#and this is downtown but like there are so many other pretty places!!!!

[psychoticbipolarbear]

Midnight rain - part 1

pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

series summary: Your new sugar daddy is nothing like the ones you had before, but that's what makes the whole arrangement exciting. Too bad you both have your own emotional baggages that can make this relationship crash and burn.

word count: 2.2k

tags: fem!reader, sugar dating

masterlist

The coffee shop downtown that he picked isn’t full of people at seven in the evening, even though the place will be open for another two hours. Since you arrived early, you order a flat white for yourself, and while you wait at a table near the back, you take a better look at the place. It’s cozy, the interior and decor giving you the feeling that you’re in a cabin in the woods, sitting by the fireplace to warm up. 

This is the kind of coffee shop where people can retreat to recharge after spending more than enough time in the hectic world outside, not the one where people sit with their laptops for hours to work, or where they meet business partners. No. This is the place where families, friends, even lovers meet each other. Then again, you’re an exception. You are here for business, meeting a man you met on a sugar dating website. 

He goes by the nickname aaron65, and while you call him by that name, you have absolutely no idea if it’s the real one. But it’s fine. You don’t expect men to give away such details, especially since there are many in the area who are pretty well known for their political roles. Sometimes they use profile pictures, sometimes they don’t. Aaron is the one who picked a photo of probably himself, and if it’s him, then you’re in for a treat.

Those intelligent, warm brown eyes are enough to pull you in, but that accompanied by that boyish smile and the short brown hair that’s usually your weakness? Oh, boy. He has charisma, the kind that can be sensed even through a simple photo on your computer screen. Then there’s another thing you’ve learned about him through your conversations. He’s straightforward, definitely the no-bullshit kind of person, the one that knows what he wants and is willing to do anything to get it. 

Even through the constant noise of the café, you hear the door open and close, and you instinctively look up to see who just walked in. The man goes to place his order, and while he’s waiting, he takes a good look around the place, as if he was searching for someone. You recognize him—it’s Aaron. But he looks tense, which makes you wonder if it’s work-related, or has more to do with the fact he’s here to meet you. 

When your eyes meet, the corners of his lips curl into a warm smile. As he reaches for the cup the barista hands him, you notice the ring on his finger. So he’s married. Maybe he has a child at home too. Ever since he stepped in, the air has changed, he’s silently commanding respect, which makes you believe he’s in a higher and important position at work. That’s in sync with the fact his suit is quite expensive, showing off his good taste. And based on his expression as he looks at the barista who told him something, you have a hunch that he’s a good poker player.

The last man you had such an arrangement with was different. He was younger, deep down the same shy boy he was all through his years in high school and university. By now was a successful businessman, sure, but he was so hooked on working that he didn’t have the energy for maintaining a proper relationship. Being with you was his way to release some stress, you spent hours talking in the safety of his bedroom, and you loved listening to him.

The moment your new sugar daddy candidate sits down, your heart skips a beat, and you draw in a deep breath to calm your nerves. He’s just another guy, no need to panic, you tell yourself, although it’s impossible to stop spiraling. The way he watches you—observant and serious—makes you uneasy. But then, just when the thought of telling him it wouldn’t work then feeling the scene, he flashes a charming smile at you, and you’re back to square one.

“I’m glad you came,” he says, sounding genuinely pleased by your presence. 

You instinctively return the smile, then your eyes move down to the cup that is enveloped by his long, thick fingers that are slowly tapping its side. He’s not nervous. If he was nervous, the tapping would follow a faster rhythm, but this is different, this is just something that helps him focus. Maybe he’s impatient, waiting for the conversation to get past the small talk. 

Despite this observation, you don’t rush, you drag out the silence by taking a sip of your coffee. It’s cruel, but you need to know how patient he is, how much he needs to lose his cool. He doesn’t strike you as a violent person, but the looks can be deceiving. So, you wait, although your brain is already a few steps ahead. 

Suddenly Aaron lets out a short laugh with an amused look on his face. “You’re profiling me,” he states. He’s not mad, if anything, he’s almost proud. When you tilt your head to the side, he lets go of the cup and puts his palms on the table, his fingers flexing as he prepares to talk. “Don’t worry, I did the same, although that’s what I do for a living, so it’s completely unintentional. So, wanna tell me what you found out about me?”

Leaning back in the chair, you begin to tap your freshly manicured nails on the table. And then you suddenly start to talk, carefully watching his expression to see how much of your observation was spot on. The more you say, the more impressed he seems, and by the end, he’s perfectly relaxed compared to how he was just a few minutes ago.

“Not bad,” he says when you finish. “Here’s what I have so far. You believe in first impressions, which is perfectly understandable considering what you do beside being a student. Your dress is not mass produced, it must be a haute couture piece you probably got as a gift from an earlier sugar daddy. The jewelry is expensive, delicate, yet not bold enough to draw unwanted attention to you. But you’re going for the good girl image, that’s why you chose a light, almost invisible makeup for this meeting. You’re a perfectionist, this is why you arrived earlier, why everything about your attire is spotless, why you are being extremely cautious with me.”

“That’s all?”

“No, I have more, but I’d rather keep that to myself for now,” he replies with a quiet laugh before taking a sip of his double espresso. 

One of you has to start the practical conversation, why shouldn’t it be you? So, you let a long sigh escape your lips, and lean forward to get a better look at his eyes. “Why did you contact me? What do you want from… this?”  

Aaron folds his hands, his gaze never moving away from yours. “For the thrill of it, I guess. My job is stressful, demanding, emotionally draining. My marriage? Even more so. I want to have someone who can help me relax, unwind a little after being away for work,” he responds, but you can tell that silence which follows is just a buffer time to prepare for the rest of his answer. “This isn’t about sex. Your company is the main reason why I’m here today.”

With a thoughtful hum, you pick up the menu from the side of the table to take a fleeting look at it. “It’s easier to pay someone than picking up some girl in a bar. They would ask questions, begin to demand more of your time, more of your attention, they would eventually start whining about the fact you’re staying with your wife,” you summarize, then look back at him, only to see him nod in agreement. 

“Now, the tricky part. I travel a lot, which means I already have… issues at home for being away that much. And honestly, I want to spend as much time with my son as I can. But I know you’re in med school, so you have to be here a lot,” Aaron goes on, and you don’t miss the way he briefly fidgets with his fingers. “This is why I will need to know your schedule. Not to keep an eye on you, but to know when you can be available to travel after me if I have a case somewhere else. Apart from that, when I don’t have the time to meet you here, we will keep in touch over phone calls and texts,” he concludes. 

A career-oriented, not entirely devoted family man. But he thought it through, probably several times, and he most definitely eliminated every vulnerability of the plan. He wants to protect himself, and with this, he also protects you. For a brief moment you wonder why he’s this thorough, but then you connect the dots and realize he probably works in a field that requires him to be like this, to plan everything carefully. Whatever it is, it doesn’t make you feel that calm.

“One last question from me. What do you do for a living?” you ask, keeping your tone casual despite your heart beating in your throat. 

A handsome smile appears on his lips, and the look in his eyes tells you he’s on the edge of calling you a good girl, or a clever girl. But instead he just leans back and seems to enjoy the moment. “I’m the leader of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.” You’re not exactly familiar with the topic, so you give him an intrigued look to urge him to continue. “We’re profilers looking for some very dangerous murderers,” he explains. 

You reach for your coffee and drink some of it, your eyes never leaving his. It’s a friendly staring match, one that you both clearly enjoy very much. “That explains a few things,” you note. 

“Like?”

“The way you carry yourself, the attention to details, the barely noticeable, but definitely present hint of paranoia, and the desperate need to escape your life every once in a while.” Aaron nods, but his smile is a sad one. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to–”

“That’s okay, I want you to be honest anyway,” he assures you, then falls silent for a moment as he thinks. “Now, tell me about what you want. Why are you doing this?” 

Where should you begin? There are several reasons why you reached into the sugar bowl, but he doesn’t have to hear every single one of them. This is why you decide to stick to the most shallow one, which shouldn’t come as a surprise to him. “Med school is expensive. And I have a taste for nice things, which isn’t cheap either,” you tell him. 

He lets out a hum while he stirs his coffee almost absentmindedly. “I won’t press for the rest of the story, don’t worry. You can tell me if you feel like it later,” he says quietly, his eyes focused on his drink. “It’s a yes from me. What do you say? Should we jump into this arrangement?” he wonders, finally looking back at you. 

Handsome. Intelligent. Has a good taste that matches yours. Nice. Successful. Cautious enough to protect you. Isn’t solely after sex. Willing to pay for your company alone if that’s the case. You have no reason to turn down his offer. “Alright, let’s do this,” you reply with a smile.

Aaron nods, then reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket to pull out a PDA and a phone that he hands over to you. “To keep in touch. I set it up, everything’s ready to use,” he explains, sounding surprisingly casual, as if this wasn’t a little weird. It’s usually not you who has to use a separate device. “It’s for your protection,” he speaks up when he notices your confusion. He glances down at his watch and lets out a sigh as he stands up. “I have to go, but we’ll talk later, okay? In the meantime, send me your bank account number.”

“Okay. It was nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, sweetheart,” he says, then to your surprise leans down to kiss your forehead. 

You watch him leave, then you turn your attention to the devices in front of you, wondering what you can expect from this guy. You can’t say no to a handsome face, that’s your biggest weakness, and he charmed you enough to make you forget to ask the most important thing. The PDA suddenly beeps twice, and you check the device, only to find a few chat messages from him.

Aaron: I almost forgot. I’d rather you not meet with others beside me. If that means you lose a considerable income, please, tell me so we can discuss this. 

Aaron: And one more thing. I will need your address too. I want to send you a surprise.

Well, this is gonna be interesting. 

[moregraceful]

#rattling the windows of the nyt LET ME IIIIIINNNNNNN I WANNA READ THIS SO BADLY STOP PUTTING INTERESTING ARTICLES BEHIND A PAYWALL (@proceedwcandy)

no worries comrade I got you anytime 🫡 if the Athletic did not want me to wholesale copy and paste their articles then they should consider not putting ads in the app that I pay money for

What Sharks players got wrong (and have learned) about living in San Jose By Corey Masisak Mar 31, 2023

The idea for this edition of The Athletic’s ongoing series of stories called “What I Got Wrong” came from Nico Sturm.

Like Sturm, I recently moved to San Jose — it will be 15 months ago on April 10. When someone asked him early this season how he was adjusting to living here, he responded with, “It’s colder here than I expected.” Sturm began his NHL career in Minnesota, with a brief stop in Colorado last season.

Save for a 10-month hiatus in Charlotte, North Carolina, I spent my entire life living in the Northeast, or close enough to it — Pennsylvania, Washington, D.C. and New York City. I’d been to San Jose for work a few times, to San Francisco for work once and spent a couple days at an NHL owners’ meeting on the 17-mile drive (Spanish Bay, though the hotel I stayed at felt a million miles away from the majesty of those golf courses, both literally and figuratively).

The day I was offered the opportunity to move here and cover the Sharks, I didn’t know a lot about the area — all of my time in San Jose was spent downtown. I did a lot of research before actually moving out here, but a few things still surprised me. Like Sturm, the weather was one of them.

We have what I’d consider three seasons here, which is more than I expected. I thought it was going to warm and … slightly less warm. I love that my collection of hoodies and vests and other spring/fall-related clothes didn’t get left in boxes at my mom’s house in Western Pennsylvania. I love that there was snow on the mountains behind the foothills on March 30, even if there has been a lot of rain in 2023.

The other thing I got wrong was the food. My expectations were, let’s call it measured, after living in Manhattan for most of the past 10 years. I knew about the spaghetti at OJ’s and the burritos at La Vic’s, but there is so much great food here, and so many people, a lot of whom I’ve never met, have helped me discover it.

So when I had to think of an idea for a “What I Got Wrong” story, I remembered that chat with Sturm. And I thought, what if I ask a bunch of Sharks what they got wrong about living here?

Some of the answers are similar. Some are not. Marc-Edouard Vlasic wins the award for making me laugh the hardest with his very unexpected response.

What did you know about San Jose before moving here?

Erik Karlsson: I came here at least a few times. I didn’t know much. I knew Santana Row, and the area around it. I knew Napa was close, and San Francisco.

Logan Couture: I didn’t know where it was. I thought it was near Mexico. We didn’t learn a lot of American geography. I started watching more Sharks games on the bus in Ottawa when Jamie McGinn got drafted, but I never looked it up on a map. That obviously feels dumb now looking back at it, but I was 18.

Marc-Edouard Vlasic: Nothing.

Noah Gregor: Nothing. The Sharks – that’s about it.

Kevin Labanc: I knew absolutely nothing. I thought it was going to be a beach town, like San Diego.

Mario Ferarro: Nothing.

Matt Benning: I thought we were in a drought? That’s about it.

Nico Sturm: What did I know about San Jose? The tech bubble. That’s about it.

Oskar Lindblom: I knew about Santana Row, but that was pretty much it. And the weather was always nice.

Steven Lorentz: I wasn’t a huge California expert, but beaches and palm trees and warm weather. Also, with San Jose, I just knew it was Silicon Valley.

Kaapo Kahkonen (He rattled off a bunch of places. Kahkonen clearly did more homework than his teammates): I grew up in Europe and when I was younger, my goal was to play over here. I’m not saying I did research on every NHL city, but I did learn about California, the Midwest, the East Coast.

Jacob MacDonald: Just that it is ridiculously expensive. That was one of the first thoughts I had. Then a couple of the guys talked about how nice the weather is. Somebody the first couple of days I was here was complaining about how cold it was. I was like, “It just snowed eight inches at my place in Colorado. I think we’re doing OK here.”

Radim Simek: I knew Tommy Hertl. Other than that, nothing. I knew it was in California. It was pretty crazy. I started talking to them in like January or February and I signed my contract in May. I was just trying to learn English. I didn’t have time to learn about (the city).

What did you get wrong, or what surprised you after living here?

Karlsson: How beautiful it is. I think the nature is pretty hard to beat anywhere you go, or at least anywhere I’ve been that’s not a tropical island. I just like the mountains the greenery and the ocean. You get a lot of different things that you don’t in most other places in the U.S.

Couture: Around the time I got drafted, they had the San Jose Stealth lacrosse team, and my dad reffed some games here. And I came out for some camps, so we talked about the weather first off, just that it was incredible. It was such a different day-to-day life than I was used to. The people are different, the food is different, the culture is a bit different, although Ontario is very multicultural now. There are a lot of good places to eat. I’ve learned over 14 years that you can get every type of food in a lot of good restaurants. And the people are extremely nice. At first, I thought it was going to be different than Canada, but people are really nice here as well.

Vlasic: I didn’t know you had to pay for your water. That surprised me. You pay for the water and it’s crap.

Wait … so you didn’t pay for water in Quebec?

No. We have huge dams up north, and the water is fantastic. You can drink it right out of the faucet. It doesn’t rot your pipes. At one point, I was like why are all my silver kitchen faucets corroded? There’s so much corrosion. But I have to pay for it? And I can’t drink it? There’s a lot of calcium in it. That shocked me. But the weather is very nice. And the people are very nice. It’s very dog-friendly here, and I really enjoy that. Quebec is (dog friendly) but not as much as here. I can bring my dogs anywhere here.

Gregor: I know it hasn’t been as good this year because of the way we’ve been playing, but the fans are unbelievable. I never really expected a California team to have fans show up and support us like they do here. I know a lot of my buddies from around the league always say when they come into the Shark Tank and it’s bumpin’ it’s one of the best arenas in the league to play in.

Labanc: I remember asking one of the guys here, like what should I pack? Should I just bring shorts, or will I need long sleeves and sweaters? I thought it was just going to be 70, 80, 90 degrees all year round but you get here and find out that the winters are colder. It can get pretty chilly. You can see snow on top of the mountains. There’s so much to do around here, and it’s nice to be in a community where people are so involved. It’s not like one big town, it’s a bunch of little towns spread across the area.

Ferraro: The immediate thing was California, so I was like warm weather always, beaches everywhere and celebrities like Hollywood. But then I realized that California is very big. The weather does get cold, and the beaches aren’t out your front door, and Hollywood is a five-hour drive. But, the weather is still phenomenal and way better than anything I dealt with in Toronto, there are still beaches and I don’t mind commuting to them. The nature, the views, the mountains, there are a lot of great things. So it exceeded my expectations in the end, but when I first came here for a camp and was staying in a hotel in downtown San Jose, it wasn’t quite what I expected. Now that I’ve lived here for three years, I know I like it a lot.

Benning: I didn’t have a lot of expectations. Everywhere you go is different. Coming from Tennessee, I guess I thought the Cali lifestyle is pretty laid back, but in reality people are always going here, working hard. Maybe at the beach, people are just chilling out, but from what I’ve seen people work a lot here and they work hard.

Sturm: The weather has not been what I expected. I thought it would be a little warmer throughout the winter, though all the guys have said this was not the usual. So the weather, and how multicultural it is. It’s really a melting pot. I guess that’s because of the location, right? And the tech industry. It’s really an interesting mix of people, so that has been interesting. That wasn’t something I realized before coming here.

Lindblom: It didn’t really surprise me, but I have a dog and we go on a lot of walks, and there’s just a lot of beautiful nature around here. A lot of new places to see. The longer I’m here, the more I like it.

Sturm: There are a lot of different backgrounds here. It’s been interesting to learn about all the diversity here. It’s just a really cool community. I was definitely wrong about all the sunshine. It’s been freakin’ raining like, all the time and a little chilly, but otherwise, it’s been great.

Kahkonen: The guys have said that it has been raining way more than normal this year. That’s the only thing I’ve really been surprised about.

MacDonald: I was right about it being so expensive, but it’s just such a nice place to live. It’s sunny all the time. That’s one of the things I loved about Colorado too was all the sunshine. Everything here is really close. That’s one thing I didn’t expect. Depending on where you live, either rink is like 5-10 minutes away. Colorado was the opposite — everything was super spread out.

Simek: I’m not a big fan of big towns or shopping areas. But I was surprised by the people. They are so friendly here. It is much different than in the Czech Republic. Also when you order things, they come so quick here.

Do you have a favorite place after settling in that you didn’t know about before moving here?

Karlsson: I live in Los Gatos now, so I’d say that. It’s close to the beach and to the mountains. It’s easy to get anywhere from there. I was surprised there was a neighborhood like that. Well, there are numerous neighborhoods like that here.

Vlasic: Tahoe. I like to go on the Nevada side. It’s a little quieter.

Gregor: Carmel for sure is my favorite place. I hadn’t heard of it at all and I’ve been there about three times in the past year alone. I just love the small, kind of European vibe to it. You’re right on the beach. It’s my favorite spot in the area.

Labanc: Napa. It’s just … I love going up there. Lake Tahoe, like if we want to get some snow around Christmas time, we head up to the mountains. And definitely Carmel-By-The-Sea. That’s a beautiful spot. That definitely wowed me the first time.

Ferarro: I think it’s the 17-mile drive, Pebble Beach, Carmel. That whole area is sick. Santa Cruz isn’t my go-to but it’s still really nice. I also really like Campbell and Los Gatos. Even downtown, I don’t hang out there a lot, but there are a couple nice museums I’ve been to.

Sturm: I don’t know if it’s a hangout spot per se, but my girlfriend and I really like Boba Guys on Santana Row. It’s funny, because we’re both coffee drinkers, so we’d go to Starbucks every day in Minnesota, and I was spending $15, $16 every day. So we got this really nice Swiss coffee machine from Europe. Now I haven’t been to Starbucks all year because of this coffee machine … but now I spend $15 at Boba Guys instead.

Lindblom: I drove down to Santa Cruz, and that was really beautiful. It was fun watching the surfers in the water. Back home, we don’t really have that. Half Moon Bay was really nice too, and all the wineries around. It’s different from what I’m used to.

Kahkonen: There are a lot of opportunities for hiking or walking on the beach. The one really cool thing we did was the 17-mile drive and saw Pebble Beach, Carmel. We went for lunch at the golf club there. I don’t really golf, but that was pretty cool. So I guess I’ve been surprised by just how many things like that there are to see here. I’m also a big wine guy, and there is a lot of that around. I read somewhere that all this snow is going to be good for the vineyards, so maybe there will be some really good vintages in a few years.

Some more Nico lore from Corey Masisak's Sharks coverage:

The only thing he knew about San Jose before moving there was the tech industry

After moving to SJ he was surprised by the weather & the level of multiculturalism. He also mentions the tech industry has "an interesting mix of people" lmao

He & his partner used to spend $15 for coffee at Starbucks in Minnesota but after they bought a home coffee machine they stopped going to Starbucks & spend $15 at Boba Guys instead

From this article: www . nytimes . com/athletic/4367590/2023/03/31/sharks-san-jose-living/ (the other players' answers are also pretty interesting/funny - peep Vlasic complaining about having to pay for water vs. in Quebec)

BOBA GUYS????? BOBA GUYS FROM MY FANFIC?????

My favorite thing about this article is how they continuously doxx themselves. My second favorite part is how they all sound so scared by how friendly Californian are. Sorry Sharkies it is in our culture to be nice and not haters!

You know I did read this article way back when it was published and the ONLY thing I internalized was Pickles complaining about the water. Because he is RIGHT. The water in San Jose SUCKS. It's undrinkable!! It tastes so bad!! I wrecked more than Britta container bc of the calcium deposits. I had to throw out a tea pot at one point. And it's like why am I paying for something that is destroying every part of my bathtub. HE IS RIGHT TO COMPLAIN

thank you anon I forgot about this article and it's a delight!!

[strang3lov3]

Scrub Daddy

QZ Joel visits you for a bath and a little extra (4.7k)

Tags - smut, dom!joel, mean!joel if you squint and I mean really squint because he does in fact fuck you with a certain kindness in his heart. dirty talking you through it. Ah, fuck it. Who am I kidding. pervy!joel too. dubcon, coercion, unprotected PIV, hand job, nyasty QZ joel eats it from the back, ass play and a tasteful amount of ass eating, nipple play, come shot, sex work, takes place in a brothel, JOEL SOUP (bathing that old man), Joel Miller hog reveal (it’s gargantuan, ludicrously capacious if you will), Joel Miller enjoys the finer things in life ie. pussy, Joel Miller tummy. Joel Miller's broad shoulders come with their own warning. Fic help - @beefrobeefcal @noxturnalnymph @endlessthxxghts Thank you all for your brains and eyeballs! A/N - MONTHS AND MONTHS LATE BUUUUT this is for my sweetheart @merz-8 who so generously streams herself playing TLOU and red dead for me 🩷 this fic is inspired by the many times she bathes Arthur. Mercy I love you!!!!!

Joel turns the tap on his shower and with his eyebrows raised, waits quietly to hear the sound of water rushing through the pipes in the wall. Nothing. “God bless it,” he mutters. The water’s been shut off for the past month or so in his apartment complex. He pays extra to have it but alas, nothing fucking works in the QZ. Everything’s broken down, falling apart, or will fall apart - it’s just a matter of time. 

Joel’s got limited options. He could visit the showers downtown, get hosed down like a dog with cold water that feels like knives in his skin, although the showers don’t open until 5AM tomorrow morning. He could wait it out, though he’s pretty fucking rank; he needs a shower yesterday. He could also rinse off at the sink with a damp rag. 

He thinks to himself, hands on his hips and biting his cheeks, weighing his options. Damp rag it is. Joel opens his linen closet and takes his ratty, stringy old rag with him to the kitchen. He wets it with the water from the five gallon jug allotted for drinking, then reaches for the FEDRA issued bar soap that’s meant to be used for everything - hand washing, dishes, laundry, et cetera, et cetera. Joel takes off his shirt and then lathers the bar soap in the rag, the clean and flowery smell permeating the air. He loves this scent - he doesn’t always get this specific one when he picks up his hygiene supplies once a month. God, when did he smell this last? Feels like deja vu. It’s so familiar, it couldn't have been too long ago…

Then the memory hits him: the whorehouse over at the old hotel. That’s where he smelled this soap last. It’s in the men’s rooms but more pertinent to Joel at this moment, it’s the soap used in the bathing rooms - different from the men’s rooms. Joel scoffs and puts the soap and rag on the kitchen counter. Yeah, he smirks to himself, that’s where he’ll catch a bath tonight. He puts his denim shirt back on, stuffs some clean clothes into his leather backpack and heads off into the night for the hotel. 

Joel’s strategic in how he gets there. Curfew’s at six, and it’s eight right now. FEDRA’s not too kind to those out after hours. He moves stealthily through alleyways, avoiding the harsh, white light of the soldier’s flashlights shining from above. Once at the old hotel, Joel knocks in a particular pattern on the side door. On the other side, a man peers through the peephole and verifies Joel’s identity, then opens the door just enough for Joel to slide on through, his belly rubbing against the edge of the doorframe.

It’s dingy on the inside, dark and lit sparingly only by some candles. Joel makes his way to the front room where a different man sits at a table. Joel reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his ration cards, flipping through the notes with a practiced flick of his thumb. “M’in need of a shower,” he says, laying the cards down on the table. He scans the room, recognizes a few familiar faces. 

The man covers the notes with his hand and slides them toward himself, then counts the cards through and nods. “Fourth floor, third door on the right.” 

Wordlessly, Joel heads up the staircase, knees cracking on about every other step. God, he’s getting old. Once at the fourth floor, Joel heads for that third door on the right and pushes it open with one hand, unbuttoning his denim shirt with ease using the other. 

This room is different from the others at this brothel. It has no bed, no carpeting, no soft surfaces of any kind that would be typical for activities performed in a place such as this. This room has just one large bath tub in the middle with a small table next to it, and in the corner is a small lamp, covering the room with a low golden glow. Once-green peeling paint covers the walls instead of torn floral wallpaper and cracks cover every tile on the floor below. Joel peels his clothes off and wraps a faded pink towel around his waist, his tummy bulging over the edge. He waits patiently next to the tub for a knock at the door. 

