, as if it planned to stay awhile. 

“By the way,” you piped up as he unlocked his car. 

“Mhm?”

You opened the passenger side door and leaned over the top of it to ask, “What the hell is Operation: Passenger Princess?” 

Yeosang sputtered out a laugh and his cheekbones burned red. “How about we save that for our third date?”

You blinked, lips parting. 

Yeosang grinned impishly. “Close that mouth, pretty, or I'll close it for you.”

Your jaw snapped closed, and his laugh echoed against the houses along this street. You climbed into the car after him, flustered beyond words. “I don't like you,” was all you could come up with. 

“I'm sure you don't.”

a/n: pls remember to reblog + comment if you enjoyed! also, the plan is to try and write another wooyo frat au as well, so pray for me...

atz m.list

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @outrologist @rikizm @luumiinaa @tinkerbell460 @meosjinn @hyunjaespresent-deobi @stayarmytinyzenmoa-l @floatingpluto @gyulfriend @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @soonyoungblr @justanotherkpopstanlol @kangfication @pxppxrminty @fluorescentloves @haechansbbg @jaerisdiction @super-btstrash-posts @jundundun @http-gyu @mvvnsseul @mars101 @synthwxve @empire-x @kflixnet @atzhouse @cromernet

[illyrianbitch]

One Summer— Part Three

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: One beach house. One festival. One summer to fall in love.

Warnings: alcohol use, mention of drugs, mentions of scars (azs hands), slight Tamlin slander (lighthearted tbh), reader being observant, az being… well az :)

Word Count: 4.7k

Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Introduction to Philosophy was taught by professor Jeff Davids. 

It was one of the smaller classes you’d taken in freshman year. Though many people took it to fulfill a General Education requirement, it was more significant for you. It marked the beginning of your Philosophy major and a longstanding obsession with the ideas of ancient thinkers.

It was the same for Morrigan and Feyre, both of whom you met in Professor Davids’ class. Like you, they were Pre-Law students. And while you’d sat with Feyre on the first day out of pure chance, you were sure that it was fate that pulled you both into an assigned group with Mor— and Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel. The three boys had chosen Intro to Philosophy because it had enough seats for all of them.

There were many things you remembered about your Intro to Philosophy class. Professor Davids was a rockclimber, the Allegory of the Cave was one of the most well-known philosophical concepts, Cassian always came ten minutes late, and Mor’s first major presentation was an in depth and perfectly executed criticism of Plato’s The Republic. You remembered it clearly. She argued against the idea of Plato being classified as the ‘first feminist’. Even if you hadn’t already shared Mor’s belief that Plato fell short of feminist ideals, her presentation would have won you over. Just two months into your friendship, Mor had already made a lasting impression. You remembered her eloquence, the way she commanded the room—a woman of honor and dignity.

It was strange, in an endlessly entertaining way, to see the same woman before you now down on one knee, chugging the last of her drink in the Summit Pulse parking lot. 

She let out a belch as she stood and Cassian responded with an approving whistle, giving her a sloppy high five. “Fuck,” she said, gingerly dabbing at her smeared lipstick. “Can someone pass me my bag?”

Summit Pulse had officially begun twenty-five minutes ago, at 11:30 AM. You’d arrived at 11, found two open parking spots, and began your small, almost humble, tailgate— consisting of various seltzers, shooters, and beers for the boys. 

You’d driven in two cars: Feyre and Rhys in one, and Az, you, Mor, and Cassian in the other. It was more economical to get two parking passes for the three days, so the boys had devised a plan. The idea was simple: whoever wasn’t driving in the morning would get heavily intoxicated right from the start, making full use of the tailgating privileges. Since the sets ended around 10 PM, by the end of the night one of them would be sober enough to drive. For today, Az was the designated driver, while Cassian would take over for the ride home. 

Rhysand’s plan was far simpler. He would only drink modestly throughout the day— but no matter what, he was driving home. This was for two reasons. First, no one but him was allowed to drive his car anyway, and second, he didn’t want Feyre to be worried about her ride home. 

When you’d asked the boys why they hadn’t included you, Feyre, or Mor into the shifts, they had shrugged and adamantly opposed. According to them, it was their job to take care of you, to let you have fun at a festival knowing you’d have three eyes watching over you. Not to mention that they knew their alcohol tolerances better than you three. 

Rhys, with a sly smile, had also pointed out that your edibles made predicting sobriety a bit unreliable.

He was right, of course, so you didn’t argue— even if you hadn’t brought them today.

You handed Mor her bag. Her nimble, ring-clad fingers dug through it as you grabbed your phone, offering the camera screen to her as a makeshift mirror. She sung out a small thank you in response.

It was already hot out, a fact you’d prepared for but nonetheless hated, and the seltzers in your stomach gurgled in the heat. It suddenly crossed your mind that you should’ve had a heavier breakfast. But the morning had been chaotic, so you were now forced to rely on the festival food— food that was bound to cost three times as much as it would outside of festival grounds.

Two voices joined the sounds behind you and you cranked your head in time to watch Feyre bound over, a bounce in her step. She wore simple shorts and a flowy, linen tank that swayed with her movements. The look of it seemed to perfectly pair with the outfit Rhysand wore— white linen shorts and a short-sleeved button up, a few more buttons undone than necessary, of course. An image flashed into your mind of a very probable future: Feyre and Rhys married in this very city, white linens and salt-air breezes at their reception. 

Cassian and Azriel would fight for best man, of course, and when they were both asked, they’d fight about which was number one and which was number two. Feyre’s maid of honor would be a much more nuanced choice, balanced between her two sisters and you and Mor. 

At least, if you and Feyre were still friends by then.

You pushed the thought away— a silly, irrational, and anxious thought. They appeared a lot, especially when you weren’t as busy as you’d conditioned yourself to be these past few semesters. It was strange how those thoughts manifested when you were at your happiest. But there was no room for those this summer. You’d told yourself this over and over. One summer to just live, you repeated in your mind, one summer to exist. 

Feyre wrapped her arms around your shoulder, tight enough to give you a welcome squeeze but tender and careful so as to not disrupt your mirror duties. 

“You smell good,” you told her as the sweet smell of pear reached your nostrils. She met your eyes from the side as you grinned. “Look even better too.”

A small blush painted her cheeks and Feyre smiled. “You think?” 

You nodded and Mor ran a gentle nail around her lips, picking up the excess red gloss with her nails. You watched as she struck a pose. 

“And how do I look?”

There was a mischievous glint in her eyes that seemed to intensify by the second. Her excitement grew as the drink she chugged began making its way through her system. 

“Good enough to get free drinks.” 

You felt Feyre nod in agreement against your shoulder. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Summit Pulse had been going strong for hours and you were riding the high of it all. The sun was still glazing in the sky, your ears were still ringing, and the crowd's anticipation for the next set was almost tangible despite it not starting for another hour.

You guys had staked out a great spot near the front, close enough to give you a full view of the stage. Sadly, you hadn’t come early enough to get barricade, but you were more than content with the place you held in the growing crowd. Az and Cass had ventured off some time ago to grab more drinks and a small, worrying voice in the back of your mind began to worry that the two boys would struggle to rejoin the group. 

You tried to pay it no mind, focusing on the game of Heads Up you were playing with Feyre and Mor. Feyre held her phone to her forehead and prompted the next word to come. 

SPRING.

You and Mor exchanged a conspiratorial glance, gently pushing one another to create a space between your two bodies. A mirrored grin grew on your faces— ones with such childish glee and mischief that Feyre immediately picked up on the shared thought.

Her eyes widened as she shook her head. She dropped her hands to her side. "No," she whined, "Please don't."

You frowned in feign confusion, bringing a hand to cup your ear. "What?" you exclaimed, "I can't hear you." You looked back at Mor, watching as the face she formed mimicked yours. "Do you hear anything?"

Rhys fought to suppress a grin, wrapping his arms tighter around Feyre as she let out another helpless groan. He gave her a kiss to the temple as he leaned in further, eyes bouncing between you and Morrigan.

"I-" Mor stopped, bringing a hand to her chest as she exaggeratedly examined her surroundings. "I think it sounds like….like…"

Rhysand leaned into Feyre's ear. "Like Spring?"

"Oh god," Feyre whined. The sound fell on deaf ears. "Kill me."

Tamlin Spring was Feyre's boyfriend in freshman year, a first love so smitten with her that it bordered on slightly creepy— teetering across that fine line of obsession and adoration. You found Tamlin tolerable in small portions, but the others hated him with a passion. In truth, they hated a lot of people, your ex boyfriend included, and you just chalked that up to the reality of growing up in the same small city with the same people. You thanked eighteen-year old you everyday for choosing to attend college in a different state.

"Spring, you say?" you chimed in. Mor mimicked the motion of drawing a bow across a fiddle. She gave you a look and without missing a beat, you launched into a memorized dance, feet bouncing in an exaggerated jig while your hands moved as if playing invisible fiddles.

This abomination of a dance was one you and Mor had created one random drunken night—- a way to commemorate the infamous serenade Feyre had received from Tamlin post-breakup. At the beginning of their relationship, Tamlin's musical talent was impressive, even charming. But when he pulled out his fiddle and played what was meant to be a heartfelt apology, it left Feyre cringing and you unable to defend him anymore. Thus, the iconic dance was born.

For what it counted, the tradition to embarrass Feyre with your performance of it lasted longer than their relationship ever did. 

Feyre's face was three shades redder by time you found yourselves unable to continue the dance any longer. She leaned her head back against Rhysand's chest as he laughed and hugged her tighter, apologizing for his own musical incapabilities. She tucked her phone tightly away in her pocket, muttering some off handed comment that she was never playing ever again. 

You were still giggling and catching your breath as Azriel and Cassian returned, slowly making their way through the crowd— each holding a fresh, cold can of beer. Azriel's face was neutral as always, but a glint of amusement sparkled in his eyes as they met yours. Cassian, on the other hand, wore his usual broad grin. He murmured polite, flirty pleasantries to every pretty woman they brushed past.

"Damn," Cass said, filling in the space Mor had saved for him by proxy of a strange, wide-legged stance. You’d done the same for Az. "Did I miss you hitting the Tamlin?"

You and Mor let out another shared round of giggles and Feyre groaned into the sky once more. Cassian turned to Rhys with a grin.

"Do you two have no shame?" Az said, settling into the space between you and Feyre. He took notice of Mor's lingering gaze on his drink and offered his can to her eager hands. 

You shook your head, a grin plastered on your face as Mor brought the drink to her lips. The two of you made eye contact, and maybe it was the buzz of the drinks you’d already had, the tiny high making everything funnier, but you couldn’t hold back a laugh. Mor followed suit, the sound coming out of her in a wet snort as Azriel's drink sprayed everywhere.

Once you both finally calmed down, Mor pushed Azriel's drink back to him with an extended hand, batting her eyelashes as she met his gaze. "Thanks, Az. I needed that."

"I'm good. That's all yours now." Azriel pushed the can back to Mor with a single finger, a look of playful disdain on his face. His eyes, however, shone with amusement—enough to show that he wasn't really angry, not even disgusted, despite his expression. "I'll get a new one later. Preferably with less spit."

Mor offered him a sheepish smile. "My bad."

She offered the can to you next. You narrowed your eyes at it for a moment, then shrugged with a resigned smile and raised it to your lips. You felt Azriel's gaze on you, noticing the amused, skeptical eyebrow he raised. You waited for him to say something, to speak in that low tone he often preferred in public, but he only shook his head, chuckling softly.

His eyes lit up a few seconds later.

"Wait a second,” he said.

Azriel's gaze flicked to Cassian, and without a word, he started patting him down. Cassian angled his head to the side, brows furrowed as Az’s hands wandered around his form. “Dude,” he said, “What's with the hands?”

Azriel didn’t respond, continuing his search with focused intent. He wrapped a palm around Cassian’s exposed biceps to face him further, finally reaching the fanny pack strapped to his broad chest. 

“Got it,” Az declared. When he pulled away, you caught sight of the device in his hand. Cassian paused for a moment, and you could see an out-of-pocket response on the tip of his tongue, but he simply shrugged and rejoined the conversation he had left with Feyre and Rhys. 

His camera was held securely in his hands as Azriel turned back to you and Mor. Your eyes drifted down to the way his palm held it. It looked so natural there, a perfect fit, and the glow of inspiration in his eyes sent a flutter through your body. You hadn’t realized that he had brought it— hadn’t seen when Cassian went through security with his bag. 

Az lifted the camera in a silent invitation and Mor let out an excited squeal, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you in close. You smiled and your focus fell on Azriel. He held his camera with a careful, precise grip, ensuring you were perfectly in frame. With every movement he made, either a height adjustment or a turn of the camera, he sent a quick glance to his surroundings, quietly making sure that he refrained from accidentally bumping the people around him. 

It was sweet how he managed to remain respectful in such a large crowd, how he cared enough to be aware of such things. The thought burrowed itself deeper into the area of your mind that had gained a heavy label this past week: Longings for Azriel, as you called it. An embarrassingly fitting title. 

He took the picture with a satisfied smile and lowered his camera, the sunlight casting a warm, almost golden glow over his features. For a moment, your mouth felt dry at the sight of him. The harsh sun you’d been cursing for hours now seemed to soften, bathing his eyes in a molten blend of brown, gold, and green. Azriel had been in his element all of today. You saw it clearly— the ease in which he spoke with all of you, the way his eyes gleamed and the smile on his lips persisted. Every set you’d watched had been enjoyed through two ways: dancing with Mor, Feyre and Cassian, or admiring Az as he listened. Your grip tightened around the can you still held. 

Mor leaned in to view the image on the camera’s screen and your surroundings poured into your consciousness once more, the loud sound of the crowd rising in level. You closed the gap Az had created when he stepped back and, in a moment of self-indulgence, brushed lightly against him to view the picture.

“This is so cute. I love it,” Mor fawned. She placed a hand on Az’s forearm and gave him a sweet smile. “This is such a great photo, Az.”

Azriel angled the screen towards you. You didn’t doubt her words, but Mor was indeed right. It was a great photo.  You could see it all perfectly: the bustling crowd, the stage, the speakers in the background, and you and Mor glowing with happiness. It stirred something emotional within you, a perfect memory you could imagine showing future children to prove that their parent was once cool.

You looked up at him. “This is perfect.”

He smiled, almost timidly. “Yeah?”

“I guess you're back on track?”

Recognition sparked in his eyes. “I think I just found my mu—”

Just then, the crowd moved like a restless sea and a body pushed into you. You stumbled slightly and Azriel's hand instinctively reached out to steady you, his touch warm and firm against the exposed skin between your shirt and pants. A shiver ran through you at the contact.

You turned to look at the person. He looked to be around your age, if not a few years older, with green eyes and a strange mullet that almost gave him bangs. Mor glared at him, but it was Azriel who spoke.

“Watch it,” he growled.

“My bad man,” Mullet slurred, eyes shifting between you and Azriel. “Didn’t see you.”

Azriel’s glare followed him until his figure melted back into the crowd, muttering under his breath, “Cut that mop you call hair and maybe you’d see better.”

You suppress a laugh at Azriel’s irritation, a huge amused grin spreading across your face. You’d forgotten how protective Az could be, even if it wasn’t strictly necessary. His readiness to jump to the defense of those he cared about was endearing at its core, so you swallowed the small urge to make fun of his response. 

Instead, it was Mor who broke the tension, her voice laced with mockery. “Damn, Az.” She raised an eyebrow and a small smirk grew on her lips. “If looks could kill, you’d be a serial killer.”

Az rolled his eyes but there was a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, betraying his true amusement despite his feigned annoyance. 

