#but I promise you. guys I swear to ducking god

[stemroses]

You know it’s bad when your brain plays tricks on you. 👍🏾

[chelseeebe]

moth to a flame

18+. mdni. smut. king!steve x kinda alt fem!reader. mentions of alcohol and drugs throughout. no ud so steve never gets the opportunity to develop from his jackass high school self. both he and tommy are kinda mean to poor old reader but he makes up for it in the end i promise.

a/n: there's something about lil stevie at the moment.. i think it's because i neglected him for so long that now i'm overcompensating lol. more eddie is coming tho i swear<3 so in my head r is like alt though descriptions don't really go past anything vague.

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steve wasn’t really ever that choosy with his women. he didn’t have to be. 

they’d throw themselves at him, from the start of high school right through to college. by some grace of god, meaning his dad and his endless wallet, he’d made it into the university of chicago. 

partying his way through his studies with a plethora of women and friends who really only saw him as an open wallet. 

that’s where he’d met you. 

you weren’t a regular, that’s for sure. 

your hair dyed, clothes torn purposely and thick, dark rings of black around your eyes. 

he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off of you all night. watching as you’d ducked outside just after midnight, deciding to follow you, muttering something about a cigarette to tommy without a second thought. 

he’d found you around the empty side of the house smoking and stuck his tongue down your throat. 

with permission, of course. 

he’d seen you in there with the guy with the long hair, steve recognised him as someone he bought weed off occasionally. “he your boyfriend?”

relief washing over him when you’d shook your head no, “i can’t get you a discount if that’s what you’re asking.”

his shoulder had bumped against the hard brick in an attempt to nonchalantly lean against it, “noo.. i was just hoping you were single.” 

your smile grows though steve didn’t pick up on the sarcastic twang about it until after, “is that right?” 

“you don’t believe me?” 

“hmm not really,” stubbing the cigarette out on the side of the house. 

“but you are single, right?” deploying that trademark harrington grin, ever unfailing in his entire career. 

“i am.” 

“so why don’t you wanna make out with me?” reverse psychology, another never faltering technique. 

your eyes had narrowed, “i didn’t say that,” he’d known he was in from then on out, putty in his hands just the way he’d hoped. 

and thus, birthed this. whatever this is. 

-

steve waits rather impatiently for the party to die down enough to sneak out of here and get you into the back of his bmw. he hadn’t drank, swerving tommy’s attempts at getting him to drink with some vague, mumbly excuse. 

your meetings weren’t exactly tasteful, usually entailing some dark corner of the town and the leather of his backseat. 

you don’t speak outside of this, maybe a quick glance if he ever saw you outside of the parties but never anything substantial. 

but you’d gotten wise to his signals, you were usually found outside with that long-haired boy smoking which meant he had also began to get wise. 

steve would drop a cup and glance quickly in your direction or he’d loudly say his goodbyes before slipping out of the door. earning a groan or a roll of the eyes from your friend. 

steve’s grateful though, because he knows you’ll only be a few minutes behind. shuffling down the street to his beemer. 

tonight, you’d taken longer than usual. sighing as you slid into the passenger seat, steve’s gaze immediately falling to your chest, hungry as ever. 

“what’s wrong?” he asks, putting the car into drive before anyone had the opportunity to catch you. 

you shake your head, buckling in as the car speeds off, “it’s nothing,” settling yourself in the seat. 

“didn’t sound like nothing,” he’s not sure why he’s prying so much, you didn’t owe him any explanation. 

“it’s just..” debating whether to divulge, “eddie feels the need to tell me how much he hates you, every single time. it’s boring, you know?” 

oh. 

steve wasn’t quite expecting that. 

sure, he wasn’t the most likeable person ever but hate? 

“right,” he nods, unsure of where to go from here, “well.. i’m sure if he knew me, he’d think differently,” though even steve doesn’t quite believe that himself.

you hum in response, staring out at the disappearing road ahead. 

the car pulls in to it’s usual saturday night spot, overlooking the city on some disused street. quiet and calm but not for long. 

it’s the same foolproof routine every single week, you’ll sit and talk for a minute until one or the other gets fed up and pulls the other into the backseat. 

this week it takes a little longer for either of you to crack. you’re still pissed off by whatever eddie had said and he was desperate to try and break through your hardened exterior. 

he didn’t want to be hated by anyone, let alone your friends. 

perhaps it was fear. scared of eddie revealing the truth about your little rendezvous’ or maybe he really did want to know more about you. he’d been inside of you more than he’d ever asked about your day. 

steve had once thought the only people that had tattoos were freaks and criminals, but he doesn’t suppose you’re either of the two. 

he loves the way they look on your skin, adorning your arms like they were there before you were born. 

“why’d you get that one?” pointing to the flower on your wrist. 

you tut, “d’you wanna talk about my tattoos or d’you wanna have sex?” becoming annoyed with his attempts to close the bridge between you. 

“why not both?” he didn’t know a thing about you besides your name and how hard you liked his palm against your ass. maybe you really were a freak. 

“because you don’t care, not really,” shrugging at him from the passenger seat, “you don’t have to pretend y’know?”

“i’m not pretending,” steve frowns, “i wanna know about your tattoos and i wanna have sex with you, is that crazy?” 

you chuckle, turning in your seat to face him, “a little, yeah. i don’t believe that steve harrington cares about my tattoos at all.” 

fuck, he wishes this was normal, that you were normal and he could just take you out like he would any other girl. 

he doesn’t have a reply, sighing quietly to himself instead. 

your hand reaches over, cupping his chin in your palm and gently tilting it upward til he meets your eye again, “so.. sex?” 

steve nods, blinking rapidly as you shift over into his lap. if you weren’t going to indulge him then the least he could do was give you what you wanted. 

you keep your hand firmly on his chin, locking your lips as your hips move forward, grinding against his jeans, his hands coming to meet your waist. 

frantic in the way he grabs at your skin, needing you closer than his car allowed. 

what had really shocked him most about you, was the fact that your nipples were pierced. he’d never seen it before, not in real life anyway. but now he couldn’t imagine ever having another boob in his mouth that didn’t taste slightly of metal. 

he claws at your shirt, yanking it higher for access to your chest, pulling your bra down enough to reveal your tit, palming at the flesh before locking his lips around the sensitive skin. 

your skirt ends up above your waist, his hands roaming the fleshy area, grinding down against his stiff cock with an insatiable hunger. rutting until you’re moaning into the cramped car, his tongue still swirling around your nipple. 

“c’mon,” instructing him breathlessly, “need you now stevie,” your hands firm on his shoulders, praying he won’t make you wait any longer. 

he nods, letting your breast fall from his lips, gripping your waist to allow himself the space to wiggle his jeans down enough, his boxers following closely. your eyes roll at the sight of his cock springing out, already glistening with pre-cum from your incessant rutting. 

you’re already raring to go, sodden panties held to the side as he lines his tip with your soaked entrance, gazing up at you with wondrous lust. 

“fuck,” whispering harshly when you lower yourself onto him, his fingers leaving heavy marks on your hips. 

you take a moment to adjust, biting down onto your lip as your eyes reopen, meeting his before you begin moving. slow at first, thick thighs enveloping his waist. he wants to gnaw on them, leave purple markings all along the doughy skin. 

steve knows he has a big cock, he’s not stupid. it had been a thing to marvel throughout high school, in locker rooms and after hooking up with whoever. everyone had known. 

it doesn’t seem to phase you, bouncing up and down as your skin slaps together. he’s always found it hot, that two bodies could make such a sexy sound but with you it’s better. 

“that’s it,” you whine, melodically breathing in time with your body bouncing. 

your hand creeps away from his shoulder, hanging loosely around his neck, too scared to place any real pressure until he nods enthusiastically, placing a harsh hand to your ass, a clear cut green flag. 

you practically growl in response, tightening your grip on his neck, the seats of his car squeak and groan underneath your bodies as the car rocks on the wheels. 

keeping one hand on your ass and the other now nestling between your thighs, fingers perched on your soft stomach as his thumb finds your clit. 

“oh fuck,” you whine, enthusiastically moving up and down, squeezing his neck just enough to make his eyes roll back. 

steve tightens his grip on your ass, losing grip of his throat to slam your palm against the foggy window when his hips thrust upward, moving with yours in perfect harmony. 

he wants to swallow you whole, entranced by the sheer pleasure on your face, eyelashes fluttering and your lips parted to allow your melodic mewls to flow freely. 

“oh honey,” he moans, slamming into your dripping cunt. an insatiable urge to stay inside of you forever, “fucking.. shit, you feel so fucking good,” eye contact intensely heavy, dripping in pure unadulterated lust. “d-do that again,” referring to your palm around his neck. 

“you like that? hmm?” leaving steve to hold you upright, enveloping his jugular with a comfortable squeeze. 

no one had ever touched him like that, nor had he ever thought to ask anyone to touch him like that. sex had been a mostly placid affair before he met you, a couple positions if he was feeling crazy but nothing compared to the lewd shit you got up to. 

he can’t speak, his balls slapping against your thighs in a maniacal rhythm, relishing the feel of your cunt dripping down his cock onto his boxers. 

the car is stuffy, suffocating almost. the fluidity of your two bodies moving against each other only makes it worse. your skin sticks to his, chest clammy and slick. steve loves it, the messiness, the sheer animalistic need for one another. 

he grunts into the air, weaving his fingers through your untamed hair, a palm flat to your cheek as he finds your lips in a fumbling haze. 

your fingers leave his neck to trail down his chest, clawing at his shirt, desperately rutting your hips as you chase your orgasm. it all becomes sloppy when you begin to pant into his mouth, barely able to keep up the rhythm. 

“oh god,” whimpering between his parted lips, “fuck,” your thighs begin to shake, trembling uncontrollably as steve continues to thrust upwards, unrelenting though he’s teetering over the edge himself. 

your lips graze against his chin, mewling loudly while you come undone. a trembling mess, relying on his arms to keep your body upright. 

he can’t take anymore, your cunt squeezing and clenching around him, driving him completely insane. there's no way in hell that he could ever possibly imagine having sex with anyone else for the rest of his measly life.

“are you cumming?” you ask, holding onto the back of his clammy neck with a panicked look in your eye. 

steve nods quickly, using the last of his energy to thrust upwards one final time, uncaring of the consequences. or quite honestly not even considering what cumming inside of you could mean.

his hips stutter, the back of his head hitting the headrest as he grunts and groans, filthy words filling the warm car. 

he’s still inside of you when you look down, only allowing him a short moment to gather himself before you frown, “steve,” using your finger to flick his ear. 

“shit,” the threat of a child dawns on him, realising how much he shouldn’t have done that, “i’ll pay for.. whatever you need, fuck- i’m sorry,” keeping a firm hand on your waist, pleading for forgiveness. 

if you could feel what he felt, he thinks you’d understand. 

“you’re so lucky i’m on birth control.. idiot,” climbing off of him to rest on his thighs instead, readjusting your underwear as his release threatens to leak out. 

steve clears his throat, a little embarrassed to have lost all self control over your pussy. he's never been overly enthusiastic about the thought of having children but for a split second there, he had truly contemplated how bad it could be.

clearing the awkward silence with a quiet chuckle, raising his chin to meet your gaze, "sorry."

your glossy lips pout, gaze scanning his face before you hum, "you're forgiven."

-

tommy had dragged him out despite it being a tuesday night, knowing full well he’d be skipping his 9am class tomorrow. he had been really trying to make more of an effort with school lately.

you'd made a passing comment, something you'd definitely have forgotten by now but steve hadn't quite been able to shake it.

your dad's money won't last forever, you know?

it wasn't incorrect by any means, he just hadn't expected the wake up call to come from you.

obviously tommy hadn't got the memo, egging him on to ditch the books to get plastered.

the bar is packed for a weekday evening although steve recognises no one, mostly older folk with a lot of tattoos, eyeing steve’s nervous exterior. 

“get me a beer, i need a piss,” tommy hollers into his ear before disappearing off to the bathroom. ever the charming gentleman. 

steve goes stiff, wondering if he’d seen a ghost. 

you’d materialised behind the bar, looking disinterested in whatever the man in front was jabbering about. 

why are you here? 

he’s never asked what you do for work, never felt the need to. though he wishes he’d asked now. there’s no chance he can collect himself enough to speak to you. 

what if you gave it all away? what if tommy saw? oh fuck. 

steve’s never had a panic attack before but he feels mighty close now. 

he wipes his palms indiscreetly down his jeans, attempting to slow his breathing before he reaches the bar. why did tommy have to be such a jackass? they could’ve been at home tonight. he wouldn’t be having a fucking heart attack if they were. 

the person before him clears off, leaving a space for him to quietly shuffle into. you turn around, eyes locking with his but only letting the corner of your mouth twitch a tiny inch. 

your tongue clicks against your teeth, “what can i get ya?” playing along just as he’d hoped. 

“two.. uh, two uhm, coors.. please,” dropping his gaze as he pleads with god to let the world swallow him up.  

clearing your throat before getting the bottles from the fridge, sliding them across the bar with a sigh, “didn’t think this would be your scene to be honest,” stifling your laugh as the other patrons eye his sweater and too-tight jeans. 

steve gets it. 

the bar was crawling with people with piercings, ripped clothes and an overall disdain for the status quo. 

tommy fit in, he was loud and sweary just as they were but steve, he stuck out like a sore thumb. 

“it’s not.. really, tommy said it was cool.. i dunno,” he hated the fumbling mess you made him, he couldn’t ever understand it. 

you stare back at the disaster you’d created, running your tongue along your top teeth before tapping the bar, “seven bucks, please,” palm outstretched beside him. 

he shoves a ten into your hand, “keep the change,” grabbing the bottles before elbowing his way back to tommy. 

“what the hell took you so long?” 

“there was a line, dumbass,” rolling his eyes, passing off one of the bottles to his friend. 

“don’t lie,” tommy’s elbow jabs steve harshly in the ribs, “i saw you talking to that girl,” steve freezes, terrified of what tommy might say next.  “she’s hot,” tommy leers, “y’know in like a freak sorta way,” laughing obnoxiously loud for such a small bar. “you at least get her number?”

he just glares back, unsure of whether tommy knows more than he’s letting on or just being his usual ignorant self. 

“i could fuck the freak outta’ her, trust me,” the drunk continues, only serving to anger steve further. he didn’t want anyone to speak about you like that, much less tommy fucking hagan. 

“don’t say shit like that,” steve scolds, like he’s some petulant child who needs punishment. 

“what? like you care,” blowing raspberries with his mouth, “c’mon, loads of weird broads in here i can help instead,” walking off into the crowd with a mission. 

he glances over at you smiling with some customer, his stomach churning with unfathomable jealousy. he had no right to feel that way, in fact, he probably deserved it.

-

tommy’s in one of his unbearable moods again, bouncing around the party, antagonising any and every one who even attempts to get him to stop. 

steve doesn’t really care, nervously eyeing the door, confused by your absence. you hadn’t told him you were coming, but then you also hadn’t told him that you weren’t coming. 

had he done something wrong? the last time you’d spoken was when he and tommy had crashed your shift, only muttering a few nervous words about beer. he’s pathetic. you’d made him pathetic. 

an arm latches around his shoulder harshly, almost knocking the drink from his hand, “stop watching the door, she’s not coming,” tommy slurs, laughing cruelly in his face. 

“what?” steve’s body tenses, trying to shake off the drunkard. 

“your little girlfriend,” clarifying exactly what steve had thought he was saying. tommy clocks steve’s gawping mouth, his heightened breaths, “what?” chuckling loudly, “you think i don’t know? everyone fucking knows dude, you can cut the shit.”

he wriggles free from his grasp, “the fuck are you talking about?” it’s not as if playing dumb would help him now but he’d at least give it a shot. 

“fuck off man,” tommy shoves him backwards, “that’s why you’re acting like a little pussy at the moment,” spitting in his face, belligerent and arrogant, “steve fucks the weird girl and now he pretends to give a fuck about feelings and shit,” drawing the attention of the entire party. 

if it really had been that obvious, they’d all already know about it anyway. 

“you’re an asshole, you know that right?” steve fumes, shoving tommy back into the counter before grabbing the container of vodka behind, walking off into the party with his head held high. 

people eye him as he goes, sure they all knew. they’d all heard what tommy was screaming about, hell, they’d probably seen the two of you sneaking about for months. 

why did he care so? why didn’t he care more? 

-

steve’s hopeless, completely and utterly tragic. 

deserting the party after an hour of his ‘friends’ dancing around him and girls completely dodging his advances. 

he didn’t want them, not really. he just needed to fill a you shaped hole. 

the only place his intoxicated brain can conjure up to go is your house. his feet carrying him out of the door and across the large campus without much thought to it. 

it’s only when he reaches the small row of houses that he realises where he is. looking up at the quaint house he’d dropped you off at tens of times. 

he can’t go in, can’t go back to the party either. 

stuck between a rock and a hard place because no matter what, he’d come off pretty badly. 

“what’re you doing?” a girl he’s never seen before speaks from the shadows, a certain look of disgust on her features. 

steve stops his aimless pacing, realising just how weird he looked. how could he ever begin to explain himself? 

the girl i have sex with sometimes lives here and i’m here because my best friend found out about it and i don’t really know how to feel about that. 

though he opts for something a little easier to digest, “i’m just.. walking.”

the girl narrows her eyes, “i know who you are, steve harrington,” full disgust in her voice, “i don’t know if she’s home,” putting her key into the door. 

of course. the roommate you’d mentioned. robin or something like that. he’s not sure why he hadn’t thought of it. 

“can you.. can you check?” relieved to not have been the one knocking on the door. 

“well duh,” she scowls, opening the door and disappearing into the hall. 

thankfully, she doesn’t reemerge. unsure of how much he could take tonight without bursting into tears. 

you do though, peeking out of the door with a small frown, opening the door wider when you see his frame lingering. 

“steve?” confusion echoing, “what the hell are you doing here?” 

“hey,” steve waves, watching his fingers wiggle and immediately regretting it. the realisation creeping in that he was lurking around your house like a complete weirdo. 

“you’re drunk,” you state plainly, opening the door wider to reveal your heart-adorned pyjama shorts and fuzzy slippers. 

his eyes fall immediately, still desperate to suffocate himself between your thighs. 

“yup,” hiccuping through the dark. 

you sigh, you do that a lot when you’re talking to him, “jesus christ.. come in,” ushering him inside. 

he stumbles through the door, hazy eyes looking at your house, the decorations that littered the place. 

it’s so.. you. 

different and spunky, a guitar leant against the couch, banners and posters and pictures of you and your friends beaming plaster the walls. he can’t help but think about how much his mother would detest it all. wouldn’t fit her cookie-cutter world view, neither would you, really. 

is that why he liked you?

some repressed act of defiance against his mother? 

no, no he really doesn’t think so. 

“okay,” your hand finds his back, “upstairs now,” flashing a look to robin that he can’t distinguish between confusion and maybe slight fear. 

steve lets you guide him, appreciating the gentle hand, only wishing it hadn’t taken half a quart of vodka to get him here into your room. 

he flops onto the bed with a sigh, still too intoxicated to feel any real shame yet though he’s sure it’ll inevitably sneak in at some point. 

“what’re you doing?” pity addling your voice as you come to sit on the bed, desperate to not let his eyes trail down to your legs. 

“i wanted to see you,” murmuring his words, “you didn’t come tonight.. i missed you,” letting the spirit speak for him. 

you stare at him for a second, figuring out how to approach his fragile state, “didn’t think you’d want me there after the bar.” 

“why wouldn’t i?” 

you scoff, “you couldn’t even look me in the eye,” reinvigorating that twinge of guilt in his chest, “you were terrified of tommy finding out you even knew me,” you must really pity him. letting him into your house after he’d acted like you simply didn’t exist just a few weeks ago. 

“tommy knows anyway.. none of it even mattered,” steve sighs, rubbing his temple as the headache kicks in. 

“i know, steve,” offering little remorse. your eyes roll back, sighing softly, “he came by the bar a few days ago, he was drunk, trying to.. it doesn’t matter. i know he knows, i don’t really care,” shrugging as if you couldn’t understand why he did. 

maybe rather selfishly steve had assumed that you were also somewhat ashamed of this arrangement. it hadn’t occurred to him that only he felt so pathetically guilty and oddly protective over your relationship. 

he wanted you to himself and at the same time wanted absolutely no one to know about it. 

“but i care,” it sounding even worse out loud than it did in his head. 

yet he means it. he just can’t really understand why. 

your eyes lower, shifting uncomfortably on your bed as your smile grows sadder, “you don’t want anyone to know that you fuck the freak, right?” a glum, melancholic tone to your words that makes his heart ache. 

“yes- no, i don’t really know,” shoulders slumping, giving up all hope of ever understanding the things he was feeling. 

your lips purse, the mattress dipping as you stand, unwilling to give any more energy to the conversation. “why don’t you sleep it off here?” still refusing to re-meet his eye, “i’ll take the couch, alright? you just.. get some sleep,” slinking off to the door before he can protest. 

“wai-,” but you’re gone.  

left on his own in your room. 

he can’t help but think that you should be here too, the first time he’d gathered enough courage to come to your house and he’d pissed you off that badly, you had to sleep on the couch. 

all he wants is for this to be normal. to take you out like he did the other girls, show you off to his friends and be proud of it too. 

steve wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want that, but he wanted to at least tell you.

screw tommy hagan and anyone else that had anything to say about it. 

he stumbles out of your bedroom, trying to remember which way to go to reach the steep stairs. god he hopes robin isn't down there with you. they'd interacted for no more than five minutes and yet he could already sense her general distaste for him.

the floorboards creak under his weight, dragging his uncoordinated feet down until he hits the floor with a thud, missing the last few steps completely.

your head pokes out of the closed door, with what he hopes is worry on your face. "what the fuck? are you okay?" rushing over to his crumpled body. this would all be highly entertaining if he weren't in the midst of an identity crisis.

"i'm good, i'm okay," clinging onto your arm. rather than standing to get to your level, he decides that dragging you down onto the floor with him is the best way to confess. ignoring your shrieks of complaint as you land harshly on his lap.

"what are you doing?" unable to hold back the maniacal cackle any longer.

"i'm trying to tell you something," steve mumbles, pressing his forehead against yours in hopes the words would somehow telepathically absorb through your skin.

they don't, obviously. because that's not how this works.

"i think that i," he hiccups,, sliding his hand down your arm to grasp your hand, "i think i really, really like you," stammering through his half-assed confession. on further thought, he probably should've waited until morning before deciding to unleash this unto you. "and i think that i've been an asshole to you," swallowing the gargantuan lump in his throat, "and i want to- only if you want to," earnestly gazing into your eyes, his thumb tracing your soft knuckle.

"want to what, steve?"

"i want to be with you, like.. dating or- or your boyfriend," hoping that now you’d understand his stammering, incoherent words.

your face displays something he can’t place, twisting the knife in his chest completely to only ease up when your lips twitch, “i think you’re drunk,” brushing off his confession.

steve wants to scream, he’d laid himself bare for you and while he probably didn’t deserve to call you his girlfriend, he also didn’t deserve to never get the chance to ask.

“i am,” admitting to his sins, “but i mean it,” nodding his head against yours, putting your hand to his chest, “i want it, i want you.”

your lips purse, he hates it when you do that. still unable to get through that mysterious shell you’re clinging onto, leaving him to try and guess what you’re thinking. most girls were fairly obvious in the way they treated steve. either fawning over him or they’d argue until he’d hate it and ghost them.

“even if everyone knows?” slowly opening up to the idea of you two. or at least he hopes so.

“especially if everyone knows.”

it’s a stark contrast from the embarrassingly nervous wreck he was at the bar, too terrified to even look you in the eye. he’d decided that it just wasn’t him. you deserved better and steve couldn’t stand to watch anyone other than himself give you that.

“..okay,” you blink, lashes brushing against his skin as they flutter, “but i’m gonna ask you again in the morning,” narrowing your eyes, ever the voice of caution.

steve just grins, morning couldn’t come soon enough if that was all it’d take to get you to believe him.

[pretty-little-mind33]

Dave Lizewski x fem!reader

Summary: When Dave is hired by your dad to clean your pool during the summer, something you'd known for a long time becomes even more obvious

Genre: Fluff with a smidge of suggestive content 😏

Warnings: flirty!reader, submissive undertones!dave, shy!dave, dave and reader are eighteen, swearing, making out.

~ here you go my lovely @moonlightspencie 🫶💕~

DAVE LIZEWSKI MASTERLIST

You and Dave Lizewski aren't by any means close during the school year. You both live in completely different circles. You have your more popular friends and Dave has his small group of nerds. In all honesty, the only time you interact with him is when you occasionally take out the trash at the same time and see him from across the road.

He'll wave nervously and you'll smile to yourself. 

He really is cute. 

However, you weren't expecting to hear his voice as you're sunbathing by your pool on a sunny July afternoon.

You sit up instantly and push your sunglasses up on your head as you hear the small, "Yes, sir," Dave mutters as he holds the pool stick in one hand and listens to your dad explain how to clean the pool. 

"Ah, Y/n, this is David—Mr. Lizewski's son—he lives next door," your dad calls when he sees you, "He's cleaning our pool for a quick buck." 

He then turns to Dave and gestures to you, "This is my daughter, Y/n."

You smile and tilt your head as some water from your damp hair hits your shoulders. "I know, Dad. He knows. We're both seniors now," you say and sip from your lemonade, eyeing Dave.

"Hi, Dave," you say with a smile and the poor boy's cheeks turn crimson. 

Thank God you wore your sexy bikini. 

Your dad looks between you both, his hands on his hips, but he doesn't comment. "Alright, well, good meeting you Dave. I'll be inside if you have any questions," he says and once he's gone, Dave looks like a deer in headlights.

He's still standing by the pool, wearing embarrassingly colorful shorts and a white T-shirt. His brown curly hair is only a little longer than you remembered from a few months ago and he looks slightly fitter.

"You gonna stare at me the entire time or work, Lizewski?" you laugh and turn onto your stomach, pushing down your sunglasses again and resisting your head on your arms. You smile to yourself when you hear Dave's mumblings and shufflings as he works. 

Around fifteen minutes later, you shift onto your back again and see that Dave looks already sweaty from the excessive heat. Shit, he looks good.

"How long until I can take a dip," you cross your legs and ask, smiling at him as he jumps in surprise at the sound of your voice.