-

Your hands are wobbling in the dressing room. There’s really not much to dress yourself with, no makeup or anything like that. One of the girls suggested melting a colored pencil with some hot water or a lighter and then using that to paint your lips and cheeks, but she wouldn’t share her own with you. In the mirror, you fix your hair and straighten your borrowed dress, breathing deeply to try and calm your nerves. It’s your first night working here at the brothel, and you’re really not sure what to expect. 

Your boss, Jim, knocks on the dressing room door as a courtesy, but doesn’t wait to make sure everyone is decent. He just waltzes right in and announces to you all that there’s a client in room three waiting for bath assistance.

“Do you know who it is?” one of the girls asks Jim. 

“Yeah,” Jim answers. “Joel Miller. Who’s taking him?”  

The girl who gave you the tip on the colored pencils turns to her friends and whispers, then turns back to you. “You should take him,” she tells you. “You’ll love Joel, he’s nice. Very gentle with his girls. A real lover.” 

Her smile feels disingenuous, and it doesn’t help that her friends are laughing. “Are you serious?”

“Of course,” she lies. “And here–” She pulls out her lighter and a bubblegum pink colored pencil that’s stained black from repeated burning, and lights the end of the pencil on fire so that it melts a bit. She drips it onto her fingertips, then harshly smudges it onto your lips, biting down on a facetious smile. “Yeah. Joel will love you.” 

She doesn’t let you check your appearance in the mirror before ushering you to the bathing room, her hands on your lower back as she pushes you to the door. She slaps your ass, then heads back to the dressing room with the other girls, barely concealing a giggle in her wake. 

You inhale and exhale deeply, then knock on the door. The man - Joel - opens it for you and guides you inside, then locks the door behind you. Clad in nothing but a towel, he crosses his arms as he looks you up and down with a slow scan of his eyes, which makes you feel a bit uncomfortable. His brow is pinched together, he’s biting his inner cheek. His expression turns from studious to curious. 

The first thing you notice  is how handsome he is, you can’t even help yourself. His crossed arms strain his big, thick biceps. He has a full head of curly, graying hair, and a full set of teeth. Tall. He’s towering over you with a hulking form. His top lip sports a big, thick mustache, and his face is covered in a perfectly patchy beard. Sharp. He’s got a sharp nose, sharp jaw, and a sharp look in his inky dark brown eyes. You don’t know what you expected, but it certainly wasn’t him. 

“Name’s Joel,” he says. “Your turn.” 

You tell him your name, and Joel reaches for your hand and brings it to his lips. “S’that your real name?” he asks, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. 

Fuck. “N-no,” you lie. 

Joel chuckles. “So you’re the new girl, huh?” 

“Mhm.” 

Joel laughs again. 

You squeeze past him to get to the tub, then twist the knobs of the bathtub, twisting them quicker when the water doesn’t come out. Joel watches you struggle for a minute, then comes up behind you and puts his strong hand on your lower back, fingers pressing against your ass. “Y’got it all wrong. Do it like this,” he instructs quietly, pulling up on the knobs, causing the water to come pouring out of the spout. He twists the handles himself, holding his hand under the running water to test the temperature. “See?”

“Mhm,” you nod. 

“Learn somethin’ new everyday, don’tcha?” 

Joel rounds the tub, then pulls out the tucked in end of the towel on his waist. You quickly turn your head in the opposite direction, garnering another chuckle from him. Every time he laughs at you, you feel worse. “No point in lookin’ away,” he tells you. “You’re gonna see it whether you wanna or not. Jus’ the nature of these things.” 

Joel hands you his towel, then steps into the long tub. From here, you get a good look at his naked form. He’s muscled beneath his softness, no doubt stronger than an ox. He’s broad, with vast shoulders and a relatively slim waist in comparison. His member is substantially sized, even soft, as it is now. His balls are even bigger, heavier. 

The bathwater moves as Joel’s weight sinks in, rocking back and forth in the tub. He sits down and stretches his legs out, the water running over his feet. You keep your distance as you fold Joel’s towel while waiting for the tub to fill the rest of the way, familiarizing yourself with the toiletries nearby. Washrag, shampoo, bar soap, plastic cup, a tub of petroleum jelly, a glass, and a bottle of whiskey. When the tub is filled, you shut off the water. 

Joel pours himself a large bit of the whiskey into the glass, “Quiet one, ain’tcha?” Joel says to you, then downs his drink. He pours another, then sips it. 

You shrug, unsure of how to respond to the man. You’re not really sure if you’re supposed to talk and if so, what you should say. You move to the end of the bathtub where Joel rests his head, then reach for the cup and fill it with Joel’s bathwater, then wet his graying curls. Little ringlets still form around his neck. 

Shampoo comes next, so you take the small bottle from the table. With wet hands you twist the cap, but it doesn’t come off. Joel waits patiently as you dry your hands on your dress and try again. 

“What’s goin’ on back there?” 

“The uh, the shampoo,” you say. “I can’t get the cap off.” 

Joel reaches behind himself, “I’ll give ya a hand,” he says, and you put the bottle into his palm. He unscrews it with ease, then hands it back to you as he tells you that you seem nervous. “Wait a second,” he says, “C’mere,”  and taps the edge of the tub with his right hand. 

“There?”

“Yeah, sit down.” 

Bottle in hand, you sit at the edge of the tub. “Closer.” Joel tugs you by the arm. “Ain’t gonna bite ya.” 

You pour a bit of shampoo into your palm, then Joel takes the bottle and sets it on the little table. You reach forward and scrub the soap into his hair, quickly working it into a lather. Joel watches your face closely, how you avoid looking him in the eye. He dips his hand into his bathwater then reaches for your face, his steaming hand on your jaw as he uses his wet thumb to wipe away the colored pencil that was hastily rubbed on your lips. You’re stunned, and Joel watches you with dark and hungry eyes, a little bloodshot too. “Pretty one, aren’t you? A girl like you shouldn’t be workin’ here.” 

You ignore him and continue washing his hair, tangling your fingers in the sudsy, thick curls. Joel holds your chin tighter and forces you to look him in the eyes. “You’re not givin’ me the silent treatment, honey, s’posed to talk to your clients. Make a man feel human. Answer me.” You’re intimidated immediately. If he is who the girls call nice, then…

“Wasn’t my first choice of a job,” you admit quietly. 

“How’d you end up here?”

“I needed money,” you whisper. “And the other girls said they wanted someone on bath duty. But that I wouldn’t have to-” 

Joel laughs loudly, cutting you off. “Oh, bless your fuckin’ heart. No, you’ll have to put out,” he says. “Job ain’t just washin’ dirty old men, sweetheart, that’s what a nursing home’s for. Those girls were fuckin’ with you. Sorry.” Joel gestures for you to continue. 

Your blood goes cold. You feel sick, even more nervous than before. Looking through the water, you see that Joel’s already hard for you as well.

“Go on. Speak.”

 You swallow thickly. “They also said you’re nice. Gentle.” 

Joel nods, then sips on his drink. “That’s some wishful fuckin’ thinkin’. Not me, darlin’. Think they’re hazin’ you. But-” Joel sets his drink back down, “-I’ll behave myself, be a gentleman for ya. Scout’s honor.” 

He says it so earnestly that you feel inclined to believe him. “You promise?” 

“Cross my heart,” he says. “I’ll break ya in real nice,” he adds under his breath. His little comment - or rather, what feels like a threat, has you flinching. “Relax, relax.” Joel holds his hand to your waist, keeping you close to him. “You’re fine. I treat all my girls nice. I told you I wouldn’t bite. You’re fine,” he repeats. Joel reaches for the plastic cup and fills it with his bathwater, then gives it to you to rinse his hair with. He closes his eyes, groaning softly. You’ll hear those same groans escaping his lips later when he fucks you, eats you alive. 

You admire his profile, that sharp slope of his aquiline nose, pouty lips and dark eyelashes. Water cascades down his thick neck and the broad planes of his freckled chest, landing into the pool of suds. After rinsing his hair, Joel takes the rag and the bar of soap and wets both, then hands them to you. You lather the soap on the rag, then Joel takes the soap back. You scoot closer to him and begin washing his neck and the muscles surrounding, scrubbing the rag into his skin. 

“Feel tense, don’t I?”

You’re not sure how to answer. “I guess, yeah,” you mumble.

“Yeah, you’ll fix that. Get me right.” 

Joel leans forward and tilts his head down, sighing as you scrub his broad shoulders, leaving little tracks of soap suds on his body. “Lil’ harder, sweetheart,” he groans. “Put some muscle into it.” 

You rub harder into his skin with the rag, massaging those tight muscles in his back and shoulders before lifting his heavy bicep to scrub his arm. Joel lifts his free arm and reaches for you, then tugs the front of your dress down, exposing your cleavage. “S’posed to show me a little skin, darlin’,” he murmurs, his hand lingering on your breast as he rubs his thumb left and right over your skin. “Gotta earn them tips somehow, right?” It makes your face heat up and your heart beat harder, faster. His fingers feel like electricity on your skin as he dips his hand lower, catching your nipple with his fingertips. He rubs the bud until it’s pebbled, then twists it between two fingers, causing you to gasp in pleasure. Joel smiles at that. 

Flustered by both his words and his actions, you pull his hand out of your dress, and Joel wears a crooked smirk. He outstretches that arm for you to wash, and you scrub his limb with the rag, speeding through the activity out of uneasiness and nerves. You drop his arms and quickly pat your hands off on your towel, then get up to leave. 

“Nuh-uh.” Joel grabs your arm and pulls you back down so that you’re sitting on the ledge of the bathtub again, the water splashing a bit when you land. “You ain’t finished yet. Legs need washin’, don’t they?”

“Umm…” 

“Think you’re forgettin’ somethin’ important too,” Joel mutters under his breath. He props his leg up next to you, and you can see his heavy balls and his thick cock standing at full mast beneath the water. With the rag, you scrub up to his knee. 

“Higher.” 

About halfway past his knee. 

“I said, higher.”

You scrub his upper thigh beneath the water’s surface now, washing right where his leg meets his hip. Impatient, Joel pulls the rag from your hand and holds your wrist, then guides your hand to that space between his thighs, wrapping your fingers around his shaft. “Right here,” he instructs you. “I’d reckon a man’s member certainly needs washin’ too, don’t it? ‘Less you like it dirty. Some of us do.”

You quickly stroke Joel’s shaft, just a quick slide of your hand up and down. Joel holds your hand under the water, “Keep goin’,” he mutters. You move your hand and down again, though your back aches from the angle and you have a difficult time reaching him. Joel notices your struggle. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“I can’t like- you’re too far-”

“Mm. I getcha,” Joel says, nodding in understanding. “Stand up for a minute.”

You stand up off of the ledge of the bathtub and Joel shifts in the tub, the water sloshing with his movements. He puts both of his dripping hands on your waist and then turns you where he wants you, then begins bunching up the fabric of your dress. “You do the rest,” he tells you. You pull the dress off of your body, feeling insecure under Joel’s watchful gaze as you fold the garment. “Panties too.”

You shimmy your panties down your legs and tuck them beneath your folded dress, which amuses Joel. So modest, so bashful. Those qualities of yours won’t last long here in the brothel.

After setting the clothes down near Joel’s belongings, you make your way back to him. He’s holding out his large, masculine hand for you to take. “C’mon in, there’s plenty ‘a room for us both. Watch your step,” he warns, using his strength to guide you into the tub. “Attagirl.”

You lower yourself into the bath, the hot water making your skin tingle. “Yeah, the water feels nice, don’t it?”

“It feels good,” you agree. You’ve always loved a hot bath, a rare luxury in the world you live in. 

“Now, where were we?”

Joel pulls you through the water so that you’re straddling his thick thighs, the head of his cock nudges against your pussy which sends a flutter through your stomach. You wrap one arm around Joel’s shoulders to stabilize yourself, your other hand staying below the water’s surface as you once again find his cock. This isn’t so terrible. 

You pump Joel’s cock, memorizing every vein on his shaft with the palm of your hand. He tilts his head back in pleasure, brows knit together as he sighs deeply. 

“Am I doing okay?”

“Doin’ just fine, hon’,” Joel mumbles. “All the way up, all the way down. Jus’ like that.”

On the next pass, starting from the thick tip of Joel’s dick, you squeeze him on your way down, down, until you reach his balls. You give them the kindest of squeezes, earning a moan from Joel. “S’perfect. Fuckin’ A,” he hisses.

And all the way up again. You increase in speed, though to avoid splashing, you don’t work him too quickly. You can feel him pulsing under your touch, a sensation that has your core throbbing. He’s breathing heavier, surely getting close now. You squeeze him harder and incorporate a twist of your wrist into your movements, coaxing his release along. 

Just as you find your groove, Joel stops you. “Yeah, nice try, kid. I ain’t payin’ for a fuckin’ handjob. Could do that shit myself for free.”

Joel spins you in the direction opposite of himself, then nudges you forward. He puts the items sitting on the wooden end table on the cracked floral tile below, then pushes the table over to your end of the bath, the wood creaking and groaning. 

He lifts you up and leans you over the edge of the bathtub, having you rest on the table, the cool air on your wet skin causing goosebumps to erupt. From here, you can see all the cracks in the wood, the swelling from the water damage. “Spread them legs, sweetheart. Make room.” 

The water splashes behind you as Joel moves into position and you brace yourself for the inevitable pain of Joel’s cock splitting you open. 

Only, it doesn’t come. You feel Joel’s thumb sliding through your folds before he spreads you wide, exposing your asshole and your pussy to himself, a picture perfect view. 

“Such a pretty cunt,” he whispers. “A fuckin’ shame it’ll get ruined.”

Joel presses a kiss to your asshole, then kisses his way down to your warm center, before finally dipping his tongue into your warm entrance. He groans at your taste, how sweet on his tongue you are with his face between your cheeks. He kisses his way up, up again, then spits on your tight hole. He circles the muscle with his tongue, tracing round and round before forcing his tongue inside. It’s fucking filthy, what he’s doing to you. All salacious and obscene. But you love it, god do you fucking love it.

“Yeah, old Joel ain’t so bad, is he?” Joel murmurs tauntingly into your flesh. He kisses his way down again, all sloppy and messy. He loves the sweet little sigh of relief you breathe out when he reaches your clit, the area you need him most. He moves his lips slowly against you, loving how you grow slicker and slicker. How your soft cunt feels against his face. Joel breathes you in deeply, taking in the scent of your arousal. No chance in hell he’s washing his face after this. Your musk will live in his facial hair for days, acting as somewhat of a comfort to him. Or perhaps a trophy. 

With his tongue pointed, Joel traces along your folds before plunging into your slick hole once more. He could spend forever between your thighs, that soft, sweet, most private of places. The momentary reprieve could last eternally, if he were so lucky. 

Joel savors all of you. Your hot, wet cunt, how your hips twist and turn as you chase your own pleasure. When he sucks your clit, he can feel your thighs twitch around his skull. Perfect, you’re so fucking perfect. He has half a mind to take you back to his apartment when he’s done with you, keep you all to himself. Leave you lying naked in his bed, be his little slice of heaven in such a cruel, fucked up world. 

Joel circles your clit with his tongue, finding that perfect pleasure that has you moaning his name. Steadily, steadily, he keeps you like this until you’re coming for him, gushing all over his face as he fucks you through your release with his tongue. 

You’re left breathing heavily on the table, trying to collect yourself. Joel leans over you and wears a cocky grin. “What’d I tell you, huh?” he asks. “Told you I take good care of pussy. Shoot, look at ya, all fucked out.”

You can’t help but smile at him. Joel moves behind you once more, spreading your legs wide and slotting himself between them. 

“But,” he says, “Fair’s fair. My turn now, sweet girl.”

Joel tugs on his cock, as it’s softened a bit without any stimulation. God, he’s getting old. Once at full mast again, Joel drags the blunt head of his cock through your folds, all slick and slippery with your wetness. “Ready?” he says, notching himself inside you. It’s already a painful stretch. 

“Mhm,” you hum, uncertainty lacing your tone. 

With one hand guiding his cock inside, Joel has the other on your hip. He squeezes you comfortingly as he inches his way inside. He can see that you’re squeezing your eyes shut, wincing in pain. “Oh, I know, I know, I know,” he coos. “S’a tight fit, I know. Take a deep breath, breathe through it. You got it,” he says. “You are a professional after all, hm?” Joel teases. 

You inhale and exhale deeply, your walls stretching and aching as Joel’s thick cock pushes deeper and deeper inside you. 

“Halfway there,” he tells you. “S’easier f’ya let me rip the bandaid off.” He’s not asking your opinion, it’s a warning of what’s to come. A courtesy, perhaps. 

Joel pushes inside you all the way, the slide inside your body has him groaning and throwing his head back. The intrusion of his cock is so sharp it shatters you and scrambles every thought inside your head and you feel impossibly full, every other sensation disappearing as your mind focuses only on what you feel between your legs. 

Joel pulls out of you slowly, then pushes back in. He repeats the motion until your expression has softened, until you’re not biting your lips and your brows relax into a natural position. “There she is,” Joel praises you. “What a good girl. Knew you had it in ya. Good fuckin’ girl.”

He builds a steady pace, quickening it to his liking in time. His thrusts are fluid, deep, and intentional; he fucks you perfectly, with consideration for both you and himself. This, this was not what you were expecting. You feel both of his strong hands squeezing your middle, and Joel watches how your flesh bulges between his fingers. 

“Joel,” you whimper. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah, feels good. Goddamn, you feel good.”

The water sloshes as Joel slams his hips into yours, not that he gives a shit. He fucks you harder, faster, building that pleasure deep in his gut. Joel leans over you and finds your clit with his hand, pulling back the hood before rubbing tight little circles into the sensitive part. “Gimme another,” he breathes. “One for the road. M’gonna miss this pussy.”

Joel pounds into you, the tip of his cock hitting that special place inside you that feels so good, a primal sort of pleasure. All you can do is lay there and take it, let him guide your orgasm along with his measured thrusts and skilled fingers. It’s only a little longer of him drawing in and out of you, and then you’re coming all over again. It’s a hot and intense, all-consuming sort of pleasure. A sensation you’ve never known before now, before Joel. Fucking nothing compares. 

“Oh, fuck. Christ almighty,” Joel groans, feeling your cunt squeeze around his shaft in non-rhythm. He looks down at where his body meets yours, the creamy rings of arousal you’ve painted onto his cock. Joel quickens his pace even further, hips stuttering as he frenetically pounds into you. You groan at the loss of him pulling out of you, but your displeasure is swiftly soothed by the feeling of his hot spend painting your backside. Rope after rope of his come, all warm and sticky. 

It’s quiet, save for the splashing of water. Joel searches for the rag and the soap from before and lathers both, then scrubs his come off of your skin, which tickles you. “See?” he says. “What’d I tell ya. M’a gentleman. Somethin’ like it, at least.”

Joel steps out of the tub and dries his hair, turning it into a fluffy mess. He pats his body down next, and in your blissful, fucked-out state, you get a perfect view of his plump ass before he dresses himself. He combs his hair back with his fingers, then reaches into his pocket for some ration cards. 

“Let’s see here,” he murmurs, licking his thumb before flicking through the notes. He pulls out a generous amount, then slaps the cards down on the end table where you rest your head. “Think we’re square. You come and find me if I’m short, though, yeah?”

“Okay,” you whisper, barely lucid. 

Joel pushes some hair out of your face and bends down to kiss your cheek. “Until next time,” he says. “Keep outta trouble.”

-

IF YOU ENJOYED PLEAE TELL ME SO! I love talking to you guys, and I love how you make this blog feel like a community. Reblogs, comments, ASKS!!! Are all so appreciated. Mwah. Have a safe week, everyone 🩷

Extra kitty pics cuz I love ya.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Pity Party.

Synopsis - Carmy just wants to see you treated the way he thinks you deserve. He decides to take matters into his own hands.

Pairing - Carmen Berzatto x Female Roommate Reader

Word Count - 3k

Warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol mention. carmys filthy mouth.

Age Rating - 18+

Author's Note - hello hello hello!! i am back!! i had a wonderful vacation soaking up the sun, and i am feeling refreshed and ready to go. i have had so many ideas over the past few weeks, so i'm excited to get some of them written asap!! this was a fic that came to me randomly, as i was thinking about roommate!carmen and how much of a menace he'd be if you ever talked about other guys. this was written as a part of my carmen roommates collection. it doesn't follow on from Finders, Keepers or Sweet Dreams, but it does exist in the same universe - so you can decide if this takes place before or after!! as always, feel free to send me any ideas or thoughts or burning desires you have. so much love <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Series Masterlist. Masterlist. Inbox.

"You're back early."

Carmy had swung the door open, expecting to come home to an empty apartment. Instead, he's met with the sight of you, sitting on the couch, undoing the straps of your shoes.

"Fuckin' disaster," you mutter, loud enough for him to hear.

He breathes out a chuckle at the stormy look on your face. Carmy thinks you're cutest when you're angry. He aches to smooth the crease between your brows with his thumb.

"That bad?" he asks, taking a seat next you and kicking off his sneakers.

"You wouldn't even believe."

He rises and makes his way to the kitchen, filling the tea kettle and placing it on the stove top. Grabbing two mugs, he casts a glance over his shoulder at you, frowning at your body language. You look defeated.

Carmy steeps two cups of tea, placing one of them carefully into your waiting hands. He resumes his seat on the sofa, pressing his thigh against yours and turning to face you.

"You wanna talk about it?"

You think for a moment before replying.

"You're gonna laugh at me."

His face instantly crumples, confusion written all over it.

"I'll never laugh at you. I'll laugh with you, sure. But never at you."

He nudges your shoulder with his, urging you to go on.

"Okay, fine. The actual date was pretty good. He took me to that Italian place downtown-"

"Dolce Vita? Did you get the truffle pasta I told you about?" Carmy interrupts you before you can continue.

"Yes, oh my God. It was incredible. Do you think you can recreate it sometime?"

"Fuck yeah. They're pretty secretive with their recipes, but I think I can figure it out. You can help me if you want - I'm gonna need a sous chef."

He pulls a reluctant laugh from you, the sound echoing off the ceramic of your mugs. You both know that being the sous chef involves you sitting on the counter drinking wine while Carmy does all the work.

"Of course. I'll always be your sous chef."

"I'll hold you to that."

You smile at him gently, a little taken aback by the sincerity in his voice.

"Anyway. The dinner went great. He seemed super interested in me, asked me questions, told me about his job, his hobbies, his dog. He was hot, and good to talk to. I thought I'd hit the jackpot."

"And then?"

"And then we went back to his apartment. And it all went to shit."

He chuckles, blue eyes glinting in the moonlight.

"Tell me more."

"You really want to hear about all of this?"

It's not like you and Carmy aren't close. You absolutely are. It's just that there's always been this unspoken connection between the two of you. A bubbling, fiery attraction that you both shut down repeatedly, screwing the lid on tight whenever it rears its head. So, you tend to avoid talking to Carmy about dating. You're scared you'll accidentally blurt out the truth - you compare every single date to him.

"Of course I do."

His answer is so genuine it makes you ache. You continue, hesitantly.

"Well... things got a little... heavy. He wasn't a bad kisser, I guess... he just wasn't... a good one? He kept biting my lip super hard and it kinda hurt. Then he pulled my clothes off like a high schooler, and he's on top of me, and I'm waiting for him to sort of... do... anything? And then he's finished. Like, completely done. And then he has the nerve to ask me if I finished."

Carmy's mouth has fallen open, shock etched across his face. After a long, heavy pause, he speaks.

"What the fuck?"

You look at him for moment, before bursting into contagious laughter. He joins you, both of you with your heads thrown back, giggles reverberating around the lowlit room.

"I mean, seriously," he pants, still laughing. "What the fuck?"

"I didn't even answer him. I just put my clothes on, grabbed my bag and left without saying a word."

Every time you try to stifle your laughter, a giggle escapes. The situation wasn't funny at the time, but looking back, it's hilarious.

All of a sudden, you both go silent. You're deep in thought, reflecting on the seemingly never ending stream of bad dates that you've endured. Carmy is watching you intently, ocean blue eyes glued to your face.

"Fuck," you breathe. "This is kinda pathetic."

Carmy inhales deeply, and turns his body so it's facing yours on the couch.

"The way I see it," he begins, "you have two options."

You quirk a brow in confusion and stay quiet, waiting for him to explain.

"You can sit here feeling sorry for yourself, or, you can let me fuck you the way you deserve."

Your mouth falls open in shock at the exact same moment your brain seems to shut down. You can't think. You can't process his words. All you can focus on is the way he's staring at you. You suddenly feel hot under his gaze, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. A shiver runs down your spine, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

"Wh-... what?" you choke out.

"You heard me, honey. You can wallow in your little pity party, or you can let me show you what it's like to be with someone who can actually make you come. Your choice."

His voice has dropped an octave lower than usual, the tone warm and honeyed. He's still staring at you, blue gaze unrelenting.

"Is this gonna fuck everything up between us?" you whisper hesitantly.

Carmy reaches out and places a gentle hand on your cheek, thumb stroking careful circles into your skin.

"I don't think anything can fuck up what we have," he murmurs. "You're the only thing in my life that makes sense."

His confession seems to sober you up, the honesty in his words snapping you back to your senses.

"Okay."

He almost does a double take at the sureness in your voice.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Put your money where your mouth is, Carmen."

"There she is," he chuckles. "You scared me when you went quiet for a second there."

"Well, if what you say is true, you're not gonna be able to shut me up for the night."

He laughs darkly, and slides closer to you slightly.

"Oh, honey. You're gonna wish you hadn't said that."

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, tracing the journey of your neck with his fingertips. He rests his hand lightly at the base of your throat, the heavy weight of it making you pant.

