#and all that i was doing was walk to my locker to get my things

[meazalykov]

soft place to land

catarina macario x chelsea!reader with features of platonic!sam kerr x reader

warnings: cancer, recovery, angst

you haven’t been to any major doctor’s appointments since the ankle injury a few months ago. nothing urgent, nothing scary. it was just routine physio after a tackle during that game against west ham. there was light rehab, and a return to full training before the season picked up again. 

everything healed the way it was supposed to. 

or at least, that’s what you told everyone.  

now it’s something else.  

it started slow. a tingle at the base of your neck, creeping up your throat, like a subtle warning that didn’t feel worth mentioning at first. your voice would crack during post-training banter, or disappear altogether when you tried to call for the ball. you blamed it on overuse, maybe dehydration. you figured it would go away but it didn’t.  

you live with it now.  

you train, you play, and you act like nothing’s wrong, but every day it gets harder to pretend.  

you do not want to cause worry, especially not for cat. she has enough on her plate… coming back after recovering from her own serious acl injury, easing back into match fitness, proving herself all over again. but she notices. she always notices.  

"you didn’t say anything all session," she murmurs as you collapse beside her on the pitch after training one day. the black and pink training shirt clings to your back with sweat. your lungs burn. your throat aches.  

you give her a tight smile and a shrug, but it feels forced.  

"just tired," you say, even though the words come out hoarse and strained.  

cat’s brows pull together, concern flickering in her expression. she reaches over, fingers brushing gently under your jaw. 

"it’s your throat again?"  

you nod.  

"you need to tell sonia," she says quietly.  

"i’m fine," you lie, and she hears it. she always does.  

catarina doesn’t push. she just sighs and leans into you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder like it’ll ground you, knowing her love will hold the pieces of you together. the next day, you feel it again…worse this time. the pressure sits like a stone lodged in your throat. you can barely speak. your hands shake. your vision swims mid-sprint. when lauren passes you the ball, you miss the trap completely.  

"y/n, you good?" millie calls from across the pitch, jogging toward you.  

you wave her off and bend over, hands on your knees, willing your body to behave. you hear hannah whistle, then sonia’s voice from the sideline, sharp and direct.  

you straighten and pretend you’re okay because that’s what you do. you’ve always kept things to yourself until they become impossible to ignore.  

after training, you sit in the locker room with your boots still on, half-zoned out as the chatter around you continues.  

"she didn’t say a word again," erin whispers to lucy, trying to be subtle but failing miserably.  

"it’s not just her throat," ashley adds, brushing a towel over her head. 

"she’s slower and her passes are off. that is not normal for a player like y/n."  

you feel their eyes on you, but you keep your head down.  

when you finally glance up, it’s catarina who’s kneeling in front of you. your girlfriend’s hands rest lightly on your knees, her eyes searching yours. she doesn’t say anything. she doesn’t need to.  

later that night, when you’re curled into her on the couch, her arms around your waist and your face tucked into her neck, you let yourself exhale.  

"i don’t know what’s happening to me," you whisper, voice thin and trembling. 

"i feel like my body’s shutting down."  

"then let’s find out what it is," she says. 

you feel her hand over your heart. steady. warm. you nod.  

however, the fear lingers because it’s not just the throat thing anymore. it’s everything and the rest of the team knows. you see it in how guro always walks beside you now, keeping pace even when you fall behind.  

how mayra offers to cover your runs without being asked.  

how millie wraps an arm around your shoulders before matches and leans in close, like she’s trying to carry some of your weight.  

no one says anything directly but it’s there, all of it, aka the silent dread none of you know how to voice.  

a week later, you are more than aware that the champions league match against real madrid was days away. everything was intense for this group stage match. training, tactics, focus. every player was locked in, especially with how competitive this season had been. 

the club enforced mandatory monthly clinicals, making sure everyone was in top condition before important matches. it was routine. you had done it plenty of times before.

you stepped into the medical room like it was just another checkbox to tick off. same nurse, same hallway, same small talk about the weather. you were calm. casual, even.

things were fine until you stepped on the weight scale.

you stood still, the machine humming quietly beneath your feet. the doctor glanced at the screen, then back down to the scale, brows pulling together in a confused frown. the doctor’s mouth opened slightly like she was going to say something, but didn’t. instead, she stepped forward and checked the scale again, typing something into her computer with more urgency than before.

“what’s wrong?” you asked, your voice scratchy and hoarse…same as it had been lately.

the doctor looked up at you, professional, but concerned.  

“have you noticed the weight loss?”  

you blinked, “huh?”  

she took a careful breath, “you’ve lost eighteen pounds in the last three months.”  

your chest tightened, “i haven’t changed anything,” you said quickly. 

“my diet’s the same and i sleep all nine to ten hours.”  

she nodded once but didn’t look reassured. 

“that’s what concerns me. unexplained weight loss like this, paired with other symptoms, it’s not something we can overlook.”  

you were in there longer than expected. one by one, you started listing what had been happening. you did not want to draw attention to yourself, but because it suddenly felt like all of it was connected.  

your throat…the discomfort, the inability to speak sometimes.  

your periods…completely off schedule, skipping whole months.  

your hair…thinner in the shower, on your pillow, in your brush.  

your sleep…ten hours felt like three.  

the doctor listened closely, then gently reached out, fingers pressing along the sides of your neck. you winced slightly. she nodded again, like something in your body confirmed what she had already started suspecting.

“i want to send you in for a full body scan,” she said, still using that calm, practiced voice that somehow made everything feel more real. 

“your symptoms and physical indicators suggest we may be dealing with something involving your thyroid. it’s best we know for sure.”  

you waited for hours after that and the scans felt surreal. the cold machines, dim lights, the hum of technology that had nothing to do with football.  

when it was over, you were told to wait in a small private room. you waited for about an hour before the door finally opened with a soft knock.  

the club’s main doctor returned, this time with sonia, your coach, by her side.

sonia offered a gentle smile and stepped forward, “are you alright?”  

you swallowed. your throat ached again, “i don’t know.”  

the doctor explained it carefully, like she had done it a thousand times before. her tone was level. informative. precise.  

“the scans revealed abnormalities in your thyroid. after consulting the images and your recent symptoms… i’m sorry… but we’ve confirmed you’re in the early stages of thyroid cancer.”

your heart didn’t drop. it froze since everything inside you went cold and quiet. you didn’t react right away. all you did was just stared ahead, blank. your vision blurred at the edges, the words thyroid cancer echoing in your mind like a far-off siren.

the doctor kept talking…mentioning how it was the easiest form of cancer to recover from, how it was caught early, how treatment options were promising…but the words barely registered.

you weren’t thinking about recovery.  

you were thinking about football or about training or about your place in the squad or about the champions league or about the call up to the national team.

all you thought about was how everything was about to stop, and you had no idea how long the recovery process will take.  

sonia rested her arm around your shoulders, a comforting gesture. you didn’t lean into it. you looked at her instead, tears building in your eyes.

“where’s catarina?” your voice cracked. 

“please… can you get her?”  

“of course,” she said softly, “anyone else?”  

“sam,” you whispered, “please get sam too if she is in the recovery area today.”  

sam, your closest friend on the team. it was not just because of football, but because of kristie. kristie and you had grown up through the national team system together. she had been your person, your steady support. sam is too thanks to her.  

minutes later, the door opened again. cat walked in first, her face immediately searching for yours. sam followed close behind, her smile gone the second she saw the drained look on your face.  

sonia closed the door quietly behind them, giving you space.  

the doctor repeated the explanation, this time for them. you didn’t look at either of them. you couldn’t. you just stared at the floor, shoulders slumped, hands trembling in your lap.

your chest hurt…not from the diagnosis, but from the heartbreak. you weren’t stupid. your career would stall. you wouldn’t be able to train or to play. you were scared, no…terrified, actually.  

sam knelt in front of you and took your hands, already teary. 

“you’re gonna be okay. we’ve got you, yeah?” she said softly. 

“you’re gonna fight through this, and we’ll all be right here.”  

it was cat who saw the fear in your eyes. it was not the surface-level sadness, but the deep, soul-crushing fear in your eyes. the ’what if?’ fear.  

she moved beside you quickly, arms wrapping around your body, anchoring you against her. your cheek pressed into her chest, your hands fisting the front of her hoodie.  

“i’m here,” she whispered into your hair, “i’ve got you, baby. i’m not going anywhere.”  

you started to cry…finally. heavy, silent tears. your throat felt too tight to sob, but she felt your body shake against hers.  

“you were there for me every single day of my acl recovery,” she said, her voice thick. 

“you never left me. you pushed me through it. and now i’m going to do the same for you. every step. every appointment. i’m not letting you face this alone.”  

you nodded against her, barely, because it was all you could do. your girlfriend’s arms were holding you, and your best friend was sitting beside you but you didn’t feel like a footballer. you didn’t feel like someone strong or unstoppable. you felt like a woman who was scared out of her mind.  

“how could i be so stupid?” you whisper, voice breaking as you cling to the sleeves of catarina’s hoodie, the sterile walls of the room closing in around you.

cat pulls back just enough to cup your face, her thumbs wiping at your tear-streaked cheeks, her brows pulling together with quiet urgency.

“no. don’t do that,” she says firmly, “don’t start blaming yourself for this. you didn’t know. there’s no way you could’ve known.”

you try to look away, but she gently guides your face back to hers.

“you’re not stupid. you’re sick. and now we’re going to deal with it. together.”

sam nods beside her, sitting on the edge of the chair near your hospital bed, eyes glassy, “cat’s right,” she adds, “you’re not a doctor and none of us on the team are either. don’t be so hard on yourself, y/n. you did what you always do…you kept pushing. that doesn’t make you stupid.” 

you don’t say anything for a while, just sit there with both of them, the weight of it all slowly sinking in. it doesn’t matter how early it is or how “treatable” the doctor says it is. the word cancer sticks to your ribs like cement. you feel your career pause. you feel time pause. everything shifts in your world with no warning, and now all you can do is hold on.

a few days after the announcement is made, chelsea posts an official update on the matter. you don’t check social media at first. you think it’ll make you feel worse. when you finally do, you see hundreds…no, thousands of comments. people from everywhere. your national teammates. old teammates from your time in france. fans who remember your debut. strangers who just want to wish you well.

your chelsea teammates post pictures with you. sam writes a long message calling you “one of the strongest people i’ve ever met.” erin tags you in a throwback clip of one of your goals that she assisted, writing, “we’ll be here waiting, don’t rush. we need you whole.”  

even with all the love, you feel… weak like nothing inside you matches the strength people are seeing.  

you need cat more than you’re willing to admit.  

she's there every chance she gets. when she’s not training, or playing, or traveling, she’s with you—helping you with picking up your prescriptions, driving you to hospital visits, cooking when you’re too exhausted to lift your head. 

she’s become your steady presence, even when you feel like dead weight.

you hate relying on her so much, afraid of pushing her away somehow.  

one night, you break down while brushing your hair…a lot of it falling out in your hands. you throw the brush down, tears streaming silently down your cheeks. you don’t even hear her come in until her arms are around you again.

“stop it! i don’t want to be a burden to you,” you say softly, “you have your own career. your own recovery. you don’t need to babysit me if you do not want to.”

she looks at you like you’ve just said the dumbest thing she’s ever heard.

“you’re not a burden, y/n,” she says seriously, “you’re dealing with cancer. of course you’re not in top condition. of course you’re going to need help. and i want to help. just like you helped me. remember those two years when i didn’t feel like myself? when you sat with me through every painful stretch and every lonely rehab session? you never left and i’m not going to either.”

you try to protest, but she just presses a kiss to your forehead.

“i’m not doing this out of obligation,” she whispers, “i’m doing this because i love you.”

after your thyroidectomy, the healing begins slowly, but noticeably.

your strength doesn’t return all at once. your voice feels hoarse some mornings, and the hormone fluctuations leave you with bouts of exhaustion, but you can tell things are improving. the doctors at the hospital chelsea partnered with are kind, attentive, and thorough. your hormone levels are being monitored carefully. you’re told you’ll need daily thyroid hormone replacement therapy, but the prognosis is good.

you mainly stay home resting, taking meds, watching cat’s games when she’s away. the couch becomes your new recovery base. the one place where cat can return after training and just hold you without a single word needing to be said.

when naomi, yes naomi girma your national teammate, signs for chelsea a couple weeks later. she surprises you at your flat with coffee and snacks, giving you the biggest hug. you cry in her arms for ten minutes without saying anything. she doesn’t let go once.

your world is smaller now, but the love in it feels infinite.

a month later…just one month, though it feels like a lifetime…you’re back in light recovery training with the other injured players. you jog lightly. you stretch. you do basic ball work. everything feels harder than it used to, but you’re doing it. you’re moving again.

catarina watches from a distance during her cooldowns, waving at you every time you look her way. sam throws an arm around your shoulders at the end of each session, joking that she missed your chaos on the pitch.

“you’re getting there with me,” sam says, “we need to go slow and steady like a little comeback queens.”

you grin at her, then glance at cat, who’s already walking toward you with a water bottle and a towel in hand.

“you’re not my physio, you know,” you tease as she reaches you.

she smirks, brushing your hair out of your eyes. 

“no,” she says, “but i am your girlfriend.”

you laugh quietly, “your love might actually be part of the recovery process.”

“then i’ll keep it coming,” she says, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “as much as you need. for as long as you need.”

honestly, right now, you need it more than anything. for the first time in weeks you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re gonna be okay again.

masterlist

authors note: I took some inspiration off of this post. you should check it out as well, its amazing writing!

[alternate-real-ities]

Research Report: Subject J - Asian Flu

Prepared by: Dr. Amara Patel & Dr. Liam Chen

These diary entries, obtained through confidential sources, detail the personal experiences and transformations of a young man identified only as "Jake" who has been unknowingly infected with the recently emerged Asian Flu (AF). His accounts provide invaluable firsthand insights into the virus's effects on its host, spanning from early symptoms to advanced stages. Thus, with these entries, we aim to better understand the virus's effects and timeline.

Diary Entries:

Dear diary,

I woke up feeling a bit off today, but nothing major. Probably just another case of the common cold going around. I didn't let it stop me from starting my day as usual - working on my laptop at home while sipping coffee. My muscles were kinda sore too, but I thought it was just from my workout yesterday.

I did notice something strange though - when I caught my reflection in the mirror, my pecs looked a bit bigger than usual. Probably just my imagination, right? They're not exactly massive to begin with on my scrawny frame. But hey, maybe I'm finally making some progress at the gym!

Anyway, enough about me and my silly feelings. I'm going to bed early tonight. hopefully I'll feel more like myself tomorrow.

Dear diary,

Woke up today feeling even better than yesterday! I breezed through my work and couldn't wait to get back to the gym. When I stepped into the locker room, a few guys checked me out appreciatively. Normally that would make me blush, but now it just gave me this weird rush of confidence.

At first, I thought the gym machines felt a bit too easy today. Like my body was used to working at higher intensities than I realized. And why were my pecs tingling so much? Probably just a funny nerve thing, no biggie.

When I got home, I caught another glimpse of myself in the mirror and… holy shit… are my muscles bigger? Like, way bigger than they should be after one intense workout. Also, I didn't look as pale as I usually do?

This can't be real - something's going on, I just don't know what it is… Hopefully, I'll have more time to think about it tomorrow.

Dear diary,

Okay, so something is seriously wrong with me but I can't put my finger on it.

I can't stop sweating, even when I'm just sitting around doing nothing! My clothes are always soaked and I stink like a damn animal in heat... And don't even get me started on my fucking pecs - they're so sensitive right now. Like every brush of fabric against them sends a jolt straight to my dick.

I called in sick to work today, couldn't handle trying to make sense of all those spreadsheets and emails. It's like everyone's talking in a foreign language now, I just don't get it no more. I keep telling myself this is all stress-related but deep down, I know something ain't right.

At the gym today, I kept having to increase the weights because anything less felt like a joke now. There were these two Asian guys there who kept glancing over at me admiringly between sets. Normally I'd be flattered but nervous about such obvious stares. Instead, I found myself flexing subtly in their direction, feeling this bizarre urge to show off my body.

And to top it all off, I've been having these crazy horny urges nonstop. Like, I'm constantly rock hard and leaking pre-cum like a fucking faucet. It's embarrassing as hell. I ended up jerking off about three times today already but it did nothing to satisfy this insatiable hunger in my balls.

I'm scared… I don't know what's happening to me. Maybe this is all just a bad dream and I'll wake up soon. Please.

Dear diary,

Fuck… what's happening to me? I'm struggling to type this entry because my fingers feel too thick and clumsy on the keyboard.

I went back to the gym again today because I couldn't stay away, even though part of me knew something was seriously off. The Asian guys from yesterday were there again and this time… fuck… I walked up to them and started chatting like it was the most natural thing in the world. Talking about protein shakes, the best ways to sculpt chest muscles, shit I wouldn't have given a second thought to before.

They kept touching my arms admiringly as we talked, marveling at how fast I must be growing. And I fucking liked it. Craved more of their attention and praise. We ended up in the locker room together…

I'm not proud of what happened next but I couldn't control myself. I was too drunk on this new sense of power and desire coursing through my body. The next thing I knew, we were all naked, touching each other, moaning like animals…

I can't think straight anymore either. It's like all the smart stuff is leaking outta my head and being replaced with nothing bro.

And the smells… everything smells so much stronger now. My own stink, sweat and musk, it's so intense!

I'm losing control here diary… I feel like I'm turning into one of those dumb gym bro stereotypes and it scares the everloving shit outta me. I almost can't recognize myself in the mirror anymore.

Tomorrow, I'll go see my doctor to finally understand what's going on.

Yo diary, it's your boy Jake and lemme tell ya, today was fuckin' EPIC dude! Like, the most awesomest day ever since this crazy shit started happening to me.

Woke up feelin' like a million bucks, muscles all twitchy and ready to dominate. I hit the gym real quick, just a lil warm-up ya know? And oh man, did I catch some looks! All those bros were starin' at my gains, probably wishin' they had a physique like mine hehe.

After that, I decided to take my rock hard bod for a walk in the park. Felt good to let the sunshine warm up my bronzed skin and show off these sick pecs. I was strutting real confident-like, just basking in all the attention from thirsty bitches and dudes.

Then, get this diary… I bumped into this super cute lil twink at the park! He was practically drooling when he saw my massive package tentin' in my shorts. I couldn't resist, had to show him what a real man feels like down there haha.

We found a lil spot behind some bushes and I bent that boy over and gave it to him HARD, diary. Pounded his tight boyclit so good he was screaming for more. Fucked him so deep he'll be tasting my cock for days! Blew the biggest load right up in his guts too, hah!

I'm gonna hit the gym again later for some more gains, maybe see if I can find another thirsty boycunt to bust in after. Life is fuckin' great diary!

Analysis:

Based on Jake's diary entries, we can confirm the progression of AF symptoms aligns with our current understanding: rapid muscle growth, cognitive decline, personality changes, and increased sexual aggression. His accounts also highlight the virus's insidious nature, as he remains largely unaware and unconcerned about his transformations.

To better understand the virus's transmission dynamics and long-term effects on secondary hosts, it is imperative that we identify and locate the twink (hereafter referred to as "Subject TW") with whom Jake engaged in sexual activities at the park. There is a high probability that Subject TW has been infected with the Asian Flu through this encounter.

Locating and monitoring this new potential subject could provide crucial insights into the virus's sexual transmission rates, incubation periods for secondary infections, and further manifestation of symptoms in diverse hosts.

This final surveillance footage from a concealed camera in a bustling city gym captures Subject J (center frame) engaging with his newly acquired "bros". This clip represents the most current documentation of Jake's behaviours and physical state, obtained while maintaining strict contamination avoidance protocols. The timestamp indicates this recording is approximately three weeks after his initial diary entries.

Caution: Viewers are strongly advised not to approach or engage with Subject J or his associates without proper protective measures in place, as their sweat and other bodily fluids pose significant infection risks.

Please direct any inquiries or resources needed to pursue this lead to Dr. Patel or Dr. Chen.

[End Report]

[shikaizer]

is it like the ocean? pull me closer again.

WBB PLAYER

THE THINGS THEY WILL DO FOR YOU OUT OF LOVE.

INCLUDED

kk caitlin nika azzi

paige juju aubrey jana

KK ARNOLD

you have been bed rotting for the past few hours, your barely able to keep your eyes open,fever burning and body aching.

kk had just left hours ago rushing to her flight for her big game tommorow, you didn't want her to worry so you acted all fine throughout the day.

but while your in call, she had noticed that your voice was too raspy to be normal barely able to form a word, she have asked you to open your camera and your face was burning up, eyes half lidded, eyebags popping.

"your fucking sick and didn't say anything?" she asked half shouting, on the way to the stair of the air wing.

"i didnt want to worry you." you answered and you notice kk turning back and ending the call.

minutes later, she walks through the door dropping her bag and walking straight to you. looking over at her with shocked expression.

"why did you come back?" you asked shouting voice raspy "your sick, are you okay?" you sighed stressing out as she caressed your face.

"you know how important your game is tommorow." you remarked and she shrugged.

"i dont care baby, your more important."

CAITLIN CLARK

you have been trying to end your relationship with caitlin as its starting to become more toxic each time, the constant jealousy and possesiveness coming out of her was too much for you to handle, you always felt like your trapped in a cage with no one to help you.

having no freedom on anything at all and the constant side comments coming from her

'thats too short'

'your not fucking going out with that'

'i dont care your not going'

'its not safe'

you wanted to rip your hair out of your head whenever she talks, she knows your starting to drift mentally and physically, once you have opened up and decided to end things with her for good, she begged like a lost puppy.

'please im sorry'

'i just want you to be safe'

'you know how dangerous the world is'

that was all bullshit, but caitlin had this weird pull on you that you found hard to deny, in the end you found yourself giving her a chance.

JUJU WATKINS

After practice, the locker room is filled with chatter, the sound of sneakers sliding and showers running. Your girlfriend, whos the mvp on the game, is walking back from the trainer’s room when she pauses just outside the locker room door hearing her name.

“I mean, have you seen her girlfriend? If she ever got tired of her, I’d happily take a turn… bet she’s wild in bed.”

the words hit like a slap, your girlfriend steps in the room queit but furious, the whole room getting quiet once she got in.

"want to run that back?" she asks calm but deadly "relax it was a joke." juju raised her eyebrows stepping closer to the poor girl who seems like shes about to pee her self.

"thats my girlfriend your fucking joking about." she muttured slamming the girl in the locker door so rough that the noise of the slam echoed, no one dared to step in, they know how juju is.

"and if i hear her name coming out of your disgusting mouth, im gonna fucking kill you. got it?" that was not a question but a threat, the girl nodded desperately and juju gave her a nice strong punch right in the face.

PAIGE BUECKERSA

paige knows your too good for her, too bright, too beautiful, too kind, lots of people admire you,but honestly your confidence was all that helped you pop out so much, paige hated it, as she was scared that maybe one day someone might succesfully steal you out of her grasp, she was scared of the fame you are getting, like you are walking toward a life that didn't have space for her in it.

one day, you squeeled looking over at your laptop seeing the sponsorship you been offered, you talked to paige about this and she gave you a little seed. "they only want you for the image, not for who you are." you didn't take her words as a insult since her tone was genuine.

the next week you bought a dress before a media shoot smiled up to your cheeks.

"you look beautiful to me, but maybe tone it down, you dont want people saying your a try hard."

as it continued, the sparkle in your eyes had dulled, and you started leaning on her more as to your believings, shes the only person who accepts you truly aside from your so called "unperfection."

NIKA MUHL

you have started going to therapy, nika had told that she proud and she will always support you, the words was like an ick since she was mainly the reason why your starting therapy.

your relationship with her is starting to wreck as constant fight and her shouting agressive words was like a train hitting your sweet relationship with her that made it all fall down.

honestly the session started working, you have cried less and you always calmed down when a argument was about to accure.

but turns out, nika has been paying the therapist extra to record every session the two of you would do, and send it straight to nika.

it was a big help as nika figured how she needs to change,also the reason why the both of you barely fight anymore.

as you started to heal more, you have also realized your worth, you opened this up to your therapist and decided you needed to take a break from nika, but you needed some time to think for it first.

when nika found out, she was furious.

so she paid extra for the therapist teaching her some few words that will break you to day one.

she knows how healed people always leave.

being gaslighted, you found your self crying in your girlfriends shoulder admiting everything you have been saying to your therapist about her.

"shhh.." if nika dont know about this, she would be furious but she known it too early so she stayed calm.

"im sorry.. i will never leave.." you sobbed and she bit her lip holding back a smile "i know baby, i know."

AUBREY GRIFFIN

"you always leave when i need you" she spoke up and you turned your head to look at her, aubrey is looking over at you gritting her teeth.

you clutched your gym back and sighed "i'll be back in a few hours." you assured and she rolled her eyes.

"i remember when you would cancel and just lay with me." she laughed bitter and soft.

you looked at her torn, guilt in your eyes, exactly what she needed.

"been feeling off all day, didn't even eat if you noticed." you stepped closer to her concern over riding.

"why didn't you tell me?" you muttured worried and she shrugged.

"you'll just leave anyway, not even eat with me." she confessed and you sighed putting your bag down.

"im sorry baby." you kissed her cheeks and hugged her. "didn't even know i was too busy barely not having time for you." aubrey embraced your warmth holding back a smile.

AZZI FUDD

you have been feeling giddy as you have been offered a full ride to your dream school, the kind of opportunity you fought your whole life.

the only problem was the school was across the country but you live with azzi, you opened this up to her but she assured you it was okay.

but deep inside she felt a twing on her heart and she made sure your never leaving.

a week later, you have been filling out your forms, and whenever you would stand up to get some food, azzi would step in and sabotage your work.

one day, your welcome packet arrived but your not around home, azzi took the paper and burned it right away, then she emailed the admissions office using a burner account.

just a few questions about your eligibilaty just enough to raise a flag.

three days later, you got a confusing notice, some confusion with paperwork and a hold of your status, you bought your palm to your mouth and started sobbing.

azzi held you close and whispered to your ear.

"you dont need that school anyway, you can just stay here and live a life with me."

JANA EL ALFY

your currently getting ready for your flight on the way to your home town, you wanted jana to come but appearantly she have a game this week.

jana wanted you to stay and wait for her game to finish but you badly wanted to see your family.

"you sure you want to come today?" she asked softly "yeah i haven't seen them in a while." you confessed and she scoffed.

"it doesn't matter, you know how much they hate you right?" her voice was gentle, you knew what she said was true but they are still your family otherwise.

"i dont care jana, i still love them." you spat and she scoffed smirking.

"your seriously putting them first? how about me? you promised that your watching my game." she guilt tripped you and you looked down sighing.

"im the one whos always there for you— why are you still choosing them over me?" she spat and you looked over at her guilt in your eyes.

"okay, im sorry my love." you muttured she is never going to let you leave without her.

MASTERLIST

🔖 @addl0vee @tndaqlwifwy @mrsarnold @maddybuckets @melpthatsme @bellaprintz25 @janaelalfysblunt @ellehoops @belsoulss @apbueckers @uwupaige @janaelalfysloml @paige05bby @azzisbueckers @paigeluvvr @giavonnii @taylynbueckers44 @jupitermoonbaby @shootingstarrrrr @dalilahissilly @luldejamleer

[callsignlucky]

Okay I mean, gosh twist my arm @jayjay-thejet-plane

After he saves his life, Bradley thinks things might turn out okay with Jake Seresin. The brass seems to agree, and after four years of (everyone claims coincidentally) being stationed across the globe from the man, Bradley walks onto the base in Pensecola and is greeted by a cat-like smile and mischievous green eyes. He goes a little breathless at it, they’d never exchanged numbers again, so his eight weeks of leave have had little to do with Hangman, aside from the thoughts he pushes aside on a daily basis, and the ones he indulges in at night. They shake hands and Bradley compliments him, rolls his eyes when Jake isn’t humble about it, and he can feel Jake’s gaze follow him as he excuses himself, heat creeping up his neck. It’s a familiar song and dance, one that used to end with Jake stretched out and satiated across his bed, but that was a long time ago, and Bradley hides a soft little grin in his next meeting, hopeful that they’ve mellowed out into something tenable. He’s wrong. 

Three days on base and he’s slamming down his hand against a map and pointing an accusing finger at Hangman, because god, this is all Hangman. Jake isn’t anywhere behind that cocky, self-righteous, risk-loving goddamn fucking face- Bradley throws his hands up and groans. “This is getting us nowhere.” He gathers some paperwork up into a folder haphazardly, determined to be excused, retreat to his awful base-assigned apartment, and work out his own solution without Jake constantly inserting glib little comments, designed to slip by their superiors who were far more used to harsh attacks, but needled at Bradley’s last nerve. Jake shrugs, chewing on the end of the toothpick he’d been rolling around his mouth for the last hour. “You’re wrong,” he says, voice so easy, but there’s an edge to it that grinds against Bradley, and he knows Jake is just as frustrated as he is. “It’s a shame you already took the only risk you’ve allotted yourself for your life. You might as well retire now.” He flashes Bradley an insincere smile, baiting. Bradley doesn’t take it, and if that’s the only thing he’s ever been able to get on Jake, he prides himself on it, his patience winning out in their fights more often than not. Even if it makes the times he loses that much worse. “If you want to get yourself killed, do it on your own time, Jake. We have to consider-” 

Jake cuts him off. “I’m considering. And it’s a good risk.” He pauses almost imperceptibly, and Bradley braces himself for a prescision strike, knowing it’s coming. “Besides, who’s waiting for me to make it back this time? Make another pro-con list, Rooster, there ain’t much on the downside anymore.” The comment ends the meeting in a flurry of overlapping exclamations, Jake will be reprimanded and probably assigned to 25 minutes with a counselor, and Bradley has nothing to show for it but a dented locker and bruised knuckles. The comment eats at him, though, a barbed arrow that’s stuck in his side, tugging at his skin each time he tries to remove it, catching on old scars and still-open wounds. 

