#and is like 'this summer you and me are gonna fucking build this for your brother'

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 45

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Renee Walker stands next to two of her best friends in the entire world holding up a hand drawn sign. There's an, admittedly crudely drawn, Fox on the sign that Allison had made up.

Renee had seen it and smiled from across the airport as she made her way over to where Dan and Allison were standing waiting for everyone to come. The team had managed to coordinate their flights to land all within about two hours of one another and Allison had exactly zero desire to go back and forth from the airport so her driver was waiting out at a nearby cellphone lot to come and get them once everyone was there.

"Is it nice having a driver again?" Dan asks Allison.

"I sometimes miss driving around in my car but it's a lot easier to do my makeup with him driving." she says with a shrug as they continue to catch up. Renee is holding up the sign since Allison had complained that she had lost so much of the muscle she had previously had.

"Yeah, New York City seems like a major pain in the ass to drive in too." Dan agrees as her phone buzzes. She pulls out her phone and looks at it before a huge smile fills her face, one that means she's talking to Matt, "Oh! They just landed!" Dan says confirming Renee's suspicions.

Allison looks at her watch, "Wow, 20 minutes early. They must have gotten through boarding quickly." she comments.

"Or some good tailwind." Renee offers.

"When are Neil and Andrew due up?" Dan asks looking at Renee who smiles back at her friend.

"Andrew said they're going to take a break halfway here so they'll be here tomorrow morning." Renee says.

"Get it Neil." Allison nods and it had been a wonderful thing last year to watch Andrew and Allison make peace with one another. Their mutual desire to dress Neil up a bridge towards....maybe not friendship but camaraderie.

It warms Renee's heart to see her friends get along.

"The plane got tailwind, Neil's getting tail." Dan jokes.

"I'm looking forward to meeting the new kid that I've heard about." Renee says gently moving the topic on from their friends getting together. It didn't bother her at all, but she knew that Andrew would prefer no one talk about what he and Neil got up to.

"Oh! Yeah, uh..." Dan visibly buffers.

"Dan, you're the only one of us that's met the kid. His name's Smith." Allison says with eyebrows raised in judgement.

"Look, when Coach and I went to recruit the kid my brain was like 90% on the fact that I needed to go to my interview." Dan defends herself.

"So he wasn't that memorable for you?" Allison asks.

"Yeah, I'm surprised that he's getting along so well with the guys." Dan says. "Getting stabbed over Thanksgiving feels more like a Neil move than the quiet kid Coach and I met." she adds.

That had been an interesting phone call from Andrew. Renee hadn't even realized that she had become Natalie describing the best way to get rid of the body until Andrew had clarified that it'd been an accident and Smith was alive. Renee had been a little ashamed.

She was excited to meet the kid who Andrew had spoken to her about. Glad that their strange found family was growing just a little bit bigger.

They wait around continuing to talk about plans for the break together. Allison wants to go shopping and she wants to do it once Neil and Andrew are back. Dan wants to skate at the Rockefeller center. Renee would love it if they could do Christmas Eve Mass.

They're sure that Kevin is going to want to check out an Exy game. They're mostly sure that Matt will want to check out the LEGO store in downtown manhattan and that Aaron will be as excited for that as Matt is but pretending not to be. Nicky wants to catch a drag show and has made it clear that he will be going regardless of what anyone else wants to do. Andrew and Neil will probably just want to be alone when they have the chance though Neil had expressed some prior interest in the EXITES superstore and Andrew will more than likely enjoy the day Allison has planned to go shopping since she wants to update Neil's wardrobe.

The new kid, Smith, will be a mystery, but they're more than willing to be flexible.

Eventually they hear the tell-tale sign of most of the boy's arrival. "Babe!" comes from across the airport and Dan's head shoots up and spots the sight of Matt Boyd approaching his arms out wide almost clotheslining four different families on his way to Dan.

Dan is not much better as she rushes to him arms as wide.

They embrace like they always do whenever they have to spend time apart from one another and Renee knows that part of the reason that Dan took her job as assistant coach where she did is that the Washington State Congress Team had been looking at Matt the year prior to scout him.

She looks beyond the passionate reunion and sees Kevin, Aaron, and Nicky. She frowns brows furrowing...

Weren't they going to bring-

Nicky throws his arm out and it wraps around a kid she hadn't even realized was there. She blinks startled by his sudden appearance and blank expression as Nicky was pointing them out. He points to her and he can see her name on his lips she gives a wave and a smile.

Smith nods back in greeting.

He seems quite nice.

***

Renee is at the end of her proverbial rope.

This kid is a threat and she doesn't understand how she's the only person who can see it.

Being a threat isn't really an issue when you're a Fox. It's almost a given that there's some part of you that can be dangerous when backed into a corner but no one seems to be treating him like a threat.

She watches as Nicky and Matt throw their arms around him. As Kevin pushes smoothie after smoothie into his hands as he blankly sips. As Andrew and Neil sit with him quietly. As Dan pinches his cheeks. As Aaron ribs him for being bad at MarioKart.

She can't feel anything from him, no joy, no anger, nothing.

She can't even track him.

Renee has always prided herself on her ability to keep track of those around her. Spacial awareness was incredibly important when you're in a fight and it had always been one of her strongest points. She always knew where she was in relation to everyone else.

Except Smith.

The kid had given her no shortage of heart attacks as he appeared and disappeared seemingly at random.

She had finally gotten Andrew alone to ask, "Smith's quiet, non-intrusive." Andrew says with a shrug.

There's just something about him that makes the hair on the back of Renee's neck stand on edge and she hates feeling like she's the only one. She hates it even more that there's no real evidence that there's something amiss with this newest Fox.

So she settles in to watch.

They're out shopping and Allison is doing her best to get Neil a proper wardrobe with Andrew's considerable help, AKA nodding in approval when Neil comes out. She's not skimping on any of them but Neil is her main focus.

"Smith, what's a color you like?" Allison asks as she's looking at hoodies.

"I like purple." Smith answers and Renee barely manges to stop herself from flinching as his voice comes from right next to her.

"Pass." Andrew says as Neil comes out in a charmingly orange sweatshirt.

"I like it!" Neil argues.

"You have 10 sweatshirts that are that exact shade of orange." Andrew dismisses. "Try the blue one." he says pushing Neil back into the dressing room.

"Which one?" Neil asks.

Andrew sighs dramatically in a way that lets Renee know that he's doing exactly what he wants to be doing, "I'll show you." he says going into the dressing room with Neil.

"I still don't know how it took Baltimore for me to realize they were together." Nicky says as he's holding up two different purple sweatshirts to Smith's body. "You look good in a more purpley purple." Nicky says putting the more indigo colored sweatshirt back on the rack.

"Pants are coming up next, I'll get a lay of the land. I know everyone else's but Smith what's your height?" Allison asks.

"Five feet, nine inches." Smith answers as Nicky pushes him towards the dressing room. "Nicky it's a sweatshirt, I can put it on out here." Smith says.

"I know but I need an excuse to go back there and make sure Neil and Andrew aren't defiling a dressing room." Nicky says with a grin that implies he'd be more happy if they were.

"Gross." Aaron says as he takes a picture of himself to send to Katelyn to approve of the new outfit that Allison was pushing for him to get. "Wait," he pauses turning to where Allison was looking through various men's pants, "you know our heights? Like you've memorized them?" he asks.

"Yeah." Allison says looking at a pair of black slacks. "Everyone's measurements." she says nodding to herself.

"Even bust sizes?" he asks, voice not as quiet as he likely thinks it is.

"You're such a boy." Allison laughs not even looking up from the very different rack.

"How much longer are we going to be here?" Kevin asks with a sigh.

"Well, at least the time that it took you to ask that longer. We'll be done when we're done Kevin." Dan says long having given up on stopping Allison when the woman is on a spree.

"She knows that EXITES closes at 5 PM right?" Kevin asks.

"More importantly," Matt leans in, "that the LEGO store closes at 8 PM right?" Matt asks.

"How is that more important? The LEGO store is open later?" Kevin asks.

"Because we're not going to EXITES today, but we are going to the LEGO store." Matt says.

"If we don't spend the whole day here we can do both-"

"We're not going to EXITES today Kevin." Dan says with a sigh.

"But-"

"We're not going to EXITES today Kevin." Renee says with an apologetic smile.

"But-"

"Kevin, we're not going to EXITES today. Just sit down and let me find pants that'll make your pin-up days look tame in comparison." Allison says.

"That's not what those posters were!" Kevin argues with a blush on his face.

"Sure." Allison dismisses

***

Renee is quite happy with the sundresses she found even if they won't do her any good here in New York City during the Christmas break. Their next stop on their shopping day is over to the LEGO store where Matt makes no attempt to hide his enthusiasm as Aaron very valiantly does try to pretend like he's not utterly entranced by the sets and builds.

Renee thinks it's all very charming.

"We could have gone to EXITES." Kevin says with a frown as he looks at a build of an Exy racquet. "Can you take my picture with this?" he asks but he's not quite looking at Renee.

"Sure." Smith says from beside her, where he had apparently been.

"Thanks Smiths." Kevin says and stands next to the Exy racquet of LEGOs and crosses his arms and leans back.

"Kevin, stop posing like this will be for the cover of a Forbes Magazine." Andrew says with a sigh as he comes to stand on Renee's other side.

"Shut up, it's a picture for me!" Kevin says and continues to stand with his arms crossed.

"Oh, can you get a picture of me next Smith?" Neil asks coming up eyes shining in excitement as he looks at the racquet.

"Sure. As an apology for letting Nicky-"

"Don't talk about it." Neil and Andrew say at the same time.

Kevin gets his picture and then Andrew hands his phone to Smith for Neil's since Neil had broken the lens on his camera ages ago.

They wander around and Kevin finds a set to build the National Court that he grabs without a second thought. Neil and Andrew find a little LEGO man of Kevin that they buy as their 'preferred Kevin'. Kevin of course threatens to buy their LEGO figures once they have them and refer to them as his 'preferred Andrew and Neil'. A threat that neither of them comment on but Renee does buy the little Jean Moreau she finds. She'll paint it Trojan colors and send it over to him as a little gift.

As she continues to browse with her purchase in hand she hears Nicky, "Smithy, if you like it you should get it!" Nicky insists.

"Is it the price?" Allison asks.

"Yeah, I don't want to spend that much." Smith says with a nod expression still worryingly blank.

"When's your birthday? It can just be an early or a late present from me." Allison asks.

"March 1st, but really I'm fine not getting it." Smith shakes his head. "It's not that I'd like it just my little brother liked trains." he says and Renee watches Nicky's face turn from joyful teasing to intense determination.

"We're getting this set." Nicky says grabbing it and marching over to the counter even as Smith followed after him.

Interesting.

***

They finish off their day with some ice skating.

Matt, Aaron, Andrew, and Kevin all fall into the 'challenged' category.

They get on the ice and all four immediately fall. Renee stifles her laughter as Andrew and Aaron scowl. "Are you okay?" Smith asks and Renee almost loses her balance as he skates by her.

"Why the fuck are you good at skating?" Aaron asks scowling even as he takes Smith hand. Renee skates over and offers a hand to Kevin as Matt and Andrew are being helped up by their respective partners.

"Oh," Allison says skating by, "have you been up to Canada or something often?" she asks.

"I've been to Canada a few times. It's more that there was a rink I would go to every once in a while." Smith answers before turning back to Aaron, "I can help you keep balanced." he says offering his other hand.

"Smith, I don't want to hold your hand. That's kind of gay." Aaron huffs letting go of Smith's hand only to immediately beef it again when he tried to move forward.

***

Skating was fun even if Aaron kept blushing as Smith helped him skate since he never really got his 'ice legs'. The rest of them all more or less skated on their own by the end or, in the case of Andrew and Matt, seemed fine to keep skating while holding on.

Renee was warming herself by the fireplace in Allison's home enjoying some hot chocolate as Allison took a seat next to her. There was a lot of commotion in the kitchen as the team was working to make dinner together. Renee had excused herself after Smith had startled her while she had a knife in hand and she'd almost stabbed him on instinct.

She's just relieved that no one seemed to notice the near murder.

"You okay? You seemed tense in there." Allison asks.

Well, almost no one.

"Yes, I'm fine." she smiles and hopes that Allison will believe it.

Allison looks at her and Renee does have the benefit that Allison is slightly drunk since she was told firmly not to help with the cooking since she'd paid for the majority of the day.

"I'm glad I got you alone, there's something I want to hear your opinion on." Allison says deciding, apparently, to let it go for now.

Renee relaxes smiling at her friend, "What's that?" she asks wondering what purchase or thing unpurchased Allison was regretting.

Allison looks at Renee, expression utterly serious. "Don't you think there's something...weird about this kid?" she asks.

Renee straightens up glad that Allison had also felt like something was off with the kid that her friends had brought along. "What do you mean?" she asks wanting to hear what Allison thought.

"Look, he seems really nice. I mean a little too nice to be a Fox to be honest but I mean I guess you're a Fox as well so..." Allison rambles slightly taking another sip of her wine.

"Yes, go on." Renee nods.

"Yeah, he seems nice and Matt said he's got his own stuff even if he didn't wanna go into what that stuff was." Allison continues and it's a good thing Allison is drinking white wine considering the white carpet and her gesticulations. "But...it's just.. okay you can't make fun of me. Even though this is about to sound crazy." Allison says.

"I would never do something like that." Renee swears.

"Promise me." Allison says expression grave as she lifts up a pinky.

Renee smiles despite herself and hooks her pinky with Allison's, "I promise to not make fun of you." she swears other hand over her cross.

"I think he's Justin Bieber."

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

[beastblade69]

well that's fucking awesome. all of the damage russians have done to our electric infrastructure can be repaired in one year minimum. IT'S GONNA TAKE MORE TAHN ONE YEAR TO REPAIR ALL OF THE ELECTRIC STATIONS RUSSIANS HIT WITH THEIR MISSILES. AND WE AIN'T EVEN TALKING ABOUT CIVILIAN OR ANY OTHER INFRASTRUCTURE. ONLY ELECTRIC ONE. MORE THAN ONE YEAR. AND WE ARE STILL NOT STRUGGLING ENOUGH IN ONLINE PEOPLE'S OPINION. FUCK OFF

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

receipts

Summary: Did you ever want to show off something so badly, because there's no way in hell people would believe you, that you took a video of it? Well that's how you felt about Frankie when he ate you out. And after raving about him on a girls night they joke that you should film him, so they can see for themselves. Surprisingly he's super into that idea when you tell him about it after.

Pairing: Francisco Morales x fem. reader

Wordcount: 3k

Rating: E

Warnings: smut (oral sex; f receiving), making a video of said smut, dirty talk, alcohol, general horniness

A/N: Enjoy this filth, cause there's a chance this is gonna be the last one for a while. Will focus on my Javi series from now on and hope the braincells agree with me

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Full Masterlist // Frankie Morales Masterlist

„Come on, I just need five more minutes,“ Frankie was kissing up a line on your neck as you stood in front of the sink, trying to apply your lipstick. 

Again. 

You were already fifteen minutes late, your new boyfriend Frankie having insisted he only needed five more minutes which, of course, was a lie. But who were you to complain about being eaten out and made cum twice on his tongue. 

Fuck, he was so good at that. 

You had a couple of boyfriends before Frankie, but no one had been as eager as him when it came to all things sex.

Mostly the men you’ve been with before thought foreplay consisted of fingering you for twenty seconds before they wanted you to suck their cock. 

You hadn’t even seen Frankie’s cock before you had been dating for almost two months, let alone touched it. He on the other hand let no opportunity go by to have you moaning his name, his head between your thighs or his fingers deep inside your cunt. 

Or both. 

„Later, baby,“ you took a deep breath and turned around, smiling at the adorable pout he gave you. You booped his nose and he smiled, kissing you very softly so he wouldn’t ruin your lipstick.

Again. 

„Want me to pick you up after?“ He asked, hands slowly moving down your back until his hands rested on your ass. 

„You don’t have to. I can take an uber home. It’s closer from the bar anyway,“ you said and he hummed. 

„What if I wait for you at your place?“ He asked and you smiled. 

„Can’t get enough of me, huh Morales?“ You teased and he shook his head. 

„Never,“ he grinned before he kissed you, leaving you to apply your lipstick for a third time once he was finished with you this time. 

You finally made it to the bar, thirty minutes too late. Frankie had driven you and you had given him your key so he could go to your place. He had picked up his toolbox so you were pretty sure he would be working on the sink that had been leaking for some time. And on the broken door. And maybe that Ikea table you had picked up and never build. He had noticed it the last time he was over at your place and insisted he took care of it. 

It wasn’t like you were spending much time at your place at the moment. 

You and Frankie had been dating for four months now, and you mostly spend your time at his place. Not because he didn’t like to stay at yours but because he had the bigger house. It was a small two story home on the outskirts of town, but he had made it his. You could see him in every corner of the home and you were absolutely in love with it. 

He also had a pool and with the hot summer you had you preferred to let the day tune out in his pool with a cold beer or iced tea. 

God, you were so in love with him it annoyed you sometimes. 

„Oh thank god, I’m not the only one too late,“ you sighed relieved as you sat down next to your friend Emily. She hugged you, kissing your cheek and you were attacked from the other side as your friend Carol sat down. 

„Katy is running behind. The babysitter’s car broke down. But she’ll be here in like ten minutes,“ Emily said. You ordered drink as you waited, catching up on life. Yeah, you spoke to each other frequently, but the older you got the more complicated it got to get everyone at the same place at the same time. 

Once the drinks and Katy were there, you felt all eyes on you and you sipped on your drink like you had all the time in the world. 

„Spill those beans babe. We know where you met Frankie but other than that we know almost nothing!“ Emily said excitedly and you grinned. 

„What do you wanna know?“

„Everything!“ They all said and you laughed. 

„Okay. So Frankie is 36 years old. He’s ex military and he owns a little massage place in the city,“ you began. 

„The massage place you met at?“ Katy asked and you nodded. 

„Yeah. Got a gift card and my back felt like shit so I went one Saturday and the only one around was Frankie. He works all weekend when his daughter is at her mom’s,“ you explained. 

„How old is she?“ Emily asked.

„Turns five in may. She’s adorable. And such a Daddy’s girl,“ you smiled. You remembered how anxious you were to meet her for the first time. It hadn’t been that long ago, only six weeks before. 

She was staying the majority of the time with him, so you knew if she hated you, things with Frankie would be over pretty quickly. Thankfully she liked you right away, both of you bonding over your love for nail polish. It was actually the first thing she said to you. That you had the prettiest nails she’d ever seen. 

„And she stays with him often?“ Kate asked. You nodded. 

„She lives with him full time. And when her mother is in town they arrange sleepovers. She’s pretty chill actually. Works as an stewardess so she’s away very often,“ you explained and they all nodded. 

„So the first time you met him you were naked?“ Carol asked and you rolled your eyes. 

„No, the first time I met him I was dressed. Ten minutes later I was naked and he had his hands on me,“ you chuckled and they all laughed. 

„I didn’t know if he was just quiet but he did not say a word to me for the entire time. Which was sad cause I really wanted him to talk to me. I think I liked him from the first moment on,“ you said quietly.

„Anyway, after he’s finished he tells me that he’ll wait outside, so I get dressed quickly, wanting to get out of there but before I could leave the place Frankie asked me if I would like to go out with him sometime. And well, I said yes,“ you shrugged and they all grinned at you. 

„It’s been about time that you got lucky too, babe. And I hope you are getting lucky a lot,“ Emily raised her eyebrows and you blushed, cheeks warming as you bit your lip. 

„You have no idea. I never thought sex could be that good, honestly,“ you said. 

„I mean he owns a massage place, I bet he’s great with his hands,“ Katy wiggled with her eyebrows playfully.

„Details,“ Kate demanded and you laughed. 

„Nuh uh. I am not drunk enough for that. And I am hungry,“ you pursed your lips. 

„So we gotta get you drunk is what I get from that,“ Emily winked and you rolled your eyes. 

Two hours and numerous drinks later you were chewing on some mozzarella stick as you listened to Katy tell you about the cockring she got her husband and how much they both enjoyed it. 

„He’s lasting so much longer. It’s a win win for everyone involved,“ she said seriously and you all barked a laugh. 

„So babe, are you drunk enough to spill the beans now?“ Emily asked and you hummed. 

„Haven’t told you that his callsign at the military was Catfish,“ you began and they all looked at you confused. 

„But it’s not because of the reasons you might think….“

„No honestly. He’s so good at it, I wish I could make a video and show it to everyone. Which I can’t cause ya know but…. Fuck…. I’ve never ever had a man that loved eating pussy that much,“ you said and they all looked at you with open mouths. 

„He made you cum four times? On his tongue?“ Katy asked a little too loud and some heads turned towards your table. 

You felt your cheeks growing hot and just nodded while they groaned. 

„Hey if you ever decide to take a video, we have all seen each other’s vag soooo….“ Katy smirked and your eyes widened before you uttered a oh my god under your nose, making everyone laugh. 

Yet the thought of it didn’t leave you alone. Frankie picked you up and was the perfect gentlemen as he took you to bed, cuddling himself against your back after the made you drink a whole glass of water and take an aspirin. 

The next morning you woke up with your head on his chest, looking up at him as he slept peacefully. 

He was so pretty. And he was all yours. 

And part of you wanted to show him off in every aspect. Even if you just kept it for yourself. 

„I can hear you thinking,“ he mumbled sleepily before his eyes fluttered open. You couldn’t stop but smile as you looked at him all cute and sleepy. 

„Don’t know what you mean,“ you mumbled and he grinned. 

„Does it have to do with your friends calling me Catfish when I picked you up?“ He said and your eyes widened, having completely forgotten about that. 

Hiding your face against his chest you felt him chuckle, arms coming around you. 

„Hey I know what you do on those girls nights. You get drunk and talk about the dick size of your boyfriends,“ he teased and you laughed. 

„That is…. Not completely untrue,“ you mumbled against his chest before you looked up at him again, finding him tiredly grinning down at you. 

„So what had you thinking so hard just now?“ He asked, one of his hands coming to brush over your cheek. 

„Just something my friend said,“ you said and he raised one eyebrow. 

„I told them about that time you made me cum four times on your tongue,“ you said, a little shy and he smirked, clearly still proud of himself. 

„What about it?“ He asked. 

„Just… that you’re so good at it that, that I wish I could take a video to show around,“ you said in one breath and now both of his eyebrows raised. 

„That something you wanna do? Show everyone just how good your man can make you cum?“ He hummed and you shivered at the tone of his voice. 

„Maybe…“ you said sucking your bottom lip in. 

„Well then come on,“ he grinned and you eyes widened just before he pulled himself up and turned you so you were laying on your back with him on top of you. He kissed you, humming against your lips. 

„What?“ You laughed. 

„If you wanna show me off so badly, who am I to stand in the way of that?“ He grinned, kissing your nose. 

„It’s a compliment really. You thinking I am so good at eating your pussy you want everyone to know,“ he kissed you, „to see,“ he kissed you again and you sighed.

„You would really be okay with me showing you around like that?“ You asked, still surprised. He shrugged. 

„It’s your pussy. You can show it to whoever you want,“ he said before he frowned and you suppressed a laugh. 

„Okay maybe not whoever you want. Not that I want to dictate who you show your pussy to,  it is a pretty pussy after all but…“ he rambled and you giggled, holding one finger against his mouth to stop him. 

„Frankie?“ You stopped him and he looked at you with wide eyes. 

„How about we decide later if and who I show my pussy to?“ You asked and he nodded. 

„Good idea,“ he huffed a laugh before he kissed you again. 

„Get your phone out,“ he mumbled against your lips and you shivered, but you blindly reached for your phone, finding it on the bedside table. 

He kissed down your body before he pushed your shirt up, his eyes lighting up once he saw your tits, leaning down to let the scruffy hair of his beard scratch over them, making you hum. He grinned up at you as he kissed the soft skin, nibbling on your nipple before he sucked one of them into his mouth. 

Meanwhile you shakily opened the camera app on your phone, pressing record. He grinned, nipple still in your mouth as he wiggled his eyebrows playfully. 

„Feels good baby,“ you smiled, the hand that wasn’t holding your phone coming down to brush your fingers through his soft hair. 

„Yeah?“ He mumbled, lips still against your skin as he slowly kissed a line down your stomach. He sat himself up, pushing the covers away, your phone recording his full body as he stretched, arms over his head. 

He was so fucking pretty. 

„Want this?“ He asked, wrapping his hand around his cock, pumping it slowly as he looked at you. 

You nodded, lip between your teeth. 

„Gonna need you to say it baby. The audience can’t see you giving me your fuck me eyes,“ he teased and you chuckled, before throwing a pillow at him. 

You put one of your feet up to his chest and he grabbed it, kissing your ankle.

„Get between my thighs and eat my pussy, Francisco,“ you hummed with a smirk and he huffed, shaking his head with a grin. 

„As you wish,“ he winked before he lowered himself down on the mattress, his big hands pushing your thighs apart, his tongue swiping through your folds as soon as his mouth was close to you. 

His arms wrapped around your thighs, pulling your whole body towards him as he got settled between your legs, his eyes on your pussy, the camera capturing the hungry look in his eyes before he looked up at you.

The look he was giving you was downright sinful, before his lips slipped into only the hint of a smirk as he leaned down and began to eat your pussy. 

He started slowly, his tongue teasing you, his fingers opening you up for him. 

Frankie hummed when his tongue slipped inside of you, his nose right on your clit. 

„Always taste so fucking good, baby,“ the groaned and you gasped as his tongue began to play with your clit. It took all your willpower to keep your phone in your hand to capture it all, even zooming into the way his tongue was working on you. 

He sucked your clit into his mouth, eyes on you while he swiped his tongue over it and you moaned, your hand coming down on top of his head, pulling at his hair as he worked on making you cum. 

And you were so close. 

„Baby….“ You gasped, your hips moving up to get even closer and he hummed against you, your legs shaking in his hold.

He focused all of his attention on your clit and you could feel the first waves of your orgasm.

„Cum for me baby,“ he mumbled against your folds, before he sucked harshly on your clit and you exploded. Moaning his name as you came, somehow still managing to film him, missing the way his eyes were looking directly into your camera as he worked you through your orgasm. 

You would only find out about that later when you watched it. 

„Fuck,“ you gasped, not even fighting him when you felt him take the phone from you, his mouth parting from you. 

„Look at how she’s drooling for me,“ he said and you looked at him as he brought your phone down between your legs, his fingers exposing your folds to the lens. 

„She’s so fucking warm and tight,“ he said, and you looked at him, lips still parted as your breathed heavily. 

„Can just slip two of my fingers inside,“ he said while slowly pushing two of his fingers inside of you, making you moan a low oh fuck as he did so. 

He pulled his fingers out, filming the way his fingers were covered in your cum, a thin line of it connecting his parted fingers. 

„So fucking good,“ he hummed, before he sucked his fingers into his mouth, all captured by your phone. 

„Oh my god Frankie,“ you said with a disbelieving laugh and he just winked at you before he threw the phone onto the bed and got on top of you. 

„Need to fuck you,“ he said as he kissed you and you wrapped your legs around him. 

„Please,“ you mumbled against his lips, gasping when his cock pushed inside of you. 

It was on your birthday some months later that you sat around the fire pit in Frankie’s garden with your friends. You had moved into his house only weeks before and your friends were visiting you there for the first time. 

„You really made a video?“ Emily asked and you sucked you bottom lip in, nodding slowly. 

„Several actually,“ you confessed and they hollered, making you laugh as you caught Frankie’s eyes where he was standing at the grill. 

„He even told me I could show you,“ you confessed and they all looked at you with wide eyes. 

„But… I am not drunk enough to show them to you,“ you said, chuckling when Katy reached for the bottle of Prosecco on the table, filling your glass. 

„We can work on that,“ she said, making you all giggle. 

„Who knows? Maybe we have the next big porn star sitting with us here,“ Emily teased and you smiled to yourself, deciding to not tell them about how Frankie and you had discussed maybe looking into setting up an onlyfans account after you had watched all the videos you made. 

„Yeah,“ you said as you watched Frankie walk towards you. 

„Who knows.“

[cosmicmunsonwrites]

hihi could you write about pogue!reader who's been in love w jj for like ever and everyone EXCEPT for him know? and like at some point they become fwb bc its easier for her to have something rather than nothing but it does more harm than good lmao (w angryish love confession from her and a confused bc he had no idea but also in love jj)

and we both drew blood

jj maybank x fem!pogue!reader

cw — p in v, slight jealousy, angst, fluff, alochol consumption, happy ending

summary — after everything finally builds up, you tell jj how you feel.

a/n — thank you for the request!! i really hope i did well but i kinda wrote this fast so please forgive me if it sucks. please request more!

do not copy or post my work anywhere else.

your hands mindlessly gripped the sheets of your bed, whimpering when he hit that deep spot inside of you as he thrusted into you from behind. “oh fuck, j. i‘m gonna cum,” you babbled out as best you could without stuttering.

jj huffed out a laugh and gripped your hips a little tighter to pull you back against him in time with his thrusts. “yeah? ‘m close too,” he mumbled in response as he began to speed his pace up. “cum for me, baby. wanna feel your pretty little pussy squeezin’ my cock.”

you closed your eyes and bit down on your lip to suppress a scream theatening to leave your lips. one of his hands reached around and underneath you to rub tight circles on your clit, making you cry out and moan in overwhelming pleasure. “oh my fuck,” you spluttered between pants. “i’m coming—fuck, jj!”

“always such a good girl for me,�� he mumbled, focused on the sight of him sliding in and out of you and a white ring formed around the base of him. he continued rubbing your clit quickly to ride your orgasm out. “shit, baby. so fuckin’ tight around me. squeezin’ me so good. best pussy i’ve ever had.”

you felt tears slip past the corners of your eyes as he fucked into you harder and quicker until he was pressing himself as deep into you as he could and filling you with his warm cum. he smoothed his hands down your aching back and leaned down to kiss the skin of your spine. “that’s it, angel. jus’ fuckin’ take it,” he rasped out while still gently caressing your skin.

when he finally began to soften inside of you, he slowly and carefully pulled out before laying another kiss to your skin then disappearing off to the bathroom to grab a towel. he ran it under warm water, wringing the excess out and returning to you.

he gently grabbed your thighs and turned you over onto your back so you could lay comfortably. “you still with me, sweetheart?” he asked considerately.

“mhm,” you hummed, eyes closed as you tried to catch your breath. your hips jerked when he ran the towel over your spent cunt to clean you up.

jj chuckled softly before launching the fabric to your bucket of dirty laundry and laying down beside you. he pulled you into his chest, your head against the firm muscle and his hands making quick work to throw the blanket over the two of you. “need anythin’ from me? water? a snack?” he questioned.

you shook your head and curled into him further. “i’m good. jus’ tired,” you slurred, still slightly out of it and very very sleepy.

“i’ll head out then and let you get some rest,” he said and pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

before he could make another move, you quickly objected. “want you to stay a little longer, j. you’re warm.”

he smiled to himself and shuffled a little bit to get comfortable, knowing he’s probably be here for an hour or two.

the next night, everyone was gathered around at the boneyard for another kegger like they often did on warm summer nights. kooks, pogues, and tourons on littered across the beach with red solo cups in their hands and music playing through the air.

“hey! where were you last night?” sarah asked as he and kiara approached when they finally saw you arrive. “we waited for like, half an hour before we gave up on you.”

you saw the knowing look on kie’s face, rolling your eyes and looking down at your cup of beer. “yeah, sorry guys, something came up and i was stuck at home.”

the brunette couldn’t help but snort. “did the ‘something’ have to do with jj?” she teased, wiggling her eyebrows. “john b and pope said he never showed to the chateau last night.”

you looked around, wondering how you could get out of this even though you already knew you were busted. “you know,” you began with absolutely no clue where to go with this. “somethings happen.”

kiara immediately smiled and clapped her hands then pointed at sarah. “i told you! you owe me twenty bucks,” she said excitedly. “it’s not that hard to find out, babe. we all know you guys are hooking up.”

you shrugged and took another sip of your drink. “i mean, its not exactly a secret.”

sarah gave you a knowing look. “i don’t get why you don’t just tell him how you feel. we all know you guys have liked each other for years.”

shaking your head, you waved off the idea. “i doubt he feels the same way about me and i’m not gonna embarrass myself if he doesn’t,” you replied honestly. “and besides, i like where we’re at right now.”

kiara rolled her eyes and shook her head in disbelief. “oh, come on. no you don’t. you’re upset because you wish there was more between you guys,” she stated. “hanging onto these little bits and pieces is only hurting you more in the long run.”

“guys, it’s not that big of a deal. we just hookup casually every now and then and thats it. i’d rather have some part of him than have nothing at the end of the day,” you admitted. “and it’s not hurting me, i’m fine!”

sarah tilted her head at you, as if to say ‘seriously?’ “dude, we all see it. you’re getting your hopes up and then he’s just letting you down. just tell him how you feel and then at least if he says he doesn’t want anything, then you can move on peacefully and live your life without delusions.”

kiara nodded in agreement. “she’s right babe. we don’t wanna attack you or anything or come off as rude, we jus’ wanna see you happy and you’re obviously not right now,” she said softly and sincerely. “you should really tell him how you feel. i’m sure you’ll be pretty happy with how it turns out.”

you chewed your bottom lip anxiously and looked around to see what was going on only to feel your heart begin to break in your chest. jj was leaned up against a tree with a girl clinging to his arm. she almost looked like you in a way. same hair color and length, similar facial features, similar build.

it made your lip wobble and your stomach turn uncomfortably. “i really appreciate that guys, but i’m just gonna head back to the chateau for a little bit,” you whispered, not trusting your own voice.

the two followed your gaze to jj and the girl, both their faces dropping in a matter of seconds. “do you want us to come with you?” sarah asked softly.

when you shook your head and sniffled to stop the tears, kiara took you into her arms and gave you a tight hug. “you’re gonna be okay. you’re one of the strongest people i know.”

you smiled sadly before the two wished you off with gentle reassuring affirmations. you made the long walk to the chateau in silence as you sipped on what was left of your alcohol and thought about what to do next.

you couldn’t realistically continue this fling with him if he was messing with another girl, even though you technically had no reason to be upset. you were friends with benefits, not dating or exclusive. he was allowed to do whatever he pleased.

yet the nights he’d stay over after making you feel better than you ever had, fucking you so soft and sweet, kissing you so passionately when he’s buried inside you, defending you around everyone, protecting you always, opening up to you about his most personal details, complimenting you every chance he gets. you didn’t understand why he’d do all these things just to go off with someone else.

once you finally arrived, you’d immediately walked over to the fridge to grab a bottle of vodka and your old cup. you quickly poured yourself a shot, or two, or three. you didn’t really remember. you also couldn’t remember how much time had passed since you had left the party.

you’d found yourself standing at the shoreline of the beach directly outside of the front door to the chateau. you stood barefoot in the warm sand just far back enough to where the water couldn’t touch you.

you crossed your arms over your body to preserve some of the heat before sighing and rolling the kinks out of your neck. you felt your body and mind start to slowly relax from the various shots you’d taken. it felt like everything had finally gone quiet.

unfortunately for you, that didn’t last long. “hey! where’ve you been? i’ve been looking all over for you. i thought something might’ve happen to you,” jj half shouted as he approached you from the direction of the boneyard. “what happened, cupcake? sarah and kie told me you weren’t feelin’ too hot.”

you couldn’t help but scoff at his words. “looking all over for me?” you repeated as a question. he had to have been lying.

he looked almost confused. “yeah…you’ve been gone for like an hour,” he replied. “i checked the whole party for you.”