"If there's any point where you don't like something, or you want me to slow down, just say so. Okay?"

You nod your head, entranced by the sudden dominance he's displaying. You've never seen this side of him before. You can't believe he's been hiding it this whole time.

"Words, pretty. Need to hear you say it."

"Yes. I understand. I'll tell you, I promise."

He doesn't say anything in reply, just smirks. He lets you sit in the silence for a moment too long, the anticipation slowly killing you.

"Please, Carmen," you breathe. "Please."

"Fuck," he groans, shuffling closer to you. "You sound so pretty when you beg."

Carmy leans in and kisses your cheek gently, testing the waters. He presses a kiss to your other cheek, and pulls back to watch for your reaction. When he's happy, he tilts forward and leaves a careful kiss on your chin, then your forehead, then both of your closed eyes, before kissing you on the side of your mouth. His closeness makes you whine, desperate for him to give you what you want.

Finally, he connects his lips to yours, starting off slow and tender. When you tangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and try to pull him even closer, his resolve snaps. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, exploring eagerly. You clamber over him and climb into his lap, straddling his hips and pressing yourself into his body.

Carmy can't decide where to put his hands. He's grabbing at your waist, running his fingers up your back, pulling you into him by your ass. You're both groaning into each others mouths, enraptured by the other person and the all consuming way they kiss.

"Can I take this off?" he asks lowly, pulling at the hem of your dress.

Instead of answering, you pull it over your head, throwing it onto the floor in front of you.

"Fuck," he murmurs. "Most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

His hands are roaming all of your exposed skin, as if he can't get enough. He's terrified he won't ever get to see you like this again, so he's not going to waste a second.

You grind your hips down into his, eliciting a groan from the both of you. His hands tighten their grip on your waist, as he leans up to press open mouthed kisses to your jaw. Your fingers fly to the hem of his t shirt, pulling it off swiftly. You manage to shove his jeans down and off, before attempting to pull off his underwear. Carmy stops you in your tracks.

"Nuh uh," he tuts. "This is about you. Not me."

He pulls you off his lap gently and shuffles so his back is resting against the couch cushions. He spreads his legs wide, and gestures for you to sit between them. When you don't move, he looks at you carefully.

"Give me a color, pretty girl."

You take a deep breath, and smile at him softly.

"Green, Carmen. Promise."

You manoeuvre sideways, so you can place yourself with your back to his chest. He wraps his arms around you for a moment and holds you tightly, as if he's scared you'll disappear any second. You relax into his embrace, all the tension leaving your body. You have nothing to worry about. It's just you and Carmen, in the place you call home.

You drop your head back into Carmy's shoulder, and allow yourself to get lost in the feeling of his hands on your skin. He's begun tracing patterns down your arms, your sides, your stomach, until he reaches your underwear. He plays with the band, dipping his finger underneath in a feather light touch. Goose bumps rise across your body and you shiver, practically vibrating with need.

"Carmen," you whisper. "Don't tease."

"But that's half the fun," he murmurs into your ear, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

You can picture it perfectly, too. The way his eyes crinkle, the way his mouth curves, the way he bites his lip to stifle it. The image in your mind makes you melt into him further. You want to be as close to him as you physically can be. You'd completely disappear into him if you could.

He brings you back to reality by cupping you over your underwear, groaning when he feels the saturated material.

"Oh, pretty girl. Is this all for me? Fuck."

Suddenly, his game of teasing has lost all its fun. Carmy twists his fingers into your underwear and pulls them off in one swift movement, throwing them in the general direction of your dress on the floor. He places a hand on each of your thighs and spreads them apart, hooking them over his legs.

Carmy starts off slow, careful. He caresses over your skin, gentle and almost apprehensive. When he gets to your core, he swipes a finger through, testing the waters. When you buck your hips into his hand, he knows you're both on the same page.

"Just relax, okay? Gonna make you feel good."

His deep, smooth, whiskey like voice is doing nothing to help the heat bubbling in your stomach. You only whine in response, wiggling your hips to urge him to keep going.

Carmy throws one arm around your stomach, keeping you plastered to his body. You can feel him hot and hard against your back, and you so desperately want to feel him that your mouth is watering. You grind back into him, and he reads your mind.

"Not yet," he whispers. "This is about you, remember? Need to show you what you've been missing."

With that, he circles your clit with two fingers, slowly but surely. He revels in the noises you elicit. They're making him dizzy, disorientated. He never thought he'd be the one to pull a sound like that from you. He's quite convinced he's dreaming.

"Let me hear you. Don't hold back on me, okay?"

You nod your head frantically, willing to give him whatever he asks if you get what you want.

Carmy slips a finger into you slowly, moaning under his breath at your warmth. When he thinks you're ready, he adds a second finger, and sets a steady rhythm, trying to figure out what you like.

After he's set his pace, he starts to curl his fingers on the up stroke, grinning to himself when he finds the spot.

"Yeah? Right there? That's it, isn't it?"

You're nodding and shaking and pawing at his forearms, trying to tether yourself to reality in any way you can. You think you might be floating, on cloud 9, in some sort of euphoric trance. You can't believe no one's ever made you feel like this before. You're convinced no one ever will again.

Carmy quickens his pace and basks in the glory of your moans. He thinks this might be the most beautiful you've ever looked, spread out completely for him. Every inch of your skin is touching his, and it makes his heart skip a beat for a second.

He presses a kiss into your hair and keeps his mouth there, murmuring honeyed praises into your ear.

"Doin' so good for me."

"You got it, honey, that's it."

"Atta girl. Keep going. Almost there."

"You look so fuckin' pretty like this. Fuck. Gonna be thinking about this forever."

"I'll ruin you, baby. Nothing's ever gonna compare to this, to what we have."

All you can do is moan in response, his filthy words pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You're almost there, but something is stopping you. You whine in frustration, tears welling in your eyes. Carmy feels the tension suddenly grasp your muscles, and leans down to mutter to you softly.

"What is it, sweet girl? What do you need? Just tell me. Anything, and I'll give it to you."

You're not sure how much you trust your voice right now, so you decide to show him instead. You take the hand that he's using to hold you to him and move it up your body until it's resting against your throat. You tighten your fingers around his, and moan in response to the pressure.

"Oh, baby," he coos. "Filthy fuckin' girl. Here I thought you were so innocent, and this whole time you wanted to be choked like a whore?"

The way he degrades you so lovingly makes you mewl. You'd never ever trust anyone else to speak to you this way in such an intimate moment - but with Carmen, there's no hesitation. You know he's just telling you what you need to hear in the heat of the moment. And you love him for it.

"Fuck, Carmen," you manage to choke out. "Keep going. Don't stop, please."

"I'll do anything you want if you keep saying my name like that," he whispers.

"Carmen," you moan in response. "Carmy Carmy Carmy Carmy Carmy."

You're chanting his name like a prayer. He's rutting into your back, hips grinding and circling in time with his fingers that are maintaining their steady rhythm. His fingers tighten around your throat as he crooks his digits just right, and the result is a devastating moan from you that Carmy wishes to have on repeat for the rest of his life.

"So close," you whisper hoarsely. "Harder."

Carmy uses his thumb to circle your clit with one hand, other hand pulling you by your neck back into him tightly. He grinds his hips dirtily into you, and the feeling of him so silky and warm against you is what sends you over the edge. The corners of your vision go white as you arch into him, head thrown backwards into his chest. The sounds you're making are so melodic, so borderline angelic that Carmy almost cries. Heaven, he thinks. This is salvation.

Carmy finishes with you, climaxing onto the soft skin of your back. You both relax simultaneously, chests heaving and panting. He removes his fingers gently and wraps both arms around you, pulling you into him tightly despite the mess. He reaches to brush the hair out of your face, and the gesture is so tender it makes your lip quiver.

"Thank you," you whisper after what feels like hours of comfortable silence.

"Sorry I called you a whore," he murmurs back.

You let out a surprised laugh, vibrating with amusement in his arms.

"I know you didn't mean it."

"I mean I did give you the best orgasm of your life, so... call it even?"

"You're forgiven," you chuckle. "Completely forgiven."

You trace gentle patterns over his forearms with your fingertips, following the black ink of his tattoos. He sighs in contentment and places a kiss into your hair, relaxing further into the couch.

You sit together like that for a while, neither of you too concerned with the time. It's not often you see Carmy so relaxed, so serene. You're enjoying it for as long as you can.

"We should clean up," he says quietly, eventually. "Sorry about the mess."

"It's okay. Worth it," you tease, pinching his thigh. He pinches your side in retaliation, which makes you jump.

"Come on, trouble."

He stands from the couch, never letting go of the grip he has on you. You have no choice but to stand with him, yelping as he half carries you through the apartment towards the shower.

The sounds of both of your laughter bounce off of the abandoned mugs of tea still sat on the coffee table, melodic and joyous. The moonlight seeps through the windows, illuminating the beginning of something special in the living room of your shared apartment.

[yesihaveaobsession]

Beautiful as You

Alastor x female! florist reader

Summary: The reader (you) meets Alastor after bringing an order to the hotel, he becomes fond of you and decides to visit you at your little shop.

A/N_- I'm ALIVE! Sorry I have been really unactive I've had horrible writers block but I'm back y'all!!

You’d always loved working with flowers; they had always brought you a sense of peace amidst the chaos of Hell. One day in particular, you received a call from Princess Charlie Morningstar, who was calling from the Hazbin Hotel to place an order for a large arrangement of sunflowers and a few other bright blooms for a special event. You were happy to help her and support her dream, crafting a bouquet that captured the warmth and hope you had always seen in her.

When you arrived at the hotel and knocked on the door to drop off the flowers, you were surprised to be greeted by none other than the Radio Demon himself, Alastor. You were quite starstruck—not just because Charlie wasn’t the one to open the door, but also because you’d heard so many stories about Alastor that seemed to permeate the very atmosphere. After all, who in Hell hadn’t heard of Alastor? But seeing him in person was truly something else.

He greeted you with a broad grin, his eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite place, but the thought didn’t last long. He took the bouquet and the other flowers Charlie had ordered from you, and as his large claws brushed against your smaller hands for just a moment, you felt... a connection?

Since that day, Alastor had taken a particular interest in your little shop downtown. He’d passed by it many times during his outings and had always thought about stopping in for a quick look, but this time it was fate. Alastor began visiting regularly, bringing you a handful of wildflowers he’d picked somewhere. These flowers were beautiful, and you often wondered where—and how far—he’d go to find them for you.

One day, you weren’t at the counter when Alastor made his daily visit. Not to mention, he always seemed to come up with little excuses to see you, telling the others at the hotel that he had "business to attend to," but that business was visiting you. You were in the back room, sorting through a new shipment of flowers and preparing some new orders that had just come in when you heard the door chime. Not thinking much of it, you continued with your work.

You pretty much owned and ran the business by yourself, but your friend helped out and was at the counter. She greeted the customer as usual. Alastor's smile widened, though a hint of confusion flickered in his crimson eyes. "Ah, good afternoon," he greeted, his voice crackling like an old radio. "I was hoping to see a lovely florist—she's about yay tall," he held a hand slightly above your height, with a smile as bright as a sunbeam. "You wouldn’t happen to know where she might be hiding, would you?"

Your friend recognized him instantly and struggled to suppress a smirk. "You mean her?" she asked, deliberately raising her voice as she called your name. You emerged from the back room, wiping your hands on your apron to remove the soil and soot, and paused when you locked eyes with him. He was holding his usual bouquet of wildflowers. You wouldn’t think it would surprise you, but you were surprised that he kept coming back.

There he was, grinning at you like you were the most important thing he'd seen all day.

“Good afternoon, my dear,” Alastor greeted, his voice carrying that old-timey radio crackle that sent shivers down your spine. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything too important.”

“N-No, not at all,” you stammered, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I was just in the back... um, what can I do for you?” You tried to keep your cool, and your friend smirked, clearly figuring it out. Alastor then stepped closer to you, holding out the bouquet.

"These are for you, ma chère." You carefully took the wildflowers from him, your fingers brushing against his once again.

"Thank you, Alastor... That’s very sweet of you, and they are absolutely beautiful." Alastor's smile grew wider, sensing that he had made you happy, and he was pleased with himself. "Perhaps... you might consider bringing another arrangement to the hotel sometime soon? Charlie has been raving about the last one you delivered.”

“I’d be happy to,” you replied, your nervousness slowly easing as you met his gaze.

"Excellent," he said, offering a short bow before turning on his heel to leave. He paused at the door and looked over his shoulder: "Until next time, my dear." You watched as he exited your shop, the door chime ringing softly behind him. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Wow,” your friend teased, breaking the silence. “So, how long have you been on first-name terms with the Radio Demon?”

You blushed furiously, unable to hide your flustered state. “It’s nothing like that. He’s just... a customer.”

“Uh-huh,” your friend replied, clearly unconvinced. “A customer who just so happens to bring you flowers and makes you go all starry-eyed. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the Radio Demon has a crush.”

You tried to protest and glare at them, but deep down, you knew she was right. And you couldn’t wait for the next time—the next order for the hotel, or his visit in general.

[unfitfordisplay]

do you know how many fkcin times i've eaten there and do you know how many fkcin times i've walked these streets and do you know how much i love this fkcin city

mmmmm did Adam just post pics of Lyon or am i hallucinatinfdbbsbsh?

[sirfrogsworth]

Meeting my longtime artist and good friend, Chris, IN REAL LIFE!

So, I hadn't been to a restaurant in over a decade. I can't even remember which restaurant since it was so long ago. But in the past few weeks I've now been to TWO restaurants.

I am becoming a social butterfly. 

And it is exhausting.

But also good.

First I reconnected with my high school best friend, John.

And that went great.

But then the opportunity to see my friend Chris (a.k.a @whosthewhatnow ) came up only a few days later. And this close proximity of social events scared me a bit, but I have been feeling much better since they figured out my heart thing, so I decided to try and do both things even though they were only a few days apart. 

The key to this was strategic resting. As soon as I got home from seeing John, I got in bed and I didn't get out of it until it was time to see Chris. And that was just enough recovery time to pull this off. Typically a short outing requires 2-3 days of rest after. 

I had never met Chris in real life. He has done nearly all of the artwork for my website and comics over the past decade. And he was a main character in my CRAPPRnauts series.

We know each other so well and it is crazy that we've never seen each other with our very own eyeballs.

He is such an amazing artist. He works fast and he adds so many cool extra details that you can stare at his comic panels multiple times and catch a new joke or easter egg each time. He is a dream to work with and my Corg Life series was only successful because he did such a wonderful job bringing Otis to life in comic form. 

So we decided to meet up at a restaurant with his friend Michael and then I was going to take a nice portrait of him after dinner. Chris had never had a professional photo taken of himself and I decided to fix that.

I told him I had a mobile photography setup. Which, in reality, is a trunk full of lights and stands and other various camera gear that I definitely won't need, but bring anyway. It's "mobile" in that it all fits in my car if you are good at Tetris (which I am).

The restaurant was downtown and I had visions of St. Louis's famous Gateway Arch in the background of Chris's portrait. I thought that would be such a cool shot. I could see it in my head and I even dreamed about it.

So I got in my car and headed downtown and my GPS told me to exit at 249B. But I kept looking and I couldn't see the sign for 249B.

This is how much road I had left when I finally was able to see the exit for 249B.

So I ended up taking 249A and going straight to East St. Louis.

Which, if you believe the headlines, is not a place you ever want to be.

Google Maps and I have been having issues lately. They also tried to get me to take the spooky way home that night, but thankfully I actually knew the non-spooky way back from when I used to go to Cardinal games with my parents as a kid.

My short term memory was trashed by shock therapy. And so was a lot of my long term memory. But it finally came through in a pinch and remembered something useful.

I only had to loop around and cross a bridge so I didn't really do anything but touch the edge of East St. Louis. I was mostly concerned about being late for dinner more than its scary reputation. Usually those news stories about a place being "dangerous" are actually just racist and hurtful to people stuck in poverty. I mean, technically my house is in a "dangerous" neighborhood, and we do have trouble with petty crime in some spots, but aside from a few dinged-up mailboxes, I've never felt unsafe in my home.

On the way back to regular St. Louis I could see the Arch on the horizon at sunset and it was kind of magical. And I wasn't able to get a good shot of it, but it sure looked pretty from my point of view. 

My photos kind of remind me of the beginning of movies like Training Day where they are trying to show you gritty, dutch angle shots of the city out of the car window to give you a sense of the location.

As I approached the restaurant I invented a new genre I call "stoplight photography." The sky was orange and the streets of St. Louis were just asking to be photographed. But I wasn't willing to die to get neat photos, so I just took them at every red light.

The big trick was trying to edit the dark area at the top of my windshield out of the photos to make it look like I didn't take these pictures from my car.

After a 15 minute detour through Illinois I arrived at my destination—a Mexican place called Rosalita's. It had a beautiful sign, so I took that literal sign as a metaphorical sign it was a nice place to get a quesadilla. 

Dinner was great. Both signs were right and their quesadilla was very tasty. Chris and I both got one, so we are quesadilla twins. The waitress was one of those "I can remember your order without writing anything down" types. And I am one of those, "I get anxiety when things aren't written down" types. And, to her credit, she did not forget our orders. But she did forget to give us silverware and napkins. So I still feel like my anxiety was valid. 

We told sad stories of the pups we lost. But we also had a lot of fun and laughed and I got to meet Michael who turned out to be an absolute mensch. I sometimes have trouble meeting new people with my social anxiety, but he was very affable and made me feel comfortable with his presence almost right away. He was a fan of Otis and mentioned he still has a Super Otis shirt. I always get choked up hearing that Otis is still loved. Hopefully we get to meet again. 

Dinner ended and it was picture time.

I asked Chris if he wanted the high effort photo or the low effort photo. Either we figure out how to get to the Arch or we find a spot near the restaurant and just take his portrait there. Chris and Michael had a driver because they were coming from a big conference and getting to the Arch would have been complicated. So we decided to go with the low effort option. 

I found a cool shop nearby that had an LED wall that changed to all sorts of different colors. And I thought that would make a neat background and give a colorful edge light on Chris's face. I pulled my car near that spot and started unloading my trunk full of photo gear.

I think Chris and Michael were a little overwhelmed when I started pulling camera gear out of my trunk like a clown pulling an endless handkerchief out of his mouth. But as far as photo setups go, it was actually pretty minimal. 

Light, giant battery, light stand, umbrella, tripod, camera, rolling walker with seat.

My dad's old rollator came in clutch because I wanted to shoot from a low angle and it is hard for me to bend down. In fact, I think I'm going to look into getting an all terrain version so I can do more outdoor photoshoots.

I started shooting in the middle of a downtown sidewalk. And I was super anxious. I could not focus (my brain, not my camera). I was very distracted with all of the people walking by and staring. I was not sure if any of the photos were turning out. I wasn't even sure if they were in focus (my camera, not my brain) because I had not yet had my lens calibrated. But down the street there was a guy with an old school boombox playing random music. His music helped to drown out the ambient noise and gave me some comfort.

I had no clue if the photos were any good, but when I got home and checked them on my computer, I realized I have 12 years of experience and muscle memory built up. I probably should have just trusted myself because the photos all turned out great.

I think Chris can now officially say he has had a professional portrait taken of himself.

This photo has been officially loved by Chris's girlfriend and mother.

There is no greater seal of approval and I am honored.

I was able to comp in any of the colors the wall displayed from other shots in case Chris is feeling a little more green in the future.

A literal rainbow of options.

I also liked this one, though it is a little more "environmental portrait" than regular portrait.

And I got some nice photos of our little group to help us remember the night. 

And I got a bunch of photos of Chris making silly faces like Calvin at his school photoshoot. 

I love this woman's reaction to our little impromptu sidewalk photo shenanigans.

After we said our goodbyes and I gave my friend a hug, I was a little bummed I didn't get to photograph him at the Arch like I had dreamed.

But then I realized I had my own car and it was capable of taking me places. (I actually haven't gotten used to that after not driving for nearly 15 years.)

So I decided to drive a few blocks over to Kiener Plaza—a park with a view of the Arch. 

TO BE CONTINUED...

[mrs-hatake]

So~ I saw ur lad boys requests were open 👀🍵 and I was wondering if I could request their reaction if you were wearing a mini skirt and it accidentally rides up

a/n: sorry i'm late, anon! i hope you like it ^-^

Sylus:

April showers bring May flowers. As well as cool and sunny days. When one can finally shed off their thick winter coats and slip into something lighter, more colorful and maybe top it off by wearing a cropped jacket.

Y/N is strolling down the streets of Linkon, accompanied by children’s laughter and much needed heat after the long winter season. She doesn’t always spend her day off downtown, choosing to be lazy at home and recharge. But seeing how lovely the weather has gotten, she finds herself out of her pajamas and into a cute white knit top and black mini skirt. 

She doesn’t do much downtown; window shops for about an hour, grabs a late breakfast and stops by a flower shop.  When she enters the park to rest under a large tree with its leaves acting as an umbrella to shield her from the scorching noon sun, she spots an ice-cream truck. 

Happily eating her ice-cream, Y/N doesn’t notice a couple of boys chasing each other on their bikes. They rush past her, kicking dirt in their path and sending a strong gust of wind Y/N’s way. 

“Watch it!” Y/N yells after them, grumbling at how reckless kids are getting with each passing year. 

“Nice view.” Comes a comment, along with a satisfied whistle. 

Y/N turns, anger burning in her eyes and a stern talking to on her when she is met with a familiar handsome face, “Sylus?” She asks, her head tilting to the side. 

“In the flesh.” The man in question is sitting on a bench not too far from where the ice-cream truck is, a book between his large hands.

“What are you doing here-” Y/N cuts herself off when realization dawned on her that Sylus had seen her pale yellow underwear when those stupid boys zoomed by in their bikes, hiking up her mini skirt. 

A pretty blush dusts her cheeks and Y/N quickly averts her gaze from Sylus’ amused reds. 

Zayne:

Linkon’s Public Library is one of the city's most prominent buildings despite libraries being an outdated concept. After all, thanks to modern technology, everything is now digitized and an individual can gain access to billions of doors of information with a simple tap of their smart wrist watch.

Still, despite such conveniences, many still seek the warm embraces of a library. A place that feels familiar, as if reuniting with a relative after years apart. Even someone who has never been in a library before, can share this sentimentality. The aroma of book pages and the feel of the leather on the tip of the fingers, no modern device can replicate such sensations.

It’s why Y/N is spending her lunch break at the library instead of being at the cafeteria, eating and catching up with her colleagues. Although she loves them and would die for them, sometimes she needs a break.

And one of her favorite hobbies is picking up a book from the library and reading about previous generations, decades and centuries and their lifestyle.

She’s currently in the 21st century section, scanning the titles of various books when one at the very top catches her eyes; Surviving Quarantine and Covid-19. 

Y/N reaches up to grab it but the shelf is way too high for her to reach. Even when she stands on her tiptop, Y/N’s fingers still struggle to graze the book. She stretches and stretches to no avail. She tries to jump but that doesn’t help her wrap her fingers around the thick book. 

Just as Y/N tries to stand on the ledge of the book case to give her an extra boost, warmth engulfs her and an arm appears in her line of vision. Y/N is caught in a daze as a smooth looking hand easily grabs the book and pulls it out of the row of books. 

Following the arm, Y/N is pleased to see her doctor, “Zayne!”

Zayne isn’t someone who can show emotion on his handsome and youthful face but he has been trying as a small smile tugs the corner of his lips. 

“You should be more careful,” Zayne says as a form of greeting, “Your skirt was riding up. You never know who might be watching.”

Flushed with embarrassment, Y/N takes away the book, “Will do.” she chuckles awkwardly, unaware of the way Zayne’s gaze darts to her hips and back to her eyes. 

Zayne will take this to his grave but he was spending the past ten minutes watching Y/N trying to grab the book. Every time her skirt hitched, Zayne leaned further, nearly falling off of his seat, trying to catch a glimpse of Y/N’s underwear. And he would’ve been successful if he didn’t hear people making their way to where they are. After all, only Zayne is allowed to watch such a mouthwatering sight. 

Caleb:

Finally…Finally, after six long months, Y/N wakes up with excitement buzzing through her veins and heart thundering wildly. Today’s the day Caleb is coming home after his training program. 

She spends an hour and a half in her bathroom; washing her hair with jasmine scented shampoo and rubs honeydew scrub on her limbs and abdomen, shaves all the tiny hairs littered across her body and curls her hair just the way Caleb likes it. 

Y/N then spends another hour trying to choose the perfect outfit to greet Caleb home.

After three mountains of clothes pile up in her room, Y/N decides to wear a white off shoulder top with a matching mini skirt.

Just as Y/N is doing her makeup, she hears a car door slamming from outside her window. Eyes widened in alarm, she rushes to her window where she spots Caleb leaning into the window of the electric yellow cab. 

Oh, no! He’s home early!

As if on maximum speed, Y/N spreads peach colored lip gloss across her lips and pats a thin layer of powdered blush on her cheeks in less than twenty seconds. She takes the stairs by two and is out the door just as Caleb is waving off the taxi driver.

“Gege!”

Caleb turns at the sweet call of his meimei, her cute nickname at the ready when it dies on his tongue. 

Everything around him slows. The sounds become muted and his surroundings fade away into a blur. Except for Y/N who shines like the morning sun. 

She is running towards Caleb but at the same time, curls bouncing in tune with her breasts and her skirt swaying with the breeze. 

Every time Y/N comes down from the stone stairs of the entry path of their grandmother’s home, Caleb’s blessed with the sight of Y/N’s cute lace pink underwear.

How Caleb wishes he’s wearing his video recording lenses right now. He doesn’t ever want to forget this heavenly sight.

“Gege!” Y/N calls again before jumping into Caleb’s eager and greedy arms.

