#The first ten pull was so shit I was at the edge of my seat when I pulled agsin

[ephemii]

MY BABIES THEY CAME HOME HIIII JACKK HIII RUGGIE CAME HOME TWICE THEY LOVE ME ISTG🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

[rafescvntyclubgf]

⭐ Republished ⭐

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 - 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 𝐨𝐟 𝟑

𝟿.𝟼𝙺 𝚃𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝

3.8k

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸�� 𝓓𝓝𝓘

𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚟𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚝!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚂𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

📖 Rafe is your boyfriend… You just don’t know it yet.

⚠️ warnings contain spoliers ⚠️

swearing, Stalking, pet names, degradation, namecalling, public masturbation, dark!rafe, mean!rafe, perv!rafe, mentions of cum play, mentions of unprotected P in V, ownership kink, mentions of rough oral, violence, threats, blackmail, fighting, blood, gore, mentions of sextortion, Rafe sneaks into the reader’s room, panty stealing, panty sniffing, takes pictures of the reader’s private images, cum tasting, oral male receiving, oral female receiving, twist dark reader, mutual obsession, rough oral, gagging, kissing, reader doesn’t ask rafe if he wants to go further than oral but he does and she starts anyway, messy sex, squirting, praise, drinking, smoking, mentions of drug use

✨ “Just do it, baby girl,” I moan, watching as she pinches her top button. I grab mine as well, tugging it open with her. I hiss at the sensation of my rock-hard cock in my hand, feeling some relief. This is the first time I’ve touched myself all day. I was edging myself as I studied her Instagram and TikTok page, saving my favorites to my phone. When I saw her in the parking lot, I swear I could have cum untouched. ✨

Rafe’s POV:

“So, class. What does its structure contribute to the poem “Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night?” The professor drones on, sliding her reading glasses down her nose as she looks out onto the lecture hall. I shrink in my seat slightly, along with the other boys, doing my best to avoid her gaze.

Required reading, my ass. Did she honestly expect us to read this shit on a Thursday night? Barely drug my ass outta bed for class. Thank fuckin’ god. I relax in my seat as one of the front-row nerds saves the basic population who doesn’t give a fuck.

“Repetition. The poet used it to stress his key theme for his readers.”

I nod, scribbling a little line of nothingness on my paper, keeping up with the facade. That shit went in one ear and out the next. “Hey, Cameron.” My frat brother elbows me on the side. “You good for the kegs?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. What else can daddy get you?” I sneer as I roll my eyes at Billy, who laughs and scoffs. “I get paid back first, plus 10%. Get me a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle; I ain’t drinkin’ Coors, and I ain’t pickin’ that shit up either.”

“Thanks, daddy,” he responds in a breathy voice, snatching the wad of cash off my hands. “We need ten kegs between the Deltas and Phi Mu… You good for that-”

“Fuck you, ‘Am I good for that’?” I cut him short through a breathy laugh. “You’re holdin’ the cash in your hands, bitch. Stop askin’. Add an extra 5% for questionin’ me-”

“Rafe.” My stomach sinks as my professor’s eyes zero in on mine. “Am I interrupting something?” The old bird cocks an eyebrow, her annoyance visible, matching my own.

“No,” I answer simply, crossing my arms across my chest and relaxing at my desk.

“Splendid. I assume you know the answer then. Correct?” She challenges me, trying to catch me off guard. A smirk pulls on her lips as she does just that. Cunt.

“I agree.”

“The key insight about death in the poem is, ‘I agree’?” She belittles. I stare at her blankly, blinking a few times to let her know she’s wasting her time. She’s not gettin’ shit out of me. I’ve got an A in this class, bitch. What’re you gonna do about it?

She chuckles weakly, shaking her head at my resistance. “Am I wrong, ma’am? I have a bit of conversational anxiety… If you’d like to repeat the question, I’d love to try again,” I ask through a shit-eating smirk, letting my sarcasm drip all the way through, irritating her even more.

“Anyone else?” She invites in a shrill voice as she dismisses me, looking around the room to find another. Some of my frat brothers snicker in the back, making the professor’s features even more rigid. “Miss. Y/n?” Her demeanor changes instantly, shaking off my defiance, moving on to another one of her perfect pets.

Who’s that?

Holy shit. I swallow hard, feeling my mouth dry up as I see her. She twiddles her fluffy pink pen, acknowledging the teacher with a smile. Y/n? Jesus fuckin’ Christ. How have I never seen her before? I watch as a football player shuffles down the row of the lecture hall. My question, answered in a moment as his broad shoulders cut off my line of sight. No. I stretch back, cranking my neck to get her in my sights again.

“The key insight’s that death should be fought against, even though it is inevitable.” Her beautiful voice fills the lecture hall like a song. The teacher smiles at her again, praising y/n for her correct answer. Y/n grins and nods, averting her eyes as she catches the room’s focus. Her cheeks blush the prettiest shade of pink, matching her glossy lips.

Those lips… I lick my own, thinking about the way they would look wrapped around my cock, drool running down her chin as she deepthroats my dick. I’d grip that little ponytail like a handlebar, using her mouth like a toy. I chuckle at myself, still surprised that my mind went there almost instantly, but I know myself too well. I am who I am.

Y/n looks so goddamn innocent… Not for long. She’s a slut for praise. I can tell. I can work with that.

My eyes work lower, following the curve of her cleavage in her low-cut shirt. Fuck, I can’t wait to get her on top; watch ‘em bounce in my face. I’m gonna cum all over her perfect rack. Tiddie fuck her while she cries for daddy’s dick. Smear that shit- “Earth to Rafe?” I grit my teeth as I’m torn from my fantasy. “Buddy, you good?” Billy chuckles, his voice taunting as he follows my focus to her. “Mmm… Y/n,” he sighs blissfully. “So fuckin’ hot, bro. She’s a Phi Mu girl.”

“No shit?”

“Mhmm… Transferred from LSU. Smart, funny, sexy… But she’s mine, buddy. Aight? Been layin’ down groundwork all semester.” He elbows me playfully, chuckling to himself, actually believing his own words.

“All semester, and you haven’t made a move?” I spit, eyes rolling in his direction. This whole conversation is laughable. Has he been sitting on this all semester? Really? She was mine the second I looked at her, buddy. You’re done.

“Long game,” he defends himself.

“Long game?” I scoff. “Doesn’t sound like you got any game at all...”

“Hey. Fuck off… I know she wants me. Her bedroom faces mine and she doesn’t even close the curtains when she changes anymore; she texts me all the time. See?” He gloats as he thumbs through his phone. I don’t even bother myself with the semantics. Why the fuck does that shit matter? What’s he gettin’ at? “I’m gonna help ‘em after class. They have some car wash fundraiser downtown.”

Is that so? “I like the sound of that,” I smile, feeling my cock growing stiff in my jeans at the thought of seeing her in next to nothing, wet and soapy no less.

“You can’t just take her from me, Rafe,” Billy mutters in annoyance. A laugh rumbles in my chest as I take in his empty words. “I’m not fuckin’ around. She’s mine.”

My head turns slowly in his direction as he bends in mine. I mean, the guy’s big, but I’m bigger. He can fight, but he’s not willing to see that shit through. Billy’s got that moral compass that urges him to stop where I couldn’t care less. And he knows it.

He balls his hands up in fists at his desk, jaw tightening as he does his best to intimidate me one last time. My boy’s a bitch.

“Mine.”

I study her movements as she glides through the halls. Her hair bounces with each step brushing along her backpack, half-hiding her perfect ass. Her bum shakes a little as she walks, just a tease for me. Y/n slight skirt grazes just a few inches below her ass, leaving her bare legs on display.

I wonder what they’d look like over my shoulder… Spread wide on my bed as I devoured her perfect pussy. Damn. I bet she makes some pretty sounds. I can’t wait to hear that, to see her face, as she squirts all over my mouth and cock.

Where are you going, pretty girl?

She hooks a left, heading toward the coffee shop. I continue to follow my girl, watching as she strolls inside. Y/n walks toward the line, stalling next to the case of pastries, eyeing the bottom. Do it for daddy, baby. C’mon. There you go… She drops down, surveying the options. That goddamn ass… Does she know I’m watching? She’s gotta know. The paisley material tugs higher on her thighs, a peek of her round ass poking out the bottom.

She stands up again, taking another step, moving with the traffic flow. Y/n reaches into her purse, pulling out her phone. She smiles as she looks at the screen. Billy Hargrove 💕. I feel my heart pick up pace, my breathing quickening; rage boils inside me.

I gave him an order. This shit’s not up to him. I roll the tension out of my neck, fingers twisting into fists of my own. Where’s the fucking loyalty? She bites her bottom lip and smiles at the message, making me physically ill.

I’ve got distracted by her… Say somethin’ to make her forget about that.

“Uh, hey,” I rasp. Y/n continues to type up a little message. “Y/n?” I reach out, resting my hand on her arm.

“Oh, hi… Umm, Rafe?” She says my name, making everything stand still. I look down at the beautiful eyes and soft, pouty lips, the corners of which curl into a sweet smile.

“Uh, yeah,” I answer, trying to level my tone. “We’re in class together.”

“Yeah… She’s kind of a bitch. Right?” Y/n asks weakly as her eyes soften on mine, showing me pity like my feelings might have been hurt by that little exchange between the professor and me.

“Yeah, she sucks,” I laugh lightly, tossing my head down in fake shame. “The boys and I got a little rowdy last night. I didn’t read that shit. Did you? I mean, obviously-”

“On my way to class,” she giggles as she looks around playfully for our professor.

My mouth falls into an open smile. “Naughty girl. Coast is clear, by the way,” I rasp through a little laugh.

“Good,” Y/n sighs as she tucks some hair behind her ear.

“You’re really smart.” I praise, watching her cheeks blushing again, this time closer than before, making my heart bang in my chest.

“Thank you. Oh, umm, you’re a Delta. Right?” She asks, solidifying her answer as she eyes the embroidery on my polo.

“I am. And you’re Phi Mu?” Y/n grins as she nods in reply. “I’m headed over to your car wash after this.”

“Awesome. Yeah, Lyndsey was worried that the University might question where the money came from if we made anything off selling beer tonight.”

“A cover-up?” I smile down at her as I stuff my hands in my jeans.

“Mhmm,” she breathes. “The party’s gonna be huge. Do you think we’ll get busted?”

I chuckle at the sweet nativity of her question. “‘Course we will. Over 500 students in one place… But it’s a block party. Right? So they won’t be able to pinpoint anybody. Not usin’ the frat’s money directly. Cash. The boys are gonna pay me back as they sell cups. Untraceable.”

“Aww. That’s so nice of you,” she smiles. Her demeanor hasn’t faltered since we’ve spoken. She doesn’t seem to care about the material shit; my Breitling watch, the gold rings on my fingers. Her face didn’t light up when I dropped the fact that I would buy beer for the masses. She just said it was nice… Fuck, she’s perfect.

“I try… But, if we get busted, I’ll blame it on some beautiful Phi girl I know.”

She gasps playfully, smacking me in the chest. “You wouldn’t!” Everything tenses in my body as I fight back my arousal, covering the growing excitement in my slacks with my notebook.

Y/n looks over my shoulder, catching the girl’s eyes behind me as she tells us to move forward. “Sorry,” Y/n sighs apologetically, clearing the open space between us and the register. Y/n steps up to the counter, ordering a latte and a muffin before reaching into her purse.

“Oh, shit. No. Sorry! Let me,” I breathe as I hurry to her side. “I’ll pay for whatever she’s havin’ and a coffee for me: one cream, one sugar. Thank you.”

“Wow. Thank you, Rafe. You didn’t need to do that,” she coos.

“No problem, y/n.”

Gifts… That’s what my girl likes.

Well, shit. She’s gonna need a grand gesture. I can sneak into her room tonight. Check the essentials: dress size, music taste; the little things she enjoys.

I’ll take a look at her nightstand. How could I not? Gotta know what she uses to please herself so I know what I’m working with and what it takes to get her there. I want to know her better than she knows herself.

I follow along, trying to keep my eyes on her face, but I can’t help but roam her body. I’ve never seen anything like it, never seen anything so perfect for me. I never wanted anything so bad.

The barista walks over, setting down my coffee. I suck my teeth, regretting my choice, knowing if I got the same shit as her, I could have stayed. But I shouldn’t. “I’ll come by. Yeah? Don’t kill me… I gotta big ass truck, and she’s dirty as shit.”

“No worries,” she smiles sweetly. “I’ll see you there, Rafe. Oh, and thanks for the coffee again.” She reaches out, resting her hand on my arm.

“Of course, sweetheart.” I test a pet name, watching her smile widen. Just gorgeous.

I step away, walking towards the door. Looking over my shoulder as Y/n pulls out her phone, that same smile for Billy setting on her perfect lips.

He’s fucking dead.

I pull up toward the parking lot, falling into the line of cars; a caravan of dicks with their windows already rolled down. Fuckin’ dogs. I lean out as well, surveying the scene looking for her. Jesus fuckin’ Christ. I watch the gaggle of girls prancing around in their bikinis, excitement building as I frantically look for her.

My heart skips as I see her sporting the most clothes, donning yet the sluttiest outfit of them all. She’s an absolute fuckin’ tease in her cut-off jean shorts and white t-shirt, soaked with water. The material clings to her curves, teasing me with her little triangle top, gathered slightly, barely covering her tits.

She leans over and reaches into the bucket, pulling out a sponge before ringing out the soap. A guy rolls down the window of his Mercedes, bending his neck to watch as she washes the side. I can already tell where this is goin’. He smirks, watching her ass as she leans down, cleaning the rear fender. “Aww, sweetheart,” he soughs, “Uhh…You missed a spot.” Y/n smiles sweetly, lowering to where she was before, making me huff out an aggravated breath.

Her friend walks over with a hose, spraying down the suds that y/n left behind. Tori Clarence, a late-night Delta regular. She says something that makes Y/n laugh. Y/n claps back, teasing her sister through a wicked smile. Tori lifts the gun, spraying y/n with a stream of water, hitting her directly on her tits.

Y/n gasps as her shirt turns from milky white to practically see-through, the chilly water running down her perfect body, making her nipple hard. She panics to get warm, reaching for the bottom of her shirt. Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Holy fuck. She pulls it over her body: soft skin, perfect boobs, and wet hair. Little lines of water cascade down her bare skin, rounding her curves catching on the denim of her shorts. Her eyes fall down her body, eyeing her damp state.

“Just do it, baby girl,” I moan, watching as she pinches her top button. I grab mine as well, tugging it open with her. I hiss at the sensation of my rock-hard cock in my hand, feeling some relief. This is the first time I’ve touched myself all day. I was edging myself as I studied her Instagram and TikTok page, saving my favorites to my phone. When I saw her in the parking lot, I swear I could have cum untouched.

I start to fist my cock as she leans over the trunk, her body perfectly positioned like I’m taking her from the back. Goddamn. I’d snake my rough hand up her soft skin, following the curve of her arched spine, drifting into her hair. I’d pull it back, feeling her pussy clench around my big dick. I’d spank her, cracking her tight little ass with the palm of my hand, leaving her red and bruised. Just one of the many ways I’d mark my girl. “Fuck, Y/n,” I moan her name as heat radiates through my body.

She walks along the side of the next car, letting me see her little triangle top: light blue, thin material, the blush of nipples visible. I roll my hand over my tip, whimpering at the sensation, imagining myself hitting the back of her throat as tears pool in her pretty, innocent eyes. Y/n looking up at daddy, mascara running down her cheeks as she throats me like the slut I know she can be. I’d hold her head in my hands, using her mouth to stroke my cock. My perfect little toy…

Fuck. I got a Fleshlight with her name on it. I’m gonna use those pictures when I get home… Gotta get myself ready for tonight. She has no clue what she’s in for. What I wouldn’t give to have my cock in her hand instead of my own. I’d make her jerk me off as she pleaded for my dick deep in that pretty tight cunt. I bet she’s so goddam wet. So, so fuckin’ tight.

“I know, baby. Daddy’s gonna give you his dick. Don’t worry,” I mumble, feeling my breathing start to increase with my pleasure. I thrust into my hand, fucking up into my fist as I watch her undo the loosened side strings of her bikini, tightening it again.

I eye the sign, catching the time. 11-4 PM. Yes… They’ll be here all afternoon. Just need to make a pit stop. Grab a pair of panties. Whatever I can get. I need to taste her. Stuff ‘em in my mouth as I study my prize. My hips stutter as I feel myself about to bust, imagining just how sweet she’ll taste. I work myself quicker, taking hold of my steering wheel as I rut into my hand.

‘Rafe. Rafe. Rafe.’ I can hear it now. See my little whore creamin’ on my cock as I give it to her over and over again.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby girl. Where do you want it?”

‘Deep in my pussy… Please, baby’. She’ll whimper and beg, pleading to get stuffed full. I’m gonna brush my fingers over her swollen clit, making her gush all over my cock and thighs, wetting everything around us until I’m pumping her full of my cum.

I’ll watch it drip out of her puffy pink hole, fucking it right back in, cleaning the rest off with my tongue before spitting it in her mouth.

My perfect cumslut.

I need it drippin’ out of her for days. Watchin’ my little angel walk into class, knowing just how good I dicked her down. I’ll watch her from my seat as she cleans the little cum tear off her inner thigh, slipping it between her lips as her eyes flick to mine, sucking it clean.

No one will have her again. “She was made for me.” The thought alone has my hand faltering; jaw falling slack. My stomach sinks, eyes doubling as she looks in my direction, matching my gaze. “Fuckkk…” My eyes roll back in my skull, toes curling, head thrown to the headrest as I cum harder than I ever have. Shit. I don’t even care if she saw. If she’s any girl of mine, she’d want to see it anyway.

My dirty little whore.

I look down at my jizz covered hand and lap. Goddamnit. I clear the gap between my car and the next before ripping off my shirt and wiping away my mess. I flip my hat on, snagging my protein shaker bottle from the passenger’s seat floor as I try to disguise the real reason I’m covered head to toe in sweat. I do my best to control my breathing, still running high from my climax, hit with the post-nut clarity that she may have seen it all.

She looks happy to see me… Real happy. Y/n smiles, making my heart race again as I meet her gorgeous eyes. She greets me happily, trotting up to my truck. “How are you doin’, sweetheart?”

She dunks her hand into the soapy bucket, grabbing a sponge. “Livin’ the dream,” y/n smiles, moving closer than expected. I take in her perfume, already so familiar to me, the smell of it revving me right up again.

“Sorry. I’m a sweaty mess,” I sigh. Her gaze falls down my body, studying me with a bashful smile.

“Just got done with a workout?” She asks.

“Mhmm…” I smile and nod in reply. “Pay now? Pay later?” I invite as I snag my wallet.

“Now,” she sings. “Donation based, so whatever you’re willing to give.” I thumb through my wallet, plucking out $200.

“Rafe…” She breathes, taking it off my hands. “Are you sure? This is a little much.” Y/n looks down at the cash in her hands before meeting my eyes again.

“Positive,” I assure.

“Well, that is very nice, Rafe Cameron,” she coos. Y/n uses my last name, making my stomach drop. She wouldn’t have known my last name unless she did some digging. I didn’t give it to her; I never said anything in class before today. She must have looked me up on Instagram or Snapchat… Maybe she asked one of her sisters about me.

I fight off a wide smile as she gets started on the car. She takes her time, putting in a little more effort than the cars before. She walks to the front of the cab, leaning over, breast jiggling as she swirls and circles the sponge on the hood. She rises a little higher on her tippy toes, unable to reach the rest.