He gets progressively angrier as the days push on, mission turning into some kind of compromise that neither of them are satisfied with, and Jake keeps needling at him, pushing at and crossing lines that only they see stretching loudly between them. Bradley keeps his cool, soft brown eyes and an easy smile getting him through most conversations as his blood simmers, but the base is small and they’re in each other’s orbit too often for it to last. “You should try meditating or something,” Jake suggests one morning, leaning against the wall of a small alcove that houses a couple of vending machines. “Pretty sure that piece of shit doesn’t deserve your… wrath.” Bradley looks at him and his nostrils flare, shaking out his hand. He ceases banging the heel of his palm against an ancient coffee dispenser that’s refusing to give him caffeine. “Is that why you’re here?” he snaps. “You deserve it, if I punch you in the face do I get coffee?” He’s acutely aware that Jake has a little paper cup full of what he assumes is a sickly sweet mocha-something, from the very machine that was denying him. Jake laughs and takes a dainty sip. “This is mine,” he says, clearly pleased. “And you’d hate it.” He rakes his eyes over Bradley slowly and then narrows them, the teasing slipping from his gaze a little. “Look, Bradshaw-” “I don’t want to fucking talk to you.”

Jake blinks, and all mirth disappears from his expression, something stony replacing it as he clenches his diamond-cut jaw. “What else is new?” Jake says, and it’s cutting. “You know, maybe you wouldn’t be so goddamn angry all the time if you’d just spit it the fuck out.” Bradley stalks up to him and they hold, nose to nose, suspended in the tension they’ve been caught in for four years, and then Bradley leans over and spits in the little paper cup, his heart beating a furious, anguished rhythm against his ribcage. He regrets it almost immediately, it’s ridiculous and immature and stupidly impulsive and Jake is a coworker, not just the ex that’s been haunting him. Jake doesn’t take his eyes off of him, the parenthetical lines around his mouth deepening just a fraction as the barest hint of a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, and he raises the cup to his lips, draining it. Bradley’s lips part as he releases a sharp breath, heat prickling at his skin as it washes through him, and then Jake is impossibly close, too close for where they are. “Not what I meant, sweetheart.” Jake murmurs the words against his ear and Bradley can feel his own pulse low in his belly as he reaches out, hand pressed to Jake’s side, and he holds him there for a long moment before Jake’s stepping away. He lets him go, has to, but he’s dazed as he unplugs and replugs in the coffee machine. 

They fly seamlessly that day, holding steady as they test out a configuration with a UAV that neither of them likes, Jake patient at his side until they’re not going to best their times and Jake peels off, Bradley following him without hesitation. It works so well they’re dismissed for the day so analytics can run the numbers again, and they lock eyes before gathering their things and jogging out of the hanger. It turns into a race, both of them filled with the overflowing energy of  good hop and a successful trial, and Bradley has longer legs and the stamina of someone who never sleeps in to skip a morning run, so Jake’s in his wake as he leads them to his apartment. 

“I don’t remember inviting you over,” he says as Jake’s momentum crowds him into his apartment as he unlocks the door, both of them stumbling a little before Bradley turns, catching Jake in his arms. “Shut the fuck up,” Jake breathes and then Bradley’s using their bodies to slam the door shut, hands around Jake’s wrists as he shoves him against the hollow wood. The first kiss in four years is biting, Bradley’s teeth closing on Jake’s lower lip before he’s being bitten back, Jake’s hands trying to wrestle out of his grip. Bradley lets him go so he can fit his big hands around Jake’s waist, and his eyes flutter closed as Jake tangles his fingers in his curls, tugging at them to force Bradley to tip his head a little. The new angle gives them both room to open their mouths, licking at each other’s teeth and tongues as cautiously soft moans are allowed out of them. Bradley drags Jake away from the door with both arms wrapped around him, and Jake stretches one arm out to twist the deadbolt closed before he’s wrapping two arms around Bradley’s neck, letting Bradley drag him into the bedroom. He tastes like coffee and sugar and the stupid cinnamon flavored toothpicks he buys in bulk, spicy and achingly familiar, and Bradley has to tear his mouth away before he falls too far into the ghost of a man that’s right in front of him. “You’re such a freak,” Jake murmurs as soon as his mouth is unoccupied, starting to unbutton Bradley’s uniform, hands greedy as they grab at Bradley’s pecs. Bradley makes an irritated noise, biting down where he’d been dragging open mouthed kisses along Jake’s throat, and Jake laughs, shoving at Bradley’s shirt. “You spit in my coffee, you’re fucking certified.” Bradley hums his acknowledgement, fingers blindly robbing Jake of his own shirt and then he’s got him by the tags, pulling him back and staring at him. He doesn’t need to say it, doesn’t need to say you liked it, he can see the flush as it reddens the tips of his ears and dusts across his cheeks. Jake’s dropping down before he can push him, and Bradley bends to follow, folding over as Jake sinks to his knees, staring up at him as Bradley cradles his jaw with his free hand.

“You gonna fly like that next week?” he asks, and Jake stares up at him, the tiny beads of his tags chain pressing into his damp throat. “Give me a reason to,” Jake says plainly, and Bradley shakes his head, refusing to play into the taunt. Jake pulls back as far as he can, then and there’s just enough space between them that Bradley wonders for a horrible moment if Jake’s going to get up and leave. Instead, Jake tips forward, both hands rising to grab at Bradley’s waist as he kisses his belly, mouth running along his hip bones as he speaks. “Learn your goddamn lesson, Bradshaw,” he murmurs. “Why should I give a fuck about something you don’t?” That sparks another wave of frustration, and Bradley grabs at Jake’s jaw again, thumb slipping into his mouth, one of exactly two reliable methods to get him to stop talking. “Why do you try so hard to piss me off?” he asks, but the heat in his words disappears as he says them, too transfixed by Jake blinking up at him, heavy lids not enough to conceal the pretty green of his eyes. Jake sucks on his thumb, cheeks hollowing as he starts pulling at his belt. Bradley pushes down on his jaw, tugging on his tags, and Jake lets his mouth fall open with a soft little moan. 

Jake’s grip on his waist tightens, his thumbs slipping into Bradley’s waistband, and he looks… something. Desperate, maybe. Angry. Needy. Bradley can’t place it, not with his memories pounding against his skull, reminding him of how Jake looked when he was happy and none of it fitting this wanting. “You’re gonna fly this right,” he demands, and his thumb pins down Jake’s tongue, preventing the protest he can see in Jake’s eyes. It fills him with a rush of satisfaction, and he gathers saliva on his tongue, curving over Jake, and spits directly into his mouth. Jake’s eyes flutter, barely staying open enough to keep his blown out gaze fixed on Bradley, and he whines softly, slowly closes his mouth around Bradley’s thumb and swallowing. He nods. Bradley feels relief wash through him, battling with the unyielding desire for Jake that’s always, always unfairly there, and he strokes his thumb over Jake’s tongue again as Jake finishes his task, tugging Bradley’s uniform slacks down just enough to pull out his cock, pushing forward to nose at the length of it until Bradley removes his thumb, his hand sliding up to thread into Jake’s hair. The wet heat of Jake’s mouth closing over his cock is enough to make Bradley’s knees go weak for a moment, and he anchors himself with a hand at Jake’s neck, tags still pressed into his palm. He sighs out a harsh breath, and his cock rubs against the roof of Jake’s mouth, achingly hard after a day of trying to convince himself they weren’t both imagining exactly this. “Fuck, Jake,” he breathes, as he pushes his hips forward and Jake chokes a little, fingernails digging a punishment into his hips, but Jake chases forward even as he backs off, sucking Bradley deeper into his mouth. “I’m…” He doesn’t want to admit that it’s been a while, doesn’t want to put up with the teasing later knowing that he finds it difficult to touch anyone else, so he tries to prolong it, failing as Jake blows him with intimate prescision, one hand wrapped around the base of his cock, the other shoved into his own slacks, as he proves he hasn’t forgotten exactly how to get Bradley off. 

His hips falter and Jake’s eyes slide up to meet his and he looks so stupidy good, so pretty with his mouth pink and his chin dripping with drool. Jake pulls off, breathing a little harshly, and sits back on his heels. Bradley doesn’t understand how they can be at such odds and yet so in tune, and he steals back his hand from Jake’s hair, jerking himself off quickly. “I miss you,” Jake says, raising one hand and Bradley flushes, panting, and complies, spitting into his palm so Jake can stroke himself faster, Bradley’s cock nudging up against his cheek. “Stop being such a fucking asshole. I just.. miss you.” Bradley can’t do much except whine, can’t even be irritated that Jake prefers to be able to talk through his orgasms because he loves it, he loves him, and he can’t lie to himself that he’d rather him silent. He rubs his cock over Jake’s lower lip. “Come on,” Jake mumbles, and there’s a waver to it that has Bradley shaking, his hand working faster. “Fuck, Bradley, come on, stop wasti-” Bradley shudders as his orgasm runs him through, cum painting Jake’s lips and cheeks and chin. Jake surges forward then, his hand pumping below them as he licks the length of Bradley’s cock as it twitches and pumps cum into his hair, and he’s mumbling Bradley’s name against his hip as his spine curves through his own orgasm, panting against Bradley’s skin. Bradley hauls him up by the jaw and pulls them both backwards onto the bed, their kisses wet and stilted as they both kick off their slacks, Jake climbing into Bradley’s lap and pushing him over. “You always gotta interrupt me,” he complains, but he’s grinning agaisnt Bradley’s mouth.  “Wouldn’t have to if you could shut the fuck up,” Bradley returns, but he’s smiling too, stupid and dizzy and satisfied. He wipes some of the cum off of Jake’s face and onto a pillowcase, resigning himself to laundry and, less disappointedly, a mutual shower at some point in their very near future. “You just saying shit?”

Jake shrugs, readjusting them and tucking himself under Bradley’s chin, half on his side, tangling their legs together, and it makes Bradley ache how their bodies fitting together with practiced ease. “No. But it doesn’t have to matter.”

The to you hangs clear in the air between them and Bradley sighs, stroking one hand through Jake’s hair. “It matters,” he murmurs. “Just gotta… figure it out. But I miss you too. So…”

Jake looks up, and for the first time in years, Bradley doesn’t see Hangman at all, wide green eyes. “So… worth it?” he asks. Bradley thinks about it for a long moment and then nods, leaning forward to kiss him slowly. Jake beams into the kiss, and Bradley huffs out a laugh. He’ll fuck it up, he’s almost positive, but he’s so tired of being without Jake.

“Just gotta figure it out,” Bradley sighs, but they’re not 23 anymore and there’s something in Jake’s expression that this time, somehow, gives him hope that they’ll actually manage it. “Stay,” he requests, and Jake doesn’t reply, but he presses in closer. Bradley closes his eyes and kisses a thank you against Jake’s forehead, chest bursting full at the prospect of their future.

i just think that bradley should spit in jake’s mouth yunno?

sketch/lineart below :P

[ikeupied]

15:24. I was running late to practice, all because Gowon had insisted on coming with me.

"Won, are you almost done? It's getting late." I sighed, running a hand through my hair.

"Almost, sorry." Gowon replied in her usual soft voice. Any other time, it would’ve been enough to calm me down, but today, it only made me more frustrated.

"Do you really need to come with me? I don’t get what you have to do at practice—it’s a duet between Y/N and me." I tried to keep my tone steady, but there was a hint of irritation I couldn’t hold back.

"I just want to keep you company, Ki."

I leaned my head against the wall, shutting my eyes.

A few minutes later, Gowon finally stepped out of the bathroom. "I'm ready. Let's go."

She flashed me a smile, but I couldn't bring myself to return it. Instead, I just turned toward the door, and we left.

On the way, Gowon wanted to stop and buy an iced coffee. I rolled my eyes in frustration and told her to do whatever she wanted, but I had to get to practice now.

So, she stopped to get her drink while I just kept walking.

If I wanted things between Y/N and me to be at least somewhat okay, this was definitely ruining it.

I walked as fast as I could. Luckily, the dance studio wasn’t that far.

15:45.

I stopped at the door, reaching for the handle when I heard a familiar song.

I stepped in quietly, and there she was—Y/N, dancing to Easy.

My choreography.

The one she had insisted I teach her because—according to her—it was too amazing and she had to dance it with me.

She was doing it a thousand times better than I ever could.

I stood there, unable to move, my entire attention locked on her.

Until she looked toward the mirror—and saw me standing there, watching her.

Immediately, I averted my gaze and rushed to the locker room to drop off my things.

"Sorry for being so late," I tried to keep my tone casual.

"It’s fine. Doesn’t matter."

I looked at her, but she avoided my eyes at all costs. A small pressure built in my chest.

And then, the door opened.

Gowon.

I was still in a daze, still watching Y/N, so I didn’t even notice someone else had walked in—until I saw the way Y/N's expression dropped.

Her jaw tensed slightly. It was subtle, but I noticed.

Gowon cleared her throat, finally drawing my attention. "Sorry for the delay," she said, her voice too polite to sound natural.

Practice ended earlier than expected. Or maybe it just felt shorter because my mind wasn’t entirely there.

Y/N started packing up her things while I stayed behind, practicing parts of the choreography I still needed to perfect.

I was about to say something—anything—when Gowon walked up to me, her now-empty iced coffee in hand.

"Are we leaving?" Her tone was light.

I could feel Y/N's gaze on us through the mirror.

But when I turned to look at her, she had already turned away, zipping up her backpack with more force than necessary.

Something inside me felt off.

"Go ahead, I need to finish up here," I replied without looking at her.

Gowon glanced at Y/N, then back at me. I met her gaze and instantly understood—she was jealous.

But she left without saying anything.

Now, it was just Y/N and me.

"Do you want to go over anything before we wrap up?" I asked before she could leave.

She hesitated for a second but then shook her head. "No need. We have another practice this weekend anyway."

I bit the inside of my cheek. "You sure?"

"Yeah." This time, her voice was firmer.

I didn’t want the conversation to end like this, but I had no idea what else to say.

Until—just as she was about to walk out—I found myself speaking without thinking.

"You’re better at it than I am."

Y/N froze.

She didn’t look at me right away, but her grip tightened around her backpack strap.

"What?"

"Easy." I scratched the back of my neck. "You dance it better than I do."

"That’s not true."

"It is."

A brief silence.

A single second where I thought—maybe—she’d stay. Maybe she’d say something else.

For a moment, I could’ve sworn her expression softened.

But all she did was look away and adjust her bag. That’s when I noticed—she still had the My Melody keychain I had given her.

"It’s late. I’m leaving."

A weight settled in my chest as I watched her go.

The door shut behind her, leaving nothing but the echo of her presence.

the realization (wc ; 3240)

SYNOPSIS: Y/n and Riki were inseparable. The kind of friendship everyone envied, the kind that felt unbreakable. But somewhere along the way, something shattered. Now, every word they exchange is a fight, every glance a silent war. Neither of them wants to admit how much it hurts. Neither of them wants to be the first to let go of the anger. But how long can you hate someone who once meant everything to you? Because the line between love and hate has never been thinner.

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note: the messages that riki and jay send to the group are sent at the same time in case it is not understood ;)

perm taglist 😼: @brianashiftz @zaycie @ijustwannareadstuff20

taglist @kizumis @yangjungwonnie @doririsstuff @annybah @yurizzzs @iheartshopping @luvjichang @starbyeol1512 @jaerisdiction @soobinbunnie5 @tasnemluvs @right-person-wrong-time @yuaaa-somehow @nishikio @ezekiel-bublz @hyunjinslongasslegs @iboughtnjz @jvngw0nlvr @blvengene @notcamii @wonzzziezzzz @rikidaze @lovingjongseong @danlovestay @lovenha7 @lilliansreality @lisamrrth @gyuudai @ihearteatingxo @somieverse @i03jae @jakewonist @nodoubtily @luv-rizzimura @s0shroe

　　　　　　　　◌ 𓈒 ꒪　◌゚❀　.˳ ⠷

© all rights reserved to ikeupied, please don't copy.

[aro-of-argentum]

Red Dahlia- Chapter 7

WC: 10,895

Notes: Oops I made it huge. There's a bunch going on in this chapter. Reader gets flowers at work, there's a bank robbery, Dick gives advice, Jason has a hard time talking about feelings (with reader or anybody for that matter), a classic "I think I know you" scene, and then a big ol' misunderstanding right there at the end. Don't worry, it'll get fixed next chapter. Heads up, the reader uses a gun in this one, no one dies though. Have fun!

Beta'd by: @teaspacebar

Previous Chapter, Masterlist, Next Chapter

Chapter 7:

Getting up for work the next morning was a slog. Your boss had called in the middle of the night saying they needed coverage for the day, and you took the shift knowing the overtime would be incredible. You were regretting it now. Still though, you found the energy deep inside you to get up and get in the shower, and actually even had time to pick up breakfast and coffee on your way in to work. No sooner than you had walked in the door, Marcy found you.

“Ugh, there you are!” She stormed over to your locker and gratefully took a bite of your sandwich when you offered it. Through the food in her mouth, she continued to speak. “I’m so happy you’re here for the last couple hours of my shift.” She swallowed and her speech became clear once again as she handed your breakfast back. “The phleb we had overnight was all over the place. I had turnaround times of hours on easy orders, and when I called the lab to check in on why, they told me they’d never even gotten the blood. Twice. Ugh, I hate incompetent shit heads.”

You heard a locker slam one row over and watched Gavin, the phlebotomist who’d just clocked out, storm out of the room. Your eyes went wide as you looked from him to Marcy pointedly.

She shook her head. “I don’t even care, he needed to hear it.”

“Sometimes I’m so glad you’re convinced I can do no wrong. You’re vicious.”

Marcy shrugged. “Do something wrong and then we’ll talk.”

The two of you laughed for a moment before you turned back to finish putting your things away, handing Marcy the last two bites of your food for her to finish before you both got to work. An hour into your shift you got a page directing you to the front desk. As you approached, you saw a delivery man holding a bundle of a dozen blood red dahlias, beautifully wrapped in black and grey burlap.

“Hi, I’m looking for Y/n?” he asked, looking at you expectantly.

“Yeah, uh…” You could hardly take your eyes off the gorgeous flowers. “That’s me.”

He nodded, handing you the bundle before walking away, entirely unfazed by the delivery.

The receptionist that was currently at the desk looked up at you, approval all through his expression and tone when he asked, “Girl, what did you do to get a man to send you flowers like that, and where can I get one?”

You chuckled as a heat spread over your cheeks. “I wouldn’t know where to look, I swear this one fell from the sky.” You smiled as you looked at the bulbs, your other hand coming up to run your fingertips over some of the petals. It hadn’t taken long after Red Hood had picked you up from work on his motorcycle a few weeks ago for seemingly everyone you knew in the hospital to be in on Marcy’s “Who is the secret boyfriend” game. It was easier to just play along than to try to explain.

He shook his head. “Well, you either need to share or you need to get your lovey-dovey out of my face, it’s getting all over me.” There was no malice behind his words, and he even winked at you as you turned to walk away.

Your walk to the lounge was quick, as you didn’t want Marcy to catch you with the flowers, though you were sure she’d find out soon enough anyway. Once you were inside and away from prying eyes, you took a moment to look for a card, and found one tucked between some of the stems.

It was a small white piece of cardstock folded in half, and inside, handwritten in black ink. ‘Thanks for last night.’

A new wave of emotion washed over you, a smile still covering your features as you remembered for a moment what it was like to have his arms around you. He’d been so warm, and smelled of gun-smoke and leather, with the remnants of a cologne you couldn’t quite place. You allowed your mind to wander for only a moment more before you tucked the flowers into your locker as gently as possible and headed back out to the floor.

The rest of the shift went by with ease and even though you were busy, the world seemed to know you were floating in air and didn’t want to bring you down. By the time you were getting ready to leave Marcy was long gone for the day, having sent a “Leaving now :P” text because you were in the middle of a draw when she left. You figured she was likely asleep, but that she’d text you later to hang out, as she always seemed to do when you both had an evening off. In the meantime, you decided a trip to the bank to finally get your debit card replaced was warranted. It was early enough that you could get there well before closing time, and if you got this figured out, you could stop using your phone to pay for groceries. Your face was covered in a smile once again as you pulled the flowers from your locker, quickly followed by your bag, and you set out to head home. The sun would still be up for a little while longer, so you didn’t activate your bracelet. You didn’t want to bother him if he was resting up after being injured, and besides, things weren’t nearly so bad in Gotham when it was still daylight out.

The walk was quick, and you dropped the flowers and your work bag off on the counter before quickly getting changed.  You grabbed the much smaller bag you used for other outings and transferred over all of the essentials: wallet, keys, pistol. You hadn’t needed it since Red started hanging around, but you still brought it everywhere. It was small, meant only to cause damage and be a distraction, and in any real-world situation, it had only ever been used to scare off would-be attackers; you’d never had to actually use it. Still, you kept up with your monthly sessions at the practice range so that if you ever needed it, your aim would be true.

The bank you were headed to was a longer distance than the walk from the hospital to your apartment, but it was certainly still doable. You stayed vigilant as ever as you made your way there, and had plenty of time to spare before closing, which you figured was for the better given how busy they were.

-

“Hey, can I talk to you about something?” Jason sent the text, nerves bubbling in his chest, though he knew if there was anyone he could trust with this, it was his brother.

Dick’s reply came back almost immediately. “Sure. I’ll be there in a few to meet with everyone before patrols. Is that fine?”

“Yeah.”

Jason was quick to get downstairs, inhaling a cold slice of pizza in the kitchen before descending into the cave to get dressed.

“Hey,” Dick announced himself so he wouldn’t startle the other man in the room. “What did you want to talk about?”

Jason was working his new shirt with the extra body armor on and struggling a bit because of his arm. It had healed quite a bit so far, but he was hoping it would be a quiet night.

“You know if you told Bruce you got hurt yesterday then you wouldn’t need to worry about this right now.” Dick was already over and helping Jason with the sleeve before his younger brother could get too frustrated with it. He knew there was no way to get Jason to open up if he was pissed, regardless of what he was pissed at.

“Yeah, whatever.” Jason brushed the comment off knowing Dick was just trying to look out for him. “I need advice on something.”

“Like something from yesterday?” He asked, finishing putting Jason’s glove on.

“Thanks, and yeah. I-” Jason’s sentence was cut off when he saw his bracelet light up. “It’s not even dark out…” He mumbled to himself as he tapped the button in return and turned the disc to view the map projection.

Dick shook his head in disbelief. “Hello? Earth to Jason.”

“No. Hang on.” He cut his brother off with a wave of his hand before turning his wrist outward to be more visible to Dick. “Do you know where this is?”

Dick Grayson looked over the small map for a moment before he answered. “I mean, I think there’s a bank over there?”

Not a moment after the sentence came out of Dick’s mouth, an alert went off on the computer. The pair heard Bruce call.

“Everyone in here. Now.”

The entire team, including those that weren’t going on patrol that night filtered into the room. Aside from the two eldest brothers, Cassandra was the only one dressed in her costume, as it was supposed to be the three of them working.

Bruce broke the silence as the younger vigilantes all looked back and forth between one another. “We just got an alert from GCPD. There’s a bank robbery, possible hostage situation, and they won’t get there in time.” He clicked a button and all of the information they had, including the address, showed up on screen.

That’s where you were. “We’ll go,” Jason stated, volunteering himself and Dick.

“Me too,” Cassandra spoke up as well. “We’re all already dressed, we can just patrol afterwards, or call if we need to switch out.”

“Fine, go.”

Bruce released the trio, and they immediately ran to the garage. Jason got on his own motorcycle, while Cassandra got on the back of Dick’s before they rode off.

“How did you know about the bank?” Jason heard his brother ask through the intercom in his helmet.

“What?”

“Your bracelet had a location indicator for the bank over a minute before we got the alert from GCPD. How?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Jason shot back.

“But-”

“Drop it.”

Cassandra watched Jason carefully from the back of Dick’s bike as the two drivers wove through traffic to get there as quickly as possible. She noticed the tension in his shoulders, normally non-existent on the way to assignments. Normally, he was more relaxed because he was getting a chance to release some of his pent-up anger in a productive way, but now he seemed more wound up than she’d seen him in a long time. When they got there, she found out why.

The boys stashed the motorcycles in an alley while Cassandra found a way in. There was a perfect window that led out to the lower roof, through which they could see the entire main lobby. The girl from the back of Jason’s motorcycle was in there.

“Hey, isn’t that your girlfriend?” She asked as soon as the boys were next to her by the window.

“Your what?” Dick questioned, head whipping toward Jason.

“We’re not talking about this right now.” The man in the red helmet only stared straight forward through the window, and he saw you pull a pistol from your bag as you crouched behind a sideways table.

“How long have you been hiding this from me?” He was whisper-yelling now.

“Couple months,” Cassandra chimed in, clearly trying to stir the pot as she adjusted her thermal sensors.

“Months?”

“Stop it.” Jason said, rolling his eyes.

“Were you ever gonna tell me?” Dick’s hand flew to his chest as though he was a victim and was not paying attention to what was happening inside like the other two were. “Was I just supposed to find out when you got married one day?”

“Relax, it is not that serious,” Jason started. He and Cassandra watched as you jumped out from behind the table and fired four shots, each landing in the hand or shoulder of a different gunman, effectively disabling them, before grabbing a child that was in harm’s way and diving back behind the table. “I think I love her.” It slipped from his mouth without a thought behind it.

Dick went quiet and Cassandra’s eyes went wide in shock as everyone, including Jason, processed what he’d just said. Cassandra’s voice is what finally brought everyone back.

“Okay guys, lock in. There's two at each set of doors and four in the lobby, and one with the branch manager in the back in front of the vault. That’s eleven total, but four are mostly useless now, so I’m saying seven. We good?”

Dick let go of his big brother attitude to fully become Nightwing and give the order to jump into action. He didn’t get a chance before he heard Jason.

“Shit, no-” Red Hood kicked in the window as he flew through it, dropping just inches in front of you where you had stood up to find the mother of the little girl from a moment ago. You hadn’t seen one of the men by the front door train his aim on you, but that’s what he was there for. Two shots landed in the armor on his shoulder blade, level with your head, just as he landed in front of you. “Hey.” He barely even flinched.

“Hi,” you said it with a smirk at his nonchalance after just being shot twice. “Glad to see you’re bulletproof today.”

“I told you I’d figure it out, didn’t I?” He followed your gaze as you watched the other two vigilantes drop in through the same opening, Nightwing rushing in to fight, and Orphan splitting off to where the manager had been dragged to the vault. Then he watched your eyes flick over his shoulder.

“Six o’clock.” Your arm shot out, brushing against his own at his side as you fired, and hit the gunman in the wrist, likely shattering the bones there. He would not be shooting again anytime soon.

Christ, you were perfect, he thought as he looked at you.

“Hey, Hood!” He heard Dick call to him, and though he knew the others would certainly have things handled, he also knew he needed to participate, stitches or not.

He remained standing in front of you for a moment before he cocked his head to the side. “I have some stuff I have to take care of.”

You snorted a laugh and smiled at him. “So go take care of it,” you said while motioning to where Nightwing was fighting two of the robbers. As soon as he turned away, you tucked your pistol into the back of your pants, knowing you wouldn’t need it anymore, and squatted down to the little girl still cowering behind the table. “Hey. Red Hood, and Nightwing, and Orphan are going to take care of us, okay? We’re gonna be okay.”

“…Okay…” She said back to you with tears in her eyes, clearly terrified.

“We’re going to stay here for right now, we’ll find your mom after it’s safe. The heroes will keep all of us safe until then.”

And they did. The only person who’d been hurt aside from the robbers was the bank’s manager, and he’d only been shot in the foot as “incentive” to open the vault. All eleven of the thugs were arrested, and the police had plenty of eyewitnesses and camera recorded evidence. They’d all be locked up after receiving medical care for their injuries.

It took the officers a while to get statements from everyone given how busy the bank had been, but you volunteered to go last, knowing you’d have company on your walk home if you waited until Red was able to leave too.

Jason watched from the roof next door as you answered questions, and the police took your statement. You seemed okay, and he was glad for it.

“Everything’s taken care of, we’re good to go.” Dick called from behind.

Jason’s response was aimed at his brother, but his gaze still hovered on you as he sat on the edge of the building. “I’m gonna stay a minute.”

Dick turned to Cassandra telling her to start patrols, and he’d be moving in a few. She nodded and cast a sideways glance at Jason before turning back to Dick, worry all over her face. She only left when he nodded again, to let her know he would take care of it. Once Cassandra was gone, the eldest Wayne sibling joined Jason on the lip of the building, feet dangling over the edge as they watched you speak with the officers.

“It was super weird you know.” He began.

Jason hardly acknowledged his brother, “What was?”

“I just watched you flirt. In the field. While we were on a job.” Each of his sentences was small, each making a point of their own. Jason was not one to flirt. He was not one to have that personality under the helmet. And he certainly wasn’t one to be distracted while working. And he knew these things as well as Dick did. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say you’re off your game.”

“I absolutely am not, I kicked ass in there!”

“Yeah, after you got shot twice.”

“Intentionally. To save someone’s life.”

Dick shook his head. “Little Wing, you did it to show off. You could have just as easily gotten her out of the way.”

“Is there a point to this?” He snapped back.