“I’ve missed you!” She smiles up at him, “Did you miss me too?” she pouts at him and it takes all of Caleb’s will power not to kiss her. 

“Y-Yeah…” Caleb clears his throat, hides his face in her hair and inhales her scent–jasmine and honeydew– to calm himself down, “I’ve missed you too.”

Pleased with his answer, Y/N beams at him, pretty eyes glowing with delight like the night stars. 

Y/N leans into the hug, unaware of how her warmth sends a thrill down her spine, how his heart is beating so loud he’s scared she might hear it. Heat pools Caleb’s in his stomach, a familiar sensation that he had tried not to chase after so he gently, albeit regretfully, pushes Y/N away.

Before she can pout at him–pretty eyes filled with unshed tears– and send Caleb into a frenzy, he rushes to say, “I got you a present!”

Grateful for the distraction, Caleb guides Y/N to their grandmother’s house. As much as he wants Y/N, wants her for himself, it’s not the time…yet.

[solar-wing]

⚣ It's Not A Competition 🥇

⚣👊🏻 A/N → SURPRISE! double post today! I've been wanting to do a Clark Kent post forever but never had any good ideas. Then, this popped into my mind. Also, I'm really trying to clear out my drafts and any old requests. WARNINGS: Canon-Typical Violence | Jealousy | Established Relationship

⚣👊🏻 Summary → Dark Knight this and Dark Knight that. What about Superman?! He's also a great hero! Better than Batman, at least. The guy doesn't even have powers. But that's what makes him more interesting and cool, according to Y/N. And frankly, Clark has had quite enough and intends to show him why Superman is way better than Batman.

⚣👊🏻 Words → 4.7K

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 👊🏻

Clark just didn’t get it.

Why was it that Y/N was so obsessed with Batman and not Superman? All the young reporter ever talked about was the Dark Knight and how he was so cool and mysterious. Going on and on about his awesome gadgets and the fact that he had no powers, which made him so interesting.

Clark very much would beg to differ.

“You know, Superman can shoot lasers out of his eyes, and I heard he can move faster than the speed of sound,” Clark pointed out while walking with Y/N down the sidewalk. They decided to go out for lunch and since the Daily Planet was so close to one of Y/N's favorite restaurants downtown, he figured, why not just walk together?

“Clark, not this again,” Y/N chuckled while sipping his drink.

“I’m sorry, you just always talk about how great Batman is, and I’m not saying he’s bad, but I don’t get how he’s better than Superman?”

“You know, you’re starting to sound like Lois with all your Superman praise and comparison.”

“Well, she’s not wrong. I mean, come on. What can Batman do that Superman can’t?” Clark asked, looking down at his boyfriend while waiting for an answer.

“Batman’s quicker on his feet. He thinks of solutions faster and more creatively than what I’ve seen from Superman. Plus, he’s resourceful. The guy’s got a freaking jet. The only people I could think of that own jets and planes and all the crazy gadgets he has would probably be Lex Luthor or Bruce Wayne.”

Clark tried not to react to the irony of that statement, rather focusing on how he could combat that logic even though it was true. He had to admit that his comrade, whether in the field or in practice, was very good at analyzing a situation and using whatever he had around him to his advantage.

Still, it didn’t mean he was better than him.

“Well, Superman can also fly, and as many have witnessed, is crazy strong.”

“Yes, he is. But if Batman can afford a jet, I’m pretty sure he can afford a jetpack, too. Plus, we all know how strong Superman is, some more than others. Their insurance claims can definitely speak to how strong he is.”

That last line Y/N said was more so to himself than as a statement to Clark. However, it didn’t take away the slight sting from his words, considering how true they were.

“So you’re saying Superman is reckless and bad at his job or something?” Clark accused.

“What? No, I’m not saying that at all. Why are you getting so defensive about this? You’re acting as if you know the guy. Wait, do you know him?” Y/N asked, now looking up at his giant of a boyfriend.

Sometimes, he wondered what kind of genes ran in Clark’s family. It was a bit of a puzzle to Y/N why the six-foot-something man was in journalism rather than something that seemed more his speed, like fitness or athletics.

“No, of course not. I just don’t think it’s fair or even logical to compare Superman to someone like Batman, considering what each of them has respectfully achieved, not to mention the state of their cities and everything. I mean, have you ever been to Gotham before?” Clark asked, doing his best to not draw any more curiosity or suspicion out of the younger male.

Not that he was doing a good job of that in the first place.

Clark just wished he could’ve shown Y/N why Superman was better than Batman. They’d only been dating for a few months so it wasn’t reasonable or even smart for the Kryptonian to consider revealing his identity to him, no matter how much he wanted to.

“Clark, it’s not a competition. You know that, right?” Y/N said, placing his hand on Clark’s arm.

They paused in their steps, Clark looking down at the gentle hand lying across his forearm before looking up into the eyes that always put him under a spell. He smiled to himself, thinking of the fact that even if Y/N favored Batman over Superman, Clark was still the real winner, because he had him.

He took his hand in his own, doing his best to contain his excitement pulse at the feeling of his larger hand surrounding the smaller one in his grip. Y/N was still a male, so his hand wasn’t dainty or small by any means, but compared to Clark’s, it might as well have been.

“Yeah, I know. Sorry, I got a little bit crazy.” Clark apologized with a small kiss on the shorter man’s hand causing a slight blush to appear on the smaller male’s cheeks.

“It’s ok. Besides, I like a little bit of crazy. Keeps things interesting.” Y/N said before continuing their walk towards Clark’s place of work.

‘You have no idea,’ Clark thought to himself as he followed behind, letting himself be tugged along.

They returned to the Daily Planet to find everywhere in a buzz, chattering excitedly with each other as various individuals were either running to the bathroom with pouches of makeup and skincare and others at their desks touching up their hair and clothes.

“What’s going on?” Clark asked aloud as he strode into the office while still holding Y/N’s hand.

“Was it like this when we left?” His boyfriend asked, chuckling at the comical movements and gestures of the rushing to get re-ready for whatever was happening.

“No, it was actually the opposite,” The reporter stated before eventually spotting Lois at her desk, who was also touching up her makeup and hair. He made his way over to the desk area, narrowly avoiding multiple people rushing while pulling Y/N closer to him to keep him from getting bumped into.

“Lois, what’s going on?”

“Oh, hey, Smallville. Hello, Y/N. Didn’t you both get the emergency email Perry sent to everyone earlier?” She said in her usual fast-paced, business tone while curling her eyelashes.

“No, We were at lunch. What was the email about?”

“Oh, Clark. Must I always have to save your butt?” Lois said before handing her phone over to the man, Y/N chuckling behind him at the comment.

Clark threw him a look while Y/N did his best to keep a neutral face before reading over the email.

“Bruce Wayne is coming to the Daily Planet?”

Y/N's eyes went comically large at the mention, immediately jumping to read the email for himself, “No way!”

Lois smirked to herself before grabbing her phone back from the man, while Clark just stared at his boyfriend in jealous shock from his excited outburst. “Yep. Wayne Enterprises has announced its support of various major liberal movements and is donating large proceeds to different organizations calling for massive change in the nation. And with this being an election year, many political figures and business entities are feeling a little uneasy at this sudden new support from the tech giant. And yours truly, landed the exclusive interview with him to get all the nitty and gritty details .”

Y/N’s eyes were almost bugging out of his head, before he ran to the bathroom himself, snatching his hand from Clark’s who looked desperately after him.

“Dammit, Bruce.” The reporter growled under his breath.

“You say something?” Lois asked while powdering her nose.

“No,” Clark responded gruffly, an irritated glint in his eye before walking to his own desk.

After everyone has ridiculously made themselves extra presentable, including Y/N much to Clark’s annoyance, the pair stand outside the room with a few others, watching through the glass pane walls as the interview is broadcast live to the entire nation. Lois asked Mr. Wayne various questions, ranging from his real intentions behind his charitable donations to whether he was looking to begin any political endeavors and win the favor of the public.

Bruce answers every question with confidence and suaveness, leaving no room for questions about his actions, and denies any political motivations. Y/N watched impressed from the other end while Clark just looked around with a grim and irritated look, his arms crossed as he listened to the interview and watched his boyfriend fanboy over his secret comrade.

“Well, you certainly seem like the charming and noble benefactor, Mr. Wayne. I can see why you're known as ‘Gotham’s Favorite Son.’ I have to ask though, even if you truly have no political ambitions, aren’t you worried that these donations and announcements along with the unwavering stance you’ve taken on these political topics will inevitably place a target on you?” Lois asked, notepad and pen sitting with poise and precision, ready to take down every little thing the billionaire said.

“Wow, I can see why she’s so respected. She’s nailing this interview.” Y/N commented.

Clark nodded to that. Even if he wasn’t feeling the most agreeable at the moment, he’d always give hats off to Lois’ skills. The woman was a powerhouse when it came to this stuff.

“Well, first off, thank you for your earlier comment. I don’t think of myself as anyone’s favorite, but even I can’t control what the public says or does,” Bruce responded with his ever-so-billion-dollar smile, earning a laugh from Lois and probably every other American tuning into this broadcast, including Y/N.

Clark, however, wasn’t impressed. He’d heard funnier.

“But, to answer your question,” Bruce continued, “...any move in the business or even the political world I imagine can be considered a risky one. I’m not going to pretend that my decisions have made some very happy, and others very unhappy. That’s life. You can’t please everyone. But, to sit and accept things as the way they are for fear of retaliation or backlash is misery in itself. I believe anyone who doesn’t speak up for what they truly believe or want for fear of ‘rocking the boat’ is just content with living in their own misery. And, let me be clear before I’m canceled—I know the meaning behind that now thanks to my kids, particularly my two youngest sons—I’m not saying someone who’s genuinely content and happy with where they are is included in this. I’m specifically talking to those who want change, and want to create a better world, but are waiting for others to do it for them.”

Despite its clichéness, many in the hall gave a small clap to the CEO’s words, Y/N looking thoroughly impressed himself.

“Wow, he really is an inspiring man,” Y/N commented.

“He’s alright,” Clark said in response.

Y/N gave the taller man a suspicious side look, “Alright, what’s going on with you? You’ve been standing there pouting

since this interview started. What, do you not like Bruce Wayne or something?"

Clark sighed before looking down at his boyfriend. It was true, he wasn't really liking the guy at the moment. But, it was just because he was so jealous. He didn’t like how Y/N was looking at him, or how he was talking about him.

It wasn't fair.

The reporter wanted Y/N to be looking at him and only him like that, and he wanted his attention and affection, and he wanted him to only talk about him like that. It was petty, and it was selfish, but Clark didn’t care.

He just wanted Y/N to only admire Clark Kent. not Bruce Wayne.

Only Superman, not Batman.

Despite Y/N's earlier words about it not being a competition, Clark knew the truth. It was a competition, one he was not planning on losing.

"No, I don't not like him. I'm just not that impressed, is all. He's not a superhero." Clark said.

"Neither is Lex Luthor. But, that doesn't stop the public from making him the villain in his story. I'm sure there's a lot more to Bruce Wayne than the media is letting on."

"Oh, trust me. There's more to him than what meets the eye," Clark mumbled to himself as the interview was getting ready to wrap up.

"Well, on behalf of the Daily Planet, I'd like to thank you for joining us today. Your words are certainly ones that will not go unheard by many. I look forward to—"

Before Lois could finish speaking, the lights in the building suddenly went out, leaving the office pitch black. A few people in the hall gasp, Y/N instinctively grabbing Clark's arm, who in turn places his hand over the smaller man's own.

"What's going on?" Someone asks.

"I don't know. It's almost like a blackout, but it can't be because we have backup generators. They should've turned it on by now." Another responded.

"Clark, what's going on?" Y/N asked toward his boyfriend, who was holding the smaller male closer to him out of instinct.

"I'm not exactly sure..."

Just as he said that, the lights came back on, and everyone was looking around confused as to what the source of the blackout was.

"Oh my god!" One of the people in the hall screamed suddenly as everyone turned back towards the interview room. Inside the room, some members of the crew suddenly had masks with insignias covering their faces on them. One of them was behind Lois holding a dagger to her neck while another stood to the side, pointing a gun directly at Bruce's head.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt, Ms. Lane," The individual in the middle of the room said, "But, this interview isn't over just yet."

"Who the hell are you people?!" Lois asked, fear and anger in her eyes as the blade was held to her neck.

"Wouldn't you like to know? As for Mr. Wayne, we're going to have a little chat. I suggest you and your friends don't follow or intervene. Otherwise, this broadcast won't be the only thing getting cut" The masked individual threatened, nodding to Lois.

"Don't you dare touch her," Bruce warned, his expression serious, as he got ready to stand.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Mr. Wayne. We wouldn't want anything bad to happen, now would we? Especially with all of America watching right now."

Bruce sat back down, knowing that his opponent was right. He couldn't let them hurt Lois, and he certainly couldn't risk any lives in this room.

"Don't worry, Mr. Wayne. We'll make this quick," The leader said as one of the other masked goons went to lock the door that led inside the interview room.

"Clark, we have to do something," Y/N said, his heart racing a mile a minute.

"I know. Stay here. I'll be back." Clark said before running off, leaving the smaller male alone.

"What? Clark, wait! Where are you going?" Y/N called after him, but the taller man didn't hear him, already too far away.

'What the hell is he doing?' Y/N thought to himself before turning his attention back towards the situation in front of him.

As Clark rounded the corner and made his way down the hallway, he made sure no one was watching him before he ran as fast as he could into the supply closet. Once inside, he quickly changed into his suit before taking off through the backdoor.

"So, how does it feel knowing that you're on the side of the wrong? How does it feel knowing that no matter what you do, you'll never be able to fix the mess you made? All the lives lost because of you," The masked man asked Bruce, who was sitting calmly in his chair, his eyes not showing an ounce of fear.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't. None of you wealthy elites do. You don't know the pain and suffering your companies and your products cause to others. You don't know the misery you cause. Well, allow us to show you." The man said before signaling his partners.

One of them immediately moved and grabbed a hold of the camera, pointing it directly at the masked man in the center.

"Hello, Metropolis. And hello, America. If you're watching this, that means you're just as much a part of this as we are. if you've been sitting here listening to the lies and promises of a better world by this man and his kind, you are as much a part of his schemes as he is. It is because of people like him that we have the world we live in. It's because of people like him that so many of us suffer. It's because of people like him that the world will only continue to rot and decay until there is nothing left but a pile of ashes. But, we will not be the ones who burn. We will not be the ones who lose. We will not be the ones who suffer, not anymore. Today, we fight back. Today, we will show the world that we will not be silenced, we will not be oppressed. We will not allow the likes of him and his kind to continue to control us anymore with false promises of a better tomorrow while lining their own pockets. Today, we say enough is enough. Today, we rise. Today, we will take back what is rightfully ours. Today, we take back our freedom and our lives from the rich and corrupt." The man spoke, his words filled with conviction and determination, but also hatred and poison as he stared deep into the camera.

"And if any of you try to stop us, then you will be considered just as guilty as the rest of them. We will not be silenced. We will not be ignored. And if you think that the likes of Batman and Superman will save you, I wouldn't be too sure of that..."

As soon as the leader was done with his speech, the sound of the glass shattering was heard as Superman broke through the windows, flying into the room before stopping directly in front of the man holding the camera.

"But, I am..." The Man of Steel said, shooting a laser beam at the dagger being held by the goon threatening Lois. He immediately dropped the blade as it became too hot, giving the Daily Planet reporter the opportunity she needed to escape his hold.

"Bastards," She cursed, turning around and delivering a kick to the masked man's groin.

He groaned out in pain, falling to the floor before Lois punched him in the face, knocking him out.

Superman turned his attention back toward the masked man standing in the center, "I believe it's time for you to take a hike."

"Not yet. We still have unfinished business," The man said before signaling his other henchman. The man immediately aimed his gun at the Kryptonian, firing shot after shot into him.

Superman stood his ground as the bullets hit him, before eventually, the gun ran out.

"You're right. This is definitely the end," Superman said as he flew toward the man, knocking him out before he could reload his gun.

As Superman finished off the last of the henchmen, the leader turned back towards the camera, "Sorry, Superman. But, the damage has already been done. I hope you enjoyed this little taste of what's to come."

Before the Kryptonian could stop him, the man took out a smoke bomb, throwing it onto the ground and covering the room in a cloud of smoke.

"Crap," Superman cursed, unable to see as the man escaped.

As the smoke began to clear, Bruce took out his phone, "Alfred, I need you to track this signal."

"Understood, sir. I've also informed the police and they're on their way," Alfred responded.

"Good," Bruce said before turning back towards the room.

The actual camera crew was not out in the hall, hugging their co-workers who were all relieved at their safety. The broadcast was cut from the air, but there was no doubt every TV station from here to San Francisco was talking about it. Y/N was standing nearby, his eyes filled with awe and admiration as he stared up at Superman.

There was something oddly familiar about him.

...

Nah.

"That was incredible, Mr. Wayne," Lois said.

"I could say the same thing about you. I'm glad you're ok."

Lois smiled at him, "You were worried about me?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?" Bruce asked, a small smile forming on his lips.

Lois blushed slightly before turning back to look at Superman, who was now standing right in front of the two.

"Thank you for the save, Superman," Lois said, extending her hand out to the Kryptonian.

"My pleasure," Superman said, shaking the woman's hand before his attention was drawn toward Bruce who just gave him an appreciative nod. Though the look in his eyes signaled they would definitely be communicating about things later.

As Bruce and Lois moved towards the hallway, Lois spotted Y/N who was standing close to the door peeking inside.

"Oh Y/N, there you are! Thank goodness, you're alright." Lois said, walking over to him and hugging him.

"Yeah, I'm ok. Are you?" He asked, looking up at the woman.

"I'm fine. I'm tougher than I look."

"That's good to hear. And, it's good to see you’re okay as well Mr. Wayne. That was scary." Y/N said, turning his attention to the billionaire.

"Yes, I'm glad I'm alright, too," Bruce said, his attention on Y/N.

"Oh, Bruce Wayne, this is Y/N L/N. He's one of our upcoming new reporters along with Clark Kent, who you've met before." Lois said, introducing the two.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wayne," Y/N said, extending his hand out.

Bruce took it, giving the younger man a firm handshake, "The pleasure is all mine."

As the two looked at each other, Clark was standing nearby, his gaze focused on the two, his fists clenched.

'I swear to Rao...' He thought to himself, jealousy coursing through his body as he watched the two interact.

"So, Mr. Wayne, what do you think that was all about?" Y/N asked.

Bruce turned to look at the woman, an amused eyebrow raised, "He must be getting trained by you," He said, sparking a laugh from Lois and another eye roll from the Kryptonian before flying off, "And please, call me Bruce. Mr. Wayne makes me feel old."

"Bruce, then. What do you think that was all about?" Y/N asked again.

"Well, I can't be certain, but based on their words and their actions, I'd say they were a group of anarchists."

"Anarchists?"

"Yes. They're not an uncommon group. Many people are growing tired of the way things are in this country. With the state of the economy and the government, it's only a matter of time before things begin to boil over."

"So, you think this is going to happen more often?"

"I'm not sure. But, I have a feeling we haven't seen the last of them."

Y/N nodded his thoughts on the events that had transpired earlier.

"Y/N!" Clark called, interrupting the conversation.

"Clark, there you are! You had me worried sick," The smaller male said while hugging his boyfriend, missing the sharp look the taller man was throwing at the billionaire.

"I just went to alert the building security and the police. Seems everything turned alright though since Superman showed up," Clark said, wrapping an arm around the younger man's waist while still giving a side eye to Bruce who was watching with amusement.

"Yes, thank goodness he did. I'm sure we all owe him a huge thanks for his services."

"Yes, indeed we do. But, unfortunately, I must be going now. It was a pleasure meeting you, Y/N." Bruce said, extending his hand once more to the younger man, who took it, shaking it gently.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, too."

Bruce smiled at him before turning back to Lois, "And it was a pleasure seeing you again, Lois."

"Likewise, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce smirked, "I do believe we're a bit past the formalities now, Lois. Please, call me Bruce."

"Of course. Bruce." The woman replied, her tone flirty and her expression coy.

Y/N noticed this and turned to look at Clark, whose expression was blank as he looked on.

"Will do, Lois. I look forward to our next meeting," Bruce said before stopping in front of Clark.

"Good seeing you as well Clark, as short-lived as it was," Bruce said, extending his hand out for a handshake.

Clark reluctantly took it, the handshake lasting longer than was necessary.

"Likewise," Clark replied.

Bruce nodded, his eyes giving the reporter a knowing look before he was escorted out by security.

Once the billionaire was out of sight, Clark and Y/N decided to leave as well, making their way towards the elevator.

"Well, that was a crazy day," Y/N said.

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"Do you think Bruce Wayne knows Batman?"

Clark stopped mid-step, a shocked expression on his face as he looked down at his boyfriend.

"Are you serious right now? You can't be serious?" The taller man said with an indignant expression.

"What?"

"You're still thinking of Batman after Superman just came and saved everyone?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, he's a hero too. They both are. Besides, Superman is always getting most of the credit, don't you think? It would make sense if they were working together. You know, the world's greatest detective and the world's greatest hero, solving crime and catching the bad guys. Wouldn't that be so cool?" Y/N asked, his eyes gleaming with excitement at the thought.

"No, not really. I don't see why that would be a good idea," Clark said, rolling his eyes.

Y/N sighed, "Clark, remember what we talked about earlier about it not being a competition?"

Clark looked down at the smaller man, his eyes filled with frustration, "Yeah, but it doesn't mean you have to obsess over Batman. Superman is just as obsessed-worthy!"

"Clark, seriously, what is up with you? It's not like I want to marry him or something."

"You're acting like you want to," Clark mumbled under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Look, Clark. I'm not going to say I'm not a fan of Batman. I mean, I think he's cool. But, that doesn't mean that I'm not a fan of Superman either. I'm a fan of both of them. I think they're both great heroes, and I think they both do good work."

"But, you don't think that Batman is cooler, or that he's better than Superman?" Clark asked, his expression pleading.

"I mean, I guess. But, why does that matter? Why are you so hung up about this?"

"Because, I—" Clark started before stopping, knowing he was about to give away his identity.

"You what?"

"I just want you to think of me, is all," Clark said, looking down at the ground, feeling a bit embarrassed.

Y/N's heart softened at the confession, the older man looking like a little kid who just got his favorite toy taken away. He stepped forward, cupping the taller man's face in his hands, causing him to look up.

"Clark, I do think about you. I think about you all the time and I love how protective you are of me. Whether I like Batman or Superman more isn't going to change that" Y/N said, trying his best to ease his boyfriend's fears.

"Promise?" Clark asked.

Y/N chuckled, "I promise."

"Good," Clark smiled while leaning down to place a kiss against his boyfriend's lips, "You should still like Superman more."

Y/N rolled his eyes, "Sure thing, Clark. I'll work on that."

"Thank you."

"Whatever. Now come on, we now have a celebratory date to go on." Y/N said as he grabbed Clark's hand.

"What are we celebrating?" Clark asked with a laugh as he was pulled towards the elevator.

It was always adorable watching the smaller male pull Clark around like it was nothing.

"Surviving our first criminal encounter together," Y/N said while hitting the first-floor button.

"First?"

"Honey, we live in a city with sky-high insurance because a superhero lives here. You really think this will be the last?"

He definitely doesn't.

☀️ | Clark Kent/Superman | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[sunnie-angel]

Words Left Unsaid

jason todd x f!reader

ao3 link

summary: jason todd is your childhood best friend. he dies before his Words come in, the first words his soulmate will say to him, and you have to pick up the pieces.

tags: soulmate au, major character death (temporary), grief

rated mature | wc: 8.8k

a/n: so this monster of a story was based on an ask i sent to @jasonsmirrorball a while back (don’t read for spoilers). it pretty much took on a life of its own, and now here we are nearly 9k later. it does get pretty dark in its exploration of grief, so please take care of yourselves my lovelies.

Everyone’s born with Words somewhere on their body, unreadable at first. The skin is shiny, like an old scar, the words blurry and undefined. One day, you’ll see the first words you’ll ever hear your soulmate say to you, that shiny patch of skin blooming like ink (there’s superstitions about the colour your Words fade into, as popular as astrology). The trick of the thing is, you won’t find out what your Words are until you’ve become the person who is meant to hear them. You could meet your soulmate a hundred times and not know it, not until you’ve both grown into the people you need to be. The youngest person to get their Words was seven, and the oldest 92 years young. Or so the stories go. When you’re young, still poking at your loose front tooth with your tongue, it’s a story that comforts you. It’s the story you beg your parents for before bed every night. It’s the carrot they use to get you to try new things and go new places. What if you meet your soulmate at the new movie theatre downtown? How do you know eating your veggies won’t develop you into who your soulmate needs you to be?

It’s what your mother uses to try and coax you out of the car for your first day at a new school. She’s driven you to school for your first day, a one off so she can finish up your admittance paperwork. In this moment you hate her for it. It’s February and the year is more than halfway over. The snow has melted into dirty grey slush in the streets and the pinching Mary Janes the school mandates as part of the uniform are going to provide no protection. It’s halfway through the year and you’re certain no one is going to be your friend at a new school in a new city. You’re twelve years old and to you this is the end of the world. You’re trying so hard not to cry, hugging yourself together and burying your chin in your chest.

“Come on, honey, this is a school. It’ll help you become who you need to be.”

Your mother’s voice is cajoling, trying to coax you out the same way she coaxed a stray cat into her arms. It worked on the cat, now named Haley after the comet, but it doesn’t work on you. She tries to catch your eye in the rear view mirror but you stubbornly turn your head to look out the window instead.

“Please. Work with me here. We’ll go in together, you’ll have a wonderful day and make so many friends. And after school, I’ll take you out for donuts and you can tell me all about it before your Dad gets home.”

You keep silent, continue to stare out the window at all the other kids walking into the building.