You handed Mor the canned drink back and clapped your hands together. “Alright. I need my own drink, so I’ll be back.”

Az handed Cassian the camera and turned to you. “I’ll go with you.”

You shook your head. “No, its okay. You just got back.”

Az gestured to the drink Mor had swiped. “I could use another, too.” He looked around. “And I think you might need some help getting back.”

You scanned the crowd, noting how it thickened with every passing second. Having Azriel to help navigate through would be a relief. And the prospect of some alone time with him was just as appealing.

“Okay,” you smiled. “Thank you.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The line for drinks was manageable, with only about seven people ahead of you. The festival buzzed around you, the air thick with the scent of food and the distant hum of music from other stages.

Azriel stood next to you, head slowly scanning his surroundings, silver dagger earring glistening in the sun. Your eyes lingered on the slight curve of his lips, at the way a sense of ease hung from his resting features. 

“You know, I knew you’d enjoy this,” you found yourself saying, voice carrying over the ambient noise. “The live music and all. But part of me is surprised.”

He looked at you, one eyebrow raised. “Why’s that?”

”I thought you weren’t a large gathering type of person.”

You held many memories of Azriel from over the years. The memories from the past two years were few and far between, but the ones from freshman year—- those you held in abundance. Azriel’s quietness was something you noticed before you knew him. He was content to watch, content to observe. It was why photography seemed so fitting for him, a hobby for someone who liked to collect moments, to enjoy them from a watcher's vantage point rather than that of a main actor. 

Azriel chuckled softly. Despite the festival’s noise, you heard it in perfect clarity.  

“I’m not. But that’s for gatherings where I’m expected to constantly engage. This is different. Everyone here is doing their own thing, no one is paying attention to me. I can just disappear into the crowd.” 

You let the words settle and studied him more intently. It occurred to you how unrealistic his words felt to you, how silly it was to think that people’s eyes didn’t naturally gravitate towards him. And you thought that it was a bit silly too, then, that your eyes did. 

You and Azriel were friends, maybe even in the lightest of terms. Friends that could’ve been more, could’ve had a deeper connection, platonically, had it not been for choices you made. And yet, your eyes always found him. All of this morning, all of this past week. Your gaze found him time and time again, like a magnet calling to you. 

You shook your head and a small laugh left your lips. An amused, timid sound. Azriel nudged your shoulder.

”What? He asked, but you only shook your head again, letting the smile linger on your lips. “What is it?” Azriel asked again. 

You met his gaze then, that surveying, intense gaze, and shrugged. “It’s just, you could never disappear into a crowd, Az.”

His brows furrowed and you held his gaze, watching as a flicker of confusion crossed his face—- or perhaps it was curiosity, instead. You felt a flutter of something deep and tender inside of you. You swallowed.

“At least not for me.”

The line moved forward and you sent a silent thank you to the sky, stepping ahead. Azriel lingered behind for a moment, eyes still trained on you. His brows were still slightly furrowed, but a smile tugged at his lips—-something tender, like your words touched him in a way he hadn’t expected. 

You ordered your drink, offering a grateful smile to the girl behind the table, and stood to the side as Azriel stepped up to order. The girl’s demeanor changed almost immediately—- cheeks flushed slightly, a new timid smile playing on her lips as she drank in the sight of him. You resisted the urge to laugh at it, a desire born out of total understanding rather than mockery.

Azriel was a stunning kind of attractive, a cold type of handsome that made you shiver if you stared too long. And the girl, she was pretty too, you thought, in an angelic sort of way. Blonde hair like Mor, blue eyes like Feyre. It dawned on you that you might look at Azriel the same way, with the same childish awe and longing admiration. The thought made you blush in embarrassment and you took a sip of your drink.

Azriel seemed oblivious to the effect he was having, focused solely on the screen before him and paying for his drink. She turned around to face him, drink in hand, and leaned forward to offer it. 

And then her eyes fell to his hands. She let out a small breath, a sound that seemed to surprise even her, and her eyes widened in response. Az’s drink was placed on the counter much harsher than she likely intended.

As strange as it sounded, sometimes you forgot about Azriel's hands— forgot that they weren't what were considered normal to the causal observer. You didn't know if this was a good thing, if it was something Azriel preferred or had no opinion on.

Like most people, you'd noticed them when you first met him. Azriel was a quiet observer, a motionless one at times. But in class, when you caught yourself staring at him more often than you'd ever admit, you'd catch sight of the way he'd anxiously crack his fingers with the pad of his thumb. It would bring your attention right back to his hands, to the ridges on his skin.

The scars that marred his hands were extreme, yes, and a certain sadness flowed through you when you looked at them long enough— when you thought about what pain he must've endured— but they were also beautiful. Something so entirely unique; unique enough to where you knew it was him whenever he touched you.

But as hauntingly beautiful as his hands were, eventually they simply became a part of him, something as mundane and expected as his right earlobe or the freckle on his cheek— the one that disappeared into his dimple when he smiled hard enough.

The girl tried her best to catch herself, quickly pushing forward Azriel's canned drink on the surface and giving him a timid, almost apologetic smile. But it was too late. You saw the switch clear as day, watched as something dark ran through Azriel's face— something parallel to childhood fear, to deep-seated embarrassment, to heated resentment, all in one. He pressed a button when prompted for a tip, his gaze steady on his finger as it moved across the screen.

You cleared your throat, leaning forward to grab his drink in your free hand and motioning him away from the growing line. Az seemed to snap out of the daze he'd fallen into, meeting your hurried motions with a furrowed brow. You nodded towards the crowd.

"C'mon," you said, offering the can to him. "We gotta head back."

The whine in your voice did its intended job, concealing your actions as ones driven out of an impatience to return rather than a desire to protect him. It wasn't that you thought it would bother him if he realized what you were trying to do, no, but you didn't want him to read it as something rooted in pity. You didn't want him to fall further back into his head than he already had.

When he didn't reply, you pushed his drink further towards him with an impatient hum. He raised a singular eyebrow for a fleeting second, the corners of his lips twitching upwards as he took the cold drink from you, fingers brushing against yours. Nothing flashed in his face at the contact— there was no twitch, no flicker of something darker in his features.

"They're not going on for another forty five minutes," he finally said.

You sighed, a dramatic and weariful sigh, and the curve of his lips blossomed into a smile.

"Az,” you began, “Some of the best moments are going to be found in that crowd while waiting."

For the second time, you beckoned towards the crowd. You ignored the flutter in your chest as you leaned forward to grab his hand, tugging him along behind you— ignored the tightening in your chest as Azriel held onto you tighter.

You made your way back through the dense crowd, struggling to move until you finally reached your friends. Feyre and Rhys were the first to spot you, offering a cheer of greeting as you and Az squeezed into the spaces they’d saved for you. Mor’s eyes traveled to Azriel, scanning his face quickly. 

“Whats wro-“

You widened your eyes in warning, giving a small, subtle shake of your head that only she could pick up on. Mor mouthed a clarifying question and in response you brought your hand to the one that wrapped around the cold can of your drink, gently brushing your palm against the knuckles.

Her eyes widened in understanding and a small frown found her lips. She wiped it off within seconds, any trace of it perfectly concealed as she grabbed Azriel's attention with a large smile. 

"Aren't you so excited? I'm so excited."

Azriel nodded, but his expression remained a bit guarded. Your stomach twisted and Mor shot you a worried glance. You looked at Az, nudging his arm with your shoulder, and his gaze dropped to you.

”Cheers?” You said, lifting your drink in invitation. “For good luck.”

Azriel’s face softened and the remaining edge washed away. His eyes glimmered as he lifted his drink. 

“Cheers,” he replied, clinking his can against yours. 

Thirty five minutes later, the crowd came to life as the band walked on stage.

They played for a total of forty-eight minutes. 

Your eyes were on Az for around twenty-seven of them. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

authors note: they notice each other 🥺🥺 they pay attention to each other 🥹🥹 god this makes me miss having a crush— noticing every small thing, those BUTTERFLIES!!! i love them your honor

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124 @bubybubsters

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound-blog

@melissat1254

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend

thank you for reading 🫶🏻🫶🏻

[rangerbarbz]

Serving Up Romance pt. 2

Author’s Note: Alright, y’all were eating up the first part of this. (THANK YOU SO MUCH BTW) I am so grateful for all the kind words you’ve given me about my writing. It truly makes me so happy and I enjoy writing for y’all thoroughly. I hope you enjoy this second part! 

You took a deep breath and looked at yourself in the mirror. It was time for your date with Stan, and you were more than just a little nervous. It had been so long since you had been on a date, you weren’t even sure if you knew what to do on one. Do you hold his hand? Do you kiss him? Things were different when you were at the diner. That was your safe space, and you felt more confident there. Now, it was just going to be you and him alone in a car. At night. Watching a movie. Oh, God. 

You sighed and straightened out the fabric of your second-hand dress, removing any wrinkles that were there before. “I hope he likes it,” you mumbled, running your hands through your hair. This was the first time he was going to see you out of your uniform. You sat on the edge of your bed to slip on the sandals you had dug out of your closet. He was going to be here soon. 

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. You sprung up from the bed to put on some perfume. “I’m coming!” you called out, dousing yourself in a vanilla scent you couldn’t remember the name of. You set the perfume bottle down on your nightstand and ran to the door. 

“You got this,” you whispered to yourself, turning the door knob to reveal your date standing on your welcome mat. He was facing the road but turned around when the door opened. He was wearing a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt, blue jeans, and scuffed up leather boots. His mullet was nicely styled, and he had trimmed his stubble. He flashed you a toothy smile. 

“Wow, you look foxy!” Stan complimented you, raking his eyes over you. You grinned and gave him a twirl to show off how flowy your skirt was. “Oh, I got you these by the way.” He held out a red, heart-shaped box to you. “I heard that girls like chocolates, so I wanted to surprise you with some.”

You giggled. “This girl definitely does,” you said, placing the box on the armchair of your couch. “Thank you so much.” You tilted your head at him, feeling your smile wouldn’t leave your face the entire evening. “You look so handsome, Stan Pines.” You hooked your arm around his. “I’m one lucky gal.” 

Stan laughed and you noticed a blush forming on his cheeks. “Ah, well, shucks. Thanks, toots.” He looked over at you. “But I think I’m the lucky one here. You ready to go?” 

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

On the car ride to the drive-in theater, Stan told you about a visitor that he described as a “total nutcase.” You always enjoyed hearing him tell stories because he told every story in a way that made you feel like you were seeing the events play out right in front of your eyes. He was captivating; it was no wonder he was such a successful showman. You were so engrossed in his retelling that you didn’t notice how his arm was behind the headrest of your seat. It was such a small romantic gesture, but it made butterflies grow in your stomach all the same

You finally arrived at the entrance of the drive-in movie theater; Stan rolled down his window to pay the man at the ticket booth. “Alright, sir, park wherever you like, and turn your radio to channel 95.1. Enjoy the movie!” 

“Thanks,” Stan replied before driving into the lot. He leaned against his steering wheel, searching for a parking spot. “Damn, there’s a lot more people here than I expected.” He looked over at you with a frown. “I’m sorry, doll. I think we’ll just have to park the Diablo here. I can’t get around anyone. Is this okay?” He was hoping he hadn’t ruined the date. 

You gave him a reassuring smile. “This is okay. I promise.”

He nodded. “Alright, so that joker said 95.1.” He began fiddling with the knob of his radio to switch stations. “Bingo,” he said after he finally got it tuned correctly. “Now, this is a horror movie, so if you need to, ya know, jump into my arms if it gets too scary, I’ll be ready to catch ya.” 

You burst out laughing. “Same goes to you, Pines. I know how skittish you can be.”

Stan scoffed in response. “Please, I’m the least skittish person on the planet.” 

“THE FRIGHTENING OF OAK AVENUE WILL BEGIN NOW,” the radio blared. Stan jumped out of his skin, letting the expletives fly.

You smirked and raised an eyebrow at him. “Okay, that doesn’t count,” he grumbled.

“That’s okay,” you scooted closer to him. “It doesn’t bother me that you’re such a scaredy cat.” Stan shook his head and wrapped his arm over your shoulder, giving you a gentle squeeze. Oh my goodness. His arm is around you, and he smells really good. Try not to let him see how excited you are.

“Okay, that’s enough sass-mouthing, miss,” he joked. “The movie’s starting.” You giggled as your attention was brought to the screen. To be honest, you could give two shits about this movie. You couldn’t stop thinking about how comforting it was to have his arm around you. 

You didn’t know how far you were into the movie when you saw Stan out of the corner of your eye gazing at you instead of the film. You turned your head towards him, and his eyes quickly reverted back to the screen. You felt your face get warm as you continued watching the movie, but you had failed to suppress a small chuckle. 

“What?” Stan asked gruffly. 

“Nothing,” you replied coyly, leaning your head against his chest. You heard his breath hitch in his throat. “You just make me feel pretty.”

You couldn’t see his face which Stan was grateful for because he was looking like a deer in headlights. You could feel how fast his heart was beating. “You are pretty,” he responded, voice barely above a whisper. “Told ya that the first day I met you. Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

You straightened up so you could face him when you said this. “Stan, I…I have seen a lot of people walk through those diner doors.” Your nerves were starting to get the best of you. “But I have never had anyone come into that restaurant that made me feel the way you do.” You looked down and began to run your fingertips over the hem of your dress. “I just want to know if you feel the same.” 

“I-I do, Y/N,” Stan replied, stopping your hand from fidgeting by lacing his fingers through yours. “Felt that since the beginning.” He sighed. “Y/N, I know I’m not the type of guy you bring home to your parents, but… If you give me the chance, I know I can be a man you’re proud to be with.” You felt like you were about to cry.

“Oh, Stan.” You cup his face in your hands. His sad, brown eyes gazed into yours; he leaned into your touch as you caressed his cheek. “If you’ll have me, I’ll scream from the top of city hall that I’m dating Stan Pines.” 

He gave you a lopsided smile before kissing the palm of your hand; his hand was gently holding your wrist. Is this real? His face was inching towards yours. “I’m holding you to that.” His hands were now cradling your jaw, bringing your lips to his. They were soft and sure against yours; your eyelids fluttered shut as you accepted his embrace. You placed your hands on his chest and snaked them around his neck, his dark hair falling onto your fingers. His lips were gone too soon as he interrupted the kiss to look at you. His eyes darted over your face, making sure you were still here and okay. It seemed like everything he touched lately disappeared before his eyes. 

He began to shake his head in disbelief. “God, you’re gorgeous.” His lips then crashed back into yours, drinking you in. He loved the way your mouth felt. He then moaned so quietly that you barely heard it yourself, but you did. You smiled against him, fingers tugging at his hair; you licked his bottom lip wanting to taste him on your tongue. His lips then parted letting you explore further. 

Stan whined at the feeling of your tongue swirling around his. His hands moving to the back of your neck and the small of your back to get you as close to him as possible. When you broke free of the kiss, his lips began to travel down your jawline and your neck. He was insatiable; he needed to discover every part of you with his mouth. 

“Fuck,” you breathed when he got to your collarbone. “Don’t stop.” His strong hand grasped at your waist; he now knew you were just as affected by this as he was. He started to suck a bruise into the dip at the crook of your neck. You cried out, desperately grabbing at his shoulder blades. 

When Stan was satisfied with the mark he left, he gave it a soft kiss. His eyes met yours once again. His lips were slightly swollen and shiny from the lip gloss you had applied earlier today. His cheeks were flushed from the intensity of the passionate moment you had shared. He then smiled and leaned in to speak against your lips. “So, what do you think about ditching this movie and heading back to your place?” 