"O-oh, um," he avoids your gaze as he looks down at the pool, "I haven't added the chlorine and s-stuff y-yet, but after that probably I think- like thirty minutes?" 

You sit up and frown. "I'll just take a dip now, then, I don't wanna wait that long," you say and stand, running a hand in your hair as you walk to the stairs.

Dave watches you and he can't help but admit he's staring at your curves in your bikini. He resists the urge to adjust his shorts. 

"Y-yeah, s-sure," he stutters, unsure what to do now. 

You find him adorable so you smile at him as you walk into the pool. "Come, join me," you say, "It's boiling outside. My dad won't mind, promise," you say and guide some water onto your arms. 

Dave looks nervous now, his blue eyes round and unsure. "I- I don't want to bother you."

You smile at him and duck under the water, coming up and pushing hair from your forehead. "Nonsense, Lizewski. I'm inviting you in. Now, c'mon," you chuckle and swim around the pool.

Dave hesitates but he finally shrugs off his shirt and awkwardly covers himself until the pool water reaches his waist. He can feel you staring at his arms and chest and he blushes harder.

You swim to him. "Why're you so shy?" you ask curiously. "Usually guys that look like you are arrogant assholes."

"Guys that look like me?" Dave questions, walking further into the pool to meet you in the middle. He lifts his arms as he winces from the coolness of the water. 

You laugh and swim even closer until you're standing face-to-face in the water. Dave still looks blushed and you smirk. "Yeah. Guys that are handsome and cute and—" your gaze flickers to his abs, "hot—like you."

Dave looks like he could explode any second by how flushed he is and he rubs his nape. "Y-you think I'm all those things?"

You laugh, "Don't you own a mirror, Lizewski?"

He clearly doesn't know how to answer that so he goes with a compliment instead. "You're hot too, and cute–and b-beautiful," he mumbles shyly, "and your personality is totally banger–" he tries and you can tell he means it he's just nervous. 

You walk closer to him and hover your hand over his cheek before you push some of his curls behind his ear with your wet hand. "Dave, have you ever kissed a girl?" you ask, already knowing the answer. 

His breath hitches. "N-no–" 

"Is it okay if I kiss you?" You look into his blue eyes and then at his pink lips. 

Dave stutters, "B-but your parents—"

"Aren't paying attention to us. Promise," you smile and cup his cheek fully in your hand. You pull him in, pressing your lips to his gently. He's stiff in the beginning, his hands awkwardly finding your shoulders.

"Relax," you tease and bump your nose against his. 

Dave relaxes and he lets out a small gasp as you push his back to the cool tile of the pool, your mouth exploring his hungrily. He's not a bad kisser for someone who'd never done it and when you wrap one leg around his hip, his hand dips under the water to hold your thigh. You groan into his lips and continue to kiss him as the water splashes around you.

The sun is warm on your skin and Dave can taste the lemonade from your lips. It's intoxicating and he wants more. He pulls away, breathless as he looks down at your body glistening from water and his dick fully hardens at how sexy you look in your bikini. His eyes are glued to your tits. 

"Here," you laugh, feeling him becoming all hot and bothered so you guide one of his hands to your tit and continue to kiss him as he feels you up. You run one of your hands up and down his abs under the water. "Good boy," you praise between kisses and you feel like you're also on fire. 

No experienced boy has ever made you feel this good. How is that even possible?

You make out for another few minutes and then as you pull away, Dave's lips are red and moist. His eyes are blown wide and he's panting. He looks breathtakingly beautiful. 

You smirk and kiss his cheek, pushing away from him. "Times up," you tease and walk out of the pool, feeling his eyes linger on your figure as you wrap a towel around yourself. You turn to him, your tone light, "You should get back to work—Dad doesn't like slackers," you taunt him and grab your magazine. 

You hear Dave scrambling to exit the pool and you toss him an extra towel. 

"Might have to fix that big problem of yours first," you giggle, smirking.

Dave immediately presses the bunched-up towel against his boner as he makes an embarrassed squeal. Your heart leaps at the sound and you look over your shoulder, waving at him as you walk away. 

"I'll see you around, baby," you say with a wink and he is left a blushing mess behind you. 

[sugrhigh]

BOY NEXT DOOR 4 - ( c.s )

part three

summary- you and your roommates live beside a bunch of senior hockey players, one of them being the infamous team captain chris sturniolo. he’s effortlessly flirty and undeniably attractive, but he’s also a pain in your ass. you find that you have to fight between lust and hatred as you finally get to know the boy next door, whether you want to or not.

warnings- cursing, slightly suggestive MEOW

neighbor/hockey!chris x fem!reader

a/n: PART FOUR! i promise u guys are not ready for what’s coming next 🫨 thank u to everyone who’s been reading along i love u all so very much!! my inbox is always open and i hope ur having a wonderful day (also doesn’t that first pic look so much like chris i screamed)

@cutenote @mattybsbitch @mattsmunch @breeloveschris @l9vesick @bb-1s-blog @sturnifyed @julessspoetry @annamcdonalds67 @beijhe @gnxosblog @braindead4l @hearts4matty @orangeypepsi @luckistar-posts @angelworldspost @ponyosturniolo @rainyenthusiastdaze @cupidsword @sturnvvz @wurlibydominicfike @mattswrld @yoursopretty15 @poopydroopt @latinasforchrizz @bernardsleftbootycheek @trilliwarner @hearts4chris @rubyjaneaxx @reallykaz @sturnlvrs

“wow, someone looks extra hot tonight.” cassidy comments as she walks into your room, which is laughable coming from her.

she’s an angel, literally glowing in her multi-colored halter. you swear you shop at the same places, and yet she somehow always finds the gems.

“god, says you.” you joke, unable to keep a straight face as you stand up from your desk.

but you’re all done up too, dressed in a red tube top and some black jeans that flare out a little, hugging your hips just right. and yeah, you’re a bit smug knowing that you’re going to chris’s party looking extra great, but you embrace the post-pregame confidence.

“are you sure you want to go? we really don’t have to.” cass asks as you pass by her into the upstairs hallway.

“i mean, why not? i can never turn down free alcohol.” you shrug, and it’s part of the truth.

paying for yourself at the bar is never as fun, and the chances of somebody buying your drinks is usually slim. plus it’s on shithead’s tab tonight, which makes it that much sweeter.

“i totally agree. i just…” her smile falters a little, and she sighs, “i just don’t want you to get hurt or anything.”

it makes you pause, hearing her say that. you’d ended up talking to both of your roommates after chris came knocking on your bedroom door, and they’d been rightfully wary of his excuse.

but her words kind of confirm your worries; that chris is someone to be feared, someone to keep at a distance. like you won’t be able to resist the charm.

like you’ll fall.

“he can’t hurt me if i don’t let him.” you reply, and you’re not sure if you’re trying to convince her or yourself.

“okay, i won’t push it. i know you’re tough, but i can’t help but check in.” cass nods at you before you head down the stairs.

“i appreciate it, but i’m good, so let’s go get bombed.” you’re grinning again, still buzzing from the two drinks you’d finished while doing your makeup.

ramona is already downstairs, bopping along to the beat of the music she has playing on the tv. she’s midway through a shot of tequila as you round the corner to the kitchen, swallowing so she can bite down on a slice of lime with her free hand.

you and cassidy both chuckle at the grimace that passes over her face.

“you ready party animal?” cass teases.

“always.” she replies once she’s calm, placing the tiny glass into the sink before screwing the cap back onto the bottle of alcohol.

each of you shove your old beat up shoes onto your feet, and mona turns off the television seconds after. you can still feel the bass vibrating, but you know it’s coming from the house beside you, which makes your heart jump into your throat.

you walk out the door, one behind the other like a row of ducks as you trample through the thin layer of snow from a few days prior.

tonight, you can tell chris has his own mix on, because you recognize the yeat song that’s currently playing. you’ve always liked his taste more than the others.

you’ll never admit that to him, though.

it’s way louder now that you’re up close, and you can literally feel the party raging. ramona leads the pack, stepping inside and swinging the door open for the rest of you.

the darkness swallows you once you step inside, but your eyes adjust quickly. you recognize some people as you shift through the crowd, regulars who are usually here and a couple of guys on the team.

you try not to look for chris, instead choosing to focus on the back of ramona’s head while you guys shuffle to the kitchen for drinks. there’s a few people chatting as you step through the archway, one of them being ben. his sandy blonde hair is pushed away from his face, and he smiles at your arrival.

“hey there neighbors!” he greets each of you guys with a side hug, clearly already drunk even though it’s only eleven.

you just thank god he set his cup down, because you know he would have spilled it all over.

“benjamin, always a pleasure.” cassidy laughs at his slightly sloppy demeanor.

“chris is gonna be really happy.” ben shoots a smirk your direction, and you roll your eyes, opting to move to the bottles of cheap vodka on the counter.

“i really don’t care.” you snark, pouring a hefty bit of alcohol into your cup before setting the handle back down.

“feisty tonight, woah!” he holds his hands up in surrender.

your friends follow close behind, making their own drinks and pouring them equally as strong.

“where’s your girl, benny? haven’t seen her around in a minute.” ramona asks with a small smile, clearly trying to change the subject.

“she’s out at the bar. girls night or something.” ben shrugs as you add some sprite to your drink and take a sip.

it’s extremely bitter even with the mixer, but you choke it down and deal with the burn. you’re still not tipsy enough, so you’re playing catch-up to try and reach the level you want to be at.

mona nods at this as she slides back up next to you, cassidy joining moments later when she’s done making her drink.

“well, tell her to come around soon, i miss her.” she requests.

“i miss her too, i’ll pass the message along.” ben points a finger at her like he’s locking in a promise, loopy grin morphing his features.

“alright, we’re going to dance, but i’m sure we’ll see you later.” cass waves her free hand goodbye before you all make your way back into the masses, shoving your way into the living room.

it’s pretty packed tonight, as usual, and a sheen layer of sweat already covers your skin. you run a hand through your hair while cassidy meshes into the crowd, making enough room for you guys to move around.

bodies bump against yours as you all dance to the music together, sipping your drinks and laughing at each other’s silly moves. you swear you’ve seen connor now too, and yet you still haven’t spotted chris.

you suppose this is a good thing, because the sensation of being inebriated is only just beginning to wash over your body, and you don’t want to deal with him sober.

so you dance, and drink, and dance and drink some more, letting the hazy lights illuminate you as you bop around with your friends.

you’re knocking back the last of your fifth beverage of the night when you feel someone come up behind you, hand snaking to hold your waist gently. your first assumption is chris, and your heart leaps into your throat, but you’re wrong.

it’s a guy you don’t recognize. his black tapered hair is a mess on his head as he gazes at you hungrily.

“dance with me?” he asks over the music.

cassidy and ramona are seconds away from stepping in, but you shake your head at them to indicate you’re fine. for once, you don’t really mind being hit on, especially because he’s kind of cute and you’re definitely drunk.

it’s not like it means anything anyways.

so you back up slightly, his front flush against your spine as you move your hips, rolling them into his own.

your friends grin devilishly as the two of you sway together, so close it almost feels like you’re one person. his hand presses flat against your stomach, holding you so he can feel the friction of your ass grinding against him.

you swear it’s only been a second before the crowd parts slightly, revealing a pissed-off looking chris as he barrels his way past the other people in the living room. his eyes are ablaze, and he yanks you away from the mystery man the second he’s close enough.

“get lost, jamie.” he snaps at the boy you were with, whose eyes are wide in fear now.

he must be an underclassman then, because he scurries away instantly, too scared to stand his ground against the captain of the team and the host of the party.

“what the fuck, chris? i was having fun.” you cross your arms over your chest, slurring ever so slightly as you glare at him.

he doesn’t respond to this; instead, his chest heaves like he just ran a marathon, and his dark gaze trails up and down your body. he grabs your wrist and tugs you toward the staircase without a reply.

your friends watch in awe as he drags you away, though neither of them bother to interfere. they’re swallowed by the swarm moments later, and your stomach flips at the fact that they’re gone.

it’s just you and him now.

the foyer blurs by as you reach the stairs, and you nearly stumble trying to keep up with his pace. you’ve only just made it to the privacy of the upstairs hall when chris drops your arm, whirling around to face you.

“what is wrong with you?”

your mouth falls open slightly at his tone, at how animalistic he looks standing before you, blocking you against the wall. his white shirt is unbuttoned slightly, and you can smell that fucking dior on him.

“what the hell does that mean?” you retaliate, already flushed in anger.

“i didn’t even know you could dance like that, let alone with my teammate.” chris snarls.

“everyone can dance, and i had no idea he was on the team. it’s not like you were talking to me anyways.” you stand your ground, meeting his judgmental gaze head on.

“did you want me to?”

“i mean, you’re the one who invited me to this stupid party, so i kind of expected to at least see you.” you tell him truthfully, and you know it’s the alcohol talking now.

“one second you hate me and the next you’re angry i’m not giving you attention. i can’t figure you out, and it drives me fucking crazy.” he continues to stare down at you in frustration, glancing between your eyes and your lips.

you hate how fast your heart is slamming against your ribcage. every time he’s this close to you it’s like the air is sucked out of the room. you can’t even breathe.

“why did you really pull me away, chris?” you ask quietly.

you already know the answer, but you want to hear him say it out loud for once.

“because you should only be moving that pretty ass of yours against me.” his voice is low, and he takes a step forward.

you cancel out his movement, completely backed up against the wall now. he can’t help but let his eyes roam down to your chest, to your exposed cleavage.

you’ve been taunting him all night, though you weren’t even aware. chris has just been watching you in your element, staying to himself and letting you do your thing with your friends for a bit.

after his last conversation with you he felt like maybe he should back off, but then seeing you with somebody else was even worse. it shouldn’t be this way, he shouldn’t be so fucking obsessed so soon.

but you’re looking at him with those wide eyes, soft lips parted, and there’s no way to resist. one hand travels to the back of your neck and the other grabs at your waist, pulling you into his own hips as he smashes his mouth to yours.

it’s somehow even more passionate than the first time, messy and rough, how you both like it most. chris bites down on your bottom lip as he pulls away a minute later, kissing your cheek and jaw, then down your neck.

his cold fingers make their way underneath the hem of your shirt as you feel his teeth close down on the sensitive skin. a strangled moan escapes your mouth before you can bite it back.

“i like that sound a lot, princess.” he says into your ear before his lips focus on that hollow sweet spot you love so much.

you know he’s going to leave a mark, but it feels so good you don’t care. yet you choke down the whimper you feel crawling up, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of hearing how much you like it.

“c’mon, i know you want to.” he mumbles against your throat, and you can literally feel him smirking.

arrogant bastard. two can play at this game.

you put your hands on his chest so you can drive him backwards into the opposite wall. he’s surprised by you taking the lead, and you press your body flat against his, connecting your mouths roughly once more.

chris’s hands roam to grip your ass, a delicious pressure that you shouldn’t enjoy so much. your fingers nimbly travel to the waist of his jeans, and you feel his body tense under your touch.

you can’t help but grin into his lips as you move your hand lower, underneath the band of his boxers, grazing the warm skin of his hip tantalizingly slow.

you shift your focus to his own neck, sucking harshly and running your tongue over his skin until you finally hear him groan, a noise that you relish. his fingers dig into your flesh harder, and you can feel him grind against your thigh.

but you already got what you wanted, so you break away and take a step backwards. the shock on chris’s face after your abrupt departure is clear, his lips raw and hair tousled.

“and you had the nerve to imply that i’m the one who wanted this.” you smile and shake your head, making a move toward the stairs.

“you’re seriously just going to leave?” he asks in disbelief, which makes you turn.

“what did you think was going to happen, chris?” you smirk, tucking a stray hair behind your ear before swiping your thumb along your bottom lip.

his own mouth slowly turns up as he stares at you with a certain kind of ferocity in his eyes, adjusting his shirt and running a hand through his messy hair.

“nothing, i guess. but whatever we didn’t get to will happen eventually, you know.”

“no, it won’t.” you reply, a bit too quickly to be convincing.

“i think it will. who knows, maybe next time you’ll let me use my mouth somewhere else.” chris says lowly, hand ghosting across your hip as he passes by you, looking over his shoulder at you with an expression of self-satisfaction.

then he heads back down the stairs, vanishing around the corner like nothing had even happened.

days ago you were swearing up and down that you’d never kiss him again, that nothing would happen. and now you’re standing alone in his house while the music thumps, knees weak and breathing heavy with a hickey on your neck.

the scariest part of all is that you’re still craving more, even though you don’t want to.

[joonsy2k]

★ pairings - Jungkook x Fem!Reader

★ genre - smut, fluff if you squint.

★ summary - Your best friend Jimin invites you to see his band, painted duck, perform at your local bar. You didn't expect to end up backstage with the bands lead bassist.

★ warnings - Dom!Jk, Sub!Reader, Jk being cocky, fingering, oral (F recieving), reader is pretty innocent, cussing, dirty talk, biting, public, p in v, creampie, unprotected sex ( wrap it before you tap it), degrading, breeding kink kinda, pet names, use of y/n ( not a lot i promise ), praise, just pure filth, not proof read, lots of spelling mistakes ( im dyslexic ).

This wasn't you, you weren't the type to be pressed up against a wall backstage at your friends gig but here you were, skirt pushed up past your thighs as some sweaty stage manager stuck his tongue down your throat. His hands gripping at the soft flesh of your thighs.

You can't deny that this guy was good looking and you certainly couldn't deny that he was a fucking phenominal kisser. His lips moved quickly against yours, he sported a lip ring and the cold metal pressed against your lips sent a shiver down your body.

"Last call till showtime!" You heard from somewhere to the left of you and the mystery guy pulled away, leaving your lips feeling awfully cold and wet.

"Too bad -" His lips curled into a smirk "You tasted good." His tongue darted out to fiddle with the metal embedded in his skin and you swear you felt your legs falter and turn to jelly.

Without uttering another symbol, your mystery man had gone, probably to set up the stage for your friends band, and you - taking a few minutes to regain yourself - you pushed yourself off the wall to go and find your friends.

"What kind of name is painted duck anyway?" Your best friend Minji complained from beside you, nose scrunched in disgust.

You could only laugh. You had met Minji in college, you became fast friends with her and introduced her to Jimin and one drunken hook up later the two of them were dating.

You didn't like it at first. Your two best friends sneaking off together made you feel awkward but after a while, you learnt to be happy for the both of them.

That's why you and her were here tonight to see your best friend, her boyfriend, perform with his new band. It was their first gig and the place was pretty packed, you didn't understand why. Their colourful name didn't create an exciting atmosphere and you thought the name sounded more like an improv group name rather than a band name.

But you had heard Jimin sing, and he was good.

"Oh look, look!" Minji grabbed ahold of your arm, pointing towards the stage where you now saw Jimin. His hands grasped around the microphone. He was smiling his signiture smile, eyes creased.

Tapping the mic once, he spoke "Thanks for coming out tonight, we're painted duck," He spotted Minji giving her wink that made her grip your arm as her legs failed "We hope you enjoy our music."

And with that end statement, painted duck's lead bassist strummed an opening note on his guitar. It grabbed your attention and as you looked over, your shoulders tensed.

Tattooed hands strummed the guitar, dark hair pushed back into a man bun with his fringe almost shielding his eyes from the crowd, but not from you, his eyes found you in the crowd, he was smirking. That oh so familiar lip ring glinting in the stage lights.

Your mystery guy wasn't a stage manager, he was Jimin's lead guitarist.

"You were amazing, baby!" Minji applauded when you both entered the boys dressing room, jumping straight into her boyfriends arms.

But you weren't concerned with your two best friends now exchanging salivia. Instead, your eyes were trained on the boy whose wet shirt was slung over his shoulder, toned stomach glistening after his hyper performance.

You watched as he chugged down a bottle of water, his jaw contorting. It made your core ache, it was just a bottle of water but oh god how you wished to be it.

"Hello! earth to E.T." a hand waved in front of your face and you jumped back into reality, being met with Jimin's bright face in front of you, a brow raised and a knowing look etched on his face.

"What did you think of the show?" He asked, you - being distracted - had assumed that you had already been asked this question so, you mustered up a supportive smile and tried to ignore the fact that you had been quite distracted by a certain guitarist during the whole of painted ducks show.

"You guys were great." You mused

Jimin was clearly happy with your answer because he pulled you into a hug, ruffling your hair with a large smile.

You were at a loss for words when a pair of strong arms pulled Jimin away from you, you looked up. You spotted a mass of brown and a boxy grin, you recognised the man. It was painted duck's drummer. You didn't know his name but you being you, you were too scared to speak up and ask.

Instead Jimin was the one to tell you his name "Oh girls, this is our very own drummer, Taehyung."

"Glad to hear that you enjoyed the show.." The tall man offered you a warm smile, sticking out his hand for you to shake, eyebrow raised as if to ask for your name.

"Y/N." you replied with a polite smile, returning his handshake.

Jimin interrupted the two of you by pointing over to a sleeping figure on the couch, mint blue hair falling over his sleeping eyes "Yoongi, our keyboard player," his finger switched to pointing towards a shorter brown haired male who waved as a nicety and went back to his laptop "our back up vocals, jin," his finger landed on one more person and you wanted to cower behind Minji "And Jungkook, our lead guitarist."

Jungkook sauntered over, he brought over a confidence with him. His eyes trained sorely on you.

You turned to Minji but Jimin was already dragging her off and out of the dressing room, no doubt the two of them were heading to the band's van for some alone time. You were left without any protection from the serpent slithering his way towards you.

"Didn't know you were friends with Jimin." He still had that arragont tone in his voice and those eyes, he was still undressing you with them.

"Didn't know you were in Jimin's band." You countered back,

and he smirked.

That's how you ended up back here, back pressed against the stone wall in some abandoned space backstage, skirt pushed up past your thighs with the guitarist of your best friend's band face pressed against your dripping cunt. His tongue darting at your sensitive bud.

Your hands wove into his dark locks, tugging at the strands as your body quivered under him.

Jungkook pushed back. He held your thighs apart and gripped the soft flesh, taking in the sight of your dripping cunt "Look at that," he mused, fingers gliding across your folds "So wet, just for me, yeah?"

He popped a finger into his mouth, tasting you "Knew you'd taste good."

Somehow he got off on the way he felt you tense, the way he could tell your walls clenched just at his words. Jungkook got off on the fact that he was the one making you this nervous, making you this desperate to be touched.

You watched him, watched the ways his eyes glazed over with lust as he rose to his feet, cock springing free from it's protective cage people call boxers.

The tip of his cock nudged your hole and before he pushed it in, he gave you a questioning look. You, simply nodded, utterring a small 'please'..

And that, was all that Jungkook needed before he pushed himself inside you with a groan.

Your head hit the wall behind you with a small thud but the pain didn't register, too focused on the way Jungkook's hips snapped into yours in a rhythmatic pace, his hand wrapping one your legs around his waist and gripping the flesh as if to stabilise you.

"Fuck, let me hear you." He muttered. His hot breath hit your ear, teeth nipping at the shell of your ear and moving down to the delicate skin on your neck, sucking and biting. That was sure to bruise.

"Kook," You didn't deny him of his request to hear you. You filled the abandoned space with sweet moans and heavy breaths "S'good." You muttered.

His forehead collided with yours, resting there as his hand cupped your jaw "Look so pretty for me." Jungkook's lips hovered against yours, nipping at your bottom lip before his lips crashed against yours. With a pinch of your ass, your mouth was open to let his tongue glide in.

"Taking me - so fucking well," You gripped onto his shoulders when his hips snapped harshly making you cry out his name, his hips rutting faster at the motivation "Good little slut taking my cock."

Your nails sunk into the skin of his shoulders, sure to leave marks that he'd be proud of, and your walls clenched around his cock.

"m' so close, kook," head falling into the crook of his neck he let out a groan at your words, your body went limp against his "gonna cum on your cock."

Hands grabbed your hair into a fist, pulling your head back to look at him, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead whilst he gave your ass another harsh squeeze.

"Look at me, baby," with his hand leaving your ass he was free to draw a pattern on circles on your clit, making your walls clench around him "I want you to look at me as i fill this pretty cunt up with my kids."

It didn't take long for that oh so familiar knot in your stomach to reach it's end before you felt a dizzying high wash over.

"Fuck yeah, that's such a good girl," it did not take long for Jungkook to follow suit and soon his warm cum was filling you up "taking my cum like a good slut." As he pulled out his cum spilt from inside your warm cunt.

His cocky smirk was back, lip ring glinting like his eyes "we should get you cleaned up" he chuckled, fixing his pants and your skirt before he took your hand to lead you away but before you left the abandoned space, he stopped, turning to you with that same smirk,

"You should come to our gigs more often."

oh, you definitely would.

[miryum]

"The Crime Scene"

Summary: Detective!Jason Todd x detective!Reader based on Jake and Amy’s relationship

Series Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of violence (but nothing descriptive), guns and other police stuff

Series Masterlist

Y/n stood by an apartment door that was blocked off by police tape, scrolling through her pictures. She and Jason had officially been dating for three weeks, and in her opinion, it was going great. Two nights ago they had another date which consisted of going to the State Fair. Y/n had insisted that they get the famous cookies (“They’re a staple of the fair, Jaybird! It wouldn’t be the State Fair without diabetes!”), ride the giant slide (“Darling, I’m an adult male with a full-time job. As much as I wanna make you happy, I’m not riding- oh my god, oh my god … Okay, can we go again?”), and go on the skyride. The day had ended with a camera roll full of Jason and Y/n pictures, Y/n’s favourite being Jason going through the children’s faux farm where kids had to collect small packages and do chores akin to farming. They followed a dirt path and collected plastic apples, packets of corn, and swaths of real sheep wool. At the end, they cashed it all in for an ice cream sandwich. Luckily, Y/n had been able to snag a picture of Jason in a tiny apron and holding a wicker basket. His mouth was downturned, but he waited patiently in line for his promised ice cream sandwich. 

“Hey. Sorry I'm late,” Cass said and Y/n looked up. “The coffee guy was…”

Y/n choked on her spit. “Assaulting your head?  What is going on up there?” She referenced Cass’ hairstyle. Instead of her loose pixie-cut, Cass’ hair was ironed straight in a tight bob.

“Is it bad?” Cass grimaced.

“Before I answer that question,” Y/n said, “do you currently have a knife on you?”