“Honey, please. Can you just do this one thing for me, please.”

She’s almost begging now, and you hate the way it makes her sound. You want to tell her how scared you are, how there’s nothing more you want to do except huddle under your covers in your unfamiliar bed and hold Haley close. But your fear is a hot ball in your chest, choking off any words that might come out. You look at her though, plead with her with your eyes to understand how much you don’t want to do this. She stares back at you, an exhausted slump to her shoulders and lines around her eyes you don’t remember being there. Slowly, you unwrap your arms from around your rib cage. Place a hand on each knobbly knee and slowly curl them into fists before nodding, once, sharply, eyes firmly fixed on the car seat in front of you. Your eyes burn, but the sigh of relief your mother heaves out is worth it.

Gotham Academy is housed in a collection of gothic stone buildings which should have been strange in a large city like Gotham but weirdly works. You just think it’s creepy. Head down, you follow your mother’s back weaving through the crowds of students. You don’t want to see the stares, but you can already feel them boring into you. Sitting in the secretary’s office, you pick at invisible lint on your knitted tights. You know your mother’s having a conversation with the secretary but it all flies over your head in shushing murmurs. Your back aches from the overstuffed chair. The Mary Janes do pinch, makes you worried that you’ve already twisted your ankles from the way they throb.

“I’ve got to get to work now sweet pea, but I just now you’re going to have a great first day. I’ll pick you up at 4:00 and we can go get those donuts okay?”

Your mother’s crouched down in front of you, eyes searching your face for any kind of reaction. She looks worried and that’s what causes you to crack. You fling yourself out of the chair and into her arms, allow yourself one great heaving sob into her shoulder. She strokes your hair and hushes you, squeezes you tight like she could make you part of her.

“Oh honey. Everything’s scary right now but I promise it’s not going to stay that way. I believe in you and you’re going to get through this.”

You draw back from her, scrub at your face with your fists. Heaving breaths don’t help but they don’t make it worse. You go with the secretary, new schedule twisted tight in your hands. She lets you discard your coat and backpack in a locker, before walking you to your new homeroom. You only hope that you’ll remember the locker combination.

You hate the way your new homeroom teacher makes you stand at the front of the room. Mr. Mulligan won’t let you sit down until you introduce yourself to the class, a thing he could have done so easily himself. Pulling at your sleeves and trying not to make eye contact with anyone, you stutter out a few basic facts. Hate the way you can feel the other students catalogue you, the way your hair doesn’t look shiny and straight like its fresh out of a salon, your too small shoes, the unfashionably long length of your skirt and the lack of designer accessories. Your cheeks and eyes are burning by the time you can slide down into your assigned seat near the back of the class. There’s only one other person sitting in your row, a boy with dark curling hair and a shy grin. He leans over to your desk just Mr. Mulligan starts the lecture.

Whispers, “Hi! My name’s Jason. I already know your name, figured if we’re going to be seat mates its only fair you know mine.”

You smile tightly and turn back to the lesson. You’re desperate not to miss anything, already feeling like you’ve been left behind. At your old school, you were in the middle of The Great Gatsby, but Gotham Academy is doing Romeo and Juliet for their seventh grade English class. You don’t have the play book, have no idea what part of the text they’re talking about, and this is the first time you’ve actually heard Shakespeare read out loud. Writing as fast you can, you try to keep up but it doesn’t matter how good your notes are if you don’t understand what the teacher’s talking about.

Usually you love English class, how uncovering symbolism and hidden meanings make you feel like you’re uncovering secret messages sent by the authors years in the past. Now it’s all going over your head and you hate it here so much already. The one class that you might have been looking forward to and you’re overwhelmed by it. You press too hard with your pencil, tear through the sheet of paper in front of you.

A notebook slides across your desk. Messy but legible writing on the first few scenes of the Act are written on it. Looking in the direction it came from, you make eye contact with Jason. He grins toothily before turning back to the front, Mr. Mulligan having moved on to a different quotation. The gesture makes your chest tight.

The rest of the class goes by uneventfully if still a challenge. There’s a short break between classes in which you frantically copy down the notes and slide the notebook back to him before your next teacher arrives. The next class isn’t so bad, still difficult and you’ve never liked math as much as you probably should, but it’s less intimidating than English. Someone must have fiddled with the thermostat during the break because the room feels colder than before. You wish you were on your old school’s schedule with shorter classes and more breaks. Sitting still for so long at your desk is making your back ache and cramp up. Math is almost over, Miss Lewis writing out the assigned homework on the board, when a wave of something comes over you. It’s an effort of will not to curl up on your desk.

The bell rings for lunch break and you just about bolt to the first bathroom you can find. Something’s wrong with you, more than just nerves over the first day. You’re cold but you’re sweating, nausea burning at the back of your throat. The ache in your back and stomach are almost unbearable, makes you want to curl into the fetal position to ward off invisible blows. Rolling down your tights in a hurry, you sit down on the cold toilet as fast as you can. Your hand is wet, and for a moment you worry that you’d lost control of your bladder on the way to the bathroom. But the stain on your hand is dark, matches the blood slick crotch of your panties. You hang your head and can feel the tears you’ve been holding onto all morning drop onto the floor. Just another thing you can’t control in this shitty new town and its stupid new school. Your first period.

The bathroom is cold, hard tile under your feet and wintery sunlight weak through the windows near the ceiling. The blood on your fingers is cold and tacky now. There’s a boundary here, between childhood and being an adult that you aren’t ready to cross yet. I want my mom, you think, only on the edge of hysteria. But she’s at work, wouldn’t be able to come if you called.

So you do what needs to be done, stop your tears as best as you can and sniffle. Wipe your face clean with the back of your sleeve and do your best to dab at your underwear with the single ply toilet paper. Layer sheets of toilet paper between your tights and underwear, build a makeshift pad in your sort-of dry underwear out of toilet paper and hope that it will hold up. Luckily you’ve escaped staining the regulation uniform skirt, so no one should be able to tell what happened. You get transfixed by the swirls of blood washing down the sink drain, hands gone numb under the stream of water. Splash cold water on your face in the vain hope it’ll calm down your puffy eyes. As ready as you can be in this situation, you eye yourself in the mirror and tell yourself to get moving before the bell for third period rings.

The boy from the back row is waiting outside the classroom for you. He looks nervous until he sees you, lights up with that shy smile again.

“Hi! I uh noticed you weren’t at lunch today so I grabbed you an apple in case you didn’t grab anything to eat.”

He’s babbling on about the cafeteria food not being that bad if you’d just try it, even though finding a table the first time can be rough. All you can do is stare at the apple in his hands, transfixed. You’re only shaken out of your stupor by the sound of him calling your name.

“So… are you going to take it? The bell’s going to ring soon and the teachers really don’t like us eating during class.”

“Thank you,” you say, genuinely shocked and touched.

He goes a little bashful at that, looks away as you take the apple from him. The apple’s good, sweet and crisp under your teeth. You make quick work of it in the hallway, finishing it up just as the bell rings. Jason stands right in front of you the whole time, hides you from the penetrating eyes of your classmates.

“All done? We should probably find our seats now. Monty,” and here he adopts a snooty British accent, “Archibald the Third is a real stickler for being on time. He’ll mark you late if you’re not sitting in your seat, even if you’re in the classroom.”

His impression makes you snicker and forget, just for a moment, how miserable you are. Mr. Archibald the Third is just as ridiculous as Jason’s impression of him predicted, but you get through it by making eye contact with Jason over the most ridiculous moments. Mr. Archibald really does have you call him “the Third”. It’s probably got something to do with his Words, a flowing script running vertically down the side of his face reading, “The Third, dear God how many of you are there?”. History with Mr. Archibald manages to be fun despite his absurd demeanor and your own private hurt seeming less terrible for a few scattered moments.

The final class of the day drags on, the pain in your front and back growing. Your hand moves across the page but your mind isn’t really paying attention. There’s a commotion as people gather their things and stand, already streaming out the door. You blink, stupefied, then slowly gather your things.

“Same time, same place tomorrow then?”

“—Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow Jason.”

Your mother’s waiting for you in front of the school, car idling puffs of smoke into the darkening afternoon. Your backpack lands in the back seat and you crush your face into her coat across the console. Her hands come to your back, patting and rubbing circles until your breath comes in long, even draws.

“Honey I’m so proud of you. Your first day done! Let’s go celebrate, hmm? How was it? Did you make any new friends?”

“Can we get the donuts to go? I— uh, um I— I might have started my period today?”

Your voice lifts on the end of the sentence, suddenly absurdly worried about her reaction. You needn’t have worried though.

“Oh sweet pea, on your first day too? We can go home, get you a bath and something for your cramps.”

“No, I just really want to go get donuts with you because today kind of sucked and I’ll still feel kinda shitty but at least then I get donuts while I feel bad.”

“No more swearing and we’ll get a whole box to go, okay?”

Lying in bed that night, wrapped around a hot water bottle with Haley on your feet, you think that your day wasn’t that bad. It could have been a lot worse, and Jason was surprisingly nice. You stare at the shiny patch of skin on your wrist and hope that one day it will all be worth it. You drift off to the thought of blue eyes.

For the rest of that week you join Jason at his corner in the cafeteria. Between Math and History you slowly start to get to know one another. He offers to let you borrow his notes for the upcoming test in English, gets a little sheepish when he mentions that he practically knows the content by heart anyway. Jason’s sweet and funny and by Friday you two are the best of friends.

Once your mother is confident that you can handle the commute to school on your own, she doesn’t mind if you’re home late as long as you send a text first. Something about socializing with more kids your age being good for you, not that you’re listening too distracted in the haze of victory. So the two of you hang out after school, the city your shared playground. Jason treats you to your first chili dog and laughs when you get some on your nose. In revenge, you dare him to cover his lunch in chili oil at lunch the next day. The way Mr. Archibald threatens you both with detention for being disruptive is so worth it.

It’s not until the middle of April that you get the courage to ask Jason why you. Why out of everyone in the school he chose to reach out to the new kid and make her his friend. It’s probably the most personal thing you’ve asked him yet.

“It’s ‘cause no one else would’ve. Most of the kids here, their families founded Gotham and they’re not keen on outsiders. Most of the scholarship kids, they start at the same time, form a group so the rich kids don’t pick on them so much.” He pauses here, has to look away before he goes on. “Most of the others don’t like me ‘cause I don’t really fit into either category, you know? Like my dad’s a big name in Gotham but he only just adopted me so I’m not really one the rich kids but he’s doing more than just paying my school fees. You looked just as lonely as I was,” here he turns to grin, “and I wasn’t going to give up an opportunity to make someone carry my lunch tray.”

“Hey, idiot, if I remember right it was you bringing me lunch the first time.” You shove at him indignantly, but he dodges too quickly for you.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can’t remember, on account of me being an idiot.” He flicks you on the tip of the nose and goes running.

And then it’s on. You chase him around the park, laughing and swearing to get your revenge on him. The two of you collapse breathlessly onto a mostly dry patch of dirt under a skeletal tree. Staring up at the sky and trying to catch your breath, you feel Jason nudge at your should beside you.

“So what about you? What brought you to the happiest place on earth?”

“My dad got headhunted for a promotion. He’s researching something for Wayne Industries and all of us had to move here for it. So mom gets a new job and I get transferred to a new school.” You sit up suddenly, look down at Jason lying in the grass. “Promise not to tell anyone?” You wait for him to nod first before continuing. “I only got into Gotham Academy because of my dad. I heard him and my mom arguing about it; he made it part of his contract that I’d get to go to school there if he accepted the job.”

“So? I’m only at GA because of my dad too. You think a kid from Crime Alley gets to go to private school without a little nepotism?”

You slump back down on to the grass, stretch a hand out to the sky and look up at it.

“To nepotism I guess.”

A hand reaches up to the sky next to yours. Slowly, ever so slowly he reaches a pinky out and links it with yours.

“To two misfits only here because of nepotism.”

School lets out in June, the city air ridiculously hot and humid. You can’t say that you’ve made any good friends outside of Jason, but there’s some girls you say hello to in the halls. You mourn not being able to see Jason everyday, but the plans you have to meet up are enough to soothe the ache.

He takes you to an arcade first, the two of you spending hours trying to beat each other at Pac Man. Tired but happy you split a basket of fries at the attached cafeteria. You’re enjoying the greasy fried goodness of the snack but you notice Jason isn’t reaching for the basket as quickly as you are. Looking over at him, you notice him staring at a pair of brothers playing a game. The younger whoops, jumps up and down in excitement. The older one ruffles his brother’s hair and challenges him to a new round. You toss a fry in Jason’s direction, surprised when he actually manages to catch it.

“You good?”

“—Yeah. It’s just, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it? But I kind of have an older brother and he was supposed to take me to the arcade last weekend but he got in a fight with Dad and just left.”

“That’s a real dick move, ditching you over his issues.” At that, Jason breaks out in hysterical laughter, almost choking on the fry in his mouth. There are tears in his eyes by the time he stops coughing but he looks slightly less like a kicked puppy.

“It really, really was. You don’t know how much it was.”

Happy that the mood has lifted, the two of you finish off the basket of fries. You challenge Jason to Dance Dance Revolution and he wipes the floor with you. He’s way more athletic than you’d expected from him. The two of you part ways happy, already planning your next hang out. It is enough.

You meet up almost every week that summer. Jason shows you the Gotham he knows, little hidden gems only locals know about. A movie theatre that only shows movies made before 1980, a diner with the best milkshakes you’ve ever tasted, the best places in the public library to read undisturbed. Teaches you about the safest places to evacuate when disaster hits, which parts of the city are most dangerous. The park and its chili dog stand quickly become a favourite for you, a place to just hang out without any responsibilities. It also becomes a kind of confessional of sorts, where you end up telling each other your worst fears and secret hopes.

You confess once, after riding out your first Rogue attack with your fingers buried in Jason’s T-shirt, that you’re worried you’ll never feel at home again. That you can never go back now to your old house and feel at home there now, but that Gotham still feels too alien to be called home yet. Your darkest fear, that you’ll end up alone one day, deserted by everyone that you know and love. Jason tells you about his fears that one day all of this, Bruce and Alfred, the manor, school, will disappear one day. That the big brother he looks up to will never start to like him. Every time the two of you bare your souls to each other, Jason will hook his pinky over yours and squeeze. It’s a friendship built on shared secrets, on fears assuaged, and worries made better.

Your last year of middle school is largely uneventful. You got to classes, have lunch with Jason, hang out after class with Jason, text Jason. You get into a routine and that brings you comfort. There’s a slight period of awkwardness right before the 8th grade formal. A weird tension envelopes you both, the nebulous question of if you’re going together hanging over you. You don’t like it, the way Jason seems almost hesitant in all your conversations these days. It sets your teeth to itching and you can’t stand it anymore.

Slamming down your textbook, you say “Okay that’s it. I can’t stand whatever this is. You and I are going to the formal as friends. We’ll get all dressed up and if it’s lame we can ditch and go get Batburgers.”

“Oh thank God. I didn’t want to say anything in case it made it awkward but then it was just getting more awkward and then I just didn’t know what to do.”

The party is lame, but the burgers make up for it. Your dress is nice though. Your mother helped you pick it out, the fitted bodice and loose swing of the skirt making you feel passably pretty. It’s been hard to feel pretty with the way your body’s changed over the year, hips widening and chest starting to grow in ways you can’t predict. Jason cleans up nice, though whoever slicked back his hair went overboard on the gel. You pose for a picture all dressed up together, faces pulled into silly expressions, your burgers held in front of you like trophies. You pin a copy of the photo up in your bedroom. It makes you smile every time you see it, something warm in your chest.

The first day of high school brings back those first day jitters. You’re not even transferring schools, just switching to a different building and still your palms are sweating. It’s not until you see Jason, sitting in the back row with an empty seat behind him that you can release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. It’s different teachers and different subjects, but in some ways it’s like the day you met again. Scribbling notes until your hands cramp, Jason passing you notes in class, struggling to keep up with what the teachers are saying. At lunch, you and Jason even split an apple between you. It’s terrifying and familiar and all the more bearable because you aren’t going through it alone.

High school is different. Everyone’s more aware of each other in ways they weren’t in middle school. Girls wear brighter lip glosses and flaunt the shiny spaces where their marks will come in. Boys douse themselves in too much body spray and start eyeing up anything that moves. But through out it all, your friendship remains the same. Something about high school solidifies things, has you go from You and Jason to YouandJason. At school you’re a unit, almost impossible to think of you as separate beings. After school, you still spend time together, still explore the city, still message all the time. But you’ve still never been to each other’s houses. Never met each other’s families yet.

Jason offers, once, to have you over to the manor during the winter break, but you’re not keen on it. Crinkle up your nose and ask to think about it.

“It’s not that I don’t want to see you over the holiday, or meet your family Jason. It’s just that I kind of like the way things are? My family knows that you’re my best friend, they’ve seen pictures of us, but the way things are now, you’re still entirely mine. Our friendship’s just for us. Meeting your family kind of changes that.”

“I like us being us. But would it really be that different to come hang out for a few hours? You could come over when Dad’s out and it’d just be me and Alfred.”

Eventually you agree, spend an afternoon with Jason at the manor to cram for your next round of tests. Mr. Pennyworth is lovely, keeps bringing snacks up to the library as an excuse to check up on you. Bent over your books, you miss the significant looks Alfred is sending Jason over your head and the blush that lights up his face in response. Mr. Wayne is thankfully not home. You’re not sure you could have handled meeting Jason’s grandfather and father in the same visit.

Jason makes it over to your apartment a few times over the spring semester. Your father’s always working, but your mother likes him well enough. She makes him stay over for dinner, won’t let him leave without feeding him first. She calls him a nice boy and tells him to come back any time. Still, you two prefer going out to coffee shops or the library to hang out, uninterrupted by well-meaning adults.

It’s on one of those summer nights, the two of you some of the last people in the public library, that the subject of your Words comes up. The skin across your left wrist catches the warm light of the lamps in a way that’s distracting. You’re startled by the feeling of fingers tracing featherlight over still-shiny skin.

“You ever wonder it about it sometimes? What it’ll say or who’ll say it?” The tone is unreadable but Jason’s voice is above the whisper he usually uses in the library, but with so few people around you figure there’s no harm in mimicking his volume.

“I used to. I was obsessed with Words when I was little. Couldn’t go to sleep without hearing about them as a bed time story.”

“Used to?” And Jason’s fingers are still there, drawing maddening little patterns across the thin skin of your wrist.

“Well, I’ve got other things to think about now, things that are actually within my control.”

Jason presses down, gently, with the broad of his thumb on your pulse. You snatch back your wrist, cradle it to your chest, uncertain of how intimate that gesture felt.

“Fair’s fair. I showed you mine, now you’ve gotta show me yours.” Your tone is teasing, trying to capture the earlier lightness of the afternoon.

“Oh I do, do I?”

He reaches for the top button on his uniform button down, starts undoing two more. Horrified, you reach across the table and grab at his hands.

“What are you doing?! You can’t just go around stripping in public!” Your hissed whisper may not have been said at all for all the impact it makes. Jason shakes off your hands and goes back to undoing his shirt.

“Not all of us are blessed with easily accessible Words. Relax, I just have to get the shirt wide enough to show how far the Words will go.”

Across his collarbone is a thin strip of shiny skin, reaching from one side of his neck to the other like a necklace. Whatever it will say looks pretty lengthy for someone’s Words. Mesmerized, you reach out to trace it with your fingertips. Jason shifts back before you can make contact.

“Gotta buy me dinner first sweetheart. I’m a classy lady like that.”

You flush at the term of endearment, but cover it with indignation.

“Hey! What do you call the tacos I bought for us yesterday?”

He laughs it off and the tense moment is broken. You pack up your things, smiling at the ground. You like the way sweetheart sounds coming from Jason, not that you’d give him that to tease you with. Despite how much you tell each other, there’s one secret you haven’t told him yet. That privately you hope your Words will be his. It’s so easy to fall in love with Jason, or at least what passes for love at this age. The light in his eyes when he rants about the latest book he’s read, when he shares the biscuits Alfred packs for him, the way he listens to you so intently even if he doesn’t have all the answers. You can admit to yourself that you’re hopelessly in love with your best friend, but never out loud. Your friendship is one of the most important things in your life and you are terrified of destroying it.

You don’t see Jason much after that, that summer. Your texts and calls still get answered, but he’s frustratingly vague about meeting up. He says that his dad has him in a kind of summer school, wants him to learn from private tutors before school starts up in the Fall again. Asking about what it is that he’s supposed to learn (his marks are already incredibly good) makes him cagey about it. You don’t want to push, but it feels like he’s pulling away from you. Phone calls get shorter, sentences more clipped. Your offers to just drop by the manor to see him get turned down automatically. It’s the longest you’ve gone without seeing him since you’ve met. You’re terrified that he’s done with you. That for some unnameable reason he’s decided to end your years of friendship and there’s nothing you can do to stop it from happening. Gotham seems colder without Jason at your side, the dangers more obvious and your usual haunts less welcoming.

Finally, after nearly two months you manage to pin him down, get him to agree to meet the day after his birthday. Your heart is in your mouth as you wait for him on a bench in the park. There’s a trickle of sweat running down your back. It’s a hot day but the park is a lush green, an after effect from an Ivy attack the night before. You release your grip on your present for Jason, smooth the envelope and hope you didn’t crease it with your sweaty fingers. A voice is calling your name.

Jason’s been changed by the weeks apart. He’s a few inches taller now, filled out in the shoulders more. You have to crane your neck back to see his face. The anxiety in you is reflected in his face, the way he nervously runs his fingers through his hair, his darting eyes. Uncertain how to proceed, you thrust the envelope out between you.

“Happy Birthday.”

“I— thank you.”

There’s silence again, and the awkwardness between you is a tangible thing. It’s worse than it was in eighth grade only this time you don’t know how to bridge the gap. You look down at your shoes, the toes scuffed.

“I’m sorry for ignoring you.” It comes out of him in a rush. “I’ve been a really shitty friend lately. Just, all summer my dad’s been on me about studying with these private tutors except they’re all friends with Dick so nothing I do can ever be good enough in comparison and every day I’ve felt like crap but I didn’t want you to see me like this which only made me feel worse ‘cause then I basically had to avoid you all the time which is the exact opposite of what I wanted to do and all I wanted to do was have you tell me there’s nothing wrong with me and they can all go kick dirt but then I’d have to talk to you about it which I wasn’t ‘cause I was already embarrassed.” He has to pause here to catch his breath, words running together at the speed which he was going.

“You planning to breathe any time soon?”

He deflates, collapses onto the bench next to you, an arm tucked around his right side awkwardly holding the card so it doesn’t get crushed. You sigh, heavily.

“I thought you didn’t want to be friends anymore.” Your confession is barely above a whisper. You can’t even look at him as you say it.

“I didn’t— I wouldn’t. I need you to know that I never, ever don’t want to be your friend okay? I was an idiot. I’m sorry.”

“Promise not to cut me out again and that you won’t take out your own issues on our friendship, and maybe I’ll consider forgiving you.”

“Pinky promise.”

Jason places the card in his lap, goes to link your fingers together, then winces at the movement of his arm. Suddenly sirens are going off in your brain.

“What’s wrong with your side?”

“Nothing, must have just pulled a muscle or something.” He tries to laugh it off nervously, but you can tell when he’s lying. His eyes dart to the left over your head, knee bounces almost imperceptibly. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you know he’s not telling you the truth.

“You can’t even go a full minute without cutting me out! Jason, I know something is wrong. Now tell me.”

He hesitates, and you’ve had it with the lies and the avoidance and the being kept in the dark. You fingers go to the hem of his shirt and you start tugging.

“Hey! Wh-what are you doing?”

He tries to squirm away, batting at your hands but you get his shirt up far enough to see the bruise on his ribs in the shape of a boot. It’s purple going a sickly yellow, mottled and stark against the dips of his ribs. You can feel all the blood drain from your face. Jason’s pushed up against the far side of the bench, pulling his shirt down with shaking hands.

“Jason. Jason if someone is hurting you, you need to tell someone. If it's your dad or one of the tutors, we can find someone to tell together.”

“No one— no one’s hurting me, all right? I just didn’t get out of the way fast enough during a Rogue attack. I didn’t want to worry you, that’s all. No one’s abusing me, okay?”

“But you’d tell me if they were?”

“I tell you everything important.”

It’s not enough, not nearly for you. From the look in his eyes Jason knows this too, but its all he’s willing to give. There’s a crossroads in your relationship here, a road where you push and push until you get the full story but shatter the tattered strands of your friendship or you accept that you’ll never have all of Jason but maybe your friendship will survive. So you do what needs to be done.

“Okay. If you say that’s what happened then I trust you.”

It’s a low blow, to twist your trust in him like a knife, but it’s your only way to express your frustration with him. You gesture to the envelope, fishing around to change the subject.

“So you going to open that or what?”

And just like that, there’s a new normal. You see Jason everyday in class but he begs off your after school hangouts as often as you two actually spend time together. Conversation is stilted, hidden undercurrents to them of subjects neither one of you wants to address. You’re wary, suspicious of every bump and bruise Jason shows up with. The ease to your friendship has gone, disappeared to the realm of the past.

At the end of October, Jason becomes obsessed with the news. Keeps checking headlines and obituaries, fearful like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. The death of Felipe Garzonas makes the news and the tension in Jason ratchets up. He’s irritable, stops paying attention in classes, blows up when you try to feel out what’s wrong. He’s apologetic every time, promises it won’t happen again until you eventually stop trying to ask questions. Hope that your presence is enough to steady him through whatever it is that is tormenting him.

He asks you once, if you’d believe in his word, no matter what the evidence of something told you otherwise. You tell him you would, always, but that answer doesn’t seem to make a difference.