“Here you go, babe.” Her friend sets down a ladder for Y/n. She bends over once more, the angle alone making my cock rock hard again as I imagine us fucking raw. Tonight… I’ll bend her over on the bathroom counter, just like she is now, the bass of the party on the street not even loud enough to cover her cries and my moans. I’ll pound into her as the slaps of our skin fill the bathroom. Her eyes shift to mine, catching my stare. She doesn’t drop focus, keeping her eyes on me as she continues to scrub. A smirk spreads on her lips, mirroring my own.

Baby girl…

Y/n steps down from the ladder before walking to her friend, grabbing the hose off her hands; taking her job instead. She sprays down the truck, cleaning off the suds. The light breeze catches the flow of water, sending little beads of it flying, catching on her perfect skin. My mouth waters as I imagine licking the glaze of it off her skin. Fuck… I don’t think I can take this.

“Alright, Mr. Cameron. You’re all set,” she smiles as she eyes her work. I bite my lip and nod.

“Thank you, princess. See you tonight.”

I pull forward, watching her from my wing mirror as she greets the next car. Her excitement fades as she welcomes the next. Good fuckin’ girl.

Next stop, Phi Mu.

𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 2

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[etheraltides]

BITTER SWEET ᥫ᭡࿔

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x kook!thornton!Reader

Summarize: Rafe Cameron, a rising name in the business world, desperately needs a date for the wedding of the year. With a major investment deal on the line and his image at stake, he finds himself reluctantly turning to the last person he ever expected for help: Topper’s little sister, a girl he’s bickered with since he could remember.

Warning(s): cursing, Rafe being Rafe.

A/N: English isn’t my first language and I did my best to edit it all - so if something escaped me, please, let me know. Feedback is more than welcome .ᐟ

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ Chapter two: shopping for disaster ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

Rafe Cameron sat in his car outside Topper's house, the black SUV gleaming under the midday sun. He glanced at his watch for the third time in less than ten minutes, annoyance bubbling beneath the surface. Rafe had dismissed all his meetings in the afternoon and a few in the morning to make sure he'd be there in time so she wouldn't have an excuse to back away from it. He hadn't expected her to take her sweet time, but he should have known better.

Rafe should've known you weren't be civil even if you accepted it. Which, to be honest, still surprised him. He was ready to have the door slammed on his face but it seems not even you could say no to some easy money.

His phone buzzed with a text and for a moment, he thought it was saying you'd be down in five, but it was just Topper reminding him about their gym session tomorrow morning, having no idea what his best friend and sister were plotting behind his back. He sighed, shifting in his seat, the leather creaking under his movements in a way that had his annoyance growing. Why was it taking so long for you to get ready? You weren’t going for some fashion show, just to buy stuff downtown.

"Fucking bitch" Rafe muttered under his breath, hitting the horn a couple of times. He was already regretting all of this. The longer he sat there, the more the idea of bringing you as his fake girlfriend felt like a terrible decision. You'd probably jump at every chance to mess with him like you were doing now.

Just as he was about to give up and head home to, hopefully, contact a few clients, he spotted a car pulling up. He hadn't seen this one around before and by the low price, it surely wasn't your family’s. From the rearview mirror, he saw the loser push his aviators up, leaning in to kiss the girl. Rafe's stomach twisted as Topper's sister slid out, your hair tousled and a satisfied smile playing on your lips. Gross.

The sight of her closing the passenger door sent a jolt of irritation through him, mixed with something he couldn't quite identify. You looked carefree, laughing at something the guy said, and for a moment, Rafe felt like an intruder on a private scene he had no right to witness.

"Seriously?" he muttered under his breath, slamming closed the door of his truck. Were you hooking up while he was waiting in the sun?

You turned around towards the voice, your smile fading when you caught sight of him. His jaw clenched and his gaze sharp.

"Rafe?" you asked, surprise etching your features as you adjusted the strap of your bag, the casual air of confidence slipping slightly. You hadn't noticed his car when the touron parked. "You're early."

If Topper heard about this, you'd be dammed. You had told him you'd be sleeping over a friend.

"Or you're late.” he replied, crossing his arms, unable to keep the edge out of his voice. "What was that all about?"

Your brows furrowed, the glint in your eyes replaced by defensiveness. "I had... plans. Not that it's any of your business."

"Plans? Is that what you call it?" Rafe shot back, frustration bubbling to the surface as he ran a hand through his buzzcut. "You said we'd leave at noon. Did you really think it was okay to keep me waiting while you were off with some random douchebag? I fucking canceled my meetings to be here on time because you wanted to go shopping for shit!''

"As if you care, idiot." you snapped, the challenge in your voice clear. "I'm doing you a favor, remember? You have no right to question me about my plans and he wasn't a douchebag."

"Because I thought you'd have some decency!" he countered, irritation lacing his tone as he struggled to keep his voice down, walking closer to you. He points towards the car was minutes ago. "That asshole didn't even open the door for you when he dropped you off."

"Well, it was better than sit around and wait for you!" you shot back, an eyebrow raised defiantly as you wrapped your hair in a messy bun, feeling too hot from all this arguing in the sun. "It's not like you're the perfect image of being on time."

He shook his head, trying to tamp down the rising anger and something deeper that he always refused to acknowledge. "Let's just go, alright?" he muttered, opening the passenger door for you with an exaggerated sight.

You arched a brow, starring at him while he stood there with the door held open, for you. Whatever. You shook your head, clenching your jaw as you moved to the passenger seat, only to realize a second too late that you needed to change into something… well, better. The door was already slammed closed and Rafe was already on his seat.

Rafe started the engine and pulled out of the driveway. The radio was off and you had your arms crossed over your chest, looking to the window with an almost unnotiaciable pount on your lips. He didn't even give you time to shower and change. How could you go shopping in a t-shirt and jean shorts? Rude. Brute.

"Do you even have a plan for this?" you asked after a few minutes in silence, watching the front of the boutiques.

"Yeah, I figured we'd just wing it" he replied, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. Did Topper know you were hanging around with broken tourons now? If not, he'd make sure to tell him later.

"Wing it? You're kidding, right?" you laughed, but the sound had a sharp edge. A superiority that crawled under his skin. "People love to gossip at these events. If we just act like we're a couple, someone will definitely ask questions."

"Fine." he snapped, annoyance dripping in his voice as he parked the car in front of one of the many expensive stores of the island. "What do you suggest then, Mrs. Director of Fake Dates."

He hopped off the car and you rolled your eyes, grabbing your bag. You muttered a thank you as he opened the door for you, stopping in the sidewalk.

"Where did you say the wedding was again?" you furrowed your brows, not really remembering this piece of information. "Well, anyway. We need a backstory. Something believable. How about we say we've known each other since we were kids? You're my brother best friend. We had a falling out last summer and decided to give it another shot. Cliché. People eat that shit."

"Italy" He shrugged, following you as you decided which store would be first. You stopped in your tracks, looking at him with arched brows.

"Did you just say Italy as if in Europe?" you blinked, taking a deep breath as you nodded at yourself.

“How many fucking Italies do you know?” He snorted as his head turned to look at you, dumbfounded. You forced a smile, showing him the middle finger.

"Don't worry. It's just for one weekend, I told you." He held open the door of the boutique you stopped in front of, pushing you inside by the shoulder. "Let's keep the details of the story short, alright? The less people know, the better.”

“All right, Mr. Boring. Time to find me a dress that won’t embarrass you.”

Rafe followed you inside, mentally preparing himself for the impending chaos. The store was bright and stylish, filled with an array of dresses and heels. You immediately dove into the racks, pulling out pieces in vibrant colors and flowing fabrics, not sparring him a second glance.

Fuck, he could already feel his pockets hurting.

“Help me out here,” you called over your shoulder, an armful of dresses piled high. “You’ve got baby arms but let’s see if they can handle this.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes as he picked up a few dresses. “I don’t have baby arms,” he retorted, but the smirk on his face betrayed his amusement. Baby arms, really?

“Are you serious right now?” you teased, glancing back at him with a playful challenge in your eyes. “Maybe I should get you my workout plan instead of a dress.”

He shot you a glare, but the corner of his mouth twitched in a reluctant smile before he caught himself. “Just get what you need, and I’ll carry it, but don’t expect me to play your little games.”

You grinned, the mischievous light in your eyes making his heart race. Because you were infuriating. “Oh, but you’re going to play. It’s part of the deal.”

You’d already been through several rounds of dresses - each one met with a casual nod or a half-hearted comment from Rafe as he scrolled on his phone. A sleek black gown had caught his eye for a moment, and the deep red one had nearly made him lose his cool, but he managed to keep his reactions under control. He wasn’t about to give you the satisfaction of knowing just how much he was affected. You already were infuriating enough without him feeding your ego.

But then you stepped out in a blue dress. It wasn’t just any blue dress—it clung to you figure like it was made for you, the fabric flowing and shimmering as you walked. It hugged your figure perfectly, accentuating you curves in a way that made his breath hitch. The neckline dipped just enough to draw the eye, and the slit running from the edge of the dress to the top of you thigh was nothing short of provocative. Rafe felt his heart race, an unfamiliar heat burning in his veins.

He caught himself staring, quickly snapping his gaze back up to your face. Get it together, Cameron. She was annoying, infuriating, and the last person he should be looking at like that. Yet here he was, shifting in his seat, a strange heat building in his chest as you spun around and gave him a look that practically dared him to say something.

“What do you think?” you asked, your voice teasing but soft, as if you already knew the effect the dress was having on him.

He cleared his throat, trying desperately to summon one of his usual sarcastic remarks. “It’s… fine,” he managed, though his voice didn’t carry its usual edge.

You tilted your head, eyes gleaming with amusement as you starred at him through the mirror. “Fine? Just fine?” You pouted and turned around. You stepped closer, and he could feel the air between you grow thicker. “You’re not even looking.”

“I’m looking,” he muttered, his eyes betraying him again by glancing down at your legs before he moved it to his phone. He hated how easy it was for you to get under his skin. Every part of him was screaming to look away, to say something snarky and put you in her place, but for once, he couldn’t find the words. You looked too good. He hated it.

“No witty comeback? Wow, I’m impressed,” you teased, taking another step forward, the fabric of the dress shifting with your movement in a way that only drew his attention more.

He swallowed hard, doing his best to remember why you annoyed him so much. You’re frustrating. You’re a pain. He forced himself to think of every little thing you’d ever done to irritate him, but the sight of you in that dress made it nearly impossible.

“At least you’re as hot as you are annoying,” he finally muttered under his breath, shaking his head in a vain attempt to hide the fact that his pulse was racing.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly delighted with his response. A surprise chuckle escaped your lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Rafe huffed, trying to regain some composure. “Don’t get used to it,” he said, though the slight crack in his voice betrayed him.

“Too much for your business crowd?” you asked, spinning around in front of the mirror, your tone laced with amusement.

“Nah, you’ll fit right in,” he said, though his mind was screaming the opposite. Too much. Way too much. Too much for his own sake.

As you turned back to the mirror, adjusting the slit in the dress, Rafe allowed himself one more glance, feeling a mix of frustration and something else bubble up inside him. He preferred you when you were just annoying.

“I’m not carrying you out when those heels become too much,” he tossed out, trying to steer the conversation back into a safer territory.

You laughed, not missing a beat. “Don’t worry, I can handle myself. But it’s nice to know you’re concerned.”

“Concerned?” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “More like I just don’t want you slowing me down.”

But as you disappeared back into the fitting room, he leaned against the wall, running a hand through his hair in frustration. You were supposed to be his best friend’s little infuriating sister helping him with this. Yet with every passing second, it felt like you were becoming something else entirely. He couldn’t shake the way his gaze lingered on you, how he was beginning to dread the moment you’d step out of his line of sight. When did you turn human and stopped being a complete bitch?

Maybe it’s just been too long since Rafe got laid. Yeah, that was right. Between throwing his dad’s ashes and building a name for himself in the business world, Rafe barely had time to find some release. He’d fix it tonight.

Rafe was already at the counter, signing off on the receipt for all the dresses you’d tried on and decided that would be used in the weekend. His jaw clenched as he tried to ignore the numbers.

“Well, that was fun,” you quipped, an exaggerated smile as you leaned next to him, telling the lady that he’d be carrying all the bags.

Rafe shot you a look, muttering, “Fun? For you, maybe.”

“Come on, Rafe,” you teased, “one of the conditions for me agreeing to this whole thing was that you pay for everything.”

He scoffed, sliding his black card back into his wallet. “Yeah, trust me, I’m well aware. Still doesn’t make it any less painful.”

“Don’t be such a baby. We’re practically made of money,” you said, glancing at the bags filled with dresses for the wedding weekend. “Besides, you should be thanking me. You’re the one getting something out of this.”

“Yeah, I’m getting a headache.”

You rolled her eyes, nudging him playfully - a bit too hard. “You’re so dramatic.”

He offered you the fakest smile you’ve ever seen before shoving half of the bags to you.

As you stepped out into the street, Rafe hesitated. Against his better judgment, he found himself saying, “You hungry?”

You blinked, clearly surprised. “Why, Rafe Cameron, are you actually offering to buy me food after spending all that cash on dresses?”

“Don’t push it,” he grumbled, starting to walk toward a small café nearby. “But since we’re supposed to be convincing everyone at this wedding, we might as well figure out the rules over lunch.”

You followed, a surprised smirk playing on your lips. “Rules? You mean besides the one where you’re my personal ATM for the weekend?”

“Yeah, that one too,” he said dryly as they found a table outside the café, placing the bags down not so gently.

You sat down, menus in hand, and for a brief moment, they both seemed content to sit in silence. Until you broke it.

“Okay, so first rule,” you glanced up from the menu. “No kissing.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “Why would think I’d kiss you? I’m not desperate”

“We can hold hands, lean in, whatever. But no actual kissing,” you insisted, tone firm. “This is strictly business.”

“We can hold hands, lean in, whatever. But no actual kissing,” she insisted, her tone firm. “This is strictly business.”

“Strictly business, huh?” He smirked, shaking his head. “You say that, but you’ll be the one swooning if we get too close.”

You let out a laugh, clearly unimpressed. “Please, Cameron, if you were half as charming as you think you are, you wouldn’t need a fake girlfriend in the first place.”

“Oh, I’m charming enough. You’re just stubborn and blind.” He leaned in a little, lowering his voice. “Admit it - you’re at least a little curious what it’d be like.”

Your smile faltered just for a second before it was replaced with a disgusted face, “Curious? About you? Only to see how much more annoying you can get.”

Rafe’s gaze flickered down to your legs as you shifted in the seat, his jaw tightening as he caught himself. Annoying. Infuriating. But damn if you’re not hot, he thought, biting back a comment. His expression hardened, trying to snap himself out of it. He really needed to get laid, quickly.

You crossed your arms, leaning forward a little. “Second rule: no jealous boyfriend act. I don’t need you scaring off guys at the wedding.”

Rafe rolled his eyes. “Why would I be jealous? Get over yourself.”

“Yeah, okay,” you leaned back in your chair. “Just remember, this isn’t real. No need for the possessive act.”

“I got it. Fake dating. No jealousy,” he repeated, the sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“And no trying to use this as an excuse to annoy me,” you added with a pointed look. “Topper won’t be knowing about this. Ever.”

Rafe barked out a laugh. “Annoy you? That’s practically the only fun part of this arrangement.”

“Right, because you’re soooo fun to be around,” you shot back, rolling your eyes dramatically.

“Look, just follow my lead, alright? I’ll make sure we don’t look like complete idiots in front of my business associates,” he said, picking up his menu.

“I’m not the one who looks like an idiot,” you muttered under your breath, pretending to read the menu.

He snorted, clearly hearing you, but chose not to respond. The air was filled with silence again as they waited for the waiter.

Finally, you set your menu down and locked eyes with him. “Okay, but one more thing.”

“What now?” he asked, exasperated.

“No flirting with other girls while we’re there. I’m not covering for you if you get caught in some hotel scandal.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, half amused and half annoyed. “Please. I should’ve known you were the jealous type.”

“Oh, sure,” your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Just stick to the plan, Rafe. We get in, play our parts, and get out without embarrassing ourselves. You can handle that, right?”

Rafe leaned in slightly, his smirk still in place. “I don’t know, princess. You seem pretty good at embarrassing yourself. Might be contagious.”

You glared at him but couldn’t hold back a small smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re still here, so what does that say about you?”

You opened you mouth to respond, ready say that it made you the kindest person in the world, but the waiter returned just in time to take your orders. As you waited for the waitress to come back with your order, you pulled your phone to scroll, had seen enough of Rafe’s face for the afternoon.

You tried to think of the best way to survive this fake dating arrangement with as little emotional damage as possible for one weekend. Maybe you’d end up killing each other first.

“Can you…” you took a deep breath, nibbling on your bottom lip while you looked around before meeting his gaze. “Not tell Topper about what you’ve seen earlier?”

“The douchebag?” Rafe arched a brow, his jaw tensing as he remembered the encounter, your hair tousled.

“He isn’t a douchebag but yeah, that.” you let out a long sigh, sipping on your juice.

“I’ll think about it. Let’s see how you will do during the wedding, huh.” He offered you one of these smug smirks that made you want to punch his face. Of course he wouldn’t make things easy for you.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ TAGLIST: @megiiite @melsunshine @maybankslover @wearemadeofstardust0 @lilithblackkk

[rambling-at-midnight]

omg a part 2????

i loved it so much!!!

Ahh I'm so glad you liked it!!! It's my first Jason x reader fic :) Here's a part 2!

Pros and Cons of Midnight Snacks (Part 2)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Civilian!Reader

Summary: Now it’s time for a meet-ugly-ish with some dude named Jason. Also, you see the Red Hood again.

Word count: 6.3k (holy shit)

You’re not crazy, right? It’s weird that the library is completely empty because it closes in two hours and the weather is actually nice outside for once, and some random dude wanders in and sets up two seats down from you. He’s not even here to study; he pulled out a sci-fi novel as soon as he sat down.

Who comes to a GCU campus library to read recreationally? The seats are uncomfortable and plastic. And the sun is shining. Everyone else is outside soaking up the Vitamin D.

Honestly, you’re mostly surprised the chair he’s on didn’t snap as soon as he sat. The dude is huge. Football player huge. Shouldn’t he be at practice, instead of forcing the chair to make the most irritating squeaking noises known to man every time he moves an inch?

You grit your teeth and put on your headphones, but you can still hear the poor chair’s dying lamentations, so you turn on an instrumental playlist that hopefully won’t distract you too much from studying.

You let yourself stew over the annoyance until your stomach growls so loud you hear it over the soft music. He has the good grace not to look at you, but you definitely see him pause.

Okay, you’ll call it even. This is what you get for running to the library right after six hours of classes. You need to cement the knowledge in your mind while it’s still fresh, and if that means you have to forego lunch…

He’s still there two hours later when the closing time alarm goes off. It’s a shrill old-school bell, the kind no one can ignore, and he jumps like he’s never heard it in his life. The poor chair finally gives up. He tumbles to the ground.

You look over in case he needs any help, but he’s scrambling for the book, face bright red.

If he is a football player, you wouldn’t be surprised that he’s never heard the bell before. That sort rarely stays this late at the library—if they enter at all.

He rushes out. You pack up a little more methodically. All that’s left for you to look forward to tonight is trying to study in your apartment, but you never have much luck.

He’s outside the library on his phone when you walk out. Maybe waiting for a ride? You’re a little on edge from the events of two days ago, so you watch him out of the corner of your eye as you walk away.

Thankfully, he doesn’t follow you.