“Look, I’m not trying to make you feel shitty, I’m trying to point out that clearly you care. You care about her, and you care about how she sees you. That’s new,” Dick reasoned. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Jason nodded, taking in the words. “I’m okay. I feel better than I have in a long time actually.”

“Yeah?”

A small chuckle escaped through the modulator in his helmet. “Yeah, she’s pretty incredible.”

“You wanna tell me about her?” Dick elbowed Jason lightly, trying to goad him into it. The younger man was never the type to gush about something he enjoyed if he thought the other person might not really be listening.

Jason shook his head good-naturedly, knowing the game his older brother was playing. But he did want to talk about you, so he caved. “She reads the same kinds of books I do. She’s actually borrowing my copy of ‘Persuasion’ right now.”

“The Jane Austen novel?”

“Yes.”

“Cool,” Dick responded with a nod, relenting the conversation back to Jason.

“We talk every night on her way home from work, or rather she talks, I listen. She pretends she’s on the phone. Anyway.” He waved his hand as a dismissal of his last comment. “She calls me with the bracelet, which looks exactly the same as mine, and they have proximity indicators so once they’re on, they display a map like how you saw earlier. It’s how I let her know I’m there, even when it’s better that I’m not standing next to her, like on her walk home. She feels safer knowing I’m looking out for her.” He blushed, almost embarrassed, though he knew Dick couldn’t see it.

“She’s lucky to have you.” Dick was eager to let him keep talking about this, so he asked another question to prompt him. “What does she do for work?”

“She’s a phlebotomist at Gotham General, always wants to help people. She even made this compound with stem cells? She explained it to me, but I don’t fucking know the science. It’s a healing thing that I think she said works by copying the cells you already have to fix you faster, she’s used it on me a couple times, and-”

“So that’s who’s been patching you up. We were all curious how the hell you were recovering so fast. Did she use it on your arm?”

Jason nodded. “The stitches will come out tomorrow, which is why I didn’t want to tell Bruce. I would’ve been-”

“You would have been benched for longer.” Dick completed his sentence, nodding along. “Yeah.”

“She’s smart, and she’s kind, and she’s gorgeous…” His sentence trailed off as he contemplated. “I’m really happy when I’m with her.”

Dick’s smile was genuine, his heart warming for his brother. “Do you love her?”

Jason sighed and nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think I do.”

“And watching her shoot earlier?”

“Really sold me on it.” Both of the vigilantes on the roof laughed for a moment before coming back to the comfortable quiet that had previously surrounded the conversation.

“Does she know who you are?” Dick asked carefully. He didn’t want to scare Jason off the topic.

“No.”

“Have you thought about telling her?”

“All the time! But I have no idea where to start.” He got so quiet Dick could barely hear him. “What if I pull off the mask and she doesn’t want me once she knows who I am. What if she doesn’t want to know at all.”

Dick fell silent for a moment as he considered Jason’s words. His fears made perfect sense, but they would hold him back if he didn’t overcome them. “If you’re worried about her liking Jason, then you should meet her as Jason and see what happens.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean introduce yourself and start a conversation and let her decide how she feels about you when the mask isn’t in the picture. Then once you know, you can decide if you want to tell her or if it’s time to move on.”

Jason nodded his head and was about to respond when his bracelet lit up, and his eyes snapped down to you, walking away from the police that still surrounded the building. He looked back to Dick who had clearly also seen the glow.

“Go get your girl, Hood. I’ll cover your route.”

Jason cocked his head in disbelief. “You’d do that?”

“Just go.” Dick said, standing up and offering a hand to the other man, which wasn’t taken as Jason simply pushed off the side and fell, landing silently in the alley only a few yards behind you. The smirk on Dick’s face only grew as he watched his little brother jog a few strides to catch up to you before throwing an arm over your shoulder. He shook his head. It was clear to him his brother was over the moon.

-

You tucked into Red Hood’s side as he draped his left arm over your shoulders, grateful for the warmth he provided. “How’s your arm?” You asked.

“It’s good, it’s healing really well,” He held it up as though to show you, even though it was covered in his uniform and jacket. “I don’t think I pulled any of the stitches in that fight; I feel like it would hurt, right?”

You laughed and nodded. “Yes, it would. I didn’t want to interrupt your healing, but I knew calling for you was probably the fastest way to get help.”

“You did the right thing. I was coming out tonight anyway.”

“What?” You questioned, turning your head to look at him pointedly.

“Woah,” He recoiled a little in surprise at your tone shift. “I have to do my job, sweetheart, and besides, everything turned out fine.”

You looked down again, shaking your head defeatedly. “I wish you’d take care of yourself.”

Jason’s mood sobered immediately. “Oh. I’m sorry, I wasn’t-”

“No, I’m sorry.” You interrupted him, hands coming to your face in embarrassment. “I know that’s not fair to ask. I just meant that there’s like eight of you, so I thought you’d be able to at least take a day, but-”

“Hey, stop.” It was his turn to interrupt you, and he stopped the two of you walking so he could look at you head on. “I get it, and I hear you. I will try to do better.” He could start by actually reporting when he was injured. His heart melted when he saw your small nod, still clearly unsure. He looked around for a moment before reaching down for your hand. He knew it would make you a target if anyone saw, but there was no one around anyway. He used his grip on your palm to lead you as he started walking again and was happy to find that you threaded your fingers between his gloved ones. “Do you have other places to be tonight, or can I walk you home?”

“Home first for a while,” You responded. “Hey, how did you know I was at work today? I didn’t even get called in until after you left last night.”

He saw you there when he took Tim in for a busted nose this morning. “Lucky guess.”

You snorted, clearly not believing him. “I’m not going to ask any follow up questions, because I don’t think I want the answers. Thank you for the flowers, they’re gorgeous.”

“Sure, I’m glad you liked them.” Jason did his best to sound casual despite his heart jumping into his throat. He had been worried the color would be over the top but was happy to hear that you enjoyed them. “You said “home for a while.” Are you headed somewhere else?”

You gave a nod. “Marcy invited me out for drinks.”

“You’re going back out for drinks after being present for an armed robbery?” he questioned in disbelief.

“I think I’ve earned a drink after all that, don’t you?” You looked up at him with one eyebrow cocked in a dare for him to say something.

He could only shake his head as he relented. “You are something else.”

“I live in Gotham. If I got hung up on every time I witnessed a crime, I’d never go outside again. There are much worse things than walking out of a bank robbery unharmed.”

A hum of approval rumbled in his chest. “That I can agree with.”

“Largely thanks to you in fact,” you stated, pressing your elbow lightly into his ribs.

“Who, me?” He questioned, pushing as much innocence into his tone as he could muster. “Nah, you had it handled all on your own. Five of those guys are going to prison in casts because of you.”

A smirk of pride donned on your face for only a moment. “I almost got shot, though. The only reason I’m not in the hospital or dead right now is you. Thank you.”

“Always, sweetheart.” He gave your hand a squeeze for emphasis. “Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”

You were quiet for a moment before you summoned the courage to bring up the man that taught you to handle firearms. “My dad was big about being able to defend myself if I was ever going to live on my own. After that, practice, mostly.”

Jason nodded thoughtfully. “If there was ever a place to need it, it’s here.”

“No kidding.” You could only hope that he’d answer your next question, knowing it might have been too personal. “What about you? I can’t imagine you were born into all of this.”

“Actually,” A tightness formed in Jason’s shoulders as he considered how much he could tell you. He wanted you to know everything. “I grew up mostly on the streets here, so I sort of was born into it.”

“Oh…”

“Aw, don’t get too sad on me now.” He shook your hand where it was still wrapped in his, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m doing just fine these days.”

“You deserve better than that, I hope you know.” You leaned into him a little, putting you off balance for a few steps as you relied on him to keep you upright.

“I have it.” He rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb to reassure you as you continued to walk to your apartment.

When you approached your building, you pulled him down the alley and turned to face Red Hood without letting go of his hand, wanting to get every extra second out of this before he needed to leave. “So, I’ll see you later?”

He nodded. “I’ll be around. I still don’t think it’s a good idea to go out tonight. You should rest.”

You laughed at the irony. “You’re the one working with an injury, I’m just fine. Besides, it’s just the dive bar off 5th. We go there all the time; I will be okay.” You brought your hands up to straighten the collar of his jacket.

Jason gave a snort of disapproval, doing everything he could to ignore your hands on his chest. “If anything, I’m more worried about you now.”

“Well, then I guess it’s a good thing I can call you if something happens.” A small stretch of quiet fell over the two of you and you realized for the first time how close you were. Your hands were still on his chest, playing with the edges of his jacket. “Thanks for coming to save me.”

He huffed a laugh. “’Course. I would’ve been pissed if I got there, and the cops had let anything happen to you.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at him but didn’t stop messing with the zipper teeth in your grasp. “Stop it, Red, you’re making me blush.”

“And if I wanted to?” He stepped closer, forcing you to tilt your head farther to be able to look him in the eyes of his mask as he stared down at you and slid his left arm around your waist.

You gasped almost inaudibly, and your heart felt like it would beat out of your chest if you didn’t find a way to calm down. When you spoke, it was barely above a whisper, and you maintained eye contact with the mask. “This is the part where I’d kiss you goodnight if I could see your face.”

Fuck it. He’d take the helmet off in front of a crowd of a thousand people right now if you asked him to. But before he got the chance to say so, he felt you heave in a breath and push slightly against his chest. He gave no resistance, letting you create the space you wanted.

“Goodnight, Red.”

He felt himself let go of a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as you gave him a soft smile, almost apologetic, before you stepped out of his grasp. “Goodnight, Y/n.”

You turned to begin your walk away, but thought better of it, facing the man again for just a moment as you asked, “Do you want to come by tomorrow so I can take care of your stitches?”

“I’ll let you know when I’m on the way.”

Your smile was wide when you nodded at him before turning away, leaving the alley Jason stood in. He wouldn’t wait until tomorrow. He’d see you tonight.

-

Meeting up with Marcy was always a good time. Even on nights you hadn’t wanted to go out, you found that your friend somehow managed to supply enough social energy for the both of you, and tonight was no different. It was the same dive bar the pair of you always seemed to end up at, where the bartenders knew you, and probably overpoured most of the drinks they put out. The music was always a little too loud, the lights a little too dim, and the crowd was a constant mix of regulars talking amongst each other and bar-crawlers that had been kicked out of everywhere else.

You managed to step out of the way just as another woman’s drink sloshed over the side of her glass and splashed on the floor. “Oh!” She shrieked, eyes covered in a glitter that told you this was not her first stop of the evening. “Sorry!” She gave a short smile and a wave as she walked away.

You huffed a laugh and shook your head as you took the last couple steps up to fill the now open space in front of the bar. The floor was always sticky anyway.

“Hey! Y/n,” The bartender, Aaron, gave a wide smile as he saw you approach. “It’s been a minute, how are you?”

“I’m good, Aaron. Can I get two of the usual?” You asked, throwing two fingers up as an indicator in case he couldn’t hear.

He nodded in response. “Marcy with you?”

“Do I ever come out if she isn’t?” The two had been flirting with each other for the better part of a year, but never progressed past an occasional date or hookup. Marcy always told you it was because she’d pushed her expectations too high and didn’t want to ruin it. You knew it was because she was terrified of commitment. “You want me to send her over here for the next round?”

Aaron set the drinks down in front of you with a wink. “You’re the best.”

“And that’s why I’m your favorite!” You yelled as the music swelled.

“You’re my favorite because you tip well!” He shot back as he poured a round of shots for someone a few spaces down the bar.

You slid your card across the bar. “I had to buy your love somehow!”

You waited until you saw him pick up your card with a small salute to let you know he’d start a tab as usual for you before you walked away. Marcy had found your regular table along one of the walls, where she had a perfect view of the bar (and the man behind it) from her side of the booth.

“Hey! Took you long enough.” She took her glass from you and downed half of her drink in a gulp. “I’m going to need another in a minute.”

“Woah,” You cocked your head at her. “Everything okay?”

Marcy scoffed. “Work was atrocious last night, but you know that. And now I come out to try to relax and as soon as we get in here, I see some girl in a Coachella outfit is flirting with Aaron.” Her pout was exaggerated by her scowl when the girl who’d almost spilled her drink on you walked by.

“Flirting with the newbies gets him tips, Marce. And if you wanted to lock it down you could. You choose not to.”

“Ugh.” She finished her drink and snatched yours before you’d even gotten a sip from it. “I want you to bitch with me, not be a reasonable adult.”

You chuckled at her antics. “Okay, so she’s the worst for flirting with your man, and Aaron is the worst for… smiling at the people who pay him?”

She rolled her eyes playfully at you. “You know, not all of us can have perfect secret boyfriends. Some of us are destined to be alone for the rest of our lives.”

“Ha!” The noise escaped you before you could stop it, but you swerved the conversation away from your top-secret not-boyfriend. “Aaron would propose to you tomorrow if he thought you’d say yes.”

“Liar.” She grumbled, but the blush on her cheeks told you she likely agreed. “I’m going to go get another round.”

“You mean number three for you and my first one?”

“Shh.” She held a finger to her lips as she shushed you. “Shut up, judgy. Did you put your card down for a tab already?”

You nodded.

“M’kay.” She picked up the glasses to take back to the bar. “I’ll swap out. It’s not fair to have you pay when you need to be sober enough to get me back to your place in a couple hours.” You could only shake your head and smile at her as she walked away.

The night went much as it usually did when the two of you went out, Marcy indulging more than you, though she had thankfully slowed down some. She was drunk but would still be okay to make it to the car, and you’d only had one before realizing you’d need to drive and promptly switched to soda.

“No, because listen. I get he’s your favorite, or whatever, but Red Hood is so aggressive ya know? And I just, I don’t know… Nightwing does all those flips and stuff and he’s so pretty.”

You shook your head. This was somehow always where conversation with drunk Marcy ended up: speculation on the secret lives of Gotham’s vigilantes. “Marce, how do you know he’s pretty? They all wear masks.”

“No really, you can just tell, I swear and-” She stopped mid-sentence and did a double take toward the bar before looking back to you with wide eyes.

For a moment, worry crossed your mind as you looked at her. “What? What happened?” You asked, hushed in tone.

She tilted her head slightly toward the bar, eyes remaining as wide as they’d go. “There’s a Wayne over there.”

You squinted incredulously at her. “I’m sorry, a what?”

“A Wayne. In our little dive bar.” She looked over to the bar again slowly before her head snapped back to you. “And he’s staring.”

“Marcy, you’re staring. Knock it off.” You waited for her face to return mostly to normal before you chanced a glance in the direction of the bar. “And what do you mean he’s-” Your sentence dropped off when you made eye contact with the man you assumed she must be referring to. He was handsome; tall and wide, with a streak of white in his otherwise dark waves. And Marcy was right, he was staring. You turned slightly to ask her a question, without breaking your gaze on the man. “How do you know he’s a Wayne?”

“Didn’t I tell you they all fit the bill of “tall, dark, and handsome?” Especially the older two,” She let out a long whistle before continuing, “Besides, I saw him in the hospital this morning.”

“What?” That brought your attention back to Marcy.

“Yeah, that one’s Jason Todd, he brought one of the middle kids in this morning for a broken nose I think?” She scrunched her face as she tried to remember information that she shouldn’t be telling you.

“What’s a Wayne doing in a bar like this?” You questioned to yourself, still feeling his gaze on you.

“You’re going to go find out.”

“What? No.” You shot her down immediately.

“Babe one of us has to and it can’t be me, I can’t stand up by myself. You’re up, buttercup.” Marcy gestured toward the man very visibly with her hand as the end of her sentence got loud.

“Marcy,” You hissed through your teeth. “You’re making a scene.”

She leaned in close over the table as you reached for her hand, and her tone sounded deceptively sober when she spoke. “I will make a scene so big I will get casting calls about it if you don’t go over there. You have a boyfriend who doesn’t hang out with you in public, and a Wayne who is blatantly staring at you in the middle of a dive bar. One of those things is going to get you attention right now, and it’s not the secret one.”

“But-”

“It’s not cheating to just have a conversation and flirt,” She misread your hesitance and continued with her scheming. “You deserve to be flirted with and made to feel like you’re special because you are. And babes? A Wayne who can’t take his eyes off you is pretty damn special, so you go, or I start yelling.” She let go of you and leaned back, tipsy smile returning to her features and eyebrows raised in challenge.

“Fine.”

“Yay,” she said it in a whisper and softly clapped to herself as she watched you stand and make your way to the bar.

“Hey, Aaron?”

He slid over quickly, “Yeah?”

You smiled at him apologetically. “Can you send some fries out to Marcy please? She needs something other than liquor in her stomach right now.”

He chuckled and rang it into the register. “Sure thing. Anything else to drink?”

“Maybe water for her, but I’m okay.”

“You got it.” He gave a wink before moving on to the next person that called for his attention.

“Not drinking tonight?” A man asked right behind you, and you flinched at the proximity before whipping around.

You had to back all the way up to the bar to avoid touching the blond that loomed over you, breathing tequila into your air. “Uh, no.” Your brain ran through all of your options if this went any further, the easiest by far, would be to knee him in the groin and get Aaron to kick him out afterward.

“Aw come on, Dollface, you sure I can’t buy you just one?” He brought a hand up like he was going to touch your face. “Sometimes that’s all it takes to-” His hand was ripped away by something moving so fast you barely saw it.

“She said no.”

You turned your head and found none other than Jason Todd standing beside you, hand still clutching the man’s wrist and staring him down with venom in his eyes.

“Hey, man, if she’s your girlfriend or something,” His voice was laced with fear as he stared up at his captor. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Beat it.”

You watched as the man nodded only slightly before he was released, and he immediately fled across the room to a group noisily occupying a table in the corner.

“Are you okay?”

You looked up to find the softest green eyes you’d ever seen looking down at you full of concern. Your mind went blank for a moment as you stared before you were able to find words again. “Um, yeah, I’m okay I think.” You cocked your head a little and turned to face him. “Thanks for doing that, I really didn’t want to cause an issue for Aaron.” You gestured to the man behind the counter, still bouncing from person to person as he worked.

“I’m glad I could take care of it for you then.” He rested one elbow against the countertop and leaned into it, lessening your height difference by a couple of inches in the process. “I’m Jason.”

“I’m Y/n,” you responded. “And you’re my hero, so can I buy you a drink as a thank you?” You didn’t miss the way he barely flinched at the word “hero,” and a spark of familiarity went off in the back of your mind.

“I’m actually driving tonight, so no thank you. But I’d love to keep your attention for a while if you have the time.”

You nodded and smiled, “Sure.”

Jason’s heart leapt into his throat as it always seemed to around you when you looked into his eyes and smiled at him. Everything in him was desperate to touch you, but he knew that like this, you didn’t know him. The last thing he’d want is to scare you, especially after that creep had just tried to put his hands on you. “So, what brings you out tonight?”

“I came out with a friend,” You turned slightly to spot Marcy at your table, and she waved a French fry in greeting. You waved back and she gave a thumbs up, which you knew was visible to the man standing next to you. You heard him chuckle and turned back to face him. “Sorry about her, she’s…” You trailed off trying to think of the right word, “excited.”

“Over me?” He looked almost surprised at the notion, pressing a hand to his chest in feigned shock.

“She wanted me to find out what a Wayne was doing in a dive bar on this side of town.” You said defeated, hoping he wouldn’t be too offended by the task set out for you.

He smirked and the look brought a slight heat to your cheeks. “Oh, so you do know who I am. And here I thought I was pretty incognito, walking around in a hoodie.”

“Only because she told me.” Your hands went up in defense of yourself, but there was a sense of comfort in the conversation that you couldn’t place. It was almost like you knew him. “I had no idea what you even looked like until she said something. I don’t pay attention to the tabloids about your family, or in general.” You added the last bit with a mild look of disgust on your face. You never understood the point of stalking local celebrities just to put their breakfast sandwich of the day all over the front page.

“More of a classics reader, then?” He suggested, hoping he wasn’t pushing too far into familiar territory.

Your eyes snapped back to his, and you couldn’t help the suspicion that crept into your tone when you responded, “Yeah, actually. How did you-” Your question was cut off by someone bumping into you from behind, startling you out of your confusion. You felt another shove come as a big group of people tried to get to the front of a quickly forming line to close tabs, but you were immediately shielded from anything else as Jason switched your places. His back was now turned to the people crowding by the bar, and he’d wrapped his left arm around you to keep you close and protected. You had to look up significantly farther now to look in his eyes as his chest was almost pressed against yours. You’d been here before. A quick inhale rushed through your nose at the realization, and then you noticed the smell. A familiar mahogany cologne, though much stronger now, and leather, with just the slightest hint of gun-smoke.

Your heart was hammering in your chest and there was a lump forming in your throat as you looked at Jason and found him searching your eyes. Almost as though to encourage you, you felt small, absent-minded patterns being traced into your back and you released a breathy exhale. One of your hands found its way to his chest and rested over his heart, just as you’d done for Red Hood before, and you watched the man in front of you now relax into your touch. It was there, on the tip of your tongue, just waiting for you to ask.

“Y/n.”

The trance was shattered as your head snapped to look at Aaron, getting your attention from across the bar.

He looked genuinely apologetic, “Listen, I’m sorry to break up a moment, but Marcy is falling asleep at the table. She needs to go home.”

You nodded. “I got her.” And the man returned to his line. You turned back to Jason, who’d backed up some, and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, I,” Your breath heaved like you were going to sob as emotions you had no idea how to sort through began flooding your mind. “I have to go, I think.”

He nodded and released you the rest of the way, taking a full step back. “I get it. Go take care of your friend.” He gave you a reassuring side smile to let you know things were okay, and you were gone.

As you walked away from Jason Todd, your thoughts were sprinting and you weren’t sure you could pin down a single one of them, except that maybe you had just met Red without his mask. It was too many coincidences, right? But neither of you had said anything about it. It was him; it had to be. But if it wasn’t, then you were the biggest idiot of all time, desperate to assign a face to a name.

As Jason watched you walk away, he cursed to himself for not saying anything to you outright. You had to know, right? He was certain he’d seen it in your eyes: the realization. But more than anything he hoped that he hadn’t just ruined it all. Either way, he’d find out tomorrow.

You’d closed Marcy’s tab and collected her as quickly as possible and were now helping her stumble to the passenger seat of her car.

“You’re so nice, helping me stand, I love you.” She booped your nose with the tip of her finger just before she dropped into the seat. “Watching my feet,” she said lazily, anticipating your next words accurately. She dragged her feet away from the door as you closed it and moved to the other side of the car.

When you opened the door and turned, about to sit down behind the wheel, you noticed the bike in the front corner of the lot, up on the sidewalk. It was the same one you’d been on the back of weeks ago, you were sure of it. So that had to be him. When you were finally in the car, doors closed and key in the ignition, you took a deep breath to settle your emotions before putting the car in gear.

“Hey,” Marcy tried for your attention once the vehicle was moving. “You guys looked pretty cozy in there.” Her words were sing-songy as she turned as much as she was able under her seatbelt to face you. “Was that Secret Boyfriend?”

You were pretty fucking sure he was. “No, Marcy, of course not.”

Her bottom lip jutted out. “Bummer. You could use a sugar daddy.”

“Marcy!”

“No! Not “Marcy!”” she shouted back. “I’m drunk I get to say whatever I want and you gotta be nice to me.”

You could only shake your head at her and let the car fall back into silence so you could think. It made sense why he was so protective of his identity. Being a billionaire’s adopted son would certainly already make him a target for anyone hoping to make ransom money, but being a vigilante on top of it? Of course he couldn’t outright tell you anything. He probably swore some oath with the others that none of them could ever reveal themselves. Blatantly telling you who he was would be a huge safety risk. And he’d all but done it tonight because you asked him to. You’d crossed a line earlier. You’d told him you wanted him to take off the mask, the thing that protects his identity, and therefore his safety. And then he’d shown up to you without it.

Your heart sank into the pit of your stomach. He was putting himself in danger because of you.

-

Jason wasn’t on patrol tonight, and he knew Dick knew that, so there was no reason to lie when Dick pointedly asked, “What are you getting dressed for?”

“I’m going to get my stitches out,” Jason replied with a shrug, doing his best to conceal the nervous excitement in his chest.

“And the fact that everyone in this house, including you is capable of doing that?” Dick questioned further with his head cocked to the side.

“Irrelevant.”

The older of the two smiled. “What are you going to tell her?”

“Everything,” Jason answered without hesitation. “Or as much as she’ll let me.”

Dick nodded as he listened. “Are you nervous?”

“Extremely.” He huffed a shaky breath at the admission, knowing it was okay to talk to Dick about this, but still having trouble putting the feelings into words. “She seemed to like me okay at the bar, and I think she already knows, but there’s that voice in the back of my head telling me it’s all going to go to shit, and I just don’t see it yet.” He sat down to lace up his boots, and Dick sat beside him.

“I’m sure it’s gonna be fine, Jaybird, you just have to give it a chance.” He leaned over and wrapped an arm around the larger man in a side hug for a moment before leaving Jason alone with his thoughts.

When Jason activated his bracelet, you responded almost immediately, and it made him smile to think that you might even be excited to see him. It took only a couple of minutes to get to your apartment on his bike, and when he landed on the fire escape, he saw the window was left open a couple of inches. He squinted slightly at your disregard for safety and called out your name as he pulled the window open slowly but did not enter.

“It’s open!” He heard you call back from somewhere else in the apartment.

Jason still proceeded slowly so he wouldn’t scare you as he ducked through the window and closed it behind him. He drew the curtains shut for good measure. He didn’t need any prying eyes for this. He took notice of the vase on your counter containing the dahlias he’d sent you, and he smiled to himself at the thought that you’d taken the time to put them in water, so they’d last. He’d bring you flowers like that every week if you wanted them. It was then that you came around the corner, medical box in hand.

“Hey,” you greeted him with a smile spread on your face and Jason felt his heartbeat down to his fingertips.

“Hi,” he responded, almost breathless from nerves. “Where do you want me?”

“Couch is fine.”

He nodded and removed his jacket and gloves, placing them on the coffee table in a neat pile before he sat down in the same place he had last time he was here. There was no more pain in his arm as he moved his wrist and fingers, only a tight discomfort to having the stitches still embedded in a wound that no longer needed them.

“Are you on patrol tonight?” You asked, setting the med kit down on the coffee table before taking a seat next to him on the couch.

You took Jason’s hand when he offered it, and he immediately captured your fingers in his. “No, I’ve got time.” The two of you sat for a moment in silence, Jason tracing patterns into the base of your thumb with his own before you spoke up.

“Red?”

“Hm?” He hummed in response, but stayed lost in thought, focused on the contact.

“I can’t pull your stitches one handed.”

Jason’s head snapped back up and his eyes met yours through the mask. Your smile was sincere and almost apologetic, head tilted to the side slightly as you watched him. “Right,” he breathed the word. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I just know these have to be bothering you.” You pulled his sleeve back and found an almost completely healed cut, that would hardly leave a scar. Your chest filled with pride as you turned to get the supplies you’d need. “It looks really good.”

“Yeah, that compound is impressive,” he noted as he watched you pull on a pair of gloves. “I got caught with the stitches, and everyone’s kind of in shock about how well it’s healing.”

“Oh so “everyone” knows about me now?” You asked as you got to work on his arm. “Should I expect the rest of the vigilantes to start showing up now? I’ll need more supplies…”

“I’m not letting them anywhere near you.”

“Is that you being protective or possessive, Red?”

Jason could have sworn his heart stopped at the way you looked up at him through your eyelashes when you asked that question. He cleared his throat, happy that his mask covered the fact that his face was a matching shade of red, “Protective, obviously. It would be a huge risk to draw more attention to you. You could get hurt, and-”

“Hey, it’s okay.” A small laugh bubbled from you at his rambling. “I’m not mad, I was just trying to poke, that’s all.”

He nodded and shut up, afraid to put his foot further into his mouth. Instead, he opted to watch you work as you carefully pulled each thread from his arm, your face in a relaxed concentration, like you’d done this a thousand times. “You’re so good at that.”

You froze for a moment and swallowed hard as you felt heat press up the back of your neck at the praise. There wasn’t another part of his sentence to latch onto and ignore the compliment, so all you could do was accept it. “Thank you. It’s taken a lot of practice.”

The pair of you fell into a comfortable silence as you finished by putting a bit more of the compound over the pinpricks in his skin, and this time he didn’t fight you on it.

“You’re healing faster than I expected you to, so you might not even need to keep it wrapped for more than a day or two, and you should have your full range of motion back.” You spoke while you wrapped his arm in a bandage, doing everything you could not to be distracted by the veins cording over the muscle there.

When you let go of him and stood to clean up, Jason tested to see if you were right. He pushed up his other sleeve and moved his arms the same, watching to make sure they looked the same as he slowly rotated his wrists and bent at the elbows. He found that he did have full range of motion, and the pain was gone; all he felt was a bit of soreness. “Thank you,” He stated once you’d sat back down.

“Of course,” you responded without hesitation, “Whenever you need someone to patch you up, you know I’m-”

“No, I mean-” He huffed a sigh, trying to find the right words, and was thankful you had the patience to wait for him to figure it out. “I’ve never- I’m not- fuck,” He growled in frustration. “Just give me a second.” He forced a breath out and felt your hand press against his chest. He covered it with his own, head hung, and eyes closed beneath the mask as he held onto you like an anchor. Feelings were hard. “I care about you. More than I care about most people, and I know that that’s insane, but it’s just- You give a shit. And then you don’t expect anything in return. And you take care of me. And it’s not just when I’m hurt; I can relax around you. I let my guard down and it scares the shit out of me, but I don’t hate it.”