You closed the almost non-existent gap by biting his bottom lip and dragging it through your teeth. Stan let out a sinful groan at the contact before you let him go. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

PART 3 DROPPING SOON  

[syoddeye]

the warren, part four - nothing

price x f!reader | 4.5k words part one - bait | part two - fix | part three - trouble tags: harassment, alcohol, violence, weird and unsettling vibes, darkfic. a/n: peeling away reader's layers. mdni banner by @/cafekitsune. 🔪

Light beckons you out from the makeshift burrow you furiously dug beneath your bed, breaking through pilled walls of linen. It pulls you from sleep, reluctantly at first, then all at once when visions of the night before rush back in a deluge. It’s enough to momentarily forget your shelter, wincing as you smack your skull into the timber frame. Your muscles ache from laying awake for hours, curled in a tight ball, both cowering and vigilant. Prepared to defend yourself from whatever clawed the walls, should it have climbed in through the window.

You hold your breath, count to ten, and listen. The hammering of a woodpecker. Robins, wrens, and bluebirds singing. Squirrels and chipmunks chattering. The idyllic sounds of nature are not enough to banish the deep scratching from your ears. Not enough to erase the nightmare that the daylight apparently keeps at bay.

It’s privately embarrassing, fighting your way out of the sheets and blankets. Squeezing out from under the bed in a huff. You dress hastily into simple jeans and a t-shirt, somehow rationalizing that if whatever is out there is actually cathemeral, you won’t want to be caught in a dress.

Eyes wide and head swiveling, you make the short journey from the bedroom to the kitchen a step at a time. Nothing appears amiss. Your phone is in your bag on the table where you left it, and your wallet is undisturbed.

Summoning your courage with a chef knife, you steel yourself to check the exterior. You brace yourself for carnage, but only dull gravel stretches before you. Your car sits unmoved. The carport still sags. There are no downed trees or flattened brush on the perimeter. Even the cats, flitting about the yard, seem unperturbed. They stare, pupils constricted in judgment, as you start to circle the cabin.

You pause at the turn that’ll take you beneath the window of the cabin’s bedroom, where the scratching emanated. The knife is slippery in your palm from sweat, your stomach in knots. Inch by inch, you force your feet to move.

Nothing. More nothing.

The walls are unscathed. Devoid of any marks save by what seems natural. The discovery, or lack thereof, leads you to complete a loop, then another. You walk around the cabin four times looking for any sign of the nightmare, and find no scratches, footprints, or other signs of a large animal.

Inside, you feed the knife into the block by the sink and stare into your warped reflection in the faucet. Maybe you ate something bad at dinner.

In the washroom, you reach for your toothbrush and catch air. It takes a second to register why and another to race to the screened porch. You unbolt the door, throw it open, and…Empty. You check behind the glider and its ottoman. Nothing . Not so much as a splatter of toothpaste or dried spit.

The hair on the nape of your neck stands electrified, blood buzzing. Looking through the fine mesh of the screen, a thin calico struts past. It stops, assessing your dumbfounded look, then continues, ducking beneath your car.

You swallow, mouth dry and stale. John said he’d speak with you about the car, and the store ought to be open. Suppose you’ll visit him sooner rather than later.

~~

John isn’t alone. A dirt bike occupies the spot beside his truck.. Through the door, you see a man at the counter, and rather than interrupt the conversation, you delay and check the kittens.

They’re behind the shop now, on the back porch of the connected living space. Curious heads poke over the ridge of their tub, and all but a brave tabby scurry clamber out to scamper under the steps. The remaining kitten allows a single touch, then tucks itself into the corner, staring as if it doesn’t know what to make of you. A half-eaten pile of wet food sits atop the straw. You imagine John leaving it, whispering to the little things. It’s sweet. For his backward opinions on animals, he doesn’t neglect them.

After a few minutes, you can’t dawdle anymore. Your mouth tastes sour. The single mint from the bottom of your bag is a poor substitute for hygiene. The man’s head turns when the electronic chime above the door sounds your entry.

Pushing your sunglasses to the top of your head, your eyes widen at the unobstructed view.

The man is big. The term ‘cornfed’ comes to mind, but that doesn’t seem fitting. He looks like he’d give Paul Bunyan a run for his money in a cage match—taller and broader than John, with buzzed blond hair and enough scars to suggest he fought a wood chipper and won. 

In your gut, it feels as though you shouldn’t look at him directly.

John straightens, chest puffing out. “Be with you in a moment.”

You nod in response and duck into the first aisle, though the man turns his head, getting a good look at you with how he towers above the shelves. It’s a standoff for all of three seconds before the corner of his mouth twitches, and he turns back. You pretend to find the canned tuna fascinating after that. This isn’t any of your business.

The men talk in hushed tones. Not a word rises above a whisper. Minutes pass, and you’ve memorized everything between the tuna and green beans. Peeking between tins, you see John’s brow low and stern, mouth flat, painting a picture of disappointment. He cards a hand through his hair. Whatever stresses him, his exasperation breaks the quiet.

“The second you know, call me.”

It’s at this moment, of course, he catches you looking. He offers a quick smile, then jerks his head. The man moves, and you scuttle as nonchalantly as possible to hide behind the endcap. You watch his head float above the shelves until he exits and stay there until John speaks.

“Got a sweet tooth?”

You blink, taking stock of the colorful display of cookies and candy in front of you. Sheepishly, you emerge from your hiding spot. “No. I just didn’t want to intrude.”

John chuckles, head bowed. “So polite.”

The toiletries have a clear view of John. In his hand sits a phone, much newer than the brick you’ve seen him use before. Whatever’s on the screen holds his attention. He pinches something—an image or video?—and zooms. Curiosity grips you, but it’s really not your business, though questions itch your throat. It isn’t until you pluck a toothbrush from a hook and step in his direction that his eyes flick up. He locks the phone, casually tucking it into a pocket. “That’s it? Did you misplace yours?”

The question makes the tips of your ears hot. You slowly dig out your wallet, cobbling together a white lie. What are you supposed to say? That you dropped it because of a bump in the night and subsequently, something, probably a rat with your luck, stole it? It doesn’t make sense, and you don’t want to be labeled nuts. You don’t know what you heard. You didn’t even see it. On the walk down, you concluded that it was most likely a cougar or bear after a cat and that you were very, very lucky. That a critter found a hole in the screen and made off with your toothbrush. Somehow, it all comes out as—

“I once read you’re supposed to replace them every six weeks, so. Oh! I’ll take one of those, too.” The lie rushes out. Hopefully, the novelty fish-shaped pocket knife you point at distracts him.

John smooths a finger over his mustache, eyes twinkling with an amusement you know means he doesn’t believe you, but he lets you get away with it. “Right.”

As he clips off the tag, you maintain a distance to spare him your breath.

“Don’t s’pose you’ve heard from Nik, have you?”

He slides the folded blade across the counter. “I have. He’d like to meet in person at his shop. Noon work?”

The sooner, the better. “Yes. Can I get a lift?”

John grins. “Well, I’m not gonna let you walk.”

~~

Your car is down for the count, but nothing that Nikolai can’t fix, or so he claims. The rundown of its issues is lost in translation, a dizzying volley of jargon. The Russian man’s another mystery you can’t afford to press, given he’s the only mechanic in the area willing to do the work on the cheap. It doesn’t soften the blow when you learn the necessary parts won’t arrive for weeks. But what other choice do you have? You fork over an eye-watering amount of money, knowing precisely how lean your account will stand when the transaction clears. John and Nik excuse themselves to the office afterward, and the former politely asks you to wait by the truck.

The auto shop slash junkyard sits deep into the woods, nestled at the foot of a ridge at the base of Mount Grouse. A labyrinth of rust and metal that snakes into the surrounding trees. Boat hulls, machinery, wrecked cars, and the like litter almost every square inch of the ground. You wander around, scanning crumpled plates on flattened cars. Crouching to examine one such plate from New Jersey or New Hampshire, something New , a prolonged meow draws your attention. You catch the tip of a tail as it disappears around the corner of the shop and inwardly sigh. Another feral cat.

A path wraps around the building, and a hefty tomcat sits at the far end. His tail twitches, beckoning, if you didn’t know any better. The men aren’t finished, so you follow.

Of course, he darts off as soon as you’re close. He scurries toward an upturned pallet leaning against the sheer rock wall—next to a heavy-duty iron gate. You’ve attended enough family days and mine tours to know an adit when you see one. Memories as sharp as a pickaxe hook your ribs, stealing your breath away.

The sight pulls you forward, but a voice calls you back.

“Taking yourself on a tour?”

Nik stands at the opposite end of the path with an amused smile.

Shaking off the sudden swell of emotion as best you can, you glance at the sealed entrance. This is Idaho. This is a mountain. It’s simple math to deduce it’s an old mine shaft. You drag your feet toward Nik. Apprehension unseats the grim memories swirling in your head.

“Sorry. I saw a cat.” You confess lamely, looking past him to see John slowly pace a short distance down the drive, phone to his ear.

“Ah, one of my employees.” Nik humors. “They help keep the rats out of my business.”

“Well, I haven’t seen so much as a mouse.” You attempt to appease and shove your hands in your pockets, fiddling with the puny knife you bought.

Nik nods. “Yes, they’re very good at their jobs. Good thing you’re not a rat, hm?” 

Your smile falters, but you politely laugh. “Yeah, good thing,” You dig your nails into the knife handle until it hurts, wishing John’s call would end already. 

Nik’s lips thin in a sage expression, then huffs, clapping a filthy hand on your shoulder. “Yes. Not a rat, no.” He ignores your wince. “You strike me more as a rabbit. A bunny.” He throws his head back and laughs, coughing a bit as it crests. A word or two of Russian slips out.

“What's so funny?” 

Finally, John crosses the shop’s yard, and Nik immediately lets go. 

“He said that I strike him as a rabbit?” You respond, hoping he can shed light.

John’s face pinches, then he shakes his head. “It’s a bad joke. Is she set, Nik?” 

The Russian affirms with a wheeze and waves his hand as if to sweep you away. “Yes. Hop along now, rabbit.”

You stiffly climb into the truck, grateful when the junkyard disappears in the rearview, swallowed by the trees. John doesn’t speak until he turns onto the road.

“Sorry about Nik.”

“I know he didn’t mean anything by it.” You’ve met worse men than Nik, with far worse ‘jokes’. 

Another brief silence passes before John cranks the window and invites the cool breeze to cut through the truck’s cab. He takes a deep breath, an uncertain look on his face. “That was a friend on the phone, the one who’s gonna assist with your paperwork, if you’re still interested in the job.”

The contents of your stomach churn. The job slipped your mind, what with everything else. 

“I am. They’re fine with, um, taking creative liberties?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, there’s a catch. I’ll need some legitimate information for my own records to create a believable paper trail. He’ll take it from there.”

Your head spins, forcing your eyes shut for fear of car sickness. It’s been years since you filled out a form with your legitimate information, you didn’t need to. When you purchased your fake ID, the man asked for a phony name and address, and you bit your nails to the beds as Kate processed your application. It’s a mix of luck, half-assed security, the average person’s everyday indifference, and your dwindling cash that you’ve made it this far. And the confidence with which John speaks, as if it’s all really that simple and routine, doesn’t help. But it’s like the car: what choice do you have? Scrape by on shady writing jobs posted to message boards or allow the man with no qualms of committing fraud and forgery, a man who likes you, to do you a favor?

You don’t notice the truck’s stopped, idling, until John settles a wide hand over your knee. He gazes at you, eyes the softest you’ve seen, and wears a sympathetic smile. “You can trust me.”

Someone else’s face eclipses his for a split second. You push it away. John’s the first person to stick their neck out for you in a long time. That is worth something. You lay your hand on his and squeeze.

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

~~

You ‘pass’ the ‘background check’ with flying colors. John takes you to the Foxhole to celebrate and introduces you to its regulars as his new shop girl. It’s a bit much, but the buzz from the beer and excitement from securing actual employment keep you in high spirits. He summons you to work the next day and spends the morning showing you the ropes of what he promises to be an uncomplicated job. By that afternoon, you’re on duty.

Time passes with relative normalcy. The possible bear or cougar incident fades to background noise. The shop is as straightforward as promised. Business rapidly picks up shortly after you start, as does activity across both towns. The lake teems with boats. The Foxhole’s parking lot fills every night. The Lakeshore Arms motel is booked.

You haven’t worked regularly since you were a teenager, but it’s strangely pleasant. Akin to those early days on the road, savoring the taste of independence. Out from under a steel-toed boot and reacquainting yourself with personhood. Sure, you’re not changing the world stocking shelves or chatting with tourists, but you’re earning money, and John’s a better boss than he is a date.

John’s also a better handyman, and Kate keeps him busy with a laundry list of improvements and repairs for the cabin. He turns up bright and early on weekend mornings with his toolbag in hand. Kate apparently worries about energy costs and regularly tasks him with installing energy-efficient features across her properties. A new shower head, LED bulbs, and another dozen minor fixes. He even patches the mesh on the screened porch. You do not complain, luxuriating in longer showers without an ounce of guilt.

Weeks go by before John leaves you alone at the store. He’s been making inventory trips to Ponderosa in the evenings to avoid it, but a beer shortage necessitates it. It takes convincing, but he eventually piles into his truck, waving a hand in departure. Manning the ship alone proves smooth sailing. Mostly.

You hear them before you see them. A trio of raucous voices and whooping laughter—sounds you and the lone female customer share a look at. She hustles to the counter just as three men burst in, shirtless, reeking of beer, and delightfully, blasting music from a phone. Plastering a smile to your face, you ring the woman up and watch her hurriedly exit before the men notice her. You wish you could follow.

The first man to spot you elbows his buddy, the clear ringleader. They make a show of browsing the aisles, tossing various items at one another, lobbing them over the shelves. As you pretend to be utterly engulfed in an old hunting magazine, you see them exchange smirks and obscene gestures in your periphery. They’re smart enough to keep whatever comments they make quiet, but your disinterest isn’t enough to deter them from their shopping. A couple of six-packs, chip bags, and energy drinks appear in view on the counter, covering the magazine and forcing you to finally acknowledge them.

“Hey babe,” The ringleader grins. “Sorry to interrupt your reading, but mind grabbing that apple chew for me?”

Disgusting, unsurprising, and dreadfully reminiscent. “Sure thing. ID for it and the beer?”

He forks it over with an indignant huff, his friends snickering. Unfortunately, Nash is of age. You turn and rise on your toes, only for a bolt of humiliation to surge down your spine at the sound of a low whistle.

You nearly fumble the tin, cheeks aflame, and you spin and slam it on the counter. The men laugh at your embarrassment, eyes lit up with booze and cocksure grins on their sunburnt faces. 

Nash leans, encroaching on your space. The scuffed laminate makes for a poor shield. “You a local?”

“Yes.” You hiss out, terse.

The man on the left elbows Nash again. “Ooh, a country bumpkin.”

“More like a country pumpkin. You’re pretty cute, you know that?”

“Thanks.” You fly through checkout and reach for the chew. Nash’s hand flattens over it.

“Just trying to make conversation, Christ. What happened to smiling for the customers, baby?”

You force a painfully fake smile. “Can I ring you up for that? Or are you no longer interested?”

Nash straightens and sneers, voice booming louder and meaner. “Oh, I’m interested. Interested in what’s got your tits in a tangle.”

How quickly you shrink. You swallow, and a meek apology promptly slips out. 

