#and I’m so worried about it happening again that it’s making it more likely to happen again

[ch0llies]

EARNED IT | MATTHEW STURNIOLO

brothersbestfriend!matt x innocent!reader

You’re an 18-year-old high school senior, the innocent little sister of Matt’s best friend. Which means off-limits in every way. But 22-year-old college hockey player, Matt can’t ignore the way you cling to him, asking dangerous questions with trusting eyes. You don’t understand the fire you’re playing with- but Matt does. And he’s burning to teach you what happens when you get too close.

story warnings: heavy make out, lowkey corruption kink (if u squint), brothers best friend, pet names (sweetheart, angel), age gap (four years), etc. all characters are of age. If any of these topics upset you...don't read!

word count: 7k

a/n: i didn’t go into this with the intention of creating a similar story but as i read it over I’m realizing it’s very similar to an @ariestrxsh fic with the same trope. click here to read the first chapter of that! it’s very good and I recommend strongly!

You stand in front of the hallway mirror, tugging at the hem of your navy-blue dress, smoothing the fabric with your palms. The dress fits snugly, a little more mature than what you’re used to, but tonight isn’t just any night. It’s the sports award banquet. Your brother and Matt’s banquet. And your dad only let you tag along under the condition that you “stay out of trouble.”

But it wasn’t exactly you who he was worried about.

A sharp knock echoes from the front door.

“Get the fuckin’ door!” your brother shouts from upstairs.

“Okay, okay!” You huff, your heels clicking against the hardwood floor as you rush to answer.

When you unlock it, the bitter January air bites at your exposed skin, sending a chill down your spine. Matt stands in the doorway, hand raised mid-knock, his dark brows lifting when he takes you in.

His smirk is slight but enough to notice. “Well, don’t you look all grown up,” he muses, voice low and teasing. Then, without warning, he reaches out and ruffles the top of your freshly styled hair.

You scrunch your nose but let him, even though you just spent the better part of an hour curling it.

“Jesus, Matt,” you huff, stepping aside so he can come in. The cold air follows him as he shrugs off his coat, revealing a navy-blue suit, just a shade darker than your dress. You swallow, watching through the mirror as he tugs at his tie.

“You coming with us?” His voice is lighter now, curious but knowing.

“Yep! Daddy said I could tag along if I behave.” You smile, turning back to your reflection, smoothing your hair again.

Matt exhales a quiet chuckle, stepping closer behind you, his presence warm despite the winter air still clinging to him. You watch as he adjusts his tie in the mirror, his fingers long and practiced.

“You gonna behave then, sweetheart?” His eyes flick to yours in the reflection, amusement flickering behind them.

You nod, standing up straighter, suddenly aware of the way he towers over you. It’s always been like this. Him looking down at you, you looking up. The age gap was something your brother had always made a big deal about. ”Too old for you.” “Off limits.”

But Matt never seemed to care about that.

Your breath catches when his hand moves again, messing up your hair on purpose this time.

“Matt!” you whine, swatting his arm as you twist away. “I just fixed that.”

He grins, tongue running along his front teeth as he watches you pout. “Relax, kid, you still look pretty.”

Your stomach flips at that.

Before you can say anything, your brother’s voice rings out from upstairs. “Matty B! Get your ass up here!”

Matt sighs dramatically, shooting you one last glance before jogging up the stairs. You watch him go, your fingers tightening slightly around the fabric of your dress.

The banquet hall is grand, chandeliers casting a warm glow over round tables covered in crisp white linen. The clinking of glasses and laughter fills the air as athletes and their families mingle, celebrating another season of victories. You follow closely behind your brother and Matt, your heels clicking on the marble floor as you take in the scene with wide eyes.

Your brother spots your dad near the head table and heads off with a wave. “Don’t get into trouble,” he mutters over his shoulder.

“I never do,” you chirp back, but he’s already gone.

Matt stays beside you, his hand hovering at your lower back in a way that feels protective, almost possessive, but he never actually touches you.

“You stick with me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, eyes scanning the room. “Don’t need you getting eaten alive in here.”

You blink up at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

But before he can answer, a familiar voice interrupts.

“Damn, Y/N.”

You turn to see Jackson, one of your brother’s teammates, grinning at you like he’s just won something. “Didn’t know you cleaned up this nice.”

Matt stiffens beside you, but you don’t notice, too busy beaming at the compliment. “Thank you, Jackson! You look nice too.”

Jackson smirks, stepping closer. “You should let me take you out sometime. We could grab dinner, maybe see a movie, head back to my place?”

Before you can answer, Matt shifts slightly, his broad frame stepping just enough into the space between you and Jackson to make it clear. “She’s not interested,” he says casually, though there’s an unmistakable edge to his voice.

Jackson’s smirk falters. “She can answer for herself, can’t she?”

You glance between them, feeling a little lost. “I mean… I do like movies.”

Matt exhales sharply, running a hand down his face before placing it firmly on your lower back, actually touching you this time. “C’mon, angel. Let’s find our table.” His grip is gentle but insistent, steering you away before Jackson can say anything else.

As you walk away, you glance up at him. “That was kinda rude.”

Matt scoffs. “No, sweetheart. That was necessary.”

You frown but don’t push it, too distracted by the sight of the massive dessert table at the far end of the room. “Ooh! Can we get something sweet?”

His jaw clenches, but he nods. “Yeah, sure.”

Before you even make it halfway there, another one of your brother’s teammates- Tyler- sidles up beside you, grinning.

“Hey, Y/N,” he drawls, eyes trailing over your dress in a way that makes Matt’s fingers twitch against your back. “Didn’t think I’d see you here tonight.”

“My daddy let me come,” you say cheerfully. “It’s so fun! I didn’t know it’d be this fancy.”

Tyler smirks. “Your daddy, huh? You look real good all dressed up. Bet you’ve got guys falling all over you tonight.”

You blink. “Huh? Oh no, I just came with Matt and my brother.”

Matt sighs, long and slow. “Yeah, and she’s leaving with us too. Right, sweetheart?”

You nod, completely missing the way Matt glares daggers at Tyler. “Yep! Daddy said I had to go home when they do.”

Tyler chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s a shame. If you ever wanna have a little fun after curfew, you know who to call.”

You tilt your head. “Fun? Like… Games or…?”

Tyler lets out a loud laugh, but before he can respond, Matt steps in front of you completely, his voice dropping dangerously low. “Walk away, Tyler.”

Tyler holds his hands up in mock surrender, still grinning. “Relax, man. Just messing around.”

Matt doesn’t budge. Doesn’t smile. Doesn’t blink.

Tyler’s grin fades slightly before he turns and disappears back into the crowd.

You tug on Matt’s sleeve, pouting. “Why are you being so mean tonight?”

Matt exhales through his nose, looking down at you with something unreadable in his expression. “I’m not being mean, angel. Just looking out for you.”

You huff but let it go when you finally reach the dessert table, distracted by a chocolate fountain. “Oh my gosh! Look at this!”

Matt watches as you grab a skewer and dip a marshmallow into the melted chocolate, completely oblivious to the attention you’re getting from half the room.

His jaw tenses as he glances around, making sure no one else even thinks about coming near you.

Your brother would kill him if he knew how he was feeling right now. But as you happily hum while licking melted chocolate from your fingers, utterly unaware of the way his entire body is locked up with restraint- Matt knows he’s in trouble.

Big, big trouble.

The banquet is in full swing as the night goes on, the energy in the room buzzing with excitement as awards are handed out. Your brother wins MVP, grinning as he walks up to accept his plaque, you and the rest of the crowd erupting in applause. Matt wins Best Defensive Player, and when his name is called, you clap so enthusiastically that he shoots you a look- amused but slightly exasperated.

“Calm down, angel,” he murmurs as he sits back down, placing his award on the table.

“I’m proud of you,” you say, grinning.

Matt shakes his head, but there’s a softness in his eyes as he nudges your knee under the table.

Throughout dinner, glasses of champagne are passed around, and even though Matt gives you a warning look, you take one anyway.

“It’s just one,” you assure him, lifting the flute to your lips.

“That’s not just one,” he mutters as you reach for another a little while later.

But you don’t listen. The bubbles tickle your throat, making you giggle, and before long, there’s a slight warmth settling over you, your limbs loosening, the room feeling lighter, happier.

Matt groans when you sip your third glass. “Jesus Christ, sweetheart.”

Your brother, too busy celebrating with his teammates, doesn’t even notice.

Matt does, though. Matt always notices.

By the time the banquet winds down, you’re giggling at everything, eyes bright as your dad rounds everyone up to leave.

The ride home is quiet, the hum of the car filling the space. Your dad drives, your brother is on your left, and Matt is on your right. Somehow, you’ve ended up in the middle seat, legs tucked under you, your body loose and relaxed from the champagne.

You lean against Matt’s shoulder, sighing dramatically. “M’so sleepy.”

Matt stiffens, his whole body going rigid.

“You shouldn’t have had all that champagne,” he murmurs, voice low, almost strained.

You ignore him, nuzzling into his arm like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “But it tasted so good.”

Your brother snorts. “You’re such a lightweight.”

You pout, shifting slightly, pressing even closer to Matt. You don’t realize what you’re doing, the way your fingers absentmindedly trace patterns on his forearm, the way your cheek presses against the fabric of his jacket, how warm he is.

Matt notices.

His jaw is clenched so tight it aches. He keeps his hands firmly planted on his thighs, muscles tense as he stares straight ahead. You’re touching him like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t mean anything. But to him?

It means everything.

Your fingers graze his wrist, and he exhales through his nose, shifting slightly in his seat, trying to put some distance between you. But you just follow, draping an arm over his bicep, your cheek now resting against his shoulder.

“You smell so nice,” you sigh, voice hazy, drunk and sweet.

Matt swears under his breath.

Your brother doesn’t notice. He’s too busy scrolling through his phone, occasionally grumbling about some play he should’ve gotten more credit for.

But Matt? He’s suffering.

Because you’re all soft touches and sleepy sighs, completely unaware of the fact that every innocent little move you make is driving him insane.

You shift again, snuggling impossibly closer. “You’re so comfy, Matty.”

Matt groans so quietly only you hear it. “Jesus.”

You blink up at him, bleary-eyed. “Hmm?”

“Nothing.” His voice is tight.

You smile, resting your head against his shoulder again, your fingers still tracing those mindless little patterns on his arm. “You’re so nice to me.”

Matt closes his eyes briefly, inhaling sharply through his nose.

If only you knew.

When you get home, the house is quiet, the air thick with the lingering chill of the winter night. Your dad mutters something about heading to bed, your brother and Matt trudging up the stairs after him.

You follow, still tipsy, still warm from the champagne, your limbs loose and slow as you move.

Matt is staying over, just like he always does after big game nights or events. He and your brother disappear into his room while you shuffle to yours, sighing as you peel off your dress, trading it for an oversized t-shirt- one that falls mid-thigh, barely covering your underwear. You tug on a pair of thigh-high socks, cozying up against the cold air before slipping on your blue light glasses, needing something to steady your still-spinning vision.

You head to the bathroom, flipping on the light, humming softly as you brush your teeth.

The door creaks open, and Matt steps in, rubbing his face tiredly before freezing in place when he sees you.

His eyes sweep over you, taking in your messy hair, the oversized tee hanging off your frame, the way your socks cling to your thighs. His jaw ticks, but he says nothing, just clears his throat before stepping toward the sink.

“Didn’t know you were in here,” he murmurs, voice rough with exhaustion- or maybe something else.

You shrug, toothpaste foaming at the corners of your mouth. “S’okay. I don’t mind.”

Matt huffs a quiet laugh, turning on the faucet to wash his hands. “You should be in bed, angel.”

You lean against the counter, tilting your head. “Matt?”

He grabs a towel, drying his hands before meeting your gaze in the mirror. “Yeah?”

You blink at him, expression slightly dazed. “Why were all those guys acting weird tonight?”

He stiffens slightly. “Weird how?”

You frown, thinking. “Like… they kept talking to me. Saying things that didn’t make sense.” You pause, then look up at him, brows furrowed. “What did they want?”

Matt exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “They were flirting with you, sweetheart. They thought you were pretty.”

Your nose scrunches. “Oh.” You tilt your head. “But you flirt with me too, right?”

His fingers flex against the counter. “Not like they do.”

You narrow your eyes. “You think I’m pretty too, right?”

Matt lets out a slow breath, gripping the edge of the sink. “Yeah, angel,” he murmurs, his voice strained. “I do.”

You blink, processing. “Then why does it matter?”

Matt turns, leaning back against the counter, arms crossing over his broad chest. His gaze is steady, dark in a way that makes your stomach flutter.

“Because they don’t just think you’re pretty,” he says carefully. “They want to sleep with you.”

You stare, heart skipping. “Oh.”

Matt watches your expression shift, your lips part slightly as realization starts to settle.

“They-” You swallow. “They wanted to… have sex with me?”

His jaw tightens. “Yeah, angel. That’s what they wanted.”

Your cheeks burn instantly, your fingers gripping the hem of your oversized t-shirt. “Oh.”

Matt studies you, the way your breath hitches slightly, the way your eyes flicker down before snapping back up.

“You really didn’t know?” he asks, voice gentler now.

You shake your head quickly. “No, I- I just thought they were being nice.”

Matt exhales a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re somethin’ else, sweetheart.”

Your fingers fidget with the fabric of your shirt, your face still warm. “I didn’t- ” You hesitate. “I don’t really… talk about this kind of stuff.”

“I know.” His voice is soft, understanding.

You shift on your feet, gnawing at your lower lip. “I mean… I know what it is. But I don’t-” You trail off, exhaling sharply. “I don’t get it.”

Matt tilts his head slightly, his gaze heavy but patient. “What don’t you get?”

You chew on your lip again, hesitating before blurting, “Why do they want to?”

Matt blinks. “What?”

You huff, flustered now. “Like… why do guys want to do that so much? I don’t get it.”

Matt runs a hand down his face, clearly trying to stay composed. “Because it feels good.”

You inhale sharply, your face burning hotter. “Oh.”

Your heart stammers in your chest, something thick and unfamiliar sitting heavy in the space between you.

You grip the counter. “Have you…” You hesitate, then force the words out. “Have you done it?”

Matt’s lips twitch slightly, amused despite himself. “Yeah, sweetheart. I have.”

Your stomach flips, something strange curling in your gut. “Oh.”

He smirks. “That bother you?”

Your face flames. “N-no! I just-” You fumble, shaking your head quickly. “I just… I didn’t know.”

For a second, neither of you move. The space between you is thick with something you don’t quite understand, something unspoken but heavy. His gaze lingers, his expression unreadable, and it makes you fidget.

Your fingers play with the hem of your oversized t-shirt, twisting the fabric nervously. You don’t even realize that it hikes up slightly, exposing more of your bare thighs, the soft curve of them accentuated by your thigh-high socks. But Matt notices.

His eyes flicker down for the briefest second before snapping back up.

You hesitate, then softly say, “Matt?”

His jaw tenses. “Yeah?”

Your eyes stay fixed on the way your fingers pull at the fabric of your shirt. “Does it… really feel good?”

Matt’s breath is slow, measured. “Yeah, angel,” he murmurs. “It does.”

You shift on your feet, heat creeping up your neck. “Like… how?”

His lips part slightly, and for the first time tonight, he looks caught off guard. He drags a hand down his face, exhaling through his nose like he’s trying to gather himself.

“It’s- ” He stops, searching for the right words. “It’s different for everyone, but it’s… intense.”

You swallow, your fingers still gripping your shirt. “Intense how?”

His eyes darken slightly, his voice dropping a little lower. “It’s a kind of pressure. A build-up. And then… release.”

Your stomach flips, your whole body suddenly feeling too warm. “Oh.”

Matt watches you carefully, taking in the way your breath has gone a little shallower, the way your fingers fidget with your shirt again, lifting the fabric another inch before you even realize it. His eyes flicker down, then back up, something sharp flashing in them for a second before he schools his expression.

“Angel,” he says slowly. “You ever… thought about it before?”

You blink up at him, dazed. “Thought about what?”

His jaw clenches slightly. “Sex.”

Your breath catches, your entire body heating at the way the word rolls off his tongue so casually, like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t make your knees feel weak.

“I- ” You shift on your feet. “I mean, I know about it.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Matt murmurs.

You feel like your face is on fire. “I don’t- ” You bite your lip, exhaling shakily. “I don’t think so.”

Matt hums, tilting his head. “You don’t think so?”

You frown slightly, trying to collect your thoughts, but your mind is a mess, spinning, hazy from champagne and the weight of this conversation. “I just don’t really-” You shift again, your thighs pressing together instinctively. “I don’t get it.”

Matt watches the movement, his throat bobbing slightly before he lifts his gaze back to yours. “What don’t you get, angel?”

You hesitate, feeling impossibly small under his gaze. “Why people want it so much,” you admit, voice softer now, almost unsure.

Matt exhales slowly. “Because it feels good, sweetheart. It’s the closest you can get to someone. And when it’s with the right person…” He trails off for a second, then looks at you intently. “It’s really good.”

You shiver, despite the heat curling in your stomach. “What does it feel like?”

Matt’s fingers twitch at his sides, like he wants to do something with them but won’t let himself.

“You really wanna know?” he asks, voice lower now, rougher.

You nod, swallowing hard.

He leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “It starts slow,” he murmurs. “Your body gets all warm, all needy.” His eyes flicker down to the way you’re fidgeting with your shirt, how your thighs shift slightly where you stand. “You feel it everywhere. The pressure, the tension. And then when you finally get what you need-” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “It’s like relief. Like every nerve in your body is completely relaxed all at once.”

You stare at him, heart hammering, your fingers tightening on your shirt as you shift again, a deep, unfamiliar heat curling in your stomach.

Matt notices. Of course he notices.

He tilts his head slightly. “You ever been kissed before, angel?”

Your breath hitches. “What?”

His lips twitch slightly, but his expression remains unreadable. “You heard me.”

Your cheeks burn. “I- I mean, yeah.”

His gaze sharpens. “Yeah?”

You swallow hard. “Once.”

Matt hums, like he’s not entirely convinced. “And did you feel anything?”

Your stomach twists. “I… I don’t know.”

His jaw clenches slightly. “If you don’t know,” he murmurs, voice quieter now, rougher, “then the answer is no.”

You press your thighs together again, your whole body suddenly feeling strange, tingly, like your skin is too tight. “Oh.”

Matt’s gaze doesn’t waver, dark and knowing, like he’s seeing right through you.

“You’re feeling it now, aren’t you?”

Your breath catches. “W-what?”

He exhales through his nose, his voice dropping lower, slower. “The first part.” He tilts his head slightly, eyes dragging over you. “Warm and needy.”

Your pulse pounds in your ears. “I- I don’t- ” You shake your head quickly, even as your skin burns, your thighs press together again, your grip on your shirt tightening.

Matt takes a slow step toward you, his presence impossibly big in the small bathroom. “You are feeling it,” he murmurs, eyes locked onto yours. “Aren’t you, angel?”

Your mouth opens, then closes, your face scorching hot. “How can you tell?” you whisper.

He smirks, slow and lazy, but his voice is still rough, still tight. “You’re not exactly subtle about it.”

Your breath stutters as realization hits you.

Your thighs- pressed together.

Your fingers- clutching at your shirt, pulling it tighter, twisting the fabric.

Your breathing- short, shallow.

You feel like your body isn’t your own, like every nerve is suddenly hyperaware of the space between you and Matt, the way he’s looking at you, the way you can feel the heat radiating off of him even though he’s still an arm’s length away.