“Oh.” You didn’t know what to say, so you chose not to. Instead, you pulled your hand from beneath his on his chest and wrapped your arms around him. Your left arm draped around his bicep and your right guided his head over your shoulder, your fingers resting at the nape of his neck as though to play with his hair if you had access to it. When you felt him settle into your hold and return it, you released a sigh of relief. “I don’t think I could ever not care about you.” With tears in your eyes, you breathed the sentiment into the side of his head and hoped he felt it.

The idea crossed into Jason’s mind and took root on its own. He wanted to kiss you now, and he knew a way. “Do you trust me?” It was barely more than a whisper from where his head was buried in your neck.

“Always,” came with a little squeeze around his shoulders.

Jason untangled himself from you, only enough to see your face. “Close your eyes.” He watched as you looked back and forth between the lenses of his mask for just a moment before you complied and swallowed a lump in your throat. He found your wrists before you were able to pull them back, and he slowly brought your hands to the sides of his helmet. He covered each of your fingers with his own as he guided you to where the release buttons were, just behind each of his ears. He pressed your index fingers into them and when the soft click sounded, he used your hands to pull the helmet free. There was no domino mask beneath it tonight. He could see how much faster your breathing had gotten when he took the helmet from you and set it aside.

Jason watched you carefully for any sign of discomfort as he reached for your face. He first ran a thumb over your cheekbone and felt you press into the touch. He then dragged it gently over your bottom lip, and when he heard the soft gasp it drew from you, his restraint vanished. He closed the distance.

When Red Hood’s lips met yours, it felt like it was the first time you’d ever really been kissed. Your arms immediately wrapped back around him, fingers finding their way to his hair this time as you pulled him as close as you could get him. It was as though he’d had the same thought, because suddenly you were lifted by his arms, now around your waist, and placed in his lap. You refused to let the movement distract you and instead used it to get into a more comfortable position straddling his thighs. It only seemed to spur him further, and when you felt his tongue brush against your lip, you allowed him full access. You moaned slightly at the taste of him in your mouth, and you felt one of his hands crush into your hip to push you back slightly.

He continued to kiss you, but he let the pace slow so it wouldn’t escalate any further. He needed to keep control of himself if he was going to have any kind of meaningful conversation with you after this. As the kiss turned more languid and comfortable, Jason dragged his thumb back and forth over your jaw while the rest of his hand rested against the side of your neck. Finally, he thought. He’d been wanting this for months. A small smile crossed his features, and he knew you could feel it by the appreciative hum you released in response. He felt a smile on your face for a moment as well.

“Y/n,” he started between kisses.

“Hm?” Was all the response you gave as you continued to melt into him, convinced you didn’t need air anymore as long as you could keep kissing him.

He pressed one more long but chaste kiss to your lips before pressing his forehead to yours. A new wave of nerves crashed over him as he considered his next words. “You can open your eyes now.”

You wanted to. “Wait,” The only reason he was doing this was because you asked him to. It was a huge risk to his safety, and he was going to show you anyway because of you. “You don’t have to do that for me, it’s not worth the- Red?”

Jason didn’t even hear the end of your sentence as his ears began ringing. He was right before. You didn’t want to know; it was better for you if he stayed under the mask. He pulled you off him and got up, and in an instant his helmet was secured again.

“Wait, Red-” You shot up from where he’d placed you on the couch and opened your eyes to find he was pulling his gloves on as he walked toward the fire escape. Tears sprung into your eyes. This wasn’t what you wanted. “Hold on, I wasn’t- stop!” You reached for his arm and your fingers latched onto the leather of the jacket he had yet to throw back on. He froze under your grasp. “Please, I just don’t want to make things more complicated for you. I don’t want to uproot your whole life like this, it would change everything for you.”

“Oh, we’re way past that, Sweetheart.” There was a venom in his voice, and he watched you flinch at the sour use of the name. Don’t. Something in him still didn’t want to hurt you.

“What?” You questioned and Jason’s heart only broke more as he watched tears stream from your eyes as you clutched the jacket draped over his arm.

He ripped it from your grasp as he spoke. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll see you around.” He turned and ignored your pleas for him not to go as he ripped the window open and disappeared.

What the hell just happened? was your only thought after he was gone. You broke down.

Jason’s ride home was brutal as he stewed in the rejection. He should have known better than to think you’d ever want him. The Red Hood, sure, but the forgotten, useless, Wayne son? Not a fucking chance. When he got home, Jason didn’t even bother putting his suit away. He stormed through the cave, ignoring Alfred as the man attempted to ask what was wrong, and when he got back to the manner, helmet under his arm, he headed straight for his room. Dick caught him in the hallway just outside his bedroom door.

“Woah, hey! How’d it go?” He put his hands out in front of himself toward Jason in attempt to slow him, but the younger man blew past him.

“Fuck you and your stupid fucking advice about giving shit a chance!” Jason turned to scream it in his brother’s face, tears visible in his eyes, before slamming the door shut behind him.

Dick could hear the crash and clattering of what was likely Jason’s helmet colliding with whatever used to be on the top of Jason’s dresser or nightstand. “So not great then,” he said to no one but himself.

Tag list: @4rachn3, @lettucel0ver

[justcruisingaroundrevived]

Saw your yandere Pete post. Do you do yandere love letters? If so, can you do a yandere love letter from Pete?

Won’t You Be My Prom Queen?

Summary: You got the love level of the century! Ain’t that cute!

Word Count: 1.3k

TW/CW: Yandere behavior, obsessive tendencies, stalking, f slur, self harm, blood, mentions of teeth, implied female reader (though written to be GN)

A/N: This was so fun to do! I can imagine how obsessive Pete would get when writing this letter (definitely wrote it in a pinch before stuffing it into your locker)!

Reblogs are appreciated!

Ya know, I first spotted you at the video rental store. I was making away to pick up “Alien 2” when I was struck by you.

It was weird seeing a pretty face like yours in the horror section. Maybe it’s some kind of girl code that they don’t go to the “icky” section of the rental store, and even when they do, I can see the dead look in their boyfriend’s eyes as she begged him to go to the rom com section. That section is for pussies, ya hear me? It’s a testament on how girls ruined everything.

But you. You were different. Grazing your fingers on the VHS tape, your eyes actually light up as you picked it up. Looking down, I can see your “Army of Darkness” shirt right on full display!

Jesus! I don’t believe in a god, but holy shit! He sent down a bae in my direction! Even your bags, filled with horror icon pins and patches…it just made my world stop. Time slowed down, and I can feel my eyes glued to your figure. If there was a moment I wanted to be stuck in, it would be this one, sugar.

Even as you picked up the “The Stepford Wives” tape (kind of a bullshit movie to me. The chicks were hot in it though, so that’s a plus). That didn’t matter to me. You with the hook, and I was the fish.

You were about to look my way, and I ducked into another section. Maybe a woman thing, sensing when they’re being watched (can’t blame you, though, smoke show). However, I peer my head and saw a more disgusting sight than the scene than any of the “Cannibal Holocaust”.

It was your partner. More particularly, a normie! Slicked back hair, a sweater vest on, khaki pants. They looked some faggot that got off “12 Angry Men”, and not the partner of a gorgeous babe. The way he kept your hands on your hips, pulling you closer. I bet his breath smelled too fresh as he complained about the movie selection for “Date Night”. You just chuckled and talked about “Just trying to test the waters” before putting it back and walking over to the “comedy” section.

…I know that was bullshit. I saw the sparkle in your eyes, you wanted to pick up that shit! If I was in their shoes, I would’ve encouraged you to pick the movie up, and we could’ve snuggled up under the covers while we watch Ripely tore through the Alien with her blaster gun, SOME SHIT, BUT WE WOULD’VE ENJOYED OUR TIME TOGETHER! Fuck! I would’ve picked up “A Lizard in Woman’s Skin” and showed you a fun time! I can expand your horror taste; I can introduce you to my fucking collection (only fills up half a shelf, but still better than limp dick’s shelves upon shelves of the most bland chicken with white rice movies of all time!)

Gah! Got so angry, I sliced a heart in my hip when I got home. Feeling the knife dragging, my blood pooling down my skin..it was worth it. That fleshy heart tattoos reminds me of what initials would go there once I have you (maybe I left you a surprise photo under this letter).

That night, I dreamt of us. Me being a typical slasher, you the final girl. Running from corner to corner while I chase you around. It’s still clear in my head that you were wearing the tiniest shorts and a crop top; stumbling on every minor box that went into your way, while I grabbed you by the collar.

Throwing you in the pile of my victims, I can see the excitement in your eyes. Even as maggots wiggle their way around your skin, you clutched onto the rotting flesh, and I got on top. I was raining your pristine skin with the meat, but that didn’t matter to you. All that matters was you I was in front of you…

I don’t want to get into detail on what we did next, but let’s just say…it ends with you feeling satisfied.

I’m glad you go to the same high school as me, and I’m super glad that our lockers are so to each other. Seeing you opening it up the space and spotting “Suspiria” and “Birds” mini posters made my heart drop. Even with my extensive collection of horror posters, both in and out home, never seen another out and proud horror fan, especially the likes of you, babe.

You saw me this time, and you gave me a weird face. Maybe it was the look in your eyes, or the scowl that you made, but either way, it wasn’t positive. I had to be tapped in the shoulder by Jerry for fucks sake (he gave me fucking hell for looking at a girl like that. What does he care, probably just thinks about fairies and shit).

Worst of all, that faggot was with you again! GAHHHHHH! HE MAKES ME SO FUCKING ANGRY!! Why do you even date him?! He seems to be a rip off of those bimbo’s boyfriends who instantly gets killed with her; he doesn’t fit into real life. He’s a fantasy character, more fantasy than any DnD session I’ve been in. At least the elves saved the day, and not act all prissy in public (bet I saw him skip before).

Whatever, the point being he was getting in the of you. In the way of us. Watching them in class, I can tell they’re the pretentious type. The type to tell the teacher he forgot to assign extra homework (especially when the teacher’s about to explain their divorce. Ya rather do History homework than hear how he got screwed cause his latest wife opened her legs up for her yoga instructor? Pussy).

I stalked them for a couple of weeks. Man, were they Wonder Bread. Went to school, did their homework, participated in the debate team (Bill kicked me out because I was “interrupting his time to shine”) and just went home and read the fucking Bible! Couldn’t even pick a good classical book to read (one with guts and blood describe in the pages). The only value in them was when they went to the gym, and even then, it’s pussy shit. At least I lift and grunt and end up sweaty. He just does the treadmill, while lifting the heaviest dumbbells known to existence (despite being built like an anorexic Freddy Kruger).

They don’t deserve you…no one deserves you but me! I can picture us now; sitting at the premier of my new horror film. People gawking at us cause “How can a fucking loser get a smoke show them?!” Your partner is crying outside the theatre, realizing how much they just lost while we make out at the premiere. Our kissing would be so fucking hot; tongue action, Frenching, you sucking on my nose, the whole works, BABY! Even ending up with a few bite marks here or there. You’d be glowing in the aftermath, like a true final girl.

I hope you don’t mind that I started the plan early. Your partner, well, let’s just say stealing their steroids from the locker room helped speed up their process much easier. Went down like a tone of bricks. A bunch of the members were trying to life them up, but it was pointless; had to be rushed to an ambulance and into a hospital.

I also managed to snag a tooth of mine for you. I don’t need to anyway, especially when I see you wearing it on your beautiful neck. I even left some animal bones for you! Ain’t I a sweetheart? (Some are from ya favorite animals).

You might be panicking at this point, but that’s okay! I’m doing this for us! We don’t even need the successful career; all I need is you and I; holding hands in our coffin.

I love ya, my little final girl <3

[joaosnovia]

OMG we need a part 3 of the Gavi x tennis reader fic

❦ - love && war 3.

summary:: winning isn’t everything. whether it’s on or off the pitch and that’s something you’ve realised.

warnings:: none.

writers notes:: guys i wanna sob this is really basic, repetitive and idk what to do for the plot but if yg want a part 4 i can do one where he ACTUALLY attends a match bc bros suffering by hearing the match from pedris pov 💔.

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp @universefcb @nngkay @cherryloveshs

the first thing you did after leaving the court was check your phone. sweat still clung to your skin, muscles aching from the three set battle you had just fought, but none of that mattered as much as the missed notifications lighting up your screen.

pablo: been refreshing the score like crazy, how did it go?
pablo: mi amor?
pablo: please tell me you won
pablo: shit, did you lose?
pablo: call me as soon as you can, okay?

your heart sank a little as you read his texts. you hated how badly he wanted to be there, how helpless he felt watching the live score update from miles away.

you sighed, quickly typing back.

you: lost in three. close, but not enough.

he read the message almost instantly. the typing bubbles appeared, then stopped. then appeared again.

your phone rang.

you stepped away from the locker room, walking into a quieter hallway before answering.

‘cariño,’ gavi’s voice was soft, but you could hear the frustration underneath. ‘tell me what happened.’

you leaned against the wall, exhaling. ‘she just played better. i had chances, but i didn’t take them. that’s it.’

‘that’s not it,’ he muttered. ‘i know you. i know you’re beating yourself up over every point.’

you closed your eyes for a moment. he wasn’t wrong.

‘i just, i really wanted this one, pablo. and i know i played well, but at the end of the day, i lost. and that’s all anyone will remember.’

‘that’s not true,’ he said instantly. ‘you were amazing. i didn’t even have to watch the match to know that. but it pisses me off that i couldn’t watch. i should’ve been there.’

‘pablo—’

‘i mean it,’ he cut you off, frustration creeping into his voice. ‘pedri was literally sitting on his ass watching the whole thing while i was stuck playing a match i barely cared about because all i wanted to do was check my phone for updates.’

you let out a small laugh despite yourself. ‘you barely cared about a la liga match?’

‘yes,’ he huffed. ‘well, okay, maybe not barely. but you get what i mean.’

you did. you really did.

‘you have no idea how badly i wanted to see you,’ he continued. ‘at halftime, i grabbed my phone the second i got to the locker room. hansi was giving a whole speech and i wasn’t even listening, i just kept refreshing the score.’

‘pablo, oh my god.’

‘no, listen to this,’ he went on. ‘i had to hide my phone under my shirt when he started walking around because i refused to put it down. i literally thought i was gonna get subbed off for being distracted.’

you bit your lip, torn between being exasperated and incredibly touched.

‘you’re crazy.’

‘for you? yeah, i am,’ he admitted without hesitation. ‘i hate missing your matches. and i swear i’ll be at the next one, even if i have to fight hansi for it.’

you smiled, warmth spreading through your chest. ‘i appreciate the commitment, but i don’t think hansi would take too kindly to that.’

‘too bad. he’ll have to deal with it,’ gavi muttered.

there was a beat of silence before he spoke again, softer this time.

‘you know how proud i am of you, right?’

you swallowed.

‘even if you didn’t win, even if you think it wasn’t enough, you’re incredible. i hope you know that.’

your throat tightened slightly. he always knew exactly what to say.

‘thank you,’ you murmured. ‘really. that means a lot.’

‘i mean it,’ he said. ‘and when i see you, i’m gonna hug you so tight you’ll forget all about today.’

you laughed lightly. ‘looking forward to it.’

‘good. now go rest, okay? we’ll talk later.’

you nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. ‘okay. love you.’

‘love you more, mi amor.’

and just like that, the weight on your chest felt a little lighter.

[star-41306]

Reckless Driving

‘What’s his motive? Lucas has said he’s one of the good ones, right?’

Before

I didn't mean to kiss you I mean I did, but I didn't think it'd go this far

The lunchroom is packed today. Mike, Dustin and I are sitting in our usual spot in the corner, El and Max sitting at the opposite table engrossed in their own conversation. I’m helping Mike with his Spanish 3 class, asking him the prompts on the cards with my decent speaking ability, when Mike says in English, “Man, this Spanish test is gonna kick my ass.” 

Mike wallows in his self-pity, burying his head against the leftover flashcards in his hands.

“When is Spanish not kicking your ass?” Dustin comments, right when I say, “Come on Mike. It’s not that bad. Let's try again.”

Mike glares at Dustin, then with a lighter look says to me, “Okay, yeah. You’re right.” He pauses to sigh, then says, "What would I do without my favorite tutor?” Mike gives me a sincere smile. I feel redness grow on my face at his words. ‘Get it together, Will.’

“Fail?” Dustin quips with a self-satisfied look, fork in hand. It turns into a grimace as he feels Mike stomp on his shoe. “Hey! Am I wrong?” 

I tune out the rest of their bickering, sensing something. Feeling watched, I turn my head to the side. I vaguely recognize the eyes looking back at me. I glance at the rest of the people at the table, spotting Lucas next to the person staring. ‘Chance,’ It hits me.

Every Friday, Lucas sat with his basketball friends, Chance being one of them. My eyes bounce between Chance and Lucas, unable to maintain eye contact with his heavy stare. My eyebrows furrow. ‘Why is he looking at me like that?’

He abruptly looks away as one of the other Basketball players says something to him. I decide to do the same. ‘Weird.’ 

I didn't mean to kiss you Now you can't focus on the road when I'm in your car

I listen to the rest of Mike and Dustin's dispute until the bell rings. 

“Saved by the bell!” Is what Dustin ends on. As we all grab our bags and Mike packs up his study gear, I feel eyes on me again. I try to ignore them as we walk to our lockers, but it ends up a difficult feat when I hear the recognizable voice of Lucas behind us. 

“Yeah dude, I’m not sure. Christian Academy has definitely gotten better over the years. I’m kinda freaked for this upcoming game.” Chance nods in reply.

The two of them catch up as we make it to our destination. Chance leans his side against the wall, waiting for something.

“Hey guys.” Lucas acknowledges, turning the pad of the lock on his locker.

“Hey man.” Mike responds, fiddling with his own lock.

I would give a comment back, but I’m struck by the same eyes from earlier still staring. Goosebumps raise on my neck. ‘Creepy.’ I think, opening up my locker to grab a canvas and some other things for my upcoming art class.

Now we're going 100 Your hands aren't on the wheel 'Cause you're just staring at me like you're not convinced that I am real

 I’m spun up in my thoughts when Mike's soothing voice hits my ears. “Hey, Will. I’ll see you later, okay?” I glance at Mike's slightly concerned look and give him a reassuring one. “See you later,” I wave goodbye.

I hear the rest of them make their exits. I’m stuck juggling all my supplies, when a note appears on the shelf in front of my face. I turn my head to the culprit, seeing him walk away after shooting me a discreet wink. ‘Okay, that's Really Weird.’ My curiosity gets the best of me. I set my stuff back down with a sigh, reading the note with wide eyes.

Byers,

Meet me after school 

Picnic table behind the school at 2:30

-Chance

I go through the rest of the day slightly paranoid. ‘Why the hell does he want to meet up with me?’ I ask myself during final period. I thought back to the last few years. After Lucas made it with the popular kids and I came back with a sweet tan and cool stories from California, the bullying dialed down by a lot. Yeah, there are still lingering rumors, but I haven't been pushed or shoved in maybe 2 years. ‘What’s his motive? Lucas has said he’s one of the good ones, right?’

Once the last bell of the day rings, I’ve made my decision. ‘Really, what’s the worst that could happen?’ I walk out of the building, backpack on, picking the paint flakes left on my nails from earlier. ‘That one’s gonna stain,’ I think.

I grab my bike and guide it through the grass, then find the trail that leads to the Picnic table. Nervously staring at the ground, I prepare myself for what's to come. ‘Here goes nothing I guess.’ 

As I trek down the path, I spot the table in the clearing. ‘Empty.’

I prop up my bike on a tree and then check my watch. ‘2:30’ it says. ‘I guess i’ll wait’

It’s 2:35 when I hear the rustling of a bush.

“Byers, you showed,” Chance says casually, hands shoved in his lettermen's' pockets

“Uh. Yeah. What is this about?” I try to respond the same, but I’m unable to hide my nervous energy.

“Nothing much. I just have a favor to ask.” ‘Favor?’ 

“What kind of favor? Do you need, like, a tutor or something?” I think back to mike because ‘When am I not.’ 

He chuckles, shaking his head “uh, no, nothing like that.” He’s playful in his reply. I grow more confused. Picking at the paint again, I finally get out, “Then.. What is it?”

There's a pause, then a breath, and then Chance says something I’d never expected.

“I just wanted to see if the rumors were true” I feel the blood leave my face. We are enveloped in silence; the only sound is the wind swaying the trees.

Wanting to escape the silence, I say, “What?” quite enough I’m afraid he can’t hear me.

“The rumors. Are they true?” He appears careless, but I can tell from his surveying that he’s just as nervous as I am.

“I don’t know what you're talking about,” Is what I say, Even if I definitely do. 

“You’re gay, right? Look man, I won't tell anyone.” Chance still looks around nervously, then, “I’m kind of... In the same boat.”

“You’re, you’re what?” The blood comes back to my face. ‘What did he just say?’

“That's what this is about. I figured if anybody, you at least, might understand.” He looks at the ground, ashamed.

“Oh,”

“Yeah.”

Silence. Very awkward silence. I decide to be the one to break it.

“So, the favor... What. what do you mean?” I grow nervous again. Chance makes me uneasy even with the reveal. A favor could mean a lot of things.

“I was thinking. Maybe you would want to, I don't know, come over or something. My parents shouldn’t be home for a couple hours. Nobody would find out,”

‘I’m going insane. Some sort of wizard must have cast a spell on me, and this is some kind of fucked up vision.’

“Look. I know this is weird. But I figured you might be up for it. Y'know, being one of the only rumored queers in town. It’s not like you try to hide it” Okay, I should say no, especially with that last comment. But then he says,

“Just think about it. When's the next time you'll get some action like this?” And he has a point. Before today, I had felt completely alone. The only gay guy in Hawkins. 

And now we're at 180 And I can finally see But then it's over in a second, crashed the car into the tree

I’m desperately trying to get over Mike. Maybe this is my chance. ‘Ha. Chance.’ 

After much debating, I say, “Okay.” If Chance is surprised, he doesn’t show it. 

“Okay.” He looks at me with that weird stare again. ‘Maybe this is a mistake. I mean, I still don’t know what he wants from me besides coming over.’

“Just kissing, alright? I’m not. I don’t want to do anything else.” Chance looks surprised by that, not expecting me to say his motives out loud.

“Yeah, sure. We can just make out.”

“Cool”

“Uh huh. Yeah. Just,” Chance looks over to the bike “Bike over in about 30. Leave it on the side of the house behind the bushes. I don’t want anyone to see.”

“Sure.”

Yeah, I can see it all happen You'd rather die than take your eyes off me

“Okay,” Chance walks up to me, looks around paranoid, then grabs my face quick. I have no time to think before his lips hit mine. My eyes are left open in shock. ‘My first kiss.’

“I’ll see you, yeah?” He backs up, looking sheepish. He hands me a paper from his pocket with his address and a short description of his house. I’m stunned but manage to get out a short, “Yeah.”  

He leaves quickly through the bushes, and I’m left with my sentiments. ‘What just happened?’

I stand there for I don’t know how long. I realize I need to get going before I lose precious time. I look at the address one more time before grabbing my bike and heading to his house. On the way, my internal monologue is a mess. 

‘What if someone finds out? Bad idea. This is a BAD IDEA. Do I even like Chance like that? I don’t even know the guy all that much. I mean, he is attractive. With his dark hair, tan skin, and lean muscles. Okay, definitely attractive. But Mike… What the hell do you mean, ‘but mike,’? You are trying to GET OVER HIM. There is no way he likes you like that. I mean, he dated El freshman year! He’s straight as an arrow,'

‘Finally.' 

I see his house standing tall in the middle of the neighborhood. It towers over me as I approach. I slip off of my bike and quickly tuck it in the bushes next to the house. I make a brisk walk to the front door, ringing once and glancing around at the rest of the houses.

I don't love you like that I'm a careful driver And I tell you all the time to keep your eyes on the road But you love me like that You're a reckless driver And one day it'll kill us if I don't let go

Chance answers, pulling me in fast, and glances around in the same manner. Then he closes the door and locks us in. 

“Hey Byers. Long time no see.” He shoots me a wink.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” I give a small laugh. He chuckles back.

“Alright, this way.”

---

AN: This is officially pt.0!! The rest will be moving forward. Thank you!! If you would like to be tagged for future uploads, please comment!

Tags: @udkmehahaha @ode-to-berlermo

(pt.1) (pt.2)

[hotchipsauce]

psst pspspsps u should totally talk about grebbymints more ... i am enabling u......

AAAAAA bro….. my dude…. the thing is i always feel crazy talking about them together bc i think like they’ve only publicly interacted like 3 times? LOL (i have watched and documented every interview minty and grebby has appeared in for the leafs/marlies. it’s so bad. me being sick has actually helped me not be as weird about it since i had less screen time in general)

but even then me and @tufzy just constructed this whole separate reality in our heads for months about how like they prob got closer after getting called up and minty is the only familiar guy for grebby there due to being on the marlies together + no russian player on the leafs to fall back on for help so grebby is just sticking to minty’s side the whole time, and minty even tho he’s a lil popular with the leaf boys he still is looking out for his linemate. even when they get sent down they’re still drawn to each other out of habit. but i’m always like second guessing like wow this is pure delusion like maybe they don’t even fuck with each other like that it’s just coworker friendliness this rpf shit is truly a disease fr fr 🙏

and then the videos started dropping. they’re goofing off and pushing each other around during sewer ball. and then i see a single frame of minty next to grebs during the one rare tiktok that he shows up in. and the delusion starts anew

[asgardtotrenzalore]

*stares at my mom not getting her two CLEARLY neurodivergent kids diagnosed when they were in school*

Not telling your kid they have a learning disability, chronic illness, mental illness etc. so they can “feel normal” actually does the opposite. They will not feel normal if they do not have the context to understand that their normal will be different from that of their peers.

[tonycries]

The Way You Kiss Me - G.S.

Synopsis. The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Suguru’s sister! reader, childhood enemies to lovers, PINING Satoru, like really really disgustingly down bad, creampíe, oral (fem receiving), pússytalking, needy JEALOUS! Satoru, running away from it, spítting, punching is Suguru’s love language, mentions of aIcohol, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 7.4k (That’s wild)

A/N. BOO! Surprise upload. This was so fun to write omg.

“You sure this is how the grown-ups get married?”

“Duh, I know everything.”

“Nuh uh, Toru.”

“Yuh uh!”

The first time Gojo Satoru kissed you was underneath that dingy playground slide that the two of you always raced to after elementary school. 

Usually, your older brother, Suguru, would walk home alongside you two - but this time, he’d just so happened to have been held back for throwing paper planes at the teacher that day.

A sign from the universe, Satoru internally celebrated, something he’d learned from those sappy romance novels his mother left lying around the house. No matter that he was the one that made those planes.

You were six back then, standing in front of a determined Satoru - reaching up on his tip-toes, face pink, smelling of those cheap strawberry lollipops he’d sneak into class and taunt you with. At the much older and wiser age of seven, he’d insisted on being the first one to lean in.

Just barely even grazing your dramatically puckered lips before-

Satoru learned two things that fateful afternoon:

Even as a seven-year-old, Suguru’s punches really hurt. 

Never mess with you. Anyone but you. 

Life only seemed to go downhill from there - because that last lesson was proving to be hard along the years. Really. Fucking. Hard.

Little did Satoru know that this would be the start of some strange, unpredictable little dance of push and pull. No, you definitely weren’t his wife. Nor were you exactly best friends - not really, that spot was reserved for your brother. But you didn’t think you could ever be just that either.

And the punch that’d knocked his wobbly tooth out onto the playground floor that day was a painful reminder that whatever that was - whatever weird thoughts he had later in middle school about how you’d tasted like candy - didn’t matter. No matter how part some tucked-away little part of him wanted it to.

Hell, eleven years later and Satoru still can’t walk around that familiar block without feeling slightly queasy. Which is why, after that failed first kiss, he knew there wouldn’t be a second. 

Instead, he settles back to teasing your pouty self, pushing all your buttons, tugging on those cute dresses you wore. Face burning so strangely with- humiliation? when you bickered right back, calling his haircut a “tragic attempt at modern art.”

“So you’re saying I look like art?” A gangly, now-seventeen Satoru blocks the bustling high school hallway, ignoring the bell. Grin only growing at your frustrated huff, he half-jokes, “Aww, if you’re that soft on me, sweetheart, maybe we should go to prom tog-”

You slam your locker, effectively shutting both it and Satoru at the same time. “I’d rather go with Yaga.”

“...you would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would- Sugu–!”

And all Suguru can do is wrap two hands around his neck, mock-choking himself, wondering if it was really too late to embrace a quiet life as a monk. “You’ll both be MLA cited in my farewell note.”

He was used to it, though, forced to watch all this chaos since quickly mending his friendship with Satoru over ice cream the day after the punch. Convinced that this was some punishment for a past life’s misdeed.

With a squawk of protest, Satoru’s turning back to you, eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief you knew too well, “Would not.”

Your face burns, “Would to, Toru.”

You didn’t go with Yaga. but Satoru didn’t exactly count that as a win in his books, either, because you did show up that night hanging off the arm of some jerk from the football team. 

And there you were, all dolled up - which he very objectively noted - way too prettily for some bastard like him. Stars in your eyes, and everything he couldn’t have in that smile. 

Everything. 

Way too gorgeous, even when he finds you sitting outside the gymnasium later on in the night. Too busy bawling your mascara off to even throw out your usual greeting insult his way. Murmuring out wetly about “that asshole” and how he humiliated you by stranding you in the middle of the dance floor for someone else. 