At least the library closes earlier on Wednesdays, 6 pm instead of 9:30. You don’t know why. It’s still a weekday. But it forces you out while the sun’s still shining, which is probably a good thing.

Within two minutes of the twenty-minute walk home, your hip hurts. By the ten-minute mark, you’re trying not to limp.

Despite your better judgment, you keep your gaze turned to the rooftops, even though you know the vigilantes are nocturnal. It’s stupid to want to see a flash of red helmet, anyway. The Red Hood probably saves hundreds of people every week; there’s no way he would remember you.

Of course, when you finally get back, there are the stairs to contend with.

Your cat, that ungrateful little beast, beeps at you furiously for being gone so long. Never mind that your roommate works nights, so at most the cat’s been alone for an hour. He makes a break for the hallway, and you box the doorway with your legs and slam the door closed against your hip as you slip through.

Your injury explodes with pain, but at least the cat doesn’t get out. Ungrateful little beast. As if he isn’t fed and loved enough.

You finish slipping through the doorway and just stand for a moment listening to the blood rushing through your ears. Damn, but that hurt.

In the bathroom mirror, you hike up the hem of your shirt and check the state of your injury.

All in all, it could have been much worse. The bullet scooped out a fair chunk of skin, but it was just a surface wound. There’s no fresh blood on the gauze, and when you change the wrappings, the skin is pink and raw but starting to scab. It scooped out a chunk and left a trail of bruising, but you got off fairly lightly, all things considered.

The GCPD released the robber’s mugshot yesterday morning. In the picture, the man’s eyes were so swollen from your pepper spray he could hardly open them.

You preferred the bullet, honestly.

You try in vain to study a bit more, but even after you take more painkillers, you’re not in the mood. You feed your cat, then curl up on the couch to watch a couple episodes of the show you’re currently in the middle of.

That was the first time you see the huge guy, but it’s certainly not the last.

You wouldn’t notice him so much if he wasn’t the size of a damn refrigerator. He’s gotta be a linebacker for the Knights, but he’s not on their roster. You looked it up after the third time he wandered into the library just a couple minutes after you. It’s probably not updated yet, but you see him so often, you’d like to know his name.

Also, he’d bleached a patch of hair right at the front of his head—was that a trend now, or something?—so it wasn’t hard to spot him.

On Saturday, your feelings shift from mild annoyance and curiosity to a sinking sort of dread when you notice him at the coffeeshop you always visit on the weekends. The employees know you by name and use it to call out your order, so now he knows it, as long as he’s paying attention.

You think he might be.

You don’t want to be that person. Not everything in the world revolves around you, obviously. But you might still be shaken from what happened on Monday, because the thought wiggles in the back of your brain: what if you have a stalker?

You try to tell yourself that it’s just paranoia. GCU isn’t that big a campus, after all, and there are only so many places in the city that are: A. close to campus, B. reasonably priced, and C. comfortable to work in. You’ve run into classmates here before, and you don’t have a monopoly on the library or this coffeeshop. Just because he shows up at the same time you do doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He might be establishing a schedule that just so happens to line up with yours.

But, you have to admit, it is easier for stalkers to stalk people when they know their regular schedule.

You keep a watchful eye out and are pretty good about keeping off the streets after dark, but a week and a half later finds you stranded an hour’s walk from your apartment. The buses worked for two days, then shut down again, and you foolishly believed that following the detour that said would get you home would actually get you home. You don’t want to call an Uber because traffic would make the ride longer than the walk and bankrupt you in the process. Same reason you can’t call anyone to pick you up unless you waited the two hours until rush hour dies down.

Walking is, unfortunately, the best option.

So you clutch your trusty pepper spray and prepare yourself for a long night of looking over your shoulder and ignoring the pain in your side. The wound has mostly closed, although the bruising has gotten worse.

Three minutes later, you hear the roar of a motorcycle followed by angry car honks. You barely pay it any mind until the motorcycle pulls up next to you and doesn't pass.

You keep walking, avoiding eye contact. Maybe ignoring them will dissuade the rider from catcalling you.

It doesn't work. "Hey," the rider says, and it's only because the voice is mechanically distorted, recognizable only because of how many videos of him that you won't admit to looking up the last week, that you look at him. "What are you doing?" asks the Red Hood.

"What are you doing?" you counter. He's blocking the flow of traffic talking to you.

The Red Hood looks over his shoulder, flips off the person honking behind him, and steers his motorcycle onto the sidewalk. He drives fast, and you flinch in case he tries to run you over, but he screeches to a halt at the last second.

"Haven't seen you in a couple of weeks," he says casually, like you two meet up often.

"I've been staying out of trouble," you say.

"Not tonight?"

"No. That wasn't my fault, though. I took the Southwest bus because it was supposed to connect with the L line, but all the signs they posted were a lie, apparently, because—" You cut yourself off. "Never mind, I'm sure you don't care. Point is, I'm walking home. It's not too far."

"It's about an hour," he points out. "How's your bullet wound? Will it object to that walk?"

"I'll be fine."

He pats the back of his motorcycle seat. "Hop on. I'll drive you."

You take a couple hasty steps back. It may not be a white van, but you know better than to follow candy into someone's vehicle. "Oh, no, thanks. Traffic's pretty bad right now."

You get the sense he's smiling when he says, "I bet I can get you back faster than walking." If only he wasn't wearing the stupid shiny helmet, you would be able to read his expressions better.

"Really, I'm okay. I'm sure you have better things to do than drive me home."

"Helping people is literally my job," is his response. "I have to make sure you get home safely. So either you get on the back of my bike, or I follow you the whole walk back to your apartment."

You know a losing battle when you see it. As a general rule of thumb, it's usually smart not to argue with the dude carrying at least two guns. "Don't kidnap me," you order before slinging your leg over the seat.

He chuckles. It's the first time you've ever heard him laugh, and it makes him sound so much younger. "You can't ride like that."

"Like what?"

He cranes his neck to look back at you. There's at least six inches between both your bodies. You clutch the sides of the seat with both your hands, hoping he doesn't take off with such a lurch that you topple off the back. "I drive fast. You'll have to hold on."

"I am holding on."

"To me."

You've only met the man twice. You're pretty sure clinging to someone's back is at least a third-meeting type of touch, but he reaches back. The Red Hood snakes a hand nearly twice the size of yours into the crook of your knee, then yanks you to him. You shoot forward with a strangled yelp and catch yourself on his back.

You've never before understood the phrase 'wall of muscle,' but you get it now.

He is huge. And strong. You gingerly put your hands on his shoulders. That's not an inappropriate touch, you think.

He has to live at the gym, right?

"You're still not holding on," he chides. "I don't have a helmet for you, so you really shouldn't fall off."

You swallow and move your hands, but he's too thick for you to link your hands around his front. So you fist both of them into his jacket. It presses your bodies tight against each other from shoulder to thighs. Through the layers his body radiates heat, but you shiver.

"Going," is all the warning you get.

Then you're gone; the bike shudders beneath you, then takes off like a jet.

You can't catch your breath. This must be what riding a dragon feels like, is your first nonsensical thought, a side effect of your roommate's obsession with Game of Thrones.

The bike roars beneath you, but you can hardly hear it over the rush of wind and the pound of blood in your ears. You can't see much with the wind drying out your eyes, so you press your head against the Red Hood's back and squint to one side. Cars and street lamps blur together into a stream of mismatched lights and colors.

The Red Hood drives fast. He weaves between lanes, runs through red lights, cuts onto the sidewalk. A couple bikers shake their fists at him when he passes them in the bike lane. A lot of cars honk at the two of you.

Judging by the way his shoulders shake with laughter, he likes pissing them off. You have to admit, the feeling is a little intoxicating.

You can't hear the sound, but your front is plastered to his back. Even with the layers of his suit and leather jacket, you can feel the vibrations of sound deep within his chest. He has a fairly deep voice, after all, unless the helmet changes that.

No less than ten minutes later, he parks abruptly. You lift your head, blinking moisture back into your eyes, and stare dumbly at your apartment building.

He'd actually brought you back.

Maybe he really was reformed.

You stumble off the bike onto unsteady legs. The Red Hood kicks his stand into place and rests against the bike, leaning with elbows on his handlebars. Like he expects a Midwest goodbye. And you find yourself dawdling.

Maybe you want one, too.

"Thanks for the ride," you finally say awkwardly.

"Anytime," he says, and you laugh, thinking it's a joke, but he doesn't. After a brief awkward pause, the Red Hood tries, "So how have you been?" as if you're old pals meeting up for brunch, and the question is so ridiculous coming from a sort-of-reformed crime lord slash serial killer that you respond without thinking.

"Pretty good, except I think I may have a stalker."

His helmet doesn't do a great job translating whatever sound he makes in response to that. It comes out as a crackle. "What?"

"I've noticed this dude recently showing up wherever I go," you say. "But I think it's just a coincidence. Sorry. That was a bad joke." It wasn't, but you don't want to accuse someone without proof of stalking you. If he's not, you'll seem self-obsessed. If he is, then he knows that you know, and it's not like the GCPD will do anything. One of your friends from your hometown had a stalker for literal years, and the police never did anything, even after he sent her death threats. They said there wasn't enough proof to make an arrest then, so someone showing up at the same places you are definitely isn't enough proof now.

The Red Hood tilts his head. "Does he make you uncomfortable?"

"You don't need to beat him up or anything on my behalf," you say. "I mean, you've seen me with a bottle of pepper spray. I'm pretty sure I can handle myself."

"I know you can," he says. You can hear the smile in his voice, like he finds something about the situation funny. "And I'm pretty sure that you know that I'm going to check this out anyway."

"No," you say, surprising yourself with your firmness. You can't rely on vigilantes to solve all your problems for you. "Seriously, it's okay. Thanks for the ride. Maybe I'll see you around."

"I'm counting on it," he calls as you walk away.

And he's right. Two days later finds you at the gas station at ten-thirty at night. You don't want to see him, per se. You're definitely not looking over your shoulder at the slightest sound. You definitely didn't check the parking lot for a notorious red motorcycle on your way in, and you certainly aren't taking peeks out the window every time headlights pass by on the street.

You're just... curious.

Maybe.

But you have absolutely no warning, not even a suspicion that someone is behind you, when you reach for a box of Cheez-Its. Someone else's hand gets there first and you nearly jump out of your socks.

"Hey," the Red Hood wheezes. He's clutching his side like he has a cramp. "Question: if I buy these for you, will you patch me up?"

"What?"

"I may have been cut," he admits. Judging by the angle of his hunch, it's a little more serious than just a 'cut'. "So: do we have a deal?"

The thought occurs to you, as you help him up five flights of stairs to your apartment, that you're escorting a strange man into your place of residence. You haven't even given your roommate a heads-up, though you're pretty sure tomorrow's his night off.

Sure enough, the only person there to greet you when you walk in is your cat. As per usual, he tries to escape. The Red Hood gently but firmly ushers him inside with his foot with such ease he must have one of his own. "It's cute," he says, still clutching his side.

"Thanks," you say. "He always tries to get out, but if he actually escapes then he just freezes in the hallway until I bring him back inside." Then you realize that you're discussing your cat, of all things, with the Red Hood. You clear your throat and say, "Let me take a look at you."

The crime lord and cat trail after you into the bathroom. It gets a little cramped because the Red Hood's about as small as a fridge is small, but you two figure out a passable system: he's too tall, even while sitting down, and you don't want to bend in half while you stitch him. So you sit on the toilet, he stands in front of you, and your cat jumps on top of his leather jacket on the counter to observe and judge. Luckily, the suture kit is still in the bathroom from when you thought you would have to stitch yourself up, so it's not long before you're instructing him to lift up the hem of his shirt so you can see the damage.

You hiss between your teeth at the sight. Someone grazed his side with a knife, by the looks of it, but the wound is deep. It might go all the way to his subcutaneous tissue.

After you clean it off, you're sure that it does. "You call this a cut?"

"I've had worse," he says gruffly.

"And you're still alive?" You squint at him.

He huffs like that's funny.

"They basically cut you in two! I don't know if I can fix this. I've never stitched someone up before!"

"What do you mean?" He tilts his head. "You stitched yourself up, remember? You told me you would."

Shit. Of all the ways to stick your foot in your mouth—

"It wasn't that bad," you say weakly.

“It looked pretty bad.”

“It just looked bad because I was wearing a light colored shirt. Don’t worry; I’ve learned my lesson.”

The Red Hood scratches under your cat’s chin. “About wearing light colored clothing, or about getting shot?”

You’re trying to thread the suture needle, but the stupid thread won’t cooperate. “Hmm?”

“Which lesson did you learn?”

“The former, mostly. Believe it or not, ‘try not to get shot’ is something most people, including me, know intuitively.”

"Let me see."

"Yeah, right," you say, "my apartment's basically a strip club, isn't it? First your shirt's coming up, then mine. Absolutely—" You slap his hand away— "Not. I'm fine. Now hold still while I stab you."

The process goes by quickly. He stands like a statue the whole time, like he's used to the pain of getting stitches. Considering his profession, he probably is.

Actually, you can see a couple healed-over scars on his torso just from the small bit of skin he's revealed by pulling up his shirt. And, you're pretty sure, a perfectly defined six-pack, but that's none of your business.

"I don't have the fancy dissolving sutures, unfortunately," you say while you tie off the thread. "These should come out in about a week."

"Yeah, I know," he grunts, letting his shirt fall back down. And you're not disappointed. At all. "Same time next week, then?"

"What?"

"To get them out."

"Uh." Your brain stalls out. You'd been operating under the assumption that this was just another freak coincidental run-in.

Is it just you, or is the Red Hood looking to make a friend out of you? Or maybe just a free pseudo-surgeon?

"Sure," you say. It's not like you can stop him, really.

"Thanks," he says, stroking your cat one more time. Then he nudges the pest off his jacket and shrugs it on, even though there's not really a need for it. The weather's been pretty mild the last week.

You walk him out the door. He pauses in the hallway, turns, and says, "By the way, what's your name?"

You tilt your head and tell it to him.

"Nice to meet you," he says. Then he walks away.

You watch him walk down the hallway until your cat escapes, and then you have to chase him. You're pretty sure the Red Hood sees it, because low-pitched laughter hits your ears as you gather the little bastard up, but when you look, the vigilante's gone.

"God, I hope he's up to date on his tetanus shot."

You find yourself at the coffee shop the next morning, determined not to let a buff bookworm change your routine. You're the first customer, and they have your order ready by the time you finish setting up your stuff on a small table in the corner of the shop, far from where the line will build up when more people trickle in.

Like clockwork, the bookworm wanders in just a couple minutes after you do, orders two coffees, and settles down across the room with his front to you.

Every time you glance up, he's utterly focused on his book. He's probably not watching you. Right?

Fifteen minutes later, the coffees untouched, he stands up. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he picks one up, approaches the counter, and...

Walks right past it.

Walks in your direction.

You stare blatantly, and he holds your gaze with a set jaw and something a little challenging in his gaze.

He's walking to you.

The coffee cup slams on the table, splashing a little over the edge, and you jump to move your laptop away from the liquid.

"Shit, sorry," the bookworm says. He runs away.

You stare until you realize he's grabbing napkins and hurrying back. At least ten, even though the spill's pretty small, and he piles them all onto the table.

His face gets redder the longer you watch without saying anything.

Once he's absolutely sure your laptop is safe from the couple drops he spilled, he balls them all into one large fist and rushes out, "I'm sorry—I was supposed to meet my brother here, but he canceled, and your drink cup's empty, so I was just wondering if you wanted this one? It's a little warm, but..."

"But free is good," you say, deciding to put him out his misery. And he certainly looks miserable rambling in front of you. Like he's mortified for some reason. "Um, thanks. What..."

"Just an iced coffee. Probably watered down."

You take a sip, just to be polite. It is watered down, but he didn't add any milk to it, so that's probably a good thing. "Thanks..." You tilt the cup to look at the name written on the side. "Jason?"

"Yep." He nods. He's still standing in front of you, like he wants to be invited to sit, but you have a lot of work to do, and he's a complete stranger, and all his stuff is still on his table across the room.

Something clatters behind the counter. You both turn in time to see the two baristas duck out of sight, whispering furiously. Probably about the spectacle you two are making.

"You go to GCU's campus library a lot, right?" Jason asks suddenly.

"Yeah, I do. So do you." You don't phrase it like a question.

"Yeah," he says. "It's peaceful to read in there. Quieter than my apartment."

"Okay," you say slowly. You're really not interested in this conversation, but you don't want to be rude.

He must understand you, though, because he rubs the back of his head and steps backwards, mumbling something about getting back to his book.

Jason's brother never does end up meeting him. You tell yourself that's why you keep glancing at him. Once or twice, you two peek at each other at the same time, and you always look away first, face hot like he's caught you doing something wrong.

The next time you go to the library, it's packed. The weather has turned, so students have nothing better to do than prepare for their finals. You head to the quiet floor, slowly losing hope that you'll find a seat.

A head snaps up the moment you walk in, dark-haired with a striking streak of white at his forehead. Jason.

Something like relief passes over his face, and he waves you over.

"I saved your seat," he whispers, dragging his bag off of the chair.

"Thanks," you say, actually touched. "You didn't have to."

He shrugs. "You're my reading buddy."

The next day, he's sitting at the library's entrance when you walk in. Jason shakes his head. "All the seats were already taken when I got here."

"Ugh." Strictly speaking, you don't need to study tonight. You're pretty confident about the next test's material, and you're also pretty burnt out.

"We could check out the Student Center?" he suggests. As if it's a given that the two of you are going to spend the afternoon together. And, you realize, after two straight weeks of studying in his proximity, you don't mind the presumption. That's how you made your closest friend in undergrad, anyway.

In fact, you think you might want to get to know Jason. Maybe ask about his white streak; you've been growing more and more curious about it. And why he's about seven feet tall and two hundred fifty pounds of muscle but has a passion for romance novels.

"I don't think I've studied in there before."

"It's not too bad, but it's a little louder than the library."

So you two head to the Student Center, but he doesn't open his book, and you open your laptop but don't turn it on. He buys you coffee, though you insist that you can pay for it yourself, and a simple query into what book he's reading currently turns into a two-hour conversation.

Jason likes to read every genre, but he likes classics and romance best. He doesn't just have one brother, he has four, and a sister. He's not on the football team like you'd assumed; he just likes to work out. He's finishing up his sophomore year of undergrad studying English Lit—he sees how your smile freezes at those words, and you're asking how old he is, and he's laughing when he tells you he took a couple gap years. He's your age, actually, and that's relieving for reasons you can't quite put to words.

When you check your watch and curse at the time—it's almost time for your cat's dinner—he asks for your number, and you put it into his phone.

You feel good on your walk home. You haven't made a new friend since the first semester of vet school; the course load is too demanding for you to participate in any GCU clubs. Your roommate asks why you're smiling and you wave him off. Of course, your cat doesn't care that you're in a good mood. He only cares about getting fed.

You see Jason a couple more times over the week, and soon you're too embarrassed to admit that you thought he was stalking you. He's almost as bad a texter as you are, responding at such hours you're half-convinced he doesn't sleep, so you're less self-conscious about taking hours to respond.

You've just gotten around to answering his last text when something knocks against your window.

You drop the phone on your face.

The Red Hood is laughing at you when you open the window to let him in. You'd forgotten he was coming, but you don't say so. He tumbles in, moving a little stiffly, but a lot better than he'd been last week. Your cat, the little traitor, runs to greet him and rubs against his ankles, purring like an engine. The Red Hood bends to pet him. "Hey, kitty." The red helmet tips up and those unnerving white lenses fix on you. "Hey, doc. Here to get my stitches out."