Winter break comes and goes, without an invitation to visit this time. If anything, Jason comes back more irritable and closed lipped. Mutters something about a fight over Christmas dinner, his brother and Bruce clashing over something. You’re worried about him all the time now. He’s more reckless with himself, won’t look before crossing the road, reacts aggressively to every perceived challenge, throws things when he gets frustrated. He’s changing into someone you don’t recognize in front of your eyes.

April comes and there’s a new light in his eyes. It’s manic and hopeful and the first emotion you’ve seen in him other than fear in months. He won’t tell you what it is, just that there’s something new he’s found out, something about his mother. This time you hope, fingers crossed and a wish on every star that whatever has brought him this hope won’t hurt him.

On Monday, Jason doesn’t come to school. He doesn’t answer your messages or pick up any of your calls. Even when he’s been out sick he at least lets you know. On Tuesday you get called into the office in the middle of first period. You haven’t been back to the secretary’s office since the day you enrolled. The seats are still as overstuffed as you remember. The secretary is the same, a few more grey streaks in her perfectly set hair. Her eyes are red, and she’s got one of those old fashioned handkerchiefs in her hands.

“I’ve got some bad news honey, and I— I think it would be best if you sit down for it.”

“Oh— will this take long? Only I got pulled out of class and we’re reviewing for the exam next week.”

“Oh honey.” She has to pause to dab at her eyes before continuing. “You’re going to be excused from all exams next week, okay? I need you to know that the school will do whatever we can to support you through this.”

Now, now you are scared. “Support me through what? It’s not my mom is it?”

“Honey it’s Jason, Jason Todd. I’m so sorry but he passed away yesterday. I’ve contacted your parents and your mother is on the way to come pick you up.”

Her words don’t make any sense.

“But he can’t be. I saw him on Saturday. There’s been a mistake. He’s not dead.” Your legs don’t work anymore and you hit the couch, hard, sliding off the overstuffed pillows to kneel on the floor. You don’t feel any of it. There’s copper in your mouth, you must have bitten your tongue on the way down but you can’t feel it. There’s movement in your peripheries, and your mother crouches down into your field of vision.

“Mom, mom they made a mistake. She’s— she’s saying that Jason’s dead, but he can’t be. Mom he’s not dead.”

“Sweet pea, I’m so, so sorry. It’s been on the news all morning.”

It rips through you then, grief. Sobs shake your whole body, your mother doing her best to hold you together. There’s a roaring in your ears like you’re caught in a vacuum. You can’t see through the tears. Your body is trembling violently and you can’t care enough to try and stop it. Nothing matters anymore. Jason’s dead.

To get to the car, your mother has to half carry you. There’s no point in moving. You’re not sure how you end up in your bed at home but you do. You don’t sleep but you aren’t really awake either. The tears don’t stop coming. You’re nothing but an open wound, not even really a whole person. The world’s burned down to ash and you’re just floating through it. You know your parents come in to talk to you, can hear the murmur of their voices but you don’t care. There’s food put in front of you but it holds no interest to you. You might have had sips of water, maybe some broth but you don’t remember and you don’t care. The only thing you really register is Haley, nestling up to you and making biscuits with his paws in your blankets.

Jason’s funeral is on Friday and you can’t get out of bed to go. Jason’s not in that coffin, not really. He won’t be there and so you won’t be. Jason’s never coming home. Jason’s dead, Jason’s dead, Jason’s dead plays on a loop. You never got to tell him. He died without knowing you loved him. His death has ripped you open like nothing ever has before, regret a constant salt in the wound. He never told you that he was thinking of leaving, of going anywhere. It feels wrong at this point, to interrupt his family in their grief, another stranger claiming to have known their son. After all, how well did you really know him if you didn’t even know he was going to leave?

Grief swallows you whole, but over time you learn to live with it. Days blur together. The tears dry up but the not caring doesn’t. Inside of your head is a wall, separating you from the reality of a world without Jason. You’re wrapped in wool and safe behind glass, unable to care about anything. It’s easier that way.

The school passes you for the year, citing personal tragedy, and you don’t care. Summer comes and the only difference is that your mother comes in and throws your windows open every morning. It’s Jason’s birthday soon, too soon. He’ll never be sixteen but you will be. He’ll never have his Words come in. He’ll never get the chance to do all the things he talked about, make Gotham a better place, travel the world. But you can.

It makes no sense to live for a dead boy but it’s all you’ve got. So you do what you have to do. It gets you to leave your bed for the first time in months. To start eating again, even if there’s no taste to the food in your mouth. To shower and take care of yourself for the first time in ages. Your room is clean for the first time in months and the first thing you do is take down your photograph from the 8th grade formal and put it away in a desk drawer.

By September, you have gathered yourself enough to return to school despite the worried looks of your family. It is hard, the hardest thing you have ever done but you do it for the boy that will never graduate high school. You sit by yourself at your desk, you eat lunch by yourself, you go straight home after class without any detours. The school play this year is Romeo and Juliet. You take home the sign up flyer and consider it, hard. In the end you decide to leave it. Jason may have always wanted to try out for the play but you won’t survive torturing yourself with this. On opening night you tell your parents you’re going to see it and get drunk on the gymnasium roof.

You make it through your last two years of high school a ghost. Administration tries to pressure you into meeting with a therapist but you refuse. You don’t want to experience your grief at all. Numbness is the only way you are going to survive this, your new reality. You do take them up on their suggestion of volunteering. Working with the Martha Wayne Foundation for Underprivileged Children gives you a sense of purpose. Of helping other Crime Alley kids without the benefit of nepotism to get them into places like Gotham Academy. It stokes the first emotion in you other than numbness, and that’s rage for all the ways in which these kids have been failed.

You accept a full scholarship to Gotham University. Your parents couldn’t be more proud of your achievement but you can barely muster the energy to smile. Keep up the volunteer work while rushing through your degree in two years instead of four. With nothing else to drive you, you’ve got nothing but time for school. The Martha Wayne Foundation offers you a position in fundraising, and you accept. It’s not what you envisioned for yourself, but it’s a path forward with purpose.

You move out, into your own apartment in an area that’s probably too dangerous for a girl of your age but you can’t stand to be at home anymore. The job consumes your life and you are grateful for it. It’s important work, even if some of the policy meetings on accepting donations from the Red Hood make you want to fall asleep. You make use of your Gotham Prep connections, rubbing elbows with the rich for just as long as it takes to pry open their wallets. It’s ridiculous but the higher ups trot you out to entertain at fundraising events, a pretty young face to pull in more donors. Occasionally you see Bruce, or Dick, or the newest ward Tim at functions, always across the room before you quickly excuse yourself. The numbness carries you through your life but there are limits to it and you’re not eager to test them.

Even five years later, you can’t go back to the park. You’ve never had another chili dog, though you’ll hire the vendor to cater community events. You’ve worked your way back into the public library, but still avoid the alcove on the second floor in the encyclopedia section. There’s a handful of arcade tokens in a plastic bag in your apartment still unused. Batburger is still your favourite, but you still can’t set foot in the location nearest to the Academy.

You keep yourself so busy that when your Words come in, “I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t know…”, you barely give it a thought, just pulling the cuff of your shirt lower to cover your wrist. Carry on with the rest of your morning routine and head into the office. From that point on, your sleeves are always long and your gala outfits gain elbow length opera gloves. You never bother trying to read the rest of it. It doesn’t matter anymore.

It’s a cold February morning. The bus broke down two stops from the office and now you have to walk the rest of the way in the snow. Standing at a crosswalk waiting for the light to change, you pass the time by scanning the headlines on the nearest newsstand. “Lost Wayne son found alive” screams out at you, tearing into your heart bloody. You lose grip of your work bag, but manage not to lose your mind in the street. Picking your bag up out of the slush, you run into the nearest bodega bathroom and lock the door with trembling hands. Shove a fist into your mouth and scream as the tears pour down your face. You’re shaking, worse than you were all those years ago. Snot blocks your nose and you have to stop screaming to breathe. So you do what needs to be done. Fumbling with your coat pocket, you pull out your phone and call the office, call out sick. It’s the only time you’ve done it in all the time your supervisor has known you but the tremor in your voice and frequent sniffles must alarm her enough.

In a fog, you somehow make it from the bodega bathroom to the front gate of Wayne manor. It doesn’t look like it’s changed at all since your last visit over five years ago, except for the heaving mass of press. You circle round the property and enter through the bushes, the way Jason showed you years ago on a tour of the property. You slip on the snow, fall to your knees but get back up. This is the only thing that matters now. The back door has an elaborate knocker that takes both of your hands to lift. It takes what feels like ages for someone to answer the door. It’s poor Mr. Pennyworth, looking more ruffled than you’ve ever seen him. You’re indescribably rude to the poor man, pushing right past him and into the building. Only one thing matters now and your vision has narrowed out anything outside of achieving your goal.

There’s voices coming from somewhere inside, up the stairs and in the direction of the library. A hand, probably Mr. Pennyworth’s, tries to grab at your wrist but you’re too quick for that. You’re running now, clutching at the bannister as though it will pull you up the stairs faster. A shout from behind and the tone of the voices change, a door slamming in the distance. Finally, finally you reach the library but a body tries to come between you, stopping you in your tracks. Years of grief, anger, and battered hope come roaring through you at the thought of being denied seeing Jason, alive after all this time.

Your voice when it leaves you is dangerously low. “Dick, I presume? You don’t know me, and I’ve heard very little about you from Jason and what I did hear I didn’t like. I’m going to make this simple.” The door behind him cracks open, but you soldier on anyway. “Jason Todd was my best friend and first love.” The body stiffens, but that doesn’t matter in this moment. “You are going to step aside and-” anything else doesn’t matter because a door is thrown open and there is Jason.

Eyes wild, a good deal older and more scarred than before, but he’s alive. And then nothing else matters but the feel of his arms warm around you, the imprint of his jacket on your face, the smell of him largely unchanged. He’s alive and he’s real and you can touch him. You draw back to look at him, drink in the sharpened angle of his jaw, the blue-green of his eyes, the white streak in his hair. He’s grown taller and broader than he had over that wretched summer so many years ago. What catches your eye is the writing at the hollow of his throat, a stark black spreading across his collarbones exposed by the v of his t-shirt. Jason Todd was my best friend and first love, it reads.

“I’m so sorry sweetheart, I didn’t know you felt the same.” He says and your wrist starts to burn.

[biibini]

hello! :DD

i love reading all of your fics, they make me giggle and smile so much <3 (we’re brain rotting together ✨🤞)

it’s my bday today, so i’m wondering if i may request modern mizu and reader spending time together during the reader’s birthday?

nsfw modern!mizu x reader’s bday (request)

tags: loving mizu, soft, morning kisses, affectionate mizu, touchy, cuddling, bathtub scene???, massages, cunnilingus, dom!mizu, praise, dirty talk, dirty praise talk ?, strap on, hickies, riding, receiving head, fingering, aftercare

a/n: omg first off HAPPY BIRTHDAYYY! i hope this isnt too late & thank u for reading the brain rots :) im glad yall enjoy it as much as i do

18+ suggestive content below

modern!mizu would start the bday business in the morning before u wake up

normally, she would wake up in the early morning to go to the gym

but one day without it wouldn’t be the end of the world

besides, she would get the workout later tonight in between ur legs

(yeah i said it, the D is fire🔥, happy wife happy life)

(anyways)

she’d go out and get fresh flowers

prob from the local flower store in downtown

she’d try to be quiet with her motorcycle but if ur a light sleeper, u would know whats up

but she would come back to the apartment quietly and place the flowers neatly in a new vase

before changing back into her pjs, she would place the vase on the desk w a little note saying “good morning & happy birthday baby ♡”

climbing back into bed, u would feel her arms surround u from behind

Mizu sneaks back into bed after successfully finishing her mission: getting a pretty bouquet for her pretty birthday girl. Now under the covers, she turns to look at you. Still fast asleep, her arms wrap your body from behind. She feels you stir awake and hum from her touch.

Mizu hunches over to get a better view of your face. Your eyes flutter open. You look to your left to find Mizu, hair down and looking at you endearingly.

"Happy birthday, baby.", Mizu greets you, giving you a good morning kiss. You smile and kiss her back. "Thank you.", you respond back.

You hook your arms around her neck, attempting to pull her in for more morning kisses. Instead, she stopped you in your tracks.

"Someone left a special present for a pretty birthday girl on the desk."

You looked past Mizu and spotted the vase on the desk, holding your favorite flowers. Your eyes widen in shock. You crawl out of bed and walk over to get a closer look at the bouquet. Laid next to the vase was a note written in Mizu's handwriting.

Good morning and happy birthday baby, it wrote.

You stared at the note in awe, looking back at proud MIzu with a smile. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

You turned around to give Mizu a big hug and many many thank-you kisses.

modern!mizu would attempt to cook a breakfast in bed

she would probably end up asking u for help

but setting up the table? all her

serving u food? all her

setting u down in the chair? all her

she would want to treat her pretty girl well

in an attempt to make something cute, she would try to make heart-shaped pancakes or any shape u desired

it almost worked with the heart but it ended up looking like a squiggly heart

it was still delicious anyways

modern!mizu would def host a birthday lunch or dinner with u and ur friends

she can spend her time with u later tonight

but she wants u to celebrate with others during ur special day

i dont think she would surprise u but she would shock u with how meticulously planned everything is

from the reserved table to the special free birthday cake to the singing of happy birthday at the dinner table

at first, u thought it would just be the waiter and ur friends all sitting around and quietly singing

but akemi brought a karaoke microphone

and then taigen pulled out his speaker

and ringo brought out a tambourine

and mizu with another karaoke microphone

tbh it was ringo and akemi that wanted it to be loud but mizu just went along

its ur birthday it should be celebrated

they all proceeded to sing happy birthday, loud and proud

while ur waiter laughed and played along, happily singing and clapping to the beat

modern!mizu would probably find some way to sneak in "birthday kisses"

aka just more affectionate mizu

i feel like she wouldn't be the biggest fan of PDA but if she's feeling extra loving on ur special day, that goes out the window

if she's not holding ur hand, her arm is by ur shoulder

if her arm isn't wrapped around ur shoulder, it's wrapped around ur waist

and just random kisses

"just because" kisses

"oh it's ur bday" kisses

she's just in love and celebrating ur day

modern!mizu would definitely give u a relaxing bath after a long day of birthday celebrations

if big parties aren't ur thing, she would make sure to make u feel relaxed

she would set up the bath and let u pick whatever scent or bath bomb u wished to use

if it was ur thing, she would always recommend the lavender or jasmine scent for destress

while in the bath, she would set any tea u would like

light a candle

bring a book

if it was up to u, she could join the relaxation

but if u didn't wish for any disturbances, mizu wouldn't mind

but lets face it: ofc u want her in ur bday bath

after ur all settled, she would join right behind u & wrap her arms around ur body

its such a soft and intimate moment

after a day of celebration, u could relax and take a deep breath

You were sitting in the bathtub, filled with warm water, and a jasmine bath bomb quietly sizzling next to you. To your right, you watch Mizu light a lavender-scented candle. As you begin to settle into the bathtub and relax, you hear soft piano music in the background. You take a deep breath and enter your entire body into the bathtub, enveloping yourself in the warm water that Mizu prepared for you.

"Everything alright?", Mizu asks as she sits next to you outside the bathtub.

You nod in response. "Everything's perfect..."

You pause.

"Except one thing."

Mizu tilts her head in confusion. You look up to her, reaching your arm out to her with an open hand: an invitation to join you.

"You're missing.", you smile.

Mizu smiles back. Not a wide grin but a soft smile.

She strips down and enters the bath behind you. The water splashes against the side. Not overfilling quite yet, but almost filled to the brim with jasmine-scented bath water. You turn behind to see Mizu's face highlighted by one of the candles nearby. Her eyes softly gazed back at you, almost shining in the flickering light.

"Come here.", she says softly, wrapping her arms around your body. You lay back as you feel her hands find your sides, gently hugging your body. You feel her lips softly touch your shoulders, inching closer to your neck. Her breath tickles your neck, making you gasp in response.

"Mizu...", you turn your head to get a better view of Mizu.

"Shhh. Just relax.", she quietly mumbled.

"Let me treat my pretty girl on her birthday."

modern!mizu would give u little massages

she's gotten experience from eiji asking begging her to massage his back after a long day

by request, u can ask her to focus on specific pain points

but tbh the feeling of her hands caressing ur back (or anywhere) can send u a one-way trip to heaven

if ur still in the bath, she would wash ur hair too in the meantime

she can do her hair afterwards

the feeling of her fingers digging into ur scalp and back feels oh so good

NSFW content ahead

(oh thank god let's get to the good stuff)

modern!mizu would def give u birthday head

mizu would not hesitate at all

she would slowly start from giving u gentle kisses to worshipping ur entire body

and the finale erupting in between ur legs

strap or no strap, it was up to u

but she was determined to pleasure u either way

modern!mizu would keep on praising u the entire night

the amount of praises u would hear is sinful

a lot of "my love" or "my pretty girl"s but make it 100x

or "my pretty girl is doing so good"

"you like that, don't you?"

"taking my fingers so well... that's my beautiful girl"

(im blushing just thinking ab it)

modern!mizu would leave a dangerous number of marks

typically, she only likes to leave one or two hidden

but since she's already on a roll

she can get a little careless

and totally not leave a few in between your thighs

and around your boobs

and neck

all in all, she'd end the night giving u ultimate treatment aftercare aka just very affectionate and loving mizu

modern!mizu ends ur birthday night with cuddles and sweet kisses and more softer sfw praises until u fall asleep

You and Mizu lay yourselves on the bed, still recovering from the pleasurable highs and moans a couple minutes ago. Wrapped in Mizu's arms, you squeeze her arms tightly.

"Thank you for a wonderful birthday day, my love.", you compliment her as you kiss her cheek.

She turned to kiss you fully, one of her arms moving to allow her hand to cup your face.

"Anything for my pretty girl.", she answers back, smiling at you once more before coming closer to give you more loving kisses.

[yaniluvs]

๋࣭⭑ (현진) : AND NO MATTER WHAT ── how did you make your project-partner-turned-friend fall in love with you?

𓍯 classmate!hyunjin ʚଓ fem!reader ：（ 𝒾 ） 2k ── ༯ ONESHOT, uni au, friends to lovers, open-ending, cute/romantic, dorks in love, music lovers, terribly in love, fluff, based off of my imaginary scenario for hey you by hyunjin. ⸝⸝𓂃 LiBRARY . /ᐠ.ꞈ.ᐟ\ྀིྀི

yani's note ˖˙ ᰋ another hyune fluff because he's a cutie patootie >3< !! literally at 99 follows, it's unbelievable omg. thank you so much for the love <3 i love hyune's skzrecs so much. taglist for all fics/series is open, so are requests. i'll try to stay as consistent as i can ;3. comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated ! happy reading <3

hey you, yes you.

the late afternoon sun spilled golden light across the campus, casting long shadows that seemed to dance as two shadows strolled side by side.

the sound of the female’s voice filled the air between them, light and melodic as she animatedly shared a story from class earlier that day. the other, listened – or rather, tried to. 

he loved her voice, its rhythm and flow, but sometimes it felt like the words themselves drifted over him like the wind, leaving him caught in a different kind of reverie.

'blah blah blah, proper name, place name, backstory stuff..'

her hair swayed as she spoke, her dark locks brushing just past her shoulders, glinting faintly under the sun’s glow. her eyes sparkled with life, her laugh spilling out in waves that made the world around them quieter, fading away into the background. 

he smiled, almost absently, not realising he’d been staring at her lips as they moved, shaping every word. he couldn’t help it – there was something mesmerising about her. every moment she smiled, his heart did this fluttering thing, like wings of a trapped butterfly desperate to break free. 

they walked like this often, at an easy pace – her talking, him beside her, always only half listening but entirely enchanted by her presence. it was pretty routine now, these after-school walks. sometimes they’d end up at her apartment, sometimes at a cafe, downtown, or a garden tucked behind the university, just out of reach of the busy atmosphere. 

today, there wasn’t much of a destination. they meandered, letting the streets guide them.

“…and basically i was the one doing all the work for the presentation, while yejun was trying to converse with me, ” y/n groaned, shaking her head, clearly amused by whatever story she was telling. “to be fair, i didn’t trust him with graphics anyway.”

“uh huh..”

hyunjin blinked, low-key realising he had no idea what she was talking about. he glanced away for a moment, slightly embarrassed by how distracted he’d become, but his gaze quickly found its way back to her, like a compass drawn north.

“well, that’s uh.. tiring,” he offered, though the words felt vague, distant.

she didn’t seem to notice him spacing out.

“right? and apparently yeseo didn’t seem too annoyed, she was doing the questionnaire.” she sighed, a quiet huff leaving her lips. she continued on, her hands gesturing in excitement and complaint, her expression lively. 

her energy was contagious — he always found himself pulled into her orbit, like gravity. 

they were similar and different in many ways. but when they were together, none of that mattered.

his mind wandered again, drifting over the familiar details he’d memorised over the past year. the way her hair curled ever so slightly at the ends. 

whenever he was over, it was the way her guitar looked propped against the wall of her apartment, sometimes with random pages scattered across her bed. the way she’d always have her hands on her prized guitar, whether it be randomly finger styling, or strumming chords quietly, the notes echoing into her room like waves crashing on the shore.

the way she’d hum so softly when they walked, a tune she hadn’t yet shared with anyone, not even him. 

how did you make me fall in love with you?

hyunjin wasn’t sure when he’d fallen in love with her, but he had. 

somewhere between their casual hangouts and the quiet moments where her smile lingered in his thoughts long after they’d parted, he’d realised how deeply he cared. she was everywhere in his mind, the centre of every daydream, the melody behind every song he’d quietly sketch out on paper. 

it was impossible not to be in awe of her.

hey you, yes you.

they passed a small record shop, its windows fogged from the chill creeping into the evening. without thinking, he reached for her hand, tugging her gently toward the shop. “come on, let’s go inside,” he said, his voice light.

her eyes flickered to him, surprised. “oh– okay–” she yelped, and he pulled her inside.

the shop was small, the kind of place where time seemed to stand still. rows of vinyl records, their glossy covers faded with age, lined the walls. a soft hum of jazz drifted from the corner, mixing with the scent of worn paper and vinyl. it was cosy, intimate – a perfect reflection of the quiet spaces they often found themselves in.

he let go of her hand reluctantly, watching as the lady drifted toward a display of classic rock albums, her fingers skimming over the spines. she looked in her element here, surrounded by music, and he couldn’t help but smile to himself, admiring the way her brows furrowed slightly in concentration.

 she had that effect on him – a constant source of fascination, a flame he couldn’t quite stop staring at.

at first sight.

then she found the record she was looking for.

“hey, look at this one!” her voice broke through his thoughts, and she held up a pink-purple hue covered record, with a wide grin. “i’ve been searching for this almost everywhere, oh my god.” her eyes went through the cover, excitement gushing her veins. 

pink floyd’s – learning to fly.

“the guitar work is crazy good in this one.” she spoke.

the guy stepped closer, glancing at the cover, but once again, his attention faltered. 

“wait, is this the pink floyd one you were talking about like – a few weekends ago?” 

his eyes lifted, landing on her face instead of the record. 

“you remembered?” her eyes twinkled, surprisingly. “yeah, it’s that one!”

at first sight.

of course, he remembered.

even the smallest details that no one else seemed to catch, lived in his mind and heart, day in and day out. 

like the way her voice softened when she talked about her favourite music, as if it were a secret between her and the universe. or how her eyes would light up at the mention of something she loved, like now, as she held that pink floyd record in her hands, her smile wide and unguarded.

there was something about her that made even the mundane feel sacred. every moment they shared was etched into his mind like notes on a page, forming a melody only he could hear.

she was beautiful in a way that made him feel unsteady, like the ground beneath him wasn’t quite solid. the warmth of the shop seemed to wrap around them, cocooning them in a bubble where only they existed.

“i do,” he said, his voice sassy, but there was a deeper weight beneath the words. he remembered the way she talked about the song with a passion that lit up the whole room. he remembered the way her fingers absentmindedly strummed her guitar as she hummed the tune, lost in thought. he remembered it all because it wasn’t just the record – it was her.

he was always listening, always watching, even if she didn’t realise it. he caught the way she tilted her head slightly when she was deep in thought, the way her lips curved when she found something funny but tried not to laugh. 

he noticed the way her breath hitched when she talked about things that mattered, like music or art, or those late-night conversations when everything felt quiet and safe.

she didn’t know it, but she was his world, every detail, every moment, like tiny brushstrokes in a painting only he could see. she consumed his thoughts, filled every gap in his mind until there was nothing left but her – her voice, her smile, the way her hair fell over her shoulders in soft waves, the way she looked at him now, eyes bright and full of life.

“i didn’t think you were paying attention,” she said with a laugh, pulling him back to the moment, though the warmth on her cheeks told him she was a little flattered.

he shrugged, “i always love to listen when you talk,” he admitted, the words hanging between them like a confession. “it’s kinda hard not to when you talk about something you love, you know?” he chuckled.

and what he didn’t know was, the way her heart was sent leaping across the room, warmth reaching her ears now, too. 

did he really say that? she probably wondered. 

but oh, darling, what do you even know?

she blinked, her smile faltering for a split second as she looked at him. her eyes searched his face, as if she were seeing him for the first time. there was something unspoken in the air, something delicate, fragile, like the space between them had shifted just a little. 

she looked away, back at the record in her hands, her fingers brushing over the cover again, but her movements were slower, more thoughtful.

“wow, i didn’t know that,” she shyly chuckled, her voice a little softer now too, as if something had shifted in her as well.

he chuckled briefly, nodding, but his mind was still caught in the moment. 

he remembered because she was important to him, more than she could ever know. he wanted to tell her – wanted to say that every time she spoke, every time she smiled, it was like the world stopped turning for a second, just so he could capture it. but he stayed quiet, afraid that if he said too much, the magic of the moment might disappear.

instead, they stood there in the quiet shop, surrounded by the hum of jazz and the soft rustle of vinyl sleeves, as the weight of their unspoken feelings settled around them.