“was that before or after you were all over that girl?” you blurted out. you almost instantly regretted it. you didn’t even really want to know.

his expression changed into one you couldn’t quite read. “what?” he asked, voice just above a whisper now. “i went searching for you the moment you left kiara and sarah.” you shook your head in disbelief and turned your head back at the ocean. “i don’t get it. what did i do wrong?”

you took a deep breath and hugged your body tighter when a strong gust of wind blew past you. “i’m not gonna keep doing this jj. god, you’re so oblivious!” you snapped finally, turning your full body to see his. “i mean, at this point i feel like i’m throwing myself at you! i’m always trying to be around you, catering to you, showing you that i’m here for you, asking you to hang out— i even agreed to be fucking friends with benefits just to have something with you!”

you stopped for a minute and sighed. “i ask you to stay the night, to just hold me whenever theres a chance, i ask you to run errands and shit with me just to spend time with you jj. i can’t make it anymore clear how much i like you and i feel like you’re giving me signals sometimes that maybe you feel the same way but then the next day you just act like nothing happened and the inconsistency is killing me!”

jj looked stunned. like he would’ve never seen this coming in a million years as if it weren’t totally noticeable. the pogues all saw they way they felt about each other except them.

“if you don’t want me or see anything, can you please just say that?” your voice shook slightly as you spoke as if the conversation was starting to sober you up and the confidence you once had is gone. “i really fucking like you jj and its really hard to keep acting like everything we do means nothing to me because thats just not true. if you see me as nothing more than just friends with benefits or just friends, please just tell me so i can get over you.”

his mouth was slightly agape as he listened to you talk, shocked that you had all this built up inside. you guys were best friends and he truly thought he’d known everything about you. this was something he would’ve never guessed you’d be keeping from him. his lips twitched like he was gonna say something but the words never came. it was just awkward, tense silence.

you bit your lip to keep it from wobbling as tears of embarrassment clouded your sight. you took one last look at him, your glossy gaze locked on his unreadable one, before deciding to head back into the chateau to grab your things.

he quickly lurched forward and grabbed onto your wrist to keep you from moving any further. “please don’t go,” he said softly. he slid his hand down your arm and took your hand in his before doing the same with the other. “i didn’t know you felt like that, sweetheart.”

you averted your eyes from your interlocked hands up to his pretty blue ones that you’d fallen for over the years. “i’ve always thought you were too good for me. too nice, too smart, too pretty. thought i was always jus’ your best friend,” he said, titling his head slightly and staring right into you. “i really fucking like you too, cupcake. and saying i don’t want you would be a lie.”

a soft gasp left your lips at the confession. never in a million years did you ever think you’d hear those words come out of his mouth in real life. you could’ve swore that only happened in dreams.

what you especially didn’t expect was for him to grab your hips and pull you into him, kissing you full of passion, love, years of wanting. you sighed against his lips and wrapped your arms loosely around his neck before tilting your head a little more to deepen it as his tongue soothed over yours.

once the two of you needed to pull away for air with spit-slick and puffy lips, he was the first to speak. “you’re all mine now, right? my beautiful girl all to myself?” he asked, earning a nod and a hum of approval from you. “good. ‘nd i’m all yours, baby.”

you smiled and pulled him back into you for another kiss. only then did you hear whistling and hollering along with obnoxious claps that you could easily distinguish as your friends returning back from the boneyard.

[everyonewooeverywhere]

MDNI 18+ BLOG -> ageless blogs and minors WILL BE BLOCKED

pairing ✭ farmhand!mingyu x farmer's daughter!reader

note ✭ this is very much inspired by the mingyu pictured above. (also i don't mention it explicitly, but girly's family is lowkey rich)

synopsis ✭ when your dad hires a hot new farm hand, you can't keep your hands off of him.

content/genre ✭ smut (18+ mdni)

word count ✭ 2.9k

warnings ✭ smut, mingyu and reader are horny af, outside sex (no one else sees them though), no prep, overall horny shenanigans i guess 🤷‍♀️, alcohol consumption, tipsy sex (they're not depicted as drunk, but they did have a couple drinks)

✭✭✭✭

Every time your father hired a new farmhand, they were always the same. While they never disappointed in the build department (they were always jacked, but that was kind of a requirement of the job), but they all looked identical. They wore the same brown scuffed boots. They had their hair in the same floppy cut with the same dirty blonde color. 

For a couple of summers through your teens, it had been fun. Your father would hire him after the final school bell rang for the summer. You’d introduce yourself to him when your father was nowhere in sight, and you’d spend the rest of the summer sneaking around with him and having your fun. When summer finally ended and school began, you’d bid him farewell and never speak to him again, and your father was none the wiser.

And it was fun! The first two times. Then every summer turned the same, and every single farm hand looked indistinguishable from the last with no discernible personality whatsoever. 

So, having just finished your second year of university, you were expecting more of the same. You’d have a gander, but you certainly weren’t expecting much from whoever your dad decided to hire this summer. 

“God, why couldn’t you have invited me to stay over at your house this summer? I’d take whatever hunk your dad decided to keep,” your best friend from school, Jennifer, whined over the phone as you pulled your car up the long driveway to your house.

“I did invite you, but you’re spending you’re leaving today for Spain, remember?”

“Yes, but y/n!” she whined again, “I need more muscly men in my life. This would be the perfect opportunity.”

“You’re gonna be in Spain for two months. I’m sure you’ll find at least one man muscular enough to fit your standard.”

“Yeah, whatever. You better have fun with this man without me.”

“Like I told you earlier, they’re so fucking boring. It’s not gonna happen.”

You put your car in park and began to gather up your purse and phone when you glanced up out the windshield to see probably the most attractive man you’ve ever seen in your life walking out your front door and toward your car. It was as if your severe doubts had summoned him.

Ever the chatterbox, Jennifer kept talking, “Well I’m just saying maybe you should keep an open mind. You never know what could happen. One magical night in the woods and you could be locked down for life. It’s just–”

“Jennie shut the fuck up.”

“Woah,” she seemed mildly offended, “sorry?”

“He’s hot Jennie. Like really hot. Not even a ten. Probably a twelve.”

“Ugh, you lucky bitch! I told you to keep an open mind,” you could hear her mother yelling at her in the background, “Oh shit. Girl, I have to go, but send pics! Please! I need to see the hunk you’re railing this summer.”

“Yeah, of course,” you mumbled while she hung up on you.

This man was really throwing you for a loop. Just based on appearance alone you could tell he was not the type of guy your dad usually hired. First and foremost, he was massive. Well over 6 feet tall and far more muscular than any guy you’d ever seen (and that was saying something), and the skin-tight black t-shirt he was wearing did nothing to hide it. His hair was dark and cropped, a far cry from the endless supply of shaggy blonde hairstyles you’d seen over the years. 

The cherry on top was when, after watching you stumble out of the car, he’d asked, “Where’s your luggage? I thought I’d help you carry it inside.”

“Oh,” you let out an awkward laugh, “It’s in the trunk. Thank you.”

“Of course,” he followed you around the back of your car and popped open the trunk, “I’m Mingyu by the way.” He stuck out a hand for you to shake it.

You grabbed the hand and he shook it with a firm squeeze. Holy fuck he has nice hands. “Y/n. It’s great to meet you Mingyu.”

There was no hiding the way you gawked at the way his muscles flexed when he carried your stuff inside.

✭✭✭✭

The idea of returning to your old ways was honestly exciting for you. Last night over Facetime Jennifer had gotten the whole rundown of your brief interaction with Mingyu. You fawned over his muscles, his cute lisp and the way he’d been such a gentleman to help you carry your luggage after what you assumed was a long day of work. 

She’d found his Instagram of course and found out that he was indeed just as attractive as you’d described (and he had cute friends too). 

This morning you felt more than ready to kick off what you predicted to be a great summer. And you weren’t starting slow either. You knew the routine of your father’s farmhands enough to know that Mingyu would start the day mowing the lawn around your house. He’d usually start later on Saturdays (today), too. Meaning that if you got out there by 10 am, he’d probably still be working his way around the lawn. Hopeful by the pool.

Which, by complete coincidence, is where you were. Laid out in your favorite bikini by the water. The dark sunglasses covering your eyes meant that your eyes were completely hidden, but it was obvious where you were looking. 

Not far from the pool, you could see Mingyu pushing the lawn mower through the grass of your backyard. The tight black t-shirt from yesterday was no more. Instead, he wore a white tank top that left his arms completely exposed. He glanced over at you a couple of times, but he never let his gaze linger long enough for you.

You watched him from your laid-out position in your pool chair for a good fifteen minutes before he disappeared into the shed, presumably to put the lawnmower away. While he was inside, you took a moment to stand and dip your toes in the water thoroughly enjoying the coolness of the water. It was nice, you had to admit, but you’d have to save that for later because, while you were distracted by the water, Mingyu had made his way to the fence that separated your pool from the rest of the yard. 

It was only when he cleared his throat that you noticed him standing there, leaning against the fence smiling at you with an eyebrow raised.

“Do you normally spend your mornings checking out your dad’s employees?” God his voice.

You stepped out of the pool, “Only when I think they’re worth my time.” You slid your sunglasses off your face and onto the top of your head as you approached the fence where Mingyu was standing.

“Charming. I’m assuming he hasn’t the slightest idea what you get up to, then?”

You laughed, “Of course not. I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“So…” you brushed his forearm with the tips of your fingers, “What time do you get done?” You knew the answer of course, but it felt polite to ask.

“Seven thirty. Why? Hoping to get me alone?” He smirked

“I wouldn’t mind it.” You bit your lip as you no-so-subtly checked him out for the millionth time, “Meet me behind the shed at seven forty-five, ok? Don’t be late. I’ll bring booze.”

✭✭✭✭

Part of you wondered if he’d be there when you snuck out of your house at eight-fifteen. Yes, you were late, but that was part of the game. Your parents always went to bed early, and you were an adult. So getting out of the house unnoticed was no issue at all. If your dad noticed the six-pack missing from the garage fridge, you could just tell him you drank it or you could feign complete innocence. 

The weather was still warm despite it being completely dark outside, so your athletic shorts and oversized tee did just fine. You’d contemplated wearing a skirt but ultimately decided against it because you didn’t want him to think you’d give it up that easily. Even though you were already struggling greatly to contain your excitement.

He could hear the clinking of the glass beer bottles as you made your way to the shed through the freshly cut yard. As much as Mingyu would love to deny it, he hadn’t stopped thinking about you since this morning. Something about the way you were laid out in the sun this morning had left a permanent imprint on his mind. The secrecy of the situation was also incredibly appealing. It turned him on more than he’d like to admit, messing around with his boss’s incredibly hot daughter.

Mingyu wasn’t an idiot. He knew you were taking your sweet time on purpose. You’d made him wait half an hour just to see if he’d wait around for you that long. You wanted to see how bad he wanted it, and clearly, he wanted it pretty bad because you found him sitting on the bench behind the shed staring up at the stars.

“Sorry, I’m late.”

He laughed, “Sure you are.” He held out a hand.

You passed him a bottle as you sat down next to him.

“I thought maybe you’d changed your mind, but it seems you just enjoy the idea of making people wait for you.”

“Maybe,” you turned so your knees just barely brushed his thigh, “But you waited for me didn’t you?”

“Hey, maybe I just wanted free beer.” He gestured to the bottle in his hand.

“I know for a fact my dad pays you enough for you to afford your own beer.”

He laughed and leaned his head back against the shed, giving you a full view of his neck. You couldn’t help but imagine kissing his neck, leaving plenty of marks in your wake. “He sure does. It’s one of the many benefits.”

“What else do you like about the job?” You were genuinely curious about what was so appealing about doing nothing but manual labor for an entire summer. Even if the paycheck was really good.

He shrugged, “I don’t know. Gets me off my ass. Gives me something to do with my hands.”

“Oh? You good with your hands?”

“You just don’t let up do you?” He really did enjoy how insistent you were despite your attempts to make him pine after you by making him wait for you so long. 

“Not unless I’m asked to.”

You ended up talking with Mingyu for two hours. The two of you drank and talked about your lives, school, home, past flings, and relationships. By the time you two of you had finished off the six-pack you’d brought out, you felt as if you’d been out there forever. 

At some point, you’d put your legs over his lap. He caressed one of your calves with one hand while you played with the fingers of his other hand.

As much as you’d enjoyed this little conversation, the more you drank, the hotter he got, and you were hardly holding it together anymore. With every move of his hand on your calf, you could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter.

You took the hand that was already in yours and placed it on your cheek, “Mingyu…” you whined looking up at him.

“What, baby?” his thumb stroked your cheek.

You straddled his lap, sitting back on his thighs and moving down his neck and to his chest, “can we stop talking for a little bit?”

“Oh?” he questioned, lightly placing his hand on your lower back under your shirt, “What do you suppose we do instead?”

“Can I kiss you?” You asked leaning further into him so that your chests were touching.

“You can do whatever you want, baby.”

That was all the confirmation you needed to lean completely into him and kiss him. The kiss was long and more passionate than any kiss you’d experienced from your past summer flings. His hands were on your ass, pulling you to hover over his crotch where you could obviously tell he was hard. And that would have made you smug if you hadn’t been sitting in your own arousal for at least an hour. 

You kissed down his neck just like you had previously imagined. He let out a deep moan with every mark and bite you made. You had failed to realize that one of his hands had left your ass until you felt a hand brush over your completely clothed pussy.

“Baby, as much as I love these cute little shorts, can I take them off of you?”

Nodding furiously, you leaned back, pulled yourself off of his lap and pulled off your shorts and shirt, setting them on the bench beside him. Of course, you weren’t wearing a bra, something Mingyu had noticed almost immediately when you’d sat down beside him. Before you made your way back to his lap, you reached for the hem of that stupid, useless white tank top that covered virtually nothing. You pulled it over his head with ease. 

“Wow–” you whispered.

He laughed and pulled you back into his lap, “As flattered as I am,” he ran a hand up your side, “I could say the same thing about you.”  

Before you could even think about how to respond Mingyu’s face was in your chest, feverishly placing kisses on your tits. He grabbed one with his hand and rolled the nipple between his fingers.

You gripped onto his hair and moaned softly. Your hips rolled over his clothed dick multiple times before he finally shucked off his jeans which had become uncomfortably tight. 

“Can I please fuck you now?” he asked.

“Please,” you begged completely forgoing the chance to tease him for his politeness.

You pulled down the waistband of his boxers and grabbed him. Running a thumb over the tip, you pulled his cock out and pumped it a couple of times. “God, baby. You better hurry up.”

He slid your panties to the side and ran a finger between your folds, “you sure you don’t want me to prep you?”

You shook your head. So much for making him wait. “I’ll be ok. I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

He nodded and reached to grab a condom from his pocket. Of course, he’d come prepared. When he failed to open it fast enough, you snatched it out of his hands and ripped it open with your own teeth. You rolled it onto him after what felt like an agonizingly long amount of time. 

He positioned himself at your entrance and slid himself into you with relative ease. You threw your head back when he bottomed out. You covered your mouth in an attempt to keep yourself at least a little quiet. 

“F-fuck, Mingyu!”

“Shit, you’re so tight,” he grunted out, “I’m gonna need you to move, baby. Can you do that for me?” 

You nodded and gripped onto his shoulder. As you started bouncing up and down on his cock, he buried his face back in your chest, kissing and biting at your tits, collarbone, and neck. He left plenty of marks on your chest that were identical to the ones you’d left on his neck, maybe even darker. You had brought your own hand to your clit. Desperately trying to find your release. 

“Oh god Gyu, I’m so close,” you grabbed onto his hair.

He hissed from the stinging in his scalp, “Me too, angel, me too.” His face was in your neck when you’d finally reached your climax, and he followed immediately after.

You both sat there, chests heaving, for a couple of minutes, saying nothing.

“Wow,” was all he could say as he pulled you off his lap and helped you put your clothes back on, tossing the condom into the trash bin beside the bench. You made a mental note to take the trash out before your dad came out here tomorrow.

You laughed breathily, “You’re not so bad yourself.” 

He grabbed your wrist and pulled you into him. Your hands found their way to his chest instinctively. “Can I see you tomorrow night?”

“Oh, was that not enough for you?”

“God, no, that was perfect. But I wanna take care of you for real next time.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I have a truck,” he nodded toward the red pickup truck in your driveway, “I can drive it down to the creek. The bed of the truck is actually pretty comfy when you put blankets and pillows down.”

Laughing, you said, “You want to fuck me in the woods.” He shook his head, “I wanna eat you out in the woods.”

God, this was gonna be a fun summer.

✭✭✭✭

“Girl, what!? It’s only been a day?” Jennifer’s voice rang through the phone. “Was it good?’

“For outside bench sex? Yeah, it was great. We’re seeing each other tomorrow night.”

She groaned, “Ugh, you lucky bitch. I’m so jealous.”

“What? No Spanish hunks?”

She shook her head, “not yet. But I’m hopeful!” 

“Do you still want updates, or are you gonna explode from jealousy?”

“No! Please keep me updated. I’m living vicariously through you.”

You laughed, “God you’re insufferable.”

“I know!” She batted her eyelashes at you, “You will keep me updated though, right.”

“Of course, how could I not.”

✭✭✭✭

thank you for reading! i knocked this shit out in two days (and you can probably tell 👀), but i'm genuinely surprised with myself.

anyway hope you enjoyed. reblog and like if you did! love hearing your thoughts

mwah~

[theemporium]

[14.5k] ethan edwards was prepared for his rookie year in the nhl. he just wasn't prepared for a rat infestation, an unlikely roommate and to fall in love too. (smutty scenes mostly implied)

aka a fic based in the future when ethan finally joins the devils so don’t take anything remotely seriously!

happy birthday @httplando!! enjoy the belated birthday fic🤠gonna go mute you now before you spam my phone with voice notes of you giggling over ethan xoxo

.

SEPTEMBER

Ethan Edwards thought he was prepared for his rookie year.

He had long come to terms with the fact he was in the National Hockey League. It still felt surreal but the reality had long sunk in since the day he was drafted. This was his goal. This was his dream. And he had made it. 

And he knew it would be different from hockey in any other league he had played. He knew it would be faster, harder, more demanding than college hockey. He knew that he would be pushing his body to levels he had never experienced. He knew he was mentally going to go through some of the toughest months of his life as he settled into the big leagues. He knew he was taking the sport he loved to a whole new level and he was prepared for that. 

He was prepared for his rookie year. 

He wasn’t prepared to fall in love with you. 

More than that, he wasn’t prepared to fall in love and not fucking realise it. Especially when you were his fucking roommate. 

Though, when he thought about it, the signs from the universe directing you onto his life path was there long before his first game as a New Jersey Devil. 

“Have you signed for a place yet?” Luke had asked him during the summer, somewhere in the days between wakeboarding and sunbathing and enjoying the freedom of his last stress-free summer before he entered the professional league. 

“I’ve got a few potential options but it’s fine,” Ethan had replied, dozing off on the sunlounger with his eyes closed beneath his sunglasses. “I’ve got time before training camp starts. There’s no rush.” 

And honestly? It was his own stupid ignorance that led to the karma of his current situation. 

“We do apologise, Mr Edwards, but there is nothing we can do. The building manager won’t be able to fix the problems before your move in date and we have no available lots to accommodate you until the problems are solved.”

Ethan tried to let the woman’s soothing voice calm him, but it was hard to find any peace in the words she was saying. “So, I’m homeless?”

“Once again, we do apologise for the inconvenience but the apartment is completely inhabitable.”

Because of fucking course he would find himself scrambling for last minute accommodation in Jersey, days before he was meant to meet his new team and start settling in to his rookie year. The universe couldn’t be too nice to him, not in the year he knew was going to be one of the roughest of his life. 

So, he did what any sane person would do and had a total breakdown on the phone to his mother. And then he called Luke, feeling somewhat spiteful that the boy jinxed his luck earlier that summer. The least he could do is help him out now. 

After Luke had spent the first five minutes laughing because, in his words, “who the fuck has a rat infested apartment in Jersey?”

“Can you help me or not?” Ethan sighed, fingers pressed against his temples in hopes it would ease the ache that had been lingering behind his eyes since he first picked up the phone from the estate agent that morning. 

“I mean, I’m sure Nico or one of the other guys wouldn’t mind taking you in. Jack stayed with—” Luke started but a distressed noise from Ethan cut him short.

“Yeah but Jack was, like, eighteen. I’m meant to be a fucking college graduate,” Ethan grumbled, his cheeks burning. “What impression would that set for the guys on the team?” 

Luke paused. “You’re absolutely reading far too much into this.”

Ethan scoffed. “I think my reaction is justified.”

“Drama queen,” Luke grumbled under his breath before sighing. “I have a friend that was looking for a roommate, actually. You could always stay with them until your place is sorted. The apartment isn’t too far from the rink.”

“Someone on the team?”

“No, someone else.” 

Ethan blinked. “You have friends outside of hockey? Outside of me?”

“Yes, Ethan, I have other friends. You aren’t my only friend.”

“You think you know people and they stab you in the back,” Ethan sighed, far too dramatically (in Luke’s opinion).

“Look, do you want the place or not?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ethan quickly spoke up. “That would be perfect. Send me your friend’s number.” 

.

Now, when Luke had told Ethan that he had a friend—a non-hockey friend, at that—that was looking for a roommate, he wasn’t exactly sure what or who was expecting. He didn’t like to make assumptions on people when he knew little to nothing about them. It didn’t feel polite.

But he feels like he’s pretty fucking justified in feeling duped by the youngest Hughes brother when he finds out his new roommate isn’t a guy at all. 

In Ethan’s opinion, that feels like pretty fucking important information to reveal before he shows up at your door with his car down below packed up with bags and boxes down in the carpark. 

Because now, he looks like a fucking idiot when you open the door and he is left standing there, frozen and mouth open like a fish whilst every English word is thrown out of his head. 

“You must be Ethan,” you said eventually, because Ethan still couldn’t bring himself to speak after a painful thirty seconds. “Luke’s friend?”

“Uh yeah,” he cleared his throat, at least having the decency to look somewhat embarrassed by his reaction with blushing cheeks. “Thank you so much, by the way. You’re really doing me a huge favour.”

“Luke said you were desperate.”

Ethan wanted to disagree but he couldn’t. Not really.

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration,” he tried to laugh off, though your face remained mostly unimpressed. “So—”

“Your room is the one on the left. Your bathroom is right next door. Three cupboards have been emptied for you in the kitchen and you have the top shelves in the fridge,” you stated, so matter-of-factly that Ethan could only blink in response. “Any questions?”

“No?” 

“Great,” and with that, you wandered further into the apartment, leaving Ethan standing in the doorway dumbfounded. 

…

OCTOBER

It didn’t take long for Ethan to realise you had some walls around you, and small talk was certainly not the way to get past them.

It was a shift to the roommates he was used to, fresh out of college and having spent the better part of the last four years staying with some of his closest friends and teammates. But it wasn’t totally unwelcome on his part. It was kind of nice to have a space that wasn’t so…hockey.

And it helped that he had his own space. 

September passed in the blink of an eye and soon training camp became the real deal. It felt surreal to think he was really in the NHL now, that he was a professional hockey player, that this was his job and his livelihood now. 

But it also felt fucking great. 

The schedule of an NHL player was no joke and it was certainly not something Luke exaggerated—despite what Ethan assumed during the summer. It was intense and tiring and he didn’t have much time to think about anything else. 

Except maybe his ice cold, standoffish roommate. 

As the regular season began, Ethan had come to a few conclusions. 

.

One: you were not a morning person, especially before having any form of caffeine. That was something he learnt the hard way. 

Early morning practices were nothing new to Ethan. He wasn’t exactly an early bird, but his body had trained itself to familiarise itself with the early mornings after years and years of playing hockey. It was the norm for him, to be awake as the sun started peeking through the horizon and the rest of the world was about to wake up.

He wouldn’t call himself chipper, not really. He was just as energetic as he normally is.

You seemed to disagree. 

“Morning, stranger!” Ethan greeted you as you shuffled into the kitchen, with a boyish grin on his face and a spatula in hand.

You didn’t even glance at him as you shuffled towards the fridge. 

“Not a morning person, got it,” Ethan nodded, biting back his smile as you turned to glare at him. 

“It’s half six in the morning,” you grumbled. “Why are you so loud?” 

“My mum says it’s a part of my charm.” 

You didn’t look very amused in response. 

The following mornings seemed to fit the same routine. Even on the days he didn’t have practice or meetings, Ethan would find himself waking up early and starting his day around the same time you would be up for work. He would be chatty, you would look like you wanted to gauge his eyes out. It was oddly comforting. 

Somewhere in the middle of the second week of this fixed routine, he began to feel confident enough in watching your routine to know exactly what you needed the second you walked out your room. 

“Good morning!” 

You blinked, staring at the steaming mug he was currently offering you. It took you a few seconds to process the sight before you realised you hadn’t spoken.

“What’s this?” You questioned, a questioning look in your eyes. 

“Coffee. Made exactly the way you like it.” Ethan stayed confidently, his grin widening as you took a sip and let out an appreciative hum. 

“Thanks,” was all you said before shuffling around the kitchen to continue with the rest of his routine. 

On the days he was in Jersey, there was always a coffee cup waiting for you every morning. 

.

Two: you were always cold. Always. No matter what the temperature was outside.

In all honesty, Ethan didn’t get it at all. From what he had gathered in his conversations with you and what Luke told him, you had spent a fair chunk of your life in New Jersey so, if he was being honest, he thought you would have been somewhat used to the colder temperatures. 

But walking into the apartment after afternoon practice to find you bundled on the couch like you were in a blizzard told Ethan that assumption was far from the truth.

“Did the heating break?” was the first thing he asked when he saw you, a wave of concern washing over him as he dumped his bags at the door and made his way to the thermostat.

“No,” you murmured from somewhere in the pile of blankets. “S’just cold.”

Ethan paused, reading the thermostat before turning back to you with an amused expression on his face. “It’s kinda warm for Jersey in October today.”

There was a bit of rustling before your head popped up from amongst the blankets, your eyes narrowed in accusation. “Not all of us are professional athletes sweating their asses off for two hours.”

“In an ice rink,” he added with a grin.

Your glare hardened. 

“Do you want a hot water bottle?” 

You paused for a few moments before nodding with a sheepish expression. “Please.”

Ethan huffed out a laugh before he made his way into the kitchen, kettle filled and turned on before he went to hunt down the hot water bottle he was pretty sure his mother had packed away somewhere in his stuff when he moved away from Michigan.

He returned a few minutes later, lightly nudging the pile of blankets until your face popped up again and your eyes softened at the hot water bottle. He couldn’t help but giggle at the way you quickly snatched it from him, murmuring your thanks as it disappeared under the blankets. 

“Any time,” Ethan said, and he meant it.

.

Three: you really didn’t open up to strangers. Or roommates. Or anyone, really. 

He wasn’t exactly sure how Luke Hughes of all people managed to wiggle his way into a friendship with you, but it was an anomaly that had been wracking his brain for the last few weeks.

It was a week or so before Halloween and he was laying on the couch, his brows furrowed together as he tried to scroll through the internet for an idea of what he could wear to the Halloween party one of the boys were hosting. 

“Why do you look constipated?” 

His head snapped up, finding you standing at the end of the couch. You had two smoothies in your hand, the bag you take to your classes still on your shoulder and your shoes still on. He briefly glanced at the time, frowning a little when he realised he had been sitting there for the better part of two hours before he turned back to you.

“Trying to figure out a last minute Halloween costume,” he told you, eyebrows raised in surprise as you handed him one of the smoothies. He smiled as he took it, taking an obnoxiously loud slurp before you settled down on the other side of the couch. “I wanted to do something with Seamus and Luke but Seamus said he had his sorted and Luke said he was doing a joint costume with someone else.” 

“Oh yeah, me,” you answered casually and Ethan tried to hide his shock. 

“You’re coming?”

“Yeah?” You responded, giving him an odd look. “Luke always invites me to these things. He’s also hopeless with costumes.” 

“I didn’t realise you and Luke were so…close,” he said vaguely, his cheeks flushing a little when he realised what his words sounded like. “Not that it’s any of my business—”

“You’re right, it’s not.” You shrugged, taking a long sip from your smoothie before continuing. “But he’s one of my closest friends.” 

Ethan nodded, ignoring the way his stomach twisted at your words. “How did you two meet?” 

“The strip club.”

Ethan blanched. 

“Geez, you’re more gullible than Luke,” you commented, the hint of a smile on your lips. “You ask a lot of questions, Edwards.”

“I’m a nosy person,” he answered honestly with a shrug. “You didn’t answer the question.”

“Because there isn’t much to it.” 

And, in your defence, he knew you didn’t owe him any answers. But he was curious and he couldn’t seem to wrap his head around how close you and Luke were—close enough for you to willingly accept one of Luke’s friends as your roommate for an indefinite amount of time. 

And, at the crux of it, he didn’t understand how Luke was able to get through to you when he couldn’t. 

Ethan was never one to brag but he was a magnet for people. It helped him thrive in hockey, always willing to be that guy on the team that people feel like they could always talk to. It helped him thrive at university, being a social butterfly that could always make a friend in any situation. 

It usually helped. 

So yeah, maybe Ethan was a little stumped why you didn’t seem to want to be his friend, not in the way you were with Luke and some of the other guys on the team. It seemed like being your roommate added a wall he didn’t know how to break down. 

And when the Halloween party happened, it felt like seeing a whole new person when you were chatting and laughing with Luke. 

You looked more at ease as you stood next to him, happily sipping on whatever drink he had gotten for you from the kitchen. You seemed more relaxed, like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders as you laughed at whatever joke Curtis had made at Luke’s expense. 

It fuelled a fire for Ethan, one he hadn’t realised had been started before that night. But he didn’t just want to be your roommate anymore, he didn’t like having that wall between you. 

He wanted to be your friend too. 

…

NOVEMBER

Three months into the NHL told Ethan that it was really no joke.

He was expecting the more intense training and physical playing. He was expecting his body to feel more tired, more hungry, more sore. He was expecting the ruthless journalists and vocal fans and tougher coaches. 

He wasn’t expecting the mental toll of realising that hockey was all he had in his life. 

It was stupid to complain about, considering it was his dream and all, but it was true. Hockey was his whole world right now. He woke up thinking about hockey, he went to the rink thinking about hockey, he made his dinner thinking about hockey, and then he went to sleep thinking about hockey. 

Nine times out of ten, he dreamt about hockey too.

It was different to the hockey he knew growing up, or the hockey he experienced in Michigan. Because at least in Michigan, there were classes or parties or concerts or something to take his mind off hockey. 

But it wasn’t the same in New Jersey.

There were hangouts with Luke and Seamus, or team bonding sessions organised by Nico. There were drinks at the bar after a good game to celebrate, or a particularly bad one they needed cheering up after. There were fun trips around cities he had never properly explored when they were away on roadies. 

But it was all still linked to hockey. 

And he guessed he wasn’t great at hiding his conundrum when Nico skated up beside him near the end of practice, throwing out the offer to grab a coffee and chat after they finished their debrief with the coaching staff. 

.

For what it was worth, Nico didn’t think he sounded stupid when he explained himself. If anything, the captain was quite understanding. 

“I had it when I first moved,” he had confessed as they sat in some urban coffee shop in a part of the city Ethan hadn’t properly explored before. But Nico swore up and down it had the best coffee to offer. “I was young and I was here for hockey so I thought my whole life had to be hockey.”

“What changed?” Ethan asked, hands wrapped around the big mug his latte was in like it would give him something to do, something to focus on rather than the restless itch under his skin.

“The older guys,” Nico said with a knowing smile. “The ones that learnt how to balance life and hockey. The ones with wives and families and friends outside of the team.”

Ethan’s brows furrowed together. “You think I should go get married?” 

“Not right away,” Nico laughed, shaking his head. “But I know how easy it is to get wrapped up in the rookie year nonsense and everything. And you should be enjoying that, for sure. But there’s more to life than hockey, which is quite hard to believe right now. But it’s true, whether it’s a wife—or husband—and family or a hobby or a group of friends you can be a different Ethan with.”

Ethan nodded, a surprisingly serious expression on his face. “Hobbies?” 

“Yeah, something different to hockey,” Nico explained. “Something that doesn’t require you to give up too much time and take your focus away from hockey, but instead be a respite from everything. Like cooking!”

He blinked. “Cooking?” 

“You cook right now because you have to and you follow the diet plan the trainers give you. But you can find enjoyment in cooking because you want to,” Nico assured him, leaning back in his chair with a sure expression. “Give it a try. What’s the worst that can happen?”

.

As it turns out, the worst that could happen is that Ethan is a fucking horrible cook. 

He tried to hold back his coughs, waving the tea towel aimlessly under the beeping fire alarm before he raced to the windows in hopes they would help get rid of the smoke. Or at least get the alarm to stop.

The one meal outside of his diet plan and he almost burned the apartment complex down trying to cook it. 

Go figure.

He had collapsed on the couch an hour later, two pizza boxes lying on the table in front of him as he aimlessly scrolled through his phone. He didn’t lift his head when he heard the front door lock turning but did freeze when he heard you cough a little. 

“Fuck, why does it smell like a shitty barbeque in here?” 

Ethan turned to you, a sheepish expression on his face as he lifted one of the pizza boxes as a peace offering. “Does pizza count as a ‘sorry for almost burning the place down’ gift?” 

You eyed the pizza box and then his face before you took the seat next to him. “Normally I would say no but you look like you had a pretty rough time, so I’ll accept it this time.”

“Geez, thanks,” Ethan snorted. 

“What were you even trying to cook anyways?” You questioned, taking a silence of margarita pizza and taking a large bite. You resisted the urge to let out a moan. “Fuck, I’m glad whatever it was. I couldn’t be bothered cooking today.” 

“Rough shift?” Ethan asked.

“Bitchy manager was on tonight,” you added with a grumble. 

“Fucking Jerry,” Ethan tsked, shaking his head. 

You turned to him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You’re avoiding my question.”

“I’m delaying. There’s a difference,” Ethan corrected.

You hummed. “Okay, so why are you delaying?”

Ethan shrugged, turning his attention to the pizza box open on the coffee table in front of him. “S’stupid, no big deal. Promise.” 