"How have you been feeling?" you ask.

"Good," he says, almost defensively.

It makes you suspect that something is wrong, but when you all pile into the bathroom again like it's a clown car and he pulls up his shirt, the wound is healing nicely. No pink or heat that signals infection, no puffy skin. You remove the stitches quickly, and again he hesitates, like he wants to stay longer.

You find yourself thinking about Jason. You're pretty sure you wish he was here.

"Well, thanks."

"Anytime."

He pauses. "Really?"

You shrug. "I mean, not if you need a hospital. Then I'd expect you to head straight to a hospital. But stuff like this—no worse than this, ideally—I guess I can help you with."

"You're pretty cool for a vet," the Red Hood says. "The last one I visited kept freaking out on me for stealing codeine."

"Well, that's a restricted—wait, you were stealing codeine? What for?"

He shrugs.

"What were you using it for," you repeat sternly.

"Okay!" he says loudly. "Well, thanks for patching me up, doc. I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Wait," you call out uselessly, but he vaults out the window. You gasp and rush to the sill, but there's no Red Hood-shaped puddle on the ground. Instead, his rapidly shrinking form disappears in the distance, swinging between the buildings that make up the Gotham skyline.

You don't see the Red Hood for a while after that, but you hear whispers of him wearing a new costume. You get caught up with finals and Jason, who asks you out after the semester ends.

Your vehement 'yes' takes you by surprise. Him, too, judging by his wide eyes and wider smile. You wonder why he asked if he thought you would say no. You wonder why you didn't realize earlier how desperately you wanted him to.

Now that you're out of school, you pick up shifts at the vet clinic. By some unhappy circumstance, they can only schedule you for the evening shifts. Jason works nights, too, and you've never fully squirreled out where he works, but at least you can spend some days together.

It's when you're walking back from your first shift that you see the Red Hood again after almost three weeks of radio silence. He pulls up next to you on the motorcycle. It's so late that there's no one on the road, so he stays on the asphalt and idles along at your walking pace until you break and say, "Long time no see, Hood."

"Did you miss me?" he teases.

You stop walking, because.

Most of his costume changed. Because it's summer, and even the nights are hot and muggy, you assume.

The pants are the same. So are the boots. But his jacket is red and sleeveless and has a hood that goes down to his eyebrows, the armor beneath short-sleeved, which means most of his arms are bare.

And...

Your mouth is dry. You swallow.

You're pretty sure not even Batman is that ripped. He looks like he's chiseled out of marble.

The longer you're speechless, the more amused he gets. You don't know how you know that, but something about his posture seems smug.

"You're taking 'red hood' seriously now, are you?" is all you manage to say. Because what else are you supposed to comment on? His bare forearms? His veins are so beautifully pronounced, they would be a dream to take blood from, but you have a boyfriend of a whole one and a half weeks, and you may be many things, but you're not a cheater.

He laughs, then pulls his hood low when it slips back a bit. His voice is still modulated, although it's not through a red helmet anymore. This is more like a muzzle. You can't tell if the eye covering is part of it, or like the domino masks that Batman and Robin wear, but the lenses are red now instead of white.

He's really leaning into the theme.

"You want a ride?"

"We're two blocks from my apartment."

He shrugs. "I'm heading there anyway."

What the hell. You've already hopped on the back of his bike before. It's easier to do so the second time. You wrap your arms around his torso again, and when his arms settle over your own, they're warm with his body heat, but not hard, even though the muscles look sharp enough to cut glass. He's firm all over, but his skin is soft, apart from the raised, bumpy scars that seem to cover him from head-to-toe. It makes you worry about him, just a little.

He doesn't drive fast this time. He drives slow enough to hold a conversation and tosses over his shoulder, "So what's new with you?"

"Not much," you say into his ear. Is it just you, or does he shiver? "I finished another semester of vet school."

"Top grades, I'm sure. Did you get extra credit for patching me up?"

"I wish." No, your grades are good, but not exceptional. But exceptional is what got you into vet school. As long as you graduate with a DVM, even if you're the lowest in your class, you're a licensed doctor. There's some relief in that. "The dude I thought was stalking me asked me out, actually."

"Really?" he asks, interested and alert. "Was he really stalking you? Do you need me to scare him off for you?"

"No," you say, smiling at the thought of the Red Hood trying to scare off Jason. They're about the same build, now that you think about it, which you're sure the vigilante isn't used to. And Jason's never been anything but gentle and polite, but you saw an undercurrent of something strong, something like titanium, under that gentle spirit the one time he stood up for one of the baristas at the coffee shop that you first spoke to each other. He hadn't needed to do much apart from stand up and glare at the beleaguered corporate guy angry that there wasn't enough sugar in his coffee, and the dude shut up and scurried out as fast as he could.

It was probably the hottest thing you've ever seen him do, except for that one time you pushed your laptop a little too close to the edge of your desk while studying, it tipped over, and he caught it one-handed without looking up from his book. What can you say? Saving you a couple hundred dollars in getting that fixed was hot.

"It was a misunderstanding," you say. "We just ended up in the same places at the same times."

A gust of wind pushes back the Red Hood's hood, exposing a head of thick, dark hair, the same shade of black as Jason's. The motorcycle swerves in his haste to pull his hood back up, and when you reach your apartment and hop off the bike, he's pushing his hair back, back, beneath the hood.

What's the point of ditching the helmet if he's just going to be fussing with the hood all the time?

"What's new with you?" you ask, scuffing your toe against the sidewalk. Your shoes are falling apart; the sole is peeling away.

"Same old, same old," he says. His voice sounds rougher, but that might just be the new modulator.

"How's your side?"

"How's yours?" he counters. "You still haven't let me see it. I bet it scarred because you were too stubborn to take my advice and patch it up."

You will never admit that he's right. You challenge, "Let's compare scars, then," knowing full well his armor dips below his pants. It's a little silly to picture the Red Hood wearing an armored one-piece, but that's all you can imagine.

He clucks his tongue and shakes his head. It dislodges the hood. A patch of hair falls down to his forehead, and it's white.

But the back of his hair is black.

White and black—

Your stomach flips.

"I thought you had a boyfriend, honey. Why're you asking me to strip?"

So that's what all the teasing's been about. He hasn't been flirting—or he has, his own weird version of flirting, because he's a dumbass.

For a moment all you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears, then you flex your fingers to regain feeling in them. You roll your eyes and say, "I think we've established that my apartment is basically a strip club. Why don't you come up and show me, Jason?"

"Well, I'm flattered, but—what?" He splutters like he's choking on his own tongue. Serves him right. "I'm not—why do you think that—I mean, I could be anyone—"

Yeah, he can have his little crisis on the street. You tug on your own fringe, then swipe into the building.

You hear his muffled cursing as the door closes.

You look forward to him catching up.

(My requests are open, so let me know if you want me to write anything in particular! Also let me know if you want to be added to a taglist.)

Forever tag list:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

[hqbaby]

five — crush them

mess it up — gojo x reader & sukuna x reader

⁀➴ when i told you i’m fine, you were lied to. when the love of your life falls for someone else, you decide to move on—by pretending to date your best friend, the campus fuckboy.

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 1.9k content. profanity, lots of stress first thing in the morning

When you wake up, you’re vaguely aware of the foot on your face. And the elbow pressed against your thigh. And the hand on your knee. And the drool on your sheets.

You open your eyes, blinking as they adjust to the light, and look over at Sukuna, spread out on the mattress in a deep slumber. There’s an impulse to kick him, an impulse to laugh at how he hasn’t changed at all, still as much of a restless sleeper as he was in high school. But there’s another impulse—to jump out of your bed because you are so fucking late for training.

“Holy shit!” you exclaim, throwing Sukuna’s leg off of you as you practically crawl out of bed, half of your body still asleep while the other fights for its life to get up. “I’m gonna die!”

Sukuna’s awake now, eyes wide with panic as he watches you scramble to your closet and grab your shorts, shirt, socks. “What?” he says loudly, scrambling to get up too. “What’s happening?”

You pull your shirt off, completely ignoring the fact that you’re getting undressed in front of your well-known pervert of a best friend, as you search for a sports bra in your dresser. “I’m late!” you say, more to yourself than to him. “Coach is gonna have my head!”

“What?” he says again, louder this time, as he topples out of your bed, his head hitting the floor. “Fuck!”

You glance over at him. He’s rubbing his forehead as he searches for his hoodie. “Why are you panicking?” you ask, panicked.

“Because you’re panicking!” he says. He finds his hoodie and pulls it on, quickly rushing for your bedroom door. “I’ll drive you! You can change in the car!”

You’re standing in your bedroom in nothing but your bra and pajamas, hands full of clothes. If you were thinking clearly right now, you’d tell him he was being stupid. There’s no way in hell you’re going to get changed in his car. What is he even doing here in the first place? But your better judgment has escaped you and the only thought in your head is loud and blaring: You’re late.

“Move faster!” you tell him, grabbing your tennis bag in the corner and rushing past him. At least you have enough sense to not forget your phone and house keys before you’re running out of the apartment, Sukuna hot on your heels.

The two of you eschew the elevator, both knowing just how much time you’ll lose waiting for it, and run down the three flights of stairs to the parking lot.

“Where’s your car?” you yell at him over your shoulder. It occurs to you then how ridiculous you must look, half-dressed and completely deranged. You can’t bring yourself to care.

He points at the beat-up thing at the end of the parking lot. “There!” he says, tossing you the keys. “Go!”

You run ahead and start the car, jumping into the backseat as Sukuna finally catches up to you and gets in the driver’s seat. He steps on the gas as you haphazardly change into your clothes before checking to see the time. 

You’re ten minutes late as it is. You are so going to pay for this.

“Can’t you go any faster?” you ask him, smoothing out the creases in your shirt.

“Not if you don’t want to die.”

“I’m already gonna die!”

He swerves onto campus grounds, speeding as the car darts straight towards the sports complex. “If we die, do you think we’re going to hell?”

“Definitely,” you say, already on the edge of your seat as he pulls up in front of the gym. “Bye!”

You rush out of the car, running past a group of bewildered guys from the basketball team as you zoom ahead, running on pure adrenaline. When you get to the gates of the tennis court, you stop dead in your tracks.

Your bag.

You’re running back, already out of breath when you bump—well, crash into something. Or, to be more specific, someone.

There’s a moment when you feel your legs give under you and you’re ready to fall onto the ground. You hope that it’s a clean fall, one that won’t end in you dissolving into a puddle of flesh and bones. You wait for the fall, the pain, the terror.

And it never comes.

Instead, you feel two hands on your waist. A chest against yours. A voice saying your name with concern.

You look up.

Satoru.

His eyes are on you, searching for any signs of injury, any signs of distress. His grip on you is tight and familiar. His gaze is scrutinizing, but oh so comfortable.

There’s an impulse to cry to him and tell him that you’re late for training. That you’ll probably never see you again because you’re going to die very soon. That you want him to hold you forever. That you miss him. That you want him back.

You jump away, not allowing yourself to melt into his touch even if your body is screaming at you to let it. “Shit, I’m sorry,” you say as you try to find your balance. You realize that one of his hands is still on your waist. “I didn’t see—”

Another voice calls your name.

Sukuna runs towards you with your bag in hand. His footfalls slow when he sees you. When he sees Satoru.

“You forgot your bag,” he says, blinking as he processes the picture before him. You and your beloved ex who has his hand on you. “I thought you were late.”

You don’t have time for this, you decide, rushing over to grab your bag from him. “I am,” you say, already turning to run back to the court. “Thanks!”

You’re leaving before either of the two men can say a word.

“Finally gracing us with your presence?” your coach, Yuki, says as you step onto the court. To your relief, she doesn’t look too upset, even slightly amused. “Had somewhere better to be?”

“No, coach, I’m sorry,” you say as you take your place beside Mai. The rest of the girls on the team look at you with worry, confusion. “It won’t happen again.”

She crosses her arms over her chest and sighs. “You know what to do.”

You hang your head. “How many?”

“Five,” she says, hands already waving you off. “Go, go. We’re doing drills.”

You nod, dropping your bag on the benches before going off to do laps around the court.

It’s only as you’re running that the whole morning dawns on you. You woke up next to Sukuna. You got undressed in the back of his car. You literally ran into Satoru. And Sukuna found you with him.

It shouldn’t bother you as much as it does that your best friend who, yes, you are dating but only as a ruse, saw you with your ex. But it still leaves a weird feeling lingering in your chest, like a cough that’s just waiting to explode.

What should bother you more is how you were so ready to fold for Satoru. And, yet, that somehow feels right. It’s like you always knew you’d want to run back to him given the chance. It’s like you never wanted to leave in the first place.

As you hit your fourth lap, one thought strikes you: You don’t feel as tired as you usually are.

The past three weeks have been a haze of sleepless nights that have rendered you useless in the morning. You go to class, go to training, find it in yourself to eat, then lie in bed wide awake. Any moments of rest have quickly been interrupted by your recurring night terrors.

But you slept well. A solid few hours of dreamless sleep. As much as you want to deny it, you can’t help but think that it has something to do with the fact that you didn’t sleep alone. That Sukuna was right there beside you the whole time.

“What’s up with you?” Mai asks, handing you a bottle of water when you finally finish your laps. “You’re not usually this out of it.”

You take a swig of water and wipe your forehead with a towel. “Just a weird morning.”

She doesn’t buy it, because who would? So she stares at you, hard eyes waiting for an answer. While both Maki and Mai are capable of being completely terrifying, there’s just something about Mai that makes you shrink back, want to run and hide.

“The breakup’s been tough,” you tell her, immediately regretting it as soon as you say it. You can’t believe you’ve become the kind of girl who falls apart because of a guy. It’s embarrassing, but now you realize it’s probably warranted at times. Especially times like these. “It’s just a bad time.”

She raises a brow. “You can’t let it get in the way though,” she reminds you. “We have a tournament next week. I’m not losing my scholarship because you’ve decided to slack off.”

Now, that strikes a chord. That lights a fire. That starts a challenge. Like fuck are you going to let her think you’re slacking off.

“Fuck you,” you say, putting your water bottle down. You take your racket out and nod towards the court. Two of your teammates are already on the other side of the net. “Let’s crush them.”

She grins at that. “That’s my girl.”

“You can’t let her egg you on like that,” Maki says, watching as you slather yourself with Salonpas on the floor of your living room. “She’s just being a bitch. Like always.”

“I know,” you tell her. You wince as your muscles tense beneath your touch. “But she’s right. I can’t let Satoru get in the way.”

Your friend eyes you suspiciously. You can tell that she wants to say something, but she’s clearly holding her tongue.

“What?”

She feigns innocence. “What?”

“You have something to say,” you tell her. “So say it.”

Maki shrugs. “Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.”

“It is.”

“Maki.”

She stretches out on your couch, her head lolling to the side as she lies down. Avoiding your eyes, she says, “Maybe it’s not just Satoru who’s getting in the way.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. “I haven’t broken up with anyone else.”

“Sure,” she says, looking at you now. “But you and Sukuna have been spending an awful lot of time together.”

You find yourself shaking your head automatically, as if you were just waiting for her to say that. “That’s stupid.”

Maki gives you a knowing look. “Okay,” she says and drops the subject completely. She knows you, and she knows you’re definitely going to be stubborn about this. Because there really is nothing going on with Sukuna. He’s just your friend, nothing more. “So what are we having for dinner?”

“Do you mean what are you going to buy me for dinner?”

The two of you bicker before deciding on heating leftovers from the other night. You’re not exactly sure that the leftovers in question are still edible but that hasn’t stopped you before.

While Maki raids the fridge, you unplug your phone from where it’s charging by the couch. And that’s when you see it. Or, well, them.

booger: i left my sunglasses at ur place

booger: give them back tnx

satoru <3 : i hope training was okay

satoru <3 : can we talk sometime?

notes. idk about you guys but i would run back to gojo at the first chance too 🧍‍♀️

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: A New World {9}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: Two more races closer to the end of the season and all that means is the competition is fiercer than ever and every point is a battle to win. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, assault, angst WC: 2k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten

Round Sixteen - Singapore GP

Charles was worried about you. You had barely said a word since the race ended, only congratulating your boyfriends on their great results. You were disappointed in yourself for finishing last place. Technically it was 15th place but everyone behind you had DNF’d so you were the last one to cross the finish line.

The bath did little to ease the tension embroiled in your body and you sank down beneath the surface. A wavering image of Charles filled your vision as he took a seat at the edge of the bathtub and trickled his fingers through the water. Only when your lungs began to burn did you resurface with a deep gasp for fresh air.

“You’re going to catch a cold, ma chérie,” Charles said softly as he wiped away the rivulets of water. It was almost like he knew they were mixed with your tears. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you whispered. “I think I am just going to stay in tonight, I don’t want to hold you back from celebrating. You guys did great today.”

“You are being too hard on yourself. It sucks, Lando and I know that first hand,” he chuckled, referring back to the first half of the season. “But you’ll come back stronger, I know you. You’ll be back in the points next week.”

You smiled weakly at his confidence and accepted his hand that helped pull you from the bath. “Are you willing to bet on that?”

“D'accord,” he nodded, wrapping you tightly in a towel before kissing your forehead. “I have faith in you, mon amour.”

“That makes one of us,” you joked, feeling a little better now that you were wrapped in his arms. “You should get ready to go, Lando is going to need you to carry him home tonight.”

“Mon Dieu, him and Carlos drinking together,” Charles groaned as if just realising what he was in for. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

You nodded and stepped out of the bathroom to grab your phone. “I think there is another Verstappen somewhere around here feeling sorry for himself too, and misery loves company.”

Max arrived before Lando had finished styling his hair and he came bearing gifts, a bag of mouthwatering food packed full of local dishes in one hand and a bottle of gin in the other. 

“Now it’s a pity party,” you laughed as he made himself comfortable in the living room. He didn’t even bother with plates, just eating straight out of the containers while he changed the channel off MTV. “Are you planning on sharing or do I need to order my own?”

“Depends if you care what Kristian thinks,” he shrugged, pushing a container aside. He grinned knowing you couldn’t turn down the grilled kebabs slathered in a sauce that would give your PT a heart attack. “Live dangerously, zusje.”

You snorted and dropped into the seat beside him, grabbing a pair of chopsticks and the dish from the coffee table. “I hate you.”

“Uh-huh, heard that before,” he teased as continued to flick through the channels until he hit the movies. “Fast X?”

“No,” Lando answered for you as he finally appeared from the bathroom with his hair perfectly styled and his shirt half unbuttoned. He explained that it was to combat the humidity in the country but you and Charles knew it was because he loved to flash his tanned and toned chest, almost as much as you liked to see it. “She’ll get pissed off that it is too unrealistic.”

“It is unrealistic,” you pointed out.

Max laughed, “It’s a movie.” But he still changed the channel. “Maverick? The original.”

“Sure,” Charles said with a grin as he pulled his shoes on, “if you want to comfort her when Goose dies.”

“You are impossible.” Max shook his head and tossed the remote on your lap. “You choose something.”

Ready to leave, Charles looked like he was going to ask you if you had changed your mind before thinking better of it. Instead he kissed you as innocently as he could manage with your brother sitting beside you. “Je t’aime.”

“Love you too, have fun.” You held your hand out to Lando and pulled him down to your height for a kiss too. “Not too much fun. I don’t want to wake up to any new CarLando rumours.”

He knew you were joking and he nipped your bottom lip for it before pulling away and holding his necklace up. “Holy trinity, baby: you, Charles and me.”