“Yes, several.” 

“Then I love it.” Y/n gave her a thumbs up. “It really... I mean, it’s hair. You look like Edna from The Incredibles. I'm sorry, don't stab me.” She shielded her face with her arms.

“My girlfriend, Harper, is going through beauty school. This week they’re doing hairstyles,” Cass explained. “She’s practising on me.”

“You’re still with Harper?!” Y/n giggled. “Geez, I love her! Uh, don’t take this the wrong way, but… is she passing?”

“Honestly, I don't know.”

“Well, let's get into this murder.” Y/n rubbed her hands together gleefully. “I'm hoping it's a dope one.” She flung open the door and ducked under the police tape. When she saw the apartment, she froze and her eyes widened in appreciation. “Mamma Mia. That's a bloody pizza pie.” She was referring to the scene before her, the floor smeared with blood in long lines, evidence markers covering every other metre, and the photographer was just finishing up. 

“Detectives,” a detective named Al Kelly greeted them. “The Roomba was running when we got here. It smeared blood across the entire apartment.”

Cass smirked and turned to Y/n. “Is this dope enough for you?”

“It's a bloody robot, Cain.” Y/n grinned. “It's clearly a good start, but it's gonna take more than that to be certified as totally dope. Who's the victim?”

“Name is Steven Carlyle,” Kelly said.

Y/n hummed and shook her head. “Kind of a boring name. Not super dope.”

“He was a psychologist,” Kelly continued. 

“Okay, a sharp turn away from dopeness, but who found the body?”

“His boss called the cops when he didn't show up to work, so he was found by Officer Fields.”

“Officer Fields?” Y/n whined. “You are seriously undoping this. Do you have anything else for me? Al?”

“The apartment was locked from the inside?” Kelly offered, wondering what Y/n wanted to hear. 

“Mysterious. Dope,” Y/n nodded along. 

“The alarm system was still armed.”

“Dope, dope, dope, dope. So hard to solve.” Y/n’s mouth dropped open appreciatively.

Cass asked, “any surveillance cameras?”

“Oh, yeah. Tons of them, but we checked them. No one was seen going in or out. Whoever did this was a ghost.” Al handed Cass a case file and she started flitting through it.

“Yes!” Y/n exclaimed. “A ghost! I officially declare this case ‘dope!’” She turned towards the apartment. “I love the first walkthrough of a crime scene. It's kind of like arriving at summer camp, except the lake is full of blood and your bunk mate is dead.” She paused before ambling through the room. “I think I may be bad at metaphors.”

Cass held up an interview transcript. “So after Carlyle comes home from work, the only person who even approaches his doorway is a delivery guy?”

“Yeah, but he never enters the apartment.”

Y/n gasped and pointed to an evidence marker. “Hey, Cass. Check it out. Triple digies!” The evidence marker displayed one-hundred and eighteen. “There's so much evidence, we hit triple digies!”

“Cool,” Cass commented.

“Very cool indeed,” Y/n agreed. “But you know what's not cool? Carlyle ordered his dinner from House of Lettuce. There's no way this guy knew he was gonna die! No one would want lettuce as their last meal. For example, my last meal... is gonna be any candy I get my hands on,” she shoved her hands in her pockets and extracted a pack of M&Ms.

“You just keep those in your pocket?” Cass pushed back a smile.

“We face death every day,” Y/n pointed out. “I gotta be prepared to go out on my own terms.”

“I can't even think about eating,” Cass gagged. “It smells like Tim’s armpits after he’s refused to go home for four days and is running on coffee.”

“When have you smelled Tim’s armpits…” Y/n trailed off.

A heavy set man with a thick moustache saddled up to them and said, “that's the heat wave. It speeds up the body decomp. I guess you could say this mystery is straight outta decomp......ton.”

“No.” Y/n rejected the attempted pun. “Who are you?”

“Angel Rojas. I'm running CSI and forensics.” The man took a sip of his coffee. 

“If the heat is causing the smell, why don't we just turn on the air conditioning?” Y/n asked.

Rojas shook his head immediately. “That kind of air flow is gonna kick up all kinds of dust particles. That AC stays off, which means the odour in here? Only gonna get worse.” He dug a small clip out of his pocket and shoved it on his nose. “Pro tip: plug your noses. Had this bad boy custom-made to fit these sweet nosters.”

“Are you trying to abbreviate ‘nostrils’?” Y/n stared at Rojas, completely bamboozled.

“In CSI, we don't try. We do, son.”

“Son? I mean, transgender people are great, but that’s not how I identify, thank you very much.” She shot Rojas a pair of finger guns before saying, “well, it's been sort of okay meeting you. We're gonna turn our backs and ignore you now.” She and Cass loyally turned their backs. 

“Hey, Y/n/n,” Cass smirked. “You know what it's time for?”

“I sure do! Y/n and Cass’ first impressions!”

Cass pointed to blood patterns on the wall. “Cast-off pattern on the far wall suggests upward knife slices. Y/n?”

Y/n knelt down next to Carlyle’s body. “Wounds on the vic's back means he didn't see the killer coming. Oof. Cass, my dearest?”

Cass shook her head and continued, “laptop, wallet, keys all in plain sight. No sign of forced entry. Doesn't connote a robbery. L/n?”

“But it does connote that our killer was waiting for Carlyle in the apartment.” She hesitated and asked, “did I just use the word ‘connote’ correctly?”

“You did.”

Y/n grinned. “Great. I’m just super smart. Please text Tim and tell him to suck it and that I am amazing and he should love me. Also, tell Jason that I’m the smarter one in the relationship and that even though he reads all the time, I am superior.”

“I’m not doing that.”

A voice frantically cried from the hallway, “I'm his mother! Let me in!”

Y/n grimaced and her jaw tensed. “Rock-paper-scissors for who has to talk to the vic's mom.”

“Deal.” The pair slammed their fists into their open palms and Y/n glared at Cass as the former held up paper and Cass showed two fingers to indicate scissors. 

“It's a game of chance. How the hell do you always win?” Y/n groaned loudly.

“You always pick paper,” Cass said.

“That is not true,” Y/n scoffed. “Here, go again.” Y/n flattened her palm as paper and Cass held up scissors. “One more time. Alright, one more time. One more time. One more time. One more time.” Y/n kept holding up paper and Cass easily beat her every time with scissors. “Alright, one more time. One more time. God, this reverse psychology is a bust!” Y/n sighed and stepped outside to the hallway. “Ma'am?” she found Carlyle’s mother and smiled softly. “I'm Detective L/n. This is Detective Cain. I'm so sorry for your loss.”

“Please tell me whatever you can. Nobody will tell me anything,” Carlyle’s mother, Amy, begged.

“I really wish that I could, but we're just starting our investigation,” Y/n explained. “Now, is there anyone you can think of that would want to hurt your son?”

“No! Everybody loved Stevie. I don't know why this happened! Please, you have to find who did this.”

“We're doing everything we can,” Y/n reassured her.

“Promise me,” Amy pleaded slowly, staring helplessly at Y/n, “you'll find who did this.”

Cass stepped in and frowned, “ma'am, we can't promise-”

“Promise me!” Amy placed a hand on Y/n’s forearm and tears started forming in her eyes. “Stevie was my whole world. I'm a single mom… or, was a single mom.” She sniffed and wiped at her eyes.

Y/n took a breath and nodded. “I promise you.”

Cass falsely grinned at Amy, who was thanking Y/n profusely, and shoved Y/n back into the rotting apartment. “You really are an idiot, aren’t you?”

“Um, exsqueeze me?” Y/n crossed her arms, offended.

“Did you really just full-on promise a victim's family member we would solve a crime? You broke the number one rule of dealing with a victim's family member. What were you thinking?”

Y/n shrugged and muttered, “I don't know. She reminded me of my mom, okay? A single mother crying in the hallway? Those are some of my frequent childhood memories.”

Cass sighed and rubbed her temples, speaking more softly, “dude, you never make a promise, because if we don't solve this, you've given her false hope, and that is way worse.”

“Normally, I would totally agree with you, but we're going to solve this case. We have so much evidence. We hit triple digies! We'll interview his friends, neighbours, and coworkers. Come on. We got this!”

“Alright, fine. But you have to deal with her if we can’t solve it.”

“Okay.”

“My goodness.” Y/n placed a hand over her heart and raised her brows in Cass’ direction. “Did Mother Gothel finally let you out of the tower?”

Cass’s hair had been lengthened significantly by hair extensions that fell down to her waist. “What?” Cass squinted at her.

“It was a Tangled burn,” Y/n explained. “Jason and I had a Disney marathon last weekend.”

“Cool, but no. Harper’s learning how to weave in hair extensions. Anyway, I talked to the neighbours. Our vic had a party three nights before the murder. I talked to everyone on the guest list. They all have alibis, so I got nothing. How did your interviews go?”

Y/n sucked in a harsh breath. “Not great. I talked to his coworkers, friends, and family. No one had a motive. Everyone loved him. The dumb jerk. RIP,” she added quickly, waving a hand around in a bad rendition of crossing herself.

“Did you promise any of them that you'd find the killer?” Cass asked, glaring at Y/n.

Y/n stared at Cass for a tense moment before admitting, “yes, his aunt. She also reminded me of my mom. Her name was Y/m/n!”

“Y/n!” Cass reprimanded. 

“Look, it's gonna be fine. This apartment is full of forensic evidence! There is no way that CSI hasn't found something. I have never been more confident in my entire-” she threw open the door and groaned as the smell immediately blasted her. “I can taste the smell. Ugh. You shouldn't be able to taste smells.”

“That's the heat cookin' the blood rot right out of the floorboards.” Rojas sauntered up to them. “Set scent to simmer. Serve over rice.”

Cass gazed uncomfortably at him before saying, “just so you know, Rojas, we're not responding positively to you as a person. Maybe just give us an update on the labs.”

“Copy that. The victim was stabbed 30 times. Coroner puts the time of death between six p.m. and seven-thirty p.m. Sunday night.”

“Okay, and how many DNA matches did you find?” Y/n asked.

“None.”

“What about hair?”

“None.”

“Fingerprints?”

“None,” Rojas repeated. “I have no matches of anything on any criminal databases whatsoever.”

Cass turned to Y/n. “Still feeling good about your promise, L/n?”

“Still feeling good about that haircut, Cousin It? I’m sorry, I’m a little frustrated right now but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I love you, Cass.” Y/n took a breath after her quick speech and said, “Rojas, how did you guys not find anything? You had fifteen people in here.”

“First of all, you sound so ignorant right now. I had fourteen guys here.” He scoffed. ”Like I'd ever get approval for fifteen guys. That's insane. Second of all, don't worry, we found something good. We tested the blood. This blood splatter belongs to the victim, this to a second individual, and that to a third.”

“Oh, hells, yes. We might have some perp blood in here. This is huge! Cass, we’re gonna solve this case!” She high-fived Cass and a couple mornings later, she stood outside the apartment, and greeted her friend, “ah, good morning, Prince Harry.” Cass’ hair was a brilliant, stark red.

“You seem particularly chipper this morning,” Cass remarked.

”Indeed I am,” Y/n agreed. “Because I finally tracked down the guy who delivered our vic his final meal and, in so doing, maybe saw the other two guys who bled all over this apartment.”

“We don't know there were three people in the apartment,” Cass reminded her friend.

“Delivery guy,” a cop introduced Y/n and Cass to a young, thin man dressed in a work uniform.

“Hello, sir,” Y/n smiled kindly and shook the delivery boy’s hand. ”We'd like to ask you a couple of questions.”

The delivery boy, who must’ve been no older than twenty-five, looked around at all the uniforms and equipment there. He nervously admitted, “okay, look, I ate a couple fries out of the bag, but everybody does that.”

Y/n shook her head, fingers tucked in belt loops. “That's not why you're here.”

“Oh, shit,” Max, the delivery boy, looked petrified. “Is this about weed?” he asked quietly, like it was a secret.

Y/n’s brows shot up and asked, “should it be?”

“No?”

“You delivered food to the guy in this apartment at six-forty p.m. on Sunday,” Cass cut in. “And within the hour, he was murdered.”

“What? How? That's horrible!” Max cried.

“Did you see anything suspicious?”

“No,” Max said. “But I didn't go inside. The guy came to the door. I just gave him the food.”

“And did you see or hear anyone else in the apartment?” Y/n crossed her arms.

“No, just that one guy. He ordered, uh, three beetroot zucchini wraps,” Max stuttered.

Y/n grimaced dramatically. “Three disgusting wraps. Three disgusting bloodstains. I knew it. There were three people in there.”

Cass stepped forward. “Would you be willing to go inside and let us know if anything looks different to you?”

“Yeah. Sure, that's fine. I don't care,” Max agreed as Y/n began to open the apartment door. Max stepped in and took one look around before screaming out, “why would you show this to me? Oh, I'm too high to see this.” He gagged and his eyes fell on the fishbowl which had bloodstains on the glass. “There's blood on the fish! On the fish!”

Y/n turned to Cass and said quietly, “I always forget how weirdly numb to horrific things we are. Do you think it affects the relationships we build with others?”

“Oh, for sure,” Cass agreed, nodding stoically as Max continued wailing.

“Oh.”

Cass placed a hand on Max’s back, who was currently bent over, retching up air. “You must have seen something. You delivered the food at six-forty, and sometime before seven-thirty, Carlyle was stabbed to death.”

“Stop saying ‘stabbed!’” Max pleaded. “What I saw here forever changed me. My heart is still pounding!”

“Wait. Carlyle was wearing a smartwatch, right?” Y/n asked, whirling around to the evidence marker that stood by Carlyle’s phone. “Those things track your heart rate. If we look at his phone, we can see the exact moment his heart stopped beating. Here we go.” She opened the phone. “Activities app. And... boom! His heart rate dropped to zero at exactly six-oh-three.”

Cass’ brows furrowed and she muttered, “the food wasn't even ordered until six-sixteen, which means…”

Both detectives exclaimed, “the killer ordered the food!”

Max, who was sitting in fetal position, yelled out, “oh, god. Did I talk to a murderer?!”

“Y/n,” Cass ignored Max. “This guy saw the perp. We have to get him in front of a sketch artist.”

“Oh, yeah. I'm feeling it now, Cass.” She bounced up on the balls of her feet. “At this time tomorrow, we're gonna know exactly what our killer looks like!”

“We have no idea what our killer looks like,” Cass said the following day, bags under eyes.

“Well, that's not totally true.” Y/n shuffled through sketch renderings. “We now know that the killer might look like Sebastian Stan, Winona Ryder, or Bilbo Baggins.”

“The delivery guy kept starting over. Apparently, he's always high.” She shook her head. “I'm sorry, man. Our big break turned into nothing.”

A voice sounded from the end of the hallway. “Detectives,” Captain Wayne strode up to them, cap under his arm.

“Ah! Captain,” Y/n plastered a grin on her face. “Did you come down here to take a look at the two best detectives you've ever worked with in action?”

“The two best detectives I've ever worked with are Prince and Pennyworth,” Wayne said immediately.

“Oh.” Y/n nodded once and stared at Wayne. “You never mentioned them before.”

“They were excellent,” Wayne replied. “I'm here because Major Crimes wants the case. I was hoping to tell them you have some leads. I overheard you mention a Bill Bo-Baggins. Should we bring him in?”

Y/n stifled a chuckle. “Well, as much as I would love to meet him, he is not a suspect.”

“Okay, so who is?”

Y/n swallowed and said, “at this time? No one. But... we are currently investigating no leads.” She drew her lips in and waited for the disappointment.

“So you have nothing,” Wayne restated.

Cass glared at Y/n. “Not nothing. L/n made a new best friend. The vic's mom. She promised her she'd solve the case.”

Wayne pursed his lips. “That's a rookie mistake.”

Y/n held up her hands defensively. “Okay. Fine. Maybe I'm not Pierce and Pennyweather.”

“Prince and Pennyworth,” Wayne corrected. “And they would've remembered your name after one mention.”

“Because we're memorable, and they're not.” Y/n held up a hand to Cass for a high-five. “Turned it around.” Cass shook her head and Y/n dropped her hand, continuing, “alright, look, Captain. Cain and I are gonna solve this case. The answer is in this room.” She gestured around to the bloody apartment. “We just have to focus and let the room speak to us.” She shouted out to the open house, “isn't that right, room?”

“When you talk to the room,” Wayne deadpanned, “I lose even more confidence in you.”

“Why?” Y/n shrugged then turned to beg her Capitan, “can you please just buy us some more time? Sir, I feel like we've earned this.”

Wayne sighed heavily and conceded, “work fast.”

Y/n shot him a thumbs up and beamed. “Got it.” She turned back to the apartment and rubbed her hands together. She said to Cass, “okay. Let's look at the scene like we're seeing it for the first time with fresh eyes.” She jumped to the floor, next to where Carlyle’s body used to lay. “Vic was face down.”

Cass stood in the kitchen, analysing the blood on the wall. “Cast-off splatter suggests upward knife slices.”

“No signs of forced entry. Laptop, wallet, keys were all there,” Y/n said, staring at the desk where all the items lay.

“Doesn't connote a robbery,” Cass finished.

“Wait a minute. Have we said this already?” Y/n looked around. “Are we having the exact same conversation?”

“Yep.”

“Cool.” Y/n’s jaw twitched. “Moving on. Windows and doors locked from the inside. Nobody in or out.” She pressed her fingertips to her temples. “Think, think, think... oh!” She snapped her fingers and her head whipped upward to focus on the ceiling. “The upstairs neighbour and his best friend drilled through the ceiling, murdered Carlyle, bled all over the apartment, then climbed back up and sealed the hole behind them!”

Rojas spoke up from behind them. “Negative, we would have found construction debris and microscopic paint fibres. The only thing that needs patching... is that theory.”

Y/n waved him away. “Okay. New idea. We're gonna get inside the mind of the killer. We eat the veggie wraps!” She opened the days old food container and unwrapped the veggie wraps. A shiver ran up her spine as she took in the disgusting looking food. “Here we go,” she hesitantly took a bite of the wrap and immediately gagged. “Oh, this sick bastard,” she groaned. “Oh, man. This is one twisted motherfucker. Oh, the beets are raw. This guy is demented, Cass!” She harshly swallowed down the food before throwing away the rest of the veggie wrap, glaring at it. “How can someone stomach that…?”

A week later, Y/n stood in the middle of the room and held her arms out wide.“Okay. All we have to do is figure out what kind of person can walk by cameras without being seen. Someone camouflaged as a wall.” She glanced around, squinting at the walls, as if she could find the person.

“Unlikely,” Cass said.

“Harry Potter and his invisibility cloak,” Y/n said proudly.

Cass pointed out, “Not a real person.”

“Well, uh, how do you know, Cain? Have you searched all of Britain for a magical castle? I didn’t think so.”

A couple days later, Y/n sat on the kitchen counter, legs crossed and wearing a tank top and pyjama shorts. She suddenly gasped loudly and waved her hands around. “My god, Cain, come here. Look at the blood spatter. Do you see what I see?”

Cass walked over from the bedroom and wondered, “Uh, blood?”

“I think I just made a connection,” Y/n said. “The number three is everywhere. Three people. Three types of blood. And guess what the tax was on the veggie wraps? Three dollars and nineteen cents, but if you ignore the nineteen, then it's three!” she cried out.

Cass shook her head. “Okay. You've officially lost your mind.”

Y/n jumped off the counter and hissed, “what? Who told you that? Was it room?”

“No. It's the fact that you think the room has a voice and also you're working in your PJs!”

“To beat the heat, Cass!” Y/n shouted. “To beat the heat! If we can't turn on the AC, this isn’t crazy, it's just smart.”

Cass took a deep breath and said quietly, “Y/n, I gave the case to Major Crimes.”

“What?” Y/n’s lips parted in disbelief. “Cass, y-you can't do that. I promised Amy.”

“Yeah, and now you can't let it go,” Cass argued. She opened the apartment door and a group of men in uniforms and windbreakers entered. “The scene's yours, guys. I'm sorry, Y/n/n,” she said softly. “It's over.”

Y/n scoffed and marched out. “Okay, fine! I'll leave. Come on, room!” she called out to the apartment.

“You left your pants,” Cass said loudly.

“I don't care!” Y/n shouted back.

Cass slid into the briefing room, noticing Y/n who was crouched on the floor. “Hey, Y/n?”

Y/n popped up and gasped. “Ah! Hello, Cassandra, my coworker and dearest friend.”

Cass shoved her hands into her pockets. “Look, I know you're mad at me, but I only gave away that case to help you. You were acting like a lunatic.”

Y/n placed a bottle of ketchup on one of the tables. “Don't even worry about it. You were totally right. I was in too deep, and honestly, I feel so free not having to work that case anymore, so thank you.” She didn’t know what to do, so she gave Cass an awkward little bow.

Cass smiled, relieved. “Cool, you're welcome. Uh, what's up with all the ketchup?”

“It's, um… for my hot dog.” Y/n nodded slowly. She began to push Cass out of the room. “Anyways, this has been a great chat, but I better get back to my hot dog.”

Cass frowned and pushed past her and froze at the sight of Stephanie who was laying on the floor, covered in ketchup. “Oh, wow.” Cass said slowly, eyes wide.

“There's nothing crazy about this, sister,” Y/n said. “It's the crime scene!” She pointed to the differently arranged tables in the briefing room. “There’s the stove, the kitchen island, blood,” she splattered some more ketchup on a table. “And of course, the body,” she flourished towards Steph.

“Hi, Cass!” Steph waved at her friend. “I'm the body.”

“You gave away my case, but guess what?” She let out a ‘boo-yah’ and held up two fingers. “I spent two months in that apartment. I can recreate it in my sleep.”

“Have you slept?” Cass crossed her arms.

“No,” Y/n said.

Dick walked into the room and looked around, shocked at the mess. “What the hell is going on here?!”

“Y/n’s gone insane because she promised the victim's mom she'd solve her son's murder,” Cass explained.

Dick placed his hands on his hips, disappointed. “Seriously? You never promise a victim's relative anything.” He took a breath and commanded, “clean it up and get out. You've lost your mind,” he decided.

“That's not true!” Y/n retorted. “I'm solving this.”

“Hey, sweetheart?” Jason placed a comforting hand on Y/n’s back. He had gotten a concerning text from Cass that had persuaded Jason to stop by Y/n’s apartment during his lunch break. He had originally knocked on the door, but when she didn’t answer, he had used the key she gave him for emergencies. 

Y/n jumped at the contact and whirled around, eyes bloodshot and the bags under her eyes were darker than ever. “Jason? When did you get here?” Before her sat the blueprints of Carlyle’s apartment.

Jason’s eyes widened at her appearance before his expression softened sadly. “Oh, darling, how much sleep have you gotten?”

“Uh… when was Monday?”

“Four days ago,” Jason answered gently. “Come on,” he gently helped her out of her chair and led her to the bedroom. “Can we get some rest?” Y/n nodded reluctantly and allowed him to tuck her into bed. “I’m just gonna stay here to make sure you get sleep well,” Jason whispered. 

“Okay…” Y/n soon fell asleep, a small smile tugging on Jason’s lips. He returned to Y/n’s living room and sat down on the couch, turning the TV on, making sure the volume was low so as to not disturb her. 

However, an hour or so later, Jason heard some rustling from Y/n’s room. Worried, he crept to Y/n’s room and peered in. When he saw what his girlfriend was doing, he sighed heavily. “Y/n, my darling, please go to sleep.” 

Y/n was using the blueprints as a blanket, reading over them intently, eyes blurry and exhausted. “Never,” she muttered. Jason took the blueprints away from her before typing a text message on his phone.

That afternoon, Cass stopped by Y/n’s apartment. She was greeted by Jason who led her inside and motioned to the bathroom. Y/n was sitting in the tub, cuddled in a blanket, and muttering to herself. Cass sighed and knelt down next to the bathtub. “L/n,” she said. “So, I can see how much this case means to you. I was thinking that maybe I could help you solve it.”

Y/n glanced up and the blanket fell off her shoulders. Jason came up behind her and rewrapped the blanket around her. “Really?” she asked. “But I thought Major Crimes just labelled it a cold case.”

“They did,” Cass confirmed. “But clearly, you’re not gonna let it go. And hey, if they’re out of the way, then we can take all the credit ourselves.” She smirked loosely and Y/n beamed.

The detective leapt out of the bath and wrapped her arms around her friend. “Thank you, Cass!” 

The following afternoon, Y/n and Cass arrived at Carlyle’s apartment. “That's weird,” Cass hummed. “The police tape's already gone.”

“Oh, yeah, Major Crimes released the scene yesterday.” The pair walked into the apartment as Y/n said, “but I'm sure they haven't had time to clean up the evidence…” she trailed off, looking at the perfectly spotless rooms.

“Oh, shit, they emptied the place out.” Cass said. “Nothing left in here. I can't believe this is how it ends.”

“Yeah. Is it weird that I miss the smell?” Y/n’s lips turned up in a reminiscing smile. “Wait a minute, do you hear that?” Her head tilted to the side as she tried to figure out if the soft humming noise was coming from the apartment, or if she really was crazy and it was all in her head. “I've spent six hundred hours in this room, and I have never heard that sound.”

“It's because the air conditioning's never been turned on. It's coming from that vent,” Cass pointed to a large vent in the wall.

Y/n immediately took out a swiss army knife and unscrewed the bolts. She faithfully got down on her hands and knees and crawled into the huge vent. “I don't see anything,” she called back to Cass. “Wait, there's a bend. Oh, my god.” She came across a pack of plastic water bottles and some empty chip bags. “There's food and water in here!”

Half an hour later, Cass and Y/n stood in the precinct, Cass’ laptop propped open in front of them. Cass said, “we never saw the killer leave this apartment because he never left. But he couldn't have survived in there for months. That's insane.”

“He wasn't back there for months,” Y/n explained. “He just waited for the body to be discovered and then snuck out sometime after that.”

“But this place was crawling with cops.”

“Which is exactly what he wanted,” Y/n scratched at her nose. “He snuck out dressed like a cop.”

“Even if he had a uniform, somebody would've recognized him,” Cass said, thinking logically. In order for them to figure this case out, there couldn’t be any holes in the story.

“Not if his face was covered.”

“By a Hazmat suit!” Cass’ mouth fell open. “The CSI guys! Rojas said he had fourteen techs, but didn't you count fifteen?”