“That’s more like it. Jesus. Here.” He aggressively slides the tin to the scanner, and you finish the sale. He grabs the receipt roughly, too, crumpling it into a ball. As his friends tote their purchases out the door, he lingers, smirking when you meet his gaze. “I’ll see you later, babe. At close. Seven o’ clock, right?” He tosses the receipt over his shoulder as he leaves, calling for his friends as they climb into a Wrangler.

For the next hour, you stare at the door and grip the knife in your pocket. Only when a familiar truck pulls into its usual spot, do you relax. John rumbles out a greeting with a tired smile, fetching the dolly. 

You can’t stop what spills out.

“Some creeps came by.” 

John pauses inside the door, half-turning toward you with a confused expression. His eyes scan the air, then drop to his watch. Without looking, he reaches for the door sign and flips it to ‘Closed’. 

“Right. Let me finish unloading, and then you tell me what happened.”

He’s irate, which is encouraging and refreshingly normal. Thankfully, he keeps it in check, but you see it in the set of his jaw and hard, focused stare as you recount what happened. Closing is a tense chore, one that passes quickly.

“Gonna make a call, then I’ll take you home.” He ducks out front, not offering a chance to refuse.

The call is brief. John beckons with a crooked finger within minutes. He locks up, and it’s in no time you’re parked outside the cabin. Fifteen minutes before your would-be suitor’s visit.

“Thanks, John. You didn’t have to do that.”

He waves off your words. “Nonsense. You won’t have to worry about somethin’ like that again. You’re gonna start accompanying me on inventory runs.”

Your brows raise. You won’t turn down weekly visits to Ponderosa. Aside from the diner, they have a library, and you’re out of books. “Really? But what about the store?”

“I’d rather close for a few hours a week than leave you alone.”

You’re keenly aware of all that John’s done for you. Tracking his favors and assistance in your head like a ledger. Finding your ID, fixing the light, helping with your car. Ferrying you about. It’s a helpful reference, tangible evidence that despite his faults and deficits, he is, on the whole, a good man.

“Will you stay for dinner? As a thank you for this and for the job?”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not. You’ve been nothing but good to me. I owe you.”

John looks pleasantly surprised. He kills the engine. “If you insist.”

~~

Dinner is lackluster. You know it is. You’ve never been a cook, and you didn’t learn when you were thrust into the kitchen and told to prepare food. To host. No one taught you, and the cookbooks borrowed from the library or neighbors might as well have been written in a dead language. With time, you learned to coupon and to stock staples. That the basics kept the peace and deflected ridicule. And, above all, as long as meals are hot and served on time, nobody’ll complain.

It doesn’t stop you from hunching over the stovetop, overthinking simple biscuits and gravy. Feeling John’s eyes from the table. The biscuits are rushed, and the gravy’s nowhere near as rich as you’d like, but he polishes his plate clean. He only asks if you have a beer, and you have precisely one.

After, it’s the date all over again. Having found your way to the couch to chat, you’re overly conscious of your proximity to John. Your attention is torn between his story and wondering if you should be so close. How it feels wrong, traitorous. Still, you’re careful with active listening, encouraging him to speak and nodding appropriately. Yet, he calls you on it, pausing with a wry smile.

“I’m not boring you to death, am I?” He gestures at his face. “Got a dreamy look in your eye. Somethin’ on your mind?”

Yes. Something in your stomach, too, and it’s not just your abysmal cooking. It’s strange, the onset of butterflies. It’s been ages since you felt their flutter. You’re undecided if their reemergence is a good thing or not. Experience says it’s too soon to tell, but in the moment—

“This is nice.”

“Yeah?” His smile stretches, pleased.

You worry your lip. How to put it. “I don’t…host people. At least I haven’t in, um, a long time.”

“Since before…?” The ‘Coming here’ is silent. Implied.

“Yes, when I left—” The next word lodges in your throat, caught in a sieve. You lick your lips and push to your feet. The dishes need doing. You shouldn’t’ve sat without washing them.

John gives you several minutes, a mercy. You can blame the heat in your hands and face on the piping hot water and its steam. He reaches around you, turns off the tap, and steals the towel on your shoulder. His hands engulf yours as he dries them, then lifts both to his face to kiss each scalded knuckle.

“I don’t know where you came from, or who you might’ve left behind,” He murmurs, his timbre deep and inviting. “But I can be patient. You’ll tell me in your own time, won’t you.”

Your eyes are open right up until his mouth slots over yours. Body shaking until he touches you. His lips are a little chapped, and his beard tickles, but it’s nicer than expected. Practiced and unhurried. He waits until you melt and slump against the counter to press further.

His tongue is warm and heavy, gentle yet intrusive. He hums, mapping your mouth at his leisure. Taking you apart with a single muscle. Like he’ll find the answers he wants, wedged between your teeth.

“John.” You gasp as his palms find your waist and drift south. His thumbs tuck under the hem of your shirt, rubbing circles into skin. Your fingers curl over his chest, feeling his groan before you hear it.

“That’s it, say my name.” He encourages.

Your breathing grows embarrassingly loud and labored. He chases every whimper and hitch, his kisses turning hungry with teeth. Your jaw finds the ground when his hands slide down to cup and squeeze your ass, hauling your hips together. He lazily grinds against you, dragging his hardening cock across your thigh, into your crotch. He noses your neck, grunting. You think you might pass out.

Instead, you think of him. His mouth and his hands and his body. His words, his promises—

A dingy pawnshop.

Your fists unfurl and push, then brace for the worst. “John.” 

He pulls away instantly, and you can hardly see the blue in his eyes. Beneath your palms, his chest shudders. Your heartbeat jumps. This is it.

“I’m—I’m sorry. I can’t.”

It’s gentlemanly, you think, his efforts to hide his disappointment. He lets it pass over his face and replaces it with an understanding look. “Alright.”

The warmth is unexpected and unfamiliar. You want to bask in it, but you shouldn’t.

“I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. I’m not ready.”