He takes another step closer.

Your stomach flips, your heartbeat a frantic staccato against your ribs.

His voice is lower now, softer, but it makes your entire body tingle. “Where are you feeling it?”

Your throat dries. “What?”

His gaze flickers down, then back up. “Where do you feel it the most, angel?”

You swear the air in the room disappears. Your skin prickles with heat, embarrassment flooding you so fast that you physically shrink back.

“I- I…” Your voice barely works, breathy and unsure.

Matt hums, his eyes flickering over you again, watching the way your fingers still grip your shirt, how your weight shifts between your legs.

You do feel it. Everywhere.

Your cheeks burn hotter, your head spinning. You don’t even know what you’re supposed to say.

Matt watches you, his expression unreadable, his body still tense. His eyes flicker over your flushed skin, the way you’re gripping the hem of your oversized t-shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. He exhales slowly, shaking his head slightly before tilting it, his voice dropping back to something softer, more careful.

“Tell me about that kiss you had.”

You blink up at him, still flustered, your brain barely catching up. “What?”

“The one you said you had. The only one.”

You shift uncomfortably. “I- uh. What about it?”

Matt’s gaze sharpens. “How did he touch you?”

Your stomach flips. “Touch me?”

He nods once. “Yeah. His hands. Where were they?”

You frown slightly, thinking back, but there’s nothing to think about. “He… didn’t.”

Matt’s brows lift slightly. “Didn’t?”

You shake your head, feeling a little embarrassed now. “I mean… he just kissed me. That’s it.”

Matt’s jaw ticks, his fingers flexing against the edge of the counter. “How long?”

You swallow. “Like… a second? Maybe two?”

Matt exhales sharply, shaking his head. “And what did it feel like?”

You bite your lip, thinking. “Nothing.”

Matt’s lips press into a thin line. “Nothing?”

You shrug. “I mean… it was just… a kiss.”

Matt takes another slow step toward you, his voice quieter now, rougher. “That’s not what it’s supposed to feel like, angel.”

Your breath catches, your fingers twitching against the hem of your shirt. You look up at him now, the air between you impossibly thick.

“…Then what is it supposed to feel like?”

Matt scans your body, his gaze dragging from the top of your head down the length of your frame- your messy hair, your parted lips, your bare thighs still pressed together slightly. He glances toward the open bathroom door, his jaw tightening before he reaches out, gripping the handle and slowly pushing it shut.

The click of the latch echoes in the silence.

When he turns back to you, his expression is darker now, his voice impossibly low.

“That warm and needy feeling?” His eyes lock onto yours, steady and intense. “It should feel like it’s on fire.”

Your stomach flips violently. “What do you mean?”

Matt steps closer, towering over you, his scent wrapping around you like something heavy and intoxicating. He leans down, just enough for his breath to brush against your lips.

“Like this.”

And then he kisses you.

It’s slow and intentional. His lips press against yours softly at first, like he’s giving you a chance to process, to pull away if you want to. But you don’t.

You can’t.

The second your breath hitches, he deepens it, his hand lifting just slightly like he wants to touch you but stops himself. His lips move against yours, slow and deliberate, and warmth spreads through your entire body. It’s thick and pulsing and burning.

Your fingers tremble as they clutch your t-shirt, your body melting before you even realize it. This is different. This is new.

This is what he meant.

When he finally pulls away, you’re breathless, dazed, your lips tingling from the weight of his touch. Your wide eyes meet his, your heart slamming against your ribs.

“…Oh.”

Matt’s jaw is tight, his breathing slow, controlled. His hand twitches at his side like he’s restraining himself, his eyes searching yours.

“Now tell me, angel,” his voice is rough, nearly a whisper.

“Did that feel like nothing?”

You swallow hard, shaking your head slowly. “…No.”

Matt’s lips twitch, his gaze darkening slightly. “Where did you feel it?”

You shift on your feet, feeling impossibly small under his stare. “I- I don’t know.”

Matt hums, stepping closer. “No?” His hands lift, slow, careful, fingertips ghosting over your cheeks as he cups your face gently. His thumbs brush against your skin, warm and grounding. “Did you feel it here?”

You inhale sharply, lips parting slightly, but shake your head. “Not… really.”

His hands move down, skimming over your shoulders, gripping them lightly. “Here?”

You shake your head again, heart pounding.

His hands trail lower, skimming down your arms, barely touching you. You shiver, exhaling shakily, but still, you shake your head.

Matt watches you, his movements slow, deliberate, as his palms skim over your waist, his thumbs pressing lightly into the soft curve of your stomach.

Your breath stutters.

His hands move lower.

Your fingers twitch against the hem of your oversized t-shirt as he settles them just above your hips, his touch firm, grounding. “What about here?”

You swallow, feeling lightheaded, but shake your head again.

And then his hands drift lower, fingertips grazing the soft skin of your lower stomach, right above where that deep, pulsing warmth sits heavy between your thighs.

Your body stiffens. Your breath catches.

Matt’s lips part slightly, his eyes locked onto yours, watching, waiting.

You nod, the smallest movement, barely even noticeable.

But he notices.

“Yeah?” His voice is softer now, rougher. “What’s it feel like, angel?”

Your thighs squeeze together instinctively, your skin burning under his touch. “I don’t know,” you stammer, breathless.

Matt hums, his thumbs tracing slow, lazy circles against your skin. “You sure?”

You nod quickly, but your body betrays you, shifting slightly into his touch.

Matt’s lips twitch again, something knowing behind his dark gaze as his hands slide down, fingertips trailing over the tops of your thighs before dragging back up, slow, teasing.

You shudder.

“Does it feel like a pulse?” he murmurs. “Like a throb?” His fingers trace the sensitive skin just above your knee, then glide up, his palms warm as they press lightly into the soft flesh of your thighs. “Almost a little wet?”

Your entire body jerks slightly, heat flooding your face, your stomach twisting violently in the most delicious way.

“Matt,” you whisper, mortified, shaking your head quickly.

His hands squeeze your thighs gently. “Hmm?”

You shake your head harder, but your body is betraying you again, shifting into his touch, your knees wobbling slightly as warmth pools deep in your core.

Matt watches you, eyes dark and knowing. Then, after a beat, he pulls his hands away, stepping back slightly.

Your body feels cold without his touch.

His gaze lingers on you, studying every little movement, every breath, every tremble. Then he asks, “Do you like that feeling?”

You hesitate, lips parting, but finally, finally, you nod.

Matt exhales slowly, his jaw tight, his hands flexing at his sides before his lips twitch into something almost smug. “It can feel even better.”

Your breath catches. “It… gets better?”

Matt chuckles, low and deep, shaking his head slightly. “So innocent,” he murmurs.

You frown slightly, embarrassed, shifting on your feet again.

But then his hand lifts again, fingertips brushing against your cheek before sliding into your hair, tilting your chin up slightly.

His gaze flickers over you, slow, measured.

And then he whispers, “Wanna see?”

Your breath stutters. Your pulse pounds. Your stomach twists in the most confusing, exhilarating way.

And then before you can even think- you nod.

Matt doesn’t hesitate.

His lips crash against yours, hotter this time, hungrier. His hands cup your face, tilting you exactly where he wants you as his mouth moves against yours, coaxing you into something deeper, something that makes that pulsing heat between your thighs turn into something more. It turns into something desperate, something dangerous.

Your fingers lift, gripping onto his shirt, needing something to hold onto as your legs feel weak beneath you.

He deepens the kiss, pulling you even closer, his hands firm as they slide from your face down to your waist, gripping you like he doesn’t want to let go. His lips are hot, insistent, moving against yours in a way that makes your head spin, your entire body buzzing with arousal.

His hands tighten around your waist, and before you can even register what’s happening, he lifts you effortlessly, gripping the backs of your thighs and setting you onto the cool bathroom counter. The contrast between the cold surface and his warm touch makes you shiver, your legs instinctively parting just enough for him to step between them.

And then- asound escapes your throat.

It’s soft, barely there. Nothing but a breathy little whimper as he tugs you closer, his hands gripping your thighs.

But it’s enough.

Your entire body locks up as realization sinks in, heat rushing to your face as you abruptly pull away, eyes wide with embarrassment. “I- I didn’t mean to-”

Matt’s breathing is heavy, his lips swollen from kissing you, but his eyes- his eyes are dark, focused, hungry.

He tilts his head, his hands still holding you firmly in place. “It’s normal, angel,” he murmurs, his voice impossibly low, deep enough to send shivers down your spine.

You swallow hard, still mortified. “But-”

He shakes his head, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles against your thigh. “It just means you like it,” he explains, his voice warm, coaxing. “Means it feels good.”

You shift, heat curling in your stomach again. “Still-”

“And it makes me feel good too.”

Your breath catches.

Matt’s eyes flicker over your face, his expression unreadable for a moment before he adds, “Makes me feel warm and needy, just like you.”

Your stomach flips, your fingers tightening against the edge of the counter.

Your voice is quieter now, unsure. “Then… why don’t you make any sounds?”

Matt stills, his lips twitching slightly, but it’s not amusement- it’s something else. His fingers flex against your thighs before dragging slowly up, fingertips pressing lightly into the fabric of your oversized t-shirt, tracing just under the hem.

He leans in, so close that his lips ghost against yours when he speaks.

“You want me to?”

Your pulse stutters.

You should probably say no.

But you don’t.

Instead, you nod.

Matt exhales through his nose, his smirk finally breaking through. “Yeah?”

You nod again, slower this time.

His hands slide up, gripping your waist, and then he kisses you again.

But this time, it’s different.

It’s slower and deeper. His tongue tracing against yours in a way that makes your head spin, your body arching slightly toward him before you even realize you’re doing it. His hands slide over your thighs, gripping them, pulling you forward until your legs wrap loosely around his waist.

A low sound rumbles from the back of his throat.

It’s quiet, but it’s there, vibrating against your lips, making your stomach flip and your entire body heat.

You gasp softly, your fingers gripping his shirt as the sound sends something dangerous pulsing between your thighs.

Matt must notice, because he groans again, this time a little louder, his hands tightening on your hips, his fingers pressing into your skin like he’s holding himself back.

The tension is unbearable now, your skin hot, your breaths short, every little movement making your head spin.

His hands gripped you tight, pulling you flush against him. His fingers trace slow, teasing patterns against your thighs, sending shivers up your spine. Your entire body is warm, buzzing, that unfamiliar but intoxicating feeling creeping higher and higher until a soft, breathy moan slips past your lips.

Matt freezes for a fraction of a second, his entire body tensing like a live wire, his hands gripping you tighter. And then he groans, deep and low, like the sound did something to him, like he needed to hear it.

His hands move before he can stop himself, sliding up your sides, fingertips teasing beneath the hem of your oversized t-shirt, skimming your bare skin as he pushes the fabric up, his palms warm and making you skin tingle in ways you’ve never imagined were possible.

A sudden, sharp knock on the door.

You barely stifle a yelp, but Matt is quicker.

His palm immediately covers your mouth, his other hand gripping your hip as he tenses, his head snapping toward the door. His light eyes flicker back to yours, and he puts a single finger to his lips, signaling for you to stay quiet.

Your heart is pounding.

“Yo, Matt,” your brother’s voice comes from the other side of the door. “You seen my sister? She left her laundry downstairs, and it’s hogging the dryer.”

Matt exhales slowly, his hand still over your mouth as he tilts his head toward the door, his voice calm, casual, like he hasn’t just had his hands all over you.

“Nah, dude. No idea where she is.”

The doorknob rattles.

You flinch.

Matt’s grip tightens on you instinctively, his hand pressing a little firmer against your mouth, his other hand flexing against your waist.

Your brother sighs. “Bro, unlock the door. I gotta brush my teeth.”

Matt’s jaw clenches, his eyes locking onto yours, something sharp flashing behind them before he whispers, so low you can barely hear it-

“Fuck.”

For a split second, you don’t know what he’s going to do.

Then, without hesitation, he lifts you again, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct, and moves.

You barely have time to process before he’s setting you down into the bathtub, your back pressing against the cool surface. He leans in close, eyes serious, his hand brushing over your cheek for just a second.

“Stay quiet,” he whispers.

You nod quickly, heart hammering.

Matt exhales sharply, stepping back, adjusting himself. You blink, watching as he tugs his waistband up, shifting awkwardly, like he’s hiding something.

Your brows furrow slightly. “What are you-”

Matt immediately puts a finger to his lips again, shaking his head. “Shh.”

You shut your mouth, still confused, still burning from everything that just happened.

Before you can think too hard about it, Matt pulls the shower curtain closed, hiding you from view just as he unlocks the door and swings it open.

Your brother steps in, rubbing his face tiredly. “Dude, what took you so long?”

Matt shrugs, leaning casually against the sink, like he hasn’t just shoved you into the bathtub to keep you hidden. “Was taking a piss.”

Your brother makes a face. “Long ass piss bro.”

Matt just smirks, crossing his arms, his body perfectly positioned to block any possible view of the tub. “Long ass piss for a long ass dick, what can I say.”

Your brother rolls his eyes, grabbing his toothbrush. “Whatever.”

You hold your breath, praying he doesn’t notice anything, praying he doesn’t hear the way your breathing is still uneven, the way your body is still buzzing from Matt’s touch.

Matt’s hand twitches against the sink, his knuckles flexing. His jaw is tight, his body still tense. Like he’s just barely keeping himself under control.

After a few minutes of tense silence, the sound of running water and your brother brushing his teeth fills the room. You stay completely still in the tub, pressing your lips together to keep yourself from making a sound, even though your heart is still racing from what had just happened.

Finally, your brother spits into the sink, wipes his mouth, and mutters, “Alright, I’m going to my room.”

Matt doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, I’m just gonna wash my face, I’ll meet you there.”

Your brother hums in response, the bathroom door creaking as he steps out. The moment you hear his footsteps retreating down the hall, Matt quickly shuts the door, locking it again before exhaling heavily. His shoulders relax slightly as he pulls back the shower curtain, his gaze landing on you, still curled up in the bathtub.

“Alright he’s gone.” he murmurs, stepping forward and reaching for you.

You let out a breath, still a little dazed as his hands slide under your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly. He sets you back down, steadying you on your feet before his hands settle on your waist.

You look up at him, eyes wide. “Oh my God.”

Matt chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “Relax, angel. He had no clue.”

You exhale shakily, running your hands through your hair. The room is still heavy with everything that had happened, and while part of you is still flustered and embarrassed, the other part- the part that’s still warm, still needy- doesn’t want the moment to be over.

Matt watches you carefully, and for a second, you think he’s going to lean in again, that he’s going to pick up where you left off. But then, he sighs, smoothing his hands over your sides.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “We can’t go further right now. Your brother’s waiting for me, and he’s still looking for you.”

You sigh, deflating a little. You know he’s right, but still, the heat swirling in your stomach doesn’t quite go away. “Okay,” you mumble, chewing on your lip.

There’s a brief pause before something else pops into your head, something you don’t quite understand. “Matt?”

He tilts his head slightly. “Yeah?”

You hesitate, shifting on your feet. “What were you… doing? With your… you know…?”

Matt blinks, then raises an eyebrow. “My cock?” he asks bluntly.

Your entire face burns. “Matt!”

He smirks at your reaction, but instead of answering immediately, he reaches down, adjusting the waistband of his sweatpants. You watch confused until he untucks himself, and suddenly, the thick outline of him is tenting out his grey sweatpants prominently.

Your breath catches in your throat.

You stare.

It’s… big.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, a deep, unfamiliar curiosity curling in your stomach. Without even thinking, your hand twitches forward slightly before you stop yourself at the last second, pulling your hand back quickly.

“Sorry,” you blurt out, embarrassed.

But Matt shakes his head immediately, stepping closer. “No, sweetheart. Don’t be sorry,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, coaxing. “Please do.”

Your lips part slightly, your heart hammering in your chest.

“It’ll make me feel good,” he adds, his eyes locked onto yours.

You swallow hard, hesitating just a moment longer before you slowly reach forward again, your fingers lightly wrapping around him through the fabric.

Matt exhales sharply, his head tilting back slightly. “Fuuuck,” he mutters under his breath.

Your fingers tighten slightly, gripping him a little more firmly.

His hands flex at his sides before one of them lifts to grip the counter. “This,” he breathes out, his eyes fluttering shut for a second, “this is another way of knowing that I like it.”

You stare at him, your breath short and quick. “I did this to you?” you whisper.

Matt groans quietly, nodding. “Yeah, angel.”

You blink, still gripping him through his sweatpants, still feeling the heat of him against your palm. You squeeze slightly, watching as his jaw tenses, his breath stuttering.

Your voice is quieter now. “Is it like… how i feel…wet?”

Matt exhales, his fingers twitching against the counter. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Just like that. When you get wet, my dick gets hard.”

Your cheeks burn. “Why does it do that?”

Matt leans in then, his breath warm against your ear, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s your body getting ready for me to be inside you.”

Your entire body locks up, heat flooding your core so intensely that your thighs press together on instinct. Your fingers twitch around him, squeezing his clothed length a little harder.

Matt groans, his head dropping to your shoulder, his breath ragged.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he rasps, his voice strained, “I’m gonna cum if you do that. You’re making me crazy.”

You freeze. “Wait- what?”

Matt lifts his head, exhaling heavily before he leans down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll explain to you another time,” he murmurs. “But for now? Get to bed.”

You nod slowly, still reeling, still confused, still burning. “When will you show me?”

Matt smirks as he watches you hesitate, his voice softer now as he nudges you toward the door.

“Whenever you earn it.”

PT.2 HERE💙

for @mattsobvimyfav

tags: @ilovejohnnieguilbertsblog @mattsturnii @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @watercolorskyy @strangecatpeach @katie1002 @1ovesiick @slut4christopherr @mattgirl4eva @mayalovesturn @chriss-slutt (if u wanna be on the taglist, just comment)

[moonstruckme]

Please Mr. Postman

summary: it's your first day at a new job, and the postman who comes by your office is especially friendly

cw: just fluff honestly, passed on opportunities to talk about post worker uniform shorts (sorry, won't happen again)

postman!James x fem!reader ♡ 732 words

A friendly tap on the glass startles you out of your stolen moment of meditation. You tear your face away from its hiding place in your hands to find a mail carrier peering at the large, darkened window of your office, shading his eyes to see in. You hasten and hit the button to unlock the door before he can. 

Your office setup sort of makes you feel like a fish in a tank, or a zoo animal in a glassed-in enclosure. You’ve been itchy with the discomfort of being seen all day. You take a moment to straighten the row of pens on your empty desk as the postman’s voice booms in the entryway around the corner. 

“Margaret, I never thought I’d see the day! Slipping on the job, tsk, tsk—” He fits his dolly through the doorway of your office with a practiced maneuver, stopping short when he sees you. “Oh. You’re not Margaret.” 

You shoot him a small, sheepish, please-don’t-be-mad-at-me smile (you’ve had lots of practice with it already this morning). “I’m new.” 

“You are!” he says, like this is the discovery of his day. “What’s your name, lovely? I’m James.” 

You tell him yours, itching for a pen to write his name down with. You’ve had to learn so many, but James strikes you already as someone who remembers names and you’d hate to forget his. He has a bright smile that pokes dimples into sun-kissed cheeks and the sort of warm voice which threatens more smiles to come. He’s handsome, muscular limbs making his uniform fit tightly around his biceps and quads and brown eyes made large behind thick glasses. 