“Well, he was a jerk anyway. Even Yaga would’ve been better, hell, I-” Satoru stops short to his horror at the way you only cry harder.

Way too irresistible, especially as his body moves before his mind - holding out an open hand before he knows it. “I’m a much better dancer than him and you.” And oh Satoru will forever remember the way his heart lurches as you blink your teary eyes up in confusion, “Well, aren’t ya gonna take up the challenge?”

Weirdly, it wasn’t weird at all. 

If anything, you had to hold back your laughter the entire time at the way the great “campus sweetheart” Gojo Satoru was so on edge.

Just a friend comforting a friend, right?

So why was he avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, summer blue eyes pointedly trained right over your head. That pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks reflecting the hands hovering in midair over your waist. So close - and yet, fear in each and every turn and swirl.

Yours were searing into his broad shoulders as you tried to guide him to the muffled music from inside. And shit.

That night ended with a second kiss. 

You don’t know who leaned in first, just that Satoru’s soft lips were just fleeting on your glossy ones - barely even a touch. And that shit shit shit- this was Satoru. This was you. 

Everything. 

But it seems that every time Satoru was about to kiss you dangerously close to the way some tiny, forbidden part of his heart wanted to - the universe throws an obstacle at him. An obstacle that was six feet and named “Suguru”, currently running at break-neck speed out of the gym.

“MOVE YOUR ASSES!” he cackles, “THE FOOTBALL TEAM ISN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT ME BREAKING THEIR STAR PLAYER’S NOSE.”

And not a word is uttered about the kiss as the three of you speed out of the school parking lot in Suguru’s busted-up black hellcat, the wind mussing up the hairstyle that took Satoru over two hours to perfect. Sneaking in glances at the sight of you singing along at the top of your lungs to some overplayed pop song on the radio. 

He learns another two things that night:

Apparently, Suguru’s right hook still really fucking hurt. And thank god for tonight’s casualties of noses, because it was a wonder that he didn’t look too hard at how close Satoru was with you. 

He didn’t…dislike the feeling of your lips on his. And judging by the way you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror - you didn���t either.

It’s mainly that last one that makes him gulp.

Neither of you remember the third kiss - though, Satoru’s sure that at least 80% of Shoko’s instagram followers did.

According to a very hungover Shoko, and the many, many forms of documentation, it had happened on the New Year’s eve during your third year in university. In which you were much more used to the raging parties that would be hosted at Suguru’s apartment, and only slightly less intimidated by them.

“And you’re a lightweight too, dumbass. You were gone.” Shoko sighs from across the café table, eye bags deeper than the last time he’d seen her. “Like gone gone.”

God, what a way to start the year.

Satoru bites back a remark about how “gone” Shoko herself had been. Sitting up straight in his seat, regret immediately hitting his senses faster than the guilty throbbing at his temples. He winces, managing out a semi-disbelieving groan of, “Gone gone?”

And she’s only nodding wearily, subconsciously tapping out the rest of her cigarette ashes onto his untouched plate of sweet pastries. 

“I’m talking dancing on expensive coffee tables and fighting to stop you from giving everyone there a strip show.” She cracks a smirk through a waft of smoke, “Though, she would’ve loved that I’m sure.”

“Har har har, you’d make even Nanami laugh with that one.”

“Eugh, gross.” Shoko taps through her phone briefly, swirling it around to show Satoru a few pictures that definitely gave him a mini-heart attack at 8:57 in the morning. “You look like you’re about to pen really bad poetry.”

And perhaps this was Shoko’s plan all along - to shock Satoru to the core hard enough that she can note it down as one of her sketchy psychological experiments. 

But he knew. Could feel it in the hazy fragments of memories - or, at the very least, in that entire highlight that Nanamin had oh-so-conveniently put up on Instagram titled, “Blackmail.”

You knew. 

You’d kissed him back. 

“I don’t have a-.” you slur, stumbling ever-so-slightly as you try to meet Satoru’s glassy eyes. Because shit the years have had him shooting up faster than you could look up. “-a New Year’s kiss, y’know.”

You were older - more gorgeous, if that was even possible now. That tight dress hugging your body so unfairly in a way that had him forgetting you were his best friend’s sister. 

The one person in this whole world that he couldn’t have.

But Satoru leans in closer, more because he wants to than anything - he could pick out your voice anywhere let alone over the thumping music currently filling his crowded living room. Lips loose as he tries to play up the cool-guy facade he’s been dubbed with since freshman year, “Hah, loser. Because I do.”

“Where?”

At this, Satoru is stumped - damn, you were good. 

“Not- uh here?” If he was in any clearer state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracks so traitorously as your unsteady hands pull him in closer by his overpriced button-up. 

Your body was flush against his now, so addictive. Gaze half-lidded and flickering between the sliver of milky skin exposed on his chest - from that impromptu striptease he’d almost started earlier - and the blue eyes that were currently locked you. You whisper a strained, “Liar.”

Close - too close. So dangerously close.

He breathes out against your lips, the smell of booze and you so heady in his mind. And the heavy words falling from his lips sound like lies, even to him. “Not.”

“Toru?” you hum, a sound that has him gasping. “Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And there went your New Year’s kisses. At exactly 11:37PM, if the photos were anything to go by. 

And holy shit were there many. All of which showed your arms looped around Satoru’s neck, crashing his lips to yours. His own, resting against your waist, a scandalously red blush - whether from the alcohol or you - adorning his cheeks. Looking more blissed out than he ever remembers feeling. 

“I’m a dead man, Shoko.” 

There’s a lengthy silence, leaving Satoru stewing in thoughts of how Suguru would react once he finds out. And whether or not he’d be able to rise from the dead just to see how pretty you’d look at his funeral.

Morbid thoughts broken only by Shoko’s cough, “Hey, can I keep your eyes for experimentation if he actually catches you?”

Subtly, he sends himself those photos from last night.  

Luckily for Satoru’s eyes, they never ended up being donated towards Shoko’s questionable contributions to the world of medicine. 

And by some grace of the gods above, Suguru never mentioned a word about the kiss that would’ve inevitably made its way to him. Or maybe it was because Satoru stole his phone until he managed to pester Nanami just enough to take down that highlight. But, semantics. 

His heart, however, might as well have been part of some experiment.

Because it’s been working overdrive since that night - mind reliving that moment over and over and over and- shit, he’s fucked. So, so fucked. 

Fucked enough that it took Satoru months just to muster up to even look in your pretty eyes once more, unless he wanted to get lost in them forever. Fucked enough that he dared to wonder again and again when there might be a fourth kiss - if there would be a fourth kiss. 

He just never thought it would happen the way it did - with you, standing outside his front door. 

“I’m sorry, Toru.” you mumble, “It’s just- I think we both need to grow up.”

You’ve freshly graduated now, looking more and more irresistible each time he sees you - even when you’re looking at him like that. 

Rolling his eyes, “Ha, is this another way of saying you want my secret to getting taller? Because the first thing is to-”

“I’m serious, Satoru.”

And oh how he wished you’d say something - anything - else right now. Call him anything but that. Maybe even throw an insult his way, tell him those new sunglasses look ugly, or about how you got that internship he would’ve died for. 

Satoru manages to choke out a heavy, “I don’t understand.” But that uncomfortable coil of something curling at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. And it causes him to finally breathe out a hesitant, “Maybe you’re right.”

As if that was all the answer you needed, you’re stepping out of the front door. Slow, and deliberate like you were giving him another chance - a thousand more. Sighing out a defeated, “It’s been years.” It has. “And we’re just running in circles.” You have. “I’m starting to think this is just some game to you.” It wasn’t.

“Wait!” he grasps your hand - soft. The look in your eyes even softer as you turn around to face his desperate face. “Please, sweetheart.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what words he wants to say - let alone whether they’d come out of his heavy mouth. 

So, instead, he’s crashing them into yours. 

Brief. Fleeting. Like each one before this. Too addictive, too short, that he thinks he’s almost imagining it as you pull away gently, until he sees that look in your eyes. 

“Toru, I have a date.”

The fourth kiss.

Satoru’s letting go of you like it burned - and, truly, it felt like some deep, dark part of him was burning down right now. “Great.” That should be hm that should be him that should be- “I’m…happy for you.”

And the last.

He fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

That first date turned into a second. The second into a third. And unfortunately for Gojo, eventually, you were nearing your one-year anniversary with that asshat you’d met during the early days of your internship. 

He’d seen the man himself once, briefly at another one of Suguru’s famous parties. Ducking out of sight before he could be introduced, yet long enough to know that he wasn’t as tall, or as handsome, or as absolutely fucking hilarious. 

What did he have that Satoru didn’t? 

The answer to that, Satoru’s reminded of every time he’s causing ruckus over at Suguru’s apartment, and sees you walking out of your room, tittering on the phone to none other than your boyfriend. So gorgeous. So not his. 

You, that loser had you.

“If you sigh again I swear I’m shoving this popcorn up your a-”

“It’s a sad movie, Suguru!” he defends, draped across your couch at another one of those movie nights you loved to organize. As usual, there was the popcorn, the god-awful movie (if Satoru picks it), and the arguments. The only thing missing, however, was you. Ugh, something about an “anniversary” and a “seafood date”. Seriously, it’s not like you even enjoyed that new seafood restaurant in town, and he’s sure that bastard didn’t know-

“Satoru.” his best friend’s deadpan voice cuts through his little reverie. “We’re watching Mean Girls.”

And he’s barely even opening his mouth to snark back before-

SLAM!

Suguru pauses the movie almost immediately, turning to the direction of the front door. “Uh oh.” 

And lo and behold - there was you in all your pissed off, beautiful glory. Throwing your keys on the table, your fiery glare passes over the two men as you stomp to your bedroom. 

“Seafood wasn’t that good, sweetheart?” Satoru calls out behind you, eyes sweeping down your figure. Heart stuttering in his chest when you turn around with your fists clenched, lower lip wobbling in a way that Satoru would both kill whoever made you feel this way and die to be on the other side of those daggers in your eye. 

Sniffing out an icy, “Fuck off, loser and loserette.”

Then in a whirlwind of rage, you’re gone - your bedroom door slamming only slightly more gently than you’d done with the front door. Leaving a deafening silence, and Satoru whining, “Why am I the loserette?”

“Deserved.” Suguru shrugs. Warily eyeing your door, as if it was about to pounce at any given second, “Let her cool down before you give her an aneurysm at least.” Unpausing the television, propping his feet back up, “S’enough having to deal with you on top of a boyfriend like that.”

And that has Satoru perking up in interest - both figuratively, and literally as he snatches the remote and pauses the movie. “Wait wait wait what-” Holding it way out of Suguru’s reach, “What do you mean a ‘boyfriend like that’?”

Scoffing, “Funny. Now give me back the remote.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two.

Only then does it dawn on Suguru that this might just not be some strange prank to stroke Satoru’s ego, and he was actually  more serious than he’d ever seen him. Damn. 

“Bro, have you really never met the guy or something? He’s a complete tool. I don’t know what happened, but this breakup was a long time coming.”

Satoru blinks, feeling a red hot surge of anger. “What? Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“You think I didn’t try?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair at the other’s uncharacteristic silence. “Hah, and just imagine, the man was talking about marriage, too. As if.”

And suddenly, Satoru’s hit with an image of you walking down the aisle. Not something he was a stranger to, but it still takes him aback. The sway of the fabric beneath his fingers, your lips against his. Hell, in that split-second he even dreams up how Nanamin would be crying very reluctant tears of joy. 

Everything. Everything that wasn’t his.

His fist tightens around the remote, until he could hear the cracking of plastic. Mind whirling with the thought of you and him and you. How he wished it was him and you. “I would’ve been better.”

Oh. 

Shit. 

“I- fuck this. Suguru, since elementary school I…”

And, well, Satoru’s so busy putting that extra physics seminar he took in university to work - trying to calculate the odds of surviving a jump out of this seven-storey window - that he almost misses Suguru’s low hum, a distant, almost barely-audible little interruption, “Well duh.”

“Hold on.” he’s snatching away the remote that had somehow slithered its way into the other’s hands once again. Ignoring his best friend’s croak of protests to pause in the middle of Regina George being hit by the bus - which, he felt was strangely enviable right now. “That was- what? YOU KNOW?”

“Huh? Even my parents know, the only one that doesn’t is her.”

“...”

Satoru didn’t know how Suguru seemed so calm, but he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. Heart stuttering in his chest as he sideglances at your firmly shut door - like he was just waiting for you to jump out and tell him this was some elaborate prank. 

Begging for you to come - it would’ve hurt less.

But you don’t.

Fuck. 

And the only response he gets is a low whistle, before a phone is being shoved in his face - flashlight illuminating that crimson blush. “Damn, the great Gojo Satoru speechless? The groupchat is gonna love this, might even send it to my sister, y’know.” 

He didn’t care - didn’t give a shit if this video made rounds to Gakuganji himself. Only one thought racing through his mind right now. 

“But why aren’t you punching me like in elementary school?” 

And Satoru knows he’s smart - intelligent even. Hell, he was the valedictorian, the youngest employee to claw their way up to being on the board of directors. But he’s never felt more stupid when Suguru breathes out a bewildered, “Dude. That was for blaming me for the paper planes.” 

“Oh.”

Then the movie is unpaused. 

---

The last time you kissed Gojo Satoru was at the doorstep to that overpriced penthouse of his, exactly a year ago today. 

The last time you saw Gojo Satoru was just a few hours ago, lounging around your living room like he owned it. Honestly, he might as well have been part of the furniture at this point - like some expensive, fluffy couch. One that prattled on about your “dumbass boyfriend” and god-knows-what else to rile you up just for the fun of it.

Which is why it was odd to step out of your bedroom - eyes just a bit puffy, throat still tight - to a suspiciously quiet hallway. 

The lights were turned off, nothing but the pouring rain sounding from outside, television paused on some rerun of The Princess Diaries. Damn, you told those idiots not to start that one without you.

“Sugu?” you call, finding his bedroom empty. “Thought tonight was movie night?” Padding across the empty apartment, contemplating whether or not to get your phone and call him when-

Ding!

Ah, there. 

You roll your eyes as you head towards the front door, ready to give Suguru a piece of his mind for going out at this ungodly hour and forgetting his key. Seriously, what if you opened the door and he was hurt, or worse, or…

Satoru. 

Speaking a mile a minute.

Satoru.

“-florist was closed and the store clerk looked at me like I was crazy but I got this for-” he pauses abruptly, as if realizing something with a jolt. “-you.”

“You- what-” you don’t know where to look - at the drenched, disheveled Satoru filling your doorframe - rain in his hair, curtaining his frantic eyes, drenching his snug t-shirt. Or at the obscenely large bouquet of cheap strawberry lollipops being placed gently into your arms. 

What follows was an electric silence - and you have half the mind to tease Satoru for finally shutting the fuck up for once in his life. 

But, no. Instead, you eye the way he stands stubbornly at the doorway, fists clenched, blue eyes locked so intensely on yours that it was like they burned. 

Face flushed a familiar pretty pink that makes you realize that shit, he might be taller, voice deeper, broad shoulders tight against his t-shirt - but this was still the same boy that cried when you stole his favorite Digimon card in middle school. The same one that kissed you underneath a dingy slide, smelling of strawberry lollipops.

It’s the steady tap! tap! tap! of the water droplets from his hair that have you tearing your traitorous eyes from his see-through white t-shirt.

Guess you’ve both done some growing up since then.

“You loser.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

The pink wrapping of the bouquet rustles as your grip tightens. “He proposed to me today, y’know.” and yet, your quiet, even voice was the only thing ringing in Satoru’s ears. He jolts, as if some visceral, primal part of himself had been poked awake. Breathing heavy, fists clenching until he could feel the neat indents of his fingernails on his palm. Of course. He’s late. He’s late he’s late he’s late-

That is, until you’re plowing on, “I said no.”

“Huh?”

You think back to the stuffy restaurant, the man sitting from across from you - how wrong it felt. And all it took were those four words for you to realize that. “I said no.” 

Satoru snaps his head up, stepping close - so close. Voice strained like he wasn’t asking - begging. Praying, “Why?”

“We…” you raise a brow at the way Satoru flinches as you trail off. So desperate. A smirk makes its way onto your face, “...we haven’t divorced yet, right?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you. 

Fuck, you don’t know - nor do you really care right now. Not when Satoru’s got his lips crashing against yours for the fifth time in your life, kissing you like it would be the last. Big arms dipping down to your waist, pulling you so tight against his muscled frame that he had half the mind to wonder whether it hurt. 

“Love this. Love the way you kiss me- fuck-” he’s spitting against your lips, kicking the door shut behind him. “Oh- would ya get mad if I-” he tries to get out through kisses. Only to suck on your pretty lips with a pained grunt. “If I-” Again and again, like it killed him to part. “-hah- celebrated right now?”

“Yes.” You’re letting the bouquet fall to the foor, white-knuckling that useless, drenched excuse of a shirt. “Now kiss me properly, Toru.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Such a sloppy mix of teeth and hands and him. Shoving a knee between your legs, making up for years and years of late nights with nothing but his fist and the pretty thought of you. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.” Satoru breathes out, as your urgent fingers that dispose of his shirt, feeling the gorgeous dips and curves of years of hard work to impress you. “Suck on m’tongue pretty- fuck-” His own fisting your shirt, pulling. Ripping.

“Toru!”

“I want you.” He’s letting the poor, tattered pieces drop in a pile on the floor, trailing a hand between your damp thighs before he can stop himself. “Oh how I’ve wanted you. And I don’t care if I have to buy fifty new outfits to make up for it.”

And it’s the feeling of his long index stroking up your sopping slit through your shorts that has you pulling away with a gasp. Delicate little strings of saliva snapping from Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips. “If we continue like this…” your voice wavers as he presses hot kisses along your collarbone. “-my brother’s gonna walk in.”

“...wouldn’t wanna relive that playground kiss, huh?”

It’s all he says before picking you up so easily, hands resting on your ass. Giving a playful spank ass you wrap your legs around his toned waist. 

And it’s sloppy.

Both his lips still hotly on yours and the way he’s stumbling urgently to your room through pure muscle memory. Pulling away only when you’re all splayed out so prettily for him on your mattress.

“Blue?” he breathes, pulling your shorts off. And it comes out strained - like the very sight of your panties - all soaked and flimsy with your slick - has whatever’s remaining of Satoru’s sanity flying out the window. “Blue? Oh, you’ve gotta have planned this, you little minx.” his hot breath hits your cunt as he shifts down the bed, tongue drawing languid, wet little circles on your inner thigh. “Because don’t tell me this was all for him?”

It was coincidence - or maybe fate - but that doesn’t stop you from giving Satoru a slow, teasing nod. Muttering out, “So what if it was?”

The only answer you get is thumb hooked around your shorts, pulling it just enough so that your brother’s best friend can spy your pretty pussy.

“Well then.” he chuckles at the way you jump when his fingertip just barely grazes your clit. “Guess I jus’ hafta prove m’better.”

A low groan is falling from his lips as soon as they meet your puffy ones, giving your pretty clit a chaste peck. Lingering long enough that he’s sure your sweet sweet juices cover his mouth.

And oh Satoru’s sure he’ll never forget the way your jaw falls slack, glassy eyes following his every move as he runs his tongue along his glossy lips. Savoring your candied taste, “Never kissed you like this before, huh?” 

Fuck, you’re sweeter than he’s imagined.

You whine desperately, something that has him smirking smugly, “Hah, what? Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re better when you shut up.” It’s all you can do to buck your hips into Satoru’s pretty face - not that you had to, because one taste of your dripping cunt and he was addicted. Surging forwards until he was nose-deep, locking your ankles around his head with a firm yank.

And you can’t lie - maybe you’ve imagined this exact scene a few times before on those lonely nights. But you just never expected Satoru to be so depraved. Desperate.

“Ngh- fuck, Toru-” you reach a hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging his face up. But Satoru doesn’t stop - not even for a second. Tongue still dipping to spread your swollen folds with his tongue, looking you right in the eyes as he murmurs a strangled, “Mhm?” 

“Thought you were gonna prove you’re better, hm?”

So goading. So like you. 

At this, Satoru pulls back ever-so-slightly to laugh - laugh. His plump, glistening lips curling into a humorless little grin, “Oh I will.” Thumb circling your throbbing clit. Just dragging your twitching body across the silky sheets close to his, one hand pinning your hips down. Hard. “I will.”

Loving his new favorite place between your legs one hand toys with your clit, quick, messy little patterns. Tongue even more so. 

“Not just better.” he grunts, “Gonna make you cum so much harder, too.” Having your thighs shake with each word hissed out into your cunt, each turn of his deft fingers. “Till I’m the only thing on your mind. Me.”

And it’s all you can do to let out choked up groans of his name, back arching off the plush mattress to let him make out with your cunt deeper. Sloppier. So, so starved with the way he’s speeding up, tongue dragging across your walls. In and out in and out in and-

“Fuck! Hngh-” you angle his head - and he lets you. “There- Toru-”

Honestly, you didn’t even have to tell Satoru - he could feel it. Could feel it in the way your plushy walls are squeezing his hot tongue so harsh, until it was almost difficult to fuck your pussy so sloppily. In the way you’re letting out such delicious whines each time he grazes against those sweet spots. 

“There? Hah- I know.” he pulls away to muse, and your cute, disappointed whine goes straight to his already rock-hard cock. “Did he?”

He didn’t. And you’re shaking your head so pathetically - in a way you’d be embarrassed about usually. 

But that’s the last thing you’re thinking bout because you feel it - the cold, sinful feeling of Satoru spitting on your filthy cunt. Once. Twice. Blue eyes widening in delight at the way the mess of spit and slick drip down your slit. 

“Cute.” his tongue smoothes over the slutty pool, and the only thing your delirious brain can make out now is a low moan of, “So? Who’s better?”

It’s all you can do to choke out a broken little, “T-T-” Face burning at the way he was so clearly enjoying your struggle. And, well, no matter painfully hard it made his dick - he had to go just a bit easy on his girl, right?

“Shhhh, s’alright.” you flinch as he shoves two absolutely drenched fingers into your mouth, making so much more of a mess of it than necessary. Drinking in your cute gags, “I was asking her.” He’s making your head spin with the way he’s speeding up. “N’ she’s hah- very talkative.” Words muffled, and slurring together - like he was drunk off of you and your cunt. “Let’s hear what she has to ngh- say, huh?”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and squeezing into your sloppy entrance - like he couldn’t - didn’t - want to make up his mind. Oh, with your teary mewls strangled, the sound of Satoru making out with cunt is so loud. The squelches so obscene. 

“Fuuuuck.” he drawls. “Louder than I thought. I think she says I’m better, don’t you think?” 

You angle your head just right to catch the way his jaw grinds deeper into you, eating you out like his last meal. Your slick drooling down his chin so sinfully. 

“Ngh- fuck fuck fuck- ngh-” your yelps are dreamy, feeling like you were losing your mind with the way he was stretching you out. 

Like you were about to snap. Any second now. 

But Satoru’s only increasing his movements, drawing out your little moans. “And I think she’s saying…”  Getting sloppier. More erratic - and it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up now, cock aching with the need to be inside you. “-that she’s about to cum.”

You do - so hard and loud - both you and your cunt. 

You’re shaking, all but gushing all over Satoru’s mouth, tight pussy squeezing his tongue so hard. Barely even realizing the searing grip you’ve got on his hair as you drag your sloppy pussy all over his mouth.

But Satoru doesn’t mind - he gladly welcomes it, in fact. Tonguefucking your snug cunt senselessly, letting you chase your high as roughly as you wanted. Over and over.

Even when you’re vision isn’t as spotty as before, even when nothing’s coming out of your mouth but little whimpers. Your breathing dying down until all that rings in your barely-lucid mind were those obscene noises of Satoru’s lips all on yours. 

“T-Toru-” you whine, big fat tears pricking at your hazy eyes. “M’so sensitive.”

And of course this is Satoru, the same boy who’s been pushing your buttons for years just to giggle at your adorable reactions. Which is why he grins against your twitching cunt, “So?”

It takes everything in you to raise your head off the pillow that just seemed to be swallowing you whole, and even more to shoot Satoru a half-hearted glare. “So m’gonna ngh- assume you’re jus’ a pussy with a s-smaller dick than-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - he doesn’t let you. Because Satoru’s fumbling with his belt, peeling off those still-drenched pants just enough for you to admire his clothed erection. 

And, shit, admittedly you expected him to have a big dick - having been subjected to way too much locker room talk with your brother - but this was ridiculous. 

“What? Too big?” He flashes you that infuriating grin. Palming his rock-hard cock through his boxers at the way your beautiful eyes trace the outline of his cock, all swollen and big. So intimidatingly big. “Damn, sweetheart, if I knew that this was how I’d get that feisty lil’ mouth of yours to shut up then I’d have done it a lot sooner.” 

And you don’t even know if you’re breathing, the pads of your fingers dancing along his bulge. Tracing those prominent veins. Thumbing that little damp spot at his fat head. “You wouldn’t have.” 

He hisses as your soft hands dip into the hem of his underwear. Voice cracking slightly, “I wouldn’t.”

Then you’re gasping - in sync with Satoru’s low moan - as you finally let him spring free. Thick cock hitting his sculpted abs, red tip smearing precum in a lewd little pool. Weeping and so so angry at the sight of you.

At the heavenly feeling of your thumb teasing under his sensitive slit, “Oh, shit.” 

He’s throwing his head back when you give an experimental pump, all the way from his pretty tip to the tufts fo white at his hilt. Fist gliding all over the thumping veins. Bucking his hips up like such a slut into your touch. 

“O-oh fuck.” he cracks an eye open at the way your hand looked so small compared to his dick, how well you were taking care of him. “Been ngh- dreaming of this since I learned what handjobs were, y’know? Hah- shit- ya gotta stop before I fuckin’ pass out.”

And Satoru thinks he could cum right then and there at the way you’re bringing your soaked index up to your mouth. Batting your lashes as you suck on them with a lewd pop! “From jus’ that?”

“You have no idea.”

That’s all it takes for Satoru to throw your still-quivering thighs over his shoulders, effectively shutting up whatever tease is on the tip of your sharp tongue by kissing your swollen folds with his fat head. Giving it one, long drag. 

Your mouth is sagging open at the slow, torturous teasing. The sheer anticipation that had your mouth running, “S-so much for ah- jus’ being ‘friends’, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” And you’re flinching from Satoru’s deep, dark tone. The way he’s bracing his fingers so bruisingly on your hips, reeling all the way back till his tip was just kissing your hole. “We stopped being friends the day you married me on that playground.” 

And then he’s slamming in - pushing past that first, feeble ring of resistance, gummy walls stretching out so perfectly for him. As if he fit right in - and he tells you that. Pants it into your open mouth a little over fifteen times, in fact. 

“Shiiiit, look at you.” he can’t tear his eyes away from the side of your lips stretching so wide to try and milk him. Sloppy entrance stretching out like magic. “S’like you’re made for me, huh? This pussy is made f’me?”

“Ngh- fuck, Toru! S’too big-” you keen, feet flattening on the mattress. As if to escape. To maybe fucking breathe.  

Not even half-way in yet, but aleady torn between pushing away and sinking yourself down on his swollen cock for more more more-

“Don’t you dare run away.” he warns, looking up at you through his long lashes. “I’ve waited too long for this. N’ you’re not taking this pretty pussy away any time soon.” Inch by fucking inch. Grinding in short, sharps jabs - no rhythm of rhyme, like they were genuinely out of control. “Way too f-fuckin’-” All the way until your puffy folds was meeting his hilt. Finally. All the way in. “-long.”

And once Satoru had you split apart on his dick - had those tears rolling down your cheeks, cunt swallowing him so sluttily - it’s like something snaps. 

Because he doesn’t waste a second - he’s already wasted almost two decades, anyway - filling you up with his mean hips. Not fucking easing you into it because you always did bring out that part of him, the part that him looping two strong arms around your waist. Pulling. 

“Oh- f-fuck c’mere.” Satoru gasps, pressing your body so crushingly against his. Kissing your shaky shoulers, your sweaty forehead, the gentleness so contrasting to his hips.“God I’ve missed out- fuck fuck fuck-” 

You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru - campus sex symbol - so uncomposed. Eyes half-lidded, just boring into yours, mouth slack in a soft oh! as he drags his cock all over inside your gummy walls. And the sight is so heavenly that you make the mistake the mistake of cracking a minute smile.

Just barely curling your lips before - “Don’t smile at me like that.” He’s dipping down a hand to roll your ravaged clit between two bullying fingers. “Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me. Right?”

You keen at the- stimulation? The strech? The sheer embarrassment as you realize that Satou’s still talking to your sloppy pussy? Nodding so mockingly up at you as he plows on, “Mhm, she says you needa be ngh- knocked down a god, you’re tight- peg or two. So- get- ready-” 

He’s using this as an excuse to sit up on his knees, dragging you onto his lap so easily like some ragdoll. 

“That’s more like it.”

You’re sliding deeper down his painfully hard cock - all the way till his heavy balls rest beneath your ass, clit rubbing against his pelvis every time he bounces you like some slut.  

Deep. Ruthless.

“Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you’re screwing open your eyes that you don’t even remember shutting. Trying so hard to stop crying out at the feeling of the curve of his dick massaging your walls. “Ya gotta hngh- see the o-only one who’d fuckin’ you properly, right?”

You squeal when he’s taking your clit captive once more. Finger quick, deft. “Y-yes.”

But that wasn’t enough for Satoru - it might as well never be. Because he’s only ramming his hips up further. Like he’s pushing into your stomach, your lungs, all the way into your cockdrunk brain. Fat head alternating between kissing your poor, abused cervix and all those sweet spots he’d mapped out with his tongue.