You were silent for a few moments before you spoke. “Is this the point where I take the bait and beg for you to tell me why you’re upset?” 

He snorted, but it at least wrangled a smile out of him. “I’m not stressed. Just…overwhelmed.”

“With hockey?” You asked, but there was no malice or teasing in your voice. Just curiosity. 

“I know this is what I wanted but it’s just…so much. I’ve never had hockey be everything in my life, there was always something else. And now I feel like I’m drowning and no matter how much I keep kicking, I’m no closer to the surface. And the older guys seem so put together and I was trying to take their advice but it isn’t really working out and—” Ethan paused, his cheeks flushing a light pink colour when he realised he had begun rambling. “Like I said, it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” you replied and he was almost shocked to see the sincerity on your face. “It’s perfectly normal to feel overwhelmed. It’s a big jump. It would be weirder if you weren’t more stressed.” 

He swallowed. “Really?” 

“Yeah, I mean,” you began, the pizza forgotten on the coffee table as you turned your body on the couch until you were facing him. “Your life will never be normal again. You’ve been shoved into the spotlight and you will continue to be there forever. That’s overwhelming as fuck. And you’re trying to catch up with a bunch of guys who have been here for years, who have had seasons to figure out who they are and who they want to be. It was always going to be an uphill battle.” 

Something in his chest warmed at your understanding. 

“Guess I have a lot to look forward to then, huh?” He tried joking because it felt easier than trying to say the words that were getting stuck in the back of his throat.

“I get it,” you explained with a small nod. “Not at the same level, but I get it. Every day I wake up and I know I’m working towards the thing I want to do for the rest of my life but, fuck, some days are just harder than others. I feel like I’m sacrificing so much of my ‘best years’ doing this and sometimes I just…wonder if it’s worth it.”

“That’s intense,” Ethan murmured with his lips turned downwards.

You gave him a sad smile. “Life can be overwhelming in a lot of ways. It’s just about finding things that help us…destress, I guess.”

“Which is hard to do when you’re a rookie in the NHL who doesn’t know who the fuck he is anymore or a student spending every free moment working her ass off in a shitty job with a shitty manager to pay for college,” Ethan added with a sorrowful smile of his own. 

“Bingo,” you snorted.

“So,” Ethan sighed as he settled back against the couch. “What’s our game plan?” 

You raised your brows. “Game plan?” 

“Yeah, what are we gonna do to destress? We can help each other,” Ethan stated like it was obvious. “Like a ‘you scratch my back, I scratch yours’ situation.” 

You shot him a look. “I’m not scratching your back.” 

Ethan tilted his head, a grin on his lips. “So I’m assuming massages are off the table too?” 

His laugh echoed through the apartment as you threw a pillow at his face. 

. 

If Ethan was being completely honest, he didn’t think finding a destressing hobby would be so…stressful.

He had tried asking a few other guys on the team for inspiration and advice. It hadn’t been as successful as he had hoped. Though, at least he knew a handful of weird facts about the boys he played with, so it wasn’t completely useless. Team bonding and all that jazz. 

But the hobby-searching was starting to reach a point where he thought about it more than hockey. 

He couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong with him. So many of the guys on the team had shared the hobbies they had outside of hockey to help relax. He even spoke to some of the UMich boys that had joined the NHL before him for some advice too. But nothing really clicked, nothing shut his brain off. 

Golfing was too time-consuming to enjoy during the regular season. The mediocre attempt at knitting resulted in a massive knotted ball of yarn being chucked into the bin. He tried reading but got bored after the first few chapters. And it felt a bit pathetic and mind-numbing (the bad kind) when he found himself watching the third episode in a row of some trashy reality TV show that had been playing. 

Nothing was giving him that relief and that step away from the busy, hectic schedule an NHL player brought. 

“You got a new potential hobby for us?” 

Ethan lifted his head to see you closing the front door behind you, bundled in about five layers of clothing you were slowly deshedding before you made your way over to him. He watched as your eyes went to the mess on the coffee table, your lips pressed together to hold back your laugh. 

“What are you doing?” You questioned, tilting your head like it would help you figure out the little project he had been working on since you left for your class a few hours ago.

“It’s meant to be a model plane,” Ethan sighed, a tad too dramatic before he turned to you with a pout on his face. “Johnny said it was easy. He used to do them when he was, like, ten years old. I think he is lying to me.” 

You snorted. “Or maybe he followed the instructions.” 

Ethan frowned. “There’s instructions?” 

You shook your head, trying to hold back your laughs as you settled on the couch beside him. There was a hint of deja vu to that day a few weeks ago—the day Ethan likes to believe the start of your buddying friendship began.

“You’ll find something,” you reassured him, nudging his shoulder with your own. 

“I think some of the guys are just messing with me with some of the hobbies they suggest,” Ethan confessed. “Curtis does not seem like a knitter at all.” 

You laughed. “Yeah no, he was definitely messing with you.” 

“Knew it,” Ethan grumbled before shrugging. “Seamus thinks I’m just being dramatic.” 

“I’m inclined to agree,” you retorted. 

He shot you a look but you didn’t seem too bothered by his glare. 

“He thinks I just need to get laid,” Ethan murmured, his eyes settling back on the lump on the coffee table that was supposed to resemble a plane. 

“So why don’t you?” 

Ethan blinked as he turned back to you. “Why don’t I, what?” 

“Why don’t you just go get laid?” You asked, turning your body slightly so you were properly facing him. “Are you a virgin?”

Ethan startled. “What? No. No, I’m not a virgin.” 

 “Then I can’t imagine it would be too difficult for you to find someone.” 

“Thanks?” Ethan frowned a little before shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know, s’just a little much right now. I don’t really wanna go and sleep with anyone. And I’m a little too busy to properly start something with someone, you know? It wouldn’t be fair on them if I was…flaky.” 

“What if we slept together?” 

Ethan let out a choked noise of surprise. 

You gave him an odd look. “What?”

“Us? Sleep together? Like sex?” Ethan blurted out, his voice a little more high pitched than usual. 

“Well, I don’t mean just having a sleepover,” you answered with a shrug.

His brows furrowed together. “Would it not be…weird?” 

“No, why would it be?” You retorted, sounding so sure of yourself. “I’m busy, you’re busy. I guess you’re attractive and if you find me attractive too, I don’t see what the issue is. It’s convenient for us both.” 

His eyes narrowed. “You guess I’m attractive?” 

“This is not the time for your ego,” you huffed, though he could see your lips twitching upwards.

“No no, this is the perfect time for my ego,” Ethan started, his back straightening as he sat up in his seat.

“Are you in or not?”

His eyes dropped down to your lips for a few moments before returning to your eyes. “Y-Yeah, I’m in.” 

…

DECEMBER

As it would turn out, it was far from weird. It was actually pretty fucking great. 

The awkward tension Ethan expected to rise from the first time you two slept together didn’t actually happen. The next day, everything was back to normal and, if it weren’t for the hickeys dotted over his torso, he would have assumed he dreamt the whole thing up. 

It was surprisingly refreshing. The buddying friendship between you and Ethan continued to grow as the days passed, just like he wanted, there was just also the added bonus that sometimes the two of you fucked to let off some steam.

And as much as it pained him to say, Seamus was right. He just needed to get laid. He just needed to go back to something he knew he would always be good at, that didn’t take up too much space in his brain and felt as natural as breathing to him. 

He just needed to feel someone else’s body pressed up against him, whispered moans of his name doing more to help shut up that voice in the back of his head far better than the crowds of fans screaming and chanting his name. 

He was really missing out for all these with the whole ‘friends with benefits’ thing.

“Ethan.” 

“Hm?”

“We can’t.”

“I think we can,” he murmured against your neck, his smile pressed against your skin as he placed a line of chaste kisses just below your jaw. 

Your eyes fluttered close as his large hand splayed against your stomach, fingers brushing over your heated skin as he settled on the bed behind you. “You’re gonna miss your bus,” you managed to mutter out, a little breathless as you felt him rolling his hips against your ass.

“They won’t leave without me,” he assured you as he tugged you further back into him. Your panties had been kicked off somewhere under the sheets, not that either of you cared enough to give it a second thought. It just made it easier for Ethan to slip his hand between your legs, to listen to the choked noise of surprise you let out when his finger pressed on your clit. 

“That’s not how it works,” you murmured, letting out a whine when he stilled his hand between your legs, focusing on marking the spot at the base of your neck that made your arch against him. “You’re gonna miss the bus and the team will be annoyed and you’re gonna—”

“Shhhh,” Ethan mumbled against your skin. “Too much talking.” 

“Ethan.”

He let out a groan, his head dropping to your shoulder where he pressed a soft kiss there before lifting his head to shoot you a look. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmured with a snort. “It’s a seven day roadie. You’ll survive.” 

“Maybe I’m really stressed about it,” he shot back. “Maybe a quickie before I leave would help me destress.” 

You shook your head in amusement. “You’d be a lot less stressed if you weren’t thirty minutes late already.” 

Ethan’s head snapped over to the clock on your bedside table. “Shit.”

“Told you so!” You called out as he scrambled his way towards the bathroom for the quickest shower of his life. 

“Shut up!” 

.

“That’s new.”

“What’s new?” Ethan questioned, leaning down to lace up his skates with the efficiency of a man who had spent the better part of his life in ice skates. He didn’t notice the shit-eating grin on Luke’s face until he sat back up and found the boy staring at him. “What?”

“Well, either the rats from your old apartment have found your new place and decided to take revenge or there’s a different reason for the marks on your back,” Luke retorted with a knowing glint in his eyes. 

“Marks are an understatement,” Seamus snorted, sitting on the stall on the other side of Ethan. He didn’t know what he did to deserve being stuck between the two of them. “Your back is mauled, dude. Who did you sleep with, a werewolf?” 

“No,” Ethan scoffed, his cheeks burning red. “Don’t be jealous you can’t get the same reaction out of a girl.” 

“So there’s a girl?” Luke chimed in, like the little nosey shit he was. 

“Maybe,” Ethan answered vaguely with a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s just a casual thing. Nothing serious.” 

“Glad you finally took my advice,” Seamus grinned. 

Ethan rolled his eyes. 

“What’s her name?” Luke asked. 

To be fair, you and Ethan never discussed the logistics of your situation beyond the actual sex part. He enjoyed the little bubble the two of you shared in your apartment. It was like the two of you forgot there were other people, that the signs would be there for people to pick up on. And he wasn’t exactly sure if it was something you would want people to know, even Luke. 

He tried to bargain with himself that it wasn’t serious so there was no need for Luke or the other boys to know. You two were just scratching an itch for each other, that’s it. You were still friends at the end of the day, he didn’t want to ruin that because other people thought there was something more serious.

Ethan shrugged. “Uh, you don’t know her.”

Luke cocked an eyebrow. “So surely it doesn’t matter if we know her name or not.” 

“It’s not like she’s my girlfriend or anything,” Ethan retorted, squirming a little under Luke’s gaze. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready? Coach wants us out in five minutes.” 

“Subtlety is not your forte, Edwards,” Luke snorted in response. 

. 

The roadie ends up being a complete shit show.

Three games and they lost every single one of them. Three games and the loss just got worse with each game, with the final game being an embarrassing 5-1 loss. And all the boys were upset and annoyed about the results, but Ethan felt like he was going to lose his mind. 

His suit felt uncomfortable and itchy against his body, like some foreign layer he desperately wanted to shed. His skin felt taut and stretched across his bones, the urge to claw at his skin so overwhelming that he forced himself to focus on picking the skin around his nails instead because it was less likely to get him odd looks from the other boys. 

He had ignored Luke and Seamus’ attempts at pep-talks in the locker room, both boys seeming determined to try and reassure him the loss was not his fault—like it would stop the fumbled plays playing on a loop in his head. He watched Nico climb onto the bus, eyeing the empty seat next to him but he wasn’t in the mood to be babysat by his captain. He put his bag on the chair next to him and put his headphones on, pretending he couldn’t feel everyone’s eyes on him.

He wasn’t sure what time it was when they finally arrived back in New Jersey, but he didn’t care to know. He didn’t give anyone a chance to pull him back for a chat. He grabbed his bags and bolted to his car, wanting nothing more than to get out of his suit and just mope in his bed until practice in a few days. 

Ethan wasn’t expecting for you to still be awake.

He jumped when he spotted you on the couch, the TV still on but on mute as it played some random sitcom he couldn’t quite remember the name of. His eyes wandered over your figure, huddled up in the corner of the couch with a blanket covering your legs and a Devils branded hoodie he didn’t quite know whether it was one of your own or one of his. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. 

“You’re back earlier than I expected,” you spoke up, breaking the weird, tense silence that seemed to be suffocating the apartment since he walked in. 

“We left just after the game,” he replied, his voice a little raspy considering it was the first time he had spoken since the end of the game. “Boys wanted to get home.” 

You nodded. “M’glad you’re back. The place is pretty quiet without you.” 

It was lighthearted. It was an opening for him to plaster on a smile and pretend he was okay. It was a chance for him to escape the same awkward conversations he avoided from his teammates. 

But he was tired—the bone deep kind—and he didn’t have it in himself to keep pretending. Not in front of you. 

“I’m not sure I’m feeling very talkative right now,” he admitted, swallowing back the acidic taste in his mouth, the one that had been lingering since he stepped on the bus with all his disappointed teammates. 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” you reassured him as you patted the spot on the couch beside you. “We can just sit in absolute silence if you want.” 

“I’m not sure I want that either,” he confessed as his body slumped against the couch, melting into the fabric as he tried to ignore the constant buzzing voices in his head. “Just wanna forget the last week, to be honest.”

“That’s fair,” you hummed in agreement. “The refs were biassed dicks anyways. It wasn’t fair.” 

He turned his head to look at you, his surprise clearly expressed on his face. “You watched?” 

“I did,” you gave him a soft smile. “It wasn’t a pretty sight. I’m surprised the neighbours didn’t make a noise complaint against me when they put Luke in the box.” 

And despite himself, he couldn’t help but snort. “They had it out for him and Jack.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Dicks.” 

His lips twitched upwards. “Dicks indeed.” 

Ethan let his head fall back against the back of the couch, let the exhaustion settle in as his eyes fluttered shut and, for the first time in the last week, let himself have some semblance of relaxation even if his brain was still on overdrive.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” you started and his body instantly tensed up at your words. And maybe you would feel his body lock up, considering his thigh was pressed against yours and the couch wasn’t all that big either. “But I am here if you want to talk. Have someone who’s not on the team to listen to you.” 

He swallowed the lump in the back of his throat. “Just feel like I let them down.” 

“You didn’t,” your voice soft but sincere. “And I bet the boys would agree.” 

“I just…” he let out a sigh, keeping his eyes closed because it somehow made the next few sentences easier to say out loud. “I know no one likes losing. I would be a pretty bad professional athlete if I liked losing. But, I don’t know, it just…sucks more now.” 

“Because the stakes are higher?”

“Because there’s more people seeing my mistakes,” he murmured, his words short and sharp. “This is all unreal. Being able to live out my dream and play in the NHL. But every time I make a mistake, I just feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like I’m waiting for someone to tell me it’s all a joke or I have been moved down or I get dropped and that’s the end of my career.” 

There was a short pause. 

“I’m scared it’s all gonna be for nothing.” 

He wasn’t sure what response he expected. Truthfully, he had no intentions of ever telling you any of this. Or anyone for that matter. He had no intentions of ever saying the words out loud, letting them fester and swirl around in the back of his mind when he was left with his thoughts alone for too long. 

And yet, he had just blurted them out to you. 

Maybe he was more tired than he realised. 

“Why did you keep playing hockey?” 

Ethan frowned a little, his eyes blinking back open as he turned to look at you again. “What?” 

“Why did you keep playing hockey?” You asked again, something swirling in your eyes but he couldn’t quite work out what. “It’s one thing to be a fan. You’re Canadian so I guess you kinda have to be. And I assume your parents put you into lessons. But why did you keep up with it? Why did you keep playing?” 

“Because I love the sport,” he answered without any hesitation.

“Exactly, you love the sport,” you repeated with a soft smile on your lips. “It’s why you stayed. It’s why you play the next game even if you lost the last one. It’s why it’s your dream, why you kept working towards the NHL. And even after the shit show of the roadie, it’s why you will go out and play the next game.” 

Ethan stayed silent but he didn’t move his eyes away from yours. 

“It’s normal to have doubts. It’s normal to second guess yourself and assume the worst and let yourself spiral,” you continued. “It’s your rookie year. It isn’t easy for anyone. It wasn’t easy for Luke, for Seamus, for any of the boys. But you love the sport and the sport loved you back. Even on the bad days.” 

“That was poetic,” he murmured, his voice a little raspy and thick with emotion. 

“I was great at English in school,” you retorted with a grin. “You’re allowed to feel scared. And you’re allowed to be upset after you lose. But you’re a part of the team, nobody is putting the loss on your shoulders and you shouldn’t either. It’s your weight to bear together.”

Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “Did Nico message you?” 

You snorted, and something about the sound made his chest tighten. In a good way, though. 

“No, but considering how fast you got here, I would be wary that he will probably show up tomorrow morning to take you for a coffee check up,” you murmured. “Or he will corner you in the locker room.” 

Ethan nodded. “Thank you. For listening and stuff.” 

You flashed him a smile as you nudged his shoulder with your own. “That’s what friends are for.”

It was almost ironic that Ethan had spent the last few months working towards the title of your friend, only to feel almost disappointed when you said it. 

. 

Nico had been the one to organise the New Years Party.

All the boys from the team were there. There were other Devils employees from the marketing, media and training teams. There were friends and friends-of-friends. There were people he had never met before. 

But it was a party and the buzz of the new year was humming through them all, and somewhere amongst it all, someone had suggested a game of truth or dare.

Ethan thinks it was Curtis, who was just drunk and nosy and a bit bored.

“Right, Baby Hughes, you gotta pick!”

Luke let out a groan, slumping into the person next to him—a chuckling John Marino who seemed amused by the glint in Curtis’ eyes—before nodding. “I feel targeted.”

Curtis grinned. “Never.”

“You’ve asked me every single time,” Luke grumbled under his breath, cheeks tinted pink and warm. “Surely this is against the rules. Right, Cap?”

Nico raised his hands in surrender. “Do not drag me into this!” 

Luke’s eyes narrowed. “So much for looking out for your boys.”

“Pick someone else before he starts getting whiny,” Jack called out, grinning widely as he dodged Luke’s elbow to his side. “I don’t wanna hear him bitching on the way back home.” 

“Fine, fine,” Curtis snorted, eyes scanning over the busy room before his eyes paused on Ethan. “Alright, Edwards, rookie’s turn. Truth or dare.” 

Ethan straightened a little, something determined in his eyes. “Truth,” he answered with a grin. “I’ve been warned of your dares.” 

“Smart,” Jesper coughed under his breath. 

“Truth, he says,” Curtis mused as he sat back in his seat, contemplative and cunning before he spoke again. 

“Play nice,” Nico teased.

“Cap’s orders,” Curtis hummed before he spoke. “Alright then, rookie, fess up. Which teammate is your least favourite? Name and shame.” 

Ethan blinked. “This feels like a trap.” 

“Oh, it certainly is,” Ondrej snorted.

“Don’t take him seriously,” Luke spoke up, leaning his head back to catch Ethan’s gaze. “He did the same to me and Simon. And Seamus last year. It’s his thing.” 

Ethan raised his brows. “Is there a right answer?” 

“Hey, no cheating!” Curtis called out. 

“Maybe my answer is you,” Ethan called back teasingly. 

“Oh, pretty boy has some fire,” the older man laughed, happily and drunkenly but it seemed enough to satisfy him before Nico was rounding everyone around for the midnight countdown.

The funny thing was that Ethan always knew that hockey was a team sport and every team he had ever played on—from the peewee team he played on as a kid to the boys he played with in UMich—every single one of them felt like a family, a place where he belonged and a team he loved both on and off ice. 

The Devils had been another one of those teams—his newest family. It had been terrifying, a lingering thought in the back of his head since he had been drafted. Every team he played for before were teams he would move on from, stepping stones in his dreams. But the NHL was at the top and he didn’t want to fuck that up. He didn’t want to feel left out from his new family. 

The Devils family had welcomed him with open arms. 

He truly couldn’t complain. He felt a connection with these boys on and off the ice, he felt like the newest member in this patchwork family that was really cared for. Even now, as the seconds ticked down to midnight, there was warmth and camaraderie in the air as they welcomed the new year. 

And yet, it was the most devastating loneliness he had ever felt in his life.

Because the clock struck twelve and the cheers echoed through the house and yet, his eyes were searching in the crowd of people. Searching for the one person he wanted by his side. Searching for the first person he has ever had the urge to kiss into the new year. 

Because Ethan Edwards spent breaking in the new year wishing he was beside you. 

…

JANUARY

New Years opened his eyes in ways that he hadn’t really considered before.

Unfortunately, eye opening nights are a bit difficult to focus on when you’re a professional athlete in the NHL hitting January in your rookie year. Because they were only half way through the regular season in one of the most physically and mentally intense years of his life, and he was a bit too fucking tired to have emotional epiphanies.

Which was fine if it weren’t for the fact he was currently in the middle of drills and his brain was definitely not focused on hockey. 

“Edwards!” 

Ethan blinked, his body moving before his brain could properly catch up. He had never been more grateful for the military-routine of drills he had been doing for as long as he had been skating. 

His muscles were screaming by the time the boys were starting to head back into the locker room, laughing and shoving each other and discussing strategies for the game against the Sabres the following day. But he lingered behind, stick twisting in his hand as he tapped a few pucks closer to the net. 

He had tried not to stare at the person lingering on the ice behind him, watching him, observing him.

He managed five shots before the person spoke up. 

“You should lower your right hand a little,” Jack called out, lingering at the blue line. “It will help with the shot.” 

His next shot hit the back corner perfectly. 

Ethan straightened his back, nodding a little before glancing over his shoulder. “Thanks.” 

“Anytime,” Jack responded, taking it as his cue to skate closer towards him. “You good? You should be getting some rest before the game tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, just…wanted some extra practice on my shots,” Ethan said, shrugging his shoulders. “It needs some work.” 

Jack nodded. “You’re having a good year.”

“Could be better,” Ethan retorted before he could stop himself. It was meant to be lighthearted, playful even. Instead, it came out a little self-deprecating and he winced at himself.

“It gets better,” Jack assured him, his expression a little softer. “The rookie year is always the worst, the media attention and expectations and everything. But it gets better when you find yourself, find your footing.” 

“I know,” he murmured because he wasn’t sure what else to say. Nobody really talked about Jack’s rookie year. Not in much detail, not beyond a few comments here and there he had heard over the years in the lakehouse. 

He was more than grateful that his own rookie year wasn’t anything like Jack’s. 

“Enjoy it,” Jack continued, a kind expression on his face. It wasn’t hard to work out why Jack was given the ‘A’ on his jersey. “I know it’s easier said than done, but don’t let the critics get to you too much. They just wanna put pressure on you, make you squirm.” 

And oh. 

Because now Ethan was standing there, staring back at Jack like a hopeless idiot, realising he and the rest of the boys probably assumed his mood had been related to hockey. To the articles written about him. To the most likely and very reasonable explanation. 

Not the fact Ethan was pretty sure he liked his friends-with-benefits roommate in a not very friends-with-benefits way. 

His cheeks burned at the realisation. 

“Uh, yeah,” he nodded helplessly, hoping his smile didn’t look as strained as it felt. “No, you’re right. I…I’ll try to really enjoy it. Not get in my own head too much.” 

“Good,” Jack smiled back at him, all sweet and genuine and making him feel like a bit of a dick. “I’m here if you ever need a chat, you know? And I’m better at giving advice than Luke.” 

Ethan snorted. “I don’t doubt that for a second.”

. 

The issue was that despite his eye-opening realisation, Ethan Edwards quickly realised he was a bit of a coward when it came to expressing his feelings. 

Or, for that matter, confronting them.

It was odd for Ethan, if he was being completely honest with himself. Because he was usually good with these kinds of things. He knew when it was a ‘no strings attached’ situation, when to remove himself from any feelings that would compliment the matter. And he knew when it was serious, when the feelings were reciprocated, when there was something more than physical between him and the other person. 

But that awareness was thrown out the window when it came to you. 

It was like he had a little voice in his head, desperately trying to yell out how he felt about you until Ethan reached his breaking point and did something he couldn’t take back. 

So, he did what any reasonable person did and locked that little voice away, pushed it to the back of his mind where it couldn’t bother him. And then he continued living his life like he couldn’t hear the rattling box in the background of every waking moment. 

It was easy with hockey. Despite his little blip at the start of the month, he managed to prevent the annoying voice affecting his game on the ice. He stayed focused and concentrated and attentive. He managed to complete his drills and find the passes and shoot some goals so none of his teammates would catch on to his lacking grasp on his feelings. 

But at home? With you? He clearly wasn’t coping as well as he thought he was. 

“Are you okay?” 

Ethan paused, body frozen as his brain wracked through a million different thoughts before he turned to look where you were sitting on the couch. 

“Uh yeah,” he managed to blurt out, a slightly strained laugh following. “Why?” 

“You’ve just seemed off the last few weeks,” you admitted with a shrug of your shoulders. “Like, tense and stuff.” 

“S’just hockey stuff,” Ethan murmured with a stiff smile, the lie tasting bitter and acidic on his tongue. “The boys have just been talking about how playoffs are sneaking up on us and I just…guess I’ve been a little in my own head about it.” 

You nodded in understanding. “You need days to chill out, you know? Take your mind off hockey.” 

Ethan raised his brows. “You got any suggestions, sweetheart?” 

“Actually,” you retorted with a knowing smile. “I do. I know exactly what you need to get out of your head.” 

. 

“You know, when you crawled onto my lap, I was expecting a very different outcome,” Ethan murmured, struggling not to move his lips too much as he focused on the concentrating expression on your face. 

“Need to get your head out of the gutter, Edwards,” you teased, biting back your smile as you continued to sweep the brush across his face, careful to avoid his eyebrows while you were at it. “Facemasks are soothing and relaxing. Plus, your skin probably needs it after all the travelling you do.” 

“Excuse you,” his nose scrunched. “I have a skincare routine.” 

You chuckled. “Yeah, Luke told me that you ripped into Seamus after he used your fancy moisturiser.” 

“It’s expensive,” he murmured in defence before the rest of your words caught up on him. “You talk about me to Luke?” 

“Mostly to bitch,” you said with a lighthearted, teasing smile.

Yet, something in his chest tightened at the idea regardless.

“As long as you’re talking about me,” he shot back, something victorious washing over him at the way you laughed. 

You leaned back a little, still sat on his lap with his hands on your waist to keep you balanced. You snorted at the mask covering his face before grinning. “Now, we have to keep these on for twenty minutes. And try not to move your face too much.” 

Ethan ignored your words, pouting in response. “So if I asked you to make out—”

“I would tell you to fat chance,” you finished with a grin. “But I’ll admit the pink headband is really working for you.” 

Ethan wiggled his eyebrows, once against ignoring the pointed look you shot him. “Enough for a kiss?” 

“Enough for an episode of Pretty Little Liars,” you shot back at him, your smile widening at the sound of his groan but it still didn’t stop him from tugging you close before you could sit on the other side of the couch. “Or at least finish the one we started last night before—”

“I rocked your world?” 

“Started drooling on my shoulder,” you corrected.

“That was after I made you come twice,” Ethan piped up, lightly pinching your side until you squirmed further onto his lap. “They cancel each other out.” 

“Whatever you say, princess,” you snorted, eyes gleaming as you pressed play on the remote before he could come up with a witty comeback. 

And, somewhere in the back of his mind, there was a distant voice screaming at him to say something. Telling him this was the perfect opportunity to say something to you. To just admit how he was feeling and end the pathetic pining he had been experiencing for the last few weeks. 

But the mere idea of losing this—losing you—kept his mouth shut as he finally turned his attention to the tv and pretended like his stomach didn’t twist at his own cowardice. 

…

FEBRUARY

Before he knew it, they were hitting February and all the buzz in the hockey world was around All Stars.

Ethan hadn’t been too concerned about it or the discussions leading up to the reveal on which team members would be heading out for the event. His mind had been preoccupied on the season, on playoffs approaching, on you. In all honesty, All Stars hadn’t even crossed his mind until the team was being rounded up into the locker room for the announcement. 

It was not too much of a surprise that Luke had been selected for the Devils (most people expected it to be one of the Hughes brothers). 

However, it was a shock to hear his own name follow. 

“Looks like the fans want to see more of the pretty boy,” Curtis called out, joking and teasing and, yet, it still made his cheeks burn as the boys all slapped him on the back. 

“Baby’s first All Stars,” Timo cooed jokingly, reaching out to pinch his cheek but Ethan was quick to slap his hand away. 

“It’s Luke’s first too,” he defended weakly, a smile on his lips as he spoke.

“At least he is losing one of his virginities,” Seamus coughed under his breath, letting out a high-pitched yelp when the younger Hughes reached to smack him across the back of his head. 

“I hope you get a horrible sunburn in Mexico,” Luke retorted with a deadpan expression. 

Seamus snorted. “Don’t get bitchy because your ticket is non-refundable.” 

Luke reached out to slap him again but he had already run off towards the showers, laughing and shoving some of the other boys into Luke’s path to help with his escape. 

Ethan shook his head in amusement. 

“Enjoy it,” another voice spoke up and he turned to find Nico standing beside his stall, a kind and genuine smile on his face as he patted his shoulder. “It’s fun. Promise.” 

“More fun than chilling on a beach somewhere?” Ethan retorted with a knowing smile.

“It’s up there,” Nico grinned. 

“But if Michael Buble offers you anything, say no,” Jack spoke up from the other side of the locker room. “Trust me.” 

.

“How does it feel to be with all the big boys?” 

“You saying I’m not a big boy?” 

“You know exactly what I meant, perv.” 

It was true. Ethan knew exactly what you meant. But he could almost imagine the way you rolled your eyes when you spoke, your nose scrunched up and your eyebrows furrowed and it sent a pang of something aching through him. 

It was almost too pathetic to comprehend. 

All Stars was insane. Truly, absolutely, positively insane. It was one thing to watch it from the comfort of his own couch. It was a whole other thing to be a part of it. And he knew he shouldn’t be starstruck, not really. He had spent the better part of the last few months playing against some of these guys. 

But being in a not-as-competitive setting with the likes of Sidney Crosby and Nathan MacKinnon was a surreal experience he hadn’t fully wrapped his head around since he arrived.

And yet, here he was, all smiley and giddy and excited over the fact you had called him. The fact that you missed him enough, that you were thinking about him enough to call him whilst he was away. 

“I stand by my question,” Ethan replied, shuffling further back into the plush pillows of his hotel bed as he held his phone to his ear. “Do you not think I’m a big boy?”

“I’m not going to talk up your dick size for the sake of your ego, Edwards.” 

Ethan snorted despite himself. “Worth a shot. Could have made it really hot.” 

“I refuse to have phone sex with you when Luke is probably in the room.” 

“He’s not here,” Ethan said quickly, pausing for a moment before he continued. “Well, he’s gone out to grab us some snacks from the store around the corner but—”

“Exactly.” His stomach dipped a little as your laugh echoed through the phone. “Now, tell me everything.” 

For a moment he wondered if it would be worth trying to facetime you to see your face or if that was pushing it too far. 

“What do you want to know?” He retorted, his eyes closing shut as he tried to imagine the expression on your face as you thought. 

“I don’t know! The important stuff! Like if Sidney Crosby is as hot in real life?” 

Ethan blinked. “That’s your big question? If he’s as hot as he is on screen?” 

Your reply came with no hesitation. “Yes.”

“Wow, so we can’t talk about my dick, which has been inside of you by the way, but we can talk about whether or not Sidney Crosby is hot.” There was a pause before he sighed. “Yeah, he is. Maybe even hotter.” 

“I fucking knew it.”

“So you don’t even miss me? Not even a little bit?” Ethan questioned, trying to sound playful and lighthearted, hoping the small slivers of insecurity weren’t being translated through the phone.

“Don’t start pouting on me, Edwards. Of course I miss you.” Your voice was softer, more sincere. Or at least he was deluding himself into thinking as much. “Found a show for us to watch when you’re back. It looked good but I didn’t want to start it alone.” 

It was embarrassing how big his smile was. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you hummed before gasping. “Oh god, I almost forgot to tell you. You won’t believe what happened at work the other night.” 

Ethan huffed. “Don’t tell me it was—” 

“Yup! And you’ll never guess what she did—” 

It hit Ethan in the chest when he was lying on the foreign bed in a non-descriptive hotel room, phone pressed against his ear as you rambled away. It hit him just how much he enjoyed this, how much he enjoyed you. That it was beyond the physical attraction, that it was much deeper than a silly little crush. 

It hit him how much he wanted this forever.  

But he knew better to do it on the phone. He knew it had to be said face-to-face. He knew he needed you in front of him when he uttered the words. He knew he needed to be looking in your eyes when he blurted his feelings out. 

So, he promised himself. 

He promised himself he would do it when he headed back to New Jersey. He promised himself he would do it when he saw you. He promised himself he was just going to deal with it head on and not run away like he had been doing for the last month or two. 

He promised he was not going to be a coward anymore. 

.

It was embarrassing how quickly he threw his own promise out of the window. 

Ethan was fucking exhausted by the time their plane laned back in New Jersey. It was barely even eight in the evening and he was ready to slump face first onto his bed and not get up for a few days—even if he knew they had practice the following afternoon. 

But it was the principle of it all. 

It was the mere exhaustion of it all. 

And you took one look at him before you opened your arms, inviting him to join you on the couch. Ethan couldn’t even bring himself to feel too bad about the groan you let out as he slumped himself on top of you.

“Make sure they had good music at my funeral,” he grumbled, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck and his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke.

You hummed, your hands moving on instinct to run your fingers through his hair. “How do you feel about Barbie Girl?”

“Love it,” he murmured, a soft groan leaving his lips as your nails scratched along his scalp. “Missed you.” 

“I missed you too, Edwards,” you whispered, soft and almost breathless. He wondered for a moment if he was leaning too heavily on your chest and winding you. “I never knew you talked in your sleep.” 

Ethan froze. 

“Luke sent me some interesting videos,” you continued and he could almost hear the smile in your voice. “You should really watch who you have sleepovers with.” 

Ethan clenched his eyes shut, trying to nuzzle himself further into your neck. “M’gonna kill him.” 

“It was just one video,” you assured him, lightly tugging his hair until he lifted his head to look at you. “Cute that you were so jealous over me liking Sidney that you started to sleep talking about it.” 

His cheeks heated up. “I wasn’t jealous.” 

You beamed back at him. “Uh huh, sure.” 

Ethan narrowed his eyes at you. “This is emotional blackmail.”

“Aw, don’t let me stop you from doing it again,” you teased, unable to hide your amusement as his cheeks burned redder. “Would it make you feel better if I said I was jealous you got to hang around him all week?” 