“Margaret’s moved into accounting,” you tell him. “I’m replacing her, today’s my first day.” 

James nods sagely. “Well, you look well prepared for it. Got all your pens in order” —your cheeks warm at his notice— “and you look very smart.” The warmth worsens. Your toes ache inside your stiff new shoes. “I’m sure you’re making a great impression.” 

“Thanks,” you say, voice softening self-consciously. “I hope so.” 

“Oh, don’t worry.” He waves you off, leaning his hip against your desk. “Everyone here seems very nice. I mean, I’ve mostly spoken to Margaret, but still. How are you finding it?” 

“Um.” You glance towards the door that leads to the rest of the office as though your boss is standing with her ear pressed to it. “It’s nice, so far, yeah. The coffee in the break room is good, so.” 

James’ laugh is loud and lively, echoing in the small space. It makes you smile; you don’t think you’ve said anything so funny as to earn such a sound. 

“Well, that’s the best you can hope for, isn’t it?” he asks. “Good coffee to keep trudging through. And it is only your first day, you can’t likely make an estimate of the whole place just yet.” 

“Exactly,” you say, relieved. 

“Is this the sort of thing you want to do? Work here, I mean?” 

“Oh.” The question catches you off guard. It’s more than the weak small talk you’ve made with the other delivery people who’ve come by today, but there’s an earnestness in James’ face that says he really wants to know. “Yeah, it is. I mean, maybe not here” —you gesture to your unadorned fishbowl of an office— “but in this field, yeah. I’d like to stay here if I can.” 

He grins. “I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to have you, lovely. Well,” he heads for the stack of boxes against the wall, “I don’t want to keep you. This might take me two trips, but don’t mind me coming in and out, alright?” 

“Oh.” You watch him load six boxes expertly onto the dolly, biceps flexing slightly as he tilts it back onto the wheels. “Do you want any help?” 

The grin James flashes you sends a funny tingle down your spine. “You’re sweet. Thanks, I’ve got it. Just unlock the door for me on my way back in, yeah?” You do keep an eye on the door this time. You offer again to help when he comes back, but James only makes a comment about your work clothes being too nice to get dirt on and waves you away with an easy smile. You find yourself watching his truck rumble out of the parking lot with a light, fluttery feeling in your stomach.

[cha-melodius]

#16, Alex/Henry?

(Also requested by @firenati0n. I feel like there were two obvious options for this one: post-leaks in canon, or post-rescue mission of some kind. You can probably guess which one I chose. 😂 read all the hug ficlets)

Firstprince, 16: The “it’s okay, I’m here” hug.

Add’l note: This is more or less a tiny sequel to So Close to Something Better Left Unknown. You don’t have to have read the fic to read this ficlet, but it does contain minor spoilers for the very end of said fic.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

When Henry gave him the watch, it was half a joke and half because Henry’s in love with him and his hopeless heart latched onto the slim chance to keep an eye on him, at least from a distance. He’d expected Alex to leave it behind, or disable the tracker, or at the very least not wear it, but as far as he can tell, Alex had done none of those things. The tracker bops around the globe, giving Henry far too much information on CIA missions merely through its location. Not that Henry would ever pass on that information to his own agency, or anyone else for that matter.

That Alex trusted him not to, to keep his secrets… Well, it means a lot.

He assumed that at some point his own work would bring him within striking distance of Alex again, and he’d make use of the tracker to find him and… oh, hell, he doesn’t know. Say hello? It sounds absurd for a spy, but it’s pretty much all he could hope for. But before that happens, the tracker gets stuck for a week in a remote part of Guatemala, and Henry starts to get worried. Maybe Alex just lost the watch, or abandoned it for some reason. That’s the most reasonable explanation. Even so, Henry quietly requests recent satellite images of that area and zooms all the way in on the watch’s coordinates.

It’s a high-security compound of some sort. Not good.

He tries not to let his imagination run wild. The tracker he’d left in the watch is extremely high resolution, and he watches it occasionally move around the compound, as if someone was wearing it, though mostly it stays in one place. Alex could have traded it or gifted it as part of an operation; it was a valuable watch, after all. Still, it nags at Henry. He’s not going to be able to rest until he finds out what actually happened. The most straightforward way would be simply asking, but he has no way of contacting Alex except a burner phone he has no reason to believe Alex would be monitoring.

He sends a message anyway, but after a few days without a response, he can’t take it anymore.

It’s completely mad, he knows it is, but he makes up an excuse about tracking down a lead on a long-cold operation and books a ticket to Guatemala City. He covertly watches the outside of the compound for three days, keeping track of the men who come and go, and sends photos of them to Bea with a request to run facial recognition and not ask any questions. (She does, of course, but she doesn’t push, even when they come back with the names of some very bad people.)

Finally, once the compound’s primary resident leaves and takes with him what should be the majority of his armed muscle, Henry makes his move. The watch is still inside, and Henry follows the tracker’s signal down into the basement of an outbuilding, taking out a handful of guards with tranquilizers as he goes. The building is dark and dank, and the series of locked metal doors he finds do nothing to help the cold, hard knot that’s settled into his stomach. His hands don’t shake as he picks the lock on the one the watch is resting behind, but that careful composure slips when the door finally swings open to reveal a miserable lump curled on a thin mattress, a head of matted curls just visible through the murky darkness.

Alex flinches away when Henry first reaches out for him, scrambling into the corner, but then his eyes land on Henry and his mouth drops open. He blinks rapidly, scrubs frantically at his eyes, and blinks again.

“Henry?” he croaks in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for you, love,” Henry tells him, holding his hands out in front of him as he slowly moves closer. “I’ve come to get you.”

There’s a beat of silence, then another, then Alex surges toward him. Henry almost shies away himself, unsure of what Alex means to do, but then Alex is grabbing him and wrapping him up in a hug so tight it squeezes the air out of Henry’s lungs, and Henry can do nothing else but curl his arms around the trembling man now occupying his lap.

“It’s ok, I’m here,” he murmurs, rubbing a soothing hand down Alex’s back.

“How?” Alex chokes out. “How did you…?”

His voice trails off as he raises his left arm and looks at his own wrist, where a bit of watch strap peeks out beyond the filthy cuff of his shirt. Inexplicably, his captors had let him keep it, though that becomes more understandable when his sleeve slips further down and Henry sees how he’s smeared it with mud. The exquisite Patek Philippe now looks like a beaten up piece of junk.

“I didn’t want to lose it,” Alex says, his voice cracking over the syllables. He drops his arm and tries to bury his face in Henry’s chest. “That probably sounds dumb.”

“No, love, it doesn’t,” Henry says, holding him tighter. It’s torture to pull away, but eventually he must. “Come on,” he says, tipping Alex’s chin, now covered in a scraggly beard, up so their eyes meet. “Let’s get you out of here.”

[thechaoticcheese]

TW: Numbness, Mentions of Bruises, Yelling, Waterboarding, Torture, Lack of Care for the Reader

Wrongfully Accused - Chapter 4 - The Truth

Gaz had followed his lover and Price until the interrogation room. He watched the two enter and he stopped. His mind pounded with thoughts and his heart screaming at him that something wasn’t right. This wasn’t right. He cursed underneath his breath before he turned back and stalked his way to the barracks. His mind was milling on who would frame the person he loved so much. There was just no way you could do something like this. And god damnit he was going to prove you innocent, or do his best trying. First things first, he has to see who knows. Soap was first. He was the closest, or at least his room was and he’d assumed that Ghost was probably still in the commons room, or somewhere farther away from Soap’s location. Gaz noticed his Scottish friend starting to make his way towards the interrogation rooms and he interacted with the Brit first. Soap seemed a bit disheveled, his brows furrowing and a concerned look plastered on his face. “Aye, Gaz, ya’know wha’ happened b’tween Price an’ Y/N? He took’em away in cuffs.” Soap sounded distressed, in a friend kind of way, worried about your safety and whatever conflict the Captain had with you. “Yeah. He suspects ‘em of bein’ the spy on the base.” Gaz said with slightly gritted teeth, the thought made his fist tighten. “I don’t believe ‘im.” “You don’t believe the Cap’n?” Soap sounded a tad surprised, knowing that Gaz and Price went on a majority of missions together when it was just a two man job. Though he also knew Gaz’s unwavering loyalty to people he heavily cared about. There must’ve been a war inside Gaz, but to Gaz, the answer was clear who was on top. “Not with this. Somethin’ is up. Imma talk to Ghost next. Can you get in contact with Laswell for me?” Gaz requested from Soap, who nodded. “Aye. You think Simon knows som’tin’?” The Scotsman asked curiously. “No tellin’. If not, I have a few more people to ask.” Gaz said, crossing his arms over his chest. His mind flashing back to the burn that was on your face. He shivered as he watched the nurse start to carve out your flesh and you just didn’t move. Soap’s gentle pat on his shoulder brought Gaz back, the mohawked man offering a comforting smile. “Good luck.” “You too.” With that, the two headed in opposite directions. Gaz had a look of determination on his face as he marched through the halls towards the commons room. His mind whirled with what he’d say when he saw Ghost. A lot of it was yelling, but he knew he’d have to approach his friend carefully. The thought of Ghost doing nothing hurt more than he thinks it should’ve. Maybe because the team was so tight knit, hearing that one of his good friends did nothing to help his significant other boiled his blood. When he reached the room, it looked like Ghost had just finished cleaning up the table. He was now standing by the sink, rubbing his thumb back and forth against the mug you were drinking from. His eyes locked onto it before they glanced over at Gaz, who was beelining it towards the taller male. “Gaz.” Ghost gruffly greeted the male before putting the cup gently in the sink. “I should hit you. Ya know.” Gaz greeted back with a growl, taking in a deep breath to calm down the anger that had been bubbling inside him as Ghost glanced a humorous look at the shorter male. While Gaz was known to jump to the extremes quite quickly, the glare Gaz was returning to the masked soldier told Ghost how much he was willing to back up the claim.

Ghost leaned onto the counter, hands gripping the edge as his fingers went into the sink, along with his gaze. It was as if he was ashamed for doing nothing, refusing to look Gaz in his eyes again, or at least for now. “I’m sorry.” He said softly. “My significant other is being tortured by Price, got burned in front of you and you did nothing, and you’re ‘sorry’?” Gaz practically lectured the older male before he took another deep breath closing his eyes, clenching and unclenching his fists. He so wanted to drill Ghost’s head into the sink with one blow, but he had to keep things professional, as professional it was to yell at your friend in the commons room where people could see the two of you arguing.

“Yeah.” Ghost replied, his monotonous voice not changing. This was the closest that Gaz was going to get to a proper apology and he knew it. Though the thought of Ghost doing nothing to stop Price didn’t stop itching at his brain. “Did… Did you even try?” Gaz spoke softer, a soft crack in his voice. He tried to figure out what Ghost did. The silence spoke volumes as Ghost recalled the incident from earlier this morning. Gaz had never seen the bloke wince, but he did, making the shorter soldier wonder if Ghost watched you get burned. “No… Price…” Ghost was trying to speak, trying to explain the situation, but anything past the ‘No’, Gaz didn’t register. “You watched Price burn my partner and dragged them away and you didn’t do anything!” Gaz was ready to explode, his voice indicating that he was already there at such a loud tone. “They were hurt and you couldn’t stand up to Price to get them any bloody treatment! Did his accusation of them being the spy really change your mind that much?!” He continued to spit fire at the tall man. Ghost’s hands gripped tighter against the counter and sink. Gaz swore if he gripped it any tighter it would break. The masked man sharply turned to Gaz and jabbed his finger into his chest, making him stumble back a bit. Ghost being quick wasn’t unheard of, but that didn’t make it any less shocking when it happened. “I do not have a soft spot for traitors. If they are proven innocent I will apologize. Until then they are the enemy.” Ghost growled. The two were ready to fight there in the commons. It was just up to who would swing first. “What ‘appened to ‘innocent until proven guilty’?” Gaz growled back, the air thickening as he leaned into the masked man’s finger. He was challenging the taller bloke. Ghost’s brown eyes flashed in some sort of angry emotion before he sighed and moved away. While Gaz knew it wasn’t because Ghost wanted to back down, he knew that Ghost knew that it would be the best move at this point. If the taller man swung, the commons room would quickly turn into a battle ground, and that would just make everything worse. “Nothin’.” He replied in a quieter tone. Hearing the reply made Gaz chuckle softly, a quip at the tip of his tongue, but he reminded himself to stay calm. Or well, to cool down to not have a fight in the commons room. He already made Ghost get close to boiling over. “Fuckin’ right. Now follow it. I have Soap contactin’ Laswell. I need to ask Price who he got ‘is information from. Though I have a feelin’ it’s one of the blokes that came in with Y/N when they first star’ed to work here. You wanna see what you can find out?” Gaz suggested, his voice determined and calm, but that was a contrast to how he felt. He’d definitely would need a round with Ghost in the ring after all of this is over. He knew he would more than likely lose, but a chance to hone skills and hopefully make some blows, would be worth it.

“Yea. I’ll make ‘em talk.” Ghost responded standing up fully now. “Good. Imma go talk to Price then. Meet ya back here later.” Gaz said with a small smile, gently punching Ghost’s arm, “You awe me a round after this blows over.” Ghost only replied with a half-amused grunt before going to talk to the other three. Gaz felt good about himself, puffing out his chest slightly in a mini victory before pivoting back to the interrogation room. He paused at your barrack’s door. Gaz’s mind filled with apologies that he could only wish to tell you at the moment. Price had to be wrong in this situation. He usually wasn’t, but everyone slips up sometimes. Then he felt bad for lashing out at Ghost, knowing his real anger wasn't at him, nor Price, but the asshole who accused you of being the spy. Whoever it was had to be the one that’s sabotaging everything. He must’ve been there for quite some time because a hand touched his shoulder. He glanced over to see Price. He seemed slightly defeated and tired, but still angry. The blood on his gloves made Gaz want to shiver, but he held his stance. “Gaz. This… This is a ‘ard ask… But Imma need you in a few hours to ‘elp with interrogation’ Y/N-” “You fuckin’ crazy, mate?” Gaz interrupted his Captain, absolutely shocked at how easily Price let the obscene request leave his mouth. Though part of him noticed how Price winced, as if he had known what Gaz’s reaction would be. How long had the Captain been stewing on the question? “They’ll crack faster seeing that there’s no hope.” Price responded coldly. Then Gaz realized something. Price had completely put on his mission mask. One of those masks that isn’t seen, but it’s like a mental block so they could do their work. This was too hard for him to mentally handle and so he hid instead of asking questions. Gaz’s blood started to boil again, but he silently started to reason with himself. This would for sure hurt your relationship, but if you don’t do it, the others would do it just as roughly as Price. At least in this way he could make sure you don’t get it too rough and keep Price from dishing out harder punishments. Though he wasn’t going to agree without bargaining. “Aight… On two conditions.” Gaz said, Prices seemed a bit surprised. “One, you get yourself a nap, you look worse for wear. Two, you tell me who informed ya.” Price’s eyes narrowed at the Sergeant, clearly seeing the bargain, but being too tired to argue he nodded and huffed, “Nikolai… and fine. No more than two hours. In the meantime fetch me a bucket. When I wake up, fill it up with ice cold water.” Gaz nodded, and as soon as Price turned around and sulked to his room to sleep, he shivered. His mind raced. Nikolai? Nik? No… Nikolai wouldn’t… Was… Was it written? There was no way Nikolai could be the spy, everyone knew the Russian too well. Something was amiss.

Gaz quickly jogged to the commons room, or well, he tried. He almost sprinted in, looking for Soap or Ghost, his mind whirling. He spotted the two quietly conversing in the corner. Soap was in front of Ghost, pressed up against him, teasing the Brit with something or other. Gaz couldn’t entirely care what it was at this moment. He quickly headed over, watching as Ghost’s eyes went from Soap’s to his, nodding slightly in a silent greeting. Soap, seeing the nod, shifted away and turned towards Gaz with a big smile, blue eyes shining happily before he caught Gaz’s furrowed brows. The two men knew something went amiss in the plan, or unexpected at least. “We have a problem.” Gaz breathed out as soon as he had both of their attention. “The intel is from Nikolai.” “No fukin’ way.” Soap whispered out. “Yea… I’m wondering if someone forged his handwriting… As illegible as it is…” Gaz put forth his thoughts, Ghost nodded in agreement. “Do we know if he was ‘ere today, or recently?”

“No…” Ghost shook his head slightly, the mask above his eyes moving, no doubt furrowing his brows. “No, he couldn’t be. ‘im an’ Laswell have been on a mission the pas’ few days.” Soap interjected, his eyes narrowing, “We go’ a right proper rat.” He growled out.

Gaz’s fists tightened again, he wanted to find who it was and put them in the dirt now, “What else did you find out?” “Well, Laswell an’ Nik will be ova’ere as soon as they can… Mission complications… Laswell an’ Nik don’t think Y/N is the spy, though they did warn me that they’d lose all communication soon so we’ll have ta wait wit’ baited breath for their return.” “Fuck. Ghost?” “Only one I could find was Tree… Drunk out of ‘is mind. Not suitable for interrogation.” The Brit gruffly responded, anger hinted at the edge of his tone. “God damnit.” Gaz cursed under his breath, despite how much he craved to yell it. “So we have someone framing Nik, who in turn is framing Y/N, and until Nik comes back we’re sitting ducks…” “Aye…” Soap confirmed softly, offering a gently squeeze of Gaz’s shoulder. “We will ge’em out, don’ worry Gaz.” “Yeah but how soon?” He grumbled. Gaz wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to feel his fist hit whoever got you in this situation. For now, he had about an hour and a half to figure things out.

…

Now here he is. Gripping your hair and forcing you into the water that felt cold. He had iced it earlier, but then scrapped the ice and put some hotter water in so it wouldn’t be freezing like Price wanted. He wasn’t about to confront his Captain in these circumstances. He gently pulled your head out of the water as you gasped for air, spitting water out of your mouth as your lungs demanded air. “You gon’ talk now? Or are we gonna take it up a notch?” Price asked, his face getting close to yours as his eyes narrowed. You looked at Price through somewhat closed eyes. “Fuck off.” You manage to murmur out through your sore throat. “Dunk ‘em.”

…

It’s been weeks. You’re weaker than you’ve ever felt in your life. Between being beaten and starved, your will to even consider forgiving anyone on 141 was slipping. The last thread that you held onto tightly was Gaz’s. You wrapped his thread around your hand tightly until it started to cut your fingers, your blood making the thread slippery, each drop from when he’d hurt you. Eventually. He did stop coming. Your grip on his thread was slowly loosening. It had been 21 days, 3 weeks, since you were brought here. You’ve gone numb to so many things, Price’s words, the cold cement, the aches and pains in your body. The way Gaz would sneak you small rations. It hurt you. Having to be secretly fed and begging every single time Gaz had to leave you to not go.

Three weeks of being interrogated to the point that it didn’t matter what happened after this. You were resigning. You wouldn’t sue, though the thought has crossed your mind multiple times. Worst part is, you found who it was. Price just wouldn’t believe you. By day 15, you shut up. Not a word had left your mouth for 6 days. Gaz had been gone for a day and that’s when you found out. It was Quail. Fucking Tree. He let you in on all of his little secrets as he toyed with you, adding to the bruises that decorated your skin as he tried to ‘beat the information’ out of you. You hope he’d burn in hell. You now knew, or well, used to know what was happening. He planted a letter for Price, claiming it to be Nik, but due to the secrecy had to use newspaper clippings, and it was because he and Laswell found sensitive information on their mission about said spy. They just sent Tree to collect it after they sent it to a burner address that everyone knew of, it was just his day to check it. And Price fell for the bait. You couldn’t say a damn thing about their plans though. If you did, you’d be the spy, but if you didn’t, you’d be a traitor after being proven innocent. It fits in your mind, a traitor in a group of traitors.