“i bet you could play like that,” he said softly, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

she looked up once again, her eyes meeting his, surprised. she laughed, brushing it off. “you’re just saying that,” she teased, but there was a flicker of something in her gaze – something soft, something that lingered a little too long.

he felt his heart skip. 

they spent the next hour wandering the aisles, flipping through albums, sharing quiet conversations about their favourite bands. but no matter what they talked about, his mind kept circling back to her – her laughter, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about something she loved. every moment with her felt like a piece of a song he hadn’t finished writing, each note falling into place, slowly, sweetly.

when they finally left the shop, the sun had set, and the city lights flickered to life around them. they walked in silence for a while, the cool night air brushing against their skin. 

his hand brushed hers, and for a moment, he hesitated, unsure if he should take it again. 

he wanted to. he wanted to hold her hand, to close the distance between them, to say everything he felt but couldn’t yet put into words.

but instead, he stayed quiet, his heart full, his mind full of her.

can we walk? and maybe share our lives. can we talk? and maybe love your eyes. as they reached her apartment building, then floor, y/n turned to him with a soft smile, the kind that made his chest ache in the best way. “thanks for today, hyun.” she said quietly, her voice carrying a warmth that settled deep in his bones. “it was fun!”

he nodded, smiling back. “obviously, because i was there,” he replied, cheekily, earning a roll of her eyes.

“whatever,” she laughed. “i’ll uh, see you and lix tomorrow at uni then.”

“mhm, we’ll see you there.” his hand shot up, ruffling her dark hair, “night. don’t stay up till 3 am though, please. you look like a terrible panda with those dark bags under your eyes – surviving on three hours of sleep.”

she shot a glare his way, her arms instinctively hitting his shoulder to which he only groaned in feign pain. 

“you’re impossible. well, go now, the uni curfew’s boutta clock down, don’t wanna be late, do you?”

he skipped back towards the elevator, pressing the tiny button. “thank you for the reminder,” he huffed, “it’s not even quarter to eight yet, it’s stupid. but anyway, see you.”

“good night, hyun.” she chuckled, waving him off, as she closed the door behind her. 

he stood near the elevator, watching the door close behind her, already replaying the day in his mind, committing every little detail to memory.

because, of course, he remembered. he always would.

and no matter what, he will give her his heart.

[montammil]

In Glory, in Ruin - part 1

New series! This will contain pet whump, but I decided to make a slightly more sadistic whumper than my other two stories because I like spontaneity. Please give feedback and send as many asks about them as you want!

CW: Suggestive, death threats, mob boss whumper, intimate/creepy whumper, future pet whump, mafia/mob/crime whump, mentioned murder

...

Diesel's life was pretty ordinary. He went about his day like any other person would in the city. The hustle and bustle of the city streets was a background noise that helped him tune out all the thoughts inside his head. He was a pretty ordinary, scrawny guy, so it was easy to go unnoticed by those around him. To most, they'd think he was just another stressed out white collar worker, like most in the city.

Well, the 'stressed out' part was true.

His father owed some awful guys a lot of debt, but never paid it off. When he died, that debt was passed to Diesel.

Yet they didn't want money from him, when he made it clear he couldn't pay it off. They decided to use him as an asset, which was the only reason he had been working this stupid job for the past three years.

"Jasper Lynn is the guy we want dirt on," he was told. "Boss of The Iron Syndicate, slippery fucker he is."

Of course Diesel had heard of him before. Everyone knew about Jasper.

It was common knowledge he killed his own father after taking over The Iron Syndicate ten years ago. Not even twenty at the time and he was one of the most dangerous people in the world.

There were all sorts of rumors surrounding him; some said he used to be a professional cage fighter before taking over for his father, some said his father wasn't even his actual dad.

Never did Diesel care, because Jasper "The Iron Lion" Lynn was only ever interested in making an example of snitches who wound up dead on the doorsteps of the authorities, and if he kept his head down he wouldn't have to worry.

"I can't do that," Diesel stammered, "I'll be killed, I'm not equipped for this kind of stuff!" He had spied for them before--even killed for them before--but this was something completely out of his normal territory.

"Does that mean I should just end your life now, Blevins?" he had been asked in return. "Because if you don't do this for me, you have no reason being alive, got it?"

So he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Diesel forced himself to nod and agree.

"Good man."

Which led to now. The Iron Syndicate were having one of their monthly celebrations at a casino downtown, the very same casino that acted as the headquarters for their less than legal exploits. Diesel forced himself to put on a tough guy persona, dressed in one of the plain black suits that matched the rest of the other members of The Iron Syndicate.

"Name?" the bouncer asked, not looking up from her phone.

"Glen Lloyd," Diesel lied. He had managed to knock out one of The Iron Syndicate members and retrieve their ID card. Of course he didn't want to kill anyone unless absolutely necessary.

She looked up, gave him an unimpressed once-over, and shrugged before waving him through. As he stepped through, loud bass-heavy music nearly knocked Diesel off balance.

For how illegal the casino was, it sure was bustling with activity.

There was an upper balcony overlooking a large stage, where some dancers were currently doing a performance.

Around the first floor were various gambling tables, crowded full of players betting away their hard-earned cash. At the very center of the casino was a bar lit by neon red light fixtures.

If Diesel had more time, he would probably explore every aspect of the building, but he could get caught if he wandered around too much.

His contact hadn't told him what exactly he needed dirt on, so the best Diesel could do was take pictures of Jasper and his closest members and hope they found it useful for something.

He grabbed a small cocktail glass from one of the waiters walking around and tried to blend into the crowd, downing it to settle his nerves.

Eventually, after wandering for about ten minutes, Diesel spotted Jasper talking to another woman with black hair. She wore red lipstick, her hair in a ponytail, and black round sunglasses on top of her head.

They were both tall, but Jasper especially. He looked to be at least six feet, probably even taller. It made him somehow even more nervous.

But still, Diesel fiddled with his smartphone, making sure flash wasn't on. He glanced around to make sure no one was looking, and snapped a single photo before pocketing his phone.

He was starting to wonder if this was just a suicide-mission he was set on.

Would he be killed if he came back empty-handed? Surely not, right? They kept him alive this long, even though he had made several mistakes over the past three years that almost landed him dead in an alleyway.

Then again, The Iron Syndicate was notorious for killing people without remorse. Either way he'd probably end up dead in a ditch.

"Well, aren't you cute."

Diesel almost jumped when he noticed Jasper and the woman both approaching him. He felt blood rush to his cheeks when he realized what Jasper had said. His voice was so deep, it sent a shiver down his spine.

"Oh, he's shy," the woman grinned, "it's okay, we come in peace. Are you new here?"

"I am, actually," he nodded sheepishly. It seemed like they suspected nothing, thankfully. "Is it that obvious?" he forced a chuckle.

Jasper was gazing at him so intently, Diesel felt like melting under his stare alone, and not in the good way. He wondered why someone so powerful would have a moment wasted on him. Maybe they were suspicious?

"It isn't," Jasper assured, "Katherine is just a lot better at memorizing faces than I am." His grin was smug, his gaze lidded. For whatever reason, Diesel could sense that Jasper didn't fully trust him. But still, the conversation seemed to be going somewhere. "Though I'd recognize a face like yours."

Diesel didn't know if that was flirting or a threat. "Thank you, sir... I rarely go to parties, just figured I'd try to make some friends for once."

"Well, consider us friends already, darling!" Katherine said cheerily. "Katherine Fritz. I'm the underboss."

Oh fuck. Now Diesel really regretted getting himself roped into this entire situation.

Jasper chuckled quietly. "It's alright, no need to be anxious. Let me buy you a drink."

Without waiting for Diesel to answer, Jasper placed a gentle hand on his back, guiding him towards the bar. It was surprisingly warm--Diesel could feel the heat through his clothes.

The smaller man let him guide them over, his brain nearly short-circuiting from everything going on.

The bartender turned to face them both, pushing a strand of black hair out of his face. He smiled as soon as he recognized Jasper. "Your usual?" he asked.

"The usual for me, yeah." Jasper leaned against the counter, gaze now on Diesel. "We're celebrating our new member tonight. How about...a Moscow mule for you? You strike me as a Moscow mule type of guy."

"Sure," Diesel stammered. Why was the head boss of The Iron Syndicate bothering to offer him a drink, let alone talk to him? He felt everyone's eyes on him. This must have been a common occurrence; the dangerous Jasper Lynn treating one of the others to a drink.

The bartender immediately began mixing together their drinks, seemingly distracted by the music.

"So..." Diesel muttered, "are you two dating?"

Jasper and Katherine both laughed.

"That's the complete opposite," Katherine assured him. "We hate each other. In a friendly way."

Diesel didn't comment how that made no sense to him.

"We've known each other since we were teenagers. Sometimes it might seem that way to strangers," Jasper said. His gaze was focused on Diesel, so intense that Diesel averted his eyes. "Why? You interested?"

What was even the correct answer to that? Jasper looked like he was having a great time watching him get flustered.

That cool gaze, and knowing smile. Something inside him hoped that this was actually flirting and not a test.

At least if it was actual flirting, the chances of him getting out of this alive were higher, surely. Diesel stuttered so much he could barely understand himself.

Katherine cooed. "Look at that. You broke the poor thing."

"Apologies," Jasper grinned, "I was teasing, obviously."

"Obviously," Diesel repeated weakly, cheeks flushed.

Their drinks were finally ready, and Diesel picked it up carefully. The glass was colder than he anticipated. He took a cautious sip of it, letting the liquid roll down his tongue. It tasted bitter, but he forced himself to enjoy it. If he didn't, he was scared either of them would notice.

"You haven't given us your name yet, sweet thing," Jasper pointed out, picking up his own glass of scotch.

Was he being interrogated?

"Oh, yeah. My name's Diesel," he said, realizing he just gave his real name. How was he still even alive at this point? "Um, Diesel Thomas." At least he could give himself a fake last name.

Jasper held out his hand for Diesel to shake, which the shorter man did timidly. He just hoped his palms weren't clammy, though Jasper was wearing gloves, so he doubted he'd notice.

"What brought you to The Iron Syndicate, Diesel Thomas?" Jasper asked smoothly. "No offense, but you stick out here like a sore thumb." He took another sip of his drink. Diesel almost panicked, searching for some kind of excuse.

"Bad decisions," he said eventually. "You know the whole shebang, the stereotypical sob story. Owe money, get in trouble with gangs, et cetera." Not entirely untrue.

Jasper nodded, humming under his breath in thought. Diesel's brain was practically screaming at him to find an escape route and fast.

Yet something made him want to stay. He hadn't ever seen Jasper face-to-face before. His reputation always preceded him, always painted him as such a violent, intimidating presence, and Diesel never would have guessed otherwise. Yet he seemed oddly relaxed and even playful with his behavior.

Though maybe he shouldn't assume things so quickly. Diesel had only talked to the guy for barely ten minutes.

And the way Jasper looked at him was... peculiar. He could have sworn there was a certain hunger to his gaze, but he probably was projecting. If he weren't a mob boss, Diesel would think he's just trying to get in his pants.

Both him and Katherine, honestly.

"How about some poker after some drinks?" Jasper casually asked.

"Oh, uh... I don't know how to play poker." Diesel finished his Moscow mule, silently placing it back down.

The other man chuckled. "How about pool?"

Katherine huffed. "Sure you wanna play pool again, Jaspie? I can't count how many times you've lost already today."

"That's why I'm challenging Diesel, actually," Jasper retorted, but his tone was still playful. He turned back to the younger man. "Don't ever accept her when she challenges you to a game. She cheats at everything."

"I'm just good at manipulating numbers, that's all," Katherine argued innocently, playing with her fingernails. Her red lipstick matched her nails nicely, Diesel couldn't help but notice. She was certainly stunning and charismatic, if a bit intimidating. Then again, Jasper was too, just in a different way. "If I just happen to have strong skills, should that be my fault?"

"Yeah, but you still cheat," Jasper chuckled. His gold eyes then met with Diesel's blue ones. "What do you say, honey?"

Playing pool wouldn't hurt, right? He didn't really know any of the rules of poker. So he simply shrugged. "Okay."

Immediately, Jasper took their cups back, giving them to the bartender behind the counter. Jasper gave him a wink. They moved to the pool table area of the casino.

"I assume you're not in the mood for old-fashioned gambling," Jasper chuckled, handing Diesel a cue. "So how about this? If you win, you get to make me do whatever you want. And if I win, I get to make you do whatever I want. How does that sound?" He twirled his pool cue between his fingers expertly.

The 'whatever you want' sounded promising in his head, but also terrifying. What the hell was that supposed to mean? It was so vague.

Katherine whistled. "Better take him up on that. He usually doesn't make those kinds of offers." She leaned forward, smiling at Diesel. "It'll probably just involve some sex and booze. Jasper isn't that creative. Simple-minded guy, easy to please."

Diesel choked on nothing.

Jasper glared at Katherine over his shoulder. "Thanks, Kat."

"Anytime."

"Uh..." Diesel's brain tried to compute everything happening right now. "That sounds good," he mumbled lamely. If he declined, would that raise suspicion? But if he accepted, would that also be bad? Well, even if that were the case, it was too late now. "Yeah, okay. Yeah."

Jasper flashed him that charming smile, and suddenly Diesel wanted to smack himself for agreeing.

He chalked his cue awkwardly as Jasper started racking the balls on the opposite side of the table. He then picked up a coin from a jar on the wall. "Heads or tails?" Jasper asked casually.

"Tails," Diesel muttered.

Jasper flipped the coin in the air before catching it in one palm. He peeked at it, that grin spreading even wider. "Well, looks like I'll be shooting first, pretty boy." He rolled up his sleeves to show off his tattooed arms.

Those pet names were gonna kill him, if Jasper didn't himself.

The taller man took his first shot. With a loud bang, all the balls bounced apart, the first ball falling into one of the pockets.

Jasper leaned down against the edge of the table again, taking another shot, but missed this time. When he glanced up at Diesel, it was with that same hungry expression from before.

The younger man fiddled with his cue before walking around to the opposite side of the table.

He hit a couple balls, though none landed into any of the holes. It was enough of an excuse for Jasper to get closer to Diesel's personal space than was necessary. Their arms brushed together every so often, Jasper's lips always close enough to Diesel's ear for him to hear the soft breathing emitting from the taller man.

At one point, Jasper pressed against him from behind, pinning him to the table.

"Let me show you how it works, darling," he whispered, guiding Diesel's hand with his own. Jasper then gently helped Diesel shoot properly, and this time the ball finally went into the hole. The mob boss pulled away after that, as if he hadn't done anything strange. "See what happens when you apply just the right amount of pressure?"

"You're quite handsy," Katherine teased, pulling Jasper away from Diesel. "Can you calm down with that? Poor Diesel's going to combust if you keep that up. Save it for the bedroom."

"He loves it," Jasper rolled his eyes.

They both continued playing until Jasper managed to get most of the striped balls into the pockets, winning the game. Diesel groaned internally.

"Huh, it's been awhile since I've actually won," Jasper commented, hanging up his pool cue back onto its rack on the wall. "Almost makes me want to play pool more often." He turned back around to face Diesel. "Guess that means I won our little wager. You remember the terms, don't you?"

"Yeah..." Diesel gulped audibly. This felt worse than having a gun pointed at him, somehow. He didn't like how Jasper was grinning like the cat who ate the canary, but he tried to ignore it anyway. "So...you wanna do what exactly..?"

Jasper pretended to contemplate it. "Hmm... what do you think, Kat?"

Katherine smirked. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'd like to see him to be honest about why he's really here." She folded her arms across her chest. "Isn't that right, Blevins?"

Diesel froze, color draining from his face instantly. There was no way. Absolutely no fucking way...

He glanced around, noticing that everyone seemed to stop talking among themselves and instead began approaching them all slowly. He noticed guns strapped to some of their hips.

Katherine and Jasper both were leaning against the table, not looking bothered at all. Jasper was sipping a drink, looking rather amused by something, while Katherine only stood beside him with the same smirk as before.

"How?" Diesel clutched his own chest. His heart felt like it was ready to explode out of his chest, going a million miles a minute.

Jasper chuckled. "Oh sweet, naive, silly Diesel Blevins," he purred. "You think I'm oblivious to anything that happens inside these walls? Really? It's my casino, my club. And everyone here is loyal to me. Your disguise wasn't clever."

"But...if you knew, why didn't you kill me right then and there?" Diesel frowned. That part truly confused him the most. If Jasper had figured out why he was here right when they first met, why play along with his bullshit?

"If I did, it'd ruin the fun," Jasper pouted mockingly. "Where's the fun in murdering someone right after meeting them? Where's the thrill?" He laughed again, much darker this time. "Plus, seeing the look on your face right now is worth it all. You're too easy to toy with, y'know? It's so rare I get people like you who are just too gullible, too curious. It's adorable."

Diesel blinked away tears. How pathetic was he, crying just because he fucked up again?

He wanted to curse at himself for ever accepting his offer, though if he had declined it, surely he still would have been found out anyway.

"What's gonna happen to me?" he choked out.

Jasper put his glass aside. He sauntered to the shorter man, cupping Diesel's chin gently. The poor thing didn't even protest the action.

"It depends," Jasper cooed, stroking his thumb along Diesel's cheekbone. "I could torture you for info. Kill you. Sell you." His tone suggested he didn't actually plan on doing any of those things. Diesel whimpered. "I'd prefer if you told me on your own who you work for. No need to make this complicated. After all, I like you quite a lot. You intrigue me. Plus, it'd be a shame to ruin such a beautiful face, no?"

"I...I can't tell you that!" Diesel stuttered. If he snitched, they would definitely end his life. Who cares if he was useless to them now, they wanted revenge. "I know how it works, they'd kill me for sure..."

With a laugh, Katherine replied, "Well, its either they do or we do."

Jasper laughed along with her. "Don't feel like you need to be loyal to whoever sent you here. I mean, they definitely sent you here on a death mission, anyway. You're clearly inexperienced with this type of stuff, they must've realized that if they knew anything about you, sweetheart. It's obvious you aren't used to being here, being with people like me. I could read you like an open book, honestly."

"...Velvet Fangs," Diesel finally muttered. "...I-I owed them debt because of my father. I dunno anything else... I-I can't tell you more. Please don't hurt me..."

"It's been awhile since we dealt with VF, huh?" Katherine frowned. "The last time was probably six years ago."

"Six years ago..." Jasper repeated. He looked up in thought, trying to remember back. Suddenly realization dawned on him, and his eyes lit up. "Ah, you're right! Hm. They used to be competent, what happened to them? Sending a civilian like you to retrieve information for them... Now that's sad, even for them. Their good recruits must've quit."

He seemed to be lost in thought. Diesel swallowed the lump forming in his throat. "Can I go now...? I swear I won't tell anyone—"

"Nah-ah-ah, Diesel," Jasper interrupted. "We're not done yet. In fact, we've only just begun. Like I said earlier, I like you a lot." His grip on Diesel's jaw tightened briefly before letting go entirely.

He reached into his blazer pocket, revealing his pistol. The silver accents on the handgun gleamed under the casino's red light fixtures, making it appear like it was almost glowing in the darkness of the room. Jasper traced the barrel of the gun under Diesel's chin, forcing the smaller man to meet his gaze. Fear was clear in those blue orbs of his.

Jasper clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Give me your phone," he demanded.

Diesel only nodded in response, reaching into his pant's pocket and shakily pulling out his smartphone. Jasper grabbed it, tossing it to one of the guys behind him without looking.

"Transfer the files and then destroy it," Jasper ordered. The man gave him a brief salute and nod before pocketing Diesel's phone and walking away. "Hey," Jasper murmured softly, lifting up Diesel's chin with a single finger. "You still with me?" Diesel didn't need to respond, the fear in his eyes said everything. "I have an idea. Heads or tails?"

Jasper sure liked gambling. "H-heads...?"

He smiled and then flipped a quarter high into the air above him, grabbing it as it fell back down. When he checked, his grin widened.

"Lucky you. You're coming home with me." He yanked Diesel up by the arm. "But try anything, and I won't hesitate to fill you with lead, got it?" Diesel couldn't nod fast enough. "Good, I'm glad we're on the same page." He led him to a sleek black limousine that drove up to the entrance. Pushing him into the car, Jasper then followed, closing the door shut.

Diesel squeezed his eyes shut the entire time and chose to pretend none of this was real.

[miyahchan]

Week Two - October 9th - Grim Reaper!Higuruma x Reader

Synopsis: After a close call with death, the Grim Reaper himself can’t seem to let you go.

Word Count: 2.6k

🚨 Warnings: 18+ content, dubcon (alcohol consumption), oral sex (male receiving), penetration, girl on top, missionary, pretty smutty in general.

A/N: This post does have some content that can be seen as “morbid”. There’s nothing super graphic or anything but death is a pretty heavily talked about thing in here so be aware. Also, I’m hoping everyone is staying safe here in Florida with this hurricane coming. Evacuate if you need to and don’t forget to stock up on supplies and gas. I’m praying for everyone’s safety! 🚨

Check out the official Kinktober 2024 post HERE!

           3 months ago, Higuruma appeared downtown, dawning his usual suit and briefcase. He didn’t take the train, hail a cab, or even walk. Oddly enough, he just always appeared when he was needed. He stood on the corner of Main St. and 4th Ave, just waiting patiently. The streets were unusually bare, the only sounds filling Higuruma’s ears being the lulling sound of the wind and the occasional rattle of raccoons rummaging through trash cans.

            Who would it be tonight?

            Higuruma started his walk down the street, glancing into the windows that he passed. He passed a bar. Would it be the man who passed out after too many beers? Maybe alcohol poisoning? Then, he passed an office building. Would it be an employee leaving work, only to be mugged and killed? No. Those didn’t feel right.

            Finally, a roar of an engine made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, not from fear, but anticipation. This was it.

            A silver car sped down the street, swerving uncontrollably. Higuruma only watched idly. The car ran the red light before fully losing control and heading directly toward a brick building. It collided with the brick, the front of the car crushing like a soda can and completely caving in. The airbags exploded from inside, suffocating the driver, who hadn’t moved. It was a speedy, harsh crash, one of the worst Higuruma had ever seen in the entirety of his job. He’d seen much worse, of course – sick children, freak accidents, even the grisliest of murders. But he couldn’t pretend that this one didn’t make him wince a bit.

            Had it been a drunk driver? Texting and driving? Over the plethora of years he’d been alive, Higuruma learned how idiotic humans were. For such weak beings, they constantly overestimated their mortality and made the worst decisions. He couldn’t count on ten hands how many people he’d seen die due to the choice of getting behind the wheel while intoxicated, or thinking that a phone call was more important than keeping their eyes on the road. He’d grown indifferent to it, knowing his role.

            He made his way toward the hunk of metal that used to be a car, ready to get it over with, but he stopped in his tracks soon after.

            There was movement. 

            The airbags looked like they were breathing as something moved underneath them. They separated from each other and something peeked out from the gap. A head. Higuruma watched as the driver pulled themselves from the wreck, squeezing through the crushed metal to escape. 

            “Help!” They screamed as they limped into the middle of the street.

            Higuruma stood there, frozen in place. Something wasn’t right. He looked down at his own form, for the first time feeling something he hadn’t felt in quite literally forever – confusion. He questioned why he’d appeared there that night, never having appeared when he wasn’t needed. But, most of all, he questioned… you.

            He had seen people pass away from much less, but there you stood, full of life after crashing straight into a brick wall. Higuruma hated questions. He hated the feeling of something being incomplete. He saw the world as black and white, right or wrong. It was why he was so good at his job. Death had no grey area – you were either alive or dead. 

            You were an anomaly.

            You had cheated death.

            Higuruma never left any questions unanswered. Before he’d became what he was now, when he was merely a human, he had been a defense attorney. He’d prided himself in defending those who were unjustly convicted, going out of his way to take on cases that other attorneys wouldn’t dare touch. It wasn’t because he necessarily cared about doing the “right” thing. No, it was because, in his eyes, just like death, the law was black and white. Either you did the crime, or you didn’t. Either you were guilty, or you weren’t. People who were in prison for crimes they didn’t commit were imbalances in a world that Higuruma needed to be balanced. He supposed this mindset followed him to his otherworldly state.

            If it hadn’t, he probably wouldn’t have been following you now.

            The three months between then and now had infiltrated Higuruma’s mind in a way that he didn’t think was possible, not anymore. His days were still full of the usual reapings – he would never let anything come between his job. But, when he caught the incredibly rare millisecond where no one in the world dies, he would spend that millisecond peeking into the window that was your life. 

            He’d caught you in the hospital, checking up on your ankle that you had fractured in the crash. He’d caught you celebrating your friend’s birthday. He’d even caught you fresh out the shower once, though he’d felt embarrassed, something he hadn’t felt in millenniums.

            You made him feel a lot of things, perplexed being the overwhelming feeling from the list.

            Why you?  

            The question ran through his head every time he caught a glimpse of you. Had the universe sent you to as a cruel joke? Higuruma tensed every time he thought about it. You were just a loose end, a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. 

            He had a habit of tying loose ends, so he made the ultimate decision on a Saturday night. 

            He hadn’t been in his physical form in a long time, if ever. He wore the same suit and carried the same suitcase, but he wasn’t just a spectator anymore. Humans glanced at him as he walked down the crowded sidewalk, making his way to the bar on 4th Ave. He knew he was breaking some sort of rule, but he needed to scratch the itch.

            Higuruma scanned the faces in the bar on 4th, cursing at how crowded it was. He knew you were in there, but his physical form had its restrictions. He made his way through the crowd of people until he finally reached the bar, where you sat.