Ethan paused before he spoke. “Yes.” 

You nodded. “Then, I was deeply jealous and envious that you got to hang around Sidney Crosby, the hottest guy in the league—”

“Oh my god,” Ethan groaned as he braced his hands on either side of you, prepared to push himself off you and the couch and sulk in his room. But before he could get far, you were winding your arms and legs around him and pulling him back down. “Nuh uh, let me go. You can go cuddle with Sidney since you think he’s so hot.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” you mused, choosing to be nice and not comment on the way he completely nuzzled himself back into your arms, eyes falling shut and relaxation taking over his body for the first time in a week. 

“You’re a bully,” he retorted, words muffled from the way his cheek was pressed against your shoulder. 

“You like it,” you retorted, keeping the banter going but it made Ethan’s head spin. 

Because he did. He did like it. He liked you. He liked coming back home to you and he liked lying on the couch with you. He liked kissing you and he liked the noises you made for him when he touched you. 

He liked you more than he cared to admit. 

He liked you too much to lose you. 

He liked what the two of you had. He liked it too much to risk losing it all over unreciprocated feelings. Feelings could change—his feelings could change. There was no need to ruin a good thing. 

He had hockey to focus on. He had the team to focus on. He had playoffs to focus on.

Now was not the time to change everything, superstitions or not. 

…

MARCH

March Madness was no joke. 

It was pure fucking chaos and no previous league or championship he had ever played for could rival just how hectic the whole thing was. The Devils were having a good season. A great fucking season if they were being honest. And they were so, so, so fucking close to clinching that playoff spot. 

But fuck if the other teams weren’t making it real fucking difficult for them. 

Ethan knew that things were going to get rougher, tougher, harder when the playoff desperation started to settle in, when the end of the regular season was on the horizon and teams were starting to get dirty to extend their season. 

He just underestimated how desperate they were willing to get. 

It was easy to see why Nico Hishcier was so beloved by the team, by the fans, by the boys. To see why he was chosen as captain because he was nothing but supportive and determined and encouraging. He wasn’t letting them get too comfortable, he was keeping the boys working towards playing their best. 

But he was also the damn proudest of them all. 

It almost made the hits against the boards worth it. 

Almost being the operative word seeing as he felt like his whole body was bruised as they came off a game against the Rangers. 

“Fuck,” Ethan hissed as he all but waddled into the locker room, helmet in hand and skateguards on. “I think I’m bruised in places I didn’t know you could be bruised.” 

Seamus snorted. “Fucking tell me about it.” 

“The hit during the second period looked rough,” Luke spoke up from the stall beside him. “You sure you’re good?” 

“Medical checked me over during the intermission,” Ethan assured him with a faint smile. “Just gonna be sore for the next few days.” 

Luke’s eyes gleamed. “No strenuous activities then?” 

Ethan rolled his eyes. 

“Oh please,” Seamus mused, giving Luke a nudge with his elbow. “He’s a pillow princess.” 

“Fuck off both of you,” Ethan snorted, already starting to peel his jersey off.

 It wasn’t until he was almost dressed where he finally grabbed his phone out of his bag, turning it back on to see a flurry of notifications to take over his screen. His brows furrowed together in surprise as he skimmed over them.

“Is that a certain roommate?” Luke asked, peeking over his shoulder like the nosy shit he was but Ethan had already chucked his phone back in his bag. 

“Nah, it’s just Patricia,” Ethan shrugged.

Luke blinked. “Who the fuck is Patricia?” 

Ethan shot him an odd look. “Patricia, the woman from the estate agency you recommended to me.” 

Luke gave him a pensive look. “Why is she blowing up your phone?” 

Ethan shrugged again. “Your guess is as good as mine.” 

. 

As it would turn out, Patricia was contacting him because the apartment he originally signed on for at the start of the year seemed to have sorted the rat infestation problem. 

She was cheery in her voicemail she left for him, like it was the best possible news Ethan could have ever received. And maybe it would have been a few months ago, back in September. Even a good few weeks into October, Ethan would have been over the fucking moon to hear his old apartment was available again. 

Yet, as he listened to the voicemail now, he couldn’t help but let a sense of dread wash over him. 

It was stupid in a way because he knew from the start his situation wasn’t permanent. He knew it was always a short-term solution to a short-term problem. He knew the arrangement between you both wouldn’t last forever—both as roommates and friends with benefits. 

There was always a timer on it, but Ethan let himself get lost in the familiarity of it all that the upcoming ending hit him like an unexpected slap in the face.

If he was a sensible and good guy, he would have called Patricia back. He would have told her he was just as happy to hear the update on the previously rat infested apartment. He would have told her he was happy to move in as soon as he can, to have his own place in New Jersey to call his home and his home alone. He would have told her to send over all the paperwork as soon as she can. 

But Ethan wasn’t sensible nor was he all that good because he never called her back. 

Instead, he chose to pretend as though he hadn’t seen the calls or the voicemails or the messages. He told himself he was focusing on clinching a playoff spot. He told himself he was just prioritising the important stuff and, for as long as he had a roof over his head, the other apartment wasn’t a priority. 

Ethan chose not to acknowledge the fact that ignoring and running away from any possible problem was becoming a bit of an odd habit for him over the last few months. 

. 

As it would turn out, people failed to warn Ethan that March Madness seemed to extend into a player’s personal life. 

He couldn’t quite work out the exact moment everything changed but he noticed the switch two weeks into March. And he was fucking baffled. And almost embarrassed that it took him so long to catch on to your sudden cold behaviour.

If you were giving him the cold shoulder, Ethan would have assumed he had done something to piss you off. It wasn’t like you hadn’t done it before, the two of you had your fair share of petty roommate disagreements over the months where one of you would give the other silent treatment. But it never lasted more than an hour or so before you sat down and talked it out. 

Ethan would have preferred if he was just given the silent treatment from you.

Instead, he got…whatever the hell you were doing now. 

For a few days, Ethan considered that he was just being dramatic. That maybe it was something at work or in one of your classes. That eventually you’d come to him with whatever was bothering you and he would listen and this weird tension between the two of you would disappear. 

He lost hope in that theory after a week.

You were talking to him, almost as normal, but there was a tinge to it. A shift. Almost like a step back. It felt like the early months as roommates, when your answers were shorter more often than not, when you treated each other as acquaintances with a mutual friend. 

It felt fucking wrong. 

And then there was the physical aspect. 

It wasn’t like the two of you were on each other at every possible moment together. It wasn’t even about the sex. It was the way you pulled away from him like his touch burned you, like it was odd for him to casually nudge your hip with his own as he walked past you in the kitchen. It was the way you seemed to avoid sitting too close to him on the couch. 

It was the way it felt like the two of you were reverting back to the awkward, polite strangers you were back in September. 

He hated it but he didn’t know how to get it back when you seemed so adamant to keep him at arm’s length. 

It was disorienting as fuck. 

It was wrong. 

It was everything he feared for. 

It was almost-definitely-possibly worse than you rejecting him. 

And Ethan felt like he was fucking spiralling with the realisation that he may have lost you and he wasn’t exactly sure how. 

.

And just when Ethan craved normalcy in his life, Luke started acting weird too. 

The youngest Hughes brother shut down any attempts to hang out outside of practice or training. He didn’t seem as talkative or chatty with Ethan the way he usually was, leaving most of their conversations to surround hockey or strategies or upcoming games.

Fuck, even Seamus was weirded out by Luke’s sudden change in behaviour. 

It didn’t take long for the other boys in the team to notice the growing tension between the two boys. Jack kept shooting his brother weird looks. Nico seemed concerned. Even Curtis looked a bit awkward and unsure at what to say. Him, Luke and Seamus had been such a trio since Ethan joined the Devils at the start of the season. 

Now it seemed like Luke tolerated him at best. 

But Ethan knew Luke. He knew the way the boy would get when he was upset. He knew the way the boy tended to shut down a bit, knew that he needed the space to be moody and brood a little (the outcome of being the youngest child) before he was ready to forgive and forget and move on. 

However, Luke Hughes seemed more than happy to carry out whatever grudge he was holding—even if it was affecting their game on the ice. 

“What the fuck was that?” 

Luke didn’t even bother turning to look at him, reaching to pull his practice jersey over his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“For fuck’s sake, Luke,” Ethan growled, angry and frustrated and done with whatever bitchy mood he was still in. “I was open. You saw that I was open and you fucking ignored me. What if we were in a game? What if that cost us a goal?” 

“It’s just a practice,” Luke shot back, deadpan and unamused. “Calm down.” 

“Calm down? Calm down?!” Ethan laughed, bitter and irritated. “This isn’t a fucking joke, Luke. I don’t know what your problem with me is but it’s fucking ridiculous if you’re willing to sacrifice the team for it.” 

Seamus took a step towards them. “Okay, maybe we just need—”

“No,” Ethan snapped, a buzz of adrenaline rushing through him. “No, if he has a problem with me then I want him to fucking say it instead of keeping it some secret like—some coward!” 

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you,” Luke snapped back at him. “You know all about secrets, Edwards.” 

His brows furrowed together. “Stop fucking talking in riddles, Hughes.” 

“Oh Jesus,” Seamus grumbled under his breath. 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Luke hissed. 

“No, I don’t!” Ethan gritted out. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re on about!”

“And I don’t know who the fuck you are anymore!” Luke bit back, enough hurt and anger in his voice that it left Ethan—and the rest of the locker room—silent. “I thought you were one of my closest friends. I thought you were a good guy. Clearly you’ve changed.”

Ethan frowned. “What?”

“Okay, everyone out!” Nico clapped his hands together, snapping Luke and Ethan out of their little moment as the captain began shepherding the rest of the team out. 

“Aw, come on, it was just getting good!” Curtis whined but sighed as he followed the rest of the boys out of the locker room, all in various degrees of undress as they left Ethan and Luke alone. 

Ethan watched them all go before he turned back to Luke, a look of hurt and pure confusion on his face. 

“I helped you out,” Luke rasped, swallowing harshly. His voice was softer, a little raw too. Like the fight had left him and all that was left was disappointment. “You needed a place to stay and I convinced her to let you stay, vouched that you were a good guy, that you weren’t a fucking douche, and you had to go and fucking play her like that.” 

Ethan blinked. “What the fuck are you on about?” 

“Ethan,” Luke muttered, his name full of frustration. “I know about the two of you. I’ve known for a while, I’m not fucking stupid.” 

His heart sped up a little, despite himself. “What does our…agreement have to do with you?” 

Luke shot him a look of disbelief. “Because she’s my friend! Because you’ve strung her along for months and now you don’t even have the decency to tell her you’re leaving!” 

Ethan blinked again. “I—what?” 

“You’re moving back to your own place and you—why do you look so confused?” 

“Because I am confused!” Ethan squeaked out. 

Luke slowly blinked. “So…you’re not taking Patricia up on her offer and moving out?”

“No!” Ethan replied, still looking confused. “Why would you think I am?” 

“Because she keeps calling and emailing you!” Luke shot back.

“And I haven’t answered a single one!” Ethan retorted. 

“Huh,” Luke murmured, his mind whirling with a million different thoughts. “Well, her emails suggest otherwise.” 

Ethan tilted his head. “What do you mean?” 

“I—” Luke sighed, looking serious once again. “I need you to be honest with me.” 

Ethan shifted in his spot. “What?”

“Are you serious about her?” Luke questioned. 

Ethan frowned. “Who? Patricia?” 

“I—no,” Luke sighed deeply. “Unless you’ve been sleeping with Patricia this whole time—”

“What? No, no!” Ethan spluttered out. “I have—wait, does she think I’m moving out?” 

Luke looked a bit sheepish. “I think you need to go have that conversation with her.” 

“Fuck,” Ethan breathed out, something quite like nausea twisting in his stomach. “And she….I’m not….I would never play her like that. It’s literally the opposite!” 

Luke raised his brow. “The opposite?” 

“I—fuck, I need to go,” Ethan muttered to himself under his breath, not even acknowledging the other boy as he began to yank his gear off. 

“Woah, Ethan, you need to—”

“I need to fix this,” Ethan interrupted. “She can’t—I need to tell her.” 

The last thing Luke—or any of the boys—saw was Ethan rushing out of the locker room, looking frazzled and flustered and panicked. 

.

Ethan wished he could say he was calm and collected when he finally made it to your shared apartment but that would be a fucking lie. 

He was a mess when he arrived. Despite driving back, he was still breathless and panting as he forgoed the elevator, choosing to take the stairs two-at-a-time until he reached your floor. His hair was a mess, his cheeks were flushed, his keys were the only thing in his possession as he raced towards the door. He wasn’t even sure where his phone was. Nor did he care. 

His only goal was to get to you.

It was embarrassing how badly his hands were shaking as he tried to shove the key into the lock, taking more attempts than he cared to admit before he managed to open the door. He didn’t even care about your neighbours as he began calling out your name, praying to every god he could think of that you were home.

He could have collapsed from relief when you wandered out of your room, a mixed look of concern and confusion on your face when you spotted him standing in the living room.

“Are you okay?” 

Ethan tried to find the words to answer you. He tried to wrack his brain for a response to your question, a coherent sentence to calm the clear uneasiness in your voice. And yet, all he could do was stare at you and think one single thought that was leaving his lips before he could even stop himself.

“I’m in love with you!” 

You blinked in response. 

“Like, so painfully in love with you that I didn’t think it was possible to feel this way about someone. But it is. And I do. And I can’t keep it to myself anymore because I think I am genuinely going insane,” Ethan continued. 

Your lips parted a little in surprise, but still no words left your mouth.

“And I should probably stop talking and embarrassing myself further because you’re not saying anything and I’m usually a lot better at these kinds of things,” Ethan blurted out. “But you’ve been pulling away the last few weeks and I can’t take it anymore because it’s killing me. It’s killing me that I have to keep pretending I’m fine with everything when I’m not.” 

His body was moving before he could stop himself. He was taking steps forward, closing the small distance between you two because Ethan couldn’t stop the pull you had on him—on his body, his mind, his whole fucking world. 

“I’m in love with you. Like in a ‘I wanna come home to you every night and kiss you because we are dating’ kind of way, not a ‘we are roommates who made up this weird agreement’ way.” Ethan breathed out, his voice just above a whisper but you heard him loud and clear. “And I don’t expect you to say you feel the same way but I can’t keep it anymore and—”

He was cut off by you throwing yourself at him, arms winding around his neck and lips on his. He didn’t even care about the rest of his sentence, sinking into the kiss like a starved man eating for the first time. The relief of feeling your body pressed against his was almost as addicting as the adrenaline pumping through his veins when you let out a blissful sigh. 

“M’not moving out,” he managed to mutter out between kisses as he wrapped his arms around your waist, keeping you tight against him. “Whatever you think—” 

You pulled away a few inches, just enough to see his face. “Your laptop was open,” you murmured, something sheepish and guilty written across your face. “And the email came through from your estate agent about signing a new lease and I got in my own head about it. I thought you were going to leave and I wanted to protect myself from falling further and—”

“Falling further?” He repeated, a hopeful smile beginning to take over his face.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your smile mirroring his. “Turns out sleeping with your roommate is a real catalyst for falling in love with him.” 

“Lucky me,” Ethan murmured before leaning back in to kiss you. “And I’m not leaving until you want me to leave.” 

“We’ve really gone through this relationship thing in a weird order, huh?” You mused, laughing a little when Ethan kept leaning in to kiss you.

“Yeah but I think it’s worked out pretty well for us,” he murmured, his nose playfully nudging yours. 

Ethan Edwards thought he was prepared for his rookie year. 

He wasn’t. Not in the slightest. Nobody ever was, not really. He wasn’t fully prepared to fall in love either.

But with you in his arms and the Devils only points away from clinching a playoff spot, he thought his rookie year was going far better than anything he could have prepared for. 

.

[coldilikeit]

Yandere Batfam x Camp half-blood (Neglected reader)

DC x Pjo

Part 2

______________

"why can't my parent just claim me? My human parent doesn't like me, and now you're telling me there's a chance my godly parent might not even care about me at all?" You huff kicking a rock while walking to the dining pavilion

Annabeth's eyes fill with sympathy "You never know, maybe they're just busy"

"busy my ass... I've heard that excuse so many times before" you sit down at the Hermes table, where all the unwanted children sit

"So (Name), are you going to be a year round student or just for the summer, because we're gonna need Mr.D to sign you in" Travis Stoll one of the head counselors says to you

You think about it for a while, you saw how other children treated each other like family, how there was a director who loves the children as his own, you could find your place here, it doesn't matter if you have parents, you could find your family, just as everyone else in this camp did

"I-" then you stop, you mind going back to the Manor, how you left the hallways burning, and now you're missing, are they worried? Do they want to find you? What if they think you set the house on fire? Would you even have a home to return to?

It's not like you were as loved as Jason who could just die and come back

This set your decision, you are never going back to that cold mansion, you are never going to sleep in a silent room, here, you could build a life for yourself

"I'd like to stay year round" you say

"well that settles it, I'll explain the rules to you later 'kay?" He says

The infamous Mr.D seemingly groaned, you're pretty sure you heard him mumbling "another fucking kid"

___________________

Two days have passed, you feel like the happiest kid on earth

Annabeth is doing this thing where she's trying to help you find your godly parent, you couldn't care less(or could you?), but listen-

Yesterday you just shot 25 consecutive bullseyes and you've never felt so amazing, everyone was clapping their hands and we're praising you, and everyone was saying you were a natural at farming, sword fighting was one you enjoyed, you know a thing or two about combat so you gained respect from the other campers

But even after all those achievements, no one came to claim you

Now you're trying blacksmithing, you loved all the things you did but... The weapons were kinda ugly, every sword in the weaponry looked the same, only special kids get customized swords, so you were kinda hoping to make your own custom weapons and stuff, I mean no parent is gonna give it to you

"Hello!" You smile at the busy forgers, they acknowledge and some nod and some smile back

____________________

Tim looks at CCTV cameras, his eyes wide and in disbelief

A random woman, who somehow broke into the Manor, with a flamethrower, burned a hallway down

He saw this kid, well his little sibling, but I don't think it's appropriate to call you that, you ran crying for help- well you weren't crying for help exactly but you were screaming, you were seen running for your life away from this madwoman

whom he'll safely assume is one of his father's ex lovers or some villain that decided to get back at him

The problem was you.

No sign of you at all

Batman had everyone patrolling, Bruce Wayne reported you missing, a prize reward given to the one who'll find you dead or alive (alive hopefully)

There was this image he couldn't get out of his mind

In the middle of trying to salvage what could be saved in that fire... He spotted a family picture, a picture where everyone was still visible- and only your face had been burned off

He tried to help with the search, thinking about where you could go, what you could do, but he couldn't

He didn't know how you acted or how you'd decide

He knew nothing about you, and so did the others, it was like you were already dead before it was even confirmed

Damian walked in the room "you're still here? Dad already got the JL to help with search, quit trying to show them up"

"I just don't get it, she ran to the garden, but she wasn't there- could there be other villains waiting in the garden and took her? I don't know-"

The demon spawn scoffed "Anyways dad wants you to send the CCTV footage to JL, they said they'll analyze it or something"

Tim was doubtful, it's not like anyone there could spot what he couldn't, he was very observant (of everyone but (name) apparently)

____________________

Sorry it took a long time for me to update 😞, it was pt week and I had a lot of projects

But I wonder who could possibly be (name)'s godly parent?and who could spot what Tim couldn't?

@bat1212 @jisnothere @erikasurfer @nathaly36

[tpwk-formula1]

Omg hi. I just found you and cheered. I have a order.

Lando Norris, Thick Crust, Red Sauce,

Cherry Tomatoes, Root beer, Mango Smoothie,

Aftercare

If you could maybe make it a dizzy, inconcent reader where people flirt with her and she dosnt now and flirts back and Lando thinks the only way for people to leave her alone would be if she pregnant with his child. And he definitely has feelings for her. 🤭

✨️THANK YOU ✨️

Lee-Lee's Pizzeria Menu

thick crust sugar daddy red sauce rough sex cherry tomatoes "I can't wait to watch you swell with my babies" root beer daddy kink mango smoothie baby trapping dessert yes served by Lando Norris

Lando x Ditzy! reader

AN: Okay! So I am so sad that I had to close my requests early but in a week I got over 100 requests which is fucking amazing and I am so happy for them but I want to make sure requests are coming out in a timely manner so I will be completely all requests within the next few weeks and once the Pizzeria is back open it will be a rebrand... So if you have any prompt ideas, kinks, or overall things you want to see get added to the menu just send me a message and I'll see what I can do!

TW breeding kink, baby trapping, pregnancy, dirty talk, rough sex, creampie, jealous Lando

WC 1200+

Y/N POV

"Danny! You can't just say things like that," I laugh loudly with the Australian in front of me. I can feel my cheeks growing red from the sexual joke Daniel just cracked.

I can feel a hand on my lower back making me look over my shoulder to find Lando making my smile grow more before I lean up and place a kiss on his cheek.

"What are you two up to?" Lando questions with a slight edge in his voice.

"Was just telling, Y/N about my summer break," Daniel says with a smile. I watch as Lando's face grows in a smile before he's ushering us towards the bar.

"Don't wander to far," Lando tells me making me look up and smile.

"Okay, babe!" I say when I place a kiss on his cheek.

"Are you okay?" I ask Lando softly making him nod his head before flagging the bartender down and ordering both of us drinks.

As time passed I found myself talking with Charles and Ollie.

"Charles! You'll have to invite me over sometime!" I tell Charles as he finishes telling me how he finally got Leo to stop peeing in the kitchen.

"Hey, sorry to interrupt but I'm just gonna steal her away. We have early morning plans so I gotta get this one off to bed," Lando says randomly interrupting making me raise a brow before trying to speak.

"Say bye," Lando tells me before I can even say anything.

I just turn back towards the two men waving a good bye before following Lando out of the club.

"I literally told you not to wander off," Lando snapped when we finally hopped into our Uber.

"Lando, I could see you the whole time," I reply back softly not understanding why he was so mad.

"Could you? Cause there was a solid 5 minutes where I was wandering around to find you," Lando tells me roughly making me huff and turn my back on him to look out the window.

Lando and I sat in silence for the rest of the car ride when we finally pulled up to his apartment building instantly making me get out and march to the front doors not waiting for Lando.

When we get into his apartment I lock myself in his bathroom still not wanting to talk to him, but eventually I had to face him and when I walked out of the bathroom I was changed into a silky sleep dress while Lando was sitting in bed in his boxers.

"I don't wanna see you entertaining men anymore. You're mine," Lando says not even looking up from his phone.

"Last time I checked, you were the one who was adamant we were nothing more than sex and money," I reply back while climbing into the bed next to Lando.

"Do you see the way you walked into my home like it was yours? How you climb into MY bed like it was yours? The way you have half my closet full of your stuff? That's all because you're mine, whether it has been a discussion or not, you have come into my life and fucked up any prior deal, so fucking sue me if I set a boundary with you," Lando finally snaps back making me look around his room realizing that over the year of us hooking up for money I had basically moved in. I had made his home our home and I didn't even realize.

"Lando, I think we should have this discussion when we are both fully sober," I tell him softly. I knew what I wanted sober or drunk I wanted Lando to be mine but was this just some drunk game Lando was playing.

"No, I'm barely fucking tipsy., I didn't even realize you didn't realize you were mine. I thought it was unspoken," Lando tells me softly before turning towards me and placing a soft kiss on my lips.

"Do you know how many men want to fuck you?" Lando questioned with a raised brow making me laugh slightly.

"Lando, you're the only man who wants to fuck me," I reply back with a roll of the eye.

"You're mine," Lando said moving topics again and pulling me in for a heated make-out session.

I quickly climb into Lando's lap and grind my bare pussy against his briefs making his groan slightly.

"I'm gonna put a baby in you," Lando tells me softly making me sit up and stare at him in complete shock.

"The fuck are you on about now?" I ask Lando before he pulls me back into for a kiss where he flips us over so I am now under Lando letting him grind into me backing me whimper.

"You're mine and when you walk around that fucking paddock in 6 months everyone will fucking know you're mine," Lando said while trailing kisses down my neck making it clear he was marking his territory.

"You're insane," I whisper back but it quickly turns into a moan because Lando is leaning down and taking a soft lick out of my clit.

"Daddy," I moan when Lando starts sucking on my clit while lightly teasing my soaked hole with his fingers.

"Oh fuck," I scream out when Lando slips 2 fingers in and finds my G-spot.

"I want you to cum on my fingers," Lando says while speeding his actions making me feel the band in m stomach start to grow tight letting me know I was close to cumming for Lando.

"Daddy," I scream out when the band finally snaps and I'm cumming all over Lando's fingers. Lando helped ride my orgasm out before he's pulling his briefs down and roughly shoving his cock deep into my pussy.

"Oh! Daddy," I gasp still not fully recovered from my previous orgasm and can already feel a second one building up.

"Fucking hell, so damn needy already gonna cum for me," Lando said with a smirk while bringing his hand down to my clit and giving it a rough rub bringing me closer to the edge.

"Daddy," I whine when I feel myself reach the point of no return, cumming all over Lando's cock with a shout. I was shaking and so long in my own pleasure, I don't feel Lando's hips shutter as he fills my pussy full of his cum.

"I can't wait to watch you swell with my babies," Lando groans with a smirk while slowly pulling out of me.

"Lando, I probably didn't get pregnant from one time," I tell him softly with a laugh falling from my lips.

"I'll fuck you until you do," Lando says with a shrug. That night we fell asleep tangled in each other's arms.

6 weeks later

"Fucking hell," I gasp while staring down at the positive pregnancy test.

"I told you, you were gonna have my babies," Lando said with a proud smirk.

"Lando, what the fuck are we gonna do?" I ask starting to panic.

"Hey, calm down! It's all gonna work itself out," Lando tells me softly while pulling me into his chest.

"I can't wait to see everyone's face when you show up to the paddock supporting a bump caused by me baby," Lando tells me making me laugh lightly.

I knew we would figure everything out. It wasn't how I pictured myself getting pregnant but boy am I happy it's how it happened.

[doqt33th]

SINGULARITY

MIRAGE/READER

SUMMARY: You and Mirage have been pining for each other for a while now. A nasty summer storm drives you straight into his arms. Shenanigans ensue.

WORD COUNT: 18k. Sorry I’m insane

WARNINGS: 18+ and I CANNOT STRESS THAT ENOUGH!! Explicit PWP, fingering + oral (fem receiving), penetrative sex, mild spit kink. Reader is fem and uses she/her pronouns but is written fairly androgynous. No descriptors of appearance beyond the basics and no (y/n) used.

Familiar streets flashed by at increasing speeds, traffic and pedestrians flickering by and blurring together into a smorgasbord of color, all gilded by the setting sun. Unconsciously, you dug your fingers into the seams of the leather seat beneath you, worrying the stitches. Out of the corner of your eye, the radio blazed to life with color and that oh-so-familiar symbol.

“Hey, hey, easy on the merchandise, hot stuff,” Mirage crackled out of the speakers lightheartedly, and you immediately yanked your hands into yourself like they’d been burned. In your worrying, you’d seemingly forgotten about what — or rather, who — exactly was your ride.

“Oh— my bad, I wasn’t thinking,” you said, sinking your weight back and down, instead picking at your nails to give your hands something to do. God, you were so nervous, and for what? Mirage knew all these people— these bots, and knew them well. They were all friends! Or amiable towards each other, at the very least. And they were the good guys. Saved the world and all that.

So why were you so anxious?

“You’re good, don’t worry ‘bout it.” He slowed to a stop at a red light. Your leg started to bounce. “Sooo… you wanna tell me what’s on your mind? Save me a trip to Noah’s repair shop? I’d hate for you to start taking your emotions out on me, y’know.”

You scoffed, eyes sliding to the radio. The grin that pulled at the corners of your mouth was one you were helpless to stop. He just had that effect on you, where around him you became a slave to your laughter and, additionally, also became one half of a terrible joke machine that Mirage happily completed.

Leather creaked as you nudged the inside of the door with your boot to chastise him. “You love when I take my emotions out on you, dick. Don’t lie.”

“Only the good ones,” he shot back, and you could hear the grin in his voice. “You nervous about meeting the others?”

His probe was successful; you fought the urge to shrink at your feelings being read so accurately and so immediately. “I— yeah. I am, and I don’t even know why. I’m sure they’re all great, I’m just working myself up over nothing.”

Red faded to green. Carried on the tide of forward-moving traffic, Mirage rolled ahead, eventually slipping over to make a turn. You watched him twist his mirrors to check his blind spot.

“Ah, c’mon. Nobody could blame you, you’re meeting a bunch of aliens for the first time. Pretty trippy for anyone. ‘specially if those aliens are, like, double your size. And robots.” A short chuckle topped off his words.

“Right. I just don’t wanna fuck it up or embarrass myself, you know how it is. I don’t wanna embarrass you, either.”

“Oh, Primus, trust me. You’re not gonna embarrass me. I don’t even think that’s possible. Prime’s seen me in a lot worse shape than bringing you in to meet him.” The world continued to roll by. Brick buildings blotted out the sunshine in intermittent flashes. “You got good marks from your favorite bot, you’ll be fine.” The dismissive tone of his voice was working, in a weird way, to assuage your fears.

“Excuse me,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest pointedly. “My favorite bot?”

“What, am I not?” A downright theatrical gasp hissed out of the speaker. “Have you been cheating on me?”

Cheeks hot with a flush at even the joking insinuation of being together, you glanced away from the impassive Autobot symbol on the radio and out the window. Still, the laugh barked out of you was sudden and sharp, and quickly dissolved into giggles. “Yes. Mirage. I’m sorry. There’s another ten foot tall alien robot in Brooklyn that’s been vying for my attention. We’re done.”

“I should throw you out on the street right now,” Mirage fussed playfully, his evident pout tinging his voice. “For breakin’ my spark. Also I’m taller than that.”

“You wouldn’t dare. I’m fragile.”

“I dunno. Noah gets his ass kicked around pretty good and he’s still kickin’ it.”

“I am not Noah,” came your tongue-in-cheek rebuttal. “And Noah just refuses to give up even when it’s good for him.”

“Thought qualities like determination were supposed to be big things with you guys.”

“In moderation.”

Mirage barked a laugh. “Ha! Should tell that to Prime. He’ll blow a gasket.” You opened your mouth to reply, only to be cut off. “No, seriously, tell it to Prime, we’re here.”

The easy confidence that your playful back-and-forth had teased out instantly chilled into a dense mass in your stomach; Mirage was rolling slowly up to a nondescript warehouse buried deep within the old industrial part of Brooklyn, and the way the worn brick loomed over you even in the car made your heart rate pick up.

Now or never.

Familiar alien whirs and clicks of shifting and setting metal filled your ears as Mirage rose into his bipedal mode, the driver’s seat gently ejecting you onto your own two legs on the pavement. Following the motion, you took a few steps forward, but still balked a little at the half open door. Inside, you heard voices of varying timbre, and you fought the urge to turn tail.

Now. Or. Never. Gritted teeth accompanied the repetition of your thought.

The displacement of air behind you — and the soft, constant mechanical noises emanating from his body — signaled Mirage’s presence before his voice.

He said your name with surprising care, using a tone that only came out when he was really being sincere. You couldn’t help the way your face warmed at it as you turned, craning your neck up to meet his gaze. “Hey, you, uh, you want me to go in ahead of ya? Normally I’d be like ‘ladies first’ and all that, but you said you weren’t feeling too jazzed about going in—“

“Yeah, actually, if you could, that would be… great. That would be great.”

“Gotcha. Let you psych yourself up a little more before you go in, I see how it is. Let me do the talking,” he affirmed with an easy grin and a nod, bouncing on the balls of his pedes a few times before striding forward. His long legs folded easily under him as he ducked under the lowered garage door, and you traipsed after, smoothing your thumb over your knuckles repeatedly.

The warehouse yawned beyond you, orange shafts of light cutting gashes into otherwise brownish darkness. Old graffiti sprayed across the walls told you that Ramona had been there once, then Nick, then Darnell, and a million others. And you were there now, feeling impossibly small, yes, but a little more resilient with the fading sunlight at your back and Mirage, like always, at your side.

He’d become a permanent fixture in your life from the day you’d met him — when you’d strong-armed Noah into giving up his secret about his Porsche, and the mysterious car had ended up being a twelve-foot-tall robot with a literal motormouth that made a playful pass at you within the first hour of your first conversation. You’d been flustered out of your mind, but had just kept coming back out of unfettered curiosity and outright fascination. Aliens were real, and Noah was friends with one, and it— he could turn into a Porsche.

Mind-shattering observations on the surface, yes. Mirage tended to deflate the grandeur, though, because he never acted like aliens did in the movies or in books. There was no ‘We come in peace!’ bullshit. He was so easy. Everything with him was so easy. He was loudmouthed and extroverted and genuinely hilarious; you spent hours in Noah’s garage trading terrible jokes — mostly bad sexual innuendos — or buckled to Mirage’s driver’s seat as he flew down Central Avenue on the wrong side of the limit and blasted Haddaway so loud it nearly busted your eardrums.

Weird to say an alien robot was your friend, but he was. He gave you rides to work, to your lectures, to your labs, wherever; in fact, he got petulant when you dared to take the bus one day to give him a break, and made it a point to pry your routine out of you so that he could take you wherever you wanted, no fares needed. 

So infuriating. You loved it.

You loved… maybe more than just the back-and-forth. Maybe more than the bad jokes. Maybe more than the late-night drives. You were starting to think— starting to realize you loved big blue optics, and the rumble of a 260 horsepower engine when you made just the right innuendo, and broad, incredibly intricate servos that dwarfed yours in size but were so, so careful…

Man. You tried not to think about it too much. It as a concept made you laugh with its own absurdity. Poor human chick fell in love with the giant alien robot that made her laugh. It wasn’t… debilitating. You still functioned like a normal adult. Mostly. Except for that one night like two weeks ago where you’d been arguing with him about some stupid shit and he’d scooped you up, right off the ground, in both servos and held you there, digits interlaced against your back and thumbs on your front.

It wasn’t the first time he’d ever held you like that — he’d done it a few times — but something was different that night… even if he’d only done it to gain an upper hand in your bickering. The air crackled with latent electricity, made your skin buzz in all the right places, especially when Mirage had gone quiet for once in his life as he stared at you in his grasp. When you’d prompted him with his name, he’d only responded by gently stroking a thumb over the swell of your chest, which had made you gasp air in so sharply that it burned in your throat. The metal left a tingling path on your skin under your shirt in its wake and immediately sent your heart rate skyrocketing past whatever the fuck was a normal BPM.

He’d snapped back to reality at the sudden expansion of your lungs and had attempted to play it all off as a joke. You remembered how you’d still stumbled when your shoes touched the ground, an absolutely insane feeling of genuine heat rocking you as your brain seized the feeling of his touch while it still sparked against your nerve endings and helpfully replayed it over and over and over again. Sure, the rhythm of banter came back after a stuttering beat, but you never really cooled the warmth on your face for the rest of that night — and when Mirage had dropped you off at your apartment, your door was shut and locked for about five minutes before your shaking hand was frantically worked beneath the waistband of your pants.