Soon, someone gripped by your hair, your eyes focusing on the oh so familiar boots of your beloved Captain. Your weak body was limp as Price pulled you from the corner he left you in just hours before, dragging your body across the floor. He then set you up in the chair in the center of the room. “I got a real treat for ya later. Someone’s coming to visit.” Price growled out, looking into your defeated eyes, “You best hope they don’t keep this up.”

You refused to respond. He huffed, gripping the chair and staring into you with hatred, “You’ve been a thorn in my side these past few weeks.If you weren’t so damn important, you would be dead by now” The words were supposed to phase you. They did, but only a little, mainly because being dead sounded like a nice relief. Seeing how ineffective his words were, he growled, winding his arm back to punch you square in the jaw before the door busted open, causing both you and Price to look at the open door that swung open with so much force that it bounced off of the wall it hit. “Enough, John.” Laswell’s voice loudly cracked through the room, seeing Laswell holding Tree by his hair and wrist. “We’ve got the actual traitor, release them.” Your heart fluttered, seeing Nikolai and Gaz right behind her, as if two guards guiding someone, who didn’t need to be guarded mind you, and their dangerous captive. Though, you were only glad to see Nikolai and Laswell. Your heart couldn’t decide if Gaz earned that right in the fuzziness in your chest after everything. After all, your limp hand barely held the string.

Price’s eyes widened, stepping away as his mind turned. You could tell that he was processing the information as Laswell pushed Tree inside the room, Gaz and Nikolai both following immediately. Nik went straight for Price, consoling the man and quickly ushering out of the room. His voice was too soft for you to pick up any semblance of words, that, and you were barely paying attention. You knew Price’s world must’ve been rocked considering what Tree had already told you. You could barely register Gaz taking off your cuffs and tightening around the traitorous male’s wrist, not caring if he complained that it was too tight.

Good. You sickly thought as you heard the clicking of the cuffs.

Gaz brought you up off of the chair, wrapping your arm around his shoulders in an attempt to let you walk, but your body refused. Your mind was still numb to everything, trying to figure out if it could even walk. When you crumbled towards the floor, Gaz scooped you up in his arms. Gaz’s soft and sweet voice softly murmuring apologies. How he tried to get there sooner, but they were waiting on Nikolai and Laswell, but they had to be rescued after weeks of no contact. Price was stuck here and just took his anger out on you since he assumed you were a part of it. You didn’t respond. Part of you didn’t believe him.

The look of dread was sinking into Gaz as he made glances down to your body. While Price didn’t break anything, he dislocated so many things, only relocating them when he got pissed enough. It felt like some might’ve been broken then, but you weren’t sure. Gaz had sped up his walk as you barely recognize Soap’s worried blue eyes as Gaz bulldozed past the Scot.

The amount of care you felt for the world around you was non-existence and it worried Gaz. Every fiber of his being convinced that he was way too late, but he’d try. He’d try so damn hard to get his little angel back.

You heard words exchanged between a different medic than the one before and Gaz. Though as soon as your body felt the softer feeling of the cot, you passed out. Welcoming any softer feeling of an object compared to the cold feeling of the concrete you’d spent the previous nights on. When you woke up, you were covered in bandaids, wrappings, and a few splints on your fingers. You glanced down to see an IV in your arm, and, moving past your better judgement, you ripped it out with nothing more than a soft grunt. It alerted the new medic who swiftly came over, mumbling to themself as you stood up on shaky legs. “Hey! Hey! Sit back down. You need to rest.” He instructed, gently trying to keep you on the bed, but you refused. You still had strength in your body, more than you realized. Perhaps it was just your mental will power that was dead. “No…” Your raspy voice spoke, startling the medic. “I want to return to my room.” He hesitated, glancing away for a moment. “If you let me and my colleagues check in on you every hour on the hour… F-Fine.” You knew this wasn’t allowed, but the lacking care in your body showed, cause the medic seemed absolutely scared shitless by your gaze. You must’ve given him one hell of a glare.

He helped you to your room, always there for your stumbles as you partly wondered where the hell Gaz was. You would’ve sworn he’d be by your side after all of this, but he wasn’t there when you woke. The question soon answered itself as the medic flicked on the light to your room. Your bed was covered with new bedding, stuffed animals, flowers, pillows, anything and everything a lover could do to comfy up the military beds. Though no Gaz. Was he hoping to do a big reveal once you were better? It didn’t matter now. The surprise was ruined and you couldn’t care how nice it looked. Not like you’d choose to remember.

The scene in front of you didn’t affect the deadness in your heart. You just wanted to sleep somewhere more familiar than the medical bay. You stumbled over with the medic’s help. He was about to help you to the side of the bed before you took your arm and wiped off as much as you could, dumping a good chunk of it onto the floor. The only thing that remained was a brown stuffed teddy bear and the new pillows. The teddy bear was holding a heart that you only noticed after grabbing it to huck it onto the ground. You assumed that what it said on the heart was something cheap, before you paused. You noticed how the message was hand-sewn into a heart, that was a bit-lopsided, but also hand made. ‘To my Angel. You will forever be in my heart. No matter where we are.’ It read. Was it still sappy? Sewn in a bit sloppily? Absolutely, but you settled into bed with it. The stuffed bear held tightly against your chest as the medic carefully tucked you in.

“See you in an hour.” He said softly, carefully nudging the gifts on the ground towards the wall to be picked up later, before turning off the light to the room and leaving you alone. The darkness made your mind scream in fear, but the tiredness in your body gagged it as you finally closed your eyes to sleep against the mattress that felt so soft. Your arms had a death grip on the teddy bear. Its soft fur brushed against the bandages on your arms and chest. You wish you could feel how soft its fur was, but your body was being held together by the medical fabric. Soon, you were able to drift off to sleep with a soft warmness towards Gaz once more.

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

A/N: I hope y'all enjoyed glances at word count 4,027 words of this! I was debating on putting it in two parts, but.... Nah. You guys just get one BIG chapter. Y'all get two more chapters of angst and fluff until it ends. Not sure when it'll be posted cause my mind be everywhere lol. Inspire by this post.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

[itsnesss]

hii maybe a yandere!junho ?? I cant stop thinking about him 😩 i love your writing btw💕

𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 | hwang jun-ho × fem!reader

summary | you wake up restrained in a small room, facing jun-ho, who reveals his obsessive love for you. his yandere tendencies surface as he believes he's protecting you from the world. you must navigate his dangerous devotion and find a way to escape

warnings | junho!yandere, kidnapping/restraint, psychological manipulation

word count | 2.1 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

You wake up with a start, the cold floor chilling your bones. It’s hard to remember how you got here. The faint flicker of a hanging light bulb illuminates the room. It’s a small, almost claustrophobic space, with gray concrete walls. In front of you, sitting on an old metal chair, is him: Jun-ho. His dark eyes watch you with an intensity that makes you shiver.

"Finally awake," he says in a serene voice, but it’s loaded with something else, something unsettling. "Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment?"

You try to speak, but your throat is dry. Your voice barely comes out as a whisper.

"What… what’s going on?"

He smiles, and the gesture should comfort you, but there’s something strange in his eyes, something you’ve never seen before.

"I saved you," he replies, leaning forward. "They were going to hurt you. I couldn’t let that happen."

"They? What are you talking about?" you ask, your heart pounding rapidly.

You try to move, but your wrists are tied with a thick scarf. You look at Jun-ho in disbelief.

"This… this isn’t real."

He slowly gets to his feet, brushing his hands off like he’s just finished an important task.

"Don’t worry. You’re safe with me. No one will ever hurt you again. No one will ever look at you that way again."

His voice, though soft, has a sharp edge. Memories begin to return in fragmented flashes. The last time you saw him was at the café near your workplace. He was always there, sitting at the same table with his black coffee, watching you. There was something about him that unsettled you but also intrigued you, like a mystery impossible to ignore.

"Jun-ho… why am I here?" you manage to ask, though the answer seems clear in your mind.

He leans closer, dangerously close. His warm breath brushes against your face, and you can smell the faint aroma of coffee he always carried.

"Because I love you."

The confession hits you like a punch. You instinctively recoil, but you can’t go far because of the restraints.

"Love me? This isn’t love…" you say, trying to stay calm.

His expression hardens.

"Not love?" he repeats, as if tasting the words for the first time. He paces around you, each step echoing in the small room. "Didn’t you see me? I was always there, watching over you, protecting you from all those men who didn’t deserve you."

"Jun-ho… this isn’t right. Let me go, please."

He stops behind you and places his hands on your shoulders. His touch is firm but not rough.

"Not right?" he murmurs near your ear. "Isn’t it right to want the best for the person you love?"

Your body tenses. The danger in his voice is palpable.

"If you really love me, you wouldn’t do this," you try to reason with him.

He chuckles softly, a sound that makes you tremble.

"You don’t understand. This is for you. For us. You can’t keep living in that world full of people who don’t value you. I’m the only one who can."

"It’s not your decision…" you protest, but he moves quickly in front of you, leaning down until his eyes are level with yours.

"Of course, it’s my decision. Because no one else cares as much as I do."

His gaze is so intense it feels like it could pierce your soul. His obsession is undeniable, but behind it, you see something else: pain, loneliness, desperation.

"Jun-ho, listen… you don’t have to do this. We can talk, find a solution," you say, trying to keep your voice gentle, though inside, you’re terrified.

He smiles again, but this time there’s sadness in his eyes.

"You’ve always been so kind… so understanding. But you don’t get it. If I let you go, they’ll hurt you. I can’t let that happen."

"Who are they?" you ask, hoping to buy time to think of a way out.

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he steps back a few paces, as if lost in thought. Finally, he speaks, his voice barely a whisper.

"Everyone. Everyone who tried to get close to you. Everyone who didn’t deserve you."

The air feels heavier. The idea of what he might have done to "protect" you starts to sink in.

"What did you do, Jun-ho?"

He looks at you, and for the first time, he seems vulnerable.

"What I had to."

His words are simple, but the weight behind them leaves you breathless. Your mind fills with horrible images, but you force yourself to stay composed.

"Jun-ho… let me help you. This doesn’t have to go on like this."

He shakes his head.

"I don’t need help. I’ve already done everything necessary."

You start to notice a slight tremor in his hands, as if guilt is beginning to catch up with him.

"If you really love me… trust me. Let me go, and we can figure this out together."

For a moment, it seems like your words are reaching him. He lowers his gaze, and you can see the internal struggle on his face. But then, he straightens up, and his expression hardens again.

"I can’t risk it. If I let you go, you’ll go back to that world… and I can’t allow that."

Desperation grips you. You need to find a way to make him see reason before it’s too late.

"What do you want, Jun-ho? What do you really want?" you ask, trying to keep his attention.

He steps closer again, his eyes burning with intensity.

"I just want you to be mine."

His answer feels like a sentence, and you know words won’t be enough to change his mind. But you can’t give up. Not now.

"Jun-ho, if you keep going down this path, we’ll never truly be together. This isn’t love. It’s fear."

The word seems to affect him. He takes a step back, his gaze faltering.

"Fear?" he repeats, as if trying to process it.

You nod, even though the fear in your own heart threatens to overwhelm you.

"You’re afraid of losing me. But keeping me here isn’t the solution. If you love me, trust me."

The silence that follows is unbearable. Finally, Jun-ho sighs and lowers his head.

"I don’t want to lose you…" he admits, almost in a whisper.

"You won’t," you reply, summoning all the conviction you can. "But you have to trust me."

For a moment, you think you’ve reached him. But then he lifts his gaze, and his expression is a storm of emotions.

"Fine," he finally says, with an eerie calm. "But if I let you go, promise me you’ll never abandon me."

Your heart stops. You know any wrong response could trigger something worse.

"I promise we’ll talk about this. But first, I need you to give me a chance."

Jun-ho stares at you, assessing you. Finally, he pulls a knife from his pocket and cuts the ties around your wrists.

"Don’t make me regret this," he warns.

You rub your aching wrists and look at him carefully. Every move has to be calculated.

"I won’t," you respond, though your mind is already planning how to escape this place.

[lynzishell]

Prev // Next

Transcript below the cut:

[Rach: Why didn’t you get his number?] Iris: The entire conversation was five minutes. He was gone before I even thought about it. Besides, I spent half the time talking to his dog. He probably thought I was a weirdo.

[Rach: If he’s a dog person, he probably loved it.] Iris: Who knows. [Rach: Do you think you’ll run into him again?] Iris: Doubt it. I’m here almost every morning and I’ve never seen him before. He was just in the area for the vet clinic.

[Rach: Hmm. So, in theory, if you do see him again, it’s because he’s hoping to run into you.] Iris: [scoffs] Yeah, I’m not gonna hold my breath.

Iris: Shit. [Rach: What?] Iris: He’s here. What do I do? [Rach: Um, hang up the phone and go say hi?] Iris: Right. Okay. I’ll see you soon. Bye.

Iris: Hi. Ezra: Good morning. Iris: How’d Milo’s appointment go? Ezra: Great, he got a clean bill of health. More importantly, you were right about the biscuits, he was very happy. Iris: [smiles] Good.

Barista: What can I get for you? Ezra: An oat milk latte… and whatever she’s having. Iris: Oh, um, a macchiato.

Iris: Why did you do that? Ezra: It’s just a thing I do sometimes, buying coffee for the person behind me. Iris: [skeptical] Why?

Ezra: [shrugs] To brighten their day, and hope they’ll pay it forward. Iris: Making the world a better place, one coffee at a time? Ezra: Something like that.

Iris: You should be careful about that. Ezra: How so? Iris: You might give someone the wrong impression. You don’t want them thinking you’re interested if you’re not.

Ezra: I’ll admit, I am usually more discreet about it than I was today. Iris: Oh? Ezra: I have some time before I have to be to work. I was thinking about grabbing a table outside and enjoying the nice weather if you’d like to join me. Iris: Um… sure. I have about thirty minutes to spare. Ezra: I’ll take it.

--

Iris: So, what do you do, Ezra? Ezra: I’m a teacher. Brindleton Bay High. Iris: [sarcastic] Go Huskies. Ezra: [laughs] Right.

Iris: Did you go to that school? Ezra: No, I just moved here a few years ago. Iris: That’s good. I don’t trust people who choose to work at the same high school they went to. Ezra: Why’s that?

Iris: Too many memories. Seems you’d be haunted by the past every time you walked down the halls. Personally, I don’t think I could ever step foot in that building again. Ezra: You were a husky? Iris: [nods] Born and raised in the Bay. Ezra: There are worse places.   Iris: I suppose.

Iris: What do you teach? Ezra: Biology. Tenth Grade. Iris: Yikes. Must be awful. Ezra: You’d think so, but I love it.  

Iris: Hm. Tell me, do you still make kids dissect frogs? Ezra: Every year. Iris: Horrific. Ezra: Let me guess, you were one of the students that refused, taking a moral stance?

Iris: Oh, I didn’t just refuse, I organized a protest. Got half the school to walk out. We were on the local news. Ezra: You were quite the activist. Iris: Hardly. I was just bored. And I was trying to get the attention of a boy I liked who happened to be vegan.

Ezra: Did it work? Iris: It did, for a while. Ezra: What happened? Iris: He caught me devouring a hamburger at the mall with my friends. Turns out I’m not cut out for the long con.

Ezra: I’d say that’s a good thing. Unless you’ve improved since then? Iris: No. I gave up on lying. It’s exhausting. If anything, I’m too honest. People don’t like it, but [shrugs]. Ezra: I like honesty. Iris: Me too.

Iris: Shit, you get oat milk in your latte. You’re not vegan, are you? Ezra: No, just lactose intolerant. Iris: Thank god. Not that I’d care if you were, but I have a habit of saying the wrong thing and I worried I’d embarrassed myself. Ezra: No no, not at all.

Iris: Good. Well, um, thank you for the coffee. I have to go or I’m going to be late for work. Ezra: Wait, you didn’t tell me what you do. Iris: I guess we’ll have to do this again tomorrow then. That is, unless you’re secretly married, in which case, I’m not interested in some weird coffeeshop affair. Ezra: [laughs] No. Divorced, and very much single.

Iris: In that case, if tomorrow goes well, I might let you ask me out on a proper date.

[giggle-guru]

Okay guys…this is my longest and most intricate audio yet! I’ve got a little bit of everything going on and I really hope that the additional audio is more immersive and not too overwhelming! I absolutely adored this one and I really hope you guys enjoyed it. Please please give me some feedback on it in regards to if you found this to be too much, too little, etc etc! I thrive off of your comments because they help me improve and cater them better to all of your needs! Now enjoy some Huskerdust with a lil wrecked Husker (and if any of you catch my reference in the audio you’ve got to let me know hehe…)

The cover art was made by @giggly-tickles whom I adore, so go send them some love! Below the cut with the script you can find the full version, or go check out their Tumblr! Thank you so much you’re a legend 😭

Script and artwork below the cut!

[Visual Note: Husker is at the bar, finishing up a long shift. He grumbles as he sweeps up his feathers from behind the bar once again, wings twitching in irritation. Angel Dust sits across from him at the bar.]

[Audio Note: Sweeping, various bar sound effects.]

Angel Dust: [eyebrow raised] Damn Husky. What’s goin’ on with ya feathers? Ya sheddin’ ‘em like crazy! I ain’t ever seen you sweep up so many before. You goin’ bald?

Husk: [eye roll] S’ none of yer business, Angie.

Angel Dust: [pouting] Aw, c’mon Whiskers! Ya can’t blame me for noticin’. I mean, it’s hard not to when there’s a whole bird’s nest behind the bar. Seriously, ya sick or somethin’?

Husk: [gruff] I said drop it. It’s nothin’ you need to worry about. And stop calling me Whiskers.

Angel Dust: [mock gasp] Oh, excuse me, Baby Cakes! Didn’t know we were touchy tonight. Now spill. Can’t always be on my ass ‘bout talking feelings and not tell me what’s goin’ on.

Husk: [sighs, rubbing his temples] I’m not touchy, Ang. Just… tired, alright? Look, I’m almost done closing up shop for to night. Why don’t you just go to our room and I’ll meet you there?

Angel Dust: [grumbling] Fine. But I’m gonna figure you out, one way or anotha. And don’t take too long, old man. I get lonely without ya.

[Visual Note: Angel walks away to their shared room, muttering to himself.]

[Audio Note: Footsteps, fading bar noise, quietly additional approaching footsteps]

Angel Dust: There’s gotta be somethin’ goin’ on. Sure, he’s grumpy as Hell, but he’s never like this. Maybe I gotta look somethin’ up or-

[Visual Note: Angel, lost in thought, stumbles into Lucifer.]

[Audio Note: Stumble. Footsteps pause.]

Angel Dust: Shit-! [glancing down] Didn’t see ya there Short King. My bad.

Lucifer: [scoff] It’s hard to see where you’re walking when you’re too busy talking to yourself. What’s going on?

Angel Dust: [waving him off] It’s nothin’, okay? Husky is just…actin' weird tonight. Like, extra weird. Feels like there’s somethin’ off with him, y’know?

Lucifer: [slight grin] Eh. Shocker. I get where he’s coming from.