“That’s why you are missing your top three buttons,” Charles teased as he slung his arm over Lando’s shoulder. “All for the necklace and definitely not vanity.”

“Me? Vain? Never,” Lando scoffed. “I am humble, thank you very much.”

“Mhmm, so humble, mon cher,” Charles agreed sarcastically as he led them to the door before blowing you one final kiss. “Bonne nuit.”

Round Seventeen - Japan GP

Lawrence wanted to speak to you after the race finished and you hoped it was because he had some answers as to why the car was struggling. The upgrades seemed to make it worse and it was a hell of a push just to get back in the points, but you had made it like Charles assured you would.

Walking into Lance’s side of the garage, you assumed his father would be nearby. What you didn’t account for was Lance storming through the engineers after his DNF. It was a moment of wrong place at the wrong time that put you into his path and you felt the need to at least say something to him.

“Sorry, man, that was a rough one.” Hindsight was a real charmer as his green eyes narrowed with rage and you were shoved to the floor. Your ass met the hard concrete and the garage fell silent as they witnessed the attack.

Your shoulders ached where he had pushed you, but your butt would surely have bruises come morning. Calmly, you swallowed down the pain as the cameras waited for your reaction and you rose to your feet. You wiped the dust from your backside and looked at Lance. “At least I know how you injured your wrists, you’re a real fucking wanker.”

Word spread like wildfire as the footage was shared around the paddock and the world and your call to the Stewards came before Lando finished his podium celebration, the first you hadn’t been there to witness. It only added to your sour mood as you stepped into the meeting room and found an empty chair opposite Lawrence and Lance. You were by no means alone but everyone who had been asked to come as witness were all on Lawrences bank roll so you might as well have been.

The tedious hearing details were read by the Stewards, along with footage that showed the push that put you on your ass. They turned to Lance first, asking for his take on the event and whispered with his father before sitting back.

“It was an accident, I didn’t see her there.”

You scoffed under your breath but caught the look Lawrence sent you as the Steward asked you the same question. It was a look that everyone had warned you about. It was the look that drew the line in the sand of who had his support, and why wouldn’t he take his son’s side - he was a father first and a principal second. It was a look that said you would be finding another team next year if you weren’t careful.

Looking down at your hands the words tasted like ash. “Like Lance said, it was an accident.”

The steward nodded and typed some notes on his laptop. “Then the matter is settled, you will be fined €20,000.00 for unsportsmanlike behaviour.”

You lunged out of your seat and slammed your hands on the table at the ruling. “For what!”

“You saw the same evidence as I did,” he said, ignoring your outburst. “You clearly called Mr Stroll, Lance, a ‘fucking wanker’ on live tv. If that is all, we have another review about to begin.”

You left the room to see Bottas and Sargeant waiting with their team representatives and kept your head low as you passed by, feeling their curious eyes following. Lawrence kept pace with you as you left the building, Lance lagging somewhere behind, and you debated breaking into a sprint to see if the old man could keep up.

“Thank you,” Lawrence said, nearly making you trip over in surprise.

“Thank you?” you growled as you turned on him. “I saved your toddler’s career, you can do better than a fucking ‘thank you’.”

“Lance is struggling and it’s affecting him badly, but that’s no excuse for how he treated you.” Lawrence placed a hand on your shoulder but you shrugged it off as you remembered the look in the meeting room. You may both be wearing the same colours but you were not on the same team.

“You can still be a good father and not protect him from everything. In fact, it might just do him a lot of good in getting his head out of his ass. Now, I am going to go and take an ice bath and you are going to pay my fine. If there’s a bonus in my bank account when I get back to the hotel, we’ll call it even.”

You left without giving him the time to respond and jogged back to hospitality, an unfortunately long distance from the FIA building. Some of the teams were already starting to pack their motorhomes down but Aston Martin was still lively, even more so when you stepped inside and saw Charles, Lando and Max looking tense amongst a group of Lance’s friends that travelled with him .

“Woah, stand down, killers,” you teased with a flippant attitude you didn’t feel. “Shouldn’t you take it out to the parking lot?”

“Too many witnesses,” Max muttered.

“I was joking, we can all relax. You three, my room. Now.” You pointed your finger to the stairs and waited for them to start walking before you followed, glaring at the rest of them. “Don’t you have more important things to do, like I don’t know, check Lance has warm milk in his sippy cup?”

“Little bitch.”

“Fils de pute, va te faire enculer!”

You blocked the stairs but Max had already grabbed Charles and held him back. “That’s an insult to his mother,” you said as the door opened and Lance arrived. “It’s not her fault her son is a sycophant, and here’s his sugar daddy now. Tighten the leash on your little friends, Lance. It’s the least you can do since you owe me.”

His lips twisted into a grimace at the reminder but he jutted his head to the other end of the motorhome and his friends followed him, their disappointment palpable. You could only imagine what he had been telling them in private to create that sort of reaction and realised why the driver had gone through so many teammates on the grid. He was insufferable.

You gently pushed on Charles’ arm when he didn’t move, he was intently watching the group leave and the staff return back to their jobs as if nothing happened. “Come on, babe, let’s just get my stuff and go home.”

“Since when are you the rational one?” Max asked as he led the way with Lando and left you to hook your arm with Charles and follow.

“Maybe I’m finally maturing.” you said with a grin that finally had the tension lifting as they all started to laugh. “Rude.”

Click here for the next part.

[gallaghersgal]

WILD & FLUORESCENT, lip gallagher

c5. of BORDERLINE, lip x bsf! reader (nickname: MK)

TAGS & WARNINGS → MATURE 18+. underage drinking, smoking (🚬), kissing!!!!! theyre kissing in this one guys. mostly fluff, a bit of emotional angst. but this is just the clubbing & graduation chapter, really!

CHAPTER SUMMARY → the last two months before graduation are a whirlwind, but you take all of it in stride. teetering on the edge of friends and something more, lip is by your side for all of it.

A/N → final chapter is here!! but don't worry, there is much more mkverse content to come. stay tuned!!

WC → 2.1k

After convincing Ian to drive the three of you downtown for the night, You, Lip and Adri pile into your car. You let Lip sit in the front seat to guide his brother, still newer at driving at only sixteen. Though, you remember a time when he’d driven a truck that Frank had… acquired. All the way down to the docks and back, at twelve. To say Fiona was pissed? That would be the understatement of the century.

You peer around the headrest, craning your neck while the car rolls to a stop in a crowded city lot. A deep color lines your lips, and you apply a shiny gloss on top. For a moment you glance at Lip, your heart quickening when you see he’s already looking at you. 

“Look like a whore,” he teases, drawing a giggle from your lips. You don’t mind it. You know he’s just being coy.

“Yeah well,” you gesture at his half undone button up, “could say the same about you.” You swat the back of his head with one hand before retreating to step out of the car.

Lip and Adri do the same, and the boy shrugs as he walks around to the drivers side where you are. The front window rolls down and Ian peeks out, “hey man, y’said you’d give me a ten for this.”

An unlit cig hands from his mouth as Lip pats his pockets for a lighter. You hand him yours when he’s unsuccessful. “Did I though?” Lip responds to his brother, “cause, I don’t remember that.” 

Adri fishes a ten five from her purse, then holds her hand out to Lip. “Come on, pay up.” He rolls his eyes at her but obliges, five dollars wasna sacrifice he could make. Adri hands the money to Ian with a pat on his arm, “thanks Ian, drive safe okay?”

He smiles and nods, rolling up the window before pulling away. Lip eyes her as the three of you walk towards the entry line. “You know AJ, there’s no use in hitting on my brother–”

She laughs in disbelief, “what? No, Lip–oh my god–I play for the other team too.” Lip’s eyes widen in surprise, his wit silenced, and Adri nearly doubles over. 

“Oh yeah?” Lip asks, “good to know.”

“Yeah. If I was going for anyone in your family, it’d for sure be Fiona,” she tells him, and then it’s Lip’s turn to stumble from the intensity of his laughter as you approach the end of the line. 

You check your reflection in the window of a closed shop, “If I don’t make out with someone fine tonight, I’m throwing a fit. Seriously.”

Still recovering, Lip pants out, “you look pretty like always MK.”

You raise an eyebrow in response, “really. ‘Cause earlier y’called me a whore.”

“Mm-hmm,” he nods, taking a drag from his cig before exhaling the smoke away from your face. “A pretty whore, yeah. What’s it Adri said, slutty chic?”

At his comment, you remember his words this morning. 

Lip and Adri wait for you outside the corner store as you get your picture taken for a new fake, dead set on getting a good one. This could last until your actual twenty-first birthday. When you finally emerge Lip takes your newly updated card from your hand, inspecting it closely. “You definitely got a discount ‘cause y’r hot. Mine cost like, twenty dollars more and wasn’t half as nice as this shit. But it scans, so I can’t complain.”

Adri eyes you at the comment, lifting an eyebrow behind Lip’s back. He’s indecisive in that way, always half hitting on you but never making a move. It drives you up the wall.

Why does Lip Gallagher have to be so infuriating?

You dismiss him as Adri pulls three smirnoff shooters from her purse. “Fuck! Forgot I had these in here still, meant to take them in the car.” She quickly passes you one each, unscrewing the top to her own. 

“Wait, I wanna make a video,” you tell her. “For our future selves.”

“Of course you do,” Lip complains, but there’s a smile on his face as you prop up your phone. 

You step back between the two of them, raising the small bottle. “Cheers! To… uh–”

“To your twenty-first,” Lip supplies with a smirk. He throws an arm around your shoulders after uncrewing his shot. “And to many, many more.”

“Many more!” Adri toasts, grinning as the three of you clink the bottles and down the shots. 

A bit of a lightweight, you’re feeling the shot by the time you approach the bouncer. By batting your eyes and flashing your ID while telling the large man how excited you were to finally get to try adult things, you distract him enough that he doesn’t check Adri’s ID. Only when the two of you make it to the bar and look back for Lip do you notice he’s still outside the door. He peers around, scowling at the two of you for abandoning ship while he’s left to shell out the cover fee. Thank god you’d known not to pick somewhere too fancy, a little divey club with a dated soundtrack and cheaper drinks. He only had to give the bouncer fifteen before he was allowed inside. 

You offer to buy him a drink as an apology but he refuses, placing a ten on the bar. “I’ll have the three for ten shots, just pour something y’think these girls would like?”

You watch the bartender shoot him a grin before grabbing a bottle of house made strawberry syrup. He rimmed three shot glasses with the syrup before pouring rum and a splash of lemonade. He passes them over and Lip hands the shots out, “on me,” he says with a grin as he elbows you. 

The rum goes down the hatch with ease–it’s your favorite liquor–the bartender made a pretty accurate guess. While you shake off the burn of the shot you hear music that you immediately recognize. You place the plastic cup down on the bar and grab your friends’ hands. “Come on!”

You drag Adri onto the floor, grinning when she takes your other hand and the two of you twirl around. Your hand had slipped from Lip’s as he stayed by the bar, ordering drinks. You pray to god he’s putting them on separate tabs. Lip wades through the crowd with three plastic cups in his hands. He passes two fruity cocktails to you and Adri before gulping down half of his own whiskey sour, his hips beginning to sway to the beat. You twirl around on your own, surprised when a warm hand lands on your hip. 

From behind you Lip murmurs, “this ain’t weird, right?” He guides you to face in Adri’s direction, shes lost in some girl’s eyes. 

You stammer out, “n-no ‘s not–” before he’s swaying you to the beat. He downs the rest of his drink, placing the empty cup on a ledge to your right. Two hands now guide you to face him, looking like the cat that got the cream the way he’s grinning at you.  

And it isn’t weird, really. You’ve always had this unspoken thing between you. Always flirted with the edge of friendship and something more. Regardless, you’re comfortable with it. 

The night goes on just like that, Adri swaps kisses with the girl, smudging a nice shade of brown all over her own lips. You stumble out around two-thirty in the morning, clinging to Lip’s side as Adri hops in a cab home. She offered the two of you a ride to the station but it was in the opposite direction, and Lip insisted the two of you could walk the two blocks there. 

“C’mon MK, lets get you home yeah?” Lip says, his arm holding your waist securely. 

You focus on your steps, blurry eyes pulling away from Adri’s cab as she leaves. You look up to see Lip’s sparkling blue eyes turned toward you, and you’re grateful to the cool wind for excusing the flush on your cheeks. 

“Thanks,” you slur, heading down the street. It’s a short walk which you fill with comfortable silence until your tired body is collapsing into a seat on the L. Within seconds your head finds Lip’s shoulder, drawing a chuckle from the boy. “Lip?” you ask softly, looking up at him.

He smiles graciously, his lips curving into a tipsy grin. “Yeah? Wha’s up kid?”

Your flush worsens at the soft nickname and gentle tone of voice he uses. “Will we be best friends forever?” you ask softly, feeling childish. But you need to know, and they always say drunk words are sober thoughts.

Lip’s smile dips and for a second you fear the worst, but his gentle hand moves to ruffle your already messy hair. “Oh yeah, no doubt about it,” he murmurs. Before you know what’s happening he’s kissed your head. A soft peck right on your crown. 

You stare up in awe, and as if moving on their own you see your fingers tangle in his curls. You pull him down until his lips are on yours, teeth knocking but you don’t find it in you to care. He tastes like the whiskey sours he’d been sipping on all night, smooth bourbon mingling with the acidic taste of a vodka cran on your tongue. 

After a moment you come to your senses, kissing him like this on a public–although empty–train. “Fuck! Lip, ‘m s-so sorry, jeez–”

He cuts you off with a soft finger running over your bottom lip. He traces up to the corner, lifting it into a pretty curve until you’re smiling on your own. He kisses your smiling lips, then murmurs, “‘s okay, y’know. We can be friends who kiss.”

You can kiss Lip Gallagher. Whenever you want. You’re too elated to care about the friendly label. 

Graduation rolls around in due time. Lip looks good in his cap and gown, khaki shorts and a crisp button down underneath. He has you tie his deep blue tie for him, up in your bedroom before heading off. He kisses you in the proximity, holding your cap flush against your head as his own knocks it backwards. All while Caroline and Ian wait downstairs. 

The four of you ride in your car over to the school, and you hold back your tears in the parking lot as you hug your little sister all, dressed up to sing the National Anthem at your graduation. You sit far from Lip during the ceremony but find each other afterwards, walking to the front of the school arm in arm to take a few pictures. Adri surprises you on the way, catching up after sitting right in the front for the best view. You shriek with laughter as she hugs you, you hadn’t even seen her. The three of you take a picture together, Adri sandwiched between Lip and yourself. When you look back at it, you see Lip smiling like the sun in your direction. 

When everything is done and your camera roll is sufficiently full of graduation shots, your little group disbands. Lip says goodbye to his own family, Fiona needing to return to work and Veronica taking the kids back home. You hug your parents tightly, taking one last photo with them by the school sign before they head off. Adri takes a hint from the glance you shoot her, and offers Caro and Ian a ride in her jeep, with the windows down. Of course they say yes. 

That leaves you and Lip alone in your car. You shift into reverse, and when you turn your head to check behind you, he catches your lips with his own. Just a peck, you wish it was more. “You’ll call me every Friday when I’m in Mass, yeah?” he asks, face still close to yours. 

“Of course I will,” you murmur. “I’ll update you on everything.”

“Everything?” he questions, as a smirk plays at his lips. 

“Yeah, everything. Promise.”

You hold out your pinkie, and he does the same. You lock your fingers in the same way you would as kids, swearing to be friends forever. Distance won’t break this bond, right?

“Even your hookups?” Lip asks, drawing his pinkie back from yours. “I want it all, y’know. Girl talk and everything.”

You laugh at him before turning your gaze forward again. “Yeah, right. No fuckin’ way I’m telling you about my sex life. I’ll have Adri for that.” 

He laughs too, goodnaturedly, and clicks his seatbelt on when you glare at him. “Well, I’ll be tellin’ you ‘bout mine, so just know that. Dunno if I’m gonna make too many friends with those mathlete pricks and daddy’s money jagoffs,” he scoffs. 

You roll your eyes, “yeah, I’ll be your phone diary, ‘kay?” From the corner of your eye you can see him smile.

THX 4 READING → the final installment of borderline is dedicated to mkip nation; @notsonian, @ariiireads, and @dearpyramus. beta'd by the lovely @carmybrainworms <33

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Seven Deadly Sins pop-up event.

"Are there discounts for multiple x-rays?"

Prompt: Wrath | Word Count: 1313 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Minor Injuries, Talk of Sex | POV: Eddie | Relationship(s): None | Tags: Corroded Coffin On the Road, Pussy Hound Gareth, Bar Fight

"There's a reason sex comes first in sex, drugs and rock & roll," Gareth says, standing at the sink, shaving.

Eddie rolls his eyes. Hard. This kid. He's gonna be the death of Eddie.

"Just wrap it up, Casanova. We definitely don't want little versions of you running around."

Gareth pulls a strip of condoms from his vest pocket, letting them swing before tossing them on the vanity, "Got it covered."

"Great. Now just remember to actually cover your dick, and you'll be good."

"A guy gets a little case of chlamydia one time, and you never let him live it down," Gareth whines, and Eddie laughs.

This is a ridiculous life they're leading. Nobody should be chasing after Gareth, with stars and lust in their eyes. It's absurd. This is a goofy kid that basically needed a booster seat to even play his drums when Eddie first met him.

Now, he's an adult. Still short though. And while they're not famous, they are on the road together. Eddie never imagined they'd even get this far.

"Just be careful. If you do anything to put this tour at risk, Goodie will kill you."

"He can try," Gareth says, and oh, he has, Eddie is well aware. He's had a front-row seat for years as those two have gone round and round since the day they met. 

Eddie meets Gareth's eyes in the mirror, "Be in the van in ten. Or you're gonna have to troll the motel bar."

Gareth bobbles his head, like he's heard him, and Eddie finishes getting dressed himself for a night off and out.

The bar they land at is smoky and dark, and Eddie settles into a booth next across from Jeff and Goodie as Gareth swaggers off. Eddie turns, stretching out, leaning against the wall, beer in hand. Gareth could just hang with them tonight, but it's like he's afraid all the pussy in the world will dry up if he stops chasing it for one evening.

And the next time Eddie sees Gareth, he's perched on a barstool, facing out towards the room, not the bar, legs spread wide. 

Eddie nods his head towards him, and Jeff and Goodie both look.

"Like that's gonna wor-" Goodie starts to say, but it's like he's fucking catnip, and there's already a girl leaning against the bar beside him, acting like she's not paying attention to Gareth, but definitely is. It's baffling. 

Eddie laughs.

"I hate him," Goodie says, as Gareth puts his hand on her waist as she talks to him, up close and personal.

There's a commotion across the bar, and Eddie scoots to the edge of the booth, leaning out to look.

Oh, hell no.

"Oh shit, it's Gareth," Eddie says, and he's moving, out and upwards from the slick vinyl, trying to get there before Gareth gets punched in the face for a second time.

Eddie slides in between what he assumes is a pissed off boyfriend and Gareth. He gets shoved around a little, and he plants his feet, but the guy is fucking huge. He pushes Eddie out of the way, knocking him clean off his feet, and this asshole is absolutely gonna cold cock Gareth again while he's distracted, trying to get his nose to stop bleeding.

Eddie pops back up, but Goodie has already stepped in between Gareth and the guy that's determined to knock Gareth's lights out. 

"I don't think so," Goodie says.

"He's a fucking dickhead," the guy snaps, grabbing at Goodie's shoulder, trying to push through him. It doesn't work.