“Sounded unsure to me.” he’s pouty against your hardened nipples bouncing enticingly in his face. Fingers quirking faster on your clit, “Maybe I should ngh- stop then?”

“No!” Your hips stutter against Satoru’s. Nails clawing down the sculpted panes of his shoulders, leaving red angry marks for him to take as a sign tomorrow morning that no, it wasn’t just one of his dreams this time. “No no no- m’sure. You’re the only one makin’ me feel this way.”

You can feel the way he’s twitching wildly at your words, dick thumping harder inside your sensitive cunt. 

He punctures each word with a heavy, calculated thrust. Hand stretching and squeezing open your cunt from behind to let him slide impossibly deeper. “Hmmm, I’m not convinced.” 

Your stupid mouth is only capable of letting out broken, choked-up little moans of his name, ankles locking around those dimples at the end of his spine. “S’you–”

“Still not convinced.”

But he’s still speeding up his movements, just dragging you up and down his cock. “Who else made you hah- feel this good?” Sure to claim you from the inside out - to leave marks everywhere. Heavy balls on your ass, weeping tip on your cervix, lips bruised as you whimper at his murmured, “That ex of yours?” Biting down your neck, “That barista that always flirts with you?” Pulling away only to breathe into your lips, “Who?”

“ I- fuck it’s only you, Toru.”

“Sound convincing to you?” Satoru hums down at your cunt, biting his lower lip at the way you were milking him so good. Your slick soaking him all the way down to his balls - so needy in a way he never thought he’d see. “Yeah-” be breathes, nosing at your neck. “She agrees- fuck does this tight lil’ pussy of yours agree.” A few tears, a few gorgeous marks down his back, and he was finally convinced. “You’re mine.”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming, and Satoru doesn’t either.

Both of you too caught up in each other to recognize that familiar, white-hot pleasure running down your spine - all the way down to where he was so mercilessly buried in your cunt.  

And you’re well into the blood roaring deafeningly in your ears, the sight of Satoru - all wrecked - blurring as he fucks his hips up. Harsh. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he paints your quivering walls white. 

Cumming and cumming so hard that you can feel his seed dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess all over Satoru’s lap. Your poor, overfilled cunt soon bloated and unable to keep up with it.

“Toru–” you whine, like a prayer. Milking the fucking soul out of him while he gently paws at your messy hair.

“Shhh, I know I know, sweetheart.” Such a stark contrast to the way he was filling you up like his favorite sex toy. Not even bothering to move anymore, one hand on your hip, moving your limp body up and down his sensitive cock to fuck it deeper. The other still playing with your clit, “S’alright, my girl”

Satoru’s hands never leave you, and he prays that now that he got a taste - well, you better be alright with them not leaving you for as long as he lives.

“As long as you live, huh?” you chuckle groggily, a noise so dreamy that Satoru can’t even be mad that he said it out loud. “And all that riling me up these years. Do you have a degradation kink or something?”

“Well, only one way to find out~”

“Oh shut up you-”

SLAM!

“Yooo, I bought dinner from that- WHAT THE FUCK?”

There were only two more lessons to be learned:

Always lock the door. Always. And in case you don’t, a bouquet of lollipops will do the trick to a Suguru reeling from the newest addition to the family. 

Cheap takeout tastes better with an apologetic Suguru, and an ice pack to his cheek - and you to kiss it better.

A/N. Can you tell I kept listening to that one Artemas song while writing this?

Plagiarism not authorized.

[hoshigray]

Heyyy. Can I request a college au. Reader is an average, socially awkward person but somehow managed to pulled the campus heartthrob, Geto (or gojo). And he's lowkey obsessed with her and try to be fucking her every chance he gets.

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: why not both? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ idk, felt like doing a threesome for some reason lmao

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Geto + Gojo x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! college setting - sex in public places; gymnasium locker room + dining hall + college dorms - oral (m! + f! receiving) - face + throat-fucking - fingering (f! receiving) - clitoral play (swiping, grinding and licking/sucking) - face-sitting - threesome - double penetration; anal and vaginal - cowgirl dp position - anal fingering (f! receiving) - kissing/making out - protected sex (psa: warp it up or get tf up) - overstimulation - pet names (angel, baby, cutie, my love, pretty girl, princess, sweetie, sweetheart) - sato + sugu being whipped over you, hehe~ - slight humor - mention of tears and drool.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.1k (pretty long for a req, lol)

“Oh, Y/n, it’s good to see you. Did you have a good weekend? Let’s walk each other to class; I was waiting for you.”

“Y/nnnn! This cold day is so much warmer now that you’re here. Let’s grab something to eat at the dining hall, okay?”

You thought college life couldn’t get any more difficult than it already is. Oh, how you were so wrong… 

Being on your own on campus was hard enough; states away from your family and having to rely on and take care of yourself while also striving for a better education. On top of this, making friends (outside of your roommates Shoko and Utahime) is such a social and excruciating chore as it’s challenging to put yourself out for people to notice you. Making small talk with your peers or talking/discussing group material in classes has your heart racing enough – not to mention trying to commit to clubs – making you feel a bit of a failure as a human being.

With that, you almost dwell on not trying at all. You’re utterly content with your inner circle with your roommates, waking up and heading to classes and back, eating college food, and sleeping after reading for a lecture. This routine of sticking to yourself was a notion you’ve grown to accept and find comfort in — no need to change it if it’s been doing you well this far.

That is until you meet them — Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru, the best friends of your roommate Shoko. 

Gojo is the star player of the school’s basketball team, a famous face among the class years, and the “disgustingly tactless, cutesy prince” of your year, as described by Utahime. By morning, he’s a dedicated student in his business administration major and history minor classes; by afternoon, he is his playful, social, and charismatic snow-haired soul, grabbing the attention of others and bringing life to those around him with his bright cadence. In addition, he’s a talented figure, capturing the hearts of many with his model work in fashion shows and playing fan-favorite roles in plays.

In contrast, Geto was a much more mellow star that pulled the hearts of students and professors alike. The raven-haired bioengineering major was a boy whose presence was easy not to notice yet quick to pull you in when making himself known. His tall, docile figure emitted an aura that accompanied the soothing tune of his voice, the perfect combination that made him trustworthy and obliging to the students around him and his lacrosse teammates. With the charming features of a heartthrob and the alluring speech of a leader, he’s someone many would turn to in search of a person to follow and praise.

Satoru and Suguru, two complete opposites – two best friends – who are, without a doubt, the twin stars of this school. However, there was one thing the two shared in common, something that made your heart skip and your mind race every time knowing this fact: the two were unmistakably and sickeningly in love with you!

How? You do not know. It all started when Shoko brought them over one night for dinner, and you saw them for a quick moment in the kitchen, quickly greeting them before rushing back into your room. Next thing you knew, you had begun to see and run into them every so often, which soon turned to at least once per day. And now, like a white bubbly puppy and a black, quietly affectionate cat, you could not shake them off you when and wherever you went.

Oh, it was something you were not used to, being sneaked up from behind by Gojo, who’d pull you in for a hug or lift you with every greeting in public (as if you weighed like nothing)! Especially in classes where Geto would surprise you with his calm voice and a warm hand on your shoulder to check if you were okay before claiming the chair next to you. And you couldn’t push them away — how could you when two of the most renowned faces on school grounds want to be around your presence!? Good Lord, it was all overwhelming, Shoko and Utahime having to step in to beat the boys into shape for making you uncomfortable.

And then there are those times when the two would butt heads with each other because of you! There have been a handful of times where if one had you to themselves, the other would bore glares to the former’s skull. Gojo would suck his teeth with his arm wrapped around your shoulder, white brows furrowed and ticked off blue eyes concealed by his dark circle shades. “Yo, Buddha with bangs, can you let go? Y/n promised to hang with me after their classes ended, and I’d be damned if you’d be third-wheeling.”

“That’s not happening, Satoru,” Geto’s hand grasps yours with more grip, royal purple eyes narrowed at his white-haired friend. “Y/n and I have a presentation to work on for tomorrow. Go lollygag somewhere else.”

Two positive bundles of life will immediately turn hostile when it comes to you, suffocating your very being as you’re stuck in the middle of them. It’s bad enough being with either of them has people notice and talk about you; it’s another thing when you’re being fought over like some small bunny between two snarling wolves. Oh God, why me!!??

But it wasn’t all bad. If anything, being fawned over by the two was a strange thing that has happened to you thus far, and not in a terrible way. Gojo has made you a lot more open and social than before, dragging you to parties he’s been invited to and to his crowded games (where he’s always sure to find you and blow a kiss). And spending time with Geto has sparked instances where you’re courageous enough to speak for yourself with a bit of a push from him, throwing in your inputs for class discussions or having him aid you in knowing your material when you two study together.

The two most popular guys in school who flatter and are obsequious over you. That in itself is enough to make your cheeks and ears dial in warmth, shielding your face in your pillows just thinking about them. You like them both, bound to be drawn in by the handsome boys and their pursuit of you.

However, their infatuation was something you’d find out goes beyond words and handholds. An obsession for you embroidered in their very minds…and bodies.

“…Mhahhh, Go—Mmmph! Gojooo…we shouldn’t be doing this…”

“Aww, c’mon, Y/n, you know I don’t like it when you call me by last name. It’s just the two of us here…Fuck, keep licking it like that…”

Sneaking into the basketball team’s locker room is one thing; sneaking in with the star player in the team with you between his legs on the bench and sucking his dick? Oh, that’s a can of worms you never thought you’d open in your entire life. 

Gojo brings his head back, banging on the locker behind him as the contact of your tongue on his pink tip sends shivers up to his shoulders. “Fuuuck, you feel so good, baby. Gonna make me cum again…” You peer up with lidded eyes as you suck his tip into your mouth, him humming at the warm sensation of your mouth swallowing his length whole. Your face is hot of embarrassment, being looked down on by him as you do such an indecent thing on him in a place of changing for men. 

This was his idea – bringing you to the gymnasium to watch him practice with his teammates for an upcoming game. Then, he pulls you aside once the guys want another fifteen-minute water break, bargaining into the men’s locker room and pulling you in for a hot kiss. Sucking on and nibbling on your lips and tongue has you mewl sweetly for him, distracted as he pulls his shorts and briefs down to expose the erection growing inside him. “Sorry, you just looked too cute watching me from the side,” he’d say with a hazy glint in his eyes shielded by his shades.

So here you are, sucking him off to the hilt, where your lips meet strands of his white pubes, making your boyfriend cum for the second time. Gojo brings a hand to your head for purchase, moaning as your hand massages his balls. “—Ahh, fuck…God, you’ve gotten so good at that, cutie. Can’t get enough of you...”

His words burn your ears, his aroused tone making your face even more hot to bear. Gosh, this was such a dangerous game; your nerves constantly on edge in hopes nobody would walk in.

However, your worries might have been what jinxed your fate because you two heard the door to the locker room open. You instantly move your mouth away from Gojo’s cock and stand to panic. But before you could, Gojo quickly grabbed you by the wrist and took you to one of the bathroom stalls. You sat on the toilet, bewildered at being dragged all over this fitness center. Then, Gojo brings his dick to your face again, and you give him the most shockingly confused expression as if he can’t hear the commotion of two people speaking where they used to be.

“Relax, no one’s coming here,” Liar, we almost got caught! He pushes the tip to your mouth, and you murmur on his length, filling your mouth and throat. “Let’s make this one quick, okay?”

You were too busy registering him place his hands on your head before he could slam himself to your mouth; the sudden thrust of his hips propelling his cock deep into the tight crevices of your throat makes you grip onto his shorts for dear life. The slap of his ruts fills your eardrums; you can’t tell how far or close the two guys who entered the locker room are. He’s making you focus on nothing but him — a selfish objection from a selfish man as he’s using you to relieve himself in the men’s locker room. God, this was such a bad situation, and yet your lower half couldn’t stop the throbs that have you shifting your thighs together. How embarrassing! 

“Hhnnn, fucking shit, your throat feels so good,”  he praises, his slender fingers massaging your scalp. Your tongue brushes the underside of his length in a way that has his pace go faster, and he has to keep his moans to a lower volume. “Shiiit, baby, I’m gonna cum…Take it all in…!”

You have no choice but to, forced to gulp down all of his load that he spills into your tight, warm throat. He still rocks his pelvis into you until every pump of his jizz is inside you. When your ears pick up the sound of the locker room door opening and closing with the dismissal of the two strangers, that’s when Gojo takes his long shaft out of your mouth, spit connecting from your tongue to his cockhead is wiped with haste. 

But then, Gojo pokes your cheek with his tip, a sign that he wants to go again. You throw quiet pleas, “N–No, Gojo! You have to get back to practice—“

“Shhh, those guys can survive a few games without me. And besides,” he gently slaps your cheek with his cock. How vulgar! “I’ll fuck your mouth til the end of the day if you don’t stop using my last name when it’s just the two of us here.” The playful grin on his lips doesn’t make that threat any better. “One more time, please?”

With hesitant eyes, you place kisses on his shaft while stroking him. “Only one more…okay, Satoru?”

He beams with the dimples of his cheeks. “Yes, pretty girl~.”

And it doesn’t stop there — because Geto is no better. 

“Aww, you two are so cute together~”

You squirm on the booth seat you’re sharing with your other boyfriend, you two sitting across from his friends — a senior couple he shares a lab with that invited him for dinner. Unsurprisingly, you were his plus one, knowing you’re not one for being around people you’re not familiar with. And yet here you are, caged by the wall and Geto’s frame to keep you in this conversation on the side of the busy dining hall.

Geto chuckles before brushing your cheek, "Aren’t we? But they’re the cutest thing to me.” He says as he places a swift kiss on your cheek; it’s an action that has your face grow in warmth — and the couple “awwing” at his affection.

The guy of the couple speaks to the dark, long-haired other. “I never knew you were one for relationships, Geto; you seem so busy with Bio and your clubs that you don’t seem to have time to lay low and be with someone.”

“Mmm, I thought so, too. That is until I met Y/n through a friend of mine,” you jerk at the silent touch of his pinkie grazing your thigh, noting it had sneaked under your skirt to graze its skin. Your eyes peek in his direction, finding that he remains eye contact with the guy he’s talking with. “And, you know, I got to know them here and there, shared some classes with them on the side. Now, I just can’t imagine them being out of my line of sight.”

The guy across laughs. “Sounds kinda obsessive!”

Geto shrugs with a chortle. “I guess it’s like that, I don’t know. I’m just really crazy about them; they’re my sweetheart after all.”

“That’s so sweet!” The girl senior across exclaims, turning to you to ask, “So, how long have you and Geto been a thing, Y/n?”

The question has you stumped for a bit as you weren’t ready to be thrown inquiries. And before you answer, you feel Geto’s hand rub on your thigh. “U-Umm, me—ahem—Geto and I have been a couple for quite a while now? My roommate was the one who introduced me to him—Mmmm!” You briskly flatten your lips at your squeak because the fingers inside your skirt pinch your skin. On command, you spread your legs for Geto to insert his hand inside your panties.

The girl asks more questions. “Oh? So, your roommate brought you two together. Did you know of them before?” 

“Well, not really…She and Geto—Ohh!” You bring your hand to your lips at the graze of Geto’s forefinger on your clit. You turn to him and are immediately locked into his violet gaze. He lifts a brow with an undisturbed smile, and you gulp. “I–I mean, Suguru and my roommate have been best friends since high school, so I kinda got…Nnmm,” you chew your lips when he bullies a digit between your folds to play and tease. “She was the one who introduced me to him…”

“Is that so? Hehe, it’s amazing how the world works, huh?” You listen, but your mind is too focused on Geto’s digits swiping and nestling across your wetness to have your body more excited about his touch. And it gets worse as he inserts his forefinger inside your vagina, causing you to jolt and suppress your mewl by leaning into his shoulder, gripping onto the sleeve of his turtleneck. “Here are two lovebirds all lovey-dovey with each other thanks to one friend bringing them together. It’s crazy imagining you two would’ve never met hadn’t that happened.”

Geto hums at that comment, “I agree; I have to thank Shoko for bringing this little angel to my arms.” He places a soft kiss on your forehead, completely nonchalant compared to the quickened pace of the digit scraping your insides. “Isn’t that right, my love?”

With trenched brows and a shaky breath, you try to reply to the awaiting couple. “Mhmm, yes, I’m so grateful that Suguru is in my life…He’s been such a help to me,” his forefinger goes slow, having you feel every dent and knuckle. “Hahhh, he’s so good to me, and I love him just as mu—Mmmph!!”

“Hmm? Are you okay, Y/n?” How can you tell the guy across from you that your boyfriend’s thumb just surprised your clit with a swipe?  You’d rather melt on this floor had you not buried your face into Geto’s shoulder. 

Speaking of who, he takes the initiative to answer for you. “I think they’re a little parched, must’ve been this lemonade I got for them. I’ll go get them some water—“

“Oh, no, no! I’ll go get the water; I was gonna get more of those garlic knots anyways.” The girl stops Geto from moving, sliding from the booth seat with her boyfriend’s hand to follow suit. “C’mon, let’s leave these lovebirds for a bit. We’ll be right back!”

And so they leave, thanking your lucky stars. Once their figures are nowhere to be seen within the sea of students, you probe the man with a trembling whimper. “Mmmph, Suguru, please, take it out before—Ahhh…! They come back…”

Luckily, he listens to your request with no argument, withdrawing his digit from your wet slick and underwear. And to your horror, he brings the finger to lick and suck and says with a dark look, “Just checking to see what I’ll be having later.”

It doesn’t matter wherever or whenever; Gojo and Geto will be sure that their love for you is expressed to you every chance they get. 

It doesn’t matter the day or hour, whether you are free from assignments, spending time with your roommates, or on your way out to study; those two will find a way to get to be with you. And, to be honest, it can be a bit overstimulating! 

When there are dates to the movies with Gojo, there’s private alone time with Geto on his bed as he eats you out. And when there are days when Geto holds hands with you and walks you to your classes, there are nights when Gojo will fuck you til his cock is warmed inside you in his slumber. It can go either way, the two competing for your affection and time when the other is out of sight. 

Again, sometimes it’s overwhelming for you, never knowing which of the two will have you all to themselves, nor knowing when you can have time to yourself! And it’s not like you haven’t tried putting your foot down to express your wish to be alone. But, albeit it can be utterly exhausting, you know those two love and cherish you so much that it drives them crazy. Hell, it’s driving you crazy just how much they can’t keep their hands off you! 

Especially now when they drag you to their shared dorm room, experiencing one of those days when the two wish to have you in the same presence. 

“Hahhh, damn, Y/n…you’re sucking me off so good,” Geto purrs with a whistle while lovingly patting your head. “So good for me, huh, sweetie?” 

The two stripped you off your clothes to be nude with them on the bed. Your naked frame straddles above Gojo, lying on his back with his face buried into your bare cunt for his mouth and tongue to please you orally. Meanwhile, you suck on Geto’s girth as he leans on the pillows and headboard. It’s his turn after sucking off Gojo (they settled this over rock-paper-scissors) and fingering you to warm you up first.

You whine of his member, Gojo’s tongue doing wonders on your delicate body. He licks on your clit just as you lap yours around Geto’s glans, and then he’ll suck your pearl right as you take in the tip with pursed cheeks. It’s such a mutual shared experience, with how Gojo’s hands wrap to your thighs to keep your chasm on his lips while you have Geto keen to your mouth and hands stroking him. 

“—Khhhh, Jesus Christ…Hohhh, right there, sweetie…” The raven-haired one coos as you kiss your way down to his balls to suck one as you continue to jerk him. “Heh, you doing good down there, Satoru?”

The snow-haired other removes his mouth from your folds, licking your essence that sticks to his lips like honey mixed with his saliva. “Hahaa, you have no idea. I could stay like this for hours,” his tongue licks your come to your clit tantalizingly slow, evoking you to almost choke on Geto’s girth. “Aww, look at you trying to move from me,” Gojo brings your hips back down to him for him to swirl around your labia, his grip on your thighs refusing to submit. “Don’t go anywhere, princess; I’m not finished until you cum on my face again.”

“Ohhh, shit, keep doing what you’re doing, Satoru,” Geto subtly bucks his hips, “I love the way they’re whining on my dick…”

With your puffy lips being busy in the front and your cunt being lapped and nibbled on from below, your senses are clouded by the two boys who seek nothing but your participation in experiencing pleasure. Your head gradually turns into mush with every rut to your throat and every lap around your clitoris. It’s to no surprise that your release seeps out of your body without preparation, crying on Geto’s length as your frame quivers in euphoric bliss. 

And if you think you couldn’t get swamped enough, think again. 

“—Nnngh, fuck, Y/n, you’re gripping on my dick like crazy…Hehe, is it because you can’t look me in the face? Damn, you’re such a cutie…”

Your face is nuzzled in the crook of Gojo’s neck as you’re straddling on top of him, your nude, sweaty bodies melted together to share heat. Your hips bounce up and down on his pelvis, where his rubber-covered length is scraping the walls of your vagina. His left curve grazes and jabs your sweet spots, and your body lies on top of Gojo, which brings more friction to your clitoris. 

“Hahhh, ahhnn—Ohhhh!” Your phrases have doubled down to that of whimpers of pleasure, thinking straight is impossible, and your mind is too deep in a haze to focus on anything outside of what’s happening. And it’s not like you can’t stop your hips from bouncing on his shaft — you’ve tried! But the moment your legs express so much as reluctance or fatigue, Gojo’s hands are right there on your ass to guide you back into the rhythm. So it’s expected when you climax on him once more, clamping onto him as you ride out another orgasmic wave. “Ahhaaa! Sa’toruuu, stooohhp—hic…! I’m ‘oo sens' tiveee!!” 

“You say that, but—hnnn! You’re rocking those hips of yours on your own, baby.” He chuckles at your slurred speech, placing kisses on your cheek as his hands massage your asscheeks. “Holy shit, you feel so unreal; wanna fuck you raw so bad with how tight you are.” 

“Don’t even think about it, Satoru,” you hear Geto’s voice from behind, the dent of the twin-size bed shifting with his added weight. “If I can’t go condom-less, you’re not getting any special treatment out of it either.”

“Psssh, yeah, yeah,” Gojo says with rolled azure eyes before he whispers to your ear. “Come on, angel, let’s get you prepped up.” The white-haired boy’s hands spread your butt, exposing his dick buried deep into your tight slit and your taint.  

Geto grins salaciously. “My, what a dirty sight for me, my love.” You chew your lips to his words, the heat in your ears causing them to ring. You then feel his fingers smothered in lube to meet your asshole, spiraling around it before inserting them one by one. Your holes instinctively contract, making Gojo hiss. “Relax, pretty girl,” he kisses your temple. “We’re gonna make you feel so good.”

You remind your figure to calm down, allowing Geto to play with your anus for it to accommodate the next foreign limb he’ll put inside. Gojo keeps kneading your butt, but he throws furtive thrusts up to your chasm to keep you on your toes. You gasp when Geto removes his digits suddenly, and now you bite your bottom lip at the contact of his cockhead touching your puckered entrance. “Stay calm for me, princess. Gonna go slow just for you…”

Breathing with your mouth is the only way you can function through his insertion; even after he properly lubed himself and the rubber, it never fails to amaze you how you’ve been able to take in his girthy dick times before. Every inch pushed inside you feels as if your breath is pulled away, feeling both your holes become occupied. And your head goes up at the snap of Geto’s pelvis smacking on your ass, mouth agape for drool to sneak down puffy lips. 

“Heh, there you are,” Gojo licks your spit before placing a kiss on your lips. “What a pretty face when you’re going dumb on our dicks, Y/n.”

You couldn’t even reply in modesty because Geto immediately goes pounding your ass with hunger. Your wails come out freely at the pacing of both boys propelling themselves into you. And it doesn’t help that your holes don’t stop contracting on their dicks as they push, the motion making you move your clit against Gojo and having your sore nerves active again. 

“Holy fuck,”Geto drills his cock into your taint, grinding his hips into you to make you whine aloud. He then bends to kiss your sweaty shoulder down to your spine. “You’re so tight, Y/n…like you’re gonna milk me dry.”

Words are exhilarated squeaks and shrills, your arms coming around Gojo’s neck and pressing your hot cheek on his. He snickers at how touchy you are, “Hey, baby,” he coaxes you through the onslaught of ruts that quicken in tempo. “God, you sound so fucking cute, angel…” 

“—Ahhahh…! Ohhh, guysss, pleaseee, slow d—Owwhhnn!!” You cry, eyes watering with the pokes and jabs on your velvety insides, the curve of Gojo scraping you in places you can’t reach, and Geto’s girth having your backside completely stretched for him. It’s all too much to focus on as your delicate bud is pressed on by your weight. “…Nhooo, God, I’m gonna—“

“Gonna cum, cutie?” You nod hurriedly, amusing Gojo for more chuckles. “Let’s cum together, yeah? Such a pretty girl…” And then, Gojo claims your lips for a steamy, passionate kiss, bringing a hand from your bottom to place behind your head to keep you on him. 

“—Hnngh!! Wait, sweetheart, don’t clamp onto me so sudden—Ohh, shit, shit, shiiit,” Black hair strands fall from Geto’s shoulders as he falters at your grip. “Gonna cum, too….Gahhh—“

Your crescendo is the first to appear, howling and mewling into Gojo’s lips while your trembling figure undergoes the shocks of the deep penetration on both ends. The fluttering sensations of your cunt and anus are what prompt the two men to spill their load into you simultaneously, groaning with pleasure from your body. Your head is undoubtedly dizzy, your brain spiraling with impulses as your frame jerks with every wave of your orgasm. 

After his climax is done, Geto slowly withdraws his cock from you. The condom filled with his essence. “Phew, that felt way too good.”

“For real, can’t get enough of this.” Gojo sighs while groping your asscheeks and kissing your forehead. “Ready for another round, baby? C’mon, let’s switch before Suguru gets all crybaby on us.” His sweet tone immediately flips to narrow his eyes at Geto for throwing his used, tied condom at Gojo's face for that comment. “Oh, you disgusting son of a bitch…”

“Shut up and switch, or else I’ll have you watch me pound Y/n for fifteen minutes.”

Being loved and obsessed by the two heartthrobs of the school is no easy work, which is evident when you can’t even get to nap by yourself after the sexual activities. With Gojo spooning Geto while he spoons you, there is no rest with these two; they might as well put collars around their necks and give you their leashes with how smitten they are to be around you.

Yet, at the same time, you don’t hate it — far from that. Because you know their feelings for you are genuine, you can see it in their sleeping faces as they’re probably thinking about you in your dreams as you observe. With a smile, you place kisses on their cheeks and silently leave the bed to use their shower. 

The warm water is just as welcoming and temperate as their love, keeping you safe and washing your anxiousness away. In your thoughts, you reflect on all the times you’ve grown because of them, and it goes to show that their involvement has done substantial help for you. And for that, you are forever grateful for them and will always reciprocate their feelings as you feel the same. 

“Hey, Y/n.”

Well, minus the immediate sense of apprehension that skyrockets once you hear Geto’s voice come behind you. You turn to see his naked self coming towards you to wrap his arms around your waist. “Suguru!? I–I thought you were sleep—“

“I was until you left my arms,” he says to your ear with his dulcet voice, his hands kneading the flesh of your wet hips. “Besides, saves us a lot of time if we share the shower, right?”

“Oh, Y/n~,” another voice enters the bathroom, and your dread plummets even further when Gojo opens the curtains with glee. “Don’t tell me you decided to shower without m—…Oh, you’re here, too.”

“Obviously,” Geto sucks his teeth at his roommate. “I live in this apartment and use this same shower, dumbass.”

Snowy eyebrows crease with irritation as Gojo enters the walk-in shower, sandwiching you between the two. “Well, don’t you think it’s rude for you to use the shower when our guest is using it first?”

“I could be asking you the same thing because who told you to come here?”

“Duh! I’m here to shower with my lover; are you stupid?”

“Are you? Don’t you see a boyfriend is trying to have some alone time with their partner?”

“Oh, eat horse shit.”

“Croak and die.”

You can only stand there and be mushed by the two tall boys arguing over you, unable to flee the scene as they both have their hands on you. Again, you don’t hate it at all. You love them just as much as they love and adore you. They may be the school favorites; however, you are the most precious thing they wish to engage with and want to keep to themselves.

…But would it kill them to give you some room once in a while!?

Jesus, how am I gonna survive with these two…

requests/thirsts are open hehe~ 🧸

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @/benkeibear.

[hottiesforhockey]

jokes on you ⎜ q.hughes

pairings: quinn hughes x afab!reader genre: workplace romance ⎜ he falls first and he falls harder⎜ chronic illness rep ⎜nurse reader ⎜ warnings: mentions of chronic illness ⎜mentions of rheumatoid arthritis ⎜mentions of reader in hospital ⎜ mentions of injured quinn ⎜ not a lot tbh synopsis: you're not quite sure how to react when the hot shot captain calls 'dibs' on you - or how to react when he starts following you around like a lost puppy. word count: 10.5k authors note:  this was one of the two top voted fics in my 'what's next poll' so here it is! i hope you all enjoy!

(unedited)

Quinn remembers the first time he saw you. It wasn’t the first official time—no, that came five months ago when you walked through the door as the new team nurse—but it was the first time that everything about you snapped into focus. And the memory still lingers, sharp and clear, like a vivid dream that refuses to fade.