Angel Dust: [confused] Shocker? Whaddya mean, shocker?

Lucifer: [brow raised] It’s molting season, Angel. It’s a natural process. Happens to demons with avian traits every so often. They shed old feathers to make room for new ones. I thought you two had something going on. Hasn’t he told you? Alastor uh…[clearing throat] helped me out last night.

Angel Dust: [eyes widen, realization dawning] Wait, what? Moltin' season? So that’s what’s been goin' on with him? [pauses] Why the hell didn’t he say anything? I coulda helped!

Lucifer: I mean preening is pretty…[clearing throat] I mean everyone’s wings are different.

Angel Dust: [squinting, smirking] Ohhhh, preenin’, huh? Is that what we’re callin’ it these days? What’d Alastor do, Luce, give ya a little feather massage?

Lucifer: [flustered, clearing throat] Ahem! I’m simply saying molting requires a certain… level of ca re. Especially for demons like Husk. It can be…uncomfortable.

Angel Dust: [laughing, leaning on the wall] Oh, I bet it can be. Don’t worry, Lucifer, your secret’s safe with me. Now I’m just wonderin’ how I’m supposed to handle my grumpy feather duster.

Lucifer: [irritated] I’d suggest you focus on your own partner instead of my affairs, Angel. Husk is stubborn, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out.

Angel Dust: [snickering] Sure, sure. Thanks for the tip, Baby Cakes.

Lucifer: [grimacing] Don’t call me that.

[Visual Note: Angel walks back to his shared room with Husk with a newfound confidence and plan - convincing Husker to let him help. He scoops Fat Nuggets up and lays on the bed with him.]

[Audio Note: Footsteps, door opening, door closing, pig oinking, bed squeaking]

Angel Dust: Fat Nuggets, baby! [leaning down to pet him, babytalking] We’re gonna help out ya daddy…yes we are…gonna get rid of that grumpy lil face-

[Audio Note: Door opening]

[Visual Note: Husk steps into the room still looking disheveled his wings twitching slightly as he glances at Angel and Fat Nuggets on the bed.]

Husk: [gruff] What’re you doin’? You havin’ a one-on-one with the pig about me now?

Angel Dust: [grinning, still petting Fat Nuggets] Maybe. He’s a good listener, y’know? And he doesn’t hide things from me unlike somebody I know.

Husk: [sighs] I ain’t in the mood for jokes, Angie. I’m beat.

Angel Dust: [patting the bed] C’mere, Husky. Sit your feathered ass down.

Husk: [narrowing his eyes] What’re you up to?

Angel Dust: [innocently] Who, me? Nothin’! Just thought we could have some quality time. Y’know, talk about stuff. Like…molting.

[Visual Note: Husk crawls into bed beside Angel]

[Audio Note: Bed squeaking]

Husk: [groaning] Dammit, Angel, I shoulda known you’d get it outta someone. Was it Lucifer?

Angel Dust: [snickering] Maybe. Short King’s got loose lips. [softly] Why didn’t ya just tell me, Husky? You don’t gotta deal with this on your own, y’know.

Husk: [shrugs, avoiding eye contact] Didn’t wanna make a big deal outta it. It’s just molting. Happens every so often, no biggie.

Angel Dust: [crawling over to him, kneeling in front of the chair] No biggie? Babe, you’ve been grumpier than usual, and I’m pretty sure you’ve been hidin’ how bad it’s buggin’ ya. C’mon, let me help.

Husk: [hesitating, wings twitching slightly] I don’t need help, Angie. It’s messy and…kinda embarrassing, alright? I don’t want ya seein’ me like this.

Angel Dust: [softly, reaching out to brush a stray feather off Husk’s shoulder] Husky, you’re actin’ like I haven’t already seen you at your worst. Hell, I practically live for the mess. Besides, isn’t that what we do? Look out for each other? You’ve seen me way past rock bottom before.

Husk: [sighing] You’re not going to let this one go, are ya Legs?

Angel Dust: [smirking] Not a chance. Now, lay down and let me get a closer look at those wings of yours. Trust me, I got magic hands.

[Visual Note: Husk hesitates, then finally gives in, lying down on the bed with his wings slightly spread out. Angel Dust grabs a soft brush from the nightstand and starts inspecting Husk’s feathers.]

[Audio Note: Soft rustling of feathers, gentle brushing sounds]

Angel Dust: [teasing] Damn, Husky, these wings are somethin’ else. Big, strong, and goddamn they need my TLC.

Husk: [gruffly] Shut it, Ang. Just do whatever you’re gonna do and quit yappin’- [few giggles]

[Visual Note: Angel continues gently moving around and picking apart the feathers, though now Husk begins to squirm]

Angel Dust: [teasing, mischievous] Ohhh, Husky. What’s this? You’re really jumpy tonight. Don’t tell me you’ve got ticklish wings.

Husk: [gruff, trying to stay composed] No. Obviously not. Just… finish the damn job, Angie.

Angel Dust: [grinning] Uh-huh. Sure. [deliberately brushing the sensitive area of Husk’s wing again] What about here? Oh, wait— there?

Husk: [giggling despite himself] Angie, cut it out.

Angel Dust: [laughing, feigning innocence] Cut what out? Babe, I’m just tryin’ to help you! You’re makin’ it real hard to focus with all that twitchin’.

Husk: [trying not to laugh] You know damn well what you’re doin’!

Angel Dust: [grinning wider] Ohhh, this is too good. The big, bad Husky’s got himself some ticklish lil’ wings! C’mon, Whiskers, just admit it—your tough-guy act’s fallin’ apart over here.

Husk: [gasping through his laughter, squirming away] Angie, shut up! You’re pushin’ it now, I swear to—!

Angel Dust: [laughing triumphantly] Oh, I’ve got you now, Husky! And too bad. I’m not stopping till I get all ya loose feathers out of there.

Husk: Shit! Angel, this is why I didn’t want to tell you, you little- [laughter]

Angel Dust: [grinning] You didn’t want to tell me because ya didn’t want me findin’ out ya just a sensitive lil cutie, huh?

Husk: [half-laughing, trying to stay in control] I'm not cute, and you better quit that before I—

Angel Dust: [giggling] Before you what? I’m just helping preen ya, you ought to be thankin’ me. I dunno what I’d do without these extra arms though, ya squirming like a damn worm!

Husk: [laughing] Thank you?! Angel, I didn’t sign up for this! Okay- okay stop it! This is fucking torture!

Angel Dust: [smirking mischievously] Torture? Babe, this is premium wing care—Angel Dust-style. Now quit wiggling. I’m almost done. Then I gotta remind ya where else ya sensitive-

Husk: [laughing] You fucking wish! No way in Hell am I letting you touch me again- ever! No more touching for you!

Angel Dust: [mock gasp] How dare ya revoke my kitty-pettin’ privileges! That’s it!

[Visual Note: Angel finishes preening - for the most part - and flips Husk onto his back]

[Audio Note: blanket movement and wrestling]

Angel Dust: [grinning] Now you’re really in for it Husky. I didn’t know ‘bout ya wings bein’ sensitive but I do know about-

Husk: [panic] Wait wait wait-!

Angel Dust: [laugh] Your hips.

[Visual Note: Angel moves one hand to squeeze his hips]

Husk: [shrieking] Angie! Angie no! You’re gonna kill me with this shit! I can’t breathe! It tickles! Fuck, it’s not funny!

Angel Dust: [laughing, his voice playful] Oh, but it is funny. Look at you, all grumpy and tough, but when I hit these spots? You’re just a cute witty kitty.

Husk: [managing to grab Angel’s wrist, panting slightly through his laughter] I said I’m not cute! If you don’t quit it right now, I will—!

Angel Dust: [smirking, leaning in close] You’ll what, Baby Cakes? You’re too busy laughin’ to do anything. Face it, I’ve gotcha right where I wantcha. Ya clearly ain’t as grumpy as before so I think I did somethin’. And this tummy is lookin’ like it wants some attention too.

Husk: [hissing through his teeth] Angel, fuck, no, no… I’m gonna—

[Visual Note: Husk tries to push Angel’s hand away, but Angel grins wider and gently presses on his stomach again.]

Angel Dust: [teasing] Oh, what’s this? You’re really not gonna— [pauses as Husk lets out a soft, involuntary purr] Ohhh… wait a minute… did you just… purr?

Husk: [flustered, voice strained] I didn’t… I didn’t purr, you little shit. Knock it off! [still giggling]

Angel Dust: [grinning broadly] Uh-huh. Sure, sure. But you did just purr. So ya lyin’ now. Thats a cute mix. Gigglin’ n’ purrin’ for me. [lightly pressing down on his stomach]

[Audio Note: louder purr slipping in]

Husk: [squirming, purring louder] Stop it! I’m serious, Angel! This is—this is—[laughing] okay, okay, I get it, I get it! I give! Angel-!

Angel Dust: Yeah? Admit it then, Whiskers. You love the attention, you loved me preening ya, you love me-

Husk: [laughing harder, eyes almost closing from how much he's squirming] Okay, okay, fine! I admit it! But you’re the worst!

Angel Dust: [laughing] Now that’s more like it! You’re a good sport, Husky. I knew deep down you liked it when I gave ya some care.

Husk: [gruff but still breathless] Oh, you’re so gonna regret this, Legs. You’re not the only one who can dish it out. Especially after all that bullshit.

Angel Dust: [giggling nervously] Wait, wait—hold on! Husky, we can talk about this—!

[Visual Note: Husk starts tickling Angel back, both of them laughing hysterically.]

[Audio Note: Feathers rustling, bedsprings squeaking, and confused pig noises]

Angel Dust: [gasping between laughter] Stop, stop! Okay, okay, I give! Mercy!

Husk: [laughing victoriously] Oh, no. You started this. You’re gettin’ the full treatment now, Angie!

Angel Dust: [gasping, laughing harder] You— [trying to squirm away, but Husk follows his movements] You’re evil! I didn’t think—! Oh God, please—! Mercy!

Husk: [laughing triumphantly] That’s what you get, Legs! I told you, didn’t I? No mercy.

Angel Dust: [gasping between laughs] I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I swear!

Husk: [stopping] That’s what I thought.

[Visual Note: The laughter fades into softer chuckles as they both collapse onto the bed, catching their breath. Husk’s wings relax, and Angel leans against him, still giggling faintly.]

Husk: [after a moment, quietly] Thanks for the help with these damn feathers, Angie.

Angel Dust: [softly] Anytime, Husky. Just don’t forget – you don’t gotta handle stuff alone. I’m here for ya, sheddin’ feathers and all.

Husk: [softly] Just... don’t tell anyone about this, alright? I’m not about to become the soft-hearted sap of the hotel. And I definitely don’t need anyone other then you using this shit against me.

Angel Dust: [whispering] Cross my heart, Husky. This stays between us... and Fat Nuggets. [laughs softly] He’s our little secret keeper.

[Audio Note: Soft oink]

Husk: [chuckling] That he is, huh? You really do know how to make a guy feel... less miserable.

Angel Dust: [grinning] What can I say? It’s one of my many talents. Love ya, Kitten.

Husk: [hum] Love you too, sweetheart.

[a-bad-case-of-the-stephs]

If that’s your reading of the situation then you’re absolutely entitled to it. However personally, I’m not convinced.

To me, there is just so much more evidence that Tim Drake took what Batman told him at face value than the idea that he just didn’t take Batman’s threat to fire Steph seriously.

I just don’t see how the moment in Robin 107 you’ve pointed out meaningfully proves Tim didn’t believe Batman was being serious about firing Steph.

I find it likely Tim is telling the truth here for the record: it is hard to figure out what Batman thinks of you and Tim is well aware of this, he believes it. But to me, that doesn’t ‘prove’ in any meaningful capacity that Tim didn’t believe Batman was serious about firing Stephanie. He can definitely believe that a) it’s hard/ultimately pointless for Steph to try to figure out what Batman thinks of her because it’s hard/pointless to figure out what Batman thinks of anyone and b) Batman wasn’t bluffing when he told Tim he planned to fire Stephanie. To me, these ideas hold no inherent contradiction. He reassuring her, yes, but to me, this reads the same as their Batman Family conversation: Tim reassures Steph to not worry about Batman, despite having reason to know she should.

And there is a lot of evidence that Tim takes Batman telling him he plans to fire Steph seriously.

As explored in my post, Tim seems to genuinely believe Batman is willing to fire him when they are in the Batmobile together in Robin 106. If he’s willing to entertain that idea, I see no reason he would genuinely not believe the same could happen to Steph who is much much less connected to Bruce than he is. But even if we take that line as less serious, and assume Tim is not actually concerned about being fired by Batman, it still doesn’t explain his initial reaction to hearing Bruce plans to fire Steph.

Tim has a genuinely shocked and appalled reaction to finding out Bruce plans to fire Steph. Tim immediately takes the idea completely seriously, and his internal monologue reveals he seems to have taken Batman’s words at total face value. He reacts accordingly.

So Tim seems to have multiple reasons to take this threat seriously and reacts as if he wholeheartedly believes this is a serious statement Batman is making. But this is only at first. One could argue that he eventually changes his mind/decides Batman probably wasnt serious about firing Steph, or that he wasn’t going to follow through.

However, there’s not really proof for that idea. And if we look at him and Steph’s convo in Batman Family #2 it seems a lot more likely that Tim is being disingenuous when he tells Steph she shouldn’t worry. It really does not seem to me like he genuinely thinks she has no reason to worry, and that “it’s not personal”.

Here are the facts:

Tim knows Batman is not holding everyone at arms length in the way Steph is describing. They are talking about how Bruce during BW:Murderer cut off communication with basically everyone. Tim knows that this is no longer the case for anyone but Steph. Tim and Batman are now regularly interacting, and he knows Batman still hasn’t reached out and resumed training with Steph, despite again, Bruce resuming communication with everyone else. The last convo he and Bruce had about Stephanie is when Batman told Tim he planned to fire Steph. I simply have a really hard time believing Tim genuinely didn’t think Bruce was going to fire Steph. I can’t see how he could be telling the truth/being genuine when he tells Steph it isn’t personal. He has every reason to think it is personal to Steph, it is specific to her, and we have Zero reason to think he didn’t take Bruce seriously.

Tim took it seriously when he first heard it in Robin 106, and, at least to me, his words in Batman Family can’t really be explained by him not taking Bruce seriously later. Even if he didn’t fully believe Batman was going to fire Steph, it’s just logically true that it is personal. To Tim, Batman was at the very least thinking about firing Steph, enough so that Bruce went to tell Tim about it. The same applies to the panel you pulled where Tim states Batman’s intentions and thoughts about you can be confusing/hard to tell. It just doesn’t preclude Tim believing Batman about firing Steph.

At the end of the day, the timeline for Steph’s firing is messy as fuck, (as Robin 1993’s timeline often is) and in all likelihood the discrepancies between Tim finding out in Robin 106 and then acting as if he didn’t seem to know in Batman Family could very easily and perhaps accurately be chalked up to pure writer error or timeline shenanigans.

But to me, reading comics and analyzing them is playing a game of suspension of disbelief and benefit of doubt to the writers. If I act as if this is a real world I am peering into, if I choose to believe that these are real people instead of characters, then I want to find detailed reasons for why characters act the way they do when I find a discrepancy. And Tims relationship with Bruce during and after Bruce Wayne Murderer, to me, says somerhing about why he acts the way he does when he hears Steph is fired. The comics put these things in conversarion, as I explored in my OG post, and later comics put GK37 and Tims dependence on Bruce in conversation once more in very specific and intentional ways through repeated dialogue.

All this to say: I think my reading enriches and builds off the characters and situation in ways I personally prefer and think have a clearer connection to the relevant comics. But again, to each their own, and as always, I’m open to other interpretations and takes.

Let’s talk about Tim Drake’s failure to assert independence during and in the wake of Bruce Wayne: Murderer, and how it might explain why he lies to Stephanie Brown's face.

For Tim, Bruce Wayne: Murderer seems to mark a departure in how he thinks of himself as Robin.

Primarily, he seems to moves from the idea of Batman needs a Robin to the almost inverse, as he begins to posit the idea that Robin does not need Batman.

This concept starts appearing as a contrast to the way Dick Grayson's adamant belief in Batman manifests.

Gotham Knights #28 (2000)

Dick is unable to reckon with the idea of Batman’s guilt. And more than that, he says he can’t “continue serving a system” he doesn't have faith in. But what “system” is he talking about? They’re talking about a distrust in Batman. For Nightwing, the idea of a distrust in Batman is analogous to a distrust idea of vigilantism as a whole, as a “system”.

The innocence of Batman and the ability to be a vigilante are linked for him completely. He says that cannot and will not reckon with the possibility Bruce is guilty, doing so for him would be the same as doubting his entire life, doubting everything he has done as a vigilante. Dick's faith in Batman and his work as Nightwing, as a vigilante, are tied together completely.

And while Tim begins to oppose this idea via his doubt of Bruce in this issue, Tim's conception of Batman as wholly separate from Robin gets more emphasized through his epiphany moment in Robin #100.

Robin #100 & #101 (1993)

In this issue, Tim has reached a point where he is comfortable with the idea of being Robin without Batman. He is asserting that he has divorced his usage of the Robin mantle from Batman and his actions. If Bruce did kill Vesper, it doesn’t change Tim as Robin or what he does. He is able to continue on.

This is an uplifting sentiment, and it’s expressed in a beautiful way, through Tim’s musings after seeing a literal robin.

But it’s also extremely ironic.

In the very scene where Tim comes to this realization, staring at a real robin, a nearby stray cat not a moment later lunges, sending the robin flying away. In this way, Tim’s metaphor is dispelled. The “day/spring/robin” can be touched after all, can be chased away and changed.

And when Tim begins to assert to the cat, jokingly, that he “is Robin”, Tim is knocked out by Batman before he can even finish his sentence.

In this moment, the second that Robin asserts his independence from Batman, he is immediately proven wrong. Tim says the metaphorical robin cannot be changed by the night. But then, the cat attacks the robin, and it is no longer a analogous vehicle for his metaphor, it fails.

And then, Batman himself knocks out Tim. The actual Robin who tries to reassert control over his metaphor by scolding the cat and reaffirming his identity is immediately disrupted by Batman, who Tim just claimed had no power over him through his metaphor.

Tim asserts an independence, and then we see that concept immediately fail. Both on the metaphoric level of the actual robin, and on the literal level of Tim as Robin, the idea that Tim proclaims is undermined immediately.

The idea of Tim’s failure to assert independence from Bruce is not singular to Robin #100. The same idea is expressed in Robin #106.

Robin #106 marks the first one-on-one convo between Bruce and Tim once BW:Murderer/Fugitive has been resolved. Bruce’s name has been cleared, but the tension certainly has not.

As they drive together, Tim gets confronted head on with this. He is asked the same question which Tim had answered for himself in Robin #100: what would happen if Batman had killed Vesper?

Robin #106 (1993)

Tim’s answer in Robin #100 is that he would not be affected, that the actions of “the night/Batman” don’t affect his actions as Robin. An answer that we know is undermined moments later. So what does he say now?

He reasserts the conclusion he comes to in Robin #100: Robin can exist without Batman.

Notice how Tim uses “I guess” twice to preface his statements. His language is insecure and padded. He has to be goaded by Bruce to even continue, at first simply stating that he doesn’t know what he would do.

Additionally, alongside this dialogue, Tim’s internal narration is nervous and pleading. He says Robin has his own reasons to exist simultaneously as he frantically hopes his answer lives up to Bruce’s standards.