…Whew. Definitely something a little more than friendly there. Maybe even more than pure love, something a little slicker and deeper that buzzed against your bones and coiled low in your stomach. It made you feel a little weird — just objectively, because of what Mirage was — but damn if it didn’t feel good to indulge.

God, fuck, why were you thinking about that now, of all times? Escapist fantasies be damned, you were going to meet Mirage’s comrades-friends-coworkers and leave a good impression. Not drool over the worn-out memory replaying in your head for the thousandth time this week.

Out of the darkness and around corners, they emerged. The stealth wasn’t on purpose; you didn’t even think they could be stealthy. Oh, one was coming right for you now — tall was the only word your brain could muster. Tall and red and square were added to the list of adjectives as the stately bot approached, servos collected into fists at his sides and shoulders thrown back.

“Priiiime,” Mirage greeted warmly, throwing his arms out at his sides in his favorite pose. “Look, hey, I know what you said about bringing more people around, but I swear— Hey!”

Completely ignoring your friend’s (status pending) greeting, the bot— Prime, holy shit, this is THE Prime, was kneeling down, leaning forward, and he was right in your face. You fought the very biological urge to flinch. Blue optics considered you for a moment before narrowing and flicking to your right from his lowered position.

“Mirage,” Optimus started with a gravelly tone  from behind his faceguard that communicated exasperation above all else. “I explicitly stated that for our safety — and yours — that we were to come in contact with no more humans.”

“Sir, I gotta be honest with you. Kinda hard on a planet that’s got, what, five billion of ‘em? Six?” Mirage glanced at you for backup. You stared back flatly, refusing to say anything that might put you on the business end of a laser cannon.

“You were told to remain incognito so you could recover.” Optimus continued, his gaze returning to you. With a shunk of shifting metal, his faceplate slid away. His faceplates were weathered; the chipped metal around his optics gave the illusion of wrinkles and eyebags. Tired. He seemed tired. “This is not incognito. What is your name?”

You gave it after taking a beat to steady yourself. He repeated it back to you. “How did you come in contact with Mirage?”

“I, uh— Noah, Noah Diaz, he’s my friend. I basically pried it out of him,” you said with a nervous laugh. “So it’s not Mirage’s fault. I’m just nosy.”

At the mention of Noah, Optimus seemed to visibly relax; he moved back slightly, though he remained kneeling, and the narrowed, suspicious squint of his optics rounded out into something much softer.

“…I see. Then I assume you understand the… precarious nature of our existence on your planet.” he said, his tone grave and his optics searching your face.

You nodded, pressing the flesh of the inside of your cheek between your teeth for a moment as you came up with a suitably diplomatic response that still conveyed your friendliness. “I do, yeah. Noah told me most of it. What he could, anyway. I just wanted to make it clear that I’m not— I’m not a threat here. Like I don’t work with the, uh, the government or anything. Whatever you guys need help with, I’m available, even if that just means keeping my mouth shut.”

Christ, you were glad this wasn’t your day job. You’d be such a shit ambassador. I’m available. What the hell did that even mean? Fuck yes, you were available, your brain guffawed, thinking of broad metal thumbs brushing over your chest.

You blinked hard, squeezing your eyelids together until the world came back in a photo negative, to scold yourself.

Although you’d stumbled through your reply, Optimus seemed to approve. He rose with a great creak of metal off of his knee and backed up to give you space, though he still regarded you with those sharp blue optics that felt as though they pinned you to the concrete below. “I see Noah chooses his company well. I should have assumed his sentiments would extend to his companions.” He shut his optics for a moment and dipped his head, as if considering deeply what to say next. “I am not sure how much Mirage — or Noah — divulged to you.”

“A fair amount— well. Any amount that won’t get them in trouble,” you called up, taking in deeper breaths to project your voice up the two stories of height to his head. To your side, Mirage snorted. “I know your name— Optimus, I know that, and I know about the Autobots. A little bit about the— fuck, what were they called—“

“Terrorcons?” Mirage supplied, and you were impressed at how quiet he’d been otherwise.

“Terrorcons, thank you. Other than that, not much. How much should I know?”

“Your knowledge is sufficient. All we fear — and all we risk—“ Optimus added with a pointed look at Mirage, who looked incredibly sheepish. “—at the moment is discovery. So long as you maintain secrecy, no harm shall come to us… or you, for that matter.”

It almost sounded like a threat, but Prime worded it very much like a warning. You decided it was best to heed his word — not that you really had another option.

“Right. Okay. Well— I mean, it was nice to meet you. People — humanity, I guess — aren’t bad. Most of us aren’t, anyway. Just, uh, let me know if there’s something Noah and I can get or do for you.”

Prime’s gaze shifted away from you. In fact, it seemed to shift away from the warehouse in general, looking somewhere far beyond the now-shut garage door. “Your generosity is admirable, but it is not humans primarily that we are concerned with.”

Brows furrowed at his vague answer, you thought it over for a second — and then decided not to push it. He probably knew best when it came to whatever foreboding nebulous space threat loomed over your collective heads; you would leave it up to the experts.

“Oh, well, golden rule and all that,” you still offered in terms of a response. That got his attention. His massive head tilted downwards to look at you once more with curiosity. “If I crash landed on someone else’s planet, I’d want them to be hospitable, y’know? Just trying to make the best of a shitty situation.”

Like he couldn’t handle the terrible punishment of silence anymore, Mirage butted in. “See, Prime? I told you she was cool.”

A short jolt shook the broad, boxy line of his shoulders, and at first you had thought he’d coughed, and then you realized he laughed. It was barely anything, a huff of a chuckle, but you glowed with the indirect affirmation. Just made Optimus Prime laugh. Maybe you weren’t such a terrible diplomat.

He wasn’t looking at you, though, rather at Mirage, and you swore from your low vantage point you could see a barely-there smile on Prime’s faceplates communicating…was that smug amusement? As the tall bot carefully made his way past you, he stopped in front of your companion, and let a heavy servo land on the headlight adorning his shoulder.

“No matter what you may feel, you chose well, Mirage.” Optimus rumbled out, before removing his servo and traipsing off into a darker section of the sprawling warehouse, ducking through a much-too-small cutout and speaking to Arcee about something indistinguishable. However, you couldn’t care less about whatever her and Prime were discussing — what the hell did he mean by Mirage choosing well?

You turned your head towards said bot, mouth open for inquiry and one brow raised. Mirage looked mortified, in every sense of the word; he stood shell-shocked, lips slightly parted and servos up and open as if to defend himself. His head was whipped around to follow Prime’s departure from the room. A whir started, bouncing off the walls — Mirage’s fans came on and off intermittently to keep his ambient internal temperature at safe levels, but the steady hum of this fan let you infer that he was flushing something fierce.

“Mirage? What—“

Interrupting you by breaking, nearly jumping, out of his trance, he clapped his servos together and started talking at a million miles a minute. “Well, damn, look at that, haha, it’s late, ain’t it? You got work in the morning, right? C’mon, hop in, I’ll drive you home—“

“No, Mirage, hold on, what was he talking about—“

“Seriously, c’mon, he was just messing around—“

“You’re telling me Optimus Prime was joking? Is he even capable of that?”

He said your name with a finality that nearly made you flinch. “Look, I can’t really— Just drop it, please?” It wasn’t angry, nor was it even commanding; in fact, his eyes were wide and pleading with you out of embarrassment. You knew the feeling all too well, and in the interest of sparing his feelings, decided to let it go, despite your intense curiosity.

You put your hands up in surrender. “Okay. Dropped.” A few beats of silence passed while Mirage was still tamping down his fluster. “You wanna take me home now or are we waiting for Prime to come embarrass you more?”

“Please, let’s get outta here,” he affirmed, dropping into his alt-mode and popping the driver door for you. As you slid in, you couldn’t help the little mischievous smile that grew on your face as your brain cooked up some other joke to take the edge off.

The garage door opened on its own. Mirage rolled into the noticeably darker alleyway. The burnt umber glow of the sunset-stained sky was only visible overhead; otherwise you were boxed in on the sides by blacked-out buildings.

Stifling silence was broken by a joke. Your joke, actually. “…Can’t believe your dad made fun of you in front of me.”

The noise Mirage made was only comparable to a squawk. But obviously much more masculine, clearly. Still, his tires jerked on the road, betraying his surprise. “Hey— Prime is not my sire— or dad, or whatever you wanna call ‘em. He wishes.”

“I dunno,” you mused, arms crossed over your chest and back sunk deep into the seat. Brooklyn in transition blurred by in messy constellations of lit windows. “He got you pretty good there. Pretty standard dad behavior.”

“Hey, I don’t know what suddenly inspired him to go for comedy, but I do not appreciate it. That’s my thing. He’s stealin’ my thunder!”

“Maybe you’re just rubbing off on him.”

Silence.

The radio crackled. “Ew.”

Accompanied by the loudest eyeroll you could muster, you whacked the dashboard with an open palm, though you couldn’t stop your bubbling laughter. “Oh my god, you are so gross, Mirage! I hate you!”

“Ahh, don’t say that, c’mon! You love it here!”

“You wish.”

The rest of the ride home was spent that way, bickering like normal, and although you couldn’t let go of what Prime had said, nor his knowing look while he said it, you appreciated the return to baseline. When you got home, Mirage parked directly in front of your apartment building, and you lingered on the sidewalk for several minutes after you got out of the car. With the passenger door opened so it looked like you were talking to the ‘driver’ and not completely insane, you leaned on the doorframe and traded jabs with your ride until the humidity of the night air got a little too persistent to ignore. Damn you, Brooklyn. 

“See you tomorrow?” Mirage never said goodnight. He only ever asked when he could see you again, corny bastard.

“Tomorrow. My roommate’ll take me to work, don’t worry about it. I’ll just stick my head in the garage when I get home.”

“I thought we had a thing goin’, man!” His faux petulance returned. “You movin’ on already? You just met my folks!”

Your jaw dropped for a second at the fact he’d turned the damn bit around on you. “I met one folk, and you literally said he wasn’t your dad.”

“Maybe I was warmin’ up to the idea!”

Another lethal eyeroll. Your smile still remained locked on your face. “Whatever. Get the hell out of here, asshole,” you said, playfully shutting the door just a little harder than you needed to and slapping the roof like a horse you were trying to send off into the desert.

Even as you turned to walk into your building, you could hear the way his window shot down, far faster than a normal roll. “Ay! Merchandise!”

You stuck a middle finger over your shoulder, thumb out and all, to give him an idea of what he could do with his merchandise. Tires peeled against pavement as he screeched out of his spot and down the otherwise quiet street, letting you know in return how he felt about that.

Smiling like an idiot as you climbed the stairs to your apartment, you felt… airy. You were always smiling after hanging around Mirage, you couldn’t help it — especially as of late. But still, you were dying to know what Prime was talking about when he was messing with Mirage earlier. You chose well. Chose what? Your brain briefly entertained the thought of Mirage returning what you felt, and it made blood rush to your face.

It couldn’t really… work. You had made peace with your physical differences weeks ago. The both of you got along just fine despite the size difference, and it never impeded your normal interactions. But you doubted Mirage felt the same; no matter how familiar, how friendly you were with him, you could never shake the feeling of being just a little too alien. Your greatest similarities were in personality. The closest resemblance you held physically was the fact you were both humanoid in shape.

That didn’t stop you. No, not at all. It didn’t stop you from dropping into bed after a quick shower with a heavy sigh, your hand inevitably sinking beneath the covers as you thought of digits — Mirage’s digits, so well articulated for their size and so careful — playing with the hem of your underwear instead of your own fingers, pushing the fabric aside just a little roughly to explore your alien anatomy. It took very little time for you to grind yourself to climax; in fact, it was embarrassingly quick, and it left your face hot with some special kind of shame as you slunk out of bed to wash your hands. The entire time, you avoided your reflection in the mirror.

Even with the ancient AC cranked on and chugging away, it took you a long while to fall asleep.

Off in the industrial district of Brooklyn, meanwhile, Mirage was burning rubber as he took ninety-degree turns at sixty miles per hour. His processor was thrumming at max capacity, and his engine felt like it was about to either stall or explode.

Primus, it was all too much. Your teasing always got him some kind of hot and bothered, tight under his interface paneling, but the acidic rush of embarrassment still prickled at his cabling. Prime, come on, man. Mirage was still floored at the fact that Prime of all bots had embarrassed him like that, in front of you, no less!

He had it bad for you, and he knew it, but apparently every other bot in that warehouse knew it too. Ever since he’d met you, you’d stuck in his processor, the way the light glinted off your eyes and your all-teeth smile and the way he could get you to laugh. Sure, his flirts were only playful at first — and he only did them to mess with Noah, who’d harbored an on-and-off crush on you for a while — but the more he did them and the more you returned them, the more he started really… considering it.

It was so shameful. Primus, it was shameful. He’d barely ever interfaced in his life — there was just no time, especially not on Cybertron — and never with organics. After that one night where he’d hefted you up with ease in both servos and completely blanked when confronted with your soft, warm weight in his hold, he’d been on a spiral. It wasn’t just enough to be friendly with you; he was plenty friendly with Noah (though with the amount of stupid passes Mirage made at him, Noah would probably say too friendly) and he wanted something more with you.

He’d lost count of how many times he’d rolled into some long-abandoned warehouse or pitch-black deserted alley and scrabbled at his interface panel to pressurize his spike before he feverishly, frantically humped his fisted servo for relief, mental processors supplying increasingly filthy fantasies of your soft skin against his chassis and your mouth, Primus, your mouth on his own, on his spike, wherever, he didn’t care. Every single time, though, after coming down from his high with steam pouring off his lax frame, he felt just a little more discouraged than the last — because he knew that his fantasies would have to stay that way. Fantasies. Your friendship was enough, had to be, no matter how bad he wanted you, because he’d be damned to the Pit before he scared you off by being stupid and admitting his feelings.

Ugh. Ugh. He took another corner too hard and felt his tires shriek, let the burn travel upward and reverberate in his frame. The chaos in his mental processors quieted as he neared HQ. All he knew was that it was late, and he couldn’t be too loud or Prime would get on his ass for interrupting his stasis.

Can’t believe your dad made fun of you in front of me. Your voice played, unbidden, from some file that popped open in his memory bank. He willed it away with a vengeance as he rolled into the warehouse-turned-headquarters as quietly as he could, transforming as soon as the door was shut and stretching out his back. Clicking echoed off the walls as his spinal struts reset, and the residual burn in his scraped tires tingled.

Mirage turned, and—

Yelped. Bumblebee was standing right there, shoulder against the wall and fiddling with some holographic projection from his forearm. Mirage coughed into his clenched servo to preserve what was left of his dignity.

“‘Sup,” he greeted through gritted denta. “I, uh, didn’t see you there, man. How’s it hangin’?”

Bee gave him a flatly unamused look that communicated ‘No shit, you didn’t see me.’ very well. The projection phased out of existence and left the two of them in the dimmed space in some kind of standoff.

“Well, y’know, beauty stasis and everything, I’m just gonna—“

“I wanna know, what you’re feeling! Tell me what’s your mind!” burbled Bee’s radio in place of his voice. Mirage jerked back for a second, not expecting Information Society at whatever unholy hour of the morning it was.

“Look, man, I don’t really wanna talk about—“

“There are some things you can’t hide!” insisted the same song. Bee gestured for Mirage to talk. Clearly he wanted to know.

This was as good a time as ever to spill, he guessed.

Mirage groaned and clasped both of his servos over his face after explaining the bones of it, his head tilted upwards, optics fruitlessly searching the water-stained warehouse ceiling for a solution to his problem. His… very human, very embarrassing problem.

Not that he thought you were embarrassing— not at all, never. But Prime would have his head over falling for a human. Okay, well, maybe not his head; it was more like Mirage would be in for a lengthy disapproving speech about responsibilities and goals and distractions, and Primus, just thinking about it made the former option of decapitation the preferable one. Even though he seemed to approve of his choice, considering what he’d said earlier, the ‘Bots were still at war, and there wasn’t time for human distractions. Literal human distractions.

It wasn’t like he could help it. You were funny, okay? And smart. And you teased him in just the right way that made his cooling fans sputter, and you were so curious about… everything about him, he thought, remembering your impromptu Cybertronian anatomy lesson with a hot flash in his processor. He couldn’t help but be flattered by your attention.

“Ugh, Bee, I don’t know what to do, man,” he said despairingly after a moment, pacing in circles in front of said squat yellow bot leaned against the nearby concrete wall. “I mean, look at this, she’d be missin’ out if she said no,” he added, arrogance staining his words in an attempt to console himself. It didn’t work; insecurity eviscerated his bravado moments after he said it. “Or… I guess we’d both be, huh.” A short, self-deprecating laugh left him.

Mirage wasn’t entirely sure why he’d come to Bee of all bots for advice, but he was sure as shit not going to Optimus after today, and Arcee would have just told him anyway. Plus, considering that Wheeljack wasn’t even in the country at the moment, his options were slim. Besides, Bee had… experience with this sort of thing. Dealing with humans and all. Just… not in this way. But it was close enough, and Mirage was totally lost; if he thought about it by himself for any longer, his processors were going to fry.

Speaking of, Bee tittered through his gutted voice synthesizer to get Mirage’s attention. Expression drawn into a very human grimace, Mirage turned to face his friend, servos planted firmly on his hips.

“Well, you gotta tell her— wanna know what love is— want you to show me,” Bee’s radio clipped, first from a talk show, then from a nearby station, and Mirage felt energon surge to his face in a hot rush at a very personal song being blared back at him.

He had the words memorized at this point. The shape of them was practically burned into his memory files, considering how much he played it for you. It was reserved for days on both ends of the spectrum, bad and good; Mirage would pick you up in his alt-mode and take you for joyrides across the city, flying over the Brooklyn Bridge at daredevil speeds, all the while blaring music loud enough to make your head pound.

The two of you had discovered a few favorites, but the Foreigner song was at the top of the list, right next to Careless Whisper, of course. The sound of your voice belting at the top of your lungs, softened with that specific human accent, thrumming and reverberating through your chest— you sounded so alive, but so different from what he was accustomed to.

“Dude—” Mirage nearly barked, voice up a full octave before clearing his synthesizer into his fist and repeating himself. “Dude. I can’t just do that. Aliens— we’re aliens. Well. She’s an alien, too, I guess, but we,” he paused to gesture frantically between himself and Bee, “are the aliens here. I don’t really think humans are into the whole giant robot thing.”

“Noah?” Bee played a clip of Mirage’s own voice back at him questioningly.

“Yeah, well, Noah’s a different story.”

With a whir of his actuators, Bee shook his head and looked away for a moment, big blue optics considering the floor. With a soft clunk, he crossed his arms over his chassis.

“Come on, man, you gotta give me something,” Mirage urged, tilting his head to follow the other bot’s motions. “Should I just leave it? I mean, I don’t want it to be weird, I just—“

Bee straightened up off the wall, clearly done thinking. His arms opened out in a shrug and his optics squinted, communicating I don’t know what you want me to say, dude, far better than his vocal synthesizer ever could have.

His radio clipped again, this time a few seconds of a Beatles song and then Noah’s voice. “She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah— right?”

“I don’t know, that’s the problem,” Mirage groaned, rolling his head back with a pained expression and letting his body follow the motion as he paced another tight circle. His faceplates felt hot at the insinuation. “And if I ask, it’s gonna be weird. And if I make it weird, I’m never gonna—“

He stopped rambling when a four-digit servo thumped on the headlight atop his shoulder, rooting him to the spot. Bee’s optics stared him down, wide and bright blue, and it made Mirage press his lips together firmly as he awaited whatever sage advice he was about to impart.

ABBA filtered through the radio first. “Should walk right up to her and say—“ What came next made Mirage’s brow ridges shoot up so high he thought they were going to fly off his helmet. “—when I get that feeling, I want sexual healin’!”

Mirage’s jaw dropped. Immensely flustered and ten times more frustrated at his friend’s useless advice, he shoved the other bot off. “Are you serious, dude? Primus, I never shoulda asked you. Thanks, I’ll go walk right up to her and ask to interface on the warehouse floor, that’ll go super well.”

Bee nodded quickly and gave him a double thumbs up with a series of approving beeps and chirps, the bottoms of his optics flattening into an amused look. Mirage dragged his servo down his faceplates in mortification, although his cooling fans kicked on a click higher than normal.

Sometimes he wished he’d been left on Cybertron with Soundwave and all his other goons. This was one of those times. As he dropped back into his alt-mode with an embarrassed mumble about ‘going on patrol,’ Bee whooped behind him, and the last thing Mirage heard before peeling out of the warehouse was “There’s nothin’ wrong with me lovin’ you, baby, no, no!”

Whoever gave Bee access to Marvin Gaye needed to be whacked upside the helm.

Knowing Mirage’s luck, it was probably you.

He stayed out for the rest of the night in his alt-mode, wandering the streets and staying away from your apartment, no matter how bad he wanted to go. The pool of people with any useful advice to offer for his predicament was steadily shrinking; after the disaster with Bee, Mirage just needed to stay away from that warehouse and let his processors cool.

Sometime in the morning he returned, though not to the warehouse. He almost immediately crashed into stasis as soon as he rolled into Noah’s garage, his simultaneously pent-up and exhausted processors eager for a chance to refresh themselves and defrag.

Ha, he thought blearily as he sank into stasis. Defrag.

You were waking as he was crashing, though you weren’t happy about it. The eight hour shift that loomed ahead of you on top of the bullshit from last night was a pretty potent combination for a headache of a day, especially when you couldn’t have your morning jam sesh with Mirage on your way to work. Thankfully, though, your roommate was a kind soul, and there was an extra cup of coffee waiting for you on the counter when you stumbled out of your bedroom.

As you sipped it, you wondered just how long you could keep the front up. By some small grace of God, your roommate’s schedule didn’t align very well with yours; you barely saw them in your daily life even before you met Mirage. It wasn’t on purpose, of course. It just happened that way. But on a few occasions, they’d been home when Mirage had dropped you off, and you’d been just calling him a ‘friend with places to be’ to excuse the fact that he never walked you to your door. Being somewhat prescient, they’d nudged you a couple times about this ‘friend’ turning into a boyfriend, but had never pushed it.

You just hoped it stayed that way.

Breakfast was a quick and quiet affair, though you traded a few jokes back and forth that had the both of you giggling into your food. The ride to your job was similar, and your roommate wished you a good shift before driving off leisurely — such a stark difference compared to Mirage’s affinity for peeling off into the street at Mach-fucking-10. Thinking of him made your face burn and your mind race. You tried not to.

Time was an especially cruel mistress today, though. You swore that people were actively winding the clocks back every time you looked up at them, and your shift felt like a thick slog, knee-deep, that you had no choice but to wade through. The worst part about slow shifts was that your mind wandered with nothing else to do, and like a moth to a flame— or rather, like metal to a magnet, your brain circled around to Mirage again and again and again.

Damn that bot. Damn it all. Every time you thought of him, it was some stupid joke he’d cracked or silly offhand comment he’d made or ridiculous flirt he’d lobbed your way — always accompanied by memories of his body, surprisingly lithe considering what he was made of, all legs and a dramatic waist topped with wide shoulders that made your own engine purr.

“Mirage, did you go upstate or something? You’re disgusting,” you’d laughed as you raked your gaze over his pecs, pretending to eye the dirt smeared there and not something else.

“Disgusting?! You gotta be kidding me, I’m not half as bad as the rest of ‘em. You should see Bee, dude!” He’d gestured out the door of the warehouse, where you assumed the other bot was lurking in dirt-covered shame.

“What the hell were you two even doing?”

“Pfft. Practicin’.”

“Practicing body-slamming each other?”

“Yeah, want me to show you?”

“Mirage,” you’d groaned, laughing despite yourself.

“C’mon, I know a few good ways to pin a bot down,” he grinned, winking at you. You fixed him with the most dead stare you could muster before breaking into a half-smile of your own.

“I’ll pass on the whole getting crushed thing, but I could be persuaded to spray you down by hand,” you flirted back, just for fun. 

No, not for fun. Real flirt. It was real, all of it was, and you couldn’t shake the memory of his optics widening, brightening, with eagerness and the way he’d pleaded. Playfully. Playfully?

“Please,” he begged dramatically, clasping his servos together, optics enormous. “I’ll be good! Maybe even stay still!”

You pinched your nose bridge between your fingers and tried to think about something else, because you were starting to press your thighs together a little and you were still at work, damn it. Professionalism was something you were aiming to maintain.

Hot. It was hot. That’s what you were thinking about. You’d glanced at the weather report earlier in the morning, and seeing a row of little sun icons clued you in on an insufferable heatwave that didn’t have any intention of breaking any time soon. Even now you felt sweat collect under your shirt and dot your hairline; all you could do was wipe your face with the back of your hand and keep working.

And working.

And working.

And. Working.

And then, eventually, you watched the clock tick over the last minute of your shift, and you heard angels sing a holy choir as you all but slammed your things down and sprinted to clock out. Well. You didn’t sprint, but you did speed walk, which counted for something.

Such was your haste to leave your workplace and talk to Mirage that you speed-walked headfirst into the lashing rain outside without a second thought. Genuinely caught by surprise, you stumbled back into the safety of the entryway, eyes wide as you watched the storm front swallow the last dregs of the golden evening sky and pour rain on the streets outside. Ink blots bleeding across paper. Rorschach tests. Some other poetic fluff came to mind over the supremely annoying realization that you were going to have to walk to the garage in wet clothes.

At least it was a quick walk.

Patience waning, you nearly considered calling Mirage — or even Noah — to come get you, but at the last second your roommate swooped in, pulling up outside and honking the horn a few times to let you know your knight in shining Prius was here to rescue you.

They cracked a few jokes at your expense when they saw your wet clothes, but it was nothing you couldn’t handle. Not after the trials and tribulations of Mirage. With a few clicks, the rest of your ride home was filled with Boyz II Men and intermittent conversation as you watched raindrops race each other down the window and considered what the hell you were going to say to Mirage tonight. 

Mostly, you were dying of curiosity to know what Prime had meant to get him so flustered. Thinking about that, though, just made you go down a spiral of what-ifs… especially considering that one of them was ‘What if he feels the same way?’

You could handle rejection. You were an adult who paid taxes. But just this one time, you weren’t sure if you could handle reciprocation. Especially full reciprocation.

Mirage’s friendship was something you felt privileged to have. You were just quite scared to fuck it all up and lose out on all the things that made being his friend worth it — including him. Jaw tightening, you blinked and looked away from the window. No use stewing in it.

At home, your dinner was quick and light — something in a Tupperware that you didn’t look at too hard after microwaving. When your roommate asked about your rush, you came up with some lame excuse about hanging out with Noah, waving your hand dismissively.

Don’t worry about me. I’m going to go break Hynek’s scale of close encounters. Don’t worry about it though.

“In this weather? You’ll be soaked thirty seconds out the door. You were soaked thirty seconds out the door.”

“I’ll bring an umbrella,” you said, barely listening to them over the cacophony of your own thoughts. Mirage. Mirage. Mirage. I’m seeing him tonight. I’m talking to him tonight. I’m not going to pussy out of anything tonight. Now or never. “The place is like two blocks up the street, I’ll live.”

“If you’re so inclined to catch a cold, I’m not gonna stop you. Not making you chicken soup, though.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you snarked affectionately, and the last thing you heard before exiting your apartment was their familiar laughter. That bolstered you somewhat.

Even if the rain whipping at your face made you reconsider your stupid horny stubbornness.

Only two blocks felt more like two dozen as you tucked your chin to your chest and gripped your hood to keep the wind from snatching it off your head; in your other hand you white-knuckled your umbrella to keep it from tilting the wrong angle and washing water down your back. Thunder rattled your bones more than once and made you think offhandedly of Kris, the poor kid. He hated storms but refused to admit it out of pride; he was probably curled up in a ball under his covers right now trying to block out the worst of the noise. And you thought of Noah alongside him just out of pure association, and you weren’t sure what made your stomach turn, but it did.

God, you hoped Noah wasn’t with Mirage right now. You didn’t want to slam the door open to the garage soaking wet and wrestle Mirage’s true feelings out of him while Noah spectated. Wrestle. Soaking wet.

Fuck my life.

The side door to the garage was jammed like it always was, even after you unlocked it, and you huddled against it to stay under the mediocre cover of the awning as you shoved your shoulder into it to force it open. Old metal hinges wailed as you ground them open, and the blessed dry warmth of the garage — the temperature always heightened with Mirage’s presence — sighed against your freezing skin as you wormed your way inside. 

“Mirage?” you called tentatively as you leaned back against the door to get it to shut and latch. A beat passed before your senses came to you and your hand fumbled behind you to lock it. Not for sordid reasons, honestly. You just didn’t want anyone to even have the chance of walking in on Mirage when he wasn’t folded into a Porsche.

Speaking of, you saw him then, pacing around the garage and seemingly very involved in a conversation with himself. Although the rain outside provided a dull roar of background noise, the whirs and clicks of his actuators and soft whooms of his pedes against the concrete filled your ears with their familiarity. It was Mirage, and you knew Mirage, and it helped dull the edge of abject nervousness in your gut.

He cut a sharp figure under the hanging ceiling lights, making sure to duck and avoid smacking his helm on them. When those bright blue optics registered your existence, you swore they flared with delight; he said your name with such enthusiasm it almost made you excited. For what, exactly, you didn’t know. “Hey, sugar, what’s k— Primus, you, uh, swim on your way here? Or do I just make you that wet? Cuz I appreciate the compliment.” He grinned wolfishly at you. Sparks flew off your rubbed-raw nerves.

The unimpressed stare you gave him was lethal. “That is not how that works,” you said, shaking your umbrella off on the floor and setting it against the wall to drip dry. “All the wetness is— would be in one place, dumbass.”

“Sorry. Wasn’t paying attention during my anatomy lessons. Wanna reteach ‘em to me? I’ll behave, swear on my spark.”

A scoff. “When have you ever behaved in your life?”

“When it counts! C’mon, you know you like it,” he said, gesturing down the length of his body with a flourish of his servo. “I mean, what isn’t there to like?”

“If I answer that question, I’ll hurt your feelings.” Excess rainwater dripped off your jacket as you peeled it off. Mirage’s optics followed the motion intently.

Amber lighting nearly glowed against the sleek metal of his torso. So what if your own eyes had wandered down it at his emphasis? He’d invited it. Expressly. He loved your attention, loved flaunting everything about himself just for a glance his way from you, for anything you’d give him.

It took him a second to register your words. He gasped and clasped a servo over his chassis— his spark, you remembered that from your own anatomy lesson a few weeks ago. “Gonna break my spark talkin’ like that. I hurt your feelings or something, sugar? What’s got you so bent?” With his question, he sank into a deep squat, draping his forearm over his thigh and leaning close to you.

A deep exhale left you. Your shoulders deflated. “It’s not you. Just the weather.” A short huff of a laugh, barely humorous, left you. “I mean, look at me.” You held your arms out and spun in a slow circle, errant droplets flying in every direction. “I look like a drowned rat.”

The lightbulb over his head was nearly visible. “You, uh, want a hand drying off?”

You stopped dead in your tracks. Your hands fell to your sides. Something akin to lightning danced up your spine.

“What?”

“Hold on, hold on, I got an idea,” he said,  holding his hand out at you to tell you to wait, excitement ramping up in his voice. What the hell was he planning? Nothing good, you figured. Or hoped.

Otherwise harsh sounds of metal against metal were softened by the alien chirrs and trills of the mechanical viscera working in his chassis as he settled on the ground in a sitting position. His back was leaned against the wall, carefully adjusted so his darling paint job was away from the rough concrete. To keep his balance, he rested against his tires and scooched his hips away from the wall, kicking his long legs out with a flourish and gesturing at his lap.

Although he was shorter this way, it was still a climb you didn't want to make while you were damp and the general slip hazard was high. “Can you give me a lift so I can see whatever shit you’re planning?”

“I got you, sugar, don’t even worry about it. Just hang on,” came the reply, and your brain blanked just a little at the feeling of his servos on you again, picking you up just like they had done on that night two weeks ago. With zero effort — seriously, you didn’t even hear any mechanical creaking — you were scooped upwards.

Your damp clothes clung to your body, a fact both you and Mirage were painfully aware of; the chill of the soaked fabric contrasted against that fascinating living heat of your skin nearly made the sensors in his servos short-circuit. He’d thought about this, exactly this, so much that it had probably worn a path into his neural processors. So soft. You were so soft.

A shudder ran up his spinal strut and he prayed you didn’t notice.

You were set down with your feet firmly on the flat tops of his thighs, ignoring the slight wobble in your knees. Arms raised a bit for balance, you looked down at the living machinery beneath you. The flight paths of the butterflies in your stomach grew more frantic. Broad servos released you from their hold, but they didn’t leave; no, they skated down, down, down until they settled on the flare of your hips and stayed. They were so heavy.

A breath caught in your throat like a wild animal in a trap. “If I fall, I’m gonna be so pissed off. You know that, right?” Anything to make this more normal. You had no idea how you kept the shake out of your voice.

“Relaaax, hot stuff, I’m on it. I got it, I got it,” he replied, his voice a full octave lower than what you were used to. “‘sides, I’m Mirage, remember? Protecting humans is kinda my thing.”

You scoffed. “Not with the way you drive.”

“Hey, I drive perfectly fine! You’re the one who’s scared of fun.” His servos left your hips to brace themselves on the floor. “Mirage, don’t drive so fast! Mirage, that’s a red light! Mirage, there are cops behind us!” His voice pitched up into something high and nasally to poorly, poorly mimic yours.

It was your turn to be affronted, though your mouth was open in a disbelieving sort of smile. “I don’t even sound like that, you fucker! And sorry for trying to keep us from getting arrested!”

“I dunno, you all sorta sound the same to our audio processors.” He was lying, and blatantly so. He had the distinct tone and pitch of your voice memorized down to the wavelength. “And besides, we wouldn’t get arrested.” His own voice took on a smug, self-satisfied edge, accompanied by the raise of his brow ridges.

“Oh, really? Why’s that? Please, enlighten me,” you snarked, crossing your arms over your chest and staring him down. In response, he leaned his head in, closer to you, closer than you expected, and an insufferable smirk crawled across his faceplates.

“Cuz cop cars can’t drive that fast,” he whispered conspiratorially, like it was a clever response.

What should have been a minute movement — just a shift of the head — actually became very noticeable on a twelve-foot-frame; his hips repositioned of their own accord to account for the redistribution of weight, and the change was enough to trip you up. Especially when you had been leaning in already to match his movement.