“I did count fifteen!” Y/n exclaimed loudly. “My maths was right! Suck it, Mrs. Wilson! She was my Algebra two teacher. She was actually very sweet. She believed in me.” Cass shot her a look and Y/n remembered, “oh. Yeah. Here's the security footage. Play the tape.” Cass pressed play and Y/n narrated along to the video, “okay, so there's us arriving. Alright…. Wait. Go back.” She pointed to the one guy on the screen. “Look at this guy. All the other techs are wearing their little booties, but he's not. Follow that guy.”

“Where's the footage from the grocery across the street?” Cass muttered to herself, pulling up the camera logs.

“We have that?” Y/n asked, astonished. “That is so crazy. We’re under surveillance at all times. I'm sure it's fine and it won't backfire and ruin society.” She shook her head, ridding herself of the thoughts. “Zoom in on his face. Hm… that man isn’t CSI. But he is about to say… CS-bye.” She grinned at her pun and announced, “okay, Cass. You know what it's time for!”

The friends high-fived each other and said, “Cass and Y/n’s final impressions!”

“The dude’s a hit man. He snuck into the apartment during the party several nights earlier, hid in the vent for three days, then emerged and murdered Carlyle. Y/n?”

Y/n took over and added, “he then spilled bags of blood that he stole from a blood bank all over the floor and turned on the victim's Roomba to make the crime scene as messy as possible. Cass?”

“The messy scene meant there'd be extra crime techs, allowing the perp to sneak out in a Hazmat suit, which records show he bought online. Two weeks before the crime was committed. My only question, who was behind all this?”

Two days later, a man by the name of Warren Lawford (“Really? That’s the most ironic name ever!”) sat in the interrogation room and said, “I was hired by a depressed grocer.”

“Wow.” Y/n muttered. “Dopeness taking a late hit here, but we still got you! See you at the sentencing, peace, and we're out!” She held up a peace sign before she and Cass swept out of the room, looking smug. 

Amy waited for them outside, face contorting into relief when Cass explained that Lawford was pleading guilty. “Oh, thank god. But why did he kill Stevie? Was he doing something bad?”

“Not at all,” Y/n reassured her. “Steve dropped one of his clients that was too emotionally attached to him and the client went kinda crazy and issued a hit on him.”

“Well, is anybody going after him?”

“If they're not, then I will. I promise you,” Y/n said softly.

Amy’s eyes filled with tears and she spread her arms open. “Come here,” she sniffed, wrapping Y/n in a big hug, electing a squeak from the detective.

“Why are you promising her?” Cass mouthed to Y/n from out of Amy’s line of sight.

“I can't help myself!” Y/n whispered harshly.

“Goodbye, detectives,” Amy grinned before exiting the precinct.

“Take care,” Y/n called after the woman. 

“I gotta say,” Cass huffed a chuckle. “We would not have solved that case if you hadn't gotten involved emotionally.”

“Think we'd be better cops if we did that all the time?” Y/n asked.

“Absolutely not, never again.”

“Yeah, it was a total nightmare.”

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Part 3

Danny would guess they'd gone about 20 miles by the time he'd stopped. They were well within Siren Territory by then, not that that was any comfort, considering the source of most of the trouble in the last six months, but distance was distance. Thankfully, none of his usual enemies bothered to rear their heads, likely licking their wounds from their last encounters.

In a tiny cave blocked off by kelp and coral, Danny leaned back against a wall and caught his breath. Damian had been silent for most of the swim, which was a small blessing. It let Danny think; think about what happens next. The tiny siren loosened himself from Danny's arms, and did a few cursory flaps of his fins.

"Where have you been taking me?" Damian mumbled.

"Around. Can't exactly double back to Amity right now." He hoped Bruce Wayne was an accepting man. He'd adopted kids from all manner of backrounds, but that didn''t help the same nagging uncertainty that plagued him whenever he thought about his own parents. If he'd just doomed Damian to a life without his father, he didn't know if he could live with himself.

Damian floated to the other side of the cave, his eyes on Danny the whole time, arms crossed in a scowling expression.

"And then?"

"I don't know. I give you back to your dad? I wasn't exactly planning out every step earlier."

"Then what were you thinking?" Damian's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Do you suggest I return to the public, to school looking like this? I can hardly breathe over water, let alone walk."

"I don't know! I just..." Danny poked his finger webbing. "I've been doing this for six months. And the whole time, even if it was hard and painful, I never lost someone. No one ever, well." Danny swallowed thickly.

Damian huffed. "You are a poor excuse of a hero."

"I failed you, there's no denying it. I was too late, and I let you drown. I'm sorry. There was no other way, I swear."

Danny looked up to Damian again, but the smaller boy looked away, his expression unreadable. "Take me back."

Yeah, that wasp probably the best he could do for Damian now. Bruce Wayne was probably having the mother of all freakouts, and if Damian never wanted to see Danny again, then that was fine. He was sure the world's richest man would be able to accommodate Damian's needs just fine. Rich people were weird like that.

It took some begrudging glares, but Damian at least allowed Danny to take his hand and use his much better swimming skills, but Damian didn't look very happy about it. Then again, today was probably the worst day in the kid's life.

They were approaching the island at rapid pace, its lustrous palm trees swaying in the distance, a promise of stability, and safety at last.

Motors hummed in the water. Danny's blood froze. Immediately he submerged and ducked near the sea floor.

"What is this delay for? Let me see." Damian pushed against Danny's hand, but the older boy kept firm.

"Patrol boats. Dozens of them. And they're all on high alert. And they've got Fenton tech. Shit."

"Can't you swim past them?"

Danny sputtered. What was this kid thinking? He wasn't some god of the sea! "I can't fight thirty boats by myself! They're gonna skewer us both!"

"What about your camouflage?"

"That would've worked a couple months ago, but these guys have got Fenton Sonars."

Damian did a double take. "The Fentons? You mean the town crackpots?"

Ouch, his parents were a little obsessed, but they definitely weren't crazy. Not anymore. "The town siren hunters. And yeah maybe Jack's not great at hunting, but their inventions work. I've got a scar or two to prove it."

"My father is on that island." Damian growled. "You have to do something."

"But it's not your dad on those boats, is it?" Danny furrowed his brow. "Those guys don't see you as human, or even sentient. They think you're another monster to be studied."

"No thanks to you." Damian challenged.

Danny growled back. "I was saving you! And now you wanna be un-saved?"

They glared into each other's eyes. Danny should really feel bad about squaring up to this literal child, but man was he difficult not to get annoyed at. Deep breaths, Danny, deep breaths. This was going to be more difficult than he imagined.

Damian glared at Phantom, the supposed siren superhero of Amity Park. He wanted to scream, to yell and to cut something open, preferably Phantom, if he weren't his only ticket home, and if only he had his weapons on him.

Such a loss of composure would be beneath him, so he remained stubbornly defiant.

As much as he wished for it not to be the case, Phantom was in all likelihood correct. This horrid, horrid body was new to him. Dozens, no, hundreds of foreign sensations flared from every part of his person, each impulse sending his body wobbling in new, unexpected directions. He would never get through the blockade on his own, which killed half of his initial plans. These blasted sonars killed the other half.

Damian grit his teeth. "Fine." He said, despite the embarrassment welling up at having to admit defeat. "But this conversation is not over."

"I bet." Phantom said, the infuriating cur.

By Damian's estimates, it should have been around midnight when Phantom stopped. They took refuge underneath a larger cave, filled with sparse furniture, a rug and some tables, with dark green curtains over the entrance. Small glowing jellyfish provided faint light. It seemed like the hopelessly domestic scene Jonathan would enjoy.

Damian slithered (He didn't crawl or shuffle. He was too dignified) into the corner of the cave, where he assumed a defensive position and poured all his seething hatred into glaring at Phantom.

"Welcome to Casa de Phantom! Or at least one of them. I've got a couple hideouts here and there. I'd say 'make yourself at home,' but I guess you beat me to the punch." Phantom said with a laugh. How dare he!

Damian hissed. "Tt. I am taking advantage of the opportunity for respite while taking necessary precaution against a rogue element."

"A rogue element? I don't know if you're serious or just pulling my tailfin."

"Do not test me, Phantom."

"Right. Look, I'm gonna go get us some food, so just stay put or something or other. I won't be long and then we can talk about where we go next. Oh, and don't touch anything!"

Damian growled at him again for good measure. Phantom exited the cave in short order, leaving Damian with ample opportunity for investigation. He wouldn't be a Robin if he didn't seize this opportunity.

Damian uncoiled himself and pulled his body along the soft sand. The grains tickled and pricked at his scales. The tables held a number of different gadgets and tools. Human clothes like t-shirts, a few vests and belts were scattered around. The bench held various strange devices, like a glowing blue lipstick, and a thermos of all things. Damian knocked on the thermos, the clanging sound confirming it was hollow. The most incriminating detail of all, however, was the distinctive F logo branded onto the side of each and every device.

How does a siren with no legs acquire so many inventions from siren hunters? He supposes they really are better siren hunting inventors than proper fighters. It was a miracle Jack Fenton hadn't drowned by now, considering how he conducted himself in a fight.

The thermos was lightweight, its metal settling gently against his webbed hands. Videos of Phantom's exploits have been scarce, and grainy, showing very few useable details. Various buttons and lights adorned the thermos, showing it was no ordinary soup holder.

Damian popped the cap off. The thermos' interior contained a circular mechanism of some kind. "What in the world?" Surely this could not be a weapon. The cylindrical design and lack of handholds would have made it too unwieldy. The kickback from any shot would throw off the wielder's aim every time. As Damian peered and tried to get a closer look, his finger slipped on one of the buttons. Blast.

The thermos whined. Its interior glowed blindingly bright. Before Damian could react, a blue beam engulfed his body. Damian felt his body warp and compress into a tiny space, before his vision went dark.

Damian awoke, vision blurry and head pounding. Phantom's smug face floated above him.

"And that's why I told you not to touch anything."

Damian shook off the grogginess and sat up, almost colliding with Phantom's face. "What manner of trap was that? Were you attempting to disfigure me once again for your sick pleasure?! En garde!"

Damian was no good swimmer in this form, but it was easy to launch himself off the floor and into Phantom. Phantom, for his part, didn't sit idly like the last time. He raised his arm and blocked off Damian's access to his neck, a shame, but that did not stop Damian sinking his teeth into Phantom's flesh.

That is, if he could actually penetrate his skin.

Damian blinked in shock. Sirens were supposed to have razor sharp teeth. He'd seen those fangs in Phantom's own mouth. He should be drawing blood right now, but as he was he was barely denting Phantom's scales.

Phantom laughed, as if it just tickled. "Dude, I literally let you out of the thermos. It's not a 'trAP to diSFiguRe yOu fOR mY sIcK PleaSuRe,' it's just a containment device for sirens. Also can you stop that please, it tickles."

Damian flung himself off of Phantom's arm, retreating back into his corner. "How have I not drawn blood?! This is madness!" Damian sucked in breaths through his gills, an endlessly foreign and vulnerating sensation. "The only useful thing about this body was supposed to be its natural offensive capabilities, yet it is unable to achieve even that!"

"Siren kids just have blunter claws and teeth. Youngblood's the same."

"Do not call me a child!"

"Your claws will grow in over time, it's just the nature of things."

"You say that as if you will not return me to my true human form."

Phantom shifted uncomfortably.

Damian pressed. "Well?"

"Yeah about that..."

"Do not tell me you have no way to reverse it!"

Phantom's look of guilt sealed it. Damian's heart sank. Goodbye Robin, goodbye previous life. All his hard work and sacrifice for naught. Phantom had saved him from death by drowning, but suddenly Damian felt as if he were better off dead anyway.

Tears built up. What was happening to him? He hadn't cried since he was five years old, a show of weakness that grandfather had beaten out of him. Then again, he was really one year old back then, artificially grown to a competent age.

"H-hey, d-don't cry or anything, I was just-"

"I am not crying!" Damian shouted. He turned away from Phantom and stuffed his face into his tail, praying somehow the tears would go away on their own. He was Damian Wayne, son of Batman and daughter of Talia Al Ghul, there was no such thing as crying for him, none at all. There had been nothing, absolutely nothing he had been unable to overcome. He was going to overcome this, no matter what. These things he knew.

Why had this feeling not abated?

There had to be a solution, there just had to be. There had to be some kind of surgery that could split his tail into legs again. No that was absurd, what kind of quack surgeon can completely alter someone's species? Perhaps magic instead? Normally he hated the involvement of magic, but if it was the only way. Perhaps Zatara could assist, or he could pawn something off to that Constantine. But nothing ever good happened from associating with that man. Or maybe Aquaman would have a solution, someone well versed in oceanic magic, except Aquaman's claim of being king of the ocean was doubtful considering the siren attacks that lead him and Father to this forsaken resort town in the first place. What if... What if....

Damian felt lightheaded.

A weight pressed on Damian's body. Warm scales against his own, their individual texture segmented, but smooth, like a kind of weighted blanket. A hand laid on his shoulder. Damian remembered where he was, remembered to perform the mental exercises Father had taught him.

Slowly, his breathing evened out. His fins steadied into a gentle lull. Damian's eyelids felt heavy. His chest vibrated in a strange rhythm he couldn't place...

Suddenly the weight disappeared, and Damian blinked himself awake. Phantom retreated a sociable distance away, looking sheepish.

"Sorry, about touching you without your consent, I just saw you were hyperventilating, and I remembered a few classes about this stuff, and I watched that film too, Puss in Boots 2, it was great and-"

"Do sirens watch human media often?" Damian said. He gripped his tail, something solid to keep him anchored.

Phantom seemed to freeze for a moment. "Uhm well, maybe they do! just because we're sirens doesn't mean we're uncultured!"

Damian would have loved to pick this information apart, scan it for weaknesses until he knew this person in and out, but at this moment, he simply sat and let it settle underneath the shame of expressing similar, or even more weakness.

"Speak of this to anyone, and I will have your head."

"Yeah that would be a dick move, so if I ever did that, feel free to take it."

[natriae]

Chapter 1: Stahp callin' me Miya

next>

Masterlist

warnings: profanity & complaining

"No Miya you cannot for the love of god post that you wanna ride Sakusa's dick on tiktok,"

"why not i'd be funny,"

Funny enough, leaving the MSBY gymnasium was the hardest part about your job. It should be the easiest, but all the boys think you clocking out means now is the time to ask you questions. In particular a setter manages to do this everyday. You always catch him running out of the locker room door with wet hair and his gym bag hugged tightly to his chest as he chases after you. Half the time his questions don't even have to do with your job. Questions he should be asking the manager or coach.

Exiting the large building the two of you are met with the beautiful, natural landscape of osaka. The parking lot with huge trees shading your cars, and small lights in the ground not to ruin the scenery. They even managed to make sure the garden full of flowers in the front was managed daily. The landscape would be so relaxing if there wasn't a loud blonde haired setter talking your ear off.

You'd think he'd be trying to get with you with how determined he is to be by your side on your way out, but those thoughts leave as soon as he opens his mouth.

Questions fly out of: 'can ya check out this pimple on my ass' or 'would it ruin mah image if i posted a twerking video'. If anyone heard your conversions they'd think you two are just close friends, but you only met him a few months ago and never see him outside of your job.

Atsumu was just a carefree young man without a filter, and as much as you hated him annoying you on your way out, you were grateful. You were grateful that you had someone walk you to your car in the afternoon or at night even if he wasn't purposefully doing it.

Like right now, while he rants about what a good idea it would be to post his hot-takes on his teammates he subconsciously opens your car door for you, and waits for you to roll your window down before shutting it.

"I'm just sayin' I don't think there will be as much backlash as ya think," the thick accent rolls off his tongue as he ducks his large body down to be face to face with you.

"Okay, yeah when you're getting death threats from Sakusa's fan's I won't be there to help you."

At your retort he scrunches his stupidly cute face up and fires back, "yah, ya will. It's yer job," he finished by giving you his best matter of fact face and waited for you to respond. You think that's why he enjoys toying with you so much, because he knows you will fight his own fire with more fire, but you also hate when he's right--like right now.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath before continuing, "Please Miya just give me one weekend where I don't need to clean up your mess off the clock,"

"When have ya ever hadda do that,"

"Last weekend when you got in a fist fight at a bar," you snapped back.

"Hey! That guy was makin' a lady uncomfortable," he reasons.

"Yes, Miya it was sweet of you, but not for MSBY when headlines of 'MSBY Setter caught in Bar Brawl' hit the first page," Working with the boys as their publicist was hard to say the least. It's like babysitting, but without the money for dinner. Constantly making sure the boys don't fight, swear, or even post stupid tiktoks. You have to review their posts before they post it, and think of any possible way they could receive backlash for it, but the best part of it all was seeing the terrible photos of the boys-like the picture of Atsumu being punched in the face- or getting calls from their mom's because their son won't pick up.

"okay I promise…under one condition," dear god, "stahp callin' me Miya! I have a twin it's confusing!"

Exaggerating you stick you head out of the car window and glace around before ultimately turning back to the man and saying, "I've never met him so 'till I do it's Miya,"

At that you roll up your window as Atsumu gives you a look of disbelief. You signed a very specific contract. You cannot under any circumstances get close to the boys, so to save yourself from wanting more you will stick to their last names.

Taglist: OPEN!

@thisbicc @lovley212

[ladykailitha]

Little Runaway

Welcome, welcome to my longest steddie fic I’ve completed to date. It’s set in a nebulous time between season 3 and 4 but also very AU. And for the purposes of this story, Steve is gay but went through the motions with Nancy and his other dates as his dad is homophobic. This also references abuse and has some period typical homophobia. Not anyone we know. 

*

Eddie cursed whatever god it was that invented hangovers and swore vengeance. It was then he realized that banging wasn’t coming from inside his head but on the door to the trailer.

He looked outside his window and realized it was late at night. He glanced at the alarm on his nightstand and the time glared 3:54am in bright angry red numbers.

He squinted hard, trying to wake himself up for whatever encounter was on the other side of that door. He just really, really hoped it wasn’t the cops. He pulled on a shirt and padded out of his bedroom to answer the door.

“Keep your shirt on,” he grumbled. “I’m coming.”

He opened the door to see Dustin Henderson standing outside his door, looking relieved that Eddie answered.

“To what to do I owe the pleasure, Dusty Bin?” he asked leaning against the door frame.

“Uh...” Dustin began and then slammed his mouth shut.

Eddie raised an eyebrow at him and tilted his head. “Cat got your tongue?”

Dustin blushed. “I know your uncle isn’t home for the weekend, so I wondering if you could take a friend of mine in. Just for the weekend. He doesn’t have anywhere else to go. I swear. I wouldn’t ask if he had somewhere he could stay.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes. “Who’s your friend?” There was something slightly panicked about the way Dustin was going a mile a minute.

“I can’t tell you until you say you can take him in,” Dustin whined. “You have to promise that after knowing who it is, you won’t take it back. Please?”

Eddie threw his head back and waved his hands. “Fine. I promise your ‘friend’ can spend the weekend here.”

Dustin visibly relaxed. “You can come out now.” He waved at someone from behind the trailer.

A beat. Then another.

And then Steve fucking Harrington stepped out. He had a backpack slung over his shoulder and his head was down.

But Eddie could tell that this wasn’t the Steve Harrington he knew. His hair was wet and matted, like it hadn’t been properly washed in a few days. His shoulders were rounded, like he was trying to make himself as small a target as he could.

“Dustin, I’m going to kick your ass,” he said turning to the teenager.

“You promised,” Dustin defended. “No take backs.”

“I shouldn’t be here,” Steve muttered. “I can go. You don’t have to do this.”

Eddie rubbed his eye in frustration. He knew he was going to give in. He just didn’t like it. So he sighed. “Come on, Harrington. You’ll have to sleep on the couch.”

Steve still refused to look up, so he nodded.

Dustin came over and hugged him. “I’ll talk to my mom when she gets back from visiting Grandma. We’ll find something more permanent. This is just for the weekend. I promise.”

Steve hugged him back. “I’ll be fine.”

“Call me,” Dustin admonished. “I’ll kick your ass if you don’t.”

“I promise.”

Dustin hopped on his bike and waved, heading out to the exit of the trailer park.

Eddie looked around, realizing for the first time Steve’s car wasn’t around. “Hey, where’s your car?”

Steve just shrugged.

Well that interesting. And Eddie loved puzzles. “Come on in. I’ll show you around.”

Steve mounted the steps gingerly and Eddie eyed him warily. An idea was forming and it wasn’t good.

Eddie folded his arms and watched as Steve lowered himself gently on to the sofa wincing when he made contact with cushions.

“So who beat your ass?”

Steve looked up in shock and Eddie hissed in sympathy. The dude a black eye, a bruised nose and split lip.

“I hope the other guy looks worse,” he said sincerely.

Steve chuckled. “I broke his nose.”

“Good.”

Steve ducked his head again, this time to hide his blush.

“Look, I know what being on the run looks like, and you’ve got all the signs,” Eddie said. “All I need to know is that it’s not the law and you and I are good, you hear me?”

Steve shook his head. “At least not as far as I know. I don’t think he’ll get the cops involved.”

Eddie pursed his lips. He knew how that went. All too well. “But you’re afraid that if you go to your friends, he’ll find you and hurt you again?”

Steve’s shoulders sagged. “Yeah. My dad’s an ass like that.”

Well. Fuck. Yep. Yep. That made total sense.

“He been doing that awhile?” Eddie asked, jutting his chin at Steve’s messed up face.

Steve huffed out a bitter laugh. “Only when he’s home. Which thankfully isn’t often.”

Abusive and neglectful. “What tipped him off this time?”

Steve just shook his head.

“Not ready to talk about it?” Eddie said. “Fine by me. Get a real shower and I’ll scrounge up something for us to eat.”

Steve stood up, wincing as he did so.

“And I’m going to look at those ribs, to make sure they ain’t broke.”

Steve blushed. “It’s really not that bad.”

Eddie darted forward and Steve moved to get out of the way, only to stop, crying out in pain.

“You want to tell me another lie, Harrington?”

Steve was sweating from the pain. “No. I’ll be good.”

“Go get a shower, big boy,” Eddie said, making his way over to the kitchen part of the trailer and rummaging around for something to eat. He found a can of Spaghetti-Os and started heating that up. It was about done when Steve came out of the bathroom, looking better than he did.

He was also shirtless.

Which sent a thrill of heat down his navel. Until he saw the great big bruises on Steve’s sides.

“Holy shit,” Eddie swore. “He got you good.”

Steve wrapped his arms around his torso and looked away. “He knocked me to the ground and started kicking me.”

“Come on,” Eddie said gently. “Sit down and eat. I’ll look at your ribs after.”

Steve nodded.

Eddie pulled out a bowl and spoon, dumping the canned noddles into the bowl. He handed them to Steve. “It’s not much. But it’s warm and filling, and I have feeling that’s what you need right now.”

Steve gratefully took the bowl and began wordlessly slurping up the food. It wasn’t long before it was gone and Steve handed it back.

Eddie took it to the sink and came back. “Can you sit up straight or does it hurt?”

Steve straightened up, but Eddie could tell he was being held together with a frayed thread.

“Okay,” Eddie said. “I’m going to have to touch it, and it will hurt. Try not to hit me when it does.”

Steve winced. But was quiet and still as Eddie did his examination.

“Good news, it doesn’t feel like anything’s broken,” Eddie said, sitting next to him. “Bad news is that that is one hell of bruise and it will hurt like a bitch for another week.”

“Something I figured out myself, thanks,” Steve sneered.

Eddie got up to walk away, when Steve pulled him back down. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just in a lot of pain. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

Eddie nodded.

“Thank you,” Steve murmured. “For everything, I guess.”

“How long ago did this happen?” Eddie asked.

“About a week,” Steve admitted.

“And he’s still looking for you?” Eddie asked, eyes wide.

“Yeah, Dustin found me living in my car and told me,” Steve admitted. “I really don’t what that kid thinks he can do come Monday, but his plans usually have plans, so...”

“So you’ve been driving around town avoiding your dad and what?” Eddie asked, trying not to let his temper flare. Because it wasn’t Steve’s fault. “Taking showers at the rec center?”

Steve nodded. “I’m between jobs at the moment, so I couldn’t just leave town. At least here I know where my dad wouldn’t look. When the local restaurants have their specials so I can eat cheap.”

Eddie blinked. Suddenly he was feeling this deep gratitude for his uncle. Because if it wasn’t for Wayne, he would be right where Steve was now.

“You’re sleeping in my bed,” Eddie said, booking no argument.

“What? Why?” Steve protested.

“Because if you’ve been sleeping in your car,” Eddie said, grabbing a few things from his bedroom, “you haven’t been able to sleep stretched out. Which is why your ribs are in such bad shape. So while you’re here, you’re going to sleep in a bed to support those ribs. Got it?”

Steve nodded.

“I’m going to sleep now,” Eddie said pointedly, looking at Steve still on sofa.

“Huh?” Steve said and then looked around. “Oh. Shit. Sorry.” He stood up and wandered to the bedroom.

Eddie watched to make sure Steve actually laid down. He sighed in relief when the other boy fell asleep in mere moments.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Epilogue

[tangledinink]

Chapter Eleven of I'm Sorry, Teenage Mutant What Now? is here!!! The gang's got a new lead, and the first step is to re-group and re-plan... which is a little difficult given their current, uh, whole situation. But they'll be fine, probably! Read it on ao3 or below the cut!

[ prev ]

After drafting and deleting seven different texts to the quote-unquote "Mad Dogz" group chat that did not even come close to summarizing the conversation she just had, April finally gave up, instead just texting, "where is everyone???? emergency huddle asap"

Not more than fifteen seconds after she sent that off, her phone started buzzing with a call from Raph. Y’know, she wasn't sure what she had expected.

 "Are you okay? What's goin' on?" Raph demanded the second she picked up the call, and she had to bite back a breathless, shaky little laugh. She knew it wasn't nice, and that he was just wound up and worried, but she was still just buzzing from the conversation she had just had with Sunita. It wasn't him, she was just-- overwhelmed. In a good way?

"I'm fine! I'm fine. It's-- it's a good emergency, I swear. Where are you?"

"I just ducked outta class. I'm on the third floor. Where we meetin'?"

"Okay. Uh. Head towards the south stairwell, and I'll figure out where the others are and we'll go from there." 