And as they continue the conversation, Tim’s assertion is further undermined. He gets nervous and frantically asserts that Bruce is “still the Boss!”

Robin #100 (1993)

And then, we learn that Tim was worrying throughout the conversation that he might be kicked off of the team.

Is that inconsistent? Didn’t Tim just say he’d be Robin even if he had to do so “by himself”?

Put simply, Tim Drake expresses a willingness to be Robin on his own, but that’s clearly not his preference.

He cares about staying on the team, he wants to stay on the team, even if he would keep being Robin on his own if he was kicked out.

And then, lastly, Tim himself recognizes that his proclamation had failed: what he was trying to say and what he said didn't line up the way he wanted.

While their conversation purports to show Tim asserting independence, it’s hedged over and over again, weakened conceptually.

By Tim’s hesitance, by his half hearted phrasing, by Tim’s pleading internal dialogue, by Tims frantic reassuring that Bruce is still his Boss, by Tim’s obvious fear he will be kicked off the team: the conversation where the focus is meant to be Tim’s reassertion that Robin is separate from Batman is sabotaged on every level, over and over.

It’s the same exact situation we see in Robin #100, repeated. Tim claims Robin is independent from Batman, only for the claim to be immediately and thoroughly undermined.

But, you may be asking, what does this have to do with Stephanie Brown? When did Tim lie to Steph?

Robin #106 is also the comic where Batman informs Tim that he plans to fire Stephanie as Spoiler.

In fact, Bruce informs Tim of this choice immediately after the conversation we just analyzed.

Something important happens in this moment: Tim is enraged, and importantly, he stays silent.

Robin #106 (1993)

He has to think to himself to not be respond, he has to remind himself not to jump out of the Batmobile. Tim clearly disagrees with Bruce’s choice to fire Steph, and he’s angry at Bruce for it.

But his anger is tied directly to his inaction. In every line of internal dialogue where we learn Tim’s frustration or disagreement, we also are shown Tim Drake’s suppression of that anger.

Tim, for some reason or another, pushes down his anger, and stays silent.

This moment is the key to the question I want to answer here: Why does Tim Drake lie to Steph about her getting fired?

Figuring out why he stays silent in this scene I believe will answer the question of why Tim maintains silence in not warning Steph that Bruce plans to fire her, and why Tim intentionally obfuscates the truth when she comes to him for advice.

Watch how Tim lies here:

Batman Family #2 (2002)

Tim knows that while Bruce certainly was holding everyone at arms length during BW: Murderer/Fugitive, that has since ended. Tim is let into the Batcave, Tim is having regular correspondence with Batman, Tim has gotten a return to normalcy.

Tim also knows that Steph is being singled out. Her radio silence is not the symptom of something affecting him or anyone else on the team at all. Her radio silence is because Batman is planning on firing her. Tim knows that she's going to be fired.

But TIm still reassures her not to worry about it. He tells her not to take it personally. Even though he knows that it is, in fact, personal.

Gotham Knights #37 (2000)

Once Steph finally finds out she has been fired Tim appears again to comfort her.

He hugs her. He sympathizes with her. And he, again, keeps up the pretense that he just found out Steph was going to be fired that day.

It’s a sweet moment, it really is. Tim’s “I know” is clearly genuine to me. I think he means it. I think he loves Steph. But he also let her find out like this. He also lied to her and kept her in the dark. That was a choice he made.

So, why did he do it?

Again, I think his choice to withhold when it comes to Stephanie being fired comes down to how he stays silent in Robin #106.

As we explored, Robin #106 is a continuation of the idea brought up in Robin #100. Both issues have Tim assert that Robin is independent from Batman, a huge departure for him. And then they both undermine and call into question Tim’s claim.

If Robin #106 represents the repeated failure of Tim’s claim to live up to reality, I think that explains why he stays silent here.

A Robin which is “unchanged” by the night, a Robin who made himself, who wasn’t “made by” anyone else, and a Robin who is a separate entity unaffected by the actions of Batman, the Robin that Tim describes in Robin #100, would voice his feelings and anger.

Tim Drake, sitting in the Batmobile, worrying he will be kicked off the team, still internally vying for Bruce’s approval and silencing his concerns, is not that Robin.

Whether he likes it or not, Tim is still (to a degree) reliant on Batman and his approval.

Tim is able to doubt Bruce and disagree with Bruce, but Tim cannot separate himself, or Robin, fully from Batman, despite his claims otherwise.

And with their relationship with one another so clearly still rocky in the wake of the distrust and anger they both experienced during BW:Murderer? It’s not surprising to me that Tim stays silent. Why risk jeopardizing the relationship he almost lost? Why risk potentially getting kicked off the team? Things are just finally returning to normal.

He can say he is independent from Batman, but his actions prove otherwise.

That’s why he stays silent in the car ride when Batman tells him he’s going to fire Steph, and that’s why he lies to Steph later.

It’s a trade: normalcy gets to be reestablished between Batman and Robin, and all Tim has to do is stay silent.

So, Tim stays silent. And when Steph comes to him, he lies to her. And when Steph falls apart, he comforts her because he loves her, but Tim’s relationship with Bruce is just going to have to take priority right now. Too bad. Sorry Steph.

[crazyk-imagine]

Pack

Pairing: Jacob Black x Uley!reader

Characters: Jacob Black, Uley!reader, Paul Lahote, Jared Cameron, Embry Call, Leah Clearwater, Seth Clearwater, Quil Ateara V, Brady Fuller, Collin Littlesea

Warnings: Angst, fluff, Paul being an idiot again, it got cuter, Jake had a brain, Emily is an angel, Sam and Emily are my fav, Embry just wants his imprint, Paul is such a big brother here, love writing for the wolfpack, reader knows about imprint history, reader worries about Jake not having feelings for her, Jared is an idiot, Emily is that mom

Word Count: 2,431

A/N: Okay my fellow readers, I did it. I finally sat down and did part two

*will be edited at a later time

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

It was a hard few days after, well, learning that you were forever bonded to him.

You didn’t quite know what the right move was or if you should consider dating Jacob, even though he had clearly been in love with the whitest girl in Forks.

You gulp as you take a step back. “Could you,” you sigh, not wanting to lose it on the guy when he’s been nothing but nice to you since this whole thing happened. “Jake.”

He wasn’t paying attention and stepped closer to you again, wanting to get more bacon on his plate.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “Jake! Would you please get out of my way before I declaw your paws!”

Jared glances back at the two of you, with a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth.

Paul doesn’t do anything to hide his amusement, much to Jacob’s chagrin. “Looks like the princess finally showed off her claws.”

He pats his pack mate’s shoulder, “glad it wasn’t your face that took the brunt of it.” Paul steps away, grabbing the muffin off your plate as he goes to sit down.

You shake your head; definitely not your finest moment. You don’t want to look at him because you don’t want to see his disappointment.

Jacob clears his throat, “we’re going to go outside.”

You open your mouth to argue as a piece of toast is shoved into your mouth.

-

“I bet that’s not what she imagined getting-” Paul doesn’t need to turn around to know his alpha is staring at him. He bolts out of the chair before anyone can take a breath.

“Paul, get back here.”

The hot head shakes his head as he shifts mid air, running into the woods.

Emily shakes her head sighing.

Jared nods, “I know. I don’t know why Paul thinks he won’t be reprimanded for saying things like that. I mean clearly, she’s going to be the dom over Jake, not the-”

He sheepishly smiles at the angry face his luna is making. “I didn’t mean it,” he sprints out the door. He looks over his shoulder and calls out the her, whining, “don’t call my mom.”

She smiles, picking up her landline, punching in the numbers. “Hi Mrs. Cameron, it’s Emily.”

A sad wolf howl can be heard from the side of the house.

-

You let him drag you out, unsure of what else to do as you feel down about how you behaved a few minutes ago. You pull the piece of toast out from your mouth. “If you’ve brought me here to kill me, just do it already.”

He scoffs, “I’m not a leech.”

“Oh, he has a heart, how wonderful.”

He rolls his eyes, “would it kill you to act normal?”

You immediately nod, “yes it would and how am I supposed to act normal when none of this is normal.”

He opens his mouth to say something when he realizes you’re right. “Okay fine, maybe none of this is normal but that doesn’t mean you need to act like it’s the end of the world.”

You scoff, “I’m not.”

“Really? I find that hard to believe,” he crosses his arms.

You can’t hold this in anymore.

“You know what, Jake. I’m tired. I’m so sick and tired of this- everything is so crazy and wrong and I,” you close your eyes, not wanting him to see you cry.

You lower your head, holding your breath, trying to keep yourself together.

He can sense your sadness and reaches for you, placing his hand on your arm.

You hiccup, taking a deep breath.

His eyes widen as he pulls you closer; his body heat warming you in a second.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, to calm yourself enough so you could talk to him without losing control of your emotions.

You can admit sometimes it does help to have a good crying session, but not when you need to talk.

He can tell with how slower your back is moving under his hand that you've managed to calm yourself down. He doesn't say anything to not startle you or break your concentration. He won't do that to you.

“I'm scared,” you mumble.

“Scared of what?”

You want to pull back so you can look into his eyes but you're afraid he won't understand and squeeze him tighter. “This isn't real.”

He opens his mouth to respond and stops, letting your words sink in. He can understand where you're coming from with him being in love with Bella for more than half of his young life but he also knows that this is real. Yes-

He sighs, lowering his chin to rest it on top of your head. “I know this doesn't seem real but it is. My love for Bella has nothing compared to what I feel for you.”

He squeezes you in a tight hug and pulls back. “I know things are all happening fast but I want us to work. You know, I- I can be whatever you want me to be. I can be a- a friend or a brother or more. I don't care as long as I can be in your life. We haven’t known each other long but I do know that I care for you more than I've ever cared for anyone that wasn't my family or, now the pack.”

He sucks in a nervous breath, showing off his pearly whites with his commonly new nervous grin. “I hope I didn't make things weird with that whole um-”

“Speech?” You interrupt.

He nods, “yeah that.”

You purse your lips to hide your amusement. “I,” you sigh. “I have more feelings for you than I thought I would, I'm not entirely sure what they are exactly. I know the bond isn't the whole reason why I feel the way I do but- I- if we're going to start, whatever this is going to be, this needs to start off slow. I don't just jump into things especially when it comes to starting a new relationship with someone.”

“So we're starting a new relationship?” He smirks.

You roll your eyes and smack him with your piece of toast. “God, you're just like a guy.”

“I am a guy.”

“Not right now you are. You're mister professing his love,” you joke.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, make fun of me.” He sits down on a rock nearby, patting the open spot beside you. “I don't want to rush into anything either and I don't want to mess this up... more than I already have-”

You stand in front of him, shaking your head. “You haven't messed anything up.”

“I did. If I didn't you wouldn't have screamed at me-”

“I didn't scream.”

He owlishly blinks. “My ears were close to bleeding.”

Your jaw drops and you smack his arm. “You're so dramatic.”

“Not always.”

You roll your eyes, “sometimes you are.”

He nods, “yeah, I’ll admit that sometimes I am.”

You take a bite of your toast.

“I don’t know how that thing has lasted this entire time.”

You shrug, “I don’t either but here we are.” You slowly lean against him, resting your head on his warm shoulder. “You’re so warm.”

“I bet he could think of another way to warm you up.”

You roll your eyes at Paul’s comment. “Go suck Jared’s-”

Your uncle, still in his wolf form, growls at the two of you.

You take another bite of your toast and look away. “He started it,” you mumble while chewing.

“Let it go,” Jacob advises. “Or else he’ll make you do things you don’t want to do.”

You shake your head, enjoying the scene of Paul trying to run away from his alpha as Jared is on the floor cackling with Embry and Quil joining after the man falls face first into the dirt.

Brady and Collin trail behind the two boys, confused at the sight before them.

-

“I can’t believe I’m stuck here.” You sigh, throwing your head back against the couch.

“It’s not that bad.”

Your snaps towards Jacob, glaring at him. “I am sicker than- well you know.”

He stares at you with a deadpan expression. “You’re not funny.”

“You’re right, I’m not.”

He nods, happy to see you finally agreeing with him.

“I’m a comedian.” You smile at him before coughing more, your sides start hurting more.

He carefully sits down beside you and hands you your cup of tea.

You breathe in the hot steam for a few minutes before taking a careful sip of the hot beverage.

He doesn’t stare at you (like you’d caught him doing a couple days ago, he doesn’t want you yelling at him again) and waits for you to ask him to set the mug on the table beside him.

He turns at the weight of your head resting against his shoulder and smiles softly at you as you close your eyes and breath in the steam.

His ears pick up on your slow breathing and he grabs the mug from you before you can drop it in your lap. He adjusts himself so you can lay on him, letting you use him as your “personal heater” as you said earlier.

He knew he shouldn’t have taken you out of the house and to the cliffs without a jacket the other day but he can’t deny, he likes you relying on him to take care of you.

He brushes away the few strands of fallen hair out of your face, studying your sleepy expression.

He thanks all the stars that aligned to make you his imprint, you are more than he could have ever wanted in a person. He knows now, as he listens to your breathing, his feelings for Bella are nothing compared to what he feels for you and will continue to feel for you.

He realizes he lied, he can’t be the kind of guy who’s like a brother or a friend to you.

He wants more; the wolf inside him needs more.

He would walk hundreds if not thousands of miles to be the only one to have a romantic relationship with you. He will wait as long as it takes until you feel ready to give your heart to him and chase off anyone he needs to.

He’s yours as you will (hopefully, fingers crossed) be his.

He can’t help himself as he leans forward and pecks your forehead, silently promising to spend his forever with you. 

Extra

Jared walks into your room, searching for Jacob. He needs help with his bike, hell if he knew how to describe what was happening to it.

His jaw drops, surprised to see you bundled in Jacob’s hold. He creeps into the room, practically tip-toeing to the person he needs to talk to.

He bends down and pokes Jacob’s shoulder.

The shifter barely opens his eyes as he lifts his arm to smack Jared in the back of the head, who opens his mouth to whine but is stopped by his friend covering his mouth.

“Make a sound and you’re dead.”

Jared nods, thankful for his shifter healing abilities; if he didn’t have them, he’d have a headache by now. “I need a favor.”

“You need a lot of things.”

Jared rolls his eyes, “okay, that’s fair but I need you to look at my bike.”

“Why?”

“It’s making that weird noise again.”

"Describe it to me."

“No. You made fun of me last time.”

“Fine, if I promise to not make fun of you, will you help describe it so I can figure out your issue.”

“I,” he sighs. “Roo- reer- r-” He stops when Jacob snickers. “You told me you-”

Jared falls on his back and struggles to understand what happened.

The door slams shut up the two boys.

“I told you not to go in there,” says Emily.

“You told me not to wake her,” Jared corrects her.

“And how did that work for you?”

The shifter stomps his feet as he walks down the stairs.

Jacob cackles at his friend's behavior.

“And look what the cat dragged in,” she teases him.

“Hardy-har.”

“I told him not to go in, I knew she’d kick you two out.”

He shrugs, “I know, I mean it was kind of my fault. I knew I shouldn’t have messed with Jarhead.”

“Is that princess’ new nickname?”

“Paul, shut up with that stupid nickname,” you shout from inside your room.

“Hey your voice is coming back,” the hothead comments.

You roll your eyes and open your door, glaring at one of your best friends. “Paul Isabel Lahote-”

“My middle name isn’t-”

“I know your middle name isn’t a girl's name,” you huff. “But your dumbass won’t shut up about this and I can’t take it anymore. You need to shut up so I can feel better.”

“Screaming like that won’t help you.”

You take a step forward and he takes off.

Emily shakes her head, “you’re just like your uncle.”

“Runs in the family, Em.”

Jacob steps forward and blocks your path from Paul. “You’re going back to bed.”

“But-”

He shakes his head, “bed.”

You sigh, “fine.” You sadly walk back into your room.

“Jake, tell me what you did. I can barely get her to help me be my wingman,” Embry whines.

“No one can help that.”

“You all are so rude.”

“We never claimed to be nice,” you say, voice muffled because of the door.

“I’m getting that now. I don’t even know why I shifted now.”

“You had no choice.”

“Shut up.”

Emily shakes her head at the sight of her kids (yes, she’s officially claimed you all) messing around with one another. 

Previously: Part I

-

Taglist

@kmc1989 @gilbertgirl13

[girl-lostconnection]

YOU ARE MAGIC LOVE NEVER FORGET THAT 🥹🥹🥹 WTFFF that was actually so soft and I’m crying salty tears heeeelpp!! that was amazing !! gonna make a little something in return for you 😚:

i used second person — might be strange?

he comes back from his first deployment — where he was unluckily shot in the thigh — and by some miracle, he manages enough strength to wobble off that bus as you stand on the sidewalk. he’s got crutches and for some reason no one’s helping him with his duffel bag and that sight alone is soul-crushing. you rush to him, angry and confused, grabbing his bag and forcing him to sit on the curb.

“simon riley! what the hell happened to you?” he has never seen you this angry, but the way you’ve got your hands on your hips is causing some tightness in his jeans. he wishes you were this type of spitfire back then.

“got shot, luv, won’t ‘appen again,” he chuckles roughly, as if you’d just asked him the weather.

“simon edward (i hc this as his middle name cause it’s so funny sorry) riley. you’ve just told me you’ve been shot and im not meant to worry six ways to sunday?!” you’re appalled, aghast even. “i let you go off for six months, maybe! and you’ve gotten yourself into a mess. bloody christ!” you speak as if you’re allowing him to breathe, and as if everything he does, he does in your name — and god, why does he love it? “nonsense.” and the whole way home — because you are his home, no matter the place — you’re grumbling about how he’s going to cripple himself before he’s 35 and he’s just snickering.

because regardless of his injuries, and his countless therapy (physical or otherwise) appointments that you’ll drive him to, you will always be proud to call him your soldier.

and your third book begins with:

“to my soldier. stay home and read more books, please. you can’t leave me here.”

Anon, I’m gonna cry that’s so cute. Thank you so much for writing this!!

Also it’s all right, I got your second message, I’m gonna tag this one as one of your asks.

But also…anon, I’m giving you a big smooch on your bright beautiful head — this is beyond sweet🥹 Your writing is great and it makes me feel so warm and soft, I can’tttttt

And I love how your Reader just keeps popping out books (our productive queen) and giving hell to this big man when he doesn’t take proper care of himself because how dare he get shot (I know right???).

The way Simon is like “won’t be happening again” CAN YOU GUARANTEE THAT BIG MAN, I love that part, you cooked there some very good very canonical Simon Riley

And no one helping Simon with his duffel bag? Anon, stopppp, the way Reader would snatch the thing off his shoulder — he’d be unsure whether or not it was there in the first place at all. And I love that that’s exactly the vibes I was going for in their timeskip because he’s simply home whenever he’s with Reader.

They are his home. He comes back to them and suddenly everything is lighter and better and he smiles more and he’s happier version of himself (my baby🥹)

[mirrorballpages]

Nuala leaned in slightly, her voice softer now. “Trust isn’t something he gives lightly. You’ve earned it, Elain. Don’t underestimate what that means.”

After dinner, Elain wiped her hands on a dish towel, the quiet clinking of dishes and her soft humming filling the space. Nuala and Cerridwen worked beside her, their deft movements efficient as they tidied up after dinner. Everyone was back at the Townhouse, but she knew it would be short lived. They would leave again for the High Lord Meeting in two days.