            You had on a skintight, black dress and black pumps, sipping on a martini and looking bored out of your mind. It was like you had waited for him. He took the empty seat beside you, immediately catching your attention.

            You eyed him up and down, focusing on the suitcase that he brought along with him. “Businessman?”

            “Hmph. I guess you could say that.” Higuruma ordered a drink. Whiskey, neat. Alcohol had no effect on him, but he couldn’t say that he didn’t miss the taste of a nice drink.

            You smile at his response. He figured you were already a bit tipsy when he eyed the two empty martini glasses next to your half full one. “I don’t know. You have a very strict, no-nonsense thing going on. I don’t know anyone that wears a suit at a bar.”

            He remembered another thing about humans in that moment – they were very judgmental.

            “Just had a long day at work, that’s all.” Was his simple response. 

            “Let me guess. CEO?”

            He shook his head.

            “Lawyer? No, attorney?”

            “More like a… judge.”

            You giggle at that. “You look pretty young to be a judge.”

            He smirks. “I’m older than I look.”

            The rest of the night passed in a blur. As much as you had invested yourself in the conversation, Higuruma hadn’t allowed himself that pleasure. It felt more like an assignment than a pleasant conversation between two strangers. Throughout the night, he’d taken to trying to figure you out. It wasn’t like he had expected you to admit that you were some sort of immortal demon that was sent to trick him, but it would’ve eased his mind a bit, admittedly. Instead, you were just like every other human he’d ever seen. 

            Higuruma never took to believing in luck, not even when he was human. Luck allowed too much room for oddities, too much room for things that just didn’t make sense. But, as he sat in the bar with you, he realized he would be forced to question whether such a nonsensical thing existed.

            You weren’t only an anomaly. You were also incredibly lucky.

            Lucky enough to convince Higuruma to come home with you.

            He knew humans had… desires. He’d seen a lot of them put their desires before anything else, leading to stupid decisions. Even back when he was human, he remembered having his own. He would bring women back to his penthouse, fulfilling every desire he had before kicking them out the next morning. It wasn’t the right thing to do, but he was a busy man. You were no different.

            As soon as the two of you entered your apartment, you were on him. 

            You smashed your lips against his and Higuruma returned the kiss, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. The sweet taste of your cherry lip gloss and the bitter taste of liquor on your tongue created an intoxicating combination, making Higuruma kiss you even harder. His hands slide down and cup your ass, and he curses the leather dress that acts as a barrier between him and your soft skin. He feels you begin to work on undoing his tie and unbuttoning his white button up before he helps you rid him of his layers. He, then, unzips the back of your dress and it falls to the ground.

            You stand before him, completely nude and vulnerable. He admires every dip and curve of your body, taking note of every single detail so he could remember it for the next few centuries. You were breathtaking.

            You grabbed his hand and led him to the couch, making him sit. Higuruma watched as you kneeled before him and began to unbuckle his belt. You reach into his dress pants and pull out his dick, your eyes widening at the size. He knew he’d been blessed in that department, but seeing a human reaction to it made his pride swell. You take it in your grasp and place a kiss on the tip, a string of precum connecting your lips to him. Your lips then wrap around it, lightly sucking. Higuruma threw his head back against the cushion and let out a relieved sigh. He groans as you start to suck on his length, bobbing up and down. You were slow and meticulous in your actions, staring up at him through thick lashes and gauging exactly what he liked. He appreciated your attention to detail. He squirms when you deepthroat him, your throat pulsing around him and engulfing him in wetness. Fuck, you were good at this. He didn’t know if he felt powerful or powerless. This had been the first time in centuries he’d had any contact with a human, and here you were, making him feel so good. Higuruma can feel himself coming close to release, but you pull away at the last second.

            He’s irritated until you straddle him, lining his dick up with your entrance. You rub his tip on your clit a few times, letting out a light moan at the sensation, before you finally slide down on it. With you wrapped around his so tight, Higuruma is breathless. He placed his strong hands on your hips, encouraging you to move. You ride him slowly at first, grinding down on him. He stretched you out so good, hitting every spot inside of you. Your moans are music to his ears and he feels himself grow addicted to the sight of you fucking yourself on him. His moans mix in with yours, and he grips you tighter before helping you bounce on him. He moves you up and down faster, and you let out a sharp cry as he hits your g-spot. He’s forgotten how sensitive and fragile humans were. In that moment, he felt like he had the upper hand, guiding your every movement. He repositions himself so he can thrust up into you and his hands cradle your thighs, providing support. He fucks you from underneath, and you go crazy.

            “Ah! Right there!” Your eyes are squeezed closed, relishing in the pleasure. Your body shakes above him as you come undone, a string of incohesive words spilling from your mouth. Higuruma continues to drill into you, watching as you leave a ring of cum around the base of his dick. When your orgasm washes away, your knees grow weak and Higuruma holds you to stop you from collapsing. He flips you over, laying you flat on your back against the couch cushions and he hovers over you, spreading your legs and sliding back into you.

            You gasp as he fucks you into the cushions, not even bothering to hold back. He throws your legs over his broad shoulders, angling himself deeper in you. He fucks you relentlessly, your moans spurring him on more and more. He has your ankles by his head, and he turns to place a kiss on the ankle you had fractured in the car crash. You cum again, thrashing against the cushions. Higuruma attempts to hold you still as he feels his own release coming. He thrusts until he finally pulls out and spurts his hot cum across your torso, long strings of white painting your perfect body. A low moan erupts from him as he rides his high. He was disappointed that he couldn’t come inside you – not that he physically couldn’t, but he didn’t know what the repercussions would be if he did that with a human. He didn’t mind risks, but not that type of risk.

            Higuruma helped you off the couch and he helped get you settled for the night. He ran you some bath water and watched as you slinked off to the bathroom, closing the door behind you. It was uncharacteristically warm of him, but he figured it was the least he could do. He got himself dressed and grabbed his suitcase before he left your apartment. 

            6 months later, Higuruma appeared at a scene. He was in the middle of a hallway, standing at a door. Apartment 244. He doesn’t immediately recognize the place, but he knows he’s needed there. He comes through the door, stepping into the living room. Only then does a wave of realization hit him.

            He remembered the couch. He remembered the colorful decorations you had hung up on your walls in an attempt to make the bland apartment seem more lively. He even remembered the sweet smell in the air from the candles you liked to burn. However, it wasn’t the same anymore.

            Drawers were pulled out and objects littered the floor. The couch cushions had been flipped over. Chairs were overturned. And was that…? Higuruma looked at the large, red stain on the carpet, then his eyes travelled to the trail of red splatters that led into the kitchen. He followed the red until finally, he saw you. There you were, laying on the tile floor.

            A home invasion gone wrong.

            He had seen countless but seeing you on the floor was an entirely different experience. He’d talked to you, touched you, tasted you, and there you were, another soul to collect. He cleared his throat and made his way toward you. Business was still business. He placed a hand on yours, both of your skin equally as cold, and he reaped your soul. A white aura surrounded your body, engulfing you like you were sitting in a bed of clouds. Then, that aura split from your body and turned into a bright orb, floating in the air. Higuruma opened his suitcase, looking at the various colored orbs that rested inside of it. He gathered your orb in his hands and guided it inside the case, placing your soul amongst the others. He closed and locked his suitcase before making his way out of your apartment, but not without glancing back at your lifeless corpse.

            Humans were such mortal creatures.

[hischierdevils]

Friend's Don't | Q.H.

note: this was based on the g o r g e o u s picture above (quinn looks so fine) and the song Friend's Don't by Maddie & Tae

summary: everyone can see that you and quinn are more than friends. everyone except the two of you.

warnings: slightly jealous quinn, mentions of panic, fluff :)

wc: 2.4K

They don't cancel other plans Have conversations with nothing but their eyes They don't hear each other's names and forget to concentrate Hits a nerve and lights you up like dynamite

You hadn’t planned on spending time with your best friend over his all-star break, assuming since he saw you all the time he’d want to spend his break with his family. You assumed wrong because Quinn showed up at your place with his suitcase in tow and an extra plane ticket for you. He gave you an offhand comment about wanting to spend time with all of his favorite people as he watched you pack your bags and your heart nearly melted. 

The two of you met a year ago when you got lost on your first day of your new job. You were the new social media intern and had gotten lost in the halls of Rogers Arena, quite literally running into Quinn. He was sweet and showed you where to go. He also made sure to circle back and check on you at the end of the week to see how you were doing. He was the first friend you made in Vancouver. 

Your friendship grew organically, movie nights turned into binge watching shows together. It was pretty much guaranteed that he would be spending his day off with you if he could. He was always so quiet and reserved and you felt honored when he started talking to you about his problems. He’d call you after road games late at night when he was wide awake and couldn’t sleep. Anytime you had good news or bad, he was always the one you wanted to share it with. 

Somewhere along the way you realized that the feelings you had for Quinn were more than just platonic friendship. Every time you heard his name come up in conversation, you’d get distracted and find yourself suddenly daydreaming about him. The two of you could have an entire conversation without even speaking, much to Petey’s annoyance. You hadn’t wanted to risk your friendship so you kept your feelings to yourself. 

They don't almost say "I love you" When they're downtown somewhere, just a little drunk They don't talk about the future and put each other in it And get chills with every accidental touch

Quinn didn’t have to convince you to come with him, you happily flew with him to New York where the two of you met up with his brother Jack and his friend and teammate, John Marino. The four of you were currently in The Palace, a club that Jack had suggested. 

You were having fun, enjoying the alcohol a little too much, when Quinn accidentally bumped into you. He quickly put his hand on your waist to steady you so you didn’t fall over and heat spread through your body from his touch. “Sorry.” He mumbles as a slight blush rises to his cheeks. 

“It’s alright, Quinny.” You smile up at him as he keeps his hand on your body and for a moment you let yourself wonder what it would feel like to lean into him. To kiss him and tell him exactly how you feel…

“Maybe I should quit dancing for a while, eh?” He muses as steps away from you, leaving you wanting more of his touch. He looks undeniably hot tonight even though his outfit is simple. Black jeans, dark long sleeve shirt, and a backwards hat…you were quite proud of yourself for not jumping on him the moment you saw him. 

John says something to Quinn, effectively capturing the oldest Hughes’ attention. Quinn gives you a small smile before walking over and sitting down next to Marino. Since Jack took off for the bathroom, you sit by yourself and people watch. Many people are out dancing on the dance floor and you internally weigh the risk of asking Quinn to dance with you. 

The song changes to something with a slower tempo and you watch as people couple up on the dance floor. Glancing over at Quinn again, you silently wonder what makes him wearing a backwards hat ten times hotter. Unaware of your eyes on him, he brings the lip of his bud light bottle up to his mouth and takes a long sip. You must’ve been watching him for far too long because you feel someone nudge your shoulder. 

Turning your head, you find Jack smirking at you. “Do you need another drink? You look a little thirsty y/n.” 

“Fuck off.” You roll your eyes at him as you stand from your seat. Your drink is empty so you make your way over to the bar and Jack follows behind you. 

He leans against the bar beside you and sips his beer as you order your drink. “I need one of you to make the first move because the tension is killing me.” He says to you. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You play innocent even though he definitely just caught you checking out his brother. 

“Please, y/n.” Jack scoffs. “You look at him like he hung the stars in the sky and he can’t take his eyes off of you for two seconds. Just make out already!” The bartender hands you your new drink, looking slightly alarmed from Jack’s tone. 

“Thank you.” You tip him before turning your attention to Jack. “Quinn and I are just friends. That’s all we’re ever going to be.” 

He shakes his head at you in disbelief. “Is that what you want to be?”

You look over to the spot where you left Quinn, only to spot him chatting with a girl. Something he said makes her laugh and she leans into him, placing her hand on his shoulder. Jealousy washes over you as you watch the interaction and you force yourself to take a drink. 

“I want to be drunk and dancing.” You say to Jack. He follows your gaze, scrunching his eyebrows together as he watches Quinn flirt with the girl. 

“Let’s dance then.” Jack takes your hand and leads you to the dance floor before you have time to argue. He finds a spot for the two of you where Quinn has an unobstructed view and begins dancing beside you, keeping your hand held tightly in his. 

I keep telling myself this might be nothing But one look in your eyes and, God, there's something You can lie to me and say you don't But I know you do, and I love you too

It only takes Quinn about three minutes to realize you’re gone and he starts to panic as he looks around the large place, only calming down when he spots you at the bar with Jack. He’s just about to stand up and join you when the girl runs over and introduces herself. He holds a brief conversation with her out of politeness before Marino steps in, taking the girl's attention off of Quinn. 

You’re no longer at the bar when he searches for you again and when he finally does lay his eyes on you, he’s surprised by the rage he suddenly feels. He watches as his own brother spins you around the dance floor, soliciting smiles from you that should only be meant for him. 

He’s up and moving toward you before he can think about it. He hasn’t stepped over the friends line out of respect for you and the amazing relationship the two of you already share, but the sight of another man's hands on you is making him physically ill. Even though sober Quinn knows you have no interest in Jack whatsoever, inebriated Quinn needs reassurance. 

“What are you guys doing?” He asks once he reaches you, trying to play it cool. 

Jack catches the jealousy on his older brother's face immediately and pulls you closer into his chest as you both dance to the beat. “Y/n, wanted to dance.”

“With you?” As annoyed as Quinn is, he can’t help but be mesmerized by your smile as you let go of Jack’s hand and reach for him.  

“Do you wanna dance with me, Quinny?” He decides at that moment that you’re the only one he wants to dance with for the rest of forever. Your eyelids seem a little heavy and he knows that this isn’t the right place or time to confess his feelings so he accepts your hand, pulling you away from Jack and into his chest.

“She’s all yours.” Jack winks at Quinn over your head before walking over to John who’s still entertaining the girl. 

You wrap one arm around Quinn’s waist and place your opposite hand on his shoulder so you can face him while you dance together. “Are you having fun?” He asks you as he places a hand on your lower back, pulling you closer to him. 

“Mhm.” You look up at him through your lashes, a sleepy smile on your face. “Are you? Are you happy to see Jack?” 

It melts his heart to know that even in your sleepy-drunk state, you’re still concerned about his happiness. “I was.” He laughs to himself as he realizes Jack was betting on him getting jealous when he saw the two of you dancing together, effectively being the kick Quinn needed to make a move. “Kind of forgot how much of a pain in the ass he is.” 

“But you love him.” You muse as you rest your head on his shoulder. His heart begins to beat faster as the word love leaves your mouth. He wasn’t sure of it before but he is now as he holds you tightly in his arms. He’s in love with his best friend. 

Friends don't stand around, playing with their keys Finding reasons not to leave Trying to hide their chemistry Get a little too close We do, but friends don't

Quinn walks you up to your hotel room, a steady hand on your lower back the entire way even though you switched to water an hour ago. You swipe your key card and he follows you inside, making sure the door is securely shut behind you. 

He sits on the edge of your bed quietly as you flutter in and out of the bathroom, doing your nightly routine. He’s watched you do it so many times he knows exactly what you’re looking for every time you step out of the bathroom in search of something. 

“I don’t know what I'd do without you.” You mumble as he hands you your moisturizer on your third trip from the bathroom. He smiles softly in response and as you walk away again, he starts to wonder what his life would be like without you in it. If he couldn’t call you to hear what book you were reading that week, what baked goods you were trying to make or even just hear your voice…

The feeling of loss slams him so hard in the chest that he panics and walks to the doorway to the bathroom just to make sure that you’re still there. You’re innocently brushing your teeth but when you see the look on his face, you quickly finish up. 

“Are you okay?” You ask as you walk toward him. 

“Y-yeah, yeah.” He nods, trying to convince himself as well as you. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

“I’m okay, Quinn.” You laugh as you flick the light off and walk past him to put your things in your suitcase. “I’m all ready for bed.” You assure him as you sit on the edge of the hotel bed. 

He nods, realizing this is his cue to head to his own room for the night. “Right, uh, good night y/n.” He turns toward the door, even though the last thing he wants to do is leave you right now. 

“Wait!” You jump off the bed, reaching for his hand. “Do you want to��um…” 

“Yes.” He responds, his body half turned toward the door. 

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.” You laugh as he walks closer to you. 

“Whatever it is, the answer’s yes.” He gently places his free hand on your face, softly caressing your cheek as his eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to your eyes. 

“Quinn…” Your voice is just a whisper as you both try to communicate everything you’re not saying. “Kiss me.”

He doesn’t hesitate by pressing his lips to yours. Gently at first but as soon as you kiss him back, he’s backing you up so the backs of your legs touch the bed. He lets go of your hand and cups the back of your neck, tilting your head so he can kiss you deeper. You run your tongue over his bottom lip until he parts them, allowing you entrance. 

When the two of you finally pull away you’re both panting and your lips are swollen. Quinn presses his forehead to yours as he rubs soothing circles on your back. “That was…” He searches for the right word. 

“Amazing?” You supply as you smile. “Want to do it again?” 

“Absolutely.” 

Quinn ends up spending the night. Once you thoroughly exhaust yourselves with your make out session, he cuddles you tightly to him as you lay in bed together. He asks you to confirm at least three times that it’s not a dream before he falls asleep so you kiss him softly in response each time.

In the morning, you’re rudely awakened by none other than Jack, rounding everyone up for breakfast. “Y/n, do you know where Quinn is? He’s not in his ro-” Jack’s eyes go wide as Quinn opens the door for him. 

“No, haven’t seen him.” You tell Jack as you sit up in bed. Quinn laughs at your sarcasm as he closes the door behind Jack. 

He looks between the two of you, taking notice of the clothes Quinn is still wearing from the night before. “Just friends, eh?” Jack sits on the edge of the bed and smirks at you. “Was this a friendly sleepover, y/n?”

Quinn points to the door. “Alright, get out.”

Jack ignores his brother and winks at you, causing you to laugh. “How come I didn’t get an invite?”

“Seriously, man?” Quinn slaps Jack’s shoulder. 

“Alright, okay.” Jack laughs as he holds his hands up in surrender, “I better get credit for this at the wedding.” 

Quinn winces, fearing it may be way too soon for you to hear jokes like that when everything is still too new. He shoves Jack out the door, promising you’ll meet him for breakfast in ten minutes. When he turns around to look at you, you’re smiling at him. “We’re not inviting him to our wedding right?” 

“Absolutely not.” Quinn grins walking over to capture your lips in a kiss.

[gennyanydots]

Big Bay Boom

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x f!reader

Summary: It’s the Fourth of July and your family is spending it with the rest of the daggers in San Diego.

Warnings: vague mention of sex,

Part of the 'Spitfire' Universe

Can be read as a standalone but makes more sense if you've read some of the other stories.

You were learning that being stationed at the same place for an extended period of time came with a few perks. Not having to pack your things every five minutes was a big perk. Settling into your own home. Your husband’s Captain making friends with people who can arrange for your husband’s entire squad to watch the San Diego fireworks show on a ship in the harbor (and then later finding out Mav just asked Warlock and used a picture of your son looking sad and told him he would be responsible for your son’s sad face if he couldn’t make it happen. Where or when Mav got that picture is a mystery).

Getting to see the fireworks without having to fight the crowds sounded like an amazing idea. One year you decided that your family should see the fireworks in downtown San Diego and you quickly learned that had been the stupidest idea you had ever had. Jake and you taking Eli all the way into the city had been a disaster. There were too many people. Parking was a mess. You didn’t find much to eat that a toddler would even like. You were terrified you were going to lose Eli in the crowd despite your husband and you watching him like a hawk. The only person who had a good time was Eli and you had been thankful for that at least.

When Jake had come home the week prior and said the squad wanted to go to San Diego for the Fourth of July you were quick to shoot that idea down. A toddler AND a baby? No. No way. Not even with the extra adults.

Jake promised that you wouldn’t be downtown for the fireworks and that you wouldn’t even be downtown as it got dark. You begrudgingly agreed after you heard the squad decided to go downtown not for the fireworks but to take your children to the zoo. It still blew your mind that your husband’s Navy squad cared so much about your children.

When the day came around you packed up your two children along with all the stuff you needed for the day and headed off to the San Diego zoo.

Upon arriving you found the entire squad ready to help get your kids in gear for the zoo. Grandma Penny took your daughter from the car seat faster than you could even get out of your seat. She quickly covered your daughter in a layer of sunscreen before passing her off to Bob’s wife who was so excited to snuggle her. She then wrangled your son out of Bradley’s arms to do the same before passing him right back because nobody could keep those two separate for long except Bradley’s girlfriend who seemed happy to let him hold your wiggly boy.

It definitely helped your anxiety to see so many adults surround your children. Their own security team. You’re pretty sure you heard Javy growl at someone just walking by who just happened to glance in the squad’s direction. You knew in your heart that no matter what Javy would protect your babies forever.

By the time you made it into the zoo, everyone was acting like children from the excitement of the zoo. Poor Maverick had at least five adults yelling at him to get them ice cream before your son and daughter joined in which meant Grandpa Mavvie had to follow through. The day Grandpa Mavvie told your children “No” was the day hell froze over.

You couldn’t help but laugh as poor Maverick tried to wrangle his elite squad of pilots and wso’s as he attempted to get them all ice cream. Maybe one day you should record it so you can send it into “America’s Funniest Home Videos” because you’re positive you’d win.

You felt extra sorry for the poor worker who was trying their best to keep up with everyone yelling out their ice cream order before you quickly pulled out your phone and made everyone come and tell you what they wanted so you could have an accurate count for Maverick. Penny watched the entire ordeal while laughing at Mav as he tried to keep up with everyone.

Everyone finished their ice cream quickly due to the hot day and you were all off again.

Upon seeing the “Skyfari” that went high above the zoo your daughter started to demand going on the “ride” so that’s where you all went next. It ended up being her favorite part of the entire day. Jake decided it was because Ella clearly takes after him and wants to be in the air. You figured she just enjoyed the ride.

You enjoyed what happened beforehand.

Before getting in the little zoo tram car your husband easily folded Ella’s stroller. There was just something about watching a competent man easily fold a stroller and then lift it one handed that was just so attractive to you. You don’t even care that Jake gave you a funny look after he noticed you staring at him after he got the stroller ready for the ride. Maybe tonight you’d be able to celebrate with some “fireworks” of your own with your husband. Fingers crossed.

The zoo took several hours to get through and you were pretty sure you still didn’t see everything. You’re sure you’d have to come back another day to see it all and to go on Ella’s favorite part again since you knew your daughter well enough to know she would demand to go again soon.

You all decided to eat dinner at the zoo since trying to find somewhere that everyone liked that could fit such a large group would be impossible.

Penny decided that she was taking Ella home as you all walked back to your vehicles for the next part of your day after eating. She didn’t feel like staying up to watch the fireworks when she could instead go to bed early which was something that didn’t happen often being a bar owner. Plus one less child to keep track of helped your mama brain. You’re pretty sure Ella would not do well with the loud booms so you quickly agreed to Penny taking your daughter for some extra snuggle time with grandma that your daughter was not against in the slightest. You knew Penny would never play favorites with your children but being a girl mom made it much easier for her to bond with Ella than with your rough and tumble son who’s favorite thing to do at their house was to wrestle with Grandpa Mavvie. Ella was still happy to snuggle with Grandma Penny.

With one less child you moved onto the next part of your day.

Eating at the zoo gave you all just enough time to get to the base so that Jake could show Eli his plane- for the billionth time. Eli LOVED to see his daddy's plane especially since there was a picture of him in it so it was like he was flying with his daddy every time he flew. The other daggers tried to show Eli their planes too but he only sort of liked Bradley's because there was a picture of his teacher in it so it was like his teacher was flying too if Bradley and his daddy were flying together. All the other planes were less fun but he still looked at every single one so he didn't hurt his aunt's and uncle's feelings.

As Eli was occupied you took the moment with everyone else to really stress how someone needed to have a hand on your son at all times while on the ship. You were excited about seeing the fireworks in the bay but you also needed to know that your son was safe.

Maverick just rolled his eyes at you and gathered you into his arms for a hug before kissing your forehead and promising that nothing would happen to Eli and he personally would be the first one to jump off the ship to save him if the unthinkable happened, not that it would ever happen.

Maverick then nodded his head towards Bradley who had your Eli on his shoulders both wearing matching lifejackets, "Rooster didn't want Eli to feel singled out. Also I highly doubt Rooster is going to put your son down any time soon and if he does I don't think he would be on his feet long before someone else sticks him on their shoulders so he can see."

You take a deep breath and nod at his words. You know that none of the daggers would ever let anything happen to Eli, it's just hard to let go.

Once on the ship it wasn't long before everyone was laughing and dancing around to the music that the bay was playing as you all waited for the fireworks to begin. Eli loved watching the drone show that went on before the fireworks.

When the fireworks started you were amazed by how close you really were to them regardless of being a safe distance away. You felt the booms deep in your chest as they went on. From the water you could see the different barges in the ocean that were shooting fireworks off so instead of one show you got to watch multiple. Every few booms you made sure to check where your son was, finding him always on the shoulders of someone. Apparently now was Javi's turn as you see Bradley snuggled up close to his girlfriend much like you currently were with Jake. In fact you could see Bob and his wife in much the same position but when you looked closer you could see Bob's hand lightly rubbing his wife's stomach. He must not have meant to because he immediately stopped and quickly looked around to see if anyone noticed. Upon catching you looking he quickly put his pointer finger to his lips. You winked at him and made the same motion back to let him know you'd keep their secret.

"What was that?" Jake asked you, bending down to make sure you could hear him.

You shake your head, "None of your business. Super secret married people things, you wouldn't know anything about."

Jake groans, "But I am married. To you. I am married to you."

You shrug, "Doesn't mean you get to know. Sorry baby."

You smile as you look around at all the friends around you and lean back against your husband's chest as he holds you tighter. Holidays, including the fourth, are much better spent with your new found family.