"Agreed," Goodie says, "but he's my fucking dickhead. So back the fuck off, or I'll lay your ass out."

Eddie thinks that's a stretch. He's never even seen Goodie throw a punch.

But this is their chance to escape, and Eddie grabs Gareth by the arm, squeezing as he pulls him through the people that have gathered to watch the disturbance. 

And Eddie doesn't stop until they're out the front door, down the street, and then he's shoving Gareth in the back of the van.

Eddie reaches up and presses on the overhead dome light, and looks to see how bad it is. It's not great, and Eddie's sure it's broken. 

"It's broken, ain't it?" Gareth asks, his voice thick and weird, since he isn't breathing out of his nose.

"I'd say so," Eddie answers, "I think-"

And then the front doors are being yanked open, Jeff barreling into the driver's seat, demanding, "Keys!"

Eddie fishes them out of his pocket, and then they are peeling away from the curb, the van rattling and jerking as Jeff puts the pedal to the metal. 

"My fucking hand!" Goodie yells over the road noise, and Eddie looks up to see that he's holding it in his other hand. "I'm gonna kill you, Gare!"

"What'd I do?!" Gareth screams, like he's totally innocent, and Eddie pushes him back into the captain's chair. They aren't gonna start a fight with each other on top of it. "She approached me! I didn't know she had a big, dumb boyfriend!"

And unfortunately, Eddie thinks that's true. 

But Eddie still wedges himself between Gareth and the wrath of Goodie, and grabs both headrests, "Did you finally hit someone and I fucking missed it?!"

Jeff is cackling as he puts distance between them all and the bar where they are surely never welcome to return.

"Fuck yes, he did," Jeff answers, "wasn't pretty, but did the job pretty damn good!"

"I think I broke my hand," Goodie huffs, and Eddie reaches forward, making Goodie show him. Makes him flex, and watches as Goodie winces. If Goodie's complaining, it's bad. Fuck. Goodie'd rather die than go to the doctor.

Eddie doesn't know if it's broken or not, but if two of the four of them probably need x-rays, the night has not gone to plan.

Eddie whips around and looks at Gareth, "Can you maybe keep it in your pants for a while after this? Goddamn."

And Gareth makes a noise of disgust as he leans his head back, holding fast food napkins to his face. Eddie cups his cheek, and gently takes the napkins away. Even with the swelling that is starting to really ramp up, it's definitely crooked. 

"Are there discounts for multiple x-rays?" Eddie asks, and Jeff laughs. 

Gareth whines, and Eddie puts the napkins back under his nostrils.

"I'm looking for hospital signs," Jeff says, and Eddie puts his hand on Gareth's knee. They've had bar fights before, but never anything that ended up this way. Fucking hell. 

"I can't have a fucking broken hand, how am I gonna play?" Goodie snaps from the front seat, like that's gonna make his hand any less fucked up. 

Eddie doesn't know. They'll figure it out. They always do.

X-rays done, Eddie and Jeff regroup outside the automatic hospital doors. Passing a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, between them.

"Boxer's fracture. Three to six weeks," Jeff says, relaying the diagnosis from Goodie's imaging.

"Broken nose. Three to six weeks," Eddie echoes, and they both laugh. 

"Well, at least they're on the same page for once," Jeff says.

"What now?"

A broken nose they could play through, but a hand? Not likely. 

"You could play the bass," Jeff suggests, and yeah, Eddie could. 

"We'll get Goodie a tambourine," Eddie teases.

"No, a cow bell," Jeff counters.

And they both laugh. Yeah, that wouldn't go over well.

"Mama Jones is gonna shit when she gets Gareth's insurance statement," Eddie says.

"Gareth better call home," Jeff says.

"Or we could all just go home," Eddie suggests. Because he's not sure they have the money to stay on the road, unable to play at their full capacity, for weeks.

Jeff sighs, but says, "Yeah. Just a little break."

"In Goodie's hand," Eddie snarks, because honestly, what a fucking ridiculous night.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[helpimstuckposting]

I’m a ghost and you are a shadow

Part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven | part twelve | part thirteen | part fourteen | part fifteen

—

Steve didn't think it would be that hard to ignore the part of his brain that wanted Eddie. It had only been a couple days, after all. Nevermind the fact that every time he spoke to the man, he wanted to keep talking, to keep learning about him, to spill his guts because he finally felt comfortable for the first time in years. He had plenty of experience pretending he was fine, this was no different. If he could look at Nancy after she ripped his heart out, he could look at Eddie and ignore the tightness in his chest.

So he listened to the man talk about OtherSteve, and clenched his jaw until it hurt. He wasn't going to do anything stupid. It was fine, and it was going to keep being fine.

"I guess the rest is history," Eddie chuckled softly, the humor only there on the surface. "Literally," he added, staring sadly at the water, “S’all history, now.”

Steve shouldn't ask. He really, really, shouldn't ask. It would be incredibly insensitive to ask, but his mouth was moving and he wasn't able to stop it in time before a strangled "How...-" managed to escape. He shook his head, tearing his eyes away from Eddie’s deflated form. How did he die?

He let the silence speak for him. Eddie knew what he hadn’t asked, it was up to him whether he’d answer or change the subject.

In the end, he sighed, nudged Steve on the arm, and stood up. “C’mon, let’s go inside, it’s getting cold as shit out here,” he muttered, and Steve followed. Instead of walking away entirely, abandoning Steve for his bed and leaving him to stew in The Question That Shouldn’t Be Asked, Eddie lead them both into the kitchen and pulled a tea kettle out of the cupboard above the stove. He had to lift himself onto his tip-toes in order to reach it, and Steve refused to find that cute.

He sat at the counter, just like the night before, and watched as the man before him filled the kettle with water and placed it onto the stove — the igniter click-click-clicking until the flame whooshed to life. Eddie kept his back to Steve and leaned over the stove, palms braced on the edge of the counter. Steve didn’t know what to say, how to bring the conversation back around and release the awkward tension that simmered through the air like the water currently placed on the burner.

So he sat, kicking himself for letting that word escape. How. More like, how did Steve get himself into this mess? How did Steve always get into messes he couldn’t fix? How-

“It wasn’t the Upside Down, if that’s what you were thinking,” Eddie mumbled softly, back still facing Steve. He held his breath, worried that another misstep would make Eddie shut up for good.

“It was a-,” he cut himself off, head shaking back and forth. He laughed once, sharply, the sound so much like a knife in Steve’s ears that he nearly flinched away. “It was a fucking car accident. Like some kind of stupid daytime soap opera.”

He was still shaking his head, like he just couldn’t believe the sheer audacity of the universe to throw something so mundane at his feet.

“We… My band,” he clarified, as if Steve didn’t know he had one, “we had a gig that night, just a town over. Steve couldn’t swap his shift at work so he was running late, said he’d meet us there.”

Steve clenched his thighs tight against each other, the ache in his muscles keeping him grounded in his stool. He watched Eddie, and waited, and didn’t move, and watched Eddie, until he noticed that the man was no longer still. He was still fidget-less as he hovered by the stove, but as Steve watched he saw his shoulders start to tremble and then shake as he hunched in on himself, becoming smaller. The light in the kitchen seemed too bright for the emotions currently clawing their way out of Eddie, but still Steve couldn’t move from his seat.

“I told him,” Eddie muttered, “I told him not to rush, that there-,” he hiccuped, and Steve winced because it sounded like it hurt, tearing up his throat from the inside, “that there would be other gigs he could watch.”

How would it feel if they’d all successfully made it out of the Upside Down, only for one of them to be ripped away again? From something so normal, so common. Would it feel less real than the monsters that haunted his dreams? He couldn’t take the way that Eddie’s shoulders trembled. He always seemed so solid, so calm in the face of Steve’s worries that he’d almost forgotten the face he’d made when he pinned Steve to the wall; the furrowed brow, the steep downturn of his lips and the way his nostrils flared with rage. Even then, his shoulder hadn’t trembled, his grip on the kitchen knife was steady and sure.

“I didn’t even know until after the set,” he cried, and Steve couldn’t stay seated any longer. He rounded the counter and took Eddie’s shaking shoulders into his arms, squeezed until he couldn’t feel the trembling anymore. He felt Eddie’s arms wrap around his back and cling to the sweatshirt that didn’t belong to him, clutch it tightly in his hands so hard it probably hurt. It didn’t seem like Eddie was about to stop talking, but should he? Should Steve let him? Maybe he needed this as much as Steve had needed to talk about his dad, maybe he just needed someone to hold him through it and let him be. Had he talked about this with anyone else, or was Steve the first to see it?

“Linda called the bar,” he choked into the crook of Steve’s neck, warm tears tickling at his skin. “I yelled at her, I said-,” he hiccuped again, “I said that she could fuck off, that she had to be lying. That you- he was fine, he had to be fine,” and Eddie’s voice cracked, it practically shattered, and Steve didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t something he was used to anymore — comforting others. Hell, he was terrible at it even before, so bad at knowing what to do that Nancy called him bullshit for pretending nothing had happened at all. Clearly, being alone hadn’t done him any favors since then. So he tried to keep quiet, he held onto Eddie as hard as he could and prayed that he wasn’t making it all worse.

Eddie’s wracking sobs tore Steve up inside as he thought himself in circles. It had only been six months, Dustin had said. Six months where Eddie had lost a love that other people yearn for, six months where he’d probably stared at the pictures on the wall for hours and didn’t touch the other half of his closet. Six months of blaming himself, if he was anything like Steve. Because he would. God, he would blame himself so much if someone died on their way to see him, if he was the reason they were on the road, and then he never saw them again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into Eddie’s hair, and the full weight of the man collapsed into his arms. It probably wasn’t his voice he was hearing, but if Eddie needed to picture OtherSteve saying it in order to pull himself together, then so be it. Steve could be that for just a moment.

The teapot squealed, Eddie flinching in his arms before taking a breath, two breaths, and detangling himself from Steve’s arms.

I’m sorry, he wanted to say again. I’m sorry he’s not here, I’m sorry I’m here instead, I’m sorry to be opening these wounds that haven’t even healed yet. I’m sorry.

But instead, he kept his mouth closed and walked back over to the stool he’d vacated, sitting down to watch Eddie bumble around for mugs and tea and honey. Steve didn’t know anything about tea, didn’t even know if he owned a kettle, but Eddie’s movements were practiced and swift. He sniffled every few seconds, wiping away his remaining tears with his bare hands while the tacky saltwater airdried on Steve’s neck.

With two mugs in hand, Eddie walked past Steve and set them down on the breakfast table behind him. He sat down, looking anywhere but at Steve, and spooned one scoop of sugar into both mugs, followed by a generous squeeze of honey. It would be more awkward if Steve didn’t follow, and having Eddie at his back after such an emotional moment didn’t sit well with him. So, Steve slid off of the stool, wandered over to the stove to turn the overhead light on, and made one more stop to flick the rest of the kitchen lights off before joining Eddie at the table.

If Eddie didn’t want to look at him after that, maybe some darkness would feel less vulnerable. If not, then Steve could make eye contact with the honey bear bottle instead or whatever. It’s not like Steve had any dignity to stand on after crying his eyes out all day previously. Jesus, he cried in the kitchen with everyone on the floor, outside with Robin, being held in his mom’s arms as he cried like a baby, and then again with Eddie by the pool. How did he have any liquid left in his body? He’s lucky he didn’t shrivel up into a raisin by now.

So he stared at the bear. He traced over its little painted on eyes, contemplated its origin. Why a bear? Did bears even like honey? Or was that just Pooh? Was the bear Pooh? Or was that a copyright issue?

He sipped at his tea in silence, mirroring Eddie as he still avoided his eyes. By the time Eddie spoke again, the tea was gone and Steve had spent entirely too long cataloguing every scratch and dent and imperfection in the plastic honey container.

“Sorry,” Eddie muttered into the lip of his cup. Steve rolled his eyes, looking at the man across from him for the first time since sitting at the table. He raised his eyebrow and gave him the flattest look he could muster, channeling the look Carol had taught him to master all the way back in middle school.

“Right, because I’ve never cried in my life and I’m really questioning your manliness right now,” he scoffed.

Eddie’s shoulders drooped, like a string had been cut. He rolled his eyes back, and grabbed the two empty mugs as he stood. Steve watched as he went through the motions of making two more cups of tea, draining the kettle on the stove.

“You know, you’re a lot bitchier than I thought you’d be,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. Steve snorted, could practically hear the honey bear laugh at him, too.

“Comes with the territory,” Steve responded as Eddie wandered back over to the table. He thought back to the Munson Doctrine that he’d heard so many years ago and still somehow remembered. “Rich parents, popular, girls love me,” he listed, locking eyes with Eddie before he reached for the sugar. “Sometimes I’m a douche.”

Eddie laughed, sharp and startled, pausing in his actions.

“No sugar please,” Steve added, flicking his eyes down to the spoon still in Eddie’s hand. He blinked, confused for a second before shaking his head and looking down at the sugar, then back up at Steve.

“Right… right,” he muttered to himself, only adding a spoonful to his own cup before sitting down again. Steve still squeezed a little honey in. He liked the flavor in the tea. It was… flowery, reminded him of a dewy field in the springtime, bees buzzing about.

His eyes burned a little, drooping where they hadn’t just an hour ago. He could feel a yawn climbing its way out his throat, but he swallowed around it, trying to keep it under wraps. Eddie gave him a knowing look, bringing the tea to his lips to hide his smirk.

Steve quirked an eyebrow again, “you poison me, Munson? I thought we got past this?”

He chuckled, closing his eyes as he took a few big gulps of the warm liquid. He was soft in the darkness, light from the stove painting shadows across his face — shadows that highlighted his dimples, that made his eyelashes look unbelievably long. Steve blinked a little slower as he watched the man set his cup down and gently open his eyes.

“It’s chamomile,” he whispered, pointing to the mug in Steve’s hands. “It’s good for sleep.”

Steve looked to where he was pointing, the soft golden liquid still as it sat in his cup. It sparkled in the low light, just like the water in the pool outside and Steve was reminded of summers as a lifeguard, high on his tower. He could marry the warmth of the tea with the sun that had shined on his face, prickling at his skin as new freckles bloomed.

When he looked back up, Eddie was staring at the bowl of sugar with another one of his unreadable expressions. His eyebrows were scrunched down in the middle, mouth moving in little motions like he was chewing the inside of his cheek. He looked as if he were solving math problems in the granules or counting them one by one.

“You take your coffee differently, did you know that?” Eddie whispered. He sounded almost in awe, like the difference was important, like it meant something.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked. He couldn’t take his eyes away from the man in front of him now, his hair a mass of black in the darkness, eyes just as infinite and deep.

“I mean,” Eddie huffed out a laugh, “Steve had always copied his mom since he was little, and Linda… Linda loves sugar, I’m pretty sure it’s some kind of freaky compulsion at this point because it’s just… wow. The woman can’t get enough of it, I think her coffee order is just a milkshake at this point.” That startles a laugh out of Steve, picturing his mother shoveling spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee. The Linda from his universe didn’t even drink coffee, as far as Steve saw. She’d usually stick to wine, no matter the time of day. ‘It’s more ladylike,’ though he no longer knew if that was his mom’s thoughts, or his dad’s. Or maybe she was hiding behind it, like Steve had with the whiskey cabinet.

“And Steve,” Eddie continued, “he always took a lot of sugar and milk in his, not as much as her - obviously - but it was still gross,” Eddie laughed. Steve couldn’t help but smile at the look on his face, remembering happy times and funny memories, instead of the bad ones that had him pressed into Steve’s shoulder, tears puddling in the crook of his neck.

“But you,” he said.

“I take it black with one spoon of sugar,” Steve finished. Eddie nodded.

“Is that… I mean do you think you got that from-“

“My dad?” Steve nodded as he said it, thinking back on everything he’d learned since stumbling into this world. “I guess I just… never realized how much he really influenced me over the years.”

Eddie looked over his face earnestly, like he had with the sugar, like he was trying to calculate something on Steve’s forehead or count each mole dotted on his skin. He sighed, leaning forward, hands clasped tightly around his nearly empty mug. “You’re nothing like him, though, you know that?” He said

Steve scoffed and rolled his eyes, settling them back on the golden liquid in his cup and away from the intensity in Eddie’s. “You didn’t even know him.”

“I know you, though.”

“Do you? We only met a couple days ago.” And you didn’t even speak to me that first day, he didn’t say out loud.

“I know a version of you. I know you’re different, I like that you’re different, but you’re not separate. You are Steve Harrington. And I know Steve Harrington.”

‘You are Steve Harrington,’ he remembered Linda say when she’d first seen him, ‘and any Steve Harrington is my baby.’

He blinked the thought away, downing the dredges of his tea to avoid looking Eddie in the eye. He couldn’t put those thoughts to the man in front of him, because if he did, if he kept thinking ‘any Steve Harrington is my baby’ he’d picture Eddie saying it. He’d picture the words ‘baby’ slipping out of his lips like the sticky sweet honey in the bear bottle that was still staring at him, judging him as if reading his mind. And that was dangerous.

—

Okay, this part was getting very very long so I ended up dividing it between this part and the next one. I know some people are wondering about Linda, and we'll find out about what she's been up to shortly!

Tag List:

@devondespresso @machete-inventory-manager @sirsnacksalot @space-invading-pigeon @aliea82 @goodolefashionedloverboi @anti-ozzie @13catastrophic-blues @estrellami-1 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @likelylad @aellafreya @wxrmland @shunna @howincrediblysapphicofyou @1-8oo-wtfbro @grimmfitzz @queenie-ofthe-void @redheadchimechild @bread52487 @bookworm0690 @jinojiboundagain @inikokoru @n0-1-important @fangirltofangod @emly03

[tvgals]

Could we please get more dad eren? I’ve literally became obsessed with the one you did 🥹🥹

too much dad! eren? no such thing !

dad! eren x black! fem! reader!

ok. let’s backtrack to the birth of you and eren’s first kid. your water broke in the midst of you and eren’s sleep. 1:40 am is what the clock read once you felt the wet and somewhat gooey substance under you. once you were atleast 70% awake and realize what’s going on, you fall into a panic. “eren, eren! wake up!” you shake eren with the most force you can as a pregnant- going into labor - woman. after almost a minute of tears falling down your face and shaking legs and hands, eren groggily wakes up.

“whats wrong, baby?” “i’m going into labor! eren please get up! we need to get in the car!” you plead, trying to get yourself out of bed, groaning while sitting on the edge. “shit shit shit…okay hold on,” eren starts panicking alongside with you. he hands you your shoes while trying to find the overnight bag the two of you agreed on just a week before. “baby please! i can feel her kicking!” you sob, trying to slide on your house shoes. “i know i know, just let me find my glasses.” him and those god damn glasses. “eren!” you squeal. “okay okay.” and with that, eren takes his and yours phones and grabs your hand, guiding you to the door. you groan and whine in pain. “holy shit eren..the hospital is like…ten minutes away! i can’t do it!” you tell him, shaking and crying. “yes you can. you’re the strongest woman i’ve ever met.” eren says, hauling you up the apartment stairs and opening up the door, fleeing down the ramp.