"Raph's got it! See ya soon."

April ended the call, heading off in the direction of their agreed rendezvous point with hurried steps, struggling to find an appropriate pace. She fought the urge to sprint through the halls, knowing that this was just going to bring unwanted attention her way... but every bit of her body was absolutely alight with energy. The exhaustion from earlier had melted away. Her entire circulatory system had all been replaced with adrenaline, and she was just shining, all lit up in every sense. 

Things were gonna be okay. Things were gonna be okay. Things were gonna be okay.

Raph beat her to the stairwell, and April was thrilled because there was no way she could stand to sit around and wait for anything right now. The second the door to the stairwell was closed behind her, and they were away from any prying eyes, her carefully measured steps turned into an ecstatic bounce-and-hop motion, closing the small gap between the two of them with an excited squeak as she threw her arms around her brother and squeezed him as tight as she possibly could.

"Whoa," Raph blinked in surprise, shifting slightly to correct his footing and prevent his older sister from straight-up tripping over him. "Did somethin' happen?"

"YES!" April exclaimed. "Yes, yes, yes! It's-- it's a really long story and I really really wanna tell you absolutely everything right now but it's gonna be so much easier to wait until we have everyone even though it is killing me but it's-- it's good! Raph, I think everything is gonna work out!!!"

Her cheeks ached from grinning.

"It's not simple or anything, but I just-- I really, really, really think things might actually end up being okay." 

His expression wasn't quite readable to her-- it was somewhere between excited and confused and hesitant, with stress and exhaustion coloring it all, but it was still the best expression she had seen on him in over two weeks and it made all the hair on her body stand up with goosebumps and just.

God.

She wanted her dumb extended family back together and happy again so so so bad.

"Wha--?! April, you can't just say that and then not explain nothin'--!" Raph protested, and April shook out her hands, flicking her wrists back and forth as if to shake away the excess energy.

"I know! I know, I promise I'll explain everything! We just gotta get the rest of the guys first! It's really complicated... did anyone else text back yet?"

"Uhhh..." Raph fished his phone out of his pocket, and his eyes immediately bugged out of his head. Oooh, that can't be good. April leaned over to see.

[ Mikey: principals office :p i can prbly sneak out tho

Donnie: I'm currently occupying Supply Closet 33C, located on the left side of the second floor of the East Wing. It is labeled as such on the school's blueprints.

Leo: lmao wtf y'all

Leo: im on the roof tho ]

"WHAT THE--!?"

"Oh my god," April groaned, burying her face in her hands.

"IT'S ONLY BEEN ONE DAY!!!"

"It's-- it's fine! We can go get 'em, it'll be fine!"

"WHAT HAPPENED TO THE PLAN?! AND TEXTING IF ANYTHING HAPPENED?! HOW DID HE GET ON THE FREAKIN' ROOF!?--"

"RAPH!" April grabbed the other's shoulders, shaking him briefly. "Chill! It's fine. Okay? We'll kick their asses later. Let's just go collect them first and get out of here, okay? Way bigger fish to fry, remember?"

He groaned loudly, tilting his head back, biting his lip, all but sulking with his arms crossed over his chest. "... Fine."

Thank god. Raph may be a dumbass sometimes, but he was way more reasonable than he let on... usually. April sighed softly, offering a fist to bump.

"Come on. Team Big Sibling?"

"Yeah... okay. Team Big Sibling. Let's go bail those knuckleheads out."

---

Raph watched the cup fall, but he still jumped and winced at the sound of ceramic shattering on the ground.

“Oops,” Leo said. Suddenly he didn’t want to be standing on the counter quite so bad anymore, and quickly scuttled his way back down.

“Leo!” Raph huffed in annoyance, immediately on his feet. “I told you you were gonna knock somethin’ over!”

“Yeah, but I wanted to--”

“Raph doesn’t wanna hear it! Go get a broom or somethin’ so we can clean it up before Dad sees!” Raphael insisted, all but shooing his brother away. Leo groaned loudly, rolling his eyes and scowling, but obeyed regardless, running off to go and retrieve the requested tool. Raph huffed, moving to begin cleaning up the evidence of the crime… this was one of Dad’s favorite mugs. Hopefully, he didn’t hear the shattering glass from the back garden with Mikey. Mikey was pretty loud. With any luck, this secret would die with them.

“... How do you do that?” April questioned after a moment, tilting her head to the side, leaning over the side of the couch as she observed the exchange from the living room.

Raph paused slightly, his brows furrowing. “Do what?”

“Get ‘em to listen to you like that.” 

“Oh,” Raph said. “Well, they don’t always listen to me.”

“Yeah, but they do when you really want ‘em to.”

Raph frowned a little, considering this for a moment before shrugging. “Because I’m the biggest, I guess.”

April laughed, “Like you’ll beat them up if they don’t do what you say?”

“No!��� Raph protested. “... Well, I mean, yeah, kinda. But also ‘cause I’m the big brother! They have to.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause. Dad said I’m in charge when he’s not here. I’m responsible, and all that other junk,” he explained proudly.

“Well, like, yeah, but why? Why do you gotta be the responsible one just ‘cause you were born first?”

“Uh… I dunno. I guess just ‘cause they’re littler and they don’t know as much stuff yet,” he said. 

“But Donnie is really smart. He knows lots of stuff.”

“Well…”

“He wins at the trivia games every single time we play. And Scrabble!”

Raph hesitated a bit, shrugging a little as he picked up pieces of ceramic off the floor. “I guess there’s stuff that they know that I don’t. But I still gotta take care of ‘em and protect them and stuff. It’s just what big brothers do. It’s our job.” 

“You can’t have a job,” April said with a snort. “You’re eight.”

“Yeah, but I want to,” he said. “... I like taking care of ‘em and stuff. I dunno. Maybe you just do that when you’re born first. Automatically. Like, just ‘cause they’re littler. And so you wanna keep them safe and make sure no one hurts them and nothing bad happens or anything.”

April narrowed her eyes slightly behind her glasses, and Raph looked slightly to the side.

“And I kinda like getting to tell them what to do sometimes!”

April laughed, and this time Raph joined her. “Well, sometimes they deserve it!” He insisted, tossing the mug pieces in the trash, taking care to drop them in such a way that they would fall down to the bottom and not be visible from the top. As biggest brother, he knew by now how to destroy evidence. He flopped back over onto the couch with April once he was done, jostling her slightly, leaning into her on purpose as he did so. She squealed in response, pushing him back, and the two shoved and pushed in between giggles for a moment before they finally settled in a heap across the cushions, sort of splayed out across one another and staring up at the ceiling. 

April breathed in deep before giving a very soft sigh.

“I wish I was a big sister.”

Raph glanced over at the other, hesitating a moment before he spoke up again.

“You kinda are, though.”

She paused, moving to meet his eyes with a look of surprise.

“You think so?”

“Well. Yeah! I mean. We hang out all the time,” Raph said, shrugging. “And you come to our house after school. And we go to your house on the weekends. And you eat dinner with us sometimes, and we do sleepovers, and we have all our birthdays together… And they listen to you, too, when you want ‘em too. And you know how to talk with Donnie, and you keep an eye on Mikey, and you laugh at Leo’s jokes--”

“I’m not being nice! I really do think they’re funny!”

“-- so I think that basically counts, probably.”

April wrinkled her nose up with thought.

“Does that mean you’re not the biggest brother?”

“Wait, what!?” Raph floundered for a moment, rolling back over onto his stomach so he could face April properly. “No! Raph’s the biggest brother!” He couldn’t not be the biggest brother! He had always been the biggest brother! It was his job to look after his little brothers, to always protect them and take care of them and make sure they were safe. That was what Raph did! And he was good at it!

“But you can’t be the biggest if I’m your sister!” April argued. “I’m seven months older than you are!”

“Yeah but-- but that’s different!”

“Why? You just said I’m a big sister.”

“Yeah, but, I meant, like… like to everyone else!”

“So I’m not your sister?”

“No! I mean-- you are-- but--” Raph screwed up his face. “I still wanna be the big brother, April! You can’t just un-biggest me!”

April frowned, looking the other up and down, considering for a moment, before she finally sighed.

“Okay, fine. I guess we can probably both be the big siblings together, then. Deal?”

Raph sighed in relief, flopping down on the couch again and extending his hand.

“Deal.”

---

After assuring their little brothers that they were on their way, Raph and April had started on the journey towards the Principal's office to retrieve the littlest Hamato, taking care to dodge any hall monitors, faculty, or staff, and intensely plotting their rescue mission as they went.

"Alright, and you're sure that you can do a believable impression of Hugh Jackman?"

"Yeah, of course I can!" Raph blustered. "I mean... how hard can it be? It'll be over the phone anyway. You know stuff always sounds weird over the phone."

"Raph, come on! If we can't get the secretary to go look at her car's check engine light, this plan is never gonna get Mikey out of there!"

"Raph can do it! I swear! And if this doesn't work, we still have the backup plan--"

"No, we don't, remember? I only brought the strawberry chapstick today, my peach-flavored one is at home--"

"What are you guys talking about?" Mikey interrupted, poking his head from around the corner. April and Raph both jumped.

"MIKEY!" Raph yelped, struggling to keep his voice level. "We-- you-- what are you doin' here?! I thought you were in the principal's office!"

"Well yeah, I was, but then I left to come meet you guys!"

"How'd you get out!?" April questioned, and Mikey shrugged.

"Oh, it's easy. You just have to cry hard enough that the receptionist offers to go get you some water, and then you walk out," Mikey explained. "That's what I always do."

"What you always do?!" Raph spluttered. "What do you mean what you always-- what the heck happened, anyway?! Why were you in there in the first place? Are you okay? Did you-- what happened to your hand?!"

Raph wasn't meaning to, uhhh, spiral like this exactly, but they were all valid questions, he was pretty sure! He grabbed his little brother's wrist to examine his knuckles, which were somewhat bloodied, scabbed, and swollen. 

"I'm fine!" Mikey whined in protest, trying to wriggle his way out of his brother's grip. "It's not a big deal--"

"Did you get into a fight?!"

"Well--"

"Mikey!"

"Calling it a fight might be a little generous,” Mikey muttered, rolling his eyes. “Honestly, Raph, I'm fine! I can take care of myself!" He insisted, squirming away, darting behind April as if to shield himself. Raph was feeling that eye twitch coming back on. ‘Not a big deal!?’ What did he mean, ‘not a big deal!?’ They had talked about this before!!! What if he got hurt!? And this kind of thing went on his permanent record, you know, didn't he understand that they weren't little kids anymore!? He could get into real trouble--

"Can't we talk about this later?" Mikey insisted, holding his hands up to plead, batting his eyes. "Leo and Donnie are still waiting! Remember?"

"Okay, look," April interrupted. "Mikey has a point. Let's get Leo and Donnie first, and then you guys can do your whole... whatever this thing that you’re doing is. Okay?"

Raph groaned, grinding his teeth, scrubbing at his face with his hands. Right. He still had two other little brothers he had to round up... and one of them was on the roof. Aw, man. He swore he could feel himself going gray...

"Fine. But this conversation is not over," he hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Where next?"

"Let's go grab Leo," April sighed. "Since he's probably freezing his butt off, and then we'll snag Donnie on our way back down and skip out of here. Sound good?"

"How did Leo get onto the roof?" Mikey questioned, already making his way towards the staircase, the other two following after.

"I. Don't. Know." Raph grit out as they made their way back into the stairwell, heading on up. He had never been up to the roof before-- could they even get up there? Surely they must be able to, given that Leo had gotten up there in the first place, right? He could only assume that the door had locked behind him. He wondered dimly how long he had been up there, wrinkling up his nose with worry. Leo got cold pretty easily... all of them did, actually, it ran in the family, and it wasn't exactly nice outside. Certainly not freezing or anything, but brisk. The last thing they needed was for him to get sick or something...

He picked up the pace, taking two steps at a time. Mikey kept up with ease, and April complained from behind them, lagging somewhat. Sorry, Apes! Little brother to rescue. 

Like most buildings in NYC, their school was big and tall, so it was a little bit of a trek to get to the top of the staircase. Luckily, they had already started about halfway up, and, just as Raph had been hoping, the door did, in fact, open from the inside. Thank god. Raph made a mental note not to let that shut behind them and trap all of them up here.

"Leo!" He called, looking around frantically. He had to be up here, right? They only had one roof? He was almost certain-- wait, what if there was a second roof he didn't know about?! And they were on the wrong roof?!

"Hey, big brother." Leo's voice was a lazy drawl, and he peered from behind the door, where he had been posted up against the wall, just out of sight once the door had swung open. "Took you guys long enough."

Oh good. He was here. He was okay. 

This was ideal because this way Raph could throttle him.

"Leo!" He exclaimed, turning to face him properly. "What are you doin' on the roof?! How long have you been up here!?"

"Uhhh..." Leo had the audacity to check his watch. "I dunno. Like. Four hours?"

"FOUR HOURS?! Leo, it's freezin' up here!"

"It's n-not that b-bad," Leo insisted, giving a wave. "It's, like... peaceful or whatever. I took a n-nap."

"You took a--?! How did you even get up here!? Why didn't you text somebody!?"

"Uhhh..." Leo pursed his lips, tilting his head back, staring up at the sky. He rolled his shoulders, humming softly, shuffling his feet a bit. "... I dunno!"

"You don't--? How can you not--?!"

Raph caught his tongue. He took a long, deep breath, and then sighed in an exhale. He shucked off his flannel so that he could wrap it around his younger brother instead, adding it over top of his hoodie and pulling him inside before he could protest-- dragging him into the building where it was safe and warm, closing the door firmly behind them.

Leo could act and put on airs all he wanted, but it was obvious just from looking at him that he was cold. Raphael wasn't that dumb. He didn't consider himself to be smart, exactly, but he wasn't dumb, either. 'Least not about this stuff.

“Raph, I’m fine, I don’t need--”

"Raph doesn’t wanna hear it. Keep the flannel on, you’re freezing. Come on. Let's go get Donnie."

---

Raph held the dustpan while Leo swept, repeatedly shifting his position to catch any remnants of broken ceramics that were left behind. 

“Is that all of it?” Leo questioned, leaning over to see, and Raph gave an affirmative nod, getting to his feet and moving to dump the last of the evidence in the garbage can.

“Yep! All set!” Raph affirmed, giving his younger brother a thumbs up. “No one’ll suspect a thing!”

Leo didn’t look so sure. “Yeah, but won’t Dad notice that the mug is missing?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it!” Raph assured, slinging an arm around the other’s shoulder. “We’ll just come up with a cover story. Like. Uhhh. We’ll say someone broke in and stole it or something! Or… well. Raph’ll come up with a plan! Dad’ll never know,” he insisted. He’d have to work on that later. He really wasn’t very good at that kind of thing, and he had no idea what he’d say, but he’d figure it out. He always did! Leo laughed a little bit, wrinkling up his nose with amusement. 

“Are you sure?”

“Course I’m sure!” Raph declared, puffing out his chest a bit. “Don’t worry. Raph has got your back. Even when you’re bein’ stupid.”

---

It wasn't that Casey didn't understand that the grand mission that her Clan had in the wings demanded sacrifice. She was well aware, and furthermore, perfectly willing to make those sacrifices. She had already made many over the course of her life, and she didn't regret a thing. Her former life, her education, former hobbies... none of that mattered even half as much as the path she was on now. She understood sacrifice. She was willing to sacrifice. 

But dammit, did she always have to be on lookout duty!?

Casey grumbled softly to herself, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She could only sit in one position on this dumb rooftop for so long before her legs started to go to sleep. She had been tempted for over an hour now to take a quick lap around the block, but she didn't dare leave her post. She was tasked with watching the Hamato household-- so watch the Hamato household she would. 

She had been doing this for days now, though it felt like longer, sharing shifts with other recruits of the Foot Clan. Though, of course, now that Jocelyn had been promoted to a full member of the Foot Clan, she would no longer be subject to such menial tasks. Cassandra had nearly broken a tooth this morning when she took over the other’s post-- the last one Jocelyn would ever have to endure-- biting out a strained congratulations to the other through a clenched jaw. Spoiled, stupid, undeserving, bratty little--

Casey was just on the brink of a total temper tantrum when she paused, a sudden realization smacking her in the face. Wait. 

Where was the big red one?

She paused, glancing at her watch and back up at the apartment several times, straining to peer through the various windows. It was noon. Cassandra hadn't been doing this for that long, but when you sit and watch the same family for days and days on end, you pick up on their habits and routines pretty quickly. And every single day since she had started watching them, without fail, the biggest Hamato would emerge from his room, head to the kitchen, retrieve a protein shake from the fridge, and go up the stairs to the third floor. She couldn't see from the windows exactly where he was going, but it was like absolute clockwork. She suspected that he must have an alarm set with how consistent this was-- him fetching a drink and bringing it to, she could only assume, one of the other members of the household.

But it was twelve-oh-five. And there was no sign of him.

A sinking feeling thudded through her gut. Now that she was thinking about it, she hadn't seen any of them the entire watch. Not even once. The woman she had seen several times, working on her laptop in the living room and occasionally puttering around the apartment, but... No Hamatos.

None at all.

Spluttering a bit, Casey reeled, jumping up to her feet. They weren't here!? But she had watched the entire time! She hadn't taken her eyes off the building-- she had been so vigilant! Did they know the Foot was watching them!? Did they sneak out somehow--

She set her jaws, hackles rising as she reached yet another epiphany. A strangled shriek of frustration escaped her.

Jocelyn. 

Oh, she knew she wasn't taking this lookout thing seriously! Casey had wasted the past three hours of her life watching a building that didn't even have the targets in it--!!! Swearing loudly, she wrestled her phone from her bag, nearly dropping it in her haste. 

"Hello--? Sir Baron Draxum? This is the Hamato Lookout team reporting--"

---

Leo had asked Donnie what he was doing in a supply closet. Donnie had, in response, asked what Leo was doing on the roof, effectively eliminating any further questions, though April was certain that all three of her younger brothers would be answering to Raph later. But not right now. There were way bigger priorities right now. Luckily, the upside to attending an absolutely massive school in the middle of NYC was that there were a ton of kids, the building was huge, and it was actually quite easy to just walk off campus. Only three blocks away from their high school was a local skate park: a popular destination for the group, so much so that it sported multiple murals and tags from Mikey, and almost sure to be sparsely populated at this time of day. Meaning it was quiet enough for April to finally recount her recent conversation with Sunita, through excited, frenzied whispers, stumbling over her own words as she attempted to explain.

"So Sunita is a... slime monster?" Mikey questioned, tilting his head to the side slightly.

"Well-- kind of. She's a 'yokai,' I guess? But she has this magic thing called a Cloaking Brooch that lets her disguise herself as a human."

"Whoa!" Mikey gasped. "They have that?! So mystic people can just... look like humans?"

"Fascinating," Donnie remarked, tapping out a few notes on his phone. "Imagine how many citizens of New York could actually be yokai in disguise..."

"I wonder how many other kids at our school have secretly been, like, mystic creatures this whole time, and we don't even know it!" Mikey awed.

"Well, I guess cloaking-brooch-crystal-things are, like, really rare, or something? And, like, crazy valuable," April explained. "It's kind of hard to get a hold of them, Sunita said. I mean. She also said some yokai can just do it on their own without any crystal magic or whatever, but if you can't, then you need a crystal, and they're hard to get. Sunita said her’s is a family heirloom, but they've only got one, and she gets it right now so she can go to school."

"What, they don't have yokai schools in the Hidden City?" Raph questioned.

"Uh. Kinda," April said, leaning back against the skate ramp they were huddled behind. "I guess it's kind of... uh... a little chaotic over there. I mean. I dunno. I guess the police don't do a lot, and also the city is basically under the control of a super-powerful crime boss? And she basically runs everything. And also bloodsport is, like, super a thing that they just do, and that's fine, so like, there's not really a lot of 'law' or 'order' or whatever? So if you have a chance to send your kid to the surface instead, it's sorta a no-brainer."

"Okay, but, like, how is that that different from New York..."

"I'm serious, Leo!" April insisted. "And it's, like, super against the rules to tell anyone who's not in the know about the Hidden City or yokai or anything, so we can't tell anyone that Sunita told us or her whole family could be in danger! This is a take-it-to-your-grave kind of secret, okay!?"

"Okay, okay," Leo said, holding his hands up in surrender. "I get it. Seriously. No jokes or quips, even. It's a secret. We won't tell a soul, April. I promise."

April sighed in relief, tilting her head back slightly. She totally owed Sunita a pizza night or something after this... 

"Okay... so… that's where Dad is? How do you know?"

April took a long, deep breath. "Okay, so, you know how I said that there's a super powerful crime boss? And that bloodsport is a thing?"

---

Weirdly enough, the cool concrete floor below him felt really good on his back right now. But maybe that was just because he was sore. Or because he was exhausted. Probably both. And though his previous stint in the Battle Nexus involved him flip-flopping back and forth between Luxury Boxes and cell blocks, Yoshi had a sneaking suspicion that it would be in his best interest to get used to his current dungeon-esque accommodations, at least for the foreseeable future. He doubted he would be being invited to any red-carpet events or dinner parties by his employer any time soon. He wasn't sure if he was upset about this or not. He didn't think he had the energy to socialize, let alone with Big Mama or any of her various acquaintances or cohorts. 

But it was far too quiet down here, all by himself, with only the echoing rumbles and cries of the Battle Nexus in the distance for company. He relished what little time he had outside of the ring, certainly, but… Though his body was crying for it, he found it difficult to sleep. His mind was too often occupied, mostly with thoughts of his children. Wondering how they were doing. Wondering if they were still looking, or if the police had already closed the case and assumed him dead-- again. 

How long had it been now? It was somewhat difficult to keep track of the exact passage of time down here, and he had to think on it for a moment before he came to the conclusion.

Eleven days, he believed it had been. Eleven days since he had last seen his children. He sighed softly through his nose, allowing his eyes to slide shut, to give himself a break from staring at the stone ceiling and take some time examining the backs of his eyelids instead.

This was the longest he had ever been away from them in all their lives. 

"The next-door neighbor's daughter is very good friends with the boys, so you can call or text them if you have any questions and can't get in touch with me, but I will have my phone on me if anything happens..."

"Right--"

"Their child, April, comes over often, and they like to play in the basement with her. Just keep the door open so you can hear any screaming."

"Okay, got it--"

"And these are all the emergency numbers. This is their doctor, this is Donatello's counselor, this one is Mikey's… this is the school, this is the director's number, my agent, my lawyer, the hotel I will be staying at..."

"Right, I--"

"And this is their schedule. It is very important that you stick to it! Especially this week. Purple will get very upset if things change too much, so make sure they are able to get to all of their activities. Orange has ballet on Tuesdays and Thursdays and art classes on Mondays. He and the twins also have gymnastics on Fridays. They all do martial arts together during the weekends. Oh, and Red just started clarinet lessons, so make sure he is practicing!"

"Okay, I'll--"

"And do not let them convince you that they are allowed onto the roof! They are not! And do not let Donatello take the toaster into his room, under any circumstances! And--"

"Mr. Hamato!" 

Yoshi paused in his long-winded explanation, blinking widely at the flustered-looking babysitter, whose face was pink.

"Sorry! Sorry, I don't mean to, uh, interrupt, but..." She offered him a somewhat nervous smile. "I promise I've reviewed all the paperwork you sent. I've got their schedules saved, all the numbers are already in my phone, and I reached out to Adam to introduce myself and coordinate everything for the week already," she assured, referring to the young man Yoshi had hired years ago to help taxi his children about the city and get them to all their various after-school activities. Yoshi swore, every other month, one of them would try something new on a whim (usually a sport of some kind,) only to discover yet another innate aptitude and then beg to start taking classes. Adam was something of a cross between a chauffeur and a babysitter, helping to cart kids to and from various lessons and clubs when Yoshi couldn't do it himself. Yoshi would have happily hired him to babysit for the coming week, but unfortunately his college classes kept him too busy for such a commitment. Likewise, he would have liked to leave them in the O'Neil's care, but with both parents working full-time, they had concluded that the Hamato childrens’ demanding schedule would leave them a bit out of their depth. 

And so he had hired Emily.

It was not the first time he had hired Emily. Emily had babysat for him in the past whenever he needed someone to watch some or all of the boys. But never for more than a day. Never overnight. Certainly not for a full week.

"Right. Of course," Yoshi laughed nervously, pinching the bridge of his nose slightly. "My apologies. A week is just… a long time."

"I know. But we'll call every evening!"

"Yes, yes," he sighed a bit. "... Right. You are perfectly capable! I'm sure you will be fine!" He said, his voice a bit clipped. "And if you have any questions, you can call! I will have my cell phone on me!"

"Of course!" She assured with a gentle smile, beginning to gather up and organize all the various papers and forms Yoshi had provided her, making one last final review before he took his leave. Yoshi sighed deeply, glancing down at his watch. He could only afford to drag his feet for so much longer before he missed his flight. Emily politely kept herself busy and pretended not to notice him reorganizing his suitcase four different times before he finally zipped it up for good, leaving it by the front door.

"Boys!" He called. In a similar fashion to him pretending not to be stalling his inevitable exit, they pretended like they had not been hiding in just the next room, trying to eavesdrop on the two adults. They were all gathered up at his feet in a snap, with Mikey leading the charge and Donnie lagging behind, and Yoshi kneeled down to meet them.

"Alright, my sons. I will talk to you all on the phone later tonight. Be good for Emily while I am gone, understand? I have already told her she is allowed to sell you to the zoo if you are not good listeners, so best behavior!"

This got a giggle out of at least half of them, so he'd count that as a win. Mikey wrapped his arms around Yoshi's neck, tugging at him slightly and pulling himself up so he could climb on him, clinging to his neck. Yoshi thought to himself that he was starting to get too big to keep using him as a jungle gym, but… there was still time. He wasn’t too big yet. At least not today.

"Where are you going again, Daddy?"

"To California."

"How far away is that?"

"Hmmm," Yoshi pretended to think. "Well. It is farther than New Jersey. But it is closer than Japan." 

"Do we get to watch your new movie when you get home?" Leo demanded, leaning on his father's knee. "I wanna show everyone at school! Justin didn't believe me when I said you were gonna go make a movie!"