His thumb traces the apple of your cheek. “Like I said. I can be patient.”

~~~~

The call comes after midnight.

“Yeah?”

The purr of an engine competes with Simon’s stolid voice. “It’s done.”

“Whereabouts?”

“Hour away.”

Good. A decent distance. “All of them?”

“Two, instantly. Soap’s climbin’ a fuckin’ ravine to see to the third. Impaled on a tree, poor bastard.” Simon chuckles. “No one’s gonna see the car ‘til morning, maybe.”

John doesn’t answer immediately. From what his rabbit said, there ought to be enough alcohol in their systems to make the crash convincing. Another group of pissants who made the tragic mistake of getting behind the wheel absolutely smashed.

“Sir?”

“Finish up, and take the long way back.”

“Understood.”

The call ends, and his thoughts return to his rabbit. His little prevaricator. He pulls up the feeds on the smartphone, tapping through cameras to ensure she’s alone. A smug smile spreads across his face at seeing her nestled in bed, coiled in a ball. She’s slept better these past weeks and hardly stirs when his dog makes his rounds. Possessiveness curls in his chest, though he can’t help but covet the empty space beside her. 

One problem solved, another to go. She’s a clever thing, more resourceful and cunning than he initially assumed. Her reluctance would discourage him if he did not know better. It’s of no consequence in the long run.

He can sate his needs elsewhere for the time being.

[steddielations]

“Evening, sir.”

It’s the Harrington boy. Again.

“I told you, son, it’s Wayne,” he manages a smile, harder to do these days, like chipping it out of cement and dusting it off. But he gets it done.

Steve doesn’t have the Henderson boy with him today, that’s a first.

“Where’s the curly one?” He steps aside, letting Steve into the trailer door, more rickety than before. No money left to fix it after repairing the bulk of the earthquake damage.

“Dustin? He doesn’t wanna watch the game, and trust me, you don’t wanna listen to that kid complaining the whole time,” Steve walks by, sorta chuckling to himself, “I always miss the replay ‘cause he makes me change the channel to those D&D cartoons during the commercials, just like—”

He stops in front of the couch, looking over his shoulder at Wayne like he’s afraid he messed up somehow. Wayne noticed that look often from him, less and less, but still often. All that confidence he carries can drop on a dime, sorta reminded him of—

“Like Ed?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“S’alright. I don’t mind talking about him if you want,” Wayne manages another concrete smile, but he means it. Steve always waits for him to bring up Eddie first, like he doesn’t want to remind him if it ain’t on his mind, but Wayne likes to be reminded. It’s nice to feel like he’s not the only one missing him. “But the game was yesterday and y’know the cable’s out.”

“Yep, got it covered. I uh, I taped it,” Steve fishes a VHS tape from his back pocket. Fancy. Wayne would worry about him using that for his sake, but he has a feeling Steve’s folks aren’t around enough to notice.

“The Colts win?”

Steve flips the tape around, “Haven’t watched it, so we can bet on it if you’re feeling lucky.”

It doesn’t feel so dry and heavy when Wayne laughs a bit then, waving Steve to go ahead and start up the TV. He already caught the game on the radio, but he bets on the Colts anyway. Loser’s supposed to do the dishes after they scrounge together some soup, but Steve does them anyway.

Wayne would make a stink about it but he can tell Steve just wants to help, to feel like he’s helping. Same thing when the Henderson boy comes around to see him, wanting to hear all the stories, even the scary ones. So Wayne doesn’t mind letting Eddie’s friends feel like they’re helping him.

His nephew didn’t have many friends. Real, cover-your-six kinda friends. The boys he played his music with, they’ve come by a couple times, Wayne always liked Jeff despite the racket. That older fella that’s doing time now, Wayne wasn’t too fond of. And some of Eddie’s dungeon buddies he talked about were the only few.

Now, casual acquaintances? Anybody who didn’t have anywhere else to sit when he had an empty spot at his table? Sure, Eddie had those in spades.

His boy was good at that, putting on a good old show for his crowd, on a stage to keep his distance. That damn Al did him in good, never could trust easily, having his old man pop up and drag him into his mess before he took off again. And Eddie’s poor momma would’ve done right by him, if she hadn’t gotten sick so young.

Took Wayne a long time to get Eddie to depend on him, to trust this was his place to stay and he didn’t have to earn it, Wayne wasn’t just filling his head to scheme something out of him.

Love ain’t a transaction that way. He wasn’t ever any good at saying it, but he tried to show Eddie the best he could.

His boy though, always carried a debt with him. Like he owed Wayne something for taking him in, had to graduate quick and make it outta here, do something with the better life he gave him. Al dug him in so deep, Eddie stayed roped into whatever his latest scheme was (the cars, the dealing, the gambling, thank God Eddie wasn’t there when the goddamn robbery went wrong, 25 to life) like maybe it’d be enough to keep him from running off again.

The odds have never been in favor of people like them, poor folk in a town that’s stuck in its ways, where everybody’s just like their old man, but Al made his choices and Wayne made his. Rest their mother’s soul, she did her best. Part of Wayne was relieved when Al got locked up, at least Wayne had a better chance of keeping Eddie from going down the same path, try to raise him right.

Being a Munson wasn’t a crime. He didn’t owe a darn thing to anybody. Eddie could graduate at his own pace, play whatever games and music he wanted, dress however, that didn’t mean he was up to no good. And a lot of boys get into dealing for a little easy extra money around here, he was gonna grow out of that just like Wayne did.

It worked until all this mess.

That’s why Eddie ran off after what happened to the poor Cunningham girl. He gets spooked when something goes wrong, like it’ll be the last straw he can’t make up for so he runs off. Like the first time he didn’t make senior year, went and hid out with that Rick fella that Wayne never did like, got Eddie deep into that business he tried to keep a secret.

‘Course Wayne knew. He knows exactly what and where his boy hides. If those damn cops weren’t tailing him, he would’ve gone straight to get him.

That was before he knew it would turn into all of this. Now he wishes he would’ve done it anyway. Gone right to Eddie, told him it wasn’t his fault that everything got all turned upside down. Told him he knew he was innocent right from the get-go, and got him away from this rotten old town.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t go get his boy.

So now he’s just trying to be there for Eddie’s boys, since he can’t.

“You have a night shift tonight right? Gonna put on a pot of coffee,” Steve says once he’s finished up the dishes.

Wayne hums. There’s usually more noise going on during these visits. Steve’s still alright at carrying on, even without the Henderson boy’s chatter to fill any gaps.

It was strange, the first time the two of them showed up. Wayne knew Eddie was close with Dustin, but he didn’t have a clue that he was chumming it up with the Harrington boy. Just don’t seem like the same type of company. He might not believe it if it weren’t so obvious that Steve cared about his boy. He suspected before, but now with Steve showing up here alone, he knows.

Steve misses Eddie in a different sorta way than Dustin.

“No cream or sugar, right?” Steve looks humored by that as he passes the mug of black coffee to him, “How are you related to Eddie again?”

Wayne’s mouth turns upward, remembering his nephew’s god awful sweet tooth. He picked up a box of Honeycombs the other day in the store out of habit. “Just happened to be standin’ there when they beamed him down.”

That gets a good chuckle out of Steve. Nothing wistful weighing it down and Wayne’s glad, watching Steve pour himself a cup of coffee too.

Then bitter-sweetness swirls in his chest, seeing the mug that Steve chose for himself. Must’ve dug it out from one of the boxes Wayne hadn’t hung back on the walls yet. The earthquake did a number on his collection. That Garfield one was the only one he’d gotten around to gluing back together.

“What is it?” Steve asks, cup paused at his mouth.

“Ah nothin’ just,” Wayne waves it off, “That’s the mug Ed always used.”

“Oh, I can use a diff—”

“Nah, nah go ‘head. It’s fine.”

Unconvinced, Steve takes a wary sip.

Mostly these days, Wayne just feels like a watch without a ticker, a chest with nothing beating inside it. He can’t name the feeling he has at seeing Eddie’s old mug being used by someone else, but at least it’s something.

“Y’know, he used to put everything in that sucker. Soda pop, soup, cereal, you name it,” Wayne shakes his head, mouth twitching into a smile, “I’d have to wrestle it away from him just to give it a good washing. It’s well loved, alright. Leaks now.”

As if on cue, Steve has to grab a napkin to sit underneath it.

Wayne lets out an amused hum, “He uh— Didn’t have much stability ‘fore he came to live with me, so he’d get real attached to things like that.”

Carried around a stuffed dragon they picked up at a garage sale ‘til Wayne couldn’t sew the wings back on anymore. Never wanted to throw anything away. Got real anxious about Wayne going to work sometimes, even when he was too old for a sitter. Held onto him saying “Stay home just today, Dad, please.” Which, he didn’t mind Eddie calling him that. It always softened him up, made him give in. Wishes now that he’d told Eddie upfront. Maybe he never would’ve stopped.

“Thought for sure he’d marry that damn guitar one day.”

Steve nearly sputters his coffee, laughing at that, “Yeah, those two are made for each other.”

It’s nice, seeing the way that story lit Steve up. Sorta like his boy can still make someone happy. Hurts like hell that he ain’t here to do it himself, but Wayne was always good at telling stories. That’s where Eddie learned it from.

“I’m uh,” Steve deflates after a minute, looking down at the mug, “God, I’m just really sorry, Wayne.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry too, Steve,” he says, because, well.

Wayne gets the feeling that his boy was Steve’s boy too.

Read the rest on Ao3

[laurentpark]

don’t tell my boyfriend! — [10] nice to meet you

synopsis. where jimin stalks her boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend after a certain incident happened and couldn’t help but grow hatred over her. coincidentally, her and jimin happen to be global ambassadors of the same famous luxury brand and have to work together for a commercial. at first, jimin despised the girl with all her flesh and bones but soon understands why her boyfriend fell for the young actress in the first place… because she was starting to fall for the young actress as well.

the following week came sooner than jimin had expected.

and by now, she was convinced she knew everything single thing about the actress.

it was supposed to be out of curiosity but the more she watched her interviews, her dramas and films, her photos, she always somehow craved more and dug herself into a deeper hole than she expected.

y/n’s height, weight, each of her body measurements; karina knew every bit of it. her birthday, her birth year, the hospital and even the floor she was born at. her hometown, what her favorite food were and what foods she hated. every. single. thing.

the way y/n walked, talked-

to put it shortly, she was losing her mind.

“are you okay?”

the idol’s manager questions her with a raised brow and confused expression.

“you’ve been zoning out the moment we picked you up.”

“o-oh, is that so?” jimin responds in a shaken manner. “must be the lack of sleep.”

the manager looks at her skeptically. then lets an apologetic sigh escape from her lips. “i know you probably have some… bitterness towards y/n- her fans rather, but don’t let those stupid shippers get in your head.”

bitterness?

don’t even sugarcoat it. it was resentment.

“im not letting them get to my head.” jimin defends herself, crossing her arms. because it wasn’t y/n’s fans, it was y/n in general. she looks out the car window with a blank expression. “if you’re worried about my professionalism towards this project, then don’t worry. I won’t let my personal life affect work life.”

the drive towards the designated place continues and they safely made it there. the moment jimin stepped out of the car, she bowed and greeted each staff she encounters in a respectful manner. she was then lead to to the dressing room to get her makeup and outfits done, but to her surprise, the actress wasn’t there.

“is she late?” jimin snickers in a mocking manner though she disguised it well to the makeup artist. she couldn’t believe one of the most prominent and famous ambassador was late to such an important project.

“i believe ms. y/n is currently chatting to the director. she got here extra early, you see.” the makeup artist responds to her with a smile.

jimin’s little smirk was immediately tugged of the moment the makeup artist responded. she clenched her fists and mutters out, “of course she did.”

it took quite awhile for the makeup artist and the stylist to get jimin done, but once she was, she was immediately lead towards location where they will be shooting at.

as she makes her way, she hears laughing and chatter. she looks towards where it was coming from and there she saw no one but y/n herself.

her face wasn’t visible since she was turning back from jimin, but the idol knew it was her just based off her tall height and the way she stood.

she was speaking to the director in a calm and playful manner as if they were already friends though jimin knew they weren’t since y/n has never worked with him before.

the director looks away from y/n for a moment and spots jimin and clap his hand excitedly.

“ah! there you are!”

she could only see the director from her peripheral vision, because her eyes were focused at y/n the entire time.

y/n’s perks up at the sound of the idol’s name and turns around and faces jimin for the very first time.

jimin’s heart skips a beat.

she’d rather die than say it out loud, but y/n was- is so beautiful then, just standing there as the lighting hits y/n’s, showing jimin her stupidly pretty features.

how is she real? jimin ask herself. she found it hard to believe that the actress was made out of flesh and bones like everyone was. y/n was just so painfully lovely to look at. free from any flaws or blemish.

y/n smiles at her before walking towards the idol.

“have you two met each other?” the director asks as y/n stands just in the middle between the two.

y/n shakes her silently, her arms behind her back.

“we haven’t met, but we have seen each other in shows.” she answers looking at the director before traveling her eyes towards jimin. the idol widens her eyes and looks away from y/n’s gaze, rubbing her arm awkwardly.

“hm…” the director hums as he sees jimin’s behavior, obviously shy and embarrassed around y/n’s presence. “i’ll give guys half an hour to break the ice. use that time wisely.”

“wait what-“ jimin looks at the director who walks away, in disbelief.

“you heard him.” y/n interrupts. jimin looks away from the director and met with y/n’s pretty eyes. “we should get to know each other. director’s orders.”

jimin opens her mouth to say something but instead just stood there awkwardly for a few seconds since she couldn’t let the words out.

“are you nervous?” y/n asks her with a chuckle and pats jimin’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. “how on earth can a pretty girl like you get nervous?”

jimin’s face flushes red… and she wasn’t sure if it was out of embarrassment or the way she was genuinely flattered by y/n calling her pretty.

the idol clears her throat and shakes her in denial. “i’m not nervous! it’s just… this is my first time working with someone who aren’t my members.”

“it’s an honor then.” y/n smiles at her. dimples. “to be the first person to work with you.”

fuck.

this woman was not only annoyingly beautiful, but also annoying kind.

“.. did you wait long?” jimin ask her out of the blue. “I didn’t expect you to be early and the makeup took forever to finish. i’ll be extra early too tomorrow so you won’t have to wait.”

“it’s not that i came early because i wanted to, it’s because it’s what i do. on the first day of set, i come earlier than expected because i want to chat with the director to let me know what exactly he had in mind. it won’t only be helpful for me, but also for you.” y/n responds to her in a soft tone.

“is that so?” y/n nods her head in response.

“and it’s a good thing i did. so i can help you if you’re having trouble.” y/n assures her with a kind smile. “so don’t be shy to talk to me if you’re having trouble.”

“i can manage.” jimin responds immediately and widens her eyes once she realizes her rude tone and response and mutters out an apology. “i didn’t mean it that way! i swear!”

y/n furrowed her brows in confusion and tilted her head. a small snicker falling from her lips.

“you’re different from what i expected you to be.”

jimin raises a brow at her statement and questions her back, “what do you mean?”

“I thought you’d be someone easy-going and confident in themself. but here you are, apologizing for absolutely nothing.” y/n answers her with a chuckle.

jimin blinks. then soon a smile tugs at her lips.

“you’re different from what i had in mind too.”

“really?” y/n spoke in an intrigued tone. “and what did you expect me to be?”

“someone scary.”

“me?” y/n points at herself in disbelief. “scary?”

“you’re so pretty, it’s intimidating.” jimin responds to which y/n smiles at. “I didn’t think you’d be someone easy to talk to… but here you are.”

“well, karina.” y/n offers the idol her hand. “it seems like we started on the wrong foot and gave wrong impressions of ourselves. how about we take it to the first step?”

“…it’s jimin.”

“pardon?”

“my name is jimin.” the idol responds to the actress.

y/n nods her head in understanding, her smile remaining at her lips.

“nice to meet you then, jimin.”

jimin smiles at the sound of her name. real name coming out of the actress’s mouth before accepting her hand, holding it gently.

“nice to meet you too, y/n.”

the two shakes hands.

time flew by in an instant as the two ambassadors began to chat about whatever. whether it was some hot gossip from either the kpop and acting industry, how they revealed cherished memories to each other, how they asked and answered each other’s questions, it felt like only ten minutes came by until the director came back with a satisfied expression on his face.

“good, you two broke the ice it seems.”

the two looked at each other and giggled.

“you could definitely say that.”

the director looks at the camera crew before demanding out, “get into positions!”

“that’s our cue.” the actress taps on the idol’s arm as she makes her way through. jimin nods her head and follows y/n.

the rest of the day was spent in filming. and though jimin was nervous and reluctant at first, it all changed thanks to y/n. through jimin’s talent and y/n’s experience, they wrapped up the first day of filming successfully.

“i enjoyed talking with you.”

the two ambassadors bid each other goodbye before getting into the vehicle.

they open their phones.

pre-chap. next. masterlist

tags. @xen248 @thefckghost @yunalvrrr @yeetaberry127 @lisaswifey @gtfoiydlyj @seunghancore @jeindall777 @multiliker @hyejin67 @1luvkarina @cwpiqwon @sunshinez4 @yoontoonwhs @wintersgff @celtyryuko @sixflame438 @rinapomu @ahnneyong @gayforalll @yukianism @winieter @inybits @nctislifue @pandafuriosa60

a/n: hey… *nervous chuckle* hey. how ya’ll doin?

[sanjoongie]

చҽէ

𐂂Pairing: White Tiger! Hybrid Reader (f) x Spotted Deer! Hybrid San 𐂂Au: Hybrid au 𐂂Trope: best friends to lovers 𐂂Genre: smut, pwp 𐂂Rating: 18+, Minors Do Not Interact! 𐂂Summary: one day you pick up your best friend after a long day of work and can't help but smell his arousal. then you pounce 𐂂Word Count: 1 811 𐂂Warnings: hand job, oral (m), praise kink (m), dom! Reader, sub! San, cum eating 𐂂Dedication: @mejuii & @downtoamagicalland for being hardworking beta readers. @starlitmark because you gotta tag the hybrid queen when you write one 𐂂divider credit to @cafekitsune

San opened the passenger’s side door and climbed into your car. He smelled like cotton candy and whiskey, which was exactly like the strip club that he bartended for smelled like. “Hey,” San murmured tiredly.

“Hi Sannie!” You greet him in the driver’s seat. You always picked him up after his late Saturday night shift, insisting that he should never have to worry about anything after. “How was work?”

“Fine,” San rubbed a hand over his face, “I’m starving.”

“Oh!” You unbuckle your seatbelt and get on your knees to reach into the backseat. “I brought you a yummy salad, let me grab it.”