“baby i’m not gonna make it!” you wail, making it to the car without your knowledge. “i know it hurts baby, just get in. we’ll make it, okay?” eren sighs himself, this is stressful and he’s not the one pregnant. “okay okay.” you gasp, sitting yourself down in eren’s seat, remembering to lift your feet onto the dashboard. eren runs around the car and plops into the drivers seat, pushing the key into the engine and reversing. “eren please! go 150 if you have to! i swear to god if i have birth in this god damn car you will sleep on the couch for as long as you’re alive!” you threaten, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “got it. no birth in this car!” eren affirms, speeding down the street. just around the corner from the hospital you feel your contractions getting closer, your eyes grow wide. “eren hurry up,” you plead, eyes closing at the sight of the hospital. “cmon cmon,” eren parks the car right in front and pulls the keys out, immediately hurrying to your side. “let’s go.” he practically runs you into the lobby of the hospital, you gasping and groaning in pain.

“she’s going into labor. we just need a room really fast.” eren says, seeing a nurse come around the corner with a wheelchair. he walks you over and sits you down, the nurse hurrying you to the room. eren isn’t too far behind…due to his running. “please! i can feel her coming! hurry up!” you cry, gripping the handles of the wheelchair. “it’s okay. here’s your room right here, you’ll be okay.” after getting you all situated in the hospital bed, the doctor and multiple nurses are surrounding you, your husband by your side. “just breathe in and out.” the doctor says. after three hours of pushing and grueling work and pain (and the breaking of eren’s hand) your beautiful baby girl was born. a beautiful head of curls being presented. all tests were ran and they made sure she was healthy and safe and gave her to you, a bundle of pink.

“hi baby.” you coo, tears threatening to fall. “eren she’s so pretty.” you mumble, looking up into his emerald eyes, glossy and soft. “i know i know…” you cry, wiping your tears on your shoulder. “here eren, hold her.” you smile, handing eren your daughter. “what if i don’t know how to hold her right? what if she doesn’t like me?” eren babbles. you sush him and hand him her. “now…what name are we feeling?” you ask, tilting your head out of love. “nevaeh..”

[oneforthemunny]

hey girl, so happy to see you're back! if you're still doing the blurb game, can I request something with cowboy!eddie or hockey!eddie, surgery and fluff? this is purely self indulgent, I had surgery done yesterday & feel like being babied by one of my husbands lolll

omg hope you feel better my love!!! i decided to go with hockey!eddie bc i feel he would be better with this prompt in a way <3 enjoy!

"Uh, maybe you should- No, don't do that." One hand cradling your arm, the other reaching to grab the bag on the floor before you could. Eddie's eyes were frantic, hands still a little clammy from the waiting room.

It was routine, he knew it was, a simple surgery the doctor's done a million times- the nurse had reassured him, she'd took pity after he'd nearly passed out in the waiting room. Still, Eddie was on edge. Even after he saw you, after the doctor told him you'd recover easily, that everything had gone as planned; he was still anxious.

"I'm fine, Eddie." Your voice was scratchy, a little groggy and lacking it's usual, familiar hum that always left Eddie feeling like he was floating. "I can get it."

"No, you really can't. Here," Eddie grunted, maneuvering to grab your purse off the ground, one hand still holding you steady in case you fell. "I got it, alright. Just let me get you to the car."

"Eddie, I'm fine. I can walk- I should walk." You sighed, though your hand never left his, clinging to it as you took careful shuffling steps. He decided against mentioning that. "I'll never recover if I don't move."

"You've got time to recover." Eddie replied, his free hand wrapping around your waist carefully. "Today, you need to rest. Believe me," He talked over your whine of protest, voice raising over yours gently. "I've had enough surgeries and shit to know that."

"Yeah, you have." You snorted lightly, lips pulling in a grin. Your head was still foggy from the anesthesia, the pain not yet setting in but an overall feeling of uncomfortableness that was beginning to set in.

"You're like an expert then?" Your eyes squinted lightly, looking up at him, the bright Indiana sun above the two of you. "A pro?"

"Somethin' like that." Eddie grinned, shrugging lightly. "I mean some would argue that. Both ACL's, a ligament in my arm and shoulder- oh, and the tooth that got lodged in my cheek." He reached the car, jamming the key in the door and opening it wide for you, helping you in before you could climb in yourself.

"I'm in good hands then." You gritted, wincing when you lifted into the seat, Eddie's eyes wide ready to catch you, yank you out if he needed to and carry you back into the hospital.

"The best, baby." Eddie nodded, smacking your hands away gently so he could fasten your seatbelt. He looked up at you after he clicked the buckle in place, a goofy smile on his face when his eyes met yours.

"I'll take good care of you, sweetheart. Promise." He muttered, leaning forward to kiss you, careful but sweet- the way you kissed him when his lip was busted after a game.

Your chest swelled with heat, leaning back into the seat as he closed the door. Eddie climbed in the driver's side. "I also know that the first rule of recovery," He started the car, tilting the vents that blew AC, turning the dials to what you liked without you having to ask. "That you have to get ice cream after."

"Ice cream?" You giggled lightly. "Ed, it's ten in the morning."

Eddie looked at the clock, then back at you with a shrug. "'S alright. Store's open." He pushed the gear shift, arm on the back of your chair as he slowly backed out of his spot. "Besides, we gotta get your medicine anyways, so two for one trip."

[shivvyscat]

Stay.

[summary: shiv lets you lounge on her bed after an afternoon together, watching her get ready for an event; lots of gay panic and reader being a simping mess]

[gxg, shiv x f!reader]

• • •

It took Siobhan at least a year of hooking up before she even entertained the idea of you staying at her place for even ten minutes after being done in bed. But you persisted, and you would’ve been fine with being kicked on your ass for another year if it meant getting the slightest bit closer to the redhead.

Your patience paid off though, and now each time you went to see her after an ‘I have the place to myself, come over’ text, you’d get your cuddles, your long talks, and sometimes, you’d get a glimpse of her life, that she would willingly show you. Tonight was one of those days, as you laid naked in Shiv’s bed, watching her sit in front of her vanity mirror, in her cute little satin robe.

“Could you not?” Her silky voice brought you out of your haze.

“I’m not even doing anything.” Shiv raised a brow, looking at you through the mirror with that smirk that made you want to get on your knees and kiss her from toe to head. But you kept your cool.

“You’re ogling. It’s annoying.” Her hands kept working on her face, your eyes still on her.

“Well, you’re the one ogling if it’s bothering you. Look at your own pretty face.” You tease and turn on your stomach, cuddling a blanket as your head is still turned to her direction.

“You little shit.” She laughs, and you grin, wanting to make her laugh again, and again, and then one more time. “Don’t you have anything else to do? I have to be sharp for this thing. Get in the right headspace to deal with those fuckers.” You revelled in the way her eyes lingered for one second longer on your half sheet-covered figure even as she said this.

“Not really.” You lied. The truth is that you had a bunch of stuff you could be doing instead of lounging in this woman’s bed. But you wanted to be here, for as long as she’d have you, you would be here.

“Yeah, well, I do, so quit it.”

“Why did you even invite me over if you knew you had this thing? I wouldn’t have come if I knew it was gonna be just a couple hours.” Before you even said it, you knew it was another lie. You would’ve come here if Siobhan wanted just a quick release. You would’ve come here if she wanted just a peck on the lips.

“You would’ve.” Shiv smirked. “Besides, I wanted you. Got a problem with that, Y/N?”

“Whatever. Like I said, I had the day free, anyway.”

“Oh yeah? No standing up your girlfriend for this?” She asked, a little teasingly, her movements as she fixes her hair as sharp as her tongue. You smile.

“Which one are you talking about?”

“Hm, I don’t know. Roman did say you fucked his girlfriend.” Shiv looks amused as she turns on her seat, grabbing a bottle of lotion from the vanity and leaning down to apply it on her legs. Now you’re really ogling.

“I fucked you. Are you my girlfriend?” This makes her laugh. And once again you bask in the pleasure of that sound being caused by you.

“Come here, smartass.” You raise your brows, eyes full of surprise and subtle excitement. “What? Are you scared? I want your opinion on something.”

“Oh, that’s a first.” You lean over the edge of the bed to grab your shirt from the floor, but she stops you.

“Uh uh. That won’t be necessary. Come here.” You stand up, completely bare as you walk up to her. Once again revelling in the way her eyes travel up and down your body, in that subtle way only she can pull off, and probably only you can notice. She pulls you closer by the waist. “Which of these go best with my eyeshadow and a black dress?” She holds up a few lipstick options.

“Hm… I don’t know. This one?” Shiv scoffs, with a grin.

“Please, that one screams whore.”

“Why do you even have it?”

“For situations where it’s acceptable. Like your birthday party.” She looks up at you with that teasing smile, it makes you smile as well, and your knees feel like they might buckle under you.

“Oh, fuck you, Siobhan.”

“What? Don’t you remember this lipstick all over your body after? I think it looked great. But not for tonight.” She puts the options down. “Come here.”

“What, you ass?” Shiv pulls you in again, making you settle on her lap, your thighs on each side of hers. You are so, so aware of the minuscule amount of barrier between you two.

“Put….” She holds your waist with one hand, and with the other she picks out a lighter option of red. “This one on me.”

“I’m sorry, are your hands not working?” You smile, grabbing the lipstick she handed you, once her hand is free she holds the other side of your waist, her touch firm and gentle at the same time.

“Well, I want you in my lap. You might as well do it for me, no?” You roll your eyes, unable to not smile at her words, her expression, her hands caressing from your hips to below your breasts.

“Pucker up, then.” You reach up for her lips, but before you touch them with makeup, you lean in and kiss her, just a soft contact. As you pull away, she puts her hand on the back of your neck and pulls you into a proper kiss.

It’s hard to keep it going, since you’re both smiling, you pull back with a chuckle. “Do you wanna get ready or not?”

“Yes. Don’t go overboard. Just one layer is fine.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Shut up.” She mutters, trying not to move her lips too much as you put on her lipstick, it’s clear to you that she wants to smile.

“All done.” You put the little tube back on the table and she turns to inspect your work, her hands not once leaving your body.

Shiv hums. “Good.” She moves your hair behind your shoulders. “I’m gonna get dressed….” She says in a lower voice, leaning into your neck, planting little teasing kisses on it. “And you’re gonna be right on that bed when I get back.”

You tilt your head a little to give her better access, sighing softly. “Yeah?”

“Hm mhm. I want you here. Stay.” Shiv says, and you nod. She lightly smacks your ass, making you stand up from her lap. “And don’t get dressed.”

Shiv voice says ‘demand’, but her eyes say ‘plead’. Either way, you’re going to oblige. You’re gonna be here when she gets back. You always are.

• • •

(my first tumblr post 😭 send me requests! I love writing for shiv. let me know your thoughts as well <3)

[malamira]

QUIET LOVE, OH HOW IT SCREAMS

synopsis: "i'd never let anything happen to you, if i could help it."

a/n: GOD, i love doctor!au inukag. i did a lot of editing and revising for this, so it's a different beast from what it was when smutmas version came out. i'm not 100% happy with the ending, but i mean. if i did any more i had a feeling i would just ruin it instead of help it.

— 💓 —

“You’re going to love me,” Sango sing-songed, sliding into the seat next to Kagome’s.

Kagome grunted, massaging her temple. The bar wasn't too crowded, thankfully, but the noise level was high enough that she had to speak up to be heard. “Why? Did you kill the hospital director yet?”

“No,” Sango said primly; Onigumo Industries owned the hospital Kagome was a surgeon at, and Sango's father was vice president of one of the subsidiaries. “But,” she said, grasping her friend’s arm, “I kind of have a solution to your extended shift problem.”

“You mean the hospital is hiring another surgeon?” Kagome mumbled grumpily, knocking back her watered down whisky. The moisture that collected outside the glass splattered unto the bar when she slammed it down. 

“No! A guy!”

Kagome stared at her best friend, first blankly, then sourly. “Sango, I love you and I know you only have my best interests at heart, but seriously? I barely have time to bathe Buyo. I don’t have time for a guy.”

“No, I mean like to fuck!” her friend said encouragingly. “It’s been rough the past few weeks. Maybe a good orgasm will fix you right up!"

Kagome's cheeks colored. "I don't—"

Sango wasn't having any of it. "Aw, come on! It's just some harmless fun. He’s right over there, by the booth—”

“Now?” Kagome said incredulously. “I’m in my scrubs. I have a stain on my shirt!”

“So? Is it a shit stain?” 

“I’m not even going to correct you on how many hospital protocols I would’ve broken if it were a shit stain.”

“Lighten up, Kagome!” Sango insisted, jumping up from her chair and tugging at her friend's arm. “It’s Friday and you deserve to get laid. Come on.”

“It is a testament to our ten-year friendship that I am choosing to trust you,” Kagome said flatly, throwing a few bills on the counter to cover her drink. She called over the bartender before letting Sango pull her away.

“Hello, gentlemen,” Sango said brightly, then brandished her friend from behind her. “As promised, my lady doctor friend.”

“Hi,” the guy at the edge of the booth said, dark hair and bright, blue eyes. He was cute, Kagome could admit, if a little too... pedestrian, for her tastes. He extended a hand to shake. “I’m Kōga.”

“Kagome,” she introduced herself, taking his hand for a brief shake. He scooted over and motioned for her to sit next to him. 

Sango had already settled into the side of a guy who had a short ponytail and earrings. “I’m Miroku,” that guy said. 

She only just managed to land her butt on the leather seat of the booth, she felt a familiar vibration pattern in her pocket. Her emergency pattern.

Before Kōga—or Sango, for that matter—could utter a word, she’d straightened and fished out her phone. “Hospital. Gotta go.” 

Without so much as a look back, she bolted.

—

“I’m here,” Kagome panted, running into the ER. "I'm here!"

“Doc!” Jinenji, one of the nurses on shift, called out, timidly holding a clipboard to his chest as he approached from the nurses' station. “I know you just got out—”

“It’s fine.” She waved away his concern. “What do you need?”

“We did a test for Nazuna, the one who had the appendectomy earlier today, and the results required a change in dosage,” he informed her, then turned sheepish when he continued, “I’m really sorry; her mother was getting… irate, and I couldn't get another physician—”

Kagome shook her head and let out a breath. “It’s okay, Jinenji; it's not your fault. Good thing I was nearby.” A bar two blocks away wasn't necessarily nearby, but Jinenji didn’t have to know that. She took the clipboard. "Nazuna... the one with anemia, right? Can we check if she needs a transfusion? Her RBC's looking pretty low..."

“Dr. Higurashi!” another nurse cried as soon as Jinenji took off with her advice. “Thank God you're here; I need you!”

Kagome sighed and got to work.

—

A few hours later, she yawned as she pushed back against the desk in the middle of the doctor's lounge, her chair screeching against the floor. "Oh my God," she groaned, exhausted.

“I hear Higurashi,” a gruff voice called a few hours later, and a light-haired head popped into the admin room doorway. Gold eyes peered at her with interest. “Hey. Isn’t your shift over? Why are you still here?”

Kagome stretched in her chair and rubbed her eye with the back of her hand. She smiled tiredly at Inuyasha, who regarded her with curious eyes. “Had to do something. You haven’t left yet?”

He strode into the room, hands in his pockets. He’d forgone his lab coat and scrubs, changing into jeans and a button-up shirt. “About to, yeah. Where'd you come from? Your house?”

She shook her head. “No, I was at the bar two blocks down. You know Shikon?”

Inuyasha smirked and jerked his head. “Come on. I’ll drive you back. Unless you wanna walk…?”

“Nah, you’re good,” she said, collecting her things and leaving the room. She fell into step next to him. “And excuse you, I had one drink.”

He opened the door to the stairwell and let her pass; the elevator to the parking was under repair. “Shikon’s for kids anyway. Why not head to, I don’t know, Totosai’s, or something?”

“I didn’t pick the place,” Kagome mumbled. Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she fumbled for it, shoes echoing as they made their way down the cement steps.

“Oh? Were you out with friends, then?”

"Yeah." Kagome groaned, pausing in the middle of the stairwell, "And she’s fucking pissed at me.”

Inuyasha raised an eyebrow, curious. He hopped back up a few steps to get back to her level and peered at her phone, eyes widening at the slew of texts she'd apparently ignored.

Sango 23:44 Is everything ok?

Sango 00:22 Kagome we’re still at the bar in case u wanna come back, I’m telling Koga ur coming back

Sango 00:28 Can u reply so i can give an update

Sango 01:18 Kagome PLS!! Trying to call u, pls answer

Sango 01:31 Koga left. He’s kinda pissed and I’m super embarrassed

Sango 01:56 Leaving too, it’s been 2 hours

Sango 02:03 Call me in the morning when I’m more important than your job

He whistled lowly. “She’s really mad, huh?”

“No, really? What gave that away?” Kagome said blankly, furiously typing back. Sorry, stuff at the hospital got hectic. Will make it up to you tomorrow. She sent the message and pocketed her phone, pressing a hand to her forehead. She took a deep breath before turning to climb back up the stairs.

“What’s up?”

“You go on ahead,” she said.

“What?" She could hear Inuyasha climb up after her. "Why?”

“I’m heading home,” she said, looking back at him. She lived on the other side of town, opposite the direction of Shikon.

Inuyasha put his hands in his pockets and looked at her like she was crazy. “Are you crazy? It’s two in the morning, Higurashi. I’ll drive you home."

She gaped. “Are you crazy? I live an hour away!”

“Traffic won’t be too bad,” he said with a shrug, not looking at her. “I don’t mind. Seriously.”

“But—”

He sighed and climbed further up the stairs until they were a step apart, his eyes meeting hers with barely a tilt of his head. “Kagome, seriously. You work too hard and give too much."

She rolled her eyes, "I'm fine—"

"Oh, come on," Inuyasha said, clearly exasperated. "Don’t think I hadn’t heard of you being wheeled out of the operating room after that cystectomy last week.”

She flushed at that. “I—How’d you know about that?”

“Jinenji’s very easy to manipulate.” 

She gaped and lightly smacked his arm. “That’s mean! You know he’s scared of you.”

“He’s scared of a lot of things,” Inuyasha shot back. “And I would’ve known anyway.”

“How?”

“Kagome,” he said, one of his hands slipping out of his pocket to gently grasp her wrist. He raised it so it hovered in between their faces. “You’re shaking.”

Her hand twitched before her eyes, and she bit her lip. “I'm fine, I'm just tired—"

"Tired? But you're consistently taking 24-hour shifts?" He lowered her hand, but didn't let go of her wrist. "Come on, Kagome. Admit it; you're overworking yourself."

She sniffed. "I didn’t know you watched me so closely.” It was meant to corner him, but it came out feeble and shy.

He sighed and lowered their clasped hands. “Seriously, Kagome,” he mumbled as he, to her surprise, rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “You need to take care of yourself more.”

She looked down at his hand, watching as his thumb dragged tenderly over her skin.

Her relationship with Inuyasha was both surprisingly simple and terrifyingly complicated. They had met in medical school, when she was a sophomore and he was in his last year. They'd gone to different schools—rival schools—but they had a mutual friend who introduced them, thinking they’d be perfect for each other.

It couldn’t have gone more wrong.

She looked too much like his ex, he said, while she claimed that he was too big of an asshole. While they were both planning to eventually become surgeons, it seemed like the similarities stopped there. Whenever they managed to come across each other it was like they wanted to bite each other’s head off for the smallest of things—like breathing too loud, or walking too slow—until they discovered that they’d work together in the same hospital, in the same operating team.

They'd learned to deal with each other. At least until the day Kagome’s brother had been wheeled in into the ER.

Sōta had been shot.

Kagome had nearly lost her mind with worry, snapping at anyone who denied her access to her brother, until Inuyasha had to practically manhandle her to sit down on the couch in the physician’s lounge. He had talked her down, told her that he was handling the operation, he'd be the one to take care of her brother, but she needed to calm the fuck down, okay? 