"It will take a little longer than that, Blue," he laughed. "But we can all watch together when they are finished making it. In the meantime, make them watch The Rabbit Bodyguard. I was very cool in that one." This new job wasn't actually a very large role-- there was no way he could film in only a week otherwise-- but he felt no need to explain that to Leonardo, who was absolutely beaming, giving a nod of affirmation.

"Are you sure it's gonna be a whole week?" Raph fret, his mouth curved into a frown.

"Yes, Red, I am sure. But you boys will be so busy with Emily you will not even notice I'm gone!"

"Yeah we will," Raph muttered, crossing his arms. 

"Oh, but you boys have so many activities!" He declared dramatically, before leaning into Raph, almost conspiring, to stage-whisper to him. "I did not want to say it in front of Emily, but I think she may need your help, Raphael. She is not used to how busy you boys all are. Or dealing with your little akuma-chan brothers! You may have to help make sure everything goes smoothly while I am gone."

"Hey!" Leo protested.

Raphael glanced over at Emily from across the living room, where she was still organizing papers in the kitchen, before turning back to Yoshi and giving a firm nod. Mission accepted. Phew. Yoshi knew he would be far less anxious over the coming week if he was instead focused on time management and keeping his brothers in line. 

"Why can't we come with you?" Leo questioned, sulking slightly. "I wanna go to Hollywood!"

"Akuma-chan children are not allowed in the state of California. It is against federal law," he replied easily.

"That's not true!" Leo protested.

"It is. Only the best-behaved children are allowed to go to California. You have to submit an application. With referrals from teachers and babysitters saying you should get to go in," he explained confidently. "Perhaps if you boys are very good, then we can take a trip there someday..."

"And see Hollywood?"

"Yes, and see Hollywood."

"And sea lions?!" Mikey squealed. 

"Yes, sea lions as well."

"Okay!" The two agreed, and Yoshi smiled a tiny bit to himself. They were getting older now, and he doubted that Leo actually believed the story he was weaving, though Mikey might. But Yoshi would be hard-pressed to find any joke, game, or bit that Leo wasn't willing to play along with.

He gave Raph a tight hug, assuring his oldest that he trusted him to keep an eye on the family in his absence, that Emily would take good care of them, and that he would be home soon. He scooped up Leo next, agreeing to all his demands for souvenirs, and promising that he would, in fact, call every day. He squeezed Mikey close, and confirmed that yes, Emily did know how to make all the foods they liked, and she would play with them and give hugs, and that Daddy would come back home as soon as he could, for sure, he promised. 

 Donatello was last, still lingering to the side even after his brothers had all turned their attention to Emily instead, staring down at his feet.

"Purple," Yoshi bade softly. Donnie grunted in response.

"I will be coming back home on the 11th. My flight is at 4:15 PM in California time. It's flight 983. And today's flight is 212. You and your brothers can track it on the computer if you want." 

Donnie nodded a tiny bit, not yet looking up.

"I will call you all every night at bedtime. And you can always ask Emily to call me if you need me. Even if I don't pick up right away, I will call you back." 

Donnie hummed quietly, shuffling his feet.

"And Emily is going to take very good care of you boys. You like Emily, don’t you? She has watched you before. And I know you like it when she performs the musical parts of movies with you. And she lets you ask her questions about her architecture degree. And she knows how to do you boys' hair better than I do," he smiled softly. "So you will even get to have special things this week."

Donnie wrinkled up his nose, swaying back and forth for a bit before he finally signed.

'Stay.'

Yoshi sighed.

"I can't stay, Donnie. I have to go to work. Just like April’s parents have to go to work. But I will come back. I promise. It will only be a week, and then I will be back, okay?" He hummed softly, leaning in close. "But I know you will be okay while I'm gone. You and your brothers are going to take care of each other. And April and her parents will help take care of you, too. You will still see her all this week and get to play with her. And you will still get to go to school, and to see Mossy, and to go to robotics club and gymnastics and all the other things you like. Even if I'm not here, you and your brothers will be okay. I am sure of it."

Donnie sniffled a bit, screwing up his face for a moment before he finally moved, all but bodily walking into his father, burying his face against his chest and curling up against him. Yoshi wrapped his arms around him tight, giving him a squeeze.

"Promise you'll come back?" He whispered.

"Of course I will," Yoshi whispered in reply. "I promise I will come back."

---

"I never get to use my algorithms..." Donnie sighed very softly, looking longingly at the spreadsheet on his phone as they trudged through the alleys of the city. And after Mikey had gotten all this data for him, too...

"Donnie. This is a good thing," Leo said, raising a brow and giving his brother a look. "Finding Dad was our goal, remember?"

"Yeah. I know," Donnie sighed, slumping a tiny bit. "But must science always be on the backburner?!"

"Aw, cheer up, Dee!" Mikey chirped, nudging his brother gently with an elbow as he trotted along. "I'm sure you can come up with some sort of mystic-scanning machine to put in your goggles or whatever after we get Dad back!"

"Yes, yes, I will add it to my itinerary," he sighed, rolling his shoulders slightly as they marched. "How much farther do we have to go to find this hidden doorway anyway, April? I thought you said it was close."

"Chill. We're almost there. Uh. I think," April said.

"You think?"

“Look, I've never located a secret mystic doorway before, okay?" She huffed, scowling at her younger brother. "Sunita’s directions were clear in theory, but in practice, it's a little more complicated! If you wanna take a turn leading, then be my guest...!"

"Don't worry! I'm sure we'll find it!" Mikey encouraged, bounding over to match April's pace and fall into stride next to her, a bright grin lighting up his face. He had practically been bouncing around like a kangaroo ever since they left the skatepark, overflowing with hopeful excitement. "There's no way anything can stop us now when we're this close to getting Pops back!"

"Right... and what's our plan again, when we do find this supposed secret doorway?" Donnie questioned, arching a brow.

"Ninja in, kick some yokai butt, rescue Dad, and ninja out," Leo supplied with a shrug. "Simple!"

"Exactly!" Raph agreed. "We know where Dad is-- so we go get him! He needs us! You guys just be careful and let Raph do all the smashing, and we'll be fine."

"Right..." Donnie mumbled, rolling his eyes a bit. Note to self: do not join any action squads with his brothers in the future. Risk of serious injury or untimely death: high. “In any case, we should still, at the very least, come up with some contingencies should we get separated or anything else go awry. We’re heading into unknown and supposedly magical territory, most likely populated with a bunch of yokai creatures, apparently half of which are criminals, so who knows what we may run into. So it may be wise to all be in agreement as to what we’re doing should anything happen--”

“That would be wise,” agreed a voice from behind the group-- far too deep and foreign to be any of his siblings. Donnie froze, a chill latching onto his spine, and he felt his family do the same before collectively turning to face the stranger.

“I knew you would have to come out of that apartment eventually,” the yokai observed, tilting their chin to look down at them through the glassy screen of their horned helmet-- eyes slitted, mouth fanged, their hair long and magenta, tall and familiar and terrifying. Donnie tensed.

“I’ve been hoping to get a chance to speak with you four.”

[ next ]

[elegantmusicdragon]

Adventures in Bravo-Sitting

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Babysitter!Reader (f!Reader probably? Can be gn!Reader for now)

Rating/Warning: Just some language! Words that rhyme with certain swears. Me being a menace. You know how it goes.

A/N: Okay so this is for @blueeyesatnight who just went a on a Dieter/Babysitter journey with me and inspired me to crank this fic out in two days. Haven't written a fucking thing except a fic I won't post and THIS. Blue, you're the best and Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas (if you celebrate) and thank you so much for the inspo! Our Dieter/Babysitter thread is my favorite thing and also if you wanna write some of these two or your own version PLEASE DO IT. I encourage it! Much love to you.

To anyone else who may read this: thanks for sticking around and checking this not beta'd dumpster fire. I have no clue what this is. It came out of my brain and onto the page in a frenzy. But it's fine. I'm fine. Everything's fine. Enjoy! And Happy Holidays!

You are terribly confused. 

"We know this is highly unconventional." 

Well, that's putting it mildly. 

"In all honesty, I've seen weirder." A nightmare child smearing his feces all over the baking appliances and a cake his mother had made takes the trophy as of now. Though this situation is a close second. 

The woman, Amanda, smiles at you - relief flooding her features. She readjusts herself on the ridiculously fancy chair she's sitting on. Behind her, a small cluster of people in suits and business skirts gather. And between Amanda and the group? A man. Well, not man. Celebrity. A celebrity who seems to be grumbling something close to the words “ducking shooshes”.  

You never thought you'd end up babysitting Dieter Bravo but, you guess, things could be weirder. 

"Can I just...ask...um...why does a grown man need a babysitter?"

Dieter rolls his eyes and cuts in, "I don't." 

Amanda talks over him, "I'm sure you've seen the...incidents...on the Cliff Beasts set." 

You nod. "Absolutely, who hasn't? A drug overdose, quickie marriage, annulment - all within the span of a year. And the giant bender in Vegas with the showgirl last month? It's been all over the news." 

Amanda nods, tension lining her face. Behind her, Dieter rolls his eyes again. 

"It wasn't that bad." 

Amanda finally graces Dieter with an irritated glance. Her voice raises slightly, “Not that bad, Dee?? You almost destroyed the MGM Grand’s lobby, casino, and the penthouse suite you were staying in! That showgirl almost lost an eye!” 

Dieter rolls his neck back to face the ceiling, “Yeah, but she didn’t. She was fun,” he chuckles. “Liked to party. We still got her number?”

You see a vein throb in Amanda’s forehead. You’re not quite sure if you should butt into their conversation. Amanda grips the planner she holds so tightly, her knuckles begin to turn white. 

“No, Dee. We don’t have her number. You know, since she ALMOST LOST AN EYE??” 

Dieter sighs. “Oh my god, she was fine. It was safe. I was totally able to handle that machete. That lobby guy was just scared.” 

You raise an eyebrow. 

Amanda fires back, “He was the manager!!! And you were swinging a machete at one of his showgirls!” 

“I wasn’t gonna hurt her, god it’s like you think I’m irresponsible or something.” 

Oh god what have you gotten yourself into???

You reach down and attempt to subtly get your belongings. You’ve decided you want no part in…whatever this is. To your utter disappointment, you’re apparently not subtle enough. Amanda’s eyes dart to where your hand is resting on the strap of your bag. Her eyes widen just a fraction in desperation. 

“I know we’re not giving the best impression here. But I promise, this is going to be a very rewarding experience. Dieter is special!” 

She had said that on the phone too, but it was your fault you had misinterpreted it. Dieter clearly is special just…not in the way you were expecting. He’s special in a super-fuckin-entitled-wealthy way. 

You swallow and your eyes dart to Dieter, who hasn’t looked at you once since this whole meet and greet started. 

“Listen, Amanda, I’m really flattered that you and your…” You peter off, realizing the entire group of people behind her are now listening to you basically say no to this insane job. Are they really surprised you’re not interested in this? 

You clear your throat and continue, “team…want me to do this. I just don’t quite think I’m what you’re looking for.” 

Amanda looks behind her at a gentleman in a neatly pressed suit. He leans forward and whispers something in her ear. She nods, and turns back to you. Dieter remains absorbed in the ceiling. 

“Alright,” Amanda starts, “how about I show you what your pay would look like and we’ll take it from there? Maybe we could do a trial run if the amount is to your liking?” 

Dieter snorts. “It’ll be to her liking, I’m loaded.” 

Amanda rolls her eyes. Despite that, she keeps her focus on you. “Well?” She asks. 

You sigh. You know you’re caught between a rock and hard place. Money? Or no money? Well, even if this job isn’t what you necessarily thought it would be, it couldn’t hurt to look at the amount. Why the hell not? 

You shrug. “Sure,” you reply back to Amanda. “I guess looking at the number can’t hurt.” 

She smiles and nods, turning to confer with the gentleman behind her again. They whisper to each other for a few minutes before Amanda turns back to you. 

“Okay! I just want to clarify that we’ll be starting with a trial run of a week. If just you, or both you and Dieter-” 

He snorts at his name. Amanda studiously ignores him and continues on. 

“Are interested in keeping this arrangement going, we’ll re-discuss and go from there. Is that amenable to you?”

You nod. “Sounds good to me.” 

Amanda smiles widely, looking truly relieved for the first time since you stepped into the room. 

“Great!” She replies. She reaches behind her to grab a small piece of paper from the suited gentleman (who is he???) and hands it over to you. You surreptitiously glance over at Dieter. For the first time, you find his eyes on you. You shiver slightly. His eyes sparkle with…something. 

You look back down at the folded piece of paper in your hands. You’re more nervous than you thought you’d be. You open it slightly and see the number written down.

WOW that’s a LOT of zeroes! Holy crap. 

You look at Amanda.

“Trial run it is.” 

P.S. Banners by @firefly-graphics

Tags:

@grampsgirl14

@apsiringghostmusicians

Anyone else want a tag? Lemme know!

[takenbypeter]

hi! LOVE your wonka work! wondering if I could ask a wonka fic where wonka is looking for y/n so him, noodle, and y/n can go sell chocolate. Wonka finds y/n having a panic attack in some kind of secluded area or smth bc she didn't want to show/tell any of her friends? and then Wonka helps her through it (breathing together, using pure imagination, etc)? then after she's calmed down Noodle walks in with them and they kinda have like a brother-sister-sister moment together :) up to youuu!

Support

Willy Wonka x reader

Words: 606

“Oh god I can’t do this,” you whispered eyes peeking from around the corner at the crowd bustling through the galleria.

You know you were the one to ask in joining Mr.Wonka in selling chocolates today along with Noodle. But now, seeing all the exhausted, angry, tired faces as people passed in the streets you suddenly realized you sort of miss all the laundry.

It wouldn’t be all so bad if they were all strangers, however, some of these people you saw just about everyday. Whether it be at the bank, or the store, these were people you saw in your daily life, and you were not a people person. You were not a crowd person. You were a—I’m not going to bother anyone and keep my head down—sort of person.

Genuinely you didn’t think you were going to react this badly. You felt fine when you’d agreed the evening before, but of course you this morning you felt slight nerves, however, that was nothing compared to the flips your stomach was doing now.

Taking one last peek you quickly ducked back, putting a hand to your chest to control your breathing that was starting to feel unnatural.

Taking a breath you heard a voice cry out, “are you here?”

Wonka.

He was calling your name. You wanted to gain the chocolatier’s attention with the least amount of attraction but your body was no longer listening to your brain as you were glued to the wall.

But luckily he spotted you as he was just about to pass the alleyway.

As he approaches you fervently shake your head back and forth, “too many people. Too many faces. I can’t do it,” you breathe out finding your breath coming out a little bit shorter than desired.

He bends in front of you trying to meet your eyes, but you shut them, “hey look at me,” he says voice low and calm, and you do as told opening them only to be met with his big chocolate colored eyes.

“Hey just breathe for me, can you do that?”

It looks like you’re unable to, prompting him to reach down finding your hand and holding it in his, “just breathe in,” he demonstrates, “and out,” he exhales. He does this a few more times and you follow along, your breathes slowing to a more consistent pace.

“This,” he says head jabbing towards the crowd, “this job looks easy but it’s not always so. After the nerves settle and more time is spent on each sell, it becomes easier almost like second nature. But you know what helped me the most?” He asked waiting for a response.

Unable to even give the question much thought you shake your head in a much more controlled manner this time, “a good support system. I didn’t do everything alone, I had a good support system. And now, we’ll be each other’s support system. I promise you, you don’t have to do this alone,” he releases your hand and holds his own up with his pinky out almost as if to say he pinky swears without actually saying the words, “we’ll do it together.”

Hand reacting to his you reach up looping your inner around his.

Right when your hands meet, Noodle runs up. “There you are guys, is everything alright?” She asks no doubt curious as to why your fingers were intertwined.

“Yes everything’s perfect,” you announce turning your attention away from Willy and to her, “let’s go sell some chocolate.”

You know it’s not going to be easy but like Willy said, with a good support system you can do anything.

[rossellini-tyrell]

Nothing's Gonna Change My World

Ch. 8 - i sat on a rug (biding my time, drinking her wine)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Word Count: ~7500 Pairing: Pavitr x F!Reader

Warnings:

THIS IS SMUT. IF YOU DON'T WANT TO SEE SMUT, OR NOT BETWEEN THESE CHARACTERS, DO NOT TOUCH THAT KEEP READING LINK. Under 18? Please click out of this post! All characters here are in their early-mid 20s. things that happen: reader receives oral and it's cash money. Pav aesops a lot about healthy experiences. Gwen gets a little (or a lot OOC). also found on AO3 and Wattpad.

"I swear, I could have put the damn ring on Miles's finger myself after that!" gushes Gwen from her spot on your couch. She's tipsy, you're each on either your second or third hard seltzer, and your living room is starting to wobble and melt before your very eyes. "I would wholly support that," you agree. Gwen giggles in that overly familiar way, the one that tells you she's cooking up something wicked in that brain of hers. She leans in closer, slings an arm around your shoulder and peers at you through conspiratorially-squinted eyes. "So, (You), how's Pav?" she asks, a lilt in her voice that tells you there's definitely an ulterior motive to this seemingly innocent question. "Oh, he's great!" you reply, ducking out of wherever this is going. "He just raised another round of funding, so he's going to be able to expand his company more!" "That's great, but that doesn't answer my question," she says. "How. Is. Pav?" she enunciates. Her top two teeth peek out, pressing into her lower lip. You start to sweat, remembering the topic of conversation you'd been on. Gwen had given you the New York Times review of all the wild shit her and Miles had gotten up to since you last talked to her. You'd immediately learned that drunk Gwen has zero concept of propriety. "He is...the best, honestly," you deflect, but voice still deeply earnest. "I mean, can I ask for more than a handsome man with great hair who takes care of me when I'm sick, he even cleaned me up and—" "zzzzz, BORING!" Gwen shouts. She gives you a good-natured but maybe a tad too aggressive shove on the shoulder. "Skip to the good part, I want details!" "Gwen, I don't know if I should be—" you try to dissuade her. "Back when he was with Gayatri, we got trashed and she told me he was eating good, is that still true?" she whisper-growls with a saucy wink, in no way trying to lower the volume of her voice.

"Gwen!" you chide. Blood rushes piping hot to your face, heart absolutely banging off the walls of your chest. Gwen cackles maniacally and nearly spills her drink on your nice sofa. "Christ on a crutch, (You), your fucking face right now is precious! It's just a lil' girl talk, nothing here leaves this room, you get me?" she rambles. "Well, I mean, I wouldn't even know what to say about...about—" you stammer. "Oh come on! It's not like you're some kind of virgin or somethi—wait, holy shit, are you a virgin?" Gwen's eyes widen. You think she looks like a fish staring like that. "Oh my god, you're a virgin! That's so sweet!" she cooes at you. She reaches to pinch one of your cheeks. "No! No no no no, it's not like that! I'm not a virgin, definitely not, we just haven't—" you race to clarify, hands waving in front of your face. "Well what's the holdup, then? Are you guys trying to up the sexual tension? Are you saving yourselves for some special occasion or..." Gwen wonders aloud, before tapping her fingers together while her face morphs into a faux-dismayed expression. "You're not scared to be with him, are you?" "No way!" your rejection of the idea is immediate, emphatic. Gwen doesn't seem to have heard that, however, with the way she keeps on prattling.

"Like, I totally get it, he's Spider-Man, he's loaded, he's got some experience, he's really fucking attractive, that's intimidating and all for, like ninety-nine percent of everybody, but I promise he really wants to be with you too, you don't have to just fantasize when you—" "Gwennnnn, for Christ's sake, I do not fantasize about my boyfriend and—" you interrupt that very, very salacious thought. "What?! Why on Earth would you not? Who are you fantasizing to?? Is it Tom Holland??" Gwen questions in rapid-fire, face clearly scandalized. "What the fuck, Gwen. No," you deny. "I'm not fantasizing about any of these people, I'm not fantasizing, period." Gwen seems awfully confused by that statement. "But, how else is a girl supposed to get off by herself? I don't get it." You shrug your shoulders. "I don't know, I must be broken or something. I've never had an orgasm," you deadpan. "You what??" Gwen sits up ramrod straight, flabbergasted. "What?" a shocked third voice sounds outside the apartment. Followed immediately by a blur of red and blue at the window near your fire escape, and then a heavy crash. You and Gwen share an alarmed look for a moment. You can almost see the steam coming out of Gwen's ears, she marches over to the window, pulls it open, and with a terrifying force, yanks the eavesdropper into the apartment by the hair. "Ow, ow, shit!" the voice yelps. It's very familiar, you realize. Because it's your boyfriend. "Pavitr Prabhakar, you have five seconds to explain to me why in the fuck you were spying on our private conversation—" Gwen starts reading him the riot act. "I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to..." Pavitr's groveling, apologies awkwardly spilling from his lips like a leaky P-trap. You don't stick around to hear them. You about-face and beeline to your room to curl up and die of mortification, only briefly stopping to consider that you just watched your seemingly-normal human friend drag a superhero into the apartment by the hair, like she might bring in a small bag of groceries. How much did he hear? Would he think worse of you? Did he hear Gwen talking about his— Nope, we're not doing this today.

You belly-flop onto the bed. Your pillow makes a great set of earmuffs, and doubles nicely as a dark cave to stick your head into while you hear Gwen and Pavitr arguing (more accurately, Gwen winning the argument in a one-sided fashion while your boyfriend tries and fails to form a coherent sentence) in the kitchen. Your head is spinning, dust kicking up from discussions put to the side for far too long that is now filling your lungs. You're not sure why you and him haven't talked about this, whether it was fear, nerves—

Was he scared of you?

You're not sure how long you're hiding there for, but there's one, two, three soft knocks, the squeal of your door-hinge, then, a dip in your mattress. You know it's Pavitr right away when you feel the soothing stroke of a hand on your upper arm.

"Can I hide under there too?" he softly asks.

The idea of your big, strong, superhero boyfriend being scared of Gwen Stacy makes you giggle (although it's not hard to be scare of Gwen Stacy, if you're honest with yourself). You lift the pillow up and make some room on the bed, he lays down on his side to face you, suit and all, save for his mask.

"I'm sorry if I said anything that was—" you begin.

"I'm sorry I was listening to your—" he talks across you.

You both pause. Pavitr sighs heavily and rubs his sore scalp.

"I deserved that," he admits.

"I'm not so sure you did. The direction that conversation was going was..." you trail off, you gesture vaguely in front of you, trying to communicate something to the effect of "cringe".

"You aren't broken," he says suddenly, determined.

You snap your head up to meet his eyes. They're serious and shine with resolve.

"I'm...I don't get it," you say.

"You're not broken for never having an orgasm. And I'm not convinced you can't," he explains.

You chew on the thought for a bit.

"I mean...I've tried on my own, until I just gave up. That sounds like a 'me' problem," you mumble.

"Look, I know you might not believe me, and I know you might not even be interested but..." Pavitr hesitates, runs his hand through his thick, black hair. "I'll give you one. Or as many as you want, I don't know. And I don't want you to worry about doing anything for me, or for anything to hurt, I just want...fuck, (You), my heart broke when I heard that," he admits. His mouth is wilted into a pained frown.

Your face droops, you hate the idea of sweet, sensitive Pavitr being sad on your account.

"Pav, I don't want to get your hopes up though, I feel bad already that with all of the—the bullshit in our lives I haven't taken the time to think about your own needs and—"

"No. You're the one who had three boyfriends that couldn't be assed with your needs, and were put in a situation where your choice was taken away from you, even though it didn't get anywhere," he cuts you off immediately with an open hand below your collarbone. "The only 'need' I have is the need to show you it can be so, so good when you're with someone who loves you. But only on your terms, only ever when you feel the time is right."

You feel the urge to turn away, but you can't resist Pavitr's puppy-dog eyes, the kind he gets when he sees a stray animal that he wants to adopt on the spot.

"You seem very invested in this," you tell him, like it's a strange idea. Should it be?

"I just wanna make my girl feel good" he cooes. He pulls your face against the hollow of his throat. "Hobie told you once that you could ask for whatever you damn-well wanted, and I wouldn't say no. He's not wrong, you know."

"So you are an eavesdropper!" you accuse him.

"Okay, the Amazing Spider-Man has a minor personality flaw, sue me," he snarks, but is sure to drop a kiss in your hair after the words leave his lips. "My point stands, though. If there's anything you ever wanted to try, I'd love to do it for you. That includes giving you your first orgasm. And your second, your third, your forty-eighth—"

"Forty-eight?" you gasp.

"That's really not that many!" he protests, which earns him a well-deserved flick to the forehead from you. "But, in any case, it's up to you. Like I told you when we first got together, all at your pace, sweet girl. If the thought strikes your fancy, just say the word."

"I'll think about it," you agree.

"That's all I can ask of you," he says, and brings your hand to his lips to kiss your palm.

---- The heat in Pavitr's room is stifling. The air conditioner isn't cutting it, you're in a tee and sleep shorts while he's shirtless in jeans, you only have the energy to watch an old sitcom on the bedroom TV while Pavitr works out the fatigue from your sore feet. You lay with your legs across his lap, hissing when the pad of his thumb digs in to your arch. "Darling, you have to start wearing actual shoes when doing big chores," he gently chastises you. "A slipper is a shoe," you argue back. Pavitr's thumb arcs up towards of the ball of your foot and you wince when he lands on a tender spot. "Your poor, abused feet don't seem to think so," he retorts. "Well, then you can make it better later with those magic hands of yours, mister 'I'm so good at everything'", you declare. Pavitr snickers, his thumbs find their way to the lower end of your calf, just above your ankle. "I'm good at a lot of things, dove, but not everything," he says in dulcet tones, one corner of his mouth quirked up just so. Maybe it's the heat. Maybe it's the perfect amount of pressure his hands are putting on your leg. Maybe it's the silky feel of his voice when it resonates in your ears. But today, you start to notice a difference. You feel...aware, like a deep itch, well below the layers of skin, muscle, fat. A thirst, yet, your mouth feels full and cottony from the humid air of the room. "You're very good with your hands," you praise. The knot in your leg dissipates, and he moves on, this time pressing at the outer side, halfway up near the heart of the muscle. You exhale as he draws slow, deep circles into the tension there, it's achy, but it's pleasant, too. Pleasant in a way that makes your legs twitch, something that Pavitr doesn't miss under his thumb. "So I've been told. Among some other things," he purrs. This tone has always brought you to your knees when he used it, and he knows it. Today, however, the shiver you feel isn't the same as the others, instead of a nervous, delighted tickle, it curves lower, warmer, lingers a bit beneath your ribcage in a thick haze.