The world tilted as you started to fall forward; fearing injury or worse by tumbling off your semi-precarious perch, you jammed your hands out in front of you—

And slammed your palms directly on his chassis. It was all very fast after that. Mortified, you stared down at the planes of metal beneath you, feeling heat creep up, up, up your neck and seep into your face. Mirage had cursed above you out of surprise, and you felt the displacement of air as his servo shot up behind your back and hovered. Right there. He was right there, and he always would be.

You raised your head and made eye contact, and you knew it was over. His optics were wide with surprise, and they searched your face for any expression of pain or discontent. They cycled once, seeing none, and then flickered down to your lips.

He was so done for. Something in his expression sagged at your proximity; in his field of view, he saw an alert stating that his internal temperature was rising beyond ideal levels, and he would have laughed if not for you. Finally. Finally. Finally. He was half-expecting this to be a dream, something cooked up by his fried processors that he would wake up from any minute now. 

His servo was still hovering over your back.

“Can I—“

“Yes,” you said immediately in a sharp exhale — before he could even get the question out — and there it all went.

He surged forward like a flood from a dam, closing the distance between the both of you with a hungry rev of his engine. Explaining the logistics of it would sound silly; all you could do was go with the flow, just like every other time you’d ever kissed someone. All you knew was that it was satisfying, supremely so, and completely encompassing. Every sense was filled by him, and you realized with a kick of your heart that you never wanted it any other way.

Though your hand shook, you shoved past the fear and indulged in everything you had wanted for weeks, let yourself sink deep into that pit of want and refused to come up for air. Your fingers skated his curves and edges; you brought your palm up to the sharp angles of his jaw and smoothed it upward until it ran over the curve of his cheek.

He reacted to your touch like it was a live wire. Minute jerks of excitement ran through his frame, and when your hand rested on the side of his face, he tilted his helm into the kiss with barely restrained excitement. He was so careful, it made something inside you purr. That kind of caution was only reserved for something precious. You were precious. He couldn’t ever risk hurting you. Especially not by his own hand.

First impression was that his lips were far softer than you’d ever assumed. Pliable, hot metal pressed greedily against your mouth — more, more, more was a mantra echoed wordlessly between the both of you. The hovering servo came to rest on your back, pushing your front against his chassis as you shifted up on your toes to keep the angle of the kiss correct. Digits splayed against the planes of skin they found there, pressing down to feel your warmth — your heart slammed against your ribs so hard that Mirage could probably feel it against his palm.

With a hot flash, you wondered if the metal of his lips would bear the dent of your teeth from a bite. So you bit. It was more of a playful nip than anything, but the reaction you got was so instantaneous it was like Mirage had been waiting for it. Again, his engine throttled, the powerful rumble surging through you as his servo pinned you to his chassis. Against your mouth, his lips ticked up into a smile.

Air. You needed air. He let you pull away with no resistance, though his head did trail after your mouth for a moment.

You let your forehead sink down and rest against the top of his chassis for a moment; the condensation from your breath fogged the metal. Out of nowhere, manic giggles erupted from you. They shook your body incessantly as you rose and fell in time with Mirage’s heavy vents, your knees feeling weak and mind frazzled. From one kiss. One.

Laughter rocked his frame too, short chuckles of disbelief as his thumb rubbed circles into your back.

“Oh my god,” you murmured into the warm metal beneath you through shocks of giggles.

“Not exactly, but, eh, I’ll take it,” Mirage replied above you, and while he laughed at his own joke, you groaned and whacked him lightly with a palm. It wasn’t like he was unaffected though — far from it, in fact, judging from the steadily heating chassis beneath you and the tinge of static fringing his words.

“Bring me up,” you said hoarsely, twisting an arm behind you to paw at the servo on your back.

Without question, his other servo came up and curled under your thighs, hoisting you up so that his face was easier to reach. With most of your body now resting on his chassis and very much secured in his grip, you grasped his face in both your palms; he leaned so far into your touch with a shaky ex-vent that your noses almost brushed.

“Again?”

“Yeah, again,” he agreed, and this time you pulled him in, fingers hooking in some unseen seam behind his jaw as you crushed your mouth against his. Hunger, latent and now finally triggered, drove you closer, as close as you physically could, until your skin was starting to hurt from the random edges being pressed into it.

Curious above all else, you licked your tongue into the front of his mouth. The searing heat inside surprised you; it teetered on the edge of uncomfortable and reminded you very much of your computer at home when it ran for too long, with that special kind of mechanical stress and burning warmth that only came with overworked processors.

“‘S like that, is it?” he murmured into your mouth with a grin, his engine kicking up a notch and the vibration of his chassis hitting you very nicely right where you needed it most. You made some soft noise, half-gasp, half-groan, and hiked one of your legs up so it was bent at the knee, flattening your hips against his chest and fuck, there it was. The consistent rumble of his motor pressed a steady vibration right into your cunt over the seam of your jeans; a particular grind made you gasp and falter as you rolled your clit against the line of denim and held it there.

“Whoa-ho-ho! Heyyy, hot stuff, something feel good down there?” His voice was bursting at the seams with some rich kind of excitement; you breathed into his neck cabling as your hips jerked a little against his chassis. One servo pawed at your ass, clumsy with its eagerness, gripping and massaging the soft flesh it found there with intent.

Experimentally, his servo pressed down, pushing your pelvis down with it, and the pressure on your clit pulled a groan of satisfaction out of you that had his cooling fans sputter.

“Fuck,” you hissed through gritted teeth, and before he could say something stupid, you leaned your head down and pressed kisses to the delicate cabling of his neck.

A delighted noise rattled out of him, and his helm rolled back against the wall to allow you more access. Impatient, your kisses soon turned to bites, playful nips that tugged at the sensitive wiring and made his body jolt beneath yours like he’d been shocked. To your utter delight, you found that Mirage’s proclivity for talking extended to situations like these, too — noises streamed from his mouth as your curious teeth and hands worked over such a fragile part of his anatomy in ways that only a human could.

“Oh, Primus, babe, babe—“ he stammered out, and you lifted your head for just long enough of a window to allow him to swoop down and kiss you again, feverishly now.

Something thick and wet prodded past your teeth experimentally. For just a second you balked— and then remembered it was his glossa. His tongue. Yeah, you remembered that from your anatomy lesson; he’d stuck it out and pointed at it in a dumb way then, but fuck if it didn’t have your thighs tightening now. The hot biomesh probed your mouth, and it was so big you inadvertently drooled around it — but Mirage didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, you were pretty sure the spit dripping from your mouth around him was getting him even more worked up, judged by the way his digits tightened their grip on your ass.

You had been cold when you’d walked in that garage. Keyword there was had. Now your skin seared with a deep flush and steadily increasing heat; mindlessly, your hips started a slow, staccato rhythm that kept your breathing heavy. The servo on your back slid upwards to the point where it encompassed the back of both your neck and head. He could not get enough of your taste. He wanted it burned into the sensors on his glossa, for all he cared. Spit and lubricant swapped between the both of your mouths — you found that the metallic taste that seeped into your tongue did nothing but turn you on further.

Pulling away again for a deep inhale of air, you propped yourself semi-awkwardly on an elbow to look at him. Open adoration was written across his faceplates, along with blatant want that made his optics cycle frantically.

“I thought you were— fuck, I thought you were supposed to be drying me off,” you said, breaking in the middle of your sentence as his servo carefully started to move you. Just barely — just enough pressure to keep your hips working against him and chasing your pleasure.

“You really wanna?” He grinned at you, spit shiny on his chin. “I dunno about you, but I think I’m likin’ you being wet more.”

“You’re awful. That was terrible,” you laughed, brain foggy with arousal and general swelling affection for the bot underneath you.

“How many more of those you got left in you before you start admitting the truth that I’m the funniest bot you’ll ever meet?”

“I mean, you don’t exactly have stiff competition.”

“Aaand the best-looking.”

“I dunno… Optimus is kind of—“

“Hey!” he interrupted, bringing you up for another kiss to silence your thought before you could finish it. You happily complied, laughing into the heat of his mouth and then moaning in the same breath as his servo ground you down against his rumbling chassis again.

Hot. You were getting really hot. The damp clothes sticking to your skin were not helping; in fact, they felt as though they were going to start steaming being pressed against your skin like this. Against your wishes, you pulled backwards again, bracing yourself against the warm vents that substituted for his collarbones. They cycled hot, dry air against your fingertips, though it didn’t burn. Not yet, at least.

“Mirage,” you breathed, and that got his attention immediately. “…Are we fucking?”

“Please,” he instantly replied, so eager that it made your cunt throb. His enormous blue optics watched you with such intent that it almost made you want to shrink away from the scrutiny — but you steeled your resolve. You had him, and you had him right where you wanted. Opportunity of a fucking lifetime. You were not about to waste it.

You glanced down for a reprieve from the eye contact. “Fuck,” you swore softly, staring at the metalwork beneath you for a few heartbeats before shaking your head and glancing back upwards at him. “Okay, well— I— Okay. Let me just— do this—“

Hands shaking slightly, you balled your fists in the hem of your work shirt and wrestled it up and off you; the damp fabric lingered and peeled off of you, which made Mirage’s motor throttle powerfully underneath you. Other than that, though, you got no reaction, which made all that heat in your abdomen cool rapidly into a dense ball of abject horror.

Oh, you made a mistake. This was too much, you were too alien, too different—

The servo not supporting you against his chassis slid around from the planes of your back to your front, and you gasped sharply as he did the same fucking thing that drove you insane the first time, however many days ago. His thumb, warm on the palm-side, gently passed over the peak of your chest. His optics narrowed in on the indent in your soft flesh his digit created. Nerve endings in the trail it left behind sparked.

“Oh, you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” he said reverently, voice steeped in a combination of awe and victory.

Oh-kay! You sucked a deep breath in, a litany of responses running through your head. The boost to your ego was very much appreciated, and it helped lighten the sinking mass of worry that had formed in the pit of your stomach.

Mirage nearly groaned when you placed your soft palm atop the junction of his digit and the heel of his servo. “Do it again,” you decided on, and that worked damn well.

As his servo groped at your chest, he leaned in, tucking his face under your jaw. To accommodate, you tilted your head up and away—

Only to swear into negative space as he very much returned the favor from earlier and began carefully sucking the world’s biggest hickeys into the skin of your neck. Breaths came harsh and choppy as the expanse of his glossa, hot and spit-slick, laved over the gentle bites he worried into your skin with his denta. 

“Ah, Mirage, Mirage,” you breathed; every mention of his name spilling from your bruised lips made his circuitry heat just a little more. It was so much all at once — his servos were so broad that their expanse covered huge swaths of skin at once, and his mouth on such a sensitive part of your anatomy wasn’t helping either. Your hands clawed for purchase against his helm and the back of his neck. One palm flattened as much as it could on the back of his head, trying with all of your laughable human strength to bring him as close as possible. The other ended up cradling the side of his head, your thumb brushing over the audial disk there. With no small amount of wonder, you watched the plates of his back ruffle at your touch.

Mirage wasn’t trying to be weird, but he could die happy so long as he had the taste of your skin still registering on his glossa. It was more addictive than any high-grade he’d had back home by leagues. That human flavor of salt and skin and some kind of sweetness had his processors thrumming at maximum capacity; you made his mouth flood with lubricant, a fact you could corroborate by the amount that spilled over your bare sternum. The feeling of his own spit sliding down your front between your bruised breasts made the muscles of your abdomen twitch. Fingers shaped like claws now, you pressed weak kisses against the smooth curves of his helm wherever you could reach.

Your jeans were just getting in the way at this point. The minute shocks of pleasure you derived from grinding your clit against the inseam were just that — minute. You needed something more now or you were going to get frustrated, and you’d dealt with enough sexual frustration over the past weeks to be very sick of that feeling.

“Oh, fuck, okay— Mirage,” you said breathlessly, giving him a light tap on the side of his helm to get his attention. Reluctantly, he pulled away from your chest, optics dimmed with pleasure. They cycled once and returned to their full brightness as he cleared the fog of arousal — barely — away from his processors.

“All systems go, sugar?” Static hissed underneath his words.

You tried and failed to stifle a snort of a laugh. “Corny ass,” you mumbled, although you were absolutely close enough for his audial sensors to pick up on it. He made a sound of indignation, but you pushed forward regardless. “I, um, I need to get these off.” Hooking your thumbs in the waistband of your jeans to emphasize your point, you glanced up at his optics again.

Blankness for a second. Then it registered. “Oh, right, right, of course, haha! You, uh, want help? Or you got it?”

“I think I can manage taking my pants off,” you laughed. “Just— let me sit on like— the top of your chest, there we go,” you instructed, and the hand under your ass pushed you up until you were turned around and seated on the lip of the top of his chassis. For a second, you wrestled with the denim — still not fully dried — but you managed to kick both your jeans and your shoes off. They were thrown somewhere in the direction of the door. God, you were so glad you locked it.

Underwear went next. There was a beat of hesitation — for what, you weren’t sure — but like you’d done so often as of late, you just ignored your trepidation and worked the elastic down your legs. A laugh barked out of you when you lifted the fabric up and saw the downright ridiculous wet spot that stained the gusset.

“Jesus Christ, look what you did to me,” you said with a faux accusatory tone, holding your panties out for Mirage to inspect. Two digits delicately took them from you; he held them up to his face, so close that it made you blush from sheer embarrassment.

“Wow. You weren’t kiddin’ ‘bout all the wet being in one spot, huh?” He examined them with no small amount of fascination, much to your mortification.

“Mirage! Put those down, oh my god,” you said, covering your mouth with a choked noise.

“What, I can’t admire my work?”

“No you can not.”

Mirage pouted at your denial, and mumbled something about you being no fun, but he still lifted you off his chassis regardless. Like he was helpless to your draw, he pulled you in for another kiss, though he couldn’t stop his mouth from wandering. Down, down, down, until his nose was nestled in your chest and he spoke into the soft flesh of your stomach. Shaky ex-vents tickled the damp skin there.

“Shit, baby, tastes so good,” he mumbled, and you were impressed by his ability to sound completely sex-drunk without even having done anything yet.

Your hips rolled against nothing; they bumped into his neck cabling and the top of his chassis fruitlessly, and a noise of frustration eked out of you. Mirage seemed to get the memo and pulled you away. Your body was brought down until your ass was sat firmly on his hips — his interface panel nestled right in front of your dripping cunt — and your back was leaned up against the flat support of his thighs; his knees were tucked up and his pedes placed firm and flat on the floor to give you the most stability. Fumbling for a second before you found somewhere to place your own feet, the enormity and absurdity of the situation brought more of those breathless giggles to your mouth that seized your chest and shook your shoulders.

Toootally breaking Hynek’s scale here. So beyond abduction. Way beyond abduction.

A few careful digits slipped around your knee, wormed their way between your legs. “Can I—“ 

Your thighs fell open without a word.

What had made you fall for Mirage the hardest was his motormouth. He never stopped talking; he always had something stupid to add, something to pitch in with, some silly joke to crack. There was a lightness he teased out of you that even you didn’t expect. But now? Now, for once, he was speechless. It made uncharacteristic shyness flare in your gut and heat your face as he studied your very bare, very human form with slightly parted lips and enormous optics.

His body caught up before his mouth did. The servo on your knee slid over it until it gripped your bare thigh; he watched the flesh shift back and forth under his touch with no small amount of fascination.

“Is it— it’s okay?” Your voice sounded very small. It was a special kind of insecurity to be faced with.

“Oh, yeah, it’s okay. It’s cool, you’re just— just different. A lot different.” He jiggled your thigh again playfully.

“Good kind of different though, right?”

“Very good.” To punctuate it, his engine snarled again, seemingly in response to the drool of your cunt on the hot metal of his interface panel. “Primus, you look good, babe. Shit.”

Ego boost! You smiled. Any other partner — any person — and this would be too much, this position too unflattering, your everything too open… With Mirage, though, it just felt like it always did. Easy.

One of your hands rested atop the servo still holding onto the meat of your thigh. The other slid down over your shining chest, passed over your stomach and pubic mound, and brushed past wiry hair, shiny with slick, in order to slide a finger up your folds. A whine ripped its way out of you at direct contact with your clit after mere heavy petting, and you couldn’t stop yourself from drawing tight circles with your fingers and twitching your hips forward to eke out more of that delicious pressure.

The servo on your thigh dug into your skin. Mirage’s vents became far heavier at the open display of your arousal; it has always been him vying for your attention. Now that it was the other way around, he wasn’t sure if he could handle it. Transfluid was seeping between the seams of his interface panel, joining your own fluids in a shiny pool that sent sparks up his struts. He made you like this, made you so wet you dripped, made your clit swollen enough to be visible, made your cunt tight with heat and Primus, he needed you on his spike so bad, he thought he might die without it.

He verbalized these thoughts with an unintelligible noise of adoration.

It was enough encouragement for you to slide down from your clit and venture two fingers into yourself. Zero friction. They glided. Christ, when was the last time you were this wet? You’d slept with a handful of people, especially in your first couple years of college, but you’d never been soaked like this. Mirage’s cooling fans choked at the sight of your fingers vanishing into you. His thumb dug into the crease of your thigh and hip as he leaned just a little closer to watch.

Very little time passed before it devolved into your fingers working inside your walls, crooking against that one spot that made your breath hitch and hips jump. Mindlessly, you ground against your palm, catching your clit on the heel of your hand with a sweet moan that nearly shorted out his processors. He had to hear that again. Without thinking, he moved his servo over, resting the digits on your lower stomach and gently, gently nudging the heel of your hand out of the way to replace it with his thumb.

“Ah!” spilled from your lips at the insistent, broad pressure of his thumb, and your hips jerked against it, working your fingers that much deeper. Tears pricked at your eyes from pure sensation. “Mirage, mmm, just— just rub, up and down— or circles, just move, I don’t ca—are,” you floundered, the last word breaking as he did as he was told, carefully sliding his thumb up and down on the bead of your clit and sending twinges of searing pleasure up your spine.

You found quickly that just your fingers weren’t enough. Not when the reminder of his servo lay heavily on your lower stomach, tips of his digits digging into the soft fat there insistently. Although you were loath to part with your hand, you pulled your fingers out with a sigh. Mirage froze, optics flicking to your shiny hand as you spread your fingers, examining the strings of fluid that connected them with a far-off feeling of pride.

“Sugar, you’re killin’ me here,” he groaned, and you saw, for one endearing second, a puff of actual steam rise from the vents near his shoulders as he ex-vented harshly.

“Okay, well, here,” you said, unable to come up with anything clever with the purr of arousal in your cunt fanned by the heat of his interface plate and consistent, maddening rumble of his engine. Your hand, still shiny and wet with your fluids, grasped the top of his servo and gently pushed it downwards, until the tips of his digits rested against your drooling entrance. To fight the whimper that threatened to claw its way out of your throat, you nearly chewed a gash into the inside of your cheek. A gasp of an in-vent jolted his frame in awe.

“You sure? I mean— it’s cool?” His flustered stammering was so damn endearing; supreme affection for him swelled in your chest. 

“I’m sure. Just— just go slow.” His adoration was fueling your bravery. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you; if he did, it would never be intentional, and it would never be something he couldn’t fix.

He paused for a second before remembering the position of your own hand and flipping his servo so it was palm side up; you dragged a large enough breath in to balloon your lungs fully at the sight. Anticipation danced in the burn of your spread thighs. For a few seconds, it was just exploration; his digits slid over your silky folds, collecting the gathered slick with minute trembles. One delicious slide all the way up from entrance to clit had you gasping. Mirage silently thanked Primus above that your whole set-up was similar enough to his valve to know at least some of his way around it. It was just hotter. Wetter. Softer. So much softer.

“‘Raj, just— fuuuck,” you groaned out, your head rolling back as the tip of one digit sank into you, soon followed by the rest as it slid all the way to the base. Stars flickered behind your eyelids. The width matched the two fingers put together you’d just pulled out of yourself, though the texture was so wildly different to anything you’d ever put up there that it made your brain stutter for several moments as your nerve endings processed the feeling. The individual ridges and articulations of his knuckles dragged against the silk of your walls in a way that pulled the breath right out of you; your chest rose and fell rapidly with shallow breaths as your thighs twitched.

You were a mess. Mirage was in love. “Holy shit, baby, I get you this bad?” It was only partly teasing. “l— fuck, a second one good?”

“Good, yes, please.”

All thoughts were wiped clean from the forefront of your brain with the addition of a second digit. Slick noises and the sound of dripping fluids landing on metal and concrete filled your ears over the steadily climbing racket that Mirage’s entire body was making — his cooling fans competed with his engine to make the most noise, over top of the typical whirs and clicks that came with his motion. You couldn’t look, could only feel with your eyes squeezed shut as Mirage pumped both digits in and out, in and out, in and out. One arm was thrown up behind you, hooking loosely around his knee to ground you somewhere. The other was occupied: your hand clutched his wrist like a lifeline, white-knuckling it even as your sweaty palm slipped over the metal cuff. When his thumb returned to your clit, swirling clumsy but eager circles on top of it, that only contributed to the tight, hot coil building in your gut.

Mirage had half a mind to pop his interface panel right then and service himself, because the sight of you, shining with sweat and slick with his spit as you rode his digits, was almost too much to bear. The plush folds of your cunt, tight with arousal, were so soft against the hard planes of metal that comprised his servos; the contrast was short-circuiting him. Under his paneling, his spike was already pressurized. Had been for what felt like hours. Your ass was beginning to slide back and forth just a little due to the transfluid collecting underneath you; the rippling motion of your flesh was driving him insane. As were your walls, Primus, your walls that sucked greedily around his digits as they glided in and out of the tight ring of muscle that made up your entrance.

Your name left his lips in a groan that was an octave too high to be suave. The thought of your cunt clamping down on his spike — so soft, so hot, so wet — like it was doing on his digit had his hips rolling against nothing, working fruitlessly for friction they weren’t getting.

Sweat collected wherever skin touched skin. Condensation fogged wherever skin touched metal. The combination of his digits stretching you, curling in you when he realized what a dramatic reaction it incurred, and his thumb working your clit was getting to be too much. Heartbeat roaring in your ears like the rain outside, you clawed a grip into a seam in his leg and jerked your hips against his servo with breathy noises and gasps that you certainly wouldn’t be proud of later. For now, though, all it did was fuel Mirage’s ego and go straight to his spike.

Almost there. You were almost there, grinding your way towards it, sweat beading on your hot skin—

He pulled out. He pulled his digits out. A keen tore out of you at the loss of feeling, tears springing to your eyes as the hot edge you were so fucking close to fell away, your hips working unconsciously against a servo no longer there. With a gasp of a breath, you wrenched your eyes open, blinking away the collected tears and nearly baring your teeth at the bot beneath you — until you saw what he was doing.

In utter astonishment, you watched as the digits that were just inside you slid into his mouth, peeks of his glossa flashing as it worked them clean.

“Oh fuck,” you said before you could stop yourself. One of your hands slapped over your mouth; you tasted sweat and metal. His optics slid to you, lidded and cycling frantically as he processed your taste. A harsh ex-vent slumped his shoulders — the servo not preoccupied with his mouth clutched your hip like you were something precious.

“Sugar,” he breathed, static grating on the word. “Fuck, c’mere.”

Servos hefted you up, and you clutched onto them out of instinct as he helped you up to his face. Without thinking, you lunged forward to kiss, your tongue seeking out his glossa and tasting yourself with a resurging thrum of arousal. He cut it short, though, ignoring your protests as he cupped your ass in one servo and held you aloft. 

For a second, you stared at him in confusion. “What are you—“ Then it hit you. “Oh.” Your heart rate skyrocketed.

The grin stretching his faceplates was downright devious. “Hang onto something, wouldja? Not that you’re gonna fall. Just want you to enjoy the ride.” A short, heady chuckle rounded out his words.

“You’re insane— oh!” Your lighthearted scold was immediately interrupted by the press of your hips against his face and the slide of his slick glossa over the entirety of your sex. “Oh my fuck!” sobbed out of you as your upper body jackknifed over his helm. One arm curled around it with clawing fingers; the other slammed, palm flat, against the concrete wall.

A groan of satisfaction rumbled into your cunt as the taste of salt and sweat and girl bloomed on his glossa — just like earlier but so much stronger now. The proud line of his nose bumped your clit for a second before his glossa followed, narrowing so he could flick at it experimentally. Lubricant spilling from his mouth mixed with your own slick and ran down his chin; his cooling fans sputtered and spun weakly for a second as he pushed up further against your hips, malleable mesh drawing shapes between your clit and your hole.

Your fingernails scraped against the wall as your hips jerked of their own accord; the edge stolen from you earlier had very much returned, and the feeling of his faceplates sliding over the plush, soft skin of your inner thighs was doing something terrible to you.

“Mirage, ah, ah— I’m— fuck, fuck!” Broken syllables and curses streamed from your lips as a substitute for real words. When he closed his lips around your clit and sucked, it was over. It was so quick, embarrassingly quick. The orgasm that had been building suddenly snapped free and tore through you like a fucking hurricane, leaving spasming muscles and a wonderful endorphin afterglow in its wake. As you sobbed out his name, he slid two digits of his free servo back into you just to give you something to clamp down on, and it made tears spill down your burning cheeks from pure stimulus. Mirage drank you; he wanted nothing more than this, to swallow you down and leave your taste buzzing on his glossa like high-grade. Several thundering heartbeats later found you hunched over his helm as his glossa continued to work lazily against you, forcing twitches out of your thighs from pure overstimulation.

“Okay, okay,” you managed to croak, voice hoarse from weeping moans and boneless from what was probably one of the most insane finishes of your life. You tapped out weakly on the side of his helmet. Reluctantly, he pulled your pussy away from his face and cradled you in both servos, one noticeably damper than the other, in front of him.

His chin was shiny with you, his grin wide and completely self satisfied, and his optics dimmed with pleasure. If you were being honest, he’d never looked better, but in your frazzled state you weren’t sure if you had the capacity to string together enough words to form a compliment.

“I gotta say, compliments to the chef,” he hummed, and you stared at him, words not processing.

“Did you seriously— you just gave me head and that’s what you’re gonna say?”

“Uhh, yeah, babe. And I meant it.”

A genuine laugh shook you. “Oh my god. Ohhh my god. Okay. Well, put me back down there, you corny fuck,” you said with a gesture back at his hips.

“Oooh, keep sayin’ that. I’ll start thinkin’ you mean it.” Your body, errant trembles still running through it, was set carefully down back near its original position. This time, you sat in something closer to a straddle, back straight instead of leaning.

The garage air had gone from temperate and warm to fucking scorching. Outside, the rain droned on, occasional rumbles of thunder sounding so far away that they may as well have not been real. Your entire world had been compressed down to one point — a gravitational singularity in this garage, crushing space and time down until only bricks and concrete stood between you and the oblivion outside. All you knew was living metal and Mirage’s voice, trembling with excitement and fuzzy with static, and that was all you wanted to know. His chassis was making so much noise that you probably, under any other circumstance, would have been concerned; if he blew a gasket fucking you, though, you would wear that with pride.

Pure adoration reflected right back at you from his optics as his servos settled on your hips, his thumbs stroking your slick skin. Any concerns he had about Prime’s reaction to you, or to this — well, maybe not to this specifically, but to the both of you being together — were completely null and void in your presence; the reality of your soft weight in his lap was enough to short out his circuits.

Your hands slid down from the cooling fan in his abdomen spinning at maximum speed towards his soaked interface panel; glancing up at him demurely through your lashes, you spoke.

“You gonna let me return the favor?”

“Huh?” He broke out of his reverie. “Oh, right, um— yeah. Yeah, please.”

A smile crawled over your face at the reminder that despite all the poetic words you could come up with in your head, Mirage was still, and always would be, Mirage. Dazed already, he ran the subroutines to open his interface panel. Machinery shifted with a few clicks, and there was a hiss and an outpour of steam as his spike swung up before you, clearly aching for some kind of touch.

You heard more plates shifting lower, too, and out of curiosity peeked downward; something slick glowed lower down, but the nervous shifting of Mirage’s hips and his closed thighs obscured it from view.

Probably better to just focus on what’s in front of you. Your eyes roamed the length of his array first, your mouth going dry just at the size of it. It was bigger than any toy you owned, anyone you’d slept with, and bigger than his digits, too. Still, though… what were humans if not persevering?

And flexible?

You wrapped a hand around it right below the tip, and a full shudder lanced up Mirage’s frame; it was so thick that there was still space between your fingers and thumb left over. Transfluid, milky in consistency but pearlescent pink in color, spilled from the flared head. Curiosity overtook you, and you swiped a thumb up to catch an errant bead of it as it trailed down the side. The fluid was semi-oily, and smelled… fairly innocuous. Metallic, sure, but that came with the territory.

The array itself was as impressive as it was pretty. Like everything else about Mirage, it was fancy, mostly chrome with blue striping up the sides that led to a fully blue head. The biomesh it was made of — similar to his glossa — gently throbbed with alien pulses as you stared at it. Oh, that was hot. Why was that so hot?

Exploration in full was rewarded with soft noises spilling unbidden from Mirage’s lips, his hips twitching uncontrollably as you carefully slid your hand down from the tip to the base in one fluid motion, feeling the transfluid slick under your fingers. “Mmph, I— ah,” he choked out through gritted denta as you observed him.

Oh. Oh. The realization of the power you held over the big mech made a special kind of arousal thrum through you. Another slow pump had his hips jerk up once and a servo clamp over his mouth.

“This was not included in your anatomy lesson,” you said pointedly, a cheshire grin on your face as you hovered dangerously close to his spike. It throbbed in your grip, working another bead of transfluid out of the tip.

“Oh shit, babe,” he groaned, rolling his helm back against the wall. “Uh— hands— hands-on learning?” he offered weakly, unable to focus on anything other than the soft, damp skin of your palm around his spike.

He made the mistake of looking down as you let spit drool out of your bruised lips and spill over his spike for additional lube, and he snapped his optics shut to avoid from a spontaneous overload right there. The noises he made as you slid your tongue over the head were pitiful.

“Fuck, baby, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he hissed, spinal struts clicking as they arched. Primus, was he seriously about to overload in your mouth? Your lips closed around the head and sucked lightly, and he yelped. A servo shot out and carefully grabbed your shoulder, though the tremors running through his digits told you of the restraint he was barely employing. A string of spit and transfluid connected your mouth to his spike as you lifted your head, and he had to force himself to look away for a second with that same servo clutched over his mouth to keep steady. “‘m not gonna last like that, you— can we just—“

“Fuck?”

“Primus, yes.”

“Yeah, we can. I guess.” Despite the leap of excitement in your stomach, you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t even start with that, c’mon,” he said fondly, one servo supporting you as you lifted yourself above his spike and stared down at it with no small amount of trepidation.

It looked a little more manageable from above, but working with something the size of your forearm would cool anyone’s heels, even if there was slick drooling down your inner thighs. Mirage’s servos settled heavy on your hips and you braced yourself on first his knees behind you, then his wrists as you tilted your pelvis to align your entrance as best you could. You sank. The head pressed insistently against your hole. Relax. Relax. Relax.

A deep breath filled your lungs, then whooshed out, deflating your shoulders. Unable to help himself, Mirage inched one of his servos over and ran his thumb through your folds, rolling over your clit and jolting your hips enough to slip the head inside. A long sigh of  “Fuuuuck.” was all that managed to come out of your mouth, your toes curling at the stretch and then the pop of the flared head sliding past your entrance.

Mirage’s entire frame trembled. His vents became shallow and sharp, and the tips of his digits clamped onto the soft meat of your hips desperately as the sensors on his spike reckoned with the realization of just how wet and warm humans really were. “Babe, babe, babe, shit,” he stammered out. “That’s— um, fuck, that’s good!” A weak laugh escaped him as his chin sank down to his chassis, cooling fans hiccuping from stress.

“Hold on, just hold on, I can… shit.” Sweat-dampened palms slid off his wrists for a second before you resituated yourself and leaned back a little, letting your upper back rest against his tucked up thighs. Whatever you were doing worked, because you sank further, and you thanked whatever god was listening that you’d already finished once, making your body quite boneless and that much easier to maneuver.

Mirage, on the other hand, was as taut as a fucking bowstring, made helpless to his own pleasure and completely powerless to you. His optics first scrunched shut, unable to look at you for fear of overloading at the sight of you finally on his spike; then they flew open at the realization that he wanted this burned into his visual processors forever.

Your skin shone with sweat and lubricant; rivulets trailed down your body like a visual pointer to your slick sex, nestled within wiry hair and stretching so beautifully around his spike that it tore an honest-to-Primus whimper out of his vocal synthesizer.

“Mirage, I need you to— mmnh, fuck, I need you to just touch— please,” you gasped, his spike punching the air right out of your lungs. Although your words were broken, he seemed to get the memo, and despite his minute tremors, brought his thumb back to your clit and pressed down. Just the surface area alone made you sigh and roll your head back in pleasure, and it loosened you enough to take him right up until the head nestled against your cervix and your ass brushed his hip plating. There was maybe an inch or two left, but you felt immense pride at managing to work most of his spike in — and immense pleasure, too. If he moved his thumb at all, you were done; you were so fucking full you could barely breathe, and you felt the slow, rhythmic pulses of his biomesh throb through you.

Mirage had never been one for restraint. He did things all-in, one-hundred-and-ten percent, all with a flourish to top it off; the feeling of the hot silk of your walls flexing around his spike just sitting there was enough to quite literally kill his cooling fans via a micro-short in an attempt to divert more power towards keeping his hips still. Senseless praises streamed from his lips, voice whining and roughened by static fuzz. “Yes, yes, yes, sugar, Primus, that’s good— feels so good, please, can I move, please,” he fumbled, jaw slack and optics flickering with the power surges cascading throughout his frame.

“Just— let me start,” was your response, tears pricking at your eyes, and although Mirage groaned pitifully underneath you, he listened.

You had a fair amount of experience with riding toys, and you knew what felt good; the lightbulb above your head became apparent. A shift in your position pushed further weight to the back so that the ridges and nodes of his spike pressed insistently toward the front — though, to be fair, it pressed everywhere — and oh, fuck, right there. Now shoved against that sweet spot inside you, the pleasure teetered on the edge of pain, and you dragged yourself up with a vicious grip on the seams of his thighs behind you. Mirage whined and shifted his hips just slightly; it was enough to pull a moan from your lips as you slid upward. Thick, sluggish droplets of slick swirled with transfluid oozed down his spike. He watched — it was all he could do — with an open mouth and rapidly cycling optics.

The flared head caught against your entrance; a spike (ha!) of pleasure lanced through you. “Okay, now, you can— help me, please,” you stammered out, dizzy with pleasure already and feeling a loopy kind of open-mouthed grin situate itself on your face. 

Your words were all he needed. Although he desperately, desperately wanted to snap his hips up and chase the vice-grip of your slick walls, he’d rather take on Megatron alone with his servos tied behind his back than risk hurting you. Especially while interfacing. He did not want to have to explain that to anyone.