They had insisted she didn’t need to help, but Elain liked having something to do. Anything to keep her hands busy, to hold back the fog of visions that still crept in when her mind was idle.

It wasn’t just the visions, though. There was always the weight of Graysen at the back of her mind. She knew Feyre was trying to shield her from the truths of what was happening beyond their walls, but Elain wasn’t naive. She knew the humans were at risk, her old life in danger of being swept away entirely. And Graysen—did he still think of her as his fiancée? Or had he already forgotten her? Was he even safe?

The thought gnawed at her as she dried another plate, humming softly to drown it out. A cool breeze stirred the air, and she felt it before she saw him: a shadow slipping into the room like a whisper.

“The bread was delicious. Thank you for making it, Elain,” Azriel said softly, his voice low and even.

She turned, startled but smiling. Her hair was piled haphazardly on her head in a crooked bun, curls spilling free. “All of the thanks goes to Nuala and Cerridwen. It would have been a disaster without them,” she replied.

Azriel inclined his head to the half-wraiths, then stepped closer, his hands brushing hers as he reached for the dishes. “Here, let me help.”

“Oh, no need,” Elain protested lightly, but he shook his head.

“No, please. I need a reprieve from Nesta and Cassian staring daggers at each other,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“I’m glad you’re safe. That you all are safe,” she said, her tone quieter now. “Nesta was worried, and while Amren won’t admit it, I think she was too.”

Azriel’s shadows curled faintly around his shoulders, almost subdued. “Amren cares more than she will let on,” he admitted.

Elain hesitated, watching him as he methodically put away the dishes. The question was out before she could stop herself, her voice quiet but steady. “Do you ever get tired of it? Of… war? The fighting?”

The air in the room stilled. Even Nuala and Cerridwen froze, their usual chatter silenced.

He glanced at her, caught off guard by the question. He studied her face, the delicate furrow of her brow, the way her hands tightened around the dishcloth. Her eyes held a genuine curiosity—a yearning to understand something that had shaped so much of his life. He looked away, his gaze settling somewhere far beyond the walls of the townhouse. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost contemplative. “I do get tired of it. Of the blood, the death, the endless cycle of it all. But war… war is about protecting those who can’t fight for themselves. About making sure the people we care about don’t have to face it.”

Elain set the towel down, her fingers brushing the counter. “Before… this,” she said, gesturing faintly to herself, to the room, “I never really thought about it much. Graysen would talk about it sometimes—his life was built around it, protecting themselves from… fae.” Her voice wavered on the word, as though it didn’t quite belong to her.

“But it was also something he tried to hide from me. The reality of what it meant,” she added, her voice soft.

Azriel turned back to her, his hazel eyes thoughtful. But before he could reply, Cassian’s booming voice echoed from the hall. “Az, stop hiding in the kitchen. We need you.”

Azriel’s lips quirked in faint amusement as he straightened. He nodded to Elain before stepping away but paused in the doorway. His gaze met hers, steady and warm.

“If I can help create even a moment of peace, if I can keep one person safe…” His voice softened. “Then all of this is worth it.”

Read The Rest on AO3

[ducktoo]

Cotton ball?

SMN's Honda Hitomi x Reader

Note: Anyone remember savage tomi?

The walls were lined with dark wood panels, polished to perfection, and the air smelled faintly of cigars and expensive leather. It was a room that exuded power and control—exactly what you’d expect from the headquarters of one of the most feared mafia organizations in the country. Everything here screamed authority, from the dimmed lighting to the intricate crest engraved on the glass doors: a blooming cherry blossom surrounded by sharp-edged swords.

You stood awkwardly near the hallway to the boss' office, trying not to fidget under the heavy gaze of Nako, the underboss.

Nako, despite her small stature, commanded the room effortlessly. She was perched on the edge of her desk, her legs crossed, wearing a fitted suit that made her look sharp enough to cut glass. Her hair was tied into a neat bun, not a strand out of place, and her almond-shaped eyes bore into you like she was evaluating every flaw you’d ever had.

“You’re the new consigliere?” she asked, her tone clipped and businesslike.

“Yes, ma’am,” you replied, your voice steadier than you felt.

“Hm.” She tilted her head, a thin smirk playing on her lips. “I don’t see it.”

You blinked. “See what, sorry?”

“Why she picked you.” Her smirk widened, and there was a glint of something—amusement, perhaps?—in her eyes. “The boss doesn’t trust easily, you know. And you… well, you look like you don’t even belong in this world.”

The words stung, but you swallowed your pride. “I assure you, ma’am, I’m more than capable.”

Nako’s laugh was soft, almost condescending. “We’ll see.”

Behind her desk, a massive map of the city was pinned to the wall, with different territories marked in bold colours. Each section bore the insignias of the smaller gangs and organizations that either owed allegiance to or opposed the Honda Family. Red pins marked conflicts—places where turf wars were brewing or negotiations were falling apart. Blue pins signalled alliances, and green ones were areas where the family had full control.

Your eyes lingered on the map. The Honda Family wasn’t just a mafia; it was an empire. Their reach extended far beyond the city, with ties to international smuggling routes, political puppets, and corporations laundering their wealth. You’d heard whispers of their power before, but seeing it laid out so plainly was something else entirely.

“Don’t get lost staring,” Nako said, pulling your attention back to her. “It’s not your job to worry about the big picture. Your job is to keep the boss happy and make sure she stays two steps ahead of everyone else.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?” Nako slid off the desk, crossing her arms as she walked toward you. Despite her small frame, there was something imposing about her presence. “Let me make one thing clear. This isn’t some glorified corporate gig where mistakes mean missed deadlines. If you screw up, people will f*cking die. People who matter to us. And trust me, if that happens, you’ll wish you were dead too.”

Your throat tightened, but you nodded. “I won’t fail.”

“We’ll see,” she said again, her tone dripping with skepticism.

She gestured to the large double doors behind her, the final barrier between you and the boss.

“The boss is waiting,” Nako said. “And word of advice? Be on your best. I mean it.”

“...What’s she like?” you asked cautiously.

Nako raised an eyebrow, her smirk returning. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

With that, she turned away, leaving you to face the hallway alone.

-

The double doors loomed in front of you like gates to another world. Nako’s words replayed in your mind, her warning sinking into your bones.

Be on your best. The boss doesn’t trust easily.

Your palms were clammy as you took a deep breath. You’ve prepared for this, you told yourself. You’ve studied their operations, analysed their power structure, memorized every key player and rival. You belong here.

Right as you were about to march towards your doom, a soft voice startled you.

“Are you okay?”

You turned sharply, your nerves already on edge, and came face to face with a petite woman standing a few feet away. She was holding a tray with a teapot and a single cup, her expression concerned. Her brown hair was tied neatly into a low ponytail, and her small frame was dwarfed by the oversized black blazer she wore.

“I—uh—yeah, I’m fine,” you stammered, thrown off by her sudden appearance. “Are you an aide?”

She blinked at you, then smiled—a gentle, almost disarming smile. “Something…like that.”

You nodded awkwardly, trying not to let your nerves show. “I’m here to meet the boss.”

“I figured,” she said, her tone light. “You’re the new consigliere, right?”

“That’ll be me, yes.”

Her eyes scanned you briefly, and for a moment, you felt like she was sizing you up. But then her smile returned, soft and unassuming. “Follow me.”

She turned and walked toward the doors, balancing the tray with practiced ease. You hesitated, your mind scrambling to make sense of her presence. If she was just an aide, why did she seem so comfortable here, so… confident?

Still, you followed her, trying to shake off your unease.

The walk to the boss’s office wasn’t long, but each step felt heavier than the last. The petite woman led the way without hesitation, her pace steady. As you approached the doors, she stopped and glanced back at you.

“Take a deep breath,” she said, her voice softer now.

You frowned. “Excuse me?”

She giggled—a quiet, melodic sound that felt oddly out of place in such a serious environment. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Relax. The boss isn’t as scary as everyone says.”

You weren’t sure whether to be reassured or annoyed. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you said dryly.

She nodded, her smile never faltering, and nudged the door open with her shoulder. “Right this way.”

The room you entered was smaller and cozier than you’d imagined. The warm lighting and shelves of books made it feel more like a personal study than the command centre of a powerful mafia boss. You’d expected something colder, more clinical.

The petite woman set the tray down on the desk, then turned to face you. “Here we are.”

You looked around, confused. “Where’s the boss?”

Her eyes twinkled with amusement as she clasped her hands in front of her. “You’re looking at her.”

You blinked. Once. Twice.

“…Pardon?”

She tilted her head, her smile now bordering on mischievous. “Surprised?”

“No, I—” you stopped, your brain grinding to a halt as realization dawned. “You’re… the boss?”

“Yup!” she chirped, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “Honda Hitomi, head of the Honda Family. Nice to meet you!”

"Do we...sell cars as well?"

"Really?" Hitomi glared. Yet, you could see the corner of her lips nearly curl into a smile.

"Right, sorry."

You stared at her, your mind scrambling to reconcile the image of this cheerful, almost delicate-looking woman with the ruthless mastermind you’d read about. But you kept getting distracted by those chubby cheeks of hers.

This couldn’t be right. She looked more like a college student than the leader of a criminal empire.

Hitomi tilted her head, her smile turning slightly teasing. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

You quickly snapped out of your daze, straightening your posture. “I… I wasn’t expecting this.”

She laughed, a sound so light and airy it made you question everything you thought you knew about mafia bosses. “That’s usually the reaction I get. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

You weren’t so sure about that.

She gestured to the chair across from her desk. “Sit. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Still reeling, you nodded and moved to take the seat, all the while trying to suppress the whirlwind of questions buzzing in your head.

As you sat down, Hitomi poured herself a cup of tea, her movements calm and deliberate. She didn’t seem fazed by your obvious discomfort—in fact, she seemed to enjoy it.

“Hm. Currently, you don’t look very impressive.”

Ouch. You straightened your back. “I assure you, I’m more than capable.”

Her gaze lingered on you, assessing. It wasn’t her size or appearance that made her terrifying—it was the way she could make you feel like a bug under a microscope. Just as you started to squirm under her scrutiny, she broke the silence.

“I like you.”

You blinked. “You… do?”

She grinned, and for a moment, she really did look like a harmless cotton ball. “You’re honest. And you don’t stutter like an idiot when you’re scared. That’s rare around here.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Call me Hitomi,” she said casually, as if she hadn’t just turned the most intimidating meeting of your life into a friendly chat. “But only in private. In public, it’s Boss Honda. Got it?”

“Yes, Boss Honda.”

“Good.” She stood up, barely coming up to your shoulder even in heels. “Now, let’s see if you’re really as capable as you claim.”

-

The next few weeks turned into an endless parade of tasks, meetings, and what you could only describe as "managing chaos with a perfectly calm smile." Hitomi ran her empire like a conductor leading an orchestra. Every gesture, every word she spoke—soft-spoken and sweet—was calculated. It wasn’t just how she gave orders; it was how people scrambled to follow them without hesitation.

You had seen how these things usually worked. Before you joined, you had your fair share of experience in high-stakes negotiations and backroom deals. You weren’t exactly new to power plays or manipulation. But Hitomi’s methods were… different.

Take the time she dealt with a rival family’s informant. You knew how it usually went down: someone gets dragged in, roughed up, and tossed out like yesterday’s garbage if they don't spill it out. Simple, brutal, effective.

Hitomi, however, handled it with unnerving grace.

The informant—a wiry man with shifty eyes—stood in the middle of her office, fidgeting under her steady gaze.

“I hear you’ve been talking,” Hitomi said softly, her tone more curious than accusing.

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the man stammered.

She tilted her head, smiling gently. “Oh, you don’t? That’s odd because my sources tell me you’ve been very..chatty.”

The room went silent. You sat in the corner, observing, trying to figure out where this was going. She hadn’t raised her voice or made any threats, yet the man looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor.

“You see,” she continued, her voice still light, “I don’t mind a little gossip. It’s human nature, after all. But what I do mind…” She leaned forward slightly, her hands clasped neatly on the desk. “…is when that gossip endangers my family.”

The informant flinched. “I—I swear, I didn’t mean to—”

She held up a hand, and he immediately fell silent. “No excuses. I’m giving you one chance to fix this. Go back to your family and tell them you’re done. No more talking, no more listening. If I hear otherwise…” She smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Well, let’s just say you won’t be around to talk anymore.”

The man nodded so fast you thought his neck might snap. “Yes, Boss! Of course, Boss! I promise!”

Hitomi leaned back, her smile softening. “Good. You can go now.”

The informant practically tripped over himself in his hurry to leave.

After the door closed, you finally spoke. “That was… effective.”

Hitomi looked at you, her expression unreadable. “Why waste energy when words can do the job for you?”

You felt intrigued by her methodology.

Then there was the shipment incident. One of the family’s shipments—something valuable enough that everyone was on edge—had gone missing. You were in the thick of it, running between Nako’s sharp orders and Hitomi’s calm presence.

The culprit, as it turned out, was one of their own. A lower-level associate thought they could skim a little off the top and get away with it.

The confrontation happened in the main hall. Hitomi sat at the head of the long table, her hands folded neatly in front of her. The associate, a burly man twice her size, stood before her, shifting nervously.

“You’ve been stealing from me,” she said simply, her tone so casual it could’ve been mistaken for a friendly observation.

The man stammered. “I—I didn’t—”

“Don’t talk,” she interrupted, her smile still intact. “It’s insulting.”

He froze, his face pale.

“You’re lucky I value loyalty,” she continued, tapping her fingers on the table. “So, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to return what you took—every last cent. And then you’re going to work double shifts until I decide you’ve earned your place here again.”

The man swallowed hard. “Y-yes, Boss. Of course.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” she added, her tone light. “If you ever betray me again…” She leaned forward, her smile fading just slightly. “Don't even dream of having your thieving hands. Understand?”

He nodded frantically, backing out of the room like his life depended on it—which, to be fair, it probably did.

You couldn’t help but marvel at how she handled it. No shouting, no threats of immediate violence—just a calm, measured tone that left no room for argument.

By the end of your first month, you understood why everyone followed her so loyally. Hitomi’s power didn’t come from brute force; it came from something far more dangerous—an ability to control a room without lifting a finger. You’d seen her disarm enemies with a smile, strike fear with a single look, and turn even the most stubborn people into loyal followers.

It was terrifying.

And, honestly? You were kind of in awe.

-

The weeks following your exposure into the inner circle of Honda Hitomi’s empire were a trial by fire. Each day tested your limits—not just your intellect but your composure. Hitomi was mercurial: one moment, she was cracking jokes and putting you at ease; the next, she was spinning a web of strategy so intricate it made your head spin.

Nako, as the underboss, kept you on your toes in a different way. Her sharp tongue and unrelenting demands were almost a rite of passage for you. If you could survive her scathing critiques, maybe you’d earn a measure of respect—or at least avoid her outright disdain.

But then there were the quieter moments. The rare times when you were alone with Hitomi in her office. Those times felt… different.

Today was one of those days.

“Good work today,” she said casually, her voice breaking the silence as she poured herself a cup of tea. Her movements were unhurried, graceful even, as if running a criminal empire was no more taxing than organizing a casual luncheon.

“Thank you, Boss Honda,” you replied, standing stiffly in front of her desk like a soldier awaiting orders.

Hitomi sighed and set her teacup down with a soft clink. “You really need to loosen up,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “You’re making me nervous just looking at you.”

You frowned slightly. “I didn’t think it was possible to make you nervous.”

A grin tugged at her lips, one that felt both disarming and vaguely threatening. “Oh, you’d be surprised. But I’ve got a pretty good poker face. These chubby cheeks help.”

You hesitated before speaking again, carefully choosing your words. “It’s just… hard to reconcile who you are and your appearance with what you do. No offense.”

“None taken,” she said easily, though her gaze sharpened as it settled on you. “Let me guess—you expected someone taller. Broader. Maybe with a scar or two and a voice like gravel?”

“Something like that,” you admitted, feeling a little embarrassed.

Hitomi laughed, a light, airy sound that felt entirely out of place in the dark, heavy atmosphere of her office. “You’re not the first to think that. But that’s why I’m so good at what I do. People underestimate me. They see this,” she gestured to herself, “and think I’m harmless. Cute, even. It’s my greatest weapon.”

“That… actually makes a lot of sense.”

“Of course it does,” she said, her tone playful but with a flicker of pride. “I didn’t get here by chance, you know. Every move I make is deliberate. Every decision calculated. That’s why this whole operation runs like a well-oiled machine.”

You nodded, trying to absorb her words. “It’s impressive. And a little terrifying.”

“Good.” She smirked, picking up her teacup again. “That means you’re paying attention.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence as she sipped her tea, her sharp eyes scanning over a stack of documents on her desk. You took the opportunity to study her—not just her petite frame or the way her suit jacket seemed to swallow her whole, but the way she carried herself. Despite her size and appearance, there was an undeniable weight to her presence.

“Why’d you join us?” she asked suddenly, breaking the silence. Her tone was casual, but her eyes pinned you in place.

You swallowed hard, caught off guard by the question. “I needed a fresh start,” you said finally, keeping your voice steady.

Hitomi tilted her head, her expression softening just slightly. “Don’t we all?” she murmured, almost to herself.

The vulnerability in her voice surprised you. It was a brief glimpse behind the curtain, a reminder that even someone as formidable as Honda Hitomi had her own reasons, her own struggles.

“Do you ever regret it?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

She raised an eyebrow. “Joining this world?”

You nodded.

“Sometimes,” she admitted, her gaze drifting to the window. “But regrets don’t change anything. What matters is what you do with the hand you’re dealt.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. You weren’t sure what to say, so you stayed quiet, letting her words sink in.

After a moment, she turned back to you, her playful smirk returning. “By the way, if you call me a cotton ball or cutiepie again, I’ll have Nako break your legs.”

You choked on your own breath, coughing violently as her words registered. “I—I didn’t—”

“Oh, you definitely did,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And don’t even try to deny it. Nako told me.”

You made a mental note to get back at Nako later—if you survived this, that is. “I meant it as a compliment,” you said quickly, though your voice lacked conviction.

Hitomi leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she regarded you with mock seriousness. “A compliment, huh? Well, I guess I’ll let it slide this time. But only because you’re entertaining.”

“Thank you… Boss Honda.”

"I said Hitomi when it's just us two."

"Right…Hi-Hitomi."

Her laughter filled the room again, light and genuine. For a moment, it was easy to forget that you were sitting across from one of the most powerful figures in the criminal underworld.

But as you left her office, her parting words lingered in your mind, a reminder of just how dangerous she truly was.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” she’d said with a smile. “The moment you start underestimating me is the moment you’ll regret it.”

[deansapplepie]

Use your hands

Summary: Javier can’t resist your manicured nails.

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Warnings: Javier Peña, NSFW, smut, making out, handjob, male masturbation, nails kink (?), hand kink, needy Javier, maybe subbish vibes from Javi (but not really), spit, pet names in spanish all around, oral male receiving (kinda). Minors do not interact, 18+.

A/N: sorry not sorry, Pedro liking manicured nails gave me ideas.

Main Masterlist

Javier Peña Masterlist

Javier and you had agreed to go for dinner with Steve and Connie. You agreed to meet after work, but Javi didn’t know about your evil plan. To be honest you hadn’t even planned it this time, it happened innocently. You went to the Beauty Salon earlier that day to do your hair and nails to go on this double date without thinking much about it. You chose your favorite color which happened to be his favorite color on you, but you swore it wasn’t on purpose.