Pavitr lifts your leg by the calf, places an open-mouthed kiss over the imprint his thumb left there. Then, a second one next to it, intentional, calculated. The stuffiness of the room is so much you think you could scoop it into a glass and drink. "Pav..." you murmur. It's a little bit questioning, a little bit commanding, a little bit hesitant. The show's laugh track rings obnoxious in the background. "Sonu...you should take me up on that offer," he suggests. Or is it pleading? "...Right now?" you gulp. You can feel your pulse in your voicebox. "If you wanna," he affirms. "You don't need to do anything, just relax and...enjoy." The juncture of your thighs starts to feel uncomfortably sticky against the fabric of your shorts, you fight the urge to press them together. "What did you have in mind?" you inquire. Pavitr rolls over to kiss at your shin, then the inside of your knee before crawling up your body to level with your ear, you can feel his breath tickling the shell. "I think Gwen mentioned to you that I'm happiest when I'm eating well," he husks directly into it, and then traces the inner rim of it with the very point of his tongue. You shiver from the contact, from his words, the way they felt so close to your skin, or the teasing of his tongue, you're not sure which. You're definitely pressing your thighs together now. "Good luck with that. It's been tried, and hasn't worked," you warn him. You hate the idea of him doing all that hard work for no reward. Pavitr is nonplussed, he takes your face in hand to kiss you slow, beginning the dance you know well by now. "Did whoever was trying give you head for its own sake? Or were they trying to butter you up with oral so they could say they did before doing what they wanted?" he asks pointedly, one eyebrow quirked. You don't have to think about it for very long, you've never been given this on its own. Only before sex, and it'd be difficult to argue they were into it, or trying particularly hard to please you. "You're probably right. I don't think they were trying too hard at all. But I should have felt...something, right?" you wonder. Pavitr sighs and sadly shakes his head. "There's a world of difference if someone really wants take their time and make you feel good, instead of just half-assing it so you'll give in. It also helps to have...skill, which I can promise you, I have plenty of," he slips you a wink and licks his lips, and the subsequent jolt of thrill makes your core twitch. "All you need to know is that this is for you. I wanna give you oral because I love you, dammit. No strings, no bullshit, just very, very good head. I'll give you the best orgasm of your life, and it's going to be amazing. Sound good?" You worry your lip with your canine, thighs squeezing together at the image he's planted in your head. Pavitr waits for your reply patiently, he's not leering, his expression is fond, gentle. He's never led you astray before, so he wouldn't now, right? Right? "But...if I can't?" you trail off, leaving Pavitr to fill in the blank. He does, with ease, one hand takes yours and gives it a soft squeeze. "If something's not working for you, we can change it. If it doesn't happen today, then no hard feelings, we'll go back to what we were doing. Even if you don't orgasm, sex can still feel really good in and of itself," two of his long, elegant fingers walk along your arm while he talks, voice even and mellow. "And when you feel done, we'll be done. It's like a conversation, we go down a line, and change the topic when it feels right to," he explains, kisses your knuckles on the back of your hand. "I think I can get you there, I think you just weren't given a fair shake and need someone to actually try. But if it doesn't happen, we can try again another time. Or never, you're wonderful all the same." You exhale through pursed lips. "Okay, I'd like to try at least," you acquiesce. Pavitr nudges your chin with his hand. "Do you want to try? Or do you just feel like you should because I asked?"

You understand immediately what he's asking. His eyes are soft, but stern, he scans your face for any sign you are simply appeasing him, rather than agreeing of your own enthusiasm. He's searching for fear and apprehension where there should be desire, curiosity. You don't think you've ever been asked this, and while you can't say your past experiences were ever coerced, save for the circumstances under which you and Pavitr met, you're grateful that he's thinking of this.

"I do want to," you confirm. "I'm...nervous that I'll be disappointed again, but what you're offering feels different from what it's been like...before. You've never given me any reason not to trust you, and I'm ready to try if it's with you."

You smile up at your boyfriend, and Pavitr seems satisfied with this answer. His eyes darken further than the rich cocoa they already are, and he leans in to kiss your mouth deeply, explores every ridge, every surface of it with his tongue, a little preview of his repertoire.

"I am going to eat you up so well, for hours," he rasps directly into your ear, leaving you shuddering, getting even wetter at the seam of your shorts. "On my bed, on the kitchen counter, in my car, on my desk at work after everyone's gone home, every damn day if I have to until you come on my tongue. You deserve that much, dove." His lips ghost on the shell, then along the hollow of your throat, where he leaves gentle, slow little nips and sucks while he crawls back down your body.

You have enough sense to turn off the television before he's back over your legs, kisses and suckles getting closer and closer to the hem of your sleep shorts. Your breaths catch and stutter, each little contact a sweet torture that leaves you jumping under his mouth, your center grows slicker and you'd think he could smell you from here.

And then, to your surprise, he stops. He reaches behind you for one of the pillows.

"Lift your hips a bit for me, darling," he instructs, the tone of his voice honey-sweet.

You comply, confused, and he slides the pillow beneath them.

"What's this for?" you ask.

Pavitr grins brightly and plops a smooch on one kneecap.

"So my girlfriend is comfy, of course!" he says in a voice almost inappropriately upbeat for the situation.

Your heart melts at this thoughtfulness, never has anyone you know associated the word "comfy" with sex, but with someone as attentive as Pavitr, you're learning things can be different. Maybe those words should go together, you think.

Pavitr's nails catch on the waistband of your sleep shorts, they pause there.

"Yes?" he asks, looks to you for your assent through the dark curtain of his fringe.

You're frozen in time when you meet his eyes. It's not a particularly hard choice. It's easy enough to say no, sorry you're not ready for that. Or even ask if you can reschedule to next Wednesday, maybe work it in between the gym and your dentist appointment. He'd be happy to drop it and continue doing what you were doing, wait a hundred years if he had to. What sways you is when you meet his rich, coffee-colored eyes and there's no

want I want gimme give it lemme grab tug squeeze grab take have

You're so used to that by now. No, these eyes are soft, round, curious, even. Curious to know this part of you, to share this with you, a whispered secret on the breath of butterfly wings. To give you something that was always denied, see the way your face would light up when you got there. By the look on his face, you knew Pavitr wasn't lusting after you and what was under the shorts, no, he wanted to try, and you knew that he'd only ever try if it was for you.

"Yes," you affirm. There's no warble in the note of your voice.

Pavitr grins, lazily and closed-mouthed, hooks his fingers around the elastic and starts working the whole thing down in one shot, shorts and underwear all. Warm lips press to the bony cradle just above your mound, your hips twitch under their smack.

"Thank you for trusting me with your body, sweet girl," he says. "I promise you, you will not regret this."

The shorts are worked over your knees, your ankles, and then they're off. Your knees drop off to the sides, you ponder closing them for a moment, covering yourself up like the shy virgin you once were all that time ago. That thought doesn't get a chance to linger, as sloppy, sucking kisses are quickly alternating up your inner thighs, firm enough not to tickle, but enough for the muscle to tense beneath Pavitr's mouth with a yelp, the sensitive spot a direct line to your exposed core.

"Aanhh—" you whine as Pavitr gets closer and closer to where you'd really like him to be. He does get awfully close, the rounded point of his nose bumping against the juncture of your hip and thigh, the corner of his mouth brushing the curve of your vulva as he inhales, smiles. Suddenly, the really nice pressure is sadly gone, Pavitr's propped up on his elbows and gazing down between your legs, while you're slack-jawed huffing and puffing from arousal.

"You're really pretty here," he husks. He mouths at the soft swell just below your navel with deep mauve-colored lips, lets warmth curl up there.

"Why are you staring?" you whinge, averting your eyes.

"Why not? This part of you is divine," Pavitr waxes poetic. "And you deserve to be told as much, because it doesn't sound like you've been hearing it."

"Umm...thanks? I guess?" you sputter, incredulously. You want to shrink away from the compliment, but your boyfriend (your insufferable sap of a boyfriend) isn't having it.

"Shush, you," he jokingly chides, his breath hot against your delicate flesh. "Go away. Let me explain to my girlfriend that her pussy is perfect in peace."

"Pavitr, you're obnoxio—oh FUCK!" your words are cut off with a cry as your entire cunt is swallowed up in a sucking kiss, like the ones Pavitr had dotted along your thighs. There's nothing lazy or perfunctory about this, the suction is just right and there's nothing like the way his soft lips feel sliding against your intimate skin. He pops off with a wet, lewd smack that rebounds around the bedroom.

Pavitr snickers lowly at your reaction, and turns his head to take each of your lower lips between his, run his tongue along and beside the soft, fatty parts before delicately suckling the inner lips betwixt them. His next kiss finishes with a deep lick, one that parts your lower lips at the seam and makes you jump when a wet tongue brushes past your clit.

"Good?" he asks, an inquisitive arch on his brow as he attempts to get a glimpse of your face. His mouth doesn't leave your pussy, simply ghosts against it when he speaks. It's a hint of a touch that makes you prickle, teeny frissons along your spine from your core that sprout behind your ears.

"Very," you tell him, nodding furiously, hoping that will spur him to get on with it.

Pavitr smears a messy, affectionate kiss to the inside of your left thigh before securing his hands on the crests of your hips.

"Love you," he purrs. He nuzzles against the inner thigh with his cheek before returning to his work.

Pavitr treats you to a make-out session with your lower lips, his tongue and lips exploring every dip and curve he can find. Every flick, kiss, suck, even gentle tugs between his teeth carries intention, you can feel the weight of it in each stroke. This is not the same halfhearted attempts at the pretense of 'doing his part' you're used to, he's losing himself to the task, eyes fluttered shut behind the ebony drape of his hair as he drinks you down. It's the same way he moves his mouth when he takes a bite out of a ripe mango, your wetness dripping down his chin when he slurps on your sex. "Pavi....Pav...hah..." you wheeze. Your chest heaves in harsh breaths as a delicious, gentle heat stretches out low in your belly and finds a home there. Your boyfriend steadily continues to make love to you with his mouth, you can't resist locking your ankles together atop his upper back, he responds in turn by scooching your hips just that little bit closer, wanting as close to zero space between his tongue and your intimate flesh as possible. "Your taste, it's sofuckengood, fuck," Pavitr slurs into your cunt. You notice him shifting around just out of your field of vision. Is he...rutting his hips into the bed? Pavitr licks straight up your seam on the flat of his tongue, ends with a suck on your clit that's enough to pull it out of its hood. A sharp bolt of pleasure triggers your cunt to clench around nothing. "Holyshitholyshitdontstop" you babble to the room. Your feet kick out behind him, your hand that was bunching up the flat sheet flies to his shade-colored waves, tangles in the dense mop of hair to hold his face against your pussy. "That's the plan, dove," Pavitr rasps. He gets right back to it, delivering the same treatment to every part of your pussy. The two-o'-clock sunlight streams in rich sheafs through the window, it leaves amber dapples on his back that bend and stretch with every flex of his well-developed back muscles, they collect in the valley of his spine, the two little dimples that sit above his waistband.

This? This is nice. It's nice like this, the both of you laying here, embraced by the mid-day sun. Pleasure laps at you like waves at low tide, it's warm, warm like the sand between your toes. Your boyfriend is taking your pussy apart with his mouth, the touch of his tongue isn't teasing, neither harsh, nor lazy. It's earnest, steady, and oh is it affectionate, too. He's not here to pay some sort of toll or fee to access your body, he's basking in how wet you're getting for him, the plush of your skin against his lips, your heady scent, the sharpness of your flavor on his tongue. Pavitr's mouth cherishes this entire part of you the same way he does to the rest of you with his words. He's in no hurry, but he has no intention of making you beg or plead for your first release, he simply wishes to take you by the hand and lead you there, walk you to the door and kiss you goodnight at the threshold of a place you didn't believe existed. He knows the way, has learned the road well, and guides you there with no fuss. Yes, you think, this is nice. It starts out as a fullness, a pressure on the inside that makes you want to tighten up, squeeze around it and keep it from getting out. The pleasure sitting heavy in your belly becomes urgent, it sinks low, low, lower. The sensation is strangely familiar to you, but it's off. You feel like you're about to burst, about to— "Pavitr, stop, I'm gonna—I have to—" you reach with your free hand to stop him. Pavitr finds your hand with one of his, takes it and laces your fingers together.

"Hey. No, sweet girl, this is good. You're supposed to feel that. It means you're here," he explains, gives his head a shake so you can meet his eyes without his hair in the way. A thumb strums back and forth along the dorsum of your hand. "All you have to do is let it ride. I'll catch you, I always have," he reassures. Your head feels like it's full of bees, it feels like there's a water balloon sitting low in the cradle of your pelvis, it's scary, it's intimate, but you want more. "You promise?" you ask timidly. It seems silly to ask this of him, but you do anyway. Pavitr responds with a kiss, the softest one yet, to your lower lips. "Baby girl, I'd promise you everything," he almost growls into your pussy.

Pavitr renews his focus onto your clit, taking it between his lips and tracing upon it the outlines of flower petals with his tongue. He sups on you, over and over again, batters your pearl about with the point of his tongue, coaxing it out from its protective cloak with a please please oh please pretty please. He does not demand, he waits, arms outstretched. The fullness and urgency quickly returns, you clench down, breath held instinctively. You can't hold it anymore, you yank on his hair, and he moans into your vulva when he feels the sharp twinge on his scalp. You feel like you're going to pop and his face is right there eating you and he said he'd catch you and he's holding your hand when you pav pav pav please oh please pav i have to It's warm here The molten heat nested below your navel loses its shape, pours like molasses down your legs, between your ribs, to the points of your fingers and burbles at your throat. Warm, sticky, wet, spilling out of your core in a steady trickle. Your voice catches in a sigh, the floor of your ribcage drops as the tension eases away in a steady throb, you feel it in your cunt as Pavitr keeps on drawing mindless doodles over your clit with his mouth. It's not fireworks, it's not an explosion, it's sunrise on the roof, three o' clock on the beach in July, it's hot chocolate in December, sticky sweet affection poured into you through your sex and spilling out over the edges. It's a safe place, a joyful place, bubbly, bright, and warm. A place, a home he built for you beneath your skin, in a grove you've been too wary, too exhausted to claim as your own. He presses the key into your palm, at long last, and you are all too happy to invite him inside, in that space between your ribs. Your eyes flutter shut as a gentle tongue laps slowly, soothingly at your swollen flesh, cleans up your release as you give yourself over to the ebb of the tide. Lips tenderly trail up your mound, your navel, your sternum, your nose. Hands cup your face as the lips find purchase on your forehead, your unfocused eyes open to fuzzy strokes of bronze, charcoal, ivory. "Yes, Ahava, hello. Hi," Pavitr purrs. Your eyes adjust, the blotches of color wend into a familiar form, and there he is. He's positively glowing, both with a fondness and pride, not of himself, but for you, like he's swallowed down the sun itself. His chin and mouth bear a fine gloss from your wetness. "Whazzat? Pav?" you burble, your tongue fumbling with the words. You find that you've been curiously transformed into a pile of mush, your corporeal form broken free of its solid container.

Your boyfriend chuckles above you, and brushes a few downy hairs off your forehead where sweat holds them down.

"How's that orgasm treating you?" he smugly inquires. "...S'nice," you slur, not quite realizing how dopey your face must look. "Kinda feels like I have to pee." Pavitr covers his mouth with his hands to hide his laughter. "Alright, well, you hang tight and enjoy the afterglow, beautiful. I just need two seconds to take care of something real quick," he says. You watch as he reaches over the side of the bed and fishes around for something. "Where are you going?" you ask, a wave of sadness and worry coming over you, remembering past partners who would never stay when the act was said and done, leaving you to your feelings. "Nowhere, silly," he teases, tongue stuck out. "Just gotta make a wardrobe adjustment, then all the snuggles you can handle, I promise." You find yourself unable to reply when he works his jeans off of his hips, and the boxer-briefs with them. The tips of your ears heat up like a gas grill when you're given a generous glimpse of prominent hip bones, lithe, defined quads, and an absolutely sumptuous ass that makes your mouth water, you resist the urge to sink your teeth into it. "Hey, Pavitr, I can, 'yanno, return the favor," you offer. "Oh, that won't be necessary," he quickly replies as he skips the boxer briefs and pulls on a pair of sweats he'd left on the floor. A hint of something you can't put your finger on tinges the timbre of his voice, and that's when you notice the flush in his cheeks. Oh.

"Pav...did you...?" you hesitate to say it out loud, your brain refusing to form the words. Pavitr crawls up the bed next to you, immediately rewarding you with the tightest, most perfect snuggle he's ever given you. You're face to face, noses but a hair's breadth apart. "As a matter of fact, I did," he admits, turning his cheek into the pillow. "Knowing I was giving you this experience and seeing how much you were enjoying it, it was so damn erotic and I couldn't help but go off the edge with you. Imagine that, being the woman that made Spider-Man come in his pants by just being." "Well, I'm glad I could do that for you," you jape. Your head feels less foggy, the afterglow abating to something cozy and secure, nicely contained in Pavitr's hold. "I'm glad I could do this for you," he counters with a tap of a finger to your nose. "This was all for you, anyway, you owe me nothing. I knew you could do it, and I'm so proud of you. You just needed a patient hand. Or tongue," he winks. "You're insufferable," you groan, burying your head against his bare chest. Pavitr chortles and kisses the top of your head. "I'm talented. And I have many, many orgasms to make up for," he rebukes. His voice feels like silk, it's dripping with ego and it makes your mouth go dry. "Hopefully they're all like this one was. I keep hearing that it's supposed to be...erm...explosive, but this one was just...nice," you comment. Pavitr considers this a moment, and then you know you fucked up when you see his lips quirk into a wicked grin, a devilish gleam in his eye as one hand tightens its grip around your bare hip. "I see...say, I don't think I ever returned the favor for that upside down kiss you gave me when we met," he muses aloud. "No, I don't believe you did," you confirm, wondering where he's going with this. "Oh..." he rises to a kneel on the bed, the covers falling away to expose your calves. "Then I guess now might be a good time to do just that," he proposes.

"What do you mean by tha—ohgod!" you yip, as Pavitr uses his enhanced strength to pull you down the bed by your ankles, and then hoist your thighs all the way up to his ears, his hands settling on your hips. You're nearly suspended entirely upside-down and he's immediately ravaging your sensitive cunt with this mouth, lewd smacks rebound around the room as the blade of his tongue digs deep between your lower lips. "Jesus fuck, Pav, why are you so good at everything?" you whine, your heels thumping against his back, an expression of the pleasure rapidly coursing through your body. Pavitr doesn't reply to this, only hums an acknowledgement into your pussy. At this angle, the extra pressure from his face on your clit does a lot of work, and being manhandled by your superhero boyfriend like a ragdoll...yes please. His fingers curl into the flesh of your thighs, his lips lathe aggressively at your inner lips and clit, you can only watch as he pulls his head up just enough to tug at them with a firm suck that makes something deep in your core light up like Christmas, and then releases them with a salacious pop before going right back in to swallow, to consume, to lap you up until there's nothing left to. Pavitr's playing for keeps this time, he's not looking for a gentle release, he wants to give you the orgasm you've only heard about in stories, one that knocks you on your ass that you'll still feel the next morning. He's nothing if not a show-off, and that trait of his is on full display.

"Pavitr Prabhak—ah!" you moan, your legs flailing behind him. "You smug jackass! It's not faaaaaaair!"

Your kicking and screaming (literally) does nothing. Pavitr doesn't let up, his lips and tongue devour and his face smashes into your pussy in relentless pursuit of your climax. You squirm, but his mouth chases, and with you upside down in what you would have never expected the Spider-Man kiss to entail, you're helpless to stop it, vulnerable and ripe for the taking. But you're safe. Cared for. Loved. You can feel it in how his grip on you is gentle enough to leave no marks, the way his thumbs stroke over the skin there. The way he bends forward just enough to keep your head and shoulders on the pillow so you won't hit them on anything, or get dizzy. This scene is filthy, pornographic even with his athleticism, but as your second peak of the night comes hurtling at you, neither of you have ever felt more in love than you do right now. You have trusted him with your body in all ways like you rarely have before, and he's more than shown you he's worthy.

You come with a shout, you clench hard on empty space until you can't, it feels like a sneeze, an insane blossom of pure ecstasy from your center that blooms in a riot of red, pink, yellow, orange behind your eyelids. You feel your cunt gushing, squirting even, followed by an immense relief. Your heart pounds in your ears, your ribcage struggles to expand and contract with your breathing, it feels like you're flying, soaring in the wind. There's a fizzling, tickling feeling creeping along your arms and legs and worming its way into your brain, your pussy feels aflame, overtaxed despite the calming strokes Pavitr is now using to soak up your juices. Your abs feel sore, and you feel physically and emotionally drained, the overstimulation hits all at once, and—are you crying?

"Awww little love, it's okay. Come here, darling, I've gotcha, shhhh," Pavitr's voice breaks through the swell of emotions frothing in your chest, he sets your legs down and bundles you close beneath the blankets. "You've been through a lot of new things today, sonu. You're overwhelmed, it's completely normal and your mind just needs a minute to sort itself out," he explains, you turn your head to see all traces of mischief gone from it, only soft features remain. The flat of a hand drags up and down your spine, warm lips dot squishy kisses along your cheek and temple. "I—I thought I was broken," you blubber. "I've been trying for years." "Not broken at all, no ma'am, I even double checked," he quips with a wink. It makes you snort and you can't stop yourself from swatting his chest. "You simply hadn't been shown how sex is supposed to be: none of it works if you're not feeling safe or secure first," he says more seriously. The blunt edges of his nails slowly drag along your back, scratching carefully, it's deeply satisfying and it makes you feel calm.

"So you're saying I couldn't for so long because...I wasn't feeling safe?" you ask, past memories starting to click into place.

"Mmm, precisely so," Pavitr hums. An unhurried kiss is fluttered against your lips, the flavor a bit different than the ones before, you wonder if it's you that you're tasting. "Sex is art, dove. It doesn't just come down to technique, if your mind is worried or not feeling cared for, you're not going to be able to be vulnerable with yourself enough to feel good, or your partner, for that matter. Your partner needs to be invested in your experience, and not as a means to an end for them," he explains, his nose nuzzling yours now. "That means taking the time to make you comfortable, listening to you and instead of rushing you through, and for fuck's sake, they need to give proper aftercare, Jesus," he finishes his rant with a grumble. The protective hold around you tightens, cuing you to snuggle closer into your boyfriend.

"Aftercare...is that why I got upset when an ex went to play video games when we were done?" you ask, everything suddenly making so much more sense.

Pavitr shudders and pulls you even closer, if that were possible, you burrow into his chest. Your legs tangle together under the blanket as he kisses the space between your eyebrows.

"Oh my God, why are men like this," he mumbles under his breath. "Yes, aftercare is making sure your partner is feeling okay and safe after you're done. Sex is intense, physically and emotionally, and if they weren't making the effort to take care of you like this after, it's no wonder you didn't have any fond memories of it. I hate that those were your first experiences, but that will never happen again, I can promise you that."

"Oh...so right now, this...this is aftercare?" you ask shyly. You think it sounds silly at your big age to be asking this, but since you're both putting everything on the table, you might as well learn for the future.

Pavitr senses the discomfort and tips your chin up to meet his eyes. They're still sparkling, but carry a stern edge to them.

"Hey, there are no dumb questions with me," he firmly reassures, his eyes softening further. "Yes, this is one way aftercare can look. It can also mean things like...like rubbing their back, or watching a movie they like together. Maybe even taking a bath with them or giving them a massage, just little things to reassure them and help them come down gently from an intense moment. It's the best part, in my book," he purrs.

You're inclined to agree. You're all tuckered out, your limbs have definitely turned to jelly with no chance of reconstitution, you feel buzzy on the inside in the best way, and it's warm and toasty here under the blankets, tangled up together, his bare skin on your cheek. You're basking in each other's afterglow and he's lavishing as much affection on you as he's got to offer, there's nothing closer, nothing better than this. Well, except maybe one thing...

"Can we...can we take a bath too?" you suggest, uncertainly.

Pavitr scrunches up his round nose as his eyes wrinkle at the corners.

"You act like I'd say no to that. Of course we can, dove!" he exclaims. "You're the one who had her first two orgasms in a row, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't let you pick?" he's already hefting himself off the bed to carry you there himself.

"Together with me?" you kiss at the juncture of his shoulder and neck, all you can reach from his hold, your feet dangle limply in the bridal carry. Pavitr looks down on you with a besotted expression.

"I like the sound of that," he cooes in your ear as you cross the room. "And I wanna wash your hair with my shampoo again, I loved smelling it on you the next morning."

"But Pav, your shampoo is expensive!" you protest.

"You just had a screaming orgasm, like, ten minutes ago, let me spoil you at least a little," he counters. He nudges the door open where it's ajar with a hip check, being sure not to jostle you.

"That's already spoiling me!" you argue.

Pavitr laughs, deeply kisses your mouth like he did your center, and closes the bathroom door behind him with his heel.

[panandinpain0]

Snowy Accident

I love Raph so much- it's insane.

I have some requests that I'm currently working on, I promise! But for now, enjoy this!

(Rottmnt/Tmnt 2018) Raphael x Male!Reader

(Both Raph and the Reader are 15 in this... mostly to explain the dumb stuff Raph does cuz teenagers to dumb things sometimes) [Also, I looked it up and they said he was 15 while donnie and leo were 14 and mikey is 13... which honestly cracks me up seeing as how deep the voices are and like... grown they are?? They are mutants though, so I guess rules don't apply to them]

Warnings: Swearing

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It was snowy outside, just a week after thanksgiving, and (Y/N) was basking in it. God, he loved the snow. He loved it so much he decided instead of driving to the store he'd walk. The grocery list wasn't very long and the store wasn't very far from his family's apartment, he could enjoy the snowflakes while they fell.

Standing at a crosswalk while waiting for it to turn from the red hand to the little walking guy, (Y/N) had his hands in the pocket of his large coat, scarf around his neck and beanie on his head. The snow wasn't harsh, seeing as there wasn't any wind, but there was a lot of it. It piled on (Y/N)'s boots and the ground was slick with it. His cheeks were rosy from the cold, but a smile lit up his eyes as he just watched the snow fall from the dimming sky.