Thumb slowly working your clit, his servos gripped your hips just a little too tight and assisted; you could feel the tremors lancing up and down his arms as he helped you establish a rhythm. At a word, the dam would break, but for now, you maintained tenuous control over the mech and over yourself as you rode him with his help.

Well. Rode was a strong word for it; he all but dragged you up and down the length of his spike, earning each of you luxurious groans from the other, but your quivering thigh muscles assisted as best they could. Heat surged through your body at the drag of his nodes against your walls, and you realized with a hot flash that Mirage was going to fucking ruin you for anybody else, and you liked that. Which was good, because he could have stayed buried in your cunt for the rest of his life and offlined happily just like that.

It was good. It was really good. But even the overwhelming stretch wasn’t enough. Just like earlier — it seemed like light years away now — when you’d still had pants on and hadn’t been completely lost to metal-on-skin debauchery, the grind of your clit on the seam of your jeans had been good, but not enough. Your fingers clawed at his wrists. The burn of your thighs from exertion seared through you, mixing with the jolts of pleasure from your clit to create some new, terrible monster that had you twitching with shameless ecstasy.

“Mirage, Mirage,” you croaked, as he slid you down his spike again and pushed it into your lungs, “I’m— fuck, please, faster, please, please.” In any other scenario, your begging would have immensely embarrassed you; now, though, it seemed like the only viable option to get him to fuck you like you needed him to.

“Shit, baby,” he hissed, and you gasped as he kept moving you, legs jerking uselessly. “You— fuck, you sure?”

“Yes, please, just— oh, fuck!” The cry — and the air in your lungs — was knocked right out of you by a single desperate snap of his hips upward, his spike driven straight home. Your entire upper body crumpled forward, kept upright only by a tenuous grip on his wrists, and then he really started fucking you, and you were gone.

His cooling fans surged back to life as he slammed into you, power no longer diverted towards holding the actuators of his hips back. No, now he was fucking jackhammering into you, and you were barely moving as his spike pistoned in and out of you, slick drooling from your cunt. Like he remembered himself, his thumb began to work furiously against your clit, and you rewarded him with a gasp and more than a few uncontrollable moans of his name, which only served to fuel him more.

Not like he was being quiet, either. You were glad that the building was solid brick and the rain continued to pour outside, because the amount of noise coming from his chassis and spilling from his lips was worrying. Praises and broken mentions of your name streamed from him; he tossed his helm back against the wall with his optics squeezed shut to keep from overloading prematurely. It was too much— it was way too fucking much. Your poor overworked cunt was nearly bruised with sensitivity, barely able to keep up with the stretch of his spike as the nodes pulsing along it raked that sweet spot inside of you mercilessly. Neither of you were going to last long; not your fragile human body nor his torqued-up frame could handle much more of this.

Every sharp thrust paired with the frantic, messy circles he pressed into your clit brought you viciously closer and spilled tears from your eyes. All you could really do was hold on as Mirage wrung pleasure from both your body and his. Impossibly, his thumb worked faster, his pace got even more brutal, and you were almost seizing from pleasure as your nerve endings were frayed raw. That peak was building in your gut, that familiar tight coil of heat, for the second time that night, and you knew it was going to completely destroy you, and you wanted it to.

Without warning, Mirage spread his knees apart, slammed his pedes flat on the floor, and thrusted up. His spinal struts arched again to get his spike that much further inside of your yielding body, his overload imminent and warning signs flashing in his optics’ periphery. “Fuck, yes— yes, baby, yes, yes, ah, shit!” His frenzied whine rang in your ears as steam from his vents heated the air around you; the only thing that rang in your ears besides your thunderous heartbeat was the heady slap of skin against metal, everything slick with your combined fluids.

You responded in kind at the new angle with a cry of his name and some noises that resembled words, but the way he sheathed his spike inside you — fuck, was it all the way in? — and ground his thumb against your clit was too much— too much— you couldn’t—

You shattered. Doubling over from pleasure, you sobbed incoherently as your climax slammed into you. Pleasure crackled through your veins like lightning; a fog of pleasure dulled your senses until the only thing you could focus on was his spike pulsing in your cunt and his thumb still grinding against your clit. Tears pricked at your eyes, joining the ones already wetting your cheeks, as jolts of pleasure lanced up your spine. Maybe you moaned his name, maybe you didn’t. You couldn’t tell.

Mirage went soon after you, because the feeling of your walls clamping around his spike as if trying to suck him in impossibly further did him in instantly. His optics snapped open wide before slamming shut and he cried your name as the best overload of his life wracked his frame; the actuators of his hips trembled violently, along with his servos, as transfluid gushed into you and was immediately forced out by the pure lack of room inside your cunt. Engine snarling, cooling fans nearly spinning off their axles, he held your hips as flush to his as possible while the both of you rode out your respective climaxes, twitching around each other violently. Minute jerks of his hips attempted to work more transfluid inside of you. Brain still wiped blank with pleasure, all you could do was make soft noises and let the aftershocks spasm through you.

Consciousness eventually came back to you in gritty waves. Mirage had set your body down, leaned back against his thighs, his spike still seated within you but depressurizing slowly. Transfluid seeped out of your puffy folds, and you lifted a shaking hand to collect some of it and taste it. Metallic. Like you’d expected.

Enormous vents whooshed through his frame as he attempted to cool his chassis; coolant dripped from him, some of it turned to steam by the pure heat of his internal mechanisms. Body shaking and feeling very small and human, you stroked a thumb over his wrist where you held it, feeling both its ambient warmth and a surge of affection. And satisfaction.

You were absolutely going to feel this in the morning, holy shit. Thank God you didn’t have work tomorrow.

Mirage eventually came back down to earth, his optics cracking open and cycling a few times before they flared to their usual brightness. Lids heavy and a dopey grin on his face, he carefully lifted you off his spike — it slid out of you with a slick noise that made you flush — and brought you up to face-level. With one servo, he held you tight against his torso; he planted the other flat on the floor and resituated his hips so he could slump down further against the wall, his entire frame lax.

Self-satisfaction beamed at you from his faceplates. “Oh, that was good, huh?”

You scoffed, too tired to get riled up at his teasing; you knew he was feeling the same as you. “Yeah, pretty good. I don’t know if I’ll be able to walk tomorrow, to be totally honest.” An exhausted laugh left you.

“Gonna count that as a win.”

“You… do whatever you want.” You waved a limp hand at him dismissively, letting the rise and fall of his chassis with his vents rock you.

“Well, then, I wanna do this,” he purred, and brought you in for a kiss that communicated all his smug affection without any of his stupid jokes. You returned it gratefully, a smile on each of your mouths as you basked in that pleasant post-sex glow.

The rain still droned outside. A boom of thunder rolled through the building; the lights flickered. Both you and Mirage glanced upward. His optics slid back down to you first.

“You thinkin’ about going anywhere in this weather?” he asked, raising a brow ridge.

“I dunno, do I have a ride?”

“Nah,” he replied playfully, kissing you again, and you found that it could storm for the rest of your life, and you wouldn’t really care. So long as you had your favorite — yes, your favorite, not that you could ever admit around him — to keep you company.

[notjustjavierpena]

Gush

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Just pure filth.

Summary: Joel, your dad’s best friend, teaches you how to come with your clit untouched.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 Smut (MDNI!), dad’s best friend, daddy kink (yeah it was bound to happen), pet names, innocence kink, age gap, dirty talk, fingering, squirting, only very brief piv sex, unprotected sex

Word count: 1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48494866

Gush

You let out a frustrated groan as you look up at the ceiling, arms crossed over your chest and with the prettiest pout that Joel has ever seen displayed on anyone’s face. He sits on his knees in front of your naked body, cock heavy between his legs but with no intention of using it on you and thus making you even more bitter about the situation.

“It’s not going to happen, daddy,” you say as you avoid Joel’s soft eyes. He rubs a hand over your naked belly, skimming it across the sensitive skin below your belly button. He isn’t going to give up. 

“Well, no, not if ya don’t relax,” he says with a smug chuckle. You try to cross your legs to get him to go away, but he catches you by your ankles and places each of your feet flat on the bed again, “Stay, sweetheart. We’ll keep going until we get it right.”

You’ve been at it for what feels like hours now, but Joel hasn’t made you come yet with your clit untouched but oh, you have been on the brink so many times that your cunt is throbbing and a steadily growing pool of arousal is forming on his bedsheets. It’s beginning to feel ridiculous, especially when he bats your hand away when you try to take matters into your own hands. 

“Daddy knows exactly how you touch yourself, I don’t needa see it again,” he had told you after your third attempt to sneak a hand down to your clit. 

Now, you’ve given up coming anytime soon, but Joel is still determined as ever. He runs his thick fingers through your folds once more to slick up his fingers, then twists his wrist and inserts two fingers into your already stretched pussy. 

“You know,” you say after a soft moan, deciding to look down once again to see his digits stretch you open, “I have to be home for dinner in an hour. Dad’s lighting up the barbecue.” 

“He told me he was getting it out for the first time this summer,” he small talks back at you, curling his fingers inside of you and finding your eyes with his own, “There, yeah?”

He rubs once and you nod, moaning as he starts up a rhythm of his fingers slowly fucking against your g-spot. You shift a little, relax a bit further into the mattress and let your knees fall out to the sides. 

“Don’t think of anything from now on, just of this,” he says quietly, pumping his digits in and out of you. 

It starts out completely the same, and it’s enough to make you want to cuss at him. You know better than that though, and let out a whine, “It’s not going to work. Just rub my clit, daddy, please. It hurts now.” 

“Shut up, I got something I want to try,” he coaxes your orgasm a little further. It’s the same build-up; something pooling in the pits of your stomach and tugging from inside your womb, but God, you need that little extra thing to tip you over the edge. 

Or do you? Something changes then, and you realize that Joel’s other hand is resting just above your pubic bone. He pushes down gently and gradually speeding up his fingers, creating more pressure and friction inside of you. 

“What’re…?” You let out a gasp that even surprises yourself, your toes starting to curl and your clit starting to pulse as if begging to be paid attention to, “Touch my clit. Please, oh— f— Joel, daddy. Touch it. Keep going, no, touch it.”

“No,” he says, beckoning your orgasm closer with his fingers. He makes a come-hither motion over and over again, keeping his other hand still on your belly until he can feel his fingers moving inside your cunt, “Wanna see that cute fucking clit pulse just for me, ain’t gonna be able to see it if my fingers are on it, baby girl.”

You panic a little when a new sensation starts coming from inside of you. It’s a form of pressure that you’re familiar with but not during sex, and you start thrashing a little to get him off, “Joel! Joel, I swear, I— I’m gonna pee. If you don’t stop, I’ll… oh my God, Joel, I’m fucking serious. You’re gonna make me— make me…”

You come with a high-pitched moan as all the tension in your body snaps. Every nerve-ending in your clit is on fire with sweet contractions of pleasure, and suddenly your whole heartbeat goes straight to between your thighs as your cunt spasms from clit to slit. It wants something more though, because your legs won’t stop violently shaking, and Joel seems to know exactly what that is. 

Without saying a thing, he removes his fingers from you and you fear that you might actually have pissed his bed because, without warning, a wet gush has stained the sheets between him and you. 

His fingers enter you once more, and you’re ready to cry as he causes another gush of clear liquid to squirt onto the mattress. It feels so fucking good despite how embarrassing it feels, climax slowly fading as he repeats the move a few more times. 

You collapse completely when he finally lets go of you with both his hands. You’re panting softly into the bedroom, and he gets the shirt he had worn earlier off the floor to cover the stained sheets. 

“Holy shit, the princess squirts,” Joel laughs as he crawls on top of you, but it’s a laugh filled with wonder and excitement. He looks younger like this, you think.

He hovers above you, reaches down to guide his hard cock inside of your still sensitive cunt. Both of you gasp in unison, but you’ve never heard his voice so cocky, “You, young lady, are the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen when you come like that.” 

It’s enough to make any sense of embarrassment go away, and you can’t wait to ask him to do it again. 

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[ki-yomii]

down on you | jjk

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.5k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, pet names, mild praise kink, squirting, hair pulling, standing missionary, rough sex, porn w/ plot, mafia!jk, detective!reader, established relationship, mild angst, mild violence ➥ summary | It’s true, he owns you: blood, bones, and all. ➥ notes | the mafia!jk au no one asked for aka an excuse to write smut w/ feeling lol.

💚 masterlist | inbox | AO3 💚

On his knees staring down the barrel of a loaded gun with a mouthful of blood, he knows this is the end of the line. He’s going to die like a rat in the gutter - no mercy to be found, loopholes to exploit or bribes to be made.

This is the real deal, and there’s no coming back.

Judgement Day comes in the form of a man with dark eyes and a dangerous smirk: Golden, the deadliest guard dog of the underground.

Credited with dozens of hits, you won’t know he’s there until it’s too late. Trying to keep him pinned is like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands, or a whisper on the wind.

And you won’t know he’s coming until you feel the breath on the back of your neck, hear the crack of a bullet ringing in your ears.

Belonging to one of the most powerful men in the world: Kim Namjoon, he’s more war machine than man.

“Go ahead, do it!” He spits at Golden’s feet, a mess of blood and drool staining the crisp leather of his combat boots. “Killing me won’t change a goddamn thing.”

A coy smile tugs at Golden’s mouth, his grin all sharp teeth and violence. He stays where he stands, his silhouette haloed by distant streetlights.

Water laps at the docks, the tang of salt heavy in the mid-summer Seoul air. There’s no rush; they both know he’ll be dead and dumped just like all the rest of the garbage in this rotting city.

“Come on, you prick! Pull the fucking trigger already.”

Golden cocks his head, and hums in the back of his throat. 

“Tch! I hope you’ve got a lot of bullets - we’re gonna knock the crown off Kim’s head one way or another.”

Golden thumbs at the safety of his gun, the barrel glinting through the shadows. “Ahh, is that what you think?” He shrugs, a lazy ripple of muscle. “Well, I have to say: I’d love to see you try.”

The night is shattered by the resounding crack of a gunshot and an echoing splash of something heavy dropping into the water below.

You climb out of the nondescript government-issue car. The faintest tremble of your fingers nearly gives you away but you’re able to reign in the impulse to smooth your hands over your clothes at the last second.

Showing weakness is the last thing you need to be doing right now.

Especially here.

Right in front of where you’ve parked - shoved between two looming apartment complexes - sits a quaint, vintage building. The rough brick face is at odds with the sleek surroundings, but tinted windows keep prying eyes at bay while the classy signing hanging above the door reads The Red Bullet written in caps.

If you didn’t know better, it would be hard to believe this otherwise mundane storefront is a cover for one of the most dangerous international organizations based out of South Korea.

Not only do they hold the keys to the kingdom, but their success is largely in part because they spearhead operations from government espionage all the way to simple blackmail.

Even though it’s been several months since you darkened its doorstep, the familiar sight is enough to steal the breath from your lungs. Send your heart galloping into a tailspin as your stomach swoops.

While time away helped clear your head of stolen kisses and promises whispered in dark rooms, it also drove the longing bone deep.

In those quiet moments to yourself, when you have nothing else to distract from how lonely you are, you miss this place like one misses a limb.

You didn’t realize how attached you were to these four walls until it was too late: the hazy air filled with whorls of smoke, the overhead lights that bathe everything in red, the plush chairs you spent many nights sprawled across, the glossy black stages.

You don’t know how, you don’t know when but at some point it (he) started feeling like home. A luxury you can’t afford. Not again. After all, if you give in, any progress you made outside of his gravitational pull will be for naught.

Which puts you in a dangerous position as you find yourself back where it began; feelings at war with duty, mind vs heart. Because even if it leads you to a place you could go a million years without ever seeing again, you have to follow the trail of bodies.

A bouncer grants you access, the heavy door slamming shut behind you like a death knell as he herds you towards the back of the club.

It’s outside of official operating hours but it’s no less busy inside, men and women alike in scattered conversation as you pass through.

“It’s nice to see you again,” the bouncer murmurs, chancing a quick glance at your profile. “Been a while.”

You swallow, gaze darting down to your shoes. “Ah - yeah… Got busy with work. It’s - it’s nice to see you too.”

The small talk fizzles out, a snuffed candle as you arrive at a cordoned off room, “Here we are. Mr Kim is already expecting you.”

Any further pleasantries grow stale on your tongue as you enter the private booth, fighting against the lump in your throat to manage a hoarse ‘thank you’.

And then you find yourself left alone with the man himself, Kim Namjoon. He’s as intimidating as you remember, lounging back into the leather booth with his ankles crossed.

A lukewarm smile stretches across his lips, the slightest hint of a dimple peeking out from the valley of his cheek. Standing at attention on either side of his reposing form are two massive bodyguards. Their hands rest on the butts of their guns, daring any who enter to try and make a move.

“It’s good to see you again. But I gotta ask - what’s the occasion, Detective?” Namjoon hums. “I thought we were past all this.” He waves a nebulous hand between your bodies. “After all, you’re practically family.”

You ignore the hidden barb with a wince. “Mr Kim, you know why I’m here.”

“I used to know why a long time ago.” A well-groomed brow raises, his gaze glacial as it spears you in place. “But now I’m not so sure.”

“Please, Mr Kim. I don’t want to make this more difficult than it is. I just need to know about the man they fished out of the harbor, and then I’ll be on my way. So… who was he?”

Namjoon scoffs. “What makes you think I know more than the police?”

There’s a flash of a smirk, barely noticed, before his face returns to its neutral expression. As calm and cool as a placid river. “A john’s a john. What I do want to know is why you care so much?”

The underlying question is clear; why are you really here?

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss such matters with civillians.”

“Oh? So I’m a civilian now.” His expression is not unlike the cat that caught the canary: vicious and delighting in the discomfort his evasions are causing. “Gotta say that’s a new one for me.”

Sighing in defeat, you say, “Alright, enough. I get it. I’m wasting my time with you. Let me ask this instead: where is he?” 

“He doesn’t know any more about this than I do,” he says, waving a blase hand towards a door off to the left, “But if you insist, you can find him in the office. Oh, and Detective?”

“...Yes?”

“Take your time, I’ll be out on business all afternoon.”

With a curt nod, you flee the room amid low-throated chuckles and enter the office. Standing near the desk, his broad back turned towards the door, you find the man you simultaneously want to see the most and run from the fastest.

He turns around, the muscles of his back rippling with the movement. Your breath stutters in your chest, and you nearly swallow your tongue as your eyes trace over the cut of his body.

The moment your eyes meet, those many months spent cultivating time and distance turn to ash. You forgot how even the mere sight of him affects you, any resistance to his many charms virtually nonexistent as the world falls away.

Rich, coffee dark; his gaze sucks you in until it’s all you can do not to reach out, to brush your fingers over his edges and feel them soften beneath your palms.

Rocking back on your heels, you clear your throat and glance to the side as you remain standing in the entryway, more than a little off-kilter.

Coming back after so long apart, only to find him the same as the day you left… How do you reconcile everything that’s changed with everything that was?

“Well, hello there.” Jungkook croons, leaning his hip against the corner of the desk with a roll of his shoulders. His arms cross over the trunk of his chest, accentuating the bulk of his chest, the flex of inked bicep. “Long time no see.”

Shifting, you gulp. “Ah - yeah…”

The burn of his gaze - a palpable sensation prickling across your skin - tracks a path from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes as he gives you a thorough once-over.

“You’re looking good,” Jungkook hums in approval, “real good. I’ve missed those pretty eyes of yours.”

“You - you too.”

Your attention doesn’t know where to settle: drifting from the curve of his shoulders to the jut of his bloody knuckles, the tuck of his trim hips to the thick-soled combat boots.

Tiny hairs at the back of your neck stand on end, and your palms slick with sweat.

“I mean, you look… y’know, uh, good too.”

A flash of a crooked smirk, the raising of a pierced brow gets your blood pumping, your heart tattooing a rhythm against your ribs. Emboldens you to reach back with shaky fingers to turn the lock. The sound grates down your spine, bolts of anticipation slicing through you.

It was dumb to think coming here, seeing him again, would end any other way than his taste on your tongue and his cock in your cunt. Hope makes fools of us all.

Should’ve known better but you’d been hopeful those days were long behind you. Now you realize it was inevitable.

After all, Jungkook is magnetic.

The black hole at the center of your universe, consuming everything in its path until he’s what remains in your head, your heart. You’re helpless, ceaselessly drawn to him like a moth to flame.

And try as you might, you can’t say no to a face like that.

Never could, in fact.

Failure to extract yourself from his orbit during your not-relationship is nothing new. That doesn’t mean you can’t make it difficult.

After all, you still have some dignity intact.

So try, try, try again.

“Ahem.” You try to banish the heat from your cheeks, guiding the conversation into the correct territory. “I’m not here on a-a social call, Jeon. I need to know: were you the one that killed and dumped the john in the harbor?”

Stalking closer, a lazy jungle cat on the prowl, Jungkook crosses the distance between you. He only stops once your bodies brush with every labored inhale. Heat radiates from him, and you’re achingly aware of every point of contact.

The light scent of his cologne teases your nose, and his eyes - god, his eyes. They’re shaded and hungry, devouring your expression with single-minded possessiveness. 

“What makes you think I know anything about that?”

“Jeon -- Jungkook.”

He hums.

Your heart thrums, pulse rushing hard through your head until you feel faint, blood surging the longer you stay in close contact. The shameful clench of your cunt makes your cheeks burn all the brighter.

The last time you were looking up at him like this, his hand was on your jaw while his cock thrust balls deep.

“C’mon, you know that isn’t going to work. This is me you’re talking to, not some rookie.”

“Mm,” he purrs, “it is you I’m talking to, isn’t it?”

You manage to bite back the groan but can’t stop your eyes from rolling even if there’s the slightest hint of a stutter when you reply, “Please, I just need to know if you killed him.”

Jungkook looms tall and proud, crowding closer. “And if I did, baby?” he asks.

Instinctively you back up, only to be followed step by step. A game of cat and mouse that finds you pinned against the wall before long. With nowhere to run, you watch, heart in your throat, as Jungkook dips his dark head.

His nose runs along the length of your neck, breath puffing across your sensitive skin as he inhales the pleasant scent of your perfume.

“I - I…”

“Would you see me in handcuffs?” His lips caress the underside of your jaw, a soft groan escaping him. “… C’mon, answer me. Would you?”

“I would - if I had to.”

As much as you wish that was true, you know in your heart of heart's you would do everything in your power to make sure that never happens.

No matter how much you like to think you’d do the right thing when push comes to shove, you’d choose him a thousand times over.

His eyes dance playfully. “Careful, I might like it.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” you say with a snort.

Jungkook chuckles low and warm, using the arm around your waist to tug you into the safety of his body. The softness of your breasts presses into the hard planes of his chest, your nipples pebbling through the thin cotton shirt you wear.

With a deep-throated groan, his hands encircle the curves of your hips as a thickly muscled thigh slots between yours.

An answering quiet sigh gets his blood pumping and his cock twitching.

“Mm, something tells me you’d enjoy it just as much, Detective.”

The use of your title is a rude awakening.

“Jungkook,” You warn, moving to push him away. Only once you start touching him, you can’t stop. His muscles flex beneath your curious fingertips. “We really shouldn’t.”

You’re sure if he could, Jungkook would spend days worshipping between your thighs, velvet heat wrapped around his tongue and hands in his hair as he brings you to peak again and again until you’re a sobbing, sopping, boneless mess beneath him.

“Come on, I know you want me - that you’ve missed me. I can see it in your eyes.”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, tongue flickering out for a brief taste before a rough thumb skates across your bottom lip, tugging down to expose your teeth, the glitter of your tongue as it darts out to flick over the pad of his finger..

“I’ve certainly missed you, baby. Want me to show you?”

Even though you refuse to admit anything out loud, you can’t help but angle your throat back and grind into his hips pressed against yours.

Jungkook tsks, “That’s alright. I’ll get that pretty mouth open one way or another.”

Before you can retort, a mouth swoops down to fuse with yours in a fierce, all-consuming kiss. A low, broken moan punches from your chest.

Reaching up, your fingers sink into the mane of dark hair that brushes the cut of Jungkook’s jaw. Soft, thick, and wavy in your grip; you tug at the roots.

Jungkook hisses. 

Teeth nip at your lip, kittenish licks soothing away the string as blood bursts across your tongues. The thigh shoved between yours grinds up with every wet, sloppy pass of your lips.

Thick muscle spreads your pussy open through the thin slacks of your work uniform. Sparks of pleasure dance down your spine with every rock against your swollen clit.

“S-Shit!” Your shoulders curl in, a shudder jerking through you. “K-Kook, I… !”

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me.” Jungkook growls, rutting his cock against the jut of your hip. The wet patch you’re making on his jeans grows larger with every filthy grind. “You’ve been gone too fucking long. Never again, you hear me?”

You claw at his shoulders, stuttering out, “there’s noth-ing you can do t’stop me.”

“If you don’t come back to me,” his eyes are dark and stormy, voice whiskey rough, “I’ll find you.”

It’s not a threat - it’s a promise.

“Then make sure I never want to leave,” you challenge breathlessly, staring into his blown out pupils, “Make me want to stay.”

Above all else, you think.

The words are barely past your lips when Jungkook accepts your challenge with gusto (just like you knew he would). Without delay, he thumbs open the button on your pants.

Refusing to let you look away, Jungkook yanks them to your feet and swings you up into his arms one-handed. They hang from your ankle like a chain.

Your surprised squeak is quickly swallowed up by a moan when he settles you over the bulge in his pants, your cunt hovering over his erection.

The heat of his skin sinks through the thin cotton of your panties, so, so close to where you need him. Slick soaks into the fabric, and clings to your inner thighs.

Every shift is a smooth, sticky glide of folds that stirs, and stokes the ember of desire smoldering behind your navel.

“Kook,” you breathe. “Please.”

Your head rolls back, and you sag into his chest. Your hips twitch in pathetic little attempts, trying to get pressure where you need it. Having him hot and hard and all for you; any distance between you is suddenly unbearable.

He needs to spread you wide and stuff you full with every inch of his thick cock until he’s so deep you won’t be able to walk for days.

“Shh baby, I’ll give you what you want,” he says, gaze heavy and possessive. “I’m gonna ruin you so good, you’ll have no choice but to come back. You’re mine.”

“Says who?”

“Hmm. You don’t think you are?”

Nibbling on your ear, Jungkook slips a finger under the hem of your panties. He smirks when you keen, rubbing his knuckle up and down your sloppy folds with teasing pressure.

“How about I show you what your body already knows?”

Wasting no time, he lifts you off his cock, the scrap of cloth fluttering to the ground. His free hand dives between your bodies. Then comes the clink of a belt, the sound of a zipper pulling down.

Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, your body coiled with anticipation as your stomach swoops at the brush of his fingers along the underside of your thigh.

“Look so pretty like this, baby.” Jungkook twists his wrist, hips arching back. “And it’s all for me. Fuck, I can’t wait to get inside this pretty pussy.”

Any response dies on your tongue, brain short-circuiting as the slick, fat cockhead rubs along your slit. Pressing against your entrance the slightest bit before slipping up to nudge at your clit - coating himself up in your sticky juices.

The ultimate tease - something Jungkook’s always been overly fond of doing until you’re out of your mind with desperation.

“Please, please, please,” you chant, cheeks on fire and eyes half-lidded as you circle your hips. “Stop playing around. I want it - want you, Kook.”

“Oh, baby,” he smiles, ducking down to kiss your forehead. “You’ll take whatever I give you.”

You can’t stifle the broken sob, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. Liquid fire surges through your veins, a thousand bolts of lightening crackling beneath the surface of your skin. Your pussy is tender, swollen. Walls fluttering in time with your heartbeat. 

“Ha, you’re so needy for me.”

Jungkook’s lips brush away the moisture around your eyes, his thumb drawing soothing circles into the base of your spine. All the while, his torturous grinding never ceases.

“Aren’t you?”

You croak, “I can’t – Kook, please. Anything, I’ll do anything you want just fuck me.”

The flash of his eyes is your only warning before he’s right there, your walls embracing the girth of his erection inch by inch. Every ridge, every jerk as he seats himself as deep inside your silken heat as he can is absolute heaven.

The stretch as you take him to the hilt sends you careening towards the edge, eyes rolling back and toes curling in your shoes.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” you whimper.

“Shit!” Jungkook grits his teeth, squeezing the base of his cock as you tighten  around him. With every deep inhale, his pelvis brushes your swollen, needy clit. “Forgot how good you feel wrapped around my dick, baby.”

“Me too,” You gasp, tightening your legs around Jungkook’s hips.”Me too, Kook.”

Dropping his forehead to yours, he says gruffly, “‘m not gonna last long.”

Making a noise of acknowledgement, you wiggle your hips. Sinking your teeth into the side of Jungkook’s jaw, you bite and suck at his skin, wanting to leave a mark to remember you by. His reaction is instantaneous, releasing the grip on his shaft to grab a fist full of hair.

He yanks back.

The long, elegant line of your throat is exposed to his butterfly kisses and scolding love bites.

“Now you’ve really asked for it,” Jungkook huffs out with a dirty chuckle.

“Then give it to me.” You lick your puffy lips, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. “Show me who I belong to.”  

The brewing hurricane in his eyes is unleashed. Wide palms and strong fingers grip your hips so tight you feel bones grind together. His stance widens, his unwavering gaze locking onto your face, brow pinched, and mouth slack.

His lip piercing glints in the light, his tongue sliding out to wet his bottom lip. Dark curls tussle about his head, a wild halo that sweeps down into the burning umber of his eyes.

Helpless, you succumb - enchanted by the darkness peering at you from behind those dangerous eyes. He’s ethereal; a siren song that threatens to drown you, swallow you whole.

You’d happily let him, you realize with a shiver.

It’s true, he owns you: blood, bones, and all.

“Hold on tight,” Jungkook says, hooking his hands under your bottom. 

And then, he’s jackhammering into your cunt so hard and fast all you can do is hold on for the ride. Punch drunk and moaning as he manhandles you how he likes, spreads you wide and stuffs you full until you’re panting for breath and clinging to sanity by your fingernails.

“Fuck yes, that’s it. Look how well your pretty pussy always takes my fat cock.”

His low voice whispering filthy praises in your ear makes you whimper, whine, and writhe as the band of pleasure coiling tight in your belly comes close to snapping. It’s the fastest he’s ever fucked an orgasm out of you, and it feels so good you don’t even care.

The pace is brutal, slamming into you so hard you’re sure you’ll have bruises on your hips come morning. But it’ll be so fucking worth it. You’re going to cum hard and long, you just know it.

About to melt as Jungkook fucks the slick out of you, groaning as you drip down the base of his cock, his balls - his very own pretty little mess.

“Yeah, you gonna cum, baby?” he laughs, pressing a sweaty kiss to the side of your face. “Can feel how - haaah shit - how tight you’re squeezing me.”

“Uh-huh,” you cry, holding onto the tops of his wide shoulders. Every thrust has his cockhead dragging over the spongy patch of your g-spot, sending fissions of pleasure rocketing through your nervous system. “So - so close, baby. Just a little more, I--”

Balancing yourself, you lift up only to slam back down, meeting Jungkook’s thrust with all the force of gravity. “Oh fuck, oh fuck!”

Crashing over you like a tsunami, your orgasm shoots through your limbs and zips down your spine. A warm rush of cum soaks Jungkook’s shaft, the wet and messy sound of your squirt splashing against the floor secondary to the cry that claws its way out of your throat.

“K-Kook!”

Jungkook grunts, his fingers digging into the fat of your hips as he helps you keep bouncing up and down on his erection. “Yeah, that’s it - keep going, baby. Wanna feel you keep cumming all over this cock.”

Aftershocks slice through you like lightning, tiny jolts of electricity. As you come down from your high, your gummy walls pulse, milking at Jungkook’s thick shaft.

He groans softly whenever your muscles tense, release; your body a worn-out rubber band as your breath stutters from you.

Then a hand pets down your flank, your skin shivering with hypersensitivity at the tender touch. “S’okay. Just breathe, baby.”

Peeling open your heavy eyes, you look up at his face. Take in the crinkle of his brow and the ravenous expression. Even floating on a sea of bliss, white noise fills your ears, you want more.

You slur, determined, “Kook, baby, please. Cum in me, want you s’bad.”

“Fuck! Can’t just say shit like that to me or I…” Jungkook bites down onto the tender crook of your neck, muffling his grunts in your flesh. “Shit - ’m so --”

You cry out, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders, “A-haah, K-Kook!”

Snapping his hips forward one last time, Jungkook grinds as deep as he can get and lets go. The fat head of his cock kisses your cervix, his length throbbing in time with his heartbeat as a rush of cum floods your insides.

“Yeah, just like that,” he grunts, rutting once - twice into the cradle of your body, “take it like a good girl.”

He croons when you whine at the press of his pelvis against your oversensitive clit. Thready sparks of pain shoot down your legs that hang limply over his forearms. Every breath stutters from your lungs, slow and deep.

“No more, can’t - can’t…” Shifting, you arch your spine and burrow your head into his chest, nearly catatonic in his arms. “S’too much.”

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Fingers brush over your closed eyelids, smoothing over the arch of your brow. With every kiss dropped to the top of your head, he mumbles in dulcet tones, “I really have missed you, you know.”

You mewl in response as strong fingers knead the backs of your thighs.

“You’re not allowed to go anywhere.”

“Oh,” you can’t muster up enough energy to say anything more, body tender and trembling with little aftershocks, “s’that right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” He chuckles. “You’re staying here - right where I want you.”

In lieu of a response, you pick your head up off the pillow of his chest and seek out his gaze. Liquid soft; he’s looking at you like you hung the world on a string.

“I’ve missed you too, Kook,” you say with a gentle smile.

You’ll allow yourself this moment of weakness when there’s no space between your bodies or hearts. Titles don’t matter much when he’s cradling you to his chest like a piece of precious china.

Between the two of us, you’re the one who hung the moon and stars, you think while combing back his sweaty bangs.

And I think I love you, you whisper voiceless against his lips.

[kennahjune]

Steddie

I’m joining the s3 steddie train :D

…

Steve was late. He was so late and so dead. Robin was going to kill him— he’d never make it out of Scoops Ahoy alive.

This was his thought process after dropping Will Lucas and Max off at Mikes. This was also his thought process the entirety of the way to Scoops while he shoved his way through the mall.

The moment he entered the small shop Robins eyes locked on him in a glare. Steve barely gave her a second before he was going to the back room to get ready for his shift.

He heard the back room door open behind him.

“You’re—“

“24 minutes late I know,” he said as calmly as he could while trying to relax his breathing.

“Yeah and—“

“And you get an extra 25 minutes for your break, yes Robin I know!”

Steve finally closed his employee cubby and turned to look at Robin. “Look. Im sorry I was so late today but Will, Lucas and Max are assholes when they’re being petty and they needed a ride to Mikes cause all the others were busy! I’ll take closing shift today to if you’re really that mad.”