When Javier and Steve arrived you were already sat by the table having a conversation with Connie about daily life. He came to you and kissed your temple. “Hola, corazón. How was your day?” He asked as he sat by your side and took your hand in his. Before you could answer he was talking again as soon as his eyes met your beautiful hands and done nails. “You had your nails done. This color suits you so well…”

“Did you like it? I really didn’t think much about it.” You shrugged. Whoever listened to your conversation would see it as an innocent one between husband and wife, but you knew better than this. You knew something had shifted in there.

“It’s beautiful, mi amor.” He kissed your hand, his warm breath and lips imprinting in the back of your hand.

During the whole dinner, Javier couldn’t just sit still. He was restless and the fault was on you and your pretty hands. Because of that, once you stepped home and he closed the door, he got you pressed against it and his lips on yours. “Why did you do that, nena?” He asked his lips hovering yours.

“What? I did nothing.” You answered breathlessly.

“You know what. Painting your nails so pretty and the color you know I like on you.” He pecked your lips, peppered your jaw… “You’re such a tease, it can’t go like this…”

“What are you going to do to me?”

He laughed dryly. “Me? Cariño, I’m doing nothing. You’re going to work to pay for this.” He pressed his bulge against you, impossibly hard, just waiting the whole night to be relieved by you.

He picked you on his arms and sat on the couch, you straddling him. He kissed you one more time, he could never get enough of you, but he had urgent matters at hand. Or better speaking at your hands. He stopped the kiss, you almost whined at the loss. “You know what to do, amor. Use your hands.”

Your hands traveled from his face down his neck and shoulders. You stopped when your hands reached his chest, your delicate fingers working on the buttons of his shirt, you needed to see your man’s torso. “That’s not the place I want your hands on, corazón.”

“A girl can indulge herself, can’t she?” You replied as you opened his shirt completely exposing his chest, your hands tentatively reaching his pants. You slipped your hand on top of his crotch making him hiss. He was so hard, he was probably in suffering. “Don’t worry, cielo. I’m taking care of you.” You said, the spanish endearment word rolling easily from your lips after all those years of marriage.

You unbuckled his belt skillfully and following it you unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, sliding it and his briefs together down his legs. He sprung against his abdomen proudly standing. So pretty and tempting, you really want to shove it inside your mouth and savor it.

Your hands gripped it delicately, but for Javi it felt so intense he groaned and had to hold himself to not start bucking his hips against your hands. Your delicate fingers around him and the colors of your nails contrasting to his skin made the act look so glorious that he was ashamed to say he could cum just with the sight. You moved your hand along his shaft till you reached the tip, red, angry, asking to be ravished. You smeared some pre cum that was already leaking but you’d need more. You looked up at Javier and expectation covered his face.

You started opening your mouth and before you could do anything he spoke. “Don’t use your mouth, nena. Only your hands.”

“Tempting, but I wasn’t.” You replied and once again opened your mouth letting spit fall from it and hit his rocking hard cock.

“Fuck…” he groaned. “Bebé, you’re gonna kill me.”

You smirked. He was going to live, he never died of it. Your spit ran down his length in a very slow pace. With your delicate manicured hands you ran his length up and down spreading the humidity along him, making your job easier. One hand was never enough, you always needed both to pleasure him.

Rhythmically you moved your hands up and down while he observed you working on him, sometimes you went slower, others faster and from time to time you gave some attention that the head and also to his balls. “Do you like it, babe?” You asked, your hands torturing him in a teasing pace.

His hips bucked against your hands, his cock moving on its own in your fists. “I love it.”, he practically whined. Your hands felt so good around him, you already knew him so well… you were the only one that could make him feel this good. He had one addiction and it was you, he could never get tire. “Faster, amor. Faster.” He begged.

You’d do anything for him. You increased your pace, your hands frantically moving around him. His pre cum leaked some more helping on the process, and you ads spit to it other times although you’d rather have it inside your mouth. As if the gods had listened to your prayers, Javier spoke. “Nena, open your mouth. I wanna cum in your mouth.”

Eagerly you opened your mouth taking him inside, the warmth of your cave welcomed him so well. If he could chose, he’d like to die like this. Inside you or in this case inside your mouth. He was holding a little letting you have some fun, he knew how you enjoyed going down on him, sucking his tip as if it was a sweet succulent fruit just to little by little take his length on your mouth, your plush lips looking so pretty around him while your hands hold his base and his balls, sometimes his thighs. The way your eyes would fill with tears when he hit the back of your throat…

He started twitching inside your mouth, his groans increasing, he was so damn close! Some ministrations from you and trusting from his hips and he was coming down your throat while you made sure nothing was wasted.

As he descended from his high, he brought you back to his lap, tangling his fingers in your hair and kissing you passionately. “Te amo, mi Reina.” He said with devotion, his forehead against yours, like he had done many times before, and you would never get tired of listening to it.

“I love you too, mi vida.” You replied as always.

[fee224]

Dealing with it together

Rafe cameron x overlooked!reader

MASTERLIST

Growing up without the affection you so desperately yearned for has left you with some issues. But being with rafe had helped you slowly overcome your tiny issues and he sorted them by…

Attachment issues when you began to trust rafe, it was obvious. You had gone from being excessively independent, not talking to anyone about college options or restricting yourself of phone calls with rafe from telling him about the rituals of your day to day. But when you realised rafe meant no harm, he was interested, you had quickly became clingy. Following him to the kitchen for a glass of water, and forcing him into holding your hand while you sat on the toilet. Unfortunately this was one of rafes more preferred traits of yours, and wasn’t too fussed on fixing it.

Low self esteem it was obvious. From the way you’d go silent when he complimented you. Rafe was purposefully extremely gentle with you because of this. Sweet with you whether he was ordering when you couldn’t or encouraging you in every situation. He had perfectly constructed situations where he would tell you to go talk to kelce and kelce would be waiting under rafes orders to engage in small talk. Anything to prove to you that you were capable of anything you shyed away from.

Difficulty expressing emotions things had happened multiple times where you were uncomfortable or upset and would go mute instead of telling rafe. You never argued with anything he told you and sometimes it worried him. Times where topper would make a sexual innuendo and you would silently shift under rafes arm. Times where rafe would talk to someone for too long, forgetting to tell you to follow him and you would stare at him from the bar, waiting for him to come back. At the end of every night he noticed, he would sit you on his lap and force you to discuss it. “Baby when I’m talking, just come over kay? You know I never mind, you know you can talk to me right” you’d nod quietly until he comforted you just enough for you to tell him what exactly you were thinking, and each time he would just nod, as he brushed your hair with his fingers.

Social withdrawal it wasn’t just with his friends, you did it with everyone. You didn’t have friends and weren’t close with your sisters. He wanted you to have friends, and presumed you needed some kind of outlet. A temporary fix was shacking you with his friends. Making you tag along despite your insistence you were fine. Topper and kelce liked you, you were sweet and good for rafe, you would laugh at most of their jokes (when you understood them) and nobody would mind your pretty dresses hugging on your prettier body. But then he would be at the country club with you, pointing at the first girl he saw and suggesting you to go talk to her, but each time you would stare blankly, your mouth going dry before shaking your head terrified. At the end of the day, he had never met a girl like you and he had never met a girl good enough to be a friend of yours. You needed people to look after you, so his friends worked for the meantime.

Seeking validation one night laying in bed you had asked him what he would like, but then you asked again on another night. You didn’t care for what you wanted, you hardly even knew. You just knew you would try any position, any outfit, any dinner or dessert, anything he wanted to gain validation. He was scared about asking for anything. He didn’t want you uncomfortable but he knew you wouldn’t say no to him. He would give you all the praise you craved, he didn’t even think twice about it, assuring you that you were enough as you were. Your praise kink almost never went away, but turned into something more positive or healthy at least. Turning into thinking about rafe while shopping instead of literally begging him to use you however he wished.

Difficulty with intimacy at first the thought petrified you, being with anybody. But with rafe it was natural. He was sweet and it was as simple as that. It clicked. But then came the obsession with pleasing him. The way you were desperate for him to use you like he would anyone else, which usually ended up you passed out on the bed, laying on his chest, while he reassured you he wasn’t going to because he knew you couldn’t handle that. He wanted to, but he couldn’t treat you like that. Every time you would beg he would use all the self restraint he wasn’t aware he possessed.

Cycle of neglect one of your biggest fears was not being a good mother. Neglecting your child. You had opened up to rafe on one occasion when you were tipsy, brain fuzzy from rafes cologne as he whispered about babies and rings. You shook you head, biting your lips. “I want to I want to I just…. I don’t know” but he knew exactly what. Every time you picked your niece up, he’d smile knowingly as you cooed.

- fee xxx

[fandomzwriterk]

Can you write a about Smoke x fem. Reader, where the reader would watch Smoke train from a distance and is caught by Kuai Liang who hints to Tomas about it, so one day while the reader is training, she gets interrupted by Smoke who offers to train her privately mainly to get much closer to her?

Tomas Vrbada x F!Reader

A/N: i hope i did well considering I’m slowly coming back into creating again. Don’t worry, i promise I’m getting better day by day😁

HAPPY VERY LATE NEW YEARS!

Reader || Tomas || Kuai Liang || Harumi

Time went slowly at the Shirai Ryu, at least, it felt that way. Was it because of all the people here? Was it because of how hard you trained yourself? Honestly, it could’ve been both.

“Alright! I’ll see you two weirdos later.” You heard Johnny Cage say behind you as he walked out to follow Kenshi around

“See ya Johnny!”

“Don’t do anything stupid out there Cage.”

You turned to look behind you, noticing both Tomas and Kuai Liang waving Johnny a goodbye as Kenshi started to run away from the actor.

“Y/n! Care to join us?” Raiden called out

“Sorry Raiden I have plans with Harumi!”

“Oh a girls night I see!”

Some time later…

“Y/n you should just tell him.” Harumi teased

“Absolutely not! Do you know what will happen when he finds out?!”

“Oh come on Y/n he’s a sweetheart you’ve known him for so long already. Kuai sees it.”

“You did not just pull the ‘older brother always knows’ card on me.” You answered rolling your eyes before leaning to rest your head on the arm of the giant couch you sat on

“I’m serious! Aside from Kuai, you know Tomas the best.”

“I already have a feeling he doesn’t feel the same and is just using me as a crutch to make himself feel better cause Bi Han left.”

Harumi frowned, seeing you genuinely want to tell Tomas, even if you couldn’t see it. Tomas didn’t have anyone else aside from Kuai, he just had you. You, who, in his eyes, was the perfect person to be around. Harumi knew how you felt, and she knew it was time to tell him… even if you didn’t want to out of fear of rejection. She knew he’d never reject you.

“You know that’s not true Y/n. He’s always cared about you long before that. Besides… I know about you sneaking around to watch him train.”

“How?! I was so sure nobody knew!”

“You forget I’m married to a man who knows everything going on here.”

“Oh… right. Wait are you telling me Kuai Liang caught me once?”

“I wouldn’t say once. Besides, he’s going to tell you to just tell Tomas anyways. You don’t want him being matchmaker I can promise you that. He’s not gonna stop till one of you says it first.”

Meanwhile…

“Brother. Can we talk about something?” Kuai asked Tomas

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

Kuai sat down on the small wooden steps that lead into the training room. Both him and Tomas sat at the edge of the top wooden plank, just sitting in silence.

“You know I can see it right?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“For a man who’s a ninja, you are the worst at keeping things like feelings to yourself.”

“It was one time! Surely you can let that go can’t you?”

“You literally said ‘she’s cute when she smiles’ right in front of almost all of us!”

“You are a pain in the ass brother.”

Even more meanwhile’s…

You got up from your spot across from Harumi, excusing yourself as you noticed Raiden and Kung Lao seeming to be looking for either you or Harumi.

“Hello boys. How may I be of assistance?” Harumi asked as you snuck behind the folding wall as the boys came walking into the room

Before you could hear either man make a sound, you jumped over the short marble railing that lined the hallway, throwing yourself into a bush. The branches poked at your arms and legs, your head just peeking over the top of the hedge. It was quiet, normally Kuai Liang would return by now or Tomas would come and check on Harumi. It was time to get to training. You stood up, dusting off your knees before you looked around for the best way to get somewhere. So, you slowly walked down the stone path alongside the giant wall to your right. It took longer than expected, but you had started all the way from the back of the Shirai Ryu making your way to the front where you knew it was private to train by yourself. However, there was a chance somebody could find you anyways.

Meanwhile…

“I’m sure you’ll find her. I think she-“

“She’s right there!”

Tomas pulled Kuai as he hid behind a wall, slamming Kuai into it with one hand to make sure you didn’t see him.

“What was that for?”

“Shhhhh. She didn’t see us.”

Tomas turned his head, just peeking around the corner as his back pressed firm against the wall behind him, his eyes locking on you as you sat on the bamboo mat meditating, your hair drifting with the cold breeze that blew around you.

“Go say something.”

“Are you dumb? It’s not like I can go up and say ‘I like you’ to her. She’s… she’s special to me, to us.”

Kuai put a hand on Tomas’ shoulder, smiling at his little brother with pride. Finally, the littlest brother had finally come out of his shell.

“I know how much she’s meant to our family, how much she means to you. She’s been beside you for so many years Tomas, just tell her how you feel.”

“You make it sound easy like-“

Kuai pushed Tomas into the open, your eyes snapping open as Tomas stood in front of you. His face slightly flushed, seeming to have tripped over himself to get to you.

“Oh! Hello Tomas what brings you here? Aren’t you and Kuai Liang supposed to be with Harumi?”

“About that I-“

“Is Harumi okay?”

“She’s fine!”

You could Tomas was holding something back from you, something he wanted to say to you. His eyes betrayed his demeanor, eyes bright like stars as he looked at you.

“Keep your guard up Y/n, it could be anything.”

“So~ I was wondering if you wanted to help me train- I mean- I…”

Tomas Vrbada, the gentle yet powerful brother of the three Lin Kuei children, the one who always knew what to say or do in certain situations, was now stuttering and confused in front of you.

“Are you okay Tomas?”

“Oh yeah I’m fine I just” he paused, seeming to think about what to say next .“I just was wondering if you needed- I mean wanted! Wanted to help me with something?”

You crossed your arms, titling your head to the side like a confused puppy, Tomas’ behavior was out of the ordinary.

“I was wondering, because Kuai Liang told me, that you’ve been watching us and-“

“I’d love to help you Tomas.”

He smiled, silver eyes flashed with pride and joy as he looked into your own eyes for a moment, his heart beating a million miles an hour.

“Come on, show me what it is!” You shouted as you ran past him, grabbing his hand and pulled him along with you

“Last one there owes the other a noodle bowl tonight.”

“You’re on!”

The end!!

A/n: hope you all enjoyed I just got back from vacation as I write this!!! I hope 2025 is the year I go crazy with inspirations and I’ll do better for everyone who requests from me!! Thanks y’all!

[feroshgirlsims]

Chapter 9.8 - 50 Shades of Enchantment

MIKO

Back at the dorm, Miko spots Alice and Vlad and tries to duck into the restroom before they notice her. She didn’t need her intuition to remind her that meeting him was a bad idea, but she’s not fast enough to dodge them.

“Oh hey, Miko!” Alice waves. “You haven’t met Vlad, have you?” She smiles and touches his arm. “Vlad, this is my roommate and best friend, Miko.”

He smiles when he greets her, his tone perfectly polite, but something skitters behind his eyes when he says her name. “Hello, Miko.” 

It’s work to get her vocal cords moving. “H-hi.”

“So we were working on my project today,” Alice interrupts, oblivious to Miko’s distress. “The Secret Society is called The Order of Enchantment, by the way. You will not believe the fucking drama we dug up.”

“You did research?” Miko swallows. Is Alice high? Does she not sense absolutely terrifying Vlad is? “H-how?”

“She had an assistant.” Vlad tilts his head. His smirk should be playful, but instead it's chilling. “I take direction well.”

Alice turns and smacks his chest. “You’re making it sound like a sex thing!” 

He looks at her like she’s something he wants to eat and it creeps Miko the hell out. “Sometimes it is a sex thing.”

“Okay, but we don’t have to say that to my best friend the first time you meet her.” Alice gives Miko an apologetic look. “Don’t worry about the how. The point is, Vlad helped me and we found so much cool stuff.”

“But it’s your project!” Miko blurts out. “Excuse us for a minute.” She grabs Alice’s hand and pulls her down the hall to the kitchen. “We talked about this!”

“I know! But—”

“But you can’t just always depend on a guy to fix all your stuff,” Miko hisses. Vlad seems infinitely worse than Jeffery, and it's crazy that Alice can’t see that. “That’s exactly what happened with—”

“With who?”

Miko whirls around and swallows a scream. She can’t figure out how Vlad got behind her so quickly, or how he walked into the kitchen without her seeing him.

“Is it someone I know?” He’s smiling again, but underneath is a look of malice Miko swears is just for her.

Don’t move, the voice whispers. Don't breathe, and for the love of Magic, don’t wake him up.

“No one,” Miko croaks, “I was being stupid. I…I’m glad you could help Alice out. I’m overprotective.”

Alice’s expression softens as she goes to stand next to Vlad. “I know, but you don’t have to worry about me. Anyway, now that you two met, we should totally hang out.”

Miko doesn’t need the voice to tell her no. Her whole body is screaming the word. She needs to get out of here. 

“Speaking of hanging out, do you still want to go to that yoga class?”

“I-I can’t,” Miko forces out the lie as panic makes her pulse flutter. “I have to work.”

“Oh,” Alice frowns and looks up at Vlad. “How do you feel about yoga?”

“I think it’s a vast conspiracy straddling space and time created for the sole purpose of making me feel even more beholden to this flesh prison than I already am.”

Miko could not possibly be more alarmed, but Alice laughs. “Do you want to go with me?”

“Yes,” he replies. 

Miko watches as her friend kisses the cheek of this monster, and for a minute, she swears he purrs like a cat. 

“I’m going to leave now. Miko, it was delightful to meet you.” He gives a slight bow, like the sociopathic duke from another planet that he is, and strolls off.

“Wait!” Alice calls out. “I didn’t say when yoga is!”

He glances back, “It doesn’t matter when it is. If you want me to be there, I will be.”

“Cool.” Alice is practically vibrating with happiness.

Once Vlad is out of earshot, she gives a happy squeal. Miko, meanwhile, wraps her arms around herself.

“You think I’m stupid,” Alice says.

Stupid wasn’t the right word. Desperate for love and affection? Desperate for someone to think she was special? Miko had seen Alice complain about parties and then end up in a room full of sims and preen from all the attention. And if it was male attention? All the better. It was a weakness, and Miko couldn’t help but see it as anything else. 

“Not stupid,” Miko shrugs, “Just moon-eyed and not really thinking clearly.”

“I know how Vlad comes off. He’s a complete weirdo, but he doesn’t scare me. He wants me to be the boss of him,” she chuckles. “Even if it's not literal and probably mostly a sex thing, I can handle him.”

Vladislaus Straud did not strike her as a man who anyone could be in charge of. In fact, Miko was fairly sure there was no power on earth that could stop him from doing whatever the fuck he wanted. 

But Alice isn’t ready to hear that, so she keeps her mouth shut. 

“Oh, shit!” Alice smacks her forehead. “Sorry, I didn’t ask. How was your first day of work? Make any weird rich people potions?”

Don’t tell her anything, the voice hisses.

“It was boring,” Miko answers. “Mostly restocking shelves and marking inventory.”

This time, the lie comes easy.

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