San watched with large eyes as your tail perked up at your excitement. Your tail raised the skirt you were wearing and bared the back of your thighs for his viewing pleasure. He watched at how the body glitter that you dusted over yourself all the damn time glimmered in the late-night light. What would it feel like to fuck his dick between those thighs? Would his dick get covered with glitter too? San shook his head to clear it. What the fuck was he doing? You were his best friend. This wasn’t right.

You sat down, breathless and happy. Your nostrils flared and then you dropped open your mouth, so the smells could hit the roof of your mouth. You closed your mouth and narrowed your eyes at San. “What's wrong?”

San’s eyes widened momentarily before he looked out the window. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Did you get a lap dance from one of those dirty bunnies?” You snarled, eyes scanning the front door for the mentioned strippers. You leaned across the car, placing a hand on his thigh. When San’s muscle contracted instinctively upon your touch, your nails dug into the sensitive flesh there, and he yelped softly.

San’s spotted deer ears rotated anxiously. “I didn't! I pinky swore I wouldn't, remember?”

Your head turned sharply and San sucked in his breath. He'd never been more aware that you were a predator animal and he was prey than in this moment, with your slitted eyes sharp and on him. “That's right. For your own good too. I know some panthers who have caught some itchy bugs from those dumb bunnies. I won't let that happen to you, Hart.” You bit down on your lower lip, staring at him fondly after saying your nickname for him. “But I would like you to answer my original question.”

“N-nothing is wrong!” San stuttered.

San squeaked when you grabbed his antlers firm with both hands, holding his head in place. They were velvety and hard under your skin. “I can smell how wet you are right now, San.”

San whimpered at your dirty words. “Even the back of your thighs are glittery,” he whispered in a slight pout.

“Oh.” You stare at him, blinking a few times. “Yeah. I was out earlier. Stalking night.”

“Oh.” San’s oh sounded desolate. “Did you get anyone good?”

“No.” You studied San’s face like it had all the answers. “Why does it matter that my legs have glitter?”

San’s face began to redden. He sputtered through his sentence. “You get it all over me and I can never get them off of me, you know how much I hate that!”

You half-smiled. “Why are you getting so worked up?”

“Because everyone always asks if it's from my girlfriend and I have to tell them no, I don't have a leggy doe waiting for me--” San gasped as your nails dug into his scalp, at the base of his antlers. 

You smiled regretfully and removed your hands, gently rearranging San’s hair. “I'm sorry.”

San suddenly wished he hadn't snapped at you. Your presence was missed immediately. “No--I--don't mean--you just!!”

You sit properly and re-belt yourself into your seat. “I should get you home.”

The ride is so silent, it's painful. You turn on some music and San can't help but hum along to your music. He knew all your favorites, watched as you drummed your fingers against the steering wheel absentmindedly to the beat. He watched the street lights travel over the plane of your face as you took him home. He loved the quiet moments during the night like this, well usually, but tonight it wasn't comfortable.

You parked your car and sighed. “Special delivery,” You said half-heartedly and San’s heart contracted.

“Kitten…” Where could San even start?

“Nevermind I asked,” You said in a clipped tone, “I had no right.”

“I don't…” San couldn't falter, he had to keep going forward. “I don't want a leggy doe at home. By the way,” he said in a breathy voice.

You rubbed your lips together, eyes watching the neon light across the road run through its pattern. “No? Maybe a plump bunny, huh?”

“I want a lovable tiger who would stay up late just to drive me home and make sure I'm safe,” San corrected you.

You rolled your eyes. “Ridiculous.”

“What do you mean?!” San cried out immediately.

“Everyone knows predator and prey couples never work out,” You reply flatly.

“That's not true!” San protested. “Just because your kind used to dig your fangs into my kinds neck--”

Your sharp intake of breath in response went over San's head. “San!”

“--and used to eat our flesh!”

You licked your lips, eyes glancing down towards the smell you had long ago identified as San’s precum.

“Doesn't mean tigers and deer couldn't be together! Romantically!” San finished his rant.

“San?”

“I'm right and if you're too brainwashed I can say it again!” San insisted.

“San!”

“What?!” San yelled back at you.

“Can I suck you off?”

San almost melted into the seat right then and there. “Wh-what?”

“I dunno what you were doing earlier but I can smell your arousal. I can tell you’re turned on. I want to pop your cock in my mouth and--” A low growl emitted from the back of your throat. “Fuck, the things you do to me Choi San.”

“Me?!” San’s eyebrows furrow in frustration? You’re the one that insists on wearing short skirts and don’t bother with the tail slot! You know how many times I’ve seen your underwear because of that damn tricky tail of yours?!”

A slow smile began to bloom on your face. “You like when my tail raises my skirt?”

San swallowed hard, his pulse speeding up. He knew that face. “Yes. No. What are you doing?”

You got on your hands and knees and turned towards San. Your knees were still on your seat and your hands were on the center console. Your ass raised up behind you and your tail lifted out of the way--essentially causing your skirt to fall up your back and expose your ass and underwear. “Let me suck your cute little dick, San,” You purred.

“I-it’s not cute!” San protested, the pout back again, “Don’t say that!”

Your nails dug into the center console, kneading and adding marks. “Let me find out then. Prove me wrong.”

San’s lips pressed together. His eyes flitted about. It was so early in the morning that the rest of the world was still asleep but that didn’t dismiss the fact that the two of you were parked on the side of the street and anyone could see you two. His tail fluttered nervously between the small of his back and the seat. Fuck.

“Fine. Yes. But my place is right there! Kitten!”

You ignored San’s protests as soon as he gave you the green light to suck him off. Your nails made quick work of his pants and soon you were pulling down his leather pants and underwear to reveal his cock. It was only a semi-chubby but it was cute. You cooed at it for a moment before pinching it between your fingers, playing with the head to get San harder. You licked your lips in anticipation of having him in your mouth. He was going to taste so good with his vegetarian diet. Prey lovers were so delicious.

San’s whimper caught in the back of his throat and his back arched into your touch. You were teasing him and tears beaded at the corner of his eyes immediately. “D-don’t,” he whimpered.

You stopped, his dick between your still fingers and you cocked your eyebrow. “Don’t?”

San’s pout deepened. “Don’t tease me.” When your features didn’t smooth out, he uttered a “please” to his previous statement.

You giggled and San’s dick twitched. “You’re cute, Sannie.”

“I’m not cute!” San objected.

“So fucking cute,” You murmured to yourself and dipped your head down even lower to take him in your mouth finally. 

For a fucking deer hybrid, San sure was thick. You didn’t struggle getting him into your mouth, his length wasn’t something to scream about but the girth! He was thick and it somehow matched him perfectly. You bobbed up and down on him and San let out another delectable noise, desperate and needy. 

Your mouth was so wet and hot around him, your tongue swirling around his head, already sensitive from when you played with him. He wasn’t going to last long, not with the way you were sucking him off. “Wait-wait! I’m gonna--not so rough!” San swallowed loudly again, barely containing a groan escaping his lips.

You didn’t listen to a word he said, determined to get him to squirt into your mouth. You wanted him sated and vulnerable. Everything in your predator body said that this was the way. You worked your lips up and down his mouth, rough tongue playing with the slit of his cock and soon San’s hands were on the top of your head, holding you down as he came in your mouth. You swallowed greedily, his sperm tasting wonderfully of the fruits he consumed regularly. It was worth it all. 

You lifted off of him, wiping some cum that had attempted to escape the corners of your lips, and drank in the sight of San post-orgasm. He was panting, his pink lips barely parted to allow for the air to move between them. His eyes were hooded and he was whimpering. 

You leaned over and kissed him, tangling your tongue with his so that he could taste himself. It gave you some perverse pleasure when he made a noise of protest but soon allowed himself to be lulled into the kiss. While he was distracted, you unbuttoned his vest a fraction and rubbed your hand along his upper body. 

San was going to be pissed when he found the glitter later but you’d let your future self deal with the repercussions. He didn’t know you wore the glitter to effectively mark him, warning everyone else off of him until you could get him to a good place mentally to capture him. It was cute that he thought he was talking you into being with him.

[kazutora-kurokawa]

Girlfriend Stealer!Bonten!Sanzu x Reader

♡ SFW->NSFW, fem reader, cheater!reader, hickeys, exhibitionism, unprotected sex + creampie ♡

note: this was partially inspired by the song Girlfriend by Heavyweight, idk why I didn't just turn these into a fic (I'm sick and lazy lol)

note 2: this was way longer than planned, but all of my morals and dignity leave my body when it comes to Bonten Sanzu (and I'm fine with that)

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

🌸 You two met at one of Bonten's numerous nightclubs

🌸 You were there with your boyfriend, but that wasn't going to stop Sanzu from approaching you

🌸 He watched you all night and even offered you a ride home when he saw you were about to leave

🌸 Gave you his number even though you told him not to

"Take my number anyway doll, you never know when that little boyfriend of yours will disappoint you~"

🌸 You called him the next day and he immediately asked you out, you agreed but only as friends

🌸 He took you out to dinner and then drove you to a nightclub (not owned by Bonten this time)

🌸 Unfortunately your just friends mentality went out the window when he put his hands on your waist

🌸 He held you tightly and pulled you close to him, tracing the patterns on your dress and giving you a chance to breathe in his intoxicating cologne

🌸 This man had you in your feelings and you barely knew him, but you'd know a lot more than most by the end of the night

🌸 He dragged you off to a secluded spot in the club, sitting down and pulling you onto his lap, the bulge in his pants became much more apparent now that it was pressing against your panties

"Tell me princess, does he fuck you good enough?"

🌸 You didn't even have to respond, he already knew the answer and was willing and ready to please you

🌸 His thumb pressed down on your clit, slowly rubbing it before he pulled your panties to the side

🌸 Your hands fumbled with his belt and you couldn't help but gasp when you finally got a hold of his cock (because there ain't no way that was gonna fit inside you, he's girthy asf)

"You want it, 'cause it's all yours darling~"

🌸 You held his shoulders as you rode him, his calloused hands gripping your hips and setting your pace

"Feels so good darling, wanna stretch you out every night ♡"

🌸 He buried his face in your neck, sucking and biting on the soft flesh, hoping to leave you with some reminders of your night together

🌸 His nails dug into your hips as he felt himself approaching the edge and he begged to cum inside you

"Fuck princess, can I? Can I please fill up your pretty lil cunt?"

🌸 You nodded in agreement and your body trembled as you felt him pump his thick, sticky cum into your pussy, leaving you full and satisfied

🌸 He dragged you off to a bathroom to clean you up and helped you walk back to his car

🌸 He dropped you off back home as if he didn't just wreck your insides

"Lemme know when you're free doll, I'd love to be able to take care of you properly next time ♡"

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Taglist

@arlerts-angel @i-literally-cant-with-this @trevengersprincess @giugiette @katshimizuu @happy-trenchcoated-impala @rinshawty @drunkcheesecake @darkstarlight82 @reiners-milkbiddies

[waywardxrhea]

stitches - a Matt Murdock one shot

pairing: Matt Murdock x nurse!reader (no use of y/n)

word count: 1.8k

you get home after an awful shift to find Matt on your couch in need of medical assistance.

content: fluff, angst, blood, stitches, mentions of car accidents/heart attacks/CPR/death, gn!reader

a/n: no, claire does not exist in this AU, you have taken that spot. go you with your bad self lol

(not my gif)

"Jesus, Matt, you scared me!" you scolded the man in black sitting on your couch with his hand held tight to his side. You took in his state and shrugged your backpack off of your shoulders to get started on tending to his latest injury. His face covering was strewn aside, a formality he had long since abandoned when he came to yours to get first aid, and you saw his eyebrows knit together in a grimace of pain. Even with pain written all over his face he still looked as handsome as ever, with his hair mussed and standing up in every which direction. You shook away those thoughts though as your tired brain remembered that he was injured and you shouldn’t be thinking like that in the first place…

Through gritted teeth, he still managed to be a smart-ass, telling you, "Maybe leave your window locked next time, and I wouldn't scare you."

"I leave it open for you," you replied shortly as you dug in your bag and began pulling out the supplies you needed. "I'd rather you not bleed out on the cold streets."

"So you'd rather me bleed out in the warmth of your apartment, huh?" he smarted off.

He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth when you began squirting a saline flush onto the wound on his lower abdomen to clean it. "Sorry..." you whispered as you patted the wound dry before getting a better look at it. "Yeah, this one's gonna need stitches," you informed him, taking off your now blood-stained gloves to dig through your bag once more.

"When do they not?" he asked, a quiet chuckle leaving his mouth as he leaned his head back onto the headrest of the couch. Matt's brain was too focused on the feeling of pain from his wound that it barely registered that your usual witty banter was replaced with quiet and timid words that were barely louder than a whisper and in a shaking voice.

You worked in silence and focused on stitching Matt's wound as neatly as possible, but your hands began to shake as you remembered a patient you had earlier in the day who had a similar wound that ended up dying before your team could get him to the OR. "You okay?" Matt's voice interrupted your thoughts and you rapidly blinked the tears pricking the backs of your eyes away and took a deep breath to try and ground yourself once more. You didn't answer his question though, so after a few more stitches, he asked, "Hard day at work?"

Not trusting your voice, you simply nodded and continued stitching up his wound, willing the shaking in your hands to go away as you neared the end of the gash. When you finished, you covered the wound and got up to get Matt some pain medication. "Tylenol," you told him quietly as you gently coaxed his hand open and placed two pills in it, offering him a cool glass of water afterward.

"Thank you," he said before taking the medication and downing half of the glass. As you cleaned up everything, Matt finished the water and placed the glass down on the coffee table, telling you gently, "Go change into something more comfortable and we can talk, yeah?"

You nodded and slipped away into your bedroom, taking off the surgical scrubs you had changed into after taking a shower in the hospital locker room. Tossing the scrubs aside, you put on an oversized t-shirt and pajama pants, blowing out a sigh of relief as you finally felt like you were off the job.

You looked toward a bag you had tossed into the corner of your bedroom a few weeks before and hesitated for a moment before grabbing the contents and heading back out into the living room. "What do you have there?" Matt asked, an eyebrow raising into his forehead as you walked quietly into the living area.

"Clean clothes for you if you want," you replied quietly, regret instantly flooding your body at the gesture. Not even a moment later, you closed your eyes that now had tears building once again, saying, "I- That's probably crossing a line, I'm sorry, I-"

"Thank you," he said, interrupting your babbling and standing up to make his way over to you. "Bathroom second door on the right?" he asked as he took the clothes from your hands.

"Y-yeah," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper as you watched him make his way into the room to change.

When he returned and sat back on the couch, he gestured to you expectantly and said, "C'mere." You sat beside him on the couch and were shocked when he fluidly pulled you closer and in between his legs as he leaned back onto the arm rest, telling you, "You're so tense..."

You could feel your heart leap into your throat in response to his proximity, but felt yourself instantly relax when his strong hands began massaging the tense muscles in your shoulders. His skilled hands knew exactly where you held the most tension. Of course he did... With the physical relief running through your body, you out a shaky sigh and felt the floodgates open as you suddenly couldn't hold back your tears anymore. Memories of what happened during your shift ran through your mind and you couldn't seem to get them to stop their assault on your mind.

You thought that would cause Matt to stop his ministrations, but instead he continued on and didn't say a word, just letting you cry it out. He would never admit this to you, but there were some nights when he went out that even if he was injured like he was tonight, if he heard you crying after you came home from a shift at the hospital he would give you your space. He knew you prized yourself on keeping calm in the face of chaos and didn't like expressing your emotions so openly, so he never wanted to pry on your private moments. Tonight felt different though. So he just massaged your shoulders until your tears began to slow and you whispered a shaky, "Thank you..."

"You're welcome," Matt replied, slowing to a stop when he was sure all of the tension was out of your shoulders. "Do you want to talk about it now?"

There was a moment of hesitation from you, but finally you nodded, telling him, "We lost a couple of patients today..." You took a deep and shaky breath once more before telling him, "One of mine coded with a massive heart attack... I pounded on his chest for probably a total of ten minutes trying to get him back but..." You stopped and covered your mouth as a choked sob escaped. "It wasn't good enough..."

You took a few deep breaths before telling the second story. "Then someone got into a car accident and got a huge gash in his abdomen... He was losing so much blood and we...we couldn't even get him to the OR before he died... He was so young... He had so much to live for... Wanted to be a police officer, but now..."

You dissolved into tears once more at the memory of the young man's blank eyes staring up at you as you helped pronounce him dead and you felt Matt pull you closer into his arms, mumbling into your hair, "It's okay. Let it out. I'm right here..." He allowed you a few moments before telling you, "You did the best you could. I know you did. That's all you can do."

A few minutes passed of you crying onto Matt's chest as he held you close and ran a comforting hand up and down your upper arm before he mumbled, "You're dehydrated..."

"I didn't drink much today..." you confessed quietly.

"Much or at all?" he asked, shifting his weight so he could get up to get you some water. When you didn't respond, he sternly said your name with concern in his tone.

"When I work I care more about my patients than myself, you know that..." you said.

"And as a healthcare professional you know the importance of drinking water, especially when you're on your feet running around for hours," he said, gently untangling himself from you and getting up, the pain already less evident in his body language as he navigated toward the cabinet to grab a glass.

"You're one to talk Mr. Devil of Hell's Kitchen," you told him, a huff of a laugh leaving your chest. "Wasn't it just last week I was telling you to hydrate?"

"I believe your exact words were 'Hydrate or die-drate, Matthew,'" he replied with a quiet chuckle, happy to hear that your snarky remarks were starting to return after your cry. As he filled the glass from the filtered tap, he asked, "You didn't eat either did you?"

"No..." you whispered. He chastised you once again by calling your name out and you shrunk into the couch as you said, "It was just so busy is all and when I was finally able to sit, the shift was over and I had so many charts to catch up on..."

"I'm ordering food," he said as he sat back down beside you on the couch and thrusted the glass of water into your hands.