Sure, he’d seen you before, a friendly smile passing between you when you first introduced yourself, but that moment? That moment was when you became something undeniable. And maybe, just maybe, that was when Quinn started to find a reason to end up in your office almost every day. Sometimes, it was an excuse as flimsy as his hand itching or a sore muscle, just enough to get him to slide onto the examination table for a few minutes of your attention. Because every time you smiled at him, every time your eyes sparkled, something in him twisted, like he was more alive than he’d been in years. And that smile? It made his stomach do things he couldn’t explain.

It was early autumn at training camp, the sun still casting its warm glow on everything outside of the rink. Quinn had been focused on stretching, trying to shake off the morning soreness, when he caught sight of you. You stood off to the side of the ice, clipboard in hand, dressed in athletic joggers and a fitted team jacket. The fluorescent lights made your hair seem to glow, catching the highlights that danced in the blasting air conditioning. You were talking to Coach, nodding seriously at something he was saying, but Quinn’s attention was caught by the way your lips barely curved, like you were holding back a secret joke.

He couldn’t look away. It wasn’t just how you looked—it was the way you carried yourself, so confident yet approachable, your presence magnetic. For a second, he was frozen, a weight settling in his chest, and it felt like the entire world fell away.

"Damn, Quinn, you look like you’ve seen a ghost," Elias teased, nudging him with a grin. Quinn hadn’t even realized he was staring, but Elias’s voice cut through the fog in his brain.

Quinn blinked, dragging his tongue across his teeth before scoffing, “Shut up.” But even as he said it, he couldn’t tear his gaze away. You were still talking to Coach, still holding that subtle, unspoken charm that made him feel like maybe he was a little out of his depth. And that realization hit him hard, like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t a casual interest. This was something else entirely. Something far more complicated. By the time practice wrapped up, Quinn’s resolve had already set. It was a certainty—he wasn’t going to let this go. And when the team moved into the locker room, stretching and laughing as they peeled off their jerseys, Quinn made his move.

"Dibs," he said, a nonchalant word, but his tone was sharp enough to carry across the room. Everyone stopped for a beat, the entire locker room pausing to look at him.

Elias raised an eyebrow from his spot on the bench. "Dibs?"

"On the new nurse," Quinn clarified, voice steady, though something dark flickered in his eyes.

A few guys chuckled, and someone let out a low whistle. “Man, you’re calling dibs on the nurse already?”

Quinn just shrugged, unapologetic. “Don’t care. I’m calling it now.”

Connor, sitting beside him, leaned back and crossed his arms. “You think just because you’ve claimed her, that means something? She’s not a piece of pizza.”

Quinn’s gaze hardened. “Exactly. That’s why I’m making it clear. I’m not playing around.” The room fell silent, an understanding rippling through the guys. A quiet murmur spread through the locker room as someone muttered, “Man’s already down bad.” Quinn didn’t deny it. He was down bad. From the moment he saw you, it was all he could think about. And no matter how many excuses he had to make—aching muscles, a sore back, a bruised ego—he wasn’t going to let anyone else have a chance at you.

The next few weeks only cemented his determination. It wasn’t just your looks that pulled him in—it was the way you were, how you commanded respect and exuded kindness in equal measure. It was the little things, too. The way you remembered everyone’s quirks—like how Elias had a habit of cracking his knuckles when he was nervous, or how Connor always grumbled when it was time for ice.

And you? You had started noticing his habits, too. The way he always slid onto the same corner of the examination table with a cocky grin. The way he acted like nothing was wrong, even when he winced while stretching out his shoulder. But he lingered, always hanging around after practice like he couldn’t get enough of your company.

One afternoon, after another long practice, Quinn limped into your office, pretending to rub his knee like it was hurting more than it actually was. You narrowed your eyes, recognizing the act immediately.

“You iced this yesterday, Quinn,” you said, your voice laced with suspicion.

“Better safe than sorry,” he replied, offering that lopsided grin that always made his heart beat just a little faster. You didn’t answer right away, just pressed the ice to his knee with a raised eyebrow, your fingers brushing his skin in a way that sent a jolt of electricity straight through him. The moment lasted too long, stretching like rubber. He could feel the tension in the air—something undeniable between you both.

But even that wasn’t the hardest part. It wasn’t the endless excuses he made to be near you. It was watching the other guys start to notice you, too. Brock, leaning a little too close when he spoke to you. Kiefer, always making an excuse to pop into the med room, lingering at your desk. And Elias, one of his closest friends, giving you lingering glances when he thought no one was looking.

Quinn’s jaw clenched at the thought. He wasn’t stupid. He saw it all. But he’d made his choice. He’d called dibs, and no one was going to take that away from him. Not if he could help it. Because if there was one thing Quinn was sure of, it was this: No one else was getting the chance to get close to you. Not while he still had a shot.

The following week, Quinn limped into your office after practice, his hand resting dramatically on his lower back as he shuffled through the door like he was in agony. He winced exaggeratedly, though it was mostly for show, and dropped down into the chair across from your desk, making sure to let out a low groan of discomfort. His eyes flicked up to you, half-expecting you to call him out for his antics.

And there it was—the unmistakable arch of your brow. You tilted your head slightly, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you eyed him skeptically. "You sure it’s your back, or are you just trying to get some attention, Quinn?" His grin nearly faltered. He was doing his best to keep up the act, but there was something about the way you looked at him—amused, not at all fooled—that made his heart stutter. God, you saw right through him, he thought, but instead of backing down, he leaned into it, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. 

“I promise, it’s not for the attention. This back of mine is practically screaming for help.” You didn’t answer right away. You just studied him for a moment, your gaze soft, but with a knowing glint that made his pulse spike. Then, with a sigh that said you were humoring him, you patted the space beside you on the examination table. “Alright, Quinn. Get up here. I’m sure I can work some magic and make you feel better.” He stood slowly, making a show of pretending to stretch, but when he moved to lie down on the table, he couldn’t stop the grin from breaking through. There was something comforting about the way you moved, like you knew exactly what you were doing, even when you were teasing him. Quinn caught the way you glanced at him from the corner of your eye as you adjusted the angle of the table, a quiet kind of warmth settling in your expression.

He settled onto the table, trying to force himself to relax, but he couldn’t quite stop the way his heart fluttered when you moved closer, your presence enveloping him like a soft blanket. You gently pressed your hands to his back, adjusting his posture, and that was when it happened. The moment your fingers brushed his spine, Quinn’s breath caught in his throat. The contact was electric, the warmth of your touch spreading through him in an instant, leaving him momentarily speechless. It’s just a touch, he reminded himself, but that didn’t stop the way his body responded, the way he felt every inch of his skin come alive under your hands.

"Better?" you asked softly, your voice gentle, and Quinn could swear the world slowed just then, like time had decided to give the two of you a moment of quiet.

He swallowed, nodding, though his heart was thudding against his chest. “Hmmm, I don’t know — might need to come back for a few more sessions.” The words hung in the air between you both, thick with something neither of you had dared to speak aloud. Quinn could feel it, the way the room seemed to shrink, how every little detail about you seemed magnified—how the soft scent of your shampoo filled his senses, how your fingers lingered just a moment too long on his back, as though you were reluctant to pull away. For a long moment, the only sound was the soft hum of the air conditioning, and Quinn found himself unable to tear his gaze away from yours. He had expected to feel embarrassed, to be caught in the act of faking his injuries, but instead, all he felt was an overwhelming sense of connection. You weren’t looking at him like he was just another player to treat, another injury to fix—you were looking at him like you really saw him.

The realization made him breathless. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat, replaced by a genuine smile—one that had nothing to do with his usual bravado or sarcasm. It was soft, vulnerable, real. "Thanks," he said quietly, his voice softer than usual. "Really." You met his gaze with a quiet understanding that made his chest ache. It wasn’t just the words, though. It was the way you looked at him like you cared, like he wasn’t just another guy on the team, but someone who mattered. It made him want to do better, be better.

"You're welcome, Quinn," you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips. "You know where to find me if you have anymore surprise injuries."

It wasn’t just the reassurance. It was the way your eyes lingered on him for just a moment longer than necessary, the faintest hesitation in your gaze that made Quinn’s stomach tighten with anticipation. He’d been patient, but something told him that there was more between the two of you than just the occasional visit to your office.

Before he could stop himself, Quinn straightened, his heart pounding in his chest. “You don’t mind, do you?” His voice was low, almost tentative. He shifted slightly, a slight tension in his body. “Me, coming around all the time, I mean. For injuries I may or may not have.” You chuckled softly, a sound that made Quinn’s stomach flip. 

“I don’t mind the company, Quinn,” you said, your tone light but with a hint of something deeper, something more personal than just the typical nurse-patient banter.

His heart skipped a beat, and Quinn tried to mask the sudden surge of emotion with a casual shrug. “Good. Because I plan on sticking around.”

You smiled again, a little more knowingly this time, like you understood exactly what he meant. “Well, as long as you promise to stop faking injuries,” you teased, eyes sparkling with amusement. Quinn laughed softly, though the sound was more nervous than he intended. 

"I’ll try to keep it to a minimum," he said, leaning back a little against the table, trying to keep the mood light even though his thoughts were racing. The teasing, the playful banter, it was easy to fall into with you, but Quinn couldn’t ignore the way his chest felt full, the way the air between you two seemed to crackle with something unspoken. 

You took a step back then, and Quinn felt the weight of your absence immediately. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable emptiness—it was more like the space between you was charged, waiting for something else to happen. He watched you as you straightened up, adjusting your jacket, and then, for reasons he couldn’t fully explain, he stood a little taller, his gaze more certain.

“Thanks, again,” Quinn added, his voice steady now, though there was a lingering vulnerability in it.

You smiled again, but this time, it was different. “Anytime, Quinn.”

And as you turned to leave, the weight of your words echoed in his chest. You don’t mind the company. Quinn was beginning to think that, maybe, you didn’t just mean the company. You might have meant something more.

The next day, you caught him after practice again, but this time, it was different. You had a small grin on your face when you approached him, and Quinn couldn’t hide his growing excitement.

“Your back must be feeling better.” You tease, perching your elbows on the rink wall as you watch his teammates skate around the rink. 

Quinn grinned, leaning back against the wall and stretching his arms above his head. “You could say that. Turns out, I’m just that good at healing,” he said with an exaggerated wink, trying to act casual, though his heart raced at the way you stood there, so close, with that teasing smile on your face.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your expression didn’t waver. “I think you’re just trying to get free back rubs at this point,” you said, half-smiling, clearly amused by his antics.

His heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t help but smile wider. “Maybe,” he admitted, his voice lowering a little as his gaze flickered to your lips. He quickly corrected himself, focusing on your eyes. “But who can blame me? You’ve got magic hands.”

You laughed, a soft, melodic sound that made Quinn feel like he was floating. “Magic hands, huh?” you repeated, eyes sparkling.

Quinn’s grin faltered for a split second as he realised just how much he wanted to keep that playful banter going, how much he wanted to be near you. The air between you seemed to shift, like there was something more lingering beneath the surface that neither of you had dared to fully acknowledge yet.

Your smile softened, and for a moment, Quinn was sure he could hear the gentle thrum of his pulse in his ears. You were quiet, almost contemplative, your gaze lingering on him with an unreadable look. Then, you took a step closer to him, leaning just enough that your shoulder brushed his, your warmth seeping into his skin.

"You know, I’ve noticed you hanging around a lot lately, Quinn." Quinn’s breath caught in his throat, unsure whether the shift in your tone was a test or an invitation. He kept his gaze on you, trying to read the subtle nuance in your eyes, but the light was too soft, the air too thick.

“Guilty as charged,” he replied with a hint of self-mockery. “You’re pretty—” He pauses clearing his throat,  “easy to find, and sometimes I get sick of the team.”

Your eyes softened, and there was that smile again—gentle, unguarded. “I don’t mind it,” you said, voice barely above a whisper, like it was a secret just between the two of you. “I told you I like the company.” Quinn felt his heart skip a beat. It was almost too much, the way your words wrapped around him, making the room feel like it was just the two of you in a sea of shifting people. The way you said it—so simple, yet there was a weight to it that Quinn couldn’t shake. He wasn’t sure if it was the way you looked at him, or how his chest felt too tight with everything he was trying to keep in check.

“Just remember the boy who cried wolf.” You joke, pushing yourself to stand up straight, “You don’t have to be injured to stop by the office, Quinn.” You hum, biting down on your bottom lip as you force the smile on your face to shrink. Quinn knows his mouth is handing open a little, he also knows that if any of his teammates catch him like this he’s going to lose any ‘captains free of teasing’ cards he might have. 

Quinn watches as you walk away. 

He watches as you send a small wave to Elias who’s on the ice waving matching how you move your hand just a vigorously as Quinn wishes you would wave at him. He frowns as he skates over to his teammate bumping his shoulder into the taller Swedish man who look at his captain as if he’s grown a second head. 

“You already have a girlfriend, don’t go flirting with my nurse.” Quinn snaps, skating away and off the ice before Elias can even wrap his head around what he just said. 

+

+

You had never been one to pay much attention to locker room gossip. Working in sports for almost your entire career, you had heard more than your fair share of things taken completely out of context, and you’d long since learned to tune out the noise. It was part of the job. But lately, something about Quinn’s behavior had been harder to ignore.

At first, it didn’t seem like anything out of the ordinary. He was one of the team’s star players, after all, and regular check-ups were just part of the game. Hockey was a rough sport, and injuries were a constant concern. But the more you thought about it, the more you realized that Quinn wasn’t exactly visiting for serious concerns. Half the time, his visits seemed... unnecessary. You had started to wonder if maybe, just maybe, the gossip you usually ignored could actually shed some light on the situation this time.

One afternoon, as you were organizing the supply cabinet, you casually mentioned something to one of the assistant trainers.

“Hey, is it just me, or is Quinn in here like, every other day?” you mused, trying to keep your tone light.

The trainer snorted, clearly amused. “Oh, it’s not just you. Dude practically has a reserved seat at your exam table.”

You rolled your eyes, though a small part of you couldn’t deny the truth in what they were saying. “Yeah, but for what? Last week, he came in because his nose was ‘tingling.’”

The trainer gave you a knowing look. “And you don’t find that suspicious?”

You frowned, the pieces starting to come together. “What do you mean?”

“C’mon,” the trainer chuckled. “You’re smart. Think about it.”

And you did. You thought about every time Quinn had lingered after practice, how he always seemed to show up right when you were free. The way his excuses were getting thinner—like that one time he claimed he’d pulled something, only to be miraculously fine the next day.

Before you could dwell on it too much, the trainer casually added, “I mean, it could have something to do with the fact he called dibs on you, right?”

You froze. “He what?”

The trainer grinned. “Yeah, right after your first offical day. Told the whole locker room.” You blinked, caught somewhere between disbelief and something else. Because now that you were really paying attention, all those lingering glances, the way Quinn always seemed to be around—it all started making sense. And the more you thought about it, the harder it became to ignore the way your stomach fluttered whenever he walked into the room.

The truth settled over you like a slow, creeping warmth. You had started noticing Quinn too. The way his eyes always found yours the moment he stepped into the room, the way they lingered just a second too long. The way he sat on the exam table, legs swinging slightly like a kid caught in trouble, waiting for you to give him attention. The way he smirked when you called him out on his ridiculous excuses, only to come back a day later with another flimsy reason to be there.

You hadn’t let yourself think too much about it before, but now?

Now, it was all you could think about.

When Quinn walked into your office this time, there was something different about him. The usual swagger he carried was gone. His right hand was wrapped in a makeshift bandage, uneven and hastily done, and he was walking with more care than usual. 

“Quinn, didn’t we just have a talk about you not having to fake injuries to come here?” The words are out with a tone of teasing as Quinn pauses by your office door, the usual half smile not spreading across his face like it usually would. You only just notice the subtle grimace on his face as he moved, trying to hide the pain but not doing a very good job of it.

"Quinn?" you asked, your voice soft with concern. "What happened?"

He shrugged, trying to downplay the situation. “Just a rough hit during practice. Got caught in the corner, didn’t see it coming.”

You frowned, already moving closer to him. Your eyes dropped to his hand, the bandage too tight, the wrapping messy. It was obvious someone hadn’t really known what they were doing, and as you looked closer, your stomach twisted at the sight of his swollen fingers.

“Let me see it,” you said, your tone firm despite the worry growing inside you. Quinn hesitated for a moment, looking like he was considering walking out of the room. But then, with a soft sigh, he unwrapped the bandage. Your breath caught in your throat when you saw the extent of the injury. His hand was badly swollen, the knuckles dark purple, almost black. His fingers were stiff, and the skin around them looked raw. A few cuts ran along the top, but it was the deep purple bruising that made your heart sink.

“Quinn,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, though panic threatened to break through. “This doesn’t look good. Are you sure you didn’t break something?”

He winced slightly, instinctively pulling his hand back, though he quickly forced it forward again. “It’s not broken. Just bruised. Probably sprained or something.”

You didn’t buy it. The way his fingers barely moved when you gently flexed them sent a sharp jolt of fear through you. There was no way this was just a sprain. You moved closer, your fingers brushing his wrist as you gently turned his hand. You couldn’t help but notice how warm his skin felt beneath your touch, how the simple contact made your pulse quicken.

“Quinn,” you said, your voice now low and urgent, “you need to get an X-ray. I don’t think this is just bruising. You could’ve fractured something.” He tensed under your touch, and for a brief second, irritation flashed across his face. But then it softened, replaced by something else. Something that made your chest tighten. He looked at you, his gaze lingering on yours, and for a moment, he seemed like he was about to argue. But the words never came.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, but there was no conviction in his voice. “I’ll be good as new in a few days.”

“It’s not fine, Quinn,” you replied, your voice firm, though you could feel the slight tremble in your hands as you reached for fresh bandages. “This could be really bad if it’s not treated properly. Hands are fragile.”

He winced as you carefully began the process of re-wrapping his hand, flinching every time the pressure caused a sharp pain. “Sorry, I’m almost done,” you promised softly, your focus intense as you worked. But you couldn’t ignore the way Quinn’s gaze never left you, the way his eyes traced your every movement, his focus sharp despite the discomfort in his hand. The air between you felt charged, thick with something neither of you could quite name, but something neither of you could ignore.

You finished wrapping his hand, the bandage tight but not too tight, secure yet comfortable. His hand lingered under yours, the warmth of his skin radiating through your fingers, and you felt the beat of his breath against your neck as he shifted slightly on the table.

“Comfortable?” you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper, your gaze flicking up to meet his.

He hesitated, eyes holding yours for just a second longer than necessary. “Yeah,” he muttered, but the softness in his tone made something in your chest tighten.

You glanced up at him, your voice steady but quiet as you spoke. “Okay, it should be secure, but not too uncomfortable. One of the physicians will write you up a referral for the X-ray, but until then, I’m sure you know the deal with R.I.C.E?” Quinn nodded, slowly slipping off the table, though his eyes flicked down at your phone, which had just buzzed on the desk.

“Who’s messaging?” he asked, his voice softer than usual, his expression unreadable.

“Ryan—the doctor,” you replied, not quite looking up as you grabbed your phone, the tension still thick in the air.

Quinn frowned, his jaw tightening. “Do you text often?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What? Quinn, why does that—” And then, like a sudden realisation, the pieces fell into place. The locker room confession. The way he was acting now. “Oh my god.” You say softly, only just notice the way that Quinn’s eyes widen a little in panic, as if he hadn’t fully thought through his questions.  “You’re jealous.”

For the first time in a long while, Quinn didn’t deny it “So what if I am?” He watches as your gaze softens, your phone buzzing again on the table, Quinn’s eyes moving from yours to shoot back down to your phone, glaring at the small device as you let out a soft laugh. 

“Quinn, it’s my work phone - we only text about work stuff.” You explain slowly, lifting the phone to show him the message on the screen. 

Doctor Ryan: the referral’s been forwarded to the usual clinic, make sure he goes there this afternoon for a fast tracked report. 

You can see the moment Quinn’s whole body releases, his hand gently pressed against his chest as the pout stays planted firmly on his face. “Don’t worry, I could never replace my favourite patient.” 

+

+

A few weeks had passed since Quinn’s injury, and although you had made him promise to follow through with seeing a doctor, the tension between you had only grown. He’d kept to his word about getting checked out, he also had almost completely refused to see anyone but you for his rechecks. But, as time went on, other things crept into your mind—the pressure of deadlines, the constant demands of the team. You barely had time to focus on yourself, let alone on Quinn.

But today, something felt different. The minute Quinn walked into your office, you could already tell that this conversation wasn’t going to go how they normally did. He didn’t have the usual pep in his step and was hesitant as he knocked softly on your office door, his hand tightly strapped into it’s brace, you barely acknowledge him as you glance towards him — this time, there was a subtle concern in his eyes, a sense that he was more observant than usual. The way his gaze lingered on you, the way he studied you without saying anything. You were leaning over a stack of paperwork, scribbling notes, trying to catch up on the mountain of tasks that had piled up in the last few days. When Quinn cleared his throat, you looked up, expecting the usual banter.

“What do you need, Quinn?” you asked, your tone light, though a little strained. You hadn’t been sleeping well lately—too many late nights in the office, too many early mornings dealing with practice and managing medical records. Your exhaustion had been creeping up on you, but you tried to ignore it.

Quinn stood at the door, his posture a little straighter than usual, his eyes flicking over you with an intensity that you didn’t quite understand. “You look... off,” he said, voice quieter than normal. “I just wanted to check on you?”

You laughed softly, though there was a slight rasp in your voice that made you immediately regret it. “I’m fine, Quinn. Just tired. You know how it is.” He frowned, taking a few steps closer to the desk, his gaze narrowing slightly as he took in your appearance. Your eyes were a little too dull, your skin a little too pale. Even your usual sharp movements seemed slower, less deliberate.

“I don’t know, you don’t look ‘fine,’” he said, his voice dropping in concern. “You’ve been like this the last couple of days. You’re not getting sick, are you?” You waved him off with a half-smile, trying to brush off the worry in his tone. 

“I’m not sick. Just stretched thin, that’s all. It’s been a crazy week. A few too many late nights.” You met his gaze, your heart racing slightly at the intensity in his eyes. It was rare for him to sound this serious, to be this concerned over something so small. But you couldn’t let him see that it was bothering you. You weren’t about to admit that the exhaustion had been catching up to you.

“I’m fine, really,” you reassured him, the words coming out with a little more force than you intended.

Quinn didn’t seem convinced, but he nodded slowly, his gaze softening as he watched you. “Alright, but if you feel worse, you should probably go home.”

You smiled faintly, the corners of your lips pulling tight. “Thanks, Quinn. I’ll be fine,” you reassured him, though the words didn’t come with the usual ease. The exhaustion was creeping in on you, and something in your chest tugged uncomfortably at the lie, but you weren’t ready to admit it. Not yet.

"Lets take a look at that hand." As you stood to lead him to the exam table, the quick motion sent a light wave of dizziness through your head. Your vision flickered at the edges, and for a moment, the floor seemed to tilt slightly. You blinked hard, gripping the edge of your desk, willing the feeling to pass. It had been happening more frequently lately—those sudden, disorienting spells that lasted only a few seconds, but they left you unsettled.

You pushed the sensation aside, but there was a heaviness in the pit of your stomach you couldn’t ignore. The subtle ache in your joints was there too—something you’d learned to live with because of your autoimmune condition. But today? It was worse. The stiffness in your knees, the prickling in your fingers, the slight nausea curling in your stomach. It was all just a little too much. But you’d learned to mask it, to power through.

When you reached the table, Quinn was already standing there, one hand resting casually against the bed. But his eyes locked on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. He was watching you too closely—more closely than usual—and something about the way he lingered at the threshold made you suddenly self-conscious.

You forced a smile. “I’m good. Just got up too fast.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow, but didn’t seem entirely convinced. “You sure? You look a little pale.” His voice was quieter now, more cautious. It was rare for Quinn to show concern like this, and it was clear that something in your demeanor was making him uneasy. You waved him off with a dismissive gesture - like you had with everyone else all day -  though your muscles felt stiff as you tried to move past him. 

“Really, I’m fine. Just tired.” You couldn’t risk letting him see the way your heart was racing, the way your breath felt shallow as you fought to steady yourself. It was probably nothing. Just a long week catching up to you. But Quinn didn’t move. His gaze tracked you closely, his eyes narrowing slightly as you made your way down the hall. He seemed to be reading you like a book, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that he could see through your carefully constructed mask.

Quinn didn’t say anything else as he slipped onto the exam table, watching you carefully as you slowly unstrapped his hand from the splint, getting him to move each finger to test his range of motion before sending him a quick smile, trying to ignore the throbbing in the back of your head. 

“It’s looking good, maybe just another week or two and you should be back in tip top shape.” You smile at him, but the expression feels almost like a grimace, Quinn non-injured hand reaching out to press gently against your forehead, his eyes widening in surprise as he frowns at you. 

“You have a fever, are you sure you should be here?” He asks, his gaze soft with concern. 

“I’m sure it’s nothing, look you’re my last booking, I’ll head home after we restrap your hand.” You say, the feeling of fatigue growing as you slide the splint onto the back of Quinn’s hand, his gaze watching you move as you strap it back in place, taking a step away from his concern as he slides of the table as soon as you finish. 

“Do you need a ride home? I’ll be good to go soon?” Quinn offers quietly, almost silently as you shake your head. But Quinn wasn’t moving. He was still watching you, his eyes intense, reading you in a way you hadn’t expected. The subtle pressure in your chest grew. You needed to tell him. You should tell him. But you didn’t want to make it worse, didn’t want him to feel like he had to fix something that was out of his control.

“I’ll be okay, it’s probably just a cold.” You reassure him, watching as he slowly retreats from your office, only letting out a long breath as you see his figure disappear down the hall, your office door closing as you slide down the wall. 

Okay maybe ‘just a cold’ was an understatement. 

+

+

The sound of the skates scratching against the ice rang through the arena — practice had been tough today, the team getting closer and closer to opening night, which was leading to frustrations building up and overall more aggression in practice. Quinn was distracted as he skated the drill, moving to defend the corner as he comes up behind his teammate barely noticing the slightly lifted stick, the blade slicing sharply against his cheek. 

“Fuck.” Quinn curses as he yanks himself away from the group, each of them turning to their captain in concern as he raises his hand to cup his face. “Shit.” He curses again as the first few drops of blood land on his glove, the team trainer reaches him with a towel pressing it up against his face as he motions for him to skate to the bench - his coach patting him on the shoulder as he passes. 

Quinn stomps his way to the locker room pulling the towel away from his face to glance down at the towel the slow trickle of blood running down his cheek.  The sharp sting on his cheek was the least of Quinn's concerns as Elias’s voice cut through the fog in his mind. “It looks like you need stitches.” His tone was casual, as though he were commenting on the weather, where Elias had gotten his medical degree, Quinn had no clue.

“Yeah, yeah—I'll just go see the nurse, it’s fine,” Quinn muttered, though deep down, the thought of walking down the hall to your office, watching you work your magic as you always did, made his pulse quicken.

It wasn’t just that you were the best at patching him up. It wasn’t just the way you had that quiet way of making him feel safe, of making him feel like maybe, just maybe, he mattered.

It was your hands—always gentle, never rushing, always careful. It was the way your eyes softened when you scolded him, like you saw through his tough exterior to the mess of thoughts and emotions swirling underneath. He swallowed, shaking his head, trying to shake off the images of you. 

Focus on the task at hand.

Fix face bleeding. Not daydream about a pretty girl.

But as he trudged down the hallway, the familiar door of the med bay loomed in front of him. His heartbeat drummed against his chest, a dull thud, and he could almost feel the comforting weight of your presence just beyond the door. He knocked, already forming the words, but they caught in his throat the second he opened it.

You weren’t there.

Instead, a stranger sat behind the desk. She was smiling—polite, neutral—but it wasn’t the smile that made Quinn’s stomach churn. It was the sterile, empty feel of the room. It wasn’t the same without you. It was like someone had taken all the life out of the place, leaving behind nothing but cold, clinical efficiency. The faint apple-scented perfume you always wore, the little piles of paperwork you never seemed to quite organise but made everything feel more... alive—gone... well moved to the filing cabinet at the back of the room. His chest tightened, a familiar ache settling deep within him.

“Oh. Uh… you’re new?” Quinn managed to get the words out, though they felt clumsy, like he was fumbling for something to hold onto in the thick fog of unease clouding his brain. He scanned the room, his eyes darting around, looking for any trace of you.

The nurse—a locum, she called herself—raised an eyebrow. “Your regular nurse is out for the week. I’m just the locum,” she said, her voice chirpy but completely impersonal. Her eyes flicked to his cheek, then back up to his face.

“Want me to take care of that for you, hun?” The word ‘hun’ hit him like a slap. His mouth went dry, and he couldn’t hide the sudden flinch. 

“Why?” he asked, and the word escaped before he could stop it, thick with something he couldn’t name. His stomach twisted.

The locum blinked, clearly thrown by the harshness of his tone. “Because it needs stitches, sweetheart.”

“No,” Quinn snapped, voice tight. He shook his head, the words tumbling out before he could think. “Not that. Why is she out?” His voice dropped, lower now, thick with a weight he wasn’t ready to admit.

The nurse shrugged, completely unaffected. “She just said she was sick.”

Sick.

The word hung in the air, lingering long after the nurse had spoken. It was like a hit to the chest, sudden and brutal, making it hard to breathe. You hadn’t looked well the last time he saw you—pale, tired, even a little... off. But he’d pushed it to the back of his mind. He hadn’t thought much about it. But now? Now, it gnawed at him, each passing second another piece of his peace slipping through his fingers.

 What if it was something worse than a cold? What if it was something... serious? Something he should have seen? The thought made him dizzy, his hands trembling as he gripped the towel against his cheek.