Robin stared at him angrily from the doorway. “Fine.” She uncrossed her arms. “And yes, you will be taking the closing shift tonight. I have a study date with a friend that I can’t miss.”

“It’s summer vacation?”

“Shut up!”

Steve shrugged when the door closed.

He closed the door to his employee locker with a little more force than necessary. He had a migraine building and the bright, florescent lights of the mall weren’t helping in the slightest.

He walked out and began his shift.

…

Eddie wanted to enjoy his day off. Preferably by himself. But Gareth and Jeff decided that his personal life was their personal life. So here they were.

He had wanted to spend the day away from the mall, considering that that was where everyone seemed to be nowadays. But the guys were insistent.

So they were walking around. It wasn’t too bad, considering Eddie had gotten himself a new record and tape with his newest paycheck. They were sitting at the fountain when Gareth shouted right in Eddie’s ear:

“HOLY SHIT!”

Eddie just about punched him with how hard he jumped. Jeff spit out his Pepsi all over Eddie.

While Eddie was worrying about getting the sticky drink off of his skin, Gareth continued with; “is that HARRINGTON in Scoops?”

Well. Now he has Eddie’s attention.

Sure enough, just in Eddie’s line of sight, was Steve Harrington in a sailors uniform and a dorky hat.

A dorky hat that was soon snatched up by his current customer, Billy Hargrove.

Jeff clapped him on the shoulder and leaned over him to get a better view. “Is that Hargrove?”

“Yep.” Eddie popped the P.

“It looks like he’s messing with Harrington.”

“Yep.” Another pop on the P.

“And Harrington looks like he’s gonna fucking explode.”

Eddie agreed. Harrington was red in the face and not in the cute blushy-way he usually gets (don’t ask why Eddie knows that). He was talking back to Hargrove, probably something bitchy and sarcastic in typical Harrington-fashion based on the way Hargrove seemed to recoil for a moment before jumping back.

“Should we do something?” Gareth asked skeptically. Jeff shrugged where he was pressed against Eddie’s back.

“I’m going in.” Eddie stood and nearly knocked Jeff down in the process.

“Hang on—“

“Nope! Wish me luck, boys!” Eddie yelled over his shoulder while he dashed over. He heard them both get up and follow him.

…

Steve wanted to cry.

His head hurt so fucking bad and his back was killing him and he had ran into a shelf earlier and had a killer bruise on his arm and leg from it and everything was too fucking much.

Then, in all his asshole and dick glory, in came Billy Hargrove.

At this point, Steve would rather take another plate to the head then have to deal with his annoyingly aggravating voice. Hargrove came in, probably expecting Robin to be there, but got Steve instead. And honestly Steve would rather deal with him then leave Robin with him.

So he’s been enduring it, giving his own comments and comebacks but overall hating his life and just wanting to curl up and die.

Then his savior showed up. In all his black leather and chains, Eddie fucking Munson.

Hallelujah.

Hargrove seemed to back down the moment Munson showed up. Which wasn’t too strange considering that Munson supplied over half of Hawkins’ weed supply. Including Steve’s own for a while. He hasn’t bought in a while cause of the brat brigade.

But not the point.

Hargrove nodded to Munson. “Munson.”

Wow. Real cool, Billy. Steve held back a snicker.

“Heeyyy, Hargrove!” Munson cheerily greeted. But there was something about his smile that was off, to Steve. It seemed tighter than usual, his eyes not crinkling with the motion like normal. Don’t ask why Steve knows this.

Munson’s eyes seemed darker, too. Like he was angry. Maybe Hargrove didn’t pay him? Steve couldn’t bother to care with how bad his head started to pound.

He shouldn’t be at work with this migraine. He knows that. His doctor’s told him this multiple times. But he owes it to Robin for being late so much and he needs to prove to his dad that he can take care of himself.

“So what brings you here, Billy?” Munson asks casually, stepping farther into the shop. Steve seems to finally be forgotten about, and he places his head down on the counter. The cooled surface definitely helps with the spinning room.

He hears Hargrove say something back, but he isn’t paying attention anymore. His eyes are stating to go blurry and he really needs to sit down. But then Munson says something that catches his attention:

“Just leave Harrington alone, man. Last I checked he did nothing to you.”

What the hell? Steve wished he could lift his head and see what Munson was doing. What he looked like when he said that. If he looked as mean as he sounded.

Steve only lifts his head a few moments later when he feels a hand on his back. He shoots up quicker than he intends, and nearly falls back down if not for the hands still holding him up.

“Shit,” he grumbles quietly to himself, whining even quieter at the sudden rush of pain and the black dots in his vision.

“Easy there, your highness.” Munson.

Steve blinks slowly, letting Munson set him down in a booth. He doesn’t remember walking over but he’ll take it. He puts his head back down and intertwines his fingers behind his head. He groans quietly again, the pounding slowly receding.

“Hey man, is there something we could do? Do you need anything?” He heard Munson ask.

We? Steve wants to ask, but finds himself not caring. “Water, and my bag from the back please,” he rasps out. Talking makes the pounding worse.

He hears someone rush off to the back and a moment later a hands on his back again and is helping him sit up.

“Here ya go sweetheart.” Munson slides the glass of water and bag over to him.

Steve silently reaches into his bag and pulls out his small “to-go” med-kit. He carries it around mainly for the kids. Mike tends to be clumsier than he comes off as and Max is always trying out some new skateboarding tricks. From inside the kit he pulls out a pill bottle and swallows 2 with the water and goes for another 2 before a hand stops him.

“I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to take more than 2.” This voice is new but familiar. Steve squints past the blurriness and makes out someone he recognizes from school; Gareth Emerson.

“4,” Steve manages past the lump in his throat. Munson, Emerson, and someone else Steve doesn’t quite know look at him. Munson continues to hold Steve’s hand on the table, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. It weirdly intimate but the comfort is very welcome.

“4 what?” The other guy asks.

“4 pills. I usually take 4.”

Munson and Emerson both wince. The third guy looks at him like he’s insane. Steve finally recognizes him as Jeff,… something. He actually never got his last name.

“Dude— are you trying to overdose!?”

Steve winced at the sudden loudness, whining quietly. Munson shushed Jeff and Steve heard him rush out an apology.

The bell over the door dinged at that moment, and Steve found himself face to face with Max, Mike, Will, Lucas, and— for some reason— Jonathan.

“Uh— hi?” Steve attempted for a greeting.

“‘Hi!?’” Mike yelled. “Hi yourself man! We called your walkie at least 4 times!! What the hell?”

“Are you ok? Why didn’t you answer?” Will asked in a much quieter tone.

Lucas and Max wasted no time before slotting themselves in the booth with Steve. Munson remained across from Steve, and Emerson and Jeff now hovered farther away, but Lucas slid right in next to Munson and Max next to Steve.

“What the fuck, Harrington?” Max demanded. But she clung to his shirt tightly.

“Language, Mayfield,” he reprimanded quietly.

Mike paused where he stood. “Why are you talking so quietly? Shit— do you have a migraine?”

Suddenly 4 pairs of little eyes were gazing at him with unmasked concern. Holy shit was this overwhelming.

“Guys—“

“Why didn’t you say that, Steve?” Lucas asked.

“Are you ok? How long has it been going on for? Asked Will.

“Why are even here if you’re not able to function properly?” Mike reprimanded in his own caring-ness.

Max clutched to him tighter. “Why aren’t you at home? You could’ve called in sick or something!”

“Shhh!” Mike shushed her.

“Don’t shush me—“

“Shut up!” He whisper shouted. “You have to be quiet and try to control your temperature while resting in a dark, quiet room to try and help with migraines. Pain killers help to but no more than 3.”

Everyone stared at him. He went a little pink under the sudden attention.

“Nancy gets migraines a lot from reading in the dark.”

Jonathan came over right then. Steve was suddenly overwhelmed by all the people surrounding him.

“Uhm—“

“Hey,” Munson called. Steve forgot about him for a good moment. “This is cute and all, but maybe we should not surround him? Poor boy looks like he’s gonna cry.”

Everyone turned to look at him. Tears had— in fact— sprung to his eyes.

“Sorry!” All the kids rushed out quietly at the same time. Max climbed out of the booth and Munson and Jonathan both assisted with helping Steve to the break room. Jeff and Emerson stayed with the kids, but Mike came with them since he seemed to know what he was doing better than the 3 of them.

On their way back to the room though, Steve’s legs nearly gave out from under him. Shit. It’s one of those days. Munson just barely managed to catch him under the armpits while Jonathan got him by the waist.

“Woah there, sweetheart.” Munson grunted.

“Careful, Steve,” Jonathan said quietly.

“Sorry. Spinning.” Steve exhaled shakily.

Mike came rushing back after realized they weren’t with him. “Damn. Spinning? Are you able to walk? Or are they gonna have to carry you?”

Jonathan looked up at the mention of having to carry Steve. “Yeah— I’m not able to carry him. I am so not strong enough for that.” He had the decency to look apologetic.

Munson chuckled quietly and the sound reverberated through his chest where Steve’s head was. It was soothing.

“Don’t worry Big Byers. I’ve got him no problem.”

Steve was given no warning before he was being picked up in a bridal carry. He winced sharply and laid his head on Munson’s shoulder. Jonathan whistled lowly from somewhere beside them and Steve blindly kicked his leg in his direction, scoring in kicking him in the arm. Jonathan snickered.

…

When Munson chased off Hargrove he didn’t expect for Harrington to all but collapse in on himself and try to fucking overdose on like 5 pain killers. He also hadn’t expected to be bombarded by 4 kids and 1 Jonathan Byers. Least of all did he expect to be carrying Harrington bridal style to the break room of Scoops Ahoy.

Somewhere behind him, Gareth turned the sign on the door to closed. Eddie silently thanked him.

The kid— who he vaguely remembers as Nancy Wheeler’s younger brother— opens the door and startles a half asleep Robin Buckley.

“Hello,” Jonathan throws her way before pulling a chair out for Eddie to sit on.

“Uh— hi? What the hell—“

Eddie takes the seat with Harrington in his lap. Robin looks dumbfounded.

“Migraine,” Jonathan helpfully supplies.

“Really, really bad migraine. Vertigo included. Full package tonight, folks.” Mike adds.

“Ok— um, is he ok? He doesn’t look ok. If it was so bad why didn’t he just call in sick?”

“That’s a good question,” Mike retorts quietly while rooting around in a freezer.

“What are you looking for”, Robin asks.

“Ice pack. The dumbass has everything in that first aid kit of his except a damn ice pack.”

“Language,” Harrington reprimanded quietly from where his cheek was against Eddie’s chest. Eddie chuckled quietly when Mike retorted with a half-assed “sorry”.

Eddie couldn’t help but admire the now sleeping Harrington in his lap. He bent in half like a shrimp, his knees just about to his chest, and his hands gripping tightly onto Eddie’s still-Pepsi-soaked t-shirt. But he looked so at peace while asleep. Like he hadn’t just had the worst migraine Eddie’s ever seen and wasn’t just about to pass out on his feet. Eddie smiled.

Mike comes over silently, managing to sneak up on Eddie and make him jump slightly and causing Harrington to whine. He’d been whining a lot today. And under “different circumstances” Eddie would’ve found it hot as fuck.

“Sorry,” Mike whispered. He seemed to be able mellow out a lot when he actually tried. He seemed like such an asshole out at the booth but now he seems quieter. These kids really cared about Harrington, huh?

“Here.” Jonathan helped him out and gently picked up Harrington’s head. Eddie caught Harrington actually kind of leaning into his touch. A strange but endearing friendship. Mike placed the ice pack— now wrapped in a cloth— on Eddie’s chest where Harrington’s head lays.

Harrington lays back down and is out like a light soon enough.

Eddie zoned out until there’s a very, very soft knock on the door. When he looks up, Jonathan is letting the other 3 kids in while Jeff and Gareth stand in the doorway.

“Is he ok?” Asks Jonathan’s little brother.

Jonathan nods and pats his head. “He’s ok, Will.”

The redhead walks over and takes a silent seat next to Eddie so she’s next to Harrington. She takes Harrington’s hand in hers and proceeds to just sit there and hold it.

“He’s ok, Max. Just a migraine,” the third kid, Lucas he thinks, reassures with a hand on Max’s shoulder.

“That’s what he said before. And then he was in the hospital.”

Woah, what?

“Hm?” Lucas looks at him.

Oh. He said that aloud.

“Wait what?” Robin asked quietly.

Jonathan’s whistled lowly. It seems to be a bit of a tic for him. “Yeah uh— funny story. Hargrove broke a plate over Steve’s head last year and nobody realized how bad it actually was until he passed out after claiming it was only a migraine.”

“He ended up in the hospital for like 2 weeks,” added Lucas.

“He needed several stitches on the side of his head.” Max unhappily supplied. Lucas squeezed her shoulder.

“It was a stage 4 concussion,” muttered Will and Mike put his head on his shoulder.

Eddie caught Gareth and Jeff’s eyes across the break room. Huh.

The Will kid came up to Eddie suddenly. “Thank you. For uh— helping with Steve. It means a lot to us. He means a lot to us.”

Mike, Max, and Lucas all nodded.

“Hang on,” Lucas piped up. “Who are you?”

…

So uh— set myself up for a part 2 there :’D

Part 2

[arminsumi]

SANCTUARY

💗 GOJO さとる

warnings : angst, some fluff (?), satoru is such an asshole on the exterior 🥹, not proofread

the strongest... falling in love with the weakest. he's bullied n teased u about being the weakest, a weakling; "how did they let someone like you into jujutsu tech?"

he's so mean and condescending. he trails alongside u on missions. he asks "hey, bet you missed me" when he intrudes on missions that you very nearly had under control. he watches you from the bleachers as you hopelessly practice martial arts with suguru. he steals your quiz papers when the teacher isn't looking.

but of course... he has ulterior motives. his exterior is just a big act, he's really just a teenager who belongs in the drama club.

he's sticking to ur side during missions to protect ur "stupid weak ass". he's always popping his face into a scene to make sure that curse doesn't escape, cuz otherwise he has to listen to you getting another reprimanding from yaga. satoru's the one who asked suguru to teach you martial arts every day, encouraging his best friend to grill the movements into your brain. and he steals your quiz papers to quickly rub out all the wrong answers you filled in, and correct them so that tomorrow you're met with a baffling A* grade.

he's doing everything he can to keep you from being expelled.

yet he stands in front of you, hands lazing in his pockets, taunting you about being a shorty who can't fight for shit. "you're one of those fucking weaklings i have to protect..." he says bitterly, through gritted teeth... but he doesn't mean it how you interpret it. he's so upset with the world, and how he has to work hard to protect someone who deserves to be born into an idyllic paradise.

when you're making that defeated frown, looking helpless on the floor after losing to a curse, he glares over and yells "what are you doing... get up." and he forces you to get on your feet.

he's confusing, isn't he? how he tells you in the school corridors on hot summer days, "you're too weak to fight for yourself." and then when you're unconscious after encountering a special-grade, he clutches your body protectively and sobs, "are you crazy? why wouldn't you call me... hey, keep your eyes open..." he's furrowing his brows at you, expression angry not because you're weak... but because this world treats frail people terribly and he hates it with all his soul. he doesn't want to see you fighting. he doesn't want to see you practicing jujutsu. he doesn't want you to ever see another curse's morbid face again.

he's determined to turn the world into a sanctuary for you. that's what he puts in his wedding vows to you, when the two of you reach the age of 25. and he doesn't break it, he doesn't falter, he always keeps good pace and drains and exhausts himself in order to mold the shape of the world to fit someone as soft as you.

"i can't believe something as soft as you was given to me from such a hard world."

i'm gonna make it better, baby. i'm gonna build a new world for you. one that doesn't try to hurt us. until i can achieve that goal, i hope my embrace can act as your sanctuary.

[igotanidea]

Somebody's watching me : AK!Jason x reader

Request: AK! jason hears y/n’s name from his opponent and just goes nuts like he goes home looking for her.

A/N : the requests is a little twisted, as usual, but I hope you'll still like it anon :D

***

It was gone.

His old life was gone.

And with it, everyone he knew before.

All that was left was revenge, hate, rage. And this unstoppable need for killing someone, destroy something, wreck havoc on every single person who did him any wrong.

Bruce.

Fucking Batman.

He was the Arkham Knight now.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Focused on building his position so that no one, no fucking one, would ever hold any power over him.

And if that meant keeping tabs on everyone under his watchful gaze so be it.

And if that meant putting some pressure on everyone who dared to do as much as step a toe over the line, so be it.

And disturbances?

Defnitely not something he was about to allow.

And now he was holding a gun to one of his goons head.

"What did you do?" he hissed, his voice distorted by the helmet

"Sir, I --"

"What did you do?" Jason repeated pressing the metal more into man's head.

"I-- I disobeyed--"

"You disobeyed. And do you know what happens to people who disobey me?"

"Sir, please this is--"

Jason shot in the air and the man almost fell to his feet.

"It was-"

"I'm not going to give a warning shot again"

"I was-"

"I'm gonna count to three now. One."

"There's this girl."

"Two."

"Her name is Y/N."

"thr-- what?"

"She is very distant family, but --"

"Shut up!" Jason yelled, his face twisted with rage, not that anyone could see his expression hidden under the metal. "Shut the fuck up you hear me!" it took him two steps to be in front of the man, yanking him up by the collar and pinning to the wall with brutal force, half-chocking him "you ever do as much as think her name again and I'll kill you and put your head on a stick as a warning to anyone who dare have a thought of himself. YOU HEAR ME!?"

"y-ye-yes..."

"now get the fuck out of here!" the man was violently thrown on the floor, getting up as fast as he could and rushing out the door. It was truly a miracle he lived to tell the tale, cause Arkham Knight was not known for his leniency.

But Y/N.

Someone from his past.

More than someone.

A girl, a woman, he was once in love with.

A woman, whose name he forgot in the pursuit after Batman.

Or rather - tried to forget.

She was the only one who ever got him. The only one to accept him fully, with all his flaws.

His Y/N.

His Y/N who betrayed him just like anyone else. Who forgot him. Who moved on without giving as much as a single thought to him when he was lost. Who was never looking for him.

His Y/N.

It;s been years since he heard anyone mention her. Years since he swore to never get manipulated again.

And then.

Just a few letters mixed together. Just a few sounds.

And she was right behind his eyes, just like he remembered her. Because even his dark side refused to let go of the rememberance of their time together.

Her laugh. Her smile. Her eyes and freckles from the sun, as fleeting as the summer days they were spending together. Her calmness, care and tenderness when she was patching up his woudns, tiredlessly putting on bandaids and stitches.

Fuck!

He didn't need that.

Just another phase of brainwashing. If not from his capturers than from his own men.

Hell no.

He was going to say no to the past life once and for all.

Hunting her down, wherever she may be.

See her for the last time.

Pour hatred in his heart, destroying all the remaining piece of useless softness and caring he carried in his soul.

Burn the last link connecting him to the past down.

***

She was spending the night in her old apartment. Sitting by the same desk, with the same lamp, in the same posture she ever did.

One leg half bent and folded under her ass, the other hanging loose in the air.

"You're going to end up with numbness..." he muttered to himself, watching her from the opposite rooftop.

Obviously she couldn;t hear him, but something made her raise her head and look outside the window while simultaniously changing the position.

Jason smiled despite himself.

His heart skipped a beat and sudden warmth spread in his chest.

Only for a second though, since he rememembered why he was here in the first place.

Look at her.

So fucking good.

So fucking calm and happy, while he-

fuck!

traitorous bitch.

Maybe it was her plan from the very beggining. Conspiring with Batman only to get rid of him, so they could both be free of the burdening presence of a man once known as Jason Todd.

Y/N...

Regardless of how sweet her name may have tasted on his tongue he would rather cut it off than fall down that rabit hole again.

He was cold as ice. Brutal. Cruel. Ruthless.

And it was not going to change because he saw her.

Not in the million years.

She was the reason of his fallout. She should have stopped him from going on that stupid mission. She should have made him stay, showed him she cared enough to keep him grounded.

It was all her fault that that after being captured all he could think about was how she was going to survive without him. How her heart would break into million pieces, instead of figuring out a way to free himself.

It was all her fault that he became the Arkham Knight. Cause inhumanity was equal with survival. And survival meant living. And living meant keeping his legacy.

So yes, he hated her.

He hated her, because every single thing he did and every little thing done to him was because and thanks to her.

She was the reason of him getting on top, but also the person responsible for his failure as a person.

She was nothing.

She was everything.

And for the first time since capturing, torturing and tranformation Jason felt conflicted.

Y/N...

His Y/N...

Not his anymore...

***

When some force made her stand up and come to window all she saw was a blink of metal on the rooftop. And since she spend half of her life with vigilantes, it was easy to realise that this must have been one of them.

But the silhouette of a running man couldn;t have been Dick nor Tim nor any other hero she would recognise.

And despite herself, she felt a shiver running down her spine.

Someone was watching her.

[hqbaby]

six — i believe you

mess it up — gojo x reader & sukuna x reader

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

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 1.7k content. profanity, sukuna is a little gross, reader’s a bit of a menace

Satoru had heard about you. You had cultivated the perfect image for the public, the diligent, hardworking, sweet girl on the tennis team who had a smile for everyone. Most of them loved you, and those who didn’t were apparently only one conversation with you away from falling head over heels. He’d heard about you, but he didn’t buy it.

He had quite a reputation himself. Some kind of golden boy, a god among mere mortals. But he was well-aware that the whole facade was built on a few bouts of witticism, a few flirtatious jokes, a steady stream of good grades, and nothing more. People liked to believe in the idea of someone, so he never really bought the idea of you.

Until he saw it for himself.

He and Suguru had spent the morning on the basketball court. They’d been on a week-long bender of parties, nights out, and copious amounts of alcohol. Classes were starting up again in a few days and they decided they needed a reset. Get some fresh air. Touch some grass.

They were heading to the locker room when they passed by the tennis court. There was a small crowd gathered, mostly children who couldn’t have been older than ten—and you.

Satoru knew what you looked like. He’d seen you from across the hallway, a few tables away in the cafeteria, on the walkways between buildings. Friends had pointed you out on occasion, launching into gossip about the people you turned down, the matches you’d won over the weekend.

But when he saw you there, right beneath the blazing heat of the last bits of summer sun, crouched in front of a kid who was crying, holding a broken racket, he couldn’t help but think that you looked different. Better than how most people described you. 

Absolutely beautiful.

He must’ve looked stupid when he suddenly came to a stop on the other side of the fence. But he didn’t care. He was watching an angel come down to earth.

You were nodding as the kid cried, explaining what had happened to his racket. When he was done, you ruffled his hair and offered him the gentlest of smiles. You walked over to a bench, took out a racket from a bag, and handed it to the boy.

The kid’s eyes were wide. “But this is yours!” he said, holding the thing in his hands like it was made of gold. “I can’t use this.”

“Who says?” you told the kid playfully, patting him on the back as you steered him in the direction of the other children. “Come on, we’re here to have fun.”

“What are you doing?” Suguru snickered behind him. “You know, watching little kids is creepy. Just saying.”

Satoru shoved his best friend and shushed him. “Will you be quiet for once in your life?”

Suguru slung his arm around his shoulder and sighed. “You’re not gonna get her, you know,” he said. “Many have tried. None have succeeded.”

“Oh, yeah?” Satoru said, walking away. He glanced back at you one more time. You were standing now, calmly telling the kids not to whack each other with balls. “Watch me.”

“I don’t get it.”

Sukuna trails behind you as you load the grocery cart with boxes of Capri-Sun. The thing is already half-full with loaves of sliced bread, deli meat, and an assortment of vegetables. All of this, he decides, is worth more than what he spends on groceries in a week.

“I told you not to come,” you remind him. “You can fuck off if you want.”

You almost lose your balance as you lift a 24-pack of bottled water, but Sukuna’s quick to grab the thing from your arms and set it down with the rest of the groceries.

He smirks at you, grabbing the handle of the cart before you can get to it. “I dunno, tiger, seems like you need me here.”

You flip him off and march down the aisle to grab a few more things.

“You’re not even getting paid to do this,” he tells you. “Why are you putting so much effort into these kids?”

You shrug, leading him to the register. “They need to eat.”

“Their parents can feed them.”

“Some of them don’t.”

That shuts him up for once.

Sukuna has never questioned the fact that you’re a way better person than he is. He’s known you since high school, he’s watched you volunteer your afternoons to tutor elementary kids, seen you go out of your way to make sure your teachers got the best Christmas gifts, been with you as you attempted to make cupcakes for school bake sales. 

He always brushed it off as things you did to pad your resume, but he always knew it had something to do with you having better intentions than him.

This weekend gig of yours that you started in your second year of college is just another thing on your long list of “good deeds” that Sukuna keeps track of in his head. But he never realized how much thought you put into it until now.

“I can carry that,” you tell him as he grabs the grocery bags from you. “Sukuna, seriously.”

He just shakes his head, sprinting away to your car as you attempt to catch up after him. “Too slow!”

Your best friend has never been the best person. But you’ve always made him want to be.

He loads the groceries into the back of your car and pats himself on the back for a job well-done.

You glare at him as you close the trunk of your car. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

He boops your nose. “Nope.”

The two of you are about to get into the car when someone calls Sukuna. You both look over at the source of the voice.

A girl.

Pretty with freshly manicured nails, hair in perfectly blown-out waves as she runs over to your best friend. “Baby!” She squeals, pressing herself against his chest. “I haven’t seen you in so long!”

Sukuna tries to place the girl. Someone he met at a party maybe? From one of his classes? A match on one of the many dating apps he’s on?

“Oh, hi,” he says, blanking on the name.

“It’s Mari,” the girl says, fluttering her lashes at him. She pouts, pink lips jutting out as she looks up at him with doe-eyes. “Do you not remember me?”

Mari. Right. 

Yeah, she was a good fuck. Some of the best tits he’s ever seen. He bent her over on a bathroom counter at a rager once and… well, the rest is history.

“‘Course I remember you,” he says, smiling. He pulls himself away from her and looks over at you. You’re grinning, clearly amused by this whole interaction. What a whore, you’re probably thinking about him. “Listen, Mari, I gotta go.”

The girl whines and wraps her arms around his waist. “But why?”

“Yeah, why?” You raise your brows at your best friend, a laugh bubbling beneath your words.

Mari looks at you, barely registering your presence, then looks back at him for an answer.

Sukuna peels himself away from the girl and goes over to you, placing an arm around your shoulder. “This here’s my girl, Mari,” he says. “And we’ve got some errands to do today.”

“Your girl,” Mari says slowly. She looks at you again. It clicks. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Sukuna says, opening the car door for you. “So we gotta go.”

The girl’s eyes scan your body. She takes a moment, probably decides that she’ll get Sukuna back real soon. He’s never been the type to stick to anyone, she knows this. 

“Okay!” she says chirpily, already turning a heel. “See you around, ‘Kunie.”

As soon as Mari’s turned her back, Sukuna’s shoving your laughing form into the car and rushing to the passenger’s seat.

“It’s not funny.” He groans as you double over in laughter.

You wipe the tears of joy from your eyes. “You don’t even remember her name!”

“Shut up.”

“Your face! God, you should see your face!”

“I will kill myself.”

“And the nickname!” You howl. “What did she call you? Oh, fuck, right! ‘Kunie—”

His hand reaches for your chin and pulls your face right in front of his. Your eyes are wide as he tilts his head, leans forward, and… doesn’t kiss you.

“That shut you up, didn’t it?” he says, smirking at the stunned expression on your face.

You push him away and shake your head, starting the car. “You’re so stupid.”

“Yeah, well, you’re annoying,” he says as he leans back in his seat. “And, for the record, I’m not always that much of an asshole with girls.”

“Sure, sure, whatever you say.” You hum, backing the car up. “You know you don’t have to turn them down.”

“What?”

You glance over at him. “Just because you’re helping me with this whole charade,” you tell him. “You don’t have to stop… doing the things you usually do. I don’t mind.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not doing this for you.”

“Right, because you would rather help me make sandwiches on a Sunday morning than go out with Mari.” You turn the car onto the road. “I’ve never approved of it, but I know who you are, ‘Kuna. I’m under no illusions of us actually playing house.”

Sukuna goes silent. He looks out the window with his arms crossed over his chest, as if he’s in deep thought—but you know him and Sukuna’s never been in deep thought for a second of his life. You’ve probably hit a nerve.

“Sukuna—”

“I’m not gonna let people think you’re getting cheated on so I can get my dick wet,” he tells you. His tone is serious. “I’m still your best friend, and if you think I’m gonna let you get hurt like that—”

“You’re not actually cheating on me though,” you remind him. “This is all for show.”

“I made a promise,” he says. “Let me keep it.”

When you look over at him, he has his eyes on you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Sukuna look this determined before and it almost frightens you.

You swallow. “Okay,” you say. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is what I want.”

“Okay,” you say again. There’s something happening here. Something solemn. Like a promise between two children made in the dead of night. One that no one else can be privy to. One that belongs to just the two of you. 

“Okay, ‘Kuna. I believe you.”

notes. the burn is so slow but i’m having so much fun with it 😩 you guys are gonna have to love it too you don’t really have a choice 😩 also we’re getting more insight into reader and gojo’s relationship so the angst is gonna hit us like a train real soon

[yizhou-time]

(46) ATEEZ FIC RECS

🍓 fluff | 🌀 angst | 💥 nsfw | 🎧 personal favourite

if any links don’t work or the wrong writers have been tagged please let me know!

ATEEZ/MULTIPLE

Want You Back | @whimsicalwritingsandmore 🍓🌀

opposites attract w/ matz | @beenbaanbuun 🍓💥🎧

↳ are you ready to get so hooked on something you’ll read every story connected to it and simply sit there waiting for series updates?

Addams!ATEEZ | @fruithoughts 🍓💥

HONGJOONG

Less Than Three | @kbandtrash 🍓

Runaway | @lilacmingi 🍓🌀

To Make An Album | @bambikisss 🍓💥

Never Alone | @iwannasuckyourmonstercock 🌀

Hopefully | @idyllic-ghost 🍓

↳ my hongjoong roman empire and it’s just made up leave me alone

SEONGHWA

The Way to His Heart | @edenesth 🍓🌀🎧

↳ again not a series reader in the slightest but this one is so well done you never know what’s happening next and then you get grown through a loop in the best way possible

let’s not fall in love, again | @baekhvuns 🍓🌀💥🎧

↳ HOW THE AUTHOR CAME UP WITH THIS IS BEYOND ME BUT I REREAD THIS ALL THE TIME I LOVE IT I CANT DESCRIBE HOW MUCH I LOVE IT JUST PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE READ IT

no title | @mymoodwriting 🍓🌀💥

bodyguard | @baekhvuns 🍓🌀💥

↳ this became my personality for a solid month after its release

cat named mars | @hwaightme 🍓

checkmate | @atinystraynstay 🍓🌀

the lamb and the wolf | @seonghwaddict 🍓💥

YUNHO

Guerilla | @sorryimananti-romantic 🍓🌀💥

opposites attract | @tainsan 🍓🌀💥

↳ another one that became my personality for a solid month after release

what builds a home | @cosmicdumpling 🍓💥 (only a little!)

PILLAGED | @lilacmingi 🍓 (a little 🌀)

something to give each other | @sungbeam 🍓🎧

↳ read this at 5:34am and it changed my life i’m not kidding

Promise | @sorryimananti-romantic 🍓💥 (only a little!)

↳ did my life just change? yes! this authors fics always change my life but this was something else!

entombed | @ghstzzn 💥 (and kinda 🍓) 🎧

YEOSANG

no title | @ateezmakemeweep 🍓🌀

RETURN TO ME | @thewonandonly 🌀💥🎧

↳ this is the the best yeosang fic on this app like i can’t explain any of it like this is one i strongly suggest you read (this is a threat, read the goddamn fic) and that fucking ending i’m literally i can’t it takes everything in me to not spoil it every time i recommend it but i’m telling you you have to read this you know that feeling you get when your heart wrenches and you physically feel it? you get that the whole time with this

for the hope of it all | @starrysvn 🌀🎧

↳ not gonna lie thought about killing myself after reading this 😭😭😭 /j

SAN

The Art of Climbing the Corporate Ladder | @ennysbookstore 🍓🌀💥🎧

↳ another one i can’t explain you have to read this for yourself because you think you know and then no you fucking don’t and then you get really mad and then really sad and then you’re like oh no and then y/n saves it and then san says stuff JUST READ IT

Ceilings [PART 2] | @yoongiseesawmp3 🍓🌀💥

↳ FINALLY THIS GODDAMN TROPE DONE RIGHT LIKE GAG EM THANK YOU GUYS THIS IS SUCH A GOOD READ AND IT DOESNT MOVE FAST LIKE THE OTHER FICS THAT DO THIS TROPE PLEASE

seasons out of time | @nonclassyparty 🍓🌀💥🎧🎧🎧

↳ this is the most soul crushing, heart wrenching, bone shattering piece of media you will ever read like i can’t genuinely put into words how much this fic means to me on like a level like i can’t even describe it help it is one of those fics thag you have to read for yourself and you’ll understand because just when your hopes are up theyre down when they’re down they’re up again in some strange way part two is in the works so i’m preparing for my heart to get stamped on by the author and part 1 is like for me genuinely the absolute best fics on this app so I can’t wait

Reassuring Words and Mellow Touches | @hongjoongsart 🍓🌀

↳ you know when you like feel smth in your gut and you don’t know what, this is what this does to you I swear

a broken routine | @vampzity 🍓🍓🍓🍓🎧

MINGI

Goodbye Summer | @shocymer 🌀🌀🌀

↳ i did cry when i finished this

nightmare, daydream | @mingigoo 🍓💥

One New Message | @hwaightme 🌀

Home | @lovepookie 🍓🍓🍓

WOOYOUNG

Home for the Holidays | @highvern 🍓🌀💥

Say You Love Me Too | @crazyformfics 🍓

change of heart | @hotteoki 🍓

place in me | @starrysvn 🍓🌀🎧

↳ this is my wooyoung roman empire and it didn’t even happen irl

If Without You | @sorryimananti-romantic 🍓🌀

JONGHO

so lovely | @deathbyyeekies 🍓🍓🍓🍓 🎧🎧🎧

↳ i kid you not reading this changed my life like genuinely i’m a changed person now

killin me softly | @deathbyyeekies 🍓

glasses w/ jongho | @beenbaanbuun 🍓

zemblanity | @in-san-ity 🍓🌀💥🎧

↳ it’s so nice watching tropes finally being done right like you don’t even understand how badly i needed this

20:15pm | @xuchiya 🍓

the fear still lingers | @03jyh23 🌀🌀🌀🌀🎧🎧🎧

↳ TOOK EVERYTHING IN ME NOT TO THROW MYSELF OFF A BRIDGE AFTER READING THIS IF YOU’RE WANTING FUCKING INCREDIBLE ANGST READ THIS SHIT AND YOU’LL PHYSICALLY FEEL YOUR HEARTBREAK LIKE MINE DID