The little guy popped up on the screen across the road and (Y/N) started walking, checking both ways to be sure that there weren't any cars. As his head was turned to the left he heard the screeching sound of tires from his other side, making him whip his head around in shock. Eyes wide, mouth partly open in shock, (Y/N) saw a truck swerving towards him.

By natural instinct he dashed forward, trying to get out of the truck's way, but as he dove he saw a blur of red and green, making him do a double take and slip in the fresh snow beneath his feet.

A gasp left his mouth as he hit the ground, his arms catching him before his head hit the ground.

"Woah, are you okay?" a kind voice asked, the almost gravelly texture of it reaching (Y/N)'s ears. Flipping over from his spot on the ground (Y/N) saw a large... turtle... guy. He was standing above (Y/N), side- no, shell- pressing against the large metal truck and stopping it from crushing (Y/N).

(Y/N) opened his mouth to say something, but he just opened and closed it again, out of breath and at a loss for words.

"Here, we better get out of here," this turtle-guy said as he ducked under the truck, lifting the grate beneath it and holding a hand out to (Y/N). "Come on, I'm not dangerous. I think I need to explain to you what I am before you go on with your life like you didn't see me."

Finding this logical, (Y/N) grasped onto his hand- wait, did he only have three fingers? Nonetheless he grabbed onto his hand, sliding under the grate with him.

(Y/N) grimaced, "It smells disgusting," he complained.

"Yup!" the guy laughed. "Home sweet home."

"You live down here?" (Y/N) asked, finding his voice after seemingly coming back from his momentary shock.

"Mhm."

They reached the end of the ladder, (Y/N) looking up at him, the height difference intimidating him.

"I'm Raphael, but you can call me Raph," he introduced himself with a crooked smile, holding out his hand again.

"(Y/N) (L/N)," (Y/N) responded, shaking Raph's hand and inspecting it.

"I know you have some questions-"

"Of course I do!" (Y/N) almost shouted, looking up at him passionately.

"Ask away," Raph nervously chuckled, pulling his hand back and scratching the back of his head.

"This is going to sound incredibly rude but..." (Y/N) cringed, not wanting to ask.

"What am I?" Raph filled in the blanks with an amused look.

(Y/N) nodded, sheepishly chuckling.

"I'm a mutant. A turtle mutant, to be exact. Well, not just me- my brother's too." Raph started to walk down the side of the sewers as he explained, holding out a hand to help (Y/N) across, which he accepted.

"Brother's?"

Raph just nodded. If he was being honest with himself, he'd just been acting on instinct this entire time. it was his turn to get the pizza (deliveries weren't open due to the holidays) and Raph couldn't just let the cute guy by the crosswalk get hit by a truck, now could he? But of course he had to drag him down to the sewers and then spill all his secrets.

All he knew was that Donnie and Splinter would not be happy about this. He shuddered at the thought, making (Y/N) look up at him with concern.

"Raph?"

"Listen, I wasn't technically supposed to tell you any of that. But its like I said before, would you have been able to forget seeing a turtle-guy?" Raph questioned, grabbing onto (Y/N)'s arm to help him over some random crates.

"Honestly? No, I'd be hella confused for the rest of my life. Or maybe at some point I'd convince myself I made it up," (Y/N) admitted, looking up at Raph with squinted eyes. "This might be random, but I would've assumed mutant turtles to look a lot worse."

"Uh... thanks?" Raph responded with an awkwardly chuckle.

"Hey guys! I brought a visitor!" Raph shouted into the lair, mikey's head popping out from behind the corner.

"A boy?!" he screeched, falling on his face before running out of the hall. "GUYS, RAPH BROUGHT HOME A BOY!" Mikey shrieked into the abyss.

Two extra heads popped out, one wrapped in a blue bandana, the other purple.

"Raph brought home a boy?" they asked in unison, Donnie falling off the rolling chair he was leaning in. Leo jumped down, joining Mikey and the pile of Donnie.

"Hello 'boy Raph brought home', I'm his favorite brother, Leo." He smirked and held out a hand.

(Y/N) blinked and gave them a small smile, hesitantly shaking his hand.

Raph was blushing furiously, arms crossed as he glowered at his brothers.

"Will you stop saying it like that?" he growled, rolling his eyes. "This is (Y/N), I just saved him from almost being hit by a truck."

(Y/N) raised his eyebrows and gave an awkward smile, waving again.

The three blinked, Donnie's brows going down into a glare.

"You told him."

"You don't know tha-"

"HOW ELSE WOULD HE BE DOWN HERE COMPLETELY MENTALLY FINE AT SEEING FOUR MUTANT TURTLES?!" Donnie shouted, lunging at Raph. The two wrestled on the ground, (Y/N) watching them with surprised eyes.

"So, what d'ya think about Raph?" Leo asked teasingly, resting his elbow on the nearby counter and laying his head on it. His other hand rested on his hip as his eyebrows waggled.

"Are you okay?" Mikey asked, seeing how overwhelmed (Y/N) was.

"I just almost got hit by a truck, found out that mutants exist, and now I'm in some sort of bunker with four turtle-teens. ...No. I'm not okay."

Mikey just gave him a frown of concern, watching as (Y/N) flinched at the sound of his phone ringing. The two on the floor stopped fighting as they all looked at (Y/N), who was pulling out his phone.

"Hey, ma..."

From the other side of the phone shouting erupted, making (Y/N) flinch and hold his phone away from his ear.

"YOU ALMOST GOT HIT BY A TRUCK?! IT WAS ON THE NEWS! YOU SAID YOU'D BE THERE AND BACK WITH NO ISSUES- WHERE ARE YOU-?"

Mrs. (L/N) kept shouting as (Y/N) looked at the others with a sheepish grin.

"Ma, Mom!" She finally stopped yelling. "I'm fine, I'm just finishing the trip, I'll be home as soon as possible with those eggs you need."

They finished the conversation much calmer than it started and (Y/N) hung up.

"I've got to go. Thank you, Raph, for saving me. And it was nice meeting you, no matter how strange it was." He smiled at all the guys.

"I'll walk you out," Raph said as he stood up, leading him back out of the bunker.

As they stood on an empty street corner in the now-dark street, a street light above their heads illuminated both bodies.

"Hey... do you think you'd wanna hang out again sometime? You know, in a more normal situation?" Raph asked quietly, mumbling as he fumbled with his hands.

"Yeah, actually. I think I'd like that," (Y/N) smiled up at Raph, taking out a pen he had in his pocket (stuffed in their long ago and just now remembered) and wrote his number on Raph's hand.

"I'll see you later, Raphael." And with that, (Y/N) started walking away.

End

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Hope you liked it! It isn't much, I just needed to get that scenario out of my system (I've been thinking about it for days).

-Author Max &lt;3

[goldustwomun]

false god (e.m.)

pairing: eddie munson x best friend! fwb! reader

summary: sleeping with your best friend was never a good idea, and though he’s confessed his feelings to you, they were feelings he felt for an entirely different girl. 

warnings: some smut-type-spicey stuff! angst!! a whole lotta swearing because i just loved dropping the f-bombs; some l-bombs again because reader is entirely infatuated with our boy eddie; mentions of drugs and smoking and drinking xx err also possibly ooc eddie because it’s my first time writing him (second time writing so be kind)

wc: 3.2k+

note: this wrote itself, i have no regrets :) entirely inspired by the t swizzle song & it’s unedited for now because I just want it out in the world and my brain hurts too much to read it over xx but likes & reblogs are much appreciated <3 love u alllll 

read part two - part three

The two of you were never a done deal. There was no handshake, no whispered promise, no exchange of blood under a full moon. It’d only ever been stolen moments that were brushed aside as slip-ups. Blame placed on the drink, the drugs, the look in each other’s eyes. 

How was he meant to resist when you walked into his trailer in that tiny skirt, lips pouting and talking a mile a minute? He was a patient man, sure, had to be when just about everyone treated him like some kind of satanic ‘freak’. But you’d talk, and talk, and talk, and as much as he loved to hear you talk, sometimes (most of the time), he’d lean over and shut you up with his mouth instead of hearing just how much you hated whatever misogynistic prick you’d seen on TV that day.

It was the same with you. How were you meant to keep your hands, your lips off of him and his skin when he smiled at you in that crazed way he always did? With his constantly-flourishing hands and his ability to look at you for not even a minute before he’d deciphered what it was that had been bugging you since you’d woken up. 

To everyone else, Eddie Munson was the guy who was probably in a cult, listened to the devil’s music, smelled of pot (always), and was exactly the kind of guy mother’s warned their daughters about. He wore leather and chains and had tattoos you loved to trace when you were in bed together.

Eddie Munson was all of these things, and more, to most of Hawkins. 

Yet to you – you were certain he’d be the only man you’ll ever love. 

Now you know you’re young, somewhat naive to the world, and definitely haven't lived enough of life to make such profoundly passionate claims. 

But somewhere deep down in your heart, in your soul, in your very being – you knew it to be true. That it would always be Eddie. 

Eddie. Eddie. Eddie. 

And the worst part of it all, the real irony of it, was that you’d yet to find the courage to say just that to him, and though he’d said it to you, he’d been talking about someone else. 

“It’s Chrissy, babe. I’m telling you – she’s the one!” 

He’d been gushing non-stop since he’d fallen into step beside you, arms swinging with such dramatic ease that you had to duck occasionally just to avoid getting hit. “I don’t know why now. It’s not like we’ve ever talked, not since middle school, at least. And yes, yes, I know what you’re going to say– she’d never be into me. But I’m telling you, she is, she has to be – I just know it.”

He stopped, finally, hands landing on your shoulders to turn you towards him. Eddie Munson smiled down at you, waiting, panting, expectantly, to hear just how happy you were that your best friend had found the one. 

You could only offer him a tight smile and an encouraging squeeze of his bicep before you shrugged him off of you, stepping past him. The ground looked oddly enchanting, what with all of the dirt, and twigs, and stomped-on bugs. You couldn’t get enough of it, really. Well, you couldn’t get enough of anything that’d distract you from the frown that had replaced Eddie’s previous grin. 

He didn’t say anything, only walked beside you, having understood that if he pried, you’d only lash out. And while those fights and arguments usually ended with him inside of you and you screaming his name to oblivion, he had a feeling this time wasn’t like the rest. 

It wasn’t until you made it to his Uncle’s trailer that he finally spoke again. Shoving himself between you and his bedroom door so that you couldn’t avoid the conversation – the catastrophic explosion, more like – any longer. 

“What’d I do?” he asked, confident it was the right route to take. If it was anyone else you were upset with, it was Eddie you’d go to, to rant and complain and curse out. So he knew, if it wasn’t anyone else, it had to be him who’d fucked up. He just didn’t know where he’d gone wrong. 

“It’s nothing, Ed,” you brushed off, trying, failing, to push past him. When he didn’t budge, you sighed, glaring up at him and his stupidly endearing curly head of hair. “I’m serious. It’s nothing, just move out of the way.”

“Why?” Eddie wasn’t usually this pushy, but this time around, he stood defiantly at the door frame. 

“Why? Because I want a fucking smoke, Ed. What’s wrong with you?” The anger was building, he could see it buzzing under your skin as your nostrils flared at him in annoyance. That was good, though. Some emotion, even the bad kind, was better than whatever apathetic bullshit you were currently trying to feed him. 

“You’re not gonna get a smoke until you tell me what’s wrong!”

“I told you– nothing! For fuck’s sake–”

“It’s obviously not nothing if you’re fucking shouting at me, now is it!”

“Whatever Munson. Keep your drugs.” You shook your head, fists clenched like you were readying yourself to punch him right in his face (the face you hated to adore), but instead you spun your heel, snatched your bag off of the pathetic excuse of a kitchen table, and hauled ass out of the door. 

“Hey, hey hey!” He rushed at you from behind, slamming the trailer door shut before you’d even had a chance to think about how irrational you were acting. You think it might be your body’s way of getting you to confess, to just tell him. “God! Stop acting like such a brat. Just tell me, I’m not here to judge you, you know that’s not me!”

You knew you were being unreasonable, you knew he’d know something was wrong, and you knew Eddie was just the person to pry it out of you. You were just afraid of what it’d do to the two of you. 

You were glaring holes into the dented metal of the door, knowing the only way out was the truth. 

“It’s Chrissy,” you said, though your voice was barely above a whisper.

“What?” he asked, still confused by your outburst.

“Chrissy.”

“Babe, I can’t hear you if you mumble you words like tha–”

“It’s fucking Chrissy, Munson, you fucking moron! Chrissy, Chrissy, Chrissy!” you shouted, finally, right in his face. 

And you laughed at how dumbstruck he looked, because you could tell he knew where this conversation was headed. It was a road you’d both avoided for months now, ever since the lines of friends and more had started to blur. 

“Chrissy? I– What? Why Chrissy? What’d she do to you?” You flinched at the concern in his voice, hated that he cared so damn much for you. But you had to remind yourself that care and concern didn’t equate love, and you loved Eddie Munson but he’d never love you back. 

“She didn’t do anything. It’s– She’s– Fuck! Eddie, I don’t want to talk about this!” you cried indignantly, hands flying to hide the emotions so blatantly apparent on your face. He could read you like his favourite book and you needed to rip some pages out before he got too far. 

“Then what do you want to do?” His voice was raw, rough and achingly soft. Eddie’s hands moved to pull your own away from your face, pinching your chin harshly between his fingers so you looked him in the eye. “What do you want to do, babe?” 

Sure, you were looking at him and he was looking at you, but Eddie’s gaze was blatantly trained on your mouth as you gaped up at him, now dumbstruck yourself. 

“You,” you breathed into the slowly shrinking space between your bodies. “I want to do you.”

It was all he needed to hear before he’d crashed right into you. Eddie wasn’t the most useful member of society. He hadn’t yet graduated high school, didn’t have a job, and spent most of his time with fourteen year olds that could probably pass for twelve. But sex, and even more so, sex with you – he knew how to do that, was really good at doing it, as well. 

“That’s it sweetheart, melt right into me,” he urged into your ear, hands shifting from your face, to squeezing your hips, to the heated back of your thighs before he pulled you closer, forcing you to jump into his hold, lock your legs tightly around his waist. 

He walked blindly to his room, one of his hands stretched out to steady the both of you because he couldn’t quite convince himself to tear his lips from your neck long enough to see where he was going. 

“Fucking– fuck!” he cursed when he bashed his hip into the door handle, only for the same offender to jab into your side. You whined into his mouth, brows furrowing in pain, but his fingers rubbed circles into your skin to soothe the ache. 

“I’m sorry, baby, I know– I know, it hurts. But I’m going to make you feel better, yeah?” His voice had dropped into that register that always had your thighs squeezing shut. You could feel his words right down to the pit of your stomach.

 “That’s it. That’s my girl. Isn’t this so much better than fighting?” he asked sweetly, lifting your little dress off of your body before running his warm lips across the top of your breasts. 

“Eddie, please,” you managed to whimper out between gasps and moans. You couldn’t wait, not this time. You need him now, hard and fast, before the spell breaks. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he hushed, then giggled quietly to himself in the midst of stripping his clothes off. “That’s what you’re going to be saying very soon.”

You tugged at his hair for his cockiness, manoeuvring around him to push him back on the bed. “I want to be on top,” you stated firmly, unhooking your bra and slipping your panties down your legs. They were shaking with anticipation but your movements were practised; confident enough that he didn’t notice.

It was only when you picked his discarded band tee from off of the floor that his smile dropped, watching you with pinpointed fascination. He leaned up on his arms to get a better look at you, standing, naked, in his shirt that barely reached midway of your thighs. “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, hand snaking down his own body to palm at his growing prick. “You’re killing me here.”

“That’s the hope, Munson.”

Climbing onto the bed, knees resting on either side of his hips, you gave into the urge. Your fingertips traced the ink, stark against his flushed skin, across his chest, admiring how it puffed out towards you with every deep pant of his. “Sweetheart, please,” he begged, words barely forming at his lips. 

You were sat, bare, right on top of where he needed you, and as much as you wanted to get on with it, you relished in the feeling. In the feeling of him needing you, wanting you, for just a few more minutes.

Eddie, of course, wasn’t as patient. Not when you were in his shirt, in his bed, skin on display. You were entirely his, in that moment, and he was going to make you remember it. With an easy back of his hips, he had the two of you flipped as your back collided hard with his mattress. He grinned down at you, teeth flashing that deadly smile that told you, you were in for it. 

“I thought I was the one in charge here?” he mocked, caging you in with his arms. Eddie leaned down until his face was barely inches away from your own, hot breath mingling with your own. You leaned up, trying to capture his lips but he moved back in time to avoid the fated collision. 

“Sweetheart,” he mumbled, staring so deeply into you, you were worried you’d combust right then and there. Spill all your secrets and beg for mercy later, after he’d fucked you. “Do you want me?” 

It was the stupidest question you’d ever heard. He knew it. You knew it. But you answered anyway, your words wreaking desperation. “Yes, Eddie, please. I want you, so fucking bad.” 

“Why are you upset with Chrissy?”

You didn’t think you’d heard him right. It was like a needle scratching against a record player as the spinning stopped, and suddenly, all you wanted was out of his arms. “Fuck you, Eddie Munson,” you whispered curelly, shoving him off of you as you scrambled across the ground to shove your underwear up your legs, your dress over your arms. 

He didn’t stop you this time, only watched you clutch your things in your shaking hands as you sprinted out of his room, out of the trailer, and most worryingly, out of his life. 

You avoided the man known as Eddie Munson like a plague you weren’t too eager to catch. You hid in the girl’s bathroom during lunch, took the long way home or begged Nancy for a ride, even skipped out on work for a week, feigning illness. 

The problem, of course, was Eddie knew your routine, and your plan B for these exact situations, so it didn’t take long for him to catch-up with you after you slipped-up and returned to your usual walk home. 

He stood under a tree, looking entirely calm, cool, and collected. Of course, you could tell he was shitting bricks. That it was a facade he had put up because there were other people on the suburban street you lived on, and he wasn’t looking to draw unwanted attention. 

“Can we talk?” he asked, grabbing your elbow as you walked by him so you turned to face him. He pulled the pair of you deeper into the grove of trees when you refused to answer him, instead staring blankly at a spot on his chest. 

“I fucked up. I know I did. I shouldn’t have brought Chrissy up and–”

“Don’t say her name,” you insisted, cutting him off. “In front of me, at least, just don’t say her name. It makes me want to rip my skin off my bones every time I hear it come from your mouth. So don’t.” There was venom in your voice he hadn’t ever heard before, and he worried he’d slipped you the vial. 

“Baby, please, I need you to tell me. I’m worried about you, about us.” He was entirely earnest when he spoke. Eddie had a knack of being the most genuine person you’d met.

“There’s no ‘us’, Eddie. There never was, and there sure as hell isn’t one now.”

“What are you talking about? Things were fine! They were good! I thought you were enjoying yourself because I sure was!”

“I wasn’t just enjoying it, Eddie. I loved it!” you fired back. “I loved you! Fuck– I love you.” The admission hurt even more as your voice cracked. Eddie’s lips moved around words that weren’t quite making it out of his mouth as he stared at you, slack jawed. You relished in the satisfaction of doing the unexpected, leaving people so completely shocked and surprised by your every move.

But in that moment – a moment you had dreamed tirelessly of, when you’d admit your feelings to one Eddie Munson and the two of you would be forever – the confusion on Eddie’s face wasn’t something you took pride in then. 

“I didn’t know,” he confessed himself, reaching out for your hand that lay limp at your side. You pulled back immediately, not trusting yourself. 

“I know you didn’t. You’re too kind of a person to go on and on about another girl you think is the one, in front of the girl who actually loves you.” You hated saying it, but it was true. Eddie, despite the town’s best efforts to disprove, didn’t have a mean bone in his body. He was annoyingly good, even when he was being an oblivious prick. 

“It doesn’t matter, Eddie. Not anymore. I’m tired, really fucking tired, actually. And I know you don’t love and trust easily, so I know, as your friend, best friend, fuck buddy – whatever we were, that she’s good for you.” The tears were falling freely now and you were sure the place in your chest reserved for your heart was nothing but a decaying pit of black. It hurt, but you knew he was too selfless to let you go himself. 

Wiping aggressively at your tears, you continued, having rehearsed the speech in your head, over and over again, the past week. 

“If Chrissy is what you want– who you want, I mean. I’m not going to stop you. I can’t. Not when I’ll be second to her on your list when you’ve always been the whole damn universe to me. It’ll be hard, because I know you need help with Spanish and fixing the lightbulb in your room – but I can find you another tutor and write down the instructions, so don’t worry about it, yeah? 

It’ll be hard for me, too, but I have Nancy, and Steve, and Robin, and I know they’re your friends as well but we’ll make it work– schedule times to see them separately, or whatever and–”

“Stop talking,” he interrupted abruptly, hands flying to fist his hair as he paced in front of you. “Fuck! Why does it sound like you’re breaking up with me? You’re acting like we’ll never see each other!”

“I don’t think you heard me right, Ed. I love you. Like fucking fireworks and cupcakes and ‘I do’s’. I can’t just be friends with you anymore.”

“Why not? We’ll make it work, like you said, but I can’t not see you, I mean you’re my best friend and what if I lose the instructions for the lightbulb or something, then what? I’m not the smartest, you know that, I’d definitely write my grocery list on that same paper and toss it in the trash or something–”

“Because it hurts, Eddie, it fucking hurts,” you breathed out. You grabbed his hand, resting it against your chest, right above where your heart was currently pounding, threatening to burst free from the confines of your body. “It hurts when I look at you because I know you don’t love me like that. Not now, not ever. We fooled around with each other, and maybe it was a mistake, but we did it anyway, and now I’m in too deep, Ed.” 

For the first time in your friendship, Eddie Munson looked afraid. Eyes wide, nostrils flaring, fingertips gripping the soft material of your shirt. He was afraid because he didn’t know how to fix the mess laid out before him, and his usual methods were moot. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know,” he repeated again, finally, letting go of you as he stumbled back.

“I know you didn’t, Ed, I know it. You did your best– you were the best friend a person could ever ask for, and I don’t regret a thing.”

It was all you could say before you left him in the clearing, surrounded by dirt, twigs, crushed-up bugs and the pieces of your breaking heart. 

You weren’t one to pray, never having believed in a God of any kind, but even if it was some false God with minimal powers and few believers – you prayed he took care of your Eddie Munson. You prayed Eddie Munson made it out. 

Likes & Reblogs are much appreciated! Hope you enjoyed x

[kaylawritesfics]

Idk if your request are open but if they are Tasm!Peter fighting/arguing with his gf (reader) bc she's being irrational or dangerous? With happy ending?

for the love of god || TASM!p.p.

summary: peter can put up with just about anything but he draws the line when you risk your life

pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x fem!reader

WARNINGS: swearing, mention of blood, violence, reader being reckless, arguing

a/n: hi !! thanks so much for the request :) my requests are open btw i just totally forgot to put that in my new navigation but it should be there now !! also thank you guys for all the love on my other peter fics !! i hope you like this one as well :)

“Come on, man!” Peter grunted as a strong force of energy shot him backward and straight into a building.

New York's latest threat was stronger than he'd like to admit and truthfully, this guy was kicking his ass.

Every bone in Peter's body ached and begged him to give up as he picked himself up from the rubble that was once his favorite pizza place. He winced, pushing forward despite his body's protests.

The force blew him back yet again. He moaned in pain, feeling the blood trickle down his forehead.

"Is that all you've got, Spider-Man?" The villain taunted, picking up an SUV with ease and tossing it at him. Peter barely had time to get out of the way before the car came crashing down. He rolled over to his side, letting out a few coughs and groans. Before he could push himself to stand again, a new voice chimed in.

"Hey, asshole! Look over here!"

Peter recognized the voice. She'd promised him that she would stay inside. What the hell was she doing? The villain slowly turned, setting his sights on Y/N. Peter felt the blood drain from his face as the man sauntered towards her.

"For the love of God," Peter groaned, standing to his feet.

As the vile-looking man approached, Y/N's eyes widen in alarm. She hadn't thought her plan through this far. Her panic-stricken eyes met Peter's irate glare.

"Peter! Do something!" She cried, ducking as a piece of debris flew over her head.

"I'm gonna kill you," Peter murmured, shooting webs at the man, stopping him dead in his tracks.

"Aha! I got you now, buddy," Peter mocked, webbing his arms and legs together. The man, unable to move, collapsed to the ground.

"Ha! Yes!" Y/N cheered, rushing forward to greet Peter with a smile. She shrieked as Peter grabbed her, slinging them to the nearest rooftop as cops surrounded the villain.

"Did you see the look on that guy's face! We totally got him!"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Peter spun around to face her, a furious look on his mask-less face. Her cheers ceased and she furrowed her eyebrows.

"Huh?"

"Why would you do that? I told you to stay inside!" Peter's exasperated voice rang through the air.

"I just helped you!" She defended herself, throwing her hands up in bewilderment. Peter turned away, running a hand down his face.

"That was stupid, you could've been killed."

"Oh, so now I'm stupid?"

"W-what? That's not even remotely close to what I said!"

"That guy was kicking your ass! I distracted him for you!" She shrilled. A wounded look appeared on Peter's face. It may have been true, but she didn't have to say it aloud.

"No, you were being reckless. I had it handled!" Peter declared.

"Didn't look like it from where I was standing," Y/N mumbled, crossing her arms and facing away from Peter.

Peter took a deep breath, composing himself quietly. He placed a hand on her shoulder, spinning her around.

"Look, I'm sorry that I yelled. I know you were just trying to help me," Peter apologized, a sincere look on his face. Y/N sighed.

"I'm sorry for being reckless. I just can't stand waiting around while you get hurt!"

"I know, I know. It's just important to me that you stay safe. I can take SUVs tossed at me, but you can't," Peter reminded, looking into her eyes.

"You're right. I'm sorry," Y/N relented, a sheepish smile approaching her face. Peter suddenly let out a laugh.

"Did you even have a plan? Or were you just gonna wound his pride by calling him an asshole?"

"I didn't think it through, okay? He was kicking your ass! I had limited time to plan!" She defended, shoving Peter playfully.

Peter barked out a laugh, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

"Let's go home."