What if you were hurt? What if something had happened on the way home, and he hadn’t been there? What if—

His heart pounded, drowning out the nurse’s attempt to coax him toward the bench. "Now, come sit so I can stitch you up," she said, her tone completely unfazed.

But Quinn couldn’t focus. He couldn’t make himself sit there, couldn’t do anything but take a step back. "No," he muttered, his voice shaky. "You’re not my nurse. She won’t like it if you do it." The words came out harsher than he meant, a small whine creeping into his voice that he couldn’t contain. He didn’t care. He turned on his heel, stomping out of the room, the nurse’s protests fading behind him.

He barely heard Elias’s teasing question when he stormed into the locker room. “What are you doing back here? Your cheek is still bleeding.” Quinn didn’t even glance at him. His fingers were already flying across his phone screen, heart hammering in his chest as he typed the only thing that mattered right now.

"She's not there." Quinn dismisses.

Captain Hughes: Where are you? Are you okay?

He slapped a bandaid over the wound trying to stop the bleeding, the motion automatic, but it did nothing to soothe the sick feeling swirling in his gut. Elias watched him with an eyebrow raised, arms crossed. “There should be a locum nurse who can take care of it.”

Quinn shot him a glare. “She’s not my nurse. She’s not fixing anything.” Before Elias could open his mouth, Quinn’s phone buzzed in his hand, the screen lighting up with your name. His heart lurched.

“Quinn,” your voice was raspy, tired. It sent a jolt of panic through him. “Why did I get a phone call from the locum?” Your voice sounded strained, like you were barely holding it together.

His hands trembled as he gripped the phone tighter. "Maybe she’s just mad she’s not you?"

There was a brief pause, and then, a sigh—a tired, heavy thing that hit him like a physical blow. "Or because you refused to let her do her job."

He wasn’t listening to the scolding tone in your voice. He couldn’t. His mind was already reeling, his pulse racing. "Where are you?" he demanded, ignoring the scolding. His breath was shallow, anxiety building in his chest. The beeping, the voices in the background—it all felt wrong.

“Nowhere important. I’m just sick.” Another sigh, deeper this time. “Please, let the nurse stitch your face up. It’d be a shame for something so pretty to be ruined.”

Quinn’s mind ground to a halt at your words. Pretty. The heat of it bloomed in his chest, and for a second, he almost forgot about everything else. But then, the beeping, the murmur of voices—it all came crashing back. His heart pounded in his ears.

"This isn’t funny anymore, where are you?" he snapped into the phone, his voice thick with desperation. "I’ll let the nurse look at my face if you tell me where you are, please, just tell me."

Another sigh from the other end, longer this time. "Put Elias on the phone. I know he's there."

Quinn frowned, but there was no room for argument. He handed over the phone, watching Elias’s expression shift from confusion to something darker, more serious. Quinn’s stomach churned as Elias nodded at something you said, his eyes never leaving Quinn as he ended the call.

“Well?” Quinn demanded, his voice tight with frustration.

Elias didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he handed the phone back, face unreadable. “Nurse first. Then I’ll tell you where she is.”

Quinn’s heart sank. The weight of those words hit him like a boulder, and he didn’t need Elias to say more. He knew what it meant. He knew what this was.

You really were sick.

And not just 'a little cold' sick.

His palms were clammy, and his breath was shallow as he walked back to the med bay, each step heavier than the last. The locum nurse glanced up at him when he entered, her expression still vaguely annoyed. He didn’t care. He didn’t care about her or her efficiency. His jaw was tight as he dropped onto the bench.

“So, you changed your mind?” the nurse mused, but Quinn didn’t respond. He didn’t resist when she tilted his face, cleaning the wound with gentle pressure, though every part of him was screaming for you. His phone felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket, but he didn’t check it. Not yet.

The nurse worked quickly, efficiently, but it wasn’t you. It wasn’t the way you always made him feel like he mattered. The silence between them was oppressive, and all he could think about was what Elias hadn’t told him. His mind raced, cycling through all the worst possibilities as the nurse finished stitching him up. When she was done, she stepped back, a satisfied little hum escaping her lips. “There,” she said, her voice flat. “All set. Try not to pick at it.”

"Thank you," he muttered, the words coming out with little more than a breathless rasp. He could barely bring himself to meet the nurse’s eyes, his mind already elsewhere. Without waiting for any sort of response, he shoved himself to his feet. His legs felt shaky, like they might give way under the weight of it all, but he forced himself to move. He didn’t have time to dwell on anything else.

He pushed past the nurse and stepped into the hallway, the stark fluorescent lights buzzing above him. Elias was waiting there, arms crossed, leaning against the wall with his usual half-amused expression.

He didn’t care. He didn’t care about Elias’s curiosity or the way his teammate was watching him, measuring him. The only thing that mattered in that moment was getting to you, making sure you were okay. Quinn’s breath came faster as he fumbled for his keys, the cold metal jarring against his clammy fingers. His mind was already spinning ahead, imagining you lying in some sterile hospital room, your face pale, the machines beeping in the background. His pulse raced at the thought, his chest tightening as if it were collapsing in on itself.

“She’s in the hospital,” Elias confirms, his voice slow, deliberate. There was a heaviness in his words that Quinn didn’t like. A hesitation. He wasn’t sure what that hesitation meant, but it made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Elias was looking at him differently now, almost studying him. “She said it was minor and not to worry too much. I’ll text you the ward and room number.”

Quinn’s body froze, the air around him growing colder by the second. His stomach dropped, a nauseous swirl of panic twisting in his gut. Minor? He had heard you—the faint sound of beeping, voices in the background. That wasn’t minor.

Being in the hospital wasn't minor.

His mind reeled. Why hadn’t you told him?

"What are you looking at?" he snapped, his voice harsher than he meant, the frustration slipping through the cracks in his composure. He looked at Elias sharply, the unease in his chest pushing him to lash out, to try and steady himself in the only way he knew how—by focusing on something else, anything else.

Elias didn't immediately respond, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if weighing the tension in the air. For a moment, Quinn thought his friend might just leave him to stew in his own panic, but then Elias’s lips parted, and the question came out, soft but piercing.

“Nothing. It’s just... you really like her, don’t you?” Quinn blinked, the question catching him off guard. He wasn’t prepared for it, not now, not when every nerve in his body was on fire. He shot Elias a sharp look, his thoughts racing in a hundred different directions.

“Why are you acting like it’s a secret?” Quinn muttered, his voice rough and laced with something he refused to examine. The words were automatic, a shield he threw up to protect himself from the truth—truths that had always been simmering beneath the surface but that he had never dared to confront. His fingers gripped his phone tighter, the details of your hospital room now lighting up the screen. His thumb flew over the screen to read the message, but it was almost as if he couldn’t process the information fast enough.

“Of course I like her,” he said quietly, almost too quietly, like the words weren’t meant for anyone else’s ears but his own. It wasn’t like him to admit something so simple. It wasn’t like him to let it slip out so easily. His voice softened, and for the first time, there was something vulnerable in it—something raw that Quinn had never shown anyone. "What’s not to like?"

The words felt heavy in his chest, but they weren’t the words that mattered. It wasn’t about whether you were likeable—it was about the fear twisting inside him, the knot in his stomach, and the thought of losing you that made everything else seem insignificant.

Without another word, he shoved his phone in his pocket and turned to leave, his footsteps heavy with purpose. Elias didn’t say anything else, but Quinn could feel his teammate’s eyes on him, an unspoken understanding passing between them.

As he rushed past Elias, he slapped him on the shoulder, the touch brief but somehow grounding. He didn’t have time to think about what just happened, about the way Elias was looking at him, or about the question that had been hanging in the air between them. Everything else could wait. 

He had to get to you.

+

+

Quinn's heart hammered as he sprinted through the corridors, each step bringing him closer to you and the gnawing fear he couldn’t shake. The sterile smell of the hospital mingled with the sense of panic that clawed at his chest, making it harder to breathe with every passing second. He barely registered the hum of fluorescent lights overhead, the murmurs of staff going about their work—everything was drowned out by the steady pounding in his ears.

He reached the ward. The cold, harsh lights of the hallway illuminated the pale green walls, the faint scent of antiseptic hanging in the air. His legs felt heavy, almost like they weren’t his own, as he approached the nurse’s station. “Hi, I’m looking for room 34?” Quinn says softly the nurse sending him a soft smile, before pointing to the left the closed door with a large ’34’ printed besides it. 

“Hey, when you go in there can you tell her that she owes me a rematch for the card game we played last time she was here.” The nurse chuckles a little as she talks, Quinn just nodding as his words sink deep into the pit of his stomach. 

Last time she was here? 

Quinn knocks on the heavy wooden door, hearing a small hum before he pushes it open - the sight of you alert and perched in your bed, your laptop sitting on the over bed table, a very bright coloured movie playing on the screen. You send him a guilty smile as you slide your headphones off your head, patting the empty space on the bed in front of you. 

Quinn can’t help the way he tracks the IV in the top of your hand, or the way your oversized shirt seems to hang a little looser than it’s supposed to.  His stomach turned as he stepped into the room, his mind already overrun with a thousand questions.

What was going on? Why hadn’t you told him anything? He didn’t even know what to say—how could he? He had walked in expecting to find you in some sterile, lifeless hospital room, but this? This was worse. The brightness of the screen, the comfortable setting, the familiar feeling you seemed to have sitting in a hospital bed.

You smiled at him, but it was a soft, apologetic thing—nothing like the usual spark in your eyes. Something about it made his heart ache. He forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. He had to get it together.

“You look like hell,” you said lightly, though there was a weariness in your voice that he couldn’t ignore. Quinn’s hand tightened on the doorframe. The faint beeping of a monitor near your bed added to the tension in the air, a constant reminder that whatever was going on, it wasn’t just a common cold. 

You weren’t supposed to be here.

You were young, healthy. The flu wasn’t meant to land someone in hospital. 

“You said it was just the flu?” Quinn asked, his voice low, not quite angry, but far too thick with concern to mask. He took a step closer, but still, the distance between you seemed too far, like some invisible wall had risen between you. You shrugged, but it wasn’t the usual carefree gesture. 

“It was just the flu.” You start, hesitant to continue, “Quinn, I have rheumatoid arthritis and because of that I have to take immune suppressants to manage it.” You explain slowly, patting the end of the bed again as you watch him step further into the room slowly making his way to the side of your bed. “Sometimes when I get the flu or any kind of sickness really my body is so busy fighting itself that it doesn’t focus of the other things.” Quinn sinks slowly onto the mattress, his hands balled tightly in front of him as he listens carefully. 

“The nurse said you’ve been here before?” You just hum in response, scooting a little further forwards until your knee brushes his. 

“I’m at higher risk of complications with standard illnesses cause of my condition so I’ve been here a few times for pneumonia — usually I just need some antibiotics and I’ll be okay, but I guess I was a little extra run down this time.” You let out a nervous laugh as you continue to explain. 

“You could’ve told me.” Quinn sighs, still not sure what to do, his eyes tracing over the wires hooked up to your body, the IV line protruding from your hand. 

“I didn’t want to worry you,” you said, but the words didn’t hold their usual strength. Instead, they sounded almost too tired to even believe. Quinn bit the inside of his cheek, his pulse rising again.

 “Worry me?” he repeated, almost incredulously. His chest tightened with frustration, with a deep, gnawing fear that made him feel like he was losing control. 

“You thought just not saying anything and disappearing off the face of the earth wouldn’t worry me?” His voice was sharper now, a reflection of the panic he hadn’t realised he’d been holding back. “I thought— it doesn’t matter what I thought.” Quinn swallows down the growing lump in his throat.  His protective side is roaring, demanding answers, but there’s a deeper, quieter feeling that tugs at him: the fear that, despite all the times you’ve taken care of him - even when he was making it up — you’ve been hiding something.

His inability to fix this situation, to make it better for you, eats at him. He wants to ease your pain, wants to do something, but he doesn’t know how. And that, more than anything, terrifies him. The panic, the guilt, the sense of losing control—all of it spirals within him, and he’s caught between the urge to shield you and the sharp sting of realising you’ve been suffering alone. 

“Quinn?” You call softly, your hand reaching for his as you lace your fingers together pulling it into your lap as you drag his attention away from his own spiralling thoughts and back to you. “I’m going to be okay — they said I might be discharged tonight or early tomorrow.”  Quinn closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep, steadying breath. It was hard to breathe around the weight of everything, the knot in his stomach tightening more with every passing second. You weren’t supposed to carry this burden alone. He wasn’t supposed to let you.

“You don’t have to worry.” Your whispered words pull frustration from him as he lets out a long groan. 

“What if I want to worry? Did you ever think of that?”  You fell silent, staring at him with a mixture of surprise and something softer, almost vulnerable. Quinn swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly as his fingers flex in yours. He never realised how much he took your presence for granted until this moment. 

Quinn exhaled shakily, his free hand scrubbing over his face as he tried to find the right words. "I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to just—watch you go through this and act like it’s fine. Like it’s normal. Because it’s not."

Your fingers squeezed his, grounding him, but it wasn’t enough. His pulse was still hammering against his ribs, the adrenaline of running through the hospital halls not yet fading. He had nearly lost his mind wondering why you were here, and now you were sitting here, pale and exhausted, brushing it off like it was just another part of life.

But it wasn’t just another part of his life—because his life didn’t work without you in it, something he'd only just come to realise. 

Somehow, someone who everyone thought was just the new nurse - his nurse - has managed to squeeze her way into his heart and he had welcomed it with open arms. 

You hesitated, staring at your joined hands before finally meeting his gaze. "I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I just... didn’t know how to bring it up. I hate feeling like some fragile thing people need to tiptoe around. It’s not a secret, it’s just—"

"It’s just something you’ve been pushing through without a single person there to help," Quinn cut in, his voice softer now, but no less serious.

"And that’s what kills me. You think I wouldn’t want to know? You think I wouldn’t want to be there? You’re—I want to be there, to take care of you when you're sick or to be someone you can tell these things too. " The room fell into a heavy silence, only broken by the quiet hum of the machines monitoring your vitals. Quinn let out a humourless laugh, shaking his head as he raked a hand through his hair. "Do you have any idea how scared I was?" His voice cracked slightly at the end, and it was enough to make your breath hitch.

You had seen Quinn angry. You had seen him frustrated, annoyed, even exhausted—but this? This was something different. This was raw, unfiltered fear, bleeding into every word, every movement, every breath.

"I just... I never wanted you to feel like you had to worry about me like that," you admitted quietly. "I can handle it, Quinn. I’ve been handling it since I was eighteen."

"You shouldn’t have to handle it alone!" His voice rose, but not in anger—just in sheer, unrestrained emotion. "You keep saying you’re okay, but I don’t want okay. I don’t want to just be the guy who sees you on your good days, who only gets half of you because you’re too damn stubborn to let me in when it really matters. I want to be there for all of it. The bad days. The hard ones. The nights you can’t sleep and the mornings where everything hurts. I want to be the person you call before you end up in a hospital bed, not after." You blinked, your fingers tightening around his as your lips parted slightly, like you wanted to say something—but nothing came out. Quinn exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging as he leaned closer, his forehead nearly brushing yours.

"You scare the hell out of me," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. "Not because of this—not because of your condition, or the hospital, or any of that. You scare me because I don't want to not have you around. Because I care about you so damn much that it physically hurts to think about my life where you’re not apart of it. And I hate that I didn’t know. I hate that I wasn’t there. And I hate that you thought, even for a second, that I wouldn’t want to be." Tears pricked at your eyes, the sheer depth of his words settling into your chest like a weight too heavy to ignore.

You had always known Quinn cared—hell he made it blatantly obvious the second he walked into your office complaining of an itchy arm. 

But this?

This was different. 

This was more.

Your throat tightened as you shifted, your free hand reaching up to cup his cheek. "I’m sorry," you whispered, your voice thick. "I didn’t mean to scare you or shut you out. I just... I didn’t want to be a burden." 

Quinn let out a choked laugh, his eyes shining with something you weren’t sure you had ever seen before. "You could never be a burden. Not to me. Never to me." The weight of the moment hung between you, the truth of it wrapping around you both in a way that felt unshakable, undeniable. His hand squeezed yours, grounding you just as much as you had grounded him. And in that moment, there was nothing left to hide—just the quiet, unspoken understanding that whatever came next, you wouldn’t be facing it alone. You let out a shaky breath, your fingers still curled tightly around his. The weight of his words, the sheer rawness of his emotions, settled deep in your chest, tangling with the guilt and fear you hadn’t even realised you were carrying.

“I don’t know how to do this either,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Letting people in, leaning on someone like this… it’s always just been me.” 

Quinn’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his gaze unwavering. “Well, it’s not just you anymore.” His grip on your hand tightened, firm, steady—like an anchor. “You’re stuck with me now. I called dibs.” A small, breathless laugh escaped you. His lips quirked at the sound. 

“I did hear about something like that.” You can’t help the smile that lights up your face, Quinn’s look mirroring yours as he lifts your hand to his lips pressing a small kiss against your knuckles. 

“I knew what I wanted.” Quinn offers with a small shrug, you raised a brow at him, amusement flickering through the lingering emotion in your eyes. “Oh and apparently the nurse out there said you owe her a rematch.” 

[elliesanqel]

loser ellie being down bad for mean!reader please like maybe shes a popular girl that kinda makes fun of her

obsessed

sypnosis; you were the popular girl—mostly known for making fun of people but there was one girl in particular you always made fun of on the daily. however, with you thinking she hated your guts because of how you treat her, little did you know how secretly obsessed she was with you when she shows another side of herself. warnings; smut, sub!fem reader, dom!ellie, semi-public fingering, slight cum play, not proofread, mdni. a/n; sorry for the wait…i’ve been sick😭 but here i am powering through💪 i looooved this idea so tysm for ur req! (sorry if it sounds rushed, better ones will come soon💔) hope u enjoy! reqs are always open so send as many in i looove seeing them! also if you wanna be on my taglist drop a comment or dm me!

➝ masterlist

you sat at your table with your friends, just a regular wednesday. everyone who wasnt your friend saw you as the mean girl. the popular girl. the one everyone would kill to be like or even sit with. you had to admit, you loved the feeling of being drooled over. you were mean to alot of people, you enjoyed teasing. but when it came to that one girl? ellie williams? oh you enjoyed teasing her more than everyone—your go to was the fact that everyone knew she was a lesbian, mostly because of the fact you knew you could say something as you were straight. or…so you thought.

you laughed with your mates, till at the corner of your eye you see her, her backpack slung over her shoulder as she trails past your table, not even making eye contact and you could sense the fact she knew you’d say something when she turned her head the other way.

“look, guys. its that lesbian weirdo.” you laugh, thinking you were somewhat funny as your friends laughed too. you never let a day go by where you wouldn’t tease her. after all, in your eyes it was just banter. she shot you a look of disgust, which only made you smirk when you realised she wasnt trying to look away.

“what’re you starin’ for? hm? did you wanna kiss me or something?” you joke, your friends laughs echoing behind you. she rolled her eyes and walked off before you could make another joke, shooting you a side glance as she exited the cafeteria. you smiled to yourself, thinking your teasing was successful for today.

that was until after lunch had ended, you had 2 more lessons left before you went home now so you got up and said bye to your friends, walking towards the hallway to your next lesson.

you stopped at your locker for some things, but before you could close it a rough hand gripped around your arm and dragged you to the nearest empty classroom. you couldnt even react it was so fast, all you could do was try and scream but even that was abruptly cut off by a hand covering your mouth.

the classroom was pitch black as the blinds were down, but an open window blew one of the blinds slightly, letting some light in and illuminating who dragged you here. your eyes widened in confusion, but then you were just completely dumbfounded once you recognised the memorable features…of her.

“you—” you began, but your sentence was yet again cut off when she took a step closer, her firm hands wrapping around your naked thighs due to your short skirt, and she placed you on top of one of the desks. she looked at you with those eyes. that same look that you knew all too well.

“you get off on making me look like a fool all the time. don’t you think its my turn now?” she whispers seductively, her breath fanning across your lips as she leaned in, her palms resting on your thighs. this was the complete opposite of what you’d expected from her, and to add on—you’d never really heard her talk before up until now.

you gulped loudly, her words leaving you completely speechless. you silently cursed yourself as you felt your thighs involuntarily spreading a little further, letting her stand inbetween them which is exactly what she did when she saw the opportunity.

she gripped your thighs harder, her lips leaning in and brushing against your ear, her voice low. “hmm. this doesn’t seem like straight behaviour to me. the same girl who makes fun of me for not being it,” she whispers, her hot breath touching your ear.

“spreading those legs for me, huh? yeah, seems very straight, doesn’t it?” she teases. repeatedly mentioning the whole straight thing considering you constantly made fun of her for being lesbian. so many thoughts clouded your mind and you were partly confused, but she was able to read that part. “let me clear that mind of yours, mhm?” she mumbles breathlessly, pressing a warm kiss to your cheek before one of her hands slowly began reaching up your skirt.

your breath hitched, but for some reason you weren’t pulling away. god, what was she doing to you? you started questioning yourself. wondering wether you made fun of her just to cover up the fact that you could potentially…like her. so many thoughts clouded in your head, but her next movement quickly swiped them all away.

her middle and ring finger slipped up your thigh, and past your panties, gently running through your folds. fuck sake. in a classroom. seriously?

you arched forward as you felt her warm fingers rub your folds, your forehead meeting with her shoulder as a needy whine fell past your parted lips. her eyes widened at that, however. she lifted her other hand from your thigh, getting her pointer finger and middle finger and gliding them across your bottom lip, wanting to slip them in. “be quiet. suck.” she commanded, ordering you to suck on her fingers to keep you silent.

your eyes flashed open, but all you could do at this point was comply. you opened your mouth further, taking her digits into your mouth as you began sucking on them. her face fell, her teeth finding her bottom lip as she bit down on it, urging her other hand. she began circling your clit which caused you to bite down on her fingers that were making your mouth feel so full.

she loved the feeling, seeing the girl who made fun of her looking like a fool beneath her. “thats it, thaaats it. suck, sweetheart.” she teased, her voice still that low and seductive tone that you’d gotten used to by now.

she wasted no time in slipping her fingers inside of your clearly aching pussy. she could feel your walls clench around them as she slipping them in fully. you bit down harder on her fingers, your eyes completely rolling back as you arched further.

“ohhh fuck…look at you,” she whispers, moving her lips to your ear again, her voice lowering even further as she spoke. she layed soft kisses to your temple, her soft lips grazing against your skin. her fingers continued to move, pumping in and out of your sobbing hole at a fast pace. so fucking ruthless.

you could feel it now, your stomach tightening and your walls clenching around ellies fingers, she could feel it too. one of your hands reach to her forearm, gripping on for dear life as you could feel yourself on the edge, your teeth biting down harder and your tongue swirling around her fingers in your mouth. she swore she could feel your juices surround her other ones before you’d even came yet, beginning to smirk as she saw you unfolding for her.

“i-i…im gonna—” you almost gag on your words, your mouth completely full with saliva and surrounded by her fingers. your ankles wrap around her waist, trapping her in. “shh, i know, i know.” she whispers reassuringly. she knew you were teetering on the edge and she wanted to get you there, purely to see the sight and for you to feel pleasure. with a couple more pumps, her fingers curling up and stroking against your spongey spot, and her thumb finding your clit, circling it gently, you felt your whole body begin to shake before finally jolting.

your cum flowed out of your aching pussy, onto the desk below you and covering her fingers. you give one final bite on her fingers in your mouth, but you couldnt help but whine as your back arched once more. why was that so good…and why did you want more? she grinned, slipping her fingers out of your mouth with a pop.

then came her fingers from your wet cunt, slipping them out. she smirked at the sight. “i knew your cum would look good on my fingers,” she whispers, looking you dead in the eyes. but then she raised her fingers to her mouth, inserting them in and licking up every last bit like it was liquid fucking gold. she let out a content hum, all the while your eyes widening as you watched her lick your juices up.

her words lingered in your head. well fuck. she’s thought of this happening before.

she reached her hand back down, gathering more of your release back onto her fingers, causing your hips to move against them slightly and your teeth finding your bottom lip. she really didnt care by this point, how desperate she looked for you, she just cared about showing it. this time though, she inched her fingers to your mouth, caressing your lips and letting your own cum drip onto them.

you’d never experienced anything like this before but you knew what she wanted, and you couldnt help but want nothing more than to comply with it. your tongue darted out, licking up your own cum off your lips that she’d put there. she eyed your every movement, smirking as she watched you like she was watching a damn porn video—completely mesmerised.

she pushed your panties back to where they should be, licking her fingers a few more times like she’d just enjoyed and was full from a good meal. she leaned into you, her lips brushing against yours now which caused your heart to jolt.

“guess i’ll see you tomorrow then?” she whispers, her words hitting you like a fucking truck. see you tomorrow? oh no she did not.

your eyes shot open in fury, about to physically yell at her for acting so nonchalant now. but before you could even protest she’d already began walking to the classroom door, opening it and closing it behind her, not even having the courtesy to give you a glance before she left. you sat there, completely dumbfounded and angry that she’d left you in a damn classroom in a state like this.

but something tugged in your stomach, silently cursing yourself that you were actually excited for tomorrow.

taglist: @valeisaslut @elliesfavtoy @ttspenny @willurms @slutt4ellie @stvrluvrrpres @elliescoochieeater @st0nerlesb0 @les4elliewilliams @eveyuyy @starwilliams @ellieswrath @eriiwaii @vahnilla

[authorscurse]

Satoru being swarmed and fawned over by girls isn’t an uncommon occurrence. “I’m just a likeable man!” he replies to anyone who asks him about it. Despite all the attention he receives—from girls and boys alike—he has eyes for just one person.

“He’s so hot! Oh my god!” one girl exclaims, glancing at Satoru and Suguru, who are leaning casually against the school lockers.

“Which one? Dibs on the guy with the bun!” one of her friends chimes in.

“The white-haired guy! Imagine how good-looking our kids would be if they had his eyes and hair but my face,” the girl says, clearly on cloud nine as she fantasizes about their impossible future together.

While organizing your things from your locker, you bite your tongue, not wanting to intervene in the loud conversation of the three girls beside you, even if one of them is already fantasizing about your boyfriend.

“I heard he has a girlfriend,” her friend with ribbons in her hair blurts out.

“Things can be stolen if left unattended,” the raven-haired girl smirks while twirling her hair.

“But he isn’t a thing, is he?” you counter, causing all three girls to turn their heads toward you. The girl eager to steal your boyfriend glares at you, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. You stifle a laugh at her “tough” demeanor, knowing it could easily be broken down with just a few words.

“I’m just saying he isn’t an object. Clearly, you can't seem to see that,” you assert, which only angers her and her minions further.

“Maybe she just wants him for herself, Yumi,” the girl with ribbons suggests, prompting their “leader” to smirk and appraise you from head to toe.

“He would never want her. Why would Satoru Gojo choose someone like her when he has better options?” Yumi states smugly.

“Better options that keep thinking he’s some object to be stolen? What a beautiful array of options that is,” you retort sarcastically, pulling books from your locker. “If you want to take him away, go ahead. But from what I’ve heard, he’s completely too wide-eyed for his girlfriend to even notice anyone else.”

You smile and walk away to your class, leaving them fuming behind you.

As soon as the bell rings, students rush to the door and exit the school. The rain pours heavily outside, causing water to drip through the windows of the classrooms.

“Goodbye, Miss Cawas,” you bid your teacher before stepping out of the classroom. The corridors are nearly deserted, with everyone clearly wanting to stay dry as they dash for the exit.

“Mind giving me a ride?” you hear Yumi’s faint voice ask as you approach the school exit.

“Can’t, I’m waiting for someone,” comes the familiar voice of your boyfriend, declining her request. You chuckle softly, placing one of your earbuds in its case.

As you come into view, Satoru’s smile widens as he waves. A warm feeling surges through you, and you wave back. Your smile quickly morphs into a smirk when you see the color drain from Yumi’s face as you approach them both.

“Hi, my love. Had a good day?” Satoru asks, leaning down to place a sweet kiss on your lips. You catch Yumi’s jaw dropping from the corner of your eye as you reciprocate Satoru’s kiss.

“Oh, hi, Yumi,” you greet her with a saccharine smile. Her eyes drop to Satoru’s arm wrapped securely around your waist.

“Y-you’re—”

“Toru’s girlfriend, yeah,” you interject.

“Y-you’re very lucky,” she says, struggling to swallow the mean and crude comments she clearly wants to unleash.

“Actually, I’m the lucky one,” Satoru laughs, turning to you. “Let’s go before the rain gets stronger.”

“Okay, love,” you reply, caressing his cheek. You step aside as he opens the car door, Yumi still staring at you both, watching your every move.

“Oh, Yumi!” you call out just before getting in, and her eyes snap to you. “Satoru’s eyes do look really pretty, don’t they? Too bad only my kids will inherit them. Have a good day!” You smile sweetly at her before slipping into the car with Satoru.

You watch Yumi’s figure fade from the side mirror as the car pulls away.

“You okay?” Satoru asks, concern etched on his face.

“Mhm, all good,” you say, closing your eyes and letting the warmth envelop you.

The ride is spent in comfortable silence, the only sound being the rain hitting the car roof.

“I think our kids will look even better with your eyes than with mine,” Satoru muses, glancing at you with a soft smile.

“Then with your hair,” you reply, making him nod and smile even more. He takes your hand in his and kisses it, never tearing his eyes away from the road.

You don’t mind that Satoru is fawned over by countless admirers every day. You know very well that he has eyes for you and you alone. And you only have your eyes on him.