"With what money? You don't carry your wallet with you when you go out. That would sorta defeat the whole mystery man thing," you said, a small smirk on your lips before you took a sip of the water, the cool liquid soothing your aching throat.

"Then how about I owe you one? Friday night at the Italian place down the block?" You nearly choked on the sip of water you were working on at the comment he made so casually, having to wipe the excess off of your chin as you looked at him with wide eyes. He had a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he added, "As in a date."

"A...date? Matt, are you sure?" you asked in a hushed tone as you placed the glass on the coffee table to stop from spilling it with your shaking.

"Yes," he said as he wrapped you in his arms once more. "I think we both know we've been past the point of this being a strictly professional relationship for a while," he said before almost hesitantly leaning down to place his lips on your temple in a gentle kiss.

"I'm glad you said something," you said before turning your head up toward him and kissing his cheek. "I was afraid of messing things up..."

"You don't have to be afraid around me," he said, a sweet smile gracing his features.

"I know..." you replied bashfully as his stare focused on your chest, more specifically your heart. "Thank you for everything, Matt... It means the world."

"You mean the world to me," he said, that cocky smirk returning once more. Rolling your eyes, you leaned up and wiped it off of his lips by placing a gentle kiss on them, shocking him for a moment before he relaxed into the kiss, his soft lips melting perfectly onto yours. Perhaps you were grateful for that dreadful shift after all...

likes and comments are appreciated! <3

[qatarsprint2023]

heelooososo requesting a lando x reader when she is going on a road trip with him and gets car sick requesting this as I’m sitting in the car and I feel like dying😭😭 thanku!!!!!

Heyy! You should really try ginger to ease motion sickness. That always helps me. Anything with ginger in it, really. Tea, too. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

Getting car sick — LN4

He planned a nice car trip, but you get motion sickness — Lando Norris x f!reader, comfort (honestly just Lando being an angel), no use of y/n word count: 930

The French Riviera really was as beautiful as everyone said. You'd gotten to experience that beauty first hand for the past few months since you moved down to Monaco with Lando. He'd moved there last year already while you were still back in London and tied down to your workplace, but after a lot of negotiations with your boss, you were finally able to work completely from home instead of having to come into the office every day.

Life was nice down here in the South of France. The sun was almost always out, it was always a nice temperature all year around and you were close to the sea. It was pretty much perfect, really, and your French was just getting better and better every day.

Last week Lando had the idea to just book you two a nice weekend getaway in a town down the coast about 30 minutes from Marseille. He didn't have a race this weekend and you two would be able to just relax as a couple after he'd been away a lot recently. To your dismay that also meant getting kicked out of bed at eight in the morning in order to hopefully avoid a bit of the traffic, tourists coming down from the north for their holidays would cause. You'd always loved the idea of road trips, but there was just one downside— you were prone to motion sickness and that was not a fun thing.

As the car sped along the motorway, winding its way through a beautiful mountain landscape, you sat in the passenger seat, your knuckles white as you clung to your seat. Your eyes were closed tightly, and your face a grimace of discomfort. Despite having taken preventative measures like focusing on a fixed point on the horizon and your breathing, you could feel the nauseating sensation of motion sickness creeping up on you like a predator about to overwhelm its prey.

"Lando," you mumbled not even halfway into the two and a half hour journey, swallowing hard. "I think... I think I'm going to be sick."

Lando glanced over at you, concern etching lines into his forehead. He knew you were prone to getting car sick on long rides, but had hoped you wouldn't today.

"Hey, it's okay," he said, his voice soothing as he gently took your hand, keeping the other one on the steering wheel. "Just take slow, deep breaths. There's a gas station in a few kilometres. I'll pull over there and you can get some fresh air, okay?"

You took his advice, focusing on the rhythm of your breathing. Then he pulled the car off the road after a few more minutes and found an empty spot to park in before turning off the engine. He reached over and placed a comforting hand on your back, rubbing gently, then dug into your travel bag on the backseat, pulling out a bottle of water and a pack of ginger chews, known to help with nausea. He handed them to you with a sympathetic smile, and you gratefully accepted, taking small sips of water and nibbling on the chews.

You sat there in silence for a while, the only sound being the chirping of the cicadas outside and the rustling of the surrounding pine trees through the windows Lando had opened so you could get some fresh air.

As color gradually returned to your face you released a soft sigh of relief. A small, grateful smile spread across your face as you turned to your boyfriend who'd been watching you with worried eyes as his thumb rubbed gentle circles into your palm. "I think I'm okay now," you murmured, you voice much steadier than before when you'd felt like an elephant was sitting on your chest.

Lando returned your smile, relief washing over him. He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before speaking up.

"Do you maybe wanna take a quick walk or should we get going again?" he asked softly, nodding towards the parking lot surrounded by trees. You shook your head no. You'd be fine.

He restarted the engine, taking extra care to drive at a slower pace this time. The car eased back onto the road, the journey resuming with a newfound calmness.

You continued to snack on the ginger chews, now realizing their effectiveness. Every now and then, you'd take small sips from the water bottle, keeping your nausea at bay. The combination of these remedies and the slower speed of the car seemed to help manage your motion sickness better.

You two continued your journey through the winding road for about another one and a half hours, the scenery outside the window calming and serene. The sun was still high in the sky, casting a warm glow on top of the mountains and the sparse trees and bushes adorning them. Tranquility enveloped the car, the only sounds being the soft tunes from the radio and Lando's gentle humming.

As you drove further, your discomfort became a distant memory. You found yourself almost relaxing, leaning back into your seat and actually kind of enjoying the scenic beauty unfolding before your eyes. This road trip, despite its minor setback, was turning out to be quite the nice trip Lando had planned.

Your boyfriend, noticing your relaxed demeanor, smiled to himself. Even with the earlier episode of sudden motion sickness, he was glad he'd planned this trip. The South of France was breathtaking, and being able to share this life with his wonderful girl was something he wouldn't trade for anything.

[mikavlcs]

Young Blood

Pairing: Gwen Stacy x gn!reader

Summary: You’re new and Gwen’s forced to show you around. It doesn’t end up being as tedious as she was expecting.

Warnings: mild astv spoilers, my writing lol

Word count: 1.6k

Notes: listen, i know this will get like 20 notes, but i needed to do this okay. i love her sm. this also my first time writing anything marvel related...as i’m sure you can tell.

Masterlist

Gwen dug the heels of her palms into her eyes as she walked up the wall, unsuccessfully fighting off another exasperated groan.

She shouldn’t have been doing this. She should be off in another dimension fixing anomalies and fighting bad guys, not this. Anyone could greet new recruits, so why Miguel insisted on making her do it was an eternal mystery. She was honestly starting to think that he just liked annoying her.

Jessica offered her a sympathetic smile when delivering the news, but Gwen didn’t want sympathy, she wanted a mission.

Still, she followed orders, knowing that disobeying would only put her further down the mission list. Plus, with Pavitr and Hobie busy, what else was there to do?

She stepped up to the entrance and her eyes found you immediately. You were easy to spot. All newbies were. They all had the same awe-struck reaction to the compound which Gwen couldn’t blame them for, considering she had been there once herself.

Your mask was off, hanging limp in your hand while your eyes roamed the vast space with a wonder she felt only months prior. It brought a smile to her face.

“Insane right?” she prompted gently as she approached, drawing your eyes to her. “I had the same reaction. It’s not every day you get to see so many spider-people in one place.”

“I didn’t know there was this many. I thought I was the only one,” you admitted, astonishment clear in your voice.

Gwen chuckled. She knew the feeling well. “We all did, but there’s more of us than you can imagine.” She stuck out a hand. “I’m Gwen, by the way. I’m your appointed tour guide.”

You took her hand, gave it a firm shake. “I know, Jessica told me. Nice to meet you, Gwen.”

“Likewise. What Earth are you from?”

“Uh,” you trailed off briefly, tapping at your watch. “Earth-69.”

A snort escaped her before she could stop it. You looked up at her, wide-eyed, while she fought to contain herself.

“I’m sorry, I’m—it’s nothing. I’m actually from Earth-65. Never met anyone from the same sector.”

Brows raised, you remarked, “Well, there’s a first time for everything, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.” She took a look at your suit and, seeing the abundance of white expertly weaved in with the mixture of red and black, couldn’t help asking, “So, why white? Most of us use some combination of red and blue. Besides me, obviously.”

“I want my enemies to see me coming,” you replied, sending her a slightly off-kilter grin that made her unsure whether you were joking. She smirked.

“Foreboding. I like it.” She turned, signaling you to follow. “Now, come on. As you can see, we have a lot of ground to cover, and Miguel will want to brief you as soon as possible.”

You obeyed, following her as she led you around headquarters, showing you the ins and outs of every winding, overlapping corridor while informing you of the group’s purpose. Well, as much as she could without ruining Miguel’s big presentation.  

About a third of the way in, she said, “I should probably start introducing you to the others.” Gwen looked around, spotting a few vaguely recognizable masked faces. She pointed to one with a large white spider on his chest.

“That’s Peter.”

He gave you a polite salute which you returned, giving him a compliment about his suit as well. A familiar plastic Lego figure came ambling down the way. Gwen pointed to him.

“That’s Peter.”

The Lego twisted his hooked handpiece in your direction. You gave him a startled wave in response, looking thoroughly perplexed. Next, a car came cruising along and she pointed at it.

“That’s also Peter.”

The car honked as it sped by. You didn’t even react this time. Up ahead, Gwen spotted Ben, sitting off to the side with his tightly curled up to his chest. She sighed, halfheartedly pointed in his direction.

“That’s—”

“—let me guess, Peter?” you cut in, shooting her an unimpressed look.

She laughed. “No, that’s Ben.”

You let out a quiet oh and gave him a concerned look. Ben roused at the sound of his name, looking at the both of you with an absolutely pitiful expression.

“I would greet you guys, but I’m in the middle of a very traumatic flashback,” he moaned, overblown sorrow tinging his words.

Your eyebrows knitted together, and you started to say something, but Gwen pushed you forward by your shoulders, throwing a bye, Ben! over her shoulder. “Trust me, it isn’t worth it,” she mumbled at the confused look you gave her.

She continued guiding you by your shoulders, ignoring the odd looks from passing spiders, until you stopped short suddenly, making her crash into your back.

You were frozen, mouth agape, and eyes locked on something across the way. “Is that a t-rex?”

Following your gaze, Gwen beamed and nodded. “Yep. That’s Spider-Rex.” You gaped.

“Hey Pter!” she yelled with a wave. A ground-shaking roar echoed through the compound in response, scaring more than a few spiders and making Gwen chuckle. After a few more moments of gawking, you unfroze and continued following her, though your eyes still trailed the dinosaur in the distance.

The rest of the tour went without a hitch, the only small stops being a break to pet Spider-Cat and a short introduction to Margo. Soon enough, she was leading you down the long, dark hall to Miguel’s sanctuary.

Miguel, seemingly sensing your guys’ incoming presence, activated his platform and let it start making its way down. Very, very slowly. He wasn’t even halfway down by the time you guys made it into the heart of his den. Gwen barely resisted facepalming. He did this with every newbie, and it got more embarrassing each time. She leaned over to you, suppressing a grimace at the bewildered look on your face.

“I know, it’s slow. He just really likes his dramatic entrances,” she explained away, watching Miguel’s platform descend from above ever so slowly.

You both stood there for minutes, until finally, the platform stopped, and Miguel turned to peer down on you with a look that would have made Gwen cower a few months ago, but now just made her want to heave a deep sigh.

“Miguel, this is the new recruit from Earth-69,” she announced, voice rising at the end with the remnants of a poorly contained laugh. You didn’t seem to catch it, but Miguel did. He gave her a look that told her to knock it off and she did. Hesitantly.

He stepped off the platform and approached, eyes solely on you. “I see. Welcome. We’re glad to have you, but unfortunately, your briefing will have to wait as something has come up.” He turned his gaze to Gwen then, and her posture straightened as she realized what he was about to say.

“Gwen, I’ve got a mission for you.”

“Yes! Finally,” Gwen replied. But he was giving her that look. Her excitement wavered, realization setting in. “Please, don’t say tha—”

“You’ll be needing a partner for this mission.”

Gwen groaned. She hated partner missions. Even when she got the opportunity to pair up with people she liked, she much preferred to go solo. She just worked better alone—always had and always would. She tried to plead with Miguel, “C’mon, Miguel, you know I’m—"

“This is non-negotiable, Gwen,” he cut her off with that annoyingly authoritative tone that she couldn’t stand. “Pick a partner and get going ASAP. I want this done as quickly as possible.”

He walked off then, likely to find Jessica, leaving Gwen to sulk. And she did for about thirty seconds before pulling herself together. When Miguel wanted something done, it needed to get done. She could sulk more later. For now, she shifted her focus to finding an apt partner.

Her go-to’s were off the table. Pavitr was off on his own solo mission and Hobie was off doing lord knew what. Probably something anarchy related. She would have to find someone else.

Jessica was always busy these days, and she was taking less and less missions as her due date neared anyway, so she was off the table. She wasn’t asking Ben because she valued her remaining sanity. Peter B was an option, but he’d want to bring his baby along and Gwen was not equipped to deal with that. But maybe Web-Slinger would work. Or one of the various Peters. Or…maybe someone new.

Her eyes drifted over to you, still at her side despite the tour being technically over. She sized you up, once, twice, then one more time for good measure. You could work, but she knew nothing about how you operated in the field. The entire time, you watched her with a raised brow, unafraid of her judgment.

She crossed her arms, leveled you with a careful look. “On a scale from 1-10, how would you rate your combat ability?”

“10/10, but I may be a bit biased,” you responded immediately, still maintaining eye contact.

Her chin jerked up, eyes narrowing. “Confident, okay. How about web-slinging ability?”

“9.5/10.”

“9.5?”

“I might’ve hit a bird last time,” you said with a small grimace, “but everything else was flawless. Promise.”

That was good enough for Gwen. She uncrossed her arms and stepped closer, giving you a sly smile.

“Well then, newbie, how would you like to go on your first mission?”

You were pulling on your mask before she could even finish, red fabric veiling your wide smirk. “Let’s do it.”

With a nod, she inputted the coordinates Miguel sent her and watched as a corresponding portal spawned with a brilliant burst of light and color. The sight never got old, no matter how many times she saw it. You stepped up to her side and she sent you a sideways glance, a smile creeping onto her face.

Partner missions sucked, but she had a feeling this one wouldn’t be so bad.

[boyfridged]

thank you, @tasonpjodd for your generous donations to spotlighted campaigns! if anyone would like to help out, please check my list. i am currently taking prompts for ficlets in exchange for proof of support of palestinians' fundraisers. details here. below -- the requested ficlet: dick and jason reconnecting after jason's return. once again -- thank you, dear! enjoy.

&you need a shovel (1435 words, sketch*)

When Bruce told him, months before: “I’m sure. The body wasn’t there,” Dick thought: bullshit. That was bullshit, and Bruce probably dug up his little brother’s grave for nothing, and… And perhaps it was reasonable. The only way to know for sure. 

“You’re not going to do it,” Donna told him, her voice muffled. 

And he was not going to. 

A flock of birds passed somewhere above, their caws so loud he could hear the cry with the doors closed, through the glass. 

“Where even are you?” Her voice cracked on the line again. 

“In a car,” he replied, impassive. A car. Nothing like the nice models he used to drive and show off. Not even a license plate permanently attached.

“Going to?” 

He looked out of the window, at the empty road, emptier, blackened acres surrounding it, and finally, at the distant city skyline. Then, he looked at the map plastered on his windshield and the pastel blue notes attached to it, thinking.

“Dick. Where are you staying? I thought you were with Bruce.”

Not far. The dots and connecting them lines sketched with a dark marker concentrated in the heart of Ocean County, New Jersey. Whatever they say about Rome.

“Or are you still looking for him?”

“No.” Because about that, she was right. Jason would come, if he wanted. He had to know he could, so– “It’s just a murder case.” Or five. 

She stayed silent for a split second, but with Blüdhaven razed to the ground, he could easily predict where the conversation was going. Everyone asked the same questions, wearing the same sympathetic face of grief. No one knew his.

“I have to go.”

“Dick–”

He hung up. There was nothing to say about Blüdhaven.

***

And then there is Gotham. With his childhood and family that can be traced back there like a murder trail. 

The case he’s been studying is colourless, no spandex in sight, but if it turns out to be more, he will not be surprised. Still, for now, he finds himself enjoying the bare bones detective work, something he also liked in his time- his time undercover with BPD. 

The victims do not exactly fit one profile. Four of them are rich, yes, the old money kind. That got the local cops working. The timeline Dick has written down, leaning over the console, reviews that in detail. They were first declared missing, with speed that only cash of their families could buy. Then, body parts appeared in Gotham dumpsters, as if strategically. A stomach and a hand. A loose head and a pair of lungs. 

Weeks of prodding lead to the next piece of jigsaw as if it was destined to fall into a missing spot in a finite formula, still loose but undoubtedly in place. The man; the crime; the date, aligning flawlessly. 

So Dick arrives at the driveway of Lehman’s off-city property, west of Bristol, not entirely sure what he’s expecting, a scenario after scenario pushing at him like a headache. There was already a suspicion growing at the back of his mind, or his heart, a hope, a wrong word given the circumstances– 

So perhaps the image that haunted both his dreams and waking hours. A boy, still just a boy, his frame unsteady, flickering on a rattling train, a boy on a trapeze, a boy calling him from the other side of the road only to disappear after a blink, a boy at his kitchen table, a boy in the coffin, more charcoal ash than a boy, or still a flame that goes out too quickly. A boy falling, cascades of dazzling colours and fingers slipping out of his own. 

He presses the brakes at the open gate. The tyres stagger on the cobblestone. 