She'd grabbed his hand and made him promise to do everything—everything—he could.

He'd kissed her forehead, unbidden, and left the room. The shock of it was like the icing on the proverbial cake, rendering her speechless. It was too much all at once, and she ended up sleeping on the lounge couch. A few hours later, Inuyasha woke Kagome up and she bolted to see her brother.

Sōta had made it, albeit looking a little worse for wear. Her mother had screamed at the police on the phone, the angriest Kagome had ever seen her. Turned out Sōta had been shot by an unknown assailant after being mugged, and the man was still on the loose. 

The police had found him eventually, Kagome had told Inuyasha when he asked, and she hadn't known anything beyond that. The other surgeon nodded, looking pensive. Kagome had realized she hadn’t thanked him yet, for all he’d done. She had suggested that she pick up his shifts in return.

He'd declined (surprisingly politely). Instead, he'd offered to pick up her shifts while she took a break. When she'd asked what for, all he said was, "To take care of your brother," and left it at that.

She'd thought he'd take one or two shifts, but he'd crossed her name out of the shift sheet for a total of three weeks, declaring that hanyōs didn't really need sleep, and therefore could take on more work. ("I'm the ideal ER doctor, if you think about it," he'd said.)

"Inuyasha," she said.

His thumb resumed its motions. "Hm?"

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked him.

That seemed to snap him out of whatever stupor he'd landed himself in, and he let go. She kind of missed it.

With a blush on his face, he scoffed and looked away. "I—You know, I pick up your shifts when you're out, you know? I—You shouldn't take—If you get sick, I'll have to take more shifts."

Awkward silence settled over them, and Kagome stepped down to stand closer to him. They were practically nose to nose, and Inuyasha's gold gaze met hers with an intensity that made her want to shiver.

"You're lying," she challenged boldly, and that made him scoff again, sounding completely offended this time around.

"Why would I lie?" he said with a roll of his eyes, turning away and stepping down.

Kagome was growing frustrated. She couldn't put into words what she wanted to tell him.

"You're always—" She shook her head. She was ready to yell, but she wasn't angry. Once upon a time, she would have snapped, called him a coward, and stomped past him. But gone was the pure loathing that defined the early stages of their relationship. So where did that leave them?

Where did that leave her?

He turned and looked back up at her. "Look. I can drive you home, and I—" He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Just get some rest, okay? You've had a long day. I can take your shift tomorrow, just... just get some rest."

The next thing she knew, she was watching his back as he climbed down the stairs, and that's when it dawned on her.

Her brother, her job, her wellbeing—why hadn't she realized sooner that—

"Inuyasha."

He paused and sighed, turning back to face her. "Kagome, just—"

Maybe it was the exhaustion, but the way he looked at her made her eyes prick with heat. She bounded towards him and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shirt collar. "Thank you."

He was clearly taken aback, but managed to keep both of them upright. "Wh—For what—"

"For taking care of me," she mumbled. "That's what you're doing, right?"

She felt his body go rigid before relaxing. His arms slowly came around her middle. "Stupid girl," he murmured with so much affection it made her heart skip, "Only because you're doing a terrible job at it."

She sobbed. "I'm sorry for worrying you."

"It's okay."

"And I'm sorry for not noticing sooner," she sniffled. "I'm sorry for being a workaholic, and for being exhausted, and for crying."

His arms tightened just a bit. "It's okay."

"I'm sorry for being annoying about it."

His low laughter rumbled in his chest. "It's okay."

She hugged him tighter. "And I'm sorry I never thanked you for Sōta."

He lets out a breath and turn his head. "You don't have to apologize or thank me for that, Kagome," he told her gently. Pressing a soft kiss to the shell of her ear, he continued, "Your family is important to you. I'd never let anything happen to them." Then, softer yet louder at the same time, "I'd never let anything happen to you, if I could help it."

That made her gut wrench and heart swell and it made her cry harder.

He held her close as she did.

[thewritersaddictions]

Requests/Drabbles: (TVD) Damon Salvatore- My Girl

This girl's night had been planned for nearly two weeks now, so when the girls piled into the car to drive over to Bonnie's house it was a show to just beginning.

Caroline had brought the best smelling pastries. A new bakery had open up just a few days ago, she said it was treat for all the shit we had been going through recently.

Elena had grabbed about eight dozen movies off her rack at home. Tonight's theme was romcom, I had brought the wine. A few different bottles of wine.

The drive back to Bonnie's was filled with light chatter, and lots and lots of 2000's music blaring through the speakers. The fall weather was a nice touch as well as the leaves were crunched beneath the car's tire, and our feet.

We all giggled with excitment as we tired and were not successful in making the three butt couch a four butt couch. With Elena putting in the first romcom of the night, I was okay with pouring four large glasses of wine and ditching them out to their owners. Caroline and Elena were shoulder to shoulder as I and Bonnie sat pretty much ontop of each other.

It was nearly two more romcom's later before I was a giggly, content women dancing around with Elena in the living room. The ending of 'Pretty Women' was playing, my cheeks felt hot and warm to the touch.

"Elena I love you so much…" You said dragging her to touch our foreheads together. "Aww, I love you too." The air filled between us with the smell of white wine, and pastires. She giggled, so I giggled.

Caroline was fast asleep her cheek pressed into the side of the couch, and half the blanket covering her curled up body. Bonnie wasn't anywhere around, but the sound of clinking and clanking coming from the kitchen gave her away.

"Bonnie! Where'd you go!?" I screamed, yelled into the space between Elena and I. A murmured shh, came from Caroline's lip. "I'm in here you goofs." Bonnie asnwered. She didn't seem that drunk, or at least a little buzzed. "Come one sit back down Elena and I wanna watch 'nother movie." Your words starting to mumble together.

"No I called Damon, to come pick you up." Bonnie declares. You go to pout, but the thought of Damon makes me all warm, and shivery. "Okay." You don't argue with her anymore, rather you take a seat on the edge of the couch. "He said he'd be here in a few maybe ten minutes." Bonnie tells me you nod, and start to wait.

"Come on Elena, let's get you to bed ya." You can hear Bonnie talking to Elena and then a tiny grumble but nothing else. Footsteps that are loud at first, and then quiet as the two of them make their way up the stairs and to Bonnie's guests room.

Lights come through the blinds of the house, and it's just a moment later when there's a knock on the door. You jump up, rushing towards to the door. When you open it Damon is standing there with his hands on his hips. Staring at you. "Come on honey." Damon says as he stands there waiting for you at the door's frame.

"Okay." You say dopely with a smile on your fface. Grabbing your pruse at the front of the door, and grabbing his hand to walk down the stiars of Bonnie's front porch. Before the two of you can get very far Bonnie is calling out Damon's name. "You take care of her Damon, she's had at least four large glasses of wine. She pours a lot." Damon rolls his eyes, "Of course BonBon." Damon's voice echos through the tree, and night sky.

You cling to his side, as he walks you to the side of his car. The slick blue where you almost see your reflection through the paint. "You should have told me you were having a girls night." Damon says as he opens the passengar door for you. You grumlbe under your breath. "I did Damon, you just forgot." You whine.

Damon comes down to face level with you. Grasping onto the buckle to bolt you into the seaat for the ride back home. Your hand comes up to grab at his cheek. Trying to pull him in closer. "Whatever you're thinking of doing just don't pretty girl." Damon says. The latching of the buckle clicking, and before you know it the door is slamming shut and you watch as Damon walks around the car to the drivers door.

It's not until Damon is driving down the main street to get to the Salvatore residence that your hands get a mind of their own. They go from your lap, to tangled together, to just one of your thigh and the other traveling, in search of the meaty thighs of Damon. When you do finally manage to grab onto the meaty flesh the car swerves a bit. Making your shirek with both excitment and fear. "Missy if you don't put… move your hand." Damon demands. "But what if I don't wanna?" You say shaking your head in his direction. "Love, I know you okay. I know what your playing at and it's not happening." Damon says trying to control his voice.

"I'm not playing about anything." You can barely see Damon shake his head. You move wiggling beneath the belt, to get somewhat closer to Damon. "Please I just wanna touch you Damon!" You beg him. You can feel the heavy air that blows from his nose as he tries to push you away from him as he's driving down the road.

"NO." Damon says adamently. Pushing your wandering hands off his thighs and into your own lap. "Now be a good silent girl, and just sit there until we get home, and then you're going to bed." Damon demands. You huff, but sit there silently.

Just waiting to get home to annoy him further.

Completed on: 10/18/23

Posted on: 11/18/23

TVD-

Requests Master List // Drabble Master List // The Vampire Diaires Master List

[b0amagination]

Tastes of Whumptober: Day 4

Content Warnings: Mild gore (descriptions of blood), Needles (into a port, not hypodermic), IV port, Lab whump. All under the cut out of caution!

Sensory Deprivation

The sedative wore off at the same time it always did and they groaned, wishing just for once to curl up and go back to sleep. They had five minutes, or ten if they were lucky… but being found still asleep was never worth it. Old and new wounds complained against the arduous process of standing up and feeling for the door.

Sure enough, the fluorescent lights buzzed to life overhead just as they exited the attached bathroom. 

“Good morning, dear.” Their captor greeted, gesturing to the chair. Of course, always straight to business with him. But they wavered.

The chair wouldn’t have stood out to an outsider as anything other than a black leather armchair. Sure, it was the only dark item in the starkly clinical room, but that only made it all the more inviting if you didn’t know its use.

“You should take a day off. You’re practically married to your work,” they tried.

“You’re my work, and I don’t think either of us want that,” he shot back, removing four vials from his shoulder bag and setting each neatly on the tray. 

The chair. The tray. They were all laughably foreboding. Laughter never eased the fear.

“That’s new.” They knew the first three. Nutrition supplement, immune support, and hydration supplement. Administered every day like clockwork. Days with any more were days to be feared, but they’d started to recognize which drug was which. This was definitely new.

“Yes. Take your seat.” 

Always the same goddamn phrase to warn them they were going too far. 

“Ring a bell and I’ll probably start slobbering,” they muttered, perching on the edge of the chair. He hummed, unwrapping a needle and drawing out the nutrition supplement.

“Thank Pavlov for lessening that network of scars on your body.” His smile was pleasant as always. In another life where he wasn’t so sick and twisted he was probably a medical provider. 

He moved the neck of their shirt aside to access their IV port and inject the liquid, doing the same practiced motions two more times before their hand shot up to cover the port. Disappointed eyes fell upon them.

“Never without some kind of struggle, are you?” 

“I just want to know what it is before you do it.”

“You’ll like it. Now move.”

He pried their fingers apart wide enough to push the needle in and depress the plunger. Then he stood back and grabbed his clipboard, probably noting some bullshit about volumes and concentrations, and clicked a stopwatch.

“Tell me when your back stops hurting,” he instructed, and their eyes widened.

“You gave me painkillers? Seriously?” Somehow, they were more nervous than before.

“Something like that.”

When he wanted serious data he didn’t speak much. So silence filled the room until their pain actually reacted as he said. Not only did the sharp pain on their back fade, but so did the aches of months past.

“Holy shit. What did you give me?” They felt like a brand new person. It was… terrifying.

“Your new favorite thing,” he said, and they couldn’t exactly deny it. He finished writing and made his way back over. “Alright. Now for the real test.”

They couldn’t help the way their body clenched up when he stood over them. Or the way they trembled when he opened the zipper pocket and pulled out his knife. 

“I thought this was a scientific procedure. Where’s your scalpel?” A risky quip. They didn’t want to see that goddamn scalpel ever again.

“Scientific, not surgical. Calm down or I’ll need to start you on high blood pressure medication too.”

He tapped the arm of the chair and they obediently set their arm there, wary of his every movement as he flipped the underside up.

“If you struggle, I’ll strap you to the table instead.”

That was checkmate and he knew it. A timid nod accepted defeat.

The knife started just below their elbow, pressed in, and pulled ever so slowly down to their wrist. Eyes squeezed shut and teeth grit, preparing for the familiar sting, but…

They looked down. The cut was already bleeding, dripping down their arm, wetting slick leather. But all they’d felt was a mild pressure.

Their captor was looking on just as intensely, studying their reaction.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing,” they breathed. No pain. “Nothing whatsoever.”

He drew another line, parallel, and even as more blood wept, their eyes were strangely dry.

“Good. Let’s kick this up a notch.”

They opened their mouth to protest but a hand already fisted in their collar, pulling them up and pushing them against the wall. Their vision blurred when their head knocked off the wall, but the explosion of hurt didn’t precede it. 

“H-how do you know you didn’t just concuss me?” The longer this went on, the worse it felt. 

“I suppose I don’t. Not until I check you.”

“You can’t do that! You need to know how hurt I am, you need to know when to stop-!” A backhand flew across their face, snapping it to the side, and they whimpered. The hit had hardly felt like a brief touch, but its humiliation stung nonetheless.

“I know your limits. Do you think you’d feel a stab wound?” His question made them freeze, tears preemptively flooding their eyes.

“No- please don’t. Please. I’ll lose too much blood, you could hit something vital, please!” 

"Do you think my anatomical studies were for nothing?"

Pressure. Pressing harder and harder against their shirt, their abdomen, and then a horrific, slick coolness. It fell back and exposed a rushing warmth, blood staining white fabric, broken skin peeking through the new hole. God. They felt faint.

They fell to their knees and heard footsteps, probably wanting to test whether or not they were faking it.

“It doesn’t hurt,” they cried. “I just- the blood- I need to stem the bleeding.” That was true. Their hands clamped over the stab wound, trying to stop it. The shoes paused next to them in thought, then continued back toward the chair. Just moments later they heard his bag rustling and each vial clinking as it was set inside.

At least he was done for the day. Probably sad he didn’t get to make them scream.

He picked up the bag and his steps resumed, kicking something that skittered to a stop at their feet.

“Page me once it starts to wear off.”

Fuck.

[gothic-thoughts]

Hey! Do you plan on doing an Exes2LoversAU with Zoro part 2 where they go though a similar situation three years ago, and reader fears the the same thing happens again where he’ll leave her, but this time, he doesn’t (the reader probably gained some kind of abandonment issues from last time)

Ouuu, I like that. I didn't even have an idea for a part two fr

For the those who don't know, Part 1 is Right Here

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(A/n): Thanks for the request and sorry it took so long, know that I saw it I just couldn't think of a scenario.

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No One Left Behind? (Part 2)

Roronoa Zoro x Black Fem Reader Angst (Fluff)

Exes2LoversAU, PirateAU

CW: Reader learning to trust Zoro again, robbery

TW: abandonment issues??

Word Count: 1050 (give or take)

Previously:

“I know you work alone, but just think about it.”

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Zoro was sitting in another bar after helping Nami save her town. The crew sailed for a while before stopping at this island where the ex-pirate hunter was now indulging himself with a bottle of wine, but he stood out more than he would've liked to. You walk into the same bar, but you recognize those three swords anywhere.

You continue walking casually, pulling out your new dagger while you walk up to his barstool from behind. Once you were close enough, you poke the blade into his lower back and rest your chin on his right shoulder. Zoro’s eyes look to your face, his body still motionless. 

“Long time no see again, Roronoa.” You whisper in his ear.

“It seems you have a knack for showing up when I least expect it.”

“Well, I gotta keep the pirate hunter on his toes; you might lose your edge.”

“I've faced stronger opponents than you, and I'll continue to do so." Zoro says, with a smirk, taking another swig of his wine.

You chuckle as you tuck the blade into your boot before sitting on the barstool to his right. 

“Guessing you're not in this town because you knew I was here.”

"I could say the same about you; why are you here? You following me now?"

“Tch, following you? You wish. I was on this island first; I saw your floating clubhouse pull in just yesterday.”

"Hm. You didn't answer my question." He raises an eyebrow. "What are you doing here?" 

“You know I go where the wind takes me. Literally. But I’m in this bar specifically for a lead.”

“Lead? You a detective now?”

“Relax, it’s for my own best interest.”

“Thank god, thought you might’ve been turned into some kind of saint.”

“Call it payback,” You say, taking a shot, “Some dickhead stole an entire pouch of berry from me in here yesterday. Was kinda hoping he’d come back.”

"And how'd you let that happen? You getting soft on me?"

“Go ahead, laugh.” You chuckle before taking another shot, “Not one of my proudest moments. The bastard lives in some big, fancy inn.”

“Inn, huh?” Zoro chuckles, sipping more wine, "You must be pretty desperate if you're going after someone who lives in an inn."

“Must you think so low of me, Roronoa? It's a luxury inn, meaning he's loaded; which is why I wanna know why he stole my shit.”

“I guess that means you're gonna have to find out." He asks, with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Thanks, I hadn’t noticed. Though...”

“Though?”

“If you're not busy with your little pirate club, you could help me get it back.”

He chuckles, “You...need help?”

“It's high class, so it'll be crawling with security, I bet. And besides, we haven’t seen each other since last time I wanted to kill you, so it'll be a....bonding...exercise.”

Zoro raises an eyebrow at your comment, a small smile on his lips.

"When do you want to go?"

“Ten.” You stand from your seat, putting a dollar on the bar for the bartender, “Can I trust you to meet me outside the Inn at 10 pm? Or do I have to deal with another heartbreak and drag you from your pirate friends?"

He smirks, "Kicking and screaming?"

"I would hope so. I mean, if it's okay with your captain, of course.”

Zoro finishes off his bottle of wine and then gets up from his seat.

“You have my word.” He says, tossing some coins on the bar before making his way towards the exit.

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At 10pm, I was leaning on the wall outside the Inn, looking back and forth down the road, waiting for Zoro to round the corner. I groan in annoyance with myself before kicking a stray bottle near me, and when it breaks in the middle of the road, I swear under my breath for possibly alerting any guards inside as I start to pace back and forth, trying to console myself down.

"I knew it!" I chuckle in disbelief, "Just like when he left the first time. Ugh, can't believe I trusted him again!"

I punched the wall a couple times before kicking over a barrel, breaking and stepping into it with the heel of my boot.

"Fine." I pull my sword, squeezing the handle tightly. "I should've just handled it my-damn-self."

I take a deep breath, preparing to go through whatever happened inside, no matter how many guards there were between me and my stolen berry. I hear heavy boots stepping against the cobblestone, and I groan loudly, thinking it was passersby that didn't need to get in the way. But when I turn to the sound, I see Zoro approaching with one hand in his pocket and the other on one of his three swords. It was 10:10.

"Sorry, I'm late." He stops a couple inches from me, "You okay?"

"I...." My eyebrows furrow, and my brain fogs with confusion, "You....came?"

"I gave you my word."

"I don't know what your word is worth. We were enemies, remember?"

"Fair. Well, my word is my law—my promise."

"Then where the hell were you?"

"Well, coming out this late had me getting a lot of questions...."

"....Mm."

"And then I took a wrong turn when I got off the boat."

"I...." I stutter, looking away from him as the grip on my sword loosens, "Believe you."

"You sure you're okay? If you're not up to it, I could always get the money back while you wait here."

I snap out of it and look at him, "Don't you 'damsel-in-distress' me! I invited you, and I can handle myself. I just needed someone to watch my six."

"I know, cuz I wasn't going to. And look...I don't know if I said this when you found me at that bar," Zoro says, locking our eyes with a glance, "But I'm not leaving you again. Not if I can help it."

"...And if you can't help it?"

"I'll learn."

I stammer, not knowing how to respond as my heart races. I clear my throat and look at the Inn's front door, gesturing for Zoro to come closer. He gives a dark smirk as he moves, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of danger.

"Shall we?"

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Part 3: Right Here (im sorry i never linked it)