This is not a watercolour of Dick’s grieving mind,  but a young man, shielding his bare eyes from the lights of the car, his hand fixated on a gun. 

For a second, Dick forgets how to breathe. His knuckles turn unnaturally pale on the wheel. He has to meet his own, bloodshot eyes in the rearview to confirm that they are open at all; that what he is seeing is real.

He gets out, willing himself to check the surroundings, and there it is, a shape of a victim on the ground, a red mess of limbs, right behind Jay. Jay, no mask on his face and posture so rigid that Dick takes his next step almost in slow motion, as if approaching a startled animal. 

“That’s– you,” Jay says and the initial shock in his voice, raspy, with a single odd note of youth, slips into chagrin that Dick would rather pretend to be the sustained surprise. 

“That’s me,” He confirms, and he too sounds almost foreign to himself. The casualness of it all is  inappropriate. 

He sticks his hands in his pockets. 

Jason’s hand remains close to the gun, the only visible weapon on him. Other than that- nothing. He’s wearing a black sweater, out of all things, a bit rough, a striped scarf, no gloves, jeans. He is not dressed for the weather, and definitely not for the activity. 

There is last hoarfrost on the already greening grass. Maybe this is why Jason pulls the sleeves over his hands, ignoring the newly acquired stains. 

“Where’s your–”

“I’m in the middle of something, so unless–” Jason begins at the same time. It’s acidic, or an attempt at. A challenge. 

“Unless what?” He questions, still standing there like a directionless pole. Unless he is there to stop him, maybe? 

Mere months ago, Dick stood and watched a man get shot, static. 

It is too late to stop anything. 

Lehman is very much dead. Not only is he dead, but in an interrupted process of being dismembered. Blood is soaking into the ground where a leg lies, and it is grotesquely bright, the type of brightness only a bone on display can seem to emit. 

And Jason’s expression is indescribable, just for a moment, carefully blank. Then he kneels next to the body, takes a loud breath in and closes his eyes. As if looking at Dick causes him great pain. Or– he could be praying, Dick thinks, hysterically, but there’s a frown building at Jason’s forehead to disprove this theory. His eyelids snap back open quickly enough too, and he reaches for the saw. He finds the slit of the injury on the body’s arm and pushes through with ferocious expertise that should not be so impressive. 

There is a bit of an uncomfortable slide to it under pressure. Dick does not think. He comes up and stomps on the loosely opened hand to stabilise the corpse. It’s firm under his boot. 

“This is a mess.” Dick says, like this is a thing to focus on- But his little brother has never liked messes. 

Jason’s eyes flicker to the side, at a gasoline tank he must have brought with, like it’s an ever-reliable answer. 

“I don’t… I don’t get what you’re doing,” Dick adds, despite the understanding dawning on him. 

“You don’t even know what you’re doing.” 

“Excuse me— I’ll let you know,” He replies, his voice still distant, just a hint of humour ringing out excruciatingly, too close to conscience, “I have worked plenty cases like this.” Usually arresting the offender, not helping them. The irony is not lost on him. “And it will be hard to smoulder it enough. Better bury him.” 

The grit of the saw comes to a momentary stop, the idea taken into consideration.

“Why? You got a shovel?” Jason mocks.

“I do.” 

There is a moment of silence. Dick would be too ashamed to admit that momentarily, he feels something like a shadow of satisfaction– or confidence, reinstilled. Yet, the tick of vanity cannot last in the face of vulnerability embodied. 

Jason’s wide grey eyes look up at him, properly for the first time, a trace of apprehension not disguised. 

“Where’s your… Car? Bike?” Dick asks, which earns him no response but another dubious look.

The thought that Jason walked eighty minutes on foot, just to slaughter this guy– It is becoming realistic. 

“Right.”

There’s a crumpled pile of black trash bags on the curb. Dick opens one, and gestures around.

“How about we- pack it up. And drive up into the forest.” 

Everything in Jay’s pose – the stubborn silence, how he bites at his lips, the tension of his jaw and arms, promises rejection. 

But when Dick extends a hand, he takes it at once. 

His brother’s- Dick’s now too, their hands, slide, sticky and red. And Dick helps Jason up.

*this ficlet will see a full-length version sometime this year, under the same title. for now -- thank you for reading. support gaza.

[dumpsterfire-daydreams]

TW: Rape, TW: Sexual Assault, TW: Knife play, TW: Groping, TW: Drugging, TW: Kidnapping, TW: Forced Sex/Orgasm

This is the darkest chapter in this story by far. So, if any of the above are not your cup of tea, please don't read this chapter. I truly don't want to trigger anyone.

Ghost POV:

As he crept through the thick foliage of the forest, Ghost chuckled at how easy this was proving to be. It was almost as if she had left a trail of flashing signs in her wake, each one blaring "I went this way! Come get me!". Her tiny little footprints stood out so clearly against the fallen branches and leaves. And she had disturbed enough tall grass to make her trajectory crystal clear.

Ghost crouched as he approached a fallen tree limb, carefully inspecting the story its markings retold. A short streak of shredded leaves crested over its rounded edge. Two large indentations dug into the earth immediately beyond it. And a messy pile of scattered leaves and dirt was right just ahead, bearing a print that resembled an outstretched hand.

She'd tripped and fallen here. So focused on what could be behind her that she neglected to look ahead. Ghost could almost taste her fear lingering in the air. The sweat on her skin as she pushed herself to exhaustion. She was wearing herself out. Good.

Reader POV:

The forest was so dark, you had to squint to see anything at all. It took a while for your eyes to begin to adjust, and you had plenty of cuts and scrapes to prove it. But once they had, you continued your frantic sprint through the seemingly endless forest.

You were never much of an outdoors person. The idea of voluntarily abandoning the comfort and convenience of home was the opposite to fun in your mind. So, when your parents had once tried to talk you into doing a wilderness survival youth camp, you'd shot them down without a thought. Little did you know, years later, you'd be kicking yourself for not jumping at the chance. Knowing how to find your way would have been really useful at the present moment.

Regardless, you pressed on. Any direction was fine by you as long as it was away from Ghost. He was probably already on the move by now, tracking you like a nightmarish hunter. So you tried to be both as fast and stealthy as possible.

It didn't take long before your legs began to tire, though. You'd maintained a near full sprint from the second you'd gotten out of his car. But you still couldn't see anything but trees as far as you could see.

As frustration set in, you decided it was time to change strategy and switch from escaping to hiding. Slowing to a stop, you scanned your surroundings in search of any cover whatsoever. The forest had gone quiet. Too quiet. So, wherever you decided to hide, you needed to find it fast.

Off to your right, there was a small cluster of bushes. Their leaves looked thick enough to conceal your form just enough in the darkness. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough. If you could just hang on until he wandered past you in his search, maybe you could double back and steal the jeep. Mind made up, you crept over towards your chosen hiding spot.

Out of nowhere, the steady silence was broken by the sound of a dislodged pebble bouncing off a nearby tree. You dropped to a low crouch, head whipping in the sound's direction. You couldn’t see anything, but that didn't mean he wasn't out there somewhere. It wasn’t until a full minute had passed without another sound that you moved again. You just had to get to those bushes.

Ghost POV:

Just as he'd anticipated, Ghost caught up with her in not much time at all. In her panic, she'd unknowingly zigzagged her way all over the place and likely believed she'd gotten much farther than she actually had. He moved like his namesake, floating through the darkness like a silent and deadly specter. The thought of having her to himself was plenty to speed him along his way. But the adrenaline rush of the hunt made it that much more exhilarating. When he finally spotted her, she was hunched over in a small clearing. He knelt into the brush and watched as she stood there, heaving for breath and clearly unsure of what to do next. Eyes now locked on his target, he switched his night vision goggles into thermal mode. He wanted details. Her silhouette came through in a bright collage of reds and oranges. Her body temp was high. And her respiratory and heart rates had spiked too. The numbers don't lie. She was nice and scared, as she should be.

After silently spectating for a bit, Ghost noticed her heart rate slow ever so slightly as she began moving towards a small clump of bushes. So she'd found a hiding spot. He smirked and grabbed a small rock. Without making a sound, he sent it flying through the air until it clattered against a tree behind her. The way she dove for cover and whipped her head around was quite entertaining. And just like that, her pulse spiked right back up again.

"Can't have you getting too relaxed, now can we?" Ghost mused, grabbing another rock. He patiently waited until she moved again. And as soon as she did, he took aim at a tree in an entirely different direction than the first and let it fly.

Reader POV:

Your head was on a swivel now as you fought the impending panic. Every time you thought the coast was clear, you'd hear something else. And every sound was coming from different directions! It couldn't be him. There's no way he could've caught you that quickly after such a head start!

But despite your logic, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was somewhere just beyond your field of view. Abandoning the thought of hiding, you jumped to your feet and took off running all over again. But you had barely taken your second stride when something large and heavy slammed against your back.

A pair of muscled arms locked around your waist as your legs were roughly kicked out from beneath you. You landed on your knees, immediately clawing at the air behind you to grab any part of him that you could reach.

"No!" The word came out of you in a shrill cry of desperation. It was blood curdling. It was raw. "Ghost, please!"

Those words were all you could produce. You kicked and screamed as he wrestled you to the ground, forcing your face into the dirt.

"Don't be a sore loser now," Ghost chuckled, flipping you onto your back and forcing his body between your legs. "You had your chance. You lost. Game over."

You squirmed, arms flailing in a feeble attempt to hit him. But he was quick to respond, grabbing them both at the wrist and pinning them above your head. He effortlessly held them in place with one hand as he sat back, enjoying your helpless state below him.

"Now," he said, roughly shoving your dress up to your waist. "Let's see what I've won."

A muffled sob escaped your lips as the cool night air washed over your bare lower half. You could practically feel the heat of his gaze as his eyes flitted down to where your thighs met. Through his mask, he grabbed the fabric of his glove and slipped it off before tossing it away. Maintaining steady eye contact, he slipped his hand between your legs. His skin felt cold against your skin as he prodded at your exposed sex.

"Well, well, well," he murmured, running the back of his knuckles over your sensitive folds. "Look who's already nice and wet for me. Does König know what a dirty girl you really are?"

You snarled with fear and fury, twisting your legs to kick him. But you soon found yourself arching your back with a gasped whimper as his fingers plunged into your depths without warning. He met your eyes unflinchingly, almost defiantly, determined not to miss even the smallest detail of your response.

"I don't want this," you moaned, resisting the twinge of pleasure you felt as his fingers repeatedly curled inside you.

"You really think you can lie to me right now?" He smirked, lifting his thumb to torment your clit as his fingers began thrusting into you. "Your greedy little cunt was practically dripping before I'd even touched you. No, you want this. You want me to hurt you. And I'm gonna hurt you so good, princess."

You couldn’t fight him. And you couldn't stop your body from translating his heated assault into the beginnings of arousal. All you could do was tremble at his touch as his fingers drove into the most sensitive places with deadly precision. And every moan his actions produced only seemed to spur him on.

As his fingers continued pushing in and out of your core, he released your wrists and produced a small knife. You immediately tried and failed to inch yourself away from him, fearing he would use it to maim or even kill. But you froze as he leaned forward and pressed the blade against your throat. Never in your life had you been so still, afraid even the slightest breath would cause the blade to slip below the surface of your skin.

Ghost pushed the blade down with measured pressure, stopping just after a drop of blood welled up at the knife's edge. But he didn't press any further. Instead, he trailed the knife down the length of your body. The blade cut through the front of your dress like butter, but Ghost still made sure to nick your skin every now and then along the way. And you didn't need clarification on his unspoken threat. He could kill you a million ways without remorse or hesitation. It wouldn't take much.

Just as quickly as it had appeared, the knife vanished back into his vest as he returned his full attention to forcing his fingers as deep into your body as they could go. He spread them, experimentally stretching you out. But he let out a hissed moan as your body instinctively resisted, clenching tightly around his fingers.

"Bloody hell, you're tight. I bet he liked that didn't he?"

Finally, he withdrew his hand and forced you to watch as he admired the way the moonlight made your wetness glisten on his skin. Lifting the bottom of his mask, he took his time tasting you.

"And so sweet, too. But don't worry, he won't be on your mind much longer."

Your breath picked up as he unfastened his belt, easing it out of its loops before unzipping his pants. As he eased his clothing down his thighs, his stiffened manhood came free from its confinement and bounced heavily against your inner thigh. And the sight terrified you. Though he was a similar length to König, it was the girth of his sex that frightened you. If you thought König was a tight fit, there was no way Ghost could cram all of that inside you without significant pain.

You whimpered, shaking your head as you tried to press your thighs together. But the rejection only earned a growl of warning from Ghost as he forced them open even wider. He raised his hips, rubbing the firm head of his cock against your delicate lips and moaning as your wetness coated him liberally.

"Do you know long I've waited for this, princess?" He panted, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight. "How long I had to stand back and watch his hands on you, just waiting for a chance to do this to you?"

"Ghost, please don't do this," you pleaded, a startled gasp of pain quickly following as he began to push against your entrance. "It's not going to fit!"

"From where I'm standing," he said, voice gone rough with arousal. "It'll fit just fine."

With a firm and brutal thrust, Ghost snapped his hips forward and impaled you on his length. It hurt. It hurt a lot. And the searing pain carried on as you screamed for him to stop. But he just kept going, developing a steady pace as he forced your body to adjust to the intrusion faster than it was able. As you writhed in pain at the onslaught, Ghost gave no indication that he would slow down.

"Go ahead and scream," he taunted with a curt laugh before groaning as your walls constricted around him as if to push him out. "No one's gonna hear you, princess. There's no one out here for miles. Just you and me. Just like it should have been from the start."

Every movement of his hips sent white hot pain rippling through your body. Your back stung as stray pine needles embedded themselves deeper into your skin with each thrust. You had nothing left to convince him and no way to make him stop. All you could do was lie there and grit your teeth through the pain, hoping that your tearful pleas would trigger whatever meager scrap of mercy he had in him. But as he increased the brutal pace, you were certain he had none whatsoever. You screwed your eyes shut, trying to block out reality. Trying to dull the pain. Trying to stop feeling anything at all as the pain began to brush dangerously close to pleasure. But his hand closed around your throat, forcing you to face him as he clicked his tongue in disapproval.

"Eyes on me. I want you to know exactly who made you feel this good. I wanna pound every last memory of him out of your system until all that's left is me."

The very next thrust was all pleasure as his length made solid impact with your cervix. You couldn't stop the needy moan it produced. He knew exactly what he was doing. The choking, the roughness, all of it. You couldn't stop it from somehow feeling good. And the thought that such cruel treatment made you feel even the smallest bit of pleasure was beginning to break you. You wanted him to stop. You were still begging him to stop! But your body was now begging for the exact opposite. And you could tell from the cocky look in his eyes that he was well aware of that fact.

"Is someone getting close?"

"No," you gasped, despite the incessant moans you couldn't hold back. You looked away with a choked sob. "Oh my god! Oh fuck!"

He tightened his grip on your neck, leaning down to moan in your ear. "I think you're lying."

The punishing pace began to steadily increase as he pounded you into the forest floor with reckless abandon. With his thumb, he pressed down on the precise spot the knife had cut you and groaned as you hissed in pain. A steady string of curses rasped against your ear as he chased his own impending climax. And despite your best efforts, your own wasn't far behind. Short spasms tore through your inner walls, giving Ghost delicious tastes of what was soon to come as he grunted with pleasure.

"Tell me," he growled, panting against your shoulder. His voice was growing strained and desperate as his pace rapidly began to fall out of rhythm. "Tell me you've never been fucked this good in your life. Tell me I'm better. Tell me who owns this dirty little cunt."

You let out a strangled moan, feeling your body begin to tremble as your orgasm approached. But he wasn't satisfied. That wasn't what he wanted. He released your throat, and you gasped for breath as his hand seized your chin, enveloping your jawline nearly from ear to ear. His eyes were wild and the slightest bit unhinged as he pressed his face against yours.

"I wanna hear you say it! Tell me who owns you. Fucking say it!"

You sobbed as the unwanted pleasure overwhelmed you. You were in no place to resist him. You had no choice but to give him what he wanted if you wanted to survive.

Humiliated and afraid, tears streamed down your face as you spoke the words he demanded to hear, and your climax overtook you. "You do!"

His body stiffened above you as he clutched your hips, throwing his head back with a guttural cry as your walls spasmed around his length. And as your core increased in tightness, you felt him twitch deep inside you as the warmth of his orgasm was forced even deeper with each fading thrust.

Once he was finally spent, he pulled out. His chest heaved as he savored the rush of endorphins coursing through him, admiring his handiwork as he did. He liked what he saw. The tears that poured down your cheeks, the bruises that marked your body, the pale liquid seeping out of your abused sex. He liked all of it.

As for you, you couldn't move. Your body felt numb. You felt detached from reality, and you didn't want to ever come back to it. So you laid there, sprawled out where he'd left you. Dissociated and happy to remain so. Because anything else would be too painful to bear. You didn't even fight when you felt the familiar prick of a needle against your neck. And as the darkness closed in, you welcomed it. You hoped it would never lift. You hoped you'd never again have to hear the words Ghost was murmuring into your ear.

"Good girl."

I know this story includes some pretty dark themes. But at the end of the day, I care more about the well-being of my readers than I do for hits or kudos. Period. I never want my writing to conjure up emotions or feelings that negatively impact you beyond the story. This story can be dark and uncomfortable at times. But it is always intended strictly for fun and fantasy. If at any point along the way it stops being a pleasurable experience, please please close this page and walk away. My stories are never worth your well-being, loves.